#hannibal burning him with his gaze

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

Old writing especially on Bo's and then Vincent's part. I realised that I was writing as if their s/o showcased their strength during later on into their relationship in the first three slashers, apologies.

A/n: I am no longer writing for Hannibal or any hannibal characters as I myself have forgotten my own perspective of them.

Slashers x reader who's stronger than them but doesn't look like it!

Warnings: blood and death on the ghostface duos part, very slight mentions of nsfw. But mostly fluff.

Slashers in this: Bo sinclair, Vincent sinclair and Thomas Hewitt, Michael Myers, Billy Loomis and Stu Macher (poly)

Relationship: romantic!!

Bo

It clawed at his ego, he's a pretty mean bastard and you know it 🫵.

He first thought of you as the most fragile and weakest person ever (and cutest), I mean, could you even lift a pot half filled with water?

Undoubtedly he used this assumption to 'help you' or more so at times tease you. He loves seeing your reactions and most definitely not because you're so small and kind to him, pfff of course not.

He just absolutely loves lifting you up and over his shoulder and he's definitely an ass guy. He loves ogling and smacking your ass but he won't get to that level until many many months later on. But he's still going to stare.

“Oh Bo, I think there's a rabbit under the truck!” You exclaimed to Bo as you noticed something white and moving below.

"An animal? *sighs* hold on, I'll get rid of that p-" He suddenly loses his ability to formulate words as he witnesses you lift the goddamn fuckin truck with one arm, and indeed there was a rabbit underneath.

“*gasp* it's so cute!” Bo cannot believe what he just saw. Damn, he gotta stop smoking so much it's messing with his brain. He's just staring at you as you pet the timid rabbit with your 'scrawny' arm.

He must admit he does fantasize about you lifting him up and shit, or topping him in bed. Whatever he's feeling that day, and he would rather swallow sand than ever admit that last part.... But y'know if you're up for it-

His cocky and prideful attitude seemingly making an apparent change, he would hold a cup or item you need above your head with a shit eating grin watching you get frustrated with him. Or when he would make jabs about you being too weak to lift three chairs at a time and would offer to help you. (So he could walk beside you.) But now... He still fucking makes jabs at you being weak, just to fuck with you even though he knows it's far from the truth. He loves making you seem like the little helpless princess and him being the asshole shining knight in armor.

You wouldn't mind tho would you? It's a win-win, you get to spend more time with your boyfriend and he gets to spend time with his girlfriend.

Vincent

So gentle and caring with you. He's gentle and caring with whoever he is with but your size just makes him think one wrong move and he's accidentally breaking your arm. And cause of this he can't help but be a worry wart at times and way too protective. Not budging even if you reassure him you're perfectly capable of doing something that requires strength.

During one of the dark evenings you walk with your lover in the forest, the side of the forest where there isn't roadkill so that you can breathe without torturing your nostrils. And finding some fire wood to spend the next dark hours star gazing and ranting to him while the sound of the fire crinkling and burning the wood serves as a nice background music.

Every step you take you hear the crunch of the dead leaves get crushed under your foot, both of you holding your flashlights. You have the warm and slightly calloused hand of your Vincent holding yours affectionately as his thumb brushes against the back of your hand and knuckles, gently tracing over and feeling the ridges and bumps.

You notice some fallen bark and shine your flashlight on it. "Vinny, look there's some firewood over there!" You exclaimed and shined your flashlight elsewhere, looking around more until you had shined it directly on a tree right in front of you that was occupied by a scary looking arachnid, its front limbs moving in a sluggish and relaxed fashion.

You let out a startled yelp and out of instinct your fist went to swing at the spider who somehow successfully managed to not get hit in the nick of time. This also startled your boyfriend who looked worriedly at you, his eyes scanned over to see that you were.. Fine! But the tree you punched wasn't. It has a big dent in it while the flesh of wood was cracked and damaged severely around the impact along with many splinters.

"I'm so sorry Vincent! There was a spider and I got scared!"

He almost let out a breath of relief knowing it wasn't anything serious but he can't get his eyes and mind off the injured tree. Did you... seriously do that? He gently took your hand and examined it, it seemed perfectly fine except for redness, light bleeding and a couple splinters on your knuckles.

He slowly raised one of his hands, pointing towards the punched tree. 'Did you do that?' Is what's probably going through his head. You chuckled sheepishly and nodded in confirmation. He sighed. For now, he'll worry about your fist.

Does this interaction change how he treats you?... Kind of. He isn't too pushy as he was since he now knows how capable you are of handling yourself but there's still that feeling in him, something that gnaws at his inner core for him to help you. He wants to feel useful and to serve you in any way he can, so...please let him dote over you still..? (Of course you will, you can't say no to him.)

If you want to pick him up he'll entertain you, though he'll be extremely flustered and giddy about it. He likes this way more than he should (in his opinion). How comical is it? He's a large 6'1 grown man being carried princess style by his tiny s/o. Despite all this, he still hopes you need him as much as he needs you.

Thomas

Trust me when I saw it really took Thomas by surprise. He's a really big guy and you say this little thing is stronger than him? Oh please, humor him after dinner.

He's a busy man with a lot on his plate, and you seemingly looking like the most harmless person in the world doesn't help, he constantly feels like he has to tend to you and supervise you from a certain officer.

Will usually not allow you to help him when he's working, it depends. He feels guilty letting yourself get caught up with all this but if you insist he'll gladly accept the extra hand with honest gratitude. But generally- 'Back away honey, you might get dirty.' Is what he wishes he could say.

In his eyes you're a saint, an angel. Made perfectly to fit in the space between his thighs he's sitting down and there's no flaw in the way his large hands cups your cheeks with those pretty eyes of yours staring into his – no room for mistake or complain. You're adorable.

The first time he allowed you to help him you admire your handsome behemoth of a lover chopping wood. Appreciating the rolled up sleeved that gave you a good view of his arms, his muscles flexing as he brought the axe down – after he was done with the first small batch of logs you hurried to grab the others.

Tommy watched with amusement and adoration before shifting his weight to help you but stopped as you started walking towards him five logs resting effortlessly in your arms. It didn't even seem to faze you as if it was just you were only a bunch of baby ducks.

Tommy watched in silence as you laid them out on the table, still kind of processing it before nodding his head in gratitude and resuming to chopping them up. He'll bring this up later, maybe. For now he'll focus on getting his work done and spending more with you, and your soft words.

He doesn't really care if you're stronger than him or not, as long as you love him and don't try to run away it's all good. If you want he'll stop trying to do everything for you even though he knows you don't need any assistance – he's so used to working around the house he feels restless not doing anything at all.

If you want to carry him, do it. He's all yours but please do it in private he won't be able to handle the embarrassment if his family sees it. And although he prefers to be the dom he doesn't mind it if you wanna take charge every once in a while and throw him around.

Plus, it creates something pleasantly warm in his stomach.

Michael.

He thinks he's going insane. (He already has.)

He's Michael Myers, the most ruthless killer Illinois has ever seen for the past decades. And you're saying this small creature that he's inhabited has greater strength than him... Yeah, no.

And then he sees you picking up three bodies out of the house with your bare hands while cleaning up the evidence of his the murder he left, quietly observing you. He won't admit it but it kind of irks him. He's supposed to be the one with power in this relationship and quite frankly he doesn't know the true extent to your power.

He warms up to it eventually – although it's more of he doesn't give a fuck anymore. You're not completely weak and helpless? Great, he doesn't have to worry about you as much. Key word: as much. He still does worry a lot when you're out for long hours – he's not worried you're injured or in danger (not anymore) but more as in you're not leaving him, right? Or ratting him out to the police?

Do not ever attempt to pick him up or anything even remotely close to that unless you want a glare from those void, soul-less eye sockets of his mask Or if you want a love tap on the head and cheek. If you give him enough guilty smiles and let go of him he'll let you off the hook. if not, bear the consequences. (They don't even do anything anyways, lmao)

He feels so incredibly annoyed when you start treating him like a child, telling him to go sit down or lie down in bed after he pulled a few all nighters and the fact you successfully manage to pull him back into bed: God dammit, why the hell are you even so strong and you're so small!? Grumpily he does stay put but only if you're with him too.

A man feared by hundreds, if not thousands because of the sheer power and mercilessness he leaves in trails of every step he takes in public... And then there's you, you're half his size and you have more control over him than he'd like. He'd never kill you though, not intentionally, but that will also most likely not happen.

Speaking of killing, don't think he won't murder someone if they attempt to hurt you and gets their ass kicked by you anyways. You attack, he lands the finishing blow. Don't protest, he won't listen.

Billy n' Stu

They're both pretty lean so you can believe it, if not for your given figure. They both adore it, so who cares? Billy and Stu will, eventually.

It was in the heat of the moment, you tell yourself but you remember in vivid detail the day where you saw the bloody escaping victim running towards you – adrenaline pumping in your veins, your mind immediately went into fight mode and swung a fist at their skull. You remember the sickening crunch as blood slowly pooled from their fractured cranium when they lifelessly fell down to the floor.

They first helped you with the lingering guilt first before Stu started annoying you.

''Can you punch me like that next but with a bit less-''

"No!"

Alright, no worries but now he's asking you to lift him up to reach things that he does not need help on. Maybe even just carry him and run around the house. (Don't be fooled, he just wants to be carried around like a child again.) Fluttering his eyelids at you and holding up a jar of pickles. 'Y/n, I can't get this to open!' Yes he can.

Billy, although tries to act neutral but can't help but let his thoughts wander. 'Wow... Strong girl... Can choke me...' He thinks to himself as he watches you and Stu. Not as if he'd ever admit that. He pretends he's disinterested in getting in your arms - no, he just doesn't wanna embarrass himself. But if you persist he'll begrudgingly agree. He indeed liked it.

Stu obviously takes a positive reaction, he loves getting dominated. You can take that however you like. Billy on the other hand feels conflicted, if he's not stronger than you then how will he stop you if you try to leave them or plan to rat them out? Assuming this is during the beginning of your relationship. But overtime the more he takes a good look at your face those thoughts will slowly drown away, there's no way you would, right?

The slashers will probably swoon if you agree to help them place the bodies where they want them to, like hanging them in the trees or something.

Billy keeps it more lowkey. Preferring to keep you in his lap and rest his chin on top of your head. Stu takes your strength to his advantage. When he gets drunk he'll whine and ask you to carry him to bed, and take his socks off. Annoying fuck but you love him either way. And Billy too.

[dolicekiss]

Hey,

could you please write a yandere Hannibal one-shot, where the reader is one of Bedelia‘s ex patients/friends and Will‘s best friend. Will soon knows Hannibal is interested in her,( after she met him,while dropping of Will for therapy) and tries to ^save^ her from him. However Hannibal again has his way and maybe it ebds with smut?

♡: ohmygod i was literally about to write a yandere nigel but this is even better, especially knowing how manipulative hannibal can be !! also, i hope i do this justice, thanks :D

Famished

PAIRING: Yandere!Hannibal x Gullible, mentally disturbed female reader.

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+ only, minors dni) unprotected sex, manipulative hannibal, oral (female receiving) fingering, yandere hannibal, mention of drugging, mentally disturbed reader and traumatized, taking advantage (hannibal is cooking up plans) slight breeding kink, reader is very gullible <3 that's all

SYNOPSIS: After dropping Will Graham to his therapy session and having a run in with his prominent, renowned psychiatrist — Dr. Hannibal Lecter, you become the object of his infatuation and obsession. It is in his best interests to make you fall for him, make you his. Whether it is by his cunning manipulation tactics or his alluring charms.

For the first time ever, Hannibal Lecter found himself lost and in a puzzled position.

He was at a loss of words for the immense amount of adoration and awe swelling in his chest whenever he laid his eyes on you — which was rare. As you only came by when you had to drop your best friend, Will Graham to his office. It wasn't in your daily routine, as you had other things in life that required your attention but whenever you were available and whenever Will needed your help, you were there.

Because he was there when you needed someone.

Hannibal’s brain was quick to recognize you though, after seeing an old file of yours in Bedelia’s office, with your picture inside. It had all your details and Hannibal felt as if it was meant to be. He'd read your file, in the absence of Bedelia. Completely out of character for even someone like him but he knew you.

He knew all of you.

The exchange of pearly smiles between you and Will when he first introduced you to Hannibal was not very pleasing to the eye for the blonde male. Aggravated but hiding behind the mask of politeness, he only returned those smiles and then watched you leave his office.

That same night, both Hannibal and Will were restless. Will because he had noticed the curiosity awakening in Hannibal’s impassive gaze when he took note of you and Hannibal laid restless because of the uneasiness felt ever since you had left his office. He had this, insatiable urge, he felt —famished.

And only you could satiate that hunger of his.

“Hannibal, you appear lost.” Bedelia commented, the dullness of her office somehow matching his own. The two shared similar tastes, no wonder he was associated with her.

He lifted his gaze up from the red carpet covering the entirety of her floor, fingers tucked understand his chin. He was indeed lost, lost in you. Like an alligator, you had consumed him whole and he slightly twitched in the seat.

Hannibal had a plan.

This was the plan.

“I had a run in with one of Will’s associates, who also used to be your patient.” He responded, bitterly referring to you as his associate instead of his friend because even the idea of that burned him with such envy and jealousy.

Will didn't deserve you.

Not as his friend, not as something else.

Bedelia crossed her leg, staring at him with certain curiosity. “I do not break doctor patient confidentiality.”

“I'm aware.” Hannibal responded as quickly as he could, eyeing the woman. His presence was heavy and his gaze was sharp as an eagle's. Nothing missed him, not even the subtle details and minorities of life.

He noticed everything.

Hannibal laid his hands on his lap, mimicking Bedelia as he crossed his leg over the other but with much more authority. “Why did you stop seeing her?”

Bedilia scoffed. “I didn't stop seeing her, she told me her mind had healed. That she didn't need me anymore, that she was fine.” Her voice was laced with subtle bitterness at how you interrupted their sessions. Bedelia felt like she was being called incompetent indirectly by you.

That was all Hannibal needed.

This time you dropped Will off again but this time, he seemed evidently upset with the idea of you running in with Hannibal Lecter again. It was weird to you, how he acted when it came to you crossing paths with his psychiatrist. Hell, you'd even made a joke about not snatching the handsome doctor away from Will.

But he only responded with a sour face, definitely not impressed with your horrible attempt at a joke.

As he exited the car and headed for his office, you watched him but then your eyes captured a wallet and a phone right where Will was sitting. He'd left his belongings behind. You let out a sigh, contemplating whether to give them to him now or later. You didn't care that your bestfriend acted all sour at the mention of crossing paths with Hannibal.

He was uncomfortable with the idea of you meeting his own psychiatrist, now that was weird. You left the car too, with the items in your hand and headed inside. Air chilly against your skin, you smiled at how its soft hands caressed your skin, prickling it slightly but you basked in the feeling.

As you reached the door, you knocked on it and waited for someone to open it. It was peeled open and there stood Hannibal, and a smile broke when he caught you standing there. Cladded in a long coat, which concealed a casual dress behind it. His gaze took you in, drank you like the most finest wine and then he captured the familiar wallet and phone in your hand.

He'd seen it one too many times in the hand of his patient.

“Here to return his belongings, I assume?”

You nodded your head. “He forgot these.”

Extending out your hand with Will’s things in your hand, the door was pulled open more revealing another figure. Will stared at you, a look of annoyance on his face when he found you standing there. He'd told you, even subtly warned you to not ever come to Hannibal’s office but here you were. Breaking the only rule that he presented before you.

You rolled your eyes at Will, his behavior abnormal and different than usual was something you didn't appreciate at all.

Hannibal took the things from you and then handed them over to Will. “I'll take my leave then, goodbye.”

Just like that, you were out of the towering presence of those two. God, was it only your imagination or did it actually feel suffocating being in their presence together — especially after Will had warned you off basically to not come in front of Hannibal Lecter ever. The way he smiled at you, it was sweet but for some reason, goosebumps woke up on your skin.

You shook your head, went home and after a warm shower, curled up in your bed. An attempt to sleep, for the umpteenth time but everytime you rested your eyes, that same nightmare haunted you once more. Adding a new digit to the list as it did. Reminding you of the darkness that would always stay within you. Rooted inside you.

The blood soaked hands, the screams, the shattering of glass — it replayed over and over again. Like a film that was lagging a lot, hesitating to go forward, so all you could do was rewind and watch that same scene over and over.

You woke up, drenched in sweat. Chest heavy and lungs desperate to drag in as much air as they could. It was all too vivid, like it had happened today and not years before when you were only a little girl.

It wasn't easy living with the fact that you had been spared by your kidnapper while he slaughtered your friend, right before your very gaze. You didn't deem it worth it, didn't find yourself worthy enough to be alive, instead of her.

If he'd only killed you too.

— ♡ —

The next day Will had told you he'd pick you up from your house and take you somewhere, somewhere where he could discuss something important with you. It baffled you when the man pulled up to his own house, the irony of it leaving you with certain uneasiness.

“Will, just tell me. Are you jealous?”

That could be the only reason.

He stayed silent, not answering your question before letting out a sigh of what you assumed to be frustration. He shook his head, fingers scurrying to fix his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Eyebrows furrowed and curls resting against his forehead.

“You need to stay away from Hannibal Lecter. He is a dangerous man, a sadist, a cunning bastard.” You blinked at all the profanities Will Graham was suddenly using to describe his own psychiatrist.

You had no idea of his little plan to play along with Hannibal to catch him so this whole situation was extremely uncomfortable for you.

“You're making that up.” You accused him, with a shake of your hand to dimiss his accusations. “If he was such a cunning bastard, he wouldn't be your psychiatrist.”

“Listen to me.” Will’s voice was dangerously low, frustration obvious in it. “Just do what I'm saying. Don't linger around him, don't even drop me off anymore.”

The water was slowly boiling over your heads and it could spill at any moment. Tension rose in the room and you, with your adamant personality, didn't give in. You wanted— no, you needed to know this. Just what the fuck was going on and why were you being kept in the dark?

It made you feel hopeless and almost sad, because to you it seemed as the only paddle in your life didn't really trust you.

“First, stop hiding shit from me. I'm your fucking bestfriend, Will. Just tell me—”

The loud noise of his palms slamming down on the wooden table in his living room made you flinch. Your body jumping as you let out a shriek at the loud noise, not very fond of them ever since the traumatizing event from your childhood. You hadn't expected him to react like this, especially with such aggression.

“Just stay the fuck away from Hannibal Lecter. That's all I'm asking you to do, you can't even do that?” Eyebrows scrunched and disappointment swirling behind those specs of his, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach at his tone, words and his unexplainable behavior.

It all overwhelmed you to the core.

Then a knock interrupted you both.

Will and you turned around and found Hannibal standing behind the net door, his aura slicing through the heavy tension that hung like a knife on your heads. You composed yourself, hands with a tremor reaching out to fix the few loose strands of your messy bun.

You swallowed thickly — once more put in a situation where you had to pretend to be fine for someone else. All because of your own bestfriend.

The fact made you vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable. To the point Hannibal would smell it off you and it gave him the perfect opportunity, laid out on a damn silver platter. Awaiting to be devoured.

“What're you doing here, Hannibal?”

Hannibal’s gaze exchanged between the two of you, pretending as if he wasn't just standing outside eavesdropping on your conversation. It was evident on your face that you wanted to leave, as soon as you could but without Will’s help, you couldn't actually leave. His fucking house was in the middle of nowhere and he was your only ride.

You wrapped an arm around yourself instinctively, a habit you'd adapted to when you were little. In a silly little attempt to protect yourself from the harm you faced as a child.

“Had to discuss something about a case but I guess I chose the wrong timing?” His gaze trailed over you and he took notice of the way your chest fell and rose, how you stood there as if you were cornered and scared, your own arm wrapped around you in a sense to provide the comfort you ached for.

You seemed so perfect like this.

On the verge of breaking.

“I'll be outside.” You didn't even bother grabbing your coat, only reached for the door and left without sparing them both a glance.

The cold hit you like a damn truck, shivers dancing across your spine. Regret consumed you about not grabbing your coat from Will’s hanger but you were too stubborn to go back inside and take it. So you chose to suffer in the cold, sitting by the stairs, staring ahead into the darkness the forest and the night had to offer you.

You thought about Will. His behavior, how he'd spoken to you despite knowing your history and it pained you but as usual, you suppressed it. Your pain didn't matter, how could it matter when you were lucky enough to be left alive while your own friend was slaughtered like some fucking animal?

Knees glued to your chest, you didn't know for how long you stayed there but you felt someone put a coat on you. Your body was quick to absorb the warmth it had to offer and you lifted your head up, hoping you'd find Will but instead Hannibal had shown you more decency than your own friend.

‘Cunning bastard, this?’ You thought.

“Thank you.” You held the coat tightly around your shoulder and noticed it wasn't yours, it was his own. Hannibal had given you his own coat and the bare minimum action, the simple act of kindness, it all was enough to worsen the situation for you right now.

For Hannibal, this was perfect.

You were the perfect prey.

He knew Will would react the way he had — his emotional outbursts were bound to get aggressive and he wanted Will to be on thin ice around you. To make you cautious of him, so that your lonely heart will begin searching for another companion.

Him.

“Your car isn't in the driveway, which means Will is going to drop you off.” He said and stared ahead at the empty space next to Will’s car. “But I suppose you don't really wish to be in his presence right now.”

You slowly nodded.

He was a psychiatrist, a witty one at that. There was no point in lying to the man as you tightened the coat around you. His scent bringing along a sense of comfort. It was warm, a little like nature itself.

“If you allow me, I can drop you off.”

Hannibal extended his hand out, staring down at you and you looked at his hand, then him. It was a moment of silence but help was offered and you slowly slipped your hand into his, as he raised you up from the ground. The touch of your hand, being this fucking fortunate enough to be able to feel you flesh to flesh, Hannibal was over the moon. An itch growing in his thumb to run it lightly over the skin of your knuckles but he somehow with the power of a celestial being restrained himself.

Your perfume had branded his skin.

You had branded his skin.

He lead you to his car and you sat inside, all the while Will watched from his window. There was only so much he could do but he knew that Hannibal’s charm was difficult, nearly impossible to resist. Whether he visited in the form of archangel azrael, a companion or a foe.

He was still going to be in control.

The car ride was silent when it began. Your gaze lingering over the passing street lamps, blurring in your vision as a lone tear slid down your cheek. Akin to the person you were, lonely and isolated.

“I could sense the tension in the air.” Hannibal’s soft voice sliced through the silence. “Are you alright?”

You turned to him and nodded. “Just a small misunderstanding, that is all.”

It was, infact, not a misunderstanding. Hannibal knew why you seemed this heartbroken, about the incident that occurred to you as a child, about Will’s outburst and how it terrified you.

Like a ripe fruit, you were all raw and vulnerable. Ready to be consumed by him, to be savored by him, to get rid of his insatiable hunger.

Hannibal believed he could fix you — by not fixing you at all. A broken masterpiece you were and he'd be damned if he tried to put back the pieces together. He preferred the picture he saw right now more.

“He should not have raised his voice at you.”

Your gaze lifted up. “You heard it?”

He nodded, while swiftly taking a turn into a street. “I did not mean to pry, my deepest apologies. I managed to arrive exactly at the time when he was having his outburst.”

“It's fine.” Your head hung low as you played with your fingers in your lap. Hannibal noticed, writing it down in his little mental diary he'd kept in his head. “I don't understand why he behaved the way he did. It was, upsetting.”

You mumbled the last word, shaking your head. Hannibal glanced your way. “You were under Bedelia's care, no?”

By now, you'd come to know that the two were friends and knew each other. But deep down you hoped that they hadn't discussed you like some curse, like some ugly freak who magically survived a cruel man while her friend got swallowed.

“Yes.” You whispered. “Her ways to heal the human mind are, peculiar.”

To be honest, Bedelia seemed like a woman who cared more about the influence and power she had on you than your well-being and that feeling of forced incompetence along with other things became the reason of your end with her.

Hannibal chuckled, barely.

It was just there and you heard it for a single moment. “Did you not find her treatment appropriate?”

“I didn't deem her fit to be my doctor,” you picked at the skin around your nails out of habit. “honestly, I don't find anyone fit to be my doctor.”

There was silence.

But Hannibal soon spoke. “Could the feeling that only you're capable of understanding your mind because of you going through what you did be the cause of this?”

Jesus, the man was spot on.

It slightly unnerved you.

“Are you analyzing me, Dr. Lecter?” There was soft sarcasm your voice was laced with as you smiled.

The man stared straight ahead. “Maybe, would you mind allowing me to analyze you at my office over a glass of wine?”

You knew you couldn't go back to your lonely house, especially after the remnants of Will’s behavior affecting you the way they did. The sound of his palms slamming down on the wood echoed in the back of your mind and you had no other option than to agree to Hannibal’s offer.

But poor you, it was all part of his plan.

He'd read your file, thoroughly, well aware of your triggers and your mind. How it worked, processed things, he knew it all and the wicked man used it to his advantage. To lure you in like a prince charming only to shift into a hideous beast.

When you made it to his office, the man had offered you the finest of wine. The most expensive one, all the way from Florence and you could practically taste italy in the bottle — delicious, warm and fruity. You reveled in each sip as you sat across the man on his table, flipping through a book about the human mind.

You enjoyed reading books, found solace in them and Hannibal had all the more to offer.

“I can't believe you've got these many books.” You pointed out, lifting your eyes up at the man who was now coming down from the ladder with multiple books in his arms. It was sweet how he was offering you his book, his wine, his company because somewhere he knew you needed it.

Loneliness was a slow death.

Poison so bitter but painful, it tore you apart piece by piece.

He ambled his way towards you, taking a seat on the chair and placing the books right in front of you on the table. “These are nothing. I own a library too.”

Your eyes widened. “You're kidding.”

Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat at how your eyes expanded in sheer shock, his lips expressing a small smile. You seemed akin to a child in that moment, innocent and appalled by the idea.

“No, dear. I'm fortunately not.” He replied, hands settled on the table. “I could take you there.”

“I'd love to go.” You were quick to reply back but then composed yourself a little, not wanting to come across as desperate. You began coursing through the book, reading the contents of it simultaneously sipping your wine.

Then Hannibal spoke. “You seem disturbed, dear.”

You stopped reading and looked at him, with a confused expression before realizing what he meant. Will’s behavior had left you in a great deal of confusion as well as underlined fear. It was stomach churning, when you remembered how dark his eyes were or how angry he appeared. All too similar to the fragments of the man that had abducted you during you childhood.

“He reminded me of him.” You blunted out, not really caring anymore to conceal your emotions and fears. It had to be how vulnerable you were seeming, craving human companionship and attention. To be comforted and reassured that nothing was wrong with you.

Hannibal leaned forward. “Of who?”

“The man who took me.” Your fingertip danced over the stamped ink on the beige piece of paper, gaze following along the letters and lines. “Every aggressive man reminds me of him.”

“Your fear of aggressive men stems from your childhood, as one had taken you. It is no surprise you'd feel uneasiness in Will’s presence now.” Hannibal was right. These heightened emotions of fear and discomfort would only consume you if you continued seeing Will in the light that he had presented himself in.

He was your friend. Your best friend, the man who was always there — to be your paddle and to be your pillar but now you were scared of him. Of everything, the whole situation to stay away from Hannibal. You were right in his office and so far, he had brought you no harm at all.

Only provided you with company.

“He told me to stay away from you.” The lump in your throat began to grow. If you had a gut feeling, it had definitely melted in the presence of Hannibal. Blinded by his charm and his long blonde strands hovering over his forehead. “It was confusing, Dr. Lecter. It was— too much. He repeated it like a broken record, over and over again. Ordered me even and I don't understand why he was telling me to be this cautious when you're his psychiatrist.”

Hannibal and you made eye contact, for a brief moment before you averted your gaze from him, lacking the courage to look straight into his penetrating eyes.

“Will is unstable.” Hannibal stated, as he caressed his own hand with the fingers of the other. “I have no intention to ruin the camaraderie you both have but his attempt to kill me tells me enough about his mind.”

Your eyes expanded.

Will tried to do what?

And the fact that Hannibal seemed so unbothered about it and continued seeking him as a patient. It was like Bedelia’s case all over again, except hers actually ended meanwhile Hannibal continued giving Will his time and effort.

“But why? I don't get it and you're still seeing him—just, what is going on?” Stressed and frustrated, feeling like you were being kept in the dark, you brought your fingers upto your forehead and began massaging it. It was too much for you, especially when you had your own battles to fight.

Hannibal reached for you, his own hand placed above yours. In silent comfort. “Will is my friend, or so I see him as one. He's unstable and his acts of impulsivity are my responsibility to fix although—”

He stopped and tilted his head. “I can see it is beginning to affect you too.”

You sighed, as you didn't remove your hand from underneath his. Only watching him with a gaze clouded in confusion. This was all like plates shattering over and over on the top of your head and still there is no bleeding, only the throbbing pain that increased with time.

Maybe Hannibal was right.

He was his doctor after all. Will appeared unstable, especially after his behavior tonight and the complexity of the situation terrified you.

“It is humiliating to be flesh.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you finished all your wine. The sound of Hannibal’s chair scraping against the floor caught your attention and you watched as he rose up from his seat and walked towards you. In his hand was a sketchbook that he'd retrieved from his table.

He stood next to you, placing the sketchbook over your book and then leaning down. The close proximity should've made you uncomfortable, should've sent you scurrying out of his office but because of how gentle he was, you didn't budge. “Open it.”

Your fingers with a subtle tremor in them reached for the crisp edge of the sketchbook and you flipped it open revealing the art of pencils. Humans, bodies, organs, they were all presented to beautifully and you looked up at Hannibal.

Face a few inches apart.

“You made this?”

He nodded.

You flipped through a few more and resisted the urge to caress the face of the greek personalities he'd drawn. They were so beautiful, as beautiful as him and you didn't find yourself uncomfortable like how you expected you would when laying eyes upon the more —gruesome part of his art.

It was beautiful.

“This is truly spectacular.” You commented in a whisper as you raised your stare from the sketches and looked up at him. Your lips were only a few inches apart and Hannibal found himself completely captivated by you. The sheer vulnerability and raw pain in your gaze was tugging him towards his arousal, undeniable and strong for you.

He swallowed as his dark eyes took in the sight of your lips.

And you repeated his actions, staring at his lips in return.

It all happened too fast. He'd kissed you, hand reaching to brush the hair behind your shoulder, then moving to grasp your face in it as he delved deeper. Hannibal was holding back so much, concealing the animal that he was from you, hiding beneath the cloak of a gentle demeanor and a beautiful face. His thumbs swiped over your cheek in gentle brush strokes as he pried your lips open, inserting his tongue.

Draping it around your own, the kiss grew intense and this was the first time you'd ever gotten involved with a man like this. It was too inundating but it also felt extremely good as you had denied yourself this pleasure for so long.

Hannibal’s hands slithered down to your waist, to circle around it curve of it as he raised you from the chair, lifting you up to place you down on the table. Still your height couldn't accommodate with his, neck craned up to kiss him. He soon broke the kiss, forehead pressed against yours as his warm breath mingled with yours.

“It is not humiliating to be flesh, rather special and profound.” He whispered, in response to your sentence from earlier as you gazed up at him. Eyes clouded by desire as your heart swelled with finally feeling like you were being understood. Hannibal understood you.

The connection you felt with him was intense.

The man leaned, and you expected him to kiss you again but this time he chose to attack your neck, peppering kisses all over the unmarked skin. His hands rested by your side, fingers digging into the wooden desk to keep the monster inside him at bay. He was too overwhelmed by his wanton for you but you were a fragile little thing.

He couldn't scare you, not yet.

His teeth dug into your skin, biting and tugging like some beast and you winced in response. It felt good but it was something you hadn't tried with anyone before. You've had sex before— one boy and he was nowhere near the same level as Hannibal. Just by biting on your skin, the man had you squirming.

“If Will finds out—”

He silenced you by pressing a finger on your lips. “Will shouldn't care. You're a mature, independent, grown woman. You know what you want, don't you?”

You nodded.

He was treating you like an adult, rather than some broken little doll. But that was Hannibal’s play, he knew that you craved the validation, you wanted to get treated like an adult and not some damaged person. After being in therapy, people almost treated you as you were some mentally unstable person who didn't know what she wanted. A broken, deranged person that didn't know better.

Hannibal made you feel differently, in such a short amount of time.

“So beautiful.” He whispered, as his fingers moved to the buttons of your dress. He unbuttoned each, swiftly proving that he was an experienced man and then his hands rose up to your shoulders, slipping the dress off and exposing the bare skin.

Your breath hitched and in a couple of minutes, Hannibal had completely rid you of any clothes. His own blazer soon came off, followed by his tie and then his shirt. Before you could reach for the buckle of his dress pants, he scoped you up in his arms and took you over to the couch. Lips pressed against yours, he bit harshly on your lower lip, enough to draw blood and somehow you enjoyed this aggressive manner of his kissing.

He laid you down on the couch and crawled on top of you, his knee settled between your thighs. You whimpered upon contact with his clothed knee as he traveled down, while leaving kissing against your skin, face buried between your thighs. The man held you open to his lascivious gaze, pressing a soft kiss against your clit causing you to shudder. Your thighs twitched in response and he loved how your body responded to his touch.

You were a delicious fucking sight.

He licked a long stripe across your cunt and your back lifted off the couch in anticipation. Hannibal pushed you back down, both his hands holding you firmly down on the couch, his arm prying your thighs further open. Closing his lips around your clit, he sucked feverishly and you cried out. It felt too fucking good.

One hand released you, dropping between your legs. His fingers ran up and down your cunt, coating themselves in the slick of your arousal and then slowly, he added a finger into you. He was gentle with it and stared up at you, mouth still continuing its assault on your clit while holding eye contact. Tears danced on your waterline, waiting for that one single push to slide down in rivulets on your face.

His finger picked up its pace then he added another. Your wet walls clung tightly onto his fingers, pulling them in and he reveled in all the little sounds you and your body kade. The whimpers you released, the wet sounds of your greedy pussy and the ragged breathing escaping you.

“How do you feel, Darling? How good am I making you feel with just my mere fingers?”

Hannibal’s voice had fallen a few octaves lower, deep and rough. You parted your lips open to speak but the wicked man curved his finger and your lips only let out a gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the feeling. He grinned at your reaction. “Answer me.”

You swallowed down another whine threatening to run out of your throat. “It feels amazing, Hannibal. Just —so good.”

He added a third finger and curved them altogether, hitting them against the little sponge of pleasure inside you, rapidly and with increasing speed. Your hands traveled down to grip on his golden strands, fisting them as he continued licking across your cunt and fucking you with his fingers.

Then he stopped.

Dropping all his movement.

His tongue replaced his fingers causing you to buck your hips in anticipation and need, aching for more. Hannibal was feasting on you and he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. He was beyond it. Not possessing any sort of self control anymore.

Fingernails digging into the side of your hips, he dragged them down into your skin as he hungrily ate you out. Tongue plunging in and out of your tiny hole, licking and savoring the taste of you. You were fucking sweet, heavenly and delicious. Hannibal’s mind was clouded by his lust, his ache for you. How he wished he could trap you inside thess walls of his office, of his home and never let you out ever again.

Even the sun and moon didn't deserve to capture the sight of you.

“Hannibal, I'm close.” You whined, thighs shaking as your stomach churned with a foreign feeling. It was going to be fucking intense, you knew it because of how much you were shaking.

He looked up at you. “Come for me, Darling. Make a mess.”

Your stomach clenched and twisted at his words and you soon unfurled underneath him. Thighs suffering from perpetual convulsions and eyes seeing white, rolling to the back of your head. Blood pumping in your chest, spreading like wildfire in your veins as your forehead perspired. The searing pain from your tight grip on his hair only hardened his cock, as it stirred against his thighs. Hannibal reveled in the pain you inflicted upon him.

He rose up from between your legs and your overstimulated pussy throbbed at the sight of him. Your orgasm dripped down his chin, plump lips glossy and covered in the juices you'd produced. Face messy and flushed, he stared back at you with a hazy look in his darkened eyes.

When you came down from your high, you found Hannibal completely naked. Long gone were his dress pants and underwear and your were taken aback at the length of his cock as well as the girth. The first and last time you slept with someone, their size was nowhere the same as Hannibal. The drastic change was slightly overwhelming for you, it even terrified you a little.

He took a seat on the couch, at the end of your feet and then pulled you up, settling you on top of his thighs. Holding you in his muscular arms, the man held the tip of his cock against your hole and then slowly sat you down.

You head fell against his shoulder, face buried in his neck. Being able to feel him like this, sinking all the way down to the hilt, you could only whimper. Hannibal made you feel so full and it was only the beginning.

You felt his fingers trapping your cheeks between them, as he pulled your face out of its hiding spot. Four fingers resting on one side while his thumb squeezed the other. Tears sprung out, sliding across your cheeks and crashing into his digits. You sniffled as he stared at you. Eyes lacking emotions and face still. Hannibal was a man who possessed immense control over himself, he couldn't give away his obsession for you.

“You will look at me.” He commanded, voice thick with need. “As I fuck your little cunt and make you unravel on my cock, you will not move your gaze away from me. Understood?”

You could only nod.

His grip tightened on your cheeks and you winced, lips forming a forced pout. You knew what that little act meant and you parted your lips, managing to mumble out, “Yes, I understand.”

Hannibal nodded, satisfaction glimmering in his dark eyes as he released your face. Both hands now settled on your hips, he began to move you up and down with your help. You gasped every time you felt his cock graze against your wet wells, the feeling consuming your ability to think. Your nails managed to draw blood from his skin but Hannibal didn't care. He wanted you to leave more marks, brand him as his, make him yours.

Oh he was already yours.

“Move, Darling.” You started to move too, lifting yourself up and then sinking back down on him. Over and over again, it was repetitive and Hannibal’s face was full of pleasure. His grip tight and firm on your hips, almost as if he were trying to seperate the flesh from the bone.

But you liked it.

He held you like he didn't want you to disappear.

You fucking loved that.

You both stared into each other's eyes, Hannibal’s domineering stare overpowering yours an you nearly made the grave mistake of shutting your eyes but the little pinch on your waist made you peel them back open as fast as you closed them.

“Don't be disobedient now. I expected better from you.” You could sense the disappointment in his voice and you shook your head, still riding his cock and clenching around him everytime you felt his tip bruise your sensitive spot.

You stared at him, through a blurred vision. “You're intimidating—” You sputtered, the sentence breaking. “when you stare at me like this, its intimidating.”

“Do I scare you?”

You shook your head. “No, you're beautiful.”

That was enough to cause Hannibal to become a mess. Fuck, he was all over the place and unfortunate enough for you, you couldn't see it but the man was a mess on the inside. The skipped beating of his heart, the way his eyes were almost turned into little crescents, the smile lines appearing for a split moment before vanishing.

You felt him press his lips against yours, this time in a rough kiss. Arms circled tightly around you. He kissed you like a wild beast having its feast, enjoying its food. His teeth grazed against yours when you opened your mouth, lips against lips, tongue dancing with tongue. Salivas mixing together, it was too messy and you felt the mixed saliva dripping down your chin. He lapped at your wet muscle, sucking on it.

All the while he slammed you down on his hard cock and you let out a high pitched whine into his mouth. That action alone was enough for his cock to harden even more inside you, his hands now unwrapping from your waist and toying with your bare breasts.

“Such a tight little pussy—” He grunted, head thrown back. “so fucking tight.”

Fingers rolling your nipples between them, tugging and massaging the soft flesh. The searing kiss, the sensitive touch of his fingers against your breasts, the slow and rough thrusts of his cock — all of it combined pulled you near another orgasm.

Your toes curled at each thrust and then Hannibal switched the position, laying you down on the couch and getting on top of you with his cock still inside you. Grabbing you by your ankles, he placed them on his shoulders and began to fuck you at an animalistic pace.

“Hanni—" You cried out, lips agape and tears continuously falling down.

He didn't stop. His bangs were sticking to his forehead, a snarl making its way to his face and that was the hottest thing you'd ever seen. To the point it made you tighten around him. “You're mine. You're mine to fuck, mine to claim, mine to own and possess.”

You took those words as something said in the heat of the moment but Hannibal? Oh he was serious. He meant each and every word, every syllable came straight from the darkness in his heart.

His hips snapped and your stomach went crazy into knots. “Please, please. Harder, please Hannibal.”

You were crying out for him at this point. Your hand reaching out to touch his chest but he didn't allow you, grabbing both of your hands and pinning them above your head on the couch. Bending your knees to the point they were pushed against your chest, his face grew closer to yours. Staring deeply into your soul and that moment felt intimate more than anything you'd ever experienced in the world.

“My pretty Darling.”

You swallowed.

Just his dark gaze. You could live your whole life while being captured in those obsidian eyes.

Snaps growing relentless, he kept fucking you till you came all over his cock. Your orgasm slipping out in the form of liquid, making a mess everywhere. Staining his couch, his chest, his cock. Leaving evidence of the sexual encounter between the two of you in a moment. Hannibal let out a chuckle — deep and soft. Music from heaven to your ears.

You almost ascended to heaven from how good it felt. His cock still thrusting up against your cervix, bruising your spot and continuing its assault. Your sensitive body hadn't even calmed down, still twitching and shivering but Hannibal didn't seem it fit to stop.

A low growl rumbled from his chest as the sound of skin against skin grew, reverberating against the walls of his office. With a loud groan, he also spilled inside you. Coating your walls white, throbbing and pulsating inside you. Filling you up to the brim and he didn't care if you were to get pregnant.

Hannibal was a father once.

To his little sister Mischa.

He wouldn't mind having a child of his own, especially with you.

He fucking loved filling you up and he'd make sure to do it again. After all, you were his now.

The man slowly adjusted himself underneath you on the couch, making you lay on top of his to the side. Arms wrapping tightly around you, he held you pressed against his chest as you came down from your high. His hand brushing your hair gently, caressing your forehead.

Only the fire crackling in the fireplace could be heard, mixed with the soft uneven rhythms of your breathing. You couldn't believe you'd slept with Hannibal, right after your best friend had a literal outburst about it. Guilt took over and you slowly sat up, grabbing Hannibal’s shirt from the floor to cover yourself up with it.

“You're thinking.” He commented.

You looked at him and sighed. “I have this guilt consuming me.”

Hannibal reached over, brushing your hair behind. Playing with the strands. “Why's that?”

“Will is unstable, and I have been there too. I should have heard him out instead of running away from him.” You sighed, shoulders slumped. Hannibal didn't like that, he didn't like that you were feeling bad now. After all he'd done, he couldn't have you feeling bad for Will.

“You reacted according to your trauma, it is completely valid. You were in a situation where you didn't feel safe, so you removed yourself from it.” Thumb caressing against your cheek, he smiled. It was subtle. “You should prioritize yourself more often.”

Somewhere Hannibal was right too.

You leaned against his chest, closing your eyes. Then you felt a stinging sensation in the back of your nape. It hurt but it wasn't extreme, like something had pierced you. Just then you looked up and saw Hannibal already staring at you.

Your vision became distorted.

“Hannibal..?” You called out, confused and in a daze. “What's happening?”

“Go to sleep, Darling. You'll be alright soon enough.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and fear filled you up. Just what was happening? The man held you in his embrace, caressing your cheek as you slowly lost all control of your limbs and fell against his chest.

Darkness dragged you in, from your feet and the last thing you remembered was seeing Hannibal with a syringe in his hand.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi!!

Can you do a Sam Winchester begging plus size reader to sit on his face. Whatever vibes you want :) Dommy Sam is always a fav but as long as Sam is reassuring and eating reader out, I’m happy :)

Thank you!!

.⋆｡Peaches and Cream｡⋆.

Sam Winchester x plus size reader

Dean made the mistake of leaving you alone with a very soulless version of your best friend who only wants one thing from you

Warnings: soulless!Sam, smut, friends to lovers?, oral (f receiving), mentions of condoms, praise, body worshipping, overstimulation, dom!Sam, almost getting caught, little bit of self-consciousness WC: 1.8k

Minors DNI

a/n: thank you all for being so patient with me, i promise i only have a couple weeks left of uni and i'm gonna come running back with some new fics!

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

His eyes burned into the back of your skull, as they had been for the past 10 minutes. And yet, you refused to look up from the book in front of you, even though you had not turned a page in that same amount of time.  You weren’t a stranger to Sam’s gaze, in fact you used to love it; the way his big puppy dog eyes trailed up your curves whenever he thought you wouldn’t notice never failed to have heat bloom across your cheeks.

But his staring was far different now.

Sam was different now.

You could hear him shift in his seat before the tell-tale sound of his boots against the cheap vinyl as he got closer. You swallowed around the lump in your throat though it did nothing to sooth the fear simmering inside you. 

“You’re not reading.” His warm breath tickled your neck. You shivered and squeezed your eyes shut. You knew what he wanted, and so badly did you wish to give it to him, like you always had but it was so wrong. His soul was gone, the very thing that made Sam Sam but it was still his body, his voice so tantalisingly close.

“Yes I am.” You bit back a whimper as Sam leaned in closer, his large hands planting themselves on the table in front of you, keeping you pinned to the spot. The tip of his nose brushed gently along your ear.

“No.” Suddenly the book was ripped from your hands and thrown across the motel room (something your Sam would never do). “You’re not.”

His lips closed around your earlobe. “Sam.” You cursed Dean in your mind, that man and his need for diner pie no matter how far out of his way he had to go to get it. “We can’t.” Fire pooled between your plump thighs, quickly soaking through your panties. 

He shifted closer, his strong arms now tightly pressed against you. He released your ear with a soft pop. “Can’t or won’t? Because I think we both know just how badly you want me, sweetheart.” You held your breath as Sam’s hands slowly moved from the table to your wide hips.

“Sam.” You tried again but this time he answered you with a deep growl.

“Say my name like that again and I promise that you won’t be walking straight for a week.” A moan escaped your lips before you could even think of stopping it. You could feel Sam’s plump lips curl into a devious smirk. 

“But-“ His grip tightened and all the doubts in your mind vanished.

“But nothing. Dean won’t be back for hours and you need to unwind and I happen to know the perfect way to do that.” 

As a last ditch attempt before your mind completely went fuzzy, you blurted out- “We don’t have condoms.”

His chuckle rumbled through your bones, sending a chill of excitement up your spine. “I’m not gonna fuck you, not today at least. I just want a little taste of this nice,” His right hand slid down the pudge of your stomach and wedged itself between your thighs, cupping you over the thick denim of your jeans, “juicy,” He nuzzled his face against your neck, “cunt.” 

“Be gentle?” You turned your head, encouraging the larger man to meet your gaze. His eyes shone with his victory.

“You want your Sammy don’t you?” He teased. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll give you exactly what you want.” And then he struck. 

His lips moulded perfectly against yours in a kiss long overdue. It was soft, almost sweet but you could feel the way he was holding back, forcing himself to relent to your wishes, even as he cupped your jaw with his other hand, deepening it. 

You whimpered against his lips and he reluctantly pulled away. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Sam yanked you from your chair and lifted you into his arms. “Sam!” You tried to protest, but he silenced you with a kiss more determined than before. 

His tongue forced its way into your mouth as he strode to his unused bed. Your arms wound around his neck, Sam growling in approval. His knees bumped against the mattress and he fell forwards, catching himself with his right hand before he could crush you. Your pussy squeezed around nothing at the raw strength of the hunter you’d been pining for. 

You grabbed at the front of his flannel as he tugged on the hem of your jeans. Your teeth clacked together and the sound of ripping fabric filled the room. “Eager girl.” Sam groaned against your lips as you still held onto the now destroyed shirt in your grip. 

Your jeans button popped open. “Please Sam.” His long fingers grazed the wet spot on your panties and your hips bucked up, encouraging his touch to go just a little further down. He chuckled cruelly but yet he obeyed. The calloused tips of his fingers pressed into your throbbing clit, making your jaw drop with a silent moan.

He nipped at the frantic pulse along your throat, unbothered by the deep welts he was leaving behind. Your heart skipped a beat as you laid your palms onto his naked chest. “Sam.” His name was barely even a breath. 

“Good girl.” Your ruined panties were pushed to the side as his middle finger traced up your slit, gathering as much of your wetness as he could. “So wet for me. You’ve been waiting so long haven’t you.” He cooed.

You tried to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t budge, content in teasing you. “Shhh let me play a little longer and then I’ll give you what you want.” His slender hips rolled against your thigh, letting you feel the monstrous bulge of his cock where it was straining against his own jeans.

You squirmed as he finally pressed his thick fingers to your clit, just barely dousing the fire between your legs. “Please.” Your eyes burned with tears of desperation. You needed him like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

Sam tsked and in response, pulled his fingers away. You nearly cried as your relief was ripped away from you. “Now, while I do love your begging, we’re doing this my way. You need to learn.” 

He leaned back onto his heels, his ripped shirt perfectly framing his toned stomach and chest. You couldn’t look away from him, never could you have even dreamed that your best friend was this good-looking. “Jeans. Off.” 

Your hands flew down to your hips, eager to obey. Sam smirked and pulled off the tattered flannel, his eyes remained on you though, burning with lust. Your hands shook as you finally got your pants off. Your panties quickly followed after.

“What a good little slut, listening so prettily. You just want your Sammy to take care of you don’t you.” You nodded desperately.

“Please, wanna be good.” 

He grabbed your wide hips and rolled onto his back, dragging you up the length of his torso until you were straddling his wide shoulders. “Then be good for me and sit on my face.”

“But-“ He shot you a lot from between your legs and dragged you up further so you had no choice but to plant your knees on the mattress next to his head. You caught yourself on the wall behind the headboard as you tried to rock forwards and pull yourself up. 

“Do this for me, sweetheart. Lemme drown in that pussy.” His teeth sunk into the soft fat of your inner thigh. 

“But Sam, I-I don’t want to hurt you. ‘M not exactly small.” 

“Sit. I won’t repeat myself again.” Your knees wobbled but you remained upright, determined to not harm the man beneath you. “Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His arms wound around your legs and forced you down onto his mouth. “Perfect.” He grumbled into your cunt.

“Sam!” But before you had the chance to even think of prying yourself from him, Sam’s lips sealed around your clit and it took every ounce of self-restraint you had not to court around his head and keep him right there, suckling at you, forever.

Your moans echoed through the cheap motel room, bouncing off the peeling wallpaper and soaking into the old carpeting. You couldn’t help but grind down onto his face, chasing the pleasure he had already denied you once before. Sam groaned in approval from between your legs. His tongue lapped at you, moving with a precision that had you asking yourself why you hadn't relented sooner.

“Are-are you spelling something?” He just winked at you and ducked his head down once more. Your eyebrows scrunched as you tried to concentrate on the fluid movement of his tongue against you though the blinding pleasure made it difficult.

S-A-M-U-E-L He took a breath. W-I-N-C-H-E-S-T-E-R

He was branding you, and that thought sent you catapulting to the precipice of your end. “Sam, Sam please. ‘M so close, please, please.” His right hand released your thigh and quickly slipped underneath his chin, letting his thick fingers finally breach your needy cunt. The knot in your stomach wound impossibly tighter and then just as he crooked his fingers, hitting the delicate bundle of nerves within you, Sam spelled one more word.

M-I-N-E

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You thrashed on top of him, wave after wave of euphoria washing over you, drowning you in it as Sam’s unrelenting ministrations pushed you right into another orgasm just as the first was dying down.

Your hands flew to his silky hair and tried to pry him off of you but he kept going, seemingly determined to make you pass out from the pleasure. “Too much.” Your whole body shook as your nerves lit up like fireworks.

“Oh god-“ Suddenly, the tell-tale rumble of the Impala had both you and the man you were straddling freeze. The car door squeaked and you both looked at each other. 

Sam grabbed your hips and rolled you onto your back before ripping his half-naked body from yours. You threw the covers over yourself and shut your eyes, praying that your heavy breathing wouldn’t be noticed by the other hunter. 

Just as Dean’s footsteps reached the motel room door, Sam had tugged on a new (non-ripped) flannel from his bag. Your eyes slammed shut as the door creaked open and Dean slipped inside.

There was a beat of silence. “She sleeping?” You breathed out a sigh of relief, you couldn’t imagine what he would’ve thought if he realised what was happening between his soulless little brother and you barely moments before.

“Yeah.” Sam responded in a clipped tone, a now regular occurrence with his brother. Dean hummed and you heard the sound of a plastic bag being placed on the kitchen counter.

“I got some food for us. You want any?” You could’ve melted from the genuine concern in his voice but as Sam answered, your stomach churred with embarrassment.

“I already ate.” He smirked as he wiped away the last remnants of your cum from his lips with his thumb.

SPN Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Join my taglist!

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3slothy @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @midnight-shadow-va @mooniequeen @slutfor-fictionalmen @km-ffluv @black-rose-29

Supernatural

@hc-geralt-23 @mandythemint @jenniferpendragon @certifiedhunter @lover-of-books-and-tea @honkytonkbabe @eternallyvenus

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hannibal X Reader: An ethical issue

Summary: you wanna fuck your therapist thats it thats the plot

Warnings: smut, sex, penetration (p in v), fingering, pet names, making out, light choking, light bitting, hickeys, patient x therapist, unprotected sex, pet name (dear), not proof read (got lazy)

Word count: 2,9K

“It's unethical, you know?”

You raise your head to look at Hannibal, eyes making contact with his. He can see the questions swimming inside your head. You’d been deep in thought when he’d spoken and he had managed to break your train of thought . You placed your cup on the table, wiping your hands on your legs before focusing on Hannibal once more.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“It's unethical.”

“What is?”

“Wanting to fuck your therapist.”

Your eyes widen at Hannibal's words. His eyes bore into you, observing the way your face flushed the more he maintained eye contact. You should probably refute him but it's no use. Dr Lecter has seen into the deepest parts of your mind. He knows who you are. And now he knows your secret. The truth is the sessions had really been helping. It wasn't until recently that you’d found an ulterior motive for coming to every session. 

You had a crush on your therapist. 

You focus your gaze on the wall in front of you, trying your hardest to avoid looking directly at him. Your mind races to try and find something to say but you come up empty. From the corner of your eye you see Hannibal stand. He stays standing for a moment, looking at your frame. You close your eyes as you hear his shoes begin to move against the floor. A nervous sigh leaves your mouth as you feel his body move closer to your position. He stops a couple steps before you, causing you to bite the inside of your cheek. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Maybe you should just apologize to him. Tell him he was right and that you would figure out a way to get over him but that would be a lie. And if there was one thing you could never do to Hannibal was lie. He knew you too well. He'd be able to call you out immediately. 

Hannibal watched you squirm slightly, observing your nails scrap against your skin as you rubbed your arms nervously. You still hadn't looked at him. He had already begun to miss the eye contact. Hannibal called out your name.

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can, my dear. I want to see your eyes.”

His voice sent shivers down your arms. He was always soft spoken with you but the deepness of his voice as he spoke seemed to have shifted. Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. You have to raise your head a bit to see him properly due to the position you were in. Hannibal stared down at you tenderly. He looked at the doe eyed look that had made its way into your features. A smile spread across his face, a silent way of trying to calm you. Unfortunately it did quite the opposite. His smile seemed to stroke the fire that was already burning in between your legs. You shifted in your seat, trying to conceal your desire for him. Hannibal noticed the way you shift under his gaze. It made him feel powerful. He enjoyed it but he also couldn't help but reach out for you. 

“I can help you. If you ask me to.”

You watched Hannibal sink to his knees, allowing him to be face to face with you. You stare into his eyes, head tilting to the side as you do. He reached out for you, one hand moving to caress your thigh as the other made its way to your face. He’s trying his best to hold on, not wanting to go too fast and scare you off.

From the moment he’d first seen you you’d intrigued him. Despite everything you’d been through you were kind and trusting. Maybe even a little too trusting. It made Hannibal feel protective over you. He saw himself as your knight in shining armour and despite you not knowing it he would do anything you asked of him. 

“Hannibal…”

Your lips part as his name slips through them. It sounds almost like a moan which causes blood to go rushing down to Hannibal's groin.

“Yes dear?”

“I…I hum-”

“It’s okay. Tell me what you want.”

“You. I want you.”

A satisfied sound left Dr Lecter's lips at your confession. You shut your eyes expecting him to finally close the distance between you two but he doesn’t. Instead he rises from the floor and begins to walk away from you. You give him a puzzled look. Had he just been toying with you? Was this some sort of experiment? If it was you were sure you’d failed. But if that was the case why had he given you a hum of approval? 

“Come back to the real world dear. Don’t get stuck inside your own head.”

You forced your brain to focus on what was really happening instead of dwelling on negative thoughts. You’d been exercising your focus ever since your first session with Hannibal and you’d gotten pretty good with coming back to reality. Hannibal could tell by the way you looked at him that you'd managed to silence your mind. He gave you a proud smile.

“That's the fastest you’ve ever focused. Well done dear.”

“Thank you.”

“Come sit with me.” 

You rose from your chair, making your way to the blue loveseat Hannibal was sitting in.  You left a small amount of space between you too. The appropriate amount of space you thought there should be between a patient and their doctor. Hannibal couldn’t help but shake his head.

“Always so formal.”

“You’re one to talk. I don’t think I've ever seen you without a suit on.”

“Do you think about that a lot? Me without a suit I mean.”

“More often than I should if I'm being honest.”

It was strange. Despite everything that had happened moments ago this whole conversation still felt extremely professional. You felt like you were in one of your regular sessions. The only difference was the change of topics and the sitting layout. 

“You can come closer. I won't bite.”

Hannibal paused for a moment, turning his head so that he was looking directly in your eyes.

“Unless you want me to.”

He’d expected you to be shocked, perhaps even to get up from your spot due to his bluntness but to his surprise you didn’t. Actually you did quite the opposite. You began to laugh. He’d never heard the sound of your laugh before but he enjoyed it thoroughly. He’d have to make you laugh more often. 

Once your laughter died down you went back to looking at Hannibal. He watched your eyes shift over his face before you lifted your hand. Your fingers grazed against his cheek as you traced his skin. He never broke eye contact, eyes glued to yours even as you caressed his face. 

“I don’t think you have any idea how handsome you are.”

Your statement caught him off guard.  Your soft touches and loving gaze combined with your tender words had managed to make his head spin. For the first time in a while Hannibal felt his stomach bloom with what he could only describe as butterflies. He’d started off this conversation with the intention of touching on a sore subject, your infatuation with him, and had ended up discovering something about himself. It was unethical for you to want him but what was even worse is that he wanted you too. 

He’d moved so quickly that you hadn’t had time to react. Before you knew it Hannibal's lips were crashing into yours. Your body fell down onto the loveset at the force of Hanibal’s kiss, causing you to find yourself trapped beneath him. Your legs widened on instinct, allowing him to slot his large frame between them. Hannibal’s kiss was rough but caring. He nipped at your lower lip as his hands guided you to wrap your arms around his neck. You did as he asked, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. His mouth may have muffled your moans but it couldn't stop you from bucking up into him. You felt the outline of his dick against your thighs causing you to whine.

Hannibal loved the way you felt against him. He loved how your fingers clung to his hair as he kissed you. He loved the feel of your breasts pressed against his chest. But most of all he loved how desperate you were for him. You decided to wear a dress today. You didn’t  even really known why but you were glad you had. 

And so was Hannibal. 

One of his hands traveled down to your clothed cunt his fingers moving to the edge of your dress. He broke the kiss for a moment, leaning his head down so that he could see what he was doing. You watched him push your dress up allowing him to see your underwear. Hannibal’s head snapped up to look at your face. He gave you a small grin.

“Lovely color.”

“Shut u-hum!”

Hannibal’s fingers moved over your lips spreading them open before beginning to insert a digit inside. Your mouth fell open at the feeling, a broken moan slipping from your lips as it did. Hannibal watched your face fill with ecstasy as he continued to finger you. He’d orignally planned on bending you over his desk and fucking you from behind. But now that he’d seen the angelic look that came over your face as he pleasured you he knew he wanted to watch you cum on his dick. He’d fuck you on your back like a gentleman. 

Well, perhaps not like a gentleman. 

He’s barely done anything and you're already babbling nonsense beneath him. 

“Hannibal i-i fuck- there please there.”

“That feel good?”

“Yes please i wanna… i wanna-”

“Tell me what you want dear.”

“I wanna cum. Please make me cum.”

The way you beg for him makes him think the men you’d been with before hadn't really cared about your pleasure. The thought angers him but it also motivates him to show you how good you can feel. He enters a third digit and you can’t help but latch onto him as you cry out.  You pull his body closer to yours and he lets you. He feels your hardened nipples rub against his clothed chest making him want nothing more but to rip off his shirt. Later though, right now he needs to focus. His hand moves expertly against your pussy thumb moving to caress your clip as his fingers continue to penetrate you. You sigh out his name making him lift his head from where he was looking so that he could stare into your eyes. 

“Hanni… I'm gonna cum.”

“Go on then, cum for me.”

It was as if a verbal command was all that you needed to let loose. The second the words had left Hannibal's lips he felt your cum begin to coat his fingers. He watched your lips part, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you spasmed against him.

What a sight you were.

Hannibal removed his fingers from inside you placing a kiss to your temple before he rose to his feet. Your head lolled to the side, trying to follow him despite your blissed out state. Through blurry vision you saw Hannibal remove his suit jacket placing it carefully on his desk chair. He began unbuttoning his shirt slowly. As he did so he watched you come back to earth. Once you’d gained feeling in your body again you turned over, lifting yourself up so that you could watch Hannibal undress. He felt your eyes on him turning to face you. You gave him a smile which he returned.

“How are you feeling dear?”

“Wonderfull.”

“I’m glad. Tired?”

“Not really. Why?”

Hannibal tugged down his pants in one quick movement allowing his dick to spring free. You watched his member bob for a moment before turning your attention back to his face. 

“Because i’m going to fuck you. Take your dress off for me.”

You tugged at the edge of your dress pulling it off your body with ease. Once you’d gotten it off you threw it to the side before moving to unclasp your bra. Hannibal watched you throw your bra in the pile along with the rest of your clothes. 

“Stand for me dear.”

You did as he asked, hands moving to fidget with each other as he made his way back to you. Hannibal placed his hands on your cheek, cradling your face in them. His eyes trailed over your naked body before he gazed into your eyes once more.

“You are magnificent.”

Your lips latched onto Hannibals in desperation, legs moving backwards  towards the love seat. You crashed down onto a small couch once more tugging Hannibal down with you. You thought maybe he’d scold you for your desperation but by the look in his eyes and the feeling of his hard on against your thigh you could tell he needed this just as much as you did. You spit in your hand moving to stroke Hannibal's dick. He groaned against you, allowing you to caress him for a moment. He rested his face against your neck breathing in your scent as you stroked his member. His teeth grazed against your collarbone making you bite your lip. He sucked at your shoulder enjoying the small gasp that left your lips. Hannibal maneuvered his hand so that he could wrap it around your wrist stopping you from moving. 

“That's enough dear. I want to be inside now. Do you want me inside?”

“Yes Dr Lecter.”

Hannibal grined down at you as you gave him a cheeky smile. Without any warning he plunged into you making your body move backwards at the force. He fucked you with incredible speed, hips moving in a pace you didn’t think was possible. You dug your nails into his back as he continued to ram into you.  His hand moved to your throat, fingers wrapping around it with a gentle squeeze. Once he saw you didn’t flinch away from him he tightened his grip around you, not enough to stop your breathing but enough to give you a bit of a thrill. It was embarrassing how fast you reached your orgasm. Before you even realized you had begun spilling your juices around Hannibal's dick. You’d been so high on your own plesure you only noticed when Hannibal let ou a small “fuck” against your ear. Your body sagged into the loveseat as Hannibal continued to pistol into you. For someone whose job consisted of sitting for most of the time he had a lot of stamina. You drifted off into your head only realizing Hannibal had finished when you felt his body fall into yours. He wrapped his arms around you pulling you as close into his as physically possible. You moved to stroke his hair instinctively, the need to touch him consuming you.

“You did so well for me dear. Rest now.”

Hannibal placed a kiss on your chest. You felt him pull out of you making you feel empty. But you didn’t feel that way for long because before you knew it you had drifted off into sleep. 

You woke up on the loveset. Your lips part as you stretch, a yawn escaping your mouth. You could feel something soft surrounding you causing you to open your eyes. A blanket that hadn’t been there when you had fallen asleep was carefully wrapped around your naked frame. You pushed yourself onto your elbow, rubbing your eyes as you gazed around the room. 

“Sleep well?”

Your head snapped at the sound of his voice. Hannibal was standing on the other side of the room with his back turned to you. He was still completely naked. When you didn’t respond to his question Hannibal turned on his heels to face you. Instinctively your eyes trailed over his naked body, your mind going to last night's events. You moved to look at the clock on the wall. It read 9 o’clock.

“Don’t you have any appointments today?”

“I canceled.”

“Why would you do that?”

“So that we could have breakfast together.”

Hannibal moved away from the table he’d been working on giving you a clear view of the breakfast he’d laid out. You rose from the loveseat moving towards him. Hannibal watched you make your way to him, admiring the beauty of your body as you moved. He could see the hickeys he’d left on your neck last night. The sight pleased him greatly.

You looked over the contents of the table. Everything looked delicious. You shifted your gaze to Hannibal, a smile spreading over your face. You wrapped your arms around his waist giving him a hug. Hannibal's arms wound around your body, his hands moving to hold your head. 

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. Now sit. Your food is getting cold.”

The two of you sat down and began to eat. The room was quiet as you ate. It was a sort of quiet you’d become accustomed too. The quiet that came when your mind decided it needed to jump into action.

“What are you thinking over there?”

“What are we gonna do? About us, I mean. We clearly crossed a line yesterday.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No, of course not. Do you?”

“No. I do not.”

“Someone could find out. It could ruin your job.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t. It’ll be our little secret. Patient confidentiality and all that.”

“Our secret huh?”

“Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Wonderful. Now drink your coffee and finish your eggs.”

[ficnation]

Chapter 4: Bon Appétit

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, 18+, SMUT A/n: I'm really putting off the inevitable here sksksksk. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3 Btw this is my first time writing explicit smut (unedited)

This is also another late piece to @the-slumberparty Bingo Card event (prompt: proposal) - > Events Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

When Will comes home that night after promising you he’ll only be gone for a few hours, he’s doing anything in his power not to look you in the eyes. He kept his word, coming back exactly three hours and twenty-six minutes later. You stare at him, intrigued. You don’t understand why he’s acting this way, but your mind screams at you that it can’t be anything good—it’s right, like always.

“I resumed my therapy with Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” he informs you after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. He still doesn’t look at you, as he takes off his jacket and boots.

“You did what?” You blink at him in confusion—utterly dumbfounded. The meaning of his words doesn’t even register in your brain. 

“I’m going to keep on seeing Hannibal,” Will repeats in the same monotonous voice.

It hits you like a train, and your stomach churns at the thought of them sitting across from each other, talking about emotions and Will’s life. Your expression turns to one of disapproval as the man expected.

“After everything he’s done, after everything he put you through, why would you do that?”

Will doesn’t respond right away, and you can tell he’s struggling with his words. “There are things I need to learn about myself,” he says finally. “About what it’s like to be me.”

You stare at him, burning invisible holes in his head, trying to decipher what is truly happening here. The guilt that emanates from his person, the fact that he still can’t meet your gaze—it’s more than suspicious. The realization hits you even harder than the fact he wants to be anywhere near Hannibal Lecter.

“Why are you lying to me?” you ask, voice on the verge of breaking. You hate yourself for ever thinking that he trusts you completely after all those years apart. The tears gathering in your eyes are more angry than sorrowful.

For a moment, Will goes silent. The silence is thick, full of tension as the two of you remain in your positions—you watching him, and him with his back turned to you.

Then, he closes his eyes tightly, as if fighting against a headache. He finally speaks, but only after turning slowly to face you. You immediately notice the pained expression on his face, the guilt that drips from his very skin.

“I have to keep seeing him.”

You go to protest again, but the sound of your voice cracks, and no words emerge. Will doesn’t wish to ever hear this noise from you again. It feels criminal—being the one who caused it. His heart breaks in a way it never did before—it stings like someone delivered it one thousand cuts.

You both remain silent for what feels like an eternity. Will doesn’t look away from you, and your eyes are locked on him, on that misery and pain staring right at you. No one moves, no one blinks, no one probably even breathes. Everything is still, except for your heart which aches even worse than it did before. The silence gets so thick you can almost feel it—touch it. For the life of you, you don’t want to be the one to break it.

You want to speak, beg, convince him to stop these mind games, to give you an explanation you could understand. But you choose to keep your mouth shut, slumping further into the cushions of the armchair. 

Will’s eyes don’t leave you. They remain fixed on you as if willing you to speak, to tell him something that would make all of this suddenly go away. Anything.

He wants you to read his mind, and understand his pleas, but you can’t— and even if you could, you wouldn’t. You don’t do anything, don’t even move a muscle and after a few moments of waiting, Will finally breaks the silence.

“I don’t want him to do this to anyone else,” he says. His words are soft and quiet, but they carry a weight that you feel in your chest.

“Yet you didn’t start with that. You chose to lie.” 

Will sighs. He looks exhausted as if you’ve been here asking him questions for hours, even though it’s been twenty minutes at most.

“I didn’t want you to stop me. There, I said it,” he says. “It was hard. Harder than anything I’ve ever done. Can you just cut me some slack over here?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t know what to think or what to say about this whole situation. It seems absurd, and you have to remind yourself that you might’ve paused your story with Will Graham, but for him time has passed, things have changed.

You’re not proud of the words that leave you next. God, you wish you could just catch them in the air before they have a chance to reach his ears and put them back in your mouth.

“Change your fucking tone, Will.”

You’re shocked with your own words, but Will doesn’t seem annoyed or offended, not like most people would. He’s still staring at you, but you notice the slightest hint of amusement in his expression as if this new side of you intrigued him rather than annoyed him.

“You don’t like me speaking to you like that, my dear?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He makes no attempts to sound serious—just enough to make you laugh, but his words carry weight. He’s genuinely curious.

Will Graham just called you “my dear” and your whole face warms up at this term of endearment as you observe him fall to one knee in front of your person.

“What are you doing?” you choke out, confused, butterflies fluttering wildly in your chest.

Will takes his time to reply, his eyes scanning you and your reactions. He seems to enjoy the sight of you flustered, barely keeping up with what’s happening right in front of your face. His heart skips a beat more than twice in the span of a few seconds.

“I’m proposing.”

The words seem so absurd that you half expect him to break the tension with a quick joke, but he doesn’t. His gaze is glued to you, his words as serious as they can be. You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react. Your mind is frozen.

“What the fuck, Will?”

Will grins at that and shakes his head as if he’d expected your reaction to be no different. He keeps his stance, one knee on the floor, as he stares at you affectionately—with so much love you’re surprised he doesn’t explode from it. The man is enjoying your confusion and the fact that he managed to pull it out of you. He’s not ashamed to admit it, either.

“That’s the kind of reaction I was hoping for,” he says quietly and in a matter of time, his hand is on your thigh, tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric of your pajama pants. “You were always going to say no for the first time.”

You blink at him, trying to coax out words from within you, but you don’t find any. That only makes you even more confused, and your expression turns to a frown. Is he really… asking you to marry him?

“I know, I’m quite the romantic.” He pauses, trying to stifle his chuckle. “Do you want me to ask you the usual way?”

“Will, are you serious?” you ask, your voice so gentle the words barely sound like they’re yours. Will only nods his head. “I don’t want you to ask at all. I want us to get married as soon as possible.”

He reaches down to grab your hands in his. “I never believed in marriage. I’m not sure if I do now either,” he admits awkwardly, playing with your fingers. “But I really want to hear people call you Mrs. Graham.”

Your heart jumps as he speaks as if you’d been waiting for him to admit those words for years. The words sink in slowly and your eyes become distant, as if you’d been taken back in time. A warm feeling spreads across your chest like you just swallowed a whole bottle of wine in one ginormous gulp.

“You know I can’t say no.” Your words are quiet and soft. He pulls you down onto his lap, his hands still around your fingers as he brings them to his chest. “Can I call you mine too?” 

“Always,” Will replies, his voice low and quiet, but full of love and emotion. “It’s been you all along.”

A soft smile rests on your face as you look down at him. Your head is right above his, but you decide to close the tiny distance between you by leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. You feel your heart race as you do so.

“Did you come up with this to distract me?” Your voice is playful, but the air around you is thick and humid. 

Will leans forward and wraps his arms snugly around your waist, hugging you tight. Your fingers play with his curls, his head back on your chest. The whole weight of him hangs onto you like all the sins in the world, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Maybe,” he replies, a smile tugging at his lips, even though he seems serious.

You can feel his body shift, and suddenly Will presses you firmly against the growing hardness inside his jeans. The whimper that pushes past your lips as you feel it through the thin layer of your pajama pants is downright desperate. You both can’t hide the fact that your breaths are becoming more irregular, muscles tensing under each other’s hands.

“I like being distracted like this,” you whisper, your nose nuzzling against his temple. 

A low growl comes from the man’s chest. You’re close enough to the source of the sound to feel the vibration against your body. He presses his face to your neck, taking in the scent of your skin like he’s oxygen-deprived.

“Should I distract you too, Will?” you ask him quietly, tugging at his tousled hair.

“You’ve done enough, dear. I’m already distracted.” His voice is soft, and his words catch in his throat. Will doesn’t seem to have a single rational thought going through his head. It’s like all he can process is his need for you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say this was a spell cast on him. “I want you.” His hand moves to your hip, and he presses into you harder, your breath catching in your throat. “Please.”

And who are you to deny him of anything his soul could ever want or need? You don’t wait for more encouragement as your fingers start working on hastily unbuttoning his shirt. They trace the smooth lines of his chest, the scars that mark his skin, and every little detail of him—every part of his history that he once saw as a defect. It’s not. It’s who he is, who he’s always been—his past is a part of what made him the Will you know and love. 

Your fingers slowly make their way down to his belt and unclasp it too in one go. You graze over his hardness on accident, already feeling its heat through the thin layer. You let out a whimper and your whole brain starts to short-circuit. 

“Slowly.” Will’s voice is hoarse and raw, his fingers digging deeply into the skin of your hip. “I want to see you.”

The man doesn’t waste any time in waiting for your reaction as his hand moves up to your face. His touch is gentle as it pushes back your hair, his fingertips rubbing against the skin behind your ear before they start pursuing the shape of your neck—every muscle and tendon.

“Slowly,” he repeats, and you can’t help but groan.

Nevertheless, you obey, letting your hands explore every surface of his flesh again like he’s the perfect puzzle that you need to solve. His own mirror yours, sliding below the thin layer of your t-shirt, grazing over your navel, and pushing upwards.

Every move you make leaves its mark, causing his body to tremble even more. His breath becomes so uneven, you think he might fall apart at any moment. The mere sound sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes, like that,” he mumbles, and his lips are right next to your ear as he whispers these words. His hand moves again and starts to tug at your shirt.

You help him remove it in one go, left in only your plaid pajama bottoms. Will’s touch is familiar, one you could never forget—not like the dozen strangers through the past few years, you never even remembered their faces come tomorrow morning. But his touch sets you ablaze—burns and soothes at the same time, it’s unforgettable.

Will reaches up to pull your head against his so that you’re staring straight at one another. His touch is gentle, but there’s an intensity to it that you can’t mistake. His lips slowly approach yours with such an intense need that you can read it in his gaze. Even though he doesn’t say it, you feel that this kiss is more than just desire—it’s a need to be as close to you as possible, to never let you go again. His tongue delves inside your mouth, and you sigh into it.

The feeling of your skin pressed against his leaves Will desperate, his mind so overwhelmed and in a haze, he can’t even form the words to describe the sensation. His hand keeps moving as if your flesh were an addiction. The sound that leaves from his throat is something so close to a purr—he’s almost embarrassed. 

You feel his body tensing, his muscles flexing against yours, and your skin feels hot and all too sensitive. He’s taking advantage of this moment to touch you anywhere he can reach. His fingers leave no inch of your skin unexplored as he slowly begins to lower your pajama bottoms.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The sound of your voice draws Will’s eyes closed as he inhales deeply.

Will’s fingers glide down toward your legs, and he looks as if all his dreams are coming true at once. You see his eyes flicker open, and he looks at you with such intensity, such concentration, that it’s hard to breathe as you’re pulled along by an invisible force. He finally lets go of your chin so that he can drag your pajamas down further until they’re thrown across the room. 

You take his hands in yours, placing them over your breasts. And it’s only when his teeth drag across your neck, from just above your collarbone down to the crook of your shoulder, that he loses it completely. 

There’s no being slow or gentle when he pushes you away, standing up and pulling you to your feet. You take hurried steps back as he nudges you toward the bed. Soon enough, your calves hit the mattress and you fall back onto the blue duvet. You don’t even have a chance to take a breath, Will is hovering over you, elbows on each side of your head. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, looking deep into your eyes—so deep you’re afraid he can see the broken soul behind them. 

You help him push his jeans and boxers down the length of his legs. The second they’re no longer an obstacle, Will’s fingers delve between your thighs, circling your clit teasingly with the gentlest of touches. Your lips part in a gasp, hands falling onto the covers to clench them in your fists.

“Will, please,” you plead between whimpers. He was the only one who could ever bring you to the point of begging, and you hope he knows it somewhere deep within. 

The man faces you with glassy eyes, swiping the tip of his tongue over his bottom lips. He doesn’t need you to say anything more, he just nods feverishly and lets your fingers guide him inside. The sensation of your heat gripping him tightly makes him groan, lips falling agape. You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing them behind his back, and pull him even closer. 

“Will,” you moan his name against his lips.

It spurs him on, makes him even more eager to please you. He draws back almost completely, then buries himself inside you again in one smooth motion. Your thighs tremble visibly, and it almost makes him smile. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, fingers tugging on his curls. 

Will rocks into you deep and steady, one of his hands digging into the meat of your thigh with so much force it hurts—but goddamn, you love this kind of pain. And he makes it feel even more heavenly when his thumb begins to trace circles over your clit.

It doesn’t take him long to take you over the edge—hard and fast—turning you into a mindless, hot, whimpering mess. You mumble his name over and over again as your heat pulses around his length, making him come just a few moments after you. He claims your mouth with his, making you taste your name on his lips. God, does it taste heavenly.

Night came quicker than you realized, covering the sky with bright stars and a full moon. Despite it, it’s not pitch black outside. The shimmering snow reflects the shining lights, fighting off the darkness well enough. It doesn’t make you feel any less threatened, even though it should.

You’re wrapped only in the blue duvet that covered the bed, as you lie on your side, facing Will, who’s already asleep. His bare thigh is right against yours, and the heat of his skin is almost impossible to resist. You let your eyes wander across his body, his physique—he looks like a sculpture, a masterpiece of flesh and bone.

Your body still aches from his touch, and you feel like you’re a puddle of emotions with the sole mission of holding love, affection, and desire for him. You’re about as far away from being “fine” as possible. You didn’t even get a chance to tell him you’ll be working together from now on. He doesn’t know he’s allowed back in BAU, and you wonder if you should leave him unknowing for as long as possible. It’s not your greatest idea, but the idea of him breaking beyond repair terrifies you.

You try to calm your heart as it races and skips a beat every time his body shifts—the smallest movement seems like it could wake him up. But as you lie there in the darkness, his hand reaches out and finds its rightful place on your thigh again, his fingers barely grazing your skin. The sensation makes you almost jump out of your skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why are you awake?” he asks with half-closed eyes.

“Can’t sleep,” you reply softly, wanting to touch him back, but not sure if you should.

“I figured,” he murmurs. “You didn’t sleep much yesterday either.”

You sigh sadly, you didn’t think he’d noticed. His hand moves up your thigh, almost instinctively, until it touches you just below your hip. It stops there, and your eyelashes flutter at its warmth against your skin.

“You can touch me.” Will’s voice is so quiet it’s almost inaudible, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your fingers slip under the duvet, so the fabric doesn’t block your touch, and you begin to trace the outline of his leg with the tips of your fingers. Will’s eyes finally open, and he looks almost nervous at the intimate touch—until you find the spot where he’s ticklish. He lets out an adorable whimper, so naturally, you laugh and keep going.

“No, no, please stop,” Will moans, trying to fight back his chuckles, squirming as he tries to get away from your touch. The whole time he’s half-smiling, his fingers digging into the duvet for stability. He tries to grab your hands, but it only makes you laugh harder. 

You find another ticklish spot on the side of his torso and continue to tease him. Eventually, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as you watch Will scoot back, out of your reach. Your sour mood from before is gone in an instant.

Will moves up so that he’s sitting up against the wall, practically on the edge of the bed, and he looks almost offended by your reaction. Your gaze shifts, so you can get a fuller view of him.

“I’m not as ticklish as you think,” he says, his tone serious, though you can still hear a tremble in his voice. “If you wanted to see me squirm,” he adds, “you could’ve found a different method.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you immediately pull the sheets up to cover the bottom part of your face, trying to hide your flustered reaction from his eyes. 

“You’re so cute,” he says, his voice just a whisper, almost as if he was afraid that anything above a murmur could wake the dogs sleeping by the fireplace. “So adorable.”

Will’s hand rests on your head, his fingers playing with the strands of hair that cover your ears. You can feel him studying you—how your nose twitches and your eyes almost close as you wait for his next words. Something about it feels intimate as if he’s taking in every detail of your expression one by one. It’s been a while since he’s done that, you didn’t even realize how much you missed it.

“You can pull it down, you know,” he says playfully, his hand still in your hair. “This must be suffocating.”

“I know,” you say quietly, as you pull the sheets down from your face.

Will’s fingers interlace with yours, and you can feel his thumb circling your wrist. 

“And yes, it is a bit suffocating.” You pull the sheets down to your collarbones, and a chill runs through your body as the cold air touches your arms. “Maybe you can warm me up.” 

Will smiles—a small, sweet smile, with a bit of mischief thrown in.  “Maybe I can,” his tone is playful as he pulls you close, your cheek finding a home on his chest, right above his heart.

After a few long minutes of silence and listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat, you turn to face him, resting your chin above his pec.

“We’re back on the team, you know?” you mumble almost mindlessly.

Will looks down at you, his expression gentle as he caresses your hair. 

“I know.”

His gaze trails down your face and lingers on your lips for a brief moment before it shifts again. There are so many things Will wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it—he fears it would ruin these quiet, peaceful moments between you two.

You don’t question how he already knows that, choosing instead to voice your other thoughts—ones that’ve been on your mind almost the whole day. “What did Alana want from you?”

Will’s hand pauses against your face when you bring up her name, and for a moment he seems speechless, which is rare a thing for him.

“I…” He trails off but then speaks again as if he’s found the courage to say the words. “Alana wants me to stay away from Hannibal,” he says quietly, his fingers moving on your cheeks, your brows, your chin, as if his hand isn’t allowed to stay still for a second without touching the flesh it can. “She’s sleeping with him.”

“Why does she want you to stay away?”

“Because I tried to kill him.”

You don’t even blink at his confession, there’s no fear in your gaze—no ounce of surprise. There was a time in your life when this revelation would’ve shocked you, broken you in half, but after your father’s death, when you’re faced with it, it’s… easy to handle. Will expected this kind of indifference, he knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t judge nor be afraid.

“How?”

Will lets your question hang in the air for a long minute before he speaks. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Not by my hand—not like that,” he starts. “Hannibal has a lot of… a lot of hold over me,” he pauses again, “he made me want to do it.” It’s probably the most vulnerable, the most genuine explanation Will has given anyone. He’s speaking to you from the heart and in pure honesty. “An opportunity fell on my lap to send someone after him, so I took it.”

You nod your head in acknowledgment—it makes sense to you. “It’s a shame it didn’t work out.”

A hint of a smile appears on Will’s face. He moves his fingers to the nape of your neck and to caress the lines of your ear—it’s something he always used to do when he was thinking and you were nearby. “Alana’s very upset with me.”

Will’s other hand slides over your thigh, his fingers teasing the skin, almost as if he was trying to test it, like a cat with a piece of string. He’s still thinking when his hand starts to move upwards, closer to your hip.

“Don’t take it to heart,” you advise him, leaving a soothing peck on his jaw. It was the best you could do.

“I’m trying.” He laughs in a low rumble, his hand moving between your legs and your whole body tenses. “I’m trying,” he says again.

The touch is so soft and gentle—almost teasing, yet your body seems to be craving it. It makes him nervous, but also excited, and when he closes his eyes his head just falls back to rest against the wall, his teeth showing as he breathes in deeply.

“Would you have done this if I…” his words trail off into silence as the man doesn’t seem certain about how to finish his sentence. He looks at you, his face revealing all the questions that he doesn’t dare to ask.

You grasp his jaw between your hands, encouraging him to speak his mind, but being unconditionally patient at the same time. He tries to say something again, then changes his mind. It’s as if he’s playing a constant game with you, trying to reach into your mind without opening his mouth like most people do.

“If you…”

“If I was still the same,” he mumbles out finally.

“Will, you are still the same person. Perhaps a little more broken than before, but it’s still you.”

Will stays silent and still for a minute with his eyes closed, his hand still between your legs. The tips of his fingers keep barely touching you, almost a caress, although a bit harsher than before.  His lids flutter open, so you can see his face as it’s lit by the moonlight.

“There’s something I’d like you to promise,” he says cautiously as if every word is carefully thought out before he speaks it aloud. “Promise me that you’ll keep trusting in me... even if you don’t understand.” 

Will’s hand moves up from between your legs so that he can touch your waist and hold you in place. The fingers of his other hand stroke your face down to the side of your neck, and you can feel how your heart starts to beat faster and faster with each touch.

“I will always trust you, Will. Just never lie to me again, have a little faith in me too.”

Will lets his eyes fall down to your lips again, and he can’t help but bite his own in response. As if he was trying to hold himself together but the urge to kiss you was almost too strong, the way his gaze kept shifting. 

When his lips touch yours—it’s a long, slow kiss, deep and gentle at the same time. He holds you in place, your hips pressed against his as if he doesn’t want you to move, even a centimeter. And you don’t dream of being anywhere else but here—by his side.

“I love you, Will.”

[honeygrahambitch]

Will and Hannibal were welcomed into the headmaster's office. A short bland and almost bald man with glasses that made him look like a mole was sitting at a desk. His hands were clasped and he tried to look very important and serious.

He greeted them with a nod.

"It would have been better if both of Lizzie's parents were here. I will politely ask the one of you who is not her legal gardian or parent to leave." He said after looking at Will and Hannibal from head to toes.

Will sighed. It was not the first time in their life when that was happening.

"We are Lizzie's parents."

He rolled his eyes.

Hannibal forced a smile to mask his annoyance. He was sure the reason they had been called there was a total waste of time.

"Oh, ah...I see. This explains everything. Take a seat then." The mole replied unsatisfied with the situation. "You probably know why you are here."

"We don't. Your secretary called one hour ago and only told us to rush to school. She wouldn't even say if Lizzie was alright."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about her. She is."

If she hadn't been, Hannibal would have turned every member of the school stuff into a different type of appetizer.

"We had an incident. She stabbed a colleague's hand with a pencil."

Both Will and Hannibal looked as if they were still waiting to hear the incident.

"They are kids." Will said.

"No, no, not a colleague of hers. She stabbed a colleague of mine." The headmaster explained.

Only then did Will and Hannibal's expressions lit up. Not with anger or shock. But with pride.

"We are assuming she was not unprovoked. You should call her here, she should assist to this conversation." Hannibal said. He wanted his child to have a chance to speak for herself.

"I... wouldn't do that. The teacher screamed, the janitor rushed into the classroom, tried to take her away from the teacher...and she bit the janitor."

"The janitor put his hands on our daughter? To "take her away"? Why would he touch her?" Will asked leaning forward, a vein on his temple almost popping up.

"She wouldn't let go of the pencil, it was an emergency. And up until you arrived, she bit three other members of our staff. This behavior is unacceptable."

Hannibal got up from his seat. "I would like to see my child now, I can imagine in what state she is if no adults in this institution could handle her properly."

"We-"

"She is seven." Will raised his voice over the headmaster's. "Once again, what did the teacher do to her?"

"Well...she might have suggested... that... you see... You have to understand, this teacher is old school, she has her own values, she didn't mean to insult anyone."

"Are you done stuttering?" Will asked as he got up from his seat and walked next to Hannibal.

"The kids were talking about their families and the teacher might have insinuated that you... Are going to hell...cause...you know." The mole explained awkwardly and fearful.

"I don't." Will said. "I might raise hell here though." He threatened, making the smaller man hoping for his chair to absorb him.

"And why exactly did you feel the need to call us all the way here? Because you wanted to apologize in person?" Hannibal asked, his tone dominating and demanding at the same time.

The headmaster felt like the gazes of the two man might slowly burn him like acid.

"I... actually...yes. Absolutely. We apologize for this incident which was absolutely unethical and unacceptable on our side"

He sounded like a mouse who was squeaking, cornered by two cats.

Will nodded. "Where is Lizzie?"

"Second door to the right."

"He will make a good Thanksgiving turkey." Hannibal whispered to Will as they left the room, their hands brushing against each other.

[hammyballeceter]

Hannibal Lecter-

Little Lamb

Hannibal x reader

- mentions of a suicide attempt & mental illness.

You had been a patient of Dr Lecter for about a month now, his first appointment being with you when you were still on the ward after a attempt to take your life. The man who you’d come to know as Dr Lecter was kind to you, his voice soothed your thoughts and you began to look forward to seeing the peculiar man each week. You tried for a little while to not let your mind wander to how attractive you found the older man, but then again it pushed other far more darker thoughts aside for awhile. And you indulged yourself into thoughts of the amber eyed gentleman.

————-

“I hope that you’ve been doing as we discussed in the last appointment”

His eyes flicked to yours and stayed there, he had an intimidating undertone to him, an intensity to his presence, which made you crave him more. Your skin prickled as if it was cold, shuffling in the seat to try and distract from the feeling of him staring at you.

“Yes, I’ve been trying to. The thoughts are as intrusive as ever. Although I’ve found a new vice that’s sort of helping. When I think about them the thoughts calm for a while. But they soon come back. And they come back with vengeance”

Your voice was quiet, as it had been all your life. Slightly above a whisper but not by much. Being softly spoken would often mean people would ignore your existence. But not Dr Lecter, he gave his full attention to you when you spoke. Although it’s his job, you’d like to think maybe, just maybe he enjoyed hearing your voice too.

“The intrusive thoughts are getting more and more graphic, it’s like my brain is willing me to become so disturbed I’m past being helped. A punishment for not being dead. I still wish it had worked.”

Your eyes never dared to meet his unwavering gaze, you knew he was looking at you, it made your skin burn in the best possible way but caused you feel even more insecure then you’d ever been. What he must think of you sat there covered in scars of your own making

———————

His eyes never left you as you sat in a rather large chair in his rather large office, the room oozed class & money. When ever you were in his presence his eyes found you and he couldn’t bring himself to rip them away. And anyways, he enjoyed watching you squirm under his gaze he could quickly tell the affect he had on you. Your appointments with him were something he looked forward to. He was drawn in by you he learned a lot about you during your appointments even making a conscious effort to ask about you outside of what the appointments were supposed to be about. Being under intensive treatment meant he got you for an hour 3 times a week to his delight. He couldn’t quite understand why a beauty like you wanted to be 6 foot under. He always thought people with such beauty also held a disgusting amount of vanity and self importance. But not you, he enjoyed your beauty, and he found himself not wanting to slice you open and eat your body piece by piece. And that scared him. He didn’t want to stay professional with you, he wanted to patch that dark little mind of yours and claim you as his.

“your thoughts are getting worse? what sort of things are these thoughts about? Don’t be afraid to tell me” He asked. Jotting down what ever notes he needed.

—————

“About hurting people, about hurting myself. Images, awful images. They’d flash into my head, just like before. But instead of them just being about me hurting myself they’re ones of me hurting others, before I’d never had that I’m scared I’ll give in” the welling of tears made room ripple and blur.

“I just want to get better. But that’s never going to happen. My only relief is thinking about someone I know I can never have. Someone who wouldn’t even look at me. They just see me as a sick patient and even then my brain punishes me for it. It hurts me but they make me feel safe, they’re the only person that listens to me”

Your tears ran, wet and warm down your face. Hannibal had never felt an ache in his heart when seeing someone cry. Usually someone’s cries meant nothing to him. Especially the ones of those he killed. But with you, he wanted to push you up against a wall and make you feel anything but sadness.

“Whom is it that you think about?” He asked with out thinking, he cursed at himself for being so abrupt when you were upset.

You dropped your head allowing your hair to fan infront of your face, you wanted to tell him, tell him about how you wanted him to make your skin blaze, how you wanted to feel his lips on every single part of your body, how you wanted him to take every waking and sleeping moment of your life and fill it with him.

“I’m afraid to say Dr Lecter I fear he may never want to see sight of me again”

Hannibal watched as you raised your head, tears streaked your face, your cheeks turned pink and your lips plump, and yet he still thought you looked beautiful. Broken yet beautiful.

He wanted to kiss you, so deeply as if he would engulf you whole and allow you to be safe.

“Why would you think that? you may be in a bad place, but you are person that holds a lot more then what you’re going through. I’ve learned a lot about you y/n your beauty is merely only the surface of you, you are intense yet so gentle. Your brain holds great torment, yet you have never laid a hand on another despite what your mind makes you think. The mere fact you acknowledge that hurt, the fact you wanted to take yourself away in fear of hurting others shows me more about you then you think. I apologise if you think this is inappropriate of me. Only a fool would never want to see sight of you again”

His face never changed, his eyes held the same undivided intense gaze. But he meant every word of what he said. Y/ns brain couldn’t comprehend a man who had everything was speaking so highly of someone who had nothing.

“Dr lec-“

“my little lamb call me Hannibal, I insist”

You body shook lightly,

“Hannibal, it’s you. It’s you that I think about. You fog my mind daily. And you make my thoughts go even if its for a little while, it’s worth it.”

Hannibal got up slowly, placing his glass on the small table beside him. You nerves through the roof as he hadn’t said anything. Had you misunderstood him? Was he simply being kind out of pity?

His hand reached for yours, large yet soft and well manicured. You accepted his hand and allowed him to pull you up.

“You fog my mind too little lamb”

He gently caressed your cheek, taking in the feeling of you finally being pressed against his body. He pressed his lips to yours, savouring how sweet you tasted, mint mixed with an undertone of the expensive wine he’d poured for you earlier. Your mind finally at ease, for the first time in a long time.

“Now, don’t ever take yourself away from me.”

[shegatsby]

Ngl I've been thinking about this for awhile, imagine Hannibal Lecter with a Burlesque dancer like in the movie from 2010 with Cher and Christina Aguilera, reader as Ali/Christina would be really cool

A/N; Hi! Thank you for this request, i love that movie so much i sometimes listen to its songs. I had fun writing this. Happy Ramadan!

Words; 1.413K

Warnings; None.

‘’Hey! Y/N!’’ you heard a voice from the director of the show, ‘’It’s your turn now!’’ you looked at your reflection on the mirror for the last time, hair done, nails done, a nice lingerie that had rime stones on it… you were young and sexy and that was enough for your confidence. You’re good at climbing into a huge champagne glass which is filled with water and soup and big sponges and do your number. Years ago when you were a child you grew up watching burlesque dancer and the numbers they did on stage and climbing into a tall glass always entertained you, it was a classic. You were the only one who could do it right in your group, the stage was set, you had two dancers either side of the glass, dancing to the rhythm. When you walked to the stage the spot light found you and your audience started screaming for you, getting good reviews was a part of your every night. You loved the attention, slowly getting rid of your gloves you noticed someone. You knew your regular customers and this man was on the same spot, which was the VIP section, alone, drinking his champagne and admiring you from afar. He never flinched ever and you could tell that he liked dressing up and keeping everything pristine. Most of your regulars loved to send you gifts, mostly flowers, perfumes etc. However, this one never sent you anything, you started to get curious about him and asked your crew, they only knew that he was a psychiatrist and that’s it.

You moved on the stage like delicate swan, so elegant and all of the eyes were on you. As you danced to the rhythm and slowly undressed you felt his burning gaze, you knew that after the show you were going to get lots of presents except from him.

He never made a move. Most of the regular spectators loved to send you drinks and presents after the show but this particular gentleman only occupied his seat at the VIP section every week, drank his champagne, ate his luxurious dish and watched you from afar. ,

Human mind is tricky, the brain loves to focus on that one person who doesn’t have his focus on us.

Nonetheless you were intrigued by him.

Thanks to the help of the dancers on the stage you climbed into the champagne glass, your rime stoned lingerie shining under the spot light. The water was cold just how you liked it. Moving around in the glass, splashing water has always made your audience smile and left them satisfied. Maybe because of the fact that your lingerie was soaked and your damp body shimmered under the lights…

When you were done you were escorted back, it felt so cold so you wore your pink robe, people you work with congratulated you, and you kindly smiled. Before you could open your dressing room’s door and throw yourself on your pink fluffy couch your boss, an old lady with long silver hair and kind blue eyes stopped you, ‘’A gentleman is inside, he has an offer for you.’’ You were puzzled. ‘’Thank you for the heads up.’’ Before you walked in you checked your hair and make-up, and then you walked in.

He was sitting on the pink couch, when you entered and as soon as he saw you he bolted to his feat. ‘’Miss Y/L/N.’’ he addressed you and you smiled. He had a dark grey 3 piece suit which fit him perfectly, he looked odd in this room of pink. He extended his large hand and continued, ‘’It is a pleasure finally meeting you in person.’’ You held his hand and you felt a sudden rush to your  stomach. Why did he have such an impact on you? You noticed the way he emphasized the word ‘’finally’’ he was also aware of you noticing him for weeks. ‘’Please.’’ You gestured him to sit back, you sat across him. The sudden realization hit you, you had your soaking wet lingerie underneath your pink robe. His face didn’t give any clues whatsoever. ‘’Allow me to introduce myself, I am Doctor Hannibal Lecter.’’ You nodded gently, legs crossed. Melodies from the stage floating into the room, in that brief silence you wondered why did your boss allow him inside? It usually never happens.

He must have persuaded the old lady with something… most likely money.

‘’Y/N Y/L/N. At your service.’’ You replied with a soldier tone to break the ice and caught him smirking a bit. His maroon eyes looked into your eyes directly, you felt shiver running down your spine, he was intense. His gaze found the pile of presents resting on the table at the corner of the room, was that annoyance written on his sharp face?

‘’May I ask the reason why you are here Doctor Lecter?’’ you attracted his gaze again, you could feel your palms getting sweaty, his presence made you nervous and you didn’t even know this person.

‘’I would love to hire your service for one of my dinner parties.’’ He bluntly said, he seemed like a guys who would go and get something, a true dominant man. Also the way he used ‘’your service’’ didn’t go unnoticed, he was respectful. His hand went inside his jacket’s pocket to pull out a check book, he wrote something and ripped the page, you were excited when he handed it to you.

When you saw the price you were shocked.

‘’But this is too much-‘’ you said with wide eyes, holding the check as if it is something fragile, ‘’Burlesque is an art and I’m never shy spending money on art.’’ He replied, you could sense the strong undertones. ‘’When is the party?’’

You accepted his offer, this was the first time you went to do a number to someone’s home. He mentioned that his home was enough to bring your essentials. For a week you practiced and practiced. You felt like you needed to make him proud, even though he paid you and this was your job you just wanted to be perfect at it and have a good time.

He didn’t lie, his home was like a castle, more than enough for your show. You were ready and also small group of your dancers were ready too, everything was set.

Dancing so close to the audience didn’t make you nervous at all, you felt alive, the music felt like it was running through your veins, you were one with it. You could feel the public’s eyes were on you in an awe of your art, the energy was immaculate. You could also see the host of the party, Doctor Lecter, holding his drink in one hand, the other in his pocket, his maroon gaze focused on you and only you. Almost predatory.

The champagne glass act made the audience sigh in excitement, it seemed like this was the first time they experience this and it feed your soul.

After the show you went upstairs to change because Doctor Lecter wanted to introduce you to his guests. You were touching on your make up when someone knocked on your door.

‘’Come in.’’

It was Lecter himself. ‘’You are a vision.’’ He said leaning on the door, you smiled. ‘’I have a gift for you.’’ He walked towards you, ‘’You didn’t have to Doctor Lecter.’’ You said when he opened the velvet box he was holding, a golden necklace was in that box, 24 karat you assumed. ‘’Please,’’ he said, ‘’Hannibal.’’

‘’Hannibal you already paid more than the actual price and this…’’ you were blushing, ‘’I’ve wanted to give you this for so long,’’ he confessed, ‘’but I was waiting for the right time.’’ You watched him place the necklace on you through the mirror, both of his hands found their place on your shoulders, he knelt and he planted a soft kiss on your cheek, he turned to the mirror to see your face and lock eyes.

‘’Looks good on you.’’ He said, you touched the necklace, ‘’Thank you, you are so generous.’’ His aura was heavy, his manly cologne filled your nostrils. You were intoxicated, it was wrong, he was your employer. ‘’I hope we will be more close from this night on.’’

You could feel your heart racing, was this a some kind of proposal? Only time would tell. Hand in hand you left the room to mingle.

[stxrbxrn]

the feast of forbidden fruit …

pairing: hannibal x f!reader tw: implied cannibalism, dubious consent, uhealthy/obsessive relationship dynamics, sexual content ( not full out smut but hints towards it ) word count: 1.8k (ish)

you step into the dimly lit gallery, your heels echoing on the polished marble floor. the air is heavy with the scent of aged wood and oil paint, a fitting atmosphere for the exhibition of renaissance masterpieces. but it's not the art that draws your gaze tonight. it's him.

dr. hannibal lecter stands before a botticelli, his profile sharp and regal in the soft lighting. he turns, as if sensing your presence, and his maroon eyes lock onto yours. a shiver runs down your spine - from fear or excitement, you're not quite sure.

"good evening," he says, his accented voice smooth as silk. "i was hoping you'd come."

you approach, drawn into his orbit like a moth to flame. "i wouldn't miss it, dr. lecter. your taste in art is... exquisite."

his lips curve into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "as is yours, my dear. both in art and... company."

the double meaning hangs in the air between you. you've been dancing this dangerous waltz for months now, circling each other in a game of cat and mouse. but which of you is the predator, and which the prey?

"would you care to join me for a closer look?" he asks, gesturing to the painting.

you nod, allowing him to guide you with a gentle hand on the small of your back. his touch burns through the thin fabric of your dress.

as you stand before the botticelli, he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "do you see how the artist has captured the vulnerability of the human form? the delicate interplay of light and shadow on bare flesh?"

your breath catches in your throat. "yes," you whisper. "it's beautiful."

"indeed," he murmurs. "beauty and suffering, inexorably intertwined. one cannot truly appreciate the former without experiencing the latter."

you turn to face him, your faces mere inches apart. "and which are you offering tonight, dr. lecter? beauty or suffering?"

his eyes gleam in the low light. "why not both?"

the world seems to fade away, leaving only you and hannibal in this moment of exquisite tension. you know you should run, should flee from the darkness you see swirling in the depths of his gaze. but you're captivated, ensnared by the enigma of the man before you.

"come," he says, offering his arm. "let us continue our tour. there is so much more i wish to show you."

you take his arm, your fate sealed with that simple gesture. as he leads you deeper into the gallery, you can't help but wonder if you're walking willingly into the lion's den.

the rest of the evening passes in a blur of wine, witty conversation, and lingering glances. hannibal is the perfect gentleman, charming and erudite. but beneath the polished veneer, you sense something wild and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface.

as the night draws to a close, he escorts you to your car. "i've greatly enjoyed your company this evening," he says, his hand still resting on the small of your back.

"as have i," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

he leans in, his lips brushing against your cheek. "until next time, my dear," he murmurs. "sweet dreams."

you drive home in a daze, your mind reeling from the evening's events. as you prepare for bed, you can't shake the feeling that something has fundamentally shifted. you've crossed a threshold, and there's no going back.

that night, your dreams are a kaleidoscope of images - flashes of steel, splashes of crimson, and always, always, those burning maroon eyes watching you.

* * *

days pass, but you can't get dr. lecter out of your mind. his presence lingers like a phantom limb, an ache you can't quite shake. you find yourself obsessively replaying every moment of your encounters, analyzing each word, each gesture.

when your phone rings and his name appears on the screen, your heart leaps into your throat.

"hello, my dear," his voice purrs through the speaker. "i was wondering if you might join me for dinner tomorrow evening. i'm preparing a rather special menu, and i can think of no one i'd rather share it with."

you know you should refuse. every instinct screams at you to make an excuse, to put distance between yourself and this man who both thrills and terrifies you. but the words that come out of your mouth betray you:

"i'd be delighted, dr. lecter."

you can almost hear his smile through the phone. "excellent. shall we say 8 o'clock? and please, call me hannibal."

the next evening finds you standing before his door, your heart pounding a staccato rhythm against your ribs. you smooth down your dress, take a deep breath, and knock.

the door swings open, and there he stands, resplendent in a three-piece suit. "good evening," he says, his eyes roaming appreciatively over your form. "you look ravishing."

he ushers you inside, taking your coat with the grace of a perfect host. the air is rich with the aroma of simmering herbs and spices, making your mouth water despite your nerves.

"i hope you're hungry," hannibal says, leading you into the dining room. the table is set with exquisite china and gleaming silverware, a single red rose in a crystal vase serving as the centerpiece.

"starving," you reply, and something in his eyes flashes at your choice of words.

he pulls out your chair, ever the gentleman, before disappearing into the kitchen. you take the moment alone to steady your nerves, reminding yourself that this is just dinner. nothing more.

but as hannibal returns, bearing plates of food that look more like works of art than mere sustenance, you know you're only lying to yourself. this is so much more than just dinner.

"our first course," he announces, setting a plate before you. "carpaccio of veal heart, with a black truffle emulsion."

you raise an eyebrow at the choice of meat, but the presentation is stunning. hannibal watches intently as you take your first bite. the flavors explode on your tongue - rich, complex, unlike anything you've ever tasted before.

"it's incredible," you breathe.

his smile is one of genuine pleasure. "i'm so glad you enjoy it. i always take great care in selecting the... ingredients for my special guests."

the meal progresses through several more exquisite courses, each one a symphony of flavors and textures. hannibal is the perfect host, keeping the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. but there's an undercurrent of tension, a predatory gleam in his eye that both excites and unnerves you.

as he clears away the dessert plates, you find yourself feeling slightly lightheaded. whether from the rich food, the wine, or simply hannibal's intoxicating presence, you're not sure.

"shall we retire to the study for a digestif?" he suggests, offering his hand to help you up.

you take it, relishing the warmth of his skin against yours. "lead the way."

his study is a temple to refined taste - walls lined with leather-bound books, artwork that probably costs more than your yearly salary, and a crackling fire that casts dancing shadows across the room.

hannibal pours two glasses of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. "armagnac," he explains, handing you one. "a 1965 vintage. i've been saving it for a special occasion."

you accept the glass, your fingers brushing against his. "and what occasion might that be?"

he takes a step closer, invading your personal space. "tonight," he pauses, eyes transfixed on your face, "the night you become mine."

your breath catches in your throat. this is the moment you've both been building towards, the culmination of months of tension and unspoken desire. you should be afraid - you know, deep down, that there's something not quite right about hannibal lecter. but all you feel is a burning need.

"what makes you think i want to be yours?" you challenge, even as your body betrays you, leaning into him.

his free hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. "you've been mine since the moment our eyes first met."

he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. it's nothing like you imagined - it's better. his mouth is hot, demanding, tasting of armagnac and something darker, something uniquely hannibal.

you melt into him, your glass slipping from your fingers and shattering on the hardwood floor. neither of you pays it any mind. your hands fist in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer as his own hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

when you finally break apart, gasping for air, his eyes are wild with hunger. "tell me you want this," he growls, his accent thicker with desire. "tell me you want me."

"i want you," you breathe, beyond the point of no return. "god help me, i need you."

it's a desperate, violent thing, all clashing teeth and battling tongues. you pour all your fear, all your desire, all your conflicted emotions into that kiss. and hannibal matches you passion for passion, his hands gripping you so tightly you know you'll have bruises tomorrow.

when you break apart, you're both panting. "what happens now?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

hannibal's smile is a thing of terrible beauty. "now, my dear, we feast."

he lead you back to the wooded table, lifting you effortlessly to sit upon it. the material cold against your bare thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat of hannibal's body as he steps between your legs.

"are you afraid?" he asks, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

you consider lying, but you know he'd see right through it. "yes," you admit before considering the thought further.

"good," he says, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. "fear heightens the senses. makes everything more... intense."

his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. you shiver, but not entirely from fear. despite everything - or perhaps because of it - you want him more than you've ever wanted anyone in your life.

"hannibal," you gasp as his lips trail down your neck, "i need-"

"shh," he soothes, his breath hot against your skin. "i know exactly what you need. trust me."

and lord have mercy on you, you do. you trust him as he slowly undresses you, as he worships your body with his hands and mouth. you trust him as he takes you there on the table. your cries of pleasure echoing off the stone walls.

afterward, as you lie tangled together, your body humming with satisfied desire. you lose yourself in his embrace once more, you know that you've crossed a line from which there's no return. you've willingly stepped into the darkness, hand in hand with the monster who now owns your heart and soul.

and god help you, you wouldn't have it any other way.

[charles-forza-ferrari-sempre]

𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fallingforunrealisticromance]

Held through the darkness - Hannibal x reader.

A/N: Hello!! its bee a while. truthfully, im not doing so hot at the moment and this was written basically as a form of therapy but hey i felt like sharing. Enjoy!!

Warnings: None

Word count: 1781

Masterlist

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

You sat and stared out at the empty world ahead of you. Well technically it wasn’t empty. It was bustling with life. You could see an endless row of headlights, streetlamps making the city below you glow. You thought about how there were thousands, if not more, people down there right now. Each with their own individual lives; with their own families, friends, lovers, exes. Each having their own background, a place they came from, a life they’ve lived. Every single person so full with complex emotions and thoughts from every walk of life. So why did you feel so alone? So utterly and painfully abandoned. Your chest felt hollow. There was a gaping whole where something once lived. It had been so long you couldn’t even recall what used to inhabit it. But whatever it was had been robbed from you, leaving you as an empty shell condemned to drift through life in search of a feeling you weren’t even sure existed anymore.

You didn’t feel sad. You didn’t feel anything. Just incomplete. Your mind raced with thoughts, scanning through your memories in search of something to fulfil you once more as you stared blankly ahead of you.

“You’re going to catch a cold if you stay here much longer” A voice came from behind you.

You swirled round, seeing the last person you expected to be in your home.

“Doctor Lecter? What are you doing here?” You queried as the man stood in the doorway that led from your balcony back into your apartment.

“I told you I would come to check on you. After that call we had, I didn’t trust that you were okay. Even if you tried to convince me you were” He stated, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly as he looked at you.

Your brow furrowed. You had called him? When? The last time you remember speaking to him was around 3 weeks ago where you decided to end your sessions with him. Not because you thought you were getting any better, quiet the opposite. But you just couldn’t bare to face him with it. Or anyone for that matter. You’d completely drawn away from the people in your life recently, not knowing how to function around them with such a weight on your soul.

“I called you earlier today, after Will said he saw you at the supermarket. He said you looked distressed, burn out.” He explained, sensing your confusion.

It came back to you as he spoke.

“Yes I remember, sorry. My head just feels a bit…foggy at the moment.” You replied, turning back to face the city in front of you.

The doctor took a few steps, coming to stand beside you.

“You are not okay y/n”

“I’m alive aren’t I?” You joked dryly.

“Being alive is not equivalent to living. You’re simply existing.” His words made your stomach drop, your throat feeling a little tighter than it was before.

“Tell me. What is on your mind?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t want to talk. You just wanted to rot away into nothing.

“I’m fine. Just tired. I’m sorry you drove all the way here for nothing.” The lack of energy behind your voice made it impossible to convince yourself, let alone convince him.

“Don’t lie to me. I can tell when you’re being honest and when you’re not.” His voice was stern, but with a layer of concern weaved in.

“Y/N”

He placed his hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. Your eyes dropped as to avoid his gaze. You’ d grown rather fond of Doctor Lecter in your time of being his patient. You found yourself craving his approval, craving his comfort and affection more than you probably should. The thought of him seeing you like this, seeing the lack of life left in you filled you with shame.

“Why did you even come here? I’m not your patient anymore” You muttered, his hand still gently resting on your shoulder.

“I care about you. Regardless of if you’re my patient or not, I want to make sure you are okay”

Your gaze finally met his, sincerity swimming in his eyes. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to accept his words and bare your soul to him. But you just couldn’t. There was a constant nagging in your head that he was only here because he felt he needed to be, out of professional curiosity. Nothing else.

“I am okay. Like I said, I’m just tired. I should probably go to sleep.” 

“y/n-“

“thank you for checking up on me Doctor Lecter. You can go now” You turned to walk away from him, heading back inside.

“No” He said firmly, causing you to stop in your tracks.

You turned once more to face him. “No?”

“No I am not going to leave.”

You were slightly taken aback by his words. “What? Look respectfully, this is my home. And I really just want to sleep so please can you just leave?”

“No.” He replied, taking a step towards you. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me. It is more than evident you’re struggling, and I’m not going to let you drown in this.”

His words were too kind, too caring. It hit you in your chest, sinking down through your stomach. You couldn’t handle this. You need him to go.

“Just leave.” You mumbled, trying to keep your emotions down.

“Talk to me and I will.”

You could feel your anger rising. You weren’t angry at him; you were angry at the world.

“I don’t want you here” You snapped.

“I don’t care” He stepped closer to you once again.

“Get the fuck out of my house Hannibal”

“Tell me what’s wrong”

“EVERYTHING” You shouted, throwing your hands in the air. “Everything is fucking wrong. I am so sick of everything. Waking up every fucking day with this crushing desolate feeling that completely weighs me down. No matter what I do nothing fills it. And if I find something that numbs it for a while, its only every temporary. I am so fucking tired. I am broken and there is nothing I can do to fix it.”

Tears began to flow freely as you continued to rant, your hands threading through your hair.

“I feel like I am going insane every moment of the day. I am so relentlessly burnt out and yet I have no reason to be because  I don’t do anything. I can’t do anything. I just want it all to stop, I just-“

You were cut off as a sob escaped your throat. You fell to your knees, crying harder than you ever had before. Months of pent-up emotion, of fighting down every urge you had came bursting out of you. Your lungs were on fire and your head pounded but you just couldn’t stop. You hadn’t noticed Hannibal sitting next to you until you felt his arms wrap around you, pulling your body against his. Your head crashed into his chest, your hands clinging to his shirt as if it was the only thing keep you afloat. He held you tightly, his hand rubbing gentle patterns across your back as he spoke softly.

“You’re going to be okay. I’m here. Let it out”

You had no idea how long the two of you stayed like that, curled up on the floor of your balcony sobbing into him. You cried until there was nothing left, and your eyes were dry. When you eventually calmed down, Hannibal pulled away from you gently cupping your face to meet your eyes

“I want you to listen to me y/n. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded stiffly as you gazed at him.

“What you’re feeling is real. It is too much for one person to carry alone. I won’t lie to you and tell you there’s an easy quick fix, that will take time. But you need to allow yourself to seek help. You need to share this burden, to allow someone in to guide you through this. It is so easy to let yourself get wrapped up, until your blind to everything except the pain. But my darling, there is so much more. And if you let me, I will be by your side walking with you through it all. Until you see just how fulfilling you can make your life. You will never be alone in this, not as long as I’m around.” His thumb gently caressed your face, the other hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

The earnest expression his face held, along with the genuine care laced into his tone was enough to make you want to cry all over again. No one had ever expressed such a care for you before. You never realised how much you needed it.

“Why do you care so much? I’m nothing but an ex-patient of yours” Your voice was quiet, if not hoarse from all the crying.

A small smile appeared on his face as his eyes scanned yours, as if he was trying to memorise every detail.

“You are so much more than that to me. Over the time I’ve gotten to know you, you have become a beacon in my life. You make me feel a way I have never felt before. I admire you more than you know. I care for you so deeply my darling. I won’t say its love, because truthfully this is all new to me, but it is most definitely close to it. All I know is that I want to be with you, I want to be the person you come to with everything – whether you’re happy, angry, or feeling the way you do now. I want to be the person you share yourself with. If you’ll allow it.”

Your heart swelled at his confession. For the first time in a while, you felt a genuine smile on your face.

“I don’t want anyone else Hannibal. Only you.” You leant forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him close to you.

His arms wrapped securely around your waist, one of his hands threading their way into your hair as he gently massaged your scalp. You melted into his touch, feeling relaxed for once.

“Aš niekada neleisiu tau jaustis vienišam, man brangioji.” He whispered against your hair.

You knew this wouldn’t be easy; even now with Hannibal by your side, this was going to be a hard journey to pull through. But for once, as you sat here cradled in him arms under the night sky, you felt a small glimmer of hope.

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

i hope you enjoyed, sorry for the depressing return to posting<3

[dolicekiss]

Hi,

may I request a Hannibal one-shot, in which he is marrying a traditional women (saving herself for marriage etc.). With the main focus of course being the wedding night?🫣😂

Untouched Virtues

CW: smut (18+, mdni), first time, inexperienced reader (like very), arrange marriage, sort of plot, age gap (unspecified but hannibal is older), messy kissing, tension, cunnilingus, unprotected sex (p in v), starved hannibal, riding, mating press, swearing, breeding, oblivious reader

Your leg shook violently, a testament to your impending anxiety as well as the anticipation which burned in your stomach. You'd exchanged vows with Hannibal, even kissed but whenever you thought about your wedding night — nervousness adorned your once serene features. Hannibal was a grown adult, so were you. It was easy having the conversation and he told you he would wait until you were comfortable.

But it was never about comfort as you had already find comfort in his presence. It was more about the actions, the emotions and the intensity of them which brought you embarrassment. You had concealed your desire for Hannibal, as you did find him attractive.

He was beyond handsome.

A beauty that is only found within the art of ancient history.

People danced, laughed, engaged in conversations and connected with each other. You were greeting a few guests, friends of your parents and when you raised your gaze from their table, you found your husband with his own gaze fixated on your small frame.

Hannibal sent you a short smile which you happily returned.

To you, everything was fine but within Hannibal there was a battle.

Of restraint, of concealed feelings, of urges.

The first time he saw you, he had fallen hopelessly in love. It was true that the love he felt for you was too potent, enough to consume his whole being and he was aware of your coyness. It was what pulled him towards you. He could not express his desires properly, not with how your cheeks would bleed crimson at a mere compliment about your hair or your dress.

The party was going to end soon and Hannibal looked forward to it. He'd comforted you that he would wait, as long as you wished for him to but that didn't mean he would not try seducing you, after he did acknowledge your attraction for him. It oozed out in all your actions, your ministrations.

The man was cunning and he knew his way around the human mind — even if that was somehow morally wrong.

Time passed by, quite agonizingly for Hannibal and finally it was night time for you.

Hannibal had brought you to his house and it was posh, had very little color but it was beautiful nonetheless. His room was a mix of greens, whites and browns and it matched his personality too as the man was always reserved and composed. You rarely ever found him losing his composure which was good for you.

You were yet to change out of your wedding dress, leaning against the wall as you looked out the balcony into the open sky, which glimmered with stars all over.

It was a beautiful sight.

You turned around upon hearing footsteps and found Hannibal had stepped out of the bathroom. He was still in his black tux and it made him look as dashing as a model. The sight before you was gorgeous and you couldn't help but stare ahead.

“You enjoy watching the stars?”

You nodded coyly at his words. “They are beautiful, and lonely.”

You whispered back and Hannibal nodded, not following it after with something. Instead the man found his place next to you and you noticed the glass of champagne he picked up on the way.

He was leaned on the other side of the wall, sipping his poison as he gazed at you rather the stars. To him you were the most brightest and beautiful star.

“You're more beautiful than the stars.” He spoke softly and your gaze found him, cheeks beetroot red. He had a way with his words and at times Hannibal would say things that could be compared to poetry in itself. “I could watch you for hours while you watch the stars.”

“You flatter me,” came a soft chuckle from you, palm laid flat across your chest as your cheeks rounded up.

Hannibal stared at you, his stare darkening at the mere thought of ripping the dress apart and claiming you as his. The adoration tainted with lust as his eyes fell lower and lower, eyeing how your legs would look, wrapped around his shoulders. How you'd sound — how breathless you'd be when he would defile you and claim you as his forever.

Hannibal inhaled, finishing his champagne.

He decided to take a step forward, and immediately your eyes captured him. Like a deer caught in headlights, you were looking at him with the most innocent eyes and Hannibal took that as an invitation. He closed the distance between the two of you and pressed your short frame against the wall rather gently, still mastering control over his rough needs. Brawny hands found your waist, holding you in place as he towered over you and the strong whiff of your scent almost drove him insane.

“I want to kiss you.” Hannibal whispered and you looked into his eyes, pupils blown fully and then you nodded.

That was all he needed.

Even if you were not willing to sleep with him, he knew the permission to kiss could lead to something more, he'd see to it.

He leaned in and captured your lips in a soft kiss and you expected it to carry on like that but that was where you were wrong. Hannibal occupied your lips — at first in a gentle lock — but soon it grew into something more. Haste urges to pry open your lips with his tongue, to slither it inside your wet cavern and explore it.

A battle amongst your tongues.

You whimpered when Hannibal sucked rather aggressively on your lower lip, one hand gripping your waist firmly while the other shifted against the wall, to wrap around your nape as he locked you in place.

You were breathless and your inability to keep up with his pace oozed out in all your actions as your small hands attempted to push at his chest for an ounce of air. Hannibal forbade you — kissing you like your lips produced the finest honey and he was a starved man.

“Hanni—” Your endeavor to speak was futile as the man was too far gone, saliva belonging to you both staining your lips as well as his.

After awhile Hannibal retreated and you nearly succumbed to the floor, plush breasts rising up and down in desperate attempts to inhale oxygen. Hannibal stared at you, in pure awe at how fucked out you seemed by a mere kiss. The man didn't waste time as he hoisted you up in his arms, earning a squeal out of you. Leading you to the bed, Hannibal peppered soft kisses along your neck while walking over to the bed in the middle of the room to lay you down.

Once he had you pressed into the bed, his fingers worked their way to your back to unzip your dress.

You gasped. “Listen—”

“You would still deny me?” Hannibal stalled, looking up at you and you fucking melted at the way he was looking at you.

Like a needy pup starved of affection.

You shook your head. “No, just slow down a little please. You know it's my first time.”

Hannibal felt the urge to punch himself. Of course it was your first and you being a sensitive soul did not help either. He nodded and leaned in to press a kiss against your forehead, hoping that would calm you down.

It did work.

You sent him a smile as his fingers dragged down the zipper of your dress, curving underneath the neckline to pull it down. Your arms flew to cover your breasts when they were revealed while Hannibal rid you of the dress, his eyes hungry and full of lust.

You were dressed in some lace white lingerie, forced into it by your mother for your husband to unravel you like some gift. You softly gasped as the cold air came in contact with the uncovered parts of your body, leaving you a bit flustered.

Hannibal made his way to your neck, pressing kisses down in a deformed line. Littering them over your plush cleavage and as well as your navel — moving down to your bikini line and pausing at the hem of your white lace underwear. In a fraction of few minutes, he tugged that off you as well and then unhooked your bra, sliding it off.

You were fully bare now and you felt breathless, bare to him. Hannibal’s gaze laid on your cunt, as he pried your thighs open. All you could do was hide your face and blush furiously while the man actually did unwrap you like you were a fucking christmas present.

“You're absolutely beautiful,” he whispered against your core, “such a beautiful cunt, my love.”

You flinched at his words but the throbbing in your soaked cunt told you this turned you on more than you thought it would. Your attempt to close your eyes was failed as Hannibal curved his arms around your thighs, holding them apart steadily as he buried his face between your legs.

Your breath hitched, the cooling sensation of his tongue over your sticky folds earning an almost whine out of you. “Hannibal.”

He chuckled a little, gliding his tongue across your soaked folds. Going up and down and then moving his head left and right, as his wet muscle prodded at your twitchy little bud.

He shoved his tongue into your hole and your back rose up from the mattress, thighs twitching from the obscene act. Hannibal fucked you with his hand, moving it inside you and lapping up at your juices like an animal. Tip of his nose brushed against your clit all while he grinded his face into your cunt.

Your taste had him addicted.

And your little whimpers too.

How breathless you sounded, soft little sounds reverberating in the whole of this room. It was satisfying enough, this validation you gave him. Hannibal slurped up at the essence of arousal you produced, using his tongue so that you would come.

You felt your stomach tighten — a foreign feeling spreading in your abdomen. A fire unbelievable. This was the first time ever someone had touched you this provocatively and sensually, a virgin you were. Chaste, pure and this was all too inundating.

Yet you relished the pleasures once unknown to you brought by your husband.

“Hannibal! I feel it, oh my god.” You knew how it felt to release, you've made yourself come on multiple occasions.

Hannibal buried his face deeper into your cunt as both your hands laid flat across his head, trying to make him dive deeper. Your vision became a blur as overwhelming pleasure consumed you. His soft tongue prodding and licking at your sensitive bundle of nerves and then sliding down to enter inside your soaked hole — it drove you wild and as a searing orgasm tore through you, your eyes rolled back into the depths of your skull and white came up front in your gaze.

Veins hot with pleasure, the blood rushing and coursing at the speed of light.

Hannibal licked at you, like a thirsty dog, licking the remnants of your orgasm as you dragged in harsh breaths.

He'd made you realize it was worth the wait, it was so fucking worth it.

Hannibal, after peeling off his own button up shirt and pants, paired with his briefs, moved between your legs. Holding his cock which you were left baffled by, eyes enlarged at the sheer size of it. You let out a soft sigh, hand moving to press at your husband’s chest.

“It wouldn't fit.”

Hannibal moved his hand to cup your face and smiled, swiping his thumb across your round cheek. “It will. I've prepared you enough.”

Hannibal guided his cock along your soaked slit, moving the cock head up and down and prodding at your swollen bud with it. You whimpered at the friction and arched your back, making Hannibal push you back against the bed. Then you felt it — the painful stretch making you cry out as your arms found solace wrapped around his nape.

Hannibal shifted, snapping his hips as he slowly entered more of him into you.

Your eyes welled up, tears like pearls sitting against your waterline. Your husband was being extremely gentle but Hannibal had his own limits. The way your tight cunt gripped him like a vice made him want to snap all of his cock inside you in one singular thrust.

But he knew you were fragile, sensitive.

“Focus on me, beautiful.” Hannibal whispered in your face, peppering soft kisses everywhere and you nodded.

Lost in his sweet affection, you hadn't realized as Hannibal filled you with the whole of his cock in little thrusts. He groaned as he bottomed out, head dropping in your neck while his arms tightened around you, locking you in place.

He pulled out soon, once having realized you'd adjusted to his size and then snapped back inside you. Your body jolted forward as you moaned out, hold tightening around his nape. Fingers grabbing onto his hair from roots, you braced yourself.

“You'll break me, beautiful. Be a little merciful and loosen up.” Though his words were soft, Hannibal had commanded you.

You nodded and tried to relax underneath him. Hannibal began to move and you felt each vein embedded within his cock graze against your walls – your breath shuddering as he delivered impactful thrusts to your cunt. His balls slapping against you, the sinful sound reverberating through the whole room.

“Hannibal, oh god.” You cried out, when you felt him pummel into a spot that was left untouched mostly in your cervix. Tears sliding down your face, he continued fucking into your sensitive cunt.

From the orgasm from before, your walls had had grown sensitive. You whined as his arms unwrapped around you, hands moving to toy with your breasts. Squeezing them and fondling the fat like it was art, fingers and thumbs sending aggressive flicks to your buds.

“Yes—oh yes.” Hannibal grunted, thrusting inside you at a rough pace now. “You're so tight, Darling. Your little cunt will have me coming any moment now.”

You sobbed, feeling overwhelmed. Your cunt was heightened when it came to sensitivity and the way Hannibal continuously toyed with your hardened peaks worked harder to tear another climax out of you.

You cried out as Hannibal pummeled his cock inside you, his own peak near. Hannibal’s grunts mixed with your whines had elevated the room with palpable tension. You were so worth the wait as Hannibal relished your moans, the way your little body twitched underneath him.

Your stomach tightened, your cunt as well and Hannibal groaned – feeling his cock throb and twitch. He delivered harsh thrusts and you couldn't hold it back anymore, your eyes rolling back to your head and your lips falling apart. Another hot orgasm overwhelmed your body and you cried out, fingernails digging into his skin and evoking blood.

The heat from your cunt and how you tightened around him, Hannibal finally released inside you. Rope after rope being emptied inside you and you whined, feeling how he pumped you full of cum.

Hannibal felt his balls throb, and soon he pulled out after spending fully inside you.

You panted, attempts to drag in oxygen into your expanding lungs. Hannibal stared at you before falling on the bed, next to you with his arms already extended to wrap around your frame. He held you tightly and brought you closer, pressing a kiss to the back of your ear.

“How do you feel, hm?”

You let out a soft sigh of contentment and let out a chuckle. “The best I have ever felt.”

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Let Me Be Your Bear｡⋆.

Halsin x plus size reader (Tav)

An accident involving a fiery touch and your beloved stuffed teddy leads you to something wonderful

Warnings: Tav!reader, fluff, mutual pining, daddy Halsin, cuddling, reader has no specified gender or pronouns

WC: 782

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

It had been an accident really. You knew Karlach was just curious about the small stuffed animal that was sitting on top of your open pack, she didn’t mean to turn it to ash as soon as she touched it and you didn’t resent her for it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t break your heart just a little bit. 

Especially now as you lay by the dying fire, clutching a small bag Wyll had given you for the ashes tightly to your chest in some vain attempt to receive the same warmth the toy had given you before. You knew it was silly, it was just a small bear you found at the beginning of your journey but it was comforting on the darkest of nights when you were stuck with your thoughts or nursing some wound. 

Sighing, you rolled over onto your back and came face-to-face with the massive druid who was standing over you, looking at you curiously. You inhaled sharply in shock, clutching the bag even tighter. Halsin just tilted his head. “Why are you holding a pouch?” 

Heat crawled up your neck in embarrassment. “It’s dumb.” You mumbled, but his sensitive ears caught each word. Firelight flickered over his face yet the light in his eyes was even brighter.

“You can tell me you know. I have been told I am a good listener.” You sighed, patting the ground beside your bed roll. With no hesitation, Halsin took a seat beside you, his muscular thigh only a few inches from your soft one. 

Your fingers toyed with the small braided rope that tied the top of the pouch together, the ends already frayed from your nervous fiddling. “It was my bear, it was accidentally burned up which I understand, it wasn’t deliberate. But I can’t sleep without it.” 

Halsin hummed under his breath and you braced yourself from some teasing remark (perhaps you were spending too much time with Astarion) but it never came. Instead, the druid smiled softly at you. “Perhaps, you would allow me to help, with your permission of course.” He must’ve noticed your confused expression because he quickly spoke again. “I think you forget, I myself am a bear.”

Realisation dawned on you then, which was quickly followed by bashfulness. He was offering to let you cuddle him just so you could sleep. That of itself was an enticing offer, he was an incredibly handsome man, only a fool would deny that. But more than his outward appearance, he had a gentle and kind soul, one you had quickly fallen for.

“You don’t have to.” You replied but Halsin laid one massive palm on top of your knuckles, easily enveloping your much smaller hands.

“I want to.” No other words were needed. He pulled away from you just far enough for him to shift without hurting you as his eyes began to glow a beautiful gold. You blinked and suddenly there was a brown bear standing before you. He huffed and nudged your shoulder, pushing you to lay back down.

You didn’t even notice as the pouch slipped off your lap, too focused on the way that Halsin’s huge front legs now straddled your wide hips as he himself lay down between your legs. A soft groan was forced from your lips when he placed his head onto your soft stomach but it wasn’t uncomfortable, far from it actually. His weight on top of you eased the tension throughout your body and you quickly found yourself overwhelmed with exhaustion.

He gazed at you with emotions you couldn’t quite comprehend, watching with some satisfaction as you relaxed beneath him.

Your arms curled around his head as best you could, rubbing one of his ears between your fingers. He gave a satisfied groan, his black eyes shutting. “Thank you.” You whispered and he nuzzled further into you, almost purring as your closed your eyes.

“What in the bloody hells are you doing!” Astarion’s shrill voice cut through the tranquillity of the morning, startling you from your surprisingly deep slumber. Hot breath fanned across your face as the massive bear on top of you growled before settling back to sleep, his huge maw resting on your sternum.

“Sleeping.” You grumbled and your fingers tangled in his dark fur.

“Well yes I can obviously see that but why do you have a bear on top of you?” You cracked open one eyelid to glare at the elf who looked greatly put off by this whole thing.

“He’s my bear.” You answered simply as Halsin groaned in agreement, both of you wishing to go back to sleep and maybe get another blissful hour of just holding each other.

Misc Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Join my taglist!

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3slothy @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @midnight-shadow-va @km-ffluv

[ficnation]

Chapter 7: Jos Metodai

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,4k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings A/n: I didn't even read it over ;-; sorry (unedited)

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

You awaken with a scream tearing from your throat, the echoes of the vivid images still lingering in your mind like tendrils of smoke. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, the echo of your scream reverberating in the stillness of the night as you gasp for air.

Will’s eyes snap open, his body tensing instinctively at the sound of your screams piercing the silence of the night. Confusion clouds his features for a moment, before recognition dawns and he bolts upright, his gaze scanning the dimly lit room in search of the source of your distress.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice laced with concern as he reaches out a hand to steady you, his touch a reassuring anchor amidst the tumult of emotions swirling within you.

Breathless and trembling, you struggle to find the words to articulate the remnants of the nightmare that still cling to your mind like cobwebs, weaving a tangled web of fear and uncertainty. Yet, even as you attempt to convey the depths of your distress, a part of you hesitates, reluctant to burden him with the weight of your troubled thoughts.

With a soft sigh, Will pulls you close, enfolding you in a comforting embrace that soothes the frayed edges of your nerves and calms the storm raging within. In his arms, you find solace, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the night, as you cling to the fragile thread of connection that binds you together in this moment of vulnerability.

“Will,” you mumble his name like a lifeline, summoning the courage to articulate what you’ve just witnessed. “I saw...something. It felt so real, but also…unreal.”

“It was just a nightmare, darling,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead, soothing your fears with his gentle words.

You nod, but you don’t believe his words wholeheartedly. You’re not sure it was just a dream.

Gradually, the lingering tendrils of fear begin to loosen their grip on your mind, replaced by the warmth of Will’s presence and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. In that moment, you allow yourself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, the nightmare was nothing more than a figment of your imagination, a fleeting shadow in the night soon to be banished by the light of dawn.

“How did we get home?”

“We left shortly after the chess match,” Will explains, his voice calm and reassuring. “You fell asleep on the way back. You’ve been restless since we got home.”

You voice your concern, the worry evident in your tone. “Why is everything so fuzzy?”

Will pauses for a moment, his facial expression darkening with concern as he stares at you in silence, deliberating on how best to respond. “You should rest. You’re exhausted,” he says softly, brushing the back of his hand gently across your forehead, a comforting gesture that also serves as a discreet check for your temperature.

“No, no, no... Something’s wrong,” you mumble, tears gathering in your eyes. 

“Shhh,” Will whispers tenderly, his hands tightening around you, his body enclosing you completely. “It’s just a nightmare. I’m here, and nothing can harm you,” he adds, his voice tender and soothing as he attempts to calm down your nervous system and ease the flood of emotions that threaten to overcome you.

You lie in bed for what seems like an eternity, your throat burning and your heart aching as you try to digest the overwhelming feeling of dread you felt in the dream. You can’t stop trembling, even the touch of the sheets makes you feel uneasy.

Will moves next to you, his presence providing some comfort as he wraps his arm around you even tighter. You lean into him, desperate to feel his warmth and seek shelter from the outside world. His touch makes you feel safe, and you begin to relax a little, taking a deep breath as the intensity of your emotions eases.

The faint glow of the moon highlights the contours of his face, accentuating the intensity in his eyes as he watches over you with a silent vigilance. Despite the ethereal quality of his presence, his touch is grounding, a tangible reassurance amidst the nebulousness of the night.

It takes hours before you fall asleep again, and even then, your slumber remains shallow. Each movement from the man beside you jolts you awake with a start.

Will envelops you in a tight embrace each time, his body forming a protective shield against the outside world. His warmth steals your breath away, and you yearn to draw him closer, as if by melding with him, you could become one and leave your fears behind. But the memory of the encounter with the enigmatic figure, the haunting visage of Hannibal, lingers like a stain upon your psyche, refusing to be dismissed with the dawn of a new day.

This was undeniably the worst night of your life. Never before had you experienced nightmares of such intensity. Not even after your father’s death, when you were forced to leave Will and travel far away, had you endured such torment in your sleep.

You’ve slept poorly and you feel exhausted and sore from the nightmare. Will is up before you, busy in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

He notices the fatigue etched on your face and promptly brings the cooked food to your side of the bed, offering a tender smile as he sets down a steaming mug of coffee on the nightstand next to you. Then, he settles beside you, placing a reassuring hand on your arm, leaning in close so that his warmth and calming presence envelop you.

“Not feeling any better, are we?” 

“Not really, no. I’m tired, and my head hurts,” you mumble, clutching the blanket tightly. Your fingers keep tracing through the fibers, seeking some form of comfort as exhaustion creeps over you. Will offers you a reassuring smile and plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I’ve never seen you have a nightmare like that before. Not even on the most difficult days.”

“Well, that is new,” you mumble, leaning back against him. You’re too exhausted to resist the overwhelming urge to surrender to the fatigue.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. It felt so real,” you add, turning to him and attempting to describe it despite the exhaustion and the headache that’s growing at an alarming speed.

Will pauses for a moment, absorbing your words and trying to comprehend the depth of your distress. He draws you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace, as if to shield you from the haunting echoes of the nightmare. Tenderly, he presses a kiss to the top of your head and squeezes you gently, his silent gesture conveying his earnest desire to protect.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers into your hair.

“I can’t stop seeing it...” you murmur, your voice shaky and fearful as you attempt to articulate the haunting imagery that continues to replay in your mind, the vividness of the dream lingering despite your lack of sleep. “It felt so real, as if it actually happened,” you continue, your breathing uneven causing your voice to crack as you struggle to convey the entirety of the experience. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you grapple with the unsettling feeling that refuses to dissipate.

Will remains silent, recognizing the rawness of your emotions, knowing that no words could easily soothe your distress. Yet, he persists in holding you tightly, refusing to let you confront your fears alone. Pressing his face against your neck, he seeks to offer solace through his touch, silently conveying his unwavering support even when words fail him.

“Will... “ You mumble, your voice barely audible. “Could it happen? This...this thing that I saw… I had no control over it,” you add, your breaths growing shallower as the images threaten to overwhelm you once more. You can’t bear to keep your eyes open any longer—the headache has made you sensitive to the light, and the haunting images continue to replay in your mind, tormenting you anew.

Will’s silence speaks volumes, his eyes locked firmly on you, watching, waiting. Your breaths grow shallow and frantic, and the pain in your head intensifies, driving you into a spiral of despair. 

“I don’t know anymore,” your voice emerges quietly, the lingering images refusing to dissolve. Those pitch-black eyes and antlers continue to haunt you, flashing before your eyes every time you close them, so you try to keep them open. 

“Shhh,” Will gently presses his lips to your forehead, caressing the skin with a gentle touch. His hand traces a pattern across your body, leaving a trail of gentle warmth in its wake as he draws your attention back to the present. “It’s just a nightmare, darling. Nothing more.”

“It’s not,” you mumble, barely able to fight off sleep. “It’s not just a nightmare.”

Will’s eyes narrow as he observes you slipping back into restfulness, knowing that despite his efforts, your mind still clings to the vivid imagery of that nightmare. Nevertheless, he remains steadfast, cradling you in his arms and offering his warmth and reassuring touch, determined to bring your body to a state of complete relaxation to ensure that your sleep remains undisturbed this time.

You eventually succumb to exhaustion, your head resting against his chest as your body melts into a state of serene calmness. Will continues to caress you gently, keeping you safe from the outside world. The untouched food on the bedside table serves as a testament to the intensity of your troubled night.

Your second encounter with Hannibal Lecter is a shock—both physically and mentally. You never thought that this moment would come so soon, and you aren’t prepared for it in the slightest. Not after the week you just spent slouched on the carpet in Jack Crawford’s office over piles of open folders and files. You’re exhausted, famished, and dehydrated. You don’t even have a clue what day it is. 

There’s a knock on the door, and before you have the chance to yell back “Crawford’s not here!” the man enters the office without even waiting for an invitation. Your heart skips a beat as you recognize the distinct figure of Hannibal.

His sudden appearance only adds to the disarray of your thoughts and emotions, leaving you feeling utterly unprepared for whatever twist of fate has brought him back into your life. Quickly regaining your composure, you rise to your feet, bracing yourself for whatever conversation or scheme he has in store.

Hannibal Lecter is a tall, elegant man—all sharp angular features, perfectly parted hair, and eyes that seem devoid of color. He wears a suit that looks as if it was made specially for him, immaculately tailored and pressed. He exudes a sense of style and sophistication that belies his true nature, his demeanor a stark contrast to the unsettling aura that surrounds him.

His gaze sends a shiver down your spine, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel him scrutinize you from head to toe.

“Good morning, Agent Avant,” Hannibal Lecter greets you with a tone that seems to pierce through all your barriers, causing your heartbeat to accelerate like a car on the highway with no speed limit. Despite the unsettling effect he has on you, he remains composed and polite, exuding an air of kindness and understanding that belies the darker nature lurking beneath the surface.

You sense him taking in your appearance—the tousled hair on your head, the loose sweater that probably belongs to Will, the gray sweatpants, and the scattered open folders strewn across the carpet and glass coffee table. You feel like a stark contrast to his impeccably groomed appearance.

“It’s not a good time, Doctor Lecter,” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling a pang of embarrassment at your disheveled state.

Hannibal’s face softens instantly—whether out of guilt, surprise, curiosity, or something entirely different, it’s impossible to discern. He takes a step towards you, and you feel as though you’re under his spell. The way his eyes scan over your body is hypnotic, and when he speaks, his tone is the most friendly it could possibly be.

“Forgive the intrusion, Agent Avant,” Hannibal says, his voice smooth as silk, each word carrying a subtle charm. “I merely wished to extend my greetings and offer any assistance you might require. I understand that you’ve been through quite a challenging time recently.”

You find yourself momentarily captivated by his demeanor, his words soothing some of the tension that had been building within you. However, a lingering sense of unease tugs at the edges of your consciousness, a reminder of the dangers that lurk beneath his polished facade. Despite this, you can’t help but feel a strange allure to his presence, a magnetism that both draws you in and fills you with apprehension.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion as you try to decipher the meaning behind his words and gaze. Despite causing quite a commotion with your sudden reappearance at the BAU, you consider yourself to be no one special.

After a few beats of silence that seem to stretch into eternity, Hannibal shifts his attention, casting his gaze around the office. His tone takes on a professional demeanor.

“Can you take a seat, please?” he asks, gesturing towards a chair positioned in front of Crawford’s desk.

You’re accustomed to occupying that seat, whether it’s to present your latest theories to your boss or to feign attention during his lectures, so you comply without questioning it. As soon as you’re seated, your hands instinctively grip the armrests for support, and you feel your heart rate begin to accelerate as the terrifying creature from your nightmares flashes behind his person. Here he is—the monster who took your sister’s life and nearly destroyed Will’s.

Hannibal reclines in Crawford’s chair, his gaze fixed intently on you, making you feel like a bug under a microscope. You attempt to acclimate to his unwavering attention, but it proves to be no easy feat. His gaze feels like a pair of hands delicately exploring every inch of you, and as your heart rate increases, you sense him delving deeper, searching for something within you.

After a prolonged moment, he finally speaks, his words leaving you breathless. “I’ve heard a lot about you recently.”

“From Will?” you inquire, your voice tinged with curiosity.

“No, not from Will,” Hannibal responds, the corner of his mouth raising almost imperceptibly.

The man watches you patiently, his words and tone exerting a magnetic pull that freezes you in place. Your mind goes blank—you’re at a loss for what to say in response, uncertain how to decipher his intentions. While you’re accustomed to Will’s penetrating stares and silence, Hannibal exudes a different kind of power—a captivating yet intimidating presence that both intrigues and unnerves you. It’s a dynamic that commands both fear and respect simultaneously.

“I must admit, I’ve heard about you too, Doctor Lecter,” you manage to say, forcing your body to relax, your shoulders dropping as you exhale the breath trapped in your lungs.

Hannibal nods slowly, his gaze unwavering as he processes your words. “Jack has spoken a lot about you and your special methods…” he acknowledges, his tone carrying a hint of intrigue.

His eyes continue to shift over you, as if he is calculating something, and you find yourself unable to look away, meeting his gaze head-on. The subtle curve of your lips seems to particularly pique his interest.

“Special and unconventional,” he goes on, his voice measured and deliberate, causing you to shift slightly in your chair under his scrutiny. “A bit reckless at times…” Hannibal adds, as if he were attempting to gauge your reaction or perhaps provoke a response from you.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You were aware that your methods might have appeared reckless to observers, but they had never failed you, not even once. You possessed a knack for working your charm on anyone, and if that didn’t suffice, getting a rise out of somebody was even easier. Crawford relished allowing you to do your thing, reveling in the satisfaction of achieving the desired results.

“And successful,” you assert confidently, emphasizing the undeniable effectiveness of your approach. “Very successful.”

“I know you work outside the box, barely on the edge between what’s moral and what’s not,” Hannibal says, as if this were some kind of revelation. “And I’m curious to find out more.” He leans back in his chair, his body relaxed enough for his suit to fold around him, exuding an air of intrigue and anticipation.

“Then tell me, what unconventional methods of mine have you heard about?” You cross one leg over the other and raise your eyebrow, a subtle challenge in your demeanor. You need to ascertain whether he’s genuinely aware of your methods or simply baiting you to reveal them yourself.

Hannibal stares for a long minute at your leg, then at your arms, your face. The way his eyes keep circling and circling you makes you hold your breath—his gaze is sharp and penetrating, with a touch of curiosity that you almost feel like covering up in some way. His scrutiny feels almost invasive, as if he’s peeling back layers of your facade to uncover the truth beneath.

“I’ve heard that you’re not afraid to provoke the suspect into revealing their motives,” he says slowly, each word carefully measured. “That you use empathy to understand their thoughts and fears, and that you can even convince them to help you.” He pauses, as if assessing each new word before he says it, while you listen intently, fingers tapping on the cushioned armrest.

“You believe that the human mind is like... a puzzle,” Hannibal continues, his tone thoughtful. “And once you find the right pieces to put together, the answers are within your reach.”

You notice that he doesn’t mention your other technique—either he has no idea about it or he’s choosing to omit it from his speech. Fascinating.

“What brings you here, then?” you inquire, shifting the focus back onto him, curious about his intentions for seeking you out.

Hannibal smiles as a knock sounds on the door. Crawford sticks his head inside, appearing almost like a visitor in his own office. His timing is unnervingly perfect—in a bad kind of way.

“Agent Avant,” the chief says, his voice soft as he takes in your appearance. You look even worse than two hours ago, a fact he didn’t think was possible. “I don’t want to interrupt, but we have to go.”

“It’s my day off,” you respond, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice at the interruption. So close. Crawford only quirks an eyebrow not saying anything more. “Not in this industry,” you concede with a resigned sigh, acknowledging the relentless demands of your profession.

“It’s urgent,” Crawford insists, his tone leaving no room for argument as he emphasizes the gravity of the situation.

It’s all you have to hear to shut everything else off. You jump to your feet and frantically search the room for your coat, your exhausted mind struggling to locate it even though your gaze skips over it twice.

“Give me two minutes,” you sigh, rubbing your temples in an attempt to coax your brain into action.

“I can drive you,” Hannibal offers suddenly, his eagerness to see you in action apparent. Without hesitation, he rises from his seat just as quickly as you did, crossing the room to retrieve your coat from the rack. It’s almost as if he knew which one was yours from the start. Before you can even say a word, he throws it over your shoulders.

“Thank you, Hannibal, but we already have someone waiting for us,” Jack declines, saving you from having to make that choice.

You put your arms through the sleeves of your coat and extend your hand toward Doctor Lecter. “It’s been a pleasure. I’m sure we will meet again in no time.” The way your tone of voice mimics his politeness makes his eyes glint with something indescribable.

“Surely, Mrs. Graham,” Hannibal responds, shaking your hand. “We’ll talk again very soon.”

You can almost feel him analyzing you again, reading the expression on your face from the curve of your lips to the slight movement of your nose. His gaze remains as sharp as ever, but the look on his face is almost affectionate when he looks down at you.

And then you realize he’s not looking at you—he’s looking past you.

You turn to find Will leaning against the doorway, his eyes fixed on you and Hannibal. He barely moves as he stands there, the light of the room falling on his face and illuminating him like a golden statue.

Will’s expression remains blank, as if he’s trying to process the entire situation from an outsider’s perspective. His eyes don’t leave you for a second, yet you get the sense that they aren’t even focused on you. He watches as you shake Hannibal’s hand, his gaze unwavering as your fingers brush Hannibal’s forearm. He seems so absorbed in observing the two of you that he appears oblivious to his surroundings, almost like someone whose mind is trapped in a memory.

Hannibal’s gaze shifts slowly from you to Will’s face. Sensing the tension, you discreetly pull your hand away. Meanwhile, you notice that Crawford has stepped out into the hallway, clearly unwilling to find himself caught in the brewing storm.

“Will,” you acknowledge him with a smile, attempting to quietly reassure him that everything’s alright.

Will snaps out of his trance as he hears your voice. His face softens, and he stares at you for a second before he moves towards you, intertwining his fingers with yours. You notice, again, that his expression is empty, but there’s a hint of relief in his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he says, gently pulling you with him, and you can’t help but notice how carefully he holds your hand. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of hurting you, the way he keeps his movements so gentle.

You’re in the back seat of the car when you notice the silence. You turn to look at Will’s profile, his face turned away from you, his eyes focused on the road as you head toward the crime scene.

He’s been unusually quiet lately—no comments, no observations, no idle chatter. It’s as if he’s trying to protect you from any unnecessary stress or fatigue. You wonder if he’s feeling frustrated because you refused to discuss what happens in your nightmares that repeat day after day.

Will’s silence fills you with unease, making you wonder whether his mind is filled with questions you should already have answered.

You try to distract yourself by studying the passing scenery, but your eyes keep gravitating back to his profile. Every time you look at him, his gaze is trained on the road ahead, almost as if he’s avoiding your eyes. You can’t help but sense that he’s keeping something to himself, like he’s holding back some valuable insight or observation that he thinks you’d prefer not to hear.

Jack, who is occupying the passenger’s seat, must have noticed your darting gaze. “What’s wrong with you two lately?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of concern.

You freeze, feeling as if you’ve been caught in the act of doing something wrong. Will seems to tense up, his brows creasing in mild irritation. You open your mouth to offer some explanation or excuse, but Jack has already started talking again before you can even get a word in.

“Avant, you spend your whole days in my office; I’m starting to consider you a permanent resident,” Jack remarks, injecting a touch of humor into the situation to alleviate the tension.

Will glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his features appearing neutral despite the tense situation between you two. You can’t help but notice how his gaze lingers on your face for a few beats longer than necessary, as if he’s waiting for you to reply to Jack’s comments.

Feeling the weight of his gaze, you muster a faint smile and respond, “Well, Jack, your office does have a certain charm to it.”

“You don’t want your own?” Jack asks, his tone light but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

“I hate being alone,” you admit, your voice carrying a note of vulnerability.

Jack glances between the two of you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processes your response. “Can’t stand being alone with your own thoughts, eh?” he asks, his tone suggesting a hint of understanding mixed with a touch of skepticism.

“Yeah, you could say so,” you reply, keeping your response brief but acknowledging Jack’s observation.

“I didn’t take you for the type who needed company all the time.”

“Oh come on, Jack. You’ve known me long enough to know that,” you respond, injecting a touch of humor into your reply.

Jack’s lips curl into an amused smirk before he lets out a chuckle, his features returning to a more neutral expression. “That’s true,” he says agreeably, his attention shifting back to the road ahead.

Your attention is drawn back to Will’s profile. His gaze remains fixed on the road, his expression stoic and unreadable. You get the distinct impression that he’s listening in on your conversation with Jack, although he seems unbothered by it.

“We will talk about it,” you mumble to yourself, hoping that somehow Will hears your words, even in the midst of the steady hum of the engine.

Just as you finish your sentence, Will breaks your pondering, his gaze briefly returning to you and catching yours for a split second. You can tell from his expression that he heard your murmur, although you’re not sure if he caught the words.

There’s a subtle shift in his demeanor, a flicker of understanding passing between you, before he returns his focus to the road ahead, leaving you to ponder the unspoken communication exchanged in that fleeting moment.

You hold onto that moment, a glimmer of hope that perhaps Will is open to discussing whatever has been weighing on your mind. Despite the lingering tension between you, there’s a sense of reassurance in the silent understanding that passes between you.

As the car continues down the road, you find yourself lost in your thoughts, contemplating the complexities of your relationship with Will and the challenges you both face. You silently vow to find a way to bridge the gap that has formed between you, determined to address the issues that have been left unspoken for too long.

Taglist (I tag ppl that leave a comment or ask me for it): @strrvnge @raininhell @crowsoundsonly @gabriella-aesthetic @gayschlatt69 @russian-soft-bitch @lokittyy @hellouseemc00l @justaproudslytherpuff @it-s-tickety-booh @r4diocabeca @sanriogarbage @zoleea-exultant @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @emily-roberts @unsolvedghoulboyz @00hellohello00 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @jadenblueberry @slashercupcake @octobermania @magdalenmillicent-blog @unsolvedghoulboyz

Leave me an ask or a comment if I forgot to add you <3

[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch14

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.

Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.

Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.

Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

Your stay at the hospital is hellish, as you’re constantly accompanied by a mind numbing boredom that refuses to leave. You understand that you have to give your body time to heal—you’re suffering from a gunshot wound, after all. However, you have absolutely nothing resembling entertainment to occupy your time with. Instead, you’re left to slowly decay under thin sheets and the nurse’s observant gaze. Your side still burns, but with each passing hour, it gets a little better. 

Before you can die of boredom, however, you get a visitor. You glance at the clock, only to find that you’ve been deceived. It’s only been a few hours since Jack’s visit. The thought troubles you. Time is taunting you. 

The door to your room slides open suspensefully, before revealing a familiar face. Beverly stands in the doorway, an inappropriately devilish grin on her face. It only takes a few seconds for you to see through the happiness in her smile, straight to the tightness behind the gesture and the stiffness of her posture. She’s been worried for you. The thought makes you feel extremely guilty. Truly, you’ve been a rather horrible friend as of late. Sure, you’ve had a lot of other things going on. Still, Beverly has always made time for you. Why weren’t you able to do the same for her?

“Hey,” Beverly says. Her gaze flits about your form with disinterest and you’re once again reminded of your gratitude for Beverly’s honesty. She’s one of the only people who never looked at you strangely—with fear, apprehension, disgust, pity. “Missed ya.” 

“Missed you too, Bev,” you respond, sending her a smile that probably looks more tired than relieved. She seems to appreciate the thought nonetheless. Beverly looks around the room for a moment, before settling in the same chair that Hannibal was sitting in only moments ago. Somehow, she seems to add a sort of brightness to the rather unremarkable space. You tap your fingers against the sheets restlessly. “You just missed all the fun—Jack tore me a new one.” You sigh. 

“Hardly,” Beverly huffs in amusement. Her gaze flits from the wall to meet your eyes with an uncharacteristic sincerity. “Jack was worried about you, you know. He’s had a rather short fuse for the past few days; it was driving everyone crazy at the Institute.” 

“The past few days?” You manage to ask. You’re hoping you misinterpreted that statement. Surely you haven’t missed several days. Surely you weren’t knocked out for that long. 

Beverly’s expression is sympathetic and you feel any confidence you had promptly fade from existence. “You were unconscious for three days,” she says. You don’t know what to say, so you opt for pinching the bridge of your nose and pretending not to notice the pain in your side or the fatigue clinging to your form. “We were all worried, of course,” Beverly continues, as if trying to keep you distracted from the admission.  “Me, Jack, Price, Alana-”

“Alana?” You interrupt. 

“Well, of course,” your friend says with furrowed brows. Somehow, Beverly’s remark reminds you of your friendship with Alana—the friendship that you had been purposefully avoiding for so long. Ever since she kissed you, you’ve been avoiding her. That’s surely a justifiable course of action, but hearing about Alana’s concern for you makes you think of all the memories you have with her.

After all, Alana was your first friend at the Institute. She stuck up for you in front of Jack, when you were a nameless rookie and he was the intimidating superior officer that you were afraid of speaking out to. Alana was your psychiatrist for a while, too. Dr. Bloom is different from the majority of the medical professionals you’ve worked with. She doesn’t treat you like an endangered animal in a zoo exhibit. She never once tried to poke or prod at you—manipulate you in the way so many others do. Alana was really a breath of fresh air during your time of need. 

“I need to talk to her later,” you murmur. You intend for the remark to be a note to yourself, but your companion hears it anyway. 

“Sure,” Beverly answers unobtrusively. “Hey, tell me about it?”

It doesn’t take you long to understand what she’s getting at. “Gideon?” you ask, unable to keep a bit of suspicion from your voice, “Why?”

“I’ve heard bits and pieces, rumors, but I want to hear it from you,” Beverly admits. “You don’t have to tell me right this instant. Just…” She breaks off, evidently unable to find the words. 

“It’s fine, I’ll tell you,” you respond. You think you owe Beverly this explanation, if only for how neglectful of a friend you’ve been the past few weeks. You tell her as much and she waves the remark off, which only incites more guilt within you. You’ve been entirely negligent and neglectful—something you seek to repair in the coming time. 

Somehow, reliving the kidnapping is actually helpful. By recounting what happened, you can start to come to terms with the events that unfolded. Looking back on it now, you realize that you had no choice but to kill Gideon. Indeed, just as Jack said, he would have killed you first. After killing Chilton and Lounds, there’s no telling what he would have done next—except, you realize with mounting dread, go after Alana. 

“That’s… very shitty,” Beverly admits once you’ve explained everything, seemingly lost for the right words. You relate to the sentiment. Truly, the entire situation is beyond words. 

“I know,” you say, acknowledging the remark before choosing to push the conversation onto lighter topics. You glance around the room with irritation. “Now I’m just stuck in this fucking room. I’m dying of boredom.” Beverly laughs, her eyes gleaming. 

“You’re going to love me for this,” she smirks, a mischievous gesture that reminds you of how cunning she can be. You send her a quizzical look and she makes a show of rolling her eyes. “I brought clothes. Just change into these and they’ll never notice you leaving.” She glances at the door behind her before looking back to you, waiting to see what you’ll say. 

“You’re my savior,” you remark sincerely. Beverly smiles triumphantly, before offering you a hand. You take the proffered assistance and she steadies you as you leave the mattress. To your surprise, you’re able to walk on your own—albeit with less speed and composure than usual. You step into the bathroom and close the door behind you, before finally taking off your damned hospital gown. The thing is horrid and you take immense pleasure in shoving it into the absurdly small trash can in the corner of the room. Thankfully, you took a shower this morning, so you won’t have to put clean clothes on over dirtied skin. The clothes Beverly brought don’t fit super well, but they’re leagues better than that drab hospital gown. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds, unsurprised by what you see.

You look different. Haunted, hallowed. Your face almost looks more gaunt, your eyes more dull. You didn’t emerge from captivity unscathed, that’s for damn sure. The wound ripping the skin at your side is proof of that. There’s also a jagged scar cutting diagonally down your face, reaching from the edge of your temple and falling dangerously close to your left eye. You bring a hand up to the cut, wincing at the brief pain the motion incites. 

A harsh knock on the door rips you out of your self-inflicted torturous reverie. You take a deep breath and regard your reflection one more time before leaving the bathroom. You stand in front of Beverly and she looks you up and down. 

“Not bad,” Beverly says. 

“Jack is going to kill me if he finds out,” you realize aloud. 

“Which is why he won’t,” Beverly responds confidently. Her eyebrows furrow at your statement, as if the very suggestion of failure is laughable. “Find out, that is.” You click your tongue and grin at her; she then grins back. Once the elevator doors open, the two of you walk through the long hall and towards the exit. Your departure is painfully slow, but within a few minutes, the two of you are standing outside of the hospital building. The afternoon sun is bright today and the sunshine warms your skin. You feel a relieved smile growing on your face. Beverly says she’ll pull the car up to the driveway and walks off towards her car. Moments later, you’re successfully seated in the passenger seat of your friend’s van. 

The car ride is quicker than you expect. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten the chance to catch up with Beverly, so you’re happy to hear her amusing anecdotes and exciting stories. Truly, it feels as if only a few minutes pass before she’s pulling into your driveway. Your friend puts the car in park and turns to regard you, a conflicted expression on her face. You feel rather the same in that regard. You haven’t been home in several days now and, somehow, it almost feels as if you’re intruding on someone else’s life. You’re preoccupied with the past, as you listen to the cicadas humming in the trees nearby. What if you hadn’t gone after Alana? Would Gideon have killed her? He very well could have. Despite your near certainty that you did the right thing, you can’t rid yourself of the guilt and regret. You should’ve done things differently. You should’ve-

“Hey,” Beverly interjects, her voice cutting through the rushing static in your ears. Her concerned eyes meet yours. “Don’t beat yourself up about it—any of it.  You did the best you could.” As always, Beverly knows exactly what to say. She knows not to tell you that you made the right choice. She knows not to remind you of Gideon’s criminality. Her hand reaches out to clasp yours and you lean over the median to embrace her. Beverly hugs you back and, for a moment, it feels like everything will be okay.

Even despite Beverly’s reassurances, there is blood on your hands as you wave goodbye to her and step into your home. The scar on your face burns with recognition, remorse. Crimson pools color the ground at your feet and your victims follow your every step, taunting you from the shadows. You are haunted by the events that transpired and the choices you made. You had spent so long in a false state of overconfidence, thinking yourself immune from it all. As you walk into your bedroom, a blaring sound greets your ears. You walk over to your alarm clock and disable the alarm, both satisfied and unsettled by the silence that follows. How long did you spend ignoring the shrieking alarms in the recesses of your mind? 

Darkness draws the curtains over the day. Sleep comes easily because, despite it all, you’re exhausted. Unfortunately, your slumber doesn’t feel much longer than the blink of an eye, and you wake to find your skin soaked with sweat. Your stomach growls and you resign to eating a small breakfast before tackling your hygiene. Once you’ve eaten, you choose to take a shower. The hot stream of water tickles your skin and you have to be careful not to let the water fall directly on your wound. The last thing you need is a burn on top of a gunshot wound—that would add insult to injury (literally). Your shower takes a bit longer than normal, mainly because your left arm is restricted in movement. By the time you’re turning the knob to stop the water, your left side is burning from the exertion. You grit your teeth and step out of the shower, grabbing a towel with your right hand. What follows is a rather awkward toweling-off, as you struggle to dry off without aggravating your injuries. You take several minutes to carefully rebandage your wound, before turning to the pile of fresh clothes on the counter near the sink. 

The act of changing into clean clothes proves to be more difficult than you initially expect. The most minute of movements can further irritate your injury. Even the attire you chose—a simple shirt and your most comfortable sweatpants—seems to cling to your form. It feels as if your skin is stretched far too tight over your bones. Despite your expectations, you only feel worse after the shower. 

You’re not out of the bathroom for more than two minutes before you hear the doorbell ring. Dread coils in your chest and you walk to the door, opening it before you think of the potential consequences. The door swings to the side to reveal Hannibal standing on your doorstep. A drop of water slides down your temple. You bat at it with your hand, before regarding Hannibal. 

“Hello,” you manage to say, trying your best to suppress the several different emotions threatening to surface. Your heart is pounding uncomfortably within the confines of your ribcage. You feel your nails digging into your palms as you come to terms with the situation Hannibal has just forced you into. You can’t exactly turn him away at the door—especially knowing that he loathes rudeness and could easily kill you for the offense. Although, in reality, he could kill you regardless. Why are you still allowing this to happen? Why are you still complicit? 

"May I come in?" You bite the inside of your cheek. He is only asking to maintain the pretense that you have control over the situation.

"Sure," you acquiesce guardedly. The wound at your side stings in remembrance. Trepidation makes a home in your chest. Seeing Hannibal once more forces your mind to conjure images of him in surgical attire, slicing through your sutures and putting them back when finished. A not insignificant part of you wonders why it took you so long to come to terms with the danger that Hannibal wields with ease. How many times have you invited him into your home? You've been a fool. 

Hannibal is unaware of your thought process. He's regarding you with mild interest, as if he'd like to dissect your thoughts. You have no intentions of actually speaking on those thoughts, so he'll just have to keep wondering, you think wryly. His voice cuts through the air. "Your departure from the hospital yesterday-"

“What about it?” You interject, stepping past him to close the door before returning to your original position. If Hannibal is annoyed by the interruption, he doesn’t show it. You’re skating on extremely thin ice here. The most minute of gestures could send you into the icy depths of his anger. Sure, you’ve grown accustomed to feeling like that in Hannibal’s presence. That sentiment seems to be amplified today, though. You’re inexplicably taken back to your days at the Academy. You were a wide-eyed recruit, once—filled with the optimism and naïvet�� of someone who hadn’t seen the field. Instructors taught you everything you needed to know about criminals: how to apprehend them, how their minds worked. 

None of it could have prepared you for what followed. Your first mission left you with a nasty bruise on your jaw and blood-spattered clothes. You hadn’t spoken for days after, and remained shut up in your house until Jack Crawford forced himself inside and sat next to you. At the time, you hadn’t known the man at all. You expected him to chew you out, to start yelling at you for your uselessness. Crawford did nothing of the sort. Instead, he simply… spoke to you. He recalled his training days, his first mission when he stared down a murderer of seventeen innocents. You found solace in knowing that you weren’t overreacting, that the Head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit himself expressed similar feelings once upon a time. 

“This job isn’t for the faint of heart,” Crawford had remarked “You have to come to terms with the fact that some people are past saving.” The thought troubled you. (It still troubles you.) 

“Even if we can save them?” You choked out, your voice raspy from neglect. If the man was surprised by you breaking your silence, he never commented on it. 

“Even then,” Crawford sighed. At that moment, he looked wizened beyond his years: a man who had seen his fair share of violence and maleficence. Crawford turned back to you, a determined look in his eyes. “We deal with monsters here, who are infinitely more cruel than you thought possible. They will come in different shapes, sizes, personalities. But there’s one thing that every single one of these people has in common… They’re all dangerous.” 

“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Crawford asked. “I know you’re talented—I keep an eye on all the recruits. You could be a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit within a few years. You have a good eye, a good feel for how this works. Excellent shot.” The praise barely registered to you in your tortured state. Now, it brings a ghost of a smile to your face. “But this work… it changes you.” Spoken from experience, judging by the resigned look on Crawford’s face. 

“You can leave this behind,” Crawford continued, his lips set in a thin line. “Get another job. Have a normal life.” He pushed himself up to stand over you. You still remember the look on his face in that moment: how his eyes gleamed with firm resolve. “Or you can walk out of this door with me, back to headquarters.” It hadn’t taken you long to come to a decision. After a few seconds, you got to your feet and followed after him. 

Now, as you stand across from a killer in your entryway, you wonder if that answer was a mistake. Where would you be, if you weren’t here? The thought is pointless to consider. It’s far too late for contemplation. 

Hannibal says your name and you’re snapped out of your trance. He’s staring at you expectantly, but you haven’t the faintest idea what he is looking for. “You were assigned to bedrest for three more days,” Hannibal eventually says. 

“And?” You ask, moving past him to walk into the living room. Hannibal follows behind you, a silent shadow at your back. A shiver rolls down your spine as you walk the short distance with your back to him, almost entirely vulnerable. You move to sit on your sofa and Hannibal takes a seat at the armchair across from it. The positioning reminds you of your sessions with him. You grit your teeth. 

“Does Jack know that you’ve returned home?” Hannibal asks, raising his eyebrows slightly. His gaze pins you to the sofa. 

He’s playing dirty with that remark and he knows it. “What do you think?” You ask, unable to keep a slight hint of sardonicism from leaking into your voice. Hannibal only raises his eyebrows. You sigh and lean back against your sofa. “Of course Jack doesn’t know. He would murder me, to put it lightly.” The thought prompts some guilt to rise in you. You forget the feeling when Hannibal inexplicably rises to his feet and rounds the coffee table, standing over you. 

“Your wound needs consistent medical attention.” He demands. 

“It’s fine,” you argue, “It doesn’t even hurt.” That is a complete lie. Hannibal seems to know that, if the skeptical pinch to his lips is anything to go by. He was a surgeon, after all. You had forgotten— tried to forget , your brain supplies. The air between the two of you is silent. The way Hannibal looms over you now makes you nervous. You don’t know what to say to break through this seemingly insurmountable tension. 

“Allow me?” It’s phrased like a question, yet you feel as if you can’t say no. You nod, not trusting the words that could fall from your lips. Hannibal takes an impossible step closer and you push yourself up, maneuvering so that you lie across the couch. You pull up your shirt, feeling strangely self-conscious. Still, Hannibal is—was—a medical professional. This isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before. 

Hannibal hums and looks down at the bandage covering the wound. You’re sure he will get a good idea of the wound’s progress without lifting the entire thing off. His fingertips glide across the skin near the bandage and your skin prickles. For what seems like an eternity, his hand lingers. Just as you’re about to let out a sarcastic quip, he lightly tugs at the edge of the bandage and lifts it up. 

“See?” You say, feeling the need to break the silence settling in the space. Hannibal’s gaze is focused on your wound with intense precision and you have to wonder just what he’s looking for. You’ve seen your fair share of bullet wounds, but you’re not usually this involved in the healing process. You can't remember the last time you got shot in the field. It must’ve been a few years ago, at least. 

Hannibal is staring at you now. His eyes shine crimson in the light. He clearly doesn’t believe you. You sigh. “Fine,” you acquiesce, “It still hurts. But you have to understand, I was going crazy in that hospital room.” You meet his eyes to further emphasize your point. 

“And the truth comes out,” Hannibal murmurs. He’s staring down at his hand, which you’re still holding for some reason. You’re quick to release your grip. “As it is wont to do.” That latter remark is murmured under his breath and it is clearly meant as a note to himself. You hear it anyway. The statement is foreboding, and you almost have to wonder if it’s an omen. “Do you have fresh bandages for tomorrow? You should change them daily.” 

“Yes, I do,” you respond detachedly, smoothing down the bandage he had pulled up to investigate the wound. You hastily pull your shirt back down, feeling strangely exposed. “And I changed the bandage this morning.” You had to shower, after all. 

For a fraction of a moment, you swear Hannibal looks disappointed. You’re quick to dismiss the notion. There is nothing he would get from bandaging your wound in such a manner. It’s not like he can steal your kidney again, you think. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the dark humor you seem to be using to cope. 

“I will see you tonight for your appointment,” Hannibal announces, smoothly exiting the room before you can so much as raise an objection. As you walk towards the front door, you begin to recognize the remark for what it is: a demand. You have no choice in the matter. Arguably, the luxury of choice was ripped from your hands when you embraced complicity. You have no one but yourself to blame, you think begrudgingly.

The rest of the day passes without incident, thankfully. You spend most of the time resting off and on. Your wound still hurts, but it’s a marked improvement from how it felt when you first woke up. You desperately want to make yourself busy by cleaning your house, but your side protests any activity more strenuous than walking. You eventually settle for watching something on television, allowing your mind to drift as the bright colors assault your vision. 

Before long, it’s time for you to leave for your appointment with Hannibal. You contemplate changing into more formal clothes, before remembering how laborious the process of dressing was this morning. Besides, Hannibal already saw you earlier. There’s no point in trying to pretend that you’re well-collected and composed, you huff. Mind made up, you grab your car keys and leave the house. 

Since you’re dreading the session, the drive passes particularly quickly. You’re so preoccupied with your thoughts this evening that you don’t realize Hannibal has been waiting for you to enter his office until he says your name. You get up from your seat in the waiting room and follow him through the doorway, your heart in your throat. For some reason, you get the feeling that you won’t be making it out of here alive. Your eyes flit about the office and you see the space in a new light. Anything and everything sharp can be a weapon. The only exit to the room is the door you just entered through. 

There’s a hand on your shoulder and you’re briefly jarred back to reality. Hannibal motions to the chairs and you follow his direction. Unsurprisingly, the chairs feel impossibly close today. If you were to really sprawl, you would likely hit Hannibal. You cross one leg over the other and try to subtly shrink into the back of the chair. Hannibal’s speech greets your ears, but your thoughts reduce his voice to a frantic rhythm. There’s a distant screeching sound reverberating in your skull and your skin feels as if it’s buzzing. You let your hands rest on your thighs, resisting the urge to let your hand rest on the pistol at your belt. You came armed today—almost as if anticipating something on the horizon. 

“What would you like to talk about?” Hannibal asks. You frown internally. You’re not sure what to talk about. You almost don’t want to talk at all. Hannibal must recognize that, because he falls silent, too. 

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you instead retreat to your mind palace. The gilded white pillars are tinted with crimson. There are muddied footsteps tracking through the foyer. A clock ticks hauntingly, creating a loud rhythm in your ears. You walk down the hall, only to find Abel Gideon’s corpse. You’re thrown back to captivity, to a gunshot ringing in your ears and the horrible thump of a corpse hitting the ground. Your neck aches in remembrance. Abel Gideon’s body looks the same as you left it: a bullet carving a hole through his temple, a shallow cut near the back of his neck. The flooring is red and Gideon’s blood almost seeps into it, creating a murky crimson that is nearly indistinguishable from what it was before.

Abel Gideon was but one man. One criminal, one villain, one monster. There are dozens, hundreds, thousands more. You contemplate the thought as you continue down the hallowed hall of your mind palace. Garret Jacob Hobbs, Franklyn Froideveaux, Abel Gideon… They were only the first tumultuous waves on a pitch black ocean, swirling madly about. You can feel the beginnings of a harsh wind whipping at your skin, rustling your clothes. The skies are dark. The storm is yet to come. 

Before long, you realize you have to leave. There is only so long you can stare off into space before Hannibal will grow suspicious. You close your eyes for a few seconds, before opening them again to find yourself back in Hannibal’s office. You’re restless. The chair threatens to swallow you in its embrace. Your fingers are tapping against the arms of the chair, your foot tapping against the ground. You need to move. You need to escape. You need to- 

It is a twisted irony, you think as a single word slips from your lips. You’ve spent so long pretending, feigning ignorance. You think back to that fateful moment all those months ago, when Hannibal took you to his residence. You saw the antlers, remembered the fanciful food at the dinner parties. It had felt as if fiery flames were stitching your every nerve together, igniting one horrid realization within you. Ironic, how one word will send your world aflame once more.

“See?” The remark crawls from your tongue, wrenching your lips open and sinking into the still air. You inhale sharply as you notice Hannibal’s eyes flash crimson. His posture is still and he almost appears frozen in place, save for the measured breaths entering his nose and exiting his lips. His unblinking, unflinching stare assaults you with horrible, cloying fear. The feeling paralyzes you, leaving your legs locked and your hands clenched in fists. Your heart is humming in your ears. You can’t hear what he says next, but it doesn’t matter. There is no mistaking the expression on his face, the wrath hidden behind that thin-pressed smile:

Hannibal knows.

next chapter

hannibal taglist: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

DOGSDOGS

CHAPTER ONE

I partnered up with the amazingly talented @ka3trv to create this multiple part dogsdogs fic!! Show their account some love, this story is probably my new favorite thing in existence and they're the mastermind behind it all! Will Graham is appointed to Bucharest after the events that unfolded following Hannibal's death. He's struggling with the new scenery, even more so now that Jack needs him to follow the case of the most dangerous men who live there. Nigel knows of the tabs the FBI has on him and he will do whatever it takes to make sure he gets out of this situation unscathed. A life without Gabi and a life without running.

The entirety of the room had only been lit with that of a singular light fixture; a complete contrast to that of the dance club outside the heavy doors of this private area where the men resided. The florescent purple and pink hues from the dance floor cascaded in patterns on the tiling through these doors, an invitation to the rest of society should the men choose to. However, despite the wafting smells of liquor and the promise of a good time through the eyes of the male gaze, Darko and Nigel sat unbothered and undetected, across from one another on the black leathered couches. This room was considered to be one reserved for "private showcases," and was quite lavishly decorated for its small size. Darko was comfortably sat with his arm flush against the decorative couch, seemingly calm for the situation at hand. Nigel, however, was having more difficulty finding comfort in the events of the folder strewn out before his eyes.

As if his scarring hadn't left him enough of a headache, there was now this tumultuous churning in his stomach in regard to how he and Darko would respond to this. There was an immediate threat to not only their work but their lifestyle, as this information being spread could land them in prison, or worse, with the death penalty. Nigel had escaped death once before, he didn't think he would be so lucky as to avoid it a second time.

He placed his fingers gently on the scar which adorned his forehead, a promise he made to himself never to allow his emotions grasp the better of him again. The sound of the police's bullet grazing his forehead and leaving him wounded on the streets of Bucharest resounded in his skull as a promise of his beloved Gabi's final departure from him. She would be pleased enough to live her life in the arms of that unruly American, Charlie. So be it. Her actions had aided him in his escape anyways as he was presumed dead. Continuing the story of his faux end wouldn't be hard when he pulled strings with Darko, partnering with him once again.

And this was the reason for him sitting before Nigel, clad in a professionally tailored black suit. It was properly fitted and steamed, an indication of the wealth this man possessed. No matter the attire, anyone who gazed upon his frame would've run for the hills upon sight. Nigel, however, wore his infamous dog printed button down, upon which he remembers first having given his warning to that wretched Charlie.

He had to stop himself. He couldn't afford to think of his Gabi in a time like this. Her bright red hair had signified the ever-burning flame of his love, now just tarnished embers. He had killed for her. He had died for her. All for her to choose another man.

Darko was the one to snap him out of his pit of nostalgia. He cleared his throat and gestured to the stack of papers uncovered by the manilla folder on the table in front of him, directing Nigel's attention to the task at hand. Even with Darko now on his side, a shiver ran through Nigel's being.

Within these papers were photographs, the professionally taken kind which came from the cameras of forensic specialists. These were not an uncommon sight to either of the men, as they had been partners in the craft of murder for quite some time. With an uneasy silence, save for the bass-boosted electronic beats coming from the club, Nigel's heart dropped with every single one of the images being removed from their place. Laid out before them, Darko was the one to speak first.

"They never seem to have enough, do they?" He asked, in a deep and throaty voice. He was referring to the sheer number of tabs the FBI had on the two of them and their work and was growing more and more irritable by the moment. There was more information to be gathered by the specialists and more bodies of their making to be uncovered in due time, Nigel and Darko knew this. They were in deep shit if the FBI had managed to track them to Bucharest.

Darko motions to one of the cameras placed in the corner of the ceiling above them, beckoning with his hand for someone to bring them drinks. He had owned this club which would eventually make the most sense for future business discussions with his clients. There would be no disturbances as long as the recordings had been deleted later on.

A man in a suit came in ad handed Darko a bottle of Prosecco and two respective glasses. He left almost as swiftly as he came, not wanting to be caught between the men and their business conversations, as he knew Darko's side hobbies quite well. Glasses were poured and he handed one to Nigel, whom downed the wine in two short gulps.

"They're appointing a man by the name of Will Graham to our case. He's supposedly the best in their system." Darko had procured this information from one of his insiders, however, intel was difficult to get out of the country. This was hearsay but had a substantial amount of evidence to back this claim, as these images had come straight from the FBI quarters in Virginia. Therefore, this ordeal must be met with precise planning, in the case of actuality. Preservation of one's image and freedom was never a bad idea.

Nigel was growing slightly frustrated. Darko had initially promised him that he knew a specialist to distribute the bodies of their victims in ways where they wouldn't be caught. Nigel's newfound life and identity relied heavily on this; he couldn't remain a dead man in the eyes of the government if he was on a wanted list for murder.

"We should make plans to kill him, another addition to the list won't make a goddamn difference." He stated, his words coming out more harshly than he originally intended. He wanted this ordeal to be done and over with as quickly as it had been sprung upon him as he wanted to go back to his life without potential persecution from the country. Not that he had much keeping him tied to Bucharest.

There she was again, flush in his mind. He thought back to the coffee he had earlier that he bought solely because it came from her favorite shoppe. The aroma of the freshly ground beans still reminded him of her.

"You know that's entirely unrealistic," Darko went on to explain, "If the FBI sent him to us as a means of profiling, if he were to go missing or wind up dead they would pinpoint us exactly." He stated, matter of fact. Now, Nigel wasn't one who didn't understand the inner and outer workings of their job, but he had been recently guided by anger. An angry man in a dog shirt. Irony at its finest.

"What do you suggest we do then?" Nigel inquired, tossing one of the photographs back down on the table he'd previously been examining. It was one of the man whom owned Darko money back in September; they'd gutted his insides and sold them off to make back every penny he'd owed.

"You will become his new best friend and we can form an alliance with the guy," Darko said, raising his glass to his lips and finishing the liquid, "Its been a year since she left, Nigel. You could use some company."

It was almost a sick joke the way the man had phrased his internal and now external pain. Nigel wore the wound on his head as a memoir to his long gone lover, whom he would never truly be over. Darko had a way of belittling everyone that worked for him and Nigel would be no exception. Yet, his counterpart was right. It would take careful consideration and calculation on their end to throw this "Will Graham" off of their path so they could continue their line of work.

"Don't be fucking ridiculous, I want no part in forming this shit." Nigel exasperated, even though he knew Darko's plan would be a good one. This way, they could throw of Will's intel on them and even gain some in the process. An FBI agent who could show some of their inner workings would only benefit them. He just didn't want to put in the effort of a pretend friendship to gain it.

"Unless you want another bullet to the face, then I suggest you shut your fucking mouth and do as I tell you." Darko angrily shot back, clearly disinterested in any of Nigel's potential discomfort with the ordeal. He needed this just as much as the former did. There was no way Nigel wouldn't succumb to this offer. He needed to remain out of the eye of the government.

"How long do you expect me to pretend this man is of importance to me in his presence?" Nigel began, clearly in a state of annoyance. Darko would always be the one to have someone else doing his dirty work.

"As long as it takes. We won't be the first to reach out though. That's practical suicide," Darko said, gathering up the files and handing them to Nigel to dispose of, "We will wait for this man to approach us since we have no idea what kind of intel he has on us already. We also don't want him to know we are familiar with his existence."

"What do we know about him, other than the fact he's profiling us?" Nigel asked, trying to get any potential help he could when he would be forced into an allyship with the man. Common interests and understandings worked the best for companionship.

"He's a professor. Teaches all that macabre shit. We also know he's not technically considered a real agent because he failed his psychological screenings. The man's deemed unstable."

Nigel looked at the front of the folder which had an image of the man thought to be tracing them. It was securely paperclipped despite all the other contents of the folder being haphazardly thrown in.

Something panged on the inside of his chest upon gazing at the man. There was an uncomfortable familiarity, despite not even having known him. The brunette with a form fitting blue flannel and corduroy trousers wasn't looking at the camera when the image was procured, but his piercing grey eyes were not to be missed. The man was most likely in his late thirties, with a clean stubble and two long scars stretching across the right side of his face. There was another one, slightly smaller than the two that was placed among his forehead, clean as if a knife had grazed his skin. What kind of history did this man have that would lead to such a bodily disfiguration? Although Nigel couldn't be one to talk, considering his own scars.

Despite never having met Will Graham, there was a certain aura he had that he couldn't place upon him.

Noting Nigel's eventual acceptance of the task, Darko withdrew himself from the room they'd discussed business matters. Nigel sat alone for a moment and replayed the conversation in his head. He would do this mission for himself, for the eventual life he wanted to live without Gabi. He hadn't had a murder-related task outside of his affections for her since they'd met.

He would never let anyone get that close to him again.

...

Lecturing on the topic of death had always been something Will was astute at. It had been his profession for years, to gaze upon the dead with an analytical brain, psychoanalyzing their physical states to determine their causes of death and the mentalities of those who were behind them. Pictures upon pictures of various crime scenes and people whose names and faces Will never had the intention of learning had been displayed upon the projection board above him. This was always the job description and it had never bothered him. Garrett Jacob Hobbs had come close to leaving a pit in Will's stomach as he'd been the one responsible for his death, but no one who'd been killed had ever left him with a feeling such as the departure of Hannibal Lecter.

The man who'd been his acclaimed psychiatrist and had worked his way into his heart had been around for the longest time that after he'd passed, Will no longer knew what to do with himself. It also didn't do him any favors that he came to the realization his feelings with which he shared with the man were more than platonic. It wasn't until their last moments with each other where Will was pulled into Hannibal's arms, the two of them soaked in the blood of the Great Red Dragon that he was finally able to understand what Hannibal had meant in seeing the beauty of death. And in seeing the beauty in what their relationship truly was and all that it could have been.

And it was taken away from him in the same night he was given it.

However, this work of his under the FBI had called to him once more, leading him to his recent affiliations in Bucharest. Jack had managed to convince him to set up site somewhere other than Quantico and pulled a few strings. Will had been an on and off professor at one of the universities, coming in only when the extra person was needed and then hitching a flight back to Wolf Trap, where everything reminded him of everything. In Bucharest, he was able to form himself another identity, one that existed outside of the gaze of Hannibal Lecter. On his lengthy stays at home, however, he caught himself in a perpetual waiting room, always with the underlying hope that maybe, just maybe, his partner would come strolling through the front doors of his house in that suit he always wore. He would pet Will's dogs as they all rushed to greet the man and he would smile at him with that same unsettling smirk he'd always had.

But the last memories Will would ever be graced with would be the moment they shared at the bottom of the cliff. There had been stars in Hannibal's eyes that night, an acknowledgement of Will's total and utter true form. Hannibal had seen Will for who he was and had loved him in his entirety for it. He wanted to push him past the limits that everyone else had placed upon him and to coerce Will towards the understanding Hannibal had all along. He wanted to mold him with his bare hands into the idealized shape of the gods, someone who would see and understand the elegance in the world beyond the living. Hannibal was never a religious man, but his devotion to Will was nothing short of worship.

"Achillies wished all the Greeks would die so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. It took divine intervention to stop them." Hannibal had whispered to him the night at that museum, standing in front of The Primavera, a Botticelli painting. The Primavera has stood as a symbol of new beginnings, and that was where their relationship stood. Will would travel to any continent in search of what he'd had with the man in hopes of a possibility of something new.

He wished the universe would have allowed him anything other than having to wake up on the damp rocks below, water harshly crashing into their sides, with the realization his life had been spared solely because Hannibal had wrapped him in his arms.

He stared at the card with the Romanian translation in front of him. He had spilled traces of coffee from one of the shoppes by the train station onto the cards, but he had a sufficient amount of practice by now. He was able to cite the exclamation in a rocky translation of the language. "As it is shown in the image, there's an obvious persistent difference between the simple murders. The left one is an act of...hatred, the right one an act of liberty. The dead man, whom upon arrival to the scene was deducted to be Michael Gerard. A victim of stage four cancer. After further research on the case, the mortuary team concluded that the wounds we found along the body of the man were explained by his son's desire to 'save him.' That son was none other than Jeremiah Gerard himself." Will stated, in the lecturing voice he'd grown so used to using over the years.

Ignoring the hands raised in the air, he shut the projector off shortly after finishing his sentence, dismissing the class and his thoughts from the events a year prior. This was not the time to reminisce. But there he was, Hannibal himself, standing at the back of the classroom with eyes turned towards will in a mocking manner. Will's encephalitis has gotten the better of him on numerous occasions and now a part of him was worried he was becoming borderline schizophrenic. He saw Hannibal everywhere he turned, almost hoping he were still alive. The hallucination disappeared from his gaze as he tried his best to use the counting method he'd picked up from extensive therapy.

1,2,3, and he was alone in the room once more, briefcase in hand and almost empty coffee in the other.

His newfound scars burned with his vision.

Although Bucharest was quite the sight, there were none of the winding roads and beautiful foliage Will had come to fall in love with in Virginia. This place was entirely urbanized, and social interaction was never just common, it was expected. Much to Will's dismay. There was no way one could get away with physically hiding themselves from conversation in the outdoors with a population this vast, druggies running around in the streets and children on corners with chalk in their hands. Despite this entirely new setting, Will had never felt more like himself. He understood everything now that he'd had it brought out of him, a spiral of emotions threatening to spill over until they had hardened into the person he was now. Every day without Hannibal was the same monotonous and boring schedule, but he had never felt the same since.

He pulled up to the apartment in which he resided while he was in Bucharest and not back at home. Either place was entirely lonesome; after the events that unfolded; Molly had decided for it to be the better they'd divorced. Even though he had loved her, he'd never felt such relief and remorse at the same time. And there were no more conversations with Alana, whom Will used to consider as one of his only friends now that she'd gone about her life somewhere hidden with Margot Verger.

And he was here, across the world, hoping to figure something out about this case. Maybe even about himself.

The apartment was cold for autumn because the windows weren't properly sealed. He'd been meaning to get that fixed but he hadn't the time. There was a fire going in the hearth Will had started from the moment he walked through the door as a means to try and stay warm through the night. An empty teacup and a spread of newspaper clippings were the only remnants of the night before, thrown about the hardwood floor in seemingly no correspondence. Will had gone to Bucharest in search of a new life, of course, but there was another factor at play.

Jack needed him to profile the guys responsible for the stream of Bucharest murders.

Bodies upon bodies had popped up along the waterfront, all disposed of without their organs. They were clearly uncared for, unlike the murderous artists he'd grown familiar with over the course of his work, and had their remnants carelessly strewn about. The most recent body to have been discovered was that of a man by the name of Darrow Lux, a supposed criminal with a background in Con artistry. No prints had been left among the body, just like the others. No organs either.

This wasn't a case unlike anything Will had dealt with before. There was, however, a surmountable less passion in his work than he'd had. sure, he wanted his old life back with the FBI but he still stung on the inside. He'd been subjected to some of the worst physical and emotional turmoil over the past few years, this last year being the worst.

Sighing, he picked himself up off the floor and headed to the barren kitchen, save for a small fake plant in the middle of the island. He never bothered to stock the place with food, preferring to eat out if he had the chance or skip his meals entirely. He'd lost a fair amount of weight since everything changed, but he was still pushing through.

Pouring himself a glass of water from the kitchen sink, he looked out towards the city streets below from the small window before him. There was a crowd of people smoking by the Hostel across the street, laughing and exchanging glances at the passerby. One of the women had a sketchpad that she was drawing with, and Will could almost smell the graphite of the pencils from where he stood if he only imagined hard enough. He missed drawing. He missed fishing. He missed the smells of the woods and the barking of his dogs. He missed Alana and Jack and going into work in the cool mornings. He missed his old job and his coffee maker at home that tasted much better than what they had in Bucharest.

He missed Hannibal.

Will finished his drink and then sauntered over to his loft, where he would spend the night tossing and turning with nightmares he'd grown used to.

We hope you enjoyed! This is a working fic in progress, but we both decided to release the first chapter early so you guys could get a feel for what's in store. Let us know your thoughts! 💛🦐