Hannibal’s glasses properly sat in the bridge of his nose as he wrote down the string of words that came from you mouth with an additional side of commentary from him.

From the last couple of sessions, the atmosphere of his office and his soft, velvet voice soothed you and made you more open with him.

Though, he wasn’t so open with you. He is your psychiatrist but he had skeletons of his own. The room behind his bookshelf had a cork board with pictures of you, ones that you were unaware of when he ~stalked~ saw you, ones he took from your instagram, journal entries he wrote professing his obsession with you, and your schedule.

Maybe it was the supple flesh you had on you He was a cannibal after all. How tender and juicy might it be sliced on a ceramic plate, accustomed with red wine.

He didn’t want to be obsessed with this patients but your aura was alluring to him. You were a bunny, waiting to be caged.

“So, any other issues I should know about before i diagnose you? We already have,” he looks at this journal, listing down the issues you made mention of. “This is your safe space after all.” He closes his journal, giving you a soft smile.