Fics like Whipping Bone Marrow

Will Graham was perfectly healthy. That was the conclusion he’d reached on his own—no tests, no specialists, no sterile waiting rooms—because he had no intention of going anywhere near a doctor. Not anymore. Not after the encephalitis. So when something felt off now, Will decided what it was himself. And right now? He was fine. Perfectly fine. The vomiting in the mornings was unpleasant, sure, but it had an obvious cause. He could feel it before he even opened his eyes: a tightening in his chest, the uneasy churn of his stomach. It wasn’t illness. It was the dreams. The aversion to meat made sense, too. He told himself it was trauma. After being made into a cannibal, Hannibal’s cannibal, against his will, it was natural to recoil. He’d eaten things no human should. The revulsion was a penance. But the craving… that was harder to explain away. It wasn’t the dull ache of hunger, easily dismissed with willpower. It was sharper, heavier, almost physical in its insistence. It tugged at the back of his throat, curled low in his stomach. He wanted meat, desperately, but not the kind in a butcher’s case. Not the kind anyone else seemed to crave.

Fics like Whipping Bone Marrow

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