Hannibal loved you, he obsessed over the very fiber of your being. He killed on the thought you would see his art, the wonderful proclamations he made to you.
He kissed you tenderly, as you slept, aware it was your husband killing off each of your friends like wildfire.
----- My Daddy's got a gun-----
You hummed in your reading, your mind racing.
Hannibal was breathing softly.
A pre-taste of what was to come.
He looked over at you discreetly, once, twice, then you caught him.
You blushed, sometimes you hated the way you looked, but with Hannibal, you felt worshipped.
You put your book down.
"Hannibal?"
He looked at you with need, a blush on his pale face.
"[Name]..." He whispered.
He removed your reading glasses.
--You better run---
He made an unholy sound, his eyes flashing.
"Beautiful creature."
He gave tender kisses along your neck.
You shivered from his worshipping.
---It started with the hayloft a' creaking---
He watched you intensely, taking in your figure.
"Such a cunning {Gender} you are."
He bit down, you've gotten used to your cannibal by now.
---Well, it just started in the hay (loft!)---
He slowly held you two together, taking in your beauty for who you truly were.
His.
He started slow, like usual, tender love.
---With his long johns on, Pop went a-creeping----
He never went too fast or too slow, it was always just right, he sighed in happiness, glad to simply just be with you.
"I love you [Name]"
You blushed more, somehow.
He finished, and so did you.
He cleaned you up with love, "My cunning {gender}"
"My {lord/lady...}" He whispered in your ear with a soft owning voice.
---End.--
