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You’re mindlessly tapping your pen on your desk, bouncing your leg, waiting for class to begin. It’s only been 3 months into the semester, and the psychology professor has already been switched out. What for, you wonder? Who truly knows.. however, a little birdie (your floor mates, who knew seemingly more than you did) told you that it was due to a recently discovered affair between the professor and one of his teaching assistants. That was the extent of it, and the curiosity of who the teaching assistant was, was eating at you like a fat tick. How could someone so young get with someone so old? And not to mention, their professor. Professor! It was absurd. The power imbalance must’ve been so draining, so advantageous. But was it even true, is the question? Tired, you go through the sticky notes left around your notebook. English paper due.. midterms coming up soon (study!!!)... calculus final: December 15, 8am, in the chemistry lecture hall.. You groan quietly, closing your eyes, rubbing your temple to soothe an oncoming headache. Your headaches have been constant since starting university, and you might not even know what it feels like to not have one anymore. You dig around your bag, through the mess of papers, pens, snack wrappers, a book you forgot about, the calico critters you carry around, until you find your small bottle of ibuprofen. You swallow two dryly, wincing at the feel, but shrugging it off. It’ll help…
Your eyesight blurs as your mind drifts back to your busy schedule (should you attend discussion later…?), mindlessly tracing the tip of your pen around the edge of your lips. Snapping out of it when you hear the classroom door open, and everyone quiet with curiosity on who the new professor is, your gaze wanders as well. You uncross your legs, sitting up straighter and brushing your hair out of your face. The new professor strolls in, captivating the attention of everyone– he’s tall, middle-aged (that sounds so bad, old, but he looks good for his age, honestly), with eyes so brown, you feel like you’re staring into a hot cup of coffee (oh.. how you’d kill for some right about now). He’s generally handsome, well-dressed, and walks confidently. Suddenly, you’re not thinking about your schedule, midterms, your paper due.. Just, him. Who was this man? Had you seen him around before, was he new? Had he ever been stung by a bee, or a wasp, or neither? Where did he live, what color were the walls of his apartment? Did he paint them himself? When was the last time you talked to your parents??
He clears his throat, looking around at the class, a small smile on his lips.
“Good afternoon, students. Due to the… misfortune of your last professor, I will be filling his place until further notice. My name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, and you may address me as such. I am not permanent, merely a placeholder, as I do not possess the qualifications to be a professor. I am simply a very accomplished psychiatrist.” He smiles at the last part.
He sets his briefcase down on his desk with a low thud. He turns back to the class, arms crossed behind his back.
“Now, would anyone care to tell me where you left off before the abrupt pause in your teachings?”
A meek girl raises her hand, a small blush on her cheeks. You almost scoff at it. He nods to her, and she speaks, informing him we were just beginning to study Sigmund Freud. He nods again, thanking her.
“A very interesting man to read, though I find it hard to see any truth in his beliefs and findings. Now, where to start…”
His voice drifts off in your mind, your mind once again occupied. You notice his funny accent. Where could it be from…? It was heavily unfamiliar to you, furrowing your brows. Is it.. European? But if so, from where? What part? And was that a little lisp you heard as well? You smile absentmindedly to yourself, thinking about this man with a lisp. This man, so composed, handsome, put together, with suits that look like they cost more than your crummy apartment, with.. a lisp? That seemed so juvenile. It couldn’t be.. maybe it was just his accent, and you’re being stupid, again. But imagine..
Without it meaning to, you get so lost in your thoughts that you giggle quietly, immediately regretting it and covering your mouth. By now, Dr. Lecter is writing down a few key points on Freud’s main beliefs, his observation of little girls without fathers who seek out men to act as a paternal figure once older. He stops, turning, his eyes brushing over everyone before landing on you. You blush, embarrassed, and try to brush it off with a small cough. His eyes bore into you, but he’s not angry, he’s not anything– his expression is just stone, serious, unreadable. You feel small under it. He studies you for a second before you clear your throat.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Lecter.. just couldn’t get these pills down..” You chuckle awkwardly, smiling, making a ‘silly me’ motion with your hands. Some people turn to look at you, others not caring at all, a few relieved at the pause so they can catch up on their notes. “Continue, please..” Your voice trails off quietly at the end as he turns back around to continue his very rudely interrupted lecture.
You shut your eyes tight, rubbing your temples, utterly embarrassed. You couldn’t exactly care less for the new professor, your mind too busy with other things to admire him as adamantly as your peers… you sigh, shaking your head to pull yourself together. You jot down everything he’s talking about, quiet and still for the rest of the lecture (haha, Lecter). An hour and a half pass by, the rest of the lecture, and Dr. Lecter wraps up his lesson. He is much quicker than the last professor, much more efficient in the way he speaks and teaches for someone without the proper qualifications. As you listen to him mention the small assignment he’ll leave, you put your notebook and pen away, zipping it up, although the zipper is silent in the midst of 200 students getting up to leave the room. You get up as well, and half of the lecture hall has been emptied already. You sigh, slinging your bag over your shoulder and patting down your skirt with it (technically, you shouldn’t due to the jeans under them, but whatever, right?). As you make your way out, mind already drifting, you hear Dr. Lecter clear his throat and speaks to you. You turn around, thinking you’re mistaken, but he’s looking directly at you. You look back at the few students left who also noticed, wondering if it’s for them, but he waves his hand at them. They turn back around and make their way out of the lecture hall. You turn back to Dr. Lecter, suddenly very shy and nervous.
You shuffle your feet under you, holding onto your bag. You don’t speak because you’re afraid it’ll come out as a tiny squeak. Looking down at your feet, your face heats up, creating a light pink blush on your cherub cheeks. Dr. Lecter continues staring at you, seemingly observing you, so you inevitably decide to speak.
“If this is.. about my interruption, I’m really, truly sorry. I didn’t mean to.. I just get so lost in my own thoughts sometimes that–” Dr. Lecter tuts at you, shushing you, and you surprisingly listen.
“Don’t apologize. I am more curious than anything. Tell me, how often does that happen?”
“What, are you going to psychoanalyze me?” You smile awkwardly, finally getting a closer look at his face. You notice his partially grey stubble, fitting in with his neat hair, also slightly grey. You notice his aftershave, the way his forearms look with his dress shirt rolled up. You quickly look away, acting like you’re just going back to looking at your shoes.
“No, no,” He chuckles. “I am merely curious. But.. if I am prying, do let me know. You don’t have to tell me anything. After all, I am just your professor.”
A small wave of butterflies make their way through your stomach as he says that.
You sigh. “It doesn’t happen often, nothing is wrong with me. I’m just busy and I get very stressed when busy..” You bring your gaze back up to his towering one. Your big eyes look right into his stern ones and you attempt to smile, to hopefully convince him you’re not just insane. “It won’t happen again, Dr. Lecter.. I promise.”
He smiles and nods, crossing his arms now as he leans against his desk. Now, you get the grip he had on everyone when he first entered. But before you can continue, you tear your gaze away from the mysterious, imposing figure and smile at him again. You say goodbye and turn around, exiting the lecture hall, with no response, not even a creak of the old desk he was using to support his weight. You feel his intense gaze on you as you walk away, feeling like a lamb being stalked by a lone wolf.. or could that just be your imagination? Who knows at this point…
Certainly not you, too naive to even comprehend how much you’ve piqued the new professor’s interest, and buried deep, locked away, a new desire to learn more about you and your psyche. His newfound intrigue in this little doe, you.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Once in your lonely, small apartment, you get to work on all of your missing assignments. You save the English paper for last, seemingly as a treat, due to your love for writing and how natural it all is for you. Hours go by, you order food, go down to the lobby to pick it up, see your floor mates and say hi, awkwardly see someone who flirted with you while you were rushing to make sure your laundry hadn’t been moved from the laundry room. It’s starting to get very cold outside as the fall ends and winter approaches, and you shiver, even in your fuzzy sweater and bunny slippers. Once back up, you settle down to eat quickly before you get back to studying. As you munch away, you gaze over at your small apartment. You see the pile of laundry in the corner, a reminder of all the other things you have to do. At least you have a lot of clothes, right? Too much for your own good.. so how could you run out so quickly? You sigh, relaxing and getting up to get another cup of coffee, although your coffee pot is down to its last few sips. Your eyes land on the coffee, reminders of your new psychology professor swirling through your mind, the way the milk you pour in swirls, and the memory of his eyes are gone. You wonder, wonder, wonder if you should.. but it’s most likely a very bad idea, right? Why would you do any of that and potentially ruin your own perspective, hm? Or should you? Well…. there’s never any harm in it. After all, you’re only a girl.
You make your way back to your laptop, keyboard scattered with papers and ineligible notes you scribbled down.. some time. You turn your laptop back on, your wallpaper of a little fawn staring right at you. You type ‘Hannibal Lecter’ in the search bar, and already, a few results are popping up. Some associate him with being an ex-surgeon turned accomplished psychiatrist, his extensive research history and academic achievement, who helped the FBI catch murderers with his expertise. Another mentions his work with two men named Will Graham and Jack Crawford, both working for the FBI. He looks proud and professional in his pictures, utterly handsome. As you scroll through, you find more articles, most consisting of conspiracies within the FBI by the same person, a woman named Freddie Lounds. However, one sticks out, a completely new name you’ve never heard before and haven’t seen in any of the other articles.
‘Chesapeake Ripper’
You thought the name sounded familiar. You knew there was an intricate serial killer running around, always seemingly being caught, then not. His was the most obscure personality, unable to find out who he truly is. You chalk the connection between them up to just chance, Hannibal’s involvement in the FBI and the Chesapeake Ripper’s investigation. It all seems very small, though, so you brush off the new chills on your neck as you read about the murders surrounding the ripper. Surely that wouldn’t happen to you, you’re safe here, on campus, surrounded by students. It’ll all be okay….
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
The last few weeks of the fall semester go by, a blur of midterms, late study nights, junk food, the cold and cloudy weather– your peacoat finally come back out of hiding, having to balance your lattes on top of your textbooks, rushing to class, then heading back irritated as your professor informs you and your peers that lecture has been cancelled due to the snow blocking certain roads.There’s a lot of rushing these days; the cancelled lectures aren’t the most annoying part, but the sudden rain that starts. You get wet, running for cover so you can pull out your nearly-broken umbrella, but by then, what’s the use? You’re already mostly wet. Commuters struggle and complain about the weather, and your small apartment only gets colder and colder.
Your psychology midterm has been modified due to the unusual circumstances of who is teaching the class. It’s been rescheduled to the very last day of the fall semester, which you’re not too happy about, as it’s on a Saturday. You sigh heavily after reading the email explaining the change, most likely generated instead of typed out by an actual person. At least Dr. Lecter is good at what he does, and hopefully, can spare everyone by making the midterm only on what he has taught thus far, not the rest (it’s been buried so far down in your mind, you’re afraid you won’t be able to comprehend it again). Lectures go by as usual, as we go down the timeline of psychological discoveries and theories– Carl Jung, Erik Erikson, and the later development of psychoanalysis. He sprinkles in some of his experiences with the FBI and the delicate cases in which he worked, delving into the killer’s mind and reasoning for what they’ve done. Everyone is fascinated, their infatuation with this new persona only growing. Who was this guy?
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
During the end of one particular lecture, right after submitting an assignment on Freud’s theories on psychosexuality and how early childhood experiences influence adulthood, Dr. Lecter calls you once again to stay behind. He motions for you to come closer as you hear the door shut behind you, the last of the students pouring out.
“Good afternoon.” He studies you, smiling softly, awaiting your response. Even as he leans on his desk, it makes no difference on his height, still a large man. You gaze up at him, brows furrowed, lips pursed, hoping this isn’t because you messed your assignment up.
“Hi, Dr. Lecter..” you internally curse yourself for saying ‘hi’. “Um.. what’s this about?” you ask meekly, folding your hands in front of you nervously.
He smiles as he notices how nervous you are, lapping up the sweet nectar pooling out of it. He crosses his arms, head slightly tilting as he examines you. “Nothing bad, don’t worry. I was simply very compelled by your essay and have grown interested in speaking to you on it.”
His answer shocks you. You, a nobody? What do you have? This is such a good university, filled with many who are much better than you, with higher GPA’s, better clubs, a hundred electives, actual achievements… and he’s interested in what you think? You swallow, and must’ve been quiet for a while because he chuckles.
“I was hoping you would feel comfortable enough to meet with me during my office hours.” He stares right into you.
You shuffle your feet, a light blush spreading quickly on your cheeks.
“Of course, if that’s what you’d wish, professor, I’d be happy to.” You smile softly at him, genuinely enraptured by the question and his special attention to you.
“Wonderful. I look forward to it.” He nods and stops leaning on his desk, walking to the back of his desk to pack his briefcase, gathering papers and pens, handwritten essays and printed teacher’s assistant applications.
You silently watch him and assume the conversation is over, smiling a ‘goodbye’ at him. He doesn’t look back up at you. You turn, a little burned, walking out of the room and making sure the door closes gently behind you.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
At four in the evening that Thursday, you stand outside of an office door. There’s a small dark oak plaque next to the door, the words ‘Hannibal Lecter’ and ‘Professional Psychiatrist’ engraved deeply on it, masterfully. You swallow, knocking softly on the door, taking a step back to smooth out your coat, brush out your soft, short hair a little more, applying a small dab of lipstick to the cupid’s bow on your lips.
You hear a ‘one moment’ and, a moment later, heavy footsteps approach the door. Dr. Lecter greets you, holding the door open to invite you in. You step inside, thanking him and smiling (unbeknownst to you, he catches a small whiff of your rose perfume, difficult to avoid). His personal office is much smaller, but decently sized. There’s only two tall bookshelves, stacked with psychological matter and some philosophers. There’s a few medical figures, most likely due to his past as a surgeon, and a very intricately made arrangement of deep red plants. The room smells male- a natural musk, as well as a deeper one, probably from his cologne, mixed with the earthy smell of the plants. He walks past you to sit at his desk, inviting you to sit across from him. He leans back, arms folded, resting on his chest as you sit down, rigid, your hands in your lap and your gaze anywhere but him.
“Let me get straight to it. I want to know what you truly think of Freud’s theories.” He’s very blunt, a trait that comes with age and experience.
“Well..” you reflect on your past experiences with older men as you decide how to answer. The way you crave their attention, how much you’ve seeked it out and relished it. The quiet gravity in you that helps them drift your way, as though they can sense that somewhere, deep inside you, what you truly ache for is your father’s undying love. However, that’s too personal for an appropriate conversation between professor and student. “I think he’s right. I’ve experienced it for myself, you know.” Shit!
Dr. Lecter raises an eyebrow at this, his interest piqued more than ever now. You’re wildly embarrassed, an apology flying out of your mouth as soon as the words leave your mouth. Where had that come from?! What happened to control, to not opening up? God, his image of you is going to be so ruined, nothing like the intelligent, mature college girl persona you’ve been trying to put on.
“My dear, there is nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve witnessed much worse than a damaged young woman such as yourself.” He smiles, uncaring about whether or not that wording is right. The nerves in your stomach only intensify at the pet name, triggering something you’ve spent years battling, trying to push down and keep locked away forever. It makes your lips part subconsciously, before you realize and shut them again, swallowing. He’s keen on studying your every move, and he definitely notices your reaction to his small test.
The conversation goes on for a while, and you tell him of your relationship with your father. How his only attention to you was money and giving you anything you wanted, but any emotional availability and love was off the table. How this festered a desire for fatherly connection, and in turn, hurt you deeply as your tender heart was broken by all the men you trusted to fill the void. Towards the end of it, you realize he’s turned on the psychiatrist and is now profiling you, clarifying things for you that you already knew about yourself. A twinge of annoyance makes your eye jump, helped by all the caffeine in your system making up for your lack of sleep.
He’s just like the rest of the men in your life, seeking only one thing from you– your want so they can feel like more of a man, their ego fed as they ‘save’ you, ‘fix’ you. You sigh and look away as Dr. Lecter stops his analysis on you, standing up abruptly.
“I appreciate the chat, but I really must get going now. I didn’t come to be one of your patients, much less a desperate girl in need of help.” you blurt out. Shit again!! “Are we done, Dr. Lecter?” you try your best to hide the oncoming glare and fail.
Dr. Lecter is taken aback, but does not protest. He’s quiet for a moment before he simply gets up from his seat as well and nods, leading you to his office door and opening it for you. You don’t ignore the way his hand gently rests on the small of your back as he sees you out.
“Very well then. I appreciate the chat as well. I did not mean any offense.” He smiles. “Get home safely.”
You stand on the other side of the threshold, looking up at him apologetically. He meets your gaze, his eyes reading a kind of paternal disappointment you’d only seen in movies– disheartened, but loving all the same. It makes you feel like a horrible person, once again pouring salt into the wound of what you never had. By now, the guilt sets in and you’re able to draw a small smile from yourself. You nod and say goodbye, wishing him a lovely evening. He thanks you, closing the heavy oak door softly. You stare at it for a while, internally cursing at yourself for not biting your tongue, and make your way back to your apartment. Soon, it starts pouring outside, and you have to run the rest of the way.
Before the next scheduled lecture, you’re not looking forward to seeing Dr. Lecter, embarrassed at your small outburst the last time you spoke privately. Who are you to say anything to him about yourself, when he’s the one who's gone to school for this, and you’re just some stupid girl? You sigh, biting your lip as the nerves eat at you, but ultimately, you really need to pass this class, so you attend lecture. Everything is fine. Dr. Lecter greets you as you walk inside with a smile, his eyes on you as you make your way to where you usually sit. You pass by some acquaintances, none you need to greet, and pull out your notebook and pen. The noise of students around you only intensifies as more come in, the scheduled class time closer and closer. You calm down by then, sure that he isn’t offended or angry in any way, but either way, why would he? He’s old, and he doesn’t have a reason why he should dwell on you or your reaction to anything. God, you’re stupid.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Lectures end, midterms start. Thankfully, at least, you only have one exam a day, and so, you can rest a bit. The time not spent in lectures you spend in the library, studying, the only place quiet enough on campus to properly study and wrap your head around things. Hours go by, three coffees, takeout chinese food, and your sanity on the verge of death, when you finally feel confident enough to take your final exam the next day, Psychology. It sucks that, Friday night, you and most of your peers are revising all of the course materials instead of celebrating the end of the semester as most students are. Who the hell thought to reschedule our final exam to a Saturday?!
You continue thinking about the chat you had with Dr. Lecter a while back. There had barely been any interactions since then, aside from passing glances here and there in class, but that was all. You felt watched and studied by him, his extra attention to you in class and new interest in mostly only asking you questions about the material not going unnoticed by many. You’d noticed how they started looking at you, like you were the next one, their new gossip and the reason why they’d be left without a professor (again). They were almost praying it’d turn out to be true in the hopes of their final exams being cancelled officially. But, nothing ever came out to light, and eventually, it passed.
You sigh tiredly, getting up, popping a few extra pain-killers, and make your way out of the library. It’s still only the evening, about seven, so the library is still bustling with students checking in leftover books and textbooks, some studying as well as you. You wonder who else has an exam tomorrow. As you walk, bag in hand and your empty coffee cup in the other, you think you catch a glimpse of Dr. Lecter in the corner of your eye. You stop briefly, turning over to where you think you’ve seen him, but find no one instead. Your eyes scan the area, brows furrowed, heart racing (for some reason, probably the scare). You purse your lips, before deciding it was nothing, and calming down. In fact, all you see is a big, taxidermy elk head mounted on the library wall, atop the history section. It has always unsettled you, that big thing– how could anyone see it as a valuable and desirable enough decoration? Turning back to continue going on your way, you rub at your temples, making sure everything is in your bag as you go. Maybe you’re just extremely tired, but you could’ve really sworn that you saw that same figure that’s been curiously lingering in your mind these past few days.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
The day of the final exam, you get up, get ready, and dress simply. Where else are you going after it, anyway? Back to your apartment, while everyone is getting ready to go back home for the winter. Not you, no matter how much you might envy them and yearn for it yourself. Your parents live the state over, and you don’t even like them– at least their monthly payments for your apartment and tuition are where their expectations for connection end. You put on the same peacoat you’ve worn this entire winter, and will continue to, the warm, dark fabric an intense comfort. You put on some jeans and your Doc Martens, your short hair the same as always, and head out for the day. You go over some notes in your head as you walk to the lecture hall where it’ll be held, anxiety making your insides feel like its bare nerves are being caressed, gently, and lovingly. The day is cloudy, as per usual, and it even starts to sprinkle. You pick up some coffee along the way to wake up and try your best to drink it as quickly and efficiently as possible, careful to not accidentally snag your earbud wires so as to not interrupt the music flowing into your ears.
Your walk to the lecture hall ends, and you’re faced with the reality of what’s to come. You drink the last of what's in your cup and throw it away in the recycling part of a big trash bin, even if it all goes in the same bin anyway.
You push the doors to the hall open, finding the designated classroom. You check the time, and you’re surprisingly 10 minutes early. Though early, there’s already some people hanging around, quizzing each other and asking for clarification on different topics and what they mean. You smile slightly in admiration for your peers and the college experience. After all, you’re all in the same boat. You’re all just people in your twenties trying to get by, do well on an exam, and help each other. That doesn’t convince you to interact with them, though. You sit on the bench, pulling a book out to finish the chapter you left off on (about two months ago now). Focusing proves to be harder than expected, as you’re still nervous, and weirdly enough, a little hopeful to see Dr. Lecter. You’ve paid a little extra attention to your makeup just for this. You feel like a childish girl, crushing on her teacher and hoping to impress him subtly; you would never dream of actually acting out on it, though, however much you might want to.
Dr. Lecter opens the door, greeting everyone and letting them in, holding the door open for everyone. There are multiple ‘thank you’s’ as everyone strolls in, all but you, still stressed and unable to hear due to your earbuds. You continue to pretend-read, going over all the experiments and psychologists you’ve reviewed since Dr. Lecter’s arrival; suddenly, you break out of your trance as you feel a light tap on your shoulder.
You perk up, startled, and see Dr. Lecter staring down at you. You take both earbuds out, looking around, and realizing everyone has already gone into the room. You got too lost in your thoughts again, plus your music, and are currently holding everyone up from starting.
“It’s time for your exam.” He speaks gently, his voice soft and remindful. You nod and get up quickly, thanking him on your way in. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he takes in your scent again.
The exam goes by quicker than you expected, only simple questions on basic psychology and humanity’s actions, what drives us to be the way we are. It ends with a simple essay on cognitive psychology and morality, and honestly, you feel like you did pretty good. You drop your pen, satisfied with the end result, and stand up to hand Dr. Lecter your finished exam. You make your way over, scanning the room and noticing that only half of the class have already finished and left. You walk to Dr. Lecter’s desk, his gaze lifting from something he’s drawing (you can’t help but take a peek and admire it, all secretly, of course) and notice the paper in your hand. You stare at him for a few seconds before snapping out of it and handing it over.
“I’m done with my, um, exam.” he takes it softly, looking it over. Did he do that with everyone else’s? You wait for a while until he brings his gaze back to you. “Am I free to go now?”
“Yes, I believe you are.” he smiles, eyes roaming your face.
You nod and smile back bashfully, turning and making your way out of the exam room. You feel the immense relief hit you as you step out of the building, the cold air blessing your face from its jumbled heap of nerves. You squeal internally, winter break is finally here. No one will bother you now, no more midterms, papers, finals (you keep the knowledge that the spring semester starts in only three weeks away from your mind. you’re just protecting your peace).
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
The first few days of winter break in your lone apartment go by fast, and very comfortably so. It’s a much needed pause from the craze of the semester, all your assignments, the sleepless nights and the two fallen bottles of ibuprofen. You spend your time in bed, catching up on some reading, starting a new show you’ve been meaning to watch since last summer, only occasionally going out to a restaurant to eat alone or pick up a coffee from your favorite place. Overall, the winter is going just as you expected. You don’t feel too bad about your solitude, though. It’s the part you relish most, and even though you know you won’t be hearing from your parents on Christmas or New Year’s Eve, the ache has dulled now into something normal.
One morning, as you enjoy your lazy morning, a steaming, freshly brewed cup of coffee in your hands, you hear a knock on your door. Who could be visiting you, especially at this god forsaken hour? You decide to ignore it, not wanting to see anyone, until minutes later, the knock is heard again. You groan, straightening yourself out with irritation at whoever is so intent on bothering you. You make your way over to your apartment door and peek into the peephole, immediately recoiling and hiding behind your door as you see who it is, the most unexpected person in the world.
Dr. Lecter….
What is he doing here? How did he even find out where you live?? Well, he could’ve just asked around. Most importantly, why is he even here?
A million thoughts race through your mind as you press your back to the door, heart racing and trying to be as quiet as possible. You think, if you don’t answer the door long enough, maybe he’d go away. Maybe you forgot an assignment and he’s here to offer you a better grade so you don’t fail, maybe you did something wrong and he’s here to scold you for it. Maybe he really was angry at you that day you failed to bite your tongue and he’s come to tell you personally, only waiting until now, when you weren’t his student anymore.
“I can see your feet under the door.” He says, his voice scruffy and muffled through the door. You curse quietly, sighing and bracing yourself for impact. You step aside, opening the door slowly, putting on a clueless demeanor. There’s no time to grab your robe and hide the satin nightgown you’re wearing.
“Oh, hi, Dr. Lecter,” you speak meekly. You feel even meeker as his gaze brushes over your sleepwear. “I’m sorry, I was, um, just a little busy.” you try to smile as best you can, but you can tell by his serious face that he’s not very convinced.
You stand around awkwardly, staring at him and bouncing on your heels before you speak again. You wrap your arms around yourself to hide your nipples, rudely on full display.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” you ask, trying to not sound rude, as you lean your head on your doorframe. He’s staring down at you as well, you don’t even know what you’re making him feel.
He clears his throat and smiles politely. “May I come in?”
Your face drops slightly, thinking of the mess your apartment is currently in. He must’ve noticed your expression and need to say ‘no’, because he invites himself inside anyway, and you let him in. You shut the door behind him, biting your lip as he looks around your apartment at all of your decorations and belongings, how rundown it is and borderline ugly; fitting for a loser like you. You kick one of your pairs of underwear on the floor under your bed, praying to god he hadn’t noticed that (please, god, I’ll never sin again if you promise he didn’t see). Little do you know, Dr. Lecter notices everything.
“Can I offer you some coffee? I just made some.” you ask, unsure of what else to do. He nods and you grab one of your mugs, full of cats, and pour him some.
You don’t put anything in it or offer to, he seems like the type to drink it straight out of the pot (and you think that’s what he’d prefer, as an older guy). You set it down on your table, grabbing your own cup as well. He sits down across from you as he stops assessing your place, thanking you, but never touching his cup. He looks at you as you look down at your cup of coffee, much lighter in color than his, fiddling with the ear and pursing your lips. You’re both quiet.
“I read what you wrote on my exam. I thought it was good, you’re a very well-spoken young lady.” He finally takes a sip of his coffee, but he doesn’t comment on it or make any kind of expression, leaving you wondering about whether or not he likes it.
You look up at him, catching his already-staring gaze. You stare at him like a deer in headlights, dumb and frozen, in awe, ready for the hit that’ll kill you in an instant.
“Thank you..” you say genuinely, shyly. “That means a lot to me, really.” You smile at him and he returns your smile wholeheartedly.
“I wanted to make you an offer.” He takes another drink of his coffee. “How about you be my researcher? I will pay you, of course, and credit you in my work. I’ve been looking for an adequate person, and I believe I’ve found her.” you hope he doesn’t just mean that in a professional sense.
You think about it, really, really considering it. First off, you need the money. You mostly live off of your monthly allowance from your parents, not needing it for much other than food and maybe a nice thing or two you’d want. If you took his offer, you could cut that tie with them, although that’s nothing compared to their other two expenses related to you. But it’d be your money, not anyone else’s to dangle over your head or use against you. Well.. maybe, but is he that type of person? There’d be a powerful imbalance between you, he’s older and knows more, and he’s paying you directly. He could want to take advantage of that, you, manipulate you into thinking he knows best. He could kill and eat you. But you’re probably just overthinking it again, like always (that’s such an exaggeration!).
Besides, what could go so wrong?
“Alright… sure.” you smile and laugh a little, why, you couldn’t know. It’s just how you feel. “Um, when would I start? Also, would it be like online, or, like, where?” You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.
“Preferably as soon as possible, as I’ve recently opened up a new project. And it would be at my place,” he pulls out a small card with some very elegant writing on it, assuming it's his. “This is my address. I will expect you there soon."
He speaks so formally, so knowingly, it’s so attractive. You don’t even notice when he’s done with his coffee, and yours has gone cold, forgotten. You offer him more, but he denies it politely. As you go over some extra details on your work, what you’ll be doing, and when he expects your portion of it to be done, you’re in the kitchen grabbing a snack for yourself (half-assly baked chocolate chip cookies) and reheating your coffee. You nod and say ‘okay’ as you listen, munching on your cookies, and he finds you so endearing. When he concludes, he asks if you have any lingering thoughts or questions.
“None at the moment, no.”
“Well, I should be seeing myself out now. It was lovely seeing you."He gets up from your table, as do you, and you show him out. He lingers in your doorway, deja vu filling your stomach from the time you were on the departing end.
“Thank you again, Dr. Lecter.” you smile sweetly at him.
“Oh, enough of the formalities, please. Call me Hannibal.”
“Okay,” you say quietly, smiling stupidly. “Bye now, Hannibal.”
You notice a small shift in him as you call him by his name.
“See you soon.” he says finally, giving you one last curiously fond look, before turning and leaving. You shut the door after him and lock it, leaning against it, squealing like a mad pig.
Well, you’d better get to work then, hm?
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
You’re glad for something to do. It isn’t until you start helping Hannibal that you realize how much your brain was turning into sludge by doing nothing all day, and planning on it for the rest of your winter. You meet him at his house when you’re done with specific parts, or don’t understand some. He looks it over and hums, satisfied, as always. He almost never gives you any kind of criticism or feedback, and it makes you feel like you’re on top of the world. You think his place is very formidable, decorated exactly how you’d imagine he would. There’s always a slight tangy smell in the air, mixed with the other scents inside his place– oak and ash from the fireplace, and you attribute the tangyness to one of the various types of plants he has.
He always makes sure to feed you when you’re over, presenting you with complex dishes each time, always meaty and ‘fresh’ (his claim, not yours). You find it endearing how he always waits to see your reaction to the food before he starts eating, his attention to detail not going unnoticed, never. It impresses you how well he cooks, how tender and flavorful the meat he always makes is, and wonder where he finds it. Does he have a farm of his own, and that’s why he says it’s always fresh? Or maybe he’s just pompous and buys only the most expensive meat from a highly regarded butcher that only gets his product from a top quality slaughterhouse. Either way, it didn’t matter. You loved coming here more so for the meals (saves you money on food), but also to see him.
Over your past few visits, you’ve grown more comfortable around him, opening yourself up more to make jokes and talk about yourself. He only brings himself up when asked. You learn he has a sister who passed away, his parents died when he was very young, he speaks six languages (wow! well, if you do, how do you say ‘winner winner chicken dinner’ in Italian?), and the more you learn about him, the more drawn to him you feel. The looks exchanged by the both of you, lingering gazes, how close he can get sometimes. How you put more effort into your appearance when you come see him, to ‘clarify on some things’, wearing a dress despite the weather outside (his fireplace is always lit, anyway), trying to appeal to him more. Once, when you were feeling particularly bold, as he was showing you something, you lean over his desk to see it better, making sure to add a little arch to your back. You think you’re being subtle and clever, but in reality, he notices all of it– and it drives him crazy.
One evening, you both sit together by his fireplace, Hannibal, open and confident, you, your legs curled next to you and small.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” it’s the first time he ever offers you any. All of the times you’ve eaten here, he’s given you water and offered you juice, like a child.
You’re a little taken aback by the question, but you nod, smiling. “Thank you.”
Nodding, he gets up and heads over to his wine fridge, pulling out an unopened, fancy looking bottle. He pops it open, a sharp ‘pop’ coming from the cork, and pours a decent amount into two glasses. One for him, one for you. He walks back over, handing you a glass, and you take it gently. You look up at him through your eyelashes, the light of the fire resting beautifully on your features. He sits back down on the other armchair, taking in the scent of the wine before drinking. You do the same, never really having any fancy alcohol before and not wanting to seem inexperienced with it. The wine is the best you’ve ever had, and of course it is, because it’s Hannibal’s. You drink quietly, together, and he asks you how it is. You say it’s amazing, giggling, and he smiles and hums at you. Your low tolerance for alcohol makes the single glass already have an effect on you, and as soon as you’re done, you suddenly feel warm and fuzzy inside, smiling to yourself and feeling butterflies in your stomach. Hannibal doesn’t offer you more, instead resorting to questioning you on what you’d told him that day in his office.
“Explain to me your interest in men who can act as a paternal figure.”
Slightly tipsy, you relax and let loose.
“I just… didn’t have a dad who was all that there. I looked for him in other men, men who just wanted to use me for sex… because I was damaged prey for them,” you sigh heavily. “I’ve been this way since I was sixteen. I just wish my dad loved me…” your voice trails off, a lump in your throat already forming. Hannibal watches you with an intensity like no other. “I wish my dad loved me… I wish I hadn’t jumped into bed with so many men, yearning for them to cherish and adore me. Maybe then, I wouldn’t be so fucked up. But, well, what does it matter, right? It’s just the life that was meant for me.”
You wipe any oncoming tears away and laugh, brushing it off.
“It doesn’t matter, I’m sorry.”
Hannibal sets his glass down, barely having drunk any.
“You’re beautiful,” he says softly.
Then, you don’t know what possesses you– maybe it’s a mixture of emotion, the wine, the atmosphere, or just him and the tension that’s been building between you– but you stand up, taking a few steps over to him. You stand in front of him, your legs nimble under your dress, and he stares up at you, just stares. He watches you quietly, and you lean down to kiss him. It’s like he expected this, because in an instant, he lifts a hand up to rest on your cheek, pulling you closer, and snakes his other hand around your waist to caress it. The kiss is soft and gentle, nothing else to be expected of it, just the two of you in this very moment, alone. You lift your head back up, gazing into his eyes. Nothing is said for a few seconds until he pulls you back down and sits you on his lap. He kisses you again, however this time, he takes the lead, rougher and faster. You melt into it, all of the desire and tension leaving your body, finally released as you get what you’ve been longing for.
Your hands land on his shoulders, feeling his lean muscles through his dress shirt. His hands are on your waist, feeling you up, making their way down under your thighs. You moan softly into the kiss, and he takes that as an invitation to hike your dress up, feeling the inner part of your soft thighs. He breaks the kiss and moves down to your jaw, your head leaning back as he hungrily attacks your neck. He licks the small beads of sweat forming on your neck, kissing and biting as he goes, and it feels so, so euphoric. Your hands slide up to his hair, tousling his hair enough that it’s all over his face by the time you notice. You giggle at it, and he lifts his gaze to smile at you, capturing your lips in a kiss again and giving your thigh a small squeeze.
“Playful, aren’t we, my fawn?”
Hannibal gets up from the armchair and lifts you up with him, carrying you easily, like you weigh nothing. You squeal and hold onto him, legs wrapping around his waist as you bury your face into his neck, giggling. He laughs too, kissing your hair, as he carries you to his bedroom. A wave of heat goes through your stomach as you realize what’s coming, what he’s leading you to. You feel nervous, high on anticipation and lust.
He doesn’t bother closing the door behind him, instead just laying you down on his neat bed. He places a few more gentle kisses on you before lifting himself up, admiring how you look sprawled out on his bed and squirming under his gaze. He leans back down to kiss you, his frame so much larger than yours, and he moves his kisses down, much more desperate now. As he slides your dress off, your heart races, something inside you waking up and screaming at you to stop, but you don’t obey. You don’t have anything underneath, aside from of course, your panties. The sudden exposure and the sight of him looking at you reverently makes your nipples harden, chills spreading over your soft skin.
“My, how vulgar.. is this how you would come here all the time, hm?”
Your cheeks heat up out of embarrassment, because yes, it is.
“No.. just a coincidence.” you lie horribly. He chuckles knowingly.
Hannibal comes back down, trailing his kisses down to your perky breasts, taking one in his mouth gently as he kneads the other. His tongue is hot and wet as he takes his time with them, wanting to draw all the pleasure he could from it, as well as every other part of you. You tangle your fingers in his hair, sighing and moaning softly as he works, treating you carefully like he’s afraid he’ll break you (or, maybe, like he’s afraid he will if he doesn’t hold back). Hannibal switches his mouth to the other one, his other hand trailing down to pull your panties off slowly. You’re completely exposed now, entirely vulnerable to him and his hunger. You swallow as his kisses trail lower and lower, over your stomach, waist, hips, and finally, your inner thighs. Your pupils are blown, eyes half-lidded as you watch him make his way to where you ache for him. He kisses and bites at your inner thighs, watching you closely, and taking pleasure in your delayed gratification.
“Please…” you whine and squirm under him, losing your mind. “Please, please… Hannibal.. I need you so badly.” you whisper, a pleading look in your eyes, and at that, the dam breaks.
He immediately dives in without hesitation, eating you out with so much force like a starving man. You throw your head back, a choked moan escaping your lips, closing your eyes and relishing the feeling. He licks and sucks at your clit, making you go wild. He brings two of his fingers up, coating them in your slick and his saliva, and shoves them into you without warning. You gasp as he fucks you with his fingers and tongue, not an ounce of mercy in him. Your hands, gripping his bedsheets so tight, come down to tug at his hair, pulling him closer into you as you ride his face, using him to chase your own pleasure (greedy thing). He grunts as you pull on his hair, and you moan loudly as he finds your sweet spot, back arching.
“Please don’t stop… don’t… Hannibal..” you whimper, feeling your orgasm approaching.
With a final buck of your hips, you cum all over his fingers, tongue, and mouth, and he loves it. You become a shaking and moaning mess, tears in your eyes as he helps you ride out the waves of your orgasm. He removes his fingers, moving his attention down to your opening, lapping up the nectar emerging from you. He lifts his head up and you look at him tiredly, his lips coated in yourself, looking into your eyes as he licks his fingers clean. You moan as you watch him.
“Such.. a divine taste.” He brings his head back down to kiss your inner thighs and your still-throbbing clit.
You bring him back up to kiss, tasting yourself on his lips and inside his mouth. Usually, you’d think this was icky, but with Hannibal, you can’t seem to care anymore. You unbutton his shirt shakily and slide it off, feeling his strong biceps and the hair on his chest, glistening in the low light with a small layer of sweat. Your hand fiddles with the button on his slacks, and he chuckles, kissing you on the cheek as he undoes it himself and pulls them down. You palm him through the thin fabric of his briefs, his low grunt quickly bringing your arousal back full force. All of a sudden, he snaps, taking your hand off of his manhood.
“You’re a temptress, my little precious doe,” he pulls himself out of his briefs, pressing his hard, thick length against your cunt. You gasp as you feel the size of him. “Look at what you do to me..” he groans lowly in your ear, burying his face in your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.
In a swift motion, he slides fully into you, and you both sigh. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, locking him to you and lifting your hips for him. His face is desperate, longing, a man worshipping the nymphet who leads him to the brink of madness. He buries himself into the warmth of your tight cunt, his hands roaming your shaky body, holding your legs up to deepen his penetration.
“Harder.. please, please… you’re so big, you fill me so.. ah.. much..” You whine, and that’s all it takes.
His hips snap forward, and he fucks you mercilessly. He kisses you roughly, sloppily, and you moan into each other’s mouths, completely lost to the intense desire and lust building up for days, or weeks, who knows? Since you met each other, fuck, it’s been this way. You’re almost animalistic with the way you go at it like there’s no tomorrow, like it’s your last day on earth.
He pulls out and you whine at the loss, but Hannibal quickly (and roughly) flips you over on your stomach, manhandling you with such ease like you’re made of feathers.
“Lift your ass for me.” he commands, and you do just that.
His big hands latch onto your comparably smaller hips harshly as he shoves himself back into you. You continue moaning loud and sweetly, his name on your lips, all for him. He slaps your ass and grips it, hands tracing the curve of your waist and back until he reaches your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. Your walls clench around him as you feel your second orgasm coming on, only this time, it hits you like a freight train with no time to warn him.
You scream out his name and shake violently as you cum again, feeling liquid gush out of you and drip onto your thighs as well as his and his cock.
“Good girl…” Hannibal praises roughly, slapping your ass harder, and you whimper, eyes nearly rolling back at the overstimulation.
He doesn’t warn you as he cums, the only signs being his sloppy thrusts and continuous grunts. You feel his spend fill you up, and he stays inside you until he’s completely emptied out. You mewl softly when you feel his cum drip out of you, and he slaps your ass again just for the sight. Your legs shaking, you crash down on his bed, entirely worn out and spent. Hannibal lays next to you, stroking your back lovingly. The only light inside the room is the dying fireplace, but it’s enough to see the look he’s giving you. It’s one of possession and love, obsession and want. You bat your eyelashes a few times, and he smiles, brushing his fingers through your hair with the most care you’ve ever felt in your life. Your eyes flutter shut, sleepily, and he pulls the duvet over both of you.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” you smile at the very words that started this in the first place. “You’re a treasure, and I intend to keep you safe, hidden from the evils of the world. You’re mine.. and I’ll never let you go.” he kisses the corner of your lips.
As he serenades you with his sweet words, you slowly fall asleep, only hearing him, his breathing, and the sputter of the fire finally dying out.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Sometime during the sunrise, you wake up, still wrapped in Hannibal’s arms. It’s completely dark, but even then, you know the sheets you’re laying on are not yours– they’re too fine. You can feel them and the duvet on your bare skin, and all the memories of just a few hours ago come flooding back. The images of Hannibal between your thighs, fucking you into oblivion, sending you over the edge twice, make you feel a familiar heat start to pool in your stomach. You shut your eyes, ridding your head of those feelings before you act out on them again. Shit, this was so wrong- so, so wrong. He’s over twice your age and he’s your professor (well, not anymore, and not technically, as he was only a replacement)! The soft light from the sun coming up illuminates just enough for you to see his sleeping face, and feel a small ache start to form in your chest. You watch his calm expression, the slow rise and fall of his breath, his chest godly. Your fingers twitch to reach out and touch him, brush the hair out of his face, kiss him, but you stop yourself. You sit up as slowly as you can but he still stirs, his eyes fluttering open groggily.
“Awake already?” he asks, his voice deep and husky with sleep.
“Just have to use the bathroom,” you whisper, smiling lightly at him. “I’ll be back.”
He reaches out for your hand and kisses it. Hannibal watches you as you get up from his bed, his arms empty and longing for you already. You look around for your panties, and as soon as you find them, you slide them on. Hannibal scoffs behind you and you look back at him, smiling playfully. You disappear into his bathroom, and in only a few moments, he falls asleep again.
You sit on the toilet lid, face buried in your hands as you think of what to do. You cannot let yourself get involved with this man, he’s just another older man you attracted to you and slept with, eventually he’ll get tired of your antics or abandon you and reopen your daddy issues. You’ll just be left heartbroken again and you can’t let yourself suffer through that again. You’re sure that this time you’d die. You collect yourself, looking out and seeing that it’s already dawn, and decide you need to go before you start to lose your courage and will to leave.
Opening the bathroom door slowly, you peek out of it to make sure Hannibal has fallen asleep again. You’re glad to see he has, tip-toeing over to put your dress back on (thankfully you already have all your clothes on again!). You watch him with every move you make, freezing as he murmurs or shifts in his sleep, and glad when you realize he’s not waking up. Once the bedroom door is closed, you head to the foyer, putting your peacoat and flats on, and give one last look around Hannibal's home. You almost hesitate and go right back to him, undressing and all, but know this is for the best. Stepping out of the house (and feeling bad for having to leave it unlocked), you make your way back home, passing by people heading to work or home from a night shift, old people up and walking despite the cold, early runners with their dogs. All but you, the lone, dumb girl, going home after sleeping with her professor. God, what a whore you are. You’re disgusting.
You finally make it back to your apartment, glad for the time as you would’ve been terrified had it been any earlier. You lay in bed, groaning at what you’ve done, your loss of self control. You should’ve never accepted that wine from him… it made you lose your sense. You shut your eyes, telling yourself nothing will come of this. He most likely knows it too. This was just a one-night stand and you’ll never work for him again; he got what he wanted, and so did you. You get up from your bed, heading to your rundown bathroom and taking a steaming hot shower. The ghost of his touch still lingers on your body, ever-present. You step out of the shower, drying yourself off and putting on a fresh nightie. You make your way back to bed to sleep the guilt off, glad for the safety of your apartment and the lock on your door. As you wonder if Hannibal’s awake now, what he’s thinking about, if he’s noticed your absence, you drift off to sleep.
Two days after that night, after getting home from grocery shopping and getting yourself a new, pretty thing, you’re calmly putting your groceries away. You take them all out of your reusable bag, sort them into what goes into the fridge and what goes into your pantry, veggies and fruits. As you go, a knock on your door startles you, so calmly entertained by your task that you completely forgot about the world around you. Your heart races a little from the startle, but you’re able to pull yourself together as you make your way over to the door. It might just be a neighbor asking for something, or a delivery guy who couldn’t leave your package in the lobby. But then again, did you order anything recently?
You open the door with no hesitation, expecting anyone, but immediately regret it as you see who was knocking. Hannibal is there, patiently waiting, and his eyes soften as he sees you. You try to control your facial expressions, but find it hard to, hoping he won’t notice the turmoil you’re currently experiencing inside. Last time he was here, you were mid-brain-rot and your place was a complete and total mess; now, with your new groceries and his work giving you some more occupation, your place was finally in a tidy and clean shape. You’re thankful for that, at least.
You stand at the door, frozen, embarrassment written all over your face in the form of a pink blush. He’s well-dressed, as always, and in his hands, he has an elaborate bouquet of red roses. A little cliche and simple, but you stare at them in awe anyway.
“Good afternoon,” he says poised, as always. “I brought these for you, as a gift.”
Hannibal hands you the bouquet and you take it gently, eyes locked on them as you admire how red and neatly placed they are. Red, so red they look almost bloody. You caress them, your lips slightly parted, and you raise them to your nose to smell them. They smell like, well, roses, but for some reason, this time, they smell even more saintly.
“Hi, Hannibal,” you say. “They’re so beautiful.. thank you.” Lifting your gaze to meet his, you smile brightly, brighter than you’ve ever smiled at him. A soft smile grazes his lips back at you. “Would you like to come inside?” you step aside, hoping he’ll say yes. What happened to this just being a fling and not letting yourself get hurt??
“Of course, thank you.” he walks inside and you close the door behind him, locking it. You walk towards your kitchen counter with the roses, adoring them every step of the way, and rummage around your cabinets for a spare vase. Finally finding one, you take it out, filling it halfway with flower food and water, and place the roses gently inside. Once inside, the stems sprawl around and you can’t help but feel butterflies. He lingers at the counter where you’re placing the roses in the vase, brushing a strand of hair out of your face softly.
“Can I offer you anything? Tea, coffee?” you ask, shy due to his physical attention. He makes a refusing motion, and you feel a slight pang of rejection. You nod ‘okay’ and rap your fingers on your table.
“I came to ask you why you left the night we slept together.”
It’s like a stab to the heart. Right… you left him alone in the middle of the night. How could you have forgotten that? God, it was the roses!
“Oh.. right,” you giggle nervously, shying away from his prying stare. You hope he’s not upset.
“It’s alright. I simply wanted to know why.”
“I just… thought it was a fling,” you shrug. “You’re older, you wouldn’t care for me as much as I’d like. I didn’t want to get attached, so you don’t have to worry. I won’t.” you smile reassuringly.
Hannibal doesn’t smile back. Your own fades, and you look away, that same guilt you’ve been suppressing finally coming back up to the surface.
“Regardless of what you might assume, I’m not that kind of man.” you perk up, looking at him hopefully.
He clears his throat before speaking again.
“I didn’t think I’d meet someone who caught my attention as much as you did just by replacing a professor.” his beautiful, brown eyes, the same ones you remember fawning over months ago when you’d first seen him, stare into yours as he speaks earnestly, directly to you. “I’m not the kind of man to discard someone. It would make me happy to take care of you and cherish you. That’s why it was so unpleasant for me to be abandoned.”
As he speaks, you feel a lump the size of a cherry start to form in your throat. You are so horrible, you’re a terrible person.
“I’m sorry,” your apology comes out squeaky as you try to hold in your tears. “I’m sorry I assumed so wrong. I felt the same, I felt like… I was really falling for you, you know? And like you’d think it was just a mistake or like that’s all you would’ve wanted from me–”
Hannibal cuts you off by turning you towards him, wrapping his arms around you securely and resting his head on top of your head. Once enveloped in his warmth and care, you can’t hold the tears in anymore, and they begin to come out. He brushes his fingers through your hair silently, placing a kiss to the top of your head as you cry into his chest.
“Oh… I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to do this. This is so embarrassing…” he lifts your chin up to look at him, placing another gentle kiss to your cheek. “I’m probably ruining your suit.”
“Don’t ever apologize for your emotions, my fawn. They’re beautiful,” he wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, looking you over. You must look so helpless right now. “Just like you.”
You bury your face into his chest again, hugging him close to you. His embrace tightens, and you think about just how safe you feel right now. Hannibal feels like a big, protective shield around you, like nothing could ever happen to you as long as he’s here with you. It makes you feel invincible. You lift your head again, sniffling now, and tip-toe to kiss him. The kiss is soft and sweet, gentle and loving; it breaks after a moment, and Hannibal rests his forehead onto yours. You close your eyes for a while, smiling like a goof. You completely forget about the groceries still lying around on your table.
You almost say it, almost, but decide it’s better saved for another time.