Cannibalcoyote - Cannibal Coyote

Hannibal Lecter: Antisocial

Imagine being married to Hannibal, but no one knows because you are terrified of people(especially men), and Will accidentally startles you:

Hannibal and I have been married for many years, I remember our wedding in Italy. It was arguably the best night of my life, I'm still surprised that he proposed. I'm selectively mute, and still very much damaged from what occurred in our childhood, yet... He still married me.

———————

Hannibal hasn't come back yet, I've been waiting in his office for quite a while now, and I'm starting to get restless. Walking away from the chairs I reach his wood desk, the past scent of his aftershave still faintly wavers in the air. Carefully sitting down, I finally lower my guard. I don't know how to describe it, but just being surrounded by his things seems to put me at ease. God, saying that makes me sound like a dog with separation anxiety.

I scooch the large seat forward a little, pulling a blank sheet of paper from his desk drawer. I slip my hand into my jacket, retrieving my fountain pen, as I pull off the cap I examine the engraving along the side:

"Aš tave myliu"

It was a gift from him, he gave it to me a few months into our relationship, it was for my birthday. He had it custom made to fit my hand, had it made the perfect weight and length, and naturally only allowed me to use the finest of inks. I still cherish this pen, and will reluctantly use another only if absolutely necessary.

I smile fondly at the instrument in my hand before fixating on the blank page. Smoothing my fingers softly over it, the texture of the page feeling smooth yet rough. I eagerly lean forward and begin drawing, light strokes forming a simple shape, then making long silky lines away from it. After making the general outline, I move back, filling in the details of the rather graceful creature.

I'm so caught up in my drawing that I almost miss the slam of the front door, which causes me to quickly sit up.

A sense of safety and comfort washes over me, Hannibal is finally back from wherever he's been. I push the chair back and stand up, striding over to his office door; I can hear footsteps in the hallway. Reaching for the door knob, I swiftly turn it and open the door.

The sight immediately scares me away, I jump in fright at the stranger standing in front of Hannibal nearest the now open door. He seems almost as surprised as I am, apparently not knowing that anyone else was here. The stranger goes to say something, but I'm already quickly walking backwards, keeping my eyes locked on him at all times, as I finally reach Hannibal's desk I walk around it so that it is now in-between me and the stranger.

My actions seem to startle him, his look of shock morphs into one of confusion, turning to look at Hannibal with a questioning expression. Hannibal's eyes widened slightly in surprise and concern, he knows about my fear of meeting strangers, especially male strangers. He slowly motions the man to step into the room, before closing the door behind them.

I feel like I'm being suffocated, I know Hannibal won't let anything bad happen to me, but I don't know this man; and I can't stop this irrational fear no matter how hard I try. I can feel my hands shaking as I watch the man glance between me, Hannibal, and the floor.

Hannibal slowly walks over to me, holding out one of his hands, which I gently grasp, he can feel me trembling, placing his other hand comfortingly over mine. He offers me a slight smile, one which I return, though I know he can see straight through it.

"Y/N, this is Will Graham." His voice is softer than normal when around other people, he does this whenever he knows I need help calming down. I nervously glance at the man I now know to be Will Graham, I offer him a tight and short smile before looking away, not wanting to see his response.

"Will, this is my wife, Y/N. You'll have to excuse her lack of response, she despises social interaction." Hannibal's smooth voice and familiar accent ease my body, I lean into him slightly as he speaks to Will.

"Well, that makes two of us." Will murmurs, glancing down at the floor before looking back up to us. I quickly look away and back to Hannibal, he can sense that I am dying to get out of this room.

"Darling, why don't you head to the car, I won't be long." He voices, an arrangement that I quickly agree to, taking a moment to lightly kiss his cheek before skittering out of the room and to the safety of the car.

———————

Hannibal's POV:

I watch as Y/N all but dashes out of the room, the guilt pooling in my chest at the situation I put her in. I told her I would come and pick her up from my office when I got back from case work, but it apparently slipped my mind.

She has quite a hard time trusting strangers, especially men. I can't exactly blame her, what those men did to her is much worse than what they did to poor Mischa and myself, what they forced her to do, how they used her, and how I was powerless to do anything. It still angers me to this day, and I can't help the overwhelming need to protect her.

Ever since then, her warm and social personality has all but disappeared. She turns rigid when someone looks at her, trembles from eye contact, and she'll run if she sees an opening.

———

I remember when I finally dragged her away from home, how I took her to explore the world with me. She loved our home, but I could tell that staying in that place was only making her worse, not to mention I needed to get out, to see beauty and learn as much as possible.

Italy was where everything began, it was where my love for all things beautiful began, it was where I finally noticed how beautiful Y/N had become, and it was where I began killing. Yes, she knows of my extracurricular habits, in fact, she indulges me at times by joining in, never to capture, only to kill.

The look in her eyes when she ended their lives, it was confidence; it would disappear in a split second, but from then on I knew what she needed. Maybe it was seeing that spark in her eyes that finally drove me to kiss her, to make her mine. She understood me just as I understood her, and missing out on that perfection simply wasn't an option.

She is equal to me in intelligence and art, though others seemed to ignore her because she did not speak to them. It's not that she's mute biologically, but that she is selectively mute, she refuses to speak to anyone but me, and that still persists to this day. She learned language just as quickly as I, though I know she favors Lithuanian over Italian and English; even now, when she whispers her words to me, it's more than likely in Lithuanian.

———

"Was it something I said?" I'm startled out of my thoughts by Will's self-conscious words, he looks guilty, as though blaming himself for how  Y/N responded to him.

"No." My response is short but polite. His look of confusion from earlier seems to magnify, I release a sigh of pity before finally giving him a proper answer.

"I'd advise you not to take her reactions to heart. She finds interaction with people to be rather an uncomfortable experience." I explain as I straighten my suit jacket, walking from around my desk in Will's direction. He seems to nod his head in understanding, but a curious look washes over his eyes.

"She never spoke a word the entire time, not even when we startled each other." His words are confident, he knows what he's said holds meaning, though I know Y/N would never want him nor anyone else to know why she refuses to speak.

"She's mute."

"Willingly or literally?" His response is immediate, and seems to almost be demanding an answer. I feel agitation flaring in my chest, my expression slightly stiffening. The last person who was demanding answers from me about my wife ended up on the menu for dinner, and I must say that he made a rather delicious meal.

"Will." My voice is firm, I don't want to kill him yet, I just want him to stop asking questions. He waits a few moments, contemplating what else to say, I know he can sense my irritation over his questions about Y/N.

"...I didn't know you were married." His voice is lighter, almost as though finding it humorous at realizing I was married. I too, release a smile at his statement, having a memory flash through my mind of our wedding.

"Yes well, Y/N is a very introverted person, the last thing she needs is for people wanting to meet her."

Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (1983) dir. Nagisa Oshima

Simon Gruber Pt.2: A Savior

Pt.1 Continuation of "Simon Gruber - A Stranger":

It has been a few years since Hans' death. We weren't able to bury his body, so I made a memorial to him on my property. I visit it every year on his birthday, as well as on the day that I lost him.

I don't think I will ever move on from his death, after all, he was my childhood and all-time best friend. We were so close, never having any secrets except our darkest memories, we relied completely on one another, and now I've found that my sense of direction has been taken away.

The first year was spent feeling drowned, everything was dull and bland, I no longer felt like I was real.

It had seemed as though I had died with Hans, but I think Simon saved me.

He stayed with me the months after Hans' death, helping me to heal both my physical and emotional wounds. I probably would've committed suicide had Simon not been there.

He kept his distance, visiting daily, but usually leaving before evening. At first he just made sure I left my bedroom and ate at least one meal, but that slowly morphed into staying the whole day with me; drawing or reading books, that fondness led to him comforting me when I would cry myself to sleep.

I didn't realize it at first, but Simon saved me, he saved me from myself, saved me from the darkness that was encompassing my mind.

I don't know specifically when I fell in love with him, but I do remember when I realized it.

_______

(Flashback/Dream in quotations)

(This is set in Germany, but I am too lazy to write the speaking parts in German)

I had awoken that morning the same as always - hoping to fall back asleep and never wake up. However, because of Simon, I had started to take care of myself a little more, actually leaving my room instead of just wasting the whole day; but today felt exceptionally difficult. The first thing that came to mind was my dream:

"It was a time in high school when Hans and I were in geometry class. I've always had a tough time with geometry, but today I seemed to be exceeding in stupidity, I just couldn't understand anything my teacher was saying, and he even yelled at me when I got an answer wrong.

I was fairly shy in high school, but I always seemed to become friends with the teachers. This teacher, Mr.Meyer, appeared to enjoy humiliating me on a daily basis, but today he even excelled past my expectations.

I had been asking Hans to explain how to do one of the problems, and Mr.Meyer apparently didn't like that at all. He called my name and asked me to come up to the front, telling me to solve the question on the board. I gave my best try, utilizing what little information I did know, but I naturally got the wrong answer. I wasn't that far off, but to Mr.Meyer, it seemed as though the world had ended.

The first thing he did was loudly sigh before aggressively banging his fist once against the wall. I had jumped up in surprise, and I definitely didn't expect him to turn and start shouting at me next.

"How stupid can you be? You've been learning this for a week!" I visibly shrunk away from his enraged form, I really don't do well in conflict, especially not after what my father did to me.

My submissiveness seemed to only enrage him further, he took a step towards me, to which I responded by stepping back. This continued for only a second longer before he roughly grabbed my wrist, yanking me forwards so hard I almost fell into him. The class was barren of noise, I was usually the one to receive most of his verbal abuse, but today shocked everyone into silence.

My wrist was aching in pain, my eyes stinging slightly with tears as I gasped and looked to his face. He looked like he was about to shout at me some more, but before he could, another hand grabbed my wrist, though this hand was much gentler. Both Mr.Meyer and I shift our gaze to the owner of the hand, immediately seeing the deceivingly calm Hans.

Hans' other hand quickly shoved Mr.Meyers back, causing him to lose his grip on my wrist and let me go. Hans immediately shifted us so that his body formed a barrier between Mr.Meyer and I. Glancing around him, I saw the frustrated face of Mr.Meyers, who was glaring straight at Hans, but Hans made no move to back down. Instead, he faced Mr.Meyers, straightening his posture and squaring his shoulders, almost as if challenging Mr.Meyers to try something.

Hans is an intimidating 6'1", and though he may look a little skinny, there was no messing with him; especially not when you are only a 5'9" out of shape 40 year old who teaches math for a living.

Mr.Meyers surveys this new situation before lowering his gaze and facing the class, beginning to explain a math concept as though he didn't just verbally and physically abuse one of his students. Hans turned around and placed a gentle hand on my lower back, turning me around and leading me gently out of the classroom and into the hall.

We walked for a little while until we reached an empty classroom, to which he shut the blinds and closed the door, sitting me down on the teachers desk before sitting next to me.

I didn't even notice I had tears practically flowing down my face, nor that I was beginning to hyperventilate. I didn't sob, I was a silent crier, but Hans knew that this had brought back some bad memories. My father abused me, physically, mentally, sexually. I didn't have a mother to save me from him, I had an absent older brother who knew about it and never did anything.

Hans' arms gently wrap around my shoulders, his warm body encompassing me, almost as though trying to shelter me from the effects of the world. I remember when I first told Hans about what my father did to me, I didn't want to, but he eventually figured out that there was a reason I never wanted to go home (he only really started to think about it after I nearly shouted out in protest when his parents suggested dropping me off at home). Hans wanted to kill my father when he found out, but I couldn't let him, I wouldn't let him. I would be put into foster care, probably just to experience the same things or worse.

I never expected Hans to actually do anything violent for me, but today he was willing to fight my teacher. He was willing to get hurt, and possibly get sent to jail for attacking a teacher, just because the teacher had yelled at me and hurt me."

When I awoke from this dream, my body ached for Hans' protective stature, his amicable personality.

A feeling of nausea overwhelmed me, knowing he would never again be there to save me from abuse and slurs thrown my way, he would never be there to comfort me when the memories of my childhood become too much.

All of this fell heavily on my shoulders, I felt like I was being pushed deeper into the mattress… Maybe I would finally suffocate and be free, but life is fraught with twists.

That day, like all the others, Simon had planned to stop by, he didn't have any plans in particular, he just knew that he was enjoying my company more and more, lord knows why. He opened the door to my home, expecting to see me eating a sad bowl of cereal and to jump up to greet him, but instead he was met with a silence that was almost eerie. It set him on edge as it had been months since my house had felt that cold.

He crept forward, calmly calling out my name.

"Y/N?" Tone raspier than normal, his voice echoing down the hallways. I heard him, but it only made me shiver and pull the blankets around my face; just hearing him reminds me of how Hans is gone. I would never wish Simon and Hans to switch places, but I did constantly wish for Hans and I too, for him to have gotten shot and sent back home, and for me to instead have been thrown out of the building to fall to my death.

I didn't notice Simon open my door, nor when he sat next to me on the bed, I only noticed him when his soft hand reached out and gripped my wrist gently. I was startled, after that dream, his touch only made the memories worse; I found myself subconsciously jerking away from him.

I only chanced one glance up, I have never flinched because of him, and the view I was met with made me feel indescribably guilty. His face seemed apathetic, but his eyes told so much more; they were flowing with concern, concern for my health, concern for why I seemed fearful of him.

I clench my eyes shut, swallowing heavily as I feel the need to sink deeper into this bed until I slip into a better reality. Instead, I push myself up, resting my torso against the backboard and placing my hands in my lap.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." My voice feels uneasy, my soul drained from just those few words being spoken. I know I must look just as emotionally tired as I feel, because though his concern remains, it is now joined by understanding.

We sat still for a few moments, his hand returning to its place on my wrist, thumb caressing the top of my hand softly, comfortingly. I avert my eyes from his, glancing instead at our hands, his warm skin soothing my frigidness.

"You had a dream, didn't you?" His question was vague, but I know what he means. He knows all about my nightmares, he knows about the memories that resurface in my subconscious. It all makes me want to go and hold a gun at some policeman or take the 30 oxycodone pills I have leftover.

"Yes." He doesn't do anything for a few moments, taking his time to contemplate what to say next.

He surprises me by abruptly standing up from the bed, my mind immediately assuming he's just going to walk away and back out my front door. I am, however, pleasantly met with an outstretched hand, palm open for me to grasp. I look at it for about five seconds before sighing, lazily placing my hand into his, allowing him to pull me up.

"Let's go for a walk, darling."

_______

That was when I knew he was the one for me. He didn't force me to talk, he didn't need to know everything that happened to me. He just needed me to know that I could tell him anything I wanted to, or not tell him anything at all.

That day, we’d walked all around my property, through the forests that surround my home and down to the stream I love to sit near.

He had sat me in the kitchen before we left, packing a few things and placing them in a bag before leading me out of my home. When we were finally sitting by the stream, he opened the bag and pulled out two notebooks, and a pencil and pen. He placed the pen in my hand gently, my body warming slightly; I was honestly surprised he remembered that I don't like drawing with pencils.

Looking from the pen to his face, I am met with a smirk, not a smug one, more like a pleased one, pleased that he impressed me. I returned his smirk with a smile, not a wide one. Today I knew wasn't going to be easy, but my smile reflected that he was making a shitty day better.

We sat there for hours, just drawing and listening to the stream, softly speaking in the moments when we would get caught gazing at one another. After a while we had shifted to laying on our backs on the blanket. We started a foot or so away from each other, and somehow that changed to our arms brushing, eventually with his arm wrapped around my shoulder and carefully pulling me into his side.

I don't know how to describe it, but it felt like the joy I experienced when I awaken to see a gorgeous cloudy morning with a mist falling. Like the days when you want to run around in jubilation and then go home at night to sit by a warm fire and sip hot chocolate... He was my comfort.

We stayed like that for a while. I was watching the clouds at first, but my head lazily lolled to the side to rest carefully on his chest, my body shifting sideways so I could wrap my arm over his abdomen. He tensed slightly when I started shifting, but quickly relaxed when he realized I wasn't moving away.

He took me home when the sun drifted towards the horizon, its orange rays burning streaks across the pink sky. When we got to my door, he swiftly opened it before I could grab the handle, only offering me a gentlemanly smile as he motioned me inside. I offered him a thankful smile in return before walking in.

The last thing I expected was to see a large bowl of popcorn sitting on my coffee table, the TV turned on with a paused movie awaiting me; and let's not forget the crackling fire and the thick blankets and furs draped over my couch.

"I hope you don't mind, but I figured you aren't one to enjoy a fancy dinner." My trance is broken by that German voice I have grown to miss when he leaves for the night. That voice that reminds me that my whole world isn't dark, and that I do have hope.

I turn around gradually, my eyes are watering, the smile upon his face seems to lessen as he fears he's made me upset. He opens his mouth to speak, but I pay it no mind as I rush forward and embrace him. He stiffens in surprise before wrapping his strong arms around me, my face bowing against his chest with his head resting atop mine. Only a few tears escape my eyes, but they are joined by a smile as these are tears of joy.

Pulling away slowly, his arms resting around my hips as mine lightly hold his arms. Backing up further, I grab one hand, allowing the other to fall; I pull him to the couch, quickly sitting down in the middle. His expression is one of surprise and curiosity, he clearly wasn't expecting this reaction at all.

He stands there for a few seconds, his hand still in mine as he contemplates what he should do now. I shake my head lightly as a sweet smile smooths over my face.

I gently tug him closer, lightly tapping the spot next to me as a sort of invitation. His surprised look quickly washes over, and a soft grin now forming as he swiftly sits next to me, one hand resting behind me and the other still in my grasp. I waste no time bundling the covers over me, hugging my legs to my abdomen as I situate myself.

Simon releases my hand slowly, reaching forward and starting the movie, both of us comfortably enjoying the film.

Half way through, the emotional exhaustion of the day finally hits me. I can feel myself drifting off every so often, but I defiantly try to maintain my consciousness. Simon must've noticed, because he pauses the film, glancing over at my barely awake form with his warm eyes before standing up carefully. I'm about to protest the movement, but am quickly silenced when he reaches down and scoops me into his arms.

The action barely stirs me, the exhaustion only allowing me to grab his shirt and curl into him in the hopes that he won't drop me. My eyes drooping shut, pushing my face into the crook of his neck, his masculine aftershave soothing me even further.

He carefully walks through my house, navigating easily to my room. The sheets are still pulled back from this morning, so he places me down softly onto the fluffy mattress, pulling the sheets and covers gently over me. He looks down with a gaze of warmth and familiarity, one I can feel even though I can't see it. He's in the midst of turning to leave, when my hand suddenly reaches out and grabs his. He immediately halts his movement, turning his head down to our interlocked hands.

"Stay." My vision is blurry, but my words are clear. He tilts his head slightly in contemplation, that slight squint in his eyes whenever he is thinking deeply.

"Of course, my dear." Ever the gentlemen, even if he wasn't, he knew he couldn't deny any of my requests. He slowly releases my hand, quietly walking around my bed to the other side. I don't turn around, but I can feel him pull back the covers, as well as the bed shift when he lays his body down. He stays on his side for a few minutes before deciding what he wants to do.

I am barely awake when I feel him shift again, this time on his side facing my back; next thing I know, I feel a strong arm delicately wrap around my waist, pulling me backwards until I am pressed against his chest. I, of course, don't object, simply cuddling closer to him as he rests his head above mine, his warmth slowly lulling me into a state of calmness. Just as I am on the brink of unconsciousness, I hear his gorgeous voice whisper something.

"I love you, Y/N." His voice was soft and quiet, as though not wanting me to hear. I pay it no mind, my brain immediately responding,

"I love you, Simon." Sleep encompassing both my body and mind right after.

Pt.1