booklyns - Tumblr blog

[booklyns]

Project Voltage Mikus.

Types:

grass, fire, water

rock (x2)

normal, ghost, bug

steel, fairy

flying, electric, psychic

poison, ground, ice

dragon, dark, fighting

[booklyns]

this is so cute bye

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠;

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: After a chance meeting with the woman in red, Leon shows you why your insecurity is completely unwarranted.

words: 3.3k

warnings: 18+ only (face-sitting, p in v sex, light choking, they’re both switches)

notes: this is a mashup of two very similar requests.. have not written smut in months… cannot believe this man broke my dry spell

You feel sick. Nauseous. Something bitter and acrid—jealousy, you believe—poisons the aching well of your chest.

Ada Wong in the flesh. In that dress.

He looks at her like she controls gravity, like she wanes moontide, like nothing else matters. 

You feel sick. He chose you in the end. No, no, no—you thought he did. 

Years of radio silence, some unspoken no-contact rule torn to shreds. She’s back, a ghost in red, and she ensnares him. It’s over. You know it.

“How cute,” says the woman, in her high heels and manicured nails and styled hair. She drops from the windowsill and joins you inside the bedroom. Beautiful and dangerous and you fully understand her appeal. It’s why your hackles rise like you’ve been threatened. “I admit, I’m surprised to see you here. With another woman, no less.”

Leon steps back upon her approach, spares a glance your way before regarding her. “Why are you here?“

“I have my reasons.” Ada then turns to you, gaze razor-edged and calculating. “By the look on your face, I suppose my reputation precedes me.”

You imagine yourself bathed in insecurity, a smell thick enough to catch on the wind. She’s admirable to a painful degree—intelligent, mysterious, beautiful, witty. Traits compounded by the physicality of her presence.

She is your opposite.

She is everything you’ve always wanted to be.

He was hers once upon a time. 

And you hate her for that. 

“You’ve been mentioned once or twice,” you say, mirroring the guard of her own posture. A lot less elegant in practice. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“I promise, I came here to take one thing, and it isn’t Leon. This time, at least.”

At this, the mentioned man moves. Silent, if not for the thud of his boots upon the floor. He presses a hand to your shoulder, urges you back toward the door.

“Never again,” he says to her, and the gravel in his voice gives you pause. Skips your heart a few beats.

Ada feigns a grim frown, halfway to a pout. “You used to be fun.”

“I won’t play your game anymore. We’re done.”

“You always say that.” She turns to you one final time, sauntering backward toward the open window. “He always says that, dear.”

With a red-painted smile, she steps onto the balcony and disappears into a realm of blackhole shadow. 

Silence festers in her wake. The nausea returns tenfold. Leon jolts you back with a grip on your upper arm. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. We’ll finish this, and then we’ll talk.”

The serum is returned to one Chris Redfield at a BSAA base an hours’ drive away. The way Leon talks, he’s an important man, but you have more important things on the mind.

Things that you sift through at the paid-for hotel early into the night.

Leon returns some time between questioning your entire relationship and self-flagellation. He finds you stretched out beneath the sheets, in a bed too cold and empty to tolerate.

“I didn’t mean to be gone so long,” he says, perching upon the edge of the mattress to untie then toe off his shoes. “We just started talking and—“

“It’s fine.”

His boots thump to the floor. “You’re mad at me.”

“Not at you. Myself.”

“Why?”

Many reasons. Mainly, “I just… I don't feel good enough for you.”

His gear is already off, thrown carelessly to the end of the bed. He’s obviously tired, exhausted even, but your brain’s been half-eaten by dulcet words and every time you blink you see nothing but red. Red dress, red nails, red lips.

“Don’t let her do this,” he says, crawls across the sheets and plants himself at your side. Hovers over you by the brace of an elbow. “She’s good at what she does. I would know.”

“I’m sure.”

He huffs out a joyless laugh and curls a large hand about your neck. Your pulse drums against his palm. “Listen to me. There is nothing she could say to pull me away from you.”

“She’s everything I’m not.”

“I don’t give a shit. There’s no comparison, no competition. It’ll always be you. Do you understand that?”

You lean into his touch, close your eyes at the tender caress of his thumb over your jaw. “I know. I just—I second guess myself sometimes.”

“You shouldn’t.” His kiss warms your cheek, then he pulls away to sit up. “I’ll be right back. Gotta shower.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

He leaves to the adjacent bathroom, and the buzz of running water lulls you into a doze. 

When the door opens, he’s bare. Fluffing his hair with a towel. Sorting through a suitcase filled with folded clothes on the dresser, skin a golden glow from the lamplight’s cast. His back still drips wet, and you climb out of bed to finish what he started.

When you take the towel from his hand, he glances over his shoulder, smiles soft as you trail the fabric down his spine. 

Beautiful. Yours.

“You always forget your back,” you say, press an open-mouthed kiss between his shoulder blades.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Your arms circle around his waist, flesh warm and soft and sweet-smelling against your cheek. “I never can.”

“My point exactly.” He loosens your grip and turns, fits a hand beneath the hem of your shirt. Furrows his brow in thought, maybe worry. “What you said earlier. Feeling like you aren’t good enough.”

“What about it?”

“I’d like to prove you wrong. If you’ll let me.”

You would let him do anything he wanted. Not that you’d ever admit such a thing out loud. 

But the anticipation adds a heaviness to your breath and a surge of electricity to the pump of your blood.

Yes. Yes, absolutely, yes. 

“I would love that.”

He continues his ritual of stripping you. Shirt, sleep shorts, underwear. An act of reverence, soft in the way he coaxes you to bed, whispers against your skin, roams loving hands over curves and dimples and scars. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, back pressed to the sheets, head cradled by a fluffed-up pillow. 

He soothes a hand over your forehead, looks at you all low-lidded and delicate. “For what?”

“I had a moment of weakness. I know that—that she doesn’t mean anything to you now.”

He kisses you then, an appetizer of quick pecks, a palm rising over the swell of your ribcage. A simmering heat coils in the pit of your stomach, makes you fist a hand in his hair and dig fingers into the curve of his back.

His thighs move to bracket your hips, the change in angle folding your legs up toward your chest. He’s solid against you, all hard-won muscle and dizzying weight, taut in the legs to keep himself still. His length twitches against your lower belly, rests heavy and hot against your skin. 

“Leon,” you breathe, shifting your grip to just above his knee, a span of giving flesh that you can squeeze when you feel as if you might fly away.

He noses just beneath your jaw, trails open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck. Suckles at the skin, just shy of bruising damage. Gooseflesh rises, stands the hair at your nape on end, and you force a cheek into the pillow.

He pulls away, hovers over you. “What do you want?”

Your head whips around to glare at him, and you almost seethe upon witnessing the teasing grin on his face. “No. Fuck you, we’re not doing that right now.”

“Well, fucking you is kinda the end goal here. Gotta work up to it, though.”

You hate that his jesting cracks your irritated exterior. You hate it even more when your face begins to heat. You hate it even more when your lips bloom into a giddy smile.

“Fine.”

“That’s what I thought.”

You shove at his shoulder, and he takes the hint to roll onto his back. Splays out, bares himself for you. The lamp’s orange bloom subdues his features, and you gaze upon him, the hard—

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but you can do a lot more than stare.”

He reaches for you with a greedy hand, fingers sliding up the inside of your thigh, and a bolt of arousal twitches your hips toward his touch. Then he retreats, and you follow as if he’s leashed you. Throw a leg over his hip, seat yourself on his lower belly. 

“Higher,” he says, voice thick as honey, hands tight around the fat of your hips.

Your brain short-circuits a moment—all the blood’s been pooling between your legs—before you realize what he means. And you bite back a chest-deep groan. 

Sit on his face. 

The higher you climb, the further down he moves. Meeting you halfway, an anticipation that sends his hands shaking against the back of your thighs.

“Don’t do that hovering shit,” he says, a borderline groan, and you twitch as the heat of his breath fans between your legs. “I want you to sit. Got it?”

You’re fit to faint. He’s checking all your boxes and he looks so pretty beneath you. Hair a halo of spun gold upon the pillow, eyes dark and intense, lips pink and spitslick and perfectly inviting.

You card fingers through his hair, tug hard—hard enough that he groans, that his head tilts back at just the right angle. And you sit, just like he ordered you to. 

“Like this?” you huff. The wet heat of his tongue laves against you, over you in firm, long strokes.

His eyes close, brow knotting in focus, and a sharp squeeze to the top of your thighs serves well as his answer.

You understand now. What devotion looks like. The appeal of idolatry. He licks into you and keens so low your legs numb with static. You untangle your hand from his hair to balance yourself against the headboard, and thank fuck he truly meant ‘sit’ because your knees quickly give out in a white flag surrender to the eagerness of his mouth.

He lifts you easily, just enough to free his tongue, just enough for him to curl slick heat over the bud of your clit. His mouth begins to suckle, tongue shifts to flicking, and you almost drive your face through the headboard. 

“Oh god, fuck—“

Your breathing staccatos and your thighs shake and heat coils in the pit of your belly and he shows no sign of stopping—

Nonono not now. Wanna wait. Gotta have him inside you.

“Leon, stop.“ You push against the weight of his hands and he relents. Cushions your backward fall atop his chest. Pants deep and open-mouthed, soothes large, warm hands over the slope of your waist. He presses wet lips to the inside of your thigh and waits for your breathing to slow. For his own.

“Goddamn,” you breathe, scoot yourself down the line of his body and brace your hands on either side of his head. “Sometimes I forget that your mouth is good for other things besides getting on my nerves.”

He licks the slick from his lips and cups both hands over the curve of your ass. “One’s a job. The other’s a hobby.”

If not for the current state of your brain—utter mush—you would’ve shut him up. But he has you in a playful mood, and the sight if him all fucked-out and messy does very, very bad things to whatever braincells still survive between your ears.

“Which is which?”

“If you can’t tell, then I need more practice.”

The words force a laugh from you, and his responding smile gleams with pride. Reverence. Idolatry. You understand now.

“I love you.”

You lean forward to kiss him and taste yourself heady on his lips, smooth both hands over his chest, down the planes of his abdomen, reel back to fit yourself over the hard length of his cock. Hot and thick and fever-red at the tip. Your mouth waters, remembers the weight of him on your tongue, the breathy moans that wash over your skin when you tease the plush head. His taste.

“Later,” he says, groans deep in his chest as you grind against him until the steely flesh glistens wet. “Let me guess, you want me to beg.”

With a greedy smile, you cant your hips, catching your clit against the tip of his cock. Over and over and over again, and your head lolls back upon the approach of orgasm. The noisy schlick of each glide.

“What’ll it be?” you pant, gaze down at him through low-lidded eyes.

He wrestles with the difficulty of composure, face flushed, chest heaving, tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

A simple call of his name, a reminder of your offer, and he acts. Shoves you sideways off of him, onto your back, and pins you there with a hand pressed flat to your sternum.

“That’s not fair.” You frown in false upset, even though his precum leaks onto your belly and you part your thighs in invitation. One he gladly takes. 

“I thought I was supposed to be doing all the work.”

 “I was having fun.”

He presses a burning kiss to your lips, licks into your mouth and forces your head back into the plush of the pillow.

“Teasing’s only fun when you’re the one doing it.” His voice lowers to a grumble, a threat that twitches your hips. 

“So you get it now.”

“Trust me, I get it. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

He leans back on his haunches and smooths a hand over your belly, between the swell of your breasts, and curls thick fingers around your throat. A lingering pressure, a barely-there touch, a display of power. 

You shudder at the contact, meet the simmering shadow of his eyes, and welcome the seek of his hand between your legs. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers, sinks two fingers into the wet clench of your heat. “Fuck. So perfect. So good for me, aren’t you?”

A strained noise chokes at the back of your throat, and you break eye contact to shut your eyes. The praise lances through you, rips your composure to shreds, and the perfect rhythm he fucks you with—god he knows just how you like it—leaves you whining each time he fills you up.

“Yeah. So good for you.”

“Then open your eyes.”

The hand about your neck tightens, just enough to catch your attention, enough to make you obey.

“I want you to say it. Tell me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Another squeeze, a kiss of danger, toeing the threshold into lightheadedness. A touch that you lean into, welcome, embrace. His thumb rises to caress circles over your clit, and you can’t help but whine. Can’t help the impatient buck of your hips.

“Fuck, okay—anything. Anything.”

He pulls his fingers out of you and slicks them up and down his length. Fits the plush head against the entrance of your cunt. 

“Tell me you’re good enough.”

“Leon—“

“Tell me you’re good enough, and that nobody else matters, and that it’ll always be you.”

He’s serious. He’s serious and if you don’t say it he’ll leave you like this and you can’t let that happen. 

“I’m good enough, and nobody else matters, and it’ll always be me.”

“That’s my girl.”

An aching pressure as he slides into you, a slick heat that slackens your jaw. You reach for him, a need borne from comfort in consummation, and he fits a hand between the curve of your back and the sheets, presses firm atop you. He noses at your neck, right beneath your jaw, and begins a slow, deep rhythm with his hips.

“Love you so much,” you whisper, arms tight over his back, palms trailing the expanse of soft skin.

“Love you.”

He kisses your pulse. The pillow beneath your head shifts as he fists a hand in the fabric. Holding himself back. Allowing you time to adjust. 

It’s sweet and lovely and kind, but you need more. Always more of him. Whatever he wishes to give you.

“Leon, c’mon.”

He grumbles out his dissent but captures your lips and increases his pace, forcing a low moan from your throat.

“Was trying to be romantic,” he grits out, and you try to manage a response but the tip of his cock nudges at your cervix and the headboard rocks against the wall.

Besides, there’s nothing more romantic than getting your needs met. A good orgasm. Being worshiped by the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

With one hand, you brace against the headboard, and the other draws tight circles over the slick swell of your clit.

You clench around him, and he gifts you his first moan of the night. A tight, throaty sound that leaves your belly pooling with heat.

“More of that, please,” you pant, and he laughs, breath fanning over your cheek.

The noisy glide of his cock, the weight of his body, the flowery smell of his hair—you’ve been consumed by him, by the state of your senses—all Leon, only him, always him.

The knot in your belly coils tighter, and your fingers circle faster, and your breath begins to heave, and he rises onto his hands to thrust harder, slide deeper and—

You’re gone.

His face twists up as your muscles tighten around him, and your ribs halt their breath as waves of pleasure lap over you. He fucks you through it with a choked-off moan, sliding wet through sensitive nerves, veleveteen flesh, pulsing muscles. There’s a messy gush to his thrusts, and you truly think that you might die via orgasm. A drawn-out, overwhelming affair, only ceasing when he drives in to the hilt and grips hard at your waist and whines long and low. 

He jerks inside you, curls in on himself, and you caress both hands down his tensed forearms to ease him through it. Run a hand through the softness of his hair.

Beautiful, so smart and lovely and strong and funny—yours.

Always yours.

He collapses onto his elbows, huffs out an exhausted sigh, and pulls out. Rolls onto his back beside you.

Both of you spend a worrying amount of time collecting yourself—steadying your breath, re-routing the blood to your limbs, lowering heart rates.

After a long few minutes of white noise silence, of his spend leaking onto the sheets, you sit up with a groan and turn to look at him. “Well, I think you proved your point.”

He smiles at you, a sunny gleam of teeth that tenders up your insides. Turns you soft, putty-like.

“I also have to shower again.” The roll of your eyes has him laughing and reaching for you, a hand that brushes pebbled sweat from your nose. “I’m joking.”

“You always know how to ruin the moment.”

“Maybe, but it makes you laugh.”

He’s right and you know it, and he knows you know it. Especially when a smile blooms on your face.

“Okay, maybe you’re right.”

He’s been right about a lot of things lately. His feelings for you, first off. The best way to validate his love. 

When you think of red, your blood doesn’t boil. Your throat doesn’t burn from bitterness.

You understand now. It’s in the past. She is. A piece of him, a memory that will always be there, but still, only a piece.

Nobody else matters. It’ll always be you. 

He rises from the bed and waves you over, helps you stand when your knees threaten to buckle. You glance back at the crumpled sheets, at an area darkened and wet.

“Hey, Leon?” He answers you from the bathroom, just before the shower turns on. “You’re sleeping in the wet spot tonight.”

[booklyns]

white rabbit | hannibal. l [hannibal]

+18 only!

PART | pt 1, pt 2, pt 3 [nsfw].

WARNING | seggs, cannibalism, out of character hannibal, hannibal teasing during smexy time.

RELATIONSHIP | hannibal. l/gn. reader.

WORD COUNT | i don't know, sadly.

SUMMARY | you trusted hannibal too much and that's your demise. try to be smarter next time, can you?

please read the warning before proceeding. minors do not interact. this is written only for fun, do not normalise this relationship. please reach out if you're in a toxic relationship or any relationship that is harmful towards you.

What?

You didn't know what happened.

And you're confused, extremely confused. It happened bits by bits, Hannibal would plant kisses on your face to calm you down and then he eventually moved to your lips, and you weren't complaining. Not at all. And now, it felt as if you two were a thing despite Hannibal never making a comment about it.

You didn't either, afraid that one word may break apart whatever thing you had with Hannibal Lecter. In fact, you were beginning to not mind not knowing what relationship you're in with Hannibal. Even without an answer, Hannibal treated with such a suffocating kindness and the kisses he left on you merely made you yearn for more. He treated you with his touch as if you're his lover, that's all that mattered to you.

He knew how your brain worked.

He knew how your body worked.

"It has been a long time since we've done this."

Hannibal hummed, seated in front of you in his very own house — he blurred between the line of a lover and doctor. Even you weren't sure who he was to you anymore. What started from a simple hug with you crying in his shoulders eventually became kisses of reassurance.

"Yes," With a warm smile, Hannibal pushed the mug of hot coffee towards you, "I figure right now is the best time for our session."

"We have to do it?"

"Yes."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Uhm," You hesitated, "How should I start?"

"Why don't you begin by telling me how your day went? I believe doing that will help you to relax for a bit."

Hannibal slumped against the cushion comfortably, his intense gaze never once leaving your face. You shuffled awkwardly in front of his attention, unsure on how you should explain your day. You realised his gaze had been a bit too intense lately, as if he was eating you up like a wolf, draining your blood drop by drop, but you never did dare to question the reason why. It might have been your imagination — your imagination was indeed strong since young.

"I lost my job." You paused, "I mean, to be fair, I just lost my offer with the publishing company. I still have my job... to write, that is. I have been delaying my work, I still can't bring myself to write. I just can't. The genre I'm writing has been the total opposite of what I experienced lately, I can't bring myself to do it."

Hannibal hummed.

"So, yeah, I lost my offer. My first news in the morning."

"I see, that's a shame. You're a good author." The corner of Hannibal's thin lips twitched, "Do you still have the same issues? If you don't find it uncomfortable to answer it, of course."

You knew what he meant by issues.

The hallucinations.

The nightmares.

The footsteps.

Even if that damned murderer was punished to death, your heart and brain still weren't willing to let the fear go. It was like a constant reminder that you might be the next victim for another killer, being watched and hunted in the shadows. The world was terrifying, you didn't know anyone's true nature and all you could trust was the man in front of you. The man who tried to fix whatever was wrong with you.

"Yes, some hasn't been frequent but I get panic attacks when I feel myself in danger." You pursed your lips in discomfort, "Like walking down the dark hallway. Or being in the corner of the room alone. I just don't feel safe anymore."

Hannibal stared at you as his brain was over flooded with thoughts that you weren't able to decipher.

"I don't think I'm getting better, Hannibal."

"A shame."

Hannibal was never a stranger to curiosity. He was curious which buttons he would have to push to aggravate his patients, to drive them to insanity and to force them to drive the knife into someone. But his curiosity wasn't enough for him to gut you open. After all, you weren't like those other damn pigs he gutted open before. You were just a little rabbit, sure enough tasty, but could be a cute pet as well.

"Sorry?" You blinked in confusion, not expecting his words.

He smiled innocently. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

You were even more stunned. "Huh?"

"You're so afraid of the world, the humanity, despite you being a human being in the society as well. People would think you're made out of glass if you continue to look so fragile out there. People would take advantage of you if you continue to look like that." Hannibal smiled, almost too slowly for your comfort. "A mere man, a person just like you and me, has caused your world to be... dull. Interesting how it works, really.

You felt something was horribly wrong and subconsciously dug yourself deeper into the couch, eyes studying Hannibal's straight posture. Almost too straight, even.

"If you don't look after yourself, you will be like a puppet attached to strings, you see. Being manipulated, being used. A shame that you couldn't see yourself."

Something was weird.

The way he was looking at you, as if he was tearing up your insides just to look at your beating heart. The way he stared into your eyes as if Hannibal was about to tug out your eyeballs just to catch a glimpse of your brain. Something changed. About him, about you.

Hannibal chuckled. "Why do you look at me like a prey and I'm the predator? I'm not going to eat you."

You swallowed down the discomfort in your throat. "Yeah, of course not. It's, uhm, nothing, really. I just feel unwell out of sudden. Sorry about this."

"Would you like me to get you anything? Perhaps water instead of coffee?"

"Y—Yeah. I think that would be great, thank you."

He gave you a smile and left you behind in the living room, giving you the opportunity to catch your own breath. As you listened to the sound of glass clinking and water running, you took a quick glance at the front door. The idea of leaving the place suddenly flashed across your brain, something that you did not expect at all but your gut feeling was already giving you a warning.

However, before you could dwell on it, Hannibal returned with a glass of water. He handed it to you, standing so close that you could smell his faint cologne, the one that he would usually put for his work. You took the glass of water with a quiet thanks, desperately avoiding eye contact with him.

"Something's wrong?"

Hannibal asked, gently tucking the strands of your hair behind your ear. He deliberately brushed his knuckles against your cheek, sending you shiver down your spine and butterflies into your stomach. You were no longer sure if you should trust your guts. Was your heart speaking the truth or was your brain speaking the truth instead? Your heart yearned to be with Hannibal Lecter, the man who knew how to fix you and help you, yet your brain was reminding you that something was wrong.

You were not 'cured' by Hannibal Lecter. Instead, you were growing worse and worse, only feeling somewhat at peace when you're around Hannibal.

"Can.. Can I trust you, Hannibal?"

He smiled. "What do you mean? Of course, I am always here to help you. Whatever worries that you have, you just have to tell me and I will listen."

Hannibal said you could trust him so why were you hesitating? You were still desperately seeking for more answers, just like how you were yearning for Hannibal's gaze. Was it because you were currently standing on a blurred line, unsure whether you're just a mere patient, a toy or a lover to him?

"What- Who am I to you?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Because... Because I am confused. Don't get me wrong, you're still treating me like your patient, you're still helping me with my... issues. I appreciate your help. But when you show me affection, I'm not so sure where I am standing anymore. I-"

"Do you like me?"

Your eyes widened from shock as you stared at him, cheeks flaring up from the heat of embarrassment. Was it bad to fall in love with your doctor? Perhaps it was, considering how flustered you were to even think of answering his curious question. But the way Hannibal gazed into your eyes showed his seriousness, he was hoping to hear a genuine answer from your mouth. How could you deny your affection towards Hannibal Lecter?

You simply can't.

"I... I do. A lot. I'm sorry." You wished to cover your entire face away from Hannibal. "I know this is not- this is not supposed to happen. But you are always there for me and I- I just-"

"No, you shouldn't apologize, not at all. Emotions are complicated for every human being, even for someone like me. In fact, I adore the way your face shows every single emotion that you feel. You're so... easy to be observed." And easy to be manipulated too. He noticed the way you averted your eyes. "Don't look away."

How could you not look away?

You tried your best to look at him and the way his knuckles caressed your cheek wasn't helping your confidence. He was being affectionate with you. Again. Hannibal did not stop there, he showered you with kisses that sent you drunk on affection. The first kiss was soft and slow as if he wanted to savor every bit of your lips. You followed the movement of his tongue and gave yourself to him, just like how you followed his guidance in the very beginning. Just like how you followed him like a poor little bunny.

If he was able to kiss and touch, surely, he felt the same as you, right?

You prayed and prayed to God that you were right. That you weren't insane or weird for doing this with your doctor. You comforted yourself that you were normal for clinging onto Hannibal and relying on him as if he was your life support. Hannibal didn't seem to mind. In fact, he adored the way your hands would grip onto his blouse as you burned beneath his lips, your grasp so tight that your knuckles were white.

Just what did he do to deserve someone like you?

Hannibal looked at you with adoration, noting the way your face was turning scarlet and chest going up and down heavily just from a kiss. What sort of face would you give to him once he slides his hands across your bare skin? What about when the two of you are finally connected intimately? Hannibal wanted you to cling onto him even more, never showing signs of you letting him go. You could chant his name as many times as you want, Hannibal wouldn't mind. In fact, he would love it.

"Beautiful."

The heat fluttered inside your stomach at his compliment. Hannibal planted kisses down the crook of your neck softly, ears beautifully ringing from the soft whimpers leaving your parted lips. Oh, just the thought of you shifting from pleasure beneath him made him wondered exactly how you would look on the table, how you would taste.

"Your voice could make someone eat you up."

His words were enough to make you grow hotter.

Hannibal took your hand and planted a long kiss on your palm, his eyes never leaving your heated face. He was gentle. Too gentle, too slow that it was an awful torture. You just wanted to grab him by the face and kiss him even more, you wanted to be close to him as much as you could. You didn't want to be his patient anymore, you wanted to be his special one.

You wanted to be his.

"Look at you. Your face is burning up."

"Hannibal—" You pleaded.

He smiled softly. "Yes, my dear?"

You forgot all of the worries you had in the back of your mind as you gazed into the eyes of your saviour. To hell with being his patient, to hell with being abnormal. You were normal in his eyes, that's all that matters to you at the moment.

"Can we— Can we do it?"

"Do what?"

Hannibal pushed you deeper into the couch, a movement that allowed him to press closer to you. His heat radiated and caressed you, causing you to yearn more of his heat. Perhaps you lost your brain while being so close with someone you had feelings for because you would never expect yourself to be saying that word.

"Sex."

Hannibal looked at you for a good, long minute that tortured you even more before he broke into a wide smile. Your panic rose and then plummeted when he kissed your cheek softly, a sign that he wasn't looking at you weirdly.

"You're bold, aren't you?"

He was quick with his hands. One swift movement and his hands were already sliding under your shirt, his thumbs circling across your tingling skin. Hannibal enjoyed watching your expression, a look that only he could see right now. He simply adored the look of yours when he purposely went slow and steady, giving you a rush of butterflies but no true pleasure yet.

With a passionate kiss to your lips, Hannibal slid his hand sensually down your torso to your groin. His fingers danced lightly across your skin, pulling down the fabric to reveal where you were aching the most. His touch lingered everywhere on your body — your stomach, the inside of your thoughts, your groin. Everywhere.

Hannibal teasingly rubbed your pre-c.um across your aching part as his fingers gently rubbed around your hole, causing you to flinch and cry from the shock of pleasure.

"Does it feel good?"

You nodded persistently, desperately clinging onto him as if you were going to fall off the cliff. Hannibal whispered sweet words into your ear and even with your eyes closed, you knew he was watching your face — how you screwed your eyes close, how your parted lips occasionally let out moans, and how you took a sharp breath when he hit a good spot.

"Relax, you're doing well."

Hannibal slowly slid his fingers into you, smile widening when he could feel you clenching around his touch. You felt good, so damn good that you had no idea what you were moaning out to Hannibal. Why was it this pleasurable? Was it because it was Hannibal who was touching you lovingly?

The knot in your stomach tightened even more as Hannibal curled his fingers inside you, getting squeezed by your hole out of pleasure. Your thighs shook from the immense heat inside your stomach, your lips begging Hannibal to let you untie the knot. You whimpered out his name, just a step to climax and all you needed was just one more thrust from his fingers—

Hannibal slid out his fingers and stopped, not giving you the opportunity to release everything that you had been holding back. You looked at him in bewilderment, shocked and baffled that it felt so empty without his touch. The confusion eventually turned into disappointment and the need for more.

"Hannibal...!" You cried, desperately trying to get the same touch as his with your own hands.

Oh, you just looked so appetising in front of him and it's not even the main dish yet. Hannibal grasped your hands and gave you kisses along your arms. Showered with his love and blinded from the urge to c.um, you were slow to realise that he was guiding your hand to his hardened groin hidden beneath his trouser. You ran your fingers across the fabric, hole clenching just from the thought of his c.ock entering you.

"Go on, you can do it."

You swallowed your saliva and unzipped his pants, revealing the lust that Hannibal held for you. You glanced at Hannibal nervously and then looked back at his c.ock, c.um practically oozing out of both of you.

"Won't you put it in with your pretty hands?"

Obediently, you guided yourself to him and pushed his c.ock into you. The tip made it through and the way your hole instantly clenched around Hannibal made him grunt. He took a sharp breath in, never growing bored watching the way you surrendered yourself to him.

Just look at you, so willing to do whatever he says, even if you have to act like a desperate rabbit in heat.

You let out a shameless whimper, barely able to continue pushing yourself onto him without shuddering in pleasure. Tears were already glossing your eyes and you cried even louder when Hannibal shifted forward to plant a kiss to your face.

"What's wrong, dear?"

Your lips quivered, completely plump for his kisses. "It's—"

He moved again. "Hm?"

"It's good..!" You grabbed onto his arms for support, vision growing blurry from how well he fitted inside you. "Please. Please. I— I want to— Please, Hannibal."

Like a rabbit in heat.

Every single touch of his was sending you to euphoria. You had no idea you were this sensitive to every shock of pleasure he gave you, until you couldn't even form a proper sentence. Hannibal didn't seem to mind your lack of words. In fact, he was having fun more than you could think of.

Hannibal hummed in response and handled the rest on his own, you just needed to stay still and look pretty to him. He pulled and thrusted back in, hitting that good spot of yours again and again with no mercy. The sound of shamelessness; the squelch that echoed in the room fell on your deaf ears. All you heard was Hannibal's honey-coated words and his beautiful grunts.

And all he heard was your moans and his name that was like a prayer coming from your mouth. You wrapped your hands around his neck, pulling him closer to you and Hannibal took the chance to kiss your lips. Yet another way to connect him to you. You moaned into his lips, begging and pleading him for more and to never stop.

The sudden tightness around his c.ock gave him the hint that you were almost there. Indeed, the knot once again was there in your stomach, urging you to untie it. You looked into Hannibal's eyes, silently pleading him to actually allow you to release the love you had for him.

He didn't stop this time.

"Come together with me, will you?"

You desperately nodded.

It was like the two of you were meant together. Without words needed to be exchanged, the two of you came together. Hannibal's warmth shot into your hood and oozed out to the inside of your thighs, leaving a trail of Hannibal's affection behind. You squirted around him, coating his c.ock with your own taste that Hannibal wouldn't ever forget.

You took a deep breath, a wash of relief coming all over your body. Looking into his dull eyes, you laid your forehead against him and smiled. This man in front of you gave you the best night and possibly the best future you could ever wish for.

"I love you, Hannibal."

Hannibal smiled.

You were now chained to him until death. Whether your death would be due to old age or an incident, only the future could tell you the answers.

sorry for the long wait lol, i legit don't know how hannibal would act during smexy time so i hope this is still acceptable :)

[booklyns]

traveller's diary | kharrhig [orc]

PART | pt 1, pt 2, pt 3 coming soon!

WARNING | violence, cussing, abduction (sort of), s.uicide attempt, horrible writing.

RELATIONSHIP | kharrhig/gn. reader.

WORD COUNT | why doesn't tumblr have word count.

SUMMARY | it was meant to be an escape from your own brother yet he's here, to see you and probably to kill you. even if the grim reaper was here to take away your soul, with the orc's help or not, you will deny death.

please read the warning before proceeding. minors do not interact. this is written just for fun.

You remained seated awkwardly on Kharrhig's humongous bed, it was extremely massive to fit an orc's size and it definitely could fit your size as well. There was also something lonely about the bed's size, leaving you with an empty spot whenever you fell asleep on the bed.

Kharrhig, an extremely persuasive and considerate orc, decided to sleep on the couch while giving you his bedroom, saying something about you being exhausted travelling for days and weeks. Your heart warmed at the thought of the orc being awfully kind towards you yet he wasn't requesting anything in return when you asked about it.

Not money, not favour, not even help with the house chores.

Kharrhig rejected everything.

You glanced at the creaking bed, it barely sunk from your human weight, showing how sturdy it was to actually support Kharrhig's weight. You wondered if it could fit you and Kharrhig, pretty certain that it could.

Wait, what were you thinking about?

Your cheeks instantly flushed at such an obnoxious thought, unwilling to let your curiosity got to your mind. Slapping your cheeks lightly, you shook your head with a long groan, hoping that whatever was going on inside your brain would stop.

A frantic knock suddenly rang throughout the house.

Peeking out of the bedroom, Kharrhig gestured for you to stay behind him and not move, and swung open the door. A gnoll stood in front of the taller orc, panting and sweating due to the effort of sprinting towards Kharrhig's house.

"Kharrhig! They're here! Those knights!"

You froze up instantly, mind racking over who might be there to look for you — hopefully it wasn't your brother nor Sir Richard, they would never ever listen to your pleas. Sensing your discomfort, Kharrhig took a glance at you and nodded.

"I will check it out, stay here and don't move."

The gnoll grinned, "It'll be alright, traveller! Kharrhig will handle everything, he is big and strong. Even a mere knight would quiver at the sight of Kharrhig."

The orc shook his head in disbelief before closing shut the door, leaving you behind alone and nervous. He could barely and vaguely hear your goodbye, moving on to meet those knights that were chasing after your life.

When the silence creeped in, you remained seated in the living room and could smell the mixture of peppers and cooked meat coming from the kitchen. It gave you a sense of home, the comforting smell would always come from the kitchen. Taking a deep inhale of the peppery scent, you embraced your knees and buried your face into your arms.

You touched the couch, still feeling the warmth that Kharrhig left on earlier — it was almost midnight and he was getting ready to sleep after all. A part of you felt guilty that it was your matter that interrupted his slumber.

Perhaps you could treat him to a meal when this is over.

Knock.

Knock.

Your stomach churned at the slow knocking on the wooden door, completely opposite of the gnoll's frantic knocking. Something was telling you to not open the door and thus, you will not be opening the door. Right now, the only one you could trust was Kharrhig and him alone. Surely if it was Kharrhig, he would have the key to his own house.

As if sensing your hesitation, the strangers behind the door finally stopped knocking and once a minute of silence passed, you could finally hear his voice. It held a certain fake warmth to it, a forced friendly and gentle tone of voice.

The exact same voice that tormented you.

"If you don't open this door, you're leaving me with no choice here. My dear kin, I would hate to really burn down this entire town just to get your head. It upsets me, you know, to see my own kin running with tail in between the legs and getting others involved in our family business."

You bit your lips.

"I'm counting to three, you wouldn't want to see the folks here die in an excruciating death, am I not right?"

Hands trembling and sweating, you grabbed ahold of the doorknob but were unable to bring yourself to swing it open. You can't stop thinking about how you would react upon seeing his face — that damn, bloody face of a devil in disguise.

"One."

You cursed everything that had gotten wrong from the very beginning. Of course, your brother knew where you were — he had been knowing and understanding your personality since you were a baby. He just knew you would hide and whenever you're getting smarter, he expected someone to be helping you.

"Two."

You were never the intelligent one, he was.

And you hated being the damsel in distress.

"Thre—"

To hell with this.

You opened the door with an upset look, the first thing you noticed was your brother's cold and calculative gaze. Often, you wondered how the man in front of you could look like a split image of you, same hair colour and same eyes, yet he was so different than you. You were the prey while he was the predator, so different from one and another but the two of you came from the same family.

Both of you circling each other to find a way to live.

"If you touch the people here, I will kill you."

Amused, your brother smiled, "Kill me? You don't have the guts to do so, sibling. You could have killed me from the beginning but you didn't because you're too... weak. Naïve. And now because you keep on being that little weakling you are, you're now dancing in my hands."

"Just what happened to you, brother? You've changed."

"I've always been this way." He snarled, "It's just that you didn't know anything about me. It's either you or me to gain father's position and he favoured you despite me being the eldest. If you're the one getting your hands on it, you will kill me and if I become the duke, I will kill you instead. That's the only way to survive."

"I've never thought of killing you, brother!"

"Nonsense! You will find me a nuisance to your position sooner or later, and then you will get rid of me! So before I am the one getting killed, I will get rid of you first. It doesn’t matter. What has been done is done."

He wouldn't listen.

You clenched your jaw, "Fine. So be it."

You were trapped, just like the firefly inside an empty jar. Your own brother knew you better than yourself and you felt foolish for not even knowing where your strength would lie. He was right, you were weak and foolish for not killing him. You thought he would change and open his eyes one day, perhaps realising why he would chase after his own kin like a feral beast. Unlike him, you were used to following your heart.

Right now, your own heart was screaming at you to not drag the monster folks in.

If your brother wanted to, he could set this town on fire. No humans would bat an eye on a burning monster town and certainly no monsters would risk their own lives fighting against an army of humankind — it was evident when it was shown that the human population overwhelmed the monster population. Your brother knew you so well that he expected you to listen to his commands, just so those innocent bystanders wouldn’t get burned into ashes.

“As long as you don’t lay your hands on the people here.”

“People?” He scoffed, “You’ve never changed. Fool.”

You ignored his insult and walked ahead of him, “Shall we leave?”

"We have never seen this person before."

The knight, holding more authority than the other knights in shining armour, raised his eyebrow and looked at the bounty poster in his hands. Kharrhig's reply came perhaps too fast, warning suspicion from the knights who whispered among each other.

"Really? We've heard rumours that this person has been travelling east, to this town." The knight smirked, "Are you sure you remember everything? I've heard that orcs have terribly memory but I didn't expect it to be this bad."

Jester snarled at the blatant insult, "You—"

Unfazed by the man's words, Kharrhig held out his hand to stop the short goblin from lunging forward. It certainly wouldn't do any good if both sides decided to fight against each other in the town. Throughout his life, Kharrhig had been facing discrimination and insults worse than mere words, and at some point, he was growing numb towards these sort of people.

"I'm afraid we're certain about this." Kharrhig responded with an impassive look, not giving the reaction that the knight wanted, "Rumours are rumours after all."

The knight chuckled, "Sure, rumours are rumours but we can't leave without making sure that this person is actually not here. Men, search the taverns and inns. Make sure the traitor is really not in this awful town."

"Aye, Sir Rayas!"

Jester watched as nasty knights barged into his tavern and quickly followed after them to make sure they're not disturbing the customers. All that left were Kharrhig with his hunter friends and Rayas, the rest of the monsters were ordered to stay inside the buildings for safety. The orc would never trust a human especially someone like Rayas. In fact, he could trust you better than the other humans.

"Do you know that if you're defending this traitor, your town will be burned to ashes?" Rayas voiced out loudly, his voice thundered throughout the town, "This person is a murderer! A vile, traitorous killer who not only killed the lord and the madam but also tried to harm our current lord, the eldest brother of the family."

Kharrhig kept quiet.

"This traitor harmed the one who birthed them."

The inside of the orc's brain was somewhat... blank. Sure, Kharrhig knew there was a possibility of him being deceived by you — maybe you're actually a murderer that acted innocent in front of him but Kharrhig had always been confident with the way he looked at people.

He knew who would be a saint and who would not.

Kharrhig's eyes were sharper than the eyes of death itself.

The image of you, drenched in blood, with the corpses of your own kins sprawled all over the besmirched floor just didn't stay for too long inside Kharrhig's mind. It just didn't seem like you. If you could have done something as vicious as that, surely you could have killed your brother from the start.

"I see." Kharrhig responded curtly.

Gradually, more and more knights returned empty-handed and Rayas' frown only seemed to deepen during the moment. Kharrhig observed as a lone knight approached Rayas and whispered softly into the knight's ear, causing Rayas' frown to instantly disappear and was replaced by a smile.

"I see." Rayas nodded and saluted, "It seems like we're wrong about this entire situation. I'm afraid we will apologise for our brash actions and so, we shall take our leave. Have a nice night, everyone."

They left without looking back, just in time for Jester to run out of the tavern in hope that nothing happened during his absence. His prayers came true but Kharrhig didn't seem too happy with the knights' departure. Something was just awfully wrong because of how easy it was.

Kharrhig was expecting them to argue even more and because those humans left rather obediently, Kharrhig's stomach somewhat grew heavier from anxiety. The worry gnawed onto his heart like an invasive parasite and he couldn't stop scowling at the uneasiness bothering him.

"At least they're gone." Jester sighed.

"Something's wrong. We must check on the traveller. Come on."

And they returned back to Kharrhig's house, panting and gasping for the cold air as the fog still remained. Nothing changed and the door was still looking the same, no signs of an attack. But it was just too quiet and it was starting to bother Kharrhig despite the orc trying to comfort himself, perhaps you were trying to hide?

He turned the knob and suddenly paused.

Jester raised his eyebrow at Kharrhig's sudden halt, "What?"

"It's not locked. I locked it earlier."

A gnoll shrieked, "Kharrhig!"

The orc slammed open the door, almost too roughly that the entire house shook from fear and the tension intensified when Kharrhig let out a low growl. Nobody was home even though the interior was still the same, nothing changed but your presence was gone.

You were gone as if you were never there.

Another orc hunter looked around the area, "We didn't see them in town so they just have gone through the woods—"

Kharrhig didn't even need to be told to know where you could have been. He bolted into the woods without turning back, leaving behind the hunters that had gotten stupefied by Kharrhig's speed. In fact, it was their first time witnessing the orc sprinting at such a high speed — surely there must something troubling his mind.

But Kharrhig couldn't understand his own mind.

He thought why he was running in a hurry just to save an unknown traveller that he had known for a few days. Kharrhig shouldn't be this concerned, he shouldn't be feeling this bad at the sight of your disappearance. Why was he acting this way in the first place?

Just why?

Sure, you were a nice human being, knew how to respect him and you even knew how to compliment— Yeah, you did compliment him. It was indirectly but it was still enough to make Kharrhig's chest warm and tight, and his stomach fluttering with those pesky butterflies. It was a compliment that took him by surprise and nobody had told him that he's beautiful.

lI’m sure whoever embroidered the butterfly must have been an amazing and beautiful person."

You didn't tell him directly that he was beautiful, he knew that yet he couldn't help but to take comfort into such compliment. After all, he had a hideous scar on his damn face and his body was also filled with scars that wouldn't leave his body no matter what. Maybe a normal orc would have taken pride in the scars but not Kharrhig.

He would never like the scars especially the one on his face.

It was a horrible mark left behind by a human being, the main reason why Kharrhig was taken back by your unforeseen presence — you're the same species as the one who harmed him before after all, the one who gave him a feeling of defeat before all this. The scar was a constant reminder that Kharrhig was foolish and weak, unable to even fight the warrior of the south.

He could remember vaguely the warrior's words.

"You are running away and hiding. You're no true warrior."

The warrior spoke the truth and that was what feared Kharrhig. He never thought he would feel comfortable around you, a human who was way smaller than him. All Kharrhig knew was that he simply couldn't let you die, not without trying to help you.

You deserved a chance to live, just like he did.

Ah, how can Kharrhig take you off his mind?

While your images were repeating inside the orc's mind, you suddenly halted in your tracks and looked behind, hoping to see the orc's pleasant house that you just left behind. You're now far enough from the town, you assumed.

Your brother looked at you, "Why are you stopping? Don't tell me you're scared. Foolish."

You looked back at your own sibling, eyeing the knights who followed after his commands like slaves. There was no way you could defeat them with a small dagger only but if you're perfectly honest with yourself, you would rather die in the woods than to be executed in the public. You just couldn't imagine the looks the public would give you when they hear about the false news.

You didn't kill your parents but they wouldn't listen to your pleas as you had a guillotine hovering above your neck. There was always a part of you that was afraid of dying — who wouldn't? And as if there was a small light dangling in front of you, you kept hoping for a chance to live. A miracle.

"Just why are you my kin?"

You didn't want to die this easily.

You just didn't want to seem weak.

"You can't forget the fact that we're siblings. In the end, we're the same." You mentioned, "You're a stubborn brother and I am just as stubborn as you."

Pulling out your keen dagger, you backed away and pointed the weapon towards them — the knights and your brother. None of them seemed stunned nor terrified towards your action, they knew you couldn't do much with such a tiny weapon.

You were just like a rabbit thumping the hind legs.

"I would rather die here than there."

Chuckling, your brother shook his head, "You really want to do this right now? Really? Ah, you're irritating me. Just why couldn't you stay still and listen for once? It would make things so much easier." He sighed, "Men, get ready and knock this traitor out."

You fought back against those knights who tried to knock you out and bring you back home unconscious. A part of you was thankful that they weren't reaching out for their swords, probably to avoid killing you now rather than the execution. It made everything so much easier, you could dodge them, run away and leave them some cuts here and there.

But how could your dagger pierce through their armours?

"You realise you're just wasting your time now right?"

Your brother took a slow step forward like a predator, cornering you into the tall tree as you held onto the dagger as if it was your dear life. He didn't like the look of hatred and grudge in your face. He did what he was supposed to do to survive, just like what you're doing right now.

He should be the one fuming in anger as you pointed the knife at him. You're nothing more but a pathetic prey dangling by the line, kept on hoping and hoping but there was no miracle in the first place.

You're about to die, that's it.

"Stop clinging onto hope!"

"Shut up!"

You cried, suddenly placing the tip of the dagger against your throat. So many panicked, fearful thoughts ran through your brain as you gazed into your brother's eyes, hoping that there was no hesitation shown in your quivering eyes. Your mind was wavering and you could feel hot tears beginning to stubbornly cling onto your eyes.

"You're really doing this now?" Your brother asked, barely having any emotion on his face. It seemed like he was getting tired of your games.

Pushing the dagger deeper into your throat until you felt a sharp nick in your skin, you forced out a smile, "I would rather die here because of my own hands rather than in that hell, dying in your hands and getting scolded at by the public as if I'm a damn witch."

"Then do it, I dare you."

"You think I wouldn't?"

"I know you longer than you know yourself. You're nothing but a coward, how could you kill yourself?" He snarled, rage flickering within his exhausted eyes, "You wouldn't even harm a damn dog!"

"Tell those people who support you that I, your only kin left in this entire world, have decided to kill myself because of the nonsensical guilt cursing me!" You yelled angrily, hot tears falling out of your eyes like a stream, "After all, I killed our parents, didn't I?!"

Driven from your own madness and fear, you lowered your hand before trying to push it into your neck. You could feel a sharp pain across your throat, blood oozing out of your flesh slowly rather than a firework of crimson. It wasn't long until you realised why your heart was still beating, your breathing was still ragged and your eyes were still blurry from tears.

You were alive.

Kharrhig managed to knock the dagger out of your grasp, just right when you made a mild scratch on your throat. The orc's face was twisted in fury, definitely upset with your choice, and if you had no idea who he was, you would think he's there to maul you into pieces.

"Just what— What do you think you're doing?!"

Your lips quivered, "Kharrhig? I— I was— Why did you do that?!"

Rayas whispered something into your brother's ear.

"Because you're being stupid!"

"Ah, so you're the one who helped my dear sibling. Honourable but you're in the way, orc." Your brother snarled, "Get lost before I get even more upset and I will forget about this entire issue."

Kharrhig scrunched his nose with a simple answer.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no, you human scum."

Your brother seethed, "You damn orc! Get him!"

Kharrhig had a strength of a thousand men. Perhaps that was an exaggeration but you weren't kidding when Kharrhig handled those men as if he was an invincible orc. He fought them barehanded, not even flinching nor stopping when he got cuts or stabbed by those soldiers. You wanted to help but it was simply too chaotic. You were certain that your involvement would only cause trouble and bring Kharrhig down.

Kharrhig's punch was incredibly strong, able to send those soldiers unconscious with judy one hit to their heads. You were surprised that those men weren't sent into concussion instead. Your brother seethed at the sight of his men being defeated, even Rayas was having trouble holding Kharrhig back.

"This is ridiculous!" Your brother frowned, staring at his unconscious men who laid around the orc's feet. He had lost. "You! Who are you to get into our family matter? They have nothing to do with you yet you willingly risk your own life to fight for them? Are you foolish?!"

"You're right. This is your family business however, I can't watch you continue to harm my friend's life."

Your eyes widened and it was embarrassing that you were completely touched by his words. Only just a few days of meeting each other, Kharrhig had looked into your eyes and thought of you as his friend. You were just a human traveller who happened to meet him in the tavern yet Kharrhig saw you more than that. He wasn't obliged to help you but he did regardless, never asking for rewards or had any hidden intentions.

What did you do to meet him?

"Hah... Haha! Ah, I didn't expect an orc to be this stupid. Those orcs that I've seen aren't willing to help humans at all." Your brother smiled coldly at you. "Lucky, aren't you? To have an orc slave just when you're about to be executed."

You gritted your teeth. "He's not my slave!"

"You see, Mister Orc. I'm not foolish enough to go against you. An orc's strength is far more superior than a human's strength so I sincerely wish to be on good terms with you. How about we strike a deal? You have no need to help my sibling. Whatever you want, I will give it to you. You simply have to hand them to me. Easy, no?"

"No."

"No? What about money?"

"I said no."

Your brother smirked. "Truly stubborn, aren't you? How about I do something for your family? Your kins? There are many orc slaves available on the market. I could always free them out for your sake. Orcs are family oriented, right?"

Kharrhig snarled. "I don't have a family."

"Nonsense. An orc surely has a family."

"You have no need to know about my family."

"Brother, quit it. Stop pestering him any longer, he has nothing to do with this!" You pleaded, "Just what must I do for you to let me go? I have no intention to fight over the fortune with you, I've told you that a million times! I don't want to kill you either! Why must you insist that I'm going to harm your life?"

"Because you will. All I need you to do is die—"

"There's no need for that." Kharrhig suddenly interjected, a look of disgust on his face. "I'm giving you two choices, human. Either leave this place and never return or lay into your grave right here."

Your brother hesitated, his worried eyes glancing at the fallen soldiers around him. He knew he had no chance of winning against Kharrhig. Despite hating the fact that he would be running away from you, he held back down those words of hatred into his throat.

"Fine." He spat angrily.

"Brother," You looked into his eyes with seriousness. "I don't know if you will ever believe me but I will repeat it again and again. I have no intention to fight nor harm you. I won't ever show my face in front of you, if that's what you want. Forever."

Your brother did not reply nor look at you.

"Man, I have no idea you are a noble."

Flustered, you looked away from Jester while holding onto the warm tea that the goblin personally brewed for you. Kharrhig remained seated beside you, his eyes looking straight into his strong alcoholic drink. It was as if the incident earlier had never happened. People, or rather monsters, were quick to celebrate and enjoy their night in the tavern once again. Nobody was fazed and definitely nobody batted their eyes at your uninvited presence.

You were there, as if you're already one of them.

"You look like shit right now, definitely no noble vibe." Jester chuckled but he instantly kept quiet when Kharrhig shot him a glare. "Oops."

Kharrhig let out a loud sigh. "Forgive him-"

"Haha, no, it's alright. I have to agree with Jester as well." Your eyes saddened at the memories of your life in that humongous mansion, those days when you could still laugh with your brother. "I was used to wearing clothes made out of fine silk. The most expensive kind. The design of the clothes I wear is mostly personally designed by an appointed tailor. Those days... seem normal. My brother seems normal too, just the usual kind of brother you have that would tease and pick a fight with you. I would never expect him to be trying to aim a knife at my throat.

"I don't know how it happened, honestly. Can't remember when I changed into a traveller's clothes, it just happened because it's more comfortable to wear it on a run. Oh, but don't worry. I may be a noble but I am not as mean as the others! I hope so."

"Aww, aren't you being a sweetheart? Of course you're not like those other nobles, considering how you're sitting with us. Those nobles would only scrunch their noses or scream in fright at the sight of us. You're by far the calmest noble I've seen."

Kharrhig smiled at you. "That's true."

"Oh, no. I think that should have been a normal reaction, it's not something to be shocked about." You gave them a wide grin, one that Kharrhig found to resemble a sunflower. "After all, all of you are just like me. You breathe, you eat, you live life to the fullest. I don't think I should ever be afraid of you."

Jester's smirked widened while Kharrhig stared at you with wide eyes, the two of them completely stunned from what you just said. Of course, there was nothing special with what you just said but actually hearing it coming from a human like you, Kharrhig could find himself feeling vulnerable around you.

Even Jester was beginning to like you even more.

"You're truly amazing." Kharrhig looked into your eyes fondly, certainly had no regret helping you.

Your cheeks burned at the way he gazed at you and even complimented you without hesitation. Somehow, this was more embarrassing than you imagined about receiving a compliment. Your heart thumped against your chest loudly and unexpectedly.

"No, I should be saying that to you. You've saved me, Kharrhig. If you weren't there... I don't even want to imagine what could have happened. You too, Jester. Thank you so much for helping me even though I am just a traveller passing through. I don't know how to thank all of us, everyone in this village."

Jester grinned, showing his sharp fangs. "You bet I would do anything to help a wandering traveller like you. But give a credit to yourself. You have managed to survive until now. Until here. That's a great feat."

Kharrhig nodded. "Yes, getting here is not an easy task and it takes a lot of courage as well. You have done well, it wouldn't be a lie to say that I'm proud of your achievement."

Out of reflex, Kharrhig's hand reached out for your head, perhaps an attempt to give you a pat on the head. However, unfortunately for you, he seemed to notice what he was about to do and quickly retracted his hand with an awkward cough. Jester caught the sight of Kharrhig's movement and even the goblin could feel the secondhand embarrassment just from watching the big orc.

You looked at Kharrhig in confusion but quickly brushed it off. There's a more important matter compared to your curiosity.

"If there's anything you want me to do, I'm more than happy to help as my thank you. But you should quickly tell me if you need any help. I should get going, before the situation gets worse for the people in this town."

"Do you have anywhere to go?" Kharrhig asked.

You shook your head. "No, but I will find a way. Maybe I can pick up some tricks here and there to become a bounty hunter. Or maybe I can just find a job and-"

"Why not work in my tavern?"

You blinked owlishly. "Sorry?"

"I will give you a fine pay and a shelter. You can have one of the rooms in this tavern. I am looking for a worker anyway."

"But— But wouldn't it trouble you?"

Jester raised his brow. "How so?"

"Well, I'm a human—"

"Not really an issue."

"And I'm being hunted down!"

"Kharrhig is here though."

You glanced at Kharrhig who didn't seem to be paying much attention to what Jester was mumbling about. Sure, you could understand where Jester was coming from. Kharrhig was indeed very strong. His shirt was practically hugging and suffocating his muscles, you couldn't even imagine how he managed to earn those biceps. Kharrhig was big in size too, surely a crowd of humans couldn't win against him.

He looked at you and gave you a simple nod.

"Our Kharrhig has years of experience in combat. Surely you have seen him fought earlier. Don't worry too much about it. Those bastards can't get us. Don't forget this is a town full of monsters."

"Will it really not be a trouble for you?"

"Of course not." Jester smirked slyly at the orc. "Kharrhig, you're okay with this, right? We now have a cute human in town, don't be surprised that many monsters are coming to get a good look at you. We don't see many humans here after all."

Kharrhig nodded stiffly. "Welcome to Greynethorn."

[booklyns]

Hey, I just thought you should know that @/ Slasher_whore_ on Wattpad reposted some of your work on their account. They gave credit but I know some people don’t like people reposting their stuff regardless. I’m going around warning people just in case

hello!! thank you for informing me, i appreciate it <3

[booklyns]

traveller's diary | kharrhig [orc]

PART | pt 1. pt 2, pt 3 coming soon.

WARNING | having a bounty on your head, on a run, cussing, slow burn, horrible writing, having no idea what names i put for drinks.

RELATIONSHIP | kharrhig/gn. reader

WORD COUNT | approx 5k.

SUMMARY | you're a traveller on a run for a reason that only you knew, you can't be caught no matter what. you have to survive, even if it meant hiding among the monster folks.

please read the warning before proceeding. minors do not interact. this is written for fun.

"You gotta be kidding me!"

Cussing out of frustration, you rested your trembling hand on the dagger that was sheathed by your hip as you rode the exhausted horse. Moving and slipping past the trees was not the hardest thing you could do but getting rid of the anxiety was definitely the hardest. You can't believe how close they had gotten to you.

They're getting nearer to you and you didn't like that one bit. If you're captured back, you will surely be executed and left to rot in the ditch. You can't do that, not right now. Every single inch of your brain was telling you to survive no matter what, even if you had to do the stupidest shit ever.

"We have to go to the town."

You gulped.

"Greynethorn." You gently pulled the rein, "Come on, girl."

It wasn't far away from your previous spot. In fact, it didn't even take a whole day to reach Greynethorn. You weren't sure if they would risk everything to check for your presence in the monster's town but you had no other choice. You simply can't afford to run forever, in and out of town, even your horse was beginning to show her fatigue.

You jumped down from your horse as soon as you met Greynethorn's humongous entrance, definitely not as grand as the humans' city but there's still a charm to the town. There were no guards standing by the gate, perhaps that was because all monsters in the town could break a human's bones easily. Taking a minute to calm down, you took a deep breath and finally took a step into the town.

Greynethorn was bustling with life, monsters walking and chattering by the pathway with no fear of humans. You could see various monsters that you had never seen before— scratch that, you had never seen any monster before. There were orcs, goblins, and even slimes! It was surely different than the previous cities or towns you had visited.

It wasn't a bad different nonetheless.

Keeping yourself hidden on the sidewalks, you looked for a tavern, just any kind. It was the best place to get information after all and information was knowledge to you. The more you knew, the better you would get at life.

Ding, ding!

The bell on the door rang as you stepped into the tavern, leaving your poor horse in the stable for a short while. You could instantly feel everyone's eyes on you, not one of those patrons was a human being like you. Ranging from beast-like monsters to the bartender goblin, they wasted no time to judge you based on your appearance.

You could only assume most humans made ruckus here in the past. But not you, you were just here to survive.

"Welcome," The bartender goblin said with a lack of enthusiasm, gesturing to the bar in front of him, "Have a seat. Drinks are always ready."

He was a goblin, undeniably shorter than most monsters but that didn't mean goblins were the weakest monsters. Goblins were generally intelligent and fast on their feet, no doubt the bartender would be the same. The way his sharp eyes scrutinised you from head to toes was enough to show his intelligence.

You just hoped he wouldn't kick you out.

Bobbing your head as a quick thanks, you took a seat in front of the bartender and avoided everyone's gazes on you. Though it was unsettling, you still managed to give a friendly smile to the bartender. He seemed to relax but did not put down his guard, still unwilling to look into your eyes with warmth and his big, green ears twitched in discomfort.

"What do you wish to drink, traveller?"

"What do you suggest?"

The bartender sighed, "Try this mug of moldale, it's stronger than human's ale but it's still toned down slightly than the original to fit humans. If you're not good with alcohol, then you can just have this juice."

"I will take moldale."

He smiled, "A fine choice."

The bartender moved behind the tools, grabbing an empty mug and poured in some moldale. He placed the mug of moldale on the counter, pushing it towards you with a nod. You looked down at the mug of alcohol, swallowing the saliva that was beginning to build up in your throat. The foam from the alcohol made it look appetising and considering how long it had been since you could drink tasty water, you were thirsty.

Really thirsty.

You grabbed the mug with both hands, sighing in relief when you felt the coldness emitting out of the mug. The fact that you're still alive with your head attached was something that you appreciated and grateful of. Perhaps it wouldn't be long before you get executed, they're getting closer after all.

You're running out of time.

Just how long can you keep running and hiding?

"Chin up, traveller." The bartender finally spoke, alas willing to have a quick conversation with you after seeing your disheartened look, "There's nothing in life for you to look so depressed."

You wanted to scoff at his words.

"Sorry. Things have been difficult, that's all."

He looked at you silently, brown eyes glistening with curiosity but chose to not voice it out. Sensing that he knew nothing much about you nor was he feeling the desire to know more, he merely nodded. It was a sign that the conversation between the two of you ended.

You took a sip of the moldale, shuddering from the high concentration of alcohol within the liquid. It was indeed stronger than a usual ale and you weren't the best drinker in the whole world — no doubt you would get drunk with only one mug. You scrunched your nose and gulped everything down, frustration already building up inside your tight chest.

Damn it all, at least you got a nice drink before possible execution.

"Hey! Hey! Kharrhig has returned!"

A short goblin shrieked as he bursted into the tavern, eyes sparkling with excitement and admiration. As soon as the patrons heard the name, they were starting to bustle with life, no longer paying attention to an unknown human traveller like you. You held no interest in whoever Kharrhig may be — it wouldn't help with your dire situation anyway.

"Really?! I wonder what he caught this time!"

"Our best hunter has returned!"

"Come on! Let's treat him to a drink!"

Lowering your gaze, you focused on the drink in front of you, unaware of the humongous sized monster who swung open the creaking door. Even one step of his was enough to send a tremble of excitement to the crowd of patrons. Your ears buzzed from the acclamation and whispers.

The orc gently closed the door, his eyes watching the patrons who would always look at him with awe. It never did get old and Kharrhig was never the one to bathe himself in the spotlight, he wasn't really a fan of the loud noises anyway. But for everyone's sake, he held it back in and gave a nod to the patrons.

"How did your hunt go with the group?"

"Good."

A patron laughed, "Still not much of a talker, eh? Come on and pick a drink, I will treat you! It's for everything you've done for us."

"Thanks."

Contrary to Kharrhig's cold and stern look, he had a gentle soul which was one of the many reasons why the folks adored the orc hunter. Whenever they cried and pleaded for help, Kharrhig would never hesitate to lend a hand. A kind orc with a frightening face that could kill, no humans would believe such rumour.

"Jester, one nockale."

A deep, rumbling voice came from your side, drawing your gaze to the towering orc and for the first time, you had a chance to see an actual orc. His skin was lighter shade of grey, completely different from an orc's common green skin and it definitely suited his face like a piece of puzzle. Kharrhig's eyes were the prettiest, bright yellow which was a contrast to his black sclera — his masculine features sculpted well with his eyes.

You noted the old diagonal scar across his face, from the side of his forehead to the chin, and it wasn't healing well due to the late treatment. But anyhow, the scar only added to his charm, alongside with his black hair that was braided messily across his broad shoulder.

"Coming right up, Kharrhig."

A beautiful orc— if only he could be your knight, you could live happily ever after. Huh, wouldn't that be awfully nice?

Damn it, you felt like crying.

Kharrhig took a glance at you, realising that your head was hung low, and when he noticed your round, small human ears, he unexpectedly took a hasty step back. The swift movement earned your attention and as you met his eyes, Kharrhig grew rigid as if he was afraid of someone like you.

You stared at him, cheeks completely warm from the alcohol and frustration that nothing — nothing! — would ever go well for you.

Now even an orc despised you?

You couldn't get more depressed than now.

Unable to control the anger, sorrow, and annoyance building up stack by stack inside you, the droplets of tears eventually fell down from your eyes. You shouldn't be crying, really, but just for once, you wanted to swallow yourself in emotions.

You were really tired of running.

You hated running.

You wished you could face all of them.

Can't someone just kill you so that you could get over it?

Stumped, Jester looked between you and Kharrhig before placing the mug of nockale on the counter, "Oh, for fuck's sake. Kharrhig. As much as I don't trust humans, I don't really appreciate you making my customer cries, you know. It gives a bad reputation to my tavern."

"I—" Kharrhig pursed his lips, the tusks shifting from the slightest movement of his mouth, "I did nothing."

"He did nothing. Don't worry."

You murmured, sniffing as you could feel your mucus trailing down inside of your nose. Gosh, you definitely looked obnoxious and horrendous crying in the middle of the damn tavern. But at this point, looking presentable was no longer your worry. You were certain that you would ugly as you get executed in the future.

Who cares?

You should think positively.

You can survive this, you could escape them.

As you buried yourself inside the thoughts that constantly clashed against each other — positive and negative were never compatible int he first place, you saw something in the corner of your eyes. It was a handkerchief, a pretty elegant one which you didn't expect to be coming from Kharrhig.

There must be more than his appearance.

"You... can use this."

Forcing out a smile, you took the handkerchief and nodded gratefully, somewhat feeling awfully comfortable around the big orc. Though you held onto the handkerchief, you were simply too shy to actually use it. It wasn't yours after all.

"Thank you."

Kharrhig nodded and continued sipping his alcohol, barely showing any reaction to the bitter taste of it. He always did like the tavern's atmosphere, even if it was a tad bit noisier than what he wanted but Kharrhig usually drowned out the chattering and focused on the soft clink clank in the tavern.

The sound of the fan spinning with a soft tick.

The sound of the mugs clanking as Jester washed them.

The sound of the water brewing in the corner.

All of the noises reminded Kharrhig that he was still alive and staying right here, in the place where he belonged. He, though seemingly strong outside, needed a reminder that he had a home in this very town as he was constantly afraid of losing himself.

Lose himself to the fear that he would be wandering again.

It was ridiculous but to Kharrhig, it wasn't. Only one who knew the feeling of roaming around the world like a stray would understand how he felt, just like the traveller sitting beside him. You had no home, no place to cry in and the only place you could let a few drops of tears out was this tavern run by a goblin.

"You alright?"

You blinked at the unexpected question, looking up at the orc who tried his best to smile but unfortunately, the corner of his lips weren't moving much. Kharrhig still seemed the same yet you acknowledged his effort, managing a small laughter that sang throughout the tavern.

"Thank you. I'm already fine." You sighed, "It's just a short moment of... thinking. And fearing. Sort of. Just brush off what I said, I don't even know what I have been mumbling about."

Kharrhig looked down at your empty mug, "Too strong?"

You nodded, "Yeah. Yeah. It's definitely stronger than what I usually have. I guess that's why my mind is a little bit fuzzy right now and the temperature— whew, getting warmer now."

The orc nodded without saying anything else.

The tranquility came back for a visit and you laid your cheek on your palm, eyes staring at the wall that seemed more interesting than anything in your life. Sure, you would stare at the orc if only you're brave enough. You felt your eyes getting heavier and heavier, mind blank as the only thing you wished to say escaped from your dry throat.

"Must be nice to rest."

Kharrhig blinked in shock, head whipping to look at your dazed look. Somewhere inside you reminded him of himself — the pitiful, pathetic orc who ran out of house and decided to survive on his own. Perhaps a foolish idea but it was the only way he could escape from his fate.

He understood what you meant.

He definitely did.

"It is."

The handkerchief was gorgeous.

And it wasn't an exaggeration.

You could see a tiny blue butterfly embroidered on the corner of the soft white fabric, totally admiring the small details of the little winged insect. The effort was evident in the embroidery and you felt slightly uncomfortable holding onto the handkerchief without returning it to Kharrhig.

He left without turning back before you could do so, but that wasn't really much of a reason since you could head out and look for him. Your parents taught you to always return someone's belonging and that was the good habit that stuck to you.

Rising from the creaking bed, you made up your mind.

You'll look for Kharrhig.

"Sir bartender."

Jester stopped cleaning the mugs and turned around to look at you, noticing that you're now in a cleaner state as you stood on the stairways. You observed how he moved around the bar with ease, never did he once falter and trip. It was as if Jester was made for this job.

"Traveller." He greeted you politely, "Is the room not to your likings? It's the best we could provide in the tavern."

You shook your head, "No, no, I'm happy with it. I just want to ask if there's any way I could find the orc from earlier. I couldn't return his belonging in time. Kharrhig, was it?"

Orc's name was always the hardest to pronounce to humankind and hearing your blunder managed to make Jester choke from laughter. Your cheeks and ears burned in embarrassment, no doubt you were making a fool out of yourself right now. At the very least, you did try and your first attempt wasn’t that bad. Surely there were people who pronounced it even worse than you. Right?

Despite chortling, Jester made no effort to correct you, “Ah, he lives by the edge of the town, just beside the river. You will know once you get across the small bridge. Also, just don’t do anything stupid during your walk, it’s already dark outside and as you can see, not all of us are able to accept you right away. Just don’t freak out if some of them run away upon seeing you. Go on, traveller.”

Jester waved his hand dismissively, an amused smile on his face.

And like a child who was being sent off by a parent to head for a grocery shopping, you walked out of the tavern and shivered at the sudden frigid air which embraced your cold body. You resisted the urge to sneeze when the chilling breeze caressed your face, only hastening your steps to the river without turning back. Even when you could hear the monsters whispering and scampering behind you, you did not turn around.

You knew you’re the only human in town right now.

And you knew they never did like the humankind.

The fog clouded your path and instead of providing comfort, it only brought unpleasant memories that made you winced — those days where you were forced to stay in a cold, eerie cave, walked through the forest even when it was raining and cried your heart out as you wondered why you’re suffering for no reason at all.

Forget about it.

Don't think about it anymore.

You crossed the bridge with a solemn look, finally catching a glimpse of a lone house by the river. It would seem like a beautiful and serene home, if it wasn't for the creepy fog obscuring your view. Alas, you could finally return the handkerchief to Kharrhig and perhaps, give him your thanks before leaving him alone. It was an easy task — give it back, say thanks and then leave.

Just don't mess everything up.

Heart thumping against your chest, you held your breath and knocked onto the door lightly. You could hear noises from inside the house, the heavy footsteps causing the entire floorboard to vibrate. Instead of being scared, you're amazed more than anything.

When the door creaked open, you could finally see Kharrhig.

"It's you." He commented, almost puzzled.

You felt your cheeks growing warm and this time, it was from flusterment due to the fact that Kharrhig could recognise you. It was nothing serious, of course but someone who was as important and respected as him could remember you out of everyone else, it was just flattering. You couldn’t get more happy than this. He showed such kindness, despite being oddly uncomfortable around you first, and now, Kharrhig seemed to be trying to make himself look approachable.

“Yes, I’m here to return this.”

“Oh.”

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” You added, handing the small fabric to Kharrhig, “I really like the embroidery, it has such a wonderful detail. My mother used to tell me that any form of artworks reflect the creator so I’m sure whoever embroidered the butterfly must have been an amazing and beautiful person.”

Kharrhig’s face unexpectedly turned red as he mumbled about something being the opposite of what you just described. Not paying too much attention towards his attitude, you tilted your head and raised your eyebrow, keeping an amiable smile on your face.

“Anyway, thank you. That’s all I am here for.”

“Before that, there’s something I need to ask you.” Kharrhig planted his hand behind his nape uncomfortably and your gut feeling was telling you that it wasn’t a good question, “Uhm, do you...somehow, has a bounty on your head?”

It was like a damn switch.

The moment you heard of the word bounty, your fight or flight rang out inside your mind. The sharp inhale you just took immediately came back up to the back of your throat, choking you in fear that you’ll seriously be handed to them once again. It wasn’t fair, not at all, just when you managed to get out from their grasp yet now you couldn’t even take a rest among the monster folks. You wished you could blame and hate on Kharrhig for ruining everything but you  just can’t. Who wouldn’t love money in the first place?

Kharrhig was a living being like you. He needed money to survive.

Coincidentally, your head wasn’t cheap.

What was the possibility of him beating you unconscious and bringing you in for the money? It was a 50/50 chance and you weren’t willing to give yourself to you right away. Maybe, somewhere within the universe, you still had a chance to survive. You would be willing to do anything to survive, even if it meant fighting against this gigantic orc.

At the very least, getting killed by Kharrhig instead of them wasn’t such a bad idea.

You unsheathed the dagger by your hip and swung it down at Kharrhig. The sudden, unforeseen attack coming from a petite human like you did not take Kharrhig by surprise. His face, which remained impassive and stoic, did not flinch even once as he swiftly took ahold of your wrist, stopping you from stabbing him in the chest. The orc’s reaction time was quicker than a normal person, you were certain that he was trained to fight against people in the past.

Maybe mercenaries.

Maybe just a plain orc hunter.

You didn’t care.

Clenching your jaw, you kicked Kharrhig in the shin but he did not back away. Not even a quick flash of pained expression on his face. It was then you grew even more frustrated. You had been surviving on your own for so long, starting from having zero idea of survival skills until you could skin an animal for meat. How could you not even defeat an orc? Pathetic. You could have been faster, stronger, and you could just strike at Kharrhig’s weak point but you didn’t because you didn’t know how. You’re just a normal human being, forced to survive on your own without having much choice.

Pitiful.

You bit your lips harshly until the taste of iron seeped onto your tongue, resentment towards nobody but yourself growing even stronger until you could feel the weight on your shoulders. It gnawed onto your heart like a bloody parasite, draining the strength and determination that you had earlier. You despised looking weak yet sometimes, you had no choice but to be weak in front of people that you couldn’t defeat.

Like your damn brother who you couldn’t kill no matter what.

“What do you want?” You said with a bitter voice, “Just kill me and take my head away then!”

Kharrhig scowled and released your wrist, “That’s not my intention.”

“Then what is it? You’re going to drag me back there?”

“I think there is a misunderstanding going on.”

“Misunderstanding! Of course!” You cackled, “I’ve heard that a lot of times from people who tried to cut off my damn head. Tell me something else if you really want to get my head and the money.”

You were furious, a completely different person who genuinely complimented the person who embroidered the handkerchief with a calm smile. Like a frightened cat hissing in fear, Kharrhig couldn’t help but to take a step back, holding both of his empty hands up as if he was surrendering himself. Instead of getting upset with your outburst, Kharrhig seemed to understand your panicked state. Who wouldn’t start to panic when their bounty is mentioned?

“Truly, that is not my intention.” Kharrhig lowered his gaze and awkwardly scratched the back of his head, his braided hair becoming even looser, “I’m trying to help. If you’re feeling uncomfortable and wish to leave, be my guest but before that, you should listen to what I’m about to say. There are people looking for you, described your appearance exactly the same and they’re not that far away. Just miles away from here.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“They will come here to look for you, that’s for sure.”

Of course they will.

You rested your forehead on your hand, hating on every single moment of your life. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy for you to escape. It was your brother who was looking after you after all, your traitorous brother who decided to place all of the blames on your shoulders. You were nothing more than a black sheep to him, used and getting disposed of after he was done with you. The second you weren’t helpful to him anymore, he chose to look away and execute you.

He was that type of person from the start.

Ambitious and was willing to do anything for his goal, even killing his own parents.

Your parents.

Taking a deep, sharp breath, you gazed into Kharrhig’s eyes with a pleading look. It was your final straw and you were hoping, praying, that you could trust the orc in front of you. Life on the run was never easy — you could never understand people's hidden intentions and you never did learn how to trust someone. When you did trust someone, you only found out that they're all in for the gold coins.

Kharrhig was your only last hope.

“Can I trust you?”

Your voice quivered and such fear you held deep within only ached Kharrhig's chest. He could tell you had been through a lot and watching the hope fading out of your dull eyes was an unsettling sight.

Kharrhig nodded, "You can, I promise."

A weak laughter escaped out of your mouth, you forced out a smile though the way your lips curled upwards only showed the fatigue wearing you down.

"And why do you trust me? How do you know I'm innocent?"

Kharrhig hesitated for a split second, "Call it my guts feelings."

"I see. Thank you, Kharrhig. Thank you."

Eyes watering, you sobbed.

"Thank you."

Perhaps, your life may begin to change with him.

The next morning, Kharrhig was awfully kind and generous to you. He visited you at the tavern to make sure you're alright before explaining what he had heard while he was hunting. They're coming closer to you without a doubt and Kharrhig advised you to not stay in the tavern as there may be a chance for those knights to check every rented room.

The monster patrons and Jester the bartender, who noticed Kharrhig's friendly interaction with you, began to relax around your presence. Surely if Kharrhig had decided to be nice to you, that would mean that you had no bad intentions at all. After all, Kharrhig had a pair of good eyes to evaluate someone.

"If I can't stay here then where else could I stay?"

Jester wiped the mug dry, "Obviously, Kharrhig's house."

The orc whipped his head as quick as a lightning, his eyes glaring holes into the cheeky goblin's head. It wasn't a bad decision but for Kharrhig's, it definitely was, not because of your presence but more to the feeling of discomfort he may give you. Which humans would love to squeeze into a room with a towering orc?

"Hey, I'm just suggesting." Jester shrugged, "You're a good hunter and you're good at combat. Surely the traveller would feel safer staying with you. Right?"

Unsure on how to answer, you could only bob your head when Jester shot you a knowing look. Afraid of what your reply might obtain, you nervously and sneakily glanced at the orc who sat beside you. His face was contorted into an expression and one might say he's angry but not you as you could vaguely make out the red dusts on his sharp ears.

Kharrhig had never once lived with someone, not even once in his lifetime. He moved out since he was young from the orc village and decided to settle in Greynethorn which was the best decision he had ever met. It was peaceful and quiet, he always liked that part of the town.

So how could he live with you now?

A human out of all!

You twiddled your thumbs, "Uhm, you don't have to if you don't want to. I don't really mind finding another place to live. It's not that difficult. I've been on my own for so long, this is not going to stop me."

"It's not that I don't want to." His deep voice rang across the tavern, "Just... forget it. You can stay in my house. I can make sure they wouldn't find you in there."

Everyone in the tavern stared at Kharrhig in shock, mouths wide agape until their jaws could hit the ground. The cold, mysterious and stern Kharrhig actually decided to live with a human being like you. The orc wasn't the friendliest monster in the town. Sure, he was kind to everyone but he never did get close to anyone for him to share secrets with, no matter whether it's a woman or a man.

Yet right now, Kharrhig was looking at you with such a gentle gaze. No doubt, you're his first actual friend (and not an acquaintance) in Greynethorn.

You grinned from ear to ear, "Thank you, Kharrhig!"

Jester choked, "Pfftt! You need to fix your pronunciation."

Humiliated, your face flushed red, "I— I tried! Really! I tried to look at the book in the small library and even asked for the librarian's help. I really did but I just couldn't get my tongue used to it. I'm sorry."

"No worries, it's an adorable way to say it."

Kharrhig, for the first time, snickered with an entertained smile, shaking his head from left to right. You stared at him in bafflement, chest getting tighter at how charming and good he looked with such a soft smile. His tusks and old scar weren't getting in the way of his breathtaking expression, it was just... delightful and endearing.

Did you just—

Your face grew even hotter, like a boiled water in a hot pot, as you realised what you had been thinking. An orc, who surely most humans would scorn at, suddenly looked extremely entrancing in front of your very eyes. Even you couldn't believe the thoughts that just flooded into your head, considering how you never did once stare at beautiful people before.

"Anything wrong?" Kharrhig tilted his head, the smile no longer on his face which was a shame.

You immediately shook your head and covered the bottom of your face, feeling the corner of your lips twitched from elevation, "No, nothing! I was just thinking about our plan. That's all."

Jester hummed, "Good, good. You need a plan after all."

You had a feeling that Jester already knew what you're thinking.

[booklyns]

white rabbit | hannibal. l [hannibal]

PART | this is pt 2. for pt 1: click here, for pt 3: click here.

WARNING | manipulation, cannibalism, ptsd, hallucinations, panic attacks, inaccurate mental conditions (i'm sorry but i am happy to fix it if anyone could guide me on these topics!), hannibal seeing your nakey-nakey body, drowning, unedited writing.

RELATIONSHIP | hannibal. l/gn. reader.

WORD COUNT | approx 5k-6k??

SUMMARY | you're actually crazy or at least, that's what you've become after hannibal's manipulation. but it's not all because of him, right? you were already a little bit mad at the beginning, he merely added sprinkles on top!

please read the warning before proceeding. minors do not interact. this is written only for fun, do not normalise this relationship. please reach out if you're in a toxic relationship or any relationship that is harmful towards you.

"I do not share the details of my patient, officer."

Hannibal read through his report while brushing off the police officer's question in front of him. Though he wasn't clear why the officer would care so much, Hannibal would not simply share the details of his patient that easily. He may be a cannibal and a serial killer but he's still a psychiatrist at the end of the day.

He looked at the report in his hand, glancing through the mental state you're in at the moment but of course, there's simply no way Hannibal could tell everything to the police officer. All he could say was that the situation's incredibly bad.

Post-traumatic stress disorder.

Severe anxiety.

Sleep deprivation.

How was that not bad?

"I understand, Doctor Lecter." Damien sighed, "I'm just worried, sorry for being intrusive. The witness was under my care for quite some time before moving on to WITSEC and I feel slightly uncomfortable knowing that they're still not recovering. But based on what you see, is it that bad?"

Hannibal pursed his lips, "I can't say anymore than that."

"Then.. can you help them?"

"I can try. Thank you for the report you've given me regarding what they've witnessed. It would be helpful for the treatment I am about to give." Hannibal mentioned as he gestured to the thin folder of police report regarding the murder you've witnessed. "Now, if you will excuse me. My patient is about to arrive soon so I'll greatly appreciate it if you give us some time alone."

Damien nodded with a grim look and stood up, his badge glimmering against his dark uniform, "Right, sorry for taking your time. Thank you for your help, Doctor Lecter."

It wasn't long after Damien was gone that you entered, a horrible and awful look on your damn face. Though Hannibal wasn't an empath or a telepath, he knew what happened to you. He had seen countless of people like you and Will Graham but the most noticeable similarity between the two of you was the way you tried to contain your anxiousness, desperately trying to act damn normal for the society. Hannibal found that amusing and oddly beautiful, it showed how humane you were, how desperate you were to survive in this judgmental society.

Hannibal knew how you would react towards things that scarred you. After all, you were just like Will Graham, always thinking too much. Constantly getting reminded of the nightmare due to a similar object. He adored the pleading gaze in your eyes as you came to understand that only Hannibal Lecter could understand and help you. Hell, he was the best psychiatrist that could lull you to sleep, it was not surprising to see you being in such a horrible shape after a few days passed since the day you fell asleep in his house. You knew Hannibal could put you to sleep so now, you just needed his help so damn bad.

"Take a seat."

Hannibal gestured to the seat in front of him, already preparing for the session with the similar notebook in his hand. You, eyes itching for a good sleep, weakly nodded. Oh, Hannibal couldn't express how entertained he was to see the way you looked at him. It was as if you were begging him to understand the reason behind every session you attended with effort. You wanted to go across the line keeping the two of you bounded to the patient and doctor relationship, you simply wanted him to be your saviour, not just a doctor who listened and listened. You wanted to rely on him and you knew a patient shouldn't be relying too much on the doctor.

But you can't stop wishing for a peaceful slumber.

"Shall we first begin by discussing your day?"

Hannibal gave you a warm smile that you couldn't decipher very well. He wanted to delay the time, urging you to speak the truth inside your brain instead of dilly-dallying. He just knew how to push a button. After all, he did it multiple times with Will Graham, pushing him to the edge for the empath to do what Hannibal wanted him to do and now, you're his victim. You're the white rabbit in his grasp and whenever he wishes to gut you alive, you would be willing to give everything to him sooner or later.

He just needed you to accept the mental state you're in right now.

"Uhm.. yeah, yeah.. I can do that."

You responded with a lack of enthusiasm, unable to concentrate on his current voice as all you could think of was his soothing voice that comforted you to sleep. What do you have to give to experience that once again? Just for one good night sleep, you're just ready to give everything, even your own dignity away. Something was just horribly wrong with you but the lack of energy didn't not do good to your brain. You could barely think straight at the moment.

Hannibal knew. Oh, he fucking knew.

"It's.. going well." You forced out a smile, "Yeah, I guess you can say that it's good."

Hannibal nodded, "I see. Then is there anything peculiar that you remember today?"

"The footsteps."

Understanding what you meant by footsteps, Hannibal bobbed his head with yet another smile. By the time he was about to say something else, you finally spoke while twiddling your thumbs nervously, afraid that Hannibal Lecter would think you're thinking of something else.

"Can you help me, Doctor Lecter?"

He hummed, "Yes?"

"I understand what I'm about to say is going overboard but," You lowered your gaze shamefully, "I really need your help, Doctor Lecter. I can't sleep, I haven't been sleeping for a few days now and you're the only one who can help me. I have been trying! I swear, I tried to focus on the music, the news on the television but nothing helps like how you helped me before this. I am lost, Doctor Lecter. I can't continue anymore if this is how my life would continue on!"

You took a sharp inhale in.

"I know, I know this is not something you can just do. I understand if you decline my request, it's not an easy thing for you to do, doctor. This is just my selfish request."

"How long have you been awake without any sleep?"

"I... I think it's about four days?"

Hannibal frowned, "I see. Then please, you're free to give me a visit."

"Then... that means.."

He smiled, "Yes, I will help you. After all, a doctor's job is to help patients."

"That's.. thank you so much, Doctor Lecter! Thank you!"

There you were, clinging and smiling at the hope that Hannibal had dangled in front of you. It was almost hilarious, if it wasn't for the elevated smile that you presented to Hannibal. It made him feel wanted, made him feel important and special. He did not dislike that feelings. Besides, Hannibal liked seeing how bright you would shine without knowing what was really going on around you. A little bit more and you would soon cling onto him for help, just like how humankind always cling onto their lives while thinking they all deserved to live.

How entertaining.

He could remember how some would beg him to let them live, thinking that they're that special for Hannibal to even think about it. Some was arrogant, thinking that they could defeat Hannibal without putting much effort in it. They didn't know Hannibal Lecter had been doing this multiple times, more than they would think of. He had seen different people begging, praying and fighting back, thus nobody was ever truly interesting in front of him.

But you and Will?

Oh, the similarity was almost uncanny. Both of you were just so insane and slowly, the two of you would soon rely on Hannibal for help. After all, he was the one to give answers and reassurance, he was the one who could give enough love towards the two of you. Hannibal Lecter was the only one to understand you. The two of you were naïve, anxious and just so damn desperate to actually feel normal for once.

Will Graham can't be normal, he just can't but you had the chance to be normal if the correct treatment was given. Yet that was not Hannibal's intention in the first place. He wanted to make you drown inside the abyss, not even the angel's halo could save you from the darkness. Hannibal wanted you to sink and sink even deeper, until you could reach him — until you just felt comfortable being underwater with him.

You're the embodiment of humanity. So fragile, so desperate, so fucking naïve.

It was almost.. beautiful.

"Now, shall we continue our discussion?"

Your lips twitched upwards, "Yes, of course. I'm sorry for interrupting you, Doctor Lecter. Please continue."

"Thank you. I simply wish to discuss with you regarding your sleep deprivation. You're sleep deprived, which I suspect is the main reason behind the hallucinations you've been seeing, along with the trauma you have due to what you've witnessed in the past."

"Ah, yes. I assume that's the reason too. But it will be alright, right?" You smiled, "You are helping me after all, Doctor Lecter."

"Of course, I will help you as much as I can."

Not.

"I have a task for you. Can you do that for me?"

You nodded, "Of course."

"I want you to draw a clock for me, you just have to copy the exact same clock on the previous page." Hannibal handed you a book and a pen, gesturing for you to draw a clock on the empty page. "And while you're doing that, perhaps we can have a talk."

"A clock..?" You stared at the small notebook he handed to you with confusion before nodding hastily, grabbing the ballpoint pen and scribbling a circle on it. "Of course, I can do that."

Hannibal smiled, "Have you heard of the recent news?"

"News?" You asked as you wrote 12 at the top of the circle.

"About a man who came running out of the prison."

You hesitated, breath stuck in your throat at the unheard news.

"You should take good care of yourself." Hannibal continued, noting how you paused sharply before continuing to write those numbers in a hurry, as if something was going to come chasing after you. "Try not to stay outside for too late or in the dark. If you see someone with shaggy blonde hair and a scar across their cheek, quickly walk away and don't interact with them."

It's him.

Your breathing quickened and your eyesight grew blurrier, unable to focus on the drawing of a clock anymore. You can't focus. Without even noticing what you had written, you looked up at him while avoiding staring into his eyes.

"Can we.. can we talk about something else?"

"Is something making you uncomfortable?"

"Ah.. no.. it's just,"

You paused before growing oddly irritated, suddenly feeling as if your chest was about to explode all thanks to the emotions you kept inside. How long will this go on? You're horribly tired and now that there's someone who looked exactly like him— no, the actual murderer actually managed to escape out of the prison. Hannibal shouldn't know the murderer's appearance, he didn't know. He was out there, somewhere, looking for you.

To stab you the exact same way he stabbed that victim.

"I just don't want to listen to it! Stop it, stop it!" You cried loudly, the book and pen falling onto the ground as you shook in the seat, feeling every inch of your body crying out in horror. "Stop talking about him, stop, stop! He is coming to get me! You know that!"

Hannibal called out your name but you did not respond.

Your eyes darted from left to right, right to left, the pupils dilated due to the overwhelming fear and anxiety. While you were taking steps back, feeling paranoid towards everything, you reached out for your hair and tugged those strands of hair, praying to God that the dull pain in your head could pull you back to reality. It didn't and perhaps what you were experiencing right now was the reality.

"Stop it!"

You saw the murderer standing up and reaching his hand out to you, the scar on his cheek was still the same. Old, jagged and will never heal as well as fade away. It was what made him different from anyone else, that damn scar of his. And he was still wearing the same baseball cap like that night, the stupid baseball cap that wouldn't stop haunting and reminding you of what future might wait for you. You could vaguely hear the murderer calling out to you, taunting and mocking you.

You were panicking.

And you ran without looking back.

Hannibal stood in the middle of the room with a blank look, his outstretched arm eventually falling back to his side. He took the notebook from the carpeted floor, flipped to the page where you were supposed to draw a clock, and his gaze instantly darkened at your masterpiece. It was unfinished, horribly rushed and the numbers were written so fast that they looked poor. Those numbers were all over the place, probably because you're panicking and struggling to take a breath. The line of the clock was wobbly, unlike what he had drawn on the previous page.

The hour and minute hands were missing.

Was it the proper test he should conduct on you? Absolutely not but Hannibal Lecter was merely finding an excuse to distract you, to watch how you would break down as you listened to his never-ending lies. What other way than to draw a clock? It may seem simple but many wouldn't be able to complete the drawing in the first place, you included.

The result was simply magnificent.

You were already suffering from PTSD and Hannibal gladly made it even worse until you couldn't even stay focused on the drawing. Your anxiety and panic attacks were a bad sign to you but to Hannibal, his plan was only going into the right way. He slowly made his way to his desk and placed the notebook on the smooth surface, eyes roaming over to the police report. It described the murderer's appearance correctly in details and Hannibal was glad to use it to his advantage.

Such simple lie could break you so much, Hannibal did not expect that.

But it was good, so good that he couldn't stop smiling.

It was raining.

Just like that day.

You stood in the middle of the street, completely drenched from head to toes as you blankly stared at the traffic light. You could hear those vehicles honking at you but at that moment, you did not care. He was somewhere out there, there's no point trying to fix yourself anymore, right? Sobbing, you held your face with your wet hands, the strands of hairs sticking to your face persistently.

"Oy, fucker! Move out of the damn way!"

"It's green light! Motherfucker—"

"Hey, are you alright?"

This time, the voice was closer, so much closer. You hesitantly turned around and let out a frightened yelp. The man with ugly blonde haircut and a hideous scar on his cheek stood in front of you like a damn persistent ghost who wouldn't leave you alone. You cried for it to go away and took several steps back, only to see him getting even closer to you. The sound of lightning in the distant reminded you once again of the vivid memory — the blood, the keen knife, the voice, the horrendous knocking that echoed throughout your house.

You could see everything.

Everything was happening all over again.

"Hey, you look extremely pale—"

"Leave me alone!"

Slapping the pedestrian's hand away, you spun around almost too quickly that you stumbled forward but that did not stop you from bolting away. It was like a damn shadow chasing after you, never letting you go and never allowing you to live a good life. At this point, you were no longer able to discern between reality and hallucinations. You knew it was a hallucination in the beginning but the fear you felt coursing through your body was extremely real.

The memories inside your brain were real.

Yet now, you weren't so sure about which was real anymore.

What Hannibal said sent you reeling in horror, unsure whether the hallucination you had seen could be the real murderer. You were so scared, not just from the murderer but from your brain as well. It was an irony that your own brain was driving you mad, you even felt like laughing coldly at the fate in your hands.

You were so scared.

So scared that you just wanted to disappear.

To stop feeling.

You took a shaky breath in as you stood outside, right in front of the door that you recognised so well. You can't exactly remember how you got here, it just happened and now, you were unsure whether you should ring the doorbell. Sometimes, you had no idea what was going on with yourself.

Your legs brought you somewhere without you knowing about it.

Your brain panicked without your permission.

Something was just so wrong with you.

And only Hannibal could help you figure out.

"Doctor Lecter..! Doctor Lecter!" You cried.

You pleaded for him to save you and not long after that, the door swung open. Hannibal stood there with a dazed look, probably puzzled to see you in front of his house at this late at night while being drenched in rain. He was just there, sleeves folded to his elbows and a clean white apron tied around his waist.

Your voice croaked out weakly, "Save me, please."

Hannibal, who did not expect you to show up this fast, quickly moved out of the way and pulled you into his house. The trail of water did not go unnoticed by Hannibal as he ushered you in, somehow beginning to speak with concern in his voice.

"You will get cold."

You stared blankly at the wall, sniffling at the chaotic confusion that followed after you, "I don't know what to do, Doctor Lecter. Something is wrong with my brain. I can't stop thinking, I can't stop worrying. I keep seeing him everywhere, I just can't stop. Everything reminds me of him! I can't run away! I can't even hide!"

"Take a deep breath, we need to settle you firs—"

You suddenly grabbed Hannibal by the shirt and rested your forehead on his chest, shoulders shaking like a scared little bunny. He only stood still and straight, arms by his side as he stared at the top of your head, able to even make a hole from how intense his gaze was.

"He's everywhere, you don't understand!"

You sobbed.

"Everywhere! He won't stop!"

"Yes, I understand what you're trying to say." Hannibal placed both of his hands on your shoulders and pulled you away to look at you, "But for now, we need to get you dry. Do you understand?"

You stared into his cold eyes and nodded slowly.

"Good, come with me."

Everything happened in a blur.

Before you could comprehend what's wrong, you eventually managed to calm yourself down inside the bathtub, your arms embracing your knees close to your chest. The water felt warm but your inside felt oddly cold, strangely hollow as if you had lost every single of life inside your body. You were like an empty shell and no matter how hard you tried to give a genuine smile, you only felt the urge to sob in horror.

You wished you could find an answer.

Find a solution to fix whatever was wrong inside your brain.

Had you always been this fragile before? You simply can't remember.

"Is the water alright for you?"

You failed to notice the soft knocking on the closed door, eyes roaming to the water that embraced you like how a mother would do. Oh, how you wished to drown in this warm water, just to escape from everything — from the paranoia, from those intrusive thoughts, from the murderous gaze that you could never escape forever. In dazed, confusion glossed over your lifeless and dull eyes as you lowered your face. Now that you're in Hannibal's house, you felt calm and exhausted as if your entire lifeforce had been sucked out of your body.

You were tired. So tired.

As a sigh escaped out of your body, you slumped into the bathtub and the very last of your strength failed to keep you straight. Perhaps the sleep deprivation had decided to take a toll on you and the warm bath wasn't helping either, it was merely making you even more comfortable, causing you to fall asleep rather easily. That reminded you that you barely would have the time to bathe in warm or hot water, you frequently bathed in cold water and hoped that the coldness would wake you up from the nightmare.

You were definitely wrong to use cold water for shower.

Yet another knock echoed throughout the bathroom and you could vaguely hear your name being called out worriedly. All you could respond with was a soft hum to which you doubted Hannibal could listen due to the thick walls. Eventually, silence draped itself onto you and Hannibal, the presence in front of the bathroom was still there, not willing to leave without hearing your voice.

"Pardon my intrusion but I'm coming in."

Hannibal slammed open the door with his entire weight, the lock clicking open and probably was now busted thanks to the impact. His eyes instantly landed on you — one arm hanging by the edge of the tub while your entire body was submerged into the water, head almost drowning the same way your body did. If Hannibal chose to ignore you, surely you would have fallen asleep and drown yourself inside the bathtub. It was ridiculous but considering the state of your physical and mental condition, Hannibal was already expecting this.

You were just that easy to read.

He darted past your wet clothes and towered over you, barely batting his eyes at your naked body. After all, he had seen women and men naked whenever he would do his business — whether it's gutting someone or merely having to clean the blood off their bodies. Not fazed by the lack of clothes on your body, he tapped your cheek gently as if that was somehow going to wake you up.

It did, but it didn't really do much.

He called out your name once again, "Can you hear me?"

Somehow, you liked how your name would roll off his tongue.

"I... am tired."

"You must have been exhausting yourself both physically and mentally." Hannibal laid his calloused hand on the back of your neck and lifted your head upwards, "You can finally have a good rest tonight, take a break from what happened today."

Adding the fact that you were completely soaked in rain, you were definitely not feeling extremely good with your body that failed to listen to your commands.

"I will bring you to the guest room."

Hannibal kept his other hand behind your knees and lifted you up with ease, not even flinching from the droplets of water getting onto his white blouse. You could barely keep your eyes open, not even when he tried to dry you up with a clean towel. When he did put you down on the bed, you could vividly remember what he told you before switching off the light in the guest room.

"Have a good night, you will need it."

You couldn't understand what he meant by you needing the good sleep, not even when you woke up the very next day without wearing any clothes. The thick duvet covered your bare body, giving you enough warmth during the night and definitely during the day. It sure did take you a moment to recall what happened yesterday during your shower.

Having regained your energy back, you could think clearly now — way clearer than what happened to you yesterday.

Your face instantly flushed red when you realised what he had seen with his own two eyes. Though he may not show much of a reaction during the entire incident, you could barely find the courage to wake up and greet him in the early morning. There's nothing worse than wishing to dig a damn hole in the ground, just to hide yourself in it.

"Damn it.." You wrapped the duvet around your body with a hot face.

Just when you were thinking of leaving the house without meeting Hannibal Lecter, the said man suddenly knocked on the door, his gentle and smooth voice ringing in your ears. He sounded as if nothing happened yesterday and you weren't sure whether you should be relieved or frustrated about it.

Why should you feel frustrated in the first place?

"Are you awake? I've cooked breakfast."

"Y—Yeah." You answered without thinking twice, "I'm coming."

"There are clothes inside the closet, I've prepared everything for you. Just come down when you're ready, I will serve you breakfast." He smiled and walked back to the kitchen, politely leaving you alone to get ready.

Trying not to think much about what's happening, you took a simple shirt and pants from the inside of the closet, and wore everything comfortably. He waited for you at the dining table, the food was extravagant once again and it was all prepared for you. Hannibal Lecter stood by the end of the table, hands pressed against the table and his muscles flexed at the slightest movement he made.

You gave him a sheepish smile, "Thank you."

Literally, you weren't sure if you should elaborate.

"For everything."

"No problem, have a seat. Let's have our breakfast, shall we?"

Everything went just like Hannibal's prediction.

You clung onto him and even gathered the courage to actually ask him for a favour. Oh, Hannibal could still remember the look on your face when you pleaded him, extremely determined with a subtle hint of nervousness and the entire time, you had your guards down. You didn't know and that's what made Hannibal even more into this.

"I don't want this to end."

You said those words with such innocence, not knowing that you're merely being shredded into pieces and controlled like a dumb puppet by his own hands.

You said those words as if your relationship with him was way more than a doctor and a patient, perhaps it was but without clarification, it was just a complicated relationship. You were merely pleading him to let you stay in his house for a good sleep but it was enough to make Hannibal Lecter smile.

He just adored the way you looked at him with those naïve eyes.

"I need your help, Doctor Lecter."

And now, you're just stuck with him.

Like a patient who could not live without him.

You pursed your lips and lowered your gaze, remaining seated in Hannibal's living room. He placed the mug of warm drink onto the coffee table and stole a glance at your sorrowful look.

"I'm sorry for rambling so much." You sighed, "It's just— I am not trying to judge your skills, Doctor Lecter but I have a feeling that I'm only.. normal around you. I keep panicking outside but as soon as I could feel your presence, I would calm down. Am I— Am I getting better in a way?"

Hannibal smiled, "You are and you are doing a great job."

You furrowed your eyebrows before hesitantly nodding, eyes eventually softening, "Yes, thank you, Doctor Lecter. I suppose being able to calm down is a good thing. It's all possible because of you. After all those months of nightmare, you're the only one who could give me a moment of peace. Seriously, thank you."

Smile growing wider, Hannibal slowly reached out and tucked the loose strands of hair behind your warm ear. Something stirred up inside the pit of your stomach, it wasn't fluttery like butterflies' wings flapping all over the place. It was warm, like a sense of security that a parent would give to a child but of course, this wasn't even as close as the way you would feel to a parent.

It felt way more safer, way more intimate.

And knowing that Hannibal was the only one who could fix you did not help with the flaming heat inside your guts. You knew what you felt was wrong, horribly wrong but you justified everything by reasoning with your own logical brain.

You had been staying at his house for weeks now and he was incredibly considerate to you. Hannibal showed care and affection to you, one that completely lit up your monochrome world. How could you not like someone like him, right?

"Do you trust me?"

Hannibal suddenly asked, his face inching closer as the smile he had did not fade away. You could feel your cheeks heating up from the proximity but it was a good kind of heat, one that sent your insides stirring up nervously.

Despite the confusion, you did not hesitate, "Yeah, of course."

Hannibal knew you wouldn't say anything, he knew exactly what you were hoping and wishing for. So he did not think twice as he moulded his lips with yours — an innocent kiss to you but a kiss that sealed the devil's deal to him.

With this one kiss, you were now chained to him.

No complaints, no dislikes. Nothing.

He was sure that you wouldn't deny him.

You wouldn't hate him either because you now needed him to survive in this cruel, God forsaken world. Without him, you would merely break outside and the panic attacks you had will only crack your insides.

He won the white rabbit's heart and brain.

part 3??? NSFW??? :D

[booklyns]

let's just act like what i wrote for hannibal makes sense

[booklyns]

white rabbit | hannibal. l [hannibal]

PART | pt 1. for pt 2: click here, for pt 3: click here.

WARNING | manipulation, cannibalism, hannibal thinking of dissecting you, mention of overdose, might be out of character because i forgot about the show, inaccurate details (??), i'm not a psychiatrist lol, unedited writing.

RELATIONSHIP | hannibal. l/gn. reader.

WORD COUNT | approx 6k.

SUMMARY | you're a little bit crazy in the head after witnessing someone brutally getting murdered in your yard, people say. maybe you are, maybe you are not. either way, it's the psychiatrist that has a say in this. not you, never you. only hannibal's words matter.

please read the warning before proceeding. minors do not interact. this is written only for fun, do not normalise this relationship. please reach out if you're in a toxic relationship or any relationship that is harmful towards you.

You remembered—

You remembered that it was raining heavily and the thunder struck as the time went on. You could recall the warmth you sought from the hot mug of coffee, eyes staring outside of the windows like a hawk as if something interesting was going to happen. It did and you regretted looking out of the windows right away, the shrill shriek was concealed by the sound of rain slamming onto the ground.

But you could clearly see the two silhouettes fighting against each other, the taller man stabbing repeatedly into the smaller figure's stomach. You could vaguely make out the splatter of blood as you froze in front of the window, the mug of coffee fell and shattered onto the floor, just in time for the lightning to thunder behind them.

You saw the murderer's face and that will haunt you forever.

You just remembered—

"Hey, take a deep breath." The police officer in front of you noticed at how your hands would tremble as you recalled back your memories, "The murderer is caught, you just need to remember that. Nothing will go wrong and nobody will go after you. Alright? What you saw was... yes, a nightmare but you managed to be the only witness. You caught the killer."

Your eyes watered and you lowered your gaze, none of his words was soothing you. But you weren't able to force out a smile this time, the nightmare was simply agonising to you and your brain was constantly giving you information of the murder. Whenever you stepped out to the yard, you could smell the scent of blood that was still lingering on the soil.

Many said you're hallucinating.

But you just weren't. It felt incredibly real.

"Okay, how about this? I will give you information about this psychiatrist, he has seemed to help us a lot with our investigation. You remember Will, the man who helped you last time?"

You nodded.

"He has seen a lot of things as well, more than you do and he is always meeting this person. Hannibal Lecter. We don't normally do this but, he might be the only one to help you right now." He handed you the minimalistic business card with an apologetic smile, "He will be of help to you, I'm sure of it. I'm sorry that it has to come to this. You're a wonderful person, you shouldn't have seen what happened on that day but I just want you to remember that the killer is caught because of your statement."

Holding onto the card as if it was a fragile gift, you gave him a dazed look and a nod, unable to force yourself to smile due to days of not sleeping. How could you sleep in a peaceful slumber when the killer kept haunting your dream? He was always constantly saying that he will haunt you down and gut you alive inside the nightmare.

You were losing your sanity bit by bit.

"Thank you, Damien."

But you couldn't tell them.

"Excuse me."

The lady by the front entrance looked up, meeting your tired eyes that showed how obvious you were surviving with the lack of sleep. You tried your hardest to smile, even if your eyes were itchy and stinging in pain, and hoped that was enough to show that you're not that crazy yet.

"Yes?"

"I've made an appointment with Doctor Hannibal Lecter?"

"Ah, yes! Around 3 in the afternoon, right?" Flipping through the pages to find your name, the lady stood up and gestured to the door at the end of the hallway, "Just enter that room, please. Doctor Lecter is waiting for you."

You bobbed your head as a quick thank you and trotted down the corridor, heart thumping as you listened to your own footsteps bouncing off the walls. It would have been a lie if you insisted that you weren't terrified to meet the psychiatrist — he could see what was wrong with you. What you saw and what traumatised you. You felt vulnerable when you thought about how Doctor Lecter would judge you. Gosh, you wished you wouldn't think too much about it but unfortunately, your mind wasn't giving you much of a choice.

Knock, knock.

"Doctor Hannibal Lecter, may I come in?"

"Oh, please do."

You slowly swung open the door and stuck your head through the large gap, instantly gasping in awe at how spacious his office was. In fact, it could even be a home if he wanted to. Considering how well and extravagant his office was, you were certain that Doctor Hannibal Lecter was a well-known psychiatrist and was paid enough. Well, he sure was, considering that all police officers knew about him. Getting a grip of yourself, you gathered what was left inside you and entered into the office, giving a nod to Hannibal as a greeting.

You ended up standing in the middle of the office like a scared, clueless and missing rabbit — extremely awkward that Hannibal's lips curled upwards in amusement.

A scared, little rabbit you were.

You reminded Hannibal of a white rabbit which definitely could be a tasty, juicy meat if it was cooked right. Oh no, you weren't Alice in the Wonderland. You're just the white rabbit who would always run here and there, giving a fun chase for the predator. Not letting his thoughts get ahead of himself, Hannibal gestured to the leather couch in the middle of the room and stood up from his personal desk to sit down in front of you, a coffee table separating the two of you from each other. The way he sat down was graceful, far elegant compared to yours even when he cross his slender leg over the other.

You were just there, twiddling with your thumbs and avoiding making eye-contact with Hannibal. The psychiatrist sure took notice of your behaviour, making a mental note of how you're acting as soon as you stepped into his office.

"Would you like something to drink?"

You shook your head, "No, no. It's fine. Thank you."

"If that's what you wish. Then, shall we begin?" Hannibal continued when you nodded at his question, "Now, do you mind telling me why you're here and what happened?"

You instantly frowned at his question, "You know, don't you? I'm sure the officer told you about what happened to me and—"

"Yes, I do know about what happened however, it is my job to listen to your explanation. It helps to make sure that you know what's happening and what has happened. You can get a grip of reality if you slowly take your time to explain what has happened. Of course, if you're still uncomfortable to discuss about this issue, we can always move on to another topic. Your choice."

Your eyes darted left and right, looking like a prey that was about to be eaten by a predator. Oh, if only you knew what was going on inside Hannibal's mind, you would surely be trembling like a terrified bunny that was actually about to be eaten. The way you looked at him pleadingly reminded him of those people that he fought against. Hell, most of them wouldn't even look at him with such an entrancing gaze. At this point, Hannibal was already thinking of the look you would give him if he were to dissect you alive.

Perhaps when he placed a knife near your throat, you would inhale a sharp, shaky breath and look into his eyes with tearful eyes. When he strangled you with a rope, you would probably try to scratch the rope to break free and thrash your legs around but unfortunately, it would be futile. You're nothing compared to Hannibal Lecter who was an experienced killer. Maybe he could try gutting you alive, most probably you will die from blood loss or faint from the excruciating pain.

Who knows?

"No, I will explain everything from the beginning."

Your voice pulled Hannibal out of his own random thoughts. It was fairly easy for Hannibal to focus on his patient even when he was craving something for dinner. After all, he was a professional psychiatrist and right now, it was his job to help you get a grip on yourself. You were losing yourself, Hannibal could tell just from your tired and defeated gaze alone.

You reminded him of Will Graham.

Looking similar to a pitiful rabbit, you were hoping for something to save you from the hellish nightmare. Perhaps Hannibal Lecter could be the one to pull you awake but that depended on him, wouldn't it? Whether he wanted to make you stay awake or make you to lose your sanity, it was all his choice from the very beginning.

"Thank you. Continue then."

You clasped your hands, holding so tight that your knuckles were beginning to turn white. Oh, what a pitiful look you had there, Hannibal thought. He wondered how you were going to explain the entire situation to him without a quivering voice. Something about the way you looked was stirring up his inside to play with you for a while longer. Just like Will Graham, you simply felt.. human. Something about you was screaming humanity — so fragile, so humane and so terrified of being hunted down by a predator.

"It happened a few weeks ago. Maybe even a month, I can't really remember. But it happened, that's all I know." You bit the inside of your cheeks, "I was at home alone, it was during midnight and I was just about to continue my work. Write, I mean. I am a writer. And as I was about to walk back upstairs, I looked out the window. It was dark but I saw figures in my yard. Something about the entire scene terrified me, it still does. I saw something glinting even from a far away and the sound... I couldn't hear it properly but it's there, I know that! I could hear the knife piercing into the person again and again. And then, the lightning struck and the man looked at me."

Hannibal nodded and you continued with your gaze on your trembling hands.

"He saw me, my face. He stood there as if he's thinking whether he should kill me or just let me go. I saw half of his face because it was too dark but he didn't know that, right? All he knew was that I saw him, that's it. I know he's going to kill me, that's what murderers do, right?"

Hannibal hummed with a cold smile.

"So I ran, I quickly locked the door and got to the phone, and dialed in for the police. I think he knew what I was doing, that's why he came running to my house and started bashing onto the door. When he realised he couldn't get it, he smashed the window with his elbow. Before he got in, I yelled at him that I called the police and they're on the way. He... stopped and just glared at me under the stupid cap he wore. I remember the cap very well, it was a baseball cap with a weird logo on it. And—" You shook, "And he told me that he would find me before leaving."

Hannibal took note of your trembling hands and shoulders, presenting you with a reassuring smile. Everything about him was elegant, from the way he dressed himself neatly, the way he smiled at you and possibly even the way he stabbed his victims.

But you didn't know about the last part, right?

"Would you like to take a break?"

You pursed your lips and shook your head, determination that covered the trauma visible in your own luscious eyes, "No, I can continue. There's still a bit more to go, after all." You gave him your best smile albeit stiff and forced, "Uhm, and then the police came and I was under their protection for a while until the murderer was captured."

"Did you get attacked by the murderer while under the WITSEC?"

"No but—"

He raised a brow, "But?"

You suddenly hugged yourself tight, feeling every inch of your body prickling with anxiety and fear. The discomfort suddenly came surging throughout your body, even when Hannibal's warm eyes were there to accompany you. The familiar sound of those muffled footsteps came ringing inside your ears, and you weren't sure anymore whether it could have been real or fake. You had no idea, you just had no fucking clue about why you're shivering like something was about to fall on you and take your damn life away.

"I could feel his stare. His footsteps." Your voice gave up on you and alas, cracked, "Everything. I could feel and hear everything. It's haunting me every fucking moment and I can't sleep anymore. He might escape from the prison and stab me in my sleep. It's my damn brain that wouldn't stop panicking me."

Giving you a firm nod, Hannibal scribbled something in his notebook.

"Is there anything else you would like to add?"

You looked at him in the eyes, completely tired and hollow inside as the light in your eyes disappeared a very long time ago. Personally, you had been to several psychiatrists before and none, zero, of them was able to help you. In fact, it had been proven to worsen day by day and none of them was able to stop it from worsening. And right now, you were at the worst point of your entire life. You were this close to breaking apart and this man in front of you was the last piece of hope you could have.

"Can you help me, Doctor Lecter?"

He chuckled, "Do you think I can help you?"

"No but I hope I'm wrong. They're calling me insane, Doctor Lecter. Whenever I say that there is a man following after me, they look at me as if I've seen a ghost. When I look back because of the sound of footsteps, they look at me as if I'm sick in the head. When I could hear his voice again and again, they told me to seek help. I have been trying, haven't I?" You tilted your head with a pained smile, extremely sick of everything that had been going on. "Do you think I'm crazy, Doctor Lecter?"

"I do not call my patients crazy."

Hannibal called your name with a professionalism in the tone of his voice but something— something about the way he called your name was hiding a secret deep inside his chest. You almost shuddered, not from excitement or euphoria, but dread. It felt as if something sinister was waiting behind the curtains, waiting to be unraveled. Again and again, you scolded yourself for thinking of such a thought. It was your trauma and paranoia, you reminded yourself constantly. Hannibal Lecter was just a psychiatrist and he's trying to help you right now.

If only you could just give him a minute of cooperation—

"For our next session, I want you to write what you experience inside a book and hand it to me. Anything you experience, from footsteps or voices. I just need to have a general idea of what you're experiencing on daily basis to decide the next course of my action." Hannibal smiled and it almost seemed like he was charming you with his dull eyes, "Will you do that for me?"

You hesitated before nodding, completely stunned from what he just said, "Yeah, yeah. Sure. I will bring in the book for our next session. Just don't... freak out."

"Of course not." Hannibal glanced at the watch around his slim wrist, "Looks like the time is up, I say we have gone through yet another important part of the session. We will continue our session on Monday."

"Thank you, Doctor Hannibal Lecter."

He walked over to the door and held it open for you, gesturing for you to leave the office in a polite manner without making you self-conscious. You gave him a nod, having no strength to actually smile at him and just walked past him.

"Have a nice day."

You can't sleep.

Groaning, you looked out the window of your apartment, a new house that you decided to move into after the previous incident. The sky was beginning to turn orange, slowly fading a darker shade of orange, and you were beginning to feel every ounce of energy leaving your body. Even your life was beginning to weaken and get thinner, you doubted you could live without any sleep.

How many days had it been?

You simply couldn't close your eyes and sleep for a few days now.

"I will find you."

Snapping your entire body straight, you took a gasp and looked around you in horror. The couch felt incredibly sticky with your sweat and the time stopped, your eyes darted all over the place in hope to see what was haunting you. It wasn't long until you felt a hot breath behind your ear, the same and familiar voice ringing inside your itching ears.

"You can't run away."

You let out horrified scream and swiveled around, falling onto the cold floor with a loud thud. Your chest heaved up and down, finding the difficulty to breathe steadily as you tried to search for the murderer, the man who wouldn't fucking leave you alone. Crawling backward, your ears rang with footsteps and knocking on the door. Everything was happening all over again and by the corner of your eyes, you could see a black silhouette standing by the corner of the room.

"Hide."

Yelping from fright, you stumbled forward and slammed your entire weight onto the door before sprinting out from your house. You couldn't remember if you had locked your damn door before bolting away, everything just happened rather fast and your mind was simply in a state of chaos. A part of your brain was blank while the other part was pleading you to just hide, to just seek someone's help. The only one you could think of was Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

Surely he knew what to do with this situation?

Hands trembling and eyes burning in tears, you searched for Hannibal's contact number in your phone and desperately tried to hide in the shadow. Pedestrians, who walked by, glanced at you with confusion before brushing off your presence, probably thinking that you were yet another lunatic seeking for extra money here and there.

"Ah, good evening—"

"I saw him. I fucking saw him, I swear!"

You whispered harshly into the phone, hand gripping onto the device until your knuckles turned white and your throat burned from the cries you let out. Hannibal immediately grew quiet, possibly knowing very well that you were sobbing your heart out and were at a vulnerable state.

"He's here, he's here. I don't know what to do. I'm just—"

You wished you could admit how crazy you were.

Hannibal called your name calmly, "Slow down and tell me where you are."

"I'm— I'm around the XXX district—"

"Just hold on, I am coming."

You had no idea how long you had been waiting but you waited until you were sitting on the dirty ground while hugging your legs close to your chest, tired eyes staring at your legs. Everything wasn't as clear as before, what you saw was blurry and hazy. Even when Hannibal came jogging and standing beside you, you could barely register his presence.

You just had no idea what was wrong with you.

"Are you alright?"

Hannibal knelt down beside you and he called your name.

You weren't sure how to answer his call.

Do you just explain everything from A to Z or do you just admit that you're batshit crazy? Something was wrong with your head, you knew that but you weren't sure if it was because of the lack of sleep or the horror of witnessing a murder. It wasn't even a gruesome murder where intestines were spilling out, it was just a plain, simple murder. So why were you so frightened?

Why did you call him in the first place?

Was it because he's your doctor? Hannibal Lecter was the one who popped out inside your brain when you thought to call for help. He was the only one you could rely on, he knew what he was doing as a psychiatrist. But calling him when you're freaking out? You weren't even sure what you were doing anymore.

"I can't."

Your head throbbed.

Hannibal tilted his head, "Can't?"

You wanted to say something but you forgot, your brain wasn't being nice to you this time as well. Before you could even blink and register what he said, your brain shut down. It stopped working instantly, nothing came in and nothing came out, and your eyes rolled to the back of your damn head, your consciousness faded away.

Hannibal grabbed the back of your head before it could collide with the wall behind you, his eyes watching how you just collapsed. Perhaps broke down would be the right words. He could see the dried tears by your cheeks and the dark circle beneath your eyes simply looked terrible. Without hesitating, he carried your entire body before any pedestrian could ask a question.

He glanced at you, there's definitely no way you could wake up and tell him where you live. It wouldn't be that easy.

To his home then.

Now, Hannibal occasionally would get guests at his home but none would stay until the night. And just like his refined taste, the interior of his house was simply clean. Many would say that Hannibal were like a fine red wine, despite his age, he's still a charming man.

Watching you lie on the couch was perhaps the golden opportunity that he could get. You're unconscious, deep in your slumber, and Hannibal clearly had the chance to make a slice down your abdomen. Yet at that moment, none of those ran through his brain. Hannibal only watched the way your brows were still creased like a rabbit that sleeps with their guard up.

A white rabbit.

Hannibal chuckled.

A white rabbit served as a meal wasn't that bad.

But did he want to actually kill you?

No, Hannibal had no intent to kill you yet, at least not right now. He liked taking his own sweet time and seeing how clueless you were in front of him, Hannibal decided to indulge in the moment for a while longer. Besides, you wouldn't run off or go anywhere. He had your sanity in his own hands and whatever he says has the power to shape you.

Whether he wanted you to be crazy or rely on him for comfort, Hannibal had the say in this. Not you, not anyone else.

Just him.

When you did wake up after hours of slumber, you noticed the sky outside was darkening and Hannibal Lecter was just sitting in a chair with book in his hand. You weren't completely sure what it was about but the title was something related to sleep deprivation.

Was he looking for more information about your condition?

You couldn't help but to feel grateful.

"Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal tore his eyes off the book and looked at you, a relieved smile on his face despite his chaotic thoughts prior to your wake. But there's no need for you to know what he was thinking about. All you needed to know was that Hannibal Lecter was the one you should rely on right now.

He can fix you.

And he can destroy you.

"You're awake." Hannibal placed aside the book onto the coffee table and stood up, sighing at the sore back, "What do you wish to drink?"

Your eyes widened and you quickly shook your head frantically, like a prey that was trying not to offend the predator. Hannibal found it a tad bit hilarious and the corner of his lips twitched upwards. Just how pitifully adorable could you get?

Just like Will, you're breaking down on the inside.

"No, no. There's no need for that, you've done a lot for me. I can't keep overstaying and disrupting your privacy here."

"There's no need to worry, my home is always open to you. Whenever you need help or so, feel free to reach out to me. I'll get you a cup of water, it's best for your condition right now."

Hannibal, without heeding your words, walked into the kitchen and spoke from there. You couldn't see his figure anymore, even if you tried your hardest to crane your neck back. At least you could hear the sound of water splashing into an empty glass.

"Did you have a good rest?"

You rubbed your tired eyes, barely feeling any difference.

"I guess so."

"You've been putting stress onto your brain and body. Adding the fact that you've not been sleeping well for a few days, your brain simply couldn't take it anymore. The rest earlier shouldn't be called a sleep."

He eventually walked out with a glass of water, his back straight and his long sleeves were folded neatly near his elbows. As you took the glass while mumbling a soft thank you, your eyes were instantly drawn to Hannibal's arms. Something about it was.. magnetising, especially with the way his arm flexed when he pulled back and his grip loosened. It was just catching your eyes.

Hannibal continued as if he hadn't noticed your stare.

If he did notice, then he must have been good at covering his expression up.

"What happened earlier was just, sort of, like an emergency button. To prevent yourself from damaging yourself any further, your brain simply shut down. You need sleep," Hannibal mentioned your name abruptly, causing you to flinch, "How long have you not been sleeping?"

"I... don't remember." Your grasp around the cup tightened, "It just sort of like a cycle. I don't sleep and at some point I would just pass out. I can't sleep at all."

Hannibal hummed and took a seat in front of you.

"Have you tried sleeping pills then?"

"The doctors said I shouldn't take sleeping pills with my current condition. They're afraid that I might, somewhat, overdose due to my unstable mental state."

"I see, then that's understandable. Have you tried having a roommate then? Perhaps having someone you could trust in your house could give you a sense of reassurance."

"I tried before but, maybe I just couldn't trust them enough to feel safe. I would often wake up screaming and my paranoia sometimes would scare them off. I don't wish to involve my friends either, they would just freak out."

Hannibal nodded, "Then how about you stay here for tonight?"

Bewildered, you blinked owlishly.

"Sorry?"

"It's late now as you can see. I could send you back but it wouldn't do you any good with your current condition. You can rest here for tonight in the guest room and perhaps, this could help you as well. It might give you a sense of reassurance that you're looking for."

He gave you a reassuring smile, almost too reassuring.

"But— Wouldn't this go against your policy?"

You were certain that all psychiatrists had their own rules or policies regarding their patients. One being to never leak out the patient's details to anyone else and the other would be being professional with all patients. If this matter got out, you weren't sure if Hannibal Lecter could still keep his career.

"I intend to be professional with you all the time so rest assured, there's no need for you to worry about the policy. I am simply trying to help and understand my patient. As long as it's to help you, there's no law being broken. There's nothing wrong with that, am I right?"

Reluctantly, you nodded, "I— I guess so."

Hannibal smiled, "Will you stay here for tonight?"

"If that is not going to interrupt your work then yes, please. I would like to give it a try and... I don't feel comfortable returning home yet."

"Of course, you're welcomed here."

"Thank you, Doctor Lecter."

"Shall we have our dinner?"

When you thought about dinner, you were expecting instant noodles and fried eggs but of course, you wouldn't expect someone like Hannibal Lecter to cook instant noodles. What you didn't expect was a full course meal — medium-rare steak, vegetables adorning the meal and even a small bowl of mushroom soup and Hannibal Lecter was extremely fascinating when he prepared the meal.

Magnetising, even.

When he sliced the raw meat.

When he gently placed the meat on the hot pan.

When he just cut the cooked meat on your plate for you.

You took a deep breath and paused on your thoughts, reminding yourself that you shouldn't stare at your psychiatrist. He may be charming and a gentleman but you're his patient. You needed to remind yourself that there's a boundary line in between the two of you.

"Have a taste."

Hannibal placed the plate of steak in front of you, the same gentle smile on his face as he watched your reaction eagerly. He had always been a fan of watching people enjoying his food without knowing the type of meat he served — they're always so clueless about what they're eating and they usually treat it just like any other meat: pork, beef, chicken.

Humanity was hilarious sometimes.

And now you were the same.

You stared at the steak in awe, eyes glistening with hunger as you realised how long it had been since you ate a healthy, delicious meal. As Hannibal took a seat in front of you, he did not hesitate to bite into the meat, the juice flowing into his mouth just like usual.

Gingerly, you took a bite out of the meat.

"Whoa! This is good."

The way your lifeless eyes shone from amazement was making Hannibal smile. It was clear that your fatigue was gone for a minute and the reason behind it was Hannibal's cooking. His work, his masterpiece — every drop of blood did not go to waste.

If you had known the meat you're eating wasn't beef, pork or chicken, what sort of reaction would you give him? Perhaps you would gag and puke everything out, bawling your eyes out just like when you were in session with him. A reaction that's common, something humane.

Maybe he should entertain you before using you as an ingredient.

But he did like the way you trembled and relied on him.

"I'm glad to hear that you like it."

"Yes, thank you very much for treating me to dinner." Your eyes softened and once again, your exhaustion came back like a wave of ocean, "I don't have anyone to make me dinner right now, you're the first in a long while. Thank you, Doctor Lecter, for this delicious meal."

Hannibal chuckled, "You're flattering me."

"I'm genuinely complimenting your cooking." You grinned brightly, something that he did not expect, "It's not something I can whip out like you do. You're an amazing person, Doctor Lecter."

"I'm just a psychiatrist."

"The one that I put my entire hope on."

You lowered your gaze.

"Thank you for trying to save me."

Perhaps save was a rather strong word but you did need saving, you needed him to pull you out of the state of your mind. Hannibal Lecter was as of the ray of light in an empty, dark tunnel and he might be the one to embrace you with warmth, to stop you from panicking and thinking nonsense.

It wasn't that bad to wish, right?

Hannibal did not mention anything else during dinner and when you were ready to rest, he was awfully kind enough to show the guest room and the restroom. As the guest room was extravagant, you began to wonder how Hannibal's own bedroom would look like. It could be fancy as well but considering the vibe he radiated, you assumed his bedroom would be simple yet rich.

Rich with the scent of a gentleman.

You laid on the bed with an empty gaze, staring at the ceiling that was shrouded with darkness due to the presence of light aside from the bedside lamp. Like an idiot, you waited to fall asleep. You waited and waited yet nothing seemed to happen.

At this point, you weren't even sure how many hours had flown past.

Your eyes slowly trailed to the coat rack and caught a glimpse of something round — something awfully and horribly familiar. It was a baseball cap. A fucking baseball cap that haunted your reality once again. Chilling shudder ran down your spine as you let out a frightened scream, suddenly having an obnoxious idea that the murderer might be here, attempting to scare you until you could have gotten a heart attack.

The image of the man snarling through the window.

The sound of his elbow smashing against the glass.

You feared everything — his murderous gaze that you felt on your back all the damn time even during the day, his glistening knife that sought for your blood and flesh, and the idea that he might be out there.

He told you before that he would find you once he gets out.

How could you not fear that?

Crying even louder as you smacked your ears hard, you begged for him — it, whatever it was that was bothering you — to get out of your damn brain. You covered your face with your hands, closing your eyes tight until all you could see was pure darkness.

You could hear the door creaking open.

Hannibal called you out.

"Get it out! Get it out!"

"I need you to take a deep breath and explain to me." Hannibal called out your name once again, trying to get a grip of your attention, "Get what out?"

"The cap! The stupid cap!"

With confusion, Hannibal stared at you, "There's no cap."

"It's there on the rack!"

"Open your eyes slowly, take a deep breath and take a good look."

Noticing how oddly calm Hannibal Lecter was, you slowly peeled open your eyes and glanced nervously at the coat rack — there was nothing there. Nothing at all. You quavered and your voice, full of dread and fear, vibrated against your throat.

Just what did you see then?

You're growing insane.

You're fucking mad.

Holy shit.

"No... No, I— I saw it?"

"It's not here."

"I— No.. No way."

Breathing heavily, you struggled to catch a breath as you gave a pleading look to Hannibal. You weren't sure where to look at — his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Your brain was going everywhere all at once and you felt as if everything was about to explode into pieces. Everything was hurting, everything was suffocating. You were drowning yourself with your own thoughts, fear, and just everything in general.

"Listen to my voice and focus on it."

Hannibal voiced out, stepping closer to you and noticing that you're hyperventilating with a frightened look. Your eyes were burning from the urge to let those tears out.

"Close your eyes and take a deep breath, follow my voice."

You listened and closed your eyes.

"Inhale."

You inhaled.

"Exhale."

You exhaled.

He repeated everything once again until you could feel the crushing weight on your chest gone. You noticed the bed tilting to the side, Hannibal's weight was causing the mattress to sink. Something about knowing his presence was beside you was comforting in a sense.

It was like a security camera looking after you.

You only focused on his voice and his presence, not the thoughts inside your head and certainly not the hidden voice behind your brain. You didn't know how long it took for you to stop breathing heavily as if someone was strangling you but you assumed it did take a while. After all, it was never easy to calm you down. Beginning to relax after feeling exhausted from panicking, you felt yourself drifting into a short slumber, thinking that your position was safe.

That you had nothing to fear.

Unknown to you, Hannibal was holding onto a baseball cap behind his back, hidden from your gaze and only smiled when he saw how you convinced yourself that you're sick in the head.

One by one, Hannibal will break you apart.

And he will be the only one to glue you back.

part 2 coming soon???

[booklyns]

Has this been done yet

[booklyns]

[booklyns]

therapy isn’t enough. i need to kiss harvey stardew valley on the mouth.

[booklyns]

i love harvey so much this is making me feral

college server harvey 🧑‍💼 he's gotta pay that tuition 💰💅

[booklyns]

type type type type

[booklyns]

i'm horrible at using tumblr LMAO

[booklyns]

wait why is the scheduled post not working- LOL I DIDNT REALISE ITS POSTED LMAOOO

[booklyns]

paint of life | brahms. h [the boy]

+18 only!

PART | this is part 3 [nsfw]. for pt. 1 : click here, pt. 2 : click here.

WARNING | brahms heelshire the warning, stockholm syndrome, s.eggs, literally s.eggs all the way, s.eggs until you can't hold on anymore lmao (not detailed though), accepting you're crazy, delusions (?), maybe cliché, fluff at the end (?) , horrible writing, horrible +18 writing, unedited writing.

RELATIONSHIP | brahms. h/gn. reader.

WORD COUNT | approx 4.5k

SUMMARY | your masterpiece was complete and when brahms saw that smile of yours, dread filled his inside. surely you wouldn’t leave his side? either way, brahms simply had no intent to let you go, even if it meant showing you how much of a good boy he can be.

please read the warning before proceeding. minors do not interact. this is written for fun, please do not normalise this relationship. reach out if you're in a toxic relationship or a relationship that is harmful.

also, thank you for the support! i wasn't exactly feeling it with the +18 writing so i'm surprised many seems to like it.

What were you doing?

Surely there must be something wrong with your brain. You were certain that there's a chance for you to escape yet you were still there, sitting with a paintbrush in your hand and the same canvas in front of you. You were hesitating, weren't you? There was something pulling you back from leaving and it was Brahms.

Brahms Heelshire, that little devil who claimed he's a good boy.

You let out a long sigh, knowing very well that Brahms was sitting behind you in the same old office. Just being inside the same room as him was about to kill you from the inside, your face heating up and your chest was just about to explode. You swore Brahms knew what he was doing, he wasn’t as dumb as he tried to make himself seem.

This was the same place where... things happened.

You would have cursed Brahms to death for doing that to you but you're a hypocrite, weren't you? You could run but you didn't. You could fight against your fate but you didn't. You were just there with him, staring back at him as Brahms stared back at you. Perhaps you could have returned back to the city if you put in some effort, the problem was you didn’t.

You're a hypocrite.

You really were a hypocrite.

And a hypocrite you shall be.

“Done!”

You exclaimed proudly as you stood up, grabbing onto the canvas as if it was your dearest before showing it to Brahms who remained seated on the leather couch. A bright grin crept up your face when the burden and stress disappeared from your shoulders, yet another client would perhaps be satisfied with your painting. In fact, you felt extremely confident with the masterpiece in your hands so why wouldn’t the client be happy?

Brahms gazed at the painting, a mixture of mostly crimson and a deeper shade of blue, something about it was eerie but it held a certain charm, just like you. A hypnotizing charm, pulling and edging Brahms to do something about you. To hide you from the world, to just keep you to himself and for you to just be chained with him. Oh, he would be so happy to have you to himself, no clients and certainly nobody looking for your presence.

Your face.

Your body.

Your soul and your life.

Everything can be his, right?

Raising your eyebrow, you looked at Brahms for any sort of reaction however you couldn’t get much due to the porcelain mask covering his face but you did notice that his intense gaze was constantly on your masterpiece. Fearing that he might snatch it and somehow ruin it, you quickly kept the completed painting back onto the wooden easel.

And you did the right choice.

Brahms knew the reason that you’re here in the first place was to finish that God-forsaken painting of yours and now that you were done with it, there’s no need for you to remain by his side. Surely, him being a good boy would stop you from leaving him but just what if it wasn’t enough? Just like how it wasn’t enough for his parents or Greta, you might end up leaving him and go through that entrance door.

“I just need to tell him about this and get this over with.” 

You mumbled to yourself, no longer focusing on Brahms as your eyes were now on the phone. Scrolling through the contact list, you tried to look for the client’s number and instantly hit it as soon as you found it. The call rang for a second and it died no more than a minute, giving you a sign that the signal wasn’t extremely great. Just when you were about to curse the bad signal that you had been receiving in the Heelshire’s mansion, Brahms suddenly let out an unsatisfied grunt.

“Hug.”

Without thinking much and merely hoping that Brahms wouldn’t throw yet another temper, you gave him a quick hug with the phone in your grasp. Brahms wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you, yanked even, closer to him, still remained on the comfortable seat without moving much. Why should he move when you could sit on his lap? After all, his lap was made perfectly for you and if it were anybody else, Brahms would just have to slit their throat.

But not you, Brahms adored you.

Just like how you adored him.

Tapping onto the call button several times, you never did show any reaction as you straddled him, only mumbling about how the line was shitty and that Brahms should have gotten a better spot. Brahms, who was hoping to see the flustered look you once gave him when he f.ucked you senseless, couldn’t help but to feel disappointed when your eyes were constantly on the damn phone. Bloody, stupid phone. And everything that was inside your brain was the completed painting, client, painting, and then client all over again. You would never stop working and it was driving Brahms insane, as if he wasn’t insane enough.

Were you that eager to leave him?

Brahms was already burning in jealousy yet you barely spared a glance at him.

You’re the one driving him insane.

You’re the one putting him in such a difficult spot.

So why shouldn’t you handle him?

“Brahms, give me a minute.” You placed your hand on his broad shoulder, hoping to see three bars of signal in your damn phone but it wasn’t much of a difference, “I need to give someone a call and then finish up my work.”

Frustration growing inside him, Brahms placed his head on your chest with a grumble.

“Brahms. Give me space, I can’t make a call comfortably like this.”

He wouldn’t budge.

“Brahms.” You exasperated, “One.”

Brahms’ heart suddenly started to race, remembering the upset look on your face that gave him a mixed feeling. He wouldn’t like whenever you’re burning from rage or sorrow but at the same time, it was so entrancing that Brahms could feel himself twitch from arousal. Just what was wrong with him? Whether there was something wrong with his brain or his body, he did not care even one bit. As long as he had you, Brahms could go all crazy for all he cares.

“Two, Brahms.”

He grunted in displeasure and seemed to hug your waist even tighter.

“Brahms. It’s three.”

Reluctantly, Brahms loosened his embrace and leaned back, eyes looking up to you as if you’re going to give him a compliment. You would, if you weren’t this busy and stupid for falling into his trap. The last time you agreed that he’s a good boy, he managed to fill you up inside and despite how your body would prickle from pleasure, you just.. hoped you still had the remaining humanity left inside you. You were praying to God that you still had a grip on yourself, never be swayed by Brahms and his tactics.

Even though it may be too late for you.

Come on, you can do this.

“Thank you, Brahms.” You only smiled to Brahms’ disappointment.

Like a miracle bestowed onto you by God, your phone rang and you hastily answered it before Brahms could do anything. The quicker you get this over with, the better. You knew that very well especially when you caught a glimpse of Brahms’ intense gaze, perhaps already clouded from jealousy and pent-up frustration.

“Hello, Jonathan. I've completed the painting you requested.”

"—he signal is somewhat bad there—Could you repeat that again?"

"I said the painting is complete."

"Oh! Is that so? That's wonderful, this is why I adore you so much!"

You could feel Brahms' grip on you tightened and you nervously laughed, patting Brahms on the head to soothe him down but it wasn't helping, of course. Brahms was already thinking about the cursed voice that would probably haunt him in the sleep. How could the man adore you when he barely knew you like Brahms did? Everything about the client was giving Brahms the irks.

"—ve been thinking about collaborating with the museum in the city, you may not know about this but you're rather well-known among the enthusiasts. —ager to see your works, you see."

Brahms, growing even more upset with the never-ending voice, slipped his hands under your shirt, only to receive a hushed whisper telling him to stop from you. Unfortunately for you, Brahms wasn't being obedient this time. He swore he was a good boy but if he continued to stay quiet, surely you will leave him — you will leave him for that piece of shit client.

He just needed to give you a reason to stay, to be with him.

And giving you tons of pleasure was the only way he could think of.

You froze when Brahms lifted your shirt, exposing the exposed skin that he loved so, so much that he would worship to your body every single day. He planted his porcelain mask on your stomach, just right below your chest and sent a shudder down your spine. The mask, still cold and hard against your skin, gave you a tingle right down there.

"What do you think, huh? How about that idea?"

Whatever Jonathan said into the phone literally did not enter your brain.

"S—Sorry? I am so sorry, Jonathan. I couldn't hear you that well over the phone and what you just said really shocked me so—"

You yelped when Brahms slipped his warm hand into your loose pants and underwear, his face still remained on your torso and his other arm wrapped around your waist. When you felt his palm kneading your ass, you took a sharp, shaky breath and slouched your back. This time, you placed both of your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, still holding onto the phone to not lose the client.

You would curse and scold Brahms, you would.

But something about this situation was sending you a shock of excitement. The fear of being found out by Jonathan and the struggle to keep your moans inside your damn throat were sending a wave of heat down to your core.

"Oh, no worries." You breathed out in relief when Jonathan hadn't noticed your loud yelp. "—gnal is bad, your voice is slightly weak too. All good, don't worry about it. I'm just asking you if you could do another painting. Like I said, there are many enthusiasts that really love your works. They're hoping to see a lot of your works in the new museum. Coincidentally, the owner of the museum is my friend."

Brahms, slipping the mask off his face at long last and you didn't notice until you heard a soft thud on the couch, left a long trail of wet kisses from the middle of your chest to the spot above your belly button. You bit your lips, silently begging and pleading Brahms to stop even if your words weren't really registered inside his brain. When Brahms felt your will and body trembling in defeat, he couldn't get any prouder than now.

He did good, didn't he?

"So! I'm wondering if you would accept a request from my friend, Christopher or Chris, if you wish. If you're interested, I can tell him about this discussion and give your number to him. Then the two of you can discuss and make a decision about this."

Brahms licked and sucked your n.ipple, making it stiffer and protruding even more as if seeking for more of his mouth. He let out a sigh, his hot breath caressing your sensitive buds like an intimate lover. Perhaps Brahms was one, if only he wasn't a cold-blooded murderer that literally slaughtered nannies he did not like. His other hand slowly stroked your bottom, giving you an extremely cruel and sadistic taste of his manipulation.

He knew you wanted more, whether it was your body or your mind.

Yet Brahms wanted to see more of you, what sort of expression you would be making as he made this way more agonizing than the previous time. He just needed you to look at you with lust and want, stop focusing on that Jonathan and focus on him instead.

He was there to make you feel good.

Feeling good was important, wasn't it?

"Ahem, so what's your answer?"

Almost forgetting Jonathan who was on the other side of the call, you squeaked and frantically nodded, only to realize that he couldn't even see you.

"I— I need more time to— to think about this." You squeezed Brahms' shoulders even tighter and stronger when he bit your n.ipple gently. "I— I will tell you when I make up my mind, Jonath—"

Brahms planted his lips on yours instantly as if he wanted to prevent you from saying someone else's name, definitely upset that you weren't screaming out his name right now. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, his warmth tangled up with yours and every complaints you made fell on deaf ears. Only Brahms knew you were squeaking against his lips, only him and not whoever Jonathan was.

Ah, he was losing his sanity slowly but undeniably — he wanted Jonathan to know you're his yet he wanted your voices to only be his. Only for his ears and for his sake, not anybody's else. Since when was having someone this complicated?

"You're breaking off a little bit. Ah, anyway, forget about that for a second. I am hoping you can tell me about the painting I requested. What was it about again, ah, gosh, I have been commissioning too many painters lately. Ah! Life, was it?"

You tried to break off your kiss, "Yea—"

But Brahms was pretty persistent.

"—ping to see what I expected. As you know there's too much vague information about life. What is life about in the first place? I'm hoping you would show that meaning inside your painting but of course, whatever it ended up bec—"

Whatever Jonathan was rambling about seriously fell on deaf ears, none of you was listening onto his hoarse voice, not to mention the occasional statics that would interrupt the call. The voice inside your brain was telling you to give up and just cut off the call yet another voice was telling you to fight against Brahms. Which voice should you listen to in the first place? You weren't so sure anymore.

The former didn't sound so bad after all.

"—know what? I trust you. You have a good creativity after all and you take your job well. Even the most vague commission is a piece of cake to you, am I right?"

Brahms bit onto your lips softly as if enjoying your struggle, his devious hand was pushing your pants and underwear down, and down until it reached your thighs, exposing the throbbing ache that you needed to relieve down there. He caressed and stroked you, soaking his fingers with your wet arousal. He pulled his face back as he slipped two fingers into your body right away, not even waiting just for the sake to see your contorted expression. What was known as an attempt to keep your voice down was futile and you were certain that this time, Jonathan heard everything.

"Uh. Are you okay?"

You whined and kept your hands to your mouth, clamping shut whatever aroused noises you were making as Brahms literally f.ucked you with his fingers. If you were being honest to yourself, it wasn't his fingers that made your arousal grow, it was his bloody piercing gaze that wouldn't stop staring at you in awe. You were like the only pornography that he would watch on loops, never once would he grow bored and every second will only make his c.ock twitch.

You prayed you could plead him to stop watching you enjoying every single touch he left on your heated body.

"I— Yeah, yeah! I just saw—" You whimpered and your lips trembled adorably, "A—A huge rat! And it's still here!"

The corner of Brahms' lips twitched from amusement for the first time in a while and what you said merely drove him to shove yet another finger inside you, which was easily sucked into your hole. He grunted when your hole clenched around his fingers, showing no sign of letting go of the pleasure you felt down there. Oh lord, just how embarrassed you were to be this soaking wet because of this devilish man's touch, Brahms Heelshire — the man who could kill you if he wanted to.

"Haha! A rat, huh? I didn't expect your house to have a rat."

You forced out a nervous laugh, "Y—Yeah—"

"Oh, yeah! How should I take the painting by the way?"

"Oh! I would—" You subconsciously grabbed Brahms by his curly hair, denying over the fact that your hip was grinding on his fingers. "I would prefer it if you just send someone here and take it? I— I can give you the address later on!"

Jonathan laughed, "Alright, alright. I will send my secreta—"

As if Jonathan's voice was getting to Brahms' nerves, the said man snatched the phone out of your grasp and actually tossed it to the corner of the office. You let out a panicked cry as your phone, a device that you bought with your own money, crashed against the damn wall. Fueled by anger and somewhat still having the arousal dripping down your thighs thanks to Brahms' touch, you raised your voice at the man in front of you who definitely did not seem guilty.

"Brahms!"

He said nothing and continued what he knew best, making you feel extremely good just with his touch alone. Brahms left a lingering kiss on your throat as if that was going to make you feel any better. It did, at some point, without you knowing about it. Even if your heart was taken away by Brahms, you wouldn't know about it because of the constant denial that came from your mind. You wouldn't fall in love or even like a serial killer, you told yourself and one might be surprised by what you felt at the end of the day.

You were damn wrong about yourself.

You trembled, unsure whether it was due to the knot in your stomach or anger, and watched Brahms' fingers sliding in and out of your hole. You could see your own c.um on his fingers and the sound of something wet as well as moist slapping each other was shamelessly loud in the office. While you were worried that your phone may not be dead and the call was still on, Brahms didn't seem too bothered by it even if you begged him to let you check on the phone. Of course, he wouldn't care. It wasn't him that had to meet Jonathan anyway.

Brahms laid his head on your chest, curling his fingers to earn a beautiful mewl from your mouth. Gosh, he was already taking a lot of willpower to not fill you up with his seed right away, just to watch you struggle forming words out of your throat.

"Don't leave."

He murmured and mumbled how he could make you feel good as long as you could stay by his side. You couldn't understand, he needed you and it wasn't just a desperate want. It was a need, just like how his c.ock just needed to release inside you, making sure that every drop of his fluid would enter into your needy hole.

You cried out in pleasure, Brahms' fingers moving quicker and sloppier as he pushed you to the edge. Thighs quivering, you tightened your grasp around his hair, not so painful, Brahms found. It was comforting and if anything, it sent Brahms to euphoria and gave him the idea of f.ucking you until his seed would trail down your legs the very next day.

You came, a wave of warmth and contentment washed over you as your mind went horribly blank, shuddering and moaning at the mess you made. Brahms, always looking at you, observing you, slid his fingers out and coated them with more of your c.um. Liking the flushed cheeks of yours, Brahms slid his hands onto your bare torso, spreading your arousal all over your skin.

Would it be so bad to admit that you're still aroused?

That you're hoping to just do it all over again with Brahms?

Perhaps it was true that you're sick in the head because with no second thoughts, you grabbed Brahms by his cheeks and slammed your lips against his. This time, there was no complaint, not even one, and you opened your mouth slightly without arguing back. Brahms, knowing what he wanted to do, sucked onto your tongue passionately and his sloppy kiss always seemed to work wonders on you and your body. You needed him, just like how he needed you. Both of you were mad, very mad, but the mansion held only the two of you.

Nobody needed to know about the two of you.

"Brahms."

He felt his pants tightened at your moan, eagerly kissing you and unzipping his pants. The second he moved his underwear and his c.ock could finally breathe freely, he lined up his c.ock against your hole before mercilessly slid it inside. A satisfied groan left his mouth at the way you shyly moved your hips as if you were ashamed for yearning him — the way you were bouncing on his c.ock and how your hole just stretched to fit so well with his c.ock were driving him to the edge of the damn cliff. The sound of wet flesh slapping and connecting each other echoed throughout the office, covered by the shameless whimpers and moans.

You were crazy, so fucking crazy.

Brahms whimpered and grabbed your hip, aching to just pound into you instead of taking everything slow and steady. Gosh, he couldn't understand how you could still maintain your composure because Brahms just couldn't. He shoved you onto the couch and did the same thing all over again — grabbing your thighs and going deeper inside you, listening to the indecent mewls coming out of your mouth. He wasn't slowing down and every stretch of your hole made your inside clung tighter around Brahms.

"B—Brahms—!"

He moaned softly at your call, eyebrows furrowed together as droplets of sweat trickled down his jaw as he chanted your name as if it was a prayer to make him feel even better. Nothing could beat the feeling of your hole around his twitching c.ock and that tears in the corner of your eyes were only making things harder for Brahms. You twitched and sang praises to Brahms, legs wrapped around his hip as an effort to pull him even closer to you. It did and by the time your thighs lose their strength to hang on, you squirted in an embarrassing way.

Your cheeks were completely flushed but Brahms made it less worse, he gazed into your eyes in awe and just genuine adoration. in fact, you could feel his c.ock throbbed and twitched inside you, a sign that he was way eager than you. Brahms whimpered and lowered his gaze, gawking at the part where he was connecting with you. Something about it was satisfying, watching himself sliding in and out of you. Just becoming one with you was a gift from the Heaven itself.

"Inside?" Brahms whined, "Can I? Please."

It was the first time he asked, considering how he didn't ask the first time but you did not point that out and just nodded your head. Drool leaking out of the corner of your lips, your eyes pleaded for him to just fill you up inside, spread the warmth and fluid inside. You begged and begged, and when Brahms came untied inside you, yet another moan left your agape mouth. Brahms' fluid completely coated your inside, some managed to leak out while some remained inside, causing your body to twitch from satisfaction.

What you didn't expect was how true he held his words to c.um inside you.

Brahms, holding true to his words, pushed the fluid with his fingers back into you. As soon as you felt the contact of his fingers against your sensitive (and already abused) hole, you bit your lips and suppressed the whimper in your dry throat. The scent of lust and arousal in the air did not disappear, it grew even stronger instead. Exactly just like the c.ock inside you.

You stiffened and held out your hands to stop him from pounding into you — you simply couldn't imagine how sensitive your hole could be after reaching the climax for the third time.

"Br—Brahms! Stop, I can't—"

But your words fell on deaf ears once more as Brahms rutted like a beast in heat, every single thing you did was just captivating and arousing. How could he control how his c.ock would react?

And so, he planned to f.uck you until you simply couldn't hold onto his seed anymore. Perhaps the right word would be to make love with you, to Brahms.

Until you would cry that you couldn't take it anymore.

Until you faint covered in his s.emen and salty tears.

Just until your hole was so sensitive and bruised; your lips swollen from the endless kisses, because of the love he held for you, Brahms will just have his way with you.

You groaned from fatigue, eyes squinting and blinking rapidly to adjust to the sunlight pouring into the office. It took you almost a minute for you to realize that you were still in the office with a heavy weight laying on top of you and something still stuck inside you.

A sharp pain shot through your entire body when you tried to move your legs, crying aloud at the chaotic mess that Brahms left you behind. His cold seed was still dripping down your shaky thighs, your hair completely messy and the dried tears were completely stuck on the side of your face.

"Brahms!" You yelled angrily.

Usually, one yell would have been enough to wake him up but not today apparently, probably because he pushed himself c.umming again and again inside you. Brahms hugged you tighter and pressed his bare face against the crook of your neck, his back slouching awkwardly just to fit your shorter build. Though you were hoping to wake him up, you didn't just because you saw how peaceful he looked sleeping on top of you. Instead of pushing him away, you laid stiffly on the couch and blew a breath, sore hand resting on his curly hair.

Brahms whispered out your name groggily, slowly and carefully rubbing himself against you with brain possibly dreaming about you. Nobody knew except for him.

You had given up.

And you accepted that you're a little bit crazy from the start.