#will graham drabble

[hughiecampbelle]

Charnel House (Will Graham x Sibling!Reader)

Character/s: Will, Jack

Word Count: 1,284

Inspired By: I've Been Dying by Deadbeat Girl

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

WRITING EVENT ❤️🔪🩸

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

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

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

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

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

[ghastlytiredmess]

will graham paces the room, stops only when stricken with a thought he didn’t intend to voice.

a thought he believed to be born out of pure curiosity.. a need to know hannibal more, understand the true depth of his psychotic nature.

yet as the words came out of his mouth, he couldn’t conceal the jealousy.

the anger, the pain that came from the idea of not being hannibal’s only one.

the devastation drawn into his brows and soft tone of his voice, the hint of betrayal in his eyes, didnt go unnoticed as he spoke.

“how many have there been? like randall tier?

like me?”

[frickingnerd]

take their name out of your mouth

pairing: felix fathom x gn!reader

summary: felix defends you from a so-called "friend" of yours...

“what did you just say!?”

felix had been quietly listening to your friends, while you had went to grab something to drink for the group. but when one of your guy friends began to make some rather inappropriate comments, felix couldn't stay quiet anymore.

“i hear you say something like that about them again and you'll live to regret it, got that?” he huffed, as he rose from his seat, glaring at your friend. “they’re with me. and so long as they are, you’re never going to say such a thing again.”

just when the guy was about to stutter out an apology, you returned with the drinks for the group and felix's death glare turned into a soft look as his eyes landed on you.

“is everything okay?” you asked with a small smile, as you placed the drinks on the table. felix glared at your friend quietly, before turning to you again, smiling too.

“yes, everything is fine. don't worry, love.”

[allisluv]

prepare for a few djats requests. meeting graham in a record store and him asking us to come to his show?? :)

cherry bomb.

pairing: graham dunne x fem!reader

content warnings: meet-cute, misogyny (not from graham), flirting/ teasing, reader's nickname is cherry and reader works in a record store.

word count: 1.2k

a/n: i'm lowkey obsessed with graham lately, so this is the first work in the graham x cherry (reader) universe!! requests are open for any questions/ideas! <3

“Hey, I’m gonna pop out for a coffee with a friend. You’re okay to hold down the fort for a while, right?” Andrew shrugs his jacket on, making it very clear that he has every intention of leaving, with or without your permission. 

You have to fight the urge to snap back with a smart remark. “That depends.” 

Andrew scoffs. “On what, exactly?”

“Well, how long is a little while?” You muse aloud. 

“Jesus,” Andrew mumbles. “Didn’t realise I was on the clock here.”

“You’re at work,” You deadpan.

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m well aware of that. But your type are always complaining that us men don’t trust you to do things for yourself. Here I am, giving you the perfect opportunity to do so, and what do you do? You throw it back in my face.” He braces his hands against the countertop. “So, I’ll ask again. Can you mind the shop or do you need me to hold your hand?” 

Said hand itches to reach out and smack him across the face. “Just go.” 

Andrew seems to take your answer as a win rather than you getting fed up with him, and he offers you a smug smile.

You flip him off as he walks out of the store. The bell at the top of the doorframe nearly comes loose with how hard he slams the door shut, and you have to fight the impulse to chase after him and give him a well-deserved piece of your mind. 

“What a bastard.” 

Your brows raise as you follow the sound of the voice. Your eyes land on a tall guy, maybe six foot, with a messy mop of curls on the top of his head.

He scoffs, leaning his weight against the cash register, and shakes his head in disbelief. "I swear, some people are so entitled, it's unbelievable." With one last glare in the direction of the door, he turns to you, gaze softening as a crooked smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I’m Graham.”

You nod and give him your name.

Graham grins, and bats his lashes at you like a love-sick teenager. “Ah. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“Flirt.”

“Guilty.” He shrugs.

You smile despite yourself. “So… Graham. What’s a guy like you do for a living?”

“Well, apart from saving a damsels in distress?”

“Obviously.” You play along.

He smiles and two dimples carve their way into the skin around his mouth. “I’m in a band.”

You cant deny that your interest is piqued now. You lean against the countertop and rest your chin in the palm of your hand. “A band, you say. What’s your band’s name?”

“The Six. But you’d probably know us as Daisy Jones and The Six.”

“Never heard of them,” You lie.

“Bullshit.”

“What do you play?”

“Apart from twenty-one questions?” He chuckles when you fix him with a look. “I play lead guitar.”

“You guys any good?”

“Why don’t you come see for yourself?” You watch curiously as he starts patting down the back pocket of his blue denim jeans. A small noise of triumph slips past his lips as he brandishes about a laminated ticket. “Here. For you.”

You arch a sharp brow but take the ticket from him, anyway. “You make a habit of carrying one of these around with you?”

“You can never be too prepared.” Graham smiles and offers you a wink. Your heart does a flip in your chest, and you shake your head fondly. “It’s a VIP.” He explains. “If you stick around after, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“What makes you so sure I’m going to come? I’ve just met you.”

“Is that a no?” You’re quiet and he grins before tapping the wooden countertop and waltzing in the direction of the door. “I’ll see you tonight.”

And with that, he’s gone.

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

You don’t know what possesses you to actually go to the conccert. Maybe it’s because he caught your attention earlier in the record shop. Or maybe it’s because he’s cute. Either way, you find a spot by the front of the stage and re-tie the front of your bell-sleeve top to pass the time.

As soon as the lead singers come on stage, the crowd erupts into applause so loud that you wonder if it might burst your delicate eardrums. Once the musicans have adjusted the microphones to suit their differing heights, the rest of the band file out.

Grahams eyes immediately search the VIP section for you, and he offers you a wink when he spots you in the crowd. You roll your eyes in return, but you can’t help the warmth that creeps into your cheeks or the wry smile that tugs at the corners of your lips.

Daisy speaks into the microphone and welcomes the crowd as Graham, the pianist, the bassist and the drummer all take their respective spots on stage. “So how are we feeling tonight?” She asks and the crowd responds by screaming. She smiles like a cheshire cat. “That’s what I like to hear!”

Within seconds, the drummer has counted them in and they’ve launched into their first song. You recoginse it from the charts— Aurora, you think it’s called. You sing along and sway to the music, trying to ignore the way Graham’s gaze pierces a hole through you.

At one point, you flip him the finger subtly, but all he does is laugh into his microphone and shrug his shoulders when the male lead shoots him a quizzical look.

Their songs roll into each other effortlessly and by the time “The River” has started playing, you have given up on pretending like you didn’t know who they were altogether.

Daisy thanks everyone for coming as their setlist comes to a close and she throws one of her many necklaces into the crowd, where people start to fight and claw at each other over it.

You chuckle to yourself and true to your word, hang around until the venue starts to empty. There are still thousands of people mulling around when you hear a quiet, “psst!”, from one of the stage doors.

Spinning on your heel, you turn to see Graham peeking his head out of the door and pointing at you. “Let her through,” he says to the security guards, who must be getting paid far too much to argue with him, as they part like the red sea and hurry you through.

Graham grins as he ushers you through the door and closes it behind you. The sound is muffled from back here, and he leans against the wall with a smug smile on his face. “Never heard of them my ass.”

You grin. “Didn’t want any of y’all getting a bigger ego than you already have.”

Graham presses a hand to his heart in faux offence. “All have you know, my brothers the one with the ego problem. Not me.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.”

He laughs. “You have a backbone. I like that. You’re like a firecracker.” He clicks his fingers. “A cherry bomb. That’s what I’m gonna call you. Cherry.”

You roll your eyes. “What does that even mean?”

“Forget it, Cherry.”

You bite back a scoff. “You gonna buy me that drink or what?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Will this be counted as our first date or do I have to earn that?”

“Depends.”

He grins. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, let’s get that drink.”

[strawberry-m1lks]

"One more minute....please?"

Will Graham x fem!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sykosomatic]

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

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

i hope you enjoy!!

hannigram x ftm reader taking his first t shot!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[b-bndi]

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

[berrylovecrime]

hannigram drabble // nsfw

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[notesapp-unreleased]

Strip Poker - a Hannigram drabble

Will has always been able to read or, perhaps, feel his way past any poker face. That, coupled with his time as a cop in New Orleans, and finding creative ways to help Beau Graham keep food on the table, has lent Will Graham a distinct advantage in navigating the cards tables.

Perhaps it is this (and an Old Fashioned) that find Will inexplicably agreeing to strip poker at the annual BAU holiday party.

He folds early on into the first round, taking the opportunity to shed his tweed suit jacket - it’s stuffy and the whiskey from the open bar is warming him from the inside out.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, inexplicably, is sitting at the table. Will watches him, swirling inadequate wine and looking all too delighted to have been roped into strip-poker by consequence of attending a holiday party with his not-patient. (Will insisted that he shouldn’t feel the need to join the absurd game; he could mingle or even leave and Will would get a taxi. Hannibal told him it would be rude to decline.)

Beverly (eternally wise) opts to be the dealer and maintain her dignity. By the time Zeller is down to his briefs, he accepts his defeat and Jimmy offers him another drink as consolation.

Unsurprisingly, Hannibal is good at poker. Is there anything he isn’t good at? Will muses, missing his tie, belt, both shoes, and his left sock. Will, however, has spent enough time analyzing Hannibal’s micro-expressions to spare himself from the same indignities Brian Zeller is recovering from with an alarming number of shots.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is not more skilled at poker than Will. No. The only reason Will is wearing significantly less clothing than Hannibal is that Hannibal wears so many fucking clothes.

Will grits his teeth and examines his cards as Beverly places the flop. He is wearing his undershirt and slacks. Hannibal is sitting across from him, flush high on his cheeks from several glasses of wine, and to an unpracticed eye, appears to be fully dressed. Thus far, Hannibal has divested himself of his pocket square, his tie, his suit jacket, his watch, two leather brogues, and the cuff links from his right sleeve.

Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller have returned, looking rather flushed and disheveled, Will notes, to bear witness.

Will is in his boxers. Hannibal is in the process of removing his last sock garter. Will is fuming. He wants to launch over the table and rip that stupid silk shirt off of Hannibal’s torso. Huh. Where did That come from?

Beverly is placing the river and Will Graham glares mournfully at his pile of shed clothing.

“I raise you 500.”

Hannibal’s eyes briefly cast downward, to his cards and the garishly colored chips they’ve been playing with. His golden eyes hold a predatory glint. Will steels himself and prepares to don his birthday suit. Hannibal, uncharacteristically, chooses to take mercy on Will.

“Alas, I’m afraid I must fold.” Hannibal’s face pinches theatrically as he sighs. His cards are placed neatly on the table in front of him, face down.

“That’s it folks! Graham is keeping his pants tonight!!” Beverly announces. Something like disappointment flashes in Hannibal’s eyes. Surely regret at throwing the game - nothing more. Off comes the silk shirt, one mother of pearl button at a time.

Warmth pools in Will’s gut. Embarrassment, probably. And perhaps his fourth (?) drink of the evening. His skin prickles with gooseflesh as he collects his winnings (the privilege of putting his clothes back on). He glances up. Hannibal is still staring at him. Will is suddenly distinctly aware that his mouth is dry as sandpaper and shirt buttons are a touch too challenging for whiskey-addled senses.

When Will nearly keels over trying to shove his shoes back on Hannibal takes mercy on him for the second time that evening. He gestures for Will to sit and sinks to one knee. Gingerly, he places Will’s worn dress shoe on his foot. Like Cinderella, Will’s brain supplies unhelpfully. “Perhaps we should get you home,” Hannibal says, his low timbre cutting through Will’s musings on the Brothers Grimm and the tips of his feet staying intact in this version of the fairy tale.

“Take me home then.” Will quips, then immediately regrets his choice of words. Looking down reminds him that Hannibal is on his knees in front of him and Will hasn’t bothered to properly zip up his pants yet. He thinks he hears someone wolf whistle. Probably Zeller.

The attention doesn’t seem to bother the doctor. Hannibal just smiles a private, toothy grin. For some killers biting may be a fighting pattern, as much as sexual behavior. Will shakes his head, attempting to dispel the thought. Definitely too much whiskey for one night.

[hughiecampbelle]

Essential (Will Graham Oneshot)

Character/s: Will, Hannibal mention

Word Count: 1,507

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[arabellavernierwrites]

patched up. will graham.

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

word count : 463

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

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

dinnertime had rolled around once again.

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

the beginning of the ending of another day.

you and will were in the kitchen.

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

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

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

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

the vegetables on your cutting board fought against you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you dropped your head, “yes”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mochimichael]

Will would absolutely be down to be tied up, his hands tied to the headboard, his body completely exposed for you. His whines fill the room, his body slick with sweat as you fuck him with your tongue. His cock lay untouched on his stomach, leaking pre like all hell as it twitches at every movement against his sensitive skin. Your hands say holding his hairy thighs open as they tense, begging to wrap around your head.

[frickingnerd]

Felix Fathom Masterlist

oneshots

i hate everyone (but never you)

you ask felix to your school's dance but your boyfriend isn't too keen about being around so many people...

drabbles

take their name out of your mouth

felix defends you from a so-called "friend" of yours...

headcanons

fake dating felix fathom

yandere felix fathom

polyamorous

dating luka & felix

dating felix & kagami

love triangles

love triangle with adrien & felix

love triangle with luka & felix

[nottthemuse]

three: go-bags.

summary: when you're asked to be the supporting act for daisy jones and the six, how could you say no? there's only one issue; figuring out how to manage your regression around these strangers.

pairing: little!fem!reader x daisy jones and the six (platonic)

word count: 1.8k

content warnings (chapter specific): all works on this page are sfw. reader regresses as both a coping mechanism and a trauma response / reaction to extreme stress. reader typically regresses to around five or six and is little quite a lot of the time! little!daisy. cg!karen. reader is embarrassed about her regression and tries to hide it. daisy is like a big sister and is a bit bossy but its all good <3

author's note: hi hi hi! i'm an age regressor however i am still learning terminology and how to cope with this myself. if anything i say is in any way shape or from hurtful please dont hesitate to let me know or correct me as my intentions are not to harm anyone! i'm still learning so please be gentle with me! if there are any other content warnings you think should be added pls lmk! aspen out <3

Karen went for a nap when you hit the road, so you and Daisy have been keeping yourselves busy with an array of sticker books on the recliner sofas. 

You find it easy to be small around Daisy. Maybe ‘cause you’ve had a long week or maybe because its just easy to be small around Daisy, because she is small, too. Neither of you are holding the other to impossibly high standards to act like adults. Instead, you let yourselves act however you see fit, and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

You find that Daisy’s a bit bossy, but you’re not really complaining. She’s not mean, just assertive, anyway, so you don’t have a problem with that. 

“No, this one goes here, silly,” Daisy instructs, guiding your hand to put a sticker of a horse on the page. “On the grass, not the sky.” 

Karen materializes in the doorway separating the main area of the tour bus to one of the ‘bedrooms.’ She cocks a hip and tilts her head to one side as she watches Daisy and you play with the stickers. A tiny smile plays on her lips as she adds two and two together. Its not hard to see; you’re not as good at hiding it as you think you are. She tip-toes across the room before crouching down in front of the recliners you and Daisy are sitting in. 

Daisy’s face lights up as she sees Karen but she stays put and giggles as you press a sticker onto her cheek. You’re too engrossed in the sticker book to even notice Karen is there until Daisy pipes up. “Hi, ‘Ren,” She giggles.

You rear back as if you’ve been slapped and clear your throat, trying to make yourself big again. You mindlessly play with Bambis ears— Daisy was true to her word and surrendered her favourite teddy over to you to play with, and even sleep with, too. 

Karen laughs and reaches out to ruffle Daisy’s mane of red curls. “Hey, baby.” Shes kind enough to act as if she hasn’t noticed you playing with Bambi. “What you guys up to, hm?” 

You clear your throat again in the hopes that your voice won’t sound as childish when you answer her. “We were playing with stickers.” You mentally slap yourself when you fail miserably and sound even smaller than you feel.

Karen doesn’t say anything about it. She simply nods her head, listening intently, and continues carding her fingers through Daisys hair. “That sounds fun. I reckon you girls must be hungry, huh? Do you want me to make you both a snack? What do you fancy?”

Daisy perks up at the idea, eyes shining wide with a mix of excitement and hunger. “Sandwiches?”

Karen grins. “I think I can rustle something to that effect up, yeah.” She turns to you. “Sandwiches sound good to you, honey?” 

Your heart melts at the nickname and it makes you want to sob. No one’s ever been this nice to you before and it feels strange. Not in a bad way, though. You don’t want Karen to know. Not yet, at least. “I’ll make something later. Don’t worry.” 

Karen raises an eyebrow. “Neither one of you have eaten since we left Cali. That was hours ago. Honey, you must be starving.” You shake your head, but she’s never been one to give up easily, so she takes an angle that she hasnt had to use in a while; bargaining. “How about I make ya a sandwich, anyway, but you don’t have to eat it, m’kay? It can just be there if you get hungry. How does that sound?”

Youve always been stubborn but even more so when you are small. You psych yourself up to protest again but she fixes you with a firm but kind look that has you sighing and relenting. “Okay.” 

Karen smiles softly and reaches out to give your knee a reassuring squeeze, testing the waters to see how you’ll react. She knows some littles don’t like physical touch, while others crave it, so she just wants to see what will work for you and what doesn’t. When you don’t shrink under her touch or pull away, she makes a mental note of it, tucking the information away into her mind. “What would you like on it?”

“Peanut butter and bananas,” Daisy cuts in, peeling a sticker off the page and pressing it onto Karen’s cheek before reaching for her hand. 

Karen laughs and lets Daisy hold her hand. “I know what you want, baby. You’re a creature of habit.” 

“What kind of creature?” Daisy wonders aloud. “Oo, can I be the Loch Ness Monster?” 

Karen ducks her head to hide her smile. “Sure, baby. You can be whatever you wanna be.” 

“Do we have jelly?” You pipe up, hiding Bambi behind your back so Karen won’t see it (which, in all reality, is a futile attempt, because she’s been watching you with the stuffed animal for the last ten minutes). “Strawberry?”

Karen can’t help but smile as she nods her head. “Yeah. We have strawberry jelly. Is that what you want?” 

You shrug. “I’ll make one later. Was just wondering is all.”

Karen hums non-committedly. It’s clear that she doesn’t believe you, but she’s not going to call you out on it like she would Daisy. Although she has her guesses, she doesnt know just how little you are or how you will react if she says the wrong thing. She has to wait it out until she knows you a bit better. 

Without saying another word, she stands up and moves to the little kitchenette off to the side, where she pulls a loaf of bread and the condiments out of a cupboard. 

You and Daisy go back to playing with the sticker books. Deep down, you know you’ve been caught out— it does not take a genius to figure that one out— but ignoring it and denying it if confronted seems like the best option for the time being. 

Karen soon comes back to the recliners with two plates. You try to ignore the sandwich and the expectations that come with it as she sets the plate on the wooden table in front of you.

Daisy practically inhales her sandwich before it has even touched the table. The crusts are cut off and it’s cut into star-shapes. 

“Little bites,” Karen chastises gently. Daisy slows down and Karen smooths her hand down the length of her back soothingly. “Like that, good job.” 

Daisy seems to get bored of the sticker books and pulls out a tangle toy to keep her hands busy as she eats. 

You don’t want Karen to get suspicious, so you inch the sticker book away from you to make it look like all this time you were just helping Daisy. You lean back in the recliner, feeling the smooth leather under your skin. You can feel Karen watching you out of the corner of her eye as you curl your hands under your head and drift off to pass the time. 

You must be out for a few hours at the very least because the next thing you know, Karen is hovering over you and shaking you awake. Her expression is soft as you stir and rub the sleep out of your eyes. “Hey, sleepyhead,” Karen murmurs, voice gentle as she props herself on the end of the sofa. “We’re at the store. Daisy said something about wanting to show you something inside? I said I’d try and wake you up first, because she would’ve body-slammed herself onto you given the chance.”

You laugh softly as you sit up, trying to get a solid grip on your surroundings. “Mhm. Sounds like Daisy.” You mutter fondly. 

Karen chuckles under her breath. “Yeah.”

As if summoned by her name, Daisy exits the bathroom, wiping her damp hands down the front of her blue denim dungarees. Her face brightens when she sees that you’re awake. “Ready to go?” She flops down beside you. 

You nod and blink the remaining sleep out of your eyes again as you run a hand through your hair in an attempt to flatten it out. 

“C’mon then,” Daisy takes you by the hand and pulls you to your feet carefully. Karen blocks her path before she can get far and she huffs. “What, ‘Ren?”

Karen arches her brow. “That’s a lot of attitude, don’t you think?” Daisy shuffles on her feet and Karen drops it. “I’m giving you twenty minutes on your own, okay? I’ll wait outside of the store for you, and if you’re not there in twenty minutes, I’m coming in and finding you. Got it?” 

Daisy resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Okay, ‘Ren, I get it.”

Karen’s lips twitch as she presses a chase kiss to Daisy’s forehead. “Alright. You head off then, sugar. But the two of you are to stay together, alright?”

“We’re big girls, ‘Ren!” Daisy insists. She huffs and puffs but takes your hand anyway, leading you inside the store.

Karen lights up a cigarette and shouts after the two of you. “Twenty minutes!”

“Twenty minutes!” Daisy echoes back, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she tugs you through the aisles.

“What’re we doing here, Daisy?” You ask, eyeing up the rucksacks that she’s stopped in front of. 

Daisy does roll her eyes this time. “We’re making you a go-bag, silly.” She says, practically bursting at the seams with excitement at the idea. “Now, pick a rucksack.” She nudges you forward with her hip. 

You tentatively pick up a black rucksack and peer inside. It’s big enough to hold all the things you’ll need, so you hold it close to your chest. “This one.” 

Daisy doesn’t berate you for how simple it is. Instead, she takes your hand and wanders around the store until you stop in another aisle. “Do you use pacifiers?” She asks quietly. You shrug, heat rushing to your cheeks, and she takes that as a yes. She snatches up a purple one and moves onto the next aisle. 

By the time you both make it to the register, your go-bag is well and truly prepared, with things from coloring and sticker books to fidget toys, to crayons and a few stuffed animals of your own. The cashier packs all your items in to your rucksack and, with one minute to spare, you and Daisy leave. 

Karen’s waiting outside of the store, golden hair shining as the sun-light catches it. Her eyes land on the rucksack clutched in your hand, and although she has an idea what is inside, she doesn’t comment on it. “Did you girls have fun?”

“So much fun, Ren!” Daisy rambles about the upcoming tour as she takes Karen by the hand and the three of you make your way back to the tour bus.

[knifedancer]

What-If: MultiFelix

What if Felix met Multimouse before his appearance in canon?

What if Adrien wasn’t the only blond crushing on a super heroine in the family?

~~~~~~~ “Shit!” Felix cursed as he dodged a wayward akuma blast, the wall of the store he had been hiding beside becoming nothing more than a crumbling pile of bricks in his wake. He stumbled as the ground shook again, hazel eyes darting around to seek out another route away from the battlefront before the akuma-of-the-week targeted the blond directly instead of the thinning crowds around him.

‘There! I can hide in that alley!’ Felix rushed forward, panting as he sprinted across the street towards perceived safety. However, just before he could breach it, another blast struck the building to the left and the debris blocked the mouth of the alleyway – a few bricks slammed into his left leg, their bruising impacts ripping his pants and leaving a smattering of cuts on his thigh. By the way the material of his black slacks bloomed matching glossy spots, there were likely more bloody wounds than those visible through the tears. Cursing under his breath, he spun to his right to begin limping further down the avenue when the sound of maniacal laughter sent chills down his spine. Felix turned and dropped into a fighting stance; hazel eyes focused on the threat approaching slowly. The akuma was dressed as a Medieval court jester; bells jingling as they bounced from foot to foot, legs and arms as pale as snow and unnaturally long like some sort of spider. Eyes wild and toothy grin wide, their head tilted like an inquisitive puppy looking at a new toy.

‘Well, new fear unlocked…’ Felix thought, his rising panic hidden behind a carefully constructed mask of indifference and splotches of plaster dust.

“When I was a lad, I was gloomy and sad / As I was from the day I was born / When other babes giggled and gurgled and wiggled / I proudly was loudly forlorn. / My friends and my family looked at me clammily / Thought there was something amiss…” the akuma’s unhinged, sing-songed limerick coming out dejected as it approached slowly, their grin temporarily dropping into an overexaggerated frown. Felix took a cautious step back, was this the victim’s backstory?

“What else could he be but a Jester? / A Jester? A Jester! / A funny idea, a Jester!” Suddenly the akuma’s mouth stretched up into an unnaturally feral grin, like some sort of horror game villain – equal parts terrifying and disturbing that would certainly not haunt his dreams later – and squealed with joy, clapping its hands around their marotte. “Only the sharpest eye, the keenest nose / the quickest ear and the fleetest toes / Can ever outfox the Jester! Can ever outfox the Jester! / Only the stoutest arm, the bravest heart / with a magic charm and a good head start / Will ever outfox the Jester!”

The hazel-eyed teen braced himself to fight as the akuma lunged with a sharp jingle, marotte extended above their head as if to club the blond over his skull rather than shoot a blast from the tip. Out of nowhere and with a quiet fwip, a pink jump rope shot in front of the jester, tripping them. Just as soon as the rope appeared, it retracted in the blink of an eye and, in its place, a grey dressed figure somersaulted in the air directly above the flattened akuma. Time seemed to slow as Felix watched her pink hair ribbons flutter in the air behind the space buns holding back her hair, tresses as dark as a raven’s wing. His breath briefly caught as bright, bluebell eyes flashed – focused and calculating – from behind the edges of a baby pink domino mask. She brought her black booted feet together and ruthlessly planted them directly into the back of the akuma’s skull, impaling their head into the pavement like some sort of avenging Valkyrie taking down a mythical beast. Felix felt breathless and his knees turned to putty watching the graceful, powerful display. Just who was she?

Shaking off the foreign feelings clouding his mind, the blond limped backwards, unsure if this lithe woman was a friend or foe. Perhaps she would attack him next. Why did he feel a thrill at the idea of sparring with her? Focus! The movement drew the attention of those enchanting blue eyes. She squeaked in surprise, as if just noticing him for the first time. However, they took on an intelligent gleam, quickly assessing his physical state – those eyes pausing on his leg – as she approached him with her hands outstretched in a placating manner. “Um. Excuse me, garçon, I’m here to help. You need to evacuate. Are you badly injured?”

Ignoring the way that her sweet voice – which sounded like silk wrapped around steel – made his heartbeat quicken, he evaluated her for a threat. She was petite and so thin that it looked like the next strong breeze might knock her over. Hazel eyes trailed down the woman’s grey suit – lines of pink breaking the black and grey tightly hugging her tiny frame, the fabric caressing each toned curve and valley in a way that made his mouth run dry – before taking note of a familiar pink jump rope hanging around her waist like a tail. He relaxed fractionally and cleared his throat. “You were the one that tripped him before, weren’t you?” he questioned, gesturing to the now thrashing akuma attempting to free itself from the ground. If Jester had not been struggling to free themselves, Felix would liken the akuma’s current state to an ostrich hiding their head in a hole – the blond choked on a laugh over that mental image!

The grey suited woman glanced back and nodded, “I apologize but…we need to get you out of here before Jester sees us and decides to get revenge.” She drew out the jump rope and stepped into his personal space. Felix realized just how much shorter she was, the top of her head just barely clearing his shoulder, before her words finally registered.

“W-wait, what are you—OOF!” The lithe figure quickly lifted him in a fireman’s carry over her shoulder with shockingly little effort before whipping out the rope and tugging them into the air as if snapping a rubber band. Watching the ground flash by beneath them at a dizzying speed, Felix was pretty sure he was going to be sick. ‘What a way to go…throwing up while escaping an akuma, being manhandled by some superhuman, spandex wearing, midget!’ He refused to admit that this position also provided a lovely angle on some of her finer assets…which was distracting enough to assuage the rising bile in his throat.

With a jolt, they landed on a rooftop, but she only paused for a moment. The woman returned the rope to her waist and shifted him into a bridal carry before dashing quickly across the uneven terrain as if it were second nature. Felix’s arms instinctually wrapped around her neck in a desperate attempt to prevent being dropped. He glanced over her shoulder to see the rapidly expanding distance from whence he was kidnapped – perhaps rescued? – off the street while the wind whipped noisily past his ears. ‘It appears she’s just as strong and fast, even with my added weight,’ the blond thought with mounting admiration. The grey suited woman began to slow and hopped onto a flat roof with a small garden next to a fire escape, finally halting their advance and gingerly returning him to his feet. The blond attributed his racing heart from the unexpected flight rather than their proximity.

“Sorry about that! We didn’t have much time and I needed to get you away from that akuma before they freed themselves. You should be safe here and, if you’re not in too much pain, you can easily take the fire escape down to the streets. Just try to avoid Rue de Rivoli or else you might bump into our crazed jester friend again.” Her lips curved into a gentle smile that made him feel fluttery—er, reassured.

Felix furrowed his brow, “Who even are you?”

The woman blinked and opened her mouth to reply when a cry of “MOUSINETTE!” came from his right, followed by a black blur crashing into the grey suited woman. She stumbled back a few steps with a giggle that sounded like wind chimes dancing in sunlight. Wrapped around Felix’s savior, belt tail seemingly interweaving with the hanging jump rope length, was none other than a grinning Chat Noir. “What are you doing here?! Milady said she was sending in help, but I didn’t think she’d send you after…” The cat hero trailed off, one hand gesturing towards her mask. Now what was that about?

“O-Oh…Yeah…She said that it was just temp-temporary since she’s…uh…” The young woman glanced over towards Felix and then back to Chat, dropping her voice to a soft whisper, “…indisposed.”

“Indisposed? But isn’t her kwam—” Chat Noir looked confused before finally realizing they had company, his mouth dropping into a silent ‘oh’. “Gotcha. Ixnay.” Then he grinned again and ruffled her hair, “It’s good to see you again, Little Mouse! No one deserves it more than you!”

Her cheeks flared in rosy embarrassment and her lips protruded in a pout at the hero’s praise. “Um…I-I…Thank you, Chat. That’s very sweet but…uh, don’t get your hopes up?” The mousey girl cringed and backed away, tugging her jump rope free as she prepared for her departure.

Felix’s lips quirked up slightly at her increased nervous vocal quirks, ‘First she’s badass, then she’s adorable. Just who is she?’

“Since you’re more, uh experienced than me, wo-would you mind checking out this man’s le-leg? I’m heading back to see if Jester has um…broken free from where I…uh…left him.” With that, she scurried away, using her jump rope to swing back towards the akuma.

“Wow! You don’t know it, sir, but you’re a very lucky man… saved by THE Multimouse!” Chat crowed with joy while slitted eyes watched her disappear from sight.

“…Multi-who?” Felix questioned awkwardly, wondering why the cat hero appeared to be so excited.

Chat chuckled softly before turning to him, “Multimouse. She’s smart and funny and strong and sweet…She’s one of the temporary heroes, our greatest strategist (next to my Bugaboo, of course)! Our heavy hitter!”

“Is she some sort of stealth hero? I don’t recall ever hearing about her online…” In fact, he had researched all the heroes before this trip and found not a single mention of a mouse hero.

The black clad cat deflated slightly and sighed, “Yeah…she’s only been out once or twice before this…never really been caught on camera but something happened last time and…well, Ladybug said we couldn’t call her back out. I guess Milady decided it was enough of an emergency… Not that I mind!”

Felix took in the goofy smile that slowly stretched across Chat’s face while he looked off in the direction Multimouse had retreated. Suddenly he felt nauseous, as if something ugly was twisting up and clenching in his stomach, causing his neck to burn red. Unable to control his emotions any longer, his tone became clipped and hard as a lump of anger gripped his vocal cords. “Aren’t you…supposed to be in love with Ladybug?” Did he sound jealous? It was definitely not jealousy!

Chat Noir’s eyes widened comically, his arms swinging wildly in the air as if to physically dispel any misunderstanding. “Yes! Milady is the only one for me! B-but—wait...” Green eyes narrowed with suspicion and the cat stalked closer to the injured teen, his entire demeanor flipping like a switch: from nervous house cat to dangerous panther. Felix struggled to keep himself calm and attention locked on the approaching predator so that he could leap away at a moment’s notice. The cat leaned into his face before a huge grin broke through, his voice a smug murmur. “Do you have a crush on Mousinette?”

Now it was Felix’s turn to panic – eyes widening, heart racing, body trembling, and face burning red – as the image of a grey suited, blue-eyed Valkyrie popped up in his head. His mind replayed the way the breeze tugged at the ribbons in her hair, the obvious strength her petite body contained while effortlessly holding him, the intelligence that showed in her eyes, the blush painted across her cheeks and a giggle that made something inside him sing!

‘Oh…’ he thought dazedly. Sure, Felix had always heard of ‘love at first sight’ but had excused it as nothing more than romantic fantasy! Some unrealistic and overused movie trope! Yet here he was…falling for some mystery heroine that hadn’t even spoken more than a handful of meaningless sentences to him. Mortification bled through the warmth expanding in his chest.

Chat Noir’s grin became sharp, as if he could hear the hazel-eyed blond’s heart beating in time to the heroine’s name. “You and I aren’t so different; I was the same way for Ladybug. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

~~~

He refreshed the Ladyblog and scrolled through the latest posts for possibly the hundredth time, the habit becoming a daily routine for the blond. There was no real evidence of Multimouse’s existence, merely anecdotal or the occasional passing comment about a pink jump rope appearing during a time of crisis. The only images captured during the Jester akuma were blurry and taken at too far of a distance, Felix checked. Thoroughly. He questioned his memory more with each passing day as little details seemed to slip away, like a well-worn film played so many times that the sound and images began to distort. He could recall that her voice and laughter were sweet but why was it so hard to remember the exact tone? Was she really as lovely as in his dreams? Did her eyes sparkle like the sun glancing off a lake’s surface or were they more like the color of a cloudless sky at noon? What was the shape of her face like again? Did she have freckles?

Frustrated, the blond refreshed the page yet again.

The next time that Felix visited Paris, he watched the skies for a streak of grey and pink. No matter how many akumas appeared, it was simply the original pair: Ladybug and Chat Noir. His attention was divided between his phone and the skies, constantly hoping for another glimpse of the heroine that stole his heart; enough that even his cousin seemed to notice the level of his distraction.

“Hey Fe, you seem really out of it. You okay?” Adrien asked, concern seeming to drip from every pore.

Felix sighed and dropped his phone back down into his lap, “Yes. Apologies, cousin, I’m simply…” He made a motion with one hand as if scrolling through a list of words before settling on one, “…distracted.”

The model approached and hung himself over the back of the couch like a discarded throw blanket, glancing down at what had captured his interest on the screen. “Oh, are you checking out the Ladyblog? My friend, Alya, actually runs it!”

The hazel eyed teen turned with interest, desperately he tried to keep hope from bleeding into his voice. “Do you know if she has a database of images of the various heroes, perchance?”

“Besides the gallery on the blog itself, no, I don’t think so. Why?”

Felix’s posture deflated a bit as he stifled a groan, “It’s…nothing.”

“Are you looking for a certain hero, maybe?” Adrien innocently asked.

“No!” The Londoner answered a little too quickly, unable to keep his ears from turning bright red as he denied the question emphatically.

A playful grin spread across the green-eyed blond’s face, “Yes, you are, Fe! Who is it? Was it a temporary hero during that attack you were caught up in last time?”

He gripped his phone and clenched his teeth, attempting to stifle the spread of the blush now blooming across his cheeks. Good gods, he would never live this down…but his cousin was a fan of the heroes, surely, he might have some information? He hated feeling vulnerable. Felix pressed his eyes shut as if pained to admit it, his voice coming out as more of a whispered hiss than he would care to admit. “…Yes.”

Adrien seemed to light up, “Really? Who was it?” Bouncing like a puppy with a new toy, the model’s eyes gleamed. “Viperion? Or perhaps Ryuko? Rena Rouge? Or...Carapace?! No judgment.”

Felix scoffed and looked down into his lap pensively, his fingers gliding over the darkened surface of his phone’s screen as he struggled to open up. “No…none of them. She doesn’t appear on the Ladyblog anywhere and there’s no pictures of her in battle…I—”

The model gently set a hand on his shoulder, finally hazel met green. “Hey, it’s okay to have a crush on whoever it is. I mean I…” He watched as his cousin blushed, his eyes looking out the wall of windows with a dreamy, far-off look. Felix couldn’t help but think that his cousin looked like some sort of melancholic-romantic lead pining for their lover. “I’ve…had a huge crush on Ladybug ever since she saved me.”

The formal boy stared at his cousin’s profile, dumbfounded at finding common ground with his lookalike. They had been raised so differently, had lost contact, lost parents, and pursued different routes in life… The model was like sunshine incarnate while the magician resembled that of a thunderstorm. All their lives, Felix had always been compared to Adrien and found lacking. Perhaps they weren’t so different after all?

Adrien sighed softly and turned his gaze back towards him, excited once more. “So? What was she like?”

“She…” He allowed his eyes to drift up briefly as he recalled the encounter once again. “She was…strong and agile. Small, but powerful, like some sort of petite battle angel.”

“Yeah… I’m a sucker for a strong woman, too.” Adrien climbed over the sofa and settled beside him with a chuckle, leaning back so that the model’s face looked up at the ceiling. “And beautiful.”

“Graceful,” Felix supplied with an agreeable hum, lost in thought as his eyes drifted down to his lap once again. Fingers tracing the edges of his phone case as the image of bright eyes framed by a pink mask flooded his memories.

“Kind,” his cousin sighed into the air around them, his mind’s eye bringing forward images of his Lady.

“Capable.”

“Smart.”

“Clever.”

“Confident.”

“…yet adorable.”

“Especially how her nose crinkles when she laughs…”

“Laughter that makes your heart dance.”

“And a smile that makes you feel warm all over.”

“With blue eyes as clear as crystal…”

“Hair the color of the midnight sky…”

Felix laughed wryly, “Almost sounds like we’re in love with the same girl.”

“Oh gods, I think we have a type!” Adrien’s whole body shook with his laughter.

“Seems so, cousin!” The formal boy’s chuckles died out as the original issue arose to the forefront of his mind yet again. “At least you can find pictures of Ladybug all over the blog. Multimouse doesn’t appear on camera nor is she called out much. It’s…It’s like she never existed!” He ran a hand through his hair in visible frustration.

“Yeah, I’ve…uh…heard rumors of a mouse hero. But I’ve um, never seen her myself,” the model admitted while twisting his ring. “Wait! What if I ask Chat Noir – he, uh…patrols nearby sometimes – to get you a picture?”

Felix scoffed at the idea, “That’s not likely to happen. Even that cat mentioned that she is hardly ever called out to help. Besides, I don’t need any of the heroes to find out about my…inclinations. They might think I’m some sort of stalker and never call her out again.” Crossing his arms, he glared at the tops of his knees.

“Oh. Um.” Adrien seemed to deflate a little, his eyes twitching back and forth pensively as if trying to find an answer. “Then…what if you describe her to me and I can try to get my friend to draw her for you? His name’s Nathaniel, he’s really good – even has his own Ladybug comic book! Here, I’ll show you some of his work.”

Felix watched as his cousin pulled up a few screenshots he had saved of the bug heroine – obviously full colored, pre-print cells from the final draft – and was begrudgingly impressed. “That…that might just work. I…” He furrowed his brow and cleared his throat; an uncomfortable tightness having lodged deep in his chest. Hazel eyes rose to look into the model’s face once again, his voice a murmur of gratitude. “Thank you, Adrien.”

A genuine smile stretched across the model’s face. “Hey, what is family for?”

~~~

A few weeks later, a small package arrived at Felix’s door in London with a return address from Paris.

Retreating to the privacy of his room, the blond allowed his emotions to go unguarded as he quickly peeled back the tape with anticipation. A small gasp echoed in the silent room as hazel eyes finally laid upon the contents. Inside the rigid packaging and protected by a stiff plastic sleeve, lay three realistic drawings of various sizes and poses, all professionally colored and inked in a way that made it seem almost like the heroine could jump straight off the page.

“Multimouse…” his whispered voice filled with awe and admiration.

Felix pulled the largest image from the sleeve, an action shot that he had described in great detail – repetitively – to Adrien. Jump rope curled around her waist, ribbons blowing in the breeze, her booted feet together and arms extended above her head as she came down upon the akuma… Suddenly he felt as if he was right back in that moment! The artist had drawn her form as if hovering in the air, looking like an instant frozen in time, and filled in the background with a simple watercolor burst that accentuated the grays, pinks, and dark blues in the rest of the piece. With trembling fingers, he reverently traced the curve of Multimouse’s domino mask. He gazed into the bright blue eyes that had bewitched him and haunted his dreams. Somehow Adrien’s artist friend had even perfectly captured the determined sparkle in her eyes!

Gently setting that drawing aside, he pulled the medium sized image out next and found another action shot of the heroine mid-flight. Jump rope extended beyond the paper’s edges, legs extended behind her in freefall, her eyes partially closed against the wind whipping at her face – it was a beautiful vision! However, what captured his interest and stole his breath was the bright smile stretched across her face. She looked so carefree and relaxed, as if she were simply patrolling the rooftops with the rest of the team. Had they used Ladybug for reference? Or did someone see her recently?

No, if she had been seen, it would have been on the Ladyblog.

Placing that piece beside the other on his desktop, Felix finally pulled the last from the sleeve. Unlike the others, this one was laminated and covered by a sticky note in Adrien’s usual scrawl.

Dear Fe, I asked Nath to make this one small enough to fit in your wallet. We asked my very good friend, Marinette, to pose for it. I hope you like it! ~AA

The hazel eyed teen scoffed and peeled it away, freezing once he revealed the image beneath. The mouse heroine was pictured sitting on the edge of a building, reclined back on one arm while glancing over her shoulder almost flirtatiously, the sunset and Eiffel Tower behind her so that part of her face was cast in shadow. One delicate hand was brushing her bangs from her eyes, a shy smile upon her lips, her body language open and comfortable. The angle was close enough to make out long lashes and a light blush on her freckled cheeks. It almost felt as if she were looking right at him!

Knees shaking from the weight of his overwhelming emotions and eyes still locked on the small drawing, he sat heavily into the desk chair with a sharp creak in protest. Felix raised a hand to his chest, as if trying to calm the rapidly thumping organ currently threatening to flee from his body. His imagination ran wild – supplanting memories of the Jester with daydreams of shy smiles, sweet giggles, and teasing banter as they watched the sunset…

‘Wow…’ thought Felix, looking back over the three drawings before his eyes settled back on the one still in his hand. ‘I don’t know how I’m ever going to return the favor for this… Perhaps I can help my cousin with his crush the next time I visit?’

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

~~~~~~~Author's Notes: I had a this thought and decided to type it up. I'm the only one to blame here. I couldn't stop myself if I tried. I swear, I don't know why my brain spits this stuff out…

Jester lines are modified prose from character dialogue in 'The Court Jester' (1955).

Jester's visuals were inspired by a combination of Spinel (corrupted) from 'Steven Universe', Joker from 'Batman', and Huggy Wuggy and Mommy Longlegs from 'Poppy's Playtime'. Disturbing enough? Check.

Marotte: Originally the medieval fool's stick or sceptre, a short rod topped with a small head.

Adrien hints about Marinette's secret mouse identity, said hint goes right over Felix's head.

[deerabigailhobbs]

Snow white Hannibal AU

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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