#hannigramprompts

[tscleveland]

Suggestion to World

Hannibal is a Witcher AU.

And Will is the son he’s given in exchange for saving his drunkard father’s life from a wraith or something. So Hanni drags Will from his home for Witcher training. The slow burn. The angst. The leather outfits. Will someone write this for me/the rest of the respectable world? Or am I going to have to do it myself? Hmmm?

[gruntsandpoetry]

not sure if you're still doing these but i have a little prompt for you. hannibal and will discuss will throwing himself and hannibal off the cliff and what was going through his mind during.

Read on AO3

“Do we talk about it now, or do we dance around the unspoken knowledge until it suffocates us both?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Will winces as the needles slips beneath his skin, Hannibal’s deft fingers working to close the deep gash just below his collarbone.

“You tried to kill us, Will,” Hannibal says calmly, almost amused. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know that I was thinking.” Will stares down at the neat row of sutures blossoming on his skin. “It was just calm. Clarity.”

“You saw the beauty of your becoming. Of our becoming, together.” Hannibal says, steady hands continuing their work, gaze darting up to meet Will’s only briefly. “The chrysalis has shattered, the sight of your own wings frightening. The reality of your transformation both magnificent and devastating.”

“I didn’t become anything, Hannibal.” Will sighs. “I am as I have always been.”

“You were a man wandering in the dark, then.” Hannibal snips the thread on the final suture. “Either way, you can see yourself now.”

“Yes.” Will traces the neatly sutured wound with his fingers. “And I see you.”

“When you look at me what do you see, Will?”

“I see myself.”

“And that is why you took yourself over the edge with me.”

“There are no discernible boundaries between us anymore.” Will shifts uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, exhaustion dragging him down, heavy on his limbs. “I couldn’t kill you, and I couldn’t watch you die. But the world may be better off without us in it.”

“But the world is more interesting with you in it, Will.” Hannibal asserts, perching on the bed beside him. “And you fought for life when the water did not take us. You helped drag me to shore.”

“I couldn’t leave you behind.”

Hannibal just stares at him then, the weight of Will’s words pressing into the lines around his eyes as he smiles softly, fingers splaying out on Will’s thigh, then squeezing firmly before he rises to his feet.

“You should get some rest.” Hannibal turns to leave him, but Will catches his wrist.

“Stay.” One simple word is all that Will can manage, but Hannibal doesn’t put up a fight.

[gruntsandpoetry]

okay this is kinda cracky but i would love will to catch hannibal eating junk food

Read on AO3

“Oh my god.” Will blinks, dumbfounded by what he’s seeing.

“Will,” Hannibal says over the rustle of plastic, a bag being shoved down into the sofa cushions. “I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

“The market was closed. They had a fire in one of the storerooms.” Will just stares. “Were you…”

“No.”

“Are those cheetos?”

“If there are cheetos anywhere in this house, they’re certainly not mine.”

“Why are you licking your fingers?”

“I was eating truffles earlier, made quite a mess of myself.”

“You just licked cheeto dust from your fingers, Hannibal.” Will is grinning from ear to ear as he plops down beside him. “There are orange crumbs in your lap.”

Hannibal quickly runs his hands over the front of his pants, trying to cover up the evidence despite Will staring right at him. He goes to stand, but Will catches his wrist and pulls him back down beside him.

“Don’t be embarrassed.”

“What would I have to be embarrassed about?” Hannibal remains stoic, but his discomfort is obvious.

“Hannibal.” Will holds back a laugh. “It’s okay. I saw you. You don’t need to lie. I—”

“Will—”

“It’s actually kind of sexy.”

“You find eating low quality, high calorie food covered in fake powdered cheese sexy?”

“When it’s you I do.” Will smiles. “I imagine this is what it would be like for a normal person to catch their spouse masturbating.”

Will reaches over Hannibal’s lap, retrieving the crumpled bag from where Hannibal has tried to conceal it. He pops one in his mouth, taking another and holding it up to Hannibal’s lips.

“Put it in your mouth.” Will rubs it across his bottom lip as he tries to turn his head away.

“Will. Stop.” Hannibal presses his lips tightly together.

“I can smell them on your breath.” Will says incredulously. “Come on, let me see you eat just this one.”

Hannibal stares at him for a moment before tentatively taking the cheeto between his teeth, orange flecks of cheese falling into the corner of his mouth as he devours it.

“Are you happy now, Will?”

“God, Hannibal,” Will says, straddling his lap, kissing him deeply. “Tell me about all the horrible food you eat when no one else can see you.”

[gruntsandpoetry]

prompt: digestivo setting. after hannibal has brought will home and they've both changed and bandaged, will wakes sometime in the middle of the night while hannibal is keeping an eye on him. something quiet and private and personal. a last connection before will sleeps again and the inevitability of morning's events happen.

Read on AO3

Will wakes to the sound of rustling paper. Uncertain where he is, his heart begins to race, his last memory before the world faded to black the cold press of Cordell’s scalpel into his flesh.

Grounded by familiar surroundings, he realizes he is back in Wolf Trap, back in the comfort of his own bed. Through the dimly-lit dark he sees Hannibal seated in an armchair at the foot of his bed, pencil gliding smoothly over paper.

Hannibal’s hand stops, dropping his pencil and pressing it between the pages of the notebook. He places it on the floor when he catches Will’s gaze, quietly standing before perching on the edge of the bed.

Will flinches only slightly when Hannibal touches his cheek, then his forehead, inspecting his wounds. The touches are clinical and tender, but if Will had more energy he would be tempted to lean into the warmth of his hands.

They don’t speak. Hannibal gazes into his eyes and Will doesn’t know if he wants to laugh, or cry, or scream at him to leave and never come back. He is so very tired, so he settles for silence instead.

Hannibal takes his hand, gently cradling it in his own. Will is too weak to pull away, is uncertain if he even wants to, something inside him still reaching out for the attentions of the monster who left him bleeding on his kitchen floor. The beast who wanted to devour him. The man who saved him when someone else dared to try and take his life.

The soft glow of lamplight forms half a halo around Hannibal’s head. In Will’s mind’s eye the other half takes the shape of claws and teeth, twisted antlers suspended on a sunbeam.

In Will’s mind’s eye a teacup gathers itself back up again, the sound of hooves on pavement rattling inside his head. The kettle sings, a raven-black stag snuffing at his neck as sleep pulls him down again. Hannibal’s warm presence remains beside him, enveloping him in the safety of the dark.

Safe, for now, deep inside the belly of the beast. Safe, for now, tucked tight inside the coil of Il Mostro’s tail.