#imagine sending bait like that and then the person never responds

[stsgluver]

𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐓.𝟓 — gojo satoru

synopsis. there's nothing more romantic than travelling halfway across the world for the girl you love... even if it is two years late.

wc. 3.4k

tags. none really, yn is described as shorter than megumi, possible ooc for EVERYONE, lowkey forgot how to write halfway through, possible spelling mistakes and plotholes (pls still like my writing i beg)

a/n. im sorry i never really got round to answering the comments on the last post but i have added everyone to the taglist who asked. so i did write two endings but one was bad SO i stuck to this one only <3 i hope this is the right end to the series and thank you sm for the support over the last few months!! i will have a 'spin-off-ish' series focused on the students making the videos in the first place which i will add the link to on this chapter once it's up. this is for @ilovejugs69 ly pookie

previous part / series masterlist

“this is such a bad plan.” 

megumi let out a small sigh, resting his head back on the leather of the plane’s seat. an economy seat – much to gojo’s dismay – but there hadn’t been much time to consider other options, bar gojo buying himself a personal private jet and hiring a pilot all in the space of less than an hour. 

the dark-haired student clutched the arm rests as he felt his stomach churn in knots as the reality of their decision sunk in. it was a very last minute and muddled plan but gojo was desperate to see you again and megumi wanted nothing more than to have his family back – so when gojo offered to take them both to the other side of the world to find you, he agreed a little too quickly. spontaneity was not his thing and with each passing second he was remembering why.

gojo shuffled himself back in his seat, nose scrunching up in annoyance as he struggled with the small gap for his longer-than-average legs. if his height wasn’t drawing the pair any attention (which it certainly was), the uniforms and the sorcerer’s blindfold definitely were. he didn’t need his six eyes to feel the stares of strangers. 

“i’ve never had a bad plan in my life.” 

megumi scoffed at the declaration, rolling his eyes at the white haired sorcerer’s misplaced confidence. like it wasn’t gojo’s idea to send megumi on that mission alone that ultimately resulted in yuuji swallowing sukuna’s finger or his idea to prank nanami on his birthday that got both himself and the first years all detention. 

“don’t roll your eyes at me, young man,” gojo lightly swatted megumi’s arm, wiggling one of his fingers in front of the younger boy’s face. “your mother will think i’m a shit dad and won’t come back.” megumi ignored the tightening in his chest at the casualness of gojo’s words.

“you are a shit dad,” he retorted, closing his eyes and willing the next seven hours to go by faster than they were. he didn’t hate flying, but he wasn’t the biggest fan, and the nerves that were building up alongside the nonstop chatter from the man beside him were definitely not helping.

gojo gasped and megumi felt him jostling in the seat next to him, he could only imagine the dramatics his teacher was pulling in public. it was best he kept his eyes closed. 

“that wasn’t very nice. god, teenagers and their angst these days.” 

megumi heard gojo mumbling loudly under his breath and there was no doubt in his mind that there was a cheshire grin on gojo’s face, daring him to take the bait and bicker like the mature adult he was. 

however annoying he may have found him, megumi knew that gojo was just as nervous as he was. the two, however, were just polar opposites in all aspects. so while megumi just wanted to spend the next few hours trying to sleep and hope he’d have the courage to face you when he woke up, gojo wanted to play avoidance by teasing him as if they weren’t travelling halfway across the world for you.

when megumi didn’t respond, to gojo’s disappointment, a silence settled between the two. with his hands now stuffed in the pockets of his uniform and head almost on gojo’s shoulder, the dark haired sorcerer attempted to finally fall asleep.

“do you think she’s mad at me?” megumi asked quietly after about five minutes. 

gojo hummed thoughtfully, looking down at the teenager almost asleep on his shoulder. “she has no reason to be mad at you,” he said in the most reassuring tone he could muster.

“she’s never messaged me back,” megumi countered.

“at least yours still go through.” gojo huffed lightly, an attempt at brightening megumi’s mood at the expense of himself but it only left both more unsettled at their predicament. he knocked his knee into the younger boy’s gently. “get some sleep, this is going to be a long flight.”

“if you just take a seat here, i will go see if ma’am is available. it’s so lovely to meet her family finally.” a woman dressed in formal attire gestured towards a small lobby waiting room with a bright smile. 

there was no one else in there apart from one middle-aged guy with a briefcase, newspaper in hand. gojo thanked the woman, hand on megumi’s shoulder as he led him into the back corner of the white minimalist room.

the sun had set by the time they’d landed and found your office building – something that gojo had forced shoko to send him. he hadn’t even had a chance to tell her what they were doing before he’d gotten on the plane so after she had a go at him for leaving her out of the loop and not bringing her too, she sent across the necessary details with demands for regular updates. 

“i bet she’s going to call security,” megumi sighed as he dropped himself down into the black leather seat, resting his head back against the wall behind him. between school and the plane journey, he’d been awake for nearly twenty hours and the stiff seat he was on felt like a pile of feathers. he was going to fall asleep before he’d even had the chance to see you.

gojo crossed one leg over the other, hands crossed behind his head. the teenager wanted to elbow him for his calm posture – he could have as well, he’d dropped his infinity the second the two had entered the building. the second the older sorcerer had stepped into the building he knew you were here, recognising the cursed energy that brought him a familiar comfort he’d missed. “why would she?”

megumi snapped his head in his direction, eyes opening to give him an incredulous look, “why would you say you’re her husband?” 

gojo waved a hand dismissively, “i basically am–”

“was. several years ago.” megumi countered and gojo’s mouth dropped open at the audacity of his pupil to point out the obvious facts.

rolling up the sleeves of his jacket, gojo began to stand up and megumi was close to cracking a smile at his behaviour. the delirium of not sleeping was beginning to sink in. “okay, kid–”

“you’re here.”

gojo’s sleeves dropped just as fast as megumi stood up from his seat, both more alert than they had been all day. suddenly, the uneasy feeling megumi had had on the plane didn’t seem so bad, this was so much worse.

you’d barely changed since you’d left, bar your hair being a few inches longer. if the two looked closely enough at you, they’d realise you were just as wrecked with nerves as they were as you struggled to stop your hands from shaking.

when the receptionist had first come up to tell you that your husband and son were here to see you, your initial reaction had been to say she’d made a mistake… until the cryptic message shoko had sent you thirty minutes earlier started to make a lot more sense. 

she was the only one you’d maintained regular contact with after you’d left. initially you had gone on a complete no contact with everyone, refusing to even acknowledge that you had a life and a family in japan. you were scared and you’d chosen the coward's way out by running. it felt wrong to still have strings binding you to a life that was no longer yours.

but you missed her and you worried constantly about gojo and megumi, so you’d slowly built up messaging her once a month to every few days just to know everyone was still alive.

you had desperately wanted to take megumi with you but you didn’t have it in you take him away from his sister and, despite how you’d laid into him about how even he had limitations, you knew megumi was safer with gojo than you. in america, you were vulnerable to curse users and curses alike without the protection of any other sorcerers or specialist schools to help you.

the three of you probably looked like idiots to the other man in the room, all staring at each other too afraid to make the first room. it felt surreal to all be together again. you were afraid your longing to see them again had reached a point of insanity, and they were afraid of spooking you if they got too close too quickly.

megumi was the first one to make a move, stepping around the rows of seats and the centre coffee table till he stood a metre from you. “hi.”

your hand covered your mouth as you had to tilt your head up slightly to keep eye contact with the boy you’d raised since he was only a fraction of your height. you may not have changed but megumi had – both his height and voice – and the guilt of leaving him behind was overwhelming.

“oh my god, you’re so much taller than me.” you moved closer to him to gently grab ahold of his arms as you took in how much he had grown. there wasn’t a day that had gone by that you didn’t regret and feel guilt for leaving megumi and you only hoped he understood why you left him so suddenly. taking a step back, you gestured to his uniform, “what’s jujutsu high like?”

the words were bittersweet. what had leaving achieved apart from heartache? megumi was still a jujutsu student and gojo was still japan’s lifeline. maybe you would live a longer life in america, but was the life you had now worth the one you’d left behind?

“it’s…” megumi hesitated before clearing his throat, “it’s okay. there’s two other first years, yuuji and nobara. they’re alright.” you smiled at his words, flashbacks of your own childhood crossing your mind as you remembered the innocence of your first year. it was fun being in a class with two prodigies, you were mini celebrities in a world of rich and powerful sorcerers.

“i’m glad you’ve made some friends, megs,” the nickname rolled off your tongue too naturally and if megumi closed his eyes, maybe he could pretend that you were all still in japan and you were just catching up after being away on a prolonged mission. you glanced to the other sorcerer in the room who had remained silent up until this point – although he had silently made his way over. “i’m going to go speak with satoru in my office and then can i take you out for dinner? to talk properly?”

megumi nodded a little too eagerly, “yeah, please. i’ll just wait here.”

“perfect. satoru?” the acknowledgement was all the strongest sorcerer needed to be following behind you, keeping a distance of several paces as you led him inside your office.

gojo rested his forearm against one of the large ceiling height windows in your office that overlooked the city. you had to be at least twenty stories up and the blaring of car horns was simply a hum, vehicles appearing as mini red and yellow dots on the busy roads below.

“nice view.” 

it was the first words he’d uttered in your presence and despite him being the one to initiate the venture to you, he had no idea what to say. this was likely his only chance to convince you to come back and he may have already screwed up by waiting as long as he had.

“what are you doing here?” you asked as you pushed your door shut, leaving the two of you in the privacy of your small office. it was nothing special; a chair, a desk with paperwork piling up and no photos whatsoever. there was no trace that you even existed beyond these four walls.

“don’t i at least get an ‘i miss you’? i just travelled over ten hours for you,” he said lightly, trying to ease the tension in the room but your voice was no longer as soft as it was when you spoke with megumi. the teenager had done nothing wrong – he was part of the reason you left.

“it’s been two years.” he didn’t have to turn around to know that your arms were probably crossed in front of your chest, your head tilted to the side as you waited for him to explain himself. except he thinks his past offences of stealing all of the sweets before halloween were a little more forgivable than letting you leave.

his hand turned to a fist as he dropped it from the window, turning around to look at you properly. “i know.”

both of you stared at one another, neither of you speaking as you took the other in.

“you chose them over me,” you accused. them being both the higher-ups and the whole of jujutsu itself. you’d given him a chance to have a normal life – a natural life in which you’d grow old together and die of old age – and he’d chosen the short life where he’d likely die before he turned thirty.

“you knew what you were signing up for,” he said and there was no malice behind the words though they still frustrated you. he was right to an extent, he’d sat you down after you’d finished school, just before he’d taken in megumi and given you an out. you chose to stay, fully believing that the two of you had already gone through your worst.

“i didn’t realise i’d always be on the losing side.”

“we weren’t always losing–”

you stepped closer to gojo as you held out your hand, counting each disaster after the other with your fingers, “haibara died, we almost died, geto defected, we took in megumi and the tensions between your clan and the zen’ins got ten times worse. you said you wanted to change jujutsu society and what had we done? i never knew if you’d come home to me after missions, it made me feel sick.”

“how do you think i felt coming home to a note?” you could count on your hands the amount of times you had seen gojo angry – and while he wasn’t all the way there he was teetering on the edge as he frustratedly lifted off his blindfold, throwing it onto your desk. in the same way you’d been desperate for him to hear what you were saying before you’d left, he was equally as desperate for you to hear him now. to see that he was here. “megumi? at least geto left for a purpose, you just left.”

it was an unfair dig – geto had committed mass murder, after all – but similar to the one that you’d pulled on him two years ago.

you clicked your tongue as you tried not to make it obvious how badly that made you want to cry, holding your hands up in surrender. “was it so wrong to want a life where i didn’t go to work thinking i would die? to want a future?”

“you were my future.” he sounded sad as he uttered them, and it looked foreign to see the gojo satoru look so dejected. there were only inches between the two of you now and despite the fact he towered over you, he appeared so small as he continued, “was i ever yours?”

memories of your late teenage years and early adulthood play out as a montage: from your first meeting when you’d both gotten lost on the train to school, to the tears you spilled as you finished writing your note and closed the door to his apartment for the last time. 

“of course you were.” your voice was shaky, no longer holding any bite. until the day you’d left, since you were sixteen, you’d never envisioned a life without him.

gojo’s hand reached out to push your hair back from your neck, the little white scars still tarnishing your flawless skin. it was taking all of your resolve to not collapse into his arms and have him hold you like you knew he would. you were sure you’d believe him this time if he told you he could protect everyone, that he was in fact able to be in six places at once and still come out on top. “come back with us please.”

“satoru…” you dragged off, looking away as you fought between listening to your rationale that reminded you that nothing had really changed and your heart that missed being in love.

“just come back,” he repeated, “are you going to tell me you’ve found someone else? that you enjoy your life here?” it was wrong and selfish, he knew it, to be convincing you the way he was – to even be here full stop – but he missed you and he wasn’t ready to let you walk away again.

“i can’t lose you.” hesitantly you pressed your hands to his chest. for a second he was scared you were going to push him away, but you didn’t, fingers tightening around the material of his uniform.

“don’t be silly and travel halfway across the country then.” his voice was just above a whisper now as he brushed his nose against yours. “hey, look at me properly.”

you complied without any hesitation – you always did when it came to him. two years of no contact but your body still reacted on muscle memory to the sound of his voice. never in your life had you ever seen eyes like his, of course you hadn’t, and you were still taken aback by the full blue colour as he gazed down at you.

“tell me you don’t want me to kiss you.” you did want him to. “tell me you want me to walk out of this room and not turn back and i’ll do it.” he wouldn’t have left without you.

“i missed you,” you whispered, and that was all he needed to duck his head down to let your lips meet. gojo’s hand slipped round to the back of your neck, tugging you impossibly closer as his tongue swiped across your bottom lip. you missed this, you missed him, and you were going to find it impossible to let go of him again.

only when your lungs ached to breathe did you force yourself to pull back from your ex boyfriend. gojo’s eyes were still focused on your lips and you didn’t doubt that if it were up to him, he’d be leaning to kiss you again. it was only the light push against his chest that held him back.

“what are we doing?” you asked, voice wavering from both the kiss and nerves. whilst there was no doubt in your mind that gojo was who you wanted, you had many reservations about reentering jujutsu society.

“about to ditch this place and go back to japan on a plane. all three of us.”

you brows furrowed together, “but–”

gojo held a finger up your lips, his other hand slipping into his back pocket, pulling out three plane tickets. “i already got your ticket, you don’t want it to go to waste do you?”

you lightly hit his arm and smiled up at him. he was grinning now and it didn’t need to be said aloud – he was yours again (though he’d never really stopped being such) and you were coming home. “that confident?”

“surprised you were able to resist me this long.” he pecked your cheek this time, a hint of tease in his tone like he hadn’t needed megumi to convince him to even enter your office building in the first place.

you let his joke slide with no rebuttal. “are you coming to dinner?” you hoped you hadn’t been keeping megumi too long.

“do you want me at dinner?” gojo asked.

you reached across to your desk to grab ahold of his blindfold and passed it to him. as much as you loved being able to see his eyes, you’d rather not be spending your first twenty four hours with him in bed complaining about a splitting headache. “i’m sure megs won’t mind. plus you can pay,” you added with a wink.

gojo raised an eyebrow, lips tugging up at the corners into a slight smirk, “oh so that’s the real reason why you missed me?”

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super sorry if ive missed anyone!

#snapshot ! #gojo #gojo satoru #satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x yn #gojo series #gojo fic #jjk #gojo fluff #gojo drabbles #gojo imagines

[tallerthantale]

My spicy ineffable husbands take

You've heard consent isn't just for sex. Now get ready for the corollary you didn't know you needed, consensual non - consent isn't just for sex. It's going to take some foundation to get to the point, but trust me, it's worth it.

Disclaimer: this is all my personal interpretation, you are always welcome to see things differently.

I think Crowley and Aziraphale have both known that they are on a path to become each other's world since Job, but in a way that to them feels more profound than can ever be human analogued.

I think Aziraphale has known for some time that he wants their relationship to progress in a human, (physical, courtship, ect...) way, but is approach avoidant. The approach avoidance takes the form of trying to bait Crowley into making a move, like the faces he makes to get Crowley to make Hamlet a success, or the pouting he does to get Crowley to remove the paintball paint, but then bailing when Crowley makes an offer that gets serious. "You go to fast for me", not letting Crowley come over for the lockdown. But the "you go too fast for me" isn't a no, it's a 'convince me.'

Crowley's goal with pulling Aziraphale into shades of grey depends on letting Aziraphale make his own choices at every incremental step. All he is ever able to do is make an offer, and then Aziraphale decides if he is ready for it. It worked for the food, it probably eventually worked for the wine sometime off screen. It eventually turns into their agreement, which continues to exist in the form of: Crowley makes a proposition, Aziraphale makes a decision. We see Crowley be VERY hands off about the offers and answers. He almost never initiates physical contact with Aziraphale, and barely responds when Aziraphale does touch him, despite the actions clearly grabbing his attention. This lets Aziraphale have full control over how far he is willing to stray from heaven at any particular moment. In the church scene, Crowley notices the holy water, but doesn't push about it. Aziraphale was a no on that, and Crowley respects the no, and comes to his rescue and goes on the full date night magic show adventure accepting that no without complaint. And Crowley LOVES complaining.

If this dynamic is adhered to, Aziraphale won't make an actual first move physically, because he wants Crowley to do it, in the same way he might insist that Crowley do 'the dirty work.' He wants Crowley to be the proximate cause, because that is how Aziraphale assigns responsibilities to actions. S1E1 modern Aziraphale is still doing the whole "I've never actually killed anything before... I don't think I could... : (" bit after sending the French executioner to his death without qualms, and S1E6 Aziraphale is still fussing over trying to make sure it's Crowley that gets them into the airbase, because 'I'm the nice one, you can't expect me to do the dirty work.' He really does put far too much weight on who is doing the immediate action in that moment in isolation, and not nearly enough ethical weight on who contrived the scenario that caused the chain of events.

Crowley equally will not make a first move physically by their old rules, because of the priority he places on letting Aziraphale have full control of every millimeter of his indulgences. The proposition / decision framework that Crowley is adhering to is a system of platonic structured consent, and I don't think there is any reason to believe he would treat non platonic consent differently. I imagine that in an alternate universe where Azriaphale owns his desires and makes a physical first move, but there is a similar lack of communication, Crowley would starfish in the absence of an explicit instruction to do otherwise for fear of going somewhere Aziraphale doesn't want to go. In my view, Crowley's default really is to be that absolutist when it comes to Aziraphale's consent.

The irony of it is that he really doesn't need to be. Aziraphale's skittishness is an act. Aside from the kiss, the one other instance of Crowley initiating a substantial physical thing is the wall slam. As others have observed, Aziraphale is not even slightly fazed by it. If anything, he is fazed by Crowley letting him go. Right after he objects to Crowley hypnotizing the nun, "you didn't have to do that, you could have just asked her." But slamming him into a wall? No objection. (Do that again, right now.)

Personally I think Aziraphale's continuous bailing and 'you go too fast for me' had left Crowley with the impression that Aziraphale was not physically interested, at least not seriously, not yet. I think the Nina revelation was a 'oh shit, he actually wants that now.' That gave him the motivation to first attempt an offer, and then when that got derailed, for the first time, he didn't let Aziraphale have full control. From how I read Crowley's behaviour up to that point, the confession kiss was a very dramatic reversal that speaks to an almost unhinged emotional state.

That said, outside of the part where they were in the middle of a fight, being swept off his feet like that really is what Aziraphale wanted Crowley to do, and crucially, he didn't want to have to tell Crowley to do it. I think by season 2 Aziraphale is owning his desire for the trappings of a human romance, but when it comes to the more physical things, I could imagine Aziraphale most of the way through season 2's modern era still 100% endorsing the idea that he isn't being lustful if he's just letting Crowley have his way.

Problem is, Crowley's version of 'having his way' is transparently doing whatever Aziraphale wants him to do, specifically because Aziraphale wants him to do it and for no other reason.

And now for the spicy bit.

The impasse Aziraphale and Crowley have here is very similar to an impasse that's known to show up in CNC kink space. (That stands for Consensual Non - Consent.) This comparison is useful for understanding what's happening with them even if you headcannon them as sexless ace, or vanilla (or, you know... vanilla for now...) because so much of their interactions revolve around platonic consent games. So the argument I am presenting here is not that they would strike up sexual CNC roleplays, but rather to say that the way they have been interacting this whole time functionally is a platonic version of a poorly negotiated CNC dynamic already.

The source of the dynamic goes back to Aziraphale's fixation on proximate cause. He can set up whole elaborate escapades and have no shame response for the consequences as long as the very last action in the chain of events wasn't performed by him, and he has the thinnest veil of plausible deniability about what he was trying to accomplish. He wants the romantic gestures, but he doesn't want to be responsible for either wanting it, or it happening. This is a real life thing that often happens with people who have repressed desires. CNC world has a fair number of people who grew into it from letting themselves have fantasies that initially purported to be fears that someone will force themselves on them. It's a buffer that lets them believe they aren't having sex fantasies. Separately, a lot of trans women, while eggs, get really into forced feminization, because it creates a fantasy reality where they can explore gender with a pretense that it is being forced on them, which takes some of the shame out. (Which is not to suggest that they ought to feel shame, just that there is an unfortunate reality that many do.)

In the same way, Aziraphale wants the human romantic things, but wants to construct a fantasy where they are being forced on him by the wiley demon adversary. Aziraphale wants Crowley to tempt him. In Rome he almost instructs Crowley tempt him. He will construct elaborate damsel in distress rescues to avoid having to ask Crowley out to dinner. He will nonsensically complain about how he'll always know the stain had been there if he miracles away the paintball paint [himself], rather than ask Crowley to do it. Over and over again, Aziraphale wants Crowley to do romantic things, but his moral outlook forbids him from communicating textually that he wants them. If Crowley spontaneously does the things because Crowley intrinsically wants to do them, Aziraphale won't hold himself morally accountable for them happening, no matter how much he is hinting and insinuating. There are still hints of this in S2E5, with how Aziraphale describes Crowley, “rescuing me makes him so happy.” It’s true, but not in a vacuum the way Aziraphale implies. Crowley likes rescuing Aziraphale because Aziraphale likes to be rescued, and Aziraphale likes to pretend his desires aren’t part of that equation. Aziraphale wants to be romanced 'against his will.' Even in a fully non-sexual asexual interpretation of their relationship, this is still a CNC kink dynamic.

So, back to the real world CNC impasse, that usually is about sex, but can also be an analogy. In CNC community, there is a phenomenon where a certain kind of CNC bottom, often from a very repressed and / or religious background, is only willing to express their interest in the form of wanting a CNC top to 'do whatever they like,' with instructions along the lines of 'use me however you want.' But for a CNC top, this is a very unclear instruction. Taking pleasure from someone's body however feels good doesn't automatically entail a lot of the surrounding kink genre activities people often imagine as part of a CNC fantasy, so literally following those instructions leads to a disappointed and bored bottom.

The fantasy from the bottoms perspective is often that the top is so overcome with lust that they do all the kinky things to force their way to the conventional things. But those things aren't actually necessary though? Chucking people around, roughing them up, various implements, ect... it's a lot of work, and it's fun for how people react to it, but people usually aren't literally getting off on the labour intensive extras. It's fun, but it's honestly a more ordinary fun than people outside of that world might expect.

I had a conversation with a friend of mine one once where she said, and I quote, "I'm not a sadist, I just find it fun to hurt people." (And she found it more fun when they were attractive people.) The mental gymnastics of me trying to explain to her "that's literally what sadism is" were wild, and I have refused to let her live it down. It's also worth pointing out that amongst the top tier of serious professional kink riggers, it's pretty common for them to operate on implements / tools / toys only, and a few of the most accomplished have been widely speculated to be ace. House of Gord is the most obvious example, but I honestly get a similar vibe from The Pope. (Obviously not the one at the Vatican) (Google them at your own risk)

But back to the point, CNC bottom fantasies tend to be a universe where they get to imagine the CNC top's kinky behaviours are more driven by the direct pursuit of pleasure than they actually are, and that the top's actions are the organic result of the top's lust, that exist independently of the bottoms proclivities (which don't exist). CNC tops meanwhile (at least the ethical ones) have a particularly strong need for the rules and boundaries and wants to be really clearly and explicitly laid out, and while they might have some specific things they find intrinsically fun, they are most driven by doing what's going to work for the bottom they are working with at the time. The scenes run on the pretense that the top is a raging lust monster, masking the reality that they are delivering a tailor made performance scripted to the bottoms needs and are enjoying it more for the reactions the actions produce than the actions themselves.

To put the pressures and pretenses of the situation concisely, it is pretty common for CNC scenes to be a hypersexual bottom maintaining a performance of not having physical desires and a comparatively if not entirely ace top maintaining a pretense of being overcome by physical desires.

There are a lot of CNC bottoms who do an excellent job navigating communicating what they want, and can drop the role to present a fully thought out list of things that are ok, things that are not ok, this is how you know if somethings going wrong, here are the things that are ok specifically in this context but not in this other context, ect…, there are whole spreadsheets you can set up. It gets talked through and worked out ahead of time, and then later the act goes up.

On the other hand, there are many CNC bottoms who don't handle this well at all, because going through that process breaks the immersion of the fantasy. And if they are coming at things from the repressive background / religious trauma angle, it breaks their ability to deflect their shame about having sinful thoughts if they have to explicitly state what they want. For them, the selling point of CNC is that they get to actually believe they don't want what they want and they aren't responsible for it happening. It's not just about temporarily being that overpowered character for that time, the veil is, at least in part, permanent.

This creates kink negotiations that can end up looking like:

"What do you want me to do to you?"

"I want you to do whatever you want to me."

"Ok, but what do you want me to want to do to you?"

It can be like pulling teeth.

Even if we imagine a Good Omens universe where they don't get up to any actual kinky things, or even sexual things, Aziraphale's behaviour looks a lot like a shy CNC bottom to me. They want the top to "do whatever they want" but even if they don't admit it to themselves, they have some strong ideas about what that would entail, it's going to include some amount of a performance / custom ordered service, and they are going to need to communicate what they want that to be. And Crowley is all about delivering a performance and custom ordered acts of service, but he needs ironclad permission and clear instructions.

Crowley looks to me like a shy CNC top, who wants to be absolutely certain they aren't colouring outside the lines, (as you should be) but is presented with a prospective partner who won't drop the game long enough to communicate what he wants. Crowley will do the favors he knows for sure Aziraphale wants, and live for Aziraphale's reactions. He enjoys coming to the rescue and performing acts of service because it is a service Aziraphale wants, not because there is an intrinsic pleasure to showing up in the Bastille or walking over consecrated ground. A universe where Aziraphale doesn't want Crowley to miracle the paint off his coat is a universe in which Crowley doesn't want to do that either, he isn't going to proactively perform miracles on Aziraphale's clothes on a whim.

I similarly expect that Crowley is 100% enthusiastically down to perform any romantic or sexual act of service Aziraphale desires, specifically because Aziraphale desires it, and probably has little to no intrinsic motivation towards the physical sides of things. I think he's down to put on the character of an intrinsically motivated person, but he needs clear instructions. Consider Crowley in the audience of the 40's magic show, Aziraphale asks if anyone in the audience has experience with firearms, and everyone BUT Crowley raises their hand. He didn't have experience with firearms, so he didn't raise his hand.

Crowley can break out of literalism in a familiar situation, and we do see him take a lot of Aziraphale's hints. A big part of why I keep going back to the paintball scene is because we can observe Crowley shift from 'instructions unclear, hands off' to 'oh, he wants me to do a thing' to [dramatic romantic gesture] to [absolutely loving Aziraphale's reaction]. Just as there is no practical reason for Crowley to do the miracle rather than Aziraphale, there is no practical reason for Crowley to have to blow the paint away with a breath, he could have just finger snapped it like he usually does. But once it's clear to him that Aziraphale wants it to be a thing, Crowley goes full ham into it.

For some things they have enough established short hand to communicate through what they infer they are implying to each other. For physically romantic things though, Crowley hadn't been reading the subtext, and he had been defaulting to hands off mode. So they were stuck at an impasse, until Nina makes the subtext textual and Crowley YOLOs into the kiss. And now they are probably back to the impasse again until they can have an actual explicit, face value conversation, because even though I don't think Aziraphale meant it that way, or experienced the kiss that way, his last "I forgive you" can read to Crowley as an indication that there was a consent violation.

There is a lot of potential compatibility that is squandered by their lack of communication. They really need to sit down for a proper kink negotiation, even if it doesn't involve actual kink yet I think the format would do wonders for them.

#ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #bd/sm kink #spicy content #go spoilers #good omens meta

[ithinkinggenshin]

Yae Miko's Captive

pt.2 to Yae Miko's part in Messed Up Messy Love

Warnings: Torture, Possessive behavior, Non-con elements (no smut), Mentions of death

You don't recognize yourself in the mirror. You don't even acknowledge yourself. 

Emptiness. 

It became a mantra to you. 

Give her nothing. 

Don't feel. 

Don't react. 

Don't think.

When Yae caught onto what you were doing, she finally decided to let you out. 

Among the shrine maidens and guests, you realize your mistake. 

You took the bait. 

You were thinking again. 

And now, Yae Miko gets to punish you for it. 

She knows how to twist every word you say, every sliver of emotion. She'll send you spiraling downward only to catch you by the thinnest string. A true puppet in her hands. 

She knows how to make you feel, even when you don't want to. 

She’s driving you mad.

You're going insane. 

Unpredictable. That’s the only way to properly describe her.

The others only see the tiniest sliver of what she's capable of. You have the great honor of bearing witness to all of her madness. 

Her fingers dance along your body, nails digging bloody holes into you. Her voice and words drag you by the skull through a mental maze she constructed, just for you. 

Her little pet. 

And when she can't seem to get you to react how she wants, she has many more tools to help her. 

You will appreciate her hard work and attentiveness. She's taken so much time to learn about you. 

Don't you realize? 

All of this was for you. 

She understands you perfectly, now. 

Before she was easily able to predict your movements. Now, she knows what you'll think before it even happens. 

Emptiness. 

Empty your mind. 

If you–

"If you have no thoughts, then I can't predict them," Yae Miko stares at you. The corners of her lips twitch. She wants to show you her canines. In a smile? Or as a threat? Not that there's any difference. 

"What a sad reaction. You'd throw away all of what makes you human, just to spite me?" She fakes a pout. 

"Too bad it won't get you what you want," she swoops in close, "I will never let you go." She laughs and pats your cheek like she just gave you a lollipop. "So no need to bother with such boring behavior. Let's keep this interesting as long as possible, okay?" 

You hate that sing-song voice she uses when she talks about getting her way. 

There's no escape. 

You tried to die, and she wouldn't let you. 

You're killing yourself in a different way, and all she can do is laugh. 

You'll die by her hand, only when she allows it. 

You find the only sanctuary is in your sleep. The nightmares are nothing compared to real life. Yet even that reprieve is stripped from you as soon as you show the pattern of using it to escape. 

You wake up trapped inside your mind. Your body goes to Miko. You pound and shake and scream, yet it's all for naught. You feel sick. Your body doesn't respond. 

Miko and you do things you wish you never witnessed. You wish your body didn't seem so eager. You wish you could go back to sleep. But it's like you're the subject to a failed hanging. All you can do is dangle helplessly and watch as the world spins around you. Or maybe you're the one spinning. Does it matter? Your body isn't yours anymore. 

The next day, everything returns to normal. Miko expects you to be as shaken. She always knows what to expect. You're afraid to sleep. But being awake with her feels terrible too. 

How did this happen? This nightmare hellscape. That woman has too much power. To control a person like this, it's unimaginable. 

All those centuries. You wonder– despite not wanting to– if she's done this before. 

You can't imagine anyone being drawn to her. 

Except the goddess she calls her friend. 

Except her friends in higher places. The ones that fight to possess you at any chance she gives them. 

Except the humans coming to pray. 

But the archon has a madness of her own, so it's no surprise the two get along. 

But her friends have been trapped almost for centuries and are desperate, fighting like starving rats for just a lick of freedom.

And the humans. They're only there to relieve blessings and to worship. Miko would never give them the privilege of seeing this side of her.

No.

They don't count. 

They shouldn't count. 

Because none of them truly know her. 

Because none of them are you. 

Being empty means you’ll be possessed.

Being full means you’ll be her treat.

But no matter what you are, you are Miko’s. 

You belong to her. 

Mind, body, and soul. 

Whatever is left of it, anyway.

#yae miko x reader #yae miko #yandere yae miko #genshin impact #genshin #cw: noncon #cw: torture #so uh #hi #i'm alive #and i don't know why #but i was inspired to write the part 2 of Messed Up Messy Love #for yae miko #for some reason #8 months later #.^. #anyway #hope you're all doing well #this will probably get struck down #like most of my posts at this point lol #okay love you bye

[sapphire-weapon]

you've been in resi fandom for such a long time right? then how do you feel about it as a whole if you don't mind me asking? is it better to just stay in your own safe space with people that share the same opinion as you to further avoid unnecessary drama like I've noticed that likes to break out from time to time? even though it's like this in probably almost every other space there is 😐

i know i'm going to get shit for this answer but

i regard the RE fandom with the same kind of baffled contempt that xenosys vex has for the FFXIV community. but instead of being hypocritical about cosmetic mods vs gameplay mods, they're hypocritical in their elitism. they'll jump down my throat for not accepting every reading of the canon/characters as valid and then turn around and dox a minor for not having the same opinions on ships as them.

i DO keep to myself. i never message anybody or send anyone asks or respond to their posts or reblog their posts with commentary. i don't even follow back the people who follow me. i stay the fuck here, in this sandbox, and keep 90% of my posts untagged so that people can't find me, either. and i STILL get hammered with hate and salt and bullshit from people who have found my shit somehow and made themselves mad over it.

the RE fandom is the fucking worst.

people from your own ship community will turn on you and dogpile you for not shipping the ship the same way that they do. i've been disowned from a huge chunk of the eagleone fandom -- to the point where they refuse to use the eagleone ship name anymore and ban anyone from the discord server who associates with me -- despite me being the sole person out here trying to prove that eagleone is canon -- because i *checks notes*

didn't like a list of prompts for a ship week or the ship name they were using and then refused to make a public apology for it. also i don't read fanfiction.

they sent me over 50 hate anons in 24 hours. and they still stalk me and try to bait me into shit. and then they have the gall to complain about aeon fandom bullying them, when they do the same shit to one of their own.

people will yell at me for "policing how other people ship" because i reject the "siblings" discourse, while obsessively stalking my blog and trying to police how i talk on it.

you guys should fucking SEE the bullshit that gets dropped into my inbox on a regular basis. and i'm a fucking nobody. i couldn't imagine what it'd be like to actually be, like, a known figure in the fandom.

and away from ships, you've got assholes spreading misinformation, KNOWING that it's misleading/inaccurate, and doing it anyway because they've convinced themselves it's a net good for the fandom. i got into it with a mafia background truther on twitter once who admitted "yeah a lot of this stuff is contradicted by the game" but insisted on spreading the bullshit anyway because "people want to know this stuff," completely missing the point of "you're misleading them because they don't know any better."

look at leon's wiki, for fuck's sake. it's filled to bursting with shit that just flat-out isn't true, but it's closed to editing by the public because the elitist fucks who run the wiki got so high sniffing their own farts that they don't want to be told they're wrong.

so in the words of xeno:

"that's your fault, if you give a shit about the [RE fandom]. the [RE fandom] are fucking shitheads. they're assholes. they're fucking dumb as fuck. why the fuck do you give a shit about what the [RE fandom] thinks? i don't understand. like, dude, the [RE fandom] is the last fucking [fandom] you want to listen to."

[iridessence]

not to derail anything but it's so. Telling. how people will take time of their day to do the absolute worst faith takes Imaginable about a Stranger on the internet. and how they feel comfortable doing that while talking to an openly queer fat black woman. i'm sending this on anon in case you feel like just deleting it, i always feel a bit guilty about deleting asks with names attached to them lol but it's just very telling that people will just deny your identity and speak over you to make you a bigot instead of pointing to any actual wrongdoing because they can't find any. over a Joke that has been so overdone we're like on the verge of getting a shirt at target that says 'i want that twink obliterated'. i know it's just bait, the verge into calling you and antisemite proves that, but it's just so tiring nevertheless. why are people so desperate to prove every person inside the community with an Iota of popularity is secretly an outsider who just wants to cause harm. sending you some positive vibes to cleanse the air.

This was very kind of you, I agree on many points. Whether they’re in the community fishing for something to be angry about, or if they’re secretly a terf/bigot looking to destabilize a community member… All of it is stuff that they could just… not do lol. The last time sending hate mail felt “good” (a.k.a. I was sad and angry and isolated and had nothing better to do, even if the recipient was a bigot), I was a teenager. And this many in a row? Sending one a week ago and following up to see if the person responded to them, to then send three more nasty messages? Never.

I love that target may have a shirt that says the phrase though. Honestly I only realized it was a meme recently, so it’s kind of wild that all this is connected to it lol

[opinated-user]

Lily making a video dragging an artist who asked that their art be credited and thus sending her fanbase of tens of thousands of people (at the time) who went on to send suicide bait, death threats and rape threats to the artist was the moment I stopped being a Lily Orchard fan. Lily's excuse was "well also one time this artist responded to me calling all non-Democrats fascists by saying 'are you on your period?', so it's fine!" but imo the joke, while not great, isn't so awful it merits sending your fanbase to dogpile someone. One person went as far as drawing their OC having sex with the corpse of the artist's ponysona, who had been beheaded and had their abdomen split open. And when I pointed that out to Lily on Twitter, thinking surely she would object to necrophilic rape art her fans made "in defense" of her, she blocked me.

I knew then and there that there was something horribly wrong with Lily. She does not feel empathy, sympathy, guilt or regret. She's not like normal people. Something is just missing inside her that's left her a cruel, sadistic bully who revels in being able to hurt others in any way she can.

this reminds when segasister likewise started recieving anons that even references past abuse she went through and how she deserved it.

who could have imagined that the woman who has a "violence solves everything" approach could gather such a vicious and cruel audience of conveniently anonymous people that she never has to take any accountability for?

it clearly couldn't be that kind of people attract each other, that is impossible.

#lily orchard

[berrymoos]

this acc is so sweet and pretty and WKDJDHGG(>▽<) and i know i jus did one last night but i can’t help it it’s too cute i just had the idea of little jonny in the same room with little robin and eddie when everyone’s over:>

i just love chaos🤭

like imagine jonny just trying to color and eddie who has no clue about personal space and he’s all up on jonny but he doesn’t know how to say he wants him off so it’s jus like:

“ l really like your coloring, i can never get in the lines:)”

he doesn’t respond because he’s uncomfortable and he wants max

“stevie says it’s rude not to say thank you”

he gets annoyed and calls for robin who annoys poor jonny even more

“why do you have that in your mouth?” “robin he’s bein mean(;_;)” “ why are you bein mean? did you do something?” “ no! why would you say that!?”

*the two start fighting, mind you jonny is right next to them*

he has enough and just starts screaming so they’ll stop and they look at him like he has five heads until steve and nancy come to see what all the fuss is about:>

or robin and eddie scheming and making him be the bait so they can get the candy without the caregivers noticing and he just breaks down because he

(♡´▽`♡) U ARE SUCH A SWEETHEART WAHSNRJWJDKE THANK YOUUUU U ,, u can do as many as u would like hotline, i do not mind <33 (also the rest of ur ask didn't send on my end 💔)

CHAOS YEAAAA >:~] nance & steve come racing in bc they think something bad has happened — like jonny got hurt or he saw a spider — bc jonny NEVER raises his voice when he's small, max is usually his loud voice ... only to find him glaring at the ground while rob & ed look at him like ಠ_ರೃ

n steve is like "whats all the commotion about?" half-jokingly & eddie is SO quick to point at rob: "she started it!!"

>:0 "no i didn't, you made jonny upset!"

>:00 "you made him upseter!!"

so now steve's gotta tell those two to chill out, take a breath, & explain from the beginning ... meanwhile jonny has crawled away from his drawing to nancy's lap, curled in her arms, pouting at the floor & explaining everything he can with irritated mumbles

"ooohhh, so eddie was making you feel a little uncomfy?"

nod nod. "n wobbie n him got woud 3:<"

"they got loud, so you screamed?"

nod nod. "cant say so sceam 33:<"

"ahh, you didn't know how to say it so you screamed, yeah?"

nod nod. "n wan maxie 333:<"

"hm ... we can try calling her"

they just leave the room to go call max while steve is just now getting to the root of the problem w rascals robin & eddie JSOSJESK ,, so when he turns to where nancy was sitting to explain to her, she's already down the hall listening to jonny talk to his friend & he sighs

❝or robin and eddie scheming and making him be the bait so they can get the candy without the caregivers noticing and he just breaks down because he...❞

im gonna assume he breaks down bc he doesn't wanna get in trouble :(( he doesnt wanna do this!! he doesnt even really want candy, he just had a snack!!!

so robin & eddie r rushing to calm him down — "waitwaitwait no!!! don't cry JJ it's okay it's fine!! looklooklook you don't gotta really get the candy, [robbie/eddie] can!!" — but they can't get him to stop. it's like the equivalent of rough-housing too hard w ur younger sibling & now u gotta get them to stop crying before mom comes ,, the mom in question being steve & nancy HSVSHSHD

cue a stern talking to from nancy about trying to use baby jonny to get candy from the jar even after the cgs said no, rob & ed looking very sheepish, & steve scooping jonny up on his hip to soothe him

(and if max is there ... cue her wrath for using her buddy as a way to sneak candy 😰)

#my thumbs ... tired ... heldpkss #no not seriously im fine i enjoy answering asks <3 #🍓．berry n friends <3 #loserhotline friend <3 #stranger things agere #agere asks #agere concept

[aro-culture-is]

Advice please: Okay this is kind of not aro related but is at the same time. My buddy is biromantic demibisexual. A while back I asked on tumblr any suggestions to abbreviate since she wanted to. I just got an anon ask related to it. Anon said my friend has internalized homophobia b/c she "can f*** a girl but not fall in love with her." I am livid. I am trying to create a response to this to explain that, no, this isn't internalized biphobia. I think this could be similar to aphobia. Yknow, ppl that say you cant be aroallo or alloace, that your attractions have to line up. Do you think that is a solid connection? That I can reference in my response?

[empty paragraph in case tumblr eats it]

* heteroromantic demibisexual, as corrected in a PM

so, I’m going to be totally honest. I think there’s a few ways I would handle this, and I suspect they don’t line up very well with what your instinct seems to be here. after being on tumblr for the last 8 years, I can tell you right now that this anon ask was sent by a terf(/whatever term they think makes them somehow better) who has no interest in listening to anything you say. they want you to be mad. they want you to be upset. they don’t care about your opinion - they want to hurt your feelings and make it scary for others to talk about that.

and in that case, that bad faith ask? the best option I’ve ever learned to use is to never ever respond to them directly. in fact, I’ve learned through this blog to be careful. To hold my temper, wait perhaps a week - then, if I think it’s something where someone who follows me needs to hear it (never the anon), I’ll write a post separate of the ask. I won’t say their points for them, or let them use me to broadcast them.

if you still feel like responding, in your case, as it is specifically about a friend, I’d suggest talking to her about if she even wants you to respond. personally, if someone wrote up a message to one of my friends like that, I wouldn’t want them to respond. I’d want them to block and delete the ask. I’d want, if they did anything, for them to passive-aggressively reblog positive things about my identities, but not community discussions so that they don’t go after others. If your friend feels differently, take their lead.

This ask isn’t about you. It’s about how much harm this bad faith asker can cause through you. Who they can force to see their words. Who they can make feel worse about themself, and who they can make afraid to talk about their identity. and, if they can force them back into the closet so that these bad faith anons feel better pretending the world works how they want it to work.

- mod kee

#not aro culture #aro #aromantic #actually aro #actually aromantic #ask #mod kee #advice #arophobia #transphobia ment #alloarophobia #anyways this was shockingly easy to write. #then tumblr did a fucky and deleted it all #the good thing was i'd screenshotted it for a second opinion #so i just retyped it #anyways though #i just super super don't think it's worth your time and energy to respond directly #experience is that it's neither satisfying to you nor effective in helping others #also if it feels mollifying to know #imagine sending bait like that and then the person never responds #they're now the one down on energy and time instead of you #Anonymous #text

[furiousgoldfish]

Tactics of narcissistic abuse

Love Bombing & Mirroring are tactics to gain your favour. These will come from a narcissist you’re just getting to know and they’re trying to convince you they’re your perfect partner, soulmate, best friend, ideal lover. Love bombing is showering you with over-the-top affection and support, they’re likely to see what works best on you, then give you just that. They’ll convince you that you’re special and make you feel special, whether it’s with attention, gifts, promises, love phrases, or making you look and feel very good in front of other people. If they can spin this as fate or destiny, they will. You have one lucky coincidence? It’s destiny that you met. They’ll create the image of ‘it’s us against the world’ and convince you that they’re all you need to never be alone, unappreciated or unhappy again. They will say phrases like 'We were born to be together’ or 'You’re the only one who understands’ and make you feel like you’re in a romance film.  Mirroring is the way to convince you that they are just like you, your perfect match. They do this by pretending they want the same things as you. All of your opinions will be shared, your desires will be their desires too, however you want to live, that’s now their ideal life too. If you want children, so do they, if you want to live in a cottage, so do they.

These will be repeated until you feel like you finally got something perfect from life, you commit to them and trust them completely. You will become lenient with your boundaries and disregard minor red flags, because hey, you finally found love, or someone like yourself who makes your life better. These are crucial to keep you around for a long time; the illusion of happiness and perfect companionship you always wanted will keep you holding onto them in hope that things could once again, be this perfect for you. You will not want to let go of them even after the love bombing and mirroring is long gone. Love bombing and mirroring are not indicative of how they’re planning to treat you once you’re committed to them; as soon as they feel you are ready to fight for a life with them, roles will change and you will have to endure escalating abuse from this person, endlessly.

Scapegoats and people badly damaged by trauma will often not get the full love bombing or mirroring, narcissists will be able to win our devotion by acts of basic decency, small thoughtfulness and acting tolerant of our trauma symptoms, this will feel like everything to us, and once we decide this is a good, special person who makes us feel safe and we’d do anything for them, they’ll turn and exploit us endlessly.

Only way to spot this on time is: there will be a little voice of suspicion in your head going ’Isn’t this actually a little too perfect to be real? A little too convenient and ideal?’ and you will not want to listen to that voice. You should listen to it. It’s your instinct, trying to tell you something is off. I won’t blame you if you don’t. Most people won’t just walk away from their ideal partner because things seem 'too perfect’. But, get suspicious at least. Alert to red flags.

Enablers and Flying Monkeys

Narcissists can’t abuse if they’re on their own; they will work hard to build a reputation and charm people who they can later use for purposes of enabling, triangulating, controlling, scapegoating and smear campaigns. Enablers, or Flying Monkeys, are people who are either admiring the narcissists, want to be in narcissists good favour, are trauma bond and scared of the narcissists, are emotionally manipulated or simply too cowardly to point out that the narcissists is wrong and cruel. Most people will fall under the influence and want to be on narcissists side because it’s easier, tempting, feels safer, and doesn’t require much thinking. Narcissist will sometimes emotionally manipulate people to go do their dirty work; they will cry about how they miss their runaway children so flying monkeys would harass and judge children for running away, they will invent stories of abuse and insanity of their spouse so people would shame and judge the spouse who the narcissist is abusing. They create environment in which they can keep abusing and other people will jump to defend, justify, victim-blame and further confuse the victim. “They had a hard life”, “They’re your mother/father/uncle, you have to forgive them” or “He’s not that bad” are the phrases you’ll hear from enablers and flying monkeys. The term “Flying Monkey” is taken from the Wizard of Oz, because the Wicked Witch owned an army of brainless flying monkeys who would do her bidding – much how narcissists do with their enablers.

What enablers are doing is absolutely wrong. They should not be ready to defend abuse, or excuse and justify it, or believe and act on smear campaigns, not for any reason. They are hurting and isolating the victim, and regardless of how much they suck up to the narcissist, they will eventually become the targets too. Victims are right to cut out enablers just how they’re right to cut out abusers. You do not have to suffer for their cowardice or stupidity.

Triangulation is a form of abuse where narcissist brings another person into the relationship in order to bypass your boundary. For instance, you refuse to speak to the narcissist, so they send your family members, friends, or their friends, to talk to you about how much you’re hurting the narcissist and how cruel and unfair you’re being. Or, you’re trying to set a boundary in your marriage, and suddenly a friend or a relative comes talking to you about how unreasonable it is to set such awful boundary and to think of your spouse’s feelings and how bad they have it. Narcissist may try to use you for triangulation too, for example, they might tell you 'Go tell your sister she should do xyz and she’s making a mistake, she’ll listen to you’. It’s implied you agree with the narcissist, and that both of you are doing it for the sister’s good, when it’s more likely the narcissist is trying to force this person to do something they’re deeply set against and would only serve the narcissist. Narcissists will use their children to triangulate a marriage, they will often 'gang up’ other family members on their spouse, or one of the children. If you’re the victim, you’ll find yourself cornered, isolated, and in doubt whether you’re doing the right thing, trying to establish a boundary. Narcissists will also often show affection, compassion or even love to a third person simply to make you jealous and worried that something is wrong with you since you don’t get the same treatment. It’s what creates an illusion that the entire world is agreeing with the narcissist and no matter what you do, you look unreasonable for fighting them.

Narcissists will sometimes invent completely boogus scenarios and try to terrify people into doing their bidding and believing they’re right. As if the world will fall if narcissists don’t get what they want.

Society at large will often enable abusers; you can call out abuse and be rendered a 'killjoy’ because people prefer to enjoy cruelty together with the narcissist than to oppose them. Narcissists are capable of rousing a whole gang of people to turn against the victim and to aid in their abuse; this is scapegoating.

Gaslighting is a form of abuse where the abuser attacks your sense of reality. They will usually do this to obscure and deny acts of abuse. “I never said that” “That didn’t happen” “That’s not how I remember it” “You imagined it” or “You’re crazy, I would never do that!” are common gaslighting phrases abusers use for events that absolutely happened, and they absolutely remember. It’s even more powerful if they get other people to agree that you’re insane for remembering a past event of abuse. They can sometimes try to convince you that something didn’t occur while it’s still happening. This renders your intention of calling out abuse impossible; you’re now debating whether the event even happened and your sanity is questioned.

The point of this is to drive you into insanity; prolonged gaslighting will make you doubt your own memories and senses, and you will no longer be secure in your own point of view or version of reality. You will not be able to fight abuse, because you will get stuck on wondering if it’s even real, or if you’re making it up. Narcissist wants not only to abuse you, but to control your perception of it, reaction of it, and to disable you from telling anyone and being taken seriously. Smear campaign and gaslighting ensures that everyone thinks you’re lying to make problems, even you.

You can attempt to block gaslighting with phrases like 'That was not my experience’ 'I know the truth and I am not debating it with you’ ’ Don’t tell me what happened, I was there’ or ridiculing them for thinking it would work, but sometimes abuse will escalate if you refuse to play along, so be very careful with them.

Baiting, Projection and Scapegoating

Baiting is the way narcissist finds out which triggers will work on you. Types of baits are: Scaremongering, Accusations, False Claims, Guilt-tripping, Victim-playing, False Hope, or Intrigue. They will use these to elicit either fear&anxiety, or guilt&responsibility. You are likely to get pulled in and respond emotionally to these, and thus the narcissist will discover which one of these is most triggering and they can use it to either control you, or to affirm that they can still get you riled up, scared, guilty – they feed on being able to provoke these, it makes them feel powerful. They can later use the same trigger to push you into guilt and fear if you try to resist their control. If they continue doing this to you for a long time, you are likely to develop self-doubt and anxiety about your own persona. Way to counter this is to grey rock them.

Projection is a primitive defense-mechanism, where a person feels uncomfortable with their behaviour or thinking, so they accuse someone else of it to deflect the bad feelings from themselves. This can feel the same as baiting, but narcissists do it without realizing they’re giving you the information about what they’re actually feeling and doing. For instance, a narcissist will accuse you of being self-absorbed after they start feeling uncomfortable with how self-absorbed they are, they will start to call you selfish when it comes to their mind how selfish they are. They will accuse you of the exact shit they’ve been doing whether it’s lying, manipulating, faking for attention, cheating, exploiting, lacking compassion, stealing. These claims will feel like they’re coming out of nowhere at first, but eventually you will wonder if you’re really like that, and accept their projection on yourself, believing to really be as bad, or worse than they are. Even though they’ve done 100% of these things, while you have done none of it. This can also be countered by being aware what is going on and grey-rocking them. Deflecting the blame back to them will not work because they’ll either deflect it back, or throw a tantrum and insult you.

Scapegoating is the most vicious abuse narcissist can inflict on their victims and is designed to completely break a person’s spirit while creating power out of terror. Scapegoating doesn’t only serve to terrify and control the victim; it shows everyone what the narcissist is capable of, causing them to go very far to avoid becoming the next scapegoat. This creates enablers, flying monkeys and other benefits for narcissist to enjoy, while the scapegoat is isolated, not believed, and often shunned by the community to show loyalty to the narcissist.

Scapegoat will be blamed for every narcissists flaw, accused of provocation and creating trouble, shamed for their likes and interests, humiliated for their appearance or needs, their work will be rendered worthless and any pain and injury will be treated as if the scapegoat deserved it, or wanted it. Nothing is out of bounds to criticize or belittle in the scapegoat; flying monkeys will do it too, to either affirm themselves with the narcissist, or because they too crave power by stepping on someone defenseless. If a narcissistic parent decides to scapegoat a child, the other parent might stop caring for the child, and agree that the child deserves only to be neglected and shunned. The illusion narcissists create, of entire society agreeing that a person is irredeemable, deserving only of pain and ridicule, has turned people to suicide.

Scapegoat absorbs all of the narcissist’s malice, cruelty, sadism, baiting, projection, guilt and tantrums, so other people in the environment can get some relief and can use the scapegoat as their shield. You can be chosen to be a scapegoat for challenging the narcissist and standing up to them, for refusing to scapegoat someone else, for seeing thru them and showing any potential for undermining their authority, if narcissist is jealous of you, if narcissist feels threatened by your intellect, compassion and emotional depth they lack. And often, you’ll just be chosen because they’re in position of power and you’re unprotected. If you’re their child, a lonely classmate, employee with no high reputation or lots of friends, a minority, different in the way of sexuality or behaviour, anything that is easily used to sway a group of people against you. Narcissists will make sure to spread a smear campaign filled with lies against you, so that nobody would align with you, or believe you if you try to counter their word.

This type of treatment is beyond anything a human being could deserve, and devastating for the victim’s self esteem and sense of reality. After surviving a scapegoating situation, people might not want to find themselves in any social setting anymore. They might start believing themselves to be unlovable and defective. There is usually no way to counter it or fight your way out, unless there’s a higher authority who could side with you, or there’s a way to physically remove yourself from this environment.

Grey Rock, Hoovering and No Contact

Grey rock is a way to counter baiting and projection; narcissists learn and thrive on our emotional responses, it gives them a thrill to be able to send us into rage, terror, disbelief, shock or panic. Grey rocking means you give zero emotional response, and thus prove yourself very boring and a bad source of narcissistic supply. So, regardless of what egregious threat, accusation, claim or insult they make, you just reply with 'mhmm’ and look completely disinterested. You reply with one-word sentences, say 'sure’ or 'yup’ if they accuse you of something or try to fearmonger, answer questions with 'maybe’ or 'I don’t know’, agree with whatever bs they’re pulling out of their ass without caring, refuse to get pulled in or baited, give them no significance in the conversation until they leave. It is very hard to do, because they will up their game and even fly into rage to get a response, if they feel entitled to it. In some cases they might resort to violence. Often, they’ll keep changing the tactics until something works, and if nothing does, they’ll feel dejected and go find another source of supply. If they feel like they can’t get to you, this undermines their imagined power over you.

No contact is the only way to truly win against a narcissist; if they can’t reach you, they can’t manipulate or hurt you. This means no responding to messages, no letting them know where you live, blocking them on every service, and in most situations, even the enablers have to be no contact, because the narcissist is likely to send them into triangulation and use them to get to you. If you’re unable to go no-contact with a narcissist, a lot of people opt for 'low contact’, which means you only hear from them once a year, or once every 6 months, insufficient for them to gain control over you, and you grey-rock them all the way, and never share any personal info that might be used against you. Hoovering is something a narcissist will do to you after you’ve left them. They might leave you alone for a long time, then suddenly send a message saying they miss you, or they’re thinking about you and wishing you could do xyz together. They might also influence another person to tell you 'x misses you, they wish to see you again, they’re doing bad without you’. This is done to remind you of the 'good times’ and an attempt to draw you back in, as you’re supposed to have forgotten all the abuse already and be ready to take them back. It might come as outrageous expectation or denial of everything bad that happened – that’s because it is. All you have to do is grey-rock this, not respond, and enjoy in knowledge that even if you can’t ensure revenge, you can take yourself away from them, and they will never have you back.

Sources: Baiting, Scapegoating, LoveBombing, Gaslighting(video), Projection(video), Triangulation, Mirroring(video),  FlyingMonkeys (video), Hoovering, Grey Rock

#narcissistic abuse #scapegoating #psychological abuse #narcissistic parents #emotional abuse #gaslighting #love bombing #mirroring #baiting #projection #triangulation #flying monkeys #enablers #this took 3 days to write wow #did you notice tumblr beta has a character limit??? #i had to turn it off to be able to post this #i don't want a character limit on tumblr #let people read

[separatist-apologist]

You should do a one shot of Elain letting her inner fire out and yelling at the IC about using Elain to control Lucien AND going on and on about Lucien failing Feyre in Spring. (I mean we all know Tamlin abused Lucien both mentally and physically and its a bit hard to take care of someone else when you are being abused yourself. Ya feel me? HA)

This will be done more elegantly if you're reading I Know Places. I also can't help but feel like my Elucien reputation is becoming Night Court slander. This is my preface by saying I LIKE (most) of the IC, so this isn't dunking on any one person or being an anti.

Anyway don't send me hate if you don't like this (Send me Eris X Elain brotp prompts instead!!!)

Elain stomped through the city streets of Velaris, furious. Lucien was back in the city again, and yet he hadn’t come to visit. Things had been rocky, sure, but she thought they were doing better. They’d been exchanging letters weekly, she’d made him dinner—granted, at his apartment—and they’d even had that sweet kiss she still daydreamed about to the exclusion of all else. Yet, for the fourth time in six months, Lucien had come to Velaris, met with Rhysand, with Azriel, with Feyre, but not her. She’d been quietly polite about it the first time. He was a busy man, after all and probably had somewhere to be in the morning. She’d been quiet but less polite the second and third time, allowing her self-doubt and insecurity to creep in but now she was just mad.

If he didn’t want to see her, he should just say so.After four years of yearning and avoidance to get to where they were, which was practically no where given how far away he chose to occupy his time, he at least owed her an explanation.

She pounded on the blue front door that comprised his little town house. She heard scuffling and a muffled crash before the door flung open.

“Elain,” he breathed, clearly not prepared to see her, given how disheveled he looked. “To what do I—”

“Why are you avoiding me?” She demanded, crossing her arms over the silver cloak she wore. Frigid wind whistled around them, biting at her cheeks though she hardly felt the chill over her hurt and anger. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Ah…come inside,” he urged, stepping out of the way to let her in. Elain did as he asked, mostly to prevent making a visible scene she knew would work its way back to Rhysand and his inner circle.

“I understand if you’re too busy to spend time but not even a note?” She rounded on him once they were out of the foyer and in his living room. He reached for her cloak, ever the gentleman but Elain swatted his hand away.

“I do want to see you,” he replied softly, palms raised upwards in defense. Both eyes, one gold, one russet, watched her with apprehension, as though she were a bomb that might explode at any moment. She certainly felt like one.

“Then why don’t you?” She demanded, hands on her hips.

Lucien licked his lips. “It’s…complicated.”

Her stomach dropped. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“What?!” He panicked, taking a hasty step towards her. “No, just you. Only you, I swear.”

“Then explain. I’m not stupid, I can follow whatever is keeping you. I don’t want secrets between us I want—” She stopped herself before she could admit that what she wanted was to be in the same place for longer than a night.

“I need permission to visit with you,” he told her, dropping his hands with a sigh. Elain looked at him sharply.

“What do you mean…permission?” She demanded.

Lucien gestured for her to sit but Elain shook her head, her mind whirring. Why would Lucien need permission to see her? He’d been nothing but polite, he’d give her distance…they always had a chaperone, she realized. Save for once, right before he left to find Vassa, Lucien and Elain always had an audience unless she snuck out of the house. It was why she’d begun writing him letters in the first place. That was the only way she could speak to him without someone else in the room.

Lucien was watching her shrewdly, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“Do they think you’ll…” she couldn’t bring herself to say it. He laughed dryly.

“I certainly hope not.”

“Then why? No one cared about how much time Cassian spent with Nesta.”

“Well…I imagine it’s different when the High Lord trusts the mate in question.”

That didn’t make sense. She bit her bottom lip. “They trust you…you’re their Emissary…”

Lucien laughed again, plopping onto his cream-colored couch. “Emissary I may be, but trust me they do not.”

Elain frowned. “Because you’ll betray them?”

“Because I don’t want to be here,” he replied honestly, his every word condemnation. She could put it together now. Lucien was in Velaris for her, he’d left Spring for her, and he’d continue to be the Emissary on behalf of the Night Court for as long as Elain lived in Velaris.

“You don’t have to stay for me,” she assured him, crossing the wood floor to sit beside him. She took his hand and squeezed, looking up into his tanned, beautiful face. Lucien smiled at her sadly.

“If I quit, I’d never see you again.”

“Of course you would, we’re—”

“Do you imagine Rhysand or Feyre would just hand you over with my resignation? If that were the case, I would have taken you from here when we first met.”

“So I’m what? Bait?” She asked breathlessly. He didn’t respond but the steely look in his russet eye was answer enough. “Something to keep you in line?”

He shrugged but Elain was angry again. “I thought you were avoiding me,” she told him, pulling her hand from his. “I’ve been mad at you and all this time you were trying?”

“Elain—”

She spun on her heel and tore out of his apartment, well aware he was right behind her. She didn’t care. She wasn’t an object or a tool to be weaponized against her own mate, for cauldrons sake. She was tired of being treated like a pretty piece of furniture that couldn’t think for herself. She wanted the Nesta treatment, she decided, storming into the river house.

“You had no right!” She shrieked, storming into Rhys’ study. She’d meant to find Feyre first, but Rhys was there, sitting at his desk staring down at parchment. On the couch beside the fireplace, Azriel looked up, hazel eyes wide at the outburst.

“Hey Elain…Lucien…everything okay?” Cassian asked from a chair in the corner.

“No!” She continued, her chest heaving. If she didn’t say everything now, she’d chicken out; Elain hated confrontation. Rhys stood, his violet eyes glittering with emotion. A moment later Feyre skidded into the room, practically slamming into Lucien’s back.

“What’s wrong, Elain?” Feyre asked breathlessly, shoving past Lucien to touch Elain’s shoulder. “Did something happen, did—”

“Why does Lucien need permission to visit me?” She demanded, stepping out of Feyre’s grasp only to slam into the sold chest of her mate. “No one had a problem with Cassian breathing down Nesta’s neck, but Lucien needs advance written notice?”

“Whoa, that’s not how it went,” Cassian complained. “If anything, she was breathing down my neck—”

“Cassian,” Azriel murmured quietly, silencing his friend.

“You and Nesta are different,” Feyre tried but Elain didn’t want to hear it.

“So? I think Nesta could have healed perfectly fine without being…fucked—” she whispered the word, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “Up against a wall.”

The mood of the room became immediately tense. Cassian stood; arm crossed over his broad chest.

“Elain,” Rhys warned. Lucien put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing his support. She didn’t have to do this. She could walk away, could tell them to shove it. She had to. Lucien didn’t understand, was good at sticking up for himself but she wasn’t. They needed to know.

“It’s shameful,” she told Rhys, looking him dead in the face.

“We just wanted to keep you safe,” Rhys told her, his voice very much implying she was on dangerous ground.

“From what? I thought Lucien was Feyre’s friend,” she challenged. “I thought he was your Emissary. How can you trust him with your politics but not his own mate? Why is it okay for Azriel to see me but not Lucien?”

Rhys’ took two steps forward, darkness rippling off his back. She’d overstepped, she’d openly challenged Rhys and, perhaps most damning, she’d done the one thing he’d ever asked her not to; discuss the almost events of Solstice. Azriel’s face paled for a moment as Cassian, Feyre, and Lucien all turned to look at him. “I’m not your political pawn,” she whispered, stepping closer to Lucien.

“You are my subject and you will sit down and stop talking.”

She felt the metallic tang of magic slam into her face, attempting to make her obey. Elain knew what Rhys didn’t, what she’d kept a careful secret until that moment. He couldn’t compel her; his magic had no effect. He wasn’t her subject. She never had been.

“Sit down,” he said again, his every word dripping in authority. She straightened her spine even as her hands trembled. “You can’t make me,” she replied, pressed as close to Lucien as she could get.

“Rhys,” Lucien warned, his own voice rich with that same magic. She shivered at the sound. Rhys glanced towards Feyre, exchanging some conversation silently between them.

“I want to leave,” she told them, her voice wobbling nervously.

“Elain…can we talk? Just me and you?” Feyre murmured, holding out her hand. “Please?”

Elain looked over her shoulder but Lucien was still staring at Azriel with a clenched jaw. “Fine.”

Feyre grabbed her hand and whisked her out of the room. In the hall, Nesta had her back pressed to the wall. She followed behind Elain silently, spine straight, eyes cold. The three practically ran down marble floors, up the stairs, all the way to Feyre’s room. She locked the door behind her, as if that would keep anyone out.

“What happened with Azriel?” Nesta asked the second the door was shut.

“There are things you don’t understand,” Feyre interrupted, ignoring Nesta’s question. “You can’t leave.”

“Are you saying that as my sister, or High Lady?” Elain whispered.

“Where will you go, Elain?” Feyre prodded. “Spring—”

Her laughter was practically a shriek. “Did you know the last time Lucien came home from Spring he had bruises all over his ribs? Couldn’t look me in the eyes when I asked what happened? What do you think happened?” Elain demanded. Feyre flinched.

“How can you send him back there and stand here and tell me I don’t understand the situation?” Elain pressed. “He’s your friend.”

“I know, Elain, I’m sorry,” Feyre interrupted breathlessly. “I care about Lucien, too but he’s cunning and—”

“And what is Rhys?” Nesta interrupted with an imperious smile.

“You suddenly like Lucien?” Feyre demanded, hands on her hips. Nesta scoffed.

“No, but I like watching Elain tell Rhys to fuck himself. And…and it meant a lot what you said about…”

Elain nodded.

“Don’t leave,” Feyre pressed, ignoring Nesta completely. “Move in with Lucien if you want just…just don’t go.”

“I want to do more than garden,” Elain whispered. “We’d still see each other…he’d still help you, if you asked because you’re his friend…and I’m your sister.”

Feyre nodded, her eyes glassy. Elain knew she was still talking to Rhys, trying to strike some sort of balance between the fight they’d just had and not making things worse. “Rhys is asking if Lucien will go to Day Court on his behalf…they have a lot of libraries…Vassa still is spelled and we haven’t been able to figure it out. Maybe you could go with him? If you want, I mean?”

Elain nodded her head. “I’d like to see the other Courts.”

“But you’ll come back?” Feyre asked, her voice small and Elain knew she needed to apologize to her sister. Feyre was trying…Feyre had been good for all those years, selfless even when she didn’t have to be. Guilt gnawed at Elain. She’d let her temper get the better of her. She crossed the room and hugged Feyre tightly.

“Of course I will. I’m sorry…I didn’t…I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Wrong again,” Nesta said dryly. “You should yell more often. Tell Helion if he tries anything—”

“Helion won’t try anything,” Feyre assured Nesta. “Trust me.”

Nesta frowned. “He’ll take one look at her face and fall in love just like everyone else. How can you say—” “Rhys is going to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t have to do that,” Elain cajoled. “I can handleone High Lord calling me pretty.”

Feyre pinched the bridge of her nose. “It…it’s not appropriate, you have a mate—”

“I can handle it,” Elain said firmly, determined to do something for herself. “Promise.”

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by Rhys and Lucien in the archway. They looked tense; neither looked at the other. Elain wondered what had been said. Rhys looked from his mate to Elain before raising his palms.

“We…we worked it out,” Rhys assured her. “Don’t kill me.”

“I’m sorry I yelled,” she told him, not sorry at all. She suspected he knew.

“Day Court?” Lucien asked, brows raised, his face very much. She smiled.

“Day Court.”

#elucien fanfic #elucien fic #elucien prompt #all roads lead to day court #helion is gonna hit on elain #thanksgiving will be awkward that year #feyres gonna be like i TRIED to warn you #while elain stares at a plate of yams

[scuttling]

Something Stupid

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina Original Female Character Word Count: 25,159 Chapters: 6 of 6 Complete Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Hotch, Fluff and smut, Light angst, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Getting together, Minor background Garcia/Prentiss

Summary: All it takes to turn Sophie Cortes's life upside down is getting bashed over the head with a fire extinguisher. And sleeping with her boss. Note: This is a reformatted, previously published work. :)

Link to A03 or read Chapter 1 below!

All it takes to turn Sophie Cortes's life upside down is getting bashed over the head with a fire extinguisher. And sleeping with her boss.

There had been a case, of course—there’s always a case—and the victims were all Latina runners in their early 30s, abducted from a local park, so they took the very specific victim profile as an opportunity to use her as bait. It was all pretty straightforward, except the unsub escalated, upgraded from using the ‘lost dog’ trick to try to lure her to his car to just straight up knocking her unconscious from behind, and Hotch and the team were too late to grab her before the unsub loaded her into the trunk of his car to take her to his disgusting torture den. Thankfully, they caught him before he got her out of the park.

She was fine in the end, just some swelling and tenderness where he’d brained her with the fire extinguisher he kept in his car, and though it was kind of scary to hear it all retold by Spencer and JJ on the flight home, she knows her team did everything they could to get to her, and that they were ultimately successful, and that’s really all that mattered.

At least, it was, until Hotch showed up at her door that night.

“Hey, Hotch, what—what’s up? Is everything okay?” she asks, confused, because he’s… he’s rumpled, no jacket, tie loose, hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it, and—when she gets close enough to smell him—he reeks of alcohol. She’s never seen him like this, ever, in the last two years she’s worked under him.

He looks down at her, and his eyes aren’t glassy, at least; they’re as dark and serious as ever, staring into hers like he’s seeing every shadowy secret she keeps locked away beneath her delightfully sarcastic exterior. It makes her feel hot—not sexy hot, but exposed, self-conscious, unsettled: the mortifying ordeal of being known. She’s about to ask him what the fuck is going on when he surges forward to kiss her, and she wraps her arms around him, kisses him too, stumbling backward into her apartment until her body bumps against the kitchen island and shocks her back to reality.

“Are you out of your mind?” she asks, shoving lightly at his shoulders so he’ll give her some room to breathe. His chest is heaving, and so is hers, and he reaches up a careful hand, brushes it over the bump on the back of her head from the incident earlier that day.

“Do you have any idea what I would have done if we couldn’t get to you in time?” His voice is low, a little raspy, and she swallows hard, looks up at his gentle face. The Hotch who just kissed her isn’t a man she knows, and this version of him isn’t someone she recognizes, either. He has always behaved toward her the way she behaves toward her brother’s wife’s family at the holidays: like she’s a person who just happens to be there, and he’ll be cordial, and respond when spoken to, but he’ll breathe a little easier when she’s gone.

It used to hurt. It doesn’t anymore.

“Um, I don’t know. The same thing you’d do for anyone: look for witnesses, pull security footage of the park entrances, put an APB out on the car—” He laughs, something humorless, and shakes his head like she’s being dense.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, do you have any idea what I,” he takes her hand and presses it to his chest, over his heart, covers it with his, “would have done if we couldn’t get to you in time?”

“You don’t really give me the time of day any other time, so what makes you think I’d expect anything from you?” she asks, and she knows it’s a little harsh, but she can’t take it back now. “You are my boss, Hotch. You’re not my friend, you’re not… you’re not anything to me.”

“But that’s not exactly true, is it?” He doesn’t even bristle at her tone, her words, just continues to stand in front of her, looking soft. She kind of wants to hate him for it. “The reason I don’t give you the time of day, as you said, is because we’re something to each other. You know it, I know it.” He brushes his thumb over her cheek, tender and affectionate. “I feel it every time I’m close to you, and I know you feel it too. And we’ve both pushed each other away because we know it can’t happen.”

She wets her lips, because this is actually the mortifying ordeal of being known: he’s absolutely right, she has wanted him for almost two years, can’t stop her eyes from sweeping over his tall, strong body when he straps on his bulletproof vest, can’t stop imagining his hands on her when he pushes up his sleeves if they take a case in a humid Southern state. She looks at him and thinks of his mouth on her throat, her legs wrapped around his waist, his thick thighs supporting her while she moves in his lap until they both give in to the pleasure and collapse against each other, panting, gasping, wishing they had the stamina for more.

But like he said, it can’t happen, and if that’s the reason he’s been keeping his distance? She really can’t be angry about that, because she’s been doing the same thing.

“You can’t do this. You can’t just come here—drunk, by the way—and kiss me, and act like you like me, like you care, just because I got hurt. You can’t, Hotch.”

“Why not? Because you truly don’t want me to? Because if that’s the case, I’ll leave. We can pretend this never happened, if that’s what you truly want.” He looks solemn, now, and she knows that he would drop it if she asked him to. “But if it’s just because you’re afraid of what will happen if we give in… I’ve been there, Sophie. I’ve reminded myself of the consequences of this every single for... longer than I'd like to admit. But seeing you hurt today… I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to show you how much you mean to me, how devastated I would be if anything happened to you. That’s all I want to show you.” He presses his hands to her face again, softly, leans in just a little. “Can I show you?”

She should tell him no. She should push him away again, call him a cab, send him home, and request a transfer in the morning. It might hurt now, but it would all be for the best in the end.

But Sophie has never really been known for doing things with her own best interest in mind.

She bridges the distance, kisses him deeply, hands sliding up his back to pull him closer for more. He lifts her up onto the kitchen island, stands between her knees, and she slips her fingers into his already fucked up hair, legs wrapping around his waist. His lips move to her throat, and she tips her head back, sighs at the feel of his hot mouth against her skin; when he pulls back, she tugs her t-shirt over her head, and he kisses down her collarbone, brushes his lips over her breast, her peaked nipple, so that she tightens her fingers in his hair.

“Sophie,” he sighs, looking up at her with those deep, dark eyes, and she reaches down to get his pants open, to untuck his shirt. If he’s so desperate to show her how he feels tonight, to show her emotion this once, maybe she’ll make it quick and dirty and then call him that cab and go to bed feeling awful about herself. Maybe she’ll request the transfer anyway.

Except… that’s not what she wants. She doesn’t want quick and dirty, she doesn’t want one and done. She wants him, wants to get to look at him every day without feeling guilty, wants to see more of the tender side of him he’s displayed tonight. She wants to wake up with him, go to bed with him, and everything in between.

She brings his mouth to hers for a soft, slow, passionate kiss, and then she pulls off his tie, his shirt, his undershirt. He helps with the rest of their clothes, and she takes his hand, guides him toward her bedroom, where there’s nothing left between them: no clothing, no hesitancy, no consequences. At least for tonight.

They kiss so much her lips feel bruised, and his hands caress every inch of her body like he’s drafting a map and needs to familiarize himself with the terrain: the curve of her calf, the slope of her breasts, the contours of her waist, the depth of her aching pussy. He dips his fingers inside her, praises her wetness, then bends to taste it, lifts her hips and devours her until she comes shaking and moaning his name.

Then he presses into her, thick and solid, but that’s not the best part; no, it’s when he rolls his hips up, sinking so deeply, so completely inside of her that she can’t even tell where she ends and he begins. She grips his back, rocks to meet each slow, thorough thrust, her body sliding further and further up the bed while he lays claim to her, his teeth sinking into her throat like it’s a soft, ripe peach and not overheated flesh and tendon. It hurts, and it feels so good.

“Oh, god,” she breathes, because she’s never had a man take her apart so thoroughly; but that’s it, isn’t it? He is a man, without performative six-pack abs the guys her age spend their days in the gym trying to achieve, in their place a strong core capable of pinning her to the bed, powerful thighs hard and unyielding against hers as he works desperately to fill her with his come. His arms support his weight, provide leverage, and she turns her head to mouth at his forearm as it flexes, as his fingers dig into the sheets because he feels exactly as much pleasure as she does, she just knows it. “Yes, Aaron.”

A thin film of sweat forms on his back, and her hands slip, so she sinks fingers in his hair, clutches his shoulder, pants and gasps into his mouth until he climaxes inside her, his hips pistoning faster for a moment before slowing altogether. He brushes the pads of his fingers over her lips, and she swipes her tongue over them just to taste him, and then he slides them down to glide over her swollen clit. “Come for me,” he murmurs in her ear, rubbing and grinding inside her as he softens, and she whimpers, hips stuttering against him, her second orgasm even stronger than the first.

They kiss more, smoothing their hands over each other, pressing noses and lips to foreheads, cheeks; Sophie feels so many emotions fighting for dominance it makes her head ache—and then she remembers the injury on her scalp that’s still fresh, and it makes her head ache worse.

Aaron can probably see it on her face, because he leans up, carefully turns her head to the side, and presses down on the area surrounding the bump. She closes her eyes; it feels so good she almost wants to purr.

“Did you pick up that prescription?” he asks softly as he massages her head, and her eyelids flutter open at the sound of his voice.

“Yeah, it’s in the bathroom,” she murmurs, gesturing to the master bath, and he makes a soft noise of understanding, climbs off the bed; he returns with a warm, wet cloth, a pain pill, and a glass of water, all of which she accepts gratefully.

“I should probably stay here tonight—to make sure you don’t have a concussion,” he adds when her eyebrows shoot up her forehead, making her wince. “If you want me to.” They both know she’s already been cleared by a doctor, and it’s not that she doesn’t want him to—unfortunately, she wants it more than anything—but she doesn’t feel up to arguing about her particular brand of commitment issues right now, so she just nods softly.

“Please, stay.” She threads her fingers through his hair, and guides him down for another kiss, and when her headache goes away she sinks into sleep with his arm wrapped around her waist and his nose buried in her hair. Sophie wakes up the next morning, makes coffee, a smoothie—Aaron’s dead to the world, because he doesn’t even stir when she pulses coconut milk and mango and greens in her Vitamix a little bit longer than necessary. She stalks into her bedroom, leans toward him on the bed, shakes his shoulder. “Aaron. You need to go.”

“What?” he grumbles, lifting his face off the pillow to seek her out; he has some serious bedhead, and a crease on his cheek from the pillowcase, and he’s still the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen in her life. It’s completely unfair.

“It’s 7:00—I’m going running, and you need to go home and get showered and dressed before work. There’s coffee made, your clothes are hanging in the closet over there. You can lock up behind you when you go.” She makes to head for the door, but he turns onto his back and reaches for her, taking her arm and pulling her closer.

“Don’t do that, please.” His voice is rough with sleep, but he’s awake now, looking like he’s ready to further complicate her life. The worst part is that she’ll probably let him. “Don’t treat me like a one night stand you’re never going to see again.” She sighs.

“I’m not. I’m treating you like my hungover unit chief who is bare-ass naked in my bed and who’s going to be late to work if he doesn’t get moving.” She tries for stern, but the corners of her mouth twitch up against her will. “So get moving.”

“Give me five minutes,” he says, and he brushes his hand over her cheek like she’s something precious. “I’ll walk you out.” She agrees, doesn’t see the harm—she likes knowing for herself that the place is locked up, anyway, so it makes sense.

He dresses quickly, and she drinks her smoothie, fills a travel mug with coffee for him, with two sugars, the way he likes it. When they step out into the hallway, he tries to kiss her goodbye, but she turns her face to take it on the cheek instead, making him sigh. He heads downstairs to his car, and she locks the deadbolts, looking up when a flash of hot pink catches her eye.

It’s her neighbor, Jazmine. She’s tall, leanly muscled, with chestnut colored skin—boisterous, flashy, the up-all-night-partying type, so she’s probably just getting in—and she raises an eyebrow in Sophie’s direction.

“He’s cute.”

“He’s my boss,” she explains quickly. “I got hurt at work yesterday and he stayed over to make sure I didn’t have a concussion.” Jazmine nods, looking like she 100% does not believe her.

“Uh huh. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, girl. I’m just glad your dry spell is over; these walls are thin, so I know the only relationship you’ve been having is with your vibrator.” Sophie’s cheeks heat, and she fights to get the key out of the deadbolt so she can get herself the fuck out of this awkward conversation.

“That’s not true; I have two vibrators,” she mumbles, and Jazmine laughs, ducks inside her apartment. The key finally comes loose, and Sophie tucks it into the zippered pocket of her leggings and prepares to try—and fail—to run off her frustrations.

Then comes work.

“What are you doing here, Cortes?” Prentiss asks when she walks into the bullpen. “Head injury usually means you get a day or two off—or are you just that obsessed with this place?” Sophie blows out a long breath, sets her stuff on her desk, then shoots her a kind smile. It’s not her fault she royally screwed up her life last night, so she can’t take it out on her.

“Oh, you know me: all work and no play.”

“Better than all play and no work, I guess,” she replies, grinning, “even if it is more fun.”

“Yeah, but play gets you into trouble; at least it gets me into trouble,” she grumbles, taking a seat at her desk. All she can hope for at this point is a quiet, easy day of consults and maybe a drink at the bar around the corner on her way home from work. “Dinner and a bonfire at my place tonight,” Rossi greets when they enter the briefing room. Sophie’s first instinct is to groan, because that means finding a way to avoid Aaron for an additional four plus hours, but she grins instead because her need for Rossi’s cooking and a night of relaxation outweighs the tension.

“Are we breaking in your woodfired pizza oven? If so, just pop open some vino and I’m there,” she teases, and he smiles in response.

“I can do pizza, and I have a very expensive bottle of Brunello with your name on it—since you were almost kidnapped yesterday, and all.”

“She was kidnapped,” Aaron says when he walks in, looking serious. “We just got her back before she left the park, that’s all.” The room goes quiet, because everyone can tell he’s in a mood—but thankfully, Morgan doesn’t really concern himself with other people’s moods, and he chuckles.

“Ah, he would have given her back after five minutes anyway. We love you, but you’re an acquired personality,” he tells her, and she reaches across the table and punches him in the arm.

“Shut up, I’m delightful.”

“If you two are done,” Aaron says with a no-nonsense expression that makes her want to get smart with him just on principle, “we can go ahead and get started.”

Everyone is filing out of the room after, with their assignments for the day, when he asks her to stay back; Spencer glances at her, like he’s making sure she’s okay, and she nods, waves him off.

“Is something wrong, sir?” she asks, like a bit of a smart ass—residual bitchiness from earlier, she knows—and he exhales deeply.

“I just want to talk to you for a minute, since you were practically shoving me out the door this morning.” She crosses her arms, tilts her head.

“Would you have preferred I go about my business and let you be late to work?”

“I would have preferred that we have a conversation about last night like the adults we are,” he counters, and she feels like a properly chastened asshole. She leans her butt on the table, looks up at him with soft eyes; this is more emotion than she’s prepared for so early in the day, but it’s clearly unavoidable.

“Alright. You’re right. Do you want me to start?” He nods, and she blows out a breath. “You surprised me, coming over the way you did. My guard was down, and hearing you say all those things—it was like you were poking at all of my bruises, things I’m still trying to heal from. Wanting you the way I have, and feeling completely overlooked by you… it used to really hurt me. I took it very personally, and my hackles are always kind of raised when you’re around, for that reason. If I seem a little abrasive, that’s why.”

He nods, like it makes sense to him. Like it explains a lot.

“I get that. I didn’t handle my feelings for you the right way at all, and I know that now, and I’m sorry. And I realize that showing up at your apartment unannounced, after I’d been drinking, was the stupidest way I could have possibly gone about trying to explain my feelings to you, but everything I said was true. And when we…” He wets his lips, swallows hard. “When we made love, I knew it was the right thing. I knew pushing you away was a mistake, and I’ll find a way to make that up to you, to make up for lost time, I promise.”

“I’m not sure what I want out of this,” she says honestly; she hasn’t even had twenty-four hours to sit with the fact that he wants her, and her head is still spinning. “I’m not—I don’t do well in relationships.”

“Maybe in the past, but it’s possible you just didn’t have a partner who was willing to meet you halfway.” It’s clear he wants to get closer to her, touch her, maybe even kiss her, but they’re too exposed in the briefing room, blinds open; he lets his eyes do the touching, sweeps them gently over her face. “I’ll always listen to what you have to say, value you. I’ll meet you halfway and then some. I won’t abandon you again.”

“I’m not the kind of person who can make a commitment on the spot like this. I need some time,” she says gently, hopes he sees it for what it is, not an excuse or a brush off. Despite the messy way this all came about, she really does want him, care for him. “Can you give me some time?”

“Of course; all the time you need,” he promises, and she nods, stands fully. “Is there anything else you want to say, while we’re here?” His expression is neutral, and she’s glad he’s not leading… If he expects something more from her, it’s nothing she’s ready to give.

“No, I’ll just take that time. Thank you for understanding.” She carefully brushes her fingers over his hand before walking out the door.

She goes home after work to change her clothes, slipping into a light, summery sundress, and then she heads to Rossi’s, steeling herself before she gets out of the car.

The bonfire is already crackling when she walks through the back gate, and she’s greeted warmly by her friends, promptly handed a glass of wine, and asked what toppings she would like to put on her pizza. It’s the makings for a great evening, she has to admit.

They eat, and drink—Sophie doesn’t drink quite as much as she normally would, because her head’s still throbbing a little—and they sit around the fire cracking jokes, and then someone turns on some music, and people start to dance.

Sophie has always loved ballroom dancing: the class, the grace, the drama, the romance. Her aunt owned a studio for most of her childhood, and when things were hard at home, it was the perfect place to go to escape from the world, if just for a little while. Sophie even teaches some classes at a local studio occasionally, just for the fun of it.

She hangs back, watching JJ and Morgan, Prentiss and Garcia sway back and forth, smiling, laughing, and then Rossi asks her if she’d like to dance, and she does.

They may not always see eye to eye, but he’s got good taste in food, wine, and music, she has to give him that.

After Rossi, she heads over to Spencer, tugs him to his feet, and he lets her lead him around the makeshift dance floor for longer than she’d expected.

“May I cut in?” Aaron asks over Spencer’s shoulder; Spencer looks at Sophie, who just nods, tries not to sound wary when she answers.

“Sure.” He leaves them with a brief smile, and Aaron slips an arm around her waist, takes her hand, pulls her close to his body—maybe a little bit too close. She rests her other hand on his shoulder, tries not to think of the pink half-moon impressions that must still be lingering there from where she’d gripped him tight, nails pressing in, while he went down on her. She follows his lead. “What are you doing?”

“You danced with Rossi, Reid; I’m not allowed to dance with you?” She glances around, sees Prentiss and JJ by the fire, Morgan and Rossi by the food, Spencer and Garcia pouring wine—she’s surprised no one notices how closely they’re dancing, talking. She feels hyper aware of it herself.

“It probably looks highly suspicious,” she says anyway, “since it’s never happened before, but if you’re not worried, I’m not worried.” He looks around too, and it’s clear: he’s not worried.

“Good. Maybe we can enjoy this, then.” He moves his hand further down her back, presses her a bit closer, and she sighs, lets him. It feels good to be in his arms, but she wonders what it says, that she missed them after only a few hours. She’d spent two years building up a tolerance to him only to have her resolve come crashing down after one night of extremely sensual, passionate sex. So much for the power of will.

“I am enjoying this. More than I should be, I think,” she answers honestly, and god, what an understatement. Nothing about this should feel so good, so right, but he’s handsome in the flickering, golden light of the bonfire, softer in more casual clothes, his voice low in her ear, the smell of his cologne heady as always; he is a feast for all of her senses—except taste, but that can very much be arranged.

“So let me take you on a date. We can do more dancing, or just have dinner, see a show. Anything you want.” She looks up at him, frowns, and he sighs deeply. “I know you said you needed time to figure out if you want to make a commitment. I’m not asking for a commitment; I’m just asking for a chance.”

“You said yourself, our actions have consequences. Sleeping with you is one thing,” she whispers, “but dating is another, and I’m just not sure it’s the right thing to do, for either of us.” Sleeping together is casual, a series of circumstances that lead to something more; dating is purposeful, meaningful. There are disclosures. Intentions. Things are made concrete. She’s not so sure about concrete.

Aaron looks hurt.

“Last night was more than just sleeping with me, Sophie. That was…” He closes his eyes tightly, like he can’t find the words, and she gets it, because neither can she. She’s only oversimplifying it for the sake of making it easier to say no to him, because no is the last thing she actually wants.

“Okay, yeah. You’re right. It was something special,” she admits, squeezing his hand. “But I can’t afford to put my career in jeopardy right now, and neither can you.”

“Who says we have to? I can talk to Strauss—” She takes a half step back, looks up at him seriously.

“Okay, see, this is all moving a little too quickly for me. I’m not even sure I’m ready to be in a relationship, let alone one that’s under as much scrutiny as we’ll be if you talk to Strauss.”

“It’s been almost two years in the making, if you ask me,” he says lightly, but his jaw is tense.

“That’s not fair, because I’ve spent all this time holding back, trying not to feel things for you—and you hurt me. Imagine being new and hearing about how tightly-knit your team is and then getting practically ignored by your boss, even when you were struggling.” She tries not to think back on the toughest cases, how unhealthy her coping mechanisms were, how badly she could have used his firm but kind voice telling her she was okay, not a fuck up, not alone.

“When were you struggling?” he asks seriously, looking concerned, and she huffs an unkind laugh.

“You were trying so hard not to look at me that you didn’t even see me, Aaron. That’s not healthy, I don’t—I don’t deserve that.” She drops her hand from his shoulder, gently pulls the other free. He lets her. “I’ve had enough fun for one night. I think I’m going to head home.”

“Sophie, I’m sorry. Please,” he says softly, and at least he’s trying not to draw any attention to them. It’s the last thing she needs right now. “You’re right. I know messed things up, but I want to change that, if you’ll let me.” She looks into his eyes, and they’re earnest, sincere; she wants to let him, so badly.

“Not tonight,” she says instead. “Can you just let me think about this a little, please?”

“Yes. No more pressure, I promise.” He looks back at the path leading to the gate, the driveway. “Can I walk you to your car?”

She agrees, says goodbye to everyone, thank you to Rossi; no one seems to find it unusual that Aaron walks her out to her car. He stops beside her door, lifts a hand to brush her hair softly back from her face.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, and he leans in to kiss her temple, something brief and sweet. “We’ll talk soon?” She inhales deeply, breathes him in, nods.

“We’ll talk soon. Goodnight.”

Finding a way to fall asleep in her empty king size bed has never been so impossible.

Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x original female character #hotch x reader #hotch x female reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #reblog #reformat #latina original female character

[lady-of-the-lotus]

“Had I had eyes, what do you think would have happened when I found you in that ditch?”

“Probably killed me.”

“I would not have killed you.”

Xue Yang laughs, a short harsh bark that's nothing like his usual manic giggle. “Why should I believe you?”

XueXiao - E - AO3! - Tumblr Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Blood

They travel for three days before they hit another village.

Villages and farms, they pass, but nothing with an inn.

“They’d take us in if we only asked,” Xiao Xingchen says as they pass the village. It’s nightfall, and foggy and almost chilly. Cheerful yellow lights shine through the fog, and he hears voices and the clatter of cookery.

“I’d rather not.”

“Is this one of the villages I wiped out?”

Xue Yang tightens his grip on Jiangzai. He’s had it out of his qiankun sleeve since leaving Yi City. “I knew you were going to throw that in my face. And no. Happy now?”

Xiao Xingchen looks at the lights. One flickers, goes out, is relit, and he imagines the person behind the candle.

A living, breathing person. Someone belonging to his world. Unlike—

He can’t face that person, he suddenly realizes. Can’t knock on the door, be offered a bed, when he knows the earth should be his bed, the soil his blanket.

Warm in the earth.

He banishes that thought, but it lingers.

Xue Yang smiles at him. It’s an oddly blank smile. “Another mile, so they can’t see our fire, and I’ll make camp.” And he turns and continues walking without waiting for Xiao Xingchen to agree.

He’s been in an odd mood ever since they left the Coffin House, Xiao Xingchen thinks as Xue Yang makes camp. He doesn’t know how to handle a sullen Xue Yang. Or any part of this post-resurrection version of Xue Yang.

Chengmei had never argued with Xiao Xingchen, never offered anything more than teasing chaff. Had that all been an act to win his trust? How much of Chengmei had been real, how much a ruse? Chengmei had been unflaggingly cheerful and helpful, talking almost non-stop, doing everything he could to amuse Xingchen and A-Qing.

And he had known Xue Yang before he’d known Chengmei. Not well, but he’d interacted with him during their game of cat and mouse that ended at the Chang Manor, and this new Xue Yang is darker than that old Xue Yang, moodier, his smile less bright.

Or perhaps Xiao Xingchen can now see through his smile.

He half welcomes it in, a strange way. Xue Yang is treating him how he'd treat anyone else, without any special reverence or politeness or worship, and much as he'd prefer a cheerful Xue Yang, it feels almost good.

“I’m afraid I’m not much help,” Xiao Xingchen says as they warm themselves at the fire. Despite sitting much closer than Xue Yang is, he can still only half feel it.

Xue Yang gazes at him intently through the flames. “So you really did just get welcomed into people’s homes? I never tried that when I was—” He stops. “You could have killed them in their sleep.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m just saying they had no way of knowing. I guess you and that meathead priest just looked so honorable and decent they had no choice but to give you their beds.”

Xiao Xingchen rubs his hands together and breaks eye contact. Best not to respond. He’s tired, anyway, worn out from walking all day, the most he’s exerted himself since waking.

But Xue Yang won’t let the subject drop. “I thought you were joking the other night. Have you really never made camp?”

“Not never. I’m just not very good at it. After I lost my eyes, I—”

“Not lost. He took them.” Xue Yang’s eyes blaze as brightly as the fire, compelling Xiao Xingchen to look at them again. “And she let him.”

This Xingchen can’t let slide. “Don’t speak about my master like that.”

“Because you know I’m right? She should have stopped it all. If she really cared about you, she wouldn’t have let it happen. It’s all her fault—” Xue Yang's white face flushes pink, and Xiao Xingchen reaches around the fire to lay a warning hand on his bracer.

“Don’t touch me!” Xue Yang snatches his arm away. “Why the fuck did you something so stupid?”

“You were agitated—”

Xue Yang is on his feet. “I meant the eyes, you fucking idiot! You self-righteous naive fuck—” He kicks at the fire, sending a log into a tree in a shower of sparks. “This is all their fault—”

“ ‘This’?”

“Everything!”

“Had I had eyes, what do you think would have happened when I found you in that ditch?”

“Probably killed me.”

“I would not have killed you.”

Xue Yang laughs, a short harsh bark that's nothing like his usual manic giggle. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because you know me.”

“You saved Chengmei.”

“I saved someone in need.”

“None of it was real. You thought I was someone else!”

“I thought it was someone in need.” Xingchen eyes him evenly. “And I was right.”

Xue Yang’s fists are clenched. “You know what?” he snaps. “Fuck you!”

He storms off into the trees.

Xiao Xingchen turns back to the fire. He’s not sure if he’s pleased at having riled Xue Yang or upset at his reaction.

This is his way of caring—he’s genuinely upset I lost my eyes—

And then, halfheartedly: I shouldn’t care what he thinks.

But pity outweighs disgust, and he’s half numb again, anyway, his mental malaise deadening all confusion.

His fingers are stiff and clumsy the next morning. Xue Yang notices him dropping the razor he uses to shave, but doesn’t say anything, or offer to give him blood.

Or the next day, or the day after that.

In fact, he barely talks at all.

Xiao Xingchen isn’t sure what to do with the silence.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Xue Yang asks finally, the first real thing he’s said all day. They’re night-hunting, or at least trying to. Shuanghua feels strangely unresponsive in his hand. He’s not sure if it’s constantly sensing him as a fierce corpse, blanking out all external demons and ghosts, or if he has lost the right to wield it properly.

"Where are we going?” Xue Yang repeats. “Off to save the world?”

“Something like that.”

“Like you did such a great job the first time.”

Xiao Xingchen stiffens.

Xue Yang smirks, wearing a nastier grin than Xingchen remembers him having ever worn before. “What?” he sneers. “Don’t like hearing the truth?”

“I accomplished more in a single year than you did your entire life,” Xiao Xingchen says quietly.

Xue Yang laughs. Unlike his usual laugh, it’s not a pleasant sound. “You’re right. Slaughtering all those peasants certainly was an accomplishment, all right.”

A stab of anger, but it’s distant, that old malaise having him fully in its grip, and he doesn’t rise to the bait. Too long without blood or yang, but Xue Yang hasn’t offered, and Xiao Xingchen refuses to ask.

“You know what I mean,” he says instead.

Xue Yang looks disappointed at the lack of ire in his voice. “And what does saving the world entail, exactly?”

“Helping people who need it.”

“That’s it?”

“Not murdering people. Doing good where you can. If you truly meant what you said about regretting the things you’ve done, that’s still not enough. You have to perform positive actions as well, not just regret your negative ones. Like what we’re doing now—night-hunting, protecting people.”

Xue Yang doesn’t seem to hear anything after Not murdering people. “Like you’ve never killed anyone? Song Lan was ready to kill me at Chang Manor, no trial, no nothing.”

“And I saved your life, ensured you a trial."

"A trial you knew would end in their gutting me like a pig and hanging my head on Jinlintai's gate as warning. Same as you probably still think I deserve."

"If you want to stop being treated like a monster, simply stop doing monstrous things," Xiao Xingchen says, still with no emotion in your voice. "Twice I saved your life.”

“And did your saving me make the world a better place?” Xue Yang’s voice is rising now. “You hate me. You think the world is worse because I’m alive. How do you know all those people you saved didn’t make the world worse too?”

“I never said I hate you.”

Xue Yang throws his hands up dramatically. Xiao Xingchen thinks he might be doing it intentionally, turning the conversation into something out of a story, a play, something less real, something not involving them as two real people but as two fictional characters.

“ ‘I never said I hate you’!” he mimics, doing a credible imitation of Xingchen’s voice. He was always good at doing the voices for the stories he used to tell nightly. “I suppose you stab people you like, then? You stabbed Song Lan out of affection?”

Xiao Xingchen is about to respond, despite the futility of trying to argue with Xue Yang, but instead he trips over what seems to be nothing, sprawling forward in the dirt as if the earth has reached up to drag him down, claim him, Shuanghua falling from his nerveless fingers.

Xue Yang watches him struggle to his feet, but doesn’t offer his help, and Xiao Xingchen doesn’t ask.

A queasy feeling creeps over him despite his numbness.

He can’t night-hunt. Can’t atone by protecting others.

Can barely stand up.

Useless. One more dead, useless thing.

They encounter a single ghost that night. Xue Yang dispatches it on his own, then turns to grin at Xingchen.

“Guess I’m ahead of you on the saving the world front,” he sneers.

Xingchen refuses to ask for help when he has trouble lying down to sleep that night, or the next morning, when it takes him fifteen minutes to get to his feet, or all that day as he stumbles down the road in an increasingly senseless haze.

They stop at an inn that night. Xue Yang makes all the arrangements while Xiao Xingchen, half-insensible, is propped up at a table.

A familiar huff and, “Do I have to carry you?." Something slipping under his arms, movement.

Something wet in his mouth, someone holding his head up. A finger on his tongue, the taste of copper.

“…most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” Xue Yang is saying as he dabs blood on Xingchen’s tongue. “You should have seen the looks the innkeeper gave me. Like I’d drugged and kidnapped you or something…but no, you couldn’t just ask me. You think I liked traveling around with you tripping over your own feet every two seconds goggling at me like a stunned fish?”

Xiao Xingchen opens his eyes. He’s lying cradled on his back in Xue Yang’s lap on a small bed in a small room. “Where are we?”

“Tanzhou. Here, drink.” He tightens his arm around Xiao Xingchen and holds his other arm up to his mouth. “Stubborn idiot.”

But there’s no venom in his voice. Seeing Xiao Xingchen so vulnerable seems to have induced another of his swift changes of mood. Xiao Xingchen drinks, feeling warmth flow back into his limbs as he greedily sucks at Xue Yang.

“Any better?” asks Xue Yang. He slides out from under Xiao Xingchen and off the bed. “I swear, you’re the most stubborn person I know.”

Xiao Xingchen flexes his fingers. “Do you know many people?”

Xue Yang grins suddenly. It’s his first sincere smile in days. “You have a point there. I’ll be back soon.”

Xiao Xingchen sits up as Xue Yang leaves. He feels stronger than he has in days, but the blood only seems to help nourish his body, not his mind.

He’s too numb to care much about that. He takes out his flute, sits cross-legged on the bed, and begins to play, taking advantage of the nimbleness in his fingers while he can.

He plays until Xue Yang returns. “Don’t stop on my account,” Xue Yang says, seating himself on the edge of the bed. He’s holding a tanghulu and a candle. He sets the candle on the rickety little table wedged beside the bed and starts taking his shoes off. “I mean, you could use more practice, but it’s not terrible.”

Hesitantly, Xiao Xingchen lifts the flute back to his lips. Too many good memories attached to the flute to want to sully them with Xue Yang’s presence. Being taught by Baoshan Sanren, playing for A-Qing and Chengmei—

But he’s still too numb to care much. Or to even enjoy playing, really. He does it anyway, mechanically fingering the holes and producing music without soul.

Xue Yang frowns, noticing, but again doesn’t say anything.

A flicker of thought: I’d rather him yell again.

But he doesn’t care enough to rile Xue Yang, and he’s not about to ask Xue Yang to give him yang or take his yin energy.

Let Xue Yang ask him.

But Xue Yang doesn’t speak, just sits there licking the tanghulu. Slides the whole thing in his mouth, sucking the long carrot-shaped candy with more noise than he absolutely has to, making sure it's audible over the gentle sound of the flute. Slides it out of his mouth, runs his tongue along the slick red length, flicks his tongue over the tip.

Xiao Xingchen feels something stir between his legs. Xue Yang must be doing this on purpose—

A banging on the door makes them both jump. “Shut up in there! It’s the middle of the night!”

Xue Yang opens the door. He’s grinning again, a grin full of sharp teeth.

“ ‘Middle of the night’?” he says to the man in the doorway. Burly, frowning, dressed in expensive-looking robes. “It’s barely nightfall.”

“People are trying to sleep! Shut your racket!”

“ ‘Racket’?” Without any seeming movement, Xue Yang’s knife is in his hand. He taps his chin with it, eyes bright. “Step inside, and we’ll discuss it.”

The man is pushing up his sleeves. “We’ll discuss it, all right—”

Xiao Xingchen gets off the bed and lays a hand on Xue Yang’s shoulder. Xue Yang is trembling with excitement beneath his palm, an alcoholic spotting wine. “Don’t.”

“Don’t discuss things like a rational human being?”

“Don’t kill him.”

“I’d like to see him try!” snaps the man. “Little punk upstart—”

Xue Yang starts forward with a little keening sound, but Xiao Xingchen snatches him back into the room and locks the door. “Remember what I said about not murdering people?”

Xue Yang appears to be almost aroused by the near-violence, nostrils flaring, cheeks pink. “The world would be better off without him! Look at him! We’d be doing everyone a favor!”

Xiao Xingchen gives him a little push towards the bed. “Just sit there quietly and finish sucking on your candy.”

He would wince had he not been so numb. Why had he chosen that word?

Xue Yang grins, pique gone. “I’d rather be sucking on something else, if I’m being honest.”

“A first, for you.”

Xue Yang laughs. “I love when you make jokes. Now come on, aren’t you going to offer me an incentive to stay here and not slit that man from dick to throat?”

Xiao Xingchen pinches his temples. He wants to, as badly as he can want anything in his current state—Xue Yang is licking that candy again, grinning at Xiao Xingchen, and Xingchen does want to push along his improved mood—reward good behavior—

He sits on the edge of the bed. “Fine.”

“ ‘Fine’?”

“You can do what you want.”

Xue Yang’s grin turns into a frown. “That’s all you’re going to say? And I’m not getting on my knees for you.”

Xiao Xingchen rises and undresses, taking off everything but his white inner robe. Despite everything, he’s still not comfortable being fully naked in front of Xue Yang, much as he hungers for his hands on his skin, craves sensation. Xue Yang just stands there, watching him undress, but doesn’t move, a smug look on his face.

“I’m not going to beg, if that’s what you’re implying,” Xingchen says, tilting his head.

Grinning again, Xue Yang takes off his clothes, stripping naked almost defiantly. “I can’t decide if I like you like this, or if it’s just annoying.”

Xiao Xingchen lies on the bed, bending his knees slightly. I truly don’t care what you think, he wants to say, but doesn’t want Xue Yang to pick up on the lie and rub his nose in it.

Xue Yang climbs into bed, kneeling between Xingchen’s legs.

“I thought you weren’t getting on your knees,” says Xiao Xingchen.

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “I’m leaning towards ‘annoying.’ ”

Xingchen can’t hold in a smile. Xue Yang returns it. “First time you’ve smiled in days,” he says. “Just for that, I won’t make you ask for it.” He reaches down for Xiao Xingchen’s inner robe.

“So you’re just going to go for it?”

“What else do you want?”

It’s so…transactional, but Xiao Xingchen doesn’t know how to put that into words. It’s not like he wants to be seduced, but…

He changes the subject. “You want to take my yin energy?”

“It’s not like it’s poison,” says Xue Yang. Not quite the truth, given its tainted nature, but he seems to believe it in the moment. “Everyone has both. Well, not you, unless I give it to you, but—” He peels back Xiao Xingchen’s inner robe, and Xingchen would blush if he could feel shame. “What did you mean before? What else do you want?”

“Just do it.” Suddenly he wants nothing more than to feel the embarrassment he knows he should be feeling at the sight of Xue Yang pulling his cock out from inside his clothes, closing his mouth around it, licking it. Feel more than pleasure at how his tongue glides over the head. Feel the complicated jumble of emotions he knows should be churning through him, heightening everything, turning the act into more than a physical exchange.

He comes in Xue Yang’s mouth, and suddenly he’s very aware of the candlelight gleaming off his wet cock, of Xue Yang licking his lips and looking up at him, making full eye contact—

He winces and snuffs out the candle. Moonlight illuminates Xue Yang, but at least there’s some darkness to hide—hide whatever the hell this is—

“Feel any better?” Xue Yang whispers. He’s moved up beside Xiao Xingchen, nestled between him and the wall. “Want to yell at me now or something?”

Xiao Xingchen takes a deep breath and sits up. “You almost killed that man—”

“But I didn’t!”

“And you—you—” He squeezes his eyes shut. “You said some awful things to me.”

“You mean—that was days ago.”

“You said awful things,” Xiao Xingchen repeats. His heart is beating faster at the memory. “You said—you said—”

“And you to me. We’re even.”

“We’re…” Xiao Xingchen digs his knuckles in his eyes. “How could we possibly ever—”

“Shh. You’ll bring that oaf back, and I can’t make any promises about not gutting him like a pig.”

"What is it with you and pigs?" And suddenly Xiao Xingchen is laughing. He doesn’t know why. But he is. He hates himself for laughing, and he relishes the disgust, the thousand emotions coursing through him, good and bad.

He feels something against his leg, realizes it’s Xue Yang, making no attempt to hide his arousal.

“What about you?” Xingchen moves his leg slightly against Xue Yang.

“I’m fine.”

“I could use yang energy, not just getting rid of the tainted yin…”

Xue Yang’s voice is suddenly teasing. “Ask nicely.”

“Oh, stop that already!”

Xue Yang laughs, vibrating against Xiao Xingchen’s body. “I don’t know, maybe I do like you like this, daozhang. Feisty.” He slides a hand around Xiao Xingchen, tracing the muscles of his chest. “What do you want to do?”

Xiao Xingchen blushes. He’s not sure why it’s more embarrassing to be asked what he wants than to simply have things done to him without discussion, but it is. This is how it’s supposed to be, he knows. But he still can’t bring himself to speak.

He bites his lip as Xue Yang’s hand drifts lower. He’s still sensitive, and he grabs Xue Yang’s hand before it can reach his cock. Xue Yang pulls away and begins tracing circles on his stomach, fingers soft through the silk.

“What do normal people do?” Xingchen asks.

Xue Yang laughs. He’s nuzzling Xiao Xingchen’s throat, and Xingchen, after days of numbness, enjoys the little puff of warm air on his skin. “How should I know?”

“What have you…what have you done before? With other people?”

Xue Yang’s hand stops moving. “You wouldn’t want to hear about that.”

“Because you did something terrible?”

“Am I the only one in the world who’s capable of terrible things?”

Xingchen feels a pang of pity. He savors the pity, savors the irritation at himself for feeling pity, then savors the annoyance at his own irritation, because he should feel pity, should feel mercy. “Why don’t you try the things you wanted them to have done?”

“I don’t want to stop.” The way I wanted them to stop.

Xingchen feels a chill, then turns and kisses Xue Yang softly on the lips. “How about that?” he murmurs. “Those other times I did that, did you want me to stop? That time in the stream, I…” I have no framework to work in, he wants to say. You were my first and only. You had something I needed, and I didn't care about hurting you, after everything you'd done to me. I should have known better, never should have done something like that—

“I could have stopped you if I wanted," says Xue Yang.

“I still…I still shouldn’t have—”

"I liked it. Stop talking about it." Xue Yang kisses him back, long and deep, hands tangled in Xiao Xingchen’s hair. He moves to straddle Xiao Xingchen, laying his full weight on him, gently exploring his mouth.

“You can do more if you want,” Xingchen whispers.

“You’re really after my cum, aren’t you.”

“Don’t say it like that. And no. I just feel like…well, it should be reciprocal. I don’t like the idea of you losing yang, not that I like the idea of giving you tainted yin, either—”

“I brought you back, you’re my responsibility now. Like owning a chicken.”

Xiao Xingchen laughs. “A chicken?”

“A tame dove. That better?”

“A crane, I would think.”

“A crane,” Xue Yang corrects himself. Xiao Xingchen wants to say something about how he wouldn’t trust Xue Yang to take care of any living thing but then remembers how tender he was taking care of him. Besides, he doesn’t want to hurt Xue Yang, not right now.

Selfish, most probably. Most definitely.

This is Xue Yang.

I have to do this, he reminds himself. I have no choice. My dying now would help nobody...

A flimsy excuse, and he knows it.

But perhaps he can afford to be selfish.

Just for a few minutes.

He traces the sharp ridges of Xue Yang’s collarbones, distinct in the blue moonlight. The same face that was the last thing countless people had ever seen.

The last thing Song Lan had ever seen.

“I have some oil in my sleeve,” Xue Yang says.

“Of course you do... What do you want to do?"

“I’m already in you. My blood, I mean. But I’d rather you be in me…” Xue Yang stops. “Fully, I mean, not like just now…”

“I can, if you want, but not tonight. You already took enough yin.”

“Whatever you want.” Xue Yang is stroking the skin on Xiao Xingchen’s inner thigh, hesitantly. “Can I…”

“Yes.”

Xue Yang’s finger brushes Xiao Xingchen’s entrance. “That alright?”

“It…” It feels nice, Xiao Xingchen wants to say, but is suddenly bashful. They’d done this before, but somehow this time feels different.

But Xue Yang hesitates again, as if he too feels that something has changed.

“Here.” Xiao Xingchen rolls him over on his back, looking down at him in the moonlight. Xue Yang seems more comfortable looking up at him, relaxing under him. “Better? Here…” He grips Xue Yang’s cock gently, sliding it inside him. “That feel alright? I forgot the oil—”

Xue Yang takes a deep breath. “It’s fine. You’re already kind of slippery. Must be from me earlier.”

Xiao Xingchen thinks about that for a fraction of a second. He’s been taking a sponge bath every night, ridding himself of the soft, sweet-smelling film he keeps finding on his skin, finds clinging to his razor after shaving.

What if that odd film is inside him too?

Xue Yang rocks his hips slightly, making a little keening noise, and Xiao Xingchen forgets about the film. Slowly he begins to move. It’s easier to angle himself properly when he’s on top, and this way he can lean forward and plant kisses along Xue Yang’s jaw, his throat, his collarbone, the sigil on his chest.

Xue Yang grips his arms, craning his neck, exposing it to Xingchen’s lips. He nips slightly at it, sucking bruises into his throat between the bandages covering the mostly healed bite mark on his neck, breaking the skin over his collarbone. A few red pearls of blood rise from the tiny bite marks, and he licks them without thinking—

Then jerks away. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have—”

Xue Yang’s eyes are closed. “Go ahead,” he murmurs.

“I should have asked first—”

Xue Yang opens his eyes. “I know you wouldn't hurt me.”

Wincing, Xiao Xingchen reaches down, touches the scar Shuanghua had left on Xue Yang’s stomach. “You’re not a jar of wine. Despite everything, you’re still a human being.”

“ ‘Despite everything.’ ” Xue Yang swallows hard, looking away. The sigil on his chest is glowing, casting an eerie light over his too-pale skin. “Just drink it.”

Xiao Xingchen is still moving, very slowly. He wants to stop, all lust gone, but is suddenly desperate for the yang energy. “Xue Yang, if I ever take too much, or hurt you, you need to tell me.”

If you die, I die, he wants to add. Just to hear the words aloud, make sure he, Xiao Xingchen, the bright moon and gentle breeze, remembers why he’s doing this.

Xue Yang twists under him. “Alright, I get it. Either fuck me, or get off.”

Xiao Xingchen stops. “Why do you have to put it like that?”

“What, are we making love? Fuck, I know that’s not how it works!” He grabs Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder, pulling him deeper onto him, and begins thrusting up into him, hard. “Don’t try to pret—”

“Stop!” Xiao Xingchen pins him back on the bed. It’s an effort, Xue Yang’s thrusting reaching the bundle of nerves deep inside him, and he suddenly craves the friction again. “Did you listen to a word I said? I—oh, just let me do this, all right?”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes, then closes them as if unwilling to look at Xiao Xingchen and bites his lip.

He draws blood.

Frowning, Xiao Xingchen leans forward to kiss Xue Yang, sucking on his lip, relishing the way the blood tingles on his tongue as Xue Yang rocks up into him.

Xue Yang reaches out, slides his fingers through his hair, and suddenly Xiao Xingchen is filled with heat, the world, already sharp, bursting into full color, and he comes again, splattering Xue Yang's stomach with blood.

He rolls over but stays locked together with Xue Yang, drawing his blood out through his lip. They remain like that, Xiao Xingchen lapping gently at the blood welling from his mouth, Xue Yang softening inside him, until Xue Yang’s breathing grows slow and steady. He feels a tendril of contentment that’s not fully his curl into him, soothing him.

“Xue Yang?” he murmurs. “Are you alright?”

He thrills at the sound of his own words. “Xue Yang? Are you alright?” He suddenly wants to have sex again, fully savor the conflicted emotions he can now fully feel—the disgust, the arousal, the pity, the mingled hatred and affection—but despite it all, he’d meant everything he had said before, and is gentle when he eases Xue Yang out of him and touches his shoulder. “Xue Yang?”

Xue Yang is asleep.

Xiao Xingchen lies there for what seems like hours, watching him sleep, that odd, almost external sense of contentment slipping away as his body absorbs Xue Yang’s blood. Again he’s struck by how young and innocent he looks despite him now being older than Xingchen, despite having the blood of countless people under his nails.

Xingchen wakes long before him the next morning. He lets him sleep.

“I took too much blood,” Xiao Xingchen says as they lie there. “You have to tell me when to stop.”

Xue Yang blinks, looking out the window. The sun is high in the sky. He sits up, lip puffy. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You looked like you needed the rest," he says, and Xue Yang's eyes widen. He can't remember if he ever let Xue Yang sleep in during the old days in Yi City, that this should have such an impact now. "I told you. You can’t let me take so much blood.”

“I gave it to you.”

Xiao Xingchen sighs. “We should get moving.”

Xue Yang rolls out of bed. “I’ll go downstairs, get some food. Get you some water to wash with. Be back in a second.”

He’s only been gone a few minutes when the man from the other night opens the door Xue Yang hadn’t closed fully. He eyes the tousled bed clothes of the single bed, and grins.

“I thought so,” he said, sniffing the air. “Fucking perverts.”

Xiao Xingchen gets out of bed. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir.”

The words sound alien. This is the first person he’s spoken to other than Xue Yang.

It feels...wrong.

The man laughs in his face. “That all you going to say?”

“Please leave, sir. I’m not here to pick a fight.”

“But I am,” says a voice behind the man, and suddenly the man is on his knees, clutching at his ankles with an agonized cry.

Xue Yang grins, gripping a knife. “He bothering you?”

Xiao Xingchen stares open-mouthed. “What did you do?”

“Just nicked his tendons.” Xue Yang rolls the whimpering man into the room with his foot and shuts the door, then bends down and cuts out his tongue with a quick flip of his wrist. “Good thing I forgot my coin purse.”

“You—you—” Xingchen eyes Xue Yang’s victim in horror. The man is gripping his throat, choking on the blood spurting from his mouth, horrific burbling sounds coming from his throat.

“Oh, please. Killing him would improve the world.”

“Killing him?”

Xue Yang’s eyes are bright, body trembling in excitement. “I thought you wanted to make the world better?”

“Not by killing him!”

“Kind of too late. He’ll bleed out soon. I mean, I can always pin a blood-clotting talisman to him, but it will probably cause a stroke.” He produces a blank yellow talisman. “Or I can fix it so you can absorb his yin before he dies.”

“No! That’s—would that work?”

Xue Yang shrugs. “It’s worth a shot, if you don’t want to take my blood.” He touches the sigil on his chest, as if to say, We’re already bound, but..., and Xiao Xingchen has a sudden flashback to him raising his bound hands after his capture at the Chang Manor: “Don’t forget about me…”

“He wasn’t part of our ritual,” Xue Yang shrugs, “but I can fix it so you can take what he has if you don’t want mine.”

“It’s not that I don’t want your blood, it’s that—what am I saying? This man is bleeding out on our floor! Try the talisman!”

“The yin talisman?”

“The blood-clotting talisman! Quickly!”

“Alright, alright.” Grinning, Xue Yang nudges the man’s throat with his foot. “What’s your name, my fat friend?”

“We don’t have time for this!”

“I need it for the talisman!”

"You’re stalling!”

“I’m not stalling! These are my own design! I need his name.” Xue Yang crouches before the man, who’s lying on his side, blood bubbling over the floor. He pats him cheerfully on the cheek with his knife and pulls him up by his hair. “What’s your name? Wang? Liu? Chen?” He looks up at Xiao Xingchen, innocent as as lamb. “He’s not cooperating.”

“You cut out his tongue!”

“He basically asked me to.” Xue Yang is laughing. He seems more… alive than Xiao Xingchen has seen him in a while. Beautiful, in fact...

Xiao Xingchen takes a second to enjoy the half-arousing feeling of revulsion he’s inspired in himself, then shakes his head. “This is not what we discussed.”

“This is exactly what we discussed!” Little spots of color spot Xue Yang's white cheeks. “I saw his wife downstairs. She has a black eye. Looked fresh. If you had let me kill him last night, that would never have happened!"

It’s too late to save the man, blood-clotting talisman or no blood-clotting talisman.

The man looks up at Xiao Xingchen pleadingly, skin ashen, shaking.

"Who knows when killing someone is wrong? Or right? Nobody can tell, so why bother trying?”

Xiao Xingchen takes the knife from Xue Yang and slits the man’s jugular.

The man bleeds out within seconds, sprawling forward on the floor when Xue Yang releases his hair.

Xue Yang looks up at Xingchen, eyes like stars. “I forgot how beautiful you are when you kill.”

“Why—why would you think that was something appropriate to say to me right now? I—all I want to do is help people, but you—you made me kill again—”

Xue Yang looks confused. “You helped his wife. And he deserved it.”

“You’ve done far worse than what he did! Does that mean I should kill you?”

Xue Yang shrugs. “We’ve already been over this. Are we all packed? Guess we’re leaving through the window. Unless—” He hooks a finger in the neck of Xiao Xingchen’s robe, grinning. “How about it?”

Xiao Xingchen shoves him away. “What is wrong with you?!”

Xue Yang’s grin disappears. “Oh, like you don’t want to!”

“I just killed a man!”

“Exactly. Get off your high horse.”

“It was a mercy killing because of what you did—”

“I guess you’re right. Better hoof it before they notice the blood dripping through these shoddy floorboards.”

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t look at the body as they fly down from the window and head down the road.

Again.

Xue Yang has made him kill again—

He can’t risk night-hunting again, not unless he does it immediately after sex and blood-drinking. Can’t save people like he used to.

Can’t atone.

And now, not only is he useless, he’s actively harming people—

“You should have seen his wife,” Xue Yang says. “Face all puffed up like A-Qing’s when she ate that walnut. Are you angry?”

“Of course I’m angry!”

“Like, angry in a fun way?”

Xiao Xingchen laughs. He doesn’t want to laugh, but he hasn’t had a proper handle on his emotions since coming back to life. Either he’s too numb, or his feelings are too intense, or they’re not fully his own. “No.”

“You laughed.”

Xiao Xingchen gets himself under control. “What you did was wrong.”

“You should have seen the wife—”

“How do I know there even was a wife?” He regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth and the smile disappears from Xue Yang’s face. “I mean—”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I…”

“I did what you asked! I improved the world! Had I killed him last night when I wanted to, his wife would have been spared. So who was really right? Not you. And besides, he called you a pervert. What was I supposed to do?”

“You mean, he called you a pervert. By extension.”

“He called you a pervert,” Xue Yang insists.

Xiao Xingchen rubs his temples. “From now on, if you’re going to kill someone, you get my approval first.”

“Technically, you killed—fine. I’ll be quiet.” Xue Yang walks a bit faster.

He’s back to himself by evening, rattling on as if nothing had happened. Xiao Xingchen doesn’t say another word about the dead man, either. What can he say? If Xue Yang was telling the truth, man’s death had made the world a better place.

He just wishes it hadn’t been him who had delivered that final blow.

Xingchen’s fault, the whole thing. No more letting Xue Yang out of his sight. No more letting him roam around on his own.

If we’re busy having sex, he won’t be off killing people.

Xiao Xingchen has a sudden vision of them having sex in the room with that dead body, drinking from the man's throat while thrusting into Xue Yang, and is confused by the mixture of lust and disgust tingling along his spine. Not at the emotions themselves—lust and disgust have been his constant companions since waking—but at how much the thought of drinking blood from anyone other than Xue Yang repulses him.

He rubs the sigil branded into his chest.

Xue Yang must have known it would repulse him. Must have simply been testing him with the idea of blood from that man—

Xue Yang turns to wave at him to walk faster, and Xiao Xingchen gives up. No point in trying to puzzle it all out, figure out what Xue Yang did not did not know or intend or want. He’s not sure Xue Yang himself knows half the time.

Which is…exciting, if he’s being honest. It was the same way with Chengmei.

Except then there was no perverted morals or internal turmoil. Just companionship tinged with slight confusion over how attached he had gotten to Chengmei, and how quickly.

It hadn’t been romantic, he tells himself. Nothing near it. They had shared a bed, but that was all. They’d had to huddle together for warmth, so waking up with Chengmei wrapped around him was simply out of habit, even in summer. He’d fixed Chengmei’s hair every morning, and Chengmei often touched his arm and waist and knee, but that meant nothing…

Nothing.

They stop for the night in the forest. There’s a village nearby, but Xue Yang, practiced at fleeing from crime scenes, votes not to attempt it, and Xiao Xingchen has no desire to approach people, and not just because of what had happened in the inn.

Xiao Xingchen glances at his hands as they settle down. For now they’re strong enough to grip a sword, but he still wouldn’t trust himself on a night-hunt, and he’s kept Shuanghua in his qiankun pouch.

He hopes Xue Yang doesn’t suggest one. Rub in the fact that Xingchen is near useless…

It’s warm that night, but Xue Yang sleeps in his full robes, with Jiangzai drawn beside him. He’s never quite at ease while sleeping outside, Xiao Xingchen notices. Hasn’t truly been relaxed since they left the Coffin House, except when he was bent over that man.

Lips parted. Eyes sparkling—

He dwells on that thought as he stares up at the stars, glimmering brightly through the treetops against the deep purple sky. How beautiful Xue Yang looked. How animated. The bringer of so much death, yet so alive—

He rolls over and kisses Xue Yang. Enjoys the softness of his lips, the heat of his tongue, the way Xue Yang melts into him.

Enjoys feeling like an ordinary human being, not like a cultivator or a corpse.

Xue Yang often makes him feel like that, he realizes as kisses him. Like an ordinary human being with regrets and wants and conflicting thoughts and feelings. Treats him like an imperfect being, at least in this new second life. Fights with him, yells at him, throws tantrums and argues with him.

He likes it more than he should. He shouldn't relish being seen for the imperfect being that he is—should want to be held to a higher standard—

He dwells on this thought, knows the sex will be made more potent by the disgust he feels at himself, until Xue Yang's tongue and hands drive all thought from his mind.

It’s slow and lazy, with Xiao Xingchen on top. He drinks from Xue Yang’s arm as he rocks into him, letting his lip and collarbone heal. He’s careful not to take too much blood, just enough to keep him balanced the next day.

"You can take more if you want," Xue Yang whispers. "Take whatever you need..."

He falls asleep curled up beside Xue Yang, boneless and relaxed, but Xue Yang still sleeps with one hand on Jiangzai.

They travel for two weeks like that, sleeping under the stars.

Night-hunting, a few times. Or what Xue Yang refers to as night-hunting. Xingchen is of little use, even directly after sex and blood. He can take care of himself, but as far as taking on direct threats, or protecting Xue Yang—

“We’ll get you back up to full strength,” promises Xue Yang after he kills a spirit beast entirely on his own. “We’ll have you laying waste to the local demons in no time.”

Xiao Xingchen nods. He wishes he had put it another way. Laying waste. Destroying things...

He’d never balked at killing creatures that needed killing. Relished it, if anything. Shifu had spoken to him about it a few times, tried to help him reconcile his merciless half with the half that was almost too compassionate.

But now, when he was closer to fierce corpse than a living thing himself—

He wants to give life. Not take it.

But they're both happy enough, for the most part.

The first shadow is cast when they stop by a village to replenish their supplies.

“Take two eggplants,” urges the old man at the produce stall. “You boys look pale.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Xue Yang snaps. Seconds before he had been smiling, looking around for a stall that sold candy, but now his knife is out. “Just give me the fucking eggplant!”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Xiao Xingchen says quickly, bowing. The words are heavy on his tongue. He hasn’t spoken to anyone other than Xue Yang since that terrible night in Tanzhou, and with Xue Yang there's no need to be artificially polite. He’s feeling jumpy surrounded by all these people, and his gait is unsteady, the world somewhat…not blurred, exactly, but distant. As if his knowing he does not belong where people live has created a physical barrier in the air, something preventing him from reaching out and touching the things around him. “He didn’t mean it.”

“ ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ ” Xue Yang mimics as they walk away from the stall.

“Why was that your reaction to kindness?”

“He was just trying to make a sale.”

“He was trying to give you one for free.”

“Oh?” Xue Yang glances over his shoulder. “You wait here. I’ll go get another.”

“I’ll come with you—”

Xue Yang forcibly seats him on a broken-down fence in an alley. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Stay here.”

Xiao Xingchen tries to follow him, but it’s so hot, and his legs heavy, as if they’re not attached properly at the joints—

He glances around the alley. The crowded buildings look almost—wobbly—

He closes his left eye. There. Slightly better…

Xue Yang returns, whistling, cheerful again. “All ready,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“What’s that sound?”

Xue Yang glances over his shoulder at the commotion rising from the marketplace. “Oh, just some bandits.”

“Just some bandits?”

Xue Yang hauls him to his feet. “There’s no real government in place around here, not since the war. Just a lot of squabbling little sects. Come on. We don’t want to get caught up in this. Well, you wouldn’t, anyway.”

Xiao Xingchen takes a few steps, but the heat is making it hard to move quickly.

A man appears at the end of the alley, holding a long thin knife.

“Don’t!” says Xiao Xingchen when Xue Yang draws Jiangzai.

Huffing in annoyance, Xue Yang grabs him by the hand and flies over the rooftops. As they fly over the town they have a full view of the bandits ransacking the marketplace—

So Xue Yang had been telling the truth. A part of Xingchen had assumed Xue Yang had done something to cause the commotion.

He takes a closer look as they fly past, squinting. The old man from before lies slumped over his produce stall, blood staining the flagstones.

“Stop!” Xiao Xingchen clutches at Xue Yang’s arm. "They need help!"

“Make up your mind, dammit!” Xue Yang drops him on a roof and remains balanced on Jiangzai. “Are you telling me I can do what I need to do?”

“There has to be a sect around here somewhere, go find them, they can arrest them—”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Xue Yang dives down into the marketplace, laughing, both of Jiangzai’s blades extended.

Xiao Xingchen drags himself to the edge of the roof. The tiles are like a griddle, and all around him is that same sweet smell from the Coffin House courtyard.

Which is quickly overwhelmed by the scent of blood, thick on the humid air. It envelopes him as Jiangzai whirls around Xue Yang, slaughtering the bandits like he’s harvesting wheat.

Xiao Xingchen watches, left eye covered. He counts eighteen bandits total, rapidly reduced to seventeen, then sixteen, then fifteen—

He wants to cry out for Xue Yang to stop, but all he can do is watch as Xue Yang slaughters them all. Not efficiently. Nowhere near efficiently.

He’s enjoying himself.

This is what he looked like as he turned the Chang Clan and Baixue Temple into slaughterhouses, Xingchen thinks as he watches Xue Yang, Jiangzai spinning so fast his one good eye can’t follow it, deftly cutting and slashing and thrusting with a brutal elegance, lopping off an arm there, a leg there. A predator playing with its food.

This is Xue Yang in his element. Xiao Xingchen can pretend he domesticated him, but he knows it’s a lie.

Xue Yang laughs as he kills the last bandit, his half-hysterical giggle floating up on the scent of blood, wrapping around Xiao Xingchen, and all Xingchen can think of is the last time he heard him laugh like that. Of Xue Yang’s manic laughter as he taunted him: “ ‘Save the world’? What a joke! You can’t even save yourself! Xiao Xingchen, you achieved nothing! A complete failure. You brought this on yourself! You deserve it!”

He drags himself forward, needing to see Xue Yang’s face, see how he had looked as he watched Xiao Xingchen kill Song Lan—

The last thing he remembers is falling off the edge of the roof.

****

Enjoy? AO3!

#xue yang #xiao xingchen #xuexiao #mdzsnet #fymdzs #fytheuntamed #theuntameddaily #lotus writes #Consume Me Slowly

[whenimaunicorn]

Training Exercise

The Mandalorian x female Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian is testing you. Again. This time you hit him with a strategy he doesn’t expect, and he comes back with an equally unexpected response.

Content Tags: Explicit, roleplay, dom/sub vibes, dirty talk, bondage, armor kink (I didn’t think I meant to do that but damn if it isn’t all over this fic), slight gunplay, slight breathplay, rough sex

Cold metal cuffs slam around your wrists, the sound of the locking mechanism a loud, ominous snick.

“What the fuck, Mando?” you sputter, dropping your spoon into the bowl in front of you.

“How would you get out of this?”

Stars. Another test. You push down your rising irritation with a deep inhale, sitting up straight and letting your imprisoned forearms rest on the edge of the table down in the hold of the Razor Crest. “So I’ve been captured?” you ask, probing for the parameters of the exercise he has in mind.

“Yes.” He stands a few feet away from you, leaning against the bulkhead, settling in to observe. “Now you’re in a holding cell. One guard.”

You smirk at him. “You’re the guard?”

His helmet inclines a few inches. “What’s your play?”

The question is delivered evenly, soft and simple, with only the tiniest note of challenge. He still doesn’t believe you can handle yourself as well as you say you can. The reminder gets your hackles up. “I’m not really in the mood for this.”

“You think I care if you’re in the mood?” The modulator does little to smooth the harshness with which he barks the statement.

You try not to flinch. Getting into his role already; at least, you try to tell yourself that’s all his change in tone means. Plus, it’s kind of hot when he yells at you. Not that you’d let him know that.

You sigh, and prop your elbows up on the table, examining the cuffs. They are a solid piece, two inches thick in a figure eight shape with a seam in the clasp so flush that it’s almost invisible. There’s an interface on it above your wrists, placed where your own fingers couldn’t possibly reach but would be convenient to your captors. You know enough about this model to know there’s a way to hack the lock, but not enough to actually be able to do it.

You look over at the Mandalorian. He’s facing you squarely now, thumbs resting in his utility belt, the helmet’s eye slit angled like he’s watching you closely. He doesn’t move a muscle, just waiting to see what you’ll do.

You do your best to ignore the tingling feeling his intimidation sends washing through your body. You feel the weight of his gaze like the heat of a sun against the cheek and shoulder that are angled toward him as you look back down at the cuff around your wrists.

What’s your play? he had asked. You arch your back a little more, giving the Mandalorian a better view of your body. You’ve got tricks he can’t teach you, and your irritation has turned into an overwhelming urge to rub that in, now. You sit poised like a pin-up girl as you pick up the spoon from your abandoned meal and stick it backwards into your mouth, then use the chisel-shaped back end of it to probe clumsily at the locking mechanism.

Mando shifts in the corner of your vision, moving just a little bit closer. “You know I can see you, right?” The edge of derision in his voice only spurs you on.

You look up at him, shifting the spoon in your mouth so he has to watch your pink tongue lick out along the edge of it. His upper body pulls back with a start. “I know.” You smile lasciviously around the stick of metal. “If I was alone with one guard, I’d convince him to step closer to me.”

The lower edge of his helmet drops in acknowledgement, and then his blaster clears its holster, in his hand and pointed straight at you faster than you can blink. “Cut that out. Drop the spoon.”

You turn in your chair, knees spread just a little immodestly, so the bottom edge of your tunic creates an intriguing little darkness between your legs for your “guard” to ponder. It’s hard to decide if the man behind the helmet is taking the bait, but you’re going to carry on your demonstration as best you can. You hold the spoon between your teeth and then relax your jaw, turning your lips into a pouty little ‘o’ as the spoon falls straight down into your lap. You suck in a big breath that makes your breasts swell as you look down at it, nestled between your thighs. “Come and get it.”

The Mandalorian seems to hesitate. “Is this really your best strategy?”

“You’d be surprised how often it works.”

His visor is angled just a little too low for you to think he’s looking at your face. He could, of course, take the exercise in any direction that he wants. He could play a guard that’s smarter than his libido right now, or one that doesn’t find you attractive at all. So maybe it means something when he chooses to relax his grip on the blaster, and steps closer, playing along. “It’s no use trying to escape,” he intones, resuming the game as he looms over you, blaster still pointed at your head, though at a lazier angle.

It shouldn’t be as hot is it, to stare up at the enigmatic Mandalorian warrior from your helpless position like this. Though the warm, prickling feeling that spreads through your lower body only makes the game easier. You form your lips into a little pout. “I’ve got to do something to pass the time.” You extend one foot, ankle making contact with the inside of his knee, then slide it up between his legs, past the defense of the metal plates on his thighs. You stare at his eye slit the whole time, tongue peeking out to play at the bottom of your teeth. “You want to put something else in my mouth?”

You feel him flinch. But to his credit, he leans into his discomfort, and into your personal space. “You’d like that.” His words come out in that flat, measured way he has, but the underlying tone is somewhere between brusque and incredulous.

You’re not sure if you’re freaking him out or turning him on, but a heady rush of excitement propels you forward. You give him a slow, sultry shrug as you stare up at him. “Maybe I’ve got a thing for being tied up.” You rock your ankle back and forth against his inner thigh.

The Mandalorian stares down at you, maddeningly still. His body language only shifts when he finally speaks. “Did I mention the guard is a Gamorrean? A particularly ugly one.”

He’s teasing you. You can just imagine a shit-eating grin extending behind his beskar mask. You reach your cuffed arms up, refusing to back down. “Then I’d be sure to stroke a finger down his tusk.” His helmet is cold under your fingertip as you dare to mime the action, sliding your touch down the groove of his iron cheek.

The blaster pointed vaguely at your temple never wavers. You’re close enough now to see that it’s not currently armed, though that information does little to dampen the chill of having a weapon aimed at your head, in a hand that has never hesitated to kill. Mando leans in and presses his other hand between your legs, retrieving the spoon. He takes his time about it, just as a big ugly half-seduced guard would do, digging his fingers unnecessarily into your soft thighs and dragging his knuckles against the sensitive spot between.

Your breath catches. You had been bluffing; you wouldn’t actually enjoy this if he had been a real guard of any species, but when Mando is the one groping between your legs you can’t help but spread them a little wider.

His head is only inches from yours. You stare into the eye slit of his helmet, knowing that somewhere behind there he’s staring right back at you. The shape of the beskar knows only one emotion: menace. You have no fucking idea what expression lies behind the mask.

His knuckle rolls again, right over your clit, making hot arousal bloom so hard and fast that your muscles turn to jelly.

His helmet tilts, and he speaks in his quiet voice again. “You’re not making your move now?”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up. Mando assumed you were luring the guard inside your reach so you could whip out some kind of flashy combat skills and disable him. Of course he did. That’s what he would do.

Evidently, you take too long to respond. He removes your opportunity to act. “Get up!” The Mandalorian grabs at the cuff around your wrists, yanking you to your feet. He holsters the blaster as he crowds your body, backing you up into the wall. Cold beskar presses between your thighs, making sure your legs stay open as you slam back against the bulkhead.

You resist a little on instinct, your mind now torn between winning the game and just enjoying the feeling of his body against yours. He overpowers you easily, forcing your hands up over your head. There’s a clicking sound, and then both of Mando’s gloved palms are running down your arms, though they’re still locked in place. He’s magnetized the wrist cuff to the bulkhead. Fuck. You didn’t know it could do that.

His beskar face looms just inches above your own. His grip doesn’t flinch as his hands run down from your arms to your flanks, feeling along your ribs in a touch that’s more sexually charged than you’d thought him capable of. “You’ve chosen a strategy that can get you in over your head, fast.” His voice sounds a little tight behind the modulator. His hands slide down to grip your waist. “Would you really let it get this far?” You can hear him breathing now, fast and hard. His fingers knead at the tops of your hips. “Dirty yourself, letting a filthy guard touch you this way?” There’s a hint of a whine under his accusatory tone, and you start to think the Mandalorian might be even more turned on by this game than you are.

You don’t answer, not sure what to say that wouldn’t ruin whatever’s starting to happen. Mando’s hands travel up your body, thumbs daring to skim underneath your breasts.

“No play yet?” he challenges, voice sounding a little lower, a little rougher. “Still not ready to make your move? This is only going to get worse for you.” His palms skim over your tits, but he seems to be holding himself back, barely making contact. “Better do something before he starts taking off your clothes.”

Absolutely you want him to start taking off your clothes. But this is just a training exercise, isn’t it? You’ll probably just make things awkward if you delay any longer, sitting here enjoying an excuse to get groped by the Mandalorian. Time to make your next play. “Okay big boy,” you purr, barely keeping a straight face as you try to imagine seducing a giant pig-man, “let me make you feel really good.” You slide your cheek against Mando’s helmet, dropping your voice into a throaty half-whisper above where his ear would be. “Give me one of my hands free, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

He pulls the pressure of his body off yours, just a little. Considering. You writhe against him, whispering ‘please’ and dragging your knee up the inside of his leg to show him where your hand would want to go. Before you can make contact with your target, Mando reaches up and presses a button on the cuff. “That… that would probably work on a big, dumb guard. I’ll give you that.” His voice sounds a little breathy, but he’s rallying himself. “Let’s see what you can accomplish with only one hand.”

The steel around one of your wrists retreats. The other one remains locked to the wall. “Oh, I can do plenty,” you say, bringing your palm down to the cloth-covered opening between his helmet and pauldron. It’s hard to grope a man wearing full body armor; all you can do is massage at that firm muscle that connects his shoulder and neck, hoping that the pressure feels nice through the canvas-like fabric that covers his skin here.

His fingers flex where they span your waist, a sudden dig that seems involuntary. He can’t be used to even such a blunted touch as this one, you suppose. He turns his gesture into a more obscene caress, sliding down your hips, grinding your pelvis tighter against the beskar thigh thrust between your legs. You don’t have to fake the moan that falls from your throat.

“Definitely a dirty girl,” he says, and squeezes your ass with both hands. Now you’re really not sure if he’s speaking as the guard or himself. His voice has dropped low and the modulator can’t smooth out the pleasure that’s thickening it. “Offering yourself up like this…” His cold helmet presses against your temple as the Mandalorian brings his whole body closer, nestling his head between your cheek and your upraised arm, the one that’s still locked to wall of the ship above your head. He grunts as he digs his fingers into the widest part of your bottom, and you groan. “You like it rough?”

“Yeah,” you moan, not sure if you’re playing your character anymore either, afraid to say anything that might make him stop. You abandon his neck to slide your free hand down past the beskar chestplate, seeking warmth in the space at his flank where something approaching soft and human is accessible to your touch. You can feel him breathing here, fast and deep. His hips writhe, pressing that solid flesh above his lower ribs more firmly into your palm.

“So pliant. So soft.” His tone has gone softer, appreciative. One hand stays on your ass while the other travels up your back, scooping you closer to him, until your chest is flattened by solid metal as he all but dry humps you against the wall.

Your fingers tease at his belt line, searching for entrance. A splash of nerves cools your belly at this point; you’ve never seen the Mandalorian undressed in any way, and you worry how he might react to you trying to get under his clothes. There’s always the chance you’re mis-reading this situation horribly. He’ll stop you if you cross a line, you’re certain, but you want to go slowly enough to make sure the sin is not too egregious.

Mando seems to sense your hesitation, slowing down too. “If you’re thinking about going for my gun,” he says, “you’re telegraphing.”

Apparently, he still thinks you’re thinking about the training exercise. He hasn’t lifted his head from where it’s nestled into your shoulder, however. His hands have slowed but they’re still cupping you.

“Not going for your gun.” Your fingers skim along his lower belly, finding the buckle of his belt.

“No?” Mando breathes.

You squeeze the clasp, releasing it with a click that seems way louder than it should be in the empty galley of the ship. His exhale carries just enough vocalization for the modulator to pick it up, sounding akin to and yet wholly different from the heavy sighs that escape him when you or the child are being frustrating. He gives you no other reaction but that.

You dare to stick one finger down inside his waistband. His heavy shirt is tucked in and so you still haven’t contacted any skin. You can’t even pretend to try to read his face, with the front of his helmet still pressed into the crook of your neck. Your finger tugs at his clothes and his body shifts against you but you can’t tell if he’s pulling away or shifting to give you better access.

You lose your nerve. “And then I would,” you narrate, stopping yourself, “you know…” Your finger points down toward his cock, trying not to think about what it would feel like to scoop your hand over it, wondering if you would find it hard or soft…

He lifts his head, only far enough to stare into your face through that shielded slit in his helmet. After a short, measured silence, he speaks. “Go ahead.”

Somehow you can’t wrap your head around the statement. “Um, what?” You feel your hand curling up, starting to withdraw in an awkward defensive reflex, though one finger is still stuck inside his waistband.

He cocks his head, and you can just feel him taking your measure. His open hands caress up and down your back, and your body responds, curling into the touch. You realize your mouth is hanging open as you continue to meet his impenetrable beskar gaze.

“Don’t you want to see if your plan is going to work? I know I do.”

Well, fuck. You rotate your wrist and press your whole palm into his lower belly, fingers pointing down. You can actually feel his warmth here, and the way his breathing speeds up as you slide your hand lower against him. When your fingertips reach bare skin he moans. It sounds like he tried to keep it in but it just slipped out anyway. He clutches you closer to him again as you skim down along course hairs and hot skin.

What is happening here? Does he really want you to wrap your fingers around his cock, like you’re so close to doing right now? His whole body is tense, you realize, and his fingers are digging into your skin almost painfully.

You slow your approach, not wanting him to snap under that tension. Or for him to snap you. You scratch your fingertips softly into the trail of hairs you feel leading you toward your prize.

“Fuck,” he groans, and pushes his whole body against you, all but crushing you against the bulkhead.

Now you can’t move your hand. But in the midst of all the hard edges of his armor, you can feel one thing poking into you that definitely isn’t beskar.

So the Mandalorian does want you. His helmet presses into the crook of your neck; you just know that if it weren’t in the way he’d be mouthing open kisses all over your throat. He keeps your hand trapped between the press of your bodies, the other still cuffed up to the wall, while his roam freely all over you. This time when he reaches your breasts he lets himself feel, scooping over your pillowy flesh and trapping a nipple between his thumb and the side of his hand.

The pressure is just short of pain and you mewl at the pleasure and desire it sends blooming up through your core. Your reaction encourages him and he tears at the opening in the front of your tunic, struggling to get at your bare flesh.

The savagery pulls a gasp from your throat, and that sound makes him pause. “I said this strategy was a dangerous game.” His helmet shifts so he can get a better look at your face. “Do you want to keep going?”

You nod. “I like this game.”

His real voice, not the aggressive character, slides out soft and even from the modulator. “I like it too.”

You press your hand harder, down where it’s trapped between your bellies, tickling your fingers toward his root. “Then let’s keep playing.”

The groan that reaches your ears through his modulator might be the most delicious sound you’ve ever heard, as he changes the angle of his hips and gives you room to reach him. Well, it was the most delicious sound, until you hear the next one to come out of his mouth, even deeper, even longer, as you find his thick shaft and curl your fingers eagerly around it.

His length had been stuck a little down one pant leg. He gives a pleasured hiss as you free him from the confinement, scooping him in your palm to point straight up between your bodies. One of his hands leaves your waist just so he can hold himself up against the wall; you must have made him go a little weak in the knees. You purr a little “mmm” in the back of your throat in satisfaction, to see the Mandalorian in such a state. His cock is thick and velvety smooth and already twitching in your palm as you give him a few slow, steady pumps.

His noise of pleasure is almost a wail, and without warning he slams a palm into the center of your chest, pushing you back into the bulkhead again. His fingers slide up to bridge your throat, exerting just enough pressure to set warning bells off in your head, and to slow your hand.

“Fu-uck,” is all he says by way of explaining himself. Then he uses both hands to pull your tunic up your body, exposing everything above your leggings to the cool air jetting from the ship’s recyclers all at once. “Off,” he growls as he tugs the fabric against your armpits, forcing you to let go of his glorious cock and let him pull the tunic off over your arm and head.

With your left arm still cuffed to the wall, the shirt has to just kind of hang there on one shoulder, but Mando has succeeded in freeing the soft flesh of your neck, your chest, and your belly. He gazes down at you for an endless moment, then begins to assault everything he has exposed with hands covered in gloves and arms coated in steel.

You know that his gloves are augmented with some kind of sensors that transmit more information than the leather look of them would imply. You wonder what your pebbled nipples and rarely-bared skin feel like to him. He certainly has the touch of someone with perfect sensitivity as he sculpts and squeezes you; he plays with your nipples and adores the rest of your flesh until you’re panting for him.

You shove your hand back into his pants. You have to make him feel how he’s making you feel, to return this sweet torture. He moans again, and thrusts himself into your hand.

You strain against the wrist that’s cuffed to the wall. If only—of course. The plan hits you all at once. While you’re dying to explore these unexpected sexytimes with Mando, your pride is still itching at you to try and win the game.

“I-I want you, babe,” you say, making the sound of the words bottom out in your throat. “Want you in my mouth.” You squeeze him from root to tip and try to drop down in front of him, dangling off the cuff like you’ve lost all control. “Please let me—let me get on my knees for you.”

Mando curses through his teeth and presses the button to release your wrist without even hesitating. As your arm falls you lean into him, feigning like you’re going to do just as you said. Then you square your stance and twist, shoving him toward the wall, using your grip on his cock like a handle. In a real fight you would have hurt him bad right there, but this is just practice, just training. Just an exercise. You don’t squeeze him hard enough to do any damage.

And as soon as you’ve twisted his momentum to the side, you’re pushing off the wall, sprinting for the hatch out of the hold, and sweet, sweet victory.

A hand like iron clamps onto your shoulder; something catches your leg, and then you’re falling, with a heavy body riding you down. You twist into the fall so it’s not ugly, absorbing the impact with thigh and forearms. Then the Mandalorian is pressing your bare chest into the decking.

“Don’t think you got away with anything, there,” he says as he climbs more firmly on top of you. You turn your head to see his beskar face looming near your cheek. “I knew what you were up to.”

“Then why did it work?”

“I just wanted to feel you run.” He presses his body over yours, armor plates grinding into your thighs and back, shoving your hips flat against the deck too so you have no leverage to try and escape. “Now. What were you saying about your mouth?” His hand leaves your shoulder to grab up a section of your hair, tugging tight at the back of your head, forcing your face up toward him. “Ready to make good on that promise?”

You nod, frantically, but as much as you’d love to suck him down, the feeling of his whole body grinding you into the deck is driving you crazy. You curl your ass up against him, with the tiny amount of movement his pressure will allow. You want more than anything else for him to just fuck you through the floor right here.

Mando’s hand runs down your naked side, pushing at the waistband of your leggings when he reaches them. “Or maybe I’ll just—”

“Yes!” you cry, “oh please,” arching your back, scrambling to help him get your clothes out of the way.

His answering growl roars wild and alien through the modulator right beside your ear. You take more of his weight as his chest presses against your upper body so he can use both hands to clear all the barriers  below your waists. You can choose to help him with your hands too, or you can hold yourself up with your forearms so you have room to actually breathe under his crushing weight.

You choose to sacrifice your breath. Your bare chest crushes into the cold decking as you shove your leggings down past your ass, and spit into your fingers so you can lubricate his path. That thick cock of his might have a hard time getting in, in a position like this, but it’s going to be so worth it.

Cool beskar gauntlets slide against your lower back and ass as Mando’s hands work at his own trousers in the small space between your bodies. His panting breath crackles through the modulator above your ear, sounding even louder since you can barely suck a breath in yourself under his weight. He moans when he notices you stroking your own slit, readying the way for him. You’ve worked your hand under one hip so you can reach yourself even as he’s crushing you. You’re already wetter than you expected, but you make sure to drag that moisture all over your sensitive folds.

As soon as he’s gotten himself free you feel his fat head probing at you. Some of the pressure comes off your chest as he slams his other hand against the deck near your face, holding himself up so he has a little more control. You think at first that he’s lining himself up, as Mando swirls himself around your entrance, and so you arch your back, present your hips as much as you can for him. As he keeps moving you realize he’s playing; savoring, scooping that moisture all over his tip before finally deciding to press inside.

The stretch is intense, and it just keeps coming. Now you have another reason not to be able to breathe. The pleasure in that invasion is white-hot and overwhelming, and he feels impossibly long, impossibly deep as he flattens you into the floor like this. You relax everything and focus on just taking it, on taking him.

Finally, finally, the timeless plunge reaches its end, as his hips come to rest against your bottom. He stays there, arms scooping around your shoulders, helmet pressed against your cheek, and lets out a long, shuddering exhale. Then he starts pumping. Long, measured, relentless thrusts drill into you, each one as deep and overwhelming as the first. The pleasure rips through you like a wildfire, melting and invigorating your limbs both at once.

And in this position you don’t have to do anything. Just lay there and take it, let Mando claim you, press further and further until you feel like your entire being is nothing but the cunt he’s hammering into, a vessel for pleasure as he grunts and curses above you, losing himself just the same in the meeting of your bodies.

Your pleasure builds, clamoring for release. You realize one of your hands is still trapped under your body, and with the small movement your current state will allow you to make, you get your finger onto your clit.

It doesn’t take much, just the slightest targeted pressure, to harness the wild ecstasy that’s been building in your core. Your muscles lock, your body clamps, and all that needy pleasure spirals so intense that you hear a rushing in your ears.

“Oh, fuck, are you coming?” Mando groans, his modulated voice so close and yet a million miles away. He presses deeper, more eagerly at the very idea, and that pushes you right over the edge. You wail like an animal and curl up under him, except you can’t, the floor’s too solid, he’s too solid, and you cum with every muscle in your body straining against a steel prison that keeps you flat and helpless.

He rides you through it all, pumping faster, harder, grunting with the effort and making your orgasm feel like it’s never going to end under the relentless way he fucks you. Even when the crest passes and your body goes limp, he keeps going, driving himself like your lives depend on it, as relentless as you’ve seen him in battle. Tears form in your eyes as his cock won’t let your body come down. You feel everything inside you tensing up for another orgasm by the time his breathing goes ragged and you know he’s close too.

When the Mandalorian comes he finally lets it all go, burying himself in you to the hilt and wailing with a sound so raw it makes your heart crack and your body clench around him. Your second orgasm makes the tears fall from your eyes; all your limbs collapse together as your cunt milks every last drop of his release out of him.

The first one to move after the rush fades is him; his helmet comes into view from where you lay with your cheek pressed against the deck. His leather-tipped finger soaks up the tear that was threatening to fall over the bridge of your nose. “Was—” his voice is thick and he has to clear his throat before he can continue, “—was I too rough?”

You make a reassuring sound, the closest you can get to words for a moment. You shake your head, just a little. “Fuck. No. Loved that.”

You wonder if that makes him smile behind the mask. Your voice came out raspy, made you both conscious of the fact that most of the weight of a seasoned warrior, plus a hell of a lot of solid beskar, still lies squarely on top of you. While the sensation was a turn-on, you still make a little sound of relief when he rolls off you, laying on his back by your side.

His helmeted head rolls to face you. You’re sure you look like a hot mess, laying there mostly naked, ass up, with your face in the deck, but you feel amazing. Mando reaches up one gloved hand and presses two fingertips lightly to your lips. It feels like a kiss, so you purse your lips and kiss back, keeping your eyes locked on his eye slit. He lifts his hand to your temple, brushing his fingers through your mussed hair.

“I guess you showed me.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s referring to the training exercise. “I thought you said it didn’t work on you.”

His helmet inclines. “It worked.”

You smile. Maybe you preen, just a little. “Satisfied, then, that I can handle myself?”

“Definitely not.”

He just lays there while you pout at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He lifts his arm, beckoning you to peel yourself off the floor and come cuddle against him. You pull your tunic back on before you comply; bare skin against beskar doesn’t sound quite as appealing now that the heat of passion has fled.

You cuddle into the crook of his arm, finding a decent enough pillow on the inside of his bicep. Only once he’s got you curled against him to his liking, does he explain himself. “You are not going to be fucking your way out of trouble while you’re with me,” he says matter-of-factly. “I forbid it.”

You try not to let him feel you shiver at what his tone does to you. “Is that so.”

“It is.”

“If you don’t respect my skills—”

“I do,” he cuts you off. “But they’re only for me, now.” His body shifts where you’re curled against him, his hand clutching against your back. “We can play this game again, as often as you like, but..” he reaches over and slaps your ass hard enough to sting, “now I’ve also got to start teaching you how to actually fight.”

My Mando Smut Masterlist

Taglist is open, and I’m taking requests: @equalstrashflavoredtrash @laketaj24 @themaskismyface @pascallorian @shadowfoxey​ @pinstripeninja13​ @thatkidofwarandpeace​ @no-droids

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandowhorians

[mazzy-moon]

A Lone Butterfly - Chapter 14

Title of Chapter: Hide Out

Word Count: 2.6k (mostly smut)

Warnings/Tags: Explicit Language, Significantly younger ofc, Smut, Foreplay, Sex

Pairing: Javier Peña (Narcos) x Isabel Cotrille (OFC)

Summary:  After Javier leaves, Isabel's anger and frustration with him grow. Later, she and Javier are forced to confront each other, finally acknowledging the tension that's been building between them.

Notes: I didn’t want to give away everything in the warnings, but this chapter contains explicit sexual content. 18+ only, please.

This ended up taking me way longer to write than I imagined...

Hope you enjoy reading this. It’s a good one. x

Read it on ao3

It doesn't take long before Javier has left and Sanz shows up. I'm furious. He knows what the cartel did to me better than anyone, yet still he's forced me here against my will. I might as well go back to Oregon. I would be put back into Witness Protection, but at least I'd be more free than I am now.

I can tell Sanz isn't exactly enthusiastic about the baby sitting job she's been assigned, but she tries to hide it somewhat out of consideration.

"You know, he's only doing this for your own good."

"Don't start."

"But he's right. If you go and get yourself tangled up in this, we'll have an even bigger mess on our hands."

"I know." Arguing with her would be useless.

_______________

The day passes agonizingly slowly as I sit with my anger, unable to do anything about it. I try thinking about what I'll say to Javier when he comes back. Maybe I won't even say anything. I've never been a violent person, but I think if Javier were here right now I would slap him for putting me in such a position of helplessness. He said he trusted me once, though it's clear that can no longer be true.

At one point I try to lure Sanz out of the room by feigning hunger. She doesn't take the bait, and instead has food brought to us. I switch on the television in an effort to distract myself.

After a while, I've stopped counting the hours as they pass. The light outside suggests night is not far off. Worry starts to trickle in. Not for the first time today I wonder what Javier's team uncovered at the location. Did they arrive only to find out Matías lied to them?  Was it a a set up? Despite my anger at him, I'm anxious to see Javier, to know he's okay. I get up from my seat on the couch, suddenly restless, and start pacing the room.

Sanz's phone rings and she steps outside to answer it. Once she's back, her calm demeanor from before is gone.

"Pack up your things.  Peña's on his way and wants you ready to go once he gets here."

"But why-"

"You're not safe here any longer, just do as he says."

Fear replaces my anger. I don't argue with her.

Soon after my things are all stuffed into the suitcase, Javier crashes through the door. He barely looks at me before hauling my luggage in one arm and tugging me out the door with the other.

"C'mon," he says, his voice rough. "We've gotta get out of here now. The cartel knows you're in Columbia."

My eyes go wide as I allow him to lead me to the waiting car. He throws my things in the back before placing me in the passenger seat. He explains the details to me as we're driving.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"The Embassy's got a place a ways out, a hide out. You'll stay there until we get the cartel under control."

"So he was lying."

"Not entirely. When we got to the location, some of Matías's men were there. They ambushed us. Somehow, they must have found out we were coming. There's no way that's where they're keeping the girls though."

"How do they know I'm here?"

Javier's looks out the window, despondent.

"I went back to Matías's cell after the ambush, to confront him. During our... chat, he revealed that he and his gang knew the moment you arrived. Somehow, he's had eyes on you the entire time."

"Why not just send me back to Oregon?"

"We can't be sure they won't track you there also. They already have once. For whatever reason, whoever is operating this cartel is hell bent on getting to you."

I remain silent, stunned. How has the cartel been able to track my movements so closely? More importantly, why bother? They've already replaced me with at least a dozen other girls.

Javier and I drive for hours until it's well past dark. We pull up to a dirt road and drive down it for what seems like an eternity. As we near a little cottage, I notice a river bank running not far off. The car comes to a halt just in front of the house and Javier steps out to get me. The place looks like a setting for a horror movie, but I say nothing as we walk inside.

_______________

Now that the panic has settled somewhat, I remember the rage I felt from before. I remember the rough way in which he spoke to me, the way his hands dug into my arms as he tried to reason with me. And then, the door slamming behind him as he left, locking me inside. Deep down, I know he was only trying to protect me, but it still hurt. I wanted to be useful, wanted to help the women who were now in the same position I was once in. It seemed, though, I wasn't going to get that chance.

He flips the lights on and locks the door behind him. The place is surprisingly cozy.

"Are we safe here?"

"It's secure. Only a small number of people know this place even exists."

There's a tense silence between us as I consider bringing up what took place this morning. The events of the evening have made it seem less important. Before I decide, he beats me to it.

"I know you're still mad about this morning, Isabel."

I refuse to respond to him, so he continues.

"Just so you know, I wouldn't have done what I did if I didn't think it was the only way to keep you safe. If I had to, I would do it again."

My eyes meet his finally and I know he can see the defiance in them.

"I know you hate me for it. As long as I know I'm keeping my promise to look after you, you can hate me all you want."

I remain silent for a moment before responding.

"I don't hate you, Javi." I stare down at my hands, suddenly unable to keep eye contact as I make my confession. "I don't think I ever could. I just... don't like feeling like that. Helpless."

I glance back up to him, and his expression breaks me. Unable to control it, and annoyed that I can't, my eyes begin to water. I quickly look back down at my hands.

The floorboards creak as he closes the distance between us. He towers over me as he gently grabs hold of my upper arms.

"You're not helpless, Isabel. You never have been. Even when you were captured, you found a way out. It was you who took Matías's eye from him. You've always been strong. And brave. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve to be protected."

My throat closes up as his words warm me. Somehow he knew exactly what I needed to hear. I feel guilty for ever doubting him. I want to respond, but can't seem to figure out how.

He holds my face in his hands and brushes my tears off with his thumbs.

"Shh, baby, don't cry."

He pulls me into a hug. His smoky scent hits me and I feel instantly better. Clinging to him, I savor the strong feel of his arms around me. The urgency of our situation combined with our close proximity causes an overwhelming sweep of emotion to wash over me. I tilt my head, meeting my lips with the edge of exposed skin at his collar.

He groans. "Isabel."

I ignore him and go for his mouth instead. He beats me to it. His lips meet mine, gentle at first. He deepens the kiss almost instantly, and I feel his tongue sweep against mine. Not breaking contact, he backs me up until I'm flush with the wall.

As our mouths explore each other with tongue and teeth, his arms leave me to remove the leather jacket from his body. He comes back to me as soon as it hits the floor. His arms roam my stomach, back, and chest. As his hand comes up to gently grasp the base of my throat, he shoves one of his legs upwards, between both of mine. I gasp in his mouth as warmth pools to my center. His mouth leaves mine, trailing down from my cheek to my neck. At the same time, his right hand travels up to my breast, grasping it over my dress. My hips move involuntarily against his thigh. The friction causes a deep ache within me and I whimper at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Javier makes a sound that forces my hips to react again.

He places his hands on either side of them, holding me still. I open my mouth to protest, but before I can he hauls me up, forcing my legs around him. His lips meet my own once more as his tongue finds mine again. He backs away from the wall, aiming for the hallway. We don't break away from each other until we reach the bedroom and he sets me on my feet.

He leans down, moving his hands from my body up to my face.

"Isabel. If we don't stop now, I may not be able to," his eyes are closed as he utters the strained words.

"I just want you, Javi." I touch his jaw with my fingertips. "Please," I mutter, my voice breaking.

The single word that comes from him is barely a whisper.

"Fuck." He grabs my face once more and this time his mouth is gentle on mine, a stark contrast to the heated passion felt moments before. I fumble with his buttons, but his hands are quicker as he tugs off the shirt gracefully. I press my hands against his hard chest as his eyes study me. He holds me in his gaze as he removes my cardigan, leaving me in only the dress beneath it. He rubs one thin strap between two fingers.

"Is this okay?"

I nod, looking at him intently.

He pushes the strap down. The other one comes next until my sun dress falls to the wooden floor. There’s nothing under it except my panties. My arms fling to my chest in a sudden urge to cover myself up.

"Let me see you."

I allow him to guide my arms down back to my sides.

"It's not right," he mutters to himself as his eyes roam over my almost completely naked body.

I frown, suddenly insecure at his bizarre statement.

"It's not right that you're so beautiful, so sweet."

My cheeks warm at his praise.

"Lie down."

I back up until I reach the bed and allow him to push me back onto its softness. He props himself up on an elbow and continues to kiss me until I can't take it anymore. His hand lingers over my breasts- pinching, squeezing. Finally, he travels downward. He slips his hand underneath my panties, brushing over one spot in particular. When he removes his hand too soon, I softly groan in protest.

"Please," I gasp.

"I know what you want, Isabel, but you're not gonna rush me."

He moves then, leaving soft kisses down my abdomen until he's settled between my thighs. He doesn't waste time, pulling down my panties until their off and taking me into his mouth. When his tongue brushes against me the first time, my hands fly to my mouth. He breaks contact to look back up at me, and pulls my hands away.

"No," he says firmly, "I want to hear you."

He resumes his torture until the sensation becomes almost painful. His tongue moves against the sensitive area, faster then slow, bringing me closer and closer but never quite all the way. My hips writhe against him but he grabs hold of them, forcing me to stay still. The sounds that come from me are vulgar and if I were at all able, I would try and hide the moans escaping my lips. He doesn't stop until I practically beg him to.

"Javi, please. I can't- ," I manage to get out.

He lingers a few more seconds before crawling back up to me, his body hovering over my smaller frame.

He studies me, relishing my blushed and breathless state.

"I wasn't done yet, hermosa. I'll remember that later."

He kisses my mouth slowly. The obscenity of it makes our previous kisses seem ridiculously tame in comparison. As he deepens the kiss, he drops his hand once again. He brushes against the overly sensitive spot with his thumb and then eases a finger inside. As I moan into his mouth, I hear a groan escape him.

"You're so wet, Isabel."

My cheeks instantly heat as he says what is already obvious.

As he moves his finger slightly out and back in, the movements of his thumb slow, becoming even more tortuous. Once I'm nearly over the edge, he withdraws his hand and pushes off the bed, standing up.

He unfastens his pants and removes the rest of his clothing until he's completely bare. He stares down at me until my whole body is on fire.

“You’re beautiful like this, Isabel,” he says as his eyes take me in, ready and waiting for him.

His sheer manliness would terrify me if I didn't crave it so desperately. I let my eyes roam, ignoring my embarrassment. For as restrained as he's kept himself, it's clear he's been just as affected as I have.

He once again joins me on the bed, holding himself above  me.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

I nod, but he's not satisfied.

"Promise me."

"I promise."

He shifts his body until I feel his erection right between my thighs. I part my legs as he slowly glides into me. The feeling is almost too much at first. Sensing it, he stops, but I urge him on.

"No- don't stop," I whisper breathlessly.

Once he's all the way inside I lift my hips off the bed to meet his. We set a rhythm against each other and the tension continues to build within me.  

I'm so close but can't quite seem to get there. He reaches his hand between our bodies to touch me, finally giving me the release I crave. I come undone around him, and he swallows my moans with his mouth.

Javier continues moving against me, his thrusts becoming more erratic. All at once, whatever control he had before just... snaps. He grabs hold of me, keeping me still, as he thrusts into me with unrestrained desperation. His groans become feral as he comes inside me.

He drops his head to the crook of my neck, catching his breath. Once he pieces himself back together, his hand grips the side of my face. His lips fumble around my cheeks until he kisses my mouth, then my nose.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... I think so."

He laughs softly, leaning over me and onto his side. He brushes wisps of hair back from my face with his hand.

"Stay here, I'll be right back."

Javier escapes to the bathroom and while he's gone, I pull back the covers. They feel impossibly cool against my heated skin. He returns and joins me once again on the bed. My eyelids begin to droop from exhaustion.

"I'm so sleepy," I say absent mindedly.

"Come here."

He pulls me to him, cushioning my head with one arm and draping the other around my side. The blissful aftermath of our night together lulls me to sleep almost instantly.

Just as I'm drifting off, Javier whispers something in my ear. I struggle to make out the words, but they escape along with my last thread of consciousness.

#javier pena #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos #narcos fanfiction #a lone butterfly series

[kidney9-9]

Love Letters (Peter Parker)

Anonymous asked: 

Peter writing letters to a reader who he met in Berlin, and then having her surprise him in Queens at college and they have their first time after a party

Hi anon! hope you enjoy! :) reader and peter are aged over 18! Please do not read if the warnings make you uncomfortable! This is the longest oneshot I’ve written! Thank you for sending this in! 

Masterlist

Peter Parker x Reader (Smut with Plot) (Friends-to-Lovers) Warnings: swearing, smut, virgin!Peter and virgin!Reader, oral (both receiving), thigh riding, slight dirty talk, praising, unprotective sex (please do not read if any of these made you uncomfortable!) Word Count: 7.6k

Peter grinned as he wrote down his thoughts on about everything, he’s been wanting to talk to you since the day started. You were his pen pal, living all the way in Berlin. When he met you there on a mission once, you two hit it off extremely well that Peter didn’t even want to go home the following day. Since the two of you got along great, you passed him your information, saying you preferred sending letters, because they were more personalized and authentic. Peter happily agreed, finding it fun to have his first pen pal in his life, but he soon realized how much he started to care about you, when you two revealed more about everything.

When you told him your favorite scientific theory, and a vague version of your own, he felt himself blush at how amazing you were. He felt like one of the luckiest people on the planet, but at the same time he felt unlucky. He wanted to go see you all the time, wanted to spend more time with you in person, just get to know you more face-to-face. He wrote out all his wishes, about how he wants to see you, all the time. He’d go on in lengths that most people would find surprising, but you didn’t. You returned his excitement about meeting about again all the time. You told him about how you once school started to ease up, you would go visit him, but he blanked on when that would ever happen. You took so many classes that even Tony would get stressed out about.

People often saw Peter writing these letters as well. His roommate said it was weird, and that it was probably some random person writing him back, instead of you. But that wasn’t true, since Peter has already met you. He felt so close to you, even though he’s only seen you in person once. He couldn’t imagine how amazing it would be to see you again. You even sent a few photos of yourself, with awards in school and how you were an amazing and contributing part of your community. You also sent him random gifts he would cherish, and he would send some back to you. Peter sent pictures back of himself, and after a while of communicating, he told you he was Spiderman. It was one the secrets he was planning on keeping to himself, but he couldn’t help but tell you, because of how accepting and loving you were to him.

He did have a crush on you, a massive one that his roommate groans at the mention of. When other girls are around, Peter never wanted to meet any of them. Just was odd to him, because he felt so connected to you. He hoped that you were the same with him, but he wasn’t sure. When Tony found out about the letters, he quickly searched you up and did excessive background checks on you, claiming it was just for security measures. But Peter knows that wasn’t true, it was because Tony was protective of him, and just nosy.

Peter set the pen down with a sigh, as his hand started to ache. He pushed the paper and pen aside as he heard his roommate come in. Peter spun around in his chair grinning to Mark. “How was class?” Peter greeted him. Mark shrugged back and threw his bag down to the floor.

“Nothing exciting. Just more work to do,” He paused, leaning down near the doorway as he opened the mini-fridge nearby. “Oh yeah, language classes are always like that.” Peter noted back, as he glanced down to his phone, half distracted. He started scrolling through social media with no interest. Mark cleared his throat, nodding to Peter as he glanced back up to him, “Want one?” Mark offered a beer. Peter scrunched his nose in disgust at it and shook his head.

“Nah, it’s the middle of the day, I don’t want to get drunk right now.” Peter responded, somewhat lying to Mark. Honestly, he just thought beer was disgusting, but if his roommate found out, he’d be teased for the rest of the semester. Mark shrugged at him, kicking the fridge closed with his foot and he hoped onto one of the chairs. “It’s pregaming for the party tonight.” Mark responded, opening the can with a sigh.

Peter nodded back, before twisting in his chair, bored. His phone dinged, but he barely glanced down at it, frowning at the foreign number. “Must be spam.” He mumbled to himself, deleting the text before he even read it. Peter looked back to Mark as he gulped his drink loudly, “Uh, should I stay out tonight, in case you bring anyone over?” Peter questioned.

Mark grinned back to Peter, “Fuck yeah, I’ve been sort of seeing Caleb from our film class. He texted me a dick pic this morning too, so I think we’ll come back here after the party.” Peter groaned at the mention of other dicks. He shook his head as Mark laughed loudly at his reaction.

Peter made an upside-down grin as he wondered where he should stay for the night. “Was it Heather’s party?” Peter mumbled over to Mark, making him nod back. Peter took note of that, as he pulled up Heather’s contact on his phone. He knew her from his Chemistry class, they were in a group together for the first project.

“You know she has a boyfriend, Pete. Don’t try messing around with her.” Mark spoke up as Peter started to type in a text. Peter furrowed his eyebrows at the suggestion and shook his head back to Mark, “I’d never do that.” He retorted, making Mark chuckle. He leaned forward with raised eyebrows to Peter, as he finished up his text, asking if he could stay in an extra room at her parent’s place. It was recently renovated, and Heather was throwing it in spite of her parents after telling her she would be kicked out if she kept throwing those parties. Her parties were always filled to the brim and exciting but Peter never really enjoyed them.

Peter glanced back up to Mark, confused at his staring. “Is it that girl from Berlin?” Mark teased, grinning as Peter started to blush. He averted his stare, instead glancing back at the letter, reminded of you. “Uh, I mean, I guess? But it’s also because I have morals, genius. I wouldn’t hit on someone who was in a relationship.” Peter defended himself back, crossing his arms as Mark started laughing more.

When he quieted down, he smiled at Peter, slowly becoming serious. Peter tilted his head back in confusion as Mark took in a long breath of air. “You know, what you have is special with her. I got to admit, sort of envied you but,” Mark paused as he ran a hand through his hair, “You aren’t even in a relationship with her. I think you should maybe throw a little bait out for the other girls in New York, Peter.”

They both sat in silence after Mark voiced his opinion. Peter gazed at him with a sad smile, “Uh, yeah maybe. Thanks man.” He offered back as Mark nodded. That’s what everyone told him, including the rest of the team. They always popped in about it mid-mission, saying he was wasting his love on a girl who wouldn’t ever return it. But Peter tried not to let their words drift in his mind. Maybe you didn’t love him like he did, but the friendship the two of you had would last a lifetime.

Your letters always made him feel the hope you might return the same feelings as his, but he wasn’t sure. More importantly, he valued your friendship over his love, because he knew you would be hurt if he suggested any less, and sound like some ignorant boy.

Peter brushed his teeth with concentration as he grumbled to himself, not wanting to go to the party. One main reason was because he still wanted to finish your letter by tonight, so he could take it to the mailbox before the mailman picks it up. It was your birthday soon, and he just wanted you to get it on time, preferably on your birthday. The other reason was because he just really wasn’t in the mood to get drunk tonight. It would take tons of drinks to get him drunk because of his enhancement, but when he tried it out, it wasn’t his thing. The taste always left something bitter in his mouth and his mood would sour. Parties weren’t his scene in college, he doubted he’d ever like it like Tony used to.

“Ready? Caleb and I are going in an Uber right now, want to join?” Mark’s voice called out to Peter through the door. Peter spit the toothpaste out, and responded with a “Yeah, hold up.” Peter shrugged on his shoes after he opened the door, seeing Caleb and Mark standing by the entrance. He waved to Caleb, who grinned to him.

The Uber ride was awkward. There was no way it would ever not be awkward since Mark and Caleb giggled and flirted the whole way there. Peter felt like that third wheel that wasn’t meant to be invited in the first place, but as he made eye contact with the Uber driver, he had to stifle his laugh. The driver looked irritated from the traffic, and now the odd kissing and whispering sounds from the back. Peter raised his eyebrows back to his roommate, as he pulled away from his date. Mark shrugged to Peter, sort of issuing an apologizing as Peter just shook his head again, laughing a little in the awkwardly quiet car now.

“Uh, sorry Parker.” Caleb offered, sheepishly grinning back to Peter as they got out the car. The driver sped off quick making the trio laugh. “That was sort of odd,” Mark hummed out, glancing over to Peter. His eyes drifted off to a pack of people, as Peter took that as a signal to go. He cleared his throat and glanced down to his feet, feeling weird to go into a crowd with people weren’t his friends.

He shuffled a little before gazing back up to them, “Uh, I’m going to go talk to people, bye! Nice seeing you.” He aimed the last part to Caleb, who nodded back to him. Peter turned around with a sigh as he rolled his eyes to himself, finding himself acting odd in social settings.

Peter did try talking to people, but it always ended with them saying they needed to get another drink. So after about the fourth person, he took a seat out in the backyard, near the pool. He set his phone down next to him, closing his eyes as the music blared from the inside of the house. He looked around seeing only a few people outside along with him, as he moved to lay down by the poolside, to look up at the sky.

It was polluted with clouds, so he couldn’t see the stars. He looked down at his watch, sighing when he saw it was only ten. He started to wonder when the party would die down but seeing through the windows, he could tell it would be at least a few hours more. His phone beeped again, but he made no move to check it, knowing it wasn’t the team because of the different sound. His eyes closed for a few moments, just resting as he tried focusing on the sound of the water. A shuffle near his head made him stir slightly, but he made no move to open his eyes, thinking it was just someone walking by.

But then Peter heard them take a seat next to him. He could even feel the warmth from whoever it was, travelling into his skin. “You’re looking comfortable.” A voice whispered to him. His eyes snapped open at the familiar sound. He turned his head to see you lying next to him with a smile. “Oh shit!” Peter exclaimed, completely baffled.

He went to stumble up, but his balance failed him, as he tripped on his feet, leaning back and trying to reach forward. You gasped, shooting up to your feet as he fell back into the freezing pool. “Peter!” You exclaimed, reaching for his hand too late. He managed to pull you in as well, making you instantly shiver and shout, swimming back up to the surface as Peter tried pulling you up as well.

The two of you trembled in the cold water as Peter stared back in shock at you, as you smiled at him again. “Y/n? Woah, what are you- how are you here? Am I just dreaming? Did I fall asleep?” Peter rambled, his lips turning blue already from the cold. You swam over to him, shaking your head softly.

You couldn’t believe you were here either. Two days ago, you had been granted a break from the harsh study routines from your college, as your teachers had agreed to upload the work online for you to continue from home. You were their model student, achieving up and beyond, but taking a break to remind yourself of the good things in life was necessary. After weeks of negotiating and meeting with your teachers and counselor, they finally let you free for a while. You took a few hours to realize, that not that many things were “good” for you, nothing that made you smile and forget about school, except for Peter.

At the thought of Peter, you decided just to fuck it, and book a ticket over there, you had to see him again. You two had switched contact information, including phone numbers, but never used that. You had him saved in your phone though, and you tried sending a text to him right before you got onto the plane, but it never went through. You were nervous he wouldn’t want to see you at all, but you remember reading how much he wanted to see you again. When you landed, you sent another text to him, just hoping he would remember your number.

He even gave you his Aunt’s number, saying if he never responded, to contact her. You remember discovering the reason why he ever said that, when he confessed, he was Spiderman. You couldn’t hide your surprise in that letter you sent him back, and you remembered worrying about him, whenever you would see Spiderman in the headlines. You still did, but now you felt more confident in him, after watching those old videos he posted on YouTube, thinking if that was his start, he must be even better now. You did end up sending his Aunt a text, explaining who you were, and you instantly got a text back.

She sent you “Hi! Peter gave me your number too! He tends to forget things, I think that’s why he gave it to me, but it’s so good to hear from you! And my goodness, he’s going to be amazed. He always talks about you, but I’m so excited that you guys are meeting again! I know he’s going to be at a party tonight, and I’ll send you the address. I’ll send Peter a text as well right now, just to tell him to expect a surprise!” You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you reread the text over again. You heard she was the best Aunt ever from Peter, and this showed you he was right.

You wondered from that text what it meant that Peter was always talking about you. You felt yourself warm at thinking that maybe he cared for you as you did for him? You tried shaking those thoughts away, but you’ve been having them for so long, after falling in love with his words. You wondered if he did with yours.

When Aunt May sent you the address, that’s when it hit you about what you were doing. You just travelled all this way for him, because he made you happy. He made you smile, and laugh, even without seeing him face-to-face. He made you feel warm and cared for with the way he wrote pages back to you, asking how you were doing, and showing you love in the words. Your friends and family always asked why you would write for hours in your room, and your only answer was “Peter.”

You really did love him.

You snapped back to the present as you tugged Peter into a tight hug, in the pool. “I missed you,” You shivered out, as Peter shook himself out of his surprise, squeezing you tight and laughing in amazement. “I missed you so much,” He replied instantly, pressing his face into your shoulder, not caring his face dipped into the water again.

Splashes hit around you two, as people shouted out, “Pool party!” Jumping into the water, not giving a care to you and Peter. You giggled at the water hitting the two of you as Peter held you tighter. “I missed you, fuck. Wait, let’s get out.” Peter mumbled into your ear again, letting go of your figure hesitantly. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of you completely though, so he held your hand, swimming back to the steps through the crowd of people shouting and jumping around the pool.

You squeezed his hand back, as the two of you got to the steps, standing up. Peter gazed at you for a few moments before he could bring himself out of the swimming pool. You were so beautiful, the backyard lights hit you wonderfully, and your smile made Peter feel like he was living in a dream. You looked similar to what Peter would call a goddess, and the way your eyes brightened to him, brought Peter a happiness he didn’t know was true.

“Peter?” You whispered, stepping closer to him, confused at his silence. His face burned as he looked away from you and your body, coughing. The way you said his name even made him blush. “You’re here, I- how?” Peter asked, tugging your hand as he stepped out of the pool. The two of you automatically shivered at the temperature drop in the air. You two quickly shuffled to the sliding doors, connected to the inside as Peter and you took small glances at each other, smiling bright.

When you two walked inside, you sighed out at the warmth as you glanced around, wincing at the loud music. Peter did as well, shaking his head at it as he pointed upstairs to you, trying to find a quiet place to talk. You held his hand tight, barely gazing at anyone else, except for Peter. His hand felt soft and warm in yours as you squeezed again, making Peter smile again. The two of you rounded in a hallway, walking down to the end room.

Peter sighed in relief when he opened the door, and no one was there. It looked like the guest room, as Peter slightly turned his eyes to check for anything. He stepped forward, letting your hand go as you stayed at the doorframe, stepping in and closing the door from the rest of the noise. The music dulled into a low sound now but the two of you could still feel the vibrations of the bass beating through you. You turned around and locked the door behind you, wanting to have privacy with him.

“I’m sorry if this was a strange thing to do, but I just had to see you again.” You mumbled, suddenly feeling nervous, glancing down to the floor as your smile slightly dropped. Peter instantly shook his head, and his eyes widened. “No, no, I- this was incredible. I’m really happy.” He stepped forward to you again, as you leaned against the door. You gazed back up to him, feeling your smile brighten again.

Peter smiled back to you, as his hand reached for yours again slowly. He slowly slipped his hand in yours, bringing you slightly forward with a laugh of amazement. “How’d you come here? I’m so surprised, but you’re here and I’m just really thankful.” His voice came out, as he tugged a little more at your hand.

You giggled at his actions and let him lead you slowly in a circle, by tugging on your hand lightly. “I needed to get away from school for a while, and I wanted to see you,” You paused as you stepped slightly closer to Peter, pulling him in for another hug. He held you tight as you rested your head on his chest. “You make me happy, Peter. Those letters…I love them, and they make me miss you even more, even though we’ve only hung out once. I feel like I’ve known you for years with the letters.” You murmured, finishing up.

Peter felt his heart start to speed up from your words. He squeezed you even more, as his hand slipped to the back of your head. “I feel that as well. Whenever I see my mail, I get so excited because I love reading whatever you send. When it’s random things,” Peter paused, laughing lightly causing you to smile brighter, “When it’s some just really bizarre shit, about a dream you have or when you say you’re thinking of me because you passed by the plaza we met in,” He paused again, softly speaking up to finish his words, “I love it all and I feel like you’ve been with me this whole time.”

You lifted your head from his chest to gaze up to him. He bit his lip, trying to keep his face from blushing as he gazed back down to you. You grinned to him suddenly, making him release a short breath of air, trying to shake the feeling of wanting to just get rid of all the space, and kiss you. “You know, I tried calling and texting you.” You mumbled, giggling a little as Peter furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“What? When?” Peter questioned, shaking his head. You laughed as you stepped slightly back but holding onto his hand again. “Maybe like four times? I texted Aunt May.” You replied, making Peter widen his eyes in bafflement, “Uh, what- wait, what did my Aunt tell you?” Peter mumbled, feeling his embarrassment already.

You laughed slightly at his reaction. “Well she said you talk a lot about me, but I hope only the good things.” You retorted, making Peter sigh. Aunt May knew how much Peter cared about you, like she knew how he loved you. He would’ve been so ashamed if Aunt May told you that. But Peter raised his eyebrows back to you, falling more in love with your laugh.

“Everything about you is good.” He replied to your comment. You scrunched your face up and giggled, denying it. Peter let go of your hand as he turned around a bit, checking the room. He shook his head at your laugh, spinning back after glancing at the room. “It’s true, you are just…perfect. Everything about you is admirable, and it’s just, you’re an incredible person.” Peter’s words made your face feel hot as you shook your head back to him.

“No, that’s all you,” You paused, sighing as you stepped closer to the bed, and taking a seat. Peter still stood as he rounded in front of you with a soft expression. “You’re wonderful. Everything I already know about you just makes me want to know more.” You whispered back as he stepped slightly closer to you.

Peter felt his heart start to beat faster again as you slid your hand up and down his arm in comforting motions. Just being with you in this moment made him want to stay forever. You two were so close in everyway he wanted, just right now. His hand drifted over to your face, cupping your cheek as he smiled back to you.

You smiled back to him, suddenly aware of the intimacy. “Peter…” You trailed off, as his thumb started to draw little shapes into your cheek softly. “You make me so happy.” Peter whispered back. You other hand laid atop his on your face, making Peter pause in his movements. The two of you stared at each other lovingly. Peter tried to shake it off, but he couldn’t help but fall more in love with you. It stunned him that you were here, and he was holding you. He leaned in slightly more as he glanced down to your lips.

You saw his little stare, causing you to drift your eyes down to his lips as well. You smiled lightly as you pulled his hand, causing him to lean close to your face, bending slightly. You moved up and captured his lips in a small and hesitant kiss, just hoping you didn’t mess up your entire friendship with him. Peter gasped and took a short second before he responded, pushing back in and kissing you even more. You couldn’t hold back your smile, as Peter stepped in close between your legs, leaning into your kiss and causing you to slowly move backwards on the bed.

Peter’s hand drifted to the back of your head, holding you as the two of you kissed sensually and slowly. “Fuck,” Peter pulled back, murmuring quietly. His head was still on yours, as the two of you started to breathe hard. “Yeah,” You agreed, smiling brightly. Peter smiled back to you, as he leaned back in, and kissed you again.

The kiss started off slow again, but it increasingly got faster, as the both of you kissed each other harder. You fell completely back on the bed, with Peter on top of you, kissing sloppily but passionately. His tongue found its way into your mouth, as you moaned slightly in surprise. Peter’s other hand slid onto your hip, squeezing gently as he sighed out in pleasure.

You tugged at his hair again, feeling incredibly happy. When Peter pulled away for air, he rolled over next to you, laying on the bed. He gazed at you with a love doped smile, and you did as well. “I wanted to do that for so long,” Peter confessed, blushing at you. His blush was too cute, and you reached over and cupped his cheek. “So did I.” You replied, whispering.

He smiled so brightly it started to hurt, as his head started to spin. “I’m in love with you,” He mumbled, gazing at you with emotion. You raised your eyebrows in surprise and happiness, as you laughed slightly. “I’ve fallen in love with you too.” You admitted, playing with his hair.

Peter felt like all his wishes have been granted, just laying here with you. The way the words fell out of your mouth made him feel lightheaded, and the way your hand tugged, and your fingers circled around his hair grounded him. He scooted closer to you again, as you smiled softly to him. His fingers landed on your lips, lightly tracing them, covering the tips of his fingers with saliva. He lightly pulled your moth open again, as he leaned in for another kiss.

“Fuck, I really love you.” Peter mumbled into the kiss. You giggled, pulling away. “I love you too,” You murmured back, pulling him in again. Your hand slipped under his shirt and gasped at the feeling of his torso. Peter pulled away again, and laughed, speeding to take his shirt off. He tore it off, getting on his knees on the bed, as you did as well, giggling with him.

You gazed up and down his body, feeling arousal build in you. Peter blushed at your stare as you scooted closer to him again. You placed a small kiss on his shoulder, leading it to his neck, making Peter gasp. His arms wrapped around you as he felt his erection grow. He trembled lightly when you started to lick at his neck, and he held you tighter. “I-I’ve never done this before.” Peter mumbled out, stuttering in nervousness but excitement.

You nipped at his neck before gazing back to him. “I haven’t either.” You confessed, lightly whispering. His fingers trailed under your shirt nervously. “Wo-would it be okay?” Peter asked for permission to take your shirt off. You nodded back to him, as he slowly lifted it off, smiling to him.

“Do you want to,” You paused, glancing down at your body as you started to grow wet. “To…make love?” You asked unsurely, cringing at the use of words. Peter blushed as he looked down at your chest as his erection started to feel uncomfortable. He nodded back to you, “Yes!” he blurted, quickly adding on, “Only if you want to.”

You nodded back to him, pushing down your nervousness as you felt another wave a lust hit you. Peter shyly put his hand on the back of your bra, unclipping it with a small sigh. When the bra dropped down, and you pushed it off your arms, Peter gazed back up to you, smiling. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, holding your body to his before he pulled you back in for another kiss. Peter groaned at the feeling of being against you, and you opened your mouth into the kiss, allowing Peter’s tongue through. You sighed at the feeling, as you started to feel down his body. You gasped when his boner hit your hand as Peter pushed you down against the bed, near the pillows now.

“Fuck, you look so good,” You spoke up as Peter leaned away from you, slipping his shoes off. He blushed at your compliment as he started taking off his pants. You started to take yours off too, but Peter stopped you and took control, taking them off for you. He blushed even more at the sight of your underwear.

You gazed down at his underwear as well, with the feeling of getting more wet at the sight of his erection now. You sat up as Peter brushed a hand through his hair. “I remember your first letter, and you told me how you were so happy we ran into each other in Berlin.” You paused, smiling at the memory. “And you sent me a bracelet; I still have it. It’s one of my favorite things.” You admitted, finishing your sentence. Peter blushed at that, as he adjusted his boner, finding it uncomfortable against his underwear.

“You sent me one back,” Peter smiled as you started to reach out to him. “I wear it whenever I’m on missions. It’s my good luck charm.” He chuckled lightly. You nodded back to him, as you trailed a finger up and down his chest.

You shook your head again, giggling softly, “I love you,” You repeated, as Peter started to smile more. “I love you too.” He whispered. Your hand drifted down to the band of his underwear, slightly tugging it down. You glanced up to him, asking him a silent question, to which he nodded. You pulled the underwear more down his legs, revealing his boner, popping out and hitting his stomach.

You parted your lips at the sight as Peter blushed again. You stood up on your knees on the bed and pushed Peter back down where you were laying. You scooted down to in between his legs, and you slowly started massaging his inner thighs.

Peter trembled at the feeling as he pushed himself slightly up against the headboard to watch you. He sighed out as you trailed your hands closer to his cock. “Please…” Peter begged, closing his eyes tight, already hearing his heartbeat outside of his body. You smiled softly just as soon as your hand lightly grazed against him. “Oh...” You heard Peter sigh out, as his eyes opened back up to gaze at you.

You smeared the precum on the top of hic cock, smiling even more as you heard his breathing turned heavier. “Your so pretty,” You whispered, referring to his cock, as your finger trailed on the underneath of it, tracing the vein. Peter blushed harshly at your voice as you licked your finger before pushing yourself closer.

You teasingly licked at his cock and watched as Peter banged his head against the headboard. “Please, please, baby, fuck.” Peter begged out, reaching out to push your head down. You moved away before he could and giggled at his frustrated face. You leaned back down and sent another long lick from the base to the tip, before you licked around his head.

You took him in your mouth, making Peter groan out loudly at the feeling of being inside. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” Peter panted out, as you started to lower your mouth slightly. You struggled to get him all in your mouth, as you opened your mouth as wide as you can. Peter reached behind your head again, curling his fingers against your scalp as he lightly pushed you down. His hips also reached up, as you moaned at the feeling. Peter gasped out a groan at the vibration that sent through his cock from your noise, making you glance up to him with darkened eyes. You hummed loudly again moving your mouth up and down, taking him in. Peter kept moaning and gasping at the feeling, and his head hit against the headboard again, losing eye contact with you, “You- fuck, babe, oh,” Peter breathed out, unable to form a full sentence.

You used your hand, pumping up and down, collecting some saliva to cover the rest of his cock, that you couldn’t take into your mouth. Peter tensed up feeling like he was about to come as he started to grasp onto your hair. “Wait, hold- fuck, I might come,” He stuttered out, making you pause. You slowly took his cock out of your mouth, licking your lips. Peter sighed out, feeling out of breath and amazed, “Shit, that was so good,” He pushed out.

You grinned back to him, as you moved out from in between his legs before you laid down, breathing hard next to him. “Fuck, you’ve got a great dick.” You said again, giggling as Peter stuttered, “Wha-, um, thanks.” He blushed but turned to face you, gazing at your chest. You pulled him in for a messy kiss, after a few more seconds of breathing. Peter instantly returned your kiss, pulling you in closer, and on top of him. Peter moaned at the feeling of your soaked underwear on his thigh, as he pushed his thigh up a little more, making you gasp in pleasure.

Peter grinned into the kiss, as he pressed down your hips, rolling you back and forth onto his thigh, making you moan even more into the kiss, pulling away breathless. “Shit…” You trailed off, at the feeling of your clothed clit hitting his thigh just right. He tugged at your panties, and he gazed back up to you.

“Can I rip them off? I promise to buy you a new pair.” He breathed out, as even more lust pulled into his stomach, at the feeling of you getting yourself off on his thigh. You nodded back, unable to speak as he rolled your hips again, hitting you in the best place. He quickly tore at both sides, and slide them off in an instant, and you both hushed out whimpers at the feeling. “You’re so warm,” Peter whispered, as you slid down against him again, breathing heavily.

You almost cried out at the feeling, rubbing yourself with Peter’s help, lifting you up and down, and sliding you back and forth against his leg. His fingers swiped up some of the juices that collected on his leg from you and licked them, sighing out at the taste. You only grew even wetter, as he slid his fingers down again, and this time, rubbed against your clit as you lowered yourself on his thigh.

“That’s it, baby, you can do it,” He mumbled softly, watching as your eyes opened and closed at the intense feelings. He lifted his fingers against slightly, exhaling as you rolled your hips at a set pace, settling your pussy against him. He circled softly, pushing up onto your clit, as you rolled downwards again, making you gasp.

You pushed your lips against his, to stop your noises from escaping as the music continued to blare from outside the room. You bucked your hips up and moved down, eyes closed tight as you whined out from the intense pleasure. Peter’s cock kept hitting your thigh as you continued your movements for the next few minutes, traveling up to Peter’s lips, biting them and licking and moving down to his neck as he continued to help move you on his thigh.

It was then when you felt your orgasm near and you opened your mouth, crying out from the stimulation. “I- I’m going to come,” You panted out, warning Peter. He nodded, and rubbed into your thighs, “Alright, babe, come for me.” He grunted out, with his cock burning for more as he felt your juices slide across his thigh. You gasped through your orgasm, murmuring Peter’s name as you held your head against his shoulder, as he continued to praise you, “That’s it, baby, such a good girl. You’re doing amazing.” You cried out in desire from his words and your orgasm, as it faded out of you.

You took a couple of minutes to start breathing normally as Peter kissed your cheek, whispering compliments and praises to you. You moved your head slightly to look up to him, “Fuck that was really great.” Your words made Peter shake his head back to you, as he slowly lifted you up to lay down next to him. “I want to try something out,” He shyly spoke up, gazing down at the mess you made on his thigh. He swiped some of your cum up and licked it, making you feel wetness pull again down in your pussy.

You nodded back to him, with an excited smile. He smiled back to you, and quickly turned and placed himself between your legs, leaning down with a gasp. “Fuck, so pretty.” He mumbled, making you feel a blush warm your face.

He started out by licking the rest of your cum off your thighs from earlier, making you tremble. “Mm, you taste so good, fuck.” He muttered, licking around your thighs again, collecting every piece of cum. “You’re doing so good too, fuck.” He praised again. You gasped at it, as you felt your pussy get even more wet than before.

Peter leaned a little more forward, breathing in while facing your pussy, before sending a long stripe to it. You gulped in pleasure, trying to hold down your moans as Peter continued. “Do you think you can come again, babe?” He asked you, before he continued. When you nodded instantly, Peter grinned and leaned down.

He licked right on your clit, making you bite your lip. His fingers found their way to your entrance, and he slowly pushed one in after collecting some of your wetness. He curled his finger in you, once he fully pushed in as he continued to lick around your pussy. “Fuck, so- ohh,” You moaned out, grasping onto Peter’s hair and tugging at it. He hummed against your clit, making you shudder as he started to push another finger in.

Peter’s tongue circled around your clit before nibbling on it gently, making you wail out in pleasure, pushing Peter’s head in even more, as you started calling out his name. He did it again, as he started pumping in and out of you with his fingers, hitting your g-spot, and making you cry loudly, from the immense pleasure.

You felt it burning again, as your orgasm pushed out of you with no warning, and you let out a chocked scream, followed by Peter’s name. He quickly pulled his fingers out of you and licked up all your cum, as you were shuddering and still going through your orgasm. It felt like hours almost, the way you were shivering in delight as you rolled your head to glance down to Peter. You blinked hazily to him and smiled brightly as he leaned back up kissing your body all the way up to your lips. You moaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around him, as he leaned down onto you.

“You’re so beautiful and perfect.” Peter mumbled against your lips. You giggled slightly, still doped up from your orgasms. “So are you,” You whispered back to him, kissing him even more.

Peter gasped slightly when he felt your body touch his cock again. You glanced down and smiled back up to Peter. “Are you ready?” You whispered to him, kissing his shoulder softly. Peter nodded back to you and kissed your lips again. His lips opened against yours, as the kiss started to get sloppy once again. You groaned into it, tugging and playing with his hair.

Peter slightly pulled away as he positioned himself to you. He trembled with slight nervousness as he gazed back down to you, “I love you,” He whispered. You smiled back, and breathed in, “I love you too, Peter.”

He slowly pushed into you, as you gasped from the stretch. He stopped instantly, hearing your gasp, and he worriedly asked you, “Are you alright, do you want me to move?” His question made you shake your head, telling him it was alright. You grabbed onto one of his hands, holding tightly as you felt yourself adjust to him, “Okay, keep going,” You whispered back, nodding.

He continued, groaning in amazement, at the feeling. Your eyes fluttered shut as it continued to be uncomfortable, but you slowly eased yourself more, unclenching to let him all in. When he pulled back slowly, you started to get used to it more, as a heat started to bump more, making you feel more aroused. When Peter slowly eased himself back into you, you started feeling good, making you sound out, “More, please,” Your plea made Peter shudder in excitement as he pushed into you with a faster speed.

You both moaned loudly, and you wrapped your legs around Peter as he started to gain a pace. “So fuckin’ perfect,” Peter grunted out, as you started to pull him in more with your legs. Your eyes opened, gazing at Peter as he continued to go in and out of you.

One of his hands went down to your chest, circling around one of your nipples, making you gasp in surprise. He pinched and tweaked it, making you cry out from all the pleasure you were experiencing. He yelped out in pleasure when you rolled your hips up, meeting him in his thrusts. “Fuck,” You whined out, breathing heavily. Peter nodded as he leaned down to kiss you hard again.

You gasped loudly, almost crying as he hit your g-spot, into the kiss. Peter moved his kissing down to your neck, sloppily leaving saliva all over your jaw and neck. He stayed in place, hitting the same spot as he pulled in and out of you, making you cry out each time at the intensity.

Peter grunted, feeling himself almost reach his orgasm, as you did as well. He kept pushing in and out of you with a pace, hitting you even deeper as you met every thrust. His hand left your nipple, while he continued to kiss and suck your neck, traveling down to your clit, and rubbing it hard, making you whimper loudly, as your vision started to blur from everything.

With each thrust into your g-spot and every touch sent to your clit, you felt your orgasm max out again, “P-Peter, I’m go-going-” You cut yourself short, screaming out his name as your orgasm hit you, gushing out cum as Peter reached his as well. His thrust started to become erratic and shallow, before he pulled out, leaking cum onto your chest in spurts.

Your cum leaked out onto the sheets as you breathed in and out heavily, along with Peter. He collapsed next to you with a loud groan. Your head lulled over to gaze at him, as you felt his lips near your ear. “That,” Peter sighed out, wiping his face from the sweat that built up, “was amazing.” He finished up, earning a little laugh from you.

You nodded back to him, as he kissed your nose softly. “I love you,” You whispered, staring at him with affection. His hand cupped your cheek and he kissed your lips this time, gently. “I love you too, so much.” He murmured back, smiling softly back to you.

The two of you cuddled, laying there for hours, while tenderly whispering to each other sweet little phrases about love. The both of you were sticky and gross feeling from the cum that clung onto your skin, when you got up to shower, after noticing the music turned down greatly, making you both know the party ended.

Peter held out his hand for you to join him, making you laugh. You could barely walk in without wincing at the uncomfortable and painful feeling between your legs. Peter wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into the hot water with him. You delicately kissed his chest as he squeezed you gently. “I don’t want to go back,” You confessed, running a hand up and down his back in comfort.

He nodded, agreeing with you. “I want you to stay.” He mumbled back, wanting to hold onto you forever. He kissed your head softly, as you fluttered your eyes closed, savoring the sweet and loving memories in your mind.

--

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[chrolloctrl]

hello～! can i request for Adultrio who fell in love with fem crime hunter Reader? also have a nice day/evening💘

thank you for the request! i tried my best to make all of these different from each other, but i also tried to stay true to how the characters would sincerely react:) oh and sorry for the late post, school’s been tough :( but yknow it be like that

note(s)/warning(s): some mentions of blood and violence, but other than that nothing you wouldn’t see on hxh though

fandom(s)/character(s): hunter x hunter, adultrio, aka illumi, hisoka, and chrollo

for dialogue purposes, italics are you, and bold is the character :)

i l l u m i

since you’re a crime hunter and he is a literal trained assassin, the relationship is pretty much seemingly doomed for failure

however i imagine that you guys meet in an a very unexpected way

he’s on a mission to kill someone who had stolen from the zoldycks, and you’re on a mission to take out a thief

yeah it’s the same guy you got it

illumi gets there first and gets the job done

much to your dismay

you’re standing right behind him as he’s covered in blood over the body

all you say is “since when does the assassin do something morally correct?”

“when it benefits him.” he responds.

i think he recognizes you before you recognize him

“you’re y/n, right? crime hunter?”

“you could say that.”

“we aren’t so different you know..”

“we are incredibly different. i don’t kill for sport.”

“you still kill, though.”

you’re so pissed off because he kind of has a point

oh and that emotionless stupid little face of his pisses you off even more

it’s all love we know i love illumi

illumi’s bloodlust is out of control at this point, your interaction with him just increased that

“what are you going to do? kill me?”

“no. it doesn’t benefit me now does it?”

“what do you want from me illumi?”

“ a deal.”

somehow he ropes you into helping him on missions as long as it corresponds with your own morals

i think the moment he realizes he’s in love with you is when you explain morality to him

like obviously he has no idea wtf good morals are lmao

you act as his therapist in a way, comforting him about his past and telling him that his bad actions don’t make him a bad person, just a person who used to do bad things

sorry guys i love soft illumi, and i genuinely think he has the capability to be good

one day he breaks down after a mission, and he is so embarrassed that you’re the first person he shows his deep, buried emotions to

you just hold him and comfort him, telling him its not his fault

after that he doesn’t want to talk to you because he’s embarrassed

“i think emotions make you a better assassin.”

“how does that make sense?”

“makes you think twice.”

and now he knows why killua loves gon so much.

h i s o k a

we already know this bitch is obsessed with you

probably keeps tabs on you to see what you’re up to

every headline involving you “taking down another lowlife” catches his attention so fast

he wants a fight so bad

so he creates a plan

commit a crime so terribly that they HAVE to send you to take him out

just another amazing idea from hisoka!

so he figures out who you’re working for, and kills someone close to them, obviously leaving behind a trace so they have somewhat of an idea as to who he is, but still making it a hunt

he probably leaves a star and tear behind, something that only those who knew him would recognize

and so he watches you hunt him while he hunts you

you’re asking anyone and everyone if they recognize the star and tear, most people either having no clue, or recognizing it but keeping quiet about it in fear of what hisoka would do

eventually, someone says they know a person who draws a star and tear on their face — hisoka morrow

once hisoka hears that you know his name he is absolutely ecstatic, he probably reveals himself to you right after

“it has been so fun watching you search for me.”

“if you knew i was looking, why be a coward and hide?”

“there’s no fun if there’s no chase, darling.”

you guys battle it out, i imagine the fight is very close, but evidently you just can’t keep up with him

“you put up a beautiful fight…hmm, perhaps i’ll let you survive if you join me?”

out of breath and on the brink of death, he assumes you’re saying no

right as he goes for the finishing blow, you hold your hands up, and whisper through a mouth full of blood a small “i’ll do it.”

he has a huge grin on his face, so excited to have successfully “corrupted” you

sorry y’all added a little corruption kink in their my b

once he takes you to machi so she can heal you, you both go on ur little killing ppl missions together cos what else does hisoka do lol

he realizes he’s in love once you finish someone off, a crazed look in your eyes, smile on display, covered in blood.

“you’ve never looked as beautiful as you do now.”

you and hisoka’s love is weird. but it’s intense, and it is real. just not...normal.

you guys are crazy killers, but it works

he probably draws a star and tear on you just so u guys can match

after u.. murder people <3

yandere reader vibes sorry

c h r o l l o

for this, we are going to assume that you are the “weakest” link of the crime hunter agency

so they make you the bait

sorry i just want to cover all of our bases

you definitely have a lot of potential, you are just incredibly clumsy, and taking down the phantom troupe is something that requires plenty of people on the job

chrollo already knows you’re a crime hunter when he “runs into you” at a bar, as well as the fact that you aren’t working alone

but he entertains you, just because he’s bored lol

i can already picture you being caught off guard by how handsome chrollo is, because honestly im sorry who wouldn’t be

you kind of even forget you’re there on a job

but, when chrollo asks if you know about nen and what type of nen you use, you quickly remember why you’re there

you smile, “yes, i’m a specialist.”

he asks you to show him, but you decline

“i will lose it if i do.”

chrollo smirks, “smart girl.”

with that, you feel a sharp pain on the side closest to chrollo, and everything goes dark as you tumble into his arms

once you wake up, all the spiders surround you, chrollo in the center

“caught in the web.” you say, as chrollo’s eyes lighten up.

“precisely.”

“is there any way to escape a spider’s web?”

“prove to be worthy.”

there he went again, begging to see your nen so he could steal it

but just because you were thought to be the weakest link, didn’t mean it was true

“i mean, you’re looking at it right now.”

the troupe stares in confusion, and before chrollo can respond, one of the spiders falls to the ground, beheaded. (i can’t pick who so just pretend its ur least favorite <3)

the spiders stand there in shock

there were two of you.

the real you, free and unbounded, makes the clone disappear

“you said you were a specialist, but this seems to be a conjurer technique?”

“the speciality is that you can’t steal it. it isn’t exactly nen.”

this is the first time someone’s caught chrollo off guard, he has no idea what to do, i mean how did he know that this you wasn't a clone?

“now, i’ve heard once a leg is missing, there needs to be a replacement. what does the head think?”

you weren’t just a crime hunter, you were a double agent who wanted in on the phantom troupe

the moment chrollo realized your abilities weren’t nen, i think that’s when he fell in love

hear me out

he knows he’s going to be indebted to you forever

and we all know those books he reads...mf is a hopeless romantic who if in love, pretty much is absolutely obsessed

and boy is he obsessed already

of course, he is unable to steal it from you which is quite a drag

but, with you there, and your undiscovered abilities, the phantom troupe was basically unbeatable

something he wanted so badly

“welcome to the troupe number ___.” (once again i can’t decide who LOL you guys can pick)

you protect him and he protects you. 

if any of the troupe questions you and your decisions, he defends you so fast

eventually the troupe is referred to as “a spider with two heads”

kinda cute, kinda funky fresh name for thieves and murderers<3 at least u guys r passionately in love <3 

i hope this was good!! im kind of rusty so sorry :( im finishing up some other requests, and im thinking of crossposting a fic on here and on ao3, inspired by my dr strange/hxh hcs :) but requests are still open! guidelines right here  (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ thank you to everyone who shows love to my posts!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh hcs #adultrio hcs #adultrio x reader #hisoka x reader #chrollo x reader #illumi x reader #hisoka hc #chrollo hc #illumi hc