#then to quiet as hannibal asks ‘what did you see?’

[coryosbaby]

I am BEGGING you to write about hannigram x innocent fem reader. mayyyybee featuring age gap and breeding? :) she just asks them "what does break my belt mean?" and oh..

Caretaker… Hannigram x fem! Reader

Synopsis: it’s up to Will and Hannibal to take care of you, however that may be.

Content warning . 18+, MDNI age gap (reader is in her early 20s), spanking/usage of belts, punishments, dumbification, threesome, cum play, daddy kink . hard dom! Hannibal, soft dom! Will

Author’s Note: I didn’t know how to go about this (my brain isn’t braining rn) so I did smth similar :) this is literally pure filth like Im ovulating sorry

‧₊˚ 🩰 ⋅* ‧₊

“You need to stop being so hard on yourself.”

Will’s voice is soft as he gently rubs your sock clad feet, watching the small wince that you make when he grazes over a bruised toe. You adjust yourself on your bed, bottom becoming numb from how long you’ve been sitting. You slide the sleeves of your dress back up on your shoulders— they have a hard time staying up, and it’s something that annoys you incredibly.

“He’s right,” Hannibal chimes from the cushioned seat in the corner of the room. He closes the book in his hand and sets it on the desk beside him. It’s funny, how different these two men look in your pink, frilly room. “You’re working yourself too hard, little one.”

You frown, feeling the bed dip as Hannibal joins you and Will’s side.

“But ballet is important to me.”

“So is your health,” Will replies, and notices the way you seem to fidget in your dress. “Is your dress bothering you, baby?”

You nod, heat creeping up your neck when Will lifts the hem of it over your head. Now clad in your bra and cotton panties, you feel open and exposed. But since it’s Hannibal and Will, you feel safer than you’ve ever been.

“Come here,” Will says, and you crawl over to the place in between his spread thighs as he leans against your headboard. Hannibal follows in quiet suit, moving to Will’s side and holding your hand in his much larger one. Will’s hands play with your hair as you think back to something you’d been wanting to ask the two for a while.

“Can one of you use your belt on me?”

The soft scrape against your scalp stops at the question.

“What?”

“I mean,” you mumble, cheeks flaring. “I was watching a video.. ‘n.. the guy, he—“

“You’ve been watching naughty videos?” Hannibal inquires. You shake your head, wide doe eyes flashing.

“No!” You reply, too quickly. “No, of course not.”

“Hmm,” the man shifts, gripping the soft skin of your jaw gently with his hand. Looking into your eyes, he can see the deceit in them. “You have, haven’t you? You know what we say about those videos, darling. They’re bad for you,” he looks back to the other man in the room. “Maybe we will have to spank her after all. Don’t you think, Will?”

“Play nice, Hannibal,” Will warns, though his mouth pulls into a small, amused smirk. “She’s sensitive. Probably doesn’t even know what she’s asking for.”

“I do.” you whine, pawing at the sleeve of Hannibal’s suit. He chuckles, thumb rubbing gently over your wrist.

“Come here then, little one,” Hannibal coos. “Over my knee.”

Your eyes widen, pouty lips dropping open in awe.

“Now?” You squeak.

Will rolls his eyes, patting you softly on the arm.

“You heard him, Bunny. Go on.”

Getting on your hands and knees, panty clad ass now revealing the puff ball bunny tail on the back of the fabric, the two of them think you’re the cutest little thing they’ve ever seen. You hear the sound of a belt buckle being undone, and watch as Will hands over his belt to Hannibal. It’s your favorite one, plain black but with a belt buckle that has your initials imprinted. Will wears it often— he’s not one to have flashy accessories, but since it was a gift from you he cherishes it dearly.

Since Will is on Hannibal’s left side, you decide to position yourself with your face directed towards him. This leads to your arms and face being smooshed against Will’s thighs, and he gently rubs your head with his hands. Hannibal hums when your ass lifts up for him, bunny tail flickering as you move your hips to get his attention.

“We should keep these on, don’t you think?” He says, fingers grazing over the bunny tail. “Too precious to pull them down, lover.”

You nod shyly, letting out a puff of air when Will’s fingers begin fumbling with the hooks on your bra. He advises you to slide the straps off your shoulders when he undoes them, and you awkwardly shuffle them off. Will’s hands move around your back to grope one of your breasts. The feeling of cold leather against your backside makes you whimper, and Hannibal positions his hand on the bottom of your thigh.

“Move your hands behind your back,” Hannibal demands. “You aren’t in any position of control. If you want to stop, you know the rules.”

“Yes, daddy,” you reply, almost immediately. You move your arms back to link them together, Will’s hands gripping the both of yours tightly to make sure you don’t move.

“Good girl,” and then, “You’re going to count each one I give you. We will stop at ten since this is your first time.”

You nod, as much as you can with your face buried in Will’s lap. You can feel the hardness in his pants, right up against your cheek, and your mouth waters.

There’s a comforting rub against your left cheek before Hannibal brings the belt down. It isn’t too bad, a slight sting that makes you jump.

“One.” You say, quietly. Your ass lifts up for more.

“Good,” Hannibal praises, soothing the skin once more. “Are you going to watch those videos again?”

You stay silent, contemplating but also being quiet on purpose. You can’t deny that Hannibal getting angry with you makes your panties drenched.

At this, Hannibal slams the belt down onto you once again. A warning. You cry out this time, feeling a burning sensation along your skin.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he says sternly. “And don’t make me have to break my belt on you, little one.”

“What does that mean?” you whine, ditzy little head genuinely confused by such a simple term. You inhale the scent of Will’s pants, and from above you, the brunette’s hands gently soothe your back.

“Told you, Hanni,” he singsongs. “Doesn’t even know what she’s asking for.”

“Ignoring your interruption,” Hannibal says, annoyed (but not really). He directs his attention back to you. “Tell me, little one. Yes or no?”

You bite your lower lip, cheeks flaring as your arousal increases.

“Yes.”

Hannibal scoffs.

“You’re asking for it, aren’t you?”

The belt comes down on you again. You jump, tears beginning to pool along your waterline.

“What was that?” Hannibal demands harshly. “Was that a yes that I heard?”

“No!” You say. “No, daddy, I’ll never ever watch those videos again! I promise, promise…”

You thrash against the pain, and Hannibal’s palms rub the sore skin.

“Alright,” he replies. “but I’m adding five more. Naughty girls who don’t listen get punished.”

“Hannibal,” Will warns. “She’s fragile.”

“She’s a brat, is what she is, Will. Stop defending her,” Hannibal’s hands wrap around your hair, pulling your teary eyed face up and craning your neck. “Now count. Starting from three.”

The belt comes down again, and your hands ache, along with your bottom.

“T-Three.” You say. The belt comes down on you again, and again. You count to five.

“You really need to be harder on her,” Hannibal says to Will, who’s subtly grinding against your face as he watches you writhe below him. “She needs to learn that her actions have consequences.”

“I know,” Will sighs, then gently taps the tip of your nose, and smiles softly. “But look at how precious she is.”

Hannibal rolls his eyes, bringing out the sixth then seventh hit. You can already feel the blooming of bruises by the time you hit number ten, and your aching pussy grinds down into Hannibal’s thigh. He seems to allow this, and by the twelfth hit, he’s teasing you about it.

“Is this arousing you, lover?” He asks, amused. “You only have three more to go. You better enjoy it.”

“Mm, she is,” Will cuts in, reaching down between your legs to feel your soaked panties. “Little pussy is so wet,” and then, “You ruined your panties, pup.”

Mewling, you allow another smack to come down onto your ass.

“T-Thirteen,” you whimper out. “Could.. could you buy me some new panties, Will?”

Another smack. Another number. Will tilts his head, staring at your panty clad ass.

“Mm,” he replies. “I don’t know, Hannibal. What do you think?” His fingers grasp the puff ball tail and tug it up. This makes your panties ride up in between your folds, and you gasp, humiliated. “I think baby blue would really suit her.”

“That, or lilac,” the eldest man replies. “We’ll get you a new set, little one. But only because it benefits us as much as it benefits you.”

You smile, giddy with excitement to take another shopping trip. Hannibal rubs your ass again, and Will kisses you on the head.

“One more for us, alright?”

You nod, perky ass throbbing with heat. Hannibal slams the belt down, and this time you let out a sob. It was the harshest hit, one sure to leave a welt or two. Hannibal coos when he sees your look of pain, throwing the belt to the side and gently massaging you.

“Shhh. It’s alright. Come here, darling.”

You maneuver your body to slide in between Hannibal’s legs, pulling him into a hug. His arms wrap around your smaller form, and he kisses your hair, allowing you to bury your face into his shoulder. You let out a few more stray tears while he and Will both soothe the ache on your bottom.

“You know we only do this because we have to.” Hannibal murmurs.

“I know, daddy.”

“Actions have consequences, and you asked for this sort of punishment. So we decided to give it to you,” he explains, and pulls away to wipe away your tears with his thumbs. “Did you enjoy it?”

You nod, a small smile grazing your lips.

“I did. I enjoyed it a lot.”

“Good,” he replies. “And since you’ve taken your punishment so well, I’m giving you the opportunity to ask for something. Whatever you want, you can have it.”

Your eyes brighten.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You lick your lips, contemplating your options with excitement.

“Hmm,” you say, and then finally come to your decision. You look over to your second boyfriend, who seems to be watching you with an almost love struck gaze. “I want Will… want his mouth. Please?”

Will licks his lips at the statement. Oral is one of his favorite things to give.

“Very well,” Hannibal says, then gestures for Will. “She can lay in between my legs. You lay between hers.”

Will nods, and you happily turn around and begin sliding off your panties. Spreading your legs, you look up at Will with doe eyes as he approaches you. His lips touch yours, sliding easily against the expanse of your mouth. When he pulls away, the scent of your arousal overtakes his senses. He groans, moving down in between your legs.

Hannibal’s big arms wrap around your shoulders, keeping you still. Will flawlessly licks a stripe up your slit, making you whimper and hold onto Hannibal for dear life as he begins to eat you like a man starved. His mouth works wonders against your tiny hole and aching clit as he groans into your cunt, drinking your sweet juices like it’s nectar of the Gods.

“How does she taste?” Hannibal asks, even though he already knows the answer. He loves to go down on you just as much as the other man.

Will pulls away, chin dripping and hair disheveled.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he gasps out, nosing at your folds. His thumbs spread them apart, exposing your hole that’s coated in creamy slick. “Cutest fuckin’ cunt I’ve ever seen.”

You clench, letting him see the opening and closing of your hole. You want him to stick his tongue back inside.

You don’t have to wait long for that, because a mere second later Hannibal’s big hand splays across the back of Will’s head and pushes him back down. Will lets out a moan at this, allowing Hannibal to guide his head up and down and every which way that brings you closer and closer to your peak. Hannibal smirks, watching the way you writhe under his tongue and watch Will with hungry, lidded eyes.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” He says, and you can feel his hardness pressing against your back.

Drool seeps down your chin as you nod.

“Mhm..” you whine out. Your hands go to the boy’s hair, and he whimpers when you tug on the strands.

“He likes when you do that,” Hannibal observes, his tone low. He kisses the shell of your ear. “Do it again.”

You comply, watching the way Will’s hips grind down into the mattress when it happens and the way Hannibal lets out a heavy breath. Will’s mouth works harder, bringing your clit in between his lips and lightly sucking. You gasp out his name, hips moving against him in tandem.

“Will, Daddy.. ‘m so close..”

“Close, yes?” Hannibal taunts, and his grip around your throat tightens. His biceps practically squeeze your neck as you near closer and closer to your high, your throat gasping for breath. When your orgasm overtakes you, Hannibal loosens his grip, but not quite. You let out a raw, pleasure filled moan when you cum, Will working you through until the point of overstimulation, your legs shaking and your sock clad feet pushing on his shoulders. He chuckles when he pulls away, a pleased grin forming as he wipes his slick coated mouth on the back of his wrist. And boy, is it a sight. He licks up the remaining remnants of your arousal with his tongue, hands splaying on either side of you and Hannibal’s legs so he can move up and kiss you filthily on the mouth. Hannibal is next, a tender peck that makes the cock against your lower back twitch. It has him licking his lips when Will pulls away, his lashes fluttering as he sighs in content. He presses a kiss to your mouth, too, and relaxes even further.

It’s only a mere moment of rest before you can feel that familiar throb again, and the sight of your two boys bulging through their pants makes you drool. You spread your legs, overstimulated pussy on full display.

Will, who had been laying at the foot of the bed in front of the both of you, watches with hunger. You lean away from Hannibal, instead turning yourself on your knees and presenting yourself to Will, who’s already positioning himself behind you eagerly. Hannibal, the most patient out of all three of you, no doubt, finally takes his aching cock out of his pants and wraps a hand around himself at the scene. You hear the rustling of Will’s fly being undone, then his length is pressed against your ass and wet, oh so wet, even when he slides it in between your folds and sheathes himself inside your little hole with one swift movement. Your mouth drops open at the sensation of being filled, your hands finding purchase on Hannibal’s thick thighs in front of you. His cock is hitting his stomach, red and leaking drops of precum down the tip, and you watch as Hannibal rubs it up and down with his hand. You look up at him pleadingly as Will begins to pound you into the mattress.

“You want daddy’s cock in your mouth, is that it?” Hannibal teases, and you nod. He sighs, directing the tip of his cock towards you. “Open wide, sweet girl.”

You happily obey, tongue lolling out to lick at his tip, his stringy precum sticking to your bottom lip and the head of his cock, tasting absolutely divine. Will’s hands roam over your ass as his cock bullies your gummy walls.

“Mm, Hanni got you good, didn’t he, baby?” He says, examining the marks. “Gonna have to put some lotion on that later.”

The use of the nickname in Will’s mouth is a mockery of your own. You nod, however, pouting.

“Mhm. But Daddy knows what’s best for me.”

“That’s right,” Hannibal grunts out, when you take him fully down your throat. “Dumb little girls like you can’t think for themselves. That’s why you need Will and I to take care of you,” and then, “God, darling, your mouth is just perfect.”

You hum, choking on him. Will’s fingers bruise your hips now, his balls slapping against your ass with every harsh thrust. Your pussy quakes around him, clamping down on his length. His breath is warm against your ear as he pushes in and out of you.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby..” as he watches your ass bounce back against him.

“Look at that tight little pussy, practically choking my dick.” as he spreads your cheeks apart, watching the way you take him.

“Hannibal’s cock tastes good, doesn’t it?” As you come up for air and gasp, drool soaking your neck and chin.

You can feel when he gets close by the way his hips stutter, and with a lewd whine hes babbling endlessly.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says. “Gonna cum in this slut pussy— god, squeeze me just like that.”

“Please,” you whimper endlessly, and you can hear Hannibal let out a breathy chuckle.

“She wants it. She wants you to cum in her cunt,” his voice drops an octave as he watches the boy. “Come on. I need something to lubricate her more once I get my turn, don’t I?”

“Oh—“

Will’s eyes roll back, his body tensing up as he finally releases inside her. She clenches down on him, milking him for all he’s worth as he shoots rope after rope deep inside her gaping pussy. Hannibal’s fingers nestle into the boy’s hair as he rides out his orgasm, gently twirling the soft locks in between his fingers. You watch with your mouth turned into an o, burying yourself deeper against Hannibal’s chest in retaliation.

“There you go,” Hannibal coos when Will sighs against your chest, spent. “Good boy.”

“Tease,” Will mumbles back to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. His eyes look up at you and he smiles. “Are you okay?”

You giggle, nodding your head.

“More than okay.”

He looks down at the mess between your thighs as he pulls out, grunting. A trail of his spend pools out of you and onto the sheets.

His fingers begin to move up to your drenched clit— you need release to, after all, and Will is never a selfish lover—but before he can, Hannibal’s hand grabs his wrist.

“No,” he utters. “Let me, once I’m inside her.”

“Like I said,” Will grumbles, moving out from between your legs to settle back against the headboard. “Tease.”

Hannibal rolls his eyes, guiding you to turn around and face him. You bite your lower lip at the feeling of Will’s cum trailing down your thighs. Hannibal undoes his belt, pulling down his zipper so his pants are open and his briefs are exposed.

“Take me out, darling.”

She reaches into the waistband of his underwear, pulling his length out and giving it a few languid strokes. Will watches, his spent cock twitching against his stomach. He ignores it, instead deciding to move to your side and press a kiss to your heated cheek. His hand provides a comforting pressure to the back of your head as he settles it in your hair. Hannibal tilts his head, grabbing the back of your thighs and pulling you into his lap.

“Put my cock inside you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Be a good girl.”

Your lashes flutter at the vulgar term spilling from the usually polite man’s lips. Will’s hands scrape against your scalp and your brain is fuzzy with how good it all feels. Grabbing Hannibal’s length in your hand, you position your dripping cunt over the tip of his cock.

Sinking down makes your brows furrow. Hannibal isn’t as big as Will, but that isn’t saying much. The man still has a considerable size, and his girth stretches your gummy walls exceptionally. You whimper, settling down to the very base of his cock. Hannibal’s head tilts back and hits the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut to get used to the sensation of you wrapped around him. His big hands splay across your hips and Will nuzzles your throat affectionately.

“Daddy.” you whine, your little pussy beginning to rock onto Hannibal.

“Yes?”

“Fuck me, please?”

He smiles, pulling you further against him so he can brace his feet underneath you. His cock gives a few shallow thrusts, getting used to your heat, before moving into more dangerous territory. It isn’t long before he’s jackhammering into you, your head tilted back by Will’s big hands. He demands you open your mouth, and you do. A glob of spit lands on your tongue, which you swallow greedily. Hannibal groans as he watches the scene.

“Filthy little things,” he mutters, pulling you into a kiss. You both share Will’s saliva on your intertwining tongues.

Your thighs shake as Hannibal’s cock and balls leak with Will’s cum. The sound is utterly sinful— the gushing sounds of his cock pummeling your filled pussy, his balls slapping against your ass, the sobs tearing through your throat. Tears stream down your cheeks and you’re sobbing.

Hannibal’s fingers reach down to your clit, deftly rubbing against the swollen nub exactly the way you like. It isn’t long before you reach your peak, your pussy clenching down as a string of filthy words makes its way out of your throat, burying your face in Hannibal’s white button down and staining it with salty tears. Will is an absolute sweetheart, guiding your hips with his hands to help you, cooing little sweet sayings in your ear. He cakes your throat in pretty red marks.

Hannibal draws closer to his orgasm, small grunts and heavy breaths spilling out of his mouth. It isn’t long before he empties inside you, filling you up with a second load of sticky, white cum. He pulls your limp body off of his length, your pussy making a gushing sound as both of your boyfriend’s dribble out of you. The two men sigh when they see it, their cocks both twitching at the sight.

But all three of you have had enough for the day— or at least for the next few hours. Hannibal disappears out of the room for a moment to bring back a glass of water and lotion. He holds the water to your lips and sweetly coos, “you’ve been such an obedient girl. Drink, okay?”

You do, of course. You drink the whole damn glass.

After going into the bathroom to pee and wipe your cum covered thighs, Hannibal lotions your sore bottom with gentle hands. After this you finally crawl back into bed, moving onto your stomach and hugging your pillow tightly. Will chuckles.

“You don’t want a bubble bath?” He asks, because that’s usually what you request. But you just shake your head, your eyes fluttering shut. Not asleep, but almost. Will nods his head. “Later then, sweet girl.”

The boy crawls to your side, wrapping his big arm around you and pulling you to his side. Hannibal soon joins, his tie loosened and jacket off, pants unbuttoned. It’s rare to see him in such a messy state, relaxed. Only you and Will can help him unwind like this.

He lays on his back, and you lay your head on his chest, inhaling his strong, expensive cologne. Beside you, you can smell the aftershave that Will wears— Hannibal teases him about it, but you’re quite fond of it. It smells like home.

They smell like home.

You smile sleepily, watching with barely open eyes as Hannibal and Will’s hands connect over you. As you fall into a peaceful sleep, the two men on either side of you stay wide awake.

After a moment, Will chuckles.

“So I’m assuming we’ll be using my belt more often?”

“Guaranteed,” hannibal confirms, watching you drool onto his shirt in your sleep. He never mentions it to you because he doesn’t want you to be embarrassed. “Perhaps we can use it on you next time, Will”

The younger man scoffs, his cheeks flaring as he buries his face into your hair.

“Shut up, Hanni.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

Telling Hugh Dancy about trans masc Will and more...

As some of you already know by now, I went to Boston Fanexpo this past weekend for another stop on the unofficial Hannibal 2024 Reunion Tour.

I had planned to do autographs on the Friday before the Hannibal panel and had brought some gifts for Hugh which included a copy of Adapt. Evolve. Become: The Genderqueer Fandom of NBC's Hannibal, which I compiled and edited last year. I also got him to sign my own copy (above).

It all moved quite quickly, but I did have the chance to explain that it's a volume by and about trans, non-binary, and genderqueer Fannibals that includes art, fics, essays, and personal pieces. He seemed intrigued and I said I hope he'd have the chance to read it and that the art isn't explicit/sexual but some of the fics are - he laughed and said he appreciated the warning.

It was all quite the whirlwind, especially after coming all the way from the UK, so I was absolutely mortified when I remembered the next morning that I had talked with a few trans Fannibals who had specifically asked me to let him know that he/Will is a trans icon. So I went back up to see him again on the Saturday morning when it wasn't too busy (and get more stuff signed) and this is what happened:

[I wrote notes down right after so this is as close an account I can get without having filmed it!].

Me: I saw you yesterday Hugh: I remember (smiley-friendly) Me: I gave you a book Hugh: I remember (smiley-friendly) Me: well, I forgot to tell you. A few trans Fannibals reached out to me to tell you that Will is a trans icon to them and we all love you for it. Hugh was surprised (in a nice way) and I was pretty much going to walk away then - job done and feeling like time for me to stop bothering Hugh lol. But before I could walk away he sort of held out his hand to stop me and said something along the lines of - I don't mean this in a disrespectful way, don't take it the wrong way... I'm genuinely curious- I get that it can be about identity- but what is the connection to Will and being trans? Luckily - my essay in the book is exactly about how Will can be read as trans, so I sort of gave him a summary of that. I explained that (obviously) both Will and Hannibal can be read as queer, and that - especially as both characters have dominant masculine and feminine traits, it's also easy to read them both as trans or in some way genderqueer. He was nodding and agreeing, so I further explained that with Hannibal, he is fully formed - he's already whatever he is - which Hugh also agreed with. But that Will is still becoming, still transitioning and therefore can be more relatable to trans fans who see that journey in themselves. So although it's not necessarily the same journey - there is enough to it that it resonates with trans people. I said that in the show there is also the added bonus of Will being seen and accepted for who he is, just as trans people wish to be. He was nodding along and agreeing with me and then he thanked me for explaining that. It was pretty quiet previously but I'd been there a few minutes so the queue was building up a little but he was so focused on me - so genuinely intent on hearing what I had to say and learning more. SO I CARRIED ON. (lols) I explained to him that it goes further than the show, that we have found a community in the fandom and that many trans people have a catalyst in their life that sparks their journey - like Will had in his friendship with Hannibal. For us it might be a person, an event, or even a TV show. I explained how the fandom are so supportive of trans people - that we are SEEN. That I for one wouldn't have been able to afford top surgery without the kind donations of Fannibals back when I was not in a good place (mentally or financially). That we all help each other and for some of us that has been life-saving. He did the hand on heart thing and said "wow" and was clearly moved. I said to him that so much of this is in the book, that I completely understand if he doesn't want to read the fanfic, but I really hope that he will at least read each of the personal pieces - that each of the fics and art also have a little write up from their creator about what the show and/or fandom has meant to them and their gender journey - how important this has been in our lives. He repeated a couple of times that he would definitely read it. I thanked him and he held out his hand and gave me the most genuine hand shake I've had in my life.

I want to really stress here how much this was instigated by Hugh. That he really wanted to know more and understand and didn't even look at the slowly growing queue but was instead intently focused on knowing more about the trans Fannibals and about why this show and the characters mean so much to us.

I then went off and spoke with a few Fannibal friends in the queue before getting around the corner to another Fannibal friend and having a bit of an emotional moment/breakdown. I can't even explain how grateful I am that he gave me the opportunity to explain all this to him. And I was especially glad I got to tell that Will is a trans icon because I'd have felt terrible if I'd have not done that after people had asked!! Thank you for trusting me to pass that message on for you!

💖

I know for many of you Adapt. Evolve. Become: The Genderqueer Fandom of NBC's Hannibal might have gone a little under the radar. So here is some more about that >>

It was compiled last year for Trans Hanni Day, edited by Max Turner of (and in conjunction with) A Coup of Owls Press - and published under Max's ACoO imprint.

It features essays, personal pieces, fanart and fanfic by and about trans, non-binary, genderqueer and otherwise non-cis Fannibals.

IT IS FREE TO DOWNLOAD, however we ask that if you do that, please consider donating to one of the linked trans orgs if you can afford to (or a similar organisation/charity of your choice).

It can be purchased on Amazon, however, as the proceeds go to charity, and Amazon only gives royalties, more is earned/given if bought directly via Max's shop.

Dearest trans Fannibals, please know that YOU ARE SEEN!

[a-small-safe-place]

New Addition

Platonic!Yandere Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham w/ Child!Reader

You knocked on the door of the large house Hannibal had picked out for him and Will to live in. It was out of the way from the town, so it was odd to receive a knock. Luckily, it was Will that answered rather than Hannibal. The other kids in town said the men who lived in this house liked to kidnap badly behaving girls and boys and eat them up like the witch in Hansel and Gretel. But this man didn’t seem scary. He seemed nice as he scolded their dogs for running out of the house.

“Hello, mister, I’m selling chocolate-covered pretzel sticks for my school and wanted to see if you would like to buy one?” You asked, trying to sound confident but sounding shaky instead. He didn’t seem to mind; he seemed happy you were there. “I happen to love chocolate-covered pretzels, but my husband thinks they are too simple to be a good treat. Let’s see what flavors you have.” He begins looking through the flavors you brought when his husband, Hannibal, silently walks up behind the other man. “Who is this?” He asks Will.

“Oh, this is… uh…” You stop him and introduce yourself and again explain why you are there. “This is quite a ways away from the town; surely you did not walk all the way here.” Hannibal questions. “No, sir, I rode my bike. I knew there were a few houses out this way, and I was determined to visit.”

Your determination pleases Hannibal but slightly concerns him. You’re an innocent child. You can’t be out riding your bike on these secluded roads. Will quits digging in the pretzel box, “I have to go get dog food anyway; I could bring you back to town. We will take the whole box of your pretzels since you came all this way out here.” Hannibal seems mildly annoyed by this. You remember that Will said Hannibal thinks they are too simple. Will leaves you alone with Hannibal to grab some cash. “Would you like to step inside? You’ll get sick out there.” Hannibal asks. You gratefully step in. “Your home is pretty.” You observe, earning a soft approving smile from Hannibal.

“Thank you, not many people your age appreciate style. Though you don’t seem like many people your age.” After he finishes talking, you try to stay quiet, and finally, Will returns, giving you the money for your entire box of pretzels. “Now I’m heading into town; would you like a ride?” Will offers. “Yes, please.” You tell him.

The ride back is quiet until he begins to talk. “Most kids avoid our house for their fundraisers. Do you know why?” You glance nervously, “I think it’s just too far.” It’s an obvious lie. “You don’t have to worry about being polite. I know there’s probably a crazy rumor about Hannibal and me.” You stay silent, but the silence is too loud to handle, “All the kids think you and Dr. Lecter like to kidnap and girls and boys and eat them up like the witch in Hansel and Gretel.”

“Well, maybe that’s why I needed all those sweet pretzels, so Dr. Lecter and I could finish building our cottage made of candy.” He seems a little sad at the revelation of this rumor. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said anything.” He smiles and says, “Don’t worry about it. You could make it up to me by telling me how this rumor got started.”

“One of the boys that graduated high school last year told his little brother that he broke into your home on a dare and found human meat in the freezer, but he couldn’t go to the police because he was trespassing and he was high.” You finish explaining. Will smiles a bit, but it has a nervous edge this time, “Do you think we eat bad girls and boys?” You think about it, “no, because you had a bunch of times where you could have killed and eaten me.”

“Are you a bad kid?” Will asks teasingly. “I don’t know. I get in trouble sometimes. My house is in town away, in a trailer park.” Will knew which trailer park. It was “the bad part of town” he knew because he saw the crime statistics for that area and the number of times the cops are called out there. He had seen them the few times he and Hannibal helped with the local law. Hannibal had gotten close with the town’s political figures, and Will had basically been made into an honorary detective with the law enforcement. This town was corrupt to its core, but it was away from the prying eyes of the FBI, and it’s the only place Hannibal and Will could agree on geographically. Will’s only stipulation was that there were good places to fish.

Eventually, you make it to the trailer. Will waits until you make it inside. He cannot help but think about Abigail. He could have had a potential family with Hannibal if things had gone correctly. He was happy with Hannibal and the dogs, but something about you made him want more.

Weeks pass, and he does not bring the topic up to Hannibal. Little did he know Hannibal had been keeping an extra close eye on you. He did it under the guise of getting more pretzels for Will and then special ordering one of the unique flavors that you did not have so he could come back around to "check on the order." Will finds this all out when you see him in the store and give him the order Hannibal had placed.

"That kid from the other day gave me the order you placed," Will says placing the box on the table. "I thought you hated junk food."

"I do; they were a surprise for you. You seem to have taken a liking to the child." Hannibal observes. "They're a good kid. They kind of remind me of Abigail." The room becomes silent for a second too long. Hannibal hates it when Will brings up Abigail. "You seem to like the kid too. You went out of your way to find them to order the pretzels when there were plenty of easier options to order from." Hannibal knows he has been caught.

"They're a well-behaved child, very polite. Like Abigail." Hannibal says somewhat pointedly. "Have you thought about us expanding our family? Not with another dog, but with a human?" Hannibal asks before Will has time to respond to the first statement.

"I hadn't, and then that kid came knocking at the door, and since then, it is all I can think about. But I don't want any kid. Our kid from the trailer park seems to be the best fit; it has to be them." Will explains, hoping that Hannibal will understand.

"Then so be it; they will be our child for us to protect," Hannibal says as if this is a normal conversation.

As the two men begin to work on a plan to add you to their family, their fatherly love for you grows more into fatherly obsession. You're their kid; no one gets to hurt you. Once you're safe and comfortable in their home, no one but them will get to be around you until they know you love them just as much. Hannibal wastes no time putting your room together with all of your favorite things. They were going to make your room the same way it is in the trailer until Hannibal saw the state of your room and became disgusted by the idea of that kind of room being in his expensive house.

Will tries to make a plan to make your transition to their house easier. He finds all kinds of games and activities you are sure to love, even the ones that Hannibal is convinced are bad for your growing brain.

[honeygrahambitch]

"You're quiet." Will observed while pretending to be busy with smelling the flavour of the wine in his glass.

"Does that bother you?" Hannibal asked, not lifting his eyes from his Ipad. The answer felt slightly confrontational but overall genuine.

"It's just, unlike you."

"If I started speaking, you wouldn't be fond of what's on my mind. Let's not dwell on this anymore, shall we?"

Will's not-yet-husband senses screamed that he was in danger and that he should walk carefully.

"Avoiding the elephant in the room is even more unlike you. The fact that you are not looking at me as well. You usually look at me, Hannibal." Will said, leaning over the table.

Hannibal put his Ipad on the table and obeyed Will's request. He looked at him.

"Wh- What...have you been crying?"

"I often do when I feel powerless. Even more if I feel powerless and left out at the same time." Hannibal confessed.

"May I know what happened?" Will asked and realized his own voice didn't sound as brave as it did in the beginning. Of course the only reason Hannibal would cry for would be frustration.

He is used to things going his way.

Hannibal turned on the Ipad again, did some scrolling and then pushed the Ipad to Will on the table.

Will grabbed it and started reading but stopped after the first few lines of the news article.

"So this has to do with the case I worked on yesterday?"

"It has to do with the way you started negotiating with someone holding a gun to your head after telling the snipers and SWAT teams to drop their weapons."

"I knew he wouldn't press the trigger, he was just a scared boy. I wanted to avoid his death."

"You wanted to avoid his death by having him cause yours? Very smart, Will." Hannibal remarked. Will wanted to say something but Hannibal went on. "Do you remember what he told you when his gun was pressed against your temple? Many articles cited his exact words."

"That he wouldn't cause any harm if he killed me because the Bureau would replace me in a second."

Hannibal nodded. "See, Will, he was right. Jack has lost ponies before, it would take him only a few months before he would find someone smart enough to do his dirty work."

Will decided to say nothing and keep listening.

"And do you remember what you said yesterday after you survived this incident? You came here, you were really satisfied with how it went. You didn't give me any details and I really believed it was just an ordinary day at work. And the reason you didn't give me any detail is because you don't actually care about how close you were to losing your life."

"I had it under control."

"You did not. It was not even your job to negotiate. You told the official negotiator to let you take care of it. While you had a pipe pressed to your temple."

"I am confused. Are you mad because I didn't tell you about this or because I risked my life?"

"I am mad because you made me worry. I have huge faith in you and your resourcefulness and strength. I have hardly ever been worried about you. However this situation...caused me great distress."

"Did you spend the whole night reading all the articles on that?"

"Not the whole night. Half of it. I was busy during the second half."

Will frowned. Then it made sense.

"The guy who almost blew my brains... he was in the kidney pie." He phrased it as a statement and not as a question because he knew he was right.

Hannibal sighed. "I needed some sort of control. After I killed him I realized that I would have done exactly the same thing if he had killed you. Which made me realize I still had zero control over the outcome."

"If he had killed me, the FBI would have killed him before you got a chance to do so."

The thought made Hannibal spiral even more.

"I can't change what happened. But, I am sorry you were worried." Will said as he was observing the dark bags under Hannibal's eyes. A rare sight. "I take it the the articles didn't cite what I told him while he was deciding whether to shoot or not? I wasn't loud enough for anyone else to hear."

"No." Hannibal replied thoughtfully. "What did you tell him?"

"I said that while the Bureau would indeed replace me in a second, I have someone at home who is waiting for me." Will answered. "I told him I mean so much to you that you wouldn't be able to replace me. I told him that I am stupidly in love. I told him that by killing me, he is ruining us both."

Hannibal remained petrified.

Will was in fact aware of how much he meant to him. His confession did not make what he did less stupid but it changed something.

"Is that so?" Hannibal whispered as he reached for the bottle of Cabernet.

"It obviously is. I'm wondering if what you did was in fact more stupid than what I did."

"How so?"

"You read a few articles, you threw a little tantrum because you could not play God, you cried then you went to murder the guy. Then you didn't feel better so you started crying again."

"Rough night." Hannibal commented, a bit amused by the fact that Will had accurately described his night.

"I'm staying here tonight."

"You don't have to, darling." Hannibal said, still reflecting on the lovely things Will had said about him.

"No, I will stay. You might discover what happened today at work and I'm not letting you spiral again."

"What hap-"

"Were you saying you made Tiramisu?"

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Can I ask for revenge for hurt s/o with fem reader and Thomas Hewitt, maybe reader is a neighbour to the Hewitt's and her and Thomas become close over time, and maybe their latest victims are there and reader goes over to the house as well, and it's an all fight between everyone but someone cuts reader bad and maybe Thomas sees red and she is the only one to calm him down, and then they kiss

.⋆｡Anything For You｡⋆.

Thomas Hewitt x plus size reader

Thomas has always been your sanctuary but now, he would be your protector too

Warnings: death of parents, fire, murder, friends to lovers, angst, getting stabbed, violence, knives, happy ending, protective!Thomas WC: 1.9k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You liked the quiet of your farm. Just you and your animals and the family across the way, it was peaceful. It was all you had ever known. 

Your family moved to Fuller when you were barely a month old, buying up a small farm on the edge of town in hopes of laying down some roots. Life was peaceful, at least until the town began to decay. Less and less children would enrol in school every year, less cars on the roads. Even the fire station shut down as the last family moved out from the city centre. And that led to the death of your parents.

A spark from a frayed cable in the basement landed on a pile of newspapers, setting them alight. It had been a dry summer, far more than usual, and there was no lack of kindling for the blaze. You chose to sleep in the barn that night, wishing to rest beside the newborn calves. Your parents had indulged your silly request, not realising that it would save your life.

You could vividly remember the smell of smoke as it bellowed out from the shattered windows of your home. The dogs howled from their kennels while you ran onto the dirt road leading to the Hewitt household. You banged on their door, begging for them to save your parents.

But even with Monty and Charlie doing their best to put out the fire, no help was coming. You were forced to watch from the comfort of Luda Mae’s arms as your entire world turned to ash.

You lived with the Hewitts for a long time after that, being that you had no other family, as the small farm house was rebuilt. By the time you were 19, you had a new home and a deep friendship with the younger Hewitt brother. Thomas had always been kind to you in the brief moments you had seen each other, but it became something more when you became a daily fixture in his life. 

He showed you how he did his chores around their own farm, took care of the animals and crops on yours when you could not bear to look upon the mound that used to be your home. And in turn, you treated him with more kindness than he had ever experienced. You never faltered at his appearance nor his size, in fact you always found ways to compliment him. You taught him to read and write, and later on, how to use sign language after your schooling ended, even if he only ever used it with you. 

You were his best friend and he was yours.

Perhaps that’s why he never encouraged you to leave as the rest of his family did.

Having finished your morning chores, you sat on the small porch in front of your house with a cup of tea and the book you had been meaning to read, eager to soak in some sun before the Texan heat rolled through. Just as you were getting to a particularly juicy section where the gentle giant farm hand had finally kissed the farmer’s daughter in the barn, a shrill scream cut through the faint buzz of the cicadas.

“What the-“ You tilted your head, waiting for another sound but none came. Leaning over your porch railing, you could just about see the edge of the Hewitt’s driveway and noticed their truck was missing as was Hoyt’s police car. A warm breeze rustled the wheat growing along your property line. 

A sour feeling gnawed at your stomach, urging you to grab your sunhat from its peg by the front door and take the short walk over to the dilapidated home. 

Thomas would be at work already and if Luda Mae wasn’t home, then neither would Charlie since his old age was starting to get to him. Maybe an animal had gotten hurt, you mused as if trying to convince yourself that the scream couldn’t have possibly been human.

“Hello?” The screen door was firmly shut but you couldn’t quite see anything in the dark hallway. You’d have to remind Luda Mae to open up the windows when she left the house for the day, again. 

The floorboards creaked as something moved around. You glanced over your shoulder, hoping to see Thomas’s hulking figure walking up the driveway to save you from having to go in and investigate. But alas, only a toad sat on the gravel, looking up at you with a bored expression, as much as a toad can have.

“If I get murdered, Thomas gets all my stuff.” You pointed at it before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

A coppery smell clung to the stale air, an almost constant of the home but today, it set you more on edge. After three years of living there, you could’ve navigated the house blindfolded but as you passed the switch, you flicked on the lights somehow hoping it would ease the twisting in your stomach.

“Hello?” You called again, passing by the kitchen, not noticing the now empty knife block. The basement door was open. “Hoyt I swear to god if this is you trying to be funny, I’ll kick your ass.” You glanced down the basement stairs, but only the single hanging bulb was visible in the dark. 

Just as you were turning to continue your search, something heavy threw itself into your chest, sending you down the steps. You slammed hard against the concrete floor, the air was ripped from your lungs violently as your ears began to ring. Footsteps thudded down the stairs. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as you tried desperately to breathe. 

“Get that rope.” You reached for the leg of Thomas’s workbench, your vision beginning to tunnel. A hand grabbed at your shoulder, forcing you onto your back. 

“She-she’s not one of them.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter! She’s here isn’t she?” 

“Please.” You wheezed but you were only met with a fist to your jaw. Your eyes rolled.

“C’mon we can make a run for it now. We don’t have to hurt her.” The voices were growing distant.

“Would you just shut the fuck… up.” The last word trailed off as something else caught their attention. You dug your heels into the floor in an attempt to push yourself away from the two voices. The ache in your stomach was starting to ease but you still couldn’t fill your lungs all the way. 

Darkness suddenly covered you as the light from the dining room vanished. “Please.” You tried again but you were only met with silence. Wood creaked and suddenly, you were hauled up. 

“Get any closer and I’ll slit her fucking throat.” The cold metal of a blade pressed itself against your neck. A bitten off whimper slid past your lips as the tip dug into your skin. Your vision began to clear as adrenaline rushed through your veins. A huge shadow loomed at the top of the stairs, silently watching as the two people holding you back panicked.

“Thomas.” You tried to reach out to him. You caught the glint of metal before he raised his arm and threw a meat cleaver directly into the forehead of the one that had tried to run. They dropped like a sack of potatoes, eyes wide with fear as the life quickly left them. 

“Shut up you stupid bitch!” Their hold on you got looser as Thomas took one step forwards. His eyes glinted with anger, a rage you had never witnessed in your gentle giant before. His hands were curled into fists so tight that his knuckles were white, his shoulders raised, making him look even bigger.

You could feel the body behind you trembling as he steadily got closer. “Stay back!” But their tone wavered. You were pulled backwards as Thomas reached the middle of the stairs. “I’ll fucking kill her!” 

As slowly as you could, you began to reach into your front pocket for the small knife you always kept on you. The one Thomas had given you on your 16th birthday. His eyes flicked to you at your movement. You hissed as the knife against your throat pressed in deeper, nicking the delicate skin.

A sound akin to a growl rumbled through the basement. “Thomas no-“ The words had barely escaped you when suddenly the knife was pulled from your neck and shoved into your side. Coldness exploded from the wound like you had been plunged into a frozen lake as your body fell forwards.

A scream echoed through the home but it didn’t sound like your voice. It was warped and all wrong. You fell against something solid but also somehow soft. Its warmth drew your mind back for a moment, just enough to watch as one of Thomas’ massive hands coiled around the other man’s throat and squeezed with all his might.

He thrashed and struggled but he was no match for Thomas. There was a crunch, and then he went limp, his head lolling strangely on his neck. Thomas dropped his body like it was a piece of trash before all his attention shifted to you. 

Your own body was shaking in his hold but you were the furthest thing from scared. With the same hand he had just used to kill someone, he pressed down on your side, stopping the bleeding as best he could. “It’s ok, you saved me Thomas.” He shook his head, his dark hair falling in front of his face. 

He eased you back onto the workbench making you wince as the first tinges of pain began to appear. “Thomas.” You reached for him but he stepped away from you and darted into the darkness of the basement. He was rummaging through something. You heard glass break while you clutched at your stomach. 

His lumbering footsteps returned and the bulb above you flicked on with a gentle hum. A bright red box was in his hands which he was looking through as he rushed back to you. “Talk to me.” You urged. He glanced at you then sighed heavily. 

Not yet, he gestured and pulled out a thick bandage. You let out a huffed laugh, letting him pull up your now ruined shirt to get access to the wound. His eyes narrowed before he let out a breath of relief. Not deep.

You bit down on your lip as he wrapped the bandage around your plush stomach, pulling it as tight as he could without causing you more pain than necessary. “Thank you for saving me.” He helped you to sit up, taking care not to put too much strain on you.

His bulk was all you could see now. He cupped your cheek, a move far bolder than you expected from the shy man. You nuzzled into his touch, unable to stop yourself. “You did so good Tommy.” He nodded and you finally smiled. His head dipped down as his eyes flicked to yours with a silent question, one you had been waiting for since you were 15. 

It was you who leaned in first, capturing his chapped lips in a kiss that was long overdue. He was frozen for just a second then melted into it, naturally meeting the soft push and pull of your mouth in a way that made your brain go fuzzy that wasn’t purely shock. He hesitated when he pulled away but he didn’t go far, only putting enough space between you in order to meet your gaze once more.

“Protect.” His voice deep and rough from disuse but as he gathered you into his arms and tugged you against his broad chest, you knew that he would do anything to do just that. And you couldn’t help but smile through the pain.

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[teatreeoilll]

The weekly drabble of the Adventures of Roommate!Sukuna and Reader, part 2 w/c - 400 tw - swearing, really horrible driving, really bad jokes, ooc sukuna for recreational purposes

"Quit laughing."

"I'm not laughing," you cover your mouth with your hand, shaky breaths still heard through your palm.

"Why the fuck is she moving so slow?" Sukuna complained, tapping his fingers restlessly on the wheel as he watched an old lady stagger across the crosswalk, "It's not like she has a lifetime ahead of her."

"She's not doing it on purpose," you follow your words with a smack on his shoulder, "Be patient."

"An orthopedic patient is walking right in front of us; why don't you smack her instead? Maybe she'll move faster," He grits his teeth, "This is an emergency." Sukuna swerves the car, letting it mount onto the sidewalk momentarily before driving around the woman, flooring the gas pedal.

The car halts, the tires screeching under the pressure, almost crashing into a red Ford Sedan with an elderly woman yelling something untangible behind her car's window. Sukuna rolls down the window just enough to push his forearm out and flip her off, shouting 'nice driving, Hellen Keller' before quieting down under the feeling of your raging gaze piercing him from the passenger seat. "What are you so angry for? He's dying back there."

"How many times can I say it? He is not dying!"

"The fuck d'you know?" He barked, "You didn't hear how he screamed."

-

"Name please," the receptionist ceases her loud typing at the sight of Sukuna's menacing gaze.

"Name? Can't you see he's in pain?" Sukuna snaps, "Just get the doctor."

"Sir, we need to open a patient file. Tell me his name and the doctor will be right with you." She raises a brow, diverting her attention back to the computer screen.

"It's Fluffy," you interrupt, "and he's fine - we can wait." You grab the cat carrier from Sukuna's hands, putting it on your knees as you take a seat at the vet clinic's waiting area.

"We did not name him Fluffy," He spews, "His name's Hannibal."

"We are not naming the cat Hannibal!" You retort, "Please, just write Fluffy."

-

"So this is.. Fluffy Hannibal?" The veterinarian asks, trying to force the smile off his lips, "What happened?"

"Well," you sigh, "He accidentally stepped on his foot," you motion to Sukuna, "and now he thinks Fluffy's dying."

-

A/N: Fluffy was perfectly fine.

[atlasscrumpit]

Run rabbit

Part 2 - here

Hannibal prepared dinner in the kitchen as Will sat across from him drinking some whiskey.

"When is Y/N coming down?" Will asked as Hannibal continued to cook.

"She'll be down soon... You should know something about her. My daughter has some mental inabilities, she can get quite delusional and paranoid at times and even lose her memory. There's times when she believes I'm not her real father and that I kidnapped her." Hannibal explained rather casually as Will stared at him in shock.

"Oh... I didn't know she had issues like that. It must be tough to raise her." Will responded as Hannibal began to plate up the dinner he had prepared.

"As her father I will raise her no matter what." He replied making Will sigh a little.

"I didn't mean to offend you." Will reassured him, he hated to make Hannibal mad.

"I am not offended, Will. I assure you." He replied before they both heard a noise and saw you making your way downstairs.

"There's my wonderful child, Y/N I would like you to meet a friend or mine. This is Will." Hannibal said as you slowly moved forward and looked at Will.

"I'm Y/N." You muttered as he offered you a smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Will. Hannibal has told me a lot about you." He said as you nodded a little, looking quite shy.

"Could you set the table for me, my child?" Hannibal asked as you nodded and began to set the table.

"Is she always this quiet?" Will asked in a low voice making a Hannibal sigh.

"It changes quite a bit, she had a rough night last night, that's why she's quiet." Hannibal explained making Will nod in response.

Hannibal served up dinner and you all sat down together.

"You dad was telling me you're home schooled, do you enjoy it?" Will asked, trying to include you into the conversation.

"Yeah... It's okay." You muttered while you ate.

"Darling, we talked about this. You are being rude to our guest." Hannibal instructed as you rolled your eyes.

"No, I'm not." You grumbled making your father sigh.

"I know you are tired but that isn't an excuse to be rude." He continued as you poked at your food.

"I'm sorry, Will." You muttered as he smiled softly.

"It's alright, I don't mind. When I was in school I never wanted to even acknowledge it, but you're lucky to have a good father like Hannibal to teach you." He said as you looked at him and nodded a little.

"Yeah... I am." You muttered, your face still void of emotion.

--

Will was washing the dishes while Hannibal took out the trash, you stood in the kitchen and watched Will.

"Are you and my dad in love?" You asked making him pause and look at you.

"Um... Well, we care about one another." He muttered in response trying to dodge the direct question.

"So, why have I never met you?" You grumbled, crossing your arms.

"Your father just wanted to make sure you were ready." He responded as you sighed.

"He's not my father... He's a monster." You whispered as Will looked at you in shock.

"Why do you say that?" He asked as you glared at him.

"I'm guessing you know about his hobbies by now." You muttered, Will was shocked you knew about it.

"Well, yes... I do know about it. Your father is quite complicated." He said, wiping up his hands as he turned to look at you.

"He killed me family and kidnapped me." You whispered as he stared at you, Hannibal had warned him about this kind of thing.

"Why don't we go watch TV?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

"Did he tell you I'm mentally ill and make up stories? He tells everyone that." You grumbled before you heard a sigh, you turned around to see Hannibal.

"Y/N, I have spoken to you about telling lies." He said as you looked at him.

"Why don't you tell him the truth then, huh!? That you fucking kidnapped me!" You shouted making him sigh.

"Y/N, you have one chance to apologise, if not I will be forced to medicate you." He threatened as you glared at him.

"Fine..." You grumbled before turning to Will.

"I'm sorry." You muttered as he nodded a little.

"It's okay, Y/N." He reassured with a kind smile.

"If you don't mind Will, I'm going to speak with Y/N." Hannibal said, leading you into his office.

He shut the door and locked it.

"We had a deal, didn't we?" He growled as you looked at him in anger.

"But, you just had to break the rules. I don't take kindly to disobedience, and you know that." He muttered, you looked away feeling fear.

"You will stay here, I will send our guest home and then I will come back and punish you, understood?" He asked, as you nodded a little.

"Yes, father." You whispered before he left you alone.

A few minutes later he returned, locking the door once again and staring at you.

"You seem to think a life without me would be more beneficial then a life with me. So, why don't we try it?" He suggested as you looked up at him.

"Come with me." He demanded, walking out of the office, you followed behind him until you got to the garage and climbed into the passenger seat of the car.

"Where are we going?" You whispered as Hannibal began to drive.

"You want to get away so bad? I'm just helping you along." He explained before continuing to drive in silence.

After about twenty minutes of silence he finally stopped the car and stepped out.

He opened the passenger door and pulled you out of the car.

"We're going to play a little game, it's called rabbit and fox. I'll be the fox, you be the rabbit, I'm going to give you two minutes to run before I start hunting. If you last twenty minutes, you can run away, go wherever you want...but if I catch you, which I will, there's no more escaping. Do you understand?" He asked as you stared at him in shock, the grip on your arm getting tighter.

"Please don't do this, I'm sorry." You begged as he reached up and ran his finger down the side of your face. 

"Start running, little rabbit."

[doggvtz]

mended wounds

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader

pronouns: he/him

desc: hannibal cleans your wounds

w.c: 870

the smell of blood was pungent as hannibal lecter opened the door to his home. he looked around the foyer, shrugging off his suit jacket and setting it on the chair beside the front entrance.

“y/n?” he called, trudging cautiously down the hall and into the living area. the scent of blood was heavier now, filling the man’s nose with the strong, metallic smell. “y/n.” he called again, louder. he heard faint, jagged breathing.

“in here.” your voice was barely above a whisper. hannibal made haste to the kitchen, finding you hovering over the sink. you try to look up at him.

“i couldn’t find your medical supplies.” you laughed, coughing.

hannibal scanned you, and for a second, worry shrouded his face. “what happened, y/n.”

you shook your head. “don’t worry about it, han. just help me find a med kit.”

“what happened.” his voice shook; you’d never heard him sound so desperate, so angry. you blinked.

“it was just…” you sighed, furrowing your brows. “…a stupid fight.”

he clicked his tongue. “who.”

“han—”

“who, y/n.”

“i don’t know. i barely got a good look at the guy.” you sighed, wincing. hannibal dug through his drawers for a med kit.

“go sit at the table.”

you obliged, too tired to keep standing. you dragged your way to the dining area, slumping down into a chair.

soon after, hannibal appeared beside you.

“where all are you wounded?” he asked, opening up the box.

“my face, mostly.” you looked down at your bloodied hands. “and my knuckles.” he nodded, grabbing a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

“this will sting.” he grabbed the damp rag beside the med kit and poured peroxide on it. “you might want to hold onto me.”

“i’m sure i can handle a little more pain.” you laughed dryly. hannibal shook his head, dabbing the rag against your cheek. you winced, hand grabbing his forearm.

“i thought you said you could handle a little more pain.” he commented.

“guess i miscalculated.” he placed his pointer and middle finger under your chin, tilting your head up slightly.

“yes, you did.” he gazed into your eyes for a moment. then said, “why did you come here instead of going home?”

“your house was conveniently close.” you shrugged. “and because i knew my roommates would freak out if they saw what happened.” you smiled at him weakly. “you’re calmer in these situations.”

he nodded, dabbing your forehead. “i see.” it was quiet for a moment. “did he look worse by the end of it?”

you grinned. “you bet.”

the corner of his lip quivered up into a resemblance of a smile. “that’s my boy.”

you felt your heart skip a beat. “your boy, huh?”

“yes.” he reached for your hand and lifted it, running his thumb over your knuckles. “my boy.” he bent slightly and pressed his lips to your wounds. “mine.”

you blinked. then you smiled. “isn’t this breaching our doctor-patient relationship?”

hannibal looked at you. “we’ve breached our doctor-patient relationship many times.” he said. “i don’t see how this is any different.”

you shook your head, watching as he cleaned your knuckles. “it’s different because you know how i feel about you.” you sighed, tongue in cheek. “and, despite knowing this, you’ve never told me how you feel.”

“about knowing your feelings for me?” he asked. “or about how i never told you mine.”

“both.”

hannibal thought for a brief moment. “knowing your feelings for me doesn’t bother me.”

“yeah, i can tell.”

“i think it’s mostly because of my feelings towards you.”

you blinked. “and… what are those feelings?”

“i like you.” he looked at you. “does that bother you, y/n?”

you stilled. slowly, you shook your head. “no. it doesn’t.”

he smiled gently. “good.” he grabbed a roll of gauze, upwrapped it, and wrapped them around your knuckles. he started to clean your other hand, then wrapped those knuckles, too.

“does this change things, doctor lecter?” you asked, looking down at your hand in his. he stared at you, then lifted his hand. standing, he pressed two knuckles under your chin, tilting your head up.

“only if you think things have changed.” he muttered. “and sometimes, change is a good thing.”

“this could potentially be a bad thing.” you said.

“yes, it could.” the corners of his lips quirked in a smile. “but, it’s worth the risk, don’t you agree?”

you smiled gently. “i think so.” he pulled you up, your chest pressing against his.

“good.” he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a sweet, gentle kiss. you grabbed his shoulders, eyes fluttering closed. he placed a hand on your hip, keening against your lips. his lips trailed down to your neck.

“hannibal…” your left hand ran to the nape of his neck.

“shh…” he rubbed your hip slowly. you tugged at the short strands of his hair.

soon, too soon, he pulled away. you whined.

“han…”

he kissed your forehead. “it’s alright, y/n.” he cupped your chin. “you’ll be able to indulge in me soon.” he smiled gently. “let it bloom naturally and at its own pace.” he kissed you again. “i promise you’ll enjoy what’s in store.”

———

a/n: i hope you enjoyed !! send me requests and/or commissions !! (mostly of hannibal)

[childotkw]

Omg that CS snippet 😭 im dying inside, comooon amazon or whoever, deliver her new laptop! And should be on the house as well! Haha

Btw that healer!Tom, criminal/activist!Harry fic would be amazing 😍 it gives a little hannibal/will vibes to me, would u have any snippets of them meeting for the first time? Or like riddles first impression of him? Arg im in a fanfic drought and need something to keep my life source coming 🥲 love u loads ❤️

I meant to reply to this aaagggeeess ago!! Sorry!!

As for healer!Tom / activist!Harry - don't mind if I do!

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

“Tilt your head back,” Tom ordered, his voice dropping low in a wholly inappropriate manner for a healer.

The auror next to the door didn’t hear, didn’t know, but Potter certainly did.

Green eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide and ravenous as he did as he was told, tipping his head back and revealing the tantalising stretch of his neck. Tom skimmed his wand along it, watching as the other swallowed and how it made his throat bob, before tapping the tip against the hinge of Potter’s jaw. He pressed hard, revelling in the quiet hiss it got him, and allowed his magic to coat the livid bruise that peeked out from beneath the stubble marring the man’s jawline.

There was a second, illuminated by the soft white of the healing spell, where they just stared at each other.

Potter was a handsome man, he could admit. Rugged and unkempt, with a hint of wildness to his features that reminded Tom of the orphanage. A type of hunger that was all too familiar to him. Hunger for safety, for power, for change.

This one’s dangerous, Tom realised with a spark of delight as he cancelled the spell a touch too early. His gaze darted down, fixing on the fading yellow that remained of the bruise. It would still be tender, and a part of him desperately wanted to press his fingers to the spot, to rake a nail over it and see what other sounds he could tease out from this caged beast.

Speaking of -

“Do they know those aren’t doing anything to contain you?” he asked under his breath, swaying forward an inch under the guise of checking the welt on Potter’s mouth.

He wanted to bite into the wound. Cut it fresh and suck the bead of blood that would well up.

Potter smiled, a quick little thing that broke the scab and had Tom’s attention riveted to the hint of red.

“No,” he whispered back, amused and enjoying it. He shifted his wrists, showing off the warded cuffs. “But they put in so much effort to arrest me, I figured I’d let them have this one.”

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER SIX: SALT

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink

This is chronologically the sixth chapter in the series (I'll be changing the titles to the chapter names included on ao3 soon)

---

Another day begins in the cenotaph of Dr Lecter's house. That he doesn’t immediately speak of your night in Will's bed seems intentional, a tactic to keep you on some treacherous edge.

Though you look askance at your abuser across the breakfast table, he speaks only of the day's work ahead of him, and that which he has put to you.

“I’d like you to read the book I left in your room,” he says, observing as you dice poached egg into cubes so thin as to be the crystals of a snowflake. “I see that you have not touched it yet. As part of your treatment, I intend you to follow a curriculum that will provoke healthy conversation and—I hope—reflection, afterwards.”

You spread a quantity of egg white to the furthest edges of your plate, hoping to create the impression of having eaten more than has, in fact, travelled your oesophagus.

“Dostoevsky,” you say, at length. “Isn’t he really depressing?”

Hannibal smirks, and reaches across to gently remove the fork from your plate.

“That is indeed a perspective of his catalogue, but not a conclusive summary. Fyodor’s life, like his work, was frequently besmirched with misfortune, and yet he proclaimed beauty and worship as his driving forces, endeavouring to appreciate both even at the direst junctions of his existence.”

Dr Lecter forks the clandestine shrivels of egg towards your lips, which remain in a steadfast line until you discern the quiet threat in his oaken eyes. While yolk waxes your inner mouth, your fists wrench your skirt, as though you might twist your captors throat through mortal telekinesis.

You think of cartilage closed beneath your fist, of gargled breaths, and quiet, and cringe from the knowing of what would truly come. Dr Lecter’s hand would make a paper crane of your wrist, or else his cock would tear you through you like God’s hand rending the rib of Adam to make Eve.

With you as his Eve, he means to make an Adam of Will, it seems.

You sit, and you eat, and feel the weight of it crawl up your belly on many legs, such vermin.

Presently, you ask, “Can’t I choose something else? A different novel? I’m not much of a reader anymore, and it’s pretty long.”

Truthfully, when you do attempt to read, it is often the same sentence over and over; your hunger has robbed this from you, also, a nosferatu in its thirst for thought.

“If you complete this volume and share your thoughts with me, then you may request a title,” says Hannibal, smoothly; perhaps he has prescribed this book for its preposterous length, as well as its content, an occupation for months to pass. “For now, I would like you to finish The Idiot. There is a character within that I suspect you will come to understand as well as yourself.”

You decide that you despise his pretension as much as his torments, the naked self-absorbtion that comes of filtering experience through such narrow tastes and opinions.

Still, you cannot challenge his word so soon after promising your obedience, and thus finish your breakfast without further word in order to excuse yourself from the table.

Alone in your locked room, you scream against your impotence, knowing well that there is no one to hear or help you. Hannibal has fortified this beautiful room as he might a trove of sapphires to inhibit your escape, and whatever neighbours he has keep their insular distance from it unless invited in.

If a passing stranger did glimpse you there, you doubt that they’d be moved to your release. You are but a poor mad girl, shut away to heal in the home of a doctor so esteemed. There is no word to be had against his, even that of the law, which he has cleverly declawed.

You pull a chair to the window to read, accepting, in sulking resignation, that there is nothing else to do but pace, or sleep, which you will not do, afraid to lose all sense of reality to repetitious acts. The book is as difficult as anticipated; tracing your finger across each page, you hope to anchor your thoughts to its complex and numerous appellations, shadowboxing the eternal fog of food that eclipses all things, even the rapes.

If you accept what has been done to you, and what has been taken, then you must accept the abyss that is to be a slave to circumstance. So, for the following days, you think only of the novel and the view beyond your room, in which the trees weep browning leaves like the blood of a decaying God.

You see little of Hannibal, which you are glad of. His work runs long into the evenings, and the brief visits he makes to your room are merely to ascertain that you’ve eaten. The meals remain small, suggesting a caution in Dr Lecter not to overextend the limits of your disease.

You elect not to tell him how your heart palpitates each time you touch morsel to tongue, how desperately you cram mouthfuls past your teeth, swallowing before you can stop yourself, standing, petrified of your base weakness, which you’ve less and less ability to resist.

There is no secondary option to upturn its pale belly to your taking, nothing but the damnation of the men that rewrite your purpose as love letters to one another, or poison pen notes, one and the same.

Friends, enemies, paramours, or rivals— what they are, if not one or all of the four you cannot interpret.

When Hannibal comes to you on the morning he claims to be Saturday with news of Will Graham’s imminent arrival you are almost pleased, the chance to observe these monsters in repose a thrilling distraction from your sequestered numbness.

“I apologise for my neglect,” says Hannibal, glimpsing something of this eagerness in your expression. “My clients have proved themselves to be uniquely demanding, recently. I hope not to face similar struggles in my home.”

You are, at this time, in the parlour, looking about you for where to pour away the hot chocolate that Dr Lecter has placed into your shaking hands for you to finish. The mug is charmingly presented, towering in whipped cream and shaken cocoa, its contents thick and sweet as Ethylene; you feel you might equally die from it.

Hannibal says your name, and you jump, slopping a little of your drink over the rim.

“How do you feel about Will joining us this afternoon?” asks your captor.

Shrugging, you rub at the spilled chocolate with the cuff of your sleeve, aware of Dr Lecter’s eyes locking to the stain on your dress. He cannot abide mess, or disorder, another quality he accepts in Will, who is not nearly so put together as his companion, even at his best dressed.

“I hate Will,” you say. “That's all I feel.”

“Then why did you choose to share a bed with him?” asks Hannibal.

He knows, then, and likely set this trap on purpose.

“I had a nightmare,” you say. “I needed someone. I still felt... weird. From the meds. I guess it made sense to me, then.”

Hannibal appraises you with interest.

“You could have come to me.”

You cannot restrain your rictus of disgust.

“No way. You brought me here. You brought Will to me. Told him what to do. What he did... it was you, doing it through him.”

“Certainly not,” says Hannibal, smoothly. “I am the dowsing rod that comes upon water underground. Will’s potential, and taste for violence was already there. Still, there are other yearnings to be mined from that plentiful well. You know this: it is why you went to him for comfort. There is a father in Will Graham, craving to give love to a child.”

Again, you grimace, and Dr Lecter releases a sound of soft amusement

“And why that look? Because of the intercourse? Not one of the three of us shares blood with any other. Although it was known amongst some ancient kings to wed their daughters.”

You set down your mug with a punctuating clink.

“You’re not kings.”

“If only we were,” says Hannibal, cheerfully. “What palaces we would have built for us. Ah, well. In my mind, at least, they exist.”

He picks up your mug and places it back into your hands.

“Drink your chocolate. If you finish half of it, I will take it away.”

At this, you brighten.

“Really?”

“Of course,” says Hannibal. “As long as you eat some of the cream.”

He loiters until you are finished, never seeming to lose his fascination with your person.

“A valiant attempt," he says. "Now, let’s get you out of that dirty dress. Wouldn’t want Will thinking I’m not taking good care of you.”

You make as if to go to your room, but Hannibal stands in your way, an immovable wall.

“Raise your arms for me, little one.”

“I can dress myself,” you insist, and wilt as Hannibal’s goodwill visibly wavers.

“Alright, doctor.”

After easing the dress up over your head Hannibal stands a moment, considering your nudity before him. One hand frisks you ribcage to breast, taking measure of your form, and you find yourself shifting from foot to foot, appalled by the coal of arousal that simple touch has spurred.

“So many pleasures could be yours,” says Dr Lecter, “if you would only embrace them.”

You look away, and allow your turned cheek to be your answer.

*

By the time Will enters the house, Hannibal has you drawing on a large sketchpad in an armchair— art therapy, you suppose, but you are no fool. Through it, he means to infantilise you further, making you all the more susceptible to the two of them in that, in all things, you are a child. Theirs.

You’ve been told to draw whatever your feelings dictate to you, but out of pettiness you scratch down caricatures of your tormentors, taking great satisfaction into making each look particularly mean and unattractive.

Will sits at one end of the living room couch, his full mouth in a cantankerous downturn. He doesn’t make even brief eye contact as he greets you; indeed, he pretends to the best of his ability that you are not there as he accepts a glass of wine from his host, a curt, plaid-shirt clad shoulder squared in your direction.

The night you spent in his bed embarrassed him, you realise, as though he were your hostage, and not the reverse.

Thus, he has chosen to hate you for it, and it is as you scar his pencilled image into a graphite scowl that you decide to goad him, in response.

Hannibal—coolly debonair in a pressed rust suit—looks at you throughout his conversation with Will, analysing each haughty exhale and flip of a page in their colourful feeling.

Each time Will speaks, you make a point to drop a pencil with a disturbing clatter, or else stare at the back of his head until he surely feels the pressure of your gaze. It is childish game, to be sure, but one that cannot easily be halted in the name of misbehaviour.

The young man twitches and stiffens with gratifying agitation, his squared jaw a lance of disgruntled solidity. Hannibal’s eyes bear the shine of withheld mirth, and you comprehend that although this man cannot abide rudeness, he is not above the lowbrow if it is in the name of vengeance.

It does strike you as odd, however, that he does not intervene on his ally’s behalf; this, too, you are darkly curious to understand, his passive participation in the prodding of a humming nest.

At last Will snaps your name, one fist brought down on the arm of his chair in a cushioned thump.

“If you want something from me, then you’d better say it out loud. It’s not as if you’re known for being shy about your feelings.”

“You know what I want,” you mutter, drawing your chin up under your knees. “But you’re too chicken to do anything he doesn’t want you to.”

This directed at Hannibal, who merely hums neutrally, and leans in at a subtle incline.

“You’re right: I’m not taking you home,” says Will. “You’ve barely been here a full week, and your collaboration with Dr Lecter is half-hearted, at best. Don’t expect freedom when you haven’t worked for it.”

“And don’t pretend to care about solving crimes when you’re here, committing them,” you retort. “You really put the fucking bullshit into the FBI.”

Will’s eyebrows rise in disbelief, his forehead a graph of harried lines.

“Careful,” he grinds out. “I ought to wash your mouth out with soap.”

Snorting, you pick the sketchbook back up and shake it open across your lap.

Your pulse is ringing with adrenaline, with the fear of where this brattish turn may lead, but with Hannibal silent and quietly interested in one corner, and Will stiff and seething in between, there is causality to your tantrum that you do not care to challenge.

“You wouldn’t,” you say. “You’re too scared to touch me without your friend holding your hand the whole time.”

Will becomes very still.

“That is a very dangerous assumption to make," he says, and suddenly you are almost blind with miserable fury.

It makes you quite reckless.

“So do it,” you say. “Wash my mouth out. Do it!”

“Time to prove that you’re a man of your word, Will,” says Hannibal, from the corner. “A parent that does not reinforce discipline holds no power.”

Will stands up quite abruptly, rolling up his shirt sleeves in terse motions.

“Alright.”

A darkness passes over his eyes, and you realise your mistake.

“Wait,” you say. “No. I didn’t mean it.”

You shriek as Will tries to take hold of you.

“Hold still,” he says. “I don’t want to break your arm. It’d be easy for me.”

He drags you into the downstairs bathroom, slamming on the cold faucet with a free arm and holding a cake of soap under its stream.

“No! No!”

You bring your legs up off the ground and lunge forwards, pitching your attacker into the washbasin.

He pivots you in his grip, one shuddering hand squeezing your collarbone. The other cracks your cheek with an impulsive force that steers you back against the sink, just as you threw him, all your righteous attitude let out of you like pulp from a gourd.

Will stares at his own hand in abjection, his eyes a harrowed eclipse.

His voice stutters, trembles.

“Oh, I— did I— I shouldn’t have— what am I doing?’

You fold to the floor and crawl away on three limbs like a dying animal, one hand clutched to your cheek. Hannibal emerges from where he has been observing from the doorway, gesturing soundlessly for you to return to the parlour. He doesn’t appear angry; rather, the feeling that inhabits his eyes is so unlike any other you’ve yet perceived that dread turns your innards out of you as surely as one of his knives.

You should run, you know, barricade yourself into an unlocked room to wait out the squall.

Yet something—a sense, an instinct—compels you to lurk in the hallway beyond the bathroom to eavesdrop on the conversation within.

“Will,” says Hannibal— through a crack in the door you see him caress the younger man’s quaking arm with the sensitivity of unbridled love. “You are distressed.”

Graham lifts his hand, still flushed red from the blow.

“I made a serious mistake,” he says. “Indefensible.”

“She was antagonising you,” says Dr Lecter, plainly. “You punished her. That is all.”

Will shakes his head, battling to articulate himself.

“No. No. I reacted. It was... inelegant.”

“I agree the soap was perhaps too literal,” says Hannibal, reaching across to turn off the faucet and set the soap bar straight in its dish. “It was a little gauche.”

“Gauche,” Will repeats. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

He laughs shakily, relaxing under Hannibal’s consolation.

“A musician might be expected to produce many flawed pieces in his early career,” says Dr Lecter. “In this case, however, there is a fault in the instrument.”

Drying himself on a hand towel, Will appears pensive, unconvinced.

“And you think it can still be played, this instrument?”

“You have demonstrated it just now. While your first motion was unsophisticated, the second was a symphony. A bullet, a palm; each you have delivered to adversaries with the same instinctive force, and certain beauty.”

“I shouldn’t have hit her in the face,” Will insists. “Too dangerous. I could have deafened her. Given her concussion.”

“Then next time you must put her across your lap,” says Hannibal, smoothly. “That way there is no chance of serious injury.”

A charge conjoins the two of them like a lightning bolt, marrying the earth to the sky.

“Right,” says Will, at last. “So, what do I do with her now?”

You scuttle into the living from before either man realises you’ve been listening and throw yourself down on the couch, your body going into little spasms of terror at the many possibilities of what fate your ire has earned you.

Shortly after, Will passes through the door, inspecting your prone form with a fragile caution. He sits gingerly beside you on the couch and clears his throat.

“Well,” he says. “You wanted my attention. Now you’ve got it.”

You neglect to answer.

Sighing, Will takes hold of the quiet.

"You have a bone to pick with me today. Bigger than usual."

"I could say the same to you," you mutter, and Will's lips tighten into an unpleasant smile.

"You’re upset because I didn’t want to talk to you when I came in. I don’t know what you were expecting from me. When I found you in bed next to me the other night, I knew exactly what you were doing. Didn't Hannibal tell you about my acute empathy?”

Sitting up on both elbows, you shake your head.

"No. What does that even mean?"

"It means I know how insecure you're feeling,” says Will. “And what you think you'll achieve in breaking me down. But you won’t. I don't appreciate being used, One."

He spits the latter half of Dr Lecter's nickname for you as though it's rather beneath him to employ it, and this egotism alone reignites the desperation in you to best him, to raise yourself from the dirt-ground bottom of a pyramid of three points.

Ignoring your repulsion, and the throbbing welt of his handprint on your cheek, you struggle up onto Will's lap and kiss him, your fingers a bow at the nape of his neck.

For an instant he kisses you back, his cheeks in bloom, all gasping and piteous desire. Then he pushes you down onto the floor by the shoulders, his expression drawn, and severe.

"One," says Will. "No. You know the rules."

You stare into the sullen lakes of his eyes until they skitter aside.

"No," you say. "No, I don't, Will. Dr Lecter hasn't explained anything. First I'm a patient, then I'm your daughter, then I'm— I'm something you can just hurt? I don't understand what I am to you people, or what I'm supposed to do."

"You can start by not kissing me," says Will, and he wipes his lower face with one coarse hand as though drying himself of sudden rain.

"Why?” you ask, and the young man leers with distaste.

"You don't even want to. You're manipulating me. Trying to, at least."

"Like you've been doing to me? You want me here. Otherwise, you'd take me away.”

Your voice dries into in a plaintive croak. Your fingers clutch and cleave to him.

"Prove me wrong, Will. Take me to a real hospital. Please, Daddy, take me away from here."

You almost feel him waver, under the spell of your weakness, its call to him. Then he jerks his chin in stubborn resistance, twitching your hands from the fabric of his trousers.

"I'm not going to disrupt your treatment. I have to trust that Hannibal will get through to you. Can't help thinking he's wasting his time."

"Your rules don't make sense," you say, rudely changing the subject back to its previous line. "How come you get to touch me when I can't touch you?"

"Because you'll use it like a shovel to dig your way out of here," says Will. "Or to drive a wedge between me and Hannibal."

"What if I just want someone? I'm alone, here. I can't be alone. I can't cope."

You reach out to Will, forcing a passion for him that is not there. He feels your cold, and flinches back, the genuine emotion you'd felt extend towards you snapped like a pine needle under a hunter's boot.

"Don't do that," he says. "I won't be twisted around your little finger. If you want me on your side, then you can apologise for disrespecting me, and you can use your mouth to do it."

His meaning beats you in, a bruising horror.

"You don't mean that," you say. "Do you?"

Will smiles again, this time with a chilling irony.

"I think I do."

“Why?” you ask, again. “Because he told you it was a good idea?”

With slow purpose Will leans forward, wearing his darkness like a helm, a power, till now, unseen.

“Because you need to learn that I’m not the soft target you think I am. I feel for you, and I want to help you, but not nearly as much as Hannibal does. I lack his patience. The harder you push me, the further I’ll close against you, and the last thing you need is another locked door in this house. Do you hear what I’m saying to you?”

It is the threat of an echoing night, a decade forgotten underground, as in your dream.

“Yes,” you say, unsteadily, and you see Will warming to his role in a subtle tightening of his posture.

“Then you know what to do.”

You look at his trouser button, gleaming like the tusk of a boar charging unavoidably through some murky underbrush.

“Can we do... something else?” you ask, in a whisper.

“Why?” asks Will, sharply. “Afraid of the calories? Considering Dr Lecter’s been lenient with you today, I think you can afford the addition.”

The cruelty of this takes you aback; you cannot yet determine its cause.

“Why do you hate me, Will?” you ask. “I’m just some girl. You don’t even know me. I never hurt anyone on purpose before I got here. Why am I the bad guy to you?”

He says your name with a dangerous finality.

“You’re stalling. Look, I can walk away and leave your punishment to Hannibal, but I can’t guarantee that he won’t be harder on you than I am.”

“What would he do?” you mumble.

Will pauses, and you get the sense that he’s editing his answer.

“What he believes I’d like him to do.”

“Worse than this?”

You regret the question as Will unbuttons his pants and sits back, all moody arrogance.

“What do you think?”

You envisage yourself running from the room, throwing a screaming fit, or making your attempts at violence upon this delicate man, anything but set your mouth to task, as he desires.

But you have sensed the devil in Hannibal Lecter, have dreamt of it; its spectre is the hand on the back of your neck as you reach into Will’s open trousers and lure out his arousal in your grudging fist.

His girth rises from a thicket of curls, already straining against your touch, as it had been the night he watched Dr Lecter ravage you on the table top. Three strokes and Will is sucking his breath through his teeth, his hands scratching at the sofa, his eyes raised to the ceiling as your mouth closes over the head of his cock.

He grasps the back of your skull and coaxes you clumsily down upon his heated desperation, needing, thirsting, a street mutt brought in to eat.

The first taste of salt upon your tongue has you straining back against him; Will is right in that you fear the numeric value of his excitement, as though the very flavour of him alone might deconstruct your physical being like a wound in space, eating stars and worlds with similar appetite.

The young man is too strong for you; he keeps your mouth, your throat upon him until you give in, fearing he may snap your neck entirely by accident in his ferocity.

He says nothing, only breathes harshly above you, quite beautiful, still, an angel in his ecstasy, his sculpted features catching the soft light of the room, burnished to their most perfect state— you loathe him for that same symmetry, hate that you must hold his thighs in the bastard sibling of an embrace to steady yourself, or else fall upon his lap in bowed debasement.

The noise of the act—wet coughs and rasps, the rattle of saliva sieved through your teeth—takes on the rhythm of a waulking song, all repetition. Your eyes lose their vision to your tears, perceiving nothing but light, and Will’s gloomy outline above you.

His inhales shorten, a sawing in, in, in, of saccharine air, and both palms close upon your cheeks as his small hips rise, and your mouth is full of him, like the crest of some foaming wave.

You tumble back, and turn to spit just as Hannibal’s voice cuts through the room.

“Swallow it. Though my floor is clean, I suspect that it is not quite spotless enough to eat off, which you would have to, should you deposit what you have in your mouth there.”

You glance at Will, closing his trousers with a rather sheepish air about him; no help to you, little though you would have expected him to be. With a nauseous gulp, you drink down his liquor, made ashamed by your absence of valour, a coward to grovel so swiftly to command.

“How far you’ve come,” says Hannibal. “Both of you.”

Will meets your miserable look, and this time there is no guilt in his eyes.

“Is Jack Crawford still invited to dinner?” he enquires, quite casually, as though your tongue was not still thick with him.

Brows arched, Hannibal says, “He is. Why do you ask?”

They both look at you, their thoughts a chevron formation of psychic understanding.

Will says, “She’s not ready for that.”

You shrink away as Hannibal approaches, pressed against the foot of an armchair like a beaten courtier to some mad king.

“She will have to be,” says Dr Lecter. “For I insist on her attendance.”

[charliedawn]

How would the slashers or the Hannibal family react to their partner being stressed due to college?

When you came home and almost collapsed in the living room, Hannibal Jr. caught you in his arms.

He was worried about you and laid you down, patiently waiting for you to wake up.

When you finally did, you didn't notice when you started crying until you started talking—your voice shaking by the amount of stress you were under.

"...I'm so tired. I'm not sure I can keep it up. The endless sleepless nights. The tests raining on my head. The days I can't even get up because I'm so tired my whole body shuts down. I am so very tired...I can't do this. I'm not strong enough."

He gathered you in his arms and shushed you softly before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

"You are strong enough, love. I promise you."

He never felt such stress for school because he usually always aced all of his tests with high honors.

He even used to think that the reason some people were struggling was because they didn't work enough.

But, now that he saw how difficult it was for you ? He is starting to reconsider his opinion on the matter.

He'd help you and make you revise and give you all the advice he can give you on how to study efficiently.

You *smile widely as you come back home with a good grade* : "I DID IT !"

Hannibal Jr. smiled up at you and invited you to seat on his lap while you pointed all of the nice comments your teacher had written on your paper.

He watched as your eyes brightened and your whole demeanor seemed so different from a few months ago.

He rested his chin on your shoulder while your voice started to fade away and before he knew you it...he was asleep.

Looks like studying with you had taken its toll on him as well...You noticed and smiled before settling back and started dozing off as well.

When he saw you crying, Norman's heart did a somersault.

He immediately asked what was wrong and when you told him you were tired of school, he pulled you into a tight hug.

"You succeeded in getting there. Plod on, darling. You'll get there. I'm sure of it."

He doesn't like to see you cry and would try his best to comfort you.

Norman did go to college and attended management classes to get better at his job as hotel manager.

It took a lot of time and energy for him to get through all those years of intense training. So, he'd understand—but encourage you to do your best and keep going.

He'd also try to help you by studying with you and helping you remember the most important things.

He'd also cook for you and make sure you get a nice quiet place to study.

Norman would make sure you succeed and tell you every minute of every day how proud he is of you and give you all the love and affection you need.

Norman *humming to himself while waiting for you to get home*

You *slamming the door open and running in to hug him from behind* : "I DID IT, NORMAN !"

It took him a second or two to realize what you meant and once he understood, he smiled and hugged you back.

"I am so proud of you, my little monster."

"Stop overthinking things. It ain't good."

He told you, but you ignored him. You had work to do and didn't want to be disturbed.

Freddy would normally understand and leave you alone, since he knows it's better to stay away when you got work to do.

But, he didn't this time around.

"We going to party tonight.", he told you and you frowned.

"Freddy...I got work to do."

You reminded him, but he shook his head before closing your computer.

"Let me rephrase that. Either we go out and have fun—or I find myself a nice bunch of nice innocent virgins and make a blood sacrifice to...me."

You glared at him again, but finally conceded with a sigh. You knew he was only trying to cheer you up.

"Fine...But, I ain't paying for you. I got enough worries as it is.", you warned him before grabbing your bag on your way out and Freddy grinned victoriously.

"I'm treatin'. Now, stop your yapping and let's get drunk."

Worse case scenario ? He'd get you so drunk as to accept to quit your studies and become a stripper.

He would maybe be your only client, but as he can literally summon money from dreams, you'd have an endless source of income...

School ? That's what you were so concerned about ?

Myers didn't understand, but Michael did and decided to start reading about your subject.

Finally, he decided to help you and it was a lot easier when you were both working on it.

You explained things he didn't understand and it helped you have a better understanding of your subject as well.

Michael *points to something he didn't understand on the book you were reading*

You *start explaining it to him with a smile*

Him *focused on your smile rather than on your words and smiles as well*

He would make sure that smile never fades, no matter what...

He helped you and every time you had a test, he was there to pick you up and listen to you about your day and wherever had happened—that it'd be good or bad.

You *smile up at him* : "...Michael."

Him *looks up at you and sees you with tears in your eyes and immediately worries*

You *run into his arms* : "Thank you...Thank you so much."

He relaxed when he realized you weren't hurt and wrapped his arms around you.

Jack woke up and prepared himself a cup of coffee at 6 am and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw you there—your computer on your lap and glassy red eyes staring at the screen.

You slowly looked up at him with tears in your eyes and offered him a weak smile.

"....Would you get me a cup too ?"

Your voice was so soft and weak, Jack felt his heart squeeze.

"....Aww, honey." He crouched in front of you and lightly stroked your arms up and down—feeling your cold asking underneath his fingertips. "You can't stay up like that. It's not good. That's just nuts."

You were on the verge of collapsing and it seemed Jack's touch was the one things needed for you to break.

You suddenly fell forward and Jack caught you on his arms.

"Ssh...Come on. Let's get you to bed, darling."

He then picked you up in his arms and glared at your computer.

He was going to have a serious conversation with your teachers and the administration. Jack may use his few connections in the academic cycle to get a few things straight with that college of yours.

He'd also help you if your subject is anything related to the literary world.

You *come back from your next test with a bright smile on your face* : "I...I did it, Jack. I did it."

Jack's eyes widened as a smile crept on his face—but he quickly hid it behind a very exaggerated cough and a nonchalant shrug.

"Yeah yeah...I always knew you could do it."

"You' in college, Y/N ! Can you imagine ? How cool's that ?!"

Lester would be in awe. The man never even left Ambrose. He'd bathe you in praises and tell you how proud he is of you.

He'd also give you all the moral support you need and even bring you and pick you up from college everyday just to see you smile.

He'd be there for your worst and your best—no matter what.

You *come back home crying* : "...I failed."

Him *hugs you immediately* : "Doesn't matter. It's OK, doll. It's only a bad grade. I'll ask Bo or Vinny to help ya'. I'll...I'll ask around for sum' private teach' or sumthin'. Just...Please. Don't cry."

Lester would do anything for you. He maybe wouldn't be able to help you with your studying, but he'd find some other way to help.

Lester *phones every single teacher out there to give you private lessons*

He'd also have a meeting with your teacher and ask them if there's anything he can do to help you. Lester may not be the brain of the Sinclairs, but he's definitely the heart.

You *the day of the final results* : "Lester..."

You uttered his name so softly, he thought you hadn't succeeded and was about to give you all the comfort you needed when you looked up at him and smiled.

"...I passed."

It took a moment for Lester to realize what you had just said and he immediately ran to hug you tightly—spinning you around as you giggled gleefully.

"YOU PASSED ! YOU PASSED !"

He was so happy for you.

"Fuck me. This is b*llsh*t. How can you even read that sh*t ?!"

Bo would just throw every insult known to man at your lessons and curse the whole school system in colorful 'damns' and 'f*ck y'alls'

He might not be able to help you, but he'll be sure to complain and despair alongside you.

He'd sit next to you—his leg bouncing up and down with each second passing as he tried to make head or tail of your course plan.

"I swear I'd have quit the whole thing a long time ago if I were you. I mean...Look at this ?! Is this even fuckin' English ?!"

Seeing Bo actually even more upset on your course than yourself made you feel a lot better and even laugh.

"Wha—?! What's so funny ?! I'm serious !"

He'd spend nights studying with you and let you knock his ears off about your studies while working at the garage.

"BO !"

He looked up at you and thought you were upset at him for some reason, but you then grinned wildly before showing him your grade.

"I FUCKIN' DID IT !"

Him *blinks twice before giving you a matching grin and opening his arms wide to catch you when you hugged him" : "I KNEW IT ! I FUCKIN' KNEW IT ! THAT'S MY GIRL/BOY !"

Pennywise is street smart, not book smart. He never went to school.

School didn't even exist when he was born, even less college.

But, he'd try for you.

But at the end, he'd help you cheat instead.

During a test: transforms into a fly and flies to the best student's shoulder to get a look at his answers and they whisper them to you when no one is looking.

Or, he'd just give a little visit to your teacher the night before and give them a little reminder of what happens when Pennywise is angry...

Yeah. Don't worry about grades.

As long as he's here, you'll always have someone to help you and watch out for everything that might hurt you.

He wouldn't let you down and would encourage you the best he can.

"...You impress me, kid. Even when things get tough, you keep walking forward. That makes you tougher than any of us—even me."

"....Ah."

Kevin never had that problem, because he had Orwell and the moment school was too much, he would appear and do the work.

So, Orwell would help you.

Orwell *looks at the paper in his hand and looks at all the corrections before smiling* : "Ah...I see. Come. I'll explain it to you."

Orwell *starts helping you and scoots a little closer to show you each of your mistake and take the time to make you correct them or rephrase*

Orwell wouldn't let you leave unless you've memorized every single word on your next lesson. He'd make sure to help you until the end and become personally invested in your success.

Orwell *waiting for you outside of your school to see you and ask how it went*

You *smiling and running to hug him* : "Thank you so much for helping me. I knew every answer on the test."

Orwell *stunned because no one ever hugged him* : "You're...welcome" *pat pat on the back*

Orwell would be very proud inside and the other personalities would congratulate you too.

But, Orwell would then ramble on how you hadn't yelled at him when you were studying together and actually listened.

Even Kevin had never been so attentive.

It would earn him some taunting from the other personalities.

Patricia *smiles knowingly* : "You really like them, don't you ?"

Hedwig *gasps loudly* : "MISTER ORWELL HAS A CRUSH !"

Dennis : "Be careful. It could be a trap."

Jade *rolls her eyes* : "Stoooop it, Dennis. For once, glasses shows feelings. Respect that."

Kevin *smiles sheepishly* : "N...Nice. I'm sure they like you too."

Orwell *blushes and shakes his head before trying to cover his ears*

"Huh...Let me get back to you when I've got an answer."

Two days later: news started spreading that your school had 'mysteriously' caught on fire.

You waited for J to come home and when he did, he was carrying a flamethrower and was covered in ashes.

"So...I thought a lot about it and found the perfect solution."

"....J." You pinched the bridge of your nose in exhaustion before J sighed and threw the flamethrower on your shared coach.

"Before you say anything, you're welcome."

You looked up at him with narrowed eyes and asked.

"...Was anyone inside ?"

"...Would I get in trouble if I said yes ?"

Your brow furrowed and he chuckled before shaking his head and cupping your cheeks to look you in the eyes.

"Relax, sweetheart. Smile. No one was inside. I made sure of it...I just gained you a little bit of time to spend with me."

You finally relaxed under his touch and smiled.

"...You're crazy."

He knew you were joking and chuckled before pressing his forehead against yours.

"...Yeah. I'll get back to you when I've got a solution for that one too."

You finally laughed. J was maybe crazy, but somehow...You had managed to get him all wrapped up around your little finger.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

hi its me again, the will brainrot is still strong. i want to protect will so bad, so could you write something hurt/comforty for will. lets say the scenario is that hannibal is incarcerated, everyone knows he is the chesapek ripper and he will never leave prison again. reader helps will move on, will gets a happy end, a hopefull end.

the lay on the bed, will is comfortable, happy, still a bit scared of the future, of his mind but he now has a rock

sorry if that is to weird

Howdy!! Not weird at all don’t worry! I love hurt/comfort so i’ll gladly write this for you!!

——

There were nights were Will was more quiet than others. A month had passed since the shock of Hannibal’s incarceration first hit, and the road to recovery had so far been rocky.

Not that you minded taking on the responsibility of mending his broken heart. Patience and love were needed for such a task, and luckily, you had both in abundance to share.

You brought him some tea to bed, snuggling in close to him. He gave you the barest smile of gratefulness, blowing on the hot water to cool it down.

You ran your fingers soothingly through his hair, setting down your own cup. “How are you feeling?”

“Just thinking,” he said with a sigh, tapping his temple. “You know I spend a lot of time stuck up here.”

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to press him to share his thoughts. Some days he did it out of his own volition, but if he didn’t elaborate, it meant he didn’t really want to.

So instead, you decided to change the subject to try and distract him.

“You know, it’s supposed to be really nice out tomorrow. Maybe we could go for a hike and picnic by the stream,” you said. “I got more film for my camera, too.”

He smiled as he took a tentative sip of tea. “You’re still chasing that cardinal, aren’t you?”

“Little fucker is hard to picture,” you said with an amused huff. “But I think I know where its nest is, so I’m bound to get it eventually.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, setting down his cup on the nightstand and wrapping his arms around your waist. He lay his head down on your lap, and your fingers buried in his hair once again.

“And when you do catch him? Then what?” He asked softly, though a part of you felt like he was asking himself the question, too.

“Then… I don’t know. It’s hard to say.” You thought about it for a moment. “I guess at first it would be weird not to feel that drive anymore. Maybe I would miss it for a time, but who knows? Maybe I’d see it again and I’d just be content that it happened.”

Will was quiet as he processed your words. You wished you could give him a better answer, but you hadn’t experienced all he had.

“And if it’s gone forever?”

“Then… I’ll have my memories to look back on. As for the rest, I can’t foretell what the future might bring.”

“That’s true,” he said. “It brought me you, and I never could have predicted it.”

You bent down to clumsily kiss the top of his head. He laced his fingers through yours, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

“Whatever it is that happens after, we’ll be together,” you promised. “I can tell you that much.”

“I know,” he said, and the relief he felt was immeasurable.

———

[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch 10

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

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

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

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

ao3 version here

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

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

…… 

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

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

“Yes, of course,” you answer. 

…… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TattleCrime

Criminally Insane

By Freddie Lounds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you see it?” You ask again. 

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

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

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

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

“I’m not following.” Jack says. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” You ask apprehensively. 

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

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

TattleCrime

Murderer Abel Gideon Escapes Confinement, Kills Three

By Uriah Larksen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jack…” You break off, suddenly overwhelmed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re a liar. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

next chapter

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

[honeygrahambitch]

"Weird." Jack said aloud.

"What?"

The question came from Jimmy who was just pulling the body they were supposed to examine out of the freezer.

"Last Tuesday Dr. Lecter asked Will to come over to fix his washing machine. Then on Friday, he said that his car was making a weird noise and Will insisted on coming over to have a look at it. On Monday it was the oven. And yesterday?"

"Yesterday it was the fridge." Brian said.

"Do you not see a pattern?" Jack asked, a deep frown appearing on his forehead.

"I do." Jimmy replied. "You'd think that someone as rich as Hannibal would invest in high quality stuff. But everything seems to be breaking down these days."

"Must be a stressful time for him, it's always like that. When something stops working in your house, another ten things stop working too." Brian continued.

"Good thing Will is good at fixing stuff."

Beverly watched the conversation in a complete awe, as if she was trying to convince herself they could not be serious.

"Honestly, my wife has been nagging me to fix the hood in our kitchen for a month and I did not get to do it. I could ask Will." Jack said thoughtfully, any previous concern disappearing.

"So the three of you believe that Hannibal would ask Will to drive for an hour to Baltimore a few times a week only to fix stuff in his house?"

The three men turned to face her.

"Will is definitely fixing something but it's not kitchen appliances. That's all I'm saying." Beverly added.

"That's far fetched." Brian insisted. "Are you going to say that the times Hannibal visited Will to go on a fishing trip or to go hiking were excuses as well?"

"Can someone answer this for me?" Beverly asked definitely looking at Jack.

"Dr. Lecter is definitely not the guy to go out in nature."

The room fell quiet as if everyone was letting everything sink in. The silence was broken only when Will and Hannibal entered the lab. To say that all eyes were on them would have been an understatement.

"What?"

"Mrs. Crawford has been giving Jack a hard time because he won't fix the kitchen hood. And we were suggesting that he should ask for your help." Beverly said and bit her tongue in order to keep a serious face. She definitely did not miss the side eye she got from Jack.

"I could have a look." Will replied still creeped out by everyone's glances.

"No, we need to make sure you won't ruin it even more." Jimmy chipped in. "Say, Dr. Lecter, is Will doing a good job?"

To that, even Will turned his head towards Hannibal, waiting curiously for feedback.

Beverly could feel a metallic taste in her mouth because of how tightly she was biting her tongue at that point.

"Definitely. However I don't think I can share him, I still need some help with my dryer this week. And my kitchen sink. One of my porch lights is also making an unusual noise."

[bi-bard]

First Impressions - Hannibal Lecter Imagine [NBC's Hannibal]

Title: First Impressions

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter X Reader

Word Count: 937 words

Warning(s): none

Summary: Many knew the story of Hannibal's crime and arrest. However, the story of (Y/n) and Hannibal starts long before that. And the first to hear it was Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier.

Author's Note: I thought this would be more interesting than creating a simple story.

MORE OF THIS OC HERE!

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Hannibal and Bedelia's therapy sessions were far from the normal that Bedelia had known in her experience.

She would have loved to shrug such an observation off as simply her mind's immediate reaction to treating a colleague. However, she had to eventually dismiss such an idea.

This strangeness was something very different. Something about Hannibal was very different.

But she felt like she had few options other than continuing the man's therapy.

That day had been strange for an entirely different reason.

She had been sitting across from him for a while. Hannibal had fallen into some distracted silence.

"Something has captured your attention," she noted. "What is it?"

Hannibal let out a quiet chuckle before sitting up a bit straighter in his seat. "I'm afraid that 'it' is not an it, but a 'they'."

"A person," she replied. He nodded. "You meet new people almost every day. What makes this person so different?"

"For the first time, I cannot find the words to explain it," he continued. "They simply... are."

"I don't believe I have ever seen you speechless before."

Hannibal's grin grew just slightly.

It was a moment of pure honesty on his part.

It may have sounded harsh, but (Y/n) was nothing extraordinary. They seemed like every other person that had been around them at the time. Hannibal found trying to explain why they had so easily caught his eye similar to explaining to a toddler why one would need to go to bed at a reasonable time. So simple on the surface, yet seemingly more complicated when someone begins to question it further.

Maybe it had been (Y/n)'s kindness. They looked at everything around them with such genuine interest that it could've knocked the wind out of someone who looked in their eyes. They seemed so eager to help anyone. Hannibal could see that in the admittedly short amount of time that they spent together.

Maybe it was simply carried themselves. Their smile never seemed to dip. Hannibal felt childish for believing it, but he could've sworn that their eyes sparkled. There was something about their excitement that brought a sense of comfort. Hannibal thought it was affecting the whole room, but it could have just been him and he would've never been able to tell.

"How did you meet?"

His attention was suddenly turned back to Bedelia when she spoke. She tried to fight the knowing smile that so desperately wanted to show. She had never seen Hannibal in such a... distracted state, but she felt safe assuming the cause of it.

"At an art gallery," Hannibal replied.

"A guest?"

"An employee," he corrected.

"I see," she nodded. "Tell me about your... chance interaction."

"I had asked about a painting," he explained. He felt a need to avoid the specific details. He wanted those to be only his. "They told me about some small details. They seemed to cut themself off when they realized how many details they were sharing. They tried to apologize, but I was... intrigued."

"Was that the entire conversation?"

"No."

An amused smile formed.

"It feels strange to admit this, but I did continue pestering them while I was there," he continued. "I was curious about how much they knew."

"And?"

"The knowledge came from much more than simple education. It came from an interest that would have started a long time ago. Decades."

"Did you ask?"

"Yes," he nodded. "They told me that their mother was the reason that they knew so much."

"Many of us can unknowingly carry the habits and hobbies of our parents," Bedelia said. "The ones that we are aware of are arguably the most important."

"It would seem so," he replied.

"Please, continue your story."

"I watched them go around to help everyone else whenever needed. And then, they would come back and continue our conversation. As if there had never been an interruption in the first place.

"I promised to come back another day and continue our conversation."

"They seemed happy about the idea?"

"Yes."

Again, Bedelia had to fight that knowing smile.

Hannibal was smitten.

Intrigued and smitten could become mixed in the mind. Many could be misguided by mere intrigue. Hence why they would lose interest when the object of their affection had nothing left for them to learn about.

However, Hannibal never seemed to mix those thoughts together. He seemed entirely aware of the source of his thoughts. But this time, Bedelia could see the mix occurring in his mind. The question was whether or not he could also see the mix.

He could.

And he didn't mind it.

"What's their name," Bedelia asked.

"(Y/n)."

Hannibal almost said the name like it was made of glass. If he said it too harshly, it would shatter, and he would lose the right to speak it. That knowing smile was beginning to win the battle on Bedelia's face.

"What are you going to do when you see (Y/n) again?" she continued.

"Ask them more questions," he explained simply.

"Invite them to dinner?"

There was a small pause before Hannibal answered, "Perhaps."

She nodded.

Something about seeing Hannibal in such a state brought a sense of comfort. Like it provided evidence against a theory that Bedelia feared would be true.

"I'd like to hear about how your next interaction goes," she said. "To ensure that this becomes a healthy, fulfilling relationship in your life and theirs."

Hannibal nodded.

Bedelia decided then that she may be able to become comfortable with seeing Hannibal in such a state for a while.

This was a kind of strange that she could make sense of. 

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[fanficshiddles]

Eternally Mine, Chapter 19

‘Stop whining, he’s your brother and you guys have been getting along reasonably well lately.’ Claire scolded Loki while they looked out drinks and snacks onto the dining table, ready for their guests that were about to start arriving at any moment.

It was just a small gathering really, to celebrate the new year.

‘I just know he’s going to be in a huff because Louise isn’t here. Plus, he’s just going to go on about the hunt last night, I don’t want to hear about it.’ Loki scoffed.

‘Oh, I don’t know, I get the feeling he will cheer right up soon enough.’ Claire said as she looked out a few bottles of wine.

‘What makes you say that?’ Loki raised an eyebrow at her.

‘Ohh… just a feeling.’ Claire smirked and made her way through to the living room.

‘What are you up to?’ Loki stalked after her, but the doorbell rang so Claire didn’t answer him, just went to the door.

First to arrive was David, Matt, Spencer, Jessica and Hannibal.

‘No Will today?’ Claire asked Hannibal as she took everyone’s jackets to put upstairs in one of the spare rooms.

‘No, he’s not doing too well.’ Hannibal sighed.

‘Oh no, what’s wrong? It’s not that sickness bug that’s going around, is it?’

‘No, no. He just drank too much last night.’ Hannibal smirked.

‘Oh.’ Claire rolled her eyes and headed on upstairs.

Next to arrive was Severus and Toshi, everyone else was a little surprised that they came. Since Severus usually turned down all invites. Though Toshi wanted to go, and she managed to convince him.

Lucius came along with his new partner, they’d been seeing one another for five months. Loki had met her once before, but they thought this would be a good chance to get to know her more. She had spent Christmas with her family, so wasn’t around for Lucius’ meal.

Chris was last to arrive, looking a little smug when Loki glared at him.

‘You missed a good hunt last night, lil bro.’ Chris chuckled and patted Loki on the shoulder. ‘I’m still stuffed after all the feeding.’ He patted his stomach.

‘Don’t start.’ Loki growled in warning. ‘I don’t want to hear about it.’

‘It was good. Even more satisfying knowing that the assholes deserved a painful death.’ Jessica said from the sofa, she was already almost finished one glass of wine.

Toshi and Claire were at either side of her, with wine too. Though they weren’t getting through it as quickly as Jessica was.

‘I certainly didn’t lose any sleep over the hunt this time.’ Toshi said with a smirk as she glanced at Severus, who was sitting on a chair from the kitchen just off to the side on front of the fire.

‘Is Michael not coming?’ Claire asked after looking around and noticing he wasn’t there.

‘Good point. I haven’t seen him since the ball, actually. Don’t you think he’s been rather quiet lately, not as social?’ Matt asked.

‘His daughter isn’t doing too well at the moment, she's really ill.’ Chris said as he walked through from getting a glass of gin from the kitchen.

He took a seat on the other sofa next to Spencer and Loki. Bat let out a chirp as she hopped from Spencer’s lap over to Chris’ before his ass barely hit the leather. ‘He’s had to take another part time job alongside teaching, to try and save for surgery for her.’ Chris continued as he stroked Bat with his free hand.

‘Oh shit. That’s awful. She’s only eight, isn’t she?’ Claire asked sadly.

Chris nodded.

‘He never said anything, must be tough, especially being a single father.’ Matt said.

‘We should check in on him more.’ Loki suggested.

Claire nodded in agreement.

The conversation turned to other subjects, Bat did her rounds of everyone’s lap until she got to Toshi. She then decided her lap was best and had a nap.

Loki noticed that Claire kept checking her phone, sneakily showing Jessica and Toshi things now and then, speaking rather hushed. Chris noticed too and nudged Loki.

‘What’s your girl up to?’

‘I dread to think.’ Loki said as he took a big swig of his drink

‘You got off lightly, Chris. We had to deal with that bloody Christmas trend.’ Spencer huffed.

The three women started giggling.

‘Aw come on, it was great.’ Claire laughed.

‘That group chat is the worst thing to have ever happened.’ Loki grumbled.

‘Can’t be that bad.’ Chris said naively.

‘I get the feeling it’s going to get worse.’ Loki huffed quietly.

‘You just need to have better control over your partners.’ Severus said with a smirk.

Toshi narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him playfully. Severus raised an eyebrow at her, and she just laughed in response.

‘Your time will come soon enough… So will yours.’ Claire said to Severus, then to Chris.

Chris raised an eyebrow and chuckled. As embarrassing as it would have been for him, being decorated in Christmas decorations, part of him actually melted at the thought of Louise joining in on viral videos in that way with him.

He missed her so much. Even though she’d only been gone for under two weeks, it felt like a lifetime. He knew they were still in the early stages of their relationship, so it wasn’t like they had to be joined at the hip or anything… but he still longed for her.

Claire noticed that Chris went a little quiet. Though it wasn’t for long. Chris went through to the kitchen, just as the doorbell rang. Claire jumped up off the sofa like her ass was on fire and ran through to answer.

Loki looked utterly confused.

Hannibal, David, Lucius and his partner were in the kitchen. Hannibal was talking quietly about Toshi, how he still didn’t trust her. David and Lucius just rolled their eyes and tried to change the subject.

Chris walked into the kitchen to grab a drink, though he stopped on front of Hannibal and glared at him.

‘You best watch what you say about Toshi. The others might not hear your hushed tone, but I can.’ He growled at him.

Hannibal just held his hands up in response, though he couldn’t help but have a tiny smirk.

Chris continued on to pour his drink. ‘Anyone else want one?’ He asked, though he suddenly stopped pouring when a certain, intoxicating, smell hit him.

‘I will, please.’ Came a familiar, shy voice from the doorway.

Chris spun around so fast he was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.

‘Louise!’

‘Surprise!’ She laughed and waved shyly.

Chris dashed across the room and grabbed her into a big hug, lifting her up off her feet so he could spin her around. She giggled like mad and put her arms around his neck.

‘I didn’t think you were back for a few more days?’ Chris asked in surprise as he put her back down to her feet, but still kept her in a tight bear hug.

‘I decided to come back early for the party and to surprise you.’ Louise grinned, then started laughing when Chris didn’t let go of her. Though she didn’t attempt to pull away, anyway.

‘Are you going introduce us, Chris? Or keep her in a crushing hug for the night.’ Lucius’ partner teased.

Chris and Louise reluctantly let go, Chris looked a little sheepish as he turned around. Though he kept one arm tightly around her.

‘Yes… Abbie, this is my girlfriend, Louise. Louise, this is Abbie. Dad’s girlfriend.’ Chris introduced.

‘Nice to meet you.’ Abbie smiled. Lucius had told her about Louise before, so she knew that she could be a bit iffy with even hand shaking with someone she didn’t know. So she respected that and didn’t initiate it.

Though everyone, including Louise herself, was a little surprised when she initiated a hand shake to her.

‘Nice to meet you, too.’ Louise smiled back at her.

‘Have I missed anything exciting yet? I had hoped to be back a bit earlier, but traffic wasn’t great.’

‘Nothing at all... I can’t believe you’re back. I’ve missed you.’ Chris said honestly as he cupped her cheek, making her blush.

‘I missed you too.’

‘God guys it was only what, ten days?’ David scoffed.

‘Eleven, actually.’ Chris said quickly.

David face-palmed.

Chris and Louise both got drinks then they ended up sitting on the small sofa that was in the kitchen, by the patio doors.

‘Did you have a good time at home?’ Chris asked.

They sat close together, thighs touching. He was holding her hand, rubbing the back of it and making her skin tingle.

‘Yeah, I did. It was good to see my parents and spend some proper time with them again. Though I was more than ready to come home, maybe a week would’ve been enough.’ She laughed.

‘I bet they’re glad to have you back though.’

‘Oh yeah, they wouldn’t let me lift a finger with any housework or cooking. It was nice, in a way. Though at the same time I felt like they were kind of tiptoeing around me. Not once did they mention him or what had happened.’

‘Sometimes people don’t know how to handle or process something like that happening to their child. I bet they feel partially to blame, parents often feel they are meant to protect their children. I’m sure it tore them apart what he did to you. They probably don’t know how to react or deal with it. Maybe next time you see them you should open a dialogue about it.’ Chris suggested as he continued rubbing her hand.

‘Yeah, that’s true. I never mentioned it either, so I guess I can’t blame them for it.’ Louise said sheepishly. ‘We did have a little gathering with some friends and family, I didn’t feel overly comfortable there… I uh, I felt like I needed you there, being honest. I feel more confident with you, which is crazy considering we’ve only known each other for what, two months?’ She laughed a little nervously.

Chris smiled softly and reached up to gently hold her chin. He brushed his thumb along her lower lip. ‘Well then, call me crazy, but I have never felt more myself, happy and relaxed than I do with you by my side.’ He admitted.

Louise’s heart melted and her stomach did a little flip of excitement. Chris glanced to her lips, then back to her eyes. They both leaned in closer, till their lips touched and they kissed softly.

Chris noticed her frowning when they pulled back slightly.

‘What’s wrong?’ He asked, concerned.

She looked at his lips and brushed her thumb along his lower lip, making his lip tingle. God, he wanted her so badly, in every way a vampire could have his human…

‘Where’s your piercings?’ She asked.

‘Oh.’ He laughed. ‘I took them out yesterday for the hunt last night. It can be a bit of a pain sometimes when bits of flesh get stuck in them. I forgot to put them back in.’

‘I forgot the hunt was last night! How did it go?’ Louise asked.

Chris was a little surprised she was asking about it.

‘It went well. The vampires had fun… The bad guys, well, they are no more.’

Chris had told her the other day when they’d been on a phone call together about the guys that he had gotten for the hunt with Toshi’s help.

‘See, you’re my Prince Charming. Sorting out all the baddies.’ Louise grinned.

Chris chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. ‘I guess I don’t mind being your Prince Charming. Just don’t let the others hear it.’ He grinned and squeezed her knee.

‘Of course. Scary reputation to keep up.’ Louise giggled.

‘Definitely.’ Chris then couldn’t resist kissing her again. He just couldn’t take his hands off her.

‘Hey, Mr Smoochie pants. Are we going to get to socialise with Louise tonight or not?’ Jessica asked as she, Toshi and Claire went through to find them.

Chris slowly turned to glare at them. ‘No. She’s all mine tonight.’

‘Nope. You’ve got to share. We need to catch up, too.’ Claire said as she folded her arms over her chest.

Chris pouted and wrapped his arms around Louise, holding her tightly.

‘Come on hound dog, pouting isn’t a good look. We will have her back in one piece in half an hour. Then you’ve got the rest of the afternoon and evening to be right next to her.’ Toshi suggested.

Chris grumbled and reluctantly let go of Louise. Though Louise then leaned into him and put her arms around him. ‘What if I don’t agree to that?’ She asked innocently.

Chris smirked and stuck his tongue out at the others. ‘See? Not just me.’

‘Oh jesus.’ Claire face-palmed. 'Sisters before misters, remember?' She raised an eyebrow at Louise.

‘Ok, fine... just a little while.’ Louise said as she looked at Chris, who responded by kissing her forehead, then let her go.