⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 thinking about will graham who takes his inexperienced student's virginity ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
he'd be so gentle with it, murmuring soft reassurances as he slides his cock into them so so slow. his hot breathes cooling down on the temple as he presses kisses onto their hairline. their nails digging into his back, as they try to get used to the sensation of his cock inside of them.
"that's it sweetheart...so good f'me.." he'd say, as their breathing evens out slowly.
After the shows cancellation somewhere around 2015/2016 I remember a fan project where we would take a selfie in a flower crown and someone would take that selfie and put it in a mosaic of Bryan Fuller’s face.
Is that real? Did that happen? I can’t find anything that indicates that was anything other than an encephalitis dream of mine.
Just remembered that the only reason I found my emotional support Hannibal fan account (and the main reason I got into the series in the first place) is because I got the pfps mixed up between them and this person I had a huge crush on at the time (I just thought the person was really into Hannibal for like a hot min but it turned out to be this random girl from Australia)
But yeah big up bill hader for getting me into Hannibal ig!
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚husband!will graham x reader 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚
mind palace;𓆝 𓆟 𓆞
will could recall how his heart had dropped when he'd received the call from crawford. he'd told him that they'd found you. finally. no matter how battered your state was. you were alive. he'd rushed to the hospital as soon as he'd gotten the news. after months of you being lost, he'd finally found you. after months of believing you were dead, he'd found you. it had taken a lot of convincing from crawford and beverly to leave your side by the hospital bed after your operation.
so, after going back home, he started working on the most important thing. he contacted a constructor. he built ramps in his house. lowered countertops and sinks. installed a lift in the shower. replaced the tables and chairs. realigned the furniture to suit you better. and waited. for the call from the hospital. telling him you were okay. telling him that you were awake, asking for him. but, it never came.
instead, it was a call that broke his heart. shattered it into tiny little pieces, like a glass. the damage was too extensive, they told him. you'd lost your memory. amnesia. the ugly word stuck on the roof of his mouth. he refused to use it for you. it was cruel. it wasn't your fault. none of it was your fault. but oh, how he couldn't help but blame you. if only you'd not gone on the mission. if only you'd been more careful. he'd felt guilty afterwards, of course. it never left, even though he knew you wouldn't know how he felt. you perhaps wouldn't even care. why would you? you couldn't remember him.
couldn't remember your husband. you'd forgotten all of it. how you'd met. how you'd followed him around like a duckling when you were just an intern. how'd you'd annoyed him with your bird-feeding habits and constant babbles about your cat. how'd you'd knitted him a sweater on his birthday - used his favourite colour, too. how'd you'd let him cry on your shoulder when he didn't feel good. how'd he'd kissed you, for the first time, after your first undercover operation, the adrenaline and oxytocin intoxicating every nerve in his system. how'd he'd pinned you against your office desk and made love you to, whispering sweet nothingness in your ears. how'd he'd taught you to fish, teasing you about your unease with worms. how'd he'd slid the ring on your finger. how'd you'd gotten married in the quiet solace of the church only the both of you would know how to appreciate.
you didn't remember any of it.
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
sitting on your wheelchair, you watched as will opened a can of chilled beer, pouring it into a glass. your own hands held a wine glass, the maroon deep and rich in the glass. the liquor swirled against the glass as you fidgeted with it. your eyes were on the ring on your finger. it glinted the fury of the flames of amber that burned in the fireplace. the fury of your heart. the guilt, that ate you alive.
he plopped down on the sofa, watching you staring at your hands. you'd recently started moving your hands in coordination, and he was taking that as a good sign of your recovery. even though he knew you had a long way to go ahead. he was going to stand by you. no matter what. taking a sip of his beer, he broke the silence,
'something on your mind, honey?' your eyes darted from your fingers to meet his. how would you say it? your mind was always a tangle of thoughts. sometimes like a nightingales' cry from a distant, sometimes a memory so vivid it hurt your brain to recall it. the nightmares you could get over. but how could you get over this? a man loving you when you couldn't even remember marrying him. when you couldn't imagine yourself loving him. when you couldn't remember yourself loving him. the guilt ate you alive. slowly. like a maggot feeding on a dead body.
'i don't know you,' you mumbled, unable to form words. how were you supposed to voice your concern? but perhaps it was a good thing - you being concerned about a man who in your mind was a stranger. because your heart knew. knew whom it loved. knew how it beat in sync with the one it loved. perhaps, that was your way of loving him back.
'that's not right. you just can't remember me,' reassured, placing the beer glass on the coffee table. getting up from the sofa, he knelt in front of you. taking your hand in his, he plead, 'but i have faith you will. you will, won't you, honey?'
'i need you to stop loving me. it makes me feel guilty. because i can't remember who you are-and-,' before you could speak any further, his hand was on your mouth, muffling out your words as if it physically hurt him to hear those words.
'the world's a cruel-cold place, honey. but all i am, is a man, who wants it in his hands. and y-you're my world, honey. you always have been. so please, don't tell me to stop loving you. because i can't. no matter how much i try, i can't. it's too cold for you here, in this world.'
╰┈➤ will graham x burlesque dancer!hannibal lecter ˎˊ˗
in honour of my new theme and this au that never quite leaves my head. probably should write a fic. or two. does this look too 'millennial' because of the glowing 'games?' i thought it was cool so~
