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lephamquynhnhu · 3 months

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Panacea

Chapter 7 (End): Beyond the Promised Sky

Dan Feng x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS/ TAGS: The reader has a default name, OOC, mentioned blood, violence. (This is a work of fanfiction, events are not aligned or relevant to the original work)

Word count: 3k4

Summary: He met you on a drizzling day when hydrangea fully bloomed on its field. Amidst the sea of mild pastel petals, Dan Feng never thought the flowery domain that intertwined your fate was the precise thing withered with you. They said he was a dragon, a hero, a sinner, but never a person with love, hatred, sorrow, or joy like everyone else in this world. However, it was a demi-truth. He committed the cardinal sin because of you.

Note: For the first line, I express my special thanks to Dr.Lecter in the Hannibal series for being a valuable reference in this chapter. Secondly, I am glad I finished Panacea at another crucial moment since I got an offer letter as a Villa host in a five-star resort. Finally, thank you for following this fanfic.

Do you like...depression?

From the pitch-dark space emerged a pair of brunette eyes dotted with a brightened yellow hue. The monster stinks like grave soil and corpses, causing a death emanation marries with a cunning aura that gives off those pupils, making cold sweat cascade along his spine like a dewdrop.

"I can smell your fear, little dragon." - The prison starts when his whole body comes to light. A gigantic embodiment with six raven wings, limbs full of sharp claws like cathedral spears, and scales on his torso play as invincible armor.

"I am not afraid of you." - Dan Feng calmly places the document on the table and settles his seat, staring back with his bleak green eyes. By guaranteeing the current heart pulse is eighty per second, Imbibitor Lunae ascertains that his condition matches the requirements.

"I didn't claim that; instead, you fear losing someone." - "The scent of Mimosa accompanied by Stephania for a tranquilizer and mistletoe plus Datura metel for the patient with epilepsy. Besides, I can sniff a vague blood smell on your sleeves. You must be absolutely desperate to wield the traditional approach to lengthen their lifespan when Cloudhymm is powerless." - The monster sniggers, his sinister smile spreading unto the earlobes to unravel abnormal canines. Primus Immortus may be evil, yet he is still an excellent apothecary with sensitive olfaction. Therefore, he can detect advantageous traces. However, Dan Feng remains silent with decorum, and his stern expression behind the cell is unreadable.

On the other hand, Primus Immortus is pleased with the end of his filthy soul because he has never drunk anything sublime like the sorrow of the High Cloud quintet. His nutrition is savoring people's misery. Like a hound, Immortus can sniff woes from the High Elder's irises handily obscured beneath the solemn mantle. He would like to play around the bush and pull more strings, yet his other side stops him punctually to secure the plan he is brewing. Primus Immortus decides to cooperate and comply with Dan Feng's testimony in exchange for the spanking sip he took because he knows he is the controller.

After the chaotic occurrence, Dan Feng received a poem that followed him via a micrometer of the security door. Echoing every corner of the shadowy corridor is a sarcastic treble.

"Amaranthine dawn shines through

Blushing clouds,

O willow-silk rain,

Blasting confederate roses."

The Long Scion exasperatedly slams the document on the table, and his chair shrieks in displeased noise as he takes the seat. Dan Feng has long forgotten the last time he was infuriated like this, and those cursed eyes keep haunting his mind when he is writing the report. That doomed prison was manipulating his emotions like a puppet while Dan Feng received a dump of garbage. Nonetheless, the topic Immortus mentioned hitting at Imbibor Lunae's bullseye just by a whiff nay, he hates to admit that Primus Immortus was right. He is hopeless.

After a couple of weeks, your condition has increased to a critical point, and the current treatment barely satisfies his purpose. Your aging process arises tremendously combined with Alzheimer and age-related macular degeneration. Moreover, you are even incapable of changing clothes or doing daily tasks, and the epilepsy is now unable to be depressed. The scenario of withered begonia beside your dressing table compared with your aging complexion beneath the pale moonlight. Those things lead him to a dead end.

The black ink spreads bolder and bolder, contrasting with underneath white papers as the High Elder immersed in wandering thought, then a pair of brunette irises with a light amber hue reappears and blends into the hollow void until his brush pan breaks in half as a token to snap him back to reality. In the dim light of his office, a sliver of thin incense smoke undulates around the space and tenderly swirls at his untouched document with a parallel line "North obligation. Absolute death is reverse." Imbibitor Lunae leaves a heavy sigh to review the conversation between him and Dan Shu at the medicine library. She handed the High Elder an ancient scroll of practicing black arts - an approach to ascend Zhen Ren, a higher being that can reach Nirvana to obtain an elixir without concocting.

"How do you...know?" - He clenched his sleeve, hiding his astonishment behind the limitless bookshelves while Dan Shu feigned to browse her file along the Braille, her snowy skin tone fingertips kissed book spines like a scanner as she relied.

"We handicapped always have other summit senses when losing another. Thus, I am able to read your energy. It is turbulent as an abyssal despair. You are going to lose someone, and you can't do anything. The search statistic of Liberian shows that you are trying to look for a unique recipe even though you attempted to deceive the system."

She stopped her line and pulled out a large book covered with leather and golden letters. "Your aura reminds me of my old wound, so I decided to help you. However, this is as far as I could help, and may good fortune always find your journey. " - Dan Shu then left like the wind.

On the last day of Primus Immortus, he probably is sick of the testimony questions and does not cooperate with Dan Feng anymore. Instead, he suggests a quid-pro-quo to gain "dignified" answers that Imbibitor Lunae accepts abruptly. Behind the ironic bars, Immortus seems to enjoy every moment of this trade-off game since his raven swings shaking and massive claws rake at the tense atmosphere when he listens to Dan Feng's childhood.

"What a tragic fate." - Primus Immortus monologues and eyes the opposite person - "Growing up with the destined mission and carrying the name of the High Elder through countless ages. Building up and bringing out the name of the High-Cloud quintet to this cosmos, plus witnessing its fall. But alas, you will eventually lose the one who sees you as Dan Feng."

"Does she remember your name? How does it feel when you kiss her?" - The monster adjusts his volume as the Long Scion is still busy scribbling his precedent answers, and the vibe changes rapidly. Cyan orbs sparkling like a torch illuminate all features of his countenance, a warning to remind Immortus has crossed the line because the marshall or a judge might hear their little play-game. Nonetheless, he is pleased with Dan Feng's reaction as his saliva rolls down and drops to the ground. Moreover, if there were not Celest Gold restraining his swings, people could hear the sound of swings behind the cell. Primus Immortus vigilantly stares back to watch how deep his string roots at the High Elder's soul.

"I have the last needed element to aid you in achieving your wish, Little Dragon. It will grant you the primal power equals Permanence." - He lowers his voice with vicious eyes glowing under the dark bangs and awaits the crackling spirit. Conversely, Imbibitor Lunae closes his tabs and readily leaves the cell, indicating that his heart is as solid as Marmorean. Looking at Dan Feng's retreating figure blending into the corridor, the monster reveals his last trump card:

"What if I said Zhen Ren could drink up the four seas?"

To Primus Immortus' expectation, the High Elder's footstep gives a halt as his heart pulse is immovable for a millisecond when hearing that sentence. He knows love affairs may not be enough to convince Imbibitor's fall, yet it will make a difference with the topic of compatriot.

Saving the Vidyadhara race is a proper reason to unlock the black arts.

However, Dan Feng merely breathes out and marches toward the security door without a glance, leaving behind his resonating footsteps from afar.

"How wick." - a familiar metallic voice reverberates at the unfathomable depth of the Premilinary Prison as Primus Immortus amuses himself without looking up at the frontal man. His white chignon is tied hard by a Dalbergia hairpin and remains motionless like a marble monument while a scarlet pupil glows amidst unstable light. Although half of his face emerges in the pitch-black dark, no one is unaware of his position.

Yinxing from the High-Cloud Quintet demanded an informal appointment with Primus Immortus.

He slowly detaches an electronic bug at the table's edge and smashes his hand-made device into dust: "What is in exchange for your 'last element'?"

The monster looks excited as hearing another member of the legendary team exploit his secret. A group of esteemed figures created illustrious feats and miracles for everyone but themselves, so their misery is holly nectar to Immortus, and occurrences are flowing as his scheme. The ivory canines spread across his twisted face when he speaks.

"What a pity. You are ineligible to operate 'that thing' properly. Only a descendant with a divine bloodline grants the privilege of touching it, and I already have had my things. However, if you successfully convince Little Dragon, you both may attain your joint target."

Just as Primus Immortus expected, Yinxing's mind wavers like a dribble of water to cause a micro crackle in his spirit, and a triumphant smile stretches on his maniacal face. After the blink of an eye, everything is upside down as the blurring surroundings are confused into another timeline. Standing beside him are the rest of the High-Cloud Quintet, and Yinxing could say they are different yet the same people simultaneously. They wear unusual uniforms while idly chattering about ordinary topics under the cement ground with crowded transportation. To Yinxing, this scene seems peaceful, a surreal life that is too good to be true. As a result, he swings his sword to tear the unfolding illusion, but a flow of smoke lingers at his blade.

The girl who shares Bai Heng features said they nestle in the body of an Outer God, and she is the Paradox Guardian - named Dao Zhen - a doppelganger of Bai Heng from the other world. She exposes that this timeline used to exist but was erased because the history selected and ramified. Immortus possesses a kind of mystic eyes playing the role of an alien door leading to another Dimension by hypnotizing Yinxing and extracting a fragment of his conscience into an Outer God's body.

"If you stay with me permanently, we can live in any possible context." - She whispers beside Yinxing's earlobe and intertwines her fingers - "You love this face, don't you?'' - A cold exhale sweeps through as Dao Zhen grazes her nose against his collar, she tries to orientate him to become a second Guardian; as for Yinxing perspective, he finds it is a dilemma yet he decides to bare the sword to clarify his decision.

"Fight me if you dare! I will resurrect her and rebuild the High-Cloud Quintet. Not living in your cheap illusion arts." - He conceded Dan Feng in testimony privilege since he has never been into mundane activities in prison. Hence, Yinxing vaguely learned his unpublished situation. They can become an antagonist duo like Primus Immortus suggested.

The blade slashes Dao Zhen's afterimage and causes a space-shifting while his sword tip points at her and eventually claims his victory after an intense battle. Yinxing sees Dao Zhen vomit a wooden box and turns into black mud flowing toward his heels.

Abruptly, a recognizable ceiling of a clinic appears in front of his eyesight while gripping an exquisite carving box.

Light still shines brightly at the Artisanship Commission despite the darkness covering the sky in a black mantle because there will be a massive parade to welcome a new Yaoqing general called Feixiao. The former presider was assassinated when he traveled with his wife in a hot spring, but Her Ladyship is missing. Many rumors vine around and wander in their vicinity, yet Feixiao apropos quenched and controlled them.

Listing ordnance, checking the quality of gunpowder, and solidifying human resources remain coursing vibrantly before the kick-off event. People even could hear the sledgehammer of blacksmiths from afar.

Meanwhile, Yinxing and Dan Feng are discreetly confronting each other at the Fyxestroll Garden.

"You don't wish the High-Cloud Quintet to return to its renaissance?" - his reprimanded voice arouses the placid serenity between them since Imbibitor Lunae selected another path.

"It is a part of history, and we must respect the past. Stop striving to rewrite it like a moth to a flame because death cannot resurrect. Seeking immortality is illegal." - the Long Scion intends to turn his back and march forth, yet his heels halt when Yinxing reveals his buried secret.

"Although the Yaoqing has forfeited their wanted poster, they will pay seven trillion credits for Bai Lin's head, plus executioners will continuously send out to chase her to every galaxy corner. Furthermore, Feixiao is also here."

"I don't know what are you... " - an explosion swiftly roars through the inky sky from the Artisanship Commission, interrupting Dan Feng's sentence. A red-orange hue burns radiantly at a corner, and charcoal fumes flare up violently. Neither do they present punctually, nor do they put out the fire with ordinary water. The oil and gas will aggravate the situation; in addition to this plight, numerous Vidyadhara people assemble crowdedly for the parade - the last straw of limit breakthrough.

"Zhen Ren can drink up the four seas." - the High Elder stares at the Paradox box in his hand while Yinxing repeats an accustomed clause.

They are standing at the center of an invisible hexagon made from six Suppression Towers and ready to practice black arts. Inside the Paradox box is a pair of Mystic Eyes of a deceased Abundance Emanator, which is eligible to open the Supremacy Boundary to ascend the Long Scion and become a higher being. The left eye is a mirror to look through the past, and the right one is the key to unlocking the pruning future. To rewrite reality and unleash that power, they need to feed it with all heliobi in the Suppression Towers.

Dan Feng and Yinxing should have succeeded if they had complied with the Five Element Order.

"North obligation. Absolute death is reverse."

The hexagon's apex must face northward, yet they did not notice the line in Dan Feng's ancient scroll that led to a retrorse geometry against the feng shui order, causing the Grand Calamity to befall Loufu. The supposed door turned into a mirror that reflects the Backside of this world, drawing fantastic monsters to come through. Thousands of mythological creatures, demonic monsters, even Abundance abominations belligerent and wild beasts with Evil Dragons acting as their leader, descended upon Xianzhou, and the mirror is like a black hole hanging over the firmament with lethal levin.

On that day, no one dares to reminisce or talk about that appalling scene, and nobody records the precise duration of the catastrophe. They only remember the death toll with injured victims was unbearable, thousands of missing people. On top of that, the monsters' blood caused acid rain, melting agricultural fields and paralyzing their trading traffic, which caused all economic activities to stagnate. To mobilize all resources, Jing Yuan procrastinated the Ten-Lords Commission's warrant and approved the duel culprits Yinxing - Dan Feng temporarily attending Luofu's frontier. Additionally, he requested military assistance from other Xianzhou ships to block the Backside mirror.

"I have another personal affair to do. Please, leave me three hours, then I will present before the judges." Imbibitor Lunae grits his teeth to press each word as if gathering the last ounce of his strength to prevent crumbling.

Under the lonesome Exalting Sanctum's ruin, Hanya and Xueyi only stay still amidst the sound of silence.

Until the Long Scion intends to throw away his pride and kneels before two sisters, they timely stop him and accept his favor. As a result, the twisted fate between you two is going to its epilogue.

A feather noise accidentally wakes you up from your slumber, which is followed by a soft fabric rustle. You attempt to mouth your words, but none of the names lingers in your mind, and the fragileness sounds weaker than you expected. All your vital energy seemingly ebbs away as you watch inky shadow prints on the wall. Dan Feng's countenance quickly shifts from concern to rest assured as a dissipating cloud when he sees you are safe and sound after the turmoil (Maybe the forest's mythopedia is true). You wonder why he acts so weirdly as rushing to capture your wilt frame into his embrace, and the nose bridge presses against your nap coldly while Dan Feng's hot breath fans over your baby hair unstably. Although you no longer recognize this man, a comfortable warmth radiating from him is half acquainted, half foreign, and you realize the High Elder is quivering.

His clothed back soaks with sweat as your hand brushes the long locks, fingertips gently touching the fancy fabric pattern. A short-lived memory enlightens your foggy mind after a few stroking, bringing back a feeble sunray in your opaque irises.

"Ah...I remember who you are. Dan Feng, isn't it? It looks like I just woke up from a long dream." - He does not answer or proceed to any conversation, or in other words, his throat is stuck with a fiery lump, just inhaling the mild white tea fragrance in your hair as though mesmerizing it into his soul.

"I want to watch the dawn with you." - Your respiratory is getting weaker and unstable when resting your head against his firm chest.

"Can we wait until you get better?" - Dan Feng contemplates the gray sky beyond your window as a flock of birds flies across the hermitical horizon. However, he quickly surrenders your stubbornness afterward. The High Elder carries you towards the usual spot - an eminence used to sightseeing in your pasture.

The coziness from his exhale thawing the thin frost on your senile face wakes you up from a short nap. The purplish canvas tinge with a rosy hue and pastel orange color while dewy grass dances in morning winds, you two quietly await the rising sun. Your eyes shimmer in amazement when seeing old comrades standing afar and wavering hands toward your side. The sun shines around them like crowning a laurel halo.

"It...is impossible. Regardless of your wraith, I am happy to see you guys again." - You mutter under your breath as Irene wags her wedding bouquet, and Huang Yuan offers his hand to you while Pumpkin shakes his tail.

Nevertheless, your jubilance does not last long after a blink of an eye when the surroundings disappear into voidness, rendering your sightless eyes in which you do not feel any regrets backlog in your heart.

"Why do you look so sad, Feng?" - Your wilt hands full of freckles like a root trace his features to sense his sentiment.

"No, I am just..." - your hopeless motion abruptly intercepts the Long Scion's half-baked lie as you draw closer to give him one last kiss - "I couldn't wait for the next Autumn..." - However, you never get a chance to complete the line because your soul leaving even faster and the kiss forever falling on his shoulder.

Dan Feng dumbfoundedly gazes at the dazzling dawn and needs several seconds to process what is happening.

He desperately calls your name to wake you up but does not receive any response. Like a madman, Imbibitor Lunae carries your limp body toward the hydrangea garden and finally collapses from exhaustion. Amidst the sea of shriveling flowers, a useless person cradles his lover in anguish while the browny flower balls waver in soft breezes.

"Somebody....Somebody please save my Bai Lin!"

But alas, only the cricket chirping and leaves rustling sing your requiem. The sky is getting brighter, plus cotton clouds nonchalantly trekking across a pair of emerald orbs, and it is not raining. But why does water keep cascading on his face? Why can he not save his loved one even though he committed Ten Unpardonable Sins? Individuals often pray to them to be endowed with grace, but whom will he pray to?

After your death, the man who sees the world possesses an unparalleled power to traverse clouds and bestow rain, shaping forms as the world's of essence beckon, has already decided his fate. If he can not save you, Dan Feng will die with you.

Endnote: Alright! Who dies next? Gepard or Argenti?

#honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #dan feng x reader #dan feng x you #dan feng fanfic #hsr dan feng #hsr dan feng x reader

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dbmars · 3 months

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December – New Orleans, 2015

Will had thought that his uniform would stand out amid the splendor of the gala, but as he waded through the glitterati, brushing past old money debutantes in shimmery dresses and NFL players in their tuxedos, nobody paid him any mind. There were plenty of off-duty cops here working security, some of whom he knew and nodded to as he passed. Gotta earn some extra cash for the holidays.

The ballroom was decorated in white and gold, the walls covered with cascading lengths of Christmas lights softened by gauzy wall hangings. A brass band played jazzy Christmas fare and couples danced on the shining wooden floor, while other guests socialized at cafe tables or small gathering areas with chairs and sofas. The banquet table supported a massive spread, its centerpiece an ice sculpture depicting a stylized ocean wave dyed green, symbolizing Tulane’s mascot.

Will scanned the crowd with a policeman’s focus, his eyes trained by many nights on the Quarter or working Mardi Gras. He wasn’t out on patrol much anymore. It’d been at least four years, in fact, but he was surprised how quickly the old instincts returned.

He would have thought it difficult to locate one man in a tuxedo in a crowd where everyone was wearing the same black tie, but it wasn’t. Hannibal stood at a cafe table, champagne in hand, surrounded by five or six hangers-on fixated on every word coming out of his mouth. The most besotted of the groupies was Hannibal’s research assistant, Randall Tier, who gazed up at him with shining eyes that caught the holiday lights, the reflections making physical the shining adoration they exuded. The others were potential donors to the neuroscience program and Hannibal had them eating out of his hand as he described their most recent research study.

“Survival requires the selection of appropriate behavior in response to threats. When given the choice between fight, flight, freeze, and fawn, one’s chances are improved by the brain selecting the response with the highest chance of success, and quickly, too. Dysregulated defensive reactions are associated with psychiatric illnesses – PTSD, panic disorders. Threat-induced behaviors are controlled by neuronal circuits in the central amygdala. However, the source of neuronal excitation is unknown, and so our team set out to discover the source.”

“All right, Doctor Lecter, in English, please!” one of the men in the circle laughed, the others joining in.

“If we can isolate the origin for these brain signals that insist there is a lion in the room when there is no lion, we can more effectively treat post-traumatic stress disorder and those who suffer from anxiety and panic attacks,” Hannibal clarified, setting down his empty champagne flute. Randall scurried off to get him another. “And that, my friends, is the essence of the work we do.”

“I just think that is so important, y’know?” a woman with shoulder pads and a blonde bouffant hairdo said, laying a long-nailed hand on Hannibal’s forearm. “My cousin Arlene, she gets these awful panic attacks every time the lawn company comes to mow the yard at her house, or the pool guy comes by…”

“Dr. Lecter.” All eyes turned to Will as he broke into the circle, gazes traveling over his uniform and the gun strapped to his belt.

Hannibal’s face shifted, a crack formed in his finely crafted mask of charm, betraying a hint of resentful vexation. It only lasted a moment before smoothing into something mild and blank, as if they were acquaintances only and the light of friendship wouldn’t reach them for a million years, much less the solar flare of passion. “Detective Graham. How unexpected to see you here. Allow me to introduce you – this is Fred Moncus and his wife Terri…”

Will suffered through the round of introductions, forcing himself to make eye contact, smiling, even. He was familiar with many of the names – part of the job, knowing who the power players were in New Orleans and state at large. He was surprised to see Lydia Antoine out tonight, considering her brother had been arrested three days ago for the attempted murder of a sex worker. Jed Antoine had lost an eye to a stiletto heel in the altercation, which Will felt was deserved, to say the least. Of course, he’d never comment on an active investigation.

And he needed to be on his best behavior. Hannibal wasn’t happy with him at the moment, and there was no reason to fuck things up further by being a rude little gremlin. Showing up in uniform was bad enough.

“So, Officer Graham.” The state senator who addressed him had a drawl that teased out his name, gray-yam. “How do you know our good Dr. Lecter here?”

“Detective,” Will corrected coolly.

“We met during the Adams murder case last year,” Hannibal supplied, quickly enough, Will thought, so that he didn’t get a chance to say anything.

“Oh, that whole business was just awful,” Arlene’s cousin said with an emphatic shake of her bouffant and another touch of Hannibal’s arm. “I’m so glad you were able to help catch him.”

“Detective Graham solved it. I merely assisted.”

“Oh, you’re that guy!” the senator exclaimed. “Hold on, hey!” he shouted to one of the event’s roving photographers. “Can I get a picture with you?” he asked Will.

“I need to speak with Dr. Lecter,” Will insisted, adopting his cop voice.

The senator looked like he wanted to protest, but Hannibal interjected, cutting through the circle. “This way, Detective,” he suggested, indicating a small side hallway where caterers marched in and out of the kitchen with loaded or empty trays.

Will kept quiet, pausing only when Hannibal was trapped into shaking someone’s hand or saying a few words, lassoed by politeness. Even as he smiled and danced the dance of social grace, Will’s empathy pulse told him that Hannibal was displeased. Angry, even. Will tried to prepare for the conversation they’d have once they were alone, but he kept getting distracted by the shocking difference in the way Hannibal’s tuxedo fit him compared to the men who hadn’t worn theirs in so long they no longer fit, or who had rented one for the night. Hannibal looked at home in a tux, like James Bond or some shit. Elegant, but with a license to kill. A license Will gave him, anyhow.

Distracting, how his ass looked in the bespoke trousers, the way the cummerbund circled his waist, drawing the fabric tight against his middle, emphasizing the T of his shoulders and the sexy, meaty curves of his pecs that often popped the button on his dress shirts if he moved too much or too quickly. Will had seen that happen in a variety of contexts and it delighted him every time.

At last, they disentangled from the glamorous crowd, and passed into the utilitarian hallway, where the sound of clanking plates and cooks and servers yelling at each other replaced the jazz rendition of “O Christmas Tree.” Around a corner was the door to a utility room with a sign that said employees only, along with a staff bathroom and water fountain, and a custodial closet. At the moment, it was deserted.

Will paused to radio in, then turned down the volume almost entirely to cut the chatter in the quiet space. Then, he faced the wrath of Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

“May I ask why you’ve come?” These six words, so polite and benign, were wrapped in razor wire coming from those princely lips.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Will snarked, a reflex. He knew he was in the wrong, but it still made him defensive.

“Left your patrol to wish me a happy holiday, then?” Hannibal cocked his head, eyes maroon murder, voice like ice-brittle velvet. “Surely the force is short-staffed. Some bad math with you, Detective Graham.”

“I didn’t like how things ended between us this morning.”

“Our discussion?”

“Yeah,” Will said, biting the inside of his cheek.

“It wasn’t a discussion. It was you informing me that you’d volunteered for a patrol shift that wasn’t assigned to you and is beneath your rank, despite our previous agreement to attend this event.”

“And I told you why,” Will returned, trying to keep his voice even. “I don’t like being paraded around in front of rich assholes hoping that they’ll donate to Tulane just because you worked with me to catch a murderer. Much more, ah, exciting, isn’t it, to talk about working a murder case, than, ah… complicated neuroscience? Easier for the yachts-and-botox crowd to understand, anyway.”

“But you’d agreed a month ago to attend.”

“Manelli called in sick, Bernard and O’Toole pulled a double yesterday, and Williams got his ex to let him have his son for the weekend,” Will revealed. “And I… wanted to help.”

“How convenient.”

“It was,” Will admitted, rubbing his hand over his face and wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. Hot back here by the kitchen.

And hot under his uniform. The way Hannibal stood, perfectly still, his cheekbones casting dagger shadows in the unadorned lighting, like he was a hair’s breadth away from violence, was… fucking sexy. It felt like the breathless moment right before a leopard struck, the creature going preternaturally motionless in the tall grass before leaping upon its unsuspecting prey. Will realized he didn’t have the good sense to feel mortal fear.

“And yet, here you are,” Hannibal said, just above a whisper. “Barging in with your uniform and your gun.”

Despite his instincts of self-preservation, Will took a step closer. His right hand was of two minds – unsnap the holster of his gun and feel the reassuring bulk of deadly metal or touch his lover’s face. Indecision left it hanging at his side. “You,” he said, breath a sultry hiss, “are… so fucking beautiful like this.”

The short silence after his confession could have easily been followed by having his throat slashed, but Will’s luck held out. Hannibal’s lips curled gently at the corners; a prince pleased with a peasant’s pluck.

Both of them glanced down the hall at the busy kitchen door. Will stepped over to the wall and tried the handle of the custodial closet. Not locked. The space was small of course, lined with shelves of products, but the floor was clear, with a concrete sink built right into the wall for rinsing mops.

He’d planned to step back out and say something to Hannibal, to coax him inside, but didn’t get the chance. Hannibal took him by the collar of his uniform shirt and his thick black duty rig and pushed him into the small space, closing the door behind them. Will’s first instinct was to resist, but he wrestled it back and let Hannibal manhandle him, pushing him against the back of the door to kiss him, knocking his hat to the ground and pulling his hair. Will groped along the fine fabric of his tuxedo, slipping his hands along the silky cummerbund and relishing the feel of his waist encased within, then helped himself to a handful of ass.

“That was, ah… our f-first fight,” Will panted as Hannibal tongued along his throat.

“Won’t be the last,” Hannibal growled in his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Will breathed, taking Hannibal’s face between his hands to arrest his devouring, at least for the moment. “I came here to say I’m sorry.”

“By all means.”

Will’s mouth curved up in a mischievous smirk. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“Certainly.”

Will switched their positions, quickly enough that Hannibal’s back rattled the door on its hinges. “Don’t move.”

“Who am I to resist arrest?” The coiled pressure of Hannibal’s anger was still woven in his words, beneath layers of gentility and clinical mildness. He reached over and flipped on the light switch, bringing a dim bulb in the ceiling to life.

Will undid his rig and draped the black belt full of danger and authority on a shelf of toilet paper rolls, unclipping his radio from his shoulder. Hannibal yanked him forward by his shirt again for a kiss, capturing his lower lip between his teeth and drawing it out slowly when he was finished with it. “Just how contrite are you?” Hannibal whispered against his swollen mouth.

“Very.” Will slowly knelt, dragging his hands along Hannibal’s body as he went, then pushed up his cummerbund enough to open his trousers.

Hannibal caught his chin and tilted his head up to meet his gaze, dark eyes glittering in the dirty light thrown by the old bulb. “Beg.”

Will slipped his hand between Hannibal’s legs, testing his outline, thumb making lazy circles over his growing bulge. “Please, Hannibal… I need you to forgive me.”

Now a genuine smile, showing the hint of fang-shaped teeth. Will took that as an invitation to keep going, and slipped the trousers down, revealing a little pair of black silk shorts that hugged Hannibal’s anatomy seamlessly, curving just right over the contours of his thighs. Will made an unconscious sound of delight and leaned in, nuzzling against the silk, running his nose and mouth along the silhouette of Hannibal’s cock, breathing in his heady, intimate scent. He mouthed it through the fabric, teasing the length, delighting in the shift in Hannibal’s breathing and the hand that found its way into his hair.

“You’re forgiven.”

Will chuckled, nuzzling in again. “I haven’t even started yet.” He tucked Hannibal’s shirttails up under the cummerbund to get them out of his way and breathed on the outline, licking the shaft through the silk.

“Tease,” Hannibal accused, though lovingly, leaning his head back against the closet door behind him.

The radio on Will’s rig chirped, even at the low setting, and Will sighed, stroking his shaft through the layer of silk with more intent now. As tempting as it was to draw this out, he better get a move on before he was missed. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of the undergarment and slid it down as well, greeted by Hannibal’s straining erection and well-groomed body hair. Will took him in hand and slid back his foreskin, flicking his tongue against the exposed tip to gather the pearly drops that already leaked free. He kept his eyes locked on Hannibal’s, a deliberate connection. Will wasn’t fond of eye contact, but he’d learned to cope as a cop, and with Hannibal, it was easy. Always had been.

Hannibal’s breath hitched softly, and Will watched him let himself go, closing his eyes and leaning his head back again, clearly savoring the sensations as Will continued teasing the head of his cock with his tongue. His hips tilted forward as if by instinct, seeking more. As much as Will wanted to flip the script and hear him beg, he was the one in the wrong here. Wrapping his hands around Hannibal’s broad, swim-sculpted ass, Will opened his mouth and drew him inside, relishing the groan of relief that came from that aristocratic mouth. “Shh,” Will said after a few solid sucks. “Someone might hear us.”

“High risk, high reward,” Hannibal breathed as Will went deeper, deploying his finest skills, switching up the pressure and suction, holding the base of his shaft at a pleasure point to work him to euphoria. Hannibal’s fingers tightened in his hair, and Will relaxed his throat, which he was getting better and better at – Dr. Lecter did love a good face fuck. Will squeezed his ass encouragingly and let him go to town. When he sensed the change in muscle tension that signaled the upcoming orgasm, he looked up at Hannibal again, doing his best to convey his contrition through his eyes and the desperate way he groped and caressed up his chest and down the backs of his thighs.

Hannibal’s legs trembled as he climaxed, hand still tangled in Will’s hair, the small space filling with the resonant moan of bliss. Will sputtered a bit on cum, distracted by the way the doctor came undone for him, but cleaned him up with his mouth dutifully after.

“So, you forgive me?” he asked earnestly, easing Hannibal’s underwear back up gently over his softening cock, giving his ass a lingering caress.

Hannibal was still panting softly as he looked down at Will with a mixture of exhaustion and adoration. He offered Will a hand, helping him to stand. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, cupping his face to bring him closer for a kiss.

It ended when Will’s radio chirped again. He answered it in a hurry, checking in as he strapped his rig back on. “I gotta go,” he said, putting on his hat.

“Of course.” Hannibal carefully adjusted his shirt, buttoned his trousers, and returned the cummerbund to its appropriate position.

“I get off at midnight,” Will told him, smoothing Hannibal’s hair back into place for him. “Then it’s back to homicide. But, ah… I got someone to cover so… I don’t have to go back until Thursday. If you want…”

Hannibal put a warm hand on his neck, touching his Adam's apple with the pad of his thumb. “Yes, Will.”

Will smiled and kissed him again. “I’ll go first so it’s not as obvious.”

“Be safe,” Hannibal said by way of goodbye. Will fled the closet and the gala, heading back out to patrol.

Hello there, intrepid reader of Hannigram! If you would like to read the second part of this story, where Will gets off work and gets a surprise from everybody’s favorite New Orleans serial killer – the Pontchartrain Ripper – it’s only available on my patreon. Sorry for doing the whole paywall thing. I do sort of hate myself, but here’s the thing – I have a podcast called The Feast is Life, and need patron cash to cover expenses such as the software, microphones, and the hosting site for the podcast itself, as well as tickets to fannibal events that we can cover for the show. If you haven’t checked out the show yet, the free episodes are available everywhere you find fine and wondrous podcasts, and our patreon at patreon.com/thefeastislife. There, you can make fic requests as well as get your hands on the end of this patron fic, as well as a 12k X-Files AU I wrote that will not be appearing on Ao3. AND you get a whole second show called Table Scraps. It’s only 5$ a month. Five dollars and you get EVERYTHING. We have one and only one tier, and that’s it. Okay, two. We have Randall Tier, but he’s currently chilling in a time out for biting people and humping Hannibal’s leg. Anyway, head on over to our patreon and sign up to grab this fic. You can always cancel after a month if you’re not feeling it, and still get the rest of this story.

#hannigram #hannibal #fannibals #hannibal nbc #fannibal family #murder husbands #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal fanart #hannibal fanfiction #thefeastislife #podcast

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k-s-morgan · 1 year

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Why do you think Hannibal did not let Will get his treatment for Encephalitis??? Was he playing with Will or Was it for Will's betterment in some way??

At this point, Hannibal already wanted to have a family with Will, so he wasn't just playing with him - he became infatuated from their first meeting. Hannibal wanted Will to Become: he viewed Will clinging to limitations and denying his true nature as something very harmful, so he launched a complex plan and tried to shatter these limitations by using encephalitis as an opportunity. The sicker Will was, the less control he had, and the more chances there were of him snapping, acting on his urges, and killing someone, or becoming fed up and deciding to go dark because it’s easier than fighting.

Obviously, the plan was very dangerous, but the show has its own dream logic and Hannibal has confidence that borders on downright devilish. We are led to believe that he flawlessly controls Will’s state of encephalitis. That’s why he’s so insulted when Sutcliffe asks him if he’s going to let Will die. He’s equally offended when Gideon suggests that he doesn’t care about Will because of him having a seizure - he repeats, “I said it was mild.” So Hannibal is certain that Will is going to be fine. He has a great conversation with Bedelia that explains his train of thought about it in E12.

Hannibal: I see myself in Will.

Bedelia: Do you see yourself in his madness?

Hannibal: Madness can be a medicine for the modern world. You take it in moderation, it's beneficial.

Bedelia: You overdose and there are unfortunate side effects.

Hannibal: Side effects can be temporary. They can be a boost to our psychological immune systems to help fight the existential crises of normal life.

So, Hannibal thought this could help Will, and he didn't think he’s taking great risks. He thought he’s in perfect control. Just like when he sent Randall after Will as a gift in S2: he’s 100% certain Will is going to win. It’s not normal by real life standards, but it’s something we are invited to believe along with Hannibal in his dream world.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannigram #meta

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a-nobody-here · 10 days

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Is it too late for this already, now? eh...roll the cam.

[Film Slate Snaps.]

Hello from the wild side, amigo.

✒️M.H.15, India.

I'm Parker. No, not Peter Parker. Parker Grey. Or just Rae. Consider me timeless, mortal. I've a knack for complicated concepts, and stuff that will barely sustain in thought in someone else's case.

You can tell, from my account, there's a lot of 4th wall breaks going on. I'm the mod for a few roleplay accounts on here and since it was getting too complicated for me, I supposed I needed my space somewhere, someday.

Here's...well, a little bit of an overview. Come find me and we'll have a chill chat.

Roleplay Alternatives: @your-darling-gaze / @you-know-frankieeex :)

Blorbos: Tony Stark, Dean Winchester, Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield), Logan Howlett, Gojo Satoru, Hannibal Lecter and Thomas Shelby. (See a pattern?)

Best of friends (Mods and More): @the-loss-of-my-life , @yeahimdarcy , @ireallyliketacosokay , @soldier-bucky-barnes , @itzzkaylaaa <3

Languages Spoken: English, Hindi, French, Spanish, Latin ( a little ) and Korean :)

Disorders to look out for: Bipolarity, Anxiety, Maladaptive daydreaming (not always bad.), Neuro divergency, Mild Anorexia, Separation Anxiety, Anxious Attachment, Mild Daddy Issues (I don't bring them up.) and ADHD.

Likes: Relative to what situation I am in. (CATS.)

Hobbies: Singing, Writing, Science, Art, Meme-ing, Old Hollywood, Pop Culture, Comic reading, Music and Movies :]

Picture me so:

BLOG RULES:

•Asks, Posts, Mentions, Discussions about anything related to hate towards any section of society will not be tolerated. (Xenophobia, Racism, Transphobia, Homophobia etc.)

•If I am not on good terms with a mod, I will simply ignore any mentions and interactions relevant to them.

•Spread Luck and Only the best towards everyone and be nice. Hate will not be tolerated in any sense of it.

•Blog Mod is a minor; Although there will be both SWF and NSFW content. (Fanfiction, Fanart etc.)

•If it comes to notice that these rules are being violated, the said account will be Ignored, Reported and Blocked.

Love Always. Rae.

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its-ate-oclock-somewhere · 8 months

Text

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

#will graham #hannibal lecter #abigail hobbs #alana bloom #jack crawford #poll

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stellagibs0ns · 4 months

Note

bedannibal kinks headcanons?

SO glad you asked. here are my opinions and elaboration. these are in no particular order. just what comes to my head as im typing

general dom/sun dynamics. i lean towards dom hannibal sub bedelia but i believe it absolutely goes the other way too on occasion.

adding onto that, i think bedelia finds a thrill in being able to give up her responsibilities and the control she obsesses over. she likes being told what to do and when to do it etc etc

hannibal enjoys the d/s stuff outside of the bedroom too on occasion. like if bedelia orders him around or tells him what to wear he is bricked UP

mild impact play (spanking, light face slapping etc — bedelia doesn’t mind the occasional tap on the cheek, but hannibal likes to receive full slaps. obviously)

hannibal has an untameable breeding kink. like i believe nothing is more thrilling to him than ‘claiming’ bedelia and (should it result in pregnancy) him being able to show their relationship/bond to the world

cnc is a big one because their relationship is generally very grey in canon. that being said i do believe hannibal is strict about a safeword and is very in tune to bedelia’s body and he understands what she enjoys. like he can tell during a scene if her ‘stop’ is a part of it or if she really means stop. but obviously that’s why they have a safeword

i don’t think they’re fully blown exhibitionists but i do think that they like to rile each other up in public. an occasional subtle touch or something dirty whispered in the others ear. i think they refrain from fully doing anything in public but enjoy pushing the other

bedelia is all for overstimulation. again she likes to give up that control and let hannibal make those choices for her.

hannibal much prefers edging. he likes to work for it and he is not above begging when it comes to her

THAT BEING SAID i think bedelia makes an excellent domme. she is very meticulous and patient. she knows how to get under his skin and how to make him bend to her.

appropriate follow up is that she pegs and he sees god every single time. we all know about that man’s overactive cowpers glands but let me tell you. BUCKETS.

THEY ARE BITERS. THEY WILL BITE UNTIL THERE IS BLOOD. and then a little more

bedelia likes having her hair pulled but hannibal has a sensitive scalp. he gets genuinely touchy about it. please don’t pull his hair he may cry

bondage is a hard no for bedelia unless it’s handcuffs. anything that restrains more than her wrists or ankles is too much for her. but hannibal teaches her how to work with rope because he luuuurves being tied up

body worship. i don’t have to say any more really. he loves his wife’s body

praise is BIG for both of them. but in certain scenes both of them like to be degraded a little. (hannibal more than bedelia. call him pathetic and he whimpers. call her pathetic and she may take it personally)

hannibal is not above period sex. someone had to say it so i guess i’ll do it!

and while we’re on the subject of things nobody wants to admit about hannibal. sometimes that man needs to just settle in for the night and suck his wife’s tit while she calls him a good boy. that man has appalling mommy issues and i’m gonna call it like i see it

somnophilia but only when bedelia trusts him. he occasionally wakes her up with oral and that is a special treat but she makes it clear that it doesn’t go further unless she says so

i think they’re too neurotic and picky for roleplay but they entertained the married couple thing in florence

i feel like i covered the important stuff here. if anyone wants more i can rustle something up. but i feel like i got the main ones

#nsft #bedelia du maurier #hannibal #bedannibal #hannibal lecter #hannidelia #hannibal x bedelia #headcanons

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jessahmewren · 1 year

Note

Will/Hannibal, “things you said when you were drunk”

Hi anon! Thank you for the ask. It was fun to write Hannigram again. I will always love our fandom!

I had fun with this. I hope it's close to what you asked for.

Warnings: NSFW, mild dirty talk, mutual masturbation, alcohol.

Based on a prompt from this list (I'm still taking requests!)

It was 10:38 according to the clock in his office. The night outside the window was a velvet shroud, save for a few pinpricks of swirling snow.

He hated Will had to drive in that.

In a perfect world, where teacups always came together, Will would never leave. Or better, he would leave with Hannibal. They would return to his home, Will’s little hovel in Wolf Trap forgotten. In this fantasy the dogs were there too, somehow, in Hannibal’s home waiting for them to return.

Hannibal walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself two fingers of whiskey. He’d shared two with Will, not an hour before, but the pleasant warmth of the alcohol had all but worn off.

He settled in front of the fire with his glass and the bottle.

Will was becoming a preoccupation, having moved up from distraction ages ago. He had been a distraction in Jack’s office, with his unruly curls, the dog hair covering his clothes, and his darting, timid gaze. Hannibal had wanted him then. He was starving for him now.

He had drank his tumbler and poured another two fingers. He had nowhere to be tonight, in particular. His house was dark and empty, just like his bed.

Hannibal stared into the fire. The session they’d had tonight had been revealing. Will had talked about his parents, and most importantly, the mythical mother figure that had been so absent in his life but so present in his thoughts. She’d left Will at a tender age, mind fractured by the responsibilities of parenthood. A short psychiatric stay turned long term, her dissent into madness making her surly, dark-haired little boy skittish of psychology and terrified of his own peculiar mind.

How Hannibal would love to soothe those hurts.

He drank. He pondered. His body grew warm, and not from just the fire. He held his phone in his hand, tested the weight of it. The compulsion to reach out to will floated to the surface of his subconscious, but he tamped it down. It would be foolish to show his hand, with him so vulnerable. The bottle of whiskey was half gone. He wondered when that had happened.

Hannibal opened his message and clicked Will’s name. The message box looked so inviting…a blank canvas for his thoughts. Blearily, he thought of a reason to text him.

Ah, to check on his safety. Of course. It was snowing and Will had just had an emotionally strenuous appointment.

I trust you made it home safely.

It was innocuous. Kind. Friendly. Safe. He stared at the message until he began to see double.

I would drive you, if you ever have need. All you have to do is ask.

Fuck, he thought. A double text. If Hannibal hadn’t been so needy, so utterly lonely and smitten over Will, he would’ve never sunk so low. The alcohol, also, had loosened his inhibitions.

His thumb hovered over the call button and fuck all, he pressed it.

Will answered on the third ring.

“Hello.”

Hannibal smiled. His barely-there drawl floated settled warm in his belly. Hannibal felt his cheeks heat. How he would love to hear that same drawl whisper his name, or call out to a deity he didn’t have any faith in in the throws of ecstasy. How Hannibal would love to punch those little sounds out of him, to pour honeyed words over his skin.

“H-hannibal?”

Hannibal realized he hadn’t spoken in several moments, lost in his revelry.

“Will. I…I’m sorry for calling so late. I just…well I guess I was thinking of you.”

God, he was drunk, and this was a bad idea. He’d said too much already.

Will swallowed, his face taking on a tinge of pink. “Oh,” he said. “Thank you, I guess.”

Hannibal took another drink; the whiskey had quit burning quite a while ago. Now there was only a pleasant warmth. A swirl of heat I his belly.

It was part alcohol and part something else.

Hannibal laughed, leaning back in his chair, his legs parted. He let his palm rest on the inside of his thigh, feeling the soft fabric of his fine trousers.

“I’m sorry you had to drive home in such weather. Are you home yet, Will?”

Will grunted, and only then could Hannibal hear the scrape of wiper blades. “Not yet. The weather held me up.”

Hannibal frowned. His drummed his fingers on the inside of his thigh. He pressed his lips together with a pop, wish they were latched to the side of Will’s neck.

“Any time you don’t feel up to driving, allow me.”

Will furrowed his brows. “I feel fine,” he groused.

Hannibal’s hand traveled higher. He discreetly unzipped his fly, slipping his hand beneath his pants and palming his erection. He was achingly hard just at the sound of his voice.

“I’m…I’m sorry I called you, Will. I don’t mean to be a distraction. You should concentrate on the road.”

Will sighed. “No, no it’s alright. It’s kind of nice to have company on the long drive.”

Something unfurled in Hannibal’s belly, and his cock twitched. His cheeks flamed, with arousal and alcohol both. He took a breath, removing his hand from his pants only to down another drink.

“It’s nice to have company here, too,” Hannibal revealed, not even sober enough to cringe. “I miss you Will.”

Will sucked in a breath. Hannibal sounded…different, he surmised. Looser. Less guarded.

“Are you drinking, Hannibal?”

Hannibal laughed, throaty and fond. “Not now,” he said logically. He placed the phone on speaker and pulled out his cock. “My hands are otherwise occupied.”

Will made the turn into his long drive at Wolf Trap, blinker on even though no one was behind him. His gut clenched. “What are you doing if not drinking?”

Hannibal scooted down in the leather chair, opening his legs. He squeezed around the base of his cock, then up to spread the precum down his shaft, easing the way. “Touching myself,” he admitted, “and talking to you.”

“Fuck,” Will audibly swore. “Hannibal. Hannibal listen to me. Ok?” He fumbled with his keys, dropping them twice on the porch. His hands were shaking. The lock snicked open and he opened the door…the dogs were all sitting at attention, waiting for him.

He gave them a cursory pat and headed to his bedroom.

“You need to hang up the phone, Hannibal. You’re drunk. You’ll regret all of this in the morning, if you even remember it.”

Hannibal made a little noise. “Won’t regret it,” he murmured. He was stroking himself languidly, slow and with steady pressure. “Won’t regret you.”

Will cleared his throat. His cheeks were ruddy and he was half-hard. “I uh—just lemme. I don’t know. Fuck,” he cursed, flustered and aroused both.

He shucked off his pants and shirt, pulled a fresh white t-shirt out of the draw and shrugged it on. He could hear Hannibal’s grunts, breathy and quick. In the background, the wet slide of his hand on his cock and the crackling fire.

Will’s mouth grew dry.

Perhaps, this was ok, he reasoned. Hannibal won’t remember it, anyway. He lay down, phone tucked into his ear. “What do you need from me, Hannibal?” His voice had dropped low, Hannibal’s name soft in his mouth.

“Need you,” Hannibal breathed. “Your body. Your mind. You stretched out in my bed.”

Will cleared his throat. His erection strained against his boxers, but he did not touch himself. “How would you want me?” he asked, his face flaming.

Hannibal hummed. “Any way you would have me,” he said softly. He quickened his hand, his cock twitching in his palm. He was close…so close already.

“In a perfect world. Then how?”

Hannibal caught his breath. “On your back, so I could look at you. On your knees, your back arched”—unh—“or looming over me, seated deep inside.” He thumbed the head of his cock, giving it a tight squeeze. His breath hitched. “Any way at all, Will, as long as you wanted it. Wanted me.”

Will breathed heavily on the other end of the phone, his breath stuttering out. He closed his eyes. “I would like that,” he said. “I would like you.”

Hannibal groaned, coming hard in his hand. He stroked himself through it, milking the last bit of seed. He looked at his stained pants and wished it had been Will’s skin.

“I miss you, Will,” Hannibal said when he’d come down from his high.

Will smiled. “I know,” he said. His erection throbbed. He was not sure what to do about it…touching himself felt far too much like crossing a line. He slipped his hand beneath his boxers and tugged them down over his cock. The cool air felt good. His fingers felt better.

They’d crossed that line already, he reasoned.

“Good night, Hannibal.” The room was dark, the moon shining through the bare windows. He simply held himself, not yet moving his hand.

Hannibal’s breathing had slowed, and he grew drowsy. “Good night, Will.”

Before Will could say anything else he would regret, he ended the call.

#hannigram #nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal and will #hannibal lecter #hannibal fanfiction #hannigram fanfiction #hannigram fic #will x hannibal #will graham #hannibal x will #hannibal fic #hannibal fandom #answered asks #ask game #my writing

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