#Will graham x hannibal lecter

[perfecteggpartyland]

After rewatching s1 for 70th Am I the only one feeling bad for Nicholas Boyle even more? His sister was killed; then he think her other killer is free then gets framed for murder then tries to prove innocent (not in the nest way possible) then gets killed??

[scarcarpenter]

The same face

[lovegrahams]

we don’t talk enough about why it was so easy for hannibal to love will. why it was so easy to surrender all of himself to him. will graham collects strays; he would pick up a wounded wolf right out of its den. he’d wash it, brush it, nurse it with all the love in his heart. he is willing to forgive the gnashing of teeth that bite and the blood that comes from claws that tear. he is willing to forgive the fear of a pained animal. the fact is, no matter how untamed a wild beast may be, with time they will roll on their back and wait for the gentle touch they’ve received thus far to then be placed upon their underbelly. hannibal, if he is absolutely anything at all, is an untamed beast. he awaits will’s hand on his underbelly. he awaits his love. patiently. and, by the end, by every end possible, he receives it.

[vampv0id]

Will Graham's the type of guy to not make eye contact with anyone but make staggering eye contact with Hannibal while sucking his cock

[llinstarr]

“Love at first sight” what about the sickest, deepest, most cannibalistic obsession at first sight?

[ficnation]

Chapter 1: Dig In

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings

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NEXT CHAPTER

Will Graham hasn’t seen you in years—years that felt like centuries to him. When you greet him, your voice is like a songbird’s serenade—sweet, peaceful, and meant only for his ears. It was a melody he missed dearly yet never dared to summon in his mind, even as the memories of you bled into his dreams.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice breaking at the last word. The question is not hostile, but it’s not friendly either. He knows you didn’t expect him to greet you like an old friend would. You know him too well for that—or at least you knew him before Hannibal Lecter barged into his life.

A smile crawls up your face, but it never reaches your eyes. You came here because you know, you know someone’s version of the story. But you crave to see the truth—to find out exactly what happened—and you know that Will is the only person who can provide you with the answers you’re looking for.

Jack Crawford raises his hand, his palm facing Will in a silent greeting—almost a peace offer. He keeps his distance as he lifts your suitcases out of the trunk of his car. He’s the one that called you, told you everything you needed to know, how Will lost his mind, how he keeps insisting that an innocent man—someone he considered a friend—is the Chesapeake Ripper.

Will can’t help but snicker at the thought of how this conversation went. You don’t seem bothered by the change in his expression—you hardly ever were, and he was always surprised by your unflappable composure.

“I’m going to stay with you, Will.” It’s not a question nor a suggestion fueled by concern over his well-being. It’s a declaration, and he has absolutely no say in this matter. Jack Crawford has already made that decision for him, and Will is in no position to object—he’s well aware of it.

Will nods and gesticulates to the door of his house. It’s a reluctant invitation forced out of him by his boss’ incessant gaze.

You don’t let him think about it for much longer, fearing he’ll withdraw the offer. You walk up the stairs of the porch and cross the doorstep. The inside is no warmer than the bitter winter on the other side of the door. You shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself for heat.

A flock of dogs runs up to you, wagging their tails in excitement. Some of them you’ve already met before, and some of them seem like recent additions to Will’s collection of strays. You pat each dog on the head as you take off your boots by the entrance. You note that you no longer feel like you are just another stray Will has taken into his home.

The warmth of the friendly dogs quickly makes you forget how much you don’t belong here; you enjoy their company for a moment before reluctantly moving on to explore the room.

Not much has changed since the last time you were here. Will’s bed is still in the room, and you remember the time he confessed to you that it makes him feel more aware of his surroundings—gives him a sparse flicker of safety. He has easy access to the windows overlooking the outside, and he hears whenever someone walks up the stairs to his porch. It’s a small shred of comfort to cling to in the midst of his torment—you understand his reasoning.

The fireplace is the same one you used to warm up in front of every morning when you slept over—just surrounded by more dog beds than before. The old, simple in their design but surprisingly comfortable armchairs stand in their designated spots. Dog toys litter the carpeted floor, while books and familiar trinkets overwhelm the shelves, though if you look more closely, you find new additions mixed in with the old.

“Nothing has changed,” you say to yourself and the chill air of the room. You don’t hear Will’s footsteps as he joins you in the heart of his house.

“I did.” His words make your head whip around to face him, your eyes finding his. There’s a certain darkness in his statement—one you recognize.

The brown curls on his head frame his face in an untamed mess. He’s beautiful, and you find yourself still affected by his proximity.

“I don’t think you did.”

“You’ve been here for seven minutes, I can’t imagine you know much,” Will retorted.

“I know you, Will.” You meet his eyes for a few seconds—it doesn’t take much longer for him to look away. He hasn’t changed.

“Not anymore. Believe me,” his voice is certain and steady, but his hands shake as he reaches for your cozy black coat.

You let him slide it off your shoulders—the chill of the room refreshing. Will Graham isn’t a gentleman—he’s never conformed to society’s expectations. The gesture isn’t meant to impress you, make you swoon, or simply check a box. He does it because he still feels something toward you—he still cares.

You don’t talk much after that. Will makes some space for your stuff in his closet and leaves your suitcases in one of the many empty rooms. You thank him with another smile that doesn’t reach your eyes—there’s too much worry in them to convey your gratitude.

He goes on a walk with the dogs while you decide to take stock of his fridge and cupboards in search of any ingredients that you could possibly turn into a late dinner—french crepes filled with whatever jam or other sweet spreading he has in his kitchen.

You make yourself cozy in one of the armchairs in front of the crackling fireplace, your legs tucked comfortably beneath you when the door opens, and a blast of cold winter air rushes in along with seven dogs, melting snow clinging onto their fur stubbornly. They sniff around the room in search of the source of the sweet, delicious smell.

Will follows in their steps, taking off his boots by the door. It won’t take long for his socks to soak up the drops of water scattered over the floor—remnants of the snow shaken off by the happy furry beasts. He says nothing for a few long minutes, merely taking in your form, the sweet smell, and the cozy atmosphere. It feels like you belong here, even if just for a moment until you deem him deranged and leave again for long years.

“Crepes?” he asks finally, sliding off his heavy jacket. Will imprints on his memory the image of you so peaceful and comfortable in his home, in his presence.

You hum in response, sticking the fork back into your mouth. “I only found jam and peanut butter.”

“It’s an accomplishment you found anything at all.” He chuckles but isn’t truly amused by it—it is a pitiful sound.

The brunet disappears into the kitchen, and when he returns, his plate is filled with food. He sits down in the other armchair with a heavy sigh—a sound so murky only an old man could make or someone so exhausted with life they didn’t see a point in it anymore.

“I believe you, you know?”

Will’s head shoots up in your direction; he almost chokes on his crepes. He didn’t foresee that at all—the thought of you believing him without even hearing his side of the story, believing in his conviction that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper without even asking for evidence. When everyone around him considered him delusional and regarded his accusation with ignorance or anger—you believed him. He straightens up in his seat, looking at you expectantly, begging silently for you to continue.

“I suppose Jack didn’t tell you why exactly am I here, huh?” Will shakes his head, making you sigh deeply as you mindlessly stab the remaining crepe on your plate with the fork—he notices the anger simmering behind your irises. “Figured. They found my father’s killer in our old house.”

“Dead?”

You nod in confirmation.

“Suicide.” Your voice isn’t relieved; it doesn’t incandesce with light like it should.

Will knows that sometimes, even when the murderer is caught or killed, it takes a while to really settle into witnesses’ minds, and sometimes, they never taste that sweetness of relief for the rest of their lives. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be the problem in your case.

“He was missing a lot of blood and it didn’t appear to be anything abnormal back then so they considered the case solved. Let us come out of hiding.”

“Except it wasn’t a suicide,” the man finishes your thought. He’s right—like always. “Someone wanted you to come back… The real killer?”

He looks at you for confirmation, but his idea seems to be too facile—child’s play. If that were the case, the FBI wouldn’t let you stay with him without protection—unless they considered him your protector. Something feels off about it.

“Will, my sister was killed by the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will stares at you with his eyes wide open. He’s looking at your face in a way that he’s never looked before. He can finally see you, your emotions, and despair—the mask you hid them under shatters into crumbs and floats away with his shaky breath. He hears the misery in your voice now—almost sees your winsome heart smashed into a million pieces inside your chest.

“I’m so sorry… I—” Will’s words are automatic as he processes your statement. He stays perfectly still in his armchair. “I didn’t—”

“What’s done is done, Will,” you interrupt him, shaking your head—a silent plea that he doesn’t blame himself for it. It doesn’t help—he still does.

The moment you stop talking, he can hear the faint ticking of the watch on your wrist. He looks at you, waiting for more to come, but you stay silent. Your eyes linger on your plate with a half-eaten crepe—the jam spilling out onto the white ceramic canvas; you seem to be contemplating something.

He remembers back on that stormy night when you came home at the end of a particularly complicated and brutal investigation—soaked and chilled to the bone. You had a small cut on your arm, not big enough to require stitches, but he wanted—no, he needed—to clean it up and kiss it all better, anyway.

Will could tend to a cut on your skin, but he couldn’t scour the one on your soul—he couldn’t kiss it all better. He always felt the need to fix things—fix you. Now? He has no idea how to take that pain away from you.

He knows he should be glad to see you—glad to see you again. But right now, there’s only sadness, confusion, and guilt because, somehow, this isn’t quite you. There has been this beautiful, bright light shining from you, but it’s missing, and the man feels the loss of it inside. He wants to reach out and take this sadness away from you, comfort you, and bring back that light you always had. He almost wants to cry—he doesn’t even know why himself.

Will swallows hard and finally speaks, voice shaking, “Can I ask you something?”

He hesitates as if afraid of the potential answer. The only thing keeping him from sinking into emptiness is your presence, and asking the wrong question might have a devastating effect. Will looks at you—eyes pleading for understanding.

“Yes. Of course…”

“What did he take?” He almost doesn’t recognize his voice. It seems to be a mere whimper—a noise buried deep within a wounded animal’s throat.

“Her heart.”

Your words strike him like a bullet. Will closes his eyes, trying hard to keep the salty water from filling them. The loss of one heart was unbearable, losing another one physically… He tries to find a reason not to be angry at fate—but there is none. The world gave you back to him, but at what cost?

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. His touch seems reassuring and gentle, but his eyes betray his anger. “I never should have let you leave...”

You ignore his words, looking into the void, and continue, “Her lungs.”

Another cruel twist of the dagger in his gut. He feels your hand squeeze his, almost as if it were asking for comfort. Yet, Will cannot be a comfort at this moment—he is too enraged at the thought of such brutality.

His gaze turns cold as stone, his hand tightening around yours as he holds back the emotions boiling up inside him, threatening to explode and tear everything apart. His eyes remain closed—unwilling to see any more of your pain. You can feel the anger radiating from him like heat.

If she stops breathing, my heart will stop with it—those were his words to Hannibal. Another therapy session he now deeply regrets. It is his fault—his fault that your sister died. And amongst all the hatred, anger, and remorse, he feels a bone-chilling relief that it wasn’t you in her place.

He knows it’s twisted to think like that; he shouldn’t even feel like that, but he can’t imagine his life knowing you were buried deep—six feet beneath the earth he was walking on and still breathing. He doesn’t know whether it was Hannibal’s well-thought-through plan or his fucked up mistake, but Will is grateful.

You are breathing, alive, and your pulse is beating fast beneath his tight grasp. He does not want to let go of it—not yet.

Will opens his eyes, still unable to see your face, yet so very relieved. He doesn’t let go of your hand, his fingers running over your knuckles as if, by touch, he can somehow reassure himself that you weren’t his imagination.

The anger inside him still roils, but he no longer shows it. The only hint of his discomfort is the tightness with which he holds your hand.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he mumbles out, almost inaudible.

“No, Will, I won’t let anything happen to you.” You meet his gaze, your eyes almost begging. “I can’t lose you too. You’re the only one I have left.”

Will smiles at you sadly. His eyes filled with a strange light, his fingers running through your hair. Your plates have been long forgotten on the nearby windowsill as he leans forward and carefully touches your cheek, running his forefinger across your lips and down to your chin.

At first, you think the gesture is affectionate—intimate. But then you notice that he’s trying to remember your every feature. It’s painful to think that someone who loved you so dearly might have forgotten your face, the feel of your skin under his touch. Maybe it’s this thought that makes your eyes well up with tears; maybe it is the gesture itself. Or possibly even both.

This moment feels so real, so raw—you are tempted to believe in it, to be hopeful for your future, at least for a moment. But after all you went through, you know that hope is a dangerous thing, and it can turn against you. It’s been so long since all your hopes have been crushed you almost forgot how to have them... And just like that, the moment vanishes, and reality crashes back.

Later that night, when you come out of the shower and crawl into his bed—your clothes sticking to the slightly damp skin, your hair in an unruly mess—he simply opens his arms.

“You claim to be my friend, yet you sleep in my bed like a lover would,” he says—he still remembers the words you whispered to him when the roles were reversed.

Will smiles at the irony, his arms wrapping around you. Your hair is still dripping, the water sliding down your neck and onto his chest. It trickles down in rivulets to his stomach, creating wet spots on his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care.

You notice his grip is tighter than usual, yet you feel no pain, no discomfort. If he wanted to hurt you, he would. But you’re safe here—in his arms. Safer than you’ve ever been.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love having me in your bed,” you mumble against his neck, your minty breath tickling his skin.

His body shivers, and a soft sound escapes his lips. Your words remind him of the years of loneliness, of his body yearning for your touch. The sound is almost a whimper, and you feel his fingers twining in your wet hair.

The feeling is intoxicating. For years, he couldn’t touch a woman, didn’t even dream about having one so close to his skin, couldn’t feel someone’s body pressed tightly against him in a bed because they weren’t you—they dimmed in comparison. He missed it; he missed this connection, this skin-to-skin contact.

His hand lingers in your hair, the other one tracing your skin, exploring every inch of it, memorizing every imperfection, every bump beneath his palm.

“You haven’t been with anyone else, have you?” It’s not really a question—more of a sure statement—because, after all, you know Will like the back of your hand.

His head shakes, and both of his hands now run down your body. Will takes his sweet time exploring every inch of you—your hips, thighs, your stomach, and neck.

“I haven’t,” he whispers, almost embarrassed. As if his body belongs to someone else, and giving it to you now is a betrayal of that person.

Betrayal of you—the one he once knew—because he’s not entirely sure you’re still the same person. You were always so cheerful and full of life before—anything you touched, growing wings, flying out of the confines of its cage.

He yearns for this contact, craves a woman’s body—craves your body. He touches your skin, lightly running his fingertips over it, trying to bring back the memories from before. Will’s mind spins, trying to place the puzzle of you in the present.

He holds your face, trying to remember the way your eyes shined, the smile on your lips, the way your hair used to look. The feeling of your body, skin to skin, is almost painful. Your lips are so close, your heart beating so fast…

Winston jumps onto the bed, the weight and heat of his furry body on your calves makes you both pull away hesitantly.

“Sorry,” you mumble out the apology into the stillness of the air.

Will looks at you with a soft smile and a faint blush on his cheeks. “It’s fine.” He glances over at the dog. “What’s the matter, little fella? Can’t sleep?” He reaches over to pet the dog, then he turns his attention back to you.

The atmosphere changes completely, filled with the sounds of the night and Winston’s heavy breathing. Yet, although your physical proximity to Will has changed, you still feel connected to him in a way that only two people who are truly close can. The warmth of Winston’s body seems to melt the tension.

The dog snuggles up against you both, the three of you creating your own little world of peace. Will is the first to speak, “I’d rather be in bed with you only,” he sends you a smirk, “but I would still get the same amount of hair on my clothes.”

You feel your lips part in a grin; your breath catches in your throat, and it takes a moment before you’re able to answer his playful jab.

Will catches you in this moment of surprise as if he can smell your anticipation in the air. His hands wrap around your waist, dragging you closer until your bodies are pressed snugly once more.

When he smiles at you, it’s as if the world stops briefly. Your eyes lock, and for a second, there is nothing else but the two of you.

“It’s a sad thing your smile is so rare,” you whisper, your fingers tracing his stubbled jaw.

Will's heart pounds in his chest. He takes your hand in his, running his fingers along your skin. There's always been an undeniable spark between you, but this time, it feels different, more intense. Like if you let yourself go and let the spark ignite, the fire will burst out of your chest.

Will leans closer to you; your noses are almost touching. His brown eyes are so close you can see every detail in them despite the darkness of the room. You can feel the tension in the air, and you know what would break it...

“Will, I... I can’t—” You stumble over your words, gaze parting from his.

Your stutter is cut short by Will’s lips touching yours. A soft sound escapes him as if he’s been waiting for you to stop speaking so he can taste you. His tongue slips over your lips, exploring your mouth.

This is not the clumsy, almost animalistic lust he had for you in the past—it’s something different. Something tender, almost sweet.

Your hands fall limply onto the duvet, your heart beating faster, your breath catching in your throat as you sink deeper into the kiss. You don’t want this to end… So you pull him closer.

Seemingly annoyed by the nonstop movement, Winston jumps off the bed and retreats to his place by the lit-up fireplace. You almost giggle at that, but you’re far too busy with kissing Will’s lips raw.

Your hands find their way onto his neck next, your fingers running through his curls. With lips almost glued to his, you pull him back every time he tries to move.

The sound of your heavy breathing is enough to make his heart pound in his chest as if his very blood is racing. He’s holding you so tightly you fear you might break. Will breathes in the smell of you, almost intoxicated by it. Your scent enriches him—sends his emotions into a whirlwind.

After a moment, he manages to pull away, gasping for breath. He is still holding you, hands pressed against your back, as if not wanting to let go. Will tries to catch his breath—it feels like his entire life is contained in those few moments.

His eyes find yours, looking for some reassurance, as if he expects to wake up from a dream any moment now. He opens his mouth to say words but can’t find any. All he can do is look at you, so beautiful in the darkness. Will closes his eyes as if trying to cling to this moment.

“I’m glad I’m back. Despite the circumstances...” Your fingers play with his curls, your breath just as shaky as his.

“You’re back...” Will murmurs, looking at you relieved, touching your face as if to make sure you’re still here. He wants to speak, to tell you everything that is going through his mind, but when he opens his mouth again, no words come out. He tries to collect himself—tries to bring his heart to your level.

“It’s been a long time... We should probably talk. You know, just to catch up.”

“You like talking now?” Your grin is electrifying, it sends heat down the man’s body. But when he notices it doesn’t reach your eyes, his neediness crumbles.

A veil of insecurity falls over his face. “No… I don’t like talking. But I still do it if I have to, so can we just…” Will gestures to the two of you, the room—just a sign of exasperation and need to do this now. He swallows hard, trying to find his voice. “It’s just... it’s been a long time. And I... you know... there is just a lot that happened.”

“Will,” the way you say his name halts him, “it’s okay if you want to talk.”

He blinks slowly, suddenly confused—why did he even try to lie about it? Hannibal gave him his voice and showed him the power of his words—the good one and the evil one.

Will lets out a deep breath and then closes his eyes. It’s always been hard for him to tell people how he feels. Especially when he wants to say more than any amount of words can describe—and there is a lot to describe. There is so much he has to tell you, and yet when he tries to form the words—to get them out—his mind goes blank.

He opens his eyes and looks at you for help, but you look just as confused as before. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he says softly. “So much has changed.”

“You haven’t. Not as much as you think you did.”

He sees the impossibly black creature in his peripheral vision. It stands behind you, completely still, and its antlers seem much more massive than ever before when he catches their shadow falling onto you. He wants it to be gone so badly, but deep inside, he knows it’ll never vanish if Hannibal is still alive, and maybe even after his death, he’ll never get his peace back.

“Your opinion will change quicker than you realize.”

The creature’s still there, Will looks it straight into its void of color eyes. It’s just in his mind, yet the shiver that runs down your spine tells him you might feel its presence, too. He hates that he can’t tell if it’s his imagination or not or if you can indeed see it, too. A feeling of dread seizes him, a cold sensation that runs up his arms and into his bones.

“Hannibal...” he whispers, but when he looks around the room, he sees no sign of the creature. The sense of dread lingers, nevertheless.

“The Chesapeake Ripper?” you question, and he tells you all about it. All about Hannibal’s mind games—what he did to him and then what he undid.

Will tells you about the therapy sessions, his transformation, and the darkness that took hold of him. He talks about his memories of your sister, about his guilt, and then he moves on to you—your absence and the reason why you left. The void he felt for all those dark years without you—until he was given the chance to have you back, a light guiding him back into reality. And you listen carefully to all of it; you let him speak his heart out until he no longer feels the need to speak.

When he is done telling you everything, Will falls silent. It feels like he laid bare his soul, exposing his most intimate thoughts, yet you still lie in front of him, unchanged. He looks at you, almost expecting you to leave. After all, how much can a person handle? But your gaze is still strong; you still care about him at least a little…

It’s almost as if you’re reading his mind. “I still care about you, Will. My feelings never changed and they never will. I’ll do anything I can to help you get him.”

His eyes soften at your words, and he closes the distance between you two. Slowly he kisses your lips, tasting your breath, feeling his mouth move against yours. The sensation is so intense that it almost sends sparks through Will’s body.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispers into your ear before he turns your head and kisses you again. His hands rest on your back, pulling you in even closer as his tongue dances against yours. “And I’ve missed you. So goddamn much...”

Will pulls away, breathless, as if his entire body is aflame. He looks at you, studying your face so intently it’s almost as if he wants to burn your image into his brain. “So much,” he repeats softly.

He rests his head against yours, breathing in the sound of your heartbeat, listening to the rise and fall of your chest. “You’re here. You’re really here.” He exhales a sigh of relief as if your presence is the sweetest gift he could have ever wished for.

[s-i-ll-y-w-i-ll-y]

Stalking

Hannigram x teen!reader

Summary: On their walk home, Y/N decides to help a cute couple with directions to a nearby hotel. However, this act of kindness is proof that what goes around does not come back around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bus screeched to a halt on an empty back road less than a mile away from your house. Your shift was finally done and you could relax until the cycle repeated tomorrow. A meek ‘thank you’ slipped from your mouth as you walked off the bus, a small smile on your lips as you turned your music up.

Gently bopping your head to the tune, you made your way across the road, lifting a hand to silently thank the car that had stopped to let you cross. The clouds slowly drifted across the navy sky, small specks of light tucked themselves behind the clouds then peeked back out as the obstructions moved along. The moon shone down and illuminated the wide road and dusty trail you stood on, the outlines of trees cast onto the ground below you.

God, it was beautiful.

Despite how eerie it was, it was beautiful.

The road seemed calm tonight, usually it was busy because it was a way to get to the city you just came from. Not tonight.

Thank god.

As you continued to walk down the path, cars whizzing past you at a million miles per hour, you couldn’t help but feel a small creeping sensation that something was wrong.

Something was going to be wrong.

But, for some strange reason, you ignored it. Why you ignored, you had no idea why you did, but you did.

You kicked up dirt as you walked, loving the way it looked on the ground, dancing in the gentle breeze. That gut feeling plagued you, growing more and more until-

“Hi, excuse me?”

A soft voice made you peel off your headphones, letting them fall to your neck, and look over to the road. You planted your feet and settled your eyes on the man who was still rolling down his car window.

You stepped slightly closer and put your hands in your pockets. “Can I help you, sir?”

The man was thin and pale, his features hardly in the poor light of the car. The man wore a flannel shirt and dark jeans, a brown belt holding them up. He had brown, curly hair that draped over his forehead, he had a button nose and slightly stubble. The man cleared his throat and gave a small smile, “Me and my husband were wondering if you could give us directions to hotel…hotel…Hannibal, what was the hotels name again?” The man turned to the man sat beside him.

“Cecilia. Hotel Cecilia.” The man’s husband, Hannibal, gave a thin lipped smile as he spoke to his partner. His husband looked older than him, not by a lot but enough to see the difference. He had mostly grey hair with spots of brown sprinkled about, his eyes were a hazel colour, his nose arched up in the middle but it suited him. He wore a clearly rich and tailored suit; red with a black pattern stitched into it, a black shirt and a red tie.

You listened as the man thanked his husband and turned back to you. Thinking as fast as you could, you tried to remember the way there. Then it clicked. A gentle grin slipped onto your lips as you spoke, watching the man in the drivers seat take a mental note of everything you had said. As you stopped, you looked back at the road, the headlights were the only thing stopping the inky blackness from enveloping the car and you. It was going to be such a trek and your parents wanted you home by ten.

“Thank you so so much.” The man said, “We would’ve used our phones but they’ve both gone and died, thanks to our luck.”

You chuckled along with the man’s slight attempt at a joke. “It’s no problem, I’m happy to help.”

A few thoughts ran through the man’s mind before he stopped thinking and said the first thing we could think of:

“Do you want a ride?”

That feeling crept up your spine, making you feel queasy. As nice as it was for him to ask it was still odd. You didn’t know them, they didn’t know you. “It’s fine, my house isn’t too far-“

“We insist. We would be lost without you.” The husband chimed in. “And, it is getting late, your parents would want you home, wouldn’t they?”

That feeling in your stomach reached the back of your throat, urging you to turn and run. For once, you decided to trust your gut feeling-

“Thank you but I’m alright.” Politely, you stepped away from the car and turned to keep walking. The men shared a look then looked back at you as you began to walk away.

You heard the engine stall before starting, then they took off down the road and that was the last you saw of them.

~~~

Around twenty minutes later, your trail lead you in front of a gas station. The neon lights from each sign shone onto the bleak road, painting it in hues of orange, green and white. The pale light reflected off of car windows and side view mirrors, hitting your eyes sharply.

You hadn’t drank anything in a while, plus you would have to wait an extra ten minutes to heat up your dinner when you got back home so what’s the big deal with a quick snack stop?Glancing away, you tried to check for oncoming cars and, luckily, there was nothing. Then you crossed the gravel, eventually reaching entrance to the gas station.

A satisfying ding announced your arrival to the pimply clerk behind the counter who gave you a less than enthusiastic look. Ignoring him, you browsed the aisles, trying to find anything that would be easy to eat and drink on the go. You swore to yourself; no sandwiches, no fiddly wrappers or bottle caps, just easy to open things.

Needing to keep yourself awake, you bought yourself an energy drink then you made your way over to the snack aisle which stood in front of the main entrance. As you scanned over your options, the bright, white headlights outside blinded you. Although it was a minor inconvenience, you scowled at the car, still unable to see who was driving, and internally swore at them for their accidental action.

After finally deciding on a snack, you walked over to the counter and placed your things down. You slipped your headphones down and around your neck, music paused, casting an odd silence which was subtly interrupted by the radio station which echoed from the broken speakers.

The cashier huffed and scanned the items slowly, as if even the thought of doing his job was strenuous. Your eyes wandered back out the window, tuning out the cashier slightly as your eyes scanned over the few cars that were refuelling, one was the car those two men had driven earlier.

That’s odd.

Didn’t they go flying up the road? How were they here at the same time as you if they did?

The clicking of the cashier’s fingers snapped you back to reality. “Sorry.” You mumbled halfheartedly, scrambling to grab the money from your pocket. In the midst of the scramble, you tried to pick up your drink, only for it to fall and burst on the floor. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry, d’you want me to-“

The cashier sighed loudly, “No, it’s fine. I’ll get it.” Then he walked to the back, returning with a wet floor sign in hand. You listened subtly as an array of swears left his lips as he slammed the sign onto the floor and trudged over to the drink aisle, grabbing another of the same drink for you.

As this happened, and while your mind was distant from your body, the same satisfying ding rung out again. When your mind finally snapped back, you registered that someone had walked in and you glanced over your shoulder.

Then you saw them.

The two men were tall, taller than you thought and taller than you by a mile.

When you realised you were staring, your head whipped back around to the counter, fingers rhythmically tapped against the cool, grey countertop.

As the cashier you had walked back over, another from the back room walked out to help the two men. The moved to the counter beside you, only paying for a bottle of water and their gas. The cashier helping you handed the new drink to you, a forced smile plastered on their face. A small thank you left your lips as you turned and left, avoiding the men at the counter.

The cold night air enveloped you, an unwelcome sensation slivering up your spine. You glanced over your shoulder and watched as the two men walked out the gas station, their silhouettes ominously still, the light from the gas station surrounding them entirely, making them appear ethereal.

That sinking feeling slipped down your throat once again, making you start walking faster. The headlights from the car slowly trailed behind you before catching up and going just fast enough to keep you in the rear view mirror.

Maybe you were just paranoid? Who knows. At this point you were not willing to see if your gut feeling was true.

~

Your feet carried you for another fifteen minutes, leaving you with only fifteen more until you reached the safe warmth of your home and the welcoming embrace of your parents.

The turn for your road came eventually, just a small dirt path off the side of the road with pine trees boxing in each side of the road. Quickly, you made the turn, gazing over your shoulder to see if the car had kept driving.

It did.

Despite the relief you felt, that underlying tone of worry had settled in the pit of your stomach. This refused to let you calm, keeping you in a horrible fight or flight state.

As you walked down the road wearily. Your headphones stayed on, helping you tune out some fear you had. Although this worked for a while, the feeling of being watched slipped into the back of your mind. You pushed that thought down, reminding yourself you had ten minutes left until you were home, until you were safe. As hard as you tried, nothing could keep this feeling down.

Suddenly, as if out of your control, you whipped your head around. Your face dropped.

There, following you from behind, was that car, it’s headlights turned off. You hadn’t heard the engine over your music. Then the car stopped, your heart sank. Their doors opened and the men stepped out, slowly making their way over to you cautiously, as if trying to keep an animal calm. Every step the men took was calculated, deciding what would keep you from freaking out and doing something drastic.

Nothing could at this point.

You took off down the road, leaping over potholes and racing through puddles. Your clothes were ruined and you were freezing.

With trembling hands, you reached for your phone, your legs moving as fast as they could. The sound of the men’s footsteps grew louder amongst the sounds of the forest which, despite being a few feet away, sounded so distant over the sound of your heart. Your eyes moved down to your phone screen, hands racing to dial your parents or 911.

In a blur, your phone flew from your hand as your shoe caught on a rock in the road, sending you flying onto your front. You lay there for a minute, your head spinning as you thought about everything. In an instant, you snapped back, getting to your feet, ignoring the stinging pain from your knee.

From then on, you staggered down the road, your injured knee making it neatly impossible to run. That would be your demise.

The heavy weight of a blunt object, you assumed to be a crowbar, smacked against the side of your head, knocking you to the floor and leaving you partially unconscious. The immense feeling of dread spilled up and went out your eyes. Tears flowed down your flushed cheeks as the man got up and flung you into his arms, holding you against his chest, his firm hands cracking your head as if it were fine china.

“Will,” the man spoke, his voice smooth due to his prominent accent, “do you believe they will suffice?”

The other man, Will, paused and walked over, tracing a gentle hand over your face, his palm lingering on your chin as he began to brush away stray tears. “Certainly more flighty than the last one but we can deal with that later, wouldn’t want our child escaping us first thing.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finished Saturday October 5th 2024, 03:14.

5/10/24

[aphwaph]

[Will Graham] turtleneck........hnnbnm....

[bebx]

how I feel when I write Hannibal’s dialogue in a Hannigram fic and get into Hannibal’s head in the process:

[nthdoctor]

making these is literally therapy

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

30k follower celebration for Hannibal Lecter please prompt 3 “I never thought I would see you again.”

.⋆｡Won’t Let Go Again｡⋆.

Hannibal Lecter x plus size reader

implied Hannigram x plus size reader

Moving to Baltimore was supposed to be a fresh start, to escape the ghosts of your past but a budding new friendship with an FBI profiler leads you back to the man who left you behind

Warnings: european!reader, DARK, usual Hannibal warnings (implied cannibalism, kidnapping, drugging, manipulation), childhood lovers, needles

WC: 1.2k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Halloween Celebration

America confused you, everything was big and moved so quickly, you considered it a miracle that you didn’t constantly get lost. But it was such a beautiful place, especially Baltimore. The mixture of old and new architecture that lined the bay was so reminiscent of your old home but also gave you a whole new world to explore.

With a paper map in your hands, you wandered down a mostly empty street, your small heels clacking softly against the pavement. You were determined in your search for a new coffee shop to try out on your day off but so far, you have been unsuccessful. Head down and concentrated, you didn’t notice an equally distracted man walking straight in your direction.

You bowled into each other and you both fell down. You winced and the man yelped as you crashed onto the cold sidewalk. “Oh god! I am so sorry, I should’ve seen where I was going.” You apologised quickly, ignoring the way the skin of your knees burned with pain.

The man shook his head at you, causing his brown curls to tumble over his forehead. “No it’s my fault, sometimes I just wander and forget my surroundings.” He pulled himself to his feet and offered you a hand, although he would not meet your eyes.

“I suppose we are both at fault then.” You chuckled and allowed him to help you to your feet. Your long skirt fell back over your legs, concealing the small cuts on your knees. You took note of the way he made sure that you were all right before he appraised his own body for any injuries. 

He suddenly ducked down and grabbed something from a puddle on the side of the street, and when he popped back up with your now destroyed and waterlogged map, he smiled sheepishly at you. “How about I get us some coffee as a sorry for ruining your map?”

He finally met your gaze with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes you had ever seen. Then his stomach growled loudly and he looked away, pink dusting over his high cheekbones. “Then let me buy some sandwiches for us both.” You offered.

——————

Your friendship with Will Graham was like how you viewed the states, both nostalgic and brand new, filled with mystery and comfort. You learned quickly that he was not a very reliable friend given that he frequently disappeared into cases and his own mind but he was also an incredible friend when he was around.

He showed you all of Baltimore and taught you some tricks to navigating any city so you wouldn’t get lost. And now, he was inviting you to dinner- at his therapist’s house. 

“I would hardly call this romantic, Will.” His eyes flicked to you as he reached to ring the doorbell of the townhouse in front of you.

“I never said this was going to be romantic.” He snipped but he still squeezed your hand tightly.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You said that you were taking me to dinner somewhere nice, I assumed it was a date.”

“You’re teasing me, I don’t like when you tease me.” He muttered but you could clearly see the way the corner of his lips turned upwards in a soft smile. 

Before you could retort that he did in fact love your teasing, the door opened and the breath was sucked from your lungs. “Hannibal.”

Amber eyes widened and the careful composure he possessed, fell away. “Mylimasis.” (Beloved) Your hand went limp in Will’s hold and suddenly your vision was blurry with tears.

“I-I have to go.” But your companion held tight, his own blue eyes staring at you with an apt fascination. You could see the way his brain was ticking over, analysing each and every part of you but you refused to give anything away. “Let me leave.” 

You tried to pull from his hold and instead you were pushed into another one. Hannibal was much stronger than you remembered and he easily pulled you into his home. Will followed close behind, shutting the door with a firm slam. You would later question why he so blindly obeyed Hannibal but in the moment, you were only focused on the way your heart was breaking all over again. 

His chest was firm beneath your touch as he tugged you fully into his arms. He was older, there was no doubt about that, but the longer you looked into those golden eyes you used to know so well, the more you saw of that boy who had stolen your very soul. “My mylimasis, I never thought I would see you again.” 

Your anger flared once more, setting your veins alight with a fire you thought you had extinguished long ago. “That tends to happen when you abandon someone.” He did not even flinch at your fight.

A large, warm hand cupped your full cheek as he gazed at you just the same as he had so many years ago- you wanted to punch that look off of his face. “Even more beautiful than I remember.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, memories unearthing from the deep graves in your mind you had buried them in.

The first time you saw him, you didn’t think he was real. He was so beautiful he had to have been some sort of fae. His regal features practically glowed in the spring sunlight as he smiled at you. You could never clearly remember what he said to you that day in the flower fields by your small home but you did remember the feeling of his words- love, comfort, warmth.

But the day he left, his touch only brought you pain. You could still feel the way that the gravel sliced into your palms as you fell at his feet, begging him not to leave. He promised you the world yet he took the world from you. His eyes were dark, his lips turned down in a vicious sneer.

No matter how hard you tried, you could not forget the expression of pure hatred and disgust he held on that day. 

“You know her?” Will finally spoke from behind you. Hannibal finally looked away from you and to his patient who still stood awkwardly right in front of the door. 

“She is my first love.” He answered simply as you scoffed under your breath. “It seems fate brought my two loves to each other and then to me.” 

Your eyes went wide. “Let me go!” You thrashed violently but his grip never faltered. “You’re fucking crazy!” Hannibal never even acknowledged your struggle, instead nodding over your head towards his lover.

So caught up in your struggle, you didn’t hear the opening and subsequent shutting of a drawer before the heat of Will’s body drew closer and his breath tickled the back of your neck. “Don’t fight it, it will only make this worse.” His voice sounded cold and so unlike the man who would call you in the middle of the night to talk about a new stray dog he rescued.

You tried to turn your head but Hannibal firmly gripped your jaw, keeping you still. There was a pinch in your neck then warmth suddenly flooded through you. “Fuck you.” Even as your words slurred, the malice in your tone didn’t escape either man.

“Just close your eyes mylimasis, we will never let you go ever again.” The darkness swallowed you whole.

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[perfecteggpartyland]

reading fics completely made me forget how Abigail and will don't really have any releshionship with each other unlike Hannibal and Abigail doesn't know her really? Empathy of her father' mixed with guilt for his death will doesn't see Abigail as she is. He choose to see and cling version of her typical innocent teenage persona. Ofc with Hannibal manipulation we all know what happens but completely forgot that they don't really know/spent time together s1.

[scarcarpenter]

The funniest thing ever for me is that when Mads Mikkelsen learned how to do the finger heart he hasn’t moved on since. HE JUST KEEPS DOING THIS GOD DAMN FINGER HEART ON EVERY PHOTO.

This is a appreciation post btw

[lovegrahams]

everyone talks about how hannibal always jumps at every opportunity to tenderly touch wills face but nobody ever talks about how will lets him and i think we should

[jakegyllenbaalz]

mads mikkelsen and hugh dancy!!

[dumblesbiansworld]

Happy 10 year Birthday to genuinely the best written episode I've ever seen! You fucking masterpiece