some things are meant to rot beautifully.
pairing: dr. hannibal lecter x f!reader/f!oc
genre: psychological horror • dark romance • poetic prose
notes: cross posting this from ao3, the divas loved it on there
MINORS DNI!!
─── ꒰ 🩸 ꒱ ───
chapter one — hungry bird
Hannibal Lecter had always been a creature of certainty.
Precision.
Control.
And yet.
Birdy Jones had become the quiet, gnawing contradiction inside him.
Six months of sessions and he still couldn't name the feeling.
The hunger.
The ache.
The strange, reverent violence of it.
She entered his office, a pale face wrapped in sunlight-blonde hair.
Birdy Jones.
Raised in a narrow house where God was spoken of only in threats and punishments.
Where hunger was a demon and desire a stain on pure white robes.
Where one learned early that soft things must kneel, and loud things must break.
The mother pressing a Bible to her lips until she choked on the verses.
The father insisting that obedience was the only form of holiness.
Their little girl made small,
made still,
made starving.
And yet.
She crawled out of that place.
Found a life that should have been enough.
But something inside her still wanted.
A wanting with teeth.
A wanting that shivered beneath her sugary laugh.
That eerie glimmer in her bright blue eyes.
A hunger older than her.
His hunger answered it.
They had been in this moment many times before. This situation. Eerily familiar, almost mundane.
She dropped into the patient's chair.
Legs over the armrest, head tilted back, eyes fixed on the same old ceiling tiles, exposing herself with an innocence so deliberate it tasted like sin.
Childish.
Coy.
Fix her.
That was his job.
Fix what was wrong with the young woman.
"So, tell me..." Hannibals voice interrupted her senseless staring, his voice thick with accent, all while he sat down in front of her.
"How have you been the past days?"
Birdy hummed, shrugging. Shoulders carelessly bobbing up and down.
"As always." she said, voice quiet. "How have you been?"
Her mimicry.
Her tiny, quiet form of domination. Of seeking power over a situation.
The taking of someone's words into her mouth and making them her own.
A tiring habit to some.
Hannibal felt it hum through him.
"Busy as always." he replied, used to her habits by now, gaze fixed on her absent unfocused eyes.
"As always…" the blonde woman whispered again.
Silence stretched thin between the two as neither spoke.
Birdy only stared.
Blue eyes unblinking, lashes lowered in that demure, deceptive way.
There was something trembling behind those eyes
like a trapped hymn
trying to become a scream.
A simple answer.
Bait that told him there was more to it.
To that yes.
Hannibal leaned forward, elbows sinking onto his knees, his presence folding toward her in a slow, deliberate descent.
"Something is troubling you..." he said.
It wasn't a question.
Not really.
Her shoulders twitched again, but she didn't deny or confirm.
With Birdy it was always a push or pull.
She lied.
She spoke the truth.
She contradicted herself.
Got caught in her own web of lies with no care in the world.
This was a game to her she played with great subconscious pleasure.
"Nothing..." she breathed.
Too soft.
Too obedient.
Too false.
Her lips parted as if the rest of the truth wanted to slip out.
Spill across the floor for him to dig in and pick out what he deemed worthy to be heard and seen.
A shiver caught at the corner of her mouth, her lips cracked into a crooked pained smile for a fraction of a second.
Then her gaze dropped.
Not away entirely.
To his arms.
His hands.
The space between their chairs.
A small, involuntary movement stirred in her fingers.
Thumb rubbing absently into her palm.
imperial: what film, in your opinion, has the best cinematography and/or special effects?
I can't believe this is coming out of my keypad but. I fucking loved everything in Titanic, the cinematography. Whatever the fuck that means. The visuals, people ✨drowning✨, the sinking, the blue blue water, the band playing while everyone panicked, the sets, leo and kate's beautiful faces
some things are meant to rot beautifully.
pairing: dr. hannibal lecter x f!reader/f!oc
genre: psychological horror • dark romance • poetic prose
notes: cross posting this from ao3, the divas loved it on there MINORS DNI!!
─── ꒰ 🩸 ꒱ ───
chapter six — salvation
Birdy's teeth sank into his hand with a violence that did not belong in her mortal body.
She stumbled back.
Hitting the floor with a graceless collapse.
Limbs folding in on themselves like a bird whose wings had been snapped mid-flight.
She blinked up at him, dazed.
Shaking.
For one stretched, awful moment, he simply watched her.
Hand bleeding.
Breath uneven.
Something hungry.
Slow.
Delicate.
Dangerous.
"Birdy…"
He lifted the bitten hand to his mouth, tongue dragging through the blood she'd drawn and left.
He tasted her.
He savored it.
He swallowed.
"You are hungry."
Birdy's gaze flicked up at him.
Her pupils huge.
Wide enough to swallow the light.
She felt small beneath him.
Smaller than she remembered being
"…Hungry." she echoed, barely audible.
Her voice was thin,
trembling,
a mimicry,
a reflex,
a desperate attempt to take his words into her mouth and pretend they were hers.
Control by repetition.
Control by imitation.
He crouched before her.
His shadow blotting out the rest of the world.
His presence boxed her in.
Pressed her spine to the cold floor.
Pinned her like a creature being examined.
Her breathing stuttered.
He lifted his bitten hand again, studying the crescent wound.
Her teeth had broken skin.
They had wanted to.
Hannibal's fingers caught her chin.
Firm.
Inevitable.
Pulling her in.
"Open. Your. Mouth."
There was no resistance in her body.
Only a trickle of fear.
A tide of need.
a numbness so familiar it felt like home.
Her lips parted.
Slow.
Automatic.
Saliva.
Blood.
Orange-red remnants on her teeth.
A thin string stretching from lip to tongue.
Her eyes.
Vast.
Blue.
Ruined.
looked up at him like she was waiting for a verdict.
Hannibal inhaled sharply.
His thumb pushed down on her lip, opening her more.
He needed to see all of her hunger.
"Good."
Her tongue ghosted over the pad of his thumb.
The kind of touch that wasn't meant to seduce.
"I'm… good?" she whispered.
A question carved from old wounds.
Old prayers never answered.
He felt something vicious coil in his chest.
"Yes." he answered.
Thumb dragging across her mouth.
Smearing the blood into something glistening and obscene.
"Such a good girl."
She tugged at the cross collar around her throat.
A desperate, jerking pull.
Salvation, she thought.
The word cracked like a bone in her mind.
"Are you the devil?" she breathed.
Not accusing.
Hopeful.
He tilted her face up, thumb tracing the fragile hinge of her jaw.
"Did your God tell you that I am?"
She shook her head immediately.
"He doesn't answer me..." she whispered.
"Never has."
"Are you God?"
A laugh, almost.
"No, Birdy." he whispered.
"I am not God."
His grip tightened.
"But I am going to answer you."
Her eyes fluttered.
"Every single time."
Something inside her broke open with a soft, painful sound.
"I'm hungry… Dr. Lecter…"
Nearly a moan.
Nearly a confession.
Her guard slipping.
Like a garment falling from shaking shoulders.
He touched her throat.
Fingers tracing her pulse.
Fluttering,
frantic,
a trapped thing beating itself against bone.
"Let me feed you." he breathed.
She nodded.
Jerky.
Desperate.
Like a starving creature smelling meat for the first time in years.
"Please..." she whispered.
"Please do… Dr. Lecter…"
He felt the words land inside him like teeth.
"Look at me."
Her eyes snapped up.
Instantly.
Obedient.
He leaned in.
His breath brushing her mouth.
His hand still circling her throat.
A cradle.
"Open your mouth." he demanded again.
"Show me how hungry you are."
She did.
Immediately.
Her jaw falling slack.
A line of bloody drool slipping down her chin.
She didn't wipe it.
Didn't hide it.
She let herself be seen.
Her hunger was not simple.
It was old.
It was carved from years of forced piety,
of silence,
of being told to swallow her pain quietly
and starve with dignity.
Now she opened that mouth like a wound ripped open.
and offered it to him.
He leaned closer.
So close he could taste her breath.
So close every inch of him felt the pull of her.
He hovered there.
On the cusp of ruin.
On the edge of her hunger.
On the threshold of salvation she didn't understand and he intended to redefine.
Birdy moved first.
A quick, impulsive lean.
Not graceful.
Nor calculated.
More like a creature lunging toward warmth before instinct could stop her.
Her lips brushed his in a stolen kiss.
That thrill she only felt when she disobeyed on purpose.
As if misbehavior was the only language her body remembered how to speak.
Hannibal froze.
But only for a moment.
His hand shot into her hair,
fingers curling in the soft, uneven strands,
dragging her up.
He kissed her back.
No, he consumed her.
His tongue pushed past her lips.
Into the warmth of her mouth.
Tasting her.
Not just blood.
But that dizzy sweetness beneath it.
Birdy stiffened at first.
A startle response.
Her body locked up like prey waiting for the blow.
Then…
slowly…
she melted.
Not with trust.
But with surrender.
Her teeth grazed his tongue.
Hannibal groaned.
A low, guttural sound he didn't mean to let slip.
His grip tightened in her hair.
The other hand bracketed her throat.
Not squeezing yet.
Yet?
Squeezing.
Now.
The taste of her was intoxicating.
Like something forbidden he'd waited too long to sample.
He pushed deeper.
Tongue claiming more of her.
As if he could kiss his way inside her ribs.
And feed on the softest pieces of her.
Birdy's lungs burned.
Her head spun.
A dizzy, beautiful suffering crawling up her spine.
She brought her hand up to his wrist.
Pushing and pulling.
At the same time.
Contradictory.
Panicked.
Desperate.
Old trauma flickered in her muscles.
Her body had learned long ago that hands on her throat meant obedience.
Stillness.
Quiet.
But another part of her
pulled him closer anyway.
Hannibal felt her panic like a spark under his palm.
Felt her need like a pulse against his fingers.
Felt his own hunger roar in answer.
He kissed her until control ceased to exist.
Until breath became irrelevant.
Until he had no choice but to pull back.
A single thin string of saliva stretched between them.
And broke.
Her lips glistened.
Blood shining like bruised fruit.
She gasped.
Or tried to.
No air reached her.
"I- can't-" she forced out.
He brushed his thumb across her lower lip,
spreading the ruin he left behind.
"You can take it." he hushed.
Quiet.
Hoarse.
Wrong in a way that tasted right.
"Just a little longer. I need you to take it."
Birdy's vision blurred around the edges.
From lack.
From that tight, bright tingling that crawled up her legs.
And made her thighs press together.
She stared up at him.
Half-lidded.
Dizzy.
Trusting him with something she'd never meant to give.
Her throat pulsed against his fingers.
Fading.
Fading.
He stroked her hair as her body tensed.
As her fingers twitched.
As her eyes fluttered.
The instinct to survive battling the instinct to submit.
Hannibal watched every second of it.
Enraptured.
Devoted in a way that bordered on sacrilege.
"Perfect..." he whispered,
voice a low ache.
"Just- perfect."
He loosened his grip by a thread.
Birdy inhaled.
A shattered, starving sound.
Air rushed in like a flood.
Her body arched.
Then wilted.
Only for his fingers to tighten again.
The breath choked off.
Fire replaced it.
Her entire body tingled with oxygen-starved heat.
She whimpered.
Soft.
Broken.
Almost grateful.
Hannibal groaned into her.
A sound thick with hunger and reverence.
"That's it." he breathed.
"My sweet bird… let go."
Birdy drifted.
Her consciousness flickering.
Eyes.
Snapping open.
Slipping shut.
Opening again with terrified instinct.
Her mouth parted in a helpless gasp.
Her body begging for air.
Even as her mind begged to stay under.
She bit her lip.
As if pain might steady her.
It didn't.
She was slipping.
He saw it.
And he wanted more.
Until he didn't.
He released her entirely.
She collapsed forward into his arms.
Chest heaving.
Air rushing back into her like resurrection.
He held her through it.
Fingers in her hair.
Lips at her ear.
Breath hot against her trembling skin.
"That's enough."
Low.
Rough.
Almost tender.
"You've given me enough."
He pulled back to see her face.
Flushed.
Blurry-eyed.
Ruined in a way that made her look.
newly born.
"Breathe for me now, Birdy."
And she did.
Desperate.
Greedy.
Breaths.
Each one a shudder.
Each one a plea.
Her expression soft and stupid and beautiful.
His fingers moved through her hair.
The other hand rested at her waist.
Light in pressure.
Heavy in meaning.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
When he drew back, he studied her face with that unnerving, all-knowing calm.
"Tell me how you feel."
Birdy swallowed.
The motion tight and shaky.
Before she answered.
"Good…"
Her voice cracked on the word.
But she kept looking up at him.
As if unsure whether she was allowed to look anywhere else.
His knuckles ghosted down her cheek.
His thumb brushing the bruised softness of her mouth.
"Good?" he echoed, "Is that all?"
"Tell me more." he whispered.
She tried.
Her mouth opened, closed.
Her legs shifted involuntarily.
Thighs pressing together as if trying to cage something in.
"My legs feel… funny." she whispered.
Her gaze darting downward.
Shame blooming and dying in the span of a heartbeat.
Hannibal watched her with an almost clinical fascination.
"Funny...?" he repeated, bending slightly so his lips grazed the shell of her ear.
His breath was warm.
But his voice was cool.
"Do they tingle, little bird?"
She nodded.
Wordless at first.
"And warm…" she forced out.
Her thighs pressed tighter.
He traced a circle against her waist.
Slow enough to feel every flinch.
"Do you know why?"
His tone softened, twisted.
"Why your body feels like that?"
Birdy's breath came in shallow, uneven pulls.
The instinctive memory of being touched wrong,
spoken to wrong,
punished for wanting anything at all.
Her leg twitched at his touch.
The old reflex to pull away smothered under a new, desperate need to stay obedient.
"Yes…" she whispered.
Hannibal's lips brushed her neck.
She stiffened first, then melted second, her body unsure which response was safer.
"Say it." he coaxed softly, patiently.
"Because you… made me feel good..." she hummed, voice barely audible.
Shame,
fear,
relief,
all indistinguishable.
He hummed against her skin, pleased.
"Exactly."
His mouth lingered at her throat, but the kiss didn't come.
His fingers traced her thigh.
"You feel this way..." Hannibal whispered, "because I show you things your body was never allowed to understand."
His hand shifted, subtle.
"Because I can teach you what safety feels like… and what surrender feels like."
Hannibal smiled, the expression brushing the side of her neck.
"And you, my sweet Birdy, ... have never been taught the difference."
His tongue trailed across the pulse of her throat.
His fingers reached the spot between her legs.
She was already all wet.
In between her legs.
Fabric of her underwear soaked.
Birdy sucked in a soft breath at his touch.
It was evident it had already happened.
A strange sound left his throat.
His fingers sinking into the slick heat.
His chest tightened at the way she shuddered again.
"Did you come already?" he asked.
His fingers pressed gently.
"Did you come from my hands around your throat?"
He bit down on her throat, teeth sinking in just enough to leave a mark.
"Tell me."
Birdy whimpered.
The contrasting sensation of pain and pleasure.
"Yes..." she admitted, "I'm sorry..."
Hannibal felt a wave of heat.
The way she admitted to it without hesitation.
She was so eager to please him.
To give him everything he wanted.
"Don't apologize..." he hummed.
His lips against her neck again.
His mouth leaving a trail of kisses down her skin.
"I want you to feel good."
He bit down on her collarbone, his teeth sinking in deeper.
"I want to make you come apart for me."
Skin and flesh.
Come apart.
Flesh from bones.
Come apart.
The sensation of his teeth sinking into her skin.
Her head fell back.
She breathed in.
Her half-lidded eyes stared at the ceiling of his office.
She nodded, "I want to feel good too..."
The way she allowed her head to fall back.
Exposing her throat so perfectly to him.
His tongue soothed the new mark left on her collarbone.
The reddened skin beneath his lips.
Hannibal studied her face, her flushed cheeks.
The way she looked at him with complete surrender.
"Tell me what you want, Birdy..."
It was exquisite.
"Say it."
"I want…"
Her breath trembled.
Her fingers clawed weakly at the carpet as if she expected the floor to open beneath her.
"I want to be saved."
Not the answer he expected.
Not even close.
Hannibal went very still.
Her skin was still flushed.
From crying,
from fear,
from the horrible tension of wanting something she didn't know how to name.
Confessing.
She always did look most like herself on the edge of falling apart.
"Salvation..." he hummed, tasting the word on his tongue like it was something foreign.
"Is that what you think I offer?"
Birdy blinked up at him.
Her breath shivering out of her lungs.
She nodded.
Too quickly.
Too eagerly.
"I do." she whispered. "You… you save me from my god. For I am hungry... for something he won't give me."
It wasn't desire in her voice.
Not really.
More like starvation dressed as devotion.
Still she reached for him.
Still she chose him.
Hannibal's thumb brushed across her cheek, wiping away the tears. salt at the corner of her lips. His hand tightened—gentle, but unyielding.
"Then I will save you. I will give you what your God never could."
Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment.
The truth hitting her with the force of a confession she had never allowed herself to make.
She opened her eyes again.
Only when she felt Hannibal's fingers slip downward.
Toward the chain at her throat.
Her cross.
Her hand moved as well.
Slow.
Trembling.
Deliberate.
She tugged at the chain until the clasp snapped.
The pearls spilled across the floor.
Only the small, tarnished cross remained in her palm.
He reached out, gently closing his hand over hers.
"No more of that." he said, his grip tight. "No more God."
She offered the cross to him.
With relief.
"No more God..." she mimicked.
He took it.
Of course he did.
His fingers folded around it.
His expression unreadable.
He slipped the cross into the inner pocket of his suit, the metal settling against the fabric.
"Only me." he said softly.
Not coaxing.
Not promising.
Declaring.
Birdy nodded.
Too readily.
He let his fingers trail lightly along her throat.
Over the place now red and purple.
Burgundy, even.
Before she could answer.
The alarm on his desk chimed.
Shrill, mundane, cruelly out of place.
Birdy jolted.
Like she'd been woken from a dream.
Hannibal's jaw tightened.
Irritation flickering across his features before he smoothed it away.
He rose slowly, adjusting his suit with practiced precision.
As if reassembling his mask.
"The time for our session is up for today." he said, though his tone promised anything but finality.
He offered her his hand.
She took it without thinking.
Standing made her sway a little.
She glanced at the mess of pearls on the floor.
Her throat tightening.
She wiped her face with her sleeve, embarrassed, though she didn't know why.
"I… I'll see you next week, Dr. Lecter..." she mumbled, voice small and unsteady.
But before she could turn away fully.
His hand landed lightly, ominously, on her shoulder.
"Birdy."
She looked back.
"You did beautifully today." he whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek.
His eyes sank to her throat, lingering on the faint red marks of her earlier panic.
"Remember that." he breathed, his hand sliding down again.
She repeated it softly.
"Remember..."
Hannibal smiled.
The kind of smile a wolf gives a lamb that has forgotten its own legs.
some things are meant to rot beautifully.
pairing: dr. hannibal lecter x f!reader/f!oc
genre: psychological horror • dark romance • poetic prose
notes: cross posting this from ao3, the divas loved it on there MINORS DNI!!
─── ꒰ 🩸 ꒱ ───
chapter three — burgundy
Her throat worked around words that refused to surface.
She looked like she was trying to speak underwater.
Hannibal watched her for a long moment.
Observed the way her breath choked.
How her fingers twitched.
In her lap.
Restless.
Needy.
He knew that trembling.
Knew what she required.
Guidance.
Permission.
A little push toward the truth.
He reached for the black pen on the side table.
Spun it once between his fingers.
A simple motion.
With a blank sheet of paper he handed it to her.
"Draw" he said.
Birdy stared at the pen.
As if she was forbidden to touch it.
Then.
She pushed it back toward him.
She didn't want black.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Amusement.
Soft, knowing.
"Of course." he breathed.
He opened a small pencil case and placed a small array of colored pencils before her.
Deep blues.
Soft pastels.
A red so dark it looked bruised.
Birdy didn't hesitate.
Her fingers brushed over the colors only once before she picked the darkest red.
Burgundy.
"Only red." she said.
Hannibal's gaze lingered on the pencil she chose.
"Only red." he repeated.
She leaned over the paper.
Propping her cheek in her palm.
Body folding in on itself.
Her hand began to move.
First, she drew a small metro in the far right corner.
A simple outline.
Bare.
Minimal.
"Here was the metro…" she whispered, peeking up to make sure he was watching.
He was.
Utterly.
"Continue." he encouraged.
Her pencil scratched softly.
The sound almost too intimate in the quiet room.
She drew a man next.
Only a silhouette.
A faceless stick of humanity.
"There was the man."
And then herself.
Except Birdy never drew herself as a person.
Just a tiny bird perched on the ground.
Round.
Gentle.
Fragile.
"That's me…" she pointed out.
Hannibal's breath deepened.
"And then?"
Birdy's wrist twitched.
Her strokes grew erratic.
Bigger.
More.
Red.
Redder.
The puddle forming beneath the stick man smeared into his arm as she pressed the pencil too hard.
"He slipped…"
Her hand stabbed the page.
Once, twice.
Breaking through the man's line-arm.
And the paper.
"CRACK."
Again.
Then.
She drew little music notes around the break.
The sound had pleased her.
He could hear it in her voice.
"He fell… and...his bone came out of his elbow."
"I could have helped him."
A pause.
"But I didn't…"
Her voice trembled with something that wasn't remorse.
Or at least not only remorse.
There was thrill in it.
Thin and fragile.
Hannibal leaned forward.
Slowly.
The air thickened.
"And then?"
His voice dipped low.
Velvet.
Dangerous.
Repeatedly urging her on, like a broken record almost.
"What did you do next, Birdy?"
Her pencil moved again.
Hesitant.
"I watched him crawl. Cry."
She drew wavering lines from the faceless head.
Tears.
"And he bled a lot…"
More red.
More burgundy smearing outward.
The puddle nearly touched the tiny bird she'd drawn for herself.
"He was really path- "
She stopped.
Cut herself off with a tiny gasp.
Her hand froze.
Hannibal smiled.
Barely.
A breath of a smile.
"Go on," he spoke.
"What were you going to say?"
"My head said… he looked pathetic."
Her head.
Never she.
The bad things never belonged to Birdy.
They were always her head's doing.
She dragged the burgundy further out.
Smearing.
Expanding.
Letting it touch the bird.
"Can I tell you a secret…?"
Her voice was smaller now.
Hannibal leaned in.
Mirroring her.
Inviting her.
"Tell me."
She swallowed.
"Can you promise me something first…?"
"Anything..." he said, and meant it.
Birdy's eyes darted to the ceiling.
Up, always up.
As if somewhere above them God Himself was eavesdropping.
"Don't tell God what I did…” she whispered.
"If He knows, He’ll think I’m a grotesque animalistic distortion of His creation…"
The words cracked down the center.
They didn't sound learned.
They sounded remembered.
Hannibal exhaled slowly.
Soft.
Thrilled.
"I won't tell God." he whispered back.
"Now tell me the truth."
Birdy bit her lip.
"I touched him." she breathed.
Barely audible.
Her hand lifted.
And mimicked pressing a thumb into flesh.
"I pushed my thumb into the break.
Just to feel the heat of it…"
She pressed her thumb into her palm.
Hard.
Harder.
Her fingers trembled.
"It was very warm..." she said.
"Like a blanket.
Or warm baths…"
Her voice drifted.
Detached.
Dreamy.
"Did it bring you peace?"
She picked up the pencil again and began drawing tiny hearts and stars.
Incongruent, childish doodles.
As if her confession had already slipped out of her hands and floated away.
some things are meant to rot beautifully.
pairing: dr. hannibal lecter x f!reader/f!oc
genre: psychological horror • dark romance • poetic prose
notes: cross posting this from ao3, the divas loved it on there MINORS DNI!!
─── ꒰ 🩸 ꒱ ───
chapter five — worse
"I did something worse… than what I said…"
The confession barely existed.
A thread of sound trembling between her teeth.
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.
Small.
Quivering beads.
Like dew on a bruised flower.
Hannibal felt something inside him tighten.
His fingers curled more firmly beneath her chin.
Her fragility made the air taste sweeter.
"Tell me." he insisted.
"What did you do?"
He wanted the rot beneath the petals.
He wanted every secret she'd ever choked down.
Birdy's lips parted.
Trembling.
Revealing her mouth.
Her tongue.
Her teeth.
Her breath.
All stained in a washed out, sticky red.
Hannibal inhaled, almost soundless.
The color clung to her mouth.
He angled her head back, studying the red.
"What is that… on your mouth, Birdy?"
His voice was a whisper, sharpened by hunger.
She snapped her mouth shut.
Ss if swallowing her own sin.
Shook her head.
"No…"
The refusal was not what Hannibal wanted.
Hannibal's grip tightened.
A command disguised as touch.
He was patient, but not endlessly.
"Birdy."
A warning.
A promise.
"Open your mouth."
Tears gathered again.
Threatening to spill.
"No."
A tiny, trembling refusal.
"Open. Your. Mouth."
His thumb pressed up beneath her chin, forcing her gaze to him.
She gasped.
He would punish her, wouldn't he?
For her sins.
"I- I'm sorry- I was just… hungry-" she choked out.
Hungry.
The word coiled through Hannibal's stomach as if he himself was digesting it.
Sweet, intoxicating.
He leaned in, breath grazing her ear.
"Show me."
But Birdy shook her head violently, trying to pull away, her whole body trembling like a trapped sparrow.
"No… no… I didn't want to sin- I'm good- I'm a good girl- I swear-"
Her tears ran over his fingers as they finally spilled from the ocean in her eyes.
Warm.
Salted.
Desperate.
Hannibal steadied her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"Birdy."
Her breath stuttered.
"Look at me."
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
Her watery gaze lifted to meet his.
"You said you were hungry."
His voice softened into something sinfully coaxing.
"I want to see. Open your mouth."
She grabbed his wrist, hands trembling violently against his.
"It was a mistake… please… I'm a good girl… don't punish me…"
Not fear of him.
Fear of damnation.
Fear of some invisible omniscient eye staring down from above.
Waiting to scorch her for the unclean thrill still warm on her tongue.
Hannibal felt a flicker of amusement.
And something that pretended to be sympathy.
"I'm not punishing you." he said, voice almost tender.
His fingers gentled.
Just enough to confuse her.
To soften the edges of command.
"Are you afraid of me?"
She shook her head quickly.
"No… not you… God- God will punish me-
You're lying- He will make you hurt me- make you punish me-"
Hannibal let out a breath.
Half laugh.
Half scoff.
"Punish you?"
His tone thickened, rich with something unholy.
"For what? For being hungry?"
Her breath came in short, panicked bursts.
She twisted beneath his grip.
Wild.
Cornered.
He didn't let go.
"For wanting?" he finished softly.
Something snapped inside her.
A frightened animal.
Her teeth sank into the side of his hand.
Sharp.
Desperate.
Instinctive.
A bite meant to survive.
Not to harm.
He hissed, grip slipping.
Her body jerked free, stumbling backwards.
The chair tipped, clattering.
Birdy collapsed to the floor.
Breath shaking.
Eyes wide.
Mouth still stained red.
some things are meant to rot beautifully.
pairing: dr. hannibal lecter x f!reader/f!oc
genre: psychological horror • dark romance • poetic prose
notes: cross posting this from ao3, the divas loved it on there MINORS DNI!!
─── ꒰ 🩸 ꒱ ───
chapter four — dirty
Her hand went still.
The burgundy pencil lay abandoned like a weapon she no longer trusted herself to hold.
"Alright." he answered, voice soft enough to be mistaken for kindness. "We can stop."
He reached forward.
For her chin.
Careful.
But Birdy jolted.
A violent little recoil.
Like a sparrow striking a window.
Her chair scraped backwards with a startling screech.
Her breath choked in her throat.
Her eyes widened.
Hannibal's hand suspended in mid-air.
"Don't touch me."
Her voice was raw.
"I'm… dirty."
Her fingers found her cross.
Always the cross.
Gripping it with the desperate reverence of someone drowning.
Hannibal felt a tightness coil low in his chest.
Dirty.
"You're not dirty..." he said.
She dragged her chair forward again, just an inch.
A surrender.
A plea.
"I am."
Her gaze dropped to her lap.
To her hands.
To the invisible stain she believed covered her skin.
The rot.
Hannibal reached for her again.
Slow.
Gentle.
But the moment he cam closer, she recoiled a second time.
Sharp and instinctive.
Her breath snagged.
Her eyes darted away.
It was the flinch of someone taught that touch could damn as easily as save.
"Birdy..." he tried again.
Low.
Coaxing.
She hesitated, then offered him her hand like an apology.
He took it.
And she guided him.
To her cheek, pressing his palm against her skin as if offering him proof of her corruption.
His thumb brushed her chin.
"There you are…" he hummed.
Her lashes fluttered, her breath shuddering between them.
"Do you feel dirty now?"
She nodded slowly.
"...I am, Dr. Lecter."
"I did something… only very dirty animals do."
His hand tightened.
Not cruelly.
Or harshly.
"No." he whispered, leaning close enough that his breath touched her lips.
"You responded to something human. Something beautiful."
His eyes drank her in.
some things are meant to rot beautifully. pairing: dr. hannibal lecter x f!reader/f!oc genre: psychological horror • dark romance • poetic prose notes: cross posting this from ao3, the divas loved it on there MINORS DNI!!
─── ꒰ 🩸 ꒱ ───
chapter two — rain
"On my way to the metro…"
Birdy's voice drifted.
Thin and unfocused, as her eyes wandered across the room like she was searching for a way out of her own skin.
"It was raining."
She said it like a confession.
Like a prayer.
Hannibal knew that look.
The way memory slipped away from the grasp of someone taught all her life to swallow her sins before they reached her lips.
He waited still in his leather armchair.
Patient.
Letting the silent sit and weight down on her chest.
He knew she would continue anyway.
"A man."
She was speaking.
He was right.
A small nod.
Exaggerated.
Childish.
Her feet began swinging back and forth.
A pendulum of guilt.
Back.
Forth.
Back?
Forth.
Like a girl caught playing with something she shouldn't.
"He fell." Birdy added, eyes glancing over to her therapist to see if he was still... listening to her.
Hannibal's attention was clearly sharpened at the mention of a man.
He didn't interrupt.
Didn't breathe too loudly, anything could shoo that feral animal away that was starting to form in front of him.
Just watched that strange... softness in her expression.
The kind people wore when remembering something that pleased them
and horrified them
in equal measure.
"He fell?" he echoed gently. Encouraging.
Birdy mimicked his tone immediately.
"He fell." she repeated.
"A man. In the rain. When I was on my way to the metro."
The words tumbled out in pieces, as if she were assembling a puzzle.
"He fell hard."
Her legs swung faster.
"And then…"
Her lips parted around the word like she was tasting it before she could spit it out...
"Crack!"
She made the sound loud, dramatic, almost theatrical.
And fell silent right after.
Hannibal felt something stir inside of him at the implied action.
Warm.
Something warm.
It was that eerie fascination she tried so poorly to hide that intrigued him the most.
"And then?" he coaxed.
"And then...?" she echoed him again, as though she were trying to find the answer inside his question.
A small inhale.
"It was… a nice sound." she whispered.
Small.
Prayerful.
Devastating.
"I could have helped him."
Could have.
Not didn't.
Not wouldn't.
Could have.
Hannibal leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin, studying her face and posture like a rare specimen.
"But you didn't." he stated, not accused.
A statement, not an accusation.
Birdy's eyes fluttered.
Her throat bobbed.
She turned her face upward, toward the ceiling, the way children do when trying not to cry.
Her hand drifted unconsciously to the small silver cross around her neck.
Tight on her skin, too tight, like a collar.
Decorated with murky pearls.
She gripped it hard.
Hard enough to hurt.
Hard enough that Hannibal noticed the faint red under her nails.
"Did you touch him?" he asked.
His voice very soft and inviting.
"Or did you… do something else?"
Birdy’s head moved in a frantic little shake.
"No…"
Her eyes shut tight.
Her grip on the cross tightened.
Knuckles whitening.
Skin reddening as metal bit into her fingers.
Desire for punishment that must be strangled before God saw it.
"You wanted to."
Ragged.
Panting almost.
Like an animal cornered by its own impulses.
"Did you?" he pushed.
Her spine went rigid.
Her head snapped up.
Eyes half-lidded, glassy.
"Please stop." she whispered.
Hannibal felt the shift in her.
The way her voice put distance between them.
The way her body begged for space.
"Birdy…"
His voice dipped low.
Gentle.
Dangerously so.
"You know you can trust me with the truth."
She swallowed.
Once.
Twice.
Her lips parted but no sound escaped.
Words caught behind her teeth.
Words she wasn't allowed to say without punishment.
Divine and mortal.
Her fingers twitched, reaching instinctively toward something.
Anything.
A game piece.
A pencil.
Anything to occupy her hands.
Birdy always needed something to do
when she was trying not to tell the truth.
As if confession
was a sin she needed to be rewarded for.
