#hannibal drabble

[hughiecampbelle]

Charnel House (Will Graham x Sibling!Reader)

Character/s: Will, Jack

Word Count: 1,284

Inspired By: I've Been Dying by Deadbeat Girl

A/N: I absolutely love sibling dynamics!!! I still don't know a lot of Wills past or upbringing, so I kept things pretty vague, but the idea of him being a protective older brother is too sweet not to write! So sorry it's off schedule! I was so stumped with what to write and then the idea came this morning :) Anyways, enjoy my loves!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! ❤🥩❤🥩❤🥩❤🥩❤🥩❤🥩❤🥩

WRITING EVENT ❤️🔪🩸

Young, Will thinks, you are too young for this. Crime scene tape. Massacred families. Blood splattered walls. Small pools of red beneath their heads dripping, dribbling, down the dining room table. Pale skin. Wide eyes. You follow him like you did when you were children, close behind. Bumping into him, stepping on his heels, apologizing quietly. He resists the urge to grab your hand, squeeze it, and remind you to look both ways before crossing the street. He resists the urge to hold you back, shield your eyes, pretend like this is all one bad dream. It’s not. Beside him Jack Crawford. Next is Bev, Price, Zeller. Countless nameless faces in and out of frame. Trailing one another. Jack says something he cannot understand, his attention focused on you. You get that look in your eyes, where your pupils grow big and you get this million yard stare. What do you see? He wants to ask, but remains silent. You are not a baby in this room. You don’t need his guidance or protection. You are a guest, neither FBI nor teacher, but help nonetheless. You are working. He must remind himself you are here as equal. Perhaps not an equal, perhaps your pedestal is taller than his. He glances back at his coworkers, friends he’d say if he were stretching the truth, all of them smirking, laughing at something obviously inappropriate. He tries to smile along, to pretend, but the effort is futile. When he searches behind him you are gone. 

He’s not sure how the topic came up. Was it in therapy? Rattling off anecdotes of his youth. A crucial piece of himself is coming up. Without it, the story would be incomplete. Or, was it in passing? To Be or Alana, both is a possibility. His “gift” is neither special nor worth talking about. Not when his baby could do so much more. Stories of your childhood. Disorganized, without linear time. You are in your pajamas, so small, so scared. Crying to him about a man hanging in your closet. Another monster under the bed. Old houses, with creaky floorboards and white-haired women. Running through the hallways, your feet patting against the thick runners, screeching and giggling. Playing. Not with imaginary friends, like the women laughed. With the dead, he wants to correct, but bites his tongue. You’d been able to see them all of your life. Some are more eager than others. The children are the most trusting. People who went peacefully. Others are harsh. Vengeful. Stitching their existence to you. Unable to shake them off. Seeing them. A young woman in the bathtub, her wrists open. Splashing in the bubbles, in the red only you could see. Finding yourself wandering through fields, through trees to unmarked graves. Begging to be believed. Both of you. Someone suggested your name. Startled, his worlds colliding, his words stern. No one listened though. Each of them wary, disbelieving, and yet so desperate. He makes the call, afraid their voices, their words will somehow taint your world. Somehow they will turn you into him. 

The killer elusive. Skilled, capable, and thoughtful. Massacring entire families. They’re not innocent, though. There are always secrets keeping them together. It’s the daughter you see. Not exactly intact. Her wounds bleeding, her dress stained, though she does not react to it. They rarely ever do. Up the stairs she leads, moving through various officers. Opaque, and unfortunately very real, you squeeze past them, trying your best not to disrupt their investigation. Loony, you heard one say to the other in a low voice. This is not the first time you’ve had someone doubt you in this way. It would not be the last. At first wanting to play. A massive dollhouse sits in her room. A family much like hers lays scattered across the rug. Bodies face down. Joints bent in inhumane ways. When you look inside, it matches the very house you’re standing in. Beaming, you compliment her. It was lovely. The wallpaper from her room pasted across the walls of the toy. Her replica sits on her bed waiting to be played with. She moves to the window where she points to a swing set. It must've been built when she was a baby. After all these years, these snowy winters, it moves in the wind. Unstable, but loved dearly. A swing for her and her brother, never forced to share. Enough to go around. A slide and monkey bars. Scenic, you think. Familiar and yet so foreign.

Reaching out, attempting to grab your hand, she leads you out, down the stairs. The scene has been cleared. Only your brother stands in the dining room. He does as he has been trained to. This ability described to you dozens of times. He feels himself pull out the gun. Aim it at each of them. You want to watch, but she insists, eager to show you. You disappear into the kitchen where a set of stairs leads to the basement. Neither the son nor the parents make themselves known. You’ve been tricked before. And yet, you trust her. There’s no way to explain it. And so, you follow. Unfinished, it sits with dirt floors and cold, concrete walls. Above you, Will's footsteps move across the room. You can trace his path. The girl urges you forward. A washing machine and dryer sit behind an open doorway. She moves past it though, further. A small hole carved into the wall. Small. Too small. Tugging at a board placed over it until it falls to the floor. Right away you smell something familiar. It’s a scent you’ve grown accustomed to. Something rotten. Rotting. Just a little, though. You come to realize the body is mostly gone. She points and you follow with your gaze. A skull. Next to it, a rib cage and spinal cord. Most of the outer flesh decayed, sunken into the dirt, but small parts remain. She stares at you, trying to read your expression. This is what the killer knew. Punishing her family for taking a life. Hiding the body. Thinking they could get away with it. 

You call for Will, your voice steady and unafraid. He comes running. So does everyone else. When you turn back to thank her, this little girl, innocent alongside her brother, she is gone. There is a second body further back, but you came without a flashlight. They question you, your knowledge, but Will comes to your defense, eager to shut down their accusations. Bev compliments you, says the whole Graham family is skilled in this department. You shrug it off, trying to hide your smile. Everyone knew about your brother, amazing and skilled. Few gave you the same credit. Whoever they were, they knew about the bodies in the basement. Thinking of themself as a vigilante of sorts. A killer of killers. Before you leave, you check the backyard, hoping to see her on her swing. It moves gently from the wing, back and forth, snow piled a few inches high on the seat. Jack congratulates you on your work. Neither you nor your brother have explained exactly what you can do to him, not exactly, and he does not insist on answers. Whatever you do, whatever the both of you do, it helps in the long run. Will hopes this collaboration will be a one time thing. Let you go back to your life unscathed. Unharmed. Already there is talk of another case, another murder. You don’t mind. You get to work with Will. You get to understand the dead. Help them in ways you’re typically forbidden from. Meddling, they used to say. Now you were of value.

[berrylovecrime]

hannigram drabble // nsfw

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[arabellavernierwrites]

patched up. will graham.

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

word count : 463

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

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

dinnertime had rolled around once again.

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

the beginning of the ending of another day.

you and will were in the kitchen.

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

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

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

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

the vegetables on your cutting board fought against you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you dropped your head, “yes”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[deerabigailhobbs]

Snow white Hannibal AU

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bodysnatcherrrr]

"Daddy, look! Look how good Mister Will is!" Abigail's small index finger pointed and followed as the curls of Will's hair bounced and bobbed as he glided somehow gracefully around the roller rink. Weaving in and out of the few others skating in the obnoxiously colorful darting lights.

"Abi, it's not polite to point." Hannibal chided, his eyes following Will's body nonetheless, "But Mister Will is very talented at not falling over."

"He's much better than you, Daddy." Abigail giggled as she recalled the very recent tumble her Dad had taken despite having a death grip on the hand rail that encircled the walls of the rink.

"You bruise my heart, child."

[teastainedprose]

🔞Gash (Cooper Howard / The Ghoul x Reader)

You've been stabbed and The Ghoul means to patch you up, save for the problem of a metal shard lost in the wound. 1,435 words | This is smut if wound fingering counts. All about pain and looking at Cooper's stupid pretty face and PAIN and Cooper's finger in an open wound, pet names, wound cleaning, blood, more pain. No proofreading, take it raw bb. I blame @ghoulphile for egging me on. [A03]

Luck was with the man who managed to sheath his knife into your gut. Luck protected you as he missed puncturing anything important, only slicing meat and fat. Luck would have Cooper right there moments later putting a bullet through the bastard's brains as his luck promptly ran out. Lucky to have the old ghoul catch you before you crumpled to the ground.

Lady Luck was having a fucking field day. That bitch.

Your thoughts swirl, snagging on the present. You're trying to keep your mind set off to the side, away from your body. Away from the burning wet pain of your seeping wound, but it tugs you right back. Your body demands that you feel this, the gaping wound in your gut a wrongness your breakable mortal form insists you can't ignore.

Blood leaks down your hip as you groan from the press of Cooper's fingers around the gaping flesh of the gash in your side to take proper stock of it. Beside you on the table rests the knife you'd been stabbed with, save for the tip. That's currently buried in your guts. The blade is a rusty thing, old and brittle. The thought of that extra bit of metal swimming about inside you sits ill. Your vision blurs, a queasiness rolling over as your head rolls to the side.

Cooper notices your far away gaze, pausing in his inspection to clasp your chin in his glove covered fingers. The ones that are thankfully not covered in your blood. The other hand prodding at your flesh has bare fingers, calloused texture a distant pleasantry. He'd yanked that glove off with his teeth. Skin to bloody skin now. How intimate. 

"Now, dove." The words are a soft puff of breath against your cheek as you refocus. "Keep them pretty eyes open for me now." His attention shifts back to your wound while do as commanded.

"Stuck you real good, girlie." Cooper murmurs, eyes hooded from your inspection at this angle. He continues to mind your wound, bare fingers tracing your abdomen as if to feel from the outside where the rusty intrusion is. "Gonna hav'ta clean it proper. Needin' to dig the tip out."

All you can do is nod absently, drinking in every detail of his face. His black-as-night lashes are clearly visible this close, looking as pretty as can be. They add extra shadow to the sunken hollow about his eyes. He glances up, the swirling deep forest green and brown of his gaze catching you. You suck in a breath as Cooper's nail catches on the cut.

Teeth snap shut with a click as you bare them at Cooper. He smirks right back at you. He knows it hurts, but there's no helping it. All you can do is grimace and bear it while trying to divert your attention from the throbbing in your abdomen.

Your study of him is your current distraction. It's working well enough, mind content to catalogue the sharp lines of his face as you sit there panting quietly. There's the detached burn of alcohol as he dabs your wound with a soaked cloth, pulling a shiver across your skin in response.

Focus. Focus on the face of The Ghoul intently working. How there's the rough texture of his ravaged skin before your eyes. His skin is rusty in color, an earthy shade. It reminds you of the red clay from your long-abandoned home. His skin is just as baked and cracked as that dirt was. A delicious contrast to the richer red of his lips. Funny how he looks all sorts of dried up, but you know those lips to be softer than expected. Soft and pliant when pressed against your own with the wet press of his tongue darting out and-

You curse as your thoughts shatter into sharp glass, body instinctively lurching away from what hurts you. Cooper snatches your thigh, fingers digging in as he holds you steady.

"Now, now. Easy there, dove." His eyes flick to your face again. He's got a finger crooked into the gash. It feels wrong. "Told you I need to get that piece out. Breath, nice and easy."

You inhale. His head cants to the side as he waits. You exhale. Cooper nods as his finger digs deeper into the wound, feeling about. You swear he just brushed viscera with a fingertip.

It makes you dizzy, feeling his finger rooting around in the open wound as he tries to nudge out the knife bit. Forceps would have been a good idea, maybe some pliers? Something thinner than Cooper's gnarled fingers. You've memorized those digits intimately, but never expected to know them here. In your fucking guts.

It hurts. Of course it fucking does, but it's a wrong sort of pain. The sensation keeps flipping your stomach over and over. You want to empty the contents of it, but know that'll hurt worse with the state you're in.  Your eyes lose focus as Cooper clicks his tongue. 

"Focus. Eyes on me like I said, darlin'." He waits a beat as you blink, refocus. "Attagirl," his tone is even and coaxing, trying to keep you calm as if you're a startled brahmin. His finger continues to root around in your open wound, feeling for that stray bit of metal.

There's a twisted sort of intimacy in having Cooper's fingers delving into the wound, a sick parody of what else he's buried in you on better days.

You moan, a low sound pulled deep from within you involuntarily. It hurts.

"Now dove... That ain't the sort of cooing you should be makin' right now,'' amusement laces his words as he studies your face. His finger goes still to let you settle. It takes a moment, adjusting to the intrusion because his finger has sunk deeper. Your body is trying to reject the invasion, nerves flaring up with clear alarm.

You huff in response, shooting Cooper a sour look as a tremor runs through your strained body. It's not your fault your pain sounds are similar to the ones you make when he's rutting into you. He shakes his head, smiling to himself as Cooper gets back to work.

"Can feel it at my fingertip, jus' let me-" The digging is a burning invasion now as he presses deeper, finger crooking. You can feel the tug of something else scraping your insides as you suck in a sudden breath. He catches that bit of rusty metal, tugs and then it's over.

Cooper holds up the metal shard in front of your face with a yellow grin. "Got it."

You promptly drop your forehead against his shoulder with a whine. Blood leaks sluggishly from the wound now.

"There, there. I gotcha, dove. Now, you let me clean you up proper." His gloved hand rubs your back briefly before he gently sets you upright. Cooper is quicker to clean out the wound, caring little for how the alcohol he pours directly on it burns as he flushes it out. It's almost a welcomed sensation after the nausea induced fingering he'd just been up to.

He pauses, considering a moment before Cooper pops the same bloody finger he'd just had inside of you into his mouth. You can only watch in a detached way, pain keeping you pacified as Cooper makes sure to lick his hand clean of your blood.

"Disgusting," you sigh. It's half-hearted. You've seen him ingest far worse. 

"What? I'm a ghoul, sweetheart," he smirks. "Figure only way I'm gonna get a taste of that."

"Can you please fucking get me that Stimpak already?"

He tuts while wiping his hand clean of your blood on a spare rag before obliging. Cooper smoothly jabs the needle directly above your wound without warning, earning a hiss from you but your resentment instantly melts away.

This time you moan in pleasure, soothed as the endorphins rush your system in a cooling wave of comfort. A detached floaty feeling settles over you instantly as you relax, eyes drifting shut. A content smile settles on your lips while Cooper busies himself properly bandaging up your wound and wiping away the excess blood. His fingers linger, the bare ones ghosting up your side as a tremor runs through you for a wholly different reason now.

Slowly, you open your eyes again as you once more slump into his warmth. The scent of leather, gunpowder and something uniquely him fill your nostrils as you inhale.

"Better, dove?"

"Mhhm," You hum in contentment.

"That's my girl," He purrs as he hooks an arm about your waist and gently tugs you closer. "Now how's about we see about thankin' me proper for saving your sorry ass?"

[miszumono]

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

[yandereworlds]

NEW YANDERE BOTS!

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

I'll likely end up adding some of these bots to my CAI account, it mostly depends if I receive enough interactions and overall, feedback on the bots. Have fun!

DC VILLAINS BOT

SIMON GHOST RILEY BOT (PLATONIC)

AVENGERS BOT

HANNIBAL BOT

SULLY FAMILY BOT (PLATONIC)

[gnawing-suspicion]

thinking about Will needing to get out of the house, telling Molly he’s going into town for dog food even though it’s dark out and they have plenty. she gives him that look like they both know he’s lying, but she doesn’t say it. halfway down the dark country road he flicks on the radio and Nothing Compares 2 U is playing. he laughs at first, it’s so on the nose, but by the time the second chorus hits he has to pull over. he wipes the tears with the back of his wrist and hits the steering wheel.

fuck. tell me baby, where did I go wrong? it’s not about him. he doesn’t care. he doesn’t want to think about it. girl you better try to have fun no matter what you do, but he’s a fool. he gets out and sits against the door on the shoulder, the heels of his hands digging into the hollows of his eye sockets until his vision is all white spots and regret.

I go out every night and sleep all day. he should’ve been home thirty minutes ago. he still doesn’t have dog food. she knows. he’s sure she knows. he can’t go back. I can see whomever I choose. it starts to rain, and he’s grateful because it’ll be easier to hide. he needs to get up, needs to keep going. he will. he can. by the time he starts the car, the song has changed to one that doesn’t pry up all the dark corners of his emptiness. he’ll get the food and go home and curl into her as if it’ll stop the ache.

but they’d only remind me of you.

he sniffles and shakes his head. he likes that she ripped up a picture of the pope. he wants to do the same thing to the closest he’s ever come to God.

[hughiecampbelle]

Essential (Will Graham Oneshot)

Character/s: Will, Hannibal mention

Word Count: 1,507

Inspired By: Siren Song by Natalie Wilson (this is one of the most beautiful songs on my playlist)

Inspired By: Okay I will never shut up about this fic (Kendall Roy x Depression!Reader) by @chaithetics - I can't praise it enough. I adore it for so many reasons and I'm incredibly grateful to have read it 💕

A/N: Ahhh okay. So. Currently it's pouring out and the rain smells wonderful and I have a candle lit and my room is (mostly) clean - will be sorting that out lol. I haven't been feeling very well mentally recently. The holidays are always hard. My step-dad said some things and it really got to me. His judgement shouldn't matter at all, but it voiced every opinion I fear. It put all my insecurities on blast and I ended up sobbing to my therapist about it. I'm trying to focus on my goals, studying for the LSATs and getting everything ready to apply to law school. Trying to focus on the new year and all the possibilities it holds. It just hurt, y'know? And I thought writing would help, plus I love Will lol. Sorry for the rant!! Not my best work, but it feels good to get it out! Feedback is always appreciated!!! ❤🥩❤

*This is not part of the writing event, this is just a silly therapy fic. I will make a proper post about it, I pinky promise!*

The sun has set. Bright, twinkling stars poke holes in the cobalt sky. It’s your favorite version. The warm lights of houses splash outward through the windows. Some are muted by curtains. Others remain unobscured. Throwing itself across the snow, butter-yellow and bleeding. The snow falls in fat, robust flakes and you hear the wind howl, picking up the longer the night goes on. Downstairs the dogs bark and whine. Pawing at the door until it creaks open, they key sticking just a little. His voice carries through the house like music, song-like, in a key you cannot name, but love nonetheless. He laughs, telling them to be quick as they scatter in the yard. You count the heartbeats until they’re back inside. Safe. He sets down his bag, hanging his coat and shaking off his boots. His glasses, you assume, are not on his face, but placed on a table. The kitchen, most likely, though if he stopped at his desk, perhaps they sit among his things. His familiarities. He works in routines, straying little, if at all. You know what he will find, picturing it from memory. The cupboards and fridge undisturbed. A single mug in the skin. Tea, coffee, something hot cooled off, frozen even, half-filled or half-empty, the decision is up to him. It’s all you could manage today. An act you talk yourself into, a feat you are not prepared for, but crave regardless. Sugar and milk. You made it last the day and yet, it remains unfinished. You hear the faucet run, the stream steady. Imagine his hands. Holding the sponge, circling the inside of the ceramic, filling and pouring until bubbles have subsided. Less severe, less violent, less and less and less. He places it on the drying rack upside down, the clink of it alongside the rest of the dishes filling you with guilt. You could have washed it. You could have unloaded the burden from him. It was your mess. Despite it, despite this grief, he will wave it off. Happy to do it, to help. Still, you might argue, and he will shrug, out of words, but not out of fight. 

His footsteps patter through the first floor, pouring food into bowls, calling them each by name. Dinner is served, you think. Unzipping his bag, the sound high and sharp, retreating what he needs before you follow him to the stairs. Each step groaned quietly, as if announcing his presence in whispers. Contaninig their excitement or, perhaps, swapping secrets. Gossip. Down the hall, he makes his way towards you. His cologne, subtle, is a welcomed scent. Woodsy, earthy, like soil. Hints of tobacco. Fabric softener, too. Lavender, you think, though they are all the same. Knocking quietly at the bedroom door, lazily left ajar, before walking inside. Hey you, he says. You were right. He’s not wearing his glasses. You can see his eyes - an amalgamation of color. Blue mostly, though there are hints of green and specks of brown. Puppy dog, exceptional in conveying emotions. You search for anger in them, fury or wrath or disgust, but there is only understanding. Relief. His smile is serene and his movements gentle: placing his files full of photos and notes on the nightstand. Overflowing with gore and mutilation, there is so much work he has brought home, so much responsibility, and yet he makes time for you and your dishes. You’ve been up here all day. He says it as a statement rather than a question. You wait for reprimand, for abolishment or scolding, but his features remain soft. Were you warm enough? The blankets and duvet wrapped around you, piled atop one another. You nod, unable to find your voice. Good, he says, leaning over to kiss your forehead. He is warm despite the cold, his cheeks rosy. The bridge of his nose has two small, red marks. It must’ve been a glasses kind of day. Little time to take them off, to get up close. 

He talks without expectation. About Jack and his demands. About Hannibal and his repetitive, yet fascinating, takes on the world. Undressing as he does so. You watch him unbutton his shirt, a white t-shirt bright underneath. He does not say that he went to his psychiatrist about you. What to do, how to help. Should he be doing something differently? Should he be approaching the subject with more grit, less tenderness? Pulls a sweater over his head, the navy blue one you always liked on him. Unbuckling his belt. Searching for the flannel pants he loves, the pajamas he wears as often as he can. Should he make you go to a hospital? Is that the right course of action? Dr. Lecter hushes his worries. Reminds him he is doing everything right. That this will pass, and you will find your way back to him. He knows this, he must remind himself. He will be patient. He will take care of this, of you, as long as you both need. Bev who made a funny, albeit inappropriate, joke at the crime scene. Another killer on the loose. Too early to track, to pattern match. Talk of two offenders instead of one, a duo. He climbs in beside you, his voice steady, his hands moving as he speaks. Reminiscent of a conductor with no orchestra. Caught up in the drama, the obscurity, the way the bodies were found and how they were killed, he loses himself in the anticipation - a pressure in his chest - he must get out every word before it is too late. It is only after he has finished, catching his breath, does he notice you've fallen back to sleep. 

Trapped in a half-sleep, you catch parts of the truth. The bedside lamp has been turned on, the room even darker than you last saw. His side of the bed is empty. The faucet running in the bathroom. He sits, his files on his lap, string through each image and note. Smells of mint. He hums quietly to himself, a sound you have learned to cherish. The light is off. The bedroom black. He lies beside you, but he is awake. Softly, the words come out. Are you mad at me? He takes a moment, pausing, and dread begins to fill your chest. Why would I be mad at you? He asks,and then adds, Of course not. You can’t bring yourself to explain without tears welling up in your eyes, a sob trapped in your throat, so you say nothing. Because, you start, but cannot bring yourself to finish. Quickly wiping your eyes, grateful for the lack of light. Because I’m a burden, you think. Because I’m not myself. Because I ruin everything. Because you deserve better. Because, because, because. Will moves closer, wrapping his arms around you, rubbing circles into your back. You feel his knuckles across the spokes of your spine. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Another night crying. In the morning your eyes will be bloodshot, your face puffy. Another mess you’ve created that he cleans up. Finally, he whispers: I could never be mad at you. But what about-? Never. His tone, not unharsh, is serious and something about that settles your nerves. The gnawing guilt inside chews with its gums instead of its teeth. Get some sleep, okay? He squeezes you a little tighter. You fall asleep like that, intertwined. 

You don’t hear him get up. You don’t feel his absence until it is too late. A note left for you, his handwriting distinct and melancholy. I made you a drink. Be careful, it’s hot. Love you - Will. The mug he washed, the one you dirtied, sits beside the paper. Steam no longer pours from the top, but the cup itself is still warm. Downstairs you hear the symphony of dogs chewing. Loudly, you note, but happily. Another chore taken care of. Softly, you sip, grateful for him. For his actions, his selflessness. Today will be a little better than the last, that you are certain of. One step at a time. Will will talk to Dr. Lecter again. He will question if he’s helping. He will fear he isn’t doing enough. The two of you wrapped up in your worries, not distinct from one another, similar words with different meanings. Am I doing enough? Am I failing them? He will be talked down, reminded that this thing, this cyclical phase, it always ends. No matter what, there is always an endpoint. He must remind himself that, he must remind you, too. The two of you journey through this not out of obligation, but of necessity. He needs you. He adores you. A world without you is not one he’d like to take part in. Where you sense burden, resentment, anger, he will meet you with generosity, with compassion and understanding. It is a surprise every time, and yet it shouldn’t be. He needs you more than words could ever describe. You can’t get rid of him that easily.

[berrylovecrime]

hannigram drabble // nsfw

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

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

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

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

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

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

[strawberry-m1lks]

"One more minute....please?"

Will Graham x fem!Reader

synopsis: Early morning cuddles with your husband before heading off to work

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

The alarm clock blared in the room, waking y/n out of her sleep. She brushed the back of her hand against her tired eyes to break out of her tiredness. She tried to roll out of bed but a strong hand pulled her back. His chin nuzzled into her neck as he inhaled her scent.

"One more minute...please?" Will asked, his voice groggy from just waking out of his sleep. He nuzzled his face into her neck. A chill went down her spine from his beard, prickling her. Working the same job as your lover comes with its pros and cons. She groaned, not even protesting against his pleading

"You know Jack will be a pain if we are late again" She rolled over looking into his eyes. He smelled of mahogany and something sweet she couldn't put her finger on. He began to kiss her forehead softly.

"I promised it wouldn't happen again..." He mumbled, moving to kiss the side of her neck. "What do I have to do to have a minute of you in my arms?"

The sun began to rise kissing sunlight tenderly on his skin, igniting his complexion and the true beauty that was hidden in the dark. Looking at him she knew her answer, he didn't need to do a thing. With that pout on his face and puppy dog eyes how could she say no it him.

She leaned in closer to him, relaxing in his arms "Not a thing, darling." Will's pout immediately broke into a smile as he gently pulled her closer to have her on his chest. "On that note, two minutes doesn't sound too bad." Will inquired, kissing her forehead again. Y/N sighed and made a mental note to set the alarm for earlier.

[sykosomatic]

Thank you for accepting my request!! It was delicious😭❤️ i love the way you write Hannibal. Not to be greedy or anything, could i request hannigram x ftm reader? He just took his first shot of t, and his two lovers want to celebrate *wink wink*

you’re so welcome!! this is perfect, i love it so much <3 i love all the ftm x [insert character here] i’ve gotten recently! it’s so inside my comfort zone it’s crazy <3 companion fic to this.

i hope you enjoy!!

hannigram x ftm reader taking his first t shot!

(reader wears a binder/is pre-top-surgery)

cw: threesome/group sex, praise kink, creampie finish, double penetration, oral sex (afab&amab receiving), anal sex (afab&amab receiving), p in v sex, fingering (afab&amab receiving).

thanks to your lover, hannibal’s, connections in the therapy world, you’d finally gotten your hands on something you’d been waiting on for what felt like forever: a prescription for testosterone. at this point in your social transitioning, you figured you were ready to take the next step. it was a little nerve-wracking, as most new things are, but so exciting all the same.

your other lover, will, had kindly offered to go pick up the prescriptions with you; you’d shown some apprehension at the thought, and he’d immediately offered his assistance.

once you’d gotten back to hannibal’s place, you got all settled in; your testosterone vials and needles sitting up on the counter. they looked a little daunting; you’d never used a needle on yourself before, so this was going to be a really different experience for you. the doctor had explained to you how to do it, and it seemed pretty straightforward. but still. nervous.

you didn’t necessarily want to do it with hannibal and will watching you; just because you were nervous you may look silly, and you didn’t want them to get worried if you did it wrong. but then again, you didn’t want to do it without them, because what if you did do it wrong?

you decided to do your first shot on your own; you wanted to make sure you could do it by yourself, and wouldn’t they be so proud of you when you did?

you took a breath, grabbing the stuff you would need and heading to the bathroom. sitting on the toilet, you prepped everything the way the doctor told you to, and prepared yourself for the feeling of the needle going in.

it was surprisingly easy, but the sting and pinch were going to need some getting used to. letting your breath out, you cleaned up and put everything away, opening the bathroom door to see the two men standing outside the door.

you smiled at them, shaking your head. “worried about me, huh?” you asked them. hannibal stepped closer to you and inspected you, asking you how you felt. “i feel fine,” you assured him with a small chuckle. “it went really well… it was a lot easier than i thought it would be.”

will smiled at you, nodding as you spoke. “we knew it wouldn’t be a big deal. well..” he corrected, looking at hannibal. “i did, at least.”

“we should celebrate, no?” hannibal asked, kissing the top of your head. “such bravery and expertise should be rewarded!” he exclaimed, leading you and will to the kitchen.

hannibal popped open a bottle of wine and started pouring three glasses, handing them out. before long, he and will were discussing how proud they were of you, making your face flush; the wine wasn’t helping, either.

“so handsome and so perfect,” hannibal said, in response to will leaning in to put a hand on your thigh. “both of you,” he added playfully, making will sport a wry smile. hannibal stood and walked over to stand behind you, massaging your shoulders gently. he leaned in to kiss will’s lips deeply. it was clear the two of them were planning a different kind of celebration. you were excited.

hannibal’s hands dipped to start rubbing your chest, his fingers brushing over your nipples once he’d found them. you leaned your head back against him, watching him and will kissing passionately. warmth spread into your stomach and you could feel yourself getting ridiculously aroused.

will pulled away from the kiss he shared with hannibal to start kissing you, his hands starting to tug at your clothes; he was asking permission, and you eagerly allowed him to undress you. hannibal watched the two of you, starting to undo his own pants and taking his shirt off. before long the three of you were undressed and the two of them started leading you into the bedroom.

will pulled you into his lap on the bed, his legs draped over the end as hannibal came up behind you. being sandwiched between the two of them turned you on an insane amount. will started to kiss your neck, licking stripes up your neck as hannibal leaned in to kiss your lips. both of the men’s hands explored your body, hannibal’s on your hips and grabbing your ass and will’s exploring your chest and pinching your nipples.

you moaned into hannibal’s mouth as you felt will’s fingers exploring your wet slit, playing with your clit while he teased your nipples. hannibal put his fingers in your mouth for you to slicken up as he followed will’s lead. he slid one finger into your asshole, making you moan and buck your hips against will’s fingers. will slid two fingers into your pussy, curling them up to hit your g-spot. the two of them played with you for a little while before you ended up squirting all over will’s hand.

the two of them praised you for how handsome you were, how well you took their fingers and came for them, peppering your skin with kisses before they moved positions. will laid on his back, starting to slide his cock into you, stretching your sweet pussy out. hannibal began to finger will’s ass as will fucked up into you and grabbed your ass. you leaned in to kiss him as he got finger-fucked, and then leaned back to kiss hannibal as he slid his cock into will’s stretched asshole.

the two men moaned in beautiful succession with you, all of you in complete bliss. their hands explored you and each other. after a few final rough strokes, hannibal bottomed out inside will and came deep in his asshole, making him in turn cum deep into your pussy.

but they weren’t done; hannibal slid his cock into your asshole next, making you shiver and whine, scratching on will’s chest. his curls lay over his face, covered in sweat. will hadn’t taken his cock out of you yet. he started rocking his hips again after you’d gotten adjusted to hannibal’s cock, the noise of the creampie inside you squelching as his balls slapped your taint.

the three of you finished again, and you were flipped over on your back so that hannibal could eat you out; his tongue was magical as he licked will’s cum out of your hole. his tongue slid in and out, and circled your clit. you shuddered and came a third time, grabbing his hair and wrapping your legs over his shoulders. hannibal proceeded to clean off will’s cock as well, will laying right next to where you were as he got sucked off. he gave you sleepy kisses, waiting for hannibal to come back up for air. the two of you shared slurping on hannibal’s cock until it was cleaned off, and fell asleep naked on the bed, fully satisfied.

[angelseraphines]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ fandoms & characters I write for ੈ♡˳

the characters I'm currently writing for will be marked purple. my favorite characters to write for will be marked purple & bolded

if the character you're looking for isn't listed here, but still belongs to one of the fandoms here, I may still be open to writing for them, just ask!

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ aemond targaryen, aegon 'the elder' targaryen, daemon targaryen, jon snow, robb stark, edmure tully, jaime lannister, oberyn martell, stannis baratheon, daemon blackfyre, aegon 'the conqueror' targaryen, maegor targaryen, brynden 'bloodraven' rivers

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ THE WALKING DEAD ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ negan smith, rick grimes, daryl dixon, glenn rhee, shane walsh

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ STAR WARS ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ anakin skywalker, obi-wan kenobi, han solo, luke skywalker, din djarin, kylo ren, poe dameron, qui-gon jinn, cassian andor, orson krennic, galen erso

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ PEAKY BLINDERS ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ thomas shelby, luca changretta, arthur shelby, john shelby, michael gray, alfie solomans

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ SUPERNATURAL ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ dean winchester, sam winchester, john winchester

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ NARCOS ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ javier peña, steve murphy

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ HANNIBAL ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ hannibal lecter, will graham

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ GLADIATOR ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ marcus acacius, lucius, commodus, emperor geta, maximus

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ JAMES BOND ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ le chiffre, james bond, agent c, lyutsifer safin

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ INDIANA JONES ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ indiana jones, jürgen voller, réne belloq

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ arthur morgan, dutch van der linde, john marston, hosea matthews, javier escuella, micah bell

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ LOST ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ james ford, jack shepard, sayid jarrah

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ HARRY POTTER ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ severus snape, sirius black, remus lupin, james potter, lucius malfoy

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ SQUID GAME ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho, cho sang-woo, seong gi-hun, park gyeong-seok, hwang jun-ho, lee myung-gi, kang dae-ho, choi su-bong

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ MONEY HEIST KOREA ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ berlin, the professor, denver, rio, moscow

╭┈─ ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ ALICE IN BORDERLAND ✧ ˚ · .

╰┈➤ ryohei arisu, shuntaro chishiya, suguru niragi, chota segawa, daikichi karube, morizono aguni, keiichi kuzuryu, takeru danma

[prettykittycastle]

Another One

DIRTY DRABBLE

(Reader is gender-neutral and AFAB.)

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

“Mmm. Perfect.”

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

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

“Good…Now give us another one.”

[b-bndi]

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