#Hannibal rising | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cece693 · 3 days ago

Note

Man, I'm obsessed with anything related to vampires and Hannibal & Will. And your Hannigram x Vampire male reader work had me thinking about Alucard from Castlevania, especially from Castlevania Nocturne. I'm daydreaming about it all the time at this point. Here and here. Isn't he just so gorgeous and ethereal? You should watch Castlevania if you haven't seen it before. What I'm saying is, can I have more Hannigram x Vampire reader stuff? I'm daydreaming about Will and Hannibal falling for some who knows how many centuries-old (Alucard was born in 1456 and since Hannibal NBC takes place somewhere around the 2010s, he would be around 554 years old. Man, that's half a millennia) dhampir (half-vampire) with mid-back long, luscious platinum-blonde hair, gorgeous golden eyes and a handsome face. Love your work, by the way, amazing writings❤️

Of Blood and Moonlight

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: your a vampire hybrid, hannigram aren't together yet but will be, I haven't seen the show but he does look beautiful, new obsession perhaps?

You’ve walked among mortals for centuries. Ages have passed, empires risen and fallen, and you have always stood at the outskirts, watching. You are neither fully vampire nor wholly human—a dhampir, caught between two worlds. Some nights, it makes you feel invincible. Others, it leaves you burning with longing.

Tonight, the moon gleams overhead, a quiet silver disc in the sky, as you step along the streets of Baltimore. Your platinum-blonde hair catches the moonlight like spun silver, while your golden eyes are darkened with centuries’ worth of memories. Despite the hush of the city at such a late hour, you sense someone watching. Not an uncommon occurrence, but you can’t help the faint grin tugging at your lips.

He has found you again.

“Are you lost?” comes a soft, cautious voice from behind you.

Turning, you greet the man standing there with a faint nod. Under the lone streetlamp’s glow, you see the tension in Will Graham’s stance. His dark curls seem to frame a gaze that flickers between curiosity and empathy. You know that gaze well, the powerful empathy that draws him to wounded creatures—whether they walk on four legs or two. Or, in your case, something else entirely.

You offer him a slight bow of your head. “No,” you murmur. “Just alone.”

He studies your face. Anyone else might see only a handsome stranger, but Will senses the echo of something deeper—something not quite human. His brows knit gently. “There’s an emptiness around you,” he says, half to himself, half to you. “It’s like…” His words trail off.

You find yourself stepping closer, hair whispering over your shoulders. You speak with a calmness that’s centuries in the making. “It doesn’t bother you?”

Will only half-smiles. “Not sure yet.”

In the hush that follows, there is a faint rustle—another presence stepping out from the darkness. You turn sharply, your heightened senses recognizing this man even before your gaze can land on him. Hannibal Lecter’s refined aura precedes him. He stands just beyond the reach of the streetlamp, wearing a dark overcoat, and in his eyes glimmers a blend of intense curiosity and quiet fascination.

“I see you’ve met Will,” he says with his measured cadence. His voice is smooth, cultured, every syllable perfectly placed. “I’m Hannibal Lecter.”

You simply give him a polite, centuries-old courtesy nod, your own brand of chivalry. “I’m aware,” you say, giving a secretive little smile.

Hannibal inclines his head with intrigue. “You know me?”

“I’ve heard stories,” you murmur. You keep your own secrets well—this is one of the many reasons you have survived so long. You know these two are not ordinary men. One hunts monsters; the other one is a monster in human skin. Yet you sense no threat. In your long existence, you’ve learned that sometimes the most unlikely of bonds can be formed over fascination and darkness.

Your first night at Hannibal’s lavish home is a carefully orchestrated affair. You don’t need an invitation to slip into his world—some unspoken magnetism exists between you three. You come at his request, long hair tied loosely back, golden eyes absorbing the soft glow of the dining room. A single red candle flickers at the center of the table. The scents of rosemary and thyme float through the air. There’s a subtle, rich undercurrent that might disquiet a normal human. To you, it’s enticing. Hannibal’s eyes track your every move, while Will watches with a mix of wariness and longing.

Hannibal, always poised, presents a decadent meal. His skill with cuisine is legendary, and you admire his artistry—even if you have suspicions about certain ingredients. Your golden eyes flick to the plate with mild curiosity, then you raise them to Will and Hannibal. “I don’t typically partake in…human fare,” you say politely, leaning back into the chair. The flickering candlelight dances against your pale features.

Hannibal offers a gracious incline of his head. “No insult taken. I understand if your habits differ.”

Will’s mouth quirks at one corner. “You can tell us about yourself instead.”

They watch your every breath as you trace a fingertip around the lip of your wine glass. You let the tension wind in the air, enjoying their rapt attention. “I have existed for many years,” you begin. “Centuries, if you will. Time has a way of dulling the senses, which is why I search for new experiences…” Your eyes flash gold. “And interesting company.” There’s a flutter in Will’s chest. He can’t hide it; you hear the slight hitch in his breath. Hannibal’s eyes reveal satisfaction, his curiosity mounting.

It’s Will who first breaks down the walls. Over the following weeks, you find yourself drawn to him—his empathy, his vulnerability, his unwavering desire to understand even the darkest parts of others. On more than one occasion, you and Will take late-night walks through the woods behind his house. He confides in you the weight of nightmares, of feeling too deeply. You softly explain that time dulls certain pains, but your ancient heart remains capable of new scars.

One evening, the moon is bright overhead, silver illuminating every strand of your platinum hair, your golden eyes gleaming. Will suddenly stops, turning to face you. “How do you stand it?” he asks, voice thick with emotion. “How do you bear seeing so much and going on forever?”

You tilt your head. You’ve asked yourself the same question countless times. “I survive by allowing myself to savor the rare beauties of the world—like quiet nights, moonlit forests,” you say, stepping closer. You can almost hear the rush of blood in his veins, and your fangs ache. “And souls that fascinate me.”

His cheeks flush, not from fear, but from a sense of closeness he’s never quite felt with anyone else. A heartbeat passes, and he lunges forward, pressing his lips to yours. It’s a sudden, urgent kiss. You respond in kind, centuries of loneliness dissolving in the warmth that is Will Graham’s humanity.

Hannibal Lecter is different. Where Will is stormy and turbulent with empathy, Hannibal is cold fire, methodical in his pursuit of what intrigues him. His interest in you has grown with every meeting. You catch the traces of desire in the way his dark eyes slide over your face, your hair, your body. He is unflinching.

One evening, you accept another invitation to his home. You arrive just as a violin concerto plays softly on his stereo. He bids you to follow him to his parlor, where two glasses of deep burgundy wine await. “I took the liberty of procuring something special,” he says, handing you a wine glass filled with a liquid that is not wine. You inhale the scent—thick, coppery. It’s fresh blood, carefully warmed, laced with delicate notes of something akin to sweet spice. Your centuries-honed senses reel.

He sits across from you, elbows on his knees, studying your reaction. His voice is low. “I trust it meets your needs.”

Your eyes narrow slightly. “You toy with danger, Dr. Lecter.”

A hint of a smile crosses his face. “Danger is so often misunderstood. I prefer to consider it an exploration.” You sip—carefully, indulgently—and you feel his dark gaze track every movement of your throat. It is an intimate, visceral moment. The air thickens with unspoken tension.

In the hush, you lock eyes with him. “And what do you want to discover?”

Hannibal sets his wine aside, rising to stand before you. He tilts your chin upward with clinical gentleness, the pressure of his fingertips both polite and possessive. “Whether something as timeless as you can feel obsession or even love.” You let him bend to kiss you, a languorous brush of lips that tastes of fine wine and predatory indulgence. Like a snake around its prey, but you—oh, you are no helpless creature. You return the kiss with equal fervor, letting him sense the centuries of want coiled behind your restraint.

In time, you find yourself often in the quiet presence of both Hannibal and Will. They form a precarious balance—Will’s empathy bridging the darkness, Hannibal’s refined cruelty tempered by genuine fascination. They both watch you with desires they are only just beginning to articulate.

Will’s eyes shift from Hannibal to you. “It’s strange,” he admits one night after dinner, a meal that you’ve politely observed but not partaken in. “How could we…share this?”

Hannibal levels a gaze at Will. “Do you think we can’t?” His gaze drifts to you. “Is it not possible to crave more than one kind of beauty?”

You say nothing at first, letting them speak. In your centuries, you’ve known all varieties of hunger, passion, and love. Humans have so many rules, so many limitations. But Hannibal has broken them, and Will has shattered them in his need for connection. Leaning forward, you entwine your fingers with Will’s, and with your free hand, you brush a pale strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve lived so long, I’ve learned that hearts can hold multitudes.”

Will’s breathing quickens, his cheeks flushing. You sense Hannibal’s pulse, steady yet heavier, as he slips behind you, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. For a moment, you close your golden eyes and let the swirl of your centuries melt into the present—this closeness, this strange connection.

The nights that follow blur into a tapestry of music, whispered confessions, and clandestine hunts through the city’s shadows. Sometimes you walk with Will beneath the stars, the hush of midnight an unspoken promise of safety. Other times, Hannibal lures you into hushed corners of his home, drawing you into sharp-edged kisses.

You’ve never belonged to anyone—nor have they. Yet you discover a kind of belonging here that is both enthralling and perilous. Hannibal’s presence is a constant danger, and Will’s precarious grip on his own self flickers daily. But for you, who’ve roamed centuries alone, this dual dance of desire is the most alive you’ve felt in ages. They see you as both a riddle and a comfort. They see your beauty—and your deadly potential. You are not monstrous to them; you are mesmerizing, as they are to you.

One late hour, the three of you gather in Hannibal’s drawing room. Crimson curtains filter the moonlight, casting the space in deep shadows. You stand between them—Will on your left, Hannibal on your right—each with an arm around your waist, their breaths close, hearts beating to different tempos yet syncing in one intangible thread of belonging.

“You’ve survived so long,” Will murmurs, pressing a cautious kiss to your neck, “will we be enough to keep you from drifting away?”

Hannibal’s voice flows smoothly, low and intimate. “Or will you watch us wither as the centuries continue on?”

Your lips curve into a wistful smile. “I cannot stop time, nor change the nature of my being.” You lower your gaze, hair drifting forward like a pale curtain, before lifting your eyes to them both—golden irises filled with an ancient warmth. “But I’ve learned that each moment we grasp is ours alone. What’s important is not how long it lasts, but that we truly live it.” Hannibal’s hand tightens at your waist, a promise if ever there was one. Will hides his face in your neck, his empathy bridging the eternity between you.

101 notes · View notes

cece693 · 2 months ago

Note

May I pretty please request Hannigram with an SO that really likes biting things? Like they’ll just nibble on anything available, including themself or Hanni/Will

male reader if possible :)

Bite Me, Darling

pairing: hannibal lecter and will graham x male reader tags: self soothing mechanism, male reader bites things, Alana bashing, jack Crawford bashing, just everyone in general is against this relationship, innocent male reader, hannibal and will want to keep him this way

It was strange, how everything about him was normal on the surface but wildly unique beneath. The way he moved through life, unaware of the way people stared, was something that only a few people truly understood. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, for all their intelligence and their capacity for manipulation, had each found something in him—something pure and raw—that spoke to them in ways they couldn’t articulate.

You were innocent in the most innocent way. You didn’t know how to read people’s intentions, how to navigate the murky waters of deceit and pain that others swam in. You were a creature of quiet habits: chewing on pens, biting the corner of your sleeves, even nibbling your fingers. It wasn’t that you was anxious, but rather that this was your way of processing the world. You didn’t speak much, but when you did, it was with a tenderness that could disarm even the most hardened individuals.

For some, this made you seem almost too innocent for the likes of Will and Hannibal. They were two men who dealt with darkness constantly, who played in shadows. Hannibal, the brilliant psychiatrist with an appetite for blood, had found himself intrigued long before anything happened between them. How did such a pure soul even come to be? How was it that someone as complex as Hannibal could be pulled into a world where biting things wasn’t just a habit—it was part of who you were?

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Hannibal was nothing if not a man who craved complexity, and you, with your simple yet peculiar habit of biting, had an allure that he could never fully comprehend. He wasn’t sure when the lines had blurred, when you had shifted from being someone he wanted to understand to someone he wanted to possess.

Will, on the other hand, was less of a mystery. He found your unspoken understanding of him soothing. Will was not a man who found comfort easily. He’d had too many years of running from his own mind, of balancing between the need for human connection and the heavy weight of his empathic gifts. But you were different. You never demanded anything from him. There was no need to over explain; no fear of rejection. You were there, and that was enough.

The three of them had fallen into a relationship that no one, especially not Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford, could understand. Jack, upset that you had a greater control over his 'asset' perceived you as a problem that needed to be extinguished immediately. While he couldn't force Will to break up with you, he began to use manipulative language more frequently, hinting that his absence was endangering the lives of people. But after a while, his words began to lose power.

"Will, you can’t just leave because he told you to," Jack would say, his voice thick with frustration. "We need you to solve this case. You're part of this team." But Will, unmoved, always told him he was tired and needed a break—as if killers would respect that and stop murdering until he felt better. Jack would then begin to retort how soft Will was becoming, as if that ever mattered when others perceived him as a madman.

Alana, on the other hand, was driven by something more personal. Jealousy. She had been drawn to both Hannibal and Will. Her feelings for them had never been simple or easy, but she had always harbored a belief that somehow, one day, they would choose her. Instead, they had chosen you. The idea of you, with your gentle biting habit, managing to capture the attention of both men—of all people—was enough to make her skin crawl with resentment. How could someone so abnormal and clearly dealing with childhood trauma have the audacity to step into their world and steal both her love interests?

She couldn’t help but feel that you didn’t deserve them. You weren't like her—you didn’t understand the complexities of their lives nor seemed to be able to handle the hurdles that came with it. And so, she set to work.

It started subtly. A conversation here, a comment there.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re a little strange?” she would ask, voice light, as if it were a passing thought. “I mean, the biting…it's something you can't help, but don't you ever want to stop it? Be seen as normal for once in your life?"

At first, you had laughed it off, thinking nothing of it. But over time, the seeds of doubt were planted. You began to wonder. Was your habit of biting things wrong? Your lovers had never raised concerns, but it would be something they'll definitely keep private, perhaps a secret only shared between Hannibal and Will. You never thought that Alana's words were connived to break your relationship apart, your naivety something the woman had taken into account and used to her advantage.

So, you tried to stop.

You started small: you tucked your hands into your sleeves when your instincts told you to gnaw at the fabric, and you opted for straws instead of biting the rim of a glass cup. You made an effort—any effort—to keep your teeth away from Will and Hannibal’s skin, no matter how comforting that gentle pressure felt against them. At first, neither man noticed; after all, it was easy to dismiss as a passing mood or an unremarkable change in routine.

But after a couple of days, small signs alerted both of them to the shift. Will began to see you catch yourself mid-motion, your hand halfway to your mouth before you stopped and pressed it flat against your chest instead. Hannibal noticed the anxious flicker in your eyes whenever you realized you were about to bite down on your sleeve—or worse, on him—and yanked yourself away.

It was Will who first chose to address it. One evening, you were curled up in his living room, dogs scattered around you like living blankets. The space was quiet, the only sound the gentle snoring of a dog and the low hum of the overhead light. You were running your thumb over your bottom lip—an almost-bite—when Will finally spoke.

“Hey,” he said softly, “what’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, forcing a small smile. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

He studied you with those empathetic eyes of his. You knew he was reading more into your silence, but Will was nothing if not patient. “You’ve been distant,” he finally ventured, words slow and careful. “I don’t mind if you need space, but if something’s bothering you, I want to help.”

The sincerity in his voice tore at your heart. You wanted to confide in him, to say Alana made me feel wrong, and I don’t want to be wrong for you, but the fear of seeming weak or needy held you back. You simply shook your head and offered a reassuring pat to one of the dogs resting on your lap. “I’m fine,” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t push. “Just tired.”

Hannibal discovered your change in behavior under more intimate circumstances. The two of you were alone in his kitchen, the scent of simmering stock filling the air. He had taken your hand to guide you closer to the cutting board, demonstrating a particular technique for slicing vegetables. Normally, a casual closeness like this was an invitation for you to lean in, maybe press your teeth gently against the back of his hand or the curve of his arm—just enough to ground yourself in his presence. This time, you didn't lean in nor brought his hand to your lips.

Hannibal stilled, eyebrows lifting in polite surprise. “Darling,” he asked softly, “what’s wrong?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You swallowed hard. “Just didn’t want to hurt you,” you offered lamely, though you both knew you had never caused him pain before. His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but he released your hand without comment. You wondered if your face betrayed the unease you felt, because Hannibal’s expression shifted into something gentler, concerned. But he chose not to press you then and there. Instead, he simply carried on, instructing you gently with the knife work and occasionally brushing a reassuring hand across your back.

Though both men tried to give you space, their combined worry spilled over as time went on. Neither was used to seeing you so guarded, especially around them. On a chilly afternoon, the three of you gathered in Hannibal’s study—a routine that had become something of a tradition. Will sipped his whiskey quietly while Hannibal and you browsed through his impressive collection of classical music. There was a soothing air of comfort, and for a brief moment, your doubts dimmed.

But of course, it was Will who noticed your jaw moving—saw the slight shift as your teeth worked the soft flesh inside your cheek. He placed his whiskey glass down on the table with a muted clink before pushing himself out of the chair.

“Stop,” he murmured, crossing the room with purpose. His voice was gentle but firm as he stepped close to you. Without hesitating, he brought his hand to your chin, his touch warm yet insistent. “Open your mouth.”

You stiffened, instinctively pulling away. You shook your head, trying to avert your gaze from Will’s intense blue eyes. You didn’t want to show him. You didn’t want him to see the damage you’d done to keep from biting them instead.

But then, Hannibal appeared at Will’s side, his presence commanding. He didn’t say a word, but the look he gave you—equal parts concern and disappointment—made your shoulders slump in silent surrender. Unable to deny the weight of their worry, you parted your lips, letting Will tilt your chin just enough so both he and Hannibal could peer inside.

A faint gasp escaped Will as he saw the small puncture in your cheek, the fresh bead of crimson welling against your lower molars. Hannibal’s lips flattened into a thin line, and a flicker of displeasure darkened his gaze. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small wound, but it spoke volumes to them—volumes about how you had been coping alone.

Hannibal’s voice was low, edged with concern. “You’ve been hurting yourself to avoid biting us.” It wasn’t a question; it was a quiet statement of fact.

Will let go of your chin carefully. “Why?” he asked, his brows knitting together.

You swallowed thickly, your hand hovering near your mouth in a subconscious attempt to hide the injury you’d just revealed. “Alana said it’s weird. The biting,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

A stretch of silence followed your confession, Hannibal and Will exchanged a look—a silent conversation filled with understanding and mild anger toward Alana’s interference. Will’s gaze softened as he turned back to you. “We told you before,” he reminded you gently, “you don’t have to hide this from us. You’re not hurting us—”

“—nor inconveniencing us,” Hannibal interrupted, stepping closer again. The resolute calm in his eyes steadied you. “In fact, we’ve grown quite accustomed to it, and dare I say, fond of it. Your habit is part of who you are.”

You glanced down, feeling the sting of tears threatening in your eyes. “I just…I didn’t want you to get sick of me, or to think I was some sort of burden.”

Will’s hand found yours, his fingers threading through with a gentle squeeze. “That’s not possible,” he murmured. “We miss it…miss you being comfortable around us.”

Hannibal placed a hand against your cheek, being mindful of your tender injury. “You never need to hurt yourself on our behalf,” he said, voice quiet but unyielding. “Any pain you feel—physical or otherwise—we’d much rather help you carry it, not watch you bury it inside.”

At those words, a sharp wave of relief pulsed through you, along with an ache of regret for having doubted them. You inhaled shakily, letting yourself lean just a fraction closer to Hannibal’s touch, feeling the stability it offered. Will eased his other hand around your waist, tugging you gently in his direction. Sandwiched between them, you could almost believe nothing else mattered.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “I…I’ll try not to hide it anymore.”

Will’s lips quirked into a small, comforting smile. “No more chewing on your cheek,” he said, voice warm with affection. “You’ll let us help, right?”

With a hesitant nod, you felt Hannibal’s hand slide from your cheek to the back of your head, urging you closer until your forehead rested against his shoulder. He cast a glance at Will, who leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Despite the swirl of emotions, you felt a gentle calm in their presence—a sense of being anchored.

875 notes · View notes