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Summary
Hannibal had wandered upon him entirely by mistake.
On a hunt like any other, Hannibal finds someone unexpected in his victim's basement.
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Bookmarked by Infatuation4You
18 Jul 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
I’m so sad I completed this fic, i’ll miss it :(
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Will Graham is a producer on a Bachelor knock off reality TV show. Against his protests and better judgement, Dr. Hannibal Lecter is cast as the primary love interest on the show. Despite his many initial misgivings, Hannibal is a hit, and Will finds himself as drawn into the story Hannibal is creating as everyone watching at home. Everything is going well until Will becomes suspicious that he is the real object of Hannibal's affections, and all of a sudden contestants start to turn up murdered.
"Vena Amoris" is the (Mythical!) vein that runs from the ring finger to the heart; supposedly that is why we wear wedding rings on that finger.
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Will Graham has come to a terrible revelation: Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper. With this knowledge he nearly drowns himself in whiskey, doubt, and the guilt of wishing he could forget. He starts to spiral about all that he thought he knew; the beginnings of an unraveling that is at the fault of a man who he thought was a true friend. Then, he hears a knock. And of course, it's Hannibal. The threads of himself come utterly undone, and Hannibal, with sweet words and intimate violence, comes prepared with a needle and thread to stitch him back together, sort of. He doesn't want Will's silence, rather--he wants Will. Entirely. His mind. His body. His affection. Yes, Hannibal wants Will, and he's willing to take it either by forceful charm or by overt threat.
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It had been two long years since Hannibal Lecter and Will vanished without a trace, only leaving behind a scene of destruction and desperation in Will's home. That, and a simple letter. Jack Crawford has been haunted by Will's absence, the unsolved case festering in his mind, until one late night a mysterious CD arrives at his office. No address. No note. Just a singular CD.
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“You’re very quiet.” The voice came from the front seat, soft, like something rising out of a dream. Hannibal drove with a calm that seemed offended by chaos. One hand loose on the steering wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, fingers relaxed. “I imagine you’re frightened. It’s understandable.”
Will didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
He stayed frozen in the backseat, every muscle tight, as if his very skin ached from the inside out.

