This is a content warning for all my posts. They contain mature/explicit themes only intended for an adult audience. Viewer discretion is advised. đ
This is a slasher/horror only blog!
Dead-dove content is frequently found here, including but not limited to descriptions of rape/sexual assault and murder. Each post will have trigger/content warnings.
I am open to requests but that does not guarantee your request will be written.
Male/GN reader only
Mostly SFW but I might branch out ever so often
Please refer to OP (me) with He/Him pronouns. Thanks!
I pretty much write for most of the slashers, you can always request specific ones but if you donât Iâll just grab a handful of slashers to write your request with.
Slashers Reacting to their S/O trying to "escape" while sleep walking -- Part 2
I am not happy with this but I had to post something, it seems the only time I get inspired to write is when college is almost here. No ETA on posts but know that I have a bunch of drafts in the works
Featuring the Sinclair Brothers
cw: mentions of kidnapping, abuse, and other unhealthy relationship dynamics
Gender Neutral Reader
Here you are again, finally allowed to walk around 'freely' without being tied down by you slasher for the first time in months. Your slasher, however, isn't too amused by your new nightly quirk...
Bo Sinclair (House of Wax '05)
He's super fucking annoyed at this new habit of yours. He wakes up one night to noises in the kitchen, and at first doesn't even notice you gone from the bed until he's sneaking up on the intruder--only, there isn't an intruder. It's just you, making a fuck ton of noise messing with the kitchen drawers absentmindedly.
"What the fuck are you doin'?" He doesn't even realize you're asleep until he grabs you and spins you around to face him, only to see your eyes glossed over as you don't react to him. This just pisses him off even more, because of course you'd be a fucking sleepwalker. He shakes you awake and starts bitching at you as he drags you back to bed. He has no time for this y/n, he needs to sleep.
Threatens to tie you to the bed if you don't stop. You argue that you can't control what you do in your sleep, but he doesn't care; you will stop or you will be tied down. There is no room for discussion with Bo as he has to have things his way. You can still try, of course, but it'll only get you so far. No one wins an argument with Bo Sinclair.
He makes true on his promise about tying you down. The next night, he wakes up again to sleep walking you, this time trying to open the (locked) front door. This sent him into a frenzy, screaming at you for trying to leave. Bo has terrible abandonment issues, so the fact that your subconscious tried to leave fucks him up deeply. He forces you back into bed, and ties you down despite your protests.
He's secretly heartbroken. He won't admit to it, of course, but there's no denying the ache in his chest. You wedged your way into his heart, and now you're trying to leave? There is nothing you can say to make him calm down, or convince him you don't want to leave. In the back of his mind for the next few months is the image of you trying to leave, and abandoning him forever.
He refuses to let you go. In the morning, you try to convince him that you weren't trying to leave, that you were just sleep walking, but he doesn't care. He'll be an asshole and lock you in y'all's room to sulk, only coming in ever so often to give you bits of food. He doesn't let you out of the room for weeks until he finally feels secure enough to start letting you roam the house again.
If you continue to sleep walk, he will continue to tie you down. Be prepared to have sore wrists for the rest of your life.
Vincent Sinclair (House of Wax '05)
Terrified of you leaving him. One night, Vincent wakes up to find you gone from the bed, nowhere to be found. He's frantic, and he practically tears Ambrose to the ground trying to find you. You're one of the only good things left in his life, and losing you would break him apart. He's sick with grief at the thought. He's angry that you would try to leave. But mostly, he's scared.
He finds you in the museum, staring at one of the 'sculptures' absentmindedly. He realizes pretty quickly, however, that you aren't in the right of mind when he tries to frantically sign at you and you don't respond. He slightly sighs in relief when he realizes that you aren't actually trying to leave, just sleepwalking. Still, there's a knot in his stomach as he gently carries you back to bed that won't go away.
Ties you to the floor at night. You wake up one morning to the familiar feeling of a cold chain around your ankle, and you realize you've been tied down to a metal cuff sticking out from the ground. You call for Vincent immediately, and he tries his best to calm you down and comfort you. You beg and beg to be let out, that you would never leave him and that you love him-! But in the end, no amount of pleading can convince him to unchain you. He just can't let you go, y/n. And if chaining you down in the basement is the only way he can keep you, well...
Tries to take you on "walks". It's humiliating. You want to scream at him after he signs to you his suggestion. You aren't a dog. You beg for him to let you free, just for an hour or so, but he won't budge (even though he really wants to). If you want to walk around Ambrose, he'll insist on you wearing your ankle chain, with him holding the other end. If you do end up agreeing to this, expect to be heavily humiliated by Bo, who laughs his ass off the first time he sees you and Vincent walking together, chain and all.
Stays up at night more often to watch you. He has nightmares about you leaving him. He can't sleep, not until he's for sure certain that you can't won't leave him during the night. He's so embarrassed to admit it, but he gets sick at the thought of you away from him. He adores you and if he lost you? He would probably kill himself. Maybe he'd take all of Ambrose with him. He doesn't want to think about it.
Adds padding to your ankle cuff. It ends up chaffing you in the night, so one day Vincent convinces Bo to go to the next town over and buy some ankle cuffing for you to wear so the chain doesn't bruise you anymore. He wanted to try to use wax as a padding first, but you didn't like the idea (for some reason).
Lester Sinclair (House of Wax '05)
Tries not to take it personally. He hopes knows you don't really want to leave him (anymore); yet one night when he finds you shambling down the road in a sleep-ridden trance, he can't help but feel a little...upset? Offended? He'll guide you back home but on the way he's thinking about how he can further drill into your subconscious that you need to be with him at all times. That means even in your sleep, y/n!
Lester puts furniture in front of the door. He smiles to himself as he builds a wall of chairs blocking the front door, effectively creating a barrier between you and the outside world. He thinks he's so smart. His heart breaks in half the next night when he hears the chairs tumbling down and your unconscious body pawing at the doorknob. He's also a little impressed that you managed to sleep through such commotion...!
He sleeps on top of you. It's a bit uncomfortable having a full grown man slumped over you every night, but it's the only thing he can think of after his previous attempts to keep you in bed. If you really have a problem with him sleeping on you, he'll (reluctantly) stop, but you'll still find an arm strewn across your body every night. He just really wants you to stay in bed, y/n.
Still ends up taking it personally. He doesn't say it out loud, but every time you're out in Ambrose, he gets nervous that you might just walk off into the forest, wanting freedom to leave him. And when you start sleepwalking more and more, it starts to confirms all his fears that you actually want to leave. He tries to ignore it, but really he gets a deep ache in his chest when he sees you up at night, absentmindedly swaying by the barricaded door. "You don't really wanna leave me, right darlin'?"
Asks every single visitor about sleepwalking tips. It's annoying to most, but he doesn't care (or doesn't notice). He needs to figure out a way to help you, so why not ask the future wax figures? Most of the visitors shrug off his questions or get too creeped out by his general person to give genuine answers, but ever so often he gets a legitimate tip that he's desperate to try on you the following night. Ever heard of sleep hypnosis, y/n?
Jonesy keeps watch at night. She's taken it upon herself to guard you during your episodes, making sure that you don't fall or hurt yourself in some way. And if you get too close to the door or a window, she's going straight to Lester. Good girl, Jonesy!
đđđđđ đđđđđ who watches you more than he speaks. Not in the obvious way. Not like the rest of them. Itâs quieter than that. Like heâs memorizing your patterns. How your mouth moves when youâre thinking. The way your hands fidget when you're lying. He doesnât call you out. He just watches. Stores it.
Brian who always seems to show up when you need him. Before youâve even said a word. A call you didnât make. A knock on the door when the silence was becoming too loud. You wonder how he knew. He shrugs. Says something deflective. But you catch that look in his eyesâa flicker of something raw. Maybe he understands loneliness better than he lets on.
Heâs careful with you. Which is strange, because youâve seen how careless he can be with others. Effortless cruelty behind a calm smile. A predator wearing a loverâs voice. But never with you. With you, his touch is deliberate. Slow. Like heâs afraid of breaking something he never thought heâd be allowed to hold.
Brian who doesnât believe in soulmatesâuntil you. He doesnât call it that, of course. Heâs too logical, too damaged, too aware of what he is. But thereâs a look he gives you sometimes. After the laughter fades, after the masks slip. When the world is quiet and thereâs nothing left but the two of you breathing in the dark. That look says if anyone could be meant for me, it would be you.
Brian who shares pieces of himself heâs never named aloud. Not all at once. Just flashes. A memory, a story, a bloodstained fact. Testing you. Pushing. Will you run? And when you donâtâwhen you stayâhe watches you like youâve done something impossible.
There are days when he disappears. Leaves without warning. Comes back with tired eyes and that familiar scent of something metallic trailing behind him. You never ask. He never lies. And in that silence, there is trust.
Brian who doesn't know how to be normal. But with you, he tries. He learns your coffee order. He remembers the names of people who hurt you. He buys you a book you mentioned once in passingâdog-eared from his own reading of it. He doesnât say âI love you.â He says, âIâll take care of it.â He says, âDonât worry about them.â He says, âYouâre safe with me.â
And somehow, with himâyou believe it. Even if you know you shouldnât. Even if your heart beats faster not out of fear, but something far more dangerous. Something that feels like falling, like surrender, like letting the monster in.
Brian Moser who doesnât understand redemption. But if thereâs a piece of it in this world, he thinks it might look like your smile.
Slashers x t!masc reader who needs the slasher to give them their t-shot because they are scared of needles? (Hannigram + any other slashers you want!)
Omg YES I love this idea,plus you're literally my favourite writer ever and the reason I'm starting to write,I love your works!!!!â€
The slashers giving their trans boyfriend his t-shot headcanons ( featuring Hannigram and the Sinclair brothers):
-hannigram
I feel like Hannibal would be the one actually injecting you with the needle,while Will talks to you to distract you or just holds your hand,especially if you're scared.
Neither would think much of the fact that you're scared of needles,Will might be worried about how you took your shots before you were with them,but will not bring up the topic unless you do
Hannibal may also join in to comfort you if you ask him,or if he sees it helps you (he's Hannibal Lecter,HE CAN TELL). I personally really like Hannibal's voice and way of talking,and I think he wouldn't mind talking about anything or nothing in that way of his where even telling you about what he's gonna cook for dinner feels like some poem
They both will praise you after,and let you just sit on the couch if your leg hurt after the shot.
I also love the idea of Will training the dogs to stay with you after your t-shot,it's genuinely so cute to me
He feelslike he can't comfort you good enough,so he uses his furballs friends instead
Probably the only occasion Hannibal will let the dogs on the bed or the couch
You bet your ass he's cleaning it right after you got up thought lol
I feel like he wouldn't like having fur on his couch,idk why
But for you,he'll let it slide.
-Bo Sinclair
Doesn't want to do it at first
"Ya already shot that thing in ya before without me,why ya asking for help now"
He will say something like that and just be an assholes about it
Secretely just scared of messing up and hurting you
Like,I don't think Bo is a very...delicate guy,and he probably knows it too
He works with cars,nit with needles and soft,fragile skin
Will eventually agree to it after seeing you so scared while injecting yourself
Probably calls you every name under the sun for it. Pussy,crybaby,scaredy cat...while his own hands are secretely shaking and his mind is spinning
You will have to explain everything to him at least twice. Not because he doesn't understand,but because he wants to be sure to get everything right. Not that he'd tell you that
If he messes up,he will definitely start blaming you while internally beating himself up for it. Why did you make him do this,you dumbass?! He's not some caregiver or shit,damnit!
Will eventually calm down and secretely start praticing with empty needles,sometimes on victims too. His brothers notice but don't say anything about it
Next time,he sees you preparing to inject yourself ( because you think he doesn't want t help you anymore) and just yanks the needle out of your hand,ready to inject you
DON'T,AND I REPEAT DON'T MENTION IT
Will get all angry and defensive. What?! Him praticing for this shit?! He's just doing it because you're annoying,shut up jerk!
Keeps secretely praticing even after he could already probably do it with his eyes closed.
After all,he has so many bodies to try it on,so why not using it to his advantage?
Ends up always doing your t-shots,and starts to like those intimate moments with you,and the trust you're putting on him.
Won't say that to you thought.
But it will show at least a little bit
-Vincent Sinclair
Doesn't mind helping you at all
Vincent is an artist,so he has a pretty steady hand,perfect to this kind of precise jobs
Will still listen very carefully when you explain what he needs to do,and will write down any doubt to ask it to you,just to be sure
Is very attentive while doing it,but not too anxious. Jusst very,very careful,as if you're made of porcellain. Or wax...
Will most likely kiss/caress/pet the area after,mostly absentmindely. No lust or anything,just him being sweet. You love it
Will also get a bit clingier afterwards. Nothing crazy,just wraps his arms around you for a bit. You're not sure if he's comforting you or himself,but you enjoy it regardless,and so does he,so no problems
Also,bonus headcanon,I feel like everytime Vincemt represent you in any way (small wax figures,drawings,doodles...) he will make you a bit more masculine,especially if you're very insecure
Will also represent you without any part you might not like. You hate your titties? All the wax figures and drawings of you from then on don't have them. It's his way of showing you that he doesn't care how you look,he just sees his handsome,male boyfriend and nothing else,s he shows it trought his art,the most meaningful way he can
-Lester Sinclair
Is just happy to help you
Also very proud that you trust him with something so important to you,he knows how delicate this work is and how precisely it must be done,so for once he's actually extremely serious,especially when you're explaining what to do to him
Will repeat all the passages while he does them,to be sure he's doinf everything right
Will wince in sympathy everytime you do,and call you his big strong man afterwards to help you a bit,or whatever name helps you feel better
He honestly believes that you are very strong for doing this. Like,what do you MEAN you have to literally stick a freaking needle in yourself every week just to be you. Damn man,y'er one hell of a thought one,ain't ya? Said with the proudest smile ever. His boyfriend is s brave!
Will definitely try to distract you afterwards,either by taking a walk and playing with Jonesy,or if your leg hurts by talking your ear off,throwing compliments at you like they're candies
Will likely use Jonesy as a comfort for you. What's better than a big happy furball after a bad experience like that?
Will "awwwwww" every time you and Jonesy are togheter after the shot and call you two the cutest creatures on earth (unless being called cute makes you feel disphoric of course. Don't worry,you're his cute manly man!)
This was actually really nice to write,y'all tell me in the comments if you'd like a part two,and id yes,featuring who!đ
Can I request Dexter x male reader smut? Specifics don't matter tbh.
- đ°đ
Sensual Masterpiece || Dexter Morgan x male! reader
Summary: on a night free of murder, Dexter finds himself enthralled in a completely different kind of ritual
Warnings/contains: canon typical mentions of Dexter's killings, smut/nsfw content, handjob (reader receiving), penetrative anal sex (both by fingering and normal fucking), lube and condom use mentioned, top Dexter/bottom reader, Dexter is a little awkward here (also canon typical lol)
Prompts used: ê° 16 ê± a heaving chest, ê° S ê± familiar body wash, and ê° đ§ ê± âshow me how you like to be touched.â from this prompt list
Beginning notes: hey clock moon anon! I decided to use a prompt list to help give me some ideas since you said specifics didn't matter to you. hope you like it! đ
You were a sight to behold. Usually Dexter didn't find anything more beautiful than the set-up of having his victim displayed before him on a saran wrapped tabletop, but that paled greatly in comparison to the current image of having you underneath him.
He wanted to make you feel good, better than anyone had ever made you feel before.
"Show me how you like to be touched," he muttered next to your ear in that raspy voice of his, allowing you to guide his hands along your body wherever you wanted them to go. Tonight was all about you. He'd do whatever you wanted, whatever you asked for.
You could smell the slightly musky scent of his body wash as he loomed over top of you, familiar and comforting. The way he touched you felt like heaven, and you never wanted it to end.
His hands were rough and calloused, but the way they slid over your skin was so tentative, so careful, almost as though he was worried he might break you if he pushed too far. "You don't have to be nervous," you murmured in a reassuring tone. "I know you won't hurt me, Dexter. I trust you."
How ironic it was that the one person who you trusted more than anything was the one who could kill you in a heartbeat. But he wouldn't do that. He could never forgive himself if that happened.
Taking a deep breath, he simply nodded and tried his best to relax. Given how he was almost always on edge, it was easier said than done, but you somehow you knew how to bring out the calm in him, no matter what.
His gaze flicked down to the bead of precum that was already forming at the tip of your cock. Clearly he was doing something right.
"You can touch me there, it's okay," you gently coaxed, guiding his hand further downwards as you spoke. "Go on."
He shivered in something like delight at your words, his hand tentatively reaching out to wrap around the base. The choked sigh of pleasure that escaped you when he brushed his thumb along your cock head, smearing the precum a little, let him know he was doing a good job so far.
"You're so good at this," you managed to breathe out while staring up at him in awe. "I knew you had to be skilled with your hands."
Your words filled him with a certain sense of pride. I mean, it's not like you'd said anything new, necessarily. He was well aware of his capabilities, but hearing it said out loud felt different, especially when it came from you of all people.
Tentatively, he began to stroke your half-hard cock, bringing it to full mast and pulling more noises out of your mouth in the process. He never knew sex could be as captivating this. Usually it was something he only did as a way to appear "normal", but now he was actually beginning to enjoy it.
He could tell you were enjoying it, too, judging from the way your back had started arching upwards when he quickened his pace a little bit, pumping your cock faster. "Oh- oh, Dex-" You moaned out his name, his own cock twitching in sudden interest. He'd been so caught up in how you felt, he been completely ignoring the fact that he was getting turned on, too.
Before you could fully process what was happening, he pulled his hand away, causing your brow to furrow in confusion at the act. "Is something wrong?"
"Uh, no, nothing's wrong, exactly, I just-" he looked away, obviously feeling a little awkward. "Um, I just wanted to have you wait until I was inside you before you came, if that was okay."
The request surprised you a little, but you weren't upset by it. If anything, it made you proud, because you knew how difficult it was for him to be open and voice what he wanted like that.
"Yeah, it's absolutely okay," you said before he could get cold feet and change his mind just as a way to make you happy, sitting up some so you could unbuckle his belt and undo his pants.
"Sorry, didn't mean to ruin the mood or anything," he sheepishly apologized, but you just smiled at him and replied with, "you didn't ruin it at all, silly," before silencing any other worries of his with a kiss.
Once he'd finished with removing the rest of his clothes, he grabbed the lube plus a spare condom from the nightstand and positioned himself between your spread legs. He kept his eyes on you throughout the entire time he slicked up his fingers and used them to begin gently prodding into your entrance, his gaze both critical and intrigued.
Other people might've been unnerved by the excessive staring he was doing, but to you it only made you feel flustered, especially when considering how he was still fingering you the entire time. "You're so intense," you playfully commented when you were able to stop whining in delight for a moment, your words causing him to let out a dry chuckle in response.
"From where I'm standing, you don't seem to mind too much," he teased back while removing his fingers from you and grabbing the wrapped condom instead, which he tore open and slipped on. When that was done, he wrapped his hand around his already leaking cock and gave it a few pumps for good measure before lining it up with your thoroughly prepped hole. "Alright, you ready?"
"Mm-hm," you simply hummed out as answer, bracing yourself as you felt him ease in, unable to stop from moaning loudly once he'd bottomed out.
It felt good to be inside you, but it was even better getting to watch you fall apart like this. When he saw your fists grasping at the bedsheets, he reached his hands down and gently brought them up to his shoulders.
"Scratch me," he simply stated, watching to know what it felt like to have your nails clawing up his back as he fucked you.
You obeyed instantly, your nails digging into his shoulder blades as you clutched onto him, looking for a way to help ground yourself. Everything about you was perfect, from the way your eyes were rolling into the back of your head to the way your cock was slapping against your stomach from every thrust he gave.
Dexter wasn't even focused on himself at his point, if he ever was at all. It was far too mesmerizing both watching the way your body writhed in pleasure and listening to the sounds you were letting out.
"D- Dex-" you whined, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you fought to contain yourself. You didn't want to finish so quickly, wanting to give him the chance to also get off. But he was fucking you so good, each movement taking his cock deeper and deeper inside you, and you'd been so close before, it was becoming difficult not to just let go.
"It's okay," he insisted as it was now his turn to be the one reassuring you. "I don't need anything from you tonight. You can finish when you want to."
You looked up at him through hooded eyes, your chest heaving, your nails still dug harshly into his skin, and nodded your head. As your hot, sticky cum spurted out all over both your stomach and his, all he could think about is just how glad he was that he'd spent the night with you, his sensual masterpiece.
End notes: service top dexter is just so đ«Łđ„Žđ and he would absolutely be one fight me on it
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So, while scrolling through Pinterest because that's where I get all of my icons, banners, etc. I found this image of Hannibal staring right at Will who's eating a burger. I totally see this happening, and the idea of being caught eating junk food by the foodie himself was too good to pass up. Enjoy!
PAIRING:
Hannigram x Gender Neutral Reader
SYNOPSIS:
Hannibal's cooking was out of this worldâthat man could make anything taste good (even humans, shshsh.) But every once in a while, you and Will craved the greasy mess that was fast food, more specifically McDonalds.
The night air was cool and sharp, carrying the faint scent of rain and pine as you and Will snuck out the back door of Hannibalâs house. The door clicked shut behind you with a careful finalityâquiet enough not to wake the beast, or so you hoped. You exchanged a conspiratorial grin with Will, who looked far too smug for a man in his mid-forties sneaking out for fast food like a teenager.
âHeâs going to notice.â you whispered, tugging your coat tighter.
âHe always notices,â Will muttered. âBut maybe heâll think we went for a walk.â
You snorted softly. âAt eleven at night? In the rain? Without inviting him?â
Willâs grin turned lopsided. âHe married us. He shouldâve known what he was signing up for.â
The drive was filled with quiet laughter and the comforting hum of the heater. The world outside was mutedâjust you, Will, and the occasional hiss of tires over wet pavement. When the golden arches appeared in the distance, Willâs entire demeanor shifted into boyish excitement.
The two of you ordered enough food to make the teenager at the counter blink twice. Burgers. Chicken nuggets. Fries dripping in salt and grease. Milkshakes so thick they barely fit through the straws. You carried the tray to a corner booth, plastic seats squeaking beneath you. The smell of fried oil and cheap ketchup was, in its own way, heaven.
Will unwrapped his burger like it was a sacred relic. âYou know,â he said between bites, âHannibal would call this âculinary self-sabotage.ââ
âHeâd call it a crime,â you said with mock solemnity, dipping a fry into your milkshake. âA heinous one.â
Will snorted. âHe probably feels it in his soul right now.â
You laughed, the sound mingling with the low hum of pop music from the speakers. For a rare moment, everything felt lightâsimple. No elaborate wine pairings, no bone china, no Latin phrases before dinner. Just you and Will, free and happy in the glow of fluorescent lights.
You were halfway through your fries when Will froze mid-chew. His eyes went wide. âDonât look now,â he said, voice a whisper, âbut I think your prediction just came true.â
You turned your head ever so slightlyâand nearly choked on your soda.
Outside, in the dim glow of the streetlight, stood Hannibal. Perfectly dressed, immaculate as always, his expression unreadable through the glass. One gloved hand was tucked in his pocket, the other holding an umbrella. His gazeâsharp, patient, unblinkingâwas fixed on the two of you like a hawk observing misbehaving fledglings.
Will set his burger down slowly, as though sudden movement might provoke the predator outside. âDo you think,â he said, voice trembling with fear, âif we just pretend not to see him, heâll go away?â
You met his eyes. âWill. Heâs Hannibal.â
âRight.â Will sighed, looking down at his tray. âWeâre dead.â
Hannibal began to moveâmeasured, deliberate steps toward the door. You could see the faintest curl of disappointment at the corner of his mouth, the sort that made your stomach twist with guilt and laughter all at once. The bell above the door chimed as he entered, his presence immediately too large for the cheap little restaurant.
The teenage cashier behind the counter froze. A hush fell over the place, broken only by the faint hiss of the fryer. But Hannibal paid them no mind. He approached your table like a judge to a confession booth. His gaze moved from Willâs half-eaten cheeseburger to your empty nugget box, then up to meet your eyes.
âYou left the house without saying goodbye,â he said softly. âI was concerned.â
Will cleared his throat. âWe wereâuhâgetting some air.â
âIn a McDonaldâs.â Hannibal said, his tone so politely neutral it could have been mistaken for sincerity.
You swallowed. âWeâmissed the taste ofâŠpreservatives?â
A long silence. Then, unexpectedly, a sigh escaped himâhalf disappointment, half fondness. He reached down, plucked a single fry from your tray, and studied it like an alien artifact before eating it. The crunch echoed like a gunshot.
He turned to Will. âCold oil, sodium, and nostalgia. I suppose there are worse vices.â
Will blinked. âSo, weâre not in trouble?â
Hannibalâs mouth twitched, the barest ghost of a smile. âI wouldnât say that.â
Later, when you were both shepherded back into the carâyour precious Happy Meals confiscated like contrabandâyou and Will couldnât help but laugh. Hannibal drove in silence, the faint scent of truffle oil clinging to him. From the backseat, you whispered to Will, âNext time, we go to Taco Bell.â
Hannibalâs voice drifted smoothly from the driverâs seat. âThere will not be a next time.â
Will shot you a grin. âHe says that now. But you saw the way he finished that fry. If he was truly disgusted he wouldnât have chewed and swallowedâ
You bit your lip to stop a laugh, but the sound still slipped outâa snort muffled against your hand. Hannibalâs fingers flexed subtly on the steering wheel, a minute twitch that said heâd heard every word.
Will leaned back in the passenger seat, grin spreading wide as a catâs. âI mean, come on. He examined it like he was conducting an autopsy, and then what? He ate it. Thatâs not disgust. Thatâs curiosity. You were curious, werenât you, Hannibal?â
Hannibalâs gaze flicked toward Will, brief but heavy, before returning to the road. âI assure you, Will, curiosity is not the same as indulgence.â
âRight,â Will said dryly. âYou only indulged in it for scientific purposes.â
You leaned forward from the backseat, chin resting on the armrest between them. âYou did seem rather contemplative. Maybe heâs developing a taste for the common manâs cuisine.â
That earned you a low humâa noncommittal sound that mightâve been amusement, or mightâve been Hannibal calculating exactly how to make you both repent at breakfast.
âI would hardly call it cuisine,â he said at last. âIt is a fascinating exploration of how humanity manages to strip food of both nutrition and dignity.â
Will smirked. âSo, what youâre saying is, you didnât hate it.â
âI am saying,â Hannibal replied evenly, âthat it would pair nicely with cyanide.â
That did itâyou and Will broke into helpless laughter. Willâs shoulders shook, his hand clutching the dashboard for balance while you leaned against the seat, giggling uncontrollably. Even the steady hum of the engine couldnât drown out the sheer absurdity of it all: the three of you in Hannibalâs immaculate car, the smell of McDonaldâs grease lingering in the air like a crime scene.
When the laughter finally subsided, Hannibal exhaled softly through his noseâone of those delicate sighs that could mean anything from I adore you both to I will make you regret this.
âTell me,â he said, voice silky again. âWas it worth it? Sneaking out into the night like adolescents for...nuggets?â
Will turned in his seat to glance at you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. âAbsolutely.â
You nodded, smiling despite the weight of his tone. âEvery greasy, glorious bite.â
Silence fell again, save for the rain starting to patter against the windshield. The lights of the city shimmered in the glass, streaking across Hannibalâs face in passing gold and red. He looked almost peacefulâif one ignored the faint tightness in his jaw.
Then, after a beat, he murmured, âI will prepare something tomorrow that will make you forget this transgression.â
Will grinned. âSomething with fries?â
The pause that followed was chilling and oddly funny all at once.
âSomething that will remind you why you do not eat fries.â Hannibal said smoothly.
When you arrived home, Hannibal was the picture of graceâhelping you both out of the car, holding the door open, not a single scolding word. But as you kicked off your shoes and exchanged a guilty glance with Will, you heard the faintest sound from the kitchen: the low hiss of oil meeting a pan.
You peeked around the corner. Hannibal stood at the stove, coat hung neatly, sleeves rolled up, a small pot of oil heating beside him. On the counter sat a paper bag with the golden arches logo.
Will whispered, stunned, âIs he analyzing the fries?â
You whispered back, âHeâs refining them.â
Hannibal looked up then, eyes flicking between the two of you, lips curling faintly. âSince you enjoy them so much,â he said in that velvet tone, âI thought I might improve the recipe.â
And thatâs how, the next morning, you both found yourselves sitting at the table in front of a pristine plate of hand-cut, golden fries drizzled with some kind of herbed aioli and sprinkled with shaved truffle. They smelled divine, looked sinful, and were clearly meant as both punishment and temptation.
Will took one bite, blinked, and sighed. âHeâs weaponized fries.â
You nodded gravely. âWe can never go back to McDonaldâs.â
Across the table, Hannibal smiled faintly, sipping his espresso. âPrecisely.â
Can I request Hannigram taking care of a sick male reader?
I'M SICK, NOT DYING
PAIRING:
Hannigram x Male Reader
You had planned on spending the weekend in bed with your boyfriends, but you hadnât expected it to be because of fever, chills, and a throat that felt like youâd swallowed glass. Will fussed first. He hovered like a herding dog, trying to tuck blankets tighter, piling pillows beneath your head, pacing back and forth as though he could physically chase the virus out of your body. âYouâre burning up. Should we take him to the ER? Hannibal, he looks like heâs dying.â
Hannibal, of course, didnât look half as distressed. He pressed a cool hand to your forehead, his calm voice irritatingly smooth. âHe has a common cold, Will. People do survive them.â
You tried to mumble something in defense, but it came out as a wheeze that set Will spiraling again. âSee? Thatâs not normal breathing. What if itâs pneumonia?â
Hannibalâs lips twitched as though suppressing a smile. âIf it were pneumonia, dear Will, he would hardly have enough energy to roll his eyes at you.â
You did roll your eyes, which only made Will throw his hands in the air. âOh, great. Heâs delirious!â
By midday, Hannibal had taken control. He brewed you a cup of tea infused with honey and herbs so fragrant you swore he must have raided some apothecary instead of a kitchen. You sipped and gagged. âIt tastes like lawn clippings.â
âLawn clippings do not possess restorative properties.â Hannibal replied smoothly, taking the cup back and tilting your chin up to check your throat with the precision of a surgeon.
Will muttered from the doorway, âYou canât just doctor him, Hannibal. He needs rest, notâwhatever medieval potion you just concocted.â
âBetter than the three cans of Campbellâs soup you suggested.â Hannibal shot back.
You groaned, tugging the blanket over your head. âCan you two please stop fighting over my corpse?â
There was a pause, then Will huffed and sat at your bedside, gingerly brushing your sweaty hair back. âYouâre not a corpse. Youâre justâŠgross right now.â
You peeked out from under the blanket. âRomantic.â you deadpanned.
Hannibal set a bowl of broth on the nightstand, his gaze softening just slightly. âHe means you are pitiful, which, in its own way, is a rare opportunity for us to dote on you.â
You sniffled, voice muffled. âSo what youâre saying isâŠyouâre enjoying this?â
Will shot Hannibal a look. âDonât say it.â
But Hannibal only smiled faintly, dabbing at your temple with a cool cloth. âI do find you rather endearing when youâre vulnerable.â
You groaned again, tugging the blanket tighter. âGreat. Iâm someoneâs art project and someoneâs hypochondria trigger.â
Will leaned down to kiss your damp hair. âPretty much.â
Hannibal smoothed the blanket around your shoulders, indulgent as ever. âRest, beloved. Endure our care for a day. Tomorrow, we may allow you to reclaim your sarcasm.â
From under the blanket, your voice croaked out: âIf I survive your tea.â
