#someone who is both a mirror to him and a consequence of everything he chose to do and be | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rocorambles · 3 years

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What Is Love?

Pairing: Gojo x reader (Main), Nanami x reader (Side)

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Rape, Sacrilegious, God Complex and Delusional Gojo, Somnophilia, Slapping, Choking, Humiliation, Coercion, Non-Con Infidelity

Summary: Gojo learns what love is and unfortunately, you're the object of his newfound affection.

A/N: Thank you as always for beta-ing @sawamooora and dedicating this to my dear @lets-go-datehoe. Thank you for sending this request, Yuli~

Love? Gojo Satoru doesn’t believe in love. Love is for hopeless, lonely souls. Love is for miserable pathetic wretches desperate to fill an emptiness in their hearts, in their lives.

When everyone in the world is already falling head over heels to serve him, to be with him, when he's given everything he's ever wanted and more on a silver platter, why would he need love?

Gojo Satoru is already at the top of the world, with or without love.

Now lust? Gojo understands lust.

Carnal pleasure is never unwelcomed and unlike his elders, his head isn’t shoved so far up his ass to deny that he adores the feeling of his cock inside a slobbering mouth, a sopping wet cunt, an exquisitely tight ass.

But more than that, his arrogance and ego thrives and swells as women throw themselves at him, the feeling of being desired only fueling the prideful monster inside of him, only fueling his borderline delusion.

Of course everyone wants him. He’s Gojo Satoru after all.

And so he lets himself be worshipped, lets woman after woman praise him, reveling in the way they chant his name like a prayer as he returns their devotion with thick sticky white blessings. He smirks at the way they kneel before him, staring up at him in reverence, their pretty mouths and throats stretched wide across his cock.

Gojo Satoru is a god, and gods do not chase after mere mortals. So when he meets and you barely give him the time of day other than a polite bow, he shrugs his shoulders.

You’re just another disbeliever. Another silly lamb he needs to convert. Nothing more. Nothing less. Definitely nothing to get worked up about.

It’s almost amusing how you’re playing hard to get, sinning by spitting such crude and crass remarks at a deity like him every time he tries to speak to you. And it’s almost infuriating how you turn your nose up at him, as if you’re qualified to have an opinion of him, let alone think of him as beneath you. But he hides the pleased smile on his face when he sees your gaze linger just a tad too long to be mere coincidence the first time he reveals his eyes to you, a look of awe slipping past your scowling countenance.

See? They all come around eventually.

And so he lays it on thicker, draping his tall figure over yours, letting his warm breath grace the back of your neck, murmuring coy words in your ear. His long fingers find themselves tangling in your hair, brushing against your hands, touching every part of you as much as he can get away with.

You’re so close. He can feel your walls slowly crumbling away, can see the unsureness in your eyes as you half heartedly nudge him away after unconsciously leaning into his touch. Just a little more…

Except something, or rather someone, stops him.

Gojo Satoru isn’t usually caught off guard, especially not by the likes of Nanami Kento. The ex-salary man is a good man, but just a man nonetheless, no matter how you dress it up. But Gojo grudgingly admits at least surprise, if not something more, when he hears you’re in Tokyo and decides to pay your apartment a visit, only to find the Grade 1 sorcerer’s tongue shoved down your throat, your naked bodies entangled in rumpled bed sheets.

He tells himself it’s just a one night stand...maybe a friends with benefits relationship at most when he happens to catch both of you holding hands in broad daylight, a carefree smile he’s never seen before stretched across Nanami’s face as he sits at a cafe table with you, watching you happily munch on some pastry his underclassman has purchased for you.

Nothing he can’t handle.

But if you were a bitch before, a snarling ferocious wildcat whenever Gojo was around, you’re even worse now. Your apathy, the nonchalance with which you politely smile and nod in acknowledgement at Gojo before promptly ignoring him for the suited man by your side, gets under his skin like nothing ever has before. For once, Gojo is at a loss.

Ahh, so this is what denial feels like. This is the rejection and emptiness that he’s seen drive others to madness. This is love.

Gojo Satoru experiences his first heartache, but he doesn’t break down into pitiful sobs, he doesn’t mope around in self-pity.

He laughs.

He’s lost the battle, but he hasn’t lost the war. And when others would have turned tail and fled, he stands his ground, icy blue eyes sparkling in glee at the prospect of a new challenge, the prospect of his sweetest victory yet.

Gojo Satoru is a dangerous man. You know that with all your heart and soul, so it only makes sense that your hackles raise anytime he’s in your proximity. Maybe you take it too far, disrespecting your senior to an extent that would bring shame to you if it were anyone other than the Special Grade sorcerer. But in hindsight you’ll wish you did more.

You’ll wish you hadn’t caught the attention of the world’s strongest sorcerer. You’ll wish you hadn’t found yourself mesmerized by his sheer power, by those damning, dazzling eyes. You’ll wish you hadn’t begun to be ensnared by his allure, a trap you’ve heard the consequences of far too often from your heartbroken and weeping fellow female sorcerers. Maybe you’ll even wish you had just let him have a taste of you, use you before tossing you out like trash, like every other woman who’s fallen in bed with him, instead of whetting his appetite only to deny him of his feast, only to have him fixate on you even more.

But like Gojo, you know love and lust are two different things. And when Nanami shows up in your life, like a knight in shining armor, you feel Gojo’s spell on you shatter, your heart fluttering and thawing the ice that had begun to creep up your body, trapping you in endless blue.

Love is blinding, and really, you should have known that normal boundaries don’t exist in Gojo’s world. But your adoration for your lover has you hesitantly, but politely, letting the cheerful sorcerer into your shared home with Nanami — even though your boyfriend is overseas for a mission, not due back for at least another week.

It would be a lie to say you’re completely relaxed and fine with the circumstance you’re in, alone with Gojo Satoru with no chance of anyone being able to help you if something were to happen. But for whatever reason, Nanami respects the man, even considers him a friend, and in turn you feel an obligation of sorts to at least be cordial. And besides, Gojo isn’t a good man, but he’s not a bad man…right?

You find it difficult to believe that Gojo didn’t know Nanami was out of town, that his pout is sincere when you tell him that Nanami won’t be back anytime soon. There are only so many Grade 1 sorcerers in Tokyo and even less that Gojo actively keeps in touch with. But what’s the alternative? Believe Gojo came to see you? Unlikely.

Gojo is a womanizer, a slut, whatever other word you want to use. But a homewrecker? Especially of a dear friend? Never. (Frankly, you think it would just be too much of a bother for the emotionally stunted man.)

And you’re glad to see that your theories are proving to be true as the night continues, wondering if maybe the white-haired man is just lonely.

He’s strangely pleasant as he keeps a respectable distance from you, no suggestive comments spewing from his mouth, even his obnoxious arrogance kept to a tolerable low. You feel your guard drop, your smiles feeling more natural, genuine laughs slipping past your lips as he tells you about his latest adventures and missions.

But as a yawn interrupts your conversation and you stare askance at how late it is before urging him home to get some rest, apologizing for keeping him so long, your heart drops as you feel an overwhelming presence caging you against your living room couch, long limbs on either side of your body.

“What do you see in Nanami that you don’t see in me?”

The question is so jarring you almost forget the panic rising in your chest, mouth moving soundlessly as you try to process the meaning of his words. But instead of an answer, all that bubbles out of you is a shaky plea for him to leave.

Gojo’s never been good at following orders or commands. Why would he be? Since when has a god ever needed to listen to mortals? And you’re no exception.

You whimper as you’re suddenly transported to the bedroom you share with Nanami, struggling to no avail as Gojo easily tears your clothing off, positioning you on all fours in front of the floor-length mirror that decorates the corner of the room. Bile rises in your throat as he takes his blindfold off, blue eyes seemingly piercing your soul even through just a reflection and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to imagine you’re anywhere but here, with anyone other than him, trying to grasp at every fond memory you have of your blonde lover. But Gojo has a point to make and you gasp, eyes snapping wide open as a large hand wraps around your neck, choking you until you’re forced to stare at your joined bodies on the mirrored surface.

“Look at how perfect we are together. Look at how perfect you are underneath me. You chose that instead of this?”

You sob when he twists your head and forces you to look at a framed photograph on your vanity, a photo Nanami and you had taken together when he had brought you overseas with him for a mission.You regret not insisting that you go with him this time around, wishing more than anything else that you were wrapped in his strong arms.

There’s something irritating about your wailing and blubbering, your little hiccups and sniveling only fueling something dark and twisted inside of Gojo. Maybe it’s the way he knows that you’d never act like this if he was Nanami. Maybe it’s the way he knows you’re lust incarnate whenever Nanami has his hands or mouth on you. Maybe it’s the way he knows that you despise him and his touch so much, that you’d rather die than let him have you.

Ungrateful bitch.

Well if you’re going to cry, Gojo might as well give you something to cry about. A crazed grin slices his handsome face as your screams reach an all-time high, a frenzy, as he shoves his cock inside your unprepped hole, his shaft twitching in interest when you desperately wail his name over and over again as if that would do anything other than have him intensify his pace. But as pretty as his name sounds from your mouth, he tires of your useless pleas for him to stop. Gojo uses one hand to shove your face into the floor, your garbled cries muffled by the carpet as he chases his end, moaning at how perfect your tight, gummy walls feel around him. He’s dreamt of this for far too long and with a grunt, he cums inside of you, draping over your body and pressing his lips against the back of your neck, affectionately marking and tasting you as he empties his balls.

Through the pain and shame, relief floods through you, hope that this is finally all over, that he’ll leave you and your battered body alone. And you play dead, letting him do as he pleases, only occasionally wincing when he leaves a particularly intense mark on your skin, momentarily cringing when he pulls out, thick liquid trickling from your abused hole.

But you should have known better, should have known this was just the beginning.

You weakly paw at the strong arms easily cradling your exhausted figure, trying to wriggle as much as your aching body allows you to, sobbing into his shoulder when you see the direction you’re headed in. You wonder how it’s possible to feel even dirtier as calloused hands lather you with soapy suds, as Gojo takes his time scanning every inch of your body, intimately caressing and mapping every line and curve. And you plead for forgiveness from Nanami when slick begins to pool between your legs, as Gojo gently kneads and experiments with your breasts, rolling your nipples, long fingers expertly circling your clit and slipping inside of you.

Your orgasm shatters you and you stand there like a rag doll, body convulsing and eyes rolling back in your head as you drench Gojo’s digits with your arousal, the sticky strands of betrayal staining his hand as he brings it to your mouth. He gently peppers your neck and shoulder with encouraging kisses as you submissively suck him clean, tugging you along as he dries you off before tucking the both of you in bed, holding you in the mockery of a lover’s embrace. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s chosen to sleep on Nanami’s side of the bed and shame has you curling into a fetal position, has you burying your face in the bedsheets, hoping for at least a whiff of Nanami’s familiar scent, a reminder of his presence.

It works, and you let yourself fall into a restless sleep, your lips twitching every so slightly upwards despite the tears still trapped in your lashes as you think of a tall blonde man, a yellow spotted tie wrapped around your hands as you teasingly pull a spectacled face in for a kiss. You writhe and twist in your sleep, heavily panting as you imagine Nanami’s hands roaming on your figure, his lips tenderly kissing a bold line down your neck and in between the valleys of your breasts. And as you imagine his fingers carefully rubbing your clit, you sigh his name, only to be abruptly woken as a lance of pain shreds through you.

Eyelids still heavy with sleep, body still groggy from being so suddenly roused, you can’t piece together what’s happening, one of your hands instinctively cupping your smarting cheek. But you frantically claw and bat in the dark, knowing exactly who’s on top of you despite the fact that your eyes haven’t fully adjusted to the blackness, the way your body is ripped apart once more, a telltale sign of whose cock is penetrating you.

“It’s very rude to say another man’s name when I’m the one making you feel so good. Let me teach you the only name you need to know."

There’s something horribly intimate about the position you two are in, the way he’s tainting the very sheets and mattress Nanami had made love to you on countless times. You wish you could force yourself back to sleep, could gouge out your eyes as you begin to make out the man pistoning in and out of you. But it’s no use and you know even sightless, those icy blue orbs are branded in your mind.

You vow to at least not give him the satisfaction of hearing his name from your mouth, pressing and biting your lips until a copper taste assaults your tastebuds. But Gojo has always been talented at everything he does, those gifted eyes seeing far more than they should. You shake your head side to side in denial as a knot quickly begins to form in your gut, body tensing as you feel another wave coming over you, only to let out a confused whimper when everything suddenly stops.

“You get to cum when you say my name and the magic word.”

The playful lilt and childish tone have you seeing red and you sneer in twisted pleasure when a gob of your spit hits him squarely in the face, a litany of curse words and insults spewing from deep inside of you, uncaring of how you’re more like a raving madwoman than a victim.

But you’re not the first brat Gojo’s had to tame, and he just smirks condescendingly down at you before playing you like an instrument, easily bringing you to that narrow brink where even a single breath of air, or a simple flick of a finger seems like it would have you toppling over the edge, only to relentlessly snatch you right back before you can fall.

You don’t know how long he goes on for, your shattered and denied mind barely cognizant of the beginnings of daylight creeping through the window. But as the rays of light make it to your bed, you break.

“Gojo-”

You howl when he pulls out, hips wantonly thrusting in the air for more friction as he crudely slaps his tip against your clit, a frown on his lips.

“That’s not the name I want to hear.”

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Where’s your fucking backbone? How could you even entertain the idea of screaming another man’s name in your lover’s bed?

But when he steps away, your eyes zero in on how his cock separates from the sopping wet mess between your thighs, an unbidding distressed whine clawing up your throat at the thought of being left high and dry, mind hazy with lust and arousal.

“Sa-Satoru…Satoru, please.”

There’s work to be done and he’s not entirely pleased by the note of hesitancy and reluctance he still hears despite the hours he’s taken out of his time to educate you. But a promise is a promise and fuck if he doesn’t love the way his given name sounds in your mouth. And with just a few more meticulously placed thrusts and practiced twists of his fingers, you come undone, your lewd sex-crazed appearance and dopey smile from finally getting your sweet release dragging him down with you.

But it doesn’t end there and Gojo makes good use of your empty house, of the week he has alone with you.

There’s not a single surface in your home, not a single hole on your body that isn’t used and marked thoroughly. And even he briefly wonders if he’s being too rough with you, a flicker of concern crossing his mind as he pouts at the idea of his new toy breaking so soon.

But you prove your resilience and a strange concoction of pride and irritation festers inside of him as you determinedly clamp your mouth shut, a spark of defiance lighting up those lust-clouded eyes whenever he urges you to say you love him back, despite the way you practically ride and hump his face as he kneels between your legs and eats you out in the kitchen, despite the way you slur and babble his name over and over again like it’s the only thing you know how to say.

You’re adorable and he wishes he had all the time in the world to break you fully without using his trump card, to see just how durable you really are. But time is ticking and Nanami is due back any day now.

“Say you love me.”

He coaxes you by gently holding you in his arms, peppering your face with butterfly kisses, endearingly observing the way you seek the little comfort you can get despite the fact that he’s the giver, so deprived of anything other than frenzied arousal. But steely resolve hardens your eyes and you turn your face away.

“I love Nanami.”

You brace yourself for a cock slamming inside of you, a hand wrapped around your throat, but you aren’t ready for the endless galaxy that suddenly surrounds you, and blood-curling fear washes over you.

Unlimited Void.

You’d have to be living under a rock not to know of it, and yet, seeing it in person, you can safely say the rumors and tales don’t do it justice. Gojo laughs at how you frantically cling onto him, your arms wrapping around him, your face burying itself into his chest, voice trembling as you beg him to release you, beg him to get rid of his domain expansion, beg him not to let you go. You’ve seen the aftermaths of his technique, seen curses and sorcerers much stronger than yourself reduced to brain-dead husks from mere seconds in his domain.

“Say you love me.”

The words are on the tip of your tongue, fear making you docile. But a flash of blonde, a glimpse of a tailored suit in your mind keeps your saving grace stuck in your throat. You tell yourself it’s okay, you don’t mean it, it’s just a means to save yourself, surely Nanami will understand. And you begin to open your mouth, only to break off in a scream as you’re roughly shoved away, your hesitation speaking volumes to the white-haired sorcerer who sighs in irritation.

Not that you really notice or maybe you notice too well. You aren’t sure. You are sure. You can feel your sanity rapidly slipping as everything and nothing slams into your senses at once.

“Satoru, I love you!!”

It’s barely comprehensible, a shrieked frantic wail muddied by anxiety. But it’s enough and you sob in relief when Gojo ruffles your hair like you’re a well-behaved pet, leaning into his touch and digging your nails into his wrist, keeping his contact on you still and steady, dry heaving as you come back to your senses.

You don’t even realize that the repeated mantra is still coming out of your own mouth as you fling yourself onto the sorcerer as his artificial universe fades away, curling up in his lap, heart pounding as you chant “I love you, I love you, I love you” over and over again like it’s your holy scripture.

Gojo is on cloud nine watching you finally come to faith, finally worship him and praise him. You were lost, and now you’re found. And he has no intentions of ever letting you stray again. It’s not like there’s anywhere else for you to go, anything else for you to do other than warm his cock anyway.

He crashes his lips against yours as he easily slips inside your well-used cunt, walls molded and shaped perfectly after countless rounds. It’s sinful how good you feel, how good you sound, and he can feel his balls tighten, his own end quickly approaching as you shatter to pieces over and over again around him, quivering walls milking him, clamping down on him as if you can’t bear the thought of being empty.

But there’s nothing to worry about. What god would leave his faithful disciple unrewarded? What declaration of faith comes without a baptism? And he cums inside of you, hot spurts filling you up, branding you, marking and claiming you as his, the sticky white trails leaking out of your stuffed cunt a public declaration of who you belong to.

There’s silence as he lets you collapse on top of him, grinning at how blissfully fucked out you look, cock already twitching in interest again as he spies the mess of tears and drool dripping down your chin. But there are matters of business to attend to first and he nudges you to look at him, cooing down at vacant eyes still hazy with pleasure.

“Nanami is returning tomorrow-”

Blinding pain shocks you as a large hand tangles with your roots, pulling your head back so far you think your neck might snap.

“What are you so happy about?”

There’s a lightness to his question, the silence before the storm, and you wipe the smile off your face, hissing as he tugs harder.

“I know you like me more, but I didn’t think you would be heartless enough to be so excited about breaking up with your boyfriend. Poor Nanami.”

Even through the pain, the unspoken weight of his words registers in your head and you snarl at him with a vengeance.

“I’m not breaking up with-”

Your throat goes dry as he relinquishes his hold on you, one hand raising to eye-level, pointer and middle fingers beginning to cross, and you go still, mouth snapping shut.

“Good girl. Now you’ve experienced Unlimited Void for yourself. What do you think would happen to Nanami if I left him in there for even a second? Do you think he’d ever be the same even if he were to somehow survive, even if he were to go through months of rehabilitation?”

The inquisitive tone makes it sound like just a bunch of theoretical questions, but you know better, know the ramble for the threat that it is.

Love is about sacrifice, and you’re willing to give it all up for the man whose contact Gojo is pulling up on your phone, whose number is being called. And as the ringtones finally stop and a familiar voice greets you over the speaker, you seal your fate.

#yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #gojo smut #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: somnophilia #tw: yandere

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c-is-for-circinate · 3 years

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As promised: let's talk Hades, and how acts of abuse can create toxic environments for everyone around them, and also how people react to those environments--and to them being disrupted.

(For reference, I have just kicked Theseus's ass for the first time, it was exactly as satisfying as it was intended to be, and then I got predictably slaughtered a couple of chambers into Styx. Spoilers for everything through that point, but please no spoilers in reblogs/comments for anything after that!) Also, TW for a whole lot of discussion of abuse, particularly verbal and emotional abuse, and abusive familyworkplace dynamics.

Okay, so. To start out with, Hades is an abusive parent. He engages in innumerable acts of verbal and emotional abuse towards his son, because yep, that's what you call it when a parent constantly berates and belittles their kid for every perceived failure, including the ones the parent themselves could have prevented. Sometimes especially the ones the parent could have prevented. Zagreus failed at his office clerk job because Hades refused to teach him how to do it and then blamed him for not already knowing how. Cerberus tore up the lounge because Hades, who was actually there, chose not to stop him. Hades created, possibly deliberately, and then took full advantage of every opportunity he saw to insult and demean his kid, and the clerk job flashback shows us that he was doing so even before the escape attempts started. I'm pretty sure we're all on the same page here, but: yep, that all constitutes abuse, even if they're gods. Even if Hades has reasons for Being Like That. Even if you think Zagreus seems okay and unharmed by it (which: repeatedly throwing yourself into a gauntlet of violence that inevitably ends in your own pain and death because you're so desperate to escape home, not actually an indicator of someone who's okay). We all good on that?

Cool. Because I'm not really here to talk about how Hades' abuse directly impacts Zagreus right now (although there's for sure an essay in that too). I'm thinking about how it impacts everybody else.

Hades isn't as obviously unreasonable with anybody else in his kingdom the way he is with his kid. When we see him lecture somebody else, it's usually for an actual failure to do their job: Hypnos for literally falling asleep on the job and not doing anything that was assigned to him, Megaera for letting us past her so many time, Orpheus for being a court bard who refuses to sing. His attitude is super confrontational and unpleasant, but on the surface it doesn't necessarily look as fucked-up. Thing is, though, whether any individual act of aggression towards an employee/family member is justified or not (I would generally argue 'not', because aggression towards employees/family members is, y'know, not justifiable)--it's not about the individual acts. It's about the entire cultivated atmosphere of toxicity and abuse.

One of the very first things Meg ever says to us is, "I'd rather be on your bad side than his." Up until that point, we've got no reason to believe Meg has any history whatsoever of fucking up at her job. In fact, we've got plenty of reason to believe she's good at it. She's fiercely proud of it, she's frequently Employee Of The [Time Period], and we've apparently never even met her sisters because she handles her shit herself. But she's still scared of Hades. Dusa, who is an anxious wreck at all times because oh god what if she gets fired what if she gets fired what if she gets fired, in spite of apparently being absolutely exemplary at her job, is scared of Hades. Every single shade in the Hall is clearly terrified of Hades, and it's not because of what he's done to each of them. It's what they've seen him do to other people.

Which is how toxic environments work, whether they're work environments or families. The Court of Hades is of course both, always, with the bonus hell layer of you can't quit even if you DIE. An abuser in authority doesn't have to target you in order to make you feel scared, cowed, and desperate to please them. Humans (and gods who are basically extra-powerful humans) are good at learning by example. The residents of the Court get the picture.

So this Court is a minefield--and everyone except Zagreus is very good at tiptoeing around mines. We see it in Meg, so desperate to do her job well. We see that Hypnos very clearly does not give a shit about anything, but he still makes sure to have a list of excuses ready if/when Hades ever confronts him about failure to do his job, just in case. We see it when Achilles tells us that my ability to help you is constrained by the authority your father gives me, or whatever the line was sixty runs ago when he couldn't let me into locked chambers. The system, such as it is, works, and if Nyx talks to Hades as little as possible, if Thanatos avoids the Court entirely, if Achilles treads very carefully and knows how to keep his head down--well that's just the system, right? That's just how things are.

Even Zagreus seems to have had a role in that system as the court fuckup. He's the kid who didn't have a real job or purpose. He could take the focus of Hades' generalized, day-to-day ire off of everyone else, without triggering some of the more direct and violent ire because the work he was doing didn't really matter (a LOT of Hades' rage-triggers seem to be related to job performance, which means that the people with real jobs are of course the most at risk). And he could do so "safely" (big emphasis on the quotation marks there) because he alone of the court is Hades' actual kid, who's Prince of the Underworld no matter how much he fucks up. If one of Nyx's other kids gets something really really wrong, she might be able to protect them from some consequences, but Hades doesn't have any layer of supposed parental affection holding him back from getting violently furious about it. Zagreus gets a nice bedroom and the abuse is limited to words rather than divine power, and Hades is a dick to everyone but he only occasionally condemns people to eternities of torture, and only for good reasons like refusing to sing when your job is to be court bard, so it's fine, everybody's fine, everything's totally fine, right?

Except it's not fine when everybody is so clearly worried about anything going wrong. And it's especially not fine for Zagreus, who's the person to finally say no. He's leaving, for his own sake, because he deserves better and he's finally convinced he can have it. And that turns the whole system into disarray.

I am endlessly fascinated by the ways this game portrays different characters reacting to this upheaval in their carefully-mapped minefield. It's different for authority figures and peers and servants, different based on how people are positioned in the house under Hades' rule, and it's so spot-on and I love it.

Nyx, for instance, is absolutely calm about the whole thing, because Nyx has power. Hades can't hurt her. Hades can't even really do much against her children, not when Hypnos and Thanatos are gods in their own right. Yes, Hades rules the kingdom, but Nyx owns the land, and she gives no shits about his rages. And it's interesting, too, to see the lines she doesn't draw. The deal seems to be that Hades doesn't fuck with her, and doesn't outright threaten her kids (because Hypnos is bad at his job, demonstrably so, and Hades hasn't ruined him yet), and she doesn't interfere with the way he treats the people around him. She gives Zagreus advice and support and the mirror, but she also doesn't take a direct stand against Hades. He can't hurt her, but he could make life...difficult. She's protected, her position in the minefield is more of a safe viewing platform than slogging through the middle of it, but the mines are still there.

And then we have Achilles, who is one of my favorite characters in the whole game because of how he reacts to this whole situation. Achilles, like Nyx, is so supportive. Every single time you see him he has something encouraging to say. He gives us his Codex, secretly finds us weapons, trained us for years, clearly wants us to succeed. And still he's limited, not necessarily out of fear for himself (though he has to be scared for himself, he knows what Hades does to people who anger him), but out of concern that if he gives Zagreus too much help in one way, he won't be able to provide help at all later. He's still so careful.

Achilles and Nyx are so fucking important to this story because they're the only authority figures Zagreus really has in his life except for his father, and they are so supportive. They're what keep this story from being a nightmare of psychological horror and depression. They can't stop the pressure from Hades and this life in his house being miserable for Zag, but they can give us hope, remind us that Zagreus is still loved. And they have such an incredibly important role when it comes to guilt, which is one of the biggest ways toxic systems maintain themselves.

If Zagreus leaves, what happens to everybody else? Who takes Hades' wrath then? Who becomes court scapegoat if he's not there, and also, who gets punished for his escape? These questions matter, and we see him worry about it! He asks Nyx and Achilles both, is it going to be okay that you're helping me, are you going to be alright, will my father hurt you for this? And they are both so firm about telling him no. No, I will be fine. See, here's the list of reasons about why I'm going to be fine, why my position in this minefield is secure. They make a point of telling us that it's fine, that we do not need to hold ourself back from getting out of this abusive situation for their sake. That is instrumental in Zagreus's ability to keep making these escape attempts without feeling too guilty and worried and selfish to go on. (Another thing that's actually really important in setting up that dynamic--we see that Hades cares about Cerberus, even if he's using him as a pawn against us, and Cerberus seems to be the one figure in court who Hades doesn't get mad at. The dog isn't at risk, and that is really essential in keeping the story from getting too grim.) These people who we care about refuse to let themselves be held hostage to secure our good behavior.

It's also really useful for raising the stakes later in the story--we see Hades arguing with Nyx once or twice, and we see Zagreus feeling guilty about it, but it's also a sign that we're making enough progress to piss him off. After I finally made it out of Elysium on my last run, I came home to find him furious with Achilles in a way that actually makes me nervous, because Achilles does not have nearly as much security in his position as he says he does. (Achilles is such a good teacher/authority figure, because he knows goddamn well what Hades could do to him, and still refuses to let fear for his own situation stop him from helping the abused kid under his care escape his. And no, not everybody has the capacity to do that, but it matters so much coming from the guy who helped raise us. It matters so much. I do not even have the words for how much.)

It's also no mistake that many of the people we find supporting us along our journey are either the people with the most power in their immediate environment, or the least. Sisyphus helps us because what more could they do to me than this? Orpheus is a little wild around the eyes and somewhat disconnected from reality, and he wishes us the best because someone should get what they want and also he no longer gives a single fuck what happens to him. Eurydice has her own cozy little corner of Asphodel, as safe from Hades' rage as anybody anywhere in his realm because she's tucked in such an out-of-the-way middle place she's outside his notice. Dusa is so scared of everything anyway that, crush aside, she isn't any more threatened by us escaping than she is just by her everyday life here. Charon is unfathomable and unstoppable; Skelly literally exists to be a punching bag, and yet he also seems basically immune to pain, no matter what we do to him. There's no threat from Hades there.

So the people most at risk when I flip the world on its ear are the ones who have so much standing that they have something to lose, but not enough to protect them from losing it. Which of course brings us to Than and Meg--who are, of course, the two people who also seem by far the most upset by my attempts to leave.

As authority figures, Nyx and Achilles are constantly reinforcing the message that it's Hades' fault, not ours, if they or anybody else get caught in the crossfire of his wrath. I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing, and it's not my guilt to bear. From Megaera and Thanatos, we get the opposite message--I am fucking with things, I am hurting people, and I need to stop. Zagreus isn't just abandoning them, as a friend or brother or lover or all of the above they're Greek gods who even knows. He's betraying them. They were in this together, as friends or lovers or whatever, but now Zagreus is sending earthquakes through the minefield they both still have to stand in. He is about to capsize this boat in the middle of a thunderstorm, he is fucking with the system, and they're the ones who are going to get most hurt.

I'm so curious how this is going to work for Than, who out of everyone we meet holds the closest role to Nyx's in terms of being sheltered from Hades' wrath. He's the guy who gets to leave, after all, even though he always has to come back. I've seen the least of him out of anybody so far because it took forever for me to get to Elysium, but two things really stand out and I'm so interested to see where they go. One, he really genuinely does care about Zagreus. He wants us safe, he wants us unhurt, the accessory he gives us only grants its bonus if we clear a room without taking injury, he keeps showing up to help. And two, he wants us to give up and go back and recognize how good we had it. Which is SO fucking interesting, considering how miserable Zagreus so clearly was, and how legitimate his reasons for being miserable were.

It makes me wonder so much about Than's standards for comparison. Does he know something we don't about what's waiting for us on the surface, something that might theoretically hurt Zagreus even more than staying down below? Has his life, which apparently allows him more freedom than anybody else in the Court, sucked horribly in ways we haven't seen, and that's why he spends so little time there in the first place? Either of those things is plausible, both of those things are plausible, and yet either one leads to this sense of patronizing, because he refuses to simply tell us. If something terrible is awaiting us, don't give us vague warnings, tell us what it is and let us decide for ourself! If you're fucking jealous because we might get out entirely and you're still stuck coming back here, say so. If you're worried about your mom--and he does bring her up, how could Zagreus turn his back on her like that, does seem to worry for her--then let's have an actual conversation about how many times she has insisted I do this and also how much I love her.

And, right, it's clear that a lot of Thanatos being upset is simply, you were going to leave me without even saying goodbye, you want to leave ME, which is understandable! But, like, he is demonstrably the one god who gets to visit the surface. He's the one person we actually COULD expect to see again. And he is absolutely also upset because there's an Order To Things, and we're fucking it up. We used to be his careless callow reckless friend who could talk back to Hades and get away with it, and now we're not, and everything is changing and we might leave him altogether, and we might leave him alone in that court without us, and he hates it.

Is it a short-sighted, selfish fear on his part? Yes, absolutely. Even if he's not scared of Hades on his own behalf, he is still frightened by what happens if we upset this system--and maybe it's the sanctity of a much bigger system than the Underworld that he's worried about! Maybe it's the whole divine and cosmic order. Whatever system he wants so badly to protect is enabling the abuse Zagreus has been dealing with for however-long he's been alive. Whatever system he wants so badly to protect OUGHT to be overturned, or at least shaken up. But this is what toxic systems DO. They convince the people within them that they have to be maintained, that a broken system that hurts the people within it is far better than no system at all, that changing the world is too scary and too dangerous. And Thanatos wants his whatever-Zagreus-is-to-him to be there, because he loves him and also because that's how the world works, and those things are all tangled up in one another, and that is how relationships are in a messed-up family like this so therefore I love it.

And Meg. Meg, the best for last, my dear, beautiful, furious, bitter, scared angry tired girl. I adore her. I am absolutely never going to date her, because the thing Zagreus needs most in his life hurts her, more directly than anybody else in the story, and that sucks, and it's not Zag's fault but they still shouldn't be together. Meg has taken more injury from this situation than anyone, quite literally as well as metaphorically, and it's not her fault any more than it's ours, but oh boy it has made her lash out and it's awful and it's perfect.

Meg's place in the Court of Hades is unique because she's not dead, not a mortal, not anything other than a god--but she's also not family. Nyx is not her mother. She's very much part of this system, she and her two sisters belong to Hades-the-realm and therefore also Hades-the-king, she can't leave, but she also doesn't have that protection of Nyx watching out for her in the same way. She's not royalty. She and her sisters (if you ask Hesiod instead of Virgil, which seems to be the interpretation the game's going with here) sprang from the blood of maimed Uranus at the same time as Aphrodite, but fuck knows Aphrodite isn't claiming them as siblings. And she can't be fired, exactly, but she sure can be demoted, and she sure can be made miserable in her job. Meg is vulnerable in a way very few people in Hades' employ are. She's a lot harder to do away with than any one random shade, but she's also a lot harder to miss blending in with a crowd.

What's more, she's the one person in this whole mess who is specifically tasked with stopping us from leaving. Hypnos isn't ordered to put us to sleep and keep us in our room. Thanatos can't be compelled or punished if he doesn't hunt us down. Achilles isn't told to lock us up and keep the keys. Meg is the one stationed at the doorway to Tartarus to keep us in. Meg is the one who gets in trouble when we leave. Meg (who Hades knows goddamn well Zagreus cares for, or cared for, who he absolutely knows we used to date) is the one who has to fight us again and again and again. And she's the one who keeps dying.

Again, it's this incredibly fucked-up guilt/hostage situation deliberately designed to keep people from fleeing abusive situations. Meg's insistence on fighting us now puts Zagreus in the position of having to hurt her himself again and again. Now suddenly we're the ones sticking a sword in our ex-girlfriend. Now suddenly someone can point to our desire to leave, to flee, to escape, and say, how selfish. How cruel. How terrible of us to want to go, when we're even willing to hurt the people we love to do it.

Except, right: Hades is the one who demands Meg stand there and stop us. Hades is the one who puts both of us in that position. Meg is also in an abusive situation, and she's willing to hurt us to protect herself. "I'd rather be on your bad side than your father's." It's easy to blame her at the start for being complicit, for being a tool of our father's abuse, for being on his side. It gets harder as the game goes on. I've killed her so many times. There's no way for her to beat me. She knows at this point that she can't beat me. She still fights, every single time, still throws herself upon that spike, not because she thinks she has any chance of stopping me but because she is so damn scared of what will happen if she doesn't try.

In fact, Meg's the one person we have actually seen face consequences for our actions so far, instead of just facing the threat of them. Her sisters are here. Her sisters, who she clearly does not want here, who are wild and violent and who she does not want in her life or anywhere near her, let alone near the job she takes so much pride in. She gets to deal with them now. (Hades doesn't have to deal with them. They're still not allowed in his court. But Meg does.) She gets stabbed, and bludgeoned, and shot, and lightning-struck, and poisoned, and every other thing we do to her. Thanatos doesn't. Nyx and Achilles and Hypnos don't. Bug Meg? Oh yes. Meg pays.

And yes, ok, she is complicit in this system. Everybody is complicit in this system. Zagreus who's trying to escape on his own behalf instead of overthrowing his father for the sake of everyone he'd otherwise be leaving behind is complicit in this system. Pointing fingers and pulling strings of who's more at fault? and who do we blame for this? is exactly how this sort of system perpetuates itself. Your sister always talked back at the dinner table and put everyone in an even worse and more violent mood. Your coworker refuses to work more than forty hours a week so now you have to take overtime to pick up their slack. You're enabling your dad by asking your sister to shut up, you're enabling your employer by working as hard as you do so you don't get fired, everyone's at fault, everyone's to blame, everyone is--

It's not everyone. It's Hades. It's Hades at the root of everything, and probably something big and institutional and fucked-up even beyond him. But even if everyone down in this Underworld does have to be trapped here forever, even if he's trapped here forever, Hades is neither challenging the system that put them here nor trying to make that fate better for anyone else stuck with him. He's just created an entire kingdom of backbiting and misery and people who can either go along with his whims or suffer the consequences.

At this point in the game, Meg is so fucking tired. Every time we run into her in the lounge, hunched over a table, the venom in her voice when she tells us "Do I look like I have anything to say to you?" is so bitter and so exhausted. There was a system, and she knew her place in the system, and it was a system divinely ordered by the gods themselves, and sure it was cruel but that's the literal will of the universe as far as she knows it. She had a role, and her role was vengeance and punishment and violence against those who'd committed the most egregious of sins in life, and there was a point to it, she was the divine deterrent to convince people not to do those things, and that was just, and that was right. The GODS THEMSELVES said so. How do you argue with that? You can't possibly argue with that!

And Zagreus is arguing with that. In trying to leave, he's questioning the unbreakable rule that nothing in the Underworld ever gets to leave it. In disobeying his father to do so, he's questioning the unbreakable rule that what the gods say is LAW. He's breaking everything.

And of course he's not trying to do any of that. He's not trying to destabilize the system at all. He's just trying to get himself out of it, to a place where he feels like he belongs and maybe a parent who's slightly nicer to him than this one. But toxic systems like this one break when the people within them have access to another option. When the kids find a way to actually leave, and not answer the phone, and not come home for holidays, and not deal with it any more. When the employees have the economic freedom to quit. When opportunities granted by education, money, social support, etc etc etc, show up and give people a choice. Even if the option is only ever for Zagreus--he's demonstrating that an option exists. Which is, of course, the one thing the system cannot ever allow.

I really like this game.

#hades game #hades spoilers #C plays stuff #driveby meta attack

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awindylife-writes · 3 years

Text

After the End (Comes the Beginning)

Relationships: 10th Doctor x reader, Donna x reader (platonic), Donna x Doctor (platonic), Rose x reader (mentioned, platonic)

Summary: Christmas bride rewrite. The Doctor and you cope with the loss of Rose and meet Donna.

Warnings: mentions of the loss of Rose

Genre: angst

You lost her.

You lost Rose and she didn't even get to finish her sentence before you and the Doctor were ripped away.

You were standing in the TARDIS with her last words ringing in your ears. You stared at the wall where she'd stood just a second ago. You were sinking to your knees and you didn't even notice with your vision blurred, too many tears to see through.

Too much pain to get up.

A sob interrupted your quiet litany of "Nononononononononono-" and you hadn't even known you were speaking. You tried to catch your breath but you seemed to have forgotten how to take air in. The only thing that existed was the hole in your chest.

Then the Doctor's teary face appeared in your vison. His hands were gripping your arms. He was calling for you.

"Y/N. Y/N. Y/N." There was desparation in his voice and so much grief in his eyes that it woke you up.

Because he'd lost Rose too. He loved her too, you three had been best friends and after all that he'd lost he must have been breaking. And if there was one thing you wouldn't stand for now, it was leaving him alone.

"I'm here." You wiped your tears with your palms and looked into his deep brown shattered eyes. "I'm here, Doctor, and l'm not leaving." You tried for a smile as you gently took his face in your hands and wiped his tears with your thumb.

When you saw he'd heard you, you pulled him into your arms. You were clinging to each other and you weren't sure if you were ever going to stop. Ever.

Then you heard a gasp and a shocked squeak. You and the Doctor broke apart enough to look at the strange woman who was now standing in TARDIS. You both stood up out of astonishment to see her better.

"What?" you heard the Doctor's incredoulus voice. You simply stared. If you hadn't been desolate, the sight would have been hilarious.

There was a ginger bride standing in the TARDIS asking, "Who are you?" and there was no clue to explain how she got there.

You found yourself smiling.

"What?" the Doctor breathed again. You thought you might start laughing but then you looked at him. He still had teartracks on his face.

The reality came back like a slap.

"Who are you?" she demanded, and you just

stared.

"What?" The Doctor seemed to be caught in a loop so you stepped towards her.

"Hi. My name's Y/N and this is the Doctor. You're standing in the TARDIS."

"You can't do that l wasn't- we're in flight that is- that is physically imposible how did you-" the Doctor was rambling away but the ginger cut him off.

"Tell me where l am," she told you with force. "I demand you tell me RIGHT NOW where am l?"

"Inside the TARDIS," you repeated and she focused on you.

"The what."

"The TARDIS."

"The what?"

"The TARDIS."

"The what???"

"It's called the TARDIS," the Doctor finally joined in.

"That's not even a proper word!"

When the Doctor went to get money from the ATM, you went with him. You'd have stayed with Donna before, before, but not now. You were not letting him out of your sight. Judging by the panicked look in his eyes when he checked if you were following him he felt the same.

You turned him away from the partying crowd, towards the bar. You'd recognized the look in his eyes as he watched the dancing couples, it mirrored how you felt inside.

You hugged him close and he buried his face into your shoulder.

Then you noticed the cameraman.

You screamed at Lance when he said those horrible things about Donna. You made sure she knew she isn't alone. You held her hand.

Then when she was crying in the TARDIS and the Doctor didn't notice, you held her.

When the empress of the Racknoss screamed, you got lost. She screamed in grief, and there was just as much of it in you.

Donna pulled you out of it.

There would be enough time to grieve when this was over, and then you would never get lost again.

"I'll just, go out there and do something," Donna finished with a smile. You exchanged looks with the Doctor.

"Well, you could always..." he began.

"What?"

"Come with us." You stepped towards her. There was so much hope in you but you tried to keep it at bay. You didn't think you could take much more hurt today.

"No," Donna said in a soft voice. Well, so much for that.

"Okay," the Doctor reacted immediately.

"I can't," Donna told you sadly.

"No, that's fine!"

"No but really though, I mean everything we did today- Do you live your life like that?"

"Not all the time," you tried, but you knew it was no use. It wasn't true.

"I think you do. And I couldn't," Donna shook her head.

"But you've seen it out there," you tried. "It's beautiful."

"And it's terrible. That place was flooding and bruning and they were dying and he stood there like-" Donna turned to the Doctor. "I don't know. A stranger."

"And then you made it snow, I mean you scare me to death!" She turned back to you. "The both of you!"

"Well then," said the Doctor.

But then Donna went on, "Tell you what I will do, though- Christmas dinner."

She was followed by silence.

You couldn't speak, not when you could see Jackie's gentle smile as she passed you your cup. And then you could hear Mickey laugh while you scooped the turkey on your plate. Home, they had been your home, Rose and Jackie and Mickey, all that warmth and joy and ease, because you hadn't had to pretend when they were there. No, every moment was a gi-

"Oh come on." Donna's voice broke you out of the dream. Because that was what it was now, and that was what it would stay - a dream.

"No, no, we couldn't," you tried to decline. You couldn't sit down with a family, and be happy, and let it be Christmas. Not now. The memory of Mickey and Jackie burned, but Rose -

Not without Rose. Not when it felt like half your chest was missing. It had been less than a day.

"We don't do that sort of thing," the Doctor joined in.

"You did it last year, you both said so, and might as well, because mom always cooks enough for twenty," she tried.

"Donna," you said and there was something in your voice that stopped her (grief). "We can't." You let your sorrow show, and you hadn't wanted to do that.

But it was so, so close, just below the surface, everything in you was screaming, still screaming Nononononono ROSE!!!! There had been enough danger and adrenaline to distract you, but now that you were standing there in the snow, you couldn't keep the gnawing pain at bay. You were splintering.

She looked into your eyes, and you knew she understood. "Will I ever see you again?"

The Doctor gave her a soft smile. "If we're lucky."

Then you stepped towards Donna and she hugged you, even though you were both damp from the rain. She lifted her head from your shoulder and adressed the Doctor, "Just... hold onto her." She gave you a tight squeeze. "You need someone to stop you."

"Yeah," his voice was so soft you almost couldn't catch it.

And now it was time to go. You pulled away, but before you let go, you smiled and looked into Donna's brilliant blue eyes. "Thank you." You squeezed her arm so she knew you really meant it.

"And good luck," the Doctor wished Donna as you stepped backwards to join him. "And just... be magnificent."

She chuckled. "I think I will, yeah."

The Doctor opened the TARDIS door for you and you stepped in, but then Donna called out for you to wait and you both turned back. "What?"

"That friend of yours, what was her name?" she asked and you were ashamed you hadn't told her yet.

"Rose," you and the Doctor said in one voice. "Her name was Rose," you repeated and then there was nothing left to say.

You gave Donna a sad smile and turned away. The Doctor closed the door behind you and walked to the concole. You joined him just in time to grab a hold of it when the TARDIS started shaking.

You were off to the stars.

"Do you blame me?" the Doctor said in a tight voice when it was quiet. It was just the two of you again. You'd been hugging, and then he'd pulled away just enough to see your face and ask.

"What?" You had a small idea what he meant, but you didn't want to believe it. He wouldn't meet your eyes.

"Do you blame me for losing Rose?" he clarified, looking down at your joined hands. "I was supposed to keep you safe. I promised l would keep you both safe. And l didn't." His voice broke on the last word. His shoulders were tense, like he was bracing for a hit. You realized he'd braced himself because he thoght you wanted to leave him.

And all you wanted to do was smack him.

"Doctor, listen to me. And listen well," you commanded as you gently tilted his chin to look him in the eye. "Are you listening?" you demanded, and he nervously replied, "Yes."

"Good. What happened to Rose was not your falt. Did you hear me? Not. your. fault. I do not, and will never blame you for her loss."

He stared at you with his big brown eyes, lips slightly parted. He was completely lost, like he couldn't comprehend what you were saying.

"We knew that it was dangerous, we knew what could happen. It was her choice to stay, like it was mine. It could have been me just as easily."

His grip on your arm tightened as he shook his head, whispering "No, nononono," like he couldn't let himself imagine that posibility.

But you went on, "Or it could have been you, or none of us. That's the risk we took, that's the risk we both chose to take, from the moment we started travelling with you."

"It was our choice. Rose's and mine. And you don't get to take it from us, you hear me? You don't get to take her choice away like it was something you decided, like it was something only you did. She loved us and chose us and she was brave. So the consequences came, yes, like every other adventure we had, it's just that this time we don't like them. But they are ours and we'll live with them." There was stinging in your eyes and you didn't fight it. You cupped the Doctor's cheek with your hand. His brown eyes were wide, as if he just now came to understand what you'd said. What you'd meant.

You went on, "I'll grieve, and l'll hurt and so will you. But l'd rather have that time, the memories of Rose, of us together and the pain, than not to have had her at all." Your throat tightened and you had to swallow a few times to be able to speak again. You took a breath and finished, "So remember, Doctor, the choice was hers, and the choice is mine."

He had tears glittering on his cheeks and so did you. You held his gaze until he closed his eyes and hung his head, and then you hugged him.

You held him close and he clung to you even though he was shaking. You both sobbed but still you held each other.

You would hold each other together.

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #the doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #the doctor #10th doctor #tenth doctor #doctor who fanfiction #reader insert #donna x reader #rose x reader #donna noble #rose tyler #donna noble x reader #rose tyler x reader #donna x doctor #donna noble x doctor

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marvellovegalore · 3 years

Text

Breaking You

Chris Evans

Parte Deux - Hurting You

Synopsis: You begin to feel the true consequences of you hurting Chris and it's beginning to overwhelm you - and him.

Word Count: 2,483

Author's Note: I listened to quite a few songs to truly get into the vibe of this but The Cinematic Orchestra - To build a home (slowed) really got me into the energy I want to be delivered from this write-up. Happy Reading! Feel free to let me know how you feel!

Warning: Explicit Language, Mention of Mental Illness, Sexual Content

You’ve rarely had to consider yourself as someone who runs from her problems. You’d probably proudly tell anyone that asked that you quite confidently tackle your problems head-on.

However, you’ve created quite a serious problem for yourself. A broken heart.

What you have periled numerous men with, is now afflicting you. The odd thing is, is that you are exulting in it. It’s an oddly familiar sensation; it drowns your body in an intangible sickness that paralyses and asphyxiates you.

You sit at your piano, watching the silent and unmoving countryside. The fields of Portofino showered with golden sunlight, the brio reflecting into your room.

You haven’t pushed aside the sheer curtains since you arrived four days ago. You’ve taken your first shower this morning, the water sinking you into its comforting, warm embrace. You don’t really want to tell yourself aloud why you chose to come back to your grandparents’ old house, when stuff is going wrong. You’ve decided that playing the piano and smoking your days away is better than confronting yourself in the mirror - good thing all the furniture is covered with sheets. The sorry state of your face would make you plunder even deeper into your melancholy.

You will yourself to forget him and try to forget his existence.

But it’s virtually impossible, with him promoting a new film three towns over.

Good thing is you feel physically incapable of stepping outside of the confines of the house. The ladies that tend to the house scurry around the town buying food for the house and maintain its upkeep, they attempt to feed you three meals a day or four. You refuse most of the time, and they regard you with concerned gazes.

How could you begin to explain that with breaking a man’s heart, you subsequently had broken your own? His words blistered with bitterness bit you and dragged you down to the same pits of sadness that you plunged him into. You can probably say that you loved him, but you’ll probably truly never grasp why you can’t stay in something that requires such cemented commitment.

“Signora?” Your house governess interrupts your train of thought, you pull your cigarette away from your lips. “Sí?” She presents you with a letter addressed to you. The handwriting vaguely familiar to you. You thank her and dismiss her, the cigarette back in between your lips.

The letter doesn’t inform you of who it is from, but you hope, in the depths of your ribs that it’s from him, but you couldn’t possibly understand why he would ask to meet with you. He left you wordlessly two months ago and hasn’t been in contact since, not even through subliminal messages on social media. You can wager that you’re probably dead to him. It was made clear to you when you stood at the beach outside of your friend’s Malibu compound. He would rather die than get back with you; you don’t blame him.

You turn back to your piano, the keys feeling like lead beneath your shaky fingers. You play out a melancholic tune, your fingers feeling like they’re losing blood, you play clumsily, your eyes welling with tears.

You do have to admit, you feel extremely guilty for leaving him.

Life was beautiful with him.

He would have served you the sun on a platter if it meant making you smile - but you’re meant to destroy beautiful things.

It was what your father told you. You ruined his marriage to your mother; your sheer existence drove her to the brink of insanity. Since you were conceived you were a parasite that took the love your mother had for your father and you guzzled it out of her, taking all of her focus and affection. When you were born your parents refused the diagnosis of postpartum psychosis. Your mother believed you were an angel sent from heaven and doctors were trying to take you from her; so, she slowly succumbed to the madness and your father eventually was forced to send her away. The resentment he felt towards you all but scented the house, you were a poisonous leech, and you were treated as such.

You take the last drag of your cigarette and drag yourself to your walk-in closet, you decide on taking another shower - scrubbing away the odour of tar and smoke. You ready yourself for your strange and mysterious encounter. You dress yourself and half an hour later rush out to your car. The sun is low in the sky by the time you start driving away from the house, the countryside hugging you from all sides.

The drive is long into the town centre. The sky is blushed with pink and tinges of orange. You park your car and take a slow walk to the Splendido Mare; you enter the hotel’s restaurant and are led to a table. Your order a glass of wine and wait. After ten minutes you take out the letter, you read it from start to finish and confirm that the invitation was not a figment of your imagination; you were indeed summoned here by a mystery writer. Whom you hope is him.

You sit for half an hour at your table, you sip your anxiety away through two glasses of wine, you step outside and smoke two cigarettes and yet you’re still waiting. You flit through your phone notifications; you decide against your better judgement to type his name into the Goggle search bar. You fleetingly glance around the sparsely attended restaurant. You lock your phone without looking at the updates about him.

The thought of him makes your chest ache, harshly. The pain is tangible, you place your hands over your chest and wince. Something is not right.

You’re not aware of his slow approach, his hands wringing around each other, his cheeks red with nervous energy. He wishes he had had a shot of something - anything before getting here. He doesn’t recall what filled him the mad inspiration to send you a stamped letter to meet him at his hotel restaurant. He doesn’t know whether he wishes he had just called the brunette and spoken to her tonight; but he misses you. Madly.

He pulls out the chair in front of you. You can both tell that you’re holding in your breath.

Every time you see him it feels like the first time, all over again.

And he feels the same, but for either of you to admit it would be succumbing to defeat. You’re engaged in a silent and unspoken battle of wills.

“You sent me a letter?” You show him the letter. He nods, you sigh. “What is it you want to talk about?” You’re afraid to look into his eyes, they’re huge lakes filled with your dreams and deepest desires.

He hesitates, a ghostly sentence is formed on his tongue – he decides against materialising it. “I heard you were nearby; thought we could catch up.” He motions for the waiter. You narrow your eyes in - almost offence. What does he think, that you’re old pals?

He wants to catch up, but you want to do everything. Mostly profess your adoration for him and make love to him.

You despise the feeling; you’ve never felt like this for anyone. The alien feeling makes you heat up, your chest rises and falls quickly; agony filling your body as if you were a vessel to claim. “Right,” is all you can utter.

“What have you been up to?” He’s ordered two martinis, his eyes connecting to yours. You wince as the pain in your chest returns. How can he be so close yet so far?

“I was filming a fragrance campaign recently.” You speak quickly, an itch to smoke tickling your fingers. He nods, his eyebrows raised high.

“Nice.” He sighs and extends his clasped hands further onto the table. You look even more beautiful than in his thoughts, which he can’t expel you from. It seems your haunting presence is with him to stay, and his imagination can’t do any justice to your face and your intoxicating smell.

The conversation you have over your first drinks is dry, emotionless and full of hidden desires.

After each of you have three cocktails you let out the first laugh. He’s released himself a bit from the shackles of wanting to one-up you, his joke about his dog’s stubbornness reminding you of the good days of domesticity with Christopher and his dog. You move out to the terrace, candles flickering in the wind; you share more laughs. Memories being shared between you about life together.

There’s a clear shared emotion - longing. You crave the late summer nights sharing the dance floor with his friends or yours; him undressing you slowly in your pool; the nights watching the fire pit in your Santa Barbara home; the dinners enclosed in brick walled Italian restaurants with candles illuminating your elated faces.

“Come up with me.” His suggestion is quiet, his lips edging closer to yours. You nod, overcome with emotion. He grips on to your hand, the grip of a man thanking his lucky stars. He leads you to his room, on the top floor. A paradisiacal view of the sea and hills greeting you. The sun has set completely, and the moon casts a pale light over the buildings across the water.

Chris closes the door, and no sooner is he clutching at your lips with his. His hands smother you onto him and you meet him with the same desperation. Your hands slip under his shirt and moan into his mouth, your lipstick smearing over his lips. You feel him inhale your smell; he sighs desperately as he pulls you closer to him. You fall onto the chaise lounge in front of the open doors leading onto his balcony. The wind whispers sweet nothings onto your skins as you meld together, your bodies wanting desperately to be combined. He removes your clothes with familiar precision and your fingers touch him where you know he likes it.

The grooves of his skin are familiar, his dick entering you slowly as your fingers caress his tanned skin. He looks spectacular underneath you, his skin illuminated by the moonlight. You ride him slowly, you lips adventuring each other, like your bodies are each other’s long lost home territory. Your lips touch again, but it feels like the first time all over again. You feel yourself melting, your brain feels high, your limbs terribly relaxed. You guess this is what true love feels like. There’s nowhere else you’d want to be.

You love him. Only him.

He turns you over, on all fours, one hand gripping your throat and the other around your hair. He thrusts into you - with passion, his lips ghost over your shoulder. You feel your eyes close, the strength to fight the sedation unable to be found. It goes on for a while, and he flattens you onto your stomach. He lays on top of you, his hips gyrating against your skin, his arms encircling your torso. You feel safe, his head laying to rest in between you shoulder and jawline. He inhales your scent and kisses your shoulder, his lips printing their mark on your skin.

He turns you over and takes a deep breath, his eyes hold your entire world. They’ve trapped you into his universe and you have no desire to leave. He’s your whole world and you gave him away on a silver platter - but he’s here. He accommodates himself in between your legs and gives you a hug, his lips find yours in the darkness. The moonlight bathes you generously and he nestles himself inside you again. His lips refuse to leave yours; his thrusts grow in fervour; he wants to bury himself inside you and never leave.

He’s so deeply, and madly in love with you.

He can’t believe you hurt him. He hates you for it.

He pulls away from your kiss, his breathing heavy and slightly laboured.

His hides his face in the nook under your head. You feel like crumpling when you feel tears run over your shoulder, you hug him tighter. You want to stitch his wounds closed, tightly with your bare fingers and your lips. You want to mould your bodies together and live forever in this moment. His fingers reach for your clitoris and he makes love to you in two different ways. Your head lolls back and you feel ecstatic, currents washing over you slowly and you orgasm.

Chris kisses you desperately, swallowing your moans. He thrusts into you, complementing your orgasm. He releases himself into you, slowly moaning into your mouth.

After a few moments he stands up from the lounge chair and heads to the shower, as he walks through the door, he turns to you. He smiles in a way that you understand is an invitation to join him in the shower. You stand slowly, your legs feeling like jelly. You join him for a warm shower, peppered with tender kisses and saccharine touches.

Your bodies unconsciously refuse to part until you’re lying in his bed. He turns off the lamp and lays facing you.

A sweet look embalms his irises. His hand lifts itself to nestle under your cheekbone. He regards you softly.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice shaky.

You smile sleepily, “I love you too.”

You’re hypnotised to sleep by his soft breaths.

—

The sunlight reflected on the lake wakes you out of you slumber, the first dreamless one you’ve had in months. You turn to the side where Chris is and find nothing but empty air. You sit up quickly; the room is deadly silent. Nothing but your movements on the bed make noise. You scramble out of the bed and look for him.

There’s no trace of him in the room. You let out small wail of desperation. What if it was all a dream?

You pace the room, an uneasy feeling setting itself in your chest. You feel the space between your ribs tighten and your head feel faint. Your legs feel weak and unsteady, you crumple into a heap near the chaise lounge. Your breath feels constricted, massively so. The world begins to spin, and you fall onto your back.

It feels like a heart attack.

You can barely feel your heart.

You drag yourself to the counsel table, desperate to reach the phone. Your hand misses it massively, instead a hotel branded paper flickers down next to you. You pick it up, the tightness in your chest limiting your movement.

I guess this is goodbye, I can’t get over the fact that I’ll never be able to trust you. No matter how much I want to.

I hate you for ruining us

I’ll miss you, forever.

With all my love,

Parte Quatre -

Tags -

@chvntelle-99, @krispy-toes, @hampass, @calimoi, @saltyflowermakertaco

#chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans x female reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans angst #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #andy barber #andy barber series #andy barber one shot #chris evans blurb #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfiction

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linkspooky · 4 years

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Shigaraki’s Plus Ultra

Chapter 281. The chapter is called “Plus Ultra” because Shigaraki is showing the same Plus Ultra determination the heroes always show. It’s the same scene. Deku screaming after the Muscle fight is a direct parallel to the way Shigaraki screams here the pose is exactly the same. It’s y’know, a parallel? Them boys are the same. Horikoshi loves setting up parallels. Now the villain of the story is parallelling the hero of the story, continuing to fight against an impossibly strong enemy even while his body is breaking down and everybody else is begging him to just give up already. Shigaraki is just another hero of the story, he has an origin that motivates him (like Bakugo, Shoto, Deku) he has a group of friends that he fights for, and now he’s going way beyond plus ultra to defeat the bad guy in front of him.

1. Muscle Fight

There are several parallels to the muscle fight within this scene which was Deku’s first big solo moment as a hero in the manga.

The first is that we’re getting a repetition of the idea that heroes hurt their own families to save total strangers. Deku is told directly that Kouta’s parents chose to die as heroes to save a random civilian rather than come home alive for the child who should have been their first priority.

Yes, it’s not like it would have been right to let a random person die but still. The two parents knew being heroes was a high-risk occupation. They chose to have a child, then they chose to take that risk and not have the child be their first priority. Kouta’s bitterness is over the fact his parents chose to be heroes rather than be his parents.

Shigaraki’s words and situation mirror Kouta’s, because Shigaraki is the analog of all abused children in the story. Himiko, Dabi, Hawks, Kouta, even Eri they are all meant to foil Shigaraki. Shigaraki is a victim of the current hero society, and he’s also a metaphor for all the other victims. He and Kouta says these things because they’ve both been through it. Kouta’s parents hurt him by not making him their top priority. Nana Shimura chose to be a hero, instead of retiring as a hero and being a mother to her son and going into hiding with him and that’s something Kotaro and then Shigaraki faced the consequences of.

Shigaraki knows that hero’s don’t save people, and instead focus on punishing problem elements to maintain a status quo in society because he’s lived it. Kouta doesn’t see why his parents were out being heroes in the first place when they could have been at home raising him. Shigaraki lived in a busy town filled with heroes, and yet with a surplus of heroes running around on the street no hero even tried to save him.

It’s not because Shigaraki did anything wrong, he was a five-year-old kid. It’s because saving him would have been difficult, he was ugly, he was dirty. Shigaraki is saying that collectively hero society works by ignoring what the real problems are, and instead, everybody focuses on the glamour of heroes and pretends everything is okay. When heroes don’t even need to exist in the first place. That’s what Kouta says as well. His parents didn’t need to be heroes. If you choose to bring a child into the world, your first priority should be that child because they are completely dependent on you. The child doesn’t have a choice, the parents do.

“Heroes hurt their families to help complete strangers” is also a rallying call to show that heroes aren’t protecting the people most in need of protecting, people like Shigaraki, Dabi, Kouta, who are all the biggest victims were also people who were literally related to heroes but didn’t get saved. Heroes don’t save the people they are obligated to save. We see this repeated time and time again. Endeavor cared more about being a hero than his own family, to the point where he neglected two children, let Touya die, and then beat up his own son in “training” for most of his life. Shimura Nana abandoned her child and left him with lifelong scars.

It’s not just that the heroes are flawed though, or that they fail sometimes. If it was just that, then Shigaraki’s response wouldn’t be merited.

Shigaraki, Twice, Dabi, and Himiko the people who have suffered under the system the most have been repeating the same criticisms again and again. One, the system still allows abuses to happen (Heroes hurt their own families) and two Heroes don’t actually fight to protect victims they fight to protect the system itself (Heroes don’t save people).

If heroes don’t save their own families and the people closest to them, and they don’t save the people who are the biggest victims of the system then who are the pro heroes saving?

Heroes are not defending people, but rather the hero system itself. The hero system convinces people that it needs to exist when it doesn’t keep general peace, and rather than actually trying to improve the society they instead keep the conflict between heroes and villains going because that conflict convinces the masses that the hero system is needed. It’s as Kouta says, people are going to keep calling themselves heroes and villains and fighting each other forever and it’s stupid.

This system feeds into itself. Shigaraki is literally telling us what happens. People like Twice, Himiko, Dabi, Spinner all get cast out for not meeting society’s standards. They eventually get radicalized and fight back and retaliate against a system that has been violent to them. Then the heroes put them down. Then, more people get cast out. As Shigaraki says, this system is just going to keep perpetuating itself forever. Heroes don’t protect people, they protect the system that is in place first and foremost.

Anyway, back to the Deku and Kouta scene. A hero tries to kill a child.

Deku, even though he’s fighting all alone with no back up at all against an enemy FAR MORE POWERFUL than him, just WON’T STOP FIGHTING.

Shigaraki faces enemies who are trying to kill him. However, just like that Deku, he WON’T GIVE UP, even when his body is far past the point of breaking. Shigaraki is told to die, just give up and die, over and over again by everyone around him but he keeps fighting against that.

Deku’s number one priority is that he has to fight back against the villain who killed both of Kouta’s parents in order to save an abused child.

Shigaraki is that abused child, fighting back. Muscle was someone willing to kill a child. Who is Shigaraki fighting against now? Three people who made a choice to harm children.

Gran Torino chose to do nothing when Nana abandoned her child, and then never checked up on that child after she died. He chose to help Nana, rather than helping the child she abandoned.

Endeavor abused Shoto in order to make a hero that can surpass All Might. He chose to be the number one hero, rather than Shoto’s father. He also only chose to have a family to benefit himself and his ambitions in the first place.

Aizawa Shota literally had a friend die on a hero internship and knows the dangers of it, but he chose to let the kids all come along into a warzone and fight against villains who will be trying their best to kill them.

Not only is Shigaraki Kouta, but there’s also a scene where Kouta gets victim-blamed.

The question asked is who is at fault.

We see the same victim-blaming behavior done by the heroes this time. It’s Shigaraki’s fault for being born, being kidnapped by AFO, for manifesting a destructive quirk, it’s what Shigaraki is told over and over again.

And the abusers who Shigaraki is fighting against all have no reaction. Endeavor literally has no self-awareness when he hears Shigaraki say “My father told me heroes hurt their own families in order to save random strangers.” Even though... that’s exactly what Endeavor did.

Gran Torino’s dying flashback shows us just that. He blamed Shigaraki, not because Shigaraki was at fault but because he just couldn’t admit that he was the one who made the wrong choice. Gran Torino is literally partially to blame for what happened to Shigaraki, the same way Kouta is directly confronted by the villain who killed his parents.

Shigaraki is having his plus Ultra moment right now. He’s struggling against an impossible enemy all alone and trying to bear the conflict on his shoulders. He even physically parallels the actions of several heroes. He did the “Plus Ultra” pose with the wrong arm like Endeavor did after defeating the high end. (One step further, he parallels the High-End fight by getting up and continuing to fight even after being horribly scarred by the enemy). He is giving him all fighting against a villain, that villain is just all of hero society.

2. Two Heroes

All Might suggested that what Deku is lacking in as a hero, he can find and make up for by recognizing that quality in someone else and working together with them. However, Deku’s problem isn’t really that he’s not obsessing enough over his personal strength. Like, get stronger has basically been Deku’s objective since chapter one.

Bakugo isn’t the deuteragonist of this story, Shigaraki is. Shigaraki is the second hero that Deku needs to recognize. The reason why is simple, Deku has this strong urge to save people, but he doesn’t know what saving people really means. He thinks saving people is swooping in to defeat a bad guy and that’s it.

Deku can’t tell Kouta anything of substance, because he doesn’t understand Kouta’s problems, which is exactly what Shigaraki himself says. The thing is Deku is participating in the victim-blaming here. Deku says that it’s KOUTA’s FAULT because KOUTA IS THE ONE REJECTING OTHERS. However, it’s the other way around. It’s Kouta’s parents who first rejected him. Then it was everybody who praised Kouta’s parents as heroes when they failed their responsibility for their children. They’re incapable of understanding because they haven’t suffered it.

Deku only knows his limited perspective of the world. He rejects the perspectives of people like Shigaraki. He says Shigaraki is someone impossible to understand but we know that’s not the case, because not only is Shigaraki Deku’s strongest foil in the story they literally have the same origin point, they both wanted to be heroes when everyone told them they couldn’t. The only difference is this, Deku got saved, and Shigaraki didn’t. As someone who got saved, Deku can’t understand the feelings of those who don’t get saved.

However, it goes beyond that. Why does Shigaraki say that heroes are incapable of understanding the feelings of villains? The question to ask with structures of power is to look at who benefits. Endeavor faces no consequences for his actions towards his family, even though he at least admits that he made a whoopsie. Everybody else still sees Endeavor as a hero within society. Endeavor retains his position because society is built to keep heroes in place. Society is structured in a way that everyone will stay in the same position. The heroes remain, heroes, the muck remains the muck. The power structure has to stay in place no matter what, so people operating within society make choices to keep the power structure in place rather than doing what is right or wrong.

People aren’t protecting people, but rather the structures in place. The structures that are in place, currently as they are benefits people like Endeavor. Endeavor is successful by all marks of society. He has a high case rate of solves, he is wealthy, he has enough influence to throw around that he can fast track his kid to the best school possible. Endeavor is what society tells us a good, successful person is like, but we know he’s rotten as a person.

The society that Shigaraki talks about is already broken. It’s just the people who feel the most effects of society’s broken nature, are its biggest victims. Society already broke for Shigaraki, it already broke for Dabi, it already broke for Himiko. Deku and friends can pretend everything is fine and wipe everything under the rug because they haven’t suffered that way. Even those who have like Shoto mostly keep quiet about their situations. Shoto’s path so far inside the hero system has been conforming with what his father wants of him, interning at his agency. Even those who genuinely have been hurt exist in an environment that encourages them to keep their hurt feelings quiet for the benefit of everyone and conform more. Everybody always telling Shoto what a good hero his father is, and generally being completely ignorant of what his father did to him, even people like All MIght, is a pressuring force that tells him to ignore how the system has failed him. Deku is surrounded by people who either haven’t been victimized at all or who are “good victims” which are either completely innocent children who present an uncomplicated image of an abused child to be saved. (Here’s a hint most real-life abused children act nothing like Eri, a lot of abused children develop violent tendencies, lash out, and act out because the violence they’ve endured literally stunts the growth of their brains). Or the people are “good victims” who like Todoroki Shoto still try to become heroes even when the hero system has failed them. Deku has no reason to question his actions or the actions of the people around him because as long as you’re a hero you are on the side the benefits for the most part. People who are secure of their position within their society don’t really need to question the feelings of those who are insecure.

They haven’t been hurt. They also don’t really want to understand the feelings of those who have been hurt. Because, Hero Society is all about protecting institutions, symbols, and not actual people. THIS IS WHY we see something so ridiculous as Endeavor literally hearing “Heroes hurt their own families - my father told me that” and yet, SOMEHOW NOT REALIZING THAT THOSE WORDS APPLY TO HIM AS WELL. Even though that’s literally... exactly what he did.

Not only does Hero Society only try to save good victims, but when Hero Society fails to save people, the bad victims are actively dehumanized and made out to be at fault for their own victimhood. Citation: The many many time's Gran Torino suggested five-year-old Shigaraki Tomura was just born evil, and therefore there’s nothing that can be done.

This is because once again the actual focus of hero society is not in addressing problems, but rather blaming the ills of society on a few problem elements. If we could just get rid of those baddies who are causing problems for everybody else society would be fixed.

So people like Twice are forced into impossible situations. His parents are killed by Villains. He’s fired from his job even though he was obeying traffic laws and the person he hit wasn’t. He ended up homeless on the street as a teenager. What was Twice supposed to do then? Starve to death? Victims are put into impossible situations where retaliation is really their only option, and then they’re blamed for retaliating. Then those victims get punished. The society acts like the problem is solved, but it’s not because the society is still broken. It’s still letting people fall through the cracks. AND DON’T GO ‘NO SOCIETY IS PERFECT.’ A few social programs would have helped Twice a lot more than putting on a costume, calling him a villain, and punching him did in the end. Everyone is so in love with the idea of heroes they don’t try to fix what’s right in front of their eyes. The problem isn’t that society is not perfect. It’s that everone would rather ignore the problem, rather than address it and try to solve it.

Deku’s biggest strong point is his love of heroes. His biggest flaw is his love of heroes. He is completely uncritical of the current system of heroes. Yes, he’s fifteen so it’s obvious he might not know better but there are times Deku shows a surprising lack of empathy. He just cuts it off if he’s facing a villain. Like for example here’s Koichi acting like a decent person.

O’Clock was trying to hurt Koichi, and yet when he sees the horrible condition that O’clock II is in, his first response is to ask if he’s okay, and ask him if he needs help. Because you know... he’s still a person? Even if he’s a bad person having half of his face burned off means he’s in horrible pain and he still needs help?

Deku is just like the old lady we’re shown in Shigaraki’s flashback. He believes in heroes so much, he’ll ignore the suffering of somebody right in front of him. Is Deku obligated to sympathize with Shigaraki? I guess not, but Koichi does with O’Clock even while the other is barking threats at him.

Deku’s naivete can hurt people even though he wants to help people. Deku declares that Shigaraki is unforgivable. However, Deku also before this arc started already seemed to have made up his mind to forgive Endeavor.

Endeavor is system APPROVED TM and Shigaraki is not. Deku divides people into good or bad people, and then doles out sympathy depending on who he thinks is deserving of it or not. Deku’s own prejudices are highly reminiscent of the way hero society functions as well. AND DO NOT BRING UP GENTLE. GENTLE was only going to crash a school festival. That’s like making Deku out to be a saint because he didn’t think a person who J-walked was evil.

Deku’s blind naivete can hurt people too. How much did Deku’s careless words hurt Natsuo? It’s not that Endeavor needs to be forgiven. Endeavor has already been forgiven. He’s never been held accountable for his actions.

Instead of Endeavor being held accountable for his actions, Natsuo is continually made out to be the bad guy for not forgiving Endeavor and moving on with his life. Instead of directly addressing the abuses, victims are instead silenced and told to move on with their lives.

The reason I bring up Natsuo as a point is that even people who aren’t harming anybody, are made out to be the problem. People around Natsuo constantly imply that he’s the one disrupting the household. This behavior of telling victims to remain quiet, HURTS EVERYONE EQUALLY even those who don’t react in extreme ways like Dabi, Himiko, Shigaraki.

Deku will never be able to sympathize with people like Shigaraki because he hasn’t seen what they’ve been through. Shigaraki however, has been just like Deku saving people all this time.

It’s Shigaraki who has been getting close to the people hero society wouldn’t save, who’d never try to save, and saving them all along. Deku’s flaw, that he’s too naive to save the people who most need saving is Shigaraki’s feature. Shigaraki’s flaw that he can’t see a better world beyond all the destruction is Deku’s feature.

Deku won’t challenge the world that is currently in place. Shigaraki won’t try to do anything to build, he just wants to destroy and be done with it.

Deku protects. Shigaraki wants to protect but only thinks he’s good for destruction.

They both only carry half of the answer with them. A better world can’t be built with the old world still in place. A better world can’t be built if your only focus is on destroying the old one, and not on healing.

Shigaraki and Deku are woefully incomplete as heroes without one another.

The story between Shigaraki and Deku will end not with two brothers killing each other, but with two brothers reconciling.

The thing is... The chant isn’t. “All for One.” Or. “One for All.” It was never about one answer being the best way to do things. The chant goes “All for One, and One for All.” It was always both. Both Shigaraki and Deku. This story has two heroes.

#mha meta #shigaraki tomura #midoriya izuku #my hero academia meta #my hero academia #my hero academia theory #bnha 281 #bnha 281 spoilers #mha 281 #mha 291 spoilers #shigaraki meta

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icerosecrystal · 4 years

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Daminette - The Goddess of Deception vs the Goddess of Creation Pt. 2

Recap

They held the wedding the next day. It was a beautiful ceremony, but none of Damian’s family could believe it. Who would have thought that the goddess that he met in an alleyway in Los Angeles would be with him forever? None of them expected it. By the end, both Marinette and Damian were happy that they were together. But, they still had one more obstacle to face, the wedding of the goddess of creation and the god of the sun.

To be continued…

(Marinette’s POV)

It had been about a month since the wedding Marinette the real goddess of creation, and Damian, the god of the Underworld. And they were happy together. Marinette had still not eaten the pomegranate seeds, much to the relief of Damian, but Marinette felt like she was betraying their marriage by not doing so. That’s a problem for another time, Marinette thought to herself. She felt a pair of arms wrap around her. She turned around and kissed Damian, she pulled away and smiled softly, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, nuzzling his face into her shoulder. “So, are you ready to crash a wedding and take back what’s yours?”

Marinette hummed softly and then sighed deeply, “Honestly, I’m terrified. What if they don’t believe me? Like my friends didn’t believe me, even when they have all the facts right in front of their faces? What if they separate us and make me marry Adrien? Who knows what Lila told the gods and goddesses of Olympus for them so that they aren’t troubled by how the moral realm is dying! There are so many unknown factors in our plan. Oh my Olympus, what if they don’t even get mad with me, but rather with you? What if they think you’re controlling me? Oh my Olympus, what if you get in trouble because of me? You’re only doing this because of me. What if I hurt you in some way?” She continued rambling and hyperventilating about all the outcomes that could happen from exposing Lila.

Damian, who had gotten lost in her rambling at this point, just pulled her closer. He held her tighter, shushing her quietly and whispering reassurances in her ear. His smooth, deep voice sent chills down Marinette’s spine. “Hey, little goddess, look at me,” he lifted her chin gently. She looked up at him and saw him earnestly watching her. “I chose to help you, and I will deal with all the consequences, all you have to do is relax, okay?” She continued searching his face for any doubt of his words when she found none, Marinette nodded slowly. He kissed her forehead gently and looked deep within her pretty bluebell eyes, “Good.”

He gave her one more kiss to the head, before leaving, leaving Marinette to her racing thoughts. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, one day at a time, she thought, we will get through this together, I will manage to reveal my true identity.

(Damian’s POV)

Damian was worried about his wife. Marinette was concerned about the consequences of ruining Lila. But, Marinette deserved this and more. She was deserving of the whole world, along with Olympus. She didn’t deserve the broken god that he was. He still couldn’t believe that he had managed to marry her. Who would have thought a day where he was checking in on the entranceway to the Underworld would end up resulting in his whole life-changing? Did it result in the better for him? It did. For Marinette, she was trying to convince him that she was happy, but he worried, was Marinette happy? Or was she pretending to be because she felt obligated to do so as his wife? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, he couldn’t go through that train of thought. If she didn’t want to stay with him, she would tell him. Damian sighed deeply, looking at the whole Underworld, she will manage to reveal herself, and then she can be herself, without me being there to ruin her life.

(Lila’s POV)

Lila had done it. She had managed to drive away that pesky goddess and claim her title. Who would have thought that it would be so easy? They had no faith in her. She honestly couldn’t believe that they used to call themselves “Marinette’s friend.” She was a liar and manipulator, but she still knew that what they were not her friends. She scoffed to herself. Oh well, it made it easier for her. The best part was that the Kings and Queens of Olympus didn’t question her. Even after the Earth started dying, Lila sneered to herself. You would think that the most powerful gods on Olympus, after the goddess of creation and the god of the Underworld, would be a bit smarter. What a joke. She looked at herself in the mirror. Only a month until the marriage between her and Adrien, and no one would ever be able to take him away from her. Besides, he already kissed her, destroying the bond between him and Marinette. It was only for one month. She was able to keep them in her clutches for nearly six years a month is nothing. One month, she thought smirking evilly, one month, and I’ll have everything that the pesky goddess ever wanted, while she will still be a nobody.

(Adrien’s POV)

Adrien was pacing around his room. He blamed all of this on Marinette. If she hadn’t gone along with what Lila was saying, then maybe the Earth wouldn’t be dying. More importantly, he wouldn’t have kissed Lila. Adrien had kissed Lila because Adrien didn’t like how stubborn Marinette was being. So as a way to get back at her, Adrien kissed Lila. He didn’t mean too. Adrien loved Marinette, but she been so stubborn. But Adrien no longer had a bond with her. He banged his head against a wall, head chanting the word stupid over and over again. Marinette always overreacts. She’s so selfish. If she hadn’t run away to Olympus knows where, he would be marrying her in a month, not Lila. Earth wouldn’t be dying if she hadn’t been so stubborn. But it confused him. If Marinette was the goddess of creation, and she wasn’t on Olympus, then the Earth would still be healthy. That means that what Lila was saying must be true. And he was being played by Marinette. Olympus help him. He was stupid for believing Marinette, that liar. Marinette must be the one who was stealing Lila’s powers. (Oh my god, he’s so stupid, why’s he that stupid. Wait, that’s my fault) He huffed and thought to himself. I have a month until my wedding. I am going to find a way to expose Marinette as the fake that she is.

(Marinette’s POV and Time Skip to Wedding Day)

It was the day of Adrien’s and Lila’s Wedding. Marinette was still frightened about what would happen over the ordeal but took a second to calm down. She wore a beautiful pink gown, that had white lace flowers on it. She wore beautiful flower-shaped diamond earrings and white shoes with a pink hint and diamonds on it. She left her hair down in beach waves and wore a pink and diamond clip. Damian decided to wear an emerald green suit with a matching bow tie.

Once Damian caught sight of Marinette, it looked like he was drooling. Marinette asked him with amusement in her voice, “Are you okay, Damian?” He just nodded dumbly, not taking his eyes off of her. His brothers, along with Jon, were snickering behind him at the situation. His Father and Alfred were smirking, obviously entertained with how much control this goddess had on him.

Damian finally managed to take his eyes off of her and quickly glared at his family. Jason, obviously not afraid of being maimed, said, “ You done catching flies there, Demon Spawn?” Damian, not having any response, glared harder. They continued snickering, which annoyed the hell out of Damian. Then Dick started cooing at how cute they look, and Damian realized that he would take the snickering over the cooing any day.

Marinette seeing the way Damian was looking at his brothers, quickly called the attention to herself, “Okay, now that everyone is ready, we should leave for the wedding.” Everyone agreed, going to the entranceway that leads to Olympus. They went through, and the ceremony on the other side was a sight to behold. Everyone was there, gods, goddesses, the kings and queens of Olympus, even some nymphs were at the wedding. Marinette quickly changed her appearance so that no one would recognize her.

The ceremony started, and everyone watched Lila walk down the aisle. She, for once, looked pretty. Her hair for once was out of her sausage hairstyle, and she was wearing a beautiful wedding dress that wasn’t in the color of the ugly orange color that she always wears. By the end of the wedding, after they had said there vows, Queen Tikki pronounced them husband and wife. Everyone was waiting for the flurry of power that would radiate off the two. After a god or goddess got married, there would be radiation that appeared, and it would represent the god or goddess for everyone to see. It did for Adrien, the moment Queen Tikki finished speaking, a ray of sun shined over him, blinding everyone at the wedding. As for Lila, nothing happened. Tikki gave her a confused look, and she said in a shrill voice, “Well, you know how someone has been stealing my powers, well I obviously can’t show my powers if they’re getting stolen!” That was Marinette’s cue to stand up and question her.

“But Lila, even if your powers are getting stolen, there would still be radiation. However, it would be weaker than normal!” Lila’s posse, a.k.a her old friends, started screaming at her, claiming that Lila was innocent and feeling weaker. Others were doubting Lila at this point.

Lila, seeing that people were starting to believe this mysterious goddess, exclaimed, “Who are you to make assumptions. Who even are you?!”

Adrien then stepped forward and said, “It doesn’t matter what you think! I know for a fact that someone is stealing Lila’s power, her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng!” Everyone, shocked by the revelation, started muttering to the god or goddess next to them.

Marinette scowled, “And what proof do you have?!,” she asked incredulously. Adrien then went to tell her that the earth started dying right when she left Olympus. And if she went to the mortal realm, then the earth still should have been alive. But since it was dying it means that Marinette wasn’t the goddess of creation and Lila was.

Marinette facepalmed by the end, “If she went in the Underworld, the earth would still be dying. And unless you’ve been stalking her, you don’t know where she’s been!” Adrien looked at her like a gaping fish, not able to think of a retort because he knew she was right.

That’s when Tikki cut in, “So, what you are claiming, is that you think Lila Rossi is a fraud and the real goddess of creation is Marinette Dupain-Cheng?!”

Marinette nodded, “Exactly, and unlike everyone else here, I have proof.” She then dropped her glamour, and everyone saw Marinette Dupain-Cheng standing in the place of the original goddess. All of her old friends started shouting, “Of course you think Lila is a fraud. What proof do you have? You are the goddess of deception, why, should anyone believe you?”

Tikki held up her hand, silencing everyone. She looked at Marinette and asked, “Can you give me any proof that you are the goddess of creation? And that you did not steal Lila’s powers. If you can give me this proof, I want you to tell me why the Earth has been dying.”

Marinette nodded in approval and closed her eyes, letting herself release her aura for everyone to feel and her radiation for everyone to see. Once she opened her eyes, she saw the remnants of her radiation, wisps of pink flowers, and butterflies showering everyone. She then said, “If you think that I may have stolen Lila’s powers, you may have forgotten that other gods and goddesses cannot possess the amount of power the true god or goddess of that power can. So, the fact that I possessed that much power automatically proves that I am the true goddess of creation. As for why the earth is dying for the past year, I was in Underworld staying with Damian, the god of the Underworld, and his family.” She then stopped talking, letting is sink into everyone that they had bonded the wrong goddess with the god of the sun for the rest of eternity.

The queens and kings of Olympus turned to a pale Lila, “You were lying to us,” Plagg said, voice dangerously low. Lila seeing that she wasn’t going to get out of this, smirked, and nodded.

“Yeah,” she sneered, “I was lying. But you can’t blame me. I am the goddess of deception. Besides, all of you had zero faith in Marinette.” She turned to her, posse, “You guys were supposed to be her friend, yet you didn’t even doubt me once when I told you that she was the goddess of deception.” She turned back to the kings and queens of Olympus “, And you guys didn’t think once that I was lying. You are supposed to be the most powerful beings in Olympus, yet you believed me. I don’t see how we are in this dilemma for any reason other than your guy’s incompetence.” Once she finished, everyone looked like they were about to blow a fuse. But they didn’t argue because for once, Lila was telling the truth.

“Guards take her away! We’ll deal with her later! "Wayzz ordered. The kings and queens of Olympus turned to Marinette. "We are so sorry for all of the trouble that you experienced. We are aware that you and Adrien no longer possess a bond, but could you still take a chance and marry each other.”

Marinette was afraid of this part of the plan, “Well, you see,” she said timidly, “I’m already married.” Chaos broke loose once more at her announcement.

“To who?” Plagg demanded.

“To Damian, the god of the Underworld. And he didn’t force me or anything. I genuinely love him. He believed me when no one else did and was always there for me.” Damian then stood up, everyone staring at him. He walked up to Marinette and wrapped an arm around her waist.

The kings and queens looked mad, “While we are happy for you, you have to divorce.”

“What?!” Marinette shrieked.

“Yes, you have to divorce him. You need to marry Adrien, the god of the sun.”

Marinette was not having this. Why should they tell her who she should marry? She screamed no and took something out of her pocket. It was the pomegranate seeds from the Underworld. Before she could put it in her mouth Damian stopped her, “Marinette, don’t eat them. You can’t possibly ruin your life to stay with me! You deserve better. Please don’t do this for me, go live your life.”

Marinette looked at him in the eye, “But I want to.” She then put the cursed pomegranates in her mouth and ate them. Everyone screamed, but it was too late. Marinette was an official part of the Underworld. She was now tied with Damian for eternity. An irreversible marriage.

While everyone was having a mental breakdown, the kings and queens mad, but happy for the couple, and Adrien being a jealous loser. Marinette grabbed Damian’s face and kissed him with enthusiasm and passion. They stayed like that for a little bit before pulling back. Marinette’s hands were now on Damian’s chest. Damian’s hands were now around her waist, keeping her close to him. They looked at the kings and queens.

Tikki sighed deeply before saying, “While this is great and all, how are you going to prevent the Earth from dying while you are in the Underworld.”

Marinette thought about it before coming up with the perfect solution. “I got it. For six months during spring and summer, I will stay on Olympus or in the mortal realm so the earth can bloom. But during the other six months, I will stay with Damian in the Underworld.”

Everyone thought about this before promptly agreeing. Marinette was ecstatic. She had gotten rid of Lila, everyone knew her real identity, and she was married to Damian. She smiled up at Damian happily. They were going to be okay. They would deal with the aftermath of this together.

(The Aftermath of the Reveal)

The aftermath of the reveal was hard for Marinette. All of her old friends visited her in the Underworld, begging her for forgiveness. They claimed that they were stupid and didn’t realize and that it was all Lila’s fault. But, no matter how much she wanted to forgive them, she knew what Lila said was right. They didn’t even spare her a glance after Lila came. They believed a stranger over their friend. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault but their own. She sighed, tiredly rubbing her head to ease the headache. She felt a presence behind her and turned around. Seeing it was Damian, she jumped on him, hugging him like a lifeline.

He hugged her back and then gave her a peck on the lips, “Rough day?”

“You have no idea,” Marinette muttered. “I spent the whole day trying to ward off my old friends who were trying to seek forgiveness again. It’s getting annoying. It’s simple, they didn’t believe me when I needed them to, so they don’t deserve to be my friends anymore.”

He looked at her in concern, “I can stop anyone from entering the Underworld if that’s what you want?”

She shook her head, “It’s fine.”

He looked at her once more, this time with adoration, “Well, no matter what you have me.” He then kissed her deeply, and as Marinette kissed him back, she knew he was right. Marinette had a loving husband, and they would get through their problems together. They had each other’s back. Together, for the rest of eternity.

#mlb x dc #maribat #batman #miraculous ladybug #damianette #daminette #damian x marinette #marinette x damian #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #batfam #lila rossi #lila salt #alya salt #adrien salt #persephone x hades #alternate universe #hades and persephone au #everyone is oblivious as hell

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stovetuna · 3 years

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CW: character death and Tony lack of self esteem and self preservation. Ignore if not ur jam

(¬_¬) psssttt angst time. post-Endgame Steve accidentally ending up in 616 and meets that Steve and Tony. And after failing to wrestling ANY info about why this Steve is here, 616-Tony figures out other him is dead and this Steve is taking it badly and this has Tony trying to make MCU-Steve feel better by saying something like well that me probably deserved it??? All us Tonys do (This does not make MCU feel better. Nor does it make 616-Steve very happy)

ANON MY HEART! IT CANNOT TAKE THIS! (she says as she mulls over this prompt for DAYS and even snaps out of half-sleep to write a little bit of it)...

but like, imagine it. Somehow or other Steve ends up in 616!universe—a spell of Dr. Strange’s gone awry, maybe, or a clusterfuck while returning the time stone—and he’s ended up in 616!Tony’s workshop. It’s late, he’s confused and disoriented and grieving, and he’s already making for the ratty sofa (thinking fixing this is a problem for future steve) when he realizes there’s already someone stretched out on it.

not someone. someones. together. wrapped around each other like koalas on a branch. one of them is Tony—no amount of darkness can smother that blue light, or so Steve once thought—and his heart is breaking all over again, when the person wrapped around him, partially hidden behind Tony’s shoulder, raises his head, eyes alert, and Steve realizes it’s him. Himself. Steve Rogers, from another dimension. Universe. Tony would know which.

Rogers snaps to attention and is standing and interrogating Steve and he manages to not wake Tony up the whole time. This Tony sleeps like a rock, or maybe that’s just because of Rogers, and Steve is spiraling over the fact that maybe that’s all it would have taken to make things right—better—in his own universe. He could have been brave, he could have been strong enough for both of them to walk up to Tony and ask him out, kiss him, something. Instead he lied, and hid, and ran. He’s still running. Meanwhile this taller, broader, stronger version of him chose happiness, because what else could life with Tony Stark be?

Rogers is grilling him in the semi-darkness, asking questions Steve isn’t sure he’s allowed to answer (the rules of the time heist are still fresh in his mind), but the questioning stops when Steve starts crying and asks him how long they’ve been together. If it was enough to stop their fight, and everything that happened after.

Rogers tells him they were too late to stop the Civil War, but they pulled their heads out of their asses eventually. When Steve mentions Thanos, Rogers’ face flashes recognition but not the same level of grief Steve feels like a railroad spike lodged in his heart. Whatever else has happened in this universe, Thanos hasn’t, and this Steve and Tony are together. Steve can’t stop thinking this is all just a cruel nightmare disguised as a tear in the fabric of the universe.

And then the lights come on at a dim 30%, revealing a Tony Stark who is whole and alive and very, very different from the man Steve knew. While Steve stands there poleaxed in crisis mode (Stark mentions “blue screening” which is a reference Steve does get and he hurts all the more deeply because of it), Rogers fills Stark in on what he knows about Steve, when he showed up, what they’ve talked about. When Rogers mentions Steve’s question about their relationship, something brightens in Stark’s blue eyes.

“Your universe’s Tony Stark is dead, isn’t he?”

Steve makes a sound that is something between a sob and a laugh. Of course Stark would figure it out with the least amount of information at hand. In response, Rogers grabs Stark’s hand. He’s gone deathly pale, as if the very thought of losing Tony is too terrible to imagine, and he shares a look with Stark that speaks volumes, because Stark looks just as grim. Something happened there, Steve thinks—one or the other of them died, or came close enough to put the fear of it in them for life.

And then Stark opens his mouth and says “If your universe’s Tony Stark was anything like me, and categorically speaking he probably was, he probably deserved it.”

Steve’s gut plummets because Jesus Christ, does Tony Stark not have any sense of self-worth, in any universe?? Apparently he and Rogers are the same wavelength—shocker—because he rounds on Stark with “Tony, we’ve talked about this” while Stark waves him off with a scoff.

“This isn’t low self-esteem talking, Steve—you know my track record when it comes to near death experiences. How many would you say have been the inevitable result of my own actions?”

Rogers’s face flattens. His lips and eyes narrow. “Too many.”

“Right. So am I right, or am I right?” Stark asks Steve, but Steve’s tongue has cleaved to the roof of his mouth. Of course, Tony Stark was always able to talk enough for three people, even if two of them were, technically, the same person. “He probably went down thinking he was the only one who could fix whatever was broken, walked right into a coffin he made himself, literally if not figuratively.”

Steve swallows. “Actually,” he says, thinking of the gauntlet fused to Tony’s armor, which had fused to his arm, “it was something like that.”

Steve’s eyes laser in on their joined hands, tearing up when he sees Stark squeeze Rogers’s fingers. A small touch of reassurance, stabilizing and loving, to remind Rogers he was still here. Still breathing. Still alive. The look Rogers sends Stark is so warm, so full of things Steve doesn’t have the strength to name, it threatens to shove him deeper into an already devastating downward spiral.

So of course Stark chooses that moment to look at Steve and be his usual smart self, because some things are truly universal, and Tony Stark’s intelligence and ability to read people is one of them.

“You never told him?”

Steve shakes his head. Rogers makes a small, hapless sound, like the thought of never telling Tony Stark his feelings, being with him, is too sad to consider. It is—Steve can honestly say it is, and of the two of them, Steve is the only one who has to live with the consequences of the choice he made (and made, over and over again) for the rest of his life.

Whatever nonverbal communication passes between the two men, Steve doesn’t see it. He’s too busy staring through blurry eyes at the floor of the workshop, wishing this nightmare would end so he could go back to his own universe and not have to be confronted with the life he wishes he could have had with a man who was now dead.

He’s so wrapped up in his own misery, he doesn’t register movement until two socked feet stop in front of his shoes and he looks up to see Stark standing there, eyebrows knitted in concern and wonder and, worst of all, understanding. Like he’s been where Steve is, lost and bereft, irreparably heartbroken. Did this Tony lose his Steve? How? Rogers is standing right there. But Steve has seen Stark’s expression in his own mirrored reflection every morning for the past year, and while he was never on par with Tony Stark’s genius, he could read people too. Stark knows this kind of loss as deeply as Steve does now.

“We’ll get you home first thing,” Stark tells him, but it sounds like a line to quell Steve’s nerves, which it does, and a good thing too, because Stark is moving into Steve’s personal space as he says it, breathing his air and meeting his gaze straight on. “Nod if you understand?”

Of course Stark would be considerate of Steve’s inability to speak when they’re this close. Steve nods.

“Can I give you something, Steve? If I know myself—and I do, really, even if my judgement isn’t always perfectly sound—your Tony would have wanted to give it to you himself. But life wasn’t fair to either of you, I think. Not that it ever is, but, I’d like to correct the imbalance in some small way. Is that okay?”

Steve nods before he realizes he’s doing it, like his body knows what’s coming before his brain does and he’s helpless to resist.

Logically, Steve knows this isn’t his Tony. Not because his Tony is dead—although that does play a major factor—but because this one is so unlike him. This Tony, Stark—he’s too tall, Steve’s mind supplies, too young, too broad; his hair is too dark and his eyes are too blue.

But Steve Rogers would recognize Tony Stark anywhere, in any dimension. In any universe. And if it means getting to give Tony everything he was too scared to offer him in life, even for a second—let alone getting some of it back—then so much the better.

Stark pulls him in for a kiss like it’s second nature to him. Muscle memory. But to Steve, it’s a shock to the system. Every hair on his body is standing on end. He gasps against Stark’s lips and suddenly fingers are buried in his hair, tugging him closer before he can stop and ask them if this is okay, if they know what this means to Steve, if he can actually have this.

A sob sticks in his throat as he finally musters the wherewithal to kiss back. Stark takes it handily, licking a hot, wet line across Steve’s bottom lip before Steve slants left and kisses him hard and deep, wrapping his arms around the similar-yet-unfamiliar frame. Kissing Stark, Steve realizes, makes him happy, in a profoundly genuine, comforting way he hasn’t felt in years, and the only way to express it is to wrap a hand around the back of Stark’s neck, just below the nape, and suck the moan right out of his mouth. Even if that happiness is soured by his implacable grief, he can shove that into the back of his mind long enough to luxuriate in the feeling of Stark’s tongue brushing against his soft palate, those hard, scarred workman’s hands sliding up under his shirt to splay soft across his lower back. He feels safe, and happy, and loved.

And if he imagines his Tony in Stark’s place, no one has to know. And if they did, Steve doesn’t think either of them would judge him for it. His instinct is confirmed when Steve pulls away long enough—breathing hard, just like Stark, who looks for all the world like someone who just fell off a Tilt-a-Whirl ass-backwards—to look over Stark’s shoulder at Rogers, who’s staring hungrily at both of them like he doesn’t know whether to pounce or stay put. The tent in his sweatpants speaks for itself.

Before Steve can piece two coherent thoughts together—like does he feel weird about an alternative universe version of himself being turned on by this? or does he need to stop kissing Stark before this gets out of hand? how is he supposed to get home? how is he supposed to live without this now that he’s had a taste of it?—Stark is pulling him back in for a kiss that tunes out all the noise and warms him through, tucked in the safe, quiet, happy circle of Stark’s arms.

Steve holds the man and the moment as close as he can, as long as he can, and he’s grateful, for the first time in his life after coming out of the ice, for the silence.

#stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #616 stevetony #MCU steve rogers #rachel writes fic #stevetony fic #stony fic #superhusbands fic #fic rec #superhusbands #I'M SAD BUT ALSO HOT UNDER THE COLLAR NOW THANK U ANON

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sammykhwrites · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Edward Hyde/Dr. Robert Lanyon, Dr. Henry Jekyll/Dr. Robert Lanyon Characters: Dr. Henry Jekyll, Edward Hyde (The Glass Scientists), Dr. Robert Lanyon Additional Tags: Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Spanking Summary:

Lanyon found out about Hyde, and Henry's told him everything. It's time for Lanyon and Hyde to 'talk' out their remaining issues.

"You know he's too busy to fuck you."

Lanyon glared, Hyde smirked.

"Just saying." Hyde added with a shrug to rub it in. "You're better off moving on to someone else."

Lanyon was silent a moment, thinking before he spoke. Hyde raised a brow as Lanyon looked him over.

"You're him, right?" Lanyon asked finally. "Technically speaking. Same body and mind?"

Hyde rolled his eyes, and turned to hide the blush that was beginning to warm his face. "How are you still not getting it? You both had that long boring drunken talk all about it. You even cried, that was funny."

Lanyon gave a small smirk of his own, earning a glare from Hyde. "So you were watching."

Hyde fidgeted, this conversation not going remotely as planned. "So what? I only thought it would end in drunken sex, not be a snoozefest the entire time." Hyde stood up to glare at Lanyon more directly. "Fuck this! We all know how much you hate Mr. Edward Hyde!" He sneered, shoving his hand into Lanyons chest. "Because I'm the worst parts of him. You can pretend all you fucking want but you have never made your hatred for me a secret!"

Lanyon stumbled back as he was shoved, and caught Hyde's wrist before he could be shoved again. Lanyon smiled, further pissing off Hyde, who began trying to yank his hand out of Lanyon's grip. "That was before I even met you. Do you know how frustrated I was only ever hearing about you? Seeing only the damage you caused and never anything else?"

"Yeah? Well that's cause I hated you back! You just existed to ruin my fun, of course I would avoid you as much as possible!" Using Lanyon's grip on his wrist as leverage, he pulled the man closer. He grinned his best Spirit Of London grin, "I very much enjoyed torturing his psyche enough to let me out. I even sent him waking nightmares after you convinced him to sell me out!" Hyde felt his anger spike as Lanyon only laughed, and he raised his fist. Lanyon caught the hit before it could land, spun and pinned Hyde to the wall, smirking.

"What's so fucking funny!?" Hyde seethed as he struggled.

"Now that I know you, and who you are, I just realize that I was jealous. You were in his will, Rachel always spoke the world of you, and I only chose to see the destruction, that you thought you could do whatever you wanted, and fuck up anything Henry ever worked for. Now I know that it's much different. You have never had to deal with any consequences, have you?"

Hyde settled, fists clenched beside his head where Lanyon held him. He smirked. "That was Henry's job to deal with."

"Precisely what I thought." Lanyon said, moving his head closer. "It's time someone taught you a lesson." He said with a low tone into Hyde's ear. Hyde swallowed, his heart pounding as his anger was ripped from him in favor of a heat reminiscent of the night Lanyon first met him. He looked up and met Lanyon's piercing eyes, and pushed forward, pressing his lips to Lanyon's. The kiss was rough, but passionate as Lanyon reciprocated, pinning Hyde with the rest of his body as Hyde's heart pounded harder. He didn't have a chance to speak as Lanyon pulled away, and yanked him from the wall by his wrists, shoving him against the work desk. Hyde pushed himself up against the desk to protest but was pushed forward, forced to bend over the desk. Lanyon leaned over him keeping one of Hyde's arms pinned behind his back, his breath tickling the back of Hyde's neck, eliciting a shiver. "Would you like to pay for your crimes Edward?" He whispered, "Or would you like to continue talking this out?"

Hyde squirmed under Lanyon, panting as he tried to keep up with the anger, and the arousal. Lanyon held him in place, waiting patiently for an answer. Hyde scowled as the urge to tell Lanyon to fuck off became a sole urge to tell Lanyon to fuck him . "Do your worst." Hyde consented with a snarl. Fucking was way more fun than talking anyway.

Lanyon began unbuckling his own belt with his free hand, and pulled it loose, ignoring Hyde's impatient squirming. He set the belt next to Hyde's head, just in view, as he then worked on undoing and pulling down Hyde's pants.

Hyde let out an anticipatory whine, giving no more fucks as he succumbed to lust.

“Not yet.” Lanyon said, earning a huff from the man under him. “I’m not going to just give you what you want. You’re going to take your punishment, and get what i’ll give you.” He grabbed the belt, and traced it over Hyde’s bare ass, a warning.

Hyde squirmed, “Get on with it you prat- ah!” He cried out as the belt was struck across his ass, and he felt Lanyon rub the sting away, before landing another strike, eliciting a hiss. “C’mon, you can hit harder than that.” Hyde taunted, smirking. As requested, the next hit had him yelling out. “Ah, hahh, shit.” Hyde panted, free hand gripping the edge of the desk.

Lanyon chuckled. “Just so you know, I do intend on wiping that smirk off your face.”

“I’d love to see you try Robert.” Hyde snarked, and cried out again as the belt cracked against his ass again. “Ghh! Hnn~”

“I see you looking in the mirror, Is he watching?” Lanyon asked, rubbing the sore spot, loving the way Hyde squirmed under his hand.

“Heh, you bet he is. Ghh, Bastard’s enjoying every-every second too.”

Lanyon leaned down again, “ Good .”

“Mmn, no-not fair! You-you both can't gang up on me like this! Gah!” Hyde cried out again at another crack of the belt.

“What is he saying?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know- Gahh! Shit! Ow! Okay!” Hyde cried out as Lanyon landed three consecutive strikes.

“Indeed I would.” Lanyon mused, as Hyde’s free hand rubbed his ass.

“He said...hhh, he said it's really hot to see us like this. You and your strong hands holding me down while I do nothing but squirm and shout." Hyde was blushing furiously as he spoke.

Lanyon set the belt down to run his finger through Hyde's wild hair. "Good boy." He praised.

"Excuse me?!" Hyde protested, his blush deepening, and his squirming resumed in ernest. "You do not get to treat me, The Spirit Of London At Night, like a dog ! Ow!" Hyde's tantrum was interrupted by another strike of the belt, and further resulting complaints were met with more.

Lanyon knew he wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer, his own arousal growing uncomfortable. "Enough of that." Lanyon ordered, striking again when Hyde continued to rant. "You know what, I'm going to strike you until you admit to being a good boy for me."

"Fuck you, like tha-Ah! Like that would even-OW! Shit, it's not going to work! Shit !" Hyde tried to resist, but the quicker hits just increased the pain, and soon he could barely stay in place on the desk, Lanyon even having to restrain both his arms to keep his hand from getting in the way of the belt. Hyde began to grimace, and yielded soon after. "Fuck, okay! Hhh okay I'm..."

Lanyon set down the belt, "Go on~" he prompted, smacking with his bare hand when Hyde hesitated too long.

"Ghh, i'magoodboy." Hyde mumbled, turning away and mouthing 'Not' to Jekyll.

“Was that so hard?” Lanyon purred as he pulled Hyde up by his arms, looping his belt around them to keep Hyde restrained. He leaned into Hyde's ear. " I know I am~"

Hyde moaned, and Lanyon pulled him close, wrapping an arm around Hyde's waist.

Hyde squirmed as Lanyon ran a hand up his shirt, feeling along his skin resulting in a slight ticklish sensation, and couldn't help but tilt his head as Lanyon began sucking a hickey into his neck.

Patience was an omitted word in Hyde's vocabulary, proven by needy noises and failed attempts to buck his restrained hips. "Too fucking slow!" He complained, tugging at the belt holding his arms behind his back, and fighting Lanyon's grip. " Get on with it!"

Lanyon tsked, "Forgotten who's in charge already, have you?" He asked as he unbuttoned Hyde's shirt idly.

Hyde hissed as Lanyon bit into his neck, the actions going straight to his groin. "Fuck!"

Lanyon began grinding against Hyde's ass, teasing while also indulging his own arousal. He groaned into Hyde's neck, taking in the moans and impatient grunts up close. Once he was sure a dark bruise (that no doubt would last a week) was formed on Hyde's neck, he pulled away, and began dragging him to Jekyll's bedroom, leaving his trousers and underwear. behind.

" Finally!" Hyde muttered despite making Lanyon have to drag him and throw him into the bed. Hyde grinned, laying on his side, as Lanyon began to remove his clothing, looking the man up and down hungrily. "...I agree, he should give us a little show."

Lanyon smirked, and slowed his movements, letting his sleeves fall into the crooks of his arms, showing off his shoulders as he unbuttoned the shirt and his cuffs. He shrugged out of the shirt, facing Hyde as he folded it, and set it aside. "How are your arms?" He asked, unbuttoning his pants and leaving himself bare.

Hyde rolled his eyes. "Fine, it's my ass that needs attention."

"Oh, does it?" Lanyon asked. "I can find another belt."

"You know what I mean!" Hyde protested."Stop fucking around and fuck me already!"

"Hmm, once again Edward, you are forgetting that you're completely at my mercy." Lanyon mused as he undressed completely and walked over to the bed, grabbing Hyde's arm to position him so he was laying on his back on the pillows. Straddling him, Lanyon pressed his lips against Hyde's once more, his hands trailing over Hyde's torso. Hyde returned the kiss with fervor, moaning as he tried to get Lanyon to move his hands lower, pushing his hips up to no avail.

"Do you really think you deserve to get what you want?" Lanyon asked, breaking the kiss and pinning down Hyde's hips.

Hyde glared, a whine escaping him. "I deserve whatever I want!"

Lanyon chuckled, rubbing Hyde's thighs. "How about this, I give you what I think you deserve, and you just lay here and take it until I'm ready to let you cum."

"Ha! I can handle anything you can do to me!" Hyde boasted, grinning.

"Can you? I guess we will have to see." Lanyon mused, before caressing Hyde's cheek. Just looking into his eyes reminded Lanyon just how much he fell in love with them. "Beautiful." He murmured, leaning down.

"The fuck are you get-Mm!" Hyde's protest was cut off by Lanyon's gentle kiss. Lanyon's touches turned soft and gentle. The blush on Hyde's face brightened and he squirmed impatiently. He gave a few muffled protests that Lanyon ignored, so as an attempt to get Lanyon to be rough with him again, he bit at Lanyon's lips.

Lanyon hissed, jerking back at a particularly painful bite, holding his lip, and Hyde smirked. "Get on with it if you don't want to get bit." Hyde snarked, pushing his hips up.

Lanyon only chuckled, and grabbed Hyde by his hair to force his head to the side. Hyde let out a pleased little moan, only for it to turn into a frustrated whine as Lanyon began to kiss at his neck, leaving gentle little pecks along the sensitive part of Hyde's neck.

Hyde gave a frustrated groan, tugging against the belt holding his arms together and trying to turn his head. Lanyon only licked along the sensitive stripe of skin.

"Lanyon!" Hyde growled, impatience only growing, and his squirming shifted into struggling.

"Do you want me to stop?" Lanyon whispered, kissing Hyde's flushed cheek.

Hyde glared. "No, I want you to give me more!" He snapped. "I want you to have your fucking way with me, manhandle me, something! "

Lanyon brushed a strand of hair that stuck to Hyde's cheek, out of his face and around his ear, before kissing along Hyde's jawline.

"Hello!? Are you even listening!?" Hyde protested, continuing to struggle until Lanyon had to pin his shoulders down to avoid a collision between shoulder and lips.

Lanyon shoved down his frustration, used to the easy compliance he'd get from Jekyll. Instead, he just smirked down at the pissy man beneath him. "You expect me to give you what you want for misbehaving?" He asked in a low tone, smirking at the shiver that went through Hyde. "If you think acting up will give you what you want, then you're wrong. If you want something from me, you beg for it. And even then, I may just continue doing what I want."

Hyde opened his mouth to snap at Lanyon, but was foiled by the shot of arousal he got from Lanyon's words, and a moan escaped instead.

"That's more like it. Now be a good boy and take what I give you." Lanyon ordered, before moving to kiss at Hyde's collarbone.

Hyde huffed through his nose, lying still for only a moment as he tried to keep his anger in place, and to fight the thoughts asking why Lanyon was even being gentle with him in the first place. He glanced at the mirror, and knew Jekyll was thinking the same. It seems they both expected rough play, and were trying to figure out why.

Hyde flinched as Lanyon moved lower, kissing at his ribs, and Lanyon paused. "Did I hurt you?" He asked.

Hyde shook his head with a pout. "I wish you did." He huffed. "Instead of stopping yet again. Spare me the welfare checks and hurry up! I've been hard for ages and you're taking your sweet fucking time!"

"So you are enjoying the soft treatment." Lanyon mused smugly, as if he couldn't feel the occasional twitch as he ran his hands over Hyde's body or licked at one of Hyde's sweet spots. Same body, same sensitivities.

Hyde's reactions may have been different than Jekyll's, but the way Hyde turned away from Lanyon and mirror after every soft moan that escaped every time Lanyon pulled a gentle shiver from a soft touch here, a light lick there.

Jekyll was ticklish, so it made sense that Hyde was too.

Lanyon teased at Hyde's ribs, the man below's argument dying as he squirmed, subtley trying to move from the ticklish sensations as Lanyon went over them.

Finally, just before Lanyon moved to kiss at his hips, Hyde had enough. "Stop!" He shouted, Lanyon sitting up at the shout to meet the furious eyes. "What the fuck are you even doing!? Stop being so gentle, and-and soft and ghhh it's driving me crazy! You're taking forever! You're supposed to be rough, make me bleed! Bite and scratch and beat me! Why the fuck do you insist on dragging this out when you can get us both off and be done with this!?" Hyde ranted, jerking furiously against his restraints.

Lanyon caressed Hyde's cheek, keeping it in place despite Hyde's petulant attempts to bite him. "When was the last time you were cared for? Really cared for."

Hyde switched to confusion, surprising Lanyon by thinking about the question. "Wha-what do you mean? I don't need to be cared for, I can care for myself!"

"I'm sure you can. You're a capable man. But I mean really cared for."

Hyde found himself unable to answer, and he squirmed in place, unable to look at Lanyon nor the mirror.

"Not even Jekyll has treated you this gently, has he? I know that man is terrible at caring for himself, so I know it must extend to you."

Hyde began to fight to sit up as a new emotion grew suddenly, and he glanced at the mirror to see Jekyll failing to hide his guilt and shame. "I-I don't..." Damn his tongue. Too many things too feel at once. He snatched his frustration back to glare back at Lanyon. "I am a creature of the night, I don't deserve soft treatment!"

"Mm, see, that's where I disagree." Lanyon hummed, helping Hyde sit up while staying straddled. "I think you need someone telling you they forgive you. That you deserve kindness. And a gentle touch." Lanyon wrapped his arms around Hyde in an embrace, and resumed gentle kisses to Hyde's neck as he spoke.

Hyde was stunned. He didn't know how to react other than a soft shiver as his neck was kissed. His chest tightened and he squirmed in Lanyon's arms, but had no protests left. It felt...nice. Hyde found himself relaxing despite his constant arousal.

Lanyon drew out several more moans from Hyde as he continued the gentle foreplay a bit longer, before finally giving in to his own need, before grabbing the lube and spreading Hyde's legs.

Hyde bucked his hips impatiently, "Yes yes finally! Please just let me cum." He begged, though trying to sound pissed. It wasn't fair how nice it felt to be touched so gently. Even as Lanyon began to work him open, instead of just shoving himself in like Hyde was quite used to.

Hyde actually cried out sensitively when Lanyon flipped him over and pushed inside him, and leaned forward to press gentle kisses onto his neck. To say he was lost in pleasure would be an understatement. He was so used to one night flings and rough, kinky sex. He wasn't used to...feelings, and gentle touches, and how much he didn't want to admit just how good it felt.

His climax came slow, but it lasted longer than Hyde expected. Next thing he knew he was waking up in Lanyon's arms, untied and wrapped in a blanket.

Lanyon stroked Hyde's hair as the man came to. "You okay? You were crying by the end there." He asked, smiling when Hyde grumbled and actually snuggled closer.

"I don't cry."

"Sure you don't."

"But it...may have been...a decent time." Hyde said, sounding like the words physically burned to say.

Lanyon chuckled. "Next time we can go rough if you want. I know that you might like it better that way."

"I mean...once in a while...maybe, we can...do it likethisagain.." Hyde admitted.

Lanyon smiled. "My pleasure."

#tgs #the glass scientists #edward hyde #dr lanyon #mr hyde #henry jekyll

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imagining-in-the-margins · 5 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 3 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer decides to return to a previous tryst. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Dom!Spencer, handcuffs, hair pulling, oral, fingering, penetrative sex, rough sex Word Count: 9k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

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It was a Saturday night and I had nothing to do. My roommate had gone home for the weekend and all my other friends were at bars. I could've joined them, but it just didn't seem worth it. The last time had been so perfect, I just couldn't imagine that anything else could compare.

I'd tried going back to the same area a few times, but I never saw him again. Then again, seeing me back there might just piss him off. Then again, that would've been okay, too. He was pretty cute when he was mad.

But I wasn't looking at a cute boy that night. No, I was just sitting in my apartment, staring at the textbook that I wasn't even interested in reading. Wishing that something could save me from the boring limbo I had found myself in.

Then, like magic, my phone stirred to life beside me.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

I looked down at the LED, fully expecting it to just be someone tagging me in a picture of a cat. But it wasn't. The number was one I had saved in my phone, hoping that I would see it pop up again one day.

It had been almost a month. I didn't think it would ever happen. But there it was; a text message from Dr. Reid himself.

"Hey (y/n)."

When I slid the message open, I saw he was still typing.

"Long time no talk," was his second message.

That was an understatement.

"Hey yourself."

It was a cursory response. I wanted him to sweat a bit. He'd made me wait, so now he had to deal with the consequences. But then I changed my mind and immediately followed with a second text of, "Texting isn't talking you know."

"You never called. Why should I?" His response was so quick I swore he'd planned this all out in his head. He was playing me like a chess board. Bet he was good at that, too.

"It takes two to tango, Dr. Reid," I jokingly replied.

He read the message, but he didn't answer.

Getting nervous that he was losing interest, I continued typing.

"I figured you wouldn't want to see me again after I made you late. Are those marks still there?"

I smiled at the memory, because I knew he wasn't there to call me out for it. By the time he'd finally made it down to his ride, I had covered his neck in petechiae and his back was equally marked with scratches.

I'd wanted him to remember me.

It'd worked, too.

He'd been typing for a while and I was getting anxious. It had been a bold message to send, and I didn't really think it through.

Was he trying to let me down easy? No, that didn't make any sense. Who the fuck texts a one night stand at 10:30 PM on a Saturday after not speaking for a month just to end things?

He responded.

"Sadly, no. And I wouldn't be so quick to assume I don't want to see you because of that... Revenge is a powerful motivator."

That was the cheeky bastard I wanted to see. I could be cheeky, too.

"Is it?" I asked.

"Where are you tonight?"

His answers were starting to make my heart race. I had to get ready, because he was definitely about to ask me to be his booty call and I was definitely going to do it. Closing my textbook, I shot back another teasing reply.

"Not a club. I'm being a good girl tonight. All by my lonesome."

Thank god my roommate wasn't here and I had somehow been bored enough to clean today. I pulled out my make up and turned the light on my mirror on. As I started to apply it, I got a message that immediately solidified my answer to his inevitable proposition.

"Do you want to change that?"

'God, yes, I do.'

I waited another minute, wanting to be able to finish at least the bare minimum before he saw me. I knew he wasn't a superficial guy, but the last time he'd seen me I had gone full out.

"Which part?" I responded, already knowing his answer.

"Both."

So unpredictable in the most satisfying way.

I took a deep breath and a pause, tapping back a confident reply.

"Are you trying to entrap me, Agent?"

His reply was within seconds, and I was immediately reminded of how incredibly clever this man was. He knew exactly what to say to make me melt.

"Is that what you want?"

I wanted to pick up the phone, dial, and scream yes. But I didn't, opting instead for a calm and composed, "That would certainly be exciting."

My application grew significantly quicker, and I was already eyeing the special drawer I had for these exact situations. My mind was running through my collection of sheer fabrics and lace details, trying to decide what would work best.

Then he said the magic words:

"Send me your address."

Spencer was coming over, and it wasn't a dream. I was going to have that strange, brilliant, beautiful man back in my arms and I wasn't going to fuck it up. With shaking hands, I thumbed out my address with no other commentary. In a few seconds, I would know how long I had until Spencer Reid was in my apartment.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Thank god. It was time enough to prepare.

—————————————————

Spencer Reid was going to be at my door at any minute, and I was suddenly terrified that he'd be disappointed. Convinced that I'd done everything wrong.

We'd had a good time before, right? I'd played over and over again in my head ever since it happened. I was reminded of the soft way he'd touched me in the morning, the childish laughs we'd shared, and the smell of his cologne on the sheets.

God, I hoped he wouldn't be disappointed.

Knock Knock Knock.

When I heard the sound, I immediately tried to fix my appearance in the mirror despite having spent the last 20 minutes doing whatever I could given the time. I had opted for one of my easier-to-remove loungewear pieces. A simple white lace negligee. He seemed like he'd like simple. The little hint of purity, however silly, would also probably appeal to him.

Slowly exhaling, I composed myself before opening the door.

"Hello, Dr. Reid."

He looked as handsome as ever, although I did have the distinct impression that it had been awhile since he had a full nights sleep. I wondered why, but decided not to dwell on it.

"Hello yourself," he responded, his eyes ravaging my figure the very moment I stepped out from behind the door. He waited for me to take a step back and fully open the door before he walked in, and I watched the way he scanned my apartment.

I wondered what he saw.

"How can I help you, Agent?"

It was a tease, and based the look on his face when he finally turned to me, it took him a moment to figure it out. He was too much in his work brain. I could feel it. I'd never seen him at work, but I could tell.

"You seem tense," I spoke coyly, stepping closer and running my hands up his chest and onto his shoulders.

He didn't speak; instead his gaze bored into me, like he was going to lose his composure any second. But he held himself back.

"Can I help you with that?"

That dark shine in his eyes was getting stronger.

"That depends."

As he spoke the words, he finally touched me, a sneaky hand finding its way to my hip. I gasped at the sensation and my eyes fluttered shut. He always had this immediate intoxicating effect on me that I just couldn't explain. I didn't care to, either. I just wanted to keep feeling it.

"Hmm... On what?" I murmured.

I tried to keep track of his hand as it sneaked to my lower back before pulling me closer. I tilted my head to look up at him as I opened my eyes. I just wanted to see that look again. That starved, possessive stare that made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.

Although he appeared stoic, I knew there was something brewing. I knew that he was reveling in the effect he had on me.

Such a quiet, peculiar mind.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, and I recognized the question as something deeper.

He was asking me for my limits. He wanted me to tell him what he was allowed to do. I didn't know how to tell him that I would do anything for him.

How could he not already know my answer? Perhaps it was just his attempt at being a gentleman. But I didn't need him to do all of that tonight. I'd much rather see something more... feral.

"Whatever you need," I answered as sweetly as I could.

I heard his soft chuckle. It brought a smile to both of our lips, and he used his free hand to stroke the side of my face. I quickly leaned into his touch, trying to prolong the contact for as long as I could.

"Is that so?"

Yes, I thought before saying, "Anything."

His thumb glided over my cheek and to my lips, gently separating them as he stared at me with a morbid curiosity. He was wondering how far he could actually push me. So was I.

In lieu of an answer, I slipped his thumb into my mouth, running my tongue up it before closing around it. The gentle sucking was mixed with soft rotations of my tongue. His breathing rate increased as he stepped forward and pressed his body flush against mine.

"And if you change your mind?"

What a gentleman.

I wouldn't change my mind, but I chose to indulge him with the proper form. I released his thumb and held my mouth open for a second before biting down on my bottom lip.

"Hmmm," I hummed as I thought about what I might be able to say to set him off.

I needed a safe word that would drive him wild. The thing was, I only knew a few of his interests. But I did know enough.

"Starship," I giggled, a little nod to the enterprise we'd already bonded over.

The effect the word had on him was immediate. His hand shifted to hold my chin. He used that grip to push me against the wall to the side of us, and our mouths connected just as harshly.

What a ridiculously sexy nerd.

The impact of my back against the wall was nothing compared to the fire coursing through my veins. My hands scrambled to grab onto his belt buckle, already trying to unwrap the present meant just for me tonight.

Once I'd gotten the metal separated, I smiled into the sloppy, heated kiss. He stopped, pulling away just enough to look down at my satisfied grin. He didn't say anything.

"What's that look for?" I said with half-veiled bashfulness.

Had he noticed something strange that I hadn't intended to display? Was I going too fast?

"Nothing. It's just..."

'Please don't be something I did wrong.'

"You're so cute when you think you're in charge."

I couldn't control the way my hips rolled against the front of him as he spoke, and I licked my lips before concluding, "I am in charge."

I don't know how Spencer was so fast, but he was. Within seconds, he had both of my wrists pinned against the wall behind me. Just as quickly, he shifted so he could hold them both up with one hand, the other lifting the side of negligee so he could touch the skin of my hip. I wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Adorable," he whispered to me.

Naturally, my body reacted by trying to regain control, to touch him more somehow. He knew this, which is why he took a step back, letting go of my wrists and watching them fall back to my control.

"Are you challenging me, Dr. Reid?"

He gave a content, sarcastic smile before shrugging.

"No, I'm not, actually. It's not a challenge if I already know I'm going to win."

I could barely notice the way I puffed out my own chest in response, ready to give him the challenge he was so clearly begging for.

"Fine."

I put my hands in the air in surrender, turning and strutting my fine ass down the hallway in front of him. I didn't turn around, and I didn't tell him to follow. He would. I was confident in that.

I took a seat on the side of my bed, crossing my legs over the other and looking down at my nails with a bored expression. Before I knew it, he was crossing the threshold into my room. He walked up to me, his hands in his pockets and a voice filled with too much confidence.

"I know what you're doing."

He had something up his sleeve. I could feel it.

"What am I doing, Dr. Reid?"

The way he approached me reminded me of a hunt. The cautious, quiet strides toward me were purposeful. He stopped just in front of me, with my foot resting against his shin.

"I thought I already warned you what would happen if you did this."

"Do what?" I feigned innocence, raising my hand to my neck before perching my chin on it and leaning forward.

"Tease me."

That time when his hand made contact, it was on the top of my head. He ran a gentle hand over my hand, and the feather light touches almost tricked me. I'd almost thought he just wanted to appease me. To end my temper tantrum. But shortly after he had gripped the back of my hair in his hand and used the new grip to roughly tilt my head back to him.

"I thought you said you were going to be a good girl tonight?"

I bit down harshly on my lip to stifle my giggle as he tightened his grip.

"Oops," I said with a smile.

Suppressing my laughs enough to string together a sentence, I pressed my hands against his chest while he maintained his grip on my hair.

"I guess if you really want me to be a good girl, Dr. Reid... You'll have to make me."

That instruction was what I needed to break the man in front of me. It was the command he'd been waiting for; the bait for him to finally take what he came for.

Before I knew it, he had spun me around. He abruptly yanked my arms behind me at the same time he bent me over the side of the bed. An unfamiliar, harsh, and fucking freezing material on my wrists told me all I needed to know. The clanking of the short chain when he released my hands was music to my ears.

That beautiful son of a bitch actually brought his handcuffs.

"At least one of us follows orders," I joked, happily remaining on display for the man behind me.

I'm sure he noticed earlier that there wasn't anything blocking him from taking what he wanted underneath the negligee. But he didn't take it. Instead, he pulled me up by the chain, letting me teeter onto my feet before he twirled me back to face him.

"Get ready to learn."

Spencer slowly began removing his tie from his neck while he watched me squirm. His threat raised the tension in the room, but he gave me no clue as to what he was about to make me do.

I couldn't wait.

Once he had removed his tie, he unbuttoned his shirt. It was infuriating not being able to touch him, and I was quickly becoming impatient. It was shocking that it somehow wasn't awkward. I guess I just liked him that much. My thighs were pressed together, and the friction from rubbing them back and forth was the only stimulation I could find right now.

He raised his eyebrows as he noticed, shooting me a warning glance that I knew meant to stop. I did, but only because I was worried he would make me wait even longer if I didn't.

"Get on your knees."

I swayed back and forth, prying my hands apart to shake the chain holding my hands back.

"I can't," I said with a pout.

Spencer seemed to be entertained, and for a moment I thought he might give in.

He leaned over, a quiet breath in my ear as he gave a few words of caution.

"Get on your knees or I will bend you over mine."

My legs shook at the way his breath felt on my ear, and the words made me want to melt. As always, he knew exactly how to get me to do what he wanted.

Deciding that I didn't want to be a full on brat right off the bat, I gradually lowered down to my knees and threw him yet another pout from my new position.

"I want to touch you," I whined before tugging at the chain again.

He must have known it was a test. I had been so open to the hand cuffs being on before, and I still was. I just wanted to see how much power my pout had. Judging from his response, my puppy dog eyes didn't have very much power at all.

"You don't need your hands for that."

In a twisted sort of way, I was glad. I wanted him to do whatever he needed. I wanted to be what he needed. I would be the fight he could always win.

So, when he finally pulled his pants down and let them fall to the ground in front of me, I leaned forward to reach him.

I was quickly stopped by stern hand fisting my hair once more, leaving me hanging in front of him with nothing fun to show for it. He didn't say anything, just watching me as I returned soft whines and rubbing my legs together again.

"For a brat, you're very eager. You don't even realize you're challenging my authority, do you?"

Per usual, he was right. Even on my knees and handcuffed before him, I was trying to take back my control. He at least offered me the control over my neck again, though. He released my hair, smoothing it over the top of my head as he licked his lips. I couldn't take my eyes off them.

"Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should just let you beg."

I bounced on my knees, trying to express what I wanted without resorting to outright begging. Not yet.

"I'll listen to you, I promise."

"Good," he acknowledged. "Open your mouth."

I obeyed, as I'd just said I would, opening my mouth wide with my tongue forward to receive him. As he pushed into my mouth, he would only give me a couple inches before retreating. He continued this pattern until he had gotten over half of it into my mouth.

That time, he paused, granting me a pleased groan as he let his head fall back. I responded in earnest, continuing to move forward as my tongue swiped over whatever it could reach. When I pulled back, I barely released any of him before going even further forward. I looked up at his face to see if he was impressed.

He was.

Shortly after, I choked as he hit the back of my throat. I receded enough to take a deep breath through my nose. I wished I could use my hands, but I appreciated the novelty of the cuffs for at least this one time.

I swore he heard my thoughts. Because after I finished my breath, his hands found the back of my head and pulled me even further onto him. If my hands were busy, he would just use his own.

That time as I choked, I swallowed. I could feel him slip further down my throat, blocking the air supply just for a second. When he pulled me back, I knew this was just the beginning.

Once he knew what I was capable of, he was ready to take control for good.

Sure enough, he set a moderate pace of thrusting into my throat, keeping direct eye contact with me as he did so. I paid all my attention on making sure I timed my breath, feeling tears prick the inside of my eyes as I let him take over.

He was so beautiful like this. I thought about what it must be like for him at his job, that I was the first thing he came to. I decided right then, that he would never feel powerless with me. I would be anything he needed.

Suddenly, his pace slowed down, eventually coming to a stop. He slipped himself out of my mouth, and the strings of spit snapped onto my chin. I couldn't do anything to stop the running make up or saliva with both of my hands behind my back.

I was certain I looked like an absolute mess. My knees were weak from the position, and Spencer had never looked so pleased. Bending over, he grabbed me under my arms and helped haul me up onto the bed.

His hands casually wiped the tears from my cheeks, and he used the back of his hand to clean the area around my mouth.

"You are so beautiful," he uttered.

'Oh my god, I think I might love him.'

"You're not bad yourself," I croaked, my voice hoarse from what we'd just done.

"Tell me what you want," he dared me, his hand dropping from my hand down to my lap.

"Whatever you want."

It was the answer I had already promised him. I'd meant it before, and I'd meant it then.

He had still maintained eye contact, staring directly into my soul as he slipped his hand between my thighs. The lack of underwear made his job so much simpler, and I was thanking myself for not putting another barrier between the two of us.

Because as much as I wanted to be patient for him, I was growing desperate. Which is why when he finally touched me, his finger slid into my heat with ease. The slickness that had pooled was more than even I expected from the complete lack of stimulation I had received.

His finger wasn't there for long. He briskly removed it and held it up to my face before rubbing them together. He smiled as I struggled to breathe through the teasing.

"I've barely touched you... And yet..." he taunted, causing me to roll my hips, trying to get to something wholly out of my reach.

I was ready to start begging.

"Please, Spencer."

"Please what? Use your words."

He was loving it. He knew damn well that I had absolutely no control over what I wanted. I couldn't grab him, and I couldn't touch myself. All I could do was beg.

"Fuck me. Please."

It was as straightforward as I could possibly be.

"Still so impatient... so needy," he laughed, his hand returning to its place between my thighs.

I wailed as he began thumbing my clit. It was mind-numbing. He knew that I desperately wanted to be filled, and he was doing the exact opposite.

"Yes," I panted. "I need you. I need you to fuck me. Please."

Spencer didn't stop, continuing to stroke the bundle of nerves with quick, repetitive motions.

"Not yet, little girl," he growled in my ear.

It didn't take long for my cries to pick up, my hips rocking furiously as he drove me into my first orgasm. A steady flow of pants and cries were mixed with mangled attempts to call his name. He still didn't stop, refusing to touch me anywhere but the one spot until I finally ceased shaking.

I almost fell backwards, but he caught me with an arm around the waist. I could barely see straight, and ever such a gentleman, he held my delirious body upright for a moment. I could tell he was wondering if I was alright.

The concern mixed with overwhelming desire was too much. Even as he tortured me with pleasure, I could see what an incredibly kind man he was.

That was the only way this would work, I thought. I had to trust him. And I did. I trusted him with my life.

"Tell me what you want," he uttered, offering me a guilt-free retreat that I would not take.

"You," I purred. "I want you, Spencer."

Finally allowing himself to give in to both of our desires, Spencer turned me onto my stomach one more time. When I heard the crumpling noise of foil as he tore the condom wrapper open, I raised my hips into the air. I stood on my tip toes and rested my head and chest against the bed.

He didn't say anything else, lazily rubbing the head against my sex. A trembling, relieved sigh escaped my lips as I felt him breach my opening. He took his time inching into me, savoring the way I clenched around him as he stretched me open. I wished I could see the look on his face, but I could barely keep my eyes open as the rapture overtook me.

Once he was fully in me, he paused, grabbing hold of my locked wrists as yet another reminder that he was the one in charge. I

wasn't going to fight him if he kept it up, that was for sure.

Almost pulling himself entirely out, he jerked me back at the same time that he snapped his hips forward and bottomed out inside me. I yelled out at the sensation, which clearly urged him on. His pace went from composed to frenetic in a matter of seconds, and each time he would slam into me, I couldn't stop the loud moans and cries from spilling out of my mouth.

He didn't let them dissuade him. I was pretty sure that he very much enjoyed the fact that I couldn't control myself. That he was the one doing that to me. But, in typical, sympathetic Spencer fashion, he leaned over me from behind and wrapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the noises.

Didn't want to alert anyone of what was happening behind closed doors, after all.

I could barely breathe as he fucked me into the bed, my feet lifting off the ground from the sheer force he used in each thrust. I let him take out all his pent up frustration on me, enjoying the harsh sting as his skin slapped against mine.

I wasn't going to last much longer. We both knew that we were riding dangerously close to the edge. As much as I didn't want it to end, I was ready to fall off that cliff with him.

His thrusts became jagged and stunted, and my thighs tensed tightly together. I chanted his name into his hand, unable to control myself as I felt my muscles flutter around his cock, urging him to finish with me. He happily obliged, pulling me roughly back to him one more time. Our hips violently collided and he held me down as far as he could onto him before emptying himself into the latex.

I could feel the soft twitching of his cock, and I started to wonder things you're not supposed to wonder about a booty call. I'd come back to that later.

A booty call. A one-night-stand.

Were we still just that? I wasn't going to ask... yet.

It felt so cold when he peeled himself off my back and slowly removed all of himself from me. I whined at the friction following the overstimulation. My legs shook terribly as my feet scrambled to touch the floor.

I couldn't see him, but I heard him throwing the condom in the trash before going through his clothes. Soon after, his hands were gingerly repositioning mine, granting him access to remove the cuffs. Once he'd slipped them off, I realized just how numb my arms had gone. They flopped uselessly to my sides, and I struggled to move my fingers.

Spencer's arms were around me before I knew what was going on. Delicately, he turned me onto my back despite my protesting groans. His touch was so gentle in a way I can't explain. He was acting like I would shatter at his fingertips.

"Wait here," he spoke in a hushed voice, placing a gentle kiss against my cheek.

I would wait anywhere for him.

While I did just that, I moved just enough that my entire body was on the bed. I inched up to the pillows and waited to regain my strength. My wrists were irritated and dented, but I couldn't really care. If anything, it would serve as proof that this night wasn't just a wild fever dream.

I saw Spencer out of the corner of my eyes, carrying an assortment of items that I couldn't help but laugh at.

"I come bearing gifts," he snickered before gracelessly dropping two bottles of Gatorade, a bottle of Advil, and lotion onto my bed.

"My hero," I spoke through the daze as I watched him pull his underwear back on. Understanding that the Advil was to stop my wrists from hurting, I took a couple quickly before I couldn't help but snicker at the sight before me.

"Awwe. I like the way you look without them, though," I teased, motioning to bottom half. "You have a cute butt."

He just chuckled, sitting down next to me and pumping lotion into a hand before motioning for me to give him my wrist.

I turned onto my side and presented him with my hand. Once he started to work the tired, abused muscles, I watched his face. The way he carefully admired the muscles while he worked, like he was trying to rebuild my wrist to the way he found it. He was so careful.

After a few moments, he held out his hand to switch, to which I also obliged.

I muttered a soft, "Thank you."

He only gave me a fleeting glance before returning to our hands.

"It's the least I can do. After what you let me do."

It was a bit of a joke, but also very genuine. He didn't call it aftercare, but that's what this was. I was familiar with it.

He was good at it.

Once he was satisfied that my wrists were going to be okay, he turned to his side to look at me. I looked up at him and wondered if he noticed that I saw the world in his eyes. I wondered if he could sense the overwhelming joy that flowed between us. I wondered if it was just in my mind that it was going both ways.

"I hope you know that I really do appreciate you," he said with a surprisingly serious tone.

My heart fluttered in my chest in a very inappropriate manner.

"Is there anything you need from me?" he asked.

Yes, I wanted to answer. Everything.

I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn't.

This doesn't mean anything, I reminded myself. He was just doing what he had to.

"No," I lied, instead.

I think he knew I was lying. Of course he knew. Nonetheless, he draped an arm over me and scooted closer to me until my head rested against his arm. He gave my forehead a chaste kiss, and moved his fingers unhurriedly against the bare skin of my back.

I could've fallen asleep just like that, but I didn't want to. I wanted to feel that close to him forever. The freedom and happiness flowing through me was so intoxicating that I'd started to think about my previous thoughts I had during sex.

He was about that age men started to want kids and...

"Do you want kids, Spencer?"

'Oh, fuck, did I say that out loud?'

He looked as surprised as me to hear the question, and for a moment his hands stopped clean in their tracks.

'Oh no.'

"Uhh," He cleared his throat, "Yeah, I do. Wh-Why do you ask?"

Although he continued to drag his fingers across my back, it was different now. He was suddenly much more distant. Because seriously, why the hell would he not? We barely knew each other, and I definitely sounded like a crazy person.

"I was just wondering. You're good at taking care of people."

It was true. If he noticed I was covering my ass, he didn't say anything about it. Thank god.

"I'm not actually too sure about that. Right now you just think I'm good at it because your body is coursing with endorphins and adrenaline. The chemical process of love is extremely finicky and easily mimicked. Especially post-orgasm. Once that goes away, you might find you feel differently about me."

I doubted it.

Still, I shifted away from him, backing up so I could see his face again.

He continued, "You know, almost half of women surveyed said they felt anxiety and overwhelming sadness after sex. They even coined a term for it, aside from the typical sub-drop discussed in communities of more extreme sex. 'Post-coital dysphoria.' It's a shame really, that the idea of reassurance after sex isn't more mainstream."

Sometimes it was easy for me to forget he was some kind of genius. I always saw him at his most confident, which happened to also be his most quiet. As he taught me about things that I definitely should have been taught in high school sex education (but was not), I was not filled with anxiety or sadness.

In fact, I was happy.

I didn't really know him that well yet, but I wanted to.

"I can see why people mistake sex for love sometimes, then," I mumbled, not realizing the weight behind my words. It seemed obvious to me in the moment that he wouldn't think I was talking about us.

But then he pulled his hand back, running it through his hair and clearing his throat again.

"Yeah," he agreed, nonetheless, "It's pretty common."

I took a deep breath, panicking on how to pull him back to me. I lightly stretched, shifting to sit up and put some literal distance between us before the figurative distance was too far.

"Well, no worries here, Dr. Reid. I can confidently say I am not in love with you."

I could feel his eyes following me. I said I was confident, because I was. I was not in love with him.

Was I falling in love with him? It was a different question. I didn't know the answer to that one.

I excused myself for a moment to go to the bathroom and freak out in isolation. I could not believe I was somehow incapable of controlling my words around him. He just had this face that made you want to spill your heart out to him.

Did he know that? Whatever. It was easier to blame him for being so damn cute.

When I made it back to the bed, he was already half-asleep. He looked so peaceful and unassuming compared to the dominating personality I had seen not even ten minutes ago. As quietly as I could, I sneaked into my side of the bed. He began to stir, so I came up behind him and wrapped an arm over his waist.

"You know, they say it's dangerous to stay the night after a one-night-stand," I whispered, resting my face on his shoulder. "People might get attached."

"Technically this would be a two night-stand, so I don't think the same rules apply," he grumbled before placing his hand over mine on his stomach.

"Well, if you really want to get technical, we are a one-night-stand plus a booty call," I corrected, earning a playful scoff from the man beside me.

"Pretty sure those are mutually exclusive."

I tried to repeat to myself that he was just trying to be nice. He was doing what all people are supposed to do after sex. It didn't mean anything, I tried to convince myself.

It didn't mean anything.

"You're right."

I still tried to convince myself. It still wasn't working.

Fuck it.

"We could be something more. If you want to," I suggested. I'd sounded absolutely bored by the idea on purpose, but it still hadn't been enough to convince him that I wasn't out here proposing marriage to a fucking bootycall.

His entire body tensed under my touch, like my words had inflicted pain. From my position half on top of him I felt his chest stop moving as he held his breath.

I shouldn't have said it. It was easy to say that in hindsight. But the truth was, I wasn't the only one blaring sirens of my growing attached to the kindhearted man who'd just massaged my wrists. Spencer had always been the one to be blatantly affectionate with me. It was him who had wanted to make this a recurring habit in the first place.

He was the one that always chose to stay the night. He was the one who initiated it. It wasn't just me who wanted something more, but he had to be a stupid, proud man like the rest of them.

"(Y/n) I—"

I knew that tone. I'd heard it before. He was going to tell me he couldn't be with me. We couldn't 'date,' or whatever he'd convinced himself the mature version was of the juvenile phrase.

But I already knew that. He was a fucking FBI agent and he was 10 years older than me. I barely knew anything about him. Had he ever even had a girlfriend? Did he have one now? I didn't even know, and that wasn't what I'd asked.

Still, he was struggling to come up with a way to let me down easy, and I didn't want to hear it. It was going to be a lie, anyway. So, I covered his mouth with my hand and stopped him before he ended things for good.

"Friends, Spencer. I meant we can be friends."

Suddenly, we could both breathe again.

"I'd like that."

The tension melted from the room, but only so much. There was still a wall between us. I wasn't sure if it'd ever go away, but that was a problem for another day.

"Me too," I lied.

I didn't want to be friends. I was scared what 'friends' meant. I was nervous that what I'd done was give him an out to never talk to me again. I was petrified that he'd lose the ability to see me as anything more than a collection of mistakes he'd made.

I didn't tell him any of that. If he noticed, which I'm positive he did, he didn't say anything about it. I was sure he wouldn't. Because even though he was about to shut me down, I knew part of him was craving the intimacy I was willing to offer him. I figured I'd just have to do it quietly for the time being. Wouldn't be the first time a woman took responsibility for a man's feelings.

At least the sex was worth it.

I tried to pretend like that's all it was. After a minute of listening to his heart beating rhythmically underneath me, though, he rolled over once more. Unable to leave him behind just yet, I joined him. I turned so he could pull me as close to him as he wanted.

There was never a barrier between us when the words were removed. My body fit next to his like it had been molded for that purpose. I curled into the warmth and I savored the quiet moments that I was convinced could never come often enough.

As I drifted off into sleep in his arms, our legs tangled together like we were part of the same two headed beast.

My last thought of the night was the one I'd been trying to avoid.

I don't want to be friends, because friends don't do this.

—————————————————

Waking up next to Spencer in my bed that morning was somehow even more ethereal than before. Although I'd shifted several times in my sleep, he'd found me in the darkness each time so that he could cling to me again.

I didn't want to move. I was worried I would wake him and we'd return to our previous lives like this had never happened. I thought back to how tired he had looked when he first got here. I still wasn't totally certain what a profiler is, but the haunted look in his eyes and the tension in his muscles told me it wasn't easy.

I ghosted my fingers over his hand splayed out on my stomach, and the touch only served to make him pull me closer to him.

He was like a child with his favorite toy, desperately seeking out the comfort only I could provide him. I continued to run my hands along his, eventually going up his arm and quietly giggling at the goosebumps that formed. I didn't want him to wake up, but I also didn't want him to be awoken with another notice that he had to leave.

I wondered what the morning would be like without a time limit.

When Spencer began to stir, the first thing he did was bury his face between my shoulder and neck. I giggled at the tickling sensation of his breath, and he responded by peppering the area with short, light kisses.

It was my favorite way to say good morning.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I said through the laughter.

He didn't speak, just humming back contentedly as his kisses became more involved.

"Now who's the needy one?" I teased, tilting my head to grant him more access.

"Still you," he sighed against my skin.

"You know what I really need?" I began, starting the impossible task of turning onto my back while he refused to let go of his hold on me. "Coffee."

I couldn't help but laugh at the playful groan he released in response. He clearly agreed, and even followed the joyful sound with, "And they say the perfect woman doesn't exist."

It didn't mean anything, I warned my heart as it began to race. It was just a joke.

"Well, I didn't for the first ten years of your life. But don't worry, Dr. Reid. You have me now."

The brag, paired with the reminder of our age gap, earned me my release from his embrace. I was sad to lose it, but I'd also been scared of the effect it had on me.

"Your humility is my favorite part," he said in jest as he watched me squirm out from under his arm.

I stuck out my tongue, and he spoke again.

"Wait, never mind. I forgot about that part. That's my favorite part."

My face burned as I sucked it back in before pouting and climbing out of the bed. Grateful that I still had on my negligee, I stopped to pick up his clothes and tossed them onto the bed.

"Come on, lazy bones. I don't know how you like your coffee."

He just smiled, that gentle yet goofy look that told me he was enjoying himself. I didn't stay to watch him get dressed, deciding he deserved his privacy, despite the fact that I had shoved his dick down my throat the night before.

When he got to the kitchen, the pot was already on. I was leaning forward against the counter, half asleep on my propped up hand. He didn't take a seat at the table. He positioned himself directly behind me and wrapped an arm around my chest.

The man just couldn't keep his hands to himself. I wasn't complaining.

He slipped a hand beneath the front of my negligee, becoming more daring as he gently kneaded my breast and his mouth continued to mark my neck.

"What did I do to deserve all this attention now, Dr. Reid?"

It was a serious question. I had literally just been standing there. I had just woken up. I hadn't even cleaned my face.

"Nothing. You just exist."

I both chuckled and scoffed at the answer. So much for not wanting things to be emotional. Being the more responsible of the two of us, I focused on the way his tongue devilishly drew different sounds from me.

He suckled gently on the side of my neck, and his fingers began to tweak my nipple. A moan was ripped from the back of my throat as I jutted my hips backwards against him.

"God, when you react like that I can't help but think you want me to fuck you over this counter."

He was right. I did. Men weren't the only ones who had to deal with illicit thoughts in the morning. I figured he knew as much.

"Please," I begged, moving my arms so I could brace myself against the ceramic.

"Only because you asked nicely."

He withdrew from my neck. I heard as he drew familiar, crinkly foil from his pocket and I giggled at the anticipation. At the knowledge that he'd clearly pulled one from his wallet before he ever left the bedroom.

Soon enough, his fingers were trailing up my inner thighs, quickly encountering my very wet center that was still affected by the night before. Upon realizing I didn't need any preparation, he skipped it entirely. Slowly and with purpose, he slipped inside of me. I let out another loud moan as he filled my sore heat.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter under his breath.

I loved to know he couldn't entirely control himself with me. I wanted to know how I made him feel. It wasn't like the other times. There was no battle for dominance; I submitted to him immediately and freely. He was not rushed or driven by high emotions. His thrusts were slow, deep, and intimate. One of his hands returned to my chest, paying special attention to the breast that had been ignored before.

I leaned forward into his hand, my back arching to provide him with whatever relief he was looking for inside me. I panted out his name as my own version of a Sunday morning prayer.

It went on like that for a while. He took his time with me, like he was memorizing each nook and crevice he could reach. My legs were beginning to shake from his intrusion and also from my impending orgasm.

"Spencer..." I whispered his name differently this time, and his hands withdrew. I whimpered at the loss. But my disappointment was short lived, as his hand found its way down to where our bodies met. I gasped at the contact.

"What, (y/n)?" he asked with the utmost concern, beginning to make soft circles around my clit while he continued to fuck me from behind.

"I-I'm going to..."

I couldn't finish my sentence, collapsing forward as the stimulation became too much to bare. As it usually did, his other hand grabbed hold of my hair, clutching it tightly to pull me back up to him.

"Then do it."

His statement was a demand, but also its own beg. He wanted to feel me finish before him. I couldn't fight it even if I wanted to. The way he commanded control of my body was a force that could not be ignored. The ever tightening coil inside of me snapped, causing twitches and spasms to rack my body. My mouth tried to call his name, but my voice didn't come out.

I tried to grip the ceramic when he began to pick up his pace, fucking me harder as my orgasm went on. I knew how much he loved to feel me come undone from the inside. But he held on, continuing his brutal pace until even after I had devolved into a panting, dripping mess underneath him.

My soft mewls from the sensation of being fucked through peaked bliss were still not enough.

"What do you want, little girl?" he growled in my ear as he leaned forward, somehow thrusting harder. Another moan was bubbling up my throat as my feet left the ground with each impact.

"I want... I want you to cum. Inside me."

It was a beg laced with pants and high pitched whines. It was what he wanted to hear.

He grabbed one of my hands, guiding it to my lower abdomen and holding it there. I didn't realize why until the next thrust, when I felt a bump form as he moved within me. I hadn't even considered how deep within me he was. He was showing me how much of me belonged to him.

I'd already known, but the reminder was nice.

With a few more rough, deep thrusts, he had buried himself inside of me, and I could feel it against my hand. From within me I could feel him spilling into the condom.

I remembered my question about children. I remembered his answer.

That beautiful, sneaky bastard was imagining what it would be like to make me pregnant, whether or not he would admit it. I had put the thought in his mind. I just wasn't expecting it to have that profound of effect on him. I was more turned on by that than I'd like to admit.

I had said that I'd do anything for him.

He didn't say anything else. He released my hair and pulled out of me. He left me to prop myself up on the counter the best I could while my body trembled from the loss.

At some point, the coffee pot had finished. I figured there were worse ways to pass the time.

Spencer was gone when I turned around. I figured he had gone to the bathroom to clean up, and I tried not to think anything of it. I poured two cups of coffee and pulled out the cream and sugar.

When he came back, he'd come with his phone. He sat down at the table and silently read through messages from the past hours he spent with me. I watched him prepare his drink, immediately downing some of the contents despite its temperature.

"Good lord, do you even have feeling in your throat?" I asked, laughing as I continued to stir my cup.

"Interesting you would be the one to ask me that. After last night, I wondered the same about you."

Touché.

"Did you get any interesting messages? Is the ever-so-busy Special Agent Dr. Reid going to be whisked away from me without a proper goodbye again?"

The words were laced with only a little bit of bitterness. He ignored it.

"I don't know if I would classify our goodbye last time as improper. At least, not in the sense you're using the term."

He was avoiding an answer. I figured he had to go. Or, well, he wanted to.

That's fine, I told myself. He can go. Even though I didn't want him to.

I watched him, the way he continued to nurse his drink with one hand and look at his phone with the other. I tried to suppress the hearts forming in my eyes.

"When will I get to see you again?" I asked, my tone full of trepidation.

"I'm not sure," was his honest answer, given without ever looking up at me.

"We should do something fun."

That made him look up, with a sly grin forming on his face.

"Not like that, you perverted old man," I laughed.

He raised his eyebrows, choosing not to reply outright to my taunt just yet.

"As much fun as we have in bedrooms, I don't know much about you. I'd like to change that," I explained.

He watched me carefully, his eyes shifting away as he began to overthink it. I could see the cogs of paranoia turning in his mind. I think even he knew he was being sort of ridiculous.

"As friends, Spencer," I reminded with a gentle smile. "Let's do something fun. As friends."

The reserved half smile he gave would be good enough for me.

"Sure," he conceded, which filled me with a bubbly happiness I tried (and failed) to conceal. "I do have to go now, though. If for no other reason than wanting to change."

An understandable concern. I was fine with him leaving if I knew I would see him again this time. But still, something about him leaving so soon hurt a deeper part of me. I wondered if it was that dysphoria he was talking about, but decided not to question it, lest he tell me it was something more worrisome. Something like infatuation.

I nodded, leaving my coffee on the table as I took his already empty cup. He stood up, waiting for me to return before the both of us walked over to the door. Something about his hesitation resonated in me. My puppy dog eyes were out in full force as I stared up at him.

I wasn't able to smile as he left.

"I'll see you again soon. As soon as I can," he assured me.

I wanted to believe him, but I hated that I didn't know when that would be.

He reached a hand down, brushing loose hairs from my face and commanding my attention that I so readily gave.

"Don't look so sad," he instructed. "It makes it hard to leave."

My chest swelled with anxiety and adoration. I wasn't sure how to combat it. I hugged myself with one arm, and Spencer shook his head with a laugh.

"Still not following directions."

He didn't seem to mind all that much, though. He leaned forward and cupped my face in his hand. Our lips pressed against each other with a tenderness that made my head spin. We kissed each other in a way that was carelessly romantic.

When he pulled away, he stared into my eyes for a second too long. And when he waved goodbye and walked out of my door, I couldn't get the thought out of my mind.

Friends don't do this.

—————————————————

| Part 4 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #smut #criminal minds imagine #here to misbehave #request

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dannyboy-writes · 4 years

Text

Red stains darker in the snow

The white lights blinded you as they took you to questioning, every cold hall the same sad shade of grey, and at every corner a guard posted. So monotonous.

Your arms ached from the pressure a random agent was applying, and you couldn’t help but notice the stares coming from every inch of the room.

Everyone but her.

On one of the never-ending corridors they opened a steel door into an interrogation room, where they left you there for some time.

There was close to nothing in the room. One metal table to which you were cuffed to, one very uncomfortable chair on each side of said table, and a mirror.

As you fiddled with the cuffs the door opened, letting Bailey- or Bell- Barton in with a frown, who looked at the mirror after sparing you a glance, and sat.

“y/n l/n, is that even your name?” He asked, dropping the file.

“Who knows,” you shrugged.

“...fugitive in fifteen countries, twenty two states, wanted for terrorism, murder and the hijack of a high tech plane,” he started as you reminisced on previous assignments. “Where did you take it, the plane.”

“Plage de Carras.”

“Hmm, France. Was it nice?”

“Lovely,” you said with a smile. “You should go, you look like you need more sun.”

He smiled, “I wouldn’t gloat much if I were you. Where you’re going there’s not that much sun.”

“Well, I doubt you found anything at the apartment,” you said as his smile dissipated into the straight line it was at the beginning. “And there’s nothing you can trace me to… So, how would you arrest me? Unless SHIELD has fallen into the dark side of intelligence, alongside Hydra and the CIA-”

“The CIA isn’t Hydra,” he interrupted.

“How not? Hidden government organization, check; based in world domination, check; has multiple hidden bases and severe human rights violations, check and check.

“Would you stop with the mind games,” he said, resting back in the chair.

“They’re not mind games-” you started.

“You’re a liar,” spat Barton as you looked at him.

“Am I, though?” You nonchalantly asked.

“You told her you’d change, you’d be better.”

“Oh, that you mean. No, yeah, that was a lie,” you chuckled. “But it’s not like it was a ‘lie’ lie, I mean, she knew I wasn’t going to change. I don’t think it counts as a lie that way, do you?”

“Yes!” He snapped, hitting the metal table. He pinched the bridge of his nose and spoke in a calmer voice, “It counts. Maybe not to someone like you, l/n, but it does.”

“Ooh, not to someone like me,” you mocked. “We’re all the same, Barton. You, her, me. We all sell ourselves, our information, our skills. You do it for your precious America, she used to do it for Russia, I used to do the same. It doesn’t matter who you do it for, you do it. Your SHIELD is not so different from the Red Room, or where I grew up.”

“Where was that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you stated. “The point is, Barton, in this line of work, you have to lie, or you die. It’s that simple. And if you think Natasha over there, behind the mirror, doesn’t lie, you’re dumber than I thought.”

She had to be behind it, or listening somewhere. She should’ve had the courage to sit in front of you, but apparently she didn’t. Madame B. would be disappointed.

Barton said nothing, and you continued, “She is behind there, isn’t she? Waiting, calculating. Trying to crack what I’m doing.”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Well, there’s no need to dwell too much on it. I can tell her myself.”

“You can tell me,” he said as he scraped the chair to the floor, making you wince.

“Now, where’s the fun in that.”

At that he left, maybe thinking you would crack under the pressure of nobody… What a dumb plan.

A few hours passed and as you were stretching your muscles, the door opened again, this time, with a familiar tone of red walking in.

“I was beginning to think you were a no show, Red,” you said while she sat in the chair.

She said nothing.

“What’s wrong, cat got your tongue or something?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said, reading the file Barton had left there.

There was not much in it, only a few minor inconveniences; still, there were some things that you’d rather forget there too.

“Your new team sucks at making files, by the way. There’s nothing there,” you started, tapping an old rhythm on the table. “I’ve noticed you, Red. You’re becoming sloppy.”

“Maybe I wanted you to notice, hmm. Ever thought of that?” She retorted.

You scoffed, “Now, why would you want that? Got a death wish or something?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’m a changed fella, time does crazy things,” you snickered.

“Why are you here, y/n?” She finally asked.

“I mean, it’s not like I chose to be here. If I had, there would be less cuffs and more beaches,” you said, tugging the restraints. “Although I do enjoy cuffs under the right circumstances… Remember?” You smirked.

“Fondly,” she met your eyes for the first time since she walked in, making you smile. “So,” she started. “What’s your plan?”

“There’s no plan,” you shrugged.

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious, no plan. Not a single thing, nada.”

“No plan,” she said, as you nodded. “So, you knew the team was there…”

“Yup. They’re very sloppy.”

“You let them capture you…”

“Clearly.”

“All for nothing,” she finished.

“Well, not for nothing. I just said I had no plan,” you said.

“So what for then?”

“I was bored,” you stated, wandering your gaze around the room.

“Bored?”

You nodded, “Bored.”

“What, do they have a bad retirement plan at Hydra?”

“Very funny,” you said, a resigned smile on your lips.

“I’m going to ask again, then, and don’t lie to me. Why are you here?”

You took a deep, sharp breath before saying, “I need help.”

“Help?”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you said you needed help,” she said in disbelief.

“Well, there’s no need to be smug about it,” you said. “I’m only human, Nat.”

“Doubtful. Go on, help with what?”

“As you know, I’m a wanted criminal in many places,” you said, stopping for her to nod. “And, as you also might know or figure out, some of those places want me to go to their little dark prisons.”

“Which is understandable, considering everything you’ve done.”

“What about what you’ve done, huh Red? You don’t get to pay for those?” You accused, and when she didn’t say anything, added, “Joking.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, some of them want me imprisoned, most want me dead. And it’s catching up, and I can’t avoid it all on my own. So, I’m here in search of help,” you concluded.

“Why should I help you, y/n? We haven’t seen each other in years.”

It was a fair argument.

"I mean, you don't have to help me. By all means, you're free to let me go. In fact, you should. I don't bring anything good to this situation. I'm a fugitive with zero information on anything and a target bigger than my back. Just me.”

She stared at you for a second, “It's not like we had much before.”

“True, we were great,” you mused. “Whatever happened to us?”

“You kept working for Hydra as I left the KGB and joined SHIELD,” she reminded you.

“Well, it’s not like I had much of a choice, Natasha,” you said, getting serious. “You left without saying a word and I had to deal with the consequences. That mission was mine too and you messed it up. Just packed and left. I was left to fend for myself, and try not sell you out.”

She was quiet. Probably had no idea you had suffered for her departure; or that you didn’t sell her out, even if it would’ve meant much less pain for you.

“I thought about doing it,” you continued. “Sell you out. It would’ve solved many problems.”

“Why didn’t you?” She asked without a second thought.

Now you were quiet. Very quiet.

“I- I guess I wanted something good to come out of that mess. I don’t know, I wanted to think you were out, and it was something less to worry about. But it backfired,” you finally said.

“Backfired how?”

“Well, you became the mission after your little escape. And who better than me to find you,” you scoffed. “I mean, they knew everything, Red. Every single thing. Every secret code we had, every place we met at.”

She shook her head, “There’s no way, how would they know?”

“I have no fucking idea how! But they knew,” you shook your head. “Now, there’s no need to get into that. Will you help me?”

She took a deep breath and nodded, “Yes.”

As you were thanking her a knock on the glass stopped you. Natasha left the room and met with a very angry Clint Barton.

“What are you doing, Tasha?” He asked while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“They need help, okay. I have to,” she said.

“You don’t have to do anything. They made their choice a long time ago.”

Natasha only shook her head.

“Why do you still have their back?” He asked.

Ah, the million dollar question.

“We go back, Clint. They've saved me countless times.”

“They’ve tried to kill you as many times as well,” he added.

“You don’t get it. It was my fault,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow for her to continue.

“When I left. When I decided to go with you, I- I didn’t even think of bringing them with. And they suffered because of that choice I made.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said and she looked at him. “Whatever happened to y/n when you left is not your fault.”

“But it is!” She shouted. “It is. And now they need help, and I’m not gonna turn my back on them again, Clint. I can’t.”

Barton was about to say something but he stopped himself. “Okay,” He started. “We’ll help them.”

Natasha entered the questioning room some time after leaving you with your thoughts, this time accompanied by Barton.

“We’ll help,” she only said.

“We?” You asked.

“We,” said Barton. “I’m not going to let you be alone with her.”

“Scared I’ll steal your girlfriend?”

He grabbed the collar of your shirt, “Now, let me be clear with something l/n. Just because we’re helping, doesn’t mean I’ll let you run around like a child in a park. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” you huffed, throwing your body backwards to get out of his grip. “So, when are we leaving?”

“Leaving?” They both asked in synchrony.

"You didn't expect us to stay here, right? There's gotta be a safehouse somewhere harder to infiltrate than this place,” you said.

“This place isn’t easy to infiltrate,” Barton defended.

“It is. I did it twice,” you admitted. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

Barton unclasped the cuffs, "Hypothetically speaking, huh? Was that a confession?"

“No, simply a statement on the security of this place,” you shrugged.

“There’s a safehouse up north,” Natasha said. “But it’s cold this time of year.”

“Please, Red. You grew up in Russia, you gonna tell me a little snow is too much for you?”

“I don’t remember it was me whining about the cold in our stakeouts,” she retorted.

“No, that was because you stole all my jackets and covers and I was left with nothing but light sweaters,” you bickered back while Barton cursed to himself for getting in this mess with you both.

“Alright you two,” he interrupted. “We leave tomorrow.”

You shook your head, “Now.”

“We need to prep everything for the trip, and tell Fury about-”

“You’ll tell no one nothing,” you almost shouted, banging your hand on the table. “You can’t,” you said more calmly.

“Why not?” Natasha asked.

“Because- It’s imperative that no one knows about this.”

“We can trust Fury,” said Barton.

“You can’t trust anyone,” you spat. “Not if you want to live. We leave tonight. Is there a car we can take?” You asked, looking at Natasha who was silent.

She knew you were right. After all, not long ago, SHIELD was infiltrated by Hydra.

“There’s a car,” she said, while Barton stared at her. “That’s how we stayed alive.”

He sighed loudly in defeat as you stared blankly at the metal table. “Okay, we take the car and head north to the safehouse. Then what?”

“Then we wait,” you said.

“Wait for what,” asked Natasha.

“For my contact.”

The mildly hard part of the plan was escaping from SHIELD headquarters, but even that wasn’t so hard. Next, you all found your way to a car parked at the last level of a parking lot, under some dusty blankets.

Natasha started driving and when she got tired Barton took over, while she slept on the back, which made the car’s habitacle a tense place.

Neither Barton nor you said a single word for the time Natasha was asleep; there wasn’t even a single stare between the both of you.

When Natasha woke up you decided you were going to drive a bit, to get your mind busy on something; so with Natasha as the copilot you took the wheel, and it wasn’t until she was sure Clint was asleep that she spoke.

“Okay, what are you not saying?”

“What,” you asked.

“Something is different,” she started. “What is it?”

“You mean besides the fact that multiple governments want me dead?”

“I don’t buy that. Countries have wanted you dead for years, why does it matter now?”

You sighed staring at the newfound snow on the route, “It’s nothing.”

She wanted to say something, to protest against your lack of answer but she didn’t.

You got to the safehouse after almost an hour of thick, sickening silence, and Natasha would’ve preferred a millennia of quiet instead of what she heard.

One piercing bullet sound, and you falling to your knees.

While Clint left to find whoever had fired the gun Natasha froze still in the white before falling to her knees with you, cradling you.

“You’ll be okay,” she said, applying pressure on your abdomen. “Everything will be okay.”

You managed a crooked smile and a reassuring look before placing your hand on her cheek, “It’s okay, Red. It’s okay.”

She held your hand and kept repeating the same four words on and on, and she didn’t realise when you drifted off to sleep until it was too late; when she was covered in your blood on the white snow.

She stayed there, by the car, covered in a mix of blood and snow and hugged you. It wasn’t until she saw Clint coming back with defeat plastered on his face that she realised what’d happened.

He helped her into the safehouse and brought your lifeless body, covering it with a sheet.

“Did you find whoever did this?” She asked after a long time of silence.

“I only found the gun,” he said.

“We’ll find them.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #marvel imagine

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hoseas-angry-ghost · 3 years

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YES YES YES I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR UR THEORIES

Hello anon! I am very surprised anyone wants to hear my chutney but here's my Strange Man Hot Take with some hopefully interesting info for curious parties:

To be honest, R* included so much misdirection around the Strange Man's identity (especially in RDR1) that I'm not *totally* convinced they're married to any one idea. RDR2 also complicated things by introducing new religions into Red Dead's world (Voodoo, Old Norse, etc.): he's no longer limited to just Christian / Western interpretations, as in RDR1, and it's possible R* might try to syncretise him with figures from other faiths (they did place Bayall Edge in Bayou Nwa, where most of the Voodoo stuff is).

At the same time, though, I think RDR2 actually narrowed things down somewhat in terms of the direction R* chose to take his character, and what we were shown of that. There's still a level of misdirection in RDR2, but IMO, it almost comes off as half-hearted in comparison to what was basically trolling in RDR1 -- it seems like they were a lot more focused on playing the "bad news" angle the second time round.

Based on what we know, and on the balance of things, I'm not convinced that the Strange Man is necessarily meant to be any one thing or figure, but I do think he's meant to fulfil some type of Satanic role within Red Dead's world, either in main or in part.

I won't compare and dissect other theories or anything, I just thought I'd list off some things that people might find interesting:

Armadillo. The deal between the Strange Man and Herbert Moon seems to be a pretty textbook Faustian bargain: Moon is offered earthly rewards ("happiness or two generations"), and although the price was (tellingly?) never specified, it seems like the recent Blood Money update for RDO all but confirmed that the cost was probably his soul. Although it's left ambiguous what Moon actually chose, the Armadillo curse was possibly an unforeseen (for Moon) consequence of the deal's terms, which would fit with similar tales of the devil or demon in question taking liberties with their end of the bargain.

In the files, there's some great audio of Moon off the shits and straight-up saying "I've made a deal with the devil, and I will never truly die!" It's possible this was cut for its own reasons (too overt?), but as a lot of stuff was apparently cut from Armadillo, I'm guessing it was either cut when Arthur in New Austin got cut, or it was part of something that R* didn't have time to implement in the epilogue. Either way, if it's not actually in the game then it's not technically canon, but it is an indication of what R* was thinking during development.

There's a lot of audio from the Armadillo townsfolk in general about devils and "devil curses," but the only thing I know of that definitely made it into the game is a line from the town crier ("Devil has the town in his hand").

There's audio of the Armadillo bartender saying "I heard the Tillworths made a deal with the devil to keep from gettin' sick! I don't wanna die any more than the next man, but ain't no safety worth a man's soul." Possibly idle gossip, but given Moon, possibly not.

RDO seemed to flirt with the idea of soul-selling a little bit with Old Man Jones' line "Well, this is America, so anything can be bought -- even souls," but then RDO pretty much just came right out and said it with Bluewater John in the Blood Money update. Bluewater John also apparently made a deal, almost definitely with the Strange Man (given the Moon deal and how close Bayall Edge is to all the drama); he was based on blues musician Robert Johnson and the myth that he sold his soul to the devil for mastery of the guitar. It's basically a rehash of the Moon deal, except it's... not subtle in its dialogue about deals, devils and souls.

"I GAVE EVERYTHING FOR ART, AND I LEARNED TOO MUCH AND NOTHING AT ALL" written on the wall at Bayall Edge also sounds like a reference to another one of these deals to me ("everything" being their soul, and "I learned too much and nothing at all" the foolishness of accepting eternal damnation for temporary knowledge). I think Bayall Edge might have originally belonged to a painter who struck a deal with the Strange Man for artistic skill, but then the Strange Man slowly possessed him or something -- which could be why some of the landscapes depict RDR1's I Know You locations, and why the writings on the wall kind of look like they deteriorate in quality. The puddle of blood at the foot of the portrait might also be linked to this somehow (whose is it?).

It's the deal-making for souls that really pushed the "devil" theory over the edge for me, because I can't think of whose wheelhouse that would be in except a devil's, or someone similarly malevolent.

Alternative name. The Strange Man's character model is called cs_mysteriousstranger in RDR2, and he's referred to as "the mysterious stranger" at least once in RDR1's in-game text. This could be a reference to The Mysterious Stranger, written by Mark Twain between 1897-1908, in which the stranger is a supernatural being called Satan. (At the end of the last version written, he tells the protagonist that nothing really exists and their lives are just a dream.)

Bayall Edge. Bayall Edge was possibly based on a Louisiana urban myth called the Devil's Toy Box, which is "described as a shack. From the outside, it is unappealing and average. ...The inside of the shack consists of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, including the walls. No one can last more than five minutes in this room. ...According to the legend, if you stood inside this mirror-room alone for too long, supposedly the devil would show up and steal your soul." The Strange Man does show up in the mirror eventually, and it's kind of curious that the paintings that change depending on your Honour act as metaphorical mirrors. This was also cut, but in the files, Arthur's drawing of the interior of Bayall Edge is unusually sloppy, like his faculties were impaired or something.

"Awful, fascinating and seductive". John writes this about Bayall Edge after the portrait is finished, and I think that's as good a description of something like the / a devil as any, but "seductive" is a big red flag for me, because it's such an odd choice of word and, from a Christian perspective, it's so loaded with connotations of evil and sin and temptation.

I Know You. Some have pointed out that I Know You in RDR1 resembles the Temptation of Christ, as it also takes place in three separate locations in the desert, and John is given moral tests in which he must choose between higher virtue or worldly vice. John is also, in a weird way, a kind of Christ-like figure in that he ultimately sacrifices his life for others. I do think the "temptation" in these encounters is very surreptitious but very much there ("Or rob her yourself" -- excuse me??), but they may also be operating on a Biblical definition of the word, i.e. a test or trial with the free choice of committing sin.

RDR1 dialogue. I don't want to get *too* much into this because I feel like we're all just getting punked in RDR1, but I think the Strange Man's dialogue broadly fits with something like a "devil" interpretation, or at least doesn't contradict it.

I'm thinking particularly of lines like "Damn you!" / "Yes, many have" (which would work metaphorically but also literally, given that the devil was thrown from heaven by God and his angels), and "I hope my boy turns out just like you" (of all the leading theories, I think Satan is the only figure who's popularly conceptualised as having a son, or prophesied to have a son -- God obviously had a son, but that ship kinda sailed).

I think the "accountant" line refers to Honour (which even uses an invisible numerical system), and how John's fate depends on the number of both good and bad acts he's committed throughout his life, and how these weigh against each other. If the Strange Man likes to collect souls, then he would have a vested interest in auditing you and seeing if your accounts are in the black or the red, as it were (and providing you with opportunities to push yourself further into the latter...), because if you're bankrupt, you're his.

Blind Man Cassidy. Interestingly, Cassidy seems to distinguish between "Death" and the Strange Man, implying that he's something else beyond his understanding: in one of Arthur's fortunes, after his TB diagnosis, he says "the man with no nose [Death] is coming for you," but in one of John's fortunes, he says "Two strangers seek thee: one from this world, perhaps one from another. One brings hatred; I'm not so sure what the other brings."

Arthur's cut dialogue. In the files, there's audio of Arthur having the exact same conversation with Herbert Moon as John in the epilogue, asking about the Strange Man picture because he "just seemed familiar". I think it's interesting that, like John, Arthur also would have apparently recognised the Strange Man despite (presumably) never seeing him before. Given how strong a theme morality is in Red Dead -- and how much both John and Arthur struggle with it -- my theory is that they find the Strange Man vaguely familiar because they're both familiar with the evil within themselves, or the potential for evil; and likewise, the Strange Man "knows" John because he embodies evil in some sense, so is aware of John's worst sins (like his involvement at Blackwater), or possibly even all of his sins (which would be, like, a lot).

Honourable mention: There's such a greater emphasis on conspiracies, myths, etc. in RDR2 that I half-wonder if the Strange Man's RDR2 incarnation was partly inspired by Hat Man (~excuse the link~ but often it's hard to find good sources for the kind of weird shit R* includes in their games).

ANYWAY, this got a little long but I hope someone found all this at least passably interesting. Thanks again for letting me ramble about the video game man, anon!

#The Strange Man #inbox #Me @ me: God jsut shut the fcuk-

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