AHHHH IM STILL IN LOVE WITH IT A BILLION DAYS LATER 🥹 Tysm For Making It For Me!! You're So, So Talented

Will being reminded time and time again Hannibal is only human post-fall. This turned into word vomit because I just typed to my little heart's content so the ending is a bit rushed lol. It ain't a formal fic. Just a little post-fall blurb.

They're standing underneath the shower head, warm water trickling down. Will is holding Hannibal by the waist--keeping his weak body steady and upright--because Hannibal is unbalanced due to a high dosage of pain medication. It's Hannibal's first shower after the stitches from his healing gunshot wound were removed. There's only a shower in this motel room--not a bathtub. Will knows Hannibal's been dying to bathe properly for weeks instead of the unsatisfying sponge baths.

Hannibal is washing shampoo through each gray strand, removing built up grease from his scalp when every finger steadily begins to slow and comes to a complete halt. Will is worried something's wrong--maybe Hannibal strained something while raising both hands over his head. Hannibal is barely breathing. Will leans in and peers over Hannibal's shoulder. Heat is creeping into Hannibal's cheeks. Hannibal's cock is half-hard and stiffening by the second.

Will is shocked--but not at all surprised. He doesn't recall having ever given Hannibal a moment of privacy besides using the toilet. He knows Hannibal is touch starved and can't be at fault for such an involuntary reaction. Fingers stroke gentle circles against Hannibal's waist. "Rinse your hair. It's gonna get in your eyes and burn like hell." He knows Hannibal's brain damaged mind needs gentle reminders on occasion--even for basic steps such as washing one's hair. He knows Hannibal is relearning mundane tasks. He knows. He is patient through it all even when it comes as a shock that Hannibal still needs reminders for everyday things--that Hannibal could forget how to perform a single task--that Hannibal depends on Will.

Hannibal's nearly finished rinsing his hair and his fingers begin to tremble and his feet slide along the shower floor as if it's becoming uncomfortable to remain still.

Will knows what needs to happen and wonders if Hannibal is waiting for permission--permission Hannibal doesn't need yet still seems to search for, even if stuck in a perpetual state of mutism. He knows Hannibal is shy in searching for guidance--that fact never ceases to shock Will. "Take care of yourself." He waits for a long stretch of time for something to happen--for Hannibal's hands to move. But they only remain curled in Hannibal's hair, shaking as much as the rest of Hannibal's body. Then, it dawns on Will.

Embarrassment is not the reason for Hannibal's refusal. He simply doesn't remember what to do or understand what Will means. It's a fine motor skill issue and an amnesia issue. Hannibal's cheek burns Will's lips where a gentle kiss is placed upon wet and flushing skin.

"It's okay if you don't remember how, darlin', I know you've been doing your best." Will's hands move from Hannibal's waist toward Hannibal's stomach. He rubs over the soft, subtle swell of Hannibal's stomach. Giving Hannibal time to adapt to skin to skin contact after enduring three long years without a single affectionate touch. He knows it feels foreign, especially because of Hannibal's brain damage and amnesia. Hannibal awoke one month ago--confused--terrified even if attempting not to show it--because Hannibal's last unfractured memories were of being in France. Dim. Faded. Not Fresh. He keeps each touch slow and gentle, allowing Hannibal's touch starved body unrushed moments to adjust.

Hannibal's untouched cock is stiff and leaking and twitching in response to every caress of Will's hands along Hannibal's stomach. Hannibal's breathing is shallow. Hannibal's eyes are clenched shut. Will understands now. Hannibal must've been a virgin at this stage in life--a killer--but never granted anyone the chance to touch. Hannibal is aching--throbbing--barely able to contain a rising whine as trembling fingers betray him, clinging to one of Will's forearms. He trusts Will and only Will. Even though it's taken a long time for Hannibal's distrust to melt away.

Will understands in all reality Hannibal is a decade older. But Hannibal's current state of mind is only 19 years old. Will wouldn't ever dare to speak such a statement under another circumstance. But this version of Hannibal is sweet in rare moments when not attempting to ward off the world beneath a stone cold exterior--one not yet perfected--one with easily discovered fractures Will is unable to ignore after knowing Hannibal for so long. He whispers the single phrase that comes to mind. Right next to Hannibal's ear. "Do you need my help, sweet boy?"

Will can tell Hannibal is trying to fight it: the shock, the trembling gasp twisting an undignified whimper threatening claw its way forth, the small and pitiful abortive thrust--pitching forward into empty air. It comes to Will easily as if a second nature buried deep and forgotten. He soothes Hannibal's breathless whimper with a kiss against a soaking wet temple. "Easy, baby, I'll take care of you," Will whispers and curls a calloused palm around Hannibal's cock. A frail and wobbling moan erupts from Hannibal's mouth--shattered and hoarse and needy. Hannibal's other hand claws at the wall for balance. Will's grasp is gentle (unyielding yet nearly lax) as Hannibal's overwhelmed body struggles to find its rhythm in wake of such a foreign sensation--of such jaw-dropping pleasure. He knows it must feel like Hannibal's first time ever approaching orgasm due to brain damage and amnesia. Hannibal's feet are damn near slipping and Will loops an arm around Hannibal's waist. "You don't have to rush. Find your pace, sweet boy."

Echoing off the tiled walls are Hannibal's whimpers and moans--thin and ruined from rusted vocal cords. Hannibal's head is tipped back and leaning against Will's shoulder. He sobs a wordless plea once Will begins taking over with a sure and steady fist--spurring long-awaited friction around Hannibal's neglected cock.

Will can barely keep Hannibal upright because of how erratic Hannibal's shifting is becoming: sharp, unpracticed thrusts desperate to meet each stroke as if this sensation is entirely new and deeply craved--and pressing back against Will's clothed cock--Will wore boxers for Hannibal's comfort. He can't resist thrusting in response, burning with a mirrored need. He knows Hannibal is close: with nails digging into skin, with nails clawing at the walls, with thighs trembling, with knees threatening to buckle, with a rising stream of needy, breathless cries cresting into the air, with each swift twist of a wrist, with each murmur of praise breathed against Hannibal's ear. Hannibal's voice cracks on each unraveling wail--strained and wet with tears of overwhelm. He knows Hannibal's cheeks are soaking in fresh tears along with water from the shower head. Hannibal's chest is heaving bright with a flush--sinking in and filling with each ragged breath. He swirls a thumb around Hannibal's nipple--and again and again--when Hannibal's pulsing cock twitches in response--when Hannibal's sobs cease to be audible in wake of a toe-curling climax.

Will guides Hannibal through those dizzying, mind numbing moments. He presses endless kisses to Hannibal's jaw and cheek and temple. He climaxes soon after, a deep moan spilling forth. He cradles Hannibal, who's trembling and gasping through the aftershocks. He guides Hannibal out of the shower and into a clean set of pajamas. He showers quickly and steps out of the bathroom.

Hannibal is staring up at Will, eyes glassy and cheeks still warmed with a blush. He tentatively reaches out. He wants to be held. Will knows.

I love my blorbo so much I need him covered in blood and beaten within an inch of his life

you just know Hannibal's mind would do the equivalent of a blue screen and he would stand there frozen in shock the first time it happens, soaking in Will's southern accent softening the word 🤭

Something something hierarchy of needs pyramid with will graham calling hannibal baby just once on it somewhere

Hannibal (2013-2015)

2x13 - “Mizumono”

It’s storming and the lights are flickering (and Hannibal detests/is afraid of the dark during bad weather). The lights flicker off the moment Will plunges the spoon into Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal is shivering (while rooted to the floor) and his jaws instinctively clamp down around the spoon because at one point he believed it would be his last morsel of sustenance. It’s agonizing as it sticks to the roof of his mouth and spills across his tongue and seeps into his gum line. He ends up choking on a sob and a mouthful of ice cream as he wets himself because of the resurfacing trauma. Cue Will feeling guilty as hell when the lights come back on because Hannibal is standing/trembling in a puddle of urine and Hannibal won’t speak for the rest of the night or the next day.

Imagine eight year old Hannibal escaping from the cabin and he’s so starving that he eats a few handfuls of snow just so his stomach won’t feel so empty. Later in life he never eats vanilla ice cream (or any other flavor for that matter) because the texture and temperature is too similar to snow. Will only knows he always turns down an offering of ice cream and thinks it’s weird as fuck that Hannibal is so averse to it because everyone loves ice cream. One day Hannibal is in the middle of a tangent and Will shoves a spoonful into his mouth and it triggers his cryophobia.

Imagine if during Will’s honey trap era, he dropped by unannounced and found Hannibal slumped on the floor of his kitchen—wearing his red sweater and matching pajama pants—too weak and fatigued from the flu to make it back to bed.

He’s fevered and shivering, barely holding onto a half-eaten piece of toast that’s dangling between his sleep-slackened fingers. His bangs are fanned out across his forehead, softening his features and two days’ growth of stubble dusts his jaw. Will manages to wake him and strips him down to his boxers to wrangle him into a cold bath in hopes of bringing down his fever. Hannibal panics and tries to climb out—away from the frigid water—but Will holds him down.

Cue Hannibal’s cryophobia emerging for the first time in decades and he regresses. In under a minute, he’s sobbing and on the verge of hyperventilating, clinging to Will and losing his footing as he makes another effort to escape, slipping back into the water and busting his chin on the edge of the tub.

so so real omg the way he's a vulnerable little pumpkin in the BSHCI becoming crestfallen when Will says "no" after being asked if it was good to see him 😭💔

Me seeing hannibal looking sad and pathetic in his tupperware

Part 2) Blood gushes from Hannibal’s wound and from his mouth (where he bit his tongue on impact). His eyes are glazed over and Will realizes he’s having a flashback.

(this next part is barely a wip idea—but Hannibal was nearly drowned at the orphanage during a bath—by an adult who found him difficult to deal with—when he was sick with a cold and too weak to fend for himself. In that moment, he just wanted his papa or mother to save him. But he could only depend on himself).

“Tėtis,” (papa in Lithuanian) tumbles from Hannibal’s mouth, flecked with droplets of blood. Along with the word “Praušu” as he flings himself into Will’s chest, knocking them both to the floor. He burrows into Will’s lap, desperate for warmth and consolation. Will decides he can put his plans involving Hannibal’s impending entrapment on hold for one night.

Imagine if during Will’s honey trap era, he dropped by unannounced and found Hannibal slumped on the floor of his kitchen—wearing his red sweater and matching pajama pants—too weak and fatigued from the flu to make it back to bed.

He’s fevered and shivering, barely holding onto a half-eaten piece of toast that’s dangling between his sleep-slackened fingers. His bangs are fanned out across his forehead, softening his features and two days’ growth of stubble dusts his jaw. Will manages to wake him and strips him down to his boxers to wrangle him into a cold bath in hopes of bringing down his fever. Hannibal panics and tries to climb out—away from the frigid water—but Will holds him down.

Cue, Hannibal’s cryophobia emerging for the first time in decades and he regresses. In under a minute, he’s sobbing and on the verge of hyperventilating, clinging to Will and losing his footing as he makes another effort to escape—slipping back into the water and busting his chin on the edge of the tub.

and that is the beauty of fanfiction 😌

if Hannibal isn't at least fighting back a sniffle in my fic then i have lost the plot

fic writers and fan artists be like