#taking Hannibal by surprise | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ihavemanyhusbands · 4 months

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Routine Check Up

Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

Summary: The good Dr. Lecter stops by to check up on Will Graham's favorite pet.

Word Count: 2.3k words

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, i think i was possessed while writing this, Plot? What fucking plot?, light petplay... but in the female gaze ig, Dom/Sub dynamic, light dehumanization, threesome, Hannibal gets to put his PhD to good use,Oral, unprotected p in v (don't you dare) ,dirty talk, self indulgent afffff, ....breeding kink?

A/N: I DECIDED TO SAY FUCK IT. @glitchedpup dedicating it to you here too!

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You woke to the sound of a car pulling up the gravel road, and Will’s dogs barking outside.

On the bedside clock, it read eight thirty AM. You usually woke up around the same time as Will, but you supposed he’d let you sleep in a little longer this time. It was a Sunday, after all.

Moments later, there was knocking on the front door. Will padded over from the kitchen and he opened it to reveal Hannibal. You sat up in the bed, curious, and crawled forward a little to get a better look.

“Hannibal,” he greeted in an even tone, even if you could tell he was a little surprised. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just a routine check-up, Will,” he said with a small shrug, looking over his shoulder at you. “Have to keep her healthy, right?”

“No courtesy call beforehand? That’s uncharacteristic of you,” Will noted, stepping aside to let him in. “I suppose you meant to surprise us.”

Once more, Hannibal smiled enigmatically, a glint of mischief in his amber eyes. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by.”

He hung up his jacket by the door, and Will motioned for you to stand up and come closer.

You shot him a quizzical look, but made no questions as you scurried over to them, standing at attention next to Will.

“Hello, there,” Hannibal said amicably. “Mind if I take a look at you?”

You nodded quickly, almost eagerly. Will raised an eyebrow at this, but Hannibal kept his eyes on you.

This was one of his little games, a constant reminder of who had the upper hand. You knew what he called you to others — Will Graham’s favorite pet.

Still, you didn’t mind playing along, and it seemed like Will didn’t either. You weren’t sure what that said about you, but you found it wasn’t quite as mortifying as one might expect.

“I’ll need her to…” Hannibal trailed off, gesturing at your figure.

“Strip,” Will commanded, barely glancing at you.

You did as told, eyeing the doctor peripherally. He was appraising you as well, slightly impressed at your unflinching obedience.

You’d been well trained, after all.

You weren’t wearing much, just one of Will’s t-shirts and cotton underwear, both of which fell unceremoniously to the floor. You didn’t cover yourself as you were bared to the room, instead keeping your expression neutral and arms at your sides.

“Where do you need me?” You asked, voice low.

“Just where you are is fine,” he said, setting down his bag. “Now let’s see…”

First, he checked your pulse, fingers resting gently on your wrist as he looked down at his watch. When his fingers moved to your neck, you kept eye contact as he felt your lymph nodes, tracing up to your jaw, behind your ear and down to your collarbones.

His eyes watched your throat work as you swallowed hard, glancing at Will. Hannibal knew just how much you trusted him to guide you. You cared for him the same way he cared for you, and surrender was a price you gladly paid for it.

For a long time, you had a constant need to be in control of not just yourself, but also your surroundings. Every detail had to be accounted for; Every single possibility dissected and analyzed. It was essential for survival.

That was until you met Will, and you grew sick and tired of control. There were no more ruins to scurry out of, or prevent. Devotion was all that was left, and that was something Hannibal could understand.

“Open your mouth, please. Let’s see these teeth,” Hannibal instructed.

Once more, you did as told. He hummed in thought as he looked over your canines and front teeth. Then he stretched your lips back with two fingers so he could see all of your molars, too.

“Good,” he murmured under his breath, and for a brief, wild moment, you wanted to sink your teeth into his hand.

His thumb then swiped over your bottom lip, and it was then that you gave in to your urges. You nipped at it, holding it between your teeth for a moment.

“Ah, ah,” Will tsked, reaching over and grabbing the back of your neck firmly.

He gave you a stern look, and you let go of Hannibal’s thumb grudgingly.

Hannibal chuckled, delighted. “Sharp, as expected. Apologies, had to coax that out of her.”

Playing with fire, you thought, figuring that was exactly what he wanted. You wondered if you’d get a better taste of him at some point.

With a stethoscope — because he took his role very seriously — he checked your heartbeat and your breathing, both of which seemed to quicken a little at his nearness.

“No need to be nervous,” he said reassuringly, but his smile told you he was very much enjoying making you feel that way.

The end of the stethoscope was cold against your flesh, which made you shudder a little. Your nipples hardened, too, which was a detail he did not miss.

A soft, pleasured hum escaped you as his fingers grazed the skin right under your breasts, his touch not entirely clinically detached.

“Quiet, now. Let the doctor do his work,” Will chastised.

For his part, Hannibal inhaled deeply, closing his eyes momentarily.

“Someone’s in heat,” he noted, sharing a look with Will. “I could take care of it, if you like.”

Will’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Hmm, that explains why she’s been humping my leg. But is it necessary?”

“You wouldn’t want to leave her unattended, would you?”

You tried not to let a traitorous blush spread across your cheeks at Will’s analyzing gaze, dipping your chin slightly in confirmation.

“I might just have to check your temperature, too,” Hannibal added, tilting his head to one side. “Could I have you bend over the couch, please?”

Will nodded towards it, and off you went, kneeling on the armrest and placing your hands on the cushion.

You kept still as the doctor approached with slow, easy steps. His fingers traced the curve of your ass before dipping lower, to the source of your ache.

Will sat beside your head, tucking your hair behind your ear. He watched you shoot Hannibal a frustrated look as he teased you, fingers gliding up your slit. He gripped your chin just as you bared your teeth, wanting to bite once more.

Then, you swallowed back a low whine as he easily sank his middle finger into you. You heard his huff of amusement as you pushed your hips back needily.

“Running a little hot…” Hannibal mused. “We’ve got to remedy that, don’t we?”

You shot him another look, pleading this time. Your pupils were blown wide with desire, almost swallowing your irises, and your breaths came out long and slow.

You gripped one of Will’s arms, urging him towards you, desperate to touch him as well.

“Think you deserve a treat?” He murmured, raising an eyebrow. “Go on, earn it.”

Will scooted closer, your head now on his lap. You breathed in his familiar scent, and you licked his crotch through the thin fabric of his boxers.

Hannibal chuckled. “Oh, but she’s being so good…”

Will glanced up at him. “Hmm, she’s been showing off a little for you. Can’t let that become a habit.”

Hannibal’s hand retreated, and a complaint was starting to form in your throat when you heard the metallic clink of his belt, followed by the rasp of his zipper being pulled down.

You also heard a wet pop as he sucked your arousal off his finger, loving the taste of you. Oh, he’d definitely need to try it directly from the source, too.

“Not to worry, we’ll take good care of her,” he purred, bending closer to your ear. “Just needed some extra attention is all, didn’t you?”

You nodded, spreading your knees further apart. Will’s hand rested on your head as you continued to lap at him. You felt him hardening against your insistent tongue, lips tracing the outline of his shaft. The smell and the heat of him were making you delirious with lust, driving any sort of coherency out the window.

Behind you, Hannibal spread you open with both hands in order to get a better look at his next meal. He knelt, pushing his slacks down and gripping himself.

His hot breath blew against your soaked core for a mere second before he licked you clit to ass in one long, languid stripe. His expert tongue then dipped into the deep well of your cunt, and you felt the vibration of his groan.

He stroked himself as he continued his ministrations, closing his eyes as all his other senses were invaded by you.

You let out a choked whine, eyes fluttering closed as you pressed your cheek against Will’s growing bulge. He had you lift your head as he shifted his hips, pulling off his boxers and finally letting you get your reward.

You practically melted at the taste of him as you took him into your mouth — musky and slightly salty. You knew the exact way he liked to be tended to, guiding yourself by the sounds he made.

You moaned around him, and he gathered your hair in his fist, keeping it away from your face. He kept your head down for a moment when he was all the way down your throat, and you breathed slowly through your nose.

“There we go,” Will sighed, petting your head. “That’s it.”

Your mind went blank for a moment as Hannibal lapped up all your arousal with gusto. Will let you come up for air, gently pulling you up by the hair to meet his lips in a sloppy kiss.

Before your head descended once more, you looked at him, glassy-eyed and smiling beatifically. The same adoration was mirrored in his eyes as he tenderly ran the back of his finger down your cheek.

“Atta girl, taking it all so well,” Hannibal praised, standing up. “I think you’re ready for me.”

He slowly eased into you, letting out a low groan as he bottomed out. You sucked in a breath, adjusting to the delicious stretch. Instinctually, you moved against him, seeking much more friction than he was currently providing.

“Don’t have to do… much of the work myself,” He grunted, grabbing your hips in a half-attempt to slow you down. “So very eager, this one.”

“Loves to please. Everything she gets, she earns,” Will said proudly. “Makes it so much better, doesn’t it?”

“Well trained indeed.”

At such an angle, you could feel Hannibal reaching impossibly deep, hitting a spot that made your eyes roll back in your skull. You moaned against Will’s skin, teeth digging lightly into his inner thigh.

As bad as you might want it, you knew he wouldn’t let you make him come with your mouth. He was next in line after Hannibal, and he intended to leave a lasting impression. That wasn’t to say he didn’t want you to keep touching him, though.

Hannibal’s grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder, in which he chased his release. You were already clenching him hard, close to the edge yourself. Then one of his hands reached between your legs, rubbing your clit in quick, tight circles.

Heat spread throughout you like wildfire, all-consuming. You reached back to grip one of his forearms, unsure if it was a plead for mercy or for him to never stop. It didn’t take long for you to come undone, mouth slack in pleasure as you moaned wantonly, melting into the heady feeling of them both.

Soon after, Hannibal’s hips stuttered, and then they stopped when he was fully sheathed inside of you. You could feel him pulsate as he was gripped in his own euphoria, branding you much like Will had done countless times before.

Once more, Will kissed you, murmuring a soft good girl against your lips. Hannibal pulled out of you, panting as he bent forward to plant a kiss on your spine.

“I think she can give us another one,” he said. “In fact, I highly recommend it.”

Will nodded in agreement. “Doctor’s orders.”

He moved you onto the couch cushions as they switched places. Hannibal presented himself before you, leaning back with a lupine sort of smirk.

Will’s thrusts were swift and savage as you licked Hannibal clean. It was only polite to tend to the doctor after being so very helpful. Your tongue was especially enthusiastic as you neared your second orgasm.

His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough to bruise. By his more unrestrained sounds, you could tell he was right there with you. When he came, his body slumped forward, chest flush against your back.

His hot breath was against your neck as he pressed himself tighter against you. He was still buried to the hilt, making sure no drop was wasted.

When he unsheathed himself from you, you collapsed onto the couch, body spread between the two of them. You felt boneless and utterly sated, swimming in dopamine.

“Good job. That should hold you for some time, hmm?” Hannibal said, looking down at you resting on his lap.

Will huffed in amusement, caressing your legs. “You’ll find she’s quite insatiable.”

The two shared a look, all too happy to shoulder the so-called burden of your constant hunger.

“You should’ve just said you missed me, Doctor Lecter,” you said with a teasing grin. “Could’ve saved us the theatrics.”

He smirked. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

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#hannibal fanfiction #hannibal smut #hannibal lecter x will graham x fem!reader #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham smut #hannibal lecter smut #hannigram x reader #minors dni

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ficnation · 7 months

Text

Chapter 1: Dig In

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings

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NEXT CHAPTER

Will Graham hasn’t seen you in years—years that felt like centuries to him. When you greet him, your voice is like a songbird’s serenade—sweet, peaceful, and meant only for his ears. It was a melody he missed dearly yet never dared to summon in his mind, even as the memories of you bled into his dreams.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice breaking at the last word. The question is not hostile, but it’s not friendly either. He knows you didn’t expect him to greet you like an old friend would. You know him too well for that—or at least you knew him before Hannibal Lecter barged into his life.

A smile crawls up your face, but it never reaches your eyes. You came here because you know, you know someone’s version of the story. But you crave to see the truth—to find out exactly what happened—and you know that Will is the only person who can provide you with the answers you’re looking for.

Jack Crawford raises his hand, his palm facing Will in a silent greeting—almost a peace offer. He keeps his distance as he lifts your suitcases out of the trunk of his car. He’s the one that called you, told you everything you needed to know, how Will lost his mind, how he keeps insisting that an innocent man—someone he considered a friend—is the Chesapeake Ripper.

Will can’t help but snicker at the thought of how this conversation went. You don’t seem bothered by the change in his expression—you hardly ever were, and he was always surprised by your unflappable composure.

“I’m going to stay with you, Will.” It’s not a question nor a suggestion fueled by concern over his well-being. It’s a declaration, and he has absolutely no say in this matter. Jack Crawford has already made that decision for him, and Will is in no position to object—he’s well aware of it.

Will nods and gesticulates to the door of his house. It’s a reluctant invitation forced out of him by his boss’ incessant gaze.

You don’t let him think about it for much longer, fearing he’ll withdraw the offer. You walk up the stairs of the porch and cross the doorstep. The inside is no warmer than the bitter winter on the other side of the door. You shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself for heat.

A flock of dogs runs up to you, wagging their tails in excitement. Some of them you’ve already met before, and some of them seem like recent additions to Will’s collection of strays. You pat each dog on the head as you take off your boots by the entrance. You note that you no longer feel like you are just another stray Will has taken into his home.

The warmth of the friendly dogs quickly makes you forget how much you don’t belong here; you enjoy their company for a moment before reluctantly moving on to explore the room.

Not much has changed since the last time you were here. Will’s bed is still in the room, and you remember the time he confessed to you that it makes him feel more aware of his surroundings—gives him a sparse flicker of safety. He has easy access to the windows overlooking the outside, and he hears whenever someone walks up the stairs to his porch. It’s a small shred of comfort to cling to in the midst of his torment—you understand his reasoning.

The fireplace is the same one you used to warm up in front of every morning when you slept over—just surrounded by more dog beds than before. The old, simple in their design but surprisingly comfortable armchairs stand in their designated spots. Dog toys litter the carpeted floor, while books and familiar trinkets overwhelm the shelves, though if you look more closely, you find new additions mixed in with the old.

“Nothing has changed,” you say to yourself and the chill air of the room. You don’t hear Will’s footsteps as he joins you in the heart of his house.

“I did.” His words make your head whip around to face him, your eyes finding his. There’s a certain darkness in his statement—one you recognize.

The brown curls on his head frame his face in an untamed mess. He’s beautiful, and you find yourself still affected by his proximity.

“I don’t think you did.”

“You’ve been here for seven minutes, I can’t imagine you know much,” Will retorted.

“I know you, Will.” You meet his eyes for a few seconds—it doesn’t take much longer for him to look away. He hasn’t changed.

“Not anymore. Believe me,” his voice is certain and steady, but his hands shake as he reaches for your cozy black coat.

You let him slide it off your shoulders—the chill of the room refreshing. Will Graham isn’t a gentleman—he’s never conformed to society’s expectations. The gesture isn’t meant to impress you, make you swoon, or simply check a box. He does it because he still feels something toward you—he still cares.

You don’t talk much after that. Will makes some space for your stuff in his closet and leaves your suitcases in one of the many empty rooms. You thank him with another smile that doesn’t reach your eyes—there’s too much worry in them to convey your gratitude.

He goes on a walk with the dogs while you decide to take stock of his fridge and cupboards in search of any ingredients that you could possibly turn into a late dinner—french crepes filled with whatever jam or other sweet spreading he has in his kitchen.

You make yourself cozy in one of the armchairs in front of the crackling fireplace, your legs tucked comfortably beneath you when the door opens, and a blast of cold winter air rushes in along with seven dogs, melting snow clinging onto their fur stubbornly. They sniff around the room in search of the source of the sweet, delicious smell.

Will follows in their steps, taking off his boots by the door. It won’t take long for his socks to soak up the drops of water scattered over the floor—remnants of the snow shaken off by the happy furry beasts. He says nothing for a few long minutes, merely taking in your form, the sweet smell, and the cozy atmosphere. It feels like you belong here, even if just for a moment until you deem him deranged and leave again for long years.

“Crepes?” he asks finally, sliding off his heavy jacket. Will imprints on his memory the image of you so peaceful and comfortable in his home, in his presence.

You hum in response, sticking the fork back into your mouth. “I only found jam and peanut butter.”

“It’s an accomplishment you found anything at all.” He chuckles but isn’t truly amused by it—it is a pitiful sound.

The brunet disappears into the kitchen, and when he returns, his plate is filled with food. He sits down in the other armchair with a heavy sigh—a sound so murky only an old man could make or someone so exhausted with life they didn’t see a point in it anymore.

“I believe you, you know?”

Will’s head shoots up in your direction; he almost chokes on his crepes. He didn’t foresee that at all—the thought of you believing him without even hearing his side of the story, believing in his conviction that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper without even asking for evidence. When everyone around him considered him delusional and regarded his accusation with ignorance or anger—you believed him. He straightens up in his seat, looking at you expectantly, begging silently for you to continue.

“I suppose Jack didn’t tell you why exactly am I here, huh?” Will shakes his head, making you sigh deeply as you mindlessly stab the remaining crepe on your plate with the fork—he notices the anger simmering behind your irises. “Figured. They found my father’s killer in our old house.”

“Dead?”

You nod in confirmation.

“Suicide.” Your voice isn’t relieved; it doesn’t incandesce with light like it should.

Will knows that sometimes, even when the murderer is caught or killed, it takes a while to really settle into witnesses’ minds, and sometimes, they never taste that sweetness of relief for the rest of their lives. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be the problem in your case.

“He was missing a lot of blood and it didn’t appear to be anything abnormal back then so they considered the case solved. Let us come out of hiding.”

“Except it wasn’t a suicide,” the man finishes your thought. He’s right—like always. “Someone wanted you to come back… The real killer?”

He looks at you for confirmation, but his idea seems to be too facile—child’s play. If that were the case, the FBI wouldn’t let you stay with him without protection—unless they considered him your protector. Something feels off about it.

“Will, my sister was killed by the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will stares at you with his eyes wide open. He’s looking at your face in a way that he’s never looked before. He can finally see you, your emotions, and despair—the mask you hid them under shatters into crumbs and floats away with his shaky breath. He hears the misery in your voice now—almost sees your winsome heart smashed into a million pieces inside your chest.

“I’m so sorry… I—” Will’s words are automatic as he processes your statement. He stays perfectly still in his armchair. “I didn’t—”

“What’s done is done, Will,” you interrupt him, shaking your head—a silent plea that he doesn’t blame himself for it. It doesn’t help—he still does.

The moment you stop talking, he can hear the faint ticking of the watch on your wrist. He looks at you, waiting for more to come, but you stay silent. Your eyes linger on your plate with a half-eaten crepe—the jam spilling out onto the white ceramic canvas; you seem to be contemplating something.

He remembers back on that stormy night when you came home at the end of a particularly complicated and brutal investigation—soaked and chilled to the bone. You had a small cut on your arm, not big enough to require stitches, but he wanted—no, he needed—to clean it up and kiss it all better, anyway.

Will could tend to a cut on your skin, but he couldn’t scour the one on your soul—he couldn’t kiss it all better. He always felt the need to fix things—fix you. Now? He has no idea how to take that pain away from you.

He knows he should be glad to see you—glad to see you again. But right now, there’s only sadness, confusion, and guilt because, somehow, this isn’t quite you. There has been this beautiful, bright light shining from you, but it’s missing, and the man feels the loss of it inside. He wants to reach out and take this sadness away from you, comfort you, and bring back that light you always had. He almost wants to cry—he doesn’t even know why himself.

Will swallows hard and finally speaks, voice shaking, “Can I ask you something?”

He hesitates as if afraid of the potential answer. The only thing keeping him from sinking into emptiness is your presence, and asking the wrong question might have a devastating effect. Will looks at you—eyes pleading for understanding.

“Yes. Of course…”

“What did he take?” He almost doesn’t recognize his voice. It seems to be a mere whimper—a noise buried deep within a wounded animal’s throat.

“Her heart.”

Your words strike him like a bullet. Will closes his eyes, trying hard to keep the salty water from filling them. The loss of one heart was unbearable, losing another one physically… He tries to find a reason not to be angry at fate—but there is none. The world gave you back to him, but at what cost?

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. His touch seems reassuring and gentle, but his eyes betray his anger. “I never should have let you leave...”

You ignore his words, looking into the void, and continue, “Her lungs.”

Another cruel twist of the dagger in his gut. He feels your hand squeeze his, almost as if it were asking for comfort. Yet, Will cannot be a comfort at this moment—he is too enraged at the thought of such brutality.

His gaze turns cold as stone, his hand tightening around yours as he holds back the emotions boiling up inside him, threatening to explode and tear everything apart. His eyes remain closed—unwilling to see any more of your pain. You can feel the anger radiating from him like heat.

If she stops breathing, my heart will stop with it—those were his words to Hannibal. Another therapy session he now deeply regrets. It is his fault—his fault that your sister died. And amongst all the hatred, anger, and remorse, he feels a bone-chilling relief that it wasn’t you in her place.

He knows it’s twisted to think like that; he shouldn’t even feel like that, but he can’t imagine his life knowing you were buried deep—six feet beneath the earth he was walking on and still breathing. He doesn’t know whether it was Hannibal’s well-thought-through plan or his fucked up mistake, but Will is grateful.

You are breathing, alive, and your pulse is beating fast beneath his tight grasp. He does not want to let go of it—not yet.

Will opens his eyes, still unable to see your face, yet so very relieved. He doesn’t let go of your hand, his fingers running over your knuckles as if, by touch, he can somehow reassure himself that you weren’t his imagination.

The anger inside him still roils, but he no longer shows it. The only hint of his discomfort is the tightness with which he holds your hand.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he mumbles out, almost inaudible.

“No, Will, I won’t let anything happen to you.” You meet his gaze, your eyes almost begging. “I can’t lose you too. You’re the only one I have left.”

Will smiles at you sadly. His eyes filled with a strange light, his fingers running through your hair. Your plates have been long forgotten on the nearby windowsill as he leans forward and carefully touches your cheek, running his forefinger across your lips and down to your chin.

At first, you think the gesture is affectionate—intimate. But then you notice that he’s trying to remember your every feature. It’s painful to think that someone who loved you so dearly might have forgotten your face, the feel of your skin under his touch. Maybe it’s this thought that makes your eyes well up with tears; maybe it is the gesture itself. Or possibly even both.

This moment feels so real, so raw—you are tempted to believe in it, to be hopeful for your future, at least for a moment. But after all you went through, you know that hope is a dangerous thing, and it can turn against you. It’s been so long since all your hopes have been crushed you almost forgot how to have them... And just like that, the moment vanishes, and reality crashes back.

Later that night, when you come out of the shower and crawl into his bed—your clothes sticking to the slightly damp skin, your hair in an unruly mess—he simply opens his arms.

“You claim to be my friend, yet you sleep in my bed like a lover would,” he says—he still remembers the words you whispered to him when the roles were reversed.

Will smiles at the irony, his arms wrapping around you. Your hair is still dripping, the water sliding down your neck and onto his chest. It trickles down in rivulets to his stomach, creating wet spots on his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care.

You notice his grip is tighter than usual, yet you feel no pain, no discomfort. If he wanted to hurt you, he would. But you’re safe here—in his arms. Safer than you’ve ever been.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love having me in your bed,” you mumble against his neck, your minty breath tickling his skin.

His body shivers, and a soft sound escapes his lips. Your words remind him of the years of loneliness, of his body yearning for your touch. The sound is almost a whimper, and you feel his fingers twining in your wet hair.

The feeling is intoxicating. For years, he couldn’t touch a woman, didn’t even dream about having one so close to his skin, couldn’t feel someone’s body pressed tightly against him in a bed because they weren’t you—they dimmed in comparison. He missed it; he missed this connection, this skin-to-skin contact.

His hand lingers in your hair, the other one tracing your skin, exploring every inch of it, memorizing every imperfection, every bump beneath his palm.

“You haven’t been with anyone else, have you?” It’s not really a question—more of a sure statement—because, after all, you know Will like the back of your hand.

His head shakes, and both of his hands now run down your body. Will takes his sweet time exploring every inch of you—your hips, thighs, your stomach, and neck.

“I haven’t,” he whispers, almost embarrassed. As if his body belongs to someone else, and giving it to you now is a betrayal of that person.

Betrayal of you—the one he once knew—because he’s not entirely sure you’re still the same person. You were always so cheerful and full of life before—anything you touched, growing wings, flying out of the confines of its cage.

He yearns for this contact, craves a woman’s body—craves your body. He touches your skin, lightly running his fingertips over it, trying to bring back the memories from before. Will’s mind spins, trying to place the puzzle of you in the present.

He holds your face, trying to remember the way your eyes shined, the smile on your lips, the way your hair used to look. The feeling of your body, skin to skin, is almost painful. Your lips are so close, your heart beating so fast…

Winston jumps onto the bed, the weight and heat of his furry body on your calves makes you both pull away hesitantly.

“Sorry,” you mumble out the apology into the stillness of the air.

Will looks at you with a soft smile and a faint blush on his cheeks. “It’s fine.” He glances over at the dog. “What’s the matter, little fella? Can’t sleep?” He reaches over to pet the dog, then he turns his attention back to you.

The atmosphere changes completely, filled with the sounds of the night and Winston’s heavy breathing. Yet, although your physical proximity to Will has changed, you still feel connected to him in a way that only two people who are truly close can. The warmth of Winston’s body seems to melt the tension.

The dog snuggles up against you both, the three of you creating your own little world of peace. Will is the first to speak, “I’d rather be in bed with you only,” he sends you a smirk, “but I would still get the same amount of hair on my clothes.”

You feel your lips part in a grin; your breath catches in your throat, and it takes a moment before you’re able to answer his playful jab.

Will catches you in this moment of surprise as if he can smell your anticipation in the air. His hands wrap around your waist, dragging you closer until your bodies are pressed snugly once more.

When he smiles at you, it’s as if the world stops briefly. Your eyes lock, and for a second, there is nothing else but the two of you.

“It’s a sad thing your smile is so rare,” you whisper, your fingers tracing his stubbled jaw.

Will's heart pounds in his chest. He takes your hand in his, running his fingers along your skin. There's always been an undeniable spark between you, but this time, it feels different, more intense. Like if you let yourself go and let the spark ignite, the fire will burst out of your chest.

Will leans closer to you; your noses are almost touching. His brown eyes are so close you can see every detail in them despite the darkness of the room. You can feel the tension in the air, and you know what would break it...

“Will, I... I can’t—” You stumble over your words, gaze parting from his.

Your stutter is cut short by Will’s lips touching yours. A soft sound escapes him as if he’s been waiting for you to stop speaking so he can taste you. His tongue slips over your lips, exploring your mouth.

This is not the clumsy, almost animalistic lust he had for you in the past—it’s something different. Something tender, almost sweet.

Your hands fall limply onto the duvet, your heart beating faster, your breath catching in your throat as you sink deeper into the kiss. You don’t want this to end… So you pull him closer.

Seemingly annoyed by the nonstop movement, Winston jumps off the bed and retreats to his place by the lit-up fireplace. You almost giggle at that, but you’re far too busy with kissing Will’s lips raw.

Your hands find their way onto his neck next, your fingers running through his curls. With lips almost glued to his, you pull him back every time he tries to move.

The sound of your heavy breathing is enough to make his heart pound in his chest as if his very blood is racing. He’s holding you so tightly you fear you might break. Will breathes in the smell of you, almost intoxicated by it. Your scent enriches him—sends his emotions into a whirlwind.

After a moment, he manages to pull away, gasping for breath. He is still holding you, hands pressed against your back, as if not wanting to let go. Will tries to catch his breath—it feels like his entire life is contained in those few moments.

His eyes find yours, looking for some reassurance, as if he expects to wake up from a dream any moment now. He opens his mouth to say words but can’t find any. All he can do is look at you, so beautiful in the darkness. Will closes his eyes as if trying to cling to this moment.

“I’m glad I’m back. Despite the circumstances...” Your fingers play with his curls, your breath just as shaky as his.

“You’re back...” Will murmurs, looking at you relieved, touching your face as if to make sure you’re still here. He wants to speak, to tell you everything that is going through his mind, but when he opens his mouth again, no words come out. He tries to collect himself—tries to bring his heart to your level.

“It’s been a long time... We should probably talk. You know, just to catch up.”

“You like talking now?” Your grin is electrifying, it sends heat down the man’s body. But when he notices it doesn’t reach your eyes, his neediness crumbles.

A veil of insecurity falls over his face. “No… I don’t like talking. But I still do it if I have to, so can we just…” Will gestures to the two of you, the room—just a sign of exasperation and need to do this now. He swallows hard, trying to find his voice. “It’s just... it’s been a long time. And I... you know... there is just a lot that happened.”

“Will,” the way you say his name halts him, “it’s okay if you want to talk.”

He blinks slowly, suddenly confused—why did he even try to lie about it? Hannibal gave him his voice and showed him the power of his words—the good one and the evil one.

Will lets out a deep breath and then closes his eyes. It’s always been hard for him to tell people how he feels. Especially when he wants to say more than any amount of words can describe—and there is a lot to describe. There is so much he has to tell you, and yet when he tries to form the words—to get them out—his mind goes blank.

He opens his eyes and looks at you for help, but you look just as confused as before. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he says softly. “So much has changed.”

“You haven’t. Not as much as you think you did.”

He sees the impossibly black creature in his peripheral vision. It stands behind you, completely still, and its antlers seem much more massive than ever before when he catches their shadow falling onto you. He wants it to be gone so badly, but deep inside, he knows it’ll never vanish if Hannibal is still alive, and maybe even after his death, he’ll never get his peace back.

“Your opinion will change quicker than you realize.”

The creature’s still there, Will looks it straight into its void of color eyes. It’s just in his mind, yet the shiver that runs down your spine tells him you might feel its presence, too. He hates that he can’t tell if it’s his imagination or not or if you can indeed see it, too. A feeling of dread seizes him, a cold sensation that runs up his arms and into his bones.

“Hannibal...” he whispers, but when he looks around the room, he sees no sign of the creature. The sense of dread lingers, nevertheless.

“The Chesapeake Ripper?” you question, and he tells you all about it. All about Hannibal’s mind games—what he did to him and then what he undid.

Will tells you about the therapy sessions, his transformation, and the darkness that took hold of him. He talks about his memories of your sister, about his guilt, and then he moves on to you—your absence and the reason why you left. The void he felt for all those dark years without you—until he was given the chance to have you back, a light guiding him back into reality. And you listen carefully to all of it; you let him speak his heart out until he no longer feels the need to speak.

When he is done telling you everything, Will falls silent. It feels like he laid bare his soul, exposing his most intimate thoughts, yet you still lie in front of him, unchanged. He looks at you, almost expecting you to leave. After all, how much can a person handle? But your gaze is still strong; you still care about him at least a little…

It’s almost as if you’re reading his mind. “I still care about you, Will. My feelings never changed and they never will. I’ll do anything I can to help you get him.”

His eyes soften at your words, and he closes the distance between you two. Slowly he kisses your lips, tasting your breath, feeling his mouth move against yours. The sensation is so intense that it almost sends sparks through Will’s body.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispers into your ear before he turns your head and kisses you again. His hands rest on your back, pulling you in even closer as his tongue dances against yours. “And I’ve missed you. So goddamn much...”

Will pulls away, breathless, as if his entire body is aflame. He looks at you, studying your face so intently it’s almost as if he wants to burn your image into his brain. “So much,” he repeats softly.

He rests his head against yours, breathing in the sound of your heartbeat, listening to the rise and fall of your chest. “You’re here. You’re really here.” He exhales a sigh of relief as if your presence is the sweetest gift he could have ever wished for.

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x will graham #will graham #will graham x reader #will graham x hannibal lecter #Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Will Graham #hannigram x reader #eat your heart out

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coryosbaby · 2 months

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18+, MDNI !! stepcest, daddy kink, d/s dynamics

Thinkin’ about stepdad! Hannibal and the many secrets the two of you shared.

His killings were the first to be revealed. Somber, delectable dishes that he cooked for you and your mother seemed to hold a completely different meaning now. The catch of his breath when he heard of a killer on the news or the way he smirked when you confirmed his alibi— ‘yes, of course daddy was here last night! We were cooking dinner!‘— seemed to make sense when that glazed over look in your eyes locked with his. The gifts he brought you, rings and necklaces and bracelets, all seemed to have an uncanny resemblance to a missing girl’s jewelry collection. A risky thing to do, taking his victim’s jewelry, but he only wanted the best for his favorite girl.

The second secret: gentle massages. Not in any terrible place, really— just your inner thighs, your hips, sometimes your behind if you behaved. It was the most sore, after all.

Which brings us to the third secret.

The spankings only started out when you were naughty. A bad grade in your college psychology course? ‘You should know these things, sweet girl, should know because I teach you. Do I need to punish you for not listening?’ A smart mouthed word to him after an argument? ‘Bend over the table. I’m sick of this disrespect, little girl.’ This, in turn, lead to the paddle that Hannibal had bought and stamped with your name in pretty cursive writing. Something that your mother didn’t know about, didn’t need to know about. It would take away the fun.

The fourth secret happened a few months after the last. A gnarley punishment for talking to a nasty boy from your class, equipped with your bare ass exposed and panties pulled down to your knees. Hannibal had never done this before, given that he wanted to save you the humiliation. But you had deserved it, really— you told him that, after a terrible date with that boy that he had warned you about.

“Daddy, you were right. He was so gross ‘n mean, and he tried to kiss me!”

His lips had formed into a thin line (he would deal with him later), and he had patted his lap. You had crawled into it, sweet and willing, and he had quietly asked you to bend over his knee. Hicupping, still teary eyed and pouty, you had obeyed. His hands had ghosted along the hem of your skirt, making you feel tingly all over.

“I’m going to lift up your skirt and pull down your underwear. Is that okay with you?”

You had nodded. Anything to please him.

“Good,” he had said, as he began pulling the sticky fabric of your panties from your drooling cunt. He had picked up the paddle, big hands covering the handle. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but your actions have consequences. You know what I said about talking to other boys, little girl.”

Oh, and when he slipped inside for the first time. It was by accident, honest! He had comforted you after a nightmare, holding you close against his body while everyone else slept. You had squirmed, pushing yourself back against him, needy. He had sighed against you, poking you with the thick cock in between his legs.

“What are you doing?”

“Just— can’t get comfy, daddy—“ a small, annoyed grunt, and wide eyes as you felt him poking against one of your cheeks.

“Daddy?” You had whispered, flushed. He had groaned. So much for keeping his composure.

Slipping his fingers down to his pajama pants, pulling his length out to rest against his thigh. His fingers had ghosted over your shorts, pulling the fabric aside to probe his tip against your folds.

“Now look what you’ve done,” he had growled, ignoring your small whimper of surprise when he breached you. “Stay still, little one. Daddy’s got another punishment to give you,” And then, pressing a kiss to your neck, “You can’t tell anyone, sweetheart. This needs to be one of our little secrets.”

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

#bunny writes ͟͟͞☆#Hannibal #Hannibal lecter #Hannibal lecter x reader #Hannibal lecter x fem! reader #Hannibal lecter smut #Hannibal lecter fanfic #Hannibal fanfic #Hannibal lecter blurb #Hannibal lecter Drabble #stepdad! hannibal lecter #dom! Hannibal lecter #Hannibal prompt

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slasher-male-wife · 1 year

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Slashers with an airhead s/o

I like to joke that I'm a bit of an airhead which is kinda true at times. I'm playing this up a bit for fun.

Includes: Pyramid head, Patrick Bateman, Hannibal Lecter, and Bo Sinclair

Warnings: Talk of murder and violence, Slashers kinda manipulating reader

Pyramid Head

When he first meets you he's going to think that you're too dumb to kill and too dumb to let you go. He's surprised that you haven't died yet to be honest.

You're going to have to go with him wherever he goes or stay in a safe place just in case something bad happens. He doesn't want you getting hurt.

He can't talk or use his voice at all but sometimes he wishes he could sigh in response to some of your questions or laugh at some of the things that you do like running into walls or failing to put something together.

He knows that you're smarter in certain areas more than others. He knows you're not totally helpless but when he had to rescue you from a room for the fifth time that week because you forgot how to unlock it he's going to be worried.

Patrick Bateman

Your airhead tendencies is part of the reason he's dating you. He was going to kill you at first but when you looked at him holding an ax and wearing a rain coat and you just smiled and asked "Is it raining outside?" He knew that he couldn't kill you.

Will constantly remind you of things you often forget. Will probably feel the need to help you with almost everything that you do. "Honey you're right handed, why are you using your left hand to cut the vegetables?" "Darling the tapes go in with the title facing us."

He's pretty happy that you're kind of an airhead because he doesn't have to worry about you figuring out he kills people. It's also easy to get your attention with pretty objects and to keep you occupied while he works.

Feels a little proud of your more smart moments. I feel like when you're able to have a basic conversation about stocks with him after he's explained them to you at least 30 times he's going to smile about it. "So I saw in the paper that stock prices are going up. That's a good thing right?" "It is honey. I'm glad you remembered.

Hannibal Lecter

Like Patrick he's going to take advantage of you being an airhead. You'll have questions about the meat he's serving but you'll just accept that it's some kind of cow organ or duck.

He'll laugh at your more airhead moments. Or at least smile. He'll walk in on your doing the L hand thing for left and right for the third time that day and he'll smile about it.

Will also use his money to keep you occupied. He'll use it as rewards in a way too. If you're excelling in learning a new skill or subject he'll treat you with something expensive.

If anyone is ever mean to you about how you're not the sharpest he's going to take care of them. Nobody is going to insult his s/o even if they are a little dumb.

Bo Sinclair

Bo isn't the smartest person either but it's a little comical to him how dumb you are. He's surprised you didn't crash your car on the way here. "Whens the last time you had your oil changed?" "You're supposed to change it?" He's going to quickly decide that he can't kill you.

Like mostly everyone on this list he like that you're a little dumb. He's surprised he even had to tell you that he kills people when you literally broke a finger off a figure and said "You guys but bones in your figures?"

Like Hannibal he will defend you against anyone who tries to make you feel bad for being on the dumber side. He knows you're an airhead but only he can mention it.

Will help you learn more basic knowledge so you can help around the house and stuff like that. He's probably almost had a stroke several times while trying to explain to you that you can't use cooking oil on cars, on different occasions.

#pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x you #patrick bateman x reader #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #bo sinclair x you

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folie-a-deux · 27 days

Text

A compilation of my favorite hannigram quotes, related lines or conversations throughout the series.

— Uhm... Just because?

S01E01: Apéritif

Hannibal: "God forbid we become friendly."

Will: "I don't find you that interesting."

Hannibal: "You will."

S01E04: Oeuf

Hannibal: "Feeling paternal, Will?"

Will: "Aren't you?"

Hannibal: "Yes."

S01E09: Trou Normand

Hannibal (to Will): "Who knows Abigail better than you and I? All the burden she bears. We are her fathers now. We have to serve her better than Garrett Jacob Hobbs."

S02E01: Kaiseki

Hannibal: "I miss him."

Bedelia: "You are obsessed with Will Graham."

Hannibal: "I am intrigued."

Bedelia: "Obsessively."

S02E09: Shiizakana

Hannibal (to Will): "No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved’s potential comes true. I love you, Will."

S02E10: Naka-Choko

Hannibal: "Stay with me."

Will: "Where else would I go?"

–/–

Alana: "It's just hard to know where you are with each other."

Will: "We know where we are with each other. Shouldn't that be enough?"

S02E12: Tome-wan

Will (to Hannibal): "You're right. We are just alike. You're as alone as I am. And we're both alone without each other."

–/–

Will (to Hannibal): "I bond with Abigail, you take her away. I bond with barely more than the idea of a child, you take it away. You saw to it that I alienated Alana, alienated Jack. You don't want me to have anything in my life that isn't you."

-/-

Hannibal: "Achilles lamenting the death of Patroclus. Whenever he's mentioned in the Iliad, Patroclus seems to be defined by his empathy."

Will: "He became Achilles on the field of war. He died for him there, wearing his armor."

Hannibal: "He did. Hiding and revealing identity is a constant theme throughout the Greek epics."

Will: "As are battle-tested friendships."

Hannibal: "Achilles wished all Greeks would die, so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. Took divine intervention to bring them down."

S02E13: Mizumono

Hannibal: "We could disappear now. Tonight. Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana, and never see her or Jack again. Almost polite."

Will: "Then this would be our last supper."

Hannibal: "Of this life. I served lamb."

Will: "Sacrificial."

Hannibal: "I don't need a sacrifice, do you?"

–/–

Will: "You were supposed to leave."

Hannibal: "We couldn't leave without you."

...

Hannibal: "Time did reverse. The teacup that I shattered did come together. A place was made for Abigail in your world... You understand? A place was made for all of us, together. I wanted to surprise you. And you... you wanted to surprise me. I let you know me. See me. I gave you a rare gift. But you didn't want it."

Will: "Didn't I?"

...

Hannibal: "Do you believe you could change me, the way I've changed you?"

Will: "I already did."

Hannibal: "Fate and circumstance has returned us to this moment— when the teacup shatters. I forgive you, Will. Will you forgive me?"

S03E02: Primavera

Will: "A valentine written on a broken man."

–/–

Will: "I do feel closer to Hannibal here. God only knows where I'd be without him."

Abigail: "What did you see?"

Will: "He left us his broken heart."

Abigail: "How did he know we were here?"

Will: "He didn't. But he knew we'd come."

Abigail: "He misses us."

S03E03: Secondo

Hannibal: "He said he forgave me."

...

Bedelia: "Betrayal and forgiveness are best seen as something akin to falling in love."

Hannibal: "You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love."

–/–

Chiyoh: "How do you know Hannibal?"

Will: "One could argue intimately."

Chiyoh: "'Nakama'? It's a Japanese word for very close friends."

Will: "Yes, we were 'nakama'."

–/–

Chiyoh: "Why are you looking for him after he left you with a smile?"

Will: "I've never known myself as well as I know myself when I'm with him."

–/–

Jack: “Will Graham understands Hannibal. He accepts him. Now, who among us doesn’t want understanding and acceptance?”

–/-

Bedelia: “What your sister made you feel was beyond your conscious ability to control or predict."

Hannibal: "Or negotiate."

Bedelia: "I would suggest what Will Graham makes you feel is not dissimilar. A force of mind and circumstance.”

Hannibal: “Love. He pays you a visit or he doesn't.”

S03E04: Aperitivo

Jack: "You remember when you decided to call Hannibal?"

Will: "I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice."

Jack: "You told him we knew."

Will: "I told him to leave. 'Cause I wanted him to run."

Jack: "Why?"

Will: "Because... because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him."

–/–

Dr. Chilton: "Will Graham is alive because Hannibal Lecter likes him that way."

Jack: "Maybe it's one of those friendships that ends after the disemboweling."

Dr. Chilton: "I would argue, with these two, that's tantamount to flirtation."

S03E06: Dolce

Jack: "Hannibal will slip away. Will you slip away with him?"

Will: "Part of me will always want to."

–/–

Hannibal: "If I saw you everyday, forever, Will, I would remember this time."

Will: "Strange seeing you here in front of me. Been staring at afterimages of you in places you haven't been in years."

...

Will: "I wanted to understand you... before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be... clear. What I was seeing."

Hannibal: "Where does the difference between the past and the future come from?"

Will: "Mine?"... "Before you and after you."

...

Will: "You and I... have begun to blur."

Hannibal: "Isn't that how you found me?"

Will: "Every crime of yours, feels like one I'm guilty of. Not just Abigail's murder, every murder. Stretching backward and forward in time."

Hannibal: "Freeing yourself from me and me freeing myself from you. They're the same."

Will: "We're conjoined. I'm curious whether either of us can survive separation."

S03E07: Digestivo

Hannibal: "Do we talk about teacups and time, and the rules of the disorder?"

Will: "The teacup's broken. It's never gonna gather itself back together again."

Hannibal: "Not even in your mind?"... "Your memory palace is building, it's full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own. I've discovered you there, victorious."

Will: "When it comes to you and me, there can be no decisive victory."

Hannibal: "We are a zero-sum game?"

Will: "I miss my dogs. I'm not going to miss you. I'm not going to find you. I'm not going to look for you. I don't want to know where you are or what you do. I don't want to think about you anymore."

Hannibal: "You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight."

Will: "You delight. I tolerate... I don't have your appetite."

Will: "Goodbye, Hannibal."

–/–

Hannibal (to Will): "I want you to know exactly where I am, or where you can always find me."

S03E09: ...and the Woman Clothed with the Sun

Hannibal: "Is there a child in your life, Will? I gave you a child, if you recall."

–/–

Will: "You called us "murder husbands.""

Freddie Lounds: "You did run off to Europe together."

S03E10: ...and the Woman Clothed in Sun

Bedelia: "Have you been to see him?"

Will: "Yes."

Bedelia: "You haven't learned your lesson have you? Or did you just miss him that much?"

–/–

Bedelia (to Will): "My relationship with Hannibal isn't as passionate as yours. You are here visiting an old flame. Is your wife aware how intimately you and Hannibal know each other?"

S03E11: ...and the Beast from the Sea

Will (to Hannibal): "I'm not fortune's fool. I'm yours."

S03E12: The Number of the Beast is 666

Will: "Is Hannibal... in love with me?"

Bedelia: "Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you?... Yes. But do you ache for him?"

S03E13: The Wrath of the Lamb

Hannibal: "When life becomes maddeningly polite, think about me. Think about me, Will. Don't worry about me."

–/–

Will: "I knew you wanted me to know exactly where I could find you when I needed to."

Hannibal: "And you did."

Will: "I need you Hannibal." ... "Please."

–/–

Will: "It really does look black in the moonlight."

Hannibal: "See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us."

Will: "It's beautiful."

#i just finished the show btw ;-;#okay im gonna go cry in the corner now #i may have missed one or two but #i'll just add them when i remember #we love a good show with a good scriptwriting #it's poetry #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal quotes #hannigram quotes #hannibal script #murder husbands #murder family

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ozzgin · 6 months

Note

Do you only write Hannibal lecter or do you also write for NBC Hannibal?

Yandere! Hannibal x Reader: The Grand Meal

Gather around for a short story in the spirit of Thanksgiving. You have been invited by Hannibal Lecter to a celebratory dinner, although unexpectedly barren of other guests. He will be entertaining you this evening, carefully describing each dish as he battles his own inner turmoil. (For extra immersion, I suggest listening to Bach's 'Sheep May Safely Graze')

Warning: Cannibalism and detailed gore. I'd advise against reading if you're squeamish.

[Horror Masterlist]

He politely aids you in removing your coat, folds it over his forearm, and steps aside, expectantly. You glance at him, somewhat confused.

"Your bag, if I may."

"Oh, I...I was planning to bring it with me. I have my phone in it and all the essentials." you stutter, unsure.

Uh huh. Your etiquette seems to be lacking in certain areas. Nothing that cannot be chiseled.

"You won't be needing it, I assure you." he extends his hand out, waiting.

You hesitantly place the dark leather Pochette into his fingers. Hannibal has always been rather particular when it comes to decorum. You wouldn't want to upset him, especially given his generous invite to his Thanksgiving celebration. He'd heard your complaint of being alone during the holidays and he encouraged you to join him instead.

As you hurry behind him down the spacious hallway, you quietly marvel at the expensive, tasteful paintings sporadically adorning the walls.

"I suspected they might be to your liking." He briefly peeks back at you with a faint smile on his lips.

The heavy wooden doors creak open and your nostrils are quickly overwhelmed by the tempting smell of intricate dishes. You narrow your eyes, taking in the flavors. Once you finally look ahead, you notice that the table, although neatly decorated, consists only of two seats that have been prepared for dining. Two opposing seats, causing the whole setup to seem of ridiculous length.

"Pardon my intrusion, but is anyone else attending?" You cannot contain your curiosity.

"Oh, no. Not really." Hannibal pulls your chair outwards before departing to his own designated place. "It's you and me. Does that bother you?"

"I suppose it's cozier this way." You brush it aside with a chuckle. Better than being alone, you tell yourself.

He nods in agreement before settling down. He takes a moment to examine the table, confirming that everything is indeed in its proper place. A final, satisfied incline of his head.

"Allow me to introduce today's dishes. I don't want to keep you waiting for too long." He says as he remembers your earlier little gesture of delight. "It's a little bit of a scattered theme, if I am to be honest with you. I've drawn my inspiration from varied cuisines."

"I can see. How exciting!" You swiftly scan over the diverse plates, enthusiastic and hungry.

"The main course is over there. Balsamic-glazed oven baked ribs. I recommend a drizzle of cranberry sauce to go with it."

As he points to the dish, he can almost hear the dry crack of the bone. Abruptly, he's been taken back to the previous night, to his humble slaughter room - the meat needs to be fresh after all. Shears cut through the ribs with little resistance. The blades go around the thoracic cavity, contouring the ribcage. Once a proper opening has been made, he firmly grasps each side of the ribcage and nonchalantly lifts the bone flap, resting it over the face.

Wait. He quickly digs through the skin and fat that had been shoved aside with the carcass, searching for the face of the victim. It's you. How delectable and surprising that you've wandered into such a recollection. Well, not quite a surprise that you've invaded his memories; from the very moment he met you he's been plagued by this indecent idea: How would you look on the dissecting table?

His musings are interrupted by the sizzle of the sparkling wine he's currently pouring in your glass. He finds himself back at the dining table, together with his favorite guest. You graciously thank him, and as he gazes over your features, he can't help but continue this game of imagination he's just spontaneously devised. Whoever had been carefully served for this occasion will be temporarily replaced during the theatrical retelling by you. And what a fine actor you'll be, even though you're not aware of it.

Alright, one must start from the beginning. He traces the edge of the autopsy table and inspects the drain just below your feet. He wouldn't want an incident. Would you be mortified if you'd learn your secretions and discharges leaked and clotted against the sieve? Don't worry, you'll be spared of such scenarios. He'd never willingly embarrass you like that. He softly presses the scalpel against your bare skin, going under each breast and stopping at the pubic bone. Now to trim the thick layers of fat sticking to the dermis. You're not making much of a mess, but then again it's a dream within his idle mind. A mischievous grin takes over his expression once he witnesses his clean work. The segments of skin detach smoothly, revealing your glistening, bloated organs.

He already went over the ribs. That part has been covered. What comes next? His eyes rest on the most obvious: your intestines. Which reminds him...

"This one is a Middle Eastern dish. Stuffed intestines. You gently cut the membrane, like this." He demonstrates on a separate plate. "Don't worry about seeing some additional blood. Naturally there are many capillaries irrigating the walls, so you might open them up in the process. It quickly seeps into the mixture and adds a bit of a stagnant flavor to it, but it's merely noticeable."

You swallow dryly.

Back to the original matters. He searches for his scissors and cuts along the attachment tissue smoothly. Once the bowels have been freed, he fondles them into his hands, cupping them into place, and hurries to the nearby counter. The entrails collapse and spread onto the marble surface, like mischievous tentacles. He languidly eyes them. Do organs resemble their owner? Absurd question, really. Do they reflect one's health - that much is indubitable. Yet he can't help feeling that if presented with an endless row of viscera, he could, without hesitation, point and state which ones are yours. It's a mysterious confidence whose source he cannot pinpoint. You've always captivated him. Just when he thinks he's had you like an open book, you slip and slither between his fingers. Fitting.

What is it about you that preoccupies his mind to such degree? He turns back to the table and scans the remaining options. Your intelligence? The tool drawer opens and his fingers linger over the saw and skull chisel. Perhaps. But there's more to it, really. His analytical, rational self craves for more than what it can grasp. And what it lacks, well...

He pinches the visceral fascia and lifts the translucent membrane, with the same delicacy of unveiling a young bride, and reveals your heart, cold and still. There it is, the answer to everything. A transect to the vena cava near the diaphragm and the organ has been separated from the rest of the body. An angel with clipped wings. Holding it like this, he can almost discern the faintest throb, the fibrous muscle pressing into his skin.

"And this?"

He purses his lips, taken aback by his own rudeness. Has he been zoning out in plain sight?

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"The dish, I mean."

He follows the direction of your stretched out index. Ah.

"Heart stuffed with mushroom duxelle. Old English classic with a twist."

"You sound like a professional chef", you respond as you laugh. "Is there anything you can't do?"

Is there? He considers it. Right before his revelation was discontinued by your inquiry - absolutely not your fault, the ill manners were his - he was wondering if he possesses the capacity to love you. He definitely prefers you over all of the people he's encountered in his life, and your behavior and way of thinking never ceases to make him curious. Yet love is a conclusion he cannot asses with certainty.

He had hoped a vivisectionist approach would offer him concrete data, palpable reasoning, but his journey only reinforced that some concepts must be tested outside of pure introspection. Or, as one would describe it colloquially, he has to take the bull by its horns.

"By the way, what meat is this?" You have arranged yourself a platter with a little bit of everything, and just finished chewing a hearty bite. "Ox or something? It's very tender."

If Hannibal is to embark on his expedition of human feelings, he needs to reflect on his choices carefully. Or does he? Hmm. His methodical tactics are what caused this impasse in the first place.

One can afford to give in, every now and then. How will you react to his self indulgence? He rests his head on the back of his intertwined hands and stares at you with a determined look.

"Human."

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #yandere hannibal lecter #yandere #yandere x reader #tw cannibalism #tw body horror #horror x reader #slasher x reader

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marshmallowdarling · 3 months

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Hi! I love reading your story's, can I request a yandere Hannibal x fem reader please?😊💕

It’s not surprising that Hannibal plays the long game but Hannibal also makes the game.

It was easy for him to set up the game, almost laughably easy. He was a renowned therapist who helps police on cases, strong, smart, made a name for himself- a good name. Your parents didn’t even have a chance to have doubts when he came to ask for your hand in marriage. If anything your parents were elated, over the moon that you, the black sheep of the family, had the eye of a man like Hannibal. They practically threw poor little you to into his hands.

One thing Hannibal likes is politeness, manners, and no matter when or how Hannibal had meet you he was struck with the need to understand you, figure you out and not in his usual killing urge type of way. After a few months or even years of following you around he finally realises what it is, love.

Does he really think its love? Not really, its something deeper, more sinister than love. He would rip apart anyone that would try to hurt you, he wants to keep you safe with such feral intensity it’s not sane. But he himself can’t even breathe at the thought of hurting you himself either so he chalks it up with a simple word. Love.

He should have seen it coming, really he should’ve since he had been watching and ‘protecting’ you for so long, but he’s still struck shocked when you fight back your holy matrimony with such pettiness and sass. You couldn’t stop your parents from practically forcing you to agree to marry him, getting dressed up in a dress you didn’t really care about, everything too grand and nothing like what the little girl in you envisioned. So, in retaliation you tried everything to get him to re-think his decision, anything to get him to divorce you, even if it meant being a sassy brat. Turning your nose up at his delicious food just to piss him off, doing little things you knew he hated just to push his buttons.

It’s cute, he thinks, really cute that you think being a brat would stop his heart from yearning for you so much his physically body aches being away from you. But you aren’t a brat, are you? Your just pretending because your sick of your parents stupid pressuring expectations, hating how they dictated every little thing in your life and now your ‘life’ partner.

Every time you push and shove and take bits and pieces of his sanity it just fuels his obsession for you, every time he feels himself get frustrated or irritated it just makes him more head over heels over you. Staring at you with hearts practically in his eyes as you make his blood boil, he takes everything in stride. With a polite smile on his lips and insanity in his heart eyes.

But he does feel bad, really he does, he feels bad that you have terrible no good rotten parents who are ready throw you to the wolves once they get their greed filled, or bad enough for a man who feels no remorse or guilt. Maybe its pity, he thinks, like how one looks at a wounded animal. But he could never see you at a level as an animal, no matter how adorably cute you are. Maybe a goddess then, a fallen goddess, he worships you as if you’re a goddess anyways, taking your sass and anger as some sort of twisted love from a holier being.

He can’t help the feeling of amusement that bubbles up when he see’s you try to be a brat, but the manners engraved into your very soul peek out, like your body and mind are fighting on your decision to pretend to be mean when your really such a sweet nice darling.

The little ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ that come out when you demand something from him or the sweet little ‘no thank you’ that you give him when you pretend to glare at him with faux hatred in your eyes, because you didn’t really hate him. How could you? He was unbelievably sweet and attentive, picking up on the little things you didn’t even know about yourself until he picks up on it. He was the best husband anyone could ask for, in and out, even if he could be a little serious, cold and calculative at times. Hannibal shields you from everyone, including your parents, shutting them down so quickly and efficiently when they start their bullshit of bringing you down it seems natural.

And one day your fake anger towards him slips, your tipsy on alcohol and his love, its all consuming but it feels oddly soothing, like cool balm on an open wound. You stumble and almost trip, but his arms are already there to catch you, ready to do anything to keep you safe and without thinking you lean up and press a soft, albeit clumsy, kiss on his lips.

Something in Hannibal snaps. The kiss, as quick and fleeting as it was felt like heaven. Like he was reborn, like for once in his life he could finally breathe.

You gave this dirty, blood-stained sinner a slice of heaven and now he’s your most devoted worshiper at your alter. For better, or for worse.

Hannibal has you pressed in a mean mating press, one of your legs thrown over his broad shoulders. The thin handmade anklet he got you for your wedding present, dainty and small, designed from start to finish by him with a little ‘H’ dangling on it chimes in his ear and makes his head spin.

“I- god- I love you so much.” He groans out, sweat clinging to his brow as his messy blonde hair sticks to his skin. “Goddess." He murmurs into your skin, pressing his lips against your ankle, kissing all the way up to the side of your knee as he saours the way your skin feels on his lips. Pulling back he licks your sweat that smeared on his lips and he smirks.

His pupils are wide and blown as he gazes down at you with so much love and tenderness it hurts. Sweat clung to his muscular frame as he threw his head back, groaning so low you feel it in your tummy.

Your in worse shape than him, yourpractically writhing under him, not able to escape the torturous pleasure as he puts all his weight down onto you. As sweaty if not more than him, twisting and bucking and shaking, hair messed and sprawled out on the bed beneath you, eye brows knitted. Your breath being selfishly stolen by him as he takes and takes, gasps the only thing able to leaven you as well as broken keens and whimpers. You had long stopped trying to muffle your embarrassingly lewd noises, he had practically growled at you to let them out, not letting you hide anything from him.

Sparks zing up your spine as he hits deep and a wail leaves you, your hand coming to push at his lower stomach, nails scratching over his muscles. Hannibal moans and his eyes roll at the feeling, quickly snatching your hand he slams it softly next to your head. His fingers entwining with his as he locks them together.

Long deep slow strokes makes your brain melt out of your ears, brain gone all fuzzy as you get addicted to him and his touch.

“Take it sweetheart, I know you can.” His breath hitches as he forces your thighs open wider to accommodate him, he looms over your more and the change of position makes you cry out. “Let me worship you my goddess, your mine, all mine.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Woo wee thats finally done! I hope my first proper attempt at smut was ok I think there was another ask for Hannibal but it was H/C's, I'LL GET TO YOU MY LOVELY I PROMISE 😭 Im trying to get back into writing but its hard, im sorry but I will get to you all. Some might be before others just because some things kick start my writing process 🥺 But please keep sending requests I love the ideas and support even if it takes me a bit to get to them. Hope you enjoy lovelies.

~Mwah ♡

#yandere #soft!yandere #tw yandere #darling core #chubby reader #yandere x reader #cw yandere #softyandere #soft yandere #yandere smut #yandere lemons #yandere hannibal lecter #yandere hannibal #tw.yandere #tw.dark content

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