#i should not be equating love with violence

[mortuusrege]

love/violence

when i become so ecstatic that my bones are buzzing underneath my skin, i do not yell and shout and dance to show it, but instead i sink my nails into my flesh and drag, down, down, down as if i will somehow relieve my ecstasy if i open enough holes for it to escape from i have never found love in kisses and affection, but instead the blue marks of nails on my skin, stunning, dazzling crescent moons, fallen onto me to create craters where i may store it.

[quietwingsinthesky]

the doctor also wouldn’t call even autistic simply because he doesn’t think about neurodivergence that way, a way that’s all human and categorized down into neat boxes. he references how others label him, like clara saying he’s adhd, with a sort of acknowledgement of it fitting but also a waving away of it as real explanation or an accurate view. even wouldn’t call themself autistic because they don’t know what autism is. (and the master also wouldn’t for the same reasons.) BUT. multiple of the doctor’s companions would pick it up. clara certainly would, clara would say it to even’s face (<- woman who has been masking so hard her whole life and literally doesn’t know how to stop anymore and Needs to point out when someone else isn’t Doing It Too.) donna would notice, too, mention it off-handedly to the doctor at some point like she’s not sure if he’s noticed even having difficulty when he’s already so weird himself.

[drchucktingle]

Mr Chuck, wizard of gay romance, I consult ye. Without knowing a damn thing about the plot of the book I'm writing other than it is gay and has themes of hunger, consumption, joy in spite of suffering, and the fleeting nature of life, how should my story end?

well to create we need to consume, this is how we produce energy and multiply and build. since beginning of time from frothing volcanos to tiny microbes CREATION and CONSUMPTION are linked. in addition an act of creation is an act of love, it is filling the empty void with SOMETHING and that is as powerful and important as it gets

i think what confuses MANY buckaroos is they get caught up by the consumption part. they see this equation i have laid out and say 'well if consuming leads to creation and creation is to point then we must consume everything as a moral imperative.' i mean HECK that is capitalism in a dang nutshell right there. if you trot this path it says the bigger fish should eat the little one, and that war and power are sort of innate. you see a lot of goofball conservative philosophers with melted brains stop here and set up shop to peddle their sad wares

THE PROBLEM IS consuming everything that you can DOES NOT ACTUALLY LEAD TO MORE CREATION IN PRACTICE. maybe sometimes in the very short term, but at the end of the dang trot it leads to destruction on a massive scale. if the biggest fish eats ALL the little fish then it is not just the little fish who dies it is BOTH of them. if you seek power through TAKING AND CONSUMING all that you can you will do more harm than good. you may puff up your chest for a little while but eventually you will go beyond your means and crumble.

consuming yields the best results when you do it in sustainable way, when you share with your neighbor, when you build a community. this is because LOVE is the best fuel and love thrives when buds work together to create a greater whole than themselves. even if you use example of TAKING through violence, ten little cave buckaroos as a team will always take down one big cave buckaroo. COMMUNITY PROVES LOVE. TEAMWORK PROVES LOVE. CONNECTION PROVES LOVE.

fortunately, as much as scoundrels want to convince us that fighting and violence and TAKING is the best way to grow as a dang species, it is not. humans thrived not because of some primal hierarchy (as goofball conservatives say) but because we started villages and societies and systems of working together. the buds who put their chips behind the BIGGEST FISH are only seeing one part of the picture. YES sometimes in the animal kingdom the biggest beast will win the fight, but that is why THEY ARE BEASTS AND WE ARE PEOPLE. we evolved to greater heights as we grew bigger brains for sharing and empathy and love and complexity. WE STARTED COMMUNITIES, BECAUSE WITHIN COMMUNITY CREATION AND LOVE THRIVE. THE 'REAL' BIGGEST FISH IS KINDNESS.

so hunger and consuming are ACTUALLY an important part of creation. they are part of bringing joy to this timeline, so long as you are not endlessly hungry even after you are full, and so long as you are not consuming what could be better shared with a bud.

hope that helps with your story buckaroo

[sinisterexaggerator]

Final Straw

Nick Valentine x Fem Reader | Ao3

Summary: You're sick to death of listening to people insult and belittle Nick; you take matters into your own hands, much to the Synth's surprise, but your methods are a little bit unorthodox.

Warnings: None, except for blood, violence, and foul language. NICK GETS SUPER PISSED AT YOU, and you also share a kiss. 💋

IT'S FLUFF.

Notes: This is SELF-INDULGENT AF. I hate it when people insult Nick in the game. This is my way of getting them back! And I want to kiss him and tell him I love him so bad. ;-:

Word count: 2k

It was the final straw, the one that broke the brahmin’s back, Nick Valentine left to defend himself against hate and bigotry for the umpteenth time, and you would not be party to it.

For so long you had traveled by Nick’s side, learning of the many facets to his personality. If there was a single thing about him you did not like, it had to be the ease with which he practiced self-deprecation, not knowing how to remedy the awful perception he had about himself.

Oftentimes, he regurgitated what came out the mouths of others; it had been internalized, compartmentalized, processed, and stored in his long-term memory, the detective unable to let things go—just like so many cases that remained unsolved.

“Shit, a Synth— don’t come near me. What a freak, thinks he’s human…”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t go near you if it meant tomorrow I’d wake up from this nightmare.”

Your soul ached, knowing that every insult, every snide remark caused some level of psychic damage to your partner, his expressions all too readable for those times he was robbed of his fragile dignity, though always walking away the bigger man.

A culmination of varying factors led you to this, Nick’s tragic past haunting not only himself, but you; what you wouldn’t give to make it better, only wishing you had the power to convince him he was worth more than half the Commonwealth combined.

If Valentine could equate himself to nothing more than garbage, you could be the one to remind him that someone else’s trash was frequently another’s treasure— in this case, he was yours.

Though not privy to your feelings, you adored Nick completely. So much so, you were not above engaging in a physical altercation on his behalf.

“Say that again,” you threatened scathingly, turning to face the asshole who had just dared to disrespect your companion, and for no good reason.

“I said he’s a freak, lady—and what’s a pretty thing like you doing traveling with him, anyway?” the ill-mannered caravan guard asked, acting as if Valentine was some disease he could catch, making a blatant show of his disgust. 

The hired gun pulled no reaction from the Synth, though Nick stared at you tight-lipped, unnatural, glowing eyes trained hard on your face. His silence spoke volumes, instructing you with a stern look beneath the shade of his hat to drop the matter and turn the other cheek—it was something you weren’t willing to do this time, meeting your newfound enemy head-on.

“Apologize!” you demanded, shoving your adversary backward with a forceful push, both your palms making contact with his ribs. Your cheeks burned, accompanying a rise in your temper, readying yourself for if this vermin should do anything but grovel at Nick’s feet.

“Forget it, this guy ain’t worth it,” Nick offered laconically, hoping to appeal to your common sense. “I’ve heard worse in my time; being called a freak is the least of my concerns.”

“But you’re worth it!” you protested, Valentine’s forehead arcing upward at the conviction in your voice. He had a momentary lapse, his concentration faltering as he tried to get a handle on the situation, Nick having visualized an entirely different outcome based on variables that were currently in flux—namely the sudden change in your mood.

It seemed the shithead had caught on, smarter than he looked, eyeing the two of you with suspicion and derision, as if the very idea you could have feelings toward this hunk of junk was baffling when able-bodied, strong men like him existed.   

“Oh, I get it. You’re real sick, lady, a real pervert—you fucking a machine? What’s the matter, human men aren’t good en—”

The jerk was cut off mid-sentence, your balled up fist coming into contact with his jaw; a resounding crack split sound waves as blood spurted from his lips. His colleagues had already wandered off down the road, not wanting to be a part of whatever trouble he had found himself in, having silently agreed to let this member of their team fend for himself.

“You fucking bitch!” the guard twice your size growled, swinging wildly only to miss. Your leg extended; you were pleased when he stumbled, only wishing he had fallen flat on his face.

“Now, wait a—”

He was quick to right himself, spinning on the ball of his heel—you were quicker, kneeing him in the nuts so hard he doubled over, but you weren’t finished yet.

Lifting your arm to gain momentum, you drove the point of your elbow into his spine, causing the offender to drop onto the dirt at your feet.

“I'd say he's down for the—”

Nick couldn’t get a word out; you didn’t appear to be listening, the android observing your uncharacteristic actions with rapt concern. You were pounding your knuckles into the bastard’s nose repeatedly, sticky crimson coating your fist and the man’s sorely wounded face.

As if coming to from a trance, Valentine whisked forward, snatching your wrist before you could cause the poor schmuck any more damage, thinking he may look worse off than even he, what with his bare wires and metal frame exposed to the elements.

“Hey! What’s gotten into you?!” Nick barked, his tone alone condemning your inappropriate conduct, the Synth yanking you up so fast you audibly gasped.

“There ain’t no excuse for this—this guy may be a jackass, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to die!” Nick protested, brows knit in anger the likes of which you had never seen.

You glanced down, only now seeming to notice the extent of his injuries; the man was out like a light. You only cared because he did.

“Nick, I—” you began, voice quavering, losing all resolve as you had been forced to witness Valentine’s sweet disposition vanish, quickly replaced by something undeniably frightening.

You never once imagined yourself to be the victim of his choler, finding you absolutely hated it, breaking down all at once to cry despite not meaning to. You felt simultaneously overwhelmed by guilt and embarrassed beyond measure, unable to look him in the eye.

“Don’t Nick me, this isn’t like you, this—” The man froze, his grip slackening as he loosely held on, thoroughly confused by how you could go from nearly murdering a man in cold blood with your bare hands, to shedding tears in the span of under a minute; he moved to grasp you by your shoulders.

“What’s going on?” he asked, perplexed, the question dry on his tongue. He searched your face for any hint of what the matter was, wondering if you’d lost a screw sometime after leaving Diamond City, as he thought he had a handle on how you operated.

You could not will yourself to respond, vision clouded, droplets pelting your cheeks as you gazed at the ground. You felt worse than a scolded child; you had never meant to upset him so, it being decidedly more terrible than any physical pain you had yet to endure.

“Look at me, damn you!” Valentine demanded, gently jostling you back to the present moment, though your tears only increased, Nick having never cursed at you before.

“Valentine,” you whispered, eyes shimmering, Nick’s fury subsiding to a dull roar as he waited for you to explain yourself. The crease of his brow evened out, the Synth notably more relaxed, though he did not trust you wouldn’t lash out again.

“Go on,” he urged sharply, wanting to get to the bottom of your behavior. It was unnerving, not knowing what else you were capable of at the drop of a dime.

It was an understatement to say that he was surprised when you lifted your arms, pulling the man forward to enfold in your tight embrace. You buried your cheek in the tattered, stained fabric of his coat, crying more softly now as it started to rain.

“Don’t listen to them,” you pleaded, “don’t ever listen to them. You’re perfect just the way you are,” you spoke with earnest, your lips pressing a tender kiss to the spot that lacked a heartbeat, though the gesture stood apart on its own.

“I can’t stand it—the way people treat you, the way they talk down to you—if only they knew—if only they could see what I see—” you sobbed, the sound of your cries muffled against his chest; it was firm, his shirt smelling like coolant and ozone—cigarettes mixed with something earthy—you breathed in deeply, overcome with silent relief when Nick placed his metallic hand on the crown of your head.

“I... I appreciate you, doll,” he started, his voice turning toward a soothing cadence, the way he pet your hair in long, slow strokes comforting you more than it should. “But you didn’t have to do that; would have preferred if you didn’t. Jerks like him get their comeuppance, but it shouldn’t be at the price of dirtying your hands.”

You had never been this intimate with him, nor had you ever planned to be—his words were unscripted, and his affection given of his own volition. You curled in tighter, nuzzling your way into the crook of his good arm, wanting to entomb yourself there for all eternity.

“I’m sorry,” you offered apologetically, feeling the pressure of Nick’s own arms around you, returning your hug, making you feel as if you could die happy at this moment, not minding in the least that there was an unconscious, bleeding man lying only a hairbreadth away. “It hurts me, like I know it hurts you.”

Nick was quiet, mulling over the fact it didn’t do you or him any good to disparage his own person when there were others to do it for him. He had never considered the effect it might have on those around him; it came naturally to want to harp on his own shortcomings—or had it come natural to the real Nick? That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it.

“You’re right, it does. But I shouldn’t let it bother me, not when I have people like you by my side.”

“I love you, Valentine,” you countered, not recognizing the softness of your own voice. You felt a shift beneath you, your head being coaxed to rise by way of a slow tilt of your chin.

Nick stared down at you, gleaming, golden eyes emoting dolefully as he gazed into yours. He held a deep-seated sorrow, not only for you, but for himself, wishing that he was human, if only so he could touch you, hold you, kiss you the way he wanted to.

“That’s not the smartest thing you’ve ever said, but I take it you mean that,” Valentine replied, bending low to brush soft, silicone lips across yours of flesh and blood; they were cool and rough in texture, but not unpleasant. The fact he was kissing you at all was a dream come true.

“With all my heart,” you replied, cupping the Synth's battered cheek in the bowl of your palm, fingers trailing over artificial skin in a light caress.

“So, that’s what this was all about,” he remarked, conjuring up a smile. “You know, I’d give you mine,” he added solemnly, his glum tone indicative of something he was not telling you.

Instead of elaborating, Nick changed the subject, always one to brighten a dark mood. “Next time, just tell me what’s on your mind instead of beating the living daylights out of some poor schmo, all right?”

You managed a smile of your own, delighting in his sarcasm, glad for the fact your confession had taken a lighthearted turn. “I can’t make any promises,” you quipped.

The detective gave a small shake of his head, that lopsided, infectious grin of his spreading up one side of his face. “Taking a page out of my book, are you?”

“I learned from the best,” you breathed, kissing him once more. Though selfish of you, for all you cared, the world could undergo another nuclear war, and you wouldn’t bat a lash, not for as long as you had your funny Valentine.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! Could you do a snippet where the villain says, "I knew I would break you and I think I just found out how." Then the hero, in defeat, whispers, "I think so too"?

"I knew I would break you and I think just found out how."

"I think so too." The whisper of it was barely audible.

The villain heard, though, and smiled tenderly.

The hero's shoulders notched another inch tighter, another inch more protectively curled in, as if that might somehow save them. Or perhaps, it was the defeat, so heavy that they couldn't help but crumple and cave in the face of it.

In the face of them.

"But what to do with a broken thing?" the villain mused. "All the glistening vulnerability of you, cracked open and there for the taking. You're not beyond repair. Not yet."

The hero's vision hazed with a useless panic.

"Humans are remarkably resilient." The villain moved closer, dragging a thumb over the hero's bloodied lip. "People underestimate how difficult it is to break them beyond repair. At least, if we take death out of the equation. That is a certain kind of breaking, but by far the least interesting."

The hero said nothing. They couldn't remember a single word in any language. They numbly let the villain hold them, braced, for the inevitable.

"There are people who tell me I should break you properly," the villain continued, studying them. "They are eager for it. You didn't believe I could do it." The villain's head tipped. "You would make a beautiful example, wouldn't you?"

The hero met the villain's eyes.

"Do I need to break you?" the villain asked. "Or is knowing that I can enough?"

"I don't think it's about need," the hero managed. They finally dredged up enough resolve to wrench away, not that the villain's touch was more than a poison caress of a thing.

"No?" The villain let their hand fall.

The hero wet their dry lips. "I think it's about what you want."

The villain considered them, for a moment, with the loving violence of a sculptor first holding a chisel against untouched marble.

"What are the other options with a broken thing?" they asked. "Rearrange your insides and put you back again as something new, something else, something mine? Put you back together with the knowledge that all it would take is a tap and you would be shattered forever?"

"You'd know better than me. You've done this before."

"You have no opinion on the matter?"

"I'm trying not to."

"I think I'm going to break you properly," the villain said, confidingly. "I think it would be kinder."

"Nothing about this is kind."

"Alas, an opinion."

"Alas." The hero's heart felt waterlogged with loss. "You haven't broken me yet. Not beyond repair."

"No. But I'm told the waiting is agony. Is it?"

The hero said nothing. They closed their eyes.

"Yes," the villain said, oh so soft. "I believe it is."

Then they got to work.

[stardustprompts]

vengeful  -  v.e. schwab  sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying  tw :  death , violence , language , mental health

‘what a fucking cliche.’

‘envy really doesn’t suit you.’

‘don’t you turn that knife on me unless you plan to use it…’

‘you should have let it go.’

‘you can’t just do that to me!’

‘you’ve been gone for hours.’

‘you never said I had to play fair.’

‘that’s a risk I’m willing to take.’

‘you look like a narc.’

‘it feels like dying.’

‘people have an idea of pain. they think they know what it is, how it feels, but that’s just an idea. it’s a very different thing when it becomes concrete.’

‘I did this. I did this to you.’

‘I am alive because of you.’

‘you think I’m playing god? fine, you play, (name). you decide, right now, who should live. us, or them?’

‘it’s a big world. you’re not the only one with talents.’

‘isn’t it silly to lie when we both know the truth?’

‘I think sometimes you make the easiest choice instead of the right one.’

‘make me the villain of that night, (name). wash you hands of any blame.’

‘a promise you can’t keep is just another lie.’

‘I don’t want you to save me. I want to save myself.’

‘I warned you when we met, I wasn’t a good person.’

‘killing me won’t bring her back either.’

‘think hard. we all have to live with our choices.’

‘the next time you point a gun at someone, make sure you’re ready to pull the trigger.’

‘we survived. that's what makes us so powerful.’

‘blood is always family, but family doesn’t always have to be blood.’

‘not all family is blood, right? sometimes we have to find a new one. sometimes we get lucky, and they find us.’

‘this isn’t a stupid game. it’s my life.’

‘are you used to getting what you want?’

‘hasn’t it occurred to you that I can protect myself?’

‘in this world, in my world, people get hurt. they die.’

‘people die in every world. I’m not going anywhere.’

‘you want to be more, (name)? prove it.’

‘they may think they’re kings but we’re the power behind the throne.’

‘i’m not a fucking coat, (name). you don’t get to check me at the door.’

‘where I go, you go. we’re in this together. step for step.’

‘did you always know that you had what it took to end a life?’

‘I thought it would be hard, but in that moment, nothing was easier.’

‘you were never one to dwell on the past. I loved that about you, the way things always just rolled off.’

‘every end is a new beginning.’

‘I underestimated you once. I don’t intend to do so again.’

‘the only difference between us is that you naively insist on preserving what I know should be destroyed.’

‘I played god once and it did not end well.’

‘oh no, it will never work between us.’

‘sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt, you just looked sad.’

‘while I admire how far you’ve come, the fact is, you’re tracking mud into my home.’

‘we can’t shape our past. only our future.’

‘don’t you ever wonder if it’s our fault?’

‘life is more than an equation. a person is more than the sum of their parts.’

‘normal is overrated.’

‘A\a magician doesn’t reveal his secrets.’

‘every power has its limits.’

‘we don’t decide who lives and who dies.’

‘now who’s letting their ideals cloud their judgement?’

‘how quickly we devolve. people become animals the moment they are caged.’

‘if you were superhuman, what would your power be?’

‘ignorance is only bliss if you want to get caught.’

‘i’m still here, still doing what I can, because I want to keep people safe.’

‘never underestimate a woman.’

‘I thought I could save him. I tried. but it didn’t work.’

‘power belongs to those who take it.’

‘sharks come swimming when you make a splash.’

‘that’s quite a talent you have there.’

‘I only hope you’re ready to do the right thing,’

‘you help me, and I’ll help you.’

‘everything’s got a limit. you should find yours.’

‘I don’t feel anything.’

‘oh, sorry, if you thought this was a girl’s-night-out kind of thing where we get drunk and bond, I’ll have to pass.’

‘why settle for one weapon when you can have an arsenal?’

‘the life I had is gone. there’s no getting it back.’

‘the life I had is gone. there’s no getting it back. i’d rather make a new one. a better one.’

‘I thought you were done with hiding.’

‘people can see an awful lot, and believe none of it.’

‘why sit around sulking when you could hurt the people who hurt you?’

‘let’s talk about revenge.’

‘there are limits. I can’t stop nature. can't change it’s course.’

‘whatever’s happened to you, however you’re hurt, you’ve done it to yourself.’

‘oh, I like to think I have a great deal of nerve.’

‘if you had a damn bit of sense you would have run.’

'knowledge may be power, but money buys both.’

‘sometimes subtlety is overrated.’

‘when people stay in the dark, it’s easier to make them disappear.’

‘I don’t want to survive, I want to thrive.’

‘what now? you gonna throw yourself a fucking party?’

‘if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had something against me.’

‘if I wanted you dead, you would be.’

‘whatever you’ve heard, it’s probably true.’

‘is there anyone who doesn’t want to kill you?’

‘how many excuses will you find to vindicate your own stubbornness?’

‘careful is a calculated risk. and I’m very good at making those.’

‘the truth is, there will always be someone stronger than you.’

‘you do what you can. you fight, and you win, until you don’t.’

‘once upon a time, power was determined by linage—- the age of blood. then it was determined by money—- the age of gold. but I think it’s time for a new age. the age of power itself.’

‘let me guess, I’m either with you or against you?’

‘you always preferred being predator to prey.’

‘we just have to lie low until it’s over, and then—’

‘when this is over, you and I are going to have words.’

‘it appears that we are evenly matched.’

‘it always comes down to this, doesn’t it? to us.’

[theprismyyy]

A CHILD IS NOT A MOTHER, A RAPIST IS NOT A FATHER!!!

Being Brazilian becomes more difficult when you are a woman, or if you simply have a vagina. IT IS UNACCEPTABLE that in 2024 and after many, many years of fighting for women's basic rights, a bill was approved that punishes the victim of sexual violence more severely than her aggressor, than her rapist!!! How the hell should it be fair that a person who sexually abuses another can get a maximum of 15 years, something that IN THE OVERWHELMING MAJORITY OF TIMES IS NOT WHAT HAPPENS, most of the time they barely stay in prison for 1 YEAR, but the victim, if no one stops it, could face 20 years in prison if you decide you don't want to carry this pregnancy caused by your abuser, by your RAPIST.

“Ontem a Câmara dos Deputados aprovou a urgência do Projeto 1904, que ficou popularmente conhecido como projeto de incentivo ao estupro , o projeto quer equiparar o aborto ao crime de homicídio e penalizar mais as vítimas do que o estuprador.

Today we woke up to the serious news that a girl had been abused by her own father in an UTI (ICA), if she became pregnant and decided to have an abortion, after 22 weeks, she would face a greater punishment than her own father, that's what has been said. It is this violence and this serious attack against the lives of women, girls and people they love in our country, the National Congress attacking rights and reversing legislation that was approved in 1940 guaranteeing access to legal abortion in three cases: Rape, which puts the life of the mother and child at risk and also in the case of an anencephalic fetus; We need to mobilize to stop this proposition, this attack against the dignity of women and girls and people who give birth in our country." – By Erika Hilton via her social networks on Thursday (13/06)

Photos of demonstrations against the bill that equates abortion with homicide. Image credits to @odontinho via X (formerly Twitter)

I know I'm not a big person on Tumblr, not at all, but I decided to make this translated into English as an attempt and almost an appeal for the fight against such an atrocity to reach more people; It doesn't matter if there are two, three, four, every mobilization, repost and sharing is already a help so that this reaches more and more people

[fortheloveofwonderland]

No Distance Left to Run | Part 1 | S.R

Next Part

Chapter Summary - Truth or Dare? A harmless teenage game gone wrong when spoken by the man holding you hostage. And when you’re feeling for your best friend come to light after fifteen years, how will you and Spencer cope in the aftermath?

Pairing - Spencer Reid / BAU Fem! Readers

Category - friends to lovers | mutual pining | angst with happy ending | smut minors DNI

Warnings - spoilers for 14.15 Truth or Dare and mentions of 13.17 The Capilanos, canon compliant hostage situation, guns, brief mention of Maeve, drinking, arguing, very brief mention of past drug addiction and prison arc, hints at domestic violence, burns.

WC - 8.7k

Part 1 - Truth or Dare?

The world stood still. For what could have only equated to five seconds, the world stood still. 

Five seconds somehow felt like an entire lifetime, where all outside stimuli faded from vision, sounds disappearing before they could hit eardrums. The way his wrists and knee and the rest of his body had ached and throbbed just moments ago slipped away. 

The world stood still. All he could see was you and all he could hear were the words you’d spoken five seconds before that had caused the earth to suddenly stop turning on its axis with the weight of them. 

For five seconds, which felt like five hours, he saw the last fifteen years flash before his eyes. Every subtle glance, every tiny smile; every accidental touch. Every word ever shared between the two of you that he’d catalogued in his brain came spiralling forth, flooding his senses to the point he wasn’t sure he could breathe.

For five seconds it was simply you and him and those words you’d spoken at the worst possible time. But you’d said it. And he heard it. He just had no idea what he was supposed to do with it now. 

There was once a time when hearing those words spoken from your lips to his ears was all he had ever wanted. He’d imagined you saying them to him more times than was healthy, so often in fact there were instances in which he actually managed to convince himself you had said them. 

But you never had. Not until now. 

And now he had no idea how he was supposed to begin processing those words, especially in the situation in which you had finally spoken the one thing he’d always wanted to hear you say. 

He wanted to respond, he wanted to tell you he felt the same, he’d always felt the same. For fifteen long years he’d carried his unrequited feelings for you like a led weight upon his shoulders. They’d dragged him down a little more each day, at this point he found he was almost entirely buried under the burden of his feelings.

And then you’d gone and said that and he didn’t know how he was supposed to respond. 

The words were spinning and turning, ruminating in his brain and he forgot for those five seconds where you were and what was going on around you. He stopped trying to cut through the tape binding his wrists, stopped thinking about getting to his ankle hostler.

He stopped thinking about the crazed unsub standing just three feet away brandishing a gun at the both of you, his sick and twisted game of Truth or Dare coming to an abrupt end with the uttering of those. 

“Spence, uh...I have always loved you. I was too scared to say it before... and now things are just really too complicated to say it now. I'm sorry, but you should know.” 

It froze his blood in his veins, causing his heart to physically skip a beat. It caused it to fall completely out of a normal rhythm and erratically thump against his chest as though trying to break free and crawl across the floor to you. 

The tears in your eyes as you spoke those words told him it was true no matter how much easier it would be for him to pretend otherwise. 

Your statement caused the air to grow thicker and he felt like he was going to choke on it. The words had left your lips, wrapping around his throat and gripping him firmly with their talons. 

For five long, lingering seconds Spencer Reid was lost in his memories, looking at you across the bullpen on his twenty-fourth birthday, whispering to Gideon, “do you know she’s the only person in the world who calls me ‘Spence’?” 

He was on the jet, Gideon giving him movie tickets to see the new Harry Potter movie while Spencer tried to hide his frown of confusion from his mentor.

“You know who’s a huge Harry Potter fan?”

“Who?”

“The only person in the world who calls you ‘Spence’.”

He’d wanted to tell you that night as the two of you stood on the sidewalk outside the theatre before you’d even seen the movie that he was in love with you. He almost had told you, almost let the words just come tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

But he’d been stopped short by the sounds of heels on the concrete getting closer and then her voice cut him off before he’d even gotten out a single word.

“Sorry, sorry I’m late, I know.” Penelope Garcia tottered towards the two of you, pushing her bangs back off her face.

“It’s ok, it doesn’t start for another ten minutes.” You smiled as you embraced her. 

Spencer looked dumbly between you and Garcia, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows so high they almost hit his hairline.

“Happy birthday, boy wonder.” Garcia grinned at him.

“Uh…” He swallowed thickly. “Thanks?”

“Shall we?” You motioned towards the front door of the movie theatre and Garcia nodded, taking the lead.

You hung back a little, looking at the confusion that was still spreading across the young genius's face.

“You don’t mind, do you? Penelope loves Harry Potter almost as much as I do.” 

“Of course I don’t mind. Why would I mind?” He shook it off but was quickly pushing past you inside. 

It had been at that exact moment you’d realised that night was supposed to be a date. The look on Spencer’s face when he’d seen Penelope haunted you for years. You’d missed the signs, signs that seemed so glaringly obvious when you’d looked back on them.

But you were green then, still new at profiling and you had completely missed his overt cues. But by then it was too late to do anything about it. 

The night had been filled with a heavy tension for which Garcia had been oblivious to. And no matter how many times you tried to talk to Spencer about it afterwards, you could never quite get the words out. 

Until now. 

There had been far too many blockers in the way over the years for you to ever be able to tell him how you felt. You’d thought by this point you never would utter those words to him, after all this time it was easier to just keep them to yourself.

But then Pinkner had made you confess your biggest secret, a secret you’d never told anyone. Telling your best friend of fifteen years you’d always loved him certainly fit the bill.

You could still sense the gun pointing at you, still feel Pinkner’s wild eyes on the side of your face as you stared at your rightfully confused and hurt friend. Spencer’s lip almost immediately started to quiver the smallest amount, barely conceivable to the naked eye. His brow furrowed in a painful kind of uncertainty. 

You couldn’t tell whether he believed you or not and maybe it was for the best if he didn’t. As long as Pinkner was convinced by it, you might make it out of here alive. But if you did survive this, what would that mean for you and Spencer? Had you effectively destroyed all those years of friendship with one stupid admittance?

In that small five second window of time after your confession, you were taken back over ten years, transported to that night in Rossi’s kitchen.

You heard the footsteps approaching from behind as you leant against the granite countertop and somehow you already knew it would be him. Maybe after four years of working together, of spending so much time together, you knew his footsteps as well as your own.

You slowly turned to face him, your melancholy smile mirrored on his own lips. You saw his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath. 

“I should have told you first.” You rolled your lip between your teeth. “Before the rest of the team, I should have told you first. I owed you that much.” 

“Y/N,” he sighed your name. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“I owed you more than this.” You folded your arms over your chest as he got closer. 

The chatter from the team in the yard filtered in through the open window but neither of you really heard it and if you did you didn’t register it. 

“I’m happy for you.” He shrugged, stepping a little closer to you. 

“Are you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re my best friend.” He cautiously reached for you, his large hands wrapping around your left wrist and untucking your arm from your body. 

He held you loosely, bringing your hand into view, or more specially what was adorned on your hand. 

“Spencer?” You swallowed as tears threatened to flood your vision. 

He glanced up from the diamond on your finger to meet your gaze. 

“Yes Y/N?” He let go of your wrist and slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Tell me I’m making a mistake.” The words just fell out, crashing around Spencer like a tidal wave. 

You saw his jaw tighten, his back got a little straighter but his expression barely changed. 

“Do you think you’re making a mistake?” 

“You tell me.” You swallowed again. “Am I marrying the wrong man, Spence?” 

He felt then much like he did now. Blindsided. Frozen in fear of what your words could mean for him. Completely and utterly lost. 

Before he’d had a chance to respond to you, Emily had appeared from the yard in search of more wine and your conversation went unfinished. 

His answer would have been a simple one, yet one he never would have said out loud. Yes. Yes you were marrying the wrong man. Of course you were marrying the wrong man. 

But while you were distracted by Emily and her hunt for alcohol, he’d slipped away and the conversation never had a chance to end. 

You’d seen Emily’s interruption as divine intervention. Her showing up when she did was like a sign from the universe that you and Spencer’s time had long since passed you by. 

But realistically it was always eventually going to come to the surface. Over the years it had been buried deep, thrown to the bottom of the ocean with a cinder block tied around it. 

Slowly but surely it had risen, a few feet a year perhaps. And finally it had surfaced, all those long lost feelings emerging from the depths while a mad man held you both at gunpoint. 

Five seconds. Five simple seconds and all those years of memories begged to be seen, to be felt. But soon those quiet seconds were over and you were both brought back to reality by the hideous sound of maniacal laughter. 

“Goddamn…that’s what I’m talking about.” Pinkener chuckled wildly, revealing in the looks on both of your faces. “Those are some last words right there. But not good enough to save your life.” 

You both turned back to him as he was levelling the barrel of the gun between your eyes. 

Spencer had less than a second to make his move, to carry out his plan to perfection otherwise the last words he would ever hear from your lips were that you’d always loved him. 

He tore through the remains of his binds in a fraction of that second and in another he was able to unsheath his hidden firearm in his ankle holster, raise the weapon and shoot Pinkner dead. 

Comparatively next to the last painfully slow five seconds, this happened so fast. One minute you were staring death in the face and the next you were looking back at Spencer, duct tape hanging limply from his wrists and the smoking gun in his hands. 

As the tears finally broke free, Spencer had to keep his at bay, lock them away like he’d done so many times before. He slotted his gun away and helped you to your feet, cutting away the duct tape still binding your wrists together. 

In the moments before the BAU breached the room, you turned to him, wiping your eyes, questioning him without the use of words. Your words had done enough damage. 

He simply stared back at you, his own eyes conveying the confusion and pain your statement had caused him. 

You opened your mouth as if you might speak but anything you might have said died somewhere on your throat. 

I’m sorry. 

I shouldn’t have said that. 

Please don’t look at me that way. 

I am so, so sorry. 

He inhaled, his whole frame going rigid like he could hear the words you weren’t saying. His eyes asked you if you meant it. Your silence told him you had. 

You were torn apart by the sound of a door crashing against its hinges and suddenly Matt, Rossi and Tara descended on the room. 

You forced yourself to look away from the broken hearted, doe eyed man you’d called your best friend for almost a decade and a half. 

You snapped back into action, turning your back on Spencer while you informed the others what had happened. You could feel Spencer’s eyes on the back of your head.

He couldn’t bring himself to snap back around the way you had and he watched you attend to one of the shooting victims as though you hadn’t just blown his whole world up.

Maybe you hadn’t meant it. If you’d meant it you would still be stuck in a state of complete paralysis like he was. 

Somehow you both found yourself back outside on the street, the cool night air attempting to cleanse you both of the previous activities. As you stood by the ambulance with Rossi, arms wrapped protectively around your body, you couldn’t keep the tears from your eyes. 

Glancing back at the building you’d been held hostage in, you could feel the piece of your heart that you’d left behind in there. 

***

2005 

You seemed to float into the bullpen, your feet never touching the ground as you were some kind of angel with no wings. Spencer couldn’t help the way he stared at you, not so subtly as you entered at Gideon’s side. 

Both Gideon and Hotch had mentioned hiring a new agent to round out the team, but in Spencer’s wildest dreams he couldn’t have predicted the way that new agent would cause his heart to feel as though it had flatlined.

“Yo, pretty boy?” Morgan’s teasing tone snapped Spencer’s eyes away from where they followed you through the room.

He hadn’t registered that you and Gideon stopped in front of them, looking between him, Morgan and JJ while Spencer did very little to cover up the way he was staring at you like you were an apparition plucked straight from his dreams.

“Huh?” Spencer looked to his left where Morgan watched him curiously, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Let’s not make the new girl feel uncomfortable on her very first day.” Morgan laughed and Spencer heard JJ snicker from somewhere behind him. 

He was acutely aware Morgan was speaking more than loud enough for both Gideon and yourself to hear. 

A harsh blush suddenly leapt to his cheeks, turning him a bright shade of red. He shrunk in his chair, half wishing the item of furniture might swallow him completely. 

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t…” he mumbled, unable to form a full sentence given all the amused gazes which now lay upon him. 

“Don’t mind him,” JJ spoke up, her tone light and playful. “He doesn’t get out much.” 

Spencer somehow sunk deeper into his chair, wondering if perhaps he could just crawl under his desk and hide there instead. 

Just as he was considering it, an angelic laugh met his ears and he was frozen in place. His eyes moved back to you of their own volition and he drank in the way your lips were parted, eyes half closed as you let out that magnificent sound. 

It was the easiest, sweetest laugh he’d ever heard, a sound that he felt reaching towards him, wrapping him in its warm embrace. It reminded him of Christmas morning when his mother was lucid. It evoked memories of cosy fall evenings, sprinkled donuts, dimly lit library’s surrounded by stacks of old books. His favourite things in the whole world, that’s what your laugh conjured. 

“Everyone this is our new agent Y/N Y/L/N, please can you all make her feel welcome. Not too welcome though, ok, Reid?” Gideon shot him a somewhat nettled look, which once again sent Spencer spiralling into a pit of his own awkwardness. 

“Got it,” he finally spoke, his voice multiple octaves higher than usual. 

Morgan scoffed a laugh, clearly noticing how the young genius sounded like he was going through puberty all over again. 

Gideon nodded before taking his leave, heading up the stairs towards his office whilst leaving you with the three other agents. 

You played with your hands in discomfort, not quite knowing what to do with yourself. You’d been thrown in at the deep end, plucked straight out of the academy by Jason Gideon himself and now you’d been thrown to the lions. 

JJ pushed herself up from where she’d been leaning on an empty desk and she approached you slowly, as if you were a frightened deer who might retreat back into the woods if she startled you. 

Maybe you would. 

“It’s nice to meet you, and welcome to the team. I’m Jennifer but you can call me JJ, everyone does. I’m the Communications Liaison here.” She held out a hand for you to shake, an amicable smile on her face that reached all the way to her bright blue eyes. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” You shook her hand. 

“And these are SSA’s Derek Morgan and Doctor Spencer Reid.” She pointed over her shoulder at the two men. 

SSA Derek Morgan smiled at you, a confident kind of smile with his broad arms folded across an even bigger chest. 

“Welcome to the team, Y/L/N.” He nodded in your direction. 

“Thanks.” You replied before glancing back at Doctor Spencer Reid. 

The poor kid was sinking so low in his chair you could barely see his face over his desk. His cheeks were still flushed bright red and he raised one arm, offering you an awkward wave. 

“Hi,” he squeaked, making no attempt to sit back up. 

He was around your age despite the fact his oversized sweater vest begged to contradict that. His reputation preceded him, you’d heard all the stories of the genius being the youngest ever recruit to the BAU, even having exceptions made due to his lack of physical prowess. 

You had no idea he’d be so damn cute. 

You’d soon come to learn you had a surprising amount in common with him. And once the teasing from Morgan died down about his blatant crush on you, Spencer was able to start talking to you without his voice breaking every time he opened his mouth. 

But he had a distinct suspicion that his feelings for you wouldn’t just go away overnight. He’d known from the first time he looked at you that you were different from any other childish crush he’d had before. 

However he never would have dreamed that fifteen years later he’d still be as hung up on you as the day he met you.

***

Present Day

Rossi patted your shoulder and offered you a slightly sorrowful smile, as if apologising for what you’d been through when you both knew it wasn’t his fault. 

When he walked away, your eyes found Spencer. He was several feet away near the curb, his eyes cast down at his hand that was being wrapped in gauze by a paramedic. It felt like it was killing him to keep his eyes off of you and somehow you knew he sensed your eyes on him. 

He had his other hand in his pocket, his body leaning up against a cop car. His jaw was set from the moment your eyes landed on him like your gaze made him uncomfortable. 

You looked away from him, physically having to tear your eyes away, a split second before his own eyes flicked up in your direction. 

He’d been right the first time he’d laid eyes on you, he’d been right in thinking you were different from any other childish crush he’d had before. Because fifteen years down the line and he was still implausibly in love with you. 

But you weren’t supposed to feel the same. Not that he hadn’t pictured you confessing your feelings for him hundreds of times before but he’d never believed it to be a real possibility. 

Over the years he’d tried to move past his feelings, hoping that if he ignored them for long enough they would simply cease to exist. Or at the very least he could stop focusing on it all the time.

He’d finally gotten to a point in his life where he’d accepted the fact the two of you were never going to be together, stopped clinging so tightly to the idea of his happy ending with you. 

And now you’d gone and said those words and he didn’t know how he was supposed to begin reconciling that. 

From twenty three years old to here at thirty nine, Spencer’s whole world had revolved around you. He had no doubts you were the reason he’d never managed to settle down, maybe somewhere in his mind he’d always been secretly waiting on a life with you. 

Even with Maeve, sweet, wonderful Maeve, he knew it wasn’t the same. Even if she hadn’t met her end in the tragic way that she had he was sure it never would have worked between them because she wasn’t you. He loved Maeve, but he loved you more. 

He’d stood on the sidelines and watched as you met someone, settled down and started a life with him, not giving Spencer a second thought. If it was true that you’d always loved him, how could you have had that with someone else? 

And if it wasn’t true, how could you be so cruel? 

“You ok, Reid?” 

Spencer snapped out his daze, casting his eyes away from where they’d been watching the back of your retreating head as you walked towards one of the SUV’s with Emily and Tara.

He was still leaning up against the cop car, holding his right hand out as if the paramedic were still bandaging him. It was only now he realised the paramedic was long gone. 

He turned his hand over, inspecting the binding which was protecting the six butterfly stitches the paramedic applied to the cut on his palm. It probably hurt, somewhere in the back of his mind there was a pain receptor blinking rapidly in alert but he barely noticed it.

“Yeah,” he nodded, finally looking at Luke. “Weird day.” 

“Two guns, huh?” Luke nudged his shoulder. 

“You called it.” Spencer shrugged stiffly. 

“How long have you been wearing an ankle holster?”

“Around the time I got out of prison.”

“Right,” Luke nodded a little sadly. “Well, you saved Y/N’s life, so I’d say it was a pretty good thing you were packing a second weapon.” 

At the mention of your name Spencer’s eyes snapped back in the direction you’d been walking, expecting you to be inside the SUV already but you weren’t. You hovered by the open door of the vehicle, Tara and Emily now nowhere in sight. 

You were observing him, your previous tears still clouding your eyes and despite the distance between the two of you he could see them. 

You knew when you confessed your secret it was the worst possible thing you could have said but it was the only real thing you had to say. 

You could tell by his downturned expression, his usually vivid eyes so empty as he stared at you, that you’d hurt him beyond belief. 

What you’d said had been selfish, you knew that. Your time had come and gone. You’d had countless opportunities to tell Spencer how you felt before now, before things got this complicated. 

Perhaps it would hurt him less if you lied to him and told him you didn’t mean it. 

From inside the SUV Tara called your name and you broke eye contact with him and made yourself slide into the back seat. 

Spencer continued to stare at the spot you’d just been occupying. Just out of reach, you’d always been just out of reach. In turn he pushed himself away from the cop car and followed Luke toward the other SUV where the older man offered him the front seat. 

Spencer climbed inside, careful not to do anything with his bandaged right hand and fumbled with getting his seatbelt on while Matt put the car in drive. 

In the back of the other SUV you were preoccupied with your own hands. More specifically, the thin silver wedding band on your left hand. 

***

2010 

You brought your glass of champagne up to your lips and sipped it delicately, careful not to smudge your recently applied lipstick. Behind you, Garcia was fussing around with your hair, clipping here, brushing there, and making small little appreciative noises as she did so. 

On the couch beneath the window, Emily and JJ lounged back with their own glasses of bubbly. 

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love weddings?” Emily mused with a slightly tipsy smile on her features.

“No Em, you love the excuse to drink champagne.” Garcia tittered, pinning another section of your hair. 

“Which is served mostly at weddings. Ergo, I love weddings.” Emily grinned. 

“Can someone cut her off?” You giggled into your own glass. “I could really do without drunk bridesmaids.” 

“Good idea,” JJ agreed, snatching the glass out of Emily’s hand making the raven haired woman whine.

“Hey!” Emily made a grab for the glass but JJ held it out of reach. 

“You can drink as much as you like after the ceremony. You want to get down that aisle without tripping and making a scene.” JJ rolled her eyes, practically fighting Emily off. 

“I don’t make scenes.” Emily grumbled with a childish huff. 

“Because we don’t let you drink enough to make them.” You laughed and so did JJ and Penelope. 

There was a soft and tentative knock at the door just then and you turned over your shoulder towards the sound.

“Who is it?” Penelope spoke for you. 

“Man of honour reporting for duty.” His voice carried through the door.

“Enter at your own peril. We’re drunk and frisky.” Emily called with a loud cackle.

The door cautiously inched open and his head popped around the side of it, one eyebrow raised in concern. 

“We’ve cut her off, don’t worry.” JJ sighed, nodding her head at Emily. “I swear it's safe to come in.” 

The door opened further to allow him to enter. He limped inside, clutching his cane in one hand and leaning most of his weight on his good leg. You made eye contact with him and watched the way he swallowed a large lump in his throat. 

For a few seconds, the girls melted away and it was simply you and Spencer. His long hair had been tamed as much as he could, tucked behind his ears to keep it out of his face. He wore a black suit and crisp white button down paired with a black bowtie. He had a red rose boutonniere peeking out of his breast pocket. 

“Can we, uh…can we have the room?” Your voice cracked as you spoke but no one but you seemed to notice. 

“We should go and get dressed anyway.” Penelope agreed, nodding her head for JJ and Emily to stand. 

The other two women got to their feet and passed across the room. Before she left, Penelope gave your hand a soft squeeze in some kind of knowing way. 

Spencer hobbled aside for the three women to leave and approached you slowly. His smile was a little forlorn, not reaching his eyes which held a wealth of regret.

“You look absolutely incredible.” His voice was quiet and breathy, barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t even have my dress on yet, Spence.” You laughed a little, feeling like you could cry from the way he was looking at you if you didn’t.

Your hair and make-up was done but you only wore a pair of sweatpants and an old tank top. But Spencer was looking at you like you hung the moon, just like he always did. 

“Yet here we are,” he offered you the smallest glimpse of a smile and a soft, somewhat wistful sigh. “You’re still the most beautiful woman in the world.” 

Your eyes widened, tears desperately trying to spill out but you managed to sniff them back before they ruined your make-up. You felt your heart constrict in your chest. His words were so genuine, so sincere and for a second you forgot it wasn’t him you were marrying. 

“Spence…” you croaked, looking at him somewhat sadly.

“What? I’m not allowed to think you look beautiful on your wedding day?” He forced a laugh but it sounded nothing like it normally did. 

“Spencer I-” 

“I got you something.” He cut you off, his hand not clutching his cane diving into his inside pocket. 

Your eyebrows furrowed when he pulled out a rectangular, black velvet jewellery box. 

“What is this?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek, not taking the box from him.

“Open it and see.” He rolled his eyes, proffering it closer to you. 

You felt your hands start to tremble as you took it from his hand and hesitantly opened it. Nestled inside on a little silk cushion was a simple silver bracelet. You gently plucked it out of the box taking in the delicately small, golden snitch charm connecting the two ends of the band. 

In the middle of the bracelet were intricately etched words you recognised instantly from a conversation between Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape in The Deathly Hallows. 

“‘After all this time?’ ‘Always.'”

Your tears couldn’t be contained anymore as you looked back at him. Your heart was trying to escape your body, trying to reach for him, to hold him. You wanted to throw your arms around him and never let him go, the way you should have done so many years ago.

You didn’t need to ask him why, you already knew. When he’d found out how much loved Harry Potter he’d read all of the books in quick succession, over the years he’d accompanied you to see all the movies too. 

The Deathly Hallows had been released three years prior and he’d brought you a limited edition print of the book for your birthday. 

When you flicked through it, you’d found a post-it note on one of the pages with a little window cut out of it. Through the cut out was the same quote as was inscribed on the bracelet. 

Of course Spencer would never deface a book by highlighting it but he’d gone through great lengths for you to know this particular passage meant something to him. 

You’d asked him about it, while out for drinks with the team to celebrate your birthday, you’d asked him what it meant. 

“You know,” he simply replied. 

“Do I?” You frowned at him. 

“Fairly certain.” 

You didn’t have much time to ponder on what the sentiment behind it was as that night you’d ended up meeting Jared, your future husband. 

“I still don’t know that I understand what that means.” Your voice cracked and pitched. 

Spencer shook his head with a dry laugh, taking the bracelet from you. He leant his cane against his thigh so he could hook the band around your wrist and secure it for you. 

“If you don’t know by now, I guess it's too late.” He shrugged, his fingers lingering on your skin a moment longer than they needed to. 

“Why are you being so cryptic?” You cocked a brow at him.

“Usually when one receives a gift, the polite thing to do is say thank you.” He gripped his cane again, leaning his weight back on his non injured leg. 

Your eyes, still producing a few tears, flicked from your bracelet to him and back again in quick succession. 

“Th-thank you.” You sniffed. 

“You’re welcome. You should get dressed, it’s almost time.” 

“Spencer?” You spoke again before he even had a chance to turn around.

“Yes Y/N?” 

“You never did answer my question.”

“What question was that?” He narrowed his eyes on you. 

“The night I got engaged, I asked you if I was marrying the right man, am I?” 

A sharp breath left from between his parted lips and he wished more than anything else in the world he had the courage to tell you the truth. Secondly, he wished for any excuse to get out of answering you at all. 

He took a deep breath, and chose his words very carefully as he spoke. 

“The only answer I can give you is engraved on your bracelet.” He shrugged again.

“I don’t know what that means, Spencer!” You threw your arms up in the air in exasperation.

“The thing is,” he swallowed thickly. “You do know what it means. You know exactly what it means. I don't need to spell it out for you Y/N, because you already know. My saying it out loud isn’t going to change anything, it's only going to make me feel foolish. You need to get dressed and I need to go and start showing people to their seats. I’ll see you out there ok?” 

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before he was turning on his heels, shakily with the use of his cane, and hobbling back towards the door. 

When he opened it, an extremely suspicious JJ, Emily and Penelope stood on the other side now donning their matching sage green bridesmaids dresses and trying but failing to cover up the fact they had been attempting to eavesdrop. 

“Subtle,” Spencer rolled his eyes as he manoeuvred between them. 

“Not as subtle as you.” Emily rolled her eyes. 

When he turned back to her she had her arms folded across her chest in mild frustration. 

JJ and Penelope were nowhere to be seen and the door to the bridal suite was now closed, indicating they had gone inside. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Don’t ruin this for her.” Emily shook her head, ignoring his question. “You’ve had five years to tell her how you feel and you blew it. She’s happy, don’t ruin this for her.” 

Spencer sucked in a breath but before he could get his words out Emily was fleeing back into the room he’d just vacated. 

He was specifically trying not to ruin this for you. If he’d wanted to ruin your wedding day he would have told you exactly what he meant by it, even though he was sure you already knew. 

After all this time? Always.

I love you. After all this time? Always.

***

Present Day

Back at Quantico Spencer focused on writing his after action report despite the fact Emily had told him it could wait. He needed something to focus on that wasn’t you and what you’d said when you’d thought you were seconds away from death. 

Usually he wrote his case reports by hand, hating to prolong any computer use but the cut on his right hand meant he couldn’t hold a pen without causing it grief. 

Typing was slower, he hadn't mastered a keyboard from lack of use, so he jabbed at keys, painfully slowly but at least it kept him distracted. 

His whole body ached from the weight of the day. It was as though your words were pressing down on him, heavy and cumbersome trying to drag him down a rabbit hole from which he may never return. 

He had to stay focused. He had to concentrate on the report even if he did plan on leaving out your grandiose confession. 

It didn’t help matters, wouldn’t aid the directors to know exactly what had transpired between those walls. No one ever needed to know of the words you’d spoken to appease Pinkner. 

Because that’s all it had been. You’d needed to say something to get his attention and it had worked. You needed something startling enough that it would buy you some time.

You didn’t mean it. You couldn’t have meant it. You’d created a distraction so the two of you could get out of there alive. 

You’d helped save his life and shatter his heart all at once. 

If he was being perfectly honest with himself it would almost be worse if you had meant it. Because if you really had loved him all along how could you have committed yourself to another man? 

It wasn’t as though Spencer wasn’t available to you back then, he was nothing but available. He didn’t date because he was holding out hope of one day telling you how he felt. Sure there was that one kiss in the pool with Lila Archer and you’d barely spoken to him for weeks after, he never did understand that. 

Were you jealous? And if you were, why didn’t you just say something? 

Apart from that one incident, Spencer never even so much as looked at another woman for several years. He was there for you whenever you needed him and in whatever capacity you needed him to be. 

After a tough case he’d welcome you into his home, he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and pick you up from bars when you had too much to drink. 

He brought you your favourite coffee nearly every morning for years. He’d gone out of his way, extremely out of his way, to find you that copy of The Deathly Hallows for your birthday. 

He’d been so sure that night as you’d unwrapped it and looked at him with tears brimming in your sparkling eyes, that was the night he would win your heart. 

“Spence, hold up a sec,” you grabbed him by the wrist as he was heading towards the bathroom. 

“What’s up? Are you having a good birthday?” 

“The best.” You nodded, clutching your book to your chest in the crowded bar. “How did you find this?” 

“I have my ways.” He shrugged. “You like it?”

“Are you kidding me? I love it.” You smiled so sweetly at him he felt like his heart might explode. 

“Then it was worth it. I’d do anything to see you smile.” 

You exhaled through your nose, rolling your lip between your teeth. You edged closer to him and he caught the scent of your perfume. You opened the book to the page you’d found the post-it note stuck to with a small frown.

“What does this mean?” You asked curiously.

“You know,” he simply replied. 

“Do I?” You frowned at him. 

“Fairly certain.” He nodded. “Can I use the bathroom now?” 

“Yeah…” he nodded but your brows furrowed a little. 

“You sure? You look like you have something on your mind?” 

“I just want to thank you.”

“You have.” He chuckled but the seriousness of your expression curbed him. “Seriously, what’s up?” 

“I just…” you shook your head, suddenly moving even closer to him before you placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”��

Spencer was so gobsmacked by what had happened, even if it had just been a gentle peck it had rendered him breathless. 

He stared at you in hazy confusion, half wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing. 

You smiled somewhat bashfully at him, taking a few steps backwards. 

“You can go now.” You shrugged. 

“Go? Go where?” He frowned, feeling as though his brain had been replaced by a bowl of jelly. 

“The bathroom?” 

“Oh.” He nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be right back.” 

He walked past you in daze, almost convinced that couldn’t have happened. But if that were true, why were his lips tingling?

Spencer looked away from the computer screen and rubbed his eyes with his palms roughly, trying to dispel any old memories which were hell bent on distracting him. 

He’d spent a long time in the bathroom that night, staring at his reflection and the tiny smudge of your lipstick left behind on his lips. 

He practised to an audience of one in the mirror what he was going to say to you, how exactly he would word the fact he’d been in love with you for two years. 

But he’d taken too long and by the time he’d rejoined the team you were across the room making out with the man who would soon be introduced to him and the other BAU members as Jared Haines. 

The man you would later marry. 

Once he was done violently rubbing his eyes he pushed his chair back from his desk. Slowly he got to his feet and glanced around. It was only then he realised he was alone. 

The bullpen was a ghost town and he was the sheriff. 

He had no recollection of anyone leaving, of saying goodbye or even looking up from the computer. Yet, he was the only one here. 

It had been such a long day. 

He shut down the computer and grabbed up his satchel before slinging it over his shoulder. He needed to at least try and get some rest even though he was sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Tomorrow the team had been granted the day off for Rossi and Krystall’s wedding. But at that moment Spencer wasn’t even sure if he could bring himself to attend. 

As he forced his tired and aching limbs towards the elevators he checked his phone and saw a text message waiting to be read, time stamped several hours ago. 

He felt his chest constrict as he read it over in his head. He contemplated replying but he honestly didn’t have the energy. 

He slumped into the waiting elevator, reading it over once more before he put his phone away. With everything that had happened in the last few hours, she’d been the furthest thing from his mind. 

The guilt swam through his veins as he imagined what all of this could mean for her. And her simple message on his phone played on his tired mind all night. 

📱Max Brenner: Can’t wait for tomorrow, missed you xx

***

2018

“Hey, uh…is everything ok with you?” 

The light pooling through the crack in the blinds, casting its rays on the wooden table top had garnered your unwavering attention for the last five minutes. You were twirling your wedding band around your finger in absent-mindedness. 

“Hmm?” You tore your eyes away from the table and looked up at Spencer who was standing over you.

You’d found yourself in the small town of Guymon, Oklahoma, investigating a series of home invasion burglaries and murders with an interesting signature of the victims having their mouths cut at the corners. 

To make matters stranger their surviving victim, a seven year old boy, was convinced he saw a clown kill his dad. 

It was certainly a strange one. After nearly thirteen years with the BAU you’d thought you’d seen it all. But once again you were proven wrong. 

You glanced over Spencer’s shoulder at the board with all the details of the murder victims and a preliminary geographical profile Spencer had been working on. Your eyes lingered on the childish drawing of the clown which their surviving victim had sketched for them.

Spencer followed your gaze to the picture before looking back at you with a slightly wry smile. 

“You know there’s a word, even though it’s not recognised by any dictionary or psychology manual, for the excessive fears of clowns: coulrophobia.” 

You looked back at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“I am not scared of clowns.” You tutted. 

“Something’s bothering you, you’ve been unusually quiet. I think something has been bothering you for a while.” He slid into the seat next to you.

The two of you were alone at the station while the rest of the team were following other leads. You and Spencer hadn’t really spent any time alone for a while, probably not since before his arrest in Mexico. You didn’t speak, so he continued.

“I noticed it when you came to see me in prison. Well that’s to say, I registered it but I didn’t realise I noticed it until much later on. You’ve been tense for a while now. I thought maybe it was because of my arrest or all the changes in the team, but I think it's more than that now.” He leant on the table closer to you, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

“Are you profiling me?” You spat a little harsher than you’d meant to. 

“I don’t know that it’s strictly classed as profiling when I know you so well.” 

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do. And clearly I don’t know you at all because I still even now can’t believe you managed to go to Mexico and get arrested without me having a clue what was going on.” You shoved your chair back, causing it to scrape across the wooden floor. 

“That’s what this is about?” Spencer stood up again moments after you did. “You’re still angry at me?” 

“I was never angry at you.” You shook your head. “We’re in the middle of a case, now is not the time.” 

“Make time.” He spat. “If I recall correctly I’m the one who spent three months in prison, not you. You don’t get to be angry because you couldn’t profile me and figure out what was going on.” 

“You think this is about my profiling skills?” You scoffed. 

“Isn’t it?” He stepped closer to you, a heavy frown on his features. 

“I’m not doing this now, Spencer.” You shook your head. 

“Just answer me! Why are you so angry at me? You’ve been hostile towards me since I was released and I don’t get it. We’re best friends, you should be able to talk to me.” 

“We’re not though, are we?” You shrugged limply. “Maybe once we were but we’re just not that close anymore, Spencer.”

“And who’s fault is that?” He bit back. “I always try to make plans but you always cancel on me.” 

“I have a life, Spencer! One that doesn’t revolve around you.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Yet when we go out for drinks as a team or if JJ or Emily or literally anyone who isn’t me asks you out, you never cancel. What have I done to upset you so much?” 

“Oh my gosh, not everything is about you, Spencer!” You hissed. “Maybe if you actually attempted to meet someone instead of following me around like a goddamn puppy all the time you’d understand. I have a family, Spencer. Jeez, stop being so codependent!”

You saw the way his whole body took the brunt of your harsh words. He stumbled a little on his feet, gasping for the breath you had caused to leave his lungs. His previously anger filled eyes turned sad, and he dragged his lip between his teeth.

“Wow.” He shook his head despondently. “Don’t hold back Y/N, say what you really mean.” 

“That, uh…that came out slightly crueller than I meant it to.” You retreated, trying to give Spencer your best apologetic look. 

“You think I don’t want what you have? You think I’m deliberately single? Surprisingly there isn’t a queue of women out the door wanting to date a neurotic, socially awkward, ex drug addict who spent three months in prison for suspicion of murder!” He raised his voice, you were glad the door was closed. 

Through the window of the office you noticed a few looks being sent your way by Guymon police officers who didn’t need to be profilers to read yours and Spencer’s body language. 

“Spencer, now really isn’t the time. We’re being watched.” 

“I don’t care!” He growled. “You started this. Clearly you have some grievances to air so let’s just get all out in the open, shall we?” 

“I’m done with this conversation.” You rolled your eyes, heading past him towards the door. “I’d ask if you want a coffee but I think you’ve had enough caffeine.” 

You reached for the door handle but Spencer caught your wrist in his hand, tugging you back to face him somewhat roughly. 

“Ouch.” You grumbled, pulling your arm free of him. 

“That didn’t hurt.” He rolled his eyes. 

And then he noticed the way your whole body had deflated. The way your eyes seemed to mist over as you rubbed your wrist through your shirt. He didn’t miss the brief hint of fear that washed across your face. 

“Please don’t do that again.” You swallowed, eyes cast towards the floor, your voice trembling. 

He’d seen it before, hundreds if not thousands of times in this line of work. Anyone else, anyone who wasn’t an FBI agent might have missed it. But he didn’t. 

“Y/N?” He whispered, taking a half step towards you. “What did you do to your arm?”

“N-nothing.” You shook your head, still looking at the floor. 

When Spencer gently wrapped his hand around your wrist again, he saw you flinch. But you let him roll the sleeve of your blouse up just enough to reveal the large angry, red mark on your forearm and wrist. 

“Is that…a burn?” He swallowed, the air leaving his lungs. 

Your skin was blanched and blistering. It looked incredibly painful and it was certainly fresh, it couldn’t have been caused more than a day or so ago. 

“I…it was dumb. I spilled hot oil while I was cooking. You know how clumsy I am.” 

That statement in itself caused confusion. He had never known you to be clumsy. 

“Y/N?” He spoke so softly it finally forced you to meet his gaze. “Did Jared do this to you?” 

“What? How can you even ask me that?” You were quick to shake your head, pulling your arm free of his hold and rolling back down your sleeve.

“That wasn’t an answer.” Spencer frowned. “You’re deflecting.” 

“I didn’t think a dumb question warranted an answer.” 

“You’re doing it again. Did he hurt you?” 

“Stop it, Spencer. Just stop it, ok?” You growled at him. “Stop it.” 

“Y/N if he hurt you I can…” he trailed off when the door opened and Emily and Luke strolled in with coffees and slightly dejected smiles on their faces. 

“Well that was a waste of time.” Luke grumbled, looking between you and Spencer and sensing the thick tension. “Uh…what’s going on?”

“You need to go to the hospital.” Spencer ignored them, focusing only on you. 

“I’m fine.” You shot him a warning look, telling him to drop it. 

“You could get an infection. You need to have that looked at.”

“Have what looked at?” Emily frowned at the two of you.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” You smiled at your boss. 

“She is not fine.” Spencer hissed. “She’s got a burn on her arm, she needs to have it checked out before she develops an infection or gangrene or loses her arm.” 

“Jeez, you are over dramatic.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine, seriously.” 

“Can I see?” Emily asked you softly, her eyes full of concern for you. 

You huffed out a breath and rolled up your sleeve.

“It’s not that bad.” You shrugged. 

“Yikes,” Luke grimaced. “I’m no doctor but I think Reid might be right, you need a hospital.” 

“Goddamnit.” You groaned. “Fine.” 

“Reid, can you take her?” Emily asked him but you were shaking your head.

“No, I don’t want to go with him. Luke?” 

“Sure thing.” Luke shrugged, knowing now wasn’t the time to get into why you didn’t want your so-called best friend taking you to the hospital. 

Luke motioned you towards the door and you followed him somewhat hesitantly. As you stepped out of the office you heard Emily’s confused voice asking Spencer, “what the hell is going on with you two recently?” 

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @dirtytissuebox @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle

[danikamariewrites]

Take Them All Down (part 2)

Rhys x reader

A/n: First off, I am so sorry this is months later. I did not realize I wrote part 1 in freaking October until I reread it for a refresher. Like no wonder so many of you asked me about part 2! There will not be a part 3 (so sorry if you have your hopes up for that after reading this).

Warnings: blood, violence, and eventual fluff

The throne room filled quickly. You couldn’t pick out faces even if you wanted to. Looking down you see the unlucky prince you had grabbed in your rage was Eris. The only surprise you showed at his fear was a raise of your eyebrow.

Seeing ghosts scares people. Eris isn’t immune to that.

The crowd parts, letting Beron. When he sees you with a sword to his heirs bleeding throat he pales. “Everyone out!” Beron roars. The room empty’s in seconds. Leaving the three of you alone.

“You,” Beron says cooly, raising a shaking finger at you. “You, are supposed to be dead.”

——

Rhys hasn’t broken his stride or acknowledged his family since the cemetery. Ripping open his closet door and donning his leathers Cassian finally grabs him by the shoulders, pinning him to the wall. Everyone waits with bated breath at the threshold of the bedroom. Azreil stands between the family and his brothers to absorb any fallout.

“Rhysand! Stop! By the fucking Cauldron, what do you mean she is not dead?” Cassian’s booming voice causes even Azriel to take a step back. But Rhys stands strong. Mirth dancing in his eyes. “The bond never broke,” he said with that haunting laugh and even more troubling smile.

“I have felt nothing since Hybern. The bond it…it’s just been waiting for y/n to wake up.” Cassian let go, his face pale. Instead of being angry he wanted answers. He was beyond confused at how you could possibly be alive. They saw your body, watched as your coffin was buried!

“What’s the plan Rhys?” Azriel asked, a slight shake in his usually calm voice. Another haunting laugh leaves Rhys’ lips. “Eris has been screaming in my head for an hour. She went right to the Autumn Court. My vengeful wife, HA!” Azriel and Cassian look at each other. Then it clicked.

Beron had found your body.

He had been the one to alert everyone, even brought Rhys over to you.

As if he was reading their minds Rhys began to voice their train of thought, “Beron saw an opportunity at the end of the war and took it. The instability of everything. He needed to take me out of the equation first before taking out any of the other courts. ‘Killing’ y/n was the way to go. Smart. He wants Prythian. Wants to be High King and for that he needs all the courts to rely on him. He has been creating problems that only he and his court can solve.

“I’ve been in contact with Kallius and Helion over the last few weeks. After Amren’s last meeting with the governors I knew it was Beron. Without us and trying to keep their courts alive it’s been a mess.” “So you are aware the court is struggling?” Amren interjects. Anger rolling from her tiny body in waves. Rhys turns to look at her. His face sympathetic and guilty. “I know you’ve been doing everything I should be. And I am so sorry. I should have never shut down like that. But I couldn’t…”

Cassian claps a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “We understand, brother.” Had it been any of them Rhys would be doing the same thing his family was doing.

“I’ve reached out to Kall and Helion. They are meeting us in Autumn soon. Get ready to go.” His brothers nod, leaving Rhys to prepare for what awaits him in Autumn.

——

Back in the throne room you stall Beron. You want him to continue his tirade, letting all his anger out so you can deflect it right back at him. When he paused you dug your blade deeper into Eris’ throat. He held back his wince. Knowing the punishment from his father would be worse than loosing his head.

Before you could open your mouth to retaliate the bond in your chest stirred. You felt everything all at once. Anger, relief, love, and grief.

Rhysand.

He knows. He came for you.

Surprise shines in your eyes. Looking down at Eris he meets your gaze, his own amber eyes screaming ‘I did this. I told him. Please let me go.’

Dropping the sword from his neck Eris breathed out a sigh of relief. “Go,” you growl at him. He scrambles off the dias, deciding that leaving you and his father alone would be best. He dashes for the large double doors. Your eyes never leaving his back until Eris disappears from view.

You need to stall longer. Although you can feel Rhys again he’s far. Probably just winnowing to the border of the court.

Making a show of bringing your sword up to your eyes to inspect Eris’s blood slowly dripping down the sharp edge. You wipe it off on the skirt of your dress. Looking down at the swishing black fabric you notice how dirty and tattered it is. You don’t know if it’s from being buried for so long or pulling yourself out of your grave. Maybe it’s both.

The memory of waking up in the pitch black and digging yourself out flash through your mind. You want to drop to your knees and cry until you have no tears left. A pulse of love comes down the bond full force. It gives a you a renewed strength as you stare down Beron. Soon, it promised. Soon you could do all of that in Rhys’ arms.

Lifting your sword you point it at Beron. “We have a score to settle, asshole.” He smirks at you. Reaching out he pulls his sword from thin air. Sweeping into a ready stance. Beron curls his fingers, beckoning you forward. “Let’s see if the dead can fight.”

You run toward him, letting a cry rip from deep in your chest. You are going to kill this motherfucker.

The two of you keep clashing. Metal against metal ringing throughout the throne room. Slash after slash you finally feel the adrenaline wearing off. You’re weak and can feel he’s gaining the upper hand. Beron backs you toward the dias.

With a mighty swing Beron has you down. Your back hits the wooden stairs. Wasting time trying to recover, Beron stomps over, kicking your sword from your hand. Beron pushes his heavy boot against your open hand. You scream at the feel of your fingers cracking between his weight and the wood. He lets out a cruel cackle. “This time, I’m going to kill you for real.”

Beron raises the menacing blade. Ready to strike right through your heart. Closing your eyes you brace yourself for impact. It never comes.

The doors explode. You take a risk and move your eyes off Beron to see who has barged in. Rhys, those gorgeous wings on display. He’s flanked by Azriel and Cassian. Kallius and Viv with Mor at her side. Helion and his general. Beron must’ve done something to really piss off three High Lords while you were buried.

Everything went by in a blur. All you could do was watch. Rhys could’ve easily fought Beron on his own but it seemed like they each wanted a piece of him. Near the end Eris comes racing in, his neck bandaged. It’s an easy fight in the end.

Eris brings his father to his knees. Broken and bruised, he surrenders. Eris takes control, ordering Beron to be sent to the dungeons and watched at all times. His execution would come soon. Eris didn’t want him escaping.

You feel arms around you. Jumping, you look to your side and see Rhys. You almost didn’t recognize him with the beard. There was hope twinkling in his eyes. Silver lining them as he stares at you in disbelief.

A loud cry escapes your lips as you put all your weight on your mate. Rhys says something that you don’t hear, your ears are still ringing from the explosion. Darkness consumes your vision as the throne room falls from you. You cower into Rhys’ chest hoping the light comes back.

When you feel a floor beneath you again you pull away from his chest. Looking around you find you’re back in the Town House. Home. You are finally home.

You see the family behind you, not wanting to scare you. Tears fall freely down your face. When you woke up in that box you never thought you would see them again. By some miracle the Mother decided you weren’t done living yet and gave you back.

“I knew you weren’t dead.” Rhys whispered, kissing your forehead. “I could never leave you.” You say softly, looking up at him. He smiles at you. Tears falling down his face into his beard. Bringing a hand up you run your fingers through his beard.

For someone who has been depressed it’s very well kept. “I like the beard.” Rhys laughs as he pulls you into a hug. After embracing on the floor for what feels like hours Rhys shifts so you are looking up at him again.

“I want Madja to look you over, then we can get you into a bath my love.” He rubs the pad of his thumb across your cheek. Wiping away dried mud and blood. You won’t argue with him. You can tell he just wants to take care of you. “Sounds perfect.”

[best-overplayed-song]

As someone who never understood the hype around Take Me To Church and keeps forgetting that song even exists, can I ask the fans what exactly it is you like about that song? Because my current hypothesis is that yall were around 14 when it came out and music just hits different when you're 14. What else is there to like, genuinely

I try to stay unbiased here but Hozier is one of the only musicians I allow myself to be pretentious about, so before i info dump about why i love take me to church here's some other hozier songs you should give a shot:

francesca [i'd go through hell again just to hold you one more time], nina cried power [song about activism and black activists], swan upon leda [about the violence of colonialism, misogyny, and religious bigotry], eat your young [about the violence of war, capitalism, and generational trauma], movement, to noise making (sing), shrike, NFWMB [sexy], sunlight

anyway take me to church is so much more than just “loving you is like church”. he starts off by telling us how happy his lover makes him, despite constantly being told by The Church he was born sick and his happiness is a result of sinful behavior. he rejects the religion being forced on him, because unlike christianity, his church doesn't force him to accept absolution to reach heaven ("my church offers no absolutes / she tells me, 'worship in the bedroom' / the only heaven I'll be sent to / is when i'm alone with you"). the last two lines of the first verse-- "i was born sick, but i love it / command me to be well"-- questions why a god would create us to be inherently sick only to punish us for being sick.

i see the the chorus as a smart-ass comparison of his relationship to christianity. The Church expects him to blindly worship their lies and confess his sins, which he knows will be used against him ("take me to church / i'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies / i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife"), but he's supposed to accept this and devote his life to God so he can get to heaven ("offer me that deathless death / oh good god, let me give you my life"). by offering to do this for his lover, he's equating their love to religion.

in the second verse, he reiterates that he worships his lover with a metaphor ("if i'm a pagan of the good times / my lover's the sunlight"). the subtle remark of referring to the ancient practice of paganism as "the good times" comments on the colonization and forced conversion of ireland by christian england, which criminalized paganism. immediately after stating how his lover demands a sacrifice, he hungrily eyes the high horse The Church sits on, and questions what power they have over him and his people ("that's a fine lookin' high horse / what you got in the stable? / we've a lot of starving faithful"). this could also be a reference to the irish potato famine, which was not a result of drought, but of english lords forcing the irish to turn over their entire crop to send to england.

then we get the most poetic description of sex i've ever heard: "no masters or kings when the ritual begins / there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin / in the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene / only then, i am human / only then, i am clean". fuck man

a lot of gay people with religious trauma love this song bc of everything i described above. also, it's a fuckin banger.

and yes i was 14 when it came out. what about it

[daughterofcain-67]

𝙾𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚞𝚛 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 (pt. 9)

(Soldier Boy x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your main goal while you’re riding with Butcher is to make sure you can get Ben back no matter the cost. After getting to Grace Mallory’s last known residence, you hope you can find what you’re looking for. The sooner you’d find Ben, the better off you’ll be.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cannon level violence, nothing to explicit. Alternative ending to the final episode of season three in a way, or an alternative version of the aftermath rather. Hope you all enjoy!

You could hear the way Butcher was grumbling obscenities to himself all throughout the car ride to get to Grace Mallory’s home. You didn’t catch all of it but you knew Butcher wasn’t exactly thrilled to be going back to a place where he was unwelcome. It surprised you since you assumed he got used to the feeling of being unwelcome considering his record.

“You know, you aren’t the only one in the car. You sound like a psychopath talking to yourself when I’m right here.” You said as you continued to look out through the windshield.

“I just don’t get why you’re going through all this trouble for a guy who’s willing to kill children like Ryan just to get to his goal. What kind of heartless bastard is he?” He asked, glaring at the road and you shrugged a little.

“And you were completely fond of Ryan when you found out he was the spawn of your wife’s rape? A spawn of Homelander? Don’t tell me the thought hadn’t crossed your mind, so that argument is kind of unfair to Soldier Boy.” You commented and you heard Butcher continue to grumble.

“That’s a different bloody story. Becca didn’t ask for any of that shit to happen to her. She went missing for so many years and I had no fucking clue what happened to her. Hell, there were times I thought she was dead.”

“Soldier Boy is my Becca. You went a handful of years without her. I’ve gone decades without Soldier Boy. And he didn’t ask to be taken to Russia, didn’t ask to be robbed of the opportunity to raise his own son. Who knows, if Soldier Boy really did raise Homelander, maybe he wouldn’t have turned out to be such a dick.” You continued.

“I hardly think Soldier Boy is really as helpless as Becca was though.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.. Yeah he’s strong and for the most part he can take care of himself if you take the damned Novichok out of the equation. No, he’s not as helpless as your wife was. And I’m sorry for your loss and I hate to hear what happened to her. Maybe that wasn’t exactly the best example.”

“You think?” Butcher muttered as he started to turn on a certain road.

“Okay, okay. Bad analogy. Maybe it would be better like this… The same love Becca felt for you? The way she loved you is the love I feel for Soldier Boy.”

“Oh now you’re comparing me to Soldier Boy? Thanks, that’s such a bloody compliment to be compared to the cunt.” He said and you sighed.

“Well, all I’m saying neither of you are perfect. You both have your flaws. Like a shit ton of flaws and no one in their right mind should care for either of you. Both of you have blood on your hands whether you wanted it or not. But Becca accepted you, flaws and all. She knew you’re far from perfect and she wasn’t blind to the fact that you’re not exactly the greatest guy on the planet, but her love for you was still strong and unconditional. And I love Soldier Boy even with all of his flaws and mistakes.”

Butcher was silent for several moments while his gaze remained transfixed on the road ahead of the two of you. You turned your head and looked out of the passenger window.

“He really wasn’t a bad guy in the beginning. Arrogant, sure. But he never wanted innocent people to get hurt. He just got suckered into Vought’s trap like a lot of Supes do. They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions after all. And after a while, I guess he, like most supes, lost a lot of their morals somewhere along the way…” You said.

“He was telling me about that. Just before we were on the way to fight Homelander.” Butcher finally spoke again.

“As much as I don’t like what Annie said about Soldier Boy, and as much as I think she grew a little bit self centered for it, I’m still glad she stepped away from Vought when she did.” You spoke as you remembered that Annie was still the one that gave you that unreleased photo of Soldier Boy.

“I can tell her heart is still in the right place, so there’s hope for her yet. She’s just got a bit of growing up to do.” At this, Butcher only hummed.

You sighed a little, ready to get out of the car. It felt like you had been driving for most of the day, but really it’s only been about two or three hours, “How much longer ‘till we get to Mallory’s?”

“Won’t be too much longer.” Butcher said, starting to get short again.

When you glanced over, you saw that he wasn’t in the right shape and you noticed that something seemed to be leaking from his ear. Your frowned a little.

“Is that from the temp V you’ve been taking?” You asked and pointed at your own ear.

Butcher glanced at you and he touched his own ear. He glanced down at his fingertips and muttered a curse as he wiped the residue on his pants. Lovely.

“Yeah.”

“You must’ve taken a lot of those doses, huh?” You asked.

“Eh, mistakes have been made. I’m just glad the Kid didn’t take anymore. It would’ve killed the little fella.” He insisted.

“So… what made you protect him? Isn’t that kind of out of your character?” You inquired, which caused him to shoot a glare at you.

“I’m not that bad of a guy either ya know. I’m doing this with the whole, Hell with good intentions thing you were talking about.” He commented as he looked back at the road.

“But anyway.. Hughie reminds me a lot of somebody I knew.” He finally answered your question after a few minutes. You smiled a little to yourself, knowing Butcher couldn’t have been that bad of a guy deep down.

“Friend?”

“Family member… brother.”

You frowned a little, getting the feeling from the way Butcher went stoic with his facial expressions that something bad must’ve happened. You glanced down at your hands, “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nothing to be sorry for. Only thing that can fix anything is a Time Machine at this point.” He told you, though the comment didn’t make the frown leave your face.

“So how long do you have left?” You asked, getting the feeling the temp V may just be costing the man his life.

“Doctor’s say I’ve got about 18 months, that’s if I’m lucky. Which so far in life, I haven’t been so lucky.”

“I’m sure Hughie may be able to help you find some kind of cure. Plus you’ve got Frenchie who’s apparently one Hell of a chemist.”

“I haven’t told the lot of them yet. And I don’t plan on it.”

“You know Hughie’s going to be crushed if you don’t say anything to him and he finds out some other way.” You reminded and Butcher shook his head.

“I got him wrapped up in this mess from the start. I’ve dragged all of them through the trenches, so most of them may even be glad to hear I’ll be dead and out of their lives for good.” Butcher said.

“That’s awfully pessimistic of you.” You replied and he gave a slight shrug.

“It’s the truth though. Not much helpin’ that one.”

You looked out of the window again when the conversation didn’t go any further. But then after a few minutes, the two of you made it to a house that must’ve been Mallory’s. Butcher pulled into the driveway and the both of you got out of the vehicle.

“Look’s like she’s not here.” Butcher said when he noticed there weren’t any vehicles, and he remembered this was the last place she was when she was still looking after Ryan.

“Still, she’s bound to have some sort of notes, maybe even a computer so we can look through her emails and see what we can find. If she’s not here, there are always other ways to find out where she’s keeping Soldier Boy.” You insisted, hearing Butcher sigh you walked up to the door.

You noticed there’s a padlock on the door and you lifted a brow as you tried to think of what sort of codes to try. As you started to press some of the buttons, you heard the shattering of glass. You stood upright and looked around, but the next thing you knew, Butcher was opening up the door from the inside so you could come in.

“You’re in a rush, right? Let’s get this over with. Pressing buttons and solving puzzles won’t get you anywhere fast.” He said and you smirked a little.

“Let’s see what we can find.”

Ben woke up yet again feeling drowsy as Hell. He honestly had no idea at this point how long it’s been since he’d been taken. He stopped counting the hours, especially since he couldn’t when he was blacked out some of the time because of the damned gas or whatever they were putting in him.

He felt drained, but at this point it wasn’t a new feeling. It was still a humiliating feeling though. When he finally opened his eyes again and glanced down ward, he saw someone was drawing blood from him. As much as he wanted to move his arm away, he couldn’t because they put more restraints on his arms as a precaution from last time he was able to get one of his arms free.

“What have the results been so far?” Ben could hear a familiar voice question.

He slowly looked over and saw Grace was standing behind the woman taking his blood. The bitch looked even worse up close. He couldn’t say anything though. Mask and all.

“Nothing. I’m getting to understand why the Russians just put him away. Pretty much nothing can kill him and we aren’t making much progress with finding any other weaknesses.”

“And you’re taking his blood, why?” Mallory inquired.

“We’re hoping to see what kind of genetic weaknesses he could have and we need his blood to do some tests for that.” The doctor said.

Ben winced when he felt yet another needle in his arm and he assumed they were taking more blood from him. He tried to jerk his arm away but that did nothing to help him.

“What other procedures will you be performing in the meantime while you wait for the blood tests?”

“We’ll be seeing different ways the Novichok and maybe some other vapors can effect him. Maybe we can use that to kill him rather than using the radiation like they did in Russia.”

That sounded like it would be a painfully slow process. All the Novichok did was make him feel sleepy, almost like an anesthetic. But if he were to die in his sleep, Ben supposed he’d take that over a painful and torturous death.

“You know, maybe we can save some of the blood. If we can use his genes, maybe we can make a different hero. One that’s better than Homelander. Raise him up to take Homelander down.” Mallory suggested.

“Work for us? They’d be labeled as just another super terrorist or supervillain or whatever the term is. Are you sure that would be a good idea?”

“If we can shut down Vought once and for all, then anything would be worth it.”

Ben couldn’t stand for it. He wouldn’t let his DNA be used for someone else’s experimentation. Especially not after the last child turned out to be such a damned disappointing excuse to be called his son. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

“No…” He managed to speak and Mallory looked over at him.

“No what? I don’t think you have much control over what we do here.”

“Do not.. make another kid. Not like that bitch Homelander…”

Mallory heard the comment coming from Soldier Boy. She was almost amazed that he could even gather up the consciousness to form a sentence with how much Novichok they were gassing him up with. She hoped he wasn’t growing some sort of immunity to it. That would be disastrous.

“Trust me, Soldier Boy… if we do find a way to make a child from your DNA, the last thing we want is another Homelander.” She said, but she could tell the thought wasn’t comforting to the fallen hero. Not that it was intended to be a comfort anyway.

“It won’t be like you or Homelander. Maybe it’ll be even stronger than Homelander’s so called son, Ryan.” Mallory shrugged and that was when her phone began to buzz.

She pulled her device from her pocket and looked down, realizing there was an alert from her last residence.

Her eyes widened when she saw the security footage. It was not only the familiar face of Butcher breaking one of her windows to get into her house, but he was working with none other than Quake.

Grace could see from the phone they were looking for something. When Grace watched you look through her office area and she saw you open up her laptop, her stomach dropped. She didn’t know how quickly you’d be able to find this lab, but Mallory knew it would only be a matter of time before you’d be on your way here.

“Keep him sedated.” Mallory said as she turned on her heel while she was about to walk out of the door.

“What’s happening? It’s not like he’s going anywhere.” The doctor said and Grace looked back at Soldier Boy.

Once they made eye contact, Ben knew something must’ve happened. He smirked when he saw a glimpse of weakness in Grace’s eyes, a glimpse of fear.

“We may need to move him. My last location’s been made.” Grace said and walked out of the room.

The smirk remained on Ben’s face as he looked back up at the ceiling. If his assumptions, his hopes even, were correct… you’d be there to get him out of this Hell-hole in no time.

You saw the information on the laptop screen and you smirked before you looked over at Butcher who was just looking over your shoulder.

“I take it you’ve found it?” He asked.

“Yep. Let’s head out. If I know Mallory and her security plans… she may already know we’ve been here.” You commented and wrote down the address. Then you folded the paper in your hand and stood upright.

“We need to move now before she tries to move Soldier Boy.” Butcher nodded before he turned on his heel and headed for the door that’s been left open.

With that, you and Butcher both left the house and rushed to the car because the two of you could hear sirens in the distance. Mallory must’ve sent some kind of security to her home or something because of the break in so now it was time to haul ass.

Neither of you really bothered to buckle up and Butcher started the car and drove off. Meanwhile you grabbed your phone and started typing in the address on the GPS so Butcher could head that way.

You could tell Butcher was speeding with how you felt like you were about to sink into the seat as he took off. The sirens were close for a moment but as Butcher drove the sirens started to sound like they were getting further and further away.

Once you put the location in the GPS and put the phone on the little phone stand, you looked in the passenger mirror, “Do you think we lost them?”

“Ain’t no tellin’ so we may have to take advantage of our other precautions… check the glovebox.” Butcher told you so you opened it up and saw a gun.

“Let’s hope we’ve lost them.” You said, not sure of your aim with a gun and if you could get their tires or if you’d end up missing them and hitting someone else. Boulders you could handle, guns? Not so much.

But unfortunately, you could hear the sirens again and they were gaining on you pretty fast. You looked in the passenger mirror again and you felt a little uneasy.

“Quake, you’re gonna have to use that bloody thing if they get any closer to us. And from the looks of it… they’re coming pretty quick.” Butcher said and you looked down at the gun in your hand.

“Aim for the tires and you should be fine..” You whispered to yourself and you made sure the safety was switched off and you carefully got out of the seat and tried to steady yourself, though it wasn’t so easy since the road was starting to get a little bumpy.

You leaned out of the window and faced behind you. Sure enough, some cars were gaining speed behind you. You tried to steady your breathing while you lifted the hand that was holding the gun and aimed forward for their tires.

You pulled the trigger the first time and flinched when you heard both the gunshot and the tire blow on the first car. Your eyes widened when you saw the first vehicle struggle to keep control and they went off the side of the road.

“And you thought your aiming was bad. Now knock the dust off those other cunts.” Butcher said from the driver’s seat and you nodded to yourself and you pulled the trigger again, then again, taking care of the other two cars. You saw as the front of the two cars met and you could tell they were totaled with the way the airbags went off.

You felt a hand at the back of your shirt to pull you back in, though you realized it was just Butcher. You thanked him and switched the safety back on the gun and put it back in the glovebox. You ran a hand through your hair before you glanced over to the phone, looking to see how long it would be until you’d get to your destination.

“You think Soldier Boy will still be there if Mallory knows we’re on the way?” You questioned, trying not to doubt now of all times.

Butcher shrugged, “We’ve already made it this far. We won’t know if he’s there until we get there.”

After about ten more minutes, you finally arrived at your destination. Butcher went for his little black bag and you knew the V was in it. You put a hand over his and he looked at you.

“What?”

“You’re already dying. Don’t make the process speed up. The only supe that’s in there is Soldier Boy and he’s incapacitated.” You said and you reached into the glove box and pulled the gun out.

“Stick around for Hughie for as long as you can.” He looked at you with an oddly soft look, uncharacteristic of him and you didn’t like it but you could tell he was at least trying to let your words set in. You knew he cared for Hughie a lot, and he was kind of the only voice of reason Butcher seemed to have. It kept Butcher human in a way.

But you couldn’t be sentimental much longer after that.

The both of you got out of the car and they already knew you were coming. Some of the guards were already holding up their weapons and you raised up your hands as a wall of rock and dirt appeared between you and Butcher and the guards. Then with a pushing motion, the wall you created plunged forward and knocked all of the guards down.

When that happened, you already started to feel a little lightheaded. You supposed you weren’t completely at full capacity after the incident at Vought’s tower. But you couldn’t focus on that right now. You had to get Ben out of there. The sooner, the better.

You lifted a boulder and you threw it into the door, breaking a gaping hole into the building and you and Butcher came in. Butcher started shooting at even more of the guards. It was nice to know that even if he didn’t have much of a choice in this matter, he still had your back to a certain extent.

When you caught a glimpse of some people rushing down the hall across your path and you had a feeling you ought to follow them. You bit down on your bottom lip before you started running into that direction.

“What’s happening?” You heard someone call.

“It’s Soldier Boy. He’s trying to break free again. He’s already snapped the leather straps on one of his arms again.”

“Who the hell was watching him?!”

You didn’t care to hear the rest of that conversation because you knew they’d try to get Ben back into that vault. So you followed them and you slammed your fist against the floor.

“W-What was that?!”

“Quake! She’s here!” One of the scientists said and when you looked up you saw the look of terror on their faces. You smirked a little before you put your hands in the crack in the floor you created before you pulled your hands apart, thus splitting the floor open and they fell into the hole. You left it opened so they could at least try to get out on their own.

Then you ran to the other end of the hall, desperately looking for any sign of Ben.

You could feel something tickling your nose and rolling down and as you ran, you lifted a hand to your nose and looked down. You noticed the blood. “Fuck, not now.”

You shook it off and you rubbed your nose before you continued running. That was when you ran past a window where a light was beginning to glow. You opened the door and you saw that some scientists were frantically trying to keep a mask over Ben.

“Ben!” You exclaimed and you caught a glimpse of his gaze. Your eyes locked and then you diverted your attention to the scientists who were working but some of them went to you and they were coming towards you.

They were trying to corner you and you glanced around to see what exactly you could do but then you saw a scalpel. You picked it up and you started stabbing the scientists. As they cried in pain while gripping their arms or sides, you lifted another hand and twisted your wrist a little to try and take a chunk of the wall closest to them and you pushed them out of the room.

The last two scientists that were once hovering over Ben were coming at you. But then your vision was starting to get blurry no matter how hard you were trying to focus as they were coming at you. One of them tackled you to the ground and you were trying to fight them off with the scalpel.

One of them managed to take the scalpel from you and they held it up against your throat but then before you knew it, they went flying somewhere and you thought you heard some kind of crash. Sounded like one of them landed on a table or something, but you couldn’t really be sure.

But when you looked up, you saw Ben was the one hovering over you.

“Y/N, come on. Wake up. You can’t black out now.” You could hear his voice, hearing a twinge of concern and you knew he was right. This wasn’t over yet.

You could tell from the slight strain in his voice he must’ve gone through some sort of Hell of his own these past couple of days. But you couldn’t focus on that right now. It was getting harder to focus on anything but you started to get up and you felt Ben’s hand grip your arm as he basically dragged you up from the ground.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you and you nodded your head slightly, not wanting to move it too much because you felt like your head would explode if you did.

“Fine. Let’s get out of here.” You said and as you were rubbing your eyes to try and get them to focus again, Ben must’ve taken one of the doctor’s scrub pants because when you opened your eyes again, he had a pair of those light blue pants on and some poor guy was sitting there with nothing to cover his lower half.

You and Ben rushed out of the room and you could hear some gunshots.

“Come on, we have to find Butcher.” You said.

“Wait, you brought that asshole with you?” Ben asked.

“Ben, I had to. He was the only one that I could get to tell me where Mallory lived so I could even find this place. Can we talk about that later?” You said.

The two of you began running and that was when you saw a glimpse of Mallory trying to get out of the building and you glared, “Oh Hell no.”

Just as she made it outside, you rushed outside as well. Then you lifted your hands and several boulders appeared from the ground and you used them to crush each and every car that the woman could have possibly used to escape. There were about six vans, three cars, and two cargo vans that must’ve been used for the equipment they used to torture Ben. Every one of them were nothing but useless car parts now.

You saw Grace look back at you before she tried to run off and you clenched your fist and pulled your hand to yourself. Just as you did, the earth rose up and grasped Grace before pulling her to yourself. You rotated your wrist and the earth moved to make the old woman face you.

“I thought of all people, you’d know how much Soldier Boy meant to me. You even worked with me to bring Vought down just to prove they were the ones behind his whole so called death charade. To think you’d be one of the ones that would try to take him from me again.” You said and Mallory looked at you.

When we figured out what we needed to, we would have given him up.” Mallory said and you scoffed.

“If it were up to you, you would have given me a rotting carcass.” You continued.

“How far did you get, huh? What exactly have you found?” You asked and she shook her head.

“I haven’t found anything other than the Novichok because of Frenchie.” She said and you glared as you tightened your fist, causing the earth to act as an iron maiden, threatening to pierce the old woman’s body.

“I swear! Radiation does nothing but strengthen his energy blasts. Vapors just act as an anesthetic to keep him stabilized. That’s all I know.”

“Good… that’s the last thing you’ll ever find out about him.” You promised and with a snap of your fingers, the spikes went through Mallory’s body. She didn’t even have the chance to scream before the life left her eyes.

When you released the earth’s grip on her body, she plopped to the ground almost like a sack of potatoes. She was nothing but a bloody mess with holes in her clothes where her wounds were.

“Y/N! What did you do?!” Butcher called out.

When you turned around, you saw both Ben and Butcher walking forward. But everything that’s happened in the last several moments took a lot from you. The blurriness returned and that was the last you remembered.

Ben’s eyes widened when he saw you start to fall and he started running to you.

“Fucking Hell.” Ben said as he caught you just in time, knowing you must’ve overdone it. Your recovery time must’ve gotten longer since the tower. This whole rescue thing didn’t help at all.

“She bloody killed Mallory!” Butcher exclaimed and Ben glared.

“Like you’ve never killed anyone before.” Ben reminded.

Ben noticed Butcher went over to the woman and watched as Butcher sighed a little.

“She was ready to see her family though. She’d been ready for a long time.” Butcher said and Ben just let out a hum, not really interested as he looked down at you.

He put his hand on the pile point in your neck and let out a breath of relief. Then, Ben looked over at the building that had kept him the past several days. He carefully laid you down on the ground for a moment before he focused his energy to his center again. Afterwards, the next thing he knew there was another explosion and the building and everything inside was destroyed.

“You’ve gotten better at that, haven’t you?” Butcher said and Ben looked over at the man in the coat.

“I guess.” He said before Ben turned his attention back to you. He knelt down at your side before he took you into his arms again and he stood up. He felt the way your body leaned into his chest and he was honestly glad you found him. But he needed to get you some place safe so you could recover.

“You think she’ll be alright?” Butcher asked as he walked over but Ben could sense the sort of caution Butcher had.

“You know I’m not a ticking time bomb, right? Yeah, she’ll be okay. Just need to get her somewhere safe so she could rest up.” Ben said.

Butcher rubbed the back of his neck. A part of him didn’t want to help Soldier Boy since he would have killed Ryan if he had the chance, but aside from the threat you made, you were alright for a supe he supposed. You weren’t his favorite person in the world, but you did promise to keep Soldier Boy accountable and you said you’d stay away from everyone’s families if you got Soldier Boy back.

“Come on… I know a thing or two about stealing cars. I’ll give you a card and you can get her to a hotel to rest up.” Butcher said.

Ben looked up at Butcher, almost wondering if this was some kind of joke or if this was some trick. Could you blame him for being hesitant when the man turned on him back in the tower?

“Why? I didn’t kill Homelander and Y/N killed your little friend.” Ben said.

“If she can keep somebody like you in line when you can’t be killed, then we need her around. The world does. Just don’t let anyone here catch you around. Especially MM. He still wants to kill you.” Butcher said.

“Now are you coming or not?”

Ben was still skeptical about this whole thing, but he knew he didn’t have any other choice. So he nodded and he carried you out to Butcher’s car and the three of you rode somewhere to try and steal someone’s car from some gas station or something.

Ben was sitting down beside you on the bed while you rested. By that time, Ben had already used the card to buy himself some clothes so he wasn’t wandering around in scrub pants. He was wearing some t-shirt and some sweatpants and he had some socks on his feet.

Other than that, he hadn’t left your side. He wanted to make sure he was there for you whenever you’d wake up. Although he knew it may take a little longer than he wanted to. Still, it had been several hours since the both of you left Mallory’s little lab or whatever. It couldn’t be too much longer now, could it?

He gazed at your figure and he reached out to brush a stray hair away from your face. Then he moved to reach for the remote on the night stand so there would be some kind of background noise rather than the silence.

Ben looked over at the television and noticed some trailers for some new movies were out. He rolled his eyes a little. There were times where he got really tired of seeing supe movies. So Ben used the remote to try and find something worth watching. Then he saw a black and white film, something that took him back in time.

He recognized Clark Gable and Doris Day on the screen and it made him smile when he was able to at least recognize those faces, even if they weren’t exactly his favorite actors. The movie was apparently called Teacher’s Pet when he saw the title on the screen before it flashed away.

Ben started growing a little more interested in the old movie, there was something about it that felt more familiar to him. Maybe it was because it was something from a familiar time.

“You know, I loved Clark Gable back in the day.” Ben heard a familiar voice say and when he looked down, he saw your beautifully colored eyes opened and on the screen.

He smiled as he turned the volume down since the television switched to some adds now and he turned to face you, “You’re awake.”

“How long was I ou-“ He interrupted you with a kiss, unable to wait any longer.

He could hear you chuckling against his mouth and he slowly pulled away and he looked down at you, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing…. I’m just glad to see you too.” He heard you say and he grinned before he cupped your face in the palm of his hand.

“You over did yourself again.” Ben stated.

“Twice.” You answered.

“I know. You wanna tell me about the tower?” He asked and you shook your head a little.

“Not much to tell. You went out the window, I went to panic mode that switched to some kind of rage mode. I’m surprised I was awake right after. I looked for you but realized I hat to run. Found some abandoned building to crash in and I crashed there for a while. The first two days I felt like I’d puke if I even thought about standing. By day three I was able to at least walk.” You said and Ben sighed.

“You really shouldn’t use your powers for a while.”

“Since when did you become a doctor?” He heard you ask and he saw your smile.

“I’d make a pretty shit doctor. But I’d rather not watch you black out again.” He admitted and you nodded before he felt you move closer to him, so Ben wrapped an arm around your smaller frame.

“What about you? How are you feeling?” Ben heard you question and he smiled a little. But then he remembered some pain killers or whatever other kind of drugs Butcher handed him before he went back to his little group.

“I’m fine. A hell of a lot better now that I’m away from that place. But here, take this. Butcher said it’s supposed to help with whatever migraine you might get.” He said and handed you some water and a couple of pills.

He watched you sit up and you took the pills before you started drinking some water.

“How long have I been out?” You finally asked him and Ben shrugged a little.

“Several hours.”

“So… what do we do from here?” He heard you ask and he chuckled a little.

“I thought you would have thought about it a little more. What’s the situation with your house? Couldn’t we just go back there?” Ben asked but then he watched you shake your head.

“No, Vought got to it and destroyed pretty much everything. Honestly, I think our best bet may be leaving the country.” You admitted and Ben frowned at that idea.

“You really think we have to go to that extreme? Mallory remained off the radar for several years and so did you, and you were able to stay in the states.” Ben stated, you hummed a little.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if I can go into hiding again so soon. Who knows if Vought has people all over the country looking for me. Maybe even you if word were to get out that you’re alive.” You said.

“You act like Vought’s got a shit ton of snipers crawling all over the place.” Ben sighed and you shrugged.

“Who knows… you never know what Vought has up their sleeves. And I really don’t want to stick around and find out.” You said.

“If we’re out of the country for at least a year, maybe two. That way Vought thinks we’re out of the picture and it opens some sort of door for us to come back. You know they’re all about their fake deaths for supes they lose or force into retirement. Until then, maybe we can travel. It could be really fun.” You continued.

“Traveling.. might sound alright for a while. At least until things quiet down a bit. People already think I’m dead because of Vought I’m sure.” Ben commented and he watched you nod, confirming his statement.

“So where do you think we should go first?” You asked and Ben felt you place a hand on his own, causing him to grin as he intertwined your fingers.

“As long as we aren’t in Russia, I’ll be happy.” Ben reminded.

“Well, I kind of figured that would be a given… what about Ireland?” You suggested and Ben thought about it for a moment.

“You know what? I think that sounds like a great idea.”

Ben watched the way you smiled softly and he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead while you snuggled closer to him. He looked down at you, loving the fact that you were in his arms again.

“Thank you.. for coming and saving me.” He whispered and you hummed softly.

“Ben, that’s not anything to thank me for. When you love someone, you’d do anything to make sure they’re safe. I lost you once when you went out of the country, then again at Vought when Queen Maeve pushed you out of that window. I couldn’t lose you again after I just got you back.” You insisted.

Ben’s gaze softened. If he wasn’t mistaken, that may have even been the first time you said you loved him, even if it was in some sort of descriptive way. He knew you loved him based on the letters you’ve written him over the years, but he’s never heard you actually say it.

“God, you’re nothing like Crimson Countess, are you?” Ben chuckled and you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t think I could hate you nearly as much as she did.” You replied, he hummed as he looked down at you, observing your features.

“My world would crumble if you hated me half as much as she did. Then it would completely disappear if anything were to happen to you, if I lost you.” He admitted.

There was a change in the dynamic between the two of you in that moment, a shift in the atmosphere in a way. It was something the two of you hadn’t been able to sit and relish in ever since he came back. The two of you had been so preoccupied with his mission of killing the members of Payback, then the Homelander fiasco, then you rescuing him from Mallory’s lab.

“You know… when I woke up and heard the TV… a part of me wondered if everything that’s happened this past week and a half has been a dream.” You admitted.

“How do you mean?” Ben said gently.

“I mean… You’ve been gone for so long… I spent years in my house writing all of those letters. I’ve spent countless nights dreaming of what it would be like if you were to come back. This whole endeavor… A part of me thought after Mallory’s lab, that was just the end of another dream. A part of me wonders if I’ll ever get over the surrealism.”

Ben chuckled, “You really must’ve worn yourself out if you’re still thinking it was all a dream after this whole time.”

“Well, Ben… why don’t you show me how real all of this is?” You asked him, then a smirk started to appear on Ben’s face.

“With pleasure.” Ben said as he leaned down for a kiss. A kiss that would surely take your breath away and show you that this was reality. That this would be your new reality for the rest of your life and that you’d never lose him again.

After so many decades of being away from Ben, you knew what it was like to wander the earth as if you’d lost your other half. You knew how it felt to be so alone for so many years. You’ve felt out of place for so long but with Ben in your grasp again, you felt whole, complete. It was a happiness you hadn’t felt in so long and you were glad you finally had the man you loved beside you again and you couldn’t wait to see how the next several decades would treat the both of you.

It would certainly be an adventure, one you were more than eager to share with Ben for the rest of your life.

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @nancymcl @jackles010378 @hobby27 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @prettyinplaid94 @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @capricxnt @k-slla @david-tennant-obsessed-blog @deangirl96 @mimaria420 @ashdoctor @muhahaha303 @angelbabyyy99

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Late Bloomer" (pt 1 of 2)

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x female reader

Tags: human trafficking, dark!Lloyd, significant undefined age gap, older man/younger reader, daddy/girl, dub con with significant non con elements, first time, innocence kink, loss of virginity, exploitation, dacryphilia, size kink, dumbification, misogyny, squirting, forced orgasm, p in v sex, light degradation, pet names, oral sex: m! and f! receiving, sexual awakening, age play vibes, little!reader, but not really: she's just drugged and really really dumb.

Word Count: 5754

Summary: She’s the purest thing he’s ever touched, this soft, tearful, quivering creature in his hands. He’s never felt such lust and violence at the same time. He desperately needs to ruin her. And yet somehow, also desperately, he needs to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.

A.N.: The age gap is left undefined. The OF is not the girl from the movie, which I haven't seen. I don't write characters as explicitly younger than 18 on Tumblr, after having a foul staff member equate any and all teenage pairings with CSAM.

That said, this fic is dark. It was started as a way to check off some of my hardest Bingo squares without actually going there, with the themes that were outside my wheelhouse or too ick for me to write. My MCU Kink Bingo card in particular, has a few of these whammies.

He imagines her as a rose: fragrant and velvet-soft. Imagines crushing her in his hand, plucking her petals off one by one, until there's nothing left.

Lloyd's always loved ruining pretty things.

The job doesn't go quite as planned, but Lloyd can be a go-with-the-flow, adapt-to-the-demands-of-the-moment type guy when he needs to be, he gets creative, and in the end it all works out alright.

The not-insubstantial bounty for the Russian perverts is regrettably forfeited when he loses his temper and gives them the brutal executions that they deserve. But that money can be made back if he finds a buyer for the yacht, he's managed to eliminate a few deplorables, and he's gained himself an unexpected prize, to boot.

Not a bad day for doing crime.

They shove the bodies overboard and retire for the night, headed for their rendezvous with the Powerbroker in Madripoor. Lloyd's men handle the cargo, already under strict orders not to touch the younger ones, whom Lloyd figures he'll arrange to have dumped off at an embassy once they dock in Jakarta.

Maybe he'll call up The Nomad Formally Known as Captain America and tip him off. Asshole has been on his tail annoyingly much, these past few months. Lloyd should send the righteous old fossil a reminder that there are way bigger scumbags plaguing the planet than his little band of hired guns.

The older girls seem relieved to have been liberated and they don't put up much of a fuss when they're divvied up amongst Lloyd's crew for the evening. Lloyd's personal pick, the poor thing whom he'd had to physically wrestle away from Yuri with a flare gun pressed right to her head, has been locked down in a stateroom to try and calm her down.

Despite what some people say, Lloyd's not an inconsiderate monster, so he does freshen up first, showering all the blowback off his face and changing into something comfortable before heading below deck. He keys in the code for the room, which is large and lavish and looks exactly like something a Russian billionaire would design. All money, no taste.

The girl's on the bed. She's still crying, but it's a pretty type of crying, rather than hysterical or snotty; tears that enhance rather than detract; the type of thing a man can really appreciate, if so inclined.

Lloyd steps into the room, takes a deep breath and reminds himself to take his time with this. No sense rushing it and wasting a good thing. He's going to savor every moment.

She squeaks when she sees him there. "Oh!"

"Shh, sh sh," he soothes. "There there now. Why're you crying, Buttercup? There's nothing to cry about. Not anymore."

He shuts the door behind himself with a gentle sound, but even though he's cooing a slew of placating nonsense at her, she still cries out in a desperate little, "No!"

"Hey, it's okay."

"Nnngh ... s-stay back!"

Lloyd's cleaned himself up since their encounter above deck, but the poor thing did just watch him collapse Yuri's face in with a pipe, so he shouldn't be surprised that she's scared. "I'm not here to hurt you," he says, then pauses when he sees that it's the gun in his hand that she's staring fearfully at.

Oh. Right. That makes sense. He'd had the muzzle of the thing pressed against her temple not too long ago, after all. Maybe he should've left that out of sight. 

It's not like he'll need it to subdue her. Moving slowly and pointedly, he sets it down and holds up his empty hands. "There. It's not even a real gun, see? It was all for show, just a flare gun. It can't hurt you."

(Eh. True, it had been for show, but not so true that it couldn't have rearranged her face if he'd wanted it to. Whatever. Details.)

"It was just a little bit of drama, you understand? To make things go the way I needed them to up there. Men like that only respond to one thing." She blinks at him and he offers her a gentle smile. "L. Hansen. Freelance contractor, or rescuer, in your case. You're welcome."

"And ... those guys?"

He tuts. "Fish food, now. They've been taken care of." He takes a step closer, keeping an eye on her in case she's thinking of bolting. She still isn't here by choice, after all. As far as she knows, Lloyd is just the least bad of all the bad guys.

(Which isn't un-true).

He joins her on the bed, where she's still curled on her side, the odd sniffle and overwhelmed hiccup escaping her here and there. "Hey, hey, hey now." He crawls up beside her and forces her onto her back, which isn't hard to do with the fragile state she's already got herself worked up into. He shushes her fearful whimpers and tucks her hair behind her ear with a tender look. "You're real pretty when you cry, Angel, but I promise there's no need. Not anymore. That's all over, okay? I've got you now. You're safe."

The sweet thing sniffles and blinks up at him through clumped lashes. "I am?" she asks, the instinctive trust in her voice making Lloyd's cock thicken in his pants as he realizes that she's got about two brain cells to rub together. "Y-you promise?"

Oh, this is gonna be so fun.

He smiles down at her. "Yeah, Cupcake. I promise. You're completely safe with me." He taps her dainty little ski slope nose with a finger. "I bought you, remember? So that none of those nasty men can ever touch you again, only me. That's the rules."

For a second, the girl's chin wobbles, her eyes welling with uncertainty and the threat of more tears. But Lloyd's had enough of her being upset, doesn't have the patience to spend half the night calming her down when he's already exerted himself so much for her benefit already. Five guys are dead, his bank account is a couple hundred grand lighter (at least temporarily), he's lost the bounty he came for in the first place, and there are going to be a fascinating array of bruises on his body by morning. All this trouble, all this work for her. He's tired now, his day is over, he wants his payoff.

"Hey," he says firmly, holding her chin between two fingers. "I said: calm down. You're safe with me. Nobody's gonna hurt you anymore. You're just going to have nice things and feel good from now on. I'll take care of you."

She sniffles. "You will?"

Wow. She really is as dumb as advertised. Lloyd hums. "Sure will, Cupcake. Only nice things. Just so long as you be my good girl and do what I want. And that'll be easy as pie, because I'll always tell you what I want."

She bites her lip and lets it slip back out slowly between the grasp of her teeth. And the best part about it is that she's not even trying to be coy: she's literally just this clueless. "But," she hedges. "... what do you want?"

He smiles down at her and palms the side of her face. "Just you, Buttercup," he purrs, arousal and anticipation making his pants tight as he takes in just how beautiful she really is, with her porcelain-smooth skin and soft jaw, her baby-fat cheeks and wide, watery eyes. She really is like a doll come to life. 

Lloyd can't wait to wreck her. 

"What's your name, Princess?" he asks, coaxing her with a kind expression that she gravitates towards. "Hm? You can tell me. I'm Lloyd."

She giggles and looks away. "That's a funny name."

"Is it?" He laughs along with her and nods. "Yeah I suppose it is. I didn't pick it, unfortunately. But I'm going to pick your name. Something real beautiful and delicate, just like you. I'm thinking some kind of flower. How bout that?"

An adorable little frown pinches in the space between her eyebrows. "What? But, my name is - "

"I know, I know," he cuts her off, already knowing what she's going to say. He sticks his bottom lip out at her in a playful pout. "But that's such a little girl's name, don't you think? We should pick something new, since you're starting over new with me. Something more ... fitting."

He lets his eyes drag up and down her faintly curved form, the body that somebody above deck decided would be best appreciated in a tiny cotton top and pair of pink panties. If it wasn't so cute, it'd piss him off: those creeps dressing her in little girl undies in their effort to hock her along with the rest of the wares. But anyone with eyes can see she's not like the other merchandise.

Lloyd trails one finger over her hip and into the valley of her waist, appreciating the particular season of life she's in. She's limber and nubile, body almost grown into itself. A still-green sapling that's not quite done taking shape, with branches that are still soft enough to be trained this way or that as she approaches womanhood. She's malleable, moldable. Ripe for the picking.

The night above deck may have ended up in violence, but Lloyd came on-board peaceably, under the guise of a buyer, and it hadn't slipped his notice that her age was pointedly left off the dossier. It means she's quite a bit older than she looks, and the sellers hadn't wanted to lead with that.

Despite the pleasure Lloyd got out of ripping those perverts' nuts off, he still knows the business, understands the concept of maximizing one's buyer pool. Sex traffickers gonna sex traffic, and all that. But even still, there's a reason he didn't mind forfeiting that bounty. He's no hero, but he's done his bit to help. Now he fully intends to reap the benefits that've fallen into his lap as a direct result of a bunch of Russian perverts also happening to be lying salesmen.

"I'm keeping you for myself," he tells her, with another affectionate tap on the nose. "You're a very special, beautiful girl."

Her eyes widen at what she clearly perceives as a compliment, and she leans closer in a way that's so honestly naive, it makes Lloyd wonder if the dealers "enhanced" her with anything, pre-sale. He won't complain if they did, he doesn't mind a braindead bimbo, but it'd be nice to know if this is all chemically assisted, or just a natural gift. The thought nearly makes him snicker when he has it: Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's Maybelline lobotomy.

"You're special," he tells her again, trailing his fingers over her bare shoulder. "A real natural beauty."

She shakes her head bashfully. "No, m' not. I'm ... plain."

He scoffs, though privately he's thrilled (girls with low self esteem always give the best head.) "Honey, you wouldn't be in this room with me if you were 'plain'," he deadpans, not missing how she shifts and glances down at her body self-consciously. "Trust me, Sweetcheeks: men don't spend the kind of money that I just did, if what they're buying isn't astoundingly precious."

She squirms and her lashes lower onto heat-stained cheeks. "I dunno," she mumbles, embarrassed as she obviously recites someone else's words: "M' a late bloomer."

Lloyd laughs. "Well hey, that's okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about, you know. I'm glad."

"You ... are?" She peeks up at him and Lloyd smiles.

"Yeah, Baby. I am. Don't you know the best part about having a flower is getting to watch it bloom?" He thumbs at the little Botticelli cleft she's got in her chin and savors the shudder that travels through her body at that, enjoying the reaction, how hopelessly vulnerable she is. "You know," he muses, turning into her more and pressing her into the blankets. "I think that's going to be your name: Blossom. Would you like that?"

"oh—"

He cuts off that small, surprised sound by kissing her—slowly. He doesn't do much with it at first, because he wants to soak up her inexperienced reactions; wants to feel her hot little gasp of surprise and the softness of her lips pressed to his, her body stiffening and then liquifying underneath the foreign touch of a man. She doesn't know how to handle it, squeaking against his mouth and pushing up against him as his body presses her down.

"It's okay," he whispers. "You're just perfect, Little one. A perfect, tender blossom." His hand migrates to her waist and digs into all of that give, violence and lust bubbling to the forefront of his mind at how fucking delicate she is. He imagines her as a rose: fragrant and velvet-soft. Imagines crushing her in his hand, plucking her petals off one by one, until there's nothing left.

He's always liked ruining pretty things.

"Please," she whispers, trembling. Fuck.

He licks at the seam of her lips and lets his hand drag over her belly while he whispers: "I can't wait to see you bloom, Little flower." Dips inside with the tip of his tongue: "Watch you open up for me." Cups her over the front of her panties: "Watch you unfurl."

"Oh." She sighs, hips juddering reactively up against his palm and then squeaking at the jolt of pleasure it sends through her. Lloyd gives her more pressure and smiles right in her face as she gasps.

"That feels nice, doesn't it?"

"Yy-yeah, but—oh! n-no ... wait, wait, I can't." Her hips kick up again and she whines at her own body's reactions. "Nnn, wait ..." Her hands grab at Lloyd's wrist where he's cupping her, but when he doesn't stop rocking his palm she grapples up at his shoulders instead, giving adorable little pushes that do absolutely nothing other than spur him on.

"C'mon Angel, none of that," he chides, slotting his leg forward in place of his hand so that he can reach up and coax her hands away from fighting him. He envelops her wrists and gently presses them into the blankets at either side of her head. And Jesus fuck, her wrists are tiny. He could hold both of them in one of his, easily. "Relax, Baby. I'm not gonna hurt you. Just want to make you feel good."

She whimpers when his clothed thigh grinds up against her core, her eyes getting watery again. "Ooh ..."

"Yeah. It's okay," he soothes, giving her another kiss, this time a little deeper, guiding her a little more while she writhes against the pressure of his thigh. "There you go," he praises, pretending that he doesn't know that her writhing is still part struggle. "See? Doesn't that feel nice?"

"P-please," she says, "I-I can't."

"Sure you can." He releases one of her wrists and laces their fingers together. "Just relax. I've got you."

"But, I've never," she cries. "Please, I don't ... I've never ... "

"Oh, Sweetheart." Though he'd figured she was a virgin, hearing her whimper it up at him so sweetly has his cock throbbing against the seam of his joggers. He nuzzles her cheek and coos, "You trying to tell me you've never been with a man, is that it?" She keens in embarrassment and he shushes her. "Hey, that's okay. That's perfectly okay."

She sniffles and squirms against him. "Nnn. But I'm not ... I-I don't know how. And you're a ... a ..."

He chuckles. "I'm a what?"

"... a man," she whispers, face flaming.

"Yeah, I am. But that's good, Honey. Dont'cha think? Every girl needs a man to teach her things, at some point. And it's that time for you."

She mewls helplessly in her throat and shakes her head, not noticing that her crotch is still grinding up on him as she does. "But what if I ... what if I can't ..."

"Don't worry," he tuts. He thumbs fondly at the damp corner of an eye until she peeks up at him. "I told you, Petal: I want to see you bloom." She colors beautifully at that and ducks her chin, and Lloyd dips down to kiss her again, not letting up until he feels her body soften to it a little bit more. She seems to realize what her hips are doing and freezes, but he just grabs her and guides her back into the rhythm, groaning when she starts up again. "There you go. Good girl."

"Lloyd ..."

"Don't be afraid. We'll take it slow, okay? I'll guide you, show you everything you need to know."

She sniffles and shivers, still teary-eyed, but she isn't pushing against him anymore. "Will it hurt?" she whispers.

Lloyd's cock gives a mighty throb and his eyes darken. "No, Blossom," he promises. "It won't hurt. Cause I'm gonna open you up real gentle and slow, show you how it can feel so, so good, okay?" He nudges her nose with his when she doesn't answer. "Tell me you understand, Little flower."

"Mmm." She's so shy, so reluctant and sweet. It makes Lloyd's cock ache worse than anything. "... Okay," she eventually whispers.

He hums knowingly and gives her one last peck on the lips before pulling back to undress. He goes slow enough not to spook her, but fast enough that he isn't drawing it out needlessly and scaring her any worse. He's prepared to hold her down if she starts struggling again, but that's not how he wants this to go. He really does want to watch her unfurl.

Her eyes widen and she stares at him with parted lips as he strips out of his clothes and his body is revealed. She seems stuck in place; a deer in headlights, fascinated and terrified—even more so, once he gets his cock out.

He angles it downward and gives himself a slow, tight tug, watching her watch him, soaking up the look of a girl who's having her first real sexual experience. She bites her lip and stares at his hand on his cock, eyes flitting between the weeping tip and his fist, his heavy sac and powerful thighs and back up again. Her brow is pinched and she keeps dragging her lip through her teeth, and Lloyd's balls ache at how tender it is to get to see her appreciating a man's body for the first time; losing this one, innocent part of herself. The very first petal to fall.

Still, he feigns ignorance with a coaxing, "You ever been naked with a man like this, Baby?" He knows that she hasn't, knows what a frightened and turned on virgin looks like. The poor thing is trembling in her skin, completely lost for what to do. Her mouth works like she'll answer verbally, but when she can't seem to make that happen, she just shakes her head a little instead.

"Mmn. Mm mn."

He nods in understanding. "Okay, Blossom. That's just fine." He lies over her again, abandoning his cock and touching the bottom hem of her little top. Fittingly, there are tiny, pale pink rosebuds printed on it. "Can I take this off?" he asks, tracing up to her ribcage and back down from over the cotton. "Hm?" He holds her gaze as he starts gently edging up the fabric. Her belly quakes and she whines nervously, but she lifts her arms for him when it's time, and he praises her with another quiet 'good girl'.

She's wearing a little bralette under the top, with lace edges and a delicate material that provides absolutely no structure. It doesn't even quite conceal the soft shade of her nipples peeking through. Lloyd groans lowly and skims his hands over them. "Fuck, Petal." She inhales noticeably at that, and he shoots her a grin. "Aw, you like that one, huh?" he teases. "My little flower Petal." he ghosts his fingers over her breasts, back and forth, until her nipples are fully pebbled and poking against the thin fabric. "So pretty," he murmurs.

She squirms, flustered, arms pressing in against her sides like she's fighting the urge to cover herself. "They're not ..." she starts, biting her lip and not finishing what she was going to say as her face flames.

"What?" Lloyd coaxes.

"Just ... they're not ... very big."

He doesn't bother to school the displeasure from his face, his eyes darkening as he growls in disapproval. It works in that her eyes pop up to him, wide and questioning. He shakes his head and lets his weight come down more, holding her down with his body and palming greedily at her little breasts. "No," he agrees roughly, rubbing and groping her. "They're not very big, are they?" He leers and pushes the little excuse for a bra up over them. "Sweet little mountain peaks," he teases. She squeaks and tries to cover herself, but Lloyd isn't having it. He knocks her hands away with a warning look. "Don't do that. I want to see you. All of you." He helps her slip the bralette over her head, tossing it aside and returning to take both of those chubby little swells in his palms, cupping and pressing them together as much as they'll go. "Jesus," he curses softly.

They're small and underdeveloped, more mound than slope, jutting out from her chest in youthful defiance. They're so innocent, so cheeky and plump. The sight of them makes that base, destructive desire surface in him again; the urge he sometimes gets to devour and claim and take, to ruin something that's so pretty and good. Lloyd wonders if that's what makes him a sociopath. "Such pretty tits," he praises, then lowers his face to seal his mouth over one, puffy nipple.

She squeaks, frightened at first, but she must be sensitive there because all it takes is one or two firm sucks and she's loosing the most gorgeous, helpless moans. Her hips kick up and Lloyd hums around his mouthful. He gives her more pressure through his thigh, pleased when she grinds up with real purpose.

"Yeah," he encourages. He pulls away and glances up from the level of her chest to find her staring at him with that same, pinched expression, but sloe-eyed instead of wide-eyed, now. Cupping the swollen tip of her breast and swiping out with his tongue, he watches as it makes her face absolutely crumple in desire.

"Ohn, god."

"See?" he says, nodding at the next uncoordinated roll of her hips. "It's all gonna be okay. Just gotta let me show you."

As turned on as she is, she still sniffles, her eyes flitting over him, afraid of what she doesn't know, unable to conceal her nervous interest. He can see her trying to look down and catch sight of his cock again, and he rumbles in approval and lets it drag against her hip. "You want to touch it?" he teases, then chuckles when she clamps her eyes shut and shakes her head with a stubborn little, uh uh. "Aw, that's okay, Sweetheart. You're shy. That's to be expected."

"M'not."

He laughs at her and gives her breast one last, affectionate kiss. "Don't lie, Buttercup. It's fine. Lots of girls are like that, you know. Nervous about touching, unsure, need to feel good before they can really let go enough and explore the way they want to. So how about ... I help you relax first?"

"Mmn." She whines and refuses to look at him. "... How?"

He sinks down her body, hands dragging over her waist and hips, holding her down with a chiding little tut when she squirms a little too much. "Shh. There's a girl." He forces her legs open and shoulders his way in there, and that's what seems to get her to still. He kisses her belly with a pleased hum, right at the top edge of the panties, where there's a tiny silk bow and green peapod detail. Lloyd groans at the sight of it and gives it a little kiss. "Have you ever had an orgasm, Sweetpea?"

"What?!" She huffs in embarrassment and tosses her head. "Noo. I, I don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” he teases.

“That."

"No?" He smirks and looks down to where there's a telling wet patch on the gusset of her panties. "Hm. You mean you don't touch yourself?" As inexperienced as she is, he still finds it hard to believe that a girl could get to her age without exploring. He places a coaxing line of kisses down the inner crease of her thigh. "Not even a little bit? Maybe sometimes at night?” 

“I … I don’t …”

“Don’t what?" He blows gently against her. "Don’t ever wake up from a dream with that tight and achy feeling deep inside your tummy?”

“Ohh.”

“Don’t let your hands start to creep down here? Don’t rub a little to try and make it feel better?"

She whines again and squirms, though it's not a fight to get away so much as it is pure nerves and embarrassment. She even seems a little mad at him for teasing her so much. It makes him chuckle and push her thighs wider so he can really get his face down there. "Oh, no. Don't pretend you haven't touched this little flower. You've closed your eyes and let your hands wander." He takes one of her hands in his and brings it down, ignoring her grunt of protest and guiding her to cup herself. Instantly, her fingers go to her clit, and Lloyd snickers. "Yes, you’ve touched. But you haven’t made yourself cum?" 

“Please,” she begs. “It doesn't work. I just … I can’t.”

“Aw, you can’t?” He pouts along with her in mock sympathy. “Well what've you tried, babygirl? Maybe you're just not doin' it right."

"Nnngh." She bites her lip and stares down at their joined hands with flushed cheeks. "I don't ... I dunno, please."

He releases her hand and pushes it out of the way. "See, that's what you need a man like me for. Too desperate to figure out how to make that itch go away by yourself. Poor, confused little thing." She makes an angry sound in protest, but it's easily subdued by another firm grab and press of her hips down into the blankets. He snickers at her token outrage. "Shh. That's alright, Blossom, that's alright. Just one more first I get to give you. I’m looking forward to it." He gives the waistband of her panties another kiss. "Girls aren't like boys, you know. You don't just wake up one morning, pulling at your pud. It's more complicated than that. You have to learn what feels good, learn how to get yourself worked up." He looks up her body and offers her a tender smile. "That's why it's important to have a teacher, Sweetpea. Someone who knows these things, someone who can guide you."

She sniffles. "You can?"

"Sure I can. Here, let's try a few things, why don't we? See what sorts of touches you like." He wants to rip her panties off yesterday, but forces himself to remember the plan of taking things slow and savoring every moment. He's only going to get to do this once, after all. So he waits for her barely-there nod, and then grasps the top edge of the panties right over that obscene little fucking peapod, and gives a jostle, gently tug-tug-tugging the fabric up against her mound, pulling it just enough to get the seam angled over her clit. 

She gasps at the sensation, a surprised little "oh!" escaping her lips.

Lloyd hums. “S'that feel good, Sweetheart?"

"Nnnh."

"Hmm. Yeah. You like a little gentle pressure like that? Are you a glancing touch kind of gal?" A few more exploratory, barely-there tugs and he can tell that she is, even though she clearly has no concept of what that means. He drops the panties and lets his fingers trail along the crease of her thigh, relishing every twitch and shiver he gets from her.

Somebody has waxed her bare beneath the fabric, and Lloyd sneers in distaste and purposefully doesn’t let himself think about why that is. "Oh, yes," he says when he sees that the wet spot on her panties has grown. "You like to be teased." She keens in protest, though she's thankfully past the point of outright denying the obvious. Lloyd rewards her with a press of his face against her crotch, inhaling and letting his nose dig into her clit from over the fabric. “Mmhm. Slickin’ right through your panties.”

"Oh!" Her hands suddenly appear in his hair, scrabbling, clutching. “Oh, oh no …”

He laughs a hot breath right against her cunt. "That's okay, Princess. That's good. I like that you’re sensitive.” He gives her one last kiss from over the underwear and then curls his fingers into the waistband. “Wanna take these off?"

"Nnoo," she moans, while doing absolutely nothing to stop him as he pulls them off her.

He eases them down her legs, gently shushing and praising her for her obedience when she lets him settle his shoulders back in between her legs after tossing the panties aside.

"Such a good girl," he murmurs, hooking one hand under her thigh to push and make room, the other sliding over her soft belly. He tugs her closer to his face, inhaling her scent and groaning at finally getting to see her.

One good thing about a bare pussy: there’s no hiding the state of it.

"Blossom," he breathes. "Look at you. You're soaked." 

She is. The delicate petals of her sex are already spread and slicked, puffy and swollen with arousal. He groans and lets his tongue dart out for a quick taste, reveling in the sweet tang of her, the way that she gasps and her belly tenses underneath his hand. She’s trembling, squirming, trying so hard not to hump up against his face, not to make noise even though it’s obviously what she wants to do. “It’s okay,” he tells her, dipping down for another long lick through her folds, nudging her clit with his nose, his mustache.

“Ohn!” she cries, but the sound cuts off into a desperate yelp at the end as she tries to silence herself. "Nnnh!" 

He makes an admonishing grunt where he’s got his face buried against her. “Hey,” he snaps, when he glances up and sees her fingers in her mouth. He knocks her hand away. “Quit it.”

“I’m not! I’m—” 

He hauls her in harshly and sucks her clit into his mouth until it elicits the squeal he was looking for, a tortured little ‘ognfuck!’ that comes from deep in her belly. He pops off with a satisfied growl. “There. Like that. That’s better.” He softens his tone when she whimpers and kisses the hood of her clit. “It’s okay to enjoy it, Petal. I know it feels good. So stop trying to hold it in, okay? You gotta let me hear you.”

“Please,” she whispers, eyes shining down at him. Fuck, the tears are back. “Please, please,”

“Please what, Princess?”

“Nnn! I – I need …”

Aaand her voice is back to warbling and overwhelmed, prompting Lloyd to grind his dick against the mattress just for a little fucking relief. This girl is sweet in every fucking way imaginable, and now she’s trembling and welling up with tears again, just the way he loves to see. Only this time it’s not in fear. She’s finally losing control of herself enough to let go and open up—unfurling for him, just like the flower he knew she was.

“Tell me, Petal,” he murmurs, tickling her with his mustache again. “C’mon. Tell me. Tell me what you need to cum. Do you even know?”

“Please, nngh, please …” 

He nuzzles her clit and laps languorously at her drenched slit, over and over, proactively tightening his hold on her hips so that he doesn’t get his nose broken when she inevitably starts bucking. “Ohn … god!”

“Mmm hmph,” he hums, having ventured out to start giving her jabs with his tongue, forcing the muscle into her quivering little gash, over and over, teaching her what a good tongue fucking really feels like. “Mmm, mmmph.” 

“Oh, please, ohn!” Her hands clamor through his hair, messing it up as she sobs and jerks, trying to get more of his tongue in her cunt. Lloyd can’t help laughing a little bit over it, breathless and turned on by how easy she is. He goes back to suckling on her clit for a moment or two, before easing off and peering up her heaving belly with a smug grin. “So sensitive,” he coos, holding her down when she thrashes in embarrassment. “Stop, stop,” he chides, laughing, climbing back up her body and pinning her beneath his full weight. 

Her legs spread for him without conscious thought, welcoming him in even as she’s still making her angry little huffs and puffs for being teased. He kisses her, amused, forcing his tongue inside to give her a taste of her own arousal. “And that was just my mouth,” he purrs, bringing a hand up to grope at one of those fat little breasts. “Was barely even inside you. Just think about what it’ll feel like with my fingers, my cock. You want that?” 

She cries out when he plucks her nipple. She shakes her head. “Nnn.”

“What? 'Nnn'? S’that s’posed to be a no?”

“Nnnh. Yes.”

He laughs. “Aw, Cupcake. I already told you I’m gonna treat you real nice, make you feel good. Now why you gotta lie to me?” He lets his hand slip down between them, cupping her between her legs. “Does this feel like a no? Hmm?” She whimpers and he smiles and shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t, does it? Mm mn.”

She’s mewling and grinding up against the pressure of his hand despite her stupid little protests, so he hums and slips a finger down through her folds, lets the tip of it tease at her entrance. Fuck, she’s wet. “Never had anything in here?” he asks, already knowing the answer before she gives another pathetic whimper and shakes her head.

“Just … just tampons.”

“Tampons, huh?” He dips the tip of his finger, in and out, gut clenching as he feels it mouthing at him, feels all that slick. “When’s the last time you bled?” he asks. He’ll grab a condom if he needs to, but he’d rather not need to. “Hm? Come on now, don’t lie to me.”

She won’t meet his eyes, but after enough coaxing she admits that she had her period just a day ago. Lloyd nods, glad that he doesn’t have to worry about protection. Not that it isn’t fun to fantasize about knocking such a sweet little thing up, but that’s not the itch he’s scratching right now. It'll be a treat just getting to watch her bloat with his seed, before that creampie slides right back out. “Okay, then, Sweetheart,” he murmurs, finger still teasing softly right at the edge of her entrance. “I want you to look at me, girl. Want you to look right in my eyes, and relax for it.” He brushes his lips across hers. “I promise this isn’t gonna hurt.”

He eases his finger in, and the tiny little ‘oh’ and relieved sigh she gives up as he does it, is everything. Her wide eyes meet his, blinking. “Lloyd.”

“Yeah.”

“I … I …” 

“Relax, Blossom.” Lloyd’s got big fingers, and she’s clamped down tight as fuck from her nerves, but she’s so fucking wet that it doesn’t even matter, his finger slipping in past the knuckle until it’s all the way seated. Her searing heat envelops him and presses onto his palm, bringing that destructive, sexual urge bubbling right back up to the surface of his mind. 

She’s the purest thing he’s ever touched, this soft, tearful, quivering creature in his hands. He’s never felt such lust and violence at the same time. He desperately needs to ruin her … and yet somehow, also desperately, he needs to make sure he doesn’t hurt her. 

A single, overwhelmed tear breaks from her eye and tracks down her temple, disappearing into her hair. Lloyd’s mouth all but waters at the sight of it, but she doesn’t seem to notice it, too preoccupied with the feeling of him inside of her body. She’s teetering right on the precipice between terrified and fascinated as she learns this new touch, and Lloyd could bust a nut just watching it.

“Good girl,” he praises, letting his palm cup her sex as he keeps his finger buried and starts to give her gentle, gentle pulses. “See? Didn’t I tell you?”

To his utter delight, she exhales shakily and nods. “Yeah,” she whispers, biting her lip and looking down her own body to where he’s touching her. “Yeah. I … it's ... you’re …" Her eyes slam shut as his finger curls. "Oh god.”

“You’re okay. Look at me.” He rocks his hand more, giving her pressure through the heel of his hand and dragging over that soft spot inside. "Look at me, Petal."

It takes her a moment, but she manages, peeking up at him with her brow pinched and moaning softly, her hips juddering up into it. 

Lloyd smiles, lines up another finger, and soaks up her expression as he plucks off that next petal.

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[nekropsii]

♤crotuna is double awful to me as a mituna liker and also guy who is obsesessed with troll society. like thats not how kismessitude works its a rivalry you cant just put to people who dont like each other together and call it pitch. can anyone hear me. its so dark in here.

ALSO when people act like cronus couldnt abuse mituna if they were in spades... KILLING YOU WITH MY MIND. did everyone just forget about terezi and gsmzee???

Pitch is Rivalry, yeah. Competitive Self Betterment. A lot of people seem to forget some genuine affection is necessary for BlackRom to work out and that there's clear distinction between "BlackRom" and "Just Hating Someone". The reason they can get so intense is because you care about the other party. It's a hell of a lot easier to get mad at something if you care about it, either because you love that thing or because it's negatively impacting something you love. It's why politics get people so up in arms. Politics inherently spell out who you do and do not care for the lives and rights of, and if that steps on groups that represent people that others care about a lot, they're going to get angry. Because... Duh.

Abusive Kismesissitudes are real and extremely possible, and I hate when people act like "Abuse" and "Kismesissitude" are either synonymous or completely exclusive of each other. Gamzee and Terezi were directly addressed as being in an Abusive Kismesissitude. There was a whole damn arc about it. Confronting the fact that it was an Abusive Kismesissitude was done in plain terms and on screen. It's pretty clearly spelled out.

So, yeah, fully agree. Pitch CroTuna is not fucking real and it never will be, because Cronus does not love Mituna and Mituna does not love him, and they're not in a god damned Quadrant. Cronus is explicitly just Mituna's abuser, and while this does involve Cronus sexually assaulting him, the mere presence of Mituna getting assaulted does not at all equate to either of them having feelings for each other, and if you so much as imply anything near contrary to that point, you are a sick fuck and should get hit by a car. Cronus does not care about Mituna. He cares about the fact that he can take advantage of the fact that he's a very vulnerable target that people will not listen to if he tries to speak up about the fact that he is getting abused. Cronus says that directly. He admits to it, in plain terms!

This is not shipping material, this is explicitly, textually someone experiencing extreme violence and bigotry at the hands of a man who does not care for the rights, happiness, consent, lives, and bodily autonomy of other people. This is explicitly someone getting intentionally targeted and abused because they are a vulnerable, oppressed minority group and the abuser feels confident they can get away with the abuse. Cronus has openly admitted to wishing that "culling meant what it should mean on Beforus", meaning making Alternian Culling methods - which is literal eugenics - the standard, so that he could kill Mituna for the crime of being disabled and get away with it. Nothing Cronus has ever said to Mituna even verges on Pitch Flirting. Not even close. It's just raw, unfiltered violent abuse and hatred.

If one is going to fetishize or romanticize abuse, at least own up to it. Don't try to warp canon just to soften and blur the edges. Don't get coy. Be straightforward and tag + talk about it appropriately, like an adult. Because if you're pairing Cronus and Mituna together, you are not writing a Pitch Relationship, you are writing Extreme Abuse. This shit isn't consensual, and the playing field is NOT even. Do not pretend like it is. Do not get coy. Be honest.

[comradekarin]

In your rhaenys post, What do you mean that the male characters around them are smarter than them (alicent and rhaenyra)?

TW. long post……….

what i mean is that in the writers’ pursuit of portraying their female characters as “peacelovers that don’t wish for destruction and bloodshed”, they are also making them appear extremely naive, much to the detriment of their respective factions. lucerys has been murdered by aemond while acting as an envoy. visenya was born pre-maturely after rhaenyra heard the news of viserys’ death and the greens’ usurpation. jaehaerys was killed as a placeholder for aemond due to the rat catchers inability to find the latter. viserys is presumed to have been killed by the greens to even steal the throne from rhaenyra. do we see rhaenyra truly reckoning with all of these events? no. alicent lost her grandson and clearly still does have gripes over aemond losing his eye as a child (i have a personal headcanon that alicent edged the possibility of aemond getting revenge further down the line). alicent is also responsible for spreading those illegitimacy claims about rhaenyra’s three children, and consequently endangering her and her kids’ lives. she is also—albeit indirectly—involved in harwin and lyonel’s death. despite the fact that their families are at war and are killing each other, these women remain firm in keeping peace. yet their stances aren’t cemented because of their losses, but because of the writers’ consistent efforts to erase what has happened to them now and in their past.

rhaenyra goes to kings landing to sue for peace. that in of itself is extremely foolish. she doesn’t tell her council where she’s going, nor does she seem to have a plan if things go sideways. and in her absence, jacaerys and baela are essentially thrown to the wolves mitigating the black council’s frustrations with, again, no info on where rhaenyra even is. rhaenyra goes to KL, speaks to alicent, and by bad writing extreme luck is able to leave unharmed. alicent literally doesn’t tell anyone that nyra infiltrated, OR that she let her go. they come off as silly to the audience, not wise. jacaerys seems to be the only person with common sense, to make matters even worse. there’s even times where you’re thinking that rhaenyra should have listened to daemon.

these women are not allowed to express how they feel about the events happening around them. not only are the writers destroying the complexity of their feelings, but they’re also falsely equating alicent and rhaneyra even though narratively it doesn’t make sense to put them on the same pedestal. rhaenys spoke to alicent herself, who wanted her help to rob rhaneyra of her throne, thus endangering the lives of baela and rhaena due to them being betrothed to jace and luke. yet, a couple of episodes later, we have rhaenys implying that rhaenyra is to blame for jaehaerys’ death and sees the “violence” in the men around alicent, thus urging nyra to go to KL. baela is only being used as a rhaenyra’s cheerleader so far this season, never really having her own thoughts and opinions on this war outside of her support for nyra (which isn’t inherently wrong, her support I mean). and don’t even get me started on helaena’s lack of reaction to her son’s death. i think daemon cried more over that little boy than her. rhaena doesn’t even have enough scenes for me to make an assumption, which is bad in of itself.

lastly, in going this “peaceful women, evil men” route, we also get a lot of contradictions with the writing of these characters. especially so with alicent. no longer is alicent this protective, cunning and bitter woman we saw in season one. now? it’s almost as if the writers are trying to absolve her of the things she did in season one, thus erasing what makes her the character her fans love. whether it’s trying to push the rhaenyra x alicent ship, bad writing, or both, overall, i just think it’s really silly and just soft misogyny to even have this line of thinking when writing women. the writers only have like six anyway, and it’s like they haven’t done any of them justice.

[wispforever]

Some thoughts on Itachi

So, I've seen a lot of comments circulating about my tags on this post, and I'm intrigued at the interest. I didn't expect it, as I see much more pigeonholing of Itachi's character than honest to god analysis. No hate- I'm no stranger to Kishimoto's writing. Some of his characters were unfortunately butchered or never given the chance to be developed properly, and Itachi is most certainly no exception. That said, I like to grant him a bit more nuance than I see on most blogs. I think people get a little wrapped up in the supposed "moral implications" of exploring how Itachi was also a victim of the system, as well as someone who victimized many people. But it's silly to equate character analysis and context consideration with condoning genocide.

I have a good laugh every once and a while at the metaphorical gymnastics people do in order to stay in the good graces of a bunch of internet trolls who are just Waiting for any opportunity to tell you you love murder and think it's delicious just because you made a post exploring a character's background. Media is grey; it's layered and wonderfully complex. There are many wrongs and rights in every story, and many wrongs and rights within those wrongs and rights. That's what I love about Naruto. Often times it's really too much like real life. Instead of people being black and white, right or wrong, bad or good- they're usually in a tough situation, trying their best and falling short, don't have all of the information, acting with good intentions or acting on what they believe will bring about a lesser evil, and then end up hurting others.

But it is much easier to assign blame and move on. A so-called bad person will always be the perfect scapegoat for issues bigger than them. In Itachi's case, the fascist government in the Leaf. It's easier to say Itachi could have just refused and decided not to be involved, than to recognize that like almost every other character in the narrative, he was under extreme duress, living in a military state. He was a child whose existence, along with all the other children and adults in the Leaf, was only valuable as long as he could serve as a tool for the war machine in the shinobi world's fucked up political system. And saying this is not the same as saying he was not capable of better decisions or that everything that he did thereafter or in general should not be read critically or subject to hypothetical consequences. It is the same as a saying his actions cannot be fully understood without complete context, and the themes of Naruto will never come through if every villain is just "evil" with no further nuance. And it would be boring too LOL

That said, I love to think about Itachi's situation back then. The ages in Naruto are a bit muddled, a little inconsistent, subject to change and interpretation, but Itachi was a child when he murdered everyone in the Uchiha compound. Most sources say he was 13. It should go without saying that someone so young isn't capable of the same decision-making or critical thinking as say, a 30-year-old, someone whose brain is finished developing and has much more experience on Earth.

Itachi's experience at this point in his life is informed by his age, and it's obviously informed by his childhood, as he has no other place from which to draw conclusions. Itachi grew up in a warring state. He saw people die and was subject to extreme violence in his formative years. To make matters worse, he was taught that war was inevitable and the only thing he could do to guard against it was kill others before they got the chance to kill him (threaten the village). Thusly, Itachi internalized at a very young age that what was in his power was to minimize damage (to himself, to his village, and to the world). What was not in his power was to stop this violence entirely (by adopting a critical mindset and going against fascist powers).

A part of this I think people often forget is that Itachi has absolutely nowhere to adopt this mindset FROM, as even though his father and the other members of the Uchiha clan seek equity in the Leaf, if they were to overthrow the Hokage and create a new system, it would still presumably center around the same ideals (minus, of course, the oppression of the Uchiha as a group). Fugaku is the head of the Uchiha clan at this time. As someone who imposed near impossible performance-related expectations on both of his sons, and withheld love and affection whenever they came up short (so often that it was at the cost of having any considerable emotional bond with either of them), there is absolutely no good reason to believe that Fugaku would reform the Leaf using a non-fascist ideology. And if he did, there is no good reason to believe that he would be some kind of visionary LMAO

This is important to remember because when it comes down to Itachi's decision to either kill everyone in the Uchiha compound and his family, or be part of the coup that would overthrow the Leaf, some people treat it as though it's a choice between fascism and non-fascism, which it most certainly is not. And if it was, Itachi, as a child who had grown up immersed in this ideology, would not be able to appreciate the difference. This context allows us to understand further what Itachi was really weighing in that moment. Accounting for his young age and limited worldview, the only valuable difference in this moment to Itachi was the amount of bloodshed that he would "allow" to happen. Essentially, he sees the options as follows:

Either give in to Danzo and kill everyone in the Uchiha compound, or facilitate a coup where the current government is (hopefully) overthrown and risk starting another war.

Here, Itachi pauses. He has known war. He knows how it affects children, adults, families, and whole nations. The peace he's living in currently is bought with blood, but it's the only peace he's ever known. The alternative is horrifying. And a war in this context, Itachi likely thinks, would be his fault, as he has now been put in the position to "prevent" it. Danzo and the whole shinobi system have groomed him into thinking so. Itachi, at age 13, cannot understand that there would be no war; it exists only as leverage for Danzo's argument at this point. His sensitivities are being played on.

Fugaku, though he is not the same as Danzo, offers about as much help as he does (that being none). Fugaku has no interest in avoiding war; if a war breaks out, it's justified because it will still mean his clan will no longer be living in oppression. This idea is valid, as fascist systems and discrimination can only cease to exist when we rise up against them; unfortunately, this most often calls for righteous violence, as the oppressive powers will not be moved with peaceful shows (not to mention they are willing to go to extreme lengths to avoid losing their hold on the people they have crushing power over, i.e. the Uchiha massacre). But Fugaku has no words to explain this to Itachi, who fears the worst and further fears being responsible for the worst. All he does is act as if it's a moral failing that his 13-year-old son is unwilling to stage a coup, which he believes could mark the abrupt end of a peace that's only just begun.

That said, let it be known that Itachi does appreciate this situation with SOME nuance, though it isn't of the kind that might have enabled him to see he was being manipulated. He at the very least understands that Danzo is a warmonger and oppresses those he fears (the Uchiha). He understands that the rights of his clan have been sorely disrespected, and that the issue needs correction. He understands the anger of his friends and family. This is why it takes him much deliberation before he can even come close to making a decision. He plays both sides right up until the end, listening to Danzo, as well as Fugaku and Shisui, paying attention to the current atmosphere in the Leaf as he tries to decide.

It is something he doesn't want to do. Here's where I get to the part I put in the tags of my drawing.

In this situation, it's almost worthless to write an analysis about Itachi's feelings at this time, his understanding of what was actually going on, his loyalty to his clan or his loyalty to the Leaf, because really, he could not grasp it. He was never prepared for this. He never knew he would be asked to make a decision he could only understand as "your family or the world?"

Itachi was put in a position that had no happy ending. There was no decision he could make that would not hurt. That could not result in a cataclysm that split him right down the middle. There was no version of this story that a 13-year-old could carry out thinking "I have done the right thing."

And that's the important part. Both sides asked him to make this decision, and so both sides are guilty of placing an immeasurable pressure on a child who should never have been put in such a position. Regardless of ideology, regardless of price, regardless of oppression or loyalty or devotion or any other thing- someone else should have made this decision for Itachi. Someone else should have been responsible. An adult, at the very least. Someone who COULD understand the implications of both options. Someone who COULD go forward and appreciate the evil of fascism and know that a coup was necessary. Itachi was never capable of such a thing. If he made the "wrong" decision, than every child who can't explain to you what a fascist government in a military state looks like and explain what the difference is between a hate crime and resisting a hateful power, is also wrong. Here is the nuance. These are things a 13-year-old in this universe cannot be expected to understand unless they are taught. And Itachi had no teacher. Quite the opposite. There were only forces pressing him from both sides, saying "choose."

Had his father done this for him, had Shisui been in this position, had any other adult Uchiha acting as a spy been put to this task, it would be a much different narrative. But of course, it had to be Itachi, who Danzo knew he could manipulate. It had to be a child, someone skilled enough to do the job, but inexperienced enough, afraid enough, to be willing to sacrifice everything they had to see the mission through. Someone you could whisper "greater good" to and have them hand over their well being on a plate. Someone who didn't understand they had the power and strength to destroy the system threatening them.

On a narrative level, Itachi exists to illustrate this point. How young people are systematically indoctrinated to serve a greater purpose, be it under a specific government, religion, or otherwise. We see it in real life fascism, in real life cults. There's no mistake. It isn't an accident that Itachi's story begins like this.

Which brings me to the rest of his life. The reason I drew the picture in the post referenced at the top. Itachi's character is a bit of a mystery the rest of the anime. Be that because of bad writing or an intentional omission, his motives, thoughts, and opinions are largely left ambiguous. However, there are still a few moments that interest me as far as the implications of his development.

When Itachi first comes back to the Leaf village, he faces Kakashi. On the one hand, this could simply be a narrative tool- the big bad meets the big good. He takes Kakashi out of commission! The first rogue shinobi we see who is able to defeat the pillar of the Leaf, the Copy Ninja, and without even breaking a sweat!

On the other hand, I find the brutality of Itachi's attack very intriguing. Again, it could be the tough guy act, but he's able to keep three jonin busy easily using standard genjutsu (with the help of Kisame). It wouldn't be a stretch to say that using the tsukuyomi is overkill, and at a considerable price, we learn later.

Why then would Itachi, who has been shown to have excellent battle intelligence, who is strategic to a fault, be willing to jeopardize his health among other things just to... scare the Leaf? Make sure Kakashi wouldn't be a nuisance in the future? Sure, the last one would make collecting Naruto less complicated, but they dispatched Kakashi easily enough, and surely Jiraiya, who Naruto was with at the time, would pose a bigger problem than Kakashi.

It doesn't make strategic sense, which makes me wonder if Itachi has a special animosity toward Kakashi. Being his superior in the ANBU before the Uchiha massacre, someone who was willing to conduct surveillance of the Uchiha compound without question, Kakashi could have become a symbol of the indifference of the Leaf for Itachi. He could very well have been a reminder of the inoperable position Itachi was put in when he was still a child, and Kakashi, of course, was an adult. Another adult who did nothing. Noticed nothing. Did not help Itachi.

And while I'm certain that Kakashi would have taken severe issue with the goings on in the Leaf at that time, judging by his reaction when he finds out the truth in Shippuden, Itachi knows him only by what he did then. Facilitated surveillance of the Uchiha compound, was a supportive superior, but nothing greater. A bystander whose compassion, while well meaning, was entirely unhelpful.

I don't think it's far fetched that Itachi fucking crucified Kakashi because he was so angry at what being in the Leaf did to him. At some point, as he got older, he realized how terrible it was. He realized there were people like him. Children who were "born killers". Pawns in the game of the shinobi powers.

After leaving the village, Itachi joins the Akatsuki, who are also seeking peace through war (another story). He is supposed to spy for them, but doesn't follow through in any enthusiastic way (that we're shown). He works alone for quite some time, or else with a group (briefly he was shown with Conan and Kakuzu). He is partners with Orochimaru before he's expelled from the Akatsuki. He is partners with one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. He grows up and meets many people, sees lots of stories unfold. He learns that he isn't in a minority. Many shinobi are just like him.

And then, as an adult, he is partnered with Kisame, who he finds excellent camaraderie with because of their similar backgrounds. We see in this relationship that he understands what happened to him and what he did enough to acknowledge that, while neither of them are monsters, as many people say, they are human. And humans make mistakes. Humans are complicated. Wrong and right and wrong and right. They understand each other, and Itachi understands more clearly what the world puts these children up to. What it forces shinobi to become. That it isn't all his fault, but he still did it. And so he is responsible. He appears to be able to live with that.

But when he returns to the Leaf, those feelings bubble up. He hates the Leaf. He hates that system. He hates what he did. Maybe he even hates being a shinobi, how his excellence was weaponized, how being an Uchiha doomed him and his clan. And for what?

Itachi is played as a character who is only sensible, only logical, only interested in practical things, has nothing to express. But the way he behaves toward Kakashi in that moment bares all his grief and anger. I just like to think about it. We have so few moments where we get to see Itachi genuinely. The fight with Kakashi, the Sasuke/Deidara fight, his thoughtful moments with Kisame. Just makes me wonder what could've been if Itachi's story had gone a little differently.

Anyway, if anyone would like me to expand on any points or has additional thoughts, feel free to hop in my ask box or leave a comment. Thanks for the interest, I love to talk.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 20. showtime

chapter tags/warnings: dad! toji. toji also calls himself daddy. vouyerism. angsty! megumi. infidelity/adultery. pet names (mainly "princess" and "sweetheart"). mentions of violence. mentions of betrayal. so much family drama. strong language. classism. manipulative undertones.

word count: 2.6k

notes: this was originally going to be one long ass chapter but I had to break this into two. you will see why. enjoy! comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Obviously, you wanted to learn everything about Toji Fushiguro.  

He didn’t have to hear you say it. 

Already, Toji could tell from the inquisitive glisten in your round eyes, that all he saw in you was curiosity with the need—not the want—for him to share himself with you. Naturally, you would like him to retell his story from chapter one. 

Similarly, he longed to share his tales, revealing the burdens that had been gnawing at him since his childhood. That Toji had known Naoya for years, that he used to be a Zenin himself, that he knew your husband was fucking his ex-wife. How messed up was that? 

Very much so.

The main problem was, though, that Toji was selfish. 

While he would love to be honest, he did not want to shatter your trust in him. He knew how much you lived under Naobito and Naoya’s control since your father worked under the Zenin Corporation, so the last thing he desired was for you to associate him with them. 

Toji didn’t want you to be scared around him, too.

The idea of losing you was something that Toji did not want to think about. Yes, this was going to sound possessive but...Toji liked having you around. Not in a sexual way, but in a companionship manner.

Or maybe both, but still.  

Regardless, your presence comforted him.  

Of course, Megumi was another factor in the equation. Given that the teenager hated his Uncle Naoya, he understandably could not stand to see his pampered in-law (you) either. Toji knew Megumi’s frustration was a projection of his mental turmoil and that much of the ordeal was due to Toji’s previous poor decisions regarding women. 

But you were different.  

For the first time in a very long while, Toji believed he had gotten something right. 

All these thoughts brewed in his mind as he outstretched his arm to brush over the smudged mascara by your cheek. In vain, he attempted to rub away the signs from your earlier sadness. 

“Want to wash your face in the bathroom first?” 

The question came out more like a command, and defeat sank into your features as you ultimately respected his decision. 

“Okay,” you acquiesced.

Even if you wanted to, there was no chance for you to protest when Toji stepped past you and toward the spiral staircase. You followed him without another choice, trailing behind him like a lost duckling.  

Although you seemingly settled down from the whole Naoya situation, Toji had yet to. As he ascended the steps to the apartment’s upper level, he placed up a front in which he was all calm and levelheaded when—in reality—he could still feel the burning, white-hot anger rolling off his body. 

Toji badly—so, so badly—wanted to hightail it to wherever the fuck Naoya was in this world and beat the living shit out of him. He always knew that his kid cousin couldn’t be trusted with a wife because he wrecked so many people already. 

Nonetheless, Toji had kept these thoughts to himself ever since he first heard about Naoya’s marriage from business and celebrity newspapers. After all, Toji didn’t know you earlier this year and wasn't in the appropriate position to intervene, therapist or not. His relationships were his relationships, and your relationships were yours. 

Now, with that misogynistic jackoff proving him right, Toji had some regrets.  

He should have done more.  

Toji abhorred knowing that Naoya was emotionally abusing you, disrespecting you, and treating you like you were just another dumb slut.

Put simply, he absolutely could not stand to see you so upset and fucked over by somebody who didn’t deserve you in the first place—by Naoya fucking Zenin of all people in this world. 

While Toji would admit that he had his reservations about you upon the first encounter, he rapidly realized that you were nothing more than an innocent lamb caught in an ugly crossfire. 

Could Naoya not see how lucky he was with you? A whole package was what you were: your allure unparalleled, your energy contagious, and your elegance remarkable. No wonder Naobito had taken every measure to secure you as his son’s wife.

On the other hand, Toji sincerely wished that you would no longer be miserable because a person like you deserved to enjoy all the rhapsodies of life. 

Sometimes, Toji wished that you stood up for yourself more. He wished that you had been more selfish over some things that were rightfully yours. Your marriage, your family, your happiness一these belonged to you , yet some other woman (the real ‘dumb slut’) was robbing you of these entitlements.

Had you been single, had you waited a little, Toji knew for sure that countless suitors would have lined up vying to court you, willing to throw themselves on the line because you would be their queen. 

“Are you alright?”  

Given that he had been lost in thought, Toji jolted at your voice. He had stopped completely at the upstairs landing, brain still reeling from thoughts of leaving Naoya busted and bloodied, hanging on to life from a thin little thread. 

Vigorously, he shook his head from side to side to clear his mind. 

Regardless of how badly he wanted to and how easy the task would be for him, Toji would not stoop that low to exert physical violence on someone else. Even though the fool deserved to be punished twenty times over, Toji wouldn’t hurt your husband because you would also not want him to. 

But damn, holding himself back was hard. 

For Toji, who had seen how Naoya’s impulsivity and greed had hurt his step-daughter Tsumiki and his son Megumi as well, restraint was especially difficult.   

"Ah, my bad,” Toji finally said after composing himself many moments later. He then realized that he had yet to introduce the apartment’s layout. “So the lower level includes the guest areas: the parlor, kitchen, bar, dining space, home theater. Upstairs, though, are where the living spaces reside.” He gestured toward the far rear of the corridor. “Bedrooms are over there with a study room at the end, but the washroom,” he went several steps ahead, pushing open the first door to the left, “is right here."  

In slow and inquisitive steps, you followed as Toji started rummaging in a linen closet by the entrance. He grabbed at the white cotton towels in the lower compartment.

"For you," he explained, placing a neatly folded set into your delicate hands. “Here. Splash some cold water on your face. Let me find you in a couple of minutes. I will check on Megumi in the meantime.” 

“Alright,” you hummed while Toji retreated back into the halls. 

“Talk to you later, then.”

Next mission was Megumi Fushiguro, a troubled boy who could easily be misunderstood. 

Oftentimes, Toji saw his own reflection within his son. He recognized himself the most in Megumi’s cheerless gaze, where beyond the initial glimpse lay a barren tundra bleakened by pain, by incidents that have hurt him before. 

In that dark void existed a part that cried for help, but this place remained faded over so that others could not pry into the true emotions within.  

Megumi was terrified. 

Heck, even Toji was, too. 

Because, in their experiences, those who had betrayed the most were those who had been the closest to them. Therefore, all that was left was caution, wariness, and distrust, such that now—between father and son—there was no one to turn against but one another.  

“Megumi!” Toji shouted when arriving at the said boy’s door. (Unlike a certain colleague, he at least had the decency to announce his arrival.) 

As expected, however, there came no response. 

He then knocked loudly so that Megumi would hear the sound even with his headphones blasting.

Nothing again.

Exasperated, Toji wiggled the knob. Noticing that the handle was unlocked, he opened the door and into a darkened room. Megumi had switched everything off save for his glaring computer monitor, but the boy wasn’t in his chair either. 

“I don’t really want to talk right now.” 

Instead, Megumi’s grumble came from his bed, to where Toji looked and saw a large blanketed heap. The teenager was cocooned in his sheets, not leaving a single black strand in sight. 

From the small gap amid the lump came another glow.  

He’s on his phone , Toji figured, which he knew among kids these days was the ultimate sign that they wanted to be left alone. 

Except the therapist side in him was not going to give up that easily. 

Idly, Toji flicked at a nearby houseplant. 

“Not talking right now is okay but,” his green gaze shifted from the succulent to the enveloped lump, “trust me on her. She’s on our side.” 

Rather than another outburst, Megumi didn’t reply immediately. “Sure,” he mumbled eventually but hardly convinced, using whatever TikToks he was scrolling through to fill the silence for him. 

“If Tsumiki had been home from university,” Toji continued, this time bringing up the step-sister that the boy adored, “would she want to hear her little brother talk to others like that?”

Another long pause. “Whatever.” 

“I know I had made bad judgments about people before, but—for this one instance—think about what you’ve said tonight,” was what Toji left his son with as he wished Megumi a good night and closed the door behind him with one very extended sigh. 

Being a therapist was tough, but being a single father was a thousand times more wearisome.

Toji would consider calling an end to the evening, to sit in his study as he evaluated his own emotions, but was reminded that he had a guest by shuffling sounds from down the hall.

Knowing that he still owed a small explanation, he paced back to the bathroom, barging into the vicinity to suggest, “Whenever you’re ready, let’s go talk again...down...stairs....” 

His voice trailed off before disappearing completely when he could not locate you.

Rather than finding you by the sink washing your face like he advised and expected, Toji spotted your tossed clothes on the floor. Confused, his gaze darted around until he glanced toward the bathtub where he found your muted form hovering over, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“I, um,” you blinked rapidly, as though you had been caught doing something bad. “I showered, too.” 

You got flustered too easily, which was adorable. 

The only thing that covered your naked and glistening form was the towel that had been wrapped around your figure, but even that hung low from your chest before stopping abruptly past your hips, leaving little to the imagination. 

In the lamplight, you glowed golden while clinging droplets made your skin shine. Your cheeks and arms were flushed, your body heaving from heavy panting.

You clutched the fabric tighter so that the towel would not merely slip away, but if Toji had to be honest, you would have to hold on to that for dear life so that he didn’t yank the whole damn cover away entirely. 

A shaky breath later, his gaze wandered up your body until his malachite eyes flicked up to collide with yours, his tongue—piercing and all—caught between his teeth. Meanwhile, your mouth was plush and sweetly pursed, softened by a doe-like innocence, and he saw how you trembled slightly from the sudden vulnerability. 

Toji should be able to handle himself better. After watching you break down and then dealing with his personal stressors, the last thing he should feel was the boiling need that burned through his skin, the air in his lungs weighty as if flames from his stomach drifted thick smoke into them. 

Just…leave him alone okay? 

Fuck.  

"Not inviting your host to the party is bad manners,” was what he found himself saying, but the light grin on his face did not match the lust and pink flush that swept across his face.

You cleared your throat as water dripped from your elbows. With every effort, you tried to stay casual. “Sorry.” 

Toji chuckled at how seriously you took the accusation. “Relax, princess. I’m just messing with you.”

All pouty, you looked at him with those huge, round eyes.

“Then, can I ask something while you’re here?”

Intrigued, he lifted a brow. “Depends.”

“Why are you scared to open up to me, Toji?” you pressed on.

The said man didn’t immediately answer, placing his hands inside his pockets instead. He rolled his shoulders back, all without his gaze leaving your intentful one. Sure, you both stared at each other wordlessly—but somehow, in the absence of conversation, the more you two began to understand one another. 

“Simple. I don’t bring up my past to just anybody, darling. Apologies for the disappointment.” 

“But I’m not ‘just anybody,’” you fought back, half-offended. “We’re friends , remember? Just like you had said.” Then, you directed an accusatory finger to his stoic face. “So, I’m somebody special .”

Well, you stumped him now. 

Contemplating an answer, Toji walked around your clothes and met you at the other section in the bathroom, cornering you against the nearby countertop as his brawny body leered over your smaller one. 

When you glanced upward, your warm breaths fanned across his scar. But the heat that whirled between your bodies was far more excruciating, stifling even. 

“What if my reason is to protect you?” He stopped, half-expecting you to cower but all that shone was determination. So, he resumed, “My history is fucked up. I was born into an unlucky situation surrounded by manipulative people, and I was another stupid person making stupid choices. Here I am, still dealing with the blow many years later. I don’t think you’ll want to talk to me again once you learn about the people I share the same blood with."

“But that is them. That is not you . Why would I want to forget you after everything you have done for me?” you vented in disbelief. “Toji, all I want is to help you!”

“Better not to drag yourself into this. You’re already much deeper in the waters than you think,” he admitted with a heavy sigh and ran his hand through his inky hair. “I couldn’t shield my son, and I couldn’t shield my stepdaughter. Therefore, I cannot promise that I would not hurt you, either.”

You fell quiet for a brief moment.

“That’s okay,” you resolved. “Because you…would be worth the pain.”

Toji felt...his heart leap? He had not been this exposed in many, many years, and he reached for your hands so that he could lace your fingers together. His emotions were so fragile and raw , his face only inches away from yours at this point.

"Really now?"

"Yes." A pause. “Then, what…does this mean for us?” 

Toji shrugged, eyeing that stupid fucking wedding band on your fourth digit. “I’m not the married one here, sweetheart. The decision is yours,” he offered up, although he could feel himself grow dizzy. “What do you want?”

In anticipation, your tongue ran across your lower lip. You crept forward and moved closer until your thighs were pressed flush against his.

“ You .”

And boy, did Toji love that answer.

He leaned forward again, this time scooping up your behind and propping you onto the countertop, yanking the pointless towel that had been shielding your goddess-like figure. He gave your hips a good squeeze before tearing your knees in opposite directions. 

You yelped and winced from the discomfort, but Toji knew you loved being maneuvered. Between your legs was a glistening mess, almost as if your pussy had been weeping for him, begging and crying and sobbing for your therapist’s touch. Did you actually think you were going to hide this from him?

When Toji looked up and met your line of sight, he cherished how you peered at him from under your fluttering lashes.

What a beautiful scene. 

So, he smiled. 

“Then why don’t you give daddy a show?”

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: 1) I know you hate me for the cliffhanger, but I had to! 2) For a while, I had been debating whether to write this chapter and the upcoming one in Y/N's or Toji's POV. In the end, I chose Toji's perspective to shine some light into his thoughts when he's with us. See you all again soon! Get ready to get real dirty next chapter. ♡

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