#Day Care and Child Abuse Cases

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Day Care and Child Abuse Cases

Copied with permission from https://ritualabuse.us/ritualabuse/articles/day-care-and-child-abuse-cases/

This page has information on the McMartin Preschool Case, Michelle Remembers, the Fells Acres – Amirault Case, the Wenatchee, Washington Case, the Dale Akiki Case, the Glendale Montessori – Toward case, the Little Rascals Day Care Center case, Fran’s Day Care case, the Baran case, the Halsey case, the West Memphis 3 case, the Friedman’s case,   the Christchurch Civic Creche sex abuse – Peter Ellis case, the Ramona case and the West Point Day Care Case.

This page describes the alleged crimes against children and convictions in many of these cases. Sexual Abuse in Day Care: A National Study – Executive Summary – March 1988 – Finklehor, Williams, Burns, Kalinowski “The study identified 270 “cases” of sexual abuse in day care meaning 270 facilities where substantiated abuse had occurred involving a total of 1639 victimized children….This yielded an estimate of 500 to 550 reported and substantiated cases and 2500 victims for the three-year period. Although this is a large number, it must be put in the context of 229,000 day care facilities nationwide service seven million children….allegations of ritual abuse (“the invocation of religious, magical or supernatural symbols of activities”) occurred in 13% of the cases.” The authors divided these cases into “true cult-based ritual,” pseudo-ritualism” with a primary goal of sexual gratification and ritual being used to intimidate the children from disclosing and “psychopathological ritualism” the activities being “primarily the expression of an individuals obsessional or delusional system.” http://www.eric.ed.gov/PDFS/ED292552.pdf

The McMartin Preschool Case – What Really Happened and the Cover-up

http://ritualabuse.us/ritualabuse/articles/mcmartin-preschool-case-what-really-happened-and-the-coverup/ describes crimes of abuse Satanism Linked To Scores of U.S. Child Abuse Cases Edward W. Lempinen. San Francisco Chronicle 11/5/87 p. A1 Satanism and cult rituals have been linked to scores of child-molestation cases nationwide in the past five years, including dozens in California. Children as young as 2 and 3 years old have come forward with harrowing tales of drinking blood, animal sacrifices and sexual abuse as part of rituals, according to law enforcement investigators, child abuse experts and parents. Others have even talked of cannibalism and ritual sacrifice of children. After hearing similar tales over and over from people across the country, many investigators and child abuse experts now have come to believe in the unbelievable….In San Francisco, police confirmed last week that they are investigating reports by a 3-year-old girl who claimed that she was taken from a day-care center at the Presidio Army base and driven to a home where she was molested by two men in costumes. Police suspect that the home was the headquarters of the Temple of Set, a Nazi-Satanic group, and they have listed the temple’s high priest as a possible suspect. No arrests have been made. Investigators and parents have declined to give details of the cases of at least 58 children who attended the Presidio Child Development Center, fearing that they might jeopardize the prosecution of a former day-care worker. But in other cases across the nation, experts say there is striking evidence of ritualized sexual abuse that recurs in case after case: — At West Point, N.Y., Army families have pressed an investigation into widespread child abuse at a military day-care center in 1983 and 1984….But an increasingly influential group of legal, psychological and medical experts say they are beginning to amass considerable testimony and circumstantial evidence of cult and Satanic abuse nationwide – and dating back four generations or more. Sandi Gallant, an intelligence officer with the San Francisco police and one of the nation’s most influential experts on cults, cautions that many cases are proving unfounded. But she says that there have been 60 to 70 “solid” cases of ritual sexual abuse in the past few years nationwide. She and others have heard hundreds of children and adult – people who have never met and who live a continent apart – tell stories that are fundamentally the same. “Independently, the victims are describing incredibly similar circumstances,” said Catherine Gould, a clinical psychologist in the Los Angeles district of Encino who has counseled dozens of children who claim they were molested in rituals.

verification of the accuracy of the book “Michelle Remembers“by Michelle Smith and Lawrence Pazder, MD from the book “A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER” pages xi – xiii”

“Dr. Pazder’s credentials are impressive. He obtained his M.D. from the University of Alberta in 1961; his diploma in tropical medicine from the University Liverpool in 1962; and in 1968, his specialist certificate in psychiatry and his diploma in psychological medicine from McGill University. In 1971, he was made a fellow of Canada’s Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons. He is a member of three Canadian professional associations and of the American Psychiatric Association as well. He practiced medicine in West Africa and has participated in medical task forces and health organizations. He has been chairman of the Mental Health Committee of the Health Planning Council for British Columbia. A member of the staff of two hospitals in Victoria, British Columbia -the Royal Jubilee and the Victoria General-he is in private practice with a group of five psychiatrists. His professional papers include a study of the long-term effects of stress upon concentration-camp victims. Two experienced interviewers journeyed to Victoria and talked to Dr. Pazder’s colleagues, to the priests and the bishop who became involved in the case, to doctors who treated Michelle Smith when she was a child, to relatives and friends. From local newspaper, clergy, and police sources they learned that reports of Satanism in Victoria are not infrequent and that Satanism has apparently existed there for many years. Satanism in Western Canada flourished in many areas with activities far more ominous than some of the innocuous groups now found in parts of the United States who claim some connection with Satanism. The source material was scrutinized. The many thousands of pages of transcript of the tape recordings that Dr. Pazder and Michelle Smith made of their psychiatric sessions were read and digested; they became the basis of this book. The tapes themselves were listened to in good measure, and the videotapes made of some of his sessions were viewed. Both the audio and video are powerfully convincing. It is nearly unthinkable that the protracted agony they record could have been fabricated.” Thomas B. Congdon, Jr New York April 22, 1980

Alison Miller https://ritualabuse.us/smart/alison-miller/ I can add more about “Michelle Remembers.” Larry Pazder practised in the same city as me, Victoria, British Columbia, Canada. I knew him slightly and once shared a case of a teenage boy with DID caused by abuse by a babysitter. It was in Victoria that I encountered my first four survivors of organized abuse, and they were all members of the same coven of a Satanic cult, the Serpents. They shared past and (then, early 90s) current memories of abuse by that cult. Some of their parents were leaders in the cult. They remembered rituals at the same locations that Michelle reported (in particular, Ross Bay cemetery.) Although I disagree with Dr. Pazder in interpreting such things as the appearance of Satan literally (such groups use elaborate staged deceptions), I have no question that he and Michelle were talking about very real events. At the time, there was no knowledge of such organized abuse and no understanding of how to treat survivors. Dissociative disorders were not understood, so when Michelle “became” a 5 year old child, Dr. Pazder probably didn’t understand that it was an inside part or that there might have been more such parts. He also made the assumption that the events she remembered had happened only for the year when she was five, but they were probably ongoing for years, since a parent took her to those events. I have no knowledge of whether the cult left Michelle alone after she was treated by and then married Dr. Pazder, but judging by the group’s behavior when I was treating survivors (see Chapter 1 of my book Healing the Unimaginable), I would guess that the perpetrator group would work hard on making sure she remembered nothing more. Alison Miller —————————– Alison Miller PHD Retired Psychologist Private Practice (was in) Victoria, B.C.

Fells Acres – Amirault Case

http://web.archive.org/web/20010719201703/http://www.vocal-nasvo.org/hardoon.htm Letters to the Editor: The Real Darkness Is Child Abuse WALL STREET JOURNAL (J) 02/24/95 excerpts: As the chief prosecutor of both of the Amirault cases I am writing to prevent the public from being misled into believing that an injustice occurred as Dorothy Rabinowitz alleges in her Jan. 30 editorial-page piece “A Darkness in Massachusetts.” Her suggestion that the convictions were based on “some of the most fantastic claims ever presented” presumptuously ignores the reality of the cases. The three Amiraults — Gerald, Violet and Cheryl – were convicted after two trials before different judges and juries almost one year apart. They were represented by able and well-known defense counsel. The convictions were upheld after review by state and federal appellate courts. The McMartin case in California was the result of a botched legal system and Kelly Michaels’s conviction was overturned because of legal errors. Contrary to Ms. Rabinowitz’s implication, the Amirault convictions were neither of these. Studies show, as did testimony from a nationally recognized pediatric gynecologist, that most sexually molested young children have absolutely normal physical examinations. However, in Amirault, the majority of the female children who testified had some relevant physical findings, as did several female children involved in the investigation who did not participate in the trial. The findings included labial adhesions and hymenal scarring of the sort present in a very small percentage of non-sexually abused children. Ms. Rabinowitz’s article is a superficial, one-sided look at a case handled extensively and carefully by the legal system. The victims and their families in these cases have been irrevocably harmed by what was done to them by the Amiraults. Every argument raised by Ms. Rabinowitz was ably presented by the defense at the trials. The juries, by their verdicts, rejected these arguments. Justice was done. see for actual case evidence http://abusearticles.wordpress.com/category/commonwealth-vs-amirault/ http://abusearticles.files.wordpress.com/2007/12/common -vs-amirault-424-mass-618-page-624.jpg http://abusearticles.files.wordpress.com/2007/12/common-vs-amirault-424-mass-618-page-622.jpg “All nine children testified in a broadly consistent way…The children testified to numerous instances of sexual abuse. Some of the children testified that they were photographed during this abuse, describing a big camera with wires, a red button, and pictures which came out of the camera. The children testified that the defendant threatened them and told them that their families would be harmed if they told anyone about the abuse….The Commonwealth also presented a pediatric gynecologist and pediatrician who examined five of the girls who testified…She made findings consistent with abuse in four of the girls.” Amirault’s accusers reveal their faces, and their pain Boston Herald – Boston, Mass. – Peter Gelzinis – Aug 7, 2001

Mass. Victims Fight Commutation Plea By Leslie Miller, Associated Press Writer http://web.archive.org/web/2001080701133 0/http://dailynews.yahoo.com/h/ap/20010802/us/preschool_abuse_3.html excerpts: CAMBRIDGE, Mass. (AP) – Victims in the Fells Acres child abuse case broke down Thursday as they described their pain publicly for the first time in hopes of keeping the last person convicted in the case behind bars. Victims urged her to keep Amirault in prison. “During counseling meetings as a child, I would speak of a tall man touching me and taking pictures of me,” Phaedra Hopkins, 20, said at an emotional news conference. “So many times, Mr. Amirault hovered over me, touched me and hurt me and committed many disgusting acts of abuse.” Those children, now adults, stood by their testimony Thursday. “This family raped me, molested me and totally ruined my life,”said Jennifer Bennett, who was 3 1/2 years old when she started at Fells Acres. “We weren’t coaxed. We weren’t lying. We’re telling the truth and we always will,” said Bennett, 22. “I was there. None of you were there. We weren’t coaxed, nor were we ever ever ever brainwashed.”Brian Martinello, 21, said he was sexually abused by Amirault. His mother, Barbara Standke, claims her son came home from the day care with sores on his genitals and other people’s underwear. “I think it’s an absolute disgrace to let anyone out of prison for such a disgusting crime,” Martinello said. Governor explains Amirault decision Says she needed to ‘live with myself’ By Douglas Belkin and Frank Phillips, Globe Staff, 2/21/2002 In her announcement, Swift said her first consideration was whether there was ”overwhelming evidence” to contradict the jury conviction and two decisions by the Supreme Judicial Court upholding the verdict. ”I concluded there was not,” she said. Swift said that she also considered the two guidelines for a commutation: that the sentence is too severe and that the person had made ”exceptional strides in self-development.” ”Again, my answer was no,” Swift said. ”I concluded after that review that the jury and the Supreme [Court] decisions should be upheld and that under the commutation guidelines commutation was not warranted,” Swift said….But ultimately, she said, she concluded that the sentence was appropriate and consistent with other cases. Pressed on how she could come up with a far different judgment than the five members of the Parole Board, Swift said her staff conducted ”a more exhaustive review of all of the legal aspects” than the board did. http://web.archive.org/web/20020221235441/http://www.boston.com/dailyglobe2/052/metro/Governor_explains_Amirault_decision+.shtml Witness praises Amirault decision By John Ellement, Globe Staff, 2/23/2002 CAMBRIDGE – Jen Bennett wants to give Acting Governor Jane Swift a bear hug in appreciation, and she wants Gerald Amirault to admit he sexually abused her when she attended the Fells Acres Day Care Center in Malden in the 1980s. Bennett was one of nine children who testified against Amirault during his three-month trial in 1986, which ended with his conviction on multiple rape and molestation charges. He was sentenced to 30 to 40 years in prison….As for Amirault, ”I want to say to Mr. Amirault: Admit your guilt, you did this. He is where he is supposed to be. I will fight against you to the end. He destroyed my childhood.” Harriett Dell’Anno, whose daughter was one of the victims, echoed Bennett’s insistence that children were sexually violated and also thanked Swift for keeping Amirault in prison….Hardoon also said the quality of the investigation and the actions of prosecutors, police, and social workers working with the children were all scrutinized intensely during Gerald Amirault’s trial – and still the jury convicted. He said Amirault supporters are focusing on 2 percent of the children’s claims that ”seem inexplicable and they are conveniently ignoring the 98 percent of the case that was overwhelming” against Amirault.…Middlesex District Attorney Martha Coakley, who inherited the case from former district attorneys Scott Harshbarger and Thomas F. Reilly, said Amirault’s insistence that he is innocent does not make it true. She drew a parallel between John Geoghan, the former Catholic priest sentenced to 9 to 10 years in prison Thursday for molesting a child. Like Amirault, Geoghan insisted that he, too, was innocent, she said. ”Admitting to child abuse is a very difficult and often, a never-seen thing,” she said. Coakley said it was time for Amirault and his supporters to end their pursuit of an early release from prison so that the victims can finally begin to fully heal from the trauma he caused them as children. http://web.archive.org/web/20020224045327/http://www.boston.com/dailyglobe2/054/metro/Witness_praises_Amirault_decision+.shtml Swift won’t free Tooky by David R. Guarino and Elisabeth J. Beardsley Wednesday, February 20, 2002 Convicted child molester Gerald “Tooky” Amirault lost his best shot at freedom yesterday, denied commutation of his sentence by acting Gov. Jane M. Swift in another stunning turn to the roller coaster abuse case. Swift rejected the unanimous July Parole Board recommendation that there was “real and substantial doubt” of Amirault’s guilt. Taking sides in a highly charged case as she drops in election-year polls, Swift said Amirault should be jailed at least until he’s up for parole in 2004 on his 30- to 40-year sentence. ``She carefully analyzed every bit of information generated through the investigation and came to her decision that the verdict was just and the sentence was appropriate,” said Swift spokesman James Borghesani….victims rejoiced last night, praising the acting governor for standing up to the Parole Board and claiming vindication after years of doubts about the case. “All along, they’ve always told the truth,” said Harriet Dell’Anno of Lynn, whose daughter, Jamie, remains in therapy over the incidents. Barbara Standke of Tewksbury, whose son, Brian Martinello, was molested when he was 4, said, “He may be doing 20 years, but my son’s doing life.” Amirault, his sister, Cheryl LeFave, and their mother, Violet, were convicted after a parade of children told horror stories about being fondled, raped. http://web.archive.org/web/20020305205020/http://www2.bostonherald.com/news/local_regional/swif02202002.htm

Paul Ingram – Thurston County Washington Case

Seattle Post-Intelligencer – June 8, 1996 – News, Pg. B1 – Son of Deputy Says He Was Sexually Abused ; Dramatic Report in Testimony to Clemency Panel -: Rachel Zimmerman P-I Capitol Bureau – Olympia excerpts: The son of Paul Ingram, a former Thurston County deputy sheriff who confessed to raping his daughters during nightmarish satanic rituals but later recanted, said for the first time yesterday that he was physically and sexually abused by his father for eight years. Chad Ingram, 27, told the state Pardons and Clemency Board that his father, who is serving 20 years in prison after pleading guilty to six counts of third-degree rape – crimes he now says never happened – said he was abused by his father from ages 4 to 12. “He would put himself on top of me and I would perform oral sex on him,” Chad Ingram said. Thurston County Sheriff Gary Edwards, though the case never went to trial, it was subject to intense judicial scrutiny, “all the way up to the Ninth Circuit.” Edwards added, “This case was not perfect but it had complete judicial review. “Paul Ingram did commit these crimes; he plead guilty to these crimes. I have no problem shaving in the morning. I can look myself in the mirror.” The Facade of Scientific Documentation: A Case Study of Richard Ofshe’s Analysis of the Paul Ingram Case” by Karen Olio and William Cornell. APA’s journal “Psychology, Public Policy, and Law,” (1998, Vol. 4, No. 4, 1182-1197) “The case of Paul Ingram, a man who pleaded guilty to sexually abusing his daughters, has received widespread media attention. Richard Ofshe (1992, 1994) set forth a narrative of the case which included his account of an experiment to test the veracity of Ingram’s confessions and concluded that the inadvertent use of hypnosis during Ingram’s interrogation resulted in the creation of pseudomemories that convinced Ingram of his guilt. On the basis of an examination of the original source documents, the authors discusses the errors of fact, methodological flaws, and confounding factors in Ofshe’s rendering of this case of alleged child abuse. They also cite examples of the extent to which Ofshe’s imperfect narrative of this case and pseudoscientific conclusions have been uncritically accepted and repeated in the literature…” https://psycnet.apa.org/record/2000-13581-013 http://www.kspope.com/memory/facade1a.php Harvard Society for Law & Public Policy, Inc. Harvard Journal of Law & Public Policy – Spring, 1999 – 22 Harv. J.L. & Pub. Pol’y 523 The Guilty and the “Innocent”: an Examination of Alleged Cases of Wrongful Conviction from False Confessions by Paul G. Cassell -“According to the authors (Leo and Ofsche), in twenty-nine of these cases the false confession resulted in the wrongful conviction of an innocent person.” “examines nine of these twenty-nine cases in detail. Based on review of original trial court records and other similar sources, the part concludes that each of these nine persons were, in all likelihood, entirely guilty of the crimes charged against them.””Leo and Ofshe rely in large measure on secondary sources for the descriptions of the evidence against the defendants in their collection….For many cases, court records are available only in the local courthouses where the trial took place, while media accounts are often readily accessible in computerized databases. Relying on secondary sources, however, poses the risk of inaccurate recounting of the evidence. Examining primary sources for the cases in Leo and Ofshe’s collection reveals that this is a very real problem.” “The problems with the subjective determination of “innocence” in the Leo-Ofshe collection, like similar problems elsewhere, suggests that reliance on second-hand sources combined with understandable enthusiasm for the enterprise of discovering miscarriages may produce more such cases than really exist.” “Only a relative handful of Leo and Ofshe’s cases would satisfy the criterion of undisputed wrongful conviction.” https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=161470

Wenatchee, Washington Case

http://abusearticles.wordpress.com/category/articles-on-wenatchee/ information from articles : At the trial, one girl showed “definite medical signs of sexual abuse” while “it could not be ruled out for two others. In 1996, a consultant, retired Bellevue Police Chief D.P. Van Blaricom, hired by a city insurer who looked into how the Wenatchee police ran the child abuse investigations stated that the cases were handled properly. A U.S. Department of Justice investigation also found that there was no evidence of civil rights violations. Cops Win Wash. State Sex Ring Case – June 29, 1998 – Aviva L. Brandt AP Online – Seattle “A jury on Monday rejected claims of police misconduct brought by four people who say they were falsely accused of child rape and molestation. After deliberating for more than five days, the King County Superior Court panel decided that the central Washington town of Wenatchee, the town’s police officials and three members of the Douglas County sheriff’s department did not violate the civil rights of the four, who said they were falsely accused in 1994-95. Douglas County Sheriff Dan LaRoche said the verdict allows police to keep investigating sex abuse and molestation cases without fear of lawsuits. Debate Rages Over Wenatchee Sex-Ring Allegations – November 6, 1995- Aviva L. Brandt, Associated Press Writer – Wenatchee, Wash. Excerpts: A line divides this town. On one side are those who believe dozens of children were raped and molested over seven years by adults in two loosely organized sex rings. On the other are those who assert a rogue cop and obsessed social workers created a whirlpool of sexual hysteria- coaxing children into accusations and bullying bewildered, poorly educated adults into confessions. Gov. Mike Lowry, petitioned by critics who believe the case is a witch hunt, has asked for a Justice Department review and is awaiting a decision from U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno. Authorities say as many as 50 children were forced to have sex with adults since 1988 – sometimes alone, sometimes in groups. In the last year, 28 adults have been charged with child rape and sexual abuse. Five have been convicted, 10 have pleaded guilty. “Every female victim had physical evidence of sexual abuse and the majority of the males did,” Smith said. “Clearly it’s pretty good evidence to show that this is occurring.” Douglas County Prosecutor Steve Clem sounded frustrated when asked about allegations that his office hasn’t bothered to look for the truth. “The defense attorneys are using what I’m sure … some day in the future will be called the O.J. defense, where they sling mud, make wild accusations and see conspiracies all around them,” he said.” There’s physical evidence consistent with the stories they (the children) tell. There’s more than one person talking about the very same things going on,” said Tim Abbey, a regional supervisor with the state Child Protective Services. “And there are a lot of confessions, and many times they’re confessing to more than the kids said happened.”

Dale Akiki Case

describes crimes Ex-School Volunteer Acquitted of Child Abuse Charges Verdict: After deliberating for just seven hours, jury finds Dale Akiki not guilty on all 35 counts. Trial was longest in San Diego’s history. Los Angeles Times – Los Angeles, Calif. – Michael Granberry – Nov 20, 1993 https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1993-11-20-mn-58873-story.html A Superior Court jury concluded a 7 1/2-month trial Friday by acquitting a former nursery school volunteer of 35 counts of child abuse and kidnapping that had kept him jailed without bail for 2 1/2 years…. Nearly 170 witnesses testified during Akiki’s trial-the longest in San Diego history-which ended after only seven hours of jury deliberation…. Several on the (jury) panel sided with Akiki’s attorneys, public defenders Kathleen Coyne and Susan Clemens, who tried to show that Akiki’s alleged victims-nine boys and girls between the ages of 3 and 5-had been systematically brainwashed by parents and therapists. But Deputy Dist. Atty. Mary Avery, the lead prosecutor, disputed such claims. “The whole idea of contamination and suggestibility just does not account for the major behavior changes that occurred (in the children) while they were in Dale Akiki’s (nursery school) class,” she said, referring to such incidents as bed-wetting and nightmares. Witnesses accused Akiki of sexually molesting and terrorizing children at Faith Chapel charismatic church in Spring Valley by hanging them upside-down from a chandelier, dunking them in toilets and making them drink the blood of animals in ritualistic ceremonies. Molestation Hearing Continues Next Week – Los Angeles Times – February 8, 1992 – San Diego County Edition .…Deputy Dist. Atty. Mary Avery has called some of the parents to testify about behavioral changes they observed in the children. “There were drastic changes observed,” Avery said. Defense attorney Kate Coyne, however, maintains that Akiki has been falsely accused by parents who did not like his physical appearance. Judge Rejects Bail for Suspect In Molestations at Preschool – Los Angeles Times – May 25, 1991 Amy Wallace; Times Staff Writer ….But Deputy Dist. Atty. Mary Avery, the prosecutor, said that, in addition to the grand jury testimony of seven children who attended the Faith Chapel in Casa de Oro, her case will rely on behavioral symptoms observed by parents months before any allegations of abuse were raised. One mother said her daughter was so terrified of having her head near water that it was impossible to wash her hair, Avery said. Grand jury testimony later revealed that at least one child had had her head dunked in a toilet, she said. Testimony was also heard that a child became hysterical when he was taken to a hospital to get stitches, apparently because he had a flashback of “the defendant holding him down and hurting him,” Avery said. The indictment filed against Akiki said he inflicted injuries on children with a needle. Avery maintained that some of the children remain so traumatized by Akiki’s treatment that they have attempted suicide–one by running in front of a car, another with a knife. Other Suspects Added to Child Sex Abuse Probe – Los Angeles Times – May 15, 1991 – Amy Wallace; Times Staff Writer As many as three former child care workers at Faith Chapel in Spring Valley are suspected of molesting and abusing preschoolers over a 15-month period ending in August, 1989, a San Diego County prosecutor said Tuesday. Speaking after the arraignment of Dale Anthony Akiki, a former church volunteer who was indicted last week on 50 felony counts of child molestation and related charges, Deputy Dist. Atty. Mary Avery said two other former child care workers are being investigated…. According to the 13-page indictment, which a grand jury returned after hearing live televised testimony from seven of the children, Akiki abused them sexually and physically, at times using a bottle top, a toy, a glass, a stick and a needle. Church Volunteer Indicted in Molestations – Los Angeles Times – May 14, 1991 – Amy Wallace; Alan Abrahamson; Times Staff Writers ….Soon, Avery said, a couple of parents noticed that their children were exhibiting similar “unusual” and “regressive” behavior. The children had not yet said they were abused, Avery said, but the parents observed a pattern. “In thinking it over, they realized the one thing the children had in common was they went to the same church,” she said. The church asked a licensed social worker to assess whether there was reasonable suspicion of abuse and, after talking to a few families, he reported the case to the authorities. Avery began investigating in February, 1990. Since then, she said, the district attorney’s office has kept Akiki under periodic surveillance, “to make sure he was not working with children during the week or involved with child care in any way.” Avery said her case is strengthened by the fact that it relies on the children’s behavior as well as their testimony. “It will focus on behavior that was observed prior to the initial disclosure” of the alleged abuse, she said. “So there cannot be a contamination issue regarding behavior that occurred prior to anyone ever mentioning this to the children.” Unlike other child molestation cases that rely largely on the testimony of the victims, the Akiki case is “one which can be cleanly and coherently presented to a jury for their determination,” said Steve Casey, a spokesman for the district attorney’s office.

Glendale Montessori – Toward case

describes crimes Headmaster’s evil lives on in 20-year-old abuse case By Jill Taylor Palm Beach Post Staff Writer 3/1/08 Stuart – Twenty years ago today, on a quiet street in a guard-gated Palm City community, investigators snapped handcuffs onto the wrists of a respected Montessori school headmaster and delivered a message the people of Martin County did not want to hear. Little children, lots of little children, were raped and defiled in unspeakable ways by a man some of the smartest and richest people in the community had trusted to care for their sons and daughters….Hours later, Toward’s office manager, Brenda Williams, turned herself in at the Martin County jail to answer similar charges. Four months later, Toward was charged with molesting and kidnapping five more preschool boys, and Williams was charged in four of those cases. Investigators later learned of up to 60 victims, most ages 2 to 5….Toward, now 77, pleaded guilty to molesting or kidnapping the six boys and was sentenced to 27 years in prison. He was released from his prison term on probation after 12 years, but has remained in custody under the state’s Jimmy Ryce Act, which allows confinement of sex offenders deemed a continuing danger to the community. Toward is challenging his commitment and maintains his innocence, saying his plea was only to avoid a harsher sentence. No date has been scheduled for a civil trial on the issue. He did not respond to a request for an interview. Part of Toward’s plea deal prevented prosecutors from filing more charges or arresting others they thought were involved when dozens more victims came forward later….”We found there were literally dozens of kids who were affected by this guy for a long time,” Colton said. “He spent his life manipulating people. He convinced people they could trust him with their children.” Ralicki expects she will be called to testify at an upcoming Jimmy Ryce hearing. She says she has no doubt that Toward still poses a threat to children. She can never forget what he did to the 20 or so children she treated….Williams pleaded no contest to sex and attempted kidnapping charges involving five boys, and was released from prison in 1993 after serving five years of a 10-year sentence. She could not be reached for comment, but is listed in records as owning a home in Vero Beach…. The psychotherapist Jeanne Ralicki, who treated many of the victims stated “There’s this whole underbelly of evil here that just oozes…Who wants to think that that exists in the world?” http://www.palmbeachpost.com/

Little Rascals Day Care Center case

(describes crimes) Closing Arguments in Child-Abuse Trial By Ronald Smothers, 3/24/1992 New York Times – Calling the operator of a day-care center who is the defendant in a child sex-abuse case an “evil, evil man,” the prosecution in the eight-month-long case began closing arguments today, painstakingly recalling children’s testimony that jurors had not heard since September…. Mr. Kelly, 43 years old, is facing 100 charges of sexually abusing a dozen children in 1988 and 1989 at the Little Rascals Day Care Center in Edenton, N. C., 60 miles east of here. Originally there were 248 charges involving 22 children, but the prosecution has withdrawn many charges while Judge D. Marsh McLelland of Pitt County Superior Court has dismissed others. Six Others Charged – Still, the case remains one of the largest child sex-abuse cases in the nation’s history in terms of number of charges and alleged victims. The case also involves charges against Mr. Kelly’s wife, Elizabeth, three adult employees of the center and two other adults. All have been accused of fondling, raping and sodomizing the children at the center….Testifying on his own behalf in January, Mr. Kelly said he never touched any of the children in a sexual way….Using 8-by-10-inch color photographs of each of the dozen children who testified, Mrs. Lamb recounted their own childish words in testifying about what “Mr. Bob” did to them. The words, which were children’s euphemisms for sex organs and body parts, seemed incongruous coming from the adult prosecutor, but with repetition even that incongruity served to highlight the horror of the allegations. http://www.nytimes.com/1992/03/24/us/closing-arguments-in-child-abuse-trial.html Man convicted in N.C. child sex abuse case M. Mayfield 4/23/92 USA TODAY In April 1992, “Robert Kelly Jr. was convicted of 99 of 100 counts of rape and related crimes against children.” One of the mothers of the 12 children that testified against Kelly stated that she felt “overwhelming relief.” The six other defendants, including Kelly’s wife, would face trials later. The jury believed the children on the witness stand. One juror stated “the children were convincing.” Kelly and his supporters believed he was innocent. He was sentenced to 12 consecutive life terms in prison. The trial “included 83 prosecution witnesses and 60 defense witnesses.” The children had testified that Kelly had forced them to have different types of sex. The parents testified that the children exhibited abnormal behavior. “Twelve children, between the ages of 4 and 7, testified, and the results of physical and psychological tests of them were presented as evidence.” Child Abuse Conviction in Day Care Case; N.C. Man Was Subject of Sympathetic Documentary – The Washington Post – April 23, 1992- Megan Rosenfeld ” North Carolina’s longest and most expensive trial came to a close yesterday with the conviction of former child-care center operator Robert Kelly on 99 of 100 charges of sexually abusing 12 children. Kelly’s wife, Betsy, and five other people are also charged with abusing children at the Little Rascals Day Care Center, but have yet to stand trial. Kelly’s trial, which started in August, included 83 prosecution witnesses and 60 defense witnesses. In the end, juror Dennis Ray told the Associated Press, “the children were convincing.” Twelve children, between the ages of 4 and 7, testified, and the results of physical and psychological tests of them were presented as evidence.” https://web.archive.org/web/20181117050911/http://www.highbeam.com/doc/1P2-1002268.html Day-Care Owner Is Convicted of Child Molesting 4/23/92 The longest and costliest criminal trial ever held in North Carolina ended today when the owner of a day-care center was convicted on 99 of 100 charges of sexually abusing 12 children there. After 14 days of deliberating, a Pitt County Superior Court jury found the 44-year-old defendant, Robert F. Kelly Jr., guilty of 4 counts of rape, 46 of taking indecent liberties, 36 of first-degree sexual offense and 13 crimes against nature. He was acquitted only of a single charge of taking indecent liberties with one of the 12 children….one juror, Dennis Ray, did speak to reporters, saying the panel had rejected the defense’s assertion of widespread hysteria and had believed the children. “The children were convincing,” Mr. Ray said. http://www.nytimes.com/1992/04/23/us/day-care-owner-is-convicted-of-child-molesting.html Six months after Betsy’s release, the Appellate Court of North Carolina overturned the convictions of both Robert Kelly and Dawn Wilson, stating that there were legal errors by the prosecution. On May 23, 1997, the prosecution dropped all charges related to the Little Rascals case against the two. Fran’s Day Care Case – Randy Noblitt, PhD  http://ritualabuse.us/ritualabuse/articles/frans-day-care/ with updates Fran’s Day Care case – Dan and Fran Keller – News Article Excerpts from 1991 – 1993 https://ritualabuse.us/ritualabuse/articles/frans-day-care-case-dan-and-fran-keller-news-article-excerpts-from-1991-1993/

Baran case

Baran received a fair trial By William W. Simons – Pittsfield 9/13/03 “I have spent my professional life (going on 50 years) as a prosecutor, defense lawyer and Superior Court judge….I was the presiding judge in the Superior Court trial of Bernard Baran that took place in Pittsfield, extending for 10 days in January 1985. Baran was charged with rape and indecent assault and battery on six children while he was a child-care worker in a Pittsfield day care center. He was originally represented by the Public Defender’s Office but chose to obtain private counsel, Leonard Conway of Westfield. After his conviction on these cases involving five of the children, an appeal was taken on Baran’s behalf by Attorney David O. Burbank of Pittsfield, also an experienced and able trial and appellate counsel. The appeal was decided on March 27, 1986, affirming the convictions. Mr. Burbank sought further appellate review and that application was denied by the Supreme Judicial Court on May 30, 1986….The concern that young victims are prone to suggestibility pales in comparison to the suggestibility of grown and experienced newspapermen. A more serious injury is that distorted claims of injustice that seek freedom for Baran are not without consequences for society and this community, should they succeed.” http://www.berkshireeagle.com/ In 2006, Bernard Baran Jr., was freed after 21 years in prison when a judge overturned his conviction on child molestation charges. June 09, 2009 – For immediate release: D.A. Capeless decides not to continue prosecuting Baran Berkshire District Attorney David F. Capeless has decided not to continue prosecuting the criminal case against Bernard Baran. At a Tuesday morning press conference, District Attorney Capeless gave the following statement: “After careful consideration, I have decided to no longer prosecute the case against Bernard Baran.  My decision is not based upon any judgment that Baran did not do what he was convicted of by a jury twenty-four years ago.  In fact, I remain convinced that those twelve jurors delivered a correct verdict…. They (the victims) each know that what happened to them twenty-four years ago was very real.  They each also expressed an appreciation that the twenty-plus years Baran spent in prison were just as real.  For them, there has been a real measure of justice.  Now, it is time to put this behind us.http://web.archive.org/web/20100605165719/http://www.mass.gov/?pageID=berpressrelease&L=1&L0=Home&sid=Dber&b=pressrelease&f=20090609_baran_bernard&csid=Dber also see: http://www.leadershipcouncil.org/1/ctf/bib.html

Halsey case

The Legend of Robert Halsey – Journal of Child Sexual Abuse, v9 n3-4 p37-52 2001 – Cheit, Ross E. Abstract: A brief narrative description of the journal article, document, or resource. Examines the criminal conviction of Robert Halsey for sexually abusing two young boys on his school-van route near Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Based on a comprehensive examination of the trial transcript, suggests that the credulous acceptance of the “false conviction” legend about Robert Halsey provides a case study in the techniques and tactics used to minimize and deny sexual abuse. http://www.eric.ed.gov/ERICWebPortal/custom/portlets/recordDetails/detailmini.jsp?_nfpb=true&_&ERICExtSearch_SearchValue_0=EJ672707&ERICExtSearch_SearchType_0=no&accno=EJ672707 False-conviction chic in the Berkshires Robert Halsey was convicted in 1993 of sexually abusing two boys on his school van route in Lanesboro, Mass. There was a mountain of evidence against him, and he was sentenced to two consecutive life terms. Now a growing movement is trying to suggest that Halsey was unjustly convicted. A country that cherishes the presumption of innocence still needs to learn something about the presumption of guilt. There is a dark side to the growing movement on behalf of persons falsely convicted by the criminal justice system: phony false-conviction claims. There is just such a phony claim currently brewing in the Berkshires….As long-time residents of the Berkshires will remember, Robert Halsey was convicted in 1993 of sexually abusing two boys on his school van route in Lanesboro, Mass. There was a mountain of evidence against him. The two boys…had clear medical signs of the abuse. Their disclosures were extremely detailed and they were written up well before the boys were involved in any repeat interviews, therapy sessions or other measures which are commonly cited as sources of “child suggestibility.”….Various parts of the boys’ testimony were corroborated by three other children, two of whom had moved to Florida nine months before Halsey was arrested. http://www.brown.edu/Administration/News_Bureau/2002-03/02-009.html The Legend of Robert Halsey: A cautionary tale about the dangers of “false-conviction chic” https://web.archive.org/web/20070206042229/http://www.brown.edu/Departments/Taubman_Center/Manning/ These articles describe graphic crimes of abuse

West Memphis 3 confession, witness corroboration and physical evidence

Echols’ psychiatric records https://web.archive.org/web/20140817172403/http://callahan.8k.com/wm3/img/exh500.html Misskelley’s Third Confession Transcript https://web.archive.org/web/20140506113532/http://callahan.8k.com/wm3/jmfeb.html Misskelley describes the crimes in front of his lawyer, implicating Echols and Baldwin. Statement about Damien Echols stomping and killing a dog https://web.archive.org/web/20150925171340/http://callahan.8k.com/wm3/joehb.html Misskelley confession to Kim Floresca http://wm3.wikia.com/wiki/Kim_Floresca Misskelley confession to Buddy Lucas https://web.archive.org/web/20160326084634/http://wm3truth.com/jessie-misskelleys-confession-to-buddy-lucas-may-6-1993/

https://web.archive.org/web/20150925154754/http://callahan.8k.com/wm3/b_lucas_interview.html

Death Penalty Recommended for Teen-Ager March 20, 1994 …Prosecutors presented evidence suggesting Mr. Echols was a devil worshipper and the younger teen-ager his loyal follower. http://www.nytimes.com/1994/03/20/us/death-penalty-recommended-for-teen-ager.html?scp=18&sq=west+memphis+3+murder+case&st=nyt Youth Is Convicted In Slaying of 3 Boys In an Arkansas City CORNING, Ark., Feb. 4 The teen-ager, Jessie Lloyd Misskelley Jr., 18, was found guilty of first-degree murder in the death of a boy whom he had admitted chasing down. He was convicted of second-degree murder in the deaths of the other two boys….Mr. Misskelley told the police in two tape-recorded interviews that he had watched as his two friends beat the boys, raped two of them and castrated one. The prosecution said the slayings might have been part of a Satanic ritual. http://www.nytimes.com/1994/02/05/us/youth-is-convicted-in-slaying-of-3-boys-in-an-arkansas-city.html?scp=11&sq=west+memphis+3+murder+case&st=nyt Jessie Lloyd MISSKELLEY, Jr. v. STATE of Arkansas CR 94-848 S.W.2d Supreme Court of Arkansas Opinion delivered February 19, 1996 On June 3, 1993, the crime having remained unsolved, Detective Sergeant Mike Allen sought the appellant out for questioning. The appellant was not considered a suspect, but it was thought he might have knowledge about Damien Echols, who was a suspect. Detective Allen located the appellant and brought him back to the station, arriving at approximately 10:00 a.m. Later in this opinion, we will address in detail the circumstances surrounding the appellant’s interrogation. For now, it is sufficient to say that the appellant was questioned off and on over a period from 10:00 a.m. until 2:30 p.m. At 2:44 p.m. and again at approximately 5:00 p.m., he gave statements to police in which he confessed his involvement in the murders. Both statements were tape-recorded…. In the early morning hours of May 5, 1993, the appellant received a phone call from Jason Baldwin. Baldwin asked the appellant to accompany him and Damien Echols to the Robin Hood area. The appellant agreed to go. They went to the area, which has a creek, and were in the creek when the victims rode up on their bicycles. Baldwin and Echols called to the boys, who came to the creek. The boys were severely beaten by Baldwin and Echols. At least two of the boys were raped and forced to perform oral sex on Baldwin and Echols. According to appellant, he was merely an observer. While these events were taking place, Michael Moore tried to escape and began running. The appellant chased him down and returned him to Baldwin and Echols. The appellant also stated that Baldwin had used a knife to cut the boys in the facial area and that the Byers boy was cut on his penis. Echols used a large stick to hit one of the boys. All three boys had their clothes taken off and were tied up…. The appellant was asked about his involvement in a cult. He said he had been involved for about three months. The participants would typically meet in the woods. They engaged in orgies and, as an initiation rite, killing and eating dogs. He noted that at one cult meeting, he saw a picture that Echols had taken of the three boys. He stated that Echols had been watching the boys…. Damien Echols was observed near the crime scene at 9:30 p.m. on May 5. He was wearing black pants and a black shirt and his clothes were muddy. A witness testified that she had attended a satanic cult meeting with Echols and the appellant….a witness from the State Crime Lab testified that she found fibers on the victims’ clothing which were microscopically similar to items in the Baldwin and Echols residences.  https://famous-trials.com/westmemphis/2249-arksct1 Damien Wayne ECHOLS and Charles Jason Baldwin v. STATE of Arkansas CR 94-928 S.W.2d  Supreme Court of Arkansas    Opinion delivered December 23, 1996 Where two witnesses testified that they overheard appellant Echols state that he killed the three boys, this was direct evidence; a confession is sufficient to sustain a conviction if it is accompanied by other proof that the offense was committed by someone…. There was substantial evidence of the guilt of appellant Echols where, among other things, the testimony of witnesses placed him in dirty clothes near the crime scene at a time close to the murders; where two independent witnesses reported Echols’s statement that he had killed the three boys and was direct evidence of the statement; where a criminalist from the State Crime Laboratory and a State Medical Examiner testified concerning the similarity of fibers found on the victim’s clothes with clothing found in Echols’s home and the serrated wound patterns on the three victims that were consistent with, and could have been caused by, a knife found in a lake behind appellant Baldwin’s parents’ residence…. Echols admitted on cross-examination that he had delved deeply into the occult and was familiar with its practices and where various items that had been found in his room supported the State’s theory of motive that the killings were done in a satanic ritual; where an expert in occult killings testified that there was significant evidence of satanic ritual killings; where a detective testified that Echols had made a statement regarding the mutilation of one of the victims that the jury could have reasonably concluded he would not have known about unless he had been involved in some manner; and where Echols’s testimony contained additional evidence of guilt…. Echols admitted on cross-examination in the penalty phase of the trial that he had an altercation with his father in which a knife was involved and the police were called; where he admitted that he was hospitalized that same day and that when his father came to the hospital, “I told him I would eat him alive”; where headmitted that he tried “to claw the eyes out” of a student; and where a psychologist who testified for Echols admitted that Echols had “an all-powerful God-like image of himself,” that his parents were concerned with his satanism or devil worship, and that Echols’s medical records included notations of statements by Echols pertaining, among other things, to his rage and the drinking of the blood of others…. Where one witness testified that appellant Baldwin had told him that he had dismembered one of the boys, sucked the blood from his penis and scrotum, and put the testicles in his mouth, and where an expert on ritual killings stated that one of the facts that led him to believe that the killings were cult-related was that one of the victims had been castrated and had had the blood sucked from his penis, there was sufficient evidence of appellant Baldwin’s participation in occult activities, and the trial court correctly allowed the evidence…. Twelve-year-old Christy VanVickle testified that she heard Echols say he “killed the three boys.” Fifteen-year-old Jackie Medford testified that she heard Echols say, “I killed the three little boys and before I turn myself in, I’m going to kill two more, and I already have one of them picked out.” The testimony of these two independent witnesses was direct evidence of the statement by Echols…. Dr. Dale Griffis, an expert in occult killings, testified in the State’s case-in-chief that the killings had the “trappings of occultism.” He testified that the date of the killings, near a pagan holiday, was significant, as well as the fact that there was a full moon. He stated that young children are often sought for sacrifice because “the younger, the more innocent, the better the life force.” He testified that there were three victims, and the number three had significance in occultism. Also, the victims were all eight years old, and eight is a witches’ number. He testified that sacrifices are often done near water for a baptism-type rite or just to wash the blood away. The fact that the victims were tied ankle to wrist was significant because this was done to display the genitalia, and the removal of Byers’s testicles was significant because testicles are removed for the semen. He stated that the absence of blood at the scene could be significant because cult members store blood for future services in which they would drink the blood or bathe in it. He testified that the “overkill” or multiple cuts could reflect occult overtones. Dr. Griffis testified that there was significance in injuries to the left side of the victims as distinguished from the right side: People who practice occultism will use the midline theory, drawing straight down through the body. The right side is related to those things synonymous with Christianity while the left side is that of the practitioners of the satanic occult. He testified that the clear place on the bank could be consistent with a ceremony. In sum, Dr. Griffis testified there was significant evidence of satanic ritual killings…. Echols took the witness stand, and his testimony contained additional evidence of guilt. When asked about his statement that one victim was mutilated more than the others, he said he learned the fact from newspaper accounts. His attorney showed him the newspaper articles about the murders. On cross-examination, Echols admitted that the articles did not mention one victim being mutilated more than the others, and he admitted that he did not read such a fact in a newspaper…. Jason Baldwin does not contend that there was insufficient evidence of his guilt. This is, perhaps, in part, because of the testimony of Michael Carson, who testified that he talked to Baldwin about the murders. Carson’s testimony, in pertinent part, was abstracted as follows:

I said, just between me and you, did you do it. I won’t say a word. He said yes and he went into detail about it. It was just me and Jason [Baldwin]. He told me he dismembered the kids, or I don’t know exactly how many kids. He just said he dismembered them. He sucked the blood from the penis and scrotum and put the balls in his mouth.  https://web.archive.org/web/20050306003710/http://courts.state.ar.us/opinions/1996a/961223sc/cr94-928.html Deal Frees ‘West Memphis Three’ in Arkansas By CAMPBELL ROBERTSON August 19, 2011   JONESBORO, Ark. ….Under the terms of a deal reached with prosecutors, Mr. Echols, Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Misskelley leave as men who maintain their innocence yet who pleaded guilty to murder, as men whom the state still consider to be child killers but whom the state deemed safe enough to set free. Last November, the Arkansas Supreme Court ruled that there was enough evidence to call a hearing to determine whether to have a new trial. The hearing was scheduled for this coming December.  But it was less than three weeks ago that lawyers representing Mr. Echols began working on a deal to offer to prosecutors that would free the men. Under the seemingly contradictory deal, Judge David Laser vacated the previous convictions, including the capital murder convictions for Mr. Echols and Mr. Baldwin. After doing so, he ordered a new trial, something the prosecutors agreed to if the men would enter so-called Alford guilty pleas. These pleas allow people to maintain their innocence and admit frankly that they are pleading guilty because they consider it in their best interest. The three men did just that, standing in court and quietly proclaiming their innocence but at the same time pleading guilty to charges of first- and second-degree murder. The judge then sentenced them to 18 years and 78 days, the amount of time they had served, and also levied a suspended sentence of 10 years. The prosecuting attorney, Scott Ellington, said in an interview that the state still considered the men guilty and that, new DNA findings notwithstanding, he knew of no current suspects. “We don’t think that there is anybody else,” Mr. Ellington said, declaring the case closed. Asked how he could free murderers if he believed they were guilty, he acknowledged that the three men would likely be acquitted if a new trial were held, given the prominent lawyers now representing them, the fact that evidence has decayed or disappeared over time and the death or change of heart of several original witnesses. He also expressed concern that if the men were exonerated at trial, they could sue the state, possibly for millions of dollars.  “I believe that with all the circumstances that were facing the state in this case, this resolution is one that is palatable and I think that after a period of time it will be acceptable to the public as the right thing,” Mr. Ellington said. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/20/us/20arkansas.html Dale Griffis – West Memphis Three Case Information http://ritualabuse.us/ritualabuse/articles/dale-griffis-west-memphis-three-case-information/

Friedman’s case – Capturing the Friedmans

many of the quotes in this section come from: Capturing the Friedmans: Annotated Bibliography http://www.leadershipcouncil.org/1/ctf/bib.html Many viewers leave the theater believing that they have seen an objective documentary presented by a director who entrusted audiences to draw their own conclusions on Arnold Friedman’s and Jesse Friedman’s guilt. A careful review of the original evidence, however, shows that the case against the Friedmans was much stronger than the film revealed. Geraldo Rivera’s interview with Jesse Friedman “Busting the Kiddie Porn Underground” February 23, 1989 — Geraldo! Jesse’s attorney, Peter Panera, is interviewed. He tells how he and Jesse made a special trip to Wisconsin to visit Arnold Friedman in prison to convince him to reveal where he had hidden the photos and videos of the children. Arnold refused to reveal what he had done with them, despite the fact that it would have helped gain lenacy for his son. Jesse’s mother Ms. Friedman also appears on the show. Frances Galasso, the detective-sergeant who was in charge of the Friedman case, describes Jesse’s lack of remorse for his victims and describes how he and his brother harassed some of the victims’ parents at court proceedings. She says that Jesse told the grandfather of one victim: “Well maybe we are suffering now, but with what we’ve done to your children, they’ll suffer for the rest of their lives.” Geraldo Rivera’s interview with Jesse Friedman http://www.leadershipcouncil.org/1/ctf/geraldo.html Geraldo: “How many kids, Jesse, did you and your father actually physically abuse in your home?” Jesse: (long sigh, appears to be mentally counting) “I guess 17.”…. Geraldo: “What did you do to the children?” Jesse: “What did I do to the children? I fondled them. I was forced to pose in 100’s of photos for my father in all sorts of sexual positions with the kids and the kids likewise with myself. The Secret Life of Arnold Friedman By Alvin E. Bessent – Newsday  — LI., NY May 28, 1989 http://web.archive.org/web/20060901203550/www.newsday.com/mynews/ny-friedman052889,0,1599081.story Bessent reports on the victims’ fear of the Friedmans: “As the abuse escalated so did the threats. Police said the children were extensively videotaped and photographed. No pictures of the children have been recovered. But police said Arnold Friedman told the children he would send pornographic pictures of them to magazines and tell the publishers to print their names if they told what was going on. He threatened to burn their houses down. He reportedly said he would kill their parents. . . . Some of the children who testified before the grand juries received threatening telephone calls warning them not to cooperate with police.” “Some of them still wet their beds, take baseball bats to bed with them or are unable to sleep.” http://www.leadershipcouncil.org/1/ctf/bib.html State of New York v. Arnold Friedman. Motion for order requiring return of property seized from 17 Picadilly Road, Great Neck, Nassau County, New York, seized pursuant to search warrant of November 25, 1987.  Motion #C-427, Indictment #67104 & 67430. September 14, 1990. Judge Abbey L. Boklan approved Arnold Friedmans’ request for the return of all property seized at the Friedman home with the exception of pornographic materials listed in this document.  Materials include such items as:  5 pornographic movies, assorted order forms for pornography, assorted pornographic magazine cutouts, 2 partially nude photos of children, 3 sheets advertising homosexuality with boys, 6 photos of naked people, 3 battery operated sex aids, 1 hypodermic needle, 9 pornographic computer games (with descriptions), list of names and phone numbers of 9 victims, 2 registration sheets with names of victims. The People of the State of New York , Respondent, v. Ross G., Appellant 163 A.D.2d 529; 558 N.Y.S.2d 603; 1990 N.Y. App. Div. LEXIS 8786 June 28, 1990 The Supreme Court of New York responds affirmatively to an appeal by Ross Goldstein who asks the state to reduce his sentence to the terms recommended and agreed to by the prosecution. Although he was not mentioned in the film, Mr. Goldstein was a third defendant who was arrested along with Arnold and Jesse Friedman. According to this document, Goldstein, a former friend of Jesse’s who was between 15 and 16 years old when he committed the crimes. He later became repulsed by the abuse, and six months before the Friedmans were arrested, Goldstein disassociated himself from Jesse Friedman and his activities. Goldstein, now age 19, confessed to the crimes and agreed to testify against both Arnold and Jesse Friedman in exchange for leniency. In Their Own Words:  Jesse’s Victims Speak Out http://www.leadershipcouncil.org/1/ctf/vict.html Victims break their silence Victor Manuel Ramos — Newsday  — LI., NY  February 29, 2004 Newsday  staff reporter Victor Manuel Ramos interviews several of the victims who Arnold and Jesse Friedman plead guilty to abusing. “For Gregory, the hullabaloo over Jarecki’s film — and whether the director will pick up an Oscar tonight — is a sideshow to the legacy of the abuse. Even now, Gregory said he sometimes wakes up at night shaking, especially after hearing of other child abuse cases on the news or elsewhere. What would be passing news to others, hits home for him. Diagnosed in his preteen years, Gregory said he has persistent rectal bleeding from the abuse. Memories aside, the physical scar will never let him forget. `This is the constant reminder I live with every day,’ Gregory said, `that I was abused.’”

Case of Arnold Friedman and Jessie Friedman “Capturing The Friedmans” http://web.archive.org/web/20070918045108/www.theawarenesscenter.org/arnoldandjessefriedman.html http://capturingthefriedmans.wordpress.com/ Our research into the case shows that the director of the film sacrificed truth in favor of creating artistic ambiguity. Clear evidence is omitted and facts are distorted. In addition, the film relies on popular but erroneous myths about child sexual abuse. As a result, uncertainty is created about the guilt of two confessed pedophiles — who are recast as victims — while the real victims — the boys and their families — are portrayed as untrustworthy. CAPTURING THE FRIEDMANS”  Documentary or Whitewash? http://capturingthefriedmans.wordpress.com/2008/10/02/capturing-the-friedmans-documentary-or-whitewash/ Man’s 1988 child molestation conviction to be revisited by Vivienne Foley, CNN August 17, 2010 “In August 2010, the 2nd Circuit Court decision stated that “… the police, prosecutors and the judge did everything they could to coerce a guilty plea and avoid a trial” and said there was a “reasonable likelihood” Friedman was “wrongfully convicted” of sexually abusing children.” Nassau County (Long Island) District Attorney’s office will re-open the case.

Christchurch Civic Creche sex abuse – Peter Ellis case

The Dominion Post August 16 2003. ‘I am sick of being called a liar’ by Linley Boniface quotes: “A decade after the Christchurch Civic Creche sex abuse trial, two of the children whose evidence has now been called into question by supporters of Peter Ellis tell Linley Boniface why they feel betrayed.” “Tom and Katrina were pivotal to the Crown case against Ellis. In June 1993, Ellis was found guilty of 16 out of 25 charges of sexual abuse of seven young children (three of the convictions were quashed a year later, when one child withdrew her allegations). Three of the convictions related to Tom and four related to Katrina. Ellis was sentenced to 10 years in prison, and served seven.” “Katrina’s dad, Gavin, says he finds it frustrating that transcripts can be taken out of context, without any of the intense scrutiny that occurred during the judicial process. “The jury was able to see the children giving evidence on video. They watched very young children go through the anxiety of remembering things that were very painful to them. They didn’t just hear the words; they were able to see the children’s body language. They were also able to see that the children backed up each other’s stories.” “Many of the children involved in the case were said to have suffered behavioural problems, including nightmares, tantrums, bedwetting, separation anxiety, fear of men, sexual disorders and toileting problems. For a year and a half before the abuse was uncovered, Katrina was terrified of going to the toilet.” “Both families ask repeatedly why everyone seems to believe Ellis, despite the fact that his case has already been through a jury trial, two appeals and a ministerial inquiry. And they ask why so many journalists seem happy to report everything Ellis and his supporters say without bothering to ask the victims’ families for comment. They also point out the irony in the fact that Ellis has a well-run and well-bankrolled campaign behind him, while the families don’t even have a legal representative. The families believe A City Possessed tells only half the story –Ellis’ half — and were particularly angered by a recent comment by Hood that the children deserved to “know the truth and go forward into adulthood with the whole thing sorted”. Tom says the matter is sorted already “We were there, we know it happened. It’s not easy to live with, but I could live with it if everyone didn’t keep bringing it up all the time. The only closure I want is for Peter Ellis to admit he did it.” originally was at: http://www4.wave.co.nz/~brianr/PeterEllis/2003/2003-0816_DominionPost_IAmSickOfBeingCalledALiar.htm

Ramona Case

A House Divided  1994 Jun 26   By Katy Butler Los Angeles Times On May 13, Ramona won the public war but lost his most important private battle. The jury, in a complex 10-to-2 decision, ruled that Holly’s memories were probably false. Her therapists, they said, had not implanted them but had reinforced them. But they awarded Ramona only $475,000-far less than the $8 million he had sought, less than the $1 million he had spent on the trial…. But the jury verdict was ambiguous. Said jury foreman Thomas Dudum: “We all got rather disturbed when Mr. Ramona captured the headlines by claiming a victory of sorts, when we knew the case did not prove that he did not do it. I want to make it clear that we did not believe, as Gary indicates, that these therapists gave Holly a wonder drug and implanted these memories. It was an uneasy decision and there were a lot of unanswered questions.” On one point, Dudum was unequivocal: “It was apparent from the beginning that Mr. Ramona was a wonderful salesman for Mondavi, and he was selling us a story,” he said, referring to the improbably idyllic life Ramona had described. “A lot of it was very difficult to swallow, and we were not fooled for a minute by his convenient act of tearing up.” As for the people who Ramona said mattered most-his ex-wife and three daughters-the verdict convinced them of nothing but the injustice of the legal system. “I don’t think he should have gotten a penny for raping his own daughter,” said Stephanie, weeping, outside the courtroom after the verdict. “You don’t know what I know. You don’t know what my children know. Nobody gets it.”…. AFTER THE VERDICT, GARY Ramona felt vindicated. He says he’s ready to turn his attention to his new business, which imports wines from Chile and is a marketing consultant for small wineries. He says he hopes that someday his daughters will understand that he never did what he was accused of. http://www.katybutler.com/publications/latimes/index_files/latimes_clashmem_mixmessages.htm

permission was given to publish the article in full

West Point Day Care Sexual Abuse Case with Ritual Abuse allegations

Cunningham, Douglas and Alan Snel “A Legacy of Pain: Settlement Doesn’t Ease Abused Children’s Fears,” The Times Herald Record (Middletown, New York), June 11, 1991. The Times Herald-Record   Copyright (c) 1991, The Times Herald-Record  9106110008  Long  :  227 lines  Tuesday, June 11, 1991   Final North  News  4 By DOUGLAS CUNNINGHAM and ALAN SNEL Staff Writers The Record photos: A new sign indicates a building number  change.  The red brick West Point Child Development Center was at the center  of controversy in 1984.     Mug photos: Judge W. Knapp  William E. Crain  Dr. Walter R. Grote Record photo by Jeff Goulding: New center Director Nancy Campbell-Capen,  above, talks about improvements to the building, including viewing windows in  doors. The Record photo: The West Point Child Development Center as it was in the  mid-1980s, when the child abuse charges first surfaced. Back then, the  building number was 666, leading to speculation that the abuse was satanically motivated. A LEGACY OF PAIN  SETTLEMENT DOESN’T EASE ABUSED CHILDREN’S FEARS WEST POINT Seven years have passed since she was sexually abused at West Point’s child-care center. Yet today, the 10-year-old girl can’t go to the bathroom  without her mother waiting by the door. The girl – who was 3 when West Point child-care workers were accused of  sexually abusing her and 10 other children in 1984 – also asks her mother  about whether she will be able to bear children when she grows up. “This happened seven years ago, and it’s not any better,” the girl’s  mother said. “She’s constantly asking, `What if we’re out in the store,  Mommy, and we see these people? Are they going to hurt me?’ . . . But this is  constantly on her mind because she knows these people are not in jail for what they did.” In the U.S. District Court files in Manhattan, the West Point sexual abuse case is resolved. The government failed in 1985 to indict any suspects in its  criminal investigation. But last month, it settled a civil suit brought by the parents of the 11 victims. Nine of the victims will receive $2.7 million, with awards ranging from $25,000 to $625,000. But even as the legal dust has settled, the case lingers as a legacy of  pain for the families. “These people stole our children,” the mother said. “(She’s) nothing  like she used to be. She’s a very angry little girl. She doesn’t trust anyone. She’s nothing like she was before this happened. “It’s never going to be over for them, or for us.” The case began in 1984, when allegations surfaced of sexual and physical  abuse of children at the West Point Child Development Center. The incidents unfolded against a backdrop of satanic acts, animal  sacrifices and cult-like behavior among the abusers, whose activities extended beyond the U.S. Military Academy borders to Orange County and a military base  in San Francisco, parents charged. The specter of satanism would later spur U.S. Military Academy officials to change the West Point child-care center’s building number from 666 to 673. Despite 950 interviews by 60 FBI agents assigned to the investigation, an  investigation led by former U.S. Attorney Rudolph Giuliani produced no federal grand jury indictments. The investigation did find “significant indications  that children may have been abused” at the center. Until now, no official reports or investigations have verified the sexual  abuse. The Times Herald-Record, however, has learned that a still-secret,  independent report – prepared by one of the nation’s top experts on child  sexual abuse – confirms the children’s accusations of abuse. The report also  played a vital role in ending the seven-year legal ordeal and in enabling the  case to be settled without the children undergoing potentially hostile  questioning on the witness stand, said U.S. District Judge Whitman Knapp, who  heard the civil case. The expert, Dr. Ann Wolbert Burgess, a professor of psychiatric nursing at  the University of Pennsylvania at Philadelphia and the author of the book,  “Child Pornography and Sex Rings,” entered the case in 1989. She interviewed all the children. She said yesterday that her goal in the  case had been to reduce harm to the children because testimony in open court  could have triggered symptoms of abuse, prompted by a “resurfacing” of the  original incident. Knapp said that because Burgess worked for neither the government nor the  plaintiffs, but reported directly to the court, her findings carried  additional credibility. Neither Burgess nor others would speak about her  specific findings. “You can draw your own conclusions from the fact that (the government)  paid all this money,” Knapp said about Burgess’ report. “The government  wouldn’t have likely paid that money unless the report gave them a basis for  doing that.” The families’ lawyer, William E. Crain, who now practices in Elkin, N.C.,  and formerly worked in Newburgh, said the report is independent confirmation  of the children’s claims. He received nearly $300,000 in legal fees in the  case. The amount, 25 percent of the settlement, is set by law. “Just generally speaking, it corroborated the children’s allegations they  had been sexually abused by day-care center staff,” Crain said of the  report. “That report was sealed and has never been seen by anybody else and I hope it never will be,” Knapp said. “That has all the intimate details of what  happened to these children. Certainly, they don’t want to be plagued by that  when they grow up.” The government, however, admitted none of the allegations in making the  settlement. Edward T. Ferguson III, the assistant U.S. attorney in charge of  the case, declined to comment on Burgess’ role. He said that the settlement  was in the best interests of the children and did not require them to testify  in court. “Everyone involved – the parents, the government and the court – all  wished to avoid (the children taking the witness stand), if an accommodation  could be reached,” Ferguson said. Among other things, several of the settlements – made individually with  each child’s family – provide for medical costs, counseling and a college  fund. The actual cost of the settlement is $1.175 million. Much of the money  will be invested and paid out during the victims’ lives, thereby increasing  the total to $2.7 million. “They’re children. They’re going to have to live with what happened to  them. So are their parents,” Crain said. “But in terms of legal work, the  legal end of it is finished.” Nancy Campbell-Capen’s job began just four months ago. West Point hired the New Jersey native to run its child-care program, including the center, a  red-brick building tucked on a hill between playing fields and a playground. Ms. Campbell-Capen recalled talking about the sexual abuse case with her  boss and other center staffers. “More people were reacting to the media coverage than the actual possible  event,” Ms. Campbell-Capen said she was told. The center serves 150 children – 80 percent from military families and 20  percent from civilian workers. There are 120 children on a waiting list for  the center that now complies with federal guidelines, which were strengthened  in 1989. “They certainly tightened the old regulations,” said Ms. Campbell-Capen,  who ran child-care centers at Army bases in Germany. “We discovered the need  to tighten up with staff training.” Only a handful of the center’s 86 workers remain from the 1984 staff. Ms.  Campbell-Capen said the staff had no response to the lawsuit settlement. The center is trying to receive accreditation from the National Association for the Education of Young Children. The center’s dedication to meeting child-care standards contrasts with the  way victims’ parents were treated when they sought to alert West Point and the military that their children had been sexually violated. The Army’s reaction to the parents’ plight so enraged former Army Dr.  Walter R. Grote that the ex-captain refused a promotion to major in 1985  because of the treatment of his child’s sexual abuse case at West Point. He  was one of the first parents to file the lawsuit, but later dropped out of  seeking money from the case. “Unfortunately, money can’t . . . undo the trauma incurred by scores of  children at West Point . . . because people with responsibility didn’t  exercise that responsibility,” said Grote, now in private practice in New  Jersey. “What the hell is a settlement? . . . They could have caught these  people doing it at the time that they were doing it. “We have a tendency to think that everything that’s evil and bad is on the other side of the Pacific or the Atlantic.    “And that’s not the case.” The mother of the 10-year-old said the settlement will pay her daughter’s  college bills. But the mother said she would have preferred the government  kept its money and punished the abusers. Without the prosecution, West Point has retained its polished national  image, she said. Even last month, the government admitted none of the  allegations in making the settlement, a reminder of what parents say was West  Point’s callous denial. “They wouldn’t acknowledge what happened,” the mother said. “I’m sure if it was done anywhere else but West Point, it would have been acknowledged.” Another parent whose son was sexually abused recalled that the Army was not prepared to treat satanic abuse. “You had a bunch of kids who had some kind of abuse and the concerns of  the parents seeking assistance fell on deaf ears. The medical treatment for  the satanic abuse was not meeting the bill. It was far beyond what (the Army)  could handle,” said Maj. Bob Caslen, an infantry officer reached stationed at Fort Campbell, Ky. Two teacher aides were suspended and later quit after the charges  surfaced. After a federal grand jury failed to return indictments, community members  joined the parents in calling for another investigation in 1985. Joan Benedict walked with parents at a protest in Highland Falls in hopes  of inspiring another probe. And she was a member of an Orange County  anti-pornography group that sponsored a forum to allow the victims’ parents to speak out in 1986. Ms. Benedict said she used to pray and walk at West Point because of the  189-year-old institution’s majestic Hudson River views. But no more. “When I saw the headlines of the child pornography ring at West Point, it  cut me to the heart,” Ms. Benedict said. “I know West Point is only surface  beauty. They were outright cruel to the parents.” Ms. Benedict, a Town of Cornwall resident, started her own crusade to spark the Justice Department to reopen the abuse case. She ended her efforts in 1988 when she was convinced of a federal cover-up after receiving a letter from the U.S. Department of Justice. Mary C. Spearing, a special attorney with the Justice Department’s National Obscenity Enforcement Unit, wrote that the case was closed. “Unfortunately, no new evidence, revelation or hint of wrongdoing or  negligence surfaced during our review,” she wrote. She noted in her letter  that the assistant U.S. attorney on the case was a father of four and that she had two children herself. The monetary settlement, however, did not resolve the parents’ bitterness  over what they still maintain was a botched FBI investigation. In fact, court  papers filed by parents showed federal investigators not only refused to  believe the children, but, in some cases, also criticized some parents for not keeping their children under control in their homes. “When the agents came to the house, they did not appear to have a tape  recorder and they were not taking notes during the interview,” one parent  said in a sworn statement, according to 1984 court papers. “He became annoyed and frustrated and said, `It looks like she’s just trying to get attention.’  ” Recalled Grote: “The tragedy is the abusers could have been caught . . .  with a little imagination and a lot less chauvinistic narcissism on the part  of West Point and the initial FBI investigator.” Prosecutor Giuliani did not return calls last week. In 1987, Giuliani said  his detailed investigation showed only one or two children were abused. The  federal investigation cleared the center staff members accused by the  children. The mother of the 10-year-old girl still tries to cope with the abuse’s  aftermath. “As far as I’m concerned, the government gave them a license to go out and abuse other children,” the mother said. “I have to explain to my daughter  these people are still out there. “And she still has nightmares. She’s afraid they’re going to come through  the window at night to get her.” Center changes Despite sexual abuse charges that surfaced in 1984 and a $1 million  renovation of the building, the West Point day-care center was hit with 79  violations in January 1988. Here are some of the violations found by the  14-member Pentagon task force and how they have been resolved: – Doors lacked windows. According to inspectors, this “increases the  potential for child abuse.” All center doors now have windows. – No background checks. The names of the 22 child-care providers were not  submitted to the Army Central Registry to determine whether they had prior  criminal records. All employees now have background checks done. – Unprotected electrical outlets. All outlets now have protective caps. – Toilets not immediately adjacent to activity areas.  Restrooms have been  renovated and child-size toilets have been installed. – Some workers, from the center’s acting director to receptionists, did not receive proper training. Training has begun. An Army Child Care Evaluation team spent a week in August scrutinizing the  center and did not list any infractions, said Ray Aalbue, a West Point  spokesman

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love all your stuff! Are you planning to update Passion for Fashion, Child Support, or Congratulations It's Triplets soon? They are some of my favorites! If not, it's chill. Everything you write is kinda awesome so I look forward to anything you are willing to give

The Justice League has kept a weary eye on Danny Constantine because he is the son of one of their less than willing-to-work-in-team members and has found his way onto the youngest hero's team.

Robin, Abuse, and Superboy (the new one, not the Young Justice one) rarely went into the field. They mostly worked within Gotham, handling minor things until they got a feel for the dangers and the work of being a hero.

Bruce, assured everyone that within his city he was fairly sure he could keep them safe. (fairly because let's be honest, it is Gotham. That place was crawling with lunatics- Batman being one of them)

Clack would have preferred if Jon started in a smaller, less dangerous place, but his son has proven more than willing to sneak out to meet with Damian and Colin. It was no secret that Robin was the most trained and the most prepared to lead his team.

That didn't mean they were comfortable with three little children running around risking their lives. Phantom was the group's eldest but also the newest member of the team. He did struggle with his powers, but every day, under the careful eye of Batman's son, he grew more and more in control.

They were pleasantly surprised by how well he fit into the Super Sons. (A work-in-progress name developed when the team had only been Robin and Superboy.). The Justice League had been even more astounded by how careful Phantom was about property damage.

It's true that in a fight, they couldn't help with some damage, but Phantom always went out of his way to remind the other kids mid-battle to be careful and avoid breaking anything. He was more often than not racing after whatever car or building was thrown to faze it through other things.

He even helps the citizens take some photos for insurance purposes. It was shockingly refreshing to see someone worry about the logistics of being a hero.

When asked, Phantom would only blush in embarrassment. "My dad caused a lot of property damage when he drove. I got good at helping people file cases as an apology."

John denied it to everyone, but seeing as Danny's other father was literal Time itself, there was no way he wasn't the idiot on the road. Bruce prepared some lawyers for the people he may have hit and run.

It also helped that Danny seemed to be the new voice of reason within the Super Sons. One that wasn't convinced to try anything by Damian- --- Jon- or follow blindly behind Damian-Collin. He was respectful of Robin's role as leader but was always willing to talk him into respecting the team's suggestions and how to properly communicate. The success rates of Super Sons were skyrocketing with Danny, especially since Danny seemed to be great at PR.

Before Robin and Abuse were not as welcomed by the masses. Robin for being far more violent and rude than his pressors and Abuse for the absolute mountain of muscle that reminded people too much of Bane. Even Superboy was not as warmly noticed simply due to Gothamnics having a bitter rivalship with Metropolis City.

Phantom, on the other hand, was cheerful, helpful, and had enough of his father's sass to make even the worst of Gotham's grin. He also made time out of his day to help the community, walking people home, finding lost pets, cleaning up neighborhoods, and even appearing to clothe and feed whoever he came across.

Bruce himself claimed that a majority of the goons that Danny fought were slowly attempting to turn their life around. Danny had this strange ability to make people feel safe around him, and that let them get comfortable enough to talk about their issues.

It was hard to remember that Danny was blood-related to John Constantine out of all people. His civilian lifestyle, on the other hand, was completely different from his magical father in another way- he was a loser.

While Phantom had this glow, attention-grabbing charisma about him, Danny Constantine seemed to shrink in on himself and fumble with social interactions.

Bruce theorized that his human blood side lacked the near hypnotic attraction of Clockwork. Texts and tombs spoke of Clockwork as temptation itself, and he figured Danny had inherited that intoxicating ability.

This meant that Damian had to be worried about his teammate being bullied out of his sight.

It was displeasing to know that somewhere in the country, Danny was being made fun of, pushed around, or even attacked while he sat in the comfort of his elite school.

If there was one thing Damian Wayne could count as his flaw, it was being feireicly overprotective of those he considered his. That's why he strong-armed his father into paying for Colin to go to Gotham Academy while attempting to convince Clark to transfer Jon.

Jon himself didn't suffer from bullying, so he remained in Metropolis Middle School. His Beloved was moved to his classroom, where Damian had attached himself to his side and scared away anyone foolish enough to attempt to make Colin cry.

Beloved had awarded him with sweet kisses every time, so sometimes Damian hoped the fools of the Academy would try him more often.

Danny however, remained in some stupid school that had teenage boys bother him. John claimed he couldn't afford to send Danny anywhere better, and was seen stressing in the Watch Tower computer room looking into homeschooling.

Apparently, Danny's health depended on healthy relationships with humans. His biology literally attacked him if he couldn't be around people, and John was always pushing for Super Sons to have more meet-ups outside of suits as much as possible while trying to find a new school.

Danny has been moved to four schools already. The bullying just didn't seem to stop no matter where he went as a human.

"Father, it's important," Damian says for the fifth time. "Danny is struggling. It would be better to place him near us to provide protective support."

"Damian, I can't just pay for all your friends' education. It will get suspicious." Bruce sighs. "There are already rumors about Colin."

"But Father, you must think logically. Constantine may have sired him, but Danny is still Clockwork's son. He controls time. He is an entity we can not afford to make into an enemy. I highly doubt he will be pleased by how some mortals have been treating his son." Damian counters, ignoring the rage of the comment about his Beloved. He will find the mouths that will need to be taught to keep Beloved's name out of later. "This could stop whatever retaliation that is sure to be coming in its tracks."

Bruce considered it. "I could try to make it seem like Danny won something on his own....but I'm worried the board is starting to catch on. The other day Babs had to block an investigation of me possibly emblazing funds. "

"Father you do not understand-"

"Bruce!" Tim yelled, racing into the room, holding a laptop. "Bruce, it's Klarion! He's in Gotham."

Damian and Bruce both stiffen in horror. They dislike magic the most, seeing as it rarely follows predictable logic. Not that they couldn't eventually find the answer or the rules of whatever magic user was flowing, but it was a lot longer and headache-inducing. "Why is he here, and what does he want?"

"Well....he's not really doing anything bad?" Tim says, flipping the screen around. On it, the two Waynes can see a flouting teen snapping his fingers turning everything on the street into gold.

"If I was your husband, you would want for nothing!" Klarion cries, sinking to one knee before the startled-looking Phantom. "Oh, great heir of Clockwork, our union would be spoken for generations!"

"Lord of Choas Klarion, I am flattered by your offer but I'm not considering marriage right now." Phantom awkwardly says, rubbing his neck.

"But my young lord, Clockwork has proclaimed that your marriage partner is yours to make," Klarion says, snapping more of his fingers and turning the lined-up cars into large bouquets of roses. People scramble around from the demon, screaming as his magic nearly turns them. "Surely you see if our houses combine we would be unstoppable?"

Phantom's face hardens. "First of all, I don't date anyone for interest. Second, you're starting to bother the people of Gotham so cut it out. Third, I already said no so you-"

"Take a bloody hint and leave my boy alone!" John Constantine screams portaling into the scene with a wave of magic. He throws five powerful spells at the Witch boy who hisses back.

Hisses like a snake.

"Insolent mortal! This does not consider filth like-"

"Don't talk to my dad that way!" Phantom shouts cutting the Choas Lord off.

Klarion demonic features shrink back into a regular face as he blinks in shock. "This moral is your father?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Forgive my rude behavior, sir." Klarion's tone smooths out in an instant, snapping his figures to dust Constantine's shoulders. John frowns at him which makes the witch boy actually stumble. "Surely I can make it up to you? I am very interested in becoming your son-in-law and wouldn't want to make our relationship strain by my hasty behavior"

Bruce reaches over and closes the laptop before they can hear Constantine's response. "We are not dealing with whatever soap drama that was."

"Father!"

[reiderwriter]

Hello!I hope you are having a great day!I love LOVE your writing and I would like to request a fanfiction where the reader is Hotch's daughter who works at the bau and is in a secret relationship with spencer without her dad knowing.Spencer wants to tell the team but she is scared about how they'll react so they fight but during a case she gets kidnapped and the feelings are high,so spencer accidentally reveals the relationship.I would love if it ended in smut (possibly dom!spencer who is angry at her for being so reckless and risking her life like that) and maybe a lot of angst??Hotch could potentially be fuming but when they get her back he decides that he will let them be??I would like my emoji to be 🌼!Thank you in advance and if you write this I would absolutely LOVE to read it!🤍🤍

A/N: I love writing for a Hotchner Reader because the Hotch/Spencer parallels are so 😙👌 This was so fun to write!

Warnings: Smut/ Angst with a happy ending, Semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, case details, kidnapping, abuse, strangulation, mentions of child death/ allusions towards pedophilia etc, Hotch is a somewhat shitty/overprotective dad/boss.

Masterlist!

Falling back into a hotel bed that wasn't yours, you wrapped your legs around Spencer Reid as he furiously worked open the buttons of your shirt, his lips locked with yours in a furious exchange. 

“Spencer, Spencer, we can't-” You moaned as his lips fell down to your ear, a small tap to your thigh signalling that he wanted tour legs spread for him. Despite your vocal protests, you complied.

“Need to feel you,” he groaned, nipping and sucking his way down your chest as his big hands began pushing your skirt up and your panties down. 

“Spencer, someone will hear.” 

“I don't care who hears,” he whispered, finally ridding you of the last piece of material covering your wet sex. “I just want to make you feel good.”

His lips fell to your cunt, falling on your cunt as he began his ministrations. You loved this, the feeling of him near, his lips on you, his tongue teasing out whimper, then moan, then a scream of his name as you came undone on his lips. But that wasn't a chance you could take today. 

“He's in the next room, Spencer. Fuck, he's going to hear us.” 

You wouldn't push him off, enjoying too much the feeling of your building pleasure, so appealing to your boyfriend to do the right thing was your last resort as your hips bucked into his face, chasing your orgasm. 

He didn't stop, but held your hips down, thrusting his tongue in and out of you as his fingers came up to tease your clit. 

“Spencer, fuck-” you slapped a hand over your mouth as you shuddered below him, finally reaching your climax. 

Your hands fell limp as he worked you through the end of your orgasm before rising up to lay beside you on the bed. 

“I wish you wouldn't push it, Spencer. You're a dead man if he catches us like this.” 

“Hotch won't kill me just because I'm dating his daughter. I don't understand why you don't want to tell people.” 

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration. It was a conversation you'd been back and forward on a lot in the past six months. 

Dating a coworker was tricky, doubly so when your coworker’s boss - and your boss - was your overprotective father. Things only became more complicated when you factored in a ten year age gap and the fact that your father refused to view you as an adult, even when you were a fully qualified member of his own team. 

You'd had to fight for acceptance into the FBI and go above him to get the job on his team, a decision that he still berated you for to this day. But you'd had enough of him shielding you from reality, and it was a step you needed to take. 

Falling in love with Spencer Reid, though, that was just pure bad luck. 

You weren't sure how it had taken you until joining the team to meet the man, but you sure were glad he hadn't been introduced earlier. You'd joined the team at 24, having been in grad school until your FBI Academy application was approved, and somehow in the 10 years before that Spencer had worked under your father, you'd never crossed paths.

Of course, you knew who he was before that from context and conversations with your father, and of course, he figured out who you were quickly based on the many arguments you'd had in Hotch’s office. But that hadn't stopped you from repeatedly falling into his bed month after month, and then falling in love with him. 

Your relationship was more than the sex, but it was also a lot of sex. From the stories you'd heard, and from the look of him, you'd assumed that Spencer was a delicate little flower, an innocent in the bedroom as much as any 34 year old man could be. 

And then you'd both been offered spiked drinks at a holiday party courtesy of Penelope Garcia, and he'd proved you deliriously wrong. He'd been hooked from then on, and after waking up awkwardly in his bed the next morning to two cups of coffee and a spread of breakfast pastries he'd gone out to specifically pick up for you, you'd been hooked on him as well. 

The only problem was Hotch. 

You certainly weren't winning any daughter of the year awards already with the stunt you pulled to get on the BAU, but you didn't want to be completely and totally disowned just yet. 

“Hotch won't kill you for dating his daughter, you're right,” you mumbled back to Spencer rolling yourself back on top of him and pinning his arms down so his fingers couldn't tease you any further. 

“Thank you, now if you trust me, I've ran like four different scenarios in my head so-” 

“He'd definitely fire us both, though. And that's worse than death.”

“Y/N….” 

“Tell me I'm wrong, please. Back up your findings with empirical evidence. He doesn't want me on the team, Spencer. He doesn't even want me in the FBI. I think he'd be happy enough to ship me out of the country, too, if that helped.”

Spencer sighed and tugged your hair behind your ear as he gestured for you to sit up. 

“I know it's scary. But I love you. I don't care about the consequences because I'll still love you before and after telling him.”

“And during?” 

“I might freak out a bit, but deep down, the love will be there still.”

You hit him with a pillow and climbed off the bed. 

“Okay, get out now. I'll think about it but you really can't stay here tonight.” He nodded, grabbing his things and pulling his clothes back into place. 

“So, like we're totally done for tonight? Nothing else.”

“Spencer! Out!” You whisper-shouted the words and watched him turn your door handle as slowly as possible before he waved his goodbye and left your room. 

12 hours later, you were once again getting frustrated with Spencer Reid. And Aaron Hotchner. They may soon be enemies, but goddamn they were perfect for each other in some ways. 

“Hotch, you can't just give me nothing to do. Send me to the morgue with Rossi, or let me interview family members with Tara. I'm a member of this team, too, so let me do my job.” 

“You'll do well to remember that I'm your boss, Y/N.”

“You're acting more like my dad right now. A boss would utilize his team members.” 

You'd been stuck in this stale mate since the morning, and Reid hadn't helped at all. When giving out assignments that morning, you'd not been notably left out of crime scene investigation, suspect interrogation, and anything helpful. Reid usually asked for your assistance at times like these, but he was finally putting his money where his mouth was and keeping distance from you in the office.

So far, you'd ran coffees back and forth between the kitchen and work room and had been communicating back and forth with JJ and Derek in the field and Garcia back at Quantico. 

You'd been, for lack of better comparison, relegated to receptionist. 

“At least let me work on the geographical profile with Reid-” 

“Absolutely not.” 

You stiffened at the reaction, wondering just exactly why he would react so strongly. Spencer had snuck in a few secret kisses here and there this morning, though you'd been sure that you'd had no witnesses. 

“Why not?” 

“I don't want you to distract him.”

Bile settled in the back of your throat as you tried your best to bite your tongue and keep the bitter words in. 

“You know, sometimes, Dad, it feels like you love everyone on this team more than you love me.” 

He locked eyes with you quickly, but he glance was dismissive and stern, almost as if he was asking you ‘seriously.’ 

You turned on your heels and began to walk out before he called out from behind you again. 

“Y/N,” you stopped despite yourself. 

“Leave the gun and badge on the desk. We'll discuss this after the case is closed.”

You almost laughed. You almost blurted out your relationship with Spencer just to spite him. You followed his order and took yourself out of the office for some fresh air, finally giving him what he wanted. 

An hour of aimlessly wandering down the street, and you turned into a run-down park. 16 missed calls from Spencer and other members of the team, who'd no doubt watched you turn in your badge. 

Garcia had even called a few times, and you felt guilty for not forwarding her calls somewhere else, knowing she'd probably have key case information for someone. 

But you just couldn't handle it anymore, so you switched it off, pushed it back into your pocket, and kept walking. 

It was two more blocks before the man following you pushed a soaked rag over your mouth and nose and pushed your unconscious body into the back of a waiting van. 

×××××

Two hours of near constant complaining to Hotch had gotten Spencer nowhere in his demands to know just where you went. 

He'd called you 36 times since Hotch had told him you'd left, and he hadn't stopped freaking out since. 

“But where did she go?” 

“I sent her back to the motel.” 

“All of our cars, bar the one JJ and Morgan took to the crime scene, are outside and accounted for. The motel is a 34-minute drive away. It'll take her 5 hours on foot through our unsubs hunting grounds, and I'm not sure if you've noticed, but she matches the victim profile we just gave. Where is she?” 

A muscle in Hotch's jaw twitched, but neither of them moved, eyes locked in battle to see who would back down first.

A call from Penelope ended whatever disaster was storming between them. 

“Hotch hey, I can't get in contact with mini-Hotch, so here I am. Morgan called earlier from the crime scene. From the way they're posed, he said they could be possible stand-ins for a lost child  a daughter or a sister, so I cross checked the ownership of the vehicles that run with the tires we found prints of at the scene, and I got a name. Like one.”

“Great work, Penelope, send it over.” 

Hotch dropped the call and looked back up at Spencer, readying himself to give orders and push the issue. 

Again, their standoff was interrupted. 

“Hotch,” JJ rushed in, carrying a radio dispatcher, face white, and filled with worry. “You need to hear this.”

“Witness reported an abduction on East and 7th, patrol surveyed the scene and found a cellphone. Identifying information suggests it belongs to a Y/N Hotchner. We're bringing it into the stat-” 

Hotch stood so fast his chair almost crashed to the floor. He stood so fast that he barely had time to dodge the lunge Spencer took in his direction, fist pulled back. It would connect, given the chance  he knew it would. He'd been the one to teach Spencer to throw a punch in the first place. 

Morgan insinuated himself between the two men before, and blood could be shed, quickly pulling Spencer back as Rossi, too, rushed into the room to diffuse the situation. 

“One hour. I've been asking you for one hour where she went, and you wouldn't answer me. You made her leave her gun behind.” 

It wasn't exactly a shout, but there was something broken in his voice, as of his mouth had filled with blood and he could only spit hate at a man who'd been a mentor to him until seconds before. 

“If she's hurt- fuck, if even a hair on her head is out of place, I'll-” 

“What, Spencer? What will you do? She's my daughter. What could you do that-”

“She's my girlfriend! She's my girlfriend, she's the love of my life. God, I want to marry her, I have the ring, I have the proposal planned, all that was left was telling you and then asking her, but you've been such a dick to her about this job, and about cases, and God knows what else, that she doesn't want to say anything to you, and now you've driven her away and she's fucking gone. And she could be hurt or in danger or d-de…” 

He crumpled to the floor, Morgan still holding him as his legs gave way beneath him. 

Nobody moved for what felt like hours, still in their grief, shock, some just nervous to see what would happen next. 

“You've been in this situation before, Hotch. So have I. It's …. It hasn't ended well for us before.” 

The words were so final, so defeated that they sucked the air out of the room.

“Morgan,” Hotch started quietly, eyes still locked with Reid's, still staring down the reflection of his own despair.

“Get Garcia back on the line, I want confirmation that the vehicle that picked Y/N up is the same one that our unsub has been using to set up crime scenes. See if she can lift a name and an address. Rossi, if he's skilled enough to pick up an FBI Agent unaware, we need a SWAT team, get one on standby.”

Slowly growing in volume, he continued, as the room started moving at his signal. 

“JJ, Tara, take over where Reid left off with the geographical profile. Look at Y/N's last known location and how far a car could've gotten in the last 24 minutes.” 

He paused again, staring Reid down. 

“Reid, you're with me.” 

xxxxx

It took you a few seconds to gain a sense of your surroundings when you came to. Partially because of the drug induced migraine splitting your head, and partially because of the mess of ribbons and stuffed toys you'd woken up in. 

A change of clothes, and hands tied to what seemed to be a children's bed and you felt so grossly vulnerable your body shook with a few harsh sobs before you regained your composure and remembered your training. 

The knots on the rope holding your hands were tight. There wasn't much room to move with them pinned above your head, but you recognised them as naval knots. Your unsub had experience at sea, recreational or professional you'd yet to determine. 

Looking around again, you looked for entries and exits, wanting to know how the unsub would come in again and how you could get out. 

There were no windows, but a set of stairs leading up towards a solid door told you that you'd been locked inside a basement. A basement decorated similarly to a child's bedroom. 

Dimly lit by a mass of fairy lights, the room seemed covered head to toe in teddy bears, dolls, and children's books, a sturdy handmade doll’s house standing in the corner of the room. 

Faintly, you heard the creaking of floorboards above you before the handle of the basement door rattled and more light poured in. 

“I bought you breakfast, cupcake.” 

There was no time to feign unconsciousness again as your captor finally came into view. 

He was older than middle-aged, slightly wider around the midsection than you assumed he'd been in his youth. His hair was closely cropped and laid neatly, leading you to suspect he was former military. 

“Oh, good, you're awake. What do you want to do today, cupcake? Daddy has some time off now, I can play with you all you want.” 

You moved slowly, pushing yourself up to a seated position so you could bend your arms a bit. But you didn't look away, needing to keep him in your line of sight the entire time.

“Where am I?” You asked slowly, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Wow, you must've had a deep sleep cupcake. You're in your bedroom, silly!”

The man's sprightly tone was disconcerting, and you could see a muscle in his forehead twitch slightly as you spoke. 

“O-of course. My mistake. Maybe I'm just still tired.”

He laid the tray on the bedside table and sat on the bed next to you. You tried your best not to shy from his touch as he stroked your hair, but every muscle in your body tensed and pulled from him reflexively. 

A quick glance to the tray and you saw the food he'd brought you was a small cup of pills and a glass of water to rinse them down with. 

If he noticed your flinch, he said nothing, grabbing a hairbrush from the nightstand and beginning to comb through your hair slowly and deliberately, taking care like one would a daughter. 

“Daddy,” you took a chance, recalling the name he'd given himself earlier. “Can we play outside today? I want to go to the park.” 

He stopped moving, and you held your breath as his smile dropped. 

“No, sweetie. You know we don't go to parks.” 

“Why not? I really want to play there, Daddy, please!”

In seconds, his hands wrapped around your throat as he pushed you back down into the bed, holding you there with his tight, suffocating grip. 

“Shut the fuck up you little slut. I said we don't go to parks, you listen. I am your father, you are not being taken by one of those sick freaks again.” 

He released you as quick as he grabbed you and stood up, pacing as he attempted to regain composure. 

“You can draw or we can have a tea party but you know we can't go out. You know that cupcake, I've told you so many times.” 

He grabbed at his hair, pulling it from its carefully styled arrangement into a mess, his fingers leaving red marks against his white skin as he pushed and pulled his head. 

He breathed deeply, and you sat up, trying to regain your composure as you watched him lose his. 

“What was her name?” You whispered, half hoping he would hear you, half praying that he'd ignore you for the sake of his fantasy. 

“W-What?” 

“Your daughter. What was her name?” 

He focused on you again, but his hands - hands that you knew could and would choke the life out of you if you did something wrong again - his hands were shaking. 

You heard the floorboards creaking upstairs and decided to push your questioning, hoping it meant what you thought it did. 

“Why are you saying it like that, ‘was?’ Is. Her name is, your name is Laura, and you're my little cupcake.” 

“What happened to her?” You filled your voice with as much sympathy and understanding as you could muster, one eye on the basement door that was being slowly pushed open. One look at Morgan at the top of the stairs had your heart rate slowing to a calmer speed. You locked eyes with him for a second, halting him, and he nodded, waiting for your signal. 

“You, you're my cupcake, you look just like… She should look just like you.” 

The man sat on the bed again, stroking a hair out of your eye as his filled with tears. 

“Fifteen years. I looked for her for fifteen years, you know. If I hadn't taken her to that park-” 

“That must have been hard.” 

He nodded as he broke down in silent sobs. 

“They said… they said she probably died a day or two after we lost her. When they found her, she was…” he rested his head on your shoulder, let him cling to you as he mourned his daughter. 

“We couldn't identify her, but she had that teddy with her. The teddy with the cupcake in its hands. She never went anywhere without it. So we…we knew.

You looked at Morgan as he slowly made his descent into the room, closely followed by JJ. 

The man looked up into your eyes again, wiping the tears from his face. 

“She was only 8.” He looked defeated, and your heart broke for him, even as you wished to get as far away from him as you could physically muster. 

Morgan pulled him up and away from you as he secured the man with handcuffs, but his eyes remained locked on you. 

JJ untied you and guided you out, but you felt his gaze bite into you ever after you'd left the basement. 

As soon as you were above ground, you let your body divest itself of adrenaline, your legs buckling as JJ tried to catch you. Another set of arms was quicker, though, and you didn't even register Spencer's arrival before burying your head in his chest and letting your sobs escape you. 

He guided you to your feet and walked you out to the ambulance, his arms protectively wrapped around you, his lips peppering kisses along your hairline and forehead, anywhere he could reach. In moments, you were bundled into the ambulance, and three gentle voices were trying to calm you, to pry you away from your comfort doll.

You wondered if you'd die like the unsubs daughter had, if they'd find you clinging to Spencer the way she had to her teddy bear.

“Y/N,” your father's deep voice was clear and smooth, the only thing that was cutting through the wretched moment of pain you were enduring. 

You remembered yourself again, relinquishing your grip on Spencer and wiping the tears from your face as you finally looked towards Aaron Hotchner. 

The paramedics took their chance and began checking your vitals, working around you in a hurry. 

“Dad, I'm sorry, I was walking and didn't notice that he was behind me, I should've been more careful-”

“Y/N, it’s okay. You're okay now.” 

You nodded as he came closer. You ignored the tears in his eyes, trying not to break down again. It had been an age since you'd last witnessed him cry, at another crime scene with another family member and another unsub. You couldn't think about how close you'd come to making him relive his worst nightmare. 

Spencer's hand was still firm in yours, and you held it like a lifeline, though you were sure your nails had to be cutting him by now. It took another moment to register that he was holding onto you just as hard, that he was unmoving, still where he was usually a series of compulsive moments, tapping, hand wringing, fists clenching and releasing. 

You glanced between the men, who had now become quiet as they surveyed you, and noticed the tension. Before you could say anything, though, the paramedics took over. 

“We're going to get you to the hospital now, Agent, one coworker can accompany you in the vehicle, preferably one with knowledge of your medical history.”

Both men immediately moved forward again, as if ready to jump into the van, before turning again to each other. 

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself just as the buzzing in your head from the migraine grew louder. 

“Y/N, it's your choice. Who do you want to come?” Spencer said gently, his body still stiff with worry. 

“I'm her father. This isn't a question of who she likes better.”

“I have her medical records memorized, and I have more knowledge about the drugs the unsub gave her, but Y/N can choose for herself because she is a grown woman.”

You sighed and dropped the man's hand as the medics ushered you into the van fully, but the men were fully absorbed in their fight for dominance that they barely registered it. 

“JJ. JJ is coming with me,” You could see both of them turn back to you to argue, but you continued before they could. “Because I am a grown adult who knows her own medical history, and I don't need my father and my… coworker having territory wars over my wellbeing.” 

And possibly because she'd be the least awkward option to answer the questions about sexual activity and possibility of pregnancy around, but you really did not need to vocalize that. 

“Right now, I'm just a victim you've saved. Go and do your jobs and meet me at the hospital later because I am not doing overtime completing paperwork while on suspension.” 

JJ climbed up into the ambulance and the doors shut, letting you finally get a few moments peace as it began slowly making its way to whatever hospital was closest. 

“He knows, right?” You asked, covering your eyes with your hands as you braved for the answer. 

“Hotch? You could say that he figured it out.” 

“That bad?” 

“Spencer threw a punch at him. He tried to at least.” 

“What?!” Your body shot up, but the paramedic gently forced you back into a laid position, giving you a warning look to stay put as she checked your blood pressure. 

“Don't be too hard on him, Y/N. He thought he was going to lose you. They both did. I don't think either of them would survive it happening again.” 

The guilt hit you right in the chest as you nodded and dropped the conversation. 

“Maybe I should've let Spencer come with me.” 

“Why?” JJ asked, not offended bit curious. 

“Because I'm not entirely sure my father won't throw that punch back at him now he knows I'm okay. It's hard being in a relationship if one of you is dead.” 

The older woman chuckled slightly, and you settled back down, letting the car movements rock you into sleep. 

xxxxx

A few hours later and some quietly bickering voices pulled you from the rest you'd so sorely needed. Without even opening your eyes, you knew they'd both subtly scrambled to your bed to make sure you were comfortable. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked, wiping your eyes carefully as you tried to sit up, arms still aching from being tied up. 

“Oh shit-” you exclaimed after seeing your boyfriends freshly split lip. 

“Dad, what the fuck?” 

“Y/N, it's fine. It doesn't hurt.” 

“Aaron Hotchner, do you have nothing to say for yourself?” You tried to put all of tour anger into the words as you said them, bit he looked at you again with his straight face, and you crumpled under the pressure. 

“I won't…I'm not going to object. I just ask you to keep your private life separate from your work.” 

“And you're going to punch my boyfriend while I'm unconscious, so I can't defend him.” 

“I'm still your father, and he deserved it.” 

You looked back over to Spencer, who was quite notably not meeting your eyes. 

“Do I want to know?” 

“I'm leaving now. Jack will be here soon. He wants to check on you now that school is over. We told him you were hurt trying to save a sick man.” 

“Thank you, dad.” 

He nodded at you and left you alone in your hospital room with Spencer. 

“Why did you deserve it?” You whisper shouted the moment you assumed he was out of earshot. 

“The doctor came in and asked about some old bruises on your upper thighs. And ass. And chest. I had to admit they weren't sustained during the kidnapping, and Hotch wasn't pleased.” 

You huffed out a sound halfway between incredulous and a strangled moan of shame as you curcled yourself up into a ball and tried your best to die. 

“Great. Wonderful.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he thought it was signs of domestic violence and not just rough...sex.” 

“Yes, Spencer, that makes me feel entirely more comfortable with the situation.” 

Registering the sarcasm in your voice, he quieted down again, settling into the chair by your bedside and grabbing your hand. 

You sat silently together for a few minutes before either of you said anything. 

“I'm sorry. I know you didn't want him to find out.” 

“Spencer, you don't have to apologise. All things considered, this is possibly the best way he could've found out.”

“My busted lip suggests otherwise, I think.” 

“And a whole lot more would've been busted if he caught us any other time. Besides, I already lost my job, so there's not much else at stake anymore.” 

The words stung you as you said them, but you did still feel the weight of your dismissal in your chest, spreading miserably through your bones. 

“Does your head still hurt?”

“Not really, why?”

“You're not as perceptive as you usually are.”

You shot him a confused look as he smiled softly down at you, offering a nod towards the small coffee table under the window of your hospital room. 

There on your table sat your creds and your gun. The silent acknowledgement you'd been waiting for from your father. 

Spencer sat by you as you did your best to hold off the tears. He let you pretend there was something in your eye, let you wonder if your eyes had become watery because of dust from the basement. He quietly held your hand as you grinned and grinned until you pulled him in for a kiss and held him close to you. 

His lips were soft as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you even as he tried to hold himself up and off you so he didn't hurt you. 

“You know,” you said, punctuating each word with another sweet kiss. “This means- that- you're- stuck- with- me.” 

He laughed into your final kiss, finally pulling back for more air, studying your face as if he were trying to memorize it. 

“That was never the issue.” 

“Oh really, and what was?”

He kissed your again, slow and deep this time, taking his time working his hands down from your hair to your neck to cup your face so you were opened up to him, letting his lips and tongue explore everything he wanted to. He pulled away eventually and instinctively your lips tried to chase his, even as he pulled out of reach. 

“Making sure you stayed by my side.” 

[malkaviian]

you know, golden probably gets very jealous sometimes of spring's relationship with the inmates, especially his Very Special(tm) group

[postmoe]

In the Next Moment:

Yandere/Alpha Gojo Satoru x Omega Reader

I can't even tell you how long ago I started this. I had no idea how to end it and I took away and added a bunch of things haha. Here is your alpha Gojo Satoru, here to save the day and take you for himself!

omegas are lesser creatures, familial abuse, self-deprecation, like your father in this is literal scum

.

What kind of God deals a life like this? Where status is given the moment you’re born. Where you can be cast away at birth and shoved into a home just for having the wrong scent. It used to be that families would wait until puberty before they knew what breed their child would be. Now? Now they have the technology to make accurate guesses. Not one hundred percent, but, accurate enough.

              In your case, call it lucky or not, your family didn’t send you away to a home. Omega’s aren’t completely useless, and can fetch quite a high penny on the market. Every day you were reminded of your failures as their daughter, that being bred by them should have produced an alpha.

              “This is all your fault,” your mother would say to your father, “Your cousin is an omega, it runs in your bloodline!”

              “How was I supposed to know?! No one ever spoke of them I had no idea until we did the test!” He would shout back.

              It’s a common argument you heard growing up. One that would seep into the marrow of your bones and claw its way into your dreams. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Even though they argued with each other, at the end of the day it came out to you being wrong. You were a curse.

              Eventually, your mother left. Being an alpha with you in the home, it was irredeemable. She had not bonded with an omega like her DNA screamed, your father a Beta and those relationships were never to last if an Omega came into the picture. Just an example of the homewrecker in your genes.

              He would drink and smoke on the couch all day and night. “We had such a happy family, such high hopes for you…” Another swig of the bottle in his hand, “It’s your job to take care of us now. Your mother did everything. Go make some money and bring it back home.”

              Quivering, afraid to even speak in front of him, you had to ask, “B-But what if people find out I’m a- AH!”

              You cower as the bottle smashes against the brick wall next to your head, glass and liquor breaking around while your father stands and screams, “You stupid bitch! Go get blockers, fuck! How hard is it to come up with things on your own? You’re so fucking pathetic, stupid fucking omega,” he continues to grumble as he storms past you, “Clean up this fucking mess.”

              Of course, you’ve thought about running away, thought about life outside of your home. The realism of it is not pretty, though. You’ve seen how omegas are treated on the streets if they get caught, they’re not allowed in the city because their scent can be such a disturbance. You have to be really taken care of to live amongst others. If you weren’t so rare then it wouldn’t be an issue, but unfortunately omegas can’t be shared around to every alpha.

              Getting blockers is probably the hardest job. Most doctors don’t want to sell them to you unless you have a good reason for being an omega, ie; rich spouse, breeding bitch, selling, etc. Anything on the black market is a gamble between being really good or really shit. Eventually, another omega you came across in passing had recommended a ‘hole in the wall’ doctor. They hide down an alleyway in the slums of the city but are open to helping omegas. When you went there it had ignited your fear and you started releasing poor, omega pheromones. Many, hungry looks your way were cast, though thankfully you made it out in one piece.

              Now you were left to try and survive in the wild.

.

“Yo!” Your head shoots up from the stall oven, seeing a familiar head of white hair and blindfolded head.

              Honestly, you were shocked, once people found out the ‘lovely’ attendant at the crepe stall was an omega, they generally never returned. “Ah,” you try not to gape at him, “You’re back. You didn’t come with your, um, students?”

              It’s been a little over a year now that you’ve manned the crepe stall in a deserted park. You think that’s why your boss put you here, because not many people came by so business wasn’t that great; it also gave him a good excuse to berate you when you didn’t meet income quota. Earlier this week you were met with a unique set of customers, one of them being this man and then two younger boys and a girl to whom he introduced as his students – very proud of them. In that same interaction, whilst the students were enjoying each other’s crepes and you were making his, he had suddenly leaned in and inhaled a few times, sniffing you and grinning cheekily, “You’re an omega, aren’t ya?” It shocked you because you shouldn’t be smelling like anything right now, the sugary crepes usually enough to hide and scent that seems to waft from you. Now, he had returned alone, acting as if you were buddies, “My dear students are in a fierce battle! I have made some time to see my favourite crepe omega.”

              His words were too loud, you had to look around in fear that maybe he was trying to let others know, trying to get you boycott. However, no one was there. Was he trying to bait you? Maybe you should just go along with it, “Did you really like them that much?”

              He perked up, arms open in a welcoming stance, “Of course! The food, the chef, both are a delicious snack~.”

              Flirting?! Definitely a joke.

              Your shocked expression must’ve spoke volumes as he laughed at you, wiping a faux tear from his blindfolded eyes, “Don’t be so unsure of yourself. Surely a treat like you gets hit on all the time.”

              “Are you hearing yourself,” you blurt out without thinking. How could he be so casual about this if he weren’t planning something sinister. All the memories of manipulation and abuse from strangers in your life come flooding back, your body subconsciously recoiling in on itself in defence. Your voice is meeker now, “Please, if you’re going to do something just get over with it.”

              The man’s footsteps sound calm as he strides towards you, his hand reaching forward. You cringe in on yourself, awaiting a slap or a hit, only for your body to be taken over by surprise when he speaks, his index finger pointing towards the flat stove-surface of the kiosk, “Your crepe is burning.”

              “Oh no!” You squeal, quickly going to flip it off the surface and onto a serviette. Tears start to collect in your eyes as you think of all the different ways you’ll be punished, “Shit shit shit. He’s going to know! He always knows and I can’t hide it, I’m screwed-“

              Silence engulfs you as you watch, stunned, at the man who picks up the hot and charred crepe, worms out his tongue and opens his mouth, before scoffing it down in a single gulp. He pulls out a few bills and sets them on the kiosk counter, “Whew! In hindsight I should have put cream or something on it. Definitely not as good as the first one I had.” Honestly… What was his deal? He didn’t question your shocked expression, only smiling and reaching out his finger to wipe at a stray tear, using the kiosk to lean over and reach you, “Name’s Satoru. Or, well, Gojo is my last name and tends to be what others go by. For you, cutie, I’d rather be addressed by something more to heart. So, you free after this? I know a great restaurant near here.”

              Your mouth opens and closes, gaping like a dehydrated fish. You didn’t need to look down to see his arms begin to sizzle on the pan, the sound and smell enough to alert you both. Ven so, you informed him with ghostly words, “Your arm is cooking.”

              “Not gonna move it ‘til you say yes!”

              … You couldn’t believe what your day has come to, “Okay.”

.

The restaurant he had decided to take you to was something way out of your budget, and just as you were about to voice your concerns for it, he quickly put his finger to your lips and spoke, “Shh, I know what you’re going to say and don’t worry. I’ve got us covered.”

              Neither of you were particularly dressed for this place, he wearing a black uniform with the neck of it covering his chin, and you in your small, ripped (not by design) shorts and oversized t-shirt. Even with this, the waiter at the front smiled widely at Satoru, “Gojo-sama! What a pleasant surprise. Table for two?”

              You were thankful that the waiter didn’t acknowledge you. No greeting yet no glare or scowl either. Satoru flicked his fingers into guns and pointed at him, “You betch’ya! One of those cosy, independent booths, please.”

              “Of course, right this way.” The waiter lead you through the open area of the restaurant, many patrons idly enjoying their dinner with their loved ones by quiet candlelight, whilst the ones you walked slightly too close to were able to smell you and tell just what breed you were, some even trying to complain to their designated waiter. You just hung your head in shame until you got to the booth, following Satoru’s lead until you heard a door being slid shut.

              Quickly, you turned to face him, seeing that he had shut you both in a secluded area with a table, the walls made of a deep coloured screen that didn’t quite go to the ceiling, yet provided all the privacy one could need in a place like this. “Don’t worry,” he says, walking around to pull out a chair for you, “The owner and I get along real well. I’ve helped them out a few times.”

              He slides the seat in as you sit, and you still can’t get over the fact that he hasn’t done anything bad to you yet. This man has singlehandedly given you the most kindness you have received in your entire life. Perhaps he wants to break your heart in the end, at least you might get a free meal out of it. “I see… Are you a chef? Is that why your hair is up like that and you didn’t flinch when you got burnt?” You knew some chefs were godly in the kitchen and a little stove sizzle wouldn’t quit them.

              Satoru laughed, bringing his hands up to act as a resting spot for his chin, “Nooo~ Not a chef, and my hair just sits this way with the blindfold.”

              Which brings you on to your next question, “Why do you wear a blindfold? How can you navigate like that?”

              His cheeky grin only widens, his hands now moving to sit flat on the table so he can lean forward and whisper, “Would you believe I have… Special powers?”

              This made you quirk your eyebrow, now you were unintentionally leaning in as well, “Huh? Behind your blindfold?”

              Satoru chuckled, leaning back again in his chair as he nonchalantly waves the discussion away in the air, “Ah, I don’t think you can handle this conversation just yet. Oh! I know, how about this,” he holds his hand up, five fingers pointing towards the sky. Using his other hand, brings down his thumb so he was only showing four fingers, “Four more dates and I’ll reveal my eyes to you.”

              Another flustered expression overcame you. You hadn’t even finished this date – this is a date?! – and yet he was already planning more. Subconsciously, you tilt your head away from him, shoulders coming inwards as you mutter, “I don’t have anything to offer you, Satoru.”

              “I just,” he falters, and for the first time he sounds a little unsure of how to say something. Easily, his motions fluid and controlled, like he knows exactly what he wants to do, he reaches for your upper arms and pulls them forward, sliding down the length of your arms until he can comfortably hold your hands, “I just need you to be there. That’s all I want.”

              You swallow thickly, thinking it over. It wouldn’t hurt to see how tonight turned out, and even if you said no, he knows where you work. You suppose you can see where this takes you, until it falls flat like it should for an omega.

.

That night, you managed to tip toe back into your home, your father snoring on the couch. It was a miracle you weren’t berated, at least you had thought so until the morning.

              Cooking breakfast for him, he had decided now was prime time to slam his fist into the archway of the room, making you flinch as he roared, “You stupid bitch, don’t think I didn’t notice you not home last night. Where the fuck were you?”

              What to say… Could you lie? You’d have to lie, he would accuse you of trying to do something shady if you said you had a date. No omega would get a date, especially you, and so that would mean you were planning something bad. Or maybe it was your catastrophising thoughts that made you see it this way, a defence mechanism, if you will. “I was working late,” you tell him, quietly, “My boss is trying to extend the crepe business into later hours for couples on dates.”

              To this, your father scoffs, planting his body at the table as he awaits his meal, “No couple would want an omega to serve them, you might try to make off with their mate.”

              You really did try to hold your tongue, but maybe Satoru’s easy-going behaviour had mellowed you out a bit, “I just thought you might want the extra money.” It wasn’t a smart-ass comment, but no matter what you’d say he would take it as one.

              This morning, he seemed to have had a bad hangover, as he could only growl out, “What was that, you runt? Know your place.”

              Oh, how you desired to spit in his food. You gazed longingly at the bacon and eggs you were making, such a simple meal. Last night you had come home to see new pizza boxes laid around. Honestly, you felt a sort of betterment from that. You had dined like royalty, and he was stuck here eating shit from a sole. If only for last night, you were better than him.

…

“A curse?” You questioned, your wide eyes looking over your teacup. It was an authentic, British set, Satoru had taken you out to a little garden café on the other side of the city. It was amongst some of the historic temples around, the trees making you seem far away from the city and the food a kind of exquisite you had never been privy of knowing.

              He grinned at you, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling from behind his dark glasses, “That’s right! Kind of like a ghost or a monster. They feast on collective, negative energy and such, I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

              You tried to keep an open mind, “And you… Hunt them?”

              “Yeah! See, now you’re getting it,” he grins, excitedly.

              With a smile, you set your cup down and ask, “Are you an author, Satoru?”

              He waved his hand dramatically in the air, “Oh, you flatterer, you. I’m not that creative, it’s just my job.”

              As much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t help the creeping feeling that he was lying to you. Like, this was your third ‘date’ together and he still had yet to bully you or do something horrible. This wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to make you scared and freak out. Maybe he wants to laugh at the weak, little omega and her fear smell. Is that why you were in a crowded café?

              “Hey, hey,” he reaches over, holding your hands in his, “I can sense you’re troubled but not for the reason I’d think. You still don’t trust me, do you, (Y/n)?”

              Your mouth opens and closes, unsure how to word your thoughts. You were caught in a predicament you didn’t want to be in. Of course you still didn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust him after everything you’ve been through. Would he take such offense to that?

              Satoru seems to take your shock as his answer, smiling sincerely at you, “I don’t blame you, it’s okay. That’s why we’re doing these dates! Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from now on.”

              Flaming heat erupts on your cheeks, the feeling of his thumbs caressing your skin feeling like an iron, “How can you just say that? You don’t know me and I’m-“ you stop suddenly, looking around you to notice the faces of disgust, you really didn’t need to finish that sentence. Your blockers had grown thin, so now you were cutting them in half to try and spread it out since your doctor was on holiday. Unfortunately, they didn’t prevent the smell of your pheromones enough, it was painfully obvious everywhere you went.

              “Ah, my darling omega, you truly are sweet,” he inhales, smiling contentedly, “Once you realise the world is your playground, nothing else matters. I could kill everyone here and take you away, and as long as no one can stop me – and trust me, they can’t -, anything is possible, and your dreams really can come true.”

              You didn’t know what to say to that, his words always bordering on genuine and humour. Even with the knowledge of Satoru’s like to play, the undeniable dark truth of a true alpha manages to waft in the air.

              Like a switch, he grins widely, all teeth and charisma, “That’s not saying I will, but it’s such a nice feeling, don’t you think?”

              It’s quiet as his words sink in. You think about your life so far, how you couldn’t even get away with greeting someone without a knife to your throat and spitting words of how an omega doesn’t get to speak without their alpha allowing them to do so. As much as you’d like to punch them in the gut, you don’t think you’d really want to kill them, everyone growing under their own circumstance. Instead of getting into political debates, you think you don’t want anymore stares and judgement for today, deciding that even if Satoru is okay to talk to, you’re still uncomfortable, “I suppose so, it must be nice having such strength, and being able to see… Curses.”

The rest of the date was enjoyable, and he even answered some of your questions about the creatures he hunts. Apparently, omegas are prime suspects, easy to feast upon and no one questions when they go crazy, the second lot of victims being alphas that had an omega as a child. You’re honestly surprised you and your father haven’t been attacked yet if that’s the case.

              Satoru drives you home and it’s relatively quiet in the car, the thrumming of the almost noiseless engine enough to fill the silence. You go back to what Satoru says during your date, and now you’re memorising the smells he emitted during your conversation. Before, it was hard to really tell since you were stressing, and the restaurant was full of blooming alphas and betas. However, now it was lingering through the car. He had spoken so easily about death and killing, like it was second nature to him next to breathing. Some curses were sentient, able to talk and think, and then there was the comment about killing everyone else in the restaurant, who were definitely not curses. He was happy, proud even, to have that kind of strength and show it off to you. Tonka bean and vetiver… Perhaps even an orange blossom. It was nice, even if the reason behind it was a little morbid, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and indulge.

              The scent got stronger, and suddenly you were startled by a low chuckle, your eyes flashing open to see you were leaning towards him. Satoru had slowed down in front of your house and turned the car off, his cheeks a flush in the dim light, “Having you relax around me like that feels so nice. I can’t tell you enough how happy you’ve just made me.”

              You open your mouth immediately to say sorry, only to close it after a moment’s thought. He doesn’t smell like he’s trying to bully you or mad that you thought you could get so close to him without repercussions. How much longer can you hold out from someone who is being so kind to you?

              “You don’t have to reply to that,” he tells you, saving you from thinking of an acceptable response. Satoru gets out first, hurrying to your side while you unbuckle yourself to let you out. You smile at him and let him take your hand, holding you close as he closes the door and pushes you against the car. A small gasp is pushed from you, surprised at his boldness. You’re lucky that this neighbourhood was relatively quiet, no one being awake at this hour to see you with anyone. “I really want to kiss you,” he says, face inching closer to you, “You have no idea how hard it was for me to hold back in the car.”

              Your eyes shift in nervousness, hands coming to press to Satoru’s chest, “W-wait, s’too soon-“

              “It’s fine,” he cuts, not letting you get another word out, smashing his lips to yours in a frenzied kiss. Your eyes dilate, his scent and taste making your heart jump with a certain anxiety – excitement – you’re letting your shoulders relax and clenching the front of his shirt as he takes the lead. Maybe… Maybe this isn’t so bad… His leg finds its way between the both of yours and gently grinds down, a small moan slipping from your mouth at the electric feeling. Next, he starts to slowly introduce his tongue to your mouth, the wet muscle a new sensation to you.

              Suddenly, you’re hit with an overwhelming pain, your gut tightening and your eyes watering as you double over into his chest. Your body is hot, panting, you lean into him and can hardly hear anything. Satoru is speaking, saying something, ‘sorry’ and ‘test’ are two words you think you understand but you can’t focus on sounds. What does help you, though, is the gentle caress his hand brings to your head. He holds you tight, safe, his pheromones echoing security and comfort through your mind. You mumble into his clothes once you feel you’re able to talk again, “Wh-what was that? That hurt so much…”          

              Satoru hums, both hands coming to your face which he cradles and regards you with loving eyes, “Have you ever been in heat, (Y/n)?”

              You sniffle, shaking your head, “No, I’ve taken suppressants since the day they found out what I was. It made puberty really difficult…”

              Satoru’s lips curl into a frown, “I imagine it would. It seems your body jumped into overdrive, the stimulation from kissing alone too much for you.”

              Your arms curled around yourself for some comfort, “My suppressants, they’re running low so I’ve been halving them to spread them out but they’re just making me feel sick.”

              “When did you start halving them?” He asks, eyes now wide with worry.

              “Uhm, I think about a few days ago? But I can’t get a hold of my doctor and it’s hard to find anyone that will willingly prescribe suppressants.” Your head falls into his chest, a feeling of defeat washing over you.

              Satoru pets your head, quiet in thought before he says, “Why not just stop taking them?”

              You have to laugh at that, tilting your head to look up at him, “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

              “I’m not,” he closes his eyes, burying his nose in your neck and holding you close, “You’ve got me now, I’ll look after you. Fuck, you smell so good.”

              “Satoru-“ Your wrists are caught in his as he stares you down.

              Or, at least that is what he appears to be doing. You’re stuck in his grasp as you wait for him to make his statement, which he does once your lips smacks shut, “You don’t need to hide who you are anymore. Just think about it, ‘kay?”

              To get him off your back you give an exhale of defeat, rolling your eyes to the side and complying, “Fine. I’ll think about it. Cool?”

              His charming grin is almost enough to even fool you into thinking it was okay to relinquish your omega self to him, “Cool.”

.

Things were not cool. Not long after getting inside, your father had waited to pounce once the car Satoru drove was out of sight. Your vision had waned with the punch he threw at you, your body colliding with the hallway wall. “Disgusting!” He had spat, literally, his saliva landing on your cheek and barely missing your eye. His foot was next to make contact, kicking you hard enough in the stomach that you threw up a little of your dinner, “You reek of a fucking omega! I see you whoring yourself out, slut. Tryna hide the money from me, eh?”

              Another kick had you crying out, this one on your bicep and knocking you back to the ground. You wailed as he bent down and held your hair in a tight and painful grasp, “I’m not! I swear, I have no money!”

              He ignored you, his breath badly stained with alcohol, however, you were certain even without the influence he wouldn’t hold back, “Tryna seduce me? Hm? Your own father? You fucking wretch. If you don’t stop that smell right now I swear to whatever fucking God is out there…”

              You were bawling now, you could only assume your hormones were worse, your own senses dull to the smell of you. It hurt internally as well, your omega working overdrive as you try in vain to calm down so you didn’t have to endure the full impact of emitting such helpless hormones. It may not have worked the way you wanted it to, but, your father seemed to calm down with a sneer.

He threw your head to the floor and began walking away, “If you don’t get back on those fucking meds by tomorrow then I will kill you. I promise you that.”

You didn’t dare reply to that, thankful that he decided to walk away while you were still breathing tonight.

..

How fitting the weather is today, the clouds a dark grey and the skies pouring with rain. You had one umbrella with a hole between two of the spines but it was better than nothing. This morning you left the house with a bag packed and a small suitcase, only the essentials.

              You were on a bus ride to the other side of town to see your doctor. If they weren’t going to pick up the phone then you’d have to arrive suddenly. If he didn’t have the suppressors then you weren’t going to go home, in fact, you weren’t entirely sure if you were going to go back anyway. Perhaps a life on the street was better than this. A woman’s shelter wouldn’t take you in for the fact that you were an omega, and an omega shelter had an 80% chance of being a front for something worse than illegal.

              The bus stops where you need to be, the passengers loudly exclaiming that they’re happy you’re finally leaving. It doesn’t hurt so much today, you just have one thing on your mind.

              ‘Why not just kill yourself?’

              You stop at the thought, in the middle of opening your umbrella, standing in the rain. It was a thought, right? Ending it was always a nice joke but holy shit that voice sounded like it was right by your ear and… genuine. You weren’t exactly scared, a little shocked, sure but, maybe you should bring that up with your doctor, too.

              However, as you got closer and closer to the clinic, you began to think they weren’t open. Though there was the receptionist’s and the doctor’s cars outside, the curtains were drawn, the lights were off and the sign, once you got close enough to read, was saying ‘Closed’.

              Your hand reaches to your heart as you feel it thumping hard in anxiety, your pheromones beginning to linger around you as a thick, steady aura. Thank goodness this place was off the city boarder, not many people around to subject you to bullying and hatred. You look back to the cars again, both of them parked neatly in the small lot. Even if it’s closed, you need to push past your nervousness and gently demand your medication. If you didn’t… Well, he knows just as well as you do.

              You knock on the glass with a firm hit, calling out for good measure, “Dr. Kodoka, it’s me, (Y/n).”

              Silence.

              You knock again, if they don’t want to be disturbed then the earlier they open up to you the better. “Dr. Kodoka, please, I really need to talk to you. It’s an emergency,” you plead, hoping he could tell by the sound of your voice how desperate you were.

              Your gut drops as more silence is your only response. You probably should have tried this first, grabbing the long handle of the door and trying to open it. No surprise, it’s locked. Perhaps there’s a back entrance? Oh, you feel so seedy scrounging around a doctor’s office.

              Past the skip bins there’s a narrow entrance just wide enough for one person between the building and a wired fence. You’re not sure why the wired fence is even here, it’s not attached to anything and only separates a portion of the office from an open wheat field. Luck smiles upon you as you try this door, the entrance clicking open and allowing you to step into the darkness.

              One deep breath before you call out has you positively gagging at the disgusting scent that assaults you nose and mouth. It’s unavoidable, the little bit of vomit that works its way up your throat is involuntarily spat out onto the linoleum floor. What. The. Fuck.

              This has to be the worst experience you’ve ever been through, the tears in your eyes falling freely as you persevere through the smell. You know you need to call the police, you know something like this isn’t normal. However, if you do, and they find out you’re an omega here to purchase suppressants then there’s a good chance you’ll both be dead. It’s happened before, police getting trigger happy or beating up omegas and any allies. Of course, society doesn’t care. More filth off the streets.

              There’s a sound towards the entrance, something being knocked over, as well as some sort of ‘sludging’ noise. Could it be one of them trying to get to the door? Someone must be alive! You quietly move towards the entrance, past the main office, the break room, and peak through the broken door of the reception. It’s horrendous.

              All the gore has been maintained in this area. Limbs, a spine, half a head that has been poorly cut from the top of their skull through their chin- and that’s only the background. In the middle of it all, this giant, wrinkly, slug-like creature appears to be waking up. It has an amass of arms and hands over it’s back and sides, and one twitching on the tip of its tail. The stalks that would be its eyes slowly raise, turning in all directions as if looking around.

              You fall against the door, your entire being freezing up in a shock mode. The thud of your body hitting the floor alerts it to you, and you notice now that instead of eyes, it was wearing the distraught faces of the doctor and receptionist. The receptionist still had one of her eyes hanging from their socket, whilst the doctor was completely eyeless, with only a couple of teeth and the tip of his tongue drooping from the gaping mouth.

              It hones in on your position and starts charging at an alarming pace, the only thing you can do is scream your throat raw as your end nears. It’s too horrifying, too real to be a dream you can escape. The creature splits its mouth with human-like teeth in mismatched rows and thrashing hands over its body and you can’t look away from your demise.

              You don’t blink, and because you don’t blink it’s hard to believe anything happened.

              As fast as light itself, a man appears and slashes the slug in half, horizontally through its open mouth with a light so white there’s a tint of blue to it. The guttural scream it lets out is so closely related to a human’s that you are only filled with more fear. The man, who turns to give you a cocky wink and that you can now see is Satoru Gojo, makes a crude display of holding his index and middle finger in front of his face and slowly licking his digits with the flat of his tongue; before slicing the creature up into smaller pieces until it bursts into sprays of blood and nothingness.

              Your hearing was skewed, you barely recognise his footsteps as he walks towards you and bends down to hold his hand out. You tell your mind to grab it, to accept his kindness after saving you but you’re caught in your own sense of dread and confusion as not a speck of blood is seen on Satoru or his white hair, or his devilish smile, or that black coat with the collar sticking around his neck.

              Satoru’s smile softens and he’s sure you can’t hear him when speaks to you, “Ah, I see we’ll have to cut our deal short. That’s okay, we’re only one date off anyway.” He reaches for your hands, placing them both in one of his and stroking the backs with his thumb. He then slowly removes his blindfold and tilts your chin with his free hand to force you to meet his silvery gaze, “(Y/n), sweetheart, look at me. Everything is okay now.”

              His eyes are so blue… White… Silver… They’re like crystals or diamonds or two pools of galaxies – they’re out of this world. His lashes are gorgeous too, and for some reason you feel a ping of jealousy amongst all this chaos because how can a man be so beautiful just by taking off his blindfold. Like a character taking off their glasses to reveal they were beautiful all along. Wait, what are these thoughts? In this horrible situation you suddenly feel like giggling.

              Satoru chuckles, keeping your focus solely on him as he lifts you in his arms to carry you out. People in suits run past you but neither of you pay them no mind as he keeps talking, “What silly thoughts are going through that omega mind of yours?” You laugh incredulously, feeling your body fall heavier in his arms he adjusts you, “There it is, there’s that adrenaline leaving you. I gotcha, sweetheart.”

.

You’re sat on the back of an ambulance with a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water wedged between your legs. A few feet away is Satoru, talking to someone so casually you wouldn’t think he just killed a monster with his own hands; literally. You watch as he dismisses the person and walks back over to you with a smile, his blindfold back on and his hands coming from his pockets to bring you into a side embrace, “How are you feeling? That was quite an experience, huh?”

              Trauma makes people react differently to things, so if this was his job then it makes sense he wouldn’t be so distressed. “I smell of decay,” you sigh, though you weren’t covered in filth you definitely had some stains. Even without the mess, the stale air in the clinic was enough to cling to you. You squeeze the blanket tighter around you, “How could something like this happen? They were generous people. Kind; caring.”

              Satoru seemed to think for a moment, as if deciding what the best thing to say right now would be. Whether it was helpful or not, he opted for the truth, placing one of his large hands below your neck for comfort, “They were helping omegas, and regardless of their personality, a lot of stigma comes from there. Constant stress to keep a secret, harsh words from the few friends and family that know, it all adds up and creates the perfect scent for a curse to trail.”

              “I remember you saying you that they are attracted to negative energy. So, rather than feeding off the energy itself they eat the humans?” You ask, though you already know the answer to that. You just can’t wrap your head around how this is even possible. You recall his eyes, how pretty they are beneath the blindfold, “Is that why your eyes are so striking, because you have the power to fight them?”

              A laugh bubbles from his chest, his hand squeezing your back, “Sort of. Not everyone is like me, though. In fact, no one is like me.” He steps back, arms open wide and head tilted towards the sky, “I’m the most powerful sorcerer to exist! Killing that creature used nothing but a flick of my wrist.” When he looks back to you there is a strange, powerful feeling that emanates from him, even some of the detectives around you seem to tense, “Nothing can touch me. In turn, nothing will ever touch you.”

              What he says should be something kind, words of protection and safety. However, as his gaze burns through the blindfold and into your own, you feel like your breath has been whisked away and your body is being pulled to the ground, trapping you in place for him. It only lets up when your phone begins to ring, and to get out of this awkward feeling of a situation you answer it, “Hello, this is (Y/n).”

              The voice on the other side of the phone makes you almost vomit, your father sounding almost melancholic, “(Y/n)… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted like that. Come home.”

              You’re at a loss for words. He wants you home? No, that’s a lie, you can’t understand what is going on with him. Something tickles your ear and you jump to see Satoru leaning close so he can listen to your conversation. He smiles at you and nods, whispering, “Say yes.”

              Satoru saved you and promised to protect you. He wouldn’t be telling you to agree if you were going to get hurt, you’d like to believe. So, swallowing your hesitation you reply, “O-Okay, dad. I’ll come home.”

              He breathes a huge sigh of relief, “Thank god, thank you, (Y/n). Thank you so much.”

              You hang up and look to Satoru with worry, “Do you think he’s going to kill me?”

              “Nah, I won’t let him,” Satoru says, confidently. You think you can trust him, especially since you watched him take down a strong monster, your angry alpha of a father would be no match for him. He sees you’re still worried, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand and his smile doing its best to calm you, “Let’s finish up here.”

.

By the time you two are at your house the sun was low in the sky. Satoru had parked down the street this time, the two of you walking slowly down footpath to avoid suspicion. You were already on edge, however, when Satoru told you he wanted you to go in alone, you froze up completely.

              He just stood there, allowing you to process what he said. You started by shaking your head, grabbing onto his hand, “No. No, please, you said-“

              “-I said I’d protect you and I will. I’m going to go around the back, you just walk up like everything is hunky-dory, ‘kay?”

              With a squeeze of your shoulder, he skips around, his carefree attitude not exactly lifting your anxiety. One thing is for certain, though, and that’s that you’ve seen him kill the other curse before. You know he can do it. You trust him. Alpha status aside, if you have any friend in this world then it’s Satoru Gojo.

              You take your time going up to the front door, hand trembling as you reach for the knob. It’s unlocked, the door creaking open ominously. You get a cold rush through your body, the inside at freezing temperatures. It’s unnatural, making you step back in shock and shivering in what you could only describe as unease.

              But it’s okay, because Satoru is here. He said he would protect you and the prospect has you feeling your cheeks flush. He’s like… your alpha.

              The inside is quiet, save for the humming of electricity coming from the fridge. You walk slowly in and look around, spying your father in lounge room on his recliner, hands intertwined as he leans forward. You don’t shut the door, feeling just a tad easier with the escape route.

              It isn’t until you’re standing before him that a whistling of wind causes the door to slam shut on its own, the locks clicking in place unnaturally. Your confused look in that direction has him huffing a laugh. Your father doesn’t give you the courtesy of eye contact, “You know that on the day you were born, your mother and I were at our happiest?”

              It’s an odd way to start a conversation, and though you were certain this was a trap of some kind, you don’t know what else to do except respond meekly, “I didn’t know that no.”

              A humourless laugh accompanies the way he sits up, shoulders slumped, and eyes dazed behind you, “No, of course you don’t. We only told you once when you were just a newborn. Once you got your status in life, well… It was too shameful to ever bring up again. We were completely embarrassed we every felt that way about an omega.”

              He’s not just staring off into nothing, you notice the way his eyes look specifically behind you. Is it Satoru, did he come inside? You turn your head, only to go rigid and fall back in fear. Not another one… Not another curse.

              It was too tall for the ceiling, curving over like a hook with its head twisted to be partially upright. Tiny mouths were strewn over its face and down its neck, human teeth in all sorts of odd places like the lips and cheeks of the creature. The main mouth was skewed to the side and grinning openly down at you, and the eyes that are sunken, almost giving a hollow effect, were as dark as a black hole; though you knew instantly that it had its gaze locked on you. Four lanky arms reach from its shoulders, the body a crooked mass of black and its fingers twitching in all the wrong directions with painful cracks of possible bone.

              The worst part that solidified its presence was when it spoke, his voice raspy and words barely tangible, “Dau…ght…er… Path..et..ic ome…gck.a. Delectabblle—dinn….eerrr.”

              You jumped at the firm hands on your shoulders, keeping you in place as the curse limped forwards. Your father spoke in a neutral tone, “It appeared not long after your mother left. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it, who to contact or what to do. Eventually, I started nurturing it. It grew with every argument we had, relished in my anger and pain. I let it feed off me and now it wants more. Now it wants you. You’ll do this, right? It’s the only good thing you’re for, after all. It’ll save me, your family.”

              Tears streamed down your face, head shaking as you shifted back. Even with the bit of adrenaline you were able to muster, you were no match for your father, forced to endure the visual of this creature’s fingers itching to get a hold of your flesh. You could only sob, no words coming out, not even to call for Satoru.

              Thankfully, you didn’t have to. Your saviour appears once more, and as though the curse is nothing but a guy on the street, he places his hand on its back and gives a low whistle, “Low blow, dad. And here I was excited to finally meet my father-in-law.”

              There’s a pressure now in the air, one that has you curling in on yourself, and causing the curse’s open smile to turn into a low hanging frown. Its head spins on its neck, trying to get a look at the man that has it. Your father is more concerned about the words Satoru spoke, though, the tips of his fingers digging painfully into your skin, “’Father-in-law’? You whore. I knew you were out selling yourself. Looks like even to the end, you’re nothing but an embarrassment. That’s all going to change, though. Now you and your boy toy can die together.”

              Satoru laughs, and before you can even blink, he appears behind your father and grabs his wrist, easily shattering the bones and causing him to let go of you. You shift to the side, away from both him and the curse as he screams. Satoru tuts at him, waggling his finger nonchalantly in the air, “Parents should protect their children, not sacrifice them. Honestly…” His voice lowers into something almost sad, though you’re wondering if Gojo Satoru was actually privy to that emotion in the first place or if he was just a really good actor, “People like you disgust me.”

              A bright light that radiates such an intense heat envelops the lounge room. Your arm comes up to cover your face, eyes squinting, all you can hear are the pained cries of your father and the garbled curse. It sends fear coursing through your body, even if Satoru is on your side, just what sort of power does he control? The carnage you expect to see once your eyes adjust isn’t anywhere. The light is gone, everyone else in the room is gone, thin burn marks are left where your father and the curse once was.

              You jump at the hand on your shoulder, your saviour appearing once again out of nowhere. He smirks, acting a little flustered, “Sorry, are your eyes okay? I just wanted to show off a little bit.”

              Again, he’s able to treat this like it’s any other menial task. You ask him, voice quiet, “Where are they?”

              He tilts his head at you, a little pouty that your first concern was them and not the praise you should be heaping on your hero. He squeezes your shoulder, comfortingly, “What do you mean? They’re gone, does it really matter where?”

              It takes a few goes on shaky legs, but, you’re able to stand and face him, “I’m just a little concerned what even happened. Watching you fight the other one, I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and now this- … Are they…?”

              “Dead? Yes.”

              You exhale at his blatant response. Is this something you should blame yourself for, the killing of your father and that… thing? Or is that just your life-long need to put any negative responsibility on you for merely being born an omega.

              Satoru wraps his arm around you and leads you out of the lounge room to help your overclocked mind, "Here’s what would have happened if I didn’t do that: The curse would eat you, devour your father, and then go on a rampage hunting primarily other poor omegas. It’s happened before, baby. Besides,” he cups your face in his hands, making you look up at him, “He was a horrible man. No loss. Can you really say you loved him?”

              The only love you had for your father was before your scent kicked in. After that, he was worse than a stranger to you. You fiddle with your fingers, abashedly looking away, “What happens now?”

              “Now,” he excitedly jostles you, the smile on his face huge, “You come with me!”

              Your eyebrows furrow, his goofy attitude somehow lessening the severity of the situation for you, “I can’t just do that.”

              “Sure you can! Where else are you gonna go?” He questions, awaiting an answer he knows you won’t be able to think of. He takes your hands in his and gets down on one knee, “(Y/n), I know it hasn’t been very long, but when I say I’ve finally found the love of my life-“

              Cheeks burning, you push away from him, trying to cover up his teasing laugh with your hands to your ears, “Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop. Fine, I’ll come along with you.” You don’t think you can ever get used to being flirted with, especially in the unique ways that Satoru comes up with.

              He gives you a gentle push, “Go grab some valuables, baby. We’ll leave once you’re ready.”

              Satoru watches as you move up the stairs, grumbling about the sudden use of ‘baby’ he’s started getting attached to. Hah, how he really does love you. His hand comes to the straining of his cock in his pants, palming the ache that’s been prevalent for a while now. Not long now, he can’t way to absolutely ruin you. An omega that’s never had a proper heat, and he gets to be your first toy, just as much as you are his. His luck truly is divine, if anyone deserves it, it’s definitely him.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

aaron hotchner x jacks nanny/babysitter

she’s got a crazy ex that stalked and threatened her so she moved far away to live a simple, under the radar life and started working for hotch. he knows her situation and does his best to look out for her, maybe she’s like a live in nanny ? neither of them is bold enough to make a move first until her ex finds her and hotch and the team race to save her. ends with love confessions and all the sappy stuff

could be a one shot or a short lil series i’m sure whatever you write will be amazing !

༉‧₊˚. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨-𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size babysitter!reader

— summary: your new life as a live-in nanny was wonderful, and with your dark past behind you, there was nothing that could ruin this. but as they say, what goes around comes around.

— warnings: heavily detailed violence BEWARE, surprisingly light angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, physical hurt/comfort, mutual pining, abusive ex's :[, guns, and a horribly written action/fight scene (forgive me).

— wc: 1965

⋆ a/n: okay this is a heavy fic so beware once more, but aside from that this takes a fully turn! i don't really have anything else to say besides enjoy!

masterlist | AO3

“Backpack? Check. Lunchbox? Check. Shoes are tied? Check.” 

You placed your hands on your hips triumphantly, a proud smile on your face as you examined the little boy. 

Being a live-in nanny came with being organizational and making sure that Jack was ready for school everyday without fail. It wasn’t like Aaron was super strict on you; he understands when you have your days where things are a bit out of place, but honestly it was a personal preference, and totally not because you have a big fat crush on the FBI agent.

You had been very skeptical about your babysitting position at first because of your ex who was absolutely bat shit crazy. It was a situation you had barely escaped from, and it had taken almost everything in you to get where you were now, so you were a little afraid of men in general. But Aaron was kind, and welcoming, and fatherly, someone that you felt safe with.

And then, you fell in love.

It had scared the shit out of you of course, but now it was a feeling that you welcomed with open arms, even if you couldn’t act on it. 

Your phone began to ring as you searched for the car keys, the contact name read ‘Aaron <3’.

“Morning!” You greeted with a smile as you picked up. “Good morning. How are you guys?” The older man asked. “We're doing just fine, as always,” You successfully found the keys. “How are things?” You knew better than to ask how he was, because if you had the kind of job that he did, there was no way you could answer positively. 

“We pretty much have everything we need, so we’ll probably be able to wrap this case up early.” 

“Oh Aaron, that's great!” You cheer happily and make your way back to where Jack was waiting for you. “You ready to go, little man?” Jack looks up at you from his toys. “Is that daddy on the phone?”

“Yeah buddy, you wanna say hi?” 

“Yes!” Jack’s answer was full of excitement, and you can’t help but smile. “As much as I enjoy talking to you, it looks like I’m handing you over.” You swear you could hear Aaron chuckle.

Yeah, this was a life that you could get used to.

Having the house to yourself was weird.

With Jack away at his aunt’s for the weekend, it was strangely quiet due to the emptiness of the child’s presence. You suppose you’re grateful for the break even though taking care of Jack really isn’t as tiring as one might think. 

Despite Aaron rarely being home, he’s managed to raise the boy well when he could, and it’s honestly very admirable. It’s one of the many things that made you fall in love with him. You gaze down into the wine glass at the thought, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Ugh, why does love make you such a loser?

Your bashful train of thought was stopped by a suspicious thump coming from the back of the house. Your smile dropped and a feeling of anxiety and worry twisted in your gut as you grabbed your phone that was lying on the kitchen counter.

You’re quick to dial Aaron’s number and your fingernail finds itself in your mouth as you chew on it anxiously. It’s an old habit, one that you had picked up back in your old relationship.

“Hello?” Rasped Aaron. 

You knew he had just recently flown in from wherever he was because you could hear the foot traffic of everyone grabbing their luggage from the plane’s storage.

“Hey,” Your greeting was nervous and it was something that Aaron easily picked up on. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” He asks with a furrowed brow. “Yeah, just um - I’m just hearing some weird things so I just wanted to know when you think you might be getting home.” I miss you.

“Honey what type of weird things?” Before you were able to answer, there was a loud crashing sound. You instantly dropped to the floor to hide behind the counter; you cradled the phone to your ear, “Okay uh - change of claim,” You attempted to joke. “Someone is most definitely in the house.”

Aaron tries not to panic at the way his insides turn cold, “You remember what to do, right?” He asks with a hardened voice. You gulp, stretching slightly to peer over the marble. You stare out into the darkness and a frightened shiver shoots up your spine. 

“Get to your room and enter the safe.” You reiterated what he had told you almost a year ago when you had first moved in. You’ve never shot a gun before but tonight might be the night where you learn how too.

“That’s right, and do you remember the code?” 

As you went to answer him, you were snatched up by your hair and a scream rang out and into the phone. Even though you weren’t on speaker the others that were currently standing outside with Aaron could hear it.

Aaron desperately calls out your name, and with your silence he takes off without any explanation, but his team knows to follow close behind.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing since you tried to leave me?!”

You cried out as another blow was delivered to your gut but a heavy boot. Your lungs burned and there were tears streaming down your face. He had pulled you so hard over the counter that it made your scalp burn, a blistering headache beginning to form at the base of your skull.

“Fuck you!” You spat as you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbows. 

There was a fine line between anger and fear, and this was one of those moments where they blend together. If you ended up dying tonight, at least you didn’t go down in vain.

This time he punched you in the face before snatching you up by your arms. There was a metallic taste in your mouth, a bruise already developing near your eye. “Why’d you leave me, huh?! We had a good thing going and you just… you just ruined it!”

“I didn’t ruin shit asshole!” You screamed and pushed at him but it was no use. “We were gonna get married but you… but you wanted to play house with an old man, really?!”

“You’ve been watching me.” You said in disbelief. It made your stomach twist in nausea and horror at the thought of him watching Jack, what he could’ve done to him. You had actively put the man you loved kid in danger and it devastated you.

“I had no choice!”

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“Put your hands where I can see them.” Aaron’s voice rang out throughout the house.

Before you knew it you were spun around with a gun to your head, his arm locked against your neck, faintly strangling you.

“Aaron!” You called out in relief, but it turned into a grunt as you tugged further into your ex’s chest.

Aaron’s gun was raised steadily, his eyes focused on your attacker, but he doesn’t hesitate to cast you a reassuring look. When he sees your bloody and bruised face his jaw tightens, the vein in his neck popping and visible through his skin.

“Boyfriend to the rescue, huh?” Your ex sneers into your cheek. You shudder. 

“Put the gun down.” Aaron continues to coax, and out the corner of your eye you can see Morgan approaching through the darkness. 

“Why do you want to save this slut? Don’t tell me you’ve already -” A shot rings out into the fair followed by a scream of pain.

Your ex collapses to the ground, cradling the gunshot wound in his knee as blood spills through his fingers. Aaron was the one that pulled the trigger and Morgan is already in the kitchen by the time he’s tugging you away and into his arms.

“Oh God.” You finally cried. “You came, you came…” His arms are wound tightly around you, purposefully tucking your face into his chest. “I’m here, I’m here.” He shushes and rocks you side to side in order to try and lull you.

Aaron – softly – orders you to sit down while he cleans up the blood when the rest of the team has already left.

You can’t help but watch him from where you’re sitting on the couch with his sleeves of his white button up rolled up and his hands gloved. “I’m sorry.” You decide to say, because you really were. “I’m sorry for everything.” There was so much more you wanted to say, but you felt your throat tighten with unshed tears.

“No, don’t apologize.” He says softly, abandoning the rag that he was using to scrub up said blood. “No Aaron you don’t understand. I put you and Jack in danger because of my bullshit and I thought that I had put it all behind me and I don’t -” 

“Stop.” It’s a bit firmer this time. “I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I offered you to live with me and my son. Nothing that has occurred tonight has swayed my trust or opinion about you, you know that, right?”

“Right.” His hand holds your cheek and strokes the soft skin of it. “Good.”

Your eyes flicker down to his lips before peering back into his eyes, “If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I promise this isn’t like a trauma bond thing. I’ve liked you for as long as I’ve worked for you and I didn’t want to tell you because I have nowhere else to go if you say no. Plus,” You sigh, “I just don’t want to make things difficult or uncomfortable for you.”

“You could never do that, feelings reciprocated or not.” He reassures.

“Well are they?”

He grins at your question, “I’d be an idiot not to feel the same way.” You laugh and he leans forward to join your lips together.

A warm feeling spreads in your gut and you knew that this is what love was supposed to feel like.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna @moonysreid

[strawbeerossi]

Mine

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Whenever the police chief gets a little too friendly with you, you find yourself having a very strict conversation with Spencer at the hotel.

Content/Warnings: Jealous!Spencer, unprotected sex, squirting

Word Count: 1.6K

Kinktober Day Twenty Eight: Squirting

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

Spencer felt his eye twitching as he noticed the newest chief of police was all over you. There was a child abduction case in Nashville, Tennessee that the BAU had offered their resources to. It was standard, children going missing and parents getting weird texts the longer their children were kept captive. You were spending a lot of time at the precinct with him due to you being the designated member alongside JJ to interview the families and surviving child victims who were let go.

“So agent. I got a few questions on your profiling abilities.” The man stated as he was leaning against the desk he was closest to, your gaze lifting from the case file the team had been building up over the past few days. “Okay, lay them on me.” You were just being friendly, not being the best at sensing when men were hitting on you or outright flirting. It was both a blessing and a curse. “Is it true that kids in abusive homes are guaranteed to be murderers?”

The question was quick but you were faster to answer. “No! Not in all cases. Stressors and triggers from childhood can play a big part in the psychological damage of a serial killer but there are people who came from relatively good homes who have murdered others in cold blood. There’s no exact genetic makeup or reason yet, but one day I’m sure it’ll all be answered in depth.”

The rest of the day went like that. He’d ask a question and you’d happily answer, although he was essentially eyefucking you while you were too enthralled in an explanation to pay close enough attention. Hotch had eventually instructed the team to go to their hotel for the night, the team needed rest after being awake for nearly twenty four hours without so much as a break.

The SUV ride back was dead silent, mostly because of exhaustion setting in. However, you could sense tension in your boyfriend as you rested your head lightly against his shoulder.

He’d been abnormally quiet at the precinct, barely even looking in your direction when you came near him. You figured it was exhaustion. Not only were you up for long hours but cases involving children were some of the most draining things you’d ever have to go through. After arriving at the hotel and everyone disbanding to get to their rooms, you were unlocking the door and getting your shoes off while Spencer quietly walked deeper into the room.

“Did you want to take a shower first, babe?” You asked, offering a smile.

It faltered though whenever your boyfriend was facing you, fury in his eyes. “Are we not gonna talk about how chief Lorn is shamelessly flirting with you? It’s like you're eating it up! I mean come on, babe. Why would you ever assume he would care about profiling related things?” His tone was steady, yet anger bubbling over the surface. You looked confused, an eyebrow raised. “Flirting? Spencer, he’s asking questions. I think you’re just tired and taking your emotions out on me.”

Very good guess and probably true, however Spencer wouldn’t admit that. “No. I’m not taking out my emotions on you for no reason. You think I don’t see you batting your eyelashes or laughing at anything this guy says? You don’t know how angry it makes me to know how blind you are to these signals.” Blunt. The words had your mouth agape in shock. “I’m not flirting with the damn police chief! Jesus, Spencer.”

“I don’t believe you. You look like you are eating up all the attention. You know, I bet he wouldn’t even treat you the way I do. Do you think he’d spend every waking moment dedicating his life to you? Huh? Do you think he could love you like I do?” His footsteps were quick and his path decided to back you up against the wall. “Cause I know for sure that he can’t make you cum like I do.” His honey colored eyes were blown out with lust, his hands immediately moving to grip your hips tight. “Spencer!” You squeaked, your pussy clenching desperately around nothing as you could feel the heat of arousal coursing through your veins. Spencer hardly ever got jealous like this, however you liked this side of him. He was rough and could be a little mean, which really did get the job done. “Tell me I’m lying.” His eyes narrowed, hand under your chin making you stare up at him.

“I-I wasn’t flirting with anyone! I was just being friendly.” Your voice was barely above a whisper while Spencer sighed and dropped his hand from your chin. “Go get on the bed.” He murmured, already working on getting his tie off. You knew what you were in for. Spencer didn’t act like this much but you knew that special incidents would pull this rather uncharacteristic side out of him. You’d done what you were used to, already stripping yourself down as you were crawling onto the hotel bed while preparing yourself for whatever was coming.

You knew that he wasn’t going to give you the princess treatment like usual, instead Spencer was getting right to business as he was reaching in his bag to pull out a condom from the side pocket and using his teeth to tear it open. After rolling on the rubber, he was heading over to the edge of the bed to grasp your ankle, tugging your body down the mattress. His gaze was focused on your pussy, a low hum leaving his lips. “Look at how wet you are.” His fingers were teasingly running through your slick folds to collect your sweet arousal, holding a hand up to show off the glistening digits. “Now, I wonder who did that..” He playfully pondered while giving his cock a few lazy tugs.

As he was situated between your legs, Spencer was grasping his shaft and smacking it against your pussy before moving to run his tip through your folds to further tease you, your hand gently reaching for his hip. “Fuck, Spencer. Please.” You whined.

That was all he needed to hear, his large hands wrapping your legs around his waist as he readied himself, his right hand on his cock while the left squeezed your hip. As the thick tip was breaching your soaked cunt, the male was shushing your whines. “We haven’t even gotten started yet. Tonight, I’m gonna show you just how much you don’t need some idiotic police chief and learn how to appreciate what you do have.” Jealousy wasn’t something Spencer was proud of but the emotion was prominently on display and he wasn’t gonna hide it.

His hips were slamming against yours without warning, a loud gasp falling from your lips as your head was falling back against the mattress. “Fuck!” You cursed, feeling the burn of his cock stretching out your desperate and leaking pussy from being shoved deep into your warmth. “You think he’d have you acting like this? Look at how desperate you are and I’ve barely touched you.” His voice was low as both hands roughly gripped your hips. Spencer was normally more of the soft and sweet side, however in these sorts of moods, he was different than anyone who really knew him could imagine.

His thrusts were relentless, your pussy sinfully squelching from each rough snap of his hips, your arousal adding a shine to his cock. “Is this what you wanted? To be fucked like a cheap whore?” The vulgarity alone was making your stomach do flips. This was the man who was bashful with saying the word bitch, yet here he was, cursing and calling you a whore. You wouldn’t complain at all, mainly because you couldn’t.

With his onslaught of assaulting your cunt, you were letting out a series of moans, shaky whines, and pleas for him not to stop. Your skin was flushed, nails digging into your partner’s shoulders as you were in pure bliss. “Look at you. You like it when I abuse your cunt, don’t you? Want to be used like the whore you are? Fuck,” He huffed out, lips smashing against yours as he wasted no time practically shoving his tongue in your mouth while slamming his cock into your pussy, slamming into the spot where you needed him most.

The feeling of your walls constricting and spasming around his cock was like a dream. Spencer was sensitive, so he loved feeling your gummy walls and being able to have them gripping at his shaft, your desperate pussy making an attempt to suck in more of his dick even though it just wasn’t possible.

You were seeing stars, a familiar heat brewing in the pit of your stomach. However, you weren’t able to speak, only being reduced to blubbering about being close, even so the words were slurred together and still hard read. Thankfully, Spencer knew exactly what you were trying to convey, a hand coming down between your sweaty bodies as he was quick to press his finger against your clit, the pressure on the bundle of nerves causing you to whine desperately.

However what happened next was something that even snapped Spencer out of his jealous haze.

He was in the midst of roughly fucking into you whenever your legs were shaking violently, your nails dragging down his back as your body arched from the bed while hitting your orgasm. Instead of making a creamy mess of his cock, there was a gush of arousal that painted his thighs, pelvis, your thighs, and the hotel bedsheets below you. Spencer was slowly coming to a stop while staring at you with wide eyes.

“You’ve never done that before!” He squeaked, his eyes casting down at the glistening of your arousal painting his skin. You were fucked out, your eyes glossed over as you opened your mouth to speak, however a moan falling out soon after.

“No, no. We are doing that again!”

[itneverendshere]

the first relapse being the most scariest thing you’ve seen. sarah’s even calling you about him like “dads trying to get his doctor on the line just in case he od’s”

added this to what i'd already summarized in this ask!! hope everyone enjoys the angst 😔🫂 it’s a little long (around 7.1k)

death by a thousand cuts - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: substance abuse.

Ward’s sitting at the dining table, barely glancing up from his phone when Rafe walks in. His jaw clenches. That look—so cold, so dismissive—always sets something off in him.

“What’s wrong?” Rafe asks, already knowing this isn’t just a normal night.

Ward doesn’t answer right away, just sighs like Rafe being here is another weight on his shoulders. “Your mother called today.”

Rafe freezes.

He doesn’t have to ask which mother. Ward’s new wife has nothing to do with this. His real mom. The one who left.

He tries to stay calm, but he can feel his blood pumping, “What’d she want?”

“She says she wants to see you. You and your sisters.”

Rafe’s eyes narrow, his heart pounding harder now. The audacity of it. She always did this—popped back in when it was convenient for her, like they were just part of her life she could pick up and drop whenever she felt like it.

When was the last time? A couple of years? Before that? It doesn’t matter.

“No. I’m not doing this again.” 

“Rafe—”

“No, I said no.” The anger wells up fast, a familiar burn in his chest. He stands there, fists clenched. “She’s full of shit, dad. She doesn't give a fuck about us. So, no. I’m not seeing her.”

Ward looks up, calm as ever, but there's that edge in his eyes—the one that always makes Rafe feel like a little kid who’s stepped out of line. “You’re overreacting. She’s still your mother.”

“My mother?” He lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. His fists tighten at his sides. “She left. She fucking left us. She’s not my mother. She’s just some lady who couldn’t handle shit.”

Ward stands up now. “Watch your mouth.”

“Watch my mouth?” Rafe barks back, stepping forward, his anger boiling over. “I watched her leave me every time she got bored or freaked out. And you—you didn’t do shit!.You just let it happen. Let her walk out over and over.”

“That’s enough, Rafe.”

But he's not done.

He’s too pissed to think straight. “What? You gonna defend her? You’re the one who let her fuck me up like this! You—”

“Stop blaming everyone else for your problems,” Ward snaps, his voice rising. "Grow up. She left.  And you’re still standing here acting like a child over it.”

Something inside Rafe cracks. His chest tightens like someone’s squeezing the air out of him. "A child? You don't get it. You never got it. She fucked me up. She fucked all of us up, and you're still acting like it's nothing." His mind is spinning, flashing back to all those nights he was too high to breathe, too strung out to care if he woke up the next day. He feels like he’s suffocating, the anger burning too fast. “I’m not doing this again, dad. I’m not.”

Ward’s gaze turns cold. “She’s trying now. That has to count for something.”

“Trying? Trying?!” Rafe grits out, stepping forward. All those years, all those broken promises, all the times he was left wondering what the hell he did wrong to make her leave—and now Ward wants him to sit down like it’s a fucking family reunion. 

“I don’t care what you think about it, Rafe. This isn’t up for discussion. You will see her, and that’s final.”

“No. No fucking way!” He shouts, his voice shaking as he steps closer to Ward, fists clenched. “You can’t make me do this. I’m not going to sit there and pretend like everything’s okay when she’s the reason I turned into the mess I was. And you—” His chest heaves as he fights to find the words, his throat tight. “You’re just as bad as she is.”

Ward’s eyes narrow dangerously, but he continues, “Every time she left, you didn’t do a goddamn thing. You let her walk all over us. You let her leave me, leave us, and you never said a word. You’re a shitty father, just as bad as her."

Ward’s face darkens, a storm brewing behind his eyes. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“I’ll talk to you however the hell I want,” Rafe fires back, stepping even closer, eyes blazing. “You didn’t stop her. You never protected me. You sat there and watched her fuck me up and then turned around and blamed me for it. Like I was the problem.”

“You were the problem,” Ward snaps, “She didn’t know how to handle you, and neither did I. You were a fucking disaster, Rafe. And that’s on you.”

“No. You two were and are the fucking problem because you can’t let go of her.”

Ward takes a step forward, “This isn’t about you. It’s about your sisters. Sarah wants this. Weezie deserves a chance to know her mother. It’s not all about your issues, Rafe. Grow up.”

“Grow up?” He feels like he’s suffocating, “You think I’m the one who needs to grow up? 

“Enough. You will meet her, or you can leave this house right now.”

All the work he's put in, all the shit he's tried to fix, feels like it’s slipping right through his fingers. He can’t be here. Not like this. He’s out the door before he even knows what he’s doing. That itch beneath his skin is back after years, that’s how much control his parents have over him.

Rafe’s hands are still shaking as he gets into his truck, slamming the door harder than he means to. It feels like he can’t get enough air in his lungs, and his thoughts are spinning, they’re all crashing into each other at once. The fight with his father keeps replaying in his head, louder and louder, until he can’t hear anything else.

He’s gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white. His dad’s voice, cold and cutting, telling him he’s the problem. That he’s always been the problem. His hands are shaking worse now, trembling like he’s about to snap, and there’s only one thought pounding through his mind: He can’t go to you like this.

The thought of walking through your door, this messed up, makes him feel sick. You’ve seen him at his worst before, but this… this feels different. He can’t let you see him like this—not the old Rafe. Not the one who almost lost everything.

You don’t need to see that. You don’t deserve it.

He knows where he can go instead. Somewhere he shouldn’t, somewhere he swore he’d never go again. But right now, it feels like the only place that makes sense. His head’s spinning, his body buzzing with leftover adrenaline and anger, and he just needs it to stop.

So, he turns the key in the ignition and drives. It doesn’t take long to get to Barry’s. He knows the back roads by heart, even though it’s been years. He pulls up to the small shack Barry calls home, the lights still on, music thumping faintly from inside. It’s like nothing’s changed. The same rundown place, the same shitty cars parked out front, the same smell of smoke and spilled liquor lingering in the air.

Rafe sits there for a minute, gripping the steering wheel, breathing heavy. He shouldn’t be here. He knows that. 

He climbs out of the truck, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking, and heads toward the door. The second he steps inside, the familiar smell of stale beer and weed hits him like a wave, bringing back memories he thought he’d buried.

Barry’s lounging on the couch, a joint hanging from his mouth, lazily flipping through channels on the TV.

“Country Club!”, Barry drawls when he notices him, smirking around the joint. “Now this is a surprise. Didn’t think I’d ever see you walk through that door again. Thought you were all clean now, with your pretty little girlfriend.”

He tenses at the mention of you. But he can’t walk out now. Not after what just happened with Ward. Not when everything inside him feels like it’s about to blow.

“I just need something,” Rafe mutters, avoiding Barry’s eyes, already regretting this but not enough to stop.

Barry raises an eyebrow, amused. “Something, huh? You know, you’ve got a real habit of showing up here when you’re all fucked up.” He laughs, low and mocking. “What’s the matter this time? Daddy issues again?”

His jaw tightens. “Just give me what I want.”

Barry leans back, flicking ash onto the floor. “You sure you wanna go down that road again, man? Thought you were past this shit.”

“I don’t care,” Rafe snaps, his voice low, shaking with frustration and something darker. “You know what I want. Go get it.”

There’s a pause, and for a second, Barry just looks at him, sizing him up. Then, with a shrug, he gets up, disappearing into the back room. Rafe waits, heart pounding in his ears, staring at the floor, trying not to think about what he’s doing. About what this means.

Barry comes back a minute later, a small bag of coke in his hand. He tosses it onto the table in front of Rafe, “Knock yourself out.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the bag, his fingers already moving on autopilot as he pulls out his wallet and shoves a roll of cash toward Barry. He knows this is stupid, reckless. He knows this is going to hurt you, more than anything else. But ll he wants is to forget. Just for a little while.

His hands stop shaking the second he takes that first line.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀

You’re already drained when you step through the front door of the house, kicking off your shoes and throwing your bag onto the couch. The sticky summer air is clinging to your skin, and all you want is a cold shower and to crash in bed. 

The day’s been dragging—work was a shitshow, and all you’ve been thinking about is Rafe. You haven’t heard from him since this morning, which isn’t weird, but there’s been this nagging feeling in your chest, like something’s off.

“Hey,” Monica calls from the kitchen as you grab a glass of water and lean against the counter. She’s scrolling through her phone, half-distracted. Milo’s at kindergarten.

“Hey,” you mumble back. “Everything alright?”

She shrugs, not looking up. “Yeah, mostly.” She pauses, frowning slightly, like she’s trying to piece something together. “I think I saw Rafe’s truck earlier. Over by Barry’s place.”

You blink, trying to process what she just said. “Barry’s?”

“Yeah, you know. The guy who used to sell—Whatever.” Monica shrugs again, more casual than you feel. “I was driving back from work, and I swear it was Rafe’s truck parked outside Barry’s house.”

Your stomach drops. Instantly.

“You’re sure?”

“Looked like his truck,” your sister says, “Thought it was weird. Figured maybe he was helping someone out or something.”

But you know better.

A cold sweat breaks out over your skin. You’ve heard Rafe talk about Barry. Back when things were bad—really bad—he was the one who kept him hooked, who kept pulling him deeper. He told you everything about those years when he was drowning in addication and Barry’s name came up more than once.

And if his truck’s outside Barry’s, you know something’s wrong.

It’s like a pit in your stomach, this gnawing feeling that’s been sitting with you all day. 

“What? Why’s that such a big deal?”

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady, but it’s impossible. “Rafe doesn’t… he doesn’t go there anymore. He hasn’t in years.”

Monica frowns, finally understanding. “Oh. Shit. You think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, already pulling out your phone, fingers wobbly as you open your messages. You scroll through the last few texts from Rafe, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Except the silence. He’s usually better at checking in, especially when he knows you’ve had a long day. But today? Nothing.

You stare at your screen, debating if you should call him. But deep down, you already know something’s happened. He wouldn’t go to Barry’s unless things were really bad.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” your sister offers, but her voice is hesitant, like she’s not sure. “Maybe he was just stopping by. It doesn’t mean—”

But she doesn’t finish, and you don’t need her to. You know what it means. You feel it in your bones. He’s back in that dark place—And he didn’t come to you. He went to Barry instead.

Why didn’t he come to you?

“I need to go,” you say, your voice coming out more panicked than you’d like, but you can’t help it. Your heart’s racing, your mind is spinning, and the only thing you can focus on is Rafe. You’re grabbing your keys off the counter before your sister can even answer.

“Wait, what? Where are you going?” Monica asks, a bit alarmed now, but you don’t have time to explain.

“I need to find Rafe.”

Your sister steps forward, “Is it really that serious? I mean, maybe he’s just—”

“He’s not just anything,” you cut her off, shaking your head. “If he’s at Barry’s, it’s bad.”

Rafe had told you everything about his past—every ugly detail about the years he spent losing himself, the drugs, the fights, the constant mess of it all. He had opened up to you after your first time together. And for the past two years you’d seen him, the real Rafe, the one who tried so damn hard to be better.

And now? He’s slipping. And you weren’t there.

Your mind is racing as you drive. You think about how good things have been with him—how far he’s come. He’s not the guy he used to be. He doesn’t party like he used to, doesn’t need to numb everything with lines of coke or bottles of whiskey.

He told you about his time in rehab, how scared he was of becoming that version of himself again. But something must’ve happened.

Something big. 

Why didn’t he tell you?

The thought is suffocating. You know him—he’s reckless and impulsive sometimes, but he’s been so careful with you, always making sure you never had to see the side of him that scared him the most. He’s opened up about his struggles with anxiety, about how he sometimes still smokes weed to take the edge off, but this… this is different. 

This is worse.

It had to be Ward. He’s has always had this chokehold on him, making him feel like he’s never good enough. And whenever his mom gets brought up—whenever she’s even mentioned—it messes with him in ways you can barely understand. She’s the one person who could make him spiral, and Ward is the one person who could push him over that edge.

You slam your fist against the steering wheel, frustrated.

He’s dealing with this alone, and now he’s gone back to Barry. To coke. To everything that almost killed him before. You pull up to his place, your stomach churning. You can see Rafe’s truck parked haphazardly outside, and your heart skips a beat. He’s here.

He’s here, and he didn’t come to you.

You sit there for a moment, gripping the wheel, trying to calm yourself down, trying to figure out what the hell you’re even going to say when you see him.

You get out of the car and practically run toward Barry’s door. You know this place, know the people who come here and what they’re looking for. You’re pretty sure your dad spent half his life here, when Barry’s dad still ran the business. 

You don’t even knock. You push the door open. Barry’s on the couch, looking up lazily when you walk in, and you see Rafe—sitting in the corner, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched.

He looks like a ghost.

Barry snickers from the couch, taking a drag from his joint. “Well, well, look who it is. Didn’t think I’d see the two of you here together.”

“Shut the fuck up, Barry,” you snap, glaring at him before turning your full attention to Rafe. “What are you doing here?”

“W-What?”

“Baby, look at you.”

He tries to stand, his movements slow, like his body isn’t responding the way he wants it to. His eyes are bloodshot, unfocused, his pupils blown wide, and he’s swaying slightly, barely able to keep his balance.

“I just... I needed to clear my head,” he mumbles, the words slurring together. His hand goes to his hair, but it’s shaking, and he can’t even look at you. “It’s not—”

“It’s not what?” You feel your heart breaking with every word, the cracks widening as you take in the mess of him, his clothes disheveled, his face pale, his hands twitching.

He stumbles again, trying to step toward you, but he’s so high he can barely stand. “I didn’t want... I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he rasps out, finally meeting your eyes for just a second before looking away. “Didn’t want you to... think I was still... still that guy.”

“You’re not that guy anymore,” you say softly, even though right now, he looks too much like that guy. “But you’re acting like him.”

His head drops, and he looks down at the floor, his shoulders sagging, defeated. “Didn’t know...what else to do.”

“And you didn’t think to come to me?” Your voice breaks on the last word, “You went to Barry instead of me?”

“Hey now—"

“I told you to shut the fuck up,” You almost scream in Barry's face, your chest rising with each breath you take. Rafe can't stand to look you in the eyes right now. He can't see the disappointment.

“You always know what to do. You call me. You come to me. Why would you run here? Why would you go back to this?” You glance at Barry, who’s watching the whole scene with a smirk on his face like he’s enjoying every second of your heartbreak. “You’re better than this. Get in the car. We can talk about this.”

But he shakes his head, his breath shaky. “Can’t… can’t be with you right now.”

“Why?” 

 “Just… too much. Hurts too much.” He looks down, guilt washing over him. “Didn’t want you to see... this.”

“Then get in the car. We can figure this out together.” Your voice cracks, the hurt pouring out.

He hesitates, shaking his head again. “I… can’t.”

It pushes something inside you.

Maybe you’ll regret it later but now it’s all you can think about. If he doesn’t want your help, he doesn’t want you. And if he doesn’t want you right now he doesn’t deserve to want you when he’s better. 

“You can either get in this car and fight with me, or you can stay here. But if you stay—”

“Y-You’ll leave?” He’s looking at you despite the fog in his brain, not sure if he’s hearing you correctly, “Leave me?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“E-everyon leaves right?"

He’s never said anything like that to you before.

“I’m not leaving you, but if you stay here, with him,” you jerk your head in Barry’s direction, “I can’t help you. I can’t pull you out of this if you don’t want to get out.”

You know you can’t fix this for him. He has to make the choice. His eyes dart toward Barry for a second, and Barry just shrugs, clearly not giving a damn about anything but his next hit. 

“I love you, but I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”

For a second, you think maybe you’ve gotten through to him, because his eyes soften behind all that darkness. But then he shakes his head again, looking at the floor like he’s already made his decision.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he mutters, barely audible. “But I don’t know how to stop.”

Your heart breaks a little more at that. “Yes you do, baby. You do. You just need to believe it.”

If he doesn’t come with you, you’re not sure where this ends for him. He’s stuck, frozen in place, trapped by whatever’s going on in his head, and you realize that no matter how much you love him, no matter how much you want to save him, you can’t force him to choose you. You can’t make him get in the car.

“You have to decide,” you say quietly, voice breaking. “Me or this. You can’t have both.”

Rafe looks up at you, eyes glossy, and for a second, you think he might actually say something — something that will make this all okay, something that will bring him back to you. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, torn apart by his demons, his lips pressed into a line. You feel the pit in your stomach grow deeper.

“Okay,” you nod, barely holding back tears. “I guess that’s my answer.”

You turn and walk out the door, your heart shattering with every inch of distance you put between you and him. You don't look back, because if you do, you know you’ll drag him out yourself, and you can’t do that. Not now. But as you get into your car and grip the steering wheel with your entire strength, the sobs come anyway.

You don’t want to leave him. God, you don’t want to. But he didn’t choose you. Not this time.

Rafe doesn’t even register the sound of the door slamming behind you. It’s like he’s watching everything happen from somewhere far away, his body numb, his mind completely blank. You said something, you were upset—he knows that much—but the words never really hit him. They just floated around. He sinks back down into the chair, staring at the floor, heart racing but completely detached. The room is spinning a little, his chest tight, but he can’t feel anything. Can’t let himself feel anything. It’s better this way. Safer.

You left.

He knows that happened, but it doesn’t mean anything right now. He can’t process it. Not in this state. Not when the drugs are still in his system, making everything feel like it’s underwater. He blinks a few times, trying to get his brain to catch up, but it’s not working. It’s just static.

Barry’s voice is somewhere in the background, laughing about something, but he doesn’t hear him either. It’s like the world’s on mute. His body’s still buzzing from the high, fingers twitching, muscles tense, but inside? Inside he’s empty.

Hours pass, maybe. Time doesn’t exist here, not when he’s this far gone. The light changes through the window, but it could be minutes or days for all he knows. He drifts in and out, his head heavy, eyes closing, but sleep never comes. Just darkness. Maybe he did too many lines.

At some point, he wakes up—if you can call it that. His body feels like it weights two hundred pounds, his head is spinning, his mouth dry and sour. He blinks against the light, his vision blurry, trying to figure out where the hell he is. 

It takes a second for everything to catch up. To realize he’s at Barry’s.

And then, it hits him all at once. You.

You were here. You were mad. And then you were gone.

His chest tightens, a sick, sinking feeling crawling up his throat. He sits up too fast, his head swimming. Fuck.He rubs his hands over his face, trying to calm his breathing. His thoughts are still sluggish. You left. You walked out, and he… he didn’t stop you. Didn’t even try.

Why didn’t he stop you?

Before he can think too much about it, Barry saunters in, a smug grin on his face, holding a beer in one hand, a joint in the other. He takes one look at Rafe, slouched and disoriented, and lets out a low, mocking laugh.

“Well, well, well,” Barry drawls, leaning against the doorframe, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Look who’s finally awake. You done fucked it up, Country Club.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything. Can’t.

Barry raises an eyebrow, taking a drag from the joint, shaking his head. “Damn, man. Thought you were smarter than that.”

Rafe just stares at the floor, his stomach twisting. He can’t remember exactly what he said to you. But the look on your face… he can’t forget that. The disappointment. The hurt.

Barry chuckles, settling down on the couch across from him. “What was it? You running your mouth again, or did she just get tired of you being a fuckup?”

The shame is settling in now, creeping up his spine. He doesn’t want to hear this. Doesn’t want to hear anything. But Barry just keeps going, like he’s enjoying watching him fall apart.

“Should’ve seen it coming, man,” Barry continues, “Girl like that? She was bound to leave eventually.”

If he felt strong enough he would’ve punched that joint out of his mouth, his teeth following next. Who the fuck did he think he was to talk about you like he knew you.

He knows Barry’s just trying to get under his skin, but it’s working. He feels sick. He presses his hands against his eyes, trying to push it all away, but it’s no use.

“You done fucked it up, Country Club,” Barry repeats, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “And now you’re right back here. Same old Rafe.”

Same old Rafe. He told himself he’d never end up here again. He swore he was done with this. Done with Barry, done with the drugs, done with the guy he used to be.

But now? Now he’s right back where he started. And the worst part? He let you see it. He doesn’t know how to fix this. Doesn’t know if he even can fix this. But the one thing he does know? He should’ve crawled after you.

Rafe doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t need to. His hands are already moving, reaching for the small bag of coke on the table. His fingers tremble as they close around it, the weight of the plastic barely registering in his hand. 

Barry watches him, that same smug grin never leaving his face, taking another drag of his joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke with a low chuckle. He’s not surprised. Not at all.

"Of course," Barry mutters, shaking his head in amusement. “Of course, you're takin’ that shit with you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t fight him. He can feel Barry’s eyes on him, feel the judgment radiating off him, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not anymore. 

Not after everything he’s already fucked up. He stuffs the bag in his jacket pocket, standing up on shaky legs, the room still spinning a little as he stumbles toward the door. His mind is on autopilot, moving without him, as if the drugs are the only thing holding him together. 

"Attaboy, Country Club," Barry calls after him, voice dripping with condescension, laughter bubbling up from deep in his chest. “Just keep runnin’. That’s what you’re good at, right?”

Rafe’s hand tightens on the doorknob, his teeth grinding together, but he doesn’t turn back. He can’t look at Barry—he can’t look at any of this—so he does what he always does.

He walks away. He doesn’t think. He just keeps moving, out of the door, out into the night, the bag burning a hole in his pocket.

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It’s been two weeks since you last saw him.

Two weeks of silence, of unanswered calls and texts that sit there on your screen and make you cry every time you look at them. You told him you’d leave, but you didn’t mean it. You never meant it.

You just needed him to fight. For himself. But he didn’t.

And now, you can’t stop thinking about him. It physically hurts.

Every morning you wake up with this heavy impossible ache in your chest, and it only gets worse as the day goes on. You keep wondering where he is, if he’s okay, if he’s even thinking about you or if he’s too far gone to care.

You miss him. God, you miss him.

Now you don’t even know where he is. If he’s still spiraling or if he’s hit rock bottom.

You’ve barely been able to keep it together at work. Every time you try to focus, that image of Rafe in his absolute worst slips in, and you never get anything done. You’ve called in sick twice, just to stay in bed and cry, because you can barely breathe.

You’ve reached out to Sarah a few times, trying to understand what’s going on, but she doesn’t know much either. "He’s off the grid," she’d told you last time, "Doesn’t want to talk to anyone."

That was a week ago.

And now you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone, debating if you should try one more time. One more call. One more text.

Because this can’t possibly end this way. 

He’s the love of your life. 

Sarah’s name flashes on the screen, and you nearly drop the damn thing. “Sarah?”

“Hey,” You can hear it immediately—something’s wrong. “Are you home right now?”

Your stomach drops, “Yeah. Why? What’s going on?”

You can hear her take a shaky breath. “It’s Rafe. He’s, shit, it’s bad. Like, really bad.”

 “What do you mean, bad? Sarah, what happened?”

“Dad’s trying to get his doctor on the line,” she says, her voice cracking. “Just in case he ODs.”

Your blood turns ice cold.

“He’s not picking up,” she continues, her words spilling out in a rush, like she’s trying to keep herself from breaking down. “Dad’s freaking out, and Rafe—he’s not making sense. He’s been on a bender for days, and now he’s just... he’s not there. I don’t know what to do. I thought maybe you could—”

“I’m coming,” you say, cutting her off, already standing, your body moving on autopilot.

You hang up before she can say anything else, grabbing your keys and rushing out the door. The drive to Tannyhill  feels like it takes forever as your mind comes up with worst-case scenarios. You’ve seen Rafe struggle before—you’ve seen the dark places he’s been—but if Sarah’s calling you, if Ward’s getting a doctor involved….

You barely notice you’ve already parked the car, barely notice the front door swinging open as you run inside. The house is quiet, too quiet.

Sarah’s standing by the staircase, her eyes red and puffy. She doesn’t say anything, just nods toward the living room.

And that’s when you see him.

He’s slumped on the couch, his body limp, his eyes half-open but glazed over, like he’s not even seeing what’s in front of him. His skin is pale, clammy, his hands twitching every few seconds, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looks like half a version of himself, his breathing shallow and uneven.

Ward’s pacing the room, his phone pressed to his ear. “I don’t care if he’s busy, get him here now. He’s going to fucking die.”

“Rafe?” you call, stepping toward him. But he doesn’t react. Doesn’t even flinch. He just stares ahead, eyes unfocused, like he’s not even aware you’re there.

Sarah’s standing behind you now, her voice low, “He won’t talk to us. He’s too far gone.”

You sink down beside him, your heart breaking at the sight of him like this. You reach out, hesitating for a second before gently placing your hand on his arm.

“Rafe,” your voice wavers. “Baby, it’s me. Please… please talk to me.”

But there’s nothing. Just silence.

His head lolls to the side, and his eyes meet yours—but it’s like looking at a ghost. The person you know, the person you love, isn’t there. Not right now. Not in this moment. And it kills you.

You keep whispering his name, pleading for him to wake up, to do something, but nothing works.

Ward's still on the phone, pacing like a caged animal, his voice a angry hum in the background. His eyes flick over to you every few minutes, but he doesn’t say anything. Sarah’s standing off to the side, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes red and puffy from crying. You can see how scared she is, and you’re glad they got Weezie out of the house before she could see this. 

After what feels like an eternity, the front door bursts open, and a doctor rushes in, followed by a paramedic with a bag of medical equipment. The doctor, some guy Ward must have on speed dial for situations like this, doesn’t waste any time. He kneels down beside Rafe, checking his pulse, his pupils, his breathing.

“This is bad,” the doctor mutters, shaking his head. “He’s lucky he’s still breathing.”

Lucky. 

The paramedic moves in, setting up an oxygen mask, checking Rafe’s vitals, and it feels like the room is spinning. You try to stay calm, try to keep your hand on Rafe.

Ward finally hangs up the phone and stands there, watching as the doctor works. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asks, his voice strained because god forbid he shows more emotion.

The doctor glances up, his expression grim. “We need to take him in. I’m stabilizing him, but if this had gone on any longer, we’d be having a different conversation right now.”

You feel like you're going to be sick.

The paramedic starts prepping him for transport, and you stand there, helpless, watching as they move him onto a stretcher. His body looks so limp, so fragile. They’re talking about taking him to the hospital for observation, but all you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears.

Ward steps forward, he watches his son being carried away. For the first time, you see it—real fear in his eyes. 

“I should’ve seen this coming,” Ward says, his voice shaking. “I should’ve stopped it. This is my fault.”

You feel something snap inside of you.  “I’m sure it fucking is.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there like a fucking idiot. Sarah is beside you now, her hand on your arm, gently pulling you back. “Let’s go,” she mutters,“We should go with him.”

You nod, swallowing as you follow her out of the house, leaving Ward standing there alone.

You climb into your car, Sarah beside you, and you both sit there for a moment in silence, watching as the ambulance pulls away, taking Rafe with it.

“I’m scared,” Sarah admits. 

You close your eyes, and nod. “So am I.”

You have to remind yourself to breathe. She sits beside you, staring straight ahead and neither of you says another word.

The hospital is quiet when you arrive, eerily so. You both rush in, Sarah at your side, searching for the emergency room and after a bunch of paperwork and hurried conversations, you’re finally led to the waiting room. The doctor said they’d keep you updated, and you sit down on those stiff, uncomfortable chairs, the waiting begins.

Minutes drag by like hours. You try to text or scroll through your phone, anything to distract yourself, but you can’t focus. Every time you close your eyes, all you can see is Rafe. It’s like your brain is stuck on replay, and you can’t shut it off. Sarah’s over there biting her lip until it’s bleeding. Every now and then, she looks at you, like she’s about to say something, but then she doesn’t. And you don’t either. You can’t. What the hell would you even say? It feels like you’re both waiting for the worst possible news and just pretending you’re not.

After what feels like forever, the doctor finally comes through the doors, and Sarah and you jump up at the same time. 

The doctor sighs, and he looks tired, like this isn’t the first time he’s delivered news like this today.

“We stabilized him,” he says, “He was really close to an overdose, but we got to him in time. He’s still unconscious, but his vitals are stable for now. We’ll keep him under observation for at least 24 hours.”

You finally take a deep breath, but it’s shaky, and it doesn’t feel real. 

Sarah doesn’t even hesitate. The second the doctor says Rafe’s stable, she’s heading towards his room, like she needs to see him, to make sure for herself that he’s really still here. You don’t follow her, though. Your legs feel like they’re made of concrete, if you move, you’ll just collapse right there in the hallway.

As much as you want to be with him, to hold his hand or just… see him breathing, you know you can’t handle it. Not right now. You’ve spent the last two weeks trying to hold it together, and this is the first time you feel like you can finally breathe. Like you’re not suffocating with worry.

What you need more than anything is to get out of here. To just breathe, to close your eyes for more than a minute without the image of him passed out, strung out, burned into your brain. You need sleep. You need to feel something other than panic. He’s gonna be okay. Maybe not perfect, maybe not healed, but for now, he’s alive. 

The next day, you finally gather the courage to see him. You feel like you might throw up at any second. You stop outside his room, staring at the door for what feels like forever, trying to convince yourself to go inside.

He’s lying in bed, looking like he barely walked out of this one alive, but he’s awake. His eyes meet yours the second you step inside, and you feel like you’re going to start crying at any given second. 

“Hey,” You manage to say, You don’t trust your voice to be strong enough to say something more.

Rafe blinks, like he’s surprised to see you. His voice is rough when he speaks, cracked from everything his body’s been through. “You came.”

“Of course I did,” He’s genuinely shocked. As if he thought you’d just walk away from all of this. From him. You swallow hard, taking a step closer to the bed. “Of course I came, Rafe.” Your voice is soft, barely holding together. “Where else would I be?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes flicker away from yours, settling on the IV in his arm, like he can’t stand to look at you. 

“Sarah called me. She was scared. She didn’t know what to do.”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he still won’t meet your eyes. “She shouldn’t have,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, barely there.

“She shouldn’t have had to, Rafe. You scared the shit out of her—out of everyone. And I’ve been sitting here for two weeks, waiting for you to say something, anything, and you just—” You stop yourself, your throat closing up, and you bite your lip to keep from crying. “You almost died.”

You can see his chest rising and falling slowly, and for a split second, you think he’s not going to answer at all. That he’s just going to keep shutting you out. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he says quietly. “I didn’t want you to see how fucked up I am.”

Your heart breaks all over again because you’ve already seen it. You’ve seen every part of him—the good, the bad, the absolute worst. And you’re still here. You’re still standing in this stupid hospital room because you love him. He shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the blanket like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You step closer to the bed, sitting down carefully on the edge, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe. Just a little bit.

“Don’t say that,” you reach for his hand. He flinches at first but doesn’t pull away when you lace your fingers with his. “You’re gonna be okay. We’ll get through this. But you can’t keep pushing me away. I need you to let me help you.”

He closes his eyes, his face twisting in pain, “Ward wanted us to meet mom and I just—”

You’ve never fully understood what his mom meant to him, or maybe what losing her did to him, now you do. That deep-rooted pain that always seems to haunt him when he talks about her is stronger than you’ve ever seen before. 

“I didn’t want you to see this mess. I don’t want anyone to. I’m a fucking disaster. Every time I try to fix something, I just make it worse. I just—” He breaks off, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to swallow down the rest of his words, the ones he can’t say out loud.

“You spent years sober, that’s not easy,” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him carefully, not caring if he feels like a mess or if you’re being too much. You just want him to feel like he’s not alone. “Baby, I know you’re hurting,” you murmur into his shoulder, “But I’m not going anywhere.”

“You should,” He confesses, “I hurt you.”

“You have,” you admit, “But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving. I’m not gonna give up on you.”

He looks away, like he doesn’t believe you, like he’s waiting for you to just walk out of that hospital room and never look back. But you don’t.

You tighten your grip on his hand, "You don’t get to decide that for me.  I’m still here because I love you. Even when you push me away.”

“You shouldn’t love me,” he whispers, like it’s some kind of fact, like it’s already been decided.

You shake your head, leaning in closer, your hand resting on his cheek. “But I do, Rafe. I always will. Even when you don’t think you deserve it, we’ll figure it out, together, okay? One step at a time.”

He nods, barely, but it's something. It’s a start.

[b14augrana]

Kiss of Strife

Football has always been your safe haven, but your home life gradually starts to manifest in different ways away from home, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your captain

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of family issues associated with emotional unavailability and forms of abuse. read at your own discretion

A/N: an alexia x teen!reader angst fic was requested so here it is!! i decided this will be multiple parts as well so i hope you enjoy this chapter and the rest of this little series

(i wrote this pretty late at night and it isnt proofread so please excuse any mistakes regarding the tense, grammar etcetc)

Everything is perfect.

You’re scoring goals for your club and bagging assists. Your name is no longer a strange string of consonants and vowels but a recognisable word within the community of Cataluña, and it is only because of an ambition you dedicated the rest of your life to pursuing.

That’s just in the face of football though.

At home, there is a drought. The four walls of a family house are meant to behave like a dam which stores love and affection in the place of water, but your house is devoid of that.

Your house fosters a bitterness that doesn’t go hand in hand with anything along the lines of love and affection. The drawings on the fridge, created by a 5-year-old you, have faded over time, the ink being nothing more than splotches in some areas — a testament to the lack of care and attention your efforts received.

Relationships are barely surviving on simple greetings and empty ‘I love yous’. You crave something that is dangerous to want, but in your heart burns a desire to get the hell out.

Your lullaby is the faint yelling from the living room as you shut your eyes and focus on the gradually increasing volume of both voices, contradicting each other and trying to stab each other with no blade.

Your little sister crawls into your bed, her body flush against yours, another little arm wrapped around hers. Beneath your covers, there is warmth. Beneath your grip, there is safety.

During the school holidays, a child is supposed to savour every waking moment they spend at home and appreciate every day of it. You find yourself asking God why that isn’t the case, as you walk to practise with your sister’s hand in yours.

She sits on the sidelines picking grass as you train with your teammates, dreading the inevitable passing of minutes as you practise skill after skill. When you retreat to the bench for a quick water break, she runs up to you, bunches of chamomiles clutched in her hands that she begs to insert between the weaving of your braid.

From the day of your first training with the team, Alexia was drawn to you. She blamed it on her captain instincts, seeing as you’re the youngest on the team and therefore has the most potential, but now it’s gone beyond her captaincy. She’s known you for months, almost a full year now. She isn’t just your captain anymore.

She isn’t aware of the reality of your home life beyond the telltale signs such as the slightly sunken skin below your eyes or the bruises that taint your skin and are allegedly caused by your ‘clumsiness’. She knows there is something more to the extra effort you constantly put into training and games — she doesn’t know yet that it’s the pent up anger, sadness and fear manifesting in more productive forms.

You pour your heart and soul into the movement of the ball, in hopes that you can pursue your dreams of running away from what is restricting you from pursuing even greater dreams, an actual dream.

School starts back up for your sister. Things have been looking up for you, a huge burden off your shoulders. The house hasn’t shaken with another argument for a while and for once you get to know what silence is while you sleep, really sleep.

With every passing day, you find your memories with your father to resemble a garden; you can’t have a garden without flowers, just like how you can’t have memories of him without doing anything with him. When you were young, your garden was comparable to a rainforest, a new species in every corner, a kaleidoscope of beauty..

Until there was no more new species to plant and nurture, and the ones that already existed were getting neglected because all that you receive when you look at them are sour memories of what once was — the gardener you used to be, how rich the soil was, how steadily the flowers grew and how proud you were of your garden.

Your garden is dead now. It has gotten to the point where he doesn’t care about planting new flowers or watering the plants that already exist, leaving them to die of thirst. He’s absent and his emotional unavailability killed your flowers.

The little girl in you that wanted nothing else but love from her parents, loved that garden with her whole heart. She would’ve done anything she could to plant one more flower, she would’ve used the last drop of water in a drought to water her plants.

Alexia noticed something different about you today. The way you bounced around rather than the usual trudge… you had actual, sleep-induced energy.

Your sister also isn't with you. Alexia later asks you about it while you two are getting water and she learns that your sister is at school, and there is a smile on your face that she didn’t even realise had been absent for days until she saw it again.

Alexia has always been nice to you. The others treat you like a teammate, but she treats you like a friend. It feels like a special privilege, knowing ‘La Reina’ personally. She’s obviously a pillar in women’s football but to you, she’s much more.

She harbours a soft spot for you in her heart that becomes evident when she asks you if you need a ride home, and who are you to turn down such an offer when the ache in your legs is close to becoming unbearable?

“You’re talented, chica,” the woman says as you slink into the passenger seat of her car. “I haven’t had the chance to say it, but there hasn’t been a player like you for quite a bit.”

Her praise is so much more than just a couple of words from your captain. Though you smile and say a shy thank you, your heart races because you’ve just been called talented by one of the best players in the world, and there is no feeling greater than that. It gives you a tiny sliver of hope for a brighter future than what you’re already living, and for a moment, escaping your four walls seems possible.

The joy you experienced during the whole car ride is short lived once her car pulls into your driveway. Perhaps she can see the way your expression drops and your demeanour falls, because her hand finds your shoulder and squeezes it in a way that comforts you. “Do you want me to walk you to the door?” she asks, and though you really wish she could, you shake your head for the better.

There’s a slight frown on her face before she nods and drops her hand. You think about the possibility of her knowing that there’s something going on behind the closed doors of your home, and a big part of you hopes so, but no words besides a ‘gracías’ and ‘adios’ manage to find their way out of your mouth despite the pleas for help and support bubbling in your throat as you shut the door of her car.

When you reach the patio, the door opens to bombard you with the raucous of an argument happening around the corner of the hallway.

Your limbs are barely functioning and your eyes are struggling to stay open which is an obvious sign of the exhaustion soaring through your body, hence why you skip right past seeing your parents and beeline towards your sister’s room.

For as long as you can remember, arguments have been a consistent part of evenings spent in your household. Sometimes violence finds itself becoming the last resort, leaving you stuck to bear the brunt of a heavy hand. It’s what happens when two sides of the same coin try to work out — two negatives can’t make a positive, it’s impossible for them to get along and there is never a last word. That’s the unfortunate reality of your parents’ relationship.

You sink into the soft mattress of your sister’s bed and beckon her from the desk to lay beside you. She flips her paper over and abandons the seat to run over to you, her little body falling into your embrace. When she asks you what they’re talking about this time, you tell your sister that they’re just having a little disagreement, and if she sleeps it off, it’ll go away. It’s a promise, you say, before you proceed to tell her all about your training and your teammates. It’s her favourite thing, and she says it’s better than a bedtime story.

In no time, little exhales slip past her mouth as her eyes flutter shut, and you roll her off your body, tucking her into the butterfly printed duvet. With tentative steps across the hardwood, you find yourself at her desk and your fingers ghost over the piece of paper as you squint to read it in the dimness of her nightlight.

‘Mi papá hermana guapa

My sister is strong. She plays fútbol and she is good at it. My sister takes care of me and takes me to her pracktise, I like going with my sister. She helps me sleep and when I am with my sister, I am not scared. I am proud of m–…’

And the rest trails off. The body remains incomplete, but there’s one last sentence at the bottom of the page.

‘Amo a mi hermana.’

You place it back on her desk as you fail to combat the tears flooding your waterline. ‘She must’ve been instructed to write a poem by her teacher… for Father’s Day’, you think to yourself. Turning away so you don’t ruin her writing with your tears, you wiped them with the back of your Barça jacket sleeve and flipped the page around before making a dead silent exit. The house was completely still beside the low noise of talking from the TV and light snoring.

Your tears are not because of happiness. No, they stream down your face because it’s then that you realise something, and it opens up a whole new portal of questions.

As the streak of silence is broken and you’re forced to fall asleep to the low humming noise from the living room and a restless mind, you wonder what twisted realm of anger and bitterness your father lives in that forbids him from showing the smallest signs of love to his kids.

But, you already know the answer to that question, deep down. Instead, you wonder if you’ll see Alexia tomorrow, stretching in her usual spot, and you wonder if she’ll look up and smile at you again and invite you over.

You hope that’s what will happen. You pray for it.

[minswriting]

nsfw | mdni | spencer reid x unsub! reader | masturbation (m), this may make not a lot of sense but the concept is what’s important, not the content lol

tw: mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of murder, reader really isn’t that bad, spencer likes women who can control the situation, reader is wearing heels and it turns spencer on but there is absolutely no foot fetish because that is not my cup of tea at all

thinking about a reader who is an unsub. spencer had gone undercover to meet you, going on a date with you. and you already could tell he was undercover. how couldn’t you? he was awkward, unsure of his surroundings. and the smallest imprint of a bug on his suit jacket. in order to maintain your cover, you had learned to notice the smallest of things about your surroundings.

the date began innocently. the two of you laughed, talking about random things about your personal lives that wouldn’t give anything away. until eventually something shifted. you had told a story about how you were abused sexually as a child.

“is that why you go around killing men that represent your abuser?” spencer asked quietly, his voice so sure of himself as he looked at you with a look of ‘there’s no hiding from this one’.

and in response, you smirked. “that’s quite the accusation, wouldn’t you say?” you murmured, tilting your head at spencer.

“one that you’re not denying,” spencer said matter-of-factly.

you simply smiled, nodding your head. “why should i?” you asked, using your heel to run along spencer’s leg, causing him to shutter. “you see, men are all the same,” you leaned in, looking at spencer with a seductive look. “so easy to please. the smallest of gestures,” your voice was so smooth and confident, sending chills down spencer’s back. “being more than enough to send them over the edge.” your heel made it to his crotch, grazing the tent that had formed so quickly underneath your touch.

spencer let out a small gasp, gripping the table in front of him as he tried not to buck his hips into your heel. “and you use that to your advantage,” he said, clearing his throat.

you nodded your head, twisting your heel slightly to give him slight friction. “you see, men are disgusting by nature. anything and everything turns them on and so they’ll take what they want,” you exclaimed. “are you going to take what you want, spencer?” you asked seductively.

spencer let out a shaky breath, licking his lips. “so you killed men simply because they’re gross to you.”

you shook your head. “every man i’ve killed has had a history of past abuse towards others,” you exclaimed seriously, taking your heel off of spencer’s crotch. “so go ahead and arrest me but at the end of the day, i took away the people that could hurt poor innocent girls like i once was.”

and so you were indeed arrested, leaving spencer with his thoughts all wrapped around you. luckily the case had taken place in D.C as he was able to just go home immediately after. once he had gotten home, he couldn’t help but think about your heel on his crotch.

it was gross of him to think of you in such a way. you’re an unsub, a murderer that he had just locked away in jail. but your motive for killing was understandable. it’s not like you murdered anyone innocent. and god, you were so undeniably beautiful.

spencer’s cock was still hard from earlier, having not been able to give himself any sort of relief. the genius’s brain had turned to mush and it had taken all of his strength to muster up the questions he had asked you. and he was sure that you could tell.

unzipping his pants and pulling them down, spencer gripped his cock as he leaned against the door to his apartment. he began jerking himself off, indulging in his thoughts about you. part of him felt sick for doing this. isn’t it just proving your point? men want what they want with no care for the world. anything and everything turns them on. spencer was not an exception.

he let out a small moan as he teased his tip with his thumb. he thought about how you would most certainly degrade him, control him. oh how he wanted you to use him for your own pleasure. spencer wanted so badly to give to you what he couldn’t give. maybe that’s what made him different than the rest of the men in the world.

he wanted to give, not to take.

spencer whimpered, pumping his cock faster. he can still practically feel the weight of your heel on his cock, making him want nothing more than to bend to your will. he felt himself getting closer with each thought about you. and with a choked moan, he began cumming, spilling ropes of his seed onto the floor and onto his hand.

perhaps you knew that you would be on spencer’s mind for awhile. perhaps you knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist your charm. because from there on out, spencer only thought about you.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

I am Sage's mother, better known as Nana. I adopted Sage after my son died when she was still a baby. She's been through six foster homes by then, but we loved her and she blossomed into a joyful, lively girl who made music and art.

Puberty began and COVID hit, and she was treated for depression and anxiety, at times very severe. Her teachers shared any concerns with me so her treatment could be adapted.

The transparency ended in August of 2021 when Sage started high school. She started a public high school and she told me that all the girls there were bi, trans, lesbian, emo and she wanted to wear boy's clothes and be emo. Because I saw it as just a phase, it was fine with me.

But at school, she told them something different: she was now a boy named Draco with male pronouns. Sage asked the school not to tell me, and they did not tell me even though I informed them of her mental health history and medication. If I had known, this would be a much different story.

She was terribly bullied. No one told me. But boys followed her, touched her, threatened violence and rape. Something happened in the boy's bathroom but for two days, the school told me nothing. They kept meeting with Sage alone and she became so distraught they called me to pick her up.

That evening, I found a hallpass labeled 'Draco' and Sage told me she was identifying as a boy, and that her counselor said she could use the boy's bathroom. She'd been jacked up against the wall by a group of boys. She was crying, terrified. I said just stay home, we'll figure it out. That was my last conversation with Sage for five months.

The night she ran, she thought, to a young friend she'd met online, she left a note saying she was scared of what would happen if she stayed. The sheriff, FBI, search dogs were called in. I dropped to my knees in prayer. Nine days later the FBI found her in Baltimore. My baby had been lured online, sex trafficked by DC then Maryland. She was locked in a room, drugged, gang raped and brutalized by countless men. It was night. The FBI told us to pick her up in Maryland the next morning.

We packed our cars with blankets and stuffed animals and arrived by 8 am, but we were told we couldn't see her, and were summoned before Judge Robert Kershaw late that afternoon. They didn't even tell Sage that we came for her. We finally entered the courtroom and Sage appears on a huge Zoom screen from a prison cell. She looks tiny and broken, and I cry out 'I love you Sage.' Sage responds 'I love you too, Nana.' But attorney Anisa Khan rebukes us. She is a 'he' and his name is 'Draco' not Sage. We were floored.

Khan accuses us of emotional and physical abuse, that we are misgendering her, even though we just learned she claims to be trans and we're willing to use any name and pronouns to bring her home. My husband was so tearful he kept forgetting the new pronouns, so the judge had the bailiff remove him from the courtroom. I was pleading for my child to be returned and treated for her unspeakable trauma. Judge Kershaw told me, if I use the word 'trauma' again, he would throw me out too.

For over two months, he withheld custody. He housed Sage in the male quarters of a children's home. Sage told me she was the only girl and repeatedly assaulted. She was given street drugs by the other kids and Khan told her she didn't care. She just wanted to win the case and all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary. Khan tried to prove abuse, but we were eventually cleared by both states of all charges.

Sage later told me Khan had told her to lie that we hit her. Khan even had Sage's school counselors testify against us, though they barely knew Sage and they didn't know us at all. Khan told my precious child I didn't want her anymore. I found out Sage never received any of the letters I sent her.

Sage ran from the Children's Home and disappeared for months. They told me she might already be gone forever, but I couldn't give up and I finally found a tip on her social media that led the marshals to her in Texas. She had been drugged, raped, beaten and exploited. This time I was able to be with her for the traumatic rape exam, and to bring her home.

Back in Virginia, she entered the mental health facility that Judge Kershaw had ordered, as it would affirm her as a male. The therapist began pressuring her to have her healthy breasts removed. Sage was too scared to protest, but she asked me to secretly buy her girl's clothes because she wanted to be a girl, but keep them in the car. It took a kind lawyer, Josh Hetzler to secure her discharge.

After almost a year. Sage was finally home. Safe. Alive. Sage is receiving professional trauma care. The first trafficker has already been convicted. Sage has nightmares, panic attacks, rape-related medical issues, but there's hope. I tell her she's not broken she's just scarred. And part of that hope is that in courageously sharing her story, others will be saved.

Sage said she doesn't know who she was back then. She wasn't a boy, she just wanted to have friends. But her school, the judge, the attorney and the doctor were all blinded by their ideology. The consequences for Sage were unspeakable.

Please don't let ideology harm another child. Let parents do our jobs. We know our children best and we love them a million times more.

Thank you.

==

Jesus Christ. This girl was exploited by everybody, except for her parents, who were villainized for literally nothing. It's opposite world.

And the fact that everybody with authority prioritized stupid shit like pronouns and trying to coax her further down into a fake identity, even against her will, and other ideological bullshit over her actual wellbeing is disgraceful.

The judge and attorney need to be disbarred, the therapist stripped of their license, and everyone who conspired to separate Sage from her parents fired.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Phantom's number 1 Fan. Part 2

Tim wakes a few days later, half submerged in liquid and hooked to various machines. He is in a tub shaped like a bed, obviously meant to sleep in. Around him is what he hopes is a hospital room with medical tools scattered about and soft blue paint that turns to the night sky the higher it goes on the wall.

On the ceiling are paintings of various constellations. It's rather beautiful.

Tim also notices he feels no pain. None. Not even the aches of his bones after years of abuse while fighting crime. He thinks that's a bit strange since the last thing he could clearly remember was barely escaping Ra's al Ghul, losing his spleen, and gaining more wounds from angry assassins on his way out.

He had been flying half-blind, blinking in and out of awareness. He thinks at one point, Cassie had attempted to call him, and he may have answered, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what he told her.

He did remember what she said in response. She sounded so desperate as she begged over the S-Batplane speakers. "Please, Tim, you're not well. Let us help you. Just tell me where you are."

Too bad for her, since the S in S-Batplane stand for Secert because Tim had built that one on his own in Secert. There was no way she or any of the hero community could track him in it since they had no idea it existed until Tim had taken it and his supplies on his solo mission to save Bruce.

Tim will admit that he is happy they noticed he went missing- even if it was three months too late. Not that it mattered much. The rest of the Bats wanted nothing to do with him. The world only saw him as a young easy wallet as a shiny new CEO. And his friends were all dead or convinced he was insane by Dick.

Tim didn't have anyone to notice he was gone anymore. But Bruce needed him to push through the ache and get him home.

As the Robin who Bruce trained to put the mission first no matter the cost, the one that came after Jason's death so, Bruce stopped allowing himself to think of Robin as a son and more along the lines of a soldier; he quickly shut down the crying child that wailed for someone to believe him, to support him.

Sometimes it felt like Tim was still waiting by the door of Drake Manor, waiting for someone to come and care for him, to stay for him.

The door to his room opens, snapping Tim back to the present. He automatically stiffens, expecting more of the League of Assassins. He can't remember much, but he guessed he was captured by the fact he was sitting in a green glowing water.

He was not, however, expecting a Yeti to walk in, reading a clipboard.

The Yeti looks up, bearing its teeth at Tim when he notices him awake. It takes a moment to realize the action is supposed to be a smile. "Great One's Honored Guest, I am so glad you have awakened. I am FrostBite, your doctor for the remainder of your recovery."

Okay. Ra's has Yetis at his disposal.

He was the only person that Tim knew as the "Great One." Usually, his most loyal operatives too, which means he was deep within Ra's territory.

FrostBrite pauses for a response, but when Tim remains silent, he holds up his board. "It seems to me that most of your wounds have healed. The only problem is that your spleen could not be salvaged due to the damage."

Tim fights to keep the despair off his face. He figured that was the case, seeing as Ras's had it in a jar, but he had hoped.

"...I understand this may be a difficult adjustment. You will always have to be careful when being ill. Even a simple cold could be disastrous." Frostbite steps close, taping one giant claw on the tub's edge. "The Great One has ordered we keep consistent Ecoplasm Baths at the ready for the remainder of your natural life."

Fuck. The Yeti is saying Ra will never let him leave again. It's a threat disguised as a offer of help.

Tim glares down at his hands. They lay within Lazarus' water, gently healing his small scars. This must be some of the purest Lazarus he's ever seen. It must be Ra's own special blend.

The only reason he is wasting it on Tim is that Ra's wants an heir from him. Or for him to become the Heir. He doesn't know, which makes him feel worse but he does know what lust looks like.

It's one that Ra's has aimed at him for too long.

He may as well get this over with. Learn as much as he can. Plan an escape. The best way to do all that is to simply ask.

"When is the wedding?"

Frostbite freezes. "I beg your pardon? Whos wedding?"

"Th Great One and mine" because the madman would never allow a bastard to inherit his empire.

"You and the Great One....are paramours?" Frostbite sounds awe. Shoot his medic doesn't know anything. The Yeti is likely low ranking.

Tim looks away, and the giant white creature jerks into action. "I apologize for not treating the Great One's beloved properly. I shall have servants bring up a meal while you soak. And the finest robe we have! Sweets and messages....offers of gold?....humans always like gold."

He waits until the Yeti leaves, mumbles of giving him the royal treatment echoing in his wake. Tim sighs, sinking into the water. He knows he is being watched as that's what he would do, so for now he needs to stay put and heal.

He's never going to get Bruce back if he acts too rashly without knowing where he is and what else Ra has under his control. Yetis were no easy feat to beat on his own. He like to avoid....a vampire or something too.

Half an hour later, FrostBite returns with the promised meal and change of clothes. Smaller Yetis help him dress in threads of the finest silks. They feel like heaven on his sensitive skin. Tim feels soft and warm all over, pampered beyond belief.

It's been so long since he just had a moment to rest.

He asks for a walk which he is only permitted after Frostbites clears him. It's while he is wandering that he realizes he is in some winter castle. Everywhere he looks, there is ice, snow, and yetis.

He notices all the guards and makes mental maps of possible weak spots. He wonders why he's not freezing despite only being in a thin silk robe. A form of magic?

A few yetis- servants he can tell by their mannerisms- bow as he wanders about. He can't tell where he is based on the sun or the environment. It's....somehow different.

"That's him?" A young female voice asks. He turns his head slightly to catch the speaker in his provisional vision. It's one of the smaller Yetis....he assumes she's a child? Hard to tell when she still towers over him. "The Great One's future spouse?"

"Yes, I heard King Frostbite, himself, tell the Head Butler"

"He's weak," another Yeti says with disapproval. He sounds male but young as well. Not even a teenager. "He does not even have a core."

"He is a human." A much older voice replies. She sounds like Tim's age based on vocal cords. "Humans are not meant to have cores. Despite this he is a formidable fighter. He has to be to have attracted the Great One's eye."

"Maybe not. I heard humans enjoy being cared for like children. They even call partners things like Mommy and Daddy."

"Why?" The boy Yeti sounds horrified.

"Apparently it's seen as attractive"

"That's disgusting."

Tim turns a corner cutting off the conversation as the Yetis snap to attention. They bow low at the waist as he walks by.

He nods at them, which seems to startle a lot of them. Not that he's surprised. The AL Ghuls likely treated them like decorations and never fully acknowledged them.

Tim barely hears the young boy gasp. "He's beautiful."

"That's likely why the Great One is so bestowed."

Tim sighs walking back to his room with a escape plan half formed.

Elsewhere, the rumor mill in the Ghost Zone is running over time as news of King Phantom's human husband-to-be is spread far and wide. Leaders of the Ghost Zone quickly prepare for a ball that will likely be called to celebrate the union.

They have gifts gathered, each wanting to gain favor with the King. The Far Frozen gets overwhelming requests to visit the future Consort, but seeing as King Phantom had to return to the human world, thus leaving his fiancé in their care, they reject all. They do not want the boy to be overwhelmed or caught unawares if he is not tried in any form of politics.

It would not allow him to become a threat to the King's authority's pawn.

This led to even more rumors starting.

By the time they reached John Constine- the only human who has any form of contact with the Realms- the word is that King Phantom's human was currently carrying their child, wanting to marry before the baby was born, and that he was running from a group of humans known as "The Bats."

He was as beautiful as the King Phantom was powerful- which meant he was utterly breathtaking for a human- and that King Phantom was currently in the human world hunting down those who threaten his family.

Across the dimension plane, Danny is blissfully unaware of the misunderstanding as he is busy filling out college scholarship applications. He has only one more year before he graduates, but he would like to go somewhere away from Amity Park.

The Wayne Scholarship is a long and lengthy process, but it will be worth it. A full ride with board and meals? Yes, the housing will be in Gotham but it's a small price to pay.

He wonders if his number one fan has awakened. Frostbite would have contacted him if his guest had escaped the coma.

Tim Drake had been asleep for nearly a week, only kept healthy due to Danny bathing him in his Protective Core ectoplasm and the Yeti's multi-species medical knowledge. As it were, Tim appeared to only be taking a small nap, none of the adverse effects of long slumber appearing on his thin body, but Danny was getting worried.

At this point, he didn't even care how Tim knew his secret. He just wanted him to be alright.

A flash of green light causes Danny to spring away from his laptop, body falling into a natural fighter's stance only to blink at the giant gift wrap present laying on his bed. Cautiously he inspects the gift finding it from Princess Dora.

"May your love lead the Realms into a wonderous future, and may your union bear many children." He reads the small note she had attracted to her gift "What children?"

Pulling open the gift, he stares at two sets of King robes decorated with rubies shaped into snowflakes. More miniature robes and a few booties surround the pair, obviously meant as a family gift.

Tuck to the side of the box is a long and deadly-looking sword. It's pitch black, with a scull as a handle. Dora had tired a scroll to its blade, where she had written My armies are ready to yield to you. You need only to swing this sword, and they shall come to your aid. The Bats will not harm your treasure.

What in the world?

[anjanahalo]

Potential DPxDC Fic 6

Guess it could be just DP. I just like DPxDC. It's a Bad Fenton Parents fic, but based on me reading about various new forms of child abuse to use. CW below for childhood neglect and stuff.

Danny is born into the Fenton family after Jack and Maddie lose their beloved Jasmine to The Stystem. Taken from their home and placed in foster care for small things like forgetting to get her lunch perfectly on time (or every day after a breakthrough) or getting behind on laundry for awhile (after spending a week backing up their research in case of a ghost or EMP strike. Its not like they managed time to bathe or change clothes, either!). They wouldn't make the same mistake as they would with their lovely daughter. Instead of announcing the pregnancy, they kept quiet. Maddie stayed home so the neighbors didn't see her growing belly. When the birth came, they delivered at home (a biology degree is good enough!), and vowed to home school him so he would stay and not be taken away. The homeschooling didn't...end up with the same results as traditional school. They were both still busy closing in on their portal, after all, so lessons were usually sporadic and centered around their work. Danny definitely had the Fenton Genius (TM) from how he picked up advanced physics, calculus, mechanical engineering and mathmatics. He still wasn't great at reading regular words or writing, but his numbers are neat and his calculations flawless, so things like English and History could sit on the side. It was sad, of course, how Danny was stuck in the home for the sake of the family, the curtains permanently drawn to avoid the nosy neighbors that tore apart their family before, but instead of moping or rebellion, he worked alongside them as soon as he could. Maddie framed his first hazmat suit, gifting him a new one with each growthspurt, always white ("We'll let you pick your own Fenton OSHA Approved Hazmat Color once you grow up, Danny."), and he stood with his parents as they tried to open the portal when he turned fourteen. And it failed. Dejected, all three left and ate the planned celebratory fudge with sullen expressions, the fudge itself feeling overly tacky with their depression. Danny, however, got up in the middle of the night and snuck into the basement, his steps smooth and confident even in the darkness of the house (he could get anywhere in the house with his eyes closed). He crept into the basement, an idea striking him. There was an auxillary power button inside the portal itself, meant as a backup or last resort override. However, Danny knew his dad installed the electrical system overnight one night in a fit of manic inspiration. What if it wasn't the auxillary power button anymore? He slipped on his hazmat suit. He walked into the portal, double checked the wiring, and looked up at the button, red and obvious in the wall. If he was correct, he thought as he raised his hand to the button, all he had to do was-

Jack and Maddie raced down the stairs as the lights flickered and a faint cry rose from below. In the basement they found Danny in his hazmat suit. He stared at them with frightful shock, his hair and left hand singed, then turned toward the humming that enraptured his parents as soon as the descended. The portal was working. It worked! Jack and Maddie and Danny were all elated, but Danny began to recede from their work. Stating he wanted to journal their portal research and development into a story, he began to hide in his room more and more. He ordered and read books on biology, psychology, even philosophy, because he knew what happened to him. The portal opened on him, and he died. He awoke in the basement as a ghost, barely transforming himself into something human looking before his parents arrived. However, what he thought he felt went against everything he knew about ghosts. Ghosts weren't sentient. They were emotions strongly imprinted on ectoplasm. Enough ectoplasm or emotions and an echo of those dead feelings rose, taking on an avatar and acting purely off the instinct of the moods that made them. Considering ectoplasm usually manifested with death, and the strongest emotions of the dying are usually fear and anger, most ghosts were destructive with no care for property or life, mindless monsters who'd tear apart the mortal world if left to their own devices in a vain attempt to soothe their undying emotions. But Danny still felt like Danny. He had thoughts, emotions, physical feeling, everything like when he was...when the portal wasn't open. Research, thankfully, taught him what happened. After all, signs were there that something changed for the worse in him. He felt afraid of his parents, and he'd begun lying to them daily when he could never remember telling a fib. On top of that were the strange new powers he couldn't control and shapeshifting abilities between himself and some ghostly manifestation of himself. The portal changed him. He wasn't Danny the Human anymore, but he wasn't a typical ghost, either. Danny was a Philosophical Zombie, and he had no idea how he's gonna tell his parents.

[abbyfmc]

Plot idea #8 (i think)

A yandere husband or boyfriend during his beloved's pregnancy, childbirth, and postpartum care.

Pregnancy:

●He will always be watching you. From what you eat, to the people you interact with, if he even let you talk to other people.

●He will always do his best to make you comfortable.

●He would only let you out for medical appointments. He wants to see that both you and your child are okay, regardless of things like gender.

●He would watch your belly grow and being an overprotective yandere, he wouldn't let you make any efforts.

●They say some pregnant women have weird cravings, so if that's the case for you, he'll make sure to fulfill them to keep you happy.

●He will thoroughly inspect ALL gifts you are given, or ALL things you buy.

●His views on abortion… it depends. He would not agree to do it unless: (1) The fetus is in serious trouble; (2) Both the fetus's life and yours are in serious danger; (3) Someone else has abused you.

●Nor will it force you to have an abortion if you don't want to.

●He will make sure you eat and rest well. He will not want you or his children to suffer.

●He will shower you with pampering, but he won't let anyone else do it.

●Not to mention he would gently caress your belly, and talk to your child calmly.

2. Labor:

*Natural birth:

●At this point, you may be about 7, 8, or 9 months pregnant.

●It's quite painful, and he knows it. You knew it too, even though you tried not to think of terrible birth scenarios, and he made sure you were calm as much as possible before "that" day.

●He would be quite careful with the information you seek from the Internet, as well as from acquaintances and family (if he still lets you see them), so his surveillance increases by a thousand.

●When the time comes and you start feeling the classic pain and contractions, he is not going to wait for an ambulance.

●He would also be nervous, not to mention terrified of losing you, the baby, or both in the worst case scenario.

●He'll want to be with you at all times, but there are some hospitals that won't let the man into the delivery room (either by order of the wife or because of hospital policy), so his presence at the birth… depends.

●If he can't get in: He would be very nervous in the waiting room, only being able to hear your screams of pain and cries, at least until he gets to hear that baby's cry.

●Or maybe he'll faint from nervousness.

●If he can get in: He will try to cheer you up, although he will feel helpless at not being able to do anything more than that to take away your pain.

●At the end of it all, when the baby is born, they will be relieved that you are okay, they will come into the room to clean you up, they will bring your child to you, etc.

*Cesarean delivery:

●In this case, the appointment will already have been scheduled. He will be impatient and nervous just like you.

●When you enter the operating room, he will wait patiently in the waiting room, although inside he will be restless and somewhat scared for you.

●When this is all over, he'll be watching over you and the baby in the room, and maybe he'll drop his yandere behavior when he sees a nurse helping you.

●She will take care of you in the hospital, even helping you with the baby so you can get some rest.

●Once the anesthesia wears off, he or she will try to soothe your pain as much as possible.

●Of course he must have been scared, because he really thought he almost lost you.

●But on the other hand, he will be very happy that you are finally not only his, but that you have also given him a child. A sign of love.

●And being a yandere, he'll barely let your parents (or his) visit you and the baby.

●He won't let you do almost anything on your own; he'll help you sit, lie down, stand, eat, walk, carry your child, feed him, etc.

●Even when you sleep he will watch you both.

3. Postpartum:

●He would drive home from the hospital.

●Beforehand, he will have made sure to have EVERYTHING ready to welcome your baby home, especially the room.

●He will help you with your child's care and personal care, as he doesn't want you to lift a single finger.

●If the baby wakes up at night, he would be able to go and calm him down, change his diaper, etc. He would only wake you up to feed him.

●He would avoid any method of stress, from physical exertion to people he considers to be a nuisance to you.

●He would block calls from your work, annoying relatives, etc…; not to mention that he would barely allow visits from his parents (your in-laws) or your parents.

●He would constantly tell you how proud he is that you are his and that you have formed a family together; although he would say it with the classic yandere obsession.

●And of course he would adore his son, since he considers him to be a smaller version of both of you. He will admire the resemblance he has to you, even if it is very slight.

●He will help you with cleaning, cooking and everything in general.

●He would be capable of killing for your well-being and that of the baby. He would even kill as long as both of you are strictly protected.

-The End.

What do you think about it?

[wosoamazing]

Too Late To Be Fair

Warnings: death (caused by drunk driver), mentions of emotional abuse (R as a child), mentions of drinking and drunks, implications of self doubt and associated things, wishing someone would die. Please let me know if anything else.

Note: Grace is a fake player, due to previous ideas and maybe future ideas I had to make a player up... she does some things none of the girls would ever do....

A/N: Story inspired by Pray (Jessie Murph) & Mansion (NF) - and other things but I listened to these songs and I was like ooo good story idea. There probs will be a part 2. I hope you like it - also I know I said one of the McFoord fics would be out next but um yeah...

“Y/N We’re sorry to inform you but your Dad was in a car accident he was hit by a drunk driver” you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony, you dad the drunk being hit by a drunk driver. Everyone looked at you in disbelief.

“Y/N that’s not very appropriate,” Grace said, before others death stared her, clearly not knowing your situation, of course you were going to blow, especially at her, the thing you had wished for, for so long, finally happened, yet just after you cut him off, so it didn’t matter, it didn’t mean you could have an easier childhood, it was just another way of the universe punishing you. Waiting until you had moved out, cut your ties and in the spotlight, to finally kill him. Almost exactly a year since you cut him off, won the trial, got the restraining order, the one which he protested, causing the gruelling 3 day trial, to decide whether it was needed or not.

“Oh, sorry we don’t all have perfect little lives with perfect Mummies and Daddies, some of us actually had a shit childhood, faced real world problems, no rich bitch problems, oh Mummy and Daddy told me to pick up some rubbish, oh my life is shit they abuse me” you were dragged out of the locker room and into an empty physio room by Leah, Beth, Katie, Caitlin, and Steph who all sent you a glare when the door had shut, “Oh like she didn’t deserve it,” they all couldn’t but help let out a smile. There was an awkwardness in the room, as the girls all looked between each other not knowing how to approach this.

“You guys can all go, I’ve got this, thank you though,” Leah spoke, breaking the silence, everyone left except Beth, but Leah didn’t mind. You and Beth had a very close relationship, you had been close friends since your grassroots team, Beth helped you through the year of your life you realised you were gay, and then when you crushed on your now girlfriend, your then national Captain. Beth felt bad the year you told her about your Dad, she knew something was off but you never told anyone, barely anyone stills knows the full story, but that day Beth and you promised that you would be there for each other forever, and that was true, she had been there during your trial and so much more, and you were there for her when Dan broke up with her, Beth was really your rock and you were hers. Beth moved to sit in the chair on the opposite side of the room, giving you both space, whilst also being there in case you needed it. 

“Are you okay?” Leah couldn't find the right words, but she knew deep down the wrong words were what you needed her to say, you weren’t going to break, and release it all otherwise.

“Of course I’m not fucking okay Leah,” you looked up at her, she hadn’t even flinch at your words, instead she pulled you in for a hug. Which caused hot angry tears to fall from your eyes “Why now, why couldn’t it have been a year ago, 3 years, hell any time after I was 12. It’s unfair, its fucking unfair,” you paused, and Leah slowly slid her back down against the wall, bringing you down with her, your legs either side of hers as you sat in her lap. Your eyes connected with her soft kind caring blue eyes, and you could see how her lips formed a soft kind reassuring smile. You broke, big fat tears streamed down your face, as you sobbed, Leah gently pulled your body forward, so you were no longer sitting up, but leaning on her, she placed your head into the crock of her neck, before moving her arm to wrap around you lower body, her other hand was placed on your back, her thumb moving up and down, as she whispered reassuring words in your ear. 

“W-why now, when I’ve already lived the hard life, when I’ve been through all that shit. When I’m already screwed up, when I already have trust issues, when I already doubt myself everyday, so much so that I do it unconsciously” you sobbed into her neck.

“I know baby, it's not fair, and it's not right. But I’m here now, and I’ve got you.”

“I-I I used to wish he would die, I used to imagine cops showing up at the door when it was later than he used to come home, them telling me and me not being upset. I used to hope he just wouldn't come back from work trips. I used to imagine people asking me why I wasn’t upset when he died. I used to think of the fact that he was an alcoholic so he wouldn't get a kidney or liver transplant, unless it was a directed donation. I had to say yes, how could I say no if I was a match, but how could I say yes. You know how fucked up you feel when you think that stuff, you know how messed up I thought I was, but that was all his doing. It's just unfair.”

___

You had calmed back down and decided to go see all the girls again, the only problem was that no one had realised what song was playing in the locker room, too deep in conversation to be aware of it.

Waking up but wishing that you don’t. It’s something that I pray you’ll never know.

A song that connected with you so deeply sent you back over the edge, and you quickly spun on your feet and speed walked away, Beth followed behind you.

“What the actual fuck were you thinking McCabe” you girlfriend yelled.

“Wha?” the room had gone quiet and attention was drawn to the music, “Oh fuck, shit, sorry, we werent listening to it, its just automatically come on. I promise, I wasn't trying to be funny, I wouldn't do anything like that to Y/N”

Leah just turned around packing your bag and hers, “Tell Jonas we’re going home.”

“Sorry” Katie yelled as Leah went down the hall.

Leah found you sitting in the middle of one of the side hallways. Beth’s arms were wrapped around you and your body was shaking.

“Come on baby, let's go home.” She said as she placed a hand on your back, Beth slowly released her arms around you, which Leah quickly replaced with hers.

_____

“What’s on your mind? I know it's something more than your Dad” your girlfriend said as she sat down on the bed next to you, legs crossed and leaning back against the headboard. You had just arrived home.

“It's stupid.” you sighed, looking away from her eyes.

“I promise you, it's not stupid, it's your feelings, and your feelings are valid” she said, voice unwavering before pulling you into her lap.

“I don't know, I just feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” “What do you mean baby?” “I don't know, I just feel like something is going to happen, like something is going to happen and you’re going to realise that this was all a mistake and leave. You’re going to get sick of constantly being second guessed for no reason just because I’m messed up, because I don’t believe someone could actually love me this much. You’re going to get sick of me, and all my insecurities, ” she pulled your body into hers, your head finding a place in the crock of her neck, tears started to fall from your eyes, causing her neck to become wet.

“Y/N, baby, I love you so much, and I promise, there is not another shoe that will drop, we have been through so much together, we got through those 9 months together, we got through the trial together, and I promise we will get through whatever life throws at us together, forever, we will go through the highs and lows together. I love you so much, and I wouldn't want to spend my life with anyone else. I will never hurt you, I promise.” 

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Whenever I remember that Tenya almost went full vigilante mode for Tensei I want to scream so bad like it's not even funny.

Bnha somersaults its way into saying "maybe heroes are just good citizens with the power to do good things" and "maybe heroism is not in the big notorious acts but in being kind and fair in the day to day details" AND THAT'S ALL TENSEI.

AND THAT'S WHAT MOTIVATES TENYA TO GO FULL BLOODHOUND ON STAIN.

I'm not denying that the world needs the big ass heroism acts like defeating AFO or saving a city or all those flashy notorious feats. All Might is very needed, because there are threats that are too old and developed and have accumulated too much hatred and damage over the years. You cannot always prevent those things from happening and to believe so would be naive, right?

What I'm saying is that those big events are the lowest percentage. They are the consequences of a systematic failure.

Take two of the biggest evil plots in the manga: AFO planning to still OFA and Overhaul with his quirk-erasure bullets. Both plans depended on an abused child being used as objects, Eri because her quirk was the base of the bullet working and Tomura because he was just meant to be AFO's new body in the future. In both cases, AFO and Overhaul were cornered after losing the child they were using for their plots. In fact it was the kids resisting the abuse that contributed the most to their failure: Eri prevented Overhaul from hurting Deku and Tomura prevented AFO from escaping his decaying body.

In that sense, the little unknown pro-heroes taking care of their neighborhood's children do a lot to prevent cases like Tomura or Eri from happening. Hell, AFO and Overhaul were also kids who went the violent route to survive.

Ingenium's silent heroism is probably the best example of what a hero looks like. They don't seek fame or glory. They regard heroism as their duty, their responsibility. No matter how little the act is, it's still important to do it.

At this point, we must admit the Tenya's crisis over what happened to Tensei is not only about their bond as brothers. Yeah, that was Tenya's big bro, but it is no less than when Deku and Bakugo saw All Might fighting AFO for the last time— the last moments of their role models.

The Iida brothers' crisis was deep rooted in the main issues of the story, so I'm still baffled at how people just tend to ignore it.

Before Stain, the "League of Villains" was just a minor threat. Dabi was a nobody with no real crimes to his name. Toga was just a lost little girl trying to survive the streets. Spinner didn't even think about being a villain. Before Stain, things were bad, but no one really thought they could change the status quo, you know?

The USJ incident was not the big deal because 1) how was attacking kids the answer? and 2) going for All Might was expected, since he was almost invincible and the biggest hero in the world and blah blah blah.

When Stain started attacking minor pro-heroes...

Stain was the opposite of Tomura. He admired All Might and saved those kids, but went after the pro-heroes with less powerful quirks. He gave the population a sense of control. It's like he said "hey, you don't have to go after All Might to change the system and why would you? The real problem are the ones on the lowest part of the pro-hero chain".

Suddenly, they could go against pro-heroes and win. Divide and conquer. Suddenly, there was a ladder to climb. Suddenly, you could target not the institutions responsible for the rotten ideology of your society, but the people who enforced the ideology with their daily work.

Stain defended his posture by saying that those people didn't want to be real heroes. They just wanted the money, the fame, they were not really committed to their duty.

And then attacked Tensei, of all people.

If big crimes are built from little crimes that are accumulated over time, what would happen if you decided to eliminate the people taking care of the little crimes?

The crisis of belief in pro-heroes was triggered by Stain. When Stain pointed out at Ingenium (the one in the suit was Tensei) and accused him of false heroism, it's when shit started to go south. He created the idea that pro-heroes should be punished if they don't perform correctly and that they deserve to die if they don't have pure ideas of their job— or whatever.

Tensei being the victim is supposed to show how hypocritical Stain is. Tensei is probably one of the only pro-heroes that never did anything wrong in the manga and one of the best family men to be presented. A man who was loved by everyone for being good in every sense of the word.

Stain projected his own fantasies on Tensei in order to accomplish his witch hunt, not truly caring to figure out who the person was. He just attacked for the sake of attacking, which explains why he was so popular: anyone could do the same and project their issues on him, fighting different battles disguised as just one cause.

When Tenya went after him, it could only make sense. The little of the Iidas is too righteous and noble, quick to judge and act, prone to making mistakes and getting carried away by the looks of it all. So easily his justice turns into revenge and he falls into the trap Stain set. Who knows what a hero student killing Stain would have caused...

At this point it's obvious I'm just ranting for the sake of ranting but 😭😭😭 give the Iidas the respect they deserve please.