wait!! they are past lovers, and fbi!reader is like “i know you tried to sabotage my car, and steal important documents, hannibal this needs to stop” and hannibal is like >:c “suppose you also knew i drugged your water” becauseeeeee like the leon fic when leon thinks they are still boyfriends, uhuhhh see the vision???
All The Ways You Still Come Back To Me
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x FBI!Male!Reader
Words: 1k
Content Warning: Psychological Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drugging, Stalking Behavior, Emotional Coercion, Power Imbalance, Past-Abusive Relationship Dynamics, Gradual Loss Of Bodily Autonomy, Ingested Sedatives, Confrontations Involving Gaslighting And Boundary Violations, Sabotaged Property, Stolen Documents, Obsessive And Controlling Behavior Toward The Reader.
A/N: I see the vision! Not sure I made it right though :(
Enjoy, Reader
Hannibal’s house felt the same as it always had: too warm for the outside weather, too quiet for its size, and filled with the faint, impossible-to-place scent he always carried on his clothes. You stepped inside with the hesitation of someone entering a memory rather than a home, letting the door click shut behind you.
He stood near the fireplace, a book open in his hands. He didn’t look surprised to see you. Of course he didn’t. He rarely showed emotion unless he intended to.
“You should have called,” he murmured, closing the book gently as though finishing a thought. His eyes lifted to yours —calm, assessing. “You’re soaked.”
“It’s raining,” you said stiffly, shrugging out of your coat. “And I wasn’t exactly planning a long conversation.”
“Mm.” He studied you the way he always had, with an attention that felt like pressure on the skin. “Yet here you are.”
You forced yourself to remain steady. “I didn’t come here to argue about why I’m here. I came because things have gone too far.”
“Have they?” Hannibal asked, almost with curiosity. “Tell me what troubles you.”
His politeness only sharpened your frustration. “Someone cut the brake lines on my car last week. And someone broke into my office. Classified files went missing. Security footage glitched for exactly seven minutes. You’re the only person who could have bypassed our systems that cleanly.”
Hannibal’s expression didn’t shift, not even a flicker. “You always gave me too much credit.”
“And you always pretend innocence,” you replied. “But I know your patterns. I know when you’re trying to scare me. I know when you’re trying to send a message.”
Hannibal stepped closer, slow and deliberate, hands folded behind his back. “What message do you believe I would send?”
“That you want me back,” you said. “Or at least close enough for you to control.”
He tilted his head slightly, a gesture that had once been endearing, back when you didn’t know what it meant. Now it makes your pulse tighten.
“You left abruptly,” he said. “Without discussion. Without closure. You didn’t even allow me the courtesy of disagreement.”
“That’s because breakups aren’t mutual agreements,” you said. “You don’t get to co-sign them. You just… accept them.”
“Acceptance,” Hannibal echoed softly. “A curious expectation for a man like me.”
You drew a steady breath. “Hannibal. Whatever this is… Breaking into my office, sabotaging the car, it ends now.”
He considered you for a moment, then walked past you toward the console table near the door. His fingers brushed lightly across a water glass resting there before he turned back.
“You say you know me,” he said, “yet you overlook the simplest patterns.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he replied, “that you always look at the obvious threats and ignore the subtler ones.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued, as if reciting something matter-of-fact:
“The water bottle in your car is drugged.”
You felt your stomach pull tight. “What?”
He gave a slight, almost gentle nod. “You carry it everywhere. You leave it in the cup holder when you’re in the field. You drink from it without thinking.” A faint smile touched his lips. “It made more sense than waiting for you to drink from a glass here again.”
A cold tremor ran up your spine. “What did you put in it?”
“Nothing lethal,” Hannibal assured, stepping closer. “Just something to soften you. Something to make sure you didn’t feel the need to run quite so quickly again.”
Your pulse hammered. “I didn’t drink any of it.”
“Didn’t you?” he asked, voice low, intimate. “You take sips without noticing. Especially when you’re distracted. Especially when you’re driving home late.”
Your throat tightened. You remembered the bottle. You remembered grabbing it on instinct. You remembered taking two quick swallows earlier in the car because your mouth was dry.
Your fingers curled at your sides. “You drugged me.”
“I prepared for the possibility,” Hannibal said calmly. “I did not force you to drink. I merely… anticipated your habits. And you confirmed them.”
Your breath came unevenly now, though you tried to mask it. A creeping warmth had begun to spread through your limbs —subtle at first, then heavier, like thick velvet pressing down from the inside. Your balance faltered for half a second.
Hannibal noticed instantly.
“Sit,” he said, voice gentle but firm. “It will be easier that way.”
You shook your head. “No. I’m not here to…”
The room tilted, just slightly. Enough to make your vision blur at the edges. Your heartbeat felt muffled, cushioned by a haze that grew stronger with each uneven inhale.
“Hannibal,” you whispered, gripping the back of a chair for support. “You can’t…”
“I can,” he replied softly, “and I already have.”
You blinked hard, trying to stay present, trying not to sway. The warmth in your limbs deepened into something heavy and slow, as if your body were beginning to dream while still awake.
Hannibal stepped forward and caught your arm before you could stumble.
“There,” he murmured. “Let me.”
You tried to pull away, but your strength faltered. His grip steadied you effortlessly, guiding you down onto the nearest seat.
“This isn’t love,” you whispered, words thick on your tongue.
“No,” Hannibal agreed, kneeling in front of you as if tending to something fragile. “It is devotion. It is inevitability. It is what you and I always return to, no matter how far you try to run.”
Your vision blurred further, his face softening at the edges.
“Hannibal… I didn’t come back to you.”
“You did,” he said quietly. “Your body knew it long before your mind admitted it. That is why you are here. Why you always end up here.”
A wave of exhaustion pulled at you, dragging your limbs toward stillness.
“You don’t get to decide this,” you whispered, though each word fought to escape.
“I’m not deciding,” he murmured. “I’m reminding.”
He brushed a hand over your cheek —gentle, familiar, unbearably possessive.
“You left me once,” he said softly. “But you won’t leave again.”
You tried to respond, but the drug was already tightening its hold, drawing you deeper, tuning the world into something warm and distant.
Hannibal watched your eyelids flutter, his expression calm and satisfied.
“Rest,” he whispered, guiding your head forward until your forehead nearly touched his. “Everything else can wait.”
And as consciousness slipped from your grasp, the last thing you felt was the steady weight of his hand —and the terrifying certainty that he had planned this all along.
