#him telling jack that he wanted to run away with hannibal.

[hannibalismos-jaaneman]

no bastard was ever as smug as when will graham was given the chance to show off how much his stupid cannibal loved him ever-

[girlscience]

you guys don't understand how badly I need a hannibal/will video set to this song. idk how to make videos but i will make it myself if i have to. it's so clear in my mind how it would go

[dilfdemolisher]

PERSEPHONE - CHAPTER THREE

“Persephone, queen of the underworld. Hades runs Hell, but she’s in charge of punishment.”

Series Summary: A serial killer who works with the police herself has a tumultuous past with Jack Crawford and his new profiler Will Graham. While trying to rebuild what she once broke Hannibal Lecter sticks himself in the middle of the few things she cares about - Comments and critiques are encouraged.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, dead bodies, murder that is very female targeted, canon character death, smut, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 9.5k (yes you read that right…I'm sorry)

The sterile walls of the hallway close in around you as you make your way towards the autopsy room. "Agent," a familiar voice calls out behind you.

"I'm not your 'Agent' anymore, Jack," you say, wincing as you turn to face him. You were never officially an agent; Jack only started calling you that when you began sticking your nose into his cases.

"Force of habit," he deflects, his tone unusually soft for him. "I need to talk to you."

You glare at him, hoping he'll get straight to the point. The last thing you want is for Jack to drag you into his office, which always feels like a principal's office—the prelude to a lecture you’d rather avoid.

"I'd like you to resume therapy," he says finally.

Your heart sinks. "No."

"Bloom knows a therapist in Baltimore-"

You cut him off with a bitter laugh. "Are you serious? The last time I took her advice, I ended up tied to a chair and tortured. I'll pass."

"Dr. Lecter is one of the best in his field. She recommended him when I expressed my concerns." He tries to reason. 

Is he serious? "So, you discussed your concerns about me with her first instead of just asking me if I felt I needed help?"

"It's not about what you want. If you’re going to continue working on this case, you need a psychological evaluation."

Frustrated, you turn away and continue down the hallway. This is such bullshit. You don't need therapy. "I'll pass, Jack, but I appreciate your concern," you dismissively yell over your shoulder, not slowing your pace.

The moment you enter the room, everyone's eyes fall on your frame. The three in lab coats momentarily feeze while Will quickly makes eye contact before his gaze shifts to behind you and paces out of the room. 

“Were you honest when you said you two never dated—hell even slept together because this is awkward.” He says in an awful attempt to break the awkward silence.

“Any close relationship that didn’t leave on a positive note can cause tension, not just romantic ones, Price.” You state. 

Beverly clears her throat. “So Will thinks the killer is eating the girls. Elise's liver was removed and then put back in place; the killer did that after he realized she had liver cancer.”

“We also found metal shavings on her body,” Zeller chimes in. 

You sigh. “It’s plausible. It creates a very vivid image of this man. He…cares for these girls in his own twisted way. He’d view their consumption as an act of devotion, most likely a waste if he didn't. It’s a hunter's mentality; if there's anything left of these girls, it’s most likely fragments. Hair stuffed in pillows, bones made into various things—he wouldn't waste. If he is a hunter, he most likely has a dedicated space to this, a shed, probably doesn't live in the city.” You propose.

You’re met with silence for a moment before Beverly speaks once again. “I can’t believe you were never a profiler.” She shakes her head and smiles. 

"Well, I momentarily am of sorts now.” You raise your arms forward and wiggle your fingers.  “Maybe I understand him so well because I am him.” You say it in an unserious tone. 

She rolls her eyes playfully. "Hmm, yeah, I'm real scared.” You didn't even realize how much you missed Bev until now. 

"Well, is that all?” You ask. 

"Yup, that's it.” Brain tells you before grabbing something behind him. “I’ll be off then.” You smile and walk out the door.

2 YEARS EARLIER

Jack’s call came twenty minutes ago, his voice clipped and urgent. “Another one.” That was all he said, but it was enough. It wasn't just another body, not a one-off murder. He made it clear by his simple lack of words that this was connected. 

During the entirety of your drive, your heart couldn't stop beating. The dull vibration filling your ears and pounding your chest overwhelmed you so much that you felt relieved at the red stop lights, giving you a moment to collect your barring's. Jack pulled up at the same time, his grim expression mirroring your own.

As he approached, his words were drowned out by your internal rhythm. But when Jack opened the door into the room, your body finally went quiet, and you finally feel like you’re alive again—living in the present. 

A woman's body lay sprawled on the cheap, stained bed, blood soaking deep into the mattress. Your gaze travelled over her naked form, legs spread wide in a provocative display. Decaying vines twisted around her ankles and the bed frame, their dark, withered tendrils contrasting against her greying skin. It was a brutal, degrading spectacle.

There is a precise incision right above her pelvis, which is mostly one of the reasons why her entire torso is covered in her own blood, except her breasts. They look as if they were deliberately cleaned, the pink hue still lightly remaining on her skin. 

Her mouth is slightly agape; something inside it is forcing her jaw unnaturally wide. Compelled by a mix of horror and professional detachment, your feet move towards her. You hear Jack say something but it becomes mute when you hear your heartbeat pick up again.

Your gloved hand delicately touches her jaw; now, closer, you can see her features. Up close, her traits become clearer. She’s unremarkable—plain, even. A white, brunette woman of heavy European descent with a slim build. It’s odd to think how un-special she may have been in life but now, in death, she's a spectacle.

Gently, you pry her jaw open, revealing a small, fleshy mass inside. You look towards Jack in confusion and ask, “Can I pull it out?” 

Crawford gives a small nod and moves beside you. You give the object a small pull and it doesn't budge. “You hold her jaw; I’ll pull it out.” Jack says while looking at the strangulation marks on her neck. 

You move your hands and the man pulls. You watch him struggle between delicately grasping it and forcefully yanking it. 

You adjust your grip, one hand on her lower teeth and the other on the upper, pulling them apart. Jack pulls a bit harder; you watch as it starts to slide out, and just when you think its going to be stuck once again, Jack gives a final, forceful yank, and the object comes free.

Jack is holding the woman's uterus. 

“What the fuck?” you exclaim. Momentarily forgetting you two weren't the only ones in the room. Someone behind him brings an evidence bag to Jack, where he drops the organ inside the plastic. 

All eyes shift to the incision on her torso. Another forensic tech steps forward with metal forceps, his face pale but determined. He fiddles with the cut, and when he finally pries it open. You hear others gasp but you're still trying to compute the sight of the mess inside. At first, it looks like a jumble of smooth, misplaced intestines—until you recognize the pattern.

Scales. Snakes.

She’s been hollowed out, and her uterus has been replaced with dead serpents.

PRESENT DAY

It’s been days, and still nothing. The most frustrating part of working in a field that is centered around solving crimes is the cruel irony that sometimes you need more evidence to build a profile—to move forward at all. You've heard about Jack narrowing down the search by identifying the specific metal found on Elise's body, but you honestly couldn't care less.

You deluded yourself into believing that taking on this case was a selfless act, but your defenses are crumbling. You’re here for Will to glue together what was once broken. But you’ve never fucked up on this scale before, and you don’t know how to fix it. Your fingers stick together from your messy revival attempts, and the toxic fumes cloud your mind. Why did you think it was a good idea to show up at his house?

A knock at your door—your own door—in Baltimore interrupts your spiraling thoughts.

No one called to warn you of an appearance; your overactive work brain can't shut off even now, envisioning an ax murderer standing outside your home.

How comical.

"Open up, it’s Crawford." Jack’s voice is muffled but unmistakable. Not an ax murderer; that makes more sense considering it’s 10 AM and you live in an apartment building. Unless he’s here for other reasons, maybe he knows and wants to give you a chance to explain yourself before slapping handcuffs around your wrists.

Unsure how to navigate this possible confrontation, you blurt out the stupidest thing: "Why?"

“Because I need to talk to you,” he shouts impatiently. 

With a sigh, you walk to the door and begin to unlock it. “That’s what my number is for. I thought showing up at my workplace was invasive, but this is—” Your words cut off as you opened the door.

“Who are you?” you ask, your eyes shifting to the unfamiliar man standing beside Jack.

"I’m Dr. Lecter. Jack has asked me to assist in this case, similar to you," he says with a polite smile, more out of courtesy than genuine pleasure.

You recognize the name from Bloom. She mentioned him plenty of times, but this isn’t how you envisioned meeting him. It reminds you of when, after the "incident," as she likes to call it, she recommended him to you and offered to call him. You declined.

"Okay." Your glare bounces between the two men. Jack's scowl deepens while the doctor’s eyes remain fixed on you. You're not sure if he’s blinked once since you opened the door.

Jack groans and begins to speak. “I want you to speak to a professional for a psychological evaluation. I already told you this.”

You’re taken aback by his intrusion. “I’m sorry, is this an intervention?” Crawford opens his mouth to speak, but you continue before he can justify himself.

“This is ridiculous. First, you begged me to help you on this case, and now you're doubting my sanity?” 

You focus on maintaining eye contact with Jack, not fully seeing the doctor's face beside him, but through your blurry peripheral vision, it looks like amusement. What an asshole.

“I’m not doubting your sanity; I’m clearing this up for legal reasons.”

It’s bullshit, and you know it. “You know what I think, Jack? I think you’re scared of another fuck-up.” You bite, “You lost Miriam, and then, because of a lack of diligence on your part, you almost lost another one of your worker bees. And you just can’t handle another tragedy like that again.”

Jack opens and closes his mouth, more-so shocked by how cold you were to him than anything. You’ve been pissy before, but nothing like that.

It’s harsh and untrue; what happened to you or Miriam isn’t Jack's fault, but that’s not the point. You wanted to strike him where it hurts most. He confided in you about his guilt during the aftermath of your incident, and using it against him is cruel, but that’s what you’re going for, and it clearly worked.

Your gaze finally directs to Lecter, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, but I think it’s best you both leave.” 

As you swing your door shut, you see him smile. This time, it’s genuine. His crow's feet become prominent, and his top lip slides up to reveal his pointed canines. You much prefer his disingenuous smile to the one where he looks at you like a pretty little doll who just did a party trick.

2 YEARS EARLIER

The victim, a model named Clare Greene, her once beautiful face beaten until her nose lay flat across her face. Blood pools around her head from her slashed throat, soaking into the plush carpet that her back lies on. In both of her hands rest two magazines; she’s on the front cover of both. 

As you approach the body closer to snap another picture, you notice the defense wounds her wrists bore. “Who found her?” You ask, not to anyone specific; you just let the words come out of your mouth with hopes of an answer. 

“Her fiancé, ma'am. Ethan Kingsley, he was supposed to meet her for breakfast; when she didn’t show up, he came here to check on her.” The officer beside her answers.

You nod, your eyes scanning the room. Broken glass glittered on the floor near the bar; an overturned chair in the corner; the place was covered in blood splatters. 

“Jack!” You shout, hoping to get his attention. 

You hear his footsteps before you see him. “What?” He asks. 

“There's a fine mist of blood over here, most likely a result of her severed artery.” You say while motioning to your neck, “All across the back wall right there. The fatal blow happened here—then she stumbled onto the carpet, where she collapsed, and he started beating her. She was either unconscious or already dead when he started so he did it for the sake of it.” You explain. 

You move closer to her. “The long, linear streaks of blood that fan out from her indicate she was also stabbed before he started beating her. The angle and distribution suggest he was standing above her—not straddling and swinging the weapon in a very vertical downward motion.”

You continue as you lead Jack towards the bar area. “These smaller, less-directed spots are all scattered around this area. I think the first attack was here, but she put her forearms up to block it and ran, leaving the droplets behind as she ran.” You say while mimicking an X with your forearms, “It also matches the shallow defensive wounds right below her elbow; it didn’t go too deep; it seems like a very light slash.” 

Jack nods, quite for a moment. “Okay.” 

Not satisfied with his response, you say, “This is bad, Jack; four murders and no suspects. I’m just-” You cut yourself off with a sigh, ‘“I’m not very confident in my usefulness.” Your head ducks down in your admittance.

“I’m sure many feel that way; there's no point in festering it; that’s not how things get solved.” Jack scolds. 

As much as you’d rather allow Jack’s words to fall deaf on your ears, you know he's right; it’s not about you; it’s about the victims and solving what's been done to prevent more tragedies. “You’re right I’m sorry, you’re not my therapist. I don’t know why I said that.”

Jack says nothing and walks away, leaving you to stew in your own embarrassment over your unwelcome confession. 

PRESENT DAY

The next day, you arrive at your momentary office in the BAU. You can’t shake off the invasive encounter given by Jack. It sits heavily in your mind as you try to focus on the case files in front of you. It feels like your head is so full of tenacity it’ll start leaking out of your ears.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of determined footsteps outside your door. 

The door knobs twist and Beverly speedily walks in before you have time to adjust. Looking a bit more chipper than usual and dropping a stack of papers on your desk.

“Good morning. Any updates?” you ask, masking with a forced smile.

“Just the usual. Lab results, cross-references, the fun stuff,” she replies, giving you a teasing look. “‘Found out the specifics of the metal found on Elise’s body, which narrows things down a bit.” She smiles. 

“What?” you say, picking up and flipping through the papers without really seeing them. "You've got to be shitting me, and Jack didn’t even say anything to me.”

"Well, he mentioned heading off to Baltimore to talk to you but it seemed that never happened.” She cluelessly shrugged. 

Grateful for her being unaware of your awkward encounter with him and Lecter, you ask, “So what happened?”

With a smile, she turns her back and says, “Read it and talk to Jack.”

“Oh fuck you.” You say unserious; she doesn't give another response but you hear her laugh accompanied by your door closing as she leaves the quaint room. 

After reading the file, you make your way towards Jack’s office, curious as to why he didn’t bring this to your attention. As you approach the door to knock, it swings open and bumps into you. “Shit.” You say under your breath, pain blossoming where the door met your toes a moment ago. 

As you back away, Will immediately comes out. You both stand there staring at each other. You see his jaw open to speak before he turns and quickly walks away from you. 

You figure he was going to apologize for the collision, and now all you can think is if the reason he scurried off was because of the obvious stress he was exuding and decided to book it, or if he didn’t deem you worthy of an apology. 

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you peek into Jack's partially opened door and say, “I was wondering-” You feel yourself become silenced with the notice of another person in the room, Dr. Lecter.

“Oh.” Is all you can give for an immediate response. The room is quiet, Jack looks annoyed with your uninvited presence, and the man across from him seems to be sizing you up in a clinical fashion. 

They’re both waiting for you to speak, not wanting for this unbearable silence to continue for longer than you do. “My apologies; I didn’t mean to intrude.” You say before closing the door behind you. 

You quickly scurry off, and as you turn into another hallway, you see a familiar figure hunched over a water fountain. You fasten your pace and Will’s eyes open suddenly from the sound of rapid footsteps. He pulls away from the fountain, water dripping off his chin that he wipes off when he brings his forearm to his face. 

Within the few seconds you have before you reach him, you practice what to say and points to make speak that hopefully can de escalate his discomfort. 

“I understand my presence is quite unbearable for you but I’m asking for your assistance in a professional manner. I’m being left out of the loop on plans for Nichols and I would like to be more aware. I don’t feel as if I’ve contributed much and I’d prefer to do better.” You justify your presence to him. Some parts of you feels pathetic, not because of what you are doing but because you know you would never do it for someone else.

“I’m sure I know as much as you do.” 

You want him to say more to you so desperately. You’d rather him yell at you or punch you in the fucking stomach than be so reserved. You suppose it’s best; you quite literally came up here asserting it’s for professional reasons but only wish he’d deconstruct his walls and allow you in. 

God, you’re so entitled. 

With your shoulders slumped, you cordially respond, “I understand. Thank you for your time.” Before walking away. 

As fate would have it, everything unfolded in its twisted, godly way. The call came in for another victim—a woman impaled on a stag head left to be displayed in an empty field. A stark contrast from the meticulous love of the Strike; the dissonance Jacks is unable to see is migraine-inducing. 

Ding

Your phone chimes, and you really think that whatever higher-power there is is determined to rest your patience today. 

The screen, annoyingly bright, stares back at you, displaying a name that’s foreign to your recent call history.

Will

No last name; you know multiple Will’s, but they’re contacts are accompanied by their last name. But not Graham’s; he’s much more deserving than that. 

You feel like you’re hallucinating when you look at the words asking you to see him and where he’s staying. From any other man, this might have been a crude proposition, but not from Will. Sweet, enigmatic Will. 

You’re not sure if this is meant for someone else. He would have had to search through his contacts to find you, given the long period of silence between you. He couldn't even be sure you still had the same number. 

It must be meant for you. This is the opening you’ve been praying for; you’ve never been more thankful for deities you’re not sure if you even believe in. 

Your legs feel like they're moving for you as you stand up, hardly fazed by the morning cold as you walk to where Will’s staying; leaving your dingy motel room just to go to his. 

It feels like mere seconds from receiving the text to standing at his door; time feels so warped in the grip of anticipation.

Your knuckles gently tap the door multiple times to alert him of your presence. Flashbacks invade your brain of how awful your last encounter was, though your presence seems more welcome now. 

The door opens faster than you can blink. Will’s messy hair and lack of pants make you feel like you're intruding, despite his invitation. 

He cranes his neck out to look behind you. “Come inside,” he says, hushed. 

You walk inside, and all you can think of is how “Will” this place is; it’s like he was meant to stay here. But that could also just be you holding him in higher regard than necessary and assuming the world revolves around him. 

That very well could be it. 

As he closes the door, the room becomes cloaked in darkness. “Can I—could I open a curtain?” You ask. 

"Yeah, sure,” he says, waving off. As you open the curtains to see the morning sun, you see a familiar man dressed in a fitted suit walking towards the door. 

You stiffen, your muscles tighten and lock as you feel Will give you a glance, expecting you to know the visitor. 

“Did you invite Doctor Lecter as well?” You ask, just as confused as he is. 

"No, I did not.” He huffs as he opens the door, revealing the man with his fist raised, about to knock against the wood.

“Eager.” The man outside says with a subtle, entertained smirk. “Good Morning Will” 

Walking closer to the door, tilt your head to take a peek. "Morning, Doctor.” You unenthusiastically greet. 

His face momentarily drops, just quick enough to show disappointment, before rearranging his facial movements to show false delight. 

“Good morning to you as well.” He says politely. You can’t bother to verbally respond; this was meant to be a moment for possible reconciliation. Not interruption. 

Will, who’s deep in thought, snaps back into the present and offers the doctor to step inside out of the morning chill. He accepts it happily, seemingly aware that he interrupted something but he doesn't seem to care; if anything, it seems he’s taking enjoyment in it. 

“I came bearing gifts.” He says, raising the glass containers of food he’s holding. “Though my apologies, I didn’t expect you to have a guest.” He apologizes to Will. 

“I don’t eat in the mornings anyway; it makes me nauseous.” You excuse. 

Will gestures towards the small dining area, silently and awkwardly indicating for everyone to sit. You take a spot, sitting on a stiff wooden chair, trying to ignore the piercing gaze of Hannibal.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” Hannibal asks you as he gives Will his prepared meal as they both settle into their seats, with Will beside you and Hannibal parallel to you.

Wills eyes continue avoiding both of yours. "I needed to talk to someone who understood," he responds for you. 

Hannibal, opening his container of food on the table, raises an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you need to talk about, Will?"

Will hesitates, his fingers nervously fiddling with the fork in his hand. "Cassie Boyle. The case... it’s different this time."

Hannibal leans back, looking intrigued. "Different how?"

“What is the purpose of your visit?” You redirect the conversation. This was meant to be a private conversation and you don't appreciate the way Lecter finds it appropriate to put Will on the spot. 

You watch as his hand tightens the grip around the fork in his palm; he’s mastered the art of his facial control. He really is an incredible attempt at the personification of nonchalant, but he still has his tells. 

“An attempt to befriend a coworker; I’d like to serve the purpose of a mediator, alleviate tension when possible, and give my insight on more grim- work related things.” He answers. 

You know you shouldn’t taunt, but you can’t help it; the temptation is too grand. “What makes one worthy of a visit and what disqualifies another?” 

Hannibal seems pleased by your words, oddly enough. “You are more than qualified; I figured you’d appreciate time. I understand you’re not necessarily fond of me.”

“I’d argue the only person fond of you in this room is yourself.” You bite. Hannibal says nothing in return, nor does Will. They both eat in silence as you fidget with your hands, desperate to be soothed.

Staring at the painted wall in front of you, you watch through your peripheral as Hannibal swallows a bite of food from his fork and opens his mouth to speak to Will. “I would apologize for my analytical ambush the other day, but I know I would be apologizing again.” He says, flicking his head towards you briefly in recognition. “And you’ll tire of that eventually, so I have to consider using apologies sparingly.”

Quickly and harshly Will responds, “Just keep it professional.”

Hannibal responds after taking another bite of his cooking, “Or we could socialize like adults; God forbid we become friendly.”

“Where's Crawford?” You ask as soon as the thought rolls into your head. 

Hannibal’s head stiffly turns to face you. “Deposed in court. The journey will be ours today.” He curtly says. 

Then why did he exclusively come to Will? Why has he seemingly made no plans to properly introduce himself to you?

It’s not that you're jealous; it’s not his attention that you want; it’s just the simple need to be recognized as an equal. You’re good at what you do—great, even. And this isn’t the first time someone has disregarded you for no apparent reason. Well, you think you know why. 

Standing up from your chair, you speak. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be off-”

“Why?” Will immediately asks, mouth full of chewed food. 

“Gotta get ready for the day. Unfortunately, it takes more effort than just a clean shirt and brushed hair for me to be presentable. I’m sure you’d understand that, Doctor.” 

The moment the words come out of your mouth, you realize the accidental insult you've just given. You didn’t even mean to insinuate that he’s someone who must put in extra effort in order to be ready for the day, but by the way his grip tightens on his fork once again and the displeasing curl of his lips, you're sure he took it that way. 

“Jack gave a rental; I can drive you when you're ready?” Will offers, as pleased and equally confused you are for his sudden change of heart on your existence. You are also well aware that Lecter will most likely be hitching a ride to.

“I actually drove here. I thought it would be good for me to have some more time to sort out my thoughts.” You say, walking towards the door. “But thank you; I’ll see you both soon.” You say, as curtly as possible before twisting the handle and making your exit. 

Files, files and more files are all you’ve sorted through since you arrived at your destination, the place where the Shrike most likely works. 

You hear a car pull up next to the dingy little trailer of the office of the work site, the sound vibrant against the noise of ruffling papers and the secretary talking to her boss on the corded phone sitting on her desk. 

The door creaks open, and as you turn around, you’re greeted by the sight of Will walking in through the door held open by Hannibal. 

“I’ve sorted through these four on the left so far,” you say in reference to the seemingly never ending towers of file cabinets. “And those boxes are where I’m throwing shit that if you twist an arm and a leg, you might be able to find something slightly suspicious.” 

Hannibal walks in, closing the door behind him and Will nods. “What about her?” He asks, tilting his head to the side where the secretary sits. 

“Conversation with her boss, I think. One that doesn’t seem to be going very well.” You explain with a tiny humorous smirk. Her head snaps towards you as she glares, unable to verbalize any frustration so she settles for squinted eyes. 

“Do you need direction?” You condescendingly ask. Hannibal, seemingly unfazed by your attitude at this point, does nothing but shake his head and say, “Not yet, no. But I’m sure you’ll give me some.” His smile contradicting his pointed words. 

Moments went by, flipping through papers upon papers. The feeling of being stuck in a never ending loop is finally broken by the secretary's voice directed at the three of you. 

“What did you say your names where?” She asks, standing up. 

Before you or Hannibal could respond, Will does. “Garrett Jacob Hobbs?”

With a sigh, the woman answers, “He’s one of our pipe threaders. Those are all the resignation letters. ‘Plumbers Union requires ‘em whenever members finish a job.” She says, before quickly spinning around and whispering into the phone, “I’ll call you back.” And places the landline back onto the plunger. 

Finished with her phone conversation, Will continues to inquire. "Uh, does Mr. Hobbs have a daughter?”

“Might have.” She says in her tired, monotone voice. 

“Eighteen or nineteen, wind-chafed, um- plain but pretty. She’d have auburn hair; be about this tall.” He motions a bit below his ear. 

She shrugs in response. “Maybe I don't know. I don’t keep company with these people.”

“What is it about Garrett Jacob Hobbs you find so peculiar?” Lecter's voice chimes in. 

“He left a phone number, no address.” He answers, his back still facing you both. 

 The doctor questions Will once again, turning to face more towards him, “And therefore he has something to hide?”

Taking a short breath to breathe, Will answers, “The others all left addresses; he also missed work for days at a time.” You can see he’s slowly getting more wound up. His mind is moving and scrambling around different possibilities too fast for him to make sense of, and what he can decipher is nothing short of tasteless. 

"Do you have an address for Mr. Hobbs?” You chime in an attempt to take a sliver of weight off of Will’s shoulders. 

The dark haired woman rolls her eyes and silently walks toward her desk. She takes a few moments to gather her information, the sounds of a keyboard clicking and shallow- impatient breaths fill the room. 

Grabbing a pen, she scribbles numbers onto the small square of paper before standing up once more to hand it to Will. 

As often as it happens, you feel like you’ll never get used to the way men are consistently served first in this field. It's not Will’s fault of course, and you’re sure it wasn’t intentional on her part. But in a way that makes it worse, how habitual it is to subconsciously ignore you, woman, really anything out of the typical white male mold of an old detective movie. 

You’ll never forget how Jack was so quickly disregarded in one of the first cases you accompanied him with. It was in some southern state where a series of home invasions resulted in multiple murders over a handful of months. On the way to the crime scene, the neighbourhood held lawns of homes that were decorated with not only American flags but Confederate ones as well. You watched the way the local police interacted with Crawford. The kind of people who tolerated him for his help but nothing else—aversion constantly clouded their eyes. 

It's not that you haven't encountered appalling people of that sort before, but it was the moment when it clicked that no matter how remarkable your work is, if Crawford could be so quickly disregarded because prejudice, the man who was truly their saving grace for this case, what chance do you have to truly excel in your field?

“I could start loading the boxes in the trunk; can you unlock it?” You ask, not even bothering to look at the yellow Post-it note containing the address. 

Looking at you with brows furrowed, he digs in his trouser pockets. “It’s manual, you have to unlock it.” He says while handing you the set of cool rigid metal. 

“That's fine.” You say with a smile before heading out the door. Taking a breath of metal-scented air in an attempt to calm your nerves. Things are going okay—well, even.

 Will seems to be no longer sickened by your presence, for whatever reason that may be. You're trying not to think of that, the reasoning for this sudden change of heart, and how you may already know it if it weren't for Lecter's earlier intrusion. 

You're trying not to hold much disdain for him, to put it aside for the time being when there are non-metaphorical lives on the line. But it’s hard when the only thing you now personally know him for is an invasive little bastard. Not much like Bloom had described him to you before, back when you were civil. That's not fair to her, though; she’s civil—you're not. You're much too bitter now for niceties.

Moments pass by while you, Will, Hannibal and the secretary are hauling boxes out of the small office trailer into the back of the rental car. A monotonous and tedious task. One that may not seem to be fit for all though, as the doctor allows a box to stumble in hands, paper falling onto the wet ground. 

Of course, Will’s the one to solve the problem, falling to his knees to scrounge the paper and telling the man not to worry. You watch as he doesn't even give a thank you in return; he just hustles back inside. 

Clearly, the man doesn't have as much decorum inside of him as he presents. 

Though you may not have room to speak, the moment the task was done, you grabbed the address covered note and put it into your car's GPS before telling Will just to follow you. You're sure you're contributing to his stress by being so evasive, but until you can stop being so erratic, your best bet is to stay slippery, not allowing him to get a good enough grasp on who you are before you can conceal it.

The robotic voice from your center console alerts you of the approaching destination. Turning on your turn signal a bit early to alert Will driving behind you of the driveway you are about to pull into.

You can only appreciate the home once you step out of your car. The plain suburbia of the family home becomes clearer once you get closer to the front door. 

You turn to watch Will and Lecter step out of the car, Hannibal surveying the place with an analytical gaze much like your own, while Wills is unique. It’s Wills. 

You're unsure if you should wait for Will and have him be the one to knock at the door. You’re defenceless; you have no gun, no badge, and no reason for someone to open the door for you alone. 

The decision seems to have been made for you when the door opens. Turning to look, you are greeted by the sight of bloodied hair and body weight pushed onto you. Before being granted a moment to collect your thoughts, you feel yourself falling. The sight of a man with a knife turning away is the only distinct thing you can make out as the rest melts into a scene of blurry green and blue before you and the body on top of you hit the ground.

The moment your head hits the concrete, you know you're done for. The sound of your hard skull smacking against the ground reverberates through your spine like an echo. An uncomfortable pounding takes over all your senses as Will runs up to you. The body weight of the woman is pushed off of you. You can hear the vibrations of his voice against your eardrums but nothing more—all unintelligible in your mangled brain. 

You can feel your mind quickly leave its haze as fast as it came to you, your senses returning. You pull yourself up on your forearms to try to slowly raise yourself up. “Go.” Your voice sounds weird coming out of you; it's so loud that it feels like a microphone is hiding in your throat. 

An unfamiliar hand grabs the back of your skull. “I’m here; you can go, Will.” Hannibal's voice firmly says behind you. 

And he does; he quickly stands, pulling out his gun and walks into the house as Lecter pulls you by your armpits to sit properly. “You’re not bleeding.” He states, moving your hair around your head softly to check. 

“Bleeding.” You think. Blood. You can feel blood all over your skin. You know you’re not bleeding, you don’t feel anything leaving you. But you feel everything on you. 

The woman lays beside you, face up towards the dreary sky, as the sound of a quiet pattering of blood collects in a pool below. “God.” You exclaim while attempting to push yourself up from your wobbly arms.

“Slow do-” The accented voice behind you speaks before being cut off by a series of gunshots. You feel each noise in your chest, each one causing your heart to sink further into your stomach. Ignoring the dizziness blooming in your head, you clumsily stand up. Hannibal's hands pointlessly attempt to grip you to help your stability as you quickly stumble into the Hobbs residence. 

The overwhelming smell of iron invades your nostrils—you freeze. Will huddles over a limp body, you from behind as he struggles to place his hands. Jack was right, you're not ready for this. Slumped in the corner lies a man, bullet wounds decorating his chest in rows.

Will killed him.

Your mind plays the sentence over and over again on loop as you feel Dr. Lecter's eyes bore into the back of your skull. He walks over to Will, his posture so straight that it's unnerving. The way his hands steadily grip the young girl's throat to prevent more blood from spurting out mocks your shaky ones. 

Will beside him looks just as shaken up as you do, sitting there frozen, watching as the girl on the floor clings to life. 

“Call in.” Hannibal's voice shakes you from your thoughts. As if on autopilot, your bloody hand messily dials for an ambulance. Your words sound so foreign, entirely not yours, as you explain the scene in front of you, eyes locked on Will as he dissociates from his surroundings. 

It happens so slowly and so fast. A whirl of paramedics running in. Ushering you all to leave, but you can’t. The moment you exit the door, you freeze at the woman's body in front of you.     

She was murdered, died on top of you and was the last bit of warmth she felt before she went cold. You feel sad, A woman's life was brutally stolen from her far too early. You feel sad about the surrounding context of her death, but mostly you feel gross, dirty, sticky, and frustrated that she had to expel her life force all over you. 

You want a shower.  

After getting checked by the waiting paramedic outside, who confirmed a grade 1 concussion. You can't stop thinking about what just happened to Will's head. He just murdered a man to save a life and you know what that can do to someone—it's the exact thing that ruined you. 

You’ve done it again, showing up uninvited again, only this time to his motel room and not his home. But you have to talk to him. 

Some agent you never even got the name of drove you both back to your respected quarters. Neither of you were in a state to drive; you can’t for the next 48 hours and Will... God knows how Will is. 

That's why your visit is needed; it’s not for your peace of mind; it's not an apology; it’s to make sure he's not alone with thoughts and has someone to help clear them. 

After knocking at his door once again, he opens it. “Hi.” Your voice cracks.

“Hi.” Greets back. He sounds…tired.

“I wanna come in.” You tell him there's no point in pleasantries; he’s known why you’re here since the moment you knocked on the door. 

Fortunately, that gets him to crack a small smile and say, “Sure.” 

As you both walk further into his room, he closes the door behind you. The room’s dimly lit, and the curtains drawn tightly to block out the world. You can see the disarray around you—books strewn across the floor, papers piled haphazardly on the desk, and an untouched dinner plate on the nightstand.

“I brought a gift.” You say, sticking your arm out, handing him the bottle.

"Vending machine root beer, you shouldn’t have." He attempts a joke, but the effort is hollow. Everything he says only deepens your concern; he’s so quick to brush off everything that's happened and act as if everything's fine.

“You’re freaking me out, Will,” you awkwardly laugh. “I know your feeling pretty fucked up right now. You don’t have to act unbothered.”  

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, a defensive look quickly absorbing his eyes. “Just because you couldn’t handle it doesn’t mean I can’t.” The moment the weight of the words he’s thrown at you registers, Will's face drops. His entire guarding demeanour immediately shatters the moment they come out.

"I-I’m sorry." You stutter out in shock of how his attitude is instantaneously flipped by words. "I know what happened was different; I just wanted to check up on you." Your words are met with silence, the two of you just pitifully staring at each other. The room feels colder, the silence is more suffocating.

He breathes out your name so softly that you almost don’t hear it. “I don’t know…why I sa-said that.” His hand roughly runs through his hair as he takes a step forward. “I want you to stay.” He states, uncharacteristically bold from him. 

Unsure what to make of his words, you just stand there. Both your minds are reeling—Will’s for a way to apologize and yours to just disappear. 

“I know I didn’t handle myself well.” You say, taking a deep breath, “I’m not saying my actions will be your own; I just wish I had someone to understand what its like to take a human life and not hate it.” 

That's it—the thing you could never admit, not even to yourself. So much time was spent sprilling about why you are the way you are. Trying to convince yourself that this feeling brewing inside you is new, that it had been manually moulded. 

Panicking from your admission, you quickly follow up. “I didn’t mean to project—fuck, I just don’t want you to wallow in the guilt of change like I did. What Hobbs did- who he was—was entirely irredeemable.” 

Another step closer and the gap between you both becomes bridged, and his large hands rest gently on your cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He delicately whispers. 

You can’t help it; you fall apart and the dam behind your eyes breaks. The tears cascade down your cheeks faster than you can blink them away as he pulls you into his chest. You can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, the reminder that he’s real, he’s here, and he’s okay.

“I was so fucking scared when I heard those gunshots,” you whisper into his chest. His grip on you tightens, pushing you further into him. You both stay like that for God knows how long. From how heavily you’ve soaked his T-shirt with your tears and how you feel it around your brow bones and eye sockets, you’d guess it’s been a while. And with a deep sigh, you finally feel him pull away. “Are you okay?” He asks, gently looking you up and down.

“I should be asking you that.” You scoff, “Minor concussion; I’ll be fine in a couple days and a good night's sleep.”

He raises his brows in shock. “Yeah, well, good luck getting that.” You can’t help but laugh at his tone and reaction, as if you just said the most bizarre thing in the world. 

A grin makes his way across his face at the sound of your laugh. “I miss you.” 

You freeze. It’s what he said that took you off-gaurd, just the way he said it. The tone wasn’t sad or nostalgic; it was happy. Present tense too; he didn’t once mourn you and, over time, healed the wounds of a lost friendship. No, they’re still open, and he still misses you.

You were so caught up in your concern for him that you never had a moment to grasp the closeness between you too. Looking up, you see him. The individual hairs growing out of his chin, forming his stubble; the small scar on his cheek that he got when he was a child but doesn't remember how; and his eyes. Those blue eyes that hold so much patience, so much care and so much understanding it makes you weak to your knees. You see Will—sweet, complex, deserving Will. 

His hands grip your face more firmly this time, peering into your soul like you just autopsied yours. He's drinking you in your image, like he’s been starved, dehydrated, and famished. You wouldn’t dare pull away and deny him what he wants; you’ll give him anything and if he wants your soul, you’ll bare it to him. 

“The only thing I regret is everything I did to you.” It’s such a heavy admission—one that’s entirely out of left field, and he still doesn’t know the true weight of it. “Please,” The words so delicately come from you. You’re not sure what your pleading for—forgiveness? But for which of your sins? In what context are you begging for repentance?

It doesn't matter what you decide. The only thing that does is how close his lips are to yours and how it’s still not enough. 

“I know.” His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, then more certain. The kiss is a soft exploration, a silent conversation filled with all the words you couldn’t bring yourselves to say. You feel his hands trembling slightly against your skin, betraying the calm exterior he’s trying to maintain. 

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless. He rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. He’s quiet, waiting for the moment for you to turn and run like you do, but it doesn’t come. Instead, your hand finds itself on the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his curls as you pull him in for another kiss. 

Just as eager as you, he deepens the kiss, his hands moving from your cheeks to your waist, desperate to have you as close as he can. You could feel his heart beating against his chest, rhythmically in-sync with your own.

Energy intensifies, with hands greedily grabbing whatever they can, saliva coating each other's lips, feet scrambling across the floor until your back hits the crumpled sheets of the unmade motel bed.   

The thin mattress creaks under your combined weight, but you barely notice—too preoccupied with catching each sound that spills from Will's mouth. His hands explore the curves and slopes of your torso with an urgency so similar to yours. Every touch, every kiss, makes your body buzz with ache, desperate to consume him from the outside-in. 

He breaks away for a moment, his breath ragged, eyes dark with desire. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a rough whisper.

"Yes," you reply without hesitation, your voice as steady as you could be despite the pounding of your heart. "I’m sure."

With that, he captures your lips again, his hands slipping under your shirt, the warmth of his calloused fingertips on your ribs sending shivers within you. You lose yourself in the sensation, the world outside the room fading into oblivion. 

All you can think of is Will. 

Will's hands slipping off your shirt. 

Will’s chest bare against yours as you slip off his. 

Will’s mouth on your neck, nibbling on your collarbone. 

Will looking deliciously vulnerable covered in crimson outside of the Hobbs house. 

The moan that slips out of your mouth as his tongue meets your nipple is involuntary; his wet mouth lays kisses and bites along the fat of your breast as he grips the other. 

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and hungry as he breathes your name out, his voice thick with lust coating his vocal cords like honey. His hands roam lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your hips. His kisses trail down from your sternum to your stomach, getting sloppier as his breath contrasts with the coolness of his spit. 

You gasp as he reaches your underwear, his fingers teasing the fabric. "Will," you whimper, your voice a mixture of need and desperation you’ve never heard from yourself before. 

He peers up at you, his silvery eyes filled with desire—desire for you. "Do you trust me?"

Without a moment of hesitation, you reply, "Yes."

With a smile both wicked and tender, he pulls your underwear down and spreads your legs, revealing you to him. His eyes roam over your body, taking in every detail, every curve, and every inch. He leans in, his breath hot against your slick center, and then his tongue flicks out, tasting you.

You arch your back, a moan escaping you as he explores you with his mouth. His fingers tease your entrance, rubbing just around it in circles while his tongue dances around your clit. 

You grip the sheets tightly, your nails digging into the fabric. You’d latch your hands onto his head but you're afraid you’d rip his scalp off his head. The sensations are overwhelming, not because of the pleasure coursing through you, but because it’s Will distributing it. 

Will's mouth is relentless, his tongue flicking and probing, while his fingers continue to tease.

He was devouring you, and you were more than happy to be consumed. 

“Will," you moan, your voice breathy, desperate for more—anything else he’s willing to give. "Please." 

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with lust, then slides two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out in a slow, steady rhythm. You cry out, your body bucking against his mouth, your hips grinding against his fingers as you feel the prickle of his facial hair on your thighs as you squeeze them tighter around his head. 

“So good,” he whimpers into you, his voice a mixture of need and desperation while he works you closer to your ledge. He does nothing but continue his assault, his tongue flicking against your clit, his fingers thrusting in and out of you. You can feel the orgasm building in your stomach, the pressure mounting higher and higher as he desperately bucks into the bed for some form of friction.

"Will," you cry out, your voice louder this time, begging him for your release. He’s still so wordless—nothing but the vibrations of moans and grunts coming from him. Instead, he responds by increasing the pace of his fingers, his tongue more aggressive as you feel yourself tipping over the edge. 

You feel your body move for you, sporadically convulsing as your orgasm washes over you as he drinks up release, coating his mouth and fingers. He continues his movements while you come down from your high, his hands prying your thighs open as he fucks his tongue into you, savouring your taste.

You're left panting, your body trembling, and your mind swimming in a foggy haze of pleasure when he finally pulls away from you with an expression of satisfaction. He moves up your body, his lips finding yours in a tender kiss. 

You can feel your slick coating his facial hair as he kisses you, rubbing it onto you. It’s a messy and filthy action but fuck does it get you going. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gruff but gentle. 

You can’t help but smile; he’s so fucking perfect. 

A grin coats your face. “Yeah.” He’s gorgeous; the light is low, the cool light of the moon peeking out the sides of the curtains. You can’t see Will in his entirety, but that’s fine. His face so close to yours, his body on top of yours—you don’t need to see him; just feel him. 

He smiles a small-relieved grin. “Good,” he whispers before pulling away. You didn’t realize he removed sweats until you felt the tip of his cock teasing you. A whine escapes from your lips as he rocks his dick back and forth along your pussy, coating himself in your cum. 

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, his pace deliberate, giving you time to adjust. Your brain short-circuits from how deeply he’s stretching you out every time he slips himself further inside you. 

He pauses, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel so fucking good.”

You feel braindead; you've never been so pilant in your life. “More.” You manage to whisper out, your voice shaky. 

He starts to move, his thrusts slow and shallow. Just the feeling of his cock repeatedly entering you makes your brain feel fuzzy. You can feel every inch of him, the way he fills you, how tightly you’re wrapped around him. 

You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he picks up pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. “‘Missed you so fucking much,” he grumbles into your neck.

“M’sorry.” You whimper, “M’sorry, M’sorry.” You say fragmentedly, it took him nothing to fuck you dumb and yet your entire brain is filled with nothing but the repetition of his name. 

The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the wetness of your bodies, and the occasional moan that escapes from either of your lips—the both of you soaking up the feeling of each other in this moment. 

You can feel the pressure building up again—the familiar prickle in your abdomen. “Please, don’t fucking stop.” Your voice desperately cries out.  

He doesn’t slow down; instead, he picks up pace, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more desperate. You can feel him shaking, his body trembling as he nears his climax. Not bothering the silence himself anymore, he becomes just as loud as you, no longer speaking coherent praises, just moans and grunts that slowly raise in pitch with each stroke inside you he makes. 

Nothing but each other’s names spill from your lips in affirmation that you're both here, together. You cry out, your back arching off the bed in a desperate attempt to be closer as your orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy clenches around him, milking him as he spills himself inside you, as he collapses on top of you. You feel his breath against your neck in ragged pants as his cock continues to twitch inside you, the last of his cum filling you up. 

You wrap your arms around him, you're both spent. Bodies slick with cum and sweat, the euphoric high wearing off allowing the reality of how tired you’ve been the last couple to take hold of you. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You breathlessly ask. As sleepy as you are, you have to make an attempt to do what you came for—someone to talk to. 

Head on your chest, you can feel his smile form. “I was liking how little talking we were doing.” 

A laugh puffs from chest at his response, “That works too.” You say, gazing down at him. As if he could feel your stare, he raises his head to look at you, chin resting on your breast. “I’m happy.”

A small laugh now finds its way from his chest at the juvenile remark. As ridiculous as it seems, that is the best way to describe it. It doesn't need complex-flowery language, you're just glad to be in his presence, alive and healthy. You're just happy. 

And he understands, his gaze softens as a sincere smile crawls on his face, “Me too.”

[prisonhannibal]

casino royale au just for fun and because mads mikkelsen is a bond girl <3 I didnt want the cbt to be part of an interrogation scene but felt like I couldnt make an AU based on the movie where mads did cbt without acknowledging the cbt, so in this they just did it for fun or something.

Agent Graham is back after a highly encouraged "vacation" due to his behavior etc while Jack Crawford was figuring out what to do with him. This time he's going to europe to investigate a guy suspected of being involved with a criminal organization. Will finds out that Dr. Lecter actually isn't that involved or loyal to the group he's just playing poker and having fun fucking with people, but he is a cannibalistic serial killer (which no one even suspected him of) and they run away together at the end<3

important detail (to me!) is that in the second picture he figured out what Hannibal's tell is while playing poker by accidentally copying his body language

[multifandom--mess]

Hannigram Fic Recs!

These are just a select few of my personal favorites. I'm sorry if these are too long but I mostly only read long fics

Shark Tank by xzombiexkittenx (71k) (Explicit) - Will and Hannibal meet in prison. Hannibal is still the Ripper, Will is still a profiler who had encephalitis. Only now they're cell mates (SO GOOD and i love love the ending of this one)

Five Times Hannibal Visits Will and One Time He's Already Home (or: Coffee Cake) by bones_2_be (82k) (Explicit) - When Will tells Hannibal to leave at the end of Digestivo, he goes. And then, a few years later, he shows back up. They have long conversations, drink a lot of wine, at the end of it all they find something that works.

In Sickness and in Health by BonesAndScales (76k)(Mature) - Everyone knows that Will and Hannibal are married. Not everyone knows that they are married to each other. (SO CUTE)

Letters to You by Wr4tttttthh (17k)(Explicit) - Will and Hannibal want to learn to love. It isn't easy, it never was. (Post-Fall where they both keep a journal and they write letters to each other. There's some angst but its so so so sweet such a good read)

Time Waits for No One by Shotgun_sinner (104k)(Explicit) - After Will turns Hannibal away in Digestivo, he does not surrender to Jack. Instead, he heads to Cuba with Chiyoh, where he recovers from emotional and physical wounds. Hannibal was resolved to let Will go, and he does. Until he reads a Wedding Engagement announcement, that is. (THIS ONE IS SO GOOOD)

On Hiatus by Observe_or_Participate (197k)(Explicit) - AU where Abigail and Hannibal met in similar circumstances to those narrated in S1, only without Will being in the picture. They bonded. 4 years later, it's early summer 2021. Hannibal and Abigail are living in Tuscany as father and daughter, where they run a high-end bed and breakfast in a remote location on the hills... amongst other things. FBI profiler Will Graham, on leave from work after the restrictions caused by the Covid-19 pandemic worsened his already iffy mental health, arrives on the premises, for reasons he is not fully ready to admit to himself. An incendiary attraction between our two boys is inevitable, but how honest can they really be with each other? (THIS IS SO UNDERRATED OMG)

between here and there by deadratz (78k)(Explicit) - Will's name is the last word Hannibal spoke in his presence. That was two months ago, directly after the fall, and Hannibal has not said a single word since. Now Will has to navigate through their lives together without Hannibal's voice to guide him. (PLEASE READ THIS ONE IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL)

Falling Away with You by Shotgun_sinner (191k)(Explicit) - Will Graham is a private detective with a fiancée who doesn't understand him, his empathy disorder, or his obsession with catching the Chesapeake Ripper. His night terrors force him into an ultimatum; couple's therapy, or their relationship is done. Will meets his new therapist, Hannibal Lecter, and his entire world is turned upside down. (this is one of the first hannigram fics i ever read and i still come back to it often it is so good)

Dianthus Barbatus by Cynthia_Cross (84k)(Explicit) - Set 10 years before the start of the show, Will and Hannibal meet in the dead of night while dumping the bodies of their respective victims in the same place. (THIS IS SOME GOOD SHIT HERE)

With a Crown of Stars by romanticallyinept (33k)(Explicit) - When the call connects, Will says, “I know what kind of crazy I am, but I’m not this kind of crazy.” “Will?” Dr. Lecter says. “Yes, hi, sorry,” Will says. “It’s me. There’s a baby on my porch.” (A cute kidfic to end with. I was grinning the whole time)

I hope you guys enjoy these. If you read any of them(or have read them before) tell me your thoughts. I feel like i don't have anyone to scream with about fics

@imthebisexual @mildlyinterestedcreature

[rottngdeer]

Bloodsuckers — 5

Pairings || Hannibal Lecter x Vampire!Female!Reader x Will Graham

Part 5/?

Part 4

Contents/Warnings || Not proofread. Hannibal being Hannibal, blood consumption, implied murder, SMUT !!, fingering, p in v.

Authors Note || hi, so sorry for the delay in chapters. my mental health has been trash and junior year of college is beating my ass :’) but i’m rewatching hannibal again and finally got enough inspiration to start writing again wooo.

AO3 || here

“So Jack hired you and doesn’t even believe in what your saying?”

“To put it bluntly, yes. What’s your excuse?” Will asks.

“Me and Hannibal have.. an arrangement. One that I can’t get out of.”

A silence came between you and Will. He had shown up to your house out of the blue, pushing you further about your relationship with Hannibal. It seemed like Will only knew Hannibal’s secret, but not yours, and not what you and Hannibal’s relationship really was.

“Look, Will, I can’t help you with this.”

“Does he have something on you?”

“No.”

Another silence. You lied, obviously, but you could tell that Will didn’t believe you.

“What is it?”

“Will-“

“What is it?? We can help each other.”

“No, we can’t. Whatever you think it is, it’s not that, trust me.”

“Why can’t you trust me?” Will asked straightforwardly.

“It’s complicated. I trust you, but I really, really can’t talk about this.” You put your hands on both of his shoulders, gently squeezing them, “I can take care of myself. And I can take care of Hannibal.”

“Take care of him, hm?”

“No like that,” your arms fell back to your sides. “I can take care of my situation with him.”

You were annoyed. Annoyed that Will wouldn’t stop pushing you about Hannibal, annoyed that Hannibal had power over you, annoyed that you hadn’t consumed any blood in a few days. Your eyes kept landing on Wills neck, but your thoughts kept wandering to Hannibal.

“You should go,” You told Will, rubbing your temples, “I don’t want to talk about this again.” Will looks annoyed, but he doesn’t fight you. He leaves without another word, and you stand alone in your living room for a few minutes but pulling your phone out of your pocket, hesitantly calling Hannibal.

He picks up quickly, “Y/N.”

“Do you.. have anything for me?” You ask, staying vague on the phone.

“20 minutes.”

“Thank you,” you mumble. hanging up. You pace the room while you wait, hungry and tired.

Hannibal was punctual as usual, ringing your doorbell at exactly 20 minutes. “Hello,” He says when you open the door. You pull him inside, locking the door behind him as he says, “I’ve only brought myself for you.”

“That’s fine,” You watch him take off his blazer and roll up his sleeve. There’s faint marks on his arm from the last time you fed off him, only serving as a reminder for how good he tasted. He sits down on your couch and waits for you to join him, holding his arm out comfortably for you. You sit close beside him and lean down, running your tongue along the vein on his arm before sinking your fangs into him. As you feed, you feel his eyes glued to you. You both knew that he got something out of watching you feed; a fascination or morbid curiosity about your species and how you work. You eventually pull away, licking the droplets of blood that spill out of the puncture wounds.

He wiped a line of blood off of your chin with his thumb, keeping eye contact as he sucks it off of his finger. You eventually break the silence by saying, “I’ve never met a human like you before. I mean that as both of a compliment and an insult.”

Hannibal doesn’t reply to that, roughly grabbing your chin and commanding, “Open.”

You slowly open your mouth and watch as Hannibal eyes your fangs curiously. You close your mouth after a minute and are suddenly met with Hannibal’s lips hitting yours. An almost violent make-out ensues, with both of you fighting for dominance over each other for a few minutes. You eventually bite his tongue, not too hard but enough to draw blood. He breaks the kiss, tasting his own blood in his mouth. He gives you no time to react as he roughly grabs your hips and spins you, shoving you onto your stomach on the couch. You feel the weight shift as Hannibal moves from sitting normally to standing on his knees. He grabs your hips again, pulling them up so your ass was in the air.

“That was very rude of you,” He says, his hands reaching around your waist and unzipping your jeans, swiftly pulling them down and off. He pushes your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off. You look over your shoulder at him as he licks two of his fingers before pushing them inside of you. You let out a low moan and buried your face into the couch cushion. He wasn’t gentle with you, shoving his fingers in and out of you quickly, stretching you out to prepare you for him.

Your hips instinctively pushed back against him, craving more as he continued, only to feel his fingers pull out of you. You hear his belt clink and his pants unzip before he grabs your hips again, holding them still before pushing himself inside you. You hiss and grab the couch cushion, the pain and pleasure of it overwhelming you.

Hannibal gave you a minute to adjust before pulling out almost fully and slamming back in. “Fuck!” You cursed, clenching around him, only encouraging him to start a rough pace, pushing in and out of you hard and fast.

He keeps his pace steady, his hands holding your hips in place as you attempted to squirm. It didn’t take long for you to feel the fire in your stomach grow hotter as your orgasm approached. Your moans began to get louder at each thrust, your nails digging into the couch cushion. You felt Hannibal’s weight press against your ass as he leaned forward, one of his hands leaving your hip to reach around and rub small circles on your clit. Your eyes squeezed shut as you began to shake, your moans going up in pitch before you came, crying out his name.

Hannibal kept his pace up for another minute before his hips stuttered and you heard him groan before spilling inside of you. He stays inside of you for a moment before pulling out, pushing your panties back into place. You slowly sat up, finally looking at him as he zips his pants back up and tucking in his button up.

The two of you sit next to each other for a minute before he says, “I’ll run you a bath.” He stands, looking down at you and holding out his hand. You hesitantly take it, following him into the bathroom, wondering just how much more complicated this would be now that you’ve done this with him.

[honeygrahambitch]

Will: *betrays Jack by calling Hannibal to tell him that they know*

Will: *tells Jack directly that Hannibal was his friend and that he regrets not running away with him*

Will: *runs away to Florence*

Will: *tells Jack again that part of him will always want to run away with Hannibal*

Will: *suggests Jack to use Hannibal as bait*

Jack: sounds right, i trust you Will

[alina-dixon]

Open doors never mean a good thing

Pairing: Hannibal x Male reader x Will

TW: near death, blood, violence, killing, angst, fluff.

Requested: Yes / No

---

It was late, your husbands Hannibal and Will were just done with a new case and ready to head home to you. Both sitting in the Car and about to pull into the driveway. “Do you think he would be happy if we went to an amusement park with him?” Will asked glancing over at Hannibal who drove the car.

Will and Hannibal had planned to go to an amusement park with you tomorrow, and they wanted to tell you at today's dinner, as a little surprise.

Hannibal looked over at Will for a moment and back to the street, smiling. “I'm sure he would love it, you know how childish he can be. He would probably enjoy it more than most of the people that went there.” Will laughed at that, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, probably!”.

Some time went by and they finally pulled into the driveway, getting out of the car, they felt like something was off... And they were right. The moment when they walked to the door they noticed that it was open. This alarmed the both of them and Will pulled his weapon out.

“O-Open doors never mean a good thing” mumbled Will, looking at Hannibal who was also ready to kill if he needed to. They made their way slowly into the house when they heard a noise coming from the living room.

When They got there, they stood on the side of the doorframe, looking inside their eyes widened with horror. There were two men with bloodied clothes in the room, standing right in front of their blood stained and beaten up Husband who was hanging from the ceiling, gasping and panting while struggling against the ropes that were strangling him, trying to stay alive.

Instantly both of them run into the room, Hannibal with a knife and Will with his gun raised. Both men turned around at the sound of the steps only to be greeted with an angry Hannibal and an even so angry Will. Will shot the first man into his arm, while Hannibal was trying to stab the other one with his knife, which leads him to lose it and to fight the man with bare hands.

So when Will shot the male in his head he ran towards Hannibal and the other male he instantly shot him, when the man fell they rushed to their still struggling Husband who was about to turn blue from the lack of air. “Hold on Y/N! Hannibal get the knife!” Will screamed on the verge of tears.

While Hannibal rushed to get the knife from the floor Will had put his arms around your legs and held you up, so you won't strangle to death. Hannibal rushed back with a chair and the knife. He stepped onto the chair cutting you loose, now completely falling into Will’s arms.

Will slowly put you onto the floor “Please Y/N! You have to hold on!” now fully on crying as he saw how bloody and beaten up you were, you also had stab wounds and cuts all over your body, and your face was swollen and you had a black eye, your flannel shirt torn, and your jeans were ripped. Hannibal also had tears rolling down his face as he kneeled next to you “We’re here dear, it's going to be okay” he whispered while caressing your face with his right hand. Your breath was uneven and your eyes were almost closed.

Will stood up, pulling his phone out of his jacket, struggling to call Jack. When Jack picked up he only could hear someone crying on the other side “Will? Will!? What's going on? What happened!?” Jack was getting worried when Will didn't respond for a minute. “J-Jack! W-We need y-y-you a-and an A-Ambulance! Y-Y/N got attacked. One I-of the attacker's s-still lives.” Will trambled over his own words almost choking.

This alarmed Jack “Shit! We will be on our way, hold on!” Running could be heard on Jack’s side. “Hurry the Fuck up we've got somewhere to be, we’ll need an ambulance too!” more running could be heard. “We will be there shortly!” and with that Jack hung up.

Will’s hands were trembling as he puts his phone away, and walked back to Your side, he kneeled down and held onto your arm with one hand, and with the other one he held Hannibal’s arm. “Why-why is this happening!? Why him!?” Will cried looking at Hannibal. “I don't know, but Jack has to find out why!” Hannibal’s voice was angry, which is normal when your Husband was about to be murdered by some assholes. Hannibal kissed the top of Will’s head.

Suddenly footsteps could be heard from outside same as the shouting from Jack. Jack, four FBI agents, and three medics came rushing inside. When Jack saw Y/N on the floor his eyes widened “Shit! Hurry up and get him to the hospital!” Jack screamed, as the medics pushed Hannibal and Will off of you.

When jack looked at the FBI agents, they already had the man who was still alive handcuffed. “Get him out! And send the others in to get the corpse!” Jack turned to Hannibal and Will “What happened?” he asked trying to calm himself down. “We d-don’t know. W-When we drove h-here the door was open. A-And when we came i-in these men w-were standing in front o-of him, a-and he was hanging from the ceiling.” Will hugged Hannibal, eyes red and puffy as he cried into his shoulder. Both of them were still in shock.

Hannibal’s eyes were red too “Either way you find out why they did this, or we will” Hannibal was serious and that is for sure. Jack sighed and nodded his head, knowing that Hannibal was serious “We will inform you about everything we get.” when Jack said that he saw the medics getting Y/N out of the house. Jack, Will, and Hannibal followed suit.

“Will, you should drive with Y/N. I’ll drive after you.” Hannibal said as he got Will into the ambulance. Will nodded shakily, sitting down.

So when the doors of the ambulance closed shut it immediately drove off, sirens on. Hannibal got into his car and speed off after the ambulance.

Jack sighed, anger could be seen on his face, as he was in for a long night.

Will’s mind was racing, he was scared for your life. One of the medics put a mask on your face so that you could breathe normally again, as the other one gave you something for the pain.

The drive took about 10 minutes as the ambulance arrived at the hospital. The doors of the ambulance shot open as they rushed you inside the doctors immediately started rushing you into the Op, Will and Hannibal right beside you. “You have to hold on Y/N!” Will cried out, holding onto your hand.

When they were bursting through to doors to the Op a doctor stops them. “I'm sorry but you will have to wait outside, but if you want to sit down there are seats right there” the doctor pointed to a bunch of seats not too far from the Op entrance. Hannibal nodded and grabbed Will’s arms slowly walking to the seats to sit down.

Will was trambling in Hannibal’s arms, he strokes Will’s hair to comfort him. “I hope he makes it” Will sobbed. “I'm sure he will make it, he has one of the strongest wills that exists,” Hannibal said soothingly. Normally Hannibal wasn't a person who is afraid of anything really, but when it came to you and Will, it was something else. And it scared him, the thought that he could lose you right now was scaring him shitless.

After what seemed to be 3 hours a nurse came out, making both of them stand up as the nurse walked towards them. “How is he!?” Will immediately asked the nurse. “He is stable, we will put him onto the intensive care unit. They are already on their way there, but it will take him probably another hour to wake up. I will take you to him, so if you would like to follow me.” she said, Hannibal and Will nodded. “Of course,” Hannibal said as they to followed the nurse.

“He will have to stay a weak and a half or so, because he also had a few broken ribs and a sprained ankle,” she said calmly as they stopped in front of a door. “Were here” she simply said as she knocked lightly at the door before opening it.

When they stepped inside there was another nurse that was putting a bag with some liquid onto the hook, it was for the pain. so you won't be in pain when you woke up.

It was a heartbreaking sight for both of them when they saw all those bandages around you. “The doctor will come in an hour to see if he’s awake.” and with that, both nurses left the room.

They walked towards you, and sat to your right. They both sat down and both of them took your hand into their own.

After a while you suddenly gripped their hand tight, making both of them shoot right up. When they looked at you they saw you smiling at them which calmed them down. “Hey, love” was what Hannibal said “hey, sweetheart” Will whispered, making you smile even wider. “Hey~” you whispered back as you began to sat up a little more straight which Hannibal helped you with.

“How are you feeling, love?” Hannibal asked stroking your hair. “I'm feeling good actually. And you? You both must have been worried.” you asked back arching a brow making both of them chuckle. “We're fine now that we know that you're good.” Hannibal awnsered “Yeah, more than happy.” Will nodded his head. Suddenly there was a knock on the door and it opened. The Doctor walked in and started smiling. “I see your awake, how are you feeling Mr. Lecter/Graham?” he asked stopping in front of the bed.

You smiled back at the doctor. “I'm feeling good, thank you!” the doctor laughed a little. “That's good! You will be able to leave within five days, because of your healing. Your healing seems to be extremely faster than anyone else, which is extremely good for you, so you won't be staying too long here.” the doctor exclaimed. You nodded your head and thanked him as he left again.

These five days went by quickly, The guy that was still alive was put to jail for the rest of his life. And you were going home today, but you still couldn't walk so they had to get a wheelchair for you, till your ankle is fully healed just like your ribs. “Alright, your good to go the papers are all taken care of. Take care Mr. Lecter/Graham. And a good day you three.” the doctor said as he left.

“Alright let's get you into the wheelchair, sweetheart.” Will said. “yeah.” you nodded. Hannibal had placed the wheelchair next to your bed holding it as Will was helping you. “Lift your arms for me please, sweetheart.” he asked, and you happily obliged to that making him and Hanninal chuckle. So he put one arm around your back and put the other under your legs, making you put your arms around his neck. He carefully lifted you and carefully put you into the wheelchair.

“Alright, let’s go.” Hannibal said as you made your way out of the hospital. When you reached the car you spoke up. “Can we go eat something? I'm hungry!” You asked looking at them with big eyes, making them chuckle, Hannibal nodded. “Of course we can, love. Where do you want to go?” he asked. You closed your eyes pretending to think of something even if you already knew where you wanted to go. “To (favorite Restaurant)!” you exclaimed opening your eyes and grinning at them. Both of them laugh at your childlike behavior. “(favorite Restaurant) it is then!” Will said as he opened the back door of the car and lifted you out of the Wheelchair and sat you inside, while Hannibal put the Wheelchair in the trunk.

Will buckled you up and kissed you on your lips and so did Hannibal before closing the door to get in. Hannibal got into the driver's seat and Will into the passenger seat. “I love you” you said lovingly. “We love you too” they both said and with that, they drove off to the restaurant.

[tethered-heartstrings]

I know that was a joke post but now I am genuinely curious what Hannibal would want (and be allowed) to have as his last meal.

let me start off by saying this started one place and took a huge turn (sorry) but... this got me thinking. my assumption is he was tried in maryland. maryland abolished the death penalty in 2013, but if he was tried under federal and not state, death penalty is still technically on the table in all 50 states.

unlike other states, maryland does not offer a special last meal to those about to be executed, and they are offered whatever is on the menu at the prison they are residing. i don't think that if he was charged federally it would have necessarily changed his food situation.

given that hannibal was held at bshci, he probably would have had whatever they were serving that day. we saw in s2 with will that it wasn't anything particularly exciting. canned/processed/boxed food. the more gourmet meals he got while imprisoned were definitely due to a special deal he had with alana. it's not directly specified in the show to my knowledge, but pretty sure he got special privileges for helping her and margot. but also if it means hearing him complain less, all the better.

that being said, there is a chance alana would break the maryland tradition and actually offer him a special meal. most requests deny alcohol or tobacco, but again, we're humoring a special meal.

now for the fun part. obviously hannibal wouldn't be given human meat. some inmates in other states asked not only for a meal but to share the meal with someone. and i think hannibal would definitely request to have a last meal with will since the last meal they had together (at least on screen) was the meal before mizumono.

and i think it would be well within the realm for hannibal to want to recreate this meal, maybe even going so far as to ask to make it himself. +/- if alana would allow for that, maybe if everything was precut and he wasn't near anything sharp. if he wanted will to share the meal with him, i'd be curious to see what will would do. he'd know hannibal was on death row, it'd be all over the news, jack would tell him, etc. and i think he would seek out the result of hannibal's trial if he was not sitting in the room as he was sentenced. knowing he indirectly put him there, and i'd place bets on him opening that hand written letter asking for his company one last time and he'd go to see hannibal and share that meal with him. to dine one last time together.

and i wonder how each of them would see it. will never answering if he wanted a sacrifice, yet one now sat across from him. how during the mizumono meal, will said "that'd make this our last supper" to which hannibal responds "of this life" which now truly is the last meal of this life, of hannibal's life. maybe for will, too, in a way. for how good could food taste or sate knowing your conjoined, blurred half is about to die, and that nagging guilt in your chest that it's your fault. and the question of if they could survive separation. and maybe the question was more up in the air when it was possibly hannibal who had to live without him, but now will is faced with the reality that he has to live without hannibal. and in some alternate life it would have been easier to stay with his wife and never see hannibal, but knowing he was alive was enough, and he'd no longer have that crutch.

but hannibal seeing it as almost a redo for before the slaughter in his kitchen. going back to a moment they had some peace, even if brief, life as he knew it was brief now. but still, someone he loved, the only person he loved, sitting across from him eating and drinking wine together. maybe in silence, i don't know. smiles would be exchanged; hannibal's genuinely happy and will's a bit sad. to be so fully and deeply and intimately seen. now there was no running away together anymore. will would leave and hannibal could only hope will would go to his execution.

and i think will would go. i don't know if it would be a "want" situation, but a "need". to see hannibal lecter taken down almost so effortlessly. the unkillable finally killed. the man he couldn't shoot the two times he had a gun in his face, the man he dropped his gun for and let himself be gutted and held by, the man he pulled a knife on and still couldn't take down. ultimately, in a way, will took him down. hannibal surrendered because will rejected him. will didn't need a weapon, he just needed words and a closed off heart. and within minutes, it'd be over.

but what happens after? the remains of inmates not claimed by family get kept in the prison cemetery. hannibal has no family to claim him, will is the closest to family he has. but what if will claims him, then what? will doesn't know what hannibal's final wishes are; to be cremated, buried? maybe he does know without hannibal having to explicitly say. to eat you like the sacrificial lamb you are.

my guess is a body executed via lethal injection (chosen method for maryland) would not be safe to eat. sodium thiopental is a barbituate like the one used for animal euthanasia, but it isn't the part of the "cocktail" that actually causes death. i know animals euthanized (with a different barbituate) and eaten can kill the animal that eats them, so there is a chance eating hannibal could do the same thing. consuming potassium chloride (the deadly part of the injection) in large quantities can cause a lot of side effects/health detriments and in theory, eating enough can cause cardiac failure, but i don't know the oral bioavailabity in comparison to iv.

as romantic as it seems, i don't think will would eat hannibal knowing it could kill him, and tbh, i don't see hannibal wanting will to knowing his death might be imminent. even if it meant being together in the afterlife, that wasn't how will was going to die. like yeah "death only by my hand" but it's not the same. maybe part of will's punishment is having to stay alive without him. i do think hannibal might if the roles were reversed, though.

if will ended up giving hannibal a graveplot (probably unmarked so it doesn't end up desecrated), or even sprinkling his ashes somewhere, i know will would visit him again. maybe not for awhile, maybe denial or anger, but he would go back. i know hannibal said he could never go back to lithuania, so maybe will takes him there and buries him next to mischa so they can be together, finally and forever. maybe he doesn't take him home, knowing how much hannibal stayed away when he was alive. there are a lot of things will could do, tbh.

[addicted-to-the-knife]

thanks to @t3acupz's encouragement (and our overall conversations), I'm sharing my own thoughts on when I think Will "falls in love" (in quotes because it's not really about the process of it, but recognising what his feelings are and accepting them) with Hannibal in the show.

I very much agree with Hugh Dancy when he says it'd take Will a long time (like his joking way of saying "7 seasons"). not because those feelings aren't there yet, but because he has issues recognising and accepting them.

in the second half of season 2, those romantic feelings were already starting to bloom, I don't doubt that. I just think that Will couldn't quite place, let alone accept, them. he said to Peter that he wishes he could know what to feel toward Hannibal like Peter did toward his abuser. because then it'd be easier to kill him. that's where his romantic feelings already made themselves known, but he couldn't even place them. I think that he was convinced that it was due to Hannibal having been his only friend that truly just saw him, only to be betrayed by said friend. that's what complicated it. but this feeling of having been seen and accepted for who he was lingered and he couldn't make himself hate Hannibal entirely.

and then the whole honeytrap plot happened and Will's romantic feelings manifested throughout. again, without his exact knowledge. to me, Will realised that he sees and accepts Hannibal (mostly) at that point as well, which is why he had a hard time deciding which part of the plan to follow through with (running away with or killing Hannibal). the blooming romantic feelings obviously pushed him into the direction that the s2 finale went, but none of that was completely conscious. Will wasn't fully "aware" of what he was doing when he was doing it and especially not why. I also agree with Hugh in that regard, when he was asked about his thoughts on the "you were supposed to leave" moment and how he approached it. he said he and Bryan had talked a lot about all of this beforehand, but then he just went and did it without really thinking more about it. and I think that's very much true for how it happened for Will anyway. he called Hannibal in a split decision, not even knowing what he was going to tell him until he heard his voice. and then he went to Hannibal's home, saw Alana, knew Jack was in there because she told him, and only then drew his gun, which he lowered once he came across Abigail and then Hannibal. he never once resisted Hannibal in any of this. he was prepared to fight and even die for him at that moment. but none of that was a conscious decision he made beforehand. all of that were decisions he made in the moment because they felt right and he didn't think about any of it. all of it was pure instinct, in a way. and yes, that instinct was fuelled by his growing feelings toward Hannibal; but Will was not fully aware of that fact, in my opinion.

and then in season 3a, he wants to find out where Hannibal came from, why he is the way he is, who he truly is, deep down, and fully understand him before meeting him again. and when he does, I believe he's still unsure of his own feelings. he probably thought that if he did all of that, he'd finally know what his own feelings toward Hannibal truly are, but found that he didn't. not really. he admitted to Chiyoh that he never knew himself better than when he's with Hannibal and I believe that 100%. but I also believe that there's always been that (arguably) small part that was still uncertain, that was clouded and that he just couldn't put a finger on. especially when he was alone. when he was with Hannibal, Will had him to focus on and with his empathy disorder, he could rely on that to guide him during the time he was with Hannibal. but not when he was alone and continued to be confused about himself and everything else. I imagine that he was overwhelmed by those feelings, because at the end of the day, they're incredibly complicated and shrouded by trauma - abuse and pain inflicted by Hannibal. and thus, it's not an easy thing to accept that he's developed a rich, deep love for Hannibal despite all of that. loving somebody who has put you through so much agony, but also made you feel most like yourself and like you actually matter and are perfect the way you are is nothing but confusing, after all.

after he tries to make a cut again and distance himself from Hannibal and therefore all those complicated feelings, he marries Molly out of necessity and "why not". he likes her, that's for sure. but he doesn't love her. and here, I also had the thought that maybe Will isn't even capable of such love yet. consciously and fully aware, deep, romantic love. I really don't think he's "capable" of it at that point in time.

I also completely agree with Hugh when he says that the season 3 finale was about Will. about his becoming, his acceptance of the violence and darkness, and loving that. but that didn't include Hannibal. not yet. like Hugh said, Will still has to discover and accept and come to terms with parts of himself. and his feelings for Hannibal are a huge part of exactly that. when he asked Bedelia "is Hannibal in love with me?" it can be interpreted several ways. my personal thoughts are that he's fully aware of Hannibal's feelings for him and he can feel them when they're together (and even when they're apart, like in season 3a) due to his empathy disorder. but as much and as easy as he can feel others' emotions and name them, he has a much harder time doing it for himself. he certainly had a realisation of, "ok, so. this is real. these feelings are real". but that doesn't include his own. not entirely. he knows they're there. there is something, at least. he can acknowledge that much. but he's so deep in denial and that bubble of "I'm unlovable and I don't want to love. especially the person that has caused me the most pain", sort of, that he can't see past that yet.

and so with his becoming complete and knowing that he can't actually live with himself because of it, but he also can't live with or without Hannibal, he decides to kill two birds with one stone, quite literally speaking. taking into account that they survived the fall, Will still has a long way to come to terms with those specific feelings toward Hannibal. feelings he can deny himself of even less now that he's given into his true self that Hannibal has always seen in him and so openly shown love and appreciation for. it's up to Will to do the same with Hannibal. and that is difficult. it's complicated, it's layered, it's a constant internal battle. and I don't doubt that it could take up to hypothetical seven seasons, or rather several years, until Will reaches that point where he can recognise and accept that he is, indeed, in love with Hannibal and has been this whole time.

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, ch7

chapter seven: survival

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 7, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-6, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: nightmares, drowning; canon-typical blood, violence, gore, & death. y'all know the drill by now, i think.

If your dreams were vivid before, you’re not even sure how to describe them now. The moment you close your eyes, you’re transported somewhere else. Suddenly, you’re walking with bare feet on muddy soil when wrists shoot out of the damp earth, grabbing onto your ankles and yanking you back through dirt until you fall down next to a decaying corpse… 

Then you’re swimming through a sea of broken glass, every movement burying shards further into your skin. Your blood slips through the fragments, a crimson bubbling sea rising around you until you’re being pulled under by the ferocious current… 

…You’re restrained on an autopsy table, a surgeon making an incision down your chest. Your chest aches, but you suspect the feeling isn’t just from the scalpel. Sure enough, you feel something clawing at your chest cavity and you lurch forward against the iron manacles forcing your wrists down. Claws prickle against your skin and, suddenly, a bright bird bursts from your chest and flies about the room… 

Then you’re standing across from Hannibal, as he stares at you from his confines. He presses his fingertips to the glass boundary and it crumbles to dust in the stale air. For a moment, when you blink, you see bloodstained antlers branching out from Hannibal’s head. When you blink again, he is standing impossibly closer. You’re screaming at yourself to move, run, but you’re entirely frozen. Just as he reaches out, there’s an impossibly loud blaring sound… 

You open your eyes to find yourself tangled in your bedsheets, your alarm making incessant noise. You reach out to grab your phone and turn off the alarm, before rubbing a hand over your face as you try to ground yourself to reality. These dreams of yours aren’t helping your sleep at all, and you sometimes find yourself staying up later in the foolish hopes of outrunning the horrors you know you’ll be met with when you close your eyes. 

There’s a buzzing sound ringing in your ears—an aftereffect of the dream. You clamp your hands over your ears, surprised that the effort actually dampens the sound. Then you glance at your nightstand and realize that your phone is ringing. You stare at it for a few moments in confusion, before groaning and picking it up. There’s an incoming call from Jack—you immediately accept and push yourself up to a sitting position, before bringing the phone to your ear. 

Jack neglects a greeting. “There was a murder,” he says. Immediately, all of the thoughts you’d been trying to push away—namely, the Tooth Fairy killings and your conversation with Hannibal—come flooding back. You take a short breath in. “A prisoner at Baltimore State Hospital died yesterday; he choked on his own tongue.”

Foreboding clings to your skin like a vice. Jack doesn’t need to provide any more detail, because you can already picture—with almost complete certainty—who the victim was. All you need to do is close your eyes and remember the disgusting feeling of saliva on your cheek, followed by the ice-cold shiver that ran down your spine as you saw the fury gleaming in the Ripper’s eyes. Just as you expect, Jack confirms that the victim was Miggs—the same inmate who you had that rather unpleasant interaction with but a few days ago. 

You’re lost for words. Thankfully, Jack isn’t expecting an answer from you. “Chilton wants you here,” he continues, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. “Now.” You’re still sitting in bed at this point—and Frederick Chilton isn’t exactly a person you’d rush out of bed to assist. 

“Tell him I’ll be there this afternoon,” you answer after a moment’s contemplation. You have plans to visit Abigail today—which you refuse to reschedule. Plus, you need to review the case files and autopsy reports before returning to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. “And if that’s not soon enough… then too bad.” Chilton isn’t your boss—Jack Crawford is. And you know Jack has far more pressing issues than a house call from a hospital administrator. 

Your suspicions are correct, because Jack doesn’t argue. “Got it.” The call ends and you groan, rubbing a hand over your face roughly in an attempt to fight off your exhaustion. It’s a bit earlier than you intended to be awake, but you know you won’t be able to fall asleep again. Conceding defeat, you brush your teeth and get dressed before heading out to the kitchen for a light breakfast. 

Not long after, you find yourself taking notes on what you know of the Tooth Fairy so far as you sit on your back porch, wind whipping at your skin. The cigarette dangling between your fingers is a small comfort, and it doesn’t provide nearly enough warmth as you desire. Even as you try to focus on the imminent threat—the Tooth Fairy—all you can think about is your interaction with Hannibal. You should have known that he would aim to harm Miggs. Indeed, that vicious snarl on Hannibal’s face was indicative of what was to come. You should’ve fucking known. Then, maybe another person wouldn’t be dead. Then, maybe you wouldn’t be sitting on your porch with this selfish guilt crawling around in your chest. You have no right to be guilty—you practically allowed that murder to happen.

…Right? 

You’ve caught yourself getting stuck in that mindset rather often recently. Your psyche loves to assign you the guilt and award you the responsibility. Sometimes, you know it’s deserved. But, in cases like this—in situations like the murder of Miggs, where you were just a bystander—you feel like you’re giving yourself too much credit. 

There’s only so much time you can spend mulling over the details of the Tooth Fairy killings and refreshing your memory before you find yourself growing agitated. You’re buzzing with restless energy, your foot tapping against the deck impatiently. Your thought process has grinded to a halt; the just barely visible trail has now gone cold. It’s frustrating to have so little information on this killer, especially when you know exactly when he will kill next. You feel as if you’re just fighting against the inevitable, at this point. But murder should never be inevitable. The BAU needs to find a way to get this guy behind bars. 

You shake your head and push yourself to your feet, collecting your materials into a relatively coherent pile and moving back inside. The sky is looking a bit overcast, and you’d rather not have raindrops scattered across the files. Besides, it’s nearly time for your visit with Abigail, you realize as you look down at your watch. 

You’ve been visiting her off and on since the encounter with her father in their home—since he sliced his daughter’s throat and stared right through you, those eerie, dusty green eyes pinning you in place with ease-

Safe to say, your memories of Garret Jacob Hobbs still aren’t buried, even after so many years. He’s the first of the many voices sounding in the cacophony of your mind. 

You push thoughts of the murderer aside and walk up the path towards the building. You sign in with the receptionist and walk over to the waiting area, taking a seat on the couch. It doesn’t take long before Abigail makes an appearance, and the two of you exchange greetings before you walk outside, settling on one of the benches under a willow tree. The wind rustles through the leaves and there’s a slight chill to the air, but it’s far from unpleasant. You place your hands on your knees and try to pretend as if you aren’t feeling tense. You’re here to speak with Abigail—you can abandon thoughts of bloodstains and corpses until you leave. 

For a few minutes, Abigail and you sit on the bench in companionable silence. You get the feeling that Abigail is trying to figure out her next words, and your instinct is proven correct when she breaks the silence moments later. “I’ve been placed into a foster home,” she reveals. 

You raise your eyebrows and try to study her reaction. She doesn’t exactly look thrilled. Actually, on second thought, Abigail looks as if she wants to be happy—but she’s preventing herself from being hopeful. You suppose that’s a normal reaction, for someone who’s been through what she’s been through. “That’s wonderful news, Abigail,” you say with a smile. The smile on her face flickers and you frown. “What’s the matter?”

Abigail sighs, clasping her hands in her lap. She is being uncharacteristically evasive. You decide to be patient and wait for her to gather her composure. Eventually, she takes a deep breath. “I… I’m scared.” The admission seems to take a lot out of her. She’s avoiding your gaze now, staring ahead at the building she’s been practically trapped in since she woke from her coma. 

“What are you scared of?” You hum, genuinely curious. You don’t want to patronize her, so you try to ensure that your expression is as open and honest as possible. 

Abigail is silent for a bit. “Disappointing them,” she eventually admits. You try to digest that confession. “And I feel like… I don’t deserve this. After everything I’ve done…” Everything she has done, indeed. Abigail was not entirely innocent in her father’s crimes—and she was more than just complicit. She helped him source his victims, pretended to make friends with them so that they would let their guard down. Maybe that’s why you have formed such a kinship with Abigail: you both know cruelty; Abigail and you have both been victims and perpetrators. “What if they don’t like me?” Abigail whispers, so quietly you nearly convince yourself you imagine it.

Then you’re abruptly reminded that, above all, Abigail is still a young girl—practically a child. Your throat burns a little as you process her statement. “They’ll love you, Abigail.” You’re quick to reassure her. 

“What if they don’t?” Her voice cracks and your heart breaks a little. 

“Then you can make a break for it,” you respond with a dramatic wink. The remark successfully diffuses the tension that had been settling in the air and Abigail laughs. A small part of you wants to offer for her to stay with you, but you know that’s a foolish promise to make. You suppose it’s normal to want a family—every human craves connection, in one way or another… regardless of how that connection may manifest. But you’re not deluded enough to think that you have all the necessary tools to be a parental figure to Abigail. You’re busy enough fighting off your own demons. Abigail deserves a normal life, and you’re not able to give that to her. 

(Maybe, in another world, you would be able to provide her with a quiet, ordinary life and a loving home. Maybe, in this other world, you would have someone to share that responsibility with you—someone who cares about Abigail just as much as you, someone who would protect her with all the ferocity and compassion that she deserves. Someone like…)

Your thoughts are veering into dangerously fantastic territory. You shake your head and try to shift your focus back to the conversation, ignoring the deluded (but compelling) calls of domesticity and belonging. Ultimately, you have never belonged. And you don’t see that changing any time soon. 

“So… it may be a while before I see you again,” Abigail says, tearing you out of your reverie. You stare at her for a few moments. 

“That’s okay,” you then reassure her, upon seeing the guilt written all over his face. “You’ll be busy—going to school, hanging out with friends. You won’t even think about an old geezer like me.” You smile, hoping to cheer her up further. Your efforts seem to work, because a smile rises on her lips. 

“Shut up,” Abigail says with an amused huff. “That’s not true.” 

“It is true,” you say, a fond smile growing on your face. You hope she’ll be able to move on from all this and live a normal life: go to school; hang out with friends; and engage with her hobbies. You can only hope that Abigail’s father doesn’t haunt her mind the same way he haunts yours. “And I wouldn’t want anything less for you.” You maintain. 

A pleasant silence descends across the air once more. A gentle wind blows through the trees and Abigail sighs. You mimic the gesture and she smiles. You’re not sure how long the two of you remain seated in companionable silence before an orderly appears in the doorway of the building and taps her wrist, indicating that your time is almost up.

You dig your hands in your pockets and find the item you intended to give her, turning it over in your hand and hesitating for a moment. Abigail follows your gaze and looks at it. You realize it’s too late and take a deep breath, offering her the object. “If you ever need me,” you say pointedly. 

Abigail takes your business card and looks down at it, raising her eyebrows. “Ooh, how professional,” she teases. You roll your eyes. The orderly motions pointedly and a sudden sincerity stifles the air. “I’ll make sure to text you.” She promises, the resolute gleam in her eyes indicating that she will not go back on her word.

You stand up and she does the same, before turning towards you and reaching forward to hug you. There’s a kind of sadness lingering in her movements, in the unspoken way she tucks her head into your chest and stays there. It’s clear she’s still nervous about the whole foster parent affair, and you don’t blame her. “They’re going to love you,” you assert, resisting the uncharacteristic urge to ruffle her hair. 

“I hope so,” she murmurs against your shoulder. 

“They will,” you reassure her. They’d better, you think darkly. The two of you eventually break apart and Abigail regretfully traipses back to the building, leaving you to walk to your car with conflicting feelings of relief and stress. You get the feeling you’ll see Abigail again, but it may be a little while. You’ll be busy with work and she’ll be busy adjusting to a new lifestyle—a peaceful one. 

Overall, your visit with Abigail was a welcome distraction from everything going on; unfortunately, the moment you start your car and pull out of the parking lot, all of your anxieties come rushing back. You’re supposed to meet with Frederick Chilton. Supposedly, he wants to speak with you. You can only hope that your conversation won’t be centered around getting you to participate in a consultation appointment with him. 

And, to your immense fortune, Chilton doesn’t mention a consultation appointment once. Perhaps he’s finally accepted that you’re not interested in participating in a vulnerable conversation with him (or a conversation at all, if you’re being perfectly honest). Instead, he levels you with a wary gaze as you enter his office, his eyes tracking your every movement. You settle for standing in front of his desk with your hands shoved in your pockets. Admittedly, you’re feeling pretty restless—but you don’t want to give Chilton the satisfaction of knowing that. 

“You wanted to see me.” You prompt, after a few seconds pass and the administrator doesn’t make any move to address you.  

“I’m assuming Jack has briefed you,” he says, cutting right to the chase. You nod and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “The prisoner who died was Miggs… His cell was near Lecter’s.” You aren’t very surprised and the thought briefly makes you feel guilty, before you remember why exactly Miggs was imprisoned. “When I went to review the security footage, I noticed something interesting,” Chilton continues ambiguously.

The look on his face is nothing short of pure suspicion. You’re quickly losing patience with this circular conversation. “What?” You demand tersely. 

Chilton doesn’t seem surprised by your sudden rudeness. Instead he just exhales slowly, clasping his hands on his desk and looking at you with an unreadable expression. “There was an altercation between you and the victim.” He states. 

“Yes, he spit on me.” You recall, unable to hide your distaste. Chilton grimaces in sympathy. It’s a fleeting gesture—one that is performed for pretense, rather than out of genuine sentiment. Although, you’re sure he’s had similar experiences with prisoners—what with his position as the hospital’s head administrator. 

“Immediately after, you spoke to Lecter.” Chilton continues. This is just one of the numerous reasons you don’t like Frederick Chilton: when he has the opportunity to speak, he monopolizes it. He likes hearing the sound of his own voice, so he’ll go into painful and unnecessary detail for his own amusement. You always struggle with being patient in these moments, and right now is no exception. “Then, hours later, Miggs turns up dead. That seems like more than mere coincidence.”

You grit your teeth, catching the implications of his statement immediately. “You think that I spoke to Lecter and ordered him to kill Miggs?” You repeat, a little indignation seeping into your voice. You’re trying your best to remain calm, but it’s difficult when you’re being accused of a murder you didn’t commit. “Why would I do that?”

“Miggs spit on you, disrespected you,” Chilton answers. It’s an incredibly weak justification, and it almost looks as if he regrets uttering it. In your infinite generosity, you give him a few moments to take it back. But he doesn’t move to apologize or rescind his remark, so you’re forced to acknowledge it.

“My pride isn’t that easily wounded,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I think you know I didn’t sic Lecter on him just for a simple discourtesy.” 

“Men have been killed for far less.” That may be true, but you wouldn’t kill someone over a small act of disrespect. You want to think you wouldn’t kill at all, but you’re afraid it’s a bit too late for that. Your victims cackle in your ears, reminding you of your cruelty and hypocrisy. 

Chilton is staring at you expectantly. You remember that it’s your turn to respond. “Yes, it’s probable that Lecter killed Miggs,” you acquiesce. “But I didn’t ask him to do that.” He did it of his own accord, you know. Arguably even more frightening. 

“Even so…” Chilton breaks off. 

“Just stop,” you interject, before he can hurl any more unfounded conjecture at you. “You’re grasping at straws here. Not to mention, if you checked the security footage, you would know that I left the building after that encounter. There’s no way I would’ve been able to get back in and have another conversation with Hannibal.” You don’t notice the slip until you see Chilton raise a brow, and you’re quick to continue speaking. “Besides, if you wanted to know what he said to me, you could’ve just asked.” You suspect that’s been the prime motivator for this conversation. Chilton likely knows that you didn’t commit the murder—he’s just trying to lead you into a verbal trap in which you reveal details of your conversation. 

“Very well,” Chilton acknowledges with a gesture of mock-surrender. “What did he say to you? The footage shows you about to leave, before you return to Lecter for a few moments.” He recalls, glancing at his computer before looking at you again. 

“He was calling my name,” you remember. “I went back.” I’m not sure why, you neglect to say. “He asked me if Miggs spit on me. I told him that he did. He said it was discourteous. I told him it would be fine.”

“And then?” Chilton asks, practically leaning forward in interest. 

You smile. “Then I walked away.” You answer. 

Chilton visibly droops and you just barely manage to hold back a laugh. Honestly, you can’t believe he had the audacity to try to play mind games with you. You’re a criminal profiler and investigator—you’ve spoken to far more dangerous personalities and have manipulated people far more threatening than Frederick Chilton. The fact that he thought, even for a moment, that he could talk circles around you is insulting—and it speaks to his towering ego. 

“Now, I want to speak to Lecter,” you assert. I’m not letting this visit be a complete waste of time, you think to yourself. You’re already here—you might as well try to squeeze some more answers out of Hannibal. Will you actually get any valuable information? Probably not. But you won’t know unless you try. At least, that’s how you try to justify it to yourself. The voices don’t like that justification, though—Franklyn whispers that you’re just like him, that you just crave his full attention-

“Knock yourself out,” Chilton sighs dejectedly, tossing you his keys. You’re roughly torn out of your thoughts and you just barely manage to catch them, surprised that he’s trusting you with his keys after he just finished accusing you of murder. Your thoughts must show on your face, because Chilton just shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s been a long day.”

You decide to leave it at that and leave his office, heading downstairs and pacing down the hall lined with iron bars and dehumanizing cages. The prisoners aren’t nearly as rowdy as they’ve been in the past, and you think you make it all the way to the final door before Hannibal’s cell without being harassed or insulted. That might just be a record, you think to yourself wryly as you unlock the security door with Chilton’s door and shut it behind you. Immediately, your eyes aren’t drawn to Hannibal—but to another cell. 

Miggs’ cell is empty. There’s a sizable chunk taken from the toilet (evidently, that’s what he threw at you). More worrying, however, is the rather large, light pink stain marring the floor. It’s clear a janitor was tasked with mopping up all the blood that Miggs left behind. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like all of the blood came out. You shake your head and rip your eyes away, that familiar nausea prickling at the back of your throat. 

When you settle in front of Hannibal’s cell, you realize that something is different. Hannibal is seated at his writing desk, staring down at the cracked wood as if it holds invaluable secrets. He looks up when you take another step, but you’re too busy looking at the empty shelves behind him. Consulting your memory, you realize that his books aren’t crowding the shelves anymore. 

“Where are your books?” is somehow the first question that leaves your lips. Hannibal clearly doesn’t expect the question, because he blinks for a few moments before helplessly quirking his lips as he turns to face you. “Chilton took them?” You ask before he can answer. 

“Yes,” Hannibal nods. The irritation that is normally hidden behind layers of his mask almost seems to froth and bubble over, spilling over his frame and tightening his posture. He clasps his hands on the desk and stares at you, studying you. You’ve gotten used to the feeling of being shoved under a microscope and relentlessly examined with attentive eyes, yet it doesn’t fail to unnerve you. 

“I’ll speak to him,” you suggest after a few moments. Getting Hannibal his books back may help him to trust you, which could prove beneficial in the long run. But that’s not the real reason you’re offering, is it? “In the meantime-” You try to continue. 

“Will you really?” Hannibal interjects, staring at you scrupulously. There is little emotion in his voice—no sign of hope or gratitude. The statement is spoken with an entire lack of substance. Perhaps captivity is slowly eating away at the man. Somehow, you doubt it. 

“Yes, I will,” you promise before you can consider the consequences. Why did you do that? Somehow, you felt pressured to agree—and Hannibal hadn’t even formed any expectations for you to do so. You just volunteered to speak to Chilton on his behalf… entirely of your own accord. And that troubles you. You thought you were maintaining a professional distance, but your actions are speaking to something deeper. 

“I would be grateful,” Hannibal says. “There is little to do in this cell.”

Now you’re feeling guilty. You’re falling prey to his mind games, knowingly, yet you aren’t doing anything about it. You are an entirely willing deer prancing about near a lion’s den. “Books keep the mind at bay, I’m sure,” you murmur. You’re speaking before thinking and it shows. “Anyway, that’s not what I came for-”

Hannibal inexplicably gets up from his seat and you flinch. He paces towards the glass barrier, until he is a mere two or three feet from you. Then he inhales through his nostrils. The man’s brows furrow and his expression turns pinched. “You smell of smoke,” Hannibal remarks astutely. His eyes flit up and down your form, likely looking for evidence of your new habit. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice sooner,” you say guardedly. Indeed, from what you remember, he has always had a keen sense of smell. That primarily manifested in him making those eerie types of comments, but you also noticed his nose scrunch at unpleasant scents when he thought no one was looking. 

“I noticed the moment you approached the glass, before our most recent conversation,” Hannibal confesses. You frown. “I dismissed it as a once-off occurrence… It appears I was incorrect.”

Silence. You don’t know what to say. Hannibal seems content to let the silence drag on painfully, as he just stares wordlessly. Just when you’re growing to be a little too uncomfortable, he breaks through the quiet air. “Tell me, do you enjoy the thought of lung cancer?” He hums lightly. 

You don’t bother dignifying that statement with a response, instead burying your hands further into your jacket pockets. Your fingers find the steadfast cold metal of your lighter and you take a deep breath. A cough is building in your throat and you tilt your head to the side and cough into the crook of your elbow. You don’t need to look at Hannibal to know that he’s staring at you with a knowing expression, but you find your gaze pulled back to him (as it always is). You’re instantly surprised by the sight of Hannibal frowning at you. You were certain he would take pride in foreseeing your suffering, but instead, he looks concerned. Surely you must be seeing things. 

“Does it bring you solace?” Hannibal breathes. You don’t need to ask him to elaborate, but he does anyway. “Burning yourself from the inside out, that is.” Admittedly, you have thought about that before. A part of you, however small, does take solace in the fact that your new smoking habit is slowly destroying your lungs, rendering them entirely inedible to a cannibal. Maybe this is just a small delusion you’ve allowed yourself—one fleeting act of resistance against a never-ending, surging tide. 

The Chesapeake Ripper is waiting for an answer. Inwardly, you find amusement in the realization that, out of all the things you’ve done, smoking is what bothers Hannibal. You have done far more cruel, dangerous, and self-sabotaging things—but this is where he draws the line. Once a doctor, always a doctor. 

“I’ve grown used to the flames,” you mutter. 

He doesn’t find your answer satisfactory. That much is clear, from the way his lips are pulled tight in a thin line to the disappointment lingering in all that remains unspoken between you. “And to addiction?” Hannibal asks. His presence before you now is one big contradiction: his words are non-confrontational, yet there is a combative desire written in the harsh lines that sew him together. 

“You’re not my doctor,” you snap, with a bit more bite than usual. You take a deep breath and rub a hand over your face roughly, shaking your head in disbelief. Hannibal remains entirely enigmatic—too unpredictable for your liking. One moment, he’s murdering an inmate; the next, he’s attempting to warn you off of smoking. These interactions never fail to give you whiplash. 

“Very well,” Hannibal acquiesces, clearly sensing that he won’t get more information about your harmful coping mechanisms. Before you can get in another word edgewise, Hannibal is continuing to speak. “Send in Dr. Chilton, will you?” You’re being effectively dismissed. Somehow, you feel humiliated. This entire time, you were foolish enough to think that you were controlling the conversation, that you were the one with the power. But that was never the case. Your presence, your existence behind these nondescript walls was always his to dictate. 

“Sure,” you respond through gritted teeth, cursing yourself for letting your guard down. You turn on your heel and walk away, very tempted to ignore his farewell. You eventually settle for throwing a wave over your shoulder as you depart, lost in thought. 

You come back to yourself as you’re standing in Chilton’s office. You blink dazedly and look around you, confused as to how you got here. You don’t remember walking back through the halls, but you must’ve—otherwise you’d still be standing in front of Hannibal. You rub at your eyes roughly and try to collect your composure, painfully aware of Chilton staring daggers into you as you stand there. He’s nearly vibrating in curiosity; unfortunately for him, it takes you a few minutes to regain the ability to speak. 

“He’s asking for you,” you finally utter. Chilton nods and steps out of his office. You stand frozen in the doorway until you hear the doors to the hall shut behind him. Then, as if possessed, you move to his desk and look down at his computer screen, which is focused on the surveillance camera feed for Hannibal’s cell. For a few minutes, Hannibal remains seated at his desk in solitude. Then, Chilton appears in the hall. The camera feed is slightly grainy and there’s no audio, but you try your best to ascertain what’s happening from their nonverbal gestures and posture. 

“I need to speak to Jack Crawford,” Hannibal says.  

“And why should I listen to you?” Chilton scoffs. Chilton is standing at least a foot away from the glass wall. You’re starting to think the administrator has a bit of a complex when it comes to Hannibal. Now that the Ripper is behind bars, Chilton is foolishly convinced that he is the one who holds the power. But Hannibal’s surrender was tactical, and you’re almost certain that he has something more up his sleeve. 

Hannibal doesn’t respond, instead staring at him silently. It’s abundantly clear that the man isn’t very fond of Chilton. 

“Fine,” Chilton responds. “But don’t expect to be getting your books back any time soon.” He adds.  

You’re left to speculate on the nature of their conversation, and you’re forced to make your escape once you notice Chilton leaving. You manage to make it out of the building before he returns, thankfully. As you drive home, you can’t help but think about the interaction you just witnessed. While you don’t know what the two men discussed, you do know that Hannibal will likely get his way. 

And indeed, he does. Unbeknownst to you, within three hours, Jack Crawford is standing before Hannibal Lecter’s enclosure with an annoyed pull to his lips. Moreover, the next time you visit Hannibal, you will notice that all of his books have been returned to him—in addition to the toilet seat and his drawings, which were both removed as punishments. These occurrences will serve as yet another reminder of the power Hannibal holds. He is no ordinary prisoner—no ordinary killer, no ordinary man. 

“You are far from ordinary,” Hannibal had told you once. Even now, years later and separated by a seemingly impenetrable wall of glass, his voice echoes down the halls of your mind palace and slips right past your defenses. You spend the rest of the evening trying to suppress old memories.

next chapter

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[grasshopperdoingdogpaddle]

Neither Chase nor Omi thought of destiny as something that could be fought traditionally... until they met each other and decided that destiny is something they’d fight to shape with their own hands. Both each other’s and their own.

They’re stubborn and prideful, have so much faith in their abilities and believe all their own hype, but somehow they’re still very fatalistic.

You poor, naïve fool. You’ll never become a dragon.

Chase accepted it when Hannibal told him his destiny was on the Heylin side, unless he intended to languish in obscurity on the Xiaolin side. He’s not especially enthusiastic about it, at first, but after thinking it over, he makes the decision to throw away everything he believes in to go down that path.

If the choices set out for him are obscurity or evil, he’ll make his choice.

There’s only one path for you now.

When Omi saw through the Crystal that his destiny was to destroy the world, Omi was so unquestioningly certain that he couldn’t stop himself from going down that path that the only viable option he saw was “taking the long walk”.

They were both ready and willing to throw away their dreams. Fate had something else in store for them. They could only rise to meet it or run from it. There were no third options they could carve for themselves.

“Sometimes our destiny is determined by events that are out of our control.”

Omi was paralyzed with fear even when his friends did bring him back. 

In a bout of learned helplessness, he refused to break his ice prison. He’d rather die than let his destiny be kickstarted. And he wasn’t convinced to not be suicidal or fatalist by the end of the episode, he just realized the vision that had convinced him happened to be faked. He still held the belief that if there’s a chance he may be evil, he should sooner die.

And Chase throws away everything to meet his Destiny and join Hannibal. 

He commits atrocities until he acquires a taste for a them, pushes himself through the difficult transition until he wholeheartedly enjoys being evil. Now, he actively wants to watch the world he used to protect, burn.

But after Omi meets Chase, Omi learns the complexity and the spunk to push back against that internal doomerism. 

When Wuya and Jack and Vlad were telling Omi his destiny was joining the Heylin side, Omi took “the long walk.” 

When Chase repeatedly tells Omi that his destiny joining the Heylin side, and even succeeds in tricking him over to it, which directly causes the end of the world, Omi still banters back, “No, you’ll be joining me on the Xiaolin side together.”

And Chase starts the whole plan under the idea of this binary, either Omi joins him or Chase needs to kill him before Omi is strong enough to destroy Chase. The former keeps not happening, but it gets to the point where Chase just refuses to consider the latter.

Chase and Omi make each other remember their pride.

Because they are prideful, and who is anyone else to give them these limited, lackluster options?

“Either I’m wrong or destiny itself is wrong. And I’m not wrong. Even if I am, I’ll bend time and space itself until I’ve force the world to acknowledge that I’m right. I’m the greatest warrior this world has ever known, and I kowtow to nothing I don’t respect. Not even fate.”

[specialagentlokitty]

Hannibal lector x reader - unravelling

Part two:

Scoffing a little bit, you shook your head.

“I’m not spiralling into anything Jack, I’m doing fine.”

He shook his head, sitting down on the chair in front of you.

“No, you’re not. When was the last time you actually had a good sleep? A good meal?”

“Last night.”

Lying had become a strong suit for you, so as Jack stared at you, you felt never more at ease, simply just staring at him.

“I know the accident was hard on you, you’re refusing to process what happened. You know that isn’t healthy, and you moved in with someone you only met after a couple of months, you’re at a bar every other night, and apparently you’re not allowed anywhere alone. It isn’t healthy.”

You glared.

“Who the hell do you think made me come here? Huh? I was just going to blow tis off, Sam made me come.”

“He has an extensive criminal record.” Will said.

“From his teenage years, look it makes paying rent easier.”

“We offered you your job back, we offered you a desk position. We’re trying to help you adjust after the accident but you refuse to help us.” He sighed.

You turned to Hannibal who was just stood silently observing the conversation.

“I don’t want your help.”

“Please let us help you, it’s what we’re here for.” Jack said quietly.

You scoffed again, glaring at him.

“Help me? You’re the reason I was in the fucking accident Jack! You sent me in there alone, told me to follow him, he ran me off the road down a cliff!”

“You blame Jack for what happened to you?” Hannibal asked.

You turned your gaze to him.

“If Jack had actually blocked the roads I suggested he blocked we wouldn’t have gone down that backstreet.”

Hannibal slowly nodded his head.

“Perhaps we should speak without Jack or Will. Do you agree to stay if they leave?”

You nodded your head, watching as the two of them left, you didn’t bother to say a word to them.

When the door closed, you turned your gaze back to Hannibal who was watching you intently.

“Tell me about after the accident (Y/N).”

“Why?”

“Well, Will has already told me about what you were like beforehand, in fact everybody can contest you were a very different person beforehand. You were polite, kind, always smiling.”

You shrugged a little bit.

“Memory might be a big foggy, severe head trauma you know. Even got the scar to prove it.”

Hannibal hummed, nodding his head and leant forward a little bit, resting his arms on his knees as he clasped his hands together.

“How long did recovery take?” He asked.

“You have access to my files right? I’m sure you’ve read them.”

“I do, yes. It says you stopped attending your recovery program. Then you moved apartments around two months later.”

You shrugged a little bit.

“Medical bills and household bills are a lot to handle at once.”

“Yes, perhaps they are. Except the FBI payed your medical expenses.”

“Did they? Must have slipped my mind.”

Hannibal regarded you for a moment, taking some time to study you, the way you rested your head on your hand and the blank expression on your face.

“You have secluded yourself from your past self, refusing to allow anybody who knew you before the accident to come close to you. Perhaps you should consider opening yourself to them again.”

“No thank you.”

“Not even Will? The pair of you grew up together and you refused to tell him anything that happened.”

You refused to say anything, and you turned away from him.

“I understand traumatic events can change somebodies life, running from it won’t get you anywhere (Y/N).”

“I’m not running from anything.” You growled.

You clenched your jaw, balling your hand into a fist a few times.

“You were in a coma for a month, took another month to be released from hospital, you refused to leave your home for weeks, then went missing for two months, you returned completely changed, moved in with your friend outside.”

“I’m done talking about this.”

You stood up, making your way to the door.

“Will is looking into what’s been happening.”

You stopped, turning around to look at him.

“Come and see me next week. I’d like to carry on seeing you, I believe we could make some progress over time.”

You scoffed, leaving the office and Sam stood up, leading you outside and when you got back on to the street he showed you his phone.

“A curfew on the eighth ward?” You asked.

Sam nodded his head, putting it back in his pocket.

You felt a pair of eyes on you and turned around to see Hannibal look out his office window.

He offered you a wave, and you ignored him, turning back to Sam.

“Let’s go.”

Sam followed you down the street, once you were out of view you found a dark place to pull your mask and gloves on, making your way to the eighth ward.

Jumping up on a lamppost, you gestured for Sam to do the same thing and he did, pulling his hood up to help hid his dog mask.

You both made your way across the ward like that, avoiding the inspectors that were patrolling the ground below.

Stopping at an intersection, you found a few other ghouls doing the same thing and one of them gestured for you to go to a rooftop, so you all did.

The one in the fox mask stepped forward.

“They’ve shut down the whole ward. Anybody outside is being arrested and they have a warrant to test anybody arrested for rc cells.” Kyle said.

You nodded your head, and Sam crouched down on the ledge, glancing down before walking back over.

“Even got a helicopter coming in.” He said.

“We need to move out as fast as possible then, go back to forth ward.”

Everybody nodded, and you looked at the helicopter that was coming over the city.

“Let’s go!”

You led them all over the rooftops, the light on the helicopter over you guys in a matter of minutes, and you kept going.

You could hear shouting from below, and you saw the lights from this ward to the forth ward which was covered in darkness.

“Members of the hell hounds stand down now!” The person in the helicopter called.

“Go!”

You ushered everybody into the ward and you jumped over, aware of the light following you.

Turning around, you looked up at the helicopter, sticking your middle finger up at it.

“Grimm stand down!”

You lowered your hand, putting your hands into the pockets of your jacket.

“We will enter with force!”

You just carried on staring, knowing full well that they wouldn’t enter the forth ward.

Sam and Kyle walked up to you, standing next to you.

“Stop taunting.” Sam whispered.

“Why? It’s fun. We all know they’re not going to come in.”

“Let’s just go, we need to get back.” He grumbled.

You huffed a little, turning around to leave with him, using the ward as a shortcut to get back home and you changed.

Sitting on the couch you turned on the news, watching the headline article about hell hounds being spotted running through the wards.

“You’re getting reckless.”

“We both know they’ll never get the task force to bring us down. I want to drive the bastard doctor who fucked me up out.”

“You really think he’s going to buy that?”

“He wants to see if his experiment worked, I’ve no doubt he’ll be watching.”

Sam walked over, sitting next to you.

“Can’t you just ask your FBI friend to run the name?” He asked.

“No. I don’t want them knowing I’m looking for this man. Plus it was a fake name, when I requested to see my surgeon after they said nobody by that name ever worked there.”

Sam nodded his head.

“The therapist?”

“What about him?”

Sam glanced at you before turning back to the TV.

“Will you continue to see him?”

“If I want to keep them all away then I have to, they’ll just keep getting involved until I go back to see him.”

“If they find out?”

“They won’t.”

Sam hummed a little bit, nodding his head.

You went back to see Hannibal the following week, again avoiding all of his questions that he asked, and you carried on avoiding his questions.

You were living two separate lives, and it was easy enough to keep them apart, you had grown pretty used to pretending to be human, and running the hell hounds.

It was a busy schedule.

So often you showed up to your therapy late, which was something Hannibal picked up on and finally decided to bring up after a month of you resuming his sessions.

“Do I need to arrange your appointments later?” Hannibal asked you.

Walking through his door, you made your way over to the chair and sat down.

“No. I’m just a busy person.”

“New job?”

“No.”

Hannibal nodded his head.

“What do you do for work?”

“Nothing.”

He nodded again.

“Have you spoken to Will like I suggested?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Look, people grow apart Hannibal. I’ve grown into a different person and Will can’t handle that so there’s no point holding on to somebody who can’t handle when someone changes.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s a waste of my time.”

He hummed a little bit.

You reached down, picking up your coffee cup and you took a sip from it.

You set your cup down, and brush some hair from your face.

“What if I were to set up a dinner for you and Will? I can do all the cooking, all you have to do is turn up, speak with him.”

“No thank you, like I said, not interested. I also don’t do dinner parties they’re not my thing.”

“Perhaps we could meet here then?”

“Nope.”

Hannibal set his notepad down.

“Do you not wish to be friends with Will anymore?”

You sighed a little bit.

“It doesn’t matter, we all go down different paths in life eventually right? Well, it’s my time.”

“Tell me (Y/N), do you wish to cut Will out of your new life?”

You thought for a moment about this, because you hadn’t ever thought about it before.

“Well, no. I just.. I want him to give me time, space. I get he’s worried but he’s all over me and what I’m doing. I need him to back off.”

“I see, so, if Will were to back away, would you be willing to get meet with him?” He asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Why are you so concerned about this anyway?”

Hannibal gave you a small smile, and leant back in his chair.

“I believe having contact with people from before your accident will help you process all that has happened. I believe you’re choosing to ignore the accident, meaning you aren’t processing everything that happened.”

“I’ve processed it.”

“Then tell me about it.”

You shook your head.

“No thank you, and I believe Doctor Lector our time is up.”

You stood up, grabbing your coffee cup, and you gave him a nod of your head as you walked towards the door.

“(Y/N)?”

You turned to look at Hannibal.

“If you want to talk about the accident, do get in touch.”

You didn’t say anything, you simply just left his office and Hannibal made his way over to his desk, taking his tablet to look at your medical file.

He had been studying it, because whatever happened just after that accident was the reason for your change in behaviour and there was a lot of holes in the records.

Something wasn’t adding up, he knew that and it made him curious, there was something about you that seemed so oddly familiar to him, and he wanted to know what

[entreecanibales]

The most egregious thing Hugh Dancy said at the con was that Will didn't care too much about Hannibal's cooking. Completely and utterly false, in the scripts there's always a mention of Will finding the food delicious. He even has a fantasy about sitting eagerly at Hannibal's table, and Hannibal cooking for him and serving him food in Dolce. When Will is on the boat on his way to Hannibal, in the script they say he looks hungry, he's even framed in a starvation cage when he tells Jack he wants to run away with Hannibal. Hannibal's food and cooking is very important to him.

[tayasui-mono]

Hannibal tells Jack he's overworking Will, making him doubt his judgement, and tells Will that Jack's overworking him, making him doubt Jack. Will asks Hannibal if he's alienating him from Jack and he was right. Hannibal does the devil's work in slowly and nauseatingly removing them from each other throughout season 1, and so when Jack tells Will that he is not sand for Will's moorings, rather he is his bedrock, it is heartbreaking to see where they end up in s1e13. Jack tells Hannibal that he believes that Will would always come back to himself, and that was true. Hannibal was only able to break Will from psychic driving and encephalitis and EVEN THEN Will managed to reclaim himself, just like Jack prophecised, unlike Miriam Lass. And Jack knows what Hannibal offers to Will intellectually, so when Will tells him he wanted to run away with Hannibal, there is shock, but when Will later tells him "A part of me will always want to run away with him" in Florence, there's understanding. He has to tell Will to cut that part out of himself though, because even though Will yearns for Hannibal, Hannibal is the Chesapeake ripper. He is a monster. And Jack needs Will to put a full stop to this thing Jack started. Jack dragged Will into this, and when Will asks why he didn't kill Hannibal, he says "I needed you to do it." And there is so much regret and heartbreak in his words. The relationship between Will and Jack is so tender to me as it grows and evolves throughout the show. I would have loved to see what he'd have done after Will and Hannibal eloped in season 4 💔

[liennka]

Fromage - part 1

Hannibal Lecter x Will's daughter/teen patient reader

Summary : When Y/N for once arrives early for her therapy, she ends up in a life-or-death situation... (s1 e08)

-> Feel free to insert yourself instead :) This is my first story and I am open to any criticism (be nice pls).

I just wanted to say that I am not the owner of this show, but I did make this story, so don't copy it without my knowledge, thank you.

Y/N was once again sat in the waiting room, awaiting her next session with Doctor Lecter. After some time, she gradually grew fond of her psychiatrist, who wore a “mask”, as she passed time trying to read his mind. It was not an easy task, but her efforts were bearing fruit as she was now able to recognise when he was bored, angry and most importantly, pleased. At that moment she knew he wouldn't be too happy with her early arrival, Hannibal didn't like his patients meeting each other, which was why they all had at least a 30 minute interval between each appointment. But her usual ride couldn't make it, and if she wanted to be on time, she had to take the bus, thus showing up an hour before she should have. 

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It was roughly halfway through the previous session when she heard footsteps in the hallway.  Y/N wondered who it could be, as she was Hannibal's last patient for the day. A tall black man in a suit made his way to the Doctor's door, walking slowly and steadily.

Something in Y/N felt wrong, her body hair rising and her mind automatically searching for the nearest exits. And she wasn't naive, it was her gut telling her to run. As much as she wanted to, she was cornered, the man approaching from one door and the other closed, if she tried to interrupt Lecter's session, he would kill her himself.

And when Y/N's chair was only a few meters away from him, she could finally see more details of his face. His dark expression, his dull eyes and the blood on his face. She sniffed and smelt some kind of acid and more blood, probably dried under his fingernails. Thanks to Will, she was more than just an average person, seeing few investigations and knowing the basics of corrupted minds. This man had the aura of a psychopath, the expression of a stoic killer and the smell of a mad scientist, if that wasn't enough she had no idea what was.

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She didn't knock, just quickly pulling on the doorknob, twisting it, opening the door and closing it right behind her.  A man was talking and then suddenly stopped as he saw her. Y/N's body was driven by her adrenaline, not minding the psychiatrist's look of shock and displeasure.

"There is a strange man. Blood on his face and hands," she whispered, her nerves causing her voice to rise an octave. 

Before Hannibal could say anything, Y/N retreated from the door and fled towards him. A few seconds after she had moved, the door opened again and that creepy man walked in. Y/N seemed to be the only one who did not know him, as the others quickly rose to their feet. Hannibal hid most of her body with himself, clearly hoping to shield her.  

"Tobias?" the smaller chubby man asked, eyes wide.

"I came to say goodbye, Franklin. I just killed two men," Tobias said coolly, some blood dripping from a missing chunk of his ear. 

"The police came to question me… " he added, intentionally leaving the sentence unfinished.

She tensed. Will never said where he was going, only telling her about his work when it was over. He himself never knew when Jack would snatch him and force him to solve another case. But this time she knew he was at work, leaving her no choice but to take the bus. And as always, her father would be the one to take care of all the murders in town. There was almost no chance that Will hadn't encountered this man. When Y/N looked at Hannibal, his composed facade was momentarily replaced by an expression of worry. She clutched at his jacket, her palm ruffling the cotton.

"You have to give yourself up, you might still be able to rehabilitate," Franklin pleaded with his friend. 

What a bloody idiot, she thought, there was no way Tobias would surrender, Franklin was more than naive, he was suicidal at this point. 

"Y/N, I want you to leave with Franklin, n-" Hannibal wasn't able to finish his sentence, but Y/N was swift and had already grabbed Franklin's suit. 

"Stay where you are, Franklin!" Tobias said furiously, interrupting Hannibal.

"No, no, no. We.Have.To.Go!" Y/N added weight to each word as she stepped into his field of vision. 

Franklin was momentarily flabbergasted, so Y/N took that opportunity and tightly grabbed his arm. But no matter how hard she pulled, Franklin's body wouldn't move, leaving her to try to drag him unsuccessfully towards Hannibal's desk. And then, when she thought he finally changed his mind, he turned around, not quite done with his motivational speech. He stepped back as he mumbled his words, letting her stay behind their doctor’s table.  Y/N was done with him. And so was everyone else.

----☆----☆----☆----

“I am not alone,” Tobias replied to one of Franklin's stupid quotes 

“That's right, you are not alone, nothing has happened in our real- ” Franklin's neck snapped, Hannibal behind him. 

The cracking sound was disgusting, making Y/N glance away. Franklin's body fell to the ground with a 'thud', sprawling his limbs like a puppet. 

"I was looking forward to that," Tobias groaned.

"I saved you the trouble," Hannibal smiled.

She was glued to the spot, watching them closely. As expected, Tobias got mad and threw his jacket on the floor. He pulled an iron cord from his pocket, a kind of weapon she had never seen before. He swung it a few times like a jojo, forcing Hannibal to retreat. Y/N made eye contact with her therapist and decided it was time to leave. She backed away to the patient's exit, not taking her eyes off the dangerous man for a second. Tobias tossed the wire at Hannibal and kicked him against the bookshelf. It looked bad for Hannibal, maybe if she was fast enough, she could call police. But only if she gets out first.

----☆----☆----☆----

Y/N had her hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly to prevent any sound from escaping. Much to her bad luck, it clicked and Tobias noticed.

----☆----☆----☆----