It’s 5am, the sun is rising and Adam Towers can’t sleep. He’d taken this assignment for the potential respite it offered from the humid, tourist-ridden clusterfuck the City always turned into during July. A quick and easy student/teacher scandal to write up and then three uninterrupted days of good food, good beer, and plenty of pretty postgrads to pick from. Instead, he’d failed to get the interview, had picked a restaurant that couldn’t understand why “such a lovely omega” would want a table for one, and had been rejected for a younger model by the cute alpha he’d spent all night flirting with. And he hadn’t bothered to bring even his most modest knotting toy to help him get off (to sleep, or otherwise).
He flings the covers off, unwilling to lie there with his head spinning any longer. He needs to do something, needs to move, to blow out the cobwebs and start fresh. The weekend’s far from over, after all, and he’s not letting one shitty night spoil the whole thing for him. He briefly considers the gym, but the thought of fluorescent lighting and stale sweat on the recycled air makes him grimace. And then he thinks of the perfect alternative – a gorgeous, natural pool he’d passed on his way back from the disastrous non-interview the day before. He’d been too pissed to explore it at the time (the professor, as well as being a lecherous old man, had turned out to be the kind of sexist dick who thought omegas should stay at home, barefoot and pregnant, instead of reporting on predatory assholes like him), but now the thought of cool water and fresh air is irresistible.
He dresses quickly, jeans and a t-shirt all that are necessary in this heatwave, shoves his phone in one pocket, his keycard in another, and leaves his room to the tender mercies of housekeeping. The pool’s only a fifteen-minute walk and he spends it mentally composing the hatchet job he’s going to do on that reprehensible knothead of a professor once he’s unwound a bit. Been a while since anybody’s tried to do him for libel, and this one would take him past Lounds’ record – assuming she’s still alive and the hot cannibal and his husband haven’t gotten her since they last exchanged emails.
He’s just trying on headlines for size – KNOT FOR TEACHER has potential – when he feels the ground sloping away from him and realises he’s reached his destination. The pool is separated from a cluster of little farm cottages by a thick line of trees, marking the beginning of the forest, and they curve all around the water, a curtain of sturdy branches and leaves that flutter in the gentle breeze. In the dusty-gold light of morning, it’s even more beautiful than he’d remembered, the water tinted green but mirror-clear and glimmering.
He pulls off his shirt, shoes and jeans in quick succession, folding them perfunctorily and sparing a prayer to the god of errant journalists that nobody comes by and snatches his belongings, room key and all. Standing in nothing but a pair of very expensive, very skimpy briefs, he takes a quick look around, just to be sure, but it’s still only half-five and there’s no sign of a single, living soul anywhere nearby. So he strips off his undies and stuffs them into his trouser pocket, then hides the whole lot in the tall grass under a couple of rocks. One final check that he’s alone, and then Adam stretches up into the dappled sunlight, feeling the first touch of warmth on his bare skin, before carefully making his way down the bank and into the cool water.
Explicit // M/M // Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham // Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Tropes, Flower Shop AU, Florist Hannibal, Cop Will, ftm omega, ftm Will, Scenting, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Flirting, awesome best friend Bev Katz, Uniform Kink (kinda), slightly manipulative Hannibal, Getting to Know Each Other, Kissing, Texting, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, more kissing, still taking it slow because everyone is an idiot, Dating, Additional tags to be added, Rated E for later chapters Words: 13,385 Chapters: 3/5
When surly cop Will Graham walks into Hannibal’s flower shop, he wants to know the omega better. But with past issues and insecurities over how people treat someone who has transitioned from female omega to male omega, Will isn’t going to be easily courted.
Hannibal looked up as the bell above the door rang, the scent hitting him at the same moment he set eyes on his prospective customer.
There was eye contact for a brief moment, in which Hannibal gave a little nod of welcome, before the other man averted his eyes and hesitated before continuing into the shop. Curious. The man carried himself with confidence and yet seemed shy of, or perhaps put off by, the slight attention.
Hannibal went back to the arrangement he was preparing at the station next to the counter, letting the man browse quietly, but taking him in nonetheless. Taking in that interesting, and enticing scent. It was not often one met a male omega, at least one that didn’t try to hide the fact with suppressants and scent blockers.
He’d had a few female omegan lovers in the past, though just as many – if not more – beta, male and female. The scent of either to his adept alpha nose, was not unpleasant. But this was something more unusual. Rich and earthy whilst being delicate, and fresh as a babbling stream. Something unique in the notes it left at the back of his throat. For the first time in his life he had to wonder at the idea of true mates, because nothing had before pulled within him so tightly on little more than a scent and a moment of eye contact.
Even as he smiled at his own ridiculousness, Hannibal kept a furtive watch on the customer until he picked one of the medium sized, pre-wrapped bouquets. He was studying thoughtfully, and with any other customer Hannibal would have gone over and offered assistance. But he found himself hanging back, taking pleasure in watching the man, wanting to see what he would do next with no interference.
The man was perhaps a little shorter than himself, curly wayward hair, and piercing eyes that swam between blue and green. In the past Hannibal had been with very high class men and women, the kind he met in the social circles afforded to his wealth. All very prim and proper with a mutual appreciation of a finely turned out suit. So, it was a little surprising, he found, to be so very drawn to a man wearing worn corduroy pants and a flannel shirt and sporting at least a day’s growth of stubble.
“Is something wrong?” The man’s soft growl and annoyed expression alerted Hannibal to the fact that not only had he been looking the man up and down, but he had been caught in the act of it.
“Not at all, I was wondering if you require any assistance?” He replied in his cool tone, which earned him a frown of suspicion.
“Just these, thanks.” The man brought the bouquet over and laid it on the counter his eyes cast down at them. Hannibal smiled, pleased to see he had chosen one of his special, stylised designs. Hannibal spent a lot of time on them, they were a tad more expensive than the run of the mill arrangements, but worth it as far he was concerned. Each was unique and themed – a design based around an idea executed by the colours and meanings and scents of the flowers chosen.
The pride Hannibal took in these arrangements, together with the unexpected pleasure he felt at the young man’s purchase, had him replying – “each of these arrangements have a set meaning that-”
“Yes, I know. I read the sign.” The man cut him off, still looking down, though his expression – even at such an angle – was clearly exasperated.
Unsure what he could possibly say that might not be met with a curt response, Hannibal gave a nod and rung up the flowers.
Chapters: 2/6 Fandom: The Path (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe – Fandom, Doctor Strange (2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kaecilius (Marvel)/Cal Roberts Characters: Kaecilius (Marvel), Cal Roberts, Sarah Lane Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Tumblr Prompt, Getting Together, Hannibal Extended Universe Summary:
In an attempt to raise the funds he needed for the movement, Cal borrowed money from the wrong people and now they want it back. When he doesn’t have it, they’re happy to take him instead.
Ever find one of those fics that you’re sure you posted once upon a time, but then you realize maybe not? This is one of those. It never made it onto AO3 before now and perhaps not tumblr either (idk). In any case, parts 1 and 2 are on AO3 (it’s not necessary to read them first, but it helps). This is part 3.
There was one reason and only one reason Will agreed to go to the labor day picnic.
“Hello, Doctor Lecter.” Bev completely forgot about setting the table. Who could blame her? Hannibal in jeans at the job site was bad enough. The shorts were criminal.
Will is gonna die.
Hannibal placed his covered dish among the tupperware and supermarket crudite trays. “Good afternoon, Ms. Katz.” A glance over her shoulder showed a group gathered for volleyball, but one member of the team notably absent.
Bev’s lips curved. “If you’re looking for Will -” There were few things she enjoyed more than making a grown man squirm. Will was easy that way. Hannibal, on the other hand, might take some work.
Or maybe not.
Was he blushing? The tan made it hard to tell. But there was definitely something going on. For someone who stood so tall, he looked surprisingly sheepish. No. Not sheepish. … Puppy-like.
Oh fuck. You actually like him.
And she knew where he was. It’s good to be the queen.
Hannibal smiled. “I’m sure he’s around.”
He looked like he might start rocking on his heels any second. Bev made mental notes. Will would want all the details. And even if he didn’t, he was going to get them. “I can tell you where he is.” But you have to ask me first.
“Bev!”
Leave it to Will’s excellent timing to ruin perfectly good slow torture. Christ, he looked like such a dork in those flip flops.
“Where do you want this?” Will shouted.
It’s fucking charcoal, Will. Put it by the grill and get your ass over here.
Bev cocked a hip and pointed. Will made his way to the grill where he dropped the bag with a grunt. Swiping his hand over his jeans, he climbed the small slope to the picnic shelter.
She almost didn’t know which one of them to look at. Will was the best bet. His reactions were always priceless.
Will knows that Hannibal is checking up on his Google searches, so he decides to check up on his cannibal’s inquiries. Will Google searches bring them together or tear them apart?
Will shuts the
door behind him and stands in a bathroom he doesn’t recognize. A
mason jar of sea glass squats on the counter by a chipped enamel
sink where there should be a double vanity with vessel sinks, and a
photo hangs on the wall behind it of Will and Walter smiling over a
large gar. When he looks in the mirror, it’s to find a beard grown
in overnight, hair shaggy and two inches longer than explicable.
Several hours
later, Molly stands on the veranda of their shared cottage. Ivy
crowds the gable. A wooden placard that reads GRAHAM, hand-carved,
hangs beneath by one of its rusted chains. Molly’s hair, still
mussed from sleep, sweeps across her forehead and shoulders.
She watches him
back the Tahoe (You sold the car, honey. Don’t you remember?)
out of the drive, pulling her robe against the autumn air and
crossing her arms. Quietly angry like he remembers her at the end. Remembered.
She hadn’t
believed him when he’d said he didn’t remember. Any of it. Not
retirement, not the foreclosed cottage in Sugarloaf, its slate roof
missing shingles like teeth where straight-line winds off the
Atlantic had stolen them.
No.
He’d snaked an
arm around a waist, pressed a kiss to a neck.
He’d mistaken
her for Hannibal. Hannibal, in their villa on the Argentine coast.
Not the continental US. Not Molly. Not Sugarloaf Key.
Will’s hands
shake on the wheel. The camouflage seat covers smell like menthol,
and he’s craving the cigarette he missed with coffee; he hasn’t
smoked since his early 20s, but his fingers are yellowed, hands dry
from drink. On one, there’s a wedding ring. He touches his face and
feels the scar–completely healed–through his beard. Same wallet.
Different phone. He picks it up and flips it open. He knows the
number by heart and hopes to God it connects.
“Will?”
“Jack. Where’s
Hannibal.”
“What’re you
talking about, Will?”
“Hannibal.
Where is he?”
“Where you put
him.” Silence. “Where he’s been for three years.”
“Baltimore?”
Will gambles.
“Will, is
everything okay? Did something happen?”
“I need to talk
to him.”
“It’s been
years. You can’t just call out of the blue and ask for favors like
that. There’s no reason–”
“Jack, please.”
There’s a
pause. Will hears Jack sigh. A glass clinks and something rattles.
“I’ll tell them you remembered something. Something about–”
Paper now. Pages. “We got this new guy–tentatively calling him
‘Buffalo Bill.’ I had a trainee lined up for an interview, real
hotshot, but I’ll tell her we got someone else. Just this once,
because I made a promise.” Jack’s voice drops, more weary than
Will remembers it. “And if anyone can get Lecter to talk, it’s
you. I thought you weren’t coming back. We thought you were
done. After…”
“I’ll be
there. How soon?”
“Three days.”
“Okay, yeah.
Thanks, Jack.”
“Don’t mess
this up, Will. I don’t understand it, but I need all the help I can
get on this one. Three days.”
Jack hangs up.
Will drives.
***
Will puts his
room on the one of the cards he finds in his wallet. He drops his bag
on the floor by the bed, sits, and calls Jack to touch base.
Everything is still go.
***
“The FBI must
be gagging for it if they’re sending you in. What I can’t
figure out,” Lecter continues, turning. His profile is creased with
age, hair striped by silver. “Is why you’ve come. Polite life in
Sugarloaf not all it’s cracked up to be? Did you tire of looking in
the mirror every morning and seeing a man whose–” Hannibal’s
face slackens. He sucks in a sharp breath and steps, curiously,
closer. “No, there is something different about you.” Lecter’s
eyes widen into flat, black discs, amber bands reignited as he moves
beneath the overhead light. “Your eyes. So very…” An
anticipatory tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “Alive.”
“Tell me. About
that night. On the cliff.”
“You were
there, Will.”
“You don’t
remember?”
“I’ve aged
but not atrophied. I remember.” Almost singsong, but Will can parse
the mild offense. And an uptick that sounds distinctly dangerous.
Hannibal’s interest is always dangerous. “What is it, Will? Come
for the old scent again, or… something else.”
Will balks.
Hannibal smiles.
“Something
else, then. Do they know?”
“How do you?”
“Do you
remember, Will? About time and teacups?”
Or, that time I said I was thirsty for some Show!Will/Novel!Hannibal and, upon not finding any, wrote an intro for some. Sharing now for no particular reason.
Fandom: Hannibal Pairing: Will/Hannibal Rating: M Tags: Serial Killer Will Graham, Pre-season 1 AU, hitchhiking Summary: Based on the joke: Picked up a hitchhiker last night. He said, “Thanks! how do you know I’m not a serial killer though?” I replied, “The chances of two serial killers being in the same car are astronomical.”
Their breathing became more frantic as they walked down the corridor to their room, every step bringing them closer to the promise of intimacy ahead after their passion had spilled inside the elevator.
Hannibal reached the door first, his usually steady surgeon hands getting clammy and clumsy trying to run the card over the reader. He looked one last time for any witnesses in their corridor before pushing the door open and shutting it closed as soon Will was inside with him.
“Will… I…” Hannibal tried to explain his behavior, opening and closing his mouth a couple of time like a landed bass in the hands of the best fisherman he could find.
“Are you out of words? Is Hannibal Lecter out of words?” Will chuckled, moving with the sunset breeze, his hands carelessly digging through his curls, combing them back while walking closer to Hannibal.
A horribly, inexcusably late birthday fic for the incredibly wonderful @hotmolasses, who asked for some ghostly Hannigram smut. Happy birthday, lovely, I hope you enjoy this (even though I suspect it’s far less smutty than you wanted ) <3<3<3
Summary: Will Graham moves into the house of the late serial killer, Hannibal Lecter, against all advice from friends and colleagues. He quickly settles in, despite the odd noises and the dogs acting spooked. He has no idea that Hannibal, bewitched by Will’s beautiful mind and still present, if not living, in the house, has his own designs on the new tenant.
Will had no idea why he bought the house. Other than the price – going for a song on account of its “history” – it made no sense. It was further from work, less outdoor space for the dogs, way more upkeep to attend to. But he had been… compelled. That was the only word that fit the feeling that had consumed him when he stood at its front door, a gnawing, relentless need to own the place, toxic past or not.
It was, of course, against the advice of everyone he knew. Bev had been sympathetic but baffled. Alana had tried to be kind, but there was fear behind her eyes. Jack just snarled while questioning his sanity. None of them had ever come to visit, even professionally. Only Abigail ever came to see him; in fact she spent a lot of time with him and the dogs, snooping through what remained of the opulent household.
Will was still trying to legally adopt her, but purchasing the house of a late serial killer hadn’t helped his case. He was well aware of how it looked, how it only increased the aura of insanity that surrounded him. He didn’t care. The encephalitis was long gone by the time he decided to buy, and he was otherwise lucid and functional. In all the important ways, anyway.
~~~
He was beautiful, the boy. Unkempt and unrefined but bewitchingly pretty, with sad blue eyes and a lush, pink mouth that looked forever as if it had been bitten almost to the point of bleeding. He stalked through Hannibal’s home with a brooding intensity, followed closely by his pack, and Hannibal did not even mind the damage to his floors so striking was the picture he made.
In truth he would have preferred not to share this space in which he was suspended. And in the first few days of the boy’s residence he had made some cursory attempts to frighten him out of the place, spooking the dogs, rattling the windows, shattering a teacup or two. The only response he got was an inquisitive, almost wistful expression that passed over the boy’s face before he set about settling his pack, or sweeping up the damage. But Hannibal objected to behaving like a common poltergeist, and besides, the boy – Will, he learned – did not feel like an intrusive presence. He felt, instead, like an anchor, preventing Hannibal from losing completely all sense of himself, from becoming some spectral abstraction. He felt, oddly, like home.
“Good morning…” Will grumbled, still wearing some sleep in his voice, until it disappeared at the sight of his fake servant standing nude and soaked in the middle of their suite’s sitting room.
“Good morning Will.”
Hannibal shone with the early morning light, the drops of water covering his shoulders, collar bone and almost every part of his body. The water droplets that clung to his body hair from chest to toes looked like pearls sparkling on his skin.
) <3<3<3
Mostly reblogs and random words 