#hannibal chiyoh

[sherlocks-c0ffee]

They showed up. They served cunt. They killed people. Leave and refuse to elaborate. Absolute icons 🤍

[lesbian-space-fish]

She’s all ready to shoot Will<3

[rocktheholygrail]

Hannibal (2013-2015)

3x05 || 3x06

[screaming-sobbing]

Showing some love for the ladies

[bloodydancy]

Hannibal 3.03 Secondo

[matomai]

The reason for Chiyoh’s age discrepancy in the show:

[cece693]

MY GREATEST JOY

pairing: platonic! hannibal lecter x male reader synopsis: You are not what people think of when they hear Hannibal's son. Yes, you're polite and well mannered, but you also show affection freely—solely to your father. In other words, you're a cuddle bug and big daddy's boy.

Hannibal Lecter was not known for warmth. His reputation, whether among colleagues or acquaintances, was one of elegance, formality, and control. But the people who thought they knew him had never stepped into the quiet, sunlit corners of his home, where his twelve-year-old son’s laughter softened the edges of his world.

They’d expected a miniature version of him—polished manners, quiet voice, impeccable posture—and in many ways, you were exactly that. Hannibal had raised you to navigate a room with grace, to listen more than you spoke, to let your words be deliberate. But where Hannibal was an immovable stone wall, you were the ivy that clung to it—warm, alive, persistent. You didn’t keep a polite distance; you sought him out, attached yourself to his side, and stayed there like you belonged.

Because you did.

Mornings in the Lecter household were unhurried, each one beginning with the comforting rhythm you and Hannibal had built together. He would be in the kitchen, immaculate in a pressed shirt and vest, moving with the measured precision of a man who turned even breakfast into an art form. You padded in wearing your slippers, hair slightly mussed from sleep, and without hesitation you crossed the room to wrap your arms around him from behind.

“Good morning, Papa.” you mumbled into the fabric of his shirt.

His hands never paused in their work, but his head inclined toward you, and you felt the faint brush of his lips on your hairline. “Good morning, my boy.”

He let you linger there while he plated your breakfast. With anyone else, he would’ve insisted on space. With you, he shifted naturally to accommodate the extra weight against him. When you finally sat down, he placed the plate in front of you and rested a hand briefly on your shoulder.

“You slept well?” he asked. You nodded between bites. “Good. You’ll need your energy for your studies—you’ve been doing exceptionally well in mathematics.” His praise was quiet but sincere, and it pulled a proud smile from you before you could stop it.

When you accompanied Hannibal to the opera, to a gallery opening, or to his office, people often underestimated how close the two of you truly were. You stayed near him, sometimes slipping your hand into his without a second thought, sometimes leaning lightly against him during conversation.

If someone tried to monopolize his attention for too long, you had a way of quietly inserting yourself into the exchange—polite, yes, but deliberate.

Once, Alana Bloom smiled and said, “You’re very attached to your father.”

You met her gaze, your tone steady. “He’s my only family. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hannibal’s hand came to rest against the center of your back, thumb brushing once in silent acknowledgment.

Evenings were sacred. Once your homework was finished, you’d drift into his study without knocking, curl up beside him on the leather sofa, and rest your head against his shoulder.

He’d mark his page, shifting so you could lean more comfortably, and begin reading aloud. Sometimes you’d fall asleep like that, lulled by his voice. If you stirred, he’d press a kiss to your temple, not even pausing in his sentence.

When it was time for bed, you’d hug him once, then again—your little ritual—and he’d kiss your forehead. “Rest well, my darling boy.”

BONUS SCENE:

It happened on a quiet Saturday afternoon. You were in the kitchen, perched on the counter while Hannibal chopped vegetables for dinner. You were chattering about the idea of living with him forever—how you’d stay here even when you were grown, because why would you ever want to be anywhere else?

Hannibal, in a rare attempt at teasing, glanced over with a faint smirk. “Ah, but you won’t be here forever. Someday you’ll have your own life, perhaps far from mine.”

The words were said lightly, almost idly. He expected you to roll your eyes or protest in jest. Instead, you went very still. Your lower lip trembled before your eyes flooded, and the knife paused mid-slice as you scrambled off the counter and clung to him.

“Don’t say that,” you choked out, voice breaking. “I don’t want to be far from you. I can’t. You’re my only family, Papa—you’re all I have.”

The sheer panic in your tone cut deeper than any blade. Hannibal set the knife aside instantly, pulling you into his arms, one hand cupping the back of your head.

“My boy,” he murmured, voice low and steady against the top of your hair. “I was only teasing. You will never be without me. Never.”

You buried your face into his vest, holding him as if someone might drag him away. Hannibal’s arms tightened around you, and there was a flicker of something uncharacteristic in his chest—a sting of regret for causing you distress, even in jest. He smoothed your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple and then your forehead.

“I am here,” he said again, more firmly this time, as if willing the words into the very walls of the house. “I will always be here.”

It took time for your breathing to slow, for your grip on him to loosen. When you finally leaned back, his hands stayed on your shoulders, eyes searching your face.

“You are my heart, Y/N,” he told you. “Nothing—not time, not distance—will ever change that.”

You nodded, still sniffling, and Hannibal guided you back to the counter space where the knife and vegetables laid, keeping you pressed against his side for the rest of the afternoon. He let you cling as long as you needed, kissing your hair every so often, silently vowing never to make that kind of joke again.

[owlswhistle]

trying to catch a vibe rn

[pillowpetbee]

sanitary products used by hannibal characters

[sknoelle]

10 years ago today, "Dolce" first aired (July 9, 2015).

"You and I have begun to blur."

"If I saw you everyday forever, Will, I would remember this time."

~~~

"Where does the difference between the past and the future come from?"

"Mine? Before you and after you. Yours? It's all starting to blur... You and I have begun to blur."

"Isn't that how you found me?"

Hannibal 3x06 - "Dolce"

[tethered-heartstrings]

hannibal nbc - 3.07 "digestivo" / 2.06 "futamono"

[thecoolestcowboy]

chiyoh “girlboss of the century” [last name]

[rocktheholygrail]

happy 10th anniversary of this episode to those who celebrate! 🥳🎉

[tedrailmi]

Hannibal, S03E05 x S03E13

[cedarxwing]

I know how easily she would tear.

[matomai]

Chidelia chibis 🐱🐾