I Love That Idea That If You Know Someone’s Story, It’s Impossible Not To Love Them. This Is Potentially

Heyo!!!

Just wanted to hop on here real quick to say thank you to all of you who have been supporting my writing! It means the world to me especially since I'm so inexperienced. There are so many lovely creators on this app that I aspire to write similarly to! It's crazy to me how I started reading fanfiction back in 2014 and have now gathered the confidence to write my own, post it online and get all this amazing feedback!

I also wanted to say that requests are open! If there's someone you would like fanfiction of that you're unsure if I write for, please send the request anyways!!! It keeps it fun and interesting for me to learn about characters that I don't know all too well and to write them into a story.

And again, because I'm not sure if it was entirely clear, I want everyone to know that this is a safe space. For everyone. Regardless of sexual orientation, race, identity, everyone is welcome. I don't want anyone to feel judged!

Again, thank you for all of the support and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. I'm excited to grow both as a writer and a person.

May all your shrimps be panko 💛🦐

a dilf is not a dilf if he’s shitty to his children

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.

My heart hurts from loving Johnny so much

💛🦐

is this what falling in love feels like

As much as I would like to continue interacting with your dumbass online, I don't want to give you any more publicity 💛

Deez Nuts

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 💛

@barbarasbae’s works

Cold Confrontation

Hairspray

Hats Hide the Magic

@websterss’s works

something evil's lurkin'

after all

@lurkymurker’s works

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Just friends

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Mommy and daddy are fighting!

@masterkenobi’s works

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Next Best Thing to An Angel

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Confession

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@iliveiloveiwrite’s works

Friends to Lovers

Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch

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Other’s works

New Journey Series by @suckerfordylansstuff

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy Series (in progress) by @orangevtae

Out of the Woods Series by @bsxcrxts

We'll Be Okay by @quin-ns

Sorry, Not Sorry Series by @mackenzie-is-loading

Protect You by @kinghairington

Movie Club by @yesimwriting

dark waters by @onceuponastory

Eyes, Smiles and Touches by @darling-i-read-it

love bites by @robcharlieglenn

Peanut Butter Death Wish by @hobisfavoritespritecan

Perv by @cowteapot

Stay Up Late by @allaboardthereadingrailroad

Adventures In Babysitting (500+ Follower Special) by @zodiyack

Funeral Grey by @kerstynn

A Little Bit Closer by @ladylannisterxo

EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE by @marleyin

Whispers of a Ghost by @sourwolf-sterek32

Tehehehhe thanks for tagging me!!!

H - Highway To Heaven (NCT)

O - Obsession (EXO)

B - Bambi (Baekhyun)

I - I Wait (Day 6)

S - SSICK (Stray Kids)

F - Famous (Taemin)

A - Alligator (Monsta X)

V - VENI VIDI VICI (CRAVITY)

O - O Sole MiO (SF9)

R - Ring Ring (Rocket Punch)

I - I Hate You (WOODZ)

T - The Eye (INFINITE)

E - Embarrassed (BTS)

S - Sorry, Sorry (SUPER JUNIOR)

P - Poison (PINK FANTASY)

R - RED (The Rose)

I - Inside Out (NU'EST)

T - Tears Of Chaos (E'LAST)

E - Error (VIXX)

C - COUP D'ETAT (G-DRAGON)

A - ASURABALBALTA (T1419)

N - NOT BY THE MOON (GOT7)

💛🦐

tagging: @taehyung-bw @static-butterfly @keynie @heybaetae @jincorrectbts @leggomylino @chimchimsauce and anyone else who wants to join! 💛💛

Rules: make a new post and spell out your URL with song titles, (then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL - Optional)

New rule: Don’t use an artist more than once

Wasn't tagged, but wanted to do it.

M - 'Most of All' - Brandi Carlile

A - 'Annies Song' - John Denver

K - 'Keep me in your heart' - The Wailin' Jennies

E - 'Evermore' - Dan Stevens

M - 'Million Reasons' - Lady Gaga

E - 'Easy Silence' - The Chicks

I - 'I Like it Heavy' - Halestorm

M - 'Misbelieving' - Allie X

A - 'A Million Dreams' - P!nk

G - 'Gravity' - Sara Bareilles

I - 'Immigrant Song' - Led Zepplin

N - 'Never Enough' - Loren Allred

E - 'Express' - Christina Aguilera

--

Tags (no pressure): @spuffyfan394, @cosplayingwitch, @magravenwrites, @bwemph, @gaitwae, @imaginefandoms, @imaginesfire, @peter-parkers-cullen-nerd, @trashywritestrash, @whatif-animagineblog - and open tag for whoever wants to do it!

xx

Hello!!! Can you please write a Seo Moonjo fic, where he becomes possessive/obsessed with Jongwoo's gf or with a female who works with him?

Overcompensate

Absolutely lovely! Here's a bit of a drabble for you!

Pairing: Seo Moon-Jo X Reader

Warnings: mentions of gore & possessiveness, Moon-Jo shows very yandere tendencies, cannibalism allegories

Moon-jo was a simple man.

Not necessarily in theory, but in practice. He knew what it was he aspired to obtain in his lifetime and with the amount of work and dedication he put into those aspirations, it makes sense that he would achieve them. Simple.

But as to what he wanted and the lengths he would go to, stopping at nothing...that was a little more complicated.

To his surprise, he had found himself in a situation where the goal wasn't in relation to dentistry or murder. He was having a bit of an issue sorting out just exactly why the new tenant of Eden Residence was so captivating, so enthralling to him. What was it about the boy who lived next door that led Moon-Jo to believing that his existence was some sort of spiritual awakening he would have to come to discover? Why was he suddenly so fascinated in the idea of pulling back his brain and picking out all of his thoughts, consuming them in their entirety until there was nothing left of poor Jongwoo but a vessel of the human being he once was? It was Kafka-esque, a metamorphosis of his character; to watch him succumb to the ravaging animalistic qualities that Moon-Jo believed all humans to possess. It was strange and it was beautiful.

And oh, was it something Moon-Jo wanted.

So he put in the work. Day after day he spent trying to get under Jongwoo's flesh, tearing open another layer piece by piece to truly understand his newfound obsession. But with every step closer to his goal he got, the more confused he became. There was nothing he was learning that he had hoped for. Jongwoo was buckling under the weight of his neighbor's madness, yes. But he wasn't the right image of Moon-Jo's work. This frustrated him to no end.

He still remembers when everything finally clicked into place. The night had just fallen and the stars crept up in the sky, illuminating the long path to the Residence. Although the lights were dim, one could still make out the small cats darting back and forth as they played with one another in the underbrush. The air was crisp and still with no wind, a perfect temperature to end an outrageously hot summer day. Moon-Jo awaited on the rooftop with two beers, as he usually did, watching the path below for his Jongwoo to arrive back home with his furrowed expression of displeasure and overly large backpack slung over his shoulders from an excruciatingly long day at the office. He would be lucky to convince Jongwoo up to the roof where he sat and even luckier if he could manage to get him to drink his beer. He knew Jongwoo was onto him and his...stranger tendencies, but he would receive the fruits of his labor. He always did.

The beer can was cold under his grasp, the condensation slipping from his fingertips and falling beneath him as the drops pattered onto the cracked concrete. He was starting to grow slightly warm, however, he wasn't sure if it was because of the weather or the growing anticipation he felt as he awaited the boy's arrival. His eyes didn't leave the road once.

As he looked beneath him towards the winding street, he finally saw his neighbor trudging up the path, same expression on his face Moon-Jo had expected him to be wearing. But, to his surprise, walking beside the man he'd so desperately tried his best to court 24/7 was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life.

It shocked him-almost-his hand immediately dropping the beer he was holding as he lost his composure for the first time in many years. It was sudden, as though he'd been impaled by sword, piercing through his lungs and stopping his breath as his heart skipped a beat. He had never been so hungry, so devout for human meat. He didn't want to cannibalize you, no. But he so desperately wanted to consume you and your being which is almost the same thing...right? He knew what Jongwoo had meant to him now, it was almost so clear in the way it presented itself; Jongwoo was never meant to be the product of his manipulation. It had always had to have been you.

Your eyes looked up towards Eden, missing the strange man on the roof entirely. Moon-Jo found himself entranced by them, watching the way they shone under the stars and the soft light from the windows of the Residence. They were like Bosch's paintings of the divine, absolutely encapsulating the beauty of the gods. Your hair fell slightly past your shoulders and framed a face he could only assume belonged to heavens itself. Your body swayed with the movement of your feet as you followed your boyfriend's suit, duffel bag in hand.

Moon-Jo thought he had died and been met with the face of a deity.

On your end, the only thing you were thinking about was Jongwoo's warnings from earlier. Once he had moved to Seoul and started living in this dingy place, he had instantly been met with strange roommates whom he'd talk about often. You were worried about his dwindling sleep schedule and his overall safety, residing in a place like this on the outskirts of town. If something terrible were to happen here, you weren't even sure police would show up in this precinct. For Jongwoo's sake, however, you swallowed down your nervousness preparing to have that conversation with him later.

Collecting himself, Moon-Jo practically sprinted towards the stairs and made his way down to Mrs. Eom's desk, leaning against the dilapidated building's walls, forcing himself to contain the sparks flying through his veins. He had to keep himself together, make the most impeccable first impression and swoon you over, whoever you might be. He needed you to like him, to trust him. If he ruined his image right off the bat by voicing his true inner monologue, it would be so much harder to mold you to his image and sway you into his grasp.

"Jongwoo, are you sure this is something you want to do? We could always sleep at my place if you're as uncomfortable by this place as you say." You said, closing the heavy door behind you and setting down your duffel bag for a moment to regain your breath.

Jongwoo shrugged and picked up your things containing all your overnight clothes and whatever else you'd brought to work that day. He had just simple given you a "yeah, this is fine" before turning around to be met face-to-face with the one person he didn't want to see or have the imposition of introducing to his girlfriend at all. He had hoped he might be able to sneak you past and into his room before anyone even noticed he was there; as he usually did. He'd presumed Moon-Jo to be on the roof for his nightly drink, whenever he stayed at the residence and not in his own apartment.

Beside the wall-almost eerily so-Moon-Jo stood, ignoring Jongwoo completely. His eyes were trained on you as you gathered yourself enough to take him in, watching the man before you breathe in the very fiber of your being. He was tall and dark haired with extraordinary cheekbones. With a face card like that, you were sure he'd have had to be a model or do side-gigs of the sort. His smile was a pleasant one as it seemed inviting, but upon staring at it for a few moments, something about it felt off to you. His black button-up was loose around his collarbones and neatly tucked into his slacks. He was fairly handsome, you thought, forgetting that Jongwoo had warned you of this 'crazy neighbor' before inviting you to stay at his place to catch the train back home tomorrow.

A piercing feeling of nervousness took over your body and shocked you instantly. There was something extremely peculiar about this man and you wanted nothing to do with finding out what it was. There was something haunting about the depth of his cold, dark gaze, contrasting Jongwoo's warm and inviting one. You swore to yourself in that moment not to walk anywhere on these premises without Jongwoo for fear of running into this man alone.

However uncomfortable you may have felt, Moon-Jo was in love, if that's what you would call it. He wanted this-you, so intensely and so immediately that his entire body felt as though it were shaking with tremors. He would stop at absolutely nothing to have you, to own you. You were what he had been unknowingly waiting for his entire existence and Jongwoo had only been the key. Smiling, he shook his hand out towards yours, ignoring the complaints from your boyfriend from beside you.

"My name is Seo Moon-Jo. The pleasure is all mine."

"(Y/N)." You replied.

i love my men pathetic, in need of therapy and with a long list of crimes

DOGSDOGS

CHAPTER ONE

I partnered up with the amazingly talented @ka3trv to create this multiple part dogsdogs fic!! Show their account some love, this story is probably my new favorite thing in existence and they're the mastermind behind it all! Will Graham is appointed to Bucharest after the events that unfolded following Hannibal's death. He's struggling with the new scenery, even more so now that Jack needs him to follow the case of the most dangerous men who live there. Nigel knows of the tabs the FBI has on him and he will do whatever it takes to make sure he gets out of this situation unscathed. A life without Gabi and a life without running.

The entirety of the room had only been lit with that of a singular light fixture; a complete contrast to that of the dance club outside the heavy doors of this private area where the men resided. The florescent purple and pink hues from the dance floor cascaded in patterns on the tiling through these doors, an invitation to the rest of society should the men choose to. However, despite the wafting smells of liquor and the promise of a good time through the eyes of the male gaze, Darko and Nigel sat unbothered and undetected, across from one another on the black leathered couches. This room was considered to be one reserved for "private showcases," and was quite lavishly decorated for its small size. Darko was comfortably sat with his arm flush against the decorative couch, seemingly calm for the situation at hand. Nigel, however, was having more difficulty finding comfort in the events of the folder strewn out before his eyes.

As if his scarring hadn't left him enough of a headache, there was now this tumultuous churning in his stomach in regard to how he and Darko would respond to this. There was an immediate threat to not only their work but their lifestyle, as this information being spread could land them in prison, or worse, with the death penalty. Nigel had escaped death once before, he didn't think he would be so lucky as to avoid it a second time.

He placed his fingers gently on the scar which adorned his forehead, a promise he made to himself never to allow his emotions grasp the better of him again. The sound of the police's bullet grazing his forehead and leaving him wounded on the streets of Bucharest resounded in his skull as a promise of his beloved Gabi's final departure from him. She would be pleased enough to live her life in the arms of that unruly American, Charlie. So be it. Her actions had aided him in his escape anyways as he was presumed dead. Continuing the story of his faux end wouldn't be hard when he pulled strings with Darko, partnering with him once again.

And this was the reason for him sitting before Nigel, clad in a professionally tailored black suit. It was properly fitted and steamed, an indication of the wealth this man possessed. No matter the attire, anyone who gazed upon his frame would've run for the hills upon sight. Nigel, however, wore his infamous dog printed button down, upon which he remembers first having given his warning to that wretched Charlie.

He had to stop himself. He couldn't afford to think of his Gabi in a time like this. Her bright red hair had signified the ever-burning flame of his love, now just tarnished embers. He had killed for her. He had died for her. All for her to choose another man.

Darko was the one to snap him out of his pit of nostalgia. He cleared his throat and gestured to the stack of papers uncovered by the manilla folder on the table in front of him, directing Nigel's attention to the task at hand. Even with Darko now on his side, a shiver ran through Nigel's being.

Within these papers were photographs, the professionally taken kind which came from the cameras of forensic specialists. These were not an uncommon sight to either of the men, as they had been partners in the craft of murder for quite some time. With an uneasy silence, save for the bass-boosted electronic beats coming from the club, Nigel's heart dropped with every single one of the images being removed from their place. Laid out before them, Darko was the one to speak first.

"They never seem to have enough, do they?" He asked, in a deep and throaty voice. He was referring to the sheer number of tabs the FBI had on the two of them and their work and was growing more and more irritable by the moment. There was more information to be gathered by the specialists and more bodies of their making to be uncovered in due time, Nigel and Darko knew this. They were in deep shit if the FBI had managed to track them to Bucharest.

Darko motions to one of the cameras placed in the corner of the ceiling above them, beckoning with his hand for someone to bring them drinks. He had owned this club which would eventually make the most sense for future business discussions with his clients. There would be no disturbances as long as the recordings had been deleted later on.

A man in a suit came in ad handed Darko a bottle of Prosecco and two respective glasses. He left almost as swiftly as he came, not wanting to be caught between the men and their business conversations, as he knew Darko's side hobbies quite well. Glasses were poured and he handed one to Nigel, whom downed the wine in two short gulps.

"They're appointing a man by the name of Will Graham to our case. He's supposedly the best in their system." Darko had procured this information from one of his insiders, however, intel was difficult to get out of the country. This was hearsay but had a substantial amount of evidence to back this claim, as these images had come straight from the FBI quarters in Virginia. Therefore, this ordeal must be met with precise planning, in the case of actuality. Preservation of one's image and freedom was never a bad idea.

Nigel was growing slightly frustrated. Darko had initially promised him that he knew a specialist to distribute the bodies of their victims in ways where they wouldn't be caught. Nigel's newfound life and identity relied heavily on this; he couldn't remain a dead man in the eyes of the government if he was on a wanted list for murder.

"We should make plans to kill him, another addition to the list won't make a goddamn difference." He stated, his words coming out more harshly than he originally intended. He wanted this ordeal to be done and over with as quickly as it had been sprung upon him as he wanted to go back to his life without potential persecution from the country. Not that he had much keeping him tied to Bucharest.

There she was again, flush in his mind. He thought back to the coffee he had earlier that he bought solely because it came from her favorite shoppe. The aroma of the freshly ground beans still reminded him of her.

"You know that's entirely unrealistic," Darko went on to explain, "If the FBI sent him to us as a means of profiling, if he were to go missing or wind up dead they would pinpoint us exactly." He stated, matter of fact. Now, Nigel wasn't one who didn't understand the inner and outer workings of their job, but he had been recently guided by anger. An angry man in a dog shirt. Irony at its finest.

"What do you suggest we do then?" Nigel inquired, tossing one of the photographs back down on the table he'd previously been examining. It was one of the man whom owned Darko money back in September; they'd gutted his insides and sold them off to make back every penny he'd owed.

"You will become his new best friend and we can form an alliance with the guy," Darko said, raising his glass to his lips and finishing the liquid, "Its been a year since she left, Nigel. You could use some company."

It was almost a sick joke the way the man had phrased his internal and now external pain. Nigel wore the wound on his head as a memoir to his long gone lover, whom he would never truly be over. Darko had a way of belittling everyone that worked for him and Nigel would be no exception. Yet, his counterpart was right. It would take careful consideration and calculation on their end to throw this "Will Graham" off of their path so they could continue their line of work.

"Don't be fucking ridiculous, I want no part in forming this shit." Nigel exasperated, even though he knew Darko's plan would be a good one. This way, they could throw of Will's intel on them and even gain some in the process. An FBI agent who could show some of their inner workings would only benefit them. He just didn't want to put in the effort of a pretend friendship to gain it.

"Unless you want another bullet to the face, then I suggest you shut your fucking mouth and do as I tell you." Darko angrily shot back, clearly disinterested in any of Nigel's potential discomfort with the ordeal. He needed this just as much as the former did. There was no way Nigel wouldn't succumb to this offer. He needed to remain out of the eye of the government.

"How long do you expect me to pretend this man is of importance to me in his presence?" Nigel began, clearly in a state of annoyance. Darko would always be the one to have someone else doing his dirty work.

"As long as it takes. We won't be the first to reach out though. That's practical suicide," Darko said, gathering up the files and handing them to Nigel to dispose of, "We will wait for this man to approach us since we have no idea what kind of intel he has on us already. We also don't want him to know we are familiar with his existence."

"What do we know about him, other than the fact he's profiling us?" Nigel asked, trying to get any potential help he could when he would be forced into an allyship with the man. Common interests and understandings worked the best for companionship.

"He's a professor. Teaches all that macabre shit. We also know he's not technically considered a real agent because he failed his psychological screenings. The man's deemed unstable."

Nigel looked at the front of the folder which had an image of the man thought to be tracing them. It was securely paperclipped despite all the other contents of the folder being haphazardly thrown in.

Something panged on the inside of his chest upon gazing at the man. There was an uncomfortable familiarity, despite not even having known him. The brunette with a form fitting blue flannel and corduroy trousers wasn't looking at the camera when the image was procured, but his piercing grey eyes were not to be missed. The man was most likely in his late thirties, with a clean stubble and two long scars stretching across the right side of his face. There was another one, slightly smaller than the two that was placed among his forehead, clean as if a knife had grazed his skin. What kind of history did this man have that would lead to such a bodily disfiguration? Although Nigel couldn't be one to talk, considering his own scars.

Despite never having met Will Graham, there was a certain aura he had that he couldn't place upon him.

Noting Nigel's eventual acceptance of the task, Darko withdrew himself from the room they'd discussed business matters. Nigel sat alone for a moment and replayed the conversation in his head. He would do this mission for himself, for the eventual life he wanted to live without Gabi. He hadn't had a murder-related task outside of his affections for her since they'd met.

He would never let anyone get that close to him again.

...

Lecturing on the topic of death had always been something Will was astute at. It had been his profession for years, to gaze upon the dead with an analytical brain, psychoanalyzing their physical states to determine their causes of death and the mentalities of those who were behind them. Pictures upon pictures of various crime scenes and people whose names and faces Will never had the intention of learning had been displayed upon the projection board above him. This was always the job description and it had never bothered him. Garrett Jacob Hobbs had come close to leaving a pit in Will's stomach as he'd been the one responsible for his death, but no one who'd been killed had ever left him with a feeling such as the departure of Hannibal Lecter.

The man who'd been his acclaimed psychiatrist and had worked his way into his heart had been around for the longest time that after he'd passed, Will no longer knew what to do with himself. It also didn't do him any favors that he came to the realization his feelings with which he shared with the man were more than platonic. It wasn't until their last moments with each other where Will was pulled into Hannibal's arms, the two of them soaked in the blood of the Great Red Dragon that he was finally able to understand what Hannibal had meant in seeing the beauty of death. And in seeing the beauty in what their relationship truly was and all that it could have been.

And it was taken away from him in the same night he was given it.

However, this work of his under the FBI had called to him once more, leading him to his recent affiliations in Bucharest. Jack had managed to convince him to set up site somewhere other than Quantico and pulled a few strings. Will had been an on and off professor at one of the universities, coming in only when the extra person was needed and then hitching a flight back to Wolf Trap, where everything reminded him of everything. In Bucharest, he was able to form himself another identity, one that existed outside of the gaze of Hannibal Lecter. On his lengthy stays at home, however, he caught himself in a perpetual waiting room, always with the underlying hope that maybe, just maybe, his partner would come strolling through the front doors of his house in that suit he always wore. He would pet Will's dogs as they all rushed to greet the man and he would smile at him with that same unsettling smirk he'd always had.

But the last memories Will would ever be graced with would be the moment they shared at the bottom of the cliff. There had been stars in Hannibal's eyes that night, an acknowledgement of Will's total and utter true form. Hannibal had seen Will for who he was and had loved him in his entirety for it. He wanted to push him past the limits that everyone else had placed upon him and to coerce Will towards the understanding Hannibal had all along. He wanted to mold him with his bare hands into the idealized shape of the gods, someone who would see and understand the elegance in the world beyond the living. Hannibal was never a religious man, but his devotion to Will was nothing short of worship.

"Achillies wished all the Greeks would die so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. It took divine intervention to stop them." Hannibal had whispered to him the night at that museum, standing in front of The Primavera, a Botticelli painting. The Primavera has stood as a symbol of new beginnings, and that was where their relationship stood. Will would travel to any continent in search of what he'd had with the man in hopes of a possibility of something new.

He wished the universe would have allowed him anything other than having to wake up on the damp rocks below, water harshly crashing into their sides, with the realization his life had been spared solely because Hannibal had wrapped him in his arms.

He stared at the card with the Romanian translation in front of him. He had spilled traces of coffee from one of the shoppes by the train station onto the cards, but he had a sufficient amount of practice by now. He was able to cite the exclamation in a rocky translation of the language. "As it is shown in the image, there's an obvious persistent difference between the simple murders. The left one is an act of...hatred, the right one an act of liberty. The dead man, whom upon arrival to the scene was deducted to be Michael Gerard. A victim of stage four cancer. After further research on the case, the mortuary team concluded that the wounds we found along the body of the man were explained by his son's desire to 'save him.' That son was none other than Jeremiah Gerard himself." Will stated, in the lecturing voice he'd grown so used to using over the years.

Ignoring the hands raised in the air, he shut the projector off shortly after finishing his sentence, dismissing the class and his thoughts from the events a year prior. This was not the time to reminisce. But there he was, Hannibal himself, standing at the back of the classroom with eyes turned towards will in a mocking manner. Will's encephalitis has gotten the better of him on numerous occasions and now a part of him was worried he was becoming borderline schizophrenic. He saw Hannibal everywhere he turned, almost hoping he were still alive. The hallucination disappeared from his gaze as he tried his best to use the counting method he'd picked up from extensive therapy.

1,2,3, and he was alone in the room once more, briefcase in hand and almost empty coffee in the other.

His newfound scars burned with his vision.

Although Bucharest was quite the sight, there were none of the winding roads and beautiful foliage Will had come to fall in love with in Virginia. This place was entirely urbanized, and social interaction was never just common, it was expected. Much to Will's dismay. There was no way one could get away with physically hiding themselves from conversation in the outdoors with a population this vast, druggies running around in the streets and children on corners with chalk in their hands. Despite this entirely new setting, Will had never felt more like himself. He understood everything now that he'd had it brought out of him, a spiral of emotions threatening to spill over until they had hardened into the person he was now. Every day without Hannibal was the same monotonous and boring schedule, but he had never felt the same since.

He pulled up to the apartment in which he resided while he was in Bucharest and not back at home. Either place was entirely lonesome; after the events that unfolded; Molly had decided for it to be the better they'd divorced. Even though he had loved her, he'd never felt such relief and remorse at the same time. And there were no more conversations with Alana, whom Will used to consider as one of his only friends now that she'd gone about her life somewhere hidden with Margot Verger.

And he was here, across the world, hoping to figure something out about this case. Maybe even about himself.

The apartment was cold for autumn because the windows weren't properly sealed. He'd been meaning to get that fixed but he hadn't the time. There was a fire going in the hearth Will had started from the moment he walked through the door as a means to try and stay warm through the night. An empty teacup and a spread of newspaper clippings were the only remnants of the night before, thrown about the hardwood floor in seemingly no correspondence. Will had gone to Bucharest in search of a new life, of course, but there was another factor at play.

Jack needed him to profile the guys responsible for the stream of Bucharest murders.

Bodies upon bodies had popped up along the waterfront, all disposed of without their organs. They were clearly uncared for, unlike the murderous artists he'd grown familiar with over the course of his work, and had their remnants carelessly strewn about. The most recent body to have been discovered was that of a man by the name of Darrow Lux, a supposed criminal with a background in Con artistry. No prints had been left among the body, just like the others. No organs either.

This wasn't a case unlike anything Will had dealt with before. There was, however, a surmountable less passion in his work than he'd had. sure, he wanted his old life back with the FBI but he still stung on the inside. He'd been subjected to some of the worst physical and emotional turmoil over the past few years, this last year being the worst.

Sighing, he picked himself up off the floor and headed to the barren kitchen, save for a small fake plant in the middle of the island. He never bothered to stock the place with food, preferring to eat out if he had the chance or skip his meals entirely. He'd lost a fair amount of weight since everything changed, but he was still pushing through.

Pouring himself a glass of water from the kitchen sink, he looked out towards the city streets below from the small window before him. There was a crowd of people smoking by the Hostel across the street, laughing and exchanging glances at the passerby. One of the women had a sketchpad that she was drawing with, and Will could almost smell the graphite of the pencils from where he stood if he only imagined hard enough. He missed drawing. He missed fishing. He missed the smells of the woods and the barking of his dogs. He missed Alana and Jack and going into work in the cool mornings. He missed his old job and his coffee maker at home that tasted much better than what they had in Bucharest.

He missed Hannibal.

Will finished his drink and then sauntered over to his loft, where he would spend the night tossing and turning with nightmares he'd grown used to.

We hope you enjoyed! This is a working fic in progress, but we both decided to release the first chapter early so you guys could get a feel for what's in store. Let us know your thoughts! 💛🦐