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pinkslashersimp · 2 years

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yandere nbc hannibal with a very chill fem darling? like he kidnaps her and she’s just like ‘i don’t have to pay rent or work and you’ll feed me and love me unconditionally?? bet sign me up’ lmao i think that would be me. idk just random domestic headcanons would be nice 😩😭

YES YES ABSOLUTELY YES

this would also be me (but with like, much more added fear💀) at least i’d have part of my life sorted

i’ll do a drabble and then put some domestic headcanons down for u💗

TW: Yandere behaviour, toxic relationship, implied kidnapping and false imprisonment, manipulation reader is female

NBC!Hannibal x Accepting Female!Reader💗🌷 (and domestic headcanons)

Domestic headcanons under the cut:)

On the surface, from the minute he took you, it seemed as if you were simply in too much shock to properly respond to what he had just done.

From the lack of fighting, screaming, crying, or begging like he had expected, Hannibal just assumed perhaps your mind had switched itself to survival instinct. To be as kind and patient with him as possible from the fear he may harm or kill you

And Hannibal loves the fact you’re so accepting of the sudden situation, it makes accepting being with him much easier and means he is able to be so much more lenient with restricting your freedom within the house.

He adores how you’ll obey any command without question, sitting when asked to or retreating to another room when he needs you to leave momentarily.

On the surface, it does seem like everything is alright.

But below? He’s concerned for you, quite a bit.

Sure, he presumed you were simply in shock, and it should've worn off the more he slyly therapised you, but each time you became more and more accepting of his i healthy obsession towards you, and his constant affections.

It worried him greatly that perhaps you’d developed stockholm syndrome. He wanted your devoted love, not some sick loyalty.

He was also concerned that perhaps you were trying to earn his trust to run away

So, he brought his concerns up with you one night over dinner, mentioning how ‘well behaved’ you’ve been and how you should think of a ‘reward’

((*hint hint* “please tell me why you’re being so obedient, darling. *hint hint*))

“I don’t want a reward Hanni, I just like living here with you. it’s free and I don’t have to work” you reply nonchalantly, barely lifting your eyes away from the food as you eat

Hes a little insulted that you view him more as a home and money bank, but happy nonetheless that you see him as the sole provider and have to rely on him only for food and shelter

You can tell that you’ve insulted him a little, so that evening whilst he’s reading in his study you come up behind him and wrap your arms around his neck, asking when he’s coming to bed because you can’t sleep without him

(He forgives you forever)

Hey, it’s a win-win.

Most chores in the house have already been completed before you’ve even noticed something needs to be cleaned. Hannibal takes care of it for you, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t little things you can do

Hannibal will not let you cook. no no no. He’s worried his ‘special eating habits’ will undo all the love you have for him and you’ll run away, or worse, cease to love him at all.

He lets you wash the dishes instead, snaking his arms around your waist from behind when you take too long.

Dusting the corners of the bookshelf, only Hannibal persuades you to climb down from the ladder since “it doesn’t need to be dusted”

(Hes actually just scared you’ll fall)

Loves spending his off days with you quietly reading whilst you sit in his lap, one hand on the book and the other running through your hair

When he trusts you enough, he’ll start bringing you out.

Never to his parties, no. Nobody can know you’re with him since your disappearance, but he’ll roam the woods with you or take you somewhere nice and secluded, letting you babble away at whatever current thing you’re interested in

Which, speaking of babbling, he loves hearing you talk. Tell him anything and he’ll listen intently, eyes softening at the sound of your voice

#slasher headcanons #slashers #yandere slashers #hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #yandere hannibal #yandere hannibal headcanons #yandere hannibal x reader #yandere hannibal x you #yandere hannibal fic #hannibal x you #hannibal headcanons #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal fic #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter fic #male yandere

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salemwritesstuff · 10 months

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lachrymose

part I | part II

pairing: hannibal lecter x gn reader

pronouns: they/them

desc: meeting your new psychiatrist , hannibal lecter

trigger warnings: mentions of attempted sewerslide, mentions of self-destructive behavior/alcoholism/SH

w.c: 1,056

your boot tapped hurriedly against the tile, thumbnail between your teeth as you observed the area you waited in. the walls hung paintings, and the sofa you sat on was made of leather, damask sitting diagonally pillows on either side. on the far left, there was a leather chair and a wooden dresser, old books stacked atop the polished wood. at first, the aura the room produced made you think "old money", but now that you got a good look of your surroundings, you knew the doctor you were about to see had dignity, taste. expensive taste, from the looks of it.

the door opened, and out came a man, standing six feet tall donning a full black suit and maroon button up. you were right about his aura; there in the doorway, he stood tall, dignified, confident.

the corners of his lips pulled up in a small smile, and he moved to the side, arm motioning from you to the room. "come in."

you cleared your throat and stood from your seat, taking careful steps inside. his office bore shelves full of books, few paintings hanging on each wall. in the center was his desk, minimal and organized. in front were two brown leather chairs, about six feet apart from each other. like the waiting room and himself, it was tasteful.

he appeared in front of you. you nearly jumped from his sudden presence. "have a seat." he said, motioning for one of the leather seats. you did, and so did he.

"you're doctor hannibal lecter?" you asked, eyes scanning the room.

"yes." he answered simply. you could feel his eyes on you. he cleared his throat. "let's go over why you're here, shall we." it wasn't a question; it was a statement. you nodded.

"your doctor recommended you to me. would you like to say why?" he inquired. you looked at him, his eyes glued to the file in his lap.

"he says i need a support system." you told him.

"yes, i see that." he stated, looking up at you. "why does he say you need one."

you clicked your tongue, eyes flicking to the file. "is this necessary, doctor lecter."

"yes." he answered. "it is important that we go over the facts."

"you already have the facts. there, in your lap."

he nodded. "i want you to confirm them."

you cleared your throat. "he says i need one because..." you paused, tongue going dry. "because..." you closed your eyes, fingers lacing together. your boot tapped against the floor, and you wished then that it wasn't so hard to say. you'd gone over it in your head multiple times. "i tried to kill myself."

hannibal nodded. "it says here that you have a history of self-destructive behavior. alcoholism, drug use, self harm..." he looked up at you. "would you like to go over why?"

you shook your head, taking a deep breath. you peeled your eyes open, trying your best to look up at him.

"do you have a hard time with eye contact, y/n?" he asked.

"i have a hard time with any contact, honestly." you laughed, throat dry. your eyes meet the tiled floor. "it's hard for me to... be vulnerable like that."

hannibal nodded. his eyes were glued on you. you could feel them, a scratching feeling on your brain.

"tell me about yourself."

"there isn't much to tell."

"i disagree."

you looked up at him. "there isn't. everything about me is in that file of yours."

"everything about your disorder and medical history. nothing about you." he corrected. "what do you enjoy doing in your spare time?"

you shrugged. "i..." you sighed through your nose, looking at your hands. "i used to paint."

"used to?"

"i stopped when my mental health went downhill." you clicked your tongue. "i had no motivation. no muse, either."

"what was your muse?" you looked up at hannibal. then back down.

"she..." your voice shook. the noise of your doctor's pen was loud in your ears. your eyes shut tightly, tears burning them. "...was my mother."

hannibal's writing stilled. he looked up from his journal, eyes laying over you. "what was so special about your mother that made you want to immortalize her?"

you sighed, tongue in cheek. "when i was a child, i'd have bad meltdowns. maybe it was the noise, or textures... i wouldn't let anyone touch me... but, my mom..." you smiled gently. "...she'd get me my favorite stuffed animal, sit a few inches away from me, until i felt safe enough to crawl to her and let her hold me. and when i did, she'd hold me, and she'd hum a melody. sometimes, i'd ask her to sing, and she would." you looked up at him. "it was the medicine to my meltdowns, and was the only thing she could do to get me to go to sleep."

you looked back down at your hands. "that's the only good memory i have with her."

hannibal's eyes were still glued to you. "what makes that the only good memory?"

"because... every other memory i have with her... include her drinking, or yelling, or beating."

"beating who?" he asked. you looked up at him, and you finally let tears roll down your cheeks.

"me."

hannibal set his journal and the file aside. he watched as you cried, until you could barely think, and you found it hard to breathe. he got up, taking short strides until he stood in front of you. kneeling down, he reached for his handkerchief, pulling it from his suit jacket pocket and pressing its silk against your cheek.

you looked up at him through your lashes, watching as he dried your tears. his eyes meet yours, and the corners of his lips tug upwards subtly.

your eyes don't leave him as he stood and made way for his seat. it was quiet as he folded the fabric and slid it back into place in his suit jacket.

"you are my sunshine."

hannibal looked at you. "is that the song she sang to you?"

you nodded. "it was." you looked at the paintings hung up on the walls.

"why did you try to take your life, y/n?" he inquired. you looked back at him. giving him a sad smile, you answered,

"i wanted to join her."

———

a/n: i hope you enjoyed !! send me any requests/commissions you might have !!

#mads mikkelsen hannibal #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x male reader #hannibal lecter fic #hannibal fanfic #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x reader #angst #hannibal lecter angst

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theredofoctober · 7 months

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MANNA- CHAPTER FIVE: OATS

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

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

This is chronologically the fifth chapter in the series

---

The day after the failed feast Dr Lecter enters your unhappy chamber to find you already awake, greasily feverish in the maelstrom of narcotic hangover. Moaning under the dripping cloth of your bedsheet, you wince from the light that punctures the room as Hannibal draws back the curtains with a determined flourish.

"This is what happens when you do not eat and drink enough, I'm afraid," he says, putting a lusciously cool hand to your brow. "The excitement around the table certainly didn't help matters. Had you been receptive, then you would have been hydrated, full-bellied, and ready for the day ahead. Alas, your mulish nature is the portcullis that refuses you entry into better health. I cannot raise it for you."

You haven't the life in you to retaliate to such sanctimonious jibes, and he well knows it.

Humming a strand of Vide Cor Meum, Hannibal glides about you, first plumping your pillow, then holding a glass of water to your lips until you must either drink, or drown. In fractured gulps you salve your chapped throat with it, then part your lips again for a spoon of porridge; to your surprise, the portion spilled from cutlery to tongue is slim, a suggestion of treaty, of a temporary kind.

"I will never make you eat more than is reasonable, little one," says Hannibal, meeting your narrowed stare so frankly that you are almost abashed by the look. "It would do you no good to upset your stomach any further. I will minimise your intake for a few days, at least."

The suggestion is so unbelievable that you search his plain expression for the merest taint of trickery.

"You're not... angry with me," you observe, at last.

Dr Lecter's head inclines.

"Any ill feelings between us were settled at dinner, were they not?"

He helps you to the bathroom, stepping politely outside the door as you list at a sloppy port-wise angle, gripping either side of the bowl with preventative force; you may fall should you let go, humiliate yourself in the necessity of further care.

That Hannibal reverts to a veneer of nurturing aid after an episode of violence with such undisturbed ease frightens you, as does your instinct to accept that profferred assistance. Too many years span from here to the last time you allowed yourself to do so, and though you know well Dr Lecter's malign in having manufactured such frailty, you may never regain the position to resist it without him.

As with Will, your way out of this house is to drive yourself further in.

"I'll return home early today," says Hannibal, as he eases you back into bed in stops and starts to accomodate each shimmer of nausea. "I can reschedule my afternoon appointments for another time."

"Don't bother," you mutter, against your pillow. "I want to be on my own."

"I'm aware of that. Nevertheless, I will be here to monitor you. If you're feeling better tonight, then I will conduct your next therapy session."

Fear flowers at your core, all thorn tipped leaves.

"I won't be better," you say, your lips still crushed to starched cotton. "That promise I made to you about trying— I can't stick to that. I can't be the person you need. And I can't eat. It's too hard for me."

Hannibal lays a hand on your back, soothing you as he might an infant with colic.

"I know," he says, simply. "Relapses are to be expected. Neither Will or I will admonish you for that. What I will not tolerate is rudeness. I have demonstrated what will occur if you do not keep your tongue in check."

At this your head snaps upright against the pull of sickness.

"Aren't you rude?" you ask, sharply. "And Will?"

Hannibal pats down your coverlet, quite unoffended.

"One might argue that is down to interpretation. I pride myself on cultivating elegance, which includes manners, as a matter of course. Will, however, is— unique. I overlook his cruder moments for the complexity layered beneath them. As for what we have done to you, it is unfortunate that you cannot observe the act through our eyes, and perceive its beauty, as well as your own."

To this, you have no answer. You can think only of snaring hands, of Will's stubble scarring your cheek, and the blood broken like bottled wine across your inner thighs, so much ugliness paraded as glory.

"Please drink the water I've left out for you," says Hannibal.

You do, for he will know, if you do not.

There was something in that glass, or the oats, you comprehend, for when you are next conscious you are propped upright in a leather chair, only part returned from witless repose.

A metronome clicks at your ear, back and forth.

Lights flash and cease, white and black their blinking through the timeless night in which Dr Lecter has you drown. You sit, or swim in it; you cannot tell. The fungal spell of Hannibal's cooking robs you of both voice and tether to the earth. You could be foam in a Homerean ocean, where men become pigs on its alien isles.

You too might be such a beast, or a child, or some sylph of amorphous matter trapped in such hampering skin.

The sound of your breath comes, shuttered and sharp.

A warm hand cups your chest, and your lungs seem to open to its gesture as though by unknown magic.

Then a voice murmurs from a face before you, its shape without edge, an orb.

"You are safe. You are cared for. You belong."

Like a switchblade across your eye the light comes again, and you are part of it, an impulse that is all life, all one.

Hannibal speaks your name, grounding you to him, as to a stack in some wild sea.

"I'm going to ask you some questions now," he tells you. "They may be difficult. Try to answer them honestly."

There is only a man here, there is only light; you cannot refuse them.

"Okay," you mumble.

Hannibal's pleasure in your answer is a current timed to the swishing metronome.

"How did your eating disorder begin?" he asks. "What did it look like, then?"

"Just a diet, at first," you say. "The meals got smaller and smaller. Then a lot of food scared me. I started counting calories. Throwing food out. Being around anyone eating was like I was being tortured. That's when I knew that something was really wrong with me."

You hear the scratch of a pen on an unseen pad.

"I see. And how did that realisation make you feel?"

"Nothing. I didn't care. Then I started to like it. Challenging myself. The compliments— feeling like I had something nobody else did, that I was so good at— It became everything I was. My identity, kind of."

How easy it is to speak, when you cannot see the expression of the listener before you.

"Trauma frequently shapes us in our formative years," Hannibal comments. "It is a natural response to build oneself in its image. So, let us retreat to older memories. Tell me of a time that you recall being afraid."

The flashing light numbs to an ebbing glow.

"There was this guy," you say. "A guy that my dad was friends with. Still is. His name is Leland Frost. He used to come over to our house all the time. He was always so friendly, but I knew that there was something wrong with him. There was something in his eyes, the way he laughed too much, or stood too close to me. Like he was putting on a rubber Hallowe'en mask of a regular guy, and everyone was just pretending it was fine, but they really weren't pretending."

"Elaborate."

You gnaw at your lower lip until you taste warm iron, and consider spitting out the calories.

"I tried to tell people about it," you say. "But Dad could never see it. He'd just say, 'oh, that's just Lee. Silly old Uncle Lee. That's just how he is.' But I knew. I saw him. I smelled the cheap rubber mask."

"Did this Uncle Lee ever hurt you?" asks Hannibal, softly. "Touch you in an inappropriate manner?"

This memory is dusky, a cobwebbed photograph.

"I don't know," you admit, at last. "I always thought he wanted to, though. I always thought the minute my parents left me alone with him something bad would happen. The waiting was always the worst part."

A pause, in which you sense rather than see Dr Lecter watching you through the dark-light-darkness.

"But maybe it wasn't Uncle Lee that I was waiting for," you say, at last. "Maybe it was you and Will."

The gloom becomes further marred by tears, and you feel a box of tissues being pressed into your loose hand.

"That's enough for today," says Hannibal, rising from his seat. "You've done well for me. This calls for a reward."

He crosses the room to pick up a telephone, glancing at you with an unintelligible heat in his eyes.

"Good evening," he says, into the receiver. "I hope this is a convenient time for you. Yes, that is correct; I'm calling about your daughter's progress. I am very satisfied with her cooperation today. We are approaching some early milestones."

Hearing the tinny, distant voices of your parents, you struggle towards a lucidity that feels so desperately out of touch.

Hannibal crosses the room towards you again and turns the phone away from his mouth to murmur, "I will allow you a few words to them, if you will be sensible."

By this he means: if you do not give the game away.

You nod your head jerkily and extend a fist as Dr Lecter introduces you into the conversation.

"She is here, now. Somewhat tired, but all is well."

You clenched the receiver to your ear, tears coming in such a quick patter that, at first, you can only sit in hyperventilating silence as your parents babble at you, their voices sharp with an underlying guilt.

"How are you, honey? It's so good to hear from you! We love you! Is everything okay?"

Each day you've been parted from them you've missed them as you would your most vital structures, with a sore and deathly strength, yet your love is not so stark as your disappointment in being so abandoned by them.

"No," you say, at last. "I'm not okay, Mom. Dad. How could you send me away and not even warn me?"

The babbling rises, panic in male and female iteration.

"We had no other choice. It was all we could think to do! We tried everything. But Dr Lecter's helping you, isn't he?"

Hannibal's stare is, itself, a warning.

Pressing your knuckles to your anguished mouth, you pass the telephone back to him, not trusting yourself not to scream for help and damn yourself to the harshest punishment that such an executioner of free will might hand to you.

"She is overwrought," says Dr Lecter, apologetically. "I'll call again next week."

He hangs up, and leans across to clean the tears from your face himself, ensuring the tissue is discarded in a wastpaper basket; even in this he must be perfect, organised and pristine. You hate him for it, this performance he makes of his life, preserving such details as no one would be likely to notice but him.

"I wish you hadn't let me talk to them," you whisper. "Now I feel even worse."

"Of course you do," says Hannibal. "Your family betrayed you. It would be much more unusual if you held no resentment towards them at all."

You squint up at him in accusation.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Leaving a wound open may sometimes allow it to dry, and subsequently heal. You will not advance without acknowledging the harm your parents have done to you, whether through dispatching you to me without consent, or by ignoring your justifiable fear of Leland Frost. The map to your mental injury is unfurling before us: the continents take shape, as do the names that mark each turn in your unhappy life. In time, I will know them all."

Weeping, you slip down in your chair, not wanting to see the truth that thrusts itself up from the outcrop of evil.

"I will help you to your room," says Dr Lecter. "More sleep is in order, I think."

Will Graham enters the house some time in the night; you hear his low voice through the floorboards as you lie in swaying wakefulness, wondering what brings the professor here at so late an hour. He stays for so long that he accepts an invite into one of Hannibal's spare rooms, a fact that you discern from the voices passing your door in the hallway.

Again you sleep, though not pleasantly, your psyche disturbed by the third presence in the building, and by the lasting bruise of Dr Lecter's relentless torments.

In this sleep you dream of an antlered thing burying you in a terracotta wood, its face so darkly passive as soil smothers your airways that you might well be a bone, stored there to be gnawed at some late and starving hour.

When you emerge from this haunted slumber you still feel the threads of it still noosed around you; dream-sick, drug-thick, you stagger across your bedroom and, finding the door unlocked, tumble on into the hallway beyond.

By chance you find Will's room, letting yourself into quarters that smell of night-sweat, and pine, and male musk. You scarcely know what you do as you climb into bed with him against his salty heat, nor why it is he, of your abusers, that you seek.

Will starts awake, wild-haired and horrified as he senses your body beside him. Your name bolts from his lips, scarcely recognisable, the utterance of an animal groomed to speak a human tongue.

"What are you doing here? You should be in your own room."

Keeping your back to him, you drowsily reply.

"Had a bad dream."

Will breathes an ironic laugh.

"And you think you'll sleep any better in my bed? I destroyed you, remember?"

Self-blame, self-loathing, all jagged and tail-swallowing teeth.

"No," you mumble. "He did. Not you, Daddy."

You feel Will sit up behind you, scratching a hand through his unruly curls.

"You're not in your right mind," he announces, gruffly. "I'd better tell Dr Lecter to stop giving you whatever medication you're on. It's not good for you. No wonder you're having nightmares."

Still, he doesn't attempt to turn you out of bed, or to call Hannibal to eject you on his behalf. He only slouches, gazing at you, until you turn on your side to look back at his pretty, troubled face in its nest of brindled shadow.

Will's shoulders still droop in a mode of shame, yet the black of the room deepens the blue of his eyes into a yearning colour through which many a woman would gladly fall. He wants you here, you realise, perhaps likes the power he holds in having you soft and needful beside him, in his lair, after all he's done.

You should detest him for feeling it, and you do.

But recognising that craving within him reawakens the understanding of that power you may yet hold over him, in return, the mistress of a cur that bites all but those that direct the leash.

It is a long way off, this control, but the taste of it will do, for now.

"Let me stay," you implore, fluttering sodden eyelashes in a coquettish attempt to convince him. "Please? Just for tonight? I don't want that dream to come back."

You'll loathe yourself for this, in the morning, but now all you care for is the night. Will seems to be having the same thought, for he lies back down on the mattress again, taking care to leave ample space between you.

How does he compartmentalise his violence—his taste for it—from his revulsion towards you, and further still from the empathy that stirs in him like a stamped out fire?

"Just one night," says Will, sternly. "I don't know what Hannibal is going to say about this."

You pull the quilt up under your chin, almost giddy with your achievement, and with it the comfort that pours over you like a September afternoon. This strange happiness you will remember, and wonder at, when all you should have known were the tatters of despair.

"Dr Lecter left my door unlocked," you say, as Will moves in restless, settling motions at your back, still refusing to make contact with your skin. "So it's really his fault I'm here, you know."

At this Will half-rises again, but whatever question or comment he murmurs is lost to your abrupt slumber.

By morning he is gone, and you are alone again, only the scent of the monster remaining about you to mark out your miserable self-treachery.

He is not there to see you thrust the sheets against your face and inhale their bitter stink, if only to claw back the triumph of having made vulnerable a man so very closed to contact of the most human kind.

He is not there, and he is everywhere.

Will is as part of this house as Dr Lecter, now.

#ao3 writer #manna fic #yandere will graham #yandere hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #tw darkfic #tw eating disorders #tw anorexia #tw abuse #tw drugs #tw noncon #dead dove do not eat #hannibal lecter fic

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ellieslittleburrow · 3 days

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Suss us reeeeally seem to be enjoying the Hannibal lecter x daughter fics more than any othr character/ character pairing. Hannibal always gets the most attention, for some reason.

BUT WHY

#daughter!reader #father figure fic #adoptive father troop #daughter x father #sibling fic #sister!reader #sister x brothers #protective father #protective brother #hannibal lecter x daughter #father hannibal lecter #hannibal x daughter!reader #hannibal lecter fic #lecter daughter #abigail hobbs

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emptinesstomelodyao3 · 1 year

Photo

Hi, I’m not dead..

In case you ever wanted to know how I plan my fics - here’s my latest brain storm.

(doodle in bottom right is traced because I wanted to emphasise certain parts rather than just have that full scene)

Image text below:

Hannibal = Pygmalion

write about drawing Will -> ‘carving’ = creating will into a murderer

meets will sees ‘potential’

begins creating/’carving’ will to be his -> the #manipulation

falls in love when “completed” i.e. will says he wants to kill him

Will: I want to kill you with my bare hands

Hannibal: I have never craved a man so carnally until now

Will = “Galatea”

Ivory skin motifs

statue = perfection

aphrodite mentions ?

I want will to wake up sweaty because of gay thoughts...

[in reference to an image of Pygmalion kneeling beside his statue] the way he is worshipping her... very hannibalesque

multiple chapters??? -> follow series plot w/ some extras

[in reference to a screencap of Hannibal’s drawing of Achilles and Patroclus] hannibal self insert fanart

-> also need to write the hannigram illiad fanfic...

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locke-writes · 2 years

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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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gothicwill · 3 months

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I love it when fic writers just get them

#they’re so funny #fic is veins as fine as rabbit hair by lovetincture #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannigram #hannibal lecter #nbc hannigram #hugh dancy #mads mikkelsen

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ganem-ouchie · 2 months

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Absurd au arc post fall where they're caught and instead of being shot on the spot they're imprisoned together on the BSHCI driving every worker insane with that gay shit save me..

#...this may or may not be a fic idea im saving for later #will graham #hannibal #hannigram #nbc hannibal #hannibal fanart #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #digital art #my art

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devouringbodies · 3 months

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It's actually criminal how few bodyswap fics are in the hannibal fandom. With the insane psychosexual mental bdsm those two canonly engage in could you imagine how crazy they'd get if they literally could be inside each other's flesh and brains.

#🪰#hannibal #will graham #hannigram #hannibal lecter #nbc hannibal #I'm ngl something I've noticed is aside from abo the hannibal fandom really doesn't have a huge lot in the way of trope fics #like there are usually a few for just almost everything for sure but compared to other fandoms #it just seems like trope fics in general aren't done as much

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hannibals-hoe · 7 months

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Saw this on tiktok thought it applied to me better than any meme I’ve ever seen so

#Hannibal is my Roman Empire #hannibal #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannigram #nbc hannibal #netflix hannibal #will x hannibal #doctor lecter #mads mikkelsen #hannibal hot takes #Hannibal and classical music #hannibal fic #hannibal memes #Hannibal funnies #hannibal the cannibal #Hannibal meme

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willgrahamscock · 1 year

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not only is Hannibal a “would you love me if I was a worm” type of girl but he also says shit like “I just feel like you’re mad at me” when Will turns away after cuddling for a bit, but it’s because he got too hot and his back hurts from being folded like a lawn chair earlier

#alex says things #he's like can you leave me alone for 10 minutes I have to drive 70 miles from here to work w my ass burning #turning my abandoned fics into text posts #hannibal #hannigram #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannibal lecter

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salemwritesstuff · 10 months

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we all have bad dreams; part II to "lachrymose"

part I | part II

pairing: hannibal lecter x gn reader

pronouns: they/them

desc: you show up at hannibal lecter's doorstep six months after your first meeting, asking for a shoulder to cry on.

trigger warnings: mentions of sewerslide, alcohol drinking, some angst

w.c: 1,189

the dread that filled your chest agonized you as your footsteps grew heavy on the concrete. it was late, too late for your doctor to be up at this time, but you needed someone, anyone, to talk to.

you drudged up the steps, and found yourself in front of the door. the lights were on: a good sign, you thought.

letting out a heavy sigh, you gripped the bag in your right hand, and brought your left up, balled it in a fist, and drew three knocks against the door.

not a few moments later, hannibal lecter opened the door.

"y/n, what brings you here?" he asked. "it's late. you should be resting."

you laughed dryly. "so should you, doctor lecter." lifting the bag in your right hand, you ask, "care for a drink?"

hannibal stood for a moment, eyes studying you, before moving aside. "what did you bring?"

"armand de brignac ace of spades rose." you answered, stilling when he took the bag and set it aside.

"may i?"

his hands hovered over your shoulders, fingers just barely touching you. it took you a moment to realize what he was asking; you nodded, and his fingers carefully slipped your jacket off of your shoulders and hung it up on the nearest coat hanger.

"thank you." you hummed, and he nodded in turn, grabbing the bag of wine and showing you to the kitchen.

his kitchen, unlike his office, seemed minimal. just the things you'd see in any other kitchen. it didn't exude "old money", like you'd thought of his office at first, and it didn't seem expensive, either. the color palette, full of grays, beiges, whites, a pinch of brown, reminded you of a morgue.

the sound of glass against marble broke your train of thought. looking at hannibal, you watched as he grabbed two wine glasses, as he poured the wine, and as he handed you yours. you mumbled a thank you, put the brim to your lips, and drank.

for a long moment, it was quiet. then, hannibal's voice.

"tell me, y/n, what brings you here at five in the morning."

you sighed, licking your lips. then, you took another sip. and another, and another, all until your glass was empty. you reached for the bottle to pour more, but hannibal scooted it away. you pouted.

"what's wrong, y/n." hannibal asserted. "i don't think you're here just for a drink."

you looked at him, eyes red and burning. then, sighing, you said, "i had a dream that..." you closed your eyes, picking at your chapped lips. "...you and everyone in my life...hate dealing with me." you swallowed, mouth dry. "i still can't tell if it was real or not. if i'm still dreaming."

hannibal looked at you, eyes searching your face. you jumped when you felt two fingers pinch the skin between your shoulder and neck. your eyes peeled open, and you looked at him.

"did that hurt you?" hannibal asked. you nodded. shortly after, so did he. "good. that means you are awake." he took a sip of his wine. "what did you see in your dream?"

you sighed, rubbing the spot he pinched. "i saw you, my doctor, friends from my university, and..." you knitted your eyebrows together. "...my mom."

eyes still fixed on you, hannibal moved closer. "what did she say to you."

tears pricked your eyes, and you ducked your head to hide your face. "she said that...she wished my attempt succeeded, because i'm a burden to her and the people around me."

"your most recent attempt?" hannibal asked. you shook your head.

"my first one, when i was fourteen." you muttered. "we'd gotten into a bad fight, and she said that she wished she miscarried so she wouldn't have had to go through hell to raise me."

"so you tried to kill yourself." he stated bluntly.

you nodded slowly. "that's the gist of it, yeah."

hannibal was quiet, before saying, "why do you think your mom wished you were dead?"

"i never said i think that."

"our dreams reflect what we think. they can reflect issues in our daily lives." hannibal spoke neatly, voice smooth. you lifted your head.

"then," you clicked your tongue, "what do you dream about, doctor lecter?"

"this isn't about me, y/n. this is about you and what you're thinking." hannibal leaned against the counter. "why do you think you're mom wished you died, y/n."

you frowned at his avoidance, dipping your head down to look at the marble counter.

"i don't think i want to talk about that."

hannibal nodded. "then, why do you think i hate dealing with you?"

you shook your head. "that's irrelevant."

"i think it's pretty relevant to this conversation." he countered. "do you want to hear what i think?"

you didn't answer. he continued.

"i think you think i might leave." he said. "that i might refer you to a different psychiatrist if i deem myself not qualified enough to help you through your problems."

he moved closer to you, making careful, calculated steps. "you think that if you make the wrong move, or say the wrong thing, that i won't be able to handle it. but i assure you, y/n," he tucked two curled knuckles under your chin and tilted your head up to face him. "the only thing that would stop me from helping you deal with your problems would be death."

you struggled to look him in the eyes, so you instead focused on every other aspect of his face. you focused on every line, spot, crease. the aged scars, the vague stubble.

"sei bello." you heard yourself say.

you could see hannibal's small smile out of the corner of your eye. he slid his hand up and embraced your cheek. you sighed, delighted at his warmth.

"we all have bad dreams, y/n," hannibal said suddenly. "and it's up to us to face them," he paused, eyes studying your face. "or fear them."

"what do you do when you have bad dreams?" you asked, eyes finally meeting his. he thought for a moment, eyes wandering over your face, before meeting back with yours.

"i face them." he answered.

you stayed silent for a long moment, mind racing. then you nodded. "thank you."

he shook his head, dropping his hand from your cheek. "it's my job to help you through your problems."

"do you help all your patients at five in the morning?" you asked rhetorically. hannibal's lips twitched in a smile, and he shook his head again.

"no, i don't." he poured you another glass of wine, sliding it over to you. you took a sip.

sighing, you looked at your watch. "i should probably head back home." you looked up at him, and smiled. "thank you again, doctor lecter. i owe you."

"you owe me nothing, y/n." he returned your smile, then took a sip of his wine.

you shook your head and sipped your wine. your eyes scanned his face, and again you said, "sei bello."

hannibal took another sip and returned, "ir tu esi stebuklas."

———

a/n: i hope you enjoyed !!! part two suggested by @killmwritesshit =]]

#hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen hannibal #mads mikkelsen #hannibal x reader #gender neutral reader #x reader #hannibal fic #hannibal lecter fic #hannibal 2013

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