#lecter

You haven't always been aware of it, but it eventually grew to be extremely obvious—Incredibly, eating had become a rather gruesome task. Just gazing at the food made your stomach churn and following each bite was a dreadful feeling of repulsion. The once innocent and innate act of eating exempt you from being a victim. Reversely, it made YOU the culprit, to a considerable extent.

—

You knew it.

Each swallowed mouthful was a new lump in your throat.

Hannibal Lecter was a rather cunning murderer; You were his, and apparently Will's, hapless little victim.

—

You couldn't quite comprehend the truth. To be fair, it was indigestible, both literally and metaphorically. Being held captive was one thing, but human flesh and organs existing to be the sole source of your intricate meals was just... bewildering.

"Y/N." Hannibal spoke, in his usual monotone tone of voice. He glanced at your almost untouched plate of food before averting his gaze back at you, in a slightly demanding manner.

"I cannot help but make note of your forbearance." He remarked, putting his carefully crafted metal fork down and intertwining his slender fingers together.

Truly, his statements were nothing more than politely-worded and conscientiously constructed commands. You knew him well enough to be able to recognise them with ease.

"I'm sorry." A mere apology was all you could utter before tentatively picking up your cutlery and eating.

—

Ever since that night, Hannibal has seemingly noticed the changes in your eating patterns. How you ate less and less, eyeing him guiltily, hoping he wouldn't say anything regarding the matter. Thankfully, you were rather... Obedient.

He couldn't, however, help but wonder what exactly gave rise to this peculiar behaviour. At first, he attributed it to unwellness. As displeased as it made him, he understood that being held captive can have quite the toll on one's mental well-being. Be that as it may, your otherwise passive and compliant attitude disproved his theory.

Perhaps it was your way of rebelling, almost slightly adorable. Almost.

Eventually, he figured it out—How absent-minded you were, under the ridiculous belief that he was unaware of the unquantifiable guilt that washed through you with each bite. Of course, he couldn't allow this unacceptable habit of yours to continue.

—

Friday, evening

Given the day, the manhunter invited Will over for dinner. Naturally, you were to be present at the table.

You barely touched the meat contents of your intricately cooked lunch. When inquired, you excused yourself with a rather simple and straightforward lie.

"I'm not in the mood for meat."

In that moment, you could swear Hannibal's lips curved upward to a knowing smile. Before you could even take a mental photograph, he adopted his characteristic stoic expression.

Something was off.

He was looking at you the way a hedonist seeks sensation.

The way a dog waits for a piece of meat.

The way a spider methodically and patiently ceases for the perfect moment to ambush its helpless prey.

Will was already sat at the dinner table when you came down from the attic. His eyes were full of disdain. Pity; Warning you of whatever was to come.

The two men were conversing, but you could barely make out what they were saying, due to their continuous use of indiscernible metaphors, as if they were codifying the contents of their dialogue.

The main dish; "Braised Roast" meat baked in clay with marrow, and lady apples on the side.

You inhaled deeply, grasping your shiny fork so hard your knuckles adopted a snow-white shade.

"What are we waiting for?" Hannibal smiled, his deep brown eyes initially landing on Will before eventually finding their way to you, where they lingered for a bit longer than they should've.

You felt an uncanny pressure watching both of them clear their plates. Each moment he stopped to chew he meticulously used to eye you.

"It's unfortunate you're not eating." The psychiatrist exclaimed, obviously referring to you and how your food remained unconsumed. You awkwardly chuckled - Approximately a billion excuses ought to travel to your lips, yet each and every single one got stuck in your throat.

"You know I cannot condone this behaviour any longer; It truly pains me to see you abstain from eating everything I cook." He berated you with plastered concerns. Will simply nodded, only looking at you from the corner of his eyes. Hannibal was now ogling at you and impatiently waiting. It was made clear that you expected to finish everything on your plate.

Yet you didn't. You just gawked at the contents in front of you intently, trembling.

"That's no good. I was hoping not to get my hands dirty tonight." Hannibal sighed as he got up from his seat. Your grasp on your chair only tightened, your brows knit together with uncertainty and untainted fear as he approached you.

His large hands abruptly grabbed both of your wrists before aggressively pinning them down on the wooden armrests of the chair you were sat on. You winced in pain for no longer than a second, at which he he unlocked his jaw to speak once more.

"Do not struggle. There is no need to make things harder than they already have presented themselves to be." He calmly requested as he applied more pressure before eyeballing Will, who consequently got up from his seat and placed his own colder hands right where Hannibal's previously were, just long enough for Hannibal to skillfully tie rope around all your limbs.

With both his hands now free, he could now do as he pleased. His left hand violently held your chin up, his perfectly round fingernail digging in your soft cheeks deep enough to leave a temporary mark, while his right picked up your fork.

He stabbed it in the meat, before bringing it centimeters away from your lips.

"Open up." He ordered. You stubbornly kept your mouth shut.

"...or don't." He painfully opened your teeth, forcing the food down your throat before making you chew and swallow. A horrifying sensation washed over you as you felt the food travel down to your previously empty stomach.

"There. It's not that bad, is it?" He smiled as he dug in the plate. Your eyes began to well up as he continued to force-feed you what was once a human-being.

About halfway through, you felt everything climbing back up your esophagus - However, gagging was seemingly not permitted. If anything, it encouraged him to continue.

And just when you thought it was coming to an end, when there was not a single crumb left, he excused himself only to bring back another plate just as full of tender meat.

Your stomach was very obnoxiously full by that point, and Hannibal was well accustomed to that. You were being reprimanded, after all. Punishments shall not lack the aspect of pain, or else they're not effective. All you could do was pathetically plead for him to stop between each excruciating mouthful that was forced down your throat, which he appeared to find rather irritable.

He left just enough space in between each bit to allow you to pitifully gasp for oxygen. You were long out of tears, but the pleading look in your eyes was more than enough to satiate Hannibal.

Your stomach grew to be rock-hard and bloated, as it excruciatingly pressed against your pants, the buttons of which were barely holding up against your full gut. Once you were finally done, Hannibal gently dragged his thumb against it, gingerly enough to soothe you yet firm enough to cause you pain. He unbuttoned the top button of your pants, giving you a very short-lived feeling of serenity.