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gallavichsreddie1128 · 6 months ago

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Whimpers (Art Donaldson)

Description: Y/N gets turned on by the noises Art makes while playing Tennis.

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 1,432k

Author’s note: Currently working on a Hannibal request. Also does anybody know how I can start replying to comments under my posts? I’ve tried but it won’t let me and I’ve seen other people do it. Thank you!

Y/N watched intensely as Art and Patrick played. She wasn’t like Tashi when it came to Tennis. Tashi stared intensely for the game, Y/N stared intensely because of Art’s whimpers. They were hot and funny to her. Sure she knows that’s how tennis players are but Art’s sounded unique. Y/N has never said anything to him about his whimpers. They’ve been dating for a few years. At first it was all 4 of them together fooling around and they ended up getting together while Patrick and Tashi got together for a while but they didn’t work out. Y/N and Art were different; they were special. “Y/N?” She broke out of the trance she was in and looked over at her best friend. “Are you ready to go?” She asked. “Yeah sure.” She kissed Art goodbye as she and Tashi walked away.

“Did you ever get turned on by Patrick’s whimpers during Tennis?” Y/N asked Tashi. Tashi gave her a weird look, “What?” Y/N sighed. “I know it sounds weird but when Art whimpers I-” “Oh my god you think it’s hot?” Tashi asked in surprise. Y/N felt her face go red from embarrassment. “Hey don’t be embarrassed, it's just funny.” Y/N looked at her and shook her head. “It’s ridiculous really.” Tashi laughed at her words and shook her head, “It’s not but have you told him?” “Hell no he’d probably break up with me.” Tashi laughed even harder, “He loves you. He isn’t breaking up with you.” “How do I even tell him?” Tashi shrugged, “Hey when you whimper during Tennis it’s hot and I want you to take me on the court.” They both laugh. “Girl, just tell him.”

Y/N sat in her and Art’s shared bedroom with her ipad on her lap. She watched a few of Art’s matches and listened to his grunts and whimpers as he hit the ball. She got wetter by the second listening to him. She slid her hand in her PJ pants over her now wet panties and softly rubbed her clit letting out a soft moan. She closed her eyes as she listened to her man’s noises as he played. Her finger rubbed faster as her moans got more frequent. Her hips started moving up to meet the speed of her fingers.

She wished that Art was here and rubbing her instead. As his whimpers and grunts got more intense her orgasm got closer and closer. “Babe?” Y/N’s eyes snapped open and her fingers stopped. Art stood there by the bed with a red face. Y/N opened her mouth to say something but Art beat her to it, “Were you getting off to me playing Tennis?” He asked. Now Y/N’s face was red. “I mean kinda.” She confessed. He crawled onto the bed and laid next to her looking at her. “Kinda?” He asked, taking the hand that had been down her pants.

She watched as he put the two fingers in his mouth.She gasped as he licked her fingers clean of her juices that soaked her panties. “What does kinda mean?” He asked her. “I uh I like your whimpers and grunts as you play.” She confessed. He hummed and moved to kiss her neck. “So when I play your panties get wet?” He asked. She nodded as his lips moved down her neck. “That’s so hot.” He groans as he pulls her loose fitting shirt down to expose her hardened nipples. He leaned down and licked one of them.

She threw her head back as he wrapped his lips around her nipple. “Art please.” She moans as he wettens her nipple. He moved down to her belly. “Take the shirt off.” He told her. She does and throws it somewhere in the room. He goes back to kiss down her body until he reaches the spot she needs him most. He nuzzles his nose in her clothed pussy. “Art.” She moaned and gripped his hair. He pulled away and pulled her PJ bottoms down revealing her wet panties. “Holy shit.” He says with a smile.

Her pink panties had a huge dark wet spot on them. He ran his fingers up the spot making her whimper. He chuckled and pulled them down revealing her wet pussy. “Art as much as I want this I want to hear you. Let me please you.” She begged. “You will but let me hear you first. Your whimpers are much sexier than mine.” He tells her and dives into her pussy. She moans loudly as he doesn’t give her a second to breathe. Her hands gripped his hair as his tongue licked her clit. She moans his name as his lips wrap around her tiny clit and suck.

He takes his fingers and swirls around her dripping wet hole. “Art please.” She whimpers. He hums against her causing vibrations. One of his fingers penetrates her hole causing her to whine as she feels his finger inside of her. He adds another and starts pumping as he eats her out. She feels dizzy as she lays her head back enjoying Art’s fingers and mouth. It wasn’t long before her high was near. “Art fuck I’m close.” She whined. He pulled away and winked. She glared at him as he took off his shirt. “So what was that about you wanting to make me whimper?” He asked.

She laughed and pulled him on top of her kissing his lips for the first time that night. His lips tasted like her pussy but she didn’t mind. She flipped them around so she was on top. His shorts still on him but his hard dick was as visible as it could get. She pulled down his shorts and his boxers gasping as his hard dick sprung up and was leaking pre cum. She smirked at him and got in between his legs laying on her stomach. Her hand wrapped around him causing him to gasp. “Fuck.” He groaned out as she jerked him off.

She wasn’t going fast, teasing him as she liked to hear him whine. “Faster baby.” He begged. Her eyes not leaving his face as it shows how deep in pleasure he is. Her hand speeds up but not by much. She was waiting for those whimpers and grunts that turned her into a puddle almost every time she heard them. “Art baby stop holding back those pretty noises.” She tells him. Her hand finally sped up a lot more and those pretty noises started falling from his lips. Art has never been the quiet type in bed but he still held back. But right now at this very moment he didn’t.

Y/N replaced her hand with her mouth. “Fuck.” He whimpered feeling her wet mouth around him, giving him the best head he’s ever had. He was big enough to hit the back of her throat. She held back the gagging just to hear him. He sounded so sweet and sexy. He’s never been this loud before and she was enjoying just as much as him. “Fuck Y/N I’m gonna cum.” He whined. She stopped and sat up smirking at him. He opened his eyes and glared at her as if he didn’t just edge her before. She crawled back up so she was straddling him and grabbed his hard dick again.

He watched as she lined him up with her pussy and slid onto him without ease. They had a pretty good sex life but tonight was the best it’s ever been. She placed her hands on his chest and slowly moved her hips. He whined and she wasn’t sure if it was from the feeling or the fact that she was teasing him. It was still hot though.

As she moved her hips she realized that she was also teasing herself. She had been close too. Her eyes closed as her hips picked up speed. His hands grabbed her hips and squeezed them hard causing her to moan. His eyes remained on her as they both let out the dirtiest noises.

Art couldn’t stop grunting and whimpering at the feeling. He was getting so close again and by the way Y/N was clenching around him she was close too. “Fuck Art I’m close.” She moaned out. “Me too.” He whined as her hips lost their rhythm. Her moans got louder and louder until she came hard with a scream of Art’s name. He whined loudly as he came right after her. She looked down at him, “Your whimpers are way hotter than mine.” She said and leaned down to kiss him. .

#challengers movie #challengers 2024 #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson x you #mike faist #zendaya #tashi duncan #patrick zweig #josh o'connor

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ihavemanyhusbands · 3 months ago

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Soo ... How about a hannigram where the reader draws and paints too but never showed her drawings to the boys because she thinks they're not good enough, then one day Will accidentally finds them and I decided to show them to hannibal, how do you think they would react ?

!!!!!❤️!!!!!

———

Will found an errant slip of paper sticking out of one of Hannibal’s sketchbooks. Curious, he carefully pulled it out to examine it.

On it, he found a small collection of pencil sketches that seemed to be copies of Hannibal’s work. The lines were unsure and a little messy, but they weren’t bad at all. In fact, they had a surprising amount of detail.

He gently traced them with his fingers, frowning.

“Hannibal?” He called him over.

Hannibal walked over to his side, shutting the book he’d been perusing. “What is it?”

“These aren’t yours, right?”

“No… they’re not,” Hannibal said thoughtfully, inspecting them more closely.

From your spot on the couch, you glanced over at them curiously. When you realized what they were looking at, you were momentarily frozen with dread. Oh no.

You must have forgotten it last time you’d taken his sketchbook to practice. You leapt out of your seat and hurried over.

“Um, well, actually funny story but… that’s mine, yeah,” you said, reaching for it, your face warm.

Will pulled it just out of reach, not wanting to concede it yet. “You didn’t tell us you liked to draw.”

“It’s because I’m kinda new to it… been practicing whenever I can,” you said. “I didn’t want you to see it until I was better at it.”

“I was wondering why I’d seen graphite on your fingers so much lately,” Hannibal said. “I would’ve enjoyed drawing with you, and I could have taught you a couple of things myself.”

“Well, you kind of did. I’ve been using your sketches as reference all along…” you felt your face heat up even more and you covered it with your hands. “God I’m mortified! I should’ve just asked.”

“Aw, come on, give yourself some credit. These aren’t bad,” Will said. “I really think you’re on the right path.”

“It’s not up to par, though…” you muttered, uncovering your face.

Hannibal waved this off. “Who cares about that? What matters is you’re doing it. And besides, my offer to do it with you still stands.”

“And we both know how good a teacher Hannibal is, don’t we?” Will added, a slightly playful edge to his tone.

You smiled a little, feeling less discouraged. “You’re right about that.”

———-

#hannigram x reader #will graham x hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #minors dni #Loh <33

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ripegreenfruit · 8 months ago

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I am absolutely feral over the second gif set scene, because Will has been completely won over already. Hannibal sees him and Will feels it and he’s practically giddy. And Hannibal’s smile?! I think that’s the most disarmed, genuine smile we get from Mads in the entire series. Because Will starts smiling and laughing and Hannibal simply can’t contain how enchanted he is. Probably because he’s never been enchanted by anyone before!!

And don’t even get me started on the next set, because Hannibal has no rizz and Will reacts like Hannibal just said something so clever and charming and Hannibal is like, “😶 I will be addicted to you til the day I die.”

Basically this post:

#they just.#they’ve never been Seen before #it’s like your whole life you’ve been speaking a foreign language with every person you meet #and then someone starts speaking to you in your mother tongue #hannibal #also I just always think about how Mads and I think Bryan have said that for Hannibal it was love at first sight #but it’s not that simple right because Hannibal doesn’t feel things or like recognize emotions the way most people do #so he’s like Oh I am so curious about this guy #and I really like making him smile #and I feel so good when we’re together #and then like a year later he’s like Oh. Ohhhhh #I’ve been in love with this guy this whole time

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year ago

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Hi, I was wondering if ypu could do a bucky barnes x fem reader fic, where reader is insecure because she has a bigger chest and because past relationships have complained about her chest, so when her and bucky start to see each other she tells him this and that's the reason why she wears bigger shirts/hoodie all the time, and so bucky boosts up her confidence and it allows her to wear tighter shirts and tops she always wanted to wear, and bucky could be joking about beating up her ex, but more than likely it's true

.⋆｡Absolutely Perfect｡⋆.

Bucky Barnes x busty!plus size reader

You find an old shirt in your closet and Bucky discovers why you refuse to wear it

Warnings: self-deprecation, past bad relationships, past verbal abuse, fluff, implied smut, insecurity, reader has large boobs, mention of stretch marks

WC: 1.7k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Since the moment Bucky met you, he knew you had a particular style that you never strayed from. You liked big shirts- big shirts with shorts or skirts in the summer, big shirts and sweaters with jeans in winter, you even slept in a rotating collection of his shirts that you continuously stole from him.

Now Bucky didn’t mind this, he loved that you were comfortable and knew what you liked to wear. But he had seen the way you longingly looked at the more form-fitting outfits when you went shopping with him. He had even caught you perusing clothes in a style more similar to Natasha’s. He thought you would look great in those clothes (he thought you would look great in no clothes either but you two hadn’t gotten to the sex part yet) so he was left wondering why you didn’t.

The apartment was a mess- clothes and trinkets strewn everywhere, boxes scattered around on every available flat surface, and tape, so much fucking tape. Sam warned him that helping someone move was a shit ton of work, but Bucky figured they could get it done in 12 hours, tops. Obviously he was very very wrong.

You were two days into it and you had only just reached the point where you could go through your seemingly endless stash of clothes. Bucky had ducked out for just a second to call back the electrician that was currently working on your new house but when he came back, the mood in your small apartment had shifted considerably.

He found you lost in thought, sitting in the middle of several piles of clothes, holding a shirt. “I’ve never seen you wear that one, it’s cute.” You jumped at the sound of his voice and quickly shoved the shirt into your ‘donate’ pile.

“It’s not my style.” You brushed off but he caught the way you hesitated as you pulled your hand away.

“What if I wanted to see you in it?” With two strides, he had crossed the room and was now in front of you. Before you could stop him, Bucky had ducked down and fished the shirt out. It was about 3 times smaller than all your other shirts and looked like it would fit the contours of your body like a second skin. The cut-out that sliced through the members of AC-DC would allow for a huge amount of cleavage to be shown while the cut along the bottom of the shirt gave it that cropped look that was so popular now.

“Cause I think you’d look drop dead gorgeous in this, doll.” He purred, holding the shirt up to the sunlight as if he could already see you wearing it in his mind. Your face burned with embarrassment.

“Well I don’t so can you please put it back?” You dismissed it like your stomach wasn’t in your throat and tears weren’t building behind your eyes. You reached for the offending piece of clothing but he tucked it to his chest like a toddler would do with a toy.

His gaze seared into you, making you squirm from your place on the floor. “Just once, please!” He begged.

“No.”

“I’ll do laundry for a month.” He shot back, inching closer to you with the shirt still held against his chest.

“You’re already doing laundry for the next 3 months because of the Jam Incident.” You raised an eyebrow at him. Bucky actually had the decency to blush at this, recalling the event that occurred a month ago which landed him doing extra chores.

“But you would look so pretty.” He actually whined, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. “Pleeeeeeease.” It was getting pathetic now but your own determination was beginning to waver as his only ramped up in intensity. With a trembling hand, you snatched the shirt away from him as you stood.

“I’ll try it on once but when it doesn’t look good- you aren’t allowed to say anything.” As you stomped off to the bathroom, you missed the way his face fell, obviously regretting teasing you.

You kept your back to the mirror as you changed, even squeezing your eyes shut so you didn’t have to see the curve of your body from your peripheral. You hear his voice in your mind, reminding you exactly why you wanted to burn most of your clothes to ash.

The cotton was soft but it still felt like it was slicing into your skin. You held onto your large shirt like it was a lifeline and with a deep breath, you walked back into the bedroom.

Bucky sat on the bed, elbows on his knees as he waited for you. As soon as you crossed the threshold, his head snapped up and his eyes went wide.

A breath caught in his throat and he slowly stood. “See I told you. Now can you let me throw it away like I wanted in the first place.” Self-consciously, you crossed your arms over your chest, pressing your heavy breasts down. He reached out for you, his chill metal hand grabbing your wide hip as his other gently pulled your arms away from your chest, making you drop the other shirt.

“Buck, let me go change.” He just shook his head. Your heart pounded loudly in your ears.

“Doll you look-“

“Disgusting, I know.” You snapped, trying to pull away from him. He held you tighter.

“No. You look beautiful. Why would you ever think otherwise?” His voice was strained but firm, leaving you no opportunity to backtrack. You looked away from your boyfriend, unable to meet his eyes.

“My boobs.” You murmured. The lump in your throat got bigger by the second as you waited for him to agree with you, to reinforce that voice in your head that told you how ugly you are, how your chest was unnatural and wrong.

But he didn’t. Instead, your wonderful, caring boyfriend let go of your hip and your arm in order to cup your face, guiding you back to him. The look in his eyes was devastating, only making you feel even worse. “Doll, you are perfect.”

And you broke.

Hot tears rolled down your full cheeks as you broke down in his arms. “But they’re too big and they’re covered in stretch marks and my nipples are a weird shape.” The words flowed from your lips just like your tears, a never-ending stream that had built up behind the dam of your mind since the first time your ex had told you exactly what he thought off your body. Bucky listened to each and every syllable, taking in everything you were saying.

You didn’t notice the way his blue eyes darkened with rage until he finally interrupted you. “Who the fuck told you that?” His snarl finally broke you from your spiralling thoughts and then it was your turn to lose your breath.

A darkness had grown over his face, the same one he got when he came home from particularly rough missions. Rage rolled off of him in waves, drowning you in it. “M-my ex.” A growl rumbled through his strong chest.

“Well he’s wrong. You’re fucking beautiful, you’re perfect. And I mean all of you, including these.” You gasped as he suddenly let go of your face to cup the massive heft of your tits. Heat shamefully exploded through your body as he held up their weight. “These are just as sexy, just as fucking stunning as you. And would you look at that, they fit perfectly in my hands, like they were made for your tits.”

“Bucky.” You tried to stop him but he had enough apparently. He squeezed your tits gently as he groaned.

“Fuck doll, you don’t know what you do to me do you? Even when you’re wearing a big shirt and your baggiest jeans you get me so hard it hurts. But now-“ He stepped closer to you, pushing his hips into your soft stomach. A moan slipped from your lips as you felt the hard bulge of his cock against you for the first time. “-Now, when you’re wearing this tiny fucking shirt, letting me see these gorgeous tits and your perfect stomach, I feel like I’m losing my mind, doll.”

He groaned as he ground his hips into you. “Really?” You timidly asked, hooking your fingers into his belt loops to keep your hands from trembling. Bucky raised a dark eyebrow at you.

“Doll, if it were up to me, I would be inside you 24/7 from the moment we met.” Heat crawled up your cheeks and you giggled.

“That’s a long time Bucky.” He finally smiled, quickly pecking your nose. The sadness was draining from your expression, though the flakes of insecurity still remained. He forced down his own fury, tamping it down as far as he could. He wasn’t mad at you, he could never be mad at you for this. You were beaten down by a pathetic excuse for a man and you believed him.

Bucky would help you, he would worship you, and then he would hunt the fucker down for ever making you think that you were anything less than divine. “Exactly 5 months, 2 weeks and 1 day.”

You beamed at him. “Maybe I’ll keep the shirt, if you like it so much.” You looked away bashfully, making your boyfriend groan and his cock twitch within his stiff jeans.

“Oh doll you are spoiling me.” He dipped down to nip at your neck, forcing a whimper from your lips. Your nipples stiffened against his palms as wetness pooled in your already ruined panties. “And now I think I need to spoil you in return.”

You yelped as you were suddenly thrown onto your bed, Bucky quickly joining you as he crawled between your plush thighs. He hovered over you with a smile. “Absolutely perfect.” He murmured before kissing you tenderly, pressing as much of his body against yours as he could. You melted into him, tangling your fingers in his short hair.

Bucky would make sure you knew how beautiful you are and maybe, once all the bad thoughts were gone from your mind, he would leave the apartment under the premise of picking up some dinner. And if he came home with bruised knuckles and a self-satisfied smile on his face, you wouldn’t ask any questions.

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atlasscrumpit · 3 months ago

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The Devil Before Me

Hannibal/Will x Reader

(gore and violence. Pretty typical for the show)

(This is literally just me practicing stuff I’ve learnt in my course so far, enjoy anyway)

The house she had seen a thousand times in her life stood in front of her mocking her as a reminder betrayal.

The large structure used to make her feel comforted and safe, Will and Hannibal always having drinks together with her, laughter and deep conversations.

Now, it was a stark reminder of the lies she had been fed…similar to a few human livers she had probably digested by now. Her worn boots trudged along the stone path that had probably been carved out by her own footsteps over the years.

She felt the cool touch of the pistol tucked into the back of her jeans, making her feel even more confident as she slowly opened the large ornate door.

‘He lied, Will lied…they both lied.’ She reminded herself over and over, betrayal slowly turning her heart into nothing more than an organ to pump venom through her veins.

The hallways were silent, nothing but the sound of her shoes against hardwood floor, her heart pounding as she braced herself to stare the devil in his cold eyes. He would be expecting her, she knew he would be.

She opened the doorway to the dining room, the scent of blood and sweat hitting her nose, a contrast to the usual smell of mahogany and expensive wines.

Her eyes followed a path of blood until her eyes met the ones of the man she once loved, he sat there, covered in blood and bruising, arms bound behind him to a wooden chair, his tired eyes met hers.

He shook his head and started to beg her…or maybe even a god he knew didn’t exist.

“Get out, please. Go, go!”

She remained still, staring at him in disgust as she heard footsteps behind her, knowing exactly who it was from the sound and pattern.

The devil spoke behind her.

“Perhaps I underestimated you.” His voice which once made her feel at ease now made a shiver run down her spine.

“Perhaps you did, Hannibal.” She replied, trying her hardest to not turn and shoot her ex friend in the gut.

She ignored the devilish presence behind her and walked forward towards Will.

“You were in on it too, weren’t you? You knew he killed her.” She said as Will looked up into her eyes, guilt bubbling up in his throat.

“Yes… I helped him.” Will said.

Her eyes turned cold as she glared at him picturing her best friend being killed by the man she loved, any love she ever had for Will was gone as soon as she stepped foot in this place.

This whole time Will had been lying to her, holding her hand while she grieved the death of her best friend...when in reality he was the reason for her death.

“You love him, don’t you?”

“Please, just try to…”

“Answer the question!”

“Yes! Yes, I do!”

The devil still stood behind her, a smirk on his face as he watched the man he had turned into nothing more than a puppet confess his love for him.

“It was rather touching to watch you fall in love with him. Your once innocent heart now corrupt and darkened by the truth. You’re hurting, aren’t you, little one?” Hannibal taunted, his body closer to hers now.

“Innocent.” She said, letting out a dry laugh.

“It seems I’ve fooled you both then.” She said, reeling her leg forward and then thrusting it back to kick in Hannibal’s knee.

With a gruntled cry he fell to his knees, her hand grasping the pistol and pointing it at his head.

“If you kill me, my dear. Does that make you any better than I? To become a killer is a big leap, one you aren't strong enough to take.” He said, a small smirk on his face, he wasn’t afraid of a fragile doll like her.

“It’s sweet that you think this would make me a killer…truly naive to think I haven’t already killed.” With the pistol gripped in her hand she quickly turned, shooting Will in the ribs causing him to cry out in pain.

“No!” Hannibal shouted, his facade cracking.

She turned back to Hannibal, a wicked smile on her face that he had never witnessed.

“Is that emotion I hear in your voice? Do you care for him like you pretended to care for me?” She said, her knuckles turning white from gripping the pistol so tightly.

“You were just a bargaining tool, my dear. Don’t take it to heart.” He said, he moved quickly, a blade in his hand as he swiped at her, slicing diagonally down her face.

With a scream she grasped at her face in pain before Hannibal grabbed the pistol from her and aimed at her. With a hand over her face, blood poured from the deep gash and a wicked laugh escaped her mouth as her one good eye looked into the devils eyes.

He pulled the trigger, a shocked expression washing over his face when he realised there were no bullets.

“Oops.” She muttered, her manic laughter filling the room.

A voice came from behind her, exhausted and close to death.

“Stop… Please, I’m sorry.” Will spoke as she slowly turned around, taking her hand off her face and letting her blood fall freely, not caring that her eye might fall to the ground at this point.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry?”

Her laughs grew louder as she stared at him.

“Sorry doesn’t bring her back!” She screamed like a wounded coyote before she felt a sharp pain in her torso, Hannibal’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against him, a knife plunged into her stomach.

“Shh.” He whispered, his voice soothing as she gripped his hand that held the blade.

“I really did enjoy our time together, my dear.” He whispered into her ear as she chuckled breathlessly.

“So did I.” She said before forcing his hand to rip the blade out of her stomach, she disarmed him easily just as Will had showed her, plunging the blade into his neck.

She laughed, staring into his eyes as he gasped for air.

“Save a spot for me in hell, you son of a bitch.” She hissed, forcing the blade across his throat, severing as many arteries as she could.

He fell to the ground, sounds of struggling and gasping coming from him as she turned to Will, gripping the almost dead man by the hair.

“Watch!” She screamed, forcing his face towards Hannibal who lay dying on the ground.

He let out a strangled sob, her blood dripping from her face onto his as he watched his love die on the ground in front of him.

She let go of his hair and watched Will slump against the chair, taking his last few breaths.

She knelt down and moved forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cold lips.

“Only the devil can judge you now.” She whispered, a smile forming on her face as she watched his eyes drain of any sign of life.

With a laugh she fell flat on the floor, the blood loss clouding her vision as a warm feeling crept through her body.

The one eye she had left looked at the devils lifeless body and she let out a small laugh.

“See you soon.”

#Hannibal #Hannibal Lecter #Hannibal x Reader #Hannibal Lecter x Reader #will graham #Will Graham x Reader #Hannibal x Will

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theredofoctober · 3 months ago

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MANNA- CHAPTER NINETEEN: DUCK

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

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, cannibalism mentions, murder mentions

Read after the cut

---

“Family,” says Hannibal. “Let’s return to that subject today.”

You occupy the living room, each in a velvet armchair tilted with intent to replicate the layout of his office, the clever dressing of a theatre set. Attempts to put off this particular session had proved inefficacious, the coercion of your attendance rendering you curt and snappish in demeanor.

Truthfully you’ve been so since this morning, having rolled, coughing and vaguely feverish, from dreams of bodies hung rattling like so many clothes hangers in some subterrestrial den.

Hannibal, as expected, had still seen fit to persist with his agenda, weathering your complaints with a brisk good humour.

Will had made himself scarce sometime before you’d awoken, and has left word that you’re not to expect his return for many days. You yearn for him in all his brittle ferocity, a gabion against his friend’s subtle erosion of your mind as you know it. The early hour, the assault of unwanted conversation: such sly methods of torture will damn you to madness as quick as the murkiest secret.

“I’ve told you about my family,” you say to Hannibal, fingering a loose tuft of angora on your sweater. “Besides, you won’t even let me talk to them.”

“I don’t think that it would be to your benefit for me to do so,” he answers, and makes a gracious pretence of examining his pen.

Had you not extended a hand to Amy there would indeed have been a second call, this you’re clearly meant to understand. Hannibal is not above such trivial warfare, as he makes a continuing point to prove; you might be entertained by so comic a flaw were you not in such dire opposition.

“Maybe it’d be good for me to talk to my family,” you say, smartly. “And how can you know that it wouldn’t be when you barely know anything about them?”

Hannibal smirks, pleased to have cast such irresistible bait.

“Enlighten me, then. Begin with your mother, if you like. A predictable start, but in that simplicity rather less challenging than other avenues.”

You glance about the room as though seeking inspiration from it and find it wanting. Only the window at which the dying autumn presses its face wets the brush of conversation again, that symbol of fleeing dark brick to beyond a reminder that you must play on.

“We fight a lot,” you say. “My mom and me. She always has to be right about everything all the time. Never made a mistake in her life. Never apologises for anything. And if you criticise her— well, just don’t. Plus, she used to hit me when I was little. Nothing crazy, but still. She hit me.

“Then one day I slapped her right back and she never did it again.”

Pausing, you tug the hem of your sweater to your knees, an instinct to cover skin that today is not an inch bare.

“It’s funny,” you say. “She acts like she doesn’t remember any of it now.”

“Those in denial of their misdeeds often excise those shameful moments from the past,” says Hannibal. “It may not even be a conscious decision on her part.”

“It’d almost be better if it was. Then maybe she could own up to it, some day.”

Hannibal’s pen mars a fresh page in his notebook; even were it not upside down you suspect you’d fail to untangle his complicated hand.

“Has your mother’s behaviour caused friction surrounding your anorexia?” he asks.

“God, yeah,” you say, half laughing. “She used to yell at me. Tried to bully me into eating. Now she cries a lot and kind of makes it all about her. She loves me, but not in the ways you want in a mother. She pays for stuff. Drives me to places. Ticks all those boxes, you know? But she’s never been kind or comforting, really.

“It’s not all her fault. I guess she just doesn’t know how.”

A leaf falls against a windowpane like the hand of a dead, withered child, and you find yourself drawing back in your seat, wishing you’d the strength to push the chair against the wall.

“Why do you think your mother is unable to fulfil her role as you would like?” asks Hannibal.

“I guess my grandparents treated her the same way she treats me. They were always kind of cold with me when I knew them.”

“Generational cruelty is an infection one must wittingly sterilise. A pity so few are self-aware enough to administer that treatment. Was your father sufficiently conscious?”

Odd, this invocation of the paternal when Hannibal and Will have worked so diligently to embody it in place of your genetic relative.

Now, in a shirt the colour of thatch rolled pristinely back from the jewel of his wristwatch, the doctor could well be the wealthy father of a girl your age, the type to pour upon you his thousands, to walk you down the aisle in a venue of his choosing to marry an approved match of your class.

But you will never wed now that Hannibal has claimed you. He speaks of your family from a wreckage of his making, at ease with his distance from it.

“I love my dad the most,” you say. “But he’s a weird guy. Quiet. Never opens up about his feelings. He’ll talk about movies, or the news, but real stuff? Nope. So I've never felt all that comfortable around him. I mean, with good reason after... after everything.”

“More than good,” says Hannibal, firmly. “That you aren’t angrier with both parents for their abandonment in your time of need surprises me.”

“I don’t really blame them. Uncle Lee has this way about him. He can make people believe pretty much anything he says.”

Inevitable that you should mention Leland, who—though of other blood—is still an incestuous growth on the vine.

“What is this way of his?” asks Hannibal. “You’ve previously spoken of a power to sash the eyes of loved ones against what you perceive to be an obvious darkness. How does that ability present in him?”

You bring your legs up onto the chair, crossing them under you for comfort.

“He moved from Louisiana in his twenties,” you say, “so he still has the accent and everything. He even speaks French sometimes. Then there’s this way of holding himself he has. Kind of cocky, but funny, though. From the second he moved in on our street my parents just loved him, apparently. They never saw what I saw.”

“He’d donned the rubber mask.”

You look up at Hannibal almost shyly.

“Yeah. You remember.”

“Yes. And did you love him, in spite of what seemed to you an obvious guise?”

“I did. In some sick way I still do. So I get why my Mom and Dad believed him over me, but sometimes I think maybe part of them knows the truth, but they just shove it down deep like something dead.”

Scrubbing your face angrily with the sleeve of your sweater you snub, without noticing it, the omnipresent box of tissues on the nearby table top. Hannibal makes no remark on your unclean habit, only pours you a cup of green tea which you accept for the sake of avoiding an argument.

“To truly love someone you mustn’t bury their evils,” says Hannibal. “You must find acceptance of them in whatever form you can. Your parents do not care for this friend so much as fear the upheaval of the known. A suburban life, a sullied idyll— by sending you to me they are attempting to reverse its disunion from their image of it in memory.”

“They’re selfish,” you say. “I know. What’s new there?”

You look at the bottom of your teacup, hunting an impossible pattern in the pale ceramic.

“I don’t want to talk about my family anymore. What about yours? You had a sister, didn’t you?”

Hannibal’s eyes change like the blackening of dusk.

“Will told you this,” he says.

“Does it matter?” you ask, shrilly. “I want to know who you are, Daddy, and this is where I want to start. What happened to Mischa? What did she die of?”

It’s frightening how the man before you alters in only light adjustments: the quiet crossing of a limb, the rhomboid slant of shoulders under his jacket, each a signifier of the restless potentiality for truculence in him.

His face is not so beautiful in moments such as this. The flaws in it stand out to you: flesh racked over halberds of bone, something amphibious in the mouth, of some alien taxon. A killer’s physiognomy, little though you care for such sciences as would define it so.

“My sister was murdered when she was a little girl,” says Hannibal. “I interrupted the culprit in the midst of defiling her body, but it was too late. She was lost to me.”

The moon opal of a tear tips loose of an eyelash, its passage a kinetic artistry. What you’d taken for anger is another emotion: a raw and ancient loss.

“Oh my god,” you say. “That’s awful. Do you know who killed her?”

“A man who remains imprisoned to this day,” says Hannibal. “That is his penance for taking Mischa from me.”

You are in too great a terror and disgust of this man to embrace him, as would feel apt for a moment such as this.

“I’m sorry,” you say, weakly.

Hannibal closes the notebook in his lap and asks, almost blandly, “Are you?”

His bald disbelief flusters you.

“Yes. Of course. She was just a little girl. In fact, I feel like I get it, now. All of this. Me and you. It makes sense why you want me. Why you are what you are. It’s because of her.”

Forcing a smile, you reach over and touch a hand to Hannibal’s cheek.

He turns his face gently away from the caress.

“You’re mistaken, Little One. Whereas you were moulded by your circumstances, I was liberated by mine.”

You stare at him, endeavouring to bone his words for their meaning.

“What are you saying?”

“My philosophies and desires pre-existed Mischa’s death. My love for her restrained me, for while she lived I was never free to act as I yearned to in fear that she would be harmed. In some ways I resented that restraint, but in passing Mischa offered me the opportunity to forgive her.”

A cloud snuffs out the sun, and you sit in the dark of it, aghast.

“Forgive her for what?” you ask, in a near whisper. “Helping you? Hannibal, I—”

“We are still at an impasse, I see,” he says, coolly. “We must rectify this. Would you like to know how she received her absolution?”

You shake your head.

“But you must,” says Hannibal. “You’re a curious girl. Mischa’s remains now lie in a grave in my home country. Before I buried them there, I ate part of her. That is how I reconciled my feelings for my sister with what I am.”

Shock throttles your body in its tremor, and the empty teacup drops from your hand, prevented from breaking only by the carpet underfoot. You had, with all the delicate senses of a medium, deciphered the presage of his appetite, and still you feel the plates of the earth shudder with the magnitude of his confession.

Hannibal gets up from his seat, places the cup back into its saucer, and takes your hand in his.

“Let’s end the session there,” he says. “I’d like to involve you in preparing today’s meal, since that’s a new interest of yours.”

With a fear-stricken servility you walk with him to the kitchen, expecting him to have something—someone—preserved in the glossy coffin of the refrigerator.

Instead Hannibal kneels to unlatch an ingenious door in the floorboards, revealing a neat little staircase which runs down into a basement room. From it emanates a rolling field of cold, biting at you through your clothes.

You take a step back, near tumbling in your eagerness to escape it.

“What is that?”

“It’s an expansion of the freezer,” says Hannibal. “With all the dinner parties I host it’s natural that I found myself in need of more storage space. This is my answer to that problem. I’d like you to go down and choose a cut of meat for dinner.”

There’s no threat in the statement; he speaks, in fact, quite casually, meaning to impress upon you the mundanity of his diet in his eyes. To make supper of his sister, to dine upon lamb: there is no separation for him, being that all of it is meat.

You squeeze your eyes shut, cannot face the oblong of shadow beyond the steps which you’ve dreamt of, unknowing,

“Please don’t make me go down there, Daddy.”

“There’s nothing to be frightened of. Open your eyes, Little One.”

“No. No. I don’t want to.”

You try to turn away, but Hannibal arrests you by the arms, holding you as a farmer would a wriggling hare.

“I’m not going to eat you,” he says. “If that’s what you think.”

“I know!” you wail. “But it doesn’t matter. If I go down there and... see, everything’ll change forever. Because I’ll know for sure, and I’ll be part of it. And I can’t be part of it. I’ll go crazy.”

You jerk passionately in Hannibal’s grip, but his greater strength prevails.

“Wait,” you say. “When you talked about Leland—bringing him to me—you meant that I should kill him to eat.”

“Yes,” says Hannibal, simply. “I did.”

There is a softness in his eyes you recognise as hope. He is a man desperate to create others like him, for all that he believes that they are born.

“But you said with Mischa that eating her was forgiveness,” you say. “But you don’t want me to forgive Uncle Lee. So what would it mean to eat him?”

“Look to why trophy hunters keep mementos of their sport. Some as markers of achievement and dominance over the animal, and others in a subconscious humiliation of the predator they’ve slain. Man gloats to bring a tiger to kneel; a girl, having conquered man, might do the same.”

Thinking of Hannibal’s recorded killings, some of them young women, you say, “Most animals don’t deserve humiliation.”

“That’s all a matter of perspective, my dear. A seasoned hunter develops rather a discerning eye for flaws in his quarry.”

Hannibal smooths a lock of hair behind your ear, his rancid touch queerly soothing.

“What did Savannah Belmont do to deserve humiliation?” you ask, sulkily. “She wasn’t a bad person. She was just a girl, like me.”

“A cursory reading of obituaries and odes to Miss Belmont’s life denote her brief career at a rare bookshop,” says Hannibal, “for which position her personal tastes suggest she was underqualified to take. It wouldn’t be so unrealistic to assume that she left customers unhappy with her inadequate ability to serve them.”

Horror breaks over you like the falling of a chandelier. This, too, you had foreseen: no serious cause to kill was ever required for Hannibal, and that you are fucked rather than murdered by him is but a flourish of fate.

Peering into your eyes, Hannibal comes to a rapid decision and bends to close the trapdoor again.

“Duck, tonight, then,” he says. “That will suffice.”

Through terror you cling to Hannibal long into the afternoon, lurking at his elbow, a thumb in your mouth, as he prepares for the day’s appointments.

If he is he here, with you, he cannot kill, you reason, not while he thinks only of the invitation of tear-salt on your lips, the liquor of your nether mouth around him. Again and again you’ll die upon his cock as tribute, for though cold in your disorder you are not so callous as to allow others to, if you can help it.

“I’ll be gone for just a few hours, sweet girl,” he says, pausing to rock you in his lap. “No more of this. I’ve left a new book for you in your room. Please begin reading it for me. And there is the recording of an opera I’d like you to watch. That should keep you occupied until I’m home to you.”

It’s only after he’s driven away in the hearse of his car that you succumb to the awfulness of all you've heard. As in those primordial days of captivity you grasp the bars of your window and scream into the burnished day, beating your fists upon the iron until they burst across the bone.

Only a volley of coughing halts you in this fit, sending you to your bed alarmed by the weakness come over you. You lie shivering for hours, wondering if this is the nervous exhaustion you’ve read about in novels that ends in heroines consigned to the madhouse, sunny climes, or else the grave, none of which you might expect to be released to.

When Hannibal returns he feels your forehead and listens to your coughs with a mildly furrowed brow.

“Hospital,” you croak, but he only laughs and strokes your head.

“There’s no need for that. You have a chest infection. Your immune system is very poor. Nevertheless, you’ll be well again soon.”

He perfumes your damp neck with a kiss and sits down in a chair beside you.

“Perhaps it’s for the best that Will is occupied with work,” he comments, at length. “I wouldn’t like his condition to worsen again.”

#tw noncon #tw rape #tw daddy kink #tw abuse #tw cannibalism #tw eating disorders #tw anorexia #hannibal fic #yandere hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #reader fic

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ficnation · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter 5: Bait

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,0k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings A/n: It's been eighty-four years... (unedited)

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The silence in the room is deafening as you stare at Jack Crawford with wide eyes. The tea you just made would already be nothing more than a puddle on the wooden floor if it wasn’t for Will, who took it from your hands when they began to shake. He doesn’t even blink when a few drops spill out over his fingers and burn his skin.

“You can’t be serious,” you mumble in disbelief, your gaze shifting to Will, who stands steadfast by your side, unmoving. He casts a glance between you and Jack, once, then twice, grappling with the weight of his allegiance. It doesn’t require a genius to connect the dots. “Did you know about this, Will?” Your voice carries a tone of betrayal, leaving Will feeling like Brutus to your Julius Caesar—as though he just plunged a metaphorical dagger into your back.

Jack Crawford stares at you long and hard, and a little guilty. “You’re our best chance.”

“You want me to be the bait.” You cross your arms over your chest and take a step back, furiously shaking your head. “I’m not— I won’t do that,” you protest.

Even if you never expected anything less from Jack Crawford, the feeling of treachery is almost crushing. Will takes a step towards you, and then another. He approaches you cautiously, with his hands extended in a calming gesture, almost as if he were approaching a scared animal ready to bolt any minute now. You’d consider it a pretty funny sight if the situation were any different, but right now, you might just be a skittish doe surrounded by wolves.

When he places a hand on your back, his touch lacks the usual reassurance it once held. Despite any grievances you may have harbored against him, he was always your sanctuary. Yet today, that sanctuary feels distant. You gently shrug his hand off and take a step back. The pain in Will’s eyes is palpable—a deep, sorrowful abyss that mirrors your own heartache.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it was the right thing to do,” Will says in response. “You’re the best shot we’ve got.”

“What makes you even think that Hannibal Lecter will pursue me? I find it hard to believe.”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Jack raises a brow, his tone tinged with a hint of sarcasm that makes you itch to punch him square in the face. Sure, you’re breathing, but your sister lies six feet under the very ground you’re walking on. “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

You’ve felt it too—the lingering gazes trailing you as you tread the corridors of the BAU’s headquarters, the enigmatic curve of his lips as you cross his path. It’s a sensation that crawls beneath your skin, a disconcerting dance of shadows in the depths of your soul. What strange game is he playing with you?

Will’s face contorts into an indescribable grimace when he hears those words spoken aloud, as if each syllable is a sharp knife twisting deeper into his already troubled conscience.

“I’m not going to throw you into the lion’s mouth and just sit back and watch,” Will says after a few seconds of silence. “He’s intrigued by you, just as much as he’s intrigued by me. I don’t think he’d hurt you.”

Jack seems satisfied with that. He knows that if Will is on board, it won’t take much persuasion to get you there too. He genuinely believes that you can help them. Yet, you surprise him once again, and he wonders who snuffed out your will to fight to make the world a better place.

“Do you even hear yourself, Will? I very much like being alive. I won’t do this, and that’s my final answer,” you huff out, stepping away from him, even though it hurts—burns your soul.

Will can’t bring himself to be upset with you because your reaction is completely understandable. Your sister—your flesh and blood—has been taken from you, and you’re just exhausted. You don’t have the energy to risk fighting a man like Hannibal, and he understands that better than anyone else ever could.

“I’m only asking for your help, not your life,” Jack says. Deep down, he knows he’s not winning this if Will doesn’t, and one glance at the green-eyed man confirms they’re at an impasse. So, he steps back, granting you the much-needed space. “Take some time to think about it.”

“No, thank you. I won’t be thinking about it,” you assert firmly, your resolve unyielding.

Jack sighs and shakes his head, almost in awe of your stubbornness, but surprisingly not in a condescending way. “Suit yourself,” he says before turning around and walking out of the kitchen.

Will makes sure that Jack is out of the room and out of hearing distance before he sets the mug on the counter and lets his frustration come out. He lets out a long sigh, moving close to you once again. You can see that all he wants is to kiss you, to drown you in his touch the way only he can—but he’s holding himself back, and you know it’s not easy.

“I didn’t want this,” Will’s words are sharp, his voice tinged with bitterness. “I don’t want any of this, but I do know that Hannibal needs to be taken down,” he adds, his gaze hardening with determination.

You don’t answer, and you can see that Will is disappointed by your response, or rather the lack of one. His disappointment doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and that realization pains you even more. While your brain insists it’s for the greater good to apprehend Hannibal, you can’t ignore the persistent voice whispering in your ear, urging you to prioritize yourself above all.

If you let yourself accept this, if you become the bait that Jack wants you to be, it’s as if you’re letting yourself go once again. Everything you’ve buried in the darkest cranny of your mind will come back to haunt you. And you can’t go through it all again. You can’t.

Will takes your hand, and you can feel his body shaking slightly, his breath quickening. He’s nervous, but there’s something else at play here, and it’s hard for you to discern exactly what it is. His hand tightens around yours until all your fingers are securely in his grasp, and he doesn’t let go. It’s as if he’s trying to communicate something by the intensity of his grip, as if his emotions can no longer be contained by mere words. And when he finally speaks, his voice is so soft that you can barely hear him even in the silent room.

“Can I ask you a question?” Will’s voice is tentative, his grip tightening on your hand.

“You ask a lot of them lately,” you say lightheartedly.

He chuckles at your jab, his hand still intertwined with yours. “I’m serious,” he mumbles, his tone becoming earnest. “Would you trust me... enough to believe that Hannibal won’t harm you? I will protect you from him. I swear on my life.”

Will holds your gaze, and your mind turns blank—his question leaves you mute. It’s been a long time since you’ve trusted someone so much. He’s so important to you that it hurts more than you would like to admit. This isn’t the Will Graham from just a few minutes ago—loyal to Jack’s dictations and ideas. This is Will Graham—your love, your best friend. And right now, you’d trust him with your life.

“I will do it,” you mumble out, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. You look him straight in the eyes and repeat it a little louder. “I will do my best.”

Will lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, and he pulls you close to him once more so that your lips almost touch his jaw—almost. His fingers travel through your hair, and his other hand grips at the back of your sweater. There’s nothing more intimate than this—the quiet understanding between you two. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Thank you,” his voice is a murmur—a promise, a secret shared, something intimate amidst all of this madness.

“I’m not doing it for Crawford or anyone else. I’m doing it for you, for my sister…”

“I know, love,” Will mumbles, his voice still as soft as ever. “I know.”

Silence sets in, with only the sound of you and Will breathing—in tandem with each other. It’s like a peaceful moment in between the chaos, where a thousand thoughts are all trying to fight for space in your head, but your focus is right here, right now, and it’s only you two.

The world doesn’t feel quite so dark when you’re here—when you’re with Will.

That night Will tells you to wear something nice and elegant, not too revealing. You don’t question him, changing into one of the few dresses you have in your suitcases. It’s pine green, the satin fabric fits almost like a second skin. There’s something about wearing this dress that makes you feel like you’re ready to take on whatever comes your way.

There’s also something about it that makes you excited to see Will’s face when he lays eyes on you. You know that he’ll love it and just a few minutes later his expression proves you were right.

“You look... ravishing,” Will whispers, his eyes locked on you. You can tell that he’s speechless by the way he blinks, almost too surprised by your appearance.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” you mumble, feeling slightly embarrassed by how much you anticipated his reaction.

“It’s perfect,” he tells you, and you take a deep breath and walk across the room to kiss his lips. You take it slow and give a little bite at the end—just to see his reaction.

“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” Will mumbles, his voice already a little lower than before. He can feel your lips sliding away, as if they’re a temptation that’s almost impossible to resist. The kiss was short, but Will knows he enjoyed it more than a little bit.

“I might just do it again,” you warn him, and you move close to his ear to whisper some words that make your body shiver and his skin break out in goosebumps. “We need to finish that dinner fast. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sit next to you and keep my hands to myself.”

Will swallows hard, his heart beating quicker, as he looks down at you. Your words are enough to render him speechless. He can’t find his voice to reply. It’d be too easy to pull you into his mind and act on both of your instincts. The mere thought of it makes him so nervous, so hungry, and so eager. When he finally speaks, it’s in a low, desperate tone that sounds far away.

“You make my blood boil.”

Standing in front of Hannibal Lecter’s house, flanked by Will and Jack, feels like the most daunting task you’ve ever faced. The weight of impending decisions hangs heavy in the air, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re on the verge of unraveling your own life once again. Your nerves are frayed, betraying the facade of composure you strive to maintain. Fear grips you tightly, its icy fingers coiling around your heart, as uncertainty clouds your thoughts. Every step closer to that imposing threshold feels like a leap into the unknown, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice. You steel yourself for what lies ahead, hoping against hope that your resolve won’t crumble under the weight of doubt.

Jack stands silently next to you, his expression cold and his eyes piercing you from time to time in a way that’s unnerving. His mere presence sends shivers down your spine. You glance at Will, who appears just as uncertain as you, if not more so. While the decision to help take down Hannibal doesn’t seem to trouble him, the thought of involving you in this dangerous endeavor clearly weighs heavily on his mind. What he’s asking you to endure and the risks involved make him flinch as much as they make your stomach churn with dread.

Will’s fingers slide in between yours, a silent promise that he won’t leave your side. You can almost feel his heart beating wildly, mirroring your own, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself down, focusing solely on the person about to open the door.

The door swings open, welcoming you into a home that’s as stunning inside as it is outside. But the beauty of the surroundings fades into insignificance as you lay eyes on the Hannibal Lecter standing before you. Suddenly, you find it impossible to meet anyone else’s gaze but his, your surroundings fading into a thick fog as his presence commands your attention.

Hannibal looks at you—your body, your hair, your face, everything. His gaze sweeps over you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, as if he’s peeling back the layers of your carefully constructed facade. You swear he sees right through you, leaving no detail unnoticed and no fraction of space untouched by his scrutiny. It’s unnerving, the way he seems to perceive not just the person in front of him, but the one behind the delicate mask you’ve crafted.

Your heart rate skyrockets as his gaze lingers, and it takes all your willpower and courage to maintain a neutral expression, to keep the tremor of fear from showing on your face.

Before you can fully absorb the image of him, Jack steps forward, breaking the painful silence. “Dr. Lecter,” he speaks in a stern voice, then turns to look at you, acting as the bridge between you and the stranger.

“Ms. Avant,” Hannibal’s voice is as smooth and elegant as you’ve always heard it to be. His tone is polite but distant, prompting you to remember to smile in order to appear normal. Will’s fingers squeeze yours in a silent display of support, conveying his discontent with the arrangement. But you both know there’s little you can do about it.

“It’s actually Mrs. Graham now,” you correct him, but immediately regret it when his eyes widen subtly—a reaction you barely catch. It seems Will has kept this information to himself. “But you can still call me Agent Avant. It’ll save the confusion around the BAU.”

Hannibal gives you a small smile, but your comment seems to have thrown him off balance. Your response is far more cordial than he was expecting, and he appears almost amused by the unexpected turn of events. He exchanges a glance with Jack before turning his gaze back to you.

“I’ll do as you ask,” he replies, his tone tinged with curiosity—but beneath the surface, there’s an undertone of something darker lurking. As he takes your hand in his and squeezes gently, a shiver runs down your spine.

You feel like you can’t breathe. Your hands are damp, your throat feels sore and dry, and you struggle to calm your racing mind. “Thank you for the invitation, Doctor Lecter,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hannibal takes in your statement but doesn’t offer any reply. He maintains his hold on your hands, his grip slightly tighter than before. Despite the warmth and firmness of his touch, you can’t shake off the unsettling feeling that lingers.

His gaze locks onto yours, and you feel yourself being drawn into the depths of his eyes. It’s as if he’s peering into your very soul, and you find it difficult to tear your gaze away. You’re on the verge of melting under his intense scrutiny when you manage to spare a quick glance at Will, whose expression remains impassive, betraying little of what he might be feeling.

A moment passes as you struggle to fend off the creeping anxiety, attempting to find some semblance of calm within yourself. Then, Will releases a breath and strides forward, heading towards the open door. Without hesitation, you follow in his footsteps.

Hannibal casts one last glance in your direction before turning away, ushering you into his home. As you step inside, you’re greeted by the sight of luxurious furniture and intricate decorations adorning the space. The room exudes opulence, almost resembling a palace rather than the abode of a mere man.

“He’s a man of taste,” Jack remarks, his words breaking the silence. You sense that he’s directing the observation at you, a detail that would be inconsequential under different circumstances.

You nod in acknowledgment, allowing your thoughts to drift as you proceed further into the house.

“It’s all very... extravagant,” is what you say next, and what you don’t add is how there’s a faint sense of emptiness in this house despite all the details and decorations. It’s almost chilling.

“I do favor extravagance and elegance in my lifestyle,” Hannibal agrees, his gaze darting carefully between you and Will. Surprisingly, he doesn’t appear to be perturbed by Jack Crawford’s presence as much as you anticipated.

“I’ve noticed that,” a whisper slips from your lips inadvertently. The comment was meant to remain in your thoughts, but the words escape on their own accord. You glance away momentarily, hoping the remark will go unnoticed, but Hannibal catches it without hesitation. He smiles at you, almost as if you’ve just paid him a compliment.

“Oh, you have?” Hannibal’s voice is smooth and pleasant, its seductive undertones causing a flush to rise to your cheeks.

You offer a delicate smile in response, opting not to elaborate further as Hannibal leads you to the dining room. The table is expansive, perfectly set to accommodate everyone present. A bottle of wine rests in the center, surrounded by meticulously arranged plates, utensils, glasses, and other accouterments—everything impeccably placed without a single detail out of order.

As Hannibal offers you a seat, the mere thought of sitting so close to him sends a shudder down your spine. It’s as if you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body as he settles into the head of the table. Your breath becomes heavy, your heart quickens its pace, and your mind races with a flurry of thoughts and emotions.

You notice every detail of his demeanor—the elegant curve of his fingers around the stem of his glass, the subtle curl of his lips, the intensity of his gaze when it lingers on yours for just a moment too long. It’s all so captivating, yet simultaneously overwhelming, causing a weakness to settle in the pit of your stomach. You find yourself averting your gaze multiple times, attempting to break free from the enchanting spell he seems to cast over your mind.

Beside you, Will’s expression remains impassive, but you can sense that he, too, is attuned to every nuance of Hannibal’s behavior.

As Hannibal disappears into the kitchen to bring out the food, you exhale a sigh of relief, though you can’t shake the fear that he might hear it all the way from the kitchen.

You cast a glance at Will, hoping for some distraction from the overwhelming intensity of the moment. However, his expression remains unchanged, revealing nothing of what might be running through his mind. It’s as if he’s closed off his thoughts, leaving you with no insight into his inner turmoil.

You feel trapped in the most claustrophobic way imaginable. Hannibal’s presence consumes your thoughts entirely—his smile, his breath, his voice, his touch—all of it overwhelms your senses. Even the mere scent of him sends shivers down your spine. You’re engulfed by the intensity of the situation, wondering how you’ll manage to make it through the dinner.

When Hannibal returns and places the fish on the table between Jack and Will, you notice a flicker of relief pass between them as they exchange a glance.

“Truite saumonee au bleau with vegetables and broth, served with hollandaise sauce on the side,” Hannibal presents the dish with a flourish, the delicate aroma wafting enticingly through the air. “Beautiful fish, Will,” he adds, his tone carrying a hint of admiration for the culinary creation before you.

“It was my turn to provide the meat,” Will interjects, his words carrying a deeper meaning than mere culinary discussion.

“More flavorful and firm than farmed specimens. I find the trout to be a very Nietzschean fish. Trials of his wild existence find their way into the flavor of the flesh,” Hannibal comments, before serving the food and taking his seat at the head of the table. “I hope ‘providing the meat’ doesn’t mean you still harbor doubts about what I serve at my table.”

You try to maintain an appearance of composure, despite feeling like a nervous wreck. Taking a deep breath, you hold it in for a moment before releasing it slowly. Casting your gaze down at your plate, you decide to focus on eating—it’s the least you can do to occupy yourself in this tense atmosphere. Picking up your fork, you take bite after bite of the fish, though you find that everything seems to lack flavor, despite its deliciousness.

Will remains silent, his expression unreadable.

Jack chuckles dryly before speaking on Will’s behalf. “No doubts, Dr. Lecter. Only the wounds we dealt each other before we got to the truth.”

You can’t fully grasp what either of them has said, as your mind is consumed by other thoughts. You feel Hannibal’s gaze fixed on you as you eat, his eyes attentively observing your every movement.

He doesn’t appear irritated by your slow pace or lack of enthusiasm, yet there’s something about his stare that compels you to rush through your meal just to make it stop. The scent of the food is almost like his breath in your nose, the taste of it feels like his lips, and when you take a bite, you almost expect him to lean over and take it from your mouth.

“Which is why we need to move past apologies and forgiveness,” Hannibal responds finally, his voice carrying a weight of conviction. As Will’s eyes catch his stare on you, Hannibal continues, “Chilton has many victims besides the dead.”

“That’s precisely our intention,” you assert, drawing all eyes towards you as you speak up with determination.

Everyone falls into a momentary silence, the weight of their gazes palpable as tension simmers in the air. Will’s eyes remain fixed on you, his expression one of approval as he acknowledges your firmness and confidence.

“We will absorb this experience, and it will change us. We are all Nietzschean fish in that regard,” Hannibal continues, his words punctuated by a subtle undertone of philosophical reflection.

“Makes us tastier,” Will interjects with a touch of humor, prompting you to gently kick him underneath the table.

Hannibal cracks a dry smile at Will’s comment, his demeanor retaining an air of sophistication as he sets his cutlery down on the plate and folds his hands in front of him.

“I would say it adds depth to our flavor,” he remarks, his words flowing from his lips with a smooth and velvety ease that seems to echo the rhythm of your heartbeat. The air in the room seems to pause for a moment, awaiting a reaction from someone, but you remain focused on your plate, determined to ignore the intensity of his stare until the end of the dinner.

The rest of the meal passes by in a blur. Hannibal maintains his role as the perfect host, his demeanor poised and gracious. Jack remains true to his usual self, engaging in conversation and observing the proceedings with his characteristic vigilance.

However, you can’t shake the feeling that something is amiss. Will, typically a key player in any plan, seems oddly detached, failing to fully engage in his part of the strategy. His silence speaks volumes, leaving you with a sense of unease as you try to decipher his intentions.

Reluctantly, Jack gathers his things and bids his farewell, leaving you and Will alone with Hannibal at the table. Hannibal, ever the gracious host, proposes another glass of wine, his gaze lingering on you both with a hint of intrigue.

#hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #will graham x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x will graham #hannigram x reader #murder husbands #eat your heart out

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oingomyboingos · 3 months ago

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i’ve been rewatching hannibal s1 with friends who have never seen it before and we were talking about hannibal’s potential motivations when he purposefully neglects will’s health, lets the encephalitis get worse, lets him lose time and think he killed people so that he can toy with will’s empathy. I see it as hannibal wanting someone to finally see him, know him, understand him, and that happens only because he has become (like) him. hannibal destabilizes will’s entire sense of self in s1, and will IS able to pick himself back up again, but only as a man who has reoriented his whole life around (revenge upon) hannibal. hannibal is operating on some horrible version of the phrase “to love is to be changed” where he took it as a personal challenge to ensure that will not only sees him fully, but also mirrors him. and ultimately isn’t that merging of self with other the worst kind of fucked up intimacy?

#just jill's stuff #putting this here because I actually kinda like it and I don’t wanna have it get lost in the replies of that other post #nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal lecter

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 5 months ago

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Idk if your requests are still open. But if it is, could you please do a one-shot where you catch Hannibal's eye at some sort of event, particularly because he finds out you are an artist. But oh no! You already have a partner (up to you if you want their relationship to be pretty good or not). I'd love to see how you'd interpret his "I get what I want" attitude sprinkled with his suave manipulation tactics to get your attention away from your partner.

Hannibal X Reader: I did it for love

Warnings: obsessive behaviour, stalking, manipulation, drinking, crying, bad relationship, Hannibal wanting you to himself, cheating, no use of y/n, gn reader, not proofread.

Word count: 1,6K

"They’re not good enough for you"

You raise your head at the voice, eyes moving towards it. You're greeted with the sight of a man you’ve never really spoken to but recognize.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your partner doesn't deserve you. It’s clear they don’t value your art.”

“How exactly would you know that?”

Hannibal makes his way to you, leaning over the railing of the deck. You continue to watch him in curiosity.

“Do I know you?”

“You might.”

“I’ve seen you before. But I don’t think we’ve ever talked.”

“I came to your last showing.”

Your memory seemed to come rushing back. You’d had a showing a month ago and it had been a disaster. It’s not that people didn’t show up or hated your art. In fact that place had been packed and you’d received nothing but praise. The issue hadn’t been who was there. It had been who wasn't. Your partner hadn't shown up. You’d told them about your showing about a million times, making it very clear the importance it had and they hadn’t even bothered to show up. You’d been able to hold in your sadness for a good while but the closer it got to finishing time the harder it seemed to be. You’d excused yourself from the room, walking out into the hall. Tears streamed down your face as you leaned against the wall.

“Are you alright?”

Your eyes opened at the sound of the voice moving quickly to wipe away your tears but it was too late. The man before you offered you his handkerchief. You took it, uttering a small thank you.

“I’m sorry. I’m not usually this much of a wreck.”

“No need to apologize, it's clear something upset you.”

“It’s the person I'm dating. They didn’t show.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah thanks.”

You sniffled, using the handkerchief to dry your tears.

“I thought they were beautiful.”

“What?”

“Your art, I found it very captivating.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s unlike anything i’ve seen in a while. You have real talent.”

“Thank you.”

“Just being honest.”

You were about to ask the stranger for his name when someone pooped their head into the hall to tell you someone needed to talk to you. You gave the stranger a polite nod before turning to go back to your showing. You only realized you still had his handkerchief when it was too late.

And know here you were, standing next to him for the second time in a month, tears streaming out your eyes once again.

“We really have to stop meeting like this.”

You let out a small laugh, wiping the tears away from your face. Hannibal moved to grab his handkerchief but you stopped him. You tugged out something from your pocket.

“Still have the one from last time.”

Hannibal watched as you dried your tears. He couldn’t believe you still had his handkerchief, he assumed you’d have thrown it away. But instead you’d kept it in your pocket in case you found yourself in a situation that required it. A situation like this one.

Hannibal had been observing you for a while now. He’d found out about your art through a friend from the opera but he’d only managed to see it a couple of weeks ago. He wanted to talk to you, to tell you that your art had made him feel things he thought he was no longer capable of feeling. That had been his intention the first time he met you, but when he saw you crying he faltered. You’d told him the cause of your sadness and his heart had broken a bit. He didn;t know if the ache in his heart was due to your crying or due to the fact he’d just found out you were in a relationship. He presumed it had more to do with the latter. His conversation with you had been cut short that day but he had promised himself he would talk to you again.

He spent days observing you from afar, watching the exchanges between you and your partner. He found out where they worked and made it his mission to keep an eye on them for you. In reality he wanted to find some dirt on your partener. Anything that could help him get you to break the relationship off.

Was he acting a bit insane?

Well yes he was.

Did he care?

No he did not.

“How do you know they don’t deserve me?”

Hannibal snapped out of his thoughts, his eyes moving to look over at you. Your eyes were red from crying. And the look on your face held so much pain in it.

“Look at what they’re doing to you.”

“It’s not always like this. They’re just busy.”

Bullshit. They weren’ busy they were at a club. How did Hannibal know this? Well because he’d followed them of course. But he wasn’t going to tell you that. It would only make you pull aways from him and that was the last thing he wanted.

“It seems like they dodn;t make time for things that are important to you.”

“What are you some sort of shrink?”

“Actually yes. I’m a psychiatrist.”

“Oh.”

“People in toxic relationships often don;t realize it until it's too late.”

“My relationship is not toxic. It’s just not perfect. But my partner loves me.”

“Do they?”

You glared at Hannibal. He could tell he was walking on thin ice but if he wanted to open your eyes he’d have to take the risk.

“If they really did love you wouldn’t they be here?”

You knew what he was saying was true but it still hurt.

“Listen, if you ever need someone to talk to, here’s my card.”

You looked at the card in Hannibal's hand for a moment before reaching out to grab it. You turned it over in your hand reading its contents.

“Hannibal Lecter huh you have a very unique name….”

You looked up only to realize Hannibal was no longer there. You placed the card in your pocket, taking a deep breath in before going back into your showing.

Weeks passed and Hannibal didn;t hear from you. Everytime he picked up the phone he wished it was you. He wanted to reach out to you but he knew that it would seem suspicious. And he didn’t have your phone number but that was easy to solve. Despite your lack of contact Hannibal kept following your partner. On one particular night he followed your partner into a bar and had found them kissing another person. He’d snapped a couple pictures for proof.

Your computer buzzed, telling you there was a new email. You opened it reading the subject line. It read “thought you should know”. You stared at the pictures in shock. There was no denying that it was your partner in the photographs. You tried to see who was the sender but it showed up as unknown. Anger filled you. For years you’d been defending them and know you found out that everyone had been right? You let out a frustrated groan, pushing off the papers from your desk in anger. They littered the floor , spreading out against the wood. Your eyes fell on a particular piece of paper. You leaned down, reaching for it. You stared at the phone number for a moment before deciding what you were going to do.

Hannibal's phone rang twice before he picked it up. It was a number he didn;t have saved.

“Hannibal Lecter speaking.”

“You were right.”

Hannibal's heart raced at the sound of your voice.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course when would you like to-”

“Would right now do?”

Hannibal glanced at the clock. It was late. He’d already finished for the day and was about to head home.

“My office hours are over but you could come to my house if you’d like.”

“Okay. What's the address?”

It took you a while to get to Hannibal's house, he lived farther than you had expected. Once you got there you walked over to the door ringing the bell. Hannibal opened the door, his eyes falling on you. Before he even managed to get a word out you’d stepped forward, clinging to his body as you cried. Hannibal's arms wound around you, his hands moving over you back in a soothing manner.

“Come on, let's get you inside.”

You’d shown him the pictures as he filled your glass with wine. You chugged it down in one go. Hannibal listened to you rant and rave until you couldn’t anymore. You settled on the couch.

“I broke it off.”

Hannibal's ears perked up at the confession. He turned his head to the side so he could look at you. You were slightly drunk, your head tipping forwards as you tried to keep your eyes open.

“That must have been hard.”

“Fuck them. You were right, I should have done it a long time ago.”

“Come on let's get you to bed.”

“I don;t want to impose.”

“I’m not letting you leave here in this state. I’ll sleep on the couch so you can have the bed.”

“Okay.”

Hannibal helped you into his bed. He tugged the covers over your body. You watched him place a glass of water and some pills on the bedside table.

“These will help with the headache. You rest now.”

He moved to leave you but you grabbed his arm. Hannibal turned to face you. He watched your mouth open and close but he couldn’t hear what you said. He leaned down so that his face was closer to yours.

“Thank you.”

Before he could respond you’d place a light kiss on his cheek. You let go of his arm turning to the side as you snuggle into bed. Hannibal can’t help but watch you for a while. Once he’s sure you’ve fallen asleep he makes his way to the basement. He tugs on his plastic jumpsuit before tugging on his gloves. There was still something he had to resolve.

He was going to make sure your ex didn’t bother you ever again.

#hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter #hannibal tv show #hannibal #nbc hannibal #mads mikkleson #hannibal nbc #hannibal series #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #murder husbands #mads x reader #mads mikkelsen x reader #mads mikkelsen

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