“my Child Is Fine”

Nightly Encounter

Carl Grimes x Reader

Characters mentioned: Carl, Daryl, Michonne, Rick, Judith, Eugene, Carol, and Rosita

⚠️SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8-9⚠️

Warnings: Extreme angst, mentions of suicide, depressed reader, eating disorder

"(Y/N), turn around."

You were fidgety. This was a new territory, a new level of trust that Carl was putting in you. You knew you couldn't say no the minute he'd asked. He felt comfortable enough to show you the thing he hated most about himself. All in hopes that you would love that part of him too.

And of course you would, it wasn't even a question. But what if you said the wrong thing? What if you stared for too long, what if you looked away too fast? All these 'what ifs' ran through your head, making it impossible to think clearly. 'Calm down,' you told yourself, 'you're turning this into a bigger deal than it is.'

You heard the sound of his bandages being removed and the bed shifting under his weight. You waited for him to give you the sign that he was ready. When he did, you turned around slowly to make sure not to scare him. His head was looking downwards, his hair was in his face. You couldn't see anything but by the slump of his shoulders you knew he was terrified. You could practically hear his heart beating a mile a minute from where you were standing on the opposite side of the room.

You went to sit down on the bed and you grasped Carl's hands, inviting him to look at you. Once he put his head level with yours, you slowly reached out for the long hair that framed his face and you moved it away from his face.

What lie under it was the scar that had hurt him more emotionally than physically. It was large and took up most of the right side of his face, but you couldn't help but feeling as though it was beautiful. It was beautiful because it was a part of him.

"I'm sorry."

Those words shattered your heart when he said them aloud. Sorry for what? He had nothing to be sorry for. He had lost his eye courageously. He had lost his eye but not his smile. He had lost his eye, but not himself.

"Carl. You have nothing to apologise for. I think you're beautiful."

He looked up in pure shock and furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?! I have a hole in my head!" He angrily pushed his bangs back into his face and sprang up from the bed.

"Carl!" You called out after him, grabbing his wrist. He stopped and turned to look at you. He was fuming now, you could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "Carl," you repeated, much kinder this time, "sit down. Please."

He sat down on the bed and folded his arms.

"Carl. Thank you so much for trusting me with this. I understand it's such a hard burden to carry but you don't have to carry it by yourself anymore. I think you're just as handsome as you were before. Maybe even more handsome. I love you and I wouldn't care if you shot out your other eye, I would love you just the same." You pushed the bangs back away from his gaping wound and you kissed his forehead, holding his head in your hands. "Please, never forget that."

He stopped being so tense and nuzzled into your touch. This was a lot of trauma to relive at once and you understood it was going to take more time for him to open up. But you were ready to be there for him when he did.

"I love you, (Y/N). Sorry for keeping my emotions from you for so long."

"Again, you have nothing to apologise for, Grimes. I love you and that won't change."

...

You played back the memory in your head. It seemed like a millennia ago that you were holding him in your arms like that. When the worst thing you guys had to worry about was a scar.

You tugged on the grass a little as you laid down on your chest. Your face was pressed against the grave of Carl, to your heart aching to hold him in the way you did before. To tell him that that stupid scar wasn't going to change anything because it didn't. It made you love him even more. Crazy how losing things like that makes your love stronger. Only this time, you'd lost him.

Your tear stained cheeks were starting to get itchy as you prepared yourself to stay another night with Carl. Everyone else was busy, even Rick who had somehow gotten over Carl's death so quickly. It felt shameful to you that he could lose someone so important and then continue as though there were more important matters.

You were ready. Ready to die. Carl was the last thing you'd had in this world and now that he was gone, you and wanted to have no part in it. This cruel world that was based on survival. This cruel world that killed the last beacon of hope. This cruel world that killed Carl Grimes.

Again, more tears came. It had to be almost a week now. You've refused to eat, drink, socialize, or even leave Carl alone. You couldn't. He was right there yet so far away. You could feel yourself slipping sometimes, fading in and out of sleep that was haunted with nightmares of your long-gone lover.

"Hey. I can't let ya stay out here any- jesus (Y/N)! When was the last time you've eaten?!" Daryl came up from behind, sitting down on the grass-Carl's grass- beside you.

...

The moon shone over the trees and cast a pale glow over the gazebo Carl led you to. His hand was in yours as he dragged you to his favorite spot in Alexandria. The place where he could see the stars the easiest.

"Just a little further..." Once you reached the small structure, he offered you his knee so you could climb up on the roof. It wasn't all that tricky, considering the gazebo was only a few feet up. You climbed up to the top and offered your hand to Carl but he denied it as he tried to climb up himself. 'Show-off' you thought as you smirked and laid on the patchy wooden roof.

You heard a grunt as Carl laid next to you, brushing the bangs out of his good eye. He grabbed your hand and looked at you before looking up above. You had to admit, the stars were beautiful and since light pollution was no longer a problem, there was more that you guys could see. But your focus wasn't on the stars, no. It was on Carl. The way that he looked at the world not knowing that your world was him. You could see the reflection of the stars in his eye, but they were there all the time. The boy really held the universe in him and he would change this cruel world one day. He had to.

When he noticed you staring, he scooted in closer.

"Whatcha thinking about?" He asked, a knowing look on his face. He knew that whenever you were lost in thought he'd be the one to bring you back down to earth.

"You. As usual," you smiled and pushed his hat over his eyes,

"All I ever think about is you."

...

"(Y/N)? Are ya listening?"

You forgot Daryl was sitting beside you and not Carl. You grunted as you tried to sit up but found that you didn't have the energy. It must've been days since you've gotten any food or sleep.

"Yeah. I'm listening." You replied but you knew you couldn't. No one could ever pierce your thoughts and knock the sense in you that you needed to hear. You were a thousand miles away.

"Look," Daryl sighed and played with the denim of his vest, "I know things are hard. But I also know this isn't what he woulda wanted. Carl was brave. He worked to keep this place safe....to keep you safe. He wouldn't want to see ya like this." Daryl leaned in and placed a hand on your shoulder. "I don' like seeing ya like this."

You could barely hear him over the rushing of your thoughts. Carl wouldn't have wanted you to live without him, right? You started this world together and you were supposed to end it that way. He got the chance to leave it first, but that shouldn't mean you should go about your days pretending that everything is fine. Nothing could be fine without him. He was your world and it didn't matter what Daryl would say, or Rick, or Michonne, or anyone else for that matter. Because your world had been taken from you twice. All because of those stupid flesh-eating bastards.

...

"(Y/N)!"

You woke up with a start. The grass you were laying on was covered in dew, meaning that it must've rained while you fell asleep after your talk with Daryl.

You reached for your knife, only to find that it wasn't there. Your eyes searched the area looking for it when you saw him.

His boots were all scuffed and muddy, his jeans were ripped and his gun holster was at his side, also empty. His long brown hair was bushy and his hat sat atop his head, exactly in the position you remembered it. Because right before you was Carl Grimes. The love of your life.

"(Y/N), can you hear me?"

Your whole body went into shock and before you knew it you started crying. Tears streamed down your face like never before as you watched him sit down next to you, reaching out to hold you. You sat in his arms for a few minutes as you let it all out, finally conveying the depression you had felt for days.

"Shhhh it's alright."

You suddenly stopped and got a grip on what was happening. Was this real? Carl had gotten bit by a walker. Surely there was no way he has suddenly come back to life to give your pathetic body a hug.

"What happened?? How are you here?" You uttered in disbelief.

He smiled. "(Y/N). I wanted you to find a home here. I don't want you to keep grieving my death. Alexandria is safe now and you're free to live again. Please don't give up because of me." He rubbed your back and pushed his hat up. "You would say the same if our positions were switched."

At this, you fell limp. Of course. What have you been doing all this time? You'd been so wrapped up in the death of your lover you forgot there were other people you had to care for. Rosita, Michonne, Eugene, Carol, Daryl, and even Judith. This was your home. This was a place where you didn't have to suffer from the harshness of the outside world. You could've been helping with the runs and cleaning but instead you were here and as much as you loved him, you knew Carl was right.

"I'm sorry, I- I just-" you held back your tears "living in this world without you- it's hard. I promised myself that there wouldn't be a day where I wouldn't wake up next to you. I love you so much. I- I'm sorry I couldn't save you." The last part came out in a rush. The words hurt you to say as much as they hurt Carl to hear.

"Hey. Listen to me." He titled your chin upwards so that you were looking at him. "What happened was not your fault, okay? It was mine and mine alone. I'm so sorry that I left you here. I should've been more careful. But I promise you're not alone. I'll be here with you everywhere you go. And I'll still be here when I'm just a memory. When you find someone else I'll be here cheering you on. When you have children I'll watch over them too. When you get old, I'll be waiting for you on the other side so that you have nothing to fear. I promise." He slid his hand into yours and wiped away your tears. You smiled- actually smiled as you caught a glimpse of his face for the last time.

"There's no way you'll ever be just a memory, Carl Grimes."

And then he faded away.

...

The lights in the infirmary stung your eyes as you opened them. You weren't lying outside anymore, and instead you found yourself in a bed wrapped in one of Carl's flannels.

You caught a glimpse of someone standing outside your doorway. "Hey- what happened?" You asked to no one in particular. You just wanted to know why you'd been moved.

The man standing in the doorway was none other than Daryl who had visited you that night. He was looking more healthy than usual, although he could use a good night's sleep. His bags were becoming more and more prominent.

He made his way over to your bed and sat down at the end of it, careful to leave you enough space. "Could've died last night. Your heart almost stopped."

This stopped you from asking anymore questions. So what happened last night wasn't a dream? Carl was really there? You had come face to face with death without even realizing it.

"(Y/N)-" Daryl began but you stopped him.

"I saw him."

Daryl's eyes grew wide. "Ya did?" He turned around so that he was looking directly into your eyes. "What'd he say?"

You smiled.

"I have a reason to keep living, Dixon."

Gifs aren't mine, thank you for reading <3

SPIDERMAN

TASM! Peter Parker:

Bitch Onions: Absolutely ridiculous scenario in which you throw Andrew Garfield's chili dog off the Empire State building.

(Crack)

Cloud 9: Memories, danger, and a jar of peanut butter. Only happens when you're with Peter Parker.

(Romance/Slight Angst/Fluff)

Peter's Motivational Speech: Just a little drabble where the reader lets go of some anxiety to which their boyfriend calms them down.

(Romance/Fluff)

Sunflowers and Sunsets: small little one-shot where you're entranced by Peter and the loveliness of the upcoming afternoon.

(Romance/Fluff)

Don’t tag shit as sand dunes again I don’t want to have to scroll through your entire timothee chamalet fanfiction again. This has nothing to do with sand dumb ass.

Respectfully, shut the fuck up 💛

♡Dating with txt♡

TXT X Reader

⚠️ Warnings: Swearing, slight mention of blood, do not read if you have emetophobia, mentions of laser tag guns, mentions of the ER and hospitals, everyone's kinda a crackhead in this one, overall extreme fluff. ⚠️

♡ Soobin ♡

You had decided that your first date with Soobin should be in an aquarium setting, since blue was his favorite color and fish were your favorite animal. It would be cute to see him dress up and to watch the fish from all angles in a calm and serene way.

You had worn your favorite sweater and shirt which read "D.I.L.F 'Damn, I Love Fishing," which you thought was appropriate for the occasion.

"Hey (Y/N)!" Soobin said front where you were standing at the entrance holding a map in his hands, "They have a shark exhibit because of that new 'Killer Titanium War Sharks' movie!"

"Oh that's so cool! I hope we get to see some of them!"

Walking around the venue, you notice a couple fish that catch your eye, they're green with bright orange bellies and mean faces.

"Oooh Soobin! Soobin! These ones are so pretty!" You exclaim and Soobin's heart just melts because of how excited you got.

"(Y/N), those are piranhas. 🥹"

Soobin then grabs your hand and heads for the stingrays, which you would be able to pet according to the tour guide lady.

Anxiously waiting your turn, you finally step up to the open area and pet the stingray closest to you, while Soobin messes with a starfish on the opposite side. He looked so cute like that, his hair in his eyes and an adoring smile on his face. You were so entranced by his features that you weren't paying attention to the dangerous animal in the water and something very peculiar happened. You got stung.

You immediately felt a sharp jolt run through your entire body and noticed the welt on your wrist starting to form as the pain increased. You sent Soobin a look that told him everything and he was rushing to your side to see what had happened the moment a tear slipped down your cheek. "Ow." Was all you said before you blacked out in Soobin's arms.

"Hey, How are you feeling?" Soobin asked you from the chair on the right side of your bed. You had groggily opened up your eyes and noticed you were in a white room which was quite the contrast from the blue of the aquarium. You were still wearing your clothes from earlier, but now you had a cast as an added accessory.

"What happened?"

"You got stung by a stingray and instead of screaming like a normal person you just passed out instead." Soobin filled you in with a pained smile.

"I'm not a lil bitch. I wouldn't cry about it." You said, shrugging and turning on the ER TV. Soobin moved up on the bed with you and told you to scootch over so that he could snuggle you.

The rest of your date was spent in the hospital bed, but it was still fun nonetheless. And you got free snacks!

♡ Yeonjun ♡

He had absolutely no plan in mind when he had asked you out on a date; the only thing he knew was that he wanted to see you somewhere outside of the workplace so he could try and romance you like he wanted.

This boy had been head over heels for you for months. Slipping notes into your cubicle, talking to you from his desk on the other side, offering to carry your things, and holding the elevator door for you whenever he rode.

It was just another day when all of a sudden the cheesy love notes turned into an actual plan: "Pick you up later tonight?"

Which you had agreed to, of course.

This is how you found yourself waiting outside on the boardwalk, wondering what exactly your co-worker had in mind. You were wearing your favorite outfit and the new Versace perfume you had picked up earlier that week. You were worried that Yeonjun might've thought it was too casual until you saw him walking towards you.

You thought your eyes had deceived you into thinking the angel before you was Yeonjun. His hair was wind blown and messy but in the cute boyish way and his perfect lips were wearing a light gloss. His bright yellow button up had been opened revealing a Kate Bush t-shirt. His denim jeans and converse added to the comfortable yet outrageous gorgeousness of the man before you.

"Hey, you look nice." He said, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest. "Thanks, you too."

Walking further along the boardwalk, Yeonjun slips his left hand in yours and makes his way towards the carnival games. Noticing how your eyes glance over at a large puppy stuffed animal for a fraction of a second longer than the rest of them, he insists he plays the water gun game to win it for you.

Laughing along with him, you join a group of two other people as the operator readies your water guns. Winking at you, Yeonjun holds his gun with two hands and aims it at the target.

"Hey, did you see the massive churro that the guy behind us has?" You ask, grinning.

"What? Where?" Yeonjun swivels around in his seat just as the bells go off signaling the beginning of the game.

Maniacally laughing, you aim your gun at the target and watch as the water moves the bar up towards the top of the booth, meaning that you were winning. Yeonjun finally came to his senses and tried to beat you but to no avail. You had gotten the big prize: the giant puppy stuffed animal.

Handing it to your date, you give him a kiss on the cheek and say "better luck next time."

"You cheated!" He said, but smiled as he buried his face into the soft fur.

Needless to say, the rest of the night was spent on the ferris wheel in a heated makeout session while the puppy waited at the tables below.

♡ Beomgyu ♡

"This movie is supposedly so scary that the first people to watch it died after throwing up when the gore scenes came on!" You said excitedly as you held your boyfriend's hand leading him in the direction of the cinema. You had been talking about the new movie, "Killer Titanium War Sharks" for weeks in anticipation for it to finally hit the theaters. Your calendar in your shared apartment with Beomgyu held the official date in which you would be taking him to see it; something Beomgyu had been secretly hoping you would forget about. Truth be told: he had been terrified of it ever since he saw the trailer on YouTube.

"Wow.... Great....." He mumbled as you sat down in the velvet upholstered seats of the theater. The only reason he had agreed to come see it with you as a date was because you had agreed to purchase him the Sno-Caps chocolate bites and the pineapple gummi bears that he liked to combine into mini sandwiches.

You moved a strand of his long hair behind his ear and stared at him in the eyes. "Beomgyu," you started, making sure that you had his full attention, "If you get scared you had to suck it up and deal with it. No bathroom breaks. We're watching it all the way through." Gulping, he nods his head and trembles in his seat as you watch the beginning credits roll onto the screen.

"(Y/N)."

It had been a little ways past the middle of the movie and Beomgyu had his hand on yours, gripping it as though it would fall off. He had been eating a crap ton of gummi bears and Sno-Caps and for a moment you thought he was going to offer you one. In a way, he did.

"What's up?" You ask.

"I don't feel so good-"

Barfing all over you, Beomgyu manages not to get any on himself as he watches the sugary sweets end up on your favorite cardigan. When he was done, he delicately patted his lips and smiled anxiously as he watched you take in what just happened.

Instead of yelling at him like he had thought, you laughed. "Beomgyu, that's so gross!" You said in between hearty chuckles. Laughing along with you, you both leave the theater hand in hand, not finishing the movie you had been so excited about.

"I'm sorry I made it so that we couldn't finish the movie." Your boyfriend said with genuine concern.

"Are you kidding?! That was 100 times better than any ending I could've gotten from "Killer Titanium War Sharks!"

♡ Taehyun ♡

You had first noticed him in the library, drinking a splendid Arabic blend of coffee with Kafka open in his lap, twiddling with his hoodie strings with a contemplative stare. You were sure that cupid had struck you with his arrow just then; he looked up at you from what he was reading upon hearing your entrance with the bell atop the book shoppe door.

This had been a habit of his, to show up at the same shoppe as you so that he could see what it was you were reading that week. Today, you had another Junji Ito manga stashed away in your arms and an excited smile on your face. He didn't understand what was happening until you had made your way to his usual spot.

"H-h-hello." He said, trying not to sound awkward but failing tremendously.

"Hey," you said, moving to sit down next to him, "I see you here often?"

It was an observation you made yet you still phrased it as a question, unsure if you were bothering the beautiful boy in front of you. To your surprise, he seemed ecstatic.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked very chipper.

"I was just wondering....would you maybe.....it's totally okay if you don't want to....go out for coffee sometime?" You squinted your eyes in a slight grimace at how awkward your questions sounded and to make matters worse, you threw up finger guns.

Taehyun practically giggled and moved a chair closer to his so that you had the opportunity to sit down and talk to him. "Why, I would love that." He said, or at least he thought so. It came out more like "y-y-yes please yeah that sounds wonderful."

You inch closer to his spot and look at his book title. "Metamorphosis? Nice." You throw up another finger gun and you wanted to dissolve into the linoleum tiles right then and there.

"And I see you're reading my favorite Ito! No Longer Human!" He smiles and sends you the same hand gesture back.

Eventually, you guys pack up your things and head to the nearest coffee place in town: "The Mind Grind." This was where Taehyun had gotten his coffee earlier

He orders a vanilla latte and you order a black iced coffee with two espresso shots. Needless to say, he looked at you as though you were crazy but was most definitely intrigued by your order.

After a long conversation about reading material, you hand him your number scribbled on a napkin and offer the idea of "we should do this again sometime."

Taehyun thought about you the entire time he drove home.

♡ Hueningkai ♡

If this boy agreed to go on a date with you, you knew you had to make it an activity of sorts so that he wouldn't fall asleep or complain about the boringness of art museums or how lame the documentary you went to see was.

Your last date being roller skating, you knew that you were never going to put Kai in skates again as he had run into the wall numerous times and had fallen on top of you when leaning for support. You both ended up in so many unwanted bruises and cuts that you spent the entire next day in bed; an ice pack on Kai's neck and one on your knee.

This time you figured you would be able to find some form of interest in laser tag.

And oh boy was that an idea.

Hueningkai was so chipper and excited about it that he blasted ATEEZ in the car all the way there and talked about how fun it would be to shoot the other players with you by his side as his right hand man. However, when you arrived at the arena, it became very clear that you both were on opposing sides.

"(Y/N).... What'll I do over there without you? 🥲" *Pure fear*

"Fucking suffer under the wrath of my laser tag skills 😈" *Pure adrenaline*

Hiding behind one of the safety zones, you push forward towards the enemy base, keeping a watchful eye out for your 6'1 boyfriend. He would have a hard time hiding you would think since he was so tall, but something told you he'd be just fine.

Shooting a couple other players, you run towards the base and ready yourself to grab the flag. The concept of the game was basically capture the flag but with cool guns that went pew pew. You saw someone guarding it and shot them from afar, closing in on the target. The flag was in your hands and you were about to make a break for it when-

Two arms wrap around your chest, causing you to drop your winnings. You were then shoved into a wall and Kai held you there in place as he looked you up and down. "Trying to win, I see?" He asked, keeping in character of the game. It was both cute and annoying because you were both so competitive.

"Accept defeat." You said, trying to twist out of his grasp and make your way to the flag on the floor. Tacking you, the two of you fight each other for it and crash into a couple walls in the process. Lifting the flag above your head, you grin in triumph, flexing over the fact that you had beat Kai in a fist fight.

"(Y/N). Uh. Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"Your nose is bleeding everywhere."

Low and behold, there was a steady trickle of red dropping from your nose all over your shirt and shorts. Sighing, you stick the flag in your pocket and Kai takes it from you while you're preoccupied with the blood.

"KAI YOU MOTHER FUCKER."

He leans in for a kiss and ends up getting blood smeared on his face. "I win."

He shot you in the chest and the lights turned on, meaning that the game was over and he had, in fact, won.

through gritted teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary:

The man says he’s your husband.  He’s polite, charming, intelligent. He seems a little pretentious, but he appears to know you rather well and the thinly-veiled devotion in his eyes dispels most of your remaining doubts.  It certainly helps that the man is rather well-dressed—and attractive, a traitorous voice in the back of your mind whispers.  Unfortunately, you have no idea who he is. 

word count: 3.8k | ao3 version

You wake up to fluorescent lighting burning into your eyes, pulling tears down your cheeks as you blink stars from your vision. Your entire body aches with exhaustion and you can feel a headache brewing already. Groaning, you try to push yourself up to a sitting position. There’s an IV attached to your arm and, upon closer inspection, you seem to be in some sort of hospital room. White walls line the space, and there’s nothing much of note in your immediate vicinity. You blink a few more times past your absurdly dry eyes and continue inspecting the room, until your eyes catch on the chair to the right side of your bed. 

There’s a man sitting at your bedside with his eyes closed. He stirs within a few moments, as if he can sense you staring at him. Relief is written all over his face as he leans forward and clasps your hand with a small smile on his face. You can’t stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the contact and he notices, removing his hand at once. 

“Do you remember who I am?” He asks. His words are carefully constructed, strung together with eloquence and remnants of what sounds like an accent from a European country. You blink at him once, twice. It takes a moment for you to process the question, and another to contemplate the answer. The man doesn’t look familiar. Indeed, he looks like a stranger. 

When you tell him as much, a sad smile works its way onto his face. It seems he expected your answer. He begins to explain the circumstances surrounding your visit here, which you are immensely grateful for. You know next to nothing as you sit in this hospital bed, and, try as you might, you can’t remember anything save for your name. 

Apparently, you’ve suffered a serious head injury that left you with a spontaneous case of amnesia. Fortunately, your memories will likely return to you in due time. Somehow, these two revelations aren’t the most shocking of statements from the stranger. What the man reveals next shakes you to your core: he’s your husband. 

Upon closer examination, you find that the man is charming, polite… He’s rather attractive, too, with fine-combed hair and sparkling brown eyes with flecks of amber. His face looks as if it was sculpted by Michelangelo himself—sweeping lines, sharp edges, soft curves. The man is intelligent and [perhaps as a result] a little pretentious. From his attire, you can only assume that he makes a lot of money and has rather particular tastes. You could see someone like this going to the opera regularly. 

But there’s something else about this man—something lurking beneath the surface. You can’t puzzle out what it is. There’s something sinister concealed in those reddish-brown eyes, an unspoken violence in the man’s careful poise. And you think you catch him intently scrutinizing you—as if you’re under a microscope.  

You soon learn that the man’s name is Hannibal Lecter. He’s a psychiatrist who used to be a surgeon. He’s in his 40s. He has refined tastes—and even goes to the opera on occasion, yes. He is fascinating, intriguing beyond measure. He discusses heavily philosophical topics with ease. He is slippery, only giving you the information he wants to give you. He has a very controlled image. The dishes he cooks you are extravagant and lavish, with ingredients you’ve never even heard of. (The meat in them is always some sort of organ, and it turns your stomach every time.)

In the wake of your injury, you’re unsure of almost everything. But you know one thing for certain: Hannibal is not your husband. And you’re convinced that he’s dangerous. You don’t trust him—can’t trust his carefully crafted words, his home-cooked meals, his polite smiles. It’s all a farce. 

It would be all too easy to ask your next visitor about this well-dressed, enigmatic man. Unfortunately, you don’t get any other visitors. In fact, your next visitor is Hannibal again… And again. And again. It gets to the point where your nurse gives up on having him sign in when he visits. At first, she had been rather strict in enforcing the rules; she seems to have caught onto something that you still haven’t grasped, because she now collects herself with an entirely different—almost heightened—awareness. 

You’re having increasingly conflicting feelings, especially when you consider the fact that Hannibal hasn’t actually exhibited any behavior that justifies your wariness and suspicion. If anything, he’s been the perfect supporter—the perfect husband—throughout your recovery. You want to believe your gut sense, want to believe the whispers in the back of your mind that tell you to exercise caution. But, at the same time, who’s to say they can be believed? You still have almost no recollection of who you are. Why are you questioning the only person who has bothered to show up for you throughout your recovery? 

Days pass in the blink of an eye; before you know it, Hannibal is walking in one morning with the declaration that you’ve been officially discharged from the hospital. Despite your misgivings, you head to the bathroom to change into some normal clothes before putting on the pair of shoes near the door. Your heart is racing as Hannibal’s gaze refuses to leave your form. Why can’t your mind rest? Why can’t your thoughts be silent, for once? Why are you so damn suspicious of every minute kindness? 

The walk out of the hospital and through the parking lot is painfully silent. You can’t resist sneaking glances at Hannibal, waiting for his mask to crack and fall. It never does. He catches you looking and sends you a smile, which discourages you from looking again. You let your eyes roam about the shiny cars in the parking lot as the warm afternoon sunlight greets your skin. You missed the fresh air. 

“Where are you taking me?” You finally ask, as you continue to follow behind the man.

“Home,” Hannibal remarks. He pointedly does not say your home or even our home. Your heart is racing in your chest. His back is turned, leaving you to imagine the expression on his face.  

It isn’t until you’re secured in the front seat and Hannibal’s driving out of the parking lot that you summon the courage to utter the question that has been plaguing your mind. “Are you really my husband?”

“Hm?” It’s clear he heard you; he’s giving you a chance to retract the remark. You know you should take it, but… you want to know what’s going on. You need to find an answer for the seemingly irrational fear drumming in your chest and rushing in your ears. 

“You say you’re my husband,” You repeat yourself, gaining a bit more confidence. “But I don’t think you are.” For an awful moment, there’s nothing but silence. The car zips along the road. You feel your hand trembling at your side—hopefully the only visible sign of your distress. You clench your shaking hand into a fist and try to remain calm. Panicking won’t do you any good. 

“Do you remember how we first met?” Hannibal asks instead. You stare at him in disbelief, surprised by how he completely ignores your accusation. There is an utter lack of emotion on his face. Seconds later, you remember his question and shake your head. “You’re an FBI agent,” Hannibal reveals. “I was called in to perform your psychiatric evaluation.”

Great. Just great. Out of all things, you had to be an FBI agent. The thought of forgetting your work—forgetting all the victims left to die in muddied puddles of crimson, forgetting all the killers with mocking smiles and cruelty written in the lines of their faces—is sincerely troubling.  

And Hannibal is a psychiatrist. That seems to fit—you can see him in a needlessly extravagant office, surrounded by books and expensive elegancies. You have to shake your head to get rid of the weirdly vivid imagery that your thoughts produce. “Are you… my psychiatrist, then?” You ask. 

“If you wish,” he replies with a mirthful smile. That answer doesn’t satisfy your curiosity—not in the slightest. 

“Were you my psychiatrist?” You press. You get the feeling that you need to be asking the right questions in order to get the answers you want. The man across from you is adept at picking apart people’s words, flipping them around and twisting their intended meaning. Your wording will be immensely important. 

“I was your psychiatrist, for a time,” Hannibal acquiesces. From that statement, you get the sense that he really was your psychiatrist, until something evidently happened. You ask him as much, but you seem to go too far, because he regards you with an amused glance. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“And you’re not giving me any answers,” you feel the need to respond. You have simultaneous suspicions that honesty is dangerous in front of Hannibal, and that he values honesty above sugar-coated words. Your eyebrows furrow. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal is providing more questions in lieu of answers. He’s definitely hiding something. Sensing that you won’t get anything more from him, you fall silent and settle for staring at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is locked on the road ahead.  Despite the time you’ve spent together, talking about your past, you still aren’t totally convinced that you’re married to Hannibal. Is there a way you could test him—test his knowledge of you? Surely there’s something you can ask him to determine if he truly knows you or not. 

It comes to you a moment later. “What’s my favorite color?” You ask, before you can think better of it. The man doesn’t react at first, instead staring straight ahead. Just before you can repeat the question, he answers. 

“I can’t imagine you have a favorite color,” Hannibal responds. “You once told me the very notion was foolish.”

Okay, he’s sort of correct there. But that was an easy question. You sort through the few memories you have, looking for something you can ask him. “What’s my middle name?” That’s an answer that you just barely know yourself—a memory came back to you a mere few minutes ago, of you and your childhood friend talking about middle names and nicknames and other unimportant things. 

Hannibal answers the question correctly again. The two of you must’ve been friends, at the very least. You continue to search your mind for something you can ask him. 

Five minutes and several questions later, you’re starting to doubt your own conviction. Hannibal answers every single question correctly, providing you with information you don’t remember but know deep-down to be true. It’s unnerving and disturbing to think that you could’ve forgotten this man so easily. He seems… utterly unforgettable, in every sense of the word. Furthermore, he’s your husband—perhaps you shouldn’t be doubting him so easily. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before you can quite contemplate your next words. Hannibal’s eyes are locked on the road, but you know he’s listening. “I don’t mean to doubt you, I just- I don’t know what to do. I don’t remember anything, obviously, and… I feel so lost.” You choke out, your throat burning. You bury your head in your hands for a selfish moment, hoping for some solace and clarity. 

“Don’t apologize, dear,” Hannibal says. You hate how the remark sends a shiver down your spine. Damn it, why can’t you just be comfortable? This man is practically a dream, so why are you trying to ruin it? Can’t you just accept that, sometimes, you deserve to have nice things?! Hannibal continues, unknowing of your internal dilemma. “You’re going through a lot right now. I’m just happy to be here with you.” 

You feel ashamed, knowing that you’ve been holding yourself back despite the fact that Hannibal has shown you nothing but compassion and affection. “I’m… happy you’re here, too,” you say. Guilt prickling in your chest, you impulsively reach out and clasp his free hand resting on the console. Somehow, this surprises your husband, because he stiffens for a second before reciprocating, gripping your hand reassuringly. 

“We will get through this,” he promises. You push aside your doubts and decide to believe him.

Maybe things really will be alright. Maybe, you’ll get your memories back sooner rather than later, and you’ll be able to look back on these moments—riddled with doubt, insecurity, wariness—and laugh. You take a deep breath and look out the window, watching the passing trees blur together. 

Your hand slips from Hannibal’s and you look at your nails, picking at your cuticles. Your hands are somewhat indicative of the life you led—the one you don’t remember living—with a few scars stretching down your wrist and climbing up your forearm. You look down at the healed wound and frown, trying to remember how you got the scar. 

Suddenly, you get a flicker of a memory. It’s faint and fast, but it’s a reminder of the past nonetheless. You squint ahead, trying to focus on keeping the flashback in your mind for long enough to dissect it. You remember… blood. A corpse, perhaps? Yes, a corpse. A woman’s corpse, hoisted and impaled on antlers. You remember… staring at that corpse for so long that you had to be physically led away from the scene, albeit with a gnawing feeling in your gut that something just wasn’t right. You remember… walking into an office, only to be met with Hannibal’s curious gaze. That must’ve been the first time you met the psychiatrist. You put a hand to your temple and try desperately to concentrate. 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Hannibal says, effectively throwing your focus. You blink and chance a glance at him. He’s still looking at the road, yet you can’t shake the perplexing conviction that he’s been watching you. What’s more, you can’t shake the feeling that his interjection was purposeful—that he meant to throw you off and break your concentration. 

“I- just remembered something,” you choke out, feeling a bolt of pain slide down your scalp to the back of your neck. You bring a hand to the nape of your neck and press, hissing as your fingers glide over sore muscles. “Something important.”

“Congratulations,” Hannibal hums, immune to your internal panic. You don’t know exactly what this man did, but he must’ve done something. Your subconscious is convinced that he is incredibly dangerous, and you feel inclined to trust your gut. 

Another flashback arrives, apropos of nothing. You remember sitting across from Hannibal in a finely-decorated room, lined with bookshelves and artifacts. You remember averting your eyes as you speak, desperate to avoid the roaring flames racing up your skin with every additional moment of prolonged eye contact. You remember… a twisted grin on Hannibal’s face. You remember… the intensity to his gaze as he studied you when he thought you weren’t looking. 

Unsettled, you shake your head and try to refocus on the passing scenery again. To your surprise, you think you recognize where you are. Hannibal must be taking you home. You take a deep breath. You just have to survive this car ride—then you can figure things out from there. You have all the time in the world to muse on the nature of your injury and the nature of your “husband,” once you’re safely contained within four walls. Right now, though, you need to be wary. You need to have your wits about you, you need to watch for any sudden movements, you need to be ready-

“We’re here,” Hannibal announces, promptly throwing your thought process to a halt. You blink and look ahead, only to find a nondescript home with beige siding and a somewhat weathered front door. Vaguely, you remember pulling your car into this driveway, remember unpacking boxes from your trunk. Yes, this is your house. Hannibal is much quicker on the uptake, as he gets out of the car and walks around the vehicle. You don’t realize that he’s opening the passenger door for you until you feel him staring at you expectantly. You thank him and get to your feet, a sudden bout of dizziness sending you wobbling. Hannibal is there in a moment, steadying you with a hand on your forearm. You pretend not to notice his hand on the small of your back as you walk up the path to the front porch. When you’re finally situated in front of the entrance, you realize that you have no idea where your keys could be. 

“Left pocket of your jacket,” Hannibal murmurs, as if reading your mind. You nearly choke on a breath. 

“Thanks,” you respond a bit breathlessly. When you finally manage to unlock the front door and swing it open, you turn back to face him. “Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Of course,” Hannibal responds easily. There’s a regretful smile rising on his face. Everything around you fades to obscurity. “I’m afraid this is goodbye.” That remark sounds strangely ominous. Your heart is in your throat. 

“Thank you for keeping me company,” you feel the need to say, regardless of your suspicions about the man. He was the only one to visit you. You don’t want to think about how you would feel if you spent your entire hospital visit without a single familiar face. “...Bye.” Suddenly, there’s a hand on your cheek. Hannibal’s hand cradles your jaw, his thumb gently roving along your skin. He regards you for a moment, his eyes sparkling, before kissing you on the cheek and leaving. You watch him return to his car and drive away, apprehension and adrenaline coursing through you. Somehow, you get the feeling that you’ll never see Hannibal again. 

Your doorbell rings about an hour later. You look through your peephole, only to find a somewhat intimidating man with his hands shoved in his pockets. You have to focus on quelling the foolish spike of hope that had risen in your chest when the doorbell rang, and the subsequent disappointment at the unfamiliar figure you found. You take a second glance at the stranger, only to find that he looks somewhat familiar. This vague familiarity convinces you to crack your front door open slightly and ask him, “Who are you?”

The man pulls something out of his pocket. “Jack Crawford, FBI,” he answers, showing you his identification card. You stare at him for another moment. “Your boss.” Crawford supplies, when you can’t seem to get the words out. After a few seconds of awkward silence, you decide to invite him inside. 

Before long, the two of you are settled in your living room. The tension that first appeared when you opened your front door has yet to fade. You’re not sure why this man has yet to crop up in your memories—he has a rather powerful aura of authority, not to mention the fact that he’s apparently your superior. You decide not to beat yourself up about it. Your memories will come back in due time; until then, you’ll make do with what little you have.

Crawford—Jack, he tells you to call him—clasps his hands over his knees and levels you with an unreadable gaze. “I need to ask you something,” Jack says, rifling through his other pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it slowly, before revealing it to you. “Do you remember this man? Hannibal Lecter?” Jack explains, immune to your growing dread. You feel sick to your stomach as your eyes flit across the black-and-white photograph of the same man who watched over you vigilantly as you recovered, who claimed to be your husband and kissed you on the cheek mere moments ago. “He’s the Chesapeake Ripper—the serial killer who has been evading capture.” 

“I-” You stammer, bringing a hand to your temple. Your headache from earlier is returning and your head is spinning from this sudden disclosure. You almost don’t want to believe Jack, but you get the feeling that he’d have no reason to lie to you. If anything, lying would just make his job harder. You take a shuddering breath in, trying to come to terms with the fact that you just narrowly escaped a serial killer’s grasp. 

“It’s alright,” Jack tries to reassure you, evidently sensing that you’re growing a bit panicked. 

“No, I-” You’re choking on the words. Recent memories are mixing with old, creating a convoluted and murky timeline of events. It’s hard to sort through everything, to find the truths hidden amongst the lies. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to collect your composure and organize your thoughts into a relatively coherent statement. “I saw him. He… visited me in the hospital. He drove me home.” 

“What?” Jack asks, utter disbelief written all over his face. You don’t remember your boss very well, but you get the feeling he isn’t usually so expressive. The look on his face would be comical, in a different situation. “What did he say to you?” He implores.

“He said a lot of things… Nothing very important.” You try to recall what you can, but your memories are quickly slipping through your fingertips in granules of sparkling sand. You press a hand to your temple, your headache growing worse as you try to recall what happened. “I tried asking him questions about me, to throw him off, but he knew all the answers.” 

Somehow, Jack doesn’t seem surprised by the notion. “You two were… close, before,” your boss evidently settles for saying. There’s a certain suspicion in his voice, as if he suspects you may have been more than “close” with Hannibal. You’re feeling too discombobulated to rise to the bait or bother calling him out on the obvious verbal trap. 

“He said ‘goodbye,’” you continue, eyebrows furrowing. Somehow, you get the sense that Hannibal isn’t the type to utter goodbyes. Moreover, a goodbye ushers in a sense of finality, as if you will truly never see him again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, pretending that your exchange with him on your doorstep isn’t replaying in your mind. He kissed me on the cheek, you don’t say to Jack. He said he was my husband. He watched over me in the hospital when no one else did. And it may have been fake, all of it… But that gleam of affection in his eyes didn’t look manufactured—it looked genuine.  

Jack looks troubled and somewhat restless. “You’re lucky you made it out alive.” He states. You don’t think you can quite believe his words. For whatever reason, Hannibal Lecter—the Chesapeake Ripper—is interested in you. Whether sick fascination or cloying obsession, you have to face the facts:  luck had nothing to do with it. The Ripper kept you alive because, inexplicably, he wants you alive. 

And that unnerves you. 

hannibal taglist, cause i think y'all would be down with reading this since it's also hannibal: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

Can you recommend some Peter Parker blogs?? I’m obsessed obsessed and I trust your judgement

Can I ever! There are so many brilliant pals writing for Peter these days. Let’s see!

@scandalous-chaos

@abibliophobiaa

@decadentpaperduck

@disartrous

@hufflepuffs-and-hozier

@liz-allyn

@marvlspideys

@petcr3

@parkerpride

@rae-gar-targaryen

@spider-starry

@sheridans-dynamos

@withahappyrefrain

@wandasylvie

@mrshipsmcgee

Some of these sweethearts are multi-fandom, but they’re all lovely and there’s some real good Peter content! 🌻💛

BIKE RIDES AND CIGARETTES

Brad Pitt X Reader

Biking around the city with your husband!!!!!

Just a little drabble I wrote while I find the motivation to finish my other fanfictions :)

The spokes of your bike tires made cute little noises as the cards you had stuck to them flapped in the wind. Your footing on the pedals loose as you allow yourself to fully relax and enjoy the sunrise coming up from the east overhead, creating a nice yellow/blue tone over everything you saw. It was a perfect temperature; the petrichor from the rain that morning had left a dewy feel to everything you touched and made it perfect for a light sweater and ripped jeans. Your hair blew around in soft movements as you pedaled faster down the edges of the Seine River, the cool breeze being picked up from the water made its way to your face as it gently caressed your skin. Today was perfect.

Following suit, your husband of a year and half was behind you, looking out towards the scenery and the hazy light of the sun stretched across the sky. His hair was a perfect mess and his smile was brilliant as he flashed his lovely teeth. Brad loved bike rides almost as much as he loved you; being able to participate in both loves at the same time was the best feeling in the world to him. He was also clad in dark jeans and a light beige cardigan. He looked like he was straight out of a Renaissance painting.

Continuing down the cobblestone paths and around the bridge, you push through the soft wind to try and get to the spot you and Brad often shared your coffees on a park bench. The Eiffel Tower was on full display and there was something about it that looked extra breathtaking today, although you didn't know if it was because you were genuinely very happy or if it was the weather.

"Babe!" You slowly started to stop your bike as you waited for Brad to catch up with you. Wind blowing his sweater around him, he stopped his bike next to yours and took in the sight before him. You were beautiful and he could've sworn that if he had the opportunity to, he would fall in love with you in every country the two of you traveled to. Being a bit of a movie star definitely helped him with travelling.

"What's wrong?" You asked, voice laced with a slight worry.

"Nothing, everything is absolutely perfect." Brad smiled to you and leant in slightly as he delivered that line.

"May I ask why we stopped then?"

"There's a bookstore that you missed in your hurried attempt to escape me." He smiled and went to kiss you softly on your cheek before mounting his bicycle once again and kicking the stand back.

Excitedly, you hop back on your bike and feel for the pedals, pushing the flyaway strands of hair away from your eyes and allowing a smile to adorn your features. Taking one last glance at the edge of the river, you turn towards the direction of your husband and follow him on your bike to the little corner store you happened to completely glance over.

A worn out and faded sign was placed outside the front of the store, reading the name of the shop: "The Delicate Spine- used and renewed books of all sorts." It was a hand-me-down bookstore so there was definitely some treasures to be found on it's shelves. Itching in anticipation of what you might find to add to your book collection, you chain the front of your bike to the stand out front next to Brad's and the two of you walk in.

Wooden shelves scattered in no particular order were all around the entirety of the small place, a staircase leading to the basement which presumably had more of the same visual. The walls were a light yellow with a white trim and the paint was chipped and faded. The bell sounded above your head signalling your entrance to the older man who worked at the front desk and a sudden exhilarating smell of coffee filled your nose. It was a quaint and beauteous little place; you wondered how you could've possibly missed it before.

"All hardcovers are 20% off." The man stated with a smile as he shuffled around grabbing a box of books and walking towards the back of the store. Brad looked to you and grabbed your hand, leading you immediately down the stairs to the more abandoned shelving units in hopes of finding books of odder taste. It was funny how even a place full of items people didn't want anymore had a place within it that was even more abandoned by the public eye. With your free hand, you lightly touched the chipped paint on the walls with the tips of your fingers, gliding your hand along the wall as you made your descent; noticing the way the paint turned into a flowery wallpaper. The air was significantly cooler down here, giving you the notion that you were finally underground in the basement as you took in the plethora of books and scripts in front of you.

"I'll start on the left, you on the right?" Brad asks as he makes his way to the opposite end of the room.

"Sounds perfect to me." You replied and found yourself rummaging through the spines and loose papers. The smell of the basement was so nice, the earthy scent and the ink on paper would be one that you would remember for a long time. You wished you could encapsulate it into your memory for forever, going back to this moment whenever you felt so.

While searching through the faded titles, you come across an old favorite. Pulling out the familiar art deco cover, you notice the giant coffee stain on the front of it. Snickering to yourself, you flipped through the pages of The Great Gatsby by Scott F. Fitzgerald. There were highlights and notes in the margins signifying that whomever owned the book previously certainly got their use out of it. Grinning at the familiar name Jay Gatsby, you remembered your love for his character.

Eventually, you found yourself running your fingers over more and more titles, some of which were familiar and others that went by names you'd never heard of. Amidst your gazing, your fingers brushed over Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. However, it seemed that someone else had a similar idea and your hand grazed Brad's. Meeting his gaze, he flashed that brilliant smile once more and flipped his sunglasses above his head to push his hair back, allowing for his bright blue eyes to be on full display. Everything about him was enthralling.

"Why hello, sir. I do believe that I had my hands on Kafka first." You grinned.

"Hm...but it seems to me that you've already read this one. Therefore, I feel like I deserve the book more," He gently pulled the book off the shelf and held it out to you, "Or a pretty lady could read it to me and I'd call it a truce."

"Something like that could be arranged." You added the book to your small stack in your hands as you walked back up the stairs to pay for them. You insisted on paying for Brad's too, despite the fight he put up against you doing so.

You won, of course.

Placing your books into small paper bags, the shop owner printed out your receipt and handed you the items with a knowing glance. "You're a collector." He said with an eyebrow raise.

"Yes! How did you know?" You asked, now intrigued by what this man had to say.

He smirked. "All of them have outrageous stains and writing on the inside. My wife and I enjoy collecting the outcasts too."

You felt an admiration burning in your chest. It was nice to meet someone who also had an appreciation for things like this.

After you had finished at the desk, Brad helped to unchain the bikes. He had a determined look on his face as he busied himself with the task at hand, allowing for your leisure time to be spent searching for the cigarettes in his jacket you were wearing. You knew he always had a pack on him, yet you couldn't seem to find it anywhere in any of his pockets.

"Looking for this?" Your husband asks you, holding out his half-empty pack which he presumably took out from his back pocket.

"Why, yes actually." You go to reach for one of the cancer sticks, but he pulls it back from you.

"These things'll kill you, you know. You should really quit." He said with a teasing laugh.

"Oh yeah? And you're going to quit anytime soon?" You rebutted, knowing you were already winning this mini battle against him. Brad smoked way too much, for him to tell you to stop was complete ridiculousness.

"Fine, you got me." He pulls out a lighter and lights the end of both your stick and his, both of you deciding to take your drags while sitting outside the bookstore on the curb. Brad's cardigan was pooling below his waist now that he untucked it from his jeans, and you watched as he exhaled the smoke ever so delicately. Brad doing anything was graceful, but nothing compared to the way he smoked. The cylindrical spirals of grey coming from the edges of his mouth reaching up towards the sky and creating pretty patterns.

After a time, he sighed and looked in your direction. You were currently staring across the road, lost in your thoughts. Your face was pressed into a hard gaze as you pondered over whatever was going on in your pretty little mind; completely oblivious to your husband's staring. Brad felt his heart lurch ever so slightly as he watched you finish your cigarette and stomp on it to put out the burning embers.

"Ready to go?" You asked, motioning towards the bikes.

"Yeah."

Brad didn't say it in that moment, but he went over the reasons he married you in his head. The way you looked at him when he supposedly wasn't paying attention was one of them. He was so in love with you, he would buy you all the libraries in the world and had offered to do so. However, the little library full of misshapen and ragged books you had at home was perfect enough for the two of you.

He couldn't wait to continue these bike rides and cigarette stops all over the world.

The amount of people I've met that said this was Moonjo's best line...

Okay Panko Shrimps,

Have you guys seen Bullet Train yet?? Do you guys want Bullet Train content?? I know it's a newer movie but I would be writing for both Tangerine and Ladybug! (Brad Pitt, hello?)

I've tried to find some content but the fandom is pretty dead on Tumblr so far WHICH SUCKS ASS BECAUSE I FEEL SUCH A NEED TO WRITE THIS like my fingers are trembling with excitement to get behind my computer and start typing this out.

How do we feel? Thoughts? Do I write this anyways?

💛🦐

Update: I wrote it, here's the link:

Lady Luck

say you love me

                until the end of the world