Will Graham And Hannibal Lecter —covered In Blood

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Prom?

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: you ask your boyfriend to be your date to the prom, but he turns you down. angst to fluff

wc: 3.4k

a/n: the chokehold this man has on me is unreal

stranger things masterlist

“Prom?” Eddie repeated back to you, bewildered and borderline offended by the mere suggestion. “You’re asking me to prom?”

You nodded, playing with your hands and avoiding eye contact. You knew this was a mistake. After spending so much time listening to his rants about conformity and “the dark side,” you should have known he wouldn’t be interested. 

“Sorry, Yn, but it’s really just not my scene. Wouldn’t you rather go on a regular date like we usually do?” he asked apologetically, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. He hated that he was the one to put such a dejected look on your pretty face, but he’d rather do almost anything else than go to a stupid school dance, even if it was with his girlfriend. Eddie swore his heart cracked when you only responded with a simple no, leaving him standing in the school parking lot by himself. You had been so hopeful that he would say yes. It was your senior prom and you wanted to go with your boyfriend. You hadn’t gone junior year, so this was your last chance to have this high school experience. 

You didn’t sit at the table the next day at lunch. Or the next. Or the next. You were actively avoiding Eddie, and the more you avoided him, the more his heart cracked. His eccentric personality was becoming more subdued with each passing day. It hurt to see him like that from across the cafeteria, but frankly you were hurt and slightly embarrassed at being rejected by your own boyfriend.

Not knowing what to do about his relationship problems, Eddie consulted Hellfire.

“Dude, you obviously hurt her feelings. Would it really be that bad to take her to prom? I mean c’mon, don’t you want to see your ‘sweetheart’ all dolled up just for you?” said Dustin, the rest of the guys nodding in agreement.

Eddie sighed, “If I showed up to prom, I’d make a hypocrite of myself. I love her, but…” He trailed off.

“But what?” You interrupted from behind him. You had decided to rejoin the boys at their table, intending to ask Eddie if you could talk privately. You wanted to apologize for the past few days. A silly school dance wasn’t worth your relationship.

Eddie stared up at you from his seat, wide-eyed, trying desperately to form the words that would stop the tears in your eyes from falling, but nothing but stuttering came out. With every fresh tear from your eyes, the cracks in Eddie’s heart deepened until it finally shattered at what you said next.

“If you have doubts about how you feel about me, then maybe we shouldn’t be together.” Your words came out in a whisper, as if it would lessen the blow. You hadn’t said it in a fit of anger, hadn’t said it to be malicious, you had actually meant it. Eddie was going into a tailspin. You broke up with him. The most precious person in his life was walking out the cafeteria doors, out of his life, and for what? Because his pride got in the way? Because he couldn’t give his girl one night? His club members were talking to him, but it was all just background noise to Eddie.

Mike snapped his fingers in Eddie’s face, “Dude! What are you doing?! Go after her!” That was all it took to spring Eddie into action. You were the best thing in his life and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try to fix this.

He jumped out of his chair, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush through the cafeteria. You were nowhere to be found. In a last ditch effort to find you, Eddie ran to the parking lot. He’d gotten there just in time. Just in time to see you pull out onto the road, that is.

From that point forward, all Eddie saw of you was brief glimpses in the hallways and fleeting looks in the cafeteria. 

Soon enough, the dreaded week of prom arrived.

Eddie was staring at you across the lunchroom again, lost in his own pity, when Dustin slammed his hands down on the Hellfire Club’s self proclaimed table. “Dude!! You have to make things right with Yn right now. Your campaigns SUCK lately, and you look like a kicked puppy. Just talk to her, Munson.” 

Eddie sighed and put his head in his hands. “She won’t even talk to me, Henderson. I don’t know what you want me to do.” Before the younger boy could respond, a crash sounded throughout the cafeteria. Everyone looked towards the noise, and the cause of it, which happened to be Robin Buckley hurriedly fixing the trash can she had stumbled over moments prior. 

“Uh- sorry everyone, um- proceed!” She quickly turned and exited the cafeteria, wide eyed with a hand over her mouth. 

“Yn might not talk, but I know someone that will tell you everything you need to know.” Confused, Eddie lifted his head and followed his friend's gaze. “Huh?”

 The next day, in between 3rd and 4th period, Robin found herself cornered by the smallest, most determined-looking freshman she’d ever seen.“Uh, can I help you?”

“That depends.” The boy squinted at her, scrutinizing. 

“On.. what, exactly?”  She shifted anxiously under the curly-haired boy's glare.

Without answering her question, he continued. “Come to the science hall during lunch.” With that, he promptly turned on his heel and hurried away. 

“I’m not doing that.” Robin uttered under her breath. 

Robin did, in fact, do that. Call it a morbid curiosity.

When she arrived, Dustin was already there, checking his watch and tapping his foot as if he was an angry parent. “Seriously, could you have taken any longer? Lunch is almost over!.”  

“Sorry baby-man. Gotta eat.” The boy rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Whatever, Eddie should be here in a second.” 

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear. What’s all this, Henderson?” Before the boy in question could respond, Robin interrupted. “Woah woah woah hold on a second this is bad- I can’t talk to you, Munson.”  Eddie furrowed his brows disbelievingly. “Why? We literally went to middle school together. Are you seriously still mad about the time I cut off your ponytail? I was 12! And it looks super metal short-“ Robin waved her hand in the air, cutting him off. 

“No, dingus! I can’t talk to you because Yn is still super upset with you and now you’re all broken up and stuff! Girl code still exists, dude!” 

The boy darkened. “Oh. Did she.. did she confirm that we were broken up or..” 

Robin panicked when she saw the look on Eddie’s face. Yes. Panic. That’s what she would tell Yn when she undoubtedly gets in trouble for this later. 

“I mean yes but she still loves you she’s just really upset because it’s her senior year and everything and she knows it’s not your style she just figured that you might make one little sacrifice for your girlfriend because she’s always supporting your Dungeons and Dragons nerd things all the time and it seems like you expect her to compromise and I guess it just hurts her feelings that you won’t do the same for her and she already picked out this really cool dress and she was just really looking forward to it and she’s still going but it just won’t be the same and-”

The girl took a deep breath to begin talking again, but she was interrupted by the man in front of her. “Oh shit. Ohhh I fucked up.”

The boy beside him hummed in acknowledgement. “Oh shit indeed, Eddie.”

Eddie ran a ring-clad hand through his hair and laughed incredulously, sliding down the lockers he had been leaning against. “I’m the biggest idiot ever to exist in the history of idiots.” He frantically looked up at Robin. “Quick, what color is her dress?”

The day had somehow snuck itself onto everyone. Girls were panic-buying hairspray and boys were rushing to the nearest grocer for acceptable looking bouquets. As soon as the sun went down, Hawkins’ roads were filled with rented limos and concerned parents. Meanwhile, Eddie was pacing around his trailer as Dustin tried to give him a pep talk.

“Dude, relax. This’ll work, I’m positive.”

Despite Dustin’s words, Eddie didn’t look any less nervous than he was before. He stood in front of Dustin and spread his arms, “Do I look okay?”

“Perfect! Except for one thing. Do you have a tie?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t figure out how to tie it so I just took it off. Do I need one?”

Dustin rolled his eyes and sighed, “Bring it here.”

10 minutes later Eddie could proudly say that he knew how to tie a tie. Dustin gave Eddie another once-over before approving; with Dustin’s stamp of approval, Eddie was finally ready to knock on your front door (after dropping Dustin off at home, of course). His emotions were so frazzled that he doesn't even remember the drive. One second he was putting a bouquet in his passenger seat and his guitar in the back and the next he was pulling into your driveway. It was nearly 8pm already, and though he wasn’t a religious man, he was praying to any god out there that you were still home. Eddie knocked on the front door with one sweaty hand, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for someone to open the door.

Except it wasn’t you who opened the door, it was your mother. “Eddie? What are you doing here? Yn’s not here right now.”

He nodded quickly before running back to his van, your mother watching him, confused at his unusual behavior. There was no time to waste. If you weren’t home then you must have already been at the dance. Robin did say you planned to go anyway. Plan B it is.

As soon as he made it to the school, he was rushing to the gym, bouquet in hand and guitar strapped to his back. The dance had already started, which made it difficult to spot you in the crowd of his peers. He eventually spotted you seated at a table with Robin, completely oblivious to his presence. You looked beautiful, and as you laughed at something your friend said, his heart tightened at the thought that it could’ve been him sitting with you and drinking (probably spiked) shitty pink punch.

“Guess she wasn’t home, huh? You owe us big time, Eddie. Do you know how hard it is to rent a tux day of? It’s easier to buy alcohol underage. Thought they were gonna background check us, dude.”  

He turned to his friends and smiled sheepishly. “Seriously though, guys, thanks. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn't agreed.” 

“Whatever Munson, we’re desperate for you to get Yn back. Your campaigns have been dogshit lately because you’re so heartbroken. It’s pathetic. Seriously. Now what set are we playing?”

Eddie smiled. “Oh no boys, we’re not playing a Corroded Coffin original tonight.”

While Eddie led his band-mates backstage, you stood and offered your hand to Robin. “Let’s dance, Rob. I’m missing out on a boyfriend at prom but no WAY am I missing out on dancing to Pat Benatar.” Reluctantly, your friend stood up and took your hand. “Cool ring by the way, where'd you get it?”

You looked at your hand, confused, until you realized you were wearing one of Eddie’s rings. You’d had intentions to give it back, but you couldn’t bear to take it off. It was your favorite of his, a silver, spider shaped ring with a ruby in the middle. “Oh uh, I got it at a vintage shop. Now come on, the song’s almost over!” Dancing with Robin allowed you a moment of reprieve from thinking about Eddie. It didn’t last long though, not when you heard the music stop abruptly, replaced with angry protests from your peers. “Seriously? What gives?” 

Curious, you made your way to the front of the crowd surrounding the stage, Robin in tow. Before you could reach the stage, you heard the sound of a bass guitar starting up. “What the hell?” You finally pushed your way past the group closest to the stage, and what you saw made you stop dead in your tracks. “Robin, please tell me you’re seeing this too.” 

“If you’re also seeing Eddie Munson on stage at prom playing with his band, then yeah I'm seeing it.” 

You gawked as he leaned towards the mic and started singing. There was no way he was going to these lengths. “Tonight- I wanna give it all to you, In the darkness, so much I wanna do-“ You saw him search the crowd, but his eyes never met yours.

“Doesn’t he usually play all that death metal stuff? Kind of a genre switch if you ask me.” You looked at Robin and ran your hand through your hair. “Yeah-” You had to yell over the deafening noise . “It’s my favorite!”

 “And tonight- I wanna lay it at your feet, ‘cause girl I was made for you, and girl you were made for me-“ 

The crowd was buzzing again, excited that the ‘freaks’ were playing recognizable music. “I was made for lovin’ you baby, you were made for lovin’ me!” You felt yourself smile endearingly, adoring how at-home Eddie looked in his element, eyes closed and all but yelling into the microphone. 

“And I can’t get enough of you baby, can you get enough of me?” For the first time, you took notice of his outfit. It looked like he’d actually tried- he had a tie and everything, though he hadn’t taken off his signature rings or his worn-down converse. (You preferred it that way anyways- it was unapologetically Eddie) 

“And tonight, I wanna see it in your eyes, feel the magic, there’s somethin’ that drives me wild.” His eyes raked over the crowd again. “And tonight, we’re gonna make it come true, cause girl you were made for me, and girl I was made for you-“ Finally, your eyes met his, and he grinned, triumphant. With as much force as he could muster, he sang the chorus, and motioned for the crowd to join. “I was made for lovin’ you, baby, you were made for lovin’ me!” Throughout the rest of the song, Eddie’s eyes were only on you, pleased that you at least looked amused at his performance. However, as soon as the song ended, his confidence was spent and he was eaten up with anxiety. Would you be angry? Would you tell him to piss off? As he left the stage in an attempt to find you, he felt a hand clasp his shoulder. Expecting you, he turned around, but instead found himself face-to-face with his drummer.

 “I saw her head to the bathroom with Buckley. They’re probably deciding your fate right now, dude.” 

“Thanks, Gareth, that really makes me feel better.” Eddie deadpanned.

 “I’d pray to god that Yn’s in a forgiving mood. We’ll catch you later, Eddie. Goodluck.”

“Y’know, I don’t see why you're so freaked about it. Do you have any idea how many girls would kill to have a guy that would do that for her?” 

“Do you know how many girls didn’t have to break up with their boyfriends before they showed up to the god damn prom?” 

Robin shrugged. “Touché.”

“So, what do you think I should do?”

“Don’t leave it up to me!” she screeched. “I’ve never had to deal with this before!”

“No no no, not a valid answer. What would love guru Steve Harrington do?”

Robin snorted. “Something dumb, probably.” You groaned and put your head in your hands as you slid down the stall door. “Somebody sedate me.”

After a moment of silence, Robin spoke up, giving her best impression of Steve. “You gotta take a chance on the guy, what if you lose the wrong guy and end up a single, nerdy loser that works at a video shop like me for the rest of your life?”

You giggle, but then pause. “Wait, you’re right.”

Robin blanched. “About your future of being a single loser?”

You pushed her slightly. “No idiot, about taking a chance.” You lept to your feet and started out of the bathroom. “Hey, where are you going?” 

“To do something dumb, probably.” 

As soon as you exited the bathroom, you frantically looked around for a glimpse of Eddie’s mess of dark hair. Immediately, you spotted him pacing around the entrance to the gym. He was fiddling with his hair, frazzling the ends and rolling them over his fingers. You walked towards him quietly, and he didn’t notice you until you spoke.

 “You clean up pretty good, Munson.” You lightly joked. “Oh my god, Yn-“ He was tempted to hug you, but he didn’t know how you'd react. Your arms were crossed over your chest and you looked uncomfortable. God, he could feel his palms sweating already. “Yn, I'm so sorry, I’ve been such a dick and you look so amazing and I can’t believe I almost missed seeing you just because of my pride. I’ve been totally blind to your needs and just totally inconsiderate. I hope you can forgive me.” Afraid of your answer, he looked down at his feet, bracing himself for your response. 

To his surprise, you just sighed. “Eddie.. It’s not all your fault. I overreacted over something I knew was probably a stretch in the first place. I knew prom wasn’t really your thing and I almost lost the guy I love over it.”

He looked up and met your eyes, hopeful. ”So you forgive me?”

You smiled and he pulled you into a hug. “This time. But you know, you can’t just show up and sing me a Kiss song everytime we fight.”

He grinned. “Of course. Next time it’ll be a Depeche Mode song, then Tears for Fears, then maybe even an Ozzy song.” You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, Munson.” You snuggled into his chest and appreciated his warmth for a moment until he moved. 

“Hey wait, I have something for you. He removed his hands from around your waist and stepped back. 

“Close your eyes!” He said in a sing-song voice. You huffed a breath in amusement and complied. “They’re closed.” You heard shuffling before he spoke again. “Wait here for a sec.” You heard footsteps retreating and waited, but not for long. 

When he returned, he was accompanied by a crinkling sound. “Okay now open.” You complied, and were met by the sight of Eddie offering you a bouquet that nearly covered his entire face. You held back a giggle and took the flowers as he cleared his throat comically and brought himself down to one knee. 

“Now, will you, Miss Yn Ln, do me the ultimate honor and accompany me to senior prom?” 

You tapped the bouquet to your chin and pretended to think deeply. 

“Okay, sweetheart, honey, baby, I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t have the strongest knees and this is really doing a number on me.” You laughed and offered your hand to him in a faux-cordial manner. “Well, Mr. Munson, I would be delighted to accompany you to the senior prom.” Before he stood, he kissed your hand and smiled. “I love you, Yn.” You felt yourself melt a little. “I love you too, Eddie.” He brought you into yet another hug, burying his face into your neck. You stayed like that for a few minutes, until you felt him smirk against your neck and lift his head to meet your eyes.

“So I take it you liked my performance?” He raised his brows and you huffed. “Oh my god, would you just shut up and kiss me already?” He smiled and leaned in until your lips were ghosting each other. “As the lady wishes.” Finally, his lips connected with yours. After a moment, you pulled away. “So I guess I really did get the entire prom experience, Mr. Teen Angst.” 

  “Not quite.” You gave him a questioning look, but all he did was wiggle his brows suggestively. You deadpanned and started walking back to the gym. “Always gotta ruin the sweet moment, Munson. Keep it in your pants at least until we get home, ’kay?” He smiled and followed after you. “No promises!” When he caught up to you, he grabbed your hand. “And by the way, sweetheart, I'm 20, so it’s not teen angst, it’s just the regular kind.” 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Fight Club

Johnny X Y/N X Yuta Nakamoto

Just a piece of advice!!! This fanfiction probably won't make any sense unless you've seen the 1999 movie Fight Club written by David Fincher. This revolves around the storyline for said movie and previous knowledge of it needs to be present for it to make sense! In that case, read on! :) 💜💜

⚠️ Warnings: swearing, mentions of gore, mentions of nsfw, talk of weapons and violence as well as drugs⚠️

"You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You are not your fucking Khakis. You are the all-singing all-dancing crap of the world."

...

Part Two:

Flashback:

Going on business trips was Yuta's least favorite part about his shitty existence. Having to travel from flight to flight for his business sucked, as he would say, ass.

So another plane ticket for him would mean another night of no sleep, zoning out while someone talked about a car line they needed to recall because of safety hazards, and then back onto his flight with people he had no interest in. That's the thing about self-serving "friends." They're just people who you have the displeasure of meeting because you're both going to the same place. After you're done trying to pass the time, you never see each other again and that's that. Well, Yuta thought of it that way.

Trying to get some sleep, he rested against the very uncomfortable plane seat and closed his eyes.

He didn't know when he passed out, just that it wasn't for long. The flight attendant had already gone through with the snack tray, he figured from the pretzels other people had on their laps that it wasn't too long ago. Sighing, he shuffled around his seat so he was in view of the window. However, someone was now sitting there fiddling with the window cover. He had longer black hair and red tinted glasses taking up most of his face. A cigarette was dangling between his teeth- unlit -and he had on a pair of very tight and very leather jeans. He also had an old pair of dress shoes with a hole in the top and scuff marks along the side. This man must've gotten dressed in the dark, Yuta decided.

"If you feel that you would be unable or unwilling to perform the duties on the safety card, please ask a flight attendant to reseat you."

The Elton John impersonator finally spoke to Yuta, a cocky grin on his face and glasses slowly sliding down his nose. In his hand was the manual for a plane crash which he must've taken out of the seat pocket in front of him. Yuta didn't think that anyone actually read those.

"That's a lot of responsibility."

"Wanna switch seats?"

"No, no I don't think I'm the man for that particular job."

What was with this guy? Yuta's first thought was drugs, but then he mentally slapped himself for thinking that. 'This guy's probably just as sane as I am', he thought.

The man sighed and looked around at the rest of the passengers before staring back out the window. "An exit door procedure thirty thousand feet. Mhm. The illusion of safety." He smiled again, except this time Yuta could feel himself glued to his chair, as if his movements would lead to the plane crash Red Glasses was talking about.

"Yeah, I guess so." Yuta let out with a sigh.

Just then the man said, "You know why they put oxygen masks on planes?"

'Oh joy', "So you can breathe."

Red Glasses sighed and rolled his eyes. It's clear that he's making Yuta out to be an idiot. "Oxygen gets you high. In a catastrophic emergency, you're taking giant brain-panicked breaths. So you become euphoric, docile, you accept your fate. It's all right here." He grabs the pamphlet and opens to the page he was reading. Then, shoving it in Yuta's face, he continues his rant.

"Emergency water landing 600 mph. Blank faces, calm as Hindu cows."

The horribly computer generated pictures of people following safety protocol showed them all- as Red Glasses stated - unusually calm. At this, Yuta laughs. The man did have a point.

"That's uhm, that's an interesting theory."

After a pause in conversation, Yuta tries to talk to the man again as he realizes that this is the most interesting conversation he's had throughout his whole trip. He actually didn't expect someone with so much exuberance to be seated on his opposite side.

"What do you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what do you do for a living?"

The man's face turned into another one of those cocky smiles as he pushed a couple strands of hair away from his eyes.

"Why? So you can pretend like you're interested?"

Yuta laughed again, not sure how to respond. His textbook conversations that he had thought up earlier while sitting on his prized IKEA couch wasn't working. The conversations he saved for when he didn't know what to say. They were usually foolproof, but not with this guy. For once in his life, Yuta felt dumb.

"You have a kinda sick desperation in your laugh," The man stated as he reached for something from below the seat in front of him. Realizing what it was, Yuta exclaimed that they had the same briefcase. Odd stranger and similar taste. Interesting.

"Soap."

"Sorry?"

"I make and I sell soap." He opened the briefcase and saw the bars of soap Red Glasses was talking about. For the neat way they were packaged, Yuta could tell this guy was serious. Indeed, he made soap. They were a little deformed, but Yuta guessed the sold well. Their appearance was high quality.

"The art sticks of civilization." Yuta took the business card held out in front of him.

'And this is how I met....' "Johnny Seo."

"Did you know if you mixed equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice concentrate you can make nepalm?" Johnny said, looking directly at Yuta now.

"No I did not know that, is that true?"

"That's right. One can make all kinds of explosives using simple household items."

"Really?"

"If one were so inclined." Johnny smirked again and shut the briefcase in his lap closed. The smell of the fruity soap washed over Yuta's nose as it did, and he started to understand why people bought them. There's a sense of familiarity to the smell, Yuta couldn't tell if it reminded him of old lady perfume or bacon.

"Johnny, you are by far the most interesting single-serving friend I have ever met. See, I have this thing that everyone on a plane is single-serving-"

"-Oh I get it. That's very clever." Johnny interrupted Yuta as he was about to explain his odd correlation with people and planes. Usually, the person Yuta talked to when he boarded was someone who was desperate to get him to shut up, so they let him talk about God knows what for however long he wanted. Not Johnny, though.

For lack of something better to say, Yuta replied with "Thank you."

"How's that working out for you?"

"What?"

"Being clever."

'Who is this guy?' "Great."

"Hmn. Keep it up then." Johnny patted Yuta's shoulder and smiled again. It was 100% a half smile and Yuta could tell that his small talk was boring Johnny to no end. His observations were proved true when Johnny readied to get up to leave his seat.

"Right-O. Now, a question of etiquette as I pass- do I give you the ass or the crotch?"

...

Yuta aggressively typed on his work computer while his thoughts mercilessly tugged at his brain. Y/N was mad again, Yuta could tell. It wasn't just about the dress thing, no it was also because of the sex. She'd been pestering him about it all week, trying to lure him upstairs. Yuta wasn't sure why she was trying to play with both him and Johnny but he knew that there was something wrong.

Fight Club was also very quickly taking over Yuta's life. He dressed sloppily to work every day, not even bothering to put on a tie or button up the rest of his shirt, with blood stains from a fight the night before. He was even smoking in the office, something he wasn't used to doing but now couldn't care less about.

Throughout all of the activities taking hold of him, Yuta couldn't sleep again. His insomnia was the worst he can remember it ever being. With that thought still on his mind, he grabbed his laptop bag and walked out of the office, on his way to Joon's once again.

...

"Alright boys. It's time for another fight. This week we have Yuta and one of the newcomers."

Johnny was getting used to his position as a spectator. He'd only fought a couple of times, but he seemed to get a pass from the other members because of the position of leader he'd taken over. His poise and demeanor had changed since Yuta's first encounter with him; that cocky, arrogant smirk still resided on his face but that was all that was left of the Johnny Yuta once knew. Or so he thought. He'd only known Johnny for a few months after all.

Yuta prepared himself for his next fight. He was angry. And his insomnia was getting worse by the second- he needed someone to take his aggression out on. Pain seemed to be the only cure to his sleep deprivation.

"Alright Yuta. You're up against Ten."

Yuta stared at the tall and muscular man at the other end of the "ring". He wasn't jacked but he definitely worked out. He was fit, covered in tattoos, and was littered with piercings along the sides of his ears. This man had so many pictures etched onto his skin that Yuta doubted he could even count them all. And, he was bleached blonde. Like- really bleached blonde. Draco Malfoy would've been jealous.

Yuta planted his feet firmly to the ground, watching the strange man named Ten do the same thing. This was his first night, so Yuta would be sure to make it memorable for him. At least, from the ground.

"How much do you bet?" Yuta heard from someone in the crowd. Since when was Fight Club about bets?

"I'll give you a twenty for tattoos."

That was all Yuta needed to hear before he was filled with rage. Johnny was in on this too? This was just supposed to be the two of them. Since when was it about an underground cult? Yuta felt sick to his stomach as he dealt the first blow.

And then another. And then another. And then another.

Why wasn't Ten fighting back? Well you see, Yuta had struck him completely by surprise, rendering him defeated from the minute his ass hit the cement ground of Joon's sacred basement. Ten couldn't even stand to try again before this kid was on top of him hitting him everywhere: the jaw, the nose, the eyes, even his motherfucking ear.

Yuta was ruthless.

For once, Fight Club was silent. The only thing that could be heard was Yuta's punches and the snapping of bones and moaning of Ten from beneath him as his body contorted into uncomfortable positions. He was bleeding from his nose and mouth and his beautiful face was now going to have an incredibly large scar across the side.

Amidst all of this commotion, Johnny lit a cigarette.

"Get him off."

Yuta was pulled away from Ten who was now knocked out cold.

"Why'd you beat up Ten that badly?" Johnny asked, looking directly at Yuta with an undecipherable look. He had a beer in one hand and hair frizzled everywhere. Over the past couple of months it had grown to an extraordinary length of an inch and a half. This meant flyaway strands everywhere. Yuta was mainly just looking for anything to focus on instead of his friend's face. The humiliation of what he had done to Ten's face was enough for him. Yuta held his wrist to his chest and assessed any leftover damage.

"I felt like destroying something beautiful."

...

The streetlights were dim as Johnny and Yuta ran through the dark. The sidewalk was uneven so they'd taken to the side of the road instead, making their way to the back of a large building with scuffed up shoes and bloodied noses. Yuta had no idea why he was here other than the fact that Johnny had dragged his ass out into the cold to "make soap" or whatever the fuck that meant. Yuta knew he'd figure it out though, Johnny always had a way with turning anything into a philosophical speech.

The chain-link fence was nearing Yuta's vision as he and Johnny ran on. The lights were brighter up there, and for a second Yuta wondered if they would get caught trying to break into the place. Johnny had said it was abandoned, but that obviously wasn't true seeing as he was shimmying his way over the fence after throwing his coat up over the barbed wire. He was making fast hurried movements and Yuta followed suit, grabbing the red leather jacket and hoisting it over his shoulder once he was on the other side. An alarm rang out and they both ducked for cover behind a large dumpster.

"I thought your dumbass said this place was abandoned?"

"It is at night. Usually."

"Who's out here?!?" They heard a policeman yell, the sound of a dog nearby made them stop in their tracks.

"Shit. Guess we'll have to wait him out." Johnny said between drawls of his cigarette.

"Wait him out?! It's 26 degrees outside are you crazy?!?"

At this, Johnny smiled. "Very."

The next twenty minutes were grueling as they waited for the guard to leave. Once security was taken care of, Johnny led Yuta to another dumpster on the other side of the building. Upon opening it, he climbed inside and started rumaging through it.

"Johnny, where are we?"

"Can't you fucking read?"

Yuta looked above Johnny's head to where he was pointing. There was a giant sign that proved they were in a medical facility. Liposuction.

At Yuta's realization, a bag of said material was thrown at him and he barely caught it in his arms before it fell to the ground. The red and flesh colored goop slid around in the bag reminding Yuta of throw up.

"Here, there's a few more."

Going back over the fence, Johnny threw Yuta more bags from the dumpster as he caught them from the other side. However, one of these were a failed attempt because the Yuta had found himself lost in thought. You, in particular.

He remembered how excited you were to show him the dress you'd bought. Your happy little giggles as you paraded around in it when you had found it made his heart swell.

Wait why does he remember that? Wasn't the first time he'd seen you wear it was in the kitchen?

"Hey shit face! The lard!"

Snapping back into reality, Yuta watched the bag catch on the barbed wire and split open, releasing a flood of human fat and blood all over his head.

"Aw fuck."

...

Yuta had taken a very thorough shower. He had been washing for hours it felt like, just to try and remove that god-awful smell from his hair and his clothes. Not that the water on Paper Street was very clean, but it was better than nothing.

Once he was finished he got dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. It was already past 3:00am and he doubted he would be getting much sleep anyways, so he just got ready for work. Walking down the rickety stairs from his bedroom and into the kitchen, he was met with that horrible smell once again.

"Ugh, what is that?" Yuta asked, looking for Johnny to answer. He held his nose and made his way to the fridge where he was stopped by Johnny who brought out some of his experiment stuff.

"Ay watch it this shit burns." He said, going back to stirring whatever pot he had been fussing over previously. Johnny was wearing nothing but his pants from earlier, his shirt was lying on the other side of the counter and his jacket had been abandoned to the bedroom upstairs. Because of this, Yuta was able to see Johnny's exposed muscles as well as the scars from previous fights and other miscellaneous events in his life. Yuta couldn't help but stare. Johnny really was pretty.

"Okay." He motioned for Yuta to stand at the table that was covered with experiments and the lard from their previous adventure. Once Yuta was situated at the table with a confused expression dawning his face, Johnny smiled. This was one of those malicious ones that he put on before he fucked something up for Yuta again. Last time he'd given him this look, it was when he threw Yuta's work computer out the window of their dingy old house blabbering on about corporate businesses and the corruption of everyday society.

Johnny then grabbed Yuta's hand and kissed it.

"What is this?"

Johnny picked up a lenticular container from his left hand side and started to pour the powdery contents onto Yuta's hand.

"This," he said, "is chemical burn."

Yuta was confused as to why his wrist was being held down to the spot but then the chemical kicked in. Yuta's first reaction was to scream.

The pain was unbearable. It was the worst pain Yuta had ever felt and he was starting to wish he could die just to get it to stop. Anything to put out the flames on his hand, eating his flesh and leaving a crater in its wake. His breathing quickened as his body went into fight or flight mode, his hand shaking around in Johnny's grasp and his legs wobbling.

"It'll hurt more than you've ever been burned and it'll leave a scar." Johnny stated in a nonchalant tone.

'If guided meditation could work for cancer it could work for this.' Yuta thought as he closed his eyes and tried to envision a nice forest somewhere. His daydreaming, however, was cut short by Johnny's voice.

"Stay with the pain. Don't shut this out."

"No!" Yuta drew back from Johnny's hand and his head hit the shelf containing their unused pots and pans. He held his burning hand to his side as he waited for the pain to stop or even just dwindle a little. Yuta felt his adrenaline levels skyrocket as tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

Johnny took hold of Yuta's wrist with his burning hand once again and slammed it down on the table. Due to his thrashing, Yuta knocked a lot of Johnny's materials onto the ground of the kitchen, not caring about destroying anything and only thinking of the excruciating pain before his eyes.

"Look. At. Your. Hand! The first soap was made from the ashes of heroes, like the first monkey shot into space! Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing!" Johnny stared at his friend dead in the eyes and tried to illicit a sense of fear into him.

Yuta screamed again as he tried not to think of the words sear or flesh. Nothing was working to try and calm the pins and needles attacking his body. He tried to break away from Johnny but to no avail. The man was prepared for this, it seemed.

"STOP IT. This is your burning hand! It's right here!" With that statement, Johnny slammed Yuta's hand against the counter again to try and focus his friend on his philosophical assignment. He was getting pissed now.

"I'm going to my cave. I'm going to go to my cave and I'm going to find my power animal!" Yuta exclaimed, trying to remember his sessions from support group and their ways of coping with difficult tasks. He remembered in a Leukemia group that someone had mentioned a "safe space" where you could form whatever it is your heart desires to try and make yourself feel safe in an unsafe situation. Yuta found his to be a cave with a penguin, however, that penguin has changed into his daydream of you.

"No!" Johny rolled his eyes and slammed his fist on the table to accentuate his point. "Don't deal with it the way those dead people do! Come on!"

"I get the point you're making please! Please make it stop!" Yuta managed to get out in between heavy breaths and the knot in his throat.

Johnny pursed his lips. "No! What you're feeling is premature enlightenment!"

Yuta imagined his cave once again in an effort to escape his reality. Instead of your calming face, he was met with the image of you naked while he was atop you, both of you within the icy confines of his arctic imagination. He coughed as he went in and out of his vision.

Johnny must've sensed what his friend was up to, because not seconds later Yuta was getting slapped across the face. "It's the greatest moment of your life, man! And you're off somewhere missing it!"

"No I am not!" Yuta screamed through gritted teeth.

"Shut up! Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, then what does that tell you about God?!"

"No, no I don't-" Another forceful slap from Johnny resonated throughout the room.

"Listen to me!" Johnny threw his goggles off his head and onto the floor with the other cups of mysterious substances that Yuta had dropped.

Johnny got closer to his face to the point where if he leaned any further over the table, he'd be nose to nose with Yuta.

"You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. But, that's not the worst thing that can happen."

"It's not?!"

"We don't need him!" Johnny spat, and Yuta could tell that his pleading was getting him nowhere. For now, all he could do would be to endure the pain until Johnny felt sorry enough to tell him how to stop the burning. He had to know, right? He was the one who was working with the fucking chemical.

"We don't! We don't need him, I agree!!"

Johnny smiled at him from the other side of the table. "Fuck damnation man, fuck redemption! We are God's unwanted children?! Then so be it!"

Yuta flung his hand to the side with Johnny still attached, knocking over more things in their kitchen and watching as his supposed to be single-serving friend laughed through his pain.

"Listen! You can run water over your hand to make it worse, or you can- look at me! -or you can use vinegar to neutralize the burn."

Bingo. That was Yuta's ticket out of this hell. His eyes met Johnny's and he could feel his hatred for him bubbling up from his chest and into his eyes where he put everything he felt into his look. He wanted Johnny to know how he was feeling.

"There you go."

"Please let me have it! Please!"

"First, you have to give up. First you have to know, know, not fear, that one day you're going to die."

"You don't know how this feels!" Yuta screamed again in agony, watching the bubbling of his flesh on what was left of the top of his hand. Of course Johnny could sit all high and mighty on his side of the table, he had no idea how much Yuta was suffering. Was this some sort of sick joke?

Johnny's malicious smile returned once again as he raised his other hand from under the table and into Yuta's line of vision. There, on the spot Yuta felt the most pain at the moment, was a scar similar to that of a chemical burn on Johnny's hand. Ugly, big, and worn with pride.

"It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."

Yuta's eyes met his as he started to calm down and his body adjusted to the fire on his right hand. "Okay." He said as a tear rolled down his cheek.

Johnny slowly removed the boy's hand from his grasp and watched as Yuta held his same position with his hand over the table. He was shaking, but he was determined to see this through now, knowing that it was one of Johnny's more difficult lessons. If he could get through Fight Club on the daily, he could get through this, easy. Even though the burn hurt more than any missing tooth or broken nose.

Johnny grabbed the giant jug off the counter behind him and flipped the cap off, throwing it's contents onto Yuta's hand and drenching him in vinegar. The pain instantly stopped and Yuta clutched his hand to his chest and fell to the floor, calming himself down after all of this. He looked up towards the table and saw Johnny staring down at him with that shit-eating grin of his.

"Congratulations. You're one step closer to hitting the bottom."

Amongst the spinning of the ceiling and the labored breathing, Yuta found beauty in the events of that night on Paper Street. They might not have made soap, but they made a man. And Yuta found out he was more capable of anything than ever before.

...

(Part three coming soon!)

[AN:] Thank you for reading! Please interact with your thoughts! This is somewhat new writing material for me and I would love to know if you liked it or not! Thank you! :)

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! 💛🦐

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

FIGHT CLUB

Johnny Seo X Y/N X Yuta Nakamoto

Just a piece of advice!! This fanfic probably won't make any sense unless you've seen the 1999 movie, Fight Club written by David Fincher. This revolves around the storyline for said movie and previous knowledge of it needs to be present for it to make sense! In that case, read on! :) 💜💜

⚠️ Warnings: swearing, mentions of gore, mentions of nsfw, talk of weapons and violence as well as drugs⚠️

People were always asking me, did I know Johnny Seo?

"We won't really die, we'll be immortal."

"You're thinking of vampires."

"oh-...ra..aH-...oo"

With a gun barrel between your teeth, you only speak in vowels.

With my tongue, I can feel the silencer holes drilled into the barrel of the gun. Most of the noise a gunshot makes is expanding gases. I totally forgot about Johnny's whole murder-suicide thing for a second and I wondered how clean the gun barrel was.

Johnny checked his watch. "Three minutes."

The building we're standing in won't be here in three minutes. You take a 98-percent concentration of fuming nitric acid and add three times as much sulfuric in a bathtub full of ice. Then, glycerin drop-by-drop. I know this because Johnny knows this.

The demolitions committee of Project Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns of this building with blasting gelatin. The primary charge will blow the base charge, and this spot Johnny and I are standing on will be a point in the sky.

"This is our world now. Two minutes."

Two minutes to go and I'm wondering how I got here.

...

Part One:

"I want you to hit me." Johnny said, fixing his posture and squaring up to Yuta trying to get a better position for a fight. They were outside of Joon's on a cold night after Yuta lost his apartment and his job. Both of which exploded in his face. His apartment a bit too literally. He wondered if any of his Ikea furniture survived the blast.

"I- What?" Yuta was confused now. First, Johnny had stolen a bunch of ketchup packets from the inside of the restaurant, stuffed them in his pockets, and walked out with a cigarette dangling between his teeth. Now, he was asking Yuta to knee him in the gut or swat him on the nose.

"You heard me. I know you want to."

Truth is, Yuta did want to hit him. And to be fair, Johnny deserved it. I mean, the guy blew up his apartment with homemade dynamite for Christ's sake.

Yuta reeled his arm back and hit Johnny the best he could. Johnny looked taken aback as he stumbled to regain his footing. Through a bloody nose and determined eyes he replied, "My turn."

And thus, Fight Club commenced.

...

"The rules of Fight Club are as follows:

One, you do not talk about Fight Club.

Two, you DO NOT talk about Fight Club.

Three, someone yells stop, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.

Four, only two guys to a fight.

Five, one fight at a time.

Six, no shirts, no shoes.

Seven, fights will go on for as long as they have to.

Eight, if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight."

Johnny walked around the circle of men who had gathered before him as he explained the rules of the club; a club which was held in Joon's basement- a restaurant with very few customers. Originally, Fight Club had been something between Johnny and Yuta, something small that would pass the time when they wanted to relieve some stress. It was merely playtime for the two and now it had branched into what it was today.

Yuta continued wrapping his hands in gauze from his last fight. Taeil from one of his previous support groups beat him nasty; blood dripping from the top of the Japanese boy's head as well as a giant cut along the underside of his wrist. It wasn't anything unusual, he had won of course, sending Taeil straight for the floor and knocking out a couple of his teeth. It wasn't the wound that stung, no. It was the jealousy that bubbled in his chest and made way for his throat. Fight Club was never supposed to be this. It should've been just him and Johnny.

"Man. I see in Fight Club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. Goddamn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose, or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war...our great depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires and movie gods and rockstars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very very pissed off."

Johnny looked at each man once and then swiveled around and looked at them again. He held eye contact with each and every person so that his words were reaching them on every level possible. He wanted them to feel. To feel the pain of the unforgiving world and the passion for Fight Club. He wanted everyone to praise his words like the Bible and for them to go home later that night with a sense of enlightenment. He wanted Fight Club to be burned into the brains and the skin of these men.

But I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection.

Yuta barred his teeth from where he was sitting. Johnny had a way with words. Even if he was pissed from their earlier conversation with you in the house, he wasn't showing it. Johnny had stripped him of anger towards himself and provided him with anger towards the movement. Yuta was going to make the best of this club- watching humanity's downfall while he sat from his throne looking out towards everyone's anguish. That was where he belonged, Yuta thought. Not in some corporate office building fetching papers for his boss.

He thought back to his life before Johnny. How he would work his 5-9 job in some shitty little office building with shitty little people with shitty little egos. He remembered what a horrible insomniac he was, sleeping a total of one hour a night- if he was lucky. He remembered going to his support groups just to feel something. To cry on the shoulders of others who were going through unimaginable pain as he cried from his position of perfect health. It was all an effort to sleep at night until he realized that he was spending his days in pain and inflicting pain on others. And he was addicted to it.

You had walked into one of his regular support groups on a Saturday; one of the founders of said group griping about the fact he'd lost his balls to testicular cancer and sobbing up on the rickety podium. You had caught his eye that day- and not just because you were a woman walking into a support group for men with non-functional penises. It was because of the first words to come out of your mouth:

"This is cancer, right?"

You were his downfall. You ruined everything at first. Because you had shown up to his daily pain sessions, he was no longer the black sheep of the group- the only one who was healthy out of a room of dying people. Sure, you were dying, but that was because of the shitty drugs you put into your body and the cigarette that was always hanging out of your mouth. But Yuta realized that his feelings of hatred were actually ones of intense sexual desire.

He'd fucked you later that night anyways.

Or at least, he dreamt about it.

"Who's first?" Johnny asked to no one in particular, awaiting a response from one of the eager men around. This snapped Yuta out of his daze as he looked down at his hands. The gauze was wrapped too tight (probably a direct result of his previous thoughts) and the blood was seeping through the makeshift bandage. Oh well, at least he'd shown Taeil who's club it really was.

The first to agree on fighting was a scrawny looking boy with red and white hair. An odd color combination, but Yuta guessed it framed his face nicely. He had a bunch of piercings along his ear and a determined look on his face. A slight grin showed his confidence as the boy took his shirt off and loosened up his belt.

On the other side of the "ring," there was another boy that radiated an equal amount of confidence but looked a bit skeptical as his eyes landed on the others around the dank basement. He too, removed pieces of his clothing and slicked his blonde hair back from his face.

"Alright, first victims are Taeyong and Hendery. Knock yourselves out.....literally."

Johnny stepped away from them as they collided with one another, blood already dripping from the eyebrow piercing on Hendery's face and a crack coming from Taeyong's finger. Despite this, the boys looked more fiery than ever before as they tackled one another to the ground, ripping out each other's hair and punching each other wherever they could reach. A quick sharp kick to Hendery's groin left him falling to the ground where the other boy found his footing and beat him to a pulp. Not the first fight that ended up in two broken noses, but definitely the first fight to bring this many people together.

And with Taeyong's win, Yuta followed Johnny back home to the abandoned neighborhood they stayed in.

...

Again, it was another night of Yuta lying restless as he listened to your moans coming through the wall separating him and Johnny. Once you had met Johnny all it took was a promise of a new carton of cigarettes to go up to the bedroom with him. This wasn't anything new to Yuta (who did have a crush on you, he was just too afraid to admit it) who heard it every hour of every day; he wondered if you two ever grew bored of slamming the headboard against the wall.

Yuta figured the only thing he could really do in this situation was to go downstairs to the rotting kitchen and make himself a sandwich out of condiments stolen from Joon's and a couple leftover banana peppers from the night before. He pulled his robe over his shoulders and made his way down the decaying hardwood stairs of the mildewed house, making sure not to step on the soggiest part of the floor.

It was cold, but it felt nice after sweating in his blanket just a few minutes before. He opened the door to the fridge and found the pickles as well as the condiments, but his eyes stopped when he spotted some of Johnny's "lab equipment" which consisted of homemade explosives and torture mechanisms. Why they were in the fridge, Yuta didn't know, but he presumed Johnny had a reason. Just as long as he didn't find any Lye in his sandwich.

After making the shittiest thing Yuta had ever eaten in his life (which is saying a lot because he's accidentally eaten literal shit) he made his way upstairs, past the banister and the bathroom with the lonesome bathtub. He was just about to pass Johnny's room when he realized that it had been quiet. For a minute and a half.

Slowly, he opened the door and BANG Johnny walked straight into him wearing nothing but a robe.

"The fuck you doing man? Hey- is that the ketchup I stole from Joon's?"

"Ah shit! Uh I was just making a sandwich is all," he stammered out as he just about dropped the plate. He wasn't going to admit to Johnny that he was looking to see what had gone on with their sexcapade since he'd had a pleasant couple of seconds to himself for the first time since your and Johnny's introduction.

"Hey! I found the cigarettes."

You were high off your ass as you rolled around in Johnny's horribly stained bedsheets, waiting for whatever the holdup was at the door. "Y'all want some?"

"No thanks, Sylvia Plath."

...

Day two of Fight Club commenced in Joon's basement on a spectacularly cold Thursday, when Yuta was supposed to be at work. Instead, he was sitting on one of the empty barrels by the back of the room, watching everything happen before him. Fight Club wasn't just Fight Club anymore. This pain was all normal. It was expected. It wasn't anything different or new like the support groups Yuta had found solace in when he was an insomniac. He could feel the night of restlessness before him.

"Alright men, get your shit together. Today we have someone new joining our group. And, as the rules state, if it's your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight."

Johnny paced the circle of men, gripping onto the loops of his belt to make him look like more of the leader and less of a member. His shoulder length black hair was tied into a ponytail and his muscles were on full display; curtesy of his white slim-fit tee. Yuta would have to agree with you on one thing- Johnny was sexy as fuck. He was a confident bastard, but he understood why you liked someone like him. He was more than Yuta ever could be.

"On one side we have Jaehyun, an undefeated member of our group- not counting me of course."

This granted a couple of chuckles from the back as Yuta waited in anticipation for the newest member to be announced.

"Welcome, Xiaojun. Hope you find happiness getting your brains knocked out in a basement this small."

And standing before Yuta was Xiaojun, a former applicant of the testicular cancer support group, someone whom he had cried on as he wistfully remembered the days before meeting Johnny on a plane (That was a lot to cover into one fanfiction, but if you've seen the movie you'd know what I'm talking about). The days where pain wasn't measured by the amount of people feeling it, and instead was something to pass the time.

The blonde haired boy walked up to Jaehyun and smiled. It wasn't a 'Oh it's so nice to be here I can't wait to fight!' type smile. No, this smile was nothing more than pure malice.

Xiaojun was taking Jaehyun down. Yuta knew it for fact.

"Alright, have at it."

With Johnny's approval, Jaehyun launched for the boy, one arm balled into a fist and the other ready to strike a blow to the stomach. However, Xiaojun cut right across his ribcage and managed to dodge the blow, that shit-eating grin never once leaving his face.

"Ah fuck," Jaehyun clutched his chest as he doubled over in pain. Not allowing for the opponent to get too far though, he got back up on his feet and positioned himself so that he would be ready for another punch.

Jaehyun went in again, this time he was aiming lower to serve as an uppercut, payback for what the fast guy he went against did on his last move. He just about hit Xiaojun when Xiao ducked and rolled along the floor knocking Jaehyun from his position. Jaehyun was on the ground and was pinned there. Now all that was left was the final blow.

Yuta could hear one of the people in the circle mumble "fatality" in reference to Mortal Kombat as Xiaojun beat the shit out of this guy. Blood was going everywhere, nose was most definitely broken, his seemingly perfect face was now most definitely bruised. Hell, this guy would be lucky to even have a few teeth left from what Yuta could gather as he was positioned farther outside of the circle.

"Hey. HEY! RULE THREE BITCHASS!" Johnny's voice brought everyone back down to earth as they realized 'holy shit, Jaehyun is on his way out,' and they scrambled to help him off the floor. Knocked unconscious and bleeding from almost every orifice (except his ass), laid Jaehyun, once a fearless champion amongst the crowd now a bird with clipped wings.

I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.

Yuta caught a glimpse of Xiaojun, seemingly in perfect condition and a clam expression on his face. His eyes were the same though, the same as Johnny's. He was definitely a force to be reckoned with.

...

You couldn't say you were surprised in the least amount with Johnny's sudden outburst. All you had done was talk to him about his selfish ways; and he most definitely was being selfish- one minute he'd be sweet talking you and explaining how you mean the world to him, to changing every topic you brought up and acting like a cocky arrogant asshole. You figured it had something to do with his new "support group" and that Fight Club had left him bipolar. Even the nights you spent fucking him to no end had no resolve on his character and you were starting to grow annoyed with his sudden change of demeanor.

You rolled out of Johnny's bed and made way for the kitchen downstairs. At least most of the men were at Joon's, so you have the house to yourself and Johnny. That's how it usually was anyways. And that's when it hit you: the dress you'd bought a while ago was still upstairs! Maybe you could use it to sway Johnny into a better mood?

Running back to Johnny's room, you slipped on the semi-pink, alcohol stained wedding dress (or what was left of it) over your body frame and took a look in the mirror.

"Huh, not bad."

You had bought the dress because you liked it, of course, not because you originally had the intentions you do now. You didn't usually give a fuck when it came to the opinions of men, so why did his matter so much to you? You frizzled up your hair and rain your hands through the mess and popped an Adderall in your mouth. Hey, you needed something to get by for the day.

You found yourself downstairs, another cigarette in your mouth and a jacket around the exposed sections of your collarbone. Your feet still bare, you entered the dining room that was full of "Johnny's experiments" and you twirled a bit upon finding Johnny sitting in the chair by the table.

"Well," you said, "Do you like it?"

"What am I looking at?"

"The dress, idiot. Do you like the dress?"

He sat there in confusion for minute before he responded with a simple "It's okay."

Why does he always do this? You wondered. He would show you a sweet and loving side to him and then he'd act all coy and nonchalant as if nothing you said had any impact on him. Did he pretend to love you just to fuck you? Did he care about you just so he could have his way with you in bed?

"I got it for a dollar. Imagine- someone bought this dress with the intention that it would be worn on the most important day of their lives. And now, I'm wearing it as business casual."

He ignored you again, sipping on that blasted cup of coffee and looking through ads in the news. His hair was pushed back from his eyes and his brows were furrowed. He had no interest in anything you said.

"Goodbye," you said, and walked out.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Fuck him

...

(Part Two coming soon!!!!)

THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I HAVE EVER READ IN MY LIFE.

Thank you for making this, you're such a beautiful writer and I love your work.

💛🦐

Scars

Cliff Booth x reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: talks of knives and injures that lead to the scars

Author’s Note: Hi love! Thank you for being so kind and I hope that you enjoy this one! I thought it was pretty cute but that might be just me considering I did in fact write this lol. Enjoy!

Requested: by anon, hello! i really love all of your cliff booth x reader imagines! can i request one where cliff and the reader are cuddling or something and the reader gets curious about how he got his scars and/or what injuries he has gotten over the years (and it is just really fluffy)? Tysm

Summary: the request

Genre: flufff

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Keep reading

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hello im here

Heyo fellow Panko Shrimps!

I've been in somewhat of a slump lately and I haven't been doing the best mentally. As of late, my days have consisted of naps, serial killer documentaries, and college.

This leads me to my request: would anyone mind tagging me or sending me some fanfiction that they've enjoyed? It can be anyone or anything, but seeing some of the things you guys are interested in might help me with my own writing! I also need a tad bit more happiness in the upcoming days so this would be a serious motivator.

You guys mean the absolute world to me and I hope you're having the bestest day/night wherever you are. Keep being beautiful and handsome and attractive and wonderful humans.

As Jimin likes to say: "You're so lovely, I'm so lovely, we're all so lovely."

💛🦐

Bitch Onions is quite possibly the best fanfic I've ever written 🍾🦐

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