#but they used a rapid test and i thought i read somewhere that rapid tests werent accurate anymore?

[phantomqueen]

two days ago the worst part of this cold was my blocked up sinuses but now its the coughing FITS im sore like ive been fistfighting god. like surely there has to be a less painful way to eject, like, 1 glop of phlegm

[necrotic-nephilim]

"--but why should I let you go when you look so pretty like this?" w/JayTim

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

this one was such a fun pick, anon. i will warn you, this one has some... very dark dialogue. the JayTim is absolutely unrequited, but Tim is forced in a situation where he has no other choice bc of some Ra's tomfoolery. you *could* read into there being Ra'sTim as well, but that's not the focus, it's just 2.8k of unhinged JayTim. enjoy <3

Tim had lost count of the days.

He was pretty sure he was somewhere in the range of ten days and two weeks. He couldn’t use how often he was fed as a gauge when it seemed purposefully sporadic to throw him off. There were no windows in his cell.

Not that it looked like a cell, but Tim insisted on mentally calling it one, mostly for fear of Stockholm Syndrome getting the best of him. No matter how large the bed was, with an ornate carved cedar headboard and cotton sheets. No matter the plush carpets and en suite bathroom with a gloriously large shower with limitless hot water. No matter the shelf full of books to keep him entertained and patterned wallpaper.

This was still a prison. Tim was still forcibly attached to the bed by a long chain connecting to a thick metal cuff around his wrist he’d yet to figure out how to pick.

Tim had to let himself believe the lock could be picked. He had to hold onto hope there was some kind of escape.

The real contrast of the lavish room wasn’t the chain, though. It was Tim’s current state, naked and questionably close to bleeding out.

Not that it would matter if Tim died.

Ra’s al Ghul had already revived him with a Lazarus Pit at least four times, and he had made it clear he had no qualms doing it again. And again.

Tim went with ‘at least’ as a mental marker, because he was certain the Lazarus Pit was starting to influence his mental state.

However many times it took, repeating the vicious cycle of coming in to torture Tim until his body gave out, then giving him a violent, unwanted rebirth. Each time, Tim was pretty sure he lost a piece of himself, somewhere deep in those glowing waters.

He was sure he’d been angrier and fighting harder to break free once. Now, that anger was drifting somewhere in the Pit, far out of Tim’s reach. Tim had heard that rapid repeated exposure to the waters of Lazarus could have degrading effects on one’s mental state.

But he never thought he would learn that firsthand.

Instead of fighting and clawing at the wrist cuff like Tim had been doing for days, he just laid on the bed, sprawled out and staining the chartreuse sheets a bright crimson, staring at the cuff. One time, Tim had clawed at the cuff until his nails ripped out of their beds and he was biting a pillow in pain, watching his skin shred trying to pull it apart.

Those injuries, much like his feral desperation, were washed away now. Every scar Tim had earned over the years was gone now. He was losing pieces of himself.

After his next death, Tim promised himself he’d redouble his escape efforts. Run his hands along the walls again, test the door frame, find something that he must’ve missed his first dozen tries. He wasn’t going to let himself rot here and be changed into someone else, just wearing the corpse of Tim Drake.

Ra’s could take a lot of things, but he couldn’t have Tim’s humanity.

For now, though, Tim was just going to lay in the bed, breathing as shallowly as he could. All his body’s survival instincts were in overdrive, making him light-headed and his heartbeat a rapid, fluttering thing, trying desperately to hold on. He had yet to figure out how to get his body to let go of those responses yet.

Because the worst part wasn’t dying. The worst part was the animalistic attempt to survive that came just before his body gave out. Tim’s mind had fought alongside his body the first time he died. The second time too.

By the third, Tim had just naively hoped Ra’s would let him stay dead.

Now, Tim was just tired and waiting for it to be over with.

Just when Tim was considering getting up and trying to speed up the process, he heard a commotion. He lifted his head and squinted.

The ninjas who brought his food were always so silent in how they moved that Tim couldn’t hear them even when they were in the room. So the running feet, the yelling-

The gunshots.

Definitely a fight. Tim snapped back to reality. He sat up as fast he could, trying not to let his body dip and sway the way his perception did. It had crossed Tim’s mind, that rescue would come at some point. But he refused to hold onto it as anything other than a futile last hope.

And even now, it didn’t feel real.

No one who would save Tim used guns. The ninjas definitely didn’t use guns either. Tim carefully wrapped the chain around his fist. Whatever energy was left in his body was better spent fighting like hell than just laying there and accepting death.

The door to Tim’s room slammed open and Tim sucked in a breath.

Of all the people it could’ve been.

“Look at that,” a smug, modulated voice crowed. “I’m the lucky guy who actually found your sorry ass.”

Jason Todd reached up and pulled his Red Hood helmet off, shaking his hair loose. Tim didn’t like the look of his smile.

Granted, he didn’t like the look of Jason Todd in general, but that was beside the point.

“What are you doing here?” Tim hissed through clenched teeth.

Jason just shrugged, walking into the room with slow, casual steps. “Bats wanted to find you bad. Bad enough he was willing to call me and offer a truce if I helped storm the stronghouse.” He shrugged like it meant nothing to him. “Looks like you’re lucky I said yes. You’re already half dead.”

“Others are here?” Tim’s breath caught on his hope.

“The whole fucking calvary.” Noises of a brawl sounded in the distance and Jason spread his hands, as if his point was proven. He took another step forward just as a ninja ran into the room, sword raised and charging Jason. Before Tim could warn him, Jason shot the person in the head over his shoulder, making them drop to the floor. A full-bodied flinch went through Tim at the sight of blood spraying the beautiful wallpaper. With an annoyed huff, Jason turned and kicked the door shut.

He didn’t signal for backup. Tim’s skin prickled at the sight of the shut door and Jason stalking toward him.

“This is the part where you say thank you,” Jason prompted lazily, getting within an arm’s reach of Tim. Tim couldn’t stop his body from recoiling, eyes flicking down to the dead body on the floor. “Oh come on. Now’s not the time to worry about morals. I gave them a quick death. You should be thanking me for that too.”

“I’ll thank you when you get me out of this,” Tim said, lifting his arm to show the cuff. He pressed his palm against the cut on his chest, the one responsible for most of his blood loss. Ra’s had blamed Tim for that one, saying it was his fault for squirming too much. Tim knew better, though. He knew every drag of Ra’s’ blade was always exact and purposeful.

Jason tilted his head to the side and leaned in close. He smiled with tiger teeth and snake eyes. “See, I would but-” his eyes dragged up and down Tim’s battered form- “why should I let you go when you look so pretty like this?”

Tim was suddenly all too aware of how naked he was, skin prickling. He grabbed a handful of sheets and yanked them over his lap, trying to cover himself. Jason made no move to stop him, just watching the motion of Tim’s arm as it grasped for a crude attempt at modesty.

“You said Bruce is here,” Tim chose his words carefully, trying not to show fear. He was better than being afraid of Jason of all people. He blamed the worst of his feelings on the vulnerable state he was already in. His fingers clenched the sheets to hide the way they shook.

“He’s around somewhere,” Jason waved his gun in the air dismissively. “But he’s not here, is he?” Another wave of the gun to gesture to the room. Jason’s eyes flicked down to the gushing chest wound. “You really need to cauterize that.”

“Do I look like I have something to cauterize it with?” Tim shot back, sluggishly. He didn’t let Jason distract him from the real point. “If you try anything, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Jason rolled his eyes. He searched around his utility belt, pulling out a lighter and a knife. “Tattle to Bruce? Fight me?” He snorted. “I don’t know which is more amusingly unrealistic.” He flicked the lighter on and held it under the knife.

Tim watched the blade heat up, eyes widening. “You’re not going to-”

“You’ve got a better idea?” Jason arched an eyebrow. “It’ll really piss B off if you fucking die.”

“Won’t be the first time,” Tim muttered under his breath. He cringed as soon as the words came out. That was too much information to be giving to Jason.

Another cruel snort came from Jason. “You got your own taste of the Pit, didn’t you?”

“No,” Tim tried to lie, shifting a bit.

“You did,” Jason hummed. He leaned in even closer, until his face took up Tim’s entire field of vision. “Trust me, I recognize the look in your eyes. Hold still.”

That was the only warning Tim got before a red hot blade was pressed against his skin. Tim opened his mouth to scream against the burning pain, but gloved fingers were shoved into his mouth to muffle the noise.

Tim tried to bite down on Jason’s fingers hard enough to break them, but the gloves were too thick and his body was too weak. All he could do was glare and grasp at the sheets.

The look in Jason’s gaze was terrifying. His lips held a slight smile and he looked hungry, eating up all of Tim’s tormented noises. Tim’s pain was a feast for Jason’s sadism. Tim was struggling just to stay alive and Jason looked like he was having the time of his life, licking his lips and swallowing hard.

Tim was starting to think maybe he preferred Ra’s over this.

Finally, Jason pulled the knife off of Tim’s searing skin and Tim sagged in relief. He almost fell over before Jason caught him around the waist, pressing Tim against his suit. Blood smeared over Jason’s jacket.

His fingers were still in Tim’s mouth.

Tim tried to speak around them but Jason just forced his fingers in deeper, making Tim gag.

“I could probably sneak out with you, you know,” Jason whispered into Tim’s ear. “Tell Bruce I got bored and left. They’d just think it was a bust.”

TIm had never understood Jason’s complex over him. He knew it was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. With Ra’s, Tim could at least find the root of the obsession.

With Jason, not so much.

He was always breathing down Tim’s neck and trying to get a rise out of Tim. Wanting Tim to work with him, pay attention to him, anything he could get. It reminded Tim of trying to tame a needy dog.

This was a step too far, though.

This made it all make sense in ways Tim regretted knowing as soon as it hit him. He twisted his head around until he managed to spit out Jason’s fingers, coughing.

“You don’t have Ra’s’ manpower,” Tim bit out the words. He tugged hard and uselessly against his cuff. “You couldn’t hold me for long.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” Jason hummed. “Tell me, Drake, you pissed off enough to actually try to kill me, yet? Or do you need another dunk?”

“Give me that knife and find out,” Tim curled his hand into a fist. He was bluffing. Just the thought of killing someone nauseated Tim, his eyes briefly flickering over to the dead body on the floor.

No amount of the Lazarus Pit could turn Tim into that. A cold-blooded killer who didn’t even look before he shot. Tim was better than that.

He was better than Jason.

He just had to distract Jason long enough to find where he kept his lock-picking tool, stab him in the eye with it, and then break free and find anyone else.

Maybe Tim was against murder, but there was just enough cold rage in him to crave bloody violence. He squirreled away his logical thoughts on the matter, for now. The situation warranted just a bit of brutality.

Someone had to teach Jason that he didn’t always get to have what he wanted.

Jason dared to groan softly. “Tempting. So fucking tempting. How would you kill me, Drake? Would you gut me? Slit my throat?” He sounded far too into the idea of it. The knife in his hand started trailing up Tim’s bare back. Not deep enough to cut, but still leaving goosebumps of fear in its threatening wake. “We borrow enough Lazarus water and we can take turns killing each other.”

“Borrow,” Tim echoed the word with an incredulous laugh. “Like Ra’s would let you.”

Jason’s laughter was sickening. “Didn’t plan on asking permission.” He paused, just as the knife dragged up to the base of Tim’s skull. “I’m serious, you know.” His voice got quieter. “I’d do it if you wanted to.”

“Kill each other?” TIm’s heart was pounding. He was doing the exact opposite of getting himself out of this situation. He was sinking deeper and deeper into Jason’s clawed grip and didn’t know where the escape route was anymore. He couldn’t pull away from the hold, with the knife pressed where it was. He definitely couldn’t fight Jason like this.

Tim was trapped in what he was pretty sure was a prison of his own making.

“Kill, kiss, fuck.” Jason shrugged. “I’ll take any of the above.”

Tim swallowed down blood and bile. “You couldn’t handle me.” He couldn’t show fear. More than couldn’t, he refused to. Giving Jason his fear would just spur Jason on more. Or maybe piss him off to the point of just killing Tim and leaving him there.

Now, with the teetering edge of Tim’s sanity under Jason’s scrutiny, Tim was positive he’d shatter if he got dipped in those green waters again. And he refused to let Jason keep the pieces left of Tim to himself.

He was not going out like this.

“Wanna bet?” Jason asked. “Winner takes all.”

He sounded insane. He probably was.

And he wasn’t letting Tim dance around a lack of an answer any longer. The tip the knife started to press harder until blood was trickling down his spine.

Placating Jason seemed to be the obvious and smartest survival method. If Tim faked it long enough, he’d have to have an opening sooner or later.

“If you can keep me alive long enough to get the hell out of here, then we’ll talk,” Tim chose his words as carefully as he could. He kept his tone light, in a way that was practically teasing. He hoped it was enough.

Jason practically preened, his whole body shivering against Tim’s. He lifted the knife from Tim’s neck to reach for his belt. Tim was able to suppress his sigh of relief, hearing the lock on his cuff click.

“Can you stand?” Jason asked, pulling away to stand up, but still keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Possessively, almost.

Tim gave him a withering look. “Do I look like I can stand?”

“Good point.” Jason shrugged. He lifted Tim almost too easily, an arm around Tim’s waist to haul him off the bed, forcing the sheet to fall away. “God.” Jason paused for just a moment, looking over Tim’s naked form. It made Tim felt studied under a microscope in a way that made him want to crawl out of his skin.

He’d just signed a deal with the devil, and he was already regretting it.

Jason managed to snap out of it and carried Tim toward the door. Tim just held onto Jason’s neck for support and closed his eyes, trying to convince himself he hadn’t just made the stupidest decision of his life. He could still distantly hear other Bats fighting off ninjas. Salvation so close to Tim, yet still out of reach. Jason easily stepped over all of the dead bodies as they slunk through the hallways, away from the noise and into the darkness.

Tim couldn't escape the awful chill crawling down his spine; pressed against someone who was possibly more psychotic than the madman he was being promised escape from, grandeur illusions traded for the ugly truth of Jason's desire. His flicker of hope felt like it was being snuffed out by every heavy step of Jason’s boots. The best he could pray for was for Jason to give him a cell as nice as the one they were leaving behind. 

Out of one den of vipers and into another.

[yuriskies]

The Queer Ultrablue Sublime

"Over two and a half years, I honestly don't know whether it's all over or not yet. In the end, I still don't understand why it happened, and nobody has been able to help me, nor is there anyone close to me who knows something about it. Was it summoned by some uncertain knowledge gained from somewhere, or perhaps there is some casual relationship to it? I don't know anything. 

The only thing I can say is that it happened purely by chance. But if that were true, it's too harsh for something that happened entirely by chance. Am I being punished for some crime I committed? I never did anything bad though? And even if that's so...why? It's unfair. That's honestly how I feel."

Anonymous 2ch user, November 2009. 

This quote, taken from the relatively famous Japanese netlore horror tale "Real" (translated by Tara A. Devlin in Kowabana: Origins), was written by a man who on the joking suggestion of a friend performed an action that allowed an entity to attach itself to him. The entity can be understood, lived with, and mindfully directed into a position where it can cause no harm, but will always remain a permanent fixture in his life, a constant source of looming dread both for himself and perceptive folks around him.

I'm a big fan of the story because the narrative voice seems to map the intersection between horror and queerness in a way I've seen few other horror stories do. I would guess a fair number of queer people reading this have expressed thoughts along the same lines of the above quote at some point in their journeys. If so, that connection between horror and queerness might feel intuitive. Don't worry if it doesn't, I'll take a moment to talk about it.

Horror thrives on exploration of the strange, the uncanny, the unknown and unknowable. Horror stories are our anxieties given narrative, and thus, given form and power. Our continued engagement with horror tests our comfort zones, prodding us to discover and settle our boundaries - self and non-self, acceptable and unacceptable, safe and dangerous.

A normative identity carries with it an expected set of social behaviors. In this system, personal boundaries are delineated like parcels of land and the amount of control one can expect to exert over those boundaries is tied up in the social status associated with the identity one is assigned. When a person attempts to escape this normative identity - defining their own boundaries, subverting expected behaviors - it is a constant outward battle to find a compromise between socially safe and personally acceptable allowing the self to thrive. In effect, embarking on this journey is akin to entering a horror story in which one is the protagonist. 

The Internet has been profoundly impactful in enabling people to explore their own sense of self. In the past, a lack of outside support and affirmation may have once pushed someone into unhappily settling for a normative identity. However, modern connectivity means support and affirmation is accessible. The increased access to support has also allowed people to discuss and hone the language they use to describe themselves. These factors have resulted in a comparatively rapid erosion of old norms, and with it, exhumed deep anxieties around identity and one's place in the world. For better and worse, rejecting the old answers means dealing with the uncertainty of the new.

Netlore (short horror stories posted anonymously to Japanese boards) and its Western equivalent, creepypasta, often reflect this sense of dislocation and disorientation. Glimpses of forbidden knowledge drive one to insanity. The legacy of monstrous creatures and objects created in the past creates a lurking danger in the present. A wrong move saddles one with a lifetime of consequences. And yet, the possibility of a better future is often also embedded within these stories. Exorcisms can lift the weight of the past. Curse-casters can be identified and dealt with. In some stories, people are even provided with the knowledge and training to hold their own against the unrelenting presence of horror.

So with this connection between horror and queerness in mind, I want to talk about Iori Miyazawa's lesbian romance/horror novel series Otherside Picnic. Miyazawa's writing understands this connection at a fundamental level, and does an astonishingly good job at wielding the connection to explore the structure of human relationships.

The series is centered on Sorawo Kamikoshi, a 20-year old university student in anthropology. As the story opens, she exists in a socially fragile state - fixated on netlore in hopes it will lead her to an escape hatch from the crushing pressure of daily life. She finds that escape in the Otherside, a mysterious world seemingly generated around the most surreal and puzzling aspects of netlore. She quickly gets herself into trouble on her first real foray into the Otherside and is narrowly rescued from a near-death experience by Toriko Nishina. Toriko is another university student wandering the Otherside in search of her missing tutor, the woman who introduced her to the Otherside. Sorawo quickly (and begrudgingly) develops a strong bond with Toriko and the two start traveling to the Otherside together to unravel its mysteries and the strange entities that lie beyond it. Through their exploration, they increasingly find themselves surrounded by small community of other women with a connection to the Otherside.

On the surface, Otherside Picnic is an often silly action/adventure story which at first glance comes off more as a love-letter to netlore than a romance novel. However, as the story progresses it becomes clear that the horror is the scaffolding that supports the romance's growth. Badly traumatized by her previous cult life, Sorawo flatly rejects the common relationship structures that allowed her to be harmed. In the absence of those existing structures, she struggles to give form to her interpersonal relationships. Whether it's a quietly thrilling moment of holding hands in the midst of exploring a new world or a terrifying near-death experience while helping a friend, events push her to put words to the unspoken.

Sorawo understands netlore far better than she understands herself, and horror is necessarily the mirror in which Sorawo sees herself reflected. Nowhere is this dynamic more clear than with Sorawo's blossoming feelings for Toriko. Her discomfort with the direction Toriko wants to take their relationship often leads her to treat her own feelings on the matter as something just as mysterious and incomprehensible as the entities on the Otherside. It is only through overwhelming fear that Sorawo's comes to terms with how to properly approach her relationship with Toriko.

The power of queerness to terrorize and transform is thematically conveyed through the Otherside itself. Deep contact with the Otherside is repeatedly shown to irreversibly alter minds and bodies. Sorawo's eye, mutated by an encounter, is empowered to see the hyperdimensional aspects its landscape and phenomena. What at first might seem to be one thing turns out on closer inspection to be another. Looking too closely - trying to understand an object's "true" nature - is punching a one-way ticket to insanity. Entities so alien and incomprehensible that terror seems to be the only form of communication unexpectedly bleed into both Sorawo and Toriko's daily life. And yet, the fearful moments of truly understanding the Otherside, where the last ragged shreds of sanity and self-image hang by a thread, are the moments which Sorawo and Toriko take giddy joy and move forward from together. Their newfound knowledge makes them stronger, more resilient, more prepared for the next time, and most importantly, closer together.

The increasing feedback between horror and queer love over the course of Otherside Picnic's eight volumes provides Miyazawa with the opportunity to delve into themes of outsiderness, the shortcomings of normative identities, and the anthropological workings of social narratives. The story jumps - seemingly effortlessly - between Sorawo's bizarre internal monologue about the people and events unfolding around her, psychedelic (and genuinely unsettling) horror scenes, extremely sweet bonding moments, discussions about the nature of cognition and anthropology, and punchlines that would be right at home in a sitcom.

As disparate as the threads Otherside Picnic juggles can be, they all build towards a greater narrative purpose. The eighth volume of the series masterfully weaves them into a novel-length tapestry depicting the inner workings of loving relationships. By its end, the queer and sublime resonate so powerfully that they become indistinguishable, a narrative simultaneously formless and deeply structured.

Taking advantage of its position at the crossroads of horror and queerness, Otherside Picnic launches itself off in numerous directions to explore the process of discovering oneself and one's place in society. Where lesser works might be content simply reaffirm cultural norms through this process of discovery, Otherside Picnic often asserts that to categorize a thing necessarily loses something. It is the discovery and wholehearted embrace of what we find unique and special that gives something importance, not the labels we use to describe it. Call it romance, call it horror. Call it silly, call it serious. Call it a light novel, call it literature. However you want to categorize it, Otherside Picnic is worth a read.

[tropes-and-tales]

In It Together

Characters:  Benny “Borracho” Magalon and F!Reader

WC:  11,307

Other Pieces:  There’s a fluffy, unofficial sequel here.

CW:  HEED THESE WARNINGS.  DEAD DOVE AND SUCH.  Contains controversial material:  frank talk about abortion; dub-con (in the form of mutually drunken hook-ups); angst; smut (oral, f!receiving; PiV, protected).  18+ only.  DO NOT READ IF ABORTION UPSETS YOU.  IF YOU COME TO MY INBOX TO COMPLAIN, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

AN:  This was a very specific request from a dear friend who I met on this hell site of a platform.  You know who you are, bebe.  💕

It’s not a position Benny Magalon ever wanted to find himself in:  sitting in a café across from you, getting less than ideal news.

You can barely look him in the eye when you say it.  You look lower, your eyes fixed somewhere near his chin when you tell him that you’re pregnant.

It’s not ideal at all.  Benny knows next to nothing about you—only your first name.  It was a drunken hookup, two strangers meeting at a bar a little over a month ago.  When you called him yesterday, he hadn’t recognized the number and had let it go straight to voicemail.  

When he heard the message you left, he had wracked his brain to remember the details, though they were hazy and soaked in booze:  flirting with you at the bar, challenging each other over shots.  Getting a car together, getting handsy in the car.  Taking you home to his apartment, recently vacated by his now-ex.  He only remembers flashes after that—sordid little scenes—and then the awkward morning-after.  He had given you his number with the idle thought the he had fun and you might call him, but you hadn’t…. until now.

Now, sober and in the cold light of day, he studies you closer.  It wasn’t just the alcohol that night—you are cute, he thinks, even as nervous as you are.  Your leg bounces rapid-fire under the table, making it shake, and he can see how tightly you grip your coffee mug.

He knows how it feels.  The moment your words sink in, his stomach does a terrific flip, and he worries he might throw up.  A million thoughts flood into his head:  custody and child support and fuck, he’ll have to tell his family…

He got a one-night stand pregnant.  It’s less than ideal.  

“I have to ask,” he finally says after he turns the situation over in his head for a moment.  “Are you sure it’s mine?”

You wince, then nod.  “It’s yours.  My ex and I broke up six months ago, and you were the first…”  You trail off, and he can see how hard you swallow.

“Sorry.”

You shake your head.  “No, it was a fair question.”

“It’s just…I know we were both…”  He trails off too, loses his words.  “I remember using protection.”  That’s one of the flashes he has from that night—reaching into his nightstand, snagging a condom.  He remembers it distinctly because he banged his elbow against the headboard, hit the nerve there, had a purpled bruise for days…

“I know.  I don’t know what went wrong.  I thought I should let you know, since the condom obviously failed.  I wanted to let you know.  I am getting an STD screening and you should too.”

He nods.  He’s touched at your thoughtfulness.  You could have never contacted him.

“I’m clean, but I’ll get a test too,” he murmurs.

“Well, I’m clean.  I just didn’t know…we’re unknown to each other, really.  You have no reason to trust me, so I thought it was best to reach out.”  You shake your head as if you’re trying to clear your mind.  “I’m sorry.” You drop your head and stare into your coffee cup, and Benny can see the unhappy frown on your face.  When he looks closer, he can see that your eyes are slightly swollen, like you had cried before you came to meet him.  He feels a wave of something for you.  Pity.  Sympathy.  Something.

“Don’t apologize.”  He reaches across the table, lays his hand palm up.  He leaves it there, and after a moment, you put your own hand in his.  He squeezes you gently, hopes it feels reassuring.  It occurs to him that you must be a brave person, to handle this as you are.  To have the courage to call him.  To sit down with him and deliver this news.

“This is on both of us,” he adds.  He squeezes your hand again, and that’s what finally makes you look him in the eyes.  You raise your head and study him solemnly, then offer him a tremulous smile.

“Thank you, Ben.”

He releases your hand, and he swipes it against the side of his thigh.  His hands are clammy with sweat, he realizes.  

“What do you want to do?” he asks.

You drop your eyes again, and you take a deep breath.  “I looked at it from every angle, and I just don’t see how I can keep it.”  You glance at him, probably to see how your admission lands with him.  Benny Magalon has a great poker face, and he only nods at you, encouraging you to continue.

“I mean, I live in a one-bedroom apartment I can barely afford.  I have school loans.  I just got my dream job two months ago….”  You trail off again, and it sparks against Benny’s memory.  He had been out that night on the rebound, only recently broken up from his long-time girlfriend.  And you…yes, he remembers.  You had been out celebrating a new job at the Jet Propulsion Lab.  That had been his in with you, teasing you, pretending to argue that the moon landing had been faked.

“I want kids one day, I think,” you continue.  “But I can’t make it work now, especially as a single mother.”  You glance at him again, a guilty expression on your face.  “I was raised by a single mom, Ben.  I know how hard it is.”

He nods again.  He knows his neutral face isn’t giving him away, but more than anything, he feels relief.  A big wave of relief washing over him, calming his churning stomach.  

He chooses his next words carefully.  He doesn’t want to say a single thing wrong, pressure you one way or the other.

“I’m in this for whatever you choose.  If you wanted to keep it, I’d step up however much you want.  But if you don’t want to keep it, I support that too.”

“I’m one hundred percent sure.”

-----

The two of you part amicably, and Benny’s head spins with a thousand thoughts.  A thousand feelings.  He feels guilty at the situation he’s put you in, because his working theory—which proves out, once he gets home—is that the condoms he used were expired.  A stupid fucking mistake.  His ex had been on the pill, and he hadn’t thought to check the expiration date, and now you are pregnant and facing down your own guilt and angst.

He also feels that relief.  He doesn’t know you at all, and you don’t know him.  Maybe it could have worked, raising a kid with a stranger, coming up with some manageable co-parenting plan.  Maybe it would have been hell, being chained to another person for eighteen years or more.  He knows that he’s cynical from his recent breakup—three years gone, and if he couldn’t make that work, how could he launch himself straight into fatherhood with a one-night stand?

It’s not the last he’ll hear from you:  you’ve promised to let him know when you make the appointment, and he’s promised to pay for the procedure.  

You call him two days later, and it makes him chuckle, the polite way you speak when he answers his phone.  The way you say your full name, as if he has multiple women he’s impregnated that he’s currently juggling.

“I have an appointment for next week,” you tell him.  “But I have to choose if I want a medical abortion or a surgical.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, the medical is cheaper—”

He cuts you off.  “Don’t worry about the cost.  Pick whichever is better for you.”

There’s a long stretch of silence over the phone—so long that he pulls the phone away to look at the screen, thinking the call dropped.  Then he hears it.  Quiet sniffling.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks.

Another sniffle, then a watery laugh.  “Nothing.  It’s just hormones, probably, but you’re being really nice about all of this.  I didn’t think you would be.”

He chuckles at your admission.  “Why’s that?”

“Well, not you specifically.  Just…people in general, you know?  People can be disappointing so much that when they aren’t, it’s…surprising.”

Benny knows exactly what you mean.  He sees how disappointing people are all the time.  In his job, in his personal life.  People let you down.  It gives him the barest bit of satisfaction that he’s not completely disappointing, at least in this situation.

*****

The plan had been for a friend to drive you to your appointment, but the ride falls through at the last minute.  Because you’ve opted for the surgical option, you aren’t allowed to drive yourself….

You grit your teeth and sigh.  You swallow down the remaining crumbs of your pride.  You call Ben.

The goddamned man doesn’t even let you get the entire sentence out.  He cuts you off, asks for your address.  Tells you that he’s leaving work immediately.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” you ask.  You swallow hard against the lump in your throat.  You hate the entire situation:  hate that it happened at all, hate that you had to drag this one-night stand into it.  You had struggled with the decision to call him, after all.  It wasn’t his business, really, but since the condom had obviously failed, it had felt important to let him know.  

Though, to be fair, Ben Magalon is proving to be more than a one-night stand.  You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he is supportive.  More than you ever thought a random cop hookup could be.

He chuckles over the line.  “You don’t know my boss.  It’s fine.”

Forty minutes later, he’s at your door.  

There’s no reason for him to help you.  He’s already given you the money for the procedure, so he could easily tell you to deal with it yourself…but he doesn’t.  Your goddamned one-night stand, the darkly handsome cop that you never thought you’d have to see again—he turns up just when you need him like some fucking knight in shining armor.

-----

The nice thing about L.A. is that it’s liberal.  There’s no one outside of the clinic other than an employee in scrubs taking a smoke break.  No raging protestors, no gory placards trying to guilt you into a different decision than the one you’ve already made.

Inside, the people are kind.  No nonsense, quick and efficient.  But above all kind.  Reassuring.

Ben has to stay in the waiting room, and he gives you a nod and a reassuring smile as you’re led back to the restricted area.  You glance over your shoulder as the door shuts behind you, and you catch a glimpse of him settling into a chair as he pokes through a pile of magazines.

Not for the first time, but it strikes you how lucky you are in such an unlucky situation.  It had felt like the right thing to do, telling him, but you never thought he’d be so supportive.  So reassuring, and not a single ounce of friction.  He accepted your decision without second-guessing you.  He paid for it without you asking.  He left work to be your ride.

It made you sad, in a strange way.  You had enjoyed your night with him, but even drunk, you had noticed his strange apartment.  How pieces of furniture seemed to be missing, how his closet door had been open to reveal one empty side.  Early in the evening he had mentioned an ex with a frown, and it was clear then that he’d been rebounding.

Maybe that’s why you hadn’t thought to call him afterwards, until you had to.  If he hadn’t been so fresh off of a breakup, you might have tried to nurture it into something more.  Maybe.  Maybe you would have dropped him a flirty text or even called, if you had summoned up the courage.

But it was all maybes.  Just theoretical stuff, because this is the reality:  him sitting in the waiting room of the women’s clinic, waiting for you.  The two of you only together because of a sad accident.

*****

It takes almost no time at all, which surprises Benny.  Less than an hour, all told, and then you’re walking out of the clinic with him, a small bag of pain killers and antibiotics clutched in your hand.

“How are you feeling?” he asks once the two of you are back in his truck.  He glances over, and maybe part of him is afraid that you’ll be filled with regret.  That you’ll burst into tears and tell him that you’ve made a terrible mistake.  But the look on your face, if he has to classify it, seems to be relief.  The frown on your face, the worried look in your eyes is gone.  The relief is almost palpable.

“Honestly?  Not nearly as bad as I thought.”  You patted the bag of medication in your lap.  “They gave me a Valium, and I’m a lightweight.”

Benny bites the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling.  You are a lightweight.  He knows that much about you.  That night, he had beaten you easily in the dumb shots contest the two of you had devised.  The thought occurs to him then, and his held-back smile fades into a frown.

He clears his throat as he merges onto the highway.  “Hey, that night…”  He glances over at you again, sees you looking back at him.  “We were pretty fucked up.  I didn’t…force anything, did I?”

He can see you shaking your head out of the corner of his eye.  “I guess there’s an argument about consent and impairment, but we were both drunk.  If you took advantage of me, then I took advantage of you.”

“I guess.”

“I’m good, Ben.  No worries.”

-----

At your apartment, he helps you inside.  It’s awkward.  He’s not exactly a master of social situations, but he’s usually fairly confident.  He usually moves through the world with a level of calm competence that translates to assurance.  There’s no playbook for this, though, and he stands awkwardly by your door until you wave him in.  You walk into your kitchen and he follows a few steps behind, twirling his keys nervously.

You turn away from him, and you take the pill bottles out of the little bag the clinic gave you.  He watches as you read the labels, and he hears you mumble to yourself about timing the doses for every twelve hours.

“Is there anything I can get you?” he asks.  “Anything I can do?”

“You’ve already done so much.  More than you needed to.”

“Told you we were in this together.”

You turn to face him, and he can see the tears that spring to your eyes.  He’s struck again at how brave you are.  How brave you were to call him in the first place, even if it was probably incredibly difficult.  He was a stranger to you, after all.  He can easily imagine a different sort of man having a very different reaction.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever know how much this all means, Ben,” you tell him, and your voice is shaky with emotion.  “You don’t know me at all, and you’ve been so nice…”  Then you start to cry in earnest, though you try to hold it in, great gulping hiccups as you try to rein in your tears.

The guilt hits him again, so he reaches out carefully.  Opens his arms for a hug, and after a beat, you step up to him.  It’s an awkward hug at first, the two of you stiff and unsure against each other.  He holds you lightly, gently.  He’s unsure of any pain you’re in, but he rubs your back carefully.  Tries to comfort you, and in doing so, tries to alleviate some of his own guilt.

“It was my fault,” he murmurs against your head.  “The condoms were expired.  If I hadn’t been so fucking stupid, it would have never happened.”

He doesn’t know you, and part of him expects you to react in anger at his admission.  You don’t, though.  You squeeze him around his middle, and you echo back his own words, that the two of you were in it together.

Somehow, it makes him feel better.  He hopes it makes you feel better too.

-----

When he leaves twenty minutes later, Benny thinks it’s the last time he’ll see you.  He assumes he’ll never speak to you again.  But the guilt still gnaws at him, and two blocks away, he pulls over.  He pulls up an app on his phone and orders you some take-out, has it delivered to your apartment.

It’s not nearly enough, but it’s something.  It’s another thing he can do for you, because everything else—paying for the procedure, driving you there and back—feels paltry, despite what you say.  You’re the one going through it.  He’s just the supporting cast.

After he orders the food—he has to guess at what you might like—he pulls up your number.

Ordered you some food, he texts you.  You should take the antibiotics with food.

The three little dots appear and disappear as you type and delete and type your reply again.  He can picture you tearing up again, and it makes him a little sick, how grateful you are for him.  He did next to nothing, and anything he did was the bare minimum, but apparently you have low expectations for people.

I owe you, you finally type back.  If you ever have a medical emergency, just call me.

Benny shakes his head.  As if you owe him.  He writes back, telling you to rest and to let him know if you need anything at all, and he thinks that’ll be the end of it.

-----

It isn’t the end of it, though.  Over the next few days, then weeks, Benny can’t get the entire sad event out of his head.

He checks on you, as much as he dares.  He had read up on abortions from neutral, science-based sources, but he still has all the stigmas in his head.  That you’re in terrible physical pain.  That you’re wracked with guilt.  That you’re destined for a life of regret and deep depression now.

How are you feeling? He texts you a couple of days afterwards, and you respond after a few moments.

Better!  I’m working from home, so I’m resting too.

He waits another week, then asks the same question.

Back to normal, you reply that time.  I went for a hike at Griffith Park the other day.

Because he’s LACSD and because he has a burgeoning sense of protectiveness over you, he texts you an entire litany full of safety tips.  They had a case in Griffith Park not that long ago, a string of attacks on lone joggers or hikers, and he lets you know all about it.  He tells you to only go there with a friend.  He sends you a link for jogger’s mace—technically illegal, but better to ask for forgiveness after using it than risk an attack turning worse.

Yes, officer, you text back.  

I’m a detective, actually.

Yes, detective, you reply.  I promise to be extra careful in my solo midnight runs through Griffith Park with my headphones on.

Smartass, he types back, but he smiles at it anyway.

*****

It becomes a thing.  It shouldn’t become a thing:  media had led you to believe that the two of you should have never spoken again, the weight of the abortion a heavy, impenetrable wall between you.  That if you ever saw him again, that the two of you should have shared a look of mutual sorrow and then gone your separate ways to nurse your unending guilt separately.

Yet here you are.  The two of you text back and forth.  It starts with his obsessive concern right after the procedure, which warmed your heart.  Then it morphed into small talk.  Then it turned into little jokes here and there, until you and Benny Magalon are texting each other regularly.

It shouldn’t become a thing, but it does.  

It should also be stranger than it feels.  If you lay out the situation like one of your work problems, it makes no sense on paper.  One-night stand, drunken.  Unplanned pregnancy.  An abortion.  Now the two of you texting, getting to know each other after going through a challenging moment together.

Maybe that’s why, despite it not making sense on paper, it still manages to make sense.  Because you went through it together.  Because you decided to let him know about the pregnancy.  Because he’s just…him.  Benny Magalon, you are finding, is a stand-up sort of guy.  Supportive to a fault.  Not just supporting you with the abortion, but checking on you afterwards.  Fussing over your safety.  Giving you details about crimes that surely must be embellished to scare you into living in a bubble.

It’s not a love story, but it’s a friendship, if an unlikely one.  You smile when you get a message from him, and sometimes when you’re doing something fun, you think of mentioning it to him.  

It’s not a love story, but sometimes you wonder how things could have gone differently.  Maybe it could have been a love story.  Maybe if you’d met him after he had more distance from his break-up.  Maybe if the condom hadn’t failed.  A million maybes, and it drives you a little crazy to think of them, but exploring every possibility is part of your job so it’s second nature.

-----

It moves from just texting when he calls you one evening.

It’s his phone, but it’s not him on the other end.  When you pick up, a deeper voice asks if you know Benny Magalon.

“I do,” you say carefully.

The deeper voice introduces itself as a Detective Connors.  He tells you that he is calling from Ben’s phone.  There’s been an accident.

“His emergency contact was deleted a few months ago,” Connors tells you.  “So we went through his phone and called you.”

You don’t question it, not in that moment.  You only hear that Ben—the guy who supported you so selflessly in your hour of need—has been hurt.  That he needs you now.

“Tell me where you are, and I’ll get there as soon as I can,” you tell him.

*****

In terms of injuries in the line of police work, getting hit by a car while running a traffic checkpoint is the least glamorous.  

Benny never even saw it coming, which is probably what ends up saving his life.  If he had seen the car barreling towards him, he would have tensed up, tried to get out of the way.  As it is, the car hit him from behind, and his body went limp as a ragdoll.  Flew through the air, landed hard on the scrub-grass median.

It’s not nearly as bad as it could have been.  It’s not a career-ending incident.  When he comes to in the hospital room, the doctor gives him the rundown of his injuries:  a broken arm and two cracked ribs.  A long, ugly scrape down his side.  A concussion.  Cuts on his face.

At least they’ve given him the good drugs.  Whatever is in the line in his arm, it makes him feel like he’s floating a few inches off of the bed, despite how warm and heavy he feels.  Everything feels soft and rounded off:  the hospital noise is fuzzy and faraway; the lights are faint and haloed.  

He blinks and realizes that he’s nodded off.  When he opens his eyes again, the guys are there:  Henderson and Z and Connors perched in chairs around the room, Big Nick standing in the doorway, ogling the nurses as they walk past.

“There he is,” Connors says.

“Borracho,” Henderson adds with a smile and a shake of his head.  “Nine fucking lives, man.  Gotta start calling you el gato instead.”

Connors reaches out, grips Benny’s ankle through the sheets.  “You flew through the air like fucking Superman, dude.  Thought for sure you were a goner.”

“Wha’ happened?” Benny manages ask, his words slurred, his tongue thick from the drugs in him.  

The guys tell him, and even though they joke, Benny can hear the tremor of real fear in their voices.  The guys’ relief is unmistakable, even through the haze of morphine.

“We called your girl,” Henderson says, and Benny is too high to really question who he means.  His girl.  The words roll through his head, and it takes a long beat before he asks, “wha’ girl?”

“The one you’re always texting.  Your phone’s screen is cracked, but we were able to pull her number.”

Another long beat to piece together who they mean.  His ex used to be his emergency contact, but he removed her months ago.  Didn’t bother to replace her.  He could have listed his sisters, but they’re terrible in an emergency.  His parents moved to Arizona a few years back.  There wasn’t really anyone else for him to list in a true emergency.

Henderson must mean you.

The drugs loosen his tongue, and Benny almost spills the entire sad history with you to the guys.  Almost says that you’re not his girl, but the drugs also make him tired.  He opens his mouth to argue that they shouldn’t have bothered you, but he blinks again and falls asleep.

-----

When he wakes up later, you are there.  And maybe it’s the drugs or the brush with death, but damned if he isn’t happy to see you.  You are sitting in the chair next to the bed, and you give him a smile when he sees you and focuses on you.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

He holds up his good hand and tries to tilt the palm back and forth, the see-saw motion that means, “okay.”  Instead, his hand seems to float on its own accord, and your smile widens.

“They got you on the good stuff, huh?”

“Yeah,” he tries to say, but his tongue still feels thick and unwieldy.  It comes out yuh, and you reach out to pat his good hand.

He concentrates on his words.  “Sorry,” he manages to get out.  “Guys shouldn’t a’ called you.  Bothered you.”

You frown at him.  “Ben, after all we’ve been through?  It’s not a bother at all.”

“You got better things t’do.”

You reach out and pat his hand again.  “I actually don’t.  A very worried detective put an end to my midnight runs through Griffith Park, so now I don’t do anything ever.”

The joke makes a warmth wash through him, on top of the morphine-warmth.  He can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across his face.  

“You’re a smartass,” he slurs, but when you go to pat his hand again, he manages to twist his own and capture your hand.  Holds it clumsily, but you don’t let him go, and that’s how he nods off again.

*****

There’s a part of you that would readily admit that this is payback.  That you are paying Ben back for his support from months ago.  That you owe him, and now you are settling your debt.

There’s another part of you that would less than readily admit that there’s more to it.  Despite your unlikely origins, you like the man, enjoy texting him.  That when you see him looking like absolute road-kill in the hospital bed, your heart lurches in a way you hadn’t expected.

You learn why his coworkers called you.  The one detective who called you, Connors…he pulls you aside in the hallway and explains that they knew about you, kinda.  That Borracho—that’s his nickname, apparently—had been caught multiple times texting you and smiling.

“It was weird,” Connors tells you as he hands you a cup of coffee from the vending machine.  “Dude never smiles like that.”

You scoff at him.  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

The guy shakes his head and takes a sip of his own coffee.  “Well, he hasn’t smiled like that in a while.  We guessed he found a new girl after his old one destroyed him.”

You wonder what that means—destroyed is such a specific, strong word—but you are cagey in your response.

“Well, we’ve been taking it slow.”  Not a lie, exactly.  Not the truth either.

Connors claps you on the back.  “He’s a good guy.  And it’s good of you to come see him.”

-----

You don’t just see Ben, though.  It isn’t a one-and-done visit.  His coworkers—more like meddlesome brothers, really—pull you right into their orbit and you find yourself powerless to escape.  Not that you want to.

They think you’re his girlfriend, so they treat you in a way that’s both deferential and familiar.  When you come back to the room, they offer you the seat closest to the hospital bed where Ben is drifting in and out of consciousness.  When they order food to smuggle in, they ask what you want before deciding where to order from.

But they are cops through and through.  They are also pumping you for intel on yourself, on Ben, on your alleged relationship with him.

What can you tell them?  You tell the truth where you can; you keep your lies as close to the truth as possible.  Yes, you met Ben at a bar.  Yes, you’re keeping it casual.  Yes, he’s a good guy.  A great guy, in fact.

The man himself comes and goes.  Sometimes you glance over at him and see his lax face, and you realize how much younger he looks when he’s asleep.  All the worry lines smooth out and he’s left looking almost boyish, save for the bit of silver in his beard and hair.

Other times you look at him and are startled to see him looking back at you.  He’s got a dopey look on his face, his eyes glassy with the good drugs, and a very quiet part of you wishes things had gone differently.  That maybe he would have looked all love-sick and goofy at you without the benefit of strong opiates.

When you go to leave, Ben is asleep.  It spares you an awkward goodbye, the need to act like a couple for the benefit of the other guys.  You do kiss your fingertips and press them gently to his forehead, light enough to not wake him.

*****

Benny doesn’t want to call you, but his ride falls through.  It occurs to him as he’s calling you, though, that it’s a strange bit of symmetry to months ago, when you needed a ride from him.

Henderson was supposed to take him home from the hospital.  Something comes up last minute at work, and since they are short-handed from Benny being out, he finds himself without a ride.

He could call a sister.  He has three of them.  He could even call one of the cousins that lives in L.A.  But he’s weirdly secretive about injuries incurred at work—his parents had been against him going into law enforcement, so he avoids bringing up the bad parts of it…like getting hit by a car at a traffic checkpoint.  He hates having to hear the usual I told you so from his mom.  And he hates how they all descend on him when he’s sick or injured, his mom and sisters, how it turns cloying and claustrophobic within a day.

In reality, he probably has an entire list of people he could call for a ride.  His mind settles on you:  you’ve kept in touch over the past few days, texting him and even calling to see how he is.  He knows you’re just paying him back from before, but he’s too tired and in too much pain to do anything other than embrace the warm flush he gets every time he hears his phone ping.

When you pick up the phone, he explains the situation, and he also walks it back a little.  Says not to worry if it’s a problem, he can always find someone else—

“Not a problem at all,” you reply.  “I have a light workday today.  We’re just cleaning up the soundstage where we filmed the fake moon landing.  I can dip out early.”

He laughs and then bites back a groan, his ribs hurting from the effort.  “Smartass,” he grumbles after a beat.  “And don’t make me laugh.”

You laugh too, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s heard your real laugh.  It’s a nice sound.  It makes him smile to hear it.

“Give me forty minutes, and I’ll be there.”

-----

You don’t just dump him off at his apartment, and really, Benny didn’t expect you to.  He’s gotten to know you better—from the little texts, before, and now with the fallout from his accident—and he’s found that you’re a decent person.  Which maybe sounds like nothing special, but he learned long ago that truly decent people were rarer than one would expect.

You pick him up from the hospital.  You take him to his apartment.  You help him inside, hovering right at his elbow.  Not touching him, but lurking nearby in case he needs help.

You help him get comfortable on his couch.  You remember enough of the layout of his place from that night together, and you disappear into his bedroom.  You bring out pillows, a blanket.  You help him settle on the couch, prop up his broken arm.  You disappear into the kitchen and get him a glass of water, and you hand him the remote to the TV.

“I’m going to take your keys,” you tell him, all business.  “I’m going to get your prescriptions filled and then get you some food.”  You give him a disapproving frown and add, “I snooped in your fridge, Ben.  You’re literally a stereotype.”

“What do you mean?”

“You only have a jar of salsa and old Chinese leftovers.”

You aren’t wrong—he rarely bothers to cook for just himself—but he waves you off.  

“You don’t have to—” he starts to say, but you interrupt him.

“I’m going to, so just deal with it.”  You stare him down, and Benny realizes that you’ve got a steely core to you that is intractable.  When he doesn’t challenge you further, you nod in satisfaction and ask what he might want for dinner.

-----

He on a leave of absence for two months, but his first few weeks home are handled by you.

It should feel strange.  Should feel like a fever dream, being taken care of by the one-night stand he accidentally knocked up.  He realizes only a few days in that he’s stopped thinking about you in those terms.  

He thinks of you now as a friend.

He doesn’t know how you feel about him, but at the moment, you treat him like a project.  Or maybe you’re treating him like a problem to solve:  you come over every evening after work, and you spend the bulk of the weekends with him.  One morning, when you’re at work and he’s poking around in his fully-stocked fridge, he finds a list in your neat printing on the counter.  It says:

Medication schedule

Meal planning

Laundry

Plant

It’s all the shit you’re doing for him.  Unasked.  When he tries to wave you off, or tell you that you don’t have to, you wave him off in return and say that you want to.

The bullet point of plant makes him wonder, but that is answered that very evening:  you turn up at his door with a bag of groceries in one hand, a potted plant in the other.

“Thought it would cheer the place up,” you tell him simply, and you plunk it down on his kitchen table.

-----

The first few days, it’s just Benny drifting in and out of sleep while you tidy up and make him dinner.  You dole out his pills—the antibiotics, the pain pills.  You adjust his pillows.  You sit and watch TV with him, and you chat a little.

He heals.  The splitting headaches fade to dull aching, then disappear.  His ribs ache less and less.

You help him clean the ugly scrape along his side.  It’s on the same side as his broken arm, and he can’t quite twist his good arm to clean himself without hurting his ribs.  

That should feel strange too—the two of you in his bathroom, him shirtless and you bent over his side, swabbing at his cuts and monitoring him for signs of infection.  You have gentle hands, a light touch.  When you press your head close to his shoulder to put fresh bandages there, he can just catch a hint of your shampoo, the clean herbal smell that he remembers from that night months ago.

----

After those first few days, as he heals and as he steps down from his pain pill regimen, the two of you start to talk.

He apologizes for you getting roped into this by the guys.  He didn’t think they knew about you, and he never thought they’d assume anything from his texting with you…but you wave him off, tell him not to apologize.

At the end of the first week, you make a face at his constant apologizing.  You wince a little and ask if you should go.  Are you cramping his style?  Would he rather be alone?  Is it too weird, having you there?  If he doesn’t need help or company anymore, you can go…

Benny is honest in his answer.  No, he doesn’t need your help, he can probably manage on his own with some minor struggles, but he enjoys your company.  

So you keep coming over.

And the two of you talk more.  It becomes its own thing, the way his initial texts became their own thing:  dinner and then watching TV together, either true crime or sports or nothing special at all.  The TV is just background noise for when you talk.

“Do you ever feel guilty about it?” he asks one night.  His voice is quiet, and the question comes out hesitant.  He doesn’t want to offend you, but he also wants to check in with you.  He wants to make sure you’re okay, so many months after the fact.

“Guilty?  No.”  You look at him for a beat, then turn back to the TV.  “I suppose if I feel anything, it’s relief.  And maybe a little bit of sadness.  Scientifically, I know all the propaganda is just flat-out wrong.  That abortion…it wasn’t a roly-poly baby.  It was a cluster of cells the size of a blueberry.  But I guess the sadness is at the potential.  It could have been, you know?  Maybe I would have miscarried anyway, but the potential was there, if that makes sense.”

Benny nods.  “Makes sense to me.”

“What about you?”

He shakes his head a little.  “Mostly relief for me too.  I wasn’t in a good spot.  But I do feel guilty about putting you in that situation.”

“We both agreed—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts you off.  “In it together.  Right.  But still….”

He trails off and looks at you, sees you gazing back at him.  There’s no reason this entire weird friendship should make sense, but it does.  He sees you looking at him, not an ounce of judgement or disgust in your expression.  There’s only a small smile, a small encouraging nod, and he’s still on enough pain medication—and tired enough—for his usual taciturn reserve to fail him.

He opens up about his ex.  About the three years they spent together.  How he thought she was The One, capital “T” and capital “O.”  How he felt like he was on a treadmill, though, always running after her, never catching up.  How he struggled to make her happy.  How he never made quite enough money, or had quite enough time, or said quite the perfect thing.  How his ex used silence like a cudgel, making him scramble to guess what he’d done wrong.

“I went out that night because I was furious,” he admits to you.  “I saw that my ex was dating again, only a week after dumping me.”

“So you were definitely rebounding.”

He nods.  He reaches out for his glass of water, grunts at the stretch against his ribs as he reaches.  You lean forward and get it for him, hand him the glass, and he takes a long sip.

“I just wanted to find some woman to sleep with,” he adds, and the shame washes over him to remember his rage and how he’d been prepared to take it out on a stranger.

“And you found me.”  You smile again, this time sad, and it doesn’t reach your eyes.

But you weren’t just some woman that night, and he tells you so.  He tells you how funny you had been, how kind.  How you had bought him a drink, and no woman had ever bought him a drink before.  How you had joked around with him, flirted.  Made him feel good about himself, smoothed over the rough edges of his anger until he forgot that he was there to forget his ex.

“You did that thing that some drunk girls do,” he says quietly, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“What thing?”

That thing that some drunk girls do.  Benny Magalon knows that alcohol can reveal a person’s innermost self.  Angry people are angry drunks.  Sweet people are sweet drunks.  

That night at the bar:  you completely drunk, him well on the road to full intoxication too.  He had mentioned his recent breakup, made some disparaging comment about himself.  And you had done that thing, cupped his face firmly between your two hands, smushed his cheeks together a bit because you were drunk.  You had gazed up at him, eyes glassy but earnest, and you gave him one of those drunk-girl pep-talks.  Told him he was good-looking and smart and funny and a million other superlatives that you couldn’t possibly prove out, since he was a stranger to you, but it still made him feel amazing all the same.  After three years of scrambling to feel worthy of his ex, you had given him a hot-shot right to his ego.  Made him feel hopeful.

That was the moment he had decided to take you home.  Not because you were the random woman he wanted to fuck as a way of getting over his ex, but because you seemed so unlike her, and he wanted you just for you.

He tells you all of that now, and you’re quiet for a long, long moment.  He’s found that you have a poker face too (maybe not as good as his own), and he can’t guess what you’re thinking.

“That’s why I feel guilty two times over,” he adds.  “Because I went out to the bar with less-than-honorable intentions.  I went out just to find someone to use.  And then, what happened afterwards….”

“You have to let go of the guilt, Ben,” you tell him.  You shake your head a bit, offer him another sad smile.  “It’s in the past.  You can’t change it, so take your lesson from it and do better going forward.”

-----

It’s only a few days later when he snaps at you.  It’s not your fault, but it’s his first full day without pain medicine, and Benny realizes that the stuff he’s been on was super-strong.  Now that he’s off it, the pain is in full bloom:  the ache in his ribs, the grinding pain in his broken arm.  The itchy healing of the cuts and scrapes on his side.  He’s been in a shitty mood all day, and when you turn up and make dinner, he takes it out on you.

“You can stop coming over.  If you think you owe me, you’ve repaid it ten times over,” he spits out.  His head is throbbing, and he’s uber-aware of his broken arm.  He can’t get comfortable with it, and even the sling seems to irritate his neck and shoulder until he feels like he’s made of just raw nerves and exhaustion.

“I don’t think that at all.”  You are serene when you answer him, completely unperturbed by his mean tone.

“Don’t you?”  It comes out sneering, and he knows he’s trying to pick a fight.  Some part of him—a small, mean part—wants to fight with you.  Wants to drive you away.  He wants to be alone and wallow.  Because another part of him—a small, despairing part—wants you to stay, but he knows that once he’s healed and able to take care of himself, you’ll disappear…

Better to be the one to push people away than to be the one who is pushed away.

You don’t rise to the occasion of the fight.  You turn away from the stove to look at him, and your tone is mild.

“I’ll leave if you want, but let me finish dinner first.  No sense in wasting it.”

It breaks the spell of his irritation, and Benny hangs his head.  “Sorry.”

You reach out and lay a hand on his forehead, considering him.  “You look flushed.  First day off the pain pills, right?  No wonder you’re ornery.”

You drop your hand and turn back to the stove, to dinner prep.  You tell him, just as casually, that you know how it feels.  That you took a bad fall on a hike a few years back and jammed up your shoulder pretty good.  That you had surgery to repair the mess of torn ligaments, and that the withdrawal from even a short run of opiates was miserable.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats quietly.  Then, a beat later, “will you stay?”

*****

It shouldn’t make sense, but it does.  You and Ben Magalon may have started as a couple of strangers united through a sad event, but you’ve ended up friends.  

From friends, you become something more, but you go so, so slow.  It’s glacially paced, but that suits you just fine.  It seems to suit him too.  Friendship is a good place to stay while he works through his own issues with his ex.  Friendship is a good place for you to idle while you contemplate how wildly out of order everything is:  one-night stand, accidental pregnancy, then affection.

Because you do like Ben.  A lot.  You don’t love him, but you’ve always been slow to fall in love, too measured and wary of such precarious emotions.  Love, for you, is like getting the flu:  there’s signs that it’s coming.  Instead of a sore throat or a bit of fever, it’s little things:  the fluttery feeling in your stomach, the way your thoughts drift to him when you are at work.

It goes slow.  Ben heals up and goes back to work.  The two of you text all the time, and it becomes a thing, hanging out.  You’re both zero frills, zero fuss, so you usually just settle at your apartment or his.  Order take-out and watch whatever game is on, or you switch off on picking movies.  Which is what friends do—they just hang out.  But sometimes it toes the line of being more.

Like when he has a weeklong string of bad work days.  A case that falls apart.  A witness that disappears.  Double shifts where nothing is accomplished and nothing is solved.  He calls you and tells you about it, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Want me to come over and bring you dinner?” you ask, and he does want that.

The week must have gotten under his skin, because when the two of you eat a late meal on his couch, he sits closer to you.  Shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.  After he finishes eating, he sets his take-out container down and loops an arm around your shoulder.  Pulls you against him gently.

“This okay?” he asks.

It is okay, and you tell him so.

-----

Or there’s the time your grandfather dies.  You fly out east for the funeral, but when you return to L.A., you text Ben.

He turns up at your door with a bag of tacos, grease-spotted and still warm from the restaurant.  He sits with you and eats in silence, not pushing you, and when the dam finally breaks and you cry, he holds you then too.  Only this time, he’s giving you comfort instead of taking it for himself, and you consider it later—how the two of you seem to be the other’s safe place, against all odds.

*****

It’s not a position that Benny Magalon ever thought he’d find himself in.  Getting a girl pregnant, then falling in love with her after the fact.  He’s seen a million incongruous things happen in his job though.  L.A. is a vortex of the weird.

Stranger things have happened.

He keeps up the tame lie for the benefit of the guys.  Easier to maintain the lie than to come up with a more complicated lie to explain you away…and certainly easier than coming clean.  They rag him sometimes, and he finds that he enjoys the lie.  He enjoys pretending that you’re his girl, that he’s managed to land someone he thinks is the real deal.

The two of you are friends, and maybe the situation that brought you together helps, in its own strange way.  Trial by fire.  Mutual mourning pulling you together instead of tearing you apart.  

The reality is that the line is blurring.  It’s slow, but the line is dissolving between friends and something else. The two of you start to touch more—you tucked away under his arm as you watch TV or chat, him casually touching your back as he walks past you.  Small touches, nothing overtly sexual, but it’s a cozy intimacy that he finds he really likes, especially with you.  It grounds him.

Sometimes you sleep over at each other’s place, even if it’s never planned.  He nods off on your couch and wakes in the morning to find that you’ve eased a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket.  You fall asleep against him at his place, and he puts you in his bed.  He gives you a t-shirt to sleep in while he tosses and turns on his own couch, trying to be the gentleman.

There’s the night you both fall asleep together on your couch.  He wakes up in the middle of the night, disoriented, to find you curled up in his arms, your steady breathing tickling against his neck.

That’s the night he chances to kiss you, just a gentle press of his lips against your temple.  Then he falls back asleep too, wondering at the cliché of it, how well he sleeps with you.

-----

A year passes.  The anniversary passes.  He’s working a double shift that day so he can’t be there with you, but when he goes out for a smoke break, he calls you.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

There’s a long pause, and he knows you’re being thoughtful before you answer.  You do that, he’s noticed:  you answer slow because you want to be honest and clear.

“I was sad earlier, but I’m okay now,” you tell him.  “What about you?”

He was sad earlier too.  He had thought about it all day, the potential you had told him about before.  But hearing your voice makes him feel better, and he tells you so.

There’s another long beat of silence from you, but then your soft voice says, “I’m glad to have you in my life, Ben.”  

That makes him feel better too.

-----

It’s a few months after when one of Benny’s cases finally gets solved.  It has dragged on for months and months, leads that led nowhere, witnesses who saw nothing.  He finally gets a pop on some touch DNA, and it unlocks two other unsolved cases.  He gets that flush of pleasure at a job well done, at actually living out his dream of being a cop who solves shit and gets the bad guys put away.

The guys want to celebrate.  They invoke your name.

“Bring your girl, Borracho,” Z says.  “We’ll keep it PG for her.”

“PG-13, at least,” Henderson amends.

Benny demurs.  Mumbles something about not wanting to bother you, and he misses the sly smile between Connors and the Z.

When they end up at the bar they usually go to, there you are:  waiting outside with a shy smile on your face.  Waiting for them.  You’ve shed your workwear and are in jeans that hug your curves, a shirt that shows just a hint of cleavage.  You have a whole cutely sexy thing that he loves, and his heart lurches when he sees you.

Z slaps Benny on the back.  He leans forward and tells him that Connors kept your phone number for just such an occasion, and he smirks as he tells Benny that he can’t hide you away forever.

He has to concede that they have a point.

-----

He knows you well enough to know you’re a homebody by nature, but you can turn on a sociable part of you too.  You’re shy at first—you shrink against him a bit, because the guys are a lot—but you warm up over time.  You know them from the hospital.  It doesn’t take long until you are chatting with them, laughing with them.  

When they try to embarrass Benny by telling you stories about him, you sweetly defend him.  When Big Nick offers a toast to the man of the hour, when the guys give you the sordid details about the cases he just solved, you smile at him so broadly that he feels dazzled.

He lays his arm around your shoulders, and you lean into him.  You lay a gentle hand on his knee.

You both drink, but not much at all.  You both layer in a lot of water between your alcohol, and at some point, late in the night, you both switch to soda at the same time.

Henderson notices it.  He rolls his eyes and gestures between the two of you.

“Gross,” he says.  “You two are already acting like each other.”

Benny flips him off with a grin, but he squeezes you a little tighter against his side.  He knows why he’s not getting plastered, and he can guess that you’re pacing yourself for the same reason.

By the time it’s last call, it doesn’t feel like the two of you are pretending for the benefit of the guys anymore.  It feels natural.

----

Benny takes you home, like that first night together, but that’s where the comparison ends.

There’s no drunken pawing at each other, no giggling when one trips over their discarded pants.  No sloppy kisses that taste like liquor.

He’s gone so slowly with you.  He’s been so careful.  It started that day he was healing, the first day without pain pills when he had been a snappish asshole and you had simply recognized the source of his ire and moved on.  That was the day he started to think, maybe.  Maybe I can win this woman over, after all the terrible shit from the beginning.

He’s never been so careful with a woman.  He builds a friendship first.  He gets to really know you, and he lets his own guard down so you can know him.  

Benny goes slow now too.  He puts his hands on your shoulders before he makes a move.  He makes you look at him, and even though you’ve been only drinking a little, he studies your eyes for any signs of impairment.  He finds none:  just you, clear-eyed, gazing up at him.

“Is this something you want?” he asks.  He thinks he gets that vibe from you, but he’s not entirely sure.  The insecure part of him, leftover from his ex, wonders if you’re just trauma-bonded to him.  He’s heard the term before, and he wonder if it fits your situation with him.

You’re not drunk, but you do that thing that some drunk girls do:  you reach up and hold his face between your hands.  You don’t smush his cheeks together like before, because you’re sober, and he smiles against the memory.  You smile back at him.

“This is something I want,” you reply.

So he takes his time.  He moves slowly, carefully.  He kisses you, and it’s not like before.  For one, you’re sober, but more than that:  he knows you now.  He knows your quirks and likes and habits.  He knows how you deal with tragedy, how you break problems down into manageable bites.  You aren’t just some cute girl from a bar.  You’re a real woman that he’s fallen for, little by little, then all at once.

You kiss him back, the sweet press of your lips against his, the sweep of your tongue inside his mouth.  He’s tentative when he touches you—his palms smoothing over your arms, one settling at your waist to pull you closer to him.  The other slides up to cup the back of your neck, and he brushes his thumb over your throat, over your pulse point.  He can feel your heartbeat, steady and solid.

You touch him back.  Press your palms to his chest, toy with button near his throat.  You undo it, and then you break the kiss to dip your head.  You kiss him, feather-light, in the hollow of his throat.  He exhales a ragged breath and cups your chin to pull your face back to his, your mouth back to his own.  He kisses you harder.  Nips against your soft lower lip, suckles against it when you gasp.

He does everything he should have that first night.  Deep down, he’s not like Big Nick or the other guys:  he’s only had a handful of random hook-ups, almost always settling for relationships over flings.  Now’s his chance to do better with you.  He leads you to the bedroom, your hand gripped in his, unwilling to let you go for even a few seconds.

He takes his time.  He strips you slowly, worships each new part of you when it’s bared to him.  He takes off your shirt and then kisses your neck, your collarbones, your shoulders.  He finds the old scars from your shoulder injury, and he kisses those gently, remembering how kindly you had cared for him when he was injured.  

He takes off your bra and lavishes you with attention there:  cups your breasts in his hands, molds them and pushes them up so that he can lave them with his tongue, nip at your diamond-hard peaks with the edges of his teeth until you whine out his name.  

It goes straight to his dick, hearing his name tumbling out of your mouth in that breathy, pleading tone.  He’s never heard that tone before.  He wants to hear it again and again.

He gets you out of the rest of your clothes.  He sheds his own.  He kisses his way down your body, suckles marks against your soft skin.  He kisses the softness of your belly, kisses the swell of your hips.  He bares his teeth and nips at your hipbone, and you squirm at the sensation.  Huff out his name again, only this time you call him Benny.  Usually you call him Ben (or sometimes Officer Magalon, when you’re feeling like a teasing little shit) but Benny sounds so much better in your mouth.

He didn’t go down on you before; you let him do so now.  You part your thighs, make room for his broad shoulders to spread you wider before him.  You squirm a little at that too, at his heavy gaze, so he asks again if it’s okay.  You nod, but then you say that yes, it’s okay.  Your voice is strained, tight with lust, so Benny bends his head to you.  He puts his mouth on you, and the first swipe of his tongue makes you whine out his name again, makes his dick jump at the sound.

He wants to devour you, but he keeps his careful pace.  Laps at you torturously slow, circles your clit in a lazy pattern with the tip of his tongue.  Eases one finger, then another into your wet heat, and he can already feel how sensitive you are.  Keyed up and twitching against his fingers.  Benny has to shift himself on the bed to give himself a bit of friction against the sheets, a bit of relief for his aching cock.

“Benny, please,” you whisper.  It tears out of your throat ragged, raw.  He glances up and sees how he’s undone you with just his mouth:  your lips are parted and panting, your eyes are shiny with frustrated tears.  

“Got you, sweetheart.”  And he does.  He crooks his fingers inside you, pressing his fingertips searchingly inside you until you gasp and jerk against him.

“Right there?” he asks.  “Is that the spot?”

“Fuck, yes, Benny…yes, right there—”

He bends his head again.  Strokes that spot inside you with his fingertips, and then he wraps his lips around your clit.  Sucks against it, and you’re so keyed up, that’s all it takes.  He feels it a moment later, the force of your orgasm overtaking you.  He coaxes you through it, groans at how it hits all of his senses—your pussy gripping his fingers, the warm slick of your cum coating his hand and his tongue.  The taste of you, and best of all:  you whining his name, begging him to not stop, to never stop.

-----

What comes next could be awkward, given your history together.  But the two of you have taken it slowly, become friends.  The two of you have spoken frankly about what happened, and so it isn’t awkward.

“We can stop, if you want,” he tells you once you’ve both calmed from him eating you out.  He’s stretched out beside you, running his hand over your arm soothingly.  “We don’t have to do anything else.”

You lean forward and press a light kiss to his mouth.  “I want to, Benny.”

“I have new condoms.  Unexpired.”

You nod.  “And I have an IUD.  Got one a few months after.”

“Twice as safe then.”

“Well….”  You shrug against him, and you start to cite prevention percentages in both contraceptives, in perfect use and typical use, and Benny is reminded that you’re also a giant fucking nerd for statistics and numbers, so he cuts you off with a kiss.

And what comes after that discussion could be awkward too, but it isn’t.  He lies on his back.  He wants you on top, controlling the moment.  He doesn’t want even an ounce of doubt in his head creeping in later, when he will inevitably try to convince himself that you don’t want him and only went along with it.

It’s not awkward at all.  You mirror his slow pace, and now that you’re on top, you take liberties and kiss him.  Gentle kisses across his face, down his throat.  Across his shoulders and chest, and you start to drift even lower until he stops you.

“Some other time,” he says, and his voice sounds like yours did.  Ragged.  Raw.

It’s not awkward when you slide onto him.  When you settle against his thighs, the full length of him buried inside you.  Not awkward at all.  You feel like home.

He grips your waist, but he doesn’t drive you to go faster.  He just holds onto you as you ride him, slow and sensual.  You go slow enough for him to feel every inch of you, feel the heavy drag of his cock as you impale yourself over and over on him.

You look like a damned vision.  He probably looks stupid, his mouth agape, a stunned look on his face.  He can’t fathom how he’s here with you, despite the slow and careful tact he’s taken all these months.  More than a year he’s known you, and it astounds him that the two of you have ended up here together.

“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart,” he breathes out.  You are.  He looks at you greedily, takes in every inch of you.  He wants to memorize this moment.  Before, he was left with only a few flashes of memory, so he wants to take in every movement of your hips, every bounce of your tits as you ride him.  The way you arch your back as you pick up the pace, driving both yourself and him to your mutual pleasure.

This time around, he gets to see you come.  He can’t remember that moment from before, but he sees it now:  the way you squeeze your eyes shut so tightly that a tear creeps out of one corner.  The way you breathe out his name, a tortured whisper.  One of your hands grips at his pec, your nails biting into his skin, but the other reaches higher to cup his face.  To hold him steady as you lean forward and kiss him, hard.  

That’s how you come—a throaty groan that he swallows down as he kisses you back, a tight grip on his cock as you sink onto him and still.  You break the kiss a second later, whispering his name over and over like a prayer, and it’s such an intensely intimate moment—and he’s been holding his own orgasm back—that he comes too.

-----

Before, the two of you had basically collapsed afterwards, a mass of sweaty limbs tangled up together. You’d both fallen asleep; there had been no talking afterwards.

This is…sweeter.  More intimate.  Benny cleans up, and he helps you clean up, and then he settled back down in the bed with you.  Lifts an arm in invitation, and you curl up against him.

He feels drunk now, if he’s honest.  He feels loose-limbed and pleasantly buzzed.  There’s a warm flush offset by the goosebumps you raise on him as you trace your fingertip over the tattoo on his chest, as your breath tickles against his neck.  

Not for the first time, it occurs to him how absurd this is.  This thing between the two of you.  He always thought he’d meet his girl the usual way, do things in the usual order.  

You must be thinking the same thing.  After a long stretch of silence, you say, “it’s weird, right?”

It is, but it’s not bad-weird.  Just…. unlikely-weird.  Unexpected-weird.

“I’m not a one-night stand anymore,” he jokes.

You turn your head and nip at him playfully.  “You know what I mean, Benny.”

“I do.”  He takes a few steadying breaths, the adds, “it never has to be anyone’s business but our own, you know.”

“I know.”

“Because I want this.”  He says it quieter, half hoping you don’t hear it over how hard his heart must be beating.

He almost thinks you don’t hear him, it takes you so long to answer.  But you do.  “I want this too,” you whisper back.

You fall asleep first, and he takes longer to nod off.  He thinks back to when the two of you talked about it, how you had said that you were only sad when you thought about the potential, from before.  

But as he starts to drift to sleep, he thinks about the potential the two of you still have.  The potential you have together because you both took a less than ideal situation and came together over it.  How you became each other’s support and built from that instead of letting the sad circumstances of your beginning keep you apart.

You and Benny Magalon.  You were in it together, both then and now.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​   @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt   @rosiefridayrogersunday​   @strawberrydragon​   @hoeforthefictional​   @greeneyedblondie44​  @leannawithacapitala​   @stardust-galaxies​  @buckybarneshairpullingkink​   @harriedandharassed​  @thatpinkshirt​@melaniecraig80   @thesandbeneathmytoes​

[early20sfailingplenty]

hiiiiiii, could I maybe request some Dom!Vincent involving knife play?

This is more sensual than NSFW but if you're under 18, please do not read this.

Experimenting with knives for the first time with Vincent

(Explicitly 'first time' because I've never written knife play either so this is me experimenting with knife play as a concept, as well as the characters experimenting, too. How's that for meta?😂)

TW; obviously knives, shirtless reader (no anatomical descriptions given) Vin is silent & imposing and oh so hot🔥, blood (minimal; a slight nick in the skin) Consent is explicitly given at several points but it's not verbal, it's within the narrative and actions exchanged between Vincent and reader. I'm not sure if this needs to go on a trigger list, but I'm writing it down just in case.

As always, gender neutral reader, no coded language, "you" and Y/N used.

Word count: 1, 370.

You had always loved Vincent's twin blades.

To watch him use them was a special kind of treat to you; you so rarely got to see him in the full swing of his brutality. He was always careful in making sure that you never saw him kill his victims unless you explicitly asked for it. Otherwise, you were told to stay inside your locked (from the inside; you were trusted) bedroom and to not come out for any reason other than the coded rapid three raps of a single knuckle, which meant that Bo or Vincent needed you to help them finish a job or were taking you somewhere else safer and more secluded while the visitors remained alive.

The silver glint of those beautiful blades was so tantalising to you, and many a time had you stared at them and the way Vincent's skilled, deadly fingers curved around the handles. Oh, but he was as brutal as he was passionate, as ruthless as he was tender, and as mysterious as he was familiar.

Just when you thought you knew everything there was to know about him, he surprised you. He kept you on your toes and you had learned to accept that he was as unpredictable as Bo and you would never fully know him. In the end, that small tidbit only made you love him more.

So when, one day, Vincent caught your eyes lingering, once again on his twin blades, left out on his desk so that he could polish them later, he was quick to take action where previously he would have noted it and said or done nothing. He stood slowly without taking his one beautiful and hypnotic blue eye off you, and slid the knives off the wax encrusted desk. The scraping sound of the well loved metal against the worn wood sent a delicious shiver to run down your spine and Vincent smirked to himself in a gesture so much like Bo's (though you didn't see it due to the mask on his face) as he approached you one step at a time.

You remained sat on the twin bed but you pushed yourself backwards and laid down; it was as much consent for whatever he wanted to do to you as it was a reaffirmation of trust in him. Vincent tilted his head, his way of saying that he heard your message and understood what you were telling him, his dark locks falling over his waxy mask, as his knees brushed up against your body. You couldn't see his eye in the low light of his workshop, but you felt the appreciation in his gaze. You were his muse, his finest artwork, and his love. Everything Vincent had ever wanted, wrapped up into one person.

You.

Vincent adjusted his grip on one of the blades so that the tip was angled straight down. If he dropped it, it would go straight through your thigh. But you trusted him and his grip and so you reacted with little more than a hitch of your breath. He was testing your resolve, seeing how much you were willing to take from him. He was dominant, it was true, but he never did anything you didn't want him to do, and Vincent had always made it a habit of checking in on you with every new thing he wanted to try.

Slowly did he lower the blade, trailing just the tip up and down your clothed thigh. You shivered and your thigh flexed. "I can take more, Vincent," You looked him full in the face, "It's okay."

Vincent tilted his head again and flipped the other blade so that the handle was facing you and he had the tip pinched between his thumb and forefinger. You took it from him, understanding what he wanted you to do, and lifted up your shirt so that it was just underneath your ribs. You copied Vincent by holding the blade straight down and trailed the tip lightly, lightly, across the newly revealed expanse of skin. You shivered as the cool metal traced you and, help you, but you somehow tried to arch into the metal as much as you tried to get away from it, and Vincent huffed in amusement.

He leaned over and tugged your shirt. Instantly and so fast that you were dizzy, you sat up and removed your shirt, letting it trail across your skin before you pulled it off and dumped it on the floor to be picked up later. Vincent liked to be slow when he was having this time with you, for every other aspect of his life was fast paced.

You laid back down and Vincent moved to stand beside the bed rather than at the foot. He took the blade from you and then, with his eye fixed firmly on you, he held it to your throat. The metal, now warmed by your body, rested there lightly, and you pushed into it. Instantly did Vincent move the blade away with a sharp shake of his head. He tucked it under his arm and then signed, slowly and carefully so that you couldn't misinterpret him, 'don't. Could cut too deep. Not you.'

"Sorry, Vincent," You reached out for one of his hands and he gave it to you without thinking; he couldn't and wouldn't deny you anything. "Try again, please?"

Vincent gave you a firm look as he did what you asked, holding the blade to your throat. Getting you used to the weight, the feeling, the idea that he could kill you with a single flick of his wrist, or if you moved in the wrong way. He had you under his full control and it was as much a turn on for him as it was for you.

He trailed the knife down your neck, down, down, your sternum, first as a flat column of metal and then slowly did he adjust the angle until only the tip was dragging a thin line across your skin, not piercing but teasing the possibility. It reached the waistband of the clothes which covered your lower body and then he grabbed the other blade, this time trailing two parallel lines back up your body until he reached your neck, the knives followed every millimetre by your eyes. Oh, but you wanted so much more than what Vincent was doing to you. But one thing at a time, one knife at a time.

"Vinny, please," You arched into the touch of one of the blades at your collarbone and a bead of crimson gathered as the blade pierced your skin. The sting made you gasp and Vincent stopped dead. He eyed the way your breathing picked up, felt the heat from your skin, realised that you enjoyed this as much as he did. He held both blades in one hand as he ducked down to press a kiss to the swelling of blood, tasting another part of you. Oh, but he loved you so much that it hurt him, and the level of trust which you had placed in him to allow him to touch you, not with violence but with love, with his prized blades, only made him love you more. "I can take it."

Vincent continued to press kisses along your collarbone, sending waves of arousal through your body and his, and you looped an arm around his neck and pulled him down, down. Vincent resisted your tug easily enough, so strong was he, and put the blades on the bedside table before he finally let you pull him down atop you in a cuddle. It was at total odds with what you had been experimenting with together, and it only summarised your relationship rather aptly. Your fingers settled in his tangled hair and Vincent's hands settled on your hips. He tapped once, twice, thrice, and you looked at him just in time to see him sign, 'blood next time. Just want you.'

"You have me, Vincent. I'm all yours."

It was a promise, a vow, an oath, so solemn and hypnotic, that Vincent couldn't have looked away if he tried. It was just as well, then, that he didn't want to.

[herlocksherlock]

Herlock Sholmes Has ADHD

I believe Herlock Sholmes from “The Great Ace Attorney” has undiagnosed Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, or ADHD. I know this is a pretty popular fanon theory/headcanon, but I’ve never seen anyone lay out evidence for it. Spoilers below the read more.

Forgetfulness and Losing Things

Herlock Sholmes has some established memory issues directly connected to his interest in said information. This is pretty typical for someone with ADHD, though sometimes Herlock takes it to a bit of an extreme.

[Image Description: Screenshot from The Great Ace Attorney showing Iris Wilson telling Susato Mikotoba “He forgets everything. As soon as he’s solved a case, it all but vanishes from his mind.” End Image Description.]

When I say it’s connected to his “interest” in the information, I'm referring to personal relevancy more than subjective preference. In other words, even if a case was very interesting to him on a subjective level, once he’s done, it’s no longer especially relevant to him. The longer something goes without being directly relevant to him on a day-to-day basis, the more likely he is to forget it. He pushes case details from his memory about as fast as many of us push class details out of mind following the final exam, but for Herlock it goes deeper than that. 

He’s forgotten things about people close to him too when hasn’t seen them for a while, including how many years it had been since he last saw Yuujin Mikotoba. He even seemed to forget who Ryunosuke and Susato were after not seeing them for a little over a month (though to be fair, he’d only known them a few days before that month). 

Another very common symptom of ADHD in adults is continuously losing or misplacing things and generally having poor organizational skills. 

[Image Description: Screenshot from The Great Ace Attorney showing  Herlock Sholmes saying “And it’s troubling to me that you expect me to know where it is! Somewhere thereabouts on the floor, one presumes.” End Image Description.]

This is defintely a problem with Herlock, to the point that I believe he even gave up on finding a missing book at one point and just opted to buy a new one. The fact that he thought it would be easier to invest in a new copy of the book than to try and locate it is pretty significant when you take into account the fact that he does not really have any disposable income to speak of. In fact, he sometimes seems to have trouble just paying rent.

Rapid-Fire Thinking

Herlock’s mind goes too fast for him sometimes, a trait that leads to some deductions that are very close (and yet so very far) from being accurate. I have heard the argument that these deductions were merely a farce to test Ryunosuke, and while I think there might be some truth to that, I don’t think that explains it in full. For example, why would Herlock go out of his way to test Ryunosuke when there was a time bomb in the middle of the room? Even if ADHD has a risk-taking element to it, I don’t think Herlock would go that far.

I think at least some of the faulty deductions Herlock makes in-game were genuine, and resulted from him connecting the dots a little too fast. Having your thoughts race by you at such a speed that you yourself have trouble keeping up with them is a common experience for many people with ADHD. So Herlock, brilliant though he is, was probably distracted by these avid trains of thought mid-deduction. For example, imagine he follows a person’s gaze to the wrong item, one that doesn’t really make sense in context. Instead of stopping, reflecting, and moving backwards to re-evaluate his assumption, he gets distracted by the entire story his mind is already half-way done putting together about what he initially thought the person was looking at.

This isn’t just speculation either; Herlock himself openly admits that he often feels overwhelmed by all the stimuli he’s getting at any given moment.

[Image Description: Screenshot from The Great Ace Attorney showing  Herlock Sholmes saying “I am frequently assailed by information that I neither care for, nor wish to retain.” End Image Description.]

Hyperfocus

Hyperfocusing is extremely common for those with ADHD, especially when it comes to one’s hyperfixations. You can think of a hyperfixation sort of like a “special interest”; it’s something a person with ADHD thinks about more than an average amount (sometimes to the exclusion of more pressing matters) and often gets a large amount of satisfaction from talking about. 

When he is on a case, Herlock hyperfocuses big time, so you could argume those might serve as hyperfixations for him. 

[Image Description: Screenshot from The Great Ace Attorney showing Iris Wilson saying “I do apologise. When he gets like this, he’s completely oblivious to everything.” End Image Description.]

However, one can hyperfocus on more than just hyperfixations when you have ADHD. Sometimes it’s a topic you saw on wikipedia that you ended up accidentally spending three hours following links for, sometimes it’s reading an article, sometimes it’s writing a post about why Herlock Sholmes has ADHD. Regardless of the source, hyperfocus is something that is not always voluntary; you often can’t choose what you hyperfocus on when you have ADHD, though sometimes you can direct it toward a desired task or topic with practice.

Mood Swings

Mood swings and general irritability are lesser known symptoms of ADHD, but they are defintely a part of it. These can be mood drops connected to understimulation or simply extreme responses to normal stimuli as a result of emotional dysregulation.

[Image Description: Screenshot from The Great Ace Attorney showing a very glum-looking Herlock Sholmes saying “A good morning to die perhaps...” End Image Description.]

Impulse Control

Herlock has a somewhat notable lack of impulse control, and not just because he followed through on a whim to taste soap for the sake of curiosity.  He laughs very loud at sometimes very inappropriate times (which also relates to volume control, which is another common form of impulse control with ADHD). 

[Image Description: Screenshot from The Great Ace Attorney showing Herlock Sholmes laughing very hard. End Image Description.]

The impulse control aspect of ADHD also helps explain his less-than-prefect social skills. Difficulty keeping quiet and speaking out of turn are two common symptoms of ADHD in adults. People with ADHD can also have a harder time picking up on social cues, which further hurts social skills. 

Other Evidence 

Finally, I wanted to discuss a few things that serve as weak evidence on their own, but are (in my opinion) pretty interesting when put alongside everything I’ve presented so far. 

[Image Description: Screenshot from The Great Ace Attorney showing Herlock Sholmes talking to Susato Mikotoba, saying  “...’Tomorrow for once I shall not oversleep! I rise early and be present in court to support my companions!” End Image Description.]

Herlock has issues getting out of bed, to the point that he missed the start of a court case multiple times. And the one time he did make it there promptly, it was only with considerably help from Iris. Trouble getting up and getting somewhere is very common for adults with ADHD, though the causes may very. It could be due to poor sleep quality making you tired, poor executive function making it difficult to actually get ready in a timely manner, or some combination thereof. Either way, I suspect this ongoing struggle for Herlock has a lot to do with his ADHD.

This next one is really a stretch, and is honestly pretty headcanon-based, but you remember this bit right here?

[Image Description: Screenshot from The Great Ace Attorney showing Herlock Sholmes with his back turned to the camera. He’s saying “...Whilst, as you shrewdly observed, gnawing on the only friend I have left: this seven per cent solution of caramel.” On the side is an image of a candy bar with a wrapping reading “Sholmes’ Caramel.” End Image Description.]

Now, obviously this was a reference to the seven percent solution of cocaine the original Sherlock Holmes injected himself with to keep his brain stimulated between cases. However, since he talks about eating this caramel bar multiple times in the games, I’m going to take the reference as literally as possible: a candy bar that is only partially made up of actual caramel. I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to assume there is chocolate in this bar too, based on the color and how the flavor would pair with caramel. If chocolate was the other main ingredient, and perhaps the predominant one, you know what that candy bar would contain a decent amount of? Caffeine. You know what many people with ADHD self-medicate with if formal drugs aren’t available to them? Caffeine. 

Alternatively, let’s say that wrapper isn’t just for show; maybe this caramel bar is mostly caramel, but it’s Sholmes’ own special blend that truly has some cocaine in it. While it’s defintely not an advisable means of self-medication, cocaine was pretty popular in Victorian era England since they didn’t know about all the negative side effects yet. And cocaine is a stimulant.

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

I’m On Fire [Chapter 2]

With her sister’s wedding fast approaching and her Mom hounding her about finding a date, Y/N makes a terrible decision that lands her and her least favorite genius in a confusing situation.

Chapter Summary: Y/N and Spencer start to put a plan together.

A/N:  I’ve got a head cold at the mo’ but I had to get a covid test just in case so I’m not allowed leave my room till I get the results! So enjoy a bonus chapter while I wallow on my own for like 36 hours :( On a positive note, thank you guys all so much for the response to chapter 1 I really didn’t see that coming! I’ve tagged everyone who asked, let me know if you wanna be added

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Category: Fake Dating, Enemies to Lovers, (Eventual) Smut, Fluff, Angst, it’s a Slow Burn Baby

Warnings: Cursing, some NSFW language/themes

Word Count: 6.1k

Previous Chapter -- Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Masterlist 

"Are you coming up or what?"

The question was still ringing in my ears. It caught me completely off guard. 'Up' as in up to Spencer's apartment? Where he lived? I knew he lived somewhere in theory, just like I knew deep down that he wasn't made in a test tube. 

Without noticing I've undone my seatbelt and I'm hopping out of the car, following him around to the front door. I guess I am coming up.

Spencer's apartment is more cosy than I thought it was going to be. It's warm and lived in. It's not big, but I think that might be what makes it homely. Something about the way he behaves had me thinking it would be fully decked out in stainless steel or glass or something. But it wasn't pristine, it was messy. 

There were books bursting from the shelves that lined the walls of the apartment, along with books laid open over nearly every surface in the place, it looked like he was in the middle of reading all of them, and honestly, I didn't doubt it. Maybe I'd misjudged him. He even had some photos of what looked like his family, and maybe friends, even some of the BAU, lining his walls or propped up on his mantle. He had little trinkets and souvenirs on his shelves too, evidence that he'd been around the country for reasons other than a case. I would never admit it to him but there was a real charm to the place.

Once we got inside he took off his bag and suit jacket, tossing them on the desk just inside of the door. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, and he seemed to pick up on my awkward energy.

"You can make yourself at home" he said, his confident streak remaining. I had no idea what to do with that. What would even make me comfortable in Spencer Reid's apartment? I took a seat on his sofa and just sat with my hands resting in my lap. Really not even sure where I should look without feeling like I was invading his privacy. Even though I wanted to. I think it was morbid curiosity, looking for clues on who this man might actually be outside of the BAU. What I really wanted to do was stand up and walk around, soaking in every bit if this place as if it would help me decipher our messy relationship.

He returned to the living room a few moments later, two mismatched mugs in his hands. He places one in front of me on the coffee table. I pick it up and take a sip. It's lemon and ginger, how did he know what kind of tea I liked? I held the mug in my hands inhaling the steam in an effort to relax. When I look up he's watching me, arms folded across his chest.

"So, how does this thing work. What's the game plan?" I honestly have no real idea. This evening really got away from me, I was still expecting to snap out of it and wake up in my bed at any moment.

"Well I can't say I've ever been in a Sandra Bullock movie before either so this is uncharted territory for me too" I say with a chuckle, trying to ease the tension. Even a little. I can see him crack a small smile but hides it almost instantly, his face hardening again.

"My sister, Margot, she's getting married in like 4 months." I can feel myself tense and I shake out my shoulders, I have to remind myself that he's agreed to this already, "Fuck it, I'm just going to be honest with you. My Mom's mostly freaked out that I'm too attached to this job and that I'll just never find someone again." I shouldn't have said again, fuck. I hope he didn't pick up on that. Who am I kidding. "Even though, I'm not sure I care if I do or don't?" he doesn't say anything, like he's waiting for me to continue. I know I've shared a little too much already but I keep going.

"Margot's 2 years younger than me, I introduced her to her fiancé Philip, we met in college, he's a sweetheart. But since they've gotten engaged Mom's gotten exponentially weirder. I think she's convinced I'm fully going to die alone, as if that would be the worst thing that could ever happen? Anyway, she's been trying to auction me off to all these guys, using this wedding as an excuse. I'm not sure how much of that phone call you actually heard earlier but Mom was trying to sell me on this guy, David, and I just… snapped." I look up at Spencer and he unfolds his arms, leaning in ever so slightly coaxing the story out of me.

"David, he uh, he worked for my father for a while back in high school, filing documents and stuff, busy work mostly. He used to make out with me when he was at our house after school, but then he'd ignore me in the halls the next morning. I know it's because I was a pariah back then or something but I didn't want to think about it today and I just got worked up. I shouldn't have let on that you were my date, I was just going to ask if I could bring Garcia or something, and I'm sorry." I cover my face in my hands, "I'm insane, you can back out if you want to."

I can hear him move from his spot on the opposite side of the sofa, he takes my wrists and gently pulls my hands from my face. He looks into my eyes, "I'm in this now Y/N, what do you need me to do?" he asks, and there's a genuine earnest in his voice that I think I've only ever heard a handful of times. And it's never been directed at me.

"Okay, well we've got a few months before you ha–, wait, fuck!" I throw my head back, there's already a complication, "shit" I curse under my breath. His eyebrows knit together, sitting upright.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

"I forgot about my Mom's 50th, it's next month. They've got this whole huge party planned back home in upstate New York. I've gotta go and they'll probably want to meet you, or they're gonna have a load of questions for me at least. I can try and get you out of it I'm sure"

He gets that cocky look again, he shakes his head "I don't know, I've always liked a bit of competition" he reclines back into his corner of the sofa, taking a satisfied sip from his own mug before speaking again. "You know, if I've got to learn enough to pass as your boyfriend in a month, surely that means you've got to learn enough to pass as my girlfriend within the month, no?"

Oh god. What have I done, why didn't I think this far ahead. "I mean, yeah I guess you're right." I had to remember he was doing me a favor. I had to get over myself. "Okay, if you're sure you're up for that?" I ask, and he nods, and I think he looks excited, or maybe he just finds the whole situation funny.

"If anyone's up for the competition it's you" he says, and I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a dig but I nod in agreement.

He takes another sip of his tea, collected and relaxed. I can't help but notice how at ease he is when he's in his own surroundings. I'm so used to seeing him sitting at a desk surrounded by paperwork, or combing through file after file in the make-shift office in a small-town police station, usually flustered or anxious, or antagonizing me whenever he wasn’t. This was a different Spencer. Completely in control, at ease.

"Alright, shall we get started then, we can't really afford to waste any time can we?" he was actually sort of right, so I nodded. It was only now occurring to me that I'd have to share parts of my personal life with him if I wanted this plan to work. We already knew the basics about each other, I'd read his file when I started at the BAU, I'd read everyones. And I feel like it was safe to presume he'd done the same.

His eyes bore directly into mine as he leaned forward, I think he was enjoying how uncomfortable I must've looked.

"How about I ask you some rapid-fire questions and you have to answer 'em?" he asks, and it's as good of a plan as any, and I can't think of any other suggestions, so I nod.

"Okay, shoot." I say, unsure and nervous, so I brace myself. I'm just grateful that he's making my life easier rather than harder for what feels like the first time since I met him.

I really should've known better.

He leans in, "So Y/N, first question, when did you lose your virginity?"

I almost choke on the mouthful of tea I just took, that can't be what he just asked, and he looks like he's savoring my shocked expression.

"I uh, I don't think you need to know that?" is all I can get out.

"Really? You think that's something your boyfriend wouldn't know about you?" he's right, but I didn't want to admit it outright.

"I feel like I sort of already hinted. It was that same guy David, I was 18, he was 19. We had sex on the couch while my parents went out one evening. I kept my bra on the whole time, he came, I didn't. It was all very standard stuff." I wasn't sure what compelled me to add that last part. I think I was giving in to the open honestly thing. "So what about you Doc?" I challenged.

He didn't seem embarrassed, or even shy. "I must've bloomed little later than you" he admits with a soft chuckle, "Vivian Stewart, I was 21, she was too. It was the last semester of my last PhD and I figured I must be missing out on something. And I sure was" he smirks to himself. "I came, she did too, 3 times. I did a lot of research ahead of time" he mirrored my story and I rolled my eyes. It was hard not to feel a little impressed but I tried with everything I had to stifle it so he couldn't tell. I wish it didn't make me feel something but it did. I gulp down the mouthful of tea that's been sitting in my throat.

I have to shake myself back to reality. I can't give him the satisfaction of throwing me. "My turn." I command, "When was your last relationship Dr. Reid?" I ask, "I mean like, serious one, not like hook-up" I clarify before he can ask. He thinks on it for a moment.

"I'm not sure what you classify as fully serious, but I guess it was this girl, Rebecca, we dated for a while when I first joined the BAU but it didn't work out. What about you?" he flips it back.

"So that was what, like 6-ish years ago?" I ask, he just nods.

"Mine was like 3 years ago now I think. I met this guy Nathan on my first week of college, we dated for like 4 years. He moved here for me when I got accepted by the BAU." I had to stop myself from delving into the detail. It was a long time ago now but it still hurt. "Long story short, the hours were demanding and they got in the way more than I would've liked. We ended up splitting a couple months after I got the job." I tried to play it off like it wasn't one of the more devastating things to happen in my life. But something told me he’d registered that, so he didn't push.

His energy picks up and he looks at me with a grin, but there's something a little sinister behind it. "I've got a more fun question for you." he leans in closer to me, "Y/N, when was the last time you got laid?" I just looked at him in shock. 

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, I can go first if you really need me to?" his voice didn't waver,

"Fuck you Reid, I know when it was!" I snapped back at him. I did have to think back a little farther than I'd like to pull up the memory.

"Met this guy in a bar when I was out with Pen one night, we went back to his place and hooked up." I say as deadpan as I can make it.

"Well that's not very exciting is it?" he jokes, "Did you at least cum that time?" I know he's just trying to rile me up, but I answer anyway.

"As a matter of fact I did" I earn back a little of my confidence.

"I'm so happy for you, but you did manage to avoid my initial question" fuck "when was this exciting night of yours Y/N?" he probes, like I really, really wished he wouldn't. I could lie, but I'm sure he'd be able to tell. I cringe before I can say it.

"About 8 months ago" I mutter, just low enough for him to hear.

"Sorry, did you just say 8 months ago?" He nearly shouts in disbelief, he seems to find it funny.

"Hey fuck you Spencer!" I go on the defensive, "When was the last time you even got laid?"

"Like two and half weeks ago" he says, confident, and still laughing, "Wait wait, when was the last time you got yourself off? I know you're not waiting 8 months!" he giggles and I think I could kill him. I know I kept giving him outs but was it too late for me to just get up and leave?

"I'm not doing this with you if you're just gonna make fun of me Reid, I get enough of that at work" I get out, my voice is serious but I'm trying to hide how awkward all of this is making me feel, and I don't know that I'm doing a very good job.

I can tell that's gotten to him, he relaxes and eases up on the giggling. "Look okay wait Y/N. I'll stop, I'm not actually trying to make fun of you. I was being serious, I think stuff like this is important if we're gonna have to be comfortable around each other enough to seem like a real couple. Plus, it'll just help break the ice?" he shrugs. "But you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

I soften, because I agree, even thought I hate that he's right. "Fine" I collect my thoughts, "2 nights ago I'm pretty sure." I regret it almost instantly, but breaking the ice is supposed to feel awkward.

"Same here actually," he chuckles, "what'd you do?" I'm so startled by the question I almost forget how to answer.

"I, uh, my, my vibrator? I just felt like uh, I watched some..." I still can't force out a whole sentence. It's not like I was always awkward about sex or anything, I could talk to Garcia, or honestly probably any of the other team members about it. But with Spencer it didn't feel as comfortable. He still sat calmly, smiling just a little.

"Same here, 2 nights back, but with my hands I guess. I wonder if we were doing it at the same time?" he mutters the last part gently and my head goes a bit fuzzy. My eyes drift away from his face and settle on his hands, the mug he's holding looks so tiny with his fingers wrapped around it, I wondered how they'd look wrapped around my-

"Okay I think that's enough for one night, don't you think?" I jump up off the sofa and turn, mostly so that he doesn't catch the blush thats creeping from my neck up to my cheeks. And because I don't know what I'll say, or regret saying, if this conversations continues on its current trajectory.

"Sure," he says, standing up next to me, and I want to move further away instantly, "you're probably right, and it's getting a little late now anyway" he glances at his watch. Ushering me back towards his front door and opening it up. Before I can walk out he lightly touches my shoulder to turn me back to face him, and I wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from every part of me.

"So are you free next Friday after work?" he asks, and I'm so flustered I almost forget why, I just nod. "Perfect, how about we come here again and we can dive into preparing? You could also make a start on getting these onto a hard drive?" he gestures to the antique looking hardbacks adorning the shelves.

'Sounds great!" I perk up, feigning enthusiasm, "See you then!"

"Well, see you Monday morning actually Y/N" he smirks as I walk out the door. Fuck, he was right.

I really hadn't thought this through.

——

The weekend was a bit of a blur. I decided to try and put some useful information into a document for Spencer. It felt strange to try and condense my life into as few pages as possible. I knew Reid had an eidetic memory, and nothing would necessarily overwhelm him. But I also knew that he was someone that the team relied on to fill in a lot of the gaps in the rest of the our knowledge. So I felt bad about dumping a load of information on him, especially considering it was a favor he was doing for me.

I'd complied the majority of my life into a 15 page document and printed it out. Hopefully that would address most of what my family could guerrilla attack him with. There was also something unsettling about the imbalance. I was going to give him so many of the intricate details of my life in a little file, whereas all I really knew about Spencer was what I'd taken it upon myself to learn about him throughout the past few years.

I'd read all of his work while I was in college, given how he was the gold standard of getting into the BAU at a young age, I wanted to know who this guy was. I think I'd pictured something different. And I couldn't deny there was something enticing about finally getting to know him after all of these years of working together. Maybe this could actually be fun, or interesting at least.

----

I arrived early on Monday morning. I thought I was first into the office as usual but Garcia was sitting in my desk chair waiting for me. The second she saw me walk in she tensed, she must've known we were the only people in this early.

"What happened! You've been avoiding me all weekend?" she asked, and she was right. I'd drafted enough texts to her, trying to explain what the plan was, mostly without wanting to admit that she was right. Maybe I was stubborn.

"Alright okay, I drove Reid home." I admitted, dropping my bag by my desk. She rolls her eyes at me, dramatic as always.

"Well I knew that already Y/N damn! What happened next?"

"Fine, we went into his apartment and talked for a while. Trying to sort out the details, get a handle on things I guess?" I said, unsure of how much I should actually give away about our conversation.

"What things!?" She shouts, standing up from my desk,

"I don't know Pen, like logistics and stuff, I still haven't decided how I feel about that little stunt you pulled on Friday night!" I let my frustration get the better of me, and maybe that's why I haven't talked to her. It could also be because I know she's able to read me like a book and I'm not even sure how I feel about this whole situation.

"I call bullshit." She counters, "I know you were relived as hell when I sorted that whole thing out. You would've had anxiety tummy all weekend if I hadn't called Spencer!" I just go silent, she was right. I'd gotten so caught up in the whole, 'how to have a fake boyfriend' that I'd almost forgotten about how stressed I was about Spencer hearing my call in the first place.

"Okay, shit" I sigh. "Maybe you were right Pen. We're actually meeting up again this Friday after work to make a plan for the next while, so I guess that's progress?" I shrug, trying to play it off like this whole situation doesn't make my stomach flip.

"Ohhhhh! So like a date?" She probes, her enthusiasm rising drastically.

"Oh my God Pen no! Like an appointment at best" I diffuse the situation

"Ugh that's no fun" she says, not even trying to disguise her disappointment.

As if on cue Dr. Reid walks through the double doors into the bullpen. Both Garcia and I wave, overall awkwardly, but making an attempt pretend like things were completely normal and like nothing had changed since the last time we were all in the office together.

Penelope heads to her office as the bullpen starts to fill up quickly. Less than an hour later though Garcia's back at my desk and there's a new case that needs the teams attention in Boston. I follow her into the conference room and wait for the rest of the team to join. Spencer follows a moment later with 2 cups of coffee in his hands. I can see my mug in his hand and my automatic response is that he's messing with me. But he places my mug in front of me in the circular table before taking the seat next to me, listening to Garcia's briefing. I don't know if he's ever sat next to me in this conference room, at least not by choice.

I barely had any time to finish my coffee before I have to say goodbye to Garcia and hop on the jet to Boston.

----

The case was grueling. More so than usual. It was wrapped up late on Thursday night and the team decided to fly back home first thing on Friday morning. I was exhausted. Even if there was enough time to get sleep each night it wasn't like I got any. Whenever a case got on top of me like this it made it hard to rest, or get it off my mind at all until it was wrapped up. So even though it was over, that didn't mean I wasn't exhausted.

Hotch gave the team the rest of the day off, given that we have until submit our paperwork by Monday. I wasn't sure if Spencer's invitation from the following week still stood. I didn't want to ask, partly because I was so tired, but also because I was scared. I wasn't about to show up at his house in an effort to have a heart to heart, or hand him a condensed version of my life story on a manilla envelope if he was as drained as I was.

Standing by my desk I packed up everything I'd need to get my paperwork done over the weekend, I was just about finished when Spencer snuck up behind me, perching himself on the edge of my desk. "So, you almost ready to go?" he asks, like it's the most obvious question in the world. I couldn't really hide my surprise.

"Oh yeah. That's fine, I mean, if you're still cool with that?" I ask, and I hate how flustered I sound, like he makes me nervous.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" He chuckles, standing up straight.

"Cool, gimme a sec and I'll be good to go."

I pack up the rest of my stuff quickly and we make our way out. There's something that feels a little eerie about the two of us being in an elevator together alone again. It was a different kind of awkward to how it felt a week before hand. It almost felt like a kind of tension rather than a hatred or a rivalry. Either way we rode down in silence.

Once we got to the basement Spencer walks out of the elevator and walks straight to my car without having to ask. I unlock it and he hops into the passenger seat. Like this is a natural interaction. Something we do all the time. And I don't hate it as much as I thought I would.

"So," he says, buckling up his seat belt and breaking the silence, "do you know how to get to my place from here or do you need directions again?"

"Well I've got to turn on the engine first" I tease, hoping he picks up on the reference to our last car ride, he chuckles like he does.

"Are you hungry?" he asks

"Starving."

The delivery guy get's to Spencer's apartment at almost the same time we do.

---

Once the food's been demolished the two of us finally sit on his sofa, the same sides as the week before. "So, shall we get back into this?" He asks, sitting forward slightly to pull a notebook out of his satchel on the floor. It's small and lavender, and it's got a pen clipped into the spine. He cracks it open and flips to a specific page.

"Sorry, what's that?" I ask, pointing to the book, he looks confused,

"They're my notes?" he says, like it should be obvious

"Your notes?" I ask,

"My notes on you." he smirks, again like I'm silly for even asking.

He had notes on me? He had a whole notebook on me? What was even in that thing?

"You've got notes on me?" I ask, my hands reaching out to grab it, but he retreats faster than I can catch him. "What have you got in there that's so serious?"

"Nothing." and his tone's a bit too stern and I don't really want to push it when he's being so uncharacteristically nice to me.

"I've actually got this ready for you" I pull the file out of my own bag and toss it to him. "I'm not sure exactly what you need to know but that should be the majority of it at least."

He opens it up and glances over the the pages. It takes him all of 2 minutes to get through the whole thing. It feels unsettling that he's taking in a boiled down version of my life while I'm just sitting on the opposite side of the sofa. Trying to avoid the attention I pipe up.

"Um, hey, maybe it would be a good time for you to show me where to make a start digitizing your books over here?" I stand up and make my way to the shelf. He jumps up off the sofa and walks toward me, visibly excited.

"That's actually a great idea, I thought that the theses from my degrees could be a good place to start, since I'm pretty sure they're not backed up anywhere." he guides me to a section of the book case by the window. There's a series of leather bound hardbacks, the same gold font embossed on the spines. I recognize all of them, pulling out the first one.

"This is my favorite" I say without thinking about it and he does a double take, clearly thrown.

"You've, uh, you read my work?" he asks, completely puzzled. I'm sort of proud that I've managed to make him this awkward, and I nod.

"Mmhm, back before I joined the BAU actually. Before I really knew you" I regret saying the last part, it comes out a little meaner than I really wanted it to so I back track. "Spencer, I read all of your work while I was in college, you were like the gold standard. I don't think I slept more than 2 hours a night throughout my PHD because I was just trying to get as much done as you." and his face softens at the admission. But it takes him a moment before he responds. Leaving the two of us in silence a little too long.

"I had no idea" is all he says.

"I think this one was best" I say propping up the one in my hand, "you get a bit cockier as you move on” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "but I'll start with all of these I guess" I grab the matching books and stack them in my arms. Walking over to his desk and setting up. Glancing at the clock it was only 7pm so I decided to just make a start.

Spencer didn't contest. Letting me just get settled at his desk, I pull out my laptop and begin work on transcribing the first volume. After a few minutes he silently places a cup of tea down beside me and goes to sit on the sofa. The time rolls in quickly after that, each time I look up at Spencer he's carefully combing through the file I'd given him. Re-reading it and making little markings in his lavender notebook. I'm not really sure what I put in there that was worth making a note on but clearly he was reading between the lines on some things. That little notebook was like a profile of me.

When he seemed like he'd finished writing he pulls out his phone, scrolling through it aimlessly like I'd never seen him do before. It made him look so normal. His eyebrows knit together as he's looking at something on his screen and he stands up. Making his way over to me at the desk and shows me what he was looking at.

"Who's this?" he asks, "This guy you're with?"

I recognize the photo instantly. It's from a few years earlier, Nathan and I on the beach, my head resting on his chest. He'd taken it while we were on vacation celebrating our anniversary. That was about a month before I got into the BAU, I had no idea that was going to be our last anniversary. I gulp down the emotions that it stirs. I'm mostly over the whole thing by now, but looking at old photos like that, photos of happier times, it can still sting.

"That's uh, the boyfriend I was telling you about last week. Nathan, we broke up not long after I joined the BAU?" he nods, but he's smart, and I kind of figure he already knew that.

"Ah alright" he takes out the hardback and jots another note down. Maybe he's trying to get a read on me.

"What are you doing?" I gesture to the phone,

"It's research, do you not think that if you and I were really dating that stalking your social media profiles would be on my agenda?" he's smug, and he's right. But I guess I just didn't expect it from him.

"Well that's not really fair now is it? I can't reciprocate, you've got no social media presence whatsoever!" he finds that funny, letting out a deep chuckle and tucking his phone away in his back pocket.

"Maybe so, but that imbalance is hardly my fault. Besides, you've read all my dissertations apparently..."

"Bastard" I joke, slamming my laptop shut and throwing a pen from his desk at him so that it lightly bounces off the top of his head.

"Hey, there's no need for violence Y/N!" he rubs the spot beneath his curls, "Maybe it's time you took a break actually?" he says, sitting himself back down on the sofa.

I was reluctant to admit it but he was right. My eyes were starting to go a little fuzzy after looking at the screen for so long. I stand up and stretch my arms out above my head, feeling my spine stretch out after sitting for so long, letting out a low groan. Spencer waves me over to the sofa and I join him.

"How about we go back to basics?" Spencer asks with a small grin, and I can't help but let out a long sigh.

"I thought I was taking a break, no more questions" he just laughs at me,

"Relax, you're not that interesting, it's just a simple question." he states, and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to find it funny or offensive

"Ugh, fine, shoot"

"Well, actually it's two questions" he corrects, "what's your favorite movie, and what's your favorite snack?"

I'm confused mostly by the fact that it actually is a simple question, I was expecting something a lot more contentious, but also because he looks eager to know the answer.

"I'm not really sure what my favorite movie is to be honest, one of them is Night of the Living Dead?"

He nods to himself, and jots it down in the notebook again, "Alright, I can make that work" he stands up off the sofa before turning back to me, "and snack?"

"Peanut butter cups I guess?" I respond and he grins ear to ear, which is a completely new sight, and I like it way more than I thought I would.

"Perfect, gimme 2 minutes!" he leaves the living room and wanders towards the kitchen.

Spencer returns a few minutes later with a DVD, a packet of peanut butter cups , and a thick knitted blanket gathered in his arms. He drapes the blanket over me and gently places the peanut butter cups on top of it before popping the DVD into the player and sitting down beside me. I'm not really sure how to process any of the situation. Am I about to watch a movie on Spencer Reid's sofa? Sitting next to Spencer Reid?

"I... I, uh, thought you were just asking for your notes?" I ask, pointing at the notebook resting in his lap. He picks it up and throws it onto the coffee table.

"Sometimes I find experience is the best teacher, don't you?" he asks before pressing play, “And besides, it should keep you quiet for a whole 96 minutes” of course.

I can only nod in agreement, I'm not really sure what I'll say if I try to speak. I get myself cosy under the warm blanket and we watch the movie in near silence.

Once the credits roll Spencer finally speaks up, "I actually went to see a screening of this last month downtown, there was this little old horror movie fest-" I cut him off without really realizing, I'm just strangely excited that we've genuinely got something in common.

"Holy shit, I was there!" I say, more enthusiastic than the situation calls for.

He laughs at my excitement, "Well, I guess we have more overlap than I thought, that should probably help with the whole charade." he stretches his arms up over his head and let's out a small, gentle yawn. I'd been enjoying myself more than I thought I would, or would ever tell Spencer, that I'd almost forgotten that we'd both been on a case for almost every waking moment of the past week. I really should feel a lot more drained than I do.

I was just after midnight when I suggested that I head back home. I offered to take some of the books home to work on throughout the weekend but Spencer insisted that I just work on them whenever I came over again. I sort of felt like I should thank him for the evening when I was on my way out the door, or give him a quick hug, no that felt wrong. In the end all I could really muster was a lousy, "goodnight" and a meek wave on my way out the door before I drove home. And couldn't get to sleep.

— —

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[animeyanderelover]

Hi I was wondering if your requests are open? If so then would you be willing to do yandere chrollo and Feitan sharing an s/o? Like a poly relationship kinda thing? If your requests aren’t open or you don’t feel comfortable with it then feel free to just delete this! Have a nice day/night!

Information that I have rewritten this since I’ve made some dumb mistakes in here😓.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, sadism, threatening, killing, controlling Yandere, strict Yandere, manipulation, gaslighting

Chrollo and Feitan sharing a darling

📖☠️I wouldn’t really see Chrollo tolerating sharing his darling with anyone, though someone from the Phantom Troupe he trusts has more rights in regards of his darling. Still though, he’s far too possessive for that so I really can only see this work if Feitan was the one who found and captured the darling first, and that for a while. It’s likely that at one point everyone of the spiders will find out and in that case Feitan will be forced to introduce his darling at the very least, there are some people who want to know who the small sadist has it bad for after all. Chrollo…has some mild interest at first, he really only cares that Feitan can guarantee that you won’t tell anyone about what you know.

📖☠️He trusts Feitan enough though so that he will allow him in the end to keep the darling. Funnily I’d say that Chrollo could already be after the first meeting slightly interested in the darling. Feitan…Feitan had a longer stalker period after he caught his thoughts constantly drifting back to you and after he snapped and got annoyed with his feelings, he abducted his s/o. Chrollo on the other hand needs something which intrigues him, fascinates him with a normal citizen. One meeting still is not enough, it leaves an lasting impression and slight wonders, but Chrollo has yet to fall deeper into his own twisted obsession before the respect that you’re Feitan’s darling will be tested.

📖☠️A second and maybe a third meeting might be needed until it’s almost like Chrollo has been placed under a disease where the only cure seems to be you. Observing how frightened and jumpy his s/o is around everyone, how terrified they look whenever Feitan glare at them with the silent message to behave and how awful and forbidden the scars and bruises on their skin looks. Seeing how Feitan treats such a sweet, endearing thing like you stirs up disagreement, distaste up inside of him. A slight narrow of his eyes as he begins to worry that one day you might shatter under Feitan’s treatment, losing someone as interesting and cute as you. A thought has his heart hurting. What a tragedy that would be.

📖☠️When he talks with that about Feitan some time later, that the spider probably should treat their lover like a treasure and not an enemy of the Troupe is the beginning of this begrudgingly relationship. Feitan…is rendered speechless after hearing such words from his boss, more a demand than a nice suggestion. This could be Chrollo trying to be a gentleman of course, but Feitan knows this man for a little while longer now. It’s not like him since Chrollo only puts on such faces to get what he wants to know. Would he normally really interfere, almost threaten in a slight tone to try to stop this treatment?

📖☠️More frequent requests about how his darling is doing and using excuses from other members who want to meet you once again against Feitan only strengthens his suspicions even more that his boss might have caught a certain liking to you as well. And the short man does not know fully how to deal with this. He respects Chrollo endlessly yet starts feeling the growing threat more and more the more he has to see how his boss starts interacting with you, charming you and showing you care. Wounds that might not have fully healed will be stitched from Machi and he promises them that he’ll convince Feitan to stop this treatment.

📖☠️Feitan, not someone to be insecure, starts growing paranoid and slowly lunatic as well. How couldn’t he? Here is his boss, the one he swore loyalty too, taking a rapid interest in his s/o and sweet talking them. His boss is good in seducing someone, so the doubts that his darling might end up liking him and leaving him start pondering in his head more and more. The fear of losing someone to someone else, Chrollo from all people, is a situation Feitan never imagined himself to be in. Yet here he is, working himself completely up. His possessiveness grows, suddenly he always glues himself to your side whenever he takes you with him to the spiders, watching with a burning gaze. There were a few times where he even ended up asking you what you thought of his boss, though you were probably too frightened to say anything that might anger him.

📖☠️Pakunoda, Nobunaga and Machi were probably the first ones to realize that there was a building tension between Chrollo and Feitan and it’s likely that they had started suspecting that their boss was developing growing feelings for you as well. And it baffled them as well, knowing that this might cause problems and had already affected Feitan greatly. He had been in his worst moods and had lashed out on every member who had asked him about his darling. The three respect Chrollo and Feitan so all of them obviously wanted to find a way to solve this problem, though it was hard to believe that Chrollo wouldn’t do something either. But they wanted to at least discuss something with him.

📖☠️And shortly after Chrollo did indeed, reaching out to Feitan so he could have a talk with him somewhere alone. The leader of the Troupe had came to realize that he had fallen utterly in love with the new addition to the spiders as well and indeed, a possessive and discontent feeling was bestowed upon him whenever he had though and seen his darling spider and Feitan together. A man who had abused his poor lover with whips and chains. And the hostility which Feitan tried to suppress due to his respect for Chrollo had not been fruitless either, it only proved that Feitan held him in high regards yet was scared.

📖☠️It was easy to read Feitan in regards of his darling, the closed hearted man showed his true intentions and feelings. And as Chrollo confessed his feelings for the darling to Feitan, for a short moment his heart really did miss a beat. Eyes looking down as many conflicting emotions were clashing inside of him. Anger, confusion, frustration and fear. Chrollo could technically take his darling away from him, manipulate them and make them fall in love with him. It was all possible and the question was if Feitan would be able to do something against it. He couldn’t possibly fight Chrollo.

📖☠️Yet he was caught off-guard again when Chrollo suggested a very unusual offer, sharing. Admittedly, his greedy side had considered taking you away from Feitan yet there was the fact that he cared still for the members. And even if a thief took what they wanted, Feitan had never once betrayed or disappointed him and had been the first one to find you. He respects him and after a long talk with Pakunoda, Machi and Nobunaga who had all been concerned since sniffing out the signs, he had decided to try to be respectful. Honestly, none of those was exactly happy with that, but it was the best choice without drama. For Feitan probably more because he could still be with his darling.

📖☠️Everyone is not exactly surprised except for those really oblivious ones, otherwise all knew that their boss had feelings for Feitan’s darling. What did come as a surprise was that both of them had begrudgingly agreed to share. Caring for their fellow Troupe member Feitan and highly respecting their boss Chrollo everyone can still probably agree that this was the best outcome, though they’re all anxious how this will work exactly out and how you will end up.

📖☠️Chrollo still holds more control since he is still Feitan’s leader and he starts exactly with his sadistic and vicious outlashes on his darling. Because those are forbidden from now on, seeing all the wounds and scares on you makes this man agitated. You shouldn’t suffer like this. Another advantage Chrollo really has is that he has his charms and starts improving his darling’s life by a lot and since they are still terrified of Feitan (in most cases), they might tend to cling more to him. Something Chrollo uses with nightmarish perfection and something that is a harsh punch in the heart to handle for Feitan. He saw it coming yet it causes him to feel pain he doesn’t want to feel.

📖☠️Whilst I see Chrollo as responsible enough to guarantee that Feitan gets some time with the darling, if they were to refuse because they don’t want to be alone with Feitan, he won’t force them. Chrollo is a man who keeps his word to Feitan though, so if he promised he will still have to leave, even if it does satisfy him to see that his darling prefers him. He’d never show that though. Feitan has a harder time dealing with this all after, he does not have what Chrollo has and has a history of having his sadistic way with them. By now he has most likely softened far enough up to not do so anymore, not to mention that Chrollo is now in the picture.

📖☠️I still feel like that even if Chrollo would take advantage of the situation, he’d probably still give him some tips on what he can do to hopefully get the love of his darling which Chrollo is currently heading for in a rapid tempo. Feitan asks others like Pakunoda and Nobunaga as well after having swallowed his pride as well. And after that, behold yourself, he starts trying to be nice towards his darling. Something Chrollo acknowledges yet also sees as a certain sort of rivalry.

📖☠️There is always some sort of tension between those two, more subtle in peaceful times and sharp as a knife whenever one catches you being affectionate with the other one. No doubt that those two kind of rip the darling back and forth since both are extraordinarily possessive over their darling, the only things bonding them together is their mutual respect for each other and the darling. But seriously, do not hurt their darling. At this rate the whole damn Troupe has gotten attached to you so everyone daring to harm you will drown in the depths of hell.

[sbtlns]

Home, part nine

Warnings: NSFW, smut

A/N: this is the final part of this series! this is set at the same time as 9x09. I hope everyone had a great holiday season and wish everyone a very happy new year!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven Part Eight 

As the smoke cleared and the persistent whine of the fire trucks’ sirens finally stopped, Castiel absentmindedly thanked the firefighters, looking beyond them to your trembling form crumpled on what was left of your front stoop. The trucks drove off as he made his way to you, unsure of how to begin to comfort you. His shoes came into your line of vision and you sniffled, wiping a stray tear away as you lifted your head to meet his apologetic stare. You saw the sympathy and inexplicable guilt swirling behind his brilliant blues, and gave him a small smile, prompting him to hold his arms open, eager to hold and comfort you.

You let out a shaky chuckle, standing to gratefully melt into his embrace. Strong hands gripped you tighter to his chest and rubbed up and down your back, engulfing you in his warmth. “You know, it’s funny,” you said after a moment, pulling away just enough to look up at him. Castiel gave you a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow to prompt you to elaborate. “It’s like I’m finally getting the closure I didn’t know I needed. I’m-” you paused, searching for the right word. “I’m almost relieved. It’s like a fucked up ending to a fucked up chapter of my life,” you explained, glancing up at Castiel, whose expression softens at your words. 

“I’ve always admired your tenacity, the steadfast determination you have to create a silver lining out of utter devastation,” he murmured into your hair, holding you closer. You stay like that for a while, finding comfort within each other’s embrace before you finally wriggle out of his hold. 

“We can go apartment hunting tomorrow, the realtors are probably closed by now and besides, I don’t think I have it in me to look at any tonight,” you sighed, reaching for your phone to check the time. When you glanced back up, you’re met with a knowing look. Furrowing your brows, you stood a little straighter, unsure of what Cas could be getting at. “What?”

Cas looked back at you and sighed. “I think it’s time to call Dean, Y/N,” he said gently. You bristled at the thought. 

“Yeah and what? Beg him to let us back in the bunker? I don’t think so,” you scoffed, not believing the incredulous suggestion from the former angel. You turned on your heel, not wanting to continue the conversation.

“Y/N,” he said softly, putting his hand on your shoulder to stop you from walking away from him. You sighed, releasing your tensed muscles. Deep down you knew he was right but you didn’t want to admit it. You knew that you couldn’t keep giving Dean the silent treatment, declining his calls and not responding to the numerous texts he’d sent you since you left. 

“I know,” you said finally, turning around to face him. “I know,” you repeated. “But,” you started, smoothing the wrinkles from the front of his flannel, “We’re gonna have some fun first.” Castiel catches the glimmer of mischief in your eyes before you shift to your tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. 

Castiel sat anxiously in the car as you drove the two of you to the old dive bar in town. He wasn’t too keen on social interactions, as he’d stated before that his “people skills” were “rusty”. However, after shooting you a quick glance and seeing you smile while humming whatever song was currently playing, he felt himself smile and relax a bit. Soon enough, you pulled the truck into the lot and hopped out. Taking a deep breath, he followed suit. 

Castiel followed closely behind you as you made your way through the establishment and into an empty booth. He sat down and shrunk into the vinyl, suddenly overwhelmed at the sound of music blaring from the jukebox and dozens of people talking loudly over the music. He flinched as two bikers barreled past the booth and again at the sound of glasses clinking at the bar. 

“Hey, angel, relax” you cooed, taking his hand from across the booth. His wide eyes found yours and you watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest start to slow. You flipped his hand over in yours, lightly tracing the lines of his palm, further soothing your overwhelmed lover. A pang of guilt suddenly washed over you as you remembered how apprehensive he is in places like this. You looked back up at him and gave him a soft smile. 

“We don’t have to stay,” you murmured only loud enough for him to hear. “We can leave whenever you want,” you said, giving him an earnest look. His features softened even further and his tensed shoulders slowly relaxed. He gave you a sheepish smile. “No, I want to stay. It was just...overwhelming at first,” he assured you, tightening his fingers over yours. 

You opened your mouth to speak again when suddenly you heard a high pitched squeal followed by your name. You tensed and whipped around as a familiar face came bounding towards the booth. “Liz?” you blurted out, somewhere between a question and an exclamation. You sprang out of the booth in time for her to throw her arms around you, the momentum almost sending the both of you to the floor. You pulled away beaming at each other with I can’t believe its and is it really yous falling from your mouths. You watched her eyes glance from yours to Castiel’s and back, quirking up an eyebrow. 

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Cas this is Liz, we went to school together. Liz this is Cas, my-” you cut yourself off, suddenly self conscious and acutely aware at the fact that neither of you had taken the liberty to label your relationship. Castiel glanced between you and your friend, settled his gaze on Liz, and extended his hand.

“Boyfriend,” he finished for you proudly. Your heart leapt in your chest and you beamed at him. Liz accepted his hand and shook it. 

“Cas, huh. Is that short for something?” she inquired, taking back her hand. 

“Castiel,” he clarified. Her brows furrowed, wheels turning in her mind, before they shot up. 

“Castiel” she repeated gleefully, turning to you with a smile. “Like one of the angels we read about in theology!” she exclaimed. At this unexpected revelation, Castiel’s brow furrowed as he shot you a questioning glance. You felt your cheeks burn, refusing to meet his stare. You opened your mouth to try and backpedal from the subject but she kept going. 

“You know,” she said, turning to a very confused Castiel. “Castiel was probably my favorite angel to learn about. Angel of Thursday, right?” she asked turning back to you. You gave her a stiff nod, still not daring to look over to your former angel. “I always thought the translation of his name was fitting, shield of God, you know, seeing as he was probably heaven’s greatest warrior.” She continued singing the angel’s praises, not noticing the soft blush creeping up his face, nor the well of tears threatening to spill over his lashes as he stared at the two of you with an awe-like wonder. 

She abruptly cut herself off, chuckling, and put a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve blabbed on enough. It was really nice seeing you, Y/N. Text me and we can catch up more!” She gave you one last hug before disappearing back into the crowd. You stayed facing the direction she ran off in, feeling the former angel’s stare burning into you and unwilling to turn to meet it. 

“Y/N,” you heard him say in a strained voice from behind you. Taking a deep breath, you turned to face him, careful to avert his gaze. “Look at me...please,” he implored softly. Mustering whatever courage you could scrounge up, your eyes slowly lifted to his. His brows were softly furrowed with a whole range of emotions swirling behind his wet eyes. You were surprised to see he wasn’t angry as you had anticipated. Instead, he looked at you in a mix of adoration and confusion. His upper lip twitched as he struggled to form a coherent sentence for you, his mind racing and crowded with too many thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally settled on. You bit your lip trying to find the right words. 

“Well, to be fair, you were kind of terrifying when I first met you,” you admitted sheepishly. His eyebrows rose slightly and the corners of his lips tugged upward. He closed the distance between you, placing his hands softly on your hips, tugging you even closer.

“You thought I was terrifying, hm?” his voice now several octaves lower than usual. You gulped, becoming increasingly aware of the heat pooling between your thighs. Castiel smirked, enjoying his obvious effect on you. He hummed, watching you struggle to form a response to him, eyes darkening with lust. Castiel leaned down, breath ghosting your ear and hands tightening their grip on your hips. “I’d like to test that theory, if you wouldn’t mind,” his words like velvet, contributing to your intoxicating arousal. 

He released his grip on your hips, took a step back from you and looked around the bar, feigning disinterest to mask his lust blown eyes. “Unless of course you would like to stay,” he said smugly. 

“No!” you croaked out, cursing yourself for sounding so desperate. Castiel’s smirk grew at your sudden outburst. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure. “I mean, that’s okay, the beer here is crap anyway,” you said cooly. Castiel narrowed his eyes at you, seeing through your obvious attempt to hide your eagerness. Luckily for you, he was feeling merciful. He tilted his head at the door. “Shall we then?” he proposed, taking a step towards the door. You practically tripped over your own feet trying to follow him out.

The two of you got back into the car and you pulled out your phone to get directions to the nearest motel, cursing under your breath when you realized the closest one was still a 20 minute drive. Sighing, you turned the key in the ignition and started your drive to the motel. Castiel’s ears perked at the sound and placed a calming hand just above your knee, giving you a comforting squeeze. You caught his meaning, be patient. 

About 10 minutes into the drive, his hand made its way up your thigh tantalizingly slow before making its way back down to your knee. You gripped the wheel tighter, trying not to focus on your growing arousal. On the next upwards stroke, Castiel shifted his hand to the inside of your thigh before bringing it back to your knee, causing you to jerk the wheel slightly. Castiel let out a light chuckle, continuing his ministrations. On this pass, the tips of his fingers barely brushed past the apex of your thighs. You let out a sharp sigh, shooting him a quick look of annoyance. “Cas,” you said in a mock warning, but he saw past it. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, bring his hand back up to your clothed sex, lightly tracing everywhere but where you wanted him most. Castiel enjoyed watching you squirm, trying to focus on the road in front you you while also desperately wanting to chase your release. He could only imagine how soaked you must be at this point, the thought contributing to his own growing arousal. He could feel his pants tightening and looked down at the bulge steadily growing. Swallowing a growl, he returned his attention to teasing you, trying to ignore the blood rushing to his hardening member.

“Cas,” you gasped, slightly panting at this point. He looked up to see your knuckles gripping the wheel, brows tilted up and gaze still locked on the road. “Please,” you said in a strained whispered. He hummed again, lowering his hand back down to your thigh, the opposite of what you were asking. An involuntary whimper escaped your lips and you shot him a quick confused glance. He stared straight ahead with a smug smile on his face. “Patience,” is all he said.

The remaining three minutes to the hotel were torture. As soon as you pulled into the lot, you yanked the door open and struggled to keep yourself from running to the front desk. Castiel gave you an amused smile and followed you into the lobby. 

“Single, please,” you said as you thrust your card toward the woman at the desk. She quirked up an eyebrow glanced between you and Castiel, smiled to herself, and checked you into a room. You took the key from her and quickly found your way to your room. Upon entering, Castiel closed and locked the door behind him before turning to you with an almost predatory look. 

“Strip,” he commanded firmly. Your eyes widened at his sudden dominance and your fingers began blindly ridding you of your clothing. He watched you undress with lust blown eyes, savoring every inch of your body. “On the bed,” he instructed as the last article of clothing left your body. You vehemently nodded and scrambled to the bed, waiting for his next instruction. He shrugged out of his flannel and tshirt, slowly undoing the buckle of his jeans as you licked your lips in anticipation. Stepping out of his jeans he made his way over to the bed and crawled over you. You gasped as his cock brushed against your center as he made his way up to kiss your neck. Supporting himself on one elbow, his free hand roamed down you body to cup your aching heat. A moan slipped past your lips as he ran a finger through your soaked folds.

“My poor honeybee,” he cooed in your ear. “Absolutely dripping for me, hm?” he just barely grazed your clit, and you moaned again, bucking your hips fruitlessly. The coil in your belly was overwhelming, every nerve in your body already on fire from pure need and his teasing. He grazed your clit again, eliciting a choked sob from your trembling body. “You’ve waited this long, honeybee, what’s a little while longer,” he teased in a honeyed voice. The thought of waiting one more second set your heart racing. 

“Cas- please..not tonight...need you now. Please,” you strained, palming him through his boxers. With a grunt, he obliged, peeling himself off of you to rid himself of the last article of clothing separating the two of you. He chucked them into the corner of the room and crawled back up to you, catching your lips in a deep kiss. Your tongue swept his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He happily granted it, deepening the kiss and gently rocking his length against your pussy. 

You reached between you to line him up with your entrance and rocked your hips up, imploring him to sink down. Castiel slowly lowered himself into you, breaking the kiss to choke out, “is this alright?” before continuing. 

“Nngh Cas yes,” you moaned. “Please move,” you begged rocking your hips again. Castiel slowly pulled himself out of you before snapping his hips back in. A surprised moan left your lips as pleasure shot through you. He continued this, grunting and panting against your neck. His body twitched with restraint and you pulled him down into a kiss before releasing him and whispering, “let go, angel.”

His eyes widened and lifted his eyebrows, silently asking are you sure? In response you smiled and looked up at him through your lashes before wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer to you. His hips faltered for a moment before he lowered his head and began snapping his hips against you faster. A string of moans fell from your lips as he murmured praises in broken Enochian. 

“Y/N,” he panted, “I’m-” he strained. You brushed the hair out of his eyes and raked your nails through his hair.

“It’s okay Cas, me too, just-” a surprised moan cut you off as he wedged a hand between your bodies to begin tracing rough circles on your clit. The added stimulation was enough to push you over the edge, waves of pleasure washing over your body. Feeling you clench around him was enough to send Castiel over with you, both panting as he sloppily thrusted inside of you to coax the two of you through your climax. Once he regained the ability to move consciously, he slipped out of you with a grunt and collapsed beside you. 

The two of you laid there panting for a moment in post orgasmic bliss before he drew you close to him, your head resting against his chest and your body melting against his. “I love you, my honeybee,” he murmured into your hair. “I love you too, angel,” you sighed contentedly, before drifting into a peaceful slumber.

You woke up the rays of sunshine aimed directly toward your eyes through the blinds of the motel’s window. You grumbled, tucking your face closer against Castiel, using him as a shield against the rays. He chuckled at your grumpy state, weaving his hands through your hair to soothe you. You hummed contentedly at the welcomed contact, snuggling closer to him.

“As much as I would enjoy laying with you like this all day, my love,” he placed a kiss to your temple. “We need to inform the Winchesters of our situation,” he said gently, knowing it would only add to your morning grumpiness. As he predicted you groaned against him. He let out a light chuckle, gently detangling your limbs so he could get up. You groaned again at the loss of contact, moving to sit up straight and pushing stray strands of hair from your face. You watched as he gathered his clothes and made his way to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

You sighed as you rolled over and picked up your phone, squinting at the harsh light. You scrolled through your contact list, finger hesitating over Dean’s name but instead scrolling past to get to Sam’s. You didn’t want to give Dean the satisfaction of hearing you ask to come back home. Jaw set, you clicked on Sam’s name and listened to the dial tones until you reached his voicemail. You furrowed your brows and checked the time, 8:30, you thought, Sam is definitely back from his morning jog by now..what gives?

You begrudgingly scrolled back up to Dean’s name and clicked on it with a huff. He picked up on the second ring and spoke before you could even greet him. 

“Come home,” he said in a weak, hollow voice. You felt your stomach tighten at his tone.

“Dean-” you started but he cut you off.

“Please. Come home. Bring Cas too. I...just-please” he said strained. Your heart sank with worry. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, desperate to know what could’ve possibly happened to flip the tables and make him beg you to come home. He was silent for a moment.

“Something happened,” he choked out. “I just,” his voice cracking. “I just need you both to come home. Please.”

“We’re on our way.”

~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @antoniamarie1989-blog @transparentfestivaltiger @tinymalscoffee @dark-as-love 

[practicalmagicintuitions]

Reading on HC

DISCLAIMER: If you will send me an Anon, I will answer in the same tone as your ask, opinion is written.

All information and statements made in this reading or any other post of mine are all alleged until proven to be fact and for entertainment purposes & usage only. All information stated is based on my intuition and my tarot cards. Opinion only. The readings have no intention to cause any harm to the individuals, people featured in it.

Disclaimer 2 : seems extra long reading to me, sorry for that. If there any typo sorry for that too, I wanted to post this today, so I typed like a mofo. 

Cards pulled on 15/07

What is happening now?

Devil rx Eight of Wands. 

On The Devil card, you can see the couple from the Lovers card chained together while The Devil is watching them. Those two cards are numerological counterparts ( The Lovers 6 The Devil is 15 = 1+5=6) so they have a connection but this is not limited to some romantic relationship. This card also deals with addiction, obsession, influences, control, illusion, materialism. And when the card is upright the pentagram is in the “wrong” position, it’s upside down. So when the card is reversed, the pentagram returns its correct position and becomes the protective symbol again. 

So The Devil rx means the chain falls off, it’s an opportunity to free yourself from those obsessive, addictive things which affect you. It's realising you have the power to change. But before you came to this realisation and urge to be free, you have to hit the rock bottom. I feel it’s important to say that in this question I haven’t asked about his romantic relationship, so it could mean changing a circle of friends or situations too. 

8 of wands is often called the cupid’s arrow or the falling in love card while it is more about infatuation and adrenalin rush. It’s also a fast-moving card. This card is also called the holiday love card.

So I see two possible options. One of them is he is ready to free himself from some bounding situation fast. And this freeing attempt makes him enthusiastic, cause some adrenalin rush and in this case, it means he is trying to free himself from infatuation. He wants rapid results.  The second option is that he is trying to free himself because there is another person, a third one if you like. 

HC+NV relationship now. 

Eight of Swords rx, Five of cups, The Sun rx. 

It’s very interesting to see those 3 cards together, I had to meditate on them a little bit longer.

With the 8ofSwrx I think he has a more realistic, clearer view on this relationship. I think this clarity cause great sadness and regret. (5ofC) Sun rx means the relationship is cooled down. 5ofC is a traditional bad relationship card. Not necessarily a breakup but definitely arguments and disharmony. Because this is about the relationship and because 8ofSWrx is about to break free, release, escape freedom (like the Devil rx) and the 5ofC has a breakup meaning, I think the relationship itself lost its warmth, burnt out. Maybe because the past events were too much or one of the parties is still crying over a “spilt milk” aka cannot let the past go, a past relationship perhaps. If this is about letting go of this current relationship with NV, it won’t be a lucky “escape”. It will bring sorrow, probably thinking about why this didn’t work? 

HC feelings, emotions

Judgement rx on top of it 7ofSwords

Judgment rx is about a difficult transition you are resisting or need time to adjust. It’s the refusal to hear the call. Delays, confusion, broken family units. etc. But because we have the 7ofSw on top of it ( and I mentioned before how I pay attention to the cards that fall on the others. This is only my method, maybe others don’t care but I do) I think he is seeking a way out about this situation he seemingly cannot let it go. But this card is an unsettling, shady, sneaky one. It brings dishonesty. Walking on eggshells, getting away with something, preparing for some action. Discomfort is the foundation of this card, it’s almost like you want to be truthful but cannot get what you want with honesty. This is the white lies, diplomatic approach to a situation. You know how he was compared to a politician, this is it basically. I feel this is the I cannot let go, but somehow I want to but my methods and ways won’t be honest and nice. For example when your partner is cheating you but too coward to admit it and accusing you of cheating. You fed up, break up with them, so they got what they want without being hones. That was just an example to describe the card, not the exact situation I saw here. 7ofSw is also means planning, mind games, tactics, being undercover etc. 

9ofWands, Page of Cups, Star rx, 2of Cups rx

He was defensive, he protected a young feeling which was a teen love type of emotion ( I remember I got this card ones how this relationship felt at the beginning and I think this was his card back then too) and probably this is why he feels he is stuck, he cannot let go because he was protective over this. And just left this doesn’t seem an option, not with a clear exit. (again, not whit honesty)

With the Judgment rx this again means, hard time to let it go. He feels he was committed to fight for and guard that young feeling (as we saw with his FO post ) but now he is hopeless (Star rx). He also feels he is constantly battling and this wears him out. Maybe that’s why a relationship seems to burn out. 

Pages are not just the youngest but they are the news bringers in tarot. This cup could mean gossip, being overly dramatic. To be honest I think this perfectly fits for his FO post and maybe he feels it was too much, too dramatic. On the card, the Page is offering his cups to someone and it could mean he feels he made those offers. He offered his emotions to her but the situation is hopeless. Or more likely it was a false hope. I said once in my previous reading that the most intense feeling I get from him for NV is this Page of cups, teenage love thing, which is more like the first few weeks, head over heels emotion, but this is without any real substance. 

There is no love here. 2 of cups if it’s upright is still not the love we saw on the Lovers card. It’s more like the early touchy-feely phase of a relationship which could grow to something more but it could die down too. Reversed 2ofC means trouble in a relationship even the end of it. Two people realise they are not meant to be together. 2ofC not only represents romantic relationships but friendships too. In that case, it could mean a fallout between friends. 

What I found interesting is that this could mean a codependent relationship between two people to the extent they cannot leave each other. This resonates with the Judgment rx. 2ofCrx can be a sign of a third person in the relationship or that one of the parties feels attraction outside of the relationship. 

His relationship with his family

Wheel of fortune, 2 of wands

Wheel of Fortune could be a fate, a karmic card. As I understand here that it means they as a family have a strong relationship even if the wheel is turning to negative. I don’t see this bond be destroyed by a woman (like MM did with Harry and the BRF). Rifts, arguments yes, but I don’t see this as a permanent situation. 

The 2ofW is often described as planning the future because the figure on the card is looking at a globe he is holding in his hands. Here I almost feel he is looking into the wheel. 

2 of W is decision making. Seems like a passive card without moving but you are thinking, making plans, so it’s not passive really. He knows the decision he makes will affect many. But as a relationship nor the Wheel neither the 2ofW are good cards. So I definitely sense some trouble now ( at that time of the reading) but he is in the position to change things. 

9 of Pentacles, Strength.

The imagery of those cards are very similar. Both have a very bright yellow background, on both, we have a female figure alone with an animal. 

9ofP could represent an older woman, but first I want to talk about the Strength card. This is about your inner strength, calm the beast inside you. It means your inner strength is put up on a test. 9ofP could mean that you are sacrificed many things for success. I think he temporarily sacrificed some part of his family and this is what put his strength to the test. This card also correlates with material wealth and success. I used the RSW deck for all of my HC readings but I cannot let go the feeling I have when I am using my own, personal deck which is the Druid Craft Tarot. On that card, the woman has everything financially, but still, there is boredom on her face. She is not happy, she is missing someone or something from her life. And I feel as an emotion this is very much present. He has a good status financially, seems everything is good, but still he is not happy. And this is something that could put his inner strength for a test. 

2 of pentacles rx

If this card is upright it means we are successfully juggling between 2 things. Because it’s a pentacle many times this is about 2 jobs, but as I said pentacles are about resources. 

If this card is rx it means you cannot do that anymore. You know that you have to choose between the two things. It could mean his family vs NV, or NV and another one, but could mean a poor financial decision for example with his FL house, maybe he overspent. (Tbh I think I mentioned this before somewhere that maybe he will have problems with his house)

This card also could mean a breakup. I don’t see this means a breakup from his family, I think their relationship is tested. Since this is a rx 2 it speaks about imbalance. 

This very much describes the whole reading. I felt imbalanced. I had a hard time reading certain combinations, first, this whole didn’t make sense. I am not sure how clear I was, this is definitely not my most polished reading. But then I thought I think I am picking up their imbalance. Because this whole has the “ I want to be free” feeling, but at the same time the “I cannot let it go” too. Like I want to go but there is an anchor which is holding me back. 

If we check the cards I get, we have 4 twos ( 2 of cups, wands, pentacles, Judgement), 3 of them is reversed. It means losing harmony, trying to do 2 things at the same time unsuccessfully. The illusion of companionship. You don’t have equilibrium. etc. It’s about decision making, serious ones. Two sides of a story. It also means because those are reversed that he is afraid of making a decision, he rather wants to other make those on his behalf. 

We also have 4 eights ( 8of wands, swords, The Star, The Strength). 2 of them upright, 2 of them reversed. Eight is strength. His inner strength is tested, his life gets busier. Reversed one means bondage, lack of courage.

If you want to imagine his situation, imagine a swing. Back and forth, up and down. He needs to make a decision to slow down or stop, or he will lose control and fall off. This is what he is now and this is what I picked up, while I had a hard time understanding the cards.

I hope you enjoyed it. :)

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

A Time of Magic

Merlin AU

I got really excited about writing this after getting so many great ideas from people! So I spent most of today on it :) I will make it clear now; some parts will follow how it went in canon, some parts will be similar to how it went in the show and other things I will be deviating from completely <3

Taglist: I’ll do my 'general writing taglist for now' but if you would like to be tagged (or not tagged if you have been) then please let me know via dm, asks or comments/tags! 😊💜

@psychedelicships @jwillowwolf @lost-in-thought-20 @red-imeanblue @writerwithtoomanyships

Summary:  “No one can know their destiny, no matter how grand that destiny might be. No one can truly comprehend how they wind up in the vast, complex tapestry of life. He cannot glimpse into the future of his great story. He will have to allow it to unwind for itself. Our young warlock must live to follow his destiny, and learn how to survive in a harsh world. His name… Virgil.”

Tags for this chapter: OC death, (not graphic in any way) description of execution, brief mention of a weapon, alternative universe (Merlin and human AU) 

Word count: 2,818

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 1: Into the Realm of Camelot.

“No one can know their destiny, no matter how grand that destiny might be. No one can truly comprehend how they wind up in the vast, complex tapestry of life. He cannot glimpse into the future of his great story. He will have to allow it to unwind for itself. Our young warlock must live to follow his destiny, and learn how to survive in a harsh world. His name… Virgil.”

The young man scrambled up the sandy hill and laughed when the grass brushed under his legs. He looked behind him at the vast expanse he had left behind. The blue and grey hues of the Brighsonee Mountain that would usually loom above him every day now seemed significantly smaller, for the first time in his life, he could actually see the dusting of snow that covered the sharp peaks.

This was the beginning of a new start.

He looked into the distance and saw the last wooden house of village he had called home for the last twenty years. The feeling of sadness threatened to overwhelm him, but he couldn’t go back now even if he wanted to. Home was no longer safe, and he couldn’t put his mother through any more heartache. If he hadn’t been so reckless, he wouldn’t have been forced to leave his mother behind to fix his mistakes. He felt his eyes fill with tears at the thought, but he shook his head and violently wiped away the one tear that made its way down his face. There was no point looking back, he had to move forward.

“You must go to Camelot and find Logan. He will help you and protect you.” He listened to his mother’s words that echoed in his mind. He could feel the daunting pressure of the rising sun push him forward, with one final look at his past. He adjusted the bag on his back full of his meagre possessions and walked down the other side of the hill.

As he continued to walk for another two hours, he found himself in a wild forest. The path would come and go continuously, and he found himself fighting through trees while getting his dark brown jacket tangled in branches. He finally found the path again and stopped to remove a sharp stone that had somehow got in his shoe before freezing in awe at the sight in front of him. As he looked through another set of trees, he could see the walls of Camelot. It was clear to Virgil now why Camelot had been deemed the most powerful kingdom in the entire realm. He picked up the shoe that he dropped in surprise and put it back on his foot before moving swiftly along the path with a new-found burst of energy.

Virgil was so eager, but also anxious, to reach the town that he almost collided with a knight on his horse. The knight nodded politely as Virgil moved out of the way, his bright red cloak with the golden insignia of the dragon billowing behind him. At least Virgil could be reassured that he was definitely go the correct way. The sun began to beam brighter as the trees lessened. He could hear the hustle and bustle of the town somewhere in front of him, so he ran towards the noise. Virgil stopped just before the cobbled path of the town and took in the new surroundings, he was intimidated by how busy everything was. He knew it would be more chaotic than his miniscule village, but this was something else entirely. The main part to dominate his attention completely was the castle that towered over the town, just like the Brighsonee Mountain at his village.

A multitude of lean, square towers dominate the skyline of the castle and were connected by extremely tall, thin walls made of dark brown stone. Virgil was unable to count sheer volume of flags that fluttered in the breeze all around the castle. Small windows decorated are scattered generously across the walls in an asymmetric pattern, some decorated in stained glass, some left as they were to let the light in. He could also see symmetric crenelations for archers and artillery, that was a reassurance that Camelot was protected. Statues of kings were lined up outside of the castle gates, serving as reminders of the past. This castle had stood the test of time and despite knowing some very rough wars and battles, the castle still stood. It looked like it will do so for many years to come.

As he was accidentally pushed to the side by a townsman carrying goods on his back, he knew it was time to take the first step into his new home. He brushed off his torn purple shirt, then adjusted his classic red neckerchief before taking a deep breath and walking into the town. He smiled as he saw small children giggling and chasing each other through the crowded street. He watched as men and women wandered around the market stalls, Virgil couldn’t help but be fascinated by the food and jewellery stalls he passed. His stomach rumbled and it reminded him that he really needed to eat the food his mother packed for him, but that could wait. Right now, he really needed to find Logan. He caught a glimpse of the familiar red cape of a passing knight and followed him in the right direction of the castle entrance.

There were plenty of people walking in and out of the castle at a rapid pace, smiling as they went about their business and Virgil smiled back politely. As he walked over the drawbridge and caught a glimpse of the water in the moat, he had to admit to himself that he was pleasantly surprised. Part of him was expecting for the castle to be closed off and daunting considering how it looks from a distance, but the fact that it was so welcoming made him feel much more assured that he would be okay here after all.

He saw a significantly large group of people standing in the middle of the castle grounds and he excitedly raced over to see what had everybody so excited. They were standing around a square that had been cordoned off by rope, everybody was desperately trying to make sure they could see the spectacle. Virgil could just about make out a small stage with a block in the middle surrounded by a variety of weapons. There were guards to keep everyone from moving any closer and he saw one more man wearing a black mask over his face standing in the middle of the stage. Virgil was confused, why was there so much protection for a magic show? Before he could think about it any further, he jumped as two guards with bugles began to play a mournful fanfare. A man wearing a golden crown with a burgundy cloak stepped out onto the balcony high up in the castle, Virgil made a note that this must be a member of the royal family, most likely the King. It would explain the gold jewellery around his neck anyway. The serious expression on his face made Virgil tense up. He nodded and another set of guards played large drums at a slow marching pace while a townsman was dragged out into the courtyard wearing heavy chains. ‘This is going to be one intense show.’ Virgil thought.

As the man finally reached the stage with an incredibly morbid expression on his face, the crowd began to mutter excitedly before turning towards the balcony. Virgil followed suit as a loud, authoritative voice boomed out across the courtyard.

“Let this be a lesson to all who reside in Camelot. This man, Peter Robert Sclator has been judged as guilty.” There was a substantial pause, and Virgil took the opportunity to glance at the man before furrowing his brow.

‘Guilty?’ He looked around and saw people bowing their heads and nodding slowly, it started to dawn on him. Maybe this wasn’t a magic show after all. His heart began to fill with dread as the voice began to fill the courtyard once more.

“He is guilty of conspiracy. Conspiracy of using enchantments… and magic.” Virgil’s eyes widened with fear at the sheer distain in the King’s voice as he practically spat out the word magic. The way he gritted his teeth made every word much more sinister. Gasps filled the silence after his words reverberated around the walls. The man was desperately trying to make eye contact with people he must have known in the crowd, but everyone avoided his gaze. Virgil felt his heart beat rapidly, he wished he wasn’t so curious. He shouldn’t be standing here watching this, but if he left now, would he look guilty? If someone could be punished for conspiracy… what would happen to someone like him? He gulped as he trembled waiting for the next declaration to be made.

“In accordance with the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that these types of practices are banned… on penalty of death. I ensure that I am a fair and just ruler. For the crime of sorcery. This is the only sentence that will be passed.” The crowd were ushered into silence and Virgil had to grip tightly onto the handles of his bag so he didn’t gasp or draw attention to himself. Now the man bowed his head, completely resigned to his fate. Virgil didn’t understand, why didn’t he call out? Swear that he was only using his magic for good? He looked around as subtly as he could, and couldn’t believe that no one was standing up for this man, he must have friends… a family. He glanced up and saw one of the castle windows open slowly, someone looked out to the courtyard. Virgil couldn’t help but notice the overwhelming sadness on the young man’s face, almost pitying the situation as much as Virgil did.

As the man was dragged to the stage and pushed down to the block. It finally dawned on Virgil that this was real. This was how life was going to be in Camelot, and the thought petrified him. The drumbeat began to speed up and Uther slowly raised his hand into the air. He couldn’t watch so he focused on the ground, and winced when he heard the axe swoosh into the air before the inevitable groan of everyone who decided to watch the man’s fate. Virgil forced himself to look up and he saw the man in the window; the disgust, pity and rage on his face was palpable and his eyes looked like daggers aimed squarely at Uther’s head. Everyone slowly began to gather their things and walk away from the display, but Uther stopped the people in their tracks. Virgil was desperate to run, but again, the fear of looking guilty plagued his mind. Despite how disgusted he felt, he knew that he was compelled to stay.

“When I first arrived in Camelot. The kingdom was consumed with chaos. It was only thanks to the bravery of the people, that we were able to rise up and be free from the evil of magic. So I wish to declare a festival. Tomorrow marks twenty years since we captured the Great Dragon. Let us celebrate this joyous occasion.”

Virgil’s head began to spin as he saw the smug look on Uther’s face as he raised his arms above his head in pride. How could he look so proud after what he had just done? Magic was a source of good. There had been bad events though, there was no doubting that. If it was harnessed by a corrupted person, that was the only way magic could be evil… He didn’t understand why Uther refused to accept that. Virgil finally realised just how careful he was going to have to be, even though he didn’t even know how to control his abilities. He looked up and saw the window slam shut making the glass crack from side to side. He couldn’t say that he blamed that guy for his reaction. Virgil just hoped that he was okay.

He finally took a step and broke away from the shock of the last hour. He made his way to the far end of the courtyard searching for The Court Physician’s quarters. He needed to calm down, and he hoped that Logan would be able to reassure him like his mother promised. Virgil was still shaking but he swallowed his pride and asked one of the patrolling guards for directions. Despite hearing words coming out of the guard’s mouth, it didn’t process in his mind at all. So he nodded and walked in a direction, hoping it was the correct way.

After about five minutes, and two laps of the bottom of the castle. It was clear that he was lost because he hadn’t seen anything that looked like a space for the Court Physician. He sat in one of the gaps of the castle walls and let everything sink in. He must have ended up being there for a lot longer than anticipated because an older man with grey speckles in his hair looked at him with sympathy and knelt down to his level.

“Boy? Is everything alright? Are you lost?” The caring voice was enough to snap Virgil out of his overthinking mind. He looked into the deep blue eyes and immediately felt a sense of calm wash over him. He looked down and saw the large book on herbs that the man was holding close to his chest. Could this be…

“Logan?” Virgil asked hopefully, he was desperate for this day to end. The man’s eyes glimmered with agreement and he nodded in a calculated way. Virgil sighed deeply in relief, finally, this day might come to an end and he could start from scratch tomorrow.

“That is me, yes... Who are you?” The hint of uncertainty shone through in his voice and Virgil remembered the letter his mother wrote for him to give to Logan. He frantically opened his bag and searched desperately for the letter, he knew it was somewhere near the front, because his mother knew that he would lose it otherwise. He felt paper brush against his fingertips, and he pulled it out to hand to Logan. He was met with an apologetic smile, and he couldn’t tell what he had done wrong.

“I’m so sorry my boy, I’ve misplaced my glasses.” Virgil looked up and saw they were actually sitting delicately on Logan’s head, but he didn’t want to embarrass the man who would hopefully become like a guardian to him. So he smiled softly and began to introduce himself.

“I’m Virgil...?” The silence between them became almost uncomfortable until Logan beamed brightly as he seemed to recognise the name.

“Hunith’s son!” Virgil smiled back just as brightly. “You’re not supposed to be coming until Wednesday!” Virgil’s smile faltered as he worked out again how to say this in a delicate manner.

“Er, today… is Wednesday.” Logan went to say something but he stopped himself. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and calculated something on his fingers before sighing in realisation. He stood up and held a hand out to Virgil while pulling him out of his seat in the wall. They started walking together towards a set of stairs which led to Logan’s quarters. He had only just realised that it was quite late in the day now as the corridors were illuminated with burning torches. Logan stopped Virgil from coming in, and he could see him scrambling around lighting candles. When the rooms were sufficiently lit, he welcomed him in with open arms.

“Head to the bedroom at the back and put your things in there. I’ll get us some dinner while you get settled in.” He left swiftly and Virgil staggered to bedroom. He looked around and as he put his bag down on the floor, he already felt at home. He opened the window and saw just how high up they were in the castle. The flickering lights of the houses and the still open market stalls made him smile, it looked eerily beautiful. He closed the window and sat on the bed waiting for Logan to return, but his exhaustion got the better of him and he immediately fell asleep.

When Logan came back and didn’t hear any response to his calls of Virgil’s name, he was slightly concerned. He briskly walked to the bedroom and smiled softly when he saw Virgil fast asleep, so he left a piece of pie and a glass of water delicately on the table next to Virgil’s bed and blew out the candle before heading back into the main room.

The night was quiet except for a deep, intimidating voice calling out into the darkness.

“Virgil.”

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Guardian of Creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 14

*Author’s note*

Well it has been awhile since I did an update with this series but I finally took some time and finally came around to do this chapter.  Now idk when I’ll do the next chapter but I hope it’ll be soon. I really don’t wanna give up on this series and I hope you all haven’t given up either. I know the Queen/BoRhap fandom’s been almost silent lately but I hope we stand strong.

Warnings: swearing, torture, abuse, animal (in this case magical creature) cruelty/abuse

Chapter 14,

Kidnapped, tortured and broken

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@simonedk​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queensdivas​

@queen-paladin​

@queendeakyy​

@glitter-at-the-panic​

@geek-and-proud​

@kinole009x​

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All you saw was pure darkness.  All you could hear was the sound of your heavy breathing and you thought you could also hear the shrill of a woman’s voice.  Suddenly your vision came back to you however you found out that you were forced down on your knees with your arms behind your back.

“So this is the so called human savior that my foolish nephew Crowley found eh?” you looked up and saw the familiar crazed curly hair of John’s mother Bellatrix Deacon.  Seeing her up close and personal was like you were looking at a rapid animal.

Her pupils were so dilated you could barely see the brown color in them, hell if you didn’t know any better you’d say she could pass off having black eyes.

“Indeed it is.” The shadow wizard wearing glasses and had sleeked back black hair and piercing cold light blue eyes said.  She scoffed. “Filthy muggles. Thinking they can learn our ways of magic! The world would be better off without ‘em!”

“Madam has such a sharp sense. Clever in every sense…..” a large fat, bald male said.

“Shut up Gollum!” she snapped at the creature.  Gollum, oh yeah you remember reading about them in the Magical creatures book.  They’re basically slaves to Wizards but never mistake them for weak.  They may look fat and slow but they are able to lift things 50x their own weight, and can snap a person’s spine in half if they are ordered to do so by their master.  The Gollum submitted and whimpered fearfully at Bellatrix’s fury. “Did you find the others?”

The man snapped his fingers and soon more shadow wizards came in, coming beside them were cocoon-like shadows.  One large one stood beside you and the other looked smaller, soon enough the smaller one revealed itself to be Roger and the taller one was Thor. From Thor there was Brian and Seraffel. And from Roger there was John and Ardeth.

“Hello sweetie, you miss me?” Bellatrix said to John.

“I could say a lot of things about you and not one of them would be anything in the ties of family feeling.” She did a slight tick.

“Is that any way to speak to your mother!?”

“I think we have very different definitions of being a ‘mother’.” Her right eye twitched then she slapped John across the face, the slap actually echoing throughout the entire room.

“DAD!!” Thor and Seraffel cried out.

“You psychotic bitch! Touch him again and I’ll freeze your ass so thick that not even a blue flamed dragon will be able to thaw you!” Seraffel growled threateningly.  Bellatrix then turned to Seraffel and even gave him a slap across the face.

“You do that and you and your brother will be locked somewhere where not even the crows can land their droppings on you.” She hissed into his face.  “What of that snake beast that’s always with them?” she said as she stood back up and paced in front of you all.

“We’re taking care of him. In fact I gave him a special little concoction of my own design. He’ll be out of commission for a while.”

“Excellent. And what of little Serafina? Your brothers having their way with her?” she cackled softly with a sickening grin.

Jesus this woman….if you could just move your arms you’d sure would like to wipe that grin off her face.  How dare she speak of Serafina like that!

“She was not with us when you sent these mages to collect us.” Ardeth spoke.  Bellatrix cackled and she said.

“As if I would ever believe that, Arabic dog!” She leaned down towards Ardeth.  She stood back up and walked towards the shadow wizard wearing the glasses and continued, “Now come on enough games where is she? That little wench has been clingy to my poor excuse of a son ever since they could walk. Wherever he goes, she’s sure to follow. Like a good little puppy.”

“I’m—afraid he’s not lying.” She turned to the man.  Her facial expression in a stoic gawk.  Her eyes wide as she let out a whisper.

“She wasn’t there?” the man shook his head. Bellatrix then began to frantically pace around the nearby fireplace which was roaring with a huge fire.  

Then in a flash she raised her wand and fired a green fire blast at the fireplace which made the fire explode behind her, her hair fanning out like a deranged demon.  With a flick of her wrist with her wand, a whip came out and attacked the shadow wizard standing behind John.

“How dare you—” a female shadow witch proclaimed but she was silenced when the whip wrapped around her throat.  She was the flung out the window before Bellatrix attacked another male shadow wizard that stood behind you.  She forced him across the room, hitting the wall.

“GO! FIND HER! FIND HER YOU MONGRELS!!!!!” she roared out in pure anger.  Not even wanting to test her again, the shadow wizards disappeared all except their leader. “Corvus! Put the creatures in their cages! I want to have a little conversation with my sonny boy. Mummy to son!” She said as she went up to John and actually pulled him free from his shadow binds, pulling him right up to her face.

You as well as the others were soon being forced to walk out of the room and towards what you would assume would be the dungeons.

“Dad! No dad!” the boys called out.

“John!” you called out.

“I’ll be okay you three. I’ll be okay.” Was the last thing you heard him say to you before the last thing you saw was his mother smirking maliciously at her own son.

You were then pushed into a cage and heard it lock behind you before the shadow wizard known as Corvus walked away after sending the others into their own cages.  Already you could hear Thor and Seraffel trying to bust down their cages.

“It’s no use boys.” Brian said.

“What you’re giving up already Uncle Brian! You know who our dad’s with we can’t just leave him alone with her!” Seraffel said.

“I understand your concern for your father ice dragon. But these are not ordinary cells. These have been engraved with ancient ruins. Which means we can’t use our powers and no amount of strength can break these bars.” Ardeth explained.

“So-so we’re just gonna stay locked away down here!?” Thor asked is disbelief.  You wanted to agree with them but upon closer inspection you saw that what Ardeth had said was true.  Ruins aligned the bars; they were small and faint but you could somehow see them carved into the iron.

You sat down with your knees to your chest and thought about John and prayed to God that he’d survive whatever torture his mother was about to do to him.  You also prayed that wherever Serafina was, she’d hear him and come save him as well as the rest of you.

*3rd Person POV*

John collapsed to the ground.  His whole body trembling after being hit repeatedly and mercilessly with the Crucio curse.  He was then spun onto his back while his mother hovered over him with the very same knife she’d use on him as a child.  He once again felt like that frightened child as she held that knife right up against his cheek, allowing him to feel the hauntingly familiar steel blade.

“That wench of yours has never once left your side and now she just pops off to Merlin knows where! You will tell me where you sent that FILTHY HALFBLOOD WENCH!!” she first started off in an icy whisper before finally screaming in his face.

“Don’t know……she went……I swear! I don’t know where she is!” John pleaded with his mother.

“Oh I don’t believe you.” Without hesitating, she held down her son’s head with her left hand and with the right, she began to carve out a word under John’s forearm.  Echoing throughout the entire mansion, John’s agonizing screams pierced the air.  Mixed in with his mother’s sadistic cackling it was like being in an insane asylum.

Below in the dungeons, everyone could hear the agonizing screams of John and Bellatrix’s insane cackling and demanding screams. Thor and Seraffel shook in pure anger before they decided to hit their cages as hard as they could with their bodies. Slamming against the iron bars trying to break free (even though it was pointless).

*2nd Person POV*

Hearing John’s screams just made your heart stop and your stomach drop.  There was nothing you could do.  It was almost too painful for you to listen to John’s screams anymore, so you closed your eyes and covered your ears but you could still hear his agonizing screams.

Goddamnit Serafina where are you!? Can’t you hear your husband’s pain? You guys are already connected so you should feel it right!?

Footsteps soon came down the corridor, through whatever light could be seen from the moonbeams that shined in the dungeons, you saw that it was the Deacon’s Gollum as well as the glasses wearing Shadow Mage known as Corvus.

“The dragons, the elf and the Nokk. You four are to come with us.”

“Oh yeah? And where’s that?” asked Roger.

“Let’s just say your presence is needed—elsewhere.”

“And just what do you mean by elsewhere?” Seraffel demanded.

“That is none of your concern dragon. Just know that if you refuse to cooperate,” that’s when you felt something beginning to squeeze your heart.  Your throat clumped up and you could literally hear your heart beat ringing in your ears, “The muggle will die.”

“You sick bastards let them go!” Seraffel shouted.

“They’ve got nothing to do with this!” Thor tried to reason.

“Oh you’re right. They do have nothing to do with this, after all—they’re nothing to us. Just another, worthless, pathetic muggle born.” Corvus’ eyes turned to you.

From what you could see, his blue eyes were nothing but ice cold as the pain in your chest continued to grow and grow.  Your heart racing even faster, pleading for air. You tried to speak but it was as if your voice was silenced permanently.

“Alright we’ll comply!” Brian shouted.  Corvus turned to Brian’s cell. “We’ll comply with you. Just don’t hurt them.” Corvus’ lips turned up into a slight grin and just as suddenly the pain was in your chest, it was released and you let out a loud, desperate inhale of air.

You began coughing and felt something warm land on your lips, you raise your fingers to see just what it was only to see the familiar thick red substance of blood staining your fingertips.

“(Y/n), you alright?” Roger spoke to you worriedly.

“I’m—I’m okay.” Soon you heard the cell doors open and out came Thor, Seraffel, Brian and Roger.  The Gollum tied up Brian’s hands with rope while Thor, Seraffel and Roger were given chains around their necks.  Soon the four of them were led out like dogs on a leash until they disappeared up the stairs.

“Ardeth?” you call out.

“I’m here.”

“Do—do you think…..we’re gonna get out of this alive?” he was silent for a long moment.

“To be honest, I do not know. But we cannot allow them to break us, Shadow mages pride themselves in their arrogance. And harming others is what gives them that ego boost.”

“But what about Brian and the others?”

“I wouldn’t worry about them. All of them are clever and strong. They won’t break as easy as the Shadow mages think they will.”  You hope he was right.

*Roger’s POV*

We were lead outside the manor and saw a bunch of other Shadow Mages outside, however unlike the ones that captured us, these guys had a jaguar brands on their arms.

“As promised, four new toys to try out.” Corvus stated.  A female Shadow mage with silver hair and piercing honey-like eyes came up to Thor and lifted his chin up.

“The dragons and the Nokken will be most useful. The elf, maybe not so much.”

“As I’m sure you’re aware of Celina, Elves are notorious for their healing abilities. Perhaps he can be used to heal some of your clan members.” Celina smirked before releasing Thor’s chin and she said to Johnathan.

“Alright Corvus, you’ve got a deal.” She gestured one of her boys to come forward and he handed Johnathan a sack of sorts.  Johnathan opened it to reveal about 200 pounds. These sick, twisted Mages, they’re selling us like cattle!

“Pleasure doing business with you Felidae.” Johnathan said with a smirk before he and the Gollum walked back towards the manor. Soon each of us were pulled by our binds and forced to walk with these mages now.

My nephews and I were the ones who tried to break free from our bonds.  Chaining us up like we were no more than human dogs to them, I especially hated the feeling of being bounded by something.  Minus Serafina’s magic, having being bound by something whether it’s magic or chains it’s like—being molested by an unknown force that keeps a tight hold to you and will never let go.

For days we trudged on the open country side of jolly ol England.  I don’t know whether they were trying to break us this way or just tire us out, either way it was a foolish way.  Once I trekked the entire land that would soon become both North and South America twice without rest.  Brian’s kind, they can last several days without rest since Elves have a slower metabolism, basically they’re super human and don’t break that easy if they don’t get food or water for a few days.

And of course with Thor and Seraffel being dragons, they’ll last since Ardeth’s people supplied with a dragon sized meal for them.  But I knew their bonds must have bothered them as much as it did me.  For the Mages also decided to bind them by their backs, preventing them from spreading their wings once in a while.

You know how you’ll see birds shake themselves out by flapping their wings, well that keeps blood circulating through their wings and keeps them healthy.  When dragons are in their human form, they have to every once in a while spread their wings out for the same reason, cause if they don’t it causes them serious back pains and can even paralyze their wings if bounded long enough.

By day 5, I could already see from the lads that their backs were starting to ache them as they would shift their shoulder blades, roll their shoulders, anything to try and ease the aching muscles in their back.

It even got to the point where Thor was so uncomfortable, he actually created a thunderstorm right over us.  Not any rain but there were definitely some thunder and purple lightning flashing the sky.

“Oi Storm dragon! Yah might wanna cease this yammerin in the sky yah?!” one of the Shadow mages spoke with an Irish accent.

“He would if you would allow us to stretch our wings out you damn eejit.” Seraffel defended his little brother.  The Irish shadow mage turned around and was about to punch Seraffel across the face when he was forced to stop mid-walk by none other than Celina.

“My husband paid good money for these beasts. If any of them are harmed, it’ll be your head Seanie do I make myself clear?”

“Yes ma’am.” She freed him which made him drop to the ground.

“Keep moving, I promised him we’d be back in 6 days with his prizes.” She ordered the rest of the shadow mages.  They obeyed her with a ‘yes ma’am’ and forced us to continue walking.

The next morning I smelt something in the air.  It smelt like—brimstone? And…..horse manure? As we came over a hill that’s when we saw it.

A fortress like structure with walls well over Thor’s dragon height, steal iron and it even had runes on them.  What do I mean by runes, well I mean magical ruin, symbols that date back to the Anglo-Saxon era of man.  Serafina told me that only the witch or wizard that cast them can use their magic.  So even if you are the most powerful creature on earth, if you’re trapped within a rune binding, you’re basically a sitting duck.

We got closer and closer to the fortress, meeting some other Shadow mages with the same Jaguar symbol branding on their arms, and even the fortress walls bared the Jaguar shadow symbol on a flag.  

One shadow mage took control over Brian’s body using his shadow sorcery, 10 men came up to handle Thor and Seraffel (five shadow mages each took care of them) while 4 handled me.

I shifted into my white horse form trying to give me some more weight for them to try and drag them down but they held my chains firm.

“Open the gates!” Celina called out and when they did, we were greeted with an awful sight.

Obviously this place was bigger than it looked.  A fight ring on one side of the fortress, a corral on the other, and a stable that went all the way around the entire fortress. Dragons from fire drakes, to the peaceful Asian water dragons were kept in cages, being whipped or forced to submit to the Shadow wizards that stood at their cages.

Elves in chains forced to be slaves as they walked back and forth making weapons or potions to probably benefit Grindelwald’s followers and maybe even harm us magical creatures.   I turned around and watched as the gates were sealed shut and lit up with the runes, locking the doors permanently.

“Separate them!” the Irish mage Seanie said and soon the boys were taken towards the East end of the fortress while Brian was forcefully escorted to the upper levels of the fortress to be put to work.  Meanwhile I was forced to walk straight ahead, and that’s when my heart dropped.

As we walked along further into the fortress, I could hear the sound of thunderous footsteps.  But they didn’t come from any dragon or giant, not these steps I knew all too well.

That was the sound of a Nokken army.

And that’s when I saw them.  All of my brothers being ridden on like actual horses, all of them walking as a single unit, looking down and obeying these Shadow mages commands. My younger brothers were now slaves to these brutes.

All of them—broken.

I let out a frantic, desperate neigh as I called out to them hoping they would recognize me.  That’s when a tall, skinny black stallion looked up and nickered surprisingly.  Tommy, my youngest brother in the pod.  Back before I left the pod to join Fred and his cause, he and his twin brother Nikki were just colts.

But now he was practically a juvenile standard of Nokken. Black stallion (contrary to popular belief, we have to earn our white coats with age and experience. We’re first born as black stallions, then slowly become brown before finally we turn white).

That’s when I saw that bumping behind him was none other than his twin brother Nikki.  No just how many of my younger brothers do they have here? What did these shadow wizards’ need us for? The Shadow Mage riding on top of Tommy gave him a whip to his behind to get him back in position.

I pleaded one more time to my brothers but this time none of them even looked up at me.  They just kept marching, and marching, and marching.

Rage boiled up inside me till I just lashed out and tried to make a break for it.  The shadow mages that held onto me, tried to pull me back but I was a true fighter, I wasn’t gonna obey them.  I bucked, kicked, reared, stomped, anything I could to intimidate them.

That’s when a Bombarda spell came down just barely a foot in front of me stopping me in my tracks.  Before me was (who to me) looked like the Shadow mage in charge.

He had sleeked back dark brown hair, piercing cold blue eyes much like Johnathan Corvus did, he wore a fancy black dress suit and tight leather gloves on his hand.  Around his neck was a silver broach with (you guessed it) the Jaguar family crest.  I huffed at this wizard as I bared my teeth at him, flicking my tail angrily telling him I meant business.

“What seems to be the problem cousins?” he spoke in a pure, rich British tone.

“We got us a wild one this time Malcolm.” Said one of the shadow mages that held me.

“Deacon and Black’s pet Nokk cousin.” A Scottish shadow mage spoke up.

“Really?” Malcolm piped in arrogantly.  He walked up towards me, took out his wand and lifted my chin with it.  “We’ve broken many stubborn Nokkens in our life time. This one will be no different.” How dare he……

I then took his wand between my teeth and snapped it in half before spitting it down to his feet.  For someone who takes their shadow abilities based off the animal of humans, he definitely wasn’t no jaguar.  Malcolm smirked at me, picked up his wand and snapped it till it was completely in two before carelessly tossing it aside.

I stomped my front right foot as a challenge for him but he looked at me as if I were nothing but a worthless dog, all bark and no bite.

“Conduct him like the rest of his brothers.”

“Yes cousin.” Just looking into this guy’s eyes alone I was thinking—sea snake.  I huffed and snarled at him, keeping my eyes on him till he left me alone with his cousins.

I was dragged towards some sort of preparation stable. They placed me between these two iron-plated gate and wrapped my chains around the poles of them.

“Alright Graham, he’s all yours.” Said another Irish shadow mage.  I reared my head downwards giving him a snarl as he jumped back trying to dodge my teeth. “Be careful though, he’s a wily one.” A deep chuckle came out from a blacksmith shop nearby.

A pudgy, fat old wizard soon came out wiping his hands of the grease and grime.  Thinning white hair and a little tache above his upper lip and he spoke with a thick Irish accent.

“See ‘ow wily he is once I’m through with ‘em.” He took out a pair of scissors.  Oh fuck no! he came right up to my mane and was about to cut a chunk of it off, but I quickly turned and bit him in the hand.  He jumped back grabbing his hand and checked it out.  I huffed and gave him my best stick eye.

No one but Serafina Deacon-Black touches this mane.

“A fighter eh?” next thing I know, my head was forced down into a bagged muzzle and I could only watch as each strand of white horse hair fell down onto the ground.  The fat bastard chuckled as he continued to cut my mane but then another idea came into mine.

They may have pinned my neck and head, but these mages sure as hell didn’t take my whole body into consideration.  So I simply just leaned a bit to the left, pinning his hand against my body and the iron cage.  The fat mage cried in pain as he tried to free his hand and fell to the ground in the process.

Once he was free, I nickered out a laugh through the bag as I looked him in the eye.  He gave me his best glare as he muttered.

“Alright.”

*3rd Person POV*

After completing their marching exercise, two of Roger’s brothers that he had seen Nikki and Tommy took notice of their older brother’s games with the old fat bastard (as all the Nokks referred to Graham).  Nikki nickered curiously as Tommy turned and followed his older twin’s gaze.

Due to that little stunt, the shadow mages now used a spell to paralyze Roger’s whole body so that Graham could continue his work.  Now taking a small knife, he picked up Roger’s front right hoof and began cleaning out all the gunk, dirt, coral, anything that could be trapped underneath his hooves.

Now he wouldn’t know at the time, but he managed to move that leg out of Graham’s grasp and quite literally, kick him in the ass. Leaving a well deserved hoofprint on the old geezer’s trousers.  Roger laughed again through his sack-like muzzle.  From their spot, Nikki grinned while Tommy whinnied out a laugh, remembering just how much Roger loved to toy with wizards, especially the male ones.

A shadow witch came and bound Roger’s leg that kicked Graham with a chain this time.

“I told yah, good ol iron will always do the thing instead of relying on magic too much!”

“And I told you yah old geezer, we don’t know how his leg got free! No one is ever able to break our shadow paralyzing spell.” The younger witch snapped at him before leaving.  As Graham went back to work, this time hammering a new horse shoe onto Roger’s hoof.  Roger nickered softly and soon felt his back foot raise up ready to kick Graham right in the face.

“Graham watch it!” another witch called out to him but it was too late.  The second he looked up, Roger’s back leg socked him in the eye sending him onto his back.  Nikki and Tommy both let out whinnies of laughter at their older brother’s games which soon caught the attention of the other Nokks as well, including Roger’s twin brother Vince.

Graham grunted and rubbed his head before glaring back at Roger who glared at him.  This was the last straw for Graham, playtime was over.

He had all of Roger’s legs triple chained up to ensure that he couldn’t escape this time.  In his shop, Graham was pumping up the brand of the Felidae family and was going to brand Roger with that very mark on his side.

“Yah bloody wanker this ‘ill teach yah to mess with me.” He muttered.  Nikki cringed out a worried nicker while Tommy lowered his head bending his ears back so that he wouldn’t hear the painful roars to come.  

In Vince’s stable he lowered his head, many Nokks, including him have broken once they’ve been branded.  Being water creatures, any source of heat is painful for them if it gets on their skin, and this guy brands this in blue dragon fire which makes it twice as painful and more torturous than any Nokken could ever take.

Graham came onto Roger’s right side, holding the flamed poker with the brand at the end, chuckling arrogantly.  But Roger wasn’t going to go down without a fight.  He wriggled and wormed his head around until finally he got free of his muzzle, his head hovering straight over Graham’s entire body.

He let out a gasp while Roger smirked at him before giving him a well-earned, hard, painful headbutt, knocking Graham out cold.

“Graham, you alright mate?” asked a shadow mage as Roger snorted at him, claiming his victory.  Nikki, Tommy and Vince all whinnied out laughter at their brother’s play.

“This Nokken is unlike any of the others. He’s even managed to slip pass our spells.” Said one witch.  “How is this possible?”

“I don’t know.” Said another female witch as they both stared at Roger, who raised his head up high, glaring at anyone who dared try to brand him next.

“Elizabeth, Robyn, you two rally your brothers and—tell them to take this Nokk to the stables.” Said a male shadow wizard.

“Not the stables James.” Malcolm’s voice soon spoke up. The three of them turned to face the head of the Felidae shadow clan.

“Malcolm?” James asked.

“The corral. It’s time we broke this beast.” Malcolm’s final command was.  And whatever the head of the house says, the others must obey.

*Roger’s POV*

The corral huh? Break me? Heh, good luck with that.  I was taken to the corral and as if I were a normal horse, they saddled me up and forcefully tried to pry my mouth open so that I was forced to feel the touch of their shadow reins.

Let me tell you it felt and tasted revolting.  Try to imagine a thick stripped down rag being gagged between your teeth that felt as hard as steel itself.  I gave them a fight but one of them just had to cheat and give me a good, hard shock to force my mouth open.

I reared and shook my head as I felt the first shadow mage get on top of my back.  All right, you Mages think you can break me? Well come on then, let’s ride!

The second that gate opened, I bucked madly which shook the young male wizard on top of my back like a ragdoll.  I made an erupt stop and he slammed right into the back of my neck making him disoriented.  I quickly spun around before giving him one final buck, sending him flying into the air and landing right on his stomach in the dirt.

I gave him an arrogant huff before turning to Malcolm who only gave me a glare.  Next in line.

The next rider was a slightly older male shadow mage sporting both a tache and beard.  Arrogantly he thought he could last longer than the other guy, yeah right.  I took him out quicker than the last one, sending him right on his arse.

Of course as I walked away he shouted a profanity at me. Calling me a ‘lousy piece of horse shit’.  And like hell I was just gonna take that lying down, I charged head on at him to which he ran for his life.  Barely making it out of the corral before I gave him a quick bite to his arse.  From the nearby stables, I could hear some of my brothers laughing out, I turned to see it was none other than my brothers Tommy, Vince and Nikki.

I nickered to them thanking them before trotting back, my tail flicking with pride and my head held high.  Once I got back to my so called ‘kennel’ I snorted out at the witch who stood in front of it, making her reel back in disgust as I got back into place, nickering arrogantly.  Next!

“This one will break ‘em.” A Welsh witch spoke as a big Scots shadow mage came at me with a horsewhip in hand.  Please like he’ll be any different.  I threw that big lug off of me under just one second.  All it took was one good leap and he went soaring through the air, even knocked another wizard who was sitting on top of the corral fence.

Even some of the witches tried to ride me but just because they were girls didn’t mean I gave it to them any easier.  In fact I made sure to buck those bitches off of my back even harder, because like I’ve said before.

The only witch who I allow on this stallion’s back is Serafina Deacon-Black.

Now to really show these bastards I meant business.  I charged at one end of the fence baring my teeth and stomping my hooves aggressively.  I then charged towards another section of the gate, scaring the shadow mages there, even knocking some of them into a trough.  Finally my eyes turned to Malcolm, I charged head on right towards him.  

The mages around him backed up but he stood firm with his hands behind his back and his eyes narrowed with hate as I growled right in his face, my breath even making parts of his short hair flow freely from its sleeked back form.

I stood face to face with Malcolm panting heavily.  My eyes piercing red at this point, my blood boiling and my heart racing.  You have proof yet you cocky little shit?  I don’t go down without a fight.

“Celina!” Malcolm called out.

“Yes Malcolm?” the woman who brought us here stood by Malcolm’s side.

“Take this Nokken down to the boiler dungeon. No food or water. 2 weeks.”

“With pleasure my darling. Plus with a little more fire power from those fire drake’s we got, the boiler room will be extra hot for this one to—cool down.” She said with a sadistic smirk.

Next thing I know I was trapped within a cell and all I could feel was hot air surrounding me.  It was also strange that I could feel that my legs weren’t chained up at all, nor was my snout or neck.  But still it was scorching hot in here.

I laid down in my cage, smacking my lips already starting to feel my mouth growing dry.  I huffed and nickered softly.

Damnit Serafina where are you? And Freddie, what happened to him? Was he here with us or was he still at the manor with John, (Y/n) and Ardeth? And just what the hell was this place exactly? Why would the Shadow mages want all of us creatures for?

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3235 Soulmate au: The one where any tattoo that you get shows up on your soulmate and vice versa

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header! 

Chapter 218 

It had been dozens of generations since the Uchiha clan discovered the secret of their most powerful weapon hidden in the love they so fiercely protected, just as many since the discovery that their greatest strength was also their greatest weakness, the curse that could bring low any warrior from the weakest to the most battle hardened. They were not so self centered to believe that other clans did not love their important people fiercely but there had always been a certain extra level of passion in an Uchiha’s emotions that just didn’t seem to exist for anyone not of their blood. Were they born of any other clan the sheer weight of their love would have been labeled oppressive. For an Uchiha it was nothing less than expected, necessary in a way. Without the crushing weight of love to hold them against the earth an Uchiha was cursed to spiral in to madness with only their bloody sharingan to light the way forward. It was not a future any of them looked forward to. 

Some escaped the curse, of course. It wasn’t an inevitability for anyone who chose the life of a civilian or followed a path that did not lead to the battlefields. Madara found himself envious of those people sometimes. The artisans who spent their worries on sourcing materials and feeding orphans had a hard life in their own way but a much more peaceful one. He was willing to bet very few of them had ever come awake at night with their eyes spinning red and their mind filled with horrors that would never - could never - be forgotten. He wished sometimes that he could have such an uncomplicated life. 

He wished sometimes that he had never fallen in love.

What should have been the center of his happiness, the anchor that weighed his sanity against the storm of a shinobi’s life, walked ahead of him with confident strides and eyes that looked forward, unaware of the power they held. Sometimes Madara wondered if Tobirama knew about his feelings. To anyone else in his own clan he was sure what he felt was as clear as day. Even if Izuna hadn’t said anything yet he’d felt his brother’s gaze on him when the fire in his veins overflowed in public, something he tried so hard to muffle and failed more often than not. He supposed in a way it could be considered an advantage in this case, the fact that his people seemed to love just a little differently than the rest of the world. If Tobirama knew he surely would have said something. The fact that he didn’t was probably the closest thing to mercy he was likely to get. 

Because Tobirama, cold and distant and so very perfect for the man that Madara had shaped himself in to, was not the soulmate he was meant for. The proof of it was right there on his face in three thin lines red like blood. Red like passion. Red like the sharingan he still didn’t seem to trust very much. Madara was only too aware that if they were indeed meant to be soulmates he would have woken up with those same tattoos the day after Tobirama received his own. But he hadn’t. His skin was clean and bare of any marks except for the scars of battles he couldn’t count. Whether that was because his true soulmate was waiting on him to guide them in with ink of his choosing or simply because they did not exist he didn’t know. Didn’t care. It had been a handful of years now since he stopped caring whether they might still be alive out there somewhere. 

It was hard to imagine what his soulmate could ever offer that might turn his eyes away from the man walking in front of him now. Harder still to imagine the monumental force it would take to peel the layers of emotions away from his heart until he stopped loving Tobirama. He was, after all, an Uchiha. Not a people known for giving up on love very easily. As a whole they tended to prefer death, not something he was very eager to run towards when the village he’d dreamed of as a child was less than a decade off the ground. He was aware that this love was likely to be the thing that drove him in to his grave and yet as he watched Tobirama stop to soften the blow of a child crashing headlong in to his legs Madara couldn’t bring himself to care about that either. 

“Having second thoughts, Uchiha?” 

“What?” Madara snapped back to reality to see that the child was leaving, scampering back to her mother with a smile made of crooked teeth, leaving Tobirama to look back at him with one eyebrow raised expectantly. “You wish, Senju. I’m going to grind you in to the dirt!” 

“I’m shaking in my boots.” Words spoken with absolutely no inflection. Tobirama blinked once and then turned to continue walking towards the training grounds mostly frequented by him and his brother. It took a special kind of terrain to contain two such powerhouses without the effects of their training spilling over to bother the surrounding populace. Madara would know. He had chosen his own favorite training ground for just the same reason. 

Possibly it hadn’t been one of his best ideas to suggest Tobirama spar with him instead after walking in on Hashirama apologizing for having to cancel the time they’d set aside for training together. Madara watched the mesmerizing walk of a shinobi built for speed and decided he didn’t care whether this was smart or not. Their skill levels were close enough and well balanced enough to make for an interesting fight so whether or not he made a fool of himself it promised to at least be an interesting afternoon. If his heart just happened to get broken along the way, well, it had been breaking every day since he first recognized these hopeless feelings for what they were.

One thing he had not taken in to account was the stretching. Sparring was one thing, the rush of adrenaline and the rapid movements as opponents danced around each other, together and apart again over and over. The necessary step of stretching out their muscles was quite another. Without the high of mock battle Madara was forced to turn his body away just to stop his eyes from being too obvious with the way he couldn’t seem to tear them away. He wanted those elegant fingers to trace his skin, wanted those steely arms to cage him in like he was something precious, something to be treasured like he treasured the smallest glimpses of things he would never call his own. Facing somewhere other than the chest he wanted so badly to press his ear against just to hear the heart beneath it was much easier. Instead of making the usual show of himself Madara watched the clouds scudding across the blue sky above them, leaning deeper in to his stretches to let the burn clear his thoughts. Only when he was sure none of his emotions were showing on his face did he finally turn around and demand they get on with it. 

“Someone seems eager to injure his own pride,” Tobirama noted with a hint of a devastating smirk. Madara scowled. 

“You think a lot of your skills. Shall we dance, Senju, so we can put them to the test?”

“Let’s,” was all the warning Tobirama gave him before the two of them exploded in to motion at the same time. 

It felt good to focus on the flow and pull of his own body undulating across the field, dodging and weaving through Tobirama’s attacks, breathing fire hot enough to evaporate the water used against him. Nothing would ever be as good as battle for clearing the mind of any other unwanted thoughts. After barely a couple of minutes Madara was relaxed enough to let slip a feral grin, truly enjoying himself enough to forget his romantic woes for just a little while.

Unfortunately it really was only a little while. With the sheer power they both had Madara thought the two of them could have locked themselves in to a stalemate for a good long while but it seemed as though the difference in their skill sets was just enough to give one or the other the upper hand fairly quickly each round, the victor declared depending on who spotted an opening first. Barely more than an hour had passed before they were half a dozen rounds in and both of them were drenched with sweat from giving it their best effort. Madara chose to delude himself that Tobirama was working as hard to impress him as he was to impress the younger man. A harmless delusion, at least compared to the other ones he entertained when he was alone and free to dream of the impossible. 

Or so he thought. This apparently harmless delusion is exactly what cost him the spar, distracting him with a sensation of triumph and a need to overextend himself in an attempt to look good. Like a feral animal Tobirama seemed almost able to smell when his opponent was weak. In a flash he had Madara pinned on his back with a blade at his throat and for one interminable moment in time the wild glint of his eyes was the only thing that existed. The entire rest of the world faded away, narrowed down the same look Madara had been drowning in since his cursed heart first latched on to someone he knew he couldn’t have. 

He didn’t realize he was staring until Tobirama frowned and pulled away to stand up. Then he silently berated himself. So much effort put in every day to keep his feelings private, knowing they would not be returned, and now he’d given up all his secrets for nothing but a pair of pretty eyes. Tobirama was a smart man, after all. It would certainly be too much to ask that he not draw the right conclusions from whatever foolish expression Madara had just been wearing. 

“I…” Jaw hanging open for the space of two heartbeats, Tobirama closed it again with a helplessly bemused expression. It was obvious he wasn’t sure what to say. There wasn’t really much to be said. 

“Don’t,” Madara warned him. “Just...don’t.”

Covered in sweat, breathing like a civilian after running a mile, he was painfully aware of the incredibly unattractive picture he made. Not exactly an image to swoon over, let alone fall in love with. As if he’d ever had a chance of Tobirama falling in love with him. Something dangerous pulsed behind his eyes and Madara turned away before either of them could discuss what his sharingan was trying to do, ignoring the tempting voice that called for him to come back and talk about this like adults. Instead he coiled his legs and launched himself towards the trees without actually paying attention to where he was heading. Anywhere was better than here. 

Literally anything in the world was a better use of his time than having his heart broken by a rejection he could have seen coming with both eyes closed. 

Avoiding Tobirama was both simple and complicated. Not many of their duties overlapped, their talents leading them to work in different departments. Unfortunately they did sit on a number of the same councils and committees and it was quite the challenge attending each of his duties without getting caught by a man who could move so much faster than he could. It took twisting and planning and every dirty trick that Madara had up his sleeve but he managed it, somehow, for several weeks. He couldn’t imagine what Tobirama could possibly still want to say after so much time had passed but he was very sure he didn’t want to hear it. All he wanted was to enjoy these last few years of sanity before the inevitable curse of his clan at last began to shred the barrier between his heart and good sense. 

Obviously he couldn’t run forever, though, not from someone as determined as Tobirama. Madara wondered why he still found that such an attractive trait even as he watched the other man bear down on him in the records room where several heavy layers of seals prevented him from using a body flicker to escape. 

“We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t,” he snapped back in the hopes that his natural grumpiness would cover the dread choking his voice. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Uchiha. Are you or are you not the same idiot who faced the Raikage and his personal guard all by yourself with no backup? Quit looking so...so…”

Madara scowled. “So?”

“Afraid of me,” Tobirama finished his sentence with the slightest note of hesitation, like he knew exactly how badly Madara would despise hearing those words. And indeed they did bring a scowl to his face. He’d never been afraid of anything in his life except for losing his precious people. This wasn’t fear. This was nothing more than a healthy predilection for not landing himself in painful situations. 

“I’m not afraid of you! Go away!” 

Rather than scurrying off for the hills - because of course he wouldn’t, Tobirama had always taken a lot more than one quick snap to run off - he bullied in closer until he had Madara hemmed in to a corner, boxed in on all sides with nowhere to look but forwards. 

“Clearly we’re not going to be able to talk about this calmly but I don’t know why I expected any more of you. You’re as ruled by your emotions as my brother is. To make this as painless as possible how about you just shut up and let me lay out the facts, yes?” Raising one hand, Tobirama began to tick off his fingers as he continued. “You have some sort of feelings for me and yet you chose not to speak to me about them. I wondered why until I realized it probably had something to do with either your heritage as an Uchiha or your status as unbonded. As someone outside of your clan those answers were not available to me. However, the second option was one I was more than capable of testing for myself. If you would just-”

Madara tried to balk when pale fingers reached for his arm but Tobirama pinned him with a look so venomous he could do nothing but stand absolutely still while his sleeve was pulled up to reveal his forearm, a particularly boring part of the human body in his own opinion, something he was utterly baffled by the need to see until he looked down and noticed something new for the first time. 

“That wasn’t there this morning,” he breathed. As he spoke his eyes remained fixed on the small shape exactly halfway between wrist and elbow. The stylized leaf of Konohagakure was something he’d helped to design but he certainly hadn’t expected it to show up on his skin without warning. A soul tattoo. If he hadn’t put it there himself then the only possible explanation was that his soulmate had branded themselves with a tattoo at last, echoing itself on to Madara’s skin through the bond they shared. Suddenly it felt very difficult to swallow. Breathing, too, felt nearly impossible as he watched Tobirama hike up one of his own sleeves and turn his arm.

“It appears my suspicions were correct,” he heard the man say in a strangely gentle voice. “We are soulmates.” 

“How?” 

Startled, Tobirama blinked at him several times before venturing, “What do you mean how?”

He looked even more startled when Madara began to flail like he always did when his emotions got the better of him. 

“I mean how! This doesn’t make sense! It has to be some kind of coincidence, someone else saw your tattoo and got the same one. Something! How the hell can we be soulmates if this ink shows up but the ink all over your face doesn’t show up on mine!?” 

“What? Oh. Oh! I see.” Confusion blossomed in to understanding only to fade away in to something soft, something very much like the expression Tobirama reserved only for the rare moments he chose to show his fondness for the few people he was close to. Having such a look directed his way made the poor heart in Madara’s chest leap in several different directions at once. Or at least that was what it felt like. 

Feeling almost left behind, he demanded, “You see what?” Then he gasped when Tobirama reached up to touch one of his cheeks. 

“The marks on my face are not tattoos. They’re seals, much like the one Mito wears on her forehead, meant to store chakra in case of some emergency.” He traced the line of Madara’s jaw and leaned impossibly closer until they were breathing the same air. “Is that why you refused to speak to me? You wanted this. But you thought- ah. My own reticence comes back to bite me yet again. I’m sorry for the confusion.” 

“You should be,” was all Madara could think to say. Forming any thoughts at all felt incredibly difficult at the moment. 

“And how shall I make it up to you, hm?” 

It would have been impossible to name all the many emotions running through Madara’s veins at that moment. Years of watching and yearning in silence, years spent waiting for the inevitable madness so many Uchiha had fallen victim to, years of cursing his heart for treading this path towards his own doom. All of it had been for nothing. The man he loved was his soulmate after all - and more than that, Tobirama had not rejected him, seemed willing to entertain the notion even. Relief and happiness and consternation and anger and joy and confusion and desperation all wound together in a tight knot he feared would never come untangled again. Words failed him. And so he turned to action.

Tobirama, by some whim of mercy, did not laugh at him for having to stand on his toes in order to crush their mouths together. In fact he seemed more eager to reciprocate than anything else and Madara wondered if turning his eyes away so often had left him blind to things that could have been his a long time ago. He resolved not to ask. Whatever the answer was he was sure it would make him ashamed of his own dramatics. 

Several minutes had passed by the time his heels touched the ground again, though his hands remained where he hadn’t even noticed them twisting in to the other’s shirt. Madara closed his eyes and simply breathed for a moment. He still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream. 

“Uchiha don’t love by halves,” he murmured in warning. “If we do this then we do it for real.” 

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

With a bone deep shudder Madara did. He fell in to Tobirama the way he’d never thought he would and when his soulmate caught him as easily as breathing he thought oh. 

So this is what it feels like to be loved. 

[shittystockholmstyles]

Una Sorpresa || Oscar Diaz

Summary: Steph learns some shocking information about Oscar.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Smut

Word Count: 3,292

A/N: this took a lot longer to write than I thought it would but it’s done. Hope you like it! Check out parts 1, 2, and 3 if you haven’t yet!

It had been 2 months since that night Oscar had showed up at Steph’s house, needing her help. Since that night the two of them had grown closer, gone out on a few dates, and stayed in, which is how Steph had learned Oscar was a pretty great cook. They spent many nights staying up late to talk about their interests and goals and Steph began to see a side of Oscar that she suspected he didn’t show many people. It was nights like that when Steph almost forgot that Oscar was known by most people as Spooky, the scary leader of the Santos, forgot that he had done time in prison.

Steph thought back to the night they spent at the beach. Oscar had asked her if she was scared of him. After some time she slowly answered no. He had asked her why not and she’d explained saying that even though she knew what he was capable of doing, had done in the past, and knew he had a short temper she couldn’t imagine him hurting her so there was no reason to be afraid of him. Oscar had pulled her in and pressed a kiss to her lips. Things had quickly heated up as Oscar pulled her onto his lap, his hands sliding under her swim coverup to grab her ass...

“Aye what’s got your face so red, chica?” Leti’s voice cut through Steph’s thoughts and she looked down feeling her cheeks heat up.

“Nada, chica” Steph responded “did you find the detergent? I’m ready to get out of here” the two girls had stopped by the store to pick up a few groceries.

“Si, and I picked this up for you” Leti said as she threw a pink box in the basket Steph was holding.

Steph glanced down and read the words First Response on the box. Her eyebrows drew together as she looked up Leti “a pregnancy test? Why would I need that?”

Leti laughed and started to walk away “para nada, que era una broma, a joke. But it wouldn’t hurt to keep one handy just in case. Since you are you know fucking Spooky”

“Aye callete Leti, the whole store doesn’t need to know my business” Steph said, her head spinning as she tried to remember the last time she had her period. It couldn’t have been too long ago. She shrugged, she’d check her calendar at home, and finished paying for the groceries.

The girls made it back to Steph’s house to find Maria hanging out on the porch.

“Took you guys long enough. It’s too hot to be sitting out here” she said fanning herself.

“Stop complaining and move out of the way so I can open the door” Steph replied as she pulled her keys out of her bag.

The three of them hurried into the heavily air conditioned house. Steph put away her groceries as Maria and Leti gossiped while making lunch. The girls spent most of the afternoon just talking. It had been a while since they had just hung out; she had been spending so much time with Oscar.

After her friends had left Steph decided to text Oscar and see if he wanted to come over. Hey, you busy? No response. She shrugged and went to clean up her kitchen. Steph knew by now that if he didn’t respond right away he was dealing with important shit. She grabbed a bag full of toiletries and walked to the bathroom. As she began putting the contents of the bag away she came across the pregnancy test and stood staring at it frozen. A cold fear came over her as again she was reminded that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her period. Steph shook her head, it couldn’t be possible. But it wouldn’t hurt to be sure; she unboxed the test and sat down on the toilet.

After the difficult task of peeing on the stick Steph waited for what felt like forever for her timer to go off. The loud beeping of her alarm startled her and she reached a shaky hand toward the test. Steph took a deep calming breath, there was no way the test would be possible. Steph brought the test toward her and looked down at the double lines visible on the screen. She stared, unable to comprehend the result. She grabbed the box the test had come in and reread the instructions, there in bold print it stated that double lines meant pregnant, but that couldn’t be right. She grabbed another test stick out of the box and tried again, she waited the excruciatingly long 3 minutes for the result to show up and again it showed double lines.

“I’m pregnant?” She said out loud, her tone questioning.

Steph sat on the floor of her bathroom staring at the wall until she lost the feeling in her legs. Her head spinning trying to figure out what to do next. Taking a deep breath she stood up and looked at herself in the mirror; her eyes were slightly puffy, her nose pink, and tears stained her cheeks. She splashed cold water on her face and made up her mind, she’d go talk to Oscar, they would figure things out together. Looking at her phone, there was still no response from Oscar, she typed out a quick message I’m heading over, hope you’re home. With that she slipped on her shoes and headed out the door.

As Steph got closer to Oscar’s house she could hear rap music blaring down the street. Soon she was standing across the street, several Santos sat around the front yard drinking. Her eyes scanned their faces, looking for Oscar, he wasn’t in the front but he had to be around somewhere because his cherry red Impala was parked in the driveway. She did see one familiar face sitting on the couch, Marco.

“Hey Steph!” He said, standing to give her a hug as soon as she reached him “ain’t seen you here in a minute”

She gave him a small smile “yeah it’s been a while. Have you seen Os- Spooky around?” She asked using his nickname

Marco shrugged “uh yeah I think he’s in the back.”

“Thanks” Steph turned to head towards the back. She felt Marco start walking next to her.

“I’ll head back with you, I need a refill” he said holding an empty beer bottle up

Once in the backyard Steph looked around searching the crowd for Oscar. She found him sitting in the same spot he had been the night they first met only this time a blonde woman in a short red dress sat on his lap. Steph stopped walking, shocked at the scene in front of her. Oscar had a hand wrapped around her waist as she leaned back against his chest.

“Hey Spooky someone’s looking for you” Marco called from beside Steph.

Suddenly all eyes were on her, but all she could do was stare at Oscar as his gaze met hers from across the yard. His eyes widened in shock and the hand he had on the girl’s waist fell to his side. Steph backed away, turning to walk back the way she’d come. She felt her eyes begin to burn but she refused to cry in front of the Santos. She heard Oscar’s voice call out her name from behind her but that only caused her to pick up her pace as she crossed the street. Steph had made it down the block and was close to her house by the time Oscar caught up to her, grabbing her wrist to force her to face him.

“Let me go Oscar” she said glaring at him

“It’s not like it looked Mamas” he said loosening his grip but not letting go

“Oh? It’s not?” She laughed “I know what I saw Oscar” she yanked her hand away and continued walking towards her home.

Oscar followed behind “would you just let me explain”

“Explain? You mean come up with an excuse? A lie? Tell me I didn’t see what a thought I saw?” Steph asked, rolling her eyes “no, no soy una idiota” she was so close to her home only 2 more houses away.

“Look you weren’t even supposed to be there so just let me fucking explain”

His words caused her to stop, she turned around to face home, eyes blazing with anger “so you can cheat on me because I wasn’t invited to your party? It’s my fault this is happening?” She asked as she placed her hands on his chest and shoved him “you’re a fucking piece of shit”

Anger flashed across Oscar’s face when Steph pushed him. He grabbed her wrists pinning her to him. His chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as he tried to control his breathing.

“Look I’m not denying what you saw but you’re gonna fucking listen to what I have to say” he said

Steph glared at him as she struggled to free her wrists from his grasp. She could feel her eyes blurring with tears and she wouldn’t let him see her cry.

“I’ll let you go once you agree to let me talk” Oscar said, staring down at her.

Steph bit her lip, considering the offer, she’d never get out of his grasp if he didn’t want to let her go. She nodded her head, moving her gaze to the ground.

Oscar let out a sign and released her wrists “let’s go inside and talk”

Steph lead the way up to her front door and walked inside. She turned to face Oscar.

“Listen Mamas” he started

“Don’t, don’t call me that” she said breaking eye contact as she felt her vision begin to blur again.

Oscar let out a sigh and began pacing the floor, his hands clenched at his sides.

“You said you wanted to talk so talk” Steph said, “tell me all about how it’s not that serious; you fucking other girls while I sit at home waiting for you to text me back”

At that Oscar moved to stand in front of her. He brought a hand up to Steph’s face but dropped it back down to his side as she moved back a step.

“Fuck Steph, I’m not fucking anyone else. She was just sitting on my lap”

Steph rolled her eyes “the point is that she shouldn’t have been sitting on your lap in the first place pendejo, how do you think that makes me look?”

Oscar ran a hand over his face “look I only let her sit on my lap to get the guys to shut up”

“What do you mean? That doesn’t even make sense”

“Joker and Oso kept talking shit about how I don’t pay attention to any of the hynas hanging around so when Ana came passing out beers I pulled her into my lap to shut them up.”

Steph scoffed, crossing her arms “because that’s easier than just saying you have a girlfriend? Or is it that you don’t consider me your girlfriend?” Her voice cracked at the end. “God I am an idiot, this whole time I thought you were serious about me, about us. But this was never about more than sex was it?” The tears had began to fall down her cheeks and she wiped at them angrily, not wanting to cry in front of Oscar.

Oscar’s face softened and he pulled Steph against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. Steph struggled at first, pushing against his chest, but she gave up realizing it was pointless; Oscar was a lot stronger than her.

“Mamas, I am serious about us” his voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, “ you have no idea how important you are to me”

“Because you never tell me” Steph interrupted

“You know talking about feelings isn’t my thing” he replied “but I do care about you, about us”

“Then why all the secrecy? Why not invite me to your party? You were the one that said I was always welcome at your place Oscar” Steph tilted her head back to look at his face, he was already staring at her and his jaw clenched slightly at her questions.

“I know what I said but that was before, before I got to know you and started feeling the way I do about you and I don’t want you around all the gang shit that goes down around my place”

“I’ve grown up in Freeridge, I’ve lived around gang shit all my life. It’s nothing new to me Oscar” Steph said

Oscar’s lips tightened into a thin line “I know that Mamas but I don’t want that to be your life anymore and I like having you just to myself”

“You mean you like keeping this a secret, I won’t be kept a secret Oscar, that’s bullshit and you know it” Steph said “if you don’t want people to know about us then there won’t be an us for people to find out about”

Oscar’s body tensed at her words “don’t say that baby. I need you in my life.”

Steph looked at Oscar and noticed tears welling in his eyes. The thought of him crying tugged at her heart. She brought her arms up, linking her hands behind his neck, “then make it official. Let people know I’m yours, that I’m your ruca, Oscar”

Oscar nodded his head and brought his face down to hers “okay” he whispered against her lips before kissing her, tightening his arms around her. He stepped backwards until his legs hit the couch and sat down, pulling Steph onto his lap.

Steph let out a small squeal as she was pulled down but didn’t break their kiss. Oscar’s hand came up to caress the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. She gasped as his other hand came down to unbutton her shorts, his fingers making contact with her exposed stomach.

She began to move her hips grinding against Oscar. He let out a groan against her lips then moved his mouth kissing gently along her jawline and down her neck. Suddenly he turned, moving to lay Steph down on the couch. He gripped the the edge of her top and pulled it over her head then did the same to his shirt. His lips continued to trail kisses from her neck down to her breast, still partially covered by her bra. He gently sucked on the exposed skin as his hand reached under her to undo the clasp of her bra. Steph slid the straps down her arm and watched as Oscar threw her bra on the floor with their shirts.

Oscar leaned down, pressing their bare chests together as his lips met Steph’s. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip and her lips parted in response allowing him to explore her mouth with his tongue. Oscar’s hand moved down to grab her thigh as she moved to hook it around his waist, drawing him in closer.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me baby” Oscar said breaking the kiss and moving down to take her right nipple into his mouth. She gasped at the contact and he smirked bringing his hand up to play with her left nipple. Steph arched her back, pressing into his touch and began to rock her hips against him. She could feel Oscar’s growing excitement against her thigh.

Oscar kissed his way down her stomach until he got to the waistband of her shorts. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled her shorts down her legs, bringing her underwear down with them. She laid there completely naked feeling a blush creep over her skin under his heated gaze. Oscar bit his bottom lip as he stared down at her, letting his fingertips lazily run up her thighs. He gently pushed her thighs apart exposing her wetness. His fingers teased her inner thighs, bringing them close to her center and then back down.

“Oscar please” Steph moaned, her eyes meeting his. Her cheeks were flushed and her body shivered under his touch. Oscar leaned back down, placing a kiss on on each hip before moving down farther and kissing her inner thigh. He left a trail off kisses on one thigh then moved to repeat his actions on her other thigh before moving to her pussy.

Oscar brought his hand up and ran a finger against her folds “you’re already so wet Mami and I’ve barely touched you” his eyes darkened, “tell me how much you want to feel me touch you”

Steph moaned at his words “Please Oscar touch me” her words coming out in soft moans “I need you papi”

With that Oscar brought his face down and placed a kiss on her clit. He began to flick his tongue across her clit in slow motions. Steph let out a gasp as she felt him push a finger inside her, slowly pumping in and out as his tongue continued moving in slow circles. Oscar’s pace quickened as he heard her breathing hitch, moving his tongue and finger in sync. Steph felt her stomach tighten with pressure and rocked her hips against Oscar’s face, her thighs tightening around his head. He continued his movements until he heard Steph screaming a stream of curse words.

He quickly stood removing his shorts and was back between her legs, his cock pressed against her entrance. “You’re mine Mamas. All mine” he said as he pressed into her.

“Fuck papi” Steph moaned as he entered her, moving in long slow strokes. Digging her nails into his back she smiled and kissed him. “All yours” she whispered against his lips. Oscar groaned and picked up his pace. Steph hooked her legs around his waist drawing him in closer to her as he rocked back and forth. “Fuck right there papi, just like that” she said between moans.

Steph felt her stomach tighten again as she grew closer to her second orgasm and rocked her hips up to meet Oscar’s. Her nails dug deeper into his back as her release came. Her legs shook and she tightened around him as he continued his strokes until the feel of her around him was too much for him to hold on. He let go, his climax coming over him as he came inside her.

Breathing hard, Oscar pushed himself up looking down at Steph. He leaned down and kissed her “mine”

“I was serious, you need to let me come around and people need to know you have a girlfriend” Steph said. They had moved to her room and laid together, Steph’s head on Oscar’s chest, their bare legs tangled together.

Oscar’s hand stilled where it had been rubbing circles on her hip. “I know Mamas. I told you I would and I meant that”

“And no more secret parties, from now on I want to be the one sitting on your lap” she lifted her head to look at him.

Oscar smiled “whatever you want”

Steph laid her head back on his chest and the two of them were silent for a while.

“Oscar?” Steph said feeling nervous

“Hmm” he responded quietly

“There’s something else we should talk about”

“Hmm”

Steph was quiet trying to think of how to say the words she knew she had to say. Taking a deep breath she blurted out “I’m pregnant”

She waited for a response, a shocked gasp, Oscar sitting up, but nothing came. She looked up at his face to find his eyes closed, a calm expression on his face. He’d fallen asleep. Steph sighed, laying her head back down “I guess I’ll try again tomorrow”

[vannahfanfics]

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter. New? Start from the beginning!

Skyward

Ao3

Chapter 2: Orphans Gotta Stick Together

Something soft and feathery embraced Ochako as she slowly rose into consciousness. As she groaned and rolled her head to the side, her sleep-addled mind wondered if she’d plummeted into a cloud and become buoyed by its fluffy, pillowy surface. Was she miles up in the sky, dozing on the white cloud with the endless blue stretching all around her? She could feel sunlight dancing on her skin and warming her arms. She reached out to chase rays of light as her eyes fluttered halfway open, feeling for a moment that perhaps the terrifying ordeal in the airship had all been a long, grueling nightmare… 

She was not greeted with the familiar sound of the mountain birds tweeting, nor the gentle brays of her yaks drifting from the nearby barn. Instead, wind whistled in through an open window to flutter the thick blue-black curtains framing the sill, carrying with it the excited yips and howls of distant dogs and the cawing of buzzards. She knitted her eyebrows in confusion; there were no dogs on her farm, nor buzzards in the mountain valley in which it was nestled. As her mind swirled in confusion, she realized that this was not her bed, not her bedroom, and not her house. 

Her arm flopped down against the side of the bed, bouncing off the soft mattress before falling still. Had she truly fallen from the airship? She must have, for how else could she have ended up in a stranger's bed? Had Tomura somehow rescued her from the terrifying plummet, or the pirates, perhaps? She groaned, reaching up to rub at her aching eyes with the heels of her palms. After a minute or so of falling headfirst through the open air, she’d lost consciousness out of a combination of fright and difficulty breathing in her freefall. 

Frightened tears sprung to the corners of her eyes as she lay there in the bed. The last twenty-four hours were a scary whirlwind of emotions; plucked from her farm and spirited away to somewhere unknown while evil government men and pirates lusted after her family heirloom for unknown reasons. As much as she wanted to sit there and bawl her eyes out,, she forced herself to dry her tears and get out of the bed. For better or for worse, she had to discover who rescued her after she fell from the sky. 

She walked to the window and peered out, curious as to where she was. She was greeted with the yellow-brown expanse of a canyon cliff, sharp bluffs carved into the surface of rock with a village clustered alongside the large train track system running the sandy bottom. The buildings even clung to the canyon walls, linked by small stone pathways. The house she was in was nestled on a grassy hill on the top of the canyon, with a winding well-worn path tracing down to the distant city. Skinny, short-haired dogs pranced in the yard chasing around buzzards who were picking at some unknown carcass by the shed. 

“A canyon mining town…” she realized in wonder. She knew of the mining settlements on the other side of the mountains, but it amazed her that the airship had traveled so far in just one night. 

As Ochako pulled away from the window, the mouthwatering aroma of eggs and bacon wafted into her nose. She salivated immediately; she hadn’t eaten until the previous night, and peckishly because anxiety had nearly torn her stomach apart. Though she was nervous to discover who had saved her, hunger guided her; she eased out of the bedroom and tip-toed down the stairs, peering around the landing into the kitchen. 

A blush immediately bloomed on her cheeks. A tall, muscular boy about her age stood at a small stove, a hand on his hip as he used a spatula to flip some fried eggs and sizzling bacon in a skillet. He was incredibly handsome, with poofy ash-blond hair and strictly vermilion eyes just visible underneath his bangs. He was dressed in some black work pants, a white cotton shirt, and a brown vest. So handsome, she thought with a shy smile. Had this cute boy saved her? 

“You gonna just stand there, Cheeks?” he said suddenly, glancing at her with a frown. Ochako squeaked and straightened like a rod; his expression and voice were fierce, sending an electrical impulse through every nerve in her body because oh my , it was so strangely attractive! Obediently, she skittered off the stairs and into the kitchen with a face as red as the apples resting on his kitchen counter. He gave her a once-over, then snorted and went back to his cooking. 

“You’re not hurt, are ya?” 

“N-no!” She had a small headache that she attributed to falling from the airship, but otherwise, she was remarkably unharmed. She fisted the skirt of her dress nervously, trying not to watch his arm muscles flex as he scraped at the grease simmering on the bottom of the skillet. “Did you… Did you save me?” 

“If yer askin’ if I caught you when you fell, yeah,” he responded simply, “though I wouldn’t call it savin’ . You came floating down from the sky.” 

“Floating?” Last she recalled, she had been in a freefall. How did she end up floating ? 

The boy snorted as he switched off the stove, leaving the eggs and bacon to sizzle in the pan. She squeaked when he suddenly marched over to her, leaning down to squint suspiciously at her necklace. It glittered around her neck, the pink opaline surface gleaming in the moonlight. 

“Yeah. This necklace o’ yours was glowing and making you all floaty-like.” He frowned. His eyes flickered up to meet hers, making the heat rekindle in her cheeks just as it had begun to fade. “Lemme see it.” 

“Wh-what? This is a family heirloom; I don’t think I should—” 

“Relax, Cheeks, I ain’t gonna steal it. I just wanna test somethin’ real quick. I’ll give it back,” he asserted, holding out his hand demandingly. Ochako was uncertain, but it didn’t seem this boy was related to either Tomura or the pirates. Besides, she was curious about the strange magical power the necklace supposedly possessed. Reluctantly, she unclasped the necklace and dropped it into his hand. His fingers immediately closed around it, the silver chain swinging as he clutched it in his hand and pushed past her to begin walking up the stairs. She scurried after him, dress swishing around her legs. 

“W-wait, what are you doing?” He ignored her as he marched up the two flights of stairs to the small peak of the house, exiting out an open square window onto the flat roof. Ochako shimmied out after him, on her hands and knees on the shingles while watching him stomp over to the edge of the roof. He secured the necklace around his neck, swung his arms a little in preparation, and then jumped off the edge of the roof. 

“Oh my gosh!” Ochako screamed in alarm as the crown of his head disappeared from sight. She then cringed as a loud crash immediately followed. She scrambled across the roof on all fours, the rapid pitter-patter of her hands and knees joining the sound of crumbling bricks and loud curses. 

“Are you okay?” she called when she peered over the edge of the roof. Far below, there was a hole through the roof of a small room. Dust rained down and a few bricks dislodged from the loose structure to clunk down into the already large pile in which her savior was sprawled. The boy just cursed loudly in response. 

“Damn it! That fucking hurt !” 

“Just wait! I’ll come down to help you!” she shouted and turned around so she could slip down. She carefully picked her way across, but when she approached the edge of the hole, the loose brick gave way under her feet. She screamed as she fell into the open air. Shouting, the boy lunged forward, attempting to catch her in his large arms, using his body to shield her fall. He grunted as her behind collided right with his face. 

“I’m so sorry!” she wailed in embarrassment and hurriedly crawled off of him. He groaned, rolling his head in the brick while rubbing his nose. 

“Damn, Cheeks… The fuck you so heavy for?” 

“Excuse me?” she gasped in affront. “And my name isn’t ‘Cheeks’! It’s Ochako!” As soon as he sat up and unclasped the necklace, she snatched it and went to put it back on. However, her fingers shook with the anger and embarrassment thrumming through her body. After watching her struggle for a few seconds, the boy snorted and slapped her fingers away so he could secure it for her. Scandalized as she was, she couldn’t help but flush at the feeling of his calloused fingers skimming over the skin of her neck. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly get a chance to ask your unconscious ass your name,” he huffed. Such a pottymouth… Why did that make her heart flutter? He smoothed down her hair once he finished clasping the necklace, then stood up, balancing himself on the destroyed brick. “Damn it… The necklace didn’t work and now I gotta a fuckin’ hole in my roof!” he groused. He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out the dust, before offering her a hand. “You all right, Cheeks?” 

“Yes,” she said, simmering down after all the excitement. It looks like he’s going to keep calling me that nickname. She took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She clutched it as he guided her down the precarious, continuously shifting pile of brick. Once her feet were flat on the ground, she brushed the brick dust off the skirt of her dress and smiled. “Thank you. This is the second time you’ve caught me.” 

“Don’t know why you’re makin’ a habit of it. My name’s Katsuki, by the way.” He dusted himself off as well, scowling as the particles rained out of his ash-blond hair. “Ugh… Well, that’s enough excitement for the day. You hungry?” 

“Oh, yes!” With all the commotion, she’d forgotten about the savory breakfast that the boy had been preparing. Her stomach gnawed at her belly, determined to begin tearing her apart if it wasn’t granted nourishment soon. Katsuki guided her back into the kitchen and prepared a plate, slapping a sunny-side-up egg and two thick slices of bacon onto the tin plate. While Ochako sat at the small table, he turned to make his own; by the time he sat down across from her, Ochako had wolfed down everything and was licking the yolk off the metal plate. 

“Damn. You were hungry,” he chuckled, making her stop mid-lick and blush. Trying to regain some sense of dignity, she set the plate down and cleared her throat.

“Yes… I haven’t eaten much since…” Nervously, she fingered her necklace, unsure of how much to reveal to him. Katsuki eyed her suspiciously, crunching on the bacon. He did save me, so he at least deserves to know how dangerous it is to have me here. Maybe he’ll send me away… She found herself scared at that, being abandoned in a foreign town, but she wouldn’t blame Katsuki if he acted in the interest of self-preservation. “... Since the men came and took me away.” 

“Wait, wait, wait—you were kidnapped ?” 

“Yes. A man named Tomura came with the military and took me away from my farm, though they wouldn’t tell me why. I live alone, and so I was frightened… We were traveling in an airship and last night, pirates attacked us!” she revealed, drawing up her body as if to defend herself from the thoughts alone. “When I was trying to escape, I fell...” 

“And I found you floating down from the sky.” Katsuki frowned deeply. She could see him trying to put the strange riddle together. Ochako knew that the military and pirates were both after her necklace for some strange reason. Her mother had always insisted that she never show it to anyone, and for most of her life, it had been kept a secret, locked away in a hidden compartment in their fireplace. It had only been worn for special ceremonies. After her parents’ death, she’d taken to wearing it as a reminder of them. 

I don’t want to trouble Katsuki. Both the pirates and Tomura will be searching for me… I should get away from here as soon as possible so I don’t drag him into my mess. 

“Oi, Cheeks. You goin’ spacey on me?” 

Katsuki’s inquiry made her eyes flutter, and she looked at him with slightly pink cheeks. He pointed his fork at her, frowning. “It sounds to me like you’re wrapped up in something big.” Before she could apologize for involving him, his face suddenly split in a wide grin. “It’s about damn time something exciting happened around here.” He scarfed down his food and then grabbed both their plates, tossing them in the sink to wash later. “That Tomura guy and the pirates have probably been looking for you all night and will eventually come to town lookin’ for ya. We should probably make ourselves scarce. Let me take care of some things around here, and then I’ll take you into town.” 

“Are you sure? You’ve already done a lot for me… I don’t want to cause you any trouble.” 

“It’s better than you fumblin’ around here by yourself. If you don’t know where you’re goin’, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. You’ll blend in much better with me,” he pointed out, and the sternness in his expression told her that she wouldn’t be able to argue the matter. Plus, his explanation did make sense, though she still felt guilty— especially because she was really relieved Katsuki was willing to stay with her despite the danger. 

They took some uncooked bacon outside and were immediately swarmed by the dogs Ochako had seen moseying around the lawn that morning. There were about a dozen of them, slim and wiry-haired. At first she was frightened, ducking behind Katsuki nervously; the boy just laughed when they bolted up to him, excitedly jumping up to snap at the half-empty package of bacon he held above his yet. 

“Oi, you mongrels, behave in front of the lady, or ya ain’t gettin’ none!” 

Obediently, they settled down, though they still whimpered longingly at the bacon. Katsuki removed a piece of the raw meat and held it out to one of them, and despite its initial excitement, the dog was careful and tender as it took it from Katsuki’s fingers. It chomped on the food, jaw smacking and tail thumping the sandy ground happily. 

“A lot of these dogs belonged to guys who died in the mines,” Katsuki explained as he fed the strays one by one. “There ain’t no one to take care of ‘em. They used to wander town but were chased off ‘cuz they were nuisances, rummaging through the trash and stealing food from the vendors and shops— so they ran up here. I know what it’s like to be alone with no one to take care of ya. I felt sorry for ‘em, so now I feed ‘em when I can and let ‘em stay up here.” 

“Katsuki… You’re an orphan, too?” 

“Yup,” he said, strangely unemotional about the matter. He wiped his greasy hands on his pants once he fed the dogs the last piece of bacon, then looked at her. “Us orphans gotta stick together, because the only ones who can look out for us are each other.” 

One of the dogs, a long-haired white female, nosed at Ochako’s thigh, thinking she may be hiding more bacon. Ochako looked down at her, at her pretty blue eyes and pleasant face, and wondered how no one would want her. One would expect her hair to be dusty and kinky, but it was neatly groomed and fluffy. I bet he bathes them, too, she thought warmly. She could imagine Katsuki sitting in a big metal basin trying to wrangle a dozen dogs into the bath. She scratched the dog behind the ears, chuckling when her tongue lolled out in happiness. 

“Yeah.” She smiled sadly. “There is no one to take of us but each other…” 

Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder how much trouble she was worth, and when Katsuki would decide that she just wasn’t worth taking care of anymore. Would she end up a lonely orphan sooner than she thought, a meek little lamb with lions closing in on all sides and no ram to protect her?

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Please consider perusing my Table of Contents.

[guide-on-how-to-read-faster]

Guide on How to Read Faster?

Isn't it so much easier to get through school if you could complete your reading assignments three times as fast? Wouldn't it be more fun to jump right into a good piece of fiction and blaze through it in less than a day? Let's explore speed reading in more detail.

The two ways of thinking about speed reading may be familiar to you if you've already looked into the subject. It is said that speed reading is the essence of success and everything you have ever dreamed of. Others say speed reading is a myth and doesn't work. Truth usually lies somewhere in the middle.

When considering speed reading, the first thing you need to ask yourself is: "Why do I want to read faster?" While speed reading novels for pleasure requires a different approach than speed reading textbooks or research articles for understanding hard science, speed reading novels for pleasure requires one approach. When using RSVP tests or Rapid Serial Visual Presentations, individual words or blocks of two or three appear sequentially on the screen.

Reading Process

Before we move on to the techniques, it's important to understand the reading process.

Reading is the action of analyzing a piece of writing to understand its intended meaning. So, reading effectively requires more than just recognizing a series of words. You must also understand the relationship between the words and the unstated implications of the situation.

Compare this to skimming, which is the rapid consumption of text to gain a general idea of what you're reading. The gist of it will become apparent even if you don't comprehend the details. The goal of speed reading is to maintain skim-like reading speeds while maintaining reading-like comprehension.

An educated adult reads approximately 200-400 words per minute. It is claimed that speed readers can read thousands of words in a minute. To do so, they rely on peripheral vision.

The fovea, or center of your visual field, has the highest acuity, about 1° in any direction. The width of your thumb extended at arm's length is approximately this size. The parafovea has moderate acuity between 1 and 5° from the center, and the periphery is greater than 5° from the center. In peripheral vision, it is physically and biologically impossible to recognize and interpret the text.

Try looking at a stationary object, such as where the wall meets the ceiling. Keep your eyes smoothly moving from one side to the other of the line. Unfortunately, it is actually impossible. Multiple small, jerky movements of your eyes are called saccades. During reading, saccades allow the reader to fixate the fovea on a word by moving their eyes quickly.

When speed readers use their fingers to guide their eye movements, I initially thought they employed smooth pursuit. Smooth pursuit occurs when your eyes fixate on a moving object and can follow it smoothly. If you move your finger from side to side in front of you, your eyes will smoothly follow it without jerking. The finger technique speed readers use is less about the pursuit of smoothness and more about maintaining a metronomic pace as they read.

The saccades allow the fovea to focus on the next word. It is estimated that each fixation lasts around 250 milliseconds, but it can vary greatly based on legibility, difficulty, and whether it is proofreading or reading for comprehension or swiping. However, not every word is fixed.

In about half of the sentences, the word "the" is skipped. In certain cases, a word may be skipped even though it has been processed. The rapid serial visual processing (RSVP) technology is useful for displaying information (usually text or images) in which the text appears word-by-word in a fixed focal point. In addition to being a basic reading aid, RSVP is being investigated as a way to boost individual reading rates. Additionally, RSVP is being used for research in visual impairment, dyslexia, perceptual and cognitive psychology. There are many different languages and platforms available for RSVP.

Through these technologies, words are presented to the viewer in the center of the visual field in rapid succession, thereby eliminating the need for eye movements. In light of the aforementioned individual variations, visual processing physiology, and the way we comprehend language, I would argue that RSVP is an inefficient way to consume text. RSVP does not allow for regressions, which is another problem. Regression is a brief look backward in the text to return to an earlier word. The purpose of this is to correct errors' incomprehension. RSVP further reduces comprehension by eliminating the possibility of regressions.

According to proponents of speed reading, subvocalization, or using your inner voice while reading, will slow you down. Numerous studies have examined the effects of eliminating or minimizing subvocalization. Findings consistently indicated decreased comprehension. It makes sense that phonological processing is an important part of reading and comprehension, since all writing systems represent words, and since the primary form of language is vocal rather than visual.

What does all this mean? Perception of visual information occurs rapidly. However, reading is slowed down by linguistic processing. It has been demonstrated that language processing rather than the ability to control eye movements is the determining factor of reading speed in various studies. We are limited in our ability to read by our ability to identify and understand words rather than by our ability to see them. As a result, reading faster actually reduces comprehension, which may or may not matter depending on what you are reading.

Learn how to read faster

After we have clarified the science behind reading and speed reading, we will take a look at how to speed read faster. To read faster, one does not need to read the same way for every reading goal.

As a method of improving one's reading comprehension and speed, it is suggested that one practice more reading. Even though this does help, it's a very slow and gradual process that doesn't produce drastic changes.

To drastically improve speed, comprehension must be reduced. We need to read slower to increase comprehension. There's no way around that; you can only improve slowly.

In each case, we have to balance reading comprehension with reading speed. Is it possible to reduce comprehension minimally, while increasing speed maximally? I have found the following techniques to be the most useful over the years.

1) Determine the Type of Reading

Determine your reading goal and the type of reading you will perform first. It is not necessary to maximize comprehension for every reading task. Do you read nonfiction for pleasure? Do you proofread an essay for a friend? Do you read a textbook for class? Do you read high yield notes and bullet points for one of your classes?

Having a clear goal in mind will help you determine the minimum level of comprehension required and, therefore, the maximum speed that can be achieved.

2) Remain Flexible

Secondly, make sure your speed is flexible. During the reading process, you will come across sections of text that are easy for you. It's a simple language, you understand the concepts, and you can easily get through it. You don't have to focus on every word to understand it.

In other sections, you will be introduced to new words or concepts that require your attention. Often, this will happen, so you must be flexible with your reading speed to optimize your speed/comprehension balance. If you're not sure about the significance of a paragraph, focus on its first and last sentences.

3) Use a Pacer

Use a pacer, such as your finger or a pen. You can follow along with your eyes by running your pacer below each line from end to end. You will instantly increase your reading speed with minimal comprehension loss.

It is important to find the sweet spot between pushing the boundaries of your comfort zone and only slightly reducing comprehension. My opinion is that if you reduce comprehension by 10% but gain 50% in speed, that's not a bad tradeoff. The pacer will need to move faster in places and slower in others, as described above.

Different Types of Reading

1) Textbooks

There is often a lot of unnecessary text in textbooks. There's no need to worry if you accidentally skip a paragraph or a whole section. Pay attention to bolded words or sections that contain key information, and speed up while reading text that adds context to what you've already learned.

Identifying what is important in each section by looking at section headings and bolded terms will make it easier for you to read the section. It may take a few minutes at first, but overall, if you execute it properly, you should save time.

When I'm finished reading a section or page, I summarize what I've learned. Alternatively, I can write a few bullet points or speak out loud to myself. This greatly improves retention and comprehension.

2) Books for Pleasure

If you read for pleasure, you can do whatever you want. If you want to enjoy the nuances of language, then you should slow down. In contrast, if you only wish to grasp the gist, it won't be a problem if your comprehension drops considerably.

It very much depends on the book and what you hope to gain from it. Depending on the book, I read every word or skip sections. The majority of books fall somewhere in the middle.

3) Research

In reading research articles, which you will read a lot during your pre-med, medical school, and residency years, follow a systematic approach. The best way to gain a deeper understanding of the abstract is to read it slowly and carefully. Focus on those key points when you read the full article.

Spend a few minutes reading the abstract, a few introductory paragraphs, the methods and results in sections quickly, and then spend more time on the conclusion.

A Guide to Speed Reading

Problem – The amount of reading material available these days is so overwhelming that often it's impossible to keep up. In this way, we scroll headlines and teasers instead of reading content that will actually educate us. Our lives are often dominated by the pressure to finish our daily tasks on time or keep up with the latest developments in our areas of interest, regardless of whether we are at work or studying.

Solution – Today, speed reading is a highly valuable and essential skill. People who master speed reading techniques can read as much as three times faster than the average reader, who usually reads between 200 and 250 words per minute.

Benefits – When speed reading, the human brain is challenged to perform faster and better. With speed reading, your brain will be trained to absorb information much faster than it is used to. As a result, your memory and brain function will be improved. Additionally, you may benefit from increased general and specialized knowledge, improved problem-solving skills, or increased self-confidence.

A Final Thought

We have compiled this article to teach you how to read faster. This article will describe how speed reading techniques work and provide you with tips, information, and resources to help you read and learn more quickly.