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chronicroderick · 7 months ago

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Post-Fall

Hannibal and Will are together once again, peacefully undisturbed, and in a moment of intimacy and affection, Hannibal reveals how he dealt with their separation after Mizumono.

Fluffy Fluff, Post-Fall, Light Mentions of Canon Violence, Light Mentions of Smut

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“I went ahead and searched through all of time. There is only you,” Hannibal said, caressing the loc at the forefront of the other man’s scalp. “There is only you. Some people produce a soft echo from their soul that may sound like you on occasion, or hum a funny little tune that tastes like something you would sing, but there is only one you. He sits here before me.”

There was the cooing of a dove somewhere outside the window. Spring had greeted the Earth as it did every year, washing the room with yellow light, a combination of the blue morning and the foliage in the garden. A breeze, gentle, warm, swept the lace curtain inwards, as if the house was taking a breath at the same time the men were. It carried with it the sweet scent of the hyacinths, cascading on some invisible river.

“There was a man,” He started again, tracing small shapes on Will’s chest, “nothing like you. Not in wit or in tongue. I did not long for him, ache for him, like I do for you. Nevertheless, I had spent so much of my journey on my own, searching for someone who could compare to you, who could fill this hole in my chest that screamed only your name, that when I came upon this blue eyed man, who looked all for naught like some cherub version of my Dogfox...”

Hannibal paused, moved his hand against Will’s cheek, forefinger gently rubbing the stubble, as if he couldn’t get enough of the sensation, and turned the brunet’s face towards his. Will, who had been peacefully listening with his eyes closed, opened them, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Oh how I missed that oceanic gaze.” Hannibal whispered, maroon eyes darting back and forth as he focused on one eye and then the other, his face sharp and intense for a long moment of glinting pupils.

“Are you attempting to memorize my eyes?” Will whispered back, a twinge of humor in his voice.

“I never forgot them. I simply find comfort in confirming it is really you in this bed.” His jaw flexed as he swallowed, “If you’ll permit me to finish my story I will. The last thing I want is to upset you or cause you jealousy.”

Will shook his head, “I’m jealous, but I’m not that jealous. We had parted ways. There was no way to know we would find our way to each other again,” Will absently rubbed the center of the sideways scar that ran across his belly, a phantom pinch manifesting itself as he spoke, “Plus, you already buttered me up to soften the blow, might as well keep going.”

Those dark eyes flickered to where Will’s fingers drifted over his skin. Hannibal made no attempt to grab his hand, but he could use their love language to convey comfort.

“Before I continue it might be helpful to know the man I speak of is dead. Never was there a time I was compelled to take his life for any reason other than to consume him.”

Will nodded once, “Playing with your food. Tsk tsk,” the slightest curve of the corner of his mouth all the permission Hannibal needed to go on.

The breeze blew inwards once again, the change in air pressure causing the closed door to the adjoining bathroom to rattle quietly against the doorframe. This time the wind carried the sound of a moped horn, polite in its short spurts, yet assertive.

“I sought a place I had not been in so long in the limbs of a body that was no more comforting than the empty halls of a hospital,” a pale hand ran over Will’s bicep, into the dip of the inside of his elbow, “though it may have brought physical excitement, and though even now it is with great shame that I retell such a sordid encounter in your presence,” his hand ran down the swell of Will’s forearm, “hiding from you has never been my instinct.”

He turned Will’s hand palm up, and began running his thumb back and forth over the veins on the inside of Will’s wrist, in exactly the spot where Hannibal’s skin was pulled together in a long apricot colored scar.

“I called him by your name, Will.”

Then a deliberate silence, filled with all the sounds of a lovely morning. Agitated tweeting of chickadees in the apple tree. A lawn mower in the deep distance. Even the sunbeams seemed to exist with an elegant hum.

“He grit his teeth then chuckled,” Hannibal continued. “There seemed to be no resistance to the name. I realized what I'd done, almost struck to apologize, but I withheld that apology. Then, the amoeba that he was, told me to say your name, to call for you, and I did. Over and over it was your name through my lips, your skin I wished to have beneath me, the whisper of your hair that I smelled in the back of my mind. I can not live without you, Will. There is nothing except you.”

Will glanced slyly at him when he finished speaking, “That story makes you sound incredibly pathetic. Desperate, even, for a shred of me.”

“Pathetic indeed,” Hannibal agreed with wide, insistent eyes, “you occupy every part of my memory palace. Every minute without you was an eternity. I lament fate for not bringing us back together sooner.”

Warmth streaming in from outside. Everything is hazy. Their hair does not seem to have edges, only obscure clouds of curves, and their limbs do not have a beginning or end when it comes to each other or to the way they form white snakes beneath the sheets. Electricity buzzes, sparked by the honesty from Hannibal, sustained by the acceptance from Will, who leans upwards to press a soft kiss onto his nose.

To anyone else, there may be an assumed hostility in the idea of a lover telling his man of old conquests. Fortunately for us these are no ordinary men. The time they spent apart was hollow for Will, was he not sharp enough to know that Hannibal was a hot commodity? Was there not a worm of wonder, no matter how much Will tried to squash it, as to where Hannibal would be and who he would be with in his time in Europe? Now he had his answer; in his mind Hannibal was always with Will, he was just as hollow, enough so that he fucked someone with Will’s name spilling from his lips. Someone with low enough self-esteem to allow such a thing. Someone weak. Someone Hannibal could never love. Will is charmed, as is evident from the soft look in his eyes. He had had a wife after all, a screaming, purposeful, opposition to all that Hannibal was, in an attempt to pull a cloth over those burning, burgundy irises.

“We both tried to survive separation,” Will said as Hannibal lays back down, “why tell me now?”

Hannibal is quiet for a moment, “I was curious what you would think. I'm always curious what you think.”

Will chuckles, “I like the idea of you using someone else as a surrogate for me. It's kind of… bittersweet.”

“Like when you killed Randall Tier.” The older man suggested with a smile.

“Yes, like when I killed Randall.” Will rolled over, one leg thrown over Hannibal as he laid his head on his shoulder.

Hannibal only hums and pulls Will closer. Another moped horn sounds, farther this time, softer. The wind becomes rhythmic, bursts of flowery aromas fill the lungs of the house, so strong you can almost see them, and a lazy bee tries to figure out what a window pane is. The two men do not stir, though they lay awake, adorned in this Italian spring. Their heads are not empty, never empty, but their scars remain healed. We must retreat now. This intimate moment is theirs and theirs alone. If you do not understand it then I will not judge you, but we must go. Let them enjoy this bliss. They've been through so much.

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rebelliousstories · 2 years ago

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Blankets

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: Will Graham x Reader

Fandom: NBC Hannibal

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 971

Masterlist: Here

Summary: Snow in Virginia means cold. Cold means a need for warmth. Warmth means cuddles. Preferably with a human but dogs are a nice addition.

It’s no secret that Virginia can get extremely cold in the winter. Snow littering the ground, ice hanging off the gutters; it gets cold here. Which mean that if you don’t invest in quality warmth generating products, you’re going to have a bad time. At least that was what she believed. Will, on the other hand, simply took what he could get. That included blankets. She knew that when they started dating that he had been living the bachelor lifestyle for a while, but she never imagined to the extent that he own two or so blankets. Neither one thick enough for Virginian winters.

Snow was starting to fall on the ground, but she had a mission. The nearest Amazon drop box was thirty miles away from Wolf Trap. But it would be worth it to her. Her package had already been delivered to the location, she just needed to get it and get home before Will beat her to it. The late night at the school meant that, hopefully, she had plenty of time to grab the package, and be home to make dinner in time. Finally, she reached the amazon locations the nearby mall, and eagerly picked up her package. Now, to get home. The snow was starting to come down heavier as she drove on, but nothing that she wasn’t used to.

Their dogs barked loudly once they heard her car pull into the driveway. She didn’t see Will’s car yet, so she could finally lay her plan into motion. As soon as she got to the door, the dogs rushed around her and ran around their front yard. She left the door open for a few minutes so the dogs could come in and out. Tearing open the package, she draped the blankets over the bed. Hopefully Will would like them.

She got started on dinner for her and her partner while she pulled some treats out of the fridge for the dogs. The door had since been closed, and warmth was starting to seep back into the whole house. She worked all around the stove, making soup to ward off any and all chill that was in the house still. It wasn’t long before she heard the dogs start barking yet again, while she was finishing up the soup. The woman raced to the front door, turned on the porch light, and threw it open wide. For the second time that night, the dogs raced all around outside to greet the other human of the house.

Will kneeled down and welcomed them with open arms. They jumped around and licked his face in excitement. His wide smile was worth her beating him home that evening. The man made his way up to the front door and opened his arms for his lover to fall into. He pressed a gentle kiss onto her head as she enveloped herself in his embrace. A timer suddenly went off, and she bolted from the man to the stove once more. Will went to wrangle the dogs into the house once more, and came inside to see two steaming bowls of soup with bread on the table.

He noticed she seemed unusually happy, but didn’t call attention to it just yet. They simply enjoyed their dinner tonight. Outside, the snow danced. Winds howled like a rabid beast. But it didn’t matter inside of the house. Inside, it was warm, and filled with light. Eventually the couple made their way to their bedroom to retire for the evening. That’s when Will saw the new adornments on the bed.

“Honey… what are those?” He questioned, looking at the colorful blankets that had suddenly appeared on his bed.

“Oh… um- well. Those are our new blankets. I figured we could use some more fluffy blankets cause we were kind of lacking in that area.” His lover explained sheepishly.

“We have dogs and blankets already. Why do we need these?” He was still confused as he got into bed.

“Because Will. You can’t get through a winter here with snow without them. Please baby, just give them a try.” She begged of her partner. Happily she joined their dogs on the bed, while Will still looked apprehensive. He stared at the blankets, not sure as to what he was suppose to do. But his girlfriend grabbed his hand and pulled him into the warm bed. As he slipped under the covers, pulled the fluffy blankets on top of them, and grabbed his lover in his arms, he understood.

Warmth filled his body, and it was so comforting. The dogs by his feet, his lover in his arms, and to top it off, the fluffy blanket saved all that warmth close to their bodies. It was the perfect scene. Snow flurries outside, wind rages, and his heart was full. Will couldn’t imagine being anywhere else on a cold winter’s night. He’s really glad that his lover decided to get those fuzzy blankets. He pressed a kiss to her head right as he was drifting off to sleep.

“Thank you baby. I love the blankets. And it seems like Winston does to.” She let a sleepy, quiet chuckle at his words and pressed a kiss to his chest above his shirt.

“You’re welcome honey. I’m glad Win loves it as much as you.” The dog rustled around a little bit as his name was mentioned but sat down and the family, including pack and all, settled down for a nice warm winters rest.

#rebelliousstories #writing #will graham #will graham imagine #will graham x you #will graham x reader #25 days of ficmas #25 days of christmas #hannibal #hannibal imagine #horror imagine #horror

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stranded-labyrinth · 1 year ago

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i thought slightly too hard about this and...i imagined an alternative.

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Hannibal dials. He waits. And he waits. He's considering the call may not go through at all, that it'll show up as a missed call sometime down the line and the implications of that–

Around the last ring, it clicks.

"Hello?"

The sound catches him off guard. It's a voice he knows well, but a voice he didn't expect at all. Even then...

"Pleasant hearing from you, Jack," Hannibal greets quieter than he'd anticipated from himself. It's an honest statement.

There's quiet on the other end, the familiar sound of Jack's stressful breathing.

"What in the hell business do you think you have calling Will's phone?" Jack hisses through the line.

It's a valid question, if not one that leaves even Hannibal stumped. He cannot simply say that a bottle of wine brought him back to Will's phone, back to the very line that had greeted him with "They know." about a month back.

"Your guess is as good as mine," comes yet another honest statement from him. "Though I wonder why you have his phone. Taken as evidence, was it?"

He nearly makes himself laugh. He discovers he's too...whatever feeling this is, it's too much for the laugh to break through. Amusement fizzles out in a bewildering puddle of tragedy and alcohol.

"He hasn't woken up yet."

The answer cuts through his mental fog like nothing he'd experienced before. It's baffling and sobering all in one. The sensation of shock that hits him, it's something that was entirely foreign to him. He feels as though he's been electrocuted. His nerves ache from it.

It's been a month. It's been a month, and Will hasn't–?

"Starting to think you prefer him this way," Jack says, cutting off Hannibal's disquieted train of thought.

Jack sounds quieter, as though he's past the point of caring that he's conversing with the man who nearly killed him. Jaded. Numb.

"Taking him out of the running whenever you get the chance..." he continues. "I remember you and I sitting in a room just like this the last time he was unconscious because of you and I. When you played your little game with him and he lost. When even afterwards, you sat there with me, looming over him. Having spent and continuing to spend God knows how long shredding his defenses apart..."

Hannibal doesn't speak. He doesn't dare.

"A two player game is still a game," Jack speaks up again.

Hannibal, again, does not speak. He knows exactly what Jack is referring to, given the hand he had to play in it. A game with a distinct winner and a distinct loser is what they'd been playing. Some would say Hannibal won. Hannibal knows that he didn't. In his kitchen that night, there wasn't a winner to be found, only two distinct losers suffering their losses.

"Whatever game it is you played with him this time around," Jack says, "whatever result you wanted from this...If he doesn't wake up...I'm glad you don't get to see your results."

The line goes dead before Hannibal can even get his grief-induced, alcohol-addled thoughts together.

He lets the phone fall to the floor, and finishes the rest of the bottle without so much as reaching for a glass.

When Bedelia finally arrives "home" an hour later, she spots him slumped asleep in his chair, the bottle dangling from his fingers, and his eyes closed around dried tear tracks.

She does not disturb him.

Was listening to the very classic "Need you now" and was thinking about what would happen if while Hannibal is in Florence, he has a bit too many glasses of wine (he must have a limit too!) and calls Will. He is not drunk enough to say shit or be funny, he is drunk enough to give in in front of his internal craving of hearing his voice after so many months of silence. So he is drunk enough to abandon his principles and punishment and resentment for a few minutes. Drunk enough to take the risk of having the FBI trail him. It won't happen probably. Probably.

And Will answers. He doesn't recognize the number but has a certain feeling. In Baltimore it's probably daytime or evening. Hannibal can't really tell.

That simple "hello?" Is so good. It's everything to him. It's just like morphine. For a few second it numbs his thoughts and pain and questions and the neverending internal monologue. He sinks in in his armchair and closes his eyes, expecting Will to hang up from one moment to the next.

"It's only fair if you said something too."

Hannibal opens his eyes, not expecting to hear such a craving coming from Will's side.

"There is a lot I would love to tell you, Will." He says and for a second it feels like the old times.

He hangs up immediately afterwards. The conversation is as dangerous as any alcohol or drug. Too much can make you addicted to it. And that leads to loss of control and attention. And those are crucial.

The bits he had heard will be enough for now. Enough to keep him waiting for more.

He is looking forward to telling everything to Bedelia in the morning. She will sure be thrilled to hear everything.

#sorry Blue #ily <3

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rustys-lodge · 3 years ago

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Poor behaviour.

Summery : You’re being grounded and scolded by Dr Lecter, the man who raised you like his own daughter, You act defiant and strong, behaving poorly. But what’s that going to get you ?

Warnings : None ?

A/N : Inspired by a prompt i found on @platonic-prompts ‘s blog 🖤 , “You’re not even my real parent! Why the hell do you care?!”

Also, This is my first Hannibal Lecter fiction, i hope it sounds like the way he talks. You guys are welcome to share your thoughts !

Enjoy. ❤

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“How old do i look to him, what does he mean i musy be punished.”

Mumbling under your breath, you stormed into Dr Lecter's office and stopped right in the middle, waiting for him to join you into the fight as he followed behind.

He walked too slowly, back straight and face as illegible as ever. You were a raging mess and he was a stoic figure.

"I'm sorry but you must be punished for your actions, Y/n." Your father simply proclaimed and you worked hard against it, but the response ruptured out of your throat anyways.

“You’re not even my real parent! Why the hell do you care?!” You spat the words out, your heart aching at the scarce step back your father took.

He was clearly taken aback and you hoped that he knew you didn't mean it. Of course you didn't. He was everything to you.

"Real parent or not, I am the one who embraced you to sleep, cared for you in times of sickness and taught you the way of life." Dissapointment laced in his voice. But he tried his best to keep himself together.

You quieted for a moment. But you were tenacious and stll worked up so you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest defiantly. "What are you going to do, anyway ?" You eyed him up and down. "Put me in time out ?"

“I believe you are too old for that type of punishment,Y/n.” Hannibal paused for a couple of seconds before continuing. “Although I’m not so confident anymore.”

A ghostly smirk flashed over his face, causing you to discreetly lower your gaze down, face reddening.

“But i will be confiscating all your devices, starting right now." Hannibal brought his hand out towards you and you just stared at it, unsure of whether it was too late for you to apologize ? Did it matter how humiliating it was going to be ? He’s your father, anyw-

"Hand it over, Y/n.” The sound of his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. And although it sounded like a command, you knew damn well it was a warning. So you just tugged into your pocket, pulled your phone out and tossed it into his hand, mumbling under your breath. "Like that's gonna teach me something."

He scared the shit out you. But you still needed him to know that you weren’t one to give up too quickly.

"Perhaps it will.” His voive higher than usual, almost amused. “Or perhaps a full week at home will ?”

What ?

“Wh-”

“You’re denied all activities outside the house for a week, break the rules and it will be extended to t-”

“You can’t do that.” You scoffed in disbelief, as you weren’t one to spend much time at home, much less without your phone.

“Yes, i can, actually.” Hannibal pointed a scolding finger at you. "And do not come crawling to me when you're bored out of your mind, Y/n. I will only speak to you when you start acting like a civilized human being." Dr Lecter started turning away from you before turning back again “I would invite you to join me as i cook for us, but i must admit i am saddened by your behaviour, so I would like you to go wait for me in the car and think about your purile conduct while i finish up in here.”

Your face heated up again as shame coursed through your veins.You hadn’t moved. How could you ? The man who meant the world to you now thinks he means nothing to you, is dissapointed in you and just scolded you like a 5 year old child. Grounded ? Really ? At your age ?

“Go on, Y/n.”

Pulled back to reality, you faltered before heading for the door, defeated.

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Hello again, peeps, I hope you made it to the end. I might write a Part 2 so if anyone’s interested, let me know. ❤❤❤🌹🌹🌹

#Hannibal Lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x daughter #hannibal x daughter!reader #mads mikkelsen x daughter #mads mikkelsen x daughter!reader #daughter!reader

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homosexuality-at-its-finest · 4 years ago

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I dont know if your requests are open but,, can you do Hannibal with soft and shy boyfriend (reader) where the reader finds out about Hannibals 'habbit' of killing and eating people by catching him red handed (pun intended) and the reader kinda freaks out and panics but Hanni explains himself and calms the reader down and comforting him by promising to never hurt the reader? So kinda angsty with a fluffy ending?🥺

A/N: Thank you for the request, it means a lot to me! My requests are always open, unless it says otherwise in my bio :)) I hope you like it!!

Plot: Requested

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Male Reader

Y/n: Your name

L/N: Last name

E/c: Eye color

H/c: Hair color

Warnings: Cannibalism, Murder, Blood, Angst, Panic attack, fluff, complaisant reader, slight manipulation

Word count: 956

Hannibal Lecter had never been a man of warmth and love, even as a child he was cruel and calculating, never feeling regret or remorse. He was a psychopath to put it simply, he enjoyed killing innocent people, it brought him a pleasure he couldn’t explain. Their delicate meat was his favorite part, getting to feast on his victims. Murder used to be the high light of his day, until Y/n L/n came into his life. The boy was timid and soft spoken, flushing under any form of attention, especially his attention. At first, he couldn’t understand what he was feeling for you, it made him want to get rid of you; but when the time came, he couldn’t do it. His heart clenched at the idea of not seeing your gentle smile every day or seeing a flush spread across your cheeks at his flirtations, by the time he was ready to kill you it was to late. He was in love with you.

You had wormed your way into his heart, and over time he wormed his way into yours. He was proud to introduce you as his partner, loving the way your face would burn and you’d look down shyly. The feeling that you gave him was addicting, more than killing had ever been. He kept that part of himself hidden away from you, he was the boogeyman that parents warned their children of, and he couldn’t bear to see the fear in your eyes. Though he supposed that was a mistake, a second life is never hidden for long.

He was currently cutting up a body, face calm as classical music played in the background. The sight of a dismembered body never bothered his, and the strong smell of iron only made him hungry. He was focused on his task at hand, thinking that he would be alone for the night. He had foolishly forgotten he’d given his lover a key, he didn’t think his darling boy would show up unexpectedly; but the gasp echoing through the kitchen was proof that his thought was false. He whipped around and felt his heart clench at the sight of his boyfriend, a hand over his mouth and eyes trained on the mutilated body on his counter. Hannibal had never felt fear life this, and the ache in his heart was unbearable when you backed away.

“Hannibal what is this?” The way your voice cracked made his stomach turn, he never wanted you to fear him like this.

“Little one…” He took a step towards you, bloody hands held up to show he wouldn’t hurt you. He could never hurt his darling boy. His heart clenched when you took another step back from him, hands shaking as you forced yourself to look away from the body.

“How could you do this? How could you kill someone?” You questioned him, eyes full of unshed tears. He could hear your breathing pick up and knew what was coming next. He could hear you gasping for shaky breaths and didn’t hesitate to come forward and bring you into his arms, certainly covering you with blood. You fought against his touch weakly, making his own eyes burn with tears.

“Please don’t hurt me.” Those words made him feel like his entire world was shattering. How could you think such a thing? He brought his hands up, cupping your cheeks as if you were fragile as glass.

“Little one, I would never hurt you.” He promised, thumb brushing against your cheek bone. “I would never hurt you or let anyone else hurt you. I love you Y/n and harm will never befall you.”

He could feel you relaxing against his touch, your head falling against his shoulder. He could feel the inner conflict you were having, so he lightly grabbed your chin and made you look up ay him.

“Darling please understand, I only kill bad people.” It was a lie, and he knew that, but he knew that the lie would help sway you. “I will never lie to you again; I promise you that.” He loved the way your eyes fluttered slightly, teeth biting at your bottom lip.

“what do you do with their bodies?” You were so quiet he almost didn’t hear you. He let out a soft sigh, eyes closing for a second. “I eat them.” He promised no more lies, but he was surprised you didn’t seem disgusted.

“You promise no more lies?” He nodded without hesitation. “I promise my love.” After a second you nodded, bringing your hand up to rest on his neck. “Okay. Just don’t do It when I’m around please, you know how I feel about blood.” Hannibal could’ve cried of relief at your response, dipping his head down to kiss you softly. “Don’t worry darling, I’ll make sure to have the house cleaned up for you.”

You nodded a bit, refusing to look at the body again. “Can we clean up and watch a movie? I had a bad day, that’s why I came over.” Hannibal smiled and nodded. “Of course darling, go start the shower and I’ll finish up down here and then join you.” The pair shared a final kiss, before he watched you walk away. He’d clean up his mess and then make sure his love was okay. Now that you knew, things would be much easier. He quickly cleaned up and headed upstairs to join Y/n, he wanted his little one to have a better day, and he could help with that.

#hannibal x male reader #hannibal #x male reader

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house-of-slayterr · 3 years ago

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Hannibal Family Pt. 2: @charliedawn

Peter’s POV

I heard a faint knocking on the front door, it was drowned out by the litter patter of hot water running down my spine. Uncle Hannibal always said it was a good idea to clean yourself up before a guest came over. I had warned the two of them about the project of course. Kevin and him were both staying home today and I didn’t want anything to go wrong. Newt seemed like a good kid, and they wouldn’t deserve what would happen to them if they pissed off the wrong family member.

“I’ve got it!” Kevin yelled.

It was clear from where the sound came from, he had been hanging out in my room. I hated when he hung out in there when I was away, but I know he does it just to bother me. Uncle Hannibal taught me to take deep breaths when I was upset, and I knew Kevin wasn’t worth it. Despite my brother never intentionally wanting to hurt me, he was far more capable of maiming than any of us would like to admit. I turned off the water and stepped into the cold room. I didn’t want to leave my study partner alone with Kevin for too long. He didn’t trust many people, and he got antsy if they started proving his suspicions.

I looked at my bed to realise what Kevin had been doing in here. My knife collection was out on my bed, displayed haphazardly. I growled under my breath. I quickly shoved the knives under the bed, not really caring about how they looked, I’d reorganise them later. Before I could finish, Kevin appeared at the door. I sent him my best glare.

“Awww, does Peter not want his new friend to see his little secret?” He joked.

“Kevin, you know just as well as I do how serious this is. Morgan would punish both of us if today goes badly.”

“And by badly you mean we kill the kid and uncle serves her for dinner?”

I simply sent him another glare.

“Relax Peter, nobody plans to hurt them. They don’t really seem like a threat. Uncles alone with them, we should go down to rescue them before they fuck something up.”

“Language!”

It was Kevin’s turn to roll his eyes. He lead Peter down the stairs and into the kitchen where his friend now stood being held in Hannibal’s arms. Kevin cleared his throat. He watched as their whole body language changed upon viewing Peter. They flung their body at me again, yet this time I saw it coming. It was weird how comfortable they were with me. Most people stayed far, far away from my family and I.

The others talked amongst themselves for a while but I wasn’t really listening. I just couldn’t take my eyes of them. They didn’t seem scared, or nervous. All I could pick up on was excitement. It was kinda adorable. I scolded myself for the thought. I was brought out of my thoughts when they matched onto my wrist. I nearly panicked before I realised who was touching me. They tugged on my arm and lead me upstairs to my room. How did they know which one was mine?

They pushed open the door and threw their book bag down before jumping and flopping on my bed. I allowed a small, scoff like laugh to leave my lips.

“Wow!” They said.

I raised my eyebrow.

“I can’t believe I finally got invited over to someone’s house.”

“Not sure if it counts when you invite yourself” I muttered.

“Ouch” they feigned hurt. “Wanna get started?”

Their voice didn’t falter, but I could see in their eyes I had actually upset them. They played it off well, maybe a little too we’ll.

“Sure.”

They scooted over on my bed and I grabbed their book bag, gently placing it on their lap before sitting next to them. The rummaged through it for a second before pulling about a pen and a notebook. The notebook looked quite old. They must have noticed me staring.

“Couldn’t afford new school supplies, but there was still a good amount of paper left.” They explained.

They didn’t appear to be looking for pity, or upset by that statement. They didn’t even linger or except a half assed “I’m sorry” they just moved on.

“So we have to write about a character who we think made an impact in the literary world. I’m not sure if you’ve got a list or any ideas, but I think we could present about Frankenstein’s Monster, The Invisible Man, or we could go the other way and cover Scarlet O’Hera or Atticus Finch.” They rambled.

They stopped talking when they noticed my eyes on them.

“Peter, you’re kinda starring again”

I shook my head.

“Sorry. Just… tired.” I lied.

“We’ll how about you pick from those people, or if you wanna throw your own into the ring we can do that. I can’t write most of it, and send it to you before it’s so. You do the editing?”

I shook my head again.

“No, it’s a group project, the workload should be shared.”

“I really don’t m-“

“I insist. I say we cover The Invisible Man”

There it is, that sparkle in their eyes again. I’m positive I’d they could levitate, they would float into the clouds and never come back down.

“Amazing choice, I knew you’d be the perfect study buddy! Everyone else wouldn’t have actually read any classics.”

I laughed.

“I’ll have to show you the library sometime.” I offered.

Their eyes widened.

“Now I won’t be able to concentrate! Peter you can’t just mention a library.”

They lightly pushed my shoulder.

“We could write in there if you wish.”

They slammed their notebook shut and got off my bed, bouncing up and down on their toes.

“Yay! But, isn’t your uncle bringing us snacks. We shouldn’t eat in the library.”

“It’s alright, there’s a designated table in there, my older brother likes to spend hours in there.”

“We’ll I wouldn’t want to encroach on his space.”

This was the first time I’d seen them this insecure. They were so bubbly until I mentioned by brother. Did they know Morgan? No, that wasn’t possible. But they knew how to find my house, which room was mine. Maybe they knew too much. I sighed heavily. I’d have to find out what she knew.

“So Newt.” I got their attention.

They ceased their frantic typing and turned to me. It was kinda adorable how quiet and still they got when they were concentrating.

“Uh huh?”

“How did you know where I live?”

I watched but their expression didn’t falter. They seemed to anticipate my question.

“I saw you walking home one day. I wasn’t intentionally following you but I spotted you walking and my feet just kinda carried me the rest of the way. I’ve got a good memory so it wasn’t hard to memorised the route here. As for a your room, I just took an educated guess. You seem like the type to pick the room furthest from everyone else.”

I thought for a moment, considering their words carefully. They didn’t appear to be lying.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

This was the first time I’d seen them vulnerable. Normally they were loud and confident and maybe a bit naive. But rn they looked like a scared child.

“No, no. It’s fine. But you have to understand-“

“That i probably seemed like a creepy stalker?”

I nodded my head at them.

“I’m just-“ the let out a frustrated sigh before moving their laptop off their lap and dramatically rolling face planting into my pillow. I took note as they breathed in the scent for a second before lifting their head to look back at me.

“I’ve never hung out with anyone before, project or no project.”

This baffled me, they seemed so nice. Why would anyone not hang out with them? Sure they were a bit odd, but stranger things have happened. It seemed as if they saw the gears turning in my head and they shifted to face me fully now, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“But don’t fret, if you don’t want to hang out after this, that’s ok. Just let me enjoy this right now, yeah?”

Being under their direct gaze made me feel small. Something I wasn’t proud off. Normally only my uncle and his coworkers made me feel that way. Their eyes were like portals that held so many secrets. A knock on the door sent us scrambling apart form each other.

“Come in” I lamely stated.

“I brought you tea, Miss Newt” Hannibal announced.

They furrowed their brows, before responding.

“Thanks… but I don’t think I like the way that sounds.”

“Pardon me?”

“Oh sorry. Thank you for the tea. I just, I don’t think Miss suits me very much. But I’m not quite sure what would. I’m just not used to formal greetings I guess.”

They sipped their tea happily. Hannibal set down the snack tray on my night stand, which appeared to be a fancy charcuterie board of some sort.

“Mx” I said.

They boy turned to me.

“I think that’s what they use for people who don’t identify with a binary gender.” I mumbled.

“Peter, we’ve talked about you speaking more clearly. But you are right. I do believe that is what they are teaching us in our updated gender studies class.”

“I love it!” They decided. “Thank you so much for the snack Dr. Lecter!”

“Please, you can call me Hannibal. My office is at the end of the hall if you need anything.”

My uncle excused himself, closing the door behind him. We worked for the next three hours, sneaking little chunks of banter into our discussion. I must admit they were quite smart. And they were much better with their written words than their spoken. This might even be a project I’d feel comfortable showing off to my uncle. He would enjoy their analysis of the main character. I suddenly felt a weight on my shoulder and I looked down.

They had fallen asleep on my shoulder. I smiled down at them. They looked peaceful, it was odd. Despite their cheery disposition, you could visibly see how tense and on guard they always were. Yet right here, right now, they melted onto me. Trusting me to be vulnerable in this moment. Another knock on the door almost startled them awake but I shushed them. Kevin didn’t wait for a reply before peaking his head into the room.

“Hey it’s getting late, maybe they should-“

He paused at the sight before him and I saw a smile creep onto his face.

“Nice one bro” he gave me a thumbs up.

He made his way into the room quietly. He went to move a strand of hair out of their face but I swatted it away.

“What, did uncle drug their tea or something?”

My eyes widened, how had I not even thought of that. Maybe they wasn’t as polite as I thought they were being. Maybe he saw something in them I didn’t. But I shook my head nonetheless.

“He wouldn’t. They didn’t do anything.” I offered.

Kevin shrugged.

“So what are you gonna do with them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Peter you have someone sleeping in your bedroom. This never happens! Enjoy it!”

“Gross” I mumbled. “I wouldn’t do that to them. Besides they probably don’t even like me like that.”

“Yeah you’re right, they could do so much better.” He joked.

I glared his way.

“Mind if I borrow your car? I should get them home.”

“You know where they live?”

That was a stupid question. Of course I knew where they lived. I knew quite a lot about them. I just didn’t want to scare them off yet. I knew the real reason they wanted to study at my house tonight. Their parents weren’t really out of town, and god how I wish they were. They didn’t deserve them, their child was far to kind for those monsters. I would Rescue Newt, even if they didn’t know they wanted me to yet.

An: ahhh yandre Peter 👀 I’m obsessed

#self insert fanfiction #self interest #slasher x reader #slasher boyfriend #hannibal family #hannibal the cannibal #hannibal lecter #we need to talk about kevin

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wishfullyeternal · 4 years ago

Text

Hannibal x Reader- Stitches

Words- 1197

Warnings- Gore, language

Knock Knock

"What the hell?" You muttered to yourself, it is one o'clock in the morning and you were just about to go to bed. You got up and went to the window near the door, peaking out of it to find...

"Hannibal?" You were in disbelief, he hated you, and you hated him. You opened the door to see him extremely dazed and confused, almost falling to the concrete ground. You were about to close the door on him when he said quietly,

"Didn't know where else to go," It was soft, barely audible, his feet immediately began to give way and you went straight for his shoulder to keep him steady. You guided him in and said,

"Who the hell did this to you?" Hannibal had already flopped down onto your couch, desperately trying to stay awake. He shivered slightly and touched a cut on his forehead, that's when you noticed he had cuts everywhere. He was bleeding out. His eyes were closed and you noticed his breathing was far too shallow for him to be conscious.

"Shit," You whispered, running to the closet to get your first aid kit, it wasn't going to be much but at least it was something to keep him from dying on your couch. You set down the first aid kit and unbuttoned his shirt, already soaked in deep red blood. There was one deep gash on his sternum, almost like someone had been trying to take something from him. Other gashes were starting to open more, showing the yellow fat under his skin. You studied it slightly before beginning to work the stitches, looking at the way the fat structured itself into little pill like formations, helping to insulate heat. His skin was far too pale to be holding in much more blood, and if you didn't work fast he would surely die.

Quickly though you went to work, grabbing some alcohol and putting it on a washcloth, cleaning the blood from his chest, staining the washcloth a deep red. He was still passed out when you got a needle and began to stitch him up, first making sure that both the dried and fresh blood had been cleaned, it revealed his shallow breathing and you couldn't help but feel bad for him, even though he had tried to kill you a few months ago. You thought back to that day, mindlessly making stitches.

Both covered in blood you spoke to him, smiling devilishly,

"Met your match, Hannibal?" He smiled in the same way and licked the blood from his lip. He chuckled and a glint in his eyes showed that he was definitely enjoying this. You were covered in blood as well, blood dripping down your face from the punch to your forehead, his knuckles ripping at your skin. It went into your eye and felt like hot acid, you forced yourself to close the eye and restrained yourself from rubbing it clean. With a sigh, Hannibal spoke again, smirking at your heavy breathing, this time more commanding.

"Why don't we finish this. shall we?" you nodded and the both of you ran towards each other from across the room. You breathed in the hint of old book from his office, mixed with sweat and the metallic hint of blood, and the light from his window was blinding, causing Hannibal to...

Crack

Break your rib.

You groaned and held the side of your midsection, he took the opportunity to kick you down onto his hardwood floors. Yet he didn't let your head hit the ground, instead, he cushioned it with his own hand, letting the both of you fall together. He put his legs over you, laying his knees on the hardwood floor, and caressed your cheek.

"How adorable," He said, you struggled to push him down and only stopped when he pushed on your rib,

"Fuck" You whispered, struggling to keep yourself as strong as your could.

"You would taste so good..." He smiled and got up, letting you flee.

You didn't, you instead caught him by surprise and kicked him down on the floor, the same way he had done to you. You grunted and held your rib more carefully. Walking up to him you put your lips to his ear and whispered,

"You wish you could taste me," Winding up your hand you punched him straight in the nose, he didn't try to parry but instead let you hit him. You furrowed your brows, wondering for a split second before he whispered in the same tone as yours,

"Oh, you shouldn't have," He said, you tried to hide the fear in your eyes, feeling that all too familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach worsen. Almost like a black hole, sucking you in with nothing to let you out.

And here you were, with his life in your hands, Hannibal Lecter sitting on your couch. You were helping him. Helping?! You whispered to yourself, this man tried to kill you, and yet you were tending to his wound like a bird to its chicks. Yet you couldn't stop, you couldn't just let him die.

"Hannibal," You whispered to him, finishing up the last of the stitches, grimacing every time the needle poked through the skin, and the disgusting feeling of the stretchy skin being torn into by the sharpness of the needle.

"Putting me in this situation, you tried to fucking kill me!" You weren't sure who you were speaking to, but somehow it was nice to be talking to no one in particular. Just stating your thoughts aloud...Or rather to an unconscious person.

"Why am I even helping you?" You asked yourself, stopping to tie the stitching into a knot, to then pull through for the last time. You knew the answer. Of course, you did. It wasn't a foggy mysterious revelation. Simply put, you were envious of him. Envious of his stature, his wealth, and the way he could mold you into whatever his heart desired. You were wax in his hands, only hardening when he would let you, and absolutely melting at his touch.

You let yourself breathe, finally able to see that Hannibal was beginning to awaken, his eyes glossed over like old varnish on a yellowed painting, you could tell he was finding it hard to identify you, his sight blurry and unfocused.

Hannibal didn't say much, or rather anything when he woke up. He buttoned up his shirt, reaching to feel the stitches, and grimacing only the slightest when he accidentally pulled on one of the strings. Only one word left your mouth,

"Why?" You asked, eager to get an answer.

"You are so eager to get an answer, but there is nothing I can tell you." His speech was soft, almost weak. Yet he held himself in the same high manner he had done so many times before.

"Sorry about your couch, I'll make sure to order a new one," He sighed and straightened his shirt, ignoring the dried bloodstains that covered the facade.

He left, making sure to lock your door on the way out, and you were left with far more questions than answers.

#hannibal x reader #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannigram #mads mikkelsen #mads #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal lecter fanfic

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 4 years ago

Text

House Calls (2/2 )

Hannibal (TV)

This part took much longer than the first. The muse eluded me for quite some time but it has finally returned! And the fact that this beautiful gifset from the show is making the rounds again certainly helped. ❤❤ Shoutout to @mongooseblues for inspiration for and assistance with this fic! A small note for those that read part 1, I'm retconning the fact that Hannibal had a digital thermometer that beeps. He would definitely have a mercury one.

Read part 1 here. (Recommended, it is referenced quite a few times in part 2)

Read my other works here (works best on desktop) (Also on AO3)

My asks are always open for prompts!

For the second time in one week, Will Graham was awoken by the phone ringing. Granted, a week ago it had woken him because it rang at an unusually early hour. This time it woke him because he was still getting over the godawful bug he'd caught, and he was going to bed earlier and sleeping in later.

He fumbled for the device and picked it up with a groggy " H'llo?"

"Will, it's Hannibal." The doctor paused to clear his throat roughly. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I have a favor to ask of you, if you're up to it." There was a strange noise on the other end of the line, a kind of shuffling noise-- or perhaps a sniffle?

"Sure," Will said with a yawn and a sniffle of his own, rubbing his eyes. "I've been feeling pretty good since yesterday. I can help with whatever you need."

"That's very promising. As to the favor... It appears I've left my medical bag at my office." Here he had to stop to clear his throat again and cough before he continued. "I was wondering if you would be able to collect it for me and bring it to my home. I'm… well, it seems I've caught your illness and I don't believe it would be wise for me to leave the house."

By this time, Will had slid to sit on the edge of the bed as he listened, stifling further yawns. The damn flu still had him feeling so unbelievably tired and groggy.

"I'll head out right away," Will replied, rubbing his face. "And… I'm really sorry to have put you in this position, Dr. Leh--Hannibal. I never meant to get you sick."

"Occupational hazard, and I don't regret any of my actions concerning your care. But I appreciate your assistance in getting my bag. I will see you soon I hope."

"See you soon." Will ended the call with a small sigh. Now he felt guilty *and* tired. He was almost glad there was something he could do for the doctor to help assuage his own conscience.

Less than an hour later, Will arrived at Hannibal's stately house. It had been no problem to retrieve the black leather medical bag from Hannibal's office. Due to the late hour of their therapy sessions, Will always arrived after the office front entrance was locked, so he knew the code to the building’s back door. The bag had been hidden behind a table leg and it was easy to see how Hannibal had overlooked it Now it was simply a matter of delivering it.

Already a bit overwhelmed to be approaching such a house, Will hesitated after mounting the porch steps. Hannibal hadn't told him what to do when he arrived. If the doctor was sleeping he didn't want to rouse him out of bed, but he didn't want to just walk in either. However, the safest option seemed to be to bite the bullet and knock. As he raised his hand to do so though, he realized the door was slightly ajar. A man like Dr. Lecter wouldn't accidentally leave a door open, no matter how ill he was. It stood to reason, then, that it had been left open for him. With more than a little trepidation, Will pushed the door open and stepped in.

The house was dim and still, and just as stately and pristine as everything else of Hannibal's. Will heard the sound of a harpsichord from somewhere inside. Hannibal was awake, then. At least that was something.

Will followed the sounds of the music, which led him into the cavernous kitchen. The stainless steel appliances were silent and eerie without Hannibal's bustling presence giving them life. The music was louder now, seemingly coming from the next room, and echoing slightly against the polished surfaces. A strange sixth sense kept Will from calling out that he had arrived, as if there was a spell on the house that didn't want to be broken. Will paused before he approached the corner that turned into the next room. As he did, the music stopped abruptly, and instead a different noise punctuated the air:

"HrrrrRRISHyuu! ErrrrRREISH-shooo! ISSSHH-chuhh! Hh'rrrsshh'CHHOOF!"

It was of course Hannibal who had sneezed. Logically Will knew this was to be expected when a person was sick. Yet it seemed so strange to hear such a mundane noise from such an extraordinary person. It was as if he'd accidentally witnessed something exceedingly private.

Still, the sneezing had broken the spell. The doctor said something in Lithuanian that sounded suspiciously like swearing, then began to blow his nose. As he did this, Will retreated several steps and reentered the kitchen more noisily:

"Dr. Lecter! I'm here! I've got your bag!"

"I'm in the study," came the congested reply, annexed by a chesty cough.

Will found the man where he said, seated in front of the instrument as he tended to his nose. Yet still, the doctor tried to smile warmly upon seeing him, though his shoulders had a limp sag to them, and he shivered as he sniffled into his handkerchief. He was wearing a fine blue silk robe with a plain white tee shirt and blue plaid pajama pants, neat but still a far cry from his usual suits. His hair was combed but lacked the crisp, styled look it usually had, hanging more naturally around his face. His eyes were fever-bright, and his cheeks were flushed from the same. He looked overall rundown and quite unwell.

Will handed him the black leather bag right away. Hannibal took it, looking grateful.

"Thank you so much for coming, Will. I didn't know who else to call." His voice was husky and thick, more than hinting at a miserable sore throat.

"No problem. But what are you doing out here? I thought the reason I fetched this was because you were too sick to get out of bed."

"I'm really not very ill. I was merely trying to avoid getting anyone else ill by my going out. But you've already had this illness, so you are safe from infection, which is why I thought to call you."

"That's logical I suppose," said Will wryly. "You look pretty sick to me, though."

"I assure you I'm fie- fine…. '' Hannibal quickly disappeared behind the handkerchief again, his breath hitching to sneeze. His shoulders leapt violently several times, and the motion made his hair fall across his forehead. However, any other sneeze side effects were thoroughly stifled into silence. After finishing the fit, Hannibal wiped his nose and flipped his hair back again with a toss of his head. Noting how familiar the doctor seemed to be with the gesture, Will could only guess at the number of sneezing fits he had had prior to this one.

Seeing the poor man’s sinuses take such abuse from the forceful stifles though made Will's own still-congested sinuses start dripping in sympathy. He hastily pulled out a tissue and wiped his nose.

"Ah, but you are still ill yourself. Where are my manners? I'll make us both tea." Hannibal quickly stood, but staggered before he could take a step, a hand going to his temple.

"Dr. Lecter--!" Will was at his side in a moment to steady him, one hand on the doctor's arm and the other at his back, just as Hannibal had steadied him earlier in the week. Will was prepared to do whatever was needed to keep Hannibal upright, though his swaying made Will more than a little nervous, for Hannibal was much taller than he, and would more than likely take them both down if he fell.

Thankfully, the doctor quickly righted himself, pulling away from Will's grasp. "Forgive me, I stood up too quickly." Dr. Lecter cleared his throat harshly, rubbing a palm across his eyes.

"Are you sure you--"

"I'm fine, Will. Now, tea." He strode away to the kitchen, effectively ending the conversation, as was his talent.

Will held his tongue for the time being and silently followed, sitting at the kitchen island while Hannibal puttered around making tea. The silence was companionable, only broken by the doctor's soft sniffles and coughs. At one point though, the doctor was overcome with a nasty coughing fit that bent him over at the waist as he grasped the countertop for balance. When the barking coughs subsided and he could breathe relatively normally once more, he flipped his hair back into place yet again and proceeded with what he was doing as if nothing had happened. Will noted all of this without comment.

Once the tea was poured, Hannibal seated himself beside Will, and they sipped together in continued silence. Will found it odd, though not unpleasant, to be sitting next to Hannibal without speaking, for their usual interactions dictated that conversation was necessary. Will found the quiet enjoyable. Yet Hannibal could not relax, for he was forced to tend to another harsh bout of coughing, turned away from Will and muffled into his elbow. His lungs sounded as if they were trying to tear their way out of his chest. Will could only look on in concern, and it was several long moments before he quieted.

"My apologies, Will," the doctor rasped as soon as he was able, the exertion having turned his face an even deeper shade of red.

"You don’t need to apologize. But you sound sick. And you look like you're running a fever. You should be in bed."

"I rest better down here with my music and my cooking. I couldn't lie in bed all day."

"I don't think you should do any cooking. You're shaking."

The doctor quickly hid his hands, which were indeed trembling with chills. "Even so. I find it hard to rest in bed during the day. I have trouble getting settled. It's too… quiet I suppose." He sniffled wetly, and was forced to dab at his nose with his handkerchief.

"Hmm." Will thought for a moment, studying his own hands, currently wrapped around his mug. "I suppose I have the same problem. And it's worse when you're not feeling well. But you helped alleviate that for me when I was sick." Will met the doctor's eyes, reddening slightly. "You should lie down after we're done with tea… and if you want, I'll stay with you for a while... If you think it'll help, I mean."

Hannibal regarded him in his penetrating way. "Are you that worried about my health, Will?"

"You're sick, Dr. Leh-- Hannibal. And I know how bad this flu is. I don't want to see you get worse."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, aside from another moist sniffle. "That is very kind of you to offer. I suppose you are right. Some rest would perhaps do me good."

Will nodded. "When we're finished, I'll stay here and do these dishes while you go get settled. I'll come see you as soon as I'm done. But let me know if there's anything else you need."

Hannibal gave a tiny smile. "Thank you, Will." With that, he obediently swallowed the last few gulps of tea and stood, moving toward the back of the house.

"Hannibal?"

The doctor turned.

"You don't… have to keep pretending you're fine. If you are pretending, I mean. I know how badly you're probably feeling better than anyone. You don't need to fake anything for my sake."

Will watched as Hannibal's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly--a thin crack in the veneer. The sick man gave the barest of nods, then proceeded on to what Will assumed was his bedroom.

Will felt quite out of his element in more ways than one as he cleaned the dishes from their tea. Having no idea where anything went, he left it all out on a towel to dry. Once the kitchen was as clean as he could make it, he steeled himself to go check on his therapist.

The master bedroom was as luxurious as the rest of the house, and Will did his best not to gawk or make comparisons between this and his own tiny house. Hannibal had hung up his robe and was huddled in bed. He wasn't fully lying down, but was propped up against a stack of pillows, his breathing noticeably thick and raspy in the silent room. As Will expected, lying down evidently made the doctor feel the full impact of his symptoms (or perhaps he was simply done pretending). Hearing Will enter, he turned his head, lethargically opening heavy-lidded eyes. Against the cream sheets, the contrast between his pallor and fever flush was even more striking.

"It seems I'm more unwell than I thought," Hannibal murmured with a cough. "This is why I wanted to avoid lying down."

Will made a sympathetic sound. "That means you *need* to be lying down then. Have you taken your temperature recently? If not, we should."

Hannibal glanced at the medical bag he'd brought up with him. "The only thermometer I own is in there, so I have been unable to."

"A doctor that doesn't own a thermometer?" Will chuckled, moving to the bag. "I wouldn't have expected that."

"I do own one. I've never seen the need to own two."

Will deigned not to reply as he rummaged through the bag, quickly finding what he needed. He shook down the mercury as he returned to Hannibal's side. Hannibal held out his hand to take it, then shakily inserted it under his tongue. He leaned back to stare at the ceiling while Will stared at the floor, hands in his pockets.

Will waited what felt like an awkwardly long time before he finally shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. "How long does it take to get a reading? I've never--"

Hannibal held up a hand and waited a bit longer, then removed the device from his mouth, glanced at it, and handed it to Will without comment.

Seeing the reading, Will gave a low whistle. 104.1… that's high, Hannibal."

"My body temperature is always above average. This is more pronounced when I'm ill."

"Do you have some medicine? You should probably take something. Or do you want a cool rag?"

"I have just taken medication." The doctor gestured to his nightstand with a thick sniffle where there was a small collection of unmarked pill bottles. "And there's no need for cooling methods. A fever is a natural physiological response to infection. Nothing to be alarmed about." He swiped at his nose with his handkerchief, stifling a cough.

Will was skeptical, but before he could respond, Hannibal jerked forward at the waist, pressing the handkerchief to his face again:

"Gghnxt! Kppshht!"

The expression on the doctor’s face indicated that he could have (and maybe should have) kept sneezing, but he harshly pinched his nose with a wet squelch and blew, forcing the tickle to subside.

Will sighed and shook his head, then made a face upon noticing the state of the handkerchief Hannibal was using.

"That handkerchief is...sodden. It's practically dripping. I'll get you a fresh one. Where do you keep them?"

"I only have 3 others and they are in worse shape than this one. I've rather been running through them."

Will chuckled. "I can't imagine why." He rummaged through his pockets, finally producing a nearly full, cellophane-wrapped travel pack of Kleenex which he handed to the doctor.

Hannibal made a face. "I despise using these."

"I'm not sure you have an option right now. These have to be better than your soaking wet cloth ones."

"Debatable," Hannibal muttered. Still, he shook one out and gingerly brought it to his face. He gave several thick, gurgling blows, productive to the point of starting to disintegrate the tissue. Seeing this, Hannibal made another face.

"You really need to use 2 or 3 of those at a time," Will said, trying not to laugh. "But let me get you a trash can."

"There is one in the master bathroom," Hannibal croaked, looking peeved and sounding more congested than ever.

Will quickly fetched the bin while Hannibal tried again to blow his nose, using 4 Kleenex this time. The 2nd round of blowing was equally productive. When he was finished, Will held the bin out and Hannibal tossed the tissues in as if he were tossing in a dead rat.

"This is most unsanitary Will," Hannibal muttered with a slushy sniffle, yet still pulling out more to continue wiping his streaming nostrils.

Will only chuckled. Hannibal was breathing slightly easier now, but his eyes were heavier than ever.

"You should sleep, Dr--Hannibal. You don't have to stay awake for my sake. I'll be here when you wake up."

The doctor nodded, obediently closing his eyes with a sigh.

Will didn't expect such a quick response, and for a moment he watched the doctor to ensure he was truly going to sleep. When it appeared he was, Will perched on a nearby chair, unsure what else to do. It seemed he was to be staying with Hannibal in the most literal sense, for he wasn’t about to go wandering around this house by himself.

Half an hour passed, the minutes dragging slowly. The doctor lay perfectly still the entire time, but Will knew he wasn't sleeping. His frame was too alert. Meanwhile Will, with nothing to do except scroll through his phone and listen to Hannibal's deep breathing, was struggling to stay awake and wishing he too had a bed. Killing time was only making him more groggy, and his head was beginning to ache.

Getting fed up with it, Will went with his instincts and tried something else. Swallowing a yawn and rubbing his eyes, he navigated to the e-reader app on his phone and pulled up one of his favorite novels. Clearing his throat, he began to read aloud: "The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten…."

As soon as there was another sound in the room, Hannibal began to visibly relax, angling his face toward Will even as he got more comfortable in the bed, though his eyes never opened. Slowly, slowly he sank deeper into the pillows as Will read on. Will sensed he was trying to follow the story, but it seemed the doctor's fatigue was overwhelming, especially since Will was trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. Within another 30 minutes, Hannibal's hand had gone limp around the Kleenex he was holding as he softly snored, sleeping at last.

Will finished the chapter he was on, just to be sure the sick man wouldn't wake again, before he finally closed the book. His mouth was very dry and he needed a glass of water. Before he left the room though, he turned on the white noise machine he'd noted near the bed (he had a similar one in his own room), hoping some kind of continued noise would help Hannibal sleep longer. Will then tiptoed to the kitchen, pouring himself a huge glass of water right away. As he sat and drank it, he thought about what else he should do, for he didn't want to just continue sitting around.

"What do you do for someone when they're sick?" he murmured to himself. Another moment later, he answered himself: "Make them soup, I guess."

Hannibal's soup had been wonderful, but Will was no chef. He could prepare many basic things, but spices and seasonings, and thus soups, eluded him. He cringed at the thought of preparing something from scratch for a culinary master like Dr. Lecter.

However, another idea occurred to him, and he smiled to himself as he considered it. It might work, but he would need to run an errand. He stood right away and strode to the front door, wanting to go and be back as quickly as possible. He only hoped Hannibal would sleep the whole time he was gone, for Will had promised to be there when he woke, and he intended to keep that promise.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hannibal didn't wake until many hours later, and Will was indeed at his side when he did. It was Hannibal's treacherous nose that did it. Will had noted subtle signs of him nearing consciousness again for a while, but the final straw was an uncontainable volley of sneezes:

"HRRIIZZSHH-uh! HhURRSHH-shuh! hrrRIIIZZSHHD! Hhh-KKRRCHHSSHHooo!"

The sighed exhale that followed bordered on a groan as that doctor shakily grabbed the tissues at his side and tended to his cherry-red nose yet again with several gurgling blows. Will had been at his side from the first sound, looking for any way to be useful. Eventually Hannibal met his gaze, taking a moment to survey the younger man.

"You look tired, Will."

Will huffed a cheerless laugh. "You haven't doctored me enough yet this week?"

"A physician's nature doesn't change just because he's ill," Hannibal sniffled. "And you've also been ill. I don't want you to overtax yourself on my account."

"I'm fine. But you look tired too. How are you feeling?"

Hannibal didn't reply immediately, seemingly taking inventory. A shaky breath caused him to cough harshly before he could speak, and Will winced in sympathy.

"I feel thoroughly disgusting. And ill," Hannibal mumbled through congested-sounding consonants. "My head and chest feel achingly thick. Heavy." He put his own wrist to his forehead for a moment. "Feverish."

"Here, you need to drink." Will handed the doctor a tall glass of ice water. Hannibal took it and drank it down with a grateful look, but the chill from the ice immediately caused him to cough into his fist yet again.

Will watched all of this, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm still sorry I got you sick, Hannibal. I hate seeing you like this."

Though Hannibal's eyes shone with fever, he eyed Will keenly. "This is not your fault. Illness is an expected part of the human experience. You must not blame yourself." It occurred to Will that congestion was not the only thing making Hannibal more difficult to understand--his Lithuanian accent was also far more pronounced than usual.

"I still feel terrible."

The doctor quirked an eyebrow at him, looking faintly amused. "What a coincidence. As I've just told you, so do I."

Will couldn't think how to respond, so they merely shared a wry smile. Then, without warning, Hannibal's torso whipped forward, and he exploded into another pair of thick, spraying sneezes:

"Hhht-KNNXT! hhnnxxt-CHUUHG!" Evidently his ability to stifle was weakening as his symptoms worsened. The sick doctor stayed hunched forward, blowing and wiping his raw nose for the hundredth time, looking utterly miserable as he shook the last few Kleenex from the package.

"At least that's something I can help you with," Will said, nodding at the empty wrapper. He bent down and came back up with 2 new boxes of tissues. He opened one and handed it over. Hannibal took it reluctantly.

"Those are the best ones you can get. They should be almost like real cloth."

"I rather doubt that," Hannibal muttered. "But I thank you nonetheless. They are sorely needed."

"And I plan to take your cloth ones home and wash them and bring them back tomorrow. Including the one I still have. So you'll only have to deal with these for a bit longer," Will said with a little grin.

The doctor's eyes lit up in pleasure. "I would be most grateful for that."

"Is there anything else you'd like? Either now or tomorrow?"

Hannibal again coughed into his first before he spoke, sounding thoroughly phlegmy. "I should likely take some food. I'm feeling weaker than I ought to."

It was Will's turn to light up. "There's another coincidence… I have food ready for you. Some soup and stuff."

"I thought I smelled something simmering, even through this dreadful congestion. That explains why I'm suddenly hungry," Hannibal said with a thick sniffle, leaning back into his pillows. "Thank you for thinking of it. Though I would hardly call your predicting my needs a coincidence, but rather proof of your capabilities as a caretaker. Just something to think on.” The doctor gave him a pointed look even as he sniffled again.

Will was now embarrassed and quickly moved to the doorway. "I'll go bring some for you now."

Hannibal let the subject drop and nodded weakly, closing his eyes as he massaged the bridge of his nose. Will hurried to the kitchen and ladled a bowl of chicken soup from the pot warming on the stove. He had the ingredients for grilled cheese ready as well, and a hot griddle waiting, so it was only a matter of minutes before he had a fresh, hot sandwich to accompany the soup. As a final touch, he peeled an orange and placed it on the plate with the sandwich, then grabbed the bottle of soda he'd bought, and transported it all to the sick room on a large tray.

Hannibal was clearly a bit taken aback upon seeing it all. "This is quite the spread, Will," he croaked. "Did you make all of this?"

"Define 'make', Will chuckled. "I turned the stove on, yes."

"The soup isn't yours then?"

"It's Campbell's chicken noodle, fresh from the can. The genuine, original sick day food. Grilled cheese made with the finest Kraft singles of course. An orange for the Vitamin C, no seeds. For the drink, we have ginger ale, the beverage that can cure any ailment. And for dessert, if you so desire, we also have hot chocolate."

Hannibal was speechless for a moment. Then, a tiny smile began to play across his features. "This is ...really something, Will. I haven't been served a meal quite like this in a very long time. I can't even remember the last time I had a cola."

"Only the finest. Or at least the finest I could manage on short notice."

"You bought all of this just today?"

Will nodded. "This is what I used to like when I was sick. I figured I couldn't go wrong with classic comfort foods. I'm sorry I couldn't give you something higher quality. But I hope it still helps."

"Indeed." The doctor chuckled hoarsely. "This is quite satisfactory. I'm sure it will help. Thank you once again." Without further ado, the doctor dug into his feast.

To Will's surprise, the doctor easily finished not only the orange, but the soup and the sandwich as well, and seemed to enjoy them as much as could be expected. He was most skeptical of the ginger ale, but he finished half of that as well, pronouncing it "very interesting." Will also made sure he drank plenty of water to round it all out. Finally Hannibal pushed the tray away with a contented sound.

"In a practical sense, I always knew the restorative properties of chicken soup, but it's been many years since I experienced them first-hand," Hannibal managed, after blowing his streaming nose several times. "My throat and sinuses feel significantly better. As does my headache. Perhaps we should save the hot chocolate for tomorrow however, for I am comfortably full now."

Will thought he was going to say more, for he paused oddly. Instead the doctor's breath hitched violently:

"Gihh-chuuh! Chnnggh!..."

Only the first two in the fit were audible. He seemingly sneezed several more times, but he stifled them into oblivion, with only the movement of his head to indicate what was happening. Watching such forceful suppression was still painful, but it heartened Will slightly to know that Hannibal was feeling well enough after some food to worry about his dignity once more.

Finally the doctor ended his fit and fell back against the pillows with a weary sigh and a weak cough, flipping the hair off of his forehead yet again.

"That looked exhausting."

"Perhaps it would have been if I weren't exhausted to begin with," Hannibal mumbled, an arm over his face.

"Then you should sleep more."

Hannibal uncovered his eyes to meet Will's. "It would be terribly rude of me to sleep again while you are here."

Then I'll get ready to go. I'll clean up all of this then head out. Let you have some peace. But like I said, I'll be back tomorrow with your handkerchiefs." Will grabbed the tray, preparing to carry it to the kitchen.

"Will?"

Will paused, turning around.

Hannibal looked slightly imploring. "If it's not too much trouble, would you mind reading a bit more before you go? I was quite enjoying the story."

Will couldn't help but smile. "It would be my pleasure."

#Sickness #sickfic #sicknario #snzfic #snzblr #snzario #snz #Hann/bal Lec/ter #Wi/ll Gra/ham #everyone is hotter with a fever #fanfic #fandom

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roselevesque · 4 years ago

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I find it interesting how in the first episodes the viewers get a look into Will's dark nature that happens to be pretty much back to back with his denial of said darkness.

First episode: The opening moment can very easily confuse a first time watcher into believing Will is a killer from the get go. But then it all fades into the Academy's classroom and an apparent sense of safety. Apparent, because one could wonder about the line "Everyone has thought about killing someone" while the previous shot remains at the back of their mind

Second episode: Will denies Stamets understanding to his face, the viewer realising this scene is meant to reiterate the point "Simply that I can follow a murderer's motif doesn't make me one". Yet, Will admits to Hannibal's face that he enjoyed killing Hobbs during their conversation. It can seem a baffling image to conjure when put next to the scene at the Hobbs' residence, but it works as a piece of a puzzle seated next to that opening scene.

Third episode: Will and Abigail share a conversation after Freddie's visit with Hannibal being a looming presence from start to finish. A close up of her face, a close up of his face and the confession that killing is "the ugliest thing in the world". The following scene proceeds to turn the shaken Will from his discussion with Abigail into an initiator and a warning. Close up of his face, "It is not smart to threaten someone who thinks like killers for a living", close up of Freddie's face. Hannibal is, again, a looming presence over the participants.

Separated, each can be justified in a manner or another, but together they form the beginning that is Will Graham's journey up until the words "It's beautiful" finally escape his mouth

#hannigram #murder husbands #nbc hannibal #hannibal meta #hannibal nbc #scene analysis #will graham #hannibal lecter #freddie lounds #abigail hobbs #hannibal x will #will x hannibal #hannibal #hannibal show

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

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Naka-Choko

2x10

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, smut pretty much i go there a bit btu it’s not super graphic, threesomes, will being hot as fuck

Author’s Note: I spent like this whole season being like ‘do i make the reader sleep with hannibal while will sleeps with margot’ ‘does will not sleep with margot?’ ‘does margot sleep with hannibal?’ and this is the product. I’m not quite sure about it but enough of you were wishing for a little more on Will’s reunion so I did it, I hope you guys enjoy! Ps: I love the sexuality of the reader kinda open, if she engages and such so you can imagine whatever you please!

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary :Will's readiness to go to dark places strengthens his bond with Hannibal -- and garners Jack's attention; Hannibal gives Margot advice about her brother's violent nature.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95

(not my gif) (last three gifs are from @/rocktheholygrail)

` The house was still as Will backed up. He held his gun in his hand and you were on the ground beside him. You saw clearly as the window was breaking, shattered all over the ground as the suspect of the last crime scene you had been to in his robotic animal suit.

He attacked Will and you stood up quickly but Will had tossed the gun. You grabbed it off the ground, the dogs behind you growling and barking. Will started to beat the guy to a bloody pulp and you realized suddenly, in the rush of adrenaline why he had tossed the gun. He felt like this needed to be personal.

Will continued to beat him and you grabbed Will from behind. He glanced at you but only for a second as you leaned down, holding the man's hands down as Will stood up a bit before grabbing his neck again and snapping it.

Both you and Will had blood all over you. It had sprayed all over your faces and clothes as you leaned over the dead body. You grabbed Will’s arm and he looked over at you, surprised for a moment that you also had blood on you.

Not a murderer but a murder accomplince. Same difference

You just stared at each other for a moment and you let out a small sigh. You looked down at the lifeless body underneath your boyfriend.

“Did that feel good?” you whispered. Will whipped some blood off your face with his hand which forced you to look back at him. The blood only smudged. He leaned forward and kissed you.

Hannibal’s.

You sat at his dinner table, Will stood at the head, Hannibal at the other head. The body in the middle.

“Consider it an act of reciprocity. One positive action begets another,” Hannibal said simply.

“Polite society normally puts such taboos on taking a life,” Will said cheekily.

“Without death, we’d be at a loss. It’s the prospect of death that drives us to greatness,” Hannibal said. He looked over at you and then back at Will. He smiled a bit, almost proud to see the two of you in front of him. “Did you kill him together? With your hands?”

Will held up his hands, bruised and bloodied. You would have washed them for him if you hadn’t gotten so busy.

“It was very intimate,” he muttered and Hannibal wasn’t sure if he was referring to you and Will or the two of you and Randall Tier.

Will’s hands submerged under warm water. You sat on the counter beside where the boys stood, Hannibal washing over Will’s hands with some epsom salts. The water tinged pink. Will was staring absently as Hannibal treated his wounds.

“Don't go inside, Will. You’ll want to retreat, you’ll want it as we want to jump from balconies, as the glint of the rails tempts us when we hear the approaching train,” Hannibal muttered. He applied a salve to the cuts and bruises. “Stay with us.”

Will looked up at the both of you.

“Where else am I going to go?” Will whispered.

“You can go anywhere,” you whispered. Will and Hannibal looked at you. Hannibal was more surprised than Will at how you were handling this. When you killed the judge you were a shock filled crying mess. You were a hollow shell of the person he knew for a few days. This was so different from how you were then.

Perhaps it was because you were with Will, your person. Perhaps you had just embraced yourself now. Either way, he liked it.

“You should be quite pleased. I am,” Hannibal said.

“Of course you are,” Will muttered.

The BAU stared at the disembodied body of Randall Tier. You, Hannibal and Will all looked at it simply, hands shoved in pockets. Jack was there as well although he didn’t know quite as much as you three did. To an extent.

“His killer chose not to dispose of his body, but to display it,” Jack inquired.

“A jarring reminder of deaths’ informality,” Hannibal muttered, looking it up and down.

“Randall Tier was denied a respectable end that he himself denied others,” Jack stated and he was right, in a sense.

“Dissection is disgrace. This is humiliation, a final indignity,” Hannibal said.

“He isn't mocking him,” you said.

“This isn’t disdain. He’s commemorating him,” Will finished.

“This killer had no fear for the consequences of what he’s done,” Hannibal said, eyeing the two of you.

“No guilt,” Will whispered and you looked at him. He was right.

You and Will walked into the room where Freddie Lounds was residing. She had pinned up pictures on the wall with notebook paper beside them. Pictures of Will she had taken, pictures of you that you didn’t even know she had taken. One when you were at the observatory with Will, one when Will was arrested and you were hugging Hannibal.

“I raised the ante on my publishing deal. There’s been movie interest. Hollywood is a fine place for the obnoxious and wealthy,” she stated.

“You’re not wealthy Freddie,” Will quipped.

“I will be. I’m a pariah among journalists because I took a different faith. But I’m putting that faith in you Will.”

“Let’s talk Chesapeake Ripper. Frederick Chilton. Who knew?” Freddie said as she put the record button on the recorder.

“Who knew,” you muttered.

“No one did. Nobody would. Not even you two and you’re both one for theories. You were both so certain the Chesapeake Ripper was Hannibal Lecter, so much so Will tried to kill him.” Will and you stayed close to each other.

“You neglected to say ‘allegedly’,” Will stated.

“No I didn’t.” She glanced over at you. “Dr. Lecter is your boss and your psychiatrist. What’s up with that?” she inquired.

“I was wrong about him. That’s what’s up with that,” Will said calmly.

“Maybe you were.” Freddie looked at you in the eyes and you wondered what she would say about you in her book about Will. “Maybe you weren’t.”

“Chilton was the Ripper,’ you said simply, despite not believing it. The recording beeped red.

“The Chesapeake Ripper had surgical skills Frederick Chilton did not.”

“They had the same profile,” Will said.

“Except Dr. Chilton was a woeful surgeon. Dangerous, even. I’ve been chatting with his old medical school chums. They say he fled to psychiatry to avoid embarrassment.” Freddie was nothing if not thorough you had to give her that.

“Our story with the Chesapeake Ripper already has an ending Freddie,” you told her.

“Mine doesn’t. Do you really think Dr. Chilton killed Abigail Hobbs? I don’t. Even if I let this story go, i’ll never let that go.”

Will was silent. You were silent.

“Trust me, Freddie,” Will said after a moment. “Neither will we.”

Alana and Hannibal sat on the bed together. Her fingers danced in front of her but she winced at the sounds that she was making. The theremin was unfortunate and nothing she would have tried had she not met Hannibal Lecter when she did.

“Sounds like I’m killing it,” she said laughing a bit. His hand laid on Alana’s arm, attempting to guard her.

“Don’t kill it,” he whispered back at her.

He straddled her. “A theremin is an instrument which can create exquisite music without ever needing to be touched. But it requires a rare gift of perfect pitch to play properly.” He smiled. “Smaller movements. Feel the vibration move through you.”

“Like composing in thin air,” she whispered.

You and Will were at home. You sat in bed together, your head resting on his lower legs as you looked up at him. He was touching your calves with his fingers, causing you to let out small sighs of pleasure. You swirled a half empty bottle of wine. Will took it from your hands and finished it off.

Despite the blanket on top of you the fact that you were naked made Will smile. It made him want to lean forward and run his fingers through your hair. To take you back into his arms despite the fact you had only left them a few minutes before. You were resting now. Who knew a joint murder could bring a couple so close together.

“What do you think Hannibal is doing?” he whispered.

“Best guess?” He nodded. “Sleeping with Alana.” Will let out a chuckle.

“That’s a thing?” You nodded.

“I haven’t told you? Yeah when he couldn’t get me in bed he got her.” He smiled and gripped your arm that was dangling at his side. He played with your fingers.

“I’m proud that you’re not as easy as Alana.”

“Hey, I love Alana. She knows what she wants.” The doorbell rang and you glanced at each other. “Perhaps that’s Hannibal. Maybe he was listening,” you teased. Will rolled his eyes and slipped out of bed. He grabbed his boxers and put them on before grabbing his robe.

You watched him leave the bedroom and then got up, wrapping the sheet around you tightly. Voices floated to your ears from the main rooms.

“What happened to your window?” Margot Verger asked.

“Stag lost in the storm. Came through the window. Got a few scratches getting him out,” Will said.

“I handled most of it,” you teased as you walked into the room. She saw you and raised an eyebrow.

“Have I come at a bad time?” You and Will shared a look and you were just tired and hot enough to shrug.

“No, come on in,” you said with a smile. “Let me grab a robe.” You came back quickly and Marogt put her wine bottle on the counter.

“Are either of you scarred?” she questioned.

“More than I probably know,” Will said. Your breath caught in your throat as you thought about your fingers on those scars, not long before this.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Margot said. You raised an eyebrow and Will looked over at you again.

“I have the wrong parts for your proclivities, Margot,” Will muttered.

“It’s not about proclivities, it’s about trust,” she said.

“It’s good to trust. Better not to,” Will said and his eyes were carefully on the both of you. He was a smart man but he wasn’t sure if he was gauging the situation correctly.

“My optimal level of trust is usually zero. But I trust both of you,” she whispered.

“I don't trust you,” Will said.

“I don’t need either of you to trust me.”

“What do you need then?” you questioned. She walked up to you and started to unbutton her shirt. You raised an eyebrow and your eyes went back to your boyfriend who just laughed a bit, shrugging. You turned to him and he started to take off the top of his robe. You weren’t wearing a bra or anything but you dropped it to your shoulders where you had a few scrapes from over the years.

“Who shot you?” Margot asked Will.

“A friend.”

Margot put her fingers on your shoulder where there was a scrape from when you killed the judge. One of the only fighting back scars you had.

She kissed you. She pulled away and she kissed Will.

A mess of kisses, hands, bodies.

Hannibal kissed Alana and as he lay underneath him he saw you, arching your back and heaving. He kissed her but her hair was not hers it was yours.

Will kissed you as he leaned into Margot. Your fingers touched hers, his hands cupping your face, inside her. Bodies. Breathing. Whispers, finishing.

Hannibal's eyes flashing to yours from miles away. Will’s fingers on your back but arching against Margots.

Finally you lay on your bed again, happily catching your breath. Will laid down beside you and Margot laid beside you.

Hannibal moved to his side in his own bed and instead of Alana he saw you and beside you, Will.

The three of you fell asleep peacefully, Margot and Alana leaving early in the morning.

You opened your eyes and met Will’s already open. You rubbed your vision to be clearer and gave him a droopy, slightly hungover smile. Then you turned to a curious look of confusion.

“Did we have sex with Margot Verger?” you questioned. Will laughed and nodded.

“I believe we did.” You looked up at the ceiling and then back at him.

“Who are we?” you asked, chuckling heartily. He shrugged and draped an arm around you before burying his face in your neck.

“I think the drinks may have helped a bit.”

“Also, how did she find out where we live?”

“She said she looked in Hannibal's things,” he said. You prused your lips.

“The ones I’m supposed to be watching?”

“Those are the ones.”

You paused and then both of you laughed, holding each other for a moment more before you had to get up for the day.

You were walking beside Freddie Lounds. She had called you to chat one on one unfortunately.

“I’ve always admired teachers. Mouling impressionable young minds. But you can only learn so much and live,” she said. You let out an annoyed sigh.

“What do you want Freddie? Your book is about Will, not me.”

“You’re the tag team, you can’t expect me not to add you whenever I can. You’re pure gold. Staying with him through the whole thing, it’s very romantic. I mean come on, everyone calls you the Grahams which I’m sure pisses Hannibal off enough” she said simply.

“If you want to hear about romance I suggest talking to Alana Bloom,” you said, eager to get the talk away from you.

“I’ll make note of that,” she said. “But you know right? You believe him?”

“Know what?”

“Will was right about Lecter.” You gave her a smile and pursed your lips.

“I believe my boyfriend,” you said and left it at that.

You sat at dinner with Will, Alana and Hannibal. An interesting mix of people, considering it all.

“Freddie Lounds thinks the three of you are a paradox. She sees something no one else sees,” Alana said. You wondered what Freddie had said to Alana about you. Likely nothing true although she was more observant than you sometimes gave her credit for.

“What’s that?” Will asked.

“That none of you are the killer she’s writing about, but together, you might be.”

“Freddie Lounds must consider you a bland interview subject if she’s already resorted to fiction,” Hannibal said to Will.

“She won’t be fenced in by something as malleable as the truth. Freddie has no boundaries,” you stated simply, taking a bite of the dinner.

“A person with no boundaries is a psychopath. Or a journalist,” Wil countered.

“Freddie isn’t the only one without boundaries. Your relationships doesn’t seem to know many. Patient, therapist, lover, friend, enemy,” Alana said. You suddenly wondered if she felt threatened by you and Will. You liked the idea of it.

“Crossing boundaries is different than violenating them,” Hannibal said.

“Boundaries are always subject to negotiation. It’s just hard to know where you are with one another,” Alana shrugged.

“We know where we are with each other. Shouldn;’t that be enough?” Will said and you smiled wickedly.

Freddie Lounds did not find you or Will in the house which she was hoping to. She needed an interview with both of you. She walked to the back of the house and to the shed back there, where perhaps the two of you ewre.

Freddie walked forward and found very quickly the suit Randall Tier wore to kill people. She pulled out her camera and took a picture. In the shed she looked around wildly.

Freddie looked up and saw that Will was standing there, walking toward her. She pulled out a gun and raised it to him.

“There really is a very good explanation for all of this,” he stated evenly.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said shakily.

“You’re not the least bit curious?”

“Get away from the door,” she demanded.

“I can’t let you go, Freddie. Not without hearing what I have to say.” Freddie pulled out her phone. “I know you’re scared. Only have to be scared a little bit longer. Give me the gun.” She fired the gun and missed Will. Behind her you jump out, throwing the gun away and holding a hand over the mouth.

“I’ve wanted to do this since we met,” you hissed. She escaped your grasp and started to run out of the door, hitting call to Jack Crawford.

You, Alana, Jack, Will and Hannibal all stood in Jack’s office. He had just shown off the concerning voicemail he had gotten from Freddie Lounds.

“Freddie Lounds left this message for me three hours ago. Her cell signal dead now. Last call was traced to the nearest phone tower. In Wolf Trap, Virginia. We have her on security cameras at a gas station, filling her car. Six miles from your farm,” Jack said to you and Will.

“Freddie was supposed to interview me. She never showed up,” Will stated.

“Why are you granting interviews to Freddie Lounds?” Jack asked.

“I owed her one,” Will explained.

“SurelY Freddie Lounds has more enemies than Will,” Hannibal reasoned.

“Not in Wolf Trap, Virginia.”

“Will and I were busy all afternoon. Together,” you stated simply. “I think I would have noticed if he decided to kidnap Freddie Lounds. Unless you're insinuating both of us are at fault.” Jack gave you a look but you just crossed your arms.

“We live in the middle of nowhere, Jack. If someone wanted to take her, it’d be a good place to do it.”

You sat at dinner with Will and Hannibal. It was a peaceful dinner. It felt right.

“The meat has an interesting flavor,” Hannibal said. “It’s bracing. Notes of citrus.”

“My palate isn’t as refined at yours,” Will stated.

“Apart from humane considerations it’s more flavorful for animals to be stress-free prior to slaughter. This animal tastes frightened,” Hannibal explained.

“What does ‘frightened’ taste like?” Will asked.

“It’s acidic.”

“The meat is bitter about being dead,” you pointed out.

‘This meat isn’t pork,” Hannibal said.

“It’s long pig,” Will retired. You took a bite and so did Will. Hannibal watched, proud. “You can’t reduce me to a set of influences. I’m not the product of anything. I’ve given up good and evil for behaviorism,” Will said.

“Then you can’t say that I’m evil and Y/N is good,” Hannibal said.

“Y/N isn’t good. And you’re destructive. Same thing.” You took another bite with a cheeky smile on your face.

“Evil's just destructive? Storms are evil, if it's that simple. And we have fire, and then there's hail. Underwriters lump it all under "Acts of God."” Hannibal smiled. “Is this meal an act of God, Will?”

2x11

#will graham x reader #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal imagines

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beyond-the-mirror · 3 years ago

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Music of the Night (V x Reader)

Chapter 7 is finally here! As I have mentioned a couple posts ago I am going to focus solely on this story for the time being. I will try my best to update at least once per week so stay tuned.

Warnings: A little angst in a few parts.

Tagging: @thedyingmoon @minteyeddemon @vampiregirl1797

If you wish to be tagged in this story let me know in the comments.

………………….

Chapter 7: Nightingale in the Cage

“So Bishop, would you mind explaining to us the reason you decided to become a patron for the Opera house?”

“Oh not at all.” Sanctus took a deep breath before speaking again. “As you may have heard in the local news, an estranged brother of mine passed away some time ago, may his soul rest in peace. Days later I received a visit from his lawyer, apparently he had accumulated quite the fortune and his testament determined that I would be the sole heir of all his possessions and shares.” The Bishop made a brief pause, the death of his brother still weighing down his heart. “I actually have no need for such a large sum of money, which is why I only kept a modest enough amount for me and decided to donate the rest in favor of the conservation of the arts.”

“A rather noble cause indeed Bishop, our sincerest apologies for your loss.” Monsieur Andre added.

“Thank you for your condolences. All my life I’ve considered myself to be an admirer of the fine arts. There’s nothing I wouldn’t love more than to finance Fortuna’s famous Opera House and support the careers of its many skilled artists.”

“And we shall be forever grateful for your patronage bishop.” Monsieur Firmin mentioned before lifting his champagne glass. “Let’s have a toast for the future of Fortuna’s Opera House.”

“For the future of this new society.” Raoul finished before the men raised their glasses together in glee. The vicomte, however, seemed to have a sense of sadness in his eyes that he hid all too well from everybody. How he wished to spend more time with you, but didn’t find you at the party.

Maybe you were too exhausted to attend and went home instead? Whatever it was, he wished you were okay.

………………….

‘The newest play from Fortuna’s Theatre Company, Hannibal, has been critically acclaimed by specialized press, scoring an impressive average of 4.6 out of 5 stars’

‘The exquisite acting and choreography are to be praised. However, its most prominent figure is the miraculous voice of the main singer, who has replaced iconic soprano Carlotta Guidicelli as the protagonist.’

‘Step down Carlotta! A new queen has arrived and the spotlight is all hers!’

‘In a shocking turn of events, Signora Carlotta Guidicelli, believed to be the company's successor to legendary soprano Kyrie Eleison, has been overshadowed by a new rising talent. A humble fortunian songstress by the name of (Y/N) (Y/L/N).’

‘(Y/N) (Y/L/N). The break-through songstress that has captivated the audience’s hearts. Is this the birth of a brand new star?’

Reviews, articles and blog posts about the company’s new soprano spread around the internet like wildfire, every single one focusing on the same subject: The mysterious soprano that took Fortuna by surprise and dethroned 'La Carlota’ herself.

The girl had become the theatre’s own Venus and Aphrodite, a muse that inspired all the souls touched by her melodious voice. A nightingale turned human, an angel descended to Earth.

But as her performances continued and her fame grew, a few observant enough would take notice of certain… details regarding her.

The truth behind this? A sinister shadow was tormenting the theatre’s beloved angel, one that threatened to consume not only her, but everything around.

………………….

“I refuse to accept this!” Carlotta stomped her heel on the marbled floor of her lavish bedroom, taking a sip from the almost full glass of wine in her hand.

Ever since that fiasco when she stormed out of the theatre during the rehearsals for ‘Hannibal’, the soprano’s life seemingly started turning for the worse, all because of that girl that once dared to collide with her during rehearsal. She had insisted the dancer had done so on purpose, envious of her great talent.

And now it turns out that dancer is the same one that took her role as the main protagonist! Carlotta felt offended by such a decision, she was a professional while that girl was just a simple amateur

Still, she had to admit this (Y/N) had a gifted voice. What she could not explain is how she managed to perfect her skill to such a high level if she claimed to be an inexperienced singer? As talented as one could be, it takes years of work and practice to master one’s craft, the only explanation she could come up with was that the girl had to have a special tutor, and an exceptional one at that.

But who?

Realizing her glass was already empty, Carlotta hurried to refill it again. She had believed that with Kyrie gone to Broadway, she now had the stage clear for herself to finally shine above everyone else, after all, the only voice above Signora Carlotta could only be that of Fortuna’s legendary songstress herself.

Such hopes were now broken. She had a new competitor, one that was already stealing the spotlights.

As she turned to the broadcast of the company’s most recent play, she huffed when the camera focused on the new main singer. The audience had fallen right into her trap, and now she had them all wrapped around her lithe finger.

“I don’t know what they see in her, she’s nothing special and she’s not that pretty. Especially with those dark circles under her eyes, does she even sleep? Careful girl, you are already losing your youth.” Carlotta snorted before downing her glass of wine.

………………….

“Vicomte Raoul! Bishop Sanctus! We weren’t quite expecting your visit to our Opera House. What can we do for you, gentlemen?”

Messieurs Andre and Firmin almost tripped over their own feet as they hurried to attend the Opera House’s important benefactors. Raoul managed to hide his laughter at their eagerness, while Sanctus simply offered the two a gentle smile.

“Do not worry for us, messieurs. This fine theatre holds so many precious memories of my youth, so I thought it appropriate to drop by and watch the rehearsals take place if you don’t mind us.”

“Oh, not at all Bishop! This way please.”

As the four men approached the hall, a melodious voice resonated through the walls.

“Ah! You are in luck. Our lead singer seems to be on stage right now practicing one of her numbers.” Firmin noted just as he opened the door to the main hall.

Madame Trish was supervising as usual, you stood at the stage performing an aria while Monsieur Reyer directed your voice through the song’s notes. As he took a seat near the stage next to Sanctus, Raoul was mesmerized by your singing figure, the passion and dedication you imprinted on your work palpable and strong enough to touch the hearts of others.

“An utter beauty, isn’t she?” The elder’s voice snapped him out of his trance. As he turned to face Sanctus, he noticed the soft smile and knowing look in his eyes. He gulped, were his feelings that obvious? Then again, Sanctus has seen and learned a lot during the many years of his long life, wisdom comes with age after all.

“Ah! Young love! Perhaps the purest and most innocent of them all.” The bishop gave a hearty chuckle. “Miss (Y/N) is definitely special. Her voice alone holds so much power, enough to make the entire audience bow to her, and yet she still remains humble and authentic.”

Raoul turned his attention back to the stage where you were now conversing with Trish and Reyer about your routine during the number. The vicomte could see what Sanctus meant, you weren’t arrogant or prideful like Carlotta, but rather attentive and open to the feedback and mentoring offered to you.

A smile grazed his lips. He had just met you and already you were taking over his heart and mind.

Still as he observed you going through the song one more time, there was something off that caught his eye. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The heave of your chest whenever you ended a verse, the slight trembles of your feet whenever they moved along the lines marked on the stage by Trish.

You looked… tired? Exhausted, perhaps? No... more like detached.

But you continued the rehearsal with no trouble. Maybe your sudden growing popularity was already taking its toll on you, as well as all the performances you had to do at the theatre. For anyone without experience, such exhaustion is understandable.

In the seat next to him, Bishop Sanctus was also studying you. However, his expression seemed more preoccupied than that of the vicomte. He too had noticed some kind of dark aura looming around you, and he pondered what this could mean for the Opera House’s future, and for his plans too.

………………….

petite.aerette I can’t believe I finally got to watch #Hannibal. So happy to know the Opera House is on the rise once again. #FortunaOperaHouse #theatre #musical

alya_hyacinth You saw it live? Girl, I’m jealous!

dramaqueen101 Aaah I was there too! I wish you told me you were going, we could have gone together and have our seats next to each other.

petite.aerette Sorry! Mom surprised me with our tickets that same morning. Did you see that new singer everyone is talking about? She is awesome! I already love her voice and acting!

dramaqueen101 I know right?! In fact I caught a glimpse of her after the play when she retired to her dressing room. I wanted to go talk to her but it was too crowded and she seemed to be in a rush. However I noticed she looked a bit tired? As if she hadn’t been getting enough sleep.

………………….

Free time had become a luxury for Nico. There was always something to fix, something to supervise, something to check. Whatever breaks she would get, she welcomed them with open arms and relaxed as much as she could before it was back to work again.

It was in one of these breaks when she ran into you, what better way to enjoy some free time than with a dear friend?

But as she approached your figure, Nico took notice of your appearance. Your skin was now as pale as a ghost, your eyes were heavy with sleepiness and dark circles framing them. You looked as if you were about to collapse at any given moment.

“Hey, you alright sugarcube?” Nico’s hands went to your arms by instinct, just in case you were feeling sick and you needed to be rushed to the infirmary. But with a small smile, you tried to ease her worries.

“Couldn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.”

“Uh huh…” Nico was many things, highly perceptive was one of those. Many have found out the hard way that she was not an easy one to fool. Of course, it was no surprise that she could see right through your words. “Come. Let’s get you some warm tea.”

Stern and maybe a bit harsh, but caring when the situation called for it. That was Nicoletta Goldstein for you. One of the most surprising things about her is that she made the best tea in the world according to the people working at the theatre.

“This should ease you a bit, honey. Careful, it’s still hot.” As she handed you the small cup, she looked at you with worry in her eyes but didn’t say anything. Instead she waited for you to open up and tell her what was wrong.

You could already picture the almost dead look you must have had. With slightly shaky hands you held onto the porcelain cup, raising it to your lips and gently blowing the steam to cool it down a bit. As a warm earthy flavor filled your taste buds, your body could finally ease up and relax even if just for a little while, granting you a moment of much needed peace.

Still, you didn’t find it in yourself to tell her.

Luckily for you, Nico knew better than to keep insisting. She figured that whatever was worrying you, you weren’t ready to talk about it yet. Nonetheless, she stayed right by your side in a comfortable silence with a cup of tea of her own.

It was a nice and peaceful moment, at least until she was called to check on one of the moving stage props.

And so she excused herself, but not before reminding you that you could always count on her for anything.

What Nico didn’t know, however, was the reason for your silence.

You didn’t tell her because something was forcing you to.

………………….

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. And soon enough, time itself began to blur.

Ever since that night at his sanctuary, everything felt… off.

You had woken up in your bed, feeling dazed and lightheaded, perhaps the effects of the turmoil from the previous night.

V. The first thing on your mind as soon as you recovered your consciousness was him.

You wanted, no, needed to find him and get some answers. Why did he disappear so many years ago? Why was he hiding his true identity from you?

… What were those black markings scarring his face?

There was just one problem, you didn’t know where exactly was his sanctuary located. The secret passage behind the mirror in your dressing room came to mind, but in order to navigate the underground canals you needed a boat, not to mention that it was easy to get lost in there. Maybe you could ask the authorities for help, but how could you explain your story and make them believe you?

You made your decision on the way to the Opera House. You would start by telling Nico for the moment, you trusted her enough and she often gave the best advice on any matter.

But the moment you spotted her in the distance and tried to approach her, something strange happened.

An unseen force lodged itself in your chest, holding your voice and your heart in a vice grip that burned through your entire body. All the air in your lungs escaped you, and the feeling of daze you felt that morning returned in full force. You tried to scream, call for help, but no sound would come out of your lips. All words died as soon as they left your vocal chords.

You watched Nico leaving after someone required her assistance, and as soon as she disappeared from your line of sight, the pain stopped. As sudden as it had arrived.

You remained frozen in your place, goosebumps raised on your flesh. The moment some sensation came back to your legs, you ran away.

The day continued with relative normalcy, but your mind remained perturbed. And hours later, just as all the scheduled performances had ended for the day, you headed for your dressing room.

Once inside, the mirror opened, and everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, it was already morning the next day. Once again you woke in your bed, feeling as dazed and lightheaded as the day before. But the feeling didn’t go away, and with everyday that passed, it only became worse.

Strangely enough, your performances never faltered once despite the unknown illness weighing you down, almost as if you were doing everything automatically, like a machine following its program. You were thankful for this apparent ability to keep it together, but soon you started feeling detached. It reached a point when you could no longer feel your own body, or the melodic notes leaving your lips. You were no longer living, but rather watching your life unfold itself without any input of your own.

Many times you made an attempt to tell someone, anyone, about this; but you found that every single time you were about to do so, that terrible pain would return until you desisted. Soon, you were conditioned to stay quiet.

One day Nico began noticing your predicament, but by then that obscure force had you under its control already. She was right there, concerned and willing to help. And yet you didn’t dare to speak up.

Panic often filled your mind, hopelessness flooded your soul. You prayed and prayed for this nightmare to stop.

After another successful performance, the last one for the day, you found yourself inside the main dressing room as usual.

And as usual, the mirror opened, letting out the hidden darkness that haunted the Opera House behind everyone’s backs.

………………….

Poor unfortunate Joseph Buquet.

Ever since that incident with the falling curtain, Nico had him double checking pretty much everything. Every rope, pulley and mechanism had to be meticulously examined in order to prevent another incident like that from happening again. Now he understood why it was such an important and critical matter, the least he wanted was for anybody to be harmed due to a malfunction after all, but his own anxiety over making a mistake and causing another accident was already getting him. The poor man would triple- no, cuadruple check every single detail in an almost paranoid way. Not a single nook or cranny would be left unattended by this dedicated worker.

So it was no surprise that today was especially bad for the nervous Mr. Buquet, for his trusty utility belt had been misplaced, making him search the whole building for his precious tools.

Only after finding his utility belt did Buquet allow himself to feel relieved, a heavy burden lifting off his tired shoulders. He was making his way back to the fly floor when the sound of hurried steps nearby reached his ears, as he turned at a corner he caught a glimpse of you closing the door to your dressing room shut. Noticing the way you entered the room in such a haste, he worried something might have happened to you. Maybe you were feeling sick and needed to rest? These days you had been looking paler than usual, and the man had to admit that seeing you in your current lamentable state tugged at his heartstrings.

Walking to your door, Buquet politely knocked at the wooden surface “Miss (Y/N), is everything alright?” But no answer came back.

He knocked again, this time a bit louder. “Miss (Y/N), are you there?” Again, no answer.

Now he was getting genuinely concerned. He even pressed his ear to the door in an attempt to hear whatever was happening inside, but he found only silence.

“Miss (Y/N) I’m opening the door right now!” Buquet immediately took hold of the knob and slowly cracked it open, merely peeking inside just in case you needed some privacy after all.

The sight that greeted him sent chills to his very bones.

A tall shadowy figure towered at the back of the room, its arms wrapped around your unconscious body in a seemingly possessive manner. Like a ghost, it moved towards the mirror and disappeared with you in its arms.

Buquet stood frozen as his mind tried to process what just happened before him.

He had heard the stories, rumors about an entity that haunted the Opera House. Some workers would mention seeing shadows through the corners of their eyes, others would claim that low growling noises could be heard at the hallways when they were empty enough, and a few would tell how they found strange iridescent blue feathers in the most bizarre locations inside the premises.

His mind pictured the heavy curtain that mysteriously fell on Carlotta. Then, the strange Box Four that always remained unoccupied despite the concierge’s claims about hearing a voice coming from inside.

They called it different names. A poltergeist, a monster, a demon… a Phantom…

But this time they hadn’t moved a prop or taken a simple object with them.

This time, they had taken a person.

………………….

Locked inside one of the restrooms designated for the staff, Mr. Buquet did his best to calm himself down. He had just witnessed the kidnapping of a promising young woman by the hands of an… an entity.

His hands flew to his hair in panic. What could he do? Nobody would believe a phantom had spirited away the company’s Prima Donna!

He… he had to have been hallucinating! Yes, that had to be it. For years the staff has accused the Phantom for all the minor inconveniences that often sabotaged rehearsals and productions, but this was an entirely different story, a songstress was just kidnapped for Lord Sparda’s sake! Urban legends or not, the supposed Phantom had never gone to these extremes before.

Splashing some cold water on his tired face one last time, Buquet finally exited the restroom and made his way back home, all the while reassuring himself that what he had witnessed couldn’t have been real.

‘Tomorrow Miss (Y/N) is gonna come to work as always. Nothing bad happened to her. Right now she is at home, resting on her bed.’ He would repeat himself over and over.

And the next day, Buquet got his much needed relief when he saw you rehearsing at the stage as if nothing had transcurred the night before. He almost let out an euphoric laugh when he saw you safe and sound and that he had been anxious for nothing.

Concluding that the constant burnout was the cause of his hallucinations, Mr. Buquet requested for a few days off to recover, a request that Monsieur Andre approved without thinking twice.

Everything was going to be okay… or so thought Joseph Buquet.

Castings for a new production called ‘Il Muto’ were about to start in a few weeks, and everyone was about to witness how a single wrong decision could unleash the most gruesome of horrors.

#devil may cry #phantom of the opera #Vitale Sparda #dmc v #v x fem!reader #v x you #reader insert #fanfiction #writings from the mirror

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traitorousheroes · 3 years ago

Text

and she greeted the End as an old friend

(Hannibal/The Magnus Archives Crossover. I've had this sitting in my drafts for over a year, and its technically finished, although originally it was going to be part of a series.)

Case #0170723

Statement of Abigail Hobbs, regarding her fathers and her subsequent deaths at their hands. Statement given directly by subject on July 23rd, 2017 to Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins...

The London streets were cold in the early morning, very different from the warmth of Italy. In a way they reminded her of Lithuania, of the dungeons beneath the old Lecter estate. The moth that Will had left was still beautiful, even as the skin sloughed off and spiders spun their webs in the empty eye sockets. There had been echoes of death that clung to the very stones of that place, but nothing that was unique, except for the fact of who it had affected. Those that it was continuing to affect.

Abigail pulled at the braid that covered her missing ear as she walked up to the Magnus Institute. Pressing her hand against the door, the feeling of being Known overcame her. The Eye focused on her as she stepped through and into the foyer, and she could feel that it wanted what she had come here to give. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Unlike her own patron, the Eye was unused to waiting.

“Excuse me,” she said, walking up to the main desk.

The woman who sat behind it looked up at her in surprise. Her name tag read Rosie, which seemed to fit the woman.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I was hoping to make an appointment to speak with Elias Bouchard?”

“I’m not sure that Mr. Bouchard has any openings in his schedule for the next week,” Rosie said, flipping through a planner. “If you’d like, there looks to be an appointment open in a fortnight-”

The phone on her desk rang. Rosie gave her a small smile and held up a finger as she picked up the receiver. Abigail could hear the sound of a male voice on the other end, though what he was saying was indistinct. Rosie looked back up at her, confusion on her face as she listened to whatever the man on the line was saying.

“Of course, Mr. Bouchard,” she said. “I’ll let her know.” Rosie put the phone receiver to her shoulder and turned her smile back to Abigail. “Mr. Bouchard says that he has an appointment open at around noon. In return, he asks if you would be willing to give a statement to the Archives.”

“Of course.”

Rosie relayed her acceptance to him, giving a perfunctory goodbye and hanging up the phone. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you down to the Archives.”

Abigail nodded. Rosie turned and walked further into the building, her heels clicking against the stone floor; Abigail’s own shoes, a pair of comfortable flats, made no sound in comparison. They walked past a set of large wooden doors, above which sat a plaque that read Artifact Storage, before coming to a set of stairs that led down. At the basement landing there was only one door, which sat innocuously against the left hand wall. The plaque above it was similar to the one upstairs, but read Archives instead. It also appeared to be damaged with what appeared to be some sort of fire suppressant caked on the upper right hand corner.

Rosie opened the door, revealing a surprisingly large room with two chairs on the wall next to the door. Four desks sat in the middle of the room, each one stacked with paper and knick knacks. On the far left hand side of the room there were offices, one of which had a plaque next to it stating Archivist. A piece of paper was taped over the name holder below it, with the name Jonathon Sims printed on it. There were another two offices beside it, though neither of them had any designations. The door to the furthest one was cracked open slightly, letting her see what appeared to be a cot wedged against the wall. A small kitchenette sat against the back wall, the sink filled with what looked like used mugs.

“You can wait here if you’d like,” Rosie said, gesturing to a chair. “Would you like a coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you,” Abigail replied, taking the seat. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you need anything before they arrive, I’ll be at the front desk.”

Abigail nodded, letting her smile drop as the woman left. She let out a deep breath, all the air leaving her body in a deathly rattle. The air in the room was silent as the grave, not even the spider spinning its web in the corner making a sound to disturb it. She could feel the cold as it overtook her limbs like an old friend embracing her, her sight disappearing behind clouds of milky white. The echoes of death that lingered in the Archives were tantalizing in their amount. There was the faint tang of Corruption to them, a hive mind bound to flesh screaming out in unison as their lives were snuffed out.

“I think she’s dead.”

“Christ, not again.”

Abigail drew herself back from the deaths of the Flesh Hive, a curl of satisfaction settling itself in her chest. A faint whirring caught her ear as she acclimated back to her body, the sound like the VCR from her childhood. She blinked, clearing away the clouds that had settled over her corneas. One of the men who had been talking yelped, the soles of his shoes squeaking on the floor as he stumbled away. Abigail rolled her neck and stretched her fingers, chasing the torpor away.

As she focused on the two men in front of her she smiled. The one who yelped was braced against a desk, his eyes locked on her. The other had drawn a knife, the edge pointed at her chest. It was obvious that he had never used one before, not only for the slight tremor that transferred from his hand to the blade. Abigail took a deep breath, feeling her lungs reinflate with a wheeze.

“If you wanted to kill someone, you need to point the blade a bit lower,” she told the one with the knife. She raised her hand slowly and wrapped it around his own. He flinched at her touch, but didn’t resist as she pulled him closer and set the knife right below her sternum. “Press in and pull down to disembowel them. If you want them to suffer,” she said, dragging his knife down lower to her abdomen, “you can cut across and perforate their intestines and let them bleed out.”

“Let go,” he said, trying in vain to pull his hand from her grip.

Abigail didn’t, pulling it up so that the edge of the knife rested against the scarf that wrapped around her neck. “Of course, you can also cut the throat. It’s a bit harder than they make it look in the movies, but your victim is aware the entire time they choke on their own blood. Though the blood loss makes the pain feel almost non-existent. It’s almost peaceful.”

“Please,” the larger, terrified man said, “let him go.”

“Of course,” Abigail agreed, releasing the hand that held the knife. The man stepped away, the knife clattering to the floor between them. He rubbed at the skin she had touched, as if doing so would erase the feeling of it.

“Are you okay Tim?”

“Fine,” Tim spat. “Just dandy in fact. There’s only something else that wants to kill us here, Martin. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I’m not here to kill you,” Abigail said.

They both looked at her sceptically. She sighed, bending over and picking up the knife from the floor. Both men flinched as she did so, but neither made any movement to get closer to her. It was a passable knife, though the edge was a bit dull when she tested it against the tip of her finger. Folding it back, she stood and held it out to Tim, whose gaze had turned wary. She waved it, and he reached out and took it like a snake striking at prey.

“What are you doing here then?” Martin asked. “How’d you even get in here?”

“Rosie let me in. I’m here to make a statement for the Archivist.”

“You’re here to make a statement,” Tim said, his tone disbelieving.

“I need to give it to the Archivist,” Abigail said. “It’s very important that I do it now.”

“Well, Jon isn’t here right now,” Martin told her. “We could set you up with some pen and paper if you’d like-”

Whatever he was offering was cut off as a man stormed into the Archives, almost running into Tim. He looked between the three of them, his eyes cataloging the two men before looking at her. Abigail felt a tingle of power spread over her skin as the Archivist focused on her with the full weight of the Eye.

“What are you?” the Archivist asked, a thread of power snapping out at her.

“Someone who came to give a statement,” she said, neatly sidestepping what he intended her to answer with another truth.

The Archivist grimaced, accepting what she said while still knowing that what she said wasn’t what he wanted. His shoulders slumped as he let go of what little power he had mustered against her. He rubbed at his eyes with a scarred hand before letting out an annoyed breath. He stalked over to the office marked as his, leaving the door open behind him. Abigail looked at the other two, who seemed unsure of what they should do. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her remaining ear, she went to the Archivist’s door.

“May I come in?”

“If you want to give a statement, yes,” he said shortly. “If you’ve changed your mind, I’m sure you can find the way out.”

“I’m sure,” Abigail said, passing through the threshold and shutting the door behind her. There was a click-whirr as the tape recorder on the Archivist’s desk turned on. She raised an eyebrow which he returned drolly. “I hope you don’t mind me ambushing you here, Archivist.”

“As long as you aren’t here to kill me, I’m sure we will get along fine. And it’s Jon, please. And you are?”

“Abigail Hobbs. It’s nice to meet you, Jon.”

“At least one of us is happy about this. You said you’re here to give a statement?”

“Yes.”

“What about?” Jon asked. For all that his tone implied disinterest, there was a hunger behind his eyes.

“My deaths,” she said simply. “Should I just start, or...”

Jon nodded, his posture straightening as he looked her directly in the eyes. Abigail met them directly, letting the Eye in. She took a deep breath, letting the memories flow out.

“I knew from a young age that my dad was different. He wasn’t too different, not in any way that would make anyone suspicious. He worked a blue collar job, but a lot of people in my town did. It paid well enough, and we were happy. Or, at least, I was.

“My dad never really let me out of his sight. I just thought he was overprotective, especially when I hit my teenage years. It wasn’t until I caught him sitting outside my junior prom that I thought it was weird. He played it off, saying that he was worried about someone spiking the punch. Which, I mean, someone did, but that’s part of the high school experience. But it was soon after that when he got super weird.

“I wasn’t a fan of hunting, but my dad was really into it. He always bagged his allotment during deer season, which meant that we had enough venison for the winter. I think throughout my childhood I ate more deer meat than hamburgers. But that year he took me with him during deer season. He said it was important that I learned how to hunt. He had this weird look in his eye when he said it. Like he was sizing me up like one of his bucks. So I went with him and bagged one. I didn't like it, and I don’t think he liked the idea that I didn’t like it. I thought it was just the fact that he wanted to share it with me.

“After that, he never took me back to his hunting cabin. I can’t say I wasn’t happy about it, because it honestly creeped me out. Mom had put her foot down on the amount of antlers and hunting trophies in the house, but the cabin was absolutely stuffed with them. The upstairs was full of antlers and hooves. I thought he would have sold some of them to collectors or hobbyists, but I don’t think he ever did. I don’t think he thought that would be honoring them.

“That was a big thing with him. He used every part of a deer. You would think there would be some kind of waste, but he was very careful to limit that. It's probably what stopped him from being caught for as long as it did.

“I guess you don’t really pay attention to a lot of American news over here. Which is fair, since I never really paid attention to what happened over here. Plus, there are a lot of serial killers in the States. And I’ve met more than most people. Including my father.

“Like I said, my father was really overprotective. The therapists I talked to, afterwards, said that it wasn’t my fault what happened. That he was just sick in the head and that it manifested in him hunting girls who looked like me and eating them. And they were mostly right. Only they didn’t know that he used me to pick them out. He was a good hunter, you see. And a good hunter knows how to stalk his prey, how to use bait to get them where he wants them. I was his bait. And I knew it.

“I wasn’t scared of him. I don’t think any of the therapists understood that. Even after everything, I never was afraid of him. It wasn’t even fear of what he did when he was hunting. Because the only thing I wanted to do was survive. I wanted to live past whatever happened. If that meant helping him choose his prey, I would do it. In his own way, I think he thought I was close to him, close to the Hunt that drove him. He didn't realize that I was already marked for something else.

“From what I’ve learned about the Hunt, my father wasn’t fully under its influence. Certainly not enough to become something... more. I think that’s why one of the Web’s agents decided to press. I think he was curious to see what happened. He called our house, and when I picked up the phone he asked to speak to my dad.

“He told me afterwards what he said to my dad. That the F.B.I. was onto him, that they were coming for him. But my dad just hung up the phone and continued cooking breakfast. My mom didn’t notice anything different, which I guess is a small kindness. When we heard the car pull up outside he grabbed her and put the knife to her neck. He walked her to the front door, slit her throat, and tossed her onto the front porch. She bled out not knowing why it was happening.

“I should have run the moment I saw him grab my mom. But I couldn’t. I was so afraid, but it wasn’t because of him. Even when he came back, the knife in his hand wet with my mother’s blood, I wasn’t afraid of him. He whispered how sorry he was in my ear, that he loved me, and I still wasn’t afraid of him. It wasn’t until the man from the F.B.I. rushed into the kitchen and my dad slit my throat that I realized what I was afraid of.

“It was the same reason why I had picked out the girls for him to kill. I didn’t want to die. The man from the F.B.I. killed my dad, and still the only thing I could think of as I choked on my own blood was that I didn't want to die like this.

“I did though. For less than a minute on the operating table, my heart stopped. It was enough for the thing that had marked me to deepen it's hold, but not enough for it to claim me completely. That came later. Instead I was dragged into the Web’s games.

“His name was Hannibal Lecter, and he became my father. If it’s a manipulation of the Web for me to think so, I don’t really care. He did do that, of course. It’s in the nature of those who weave. But he cared for me, cocooned me in safety, for a given value of the word. Of course, I was simply a pawn in a game to get him what he really wanted.

“The F.B.I. agent who killed my dad was like me, marked. But the one who held claim on him had more of an influence. I think he would have happily gone through the rest of his life being a conduit and repository of fear if Hannibal hadn’t caught him in his machinations. The Web is always interested in what the Eye does, after all.

“Will didn’t know what Hannibal was. Anything of what he was, really. Remember how I said I’d met more serial killers than most? Hannibal was one as well, and fairly prolific. The Web’s influence helped, letting him make horrific displays that fed it and let him express himself. That same influence let him blind Will to the fact. Not that he needed to do much, other than let Will’s brain cook itself. I’m not sure when he decided to let him live, but I played a part in what came next.

“Hannibal took my ear with my permission. Or, at least, as much permission as the Web needs. We faked my death and framed Will for it. Then he left me to my own devices in a house by the sea. He told me that when the time was right, I would come back and meet him and Will. That we would leave and go somewhere far away to be a family.

“It was a lie, of course. A pretty lie, but a lie nonetheless. Or maybe it wasn’t. I’ll have to ask Hannibal when I see him again.

“It always comes down to choices. And Will chose to stand against Hannibal. He saw the manipulations, the cocoon that Hannibal had put him in, and chose not to become what he wanted. It made him angry. You probably think that monsters can’t get angry, but they were human once. And under everything, they still are. It just depends on how much they want to acknowledge it.

“I asked Hannibal how he would kill me once. He said he would slit my throat like my father had. And he did. He severed me from his web; the same hands that had saved my life, ending it. And I felt the same fear. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live.

“Will tried to save me, but Hannibal had gutted him. The last thing I saw was myself reflected in his eyes. And my life Ended.

“I don’t remember making my choice. Of giving myself over to the power that had claimed me. I know that I made the choice. And so I woke up in a body bag, my own blood caked across my face and clothes, breath rattling in lungs that did not need it.

“I’m still not sure how I got out of the morgue without someone screaming about a dead girl returning to life. There wasn’t ever any news coverage about someone stealing my body from the morgue. I do know that the grave that bears my name is empty; they held a closed casket funeral to hide the fact that they don’t know what happened to my body. I wouldn’t be surprised if they think Hannibal took it. I hope no one ever asks him about it. I want to surprise him.

“That’s part of the reason I came here. He’s up to his games again, from what I’ve seen, and he’s dragged Will back into it as well. So I wanted to leave them a message. I’ll be on the Silver Coast, waiting for them. For as long as it may be until we see each other again.”

Jon blinked, his eyes losing the manic need that had filled them during her statement. Abigail watched as he seemed to sink into himself, a pall of weariness weighing down his limbs. Despite it there was a brightness to his complexion, as if he had just spent the day lazing in the sun.

“Statement ends,” he said. The tape recorder clicked off, leaving their breathing as the only sound in the room.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re of the End, then?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not what I would have expected,” Jon said.

Abigail shrugged. “We can’t all be grim reapers and shambling corpses. Do you need anything else for the statement?”

“No, I think you’ve given us enough details. Not that it would be easy to follow up on, considering.”

“Kind of hard to explain talking to a dead girl?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve talked with the dead. You seem more at peace than some of the others.”

“I’ve had time to get used to it.”

“Yes, I imagine so. Do you need help finding your way out?”

“I actually need to go speak with Mr. Bouchard. Could you direct me to his office?”

“Um, yes,” Jon said. He looked perturbed at her question, but she imagined he wanted her out of his domain as soon as possible. “Up the stairs, past Artifact Storage, then take the stairs to your left and it will be on the second landing. You can’t miss it.”

“I’ll leave you be, then.”

Abigail stood up from her chair and opened the door. Four sets of eyes looked up as she left the office, with Martin getting up from his desk as she walked past. She heard him say something to Jon as she exited the Archives. Unlike when she had entered, the doors to Artifact Storage were open, with what looked like a few people examining pieces on long tables. Following the instructions Jon had given her, she went up two flights of stairs. As she began to walk across to the door marked Head of the Magnus Institute, it opened.

“Ms. Hobbs,” Mr. Bouchard said. “Please, come in. I do believe we have matters to discuss.”

#hannibal #the magnus archives #abigail hobbs #jonathan sims #tma au #martin blackwood #tim stoker #mid-season 3 of tma #technically season 3 of hannibal #elias bouchard #thwrites #end!abigail hobbs #web!hannibal lecter #eye!will graham

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badwithten · 4 years ago

Photo

At the Hands of a Devil | Day 27

〉cannibalism + jaehyun

〉warnings killing, descriptions of dead body, cannibalism

〉a/n heavily inspired by hannibal

〉word count 1103

〉masterlist

“Good Afternoon Y/N” His voice is silky smooth, despite only having met him a few times, you can tell he holds himself to a high standard. Expensive suits, exotic perfumes and a clean face.

“How can I help you, Mr Jung?”

“I’m planning another dinner party this month, I’m sure you know what that means”

“Of course, how many?”

“Three but I’d like you to attend this time” You’re taken aback, you always helped him with his famous parties, yet you never once attended them. You took note of the count and the date before giving your answer.

“I’d love to”

“Thank you all for attending tonight,” He raised his glass and looked around the room as he made his toast. His eyes didn’t wander for long, eventually settling on you and winking before he went back to his speech. This was your first time attending one of his parties, but you had to trust him. Everything was laid out perfectly. The aromas of various herbs and spices, candles decorating the room and a different designer suit everywhere you looked. His house was simply just beautiful.

The guest matched the reputation, all of them just as rich and important-looking as he was. Not a single hair was out of place in the whole room. Despite working with Jaehyun many times, you still felt out of place, until his eyes met yours again. “Tonight's guest of honour was the brains behind most of my parties. She supplied a lot of the food you’re eating tonight and food you’ve eaten other nights,” He smiles at you before finally introducing you. “Miss L/N, a warm welcome to your first ever Jung party”

Everyone turns to face you and applauds. Your face goes hot at the all the attention but you smile back at the welcoming faces.

You always made sure you were prepared at home before you even thought about heading out. Saw, mincer, knives sharpened and hook cleaned. You hadn’t had any thoughts about who or what, you never did. You went out and made a move when the time was right. Sometimes it only took an hour, while other nights you were out there until you saw the sun.

You hopped into your car and started the long drive into the city. The road leading to your house was secluded, surrounded by forest. It was the perfect place for your hunting. And luck seemed to be on your side tonight, not too far down from your house was a car pulled over, the lights on inside giving you a clear view of a person sitting inside. You keep eye contact as you drive past their car and they finally look up at you. It's a young guy and he clearly looks distressed. You drive not much further before turning around to help him. He looks grateful for you to have stopped.

“Is everything ok?” The both of you step out of your vehicles at the same time.

“Just having a bad night” He sniffles and rubs his face. You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do but you have a deadline. “My car is playing up and my phone is dead, could I use yours to call for some help?”

“Of course just let me get it” You smile and turn back to your car, leaning over the seat and rummaging through your bag. You hear him walk up behind you and you prepare yourself for what’s to come, gripping the gun handle. You fly back around and use the force of your spin to bash the handle of the gun into his head. He falls to the ground and you point the gun at him just to make sure he was out properly. To your satisfaction, he was.

With not much struggle you bring him to the back of your car and drive back to your house. Tonight seemed too easy.

“You must be Y/N?” A quiet voice comes from behind you and you turn to see a man, just as upheld as Jaehyun, behind you. “Taeyong”

“Nice to meet you Taeyong” You take his hand and give it a firm shake.

“So what food did you supply?”

“A lot of the meat, I’m a hunter. And a butcher kind of?” Technically they weren’t lies, you hunted and butchered.

“May I get your business card? This meat is delectable” Your face lights up at the compliment and your heart spins at the idea of more people enjoying your sins, regardless if they know or not.

“How about I just give you my number?” He smiles and reaches for his phone.

“I like your style”

He’s still alive, still breathing by the time you bring him to the workshop. You hoist him onto the metallic table and strip him down naked, cleaning him before moving on further. With his body cleaned and ready, you flip him over, using his hair to pull his head back and slit his throat. Just deep enough to cut the artery. You leave him to bleed out while you prepare the rest. You pull on your gloves, grab the scalpel and get to work.

You aim for his tongue first, grabbing it with tongs before slicing it cleanout and dumping it into a small dish. Next, you move to his liver, doing the same thing. Before cleaning up the rest of him you empty the dish collecting his blood into a jar, closing the lid and keeping it fresh in the fridge. You airlock the liver and tongue separately in their own bags. You finish him up by completely utilising every piece of his meat. Mr Jung will be pleased.

One down, two to go.

“Our specialty dishes tonight,” Jaehyun stands at the head of the table, talking over the amazing presentation of food set in front of him. “Foie gras au torchon made with duck liver,” He takes a break, letting the waiters around the room give everyone their plates of what appears to be a small pate and vegetables. “Next is boudin noir, a sausage made of pig meat and blood” A dish of sausages is brought into the middle of the table. “And langue d'agneau en papillotes, lamb tongue”

“A toast to Y/N for always supplying me with a strange array of meats” A laugh echoes the room as everyone digs in. You can't help but imagine the horror on their faces if they realized what they were really eating. Jaehyun must be thinking the same because his face matches yours. A delighted smile, a smile for the damned.

#nct #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct 127 #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 x reader #jaehyun #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun x reader #jung jaehyun

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adarafaelbarba · 4 years ago

Note

May i please have a Frederick Chilton, he thinks your working late, but you come home to him in your shared bed pleasuring himself, it upsets you because he didn't wait for you and he makes it all better 😈😏🥰

Pairing: Frederick Chilton x reader

Fandom: Hannibal

Requested: Yes

Request: «May i please have a Frederick Chilton, he thinks your working late, but you come home to him in your shared bed pleasuring himself, it upsets you because he didn't wait for you and he makes it all better 😈😏🥰» - @itsjustmyfantasyroom

Warning: Smut (obvi). Do NOT read if you’re under the age of 18! Masturbation (male)

A/N: This goes under the Voyeurism square for @thatesqcrush ’s kink bingo. -Karen

You had told Frederick that you wouldn’t be home until late tonight. And for a while, that was the plan. Work had really been pulling you into overtime for a couple of weeks. You had been lucky to spend some time with your boyfriend for 30 minutes before you both had to sleep. Which sadly meant your sex life was suffering.

So when your boss changed her mind and said you could all go home early, you practically sprinted out of the building and to your car. You knew Frederick would be home by now, if not he would get quite the surprise when he did get there.

…

The house was quiet when you got home so you didn’t bother to call out for Frederick. He must have a last minute client or something, you though to yourself as you made your way to your shared bedroom.

What met you when you got to the door though was the sounds of your boyfriend moaning loudly. You were about to bust in the door, furious that he might be cheating on you when you heard your name leaving his lips.

Slowly opening the door, you took in his naked form, laying spread out on the bed, hand gripping his cock and hips thrusting up into the hand. By the looks of it all, it seemed he was close to his pending release.

Deciding to let him finish, you stood there motionless in the door, holding your breath. Soft whimpers and moans left his lips like rapid fire as he chased his orgasm. This is by far the hottest thing I’ve seen in a while, you thought to yourself as you stood there, wanting to chase your own release.

«(Y/N)!» He shouted as hot ropes on cum spurted out and coated his hand and chest. That’s when you decided to intervene. «Starting without me honey?» you said, suppressing the oncoming laugh as he stopped dead in his track, like a deer caught in headlights. «Darling! I didn’t think you would be home for another couple of hours!» he gasped, covering himself with a pillow. «Got let out early. Please, don’t stop just because I got here», you murmured, slowly making your way over to him.

He looked at you quizzically. «Darling?» Frederick didn’t seem to know what you were hinting at. «Did it feel good? Cuming at the the thought of me?» you purred. He was mesmerized by you at this point, his throat seemingly having dried up, only nodding in return. «Use your voice honey», you purred, caressing his cheek. «F—felt amazing darling», he whined, pulling at your arm. «Would feel more amazing fucking you», he added.

He knew his way with words, that was something everyone knew. Especially you. Frederick could reduce you to a moaning mess by simply talking.

Nodding your head you quickly undressed before getting in between his legs. «Let me clean you up first honey. You’ve made such a mess of yourself haven’t you?» you purred, taking his hand in yours and bringing it to your lips. He could only watch in amusement and arousal as you licked his hand clean. «Darling», he moaned as you went on to clean his stomach of the salty liquid.

Frederick let out a huff as he watched you, already feeling himself get hard again, something you felt too as it poked you in the shoulder. «Someone’s ready for me it seems», you murmured, pressing small kisses to his stomach. «I’m always ready for you darling», he growled, pulling you up to him before rolling you both over. «Question is, are you ready for me?» You nodded your head repeatedly, wanting nothing more than to be filled up by him. «Fuck me, please», you pleaded, biting your lip.

Lining himself up with you, Frederick wasted no time pushing into you, drawing out the most obscene moans from you as he split you open. «Oh fuck!» you moaned. It had been so long since you both had been intimate, it felt like you were having sex for the first time again. Frederick clearly felt it too as he stilled in you so you could adjust to him.

«You can move now honey. Please move», you begged, clawing at his back. At your words he wasted no time as he started moving. Each movement sending bolts through your body. «Just like that! Feels so—fuck—good!» you screamed. Clamping down on him you felt each of the veins on his cock dragging against your inner walls.

«Fuck darling, you’re gripping me so good!» he moaned, picking up speed as he began fucking you deeper into the mattress.

Kissing you quickly, Frederick sat up on his knees and lifted your legs to lay against his shoulders. This provided a new angle that seemed to be the start of your downward spiral into an orgasm. «Oh fuck! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Please don’t stop!» you moaned, hands gripping the sheets as your back arched off the bed and your head was pressed into the mattress. Turning his head, Frederick pressed a few soft kisses to your ankle before turning it the other way and doing the same to the other ankle.

«Let go for me darling. Cum on this cock. Tell everyone who makes you feel so good!» he commanded, rubbing your abandoned clit as you came. You were a moaning, screaming mess as he released into you before collapsing on top of you, spent.

You lay there in silence for a while, trying to catch your breath, when Frederick speaks up, «We are never going that long without sex again!» Chuckling, you lazily nod, «I agree! It was far too long!»

taglist: @beccabarba @kriegsverlobte @stardust-fray @detective-giggles @sweetcannolicarisi @prurientpuddlejumper @meri-dawn @the-hopeless-haze @rafivadafreddy @rafaheadcanons

#frederick chilton smut #frederick chilton #frederick chilton x reader #frederick chilton imagine #frederick chilton one shot #thatesqcrush kinktober 2020 #thatesqcrush kink bingo

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

Text

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 4

<- Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 ->

Summary: Your not-boyfriend is dead and you might just do something crazy like, I dunno, murder a serial killer.

2,815 words

Red.

All you could see was red. It boiled in your veins, it choked your thoughts, and gripped your throat with its skeletal fingers as you tried to sleep at night. It made your hands shake. Your world was swallowed whole by the pigment of blood and you could not escape.

It shouldn’t have been possible to hurt this much. He wasn’t supposed to mean that much to you.

But he did.

He did and you knew it, but admitting it would have given him too much power. You still weren’t even sure why he was stuck so deeply in your heart. He was rude, spoiled, and an idiot, somehow both over- and under-confident at the same time, always grating on the wrong people’s nerves. But beneath all the posturing, there was something soft you wanted to protect at all costs—something you had barely glimpsed and could only infer its shape by the outline of the walls he built around it.

You could never get him out of your head, no matter the time of day or how you distracted yourself. His pull only quieted when you were in the same room, and now that he was gone, he was cannon fire booming ceaselessly through every chamber of your memory. A deafening reverberation of regret. At the end of each day you just wanted to find yourself back in his arms again. He must have known how you felt. But you never told him. You never said it out loud.

He was never supposed to be this important to you. It was just sex.

It shouldn’t hurt this much.

You shouldn’t have been this angry.

For a week or two, you hid it well. The last thing Chilton said to you was don’t get involved. He wanted you to survive, and you wanted honor his last wishes and not die. But the red followed and you could not shake it.

You were the only one mourning for him; there didn't even seem to be a funeral. It was as if he just disappeared and nobody cared. Except you. The world moved on, and everything went back to normal. Nobody faced any consequences for what they did to him.

Chilton had gone to Will for help, and Will called Crawford to arrest him. Crawford was stupid enough to believe another of Hannibal’s frame jobs, stupid enough to let Miriam Lass grab the gun from his holster and fire. Your blood boiled red every time you saw them, and you struggled to contain your fury. But there was only one man who was really to blame. The Chesapeake Ripper. The one who had manipulated the whole situation to make Dr. Chilton take the fall for his crimes and then be swept six feet under.

Hannibal Lecter was still assisting on cases with Jack Crawford, and every time you saw him free, your blood boiled hotter, and hotter, until you came to the only resolution that allowed you to breathe: you were going to kill him.

You should have gone to Chilton’s house the moment you knew he was in trouble, stayed by his side, and fought. You were a coward. You didn’t protect the man you… the man you were sleeping with. The man you promised to protect.

Chilton was dead, and you knew who was responsible. Nobody was doing a thing about it, but you could—like you should have done in the first place.

Hannibal wouldn’t see it coming if you simply walked into his office with a gun and shot him point-blank in the face. You would go to jail, but the problem would be solved. Just like that.

It was smart for anyone involved with FBI investigations, even as a consultant, to own a gun, and so you did, though you’d never used it. You got it out of its safe, and looked at it. It was terrifyingly heavy in your hand. Then you put it back and locked it. Tomorrow.

The plan fermented for what felt like months of sleepless nights, ruminating on just how you would do it, and building up your resolve. Every time you thought, today! you found a reason to put it off. You took the gun out and cleaned it, then put it back. You avoided Hannibal—avoided everyone—because the murderous look in your eyes would be too clear, and you didn’t know who to trust—even Will Graham, who should have been your ally in revenge, seemed to be cozying up to Lecter in a creepy way.

You took the gun out.

It was Valentine’s Day. Romantic movies marathoned mockingly on your TV set, and red hearts and roses flooded the stores and streets as couples held hands in the snow.

Today.

This time you meant it. This time you wouldn’t be a coward.

What were you doing?

Hannibal’s office loomed above you, and you circled the block again. It was suddenly too real. You couldn't kill a person! You didn't want to die! What if you were wrong? What if Will was wrong and you were gullible to believe him and you would be killing an innocent man? No. You’re going to be strong. You can do it.

You took a resolute step up the short stone staircase to the entrance landing. The office was a brick Victorian building in the historic district, next to an old stone cathedral, which gave the whole location a flare of drama. You stepped into the foyer, the ancient wood floors creaking beneath you. You wouldn’t be able to sneak up on anyone in this place, but that wasn’t the plan. He would think you were just here to talk to him.

“Don’t.” The man’s voice so close in your ear made you jump with a startled yelp.

“You’re not a killer,” he whispered. “Even now with that gun in your pocket, you’re undecided. But Hannibal won’t be.”

“Will.”

Emergency lights flashed Danger! Danger! in your head, even as you breathed a sigh of relief that it was him.

“I thought you wanted to stay away from Hannibal Lecter. You were supposed to be the smart one,” he chuckled morbidly. “Though I understand your impulse,” he said, reassuring you that he was here as your friend, not the Ripper’s date. “He killed your lover. Hannibal made it happen as surely as he pulled the trigger himself.”

You stiffened and blushed, but what was the point in stammering out denials? Of course Will would know. Will knew everything. That beautiful brain of his.

“Was it that obvious?” you groaned.

“I don’t think Crawford knows.”

Your lower jaw trembled, teeth chattering together as your knees suddenly went weak. You were finished. You took your hand off the gun and rubbed your eyes with your sleeve to hide the redness. “If you know, then Hannibal must know too,” you grit your teeth to keep your voice steady. “I thought I could just... get the drop on him…”

“I’m going to catch him,” Will stated as a fact.

“Are you?”

He didn’t answer. Something had changed in Will. Part of him was still that innocent puppy who had been your friend, who had made you jealous of his unwavering gaze for Alana, and you hoped that part would win in the end.

“Is Hannibal going to kill me?”

“Don’t give him a reason to,” Will warned with a sort of shrug that was more in his face than his shoulders. He would have told you if you were in immediate danger. You had trusted him when no one else would, and that still bought you some favor, whatever dark place he was in. If he told you trying to kill Hannibal now would only lead to your death, you had to believe him.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“What does anyone do? Grieve? Keep going? I promise I will catch him. Don’t do anything rash to get in the way.” With that, he brushed you off and went up to Hannibal’s office for therapy.

A shiver ran up your spine at whatever “therapy” between those two entailed. You turned, and didn’t stop walking until you were home.

It was a miracle Hannibal didn’t kill you. In hindsight, he was probably just as aware of your relationship as Will Graham, and predicted your half-baked vengeance plan from the start. You were spared because he preferred to watch you suffer in impotent rage.

*****

Crawford pulled you aside, arms crossed, shrugging into the raised lapel of his wool coat against the cold Maryland breeze.

“You need to calm down.”

“I can’t.” Everything was red. “You’re not doing anything about Hannibal, and he murdered Beverly! He murdered… he…”

Crawford could be dense at times, but he was still an FBI agent. The clandestine relationship you had with Frederick Chilton had not, in fact, escaped his notice—at least it became painfully clear when Chilton was shot in the face, and you melted down and became as obsessed with Hannibal Lecter as Will. The people Crawford worked with made his job so fun, sometimes. So fun. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Come with me.”

You climbed into Crawford’s car, and were surprised when he kept driving for two hours. It was starting to feel like a kidnapping. In a different city, he pulled up in front of an extravagantly baroque beachfront hotel and medical spa. It reminded you of those addiction treatment resorts where rich people go when they spend too much of their yacht money on cocaine.

“It is critical to the investigation that this remain secret, but hopefully seeing this will help you get your head back on straight. I need you thinking.”

A glass elevator brought you up to a suite on the 23rd floor. Jack knocked three times on the door, then crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall. “I’ll wait outside,” he said.

Paranoid bolts and locks slid and clicked open one by one, and the door tentatively opened a crack at a time, until a familiar eye and fluffy brown hair neatly styled back appeared in the opening. It took a moment for your brain to believe what your eyes were seeing, but there was no mistake.

Your heart cracked open and rainbows spilled out.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch!” Chilton squealed as you launched yourself into his arms, nearly knocking him off his feet, heedless of the fact that he was probably still injured. His cane went clattering across the hardwood floor.

“You’re alive,” you said. “You’re alive!”

“I am.” Anything sarcastic or clever he meant to say was lost to the smile tugging on his lips, and his hands finding their way around your back, pressing your body against his. An ache he had mistaken for the background misery of his life was soothed, filled like an empty crater.

He was surprised how genuinely happy he was to see you again.

“You’re alive.”

“You’re alive” was all you could manage to repeat like a poorly-programmed robot as you stared at his face, his suit, his posture—it was really him?—as you patted the sides of his face up and down making sure he was corporeal. It was impossible! There was a red scar where the bullet had entered his left cheek, but otherwise he was perfectly fine. You glanced around the room—a spacious luxury suite with leather furniture, an enormous bed, and a panoramic view of the skyline and ocean as purple dusk settled across it. He was the only person you knew who would stay in a place as ostentatious as this.

He was alive all right.

“But you were...”

“You always said my face was ‘punchable.’ Apparently it is also shootable,” he said dryly.

A bark of laughter sprang from your throat. You snaked your hands around the back of his head and purred, “I can think of better things to do with your face...”

Your lips met his in a clash of pent up longing. You wanted to kiss him until the pain of separation was gone forever, until you filled yourself up with so much of him that you would never miss him again. He gasped into your mouth, fingers curling up the back of your neck, through your hair, guiding you to the bed.

Falling on top of him, you pushed him down onto the mattress, lips never leaving the salt of his skin. He smelled like spicy cologne, but his antiseptic hospital smell had worn off. His hands were already busy trying to find their way underneath the hem of your shirt.

“Wait a minute—you let me think you were dead, asshole!”

*****

He explained the situation while you sat on the large hotel bed in disbelief. Jack Crawford was not ignoring Hannibal Lecter. There was a plan to catch him, but it was dangerous, and worked better if Lecter believed his plan for Chilton to take the blame for the Ripper murders and die was successful.

Chilton was also keen to remain “dead” until Lecter was apprehended, as there was a distinct possibility he might otherwise return to finish the job.

You could understand the need for secrecy, but the fact that you were left out of the plan? You shook your head, clearing away thoughts of rejection. Chilton had been in a coma for a long time, so the initial decision not to inform you wasn’t his, and it wasn’t as though you would have had visitation privileges in the hospital. You weren’t a relative or spouse. You were just his fuck buddy.

It felt as though there was yet another reason he waited until now to let you see him, but you couldn’t place it.

“To be honest,” he added, with a sheepish side-glance, “I didn’t think you would take it so hard.”

*****

When Jack rapped on the door to signal that it was time to go back home, Frederick lingered with you by the doorway. With a hand on your cheek, his eyes locked on yours, and he instructed gently and firmly, “Do not let Hannibal Lecter kill you.”

“I’ll try.” You cupped his hand under yours, and turned into it, kissing his palm. There was something else important, before you left, “Hey, one more thing. I…” The last time we saw each other, I was pretending that I didn’t care as much as I do. I never got to tell you that I love you, you thought. But you could never tell him that. You weren’t even sure if you were dating. “I missed you.”

You wrapped your arms around him and drew him into a hug. He held you so dearly, leaning his head into the crook of your neck and just breathing.

“Frederick…”

The moment that name tumbled so casually out of your lips, a sigh into his collar, the floor dropped from beneath him and he was falling from a moving airplane toward something deadly or wonderful, or perhaps both.

When your relationship had been strictly professional (and adversarial) you called him by his last name, and the habit hadn’t changed. It was what you were accustomed to calling him.

He never liked being called by his first name, in fact. He preferred Doctor Chilton. He had worked hard to earn that title and the respect it came with. “Frederick” was weak, and the only people who used it did so to demonstrate their lack of deference.

But when you said it, its meaning changed.

His feet couldn't find purchase on solid ground, so he held on to you harder, like his life depended on it.

He looked frightened, reluctant to let you go as you pulled back from the hug. If things went wrong you could end up in Lecter’s refrigerator, so you understood why. “Hey, you know, maybe it would be safer if I stayed here… with you,” you offered meekly.

The well-dressed man stepped back suddenly, stiffening. “You-you can’t stay here—there, there are rules: suites are for patients only,” he backed away and paced nervously as he explained. Then he turned on his heel just as quickly back to you, “But maybe you shouldn’t go back until this over. I can pay for a room at a different hotel, without the fussy restrictions…”

“No, no, never mind,” you hushed him with a tense not-laugh. It was unclear why he was so panicked about you staying, but he was recently shot in the face, so you would give him as much space as he needed.

“It was a silly idea, anyway. I have work. Thank you for the thought.” You pulled him into a goodbye kiss, and went for the door. Before turning the handle, however, you turned around one last time, a broad grin across your face, and practically tackled him into an embrace.

He could tell by your sappy expression what you were about to blurt out.

“Do not say it...”

“You’re alive!” you cheered, and the world felt alive again, too.

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #Raúl Esparza #Hannibal #my writing

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