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t0wnspersonb · 4 years

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Practice Makes Perfect (Tsukishima Kei x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 3,823

Warnings: SMUT, loss of virginity, bad language, Tsukki being too damn beautiful.

Summary: It’s been several months after Tsukishima’s confession in the infirmary. You two are dating now, and after a study session in his room, you two decide to take your relationship to the next level.

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I hear you guys! I fucking see you!😂 we all need some Tsukki smut in our life so here is part 2 of Kiss it Better, I’ve included the link for anyone who hasn’t read the first part. I hope you all enjoy it and I would love the feedback afterwards:)

ALSO. I AM TAKING REQUESTS. I know I have some sitting in my inbox right now that I need to get to still so I apologize in advance if I can’t get your request out right away. But I literally adore all of you so much. Thank you for taking the time to read my shit writing:’) Anyway please enjoy the shit show lol.

~~~

It had been several months since you and Tsukishima started going out, after his confession in the infirmary, and after you guys had walked home together – well – things just naturally fell into place.

It felt like your interactions were the same, he was still a cocky little asshole, teasing you and harassing you endlessly.

But it was different somehow. You guys were almost inseparable it seemed. There were sides to Tsukishima that only you got to see, an unsaid trust that went both ways. You confided in him, sought comfort in him, and he did the same. He was your person, and you were his.

You hadn’t realized how same and different it would be once you guys were in a relationship.

But you loved it all.

You loved every second of it.

You loved him.

You were in love with him, and while it was something that neither of you had said yet, that feeling was definitely there.

It was said through his endless lectures on how you needed to eat better, it was said through the way he held your hand, or when he carried your bag. It was said in the way that his eyes gleamed when you proudly showed him the latest photos you had taken.

It was said in the way that you praised him for being an amazing blocker in volleyball, it was said when you would give him a new dinosaur figurine. It was said when you would introduce him to a new song that reminded him of you.

No, you guys had never uttered the words ‘I love you’ to each other, but you did.

He did.

And that was all that mattered.

Right now, you two were currently cleaning up the classroom together, since it was your week to clean.

You guys easily conversed with one another as you wiped down the blackboard and Tsukishima swept.

“– because of those dimwits we had to do twice as many drills.” Tsukishima said, finishing his story on how exhausting yesterday's volleyball practice had gone.

“Kageyama and Hinata sure are energetic.” You mused, pausing your wiping to glance over at the tall blonde in amusement.

He sighed and looked over at you, “They’re idiots. They act like everyone has the same amount of stamina as them. It’s ridiculous.”

You couldn’t help the soft laughter that bubbled up from your lips. “I think you’re just lazy Tsukki.”

His eyes narrowed, but not at your comment, but at what you had called him. He had told you weeks ago to start calling him by his first name, considering that you guys have been dating for a while now.

He leaned the broom against one of the desks and walked over to you. You were near the teacher’s desk as you surveyed your work. He moved in front of your vision, towering over your small frame, causing you to crane your neck back to just look at his face.

He moved closer, his palm resting on the desk behind you, trapping you in.

“What’s the matter Tsukki?” you asked in confusion, your head tilting to the side.

His eyes narrowed further, a frown creasing his lips. “I told you to start calling me Kei.”

A soft blush covered your face as you broke the eye contact with him, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous.

“I – I know. It’s just a force of habit.” You mumbled quickly, shifting from foot to foot.

Tsukishima couldn’t help but smirk, leaning in closer to you, causing your back to press into the edge of the desk as you tried to put more distance between the two of you.

“Why are you acting so nervous?” he murmured, the hand not resting on the table coming up to move your hair over your shoulder.

You visibly flinched, which caused his smirk to widen as he saw the blush coating your face.

“I’m not nervous stupid!” you fired back, looking at him now. “You’re just too close!”

You could feel your heart racing, your palms accumulating sweat.

“I’ve been closer.” he said simply and pressed his body against yours, one of his thighs coming to rest between your legs. This caused your skirt ride further up your thighs, and you couldn’t help but clutch at the front of his uniform helplessly as you attempted to stabilize yourself.

Tsukishima wasn’t lying, he had been closer. Many times, in fact, in the comfort of his bedroom. While you guys had never actually had sex, it had gotten close.

If Tsukishima was being honest, it was because he couldn’t help himself. Your expressions were just too much, the sounds that escaped your mouth were incredibly sweet, it made him want more. Every time.

But the same could be said about you. Tsukishima was incredibly good looking, his lust filled expressions drove you insane, and the way he made you feel was just too good.

“S-Shut up idiot.” You moved to push him away from you, but he was already cupping your face and tilting your head up for a kiss.

You melted against him, kissing him back with vigor. You all but breathed want and need into his lungs as Tsukishima explored the wet cavern of your mouth, his tongue hot and wet as it rubbed against yours gently.

The kisses you shared always spoke volumes with how you were feeling. They ranged from short and sweet, to something incredibly passionate and needy.

Either one, they always left you breathless and needy, your head spinning with so much want and need.

Tsukishima’s grip on your jaw tightened ever so slightly as he continued to explore your mouth. His tongue tracing over your teeth and bottom lip before going back to massage your own tongue. You were at his will completely, not that you minded. Not that you could even think about anything else other than the way he was making you feel.

The leg between your thighs shifted suddenly and you felt yourself being pressed against his clothed thigh in the most intimate way. A surprised noise could be heard in your throat, and desire rippled through your body like a tidal wave.

Tsukishima pulled back slightly, allowing his lips to flutter against your jaw and down your throat. His fingers working at the buttons of your uniform.

You were left feeling delirious and incredibly achy. Your grip on his uniform tightening as you tried to get your bearings.

You finally realized where you were.

School.

You couldn’t do this here.

“Tsuki - ah - shima. S-Stop, we can’t do this here.” You gasped out, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as he nipped at the exposed skin of your collarbone, and at the same time pressed himself harder against your core. His hands were now on your hips, and at the same time that he pressed his thigh closer to you, he had moved your body forward, causing you to grind against him.

Pleasure rippled through your being; you knew that you were soaking wet right now. It was unfair how well he touched you, how he knew how to make you hot and bothered.

“I told you to call me Kei.” he murmured and dragged your body against his thigh again. A delicious gasp escaping your spit stained lips.

“K-Kei. We c-can’t do this.” You whimpered out. “W-We could get caught. A-And if y-you’re late to practice, you know that Yamaguchi will be sent out to find you.”

He sighed deeply, and reluctantly pulled away from you, adjusting himself accordingly. You were right. He didn’t want anyone seeing you like that, that was for his eyes only.

It was so hard for him to not want to continue after he saw your disheveled form. It was fucking beautiful. Your lips were swollen with his kisses, your shirt unbuttoned, exposing the dark mark he had left on your soft skin. Your skirt was hiked up on your thighs, and your face was dazed with want and need.

Tsukishima gritted his teeth, stopping himself from pushing you up on that desk and having his way with you finally.

It was silent as you guys made yourselves presentable and finished cleaning up the classroom. The tension was thick in the air, lust buzzing in the air between you two.

Club activities flew by and so did the walk home. The tension never disappeared between the two of you, which had made Yamaguchi a bit nervous as you all walked home together. Of course, he wasn’t aware of what had transpired in the classroom, nor could he decipher what exactly the tension was, but he could feel the strange energy between the two of you.

“You’re coming over tomorrow right?” Tsukishima finally said as he dropped you off at home.

“Yeah. I definitely need help studying for that math test next week.” you sighed frowning slightly.

“That’s why you need to take better notes in class. You can’t just keep drawing like a mindless idiot all the time.” Tsukishima said, causing you to scowl at him.

“Whatever asshole! Goodnight! Text me when you get home. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” You said childishly slamming the door in his face.

At least some things would never change between you two.

***

You grumbled under your breath as you attempted the math problem in front of you.

You were in Tsukishima’s room, the said male was currently reading a book, sitting across the table from you and ignoring you completely as you struggled.

“I don’t get it.” You sighed, slouching your upper body on the tabletop. You hated math. It was your worst subject despite the good grades that you got.

His eyes flickered over to your dejected form before going back to his book. “Whining about it isn’t going to change anything.”

You scowled at his blunt statement, pulling your head up from the table, you stuck your tongue out at him. “Don’t be such an insensitive jerk.”

His eye twitched at your statement as he looked at you once more. Before he could retort his older brother entered the room carrying a plate of snacks.

“I thought you guys could use some food.” he said brightly, carefully placing the plate of food on the table.

Your mood brightened immediately. “Thanks, Akiteru!”

Tsukishima felt his eye twitch further, so you could easily call his brother by his first name but not his.

His brother smiled back, “No problem Y/n-chan! Ever since you and Kei started dating his mood has improved a lot!” he said, giving you a thumbs up.

Tsukishima slammed his book shut, placing it on the table and glowered at his older brother. “Don’t you have to go practice?”

He waved him off as he turned to look at you. “Who knew that Kei could get such a cute girlfriend!”

A soft blush coated your face much to Tsukishima’s annoyance, he stood up and began pushing his brother out of his room. As soon as he slammed the door shut and locked it, he turned his glare on you.

“S-Stop looking at me like that! I didn’t do anything.” You said nervously. He ignored you completely and took a seat right next to you, leaning in closer.

“What are you doing?” You whispered, your heart racing in your chest as he grabbed your chin, turning your head to look at him.

He was staring at you intensely. “You better pay close attention; I’m only going to help you go over this stuff once and if you miss any of the problems you can just go home.”

You frowned at his bluntness but nodded, nonetheless.

You weren’t sure how long it was, but you somehow finished the problems, and luckily didn’t get any of the answers wrong.

Tsukishima was surprisingly a good teacher. At least when he wanted to be, he was still incredibly impatient when teaching you, but you learned the material.

“Finally.” he muttered as you finished putting everything in your bag away, before you could say anything, he grabbed your arm and slammed his lips into yours.

You made a noise of surprise before kissing him back, eyes fluttering shut.

The kiss was hungry and desperate, his tongue prying your lips open and immediately beginning to fight your tongue for dominance. It was hot and wet and sent a wave of arousal throughout your entire body. The hand that was resting on your arm slid up to grab your jaw, fitting his mouth against yours perfectly.

His other hand moved to rest in the middle of your back, and before you knew it your world shifted.

Tsukishima had maneuvered your body to the floor, hovering over you. The hand that was on your back moved back around and you felt long slender fingers wrap around the back of your knee, carefully hiking your leg over his hip.

This new position allowed Tsukishima to get closer to you. He pressed his body into yours gently, being sure not to crush you with his weight. He adored the softness of your body, and the sweet smell of your skin.

But it wasn’t enough.

He wanted more.

Tsukishima carefully snapped his hips forward, pressing his growing member against you. The only clothing separating him from your weeping core was a pair of thin panties.

He groaned against your lips, pressing harder against you. A soft whimper from you egged him on, he couldn’t help himself. He grinded his hips harder against you, his member uncomfortably hard and searching for some kind of relief.

His lips began trailing kisses along your jaw and down your throat, his fingers brushing against your collarbone, pushing your shirt away to reveal more skin.

You gazed up at his ceiling in a daze, softly gasping at each thrust of his hips, you could feel your panties dampening further with your arousal as you clutched at his shoulders.

“Take these off.” he demanded huskily in your ear. He tugged at your jacket and shirt, his fingers dipping underneath the fabric and brushing against the delicate skin at your stomach.

“You first.” you breathed out, your own hands sliding beneath the blue shirt he opted to wear today. The tips of your fingers trailing softly against the hard lines of his stomach, his skin was warm and soft, the muscles flexing as he exhaled in a shudder.

He sat back on the balls of his feet, his hands easily removing his shirt, tossing it behind him on the floor. He almost moaned at the sight before him.

You were sprawled out on the floor, legs bent slightly at the knee, your skirt was hiked up just below your panties. Your face was flushed red, your eyes half-lidded as you stared him with desire. Your chest heaving up and down.

“Your turn.” he said simply and helped you sit half up. But before you could even remove the clothing yourself, Tsukishima was already at it. Pulling the jacket off your shoulders and then tugging your shirt over your head, revealing the soft white colored bra to his greedy eyes.

“Fuck.” he whispered under his breath, you were fucking beautiful, and you were all his. “Come here.” he breathed, pulling you easily onto your feet and then pushing you down onto his bed, crawling on top of you.

You loved the way he looked at you, like you hung the moon. Like you were the brightest thing he had ever seen in his entire life. It made you feel wanted, loved, adored.

Tsukishima’s lips easily found yours once again, still needy and urgent. He was pressed against you between your legs once more, grinding softly against your soaked core.

His fingers trailing up softly from the hem of your skirt, up your stomach, to your ribs, and then they were cupping your right breast.

Kneading you softly through the cup of your bra. Like before, his lips began trailing kisses along your jaw, sucking at your throat, and then to the tops of your breasts.

His breath was hot and damp against your overheated flesh, his tongue flicking out to taste your soft skin. You tossed your head back in pleasure, unable to stop the sweet moans and gasps that were escaping your lips as he began sucking and biting.

“K-Kei.” You stuttered out, eyes slipping shut in pleasure. He glanced up at you and reached to pull one of the straps of your bra down, allowing one of your breasts to pop out freely.

He watched as your exposed nipple began to harden before softly engulfing the pebbled bud into the hot cave of his mouth.

Fuck, he’s never heard anything as sweet as the moans and high-pitched whines that escaped your swollen lips.

You couldn’t breathe, the pleasure was overwhelming as he began flicking his tongue back and forth against your nipple. The back of your hand resting over your mouth, attempting to quiet the moans that were escaping your lips. Tsukishima began rolling your nipple between his teeth carefully, causing you to arch your back off the bed.

Hot white pleasure shooting into your body, your lower half was on fire, burning with so much need. You had soaked through your underwear completely, and your cunt was throbbing to be touched now.

“Please.” You whined out, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. “K-Kei. Please.”

He hummed against your breast, releasing your nipple with a soft pop before moving up and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice low and deep. But he already knew that answer, his fingers already dancing across the zipper of your skirt, easily opening it, and pulling it down your legs, where you kicked it off of your ankles.

Tsukishima could have cum in his pants then and there. You had luckily decided to wear a matching bra and panties today, but that wasn’t why he was in awe. He could visibly see how wet you were.

Your wetness soaked through your panties; a dark wet spot easily being spotted by the tall blonde.

“Is this because of me?” he murmured, a long finger gently rubbing up and down against the stain. “You’re soaked.” he breathed out, feeling the moisture collect on his finger.

“Kei.” a high-pitched whine left your lips. “I-I want you. Please.”

He exhaled loudly through his nose and began removing the rest of your clothes, his gold eyes drank in your exposed body greedily.

This. this was all his. You were all his.

He then removed the rest of his clothes; his body bare for your eyes to see.

Tsukishima was the most beautiful person you had ever laid your eyes on. The muscles in his body flexing as you took him in, and then… he was fucking hard. It looked incredibly painful, his member pulsing and leaking precum.

Gently parting your legs further, he carefully rubbed his member against your glistening slit, moaning at the wetness.

This was it.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, gazing at you with a gentle expression, his thumb rubbing softly against your knee.

You nodded, fearing that your voice would shake with the nerves you were experiencing, but the desire for Tsukishima overshadowed that. You wanted him.

He shook his head. “I need to hear you say it Y/n.”

“I want you Kei.” you said breathless. “I-I love you.”

You weren’t… fuck, you weren’t planning to say that. You could feel panic rising in your chest, your eyes widening as you took in his expression.

Tsukishima’s eyes were wide, his lips parted softly at your statement. A soft blush coating his face.

“I love you too.” he finally said, and then pushed his hips forward.

The sudden pressure below, the intrusion you weren’t used to had you gasping loudly, throwing your head back at the unfamiliar sensation.

The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, there was the slight fear at the back of your mind that it would hurt based on all the stories that you had heard from your friends and senpais.

It was just different… but fuck. The expression that was now on Tsukishima’s face wiped away any kind of discomfort you may have been in.

His face was contorted in pure bliss, his eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in pleasure. It was a beautiful sight.

You were the one making him feel that way, you were the one that was giving him all this pleasure. This was yours to keep, this moment.

You gasped softly as he began moving, carefully rocking his hips against yours. His cock rubbed against your velvety walls, reaching a depth within you that you didn’t even know you had.

“Y-You’re so tight.” He stuttered out. “Feel so good.” he praised and began moving in and out of you more.

You were getting used to the uncomfortable feeling of being full; and that’s definitely what you felt when Tsukishima was inside of you.

It started to feel… good actually.

Tsukishima must’ve realized that as well, his speed and force increasing a bit more. He reached down and carefully began circling your clit with his thumb.

Oh fuck. No, that was good. That was really good. Your body jolted in pleasure, a soft whine escaping your lips.

“I’m close.” Tsukishima said panting, his eyes began to focus on your expression, wanting you to feel just as much pleasure as he was.

You were beautiful. You were so fucking beautiful, naked, and gasping, taking his cock so well. He gritted his teeth, hastily removing himself from your weeping core. Tsukishima grasped at his member tightly and thrusted twice into his fist before spilling himself onto your lower belly.

His cum was hot and thick as it splattered onto your skin, you had never seen anything more perfect than the way Tsukishima looked coming undone.

You couldn’t help but stare at him as he came down from his high. His blonde hair was disheveled, sweat gleamed on his pale skin, outlining the hard muscles in his arms and stomach.

When he finally opened his eyes they immediately softened as they took in your spent form.

“Hold on.” he murmured softly and got up to find a towel, carefully cleaning up the mess he made on your stomach.

You couldn’t help but to continue laying there, exhausted despite the fact that you hadn’t done much. After Tsukishima finished taking care of you, he pulled the blanket on the edge of the bed up as he laid next to you. You moved closer to the blonde male, resting your head against his chest, his fingers began combing through your hair.

“I’m sure that wasn’t good for you.” he said quietly, after a moment of comfortable silence. “But I plan on making you feel good every time from now on.”

“It was good.” You said softly, on the verge of sleep. “We just need more practice… like volleyball.”

Tsukishima laughed softly against your hair. “Shut up stupid. Go to sleep.”

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schrijverr · 3 years

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The Heart Is Also a Muscle

5 times Sypha and Alucard got distracted by Trevor’s warrior physique + 1 time he noticed and yet completely misunderstands.

Trevor is hot and once Sypha and Alucard have noticed it is hard not to notice. Now they just have to figure out how to confess, before it gets incredibly awkward because he catches on. When he does however, his insecurities completely misconstrue their intentions.

On AO3.

Ships: trephacard

Warnings: insecurities

~~~~~~~~~~

Despite Trevor’s many years on the road, keeping up a less than stellar training regime, he was still a warrior at heart and in body. He had still fought all those years and his frame was bulky to accommodate the muscle needed for that.

Something that was hard to miss.

And Alucard and Sypha didn’t miss it at all. In fact they noticed it a bit too often for their own comfort, now that they were cleaning up Dracula’s castle after their victory over the old vampire.

It wasn’t that Sypha hadn’t noticed that Trevor was fit while they traveled, it was more that they were so many other things to think about, to worry about to keep oneself alive that she hadn’t noticed that sort of stuff. So, it still took her by surprise when she did.

They were clearing out the rubble of one of the many rooms covered by it. It was slow going work, even with Alucard’s supernatural strength. One upside was that Sypha was getting really good at levitation spells.

She took a small break and wiped her forehead. Alucard had just moved a big stone and Trevor was now trying to lift a bigger stone than he had done.

For a moment she rolled her eyes at the childish display, but as she looked she noticed the shirt clinging to his sweaty body as he arms bulged under the effort. His brow was furrowed and his tongue was poking out slightly.

He was a piece of art.

Fuck.

Why hadn’t she noticed before that Trevor was completely ripped? Maybe she had noticed, but never connected that to him being nice to look at. Now, she couldn't look away as he struggled with the too big stone.

No sane human should be able to carry it and she didn’t know why he even tried (well, she did, but she thought it stupid). Until, the asshole actually managed to lift it, proud grin sweeping over his face as he did.

Slowly, he started to walk, careful steps to balance the stone and keep himself upright. Every time he almost lost balance, he flexed his legs, which was equally distracting and Sypha really wanted to know why she had to notice this, because she knew that from that moment on, she wouldn’t stop noticing it.

“Sypha?” the smooth voice next to her made her jump, she hadn’t even realized Alucard had arrived next to her. “Something the matter?” he asked.

She debated with herself if she would admit to Alucard what had distracted her so. It was embarrassing for sure, but she had also seen the fondness in the dhampirs eyes whenever Trevor talked to him, so she might find an ally in her suffering here.

With a decision made she gestured to Trevor, who was taking the final steps to the right pile of stones for rebuilding, before he squatted down to put down the stone. His back muscles rippled and his ass was practically on display.

Beside her, Alucard made a choked off noise.

At that Trevor turned around, somehow an adorable confused pout on his face that should look ridiculous on his large frame, but didn’t. “You both okay?”

“Yeah, just thought we’d wait for you to break your back carrying something too heavy before we laughed at you,” Alucard shot back, saving both their asses from embarrassment as Trevor rolled his eyes and flipped him off, claiming that it wasn’t that heavy anyway.

They were rebuilding some of the pathways in the Belmont Hold. Trevor had insisted on cleaning up most of the castle first, claiming that it was the most livable place out of the two and he wanted a bed, but both had seen the saddened look on his face when faced with what remained of his childhood home in ruins.

So, the moment they had made the kitchen and a few bedrooms presentable, they started on a few passageways across.

However, ever since Sypha had pointed out Trevor’s muscles in a different light to him, he now was ruined forevermore and she was to blame. He couldn't do anything normally anymore. Somehow each activity turned into a distraction with Trevor around.

Right now being an example of how much of a distraction Trevor was.

He was hauling up a beam that Sypha was directing above them, while Alucard was supposed to be sorting the pile of books that were in the language only he could read.

Supposed to, because he most definitely wasn’t.

No, because how could one read when Trevor was coiling a rope around his forearms as he pulled on said thick rope, muscles straining against it as he panted and dug in his heals.

The beam was pretty big and it was frankly short of a miracle that he hadn’t let it drop yet, but then again, he was incredibly muscled as Alucard had found out. So, slowly the beam rose under Trevor’s labor.

Faintly Alucard wondered how Sypha was holding out up there, being forced to watch Trevor so that she could jump in to help when necessary. He found her eyes and saw her bite her lip, face completely red.

Then the beam dropped a few feet as Trevor fumbled with the rope for a moment. It was an interesting tug-a-war. Trevor vs. gravity. Even as he won, regaining his footing and putting in some extra work, both Alucard and Sypha had gasped when it happened.

“Do you need assistance?” Alucard found himself calling out, despite knowing better.

“I am fine, Fangs,” Trevor grunted and that noise wasn’t good for Alucard’s blood pressure. “Just do your job and I’ll do mine.”

Wit spite as final motivator, Trevor pulled the beam the final distance, groaning with relief when Sypha had guided it into place. Before he could turn to see Alucard look, the dhampir turned back to his pile of books.

He had things to do.

Alucard and Sypha had gotten used to Trevor’s muscular frame that truly shone whenever they needed to do construction.

Well, used to was a strong word.

Trevor was still completely distracting, so much that they had started a little talk club in the library in the mornings when Trevor was sleeping in. But they could function almost normally and do their tasks while they worked.

But this? This now, right there? That was different. It was just unfair actually. Unfair and mean, but also very blessed.

Rewinding to that afternoon, when they had decided that they weren’t in the mood for reconstructing the castle or the hold. So, they had lunch, talked a bit, Sypha picked up a book, Alucard as well, while Trevor seemed content to sit by the fire with them, whittling away at a piece of wood.

Then it had happened. Trevor had reached for a bit of firewood, before realizing they were almost out. Throwing the last logs onto the fire, he got up and stretched as he said: “I’m going to chop some more fire wood.”

And then he left and they were alone. For a few moments they both just blinked at the empty space that had just been Trevor, before his words caught up to them.

Sypha moved first. She got up with her book and walked to the seat that had been built in next to the window that looked out over the fields below. They weren’t high up in the castle and had a good view.

“Might I inquire about the sudden move?” Alucard asked after a moment.

She grinned at him mischievously and nodded to something on the other side of the window, before she said: “Why don’t you come here and find out? Promise it’s worth it.”

Alucard didn’t know when he had forgotten she was cruel in her kindness, but looking down to see Trevor chop wood with a big ax was definitely cruel, still he was so very grateful for her that she had invited him to the view.

Because it truly was a view. Trevor was soaking through his shirt as he effortlessly swung the giant ax downwards onto the waiting wood, always splitting it in one or two swings.

“Oh God,” he choked out.

“Hmmhm, I know,” Sypha agreed.

“He just-”

“Jup.”

“Wow.”

It wasn’t the classiest conversation they’d had, but by far not the least classiest conversation about Trevor’s muscle’s they’d had. Still, they could hardly be blamed when the person in question was right in front of them being hot, instead of far away and sleeping.

As they watched they could see the outlines of Trevor’s muscles appear in sweat. Naturally the armpits were first, but then they appeared under his pecs and between his shoulders as well.

Alucard swallowed heavily, Sypha beside him followed suit.

They stood there for a while, just admiring Trevor as the pile next to him grew with chopped up wood. It was a nice spring day and the sun was doing wonder’s for the sweat coating his muscles. Trevor was now only in a tunic, nothing covering his arms. It was a very good look on him.

Then it happened. They were unassuming and powerless when Trevor lifted his tunic to wipe the sweat on his brow, only to pull back and grimace when he found it already soaked. Before they could prepare themselves he had tugged the tunic over his head, continuing his task completely bare-chested.

“Oh,” Sypha moaned miserably, “I don’t know if I want to thank whoever is out there or curse them right now.”

If he could have formed words at that moment, he would have agreed with her. Alas, he was incapacitated by the shirtless sweaty and sexy Trevor below them.

After they had started at the hunter for a few moments – imprinting the view, getting their wits together again, that sort of stuff – Sypha said: “This is truly pathetic. Look at us. This is so sad.” Trevor chopped again, it was a big log and it went down in one swing. “But totally deserved sadness if I get to see this.”

“Do you think he knows what he’s doing?” Alucard asked as Trevor stretched borderline pornographically.

“Oh absolutely not,” replied Sypha. “He’s as oblivious as a brick and I’m torn between calling it cute and frustrating.”

“We should probably say something to him at one point,” Alucard pointed out.

“Yeah, we probably should,” Sypha agreed, taking Alucard’s hand and leaning into him as they enjoyed the view together. They had made a deal not to do anything until they’d gotten Trevor’s rejection or until he was on board. Right now, she would do anything for a kiss though.

She didn’t try. She knew that Alucard cared about doing things proper and she wanted that too. She just also happened to be watching Trevor be hot while knowing that any move would have him running from the hills due to the emotional repressing he had made his personality.

So, she sighed and looked back out, only to see Trevor put the ax away and gather an arm full of newly chopped wood, still no shirt.

Cursing she pulled Alucard back to the chairs they had sat in and turned the book so that it was right side up, before she hissed to Alucard that he had to act natural.

Alucard had just turned back to his book, the look of apathy he had perfected on his face, when Trevor came in and dropped off the firewood, before greeting them and turning to bring another load.

Once he had left the room and would be out of hearing range, Alucard leaned over to her and whispered: “We need to come up with a plan at some point.”

“Yes, I know, okay,” Sypha agreed.

“He’s getting on my nerves both in a good and bad way and I might snap if we don’t do something soon and that’ll make things worse.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” she sighed, “I’m working on it.”

“What are you two gossiping about?” Trevor asked with a grin, as he returned with more wood in his arms. “You could be two old ladies in a market square.”

“Nothing really,” said Alucard, right as Sypha answered: “About how much you stink. Sweat isn’t a good look on you,” the lie came out.

Trevor huffed, but it was good-naturedly, as he rolled his eyes. “I’ll put away the rest of the wood and go bathe, your majesties.” Then he swept out of the room, leaving them without his shirtless pecs to view.

After the wood chopping incident, working together with Trevor had become harder again, so the cleaning of the general grossness that came with an army of night creatures had been divided to be done separately.

To Trevor they had claimed efficiency, and while he had looked suspicious, he had also accepted it without any complaints.

But even that did not save them from him. While there were no bulging muscles soaking in sweat, just general grossness and tiredness when they met up again with each other, it seemed that Trevor was full of surprises, oblivious as he was to them.

Alucard and Sypha had bothcollapsed on the floor in one of the main halls when Trevor joined them, stretching his arms above his head, flexing his muscles slightly.

He sat down with them and groaned: “I don’t think my back will ever recover from this, I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You do not get paid at all,” said Alucard in confusion.

“Exactly,” Trevor told him, before stretching and groaning again. Then he stretched his legs out in front of him and just dropped his head down onto his knees, bending himself in half as he semi-moaned when his back cracked.

Sypha watched him slack jawed and Alucard didn’t think he looked much better as he ogled the hunter as well. Trevor was not just flexing muscles, but flexible as well. He would become the death of them that was certain.

It took them a few more moments to snap out of their daze, then a few more to realize Trevor had fallen asleep.

He had fallen asleep with his nose between his knees as if he was a pretzel, because apparently the position was so comfortable for him that he could fall asleep.

Fuck.

After the flexible incident, as Sypha was calling it, they had been scrambling for a plan to get Trevor to agree to date them, because seeing that display only to have to deal with the cute sleepy Trevor that came after had been too much for their hearts.

Naturally it couldn't be that way. They had a vague plan about maybe tying Trevor to a chair if he wanted to run away, but nothing concrete yet.

She was currently in the Belmont Hold, looking through their books, hoping that one would spark a plan or maybe just give her something to talk about with the other’s over dinner. A book caught her eye, it was green with golden letters that read: Herbs against poison, for healing and relaxation

But when she reached for it, her arm fell short and not even by a bit. She was even pretty sure Alucard couldn't reach it like that. She would need a ladder, but the ladder system for this part had been destroyed.

A part of her was aware that she was pouting, but she still frowned when Trevor asked: “What are you pouting about?”

“I wasn’t pouting,” she told him instead of answering.

“Okay then, why was your bottom lip protruding in displeasure?” he asked her with a shit-eating grin that was both adorable and annoying.

She gave up with that and gestured to the book as she explained: “I can’t reach it.”

Trevor tried, but he too couldn't reach it, but she appreciated how he stretched out in an attempt to reach it, the flexibility coming to mind again. It truly was a pity they hadn’t been able to come up with anything to exploit that part yet.

Sypha was about to call for Alucard to see if he could when she felt two big hands on her waist before she was effortlessly lifted into the air. She squeaked loudly and floundered for a moment.

“Grab your book, Sypha,” she heard the laughter in Trevor’s voice, but she couldn't find it within herself to be annoyed when Trevor had just lifted her of the ground like it was nothing.

Sure, she wasn’t the heaviest or biggest person around, but she had a lot of muscle for her frame and she wouldn’t describe herself as light. God, what she wouldn’t give to have that strength at her mercy.

No, don’t focus on that now, grab the book. She quickly clutched the book and hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

“Hey, you okay?” Trevor was now frowning in that stupidly concerned way that made her heart clench and she deducted that her cheeks must have been as red as she’d feared. “I’m fine,” she squeaked, hoping it would be enough.

Alucard came to her rescue, sort of. He landed gracefully and asked: “What happened? I heard Sypha squeak.”

“Oh, yeah, nothing to worry about. I think I startled her when I lifted her,” Trevor explained casually, “We couldn't reach a book she wanted. So, teamwork.”

“You. You just lifted her up?” Alucard repeated dumbly and Sypha knew that it was the fact that it was hot and he missed it that made him say it like that.

Sadly, Trevor interpreted it differently. “What? You think I couldn't lift her. No offense, Sypha, but you’re hardly a challenge. I mean, I could lift you, you bloodsucking prick. Sure, no super strength, but you don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“That’s not-” before Alucard could ruin everything, Sypha interrupted: “Really?” she tried to sound disbelieving, “I mean, you’re strong, but Alucard? He’s tall and muscled. I don’t think you can.”

“I so can, this is ridiculous,” now it was Trevor, who was pouting and she took a bit of joy out of her manipulation.

“Prove it.”

Trevor looked taken aback by that and glanced at Alucard, who gladly had caught on and send him a cocky raised brow paired with a smirk.

Determination settled on Trevor’s face and he crossed his arms, before saying: “Okay, sure, I will,” before walking to Alucard and hoisting him over his shoulder’s like he was a somewhat heavy sack of potatoes. “See?”

“Okay, yeah, but that wasn’t how you carried me,” Sypha pointed out.

“Well, then maybe I can’t do that, but lifting someone by the waist is the hardest way to lift someone,” Trevor protested as he let Alucard down. “I feel like that was still pretty impressive. He’s heavy despite the delicate bone structure.”

Sypha was pretty sure Alucard was out of the running now with that comment, but she wanted to sedate her own curiosity. “I’ll give you the hard lifting part, but I don’t know about impressive. Maybe bridal carry and I’ll be impressed.”

He looked at her inscrutably and for a second she feared he would call her bluff and point out her real motivations. That moment never came, he sighed then set his shoulders– his broad, nice shoulders – stubbornly, before literally swooping Alucard off his feet.

He gave her a look that screamed ‘What now, eh? Didn’t think I’d do it, but I did, so suck it’ and she loved it. She loved that he had done what she told him to do while also showing off those muscles. A win on every front.

His arms, neck and shoulder strained under the weight of the tall, muscled dhampir, but he held out as he gently lowered Alucard back onto his feet. Sypha didn’t know if it was the lifting or the gentleness that made Alucard bashful, but he murmured something inaudible, before hurrying back to what he had bee doing before the interruption.

“Rude,” Trevor noted. “I didn’t even get to bask in my superiority.”

“You can bask to me, it’s okay,” she comforted him. “I am suitably impressed by your dhampir lifting skills, Trevor.”

“Thank you,” he said with extra emphasis to make it into a tease. “You know, as a true hero, both for being epic and awesome as well as getting your book, I feel like I should be rewarded.”

“Oh?” she was curious to see where this went.

“Yeah, I want to borrow the bath soap you’re so protective over after the next time we attempt to clean the goop dungeon,” he made his demand.

She was glad that, with running warm water, they had convinced him that baths were actually nice and she didn’t mind the thought of him smelling like her. Still, she put up a front of indulgence, yet being annoyed as she said: “Fine.”

“Heck yeah,” he cheered before ambling off.

+1.

Trevor wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, but over the past few days he had noticed that both Alucard and Sypha were acting weird. Well, weirder than usual, it was pretty hard to define weird when you lived in Dracula’s old castle near the Belmont Hold with a dhampir and a Speaker, but you get the idea.

The thing was, Trevor had no idea why they were being weird and what had caused it, but he knew they were only weird to him.

It made his chest tighten uncomfortably as he tried to think of something he’d done wrong.

Nothing came to mind, but that just made him question if he really knew them if he couldn't even spot the thing he had done to upset them both. It was all a frustrating mess and Trevor was half waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.

He hated feeling like this, feeling like he’d done something wrong and couldn't apologize. It tore him apart in a way he couldn't describe. He just hoped that they wouldn’t kick him to the curb, because that would extra suck. He already liked them too much as it was, getting his heart broken over something he didn’t understand would only make it worse.

So, he kept an eye on them, trying to figure out what they were thinking when they stared at him or whispered among themselves.

He was soon to find out.

It was a decidedly normal day, Trevor was mildly stressed, the weather was nice and they were finally moving the rubble they hadn’t been able to reuse out of the castle. They were making a pile out of it that they would later use to make an obstacle course or something, Trevor wasn’t sure it was mostly Alucard and Sypha doing the planning. Maybe that was it? Maybe the stress of the whole castle thing was catching up with them as well and it wasn’t anything Trevor had done.

They had assigned him to carry rubble, which made him roll his eyes. Alucard had supernatural strength and Sypha had magic, yet here he was carrying the bulk while Sypha ordered him around on where to go while Alucard switched between helping him and rearranging the rubble.

His muscles were straining under the amount of exercise, but it didn’t bother Trevor that much. It was good to keep in shape and he could handle it.

He came back from his umpteenth trip, groaning as he set down his load as he cracked his back by putting his hands on his back and pushing. He looked around and saw Alucard and Sypha on top of one of the piles that Alucard found “artistic.”

With a grin on his face he quickly hopped up the pile to see what they were talking about. They had watching him walk over and smiled at him, before turning to talk among themselves. He was about to call out a greeting and announce his presence when he heard Sypha said: “There must be more chores where we can make him carry stuff.”

Hm, he thought, that was obviously about him, thoughhe had no clue why that of all things would be a conversation topic.

Before he could ask, Alucard replied: “I mean, there are still those chains in the dungeons that we could make him clear out, but I feel that would be bad for us.” This was just making him more confused.

Sypha made a small noise, before agreeing: “Oh, yeah, Trevor with chains will totally be bad for us.”

Trevor choked on his spit.

Two heads whipped around to him, with two pairs of eyes as big as dinner plates, filled with the guilt of being caught saying something they shouldn’t have been saying. They were completely silent, neither explaining or defending themselves.

In the silence Trevor tried to wrap his head around it. How was him carrying stuff bad for them? And why were they thinking up reasons for him to carry stuff anyway? What did they have to gain by watching him carry stuff? It wasn’t as if he was eye candy and-

“Oh my god!” he exclaimed. He was eye candy. They were watching him carry stuff, because they liked it and holy shit did he not know how to even deal with that.

He felt the blood rushing to his head and knew he must look like a fucking beet, but he didn’t care, his mind was a bit preoccupied. He had known that some would classify him as handsome, but he had long since given up on either of them thinking that. They had seen him do too many embarrassing things to even consider him attractive and they had each other. Even dense little him could put that one together. Yet here they were.

Unless, of course, this was some sort of sick joke to them, a little voice in his mind whispered. The dhampir hearing of Alucard could have picked up his footfalls easily and they could have conspired to fuck with him, just for the sake of fucking with him. A cold feeling washed over him and his chest seemed to collapse in on itself at the realization.

God, fucking shit, they had probably caught on to his pathetic feelings for them and had decided to toy with him before telling him to scram for being a fucking weirdo. All the looks made so much more sense now.

It just fucking hurt that they would toy with him like that. That they would be that mean to him instead of just telling him when they’d figured it out.

Much to his embarrassment, he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He swallowed hard and tried to force them down as he choked out: “Well, fuck you too,” before turning away to stomp off and grab his stuff to get out of there.

He didn’t get far.

Alucard appeared in front of him with his stupid dhampir speed that Trevor found very attractive no matter how much he hated it rightnow. The other reached out to him, but stilled his hand before they touched.

Fuck, how badly did he fuck up that they didn’t even want to touch him. And why were they even coming after him. He was doing what they wanted.

“Trevor,” Alucard said and it didn’t sound like someone relieved that the person, who had been crushing after him and his girlfriend was finally going, it sounded like someone, who was very upset.

It stilled Trevor long enough for Sypha to catch up with them too. As she laid her hand on his shoulder. However, he shrugged her off and tried to walk on again, getting stopped by Alucard, who found it within himself to touch the grossness of Trevor.

“Wait, Trevor, hold on,” Sypha called out. “I swear it’s not what you think.”

“Really?” he truly didn’t mean to sound so bitter. He was happy that they had each other, they deserved each other. It just hurt that he wasn’t in their they and that they thought that stupid joke would land well.

“Yes, okay,” she told him. “We’re really sorry about springing it on you like that, but-”

“Yeah, why the fuck did you think that was okay?” he hissed at her, trying not to feel the pangs in his heart at her little flinch. “I don’t care that you’re fucking happy together, but pulling that sick stunt on me is not cool. You can just kick me to the curb like a normal person. You fucking fuckers just had to crush me in the process too? Getting someone’s hope up and then- then… That’s just- just mean!”

He knew he was crying now, he totally was and his voice broke over the last few words, but he couldn't stop it. He had spend the last few weeks pining over them, while knowing he didn’t have a chance, perking up with a slight hope every time they smiled at him. So for them to give him that hope again only to stomp on it, had just been the last straw that broke him. Sue him.

“W- what?” Alucard asked, making him turn around to see absolute confusion written over his face along with hurt.

“Oh, Trevor,” he heard Sypha behind him with that pitying voice he didn’t need from her as he turned around to see hurting compassion written over her entire face. Yeah, now she felt guilty, not when she actually did it.

Still, when she reached for his face and gently cupped his cheek, he couldn't help but lean in to the little bit of comfort that was provided.

She wiped away his tears gently and softly said: “We’re not kicking you to the curb. Never, okay, never, Trevor. I swear. You’ve completely misunderstood. It wasn’t a joke, okay. It never was. We meant it, undignified as our lordship over there might find it.”

Trevor chuckled wetly at that, still not entirely sure if he believed her, but so willing to give in, even if it was a lie. For the lie was so much sweeter.

Alucard appeared behind him and he swayed slightly, the exhaustion of all the emotions in the last couple of minutes catching up to him. He tried to pull away when he accidentally hit Alucard’s chest, but the dhampir just pulled him close, nuzzling his hair as he whispered: “You’re such an idiot.”

That was probably true, both Alucard and Sypha were smarter than him and he was generally an idiot, but his mind wasn’t fully wrapping around where he had misunderstood it all and ruined everything.

The tears that had stopped started up again and he didn’t know how after years of repressing all his emotions this was the thing that broke all his walls. Still, he whimpered: “I’m sorry, for- for fucking it all- all up ag- again.”

“No, no,” Sypha shushed him as she hugged him, “you didn’t fuck up anything.”

He was now completely sandwiched between Sypha and Alucard with no clue how him taking a small break from clearing rubble had ended up like this. Yet here he was and he was going to soak up the attention and care while he had it, so he didn’t protest them holding him silently, just let himself melt softly.

Seconds or eternities could have passed without Trevor’s knowledge until Sypha broke the silence: “I don’t know how you got to the conclusion that our horny conspiring was a joke, but as embarrassing at it is, it most certainly isn’t, Trevor.”

Trevor had half choked, half laughed at the phrase ‘horny conspiring’ as it caught up to him what that meant. Hesitantly, he asked: “So- so you had me carry stuff just to watch me?”

It sounded ridiculous in his own head, because why on earth would anyone look at him when they could look at Alucard and Sypha, but they both tensed slightly around him, before nodding. Alucard going as far as to say: “You have nice muscles.”

Under other circumstances Trevor would totally and completely ruin Alucard by tearing him apart with teases at that remark, but there weren’t other circumstances and right now Trevor felt raw and vulnerable, so he just breathed: “Yeah?” in an unsure voice that he hated immediately.

“Yeah,” Sypha firmly agreed. “I don’t know how to tell you this without never hearing the end of it, but you’re really fucking hot. You literally made me into a person who says fuck just so I could tell you that you’re fucking hot.”

He actually snorted at that, because it was easier to snort at it then to admit that the complement felt nice and made him blush.

“We’ve actually been trying very hard to figure out how to tell you without you running away,” she went on, snorting miserably, “but I guess we messed that up. You are just so bad at accepting nice things for yourself that us telling you that we love you seemed almost impossible.”

“Y- you? You love me?” He was getting really fucking sick of that small weak voice

“Yes,” that was Alucard behind him. “We love you, just like we love each other. We hope you feel the same, but we understand if you don’t.”

“It would be really fucking stupid of me not to love the two most amazing people in the entire world, Alucard. Yes, sadly I am disappointing my entire bloodline by including you in that statement, but it’s true.” Admitting it like this felt better than being touch-y feel-y, he didn’t do touch-y feel-y well.

Luckily it was the right thing to say, because both of them relaxed around him as they snorted before chuckling and a bit of pride coursed through him at making them laugh.

“I’m so lucky you’re our idiot,” Sypha told him, before pulling him into a kiss.

Her lips were soft but firm and completely enticing. He kissed her back and stopped caring about oxygen as a necessity, it was completely overrated in comparison to kissing Sypha. When she finally let him up for air, he was dizzy. Faintly he heard her say something to Alucard about making her wait for so long, but it was lost to him as he tried to refind himself as a human being.

He became aware of Alucard and Sypha kissing each other over his shoulder once he had managed and watched mesmerized for a moment. Fuck, he could definitely get used to this. Still, he whined: “I’m feeling a bit left out here,” without meaning it.

Both their eyes fell on him and swallowing became a challenge. Then Alucard surged his lips and kissed him thoroughly. It was less gentle, while more careful than Sypha’s kiss as Alucard watched out for his fangs to Trevor’s disappointment. Yet, it was equally mind blowing.

Once he had resurfaced again, it took him a moment once more. He was still being wrapped up in both of them and his heart felt so much lighter than it had before.

“I know we should probably talk way more about this, but I do want to note that I have excellent stamina to back up my muscles.”

Both of them groaned and he grinned to his little victory.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

A/N:

Fun fact, my sister once fell asleep with her nose between her knees, because she is slightly insane, I feel personally. So, actually based in fact, lmao

Also, I swear this was supposed to be lighthearted, but then I was writing the last part from Trevor’s POV, because I thought it would be funny and he just wouldn’t allow himself nice things no matter how I tried to push him. So angst it is, very in character, sadly.

Btw, im really proud of that title ngl

#rr writing #trephacard #insecure trevor belmont #trevor belmont #alucard tepes #alucard #sypha belnades #sypha x trevor x alucard #castlevania #netflix castlevania #castlevania cartoon

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makingspiritualityreal · 3 years

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Numerology Life Path 7 - Your Birth Card and its Ruling Planet

Numerology Life Path Numbers and their assigned Tarot Card Meaning Series This is a post in my new astrology/numerology/tarot series, that only concerns you, if you are a Life Path 7. Posts on consecutive Life Path Numbers will follow. Originally, I wanted to do them all in one post, but my writing turned out to be so long, I decided to split the post and seperate the Life Path Numbers. The introduction part of the post will be the same for all Life Path Numbers, in case you only read a post about your own Life Path Number, and nothing else. Introduction The concept of a Birth Card links Tarot and Numerology together, in order to deepen our understanding of a vibration of a Life Path Number we are born with. The Birth Card, or rather Birth Cards, are Major Arcana Tarot Cards with assigned numbers, which correlate with Life Path Numbers. Understanding the meaning of tarot cards, mixed with the knowledge of Numerology Vibrations, helps create a more unique vision of your life experience. A person with any given Life Path Number, having several Major Arcana energies present in their lives, usually struggles with one of the energies more than the other. As a result, life will probably force them to focus on mastering one of these energies. In general, however, any Life Path describes both your biggest downfall and ultimate triumph - just like with an Astrology Chart, the highlighted numbers/astrology houses point to your biggest strengths and weaknesses. For a better understanding of this concept, visit my article “Natal Chart - A map of your issues?” Remember, that everyone, besides their Life Path Number and Birth Card also has a unique astrology chart. Thus, for some people embracing the higher expression of their energy is easier, for others it’s harder and it takes more time to master, and some energies become easier to deal with than others. Most human beings are somewhere in between, working on their path and having some achievements while struggling with difficulties at the same time. In the spiritual community, there are differences in opinion on linking Astrological Planets and positions to specific numerology numbers energies. My take is a result of my own personal experience, conversations with other people in my field and research, in order to give you the widest possible spectrum of ideas and increase the understanding of every Life Path Number. If you are a Master Number 11, 22 or 33, there will be a seperate post on how the Birth Cards apply to you as well. Even If you have only a basic understanding of Astrology, Tarot or Numerology, this post will still be helpful to you, because it describes the unique vibrational mix that comes from the expression of both these spiritual sciences mixed together. To calculate which Tarot Cards and what Life Path correspond to your birthday, click here.

Life Path 7 - The Chariot and The Tower

The energies of a Life Path 7 are ruled by the ephemeral, compassionate, wise vibrations of Ketu and Neptune. This can make it one of the most challenging Life Paths to navigate, as it requires a higher level of spiritual mastery and an ability to constantly assume a bigger picture perspective. That is a difficult thing to do in a world so highly revolving around materialistic concepts. Yet, if you are born with this Life Path Number, a certain free-spirited attitude and refusal to be sucked down into too many mundane details is something you need to develop within yourself.

Such a highly spiritual soul purpose associated with a Life Path 7 is due to Ketu being one of the primary rulers of this Life Path Number. Ketu, ruling detachment from the material realm, forces this life path to focus more on the energetic manifestation of their physicality instead of trying to navigate it through practical means. Ketu is also highly analytical, making this people excel at tasks, that require solitude, contemplation of abstract concepts and individual work. These people can make excellent writers or inspired researchers.

The other planet associated with a Life Path 7 is Neptune, the agent of universal, humanitarian compassion. That gives this Life Path a very loving, yet impersonal nature, where they express caring and kindness towards humanity and people in general, but may remain confused in one-on-one relationships. In this way, a Life Path 7 is a flip side of a Life Path 2, who thrives in intimate situations, but should open up more to group activities. A Life Path 7 naturally seeks out crowds, where they can occasionally show up and recharge on their need for a collective exchange of compassionate energy. Yet, in private situations, they can struggle to focus on their partner, open up or truly connect with another, as they are always absorbed in their own little world.

Because of Neptune being such a high vibrational planet and Ketu giving the ultimate higher-dimensional mastery, the spiritual consequences of wrongdoing for this life path are more severe than for others. These people need a moral compass, spiritually, the most of all life paths. In extreme cases, I have seen Life Path 7s fall prey to accidents and disease, if they succumbed to the temptation of their lower instincts.

Because of Neptune's influence on this Life Path there can be a significant difficulty in finding their way out in this material world, which can lead to poverty or other practical problems. If one neglects consulting their higher, intuitive nature and stays within the confines of the material, there may be an illusion of desire for a get rich quick scheme due to an innate lack of practical sense or ability to build without external help. These people, if they overfocus on the material realm, may get frustrated due to lack of dividends or practical rewards, or they may simply waste their resources away due to an internal feeling of emptiness and dissatisfaction. If they get overwhelmed with this conflicting energy and forget to search within, they may forget their true purpose altogether. Yet, because of the foggy energy surrounding this Life Path, they don't have the capacity to intellectually or physically fully power through their problems like other life paths do, and they shouldn't even try. The only solution is going with the flow of their natural spiritual direction. That is imperative, as breaking out of this flow causes poverty, debt, sickness, forced isolation and all sorts of trouble in the physical world. Material prosperity will only appear in this person's life proportionate to their level of spiritual prosperity.

Associated Tarot Cards point the way for a Life Path 7 towards assuming a successful direction in this incarnation.

The Tower - This card is the testing moment, when we lose everything that we are used to having around us. But the purpose of this loss is always in our highest good. This is why things fall away at a critical point in our lives, when the foundation is so corrupted it can no longer support itself. The Tower is actually a tool of keeping things in check spiritually, meaning then when things go too far down the wrong direction, the Universe balances it with a Tower moment in order to prevent an imbalanced energy from growing further. The Tower points to this Life Path's ability to discard the excessive burden of material illusions and continuously purge in order to make sure one remains "pure", spiritually, free of self-deception and in tune with one's inner guideline.

The Chariot - The Chariot is linked to Ketu's thoughtless manifestation, that this Life Path possesses. A Life Path 7, regardless of their spiritual inclination, needs a firm direction not to drown in their negativity. Even for this Life Path, their spiritual nature needs to have anchor in the physical world, that keeps them on track with their journey. That anchor is balance, that the Chariot card represents, the balance between their inner shadow and light. A mature Life Path 7 knows how to preserve that balance, and drive that carriage effortlessly.

A Life Path 7 should never choose an easy way out, as it will backfire for them more than for anyone else. Not only will it cause misery internally, but also externally people will mirror it to them and they will be disapproved of for their wrongdoings more than any other Life Path number. It is as if others subconsciously sense their higher nature and place expectations on them to act accordingly with it, so where other Life Paths might get a pass, this Life Path number will not. In reality, it is the Universe's tool to assure that these natives stay on their correct, spiritual path, and it is Life Path 7s themselves that have a high level of subconscious, spiritual analysis and self-judgment. As a result, any negativity that comes their way from the outside is a projection resulting from their own deeply rooted high spiritual expectations, and an internal disappointment, if they are not met.

The best advice a Life Path 7 can hear is that it will always pay off for them practically to be kind and preserve their spiritual integrity. It is essential for this Life Path to realise, that any lower energies they invite for short-term gain will immediately backfire, and deep down they are unhappy with themselves for making any wrong choices in the first place. Ketu has a perfectionist nature to it, and a Life Path 7, whether they realise it or not, has a deep level of internalised spiritual perfectionism. An unaware Life Path 7 can become judgmental, trying to hold others to this high standard that they carry internally, while refusing to face their own actions. This process is simply a mirrored expression of a desire, to reach that point of excellence by themselves.

If you are a Life Path 7, solitude is something essential to your well-being. Make sure your lifestyle allows you to make time for yourself. It is in isolation, away from the external noise that may unnecessarily cause you to project your spiritual desires on others, that you can work on yourself, find truth and connection to your ultimate power of deep, analytical understanding of this existence.

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imagine-loki · 3 years

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Can you Keep A Secret

TITLE: Can you keep it a secret? CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 3 of 4

AUTHOR: ValarieRavenhearst2 ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine working with Loki in some way but you keep your distance because you have a massive crush on him and you tend to always embarrass yourself. Alas you find yourself in need of his help as you need his magic and he’s the only one for the job.

All the incubators in the lab make it feel like a sauna today, with so many new species needing direct heat, we’ve had to give them their own room. All my specimens look healthy and well after yesterdays’ sampling and I record their status on my iPad. After working by myself for half an hour I make the easy decision to take my jumper off before I start to sweat. As I start to wiggle out of it by easing it over my head, my shirt begins to rise with it and I make that awkward wiggle to try and magically make my shirt fall down without putting my arms back down. Whilst in the midst of my struggle I can hear the keypad being used to unlock the lab door and instinctively I throw myself to my knees to hide as my shirt has risen over my bra. Instant regret. I quickly correct myself on the ground as I hear Dr Banner and another botanist talking idly. The side of my abdomen stings viciously in warning as the material of my shirt goes back over it. I quickly flip it up again to inspect a small scratch now etched over my ribs, ending just under my bra. I hiss quietly in annoyance at my own stupidity as I stand calmly to inspect what I could have scratched myself on. Dr Banner greets me in surprise, obviously questioning what I am doing on the ground.

“Good morning.” I give them both a greeting smile, “I just dropped my jumper.” I wave it at them as proof and they go back to their conversation whilst I look at the plant specimens in front of me. This odd, black looking orchidaceous plant looks awfully ominous with its long bristly thorns of an olive green hue. It must have been the culprit as none of its neighbours have any type of protruding bristles. With a slight panic spiking in my veins I try to examine it’s ID card but it’s information is mostly blank as it hasn’t begun rigours testing yet. Shit! What if it’s poisonous. Surely it would be in a covered incubator if it was known to be poisonous and over in lab 2 with the others. I try not to act concerned as I question if the other two know anything about it and the other botanist, Swanson? I think. Says that the whole table is due for testing today by his team. I just nod in acknowledgment and calmly exit the lab. I mean, I feel okay, right? I don’t feel faint and or woozy. I canter off to the bathroom after throwing my jumper over my chair; I quickly raise my shirt again in the mirror to get a better look. It’s not that bad … I suppose. The thin red slice is only about six centimetres long and it doesn’t look like there’s anything caught in the wound. Honestly, what an idiot. I can’t believe I was so reckless. If bloody Branson found out he’d have my head and he’d carry on for eternity how right he was about me. Oh the ridicule! He’d have me on desk duty till he dies. No one can know! I’m breaking every safety protocol we have but if I am to die from it so be it. I’d rather die quietly than admit my fault to that grumpy old git. After a quick rendezvous with the first-aid box I should be fine. I’ll just have to spy on the other team later to see if they come with anything concerning on the evil looking sucker. Ugh! I can’t believe I just did that. As I exit the bathroom mumbling curses at myself, adjusting my skin tight black turtleneck, a wisp of black enters my peripheral and I know that the god of mischief has returned to the floor. His eyes find me as I cross the open bullpen to my desk and I let go of the hem of my shirt and make an effort to make the concern vanish from my face. Draped in a navy Asgardian attire, he is what my high school best friend would call a snack. I briefly notice accents of gold and olive lining the leather but I am quick to advert my eyes and look busy. I suppose he would be a nice distraction from the sting in my side but I needn’t the extra embarrassment on top of my slightly spiked anxiety. I can hear Branson’s old decrepit voice engaging with that sultry sirens call as they wander by my desk but I make myself continue typing on my computer as if my life depends on it. As soon as he’s passed me I can smell his cologne lingering to tease me. Do Asgardians even wear cologne or is that just him? I shake my head, determined not to let my thoughts distract me. As I continue to work at my desk for the day, every time I stretch and move around I check on the other team working in the lab and notice that pointy little sucker is still out in the open so my panic levels have been low and every time I go to the bathroom I check my side; gently peeling off the large non stick plaster to inspect the fading mark. The redness has reduced so much that I have to strain myself to notice the mark. I steal glances with the God of Mischief throughout the day as he wanders from station to station. I smile politely whenever our eyes meet and always breakaway first to continue working, which I notice earns me a sly grin after the fifth time. See, I knew that tricky bugger was up to something. I just know he purposefully loves to get under my skin. But I am not giving him the satisfaction of watching me blush today. Two can play at that game. Danny surprises me at lunch by bringing me a latte and childish teasing. He sits on the edge of my desk and immediately notices Loki working in the adjacent Lab in clear view of my desk. Trying to be noticeably subtle he continuously taps my shoulder whilst cooing in excitement like a giddy school girl. I shush him and punch him hard in the leg whilst acting like his antics haven’t phased me. I’ve been doing an amazing job of ignoring his presence all morning, he is not going to trick me into actively swooning now.

“Oh he looking.” Danny murmurs whilst turning his head away, tapping my shoulder again.

“Shut up!” I mutter back as I briefly glare at him in warning before retuning my attention to my computer screen.

“Girl he’s definitely checking you out.” He rearranges himself as he opts for standing behind me and leaning over me like he’s studying what I’m doing.

“I’m going to kill you.” I swivel in my chair so that I’m facing away from the Lab. “You’re such a trouble maker.” I hiss and jokingly shove him so not to make a big scene. “Don’t you have work of your own to do?” I question as I make an excuse to walk out of sight by taking my drink bottle to fill it up. Danny follows, chuckling evilly to himself.

“Yeah but this is more fun.” I threaten to throw water on him. “But seriously, he’s definitely watching you.” I could feel it! But I ain’t playing into Danny’s game.

“Yeah right,” I scoff as I begin back to my desk with Danny in tow, “what for? A good laugh if I stumble?” I take my seat but swivel so I’m facing Danny and away from Loki.

“Well no ‘cause I don’t think he’s ever laughed when you’ve embarrassed yourself.” Danny leans against the empty desk adjacent to mine and I gasp at him with forced hurtfulness.

“Are you saying I’m not funny?” I question mockingly and his face grimaces fiercely as he shrugs in agreement.

“Well, either he’s attracted to you or just pities you.” He deduces with his great sleuthing skills. “Which would you prefer?” I scowl so hard at him that he might burst into flames yet his shiteating grin is till carved into his face. I don’t answer, not diving into this ridiculous conversation (not to mention unsafe when he’s so close). With a steady, yet annoyed breath, I exhale loudly before turning back to my computer and turn my concentration up to a hundred and ten percent to block out Loki’s alluring figure in my peripherals.

“I have work to do and if you’ve only come to tease me you can piss off.” I purse my lips together in my best passive resting bitch face before flipping him off. Honestly what an arse – breaking basic friend 101 rules. Don’t joke about the crush in front of the crush.

“So touchy today.” He laughs and kisses me on the cheek before stepping around my desk before I can clock him one. “I’ll see you later.” He teases before leaving and I can feel myself being watched and it is so tempting to look to where that burning urge is coming from but I just know if I make eye contact I’ll blush several noticeable shades. I’ll remain strong, purely out of spite. I finish all my paper work earlier than expected and manage to send off all my reports just has mid afternoon rolls around. Spite is a good focuser. As I’m scanning through my emails to see if I need to reply to any I get a page from Clint to say that he’s on his way up to check out his new arrow heads. I beam excitedly in remembrance, jumping up from my desk and heading over to Lab 2, where I had been storing them in the cool room at the back of the lab. I had been experimenting and developing new knockout gasses and combustibles and I thought adapting them to Clint’s arrow heads would be a more challenging task then the standard grenades. Thus far the little project has been a success, they just haven’t had any field time yet. I notice Loki watching me through his lashes as I swipe into the lab and punch in the code. We’ve already exchanged pleasantries for the day so there’s no need for me to make any form of acknowledgment as I enter. As I enter through the double doors he straightens himself, most likely in expectance that I had entered to speak with him since it’s only he and another botanist in the Lab. But I just walk straight through without a glance which gives me such a surge of power, knowing how much confusion I was causing him even though his poker face is exceptional. After punching in the security code on the fridge I gently pull out the draw with the arrow tips and remove the tray, taking it with me. I have to make eye contact on my way back since focusing straight ahead would be too obvious and the key is subtlety here if I want to be one up on his intimidating behaviour. My lips curve pleasantly at him but I don’t say anything as I head back to the door. Clint is already at my desk and is glancing around for me. He waves happily when he sees me and opens the door for me so I don’t have to.

“Hey,” he smiles at me and I pass him the tray, “you sure these work?” He questions mockingly.

“Have I ever failed you before?” I coyly quirk my brows in rebuke.

“Want to test them with me?” He nods his head at the door for me to follow him and I do with a skip in my step. I did archery as a child but I got nothing on him. I take my time to relish in the fact that Loki hasn’t taken his eyes off me as I exit through the corridor and I even dare a cheeky, subtly seductive glance over my shoulder just to make sure. Oh it feels good to be bad .. no wonder he loves it.

#Loki #others #submission #submitted fic #ValarieRavenhearst2 #can you keep a secret #chapter 3

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wyn-n-tonic · 3 years

Text

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IX

Word Count: 3,087 Warnings: PTSD. Children. Fluff. Angst. Emotions. Dialogue heavy bullshit. Author's Note: Welp... this is it, y'all. I posted the first chapter of this on March 4, 2021, and it's coming to a close today on April 5, 2021, and I'm... a goddamn mess. I'm not ready to let these characters go, both the TF boys and my own character in Leah. I really appreciate all your kindness and encouragement throughout writing this, my whole heart belongs to you. Thank you, I hope you love this as much as I love you.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Her room is painted like a sunrise. He remembers the first time he went up there, like it was the first breath he ever took. All rising pinks and melting blues.

He wanted her to feel that freedom from the beginning.

Leah’s hands climb his back, a kiss pressed to the hot skin between his shoulder blades as he dips to pluck his peaceful little girl out of slumber.

“Baby, let her sleep.”

But he’s shaking his head, careful with hers in his hand, “she can sleep later, I need her with me now.”

“Hmm,” she hums, turning him to guide him back to their bedroom, “keep that enthusiasm.”

Their shuffle is quiet, Luna’s big eyes slipping back to sleep nestled into her fathers shoulder.

He’s been home for over half a year and as he crawls back into bed, baby and wife clinging to him, part of him still can’t believe it. That after everything he told her, she let him stay. That, like tonight, she’s soothed the new nightmares like the old. That he celebrated Christmas with them, Luna’s first.

That he watched her lift herself up and take her first steps. That after all he had done, those first steps were towards him.

That he helped blow out the candles that he helped light, on the cake he helped make for the little girl who has her daddy’s eyes. His dimple. His smile.

One hand splayed across each of their backs, he’s talking to Leah but directing it at Luna when her bright brown eyes open again to find his.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, Leah’s soft hand falling on his under her small back, “I’m sorry that mama and papa woke you up.”

She reaches a tiny hand up to his face and he melts into the small touch of her, his heart swelling at the unbelievable luck he has in chances granted again and again when a little, “papa,” tumbles forward in the softly lit room.

He feels Leah jump and his eyes snap to hers before they both fall back to Luna, just over one year.

“She just sa—“

“Say it again, baby,” Leah coos, tears spilling over Frankie’s eyes.

She doesn’t understand but as she grabs for him, the small voice repeats, “papa,” and he didn’t know his heart could feel so full despite all the compounding moments of fullness she’s brought to him. That they both have.

He bites his lip while looking into Leah’s glassy eyes and knows that her heart is just as swollen in this moment and all the others.

“The next one’s first word will be mama,” his hand finds the small swell of her lower belly, “I promise.” —————

She presses a coffee cup into his hand before taking a seat across from him on the living room floor, baby toys and blankets strewn across the space between them.

“What happened?”

He takes a deep breath, finding the words he spoke out loud to his team in Lorea’s mansion, “A serious fuck up.”

“I figured that much, Francisco, but what happened?”

So he tells her and she lets him.

He tells her about the seventeen grand of Santi’s own money. How he promised himself no live fire and let himself and his desperation to give her and Luna and himself the best lead him into shattering his soul again. Ripping it up as life drained from the eyes of his fellow human beings and how he didn’t even have the protection of a flag on his shoulder to ease a semblance of that pain. How even if they were bad guys, they weren’t his bad guys to worry about.

He tells her about the helicopter crash, the result of his own greed for the money and for a lack of conflict led to more loss and conflict. How he doesn’t know if he’s the one who fired first on that village but he knows he fired, an automatic weapon slung across his shoulders as easily as the diaper bag he carries through the grocery store for her.

He tells her about the crumbling mountainside, how all he saw at the bottom looking down was himself never coming home to his girls. How that’s when something within him finally snapped, when he and Will silently decided to take the reigns from Tom and Santi’s hands.

He tells her about the fire, burning hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep warm in the freezing air that wrapped around the Andes. About the gunfire that followed them through the rocks in the morning sun.

About standing over Tom’s dead body, the relief and guilt crashing inside him like a warm front meeting a cold one. How he thinks he’ll feel those both every day that he wakes because, unlike the survivor’s guilt easing through you on active duty at the knowledge that this just happens sometimes, this time was different.

He tells her that, after all of that, he threw millions of dollars down a snowy ravine in the middle of Peru where no one would ever see it again, not even his girls who needed it so much because he realized it wouldn’t be fucking worth it for them to have it if it meant not coming home.

He tells her how he almost shot that kid in the jungle. How he would’ve shot every kid standing between him and the boat to get home to his own.

He tells her that he thinks, at the end of it all, Santiago and his plan ended up doing more damage to that country than not.

She listens intently, focused wholly on him. Her face never breaks but he can see the cogs turning behind her eyes, trying to take it all in. Trying to understand.

“I understand if you want me to leave, if you never want to see me again,” he reaches out for her hand, a shiver of shock running through his spine when she doesn’t pull away from him.

Blinking as the words catch up with her, her head shakes, “I just got you back, Francisco, you promised me you wouldn’t leave again so why the fuck do you think I want you to go now?”

“Because what I did is unforgiv—“

“It’s not, there are terrible men in this world who do worse everyday,” he sees the slight sheen of tears coat her lashes, “and you helped stop one of them.”

“There will be others to take his place,” he says around a sip of his drink, his coffee gone cold in the spaces between all his words.

Her hand gives a squeeze to the one it holds, “there will always be others to take his place.”

His breathing evens out, anchored in his chest by a warmth he doesn’t deserve, “there's something else you need to know.”

He tells her about the five million dollars they were able to make it to the boat with, “we signed it all over to Molly and the girls. Will and Benny and I, we decided to do so while Santi was sleeping. We figured, ya know, at least we were coming home. It wasn’t really money we were losing since it was never ours to begin with, Tom’s family lost everything and they didn’t even know it.”

The tears do come now, streams running down his face, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how close you came to losing everything and not even knowing it too.”

His stunted words around the hiccups in his throat draw Luna’s attention, her babbles reaching out to him the way she tried to soothe Leah’s over the weeks prior. Their attention is on her now, eyes wide as she lifts herself with the couch for leverage.

She toddles one step towards his still shaking body before tumbling forward, his hands dropping the now empty coffee cup and Leah’s hand to catch her.

He pulls her small body close, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to inhale the scent of baby lotion. As she giggles in his ear, he looks up to Leah’s soft face, “the boys and I still took three hundred thousand.” —————

“You're fucking insane,” Deana doesn’t quite whisper into Leah’s ear, “a whole ass baby with another one barely even a year old, have you heard of a condom?”

“How many mimosas did you have already, D?”

Kristyn struggles with her key in the door, a large bag in hand, “judging by the slight slur, I’m going with about three so far.”

“Fuck off, K,” she points, turning back to Leah, “I'm just saying that if that big goofy idiot husband of yours goes on another of his boy’s trips, I will kill him this time.”

Her fingers are still quoting around the air as the threat falls around them, Frankie’s attention at the other end of the room grabbed away from the pureed carrots of Luna’s lunch.

“Well,” Kristyn interjects, holding the bag forward, “that’s why I come bearing the gift of one Benjamin Miller, he couldn’t be here because of a boy’s trip.”

“What do you mean?”

Leah looks back at Frankie, his eyes now turned to the conversation. She sees the pain and confusion there, he didn’t know.

Kristyn follows Leah’s gaze before looking back at the older sister in front of her, “he promised me this was his last one and he’s sorry it had to take place during your baby shower but,“ she holds the bag out again, “he says you’ll like this one.”

“It's not a shower,” Leah rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kristyn interjects, “a sprinkle. Whatever.”

“It’s not even that since, ya know,” she looks down at the tiny bundle in her arms, “he's already here.”

“A birthday present then,” she beams, “Benny says he’ll set it up when he gets home.”

Frankie’s laughter finds them now, choking around the baby food he’s trying to convince his stubborn daughter of—she’s not and she’s learned how to voice that disgust with all thanks given to her Uncle Benny.

“Baby, it’s another military surveillance camera.”

Kristyn laughs, “yeah, our whole house is strung up with them at this point but they come in handy to watch the neighbors since I’m nosy.”

“When did they leave?” His voice is small, a slight worry behind it.

Kristyn lets out a breath, “about four hours ago, he made me promise not to tell you until he was gone.”

He just nods his head, a silent clock beginning to tick in his brain. —————

It’s been two weeks since he heard from Ben or Will.

The boys have been here day in and day out since they came home last year, always were before that and even more so now that all they truly had was each other and the families they were making with and around each other.

Benny ran through Kristyn’s apartment complex screaming her name so loud as he started to bang on her door that he was met with a baseball bat. Now that idiot was going to be his brother because the sight she was met with was one of Benjamin Miller on his knees with a ring in his hands.

They gave them space with the baby’s arrival, small and short visits until Leah felt ready to have them all over again. He spoke to them that morning as he shaved the night’s stubble away, they talked like they were coming by and how they couldn’t get enough of their new nephew. How they were getting him the best present.

Frankie runs his forefinger and thumb along his mustache now, the compromise of facial hair he settled on. He didn’t want his full and sparse beard but he also felt lighter at the way Leah laughed into him with every brush of his lips.

He’s pacing the living room, bouncing the baby as Leah and Luna nap upstairs. There's only silence and the soft gurgling of a newborn when the quiet knock comes.

Already close to the entryway, he closes the distance and whispers a silent prayer to himself. A prayer that this isn’t bad news. That this is Will or Benny, not using their keys out of courtesy to the newness of little life inside his home.

He opens the door and is met with the tired eyes of Santiago Garcia.

“Hey, Frank,” he says. All bravado of his being seeped from him and replaced with, what sounds like, apology.

He adjusts his son in his hold, ushering the shorter man in so the warmth of the house doesn’t keep seeping out, “I thought you were in Australia.”

“Yeah, well,” he turns to face Frankie again as the door closes, “I make some really shit decisions sometimes.”

Frankie scoffs, half a laugh hidden in the sound. He’s not wrong but he’s not exactly right either.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He’s walked through to the kitchen, the shorter man falling in pace beside him, “we’re a dry household right now with the baby and my therapy bu—“

“Nah, Fis-Frank,” he stutters, “just came to talk to you. And Leah. She around?”

“She’s resting but I can pass along a message if I like it.”

Santi reaches into the leather folder he always carries around and produces a booklet, the one from the lawyer in St. John’s.

But different, a different cover and date, a different name stamped across the front.

“The boys sent me to give you this alone, said we needed to talk about a few more things than just this. Said I needed to apologize to you and to your wife, that I owed you that for so much but especially roping you into that shit last year.”

“Water under the bridge,” Frankie replies softly, changing direction to move through to the living room, “I gave up on an apology a long time ago and Leah never expected one, but nobody’s mad at you.”

Frankie carries the bassinet into sight from the kitchen before walking back, “what is this, Pope?”

“It’s your cut, we went back.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re stupid and greedy and we fucked ourselves up getting it in the first place so we figured we’d go back and we figured we fucking owed you.”

Frankie squints at the shorter man, searching his eyes for the hint of a joke he’s not laughing at. There is none. His cold brown stare is dead serious.

“This is my apology to you, Fran—“

“Frankie,” Leah’s voice filters into the room, he can hear her sleepy shuffle as she pads across the carpet now, “did you feed Santiago while I was asleep or should I?”

“I fed him, baby,” he calls over his shoulder.

He looks back at the man who helped shape his life, tears welling in his eyes, and hears Leah talking about ordering Chinese for dinner as she crosses the threshold but he doesn’t hear her. He can’t hear anything over the squeeze around his midsection, Santi’s quiet strength taking all of his air and senses.

He lets go as quickly as he grabbed him, Leah’s presence heavy in the room now and he crosses the room to gather her in his arms, a kiss pressed to each cheek and then her hair. He’s careful not to hug as hard as he had Frankie, conscious of her still healing body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between them, “for everything I’ve done and everything I wasn’t around for.”

She’s trying to catch her breath, trying not to cry herself, “it's oka—“

“I should’ve been here for you guys.”

Her small hand comes up to pat the curls, a little more gray than a year ago, “you are now.”

He pulls away from her, a hitch in his voice as he says, “can I hold him?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “but you gotta wash your face and hands, no tears or snot on my baby.”

He mumbles to himself about how that makes sense as he moves to the sink, fumbling over the soap in the holder as he shakes with nerves.

She makes her way across the kitchen, wrapping her still sleepy being around that of her wide awake husband. The low lying winter sun is filtering through the windows, bathing everything in soft, warm light.

She sees the golden cover of the booklet on the counter and taps it, “what's this?”

Daylight Family Trust is stamped across in big bold words.

“That was the boy’s trip,” he whispers, “that’s our cut.”

He watches her as she slowly reaches for the document, the one that explains how this all works and looks between the men.

“How much?”

Santi rips a paper towel from the roll, “about thirty-five million.”

Frankie holds her as her knees start to give out but she’s still looking at Santi, she’s still looking for the joke he never made.

“Daylight's your call sign, you know,” he says cooly, “all the wives get one too, did he ever tell you?”

She shakes her head, looking at her husband now and thinking of all the times that very word fell from his lips.

“On our last real deployment,” Pope continues, “he was flying as the sun was setting and the sky was pure gold over the desert—“

Frankie’s eyes never leave hers, arms tight around her now.

“—he said it reminded him of the way the gold flakes in your eyes reflect the sunlight back at him, he called you Daylight until he got home and shed the callsigns altogether.”

“Frankie?”

He presses his lips into her forehead, his hand a heavy weight on her lower back that says, I’m right here.

“Your daughter has the same golden flakes in her eyes, like you, Daylight.”

Frankie runs his thumb along the swell of her cheek, "all I wanted to do last year was get home to you both, all I wanted was to make it right and see that reflection of light back at me through you both again.”

He leans down to softly press his lips to hers before nuzzling his nose into her hair, “our son has them too, the same gold in his eyes, it was the first thing I said to Ben when I walked out of the delivery room.”

"It was the first thing they said to me," Santiago says, "when they got off the plane."

“Like me?” Her voice is soft, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to her limbs.

“Mmhmm,” Frankie hums, “like Daylight.”

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grogu-pascal · 3 years

Text

Yearn | Din Djarin/Reader

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN // ALL WORKS

Excerpt: Din was a quiet man back then, emerging from one hideaway on the ship only to quickly scurry along to another. You had cut him slack for his awkwardness, chalking it up to his unfamiliarity with you. Now you knew it was because he felt like a pervert.

Mature | 1.7k Words | Din Djarin x Reader

Tags: cultmember!din, heavy yearning from din, unhealthy relationships, wet dreams, masturbation, teasing, fantasizing, domestic fluff, daddy kink but not in that way, breeding kink, possible cannibalism from grogu; only time will tell, not beta’d

When you first began working on the Crest, you were responsible for waking Grogu in the mornings. If undisturbed, the child would sleep until mid-day, a bad habit not easily corrected once learned. If Din woke from his rest to find you still in bed, he would simply wake the child as you slept. Rather than admit he was being easy on you because he liked you, he convinced himself that you weren't slacking off, just having a hard time adjusting to your new surroundings.

Din was a quiet man back then, emerging from one hideaway on the ship only to quickly scurry along to another. You had cut him slack for his awkwardness, chalking it up to his unfamiliarity with you.

(Now you knew it was because he felt like a pervert).

It lasted for a while, the cat-and-mouse between you. But rounding your second month working for him, it began to offend you. He rarely spoke; never addressing you by name and almost never directing his gaze towards you. When you pieced together that his reactions stemmed from nervousness, you suddenly found the way he fumbled over his words amusing. Almost enjoyed the way he shifted in his seat when you got too close. (And his buttons were easy enough to press: even the slightest brush against him could spur a coughing fit).

Din, however, had not felt the same way. The way he fell apart around you embarrassed him. In his mind, his actions around you were transparent. He was constantly worried that somehow you would find out about all of the filthy thoughts that plagued his mind. They were unprofessional at the least, and disrespectful at the most forgiving.

He could hardly help himself. Every attempt at self-restraint was met with a bigger hurdle to cross. There was something so erotic about watching you flitter about his ship, taking care of his child, and bandaging his wounds. You had never been inappropriate with him and maybe that was worse. For if you had been trying to seduce him, at least he could explain away his constant desire for you. The trurh was that you had never done or said anything to him unrelated to your job description. And so he was left carrying the burden of self-pity.

He found brief success in mind-over-matter tactics: pushing back his impure thoughts when they arose. If they confronted him still, he would simply leave your presence until they subsided. But this was not permanent. After a while, he found that even when he was alone, images of you plagued his mind. Your legs spread on his bed. You, bent over the kitchen counter. Your lips begging his name, over and over.

For weeks after first welcoming you onto the Crest, Din resisted the urge to palm himself in the 'fresher. It became a routine for him: lathering and rinsing slowly, fighting the urge to bury his cock in the crook of his hand, imagining that his fist was your warmth instead. Beyond the obvious disrespect wrought in masturbating to his hired help, to become so weak at the thought of another did not adhere to his creed. Besides the thoughts he had of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth, he also found himself... yearning. He daydreamed of holding you closely. Running his fingers through the silk of your hair. Feeling your lips tickle against his stubble. It had become a distraction. He knew he had to stop feeding his mind with possibilities of you two.

With this in mind, the mandalorian took no conscious action to relieve himself at your expense.

But it happened more than once that he woke with come-stained sheets from rutting against his bed in his sleep. The adjacent dreams threw him deeper into his pit of shame. The first time it happened, he carried his sheets to the refresher in the dead of night, urgently washing away any evidence that he had spilled seed. You woke up confused to find him cleaning laundry. When you asked what he was doing, he doubled over, thankful that his back was to you. He muttered a strained, "nothing" and a "go back to bed," and you were dismissed.

For you to have so nearly seen his spend made his cock ache into the night.

Hunger as intense as he felt for you could only serve as an interference to his duties. He could not serve both his desires, and The Way. And he had already made a promise to his tribe. Any such arrangement with you could only serve as a derailment of that. So he tried to rationalize his desires away: too much of a distraction, too big of a conflict of interest, too... uninterested in him. Those three things were enough for him to keep away for you. Until the third proved untrue.

Din had a day off, having caught the bounty earlier than expected. He decided to spend it with you. Or as close as he could get to you without feeling feverish and lustful.

Which, of course, meant secluding himself in his bedroom.

He had kept to himself most of the day, declining your invitation to breakfast as you nervously backtracked—you hadn't meant to walk in on him in a state of undress. He was helmetless and out of respect (and a healthy helping of fear), your eyes darted down instead, eyes widening at his bulge in the pants hung loosely from his hips.

He wore no shirt, body taut and littered with scars. A fresh wound bared your bandage, and you remembered biting your lips as you worked, tempted to take a look at the skin underneath your bare palms.

You fumbled for words in the doorway of his quarters, cheeks hot and heartbeat skipping. You were eager to explain away your invitation and in no way equipped to do so in your current state. Of course he can't join you for breakfast, you dummy, you had thought. How the fuck is he supposed to eat with his bucket on?

"I didn't mean like... in front of me," you stuttered, eyes scurrying to look anywhere but the front of his pants. "Just like—” you started again. It felt like your throat was closing. "I-I can bring it in if you want."

He did not respond.

Eager to fill the silence, you continued, "I made bantha-butter pancakes and those little eggs. Y'know," you gestured, "the frog ones? That Grogu likes?"

"I'll get some after," he offered. Something electric climbed down your bones at the sound. His voice was like heaven without the modulator, all rich and dark and velvety. You considered staying in his doorway longer; spouting nonsense just to hear him speak again. Instead you nodded and turned to leave. For the first time, he had been the calm one, and you, the erratic fluster of energy.

"Thank you," he added as you crossed the threshold of the door. You didn't reply. Your mouth was too full with embarrassment. You simply turned to close the door behind you.

You spent the rest of that morning replaying his voice over and over and over again. If only you had known how sweet your own voice had been to hear without hyper-filtering.

A short while later, Din made his way down to grab breakfast, but stopped short of entering the kitchen. Your voice echoed out of the door, intermingled with the child's coos. He paused there a beat too long in an effort to make out what you were saying. He hadn't set out with the intention to pry on your conversation, but had quickly shifted course, wanting to relish in the moment between you and the child.

Din turned off the vocoder in his helmet, fiddling with the controls within to turn up voice perception. He was positioned around the corner in such a way that he could see you just over your back: Grogu was scooped into your lap as you two sat cross-legged on the floor. Between sentences, you scooped a mouthful of eggs into the child's mouth, excess collecting at the frame of his lips before you gathered it back on the spoon to feed him again.

Mando had voiced his disdain for the way you spoiled the child so: and feeding him and carrying him about the Crest. Of course you knew it wasn't wise to baby the child, but your heart ached for him. You were alone once, too. Abject from touch and affection. You understood how that could affect a child.

So in a not-so-shocking move, you ignored Mando's directions and lavished Grogu with praise and hugs and kisses anyways. And the weird green toad-baby made sure to return his own affections, babbling at you lovingly and showing off force-tricks.

Your voice carried out of the kitchen, hushed and warm as you continued your conversation. Din watched as you raised a spoonful of food to the child’s lips, "maybe your daddy will take us to get some fruit today, hmm?" you said.

At that, Din felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Heat rushed from his bucket to his member, pants tightening nearly instantly. His breathing stuttered as his fingers gripped at the metal of the ship, pressing his back against it to steady his balance.

"Would you like that?" you mused to the child, unaware of the mandalorian's presence outside of the door. Din struggled to hear you in this new position, so he turned the volume up once more. “If he's still resting,” he heard you say, “Mommy can just take you."

A groan rumbled in his chest. He thanked the stars that he had muted his vocoder. Shame temporarily forgotten, his hand flew to his cock, palming gently with closed eyes as his mind raced. Unfiltered desire shot straight through him at the thought of making you a mother for real. You always took such good care of Grogu, busying yourself with developmental activities and schooling and Din could keep you even busier.

His thoughts begun to color with greed. He could fuck a litter into you, start a clan. Fuck you into his bed and never let you leave the Crest. Make you yearn for him as badly as he had been yearning for you. First he'd need permission from the—

A loud bang interrupted his thoughts and his hand ripped from his trousers. His posture shot up straight, fueled by the adrenaline that suddenly courses through him. He scurried away hastefully, retreating to his quarters. What would you have thought if you caught him snooping? How would he have ever convinced you to be with him then?

Thanks for reading! This will be a multi-chapter fic. Respond to this post or send an ask to have me put you on a tag list or follow the story on my ao3.

#tommywrites

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k-s-morgan · 4 years

Text

The Evolution of Will Graham’s Darkness

This meta is mostly written for new viewers who find themselves confused by Will as a character. I’ll incorporate some bits of analysis I’ve written before into it. Let’s start with a thesis of a sort: Will is a dark character who had this darkness from the very start, even before his encounter with Hannibal: he was terrified and disgusted with it, but after meeting Hannibal, slowly, he began to embrace himself, getting bolder and bolder in his violence.

**Before the show**

Will initially tried to get into the FBI but he didn’t pass the tests. It’s revealed in E1 of S1 when he’s ambushed by Beverly.

Beverly: Never been an F.B.I. Agent?

Will: Strict screening procedures.

Beverly: Detects instability. You’re unstable?

At the same time, Will became a police officer, working in the Homicide department. These decisions show that he's been stubbornly and rather hopelessly drawn to darkness, seeking ways to interact with it while remaining on the side of law. However, he had to leave the police, too, because he was incapable of pulling the trigger even when his life depended on it. He preferred to allow himself to get stabbed rather than to fight back and kill someone, which points to him having very serious issues with his violence. He knew that once the door in him opens, it might not close again, that if he kills or harms another person, he might be unable to stop (this is proven when he shoots Hobbs and then immediately tries to kill Stammets).

And still, Will chooses to stay close to darkness, only in safer ways. He becomes a teacher in the FBI Academy, letting himself delve into the ugliest cases from a theoretical perspective. This constant pull and struggle leave Will lonely and hostile to everyone. He avoids eye contact with people; Jack’s first impression of him was that he’s rude and arrogant (when they clashed about the name of the museum). Will is rude and haughty with his students, too – but more about it later. Alana refuses to stay alone in the room with him, thinking his instability is too fascinating and she might want to dissect it. Will has no friends; he lives in isolation with his dogs, someone who would never judge him. There are a lot of rumors about him going around, and most people don’t like him (based on Price’s and Zeller’s initial reactions as well as their later conversations on this topic). Will is lonely and pretty miserable.

The first real words we hear from Will are:

Will: Everyone has thought about killing someone.

It is very demonstrative of his personality. We also get evidence right here that Will is drawn to darkness primarily, not to the idea of saving lives (although the latter helps him feel better about his urges). He delves into the minds of killers even when he isn’t involved in the investigation. He had no other reason to explore the Marlows’ murder like he did at the start of the episode, when he was simply teaching students. It’s proof that he willingly craves contact with violent and disturbed minds — it’s not like he actually tries to solve this case for real, he just imagined himself there.

Will’s first conversation with Hannibal speaks volumes about who he is — because Hannibal senses it seconds after meeting him.

Hannibal: Do you have trouble with taste?

Will: My thoughts are often not tasty.

Hannibal: Nor mine. No effective barriers.

Will: I make forts.

This exchange has Will confess that his thoughts are often dark and that he dislikes it. To hold this darkness at bay, he literally builds forts around it, not letting it spread to other parts of his mind.

Hannibal: Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.

Hannibal almost directly calls Will out on his struggle with his inner darkness. He’s saying that he sees it, that he knows it’s there, in Will, in his mind, and Will is very disturbed by this — because Hannibal is right. The script even explicitly backs it up:

Hannibal has just described Will Graham to a letter.

Will is immediately wary and hostile, and he ends the conversation with snappy,

Will: Please don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.

What does it mean? It’s simple: Will assumes that Hannibal is a typical psychiatrist who wants to dissect him, so he says that once it happens, Hannibal won’t like what he finds (darkness and ugliness Will carries inside).

His hostility to Hannibal lasts up until the moment when Hannibal acknowledges him as a predator and shows approval of it. This is how it happens: Hannibal tries to subtly tell him that it’s all right to be who he is, hinting that they are the same.

Hannibal: You and I are just alike. Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about.

He’s obviously talking about their darkness, but Will doesn’t react, so Hannibal continues. He tells him that Jack views him as a fragile tea cup, and Will genuinely laughs, amused by this (which is also very telling). Then Hannibal says:

Hannibal: [I see you as the] mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.

Will grows quiet after this, and then his interactions with Hannibal become much more relaxed. Will takes him to search the property and even bothers to explain how they reached their conclusions and what they are about to do. Him grumbling, “What are you smiling at?” shows a much higher level of familiarity they now share. Something in Hannibal’s words made Will open up a bit, and everything indicates that it’s the acknowledgement of his predatory nature that played its part in it.

Will kills Hobbs by shooting him 10 times. This is his first kill, one he’s been trying to avoid for so long, ever since his police work. It’s not surprising that Hobbs haunts him later because his death became a breaking point for Will. A door did open in him, and he was unable to close it again.

In E2, Will is distraught. But first, we get a glimpse into how rude and insensitive he generally is. Look at how he treats his students. He tersely thanks them for clapping and then snaps for them to stop. He devises a little malicious test for them.

Will: It’s [Hobbs’] resignation letter. Anybody see the clue?

A few hands go into the air. Will ignores them.

Will: There isn’t one.

He looks so long-suffering with them, as if they are idiots. The fact that he asks a question, waits for people to think and raise their hands, and only then he tells them there is actually no answer is petty at best. He also admits to Jack that he doesn’t consider lessons socialization because he doesn’t have to actually talk to students, he talks at them. Not good for a teacher or even for a person who works with other people like this.

But Will has more serious problems. He keeps imagining Hobbs, and after his messy kill, Jack becomes worried about him. He makes Will go visit Hannibal for one-time evaluation. Will is naturally not fond of the idea, but he and Hannibal have a pretty personal talk. Hannibal ends it with an even more explicit hint at Will’s own darkness:

Hannibal: And Will… the mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.

Hannibal is talking about Will’s personal brand of violence again. He’s trying to tell him that it’s fine to be a murderer in every way he can, that Will’s darkness might be the best part of him. He also gives him a fake official approval to work in the field, showing that Will can trust him. But their obligatory session ends and Will leaves — only to return after he tries to kill Stammets and misses (their talk about it was cut from the episode but is echoed in the conversation below).

Hannibal: [You are here to] prove that sprig of zest you feel is from saving Abigail, not killing her dad.

Will: I didn't feel a sprig of zest when I shot Eldon Stammets.

Hannibal: You didn't kill Eldon Stammets.

Will: I thought about it. I'm still not entirely sure that wasn't my intention when pulling the trigger.

This is a huge evidence of Will struggling with his violence. It proves that he had it before becoming actively involved with Hannibal — all Hannibal did was recognize it and coax it to come to the surface. Will has always been like this, and after finally killing a person, he found himself unable to stop because he liked the feeling too much.

Hannibal: It wasn't the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it? Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?*

Will: I liked killing Hobbs.

Hannibal is pleased to receive the confirmation of what he sensed in Will. Seeing that Will is terrified about his own confession, he comforts him.

Hannibal: Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?

Let’s be honest, every sane person would have run for the hills after hearing this. Hannibal literally justifies the fact that Will liked murder by drawing a parallel with God. That’s such a narcissistic, serial killer thing to do, and yet Will welcomes it with open arms. He’s happy to find someone who doesn’t think he’s a monster — he’s relieved to be able to finally discuss his darkest impulses freely. This is the reason why Will started coming back to see Hannibal on a constant basis, to Jack’s surprise.

The next huge proof of Will’s ever-present darkness is found in E5 (actually, every episode has some bits, but I’ll cover only the major ones). The Angel Maker, a killer-of-the-week, has a unique gift of being able to see if a person is good or evil. First, Hannibal tries to tell Will that he doesn’t have to self-destruct because of his darkness like he’s been doing.

Hannibal: Angel Maker will be destroyed by what’s happening inside his head. You don’t have to be.

When Angel Maker dies, Will suddenly sees himself through his eyes. And he sees a demon. He sees himself as evil. It proves that Will’s darkness is inherent since he hasn’t done anything really bad at this point. It also proves that he’s perfectly aware of who he is and the darkness he has. He has the following conversation with the imagined Angel Maker.

Angel Maker: I see what you are.

Will: What do you see?

Angel Maker: Inside. I can bring it out of you.

Will: Not all the way out.

So, Will acknowledges that his darkness is rooted so deeply inside him, it can’t even be extracted fully. It’s an inseparable part of him.

Will is shown admiring the Ripper’s murders, calling them elegant and referring to them as art. Meanwhile, he’s trying to half-heartedly flirt with Alana, but they don’t have a meaningful connection because Will can’t be happy with a person who doesn’t know him. He wants to be normal but he just isn’t. If you’re interested in my opinion about their relationship, it’s here.

Will’s next morally gray action happens when he agrees to cover murder for Hannibal and Abigail in E9. He agrees quickly and then he’s shown being fiercely devoted to it. He doesn’t seem to care that Abigail killed someone much — in fact, he basically threatens Freddie, another person who sees him for who he is, to make her write a book favorable toward Abigail.

In E13, Hannibal says what he wants from Will directly.

Hannibal: If you followed the urges you kept down for so long, cultivated them as the inspirations they are, you’d become someone other than yourself.

Will remembers this phrase (he later throws it back into Hannibal’s face), but for now, he’s too angry and bitter to listen.

Will is healthy again and he struggles with realization that Hannibal betrayed him. He starts a dark game of his own: he pretends he’s vulnerable, moving Alana to tears in the process, and asks Hannibal for help. He’s still drawn to him, but he also wants to take him down — for himself and for Abigail.

In E1, Hannibal tells Will the purpose of all their past meetings, how they were aimed at helping Will Become.

Hannibal: Our conversations, Will, were only ever about you opening your eyes to the truth of who you are.

Alana tries to hypnotize Will to help him remember what happened.

Alana: Imagine yourself in a safe and relaxing place... safe and secure here, safe to relax completely...

What does Will imagine? He sees Hannibal’s room and them sitting at the murder table together. He’s freaked out by it, but it proves how twisted his perception is: regardless of the betrayal, a part of him understands that Hannibal is the only person who’s ready to accept him, and he feels safe with him. @bloodsmile wrote a great meta about it here.

Will coldly manipulates Beverly, refusing to help her save lives unless she helps him as well. In E5, he engages in yet another manipulation. He gets Matthew Brown to try to kill Hannibal. This is the first premeditated murder attempt Will is responsible for. That is why we see him growing horns, that is why he sees a sink full of blood — his darkness starts progressing in noticeable ways. By E7, Will has figured out that Hannibal really did everything to open his eyes to the truth of who he is and that he wants to be his friend, but as he still wants revenge, he decides to honey-trap him with Jack.

In E8, Will is dealing with his complex feelings for Hannibal and explores his darkness further. He admits that Hannibal made him feel less alone and that he doesn’t hate him, no matter what; that he has no idea what he feels for him. Then Will tries to kill Ingram in cold blood as revenge for Peter. He asks him to pick up the hammer, indicating that he plans for the murder to look like self-defense. Hannibal tries to talk him out of it, but Will still pulls the trigger. It’s by a miraculous accident that Hannibal manages to stop him. This is the second conscious murder attempt by Will.

In E9, Will has a dream about Hannibal, love, and darkness.

Dream Hannibal: Must I denounce myself as a monster while you still refuse to see the one growing inside you?

Meaning: Will is fully aware of both the presence of this monster inside him and his attempts to ignore it since this is his dream.

Dream Hannibal: No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true.

So, a part of Will realizes that Hannibal loves him, and that he really wants him to Become, to realize all his potential.

Will is shown as feeling bitter at Hannibal for not letting him kill Ingram.

Will: I regret what I did in the stables.

Hannibal (thinking Will means murder attempt): Then you were lucky I was there.

Will: Being lucky isn't the same as making a mistake. Mistake was allowing you to stop me.

Hannibal: So it’s not pulling the trigger that you regret. It’s not pulling it effectively.

Will: That would be more accurate.

Hannibal: I want you to close your eyes, Will, and imagine a version of events you wouldn't have regretted.

Will obeys, and he sees himself murdering Ingram. It proves that every word he says to Hannibal is true — he really does regret not killing him. But there is an even creepier dialogue ahead.

Hannibal: What did you see?

Will: A missed opportunity… to feel like I felt when I killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. To feel like I felt when I thought I killed you … a quiet sense of power.

This is disturbing. It proves once again that Will isn’t just a righteous killer, he enjoys the act of murder itself, and like many serial killers, he craves the feeling of power that comes with it.

He and Hannibal talk about the intimacy of murder, how Will was hiding behind a gun when he tried to kill Hannibal back in E5. Will takes note of it. Hannibal, remembering Will’s complaint about a missed opportunity, sends Randall to him as a gift. When Randall breaks into Will’s house, Will is shown thinking and then deliberately throwing the gun away. He doesn’t want to hide this time — he attacks Randall with his bare hands. This isn’t about self-defense or justice, this is about Will trying to experience a more intimate kind of murder. He beats Randall up until he’s incapacitated and then he snaps his neck, even though there was no reason to do it. He could easily call Jack and have Randall arrested at this point (since he was barely conscious and not fighting back). This could help him in his plan to catch Hannibal. But Will isn’t particularly concerned about it, he’s more interested in realizing his darkness.

He takes the body to Hannibal. This moment got deleted, but Will actually had to stick a note to it:

A piece of paper is pinned to his chest. On it is written: "Return to Sender."

Which excellently shows Will’s dark humor. He laughs with Hannibal a little as they talk about murder right above the corpse. Then Hannibal is treating his hands, and he says:

Hannibal: Stay with me.

Will: Where else would I go?

Nowhere — because Will understands that Hannibal is the only person who can understand his darkness and accept him for who he is.

Will: I've never felt more alive than when I was killing him.

This is, once again, huge. Will is a murderer who can get dangerously high on the act. The moment when he felt most alive is the moment when he took a life from another person — and he was vicious about it. Will is very, very dark in these scenes — and it’s going to get worse.

Will mutilates the body and places it in the museum. He keeps Randall’s suit in his house as a trophy, and he keeps his butchered parts of meat in his fridge. In the following discussion, Will confirms that he enjoyed doing all that. When Hannibal suggests that Randall’s killer felt disdain for him in front of Jack, Will disagrees.

Will: He isn't mocking him. This isn't disdain. He's commemorating him.

Hannibal: This killer has no fear for the consequences of what he's done.

Will: No guilt.

Then Will retreats into his mind to talk to Randall’s corpse.

Will: Hello again.

Randall: Come closer … Can you see you?

Will: Clearer and clearer.

This proves Will’s honesty in all his discussions with Hannibal. He really is exploring his violence, not just pretending to do it, coming to the realization of what kind of monster he is.

Will: You forced me to kill you.

Randall: I didn't force you to enjoy it.

This takes place in Will’s head, so every word is genuine.

Will: I gave you what you want. This is who you are. What you feel finally matches the reality of what I see.

Randall: This is my becoming. And yours.

Will shakes his head, this is not his becoming.

Will: This is my design.

So, what do we have here? Will calls murder, mutilation, and storage of Randall’s meat his design. It’s not his Becoming, not yet, Will isn’t ready to fully embrace himself, but this is a start. He understands his design now.

In the same E10, Will attacks Freddie when she discovered his trophies. We know he didn’t kill her, but would he have done it if she hadn’t called Jack? We can only guess. Will sure took his chance to be creepy and physically violent with her. At the end of the episode, he brought Randall’s meat to Hannibal and they cooked as well as ate it together. This was not about getting Hannibal to trust him. Hannibal already did, especially after thinking Will killed Freddie, so there was simply no need for it. Bryan Fuller confirmed Jack had no idea this happened, so Will was acting on his own, out of his genuine curiosity. This is where he willingly became a cannibal.

In E11, Will dreams of burning fake Freddie and hears himself screaming. It’s easy to interpret this dream: he feels guilty for betraying Hannibal. Alana comes by and Will is being deliberately creepy again. He gives her a gun for protection, but later, it almost becomes her undoing. Will is equally creepy during the funeral. He enjoys being dark, and he feels free to act like this because technically, he has an excuse.

In E12, Will is freshly angry at Hannibal. He fantasizes about murdering Hannibal in the most violent way possible. Then he makes three deals. The first one is with Mason: they agree to kill Hannibal together. The second one is with Hannibal: they tentatively agree to target Mason together. The third one is with Jack: they agree that when Hannibal tries to kill Mason, Will is going to arrest him. Will goes with his and Mason’s plan at first. Hannibal is kidnapped and presented in front of Will just like in his fantasy. But instead of acting on it, Will chooses Hannibal and frees him, getting all Mason’s people killed in the process. Later, he watches Hannibal mutilate Mason, approach him to kill him, and snap his neck. He does nothing: he ignores his deal with Jack completely and covers for Hannibal. Yet another proof that Will is siding with Hannibal more and more, and that his initial honey-trapping plan is almost a formality at this point. At the end of the episode, Will offers Hannibal to kill Jack.

In E13, Hannibal and Will are getting ready to kill Jack while Will and Jack are getting ready to arrest Hannibal. Will doesn’t seem to know on whose side he is until the end. At the same time, he lies to Jack about where the attack is supposed to take place. He helps Hannibal burn all evidence, even though he could have easily preserved some of it to use it later. He burns the evidence related to himself as well. Will doesn’t take Hannibal’s chance to run away before dinner, but he does hesitate and wonder about it. When the final moment comes, he calls Hannibal to warn him — he chooses him above everyone. Justice for Abigail, justice for himself, the desire to save other people — none of it matters to Will now. He made his choice, he chose his side, but he did it too late. When he goes to Hannibal’s house, Alana tells him that Jack is still inside, and Will takes out his gun. He doesn’t even try to point it at Hannibal. When Hannibal accuses him of lying, Will implies that he’s wrong.

Hannibal: I gave you a rare gift… But you didn't want it.

Will isn't so definitive.

Will: Didn't I?

Because yes, Will wanted it. He was ready to accept it. But he did so too late.

Will’s thoughts are only about Hannibal and Abigail. He breaks into Hannibal’s empty house and sits there in silence. When Alana comes to find him and tries to talk to him, he coldly sends her away. He’s repairing a boat to go after Hannibal. When Jack comes to him to ask about his motivations, Will is very open — he doesn’t care about hiding any more.

Jack: Do you remember when you decided to call Hannibal?

Will: I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice.

Jack: You told him we knew.

Will: I told him to leave. Because I wanted him to run.

Jack: Why?

Will: Because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him.

In Italy, Will is full of regret over his actions. He blames himself for what happened, admonishes himself for lying to Hannibal. E2 shows his state of mind perfectly – Hannibal is his everything and he admits he wants to be with him. He doesn’t care about justice at all.

Will: I do feel closer to Hannibal here. God only knows where I would be without him … He left [me] his broken heart. He misses [me]. [I] still want to go to him? Yes.

He admires the corpse twisted into a heart, touching it and then lying at the place where it was located. He intimidates Pazzi who tries to talk sense into him and indicates that he’s not here to catch Hannibal.

Will: You couldn't catch him when he was just a kid, what makes you think you're going to catch him now?

Pazzi: You.

A small, polite scoff from Will, unable to take his eyes off the small stairwell to the catacombs.

Will: What makes you think I want to catch him?

Later:

Will: You shouldn't be down here alone.

Pazzi: I’m not alone. I'm with you.

Will: You don’t know whose side I’m on.

Pazzi stares at Will, cautious.

Pazzi: What are you going to do when you find him? Your Il Mostro?

Will: I'm curious about that myself.

Pazzi: You're already dead, aren't you?

Other people realize how dark Will is, too.

Then we move toward Will’s trip to Lithuania in E3. His reverent attitude to Hannibal begins to change once he meets Chiyoh, but he admits the following:

Will: I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with him.

Will learns that Chiyoh has been staying here for all these years because she doesn’t want to kill another person. He notes that they can’t be sure whether her prisoner really killed Mischa because Hannibal is the only person who knows the truth. Despite all this, Will sets Chiyoh up to kill or be killed, releasing her prisoner secretly. Chiyoh rightfully accuses him of it:

Chiyoh: You said Hannibal was curious if I would kill. You were curious, too.

He was, if he is honest with himself.

What Will did was cruel and violent. Hannibal just left Chiyoh be, he openly and boldly risked her life, not caring about her safety or about whether her tortured prisoner deserves this. Will stays behind to make the body into art in Hannibal’s style, in accordance with his own design from when he killed Randall. This Will is dark and confident, and very in touch with his dark side. He dreams of killing Chiyoh and keeps asking her whether she saw what a monster she was, unable to accept the idea that only he has real darkness while Chiyoh doesn’t and that murder didn’t make her feel good. He repeats to Jack that a part of him will always want to be with Hannibal. Sadly, he then sees Bedelia as his replacement, grows even bitterer, and tries to attack Hannibal with the knife.

In E7, Will bites into Cordell’s cheek and tears a piece of meat out of it. Then he looks at Hannibal to see his reaction, waiting for his pride. He shows zero reaction to the news that Jack is alive — he doesn’t care about it. He rebukes Alana and shows that he still sees himself and Hannibal as a team, referring to them as “we”.

Will: You helped Mason Verger find us.

Alana: I helped Mason find Hannibal. We followed Bâtard-Montrachet when we should have just followed you.

Will: Almost as ugly as what Mason wants to do to us is the fact that he can do it with the tacit agreement of people sworn to uphold the law.

Alana: I was trying to get to Hannibal before you. I knew you couldn't stop yourself. So I had to try.

Will: By facilitating torture and death.

Alana: I can abide the thought of Hannibal tortured, not necessarily to death. I'd say he has it coming, wouldn't you? Or maybe you wouldn't.

Alana can no longer deny Will’s twisted morals. Will tries to push Alana to a darker side, manipulating her into releasing Hannibal, by telling her almost exactly what he and Hannibal were discussing in S2.

Will: Then you have to evolve, Alana. You have to spill blood. By your own hand or someone else's.

After the escape, Hannibal says the words that define Will perfectly:

Hannibal: You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.

This is exactly what Will does — he acts on his darkness again and again, but then he gets scared and makes two steps back. He’s not ready to fully let go of the idea of a normal life yet.

Will sends Hannibal away. When Jack arrives, Will doesn’t even bother to pretend he tried to arrest him — he just says that Hannibal is gone. Jack clearly has zero trust in him at this point since he sends people to break into Will’s house without asking his permission. Will has completely discredited himself, proving himself as someone dark and twisted.

But Hannibal gives himself up and 3 years pass. After the epic Europe failure and his new insecurities, Will tries to retreat again. He decides to try being normal one more time, despite his previous failures at suppressing his darkness and his feelings for Hannibal. So he marries Molly, and it goes as well as expected. Their relationship is shown as weak from the start. The first time we see them, they are apart: Molly and Walter have gone fishing, which is what Will loves and dreamed of sharing with Abigail, yet he stays behind. He didn't let go of the past. He subtly manipulates Jack into talking Molly into urging him to come join the investigation — he deliberately leaves them alone under a weak excuse, knowing very well what Jack is about to do. Will is bored with his normal life and he misses Hannibal, even if he isn’t ready to fully admit it yet.

His treatment of Molly deserves a separate mention: this is the woman he lies to through his teeth, the woman whose “I love you” he doesn’t bother to return and who he doesn’t want to interact with the second she raises the topic he finds personally uncomfortable, someone he leaves her at the first opportunity. He never told her the truth about himself. The way Molly tries to joke about him having a criminal mind proves that she knows nothing of Will's dark struggles, and the way Will immediately shuts down demonstrates their incompatibility and his unwillingness to be honest and open with her.

On the very first day, Will demands to see Hannibal, lying about having to restore his mindset. We know it’s a lie because we’ve just seen him reconstruct Francis’ murder perfectly. He just wanted to see him because he missed him, and both Hannibal and later Bedelia call him out on it.

E9:

Hannibal: You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you just smell yourself?

E10:

Bedelia: Have you been to see him?

Will: Yes.

Bedelia: Haven't learned anything, have you? Or did you just miss him that much?

This is what Hannibal says about Will’s marriage — and another reference to his darkness:

Hannibal: How did you choose yours? Readymade wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson or daughter – (off his look) – a stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can’t pass on those terrible traits you fear the most.

This is very accurate and Will doesn’t bother to deny it. He’s more concerned about stalking Bedelia and asking her about her relationship with Hannibal than anything else. He makes zero efforts to preserve his family, which shows how irrelevant they are to him. This makes him a very cold and cruel person. Also, the way he acts with Bedelia is very different from how he acts with others. With her, he can be himself. He’s dark, relatively confident, and dangerous — which is likely why he keeps coming back to her. With others, he still puts on a rather meek mask.

There is quite a solid idea that a part of Will knew Hannibal might target Molly and Walter and send Francis after them (it’s up to interpretation, though). Hannibal gives Will very clear hints.

Will: Tell me who [the killer] is.

Hannibal: I don’t know who he is. When you close your eyes, Will... is that your family you see?

[Will scoffs at this.]

Will: Do you know who they are?

Hannibal: Yes.

Will: And you're willing to let them die.

Hannibal: They're not my family, Will. And I'm not letting them die. You are.

These are huge hints, and since Will is supposed to be an excellent profiler — more than that, a profiler who understands Hannibal intimately, it’s strange that he didn’t even suspect anything. Maybe a part of him subconsciously wanted proof that Hannibal is in love with him — since he goes to Bedelia with his question right after the attack. Maybe he wanted reassurance that the passion is still there. Maybe he even wanted an excuse to abandon Molly and Walter (and he does it very easily an episode later).

Ultimately, Will seems genuinely infuriated by the attack, but it’s possible that “the enemy inside him” secretly hoped for such outcome. He spends about a minute being truly angry at Hannibal — then he becomes concerned that he’s competing with Francis for Hannibal’s attention, which underlines the irrelevance of his family to him once more. When talking to Walter, Will doesn’t try to hug him or actually comfort him. They are like strangers, and Will shows resentment about having to explain some facts about himself to Walter later.

Will: He read about me in a Freddie Lounds article. I had to justify myself to an eleven year old.

Not “to my son”, but an indifferent and impersonal “11 year old”. Another reminder that Will is a cold person.

This attack made Will realize Hannibal is in love with him, and it finally started the process of his Becoming. Will is shown as full of resentment toward Jack and Alana. He callously sets up Chilton, an innocent person, for torture and death in E12. He explicitly says that he did it deliberately and doesn’t regret it.

Will: Damn if I'll feel … The divine punishment of the sinner mirrors the sin being punished. Chilton languished unrecognized until Hannibal the Cannibal. He wanted the world to know his face.

Bedelia: Now he doesn't have one.

At first, Will makes a half-hearted attempt at denial.

Will: I put my hand on his shoulder for authenticity.

Bedelia: To establish he really told you those insults about the Dragon? Or had you wanted to put Dr. Chilton at risk? Just a little?

Will: I wonder.

Bedelia: Do you really have to wonder?

Will: No.

Bedelia: You were curious what would happen, that's apparent. Is this what you expected?

Will sounds very ironic.

Will: I can't say I'm surprised.

Bedelia: Then you may as well have struck the match. That's participation. Hannibal Lecter does indeed have agency in the world. He has you.

Considering the timing, Chilton looks like Will’s courtship gift to Hannibal. This is the second time Will harms an innocent person, which makes him far darker than a righteous killer should be. And why? Just because. His darkness is really evolving.

When Will visits Chilton with Jack, he openly lies to him (Jack) and tells him Hannibal is responsible for what happened.

In E13, Will stages another deadly game. He plots with Francis to break Hannibal free — the immediacy of his plan makes it look like Will has already been thinking about it before. He lies to Jack and Alana. He hides the fact that Francis is alive from them, and when they discover it by themselves, he offers a plan: to use Hannibal as a bait and stage his escape. Jack begins to plan everything. If Will had actually followed this plan, it would have gotten Hannibal and Francis killed. But Will doesn’t care about justice — he wants Hannibal free and he doesn’t give a damn about the consequences. He shares his true intentions with Bedelia and threatens her.

Will: I don't intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.

Bedelia studies Will. Sensing where he might be going. Hoping she is wrong. A flicker of alarm plays in her eyes.

Bedelia: Can't live with him. Can't live without him. Is that what this is?

Will: I guess… this is my Becoming . I'd pack my bags if I were you, Bedelia. Meat's back on the menu … Ready or not… here he comes.

This is a crucial moment because while in S2, Will called Randall’s murder his design, now he’s finally Becoming. It’s the climax of everything. He leaks info about Hannibal’s transfer to Francis (who, if you recall, has attacked Will’s wife and her son). He gets many officers murdered by proxy; he sets up Jack and destroys him professionally again; he endangers Alana and her family as well as Molly and Walter. Without showing even an ounce of regret toward the dead officers, Will climbs out of the car. We don’t get to see it, but this is what he does according to the script:

Will takes the gun off the dead cop.

Still with no care, he watches how Hannibal throws another body out of the car and offers Will to take a seat. Will looks long-suffering and fond, even though he has just gotten about 5 people killed. He goes with Hannibal.

In the cliff house, he admits he’s not sure if he can “save” himself by killing Hannibal.

Will: I don't know if I can save myself. And maybe that's just fine.

He intends to try, though, but when Francis attacks, Will naturally chooses Hannibal because he can’t see him killed. He reaches for his gun and the fight begins. Seeing Francis strangling Hannibal, Will pulls out the knife from his body and rushes to protect him. He and Hannibal kill Francis together, and Will plunges the knife into him with obvious relish. Then he admires the way the blood looks on his hand.

Will: It really does look black in the moonlight.

This is proof of how Will remembers everything Hannibal has ever said to him. He reaches out to embrace Hannibal, finally allowing himself this weakness, finally accepting that this is who he is and that there is no way back.

Hannibal: See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.

Will: It’s beautiful.

These words have a tremendous worth. Hannibal’s dream for them, the one he has been hoping for since early S1, has just become realized, and Will found it beautiful. The script confirms it additionally:

A moment as Will considers the brutal pack hunting he shared with Hannibal Lecter. He genuinely feels it is beautiful.

Upon this realization, Will gives the fate the last chance to stop himself and Hannibal, knowing that if they live, they’ll unleash their mutual darkness on the world. He pushes them off the cliff that has been confirmed to have no rocks by Hannibal, giving them a chance to survive. And they do — and they stay together and hunt. Will threatened Bedelia with being eaten and he kept his promise. The deleted epilogue to the series shows him and Hannibal in perfect harmony with each other.

Note that this is far from the only moments and details of Will’s long Becoming. There are many more, but if I addressed them, this meta would be even longer. However, here’s a quick analysis of Will’s softer sides — because they also aren’t as simple as it might seem at first. Will seems to sympathize only with people he can relate to personally, who remind him of himself in some way, and most often, they are murderers. He’s bitter about not being able to save killer-children in E4 because like them, he struggles with understanding what family means; he feels close to Georgia because he also thinks he’s losing his mind and no one can understand him; he’s gentle with Peter because he sees him as his fragile mirror; he’s soft with Reba because like Bryan said, they are both people in love with serial killers. With everyone else, Will is indifferent or cold. These traits were less visible in S1, but after he started to Become, they began to come to the surface. His softer sides still have a degree of selfishness to them.

So, Will has always had darkness in him. He has always been a rather cold person despite his genuine struggles, confusion, and the desire to be normal. Hannibal changed his life, helping him embrace himself and find unconditional love and acceptance. Will’s journey was very long, it had many setbacks, but in the end, he made it. They both did, and now they are free to enjoy their new life together.

Tagging some old fans who might be interested! @typicalher @hannibalized @bloodsmile @victorineb @he-s-dead-jim

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #becoming

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butterflyinthewell · 3 years

Text

Raditz headcanons!

(Warning: some nsfw text ahead! Scroll to the second picture to avoid it.)

The funny stuff:

Raditz fucks. He calls himself a slut because he fucks often and he’s good at it.

He is happy to suck dick, eat pussy and eat ass for money. He’s not picky as long as the presented part is clean.

He’s proudly bisexual.

His dick is huge. Monstrous.

He loves to land on a planet he’s going to decimate and shmooze, go to bars, get drunk, say he’ll let them live if the sex is good, fuck whoever offers and kill everyone there anyway.

He rawed Zarbon’s brains out because Zarbon said he doubted Saiyajins could fuck. Zarbon still refuses to admit it’s the best dick he ever got in his life. All Raditz has to do is grab at his own crotch around Zarbon and that pretty jerk gets all flustered.

Raditz loves to be naked. He’s immodest and an exhibitionist, so he only wears clothes because he gets tired of people yelling at him to put some on.

He’s that guy who will eat the most disgusting food item or food mixture you put in front of him just to gross out everyone watching. Ice cream with toothpaste? Pop tarts with ketchup on them? Something alive and wiggly? Sure, he’ll eat it without flinching and watch you squirm.

He’s an expert troll. No, he’s a god-tier troll.

Once, he pranked the Ginyu Force by making Guldo stink. Guldo has no sense of smell, so Raditz smeared rotten meat all over the inside of his armor once while the little guy was in the showers. It took a week to figure the stink out, but nobody knew Raditz did it.

He can do a pretty good impression of Zarbon’s voice, so he once got a bunch of troops outside of Freeza’s room under “orders from Zarbon”. He got caught for that one and got his ass beat, but he’ll say it was worth it.

He draws things on the back of Nappa’s bald head while Nappa is asleep. Usually faces, but once or twice it was a dick or butt crack.

Once, he sent a dick pic to Freeza’s scouter during a debriefing and made the little bastard choke on his wine.

Another time, he got a dick pic onto the debriefing display and it ruined the whole meeting because everybody started yelling at each other. Raditz sat back and watched the chaos unfold with a shit-eating grin on his face. Yep, he showed the entire Freeza Force a picture of his enormous fully erect dick and he’d do it again.

And another time, he played the audio of Zarbon moaning and gasping all over Freeza’s ship, and Zarbon couldn’t do anything about it because it would mean confessing to letting Raditz fuck his brains out. Zarbon likes to project this image that he’s chaste and above such base desires, so being reminded of the time he had with Raditz embarrasses him so so sooooo much.

He jacked off into Freeza’s wine once. Freeza took a drink, spat it out and killed the guy who brought the wine. Nappa and Vegeta were in on this one, so the three of them snickered about it for months.

He taught Vegeta how to kiss by making out with him. It sorta broke his heart a little when Vegeta later said he wasn’t interested in him that way, cuz he had a bit of a crush on the Saiyajin prince.

Raditz might act cold and uncaring, but he has a big soft spot for kids. He wants to settle down and have some of his own someday. Unfortunately, life under Freeza doesn’t give him that opportunity. Plus, he’s a little afraid to for the genetic reasons about to be mentioned below.

The serious stuff:

Raditz’s biggest struggle is his epilepsy.

He was born with a rare gene mutation called a Naeb deletion (or Naeb syndrome) that kills most Saiyajin babies before their second birthday. (It’s pronounced “naw-EEB”.)

There are four Naeb genes in the average Saiyajin, or seizure suppressor genes. All four have to be present or a Saiyajin comes out with Naeb syndrome. Raditz is missing two of these genes.

Some Saiyajins carry an extra (fifth) Naeb gene-- a mutation-- that causes these deletions in children. If only one parent has that gene, the chances of a kid with Naeb syndrome are fifty-fifty. If both parents have the mutation, all their kids come out with it and it's usually fatal. Bardock had an extra Naeb gene, but Gine didn't. That's why Raditz has seizures and Goku doesn’t.

Every Saiyajin with Naeb syndrome is missing their last set of molars, has two extra ribs, has denser than average bones and extremely long hair. Their brain development is also faster than average, which can mean it grows faster than the skull around it. Sometimes the skull doesn’t grow fast enough to keep up with the brain, so the brain is crushed.

Structurally, Raditz’s brain has all the parts it’s supposed to, but they’re in slightly different places. He has less cerebrospinal fluid than average, his corpus callosum looks like a ring from the side and his lateral ventricles are smaller because his brain had to fold in on itself more to fit inside his skull. There’s a spot in his parietal lobe that’s pressed right up against the inside of his skull, and his meninges and a few millimeters of cerebrospinal fluid are the only thing that stops his brain from lacerating itself. That spot is always spiking with abnormal electrical activity. It’s like a match striking over and over. His brain doesn’t like being so squished in his skull, so sometimes it misfires when that “match” strikes and you get a flame, which is a seizure.

Raditz has a few different seizure types depending on which parts of his brain react to the constant “striking” activity and some of his seizures have a few triggers.

Doctors call Raditz’s epilepsy “mild”, but Raditz disagrees and considers it severe because he’s the one affected by it and not them.

He’s tried many different medications and none work. Surgery isn’t an option because Saiyajins don’t tolerate brain surgery very well and the chances of developing new seizure sources outweigh the benefits.

His scouter records and logs his seizures. He gets the time of the seizure, the length of the seizure and a video of the environment he was in. (If something flashes, the flashing is removed.)

Flashing lights can trigger seizures. His scouter has special polarized glass that counter flashes whenever someone’s ki flashes, so he just sees a solid color in that eye. Blocking one eye helps prevent the electrical excitation in his brain that turns into seizures. This doesn’t work if he’s exposed to flashing lights for longer than sixty seconds though. This is meant to give him time to turn away or cover his other eye.

He can’t go anywhere with strobes because of his seizures. Bars are okay since most don’t have strobes, but nightclubs are inaccessible.

Focal aware seizures are his most common seizure type, and he can have hundreds of these a day. They’re twenty seconds long. You can’t tell he’s having one unless you know what to look for, which is a faint quiver in his eyelids when he blinks. Sometimes he closes his eyes until the worst part of it is over.

It’s hard for him to describe how these seizures feel. They start as a little tingling at the tip of his thumb that spreads to his wrist. It’s a very annoying sensation. Then he gets sudden vertigo like someone yanks the ground sideways. During that vertigo he perceives everything as being way too close and too real. He gets a strong sense of doom. That’s the worst part. Then it’s over. The tingling stops, his senses return to normal and his heart rate slows.

He learned to compensate for the vertigo, so he can still fly and fight while having a focal aware seizure and nobody would know the difference.

Atonic seizures aren’t his most devastating seizures, but they’re the only seizure that embarrasses him to have in public. His muscles suddenly lose tone and he blacks out for a split second. If he’s walking or standing, he falls headfirst to the ground. If he’s sitting, he slumps. If he’s flying, he loses altitude for a second or two.

His atonic seizures happen when he doesn’t get enough sleep. They tend to come in clusters of two or three in a row. They can mess with his memory, causing him to lose a few minutes or be confused about where he is. If he’s in the middle of a conversation, he might forget what was being talked about, but reminding him gets him back on track.

Tonic clonic seizures are Raditz’s most devastating seizures. These are the big bad seizures that can be triggered by flashing lights. He can have them spontaneously, too, and averages about one or two a week.

Spontaneous ones start with his usual tingly focal aware seizures. He knows it’s going to generalize if the tingle continues up his arm instead of fading away. The second the tingle reaches his neck, he goes. His eyes roll back, he gets stiff, he shakes and he’s down for awhile.

Induced seizures give him no warning other than a sudden, extremely intense pain in the back of his skull. Induced seizures are worse than spontaneous ones because they’re more violent and last longer.

Some of his other weird TC triggers are going into or coming down from an oozaru transformation, getting dehydrated, not eating enough, being awakened out of delta wave sleep and stimulants like caffeine.

Regardless of how a TC started, he loses several hours of memory and doesn’t get it all back. His worst seizure wiped out a month of his life and he never regained those memories.

If he just ate, he will puke as he enters the tonic phase of the seizure. This is a huge choking hazard for him. He doesn’t care if he pees or poops himself during a seizure, but vomiting is really bad. If he just ate a huge meal and feels a TC coming, he’ll stick his finger down his throat and get the puking done before the seizure hits.

He almost always wets or soils himself during the clonic phase unless he just went to the bathroom before he had it.

If he powers up as a TC starts, his power rises uncontrollably until the tonic phase progresses into the clonic phase, then he releases massive ki waves that destroy everything around him. He hits power levels he can’t reach while conscious and in control of his ki, but this is dangerous because he could power up until he explodes and there’s no way to stop it.

His instinct when he realizes a seizure is generalizing is to either finish a fight quickly or power down and go hide to have the seizure because he knows he’s vulnerable during and after.

The worst seizure of his life was caused by Captain Ginyu. He goaded Raditz into attacking without his scouter and flickered a ki ball right in his face. Raditz went down. The Ginyu Force kicked him around while he was on the ground seizing. Nappa lured them into a fight to stop the unfair beating and Vegeta dragged Raditz away to finish the seizure. It was awful because Raditz threw up and soiled himself and the Ginyu Force made sure he got covered in all of it.

Raditz doesn’t remember this and neither Vegeta nor Nappa told him what really happened.

Post-ictal Raditz will remove anything on his body that feels bad, so he often ends up naked. He won’t recognize friend or foe and isn’t going to react kindly to being crowded.

If he’s alone, he’s likely to sit staring at the ceiling or sky until he collapses into sleep.

His scouter shows him a picture of his attack ball if he’s on a mission and that’s enough incentive for him to go find it even while too confused to tell someone his own name.

After his post-seizure sleep, he wakes up kinda giddy and hyperactive as his unsettled brain chemistry tries to restore balance. He will be sore as hell, too, usually that’s how he knows he had a seizure.

Nappa and Vegeta have seen so many seizures. They take bets on whether Raditz will pee, poop or do both. Then they’ll flip him on his side and wait it out. Barring emergency retreats, they don’t let him leave an area until he can identify a scouter by name.

Yep, seizures messed up some of his slutty sexual escapades. Usually by killing whoever he was trying to fuck since the violent convulsions hurt other people and his immediate environment more than they hurt him.

And finally…

The loss of planet Vegeta isn’t something Raditz likes to talk about. He was on a scouter to scouter call with someone there when it happened and all he heard was a bunch of screaming. He still can’t handle listening to recorded audio of screaming people because it reminds him of hearing his planet die.

#Raditz #DBZ #swearing #headcanon #ableism #food mention #tw vomit mention #n s f w post

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criminalmindzjunkie · 4 years

Text

The Reward of Suffering

next chapter

Summary: A retelling of the events of season 12 episode 13.

Gif credit to the wonderful and talented @imagining-in-the-margins

A/N: After several months of contemplation, I have finally decided to post part one of my first ever fic on Tumblr! This fic will follow the event of Spencer’s prison arc, so needless to say there will be SPOILERS. This first part is super long, but I felt that it needed to be in order to set up the plot. I hope you all enjoy reading! If you would like to be tagged on future updates, let me know!

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem! Reader

Warnings: no smut (yet), mentions of past frug use, cursing, typical CM case talk

Word count: 12.1k

“Reid is in jail.”

I felt the color immediately drain from my face and an intense feeling of dread began to wash through my body. I sat up in my chair, back ramrod straight. I briefly looked towards the faces of my teammates, Luke and JJ to my left and Penelope to my right. Their faces were all contorted, displaying varying degrees of shock and confusion. It was hard for any of us to process what we were hearing. The idea of Spencer Reid, the same Spencer who wore a mask to the office on Halloween and put on elaborate magic shows for everyone’s children, doing anything that would warrant being put behind bars was preposterous.

Surely, this is all just a big misunderstanding.

“Jail?” Penelope squeaked out. My eyes flitted to her, taking note of the way her eyebrows were drawn together in disbelief. She was thinking the same thing I’m sure we all were; that there was no way Spencer Reid had engaged in any illegal activity. Spencer was a well-educated, highly regarded FBI agent, for Christ sake. He knew the laws of the land better than any of us.

“In Mexico.”

My attention focused solely on Emily. In the few weeks since I had come to know her, I had begun to look at her not only as a sort of fearless leader, but also as a kind of fiercely loyal friend that I was incredibly lucky to have. Emily somehow managed to find the perfect balance between being accommodating and stern. She was the kind of boss you could have a drink and cut up with after a long day, but she also carried herself in a way that demanded the utmost respect in the workplace. Emily Prentiss’s bravery was unmatched, and I admired her for that.

It shook me to my core when her eyes met mine and I saw the pure, unbridled fear in them. If Emily was scared, then this must be leagues worse than we could have ever imagined.

“What the hell is he doing down there?” JJ asked, crossing her arms and shuffling from one foot to the other.

“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him. The call came in to Cruz from their lead investigator.”

Luke was the next to chime in. “What’s he being held for?”

“Drug possession,” Rossi said, before taking on, “with intent to distribute.”

For the second time that day, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Images of Spencer sitting across from me in a dimly lit coffee shop, tripping over his words as he confided in me, spilling his deepest and darkest secrets in a voice barely above a whisper. His voice had grown stronger as he neared the end of his story and he had dug deep in his satchel, producing a small golden coin. We both had tears in our eyes as we looked at the writing engraved into the coin; unity, service recovery. Spencer Reid was ten years sober, and the pride on his face was as clear as day.

There was no way he would throw all of that away.

“What type of drugs?”

“Cocaine and heroin,” Rossi said, his voice shaky.

Rossi and Spencer had always had a good relationship. Spencer had admired his work long before he met him, having read and reread every book he had ever published. It had delighted Spencer that he and Rossi had managed to develop rapport so quickly. Rossi was the only one talented enough at the game of chess to even think of giving Spencer a run for his money, though many of us had tried. In one of many hushed conversations shared on the jet, he had once told me that he had begun to think of Rossi as somewhat of a father figure; he didn’t quite fill the role in the same way Gideon had, but Spencer was thankful just the same. One look at Rossi’s troubled expression was enough to tell me that the feelings were definitely mutual.

“Oh my God. This can’t be happening.” JJ was positively crestfallen, clutching a hand against her own chest in an attempt to ground herself. Her other hand came up to her face as she absentmindedly pushed her hair away.

“We need Lewis and Walker here, ASAP,” Emily directed her order and Penelope, who was quick to comply.

Everyone sprang into action, but I found myself unable to move, weighed down by the deeply unsettling circumstance. It felt as if I was no longer in my own body, like I was watching everything unfold from an outsider’s perspective. Maybe I am, I thought. Maybe this is all just some horrible nightmare. Any second now, my alarm will go off and this will all be over.

I waited and waited for my alarm to sound, but that never happened. Instead, Emily crouched down in front of me, grasping my arm firmly in her right hand.

“I know how devastated you must be. Trust me, I do,” she sympathized, her deep brown eyes boring into my own. “But Reid’s going to need you now more than ever. You’re his best friend and you know him better than anyone. Did he ever mention to you that he was going to Mexico?”

I shook my head numbly, my motions feeling alien and stilted.

“Never. He told me the same thing he told you; that he was going to Houston for a few days to meet with his mother’s doctor,” I whispered. I feared that if I raised my voice any higher, tears would begin to fall. Maintaining my composure was becoming harder with every passing second, and I wasn’t exactly privy to breaking down in front of my boss. “I guess I don’t know him as well as I thought.”

Emily sighed, letting go of my arm before straightening up.

“Apparently, none of us did. But I know damn well that this has to be a mistake. We’ll get him out of this.”

The apprehension in her voice told me that even she wasn’t sure we could pull this one off.

“This has got to be Scratch,” Tara stated, her voice wafting through the speakers of Luke’s laptop. Emily, Rossi, Luke and I were currently in the jet, on our way to the jail where Spencer was being held. All of us were huddled close together around the computer, listening on with eager ears. “He was laying low, and now we know why.”

“Crossing the border as a fugitive is a huge risk,” Luke pointed out.

“The reward is even greater. He’s been punishing the team, and now his target is Reid.” Emily’s voice was full of frustration and contempt.

“Peter Lewis dropped off the map after attacking Tara’s family,” Stephen chimed in. Not even his deep baritone voice could do anything to calm my frazzled nerves. “Maybe he’s been hiding in Mexico this whole time.”

“We also have to consider that it isn’t related to him,” I murmured. Several pairs of eyes locked on me, shocked. I had been uncharacteristically quiet since this whole ordeal began, limiting my responses to one word replies and hums of acknowledgement. On a normal day, I’d be throwing in my two cents any time I saw fit. Today, I was struggling just to keep breathing.

“Who else would it be?” Rossi asked.

“Drug cartels. Could’ve threatened Reid and used him as a mule.” Saying his name was painful, because it reminded me that we weren’t just talking about a victim with whom we had no personal ties; we were talking about our colleague and beloved friend.

“Agreed,” Rossi nodded. “This could simply be a case of bad luck. Reid was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Spencer’s mom is okay.” JJ’s announcement was like music to my ears. I let out an audible sigh of relief. “The home nurse he hired said all is stable.”

“How long did he tell the nurse he’d be gone?”

“Three days.”

“That sounds reasonable. After the Palm Springs case, Reid said he had to get back to Houston to talk to his mom’s doctor,” Emily interjected. I nodded along in agreement. He’d told me the same thing when I talked to him the night before last.

The fatigue in his voice had alerted me to the fact that things hadn’t been going so well with his mother. Her condition had been rapidly deteriorating in the recent months, prompting Spencer to make the tough decision to remove her from the assisted living facility she was at and into his own apartment. His main argument had been that no one could possibly take better care of his mother that him; that he was familiar with her condition and how best to respond when she had an episode. When I had asked him how he was handling it all, he was quick to reassure me that it was not anything he couldn’t handle.

Spencer’s loyalty ran deep; so deep that I knew he would do anything in his power to take care of Diana, but I’d never imagined that it would land him in fucking jail.

“Well, Houston is only a five-hour drive from the border,” Tara mused. “The question is, why did he go down there?”

“And why does he have narcotics?” Rossi was the first to speak on what was at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

“Yeah, exactly. He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t do that. Those drugs were planted on him,” Penelope insisted.

“Absolutely, but there’s something bigger in play. That’s why he crossed the border and kept it a secret. There’s something he didn’t want to share with any of you.”

I cringed at Stephen’s choice of wording. Spencer and I were as close as two people could be, and there was nothing I withheld from him. He knew everything about me, every dark and embarrassing thought that had ever crossed my mind; yet, he accepted me just the same. I had always assumed that it went both ways, that he was just as honest and forthcoming with me as I was with him. It hurt to know that there were things he kept from me, secrets that he felt he couldn’t trust me with.

But most of all, it absolutely gutted me to think that he was dealing with something so horrible that it landed him in jail, and he that he had to do it all alone.

“Okay, so what would make him risk everything?” Emily pondered aloud.

“His mom.” My answer was instantaneous.

A ping sounded from the other end of the video call, and we all leaning in, our interest piqued.

“Cruz just sent me the arresting report,” Penelope announced, clicking away at her computer before continuing. “It says here that Reid was involved in a high-speed chase.”

“What?” I choked out, my voice coming out several pitches higher than usual. “Spencer hardly ever drives.” I could feel my stomach begin to churn, bile threatening to force its way up my esophagus. This isn’t right, I wanted to scream. Our Spencer would never get himself involved in something that would put himself or others at risk.

“None of this sounds like him,” Penelope whispered, her thoughts mimicking my own. “It says he was wearing jeans and a baseball cap and that he was really confused. According to the arresting officer, he was really high on something.”

Unity, service, respect; ten years sober. All down the fucking drain.

I shot up from my seat, bolting down the walkway and into the bathroom. I immediately fell to my knees, barely managing to push my hair out of the way before retching into the toilet bowl. I continued like this for several minutes, only pausing momentarily when I felt large, soothing hands running up and down my back. Soft murmurings of reassurance alerted me to the fact that it was Luke who was sitting with me. I let out a strained ‘thank you’ before another wave of nausea hit me, rendering me speechless. Luke held my hair back, never once leaving my side.

When I had thrown up the entirety of my breakfast and all I could do was dry heave, I slumped back against the wall, relishing in how cool it felt against my flushed skin. A stretch of silence passed before he decided to break it.

“That was an extreme reaction,” Luke pointed out, still sitting in the floor with his legs crisscrossed. I noticed how closely he was watching me, his eyes focused on reading my expressions. He was profiling me, that much was obvious. It was an unspoken rule between us all that we would never profile one another, but any fight I had left in me had long since dissipated.

“He worked so hard to get clean, Luke. I wasn’t around when it happened, but he told me about it. He was so proud of himself,” I whispered. My throat was now raw and my voice came out more than a little bit hoarse.

Luke’s eyebrows came together, confusion clear on his face.

“Get clean? What are you talking about?”

I let out a shuddery breath. It felt wrong to divulge information on Spencer’s personal life; like I was betraying his trust. Given the circumstance, I supposed he wouldn’t mind, but it still felt treacherous and left a bad taste in my mouth. Sorry, Spence.

“Ten years ago, Reid was kidnapped by an unsub with DID. He kept him in a remote cabin for several days, alternating between beating him senseless and shooting him full of so much hydromorphone that he couldn’t remember his own name. At one point, he even,” I trailed off, hot tears spilling out of my eyes and running down my cheeks. Luke took my hand in his in an act of reassurance, his way of telling me not to rush. Luke hadn’t been with us for long, and our interactions thus far hadn’t gone much farther than conversations about work. Seeing the way he was offering himself up to me as a confidant and shoulder to cry on made me feel guilty for ever having written him off.

Thank God for Luke Alvez.

After a long pause, I managed to continue. “Spencer ended up having a seizure and he died for several minutes. The unsub’s more benevolent personality, Tobias, was able to resuscitate him. Eventually Spencer was able to take him down, but the trauma mixed with the exposure to such a highly addictive drug led to him developing a dependence on it.”

Luke swore and ran a hand through his hair.

“I never would’ve guessed it. The kid carries himself so well.”

A small, fond smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

“He’s amazing, really. He detoxed all by himself and started going to NA meetings. This past October marked ten years. We celebrated by going to one of those really fancy museums he likes and he insisted on taking the guided tour so that he could see how many errors the guide would make,” I let out a light laugh at the memory. “Every time they’d get something wrong, he’d lean down whisper the correct information so that only I could hear it. I don’t think I’d ever seen him that happy,” I reminisced, allowing myself to forget about the current situation for the tiniest of moments. I wondered if I’d ever get to experience a day like that with Spencer ever again.

“You two are close, I take it?”

I nodded. Luke had fit in with the group so seamlessly that I had forgotten that he had only been with us for a short time. He didn’t really know the dynamics of everything yet.

“He’s my best friend.”

Luke hummed, and I could feel his eyes looking at me inquisitively.

“And that boyfriend of yours, he doesn’t mind?” Okay, maybe Luke was a little bit more perceptive than he let on.

Gavin and I had begun dating at the end of my first year with the BAU. He and I had meet in the most cliché of ways; bumping into each other in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. Gavin was more than a little bit handsome, but what had reeled me in had been the way he taken one look at the box of cereal in my cart and immediately scrunched his nose up in disgust.

“Plain Cheerios? Are you some sort of masochist, or something?” he had asked, a playful lilt to his voice. Normally, if a strange man had approached me in public, I would’ve been quick to express my disinterest. If my job had taught me anything, it was that a woman being approached by a strange man was a recipe for trouble. But something about him seemed wholly unthreatening, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his forwardness, raising an eyebrow at him.

“As if your choice is any better. Lucky Charms? What are you, six?”

“Don’t even go there. Lucky Charms are magically delicious, thank you very much,” he sniffed, feigning superiority. “And if we’re touching on the subject of age, the only person I know that eats plain Cheerios is my eighty-six-year-old grandmother. You look a bit young to be worrying about heart health, and I refuse to believe that you actually enjoy the taste, so what gives?”

“First of all, I find it concerning that you are so familiar with cereal slogans,” I breezed, leaning against my shopping cart. “Second, I am curious; do you make it a habit to harass people about their cereal preferences?”

“Only if they’re cute.”

And that had been that. Several dates later he had asked me to be his girlfriend over a dinner he had attempted to make himself. I said yes and he kissed me, nearly knocking over his plate of burnt chicken parmesan in the process.

“We, uh, have an understanding. He knows that Spencer and I are just good friends.”

Gavin and I did have an understanding, but it wasn’t a very solid one. In fact, I was sure that he damn near despised Spencer’s very existence. He had done a good job at hiding it for a while, but after coming home one night from an impromptu movie night with Spencer, he had revealed to me that he had a jealous streak a mile long. I reassured him that there was absolutely nothing that he needed to worry about, but I could tell he didn’t believe a word of it. Gavin had out flat demanded that I cut all ties with Spencer, and I had laughed in his face.

“I’m not the kind of girl that likes to be told what to do. Either you learn to live with him being a part of my life, or you can find someone else to boss around, because I can tell you right now, that won’t fly with me.”

My threat had proven to be effective, and he had apologized, and that had been the end of that. He still wasn’t fond of the idea that Spencer and I were such close friends, but he hadn’t tried to proposition me with any more ridiculous ultimatums.

“That’s good to hear,” Luke hummed, squeezing my hand before rising to his feet. I could tell that he didn’t necessarily buy into what I was saying, but I was thankful that he didn’t press it any further. “What do you say we go back out there. We’ve got to be getting close by now.”

I nodded and he helped me to my feet. I bent down to the faucet, swishing some water in my mouth before spitting it out.

When Luke and I returned to our seats, I was immediately aware of the way Rossi and Emily were eyeing me; like I was a delicate thing that needed to be handled with kid gloves.

I absolutely hated it.

“Sorry about that. It won’t happen again,” I said, before turning my attention back to the video call and saying, “so, what did we miss?”

The police station was surprisingly small. The hallways were narrow and the light bulbs above me gave off an almost green tint, casting an eerie glow on the place. The sounds of disgruntled detainees calling out drifted through the hallways, sounding akin to the moaning of a ghost. My eyes darted around constantly as we walked, the uneasy feeling in my stomach growing with every step we took towards the heart of the precinct.

“Thank you for calling us.” Emily’s words were directed at the police officer, Chief Castenada, who was leading us down the hall. He was a short man with graying hair and a seemingly permanent frown etched into his face. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that he wasn’t happy that four federal agents were in his jail.

“A U.S. fed in our custody isn’t something we see every day,” the man said, his tone entirely unfriendly. I grimaced.

“Have you gotten any of his tox screen panels back yet?” I prodded, quickening the pace of my strides until I was walking alongside him. He looked down at me like I was a pesky gnat that he wanted to bat away.

“No.”

Color me unsurprised.

“You’ll need to expedite that. We have cause to believe that Doctor Reid was drugged.”

“He was definitely high and driving like a bat out of Hell. Not to mention he had $20,000 worth of heroin in his possession,” he sneered, ceasing to walk and staring down at me with distaste. “Both of which put my officers at risk. You’re in our jurisdiction. Don’t forget that. The rules are different here.”

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back with some smart-assery of my own, but a hand at my elbow stopped me. I turned and saw that it was Luke, who nodded his head to the left of us. I looked in the direction he was referring to, and I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.

Just up ahead was a holding cell with several poorly constructed benches in the center of it. On the very first row of seats sat Spencer, who had seemingly retreated in to himself. He was hunched over, his arms wrapped pitifully around himself, much like you’d imagine a child might do to keep warm. Spencer’s clothes were tattered and dirty and a bandage adorned his right hand. His usually beautiful chestnut curls were flying around his head in a mess of tangles and dirt. Despite the fact that Spencer towered over most of us, I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly small he looked.

Even as awful as he looked in his current state, a direct contradiction of the way he usually presented himself, I’d never been happier to lay my eyes on someone in my life.

My feet carried me forward before my brain had time to catch up. I closed the distance between me and the cell, pausing and taking a good, long look at him before allowing myself to speak. He hadn’t noticed me standing there yet. His gaze was instead trained on something at the other end of the room, his eyes red rimmed and glassy and his face completely slack.

“Spence?” I called out, the nickname falling from my lips like a prayer. In a way I suppose it was; a prayer that he was alright, that the horrible things Penelope had told us about were nothing but a horrible lie. At first, I was worried that he hadn’t heard me or that he was too out of his mind to even register the sound of my voice. Just when I opened my mouth to speak again, he turned his head in way that I would have described as comically slow if the situation hadn’t been so serious. The spacey look in his eyes told me that my prayers wouldn’t be answered.

Spencer’s eyes locked with mine, but his face remained completely blank, devoid of all expression. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, until it hit me like a ton of bricks; he had no clue who I was.

I wanted to be mad. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him how could he forget me, of all people. My anger was irrational and unfair, but I couldn’t help it. While I understood that it was no fault of his own, that the drugs coursing through his veins were to blame, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

I swallowed down the emotions that threatened to spill out, pushing them down into the depths of my being. I couldn’t let my emotional attachment hinder my judgment. I needed to be as vigilant as ever, no, more vigilant. The fate of my favorite person in the whole world depended on it.

“It’s me, Y/N,” I explained, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. “It’s good to see you, Spencer. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

He watched me for a moment before standing and making his way to where I was leaning against the bars.

“Y/N,” Spencer murmured when he reached me, as if testing my name out to see how it rolled off of his tongue. His stare was still vacant, but having him in front of me after worrying about his wellbeing for the last five hours was more than enough for now. I’d take him however I could have him. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, we came,” I murmured, my eyes raking over every inch of his body for any signs of distress. Other than the bandage on his hand, he seemed to be in one piece.

Rossi was quick to join me, coming to a stop at my left.

“We’re going to get you out of here, kid,” he reassured, his tone more serious than I’d ever heard it.

“We need to work out some details with the locals, okay?” Emily said, waiting for a response but getting none.

“Who was your contact down here?” Luke asked.

Spencer was quicker to respond this time.

“Rosa,” he mumbled as he grabbed his shirt sleeve and pulled it up. On his inner arm, the name Rosa Medina was written in what was undoubtably his own handwriting. Spencer was notorious around the office for having the worst handwriting. I like to blame it on the fact that he was a doctor, which always elicited a laugh from him. “I think she’s a doctor.”

Luke pulled his phone out from his pocket, snapping a picture of the name.

“Where did you meet her?”

Spencer shook his head and a frown pulled down at the corner of his lips.

“I… I don’t remember.”

“If you saw her, would you remember her?”

Spencer nodded in affirmation.

“You’re missing time, aren’t you?” I asked, causing him to look at me once more. His brows furrowed together and he was nodding again, slightly surer of himself this time.

“It’s peeking out. It’s coming in flashes.”

“And you’ve been drugged?”

I didn’t know it was possible for his face to fall any more, but the look of shame that manifested itself when he registered my words was absolutely heartbreaking.

“Yeah, but I didn’t take it myself,” he insisted, a spark of life burning bright in the depths of his eyes. Somewhere in there, under the haze of narcotics, was the same Spencer that had fought tooth and nail for his sobriety all those years ago. My heart broke for him.

“Of course, you didn’t, Spence. We know that,” I said, almost reaching out to touch him before thinking better of it. “We’re thinking it might be Scratch.”

Just like before, when I had first spoken to him, absolutely no sign of recognition showed itself on his face.

“Scratch,” he muttered detachedly, much the same as before.

Luke’s phone rang then and he excused himself for a moment before stepping away. I looked to Rossi and Emily, who seemed to also be at a loss for words. The silence that filled the room was excruciating, and I once again started to feel like the walls were closing in on me. I wanted nothing more than to scream, to cry out in frustration. The whole situation was unfair in a way that I didn’t think was possible. I was a big believer in karma; put good in and get good out, or something like that. But now, standing outside of a holding cell that looked more like a dungeon than anything, I was ready to throw away that belief entirely.

Of all the people that I know, Spencer was the least deserving of something like this.

Just when I began to consider ducking outside for a breath of fresh air, Luke returned.

“Hey, the team sent this. Is this the doctor you met?” he asked, pointing to a picture of a woman he had pulled up on his phone. The woman was of Mexican descent, with short, choppy gray hair. She appeared to be middle aged, from what I could guess.

Spencer stared at the picture before nodding.

“Her alias is Rosa Medina and her real name is Nadi Ramos. Garcia tracked her to a motel just outside of town. Does that sound familiar?”

�� Spencer’s brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“No.”

“Okay, we’ll need to take Castenada and his officers with us,” Emily announced, before turning and heading towards the door.

“Do you want company here?” Rossi asked.

Spencer seemed to take a moment to process before answering with an almost imperceptible nod. He turned his head and focused his gaze on me.

“Can… Can you stay?”

Rossi turned to face me too, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘are you okay with this?’ I gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile. Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure that I could handle this; the this that I am referring to being a nearly catatonic Spencer Reid. I was used to the Spencer who regaled me with interesting tidbits of information whenever there was a lull in conversation. The Spencer that stood before me now was a shell of his former self, and that terrified me.

“I’ll be fine here. Let me know if you guys find anything,” I told Rossi. He nodded once to me before enveloping me in a tight hug.

“Resta forte mia piccolo colomba,” Rossi murmured in my ear. I hadn’t a clue what the phrase meant, but the words draped over me like a warm blanket. Suddenly the weight of the current situation didn’t seem so heavy, and I felt immensely thankful that a man like David Rossi was in my life.

Rossi pressed his lips to the top of my head before releasing me. He gave one last, despairing look to Spencer before hurrying off after Luke and Emily. It could’ve been the light playing tricks on me, or maybe the exhaustion, but when Rossi turned away from us, I swear I saw tears welling in his eyes.

And then there were two.

I took glance at my watch for the first time all day, cringing when I saw the time to be 8:17PM. Quantico was an hour ahead, meaning Gavin was probably losing his shit wondering where I was. I sighed, fishing my phone out of my back pocket and turning it on.

“Spence, I’m going to make a phone call really quick,” I murmured. He offered no reply, just as I had come to expect. He was watching me, standing stock still in the same place he had been the entire time. I moved to stand in the doorway, hopefully far enough away that he couldn’t hear me anymore.

As soon as my phone booted up, a plethora of notifications came through. Seventeen missed calls and twenty-four unread text messages, to be exact. I decided to forgo reading the messages, instead pressing the return call button and tapping my foot anxiously against the floor. Gavin didn’t keep me waiting long, picking up on the very first ring.

“About time you answer your goddamn phone,” he hissed out. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? I even called your office phone and no one would answer that, either. What the fuck is going on? Where are you?”

“I’m… In Mexico.”

A long pause followed and I held my breath, waiting for the onslaught to begin.

“You left the country without even bothering to tell me?” Gavin asked, his voice raising in volume. I could picture him now; probably sitting on our sofa, fists balled together and jaw clenched. “Would you like to enlighten me as to why you’re in Mexico?”

I closed my eyes, frustration bubbling deep inside me. Today was arguably the shittiest day of my entire life, and I certainly didn’t need Gavin harping on about how I hadn’t been in touch. Honestly, informing him of my whereabouts had been the furthest thing from my mind.

“It’s Spencer,” I began, trying to think of the proper way to word it all. “He got into some… trouble. We think he’s being framed by Scratch.”

“Isn’t that the guy that just went after Tara’s family?”

“Yeah, it is. He’s been laying low for the past few months, and I guess he was just building up to all of this. It’s really bad, Gav,” I whispered the last bit, hoping that Spencer couldn’t hear me. If he did, he made no move that indicated it. “He’s high out of his mind and can’t remember anything.”

“How long will you guys be there?” Gavin asked, completely ignoring the fact that I mentioned Spencer at all. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from saying something I might regret. I understand that he doesn’t like the guy, but he could show some common decency and at least pretend.

“I’m not entirely sure. Rossi, Emily, and Luke just headed out to go check on a lead. I don’t know how long that’ll take.”

“Wait, so, where are you?”

“I’m at the jail with Spencer, why?” I inquired, running my hand through my hair and absentmindedly combing out the knots that had formed. I was sure that I looked a right mess, but I couldn’t be too bothered to care.

“Let me get this straight. They left you alone with a guy who is wasted on God knows what, not knowing how he’ll react to it?” A bitter laugh flowed through the phone speaker. “Sounds like you don’t exactly work with the smartest bunch. What if he tries to attack you or something?”

I let his words hang in the air for a moment, unable to formulate a reply that wasn’t something like you’re being an absolute fucking dick bag right now. No, I was a grown woman and I was going to communicate like one, despite the fact that his ignorant reply was making me shake with rage.

“The first thing I’m going to address is the fact that this is not some guy. We’re talking about my best friend and teammate, and his name is Spencer. Use it,” I said through gritted teeth. “The second thing is that he’s not some wild animal. He’s not going to try to come through the bars and pounce on me. What he’s going through right now is traumatic, and he doesn’t need to be left alone right now. Show some compassion.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m sorry,” Gavin muttered. It was the most unapologetic apology I’d ever heard in my life, prompting me to roll my eyes. I don’t understand how I can love someone and want to throttle them simultaneously. “I’m just worried about you, is all. How are you holding up?”

“I’m as good as can be expected,” I sighed, bringing my free hand up to rub at my eyes. “I’m just tired of watching this guy terrorize all of my friends. First, he takes Hotch from us, then he nearly kills Tara’s brother, and now this. I’m beginning to think we’ll never catch a break.”

“I know you’re tired, baby. Just try to hang on a little bit longer. As much as I question some of their decisions, your team is good at what they do. You guys will catch him. I have faith in you.”

There it is. That’s the Gavin that I fell in love with.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “It’s been a long day and I needed to hear that.” I cast a glance back at Spencer, who was now staring down at his bandaged hand, an indiscernible expression on his face. He looked so lost, standing all alone in the grimy holding cell. The lights cast shadows on his face, making his already angular face look gaunt. The Spencer I knew was the human embodiment of light; filling up every room he was in with his delightfully idiosyncratic presence. The Spencer in the cell was so shrouded in darkness that the room seemed to be swallowing him whole, taking his brilliance and crushing it into smithereens.

“Gav, I think I need to get back in there.”

“Yeah, alright. Just keep me in the loop this time, please. I don’t like not knowing where my girlfriend is.”

“I’ll make sure to check in whenever I can,” I promised, before tacking on a, “love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I pocketed my phone with hands that shook, no longer from rage but from apprehension. I liked to think that I was good at my job. I had done well at the academy; not well enough to have graduated at the top of my class, but I did manage to be in the top ten. After lucking into the job of a lifetime, I had fully committed myself to learning to be the best profiler I could possibly be. Two years of piecing together the innerworkings of criminal minds had taught me more than I ever could have imagined about the human psyche. I had talked many a deranged psychopath down from the ledge, and I had saved more than a few lives along the way. Unfortunately, not all cases can end favorably. Those are the ones that taught me the most.

For all that I learned, nothing could’ve prepared me to deal with the shell of a man that stood before me.

I was standing in front of him now, fiddling nervously with my hands. When Spencer had originally told me about his battle with addiction, I had taken it upon myself to do some research of my own. I wanted to be able to identify the signs, God forbid he ever relapse. While conducting my research, I had read somewhere that the best way to support someone during a come down is by remaining positive and creating a calm, safe environment.

I was currently the antithesis of calm, but for Spencer’s sake, I was going to do my best.

I took a step forward and offered him a small smile.

“I’ve never seen you in jeans and boots before,” I said. I was proud of myself when the words came out sounding relatively casual. “It’s a good look on you, but I have to admit I prefer the academic look. I suppose it’s the sapiosexual in me.”

He gave no response, but the tinniest tug at the corner of his mouth told me that he found my comment amusing.

I let my eyes drag over him again and I fixated on the bandage on his right hand, frowning.

“Do you remember what happened to your hand?”

Spencer raised his hand up, absentmindedly flipping it over and inspecting it.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. Spencer’s usually high pitched voice came out gravely, no doubt a byproduct of dehydration related to the drugs. My eyes skimmed across the holding cell and I frowned when I saw no water fountain in sight.

“M’ gonna go get you some water, okay?” I turned away and pivoted on my heel, taking one step before a hand wrapped around my upper arm. I spun around so fast I nearly caught whiplash.

Spencer’s eyes were wide and full of panic, conveying more emotion than he’d had since we’d arrived. His eyebrows were drawn together as well, contorting his face into a pitiful expression.

“Don’t go,” he rasped, his hand still firmly grasping my arm. “Please.”

The hopelessness in his voice was like a dagger through my heart. I nodded fervently and placed my hand over his, prompting him to loosen his grip. He did, and I took his hand in both of mine. I rubbed my thumbs over his skin, haphazardly tracing patterns in an attempt to calm him.

“Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” I soothed, bringing his hand up to my mouth and placing a chaste kiss to the skin. “I’ve got you, Spence. It’s all going to be okay.”

The look of panic slowly washed away the longer we stood there. He held onto my hands like I was a lifeline, the only thing tethering him to the ground. While I longed for nothing more than to really embrace him, to pull all of him into my arms and hold on for dear life, the bars that separated us inhibited me from doing so. So instead I just relished in the feel of his hand intertwined with my own.

It would have to be enough for now.

Nadi Ramos was dead.

I didn’t have to ask Emily to know that the situation had gone from bad to absolutely fucking terrible. We knew Scratch was a horrendous individual; that much had been proved by his preferred modus operandi. We also knew that he had become fixated on taking down each of us one by one. He’d tried twice with Hotch, even going as far as to target his son, resulting in the two of them joining WITSEC for their own safety. The next blow had come when he had set his sights on Tara, or, more specifically, her brother. We’d gotten lucky with that one, having located and freed her brother just in the nick of time. After the incident with Tara’s brother, we all expected the next attack to come in quick succession. When several months passed with no sign of Scratch, we all became terribly on edge. No one was saying it, but we all were waiting to see which one of us would be next, crossing our fingers and hoping it wouldn’t be us.

I knew that none of us were exempt from Scratch’s wrath, but for some reason, I’d never imagined him targeting Spencer.

And target him he fucking did.

“We know you didn’t do this,” Emily spoke for the group, knowing good and well that we were all on the same page.

“How did it happen?” Spencer’s back was to us. His shoulders were slumped and his face downturned.

“She was stabbed multiple times. It looked personal,” Luke answered, his voice low and careful. It was obvious to us all that he was being extra careful with his wording, making sure to broach the subject carefully. We all knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Spencer was innocent; but that didn’t mean that Spencer did.

Chief Castenada trudged into the holding cell, the portrait of all things cranky and unpleasant. His presence acted as a proverbial storm cloud on an already shitty day.

“We got the results of your blood work. There’s cocaine and heroin in your system.”

“What else?” Emily asked, causing Castenada to give her a confused look.

“He was in possession of cocaine and heroin when he was arrested. I found what I needed.”

I felt myself bristle and before I knew it, my mouth was open and I was spouting out pure venom.

“Thanks so much for doing the bare minimum, but we’re going to need a full tox screen panel. We’re looking for scopolamine.”

Emily’s eyes cut over to me and if I hadn’t been fighting on Spencer’s behalf, I would’ve withered under the weight of the shut the fuck up look she gave me. Instead, I continued on, silently praying I’d still have a job after today.

“It’ll take longer, but we need it,” I explained in what I hoped was a slightly more accommodating tone. Castenada gave a curt nod in reply before exiting the room, grumbling something in Spanish that had Luke and Emily shooting daggers at his retreating figure.

“Do I want to know?”

Luke shook his head, shooting a small smile in my direction.

“Let’s just say he’s not your biggest fan, and we’ll leave it at that,” he offered, before straightening out his expression and turning back to Spencer. “You were given a speed ball. The opiates block the dopamine in your brain. That’s why things go from clear to hazy. The combination of the drugs causes a dissociative state and explains the memory loss. Are you coming down now?”

“I think so,” Spencer said. His cadence wasn’t as slow as it had been earlier, which was a relief.

“Do you think you could do a cognitive interview?” Emily’s voice was hopeful, and if Spencer was one thing, it was a people pleaser. It was obvious that he was overwhelmed; I had taken note of the fact that he was displaying one of his nervous ticks. Spencer was touching the pad of his thumb on the tips of his other fingers in rapid succession. Despite his obvious discomfort, he nodded his head in agreeance.

“I’ll try.”

Rossi took the lull in conversation as an opportunity to hold up the plastic bag in his hand. I narrowed my eyes at it inquisitively. There were five vials of a murky, dark brown liquid in the bag.

“There were five of these in your bag at the motel. Do you recognize them?”

Spencer’s eyes zeroed in on the bag and its contents, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t long until a look of partial recognition flashed across his face. It was so faint that if he hadn’t been in a room of profilers, it would’ve gone unnoticed.

“What is it?” I asked from my place at his side. He’d been somewhat clingy since the incident that had transpired while everyone was at the motel, gravitating towards me as soon as we all had been granted entrance to the holding cell. I knew that he needed familiarity right now; he was in a very vulnerable state and he needed something that made him feel safe and secure.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach when I had realized what he was doing, that I was that thing that made him feel safe and secure.

Spencer opened his mouth once before closing it, as if trying to put his thoughts into words was difficult. He did this a few more times before settling on,

“Whatever’s in those vials, I was giving it to my mom,” he said, his eyes darting around the room as he spoke. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”

“I’ll have them run it through the lab,” Rossi said, before leaving and heading towards the direction in which Castenada had retreated.

Emily and Luke were quick to hop into a rushed conversation, leaving only Spencer and I still in the cell. I looked up at him, at the way his forehead creased as he bit his lip in quiet contemplation.

“Are you sure you’re ready for a cognitive? I know the effects may be wearing off, but you’re gonna be cloudy for a while. If you don’t want to do it now, all you have to do is say the word,” I murmured, keeping my voice low so that only he could hear it. “I can tell that you’re a bit overwhelmed, and that’s okay.”

Spencer’s response came in the form of a shrug of his shoulders.

“I want to try, because I know it’s important. I just don’t know that it will be of much help,” he replied, casting his eyes down to me.

“Yes, it is important, but don’t put too much pressure on yourself. We’ll figure this out even if you can’t remember it all right now.”

Spencer nodded once before running his tongue across his chapped bottom lip.

“I don’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill her,” he whispered, barely audible. Even though his words were quiet, I could hear the desperation in them; almost as if he was begging me to believe them, begging himself to believe them.

I made the irrational decision then to throw professionalism aside and wrap both of my arms around his torso, my grip tight and assured. Spencer’s aversion to touch was common knowledge amongst us all, but for some reason that never seemed to apply to me, and I could see in his eyes that the way we were all treating him like he was fragile was wounding him more than he would ever admit. I hoped to remedy that with my embrace, and the speed in which he reciprocated was so fast that I was certain he was thankful. He wrapped his injured hand around my waist, the other finding purchase in my hair. I felt his chest move as he let out a shuddering breath.

“I know you didn’t, Spence. Everyone on the team knows you didn’t,” I reassured him, my words muffled as my face was pressed against his chest. “And we’re not going to stop until everyone else knows it, too.”

I was well aware that our embrace had garnered the attention of our teammates, but Spencer’s hold on me hadn’t faltered in the slightest, so I didn’t let mine either. Instead, I gripped the fabric of his flannel shirt tighter in my hands.

When Emily exited the room in which they had conducted the cognitive interview, the look on her face was grim. I visibly cringed at the sight as I felt the sliver of hope that I had left die a miserable death.

We are so beyond fucked.

“How’s he doing?” Rossi asked, obviously taking note of the distress on Emily’s face.

“He’s made some breakthroughs, but I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be,” she sighed, running a hand through her jet-black hair. When none of us spoke, Emily’s eyes flitted around, finally noticing that our expressions were a direct reflection of her own. “What is it?”

“They just charged Reid with the murder of Nadi Ramos.”

Hearing it said aloud wasn’t any easier the second time.

While the rest of us had taken it upon ourselves to lean against the cement walls, Luke had begun pacing down the short hallway. After about ten minutes of unbearable silence, he decided he’d had enough.

“We can’t get him out of here, can we?” he finally spoke, his voice a mix of anger and desperation.

“I don’t know how.”

“He didn’t kill her,” I reiterated, speaking more to myself than the three of them.

“If all I had to go on was the evidence, I would swear he did,” Rossi sighed. I knew he was right; Spencer’s personal belongings were all over the hotel room, which was about as incriminating as you could get. “But knowing Reid, hearing the cognitive…”

“Yes, he said there was another person in that motel room, but,” Emily pressed play on the audio recording, and her voice proceeded to flow through the speakers.

“Who has the knife? Who is stabbing Rosa?”

“I don’t know. It’s in my hand.”

Emily pressed the power button and the screen went black.

“Right now, this is just more evidence against him.”

“So, what do we do now? Do we just sit and twiddle our thumbs until the consulate agrees to the extradition?” I asked. “There’s got to be more we can do. We can’t let them take him to jail, he won’t survive in there.”

“I called in some help from IRT. Clara Seger and Matt Simmons will be arriving at any moment,” Emily said, checking her phone after hearing it ping. “In fact, that would be them. They’re here.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as we all fell into step beside Emily. Having people from other areas of expertise that are willing to help is a good thing. Maybe they’ll be able to see something that we didn’t.

“We come bearing good news,” I announced, leading the group as we all entered the holding cell. Spencer was quick to turn around and the corners of his lips pulled upwards as he set his sights on all of us. “Back up is here.”

“Hey Spencer,” Matt greeted, offering up a small smile before crossing his arms across his chest.

“Hey,” Spencer replied, moving to stand up from his spot on the bench. He was still a little wobbly on his feet, but he was doing much better than he was when we had arrived. “Thank you for coming.”

“Yeah, of course. Jack and me are finishing up a case in Costa Rica, so we hopped on a commercial plane to get here,” Clara explained.

“We’re trying to stop you transfer to El Diablo.”

Spencer’s eyes darted over to me and he swallowed hard before speaking.

“Do you think it’s possible?” Hearing the hope in his voice tugged at my heart strings. The way that he could manage to stay optimistic at time like this was a true testament to his character.

“Yes,” Clara began. “Lab reports on the vials came back and some of what was in there hasn’t been approved by the FDA, but there aren’t any illegal substances.”

“That’s great news,” I sighed, letting out the breath that I didn’t know I had been holding.

“Is there anything else you remember about your time here?”

“I remember what happened to the vials at home. My mom threw most of them out.”

“So, that’s why you were here. To get more,” Clara said in an attempt to clarify.

“It must be,” Spencer murmured, shuffling anxiously from one foot to the other.

“Well, you’re off the hook for that. There’s no contraband involved,” Matt announced. Okay, this is good. One less thing to worry about.

“Yeah, but we’re still looking at the planted drug and the murder charges, which could keep you here for a long time.”

“Can we do anything to delay the transfer?” I wondered aloud. Clara took into account what I said and sighed, before turning towards Spencer once again.

“You said that you met Nadi, who calls herself Rosa, in Houston. Why didn’t she just give you the vials in the U.S.?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer said, running his uninjured hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but she helped us and I trusted her. I was right to. I still believe that.”

“Well, she convinced you to cross the border multiple times. She had you risk your life,” Matt argued.

“Because she must have something to lose, too,” I mumbled, eliciting a series of fervent nods from Clara. “Family, maybe?”

“We need to know more about her,” Clara said.

And then, something glorious happened. It was like a switch had flipped inside of Spencer’s head, and all of the sudden the lights were back on. I could tell that he had been struck with an idea, and it was a wonderous sight to behold.

“What was in those vials?” Spencer asked, only solidifying my observation.

Matt produced a paper with the lab results and began reading off the results.

“There are so nootropic compounds like Ampalex, uh, but also some more natural stuff; coral calcium, jimson weed, coconut oil, a variety of vitamins. B12, D3-”

“Where are we right now?” Spencer interjected.

“Matamoros, Northern Mexico.”

“Jimson weed, otherwise known as the Devil’s Snare, originated in Mexico but its natural growing region is further north or south of the border,” Spencer said, his words flowing out rapidly. I felt my heart soar and I didn’t even try to suppress the smile that fought its way to my face.

“Boy Genius is back,” I announced, and for just a moment, the mood in the room lightened for the first time all day.

“So, if it isn’t from here, then were did she get it?” Clara asked.

“Let me get Garcia on,” Emily murmured, dialing the number and tapping her foot as it rang. On the third ring, Penelope’s bright and cheerful voice filled the room, a sunbeam shining through on a cloudy day.

“Please tell me you’re calling to tell me some good news.”

“Garcia, I have some questions for you.”

“Hey, Penelope,” Matt greeted, earning a pleasantly surprised gasp from the woman on the other end.

“Oh my God, it’s the dulcet tones of Matt Simmons,” Penelope gushed. “Are you there to save the day?”

“I’m trying. Clara’s here, too.” A relieved sigh floated through the speakers.

“Knowing we have you guys as backup is providing me some much-needed hope, and I work better this way.”

“Hey, lady,” Clara greeted. “We’re trying to catch up on a few things. Where is Nadi Ramos from?” Before Clara even managed to finish her sentence, the sound of Garcia’s acrylic nails tapping away at her keyboard could be heard.

“Mm she lives with her family just north of Matamoros.”

“That must be where she got the jimson weed,” Emily pointed out.

“What’s weird in she crosses the border, like, a lot.”

“Why?”

“Well, she works in Houston at that clinic, but she also helps at a low-income healthcare center. I can’t find a visa on her, which is double weird. And, in finishing the weird trifecta, there’s a social security number on her W2 form.”

“Social security? She’s an American citizen?” I asked. Matt confirmed my suspicions with a nod of his head.

“Yeah, she had dual citizenship. She was born in Houston, and her family had to move back to Mexico. She lives with them and she works in the U.S.”

“This changes everything. We need to talk to the consulate,” Emily stated.

Just as things were beginning to look up, Chief Castenada decided to grace us with his presence once more; and this time, he had an entourage.

“It’s time for his transfer,” Castenada announced, looking pointedly in my direction.

“We’ve had a break in the case,” Emily argued, shaking her head at him. “The victim was also American, and that calls for extradition.”

Castenada merely shrugged before walking past us all.

“I’ve got orders, sorry,” he muttered, making Gavin’s apology from earlier in the day sound heartfelt in comparison. Castenada wasted no time in beginning to place handcuffs on Spencer, locking them in place with a definitive click. Spencer and I shared a look of panic before both of us looked towards Emily in a silent plea.

One of the men roughly grabbed Spencer by the arm and led him from the room. I watched in horror as they led him away, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. I barely registered the fact that Emily was now on the phone. I just stood there, staring blankly at the entrance to the cell.

“With the victim having dual citizenship, we now have concurrent jurisdiction. It was my understanding that the official order to extradite SSA Spencer Reid would be evaluated,” Emily damn near snarled into the phone. She paused for a moment, listening to the voice on the other line, before a look of relief washed over her face. “I understand, thank you.” She promptly hung up the phone before turning to face Luke. “They’re taking it to their brass. Go get him.”

Luke took off in a rush, not needing to be told twice.

I only wished I could be there to see the look on Castenada’s face.

“We’re working on all channels here. Matt Cruz is on with the consulate right now. We could get an immediate extradition, but it’s just the beginning,” Emily explained, her voice stern.

Spencer regarded her with a weary expression. The drug induced haze had finally lifted, leaving him painfully aware of how dire the situation was.

“I really screwed up and I’m so sorry,” he choked out, resulting in a crack forming in Emily’s hard exterior. I couldn’t blame her; it wasn’t easy to stay mad at Spencer Reid. Spencer’s eyes were like kryptonite to most; big and brown and full of emotion. I’m sure if you searched ‘puppy dog eyes’ in the dictionary, a picture of Spencer Reid would be found in example.

“It was for the right reason.”

“I can’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill anyone.” It was obvious in the way that he kept repeating the words that he was desperate for us to believe him. No amount of calm reassurance from us could quell the voice in his head that was surely telling him that we thought him guilty.

“We do, too.”

Clara was first to enter the cell, immediately followed by Matt.

“Hey, they approved the extradition,” Clara announced, smiling brightly at the three of us.

“Effective immediately,” Matt added on.

We all exchanged relieved smiles before Matt and Clara led Spencer from the cell. Emily and I were quick to follow, right on Matt’s heels when we were stopped by Castenada.

“I must point out that I feel like justice isn’t exactly being served with this move.”

I pursed my lips together. In the short time we had been in Mexico, my feelings towards the man had grown from distaste to almost a full-blown hatred. That being said, I couldn’t help but understand where he was coming from. If Spencer hadn’t been a federal agent, he wouldn’t be granted the privilege of the extradition. Nor would he be allowed to fly home with us. I hated to admit it, but Castenada made a valid point.

“I understand, but I can assure you that this has gone to the highest ranks and there will be a full investigation,” Emily reassured him.

“Thank you for working with us,” I offered in an attempt to smooth over the rift I had created earlier. Now that my judgement wasn’t so clouded by my need to defend Spencer, I could see the error of my ways. I hadn’t been the most professional.

Castenada nodded once in my direction before turning his attention back to Emily.

“For our reports, I would like to have the recording of that cognitive interview.”

I felt my blood run cold. That interview would just add to the list of things that could be used against Spencer in court. He had openly admitted to holding the murder weapon in his own hands, an admission that would surely earn him twenty to life.

We cannot give him that recording.

Emily seemed to be on the same page as I was.

“I didn’t record it.”

Castenada’s face contorted into an ugly frown.

“But that was our agreement,” he squawked angrily.

“I determined he was still under the influence. Anything he said wouldn’t have clarified matters.”

Castenada’s gaze never faltered, eyeing Emily in an attempt to discern if she was giving him the run around. Luckily, Castenada was unable to find a hint of dishonesty on Emily’s face, and he nodded in resignation.

Years of profiling will teach you how to control your micro expressions.

“You’re committed agents. And I’ve worked with the IRT before. I trust you know what you’re doing.”

“We do. I promise,” I stated, my voice giving off more confidence than I felt. Yes, I thought to myself, there’s no doubt that we’re good at what we do.

But so is Scratch.

All was quiet on the jet, the steady thrum of the engine being the only sound that could be heard. Rossi had been the only one able to fall asleep, something that I would be sure to tease him about later. Next to Rossi sat Emily, who had busied herself with flipping through Spencer’s arresting report. Clara and Matt sat across from them, engulfed in their own hushed conversation.

Spencer had opted to sit on the couch, but he didn’t allow himself to sprawl out like he normally would have done. He was visibly exhausted, wiping at his eyes frequently in an attempt to keep the fatigue at bay. It was almost like he was punishing himself; like he didn’t feel he deserved the solace that sleep would bring.

“You should go talk to him. See if you can’t get him to lay down,” Luke whispered encouragingly from his seat beside mine.

“I have no idea what to say to him,” I confessed. I tore my gaze away from Spencer and turned my attention to Luke. “There’s nothing I can say that will make this any better.”

“You’re not wrong about that, but maybe just letting him know you’re here for him will help. Just go and sit with him, I’m sure he could use a friend right now.”

Luke was right. I let out a dramatic sigh before shooting Luke a pointed look.

“Since when did you get so insightful?”

A grin stretched its way across his face.

“Always have been, sweetness. It’s part of my charm. I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.”

“And on that note, I’ll be going,” I announced, standing up from my seat and walking the short distance to the couch. Luke’s chuckles sounded off behind me and I couldn’t help but smile; note to self, make more of an effort to get to know Luke Alvez.

I approached slowly, hoping not to startle him as he seemed to be lost in his own world. He didn’t notice me until I came to a stop in front of the couch. Spencer’s head shot up suddenly, the worry on his face melting away to form a small smile.

“Hi,” I greeted, returning his smile tenfold. “You looked like you could use some company. Do you mind if I sit?”

Spencer gave me a soft smile and scooted over, patting at the space next to him. I lowered myself onto the couch, angling my body so it was facing him.

“You’re tired,” I observed, leaning back into the soft cushions. Spencer shrugged in reply, opening his mouth to argue, only for a yawn to slip out. I let out a light laugh. “Don’t even try to argue. There’s no telling how long you’ve been up. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

Spencer’s eyes reluctantly met mine and I felt almost paralyzed when I saw the sheer vulnerability in them.

“Researchers from the University of Cardiff conducted a two-part study looking at whether people’s daily frustration or fulfilment of their psychological needs, such as feeling autonomous or competent, affects their dreams. The results from the first study showed that people who were frustrated with their daily situation tended to have recurring dreams in which they were falling, failing or being attacked,” he rasped out, his words jumbling together as they fell from his mouth in rapid succession. “The lead author on the study concluded that negative dream emotions may directly result from distressing dream events, and might represent the psyche’s attempt to process and make sense of particularly psychologically challenging waking experiences.”

“And you’re worried your dreams will reflect what happened today.”

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek before nodding in affirmation.

“I can’t promise you that you won’t dream about those things,” I began, my voice coming out soft. “But I can tell you that sleep deprivation can cause lots of very unfortunate symptoms like impaired memory, reduced physical strength, and inability to concentrate. Do you know how I know those things?”

A light flush dusted over the tops of his cheeks.

“Probably because I’ve made it a habit to bore you with my information dumps.”

I shook my head adamantly, reaching a hand up and ruffling up his hair. He batted my hand away, ducking his head to try and hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“Never a bore, Spence. But yes, I know those things because of you and that remarkable brain of yours. And we’re going to need that remarkable brain in tip top shape if we want to get you out of this mess, understood?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he relented.

I patted a hand on my lap, an invitation for him to use me as a pillow. He seemed hesitant, eyes flitting from my face before going back down to my lap.

“Don’t act shy around me, Pretty Boy. I know better than anyone that you’re a secret cuddle bug,” I teased, earning a snort from the man next to me.

“Am not,” he harrumphed, before deciding to take me up on my offer. He laid his head down on my lap before stretching his legs out across the expanse of the couch. My heart lurched pitifully when he nuzzled his head into my leg before letting out a loud sigh.

“Thank you,” Spencer whispered, voice thick with emotion. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, casting tiny shadows on his face. I smiled at the sight and began carding my hands through his hair.

“No need to thank me,” I murmured, raking my nails against his scalp and eliciting a pleased hum from him. “Don’t you worry about a thing, okay? We’re going to get you out of this. I know we will. And don’t worry about your mom, either; I’m going to check on your mom every day, I promise.”

Spencer’s breathing stuttered at the mention of Diana, and I worried I had crossed a line. He stayed silent for a moment, before moving his hand up and squeezing my knee.

“You’re entirely too good to me.”

“Yeah, well, you’d do the same for me. That’s what friends are for.”

No more words were exchanged, and within five minutes Spencer’s breathing evened out and he was asleep.

Several hours later, we were all filing out of the elevator and into the bullpen. I shivered slightly as the cool air hit my bare arms, but I tried not to show my discomfort. I’d shrugged off my sweater and offered it to Spencer the moment we stepped off the jet, draping it across his cuffed hands in an attempt to conceal them. Spencer had thanked me with a pitiful smile and I returned the sentiment, blinking several times to try and stifle the tears pooling in my eyes.

JJ was the first to greet him, with Stephen, Tara and Penelope following closely behind. I watched on for a moment before my attention was pulled elsewhere. Stephen’s phone had rung, prompting him to slip away from the group and retreat further down the hall. I furrowed my brow at this, taking advantage of my colleagues’ distraction as I wandered towards Stephen. I strained to hear his whispered words, but just as soon as I neared, he ended the call.

“What was that about?” I asked quietly. The look on his face told me that the news couldn’t be good, and I didn’t want to ruin the reunion going on just down the hall. They all deserved a few moments of relief.

Stephen let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair before speaking.

“I, uh, just got a call. Reid isn’t eligible for the bureau’s legal assistance.”

Stephen’s words sent a jolt of white-hot dread through me. “How is that even possible?” “Spencer went without being briefed, and he wasn’t in Mexico on government business. They refuse to represent him.”

I let my wary eyes drift down the hall, towards the group of wonderful misfits that I had grown to think of as family;

Penelope, whose optimism never wavered, even in the face of the absolute worst that the world had to offer.

JJ, a devoted mother with a heart of gold and a fierceness that inspired me every single day.

Tara, one of the most intelligent and caring women I had ever had the privilege to know.

Rossi, a father figure to all with enough wisdom to create a legacy that would inspire generations of profilers to be.

Emily, a fearless leader whom I trusted with my life and would follow into battle without question.

Luke, a newcomer who took special care to comfort me when I was at my worst.

Spencer, a man too remarkable to even try to describe with words. A man that anyone of us would defend until our very last breath.

That undeniable truth gave birth to the tiny sliver of hope growing inside of me. Spencer Reid was innocent, and we are all hellbent on proving it.

I nodded once in affirmation, more to myself than to Stephen, before allowing myself to meet his gaze.

“We’re on our own.”

And if anyone could pull this off, it was this team. My team.

There is a point when facing the unknown stops being a longed-for adventure and becomes a terrifying reality.

-Storm Constantine

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