Cervi E Consumo Fic - Tumblr Posts
cervi e consumo
hannibal lecter x reader
a/n: hello! so i began posting this on another blog, but have decided to continue posting it here since i’m on this way more often!! it used to be called love crime (sopravvivero).
i’ve developed my plan for the plot a LOT more, and definitely know what im going to do with it.
if i tagged you, it means that you wanted to be added to a tag list or reblogged it. this is the first chapter but i’ll be publishing the second very soon!
tags: @catchmybreath94 @flow33didontsmoke @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @zoleea-exultant
summary: When you begin sessions with your new psychiatrist, the renowned Dr. Lecter, you never would’ve imagined falling into the rabbit hole you get stuck in. Faced with a horrible trauma, deer and cannibalism haunt your subconscious. Suddenly, Dr. Lecter is a part of all this. In more ways than one.
chapter 1: the beginning
“Dr. Lecter is ready to see you now,” the polite receptionist says, with a smile sent your way. It’s no more than a flash of positivity before she turns back to her paper work, reflected by her thin framed glasses. As her eyes scanned over the work, turning back to frantically look over her desk, presumably searching for something, she gave off an obvious air of worry. Perhaps she was new.
You were too.
Your first day of therapy. Well, your first day of therapy with this new psychiatrist. It wasn’t something you were exactly frantically nervous about- as the poor polite receptionist was. You’d been to therapy before. You were accustomed to the shallow invasion and prodding of the mind. This time, your hope was that this new Dr. Lecter would be unique. Different.
You’d heard many good things about him. Ranging from his written work and studies, to his success with patients. And after the worsening state of your mind and the life you had built around you, you decided that it was time to try again. So far, you weren’t disappointed. The office was classy. Nice chairs were set in the waiting room, where you had sat for some time. There was tasteful art, quiet classical music in the background. Bach, you had guessed. Other than the receptionist, it had emitted an air of class and calmness.
You flashed a smile back at the receptionist, returning the politeness.
“Thank you very much,” you replied. You weren’t sure if she heard given how diligently she was scanning her desk currently. But it was of no matter, you had been polite, it was the most you could do. You stepped up to a wooden door, unsure if you’d have to knock. Before you could, the door was opened, and Dr. Lecter was revealed to you.
He was handsome. You weren’t one to judge or weigh value off of looks, but you would give him that simple statement. Looks were not the most important thing to you, and you certainly were not meaning it in a romantic way. But he was handsome. The eyes that quickly met yours were brown, maybe with a hint of hazel. His hair was brown as well, it shone in the light from his office. He wore a navy blue plaid suit, giving him an obvious air of seriousness, of class and respect. His lips curled into a smile, and yours followed suit.
“I imagine you are my new patient, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” he spoke, his voice was rich and soothing.
“Dr. Lecter, I’ve heard many wonderful things about you and your work. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well.” you replied calmly, mirroring his niceties and charm. He had a quiet suave demeanor. As if on instinct, you both reached your hands out for a handshake. More niceties. This doctor was very formal. You appreciated that. As your hands touched you felt his eyes scan you quickly. Almost like an eagle searching a field for prey. Though, there wasn’t malice behind this look.
“Please, do come in.” he said, leading you into his large room. And what a large room it was.
It had a mostly grey color palette, with the exception of the one wall which was a dark red. To your right was a large wall, with two large red and white striped curtains. To your left, a desk, obviously a professional one. Lamps and books and art decorated the top. Further back to your left was another desk and a chair, but nothing was on this one. Behind that, a fireplace. The room was lined with cabinets and bookshelves, and art (specifically paintings) were anything but scarce. Right in front of you however, were two chairs facing each other. And there was a ladder, on the wall behind them, leading up to another level of the room. This one was lined with books of all shapes and sizes and colors. You took note of the other items in the room. Your eyes scanned from the couch against the back wall, to the couch in front of the windows. The room seemed lightly dull at first, but the more you gazed, the more points of color stood out to you.
After having visually scoured the room, you summarized that the collection of books, European furniture, and art was not simply the doing of the building’s hypothetical interior designer. By his outfit and the look of the room, Dr. Lecter was a man of intellectuality, power, curiosity, and ambition. He was impressive.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the two seats in the middle of the room- each sat directly across from the other. Each had small tables next to them, but one had a book (presumably for taking notes on patients) and a box of tissues. You assumed the seat that the book and tissue box adorned table belonged to: was his. So you took the other seat, smoothing the bottom half of your clothing as you sat down. He took a seat across from you, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap.
“I have no doubt you know why you’re here.” he said politely. He was direct, eyes still piercing into you. You were afraid to look away. You wanted to maintain the eye contact but at the same time, the socially nervous part of you longed to break it, longed to gaze around the sophisticated room instead of facing his perceptive gaze.
“Yes, Doctor.” you replied, finally working up the courage to break the mural stare and look down as you smiled at him. He returned a brief smile, and nodded once.
“So then, I hope you won’t mind if I list off the reasons you put for requesting my psychiatric assistance which led to us meeting today?” he inquired, taking his notebook from the small table next to him.
“Not at all, go ahead.” you gave him an encouraging nod and he opened his book. As he looked over a page, a realization came to you. You realized how intimate the placing of his chairs was. You mirrored him and put one leg over the other. You wondered if this was a tactic of his to create a sense of connection, equality. Interesting.
He began to list off the reasons of your current visit, words coated in that smooth accent. He finished and looked up at you.
“Is that all correct?”
“Yes,” you said, pausing a moment. There was some more, but this was only the first session. You hated the way it sounded so labeled when it was all laid out like that, so shallow. Realizing your answer might’ve seemed curt, you rushed to say more. “Yes, that’s all correct.”
He set his book down on the side table and looked at you for a moment. The thought crossed your mind that he might be waiting for you to speak, you were about to say something when he spoke at last.
“How do you feel right now, at this very particular moment?” he asked you, your last name politely slipping from his lips at the end of his question, eyes endlessly boring into you.
“I feel,” you hesitated, trying to come up with the right words. “Comfortable and welcomed. Yet nervous.”
“I’m glad you feel comfortable and welcomed, I try to provide sufficient hospitality for those in my care. Though, tell me, why do you feel nervous?” he asked.
“I’ve just met someone new. Someone who will be peering into my mind, learning the most personal parts of me. It’s an odd thought that a man I met a few minutes ago will come to know my mind so deeply.” you replied, watching Hannibal process your answer. He had a good poker face.
“Are you afraid of what I might uncover in the depths of your mind?” he asked.
“I think everyone’s a little afraid of what can be perceived in the most personal parts of their mentality. We all have only so much we express. To the eye it may seem to show enough, but there’s so much hidden where we store our deepest thoughts.” you replied. You liked the knowledgeable banter.
“Knowing those parts of you is a fundamental aspect to your treatment, as it is to any patient. I am not here to judge, or to exploit. I am here to come to know your being and attempt to help it in a way that is beneficial to your mental well-being.” he replied.
“You make a good point, Doctor.” you replied, flashing him a smile. He returned it, and opened his book.
“Well then, shall we begin?” he asked, his eyes still focused on yours.
“Of course.” you replied.
And so began your session with Hannibal Lecter, your new psychiatrist.
cervi e consumo
hannibal lecter x reader
chapter 2: il sentiero
well you made it though your first session with Dr. Lecter! how will the second go?
a/n: song inspiration for this chapter: lacrimosa by mozart
hello!! i just wanna say thank you so much for reading. just a warning: this chapter contains descriptions of a panic attack and brief descriptions of a car accident with an animal. if this is something that might bother you i recommend doing what’s best for you mentally. enjoy!!
tags: @flow33didontsmoke
chapter 2: il sentiero
Your first session with Dr. Lecter had gone well. You were still a bit apprehensive as to what you might show the man so far, but he had given you lots to think on.
He truly impressed you so far. From what you could gather, he not only was incredibly intellectual, but also a man of philosophy. You could admire that. Hell, you already admired him. He seemed good at his profession. Already, he’d referenced the work of Dante.
“The path to paradise begins in hell, as Dante put once. Just as you right now are in low conditions in your mind, I have to imagine that we always have brighter places to work towards.” he had said, his deep voice rang clearly across the room.
You had thought about it, and he had been right. You’ve got to start somewhere, even if it’s hell. Though you felt dramatic for calling your current situation “hell”. You appreciated how well-read he was though. It had inspired you.
An hour later you were sitting with a copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy in your lap, weighing down on your legs. The cover had a painting behind the title and other writings on the cover. You scanned the faces that were shown, and in interest, made out two figures, staring at legs coming out of the ground. For such a classic renowned book, it sure did have a strange cover. But the wisdom in your psychiatrists words had inflicted a curiosity upon you that was deeper than any unsettled emotion.
The evening after your session wore on, and in time, you had fallen into a deep sleep.
Days passed slowly, and the pages of the book turned with your continuing progress. It took patience to get through. Both the days and the book. Your job flooded you with responsibilities and when you came home and opened the heavy book, you were faced with words that did take some effort to decipher, but soon you found comfort in the word-laden pages. You tried listening to his advice about how the path to paradise begins in hell. What could paradise have in store for you? How long would this path take? Why couldn’t you have just started halfway? What if this wasn’t hell, and your journey hadn’t begun, and things would only get worse? Anxious questions seemed to constantly flood your mind, attacking any means of traveling on said “path.” Throughout the next few days, when the questions occasionally became too much, you would think back to Dr. Lecter’s rich voice, the distinguished air of his room, his analytic chestnut eyes. And the thought that soon you’d be there again. All hope wasn’t lost for you. You had Dante, Dr. Lecter, and this so-called path to paradise. You’d been through a lot to even make it here. You would try this. You had to.
Before you knew it, you were once again in the refined waiting room. Music once again played softly and the receptionist seemed to be in the exact same nervous state she was in yesterday. This time as you sat you allowed yourself to study your surroundings a bit more. Your eyes focused more clearly on the paintings that adorned the walls, you allowed yourself to breathe in, the air smelling of books and something you couldn’t quite name. You allowed yourself to gain a less tense position than last time, though your hands fidgeted slightly in your lap and you couldn’t help but notice the pattern of your breathing and your heart. You were nervous. You usually were before sessions, it wasn’t something you were unaccustomed to. You knew though that as time went on, you would relax into things more, just as you had already.
“He’s ready to see you now,” the receptionist spoke suddenly. A pleasant smile was plastered on her face. You nodded at her and stood, crossing the waiting room to stand in front of the wooden door, just as you had the week before. You looked back at the receptionist. Her face was now turned back to her work but her eyes still held the smile from the moment before. The nervous energy that had encompassed her not too long ago suddenly seemed a lot less nervous. Maybe it was simply energy. Maybe she was simply passionate about her work. She didn’t seem unhappy. This made a smile begin to grow on your face too. You made a mental note to talk to her more next time.
Sounds from the other side of the door interrupted your thoughts. It sounded like footsteps against the wooden floor, heading towards you. And as if on cue, the door in front of you opened to leave you smiling at the face of your psychiatrist.
He looked about the same as the last time you’d seen him. The same well-styled earthy hair, paired with the earthy eyes, the charming smile. The one different thing about him was his suit. The one he wore today was a brown plaid one.
“Good evening,” he spoke and a part of you relaxed at hearing his soothing voice, “How do you do? Please, come in,”
You smiled and stepped past him, walking into the large tranquil office. It felt reassuring, in a strange way, to be back here. The quote about the path flashed through your mind.
“Good evening to you as well, Doctor,” you replied to the man and turned to give him a smile as he followed you through the doorway, “I’ve been quite well. And you?”
“I happen to have been the exact same,” he replied. Just as last time, he gestured to the two chairs in the middle of the room and you both made your way over to have a seat. Once again, your thoughts danced around how intimate the setting was. You appreciated it. His eyes studied you, and it now felt like a common thing to get the feeling he wanted you to speak. This time, you took the opportunity.
“I’ve begun reading The Divine Comedy, as you quoted it in our last session,” you said. For a moment, you wondered if you shouldn’t have said it. You weren’t sure why. It just felt personal, deep. You knew it was meant to though. You also couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment you were feeling or if it was the strange feeling of being open. Your eyes suddenly focused again on Dr. Lecter and for a brief instant you thought you might’ve seen interest flash across his features before he spoke.
“What a keen memory you have,” he replied. The way your last name formally slipped from his lips at the end of his praise made your lips quirk up in a slight smile, “You must tell me your thoughts on it,”
“It’s fascinating. I love finding the meaning in such complex words. It all gives me so much to think about. While I have not read too much of it yet, I do intend to continue,” you remarked.
“I must admit, I quite agree with you. The meanings and knowledge woven into such works are intellectual delicacies. It does one much good to take a bite,” he responded.
As the session carried on, you did your best to comprehend his thought-provoking words. It only made you want to read the book more. Your mind wandered back to it, even as the conversation had steadily drifted away from that topic a while ago. In between the continuing banter, the appealing idea of curling up with the book when you got home became a thought that was growing in prominence. You might light some candles, settle into bed, maybe get something to eat or drink. You pictured the how the world would look from your window. The way buildings would be soaked in shadows of the navy night, the way wind would trickle through leaves in quiet susurrus. The night would be pretty to drive home in. Stillness protruding from the trees around the roads that led to your home. The idea of such a pleasant evening was incipient in your head.
Your attention was about to return to Dr. Lecter, when a sudden memory flashed through your thoughts. Headlights on a dark road, the shining eyes of the deer, the sudden franticness, a sickening jolt of the moving vehicle, a gut-wrenching scream. The recollection instantly made your stomach drop in the most dreadful way. You felt as if you were back in that moment. Your heart began to race, an execrable gut-churning feeling of pure terror took place in your abdomen and stomach. Unbeknownst to you, your hands had begun to fidget in your lap. Your eyes fixed on one spot on the floor. The emotion of panic felt like it had taken over your entire being. The moment just kept replaying in your mind. You saw it, even worse, you felt it, over and over in your mind. You silently screamed for a way out, feeling desperate. Your breaths became short as you felt increasing horror in your chest, laboring your breathing with pressure. You just wanted to make it stop. You were scared. You wanted a way out. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please get me away from this.
Abruptly, something began to intrude on your distraught and terrified state. A voice began to make its way through your racing thoughts. It was a deep and rich voice, dusted with an accent. Taking a moment to hurriedly try to identify the voice, it was Dr. Lecter’s. He was saying your last name in that formal way he had a habit of saying it in. Your eyes darted to him, seeing that he was now crouched next to your chair. That calm demeanor was still on. He felt so far away, the memory playing over again in your mind. You felt your mind begin to delve back into the state it was in before. You faintly heard your name off his lips again.
“Look at me,” he firmly instructed. You felt like you couldn’t, as if you were frozen in your memories. Your name left his lips once more. “I must ask you to try and listen.”
You wrenched your eyes away from the spot on the floor, turning to him. Though your eyes were on him, you felt as if your mind was a million miles away. For an instant, with the help of his voice, you felt more stable. You tried your best to keep your eyes on him.
“You are safe, you are in my office. No harm will come to you here. No doubt you feel overwhelmed right now. Try to focus on your breathing, in and out,” with his words, you began to break through the wall of panic that had settled in your mind, “I assure you, your mind cannot immure you.”
The world around you slowly became present to you again as he spoke. He continued, and you listened, fighting away the emotion. Occasionally your eyes would squeeze shut and your abdomen would tense in fear, but Dr. Lecter’s voice would always pull you back to where you were. You focused on him, the comforting words that continued to leave his mouth, the way he pointed out things in his office to distract you. He spoke softly about some of the paintings, your eyes caught occasionally on the strokes of the paintbrush that had created images with swirling emotion. Like the state of your mind.
Eventually, your focus was more on him than it was the memory that had resurfaced. Parts of your face were still tinged with worry, and you didn’t feel all that comfortable with your posture, but it was better than you had felt minutes before. You didn’t notice the doctor had been silent until he spoke, your name leaving his lips in that formal way before he finished his question.
“I take it that what just occurred was quite an intense panic attack. Might I ask if you know what triggered it?”
“A memory,” you spoke, you watched as he gently rose and stepped back to his chair where he took a seat, “It’s not important now.”
You wished so badly to be able to tell the man about the memory, but felt if you got into it, you might get stuck in that well of emotion and never come out.
“What has the ability to bother us to that extent is of great importance.” Dr. Lecter replied smoothly. You noticed the way his eyes silently searched you, as if deciphering you like an ancient language. The man was perceptive. You wondered what exactly he was searching. Your body language, your mind, signs of another panic attack. At this thought, you took special notice of his own body language. His legs were crossed as they usually were and his chin was tilted upwards ever so slightly. His hands were folded neatly in his lap. Even after witnessing such a paroxysm of emotion as yours, he managed to stay calm and unalarmed. You couldn’t deny that it was impressive.
“Could I talk to you about it at our next session, Dr. Lecter? Extreme emotions like that seem like too much to handle at the moment,” you felt bad saying that, and worried it came across as rude. But at least it gave you something to plan for leading up to the next session.
“If that is what you feel will benefit you the most,” he said with the slightest nod of his head, “Though, never be afraid to feel. It is much more than a mortal burden. Emotions allow us to have such a scope of remarkable experiences. Those of us filled with vehemence are bestowed with one of the best human gifts and burdens. Do not be afraid of it.”
The formal concluding niceties occurred as you were left ruminating on his words. He had a point. Of course he did, he knew this stuff.
Eventually, you had both risen from your respective seats in the middle of the room and were beginning your walk to the door you would be exiting from. He opened the door for you, but you paused. Looking back a him and giving him a soft look you spoke.
“Thank you.” you said, you saw a spark of both pride and slight confusion glow in his eye, accompanied by a slight turn of his head.
“I’m your psychiatrist,” he said, your last name leaving his lips in that formal way you’d grown used to, “It’s my pleasure.”
You stepped out of his office and before you knew it, you were back in the chilly air of the night. You looked at the building you had just exited, seeing warm light glow from the rooms inside, a contrast from the dark sky overhead. Part of you wished to be back in his office. Bach playing softly in the background, surrounded by art and literature from times far passed, the doctor’s sophisticated and accented voice ringing clearly through the room.
You could get used to this.
And now, you had Dante waiting for you to read when you got home.
Your journey on the path had begun.