a break before the next kinktober drop.
includes: michael myers, jason voorhees, the grabber, thomas hewitt, brahms heelshire, hannibal lecter, vincent sinclair, bo sinclair.
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Michael Myers
Michael’s yearning is strange. He doesn’t yearn like most — the way he needs you is like rot under painted wood; invisible, but dangerous. He doesn’t focus on why he lingers outside your window, how he knows the sound of your footsteps, or why he wants to keep you rather than kill you. Michael just knows you’re different to him. It isn’t love, not even close. It’s something worse — older, darker, a pull he can’t unlearn. Its devotion twisted into obsession.
Jason Voorhees
Jason’s yearning is heavy. He’ll follow you through the forest with silent excitement like a hunter after their first doe of the season. He tries to make himself smaller, softer in an attempt to not scare you, though his size and silence do anyway. Jason leaves offerings like bait; flowers, candy, whatever he sees and thinks you might like. He loves you the only way he can — by protecting you. It’s worship.
The Grabber
The Grabber’s yearning is an illness dressed in silk. You feel it in the way his voice softens when he says your name, the way his bare hand rests around your throat — not to hurt, but to remind you that he could. He watches you with that damned mask hiding his truth, pretending control, but you can feel it each time he speaks; the desperation lacing his voice. He doesn’t understand love, not in the gentle sense that someone as soft as you deserve. His is a dark possession that aches, a distressed urge to keep you where the world can’t touch you. Every time you flinch, he whispers, “I don’t want to hurt you.” and part of you believes him. You are the only softness he’s ever craved, and he needs you to stay.
Thomas Hewitt
Thomas’s yearning is slow, patient, and devoted. He can’t say what he feels, so he builds it instead. Little gestures stitched into every day; a gift a thought you’d like and waiting for you to join the table before eating. You’re the one thing that makes him believe there’s something gentle left in him — how could he let that go? He watches you with soft eyes, adoring every feature like it’s the first time. His yearning isn’t loud, but it speaks volumes.
Brahms Heelshire
Brahms’s yearning is frantic. Like he’s drowning and you’re the air he’s desperate for. His affection comes as whispers through the walls, gifts he leaves where you’ll find them, and the way he trembles when you say his name — God, he loves the way his name sounds on your tongue. He wants you to see him, to never, ever leave. His love is unbalanced, fevered, but achingly sincere. You can tell how badly he wants to be good for you, even if he doesn’t fully know how.
Hannibal Lecter
Hannibal’s yearning is an art form. He is precise and utterly consuming. You are his muse, his fascination, the line between devotion and destruction blurred into something so beautiful. He doesn’t starve for your body so much as your soul, the way your mind moves. His love is a sonnet written in blood and expensive wine. When he looks at you, it feels like being studied, painted, and devoured all at once. You’ll never know if he wants to kiss you or consume you, maybe both. He has paintings of you on his wall. To be yearned by him is to be owned.
Vincent Sinclair
Vincent’s yearning is quiet. You see it in the way he sculpts, how every curve of wax mirrors you with precision. He doesn’t speak his love, but trust that he shows it. His hands that glide across your face and skin, memorizing every inch, the polaroids of you that adorn his workspace — the man spends every moment thinking of you, replicating you with wax. He loves like an artist loves their masterpiece.
Bo Sinclair
Bo’s yearning is dangerous. He’ll tease, flirt, and pretend he doesn’t care, but his hands always find you. He’s the kind of man who says “you’re mine” like it’s a threat and a promise all at once. He’d sit and watch it all burn for you because he doesn’t know how to be gentle, but when he’s with you, the edge softens just enough — like wax. You consume him in the worst way.
✉️ ⦂ first time writing for hannibal! I’m only on season 2 so hopefully nothing is too ooc [ wc ╱ 1.2k ]
The bedroom breathed low light—candle-flame stuttering on the dresser, moonlight carving thin slits past half-drawn drapes. You lay supine across the wide bed, naked skin drinking the icy bite of Egyptian cotton, arms stretched languidly above your head.
Hannibal stood at the bedside, crisp white dress shirt already stripped of its vest and tie, his sleeves turned to the elbow to reveal lean, corded forearms. His gaze drifted over your exposed skin, lingering on the curves of your hips and the soft seam of your thighs—a perfect little lamb arranged for sacrifice, one that was far too sweet for a man of his appetites.
Which, of course, was exactly why he wanted you.
He lifted a perfect ice sphere from the silver bowl, hand-blown glass catching firelight in fractured prisms. He held it suspended between thumb and forefinger, letting you watch the slow condensation bead and slide.
The sphere descended. Frost met your collarbone in an unforgiving kiss.
The cold seared instantly, bright and piercing, melting into a thin, glistening rivulet that arrowed between your breasts. You bit the inside of your lip to smother a whimper at the sting, skin prickling alive under his unwavering stare.
“You shiver already,” Hannibal observed, voice low and mildly amused. “Like a rare orchid forced into flower by the threat of winter. No exception to instinct, are you?”
He trailed the ice down to your chest, your nipples hardening instantly, shamelessly eager as he began to draw lazy figure-eights onto them. “Mmf… oh god…” Your breath hitched, back arching off the mattress in involuntary offering.
“Shhh,” he whispered, almost teasing. “Blasphemy is a poor substitute for breath.”
He continued—agonizingly patient—ringing each tight peak until they ached, flushing dark against gooseflesh. Meltwater pooled in the hollow of your waist, then spilled sideways across ribs, licking cold paths your body begged him to follow with heat.
When the sphere dwindled to a fragile shard he pressed it to your lower lip. “Open.”
You parted for him, mouth yielding like prey baring throat as he slid the remnant inside.
His eyes crinkled ever so slightly, pleased. “Good lamb,” he murmured. “Obedience suits you.”
“Now, suck.”
Your tongue curled greedily around it. Mineral-sharp sweetness dissolved against the roof of your mouth while you glanced up at him through damp lashes—wide-eyed and doe-soft, the very picture of innocence even as your pulse hammered at the base of your throat.
Hannibal tilted his head, ink-pooled eyes tracking every flicker of muscle, every swallow, practically cataloguing the mechanics of your hunger. He remained utterly composed—posture impeccable, breath measured—yet the fine wool of his slacks betrayed him: the thick, insistent outline of his cock strained against the fabric, a small dark bloom of pre-cum already darkening the tip.
He was starving. Not for food. For that frantic little pulse beneath the wool.
Another sphere. This one he dragged in one unhurried line down your midline—past navel, over the soft rise of your mound, then lower. His free hand nudged your legs apart until you spread completely exposed for him, your cunt slick and hot with no dignity left to hide behind.
The ice met your clit with a mean push. Shock lanced through you as soon as contact was made there, hips snapping upward before you could cage the reflex.
“Agh—- Hanni- too cold!…” Eyes squeezed shut, a wince.
His palm flattened over your lower belly, thumb stroking just above the cold press where muscle knotted tight from need, anchoring you like territory thoroughly claimed.
“Breathe,” he said, kinder now, yet edged with command. “Let the chill carve itself into you… right here.”
He punctuated his words with a press, circling your hypersensitive bundle torturously, admiring how your cunt pulsed and wept in spasmodic answer. Arousal mingled with meltwater in obscene, shining trails down your folds, soaking the sheet beneath as you squirmed.
The sight earned a hum out of him—deep and delighted. “Such eager little contractions. Your body blooms beautifully under duress.”
He nudged the next chilled sphere shallowly inside you—just the tip—then withdrew, leaving your sex fluttering around emptiness, walls clenching at the ghost of intrusion.
Your knees quaked nonstop, mewls splintering into fevered gasps as lungs mutinied. “W-Wait,” you swallowed, throat working around the word. “Please…”
Hannibal paused, the ice hovering a cruel millimeter from your swollen labia, his dark eyes flickering up to meet your teary ones.
“Yes?”
“It’s… intense. I-It’s too much.”
A small, genuine smile touched his lips, making your stomach twist with equal parts fear and want. “That’s precisely the point, my love.”
Gently, he set the bowl aside, kneeling between your thighs, lowering his mouth.
Warmth after frost was devastating. His tongue swept along the full length of your slit, gathering the mingled chill and juices in a series of greedy swipes that made your toes curl.
His lids fluttered closed for a heartbeat, savoring. “You taste even sweeter thawed.” he noted, features flickering with amusement. “How delightfully predictable.”
His thumbs pressed your folds wider, holding you open while he feasted in a way both unabashed yet deliberate—flat, broad laps over your clit that built into tight, lethal flicks, then sealing the puffy bud between his lips. A delicate, testing pull at first… then harder, a deep suction that locked your fists bone-white into the sheets.
A shattered cry ripped out. “Hannibal!—-”
You bucked against his face, the sculpted ridge of his nose rubbing ruthlessly into your nerves as his jaw worked, hips chasing the delicious pressure on instinct.
“Mmm… my greedy little pet,” he purred against you, vibration curling fresh lightning through your core. Fingers laced with yours, grounding you while his tongue plunged in further, skilled strokes gliding along each hidden ridge—relishing how his little lamb thrashed for the wolf’s mouth alone.
Your moans rang off the high ceiling as you finally came apart on his mouth. Your thighs clamped around his shoulders, flooding him in tremor after tremor. He drank you through it all until you collapsed in a sheen of sweat, glittering and spent.
Hannibal rose smoothly, lips gleaming in the candlelight, his breath measured except for one shallow pull he made no effort to disguise. Even he allowed himself a moment’s indulgence.
He moved over to brush a strand of hair clinging to your brow, studying the shivers still passing through you and the disarray he had authored.
“Beauty in extremis,” he said quietly, words heavy with near-reverence. “You fracture so exquisitely under pressure. It is a rare privilege to compose such ruin.”
Still trembling, you managed a breathless laugh. “That mouth of yours is going to kill me one day.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, satisfied rather than apologetic, thumb smoothing along your temple as if calming a startled animal. “Rest assured, I have plans that require your continued… vitality.”
He then kissed you slowly, feeding you the taste of your own ruin straight from his tongue, a move so brazenly possessive it felt like etiquette in reverse.
He withdrew just enough to look at you. “Shall we proceed? The ice remains, and the night is still young with untasted potential.”
You reached for him, aching readily for the next cut despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”
His fingertips ghosted the glossy evidence the ice had left across your thigh, cruel in its restraint. “Impossible?” A soft huff of laughter escaped him. “No. Merely inevitable. You invited the wolf in… now, you must feed him.”
He leaned in, the grip on your flesh suddenly tightening. “And I find myself quite famished for the sound you’ll make when you break again.”
the reason hannibal has so much free time and can just drop everything to be at FBI crime scenes whenever is because he actually only has one client and it’s franklyn and he charges $5,000 per twice weekly session and if hannibal ever cancels, franklyn apologizes
My headcanon for hannigram’s first sexual intercourse is just clothed, desperate frotting after a hunt, while being covered in blood. That’s it. They would be a way too desperate to even bother with undressing.
Hey :) i saw your post asking for requests, and the Hannibal x reader tag has been so dry lately. Could you maybe do headcanons or a oneshot of him being clingy/cuddling with the reader, please? I haven't come across your account yet, but i love finding new writers on tumblr. :)
Hannibal Lecter and Affection
Headcanons
(Images are not mine)
Disclaimers: just fluff and canon typical violence and maybe stalking
-> My Lil Masterlist
-> Ask/Request Rules
I slapped this puppy out extremely quickly because I love this mischievous doctor sm. Here's some general ramblings on him, I think I got side tracked at some point... OH WELL
So since you haven't mentioned which Hannibal you wanted, I've naturally defaulted to Mads Mikkelsen's version since I like to think I know his portrayal the best.
Hope you enjoy, Anon & everyone else!
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Overall, I wouldn't describe Hannibals behaviour as clingy. Orbiting is probably a better word for it
You'd notice it in the way he always seems to be near in some capacity. If he isn't occupying the space around you, then he finds a way to inject himself there like gifts, letters, food, someone you know mentioning him, etc
There's a quiet danger in how easily he integrates himself into your life, like ivy
He's a very hands-on lover in private
He'll stand behind you and correct your grip on the knife if you help in the cooking (even if your method is completely fine)
He'll help you moisturise, casually spreading thick cream over your back and up your legs with this slow languidity, like he has nowhere else to be but with you
Brush a hand over your shoulder when he walks past
Offering you a taste of something from his plate
Insisting on organising and administering your medication it you take any
Reading to you in bed is one of his softest habits for sure
These moments are more about communion than being helpful.
He's always touching you in public spaces.
Not excessively as I don't think he is fond of PDA, but I think he likes to show his claim on you
Think things like having a hand on the small of your back to gently nudge you around, or taking a moment to adjust the collar of your coat, or resting his hand on your thigh
It's sweet in the moment, maybe even grounding- if not occasionally possessive
Depending on where you guys are in this stage could elicit different feelings however
His eye contact is very intense at times
You could almost confuse it as him undressing you with his eyes
He's doing more than that
He's literally dissecting you with his eyes.
Imagineing and appreciateing your bone structure and musculature
Wondering what flavour would go best with your flesh- its odd because he never plans to eat you, not really
But I imagine his brain goes there almost unconsciously, habitually
Rest assured it means very little to him
If you don't know that he's a cannibalistic serial killer:
His way of affection is intense but pretty explainable
His clinginess reads less menacing and more like he's protective of you, that he's unable to verbalise his feelings for you
Now if you know he's a cannibalistic serial killer and approve:
His best case scenario because it allows him to be more indulgent
He'll be more physically attentive, more warm, because he feels like he can trust you better
Not necessarily because he believes that you two are alike, just more confident in your relationship
Cooking becomes much more collaborative and more honest. He'll crave your opinion of flavour combinations. He'll allow you to have more power over the menu. He doesn't hide certain ingredients (though I don't think he'd take you down to his butchery downstairs even if you did know)
If you know he's a cannibalistic serial killer but do not approve:
Good luck
He's colder, but he cannot bring himself to truly distance himself from you even if you promise not to tell the authorities
If you stop living with him or attempt no contact, he's hoing to beviaing for your attention in any way that is possible: flowers at your doorstep with no sender information, notes that arent signed off, he'll show up in places you frequent, people you know will mention him fondly in your presence
If you choose to stay with him but openly discourage his behaviour or show disinterest or even disgust its much more complex
Physical affection increases during conflict because he wants to draw you back in
He'll want to hold you
His touch is firmer, not aggressive, but less optional
He'll lower his voice to a gentle rumble
He will NEVER yell at you. Ever. Never ever forever. Not his vibe.
He won't bully you unless you force his hand, but he keeps initiating touches you'd associate with the romantic relationship the two of you share/d as a way to distract you or remind you of how good he can be to you specifically
It doesn't matter how deeply you've caught him in a lie, he will do anything to flip the script in any way to keep you closer
He doesn't beg, he doesn't grovel, but he doesn't let you go either
He'll reframe your morality to make you seem in the wrong
Question your perspective
Dismantle your discomfort or fear piece by piece
His clinginess increases like crazy, but cause he can't trust you, not in the way he used to, not in the way he hoped he could
He doesn't follow you around like a lot puppy per say, but you can definitely feel the weight of his presence wherever you go
After all, he has so many connections, he knows so much about your personal life, your routines, and even down to beibg able to anticipate your next moves
You do NOT want this guy as your ex fr
Clinginess in the sense of jealousy it a toughy
It's not that he doesn't trust you, on the contrary, he doesn't trust others
He may attempt to isolate you, if you don't know, as a precaution from whatever others may say to you. We wouldn't want you shifting priorities of course...
If people openly flirt at you in front of him he doesn't blow up on the spot or pout later
He'll stew on it. Stew on your reaction. Stew on how he's going to punish such absolute blatant insolence in his face.
He's insulted that anyone would be so bold to think they can take you from him so... inelegantly
Reassurance is good when these moments happen
He'll absolutely melt if you suggest an activity together, cooking, reading, a hike, even if you just silently do your work in the same space
It won't extinguish that spiteful flame in him, but it'll quieten it
But if YOU go out to try make him jealous? Wow. He's NOT impressed
It will not make him want you more, you will not get anything good from it besides a petty Hannibal Lecter (and that's never a good thing)
If you have a nightmare?
He's very sensative to what goes on around him wo there's no doubt he'll know when you are having one
He may watch you for a touch longer than he probably should once he realises you're having a nightmare, morbid curiousity yk
As a psychiatrist and likely someone who also goes through his fair share of night terrors, he has a certain method he uses to wake you up and settle you back down:
He speaks lowly, touches gently, reassures slowly
He doesn't ever intend to wake you up violently
And once you do wake up and he's gotten you calm (if you weren't upon awakening) he'll likely ask what you remember
If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine
Now, best believe you'll get the big spoon of your LIFE these nights. You'll fall back asleep knowing comfortably that NOTHING is getting past him
If Hannibal has a nightmare
I can not imagine this man not having some freaky dreams that make him at the very least very uncomfortable upon waking up
Its rare he ever has a violent reaction to his nightmares, the worst you'll likely come across as his s/o is waking up to him staring at the ceiling like it just ripped up his favourite tie
It looks more like am intense sadness or numbness than fear
He will not explain what he saw, not until much later into the relationship
But if you offer to hold him?
He will not refuse. He'll bury himself in you as if hoping your very body heat will scorch away whatever unsettled him
He is at his most vulnerable, and that is where he is the most clingy
How they respond to you leaving his lap or being near him when he's sitting and you're standing...all of the men I write for.
Hannibal Lecter
He didn't usually show affection like this in public gatherings. He would hold your hand, he would pull you against him in a casual greeting among his discussions with guests in a party. But he would never pull you into his lap such as this moment.
It was more so a show of possession, that you're his. As the men he discussed with were looking at you and he had to let them know who you were meant to be with. So, he pulled you into his lap.
It was rather surprising for you. You were just walking by when he reached an arm around your waist and snatched you until you fell into his lap as he sat in an armchair. His hand resting on your thigh, his arm around your shoulder. He didn't stop the discussion with the men around him at all.
You were snatched and this was entirely out of character for him. He refuses to let you get up as well, his hand would tighten on your thigh if you merely shift.
Harvey--SDV
You're pulled into Harvey's lap as he greets you in the morning. You just stepped out of the farm house when his arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you against him. Your legs naturally move in a way so you were comfortable on his lap. He helps you by pulling one of your legs over his lap.
"I couldn't let my beautiful wife go about her day without greeting her," he said in a warm voice. "You'll find the cat has water in his bowl. The fences have been fixed and the animals fed and let loose. All you have to do, darling, is whatever those pretty fingers want."
His voice dropped into a purr at the end of his sentence, hinting that her fingers could want him or could go off and do more work.
His arms tighten as you attempt to get up but he lets you up in a second after. His hand taps your rear. "I'll be here when you're taking a break. And, Darling? Please do take a break today, you deserve rest. Doctor's orders."
Carlisle Cullen--Twilight
It had been a while since you saw him. He was at work a lot this week and there wasn't much time between you. So it was to your surprise that he showed up at you apartment with a movie.
Carlisle doesn't use his enhanced speed very often. He likes to blend in with the humans. But being sat and comfortable with you was his top priority right now so he was a blur as the movie was popped in and you were in his lap.
You felt his hands grip your hips and his nose nuzzling your neck. "It's been too long, my love. Remind me not to take so long to come back to you."
my favorite headcanon is that Will had a sibling because he never confirmed or denied that he was an only child when Brian hinted at that he just asked "what makes you say that" instead of saying "how do you know that" and to me Will had either a younger sibling who also died like Mischa or he had an older sibling who died and that's why him and Hannibal are connected because they mirror each other's earliest trauma AND LIKE IDK BUT I LIKE IT!!!
making myself cry at the thought of post-fall, time skip, hannigram moment where in one of the quiet evenings they share, Hannibal found his gaze lingering on the few strands of white in Will's hair and the wrinkles beginning to form on his face. him taking in the sight, relishing the realization that he and Will are growing old together. fuck
