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cece693 · 22 hours ago

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Are You Sure It's Just A Childhood Friend?

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: possessive hannigram, childhood friend, male reader is affectionate, hints of future violence, reader is blind to danger, part two (if it's desired)

This new FBI agent was getting on Hannibal and Will's nerves—a man who had Jack's relentless need to place the Chesapeake ripper behind bars would always be bothersome, but for the man to have some connection, a large one at that, to their beloved was an offense they couldn't overlook.

Childhood friend was the moniker you gave Nathan Carter—inseparable in school, sharing playdates on the weekends—but Hannibal, ever perceptive, noticed just how this pig looked at you. Devotion, hunger, lust. Emotions that drive people to extremes, ones which Hannibal knew all too well.

In the dim light of Hannibal’s office, Will paced, agitation evident in his taut shoulders and the sharp twitch of his jaw. The quiet hush of the room only magnified his irritation.

“He had the audacity to ask him out on a date,” Will growled, finally stopping to look at Hannibal. “You should’ve seen him, his eyes staring at him as if he hung the moon and stars. It was disgusting.”

Hannibal stood behind his desk, hands loosely clasped. He regarded Will with an almost unnerving calm, though a subtle tightening at the corners of his mouth betrayed a hint of displeasure. “And did he agree?” he asked evenly.

“No,” Will replied quickly, “thankfully we already made plans this weekend...but that’s beside the point. The fact that Nathan thought he could just swoop in like that—” His words cut off in a frustrated huff.

Hannibal inclined his head. “He certainly seems ambitious,” he commented drily. “I surmise our beloved does not realize the depth of Nathan’s intentions. He’s too kind, too eager to see the best in others.”

Will scowled. “Worse, he still thinks of Nathan as that same goofy kid from school—the one who’d share his lunch with him just to make him smile. He's oblivious to Nathan's feelings. How easily his infatuation can turn dangerous."

The corners of Hannibal’s mouth curved in the faintest, dangerous smile. “I do recognize obsession when I see it. And our dear friend is quite transparent: thinking a childhood promise can blossom into something more...blatantly ignoring the present reality.”

Will’s expression darkened. “He's trying to rip him away from us. I can’t stand the thought of that creep trailing after him, giving him that look, pressing him to go somewhere alone.”

Hannibal stepped around the desk, approaching Will with deliberate grace. The lamplight caught the angles of his face, lending him an almost predatory air. “Then we shall ensure Nathan respects boundaries,” His hand reached out to settle on Will’s neck, a quiet, grounding gesture.

Will allowed himself to be guided to the leather chair, though his restless energy kept him perched on the edge. “But how? We can't dispose of him like usual. It'll draw attention unto us." Will can't held but close his eyes, Hannibal's touch soothing his nerves and current anger.

“Yes, I suppose you're right," Hannibal mused with a cool glint in his eye, "Perhaps the best course of action is to show Nathan our beloved is unavailable. Maintain our usual routine as to prevent them spending unnecessary time alone. Dinner at my home, quiet weekends at Wolf Trap with you. Or we can always suggest new tasks for Carter—Jack is always eager to shift resources if it means more productivity on the Ripper case.”

Will brows furrowed. “If Nathan gets too close to the Ripper investigation, that might be dangerous for you.”

Hannibal laughed, a rich sound that immediately eased Will’s worries. “Men like Nathan rarely see beyond their own hearts and ambitions. I will handle him if he becomes a threat.”

“Fine,” Will replied, voice still tight. “But no extremes—yet. He wouldn’t forgive us if we did something drastic.”

Hannibal’s long finger played with the hair on Will’s nape, the gentle caress contrasting with the darker undercurrent in his voice. “Of course not,” he answered smoothly. “We shall be prudent.”

Will trusted Hannibal’s judgment, aware the man was planning something—not only to delay his capture by the FBI but also to keep Nathan from stealing their other half. The tension in Will’s jaw refused to dissipate, however, at the way Nathan pushed himself into your life.

You weren’t at fault—your open-hearted warmth was part of your charm—but Nathan believed it meant more. That every casual hug translated into an invitation. That your bright smiles were solemn vows you’d forsake your lovers and marry him on the spot. It was pathetic. Unrealistic. Insulting.

Because what could Nathan give you that he or Hannibal hadn’t already? Who could love you more, revere you like a divine being stepping down to earth, and then devote themselves, body and soul?

"You're doing it again."

Will looked away from his boyfriend to Beverly, who had her arms crossed over her chest and wore a smirk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on.” Beverly rolled her eyes. “You’ve got that look. Like you’re imagining a hundred ways to chase off competition.”

Will shifted on his feet, an old defensive habit. “It’s not that,” he insisted, though his tone lacked conviction. “He’s just irritating.”

Beverly arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You don’t do well with people who orbit too close to your inner circle, especially when that circle includes your boyfriends.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but Beverly raised a hand. “It’s so obvious, Will. And I can’t exactly blame you. Nathan’s a nice guy—polite, quick to help out—but there’s something off about him.” Her gaze flicked sideways, ensuring no one was listening.

“He’s infatuated. Not in the ‘oh, cute, a little crush’ way. More like obsessed.” She lowered her voice. “Even Jack’s noticed how he hovers around him.”

Will’s lips pressed into a thin line. Jack, too? So it wasn’t just Will’s own jealousy picking up on the danger. “He should back off,” he muttered. “I’ve tried to warn him, but he’s not getting it.”

Beverly shifted her weight, uncrossing her arms. “Have you told him how you feel? That you’re worried?”

He shrugged. “Not directly. Hannibal and I—we’ve both tried talking to him.” Will’s eyes fell on the tiles, suddenly anxious about revealing too much. “We don’t want to push him away by seeming controlling.”

Beverly gave a gentle snort. “Protective, controlling—sometimes there’s a thin line. I get it, though. You’re just worried. He's got a big heart, and Nathan’s using every ounce of that sympathy.”

Will exhaled, raking a hand through his curls. “You’ve seen how affectionate he is—always has been. Nathan’s reading way too much into it.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Beverly replied. “Look, I thought you should know: Nathan asked me earlier for advice on how he could ‘make a grand gesture’ to prove himself.” She paused, watching the way Will’s eyes darkened. “It sounded…extreme.”

His jaw clenched. “Dammit.”

“Relax, or try to,” Beverly said softly. “If Nathan crosses a line, I’ll have your back. Just…keep an eye on him. The last thing we need is some unhinged agent making trouble.”

Will nodded, gratitude and worry warring on his face. “Thanks, Bev.”

She gave him a warm pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. “Don’t mention it. Just keep your head, Will. No crazy stunts. You know how Jack hates drama in the workplace.”

Will watched her go, mind whirling. He couldn’t banish the mental image of Nathan taking some drastic action to ‘win’ you over. He swallowed hard, pushing off the wall and heading towards his office to notify Hannibal about the recent revelation. They tried to resolve this peacefully, but it only seems that violence will teach Nathan not to encroach on what's his.

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cece693 · 23 hours ago

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pairing: hints of male reader x will graham, hints of hannibal lecter x male reader and hints of hannigram tags: reader is kinda of hannibal's bodyguard, similar to chyron, will falls for reader, reader rejects him knowing hannibal's interest, conflict, prob will be a 2nd part

You do not remember how you first came under Hannibal's quiet, meticulously orchestrated influence. The event was there, crystallized in your memory, but you try not to revisit it often—the basic details were that Hannibal offered a hand when you had been backed into a corner.

Months turned into years, and by now, you serve the dual role of companion and protector in his lavish Baltimore home. Outsiders—neighbors, guests, and even the pretentious socialite acquaintances Hannibal occasionally entertains—whisper about you in hush-hush tones. They assume you are a distant relative from Europe or a longtime friend who has taken up residence under Hannibal’s gracious hospitality. No one suspects there is a debt—one that arose from him saving you so many years ago. Hannibal never forced you to be his protector, but he never made a noise of complain.

You assume it had been his plan all along—his help, the one he rarely offers, is always calculated and only done to serve his own agenda. Perhaps there was some small mercy in his offer—some genuine sliver of kindness—but it is overshadowed by the quiet, methodical way he has woven himself into your life. You came under his roof of your own volition, yes, but with no real alternatives. He never asked you outright to guard his home, never demanded you learn the intricacies of self-defense or the art of combat; he simply made opportunities available. Polite suggestions, guided resources—always a soft nudge rather than a push.

Your loyalty to him is fluid, evolving. Not quite devotion—more like devotion’s stern cousin, obligation. Although at times, in the hush of your own thoughts, you can’t decide if you’re more addicted to Hannibal’s tranquil, cultivated presence than you are bound by any debt.

Life at the Lecter residence might, at a glance, seem serene. You keep rooms on the second floor in a private wing at Hannibal’s insistence; he is gracious in all things, ensuring your space is comfortable, well-appointed. You enjoy a sense of calm—predictable, orchestrated, steeped in the good doctor’s love for structure. You never forget, however, that you are here to protect him. That he is not the type to need overt protection only proves how unusual your arrangement is.

Then Hannibal meets Will Graham.

It begins almost innocently. One evening, Hannibal tells you he’s invited a gifted FBI consultant for dinner—someone with a unique empathy disorder. You can’t quite decipher the flicker in Hannibal’s gaze, as if this Will Graham is both puzzle and prey. Still, you prepare, setting the table meticulously, making certain everything is perfect by the time Will arrives.

When Will steps through the front door and shakes your hand, your breath almost catches in your throat. He’s scruffy, subdued, but there’s a palpable tension to him that you sense as carefully as if you were reading the lines on your palm. He returns your greeting with polite awkwardness, uncertain if you are some close friend of Dr. Lecter or merely hired help. “I’m Will,” he mumbles, voice soft like an apology.

You don’t reveal your status, only responding, “I’m…well, I help Dr. Lecter around here.”

Hannibal, from behind you, smiles and adds, “Yes, he’s quite indispensable.”

You notice the undertone. You are his—a prized, if discreet, possession.

The conversation at dinner flows with surprising ease. Will attempts to navigate small talk with Hannibal, but your presence draws his gaze more than once. As the evening lengthens, Hannibal retreats into lofty discussions of psychology, madness, and classical music. You ask the right questions to encourage Will to share his insights.

Will, in turn, finds himself unexpectedly drawn to you, acknowledging your quiet, observant nature. He seems to intuit you’re more than a houseguest, despite your guarded composure. Over the next few weeks, Will visits again and again for 'non-therapy' discussions and dinners. And each time, he seeks you out in the intervals before Hannibal joins him. Your company, without the heightened tension Hannibal’s unwavering stare provokes, is soothing to him.

He asks about your life. You avoid specifics. You’ve learned well from Hannibal how to dance around direct answers. Yet, you grow fond of Will’s curiosity, his dryness, his flawed humanness. He asks how you met Hannibal. You offer a half-truth about receiving help in a desperate situation. Will’s eyes flicker with empathy, but he doesn’t pry—aware that secrets abound in the good doctor’s home.

In Hannibal’s presence, you catch glimmers of something new. He watches Will with a clinical interest that borders on fascination, while Will’s glance roams to you with unspoken longing that seems to catch him off-guard. The dynamic between the three of you becomes a precarious triangle.

The closer Will grows to you, the more you sense Hannibal’s silent disapproval—even if it is impeccably veiled. Hannibal does not see you as a rival or a threat in a conventional sense; you suspect his interest in Will is not mere academic curiosity but a deeper, stirring fascination. An appetite you have learned all too well. One evening, after Will departs, Hannibal corners you in the study. The firelight illuminates his face, casting dramatic shadows on the walls.

“He likes you,” Hannibal states, voice devoid of accusation. Just observation.

You dip your head, half in respect, half in admission. “Yes. He does. Should I stop him from coming to me?”

He smiles with polite indulgence. “That will not be necessary. I merely wish to know if his feelings are reciprocated.”

It feels like a trap. You’re well-versed in Hannibal’s methods. To lie outright is unwise. To reveal everything is equally so. You choose a measured truth. “I won’t deny that I care for him in some capacity. But my loyalty remains here—with you.”

Hannibal’s lips curl in a small, satisfied smile. “Of course it does.”

Soon enough, Will’s attempts to form a closer bond with you crescendo. He voices it indirectly—asking if you ever want to get out of Baltimore for a weekend, away from Dr. Lecter’s refined dinners and silent stares. His concern is subtle, but you perceive it: he wants to save you from something he cannot fully name or comprehend.

A quiet longing awakens in you. Will is so unlike Hannibal—chaotic, genuine, stumbling. You see he needs a type of closeness that Hannibal cannot provide, not in the same human way. It pulls at you, the possibility of a life free from Hannibal’s orchestrations and unsaid expectations.

But if you leave, if you let yourself care for Will more than you serve Hannibal, the entire, delicate structure collapses. Your debt to Hannibal cannot be cast aside so easily; he saved your life, and your gratitude is not mere lip service. You know, too, that Hannibal’s interest in Will runs deeper each day. It is the first time you have seen him exhibit such unwavering fascination with someone else.

It culminates on an evening where Will lingers behind, after a dinner, waiting in the foyer. He claims he wants to speak with you. You sense Hannibal has retreated purposefully, giving Will the space to confront you.

“I—” Will falters, his gaze flicking around, as though your presence alone is too much. “Are you safe here?” he finally asks, voice hoarse.

Your heart constricts. He sees too much. Perhaps not the full truth, but enough to worry. You try for a small, reassuring smile. “Yes. Dr. Lecter has been good to me.” It’s both truth and evasion.

He takes a step forward, frustration tense in his posture. “I can’t help but feel like you’re…like you’re stuck in a situation you can’t get out of.”

For a fraction of a moment, your resolve shakes. You imagine telling him everything. But the memory of Hannibal’s subtle smile, his unwavering confidence, stops you. You see, too, the bond forming between Hannibal and Will. There’s an intensity there that Will hasn’t noticed yet, something dark and intimate. And if Hannibal has chosen Will, you cannot stand in the way. You owe your life to Hannibal. That is the top line, the unstoppable factor.

You shake your head, stepping back. “I'm here in my own volition, Will,” you say quietly, forcing as much conviction as you can into the words.

And in a way, it’s true. You chose this, when Hannibal presented you with two paths: continue stumbling through a precarious life that might end in a dark alley, or accept his graceful offer of protection and guidance. It was more freedom than you had ever been shown—yet it came with a leash. One you sometimes can’t decide if you truly feel around your throat or if it’s just your imagination.

Will’s eyes track yours, and you can see the doubt flickering there. “If you say so,” he mutters, voice subdued, “but every time I come here, I can’t shake this feeling that you’d be gone the second you got the chance.”

A ripple of discomfort passes through you. The truth, if you dared utter it, is complicated: you owe Hannibal, yes, but there is also something about him that comforts you, a shadow in which you can hide. Will’s concern draws you back into a glaring light you’re not sure you want to face.

You attempt a reassuring smile, though you suspect it falls flat. “I’m not trying to run from anything or anyone. Hannibal has given me a home, and I…I—”

You catch yourself, realizing that finishing that thought—I owe him my life—would only spur more questions, more concern.

Will takes another halting step closer, voice just above a whisper, as though he fears Hannibal might hear. “If you ever change your mind, if you ever need somewhere else to go—”

“Will.” Your tone is gentle but firm, the way you might address a frightened animal. You recognize that tension in him: the wariness, the trembling potential for flight. He’s all frayed edges and empathy, searing himself on your unspoken wounds. You want to protect him from that. “I appreciate it. I do. But don’t worry about me.”

He exhales, shoulders slumping in defeat. The rustle of his coat sleeve is loud in the hush of Hannibal’s house. “Fine. But I can’t turn off my worries. That’s…that’s not how I work.”

A heartbeat of silence passes between you. You meet his gaze, and an inexplicable pang of sadness—longing—flares in your chest. It’s more than you’ve allowed yourself to feel in years.

For a moment, you almost speak the truth: that Hannibal gave you another chance at life, that you can’t even contemplate betraying him, no matter the cost to your own happiness. But speaking those words would mean jeopardizing all you’ve built—and, if you’re honest, all Will has here too. Hannibal’s fascination has taken root deep in Will’s mind. You see it in the way he returns to Hannibal’s office, how he lingers in conversation with him. There’s a gravitational pull that binds them.

You step back, head bowing slightly, and manage the best parting words you can muster. “Please, trust me when I say I’m as safe as I can be.”

Will opens his mouth to speak, perhaps to protest, but you see something flicker in his periphery. You don’t have to glance over your shoulder to know: Hannibal stands in the hallway beyond the foyer, silent and watchful. He forces a curt nod, clearing his throat. “Right. Then, I suppose I’ll be going.”

Your chest aches, but you maintain your composure, nodding in return. “Drive safe.” you offer softly.

He brushes past you, pausing just for the briefest moment as though waiting for you to speak—waiting for you to say something that will break the chains he imagines binding you. When you remain silent, he sighs and steps out into the night.

A heavy hush falls in the foyer. The tension in the air is thick enough to choke on. You keep your gaze on the closed door, not wanting to turn around, not wanting to confront the expression you know Hannibal wears. After a quiet stretch that seems to last forever, his voice resonates with gentle amusement. “Will is a fascinating man, is he not?”

You don’t move. “He is,” you manage, your voice sounding thin to your own ears.

Hannibal hums—a soft, musical note of approval. “He cares about you,” he says, with no hint of jealousy. It’s merely another observation, another piece of psychological tapestry he’s weaving.

Your response lodges in your throat, but you manage, “Yes. He does.”

Hannibal crosses the threshold behind you, his measured steps resonating lightly on the polished floor. A moment later, his hand rests with gentle possession on your shoulder. He does not squeeze or hurt, but the weight of it is a reminder of your place, your role.

“You did well,” he murmurs. “I trust he won’t press you further.”

You close your eyes, letting your head dip imperceptibly. Another wave of guilt washes through you—guilt for betraying Will’s concern and a strange guilt for pleasing Hannibal. “He won’t,” you say, each syllable costing you a measure of self-acceptance.

The doctor’s hand falls away. “Good.” His voice is warm, tinged with satisfaction. “Come. I’ve brewed a pot of tea. Let us not waste a perfectly lovely evening.”

He turns, gliding away toward the kitchen, and you follow out of habit, your steps echoing behind him. You keep your head down. You know you chose this—accepted Hannibal’s salvation and everything that followed. Yet Will’s gaze lingers in your memory, leaving you unable to shake the feeling that you’ve just closed the door on a different kind of rescue, one that might have freed you in ways Hannibal never intended.

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