i wanted to share with anyone interested that my fic 'sweetness on our tongues (once more)' is now at 11,000+ words and i am editing heavily. i do not write in a linear way, so one of the things that takes the longest is this organizing step. i wanted to share a latest aesthetic, another playlist, and an amuse-bouche sample in the meantime.
- bannibals 💌
And in just a few weeks’ time, they will couple. The first time she meets him at his home, they kiss and he takes her to his couch. And how he pulls her into him and rocks into her while rocking her against him, and how she comes on his leg through both their clothes. Later, she will be able to identify the song spinning lazy on his record player, and like a Pavlovian hound, will forever be aroused by Rachmaninoff's brilliance. But until then, her lips will tremble weak against Hannibal Lecter's in his still sitting room while her scent drives him to a marked and obsessive frenzy.
Hannibal thinks, ‘mate.’
Hannibal thinks, ‘mine.’
Hannibal knows this next one, this next thought--and what he actually says out loud--will rock her, "Oh, Clarice—that’s my good girl."
thank you all so much for the likes, reblogs, comments, and asks abt my clannibal wip! i am working diligently on writing this fic, fleshing out the timeline. i hope to drop the first chapter so soon. my free time has been a little hit and miss due to me still being in coursework for my ph.d. program. BUT !! classes are over in a couple of weeks and i so look forward to this being the summer of clannibal writing and posting from me. i hope everyone is well !!
summary: his visiting lectures at the fbi academy are all too dull; his appointment is met without courtesy. he dances with the little scholar starling at galas and fundraisers. and then, she charms him: gut-sick, and wanting. in which hannibal and clarice meet at boring social functions, and their rapport and quick back-and-forths are established while slow-dancing with one another.
an excerpt from my clannibal wip (tags included) under the cut
warnings and tags: wonky timeline/canon divergence - they know one another before he's imprisoned; age gap (clarice is a trainee at the fbi academy, hannibal is a visiting professor/lecturer); older man/younger woman; sexism; misogyny; gratuitous references to literature; romance; slow burn; hurt/comfort; kissing; eventual smut; piv sex; soulmates; letter writing; strangers-to-lovers; dance partners; jealous!hannibal; possessive!hannibal; book version + jodie foster!clarice; book version + anthony hopkins!hannibal; murderer + cannibal!hannibal; mutual pining; mutual obsession; virgin!clarice (🫣)
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excerpt/amuse-bouche
“You wounded me last Friday, Agent Starling. I was forced to socialize with tedious academics and their dreadful halitosis.” Though there’s mirth in his tone, she can tell that he’s hurt. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.
They dance with each other every Friday night, at all the galas and fundraisers near campus. The exhausting networking. She never thought he’d actually miss her.
What to say to the doctor? 'All I have been dreaming of is you?' ‘I had to skip the gala last week because you make me so weak in the knees? You make me so crazy that all I can think about is dragging you into this coat check and ruining your perfect clothes?’ Of his cupid bow's mouth and how it smirks before he says something so crass, that he knows will anger her, excite her, thrill her in a way that no one has ever come close. His words and how he says them so close to her, and how he makes her chest spiral and her mind eject outward, into a dizzying elsewhere.
He’s crowding her from behind while she works open the walk-in coat check closet to store her things.
“You seem as though you’d like a word with me in private, Clarice.”
She moves deeper into the closet, and he follows her inside. He closes the door. He locks the door. He moves towards her and she lets him close. He pushes his nose into her cheek and inhales in silence, but she feels it.
"Don’t put your eyes upon the door, keep them on me.” His command is soft, her jaw clenches stern with aching want—of what? Something he will only tease. “There is no one else in or near this coat check. We are utterly alone for a spell. And I’m yours for the taking, Clarice. Now, how should you take me?"
“Sir?”
“How should you take me?”
He watches her tongue peek out between her lips before she worries the bottom one between her teeth. She reaches for him. The affection and amusement in his gaze and in the soft way he’s arched his eyebrow moves her to grin up at him. She tugs the bow tie loose, and he purrs low and soft, “Brave Clarice.” She touches and holds a silken end in each hand and tugs him forward, toward her.
"Good girl. Now, show me; what next?" They're a breath away from touching. She's flushed and moves forward to let her nose rest in the slot next to his. "How would you will I to touch you for this first time, Clarice?"
Her eyes are shut while their foreheads press together. She trembles near him. She knows he’s looking at her with that maroon gaze that never seems to leave her. Her fingers tighten around the silk of his bow when he pulls away from her.
“Open your eyes.”
She does, and she suckles at her bottom lip. In this dim light, he is so lovely, the way he holds himself so near her—so polite, a handsome grace.
