#‘Jack realized it was Hannibal when Miriam shot Chilton’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lannister-slings-and-arrows · 4 years ago

Text

Laugh With Me a Little- Frederick Chilton fanfic

(Gif by @humanveil )

Hey look! It’s been a few months! And I come back bearing gifts! This is another piece in a series that @pascalispretty and I have been slowly but surely working on, and here I now present it to you for your reading pleasure. This is technically an AU I suppose. We have made the executive decision to pretend that Jack Crawford can at least fake being a competent law enforcement officer and holster his gun properly while not in active pursuit of a suspect. You know, so Miriam Lass can’t just pluck it off his belt and shoot my darling anxious grumpy lonely loser weenie husband in the face.

Part Two of the series A Sign That Someone Loves Me Part One: Sleep Therapy

Warnings: oral sex (cunnilingus), smut, sex, past violence, mild reference to gore, Fred is a thicc boy and we love it, I suppose a bit of an AU lol Rating: Explicit. There’s sex folks Word Count: 5929 not sorry at all Summary: You and Fred have only had bad days and worse nights since his release from FBI custody. Stuck under guard in a hotel, a bad joke, a good laugh and a well-timed trademark application might just help you and Fred start to connect again.

For the first time in weeks, you wake up slowly, naturally. There are no imagined monsters looming over the foot of your bed; there is no frantic husband shaking you awake to make sure you’re still alive, that you haven’t been taken from him in the night.

Instead, Fred sleeps soundly on as you stir awake. He’s flat on his back, one arm flung out towards you over the sheets. When you realize that he’s still asleep, you almost hold your breath for fear that even the slightest movement will wake him.

Even before Hannibal had broken into your home and strewn mutilated corpses about the place, Fred had been sleeping terribly. There had been nights when you had woken to find him simply staring at you, something unreadable written in those sharp green eyes.

By the time he had been released from prison and ushered into protective custody in the hotel suite the two of you still occupied, he was barely sleeping at all.

There were nights when he would shake you awake, convinced that Hannibal had somehow snuck in during the night, killed you, and then tucked you back into bed for Fred to find in the morning. Other nights, you would wake up to find him shaking and thrashing, transported back to Gideon’s makeshift operating table, or to your bloodied kitchen with disemboweled agents on display.

Yet this morning, he’s still and quiet, lips parted ever so slightly as he breathes evenly and deeply. After everything —being eviscerated by Gideon, framed by Hannibal, almost shot in the head by Miriam —lying beside him and listening to him breathe is better than music. Watching the rise and fall of his chest, being able to feel the warmth radiating off him, all the signs of life and vitality that you thought you’d never see again, is more than enough to content you as you lie beside him.

You’re not sure how long you lie there, just watching him sleep. It’s like a spell has been woven over the two of you, an aura of comfort and warmth enveloping you both. It almost saddens you when Fred starts to stir against the pillows. To your surprise, instead of waking up startled or panicked, he has a hint of a smile on his face.

“Hannibal the cannibal,” he whispers to himself, eyes still closed.

“What?” Your brow wrinkles in confusion, wondering what on earth about that moniker Fred could possibly find worth smiling about.

“It rhymes,” he murmurs, before turning his head to meet your worried gaze. “It —it fucking rhymes.” The smile on his face widens, and before you entirely know what’s happening, he’s laughing. It’s a sound that you’ve gone so long without hearing that it takes you entirely by surprise, leaving you in stunned silence as he carries on chuckling to himself.

His laughter is infectious, and soon the two of you have tears streaming from your eyes as you laugh together, sides sore and cheeks aching. Fred gathers you close and drops a kiss on the top of your head, a casual gesture that’s so reminiscent of times untainted by fear or desperation that it almost makes you want to cry.

Fred kicks away the sheets, and scrambles for his laptop where he had left it on the hotel desk.

“What’re you doing?”

“You think I’m going to pass up the chance to trademark ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’? I’m scared, not stupid.”

********

The two of you have a really good day.

You convince him to leave the hotel and do a little shopping, have lunch at an actual restaurant, after which you take a nap on the couch in your room with his head in your lap, face buried in your stomach.

After dinner he sits down on the bed with you and just stares into your eyes, lacing your fingers together. And you lean over and kiss him. Really kiss him. Easily. Not the desperate kiss of him being released from prison, or a terrified kiss after a nightmare, or the reassuring kisses he needs sometimes when he thinks you’re being followed or he loses track of you for a minute. A real kiss, just because you want to and he’s handsome and there in front of you.

It doesn't take long for him to pull you closer, tugging you up onto his lap so he can hold you tightly to him. All the room service food has been good to him; he'd lost weight while he was being detained, so you can't help but grin at how broad and squeezable he once again feels. He hasn't shaved in a day or two, and his stubble scratches like the old days at your face.

Both of his hands cradle your face close to his, tilting it to the perfect angle so he can lick into your mouth ever so gently. You love the scratch on your cheeks, the burn on your skin from his whiskers, savoring the pain because you know you won’t be able to convince him to keep it much longer.

You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him before bringing a hand back around to slip under his sweater and rub gently at his growing belly — but over his shirt because he still gets skittish about his scar being touched. You feel him start to harden under you and you smile wider into the kiss.

“Hello there, Fred,” you sigh.

It feels like it's been an age since you last felt like this, just indulging in one another. Before his arrest, the two of you had been too angry with one another to even consider it and afterwards you'd both been a little too on edge.

"Hi there," he murmurs back, one of his hands sliding down your side to tug at your hip, pulling you even closer to him. It feels so achingly familiar, like you're right back in your bedroom at the old house helping him tug his sweater over his head, not here in the hotel. The movement messes up his hair, and you can't help but run your fingers through it, letting your nails scratch lightly at his scalp, just how you know he likes it.

His eyes flutter closed, you feel his cock twitch under you, and he moans quietly, hands clutching convulsively at you. Your insides burn at the noise, your whole body warming at the feel of him around you and under you again. The smell of his shampoo is intoxicating, the feel of his long fingers burrowing under your shirt to pet lightly at your bare skin shoots lightning bolts of pure sensation from their point of origin and into your brain and your toes, lighting every nerve in between on fire.

He opens his soft green eyes and you start to drown in them; but drown slowly because there’s no need to rush this time. You’re safe, he’s safe, and no one is going to take him away from you again. You lean forward to kiss him, your fingers still tangled in his now hopelessly mussed hair.

You could lose yourself in his kiss alone, your every sense completely overwhelmed by him. His long fingers start to tug at your shirt, and you whine when you have to break your kiss and lean back so he can pull it over your head. You're not sure how long the two of you stay like this, his hands at your waist and your fingers in his hair, making out like teenagers.

For the first time in weeks, you're utterly present with one another; there are no monsters hiding under the bed distracting you. You practically purr when Fred shifts, pushing you down so you're on your back and he's lying between your legs. The feeling of his warm, broad bulk pressing you into the mattress only makes you wetter, rocking your hips ever so slightly upwards against him.

He presses down harder into you, allowing almost all of his weight to settle on top of you and he stops kissing you. He pulls back and stares at you, smiling when you frown and try and chase his lips.

“Patience, darling, patience.” You huff and then moan when he shifts his own hips and drives the seam on your pants tighter against you. He rests his forehead against yours and sighs, hips stilling, eyes closed, cock hard against your center. His arms are bracketing your head as he bumps his nose against yours.

“I missed you,” he admits softly.

"I missed you too," you tell him, brushing his hair carefully back from his forehead. "This feels so nice." You let your eyelids flutter shut, relishing the cosiness and warmth and intimacy. Fred hums in agreement, mouthing his way across your jaw and down to your neck.

His weight on you is so comforting, such a solid reminder that he's here, safe and with you, and you find yourself tugging at his shoulders trying to pull him closer still. The kisses he's trailing down your neck make you shiver, every press of his lips only adding to the heat pooling in your core.

He’s subtly rocking against you, with little flicks of his hips that serve only to tease you, not to provide any real relief. You whine in the back of your throat as you feel him drag his teeth softly against your neck on a more forceful thrust. His belly expands against yours, you can feel every breath he takes and it’s glorious, having warm, heavy proof of his vitality. You clutch at him as he goes to sit up.

“No, Fred, wait—.” He bends down again and kisses your nose and then each eyelid and then finally your lips, hands going to the bottom of his shirt and pulling it off, leaving himself bare and exposed above you. You take in the sight of so much smooth skin, marked only by the still pink scar that Abel Gideon left, and you start to tear up.

It's such a vivid reminder of the last time you almost lost him, of the frantic phone call summoning you to the hospital while they tried to replace your husband's innards as best they could. Fred knows you well enough to know that your reaction isn't one of disgust (though it had taken weeks to convince him his scars didn't affect your attraction to him in the slightest). He knows it reminds you of how close you came to losing him all over again, and a few tears break free and slide down your face.

"I'm right here," he murmurs soothingly, kissing away your tears with the lightest brush of his lips. "I'm not going anywhere." One of his hands comes up to cup your face gently, his green eyes boring into yours as your foreheads touch again.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hang off of him like a ragdoll, clinging more tightly than can possibly be comfortable for him. He doesn't say a word, he just shifts his weight, leaning more heavily on his elbows so he doesn’t fall onto you. Fred stares at you, hands on your face, your tears running over his fingers. You try to focus on the feeling of his warm skin pressed so deliciously against yours and you breathe deeply, finally letting go of him with one arm to reach down and tug on his belt buckle. He flicks his eyes briefly away from your teary ones to your hand resting on his waistband and looks back up at you.

“Are you sure?” he asks quietly, tracking a few more tears as they make their way down your face. “We can just stay like this tonight.” You shake your head and smile at him, stretching your neck up to capture his lips again while you tug insistently on his belt. He moans when you card the fingers of your free hand through the thick hair on the back of his head and yank, and he swipes away the tear tracks on your cheekbones with his thumbs before sitting up again.

For a long moment, he just looks at you. His fingers trace absent patterns along your sides, and the gentle touch only makes you want more from him.

"Take this off for me?" he asks rather than orders you, his long fingers brushing against the bottom of your bra. You're eager to comply, sitting up just enough to allow you to unclasp it and throw it somewhere to the side. Instead of trying to touch your breasts, Fred's fingers go to the waistband of your pants. "Can I?" He waits for you to nod eagerly before he tugs them and your underwear down. With you laid out bare before him, he kneels between your legs and savours the sight of you, the intensity of his gaze making your skin feel hot without him even having to touch you.

“Fred, come on, please,” you beg him, smiling up at your husband. “You’re a little overdressed.” He smirks back at you and stretches out on the bed, his shoulders shoving your legs further apart.

“I’ll get to that eventually,” he assures you, turning his head to place a series of kisses on the inside of one knee and then the other. He looks up at you from his place between your legs, his face so close to where you want it, where it hasn’t been in what feels like forever, and tells you, “I’ve been dreaming about this since we started fighting. I want to eat you out until you can’t even remember my name to scream.” Your breath hitches and you pet your fingers through his hair. “Is that okay with you, darling?”

"God, yes," you gasp out, knowing full well that you've been dreaming of much the same lately. His breath is warm against your thigh as he lets out a soft chuckle, and you try to let yourself relax as he kisses his way up the sensitive skin.

At the first touch of his velvet tongue against your cunt, you throw your head back against the pillows and sigh. It's been far too long; you're so sensitive that your body feels like one long exposed nerve ending. You tug at Fred's hair, and nearly weep at the sensation of him moaning against you. "Oh, fuck, that feels so good. Missed you," you manage between heaving breaths.

His tongue flicks across your clit hard, fast, and you whine, high and long in the back of your throat, your breath coming in short, sharp pants. “Fred –Fred, god, Fred that feels—” His hair is so soft and fine between your fingers, his mouth so warm and wet between your legs. Your face is flushed and you feel an orgasm building in the center of you already, a hot, burning bloom spreading in waves through you, and your fingers clench in his hair. He’s about to shove you over that ledge and—

He leans back and rests his stubbly cheek on your thigh, looking up at you with eyes swirling with mischief, a smile lighting up his whole face and slick glistening on his chin. You blink stupidly at him, chest heaving, orgasm receding.

“What-—?”

He brings his fingers around to ghost over your slit gently, eyes flicking from yours to your cunt, and he licks his lips, rubbing his cheek against the inside of your knee.

"I did tell you to be patient." He smirks, pressing lazy kisses along your skin. "What's your rush, darling?" he asks in a tone of voice that makes you want to kick him.

"You were the one that wanted to make me scream," you huff sulkily, which only makes him smirk more. He carries on trailing kisses up your thighs, and after what feels like an eternity, licks a firm line along your cunt. Your fingers tighten in his hair, desperate to keep him exactly where he is as he languidly mouths over you, in no hurry at all to get you off.

He's always been attentive when it comes to making sure you finish; you've teased him more than once that he enjoys you praising him while he makes you come almost as much as he likes getting to come himself. "So good at this, Fred," you sigh happily, petting his hair.

He mumbles something against you, you don’t know what, but it feels fantastic and your nails drag against his scalp. He moans and you look down your body to see his hips rutting gently against the mattress.

“Jesus, Fred. Fuck this feels amaz—” you break off to keen sharply, one knee jerking up against the side of his head as he sucks hard on your clit, letting go to briefly nibble and then returning to fucking you with his tongue. You throw your head back as all of your muscles clench and your body tries to curl in on itself. He holds your legs open when they try to close around his head and he goes back to sucking on your clit and you feel your legs start to twitch and shake.

“Fred, Fred, fuck, yes, just like that,” you whine at him, his hair tangled in your fingers. He suddenly presses two fingers inside of you, lips still wrapped around your clit, and you can’t breathe except in short, sharp gasps and when he curls his fingers up just like that to drag against your top wall you come. You feel like you’ve been electrocuted and you whine, “Fred, oh, fuck, yes!”

He doesn't stop or check his pace at all; he simply uses his free hand to keep your hips still as he carries on, dragging out your orgasm. You can barely get enough air into your lungs to breathe, especially when he starts to suck lightly on your clit again.

"Oh, God, Fred—," you whimper, clutching weakly at his hair as you let yourself give into the overwhelming pleasure. He crooks his fingers just so inside of you, pressing against that spot that makes your toes curl and your vision whiten. It doesn't take him long at all to push you over the edge again, more tears creeping from beneath your lashes at the exquisite feeling.

You’re a whimpering teary-eyed mess as he starts to finally slow the pace of his fingers and ceases sucking on your clit. Your breath is coming in sharp inhales and even shorter exhales, your vision a little grey around the edges as he gently cleans you up of everything he’s been able to wring out of you with long, slow licks of his tongue.

Tears are still quietly making their way down your cheeks and onto the pillow beneath you and every single muscle in your body twitches when he bumps against your clit. The groan that fights its way out of your chest when he eventually pulls his fingers out of your cunt is truly impressive and immediately echoed by one of his own.

“Fred,” you sigh quietly, unable to keep a bit of a sob out of your voice. He looks up at you from where he’s watching your cunt clench around nothing as he licks his hand clean and frowns, adorable furrows appearing on his brow, lips starting to purse.

“Darling, hey, don’t cry, no.” He stretches out on top of you, all of his weight crushing you into the mattress again and wraps his arms around you.

“That was so good Fred,” you tell him, burying your face in his neck and hanging on to him tightly, nails digging into his back just hard enough to leave a few marks till the morning. "So good to me," you murmur against his neck, soothed by the feeling of his warm bulk pressing you into the bed, and his stubble scratching against your face.

"Are you alright? Was it too much?" Fred asks, petting at your hair as best as he can while you cling to him. He sounds apologetic, and you shake your head adamantly.

"No. I just— I really have missed you." You press your knees more tightly to his sides and tilt your hips upwards to drive your point home. "Missed how good you are at making me come. Missed how hot it is to watch you fuck me from behind in the mirror. I’ve missed it all." You carry on rocking your hips up, gratified when he starts to move with you. "God, and I've missed the way you feel inside me. Don't you miss it? Miss those little naps we used to take with your cock buried inside me, keeping me nice and full?"

His cock twitches and he groans into your hair, his fingers tangling in the long strands and tugging in time with the roll of your hips.

“Ye— yes,” he hisses, bare chest starting to heave against yours, his skin warm and smooth and soft, a little slick with sweat in places. “I missed—” One of his hands strokes down your side to grab your leg and hoist it higher against his hips, this new angle opening you up further to him. “I missed how warm you are, how tight around my cock, how you seem to fit me exactly. Like you were made to surround me forever.” His chin digs into your head and you whimper at the feeling of the front of his slacks dragging across your exposed and still over-sensitive clit.

“Fred, Fred, oh, god, fill me up again, I don’t want to go any longer without—” He squeezes your knee and nods, still moving his hips against yours.

“I missed you so much, you’re all I thought about in there, your—” You both moan and you bite into his neck, whining as another orgasm, almost painful this time, begins to burn through your body, starting at your cunt and rolling its way to your fingers, gaining momentum and searing his name across every nerve in your body. “How good you felt, your fingers in my hair,” Fred continues to speak but all you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears.

“Fuck, Fred, yes, don’t stop, please, please, like that,” you wail.

A loud sob escapes you as you’re dragged over the edge of your third climax of the night, every muscle in your body taut as pleasure races through your veins once more. A few more tears fight their way free, the overstimulation on your clit starting to make you sore, but you’re not done yet.

Before you’ve even really finished coming down from your orgasm, you push your hands between your body and Fred’s, trying to undo his pants with clumsy fingers. He grunts against your hair and bats your hands away, sitting up only for as long as it takes to free himself of his remaining clothes.

You only get the briefest of glimpses of him finally naked before he falls back onto you, pressing kisses along your neck, all thoughts of patience long abandoned. You wrap one of your hands around his cock and guide him into you, crying out loudly as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you. His arms wrap tightly around you, holding you to him as he grinds himself as deeply as he can into your cunt.

He stills, nestled deep inside of you, not moving for whole seconds, an interminably long time, and you both breathe harshly, staring at each other, heads pressed together, warm air fanning across your cheeks in sharp pants. His cock twitches inside of you and you clamp down on it, whining when he grinds his pelvis harder against yours in response.

“Can’t—” he huffs. “Stop moving— just, stay here,” Fred orders, breathless and red-faced. You nod and savor the feeling of him inside you again, of being full and covered and smothered. Of struggling to take a breath because of his weight on top of you and him sitting inside of you. Both of your legs are wrapped high around his waist and you grip his forearms that are bracketing your head. His eyes are practically glowing as you pant,

“God, Fred, fuck, you— I feel so full, this feels so good—” He twitches again and you feel like the oxygen has suddenly been snatched from the entire hotel. “You feel so fucking good, Jesus just, fuck me, please!” You’re begging him now and you can’t find it in you to care.

He gives a short, sharp thrust that makes you both moan, and he buries his nose into your hair.

"Won't last," he murmurs, almost apologetically. "Been too long." Your nails scrabble along his back, trying to get him to move again. As much as you want to prolong the feeling of him inside you, the feeling of being so utterly encompassed and full, you can't bear him being still right now.

"I don't care, Fred, please—" You almost sob when he groans into your hair and starts to move. He tries to start off slow, but it's been far too long for that kind of pace to last. Instead, he goes faster than he normally prefers, chasing his first orgasm in weeks. You can't get enough of him; even though you're starting to feel sore, you never want him to stop making those quiet, pleased little sounds right against your ear.

He groans quietly every time he fills you, stretches you, punches the air right out of your lungs with sharp thrusts of his hips. His cock drags against your walls and you gasp.

“Jesus, Fred.” He huffs a quiet moan in your ear and grabs your thigh, pushing your leg higher and thrusting harder, deeper. “Fred!” you practically shriek, nails digging into his sides, as the head of his cock hits something that makes your toes curl and your calves jerk. Fred lets go of one of your legs to slip his fingers between you and rub tight circles over your clit, panting,

“Come on, darling, one more, you can do it.” You sob and shake your head, hanging on to his shoulder and the hair at the back of his head.

“Fred, Fred, please, please, this feels so good come on, just come.” He grunts and presses harder.

“You can, one more, I know you can.”

“‘S too much,” you whine, even as you buck your hips up into his touch. Every brush of his fingers or press of his hips sends a wave of heat burning through your veins and down to your core, but every touch is tinged with the barest hint of pain. Fred moves his mouth over your neck, dragging his teeth over your sensitive skin in a way that only sends you higher.

“So good for me, darling. Just one more, I want to feel you come around me.” How could you refuse him that? You scratch at his back, his shoulders, his sides, trying to anchor yourself to something as the overwhelming pleasure starts to make you boneless and lightheaded. You sob something that might have been his name, or a curse, or anything in between as you finally come, bearing down hard on his cock and burying your face against his neck. Four isn’t even your record, but you’ve gotten out of practice of late. You get a glimpse of Fred’s hair sticking up in fifteen different directions as he leans back up to kiss you.

You whimper into his mouth as he keeps rocking his hips into you at a brutal pace, his cock moving against sensitive walls and sending shocks against your clit with every thrust. It’s too much, it hurts, it burns, and it feels so good; your thighs try to clutch him even closer but his shoulders keep pressing them apart and close to your chest. He releases your lips and just rests his face next to yours, panting,

“God, close, close.”

You cling to him, trying to pull him as tight against you as possible, to feel every inch of his bare skin sliding against yours— you never want to leave this moment right here, this moment where it’s finally just the two of you again, no Gideon, no Hannibal, no FBI, no one but him and his heartbeat against your chest, his breath across your face.

“Inside, come inside me, please, Fred, it feels—” you plead, a couple more tears leaking out as his cock continues to grind into you, hitting every delicious already overstimulated spot. “Feels so good, you feel so good, please, please.”

Fred chokes out a gasp, your name, and helps you in your quest for closeness. He grips you tightly to him and his cock pulses inside of you, you feel him flood your cunt and his hips stutter to a halt. He rests heavily on top of you and deep inside you; it doesn’t seem to you like he wants to let you go any more than you want him to be more than a centimeter away from you.

The two of you lie like that for a long while, even after Fred has softened inside you. Neither of you wants to be the first to move, to break the spell of quiet intimacy that has settled over you both. If you close your eyes, you could be right back in your bed in Baltimore, instead of some anonymous hotel room in DC under assumed names. The world has shrunk to the size of the two of you, and you bury your head into the crook of his neck to keep it that way for just a little longer.

Yet despite your wishes, you can’t stay like that forever. Already a deep ache is making itself known in your core and your thighs; you’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to keep your legs pressed so tightly against Fred’s torso. You have to bite your lip to stop yourself whimpering at the burn in your muscles when you eventually shift your legs lower, but Fred notices your discomfort anyway.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he asks softly, brushing your hair back so he can stroke your face.

“Sore,” you manage pathetically, a sharp little cry forcing its way out of your throat at the sensation of him pulling out of you.

“How sore?” His tone changes in an instant, and he tries to sit up to get a better look at you. You don’t let him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to keep him close.

“Nothing a hot bath won’t fix, don’t worry. I’m just out of practice,” you say lightly, trying to keep him from worrying. It doesn’t entirely work; he carefully shifts to move his weight off of you until he’s on his back and your head is resting on his chest. You can hear the steady thud of his heartbeat like your own personal lullaby, and you can feel your eyelids getting heavier.

He lets you rest for a moment, silent and steady under you, before heaving a sigh and kissing the top of your head.

“You’re going to have to let me up if you want that bath, sweetheart,” he informs you cheekily. You groan, clutching him around his waist tighter before releasing him with a sigh. He slips out from under you and stands, turning slightly to stare at you with a soft smile stretching his chubby cheeks for a few extra seconds before padding quietly to the bathroom. You smile and shamelessly ogle his ass as he walks away from you.

Fred comes back a few minutes later, still buck naked and on display for you, and grins back when he catches you checking him out.

“See something you like?” he asks, stopping by the side of the bed and extending a hand to help you sit up. You grasp his long, warm fingers and barely suppress an eye roll. You missed your cocky husband, you have to remind yourself. And it's not like he doesn’t have anything to be cocky about.

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you tell him, sitting up with a wince. He notices. “It’s unbecoming of a man of your stature.” Fred moves to take your arm and he gently tugs you out of bed, handsome face still pulled into a worried frown.

The two of you make your way slowly to the bath, Fred walking by your side and insisting on maintaining a pace more suitable for an invlid, but you do eventually make it and settle into water hot enough to cook a lobster— just the way you like it.

“Mmmm,” you groan, resting back against Fred’s chest and tugging his arms around you securely. “This is wonderful.”

“You know what would make this even better?” you ask him.

“Better?” he responds with fake offense, a little bit of his old barely-restrained snobbery huffing back into his tone, and to hear it again makes you warmer than any bubble bath. “What else can I do for you this evening, my darling girl?”

“Some bubbly to go with these bubbles would be wonderful.”

He huffs a laugh and you feel him relax further still against the tub wall behind you, his lassitude pulling you back with him, a tide you’re more than happy to be swept away by.

“It’s a shame there isn’t an FBI agent we can’t call up to deliver that,” you muse, really carried away now by the idea of having some champagne.

“Really it would be the very least they could do,” Fred says.

“But you probably would criticize their choice of vintage.”

“Naturally. We don’t pay taxes to provide culture to Quantico.”

You smile and lean against him, playing with the bubbles rising in irregular, sudsy mountains around you. Fred has gone quiet, and you tune yourself to feel any of that old skittishness, any unease, worried that bringing up the FBI had conjured malevolent spirits into the suite. His fingers are moving mindlessly, no pensively, under the water, crawling against your thigh in contemplation.

“What is it?” you ask, voice easy.

“It’s not as easy to rhyme,” he says.

You have no idea what he is talking about but it feels as if you should. “What isn’t?” you ask.

“This ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’ trademark, that’s just the first step. Why not a brand? Champagne for a Rampage, no, that’s not right…”

You sit up and turn around.

“Frederick. Are you…. Are you thinking up names for a Hannibal branded champagne?”

“‘Brut fit for a brute’ is too wordy, don’t you think?”

“Fred!” You’re horrified, but he’s so serious you’re in danger of thinking this might be a good idea.

“Is this too niche? For a Rosé, ‘This is my d'assemblage.”

You look at each other and you have no idea what to say. The only thing you can do is laugh.

He grins at you, relieved you find the humor in this. “This has potential,” he tells you.

“You’re mad,” you say, but you can’t stop smiling.

“Why shouldn’t we profit from this?” he asks.

“Whatever you want, Fred,” you say and you mean it, because you want to give him everything, everything he wants, wants him to enjoy it all and be there to witness it. You lean in and kiss him. “Whatever you want.”

#frederick chilton x reader #frederick chilton x you #frederick chilton #fanfiction #writing #hannibal #raúl esparza #raul esparza #collaboration #pascalispretty #fanfic

105 notes · View notes

kiss-my-freckle · 4 years ago

Photo

This episode hits the mark where I really start to enjoy the series. What happens when they release the stag, now in complete control of his own actions, deciding for himself what he wants and when. Nothing but deliciousness going forward. I'm not a fan of the actress that plays the role of Miriam Lass, so I'm glad she's not in it for long. Bedelia feeds off her story in season three. Chilton is given the same chance as Gideon. He can't expect to catch Hannibal while denying his own truth. Will is hilariously blunt. "You didn't have to find me, Jack. You just had to listen to me." The entire purpose of Hannibal's surrender. Alana is an idiot, but it's the point of direction just like the rest of them. Jack could've easily provided oversight while Chilton recovered memories from Miriam. Chilton could've easily revealed his truth to Jack and been done with it. Both have an agenda, both want to do things their own way. That's why Chilton gets framed and Jack doesn't catch the Ripper. Will's conversation with Hannibal in his kitchen pushes forward to Chiyoh's storyline. Will as he holds a gun on Hannibal, yet another realization. "Don't you want to know how this ends?" Yes, he does. But it's not the reason he doesn't shoot him. Hannibal expected Chilton to die. "It had to be Miriam, didn't it? She was compelled to take his life so she could take her own back." Hannibal asks Will how he'll take his life back. If he could do it by killing him, he would've shot him in his kitchen or cut his throat and fed him to Mason's pigs. He doesn't have that kind of hate for Hannibal. The reason he doesn’t kill Hannibal is how he'll take his life back. It pushes back to 1x13, then forward to Peter's storyline. He's going to do to Hannibal exactly what Hannibal did to him. That's why he resumes his therapy.

#Hannibal #2x7

27 notes · View notes

ramajmedia · 5 years ago

Text

10 Storylines From Hannibal That Never Got Resolved | ScreenRant

One of the most artistic and visually controversial contributions to network television in recent years, Hannibal ran for only three seasons on NBC but left a lasting impression. Boasting a stand-out cast of Hugh Dancy, Laurence Fishburne, and Mads Mikkelsen as the titular character, it followed the formidable cinematic villain Hannibal Lecter from his days as a psychiatrist working with the FBI to becoming one of their most hunted.

RELATED: 8 Best Roles Mads Mikkelsen Has Taken On (Besides Hannibal)

Fans of author Thomas Harris already knew the story of Hannibal's beginnings from reading The Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon, but most of them never dreamed that they'd see his works realized with such strong acting, compelling storytelling, and beautiful imagery anywhere other than on HBO. Below you'll find 10 storylines that we'll sadly never know the outcomes of.

10 WILL AND HANNIBAL'S FATE

At the conclusion of Season 3, Will and Hannibal have just both participated in the ruthless murder of Francis Dolarhyde, aka the "Tooth Fairy" or "Red Dragon." While it can be argued it was in self-defense, Hannibal turns to Will at one point when they're both bathed in blood and asks him what he thinks of what he's done, to which Will replies, "It's beautiful." right before he pulls Hannibal over the cliffside.

Will's inability to live with what he could become under Hannibal's tutelage led to their poetic end. Wrapped in each other's bloody arms, they plunged into the sea. Was that the end of them, or could they have survived? After all, Hannibal appears in The Silence of the Lambs.

9 DOCTOR CHILTON

Even for being a repugnant character in the series, Dr. Chilton didn't deserve the truly heinous violence inflicted on him during its run. He also didn't deserve to survive it, leaving him in a state of gross disfigurement.

Chilton had been shot in the face, which left him blind in one eye, and with so much damage to his jaw and cheek bones that they needed to be reconstructed with a prosthetic and makeup. He would go on to have his lips bitten off by Francis Dolarhyde and be set on fire. What happens to him, considering that he retains the same position at the hospital in The Silence of the Lambs?

8 JACK HAVING TO CONFRONT WILL

When last we saw Jack Crawford, he'd spent the majority of Season 3 fighting for his life with Hannibal Lecter (now known to be the Chesapeake Ripper), who very nearly killed him with a grievous neck injury. He warned Will not to go after Hannibal alone, knowing the effect the enigmatic killer had on him, but Will disregarded the sentiment and ultimately shared Hannibal's fate.

Jack Crawford plays a fairly large part in Silence of the Lambs, still heading up the behavioral science unit of the FBI in Virginia. Since Bryan Fuller has implied that both Will and Hannbal survived their fall, how would Jack and Will's relationship have to change? Especially with the fact that he now knows Will to be capable of the same depravity as Hannibal?

7 MIRIAM LASS

At the time of Hannibal's third season, the rights to secure Silence of the Lambs couldn't be acquired, and the ratings weren't what NBC wanted. However, that didn't stop series creator Bryan Fuller from finding ways to hint at some of its hallmarks, including the archetype of an inquisitive forensics criminologist.

The character of Miriam Lass was intended to mimic Clarice Starling, famous protagonist of Silence of the Lambs. After she shot Dr. Chilton in the face, mistaking him for the Chesapeake Ripper, her fate is unclear. It's also unclear if a fourth season would have managed to pursue the plot of Silence of the Lambs.

6 CHIYOH

Chiyoh was, at one time, the handmaiden of Hannibal's aunt. When Will Graham encounters her, she's desperate for freedom, ultimately leaving with Will on his mission to find Hannibal in Italy.

RELATED: MBTI® Of TV's Hannibal Characters

Chiyoh proved a complicated character, both foiling Will's abilities to harm Hannibal, as well as saving the lives of his friends (Jack Crawford). When we last saw her, she was killing cronies on the Muskrat Farm attempting to harm Will and Hannibal. Would she have showed up again, or returned to Japan as she did in the novels?

5 HANNIBAL'S EVENTUAL IMPRISONMENT

If Bryan Fuller chose to follow Thomas Harris' novels to the letter, Hannibal went back to the hospital, where he eventually encounters Clarice Starling and provided the same "assistance" he gave Will Graham.

RELATED: 10 Most Dangerous Horror Movie Villains, Ranked

We saw that scenario somewhat played out in Season 3, with fans already getting their chance to see Hannibal wear his iconic mask. Assuming Hannibal survived the fall, would he be on the run again? Would Fuller choose for him to embark on a killing spree, with Will as his hostage? They never seemed to be able to be separated for very long.

4 THE VERGER BABY

Margot Verger is just one tragic character in a long line of them in the series. After spending years with her sadistic twin brother Mason, she finally found some semblance of peace after he died. In true Hannibal fashion, he was forcefully held underwater while an electric eel forced its way down his throat. Charming.

Margot did have a chance to have a child, by way of Alana carrying the baby to term. Something "pure" came from the union, but would it last, given Hannibal's promise to Alana?

3 HANNIBAL'S PROMISE TO ALANA

When last we saw Hannibal and Alana in Season 3, he was under her charge as chief administrator of the hospital. She allowed him to escape in order to save Will Graham from his fate at the hands of the Red Dragon.

RELATED: 10 Chilling Hannibal Lecter Quotes That Will Give You Goosebumps

Hannibal never forgot her little punishments, however, and vowed that if he indeed escaped, her "family" belonged to him, because as far as he was concerned, she died in his kitchen in Season 2.

2 SILENCE OF THE LAMBS

One of the most famous depictions of Hannibal Lecter appeared in Silence of the Lambs, incidentally considered one of the best horror films of all time. Based on the events in Season 3, it seemed hard to set up its plot, with Hannibal not yet in police custody and possibly dead.

Still, had Season 4 happened, Bryan Fuller assured fans Clarice Starling and Dr. Lecter would make their appearances. He had eyed Ellen Page to portray Starling, and its unclear if she'd have interacted with Will Graham, or who would be Buffalo Bill. Perhaps Doctor Chilton, looking for skin grafts...

1 BEDELIA'S LEG

After we see Will and Hannibal fall over the cliffside, we have no idea what happens to them after they plummet to the dark waters below. It's left ambiguous. We then flash to a post-credit like scene where we see Bedelia Du Maurier looking lovely in a posh dress, her hair perfectly coiffed, her skin sun-kissed.

She takes a fork from the table settings and conceals it under the table cloth. As the camera pans, we see there's a human leg just as neatly dressed on the table - hers. It looks as though she's waiting for two guests. Hannibal and Will? Someone else? We'll sadly never know, and we'll never know what becomes of her.

NEXT: 10 Good TV Shows That Failed (That Even A-List Actors Couldn't Save)

source https://screenrant.com/hannibal-nbc-storylines-plot-points-never-resolved/

#screenrant

1 note · View note

kiss-my-freckle · 4 years ago

Text

I consider it purposeful for Will and Jack to have righteousness in common.

Chilton: Will Graham could use a breakthrough. Alana: Being broken was his breakthrough? Chilton: Being broken was yours. Will has not had his breakthrough yet. He is saving that for Dr. Lecter. Alana: It would be the best thing for his therapy, really.

Killing Jack would be the best thing for Will’s therapy. I consider this the reason Alana’s statement coincides with Hannibal’s regarding Margot and Mason.

Margot: But if I'm planning to commit a murder... Hannibal: I am ethically obliged to take action to prevent that murder. But be that as it may, if there's no one else to protect you, Margot, you have to protect yourself. It would actually have been more therapeutic if you had killed him.

Hannibal: It would actually be more therapeutic for you to kill him yourself. You'll remember I recommended that in session. Margot: Wait until I could get away with it, you said.

And the reason Will gave Alana the same advice Hannibal gave Margot.

Hannibal: If you really want to kill your brother, Margot, wait until you can get away with it. Or find someone to do it for you. Will: Then you have to evolve, Alana. You have to spill blood. Either by your own hand or... someone else's.

Jack: I have bent the rules here in the name of saving lives. Now there is an internal investigation. I'm under the microscope. The Office of the Inspector General has ordered a psych eval to determine my competency to sit in this chair. Beverly: Well, what do you want me to do? If you don't want me to go back, I won't. Jack: We didn't have this conversation. And ... since we didn't have this conversation, I want you to go and do whatever it is you believe it is your job to do. Do you know what your job is? Beverly: Yes, I do. Jack: Then do it.

Jack: It's one thing for a trainee to go poking around in private medical records without a warrant; very different if the guru did it. Miriam: Better for a trainee to ask for forgiveness than an FBI agent to ask for permission? Jack: In my experience. Miriam: Then I hope you forgive me for skipping class today.

Will: Why'd you come alone, Jack? Why'd you come alone? Jack: Where is he? Where is he?! Will: Hey, I told you, everything is not what it seems. The Chesapeake Ripper is still playing with us. All of us. Jack: The Chesapeake Ripper is not playing all of us, Will; he's playing you.

Jack: We have a direct way of communicating with The Chesapeake Ripper, and we'd like to see if we can push him. Will: Push him toward what? Jack: We might be able to influence him to become visible. If we can enrage him. Will: To what purpose, Jack? I - I don't see what you're asking. Jack: Do you think there's a way to push the Chesapeake Ripper and focus his attention? Will: Well, he's already focused on Gideon as his adversary. Don't fool around. Jack: Gideon is just a tabloid rumor right now. We think we need to make him the truth. Will: You might push The Ripper to kill again just to prove he isn't in a hospital for the criminally insane. Jack: I have to push, Will. Will: Are you thinking about getting into bed with Freddie Lounds? You yourself know it's the best way to bait the real Chesapeake Ripper.

GIdeon: The real Chesapeake Ripper is a collector of surgical trophies. I'm gonna leave him a little gift. In fact, I'm gonna leave him a gift basket. You know, it is truly amazing how many organs the body can offer up before it really begins to suffer.

Chilton: We have had remarkable success recovering memory. He remembers so much of what was done to him. Jack: Why hasn't Will told me this himself? Chilton: Because you told him his memories were meaningless. I imagine Hannibal Lecter used the same coercive techniques on Miriam Lass that he used on Will Graham. He buried memories in both of them. Jack, I dug those memories out of Will; I can dig them out of Miriam. Jack: Miriam Lass is not your patient, Doctor.

Will: Memories are all I have. Imagine how nice it is to stumble on a new one. I was almost certain Hannibal Lecter did this to me. And it's a funny thing, doubt. I had nothing to prove to myself or... or anyone else that Hannibal was responsible - not even a memory. Jack: You have something now? You've recovered a memory? Will: Yes. Jack: That's meaningless.

Miriam: It's him. It's him. It's him... It -

Jack: Well, we were supposed to go together. That's... That's on me. My foul. My bad.

Encephalitis.

Hannibal: When it comes to how far he's willing to push you to get what he wants, he's certainly no Saint.

Catching the Ripper.

Margot: Who shot you? Will: A friend.

Jack’s Repeat.

Jack: We'll have a window of opportunity to catch him and that window will close. The last time the window closed, I lost the Ripper and I lost Miriam Lass. I don't intend to do that again.

Will: I always feel a little nervous going into these places. Jack: Why's that? Will: Afraid they won't let me out. Jack: Don't worry. I won't leave you here. Will: Yeah, not today.

The intelligent psychopath.

Will: I... I am not the intelligent psychopath you are looking for. Jack: Goodbye, Will.

Kade: You'll be found guilty and given the federal death penalty. I'm trying to save your life. Will: I guess I'll have to save my own life.

Warrant for Will’s arrest.

Jack: I've only told the OIG what they need to know.

Kade: Jack Crawford sanctioned this and then he hid it from us.

Alana: They've issued a warrant for your arrest, Will. For acting as an accessory to entrapment. And for the murder of Randall Tier. They're going to arrest Jack as well.

Abigail’s death.

Hannibal: You were to be the guest of honour. Will: But the menu was all wrong. Hannibal: Yes, it was.

Jack: Well, we were supposed to go together. That's... That's on me. My foul. My bad.

Eating Will.

Hannibal: Jack was the first to suggest getting inside your head. Now, we both have the opportunity to chew quite literally... what we've only chewed figuratively.

Hannibal: It would be more honest if you ate his brain right out of his skull. Jack: And you're nothing if not honest.

Will: What did you think would happen? Alana: I thought Jack Crawford and the FBI would come to the rescue.

Baiting Will.

Hannibal: This shy boy has already seen Will. He already knows his name. Are you chumming the waters, Jack? Jack: It takes one to catch one.

Will: Got me on the hook, now you're dangling me to catch a bigger fish.

Thereby baiting his family.

Jack: Resentment's raising a blister in you, Will. Will: You think you might lose me after this, Jack? You think I might go back to my family? Jack: For a minute, I did. Will: Right. And then you realized what I realized, which is I can't go home and neither can Molly and Walter. Not until the Red Dragon is out of the way.

Will: Can't beat God, become him?

4 notes · View notes

ramajmedia · 5 years ago

Text

10 Storylines From Hannibal That Never Got Resolved | ScreenRant

RELATED: 8 Best Roles Mads Mikkelsen Has Taken On (Besides Hannibal)

10 WILL AND HANNIBAL'S FATE

9 DOCTOR CHILTON

8 JACK HAVING TO CONFRONT WILL

7 MIRIAM LASS

6 CHIYOH

Chiyoh was, at one time, the handmaiden of Hannibal's aunt. When Will Graham encounters her, she's desperate for freedom, ultimately leaving with Will on his mission to find Hannibal in Italy.

RELATED: MBTI® Of TV's Hannibal Characters

5 HANNIBAL'S EVENTUAL IMPRISONMENT

RELATED: 10 Most Dangerous Horror Movie Villains, Ranked

4 THE VERGER BABY

Margot did have a chance to have a child, by way of Alana carrying the baby to term. Something "pure" came from the union, but would it last, given Hannibal's promise to Alana?

3 HANNIBAL'S PROMISE TO ALANA

RELATED: 10 Chilling Hannibal Lecter Quotes That Will Give You Goosebumps

Hannibal never forgot her little punishments, however, and vowed that if he indeed escaped, her "family" belonged to him, because as far as he was concerned, she died in his kitchen in Season 2.

2 SILENCE OF THE LAMBS

1 BEDELIA'S LEG

NEXT: 10 Good TV Shows That Failed (That Even A-List Actors Couldn't Save)

source https://screenrant.com/hannibal-nbc-storylines-plot-points-never-resolved/

#screenrant

0 notes