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Will had a problem.

A cannibal-sized problem.

Typically Will had no qualms reeling Hannibal in every once and while - I mean, he was a fucking cannibal , for crying out loud. Usually Hannibal’s idea of a good time got Will into some seriously sticky situations. . .

Metaphorically and literally.

Since the couple had disappeared off into the horizon, they had settled down someplace in Cuba, completely off the beaten track and secluded - just what Will liked.

Will had tried, really fucking tried, not to laugh and kick his feet at the discovery that now they were two criminals on the run, Hannibal could no longer try forcing him to go to fancy get togethers or operas.

A win was a fucking win.

As of now, Will sat barefoot on the wooden floor of their front porch, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand, the condensation pooling in his palm.

Across from him, perched with the aura of ‘look at me, I’m a smug bastard’ was Hannibal, cross-legged on their bench, his iPad in hand.

Will knew that expression.

It was the same one Hannibal wore as he glanced through his cookbooks, plotting their next meal. He had this kind of malicious predatory glint in his eyes, like he would suddenly leap up and start slicing necks.

Will wouldn’t put it past him, at this rate.

But instead of selecting ingredients for a decadent dinner, Hannibal was scrolling. He had, much to Will’s amusement and exasperation, discovered Twitter.

Twitter.

“Freddie’s written something new,” Hannibal murmured, his eyes not moving from the screen.

Will exhaled, rubbing his face. “Of course she has.”

Hannibal’s addiction began after he had discovered Freddie linking another account on her website, even writing footnotes saying that she would be primarily moving to the other platform for her news updates.

Hannibal reacted in the same way a spoiled child would when they weren’t invited to a birthday party.

“I cannot fathom why she would feel the need to move. Surely the site cannot be all that special,” Hannibal had said at the time.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Will replied, leaning against their kitchen countertop and sipping his mug of coffee. “I’m not one for social media.”

“I’m aware.” Hannibal sniffed, going silent as if he were contemplating something. “I would be a fool not to get this app. . . I cannot help being curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” Hannibal finished, giving Will a smirk.

TattleCrime had survived its original form and thrived in the digital age. Freddie Lounds had taken her infamy and used it to great effect, turning her Twitter presence into a relentless stream of speculation (or bitching), salacious gossip (again, bitching), and - most annoyingly - occasionally accurate insight (extreme bitching). 

Will didn’t know why he expected her to move on from them. They were, after all, the great unsolved mystery. Will was willing to live a life where people would speculate on their lives till kingdom fucking come. . . but what he hadn’t expected was for people to speculate on their sexual lives.

For fucks sake, her pinned tweet on her page was about their supposed ‘relationship’.

🚨NEW THEORY ALERT🚨: Hannibal Lecter & Will Graham - THE GAYEST MANHUNT IN HISTORY? A thread. 🧵⬇️

1️⃣ Let’s talk about Hannibal and Will. Enemies? Besties? Secret lovers faking their deaths to run away together? 🤔 You already know where I stand. (Spoiler: it’s very romantic).

2️⃣ Remember when Will stared longingly at Hannibal over candlelit dinners while investigating him for murder? Yeah. That was not a heterosexual gaze.

3️⃣ Speaking of murder. . . Will had EVERY CHANCE to kill Hannibal. But did he? No. Instead, he held his hand and dramatically threw them both off a cliff. 🏳️‍🌈 If that’s not love, IDK what is.

4️⃣ And THEN - THEY BOTH SURVIVED. Where did they go? Cuba? Italy? A cottage in Vermont where they sip wine and discuss murder like it’s fine art?

5️⃣ The “Murder Husbands” theory is NOT just a meme. It’s an investigation. Internet detectives have been piecing together sightings. Two men. Well-dressed. Suspiciously affectionate. 👀

6️⃣ Even if they’re in hiding, I know they see this. So, Will & Hannibal, if you’re out there. . . are you or are you not living your best murdery, gay life?

7️⃣ Drop a hint. Post a cryptic tweet. Send me a postcard with just “👀” on it. I’ll be waiting. 😘 #MurderHusbands #HannigramConfirmed

💬 Replies:

🧑‍💻 @HannigramTruthers
Replying to @TattleCrime
We’ve been saying this for YEARS. The hand-holding , the cooking for each other , the tender looks while discussing murder ??? This is enemies-to-lovers GOLD. 🌈

👩 @TrueCrimeGirlie
Replying to @TattleCrime
But Will was literally married to a woman?????? Y’all are reaching.

🦇 @MeatIsGod
Replying to @TrueCrimeGirlie
Bisexuality exists, Jessica.

🔪 @MurderHusbands4Ever
Replying to @TattleCrime
Not to be dramatic but if they ever get caught, I will lead the Free Hannibal & Will movement. They were in love. That’s all that matters.

🎭 @GayChaos101
Replying to @TattleCrime
Hannibal looked at Will the way a starving man looks at a steak. If that’s not love, IDK what is.

🤡 @HannibalDidNothingWrong
Replying to @TattleCrime
You all simp for serial killers until they eat your loved ones. 🤡

👀 @AnonymousSightings
Replying to @TattleCrime
Lowkey think I saw them in Havana last year. Two well-dressed men, one with messy hair & sad eyes, the other ordering wine like he was judging the entire restaurant. #Coincidence?

📢 @FanTheoryHQ
Replying to @TattleCrime
Forget where they are - are they on Twitter? What if they’re reading this RIGHT NOW?

🔪 @FleursDuMal
Replying to @TattleCrime
Curious.

🔥 @TattleCrime 🐍🔪
Replying to @FleursDuMal
OH MY GOD. 😳😳😳😳 HANNIBAL???

Every few months, a new theory emerged. Were they dead? Were they hiding in Europe? Had they changed their names and become lovers running a bed-and-breakfast in Vermont? Did they have matching tramp stamp tattoos?

In truth, they were here, living in a house that smelled of sea breeze and coffee, where Hannibal cooked in the mornings and Will fished in the afternoons. Where they had, against all odds, survived each other and become something softer.

So fuck Freddie Lounds and her weirdly accurate prediction that they would start dating.

And for her fucking information, Will was not a fucking twink .

“What’s the latest theory?” Will asked, setting his drink aside and stretching out his legs.

“That we died, but our love was so great, we now haunt the dreams of amateur detectives worldwide.”

Will snorted. “Romantic.”

“Mm.” Hannibal scrolled further, the glow of his iPad casting soft light across his face. His lips quirked. “There are also those who believe we are still alive and in hiding.”

“Well, they’re right about that.”

“And yet,” Hannibal continued, “they believe we despise one another. That you are held here against your will.”

Will barked out a laugh. “Oh yeah, I’m really suffering. Tragic, really.”

Hannibal hummed, pleased. “Shall I set the record straight?”

Will arched an eyebrow. “By what? Posting a photo of us on a romantic walk down the beach? ‘Proof of life, just me and my dear husband enjoying a lovely evening’?”

Hannibal smirked, but Will knew he was already considering it. Smug bastard.

Instead of answering, Hannibal’s scrolling slowed, and a rare softness overtook his features.

“Oh, look at this,” he said, turning the iPad toward Will. “It’s us.”

Will leaned in, expecting - what? An artistic rendering of their time in Baltimore? A poetic musing about them by some obsessed amateur sleuth? He glanced at the screen.

And blinked.

It was not an innocent meme. It was, in fact, quite the opposite.

It was lewd.

Profoundly lewd.

‘I just want a big daddy to breed my hole.’

Will swallowed, taking a second look just to confirm his horror.

“Uh.”

Hannibal, ever oblivious, still looked pleased with himself. “It captures something rather poignant about us, don’t you think?”

Will tore his gaze from the iPad and stared at him. “Hannibal.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Why are you showing me this?”

Hannibal frowned, as if Will was the one behaving strangely. “Because it’s us.”

Will, at a complete loss for words, let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “Hannibal, do you - do you know what you just showed me?”

Hannibal, still holding the iPad, glanced back at the screen, squinted slightly. Then, as realization dawned, a slow blink of recognition passed over his face.

“Oh.”

Oh, indeed.

For the first time in years, Hannibal Lecter - smug prick, cunning, malevolent, always-in-control Hannibal Lecter - looked. . . embarrassed. His poise faltered for a fraction of a second, eyes widening ever so slightly as his brain processed the grievous error.

With a swift, practiced motion, he exited the app and set the iPad aside, his expression smoothing back into carefully arranged neutrality. The only sign of his discomfort was the faint, rigid tension in his shoulders. He folded his hands in his lap, exuding a composed dignity that only made the moment so much funnier .

Will, who was still battling between second-hand embarrassment and outright, soul-deep laughter, leaned forward and rested his forehead against Hannibal’s knee, his shoulders shaking.

“So,” he said, voice thick with mirth. “You spend all this time on Twitter, and this is what you find?”

Hannibal inhaled deeply, exhaling through his nose, as though drawing upon divine patience. “It was an unfortunate algorithmic mistake.”

Will snorted. “Oh, an algorithmic mistake ? Is that what they’re calling horny scrolling these days?”

“I was attempting to show you something wholesome, ” Hannibal insisted, looking personally offended by the accusation.

Will sat back, grinning up at him. “And yet, you ended up showing me -”

“We will not discuss what I showed you.” Hannibal’s voice was final, clipped, but Will could see the faintest hint of color creeping up his neck.

Oh, this was perfect .

Day One of Hannibal’s Suffering

The next morning at breakfast, Will took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes twinkling over the rim of his mug.

“You know,” he mused, setting it down with deliberate casualness, “I was thinking about what you showed me yesterday.”

Hannibal didn’t even look up from his newspaper. “No, you weren’t.”

“No, I really was,” Will continued, undeterred. “It just. . . it makes me wonder. What else has your ‘unfortunate algorithm’ been feeding you?”

Hannibal turned a page with slightly more force than necessary. “I do not engage with those sorts of materials, Will.”

“‘Those sorts of materials,’” Will repeated, grinning. “You sound like a Victorian widow about to faint at the mere suggestion of impropriety.”

Hannibal folded the newspaper shut and stared at him.

Will only smiled.

Day Two: The Torture Continues

Will was chopping vegetables for dinner when he casually asked, “So, when are you gonna show me another meme? Or is it too risqué ?”

Hannibal, who had been expertly slicing a duck breast, paused just a second too long before resuming his work.

Will smirked. “Don’t worry, I won’t judge. I mean, I always assumed your Twitter habits were tasteful , but -”

Hannibal exhaled through his nose, an elegant display of contained suffering. “You are insufferable.”

“You love me.”

“I have killed men for less provocation.”

“Yeah, but none of them got to see your porn-filled Twitter feed first.”

Hannibal set his knife down with a slow, deliberate motion. “You realize, of course, that this will be your last meal.”

Will laughed, delighted. “Just don’t forget to take a picture for your little followers first.”

Day Three: Hannibal’s Breaking Point

By day three, Hannibal had officially run out of patience.

When Will walked into the kitchen that morning, opening his mouth with that look in his eyes, Hannibal simply pointed a knife at him and said, “Say ‘meme’ one more time and see what happens.”

Will, wisely, let it go.

. . .For now.

Day Four: The Smugness Continues

Hannibal was reading on the terrace, enjoying the warm breeze, a glass of wine balanced on the small side table beside him. He was at peace. Or at least, he had been until Will sat down across from him, sipping his own drink, eyes glinting with barely restrained amusement.

"You know, I was thinking," Will began, in the way that always preceded something irritating.

Hannibal did not lower his book. "You seem to be doing that a lot recently."

Will ignored this, shifting in his chair as though settling in for a long, leisurely torment session. "It’s just. . . you have such refined tastes, right? Literature, art, music. But I never expected you to have such an appreciation for internet filth."

Hannibal turned a page without reading it. "Will."

"I mean, here I was thinking you used Twitter for philosophy, culinary inspiration, news -"

"I do ."

"And yet, when you tried to share a meme with me, what did we get?" Will tapped his chin in mock thought. "Oh, right. A lewd, suspiciously specific meme that made you look like a very prude, very embarrassed little schoolboy."

Hannibal closed the book. Slowly.

Will leaned forward, grinning like a man who had no sense of self-preservation. " What else are you hiding, Dr. Lecter? "

Hannibal took a sip of wine, visibly weighing the pros and cons of murder.

“You’ve gone awfully childish, Will.” Hannibal mused. "Does sex frighten you?"

"Not at all," Will quipped. "Depending on if I'm the big daddy or you are."

Day Five: Hannibal Strikes Back

Hannibal had been patient. He had allowed Will his fun, tolerated his smugness, endured an entire week of relentless teasing. But now, it was his turn.

And Hannibal Lecter did not believe in petty revenge.

No, he believed in artfully crafted, psychologically devastating retribution .

His plan began at breakfast.

“Will,” he said smoothly, folding his napkin. “I’ve come across something. . . fascinating on Twitter.”

Will looked up, immediately suspicious.

“Oh?”

Hannibal smiled, serene, composed. “Yes. You see, I was scrolling through some accounts - just curious , of course - and I found a rather interesting collection of old tweets.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. “What old tweets?”

Hannibal took a delicate sip of his espresso. “ Yours .”

Will’s face dropped .

Hannibal produced his iPad, swiped a few times, then turned it around, revealing a particularly incriminating tweet from years ago.

@WGraham - 2013
"Why do I always fall for emotionally unavailable men? What is WRONG with me"

Will choked on his coffee. “Where the hell did you - “

Hannibal swiped again.

@WGraham - 2013
"If he’s mysterious and probably a little dangerous then yeah I’m gonna have feelings, it’s called having a type"

Will gawked . “Oh, fuck you.”

Hannibal, the picture of innocence, tilted his head. “Ah. So you do recall these?”

Will lunged for the iPad. Hannibal lifted it out of reach effortlessly.

“Give me that.”

“No, I think not.”

Will scowled. “Hannibal.”

Hannibal, smiling ever so slightly, leaned back in his chair, tapping at the screen. “Shall I continue? There’s one from 2014 where you describe - how did you put it? - wanting to be thrown around like a ragdoll ? Quite revealing .”

Will groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I hate you.”

Hannibal took another sip of espresso, supremely satisfied. “No, you don’t.”

Will peeked up at him, still red in the face. “You stalked my old tweets for revenge ?”

Hannibal set his cup down. “Of course not.” A pause. A beat. A perfectly executed smirk. “I simply let the algorithm guide me.”

Will stared at him. Then, despite himself, he laughed. “You absolute bastard .”

Hannibal merely raised his eyebrows, returning to his breakfast with the air of a man who had won .

“Not so funny now, is it?” Hannibal murmured, his ego sufficiently stroked.

Day Six: The Final Betrayal

Will was minding his own business - for once , which was rare - lounging on the couch with a book in one hand and a coffee in the other. For a brief moment, everything was calm .

Then his phone buzzed.

Then it buzzed again .

And again.

And again.

Will sighed. He picked it up, squinting at the screen.

A notification. A lot of notifications.

@TattleCrime tagged you in a post.

Will froze .

He tapped the notification with growing dread.

@TattleCrime 🐍🔪 [Pinned Tweet]

🚨 BREAKING NEWS: OLD WILL GRAHAM TWEETS HAVE BEEN UNEARTHED, AND I’M LOSING MY MIND. 🚨

A thread 🧵⬇️

Will stared.

He exhaled.

He opened the thread.

@TattleCrime 🐍🔪

1️⃣ So apparently, YEARS before Will Graham disappeared into the ether with a certain cannibal doctor , he was out here on Twitter posting like a man on the verge of making terrible romantic decisions.

2️⃣ Exhibit A:

📸 @WGraham - 2013
"Why do I always fall for emotionally unavailable men? What is WRONG with me"

Ma’am. Sir. Will Graham. Are you KIDDING ME?

3️⃣ Emotionally unavailable men. We all know what this MEANS. 👀

4️⃣ AND THEN:

📸 @WGraham - 2013
"If he’s mysterious and probably a little dangerous then yeah I’m gonna have feelings, it’s called having a type"

HAVING A TYPE.

SIR.

YOUR TYPE WAS A CANNIBAL.

5️⃣ Listen. Listen. I have been pushing the Murder Husbands theory for YEARS, but this? This is CONFIRMATION.

6️⃣ And you thought it couldn’t get better. But THEN.

📸 @WGraham - 2013
"Sometimes you just want a man to ruin your life a little. Just for fun."

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Will Graham. Please. Your therapist is crying. (Tears of joy, cause it was Hannibal)

7️⃣ AND THEN THERE’S THIS:

📸 @WGraham - 2013
"People say ‘Go to therapy’ but what if I simply found an older, deeply dangerous man to project all my issues onto instead?"

WILL.

YOU LITERALLY DID THAT.

8️⃣ This is my Roman Empire. This is the greatest discovery of my career.

9️⃣ Hannibal. If you’re seeing this. Congrats, I guess???

Anyway, Murder Husbands Confirmed , thanks for coming to my TED Talk. 😘

#Hannigram #WillGrahamThirstTweets #GayestManhuntInHistory

Will dropped his phone onto the coffee table and let out the longest , deepest sigh.

The kind of sigh that spoke of pure betrayal .

He turned his head. Slowly.

Hannibal was sitting across from him, reading the newspaper, sipping his coffee, the very picture of innocence.

Except for the slight, infuriatingly satisfied little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Will narrowed his eyes.

“You,” he said.

Hannibal didn’t even look at him. “Yes, dear?”

Will pointed a finger at him. “You showed her those tweets.”

Hannibal took a leisurely sip of his coffee. “That is a very serious accusation.”

Will stared at him. “You absolutely pointed her in the direction of my worst, thirstiest, most tragically self-incriminating posts.”

Hannibal finally looked at him, blinking with feigned innocence. “Now, Will, why would I do such a thing?”

Will gestured wildly at his phone . “Because you’re a petty bastard , that’s why!”

Hannibal set his coffee down and folded his hands neatly. “You have spent an entire week tormenting me.” He tilted his head, oh so smug. “It seemed only fair that I. . . redirect the conversation.”

Will groaned, running his hands over his face. “Freddie Lounds is going to have a field day with this.”

Hannibal smirked. “Oh, she already has.”

Will grabbed a pillow and threw it at him .

Hannibal caught it effortlessly, still looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.

“You are so lucky I love you,” Will muttered, collapsing back onto the couch, resigning himself to his fate.

Hannibal, ever so smug, took another sip of coffee. “That, my dear, is precisely why I win .”