#abigail hobbs x reader

[deerabigailhobbs]

Abigail Hobbs X Reader Alphabet Prompts

Prompts by wild-lavender-rose

(reader's gender is left ambiguous!)

A: Afformation- How affirming are they of you and their love for you?

Abigail would constantly let you know how much you mean to her, how safe and comfortable she is around you, a feeling she's not quite used to. She will often say random "I love yous" throughout the day just to see your face heat up (and so you kiss her gently in return).

B: Birthday- What do they get you for your birthday?

She'd paint you something! Abigail is a very skilled artist, and she'd pry you for information of what your likes/ interests are so she can make a painting that truly reflects you as a person.

C: Cuddles- What's their favourite cuddling position?

Abigail lovessss being little spoon, but she also likes when you place your head on her lap as she runs her fingers through your hair or gently caresses your cheek.

D: Dating- What are some of the dates they would take you on?

Abigail definitely isn't the best when it comes to public places, so many of your dates would be small and quiet. A picnic in the garden, dinner at a small, almost empty restaurant, or a simple night of cuddling while watching movies and eating a bunch of snacks

E: Emergencies- How do they respond when either you or them have an emergency?

It doesn't matter whether it's you or her, big or small, this bundle of nerves will always panic when it comes to emergencies, especially if it involves an injury of any kind. You can recall when you accidentally sliced your finger while preparing dinner once, and Abigail was pulling everything out of the medicine cabinet in a rush just to find some plasters. Although it shocked you just how shaken she was (it wasn't like you'd sliced off your finger) you understood why it bothered her so much, and honestly found it quite endearing how much she cared for your wellbeing.

F: Family- What happens when they're around your family? What about their own family?

Abigail doesn't like to talk about her family for... Obvious reasons. On occasion she'll recall a small memory about her mother, but nothing more than that, and you never push her.

Around your own family, she'll be courteous and kind, engaging in a joke here and there, but her social battery would drain quickly, and you'd catch her glancing at the clock on the wall or fiddling with her fingers with restlessness until you eventually make your way home.

G: Gifts- What kind of gifts would they give you?

As mentioned before, she loves painting things for you! In fact, most of her gifts to you would be handmade, paintings, food, she even learnt some crotchet so she could make you a snuggly jumper for the winter months.

H: Hugs- How do they hug you?

She loves to lean into your neck while hugging, leaving soft kisses as she feels you burn up with embarrassment. She never used to be much of a hugger until she met you, now she can't get enough of your arms around her and vice versa.

I: I love you- Who says I love you first?

You do. After your few first dates you muster up the courage to tell her, and you find it adorable how red her freckled face gets, blue eyes wide as she leaps into your arms, grabbing your face and smothering it in kisses as she confesses how much she loves you too.

J: Jokes- What's their humour like?

Blunt and witty, which is just to your liking.

K: Kids- How do they feel about having kids?

Definitely out of the question. Abigail is fearful of raising a kid, afraid that a small part of her father is still with her, no matter how many times you insist she's nothing like him, however you respect her wishes, not exactly wanting a child yourself. However, the subject of pets comes up often between you two, Abigail with a smile on her face as she excitedly tells you how she longs for a pet bird, her favourite animal.

L: Listening- How's their listening skills?

You love talking to Abigail because she truly hangs onto every word you say, asking questions so you know she's engaging with the conversation. And you do the same with Abigail, loving how passionate she gets when talking about a topic she loves, such as art or birdwatching.

M: Mornings- What do mornings spent with them look like?

Both of you are not early birds, so when you can, you lounge around in bed. You love running your fingers through Abigail's silky hair as you engage in small talk, and you think she looks ever so cute in her silky white nightgown.

N: Needs- What do they need from a healthy relationship?

Stability and reassurance. Often, Abigail will breakdown, her thoughts dark about her past and her future, so you're always by her side to offer kind words and a distraction from her mind, usually by physical touch or simply putting on a movie for the both of you to enjoy.

O: Others- How do they react when you're around other people?

She likes to pretend she's not jealous, but sometimes she can't help it. She wants you all to herself because of how safe and warm you make her.

P: P.D.A- What's their opinion of public displays of affection?

Soft kisses and hugs help when either of you are anxious in public, but that's as far as you'll both go. However, hand holding is never out of the question.

Q: Quarrel: What do the two of you fight over and how do you make up?

You both rarely have fights, but usually it's when one or both of you are stressed, taking out your frustrations on one another over little things such as dirty dishes still in the sink.

After, you apologise, talking things out properly and snuggle on the couch, usually with a favourite movie or TV show in the background.

R: Romantic- How romantic are they?

Abigail's love language is definitely physical touch. After years of feeling uncomfortable with even the thought of it, finally she has someone she just can't get her hands off! Whether it be kisses, hugs, or a simple caress of the cheek, she always lets you know just how much you mean to her.

But it's not just touch, she'll constantly remind you how much she loves you, how beautiful/handsome you are, and it fills your heart with such adoration.

S: Stress- How do you help each other handle stress?

Just being there for each other helps in stressful situations, but a simple stroke of the knuckles or words of encouragement can bring the stress levels lower.

T: Trust- How do you show each other your trust?

At the start of your relationship, Abigail was clearly skeptical, nothing personal against you, she was like that with everyone. However, as you got closer, she started to open up. Her past, her worries, her hobbies, her goals in life, you truly felt honoured she trusted you so much.

As for yourself, you're quite the same, opening up about vulnerable moments in your life, and Abigail listens, her hand on your shoulder to show that she's listening and that she cares.

U: Unique- What's something unique about them that you love?

Her eyes, you've never seen anything quite like them. They're so big and blue, you find yourself getting lost in them all the time.

As for non-physical aspects, just how smart and witty she is, reciting facts loosely based on the conversation you were having then getting embarrassed when she realises that the topic has taken a derail, but you never stop her, you like hearing her ramble.

V: Vacation- Where do you go and what do you do on vacation?

Abigail has always loved long walks in rural areas, so hiking trips are usually the common vacation spot for you. She loves being alone with you and nature, no one to bother either of you, and when your legs get too sore, you'll retreat to a small lodge you rented, turning on the fireplace as you embrace each other in the cold months

Wedding- What would your wedding be like?

You'd elope! You'll both buy wedding outfits, Abigail wearing a stunning flowy lace dress with elegant sleeves and you, a shorter 50s styled satin dress with open sleeves or a dark green suit with silver cufflinks.

After officially married, you'll rush back home, opening the "only for wedding" tub full of food and take the small cake you had made a few days prior out the fridge. You'll cut the cake together and gently smash slices into each other's faces, laughing at how ridiculous you both look while glancing at your wedding rings, smiling at this new path you're taking together.

X: Xtra- An extra thing about your relationship

You love to make each other laugh, it's sort of an unspoken rule you have to make each other laugh at least once a day (and it gives you an excuse to look at her beautiful smile).

Y: Yearning- What's something that they yearn for when you're separated?

Touch! Sure, she can call you to hear your voice, but she hates not being able to cuddle or kiss you when alone.

Z: Zzz- How do they respond when you fall asleep in their presence?

Abigail finds it adorable when you fall asleep, moving your head so it rests gently on her lap, but she also sees it as a sign of trust between the two of you, both comfortable enough to fall asleep in front of each other. She'll sometimes grab an extra blanket if she sees you shivering too.

[murderhusbands4life]

Hannibal Lecter X Teen Son Reader

second request sorry for the wait.

request: There's not many Hannibal having a son it would be interesting how he takes care of his kid through the years maybe when this kid grows up he moves to Paris in his teenage years but yet he has not met will graham, Then he gives Hannibal a call saying he will come visit and he meets will Graham and Abigail Hobbs then chaos from there.

i love this idea!

Fir the Lithuanian I will be using Google translate and Lithuanian will be in this font

Third person pov...

Not many people knew, well only one person knows that Hannibal has a Son and that person was Bedelia Du Maurier.

Y/N Lecter was Hanninals son, years ago Hannibal was close to one of his former patients before she became one of his victims as the cheasepeak ripper.

She had left behind a Son, a H/C haired baby with Hannibals eyes, when the man first held him in his arms he knew deep in his heart he loved this child and would keep him safe.

Young Y/Ns childhood was strange to say the least, having a physiatrist/ Serial Killer/ Cannibal as a Dad made it strange.

When Y/N was around 5 he witnessed his father kill one of his patients as they began violent with him. Hannibal hadn't noticed his son in the doorway of the office as the body slowly became cold.

But it didn't frighten Y/N only intrigued him in the anatomy of the body, Hanniabl knew from that moment on that his son was special, of course to him he had always been special but then he knew.

When he was 8 Y/N learnt of his family history and that he had an aunt but she died when his Father was young, Hannibal had also taught his Son Lithuanian, the two regularly converse in it.

When the boy was a teenager he left for Paris to study anatomy in on of their prestigious schools of art, Hannibal didn't want to let go off his child but knew it was what Y/N wanted.

The man paided fir everything so his son would be comfortable as he studied and the boy was thankful to his Father, He had promised to visit every once in a while, he kept that promise.

Years later...

Currently Hannibal, Will and Abigail were in Hannibals home watching the man cook in his emaculate kitchen as always, Hannibal had his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves to work.

Abigail rolled her eyes as Will watched Hannibals every move his eyes never leaving his hands, the curly haired man was sitting on one of the bar stools opposite Hannibals workspace.

Hanibal could feel Wills gaze and had a smirk on his lips, Abigail groaned her Dads were so obvious it was sickening.

Then the door bell went, Will got shaken out of his daydreaming a blush on his face, Hannibal looked to the clock '7.40pm who could that be at this time' thought the man as un the corner of his eye he watched Abigail move towards the door.

Y/N wrapped his thin coat around his body tightly, cupping his frozen hands and blowing on them, he forgot how cold Baltimore was, taking a second he cursed remembering he had a key.

"šūdas!(1)" He hissed finding the key finally using his shaking hands to open the door, he rubbed his shoes on thr welcome mat and closed the door behind him.

As he began taking his rain ridden jacket off he called into the quiet house "Aš namie Tėti(2)" He hung his coat up, he was confused usually his Dad was already at to door to greet him.

"tėvas?(3)" He called again, getting no response the first time, the teen grabbed a scalpel he keeps in his pocket for sketching he held it in his hand held down at his side just incase, he then heard foot steps in thr hallway.

The surprise was clear on his face as he saw a strange girl in his home, glaring at the teen he held the scalpel out in front of him. "Who are you?" He exclaimed, this made the girl glare suspiciously at him.

"I should be asking you that, who are you?" The brown haired girl glared back at the strange teenager holding a scalpel like a weapon. "Abigail what is going on?" Came a smooth Eastern European voice from behind the teens.

Y/N gasps at the voice and looks up behind the girl, the girl also turned around at the voice. "tėvas!" Exclaimed the teen throwing his arms around the tall frame of his Father.

Behind then Will and Abigail looked confused almost worried for the boy who had a death wish for touching Hannibal, but to their surprise the man wrapped his arms around the boy.

"tėvas aš namie, aš tavęs pasiilgau(4)" whispers the boy as he held onto the man tightly, he relaxes when he hears his dad mutter back in Lithuanian.

"Mano sūnau, tu grįžai namo, maloni staigmena, aš taip pat tavęs pasiilgau(5)" whispers the ash grey haired man, holding the teen tightly in his arms, after a few moments Will finally broke the awkward silence.

"Hannibal, who is he?" Askes the Agent a hint of jealously in his voice makes Abigail snort, this made Hannibal break the hug but kept his arm wrapped around the boys shoulder, he was a couple inches shorter than the older man.

Said boy looks at the man betrayal on his face. "tėvas! Have you not told then about me! I thought you loved me" complains the boy eyes pooling with tears.

Will and abigail watch Hannibal wearly, but his expression didn't change apart from him sighing softly and tapping the boys head the teen sticks his tongue out childishly.

"Oops" he says, will breathes a sigh of relief he was joking, the man blushes at his reaction to the boy saying he loved Hannibal.

"Will and Abigail this is Y/N, my son. Son this is Will Graham and Abigail Hobbs I apologise for the late introduction I was not expecting him for a few more days" Explains Hannibal eyeing his son out of the corner of his eye.

Abigails jaw drops while Will is silent. "What's! You have a Son!" Exclaims the girl making Y/N smile at her. "Yep nice to meet you tėvas has told me alot about you and his Dear Will" Says the teen cheekily.

He dodges the slap let his way by his father making Abigail laugh, Hannibal sighs at his son, over joyed to have him home finally.

Over dinner Y/N told Abigail and Will and bout himself and how he was studying in Paris in anatomy, like his father he loved sketching bodies and learning about the anatomy.

Y/N and Abigail became close, the teens loved to play pranks on the two men and secretly hint at them liking each other.

The end!

Hope you liked this oenshot I enjoyed writing it!

Requests are open!

Word count: 1264

Lithuanian translations

šūdas! (1) - Shit!

Aš namie Tėti(2) - I'm home Dad

tėvas(3) - Father

tėvas aš namie, aš tavęs pasiilgau(4) - Father I'm home I missed you

Mano sūnau, tu grįžai namo, maloni staigmena(5) -

My son, you have come home, a pleasant surprise

Mano sūnau, tu grįžai namo, maloni staigmena, aš taip pat tavęs pasiilgau(6) - My son, you are back home, nice surprise, I miss you too

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Slow Days

Also on AO3

Relationships: Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader, Abigail Hobbs & Fem!Reader (Platonic), Hannibal and Abigail are also platonic.

Summary: Prelude to "Kiss of The Angel of Death" // In the time leading up to The Mizumono Incident ™️, only semi-aware of your fates, you and Abigail decide to make the best of things.

WC: 2.9k words

Warnings: MINORS DNI, ANGSTTTTT (this one hurts), no happy ending, mentions of death, corrupted reader, lmk if anything is missing!

-------

Rain pattered softly against the window as you moved around the kitchen, making breakfast. You flipped pancakes and checked on the bacon, humming a little to yourself. The house was quiet and most of the lights were off. Hannibal had been out since earlier that morning, so you’d been alone with the silence for a few hours.

On cloudy mornings, you usually let Abigail sleep in. When it was cold, she’d be burrowed so sweetly beneath her quilt, her features finally smooth from all concerns. You couldn’t bring yourself to rouse her from one of the only moments of true peace she had. 

Since Hannibal had orchestrated her fake death and your disappearance, the two of you barely left the house and spent a lot of time hiding upstairs. He trusted only you when it came to her, so you grew close rather fast, tethered to each other like two buoys in a tempestuous sea. 

She was like the sister you never had, and it felt oddly comforting to have a semblance of family. Even if you knew how fickle they could be.

While isolation wasn’t always easy, you could tell Abigail was enjoying having that time to lay low. Every day, you strived to make things more bearable for her, and therefore more bearable for yourself. Both of you had things to miss, entire lives that had vanished at once. It was one of the things you’d bonded over.

But it wasn’t all misery between you, happier memories eventually surfacing as well. It was during those bouts of nostalgia that you learned the most about who she really was. 

Abigail liked her pancakes fluffy and her bacon crispy. She also liked lavender tea to calm her nerves, and finding random shapes in the clouds. She was quite cunning, often wise beyond her years. She had already seen too much, known too much, and you were well aware of the burden of knowledge. 

Her respite was the forest – that silent, labyrinthine fortress. The only place she knew how to completely blend in. She would often scan the trees and listen for deer, standing completely still. She had the patience of a hunter, but excitement could get the best of her. 

Recently, she had stopped hiding the scar on her neck at all times. She let herself smile more often, her features opening, blue eyes crystalline with mirth. Even if it was the beginning of winter, she sometimes reminded you of a flower in bloom.

“Good morning,” you heard the sleepy rasp of her voice as she stepped into the kitchen. “Oh, that smells so good.”

You smiled, plating some food as she yawned and stretched her arms over her head, like a cat in a patch of sunlight. 

“Sleep well, I take it?” you said, handing her the plate. 

“Yeah, I didn’t dream again,” she said, pouring maple syrup all over her pancakes. “Or maybe I did, but I just don’t remember. Kind of sad isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“Well, when I was a kid I used to believe dreams were exciting. Like, an adventure of sorts, where I could do anything, go anywhere,” she shrugged. “But of course it’s never that simple. I didn’t consider how little control I’d have over them.”

“Such is life, right?” you said.

“Yes. We barely have control of anything, really.” She glanced around cautiously. “Just us today?” 

“Yep. Just us,” you confirmed, pouring hot water into two mugs. “He might be back for dinner, he said, but he wasn’t sure. There’s been… A lot of movement at Quantico.”

The two of you shared a long, significant look. You lapsed into a momentary silence, one that weighed on you heavily. Both of you were fully aware of Hannibal’s plans, but seldom did you want to give voice to it. There would be no point to it, other than tormenting yourselves.

Life seemed the most ephemeral when you were walking the tightrope. Every gust of wind and tick of the clock bringing the inevitable closer to you. Were you supposed to find happiness in that?

As impossible as it seemed, you were at least determined to try. You sat across from her, nudging the food on your plate with your fork but not eating quite yet. 

“I’m not sure the rain’s gonna stop today,” you said, changing the subject. “What do you want to do?”

“Actually.” She smiled mischievously. “I think I’d like to feel the rain. What do you say?”

You were about to argue about the strong possibility of a cold, but it suddenly felt worth the risk. A runny nose should be the least of your worries, anyway.

You nodded, smiling softly. “We’ll sit by the fire after.”

Abigail ate quickly and eagerly, barely talking. Her excitement was infectious, making you feel jittery. As soon as she took her last bite, she sprang out of her chair. 

“Last one out the door has to wash the dishes!” She exclaimed, dashing off.

Your chair scraped loudly as you stood, following after her. “Hey, not fair! I cooked today!”

The melody of her laughter trailed out into the downpour. You hesitated at the threshold, one last moment to steel your nerves, and then ran out. 

The rain was an icy shock that made you gasp, but elation still filled you. You couldn’t help a hysteric squeal once breath re-entered your lungs, your whole body shivering. 

Abigail had her arms spread to the sides, face turned towards the sky and eyes closed. Her dark hair was already slick against her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

You mimicked her stance, eyelids twitching as raindrops pattered against your face. The world disappeared for a moment, yet your body was firmly rooted to the earth. 

You wondered what she saw, if anything, in the blue darkness of her eyelids. The water felt like a blessing, cleansing the two of you from all impurities; Every sin, transgression, and rotten notion.

At least, that’s what you hoped would happen. 

You turned to her, tapping her arm quickly before hurrying out of her reach, yelling, “You’re it!”

She chased after you, the two of you quickly becoming clumsier as your clothes were weighed down by the water. Soon it was just running for the sake of it, weaving around trees, laughing and screaming like girls at a schoolyard.

After a while, when the cold got too unbearable, you made your way back inside and hurried to the laundry room. Then you, dutiful as ever, took care of drying the wooden floors while Abigail went to ready the fireplace with kindling. 

Your teeth were still chattering as you joined her, handing her a towel for her hair. You wore one of Hannibal’s shirts, which reached a little past your knees. Abigail had changed into sweatpants and a hoodie, rubbing her arms as she watched the flame start to take.

“Completely worth it,” you said, adding a small log to the hearth. 

When the fire finally grew to a full blaze, you and Abigail extended your legs in front of it. Slowly, color was returning to her face, flushing her cheeks a deep pink. The heat began to spread as you gently toweled your hair.

“I’m glad we did it,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve felt like that in a while.”

“Felt how?”

“Alive.”

You said nothing, watching as she swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. It seemed the rain had been cathartic after all, and the dam inside her was close to breaking.

“I’ve wondered a lot if I even deserve to be.” She stared into the hearth pensively, orange light dancing in her eyes. “I am no saint, you know.” 

“I’m not one either,” you said. “And yet here we are, just as worthy as anyone else. Wanting to take back the things you’ve done is pointless. It’s just a way to torture yourself.”

She shook her head slowly, and you could tell she was too far gone to listen. Her chest hitched with her shortening breaths.

“I feel like Lady Macbeth,” she said, looking down at her hands. “I can’t seem to wash the blood off my hands.”

Her shoulders shook and you saw tears drip onto her palms. You drew her into an embrace, her head against your chest as she let out a sob.

“But I don’t really want to die either,” she murmured, her voice tremulous and thick with tears.

You bit down your own sorrow, opting to comfort her instead. You couldn’t even promise her that everything would be okay, for that would be false hope. If there was one thing you could give Abigail, it was the absolute truth, always. It was an unspoken agreement between you.

You let her cry it out, holding her all the while. In the time you’d known her, she had only cried one other time. To carry so much was an arduous task, and you admired the strength she had for someone so young. 

In many ways, she reminded you of yourself, though you were much more forgiving when it came to her.

“Do you want more tea?” You whispered as she started to calm down.

She nodded, squeezing your arm in appreciation. You kissed the top of her head, smoothing down her hair and disentangled yourself from her to hand her a tissue box.

“I’ll take care of the dishes, by the way,” she said softly, dabbing at her puffy eyes with a tissue.

You waved her off, the barest of smiles on your lips. “Don’t worry about it. Though maybe you could help me make dinner later?”

She nodded, giving you a watery smile in return. “Thank you.”

——————

By supper time, Hannibal still wasn’t back, which was a blessing at the moment. He had called briefly to let you know he’d be back closer to midnight, and you’d vowed to stay up to wait.

Abigail’s batteries were drained, so after a shower and a long nap, she helped you make a hearty potato and leek soup. She seemed in slightly better spirits, back to her teasing self. 

It made you feel slightly more relieved, and thus it seemed to render you more open. It was while the two of you smoothly moved around each other in the kitchen that you shared more stories from your own cloudy past.

The words spilled from your lips like a river — a sinner’s hasty confession in the face of damnation. You’d never pretended to be otherwise, of course, but there was a lot you hadn’t spoken of in a very, very long time. Your eyes stung, but you did not cry.

She listened attentively, mostly staying quiet. She knew just as well that this was a rarity, and all she could do was offer the same support you’d offered her. You loved her all the more for it.

“Can I ask you something?” She said over the rushing sink water, peering over at you sideways as she scrubbed her dish.

You nodded, and she continued. “Despite everything… You’ve already made your choice, haven’t you? You’ve chosen him.”

Immediately, you knew the question wasn’t about her. She already had her answer about that, despite never actually having spoken about it.

“Over what?” You countered casually, thinking of Will’s tender gaze whenever he looked at you. 

She gave you a pointed look, eyebrows raised, and you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the counter. 

“I couldn’t imagine it any other way,” you said. “At least with Hannibal, there will never be betrayal. He will always be who he is.”

She said nothing, and that was answer enough. 

Shortly after dinner, Abigail retired for the night, leaving you to your vigil for Hannibal’s return. You lay down on a couch in the living room, reading. Anxiety kept you glancing at the door repeatedly, the night seemingly growing darker and longer. 

It was well after midnight when you finally heard the faint rumble of his car’s engine out front. You’d made sure to turn all the lights off except for the lamp beside you, which would be a sign for him to come investigate. His footsteps were nearly silent as he made his way to the living room, and suddenly he appeared in the doorway, unsurprised to find you up. 

You smiled tentatively, seeing the exhaustion on his face despite his mask of composure, and his features softened some. 

“How was your day?” You asked.

“I’d much rather hear about yours,” he sighed, taking off his coat and throwing it over the back of an armchair. 

The rain still droned on outside, although less intense than earlier. He sat next to you, his knee touching yours as he faced you. You recounted some of the day's events, omitting the conversations you’d had with Abigail. Secrecy was another sacred thing between you, and there were lines you would not cross. 

Hannibal took your hand, gently squeezing it. “I am glad you two have had each other during this time. I know it has not been easy.”

A slight inclination of his head told you he acknowledged his role in that. You squeezed his hand in return, searching his face. There was no remorse, but perhaps the slightest flicker of guilt.

“Will you tell me what happened now?” You asked, uncertainty and dread like a knife at your throat. 

“I was with Will, at my office,” he sighed heavily. “We spoke…Formulated a plan of sorts.”

He seemed to want to say more, but stopped himself. His uncertainty was very much apparent, and fear threatened to grip you like a vice. His nose detected this spike in adrenaline. His eyes met yours and he held your gaze steadily. 

“And how did he seem?” You asked, willing your voice not to quaver too much.

Hannibal considered the question for a moment. “I suppose not much different than his usual self. Though I am not entirely sure I am comforted by that.”

You nodded in agreement. “He is a very cunning man. I used to think I was good at reading his moods,” your gaze drifted towards the wall and beyond, into the middle distance. “The more I think about it now, the less I’m sure I wasn’t deluding myself into seeing what I wanted to see.”

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, seeing the torment written across your face. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to try and remedy it, but he was not quite sure how. After all, the weight of your future rested in his hands just as much as Will’s.

But he found that he was willing to break his own heart, and yours, if only it meant ensuring your safety. He swallowed hard, keeping himself together.

“You could get a head start, leave as soon as tomorrow night,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “I would meet you after, as soon as I’m able to…”

Your eyes widened and for a moment you were speechless with appalment. The shock was so great it made you only vaguely realize that Abigail wasn’t included in this offer.

But then you set your shoulders, straightening your back, and determination seemed to replace your anguish.

“Absolutely not!” You said, your tone leaving no room for argument. “My place is here, and I will be staying right here. I will see it through to the end, Hannibal.”

The set of his jaw told you he wanted to argue further about why it would be the best choice, but you could tell he was also relieved. He looked down at your hands, fingers still tightly woven together.

“I could not forgive myself, if I lost you,” he said softly.

You reached up to cup one side of his face, and he leaned into your touch. He kissed the palm of your hand and the inside of your wrist. You realized he was reassuring himself just as much as you, grounding himself with your presence.

“You won’t,” you said, without a hint of doubt. “So, then, what’s next?”

“I have invited Jack over for dinner,” he said steadily, though his words were heavy with implication. “Talk to him, see what he knows.”

Your face remained blank, but you knew Jack Crawford wouldn’t come by for just a chat. Hannibal knew that too, but perhaps not speaking about it would stall it for just a bit longer. At least, you both tried to convince yourselves that would be the case.

“When?” You asked.

“Friday.”

That was only two days away. The back of your throat was bitter with unshed tears, but the longer you kept eye contact with him, the more you could steel your nerves.

“What are you thinking of making?” 

“Lamb,” He said.

The two of you shared a smile, still able to find some humor. But the next question was harder for you to ask, and you cleared your throat.

“Do you think Will is going to join?”

This was a blow he could not soften. “I hardly believe he’ll want to miss out.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well…” you said, looking up at the ceiling, in the direction of Abigail’s room. “At least we’ll all get to say goodbye.”

But your naïve heart still floundered, holding onto hope. But perhaps we won’t even have to say goodbye. One way or another, maybe we will all still be together in the end.

[fruityspaceboy]

Abigail: *bringing her boyfriend home and they kiss in front of them*

Will: *shocked* Jesus Christ !

Hannibal: *disgusted* It’s like a car crash… You can’t take your eyes of it…

[softieekayy]

Kiss kiss

Hannibal lecter is not a simple man in any terms. No, he is refined and meticulous. Not one moment of his day goes unplanned, until it comes to his beautiful and loving wife. Now, Hannibal is head over heals for his woman and anything that she wants she gets with a simple kiss as his reward and that’s all he truly asks for.

“Hannibal! My love!” She calls out as soon as she walked through the door. Hannibal knew that she was coming. He heard her soft footsteps and the vague smell of her lotus perfume lingered in the air. Hannibal peaked his head up from his desk and there she was, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, with her hair down and eyes bright and dark red lips stretched into a smile.

He got up, and greeted her with a soft kiss on her cheek, one she returned before she dragged him to sit with her on the chairs he had designated for patients. Even in his office moments with her felt intimate and homey. It was in this moment that Hannibal realized home wasn’t a place but rather a person and his home was sat right in front of him, babbling on about how she doesn’t get paid enough to deal with some of her students. Hannibal smiled. He was fond of her stories and students. Sure, they have his lover a headache but she loved them so much!

“How are you? How was your day, darling?” Hannibal asked getting up to grab some wine for the two of them. She smiled, a bright, old Hollywood smile. It was Hannibal’s favourite thing to look at in the whole world.

“It was so fun Hans!” She exclaimed loudly before telling him what she taught her students and the discussion they had about the novel they were currently reading in class. His wife was a good teacher and Hannibal knew that one day she’d also make an amazing mother. Hannibal handed her the glass of wine, one that she took gratefully. Her heels and jacket king discarded on the other chair.

“How was your day?” She asked, putting a hand on his chest and caressing him with so much love Hannibal thought he’d cry. He took his wife’s and placed a loving kiss on it, letting it linger for a while.

“My day was okay, my love. Will came by earlier and we chatted. Abigail also dropped by, talking about her classes at school. Then I had a few patients and that’s about all.” Hannibal told her, watching the way her eyes gleamed at the mention of Abigail. She loved the younger so much, like her own daughter. She also loved Will too, he was her brother in name.

“How is Will? I missed him so much! I need to go visit him again, I have some treats for the doggies.” She spoke, lost in thought. Hannibal grinned at her thoughtfulness. She always put others before herself. That made Hannibal frown, how did he, a selfish man, end up with a woman like her? A woman so wonderful?

“Are you alright?” She asked, coming closer to touch his face, Hannibal smiled before nodding. He bent down to kiss his beautiful lover before walking over to his desk and picking up his coat.

“Are you ready to leave?” Hannibal’s questioned snapped her out of concentration. She stood up tall and nodded while smiling.

Hannibal and wife made their way to the exit. Hannibal leading the way. She smiled up gratefully at him, always the gentleman. Despite being younger than him, Hannibal’s wife was the only one that could keep up with him. Even if she knew about the crimes that he’d committed, she’s always be right by his side. No matter what. It didn’t matter to her even if the world around them was burning down. All she ever wanted was for him to be okay. Just always okay.

“I love you.” She kissed his cheek as she entered the car. Hannibal smiled bashfully before entering the car after her. She was his light and fresh air that kept him alive. For her he’d do anything.

Tagging my babes: @shawty-writes-a-little @chchchcheni @jake-g-lockley

[mimarimi]

God I get so jealous watching Hannibal interacting with Abigail

[ellieslittleburrow]

Suss us reeeeally seem to be enjoying the Hannibal lecter x daughter fics more than any othr character/ character pairing. Hannibal always gets the most attention, for some reason.

BUT WHY

[house-of-slayterr]

Hannibal Crack-Cannons: aka Incorrect Quotes:

@myers-meadow-selfship @iloveslasher @the-limp-linguine

Hannibal:

Despite what you think, Hannibal IS a himbo…

Now hear me out. He’s obviously very educated, but when it comes to being a person he is CLUELESS.

Like Hannibal never expects someone to actually get close to him, and when they do, he panics. And he makes a bunch of clumsy little social mistakes, that frankly, are adorable.

He’s a friendship himbo and I stand by that!

S/O: *touches Hannibal’s hand in public, unprovoked*

Hannibal who is not used to genuine affection: *staring at them* why?

S/O: *facepalming*

William:

But if we wanna talk real Himbos….

Cause bro! Wtf are you doing? Homeboy is a MESS.

The only thought in Will’s head is that tik tok audio that’s like “I don’t know what’s going on, and frankly, I don’t wanna know” and he likes it like that.

Will on his 4th cup of coffee of the day: *pushes a door that CLEARLY says pull*

S/O: For your sake, I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that *holds open door for him, smiling at how adorable he is when he gets flustered*

Jack:

This man is a FREAK!

Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t think he’s into a lot of kinky shit in the bedroom. Man is a respectful switch!

Will: *seeing his boss by rope and duct tape at the corner store*

Jack: it’s not what it looks like-

Alana:

BI WIFE ENERGY, SHE HAS BI WIFE ENERGY!

I think Alana is also a switch, don’t know when this became a NSFW post but we’re rolling with it 🤪

But I totally see her letting men be dominate cause she doesn’t want to hurt their fragile little egos. But with a woman, oh boy! Alana cannot keep her hands to herself, and she doesn’t pretend to want to.

This woman is a flirt by nature. She will Gaslight, Gatekeeper and Girlboss her way into your heart. She’s a smooth motherfucker and you’ll never see her coming… I mean… unless you want to 👀 then by all means 😉

She totally humble brags about you latter.

Beverly:

A Roxy kinnie, prove me wrong!

That’s it, that’s the whole headcannon. If you know, you know!

Abigail:

Abigail is just Violet Harmon in a different universe, and thank god she never met her Tate. Oh dear god, what a night mare that would be!

Abigail with S/O:

Frederick:

There’s not even a headcannon here, just like, imagine if Fred was played by this motherfucker…

Instead of this motherfucker…

Also have this video of Fred’s actor being iconic, this is just Frederick when he’s alone 😂.

So I guess the headcannon is that Frederick is a musical theatre kid confirmed!

Belinda:

Wine Mom confirmed!

Freddie:

As we fucking should!

Mason:

This is just a shameless way for me to promote one of my old videos. I was proud of this meme and more people should see it!

Brian:

Drinks respect boyfriend juice!

But I also hope you like being a third wheel on dates, cause where Brian goes, Jimmy will be there. Good thing they’re both cute 😉

Jimmy:

Jimbo texting his S/O:

And anyone who gets a glimpse at these text is instantly terrified and convinced you’re both doing some sort of seance through the phone. But it’s just you’re average Tuesday.

Margo Verger as a lesbian icon:

[aphroditelovesu]

Hi! I don't know if you are taking any requests, if you don't, just ignore this

Can you do headcanons of platonic yandere hannibal (2013 TV show) with a darling that looks like abigail hobbs? Can you add will Graham as well? Thank you!

<33

❝ 🍽 — lady l: I should have posted this yesterday but it ended up not being possible as a practical class in the laboratory, but here it is! I hope you like it, anon. Forgive me for any mistakes and good reading!! ❤️🥰

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, manipulation, kidnapping, forced cannibalism and mention of death.

❝🔎pairing: platonic yandere!hannigram x gender neutral!reader.

After everything that had happened between them and Abigail, Hannibal and Will had no plans on trying to care for someone else anytime soon, if ever. They were starting their life together after Red Dragon and in a calm place where there was no danger of being found by the FBI when they met you.

When Hannibal and Will first met you, they initially kept a cautious distance. Still reeling from the events with Abigail, they were reluctant to make room for someone else in their lives. However, over time, you proved to be a comforting and intriguing presence. It didn't help that you remembered her in some ways. Maybe it was your looks or your personality, but they couldn't help but find it refreshing and bizarre at the same time how much you reminded them of her.

As the days passed, you showed a unique understanding of the complexities of the human mind, something that fascinated them deeply. Your calm presence and ability to adapt to your surroundings intrigued them. Will felt comfortable around you, something few people had the ability to do and Hannibal found himself drawn to the way you thought more and more.

Your presence brought a sense of normalcy to them, something they had long lost. You brought a good feeling to them, something they had lost along the way. It was Hannibal who convinced Will to "adopt", to bring you to live with them. Will, although a little reluctant to take you away from your family, eventually accepted. That was how you became part of their family and they had no intention of letting you go.

Hannibal was the one who brought you in and Will covered for him. Although they wanted to make you part of their twisted family in a "normal" way, plans quickly changed. The initial plans were to get close to you and manipulate you, make you hate your family so that you would realize that they were the only ones who could truly care for you.

But when it became clear that you didn't seem to respond to the manipulations, they decided to take another course of action. During one night when you were walking alone, much to their disapproval, Hannibal quickly knocked you out and brought you with him. You would finally be safe with them. Will placed you on the bed prepared for you, covering you as he tended to your sleep.

You would have to accept your place quickly or there will be consequences. Hannibal is a psychiatrist, he knows that what they did can inflict trauma on you and he will be patient with you for as long as you need, but if you are too stubborn or don't respond to the mandatory therapy he will give you, he is not against using other means to make you accept your place.

Hannibal will try to be patient with you and he will, will tolerate stubbornness to a certain extent, as he understands that it may be due to the stress of being taken away from your old life, but if you are too stubborn and even rude, he will have to teach you good manners. Hannibal does not tolerate rude people at all.

Will is more compassionate towards you, he knows and understands that it may be difficult for you to accept this new reality, so he will try to be understanding with you and he is. Will will always be by your side and although it seems like a kind action to him, in reality it becomes overwhelming. There will be no privacy, because he wants to be close to you and he believes he is helping you by not letting go of you.

He will try to cheer you up, spoiling you and even making you escape punishments that Hannibal might try to apply to you. Will is no saint, but he cares about you, a lot, and he doesn't want to see you hurt, whether physically or emotionally, so he will try to help you as much as he can. But he has his limits and if you don't cooperate, Will won't interfere with Hannibal's punishments.

As the days passed, you found yourself trapped in this new reality, surrounded by Hannibal and Will, each with their own motivations and methods. Hannibal, with his sharp and manipulative mind, tried to shape your perception of the world and your own identity, while Will, with his peculiar empathy, sought to comfort you amid the chaos that had become your life. It wouldn't be long before you gave in to Hannibal's manipulations, he'll be sure of that.

They like to think that they are great parents to you, better than your family ever was. Hannibal and Will love to spoil you and take care of you, the former being the one who buys you the most material things and the latter being quite clingy. Do you want something absurdly expensive and ridiculous? You got it, but only if you are a good child to them.

You will follow the Hannibal diet and there are no arguments about it. If you are vegetarian or vegan, however, he will not force you to eat meat but he will try to induce you to do so. He might cook separate portions for you, but there's disappointment evident on his face. But if you eat meat, you will try his favorite delicacy, lamb. Will isn't exactly the biggest fan of Hannibal's eating habits, but he has no problem eating and is pleased to see you eat. It makes you more close to them when you eat human flesh, you know?

They are extremely overprotective and possessive of you and will not tolerate potential love interests. Hannibal doesn't believe there is anyone good enough for you and Will hates the idea of ​​you being taken from them. Friends they can tolerate, but only if they are thoroughly analyzed by them and if they are a good influence on you.

Any injury that would be inflicted on you by someone, even if it is a chipped nail, will not be treated lightly. Hannibal will make sure whoever dared to hurt you is dealt with slowly and painfully and perhaps served to you later and Will will stay by your side, comforting you. No one can hurt you, no one other than them.

Once you became their child, someone they truly cared about, you would be doomed. They may care for you and even love you in their twisted way, but in the end, you will truly find yourself trapped. Hannibal and Will believe that the best way to take care of you is to keep you trapped, safe with them. And you can't run away because they will catch you and if that happens, you will never see the light of day again.

It's in your best interest to get used to them, to your new family. Hannibal has no problem breaking you down for this and Will will be there to pick up the pieces. After all, family always takes care of each other, right?

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER NINE: FOWL

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm

This is chronologically the ninth chapter in the series. Author's note: the timeline of this AU is vague, being that some events in season two has happened, implied to be a year ago, but neither Will or Hannibal have been to jail.

-‐-

“So,” says Hannibal, pouring scarlet wine into Will's proffered glass. “How much closer are you to establishing the identity of the Silicone Lover?”

The three of you are in the living room, as is customary on Will's frequent visits. The men sit so near to one another as to be almost touching, sensual in the incline of each listening ear and dancing strand of conversation.

You, conversely, inch as far into a corner as you can afford to without reprimand, your fist to your chin, a flimsy artifice of feigned disinterest in their chatter.

By this time, you are sobering into shame of your despair in Will's grudging embrace. He, for his part, seems near sick with regret of it, swallowing and rubbing at his temples like a poet over some gloomy work. Not once has he looked at or spoken to you since you slipped, cringing, from his lap, but you know that he thinks of you, his contemplation extending outwards on a phantasmal limb.

Still, it is of his case alone that he speaks aloud, dredging words up from a cistern in himself with a halting effort.

“I’ve been so deep inside the Lover’s head that I could almost... be him,” he says, through a wince. “Not a place I’d like to be for long. He’s looking for the perfect doll. None of his creations so far have lived up to the idealisation he has in his mind. That’s why he uses the silicone, and cuts the abducted women down to size. He wants them small. Biddable.”

Will sips at his wine. A red bead of it is a winter berry on his lips before he wipes it away with his rough thumb, spoiling the brevity of its mite beauty.

“Either the Lover is trying to form the girl of his dreams,” he says, “or recreate someone that already exists who, for whatever reason, he can’t have.”

“So they are substitutes,” says Hannibal. “As several young women were for Abigail Hobbs. Could the girl on this new pedestal also be a killer’s daughter?”

You glance up at the mention of the familiar name, and Dr Lecter meets your gaze, granting you silent entry into the discussion. He's had half an eye on you since your collapse into Will’s bitter mercy, intrigued by your burgeoning alliance.

Evidently his antiphon is to consent where his friend would deny you, and though you know yourself a tool in Hannibal's craft you allow such use, sensing it may benefit your cause.

“The Lover’s attachment to his muse isn’t incestuous,” says Will. “Not by blood. She’s inaccessible either because his proximity to her would make it too suspicious if he abducted her, or because to ravage her the way he does his other victims would destroy her, and that isn’t what the Lover wants.”

“What does he want?” you ask, and Will starts, a furrow creasing his brow.

“I was talking to Dr Lecter,” he says, shortly; he doesn’t turn to address you. “Don’t interrupt. It’s rude.”

The urge to laugh has you twisting your lips in towards your teeth, afraid to release the sound, lest you crack his scarce tolerance of your presence. The cinder of Will’s palm across your cheek is charred in memory, the impulse of his anger.

Hannibal says, “Perhaps it isn’t that the Lover’s paramour cannot be touched, but that to consummate that initial contact is a frontier that could never be reversed.”

Coaxed back into debate, Will considers the notion.

“He’s afraid he’ll kill her.”

“Perhaps he believes he will have no choice. A wild animal, having fled from its menagerie, is often destroyed to prevent what it may unleash upon those it encounters.”

“The only danger she poses is to the Lover,” says Will, and drains his glass. “He can’t stand the thought of giving up his profession.”

Dr Lecter’s face tilts rather dotingly aside.

“If our murderer had his betrothed in his arms, then perhaps he would practice another trade. Killing is a mere formality to the Lover. A means of disposal, not his preferred indulgence.”

Hannibal stands to walk the length of the room; Will’s head turns with a near imperceptible movement to follow, entranced, through his scepticism. Unable to look away.

“Consider the labour spent upon sexual assault and mutilation,” says Dr Lecter. “The comparative carelessness with which the Lover evicts his darlings when he exhausts their use.”

“That carelessness is their punishment,” says Will, “for daring to be anything but her.”

You lean forward in your chair, scarcely cognizant of what you do.

“Who is she?” you ask, and Will grimaces, his visage taking on a tuberculous cast.

“I– I don’t know,” he admits. “I can’t see her yet. She’s the only doll without a face.”

You are fascinated by the disquiet that has come over him, a reflection of what it is to wear the wants of killers until they feel almost his own. Hannibal, returning to his seat, decants another glass of wine, holding it in his own hand a moment as he examines his friend over the rim.

“How have your episodes been, Will?” he asks. “Have there been any more instances of you waking outdoors without knowing where you are?”

Hannibal’s gaze rests briefly upon you, and you realise, at once, that the topic has been raised partially for your benefit.

Will takes his glass with a terse fist, his eyes lowered.

“I’d rather not go into that while your patient is present.”

Patient. He is forcing distance between you, armouring himself against his illness, and your potential use of such knowledge.

Hannibal does not allow it.

“After all the ways in which you’ve held our guest, can you fairly exclude her from family matters?”

Will sneers, finally looking at you with as much ire as he can muster in his dishevelment.

“Is this a family?”

“No,” you whisper.

Hannibal says, “It’s becoming one. Time is required for the covenant to form.”

The younger man emits a sardonic laugh.

“If you say so.”

You find yourself struck by something far too like betrayal for your liking.

“Do you think she is a substitute for what might have been with Abigail Hobbs?” asks Hannibal.

“No,” says Will, firmly. “This is something else. I see the parallels you’re making, Dr Lecter, but they don’t align.”

Stung, you interject, “Yeah, because you wouldn’t have fucked this Abigail, right?"

The younger man almost writhes in discomfort, and shakes his head.

“No,” says Hannibal, coolly, more jarred by your coarse phrasing than by the question itself. “That wasn’t what she needed from us.”

The subtle emphasis on the pronoun discourages you from objection, being that you know what he has seen, in your house. What you have watched, while touching yourself in restless hours, your own hand to your throat.

“On the subject of your requirements,” Dr Lecter continues. “You don’t have to join us for dinner tonight, little one. I’ll prepare you a light lunch of seared fish and vegetables, and then you may retire from company early.”

Both you and Will turn to Hannibal, briefly united in your surprise.

“So we’re encouraging her, now,” Will says, and Dr Lecter chuckles, all loving indulgence.

“Far from it. Fasting can be practised in a healthy manner. Self-discipline need not be punitive. Our little one should learn this for herself.”

Considering the statement, you attempt, without success, to understand the machinations of his reprieve.

You cannot find it in you to thank him for the coal with which he has stoked the old flame of starving. But you are grateful for that fuel, no matter its source, and do not know which God of many to kneel to in acknowledgement.

Hannibal would think himself such a lord, with you and Will as his parishioners. Yet again, it may be that Dr Lecter is the churchgoer between the two men, the one who, as in your dream, may acquiesce, hands clasped, to a lover’s word.

“Am I allowed to do what he says or not, daddy?” you ask of Will, in the end, who tsks and all but flounces in defeat.

“Go ahead,” he says. “I’m not qualified to oppose Dr Lecter’s care. But when you regret it, I won’t be there to comfort you.”

You no longer believe him. Like Jack, Will has a partiality for the vulnerable, and though he may deride your other qualities, he aches for you in your suffering even as he worsens its sting.

*

In the auburn night you attempt The Idiot again, tearing through one chapter to the next as hunger rides you like death on horseback, a test against the grindstone of will. You’ve gone longer than this without eating, before, a day or two on water alone, and only sips of it, at that.

But the new frequency of meals in Hannibal’s home has reawakened your appetite, and your gut wails in craving of all that you abjure.

You think of descending the staircase and asking sheepishly for an invitation to dinner, but you would rather see the grave than the humiliation of admitting such hunger before your jailors.

Sleep is an impenetrable country, food the geographic distance between you and its gentle hold. By two in the morning you’re marching the room, yearning to weary yourself beyond appetite. Knowing that after the assaults and the erasure of your outside self you haven’t the mettle to maintain the long walk as once you could.

As you do every night around this time you try your bedroom door, a routine of soothing repetition. Again you find it open, which you have known in your soul that it would be since Hannibal had made his golden offer to you that afternoon.

Surely this, like the time before, is an experiment in what you will do in the slumbering house. You daren’t try for an escape— Hannibal will start from his bed at the sound of a window shattered, a door forced at the lock, and will catch you, barefoot in your lace nightgown amidst the night damp of fallen leaves.

Perhaps, knowing this, he thinks you’ll creep to him or Will instead for want of a love of which they’re bereft. The notion of familial synergy is the absinthe dream that Hannibal chases, shared blood in the appetite of lust rather than parenthood. 

You should remain abed, deny the doctor and his accomplice their entertainment. But hunger shoves you by both shoulders down the staircase, towards the kitchen door, and it lies open.

As in a fairytale you enter, thoughtless, moth-drawn to the flame that is food, in Hannibal’s refrigerator, prising back the hinge to reveal the luxuries within. Pretty displays of fresh vegetables and salad, labelled bottles of milk and cream, truckles of cheese, sliced meat—chicken, beef, ham—

You sway in the song of your hunger, attempting to bid yourself away with thoughts of how firmly you’ve stood against it, thus far, how strong you are, how in control.

In a moment your hand is on the shelf and unwrapping a pale slab of chicken, and then it’s in your mouth, and sectioned between your teeth, and swallowed. The taste of it isn’t chicken, but something else, and you don’t care until you see your face reflected in the refrigerator door, and realise the beast you are. What you have done.

You clutch your throat, attempting to calculate the calories—seventy, a hundred, a hundred and fifty, small numbers to a person not possessed by the spirit of disorder, but to you a devastation, the shattering of your sturdy fast.

It is Will and Hannibal’s fault, you decide, both having pinched you in a vice of brick with its store of feasts, intentional, evil. They have pushed you to break this vow of hunger you have made to yourself, and in that second of despair you thirst to be avenged.

Across the kitchen sits the knife rack, blades of ranging sizes and uses, each ground to a killing edge. You seize one from the middle and return to the stairs, pausing on the landing to consider the closed doors beyond.

Hannibal, you know, would overpower you with flippant ease, but Will, for all his protestations, is fragile. Breakable.

You approach his room and try the door handle with caution. Another left unlocked— fate has passed through the house before you, a goddess on gossamer feet.

In reverential silence you cross the room to Will’s sleeping hump on the bed and stoop over him, the knife raised in both hands, watching him twitch through unpleasant dreams.

In the dark Will’s face is corpse-like, ailing; you almost marvel to think this same man capable of the savage acts you’ve come here to kill him for. Perhaps his death will rinse you of the filth and pain that braids you into so gruesome a shape as you find yourself in. Perhaps his death will distract Hannibal enough that he tends to the cadaver rather than pursues you from his door—

You know not whether to slash Will’s bobbing throat or stake his chest, nor how hard to strike to ensure his death over injury. A mistake may be your end, not his, yet you lean with one knee upon the bed, the knife like a steel flame igniting the dark.

You contemplate how it will feel to kill, whether your form will throb with joy in excelsis, or if you’ll merely recoil, sickened by the blood, by the sounds and the many smells of dying.

But what of afterwards, when you have run, and Hannibal has turned to the police? He has the force in his pocket, and being that there is no mark of Will’s crimes upon your person you will surely be imprisoned for murder.

Tattle Crime will call gleefully of the act: “ANOREXIC CHARGED WITH STABBING RECLUSIVE SPECIAL AGENT IN SHOCKING ATTACK”.

Your family, your parents, stained and shunned for having raised a killer—

The reluctant knife withdraws, and you make to climb down off the bed. Disturbed by the lifting of weight from the mattress, Will stirs, muttering, then takes a seizing breath that jolts him suddenly awake. His eyes roll, glazed, before fixing upon you, a gothic figure in a pallid nightdress, holding a blade.

He tussles upright, rigidly alert. His expression is terror and fury, disbelieving.

“What are you doing?” Will demand, and snapping from the spell that holds you fast, you break for the door, thinking, even as you run, how few places there are in the house for you to hide that he will not find you.

Will follows in a sleep-numbed stagger, a corpse revived from the grave. He ought to be slow, but he is on you before you’ve gone further than the nearest corridor, shouldering you against a wall so hard that a shelf of ornaments jingles in ominous response to the collision.

You think nothing, only the animal blank of facing the bolt gun, the huntsman’s cur.

The knife rises, erect, between you, and Will folds your arm against the wall. His other hand wraps across your mouth, cupping your rising scream like the sea in a shell.

“Do you want Hannibal to wake up and find out what you did?” asks Will, in a coarse semi-whisper. “No? Then be quiet.”

His stare flenses the tallow darkness with a nocturnal literacy. He’s no longer trembling. The danger in him is well lived in, inherited from the killers whose minds he’s made his crown, and from his friend, in all his tutorship.

It’s what makes them so close, Will and Hannibal, almost one, synonyms of a pagan death.

You turn your jaw from your attacker’s hand and coax him down from his ire in a pleading moan.

“I’m sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was upset. I don’t know why I did it. I wasn’t really going to—”

“Oh, I know you were never going to go through with it,” Will spits. “You’re not capable. Killing isn’t in your nature. You’re too soft for that. Aware of the consequences.”

He looks you up and down with a sour leer.

“You wish that you were a murderer. You held that knife and prayed for something to come over you, a holy, righteous need for revenge. But it didn’t. Couldn’t, because you don’t believe that you deserve to be released from what others have done to you.”

His grip squeezes your wrist, and you gasp into his hand, smothered by your own breath.

“Next time you pull a knife on someone, you’d better hope that you’ve gained enough self-esteem by then to see it through,” says Will. “I don’t plan to kill you tonight, but someone else might. Maybe that’s what you were hoping for, after all.”

He leans into you, curls falling in dark links across his brow. He smells of bed, the damp pelt of animal, and bottled scent. His white t-shirt is nearly black with night sweat, his stale breath metallic against you.

There is a joist of firm flesh at your thigh.

He likes this. The chase and capture, even the knife meshed between the bones of your slippery fingers and his, the knowing that he could make a gushing rose of your throat with the most delicate turn of it— he loves it all, the rut-hunger of all creatures that look death in the eye and survive.

You look sideways at the blade, and with leaden reluctance, Will turns to a nearby bookcase to set it down.

“Little girls shouldn’t play with knives,” he says, and you give a hysterical laugh.

“Hannibal isn’t here. You don’t have to try and impress him.”

The young man chuckles softly.

“What makes you think Dr Lecter isn’t trying to impress me?”

“I guess he is. He brought me here for you.”

Will sneers.

“An unwanted gift. You make it difficult not to be ungrateful.”

Mirroring the cruel twist of his expression you attempt to glide away from him, along the wall.

Will’s arm shoots out, blocking your path.

“Let go of me!” you cry, but your voice has no force to it, only mounting fear.

“You think I’ll just let you go to bed after threatening to kill me?” asks Will, incredulously.

“Why not? You deserve it. You even said so. And maybe you’re wrong about why I didn’t do it. Maybe I don’t want to be like you and Dr Lecter.”

Something shifts in Will’s expression, a murky wind of silhouette.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re murderers,” you spit. “You killed somebody. Garret something.”

“Garret Jacob Hobbs was the Minnesota Shrike,” says Will, almost defensively. “He killed and mutilated girls all over the state. His wife became his victim, and he slit his own daughter’s throat. I had no choice but to shoot Hobbs. I acted. It had to be done.”

“And Hannibal?” you ask, trembling in Will’s hold. “He’s killed before. I know he has. I know. Please don’t lie to me.”

For a beat you think that Will won’t answer, his eyes shifting to some point down the hall.

Then he says, “It was self-defence. A serial killer named Tobias Budge. He broke into Dr Lecter’s house. Would have killed him if Hannibal hadn’t overpowered him. How do you know about that? He didn’t tell you.”

“Self-defence,” you repeat, ignoring the question. “I bet Dr Lecter liked it. I bet you both liked it. That’s why I’m here. So whatever you feel when you murder people you can feel with me all the time.”

You grope along the wall for the knife, half-heartedly, knowing your captor will never let you take it. He pins your hand down with a scrambling clumsiness, damp fingers locked into yours.

“Is that how it feels?” Will snarls. “Like we’re killing you? Because it should remind you that after all you’ve done to your body you’re still here.”

Then, as he speaks again, he invokes your dream, as though by psychic synthesis you conceive the same thought at once.

“It should remind you that Hannibal and I are the reason you’re still alive.”

You let out a cry of fear, involuntary and absolute, and again Will binds your mouth with his palm until you taste the dirt of his sweat, and cannot breathe.

Suddenly the heart of shadow that is Will’s face is mud and thunder, and he lets go of your arms to rustle your nightdress to your waist in an tenor of cotton and ribbons.

You struggle and strain against the wall, knotting your legs over each other against him. With ease Will parts them again and runs two fingers beneath the trim of your panties until they are buried in your satin angst.

They move with skill, with spite, with will to wound; tears start from you like a spring from mountain rock, and the cruel young man observes as they fall without sympathy, still playing your cunt with his hand.

He does not strike you as a man that beds women often, yet he has done so, to know how to smith such pleasure from even unwilling flesh. You can do nothing but submit to him, a blót to such gods as have taken you to bleed.

Sensation, salt-sweet, unburdens you of pain, and you find you can only stand through Will’s hold upon you. Cannot speak, cannot scream, as he cuts his pleasure from you. Like a sorcerer beneath the waves he has stolen your voice, as well.

Will widens your legs with the jut of a knee, loosening himself from his undergarments as he may take some drill from its hellacious box. You stare into his eyes, begging, without words, for him to revoke his darkness. The dark stares back, the mouth beneath like something dreamt of by heathens in its fathomless cruelty.

“You’ve earned this,” says Will. “Take it with grace.”

He lifts your right leg and clips it to his waist, unlatching access to your heat. With his sneer close to your cheek he runs you through, his cock a barbarous girth to which you cannot acclimatise, cannot accept as a thing that must be.

The bones of your back bruise against the cool wall, and your breath, beneath Will’s palm, is a simian pant-hoot of woe and suffering lust.

You do not want him, but to be propulsed into this place without agency is your liberty: what you feel is his fault, and you come apart like a snarl of soot in the working of his evil.

Will’s hand impresses its print upon your hip. His mouth comes to the crook of your neck in a bite, a kiss, or something worse. His slim body snaps like a birch switch against you, and he opens your centre to his girth until your mind is a vapour of fright and climax, wetting your legs in the rotten release of it.

Your captor feels the quake of your orgasm and, in recognition, follows, his groan muffled by your neck, his frame a trap against you, shaking into stillness.

Then he steps away from you, turning his head as you rearrange your dress, oddly chaste.

You look at him in numb silence, unable to move from the wall without his word.

At last Will picks up the knife again and nods towards the staircase.

“Let’s put this back in the kitchen,” he says, “before Hannibal gets up and notices that it’s missing.”

You follow him downstairs, soundless as a wraith, close to his side, as though by hurting you he has somehow bound you to his flank. Will returns the knife to its rack with meticulous care, considering it for a long time before he speaks again.

“I doubt this’ll be the last time you contemplate murdering one of us. That’s as far as I recommend you go.”

You search yourself for the ability to answer him.

“Why?”

“Wolves kill their rivals' pups to keep them in check,” says Will, “and Dr Lecter is not above emulating that behaviour if he thinks it’ll keep you in line.”

As usual, you cannot tell if he’s being literal or not. You settle to nod, and Will glances around the kitchen, his eyes falling on the refrigerator door where a greasy smear remains in the autumn moonlight.

“Your handprints?” he asks. “So you stole food. Should have asked to join us for dinner.”

You lean against a countertop, your head hanging, truly ashamed.

“I messed up.”

Will picks up a hand towel and rubs at the door until your fingerprints vanish.

“You live here,” he says, grudgingly. “It’s not exactly a capital offence to eat from the fridge.”

“No,” you say, in a piteous wail. “I mean I shouldn’t have eaten at all. I gave in. I ate. No self-control.”

You see Will’s shoulders drop, and he says, with pained neutrality, “That isn’t true. You gave your body what it needed.”

Half-sobbing, you pull at your flesh through your nightdress, gathering up handfuls of skin.

“I don’t know why you even want to touch me. I’m so disgusting.”

“No,” says Will, and this time he speaks firmly. “You’re a lot of things, but that isn’t one of them. I don’t want to hear you say that again.”

He passes a hand across his face, an exhausted reflex.

“Go to bed, One,” he mumbles. “And tomorrow you’re going eat again. I’ll see that you do.”

The next morning, red-eyed over coffee, Will watches you attempt your breakfast. He makes no comment, only waits as you masticate each scrap of beetroot and artfully scrambled egg twenty times until the slow process meets its finish.

Hannibal turns Will an unreadable look across the table.

“You look weary, this morning,” he says. “I thought I heard you wandering the house last night. Was anything the matter?”

You drop your fork with a frightened loss of coordination, expecting to be handed over to him for further hurt. Yet Will only puts down his coffee cup, folds his arms across his chest, and says, quite casually, “She was hungry, just like I knew she’d be. She went looking for food. I sent her back to her room. Nothing to write home about.”

It’s only when Hannibal carries your dirty plate back to the kitchen that you look up at Will, softening your eyes against the flint of hatred within you.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

An almost smile turns the edges of Will's mouth.

“I’ll tell him, someday. Just not now.”

[deerabigailhobbs]

Kinda want to do an Abigail Hobbs X reader type post since there seems to be a lack of them

[creepyyanderegirl]

The Silly Hilly Obsession Chapter 1: The beginning

(A/N: Hey! This is a yandere Billy Loomis,Stu Macher, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham X Reader Story. Its called The Silly Hilly Obsession. I hope you enjoy)

I wake up and go downstairs. I leave my house and meet up with my friends. Tatum Riley,Sidney Prescott and Abigail Hobbs. We walk to school together. Stu Macher,Billy Loomis and Randy Meeks were waiting for us. Billy held Sidney's hand and Stu wrapped his arm around Tatum. I kissed Randy on the lips and he wrapped himself around me. I didn't notice but Billy and Stu glared at Randy looking very jealous. We went to school and did our thing. After school I went to therapy like everyday. My counselors are Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. When I got there Hannibal opened the door for me. Hannibal and Will smiled at me when they saw me. I walked in and sat down. Hannibal and Will greeted me. I talked about my stuff with them for my hour like usual. After my hour of therapy I went home. What I didn't know was that after every session Hannibal and Will talked about what I said that day. Every night Hannibal has a dinner at his house. For Will,Billy and Stu. While they ate they talk about Y/n. The four men were sitting at the table together eating. Billy was the first to speak today. "We have to kill Randy." Billy said. "Definitely." Hannibal said. "Now." Will said. Stu nodded at this. "He is way too close to Y/n." Stu said. They finished eating. The four of them left the house and went to Randy's house.

[hestella]

Hannibal lector x reader: a new face part. 3

part 1 , part 2

A/N: sep/6: edited!

warnings: blind reader, fem! reader, mentions of blood, injury, knife, gore, its hannibal being hannibal, drugging, grammar mistakes, mistakes, mistakes.

Hannibal observed her for a moment, his gaze cold and calculated. The GHB he’d given her was the precise amount to ensure she'd remain unconscious for the next four to five hours. She was sprawled out in the kitchen, breathing evenly, oblivious to everything around her.

With quiet precision, Hannibal reached for his handkerchief and delicately picked up her phone. Unlocking it with her thumb, he navigated through the accessibility settings, turning off any extra features to make the phone easier to manipulate. In her contacts, he found the appropriate person to call, someone who could cancel her lecture for the day.

Once the call was made, he erased the call history, restored the accessibility settings, and carefully returned the phone to its original place. That was step one.

Next, he moved swiftly, slipping on latex gloves and pulling a small, inconspicuous spy cam from his bag. The device, designed to resemble a spiral, was perfect for his needs. With a screwdriver, he unscrewed a small decorative spiral from her fireplace and replaced it with his own. This same process was repeated in several locations throughout her home—the kitchen, the bedroom, the closet. He avoided the bathroom; that wasn't what he was after.

When he was finished, Hannibal gently lifted her limp body and placed her on the couch. His hand hovered over the hem of her robe for a moment, contemplating undressing her for the sake of appearances. But he paused, deciding against it—he didn’t know where she usually kept it, and any misstep would stand out.

After one final glance to ensure everything was in place, he grabbed the bottle of wine she had shared with him and quietly left the house.

-=-

Before the knock came, she knew someone was approaching. The soft but sure footsteps told her it was a girl.

“Come in,” she called out.

The door opened, and a familiar voice greeted her. “Hello, Professor Y/L/N,” Marissa said with a light laugh.

“Marissa,” she responded with a smile. “Welcome.”

“How did you know it was me?” Marissa asked, curiosity lacing her voice.

“A sweet voice like yours is hard to forget,” Y/N replied, a small grin playing on her lips.

Marissa giggled. “I heard you offer internships to high school students.”

“I do, on occasion. Are you hoping to recommend someone? A sibling perhaps?” Y/N asked.

“Not a sibling, no. It’s my friend, Abigail Hobbs. She’s been dreaming of coming to Johns Hopkins and studying with you specifically. She’s really passionate about philosophy.”

Y/N paused for a moment, considering. “If I start accepting internships from every friend of my students, you know the applications will be endless. Is Abigail worth the risk of making an exception?”

“She is, I promise. She’s incredibly smart, and philosophy fascinates her more than anyone I know,” Marissa replied earnestly. “Please… Her father isn’t exactly supportive of her going to college, so this would mean a lot.”

Y/N nodded slowly, sensing the weight of Marissa’s words. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises, but I’ll look into it.”

-=-

Visiting Abigail had been an impulse, driven by an instinct that something was amiss.

As it turned out, Abigail had the same hair and eye color as the other girls who had been murdered.

As it turned out, Abigail’s father was a hunter—an occupation that likely influenced her interest in the cycle of life and death, and thus her love of philosophy.

And as it turned out, their home was isolated, nestled in the woods, far from prying eyes.

Y/N stood before the Hobbs' house, her cane tapping lightly on the ground. A woman’s voice answered her knock, presumably Abigail’s mother, and Y/N was welcomed inside. The scent of freshly baked cookies filled the air, though beneath it lingered a faint, metallic tang that made Y/N’s senses sharpen.

“Hello,” a soft voice greeted her. It was Abigail.

“Hello, you must be Abigail,” Y/N replied, extending her hand in the direction of the voice.

“Yes,” Abigail said, shaking her hand lightly. “It’s so amazing to meet you in person. You’re the reason I became interested in philosophy.”

Y/N smiled warmly. “I’m honored to hear that.”

Abigail guided Y/N to the couch, and they began talking. Abigail was enthusiastic, her answers thoughtful. Y/N found herself impressed—if it weren’t for the looming suspicion that Abigail or her father might be involved in the recent killings, she would have loved to welcome her into the internship program.

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing in the kitchen. Y/N’s ears perked up, but she ignored it, trying to maintain focus on Abigail. But then, she heard footsteps and strained voices.

“I think you need to wrap it up and leave,” a gruff male voice said suddenly, closer now.

Y/N turned her head towards the voice. “Is there a problem?” she asked calmly.

“Dad, please,” Abigail pleaded. “You promised not to interfere.”

Y/N kept her expression neutral. She recognized the danger instantly. “It’s alright, Abigail. We can continue this another time. Perhaps you can come to campus and I’ll show you around.”

Before Abigail could respond, her father’s voice grew more agitated. “No! There’s no next time. You need to leave now.”

Y/N straightened, her senses fully alert. “May I ask why, Mr. Hobbs?”

“Honey, let them be,” Mrs. Hobbs chimed in from somewhere nearby, but her voice was cut short by a sickening swish, followed by Abigail’s scream.

Y/N reacted instantly, pulling Abigail behind her. “Stay behind me,” she whispered, her body tensing as she sensed what had just happened—Mrs. Hobbs had fallen.

“Dad…” Abigail’s voice shook, a mixture of fear and disbelief.

“Mr. Hobbs,” Y/N said, her voice steady despite the chaos. “Put the knife down.”

“How do you know I have a knife?” he growled, his breath labored. “You can’t even see me.”

“I can sense it. Drop the knife. It’s over.”

“Over? What are you talking about?”

“The phone call earlier… wasn’t it from the FBI?” Y/N’s voice was calm, measured. “They know. There’s nothing left for you but to cooperate.”

For a moment, Hobbs was silent, then his voice softened, tinged with madness. “I did it for love… for Abigail. I killed those girls because I loved them… and I love you, Abigail.”

“Abigail, run,” Y/N whispered urgently.

The next moment, Hobbs charged toward her. She stepped back but stumbled into the couch. Her cane slipped from her grasp as she fell, her body vulnerable.

Hobbs was quick. Before Y/N could react, he had her pinned, and she felt a sharp, burning pain in her side—something had punctured her hip. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to stay calm, kicking wildly. Her foot connected with Hobbs, eliciting a scream of pain from him. But he recovered quickly, dragging her to her feet and slamming her against the wall. Another sharp object—an antler, she realized—dug into her back, piercing her ribs.

Y/N gasped, her vision blurring. “You can’t… you won’t get away with this…”

But Hobbs ignored her, strangling her with both hands. Her breath was being crushed from her lungs. Her mind raced as darkness crept in, her body going numb.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire shattered the air. The pressure around her neck released, and she collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. She was vaguely aware of voices—familiar ones.

“Y/N! Y/N!” It was Will’s voice.

“Hannibal…” she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible.

“I’m here, Ms. Y/L/N,” Hannibal said, his tone calm. “Help is on the way.”

Y/N’s mind swirled with pain and confusion. She reached out, her hands wet with her own blood. She could feel the object still lodged in her hip.

“Don’t move,” Hannibal’s voice was a steady anchor. “You’ve been punctured by a deer antler. It’s serious, but help is coming. Focus on my voice.”

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body shaking uncontrollably. She tried to ground herself in Hannibal’s words, but the pain was overwhelming. She could feel herself slipping, the cold numbness creeping up her limbs.

As her consciousness faded, she mouthed one final word: “Please…”

And then everything went dark.

[issamhysa]

Dating Abigail Hobbs would include...

A/N: I’m currently rewatching Hannibal and may I just say I have decided to simp, again. Also, SPOILERS!

Being in a relationship with Abigail Hobbs is far from easy

But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel lucky to have someone like Abigail

Abigail Hobbs is the sweetest, kindest person you’ve ever met

Even though Hannibal Lecter put her through some shit, manipulated the hell out of her and left her for dead, she finds small ways to be positive

You admire that about her

However, there are days when the weight of her past can get to her

What’s been done to her, and what she’s done to others

It’s not an easy burden to carry

And you can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like

So you do everything in your power to be there for her

To reassure her and comfort her and let her know that what happened wasn’t her fault

Now, that being said, let’s get to me losing my mind over this sweet girl

Abigail loves your kisses just as much as you love hers

Her lips taste of strawberry chapstick and honeyed milk

It’s addicting

Her favorite types of kisses to receive are forehead kisses

She finds them so sweet and reassuring

Comforting on bad days

So you always try to give her a little forehead kiss whenever you can

Cuddling on the couch? Forehead kiss

Studying with her for your next midterm? Forehead kiss

Walking by her? Forehead kiss

This doesn’t mean she doesn’t enjoy all the other kisses you have to offer

Especially when you kiss her to grab her attention

And you do this very often

She thinks it’s sweet, and also very cute

You two make out in her room like, all the time

Her bed is soft so half of the time, you’ll both end up falling asleep

Abigail enjoys cuddling

A lot

She adores being the little spoon

Mostly because she feels safe in your arms

But also because she can turn around and bury her head in your chest whenever she fucking wants to

Most of the time you’ll cuddle in bed

Assuming Winston doesn’t find a way to worm himself between the two

There will be some days when Will comes home to find you and Abigail cuddling on the couch, fast asleep

He’ll let out a little huff, but he’ll drape a blanket over the two of you and try to be as quiet as he possibly can

Will is an angel

At first, he was a little hesitant to even let you near Abigail

But once you made it clear that your intentions were nothing but pure and full of love, he started to slowly warm up to you

Now, he treats you like you’re his own, in a way

He takes you and Abigail on monthly camping trips

You're not a huge fan of camping, but Will and Abigail make it so much better

Will teaches you how to fish, and Abigail gives you little tips she picked up

"Name your bait after someone you cherish."

You think that's the cutest thing

After fishing, you and Abigail go on a small hike following the trail

You end up with spiderwebs and leaves in your hair, but the two of you are laughing when you go back to the campsite

You all sit by the fire, and Will tells you little stories of cases he had picked up while in the FBI

You know it's his own way of telling ghost stories

You and Abigail appreciate the effort

And Will can't hide a chuckle when you start telling your own, ridiculous ghost stories

At one point, Will sneaks behind the two of you while you’re talking about your own stories and scares the living shit out of the both of you

You didn’t talk to him for 10 minutes

Until he made up for his actions by making you and Abigail s’mores

And they were fucking great

Abigail introduces you to her aunts; Alana and Margot

They're not really her aunts, but Abigail, Will, and Alana are super close

Alana absolutely adores you

She loves that you keep Abigail grounded and steady

Margot appreciates your independence, and often comments on how intelligent and self-sufficient you are

You remind her of a younger version of herself

Minus the whole psycho brother thing

That being said, you’re invited to every family dinner

Every Christmas and Thanksgiving

Hell, Abigail even drags you out on Halloween to take Alana’s son, Morgan, trick or treating

You two dress up as little red riding hood and the lumberjack

And you somehow got Will to dress up as the big bad wolf

It was truly a sight

Now, let’s talk about Hannibal

Or, actually, let’s not

Abigail doesn’t like talking about Hannibal

Of course, he has come up in some conversations

She’s never skirted the issue, she tells you everything

But you know she’s still afraid of him

Hannibal haunts her in a way you’ll never be able to fully understand

Will doesn’t like talking about Hannibal either

He gets angry when he thinks about all Hannibal has done to hurt the people he loves

You understand Will’s anger and, to an extent, you feel the same rage he does

Abigail, Will, Alana, Margot, and Morgan are your family

And Hannibal hurt them

All of them

Oh, and let’s not even mention the whole cannibalism thing

That’s just insane

Anyway

You’re very supportive of Abigail in all of her endeavors

When she decides to start playing ice hockey, you’re right there with her

Whether it’s in the rink or cheering from the sidelines, that’s your baby

Then she decides to go for archery

It’s all fun and games until you break the window of Freddie Lounds’ car

You love Abigail to death

As she does you

And nobody, not even Hannibal Lecter, can tear you apart

And may he do his worse

[pansydaisy]

abigail hobbs masterlist

requests open!

[lilbabychilton]

Hannibal Masterlist

| Request Status | Ask Box | Ko-Fi | Twitter | Main Masterlist |  

* signifies NSFW content

I’m willing to write for Frederick Chilton, Will Graham, Abigail Hobbs, Beverly Katz, and Alana Bloom. If you’re wondering about anyone else feel free to ask!

Frederick Chilton Masterlist

Will Graham Headcanons-

Secretly dating Will Graham

Is Will a Dom, Sub, or Switch