#Hannibal lecter oneshot
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You fog up my brain, you make me insane… Hannibal Lecter x fem! Reader
Synopsis: examining your shared obsession
content warning . 18+, MDNI oral fixations, codependency, heavy biting kink, mentions of cannibalism. Blood, teeth, and body worship
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Hannibal opens his mouth for her whenever she asks. Nimble, soft padded fingertips touch the tip of his tongue and move even further. Over his teeth, the expanse of his gums. She rubs her tongue over her own canines in retaliation. The urge to bite into him is so incredibly chastising.
She almost does it, a few times. When his throat is close, she leaves a few marks. Her teeth sink into him and leave a clear indent, though she vows never to reveal muscle, blood, or bone. Her hands run through his hair, and she douses her own in his shampoo when she’s in the shower. His nails are clipped short; she bites hers clear down to the nub. He tells her to kiss him, and she does— teeth biting his lip, tongue roaming that mouth she loves oh so much. Close to drawing blood, but not quite.
Until he tells her to. One mindless, rainy night, her body is sprawled out on top of his, thighs on either side of his hips. The ribbon in her hair is the only thing you could consider covering her. And him, the rings adorning his fingers. His bare chest is enticing, and she leaves sweet lipstick prints along the skin. He soothes her heated neck with his hand, proving coolness and relief. She runs her blunt nails through the hair peppering his chest.
“I want to crawl inside your skin and never leave.” She mumbles, her face nuzzling him.
He doesn’t find this to be scary, or vile. He feels exactly the same way, and nods along. He trails a finger up her hip and back down again.
“I would let you,” and then, as his nose moves up to nuzzle her own, “you’re special.”
Her lashes flutter and she sighs in content. His arms wrap around her back and he pulls her down to his lips. When he kisses her, it’s on the cheeks, forehead, and nose.
“My special girl.”
A small smile, pouty lips kissing him right back. She grabs his much larger hand into her own, presses his wrist to her lips and feels the heartbeat underneath the skin.
He licks his lips and guides her hand to his torso, settling right above his navel.
“Bite me here,” he murmurs, and she lets out a tiny squeak.
“What?”
“Here. Bite me here, I want to feel your teeth.”
She can never deny him, and she would never dare question him. She moves lower so her head is face to face with his waist. Her teeth scrape against his flesh, tasting sweat and skin.
Hannibal. She tastes Hannibal.
She bites, hard. The older man below her lets out a groan, feeling her break the skin and draw red rivulets of blood, finally.
She’s no vampire, of course. But his blood fills something in her— a completion. A promise.
When she pulls away, her teeth are red. The large indentation on his skin makes her rut down against his thigh. Her fingers slip against the wound as she adjusts— a happy little accident. She presses them into his mouth and feels the soft expanse of his tongue and his teeth. He stares up at her as he sucks them. He releases them from his mouth with a lewd pop, inhaling through his teeth. She tilts her head, almost in awe of him.
“You’re beautiful.” she says timidly.
He smiles softly.
“And you’re perfect, you know,” he replies. “Anyone would be a fool not to worship you, darling.”
Heat creeps up her neck, and when the man reaches up to tug the pink ribbon out of her hair, she whines.
“It took me forever to do my hair like this!” she exclaims.
“Mmm..” Hannibal replies, and looks at her hair, as if examining. “I already ruined it when I was fucking you, don’t you think?”
She flushes. The man below her begins wrapping the ribbon around her head. Her brows furrow, but not before they’re raising as he slips the ribbon into her mouth and gags her with it.
“Need to muzzle you good, don’t I? Since you love biting me so much.”
He watches the way her drool begins soaking through the fabric. Seeing her distraught face, he coos, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweet girl. But you need to be controlled, disciplined,” and then, “You know I only want what’s best for you.”
She whimpers, hips grinding down onto his crotch. He’s hard now, leaking and ready to slip inside her, and that he does. Spreading her cheeks apart, his tip probes her already filled hole. He had fucked her an hour before, filled her to the brim with his seed, and now he intends to do it again.
He sheathes inside in one go. Her eyes roll back, clit throbbing as he flattens his feet on the bed and thrusts up. Her body falls forward, causing him to bury his face into her collarbone, and he grunts against her. She feels something sharp against her shoulder— teeth.
He bites down, hard. She lets out a yell, feeling him sink into her skin. He has surely drawn blood, because when he pulls away his lips are stained red.
“See?” He asks her, licking his lips. “Now we match, lover. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”
Tears fall down her cheeks, and she nods. It is perfect.
It’s even more perfect when Hannibal uses the strength of his hips to turn the girl onto her back. She lets out a mewl, and with his cock still in her, Hannibal grabs her roughly by her thighs as he’s on his knees. Her back arches as he pulls her legs over his own, fucking her down onto his thick length. He grabs the soft expanse of her waist, grunting as he watches her tits jiggle with every thrust.
“That’s it,” he breathes, as she squirms underneath him. “Such an obedient girl for me.”
She doesn’t know where to put her hands, so with her most basic instinct she presses them on top of Hannibal’s own. He grabs them, holding them against her skin and cooing.
“I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
These words comfort her, bring a relief to her fuzzy brain, and she needs him closer. Closer, closer, closer.
She pulls his hands towards her, signaling for him to move. He moves forward, pressing himself against her body.
“I don’t want to crush you,” he says, and she bites her lip.
“I do.”
He does anything she asks, really. He puts all of his weight on her, lets her nails rake down his back and draw blood. She sinks her teeth into him more, rubs the blood on her lips and kisses him. He licks into her mouth and when he pulls away it’s so he can spit onto her tongue. She swallows it greedily, her heels pressing into his hips as he pounds her mercilessly. One hand moves to her clit, rubbing it deftly between his fingers, and his other hand goes to her throat, which he lightly squeezes.
“Look at you,” he praises, watching her lidded eyes. “So pretty and pliant for me. So beautiful.”
“Hanni—“ she starts, but it’s cut off as her orgasm rapidly approaches. “I’m gonna cum—“
“Cum for me,” Hannibal growls. “Cum for me, gorgeous. Fucking soak me.”
That’s all the command she needs. She seizes up, whimpers loudly as she reaches her peak, her eyes rolling back as she cries out his name. Hannibal watches with a small smile, but not before the clenching of her orgasming cunt has his mouth falling open as he gives two final, harsh thrusts. He spills into her with his teeth on her neck, fucks his cum into her, warm and wet.
She milks him for all he has. Her cunt takes his spend greedily, spilling over the rim of her hole and onto the sheets. Hannibal stays inside for a moment to catch his breath, deciding to collapse onto her. Not that she minds; he isn’t that heavy, and she likes the weight of him. He buries his face in her neck and sighs, absolutely spent.
“My darling girl.” he murmurs, as if in a trance. She hums a timid reply, her fingers curling into his graying locks. He kisses her on the jugular. She kisses him on the forehead. He means everything to her.
“My darling boy.” She replies. He chuckles, lifting his head and kissing her on the mouth again. She bites his bottom lip teasingly and worries the skin in between her teeth. It draws more blood, and she licks it up with her tongue.
When Hannibal pulls away, his cock slips out of her. She feels his cum dripping out of her entrance, but she ignores it. Instead, she opts for curling up on his chest again, her leg slung over his hip and her hand rubbing over the bite mark she had given him. He grabs her wrist, slipping her index finger into his mouth and suckling. She runs the pad of it over his teeth, a little crooked but absolutely perfect to her.
When she falls asleep, fingers in his mouth, she’s never been more satiated.
:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy
#bunny writes#Hannibal#Hannibal lecter#Hannibal lecter x fem! reader#Hannibal lecter x reader#Hannibal lecter smut#Hannibal lecter blurb#Hannibal lecter drabble#Hannibal lecter oneshot#Hannibal lecter fanfic#Hannibal fanfic#hannibal nbc#mads mikkelsen
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The Noise and the Silence
Hannibal Lecter x Fem! Reader
Warnings: Depression. Grief. Emotional distress. Angst.
A/N: After a long hiatus, I am back with Hannibal content. I’m trying something a little different. An angsty fic with no specific plot point so that *hopefully* it is a bit more applicable to the reader. I really would like some feedback to see how this was for you!
Word Count: 2.8k
“I feel confused....amongst other things.”
The pounding in your ears hadn’t stopped for weeks. The constant, repeated thud of your heartbeat playing in your head had been relentless. It was a loud drum, and if you sat unoccupied for too long, you would catch yourself beginning to count each thump. Oddly enough, there was another sound that seemed to be in competition with the steady booming of every rush of blood to your head.
It was the loudest of sounds, and a noise that you did not welcome with open arms. It was a silence so loud that it was close to painful. The ring of utter nothingness was beating away at your mind space to the point of near insanity. It seemed that had been your world for the last several weeks. It was either boisterous chatter, or complete emptiness.
To be honest, you weren’t quite sure which one you preferred.
Today was a silence day. The moment that your eyes had opened from your night of restless sleep, you knew what kind of day it was going to be. The silence days were different from the loud days. The silence days were slower, and they were much hazier than the loud. Silence days meant you were on constant autopilot. Everything that you did was purely muscle memory and basic functions that your brain had signaled every day of your entire life. There were no out of the ordinary or special tasks to switch up your day to day life. Silence days meant existing, but just barely.
The few words that you spoke on these kinds of days were hardly even comprehended by your own self, and what little conversation you were able to hold with others was forgotten just as quickly as it was had. It was lost to the fog that clouded your consciousness, and drowned by the sea of anguish that flooded your veins.
Loud days were different. Your awareness level was a tad clearer. There was some variety in these kinds of days. This meant getting up early and spending the entirety of the day running errands and completing a list of missions to check off your to do list. Loud days meant pushing yourself as far as your physical energy would allow. The “go go go” attitude kept you on your feet without rest. As long as you were busy and occupied, then it was a loud day. It usually ended with you crashing at the end of the day with hardly feeling accomplished in any way.
Your world had become so quiet, yet so roaring. Your life was categorized as feeling nothing and feeling everything -- and it was a lottery system as to which one you were going to get.
This wasn’t you.
You had become distant from yourself, you were a shell of yourself. The person that stood before your loved ones was merely an imposter. A stranger had infiltrated your body and was maneuvering it like a puppet. They had all reached out to you, offering their love and services to assist you in whatever you needed. Some of them had been shocked when you pushed them away, while others were unsurprised. You didn’t want the help. You refused it, in fact. So, there wasn’t much else they could do outside of leaving their offer on the table free for you to take.
Hannibal was the only one that you had welcomed to stay, but even then the invitation was hardly obvious. There was a battle between the noise and the silence, and you were caught in the middle of this tug-of-war. You had been drained of emotional and mental energy long ago. At this point, the opposing sides were fighting over a ghost of a human. Hannibal had watched you crumble and fall apart in the last several weeks. There was very little spirit and soul to be sought after at this point. At the end of the day, the winner would really have a whole bunch of nothing.
That was what Hannibal was most afraid of.
Hannibal wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself, but he was worried. He was terrified that you were close to having nothing left to cling onto. He feared that you would have nothing to build yourself back up with. Once you were completely chipped away, there was no coming back -- and that would be the end.
Hannibal didn’t worry about much of anything. He was as cool, calm, and collected as a person could possibly be. It made sense considering the kinds of habits that he was into. If he were to get nervous or any kind of variation of it, then he would slip up....and slipping up meant getting caught.
But this was a different kind of situation. You were a part of his life that was disconnected from the more sinister parts. You were the light that shined over the darkness, so in a way, he felt like he had a right to be concerned. He knew that you needed time and space. He had given you as much of it as he possibly could’ve without seeming as if he wasn’t there for you.
In the beginning, he had been there for every initial breakdown, meltdown, and sob fest that you erupted into. Looking back on it, that had been the easy part. He had comforted you as a lover, and guided you through the emotional storm as a man of psychiatry. He stayed up many sleepless nights with you when you couldn’t settle down enough to fall asleep. He soothed every sense of panic and anxiety with ease.
He had not once taken the curt words and the lack of any kind of affection personally. The distraction of your heart was clear to him, and he knew that your reluctance to offer him any kind of attention was not intentional.
He wanted to do nothing more than support you through this process. He was there for you at every step of the initial impact, and after a while, he thought that you were getting better.
He observed you carefully, never once letting himself get too comfortable. The intense emotions ceased, and you began to somewhat return to a day-to-day routine. Suddenly, you weren’t reacting or talking about it at all. Your demeanor had completely shut off from the life that you had around you. It was as if your brain had stopped processing the incident completely.
And that was when he knew that you were actually getting worse.
Hannibal partially blamed himself for your deteriorating state. He was a licensed professional who dealt with this sort of mental fragility every single day. He knew the signs, and he could identify them in his sleep. He found himself wondering if there was something that he could’ve done differently. Was there something that he could’ve said that he didn’t already? Had he not utilized enough of his attentiveness and patience? All kinds of questions had crossed his mind, and none of them had been answered.
He knew that dwelling on what he could’ve done then would only get in the way of what he could do now. He had to do something now, or else he feared he’d lose you completely.
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It was a bitterly cold February night in Baltimore, Maryland. It had been an abnormally frosty winter, which was alarming considering that the winters in Maryland were already very wintery. Despite the frigid temperature, it hadn’t deterred you from taking yourself to the back deck of your and Hannibal’s home to sit in the open air. The house had been your safe zone for all these weeks that had gone by, but now it was beginning to feel more like a nest of misery that you had created for yourself.
The porch was cold underneath you from where you sat on the top step. In all honesty, you had hardly even noticed it. A little chill wasn’t going to rattle you enough to matter.
Your attention was focused on the inky black canvas painted above you. It was dotted and speckled with glittery stars from one end of the horizon to the other. It was the clearest night that you could imagine. There wasn’t a single flaw or imperfection to taint the night sky that you were so infatuated with. In any other time or circumstance, you’d find joy in this scene in front of you.
But not now.
You weren’t sure what you were looking for in that black ocean rolling over you. There weren’t any answers to your questions bouncing around up there. In reality though, you really only had one real question. Over the course of your life, you felt as if you had never gotten a good answer to the age-old question of “why?”. It’s the simplest, yet most complex question in the universe of human language. It seemed rare that anyone ever had a satisfying answer for it.
You hadn’t gotten any real answers or resolutions yet, and tonight was proving to be no different. Just another silence day had come to a fateful end. Nothing had changed. Everything was the exact same.
You exhaled a long breath -- the kind that sank your shoulders to their lowest physical point. The rush of air that escaped from the depths of your lungs was transformed into a white condensed cloud that dispersed into the environment just as fast as it had formed. Sometimes you wished that would happen to you. Exist for a moment, and then vanish into nothing. Nothing lost, and nothing earned.
Your head lowered behind your knees that were bunched against your chest. Just your eyes and the top of your head were visible from the bundle of a shell that you had made for yourself. Your lashes fluttered each time you blinked, and every time that your vision returned upon reopening your eyes, you were met with the same starry sky.
There was a brief commotion from the door behind you that connected to the house. The sliding glass door rolled open, and a figure stepped out onto the porch before returning it shut. The footsteps of this person approached from behind, and they were familiar to your ears that were now cut with sound again. You knew those heavy, slow footfalls anywhere.
An immediate rush of warmth and security flooded your senses when a blanket was wrapped around you securely, covering any exposed skin on your body from the harsh wintery cold around you.
“Darling, it’s freezing tonight,” Hannibal remarked, his accent thick as he spoke. “I would hate for you to fall ill.”
An extra layer of warmth was added when Hannibal joined you in sitting on the top step. His body heat was much more than yours as his radiated to you through the thickness of the blanket. It was greatly appreciated, because you hadn’t realized how cold you had actually become.
“I’m okay.” You returned without offering any more of a ticket to a real conversation.
Hannibal didn’t mind the quiet. He had always said that a huge part of successful therapy is being able to sit in silence to allow a patient to sit with their feelings. Silence allowed time for self-reading and understanding, which Hannibal was all for. However, he didn’t like this silence. This silence wasn’t the good kind.
His feet were planted on the second step rather than the first. His lanky legs would be too crammed if they were bunched up at his own chest. His hands were clasped together in the open space between his knees, his forearms resting on his thighs as he scanned over the back of his estate.
The garden and backyard always looked so depressing during the winter months. In its own way, it was beautiful -- but he much preferred enjoying the grounds during the spring and summer. His vision didn’t remain on the landscape long, however. His sight eventually diverted to you, which was what he was more interested in.
He saw the way the stars twinkling above reflected off of the glassy sheen over your ears. Those very same stars above were the ones that he often described as being trapped behind your eyes with the way that they stunned him when he looked into them. It hurt his heart to know that it had been far too long since he had seen those dancing stars in your eyes. He missed that.
He missed you. He wanted you back.
“I’m aware that reminding you of this isn’t necessary....but wishing on a star won’t change what happened.” Hannibal’s words broke the still beats that had passed and disappeared into the past.
His voice wasn’t cruel or unsympathetic. Just the opposite actually. He knew where you were right now, and what you were feeling.
“I know.” You answered, the hurt dripping off of your words.
The desperation for relief to be delivered to your heart was unlike anything you had ever experienced in your life. It was a pressure in your chest that damn near made it impossible to focus or feel anything else. It was so beyond uncomfortable. It was inescapable no matter what you did to try to get away from it. It had seeped through you and over you to the point where you weren’t even sure who you were anymore.
How were you supposed to live like that?
“No one in your life, including myself, expects anything from you right now,” He went on once he got the sense that you were warming up to talking. “No one expects you to be okay. It’s a vanilla statement, but it’s alright if you’re not okay.”
He knew that you weren’t okay. Everybody knew. Hannibal never wanted to tell you (or anyone for that matter) what they were. He wanted them to figure it out, and for them to come to the realization on their own.
Because that’s where real, fruitful healing came from.
“I feel confused....amongst other things.” You confessed.
He felt a spark of hope. This was good. This was progress.
“Understandable. You’re navigating a rather bewildering path.” He encouraged you to keep talking.
He wanted you to get better. He wanted to see you thrive and be the happiest that you could ever be. This was the first time in the weeks that had passed that you sounded like you wanted that too.
“I just....I just don’t know what to do.” You answered with full transparency, a crack sneaking into your sentence as you turned to look at him.
Tears had formed and come forth in your eyes. It hurt him to see it, but in a way it was a relief because he knew that you were feeling something.
“You don’t have to know. It’s more than acceptable to take each day minute by minute,” Hannibal shifted closer, taking a bit of an initiative to wrap his arm around you and pull you into him. “But this? When you keep it to yourself, it only makes it worse and pulls you down with it.”
He was right. You knew it. You weren’t going to get better by not dealing with it at all. Moving on without attempting to patch the wound would only come back to haunt you later. You wanted to do this right. You needed to do this right.
“I feel too far gone. I don’t know if I can ever feel okay again.” You admitted, double lines of tears streaming your face as they left a stinging chill on your cheeks.
“You can. You absolutely can,” He encouraged, even a little bit desperately. “I can refer you to someone. Someone who can professionally help you.”
That statement brought a sound out of you that Hannibal had been longing for so dearly. As weak as it was, hearing you laugh brought a firework of joy exploding into his chest.
“Are you saying that you no longer wish to psychoanalyze me?” You joked, and he returned a smile.
“I want to be here for you in whatever way you wish. Just say the word and consider it done.” He said.
Your first request actually surprised him a bit. He had expected you to play shy and turn down his offer or even ask for more advice. Instead, you asked for something much sweeter and much needed.
“Kiss me?”
And kiss you he did. It was the most uplifting, comforting kiss that he’d ever given you. It spoke a thousand words and pumped him full of more hope with each passing second. You were going to be okay. You’d be happy once again and you’d be stronger than you ever were. He’d be back to throwing flour on you when he cooked meals and chasing after you around the house dripping wet and naked after you stole his towel from the bathroom counter.
Life was going to return to the way it was. He was going to be able to love the woman that he loved so dearly even harder now. You were going to come back to him. He had all the patience in the world waiting for that.
Because you were worth everything.
#hannibal lecter#hannibal lecter x reader#hannibal lecter x fem! reader#hannibal lecter x female reader#hannibal lecter x you#hannibal lecter x y/n#hannibal lecter oneshot#hannibal lecter oneshots#hannibal lecter imagine#hannibal lecter imagines#hannibal lecter fluff#hannibal lecter angst#hannibal lecter fanfiction#Hannibal TV#hannibal nbc#detectivehannibal
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Predator & Prey
Author: locke-writes
Title: Predator & Prey
Request: Songfic using Bad Romance - Lady Gaga, with Hannibal Lecter For: Anon
Rating: T/M
Word Count: 1,090
Warnings: Manipulation, gaslighting, stalking
Tag List: @multifandomfix / ask to be added
Hannibal had first noticed you when working on a case with the FBI. You'd been doing research in the library and scattered around you were books flipped open to numerous diagrams of the human torso. You weren't involved in the case that much the FBI knew as there was no indication of interviewing you or any of the other patrons, yet for Hannibal there was some curiosity that came upon him as he questioned why you were taking notes on a multitude of medical diagrams.
What you were doing, was research for a book discussing the change in medical knowledge over time and the diagrams were being referenced to identify when anatomical knowledge changed over time. You'd been focused on your work to the point where you hadn't noticed yourself being watched. Maybe if you had it would have been easier to identify Hannibal as the person you felt watching you in the next months.
There were ways he could have found you had you not come back to the library. There were ways he could have seemingly slid into your life without a worry but he knew how to be trusting, knew how to make it seem as though everything about meeting you was a coincidence. When Hannibal wanted something, he went out of his way to get it, and he could be as charming as he needed to get you to trust him.
He had come back a few days after the visit with the FBI, wondering whether you would be there or not. For a week you had yet to appear and he had almost resorted to making you a suspect in a murder case so that he had a chance to speak to you but the last day before executing a plan to bring you closer to him, there you were at the front desk returning a book. It was easy enough for him to track you down from there, to follow you without you noticing.
That was what he'd do best, study the patterns that people build their lives around and slowly ingratiate himself in their lives. With you he wondered how long it would take, how long until he had you to himself. How long would it take to make you fall in love with him?
Following you out of the library Hannibal made sure to note your itinerary for the day. He was grateful that there'd been no calls from the FBI and no emergency sessions with any of his patients. For now he was totally devoted to you, to figuring out just who you were and perhaps who he could turn you into. For two entire weeks he watched you, he tracked every movement that you made and every place you visited. Two weeks for him to believe that he understood you well enough to make you believe he was no threat to you or anyone else.
And so it began. You worked for a publisher's office Monday through Thursday and he'd been able to piece together based on phone conversations that he'd heard, that you had Friday's free to spend at the library for research on your own work. He had patients to see and no official way to make sure that he could meet you in the library at any point of the day. However he knew your schedule now, he knew that he could rework appointments so that he could run into you. And he knew enough to make it look completely accidental.
Already he had observed you sharing the tables in the library without needing to be asked when the library became full in the afternoons. It was easy enough to pretend that he had accidentally arrived at the busiest time of the day and it wasn't as though he wouldn't be doing work, there were medical and psychiatric journals to keep up with. You were welcoming when he asked if he could join you, and there it was, the bait had been taken.
He was polite, genuinely intrigued by the responses to his questions. He had assumed you would try and brush him off when he began speaking while you were working but he was mistaken by the way you took the opportunity to share your research with him. Your intelligence and kindness were not a surprise to him, the attraction he'd had to you before this meeting had been fueled by those traits, the entire plan to find you and bring you into his world, to let you fall into the darkness.
Time would be all that it took to trap you into his web of destruction, of terror. You wouldn't know who he really was or what he really wanted, only what he made you think that you deserved. This was his wish, to have you so wrapped around his finger that it would be easy to destroy you. You would have to fall in love with him, would have to fall apart for him in any way that he could control.
He was charming, that was what you noticed. Attractive, charming, kind, and you found yourself falling for him easily. When he asked you to dinner it wasn't alarming, he played the part well. You felt comfort in being around him, comfort in being with someone who was listening to what you had to say and actually taking in the words.
And that was how it began, one date after another, dinner and plays and symphonies and having academic discussions where you didn't know he was just picking at your brain for more information that he could use against you in the long run. You loved him, and he loved you. At least that is what you believed, what he guided you to believing. You were unwitting in all things to do with him, not suspecting his murderous abilities or the meat that he cooked was anything but that from an animal.
There was no telling how long he could keep going on like this. His plan would have to fully proceed forward, he was twisting your life in his hands, waiting for the day when he could push you into the next level. It was what he dreamed of, what he felt from the first moment he laid eyes on you. He had waited to meet you, waited to gain your trust, and he could wait as much as was needed before he could place a knife in your hand and guide you into the same darkness that he had long existed in.
#locke writes#nbc hannibal#hannibal lecter#nbc hannibal fic#hannibal lecter fic#nbc hannibal fanfic#hannibal lecter fanfic#nbc hannibal oneshot#hannibal lecter oneshot#nbc hannibal imagine#hannibal lecter imagine
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Yooo! Lol I’m here to make a small request maybe just to see how you think Hannibal would handle a situation lol like literally just a Drabble would be fine 🫶🏼
Alright, what would he say if his S/O (male pref) asked him “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” Bonus points if his S/O asks stupid questions like this all the time so he’s used to it, LMAO poor Hannibal
►PAIRING: Hannibal X Male!Reader
►UNIVERSE: Hannibal
►WORDS: 1.6k
►SUMMARY/PROMPT: See Above.
►TRIGGER WARNINGS: No warnings | I may be missing some, but you get a general idea, so please proceed with caution if there is anything in there that is overly triggering please let me know politely and I will make sure it is added to the list.
►NOTE: Hannibal and Hannibal Character requests are closed. All other requests are open. Sorry if this isn't what you expected, or had envisioned yourself, I apologize. But I hope you enjoyed my vision.
►DIVIDER CREDIT: @nyxvuxoa
"No. I gotta know! If I was a worm, would you still love me?" you ask.
Shaking his head with a chuckle he thinks a moment. "But what if I was a bird, I'd eat the worm."
"That's not the question nor a valid answer."
"Oh but it is, what if I was the bird that ate the worm."
"You're no fun." you pout a moment.
He chuckles and he watches you a moment. Putting some thought into it he tilts his head. "Well I'd make sure you'd have a nice little compost pile... only the best foods."
"That's better. So, how do you think you'd handle me if I was a puddle of putty?" you ask.
He tilts his head and shakes it again with a slight chuckle. "Where are these questions coming from?" he asked you.
With a rather proud smile. "They came from my brain place. Now. Back to the putty question."
#hannibal x male reader#Hannibal x m!reader#hannibal imagine#hannibal x reader#hannibal x you#hannibal fluff#hannibal angst#hannibal smut#hannibal lecter imagine#Hannibal oneshot#hannibal fanfiction#hannibal lecter x reader#hannibal lecter x you#hannibal lecter angst#hannibal lecter#hannibal#hannibal nbc#hannibal netflix#mads mikkelsen#VoxMortuus#my fanfiction#my story#my fanfic writing#fan fiction#fanfiction#smutty smut smut#my oc#my fanfic stuff#my writing
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Hannibal Lecter X Autistic Child Reader
first request!
request: Can u do like austitic child reader with Hannibal
summary: Hannibal latest patient is a child filled with trauma over their elder brothers death and Hannibal cares for them like his own.
Third person pov...
Mrs L/N and her 7 year old arrive outside Dr Hannibal Lecter's office, Y/Ns new physiatrist. A little over a month ago Y/Ns elder brother died, the 7 year old witnessed it since then the child had been filled with terror and hadn't slept well since.
Said child was grumpily standing next to their Mum staring down at their shoes swaying back and forth. "Do I have too" they pout, this makes Y/Ns mum sigh, she kneels and holds her Childs shoulder making the kid flinch not liking touch.
"Sorry honey, but you know what the school says you have to stick with the same therapist for at least a week before going back to school" explains the kids Mum, the child sighs. "Okayy, lets do it" they say making the women smile at them.
The building itself was beautiful with a sense of historical back ground, it was tall and didn't look like a physiatrists office, nervously Y/N follows their mother inside the building, Mrs L/N had heard from her close friend Jack Crawford about an amazing physiatrist and decided to make an appointment for her child.
Soon they came to a door which was Dr Lecter's office, Mrs L/N knocks on the door, looking down at her nervous child of course the child was nervous, Y/N doesn't like change and this is a huge change for them, then the door opens and man stands there.
He was tall around 6tf, he had ash grey hair, brown eyes, he had sharp cheekbones and an obviously fake smile on his face, to Y/N he looked about 40 maybe mid 40s. he was wearing a dark red pinstripe suit and dark brown shoes.
He looks at the mother and child in front of him wondering who they were. "hello, you must be Dr Lecter, Im Y/M/N L/N and this is Y/N we have an appointment" says the H/C woman, Hannibal eyes widened a fraction before returning to normal. "ah yes my apologies, I had forgotten please come in" he says and stands to the right holding the door open.
He had a slight accent, possibly eastern European, Y/N wracks their brain trying to place it but couldn't think, they shall have to ask the man later.
But Y/Ns mum shakes her head at the invitation. "I'm already late for work, I'll leave Y/N with you" she says before turning her back and kneeling next to her child, Hannibal watches as the child's eyes wonder not looking at their mother.
"Y/N love, I'll be back to pick you up later okay, my shift at the clinic will finish at 5 okay see you then, be good and respectful to Dr Lecter now" she says to the child kissing their forehead and walking away throwing a wave goodbye behind her.
The hallway was filled with silence as the Dr and Child stand. "Please come in Y/N" he says to the silent child. Y/N nervously enters the pristine office, the child gasps at how large the room was, bright E/C eyes marvel at its beauty.
Dr Lecter lips turn up at the emotionless child gasping at his office, he then walks over to the child and begins taking their coat, this makes the child look at him before smiling in thanks. "Thank you, sir," Hannibal hears a mumble.
"of course, now if you would please take a seat we will begin" he says motioning to one of the chairs he uses for his patents, though it had been a while since he had such a young one in his office.
"now then we shall begin, I am Hannibal Lecter and I will be your physiatrist" he says smiling at the small child sitting in the overly large chair, said child was still looking around the room drinking in all the details and books.
"Im Y/N L/N, sir im 7 years old" comes a tiny voice, Hannibal smiles slightly, they were getting somewhere at least he got their name. "hello Y/N do you know why you are here?" he asks the child, Y/N stopped looking around and instead looked at their shoes.
"because I don't sleep and Mummy's worried about me" comes the quiet voice, Hannibal was barely able to hear. He crosses his legs and continues to write in his notebook, brown eyes look over the child sitting opposite him, their movements skittish like a scared bunny.
"And why is that Y/N?" he asks gently coaxing the child to speak more, minutes pass before the child speaks. "Because brother died and I still dream off him though not nice dreams, I miss him" whispers the child tears gathering in the corner of their big E/C eyes.
Already seeing this happening Hannibal hands, the 7 tear old some tissues he keeps on his desk, tiny hand grab the white tissue and wipes their tears and blows their nose. "t-thank y-you s-sir" comes a tearful voice.
Hannibal smiles gently at the child reassuring them. "of course, child" he says as their session moves on.
Over Y/Ns next few appointments with Hannibal they began to get more comfortable with him and always enjoyed coming to his office, once he noticed how their eyes wondered toward his many books on the second level, the expression of surprise will forever make him happy as he told the child they could read his collection.
Said child bounds over to the many books and carefully grabs a couple, he had learnt that Y/N was autistic and had a love for books they loved reading anything, the two become ever closer their sessions became something less formal.
Hannibal had never felt this close to a child before, but he enjoyed their sessions together and was delighted to be able to help such a sweet innocent child go through their trauma.
The end!
Hope you liked this first oneshot for this new book. Sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes in this.
Requests are open!
Word count: 1065
#hannibal#hannibal lecter#hannibal nbc#hannibal lecter x child reader#x autistic reader#x child reader#death of brother#oneshot#fluff#hannibal x child reader
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Hannibal x virgin reader who's anxious about intimacy! 💝
Heyo! Haru here! Thank you so much for the request! I hope you’ll like it because it’s been a while since I wrote something serious!
Content warning: sexual content.
I used the neutral gender for this fanfic to make everyone more comfortable.
Love u, have a good reading.
You and Hannibal were dating for a few weeks now, it’s almost been a month.
It was a cold winter night and you were eating dinner at his place. You were a bit nervous, it wasn’t the first time you two eaten together, but you knew this time was different. You didn’t knew why, but you had this sensation it wasn’t only a sensation, you could feel something into the air, something warm like an embrace, but more intimate.
You where sitting next to Hannibal not watching him while you two eat. You were holding your glass wine trying not to loose yourself into your thoughts.
Obviously your lover did notice your tense expression, so he took your hand and caress it smiling.
“What’s the matter my love? What is infesting that sweet mind of yours?”
Your mind jumped a little forcing yourself to look into his eyes with a nervous look.
You didn’t know how to respond, your face became all red from the realization of what was happening.
“W-what? Oh, it’s nothing Hannibal. Don’t worry, I’m just a bit stressed by work, that’s all.”
Your nervous voice immediately gave him a signal that something was wrong. He got up smiling and got behind you putting his hands onto your shoulders and starting to massage. You immediately tensed up more as his hands cuddled your shoulders trying to calm you down.
“It looks like there’s more than just work. Want to talk about it? You know I’m here to listen and help you. That’s what partners are for”
You couldn’t hold it anymore. It’s been a while since you started thinking about your future sexual life. You were still a virgin, you never found the right person to loose yourself with. You were a bit scared and anxious, what if you didn’t do the right things? What if you didn’t like it but he does? What if… what if… your mind was full of those questions. He was experienced. He. Not you. You didn’t knew enough to make him satisfied.
“What if I’m not good enough?”
“I’m sorry love? Not good enough for what?”
“What if… I’m not good enough… in the bedroom..?”
Hannibal smiled making you turn around to face him and then took your face by the cheeks.
“Is this what is filling that mind of yours with thoughts? Oh my sweet creature. There is no good enough or not good enough into the intimacy spectrum. There’s only the discovery with your partner. You have must felt so scared and embarrassed to tell me, I get that. But let me tell you that I’m never going to force anything this big on you, I’m going to accompany you every little step into this intimate dance that will be our bed life.”
You just looked at him in silence. Like always he understood everything with just a few words.
You got up for the chair and kissed him slowly. You were telling him thank you using your lips, or at least you where trying, but it seemed like he understood.
“Could we… try tonight? I mean… if you want to”
Hannibal smiled caressing your cheek.
“Oh my lover, you don’t have to ask, I’m going to do whatever you say to make you feel comfortable”
You hold him tight kissing him again. That night was going to be a long night spent by exploring each others intimacy.
#mads mikkelsen#hannibal#hannibal lecter#hannibal lecter x reader#fanfic#oneshot#dr lecter#x reader#gender neutral reader
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More Hannigram Prompts
I can't stop.
Phantom of the Opera AU: the whole concept of Will being Hannibal's mask or the opposite is yum
Old Western, Cowboys AU: idk I just need them in cowboy outfits
Jack and Alana trick Hannibal into thinking he indirectly killed Will by sending Dolarhyde to his location (could even be real and they make him look at Will's dead body, like a one shot? I just need his reaction)
Old circus AU: I don't know honestly I go a lot for aesthetics purely but could be Will looking for a job in the Lecter Circus as the psychic and idk what else look I just really enjoy vintage circus creepy aesthetics
Mortal man/Deity AU: pls, why haven't I found divine aus yet?
101 Dalmatians inspired? Hannibal is Cruella but in a dystopian world where it's normal to wear human skin instead of pup fur cause I can excuse the cannibalism but not puppy violence!!
Season 1 Will actually clocks Hannibal early on and decides to fuck around, so he's never hypnotized because he switches the substance without Hannibal knowing; he fakes reactions to freak Hannibal out or something idk but dark comedy vibes, and he's in love but also like oh you think you evil? I'm more vibes
Fics where we explore their diagnosis, specially Will's switch, for example. Would love to see them in an established relationship but the story focuses on Hannibal dealing with Will's switching, or Will dealing with Hannibal's mind palace tumbling down and ptsd.
#pls someone do it and tag me cause I'd love to read it#also reblog with your ideas or oneshots and such cause it is heaven to me#hannigram#nbc hannibal#hannibal#will graham#murder husbands#hannibal lecter#fanfic#prompts
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‘Sex Therapy’
(Cw// smut)
"Now, Will," Hannibal clicks his pen before fixing his gaze to his patient "How has been your sex life been of late?"
Will shifts awkwardly in his seat, his eyes darting all over the room for exits. "I thought we were here to delve into my mind, not my bedroom."
"The mind and the bedroom are often intertwined. It's in these moments of vulnerability that we truly reveal our deepest desires and fears. So, indulge me. Have you been finding any...connections?"
"It's been rather....vacant." Will runs a hand back through his curls, allowing the light to cast over his eyes. Uncomfortable, and targeted straight at the floor.
"By choice, or by the impairment of your job?" A question that caused Will's eyes to rise back to Hannibal's. "It could be a powerful remedy for the toll your work takes on your psyche."
"I don't have have the capacity to love a partner, not right now." Will adverts his eyes back down, allowing the curls to fall once more.
Hannibal leans back, steepling his fingers. "One can indulge in physical intimacy without being ensnared in the labyrinth of love. A symphony isn't always a love song; rather just a harmonious arrangement of notes. Have you considered looking for partners to play these melodies with?"
Will crossed his arms, a barrier against the vulnerability he felt in that moment. Several seconds of silence pass, the sound of Hannibal's grandfather clock filling in the unspoken words.
"A fuck buddy?" Will finally murmured out, a subtle smirk playing on his lips, eyebrows raised.
"If that's what you choose, there's many online websites-"
"I'm not sleeping with random strangers, Dr. Lecter." Will abruptly cut off Hannibal, now making stern eye contact.
"Well," Hannibal slowly introduces his words, warning Will of his rudeness. "On the other hand, I am willing to try sex therapy with you, if you believe you will benefit."
Will gawks slightly, leaning forward. "You mean, me and you? Having sex?"
Hannibal nods as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world. A psychiatrist having sex with his patient.
"I don't know...I've never done anything with a guy..." Will begins to trail off, picking at his finger nails, a nervous habit that betrayed his attempts to appear collected.
As Hannibal stands up, Will holds his breath. The reality of the moment eludes his comprehension, and, more astonishingly, he finds himself fully reveling in it.
Will could feel his dick hardening as he gazes down at his psychiatrist, who is now on his knees before him. Hannibal places a hand on Will's thigh with enough pressure to elicit a gasp.
"Is this alright, Will?" The older man asks, sure to gather Will's full consent.
He nods vigorously, tongue swiping between his lips, mentally cursing at himself for going for the tighter jeans in his collection today.
Hannibal's face takes on an amused grin as he begins to work on Will's belt, deliberately savoring each moment. Will's dick twitches with every brush of Hannibal's hand over the fabric.
Will shifts his hips slightly forward, giving Hannibal better access. "Please, Hannibal." he mumbles as his head tilts back slightly, still sure to keep his eyes on the doctor.
Hannibal finally releases Will into his hand, giving him soft strokes. He takes his thumb over the slit, smearing the precum that was beginning to leak. He lifts the thumb to his lips, taking in a taste of Will.
In the brief second Will took to close his eyes, Hannibal's lips was already around his dick.
Hannibal takes the time to move his tongue around Will's tip as his mouth takes in all of Will's length.
Will clenches a fistful of Hannibal's hair, swaying his hips into his mouth. His eyes shut, savoring the subtle sound of Hannibal's suppressed gagging. Incoherent utterances spill from his lips, the sheer ecstasy of Hannibal's mouth around him causing his cognitive to fail.
Hannibal reaches down to rub himself off, his moans vibrating down Will's dick, drool piling slightly at his lips.
Every nerve seemed to ignite with an electric fervor in Will, the once laxed boy now full-throttle face-fucking his psychiatrist. Hannibal lets go of himself to grip onto Will's thighs for stability, feeling the involuntary tears prick his eyes.
"Fuck, this is so good," Will groans out, oblivious to his noise volume. He grips Hannibal's hair tighter, pushing his dick down his throat rapidly as he nears his end. "I'm gonna come, Hannibal."
As the culmination of sensations built within him, Hannibal uncontrollably sobbing on his dick, a shudder coursed through his body. His warm seed leaking down the back of Hannibal's throat before a quick swallow.
Hannibal licks Will clean as he plants small kisses on his tip, each one causing another jolt in Will's muscles.
Will sulks back in the chair, recovering from his euphoria. A 'thank you' dances around his mind, but never quite comes out.
Hannibal brushes his knees as stands, taking his handkerchief to dry his eyes. "So?"
Will gives a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent affirmation that spoke volumes.
#hannibal lecter#murder husbands#nbc hannibal#smut#will graham#hannigram smut#hannibal fanfiction#hannigram#hannibal#hannibal nbc#hannibal loves will#hannibaloneshot#oneshot#smut oneshot
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Could you maybe write something for Hannibal Lector having a s/o that isn’t used to being taken care of? Like maybe the way he cooks for them or spoils them and they’re just not used to it? How would Hannibal act?
You’re writing is amazing btw!
Less than perfect
I feel like I got a bit carried away here gn BUT thank you <33 mwah
there will be some headcanons at the end!!
navigation || masterlist
He noticed, it was hard not to, considering his field of work — it is what drew him to you, he supposes. Hannibal had the urge to wrap you in his arms, pull you close, and whisper sweet nothings into your ear while you slept the moment he saw you. A being as precious as you, his little lamb, deserved all the love and he could see you were being starved of it.
Hannibal decided, somewhere along the way, that you were now his.
It felt similar to rehabilitating an animal that had never seen the outside world; you were so curious, watching him with wide eyes, hiding your face at every compliment and pet name — you were perfect for him, an open canvas to create whatever his heart desired.
The morning it really clicked with you, that Hannibal meant every word he said, was in the middle of October: He had been invited to a halloween party and was allowed a plus one, which automatically meant you. You didn’t understand the costumes when he first presented the idea, but still you agreed, thankful for the extra warmth the wool provided.
Small, black sheep ears glued to a headband sat upon your head, an expensive silk collar adorned your neck with the words “Little lamb,” engraved on the metal charm. Hannibal stood next to you in a shepherd's gown, smiling down at you whilst speaking softly, “I’ve raised you so well, my lamb.” He ushered you forward, looking off to the side. “Go on, go mingle while I take care of some business.”
Similar to a shepherd and his flock, Hannibal took care of the big bad wolf that had been giving you problems at work — no one would notice him missing and maybe if he was careful with his seasoning, the meat wouldn't be as tainted.
Dinner that night was wonderful, “Thank you, Han. I wish I could cook this good.” You comment, laughing at the end. “I can do the dishes?” Hannibal eyed you, satisfied that you’d ask permission from him — so obedient, so perfect.
“Of course, and I’m sure you can cook just as well,” he starts, trailing behind you with the rest of the empty dishes. “But if not, you still make a beautiful lamb.”
Your face is hot, heat creeping up your neck and reaching the tips of your ears. “Ah no, but thank you.”
Hannibal is displeased with your response, turning to look at you as confusion settles into his features. “My lamb, you can’t possibly believe you are anything less than perfect?” and while it may have sounded rhetorical, he expects a reply — displeased once again when you shake your head softly.
He falls silent, watching you with calculating eyes, racking his brain for ways to make you see how beautiful you are — “Can I kiss you, my lamb?”
You’re caught off guard, half expecting him to say it was a prank and move on, but when he doesn’t, you smile — if the little cottontail glued to your pants was real, it would be wagging fifty miles an hour. “You wanna kiss..me?” You clarify, pointing your thumb to your chest and when he nods, you laugh in disbelief. “Then kiss me.”
Hannibal can’t help but wonder if all of you tasted this sweet; if your meat would be as heavenly as your lips – but he’d never eat his little lamb.
To hannibal, you are a lamb at the slaughter, calling out to him for help and he can’t help but to spoil your cute little face — you’re his lamb after all, right?
Hannibal just... seems like he would absolutely adore the fact he is the first to love you like you deserve, to be the first to lovingly caress your cheek in the morning, make you breakfast in bed with cute little love notes on the side.
However, Hannibal is also absolutely livid at all your past lovers and family for not giving you the gift of kindness that you more than deserved.
#hannibal imagine#hannibal x reader#hannibal headcanons#hannibal lecter#hannibal#slashers x reader#slasher headcanons#slasher#hannibal oneshot#slashers oneshot#slashers headcanons#fluff#angst#hannibal fluff#slasher fluff
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𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
→ AMBUSH
upon missing a therapy session with dr. hannibal lecter, you’re invited for dinner at his house to make up for lost time.
→ more coming soon…
#hannibal#hannibal x reader#hannibal imagine#Hannibal imagines#Hannibal nbc#Hannibal fanfic#hannibal fanfiction#Hannibal Lecter#Hannibal Lecter x reader#Hannibal Lecter imagine#Hannibal Lecter imagines#Hannibal Lecter fanfic#Hannibal Lecter fanfiction#slashers#slasher x reader#slasher fanfiction#slasher oneshot#hannibal x will#hannibal lecter x will graham#mads mikkelsen#mads Mikkelsen x reader
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The heart monitor connected to Hannibal makes a sudden, unrhythmical beep the moment Will enters through the door.
"You must forgive me for my bluntness, but are we in a romantic relationship?" Hannibal asks and Will isn't exactly sure how to answer that. He can't technically say no, but honestly, bloody courtship may be a more proper name for it.
——
While Hannibal suffers from a case of amnesia, Will puts a stop to the honey-trap plan to take care of him.
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a love to die for (hannigram fic)
Hannibal contracts Hanahaki Disease in season one due to his feelings for Will. Believing no one can love a monster like himself, he tries to hide it. He’s resigned himself to death since he can see no other outcome. But Will can.
Or: Hannibal gets Hanahaki Disease and freaks out (he doesn’t think he’s freaking out).
ao3
words: 7.6k
Of course it's roses, Hannibal thinks to himself. They're regal and timeless. Beautiful, yet they can draw blood if one isn't careful enough. They're ironic and showy. They're a lot like him in many ways.
No other flower is so universally known as a symbol for romantic affection than the red rose. This is the flower people think of when they think of romance. When they want it to be obvious it's romance. If Hannibal was anyone else, he might think it fitting. Amusing, even. But Hannibal isn't anyone else. He isn't anything normal or commonplace—his first real inconsistency with the rose. And, since Hannibal is anything but regular, he never thought this would happen to him. He never thought it was possible that this could happen to him. The irony.
There's blood in his immaculate bathroom sink that perfectly matches the shade of the wet rose petals beside it. His doctor's mind took over the second he saw the red liquid dotting his sink, and his only thought was: It's far too soon for blood. And then he saw the rose with its small stem and knew it had to be the sizable thorns on the plant causing all the blood. His doctor's mind continues to work, despite the impossibility of this disease existing within Hannibal, and it reminds him that roses are one of the deadlier strains of the disease due to their thorns.
The disease. Hanahaki Disease.
It's an extremely rare condition. Hannibal had only seen it twice in his time as a surgeon. Since he primarily worked in the ER, Hannibal never operated on a patient with Hanahaki Disease himself, but he sat in on a couple operations. It's an extremely delicate and unpredictable surgery. Only one of the two patients Hannibal had seen survived. Survival rates decrease as age increases, and Hannibal wouldn't call himself young. His survival rate is well below thirty percent if he were to have the surgery to remove the roses in his lungs now. But he's getting ahead of himself. The disease is hardly anything alarming now. He can overcome this. This is simply another obstacle he'll surpass.
Hannibal pointedly does not give more thought on the topic. He does not bother asking how or when or who; it will be over soon enough. It's the lie he gets away with for a little over a week before he wakes up choking on petals.
Hannibal wakes up and finds his body in complete panic. He's covered in sweat so thick his hair is sticking to his forehead. He can hear himself desperately trying to suck in more air in loud, useless gulps. His adrenaline roars in his ears and sends unnecessary strength to the fingers he has fisted in his silk sheets. He breathes in another ragged breath, but his throat clogs completely. He's racing towards the bathroom before he's made the decision to move. He is not in control of himself. The panic worsens and turns his blood to ice. He is afraid. He is out of control and afraid. Two things he swore he'd never be again.
Hannibal forces himself to vomit into the toilet. It takes him three tries before the petals fall and he can breathe again. All he does for a few minutes is breathe and slowly regain control of himself. Once his mind has left its panicked state, he notices the blood and red petals that fill the toilet. They swirl together in the water, their matching colors oddly picturesque. Hannibal immediately flushes them away with a shaking hand before he can find them beautiful. He fears it might be too late.
Hannibal catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and is struck paralyzed. He almost doesn't recognize himself. His hair is in utter disarray, dried tears he hadn't felt cling to his cheeks, and his face is flushed nearly the same color as the roses. Blood lines his lips.
Afraid and out of control.
He's denied it, until now. The cause of his disease. But Hannibal knows. The answer isn't as far away as he thought he put it, but he knows who's at fault. It's a shame, really. Hannibal had had plans for Will. He'd had plans for himself involving Will, such as Will becoming the scapegoat for his crimes. But he'll be able to find a replacement soon enough. For now, he must deal with Will Graham.
~~~~
Their lives are intertwined enough that Hannibal knows Will's schedule. Or, rather, since Will's schedule is so unpredictable, Hannibal knows the rare moments when Will is at home. Like he is now. Sleeping innocently in the bed he thought putting in the main living room of his house was a sensible place for. Will's dogs know Hannibal, so all he received upon his entrance was a few curious looks. He can feel a few of the dogs still staring at him, but they've become accustomed to his presence at Will's bedside enough that they don't react.
Hannibal looms over Will in front of the window, so the moonlight illuminates Will's sleeping form. He looks young and at ease in a way he never is when he's awake. Dark curls are splayed against his white pillow, and his lips are slightly parted. His face is relaxed and soft. Youthful. Will's somehow tangled himself in his various sheets and blankets, and they're woven around his body. They hardly cover him, and his shirt has ridden up to show off a delicious stripe of skin all along the side nearest Hannibal. Will's skin looks porcelain white and fragile in the pale moonlight. Hannibal is close enough he can touch. So he does.
Hannibal places the fingertips of his right hand delicately on Will's bare side. His skin is hot but soft. Hannibal needs more, but he withdraws despite his desires. A quiet, helpless sound—nearly a whimper—escapes Will's lips, and he tosses his head to face Hannibal. Hannibal holds his breath and remains completely still.
Will continues to sleep, now with his angelic face pointed towards Hannibal. And, oh, what he'd do to kiss that face. Hannibal is certain Will's never been kissed gently. How he yearns to be the first one to give him that gentleness. He'd ruin the boy for anyone else. He'd claim him through softness, reliability, and loyalty. Will would never willingly be with anyone else after the way Hannibal would take care of him.
Hannibal's lungs suddenly catch, and he has to fight off a coughing fit by holding his breath for a moment and breathing shallowly afterwards. He swallows and blinks back reactionary tears once he's regained control. It's a brutal reminder of what he's come here to do.
Hannibal had considered one of his kitchen knives or his favorite scalpel for this, but in the end, he decided to use his hands. The nature of his disease requires him to kill Will as intimately as possible.
With the practiced, smooth movements akin to a big cat, Hannibal gets onto the bed, his knees resting on either side of Will's torso. He doesn't touch Will, not yet. For now he hovers, just above the sleeping man, and watches.
Hannibal can feel Will's body heat between his legs. His right leg nearly touches Will's bare side, and Hannibal can't help himself as he ghosts his fingers down Will's skin once more. His touch is reverent. Worshipful. He wants to sink his claws into the flawless skin and claim. But his immaculate self-control wins again, and he pulls his hand away. Will makes another one of those almost-whimpers. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and a worried crinkle forms between his brow.
"Shhh, Will," Hannibal finds himself whispering, and, as if by magic, Will's face clears again into soft tranquility.
There is nothing and there will be nothing as beautiful as this creature beneath Hannibal right now.
Hannibal delicately brushes an unruly curl off Will's forehead. He's so beautiful it hurts. The tip of Hannibal's finger softly runs down Will's forehead, down his cheek, over his chewed lip, and down to his neck. He's so vulnerable. So open like this. So unaware. Nearly innocent. His right hand covers Will's throat—barely any pressure is applied—but it's enough for Hannibal to feel Will's soft, warm skin. His steady pulse. It beats in time to the peaceful rise and fall of his chest between Hannibal's legs.
It's the most intimate moment in the entirety of Hannibal's life.
~~~~
It is a bit jarring, finding himself unable to kill Will. Even more so that he couldn't do it to save his own life. It's against everything he is. What's even worse is he wouldn't even know why he's acting this way if he wasn't suffocating on rose petals. He had no idea he could even feel like this. It should be exciting and novel. Instead, it's stupidly terrifying.
But Hannibal refuses to be governed by fear and failure, so he presses on. Besides, how long can this truly last? His feelings for Will can't be anything but a temporary fascination. He's even willing to admit he's obsessed. Infatuated. He won't lie and say he hasn't thought about Will in his bed. Perhaps he simply needs to be fulfilled sexually, and his obsession with Will Graham will fade back into morbid curiosity.
But…even after nearly a week of flirtation and a night in bed with Alana Bloom, his feelings for Will haven't faded. It almost seems like the opposite has occurred. Guilt and shame are two emotions Hannibal hardly ever feels now; they're something he left in his youth. Or so he thought. After his night with Alana, Hannibal feels dirty and wrong. Unbalanced. Guilty. His edges are rough and uneven, and he struggles to stretch his person-suit around his new ill-fitting shape. It's absolutely horrible.
It also doesn't help that the disease has progressed. He nearly had to stop during intercourse with Alana to catch his breath. It's utterly embarrassing. Embarrassment is another emotion he thought he'd left behind.
He tries to purge Will from his mind and thoughts, but it only seems to cause him to think of Will even more. He tries locking Will away in the depths of his mind palace like he does with all unpleasant and unwanted thoughts and desires. It doesn't work. Will always manages to escape, and Hannibal has no idea how. His mind often conjures up the image of Will asleep and beautiful and completely at peace on the night Hannibal had intended to kill him. He can't help but marvel at such beauty, even just the memory of it. It's torture, but Hannnibal can't seem to help himself, and his thoughts always drift back to Will. He's struggling, and for the first time in his life, Hannibal isn't quite sure what to do about it.
He's with Will now in one of their not-quite-therapy-but-just-conversation sessions. Hannibal used to derive such joy from these sessions, but now it's become a constant battle to reign in his feelings and keep himself from coughing. The last person Hannibal ever wants to know about his predicament is Will.
"So," Will says from his seat across from Hannibal, "you and Alana."
Neither of them had told anyone. Of course his clever boy had figured it out. …Hannibal really needs to stop internally calling Will his. Things like that are why he's choking on roses.
With a practiced nonchalance, Hannibal replies, "Does it surprise you?"
"No," is the immediate response, then a beat later, "Yes."
"Why? Alana and I have known each other for years. We enjoy similar hobbies and topics of conversation. It only makes sense we are compatible on a physical level as well."
"I know, I just…" Will trails off. He shrugs his shoulders in a jerky movement. "I don't know. It's none of my business anyway."
Will clearly has thoughts on the matter, but he's shutting himself away. Hannibal won't have it. In a softer tone, Hannibal says, "It's alright, Will. We are friends, are we not? Surely, we can speak about our personal lives together."
"Yeah, I guess. I…" He hesitates again. He shifts and refuses to meet Hannibal's eyes. "It feels…sudden to me. Out of the blue."
"Out of the blue," Hannibal echoes.
"Yeah. Random."
It was. It was nothing more than a response to how he feels about Will. There's no point in denying it. "And that bothers you?" Hannibal questions.
Will doesn't answer. His eyes wander the room, snagging on different pieces of decor. Hannibal thinks he won't answer, but then his eyes suddenly catch Hannibal's, and Hannibal knows no detail will go unnoticed. What is his boy planning? Hannibal is helpless as a dangerous thrill runs up his spine. One of the many, many things Hannibal enjoys about Will is his unpredictability.
Gazes locked, Will asks, "Did you enjoy it?"
Hannibal contains his pleasant surprise under his mask of neutrality. He wants to see if he can push Will further. He wants to see if he can get Will to ask him outright.
"Enjoy what?" asks Hannibal.
"Sex with Alana."
Hannibal is thrown back into the sensation of being buried deep within her, suffocatingly close to her, as he struggles to breathe past blood-red rose petals climbing up his throat. The thorns scratch and tear at his throat as he tries to keep a steady rhythm. It all tasted like blood, which should have made things more erotic for him since he's always secretly enjoyed a bit of roughness in sex, but all it did was remind him of his inadequacies. He remembers being grateful for how well he can craft a mask and keep wearing it. He remembers struggling to bring her pleasure, something he's never had trouble doing before, because he couldn't catch his breath like some sort of inattentive, lazy lover. He never reached completion himself. He had to fake it, which was another first for him.
Oh, how far he's fallen for Will.
"Damn," Will says quietly, jolting Hannibal back to the present, "that bad?"
Hannibal didn't think he'd given anything away, but of course Will noticed. His brilliant boy.
Hannibal replies, "Mediocracy isn't bad."
Will raises his eyebrows in disbelief, but there's a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Did you just call Alana mediocre in bed?"
"You seem to be enjoying this quite a bit."
Will immediately blushes a pretty pink and looks down. "You're just so…I don't know. Untouchable. It almost doesn't seem real that you'd sleep with someone."
"I am human, Will."
Will looks up again at that. He smiles something soft and lovely. A smile that Hannibal has only seen directed at himself. He cherishes it every time he sees it.
But that smile is deadly, and Hannibal is reminded of it when a familiar twinge tickles his throat. His chest feels heavy. Full. Like it's a tangled mess. Hannibal logically knows it can't be that bad yet, but he feels as if his lungs are weighed down. He easily slips on a mask of neutrality to hide his discomfort, but he thinks Will notices because he stops smiling and begins talking about the case Jack's thrown him into.
~~~~
Will has a fever. Hannibal can smell its sickly sweetness on him. He can feel the heat of it when he's near him. Will speaks of vivid nightmares and constant headaches. It's encephalitis. It must be. It's early in its stages. If Hannibal thought he'd see the result of it, he'd let it fester within Will for longer. See what it would do to a mind so reluctant to accept its own darkness. But Hannibal doesn't think he has the time.
The Hanahaki Disease has worsened. He coughs often and has been able to play it off as a cold, but it's coming up on two weeks of his so-called cold, and patients and colleagues alike have asked if he should see a doctor since his cold is hanging on for so long. All of his handkerchiefs come away bloody. The rose thorns have all but shredded his throat, and it's becoming too painful to eat sometimes. He'll begin losing weight if he hasn't already.
He can deny it no further. He cannot fight it any longer.
Hannibal is completely, unconditionally, and eternally in love with Will.
The irony of his demise makes him want to howl and bite and claw in frustration. He has become undone from something as cruel and simple as love. It is pathetic. But it is also inevitable. His time left is exponentially decreasing. Anything he's ever wanted to do, he'll have to do within the upcoming months. He wants to visit Florence one more time, and his heart aches because he doesn't know if he will be healthy enough to make the trip once he's tied up his affairs in Baltimore. Hannibal has no doubts that he won't see the next year. It is all ending for him. He only has a few hunts left in him, but he's only planning on one more. A tribute to Will.
His love.
His undoing.
His impossibility.
It's probably wise this hunt is his last. Hannibal struggles up the stairs of his own home and has been attacked by unexpected coughing fits more and more recently. It was completely humiliating when he could hardly get back in control of himself after a coughing fit during one of Franklyn's sessions that Franklyn decided to end it early for the sake of Hannibal's own health. Franklyn may be desperate and a bit obtuse, but Hannibal won't forget this politeness.
Hannibal wants to make a bouquet of his roses and place them in his design for Will, but they're covered in his blood and saliva, and Hannibal would prefer his last months to be as a free man. He'll just have to make do with the ones he bought to mirror his own.
It's night now. Dark. Hushed and sleepy. It's the world he belongs in. His hunt is tonight. Hannibal had sent Will off to the hospital with Alana that morning to Dr. Sutcliff. Hannibal had told Sutcliff to search for encephalitis, and Sutcliff promised he would. Alana had been texting him updates. Will's receiving the treatment he needs. However, getting Will to a hospital today was not a completely selfless decision. Will is likely to be in the hospital for a few days, allowing Hannibal to leave his design behind for lesser minds to sift through. Hannibal is afraid Will would deconstruct his design too quickly. That he'll see Hannibal in the design too soon. Ideally, Will is going to put it together once Hannibal is on his deathbed. By then, he will look ill and helpless, and he's counting on that to be the reason Will is kind to him in the little time he has left before he dies. He hopes Will is going to refuse to lock him up for his remaining days. He believes he can pull it off, but Will is unpredictable—his actions entirely his own—despite Hannibal's manipulations. Hannibal loves him for it.
It was difficult to find a pig that resembles Will for many reasons. The first and most obvious being Will is unique. There is no one like him. He is a star amongst the inky blackness of space while all other people are moons. It's impossible to copy perfection, so Hannibal doesn't try. He merely finds someone who has similar physical traits as Will. A head full of dark curls (this one's is a lighter brown than Will's) with a beard, blue eyes (the shade is all wrong on the one Hannibal found), and a slender yet strong build (it's not quite the same, too much meat in certain areas, but it's close). Hardly perfect. A poor substitute. But it will be clear to Will who it's supposed to be, and that's all that matters.
Hannibal found the man in West Virginia. He's a factory worker with no family and even less friends. Hannibal comes for him on Friday, knowing he won't be missed until Monday. Hannibal waits until the man is home and a few drinks in before slipping in through the door of his apartment, the lock easily picked. Hannibal is quick and quiet, and the man hardly knew what was happening by the time Hannibal had reached him and had his hands around his neck. He'd come from behind and snapped his neck while he was still in his recliner, a trashy reality tv show continuing to play.
Apparently, a simple snap of the neck is too much exertion now, and Hannibal's lungs catch, sending him into a coughing fit while he still stands behind the recliner housing the corpse. He had the mind to bring disposable face masks like the ones he used to wear as a surgeon in case a coughing fit occurred, and he'd have to prevent himself from spewing his DNA all over a crime scene. He's thankful for his foresight now as he tucks away the bloody mask and pulls on a fresh one. Hannibal refuses to get sloppy now, even if it's his last kill. They will not find any trace of his DNA here.
Transporting the body is another matter entirely. Hannibal should be able to wrap it in something and simply carry it out the door, down the stairs, and into his car, but he doesn't have the stamina now with the disease running rampant in his lungs. He'd debated and thought and remade his design a dozen times or more, but he'd come to the realistic conclusion that it won't be to his liking. What he wants and what he's physically able to do are two separate realities.
Hannibal shoves the body by the shoulders, and it falls to the floor. The thump isn't as loud as he thought it'd be, and his fear of nosy neighbors decreases somewhat. The action nearly sends him into another coughing fit, but he holds his breath for a few moments before breathing shallowly again. If only part of his lungs get air, they catch on the roses less, preventing him from feeling like he has to cough as badly. He's nearly mastered shallow breathing.
Once he can breathe smoothly and his adrenaline has somewhat faded, Hannibal rounds the recliner, bends down and grasps the corpse by the ankles, and drags it across the floor into the hallway. He'd looked up the floor plans for this apartment complex before his hunt, and drags the body towards the bedroom. His lungs catch. They catch again, and his breath hitches. He slowly stands and breathes shallowly for another few moments before bending down and dragging the corpse into the bedroom.
Hannibal has to take a second break to regulate his breathing before he lifts the corpse onto the bed, but the action is enough to cause him to begin coughing again. Thorns catch and tear his throat. His eyes fill with reactionary tears. He wonders about the state of his lungs. His throat and mouth are raw and bleeding. The taste of blood never leaves his mouth.
Once he finally ceases coughing, he wraps the blood and spit and plant residue in his mask and tucks it away next to the other one. He pulls out another fresh mask along with his scalpel. It's time for the next part in his design.
It's a surgery he's performed more times post-mortem than when he was an actual surgeon. It takes time, but it isn't too physically taxing, so he removes the lungs almost like he normally does. He only has one coughing fit during the surgery.
Hannibal brings the removed lungs to the ice chest he brought and left on the kitchen counter. He then returns to the bedroom to arrange the corpse and double-check he's left no evidence. It goes as expected, and Hannibal leaves the apartment as smoothly and quietly as a ghost.
Hannibal's energy is fading him, so he has to store the lungs and get some sleep before he can finish his design. After his nap and a small meal (it's become too painful to eat full meals), Hannibal takes his purchased bouquet of red roses and brings them to where he'd stored the lungs in his hidden basement. It takes him over two hours to weave the flowers into the lungs, but when he's finished, he's satisfied with the outcome. He wishes he had the strength to display this within the body, but he doesn't, and he won't allow himself to dwell on things he cannot achieve anymore.
It's nearly morning now, so Hannibal stores his flowered lungs and goes about his day as usual. He returns Franklyn's favor of politeness from earlier by referring him to another psychiatrist he believes will actually help him, ensuring Franklyn will have at least one stable aspect in his life once Hannibal is gone. Will is still in the hospital, and Hannibal is not risking stepping foot in any medical facility in case someone happens to correctly diagnose him. There is less light in his life without seeing Will, but it's a sacrifice he has to make.
It's odd living his life with an air of finality when no one else is.
Long after night falls, he drives down to a small state park near Wolf Trap and lays the lungs on an elevated group of rocks off the side of a busy trail. Hannibal takes a moment to relish in his design as he always does. The lungs rest unassumingly on the dark rocks. The roses are much darker than the light pink meat. Their thorny vines are woven in the soft flesh, and the plant really does look mightier than the lungs. It's no surprise Hannibal feels as horribly as he does. The moonlight illuminates his work beautifully, but Hannibal knows it will look better in the light of day. He closes his eyes and indulges in the small fantasy of Will seeing his creation and grinning in that rare but stunning way Hannibal has only seen him do three times. He allows the image to hang in his mind for a moment more before he makes his escape.
Hannibal has a spare car and many counterfeit license plates he switches on his spare car often. He typically uses this car for his….extracurricular activities. It's not one he'd like to drive. It's used, and the vents always rattle whenever the AC is on, but it serves its purpose, and for that Hannibal appreciates it. He parked the car at the nearest gas station to the trail. The place is rundown and rotting. Hannibal wouldn't even attempt to buy gas from this place, but there isn't a security camera in sight, and the clerk attending the store looks like he's seen enough to know not to ask questions and play dumb if questioned.
Hannibal gets into his spare car and begins his drive back to the property he stores it at. The night still feels young, and the dark sky feels like a protective blanket. His soul feels as if it's singing as he enjoys the serenity of the night and the satisfaction of a completed hunt. There is no doubt in his mind that this is his purpose.
Hannibal is only about ten minutes into his peaceful drive when his phone rings. He intends to let it ring and go to voicemail as an alibi to prove he was asleep, but when he glances at it and sees Will's name flashing on the screen, he doesn't hesitate to answer it. He won't deny the sense of worry that zips through him at wondering what Will could be calling about at this hour.
"Hello, Will."
"You sound awfully awake for," there's a slight pause, "3:43am."
It's been far too long since Hannibal has heard Will's voice, and he suddenly misses him even more. He hasn't seen Will since before he was admitted to the hospital for his encephalitis. Hannibal's heart feels like an aching hole in his chest.
Hannibal replies, "As do you." He hates how audible the smile in his voice is. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I am, actually. I've been asleep most of the time, but I woke up around midnight and couldn't go back to sleep. I, uh…I didn't think you'd pick up."
"I'll always answer for you, Will."
There's a ghost of an embarrassed chuckle on the other line. "And, uh, same for you too. I'll always pick up if you need me."
It shouldn't make Hannibal as elated as he feels. "Thank you." It's far too sincere for what Will told him.
"Are you…" Will falls silent.
"Am I what?"
"Are you okay?"
The question surprises him so thoroughly he blinks blankly at the road for a couple seconds. "Yes, of course I am. Why do you ask?"
"You just seem…off lately."
No one else has even noticed a thing outside his "cold". He isn't sure how to feel about Will knowing he isn't completely alright and then asking him about it out of a place of concern. It's a strange and unfamiliar sensation—being cared for and noticed like this—but it's utterly addicting. His heart flutters in his chest. He must know what Will sees, so he asks,
"How so?"
"Well…you know I feel like the thing with Alana was totally random." Will hesitates but eventually continues, "And you haven't come to see me." He says it quietly. Almost shyly. As if he thinks Hannibal might suddenly dislike him. "And I heard you referred a patient."
Hannibal can't explain to Will the reason for sleeping with Alana and avoiding him without revealing everything, so he deflects by smoothly answering, "Franklyn was far too invested in his relationship with me that it took away from his therapy."
Will doesn't speak for a few moments. "Do you still have that cold?"
Hannibal isn't sure what conclusions Will is making. He isn't sure if he's giving away anything when he speaks. Hannibal has no idea what Will could possibly be thinking. He never has to worry about this with anyone else. It's equally exciting and nerve-wracking. It's self-destructive to want Will's attention like this, but Hannibal doesn't have a lot left to lose. So he answers,
"Yes."
"Have you had a doctor check you out?"
"I am a doctor."
Will laughs something soft and quiet. "Yeah, smartass, I know you're a doctor, but maybe you should have a second opinion. Get whatever diagnosis you've given yourself a peer review. And don't deny that you haven't diagnosed yourself, because I know you."
Hannibal chuckles, feeling a bit like a chided spouse, and thinks it's nice to have someone truly wish for him to be alright. His heart completely belongs to Will. "Very well. Shall I come see you after my doctor's appointment then?" It's a lie. He won't see another doctor. He shouldn't visit Will either, but he's afraid if Will pleads for him to come, then he will.
Softly, "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."
"Then it's set. I will see you soon."
There's a pause, and Hannibal thinks Will hangs up, but then Will says, "I miss you."
Hannibal isn't quite sure how to reply. He isn't sure how to say he misses Will too, but he also misses Will every second they're not together, so he feels a bit off-put. It feels as if his heart is in his hand, and Will might notice Hannibal is offering it to him if he says the wrong thing.
Will hangs up as he hesitates.
~~~~
Hannibal's health takes a turn for the worse. Even if he wanted to visit Will, it's impossible now. Hannibal has a terrible fever and feels as if his lungs rattle with each inhale and exhale. It's as if he can feel the thorny vines squeezing his lungs. He can no longer sleep through the night. Breathing has become a laborious and painful process. He hardly leaves his room, and leaving the house is out of the question. Hannibal caught a look of himself in the bathroom mirror earlier that day, and he looks like the dead. Pale with sunken, dull eyes. The only difference between Hannibal and a corpse is the sweat on his brow from his fever and the heaving breaths he takes that move his entire chest.
His lips are chapped and bloody. The thorns have torn up the inside of his mouth and throat, and when he forces himself to eat, he can only manage a few bites. He supposes he's alright with dying when he can't even enjoy the last meals he's taking the time to prepare for himself.
Hannibal begins to finalize any loose ends he has, generally through letters to colleagues and referrals for his favorite patients. He surprises himself when he writes a letter to Chiyoh.
He can't realistically see everything off that he needs to, and that's just as well. He will continue to live as peacefully and routinely as he can. He tries to get dressed into something more casual than anything he's worn in public in a very long time to see Will, but he has a horrible coughing fit as he's trying to change shirts and lays down to soothe his body and ends up falling asleep for a couple hours instead. Three days pass in this terrible agony, and Hannibal hates himself for wishing for death sooner. It feels like giving up, and he's never been one to lie down and take it.
Both Hannibal's cell phone and home phone have been ringing nearly incessantly. People have noticed his absence, and he's managed to play it off as his "cold" turning out to be bronchitis. It's something he needs to stay home for, and it's something respiratory-related, so the coughing and bedrest are explained. He tells everyone he'll be back soon, but it's a lie. He's gotten a few visitors at his door that he's turned away by ignoring them and saying he was at the doctor or asleep when they came by.
He has a visitor now. The doorbell rings, but Hannibal doesn't move from his lounged position on his couch in front of the fireplace. He's unshaven, and his hair falls over his forehead and tickles his eyelids. He's wearing a button-down with most of the buttons undone and his most comfortable slacks. His body can't choose between feeling ice cold or melting hot. He's attempting to enjoy one of his few remaining favorite wine bottles, but it's difficult when each swallow is painful and tainted with the taste of his own blood.
The doorbell rings again, and Hannibal ignores it. He's done this a few times now and learned people don't continue ringing the doorbell or knocking on the door after about ten minutes. He easily waits out every person who wants to visit.
This visitor is persistent, however, and the doorbell rings again and not even half a minute later there's knocking. Hannibal sighs in annoyance, but his lungs seize, and he coughs something raw and wheezing. His abdomen is sore from all of his coughing, and his body has begun to become too exhausted to keep up longer bouts of coughing. His horrid, wheezing hacks die off quickly—not due to any improvement—but due to his body's inability to continue coughing. The knocking stops. And then,
"Hannibal! It's me! Open up. I know you're in there."
Will.
Like one of Will's well-trained strays, Hannibal is unquestioningly pushing himself out of his chair and walking towards the door. He pauses as he enters the foyer directly in front of the hallway leading to the door. He looks awful. Will is going to be repulsed. He can't be seen like this. Especially not by Will.
This is the last time you'll ever see him.
Will bangs on the door. "Hannibal! Open the door, or I'm coming in!"
That doesn't leave him with much of a choice, so Hannibal braces himself for Will's reaction to his appearance before unsteadily making his way to the door and opening it just enough, so he can peek out and see the object of his suffering.
The daylight is brighter than Hannibal is anticipating, so he blindly blinks into the sunlight, unable to see much of Will. Will is immediately pushing against the door, and Hannibal is about to shove it closed when one of Will's hands lands on his chest and pushes him backwards along with the door. Hannibal stumbles a few steps back, Will's hand still pressed against him, and he hears the door close shut as he's still blinking to adjust his vision. Will's hand is pressed firmly in the center of his chest, and Hannibal's shirt is unbuttoned enough that the majority of Will's palm touches his skin.
Will is frozen in place with his hand remaining on Hannibal, and he is a vision to behold. He's breathing a bit heavily, and his cheeks are tainted a light pink. His curls are wild and untamed just as he is. He is handsome and rugged, yet he possesses a beauty Hannibal is never quite prepared for. Will's eyes are glued to Hannibal's face, and obvious surprise and concern splash across his features. Their gazes are locked like this for several moments. Hannibal finds himself stuck in place, unwilling to break this moment, yet unsure whether he should. The only sound is Hannibal's ragged breathing. It somehow sounds worse like this, louder in the absence of everything else.
Will blinks. He stares at his hand on Hannibal's chest, and Hannibal feels Will's fingers twitch before he's pulling his hand back and shoving them both in the front pockets of his jeans. Will flicks his eyes to something behind Hannibal.
He says, "You look terrible." Will's gaze continues to flitter about, and his shoulders are tense. Hannibal is definitely feeling ill, because Will almost seems…guilty. And that makes no sense. How is Hannibal reading him all wrong?
"Your kind words are always touching," Hannibal retorts.
Will grabs the front of Hannibal's shirt with both hands, impossibly quick, and shoves him against the wall. Hannibal's lungs protest, and he has to take a few deep, steady breaths to prevent coughing all over Will. They're close enough Hannibal feels Will's warm breath fan across his face. A few centimeters closer, and Hannibal could kiss him. One of Will's hands comes to cup his face, and Hannibal's brain completely shuts off. All Hannibal knows in this moment is the steady puff of Will's breath, the warmth of his palm on his cheek, and the intensity of his gaze. Will's eyes are tumultuous—an ocean in a storm—unsure, yet swelling with anger. Will's thumb moves to Hannibal's lower lip and gently pulls it down. Hannibal's heart skips, and his breath hitches. Will's eyes flick down to his lip. Something angry and hurt lights Will's eyes and then he's moving away. The air is cold in Will's sudden vacancy of Hannibal's space.
"Will?" His voice sounds rough and shaken. Weak.
Will's back is facing him, and he slowly turns as he shakes his head. When he's finally facing Hannibal, it's with the startling realization that he's blinking back tears.
"I trusted you, Hannibal." He scoffs then runs his hands through his hair and fists his fingers in his curls and tugs.
"Will," Hannibal says gently and reaches out to soothe him. His brain feels as if it's spinning. He can't catch up with what's going on inside Will's beautiful mind.
"Don't," Will spits. Commands. The glare Will gives him makes Hannibal's heart stop.
Hannibal blinks. "Will, I'm not certain as to what's going on."
Will runs a hand over his face. Swallows. He refuses to meet Hannibal's eyes. "Your lip." Blue eyes lock with Hannibal's for a split second. "It's torn from the thorns."
It takes Hannibal far too long to process Will's words. And then it hits him like a bucket of ice water.
Will knows.
Will continues, "Jack got them to let me out of the hospital early to see the lungs." He fixes Hannibal with a steely, firm look as he adds, "And to see the body."
"I see," Hannibal replies. "Have you come to arrest me? Kill me?"
Will flicks a quick, cold look over Hannibal. "What would be the point?"
A delicious thrill strikes through Hannibal at Will's apathy. His darkness. "Will—"
Will puts a hand up and interrupts, "I just came here to see if I was right." He sounds disappointed and betrayed when he quietly adds, "Guess I was." He holds Hannibal's gaze for a moment more before rushing out the door. It slams behind him, and the sound reverberates through Hannibal's house like a church bell during a funeral.
~~~~
It's as if Will's straightforward rejection is the final nail in the coffin. Hannibal had taken a shower after Will left. He found himself failing to stifle back sobs. It only exasperated his lungs, so he ended up crying and choking in the shower like some weak little thing left outside to die. It's exactly how he felt. But crying was cathartic, and a strange tranquility fell over him after his shower.
He falls into a restless sleep, and when he wakes up, he knows he barely has any time left. His mind feels hazy and sluggish, as if he's high or drunk or some strange combination of both. His hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and he can't be bothered to wipe it off. Everything outside of the immediate feel of his silk sheets on his naked skin feels far away and dull. It feels as if the world is shrinking since his perception of it becomes smaller and smaller with each passing minute. All his existence becomes is feverishly tossing and turning in bed, each breath he takes rattling his entire body. He's dehydrated, and his dry mouth is filled with the metallic tang of his own blood.
His only solace is the final indulgence he's allowed himself. One of Will's shirts. It's a plain white t-shirt he'd stolen the night he went to kill Will and failed. It still smells of him, and Hannibal buries his face into it now, painfully taking in deep breaths to fill himself with Will's scent. It's pathetic, but the last thing he wants to know of this world is Will, even if he only gets one small, stolen piece of him.
Hannibal is drifting in that odd space between dreaming and waking, and he can't trust his senses to tell him what's truly happening. He thinks he hears a distant banging, and another sound that reminds him of Will's voice. He knows it must be because of the way he's pressing his face into Will's shirt. Everything is tainted with Will now. Then he hears something rhythmic. It becomes louder. It sounds quite a lot like someone is running up his stairs. Hannibal doesn't have the energy to move nor care. His eyes remain closed, and his face remains buried in Will's shirt.
"Hannibal! Hannibal!"
Well, now he certainly must be dreaming if he hears Will calling his name.
"Hanni–"
The world stills momentarily.
A breathless, desperate, "Oh my god. No. No, no, no. Hannibal."
It feels as if the Earth is shifting. It might also simply be the mattress dipping beside him.
"Hannibal. Hannibal! Oh, god."
Something warm and solid pulls his face away from Will's shirt. A low whine of protest escapes Hannibal, but it's all he can muster.
A soft, euphoric sound, then, "You're alive!" A breathless laugh. "You're alive."
Hannibal can distinctively feel two warm, firm hands tilt his face upwards. The movement is a tad too sudden, and his breath is tangled with the thorny flowers lining his throat, and he chokes. Then he's being moved. Laid down on his back. Head tilted to be completely straight. The air flows through him easier. He wants Will's shirt back.
"Hannibal. Hannibal, look at me. Please." The hands are on his face again, delicately caressing his cheeks. "Please," the voice that sounds too much like Will's begs.
The only warning Hannibal receives is a puff of warm air against his face before soft, plush lips press gently against his. They don't stop. They kiss him desperately, incessantly, but they remain gentle. Always so, so gentle. It's a shame Hannibal doesn't have the energy to kiss back.
"H-Hannibal, please. I…fuck." More kisses. "Please, please. I…I love you too, okay? Do you hear me? I love you too. I love you too."
The kisses are everywhere now. They ghost across his nose, his cheekbones, his eyebrows. Those gentle lips kiss every inch of his face. The warm hands brush his hair from his forehead and more kisses are placed there. He's held so reverently. So cherished. When he feels warm salty tears drip onto his face, he can only compare it to a baptism, because something powerful has shifted. Something miraculous has occurred. The tears he is being gifted with are transforming him; he is reborn. Hannibal's chest still rattles when he intakes a deeper breath, and his eyes reluctantly flutter open.
Will is above him. Tears run down his face, and fear and desperation are uncontrollable fires in his eyes. Hannibal has never been looked at like this before. So deeply. So cared for.
So loved.
Something in his airway shifts. Perhaps nothing but a petal falling, or perhaps something else he's unwilling to name because he thinks a little hope will truly be the end of him, but he can breathe a little better now. It's the slightest bit less painful when he inhales to murmur,
"Will."
#hannibal#hannibal fanfic#hannibal fic#hannigram#hannigram fic#will graham#hannibal lecter#fanfiction#fanfic#angst#pining#hannibal oneshot#hannigram oneshot#hanahaki disease
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𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓
𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙
✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠
Hannibal Lector, the enigmatic forensic psychiatrist and notorious serial killer, harbored a secret obsession that burned with an intensity that chilled to the bone. His unwavering gaze, piercing maroon eyes, and lips curved in a sinister smile, betrayed his fascination with a specific individual: the enigmatic [Y/N].
Their paths had crossed at a psychiatric hospital, where Hannibal cunningly studied [Y/N's] vulnerability and frailties. Intrigued by her resilience and the shadows that lingered in her eyes, he became ensnared, consumed by a desire to possess her.
Hannibal's love was not pure or selfless. It was an obsessive infatuation, a twisted desire to claim [Y/N] for his own, regardless of her feelings. His every thought and action was driven by his fixation on her.
As [Y/N's] life became entwined with Hannibal's, she sensed an unsettling presence lurking in the shadows. Unnoticed glances, mysteriously opened doors, and the eerie silence that enveloped her sent shivers down her spine.
One fateful night, as [Y/N] returned home from work, she found a note on her doorstep scrawled in Hannibal's elegant handwriting. A chilling invitation to dinner, promising an unforgettable evening filled with tantalizing culinary delights and intellectual discussions.
Unable to resist the allure of Hannibal's charismatic nature, [Y/N] accepted. As the clock struck seven, she found herself seated at Hannibal's lavish dining table, unaware of the fate that awaited her.
With each course, Hannibal's obsession became more apparent. His intense gaze never left [Y/N's] face, as if he could devour her with his eyes. The pleasantries he whispered turned into possessive declarations, and the air grew heavy with his desperation.
As the evening reached its climax, Hannibal's mask of civility shattered. He revealed his true intentions, confessing his unyielding love for [Y/N] and his willingness to eliminate any obstacles that stood in his way.
Terror flooded [Y/N's] veins as she realized the true nature of Hannibal's obsession. She fled his mansion, desperate to escape the suffocating grasp of a madman.
Hannibal pursued her relentlessly, his possessiveness fueled by rejection. Anyone who dared to approach [Y/N] faced the wrath of his deadly cunning. Friends, family, and even potential lovers vanished without a trace, leaving [Y/N] utterly isolated and vulnerable.
As Hannibal's obsession grew, so did his methods. He manipulated events to isolate [Y/N] from society, ensuring that she had nowhere to turn. Fear gnawed at her mind, as she became trapped in a twisted game of cat and mouse.
Time seemed to lose all meaning as the hunt intensified. [Y/N] clung to hope, desperately seeking a way to escape Hannibal's clutches. But the more she resisted, the more determined he became to claim her as his own.
In the end, a bloody confrontation ensued, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Hannibal's obsession had consumed him, driving him to the brink of madness and beyond. And as [Y/N] emerged from the darkness, forever scarred by Hannibal's twisted love, she learned a chilling truth: the human heart is capable of harboring the most sinister of desires.
#x reader#one shot#dark#obsessive yandere#obsession#hannibal oneshot#hannibal lecter#hannibal lecter x reader#agnst#captive#Mads Mikkelsen#Mads Mikkelsen x reader#Mads Mikkelsen Oneshot
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Hi! Can I please make a request?
If yes: thank you!
Could you write Hannibal giving his male!reader a blowjob?
Thank you and I hope you have a good day!
✧*̥˚ PAIRING: *̥˚✧ Hannibal x M!Reader
✧*̥˚ UNIVERSE: *̥˚✧ Hannibal
✧*̥˚ PROMPT: *̥˚✧ See above
✧*̥˚ WORD COUNT: *̥˚✧ 480
✧*̥˚ TRIGGER WARNINGS: *̥˚✧ PWP | Male Oral | Male Finish | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this…
✧*̥˚ NOTES: *̥˚✧ I hope this finds you well. Pretty basic request. Thank you for an easy porn without plot request was easy to bust out. Sorry it took so long had family over yesterday. Hope you enjoy
✧*̥˚ DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @nyxvuxoa
✧*̥˚ My Master Masterlist | Hannibal Masterlist *̥˚✧
Never sloppy, this man was a professional even in intimate moments. However, the only reason why he was on his knees in front of you and not the other way around was because he lost a bet. He wasn't a sports fan, and you knew that you took advantage of the situation, and now you were being rewarded. It wasn't every day he lost a bet either, but, that being said, you were immensely enjoying what you felt was a well-deserved reward.
As the hot shower water adds to the pleasure, you look down, watching as his lips form perfectly around you, savoring the flesh, making sure you are well tended to. The stroke of his hand, the bob of his head, the attention to the little details. How you could feel the tension and tautness of the lips to add that perfect amount of pressure around, tight but not too tight.
You hang your head back as you enjoy this moment. The subtle stroke of his hand as his mouth glides along your slick stiffened flesh. Of course, he knew what he was doing, and you were bearing witness to it now.
Looking back down you watch as his lips move along the side of your cock, the length from base to tip, his tongue curled around the underside of your shaft, the way he moved along the side and wrapped around back to the tip only to press your head between his lips again and press you to the back of his throat as he picks up the pace.
You hang your head back and let out a long draw out moan into the bathroom as it echoes in the shower bouncing off those glass walls. Your body tenses with this intense wave of heat. Feeling it wash over you it's like prickles to your flesh. You let out another moan. Your eyes close as you reach down and grip the back of his head as your hips buckle in a rhythmic motion.
The faster he moves the faster your hips move in a perfect tandem motion. The perfect about of give and take. With a faster bob comes a tighter pressure, comes a quicker build of your own pressure but you're unable to hold back any longer. Before you could even get a word in edgewise you're letting out a loud moan of pure satisfaction. Your voice echoes in his ears.
As your cock twitches with your finish, like the professional this man is, Hannibal takes the load, proceeds to stand up with your cock in hand, pulls you closer, and looks down at you as he stands a fair bit taller than you.
"Next time, you're the one on your knees…" He stated with a small smirk.
"Whatever you say." You state with a soft chuckle kind of out of breath and in a daydream-like state.
#hannibal x male reader#Hannibal x m!reader#hannibal imagine#hannibal x reader#hannibal x you#hannibal fluff#hannibal angst#hannibal smut#hannibal lecter imagine#Hannibal oneshot#smut prompts#hannibal fanfiction#hannibal lecter x reader#hannibal lecter x you#hannibal prompt#hannibal lecter angst#smutty smut smut#hannibal lecter#hannibal#hannibal nbc#hannibal netflix#mads mikkelsen#VoxMortuus
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PEDIDOS ABIERTOS: HANNIBAL
REGLAS
Un pedido por mensaje y, obviamente, deben decir con quién o quienes lo quieren.
Es obligatorio entregarme una situación o sinopsis, así es más fácil y rápido escribirlo.
Pueden darme nombre y cualquier otro tipo de característica que deseen para su protagonista, las personalizaciones son aceptadas.
Deben votar, como mínimo, el apartado donde publico lo que pidieron. En caso contrario, se les prohíbe solicitar algo más en cualquier futura tanda.
CONTENIDO
En género y temática acepto todo: fluff, angst, poliamor, A/B/O, vampiros, etc.
Después de tantos años de escribir estoy ligeramente exhausta de redactar smut y puede que no adentre demasiado si piden aquello, aunque dependerá de la inspiración del momento.
Escribo HanniGram, pero debe ser en relación con el protagonista de su creación, no escribo ships por sí solos.
No sé cuánto dure esta etapa con HANNIBAL, pero al menos espero expandir la comunidad en español, ¡los espero! ♡
#hannibal#hannibal nbc#hannibal lecter#will graham#hannigram#pedidos#request#nbc hannibal#hannibal lecter x you#hannibal lecter x reader#hannibal lecter x oc#will graham x you#will graham x reader#will graham x oc#imagine#imagines#scenario#scenarios#oneshot#oneshots
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Okay so I've been meaning to do this for ever but here we are decided to make this so I can start writing oneshots for Hannigram!
So you can request ideas, I will only be doing Hannibal x child / teen readers no Romance only platonic oneshots.
#hannibal#hannigram#will graham#hannibal lecter#fanfic#oneshot#hannibal lecter x will graham#murder husbands#x child reader#x teen!reader#x daughter!reader#x son reader#hannibal x teen reader
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