#The Chesapeake Ripper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cece693 · 1 month ago

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Hihi, may I request a Hannibal x Reader where the Reader has NPD and doesn't form a connection with anyone till he meets Hannibal? A bit self-indulgent, but I reckon Hannibal would be fascinated by the prospect of being 'special' to a narcissist.

My Mirror

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader tags: no background info used when writing this, sorry in advance, vain male reader, hannibal indulges him, talk about superiority

You’ve never been one for emotional attachments—an understatement, truly. Where others might feel devotion or longing, you observe a mild, clinical detachment. People, with their petty wants and whining needs, amuse you for a time but rarely hold your attention for long. You’ve grown comfortable in the self-contained world of your own superiority.

In clinical terms, you’ve been labeled with narcissistic personality disorder—NPD. The label doesn’t disturb you. In your eyes, the world is simply out of sync with you; it fails to meet the high standards you’ve set. You don’t consider this a “disorder,” exactly. Yet you recognize that it isolates you. No one has ever managed to breach the lofty gates of your interest…until meeting him.

The first time you hear of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, you’re skeptical. Your colleagues and acquaintances speak of him in hushed, reverent tones: a brilliant psychiatrist, a culinary savant, a polymath of refined tastes. You grow used to overhearing their effusive praise, and it only piques a faint curiosity at best. Everyone extols him so highly—could he possibly live up to the hype?

Yet, from the moment Hannibal Lecter opens the door to his lavish Baltimore townhouse, you sense a shift. The warmth of candlelight glints off polished silver in the foyer. The faint aroma of roasting meat teases your senses. But none of these details hold your attention half as much as the man himself. Dark, composed eyes meet yours—eyes that see you in a way no one else has before. You feel an uncanny ripple of fascination, and it snags you before you can slip away behind your usual polite mask of distance.

Throughout the evening, you watch Hannibal with an intensity you typically reserve only for yourself. He tends to his guests with an elegant flourish, every word precisely chosen, every subtle gesture purposeful. It’s all done with a perfection that borders on artistry.

At dinner, you test him—sliding in a barbed remark about the “vapidness” of certain guests, just to see how he’ll react.

Hannibal raises his glass and murmurs, “You see them as uninteresting, do you?” There’s something in his voice, a mild fascination, that instantly pricks your pride in a pleasurable way.

“Don’t you?”

He offers a small, knowing smile. “Their concerns may be pedestrian,” he allows. “Yet, occasionally, there is merit in observing what they fail to perceive.” His gaze flickers to you, lingering. “And how do you find me?”

It’s a straightforward question, one most people would dodge, but you don’t. “Relevant,” you reply smoothly. “Rarely do I meet someone who isn’t painfully predictable.”

You expect a mild scoff, or perhaps a faint show of offense. Instead, Hannibal’s eyes gleam with a genuine spark of intrigue. “How refreshing,” he says, a gentle timbre in his voice that resonates.

As word of your growing closeness spreads among your acquaintances, it ignites a ripple of scandalized curiosity. After all, you’re you: proud, self-assured, never known to settle on anything or anyone that doesn't meet your standards. Many interpret your relationship to be built on purely superficial aspects—perhaps you're just dazzled by Hannibal's wealth (as if you don't have money of your own) or you seek to climb the social ladder (as if you would desire to spend your priceless time entertaining the mindless sheep for longer than necessary.)

They see your vanity, your precise grooming, your tendency to remark on the trivialities of others’ failures. They judge you for it. But what they can’t see is how Hannibal perceives you differently. He recognizes that your so-called “superficiality” is both shield and sword: you offer praise only where it’s truly earned, and you expect nothing less in return. He praises your refined tastes, marvels at your knowledge of art and culture. Far from dismissing your grandeur, he encourages it. In moments stolen away from prying eyes, Hannibal’s soft voice murmurs the subtlest compliments:

“You wear that suit as though it were designed exclusively for you. Magnificent.”

“Your insights on Baroque architecture are enthralling. Not many people appreciate ornamentation like we do.”

No one has ever spoken to you this way, not without an undercurrent of envy or mockery. Yet Hannibal’s praises feel earnest, almost reverential. His acceptance of your worldview—that you are remarkable—bolsters an unfamiliar warmth within you. You, in turn, find his own superiority mesmerizing. This is what it’s like, you think, to be understood.

If others see only the two of you exchanging indulgent remarks about fine wines, then let them. If they think it’s just a coupling of vanity and pretension, so be it. What truly matters is the inexpressible energy that crackles in the space between you—a reflection of two minds that appreciate the rare delight in one another.

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cece693 · 1 month ago

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Bound By Appetite (SMUT)

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader tags: hannibal cheats on alana, but is it really when they're just fuck buddies, male reader is alana's brother, will is just a victim, adult content, smut, blowjob

Hannibal Lecter knew how to mask his desires beneath a composed exterior, but a singular glance from you always threatened to fracture that control. It was something in the way you carried yourself—taller than your sister Alana, more assured, your demeanor tinged with just the right amount of mystery to intrigue him. He had slept with Alana because it offered him a respectable facade if the FBI ever got close enough to discover his more deviant acts, but when his eyes met yours during a visit you made to your sister, he was hooked. Your presence, your voice, your insight kindled in him what Alana never had nor could dare to. You were the one he truly wanted.

That much became undeniably clear the first time Hannibal had managed to seduce you. It wasn't in his nature to relinquish control, but when his back hit the mattress and your lips explored every inch of his skin, it ignited a new hunger in him, beyond even his taste for the forbidden. It took some convincing on his part to make you see that night as something other than a mistake, and more so to establish that connection he'd been gone without for decades. Hannibal would keep you locked in his basement if you dared to reject him, but it seemed you had felt similarly.

In the hush of his home, Hannibal’s outward civility peeled back to reveal an ardent, almost predatory fixation. He viewed your body as a rare delicacy, your mind as a labyrinth he longed to explore, and your presence as an irreplaceable treasure in his otherwise carefully curated life.

It was on one of these nights—after a sumptuous meal in Hannibal’s dining room—that the tenuous calm between you and him was disturbed. The main course had been “lamb,” though you suspected (as always) that the truth might be more monstrous. You decided not to ask. The taste was exquisite, your mood as buoyant as the rich red wine swirling in your glass.

Hannibal’s gaze remained locked upon you, dark eyes alight with a contained hunger. You had already promised you would stay the night. If there was any question left about your fidelity, his intent to keep you there until dawn was clear in every subtle shift of his posture.

But a shrill tone from your phone shattered the quiet. You winced, reaching into your jacket pocket and letting out a soft apology when you caught sight of the caller ID—Will Graham. In any other situation, you might have allowed the call to ring through to voicemail, but recent events complicated matters: you and Will had begun dancing around one another, testing the waters of a more traditional relationship. You had shared a few lingering kisses. Perhaps you were curious about what normalcy would feel like, away from Hannibal’s forbidding shadow.

Hannibal’s smile thinned. Though he set aside his utensils with a flourish of politeness, you knew he loathed this interruption. You offered Hannibal a guilty look as you answered. “Hey, Will,” you said, keeping your voice even.

Will’s tone was tentative, yet warm. “I finally got you. I was worried I caught you at a bad time.”

“No, I’m just…finishing dinner,” you replied carefully.

Across from you, Hannibal leaned back in his seat, posture so calm it seemed eerie. His eyes never left you. A spark of jealousy flickered behind those carefully constructed walls of composure. It simmered deeper when Will ventured to ask if you’d like to meet tomorrow morning for a coffee at his home. You swallowed, feeling heat crawl up your neck. Hannibal said nothing, but you could sense the tension creeping into every elegant line of his body. He despises anyone vying for your attention.

“Will, I’m…I’m kind of occupied right now,” you told him, your heart jumping when Hannibal rose smoothly, circling the table to stand behind your chair.

Will persisted. “Well, I really want to see you again." He sounded hopeful. "If you don't want coffee, perhaps just a simple breakfast—" Your breath caught as Hannibal’s fingertips settled on your shoulders. Then, with disconcerting grace, he nudged your chair back just enough to create space. The scrape of the chair legs against the floor made you tense. You knew precisely what he was planning—some not-so-subtle reminder that you belonged to him.

“Will, can we discuss this another time?” you managed, your voice faltering when Hannibal’s arms slid around your waist.

Will paused, clearly sensing your unease. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, your heart pounding. “Tomorrow, yeah?”

Hannibal bent closer, his breath ghosting across the back of your neck. He spoke so quietly only you could hear: “Don’t you think Will should know his place?”

A tremor laced your spine, but you didn’t have time to respond before he slipped to his knees. Your grip tightened around the phone as Hannibal’s deft fingers worked open your belt, your zipper. He pressed the palm of his hand below your navel, urging you to shift. You could almost taste the possessive fury emanating off him—your interest in Will fueling a sort of primal jealousy he refused to mask.

“Hannibal—” you murmured under your breath, a futile protest.

He did not answer except by freeing you from the confines of your trousers, his motions precise and unhurried. The notion that you might remain completely composed on the phone with Will while Hannibal did this to you was inconceivable. But that was precisely what Hannibal intended: to watch you falter, to watch you realize that no mundane connection with Will Graham could overshadow the stark intensity he offered.

“Hey,” Will’s voice came again, “is something happening? You sound—”

Hannibal wrapped his mouth around you in a single fluid motion, and your entire body jolted. The phone nearly slipped from your hand. Waves of pleasure undercut your ability to form coherent words. You tried—and failed—to swallow a gasp. Your hand shot out to brace against the table’s edge while the other clutched the phone. “Will, I—I’m here,” you choked out, your voice embarrassingly breathy. “Just… finishing dinner.”

Hannibal’s tongue worked agonizing patterns that obliterated any chance of calm. He was deliberate—this was not a gentle act, but a show of domination woven into the pleasure. A low hum vibrated through his throat, intensifying each burst of sensation, each quiet moan you tried so hard to stifle. "Okay." Will sounded uncertain, but you didn't care, especially when you tried to not moan at the sinful image Hannibal currently created. "So, tomorrow? Or do you have something already planned?"

In a moment of pity or sadism, Hannibal eased the speed of his ministrations, letting you draw a rattling breath. He slid his hands up your sides, anchoring your hips in place so you couldn’t pull away if you tried. "Yes, tomorrow sounds perfect—" A sharp inhale caught your words when Hannibal resumed his torturous, calculated pace. “But I really have to go now. Take care." Hannibal’s satisfied murmur around you sent pleasure zinging straight up your spine. He wanted Will to hear the quiver in your voice, wanted you to know exactly who commanded your desire.

“Okay,” Will answered, perplexed. “Goodnight, see you soon.”

The line went dead, and you let the phone drop onto the table with a clatter. Freed from pretense, your head fell back against the chair, a ragged moan escaping your throat. Hannibal, no longer constrained by the presence of a third party on the line, began to move in earnest. He swallowed around you, sucking, swirling his tongue, each motion of his mouth orchestrated with merciless elegance.

Your mind hazed, every nerve lit up by the sensation. You tried to swallow the cries building in your throat, but Hannibal was relentless. This was how he expressed the depth of his jealousy, by consuming you quite literally. Possessiveness roiled beneath each caress, as though he might devour you rather than allow you to belong to anyone else.

You felt the telltale curl of heat in your abdomen, your muscles tensing, thighs trembling. Hannibal read you like a well-worn script. He tightened his hold, swallowing you deeper, coaxing you into the precipice of release. With a strangled groan, you surrendered, your body snapping taut as pleasure raked through you.

Hannibal took it all, his eyes sliding shut as he savored every moment. Only when you finally slumped back, chest heaving, did he relinquish you. He stood with his usual, unhurried poise, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb.

His dark gaze met yours—smug, perhaps, but also blazing with an undercurrent of satisfaction. You caught your breath, warmth still buzzing in your limbs. When he leaned down, you instinctively closed the distance, pressing a hard, heated kiss to his lips. The taste of yourself lingered on him, fueling your own swirl of possessive desire.

When you pulled back, Hannibal’s mouth quirked in a small, dangerous smile. He brushed his thumb over your lower lip. “You agreed to meet Will tomorrow. Perhaps something will get in the way and ruin your plans."

You said nothing, merely tightened your hold on his arm. In that searing moment, as Hannibal stared down at you with an air of unspoken triumph, any notion of a normal, innocent future with Will Graham felt like a distant dream. You might have dipped your toe in that possibility—but Hannibal’s ravenous gravity always pulled you back under.

You had already promised to spend the night—and you suspected Hannibal would ensure you stayed until dawn and beyond. The phone lay dormant on the table, Will’s name still glowing in your call history. For now, it was an afterthought. Caught in Hannibal’s thrall, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be—or perhaps you no longer had a choice.

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