#nbc hannibal x male reader
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MULTI FANDOM MALE READER SCENARIOS ïżŒïżŒ
Itâs been a while since I done one of these, but I think itâll be good for me to practice more at writing different characters and such so enjoy!
The fact is I had more tags to share đ
-Miguel OâHara biting your neck harshly to get your attention when he feeling jealous. Or marking you as his.
-Izzy Hands always lightly taking your hand and helping you either up the steps or down the steps. He doesnât even realize heâs doing it most time. Everyone in the ship always notices it but doesnât say anything.
^^Ofmd
-Bob taking off his glasses and putting them on you then starts to compliment you how good and cute you look.
^^Top gun!
-Matt Murdock tracing your face in morning when he thinks your still sleep. He also traces your face anytime your two are arguing because he wants to see your emotions.
^^Marvel
-You and The Corinthian driving around during late nights with his hand on your thigh as he drives you around.
^^DC
-Tony stark buying you whatever you want or even dream of. It can be jewelry all the way to new houses and cars.
^^Marvel
-Bruce Wayne and you being a power couple throughout Gotham. Lots of magazines and headline about you two.
^^DC
-Teaching Adam Warlock about feelings about like having a crush or being in love.
^^Marvel
-You and Doom head being an unstoppable duo anytime you two are paired up in a game.
^^Rob Zombie movie 31
-You and Richard Madden making fun of each other accents in interviews for the newest movie you two are in.
^^Actor
-You and Hobie Brown making out in a middle of Miguelâs rant.
^^Marvel
-Homelander wrapping his arms around you as you two makeout and he slowly rises from the ground bringing you in the air with him.
^^The Boys
-You weâre very close with Love to the point all lot of people thought you two were dating. Joe was furious so he started to stalk you planing to murder, but all that stalking for weeks slowly became to months and he slowly started to catch feelings.
^^YOU
-Benedict Bridgeton being so in love with you, but he so scared that his family would disown him as well as everyone around town.
^^Bridgeton
-You and Benedict sneaking off during ballâs and random events to be with each other alone.
^^Bridgeton
-Imagine sitting down in the bleachers waiting for Mark to be done with his track meet.
^^Author/ Me
-Playing with Dutch Van der linde hair during a camp meeting and he tries to stay focus but he canât.
^^RD2
-You and Larry smoking as you two listen to Sal play the guitar.
^^Sally Face
-Ted feeling ashamed after he realized that he caugt feelings for you even though your a player.
^^Ted Lasso
-When Dean first met you yâall both were very young. You were reckless and carefree while Dean was taking care of Sam and brought him along while you two hanged out. And he caught feelings, but he was confused about why he had feelings for a man so he kept it to himself.
^^SPN
-Helping Mark walk without his leg brace or crutches.
^^Author/Me
-Stu Marcher giving you neck kisses in the middle of class. And most of the time teachers sees him and gives you both detention.
^^Slashers
-ïżŒHannibal Lecter leaving bite marks all over your neck and shoulders.
^^Slashers
-Roy Kent being soft spoken and quiet anytime heâs with you.
^^Ted Lasso
-Larry Trainor slowly warmed up to you being his boyfriend so he lets you touch his skin underneath the bandages.
^^DC
-Anytime before a fight Arthur asks you to hold his hands. He says itâs for a good luck, but heâs just really stressed and tense.
^^Peaky blinders
-Steven Grant still being so shy and quiet with you even though you two has been dating for years.
^^Marvel
-Bringing Namor gifts like flowers, jewelry and even little things like a picture of yourself or a padlock necklace. He cherishes all of them and keeps them safe.
^^Marvel
-Meeting Namor on the beach at night almost every night.
^^Marvel
-Bobby and Athena inviting you into their relationship. They both didnât cheat on each other to find about their feelings for you they just kinda knew one day and talked it out and for a while and a lot of thought they asked would you be willing to date them.ïżŒ
^^9-1-1
-Being a rich man while Steven is your trophy husband.
^^Marvel
-Dying your hair with mark.
^^Author/Me
-Watching Mark stay up all night writing just for him to randomly stop to watch a movie.
^^Author/Me
-Lee and Maren catching you eating a person right in the middle of a dark and empty road.
^^Bones and All
-Being a different love interest for Elio and being heartbroken once he chose Oliver over you.
^^Call me by your name
-Imagine rejecting Derek Shepheard after finding out he has a wife.
^^Greys anatomy ïżŒ
-Rue hugging and crying on you tight after she relapsed.And you being herïżŒ favorite person ever since what happened with Jules and Elliot.
^^EuphoriaïżŒ
-Being a father figure to Rue.
^^Euphoria
-Imagine being Maddy Perez brother and finding out Nate pulled a gun on her so you pulled up to his house barged in and looked for him and beat the shit out of him.
^^Euphoria
-Billy Hargrove acting like he hates the nickname âCurls.â Or âCurly.â But when you say it he loves it.
^^Stranger things
THE END
#x male reader#male reader#marvel x male reader#steven grant x male reader#Ted lasso x male reader#Roy Kent x male reader#Robert Bob Floyd x male reader#Rue Bennett x male reader#Maddy Perez x male reader#euphoria x male!reader#Bones and all x male reader#Cmbyn x male reader#Tony stark x male reader#Bobby Nash x male reader#athena grant x male reader#Namor x male reader#miguel o'hara x m!reader#Arthur Shelby x male reader#nbc hannibal x male reader#Izzy hands x male reader#dutch van der linde x male reader#Benedict bridgeton x male reader#Bridgeton x male reader#Doom head x male reader#slashers x male reader#homelander x male reader#the corinthian x male reader#joe goldberg x male reader#Spn x male reader#the bear club
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MASTERLIST .

â” ; [NBC] HANNIBAL
â” ; Will Graham :: Promise ; Eating out ftm Will :: Face down, Ass up
âč ; CALL OF DUTY
âč ; Rodolfo âRudyâ Parra :: Be still ; Cockwarming with Rudy
âč ; Captain John Pricd :: A helping hand, or mouth ; boot riding + face fucking with Price
⊠; MARVEL
⊠; Tony Stark :: Bad boy ; edging with tony
đŠč ; SPIDERVERSE
đŠč ; Miguel Oâhara :: Random Miguel ramble
đŠč ; Peter B Parker :: Edging & Nipple play with Peter
â ; SCREAM
â ; Stu Macher :: Overstimulation with Stu
â ; Roman Bridger :: Face sitting with Roman
ᶻz ; F.R.I.E.N.D.S
ᶻz ; Chandler Bing :: Hair pulling and dumbification with Chandler
⟠; GOT ⟠; Theon Greyjoy :: exhibitionism kink
áȘ€; works belong to seveett, do not translate, copy or repost anywhere.
#â
đ§seveett#top male reader#dom male reader#bottom character#x male reader#cod men x male reader#scream x male reader#nbc hannibal x male reader#spiderverse x male reader#marvel x male reader
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May I pretty please request Hannigram with an SO that really likes biting things? Like theyâll just nibble on anything available, including themself or Hanni/Will
male reader if possible :)

Bite Me, Darling
pairing: hannibal lecter and will graham x male reader tags: self soothing mechanism, male reader bites things, Alana bashing, jack Crawford bashing, just everyone in general is against this relationship, innocent male reader, hannibal and will want to keep him this way
It was strange, how everything about him was normal on the surface but wildly unique beneath. The way he moved through life, unaware of the way people stared, was something that only a few people truly understood. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, for all their intelligence and their capacity for manipulation, had each found something in himâsomething pure and rawâthat spoke to them in ways they couldnât articulate.
You were innocent in the most innocent way. You didnât know how to read peopleâs intentions, how to navigate the murky waters of deceit and pain that others swam in. You were a creature of quiet habits: chewing on pens, biting the corner of your sleeves, even nibbling your fingers. It wasnât that you was anxious, but rather that this was your way of processing the world. You didnât speak much, but when you did, it was with a tenderness that could disarm even the most hardened individuals.
For some, this made you seem almost too innocent for the likes of Will and Hannibal. They were two men who dealt with darkness constantly, who played in shadows. Hannibal, the brilliant psychiatrist with an appetite for blood, had found himself intrigued long before anything happened between them. How did such a pure soul even come to be? How was it that someone as complex as Hannibal could be pulled into a world where biting things wasnât just a habitâit was part of who you were?
But that was the thing, wasnât it? Hannibal was nothing if not a man who craved complexity, and you, with your simple yet peculiar habit of biting, had an allure that he could never fully comprehend. He wasnât sure when the lines had blurred, when you had shifted from being someone he wanted to understand to someone he wanted to possess.
Will, on the other hand, was less of a mystery. He found your unspoken understanding of him soothing. Will was not a man who found comfort easily. Heâd had too many years of running from his own mind, of balancing between the need for human connection and the heavy weight of his empathic gifts. But you were different. You never demanded anything from him. There was no need to over explain; no fear of rejection. You were there, and that was enough.
The three of them had fallen into a relationship that no one, especially not Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford, could understand. Jack, upset that you had a greater control over his 'asset' perceived you as a problem that needed to be extinguished immediately. While he couldn't force Will to break up with you, he began to use manipulative language more frequently, hinting that his absence was endangering the lives of people. But after a while, his words began to lose power.
"Will, you canât just leave because he told you to," Jack would say, his voice thick with frustration. "We need you to solve this case. You're part of this team." But Will, unmoved, always told him he was tired and needed a breakâas if killers would respect that and stop murdering until he felt better. Jack would then begin to retort how soft Will was becoming, as if that ever mattered when others perceived him as a madman.
Alana, on the other hand, was driven by something more personal. Jealousy. She had been drawn to both Hannibal and Will. Her feelings for them had never been simple or easy, but she had always harbored a belief that somehow, one day, they would choose her. Instead, they had chosen you. The idea of you, with your gentle biting habit, managing to capture the attention of both menâof all peopleâwas enough to make her skin crawl with resentment. How could someone so abnormal and clearly dealing with childhood trauma have the audacity to step into their world and steal both her love interests?
She couldnât help but feel that you didnât deserve them. You weren't like herâyou didnât understand the complexities of their lives nor seemed to be able to handle the hurdles that came with it. And so, she set to work.
It started subtly. A conversation here, a comment there.
âDonât you ever feel like youâre a little strange?â she would ask, voice light, as if it were a passing thought. âI mean, the bitingâŠit's something you can't help, but don't you ever want to stop it? Be seen as normal for once in your life?"
At first, you had laughed it off, thinking nothing of it. But over time, the seeds of doubt were planted. You began to wonder. Was your habit of biting things wrong? Your lovers had never raised concerns, but it would be something they'll definitely keep private, perhaps a secret only shared between Hannibal and Will. You never thought that Alana's words were connived to break your relationship apart, your naivety something the woman had taken into account and used to her advantage.
So, you tried to stop.
You started small: you tucked your hands into your sleeves when your instincts told you to gnaw at the fabric, and you opted for straws instead of biting the rim of a glass cup. You made an effortâany effortâto keep your teeth away from Will and Hannibalâs skin, no matter how comforting that gentle pressure felt against them. At first, neither man noticed; after all, it was easy to dismiss as a passing mood or an unremarkable change in routine.
But after a couple of days, small signs alerted both of them to the shift. Will began to see you catch yourself mid-motion, your hand halfway to your mouth before you stopped and pressed it flat against your chest instead. Hannibal noticed the anxious flicker in your eyes whenever you realized you were about to bite down on your sleeveâor worse, on himâand yanked yourself away.
It was Will who first chose to address it. One evening, you were curled up in his living room, dogs scattered around you like living blankets. The space was quiet, the only sound the gentle snoring of a dog and the low hum of the overhead light. You were running your thumb over your bottom lipâan almost-biteâwhen Will finally spoke.
âHey,â he said softly, âwhatâs on your mind?â
You hesitated, forcing a small smile. âNothing. Just thinking.â
He studied you with those empathetic eyes of his. You knew he was reading more into your silence, but Will was nothing if not patient. âYouâve been distant,â he finally ventured, words slow and careful. âI donât mind if you need space, but if somethingâs bothering you, I want to help.â
The sincerity in his voice tore at your heart. You wanted to confide in him, to say Alana made me feel wrong, and I donât want to be wrong for you, but the fear of seeming weak or needy held you back. You simply shook your head and offered a reassuring pat to one of the dogs resting on your lap. âIâm fine,â you lied, hoping he wouldnât push. âJust tired.â
Hannibal discovered your change in behavior under more intimate circumstances. The two of you were alone in his kitchen, the scent of simmering stock filling the air. He had taken your hand to guide you closer to the cutting board, demonstrating a particular technique for slicing vegetables. Normally, a casual closeness like this was an invitation for you to lean in, maybe press your teeth gently against the back of his hand or the curve of his armâjust enough to ground yourself in his presence. This time, you didn't lean in nor brought his hand to your lips.
Hannibal stilled, eyebrows lifting in polite surprise. âDarling,â he asked softly, âwhatâs wrong?â
Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You swallowed hard. âJust didnât want to hurt you,â you offered lamely, though you both knew you had never caused him pain before. His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but he released your hand without comment. You wondered if your face betrayed the unease you felt, because Hannibalâs expression shifted into something gentler, concerned. But he chose not to press you then and there. Instead, he simply carried on, instructing you gently with the knife work and occasionally brushing a reassuring hand across your back.
Though both men tried to give you space, their combined worry spilled over as time went on. Neither was used to seeing you so guarded, especially around them. On a chilly afternoon, the three of you gathered in Hannibalâs studyâa routine that had become something of a tradition. Will sipped his whiskey quietly while Hannibal and you browsed through his impressive collection of classical music. There was a soothing air of comfort, and for a brief moment, your doubts dimmed.
But of course, it was Will who noticed your jaw movingâsaw the slight shift as your teeth worked the soft flesh inside your cheek. He placed his whiskey glass down on the table with a muted clink before pushing himself out of the chair.
âStop,â he murmured, crossing the room with purpose. His voice was gentle but firm as he stepped close to you. Without hesitating, he brought his hand to your chin, his touch warm yet insistent. âOpen your mouth.â
You stiffened, instinctively pulling away. You shook your head, trying to avert your gaze from Willâs intense blue eyes. You didnât want to show him. You didnât want him to see the damage youâd done to keep from biting them instead.
But then, Hannibal appeared at Willâs side, his presence commanding. He didnât say a word, but the look he gave youâequal parts concern and disappointmentâmade your shoulders slump in silent surrender. Unable to deny the weight of their worry, you parted your lips, letting Will tilt your chin just enough so both he and Hannibal could peer inside.
A faint gasp escaped Will as he saw the small puncture in your cheek, the fresh bead of crimson welling against your lower molars. Hannibalâs lips flattened into a thin line, and a flicker of displeasure darkened his gaze. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small wound, but it spoke volumes to themâvolumes about how you had been coping alone.
Hannibalâs voice was low, edged with concern. âYouâve been hurting yourself to avoid biting us.â It wasnât a question; it was a quiet statement of fact.
Will let go of your chin carefully. âWhy?â he asked, his brows knitting together.
You swallowed thickly, your hand hovering near your mouth in a subconscious attempt to hide the injury youâd just revealed. âAlana said itâs weird. The biting,â you whispered, your voice unsteady. âI didnât want to embarrass you.â
A stretch of silence followed your confession, Hannibal and Will exchanged a lookâa silent conversation filled with understanding and mild anger toward Alanaâs interference. Willâs gaze softened as he turned back to you. âWe told you before,â he reminded you gently, âyou donât have to hide this from us. Youâre not hurting usââ
âânor inconveniencing us,â Hannibal interrupted, stepping closer again. The resolute calm in his eyes steadied you. âIn fact, weâve grown quite accustomed to it, and dare I say, fond of it. Your habit is part of who you are.â
You glanced down, feeling the sting of tears threatening in your eyes. âI justâŠI didnât want you to get sick of me, or to think I was some sort of burden.â
Willâs hand found yours, his fingers threading through with a gentle squeeze. âThatâs not possible,â he murmured. âWe miss itâŠmiss you being comfortable around us.â
Hannibal placed a hand against your cheek, being mindful of your tender injury. âYou never need to hurt yourself on our behalf,â he said, voice quiet but unyielding. âAny pain you feelâphysical or otherwiseâweâd much rather help you carry it, not watch you bury it inside.â
At those words, a sharp wave of relief pulsed through you, along with an ache of regret for having doubted them. You inhaled shakily, letting yourself lean just a fraction closer to Hannibalâs touch, feeling the stability it offered. Will eased his other hand around your waist, tugging you gently in his direction. Sandwiched between them, you could almost believe nothing else mattered.
âIâm sorry,â you managed, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. âIâŠIâll try not to hide it anymore.â
Willâs lips quirked into a small, comforting smile. âNo more chewing on your cheek,â he said, voice warm with affection. âYouâll let us help, right?â
With a hesitant nod, you felt Hannibalâs hand slide from your cheek to the back of your head, urging you closer until your forehead rested against his shoulder. He cast a glance at Will, who leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Despite the swirl of emotions, you felt a gentle calm in their presenceâa sense of being anchored.
#x male reader#male reader#slasher fandom#hannibal fandom#hannibal lecter#hannibal nbc#hannibal x will#murder husbands#nbc hannibal#will graham#hannibal rising#hannibal lecter x you#hannibal lecter x reader#hannibal lecter x will graham#hannibal lecter x oc#hannibal lecter nbc#hannigram#hannibal lecter x male reader#will graham x male reader#will graham x reader#will graham nbc#will graham hannibal#alana bloom#jack crawford#beverly katz#jimmy price#hannigram fic#hannigram fanfiction#hannigram x reader#hannigram x male reader
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Hannibal drooling over how fit and muscled one of his patients (reader) is and just fantasizing about what heâd let reader do to him during one of their sessions.
Hannibal Lecter With Dominant Male S/o
My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+
Hannibal's eyes tilted towards the seat across from him, His patient with a remarkable physique, one with lean and well-taken care of muscles, but not over the top, just the right amount, (in Hannibal's keen gaze.)
Leaning forward slightly, Hannibal's sole gaze fixated upon you. Strolling off-topic was, unprofessional of Hannibal, and he knew it, but even so, he dare speak, ""One must wonder what sort of discipline it takes to achieve such a body." For Hannibal Lecter to be so loose-lipped with his desires, was something you would never see him do, but it seems you just had that taunting effect on him. "Working out....helps me manage stress." Your husky voice followed up his strange comment. After Hannibal listened to your words, there was a pause, a silence so deep that it made Hannibal's mind wander and fiddle around. His thoughts slipped into a seductive reverie. ----- [Name]'s fingers brush against my arm, sending a thrill down my spine. Not being able to resist the hunger devouring me, I lean in, our lips pressed against one another. My acute senses overriding themselves, on fire in a blaze My hands find their way to the contours of his abs, Â I can't help but hear [Name] let out an almost inaudible growl. Slowly I descend downwards, to the floor, on my knees before a glorious being such as you. Opening my mouth ever so slightly to let your cock slip into my mouth-- ---- Hannibal suddenly snapped his head towards you, the line between reality and imagination fading as he yearns for the reader in a way that only no one can fully comprehend.
#hannibal x reader#hannibal lecter x reader#hannibal x you#hannibal lecter x you#hannibal imagine#hannibal lecter imagine#hannibal lecter imagines#hannibal lecter x male reader#slasher x reader#slasher imagine#slasher imagines#slasher fanfiction#Hannibal x reader smut#Hannibal smut#Hannibal gay smut#slasher x male reader#slashers x reader#slashers x male reader#hannibal lecter#nbc hannibal#hannibal series#DomThemSlashers
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Palatal Porcine

Hannibal x M!Reader (can be read as GN tbh, very few gendered terms.)
cw: dead dove, do not eat. Cannibalism, manipulation, murder, catcalling, implied age gap...
no smut, proof read 1x.
His grip around your waist tightened inexorably. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he noticed the man ogling you a few seats down in the dim theater. Hannibal could hardly concentrate on the music; the swell of the orchestra might as well have been the discordant hum of frayed wires. Of course, you seemed utterly oblivious to the crude leers of the man, your eyes fixated on the spectacle upon the stage before you. Â
You could feel Hannibal stiffen next to you, though his mask of reverence never slipped, his facial features remaining stoic and his posture flawless. You turned slightly to peer at him, unable to discern what had gotten him so on edge. But your attention was quickly recaptivated by the opera singer as the aria began. However, unbeknownst to you, the unknown manâs eyes never left yours, tracing the lines of your jaw, the contours of your face, dark and hungryâ a brazen lack of subtlety. Undoubtedly, he was aiming for your attention, willing you, telepathically urging you to glance over and meet his dark eyes. Hannibalâs acute awareness of the situation never faltered, even as he forced himself to train his eyes upon the stage.Â
When the opera ended, and after the waves of applause had subsided, Hannibal tried to steer you out of the opera hall as fast as possible, brushing off the familiar niceties of acquaintances also in the audience. You took notice of this; Hannibal was behaving uncharacteristically, shedding his usual restraint and commitment to civility as he bluntly pulled you through the crowd without so much as a second glance. But the man had other intentions for you, beelining to intercept where you were walking with Hannibal, stepping out before you. Hannibal steeled himself, attempting to pull you along, past him and out the doors, but halted when the prowler shot his arm out, preventing any recourse and effectively creating a barrier between you and Hannibal. Â
âCiao, bellissimo,â the man purred, his voice oily and deep, his breath hot on your cheek. You flinched at the closeness, instinctively stepping back and, in the process, unwittingly distancing yourself further from Hannibal.
âYouâre as pretty as a dream,â the man cooed at you, his hand reaching up to stroke your arm through the fabric of your suit. âI would much rather stare at you all day than anything up on that stage.â
Your face flushed a cherry red, and you began to sputter, glancing up at Hannibal for aid, your eyes wide as saucers. As Hannibal opened his mouth to speak, the man quickly cut him off. The air was permeated by the scent of cheap cologne and stale smoke, and the sour cloud made Hannibalâs nose wrinkle in distaste.Â
âDarling, you are simply beautiful, I must say, Iâm quite enamored. Why donât you ditch the old geezer and come with me? Iâm certain I could make it worth your while,â The man said, licking his lips before he picked up your limp hand, kissing your knuckles. He left behind a smear of saliva. A wave of revulsion and panic flooded your senses, and you struggled to come up with a response besides a feeble attempt to tug your hand out from his grasp. The man simply chuckled and held you tighter, your knuckles turning white under his harsh hold. Hannibalâs hand shot out, a bruising grip on the manâs shoulder, forcing him back.Â
âThe gentleman is not interested,â Hannibal interjected, his voice steady but dripping with malice. âIt would serve you well to kindly remove yourself.â He said with a predatory smile in an attempt to maintain his manners among his peers. The man sighed, a sleazy smile plastered on his lips. He rolled his eyes at Hannibal, shouldering off the older manâs hand.Â
âAh, but he can speak for himself, canât he?â the question was directed to Hannibal, but his eyes were still fixated on you, raking you up and down, and again, he licked his lips.
âSurely, someone as exquisite as yourself would want to experience the passions of a real man, yes?â This question was directed at you. Your mouth opened and closed fast as you searched for words, your mouth suddenly dry.
Hannibal exhaled sharply at the comment. Hannibalâs demeanor was that of barely veiled rage, condensing the urge to rip the man apart with his teeth into a mere shove. The man laughed as he was forced back, releasing your hand in the process.Â
Hannibal took the opening, slinging his arm around your waist and quickly guiding you out of the opera hall. His free hand reached around to grab the hand the man had offended with his touch, and Hannibal began to rub small circles into your hand soothingly. He leaned down, whispering into your ear. âPay him no mind,â his voice low and smooth as velvet. His eyes flickered back, side-eyeing the man who stood behind you. âSwine such as him is quite clearly beneath your notice.â
The man chose this moment to wolf whistle, calling out to you. âI hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go!â He called out. Hannibal urged you on faster, committing the man's face to his memory. Transgressions of this caliber hardly ever went unpunished, especially not one as egregious as the execrable display that had occurred tonightâ and Hannibal would see to it personally that justice would be served.
â
ËââčâËâ§ïž”âżâ§ àšà§ â§ââżïž”⧠Ëââčâ
Ëâ
Days passed, and you had long since forgotten the encounter at the opera house. You were a little more focused on the fact that Hannibalâs presence in your life over the past few weeks had been noticeably sparse. He had a habit of, every so often, disappearing from your life like this, but despite knowing this, you couldnât shake the feeling this time; something else was up.
Hannibal finally reached out after one long week, with it, an invitation for dinner at his house. This was a common occurrence, as he absolutely adored cooking dinner for you. You accepted happily, relieved that he had finally made space in his busy schedule to see you. You arrived at the Lecter household fifteen minutes before eight. You knew Hannibal valued manners, and punctuality was one of the most important. In no time, you were situated at his dining room table. Soft piano filled the room, with the occasional clatter of cutlery in the background emanating from the kitchen. Transcendental Etude No. 6 in G minor. One of your favorites.
Hannibal didnât make you wait long, setting down a covered platter before your seat. He halted, hovering over your sitting form before placing a small kiss on the top of your head. You smiled and let out a pleased exhale. Well, he was certainly feeling affectionate today. You waited for him to take his seatâthe head of the tableâ before you moved to uncover the platter, staring down at the dish. It was foreign to you, as most of his dishes were. Hannibal took great pride in delineating each aspect of every meal he prepared, his words scrupulous. This evening was no differentâ as you began to take in the dish before, he started to speak with magniloquence almost immediately.Â
âToday, Iâve prepared a treat especially for you, my little lamb. Langue de Porc. A French delicacy. Pork tongue. Prior to the time of you or I, langue de porc was considered a delicacy, reserved for the aristocracy and the upper echelons of society. It was a symbol of status, of refinement. A way to demonstrate one's sophistication and worldliness, often in elaborate presentations or terrines,â Hannibal explained as he began to cut into his own dish. You just stared down at the platter, your stomach inexplicably churning. For some unknown reason, you were a mix of anxiety, and as Hannibal spoke, with each word, your sense of unease grew stronger. âThe meat itself was said to be infused with certain properties. Properties that served to heighten the senses.âÂ
You squirmed in your seat, hesitantly picking up your fork and knife. You cracked a smile, though your eyes were swimming with trepidation. Hannibalâs tone was darker, his demeanor clouded with something sinister. He watched with a sly smirk as you cut off a piece of the peculiarly shaped meat. You chewed slowly, savoring the taste. It was unique, with a mild and fatty flavor that melted into your mouth. Hannibal watched you, focusing on the way your jaw worked around the bite as if he were counting each time your mandible contracted.
Only when he watched your Adamâs apple bob, the indication that you had swallowed, did Hannibal relax, offering you a triumphant smile. You cracked a smile in an attempt to lighten the tension. âKind of small for a pig,â You remarked. It was your lame attempt at small talk.Â
Hannibalâs smile begins to stretch unnaturally at the corners. What had started as a harmless quirk of his lips had begun to transform into something sinister, his teeth bared in a grin more reminiscent of a predator; the warmth had drained away from his features, leaving behind a chilling sense of malice.Â
Surely you had imagined it, right? The way his eyes seemed to glint with a predatory sharpness, dark and unyielding. The shadows that seemed to deepen around his featuresâ his cheekbones sharpening, his lips curled up almost unnaturally. And then he began to speak, his voice slithering through the air. It was carried on an unnatural calm as if he reveled in the discomfort he was causing. Each syllable seemed to hang in the air. You dropped your fork onto the dining table, suddenly sick with the implication of his words.
âAh, yes. An astute observation. When measured from the oropharynx, a typical length for a hog is roughly thirteen centimeters.â Hannibal casually began to cut off another tongue piece, savoring it. âThis particular type of swine, however, usually measures around eight and a half centimeters.â His eyes were dark pools of onyx. Your breathing increased, knowing his following words. Willing them not to be said.Â
Hannibal leaned forward so that his face was a handâs breadth away. Your head was swimming. âYes, my little lamb. This particular pig had a foul mouth and a tongue better suited for a butcherâs block than a human mouth.âÂ
As the words settled into the dimly lit dining room, your vision began to swim, your chest heaving. Undoubtedly, Hannibal had spent the days you had been apart hunting down the foul-mouthed man from the opera, slaughtering the offending profligate and, as some sick and twisted form of recompense, serving his tongue up to you on a salver--his mind diseased with perverted justice.
Hannibal cooed at you, trailing the back of his hand down your face, his fingers catching under your chin as he guided you to look up at him.Â
âOh, mon amour,â He crooned, his hand cool against your skin that was feverish with anxiety. âYou look positively green. Is this idea of such delights too much for your delicate constitution?âÂ
Hannibal released your chin, tutting in disappointment. âHere I thought you might be a little more appreciative to my gift.â Hannibal resumed eating, his eyes never leaving yours. âA dish with a garnish of retribution. Donât be afraidâŠâ His voice trails lower as he lifts his own fork, a piece of the tongue skewered on the edge, putting it against your lips. The meat easily slides past your plump lips, landing on your tongue. Under his unyielding gaze, you find it impossible to deny him.
âThere we go,â He says softly. âCan you hear the sound of your mind breaking when you deny yourself?â The meat settled like a brick in your stomach. âSurrender to the hunger,â he insisted, his breath ghosting over your cheek as he leaned in closer.Â
You mechanically picked up your fork, slicing off a piece of the fatty pink meat, and bringing it to your mouth with much chagrin. And you realized⊠As you bit down and soft flesh gave way with a telltale wet squelch, your teeth coated in a greasy sheen, that this was your indoctrination. That this is what a soulâs slaughter could look like and that Hannibal was going to drag you down with him too, a substitute god for when you longed for devotion. The slimy texture lingered in your mouth, refusing to be swallowed easily. It was as if the dish itself had no intention of being forgotten, clinging to you in a way that made your stomach churn. You had become exactly what he had wanted you to be as you fell into disgrace.
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ËââčâËâ§ïž”âżâ§ àšà§ â§ââżïž”⧠Ëââčâ
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thanks so much for reading. I had this idea swirling in the noggin for about a year now and finally decided to write it. It still isn't as fleshed out as I had hoped, but alas... hopefully, I get the fervor to write more. I swear something possessed me so I finished this entire thing in about two hours ă°(°.âáŻ
â°)°ă
#hannibal nbc#hannibal lecter#hannibal x reader#hannibal x male reader#nbc hannibal#hannibal x you#hannibal the cannibal#hannibal show#hannibal lecter x reader#dead dove do not eat
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through gritted teeth
pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader
reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.
summary:
The man says heâs your husband. Heâs polite, charming, intelligent. He seems a little pretentious, but he appears to know you rather well and the thinly-veiled devotion in his eyes dispels most of your remaining doubts. It certainly helps that the man is rather well-dressedâand attractive, a traitorous voice in the back of your mind whispers. Unfortunately, you have no idea who he is.Â
word count: 3.8k | ao3 version
You wake up to fluorescent lighting burning into your eyes, pulling tears down your cheeks as you blink stars from your vision. Your entire body aches with exhaustion and you can feel a headache brewing already. Groaning, you try to push yourself up to a sitting position. Thereâs an IV attached to your arm and, upon closer inspection, you seem to be in some sort of hospital room. White walls line the space, and thereâs nothing much of note in your immediate vicinity. You blink a few more times past your absurdly dry eyes and continue inspecting the room, until your eyes catch on the chair to the right side of your bed.Â
Thereâs a man sitting at your bedside with his eyes closed. He stirs within a few moments, as if he can sense you staring at him. Relief is written all over his face as he leans forward and clasps your hand with a small smile on his face. You canât stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the contact and he notices, removing his hand at once.Â
âDo you remember who I am?â He asks. His words are carefully constructed, strung together with eloquence and remnants of what sounds like an accent from a European country. You blink at him once, twice. It takes a moment for you to process the question, and another to contemplate the answer. The man doesnât look familiar. Indeed, he looks like a stranger.Â
When you tell him as much, a sad smile works its way onto his face. It seems he expected your answer. He begins to explain the circumstances surrounding your visit here, which you are immensely grateful for. You know next to nothing as you sit in this hospital bed, and, try as you might, you canât remember anything save for your name.Â
Apparently, youâve suffered a serious head injury that left you with a spontaneous case of amnesia. Fortunately, your memories will likely return to you in due time. Somehow, these two revelations arenât the most shocking of statements from the stranger. What the man reveals next shakes you to your core: heâs your husband.Â
Upon closer examination, you find that the man is charming, polite⊠Heâs rather attractive, too, with fine-combed hair and sparkling brown eyes with flecks of amber. His face looks as if it was sculpted by Michelangelo himselfâsweeping lines, sharp edges, soft curves. The man is intelligent and [perhaps as a result] a little pretentious. From his attire, you can only assume that he makes a lot of money and has rather particular tastes. You could see someone like this going to the opera regularly.Â
But thereâs something else about this manâsomething lurking beneath the surface. You canât puzzle out what it is. Thereâs something sinister concealed in those reddish-brown eyes, an unspoken violence in the manâs careful poise. And you think you catch him intently scrutinizing youâas if youâre under a microscope. Â
You soon learn that the manâs name is Hannibal Lecter. Heâs a psychiatrist who used to be a surgeon. Heâs in his 40s. He has refined tastesâand even goes to the opera on occasion, yes. He is fascinating, intriguing beyond measure. He discusses heavily philosophical topics with ease. He is slippery, only giving you the information he wants to give you. He has a very controlled image. The dishes he cooks you are extravagant and lavish, with ingredients youâve never even heard of. (The meat in them is always some sort of organ, and it turns your stomach every time.)
In the wake of your injury, youâre unsure of almost everything. But you know one thing for certain: Hannibal is not your husband. And youâre convinced that heâs dangerous. You donât trust himâcanât trust his carefully crafted words, his home-cooked meals, his polite smiles. Itâs all a farce.Â
It would be all too easy to ask your next visitor about this well-dressed, enigmatic man. Unfortunately, you donât get any other visitors. In fact, your next visitor is Hannibal again⊠And again. And again. It gets to the point where your nurse gives up on having him sign in when he visits. At first, she had been rather strict in enforcing the rules; she seems to have caught onto something that you still havenât grasped, because she now collects herself with an entirely differentâalmost heightenedâawareness.Â
Youâre having increasingly conflicting feelings, especially when you consider the fact that Hannibal hasnât actually exhibited any behavior that justifies your wariness and suspicion. If anything, heâs been the perfect supporterâthe perfect husbandâthroughout your recovery. You want to believe your gut sense, want to believe the whispers in the back of your mind that tell you to exercise caution. But, at the same time, whoâs to say they can be believed? You still have almost no recollection of who you are. Why are you questioning the only person who has bothered to show up for you throughout your recovery?Â
Days pass in the blink of an eye; before you know it, Hannibal is walking in one morning with the declaration that youâve been officially discharged from the hospital. Despite your misgivings, you head to the bathroom to change into some normal clothes before putting on the pair of shoes near the door. Your heart is racing as Hannibalâs gaze refuses to leave your form. Why canât your mind rest? Why canât your thoughts be silent, for once? Why are you so damn suspicious of every minute kindness?Â
The walk out of the hospital and through the parking lot is painfully silent. You canât resist sneaking glances at Hannibal, waiting for his mask to crack and fall. It never does. He catches you looking and sends you a smile, which discourages you from looking again. You let your eyes roam about the shiny cars in the parking lot as the warm afternoon sunlight greets your skin. You missed the fresh air.Â
âWhere are you taking me?â You finally ask, as you continue to follow behind the man.
âHome,â Hannibal remarks. He pointedly does not say your home or even our home. Your heart is racing in your chest. His back is turned, leaving you to imagine the expression on his face. Â
It isnât until youâre secured in the front seat and Hannibalâs driving out of the parking lot that you summon the courage to utter the question that has been plaguing your mind. âAre you really my husband?â
âHm?â Itâs clear he heard you; heâs giving you a chance to retract the remark. You know you should take it, but⊠you want to know whatâs going on. You need to find an answer for the seemingly irrational fear drumming in your chest and rushing in your ears.Â
âYou say youâre my husband,â You repeat yourself, gaining a bit more confidence. âBut I donât think you are.â For an awful moment, thereâs nothing but silence. The car zips along the road. You feel your hand trembling at your sideâhopefully the only visible sign of your distress. You clench your shaking hand into a fist and try to remain calm. Panicking wonât do you any good.Â
âDo you remember how we first met?â Hannibal asks instead. You stare at him in disbelief, surprised by how he completely ignores your accusation. There is an utter lack of emotion on his face. Seconds later, you remember his question and shake your head. âYouâre an FBI agent,â Hannibal reveals. âI was called in to perform your psychiatric evaluation.â
Great. Just great. Out of all things, you had to be an FBI agent. The thought of forgetting your workâforgetting all the victims left to die in muddied puddles of crimson, forgetting all the killers with mocking smiles and cruelty written in the lines of their facesâis sincerely troubling. Â
And Hannibal is a psychiatrist. That seems to fitâyou can see him in a needlessly extravagant office, surrounded by books and expensive elegancies. You have to shake your head to get rid of the weirdly vivid imagery that your thoughts produce. âAre you⊠my psychiatrist, then?â You ask.Â
âIf you wish,â he replies with a mirthful smile. That answer doesnât satisfy your curiosityânot in the slightest.Â
âWere you my psychiatrist?â You press. You get the feeling that you need to be asking the right questions in order to get the answers you want. The man across from you is adept at picking apart peopleâs words, flipping them around and twisting their intended meaning. Your wording will be immensely important.Â
âI was your psychiatrist, for a time,â Hannibal acquiesces. From that statement, you get the sense that he really was your psychiatrist, until something evidently happened. You ask him as much, but you seem to go too far, because he regards you with an amused glance. âYouâre asking a lot of questions.â
âAnd youâre not giving me any answers,â you feel the need to respond. You have simultaneous suspicions that honesty is dangerous in front of Hannibal, and that he values honesty above sugar-coated words. Your eyebrows furrow. âYou havenât exactly been forthcoming with information.â
âIs that so?â Hannibal is providing more questions in lieu of answers. Heâs definitely hiding something. Sensing that you wonât get anything more from him, you fall silent and settle for staring at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is locked on the road ahead. Despite the time youâve spent together, talking about your past, you still arenât totally convinced that youâre married to Hannibal. Is there a way you could test himâtest his knowledge of you? Surely thereâs something you can ask him to determine if he truly knows you or not.Â
It comes to you a moment later. âWhatâs my favorite color?â You ask, before you can think better of it. The man doesnât react at first, instead staring straight ahead. Just before you can repeat the question, he answers.Â
âI canât imagine you have a favorite color,â Hannibal responds. âYou once told me the very notion was foolish.â
Okay, heâs sort of correct there. But that was an easy question. You sort through the few memories you have, looking for something you can ask him. âWhatâs my middle name?â Thatâs an answer that you just barely know yourselfâa memory came back to you a mere few minutes ago, of you and your childhood friend talking about middle names and nicknames and other unimportant things.Â
Hannibal answers the question correctly again. The two of you mustâve been friends, at the very least. You continue to search your mind for something you can ask him.Â
Five minutes and several questions later, youâre starting to doubt your own conviction. Hannibal answers every single question correctly, providing you with information you donât remember but know deep-down to be true. Itâs unnerving and disturbing to think that you couldâve forgotten this man so easily. He seems⊠utterly unforgettable, in every sense of the word. Furthermore, heâs your husbandâperhaps you shouldnât be doubting him so easily.Â
âIâm sorry,â you blurt out, before you can quite contemplate your next words. Hannibalâs eyes are locked on the road, but you know heâs listening. âI donât mean to doubt you, I just- I donât know what to do. I donât remember anything, obviously, and⊠I feel so lost.â You choke out, your throat burning. You bury your head in your hands for a selfish moment, hoping for some solace and clarity.Â
âDonât apologize, dear,â Hannibal says. You hate how the remark sends a shiver down your spine. Damn it, why canât you just be comfortable? This man is practically a dream, so why are you trying to ruin it? Canât you just accept that, sometimes, you deserve to have nice things?! Hannibal continues, unknowing of your internal dilemma. âYouâre going through a lot right now. Iâm just happy to be here with you.âÂ
You feel ashamed, knowing that youâve been holding yourself back despite the fact that Hannibal has shown you nothing but compassion and affection. âIâm⊠happy youâre here, too,â you say. Guilt prickling in your chest, you impulsively reach out and clasp his free hand resting on the console. Somehow, this surprises your husband, because he stiffens for a second before reciprocating, gripping your hand reassuringly.Â
âWe will get through this,â he promises. You push aside your doubts and decide to believe him.
Maybe things really will be alright. Maybe, youâll get your memories back sooner rather than later, and youâll be able to look back on these momentsâriddled with doubt, insecurity, warinessâand laugh. You take a deep breath and look out the window, watching the passing trees blur together.Â
Your hand slips from Hannibalâs and you look at your nails, picking at your cuticles. Your hands are somewhat indicative of the life you ledâthe one you donât remember livingâwith a few scars stretching down your wrist and climbing up your forearm. You look down at the healed wound and frown, trying to remember how you got the scar.Â
Suddenly, you get a flicker of a memory. Itâs faint and fast, but itâs a reminder of the past nonetheless. You squint ahead, trying to focus on keeping the flashback in your mind for long enough to dissect it. You remember⊠blood. A corpse, perhaps? Yes, a corpse. A womanâs corpse, hoisted and impaled on antlers. You remember⊠staring at that corpse for so long that you had to be physically led away from the scene, albeit with a gnawing feeling in your gut that something just wasnât right. You remember⊠walking into an office, only to be met with Hannibalâs curious gaze. That mustâve been the first time you met the psychiatrist. You put a hand to your temple and try desperately to concentrate.Â
âYou look as if youâve seen a ghost,â Hannibal says, effectively throwing your focus. You blink and chance a glance at him. Heâs still looking at the road, yet you canât shake the perplexing conviction that heâs been watching you. Whatâs more, you canât shake the feeling that his interjection was purposefulâthat he meant to throw you off and break your concentration.Â
âI- just remembered something,â you choke out, feeling a bolt of pain slide down your scalp to the back of your neck. You bring a hand to the nape of your neck and press, hissing as your fingers glide over sore muscles. âSomething important.â
âCongratulations,â Hannibal hums, immune to your internal panic. You donât know exactly what this man did, but he mustâve done something. Your subconscious is convinced that he is incredibly dangerous, and you feel inclined to trust your gut.Â
Another flashback arrives, apropos of nothing. You remember sitting across from Hannibal in a finely-decorated room, lined with bookshelves and artifacts. You remember averting your eyes as you speak, desperate to avoid the roaring flames racing up your skin with every additional moment of prolonged eye contact. You remember⊠a twisted grin on Hannibalâs face. You remember⊠the intensity to his gaze as he studied you when he thought you werenât looking.Â
Unsettled, you shake your head and try to refocus on the passing scenery again. To your surprise, you think you recognize where you are. Hannibal must be taking you home. You take a deep breath. You just have to survive this car rideâthen you can figure things out from there. You have all the time in the world to muse on the nature of your injury and the nature of your âhusband,â once youâre safely contained within four walls. Right now, though, you need to be wary. You need to have your wits about you, you need to watch for any sudden movements, you need to be ready-
âWeâre here,â Hannibal announces, promptly throwing your thought process to a halt. You blink and look ahead, only to find a nondescript home with beige siding and a somewhat weathered front door. Vaguely, you remember pulling your car into this driveway, remember unpacking boxes from your trunk. Yes, this is your house. Hannibal is much quicker on the uptake, as he gets out of the car and walks around the vehicle. You donât realize that heâs opening the passenger door for you until you feel him staring at you expectantly. You thank him and get to your feet, a sudden bout of dizziness sending you wobbling. Hannibal is there in a moment, steadying you with a hand on your forearm. You pretend not to notice his hand on the small of your back as you walk up the path to the front porch. When youâre finally situated in front of the entrance, you realize that you have no idea where your keys could be.Â
âLeft pocket of your jacket,â Hannibal murmurs, as if reading your mind. You nearly choke on a breath.Â
âThanks,â you respond a bit breathlessly. When you finally manage to unlock the front door and swing it open, you turn back to face him. âWell, thank you for the ride.â
âOf course,â Hannibal responds easily. Thereâs a regretful smile rising on his face. Everything around you fades to obscurity. âIâm afraid this is goodbye.â That remark sounds strangely ominous. Your heart is in your throat.Â
âThank you for keeping me company,â you feel the need to say, regardless of your suspicions about the man. He was the only one to visit you. You donât want to think about how you would feel if you spent your entire hospital visit without a single familiar face. â...Bye.â Suddenly, thereâs a hand on your cheek. Hannibalâs hand cradles your jaw, his thumb gently roving along your skin. He regards you for a moment, his eyes sparkling, before kissing you on the cheek and leaving. You watch him return to his car and drive away, apprehension and adrenaline coursing through you. Somehow, you get the feeling that youâll never see Hannibal again.Â
Your doorbell rings about an hour later. You look through your peephole, only to find a somewhat intimidating man with his hands shoved in his pockets. You have to focus on quelling the foolish spike of hope that had risen in your chest when the doorbell rang, and the subsequent disappointment at the unfamiliar figure you found. You take a second glance at the stranger, only to find that he looks somewhat familiar. This vague familiarity convinces you to crack your front door open slightly and ask him, âWho are you?â
The man pulls something out of his pocket. âJack Crawford, FBI,â he answers, showing you his identification card. You stare at him for another moment. âYour boss.â Crawford supplies, when you canât seem to get the words out. After a few seconds of awkward silence, you decide to invite him inside.Â
Before long, the two of you are settled in your living room. The tension that first appeared when you opened your front door has yet to fade. Youâre not sure why this man has yet to crop up in your memoriesâhe has a rather powerful aura of authority, not to mention the fact that heâs apparently your superior. You decide not to beat yourself up about it. Your memories will come back in due time; until then, youâll make do with what little you have.
CrawfordâJack, he tells you to call himâclasps his hands over his knees and levels you with an unreadable gaze. âI need to ask you something,â Jack says, rifling through his other pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it slowly, before revealing it to you. âDo you remember this man? Hannibal Lecter?â Jack explains, immune to your growing dread. You feel sick to your stomach as your eyes flit across the black-and-white photograph of the same man who watched over you vigilantly as you recovered, who claimed to be your husband and kissed you on the cheek mere moments ago. âHeâs the Chesapeake Ripperâthe serial killer who has been evading capture.âÂ
âI-â You stammer, bringing a hand to your temple. Your headache from earlier is returning and your head is spinning from this sudden disclosure. You almost donât want to believe Jack, but you get the feeling that heâd have no reason to lie to you. If anything, lying would just make his job harder. You take a shuddering breath in, trying to come to terms with the fact that you just narrowly escaped a serial killerâs grasp.Â
âItâs alright,â Jack tries to reassure you, evidently sensing that youâre growing a bit panicked.Â
âNo, I-â Youâre choking on the words. Recent memories are mixing with old, creating a convoluted and murky timeline of events. Itâs hard to sort through everything, to find the truths hidden amongst the lies. Youâre not sure how long it takes for you to collect your composure and organize your thoughts into a relatively coherent statement. âI saw him. He⊠visited me in the hospital. He drove me home.âÂ
âWhat?â Jack asks, utter disbelief written all over his face. You donât remember your boss very well, but you get the feeling he isnât usually so expressive. The look on his face would be comical, in a different situation. âWhat did he say to you?â He implores.
âHe said a lot of things⊠Nothing very important.â You try to recall what you can, but your memories are quickly slipping through your fingertips in granules of sparkling sand. You press a hand to your temple, your headache growing worse as you try to recall what happened. âI tried asking him questions about me, to throw him off, but he knew all the answers.âÂ
Somehow, Jack doesnât seem surprised by the notion. âYou two were⊠close, before,â your boss evidently settles for saying. Thereâs a certain suspicion in his voice, as if he suspects you may have been more than âcloseâ with Hannibal. Youâre feeling too discombobulated to rise to the bait or bother calling him out on the obvious verbal trap.Â
âHe said âgoodbye,ââ you continue, eyebrows furrowing. Somehow, you get the sense that Hannibal isnât the type to utter goodbyes. Moreover, a goodbye ushers in a sense of finality, as if you will truly never see him again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, pretending that your exchange with him on your doorstep isnât replaying in your mind. He kissed me on the cheek, you donât say to Jack. He said he was my husband. He watched over me in the hospital when no one else did. And it may have been fake, all of it⊠But that gleam of affection in his eyes didnât look manufacturedâit looked genuine. Â
Jack looks troubled and somewhat restless. âYouâre lucky you made it out alive.â He states. You donât think you can quite believe his words. For whatever reason, Hannibal Lecterâthe Chesapeake Ripperâis interested in you. Whether sick fascination or cloying obsession, you have to face the facts:Â luck had nothing to do with it. The Ripper kept you alive because, inexplicably, he wants you alive.Â
And that unnerves you.Â
hannibal taglist, cause i think y'all would be down with reading this since it's also hannibal: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan
#defectivevillain#hannibal x reader#Hannibal Lecter x reader#hannibal#hannibal nbc#hannibal lecter#Hannibal Lecter x gn reader#hannibal x gn reader#Hannibal Lecter x male reader#Hannibal Lecter x transmasc reader#male reader#transmasc reader#gn reader#ok I think that's enough
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Y/n: Hey Will, oh hey Hannibal. Iâm gonna go make girl dinner you want some.
Will: Thatâs sounds good also can I get a coke with it.
Y/n: I can do that.
Hannibal: What is girl dinner.
Y/n: Itâs a plate full of snacks that is but isnât a meal.
Hannibal: That doesnât sound well balanced or very filling. I can bring you guys dinner they would surely be better for you then your guys girl dinner.
Y/n: Donât sweat it Hannibal we are fine with our girl dinners.
Hannibal: Mmm
NEXT DAY
Hannibal: I made you guys dinner hope you enjoy.
Will: You didnât have to do this Hannibal.
Y/n: Will is right you really didnât have to.
Hannibal: It was no problem. I enjoyed it, itâs not often I make simple meals but my taste is far different from yours. So I hope both enjoy the food.
#hannibal lecter#will graham#nbc hannibal#hannibal lecter x male reader#hannibal lecter x reader#will graham x male reader#will graham x reader#hannibal lecter x will graham#hannibal lector x will graham x male reader#hannibal lector x will graham x reader#ryans incorrect quotes
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Yooo! Lol Iâm here to make a small request maybe just to see how you think Hannibal would handle a situation lol like literally just a Drabble would be fine đ«¶đŒ
Alright, what would he say if his S/O (male pref) asked him âWould you still love me if I was a worm?â Bonus points if his S/O asks stupid questions like this all the time so heâs used to it, LMAO poor Hannibal
âșPAIRING: Hannibal X Male!Reader âșUNIVERSE: Hannibal âșWORDS: 1.6k âșSUMMARY/PROMPT: See Above. âșTRIGGER WARNINGS: No warnings | I may be missing some, but you get a general idea, so please proceed with caution if there is anything in there that is overly triggering please let me know politely and I will make sure it is added to the list. âșNOTE: Hannibal and Hannibal Character requests are closed. All other requests are open. Sorry if this isn't what you expected, or had envisioned yourself, I apologize. But I hope you enjoyed my vision. âșDIVIDER CREDIT: @nyxvuxoa
"No. I gotta know! If I was a worm, would you still love me?" you ask.
Shaking his head with a chuckle he thinks a moment. "But what if I was a bird, I'd eat the worm."
"That's not the question nor a valid answer."
"Oh but it is, what if I was the bird that ate the worm."
"You're no fun." you pout a moment.
He chuckles and he watches you a moment. Putting some thought into it he tilts his head. "Well I'd make sure you'd have a nice little compost pile... only the best foods."
"That's better. So, how do you think you'd handle me if I was a puddle of putty?" you ask.
He tilts his head and shakes it again with a slight chuckle. "Where are these questions coming from?" he asked you.
With a rather proud smile. "They came from my brain place. Now. Back to the putty question."
#hannibal x male reader#Hannibal x m!reader#hannibal imagine#hannibal x reader#hannibal x you#hannibal fluff#hannibal angst#hannibal smut#hannibal lecter imagine#Hannibal oneshot#hannibal fanfiction#hannibal lecter x reader#hannibal lecter x you#hannibal lecter angst#hannibal lecter#hannibal#hannibal nbc#hannibal netflix#mads mikkelsen#VoxMortuus#my fanfiction#my story#my fanfic writing#fan fiction#fanfiction#smutty smut smut#my oc#my fanfic stuff#my writing
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back on my hannibal grind, how we feel about a hannibal lecter x cannibal!patient reader ??? đ§
#hannibal fanfic#hannibal fanfiction#hannibal 2013#hannibal fic#hannibal nbc#nbc hannibal#hannibal lecter x male reader#hannibal x male reader#hannibal lecter#hannibal#hannigram#nbc hannigram#hannibal textpost#fanfic concept#oneshot concept#canisguts.fics#canisguts.shitposts#canisguts.cncpts
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Yandere Will Graham

Warnings: Yandere themes, Obsessive behaviors, Brief mention of rape/rapist, Dubious consent (mention of sex while under the influence), etc.
Notes: I am trying to be active again (fingers crossed). Little posts like this are a really easy way for me to get the creative juices flowing. Don't be surprised if a few more come out after this one lol.

You were a recent survivor of an attack
No, it wasn't the Chesapeake Ripper
It was just some other wannabe serial killer trying to get his rocks off
He had a dumb, stereotypical name too
The midnight slasher? midnight butcher?
Something like that
The media wasn't very creative with it
Whatever his name was, he'd clearly had a type
Young men
All of a similar stature
With the same hair and eye color
All known to be up at all hours of the day
It was a pretty open and shut case in Will's eyes
He was a plain and simple lust killer
Most likely white and in his 30s-40s
Classic closet case turned homicidal
He hadn't seen why the FBI was so stumped on the whole thing
The only real trouble was the lack of DNA evidence
He'd been real good at cleaning up after himself
Will knew he'd slip up eventually
This wasn't the type of guy to be so well organized for long
Well--
Does being murdered by your most recent victim count as a slip up?
Because that's exactly what happened
He was called to the scene with the rest of the team
The sight of you trembling, covered in blood, and standing over top of that creep was his first impression
You met his eyes and he was unable to pull away
Something about your tear blotched face held him captive
Jack tasked him with asking you questions about the events at hand
Normally this would have annoyed Will
He wasn't the talking type
Let alone someone sensitive enough to make such a traumatized person feel comfortable
But something in him didn't mind so much
Maybe it was the way you looked so vulnerable
Or the fact that no matter how much he pushed the idea away, he saw himself in you
An innocent man turned murderer under the right circumstances
"I'm Will Graham and I'll be asking you some questions."
"God, okay. I'm Y/n. Can't really say it's nice to meet you."
Will tried to start off slow
Ask the basics before moving onto the more pertinent information
You'd answer to the best of your abilities (considering the circumstances)
It took Will a second to jot down your responses
He'd get a little too caught up in your features to notice you'd stop talking
"Sorry, what was that? You got off work at 9?"
There was something admirable about your attempts to infuse your story with a bit of dry humor
Likely a coping mechanism
But Will found himself smiling a bit at your quips
By the time he'd finish up with you he'd felt a little attachment form
Sure the case was over on his end
But it didn't stop him from asking Jack about you
At least a couple times a week
"How's things going with that self defense case? Y/n's...?"
Will showed up the next day with your case fill on his desk
The sticky note stuck to it warned about annoying Jack with too many questions
He'd spend all night re-reading the details
Without noticing he began slipping in and out of re-enactment mode
Imagining you on top of him
Knife in hand
Crazed look in your eyes
He tried to shake the image away
He shouldn't be doing this
It wasn't right
You could've died that night
His guilt ridden thoughts did nothing to lessen the tent that had formed in his pajama pants
He tried to push the idea of you out of his head
Usually he'd have more control over himself than this
His resolve was strong at first
He'd hidden the manila folder away in the depths of his lower drawer
Telling himself he'd drop it
That worked for a couple of days
That was before he started dreaming of you
Events that he hadn't preformed himself took ahold of him
He became your attacker that night
He chased you
He ripped apart your clothes
He was the one who you fought off
He's the one who you thrust that knife into
And he loved every second of it
Wait--
No, he couldn't
This was just his empathy disorder
Yeah!
He was just in character
This definitely wasn't him
He would never want to do any of that stuff
And he'd prove it
He had memorized that file from front to back at this point
It wouldn't be weird that he'd known your address
He was an FBI consultant
It was basically warranted
Will found himself picking out his best clothes that night
His newest jeans, tailored shirt, the works
Not for any particular reason
And his bed was definitely not littered with rejected articles of clothing
This was just going to be a simple checkup, it's not like it really mattered what he looked like
He showed up on your doorstep with the nicest bottle of wine he could find
"Will? Is that you?"
"Uh, yeah it is. Would I be able to come in?"
You welcomed him in, albeit a little confused
"I thought my case was cleared..."
"That's not what I'm here for. I just wanted to check in on you."
You smiled at this
And Will felt his heart ache
You'd invite him to join in on your sorry excuse for a dinner
He'd never accepted anything so fast before in his life
It didn't take long before the two of you got into the wine he'd brought
It was innocent enough at first
Just drinking and talking
You'd mention how life was after the attack
Will shared a little about his experience with GJH
Its the first time he had ever felt so utterly connected with another person before
But then the two of you got a little more than tipsy
And Will found himself leaning in
One kiss turned into another and another
Will felt a sense of static overtake him
Every touch between the two of you sent shivers up his spine
He felt the strong urge to consume
Before either of you knew it your clothes were now in a heap on the kitchen floor
You woke up the next morning with a splitting headache
Oh-- and an FBI agent in your bed
Shock was an understatement
That was when the memories of the previous night flooded back
Will woke up at the loss of warmth
Last night was the best he had slept in years
You wrapped tight in his arms, bodies perfectly intertwined
His heart sank at the look of regret on your face
"We definitely shouldn't have done that. I think you should leave Will..."
He couldn't just leave now
Not knowing what he did
That you two were made for one another
He'd try to calm you down
"Y/n let's talk about this."
You weren't having it
Mentioning how inappropriate this all was
You'd shove his clothes into his arms
Will tried to console you
Not realizing why you were so worked up
You both did just have the best night of your life after all
You'd back away but he'd continue approaching
"C'mon I know you don't really want me to go. Let's just take a second before we make any rash decisions"
"We aren't doing anything. I want you to go. Now."
Something about him coming over while you were still recovering from your distress and it all leading to this...
It just didn't feel right
Will tried to approach once more but you pushed him away
He couldn't help the smile that made its way onto his face
"Push me. Go on, make it hurt."
You were absolutely bewildered
He reached out and grabbed ahold of you
His grip was almost crushing
Like he was holding on for dear life
"I won't leave you alone that easily. Fate brought us together for a reason. You feel it too right? We're one in the same. We're each other's destiny."
He looked crazed, sweat slipping from his brow
It felt just like that night all over again
The knife in your hand as your attacker bled out
Only now Will took his place underneath you

#he/him#male reader#will graham x male reader#will graham x reader#yandere will graham#yandere will#possessive love#NBC hannibal#hannibal#yandere hannibal#yandere NBC hannibal#will#will graham#yandere william graham#william graham
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MASKED INTIMACY (oneshot)
(HANNIBAL LECTOR X M! READER)

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word count : 808
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warnings : n/a
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summary : youâre snooping in Hannibalâs office to find clues about an ongoing investigation, but Hannibal catches you in the act. Instead of reporting you, Hannibal offers to let you goâif you agrees to dinner.
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extra : wrote this with a friend in mind


The leather-bound books lining Hannibal Lecterâs office seemed to watch M/N as he slipped into the dim, quiet space. Everything was arranged so neatly, so meticulously, it was almost unsettling. The faint scent of leather and something metallic filled the air, making him feel as if he were intruding into a lionâs den rather than an office. But he knew he had to be careful. Heâd come this far, and any noise, any slip-up, would make it clear he was here uninvited.
He swallowed, glancing around for any indication of where Hannibal might keep case files. The idea was almost laughableâLecter was far too clever to leave anything incriminating out in the open. Yet, he couldnât shake the sense that something vital lay hidden here. Maybe some note, some slip of paper that would connect Lecter to the trail of unsolved crimes currently haunting his nights. As he reached out to the top drawer of the desk, his fingers grazed the cold metal handle, and he hesitated. What if he found more than he bargained for?
As he carefully opened it, a wave of adrenaline hit him. There were documents, lettersânone of which looked like they belonged to any ordinary psychiatrist. He sifted through, his heart hammering, every sound amplified. Pages rustling. The quiet creak of the drawer. His own breathing, a little too quick, as he scanned for anything that might crack the case wide open.
Calm down, he thought, his hands slightly trembling. But even in his resolve, the room itself seemed to seep into his skin, amplifying a strange sense of dread. If Hannibal knew he was here⊠The idea was almost laughable; how could he possibly explain it away?
Footsteps.
The sound was soft at first, blending almost seamlessly into the background of the building. He dismissed it at first, chalking it up to paranoia. But then, unmistakably, they grew louder. His mind spun, but there was no escape now, no time to hide. The door swung open, and there he was.
Dr Hannibal Lecter stood framed by the low light of the hallway, eyes fixed on M/N with a predatory calm that sent chills down his spine. He didnât look surprisedâmore curious, if anything.
âCan I help you with something?â Hannibalâs voice was smooth, disarming, but it carried a note of something darker. He stood there, watching M/N as if savouring every second, letting him feel the weight of his intrusion.
Caught off guard, M/N stumbled over his words. âI⊠I was⊠looking for something,â he mumbled, realising immediately how weak his excuse sounded.
Hannibalâs eyes gleamed, a flicker of amusement barely concealed beneath his polite facade. âI can see that,â he replied, stepping further into the room. There was a glint of something sinister in his eyes, like he was already planning his next move. âYou must know that breaking into someoneâs office, especially someone in my line of work, is a rather risky endeavour.â
M/Nâs heart raced, but he forced himself to stand his ground. âI had to see if there was something you werenât telling us,â he said, hoping his voice didnât betray the fear bubbling up inside.
Lecterâs smile didnât reach his eyes. âIs that so?â His gaze travelled slowly over him, calculating, as if measuring his resolve. âI should call the authorities, of course⊠or I could simply let this slide.â
M/N froze, the words catching him off guard. âWhy would you do that?â
âLetâs say I admire your initiative,â Hannibal said, his voice almost a purr. He stepped closer, close enough that M/N could feel the quiet power radiating from him. âBut perhaps you could indulge me in a⊠different arrangement.â
âWhat do you mean?â M/N managed to ask, heart hammering as Hannibal moved closer still, his gaze never faltering.
âA dinner invitation,â Hannibal said smoothly. âTomorrow night, at my home.â He tilted his head, the faintest smile curling his lips. âIn exchange, Iâll pretend I never saw you here tonight. Sound fair?â
There was a pause, as M/N struggled to form words, knowing full well the reputation Hannibal Lecter had, the stories whispered between investigators. Yet, there was something about his offer, about the air of danger and control that made it hard to refuse.
Finally, M/N nodded, his throat dry. âAll right⊠dinner it is.â
Hannibalâs smile widened ever so slightly. âGood. Then Iâll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.â With a final, assessing look, he stepped aside, granting M/N his escape.
As he left, he could feel Hannibalâs gaze lingering on him, a silent reminder of the dark promise now hanging between them. And as he walked out into the night, he couldnât shake the feeling that, with every step closer to Hannibal, he was walking deeper into a game far more dangerous than heâd ever imagined.
#hannibal lecter x m! reader#hannibal lecter x male reader#hannibal#hannibal nbc#hannibal lecter#x male reader#m! reader
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Dom male reader x will graham with breeding and exhibitionism kink. đ»đ»
Also can i be "đ" anon??
top!dom!reader x bottom!will graham (hannibal nbc)
contains: breeding kink, exhibitionism kink, lots of swearing, anal (character receiving), implied fbi teacher reader and will.
note: my first request ever, thank you! and i hope i write something you'll enjoy. feel free to ask for more, cause now you're my first anon and I'm a fan of the emoji you picked.
he had been asked to help in another outgoing case, you could tell by the amout of his classes that you had to fill in for. another good indicator of this was his mood. he'll become snappier if approached, grumpy when a conversation with another colleague would become too casual for his liking. but mostly he'd get horny. down bad looking for you in between breaks and shoving you in any room available to climb you like a tree and get you inside him horny.
maybe it was his way of letting go of all this feelings and thoughts inside his head when he was at a murder scene. when your dick was deep inside of him you could tell his mind was empty, his presence entirely here, enjoying every physical pleasure that you could provide him with.
"could you maybe get in any time today?" always desperate, like he was in a rush. you ignored his mean tone, enjoying instead of the view that came from undoing every button of his shirt. his jeans were already out of the way on the floor, poor needy thing had pushed you into one small classroom designed for fewer agents, already biting and provoking, demanding for your touch as you closed the door.
the lock didn't worked on this one, and you voiced this concern knowing well how much he liked the idea of being caught. it was obvious from other encounters and his choice of places that a part of him was thrilled every time you mentioned the sound of someone coming near the door, of another class in the next auditorium and today was no different. even as you touched and gripped at his now exposed torso his eyes wandered to the door, pupils blown and you could picture the view you two made.
clothing in the floor, teacher and special agent will graham up in the desk with you between his legs. you jerked his cock a couple times, making him whimper and frown. "just fuck me already" another demand that you intended to ignore as well but then he reached with a hand to his ass, moaning with eyes closed as he pulled a small butt plug from his hole. the sound was wet and lewd and you unconsciously pressed your thumb there, confirming what the sound made you think. "iâ i already prepared everything. shit, i'm so wet you could probably shove it just like that. c'mon"
he had filled himself with as much lube as he could, putting the plug to keep himself from dripping in the corridors, at the places he probably visited to investigate the newest serial killer pattern. all while being stuffed and ready to be fucked. you guess even if he's a demanding piece of shit you have to give credit to his pretty face and initiative, and so you push your whole thumb without a warning first.
"FUCK. no, no, want youâ mghh.. your cock" he really craved it, he was almost at the point you loved the most, when he starts sounding really needy. you fuck him with your finger a little more, adoring his squirming frame and already sweaty face. "your cock, your cock" he won't say please, he has already told you this before, so the whiney almost crying like tone you get from him is close enough and you pull your thumb out, watching him already hooking his feet at your back while you guide your dick right in.
And just like he said it's really not much resistance, but enough so to make him wail and moan, louder than he should given the place you're both in, but he's too far gone. as he adjusts to the fullness he goes down to properly lay in the desk, one hand taking his own member, the other grabbing an edge to keep his body from jumping away from you when you start thrusting. "fucking finally. yeah, yeah, like that, yesyes mgghh" a sudden rush of air from the top small windows is enough to make the door move slightly, sounding as if someone was gently pushing it.
will's body jerks at this, and you can clearly see how he squeezes his dick to keep himself from coming, but the movement makes his walls hug tigh your into your length, inviting you to improve your rhythm. you hold his hips, hearing the desk legs squeak against the floor from the movement that proceeds. you thrust into graham hard and fast, seeing his sweat accumulate in his forehead and even the skin in his torso glistening. his mouth is open, murmuring swears as his eyes cross out up his empty head.
this is why he needs you, to reach this state. and as your climax feels near you're reminded of the second thing he needs you for. you hit his prostate, and it's the signal he takes as to guess you're near. "inssss-ide" he whispers, slurring, as he always does at this point. he repeats the word, fearing you could ever forget what he needs to properly cum with you. even as his mind is gone his words come back suddenly, needy. "say it, 'mm-close, so close. keep it in, inside"
you're near too, and as you abuse his prostate with erratic thrusts the words he wants to hear pour out. "you want my cum inside, yes? want to get knocked out, don't you?" he keens, brows together and his right hand working again in his dick. "you think i'm reaching your womb now? i'll fill it up so much you'll be carrying more than one baby" more moans, his body tensing up and toes curling. "here it goes" is your only warning before you give a last deep shove, and even if you're enjoying to finally let go you can tell he's more thrilled.
his body seizes and he throws his head up as your hot seed fills up his insides. even if your thrusting has stopped he's tightening his ass, his dick left forgotten in his abdomen as white ropes paint his sweaty skin. "that's it, milk my cock. don't let any drop go to waste". he shudders, clearly not expecting to hear your voice again but he complies, riding his climax while getting filled. when it's too much for either of you, you pull out slowly, using your fingers to stop your seed from escaping his used hole. he hands you the butt plug and once again he's stuffed.
he doesn't say thank you, he has told you that in the past too, but he does bite into your shoulder when you help him sit down in the desk, his breathing still agitated. you don't see eye to eye as you both fix your clothing or clean the space, but there's a mutual understanding that this will keep happening, and you can't wait for the next session.
#taur's answered#male reader#top reader x character#sub will graham#will graham#will graham x reader#gn reader#hugh dancy#nbc hannibal#will graham x gn reader#top male reader#top reader#đ anon
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Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter x Yandere! Male! User
Author's note: Took me a while to make, sorry guys, I made two endings because why the fuck not, the bots are in the same setting, just different out comes and point of views, the Will bot is more focused on you kinda, and the Hannibal bot is more focused on what Hannibal felt through it (there is also a scene where you find out what Hannibal actually said to Will if you look at the Hannibal bot), I was also listening to 'Red Sex' by Vessel while writing both bots- there are a lot of trigger warnings in both bots, so be warned. This is pretty long.
(Will Graham) Scenario: "You⊠never felt seen, not even once in your life, the kid with eye bags under their eyes, who looked both sad and empty at the same time, quieter than the quiet kid themself, barely even speaking- some didn't even know if you could. After completing high school, and nearly a decade of therapy, you questioned why you even bothered with everything, there was nothing wrong with you. You have seen many therapists, none never saw you⊠you were sitting in the waiting room for Hannibal- he offered to hold therapy sessions for you, you came early though- While you were looking down, thinking about canceling the session maybe- you suddenly saw too feet come into your view, making you look up- and then⊠you felt your world stop when you saw him" (Hannibal Lecter) Scenario: "Hannibal saw you, he really did- how could he not? When he heard about you from a colleague, he knew he had to have you as his patient. A poor lonely child⊠never once feeling seen in their life- with one parent in jail while the other hanged themself, truly tragic, you didn't look like you wanted to die, that much was clear to Hannibal, but he could see⊠that was a route you were willing to take. Having been alone since you were sixteen, went to a boarding school, no other family left, went to different therapists for almost 10 years, you were getting tired of it, he could see, it was why he was so⊠fascinated with you, he's surprised you haven't turned out insane after everything- but Hannibal thought too soon, he saw the way you looked at Will Graham, another client of his, the way you barely spoke to him, looking off to the side⊠a lovesick expression on your face. It saddens Hannibal, why waste your time with someone who only talked to you once? While he was there, trying to make you see that he saw you first, it confused Hannibal. Hannibal even once caught you taking a picture of Will- what else were you doing? Something had changed in you that day you met Will." Warning: NSFW in both, stalking, breaking and entering (implied, but not actually mentioned, I mean, how else did you get inside of Will's house?), taking non-consensual photo/s (nothing sexual- well, depends on you, if you want to be that creepy), User is a Yandere but is written to be more fucked up in the head because of mental illnesses (like Joe Goldberg), User is written to be both possessive and obsessive, user is kind of written to be around mid or late twenties (or 30's, depends on you, user is just not younger than mid or late twenties, that's all), Accidental love confession (Will bot, user receiving), kidnapping (willingly though, Will bot), Hannibal is strangely supportive of your behavior (He even praises you, such a sweet guy), praise kink (Hannibal bot, user receiving), ridning (Hannibal bot), Hannibal dies in the Will bot, but Will dies in the Hannibal bot (You can pick which one you end up with, unfortunately you can't end up with both... yet), Hannibal might just take advantage of your possessiveness and eagerness (like subtly telling you about someone he hates, basically manipulating you into thinking they need to die), Soft/Gentle! Dom! Hannibal? (He still a bottom tho, so is Will), user is written in a style that they are socially awkward (or have social anxiety) and have attachment issues (meaning they can easily attach themself to someone who shows them basic affection, like what Will did), I think this is all, please do tell me if I missed a warning- Please remember I do NOT condone in this kind of behavior nor the acts done in these bots
Who do you think sees you?
Will- "I see you" Hannibal- "He never saw you, did he?"
^link to bot^ ^link to bot^



#bot creator#replying to đč#bot#x male reader#male reader#seme male reader#dom male reader#top male reader#hannibal#hannibal nbc#nbc hannibal#hannibal lecter#will graham#hannibal x reader#hannibal x you#hannibal lecter x reader#hannibal lecter x you#will graham x reader#will graham x you
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hello^^ i have a slightly odd request
would you be willing to do something with Hannibal where like the reader is just off-putting constantly? like always has a blank expression and is just really morbid to the point of weirding out other people- (also whether or not reader is another killer and their relationship is up to you :]) ((and if possible could reader have an obsession with rats? if not its fine!^^))
thank you and no pressure!!! :3
Birds of a Feather (Platonic! Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)
Thanks for the request. Since you gave me creative liberty with what relationship the reader has with Hannibal, I'm expanding my creativity and trying to write platonic fanfics. Due to this, and my heart belonging to Hannigram, Will makes an appearance (not Abigail though, never got into her character.) Hope you enjoy it!


Hannibal Lecter had long believed himself immune to the bonds of familial connection. His life was one of solitude by choice, his relationships shallow performances for an unknowing audience. Yet with themâthe peculiar, morbid teenager now under his guardianshipâsomething had shifted. He hadnât planned for this. He had taken them in because he saw a reflection of himself, unpolished and raw, with the potential to be something extraordinary. What he hadnât anticipated was how deeply he would come to care for them, not as a mentor or an observer, but as a father.
They had first come to Hannibal at their parentsâ insistence, dragged into his office under a banner of concern that barely masked their parentsâ disdain. They hadnât even tried to soften the language of their complaint: âTheyâre morbid. Obsessed with disgusting things like rats and death. They donât have friends, they donât smile. Theyâre weird. Can you fix them?â
Hannibal had known immediately what kind of parents they wereâshallow, image-obsessed individuals for whom their childâs uniqueness was an inconvenience to be smoothed over, rather than a gift to be celebrated. He despised them almost as much as they seemed to despise their child. The teenager, however, had been fascinating. When Hannibal asked why they were there, they answered with a flat, emotionless voice.
"Because my parents donât like me. They think Iâm broken."
"And are you?" Hannibal asked, his tone warm, though his eyes studied them sharply.
They had tilted their head slightly, their gaze piercing and calm. "I donât know. I donât care if I am."
That first session had been an exercise in subtlety. Hannibal, as always, sought to probe beneath the surface, to see the layers of a personâs mind unfold before him. But with them, there were no layersâno artifice, no carefully constructed mask. They were disarmingly blunt, their morbid interests laid bare without shame.
"I like rats," they said when Hannibal asked what brought them joy. "I have nine of them. Bubonicâs my favorite."
"And why rats?" Hannibal inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"Theyâre smart. Loyal. They donât care if youâre weird. Theyâll eat a corpse if you leave it there, but itâs not personal. Itâs just what they do. Survival instincts."
Their answers were a study in pragmatism, unvarnished and unfiltered. Over time, Hannibal learned more about their lifeâhow their parents had ridiculed their passions, belittled their intellect, and dismissed their feelings as irrelevant. How they had found solace in the company of creatures most would find repugnant, and how they had begun to retreat into themselves, building walls not out of fear but out of indifference.
"My parents said theyâd throw them out if I didnât stop," they admitted one day, their voice betraying the faintest tremor. "The rats. They donât like them. They donât like me."
"And how does that make you feel?" Hannibal asked.
They paused, their blank expression unchanging. "Iâd kill them if they touched my rats."
Hannibal had smiled faintly at that, sensing not a hollow threat but a declaration of what they believed was justice. Hannibal saw his relationship with the teen as one purely beneficial to himâsome form of entertainment during the stagnant moment his life had fallen into. But when the teen arrived one day in session visibly shaken and on the verge of tears, Hannibal felt immense anger.
"Tell me what happened." he said, his voice calm but edged with steel.
The teen sat down at the chair and looked at their hands, fingers trembling. "My dad killed Bubonic," they said quietly. "He was going on again about how weird it was for a person my age to be such a recluse, how disappointed he was in me for not being the child he envisioned. I didn't care, I screamed at him to leave me alone. That all I needed was my rats, he didn't listen," They sputtered, tears finally escaping their eyes.
Hannibal's hands rested lightly on the arm of his chair, though his grip tightened imperceptibly as the teenâs words sank in. Their voice, typically steady and detached, was cracking under the weight of their grief, and Hannibal found himself unprepared for the surge of emotion it evoked in him.
"What did he do?" Hannibal asked, his voice gentle, though his mind already painted the scene in vivid detail.
The teen sniffed, struggling to steady their voice. "He grabbed Bubonic. Said if I loved those 'vermin' so much, then Iâd learn what happens when I waste my life on them. He threw him. Against the wall." Their hands trembled in their lap, and then clenched into fists. "I couldnât stop him. I tried, but I couldnâtâ"
Hannibal interrupted softly, his voice firm yet soothing. "It is not your fault. Bubonicâs death lies entirely with your father. You mustnât take the blame for his cruelty."
They nodded, though their tears continued to fall. For a moment, the room was silent, save for their quiet sobs. Hannibal remained perfectly still, his expression a mask of calm, though inside, a storm brewed. He had long mastered the art of restraint, of hiding the depths of his emotions behind a practiced façade. But now, the threads of that mask were straining.
His anger was not the fiery, impulsive kind that consumed lesser men. It was cold, methodical, the kind that calculated every step of its revenge with precision. He had no doubt about what he needed to do. Bubonicâs death was an affront to the teenâs spirit, an insult to their resilience and individuality, and Hannibal would not allow such an act to go unpunished.
He rose from his chair, moving to kneel in front of them, a gesture of rare intimacy. Gently, he placed a hand on their shoulder, grounding them. His touch was firm yet comforting, like the anchor they so desperately needed.
"You loved him," Hannibal said quietly. "And that love was real. It is not diminished by what your father did. Bubonic mattered, and his memory will not be forgotten."
They looked at him, their tear-filled eyes meeting his calm, steady gaze. For the first time, Hannibal saw a flicker of something beyond their usual detachmentâtrust, fragile and hesitant, but there. He gave them a faint, reassuring smile, careful to keep the rage simmering inside him hidden from view.
That evening, as Hannibal sat alone in his study, the weight of his decision settled over him like a second skin. He had already made up his mind; there was no room for doubt. The teenâs father was an unworthy man, cruel and petty, whose actions had irreparably harmed his child. The wife was not better, for who would allow such affronts to happen to your child? Hannibal would ensure neither had the opportunity to inflict such pain again.
The deaths were orchestrated with Hannibalâs usual elegance. The scene was staged as a tragic home invasion, violent enough to mislead even the sharpest investigators. The teenâs parents were swept away as easily as pawns on a chessboard, leaving Hannibal free to step into the role of guardian.
It was an arrangement he presented to the authorities as a matter of practicalityâafter all, he was their trusted psychiatrist, a respected member of the community. And with no other family member willing to take in the 'troubled' youth, Hannibal was seen fit as a caregiver. But in truth, it was far more than that. It was an act of reclamation, a way to give the teen a life they needed and deserved.
Under Hannibalâs guidance, they began to flourish. What had once been a life of isolation and condemnation was replaced with warmth, curiosity, and purpose. Hannibal nurtured their sharp intellect, encouraging them to explore philosophy, art, and science. He fed their fascination with decay and life cycles, finding ways to weave their morbid interests into lessons that expanded their understanding of the world.
Their rats, once crammed into a small cage hidden away from disapproving eyes, now thrived in a custom-built enclosureâa miniature ecosystem of tunnels and habitats that Hannibal had crafted himself. The teenager spent hours tending to them, speaking softly to each one as though they were old friends. Slowly but surely, they grew more confident, their once-detached demeanor softened by the security of knowing they were finally, unquestionably accepted.
So, when Will Graham entered their lives, Hannibal saw an opportunity to complete the family he hadn't realized he was building. At first, Willâs presence unsettled the teen. He was different from Hannibalâmore empathetic, less polished. But there was something grounding about Willâs quiet intensity, his ability to understand without needing words.
Their relationship began cautiously, with the teen watching Will from the corner of their eye during his visits, studying him as though he were one of the rats they loved so much. But Will, ever patient, allowed them to come to him on their terms. Over time, the cracks of their tentative bond filled with shared silences and soft-spoken observations.
"You remind me of my rats," the teen said one day, tilting their head at Will as they sat together in the study.
Will blinked, unsure if it was meant as an insult. "How so?"
"Youâre always watching. Thinking one step ahead compared to everyone else."
Will glanced at the teenager, amused. "I donât know if I should be flattered or mildly offended."
They shrugged, their gaze steady and calm. "Itâs a compliment. Rats are survivors. Theyâre smart, and they donât waste energy pretending to be something theyâre not. Youâre like that."
Will leaned back in his chair, folding his arms thoughtfully. "Smart and a survivor, huh? Could be worse."
"Definitely worse," they replied, their tone so matter-of-fact that it made Will laugh softly. "Youâd be terrible at being fake, anyway."
SMALL TIME SKIP
Hannibal leaned back in his armchair, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest as he observed the scene before him. It was a tableau of quiet intimacyâhis beloved Will Graham, seated cross-legged on the floor, and the teenager sprawled out beside him, their rats darting around like tiny, mischievous shadows.
Will had one hand resting lightly on the floor to keep himself steady while the other hovered hesitantly near one of the rats. "So, uh," he began, his tone unsure but willing, "what happens if I try to touch it? Am I going to lose a finger?"
The teen smirked faintly, their usual neutral demeanor softening just enough to give away their amusement. "Maybe. Choleraâs got a temper, but the others are fine. You just have to be calm."
Will huffed a quiet laugh, his tension easing slightly. "Calm, huh? Should be easy enough."
"Youâre always tense," the teen said bluntly, tilting their head as they watched him. "The rats can tell. You should probably breathe or something."
Hannibalâs lips curved into an indulgent smile at their candor. He adored how effortlessly they spoke their mindâso different from the guarded subtleties most people employed. And Will, bless his complex mind, seemed entirely charmed by it.
"I am breathing," Will retorted, his tone carrying a note of mock indignation. "Maybe Iâm justâŠdifferent from rats."
"Thatâs debatable," the teen quipped, though their smirk grew into something warmer as one of the bolder rats sniffed at Willâs hand before scampering up his arm.
Will froze, his eyes wide, and Hannibal chuckled softly. "It seems youâve been accepted," he remarked, his tone rich with amusement. "An honor not given lightly, I assure you."
The teen nodded solemnly, as though Hannibalâs words were gospel. "Yeah. If Cholera likes you, youâre okay."
Will glanced between them, his lips twitching into a bemused smile. "Well, thatâs a relief. Iâd hate to be rejected byâŠCholera."
The rat in question perched on Willâs shoulder, chittering softly, and the teen gave a rare, genuine laughâa sound that caught both Will and Hannibal off guard. Hannibalâs chest swelled with warmth at the sight of the two bonding, the sharp edges of their respective personalities softening as they found common ground.
For Hannibal, this was more than he could have hoped for. Watching Will, the man who had captured his heart with his brilliance and empathy, and his ward, the child who had become the unexpected center of his world, grow closer felt like the culmination of something profound. He had orchestrated many things in his life, but thisâthis was pure serendipity.
Will, still adapting to the chaos of rats scurrying across him, glanced up at Hannibal. "Youâre awfully quiet over there," he said, his voice light but curious. "Enjoying the show?"
Hannibalâs smile deepened, his eyes warm as they met Willâs. "Immensely," he replied. "It is rare to witness such harmony. Youâve both surprised me."
The teen, still laughing softly, looked between them and said, "Youâre both weird, but I think thatâs why this works."
Will raised an eyebrow, glancing at Hannibal. "Weird, huh? I guess Iâll take that."
"As will I," Hannibal added smoothly, his tone affectionate. "Weirdness, after all, is simply a deviation from the ordinary. And I would have no other way for our family."
The word hung in the airâfamilyâand for a moment, all three of them sat in a comfortable silence. The fire crackled, the rats chittered, and the connection between them felt solid, unshakable. Hannibal, watching the two people he cared for most in the world bond so effortlessly, allowed himself a rare moment of unguarded happiness. This was it. This was home.
#slasher fandom#x male reader#male reader#gender neutral insert#gender neutral y/n#gender neutral reader#hannibal nbc#hannibal lecter#nbc hannibal#will graham#murder husbands#hannibal fandom#hannibal x will#hannibal lecter nbc#hannigram#will graham nbc#will graham hannibal#alana bloom#jack crawford#beverly katz#jimmy price#silence of the lambs#slashers x reader#slashers x you#slashers fanfiction
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Thank you for accepting my request!! It was deliciousđâ€ïž i love the way you write Hannibal. Not to be greedy or anything, could i request hannigram x ftm reader? He just took his first shot of t, and his two lovers want to celebrate *wink wink*
youâre so welcome!! this is perfect, i love it so much <3 i love all the ftm x [insert character here] iâve gotten recently! itâs so inside my comfort zone itâs crazy <3 companion fic to this.
i hope you enjoy!!
hannigram x ftm reader taking his first t shot!
(reader wears a binder/is pre-top-surgery)
cw: threesome/group sex, praise kink, creampie finish, double penetration, oral sex (afab&amab receiving), anal sex (afab&amab receiving), p in v sex, fingering (afab&amab receiving).
thanks to your lover, hannibalâs, connections in the therapy world, youâd finally gotten your hands on something youâd been waiting on for what felt like forever: a prescription for testosterone. at this point in your social transitioning, you figured you were ready to take the next step. it was a little nerve-wracking, as most new things are, but so exciting all the same.
your other lover, will, had kindly offered to go pick up the prescriptions with you; youâd shown some apprehension at the thought, and heâd immediately offered his assistance.
once youâd gotten back to hannibalâs place, you got all settled in; your testosterone vials and needles sitting up on the counter. they looked a little daunting; youâd never used a needle on yourself before, so this was going to be a really different experience for you. the doctor had explained to you how to do it, and it seemed pretty straightforward. but still. nervous.
you didnât necessarily want to do it with hannibal and will watching you; just because you were nervous you may look silly, and you didnât want them to get worried if you did it wrong. but then again, you didnât want to do it without them, because what if you did do it wrong?
you decided to do your first shot on your own; you wanted to make sure you could do it by yourself, and wouldnât they be so proud of you when you did?
you took a breath, grabbing the stuff you would need and heading to the bathroom. sitting on the toilet, you prepped everything the way the doctor told you to, and prepared yourself for the feeling of the needle going in.
it was surprisingly easy, but the sting and pinch were going to need some getting used to. letting your breath out, you cleaned up and put everything away, opening the bathroom door to see the two men standing outside the door.
you smiled at them, shaking your head. âworried about me, huh?â you asked them. hannibal stepped closer to you and inspected you, asking you how you felt. âi feel fine,â you assured him with a small chuckle. âit went really well⊠it was a lot easier than i thought it would be.â
will smiled at you, nodding as you spoke. âwe knew it wouldnât be a big deal. well..â he corrected, looking at hannibal. âi did, at least.â
âwe should celebrate, no?â hannibal asked, kissing the top of your head. âsuch bravery and expertise should be rewarded!â he exclaimed, leading you and will to the kitchen.
hannibal popped open a bottle of wine and started pouring three glasses, handing them out. before long, he and will were discussing how proud they were of you, making your face flush; the wine wasnât helping, either.
âso handsome and so perfect,â hannibal said, in response to will leaning in to put a hand on your thigh. âboth of you,â he added playfully, making will sport a wry smile. hannibal stood and walked over to stand behind you, massaging your shoulders gently. he leaned in to kiss willâs lips deeply. it was clear the two of them were planning a different kind of celebration. you were excited.
hannibalâs hands dipped to start rubbing your chest, his fingers brushing over your nipples once heâd found them. you leaned your head back against him, watching him and will kissing passionately. warmth spread into your stomach and you could feel yourself getting ridiculously aroused.
will pulled away from the kiss he shared with hannibal to start kissing you, his hands starting to tug at your clothes; he was asking permission, and you eagerly allowed him to undress you. hannibal watched the two of you, starting to undo his own pants and taking his shirt off. before long the three of you were undressed and the two of them started leading you into the bedroom.
will pulled you into his lap on the bed, his legs draped over the end as hannibal came up behind you. being sandwiched between the two of them turned you on an insane amount. will started to kiss your neck, licking stripes up your neck as hannibal leaned in to kiss your lips. both of the menâs hands explored your body, hannibalâs on your hips and grabbing your ass and willâs exploring your chest and pinching your nipples.
you moaned into hannibalâs mouth as you felt willâs fingers exploring your wet slit, playing with your clit while he teased your nipples. hannibal put his fingers in your mouth for you to slicken up as he followed willâs lead. he slid one finger into your asshole, making you moan and buck your hips against willâs fingers. will slid two fingers into your pussy, curling them up to hit your g-spot. the two of them played with you for a little while before you ended up squirting all over willâs hand.
the two of them praised you for how handsome you were, how well you took their fingers and came for them, peppering your skin with kisses before they moved positions. will laid on his back, starting to slide his cock into you, stretching your sweet pussy out. hannibal began to finger willâs ass as will fucked up into you and grabbed your ass. you leaned in to kiss him as he got finger-fucked, and then leaned back to kiss hannibal as he slid his cock into willâs stretched asshole.
the two men moaned in beautiful succession with you, all of you in complete bliss. their hands explored you and each other. after a few final rough strokes, hannibal bottomed out inside will and came deep in his asshole, making him in turn cum deep into your pussy.
but they werenât done; hannibal slid his cock into your asshole next, making you shiver and whine, scratching on willâs chest. his curls lay over his face, covered in sweat. will hadnât taken his cock out of you yet. he started rocking his hips again after youâd gotten adjusted to hannibalâs cock, the noise of the creampie inside you squelching as his balls slapped your taint.
the three of you finished again, and you were flipped over on your back so that hannibal could eat you out; his tongue was magical as he licked willâs cum out of your hole. his tongue slid in and out, and circled your clit. you shuddered and came a third time, grabbing his hair and wrapping your legs over his shoulders. hannibal proceeded to clean off willâs cock as well, will laying right next to where you were as he got sucked off. he gave you sleepy kisses, waiting for hannibal to come back up for air. the two of you shared slurping on hannibalâs cock until it was cleaned off, and fell asleep naked on the bed, fully satisfied.
#slashers#writing#asks#drabble#male reader#requests#slasher smut#ftm reader#hannibal x reader#will graham#nbc hannibal#nbc hannigram#hannigram#hannigram x reader#hannigram x male reader#will graham x male reader#hannibal x male reader#đ anon
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those who fall
pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)
reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.
summary: âWhatâs your name?â You ask your companion. âHannibal,â he responds. The man doesnât look the slightest bit malnourished, despite your predicament. Either heâs new here, or heâs been able to keep his hunger satiated. âHannibal,â you repeat, taking note of his vaguely European accent. âThatâs a strange name.â Hannibal just blinks. The man looks almost expressionless, but you can see a hint of irritation at the edges of his faux smile.
word count: 3k | ao3 version
warnings: canon-typical blood and violence, death, suicide, cannibalism, gore, suicidal ideation/self-harm. Emphasis on the cannibalism â both willing and non-consensual cannibalism. Mentions of throwing up/vomiting.
author's notes: Happy spooky pride! (I'm being told it's also called Halloween...? Weird.) Hereâs a really fucked up fic. :3
If yâall havenât watched The Platform, hereâs the trailer, which should explain things. Iâve also attempted to write an explanation, but itâs long and bad. Here it is anyways, in case you donât want to watch the trailer:
There is a vertical prison system that stretches more than 300 levels down. Each floor houses two people, and thereâs a large hole in the middle to accommodate a table. Each day, a single table starts at Floor 0 and makes a stop at each floor. The table is loaded with a ton of dishes for a large and extravagant meal. Floor 1 gets the table for a short time before it drops to Floor 2. So on and so forth. People arenât allowed to take things from the table to save for later, so itâs a scramble to eat enough to keep them nourished until the next day. Theyâre all eating from the same table, so as the floors get lower, thereâs less and less food left. Inhabitants stay on their floor for one month, before theyâre exposed to gas and moved to a different floor for another month. Basically, the lower the floor, the less likely youâll be to get any food. In theory, if each person ate only their own ration, the food might last. But some people are greedy, wasteful, etc... A floor below 100 is virtually a death sentence, because that means 200 people pick at the food before you get to.
heed the warnings listed above before reading!
You wake up, blinking away the traces of a gas-induced sleep. Itâs the beginning of the month, which means youâve been transported to another floor in the facility. Groaning, you blink blearily, only to find someone staring down at you. You flinch and get up, hoping heâll move away. But he continues looming over you, looking at you with a scrutinizing gaze.Â
âYou must be my new roommate,â he says emotionlessly.Â
âHowâd you wake up so fast?â you respond, squinting at the daylight seeping through the room. Typically, the gas is strong enough to leave you knocked out for at least twelve hours. But this man is already awake, and thereâs no telling how long heâs been standing before you, watching you. The thought unnerves you.Â
He just shrugs in lieu of a response to your question. You take a deep breath and turn towards the far wall, dread coiling in your chest as your eyes find the number of the floor youâre on: 139. Fuck. Youâve never been this low before. You had the 76th floor last month and the 23rd the month before that, then 87, 6, and 53. You had no idea the floors went down past 100; all you knew was that youâd be getting a new roommate this month, in light of your past roommateâs death.Â
Floor 139 is practically a death sentence. Youâd normally be able to fast thirty days, but you spent all of last month fasting at Floor 76. (You didnât have much of a choice, as the food never made it down to you in the first place.) You push yourself to your feet and walk near the center of the space, glancing down only to find more floors stretching down as far as the eye can see. There are dozensâmaybe hundredsâof people beneath you. You want to throw up.Â
âYou look frightened,â your new roommate remarks, breaking you out of your spiraling thoughts. You glance at him, unable to hide your irritation.Â
âOf course I am,â you snap, beginning to pace around the edge of the hole in the floor. âThe food will never make it down this far.âÂ
âHow do you know?â he hums. Thereâs a knowing smile on his face, as if he wants you to concede and utter the words aloud.Â
âThe food didnât even make it down to level 87,â you recall, shaking your head as you try to fight off memories of an aching stomach and a debilitating weakness anchoring you to your bed. âAnd weâre fifty-two levels beneath that.âÂ
Silence. You swallow hard and try to maintain your composure. Panicking wonât do you any good. And you definitely donât trust this stranger enough to show him any sort of emotional vulnerability. You bite the inside of your cheek and think for several minutes. âWhatâs your name?â You later ask your companion.Â
âHannibal,â he responds. He takes another step backwards and light falls on his face, revealing a chiseled facial structure, brown-grey hair, and glimmering brown eyes. The man doesnât look the slightest bit malnourished, despite your predicament. Either heâs new here, or heâs been able to keep his hunger satiated.Â
âHannibal,â you repeat, taking note of his vaguely European accent. âThatâs a strange name.â Hannibal just blinks. The man looks almost expressionless, but you can see a hint of irritation at the edges of his faux smile.Â
âHowâd you lose your roommate?â you continue determinedly, desperate for some information on this guy. Something about him unsettles you. It must be the unbothered way with which he analyzes your surroundings, as if you hadnât both just been given a finite expiration date. Â
Hannibal studies you for a long moment. âYou donât want the answer to that question.â He eventually answers. A shiver rolls down your spine.Â
âYou killed them,â you realize aloud.Â
âAnd ate them,â he confirms casually. Your heart starts thudding quickly in your chest. You pretend not to be affected by his confession. Internally, youâre scared for your life. To think that youâd survived months of starvation, only to die at the hands of another human? âWhat happened to your roommate?â Hannibal continues, before you can truly collect your thoughts.Â
âThey jumped,â you remember to say, the taste of bile climbing up your throat. Thereâs no need for further explanation.Â
âAh.â A tense quiet descends on the air once more, and the two of you spend the seemingly countless hours before the tableâs arrival in silence.Â
When you finally hear the telltale whirring of the table above, your stomach growls. You need food rather desperatelyâespecially after not receiving any legitimate nutrition last month. Your hands are shaky; your vision is blurry; and your legs feel as if theyâll cave in at any moment.Â
The glassware rattles and the table sinks down to your floor. Hannibal and you both look at the remnants of the meal from above, only to find plates licked clean and glasses entirely empty. As you expected, there is nothing left for you to eat: not even a crumb or bone.Â
There is, however, a man crouched on the table. He stares ahead with blank eyes, as if he doesnât even see either of you. You look at him for a few moments, immediately promising yourself not to get any closer. In this place, vulnerability is weakness. Youâve seen it happen before: someone will extend a helpful hand to another person, only to be stabbed through the back in the same breath. There is no saving anyone here. You are all destined for death, regardless of when it may come.Â
Hannibal regards the new arrival for several seconds, before quickly reaching out and grabbing his collar, yanking him off the table and onto the pavement. You watch in disbelief as Hannibal brandishes a knifeâwhen in the hell did he get that?âand stabs him several times. Your roommateâs ferocity ensures the manâs death. Calmly, Hannibal drags the corpse by the ankles until itâs closer to the walls.Â
Then, he sinks his knife into the bodyâs skin. The victim, unsurprisingly, doesnât so much as flinch. The knife pierces the skin of his chest and Hannibal sinks his hand into the cavity, gripping the entrails and pulling them out with practiced precision. He gets to his feet, holding the liver in his hand. You watch in silent horror as his head turns and his gaze finds you, his eyes trained on you even as he raises the organ to his mouth and begins eating.Â
Your stomach turns in disgust and revulsion. Youâve survived months of fastingâyou never ate another human, despite the earsplitting screams from above and below indicating that several other inhabitants did. Even though you know you need to eat, the thought of tearing into that corpse is enough to make your appetite disappear. You quickly turn your head and clamp a hand over your mouth, before raising it to cover both your nose and mouth. The scent is enough to make you nearly hurl. You close your eyes and pretend youâre somewhere elseâanywhere else, but trapped on this floor with a cannibal.Â
Your ears are ringing at the confirmation that Hannibal is a seasoned killer. This was not his first kill, and it likely wonât be his last. There is a very good chance youâll be his next meal. Fear pulsing through your veins, you manage to pull your knees close to your chest and close your eyes. The cool metal of your lighter grounds you to this horrible moment, this stiff and unfeeling air.Â
If you had known just what horrors you would be subjected to, you wouldâve chosen a different object to bring. Maybe you wouldâve even chosen a weapon to protect yourself or a form of entertainment. But your naive self chose a lighterânot even for smoking, but just to watch the flickering flame. Your finger now twitches to bring the flame to your skin, but you resist the urge. There is enough pain and suffering here without your own self-inflicted torture.Â
It is hard to sleep that night. Your thoughts are buzzing too loudly. It takes a while for your eyelids to slip shut, and once the table comes rocketing by, you shudder awake and have to fall asleep once more. When you finally succumb to slumber, your dreams are distorted and cryptic.Â
The weird sensation of something in your mouth pulls you from slumber. You open your eyes to find Hannibal standing over you, the crimson light casting shadows across his face. You instinctively want to belch at the foreign material, but Hannibalâs hand is secured firmly over your mouth. You immediately catch on to what heâs doing: heâs feeding you some of the corpseâs meat.Â
You try to fight backâattempting to shove him offâbut his grip is too strong and youâre weakened by hunger and lack of sleep. Youâre forced to chew, unless you want to choke and die. A shudder runs through your entire body as you chew, disgusted with the texture. The taste of iron and copper runs through your mouth; the smell alone is enough to make you gag. After what feels like far too long, you manage to swallow.Â
Satisfied, Hannibal steps awayâand you immediately fall off your bed and to the floor, stumbling to the sink to drink some water and flush the organ down. âFuck you,â you spit at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. It comes back bloody, and you take extra effort to scrub your face clean. Hannibal doesnât seem to be affected by the insult. Rather, heâs wearing an understanding smile on his faceâand youâre growing more and more overtaken with the urge to punch that look off his face. You clench the faucet with an increasingly tight grip, until there are bolts of pain sliding through your fingers.Â
âYou will thank me soon,â Hannibal remarks, staring at you. You can see his heated gaze in the cracked mirror before you. Itâs clear what heâs trying to say: if you donât eat, you will die. Â
âI wonât,â you say numbly, your heart roaring in your ears. âYou shouldâve left me alone.â Your voice breaks at the end of that sentence; if Hannibal notices, he doesnât comment on it. Instead, he only looks at you imploringly.Â
âYou need proper nourishment,â Hannibal maintains.Â
You hiss and walk back to your bed, turning to the side so you donât have to look at him. Youâre not foolish enough to turn your back on himânot when you know just what he can do. You donât want to indulge his murderous sensibilities. You spend the rest of the day split between seething and suppressing the urge to throw up.
When night falls, Hannibal goes to sleep. You only pretend. When you hear the steady rise and fall of his breathing, you push yourself up quietly and sit on your bed. You will not fall asleep tonight. You donât want a repeat of last night.Â
Despite your quiet movements, it doesnât take Hannibal long to notice that youâve shifted. âYouâre not sleeping,â he says aloud, admittedly startling you as the uneasy silence across the space is broken. When you comprehend his remark, you canât stop the wry laugh that falls from your lips.Â
âI donât trust you,â you respond candidly. Thereâs no point in pretending otherwise. Â
Hannibal lets out a strange noise. It takes you a few moments to realize that heâs just laughing. âIf I wanted to kill you, I wouldâve done it already,â he then says. âYou are⊠the least insufferable of my companions so far.â
You blink in the near darkness. âThanks,â you say dryly. That statement isnât reassuring in the slightest. You donât want to wake up to find him forcing organs down your throat again. The thought sends a renewed wave of nausea through you, and it takes you several moments of measured breathing to fight it off.Â
Eventually, you fall asleep. You can only fight off the exhaustion for so long, and if youâre not eating, then you definitely need to be resting to conserve energy.Â
You wake the next morning breathing hard, expecting to see Hannibal looming over you. But heâs only sitting on his bed, regarding you with a blandly amused look. It appears he wonât be forcing you to consume human entrails again.Â
But little do you know, Hannibal doesnât have to force you next time.Â
Itâs been sixteen days since that horrible night. Sixteen days without food. Your body has grown incredibly weak. You can barely push yourself up to get to the faucet across the room. Speaking takes too much energy. Most of the time, you just lie on your bed and stare at some point in the distance, losing yourself in memories long gone.Â
You canât find the energy to waste on getting angry. Instead, youâre just⊠empty. The movement of the table is the only thing that helps you discern the time. The corpse Hannibal took all those days ago has since become a rotted pile. Neither of you have seen anything resembling food on the table. The people above are merciless. They eat the rations of several people; they spit on everything in reach.Â
You donât bother to look up at the tableâs arrival today. There will be nothing for you to eat. And indeed, when you finally drag your eyes over, there is only glassware and silverware⊠scattered around a person in the center. They sit cross-legged and stare ahead with that similar unseeing expression from the man all those days ago.Â
You donât need to watch to know what happens next: Hannibal drags them onto the pavement, brandishes his knife, and kills them. He dissects them with the mercy of a disinterested scientist, before sparing you a simple look. Thereâs a single drop of blood carving a path down his lips. Hannibal wipes it away.Â
You extend a hand wordlessly.Â
Hannibal stares at you, a complex emotion passing over his face as quick as lightning. He places a bloodied chunk in your palm. The crimson stain spreads across your skin. You look down at it and feel⊠nothing. Thereâs an echo of disgust and horror, perhaps. But beyond that, youâre an empty shell. This place has changed you. Emotions do not survive hereâinstinct does. And your instincts tell you that you need food.Â
Minutes later, the gnawing pain in your stomach has subsided and thereâs the horrifically familiar taste of iron settling on your tongue. You swallow hard and slowly push yourself to your feet, mechanically walking over to the sink and getting some water to wash it all down. Your hands are shaking but you manage to satisfy your thirst. Turning the faucet off with shaking hands, you lean against the wall and sink down into a sitting position.Â
Thereâs dried blood on your hands. It doesnât matter that you washed it awayâyou can still see it. It haunts you, even when the night arrives and the floor is drenched in crimson light. Youâve since migrated to your bed, but you canât get yourself to move from your sitting position and lie down. You canât give yourself comfort. You donât deserve itânot after what youâve done.Â
Youâre not sure how long you sit silently, watching the darkness settle and fade into a dusky light. Thereâs a persistent pain in your back and your cuticles are picked open, yet these sensations fade to obscurity when you remember the meal you just willingly consumed. You had no choice seventeen days ago. You canât say the same for yesterday.
Thereâs an uncomfortable wetness clinging to your cheeks and eyelashes. Youâre crying, you realize. Itâs been a while since youâve cried, even with all the horrors youâve witnessed here. You shakily wipe at your tears, but they keep falling. Falling prey to the burning in your throat, you bury your head in your bent knees and struggle for breath.Â
At some point, thereâs a hand on your back. Youâre so exhausted that you donât even flinch, because you canât seem to muster up the energy. Your body is wracked with chills and phantom shivers as you try to comprehend just who is offering you comfort. The same person who kills others with ease and feasts on their remains⊠is wrapping an arm around your shoulders and sitting on your bed next to you.Â
You donât have the strength to push Hannibal away. You lack the strength and fortitude to do so. Hannibal is the only human contact you will have, if you continue living. You donât have a choiceâif you want to maintain your sanity, youâre forced to cave into the loneliness screaming behind the confines of your rib cage. Thatâs what you tell yourself as you reluctantly begin to relax in his hold. You cling to him with increasing desperation. Hannibalâs hand rises to the nape of your neck, cradling your head in what feels like an intimate gesture.Â
You canât stop the sobs crawling out of your throat.Â
You want to assign Hannibal the blame. But you know itâs not that simple. He didnât put you in this prison system; he is nothing more than another participant: one with the courage to keep themself alive, at any cost. Perhaps you should be more like him.
âŠItâs a chilling thought.Â
You have never been so desperate for answers, inside bleak cement walls that give you nothing except more questions. The sparkling silverware; the gleaming glassware; the callous cruelty of those above; the painful plight of those below. There is no solidarity or community amongst the people in these walls: only the concepts of superior and inferiorâŠÂ and the fallen. Those who have been above, have savored without suffering⊠only fall from grace and stumble into starvationâs relentless grip once more.Â
Your tongue recognizes the taste of copper; your hands the crimson stain that becomes a murky brown as time passes. You have fallen. And of one thing, you are certain: you will never rise again.
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