Adding This Important Disclaimer / Explanation About Dark Fics / Dark Content Here For Those Who Haven't

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.

you absolutely gobbled and left no crumbs

I haaaaaaate when people respond to top!Will/bottom!Hannibal posts with "they switch" efbqwelkfb. OBVIOUSLY they switch. But we're talking about the beautiful phenomenon of Will topping Hannibal right now. Let's take a moment to appreciate that.

i just rediscovered this in my drafts and wow i am eternally sobbing over this. i'll be a Hannibal apologist until the end of time because his devastation in Mizumono is so heartbreaking. especially considering how lonely Hannibal must've been before meeting Will. spending his entire adulthood hiding and feeling as if he could never form a genuine friendship with anyone. except for Will.

"all he knows is that will lied to him about freddie, refused to run away with him and insisted on confronting jack, and is now calling hannibal to taunt him and see what he does. all of will's actions have been for his own amusement."

the cry i crowed after reading that. all i can think about is Hannibal feeling both betrayed and ostracized. 💔 because in that moment Hannibal believed Will only had ulterior motives and only forged a deeper friendship with him as part of a ruse. it's like in the movies where the main character gains a new best friend. only for that same "friend" to privately detest them and gossip about them behind their back. that wasn't at all what Will was doing because his friendship with Hannibal was genuine. but that was probably how Hannibal felt upon coming to this revelation. believing Will had only ever been on Jack's side post-episode 2x08. i love reading your analyses and disections of the show so, so much

y'know, sometimes i can't get over how impulsively hannibal acted in mizumono like, baby girl, he called you to warn you the FBI knew!!! maybe wait two seconds before whipping out the knife and gutting the love of your life because maybe, just maybe, there's an explanation that isn't "will betrayed me, i must forgive him the way God forgives."

and then i remember.

hannibal didn't give a fuck about garret jacob hobbs when he called and said, "they know." he was just curious about what would happen. it was for his own amusement.

so of course when will calls and says the same exact words, hannibal doesn't see it as the genuine gesture will meant it to be. how could he? all he knows is that will lied to him about freddie, refused to run away with him and insisted on confronting jack, and is now calling hannibal to taunt him and see what he does. all of will's actions have been for his own amusement.

and oh boy, does hannibal put on a show. "you want to see what i'm capable of? fucking watch me."

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.

i know this is on my vulnerable Hannibal fic rec list already, but i cannot recommend it enough because it is so beautiful and the last two chapters are finally up! everyone and their momma, go read i have loved you in a tame way & i have loved you wild by @cervviidae (and leave a comment for the author if you can, they deserve so much love) because it is such a beautiful Hannigram AU!! i rarely read AUs myself, but this has quickly become one of my favorite fics of all time <3 i'm about to read the last two chapters and i'm so excited to see how it ends <3

the self-indulgent fanfiction will continue until morale improves

hello coffeeintherain!!! i really love ur hannigram fics on ao3!!! they make my heart burst. do u take requests?

omg hi!! thank you so much <3 i absolutely do take requests!

Hannibal's food trauma flaring up in the winter is always on my mind.

During season 2, post-episode naka-choko, Hannibal is in the middle of a binge (eating foods from his childhood because it helps him feel closer to Mischa, and because there is always a persistent and illogical, deep-rooted fear of running out of food) and regresses. He's wearing the red sweater and matching pajama pants. His hair is unstyled, laying soft across his forehead. He's alone in the dining room until someone else unexpectedly enters the room. Will (because they both gave the other a spare key), who is stunned when Hannibal startles for the first time ever and gasps and starts choking on a mouthful of food. And for a few moments, Will is frozen --waiting for Hannibal to settle. He doesn't. He's clawing at his throat and tears are pouring down each cheek. Then, Will rushes over and does the heimlich maneuver on Hannibal. The mouthful of food lands onto Hannibal's plate. He's gasping for breath, blinking wetly--and Will is unprepared for the next moment: the back of Hannibal's skull presses closer; a small, reversal nuzzle; seeking comfort. Will is still holding onto Hannibal's waist, holding him up, feeling how bloated and strained his abdomen is right now. Then, Hannibal's chest lurches and he starts gagging and ends up vomiting all over the table. His fists are curled around the table's edge and Will struggles to hold him up from how violently he's retching. Puking always distresses little Hannibal because puking reminds him of the moment he realized he ate the soup filled with Mischa's remains. He's a trembling wreck, tears and snot and saliva and bile coating his mouth and chin. He doesn't respond to Will's questions of concern. He disassociates, blinking blankly and reliving flashbacks of being trapped inside the cabin with Mischa and being so, so hungry and cold and scared, even if he didn't want to show the men he was afraid. He doesn't react until Will brings a napkin up to his mouth, wiping away the mess. He startles again, whimpering yet not able to move in such a cramped position. Will realizes something is wrong when Hannibal's rasped and ruined voice fills the air: something foreign and trembling, a half-formed cry. That's when Will realizes something is wrong. That Hannibal isn't drunk. There is food everywhere; multiple pans half-full. There is no cutlery, because Hannibal's been eating everything by hand-feeding himself. He's shivering and disheveled and reeking of vomit. Will knows leaving Hannibal like this is not an option. For the first few moments, consoling Hannibal does not come with a natural ease, but Will slowly begins to understand that touch and a gentle voice are comforting for little Hannibal. The mess is first on Will's list, and he makes Hannibal sit back down and drink some water, then begins cleaning up the table. Hannibal becomes distressed when he realizes what's happening; that food is being taken away. It takes a few moments for Will to calm Hannibal down. To remind Hannibal that he's already had enough. Soon, Will leads Hannibal upstairs to change into clean pajamas. Then, Hannibal asks Will to stay, in a voice so small that Will couldn't possibly refuse.

Later, when little Hannibal is asleep, curled up against Will's chest after explaining winter always makes him hungry and sharing stories of his childhood (maybe abuse at the orphanage), and sharing that he's never had a best friend after losing Mischa until now, Will begins to second guess everything and no longer wants to go through with the plan of entrapping Hannibal. Especially when little Hannibal admits to Will he didn't mean to eat the soup--he was just so hungry--and Will is left wondering what it means until everything clicks into place.

Hannibal is breathless--precome welling around the catheter in ceaseless beadings. He's soaking Will's gloves--cock pulsing and stiffening with each abrupt shift of Will's wrist. He's lying on an inflatable air mattress in a cramped tent. He knows a catheter is necessary and would not mind it under any other circumstance. But it's dizzying to have Will insert it--movements as cautious as can be--murmuring soothing sounds as if Hannibal is a distressed stray in agony instead of whimpering through sharp waves of pleasure. He's leaking. He knows. He can't resist a pitifully needy thrust--body seeking friction on its own--something molten and torturously good spears into the very depths of Hannibal's cock--a pleasure unknown. He can't even think to stifle a voice-cracking moan. His toes and fingers curl in response, sweaty against the sheets. Opening his eyes is an impossible feat. He waits for the inevitable--for Will's gloved hand to retreat--for Will to recoil in discomfort. He feels a shocked breath stutter through a wail as fingers curl around his cock with intent--with breath stealing warmth--with a tender confidence--and begin to stroke--while the tubing of the catheter twists (slow and careful yet enough to wrench another tearful cry from straining lungs).

Will presses a kiss to Hannibal's kneecap, whispering gentle words of encouragement. He doesn't last long--pulsing and sweating and trembling. He can't last long at all--not when Will says "come on, cher, you're almost there."

Post-Fall Hannibal being so touch-starved that in the middle of having a catheter inserted every shred of composure snaps--and whimpering and thrusting up into Will's gloved hand is all Hannibal can do. Hannibal experiencing sounding via a catheter would slay in a fic. I have it halfway written, but maybe I'll finish it one day 🤭

I stayed up late to read the new chapter and it was so worth it! I wasn’t sure how to post a gif in the AO3 comment section—but this was literally me after reading:

Hannibal’s breath hitched, and a desperate, almost pleading expression crossed his face as a faint, stuttering whisper escaped him, “I–I need…”

Will silenced him with a tender yet commanding touch, his hands cupping Hannibal’s face. He brushed his thumb over Hannibal’s trembling lips, feeling the warmth and the slight moisture of his breath. “Pants off, darlin’,” he instructed, his tone brooking no argument.

I love that moment so much 🥺

chapter 13 is up!

i hope y'all enjoy and would love to know what y'all think – felt like i was truly fighting for my life with parts of this chapter lolol

Will chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through the small space between them. “Well, if it makes you feel better,” he said, his tone light, “I suppose I can tolerate being carried around like a damsel in distress.” Hannibal’s smile widened a small amount. “You, my dear Will, are far from a damsel in distress. But I do appreciate your cooperation.”