#i still need to decide whether it's a male or female | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

denileisariver · 9 months ago

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pairing: batman aka bruce wayne x f!reader

summary: you move into wayne manor, but not everything is as it seems. pt.2

warnings: smut, some non-con/dub-con but not really, doggystyle!, creampies ♡, mentioned babytrapper!bruce but nothing happens (or does it 🫣?), some anal play but also not really, unprotected sex, descriptions of male and female genitalia, bruce is not the best father unfortunately, age gaps, uses of the word(s) 'baby' and 'daddy' like once or twice, non-consensual recording?, reader is described as dating girls in the past.

a/n: i guess this is a small continuation. i'll still be tagging as yandere due to some slightly darker undertones kinda. i'm not sure how i feel about this one but oh well :).

bruce never believed that he was a good man.

he could care less for all the praise he received throughout the years. fundraisers and charities, his image as a loving adoptive dad who took in struggling and orphaned children, or as batman. deep down, he knew he was selfish.

everything he did, he took too far. whether it was to fulfill a pipedream he realistically knew would never come true at the expense of others. or even with love, using the people he cared for the most just so he could gain something out of it. he considered himself lucky that all the little vigilantes he collected over the years stayed. and he was even happier you decided to stay as well.

bruce knew fear like the back of his hand. he could easily recognize it in your eyes whenever your eyes met his. whether it was subconscious or not, something in you knew that you should be cautious around him, and for good reason.

he couldn't quite pinpoint when his infatuation with you started. the only thing he knew was that it had crept up on him slowly, and it had been far too late until he realized its claws were sunk deep and he wanted you wrapped around his finger.

his mind would drift off sometimes, wondering if it's because of how closely he's been able to keep tabs on you over the past couple of years. you were strong and independent, more than able to take care of yourself, and others if given the opportunity. he admired that you were bold and selfless, driven. and he wanted to control that.

he stood by on the sidelines for far too long, watching you be strung along like an afterthought. he hated seeing your pathetic dates that always turned out horribly, pitiful men who only wanted one thing from you and girls that led you on because they were 'experimenting'. he hated the sad puppy look in your eyes whenever you hung around dick, before he invited you into his family, even if it was unintentional.

whether you believed it or not, bruce truly wanted what he thought was best for you. and if that meant keeping you under his surveillance, where you were at arms length 24/7, then so be it.

bruce wanted to train you how to be obedient for him. you were already establishing your own place in his household, practically marking your territory there, and he enjoyed every bit of it. for the most part, at least. there were still some challenges he needed to overcome, but you'd always been a good girl for him. that much he knew.

you tried to be grateful for him as much as possible.

even after his creepy behavior and even weirder training, you wanted to trust him. it felt wrong not to. everyone had been kind and did more for you than anyone else in your life had, and bruce set the foundation for all of it. you'd finally got a taste of being part of his family like you always wanted, and you weren't willing to let it go just because of eccentric assumptions and silly feelings.

you did find all of it a bit extreme, though. the excessive amount of gifts, the kids were attentive as ever, and alfred practically babied you. but it was normal. completely normal. at least that's what you chalked it up to, living under the roof of a well renowned billionaire, and you weren't about to complain about it either.

being around all the other wards put you at ease. regardless if you truly saw them as found family or not, you considered them your best friends. whether it was helping alfred around the manor as much as possible, burning pastries in the kitchen with the girls, playing video games with jason (which grew to be one of your favorite pastimes), you found yourself letting your guard down. like you could finally breathe and be safe in your own home, which was basically never while you were still surviving on your own back in gotham.

speaking of jason, you think maybe you are beginning to like the boy. sure, he had always been attractive, but you never actually got to interact with him longer than a short conversation here and there before dick decided to butt in. he had always been protective of you like that. you figured whatever you felt for jason might've been weird at first, but considering tim and stephanie dated for a little while, and they were still here, that it was okay.

you tried to subtly spend more time around jason. sitting close by during dinner or while catching a flick, offering to be by his side during patrol. maybe you were a bit more obvious than you would've liked, but jason took it well, much to bruce's disdain. the boy started to talk to you more often, more lively around you than ever, staring at you from across the room, making physical contact. and you greedily accepted it.

and of course dick would be the first to pester at you about it. he'd snuck up from behind, startling you when you were too engrossed in a romance book that you'd discovered while exploring the ginormous library.

"so you and jason are a thing now?"

the sound of his sudden voice makes your body jolt, damn near dropping the precious book you were reading that probably cost more than your entire life. the only people in this world that could make you flustered the way you are now are all living underneath the same goddamn roof, and you've successfully trapped yourself in it, willingly.

"what're you talking about?" the blank look on dick's face makes you cringe. in all your years of friendship, the two of you never really fought. the thought that he'd be mad about you being with jason was almost enough to make your heart sink. but the truth was, you weren't really actually with him anyway. things were just.. different.

all of his rigorous training with bruce had apparently worked off, because almost right on cue, dick notices how anxious you are right now. he shifts his body language to a more lighthearted demeanor, no longer as stiff. his voice is soft. "listen, i don't care, kind of, but.. just be careful." the way he says it almost makes you feel better, like he cares, and of course he does, but—

"what's that supposed to mean?"

your defensiveness is no surprise to dick. the look on his face let's you know he expects it, and you almost hate yourself for being so predictable.

"i don't want you to get hurt, that's all i'm saying." he tries to reassure, but it does nothing but the opposite. hurt you? you never expected much to come out of your tiny fondness for jason, and even if it did, you knew better than to think it'd be something that'll last forever. "I won't get hurt."

you say it like it's a sure thing. there's this unreadable look in dick's eyes. something that you don't think you've ever seen before, and it almost scares you. like he knows something you don't, but you can't tell what the hell it is. he curtly nods, forcing back that charming smile to his face, but you're no idiot, especially when it comes to him.

"i don't doubt it." and with that, he's gone.

☆☆☆☆☆

it's been a couple of days since your little talk with dick. well, more of a warning than anything, so that's what you take it as. you started being more mindful, not just around jason but everyone. more observant and aware of how you interacted with them. and after a while, you deduced that whatever dick was thinking is just part of his overprotective nature, both as a brother and as a friend. that he'd grow accustomed to you and jason just like everyone else was.

that was up until you noticed your possessions were starting to go missing. it started with just panties, then a bra or two, eventually your sweaters or jewelry. at first, you thought you were going crazy, just misplacing and losing things, but it was happening way too often. bruce spoiled you enough so that everything was replaceable, but still. was dick right?

was jason some sort of pervert or stalker?

well, you think all of them had the stalking part down, getting it from bruce, but you aren't completely oblivious to the fact that jason harbored reciprocated feelings for you. but to go as far as stealing your stuff? even dirty panties? there's no way. it couldn't be. if it was true, you were daring enough to confront him about it. you'd just have to wait for the right time to do it, but that proved more than difficult. there seemed to never be a perfect moment.

bruce had been more rough than before during sparring. and honestly, you didn't mind. at first, it scared you. but with the emotional turmoil you were suddenly experiencing, you almost liked it. those damn hands in your hair, a tight headlock cause his bicep was wrapped around your neck, a muscular thigh between your legs. it felt better than you would ever admit, and you found yourself almost looking forward to it. it was just because you needed some stress relief, right?

bruce intimidated you more than anyone you've ever met, but that didn't stop you from checking him out occasionally. the older man was more than attractive, and no one could deny that, not even you, regardless if you thought he was a bit peculiar.

if you hadn't been so enamored in your thoughts, trying to convince yourself that you weren't just another perv, maybe you would've felt bruce's growing hard-on accidentally poke your ass. or that he's held you in this same position for too long, admiring how you looked bent over for him like this and wanting nothing more but to make you take him right then and there. but he was upset with you.

you were getting too close to jason. on a fatherly note, he knows he should be happy. jason always had trouble around others, and he was probably just another reason for you to stay. but a larger part of him wanted to spank your ass over his knee, gag your tiny mouth on his cock in front of everyone so they knew who you belonged to.

he has to be more careful. he'd barely gotten ahold of you, and if he pushed too much, he'd run the risk of you trying to escape. but he couldn't bear to just stand by and watch while you and jason tried to pursue a relationship. no.. that couldn't happen. jason would have a knife at his throat if he caught bruce just now, that he'd hate him even more if he found out that the girl he was crushing on was being lusted on by his father figure.

but bruce could live with that.

that's why he doesn't say anything when he gently bounces the leg that's slotted between your thighs, your clit grazing against him through the thin fabric of your workout shorts. he only gauges your reaction to it, waiting, expecting you to fight back but you don't. the movement was soft enough for you not to notice it at first, but when the rubbing gets repetitive and you finally realize just how long you've been in such a comprising position for him, a flood of both excitement and anxiety goes straight to your core.

it almost feels like a betrayal to jason, even if you owed him nothing. you couldn't even remember the last time you hooked up with somebody, and it was actually good. you'd been stuck with making yourself cum, and that got old very quickly. on one hand, doing this with bruce could potentially ruin your relationship with his other wards if you were caught, and on the other hand, you were horny enough to not be thinking straight. even if bruce was a weird fuck that you didn't trust fully.

you manage to let out strained whimpers, hoping to appeal to bruce so he'd let you go. the arch of your back had become strenuous, but even then, you found yourself yearning for more. if this is what he wanted, you couldn't bring yourself to stop him. your hips move on their own accord, rutting and pressing the plush lips of your cunt along the thick muscle, face contorting slightly in pleasure whenever your sensitive bud received the attention it craved so much.

he allowed you to hump his leg like an animal in heat, his hips jutting out forward and now fully pressing a heavy cock against your ass, the clothed tip resting by the lower half of your back. whether you fully wanted this or not, it didn't really matter to bruce. the arm that was wrapped around your neck moves down, then squeezing a handful of one of your tits, appreciating its weight and how squishy it was in his grasp.

the differences in sizes made your body appear tinier than it really was, and bruce thought that was cute too. his other free hand wrapping around your body so he could feel both of your pillowy breasts in his hands, his groping making you squirm. even if you encouraged this more than you probably should've, you wonder if this is moving way too fast. he's your best friends dad for christ sake. jason's dad. (as much as he liked to deny it). and you were already living in his mansion.

all while these thoughts swirl through your head, bruce is slipping his hands beneath your shirt and moving the cups of your bra out the way, twisting and pinching at your pert nipples. his teeth find your neck, biting, a tongue licking the sensitive skin. you felt helpless to how quick and overwhelming all of it is. it doesn't take long for it to feel like his presence and touch is suffocating you, and bruce is even more greedy than you are.

"can i touch you baby?" the grufness of his voice sends chills down your spine.

you don't know why he even asks. you stupidly nod your head in agreement, even though rough pads of his fingers are already eagerly shoving themselves into your shorts and cupping your tiny pussy through cotton panties. he hums in content, noting the warmth of it and the gentle rhythmic pulses. your heart races, resisting the urge to hump his hand just like you were on his thigh.

much to your disappointment, he slips his hand out of your shorts, whining at the loss of contact. that is up until your bottoms are being pushed down your legs, and suddenly, you're conscious of how anyone could walk in on the two of you. and you still can't bring yourself to protest.

bruce bends you over once more, your face down and ass up for him. his cock aches in its confines, throbbing and begging to be released, but he holds it off. he stares at your exposed cunt, making you feel subconscious for a bit. your lips are soft and glistening, tiny clit shyly hiding beneath the hood. his thumbs spread your cheeks a bit, your slick holes on display for him.

your arousal drips down, dripping a bit onto the sparring mat in the process. your openings wink at him a bit with small flutters, and bruce leans down slightly, using his own spit to lube up your asshole and rim it with his thumb, even if he wasn't going to use it yet.

your body jolts, yelping a bit in surprise. no one had ever touched you there, and you certainly weren't expecting it just now. your hands move to try and cover yourself. "wait— i've never—"

bruce interrupts you with low shushes, kneading the soft flesh of your asscheek in his hand. he decides to feel your clit instead, his thumb working its way down your slit and easily finding the tiny nub. the constant and steady movement ties a knot in your tummy, instinctively pushing your cunt against his hand, soft moans emitting from you. fuck, he was good at this.

you were no stranger to playboy bruce wayne. ever since you've met him, he always had a litter of lovers that followed him around like lost pets, people that he'd never commit to always at his beck and call. you think you might understand why, now. he was a provider, strong, handsome. and even though you hadn't felt his cock inside you yet, you feared you might not ever want another one again after this.

your pussy fluttered desperately, needing something inside you, an impending orgasm building up but frustration was still there. one of his long, thick fingers offers you grace, gently pushing into your cunt. it was almost comical how easily he got you to gush and make a mess of his hand, the digit rubbing and pushing at that sensitive and spongey spot deep inside of you.

"fuck!— bruce—" you cried out, back arching even further, hair sticking against your forehead due to your sweaty state. you pant quickly, trying to regain composure, but your heart only beats more wildly, like a tiny prey animal, the sound of bruce's clothes being removed filling your ears.

you twist your body and head a bit so you could look at him, the sight making your mouth fall open slightly, practically drooling while you oggled him. regardless of his age, the man before you was built like a damn sculpture. hand-crafted to perfection. he was still toned in all the right places after all these years, even if his body had grown softer during his time as a father. coarse hair that led down to a fat cock that was standing up at full attention.

you whimper a bit, unsure if you were really prepared for this. you assume that whatever this is will have an unspoken agreement to be kept secret, at least you hope so. bruce was sometimes unpredictable, but if dick or even jason found out, you'd imagine you and bruce would be killed.

"don't worry baby," bruce grunts softly, as if he knows exactly what you're thinking. the head of his cock teases your entrance, before moving his hips in a mimick motion of thrusting into you, fucking himself in between your thighs and cunt. the tip of his cock smears pre-cum along your stomach, a thick vein protruding from the shaft, and you worry your guts are about to be rearranged, not knowing if you'll be able to walk without a limp tomorrow.

you haven't been able to catch a good look at his cock yet, but you're sure he's gonna have the biggest dick you've ever had. it's proven to you quickly, the air being knocked out of your lungs when he fully sheaths himself inside, bottoming out without warning.

bruce grins above you, his hand resting on your lower back, just above your butt so he could watch the delicious jiggle of your ass bouncing on his cock. he keeps a slow pace at first. judging by your reaction, he knows the stretch hurts you a bit. your baby pussy was so taut around the meaty length, lips struggling to open up for him, even after playing with it.

soft ah ah ahs spill from you, body quivering ever so slightly. it would've been unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't watching you as closely as bruce was. you wanted to take it. you wanted to be good for him. you didn't want to disappoint him. you needed to take his cock like a big girl, even if you didn't fully understand why you wished to please him so much. maybe it's just cause you were sick of feeling like a child in front of him. like you had something to prove even if it wasn't needed. he'd adore you either way, but you didn't know it yet.

bruce was surprised you even succumbed to him as easily as you did, an adorable determination in your eyes, he presumes for a number of reasons. you were deprived just as much as him, which sometimes led to some questionable decisions. which meant he also knew you'd regret this later. but those were problems for another time.

one of his hands finds your wrists, keeping your arms pinned behind your back. bruce imagines the dainty fingers struggling to wrap around his thick girth, how pretty you would look with a cock fucking down your throat. he had fantasized about this happening for too long.

he fucks you with consistent movements, cherishing this moment in case he wouldn't be able to get it back. you were a kind girl. he knew all about the conflicted feelings that were settled deep in your heart because he felt them too. the teary look in your eyes, not knowing if you wanted him to stop or fuck you even harder, but he'd do the latter. with or without your permission.

bruce snaps his hips with more ferocity, keeping his focus on the recoil of your ass, his cock getting getting increasingly wet with creamy white slick, a ring of cum forming at the base of his length. you shudder a bit, his heavy balls slapping against your clit, and you shift your hips to fuck him back, needily chasing your own orgasm.

"that's it— use that little pussy on daddy," bruce hisses through his teeth, his nails digging into your supple flesh, all the filthy sounds that you and that sweet pussy made had his cock pulsing.

you could barely register a word he said, completely forgetting about anything other than the persistent pounding your weeping cunt was receiving. tears prickle your eyes, spit spilling out of your mouth. you looked a damn mess, barely coherent other than the small chanting of 'daddy' just like a prayer, mindlessly accepting the title.

this was something that bruce could get used to. everything about you was just so damn perfect. he shamelessly hoped that you were ovulating, wishing to fill your womb with his seed and make your belly full and round with his child, then you'd have no reason to leave. even if you tried, he wouldn't allow it.

your toes flex and curl, legs trembling from a wave of ecstasy. your poor cunt spasms uncontrollably around his cock, a strangled but sweet moan forced out of you while you rode out your climax. bruce stuffed you full, plugging himself deep inside of you. he stayed there for a moment before fucking you with slower but unmerciful strokes, skin slapping against you with a force that made your breasts bounce harshly.

your pussy squelches, juices leaking all over him. you struggle to crawl away from him cause of the overstimulation, aching and already sore due to the ceaseless strech. but he only pulls you back, growling at your disobedience, swatting your ass with a calloused hand. bruce cums with a raspy groan, a bruising grip on your hips, the sticky substance painting your velvety walls.

the mat below you is drenched in a mixture of yours and bruce's fluids, sure to leave a stain unless poor alfred was stuck cleaning your mess, and you had a feeling bruce wouldn't do it. you'd be willing to clean it yourself to save the embarrassment, but your weak limbs had other plans.

you think he's finished with you until you're hoisted up, forcibly turned around so bruce could see the rest of your naked body. he wastes no time to latch his mouth onto one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around the stiff peak. he wasn't going to allow you to leave here without leaving his mark on you, claiming you by filling up and covering your chest with his lovebites.

he could care less if anyone had seen how effortlessly he managed to corrupt you. all it took was to turn you into his perfect little cocksleeve. it'd be damn near impossible to avoid him after this. even if he wasn't around, the memory would be forever ingrained into your mind, and you wouldn't be able to look at dick or jason or any of the other wards without the reminder that you fucked their father.

you gently try to push at bruce's broad shoulders, the effort not doing much other than making him bite down on your tit, then moving along to the other. you guess the post-nut clarity had hit you, and a tinge of guilt welled up in your chest.

your brows furrow a bit in a feeling of discomfort when bruce glides two fingers through your folds, then gently massaging the swollen button above them. but your heartbeat picks up again, cunt clearly working with a mind of its own.

strained whimpers spill like honey from your lips, now finally shaking your head and attempting to push yourself away in defense when it's what you should've been doing since the beginning. bruce let's you break away from him though, his lips pulling off of you with a pop.

stern eyes meet your lustful but ashamed gaze, a state of displeasure evident on bruce's face. it's something that worries you, unsure of what that might entail. you don't want to make him angry, and you also don't think you're ready to leave the manor just yet, but you also don't know if you can act indifferent around bruce and the others.

maybe if he wasn't around as often, things would be easier, and you'd be able to pretend like this wasn't a mistake. your throat bobs, swallowing your anxiousness, wanting to reevaluate yourself, preferably alone.

you kneel there and wait, half expecting bruce to just fix himself up and leave without much regard for you, because you assumed that's the type of man he would be after fucking someone, but he doesn't. instead, he let's out a small disgruntled noise, collecting your panties and shorts that he had pulled off of you earlier.

his cum is still seeping out of you, a thick load slow to ooze out of you when bruce had emptied his balls inside your abused pussy. he doesn't ask if you want help or if you wanted to be cleaned up, simply raising the fabric up your legs and thighs till the most precious parts of you were covered again. the cotton becomes damp, your wet core coating them with the evidence of yours and bruce's sex.

he shortly cups the tiny cunt in his large hand, gently swiping his thumb over your mound. a small sigh leaves his lips, almost as if he was sad to be leaving the warmth and tightness of it so soon. you're not sure if you're comfortable with how easily he assumed he should have access to your body, but you guess it's also partly your fault, so you allow it for now.

his lips find yours, surprisingly gentle and loving, a stark contrast to how hard he was pistoning his dick inside your belly. but it's pleasant, so you welcome that also. bruce's tongue is smooth and soft, gliding along yours for a moment before he breaks away, a hazy look in his eyes. something you don't think you've ever seen there before, and you swear he's so dreamy to look at.

it's when you remember he's still undressed, eyes shifting below between your bodies and honing in on the massive cock that bruce endowed. even if it was gradually getting softer, he was still semi-hard, his blood pumping to that area just in case he needed to go another round. he'd be more than willing to stuff that tiny hole for you again, and he wished you'd ask him to, but you don't.

but maybe you will someday.

he let's you stare at his cock unabashedly, his breathing heavy and shaky. he slowly moved his hand, gently jerking the long length since you were gawking at him. you let out a cute squeak, suddenly remembering you were about to leave.

bruce doesn't seem to care that it's getting late, or that the rest of the family would be heading down to the cave sooner or later, his focus purely on what was in front of him. but he can see the look of worry written all over you, and it deters him. he stands up to his full height, your eyes widening slightly, his cock dangled in front of you shamelessly, and a small smirk forms on his face.

he has to refrain from grabbing your hair and prodding his dick between those pretty lips of yours. he moves to tug his joggers back on, his cock slapping a bit against his thigh from the movement. you never break eye contact, and neither does he, your thoughts plagued by bewilderment and amorosity.

you stumble over yourself while picking yourself up off the ground, barely reaching bruce's shoulders. you have to tilt your head up just to look at him without straining your eyes, uncertain of what to say or how your relationship with him will be like after this. it's distressing for you, but you're even more concerned with how you're gonna be able to look dick or jason in the eyes again afterwards.

you push away your apprehensiveness, chewing on your bottom lip so you can find the right words. "this— this never happened," you stutter out, your voice coming out more frail than you intended.

bruces lips curl a bit in dismay, his jaw clenching. out of everything he wanted to hear you say, that was certainly not at the top of his list. his hands ball into a fist, his nerves tensing up. he would never think about hurting you. not physically, at least. but you didn't know that. bruce scoffs lightly, almost amused that you actually thought he'd let you off that easily.

you scramble a bit, trying to get your point out before he can get a word in. "if anyone found out–"

"who i fuck is my business only," he cuts you off, already knowing what you'll say next. it's something he's thought over plenty times already. dick had been suprisingly compliant with bruce thus far, so he wasn't an issue according to bruce, and it was easy to get to him anyway. but he didn't foresee his other sons feelings coming into play, or yours. "and you're not an innocent little girl either, so don't act like one."

shit. you were practically digging yourself into a deeper and deeper hole since you moved here. you stare up at him with pleading eyes, and he can't help but soften up a bit. if you were more smart, none of this would've ever happened. how the hell are you gonna be pining after jason now? and bruce.. he seemed less than pleased at the moment. and your gut told you that he wouldn't be letting this go anytime soon.

but he was at heart, a family man. everything he did was out of love, and a desire to protect others so they didn't have to experience the pain he felt when he lost the people most important to him. at least that's what you liked to believe. after jason's passing, they worked so hard to rebuild their relationship, and the trust between them had slowly begun to resemble what it used to be, even if there were some slight changes.

there was no way in your mind that bruce would destroy all of that just for you. you were just some girl, who occasionally hung around his son, but that didn't mean you held as much value in his life than his adopted children. he wouldn't go as far as breaking down his own home, again, just for you, would he?

"if this ever happened," you gesture between the two of you, shaking your head, already gathering how he must've felt about this based off his demeanor. you were no master detective like he was, but being able to easily read body language, sensing people's energies, and intuition, you were good at. "it would ruin everything."

"we're not going to argue about this." he rebutted, taking on a more stern tone, his voice raising above yours. like he was already making the decision for the both of you, and you weren't having that. you want to say more till the sound of footsteps catch your attention, a familiar voice resonating from the stairwell.

"master bruce, is everything alright?" you silently thank whatever higher power that it's alfred instead of someone else. alfred has had his fair share of catching bruce in.. less than favorable circumstances. but the look of surprise on his face isn't something you can miss, even if it's only there for a split second. you'd been caught.

alfred's eyes wander down to the floor below you that's still wet with juices, registering what it was quickly. his eyes meet yours for a moment, smiling at you weakly, then taking a step back from you and bruce. "sorry for the interruption, sir." the older man says formally, turning on his heel to leave, but you do the same before he can.

"actually, i was just leaving." you glance at bruce whose eyes haven't left yours since even before alfred entered the cave. and then you were back to feeling small and helpless around him, back to square one. you sigh and roll your eyes at his poker-face, trying to rush out the cave to escape the awkward interaction.

alfred's eyes follow you with worry, only turning to bruce with a vexed expression once you're gone, shaking his head in disappointment. bruce stared at him blankly, already knowing he was about to get a scolding. "i'm a grown man—"

"precisely." alfred cuts him off, sass in his voice. "she's over a decade younger than you, your sons friend. you have no right to take advantage of her." he argued, pointing a finger in bruce's face.

"she can make her own decisions." bruce seethes, unwilling to hear him out. he hates himself for knowing deep down the butler was right, but he didn't force you to do anything. not really. he knew this wouldn't be without repercussions, but alfred wouldn't say anything either to avoid suspicion.

everything would blow up in bruce's face, and maybe he'd take some accountability for once in his life, but alfred highly doubted that would happen anytime soon.

bruce faced away from him, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. he hated how easily you turned this around on him, turning into a little cock-drunk slut while having sex and then turning around to be angry at him, but it was something he'd seen coming. bruce huffs out a heavy breath, ignoring alfred's smoldering expression. "just get out, i'll clean this up."

"and what of the girl?" alfred asks, side-eyeing the man he raised. he cared more for your safety and how you felt rather than getting on bruce's nerves. "that isn't your concern. i'll take care of it."

alfred was less than enthusiastic about what that could possibly mean, or what any of this would result in. his heart ached for you and jason, even occasionally eavesdropping on the time you spent together, and the friendship had blossomed. maybe it could have turned into something more, but he isn't so sure now.

he turns back into his more reserved and neutral state, giving bruce one last judgmental stare before leaving him to tend to him thoughts. there was no point in trying to reason with him, so he wouldn't waste the energy. he'd only watch you like a hawk now. and bruce included.

with alfred away now, bruce makes quick work of his computer. he searches for the camera he placed in your room upon your arrival to the manor. there's a weird feeling in his chest that he can't quite explain, unsure of what it even was, seeing you curled up in bed, staring off into space. this was one of the rare times he wished he was meta, just so he could read your mind, pick your brain, even if just for a little bit.

you didn't seem sad or angry. just more confused by what he could tell. your eyes shifting like you were thinking up all the possibilities and outcomes of this, and he hated to see it wrack your head. he wished he could say something, or hold you, anything that would give you comfort, but it'd probably just have the opposite of his desired effect.

he had hoped to dwell on the fact that he finally got to penetrate that pretty little cunt of yours more without having to stress over issues that were nonexistent for now, but that wouldn't be the case. there was always something there to bite him in the ass and humble him if need be.

now he could only dream that whatever emotions you possessed for jason would alleviate. that he was an option you didn't know you had up until today. he hoped that he could make you his. and he would. just one day at a time.

he makes sure to save the footage that the security cameras all over the cave had captured, for later usage. he didn't think he'd get an experience like that again anytime soon, that he had just gotten lucky this one time.

but you were almost too eager to fuck him back. bruce wondered if maybe he had more of a chance than he thought, but he didn't know the extent of the loyalty you held for jason or him. or if you would want to avoid the situation completely and decide to leave the mansion. he was never a religious man, but if there was anything for him to pray for, it was you.

he didn't know what was worse. his eyes narrow, analyzing you for a quick moment before shutting off the computer, his head almost beginning to hurt due to the frustration.

just one day at a time.

#batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman #bruce wayne #smut #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere batman #yandere batfam

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 years ago

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Studious II (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

After your last coupling, Prince Aemond has been acting quite strangely toward you. It doesn't make sorting out your own feeling for him any easier...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut (kinda?) , male masturbation, female masturbation (attempted), more Aegon commentary, more Aemond awkwardness

Author's Note: WOW, I was not expecting anyone to like my awkward Aemond brain dump, but boy howdy did y'all... I hope this lives up to the hype!

Read Part I Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist below the cut

Studious II

The day after his marriage, utterly distraught by the look of confusion and dissatisfaction on his wife’s face after the bedding, Prince Aemond Targaryen came to terms with the fact that he desperately needed help. And though it went against every instinct he had to ask for it, he would much rather admit this weakness – this shortcoming – than suffer seeing that disappointment on her sweet face each time he came to her.

He went to Grand Maester Orwyle first. For while he had taken a vow of chastity, his knowledge of anatomy would be more than useful. Besides, he had always been kind and patient with Aemond during their lessons in his youth – he would not judge the Prince for this failing.

For more practical knowledge, he asked Lord Jasper Wylde, his father’s Master of Laws. His long-held position on the Small Council proved he could be trusted. More than that, the man had seeded twenty-seven surviving legitimate children thus far, and another was soon expected. ‘Ironrod’ clearly knew what he was doing.

Lastly, Aemond reluctantly enlisted the help of his older brother. He had his doubts about whether Aegon actually knew anything useful. Still, no one could deny that he had more relevant experience than anyone in King’s Landing who was not a whore.

Aemond listened to their advice diligently, as if it were no different from anything else he had studied. And, like always, he had been a good student.

The glorious sounds his wife had made when he started putting his lessons to use still echoed in his mind. The gentle whine when he had kissed her. The sharp inhale when he had started caressing her. The shiver that ran through her when he found her ‘pearl,’ as Aegon had called it. And her delicious gasp when he found that sweet spot inside her.

But there were other sounds – worse sounds. The alarm in her voice after he had brushed his tongue against her lips. Her confusion as to why he was touching her at all. How her eyes had gone wide with panic when he began to pleasure her, and how she had begged him to stop.

And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her hiding her face in her pillows after he smiled at seeing her find her own pleasure as he thrust into her – as though the very idea of enjoying being with him was something incomprehensible. Like it scared her.

She hadn’t wanted to look at him, kiss him, or be pleased by him. And she hadn’t come.

So, he assembled his advisors the next day, seeking some explanation of what he had done wrong. Or new instructions on how to please her in a way she wouldn’t eschew.

They had quickly decided the solution wasn’t some new technique, but for Aemond to ‘woo’ her.

The prospect at once delighted and terrified him.

At least he had advisors to help him figure out how.

Indeed, Lord Wylde had taken on the demeanour of a man plotting a war. He asked Aemond to list every detail he knew about his new bride and wrote everything he said word-for-word on a piece of parchment, along with his own commentary and musings on strategies.

Aegon’s comments and observations, mostly concerning her breasts, were not written down.

But the elder Prince did not mind, as he was quickly distracted by his own interrogation of Grand Maester Orwyle. He wanted to know precisely when, why, and how the Maester had pleasured Helaena.

Once Orwyle finished giving him the details, it was clear the Prince was far more impressed than offended. When Aegon finally turned back to the matter at hand, the Maester said a silent prayer of thanks that he was not going to lose his head.

After more than an hour of strategising, they had devised several courses of action for Aemond to try.

“She will be so enamoured by you that you won’t even have to touch her to get her to come,” Aegon declared proudly.

Orwyle and Wylde winced at the Prince’s crass words, but could not deny they also felt confident in the plan.

Aemond growled at his brother, eye blazing with rage. “This isn’t just about sex, Aegon. I want... I want her to like me.”

He sighed and slumped in his chair, running a hand over his flushed face. While he would never admit it aloud, he wanted so much more than to just be liked by his wife.

He wanted her to feel the same thing he felt exploding in his chest every time he looked at her. The intensity of the feeling was more frightening than losing his eye had been. And more thrilling than his first flight on Vhagar.

More than anything, he wanted her to love him – as he loved her.

But as his fingers grazed the leather strap of his eyepatch, he knew it was an impossible dream.

She was so beautiful. So gentle and kind. So pure and full of light.

He was monstrous. In the years since losing his eye, he had become as hideous in his soul as he was in the flesh. He had delved so deep into the darkness of his anger, resentment, and hatred that he knew there was no escape.

Until she had come into his life.

From the first moment he saw her step out of her father’s carriage, he knew that if she looked on him affectionately and allowed her holy light to shine upon him just once… perhaps he could be saved from damnation.

“I need her to like me,” he sighed, feeling not like the fearsome Prince and warrior he was, but like a whimpering, desperate child.

A dozen snide, and admittedly quite witty, comments died on Aegon’s lips. Once, he would not have hesitated to say them, to laugh at the hurt in his brother’s eyes.

But that was before Driftmark.

Before he had failed to protect Aemond from their bastard nephews – spurred on by the very teasing Aegon had once led them in. Though he wasn’t there when the eye was actually cut, he knew that if he hadn’t been such a twat before then, his brother would be whole.

He would still be an awkward, pathetic mess with no clue how to fuck a woman properly, but… he wouldn’t think himself so unworthy of his wife.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, slipping back into the mask of the blithe, carefree Prince everyone knew him to be. “I think we can at least manage ‘like.’ Now, get off your brooding ass, woo the girl, and make her come!”

You sat comfortably in a secluded corner of the Red Keep’s library, reading the book you had been forced to set down after your husband’s arrival in your chambers the night before.

Libraries were all the same, no matter where they were. The peaceful quiet interrupted only by the turning of heavy pages every so often. The soft shafts of yellow sunlight streaming through the small windows – stained glass, if you were lucky. The smell of old paper and well-worn leather.

It was far too easy to imagine you were back in your father’s library at home. Even better, this little corner you found felt as private as your own rooms.

More private, perhaps. Here, Prince Aemond could not barge in requesting you perform your marital duties.

Or so you thought.

A shadow stopped in front of you, blocking out the mottled sunlight you were using to read. Thinking that perhaps it was later than you’d thought, and one of the Maesters had come to tell you that you’d once again stayed past the library curfew, you looked up with a polite smile.

And met the single violet eye of your husband.

“Good afternoon, wife,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly and giving a decidedly awkward smile.

With his dimples, he was very nearly handsome when he smiled. But it did not quite reach his eye, and his brow was set too hard for you to truly see him as such.

Blinking rapidly as you tried to quickly hide your disappointment that your private reading spot was discovered, you returned the smile as best you could. “Husband.”

Aemond stared at you as though he expected more, as was apparently his habit, but you only stared back.

Why should it fall to you to put more effort into the marriage than he did?

Finally, he cleared his throat slightly. “I was wondering if I may join you in your reading? I noticed last night that you were reading Valyrian history. It is a favourite subject of mine.”

Indeed, you had begun studying the history of House Targaryen more in-depth the moment your betrothal was announced. You wanted to familiarise yourself with the family you were to join.

Though your ideas about becoming a true member of the family faded quickly, you continued your research. As much as the disappointment of your marriage had made you loathe to admit it, it was a fascinating history.

But now it meant Aemond wanted to read with you…

“I am sure you’ve read this particular history before,” you said, shyly showing him the title. It was little more than a beginner’s primer, almost more a storybook than a proper history, but you had to start somewhere. “Would you not rather read something more… novel?”

He laughed slightly, and you realised you had just unintentionally made a play on words. And not even a particularly clever one.

“Seeing my family’s history through your eyes would be quite ‘novel,’ as you so cleverly put it,” he replied, obviously quite determined, if he was willing to compliment you.

Was that… the first compliment he ever gave you?

When he smiled at you like that, it brought you back to the way he smiled when he had done… whatever it was he had done while he was inside you that made your vision burst into stars.

You blushed as heat pooled in your stomach at the memory, and the feelings that came with it. Your feelings about him, which you hadn’t yet allowed yourself to sort through – if you even wanted to.

He had made you feel so small and unwanted in the training yard when he grimaced and ran away from you. But then he had touched you so gently and gazed at you reverently at your slight gasp of pleasure like it was as beautiful a sound as he’d ever heard.

And then he left. Again.

But that was what you wanted – wasn’t it?

You had no idea what you wanted. And right now, figuring it out wasn’t your primary concern.

What he wanted from you was.

You prayed it was honestly just to discuss history.

So, you smiled as genuinely as you could and gestured to the seat across from you. “Then I would be… happy to have you join me.”

His eye lingered slightly on the seat next to you, but he nodded and took the seat you indicated.

You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Should I…” you began, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to speak.

You looked down, clamping your lips shut to let him speak first – as a good wife does.

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh before setting his hand on the table. You watched as he flexed his fingers, wondering for a moment if he wanted you to reach out as well – if he wanted to hold your hand.

It was a ridiculous thought. One you silently scolded yourself for as you gripped the book harder, keeping your hands firmly where they were.

Silence fell as he mulled over his words, the left corner of his mouth twitching every so often as though he had almost decided what to say. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply sat there, pondering how uncomfortable you had become in this once-soothing place.

When it was just you, you savoured the silence. When he was here, you abhorred it.

“Do you have any questions?” Aemond asked, finally breaking the silence.

His words confused you. Was he referring to the book or to him? You had so many questions about what he had done last night, though you were more than a little afraid to ask them.

“What kind of questions should I have?” you replied, ashamed by how small your voice came out. Hopefully, he interpreted it as respect for the library.

He quirked his head, his lips again spreading in that not-quite smile, not-quite frown he often made after you had said something to him. Then, on the table, his hand curled into a fist.

“Just…” he gestured to the book. “Questions about what you don’t understand. I would be more than happy to help you.”

If your mind had been clearer, perhaps you would have seen the offer for what it was: a genuine desire to help and, perhaps, a way to get to know you better.

But something about Aemond clouded all your good sense as thoroughly as a stormy sea.

Your brow instantly furrowed in anger. Did he really think you were so stupid you could not understand a simple book meant for children?

“I have no questions,” you said coldly, your voice louder and harder than before.

Aemond blinked, his eye widening as he reached further across the table toward you. “I… I have studied the histories extensively, and I know they are complicated and difficult to understand. If there is anything that you are struggling with, or – ”

“Of course,” you cut him off. All your mother’s advice about how to be a good, dutiful wife was long forgotten as your anger rose higher and higher. “It is quite a difficult book. The words, I’m afraid, are well past my simple understanding. I’ve actually only been looking at the illustrations.”

His face was frozen, his eye wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looked remarkably like a freshly caught fish. You laughed at the thought, slammed the book shut, and stood.

“Although,” you hissed. “Even the pictures have started to become too ‘complicated’ for me. I’m afraid my headache is returning.”

He finally blinked and leaned across the table, truly reaching for your hand now. “No… I didn’t…”

You stepped away, harshly pulling your hand away from his. “If you will excuse me, husband. I must rest before the evening meal, or else I fear I will be too exhausted to participate in any intelligent conversation.”

That look of hurt again came over Aemond’s face, but you were far too angry to care. As you stomped out of the library, you did look back at him once.

If you had, you would have seen him slump over in his chair with his head in his hands before he pounded his clenched fist against the wood table, earning quite the scolding from a nearby Maester.

You once again did not attend the evening meal with Aemond and his family.

It had been a hard decision to come to. You had even dressed before finally deciding to remain in your rooms. But in the end, you supposed that the consequences of missing a second night would be easier to endure than an evening sitting next to your husband.

Your husband, who so obviously disliked you and thought you were an idiot.

That was what he had insinuated, wasn’t it? Why else would he have offered you help in understanding a children’s history book?

It was stupid of you to even want to read about Targaryen history, you scolded yourself. It was little more than a repetitive tale of countless generations of dragonriders who all shared the same handful of names. A stupid story about a stupid civilisation.

But as you sat at your desk eating your solitary meal, you couldn’t help but wish you hadn’t left the book in the library.

You contemplated sending one of your maids to fetch it, but you had no doubt Aemond would hear about it. That is, if he hadn’t just taken it himself.

Oh gods, what if he had?

He would find the notes you had made and tucked into the cover – including the family tree you sketched to keep all the names straight. It would only confirm his suspicions about your intellect.

You could picture his smug smile when he found the notes. The way the corners of his mouth would lift just enough to expose his dimples. There would be an arrogant twinkle in that violet eye. Perhaps he would be so amused by his simple-minded wife that he would have to bite his lip to hold back a laugh. Those lovely pink lips that had felt so soft on yours…

Shaking your head violently to banish the foolish, lustful thoughts, you took a long drink of your wine. Hopefully, it would soothe your nerves enough for you to think about anything but Aemond. Or at least enough to calm your breathing and banish the heat that bloomed beneath your thighs.

Once again, you lost your appetite and sent your meal away only half-eaten.

You needed to pray.

That was the only answer. The only way you could rid your mind of these horrible, sinful thoughts.

You had only just grabbed your copy of The Seven-Pointed Star when there was a knock at the door.

Not again.

“Who is it?” you asked, heart pounding with both nervousness and anticipation.

“It is Grand Maester Orwyle, Princess,” came an unfamiliar voice. “The Queen sent word you were unwell.”

A great wave of relief and disappointment washed over you, your book falling to the floor as your hands went slack. “Yes, come in,” you called.

Then, to yourself, you whispered, “I am quite unwell, indeed.”

The next afternoon, you sat comfortably on your couch, still in your nightgown and robe. It was improper, yes. But after assessing you in your somewhat panicked state the night before, Orwyle commanded you be relieved of your duties for the next few days.

‘Duties’ was a strong word, as your responsibilities only required you to stand silently next to your husband at court and gossip with the Ladies in the afternoon.

Still, you were glad to be rid of them, even if only for a few days. You had plans to go to Sept and pray and to sort out your feelings for your husband – the frightening, complicated feelings that had you so rattled that the Grand Maester himself thought you to be genuinely ill.

But not today.

Today, you would simply rest, drink your chamomile tea, and read the books your maid had fetched from the library.

None of them were history books. That had been the one requirement you had. Well, that and no romance.

So, as you sipped your tea, you allowed yourself to fall into the world of your book – a world of grand adventure, mythical beasts, and a pirate lord with a dashing smile and eyepatch…

Damn.

You threw the book aside, dangerously near the lit hearth, and crossed your arms. But before you could get too far into your wallowing, there was a knock at your door. Again.

“Who is it?” you called, eyes blazing as though you could see through the wood and smite whoever stood behind the door.

There was silence.

“It is Aemond,” came his soft, melodic voice. “May I please come in?”

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to say ‘no. No, I don’t want to see you.’

“Yes, you may,” your voice said instead. You baulked, unsure how the words came out so wrong.

The moment he stepped through the door, you turned your eyes down. You didn’t want to look at him, for you knew if you did, your logic would abandon you as whatever it was you felt for him overcame you.

But then you caught a flash of bright pink, and your head snapped up.

Aemond was carrying a small bouquet of dog roses, your favourite flower.

The large blooms were the most vibrant pink you had ever seen, perhaps even more so than in the fields where they grew back at home. Even the dot of yellow in their centres seemed as bright as the sun.

They seemed so out of place against the wall of black leather that was Aemond.

Slowly, you looked up from the flowers to face your husband. He had crossed the room to stand before you – awkwardly, as always. His lips were pursed, and his brow set in a deep furrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and quietly, stiffly holding the flowers out to you. “For what I said yesterday.”

You did not move to take them. Did not blink. Did not breathe.

“I did not mean to offend you,” he continued, arm still extended. With the flowers only inches from your face, you could see how tightly he held the stems – his knuckles were bone white. “I spoke without thinking, and my words did not accurately reflect my intentions. I only meant – ”

His voice faltered as you reached up for the flowers. You did not want him to snap the stems. They would die more quickly if he did.

As your fingers brushed his, he flinched, dropping the flowers unceremoniously onto your lap. You immediately grabbed them, carefully examining each bloom to ensure it was not damaged. Thankfully, they were intact.

You stared and stared at them, memories flooding your mind. Every year, your entire family would journey to the fields where the dog roses bloomed. First, you would picnic together in the grass, the happiest meal of the year. Then, when you were finished, you and your siblings would race to examine each flower, competing to see who could find the loveliest bloom.

They would do so without you this year.

Distantly, you heard Aemond saying your name, drawing your attention back to him. He was frowning, his brow crumpled. “I thought…” he whispered, “I thought you would like them.”

You blinked, confused by his words. But the motion sent the tears welling in your eyes spilling down your cheeks. You were so caught up in your memories you did not notice you were crying.

As you looked back down at the flowers, you missed the subtle movement of Aemond’s hand, reaching out to wipe the tears away. Instead, when you moved away, he clenched his fist so tightly that his nails began to bite into his palm.

“I miss home,” was all you could say before the tears began to fall in earnest.

Aemond stepped back, bumping into the low table before the couch. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Then he turned, stumbling into the table once more, and left.

As the sound of the shutting door echoed in your mind, you did not know whether you were still crying from your homesickness, or because he had left you again.

After Aemond left, and you had finally stopped crying, you had one of your maids set the bouquet in a vase. But not before you had carefully inspected each stem to be sure they were intact.

Somehow, they were.

You put the vase on your vanity where the flowers could catch the sunlight before crawling into your bed, intending to take a nap after what was an unintentionally exhausting morning.

But you did not find sleep.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling, thinking over what Aemond said.

He had apologised for making you feel stupid, and then you immediately cried over flowers.

You had never felt more stupid.

And now you felt like you needed to apologise.

So, despite having Orwyle’s official permission to skip all your obligations, you finally rose from your bed as the sun set and asked your maids to dress you for dinner.

Because you made your decision to attend the evening meal at the last minute, the rest of the family had already begun eating when you arrived.

Aemond, who sat facing the door, was the first to see you. His eye immediately went wide, and he stood so quickly that a servant had to catch his chair before it toppled to the ground.

Aegon began laughing hysterically.

Queen Alicent shushed him once before she stood, giving you a mildly concerned but otherwise pleasant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us, my dear,” she said pleasantly as she gestured for you to sit. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“I have simply been tired,” you assured her as you slowly walked around the table to your place. Curious, they had still set a place for you, despite your missing the last two meals. “Adjusting to life at court has been more difficult than I thought.”

As you came to stand before your chair, Aemond held a hand out to help you sit. Then, just as you had only hours before, you looked from his hand to his face. His brow was still set in a furrow, but he was almost smiling.

You took his hand, squeezing it tighter than you usually would. The only forgiveness you could give while being watched by his mother, grandsire, and siblings.

He seemed to understand, giving you a real smile – a breathtakingly beautiful smile – as you sat. You wanted to return it, but all your lips would do was tremble pathetically. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, you would burst into tears. So, you fixed your eyes on your plate and listened to the idle conversation around you.

Aemond himself began serving your plate, somehow knowing exactly what you liked and what you didn’t. When he finished, you looked over to him briefly and nodded your thanks, earning another of those beautiful smiles.

Your stomach flipped, and you told yourself it was only because you were hungry.

Neither you nor Aemond said anything to each other for the rest of the meal. Instead, you were more than content to simply listen. Or try to.

You were all too aware of every movement Aemond made. The way his long, elegant fingers gripped his goblet. The severe line of his jaw moving when he responded to his grandsire’s questions. The way he sat, legs bowed slightly outward to allow him comfortably at the table.

If you weren’t careful, your leg would brush against his.

You made sure to be very careful.

What you were not aware of was Prince Aegon’s eyes on you, noticing each time your eyes slid to his brother. Every so often, he would dip his chin and raise his brows when he made eye contact with Aemond, nodding toward you in encouragement.

Aemond noticed, but did nothing to act on it.

Not until the meal was ended and everyone rose from the table. He stepped to your side and extended his arm, accidentally bumping you, rather firmly, with his sharp elbow and causing you to jump away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said hastily. “I just… I hoped I could escort you back to your chambers?”

You looked at him for a moment, at the near-pleading in his eye, and nodded, slipping your arm into his for the first time since your wedding ceremony, and began to lead you through the castle halls.

As your private chambers were separate from the rest of the family’s, you were alone as you walked. You were not sure whether you were grateful for it or not.

The silence was palpable and nearly painful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and Aemond stumbled at the unexpected sound. “For the flowers, I mean. They are a favourite from home.”

You looked up at him, and he gave another half-smile, but said nothing.

Silence fell once more.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Aemond said, nearly shouting the sudden words. The corner of his lips twitched when you looked at him in shock. “This dress suits you much better than the one you wore yesterday, and is far more flattering than your nightclothes.”

Any warmth you felt at the initial compliment was thoroughly snuffed out at the remainder of the comment. Though you once more felt like crying, you schooled your features into indifference as you turned away from him, only looking straight ahead.

“I did not know you disliked them so,” you muttered, removing your arm from his and clasping your hands in front of you. You fixed your gaze straight ahead and did not waver. “I will not wear them again.”

Aemond stilled, but you did not break your stride. You only knew he followed after a moment when you heard the soft sounds of his boots against stone.

You walked in silence until you reached your door, then turned back to him. “Is there anything you require of me tonight, husband?”

He wore that expression of hurt that caused your chest to tighten, but you did not allow yourself to react. Finally, after a long moment, he licked his lips and shook his head once.

That was all the dismissal you needed. You opened your door just enough to slip through and shut it firmly behind you.

You did not speak to your maids as they prepared you for bed until they presented you with one of your favourite cotton nightgowns and your robe.

“Not those,” you whispered, though you longed for their comfort and warmth. “Something else. Anything else.”

They dressed you in one of the thin silk nightdresses, one which matched the colour of the dress you just removed. Though it was soft and luxurious against your skin, as you settled beneath your covers, you felt cold.

In the hall, Aemond took a stumbling step forward to rest his forehead against your door, his hand resting on the handle but not moving. He stayed like that for many long moments, silently cursing himself, before he stepped away and retreated to his own chambers.

The following day, you woke still feeling tired. It had been hard to find sleep when you felt so cold. When curling into yourself still did not warm you, you rose from the bed and stalked to your dressing room, determined to find your more comfortable nightclothes.

But the moment you ran your hand over the well-worn brocade of your robe, Aemond’s words again echoed in your mind.

He was right. It was not flattering. Your father had it made when you were younger, and he had obviously expected you to grow as large and tall as your brothers. But you had not, and the robe still overwhelmed your frame.

Your maids had offered to take it in to make it fit better, but you had denied them. You liked the way you could disappear into it, how it could double as a blanket, the way it streamed behind you as you ran through the halls of your father’s keep.

It was familiar – it was home.

Now Aemond had ruined it, as he had your dreams of a happy marriage.

Reluctantly, you rang the bell for your maids, apologising for the late hour, and asked for another blanket.

But worse than the aching in your bones and the heaviness of your head was the sinking feeling in your stomach when your maids told you that Aemond had sent word asking you to come watch him fight in the training yard.

No reason was given. Why would there be? A man did not need a reason to summon his wife.

You wanted to ignore the request. With Orwyle’s orders that you should rest, you easily could. Yet you could not deny the sinful part of you that remembered how you felt watching him train only days ago.

With his sword in hand, Aemond was a different man. He was graceful and confident – the Prince you imagined when you first heard of your betrothal. The sight of him had lit the smouldering fire of desire within you, shameful as it was.

Despite your prayers, the memory of his seeming indifference, and his more recent insults, you could not deny you wanted to see that man again.

So, you once again donned your warmest cloak – only after confirming with your maids countless times that it was flattering – and headed to the training yard.

Aemond was not in the ring when you arrived but sulking by a table full of weapons. His arms were crossed tightly in front of him, and though he faced the ring, he was not truly focused on the fight. He looked as distant as he did on your wedding night, just before he asked you to get in the bed.

That is until one of the Kingsguard – the Dornish one – pointed to you on the ramparts, and he looked to you.

You braced for another grimace, but it did not come. Were it not for the slight, almost hopeful raise of his brows, you would think him completely indifferent.

He turned back to the weapons table, quickly selecting a longsword and walking to the ring, barking an order that immediately disbanded the current melee. You watched him jump up and down, stretching and shaking his limbs to prepare for his own fight.

The Kingsguard stepped into the ring with him, wielding a large morningstar. The sight of the fearsome weapon sent a shiver of fear through your veins, but you quickly brushed it aside in favour of a small surge of pride.

You had seen Aemond fight. Surely success would come easily.

Though perhaps not.

At the first strike of the Morningstar, Aemond fell to one knee as his shield shattered. You startled, prompting the old Lord to your side to set a hand on your back and whisper his assurances.

“The Prince is a fine warrior,” he said, “a single strike will not fell him.”

But it was not only the one strike.

Over and over, the Kingsguard’s weapon struck, Aemond only barely avoiding it each time.

Once, after Aemond was forced to concede several steps back, the Kingsguard let his offensive stance fall and whispered something. Your husband only growled back at him, loud enough for you to hear from where you watched. Though even in the ferocity of his new advance, he fumbled through his strikes.

This was not the man you watched in the training yard before. However, there were hints of him, sometimes – a graceful swing of the sword, the agile avoidance of an incoming strike, or a strong blocking with his shield (which was replaced several times).

Though those glimpses were few, they were enough to light that fire once more as each one sent that tingling down your spine.

You even considered going down into the yard when the fight was over and asking him to take you back to your chambers.

The idea when quickly squashed when the fight ended badly.

A powerful blow from the morningstar sent Aemond backwards into the dirt. He only barely hung onto his sword. The Kingsguard dropped his weapon and approached the Prince with his hand outstretched.

Aemond did not accept it. Instead, he swatted the knight aside as he stood, driving his sword point-first into the dirt. Then, after whispering something you could not hear but could tell by the fury in his eyes was harsh and likely cruel, he turned and left the training yard.

Without a single glance your way.

Aemond did not attend the family meal that evening. He could not bear to face his wife after such a mortifying display.

Seeing her disappointment would break him, he was sure. Though worse was the possibility that she may laugh at him – mock him, as he had unintentionally mocked her.

Gods, he had not fought so poorly since he was a mere boy and had not yet been allowed to wield real steel. Perhaps the next day, Cole would give him his wooden practice sword back. He would deserve it, for both his abysmal performance and his arrogance.

When Lord Wylde suggested he invite her to ‘witness his martial prowess,’ he had let himself fall victim to Aegon’s flattery and his own vanity. And the gods had seen fit to punish him for it.

He would beg their forgiveness later. After he committed another sin. One he had been indulging in far too often of late.

Though his body – already sore from the fight – protested every movement, Aemond removed all his clothes. All the while, he tried not to think about the wrongness of what he was about to do or how much he had embarrassed himself, but about his wife.

How beautiful she had looked on the ramparts. How her hair floated so gracefully in the wind. How the colour of her cloak brought out a delightful sparkle in her eyes. How she had jumped each time Cole landed a blow.

That she cared whether he lived or died should not make his heart flutter as it did, but he would take whatever she would give him, even if it was the barest of affection.

When he was naked and laid himself across his bed, his cock was suitably hard and leaking. Still, he reached for the small phial of oil Aegon gave him when he suggested he ‘practice building his stamina.’

“It is a sin,” Aemond had hissed, horrified by the mere suggestion.

Aegon only shrugged. “So is killing. But we do so in war without fearing the wrath of the gods. Why? Because it is in pursuit of a noble goal. I would say making your wife c… happy and satisfied is a noble goal, wouldn’t you?”

It was an impressive logic – for Aegon. Still, Aemond went to the Sept each morning to ask the gods for forgiveness.

And each night, like now, he practised.

After depositing a droplet of oil into his palm, he took hold of his cock and began to slowly stroke himself.

It was nothing like being in his wife. No matter what he did, he could not replicate that wonderful feeling. So he quickly stopped trying.

Instead, he pumped himself hard and fast, trying to get to the edge of his peak as quickly as he could – and then stopped. He curled his hand into a fist at his side as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting a few agonising moments before resuming at a slower pace.

The only thing that made that waiting bearable was assuring himself what it would lead to – or what he hoped it would lead to.

He pictured his wife as she had been when he was touching her. How she had come so close to giving herself over to pleasure.

He hoped she would not ask him to stop the next time. Instead, she would let him touch her until she came. She would let him taste her, something he had never considered before Aegon told him of it, but which he now craved like a man lost in the desert craved water. She would beg him to fuck her, to once again brush his cock against that spot inside her, over and over until they both came apart.

And he would gladly obey. He would do anything she asked – if she only would.

Aemond brought himself almost to coming over and over until his stones ached from being denied so long. Only then did he allow himself release, spilling across his stomach with his wife’s name on his lips.

The dinner felt unbearably strange without Aemond beside you. No excuses for his absence were given; it was apparently not a subject anyone else was curious about.

So, you ate your food, spoke when you were spoken to, and excused yourself the moment you were done eating.

Though he had never much talked to you at meals, his presence was still somehow missed. You missed the touch of his hand as he helped you into your seat, the low timbre of his voice when he answered a question from his mother or grandsire, and the warmth of his gaze whenever you caught him looking at you.

You missed all those little joys, which you only then realised were indeed joys, so much that you would gladly endure his insults and criticism if it only meant he was there. Besides, you liked how he had gawked in the library when you mocked him in return. That could become a fun little game…

As you left the dining hall, thinking about how he had smiled at you the night before, you found yourself turning not for your own chambers, but for his.

Perhaps he was hurt from his fall, and that was why he was not there. Surely, it was only concern for his health that had you turning this way, nothing more.

But then you took another step forward, and you knew.

You desired him.

The shock and shame of it had you immediately retreating to your own rooms.

You quickly had your maids prepare you for bed, dressing in another silk slip of a nightdress before sending them away and curling beneath your blankets.

Soon, your own heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The godsdamned crickets had gone silent again, wishing for you to hear every shameful thought you had clearly.

You thought of the strength he had shown in holding off the Kingsguard’s attacks. The strength you had seen in the tautness of his muscles as he hovered over you. As he used those hands that so skillfully wielded a sword to bring you pleasure.

Your legs squeezed together of their own accord at the thought, and you became all too aware of a wetness between your thighs – the wetness he had once coaxed out of you with his gentle touch.

Spreading your legs and trying not to think about the sin of what you were doing, you slowly raised the hem of your nightdress and slid your hand over your folds.

Where Aemond’s fingers were warm, yours were cold. You rubbed your hand over your thigh momentarily, remembering him doing the same thing, before touching yourself again.

This part of you was unfamiliar, and you fumbled around more than Aemond had that first night.

You found your entrance first but shied away from slipping a finger inside. Somehow, that felt too wrong, too much of a sin.

But that was not the only place Aemond had touched that brought you pleasure.

Following the same line his thumb had taken, you searched from that little spot that had sent lightning through you.

It took some time, but you found it.

Though, no matter how fast you moved your finger or how hard you pressed, your own touch did not bring you nearly as much pleasure as Aemond’s had. Finally, after many long minutes, your attempts were causing far more frustration than anything else, and you ripped your hand away from your sex.

You nearly cried when you saw your fingers glistening – with bright red blood.

Your moon’s blood was here.

You were not pregnant.

The next morning, you immediately sent for raspberry tea to soothe the aching that had already taken hold in your abdomen and did not get out of bed until it had arrived and you had drunk two cups full.

Then, you wished you had not gotten out of bed at all. There was another note from your husband – he wanted to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

At least it meant he was not hurt. But to face him after what you had done, or tried to do…

A good wife did not do what you did. A good wife would have gone to his chambers and made sure he was well, would have let him take comfort in you.

Gods, you should have done so. You wished so badly that you had done so.

You could not change what you did, but you could be a good wife from this point on – you would be.

So, despite your pains, you dressed and headed for the gardens, where his note said he would be waiting for you all morning.

You spent the entire walk through the castle praying. To the Father for forgiveness for your sin. To the Mother for forgiveness for failing your husband and to beg that his seed quickened the next time. To the Crone for the wisdom to be a good wife – again, as the same prayer had obviously not worked the first time. To the Warrior, for the courage you would need to face Aemond. To the Smith, to repair what had been broken between you. And to the Stranger for whatever you had forgotten to include in your prayers to the others.

Truly, you needed the blessing of each of the Seven.

It was only by clutching the Seven-Pointed Star pendant until your fingers hurt that you did not collapse at the sight of Aemond.

He looked ethereally beautiful in the morning light. The soft sunlight streaming through the few leaves that still remained on the trees set his hair aglow, like he was touched by the gods themselves. Indeed, they must have been tempting your devotion to your promise. Why else would they make him appear so tempting?

You swallowed thickly, grateful you had approached him from the left, so he would not see you gawking. Then, once you had regained your composure, thanks in no small part to a new wave of pain in your belly overwhelming any desire, you stepped forward and curtsied.

“Husband,” you greeted with as much sweetness in your voice as you could muster, “thank you for the invitation to join you today.”

Aemond stood from the bench and bowed back to you, even though protocol did not require it. “Thank you for coming,” he said with a shy smile. “I was worried that… you might not.”

“It would be improper for a wife to deny her husband’s wishes,” you replied.

Dutiful. Polite. A good wife.

But Aemond’s smile fell. “I hope you do not feel you had to come here just because I asked,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze. “I hope that you wanted to come.”

You found yourself almost smiling at him, at the sentiment he offered. Then, nodding, you stepped forward and awkwardly held your hand out for a moment before returning it to your side. “I have not yet had the chance to see the gardens. Will you show me?”

He looked as though you had just offered him a kingdom and held out his arm for you to take.

Despite the heat radiating off him, you shivered as you looped your arm through his, and he began to lead you down the flagstone path.

You walked in silence for a while, but it was not as heavy or uncomfortable as before. There was only the faintest hint of tension between you, the rest replaced by a kind of contentment – unfamiliar but pleasant.

Aemond only spoke to name some of the plants you saw. How he knew exactly which ones you could not identify yourself, you did not know. He just… knew.

You stopped in front of the gnarled trunk of a wisteria vine. It was not in bloom, and most of its leaves had fallen, but it was still beautiful in its bareness.

“It is wisteria,” Aemond said after a moment, pointing with a finger to trace its path from its roots to the very ends of the vine some twenty feet away on a trellis. “At the end of spring, it will produce hanging blooms that are a lovely shade of purple.”

You looked up at him, at his one eye and its lovely shade of purple – the colour of wisteria, you realised.

Before you knew it, you were smiling so wide it hurt your cheeks. “I know,” you replied, your voice almost a laugh. “It is one of my favourites.”

Feeling yourself begin to blush furiously, you turned back toward the plant. “There was one even larger than this right outside my window at my father’s keep.”

Aemond did not – could not – respond. You had just smiled at him, and it was more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

You walked through the gardens on Aemond’s arm until you had seen every plant, every flower, every leaf. It was the happiest you had been since arriving in King’s Landing, and indeed in many years before.

But it could not last forever. While you were merely a wife, Aemond was a Prince. He had duties far more important than walking with his wife. So, when he mentioned the hour was growing late, you did not ask him to stay.

You merely removed your arm from his, bowed your head, and whispered your farewell. As a good wife does.

Yet Aemond remained in front of you, the look in his eye so intense you had to turn away.

“May I come to your chambers tonight?” he asked, his voice small but firm.

Your chest tightened.

You wanted to say yes – to kiss him and feel his touch once more. But…

“My moon’s blood arrived today,” you told him quickly before the fear in your gut could still your tongue.

Until he made that request, you had been enjoying the time spent with your husband so dearly that you had nearly forgotten the pain in your belly, the undeniable proof of your failure to produce an heir.

Your failure to be a good wife.

As tears sprang to your eyes, you watched his face twist with confusion, then crumple with despair, and finally, freeze into an expression you could not name.

Once more, he felt like a mystery to you – a stranger. Had you really come to know him so well, to care for him enough that even a single unknown expression could cause you this much pain?

You must have, for the pain in your empty womb was nothing compared to that which now took hold of your heart.

He looked to the flagstones below you, his mouth starting and failing to find words. “I…” he began, then stopped.

“Aemond?” you asked, desperate now for him to say anything, even if it was to call you stupid again.

Your mind was so clouded by fear at what he may say next that you did not realise it was the first time you had called him by his name since the wedding ceremony.

His eye met yours again, and he raised his brows. “Thank you for the walk.”

And then he left. Again.

To your credit, you did not cry until you were back in your rooms.

You did not go to dinner that night or even eat the meal that was brought to your rooms.

You only prayed and cried and prayed some more. Until you fell asleep on the couch in your sitting room.

After waking in the dark at some point in the night, with a blanket over your shoulders. You knew you should move to the bed, or you would be sore in the morning. But whatever you did, you would be sore for at least a few more days. So, you stayed on the couch.

For a while, you watched the door, hoping that Aemond would walk through and throw himself at your feet as he begged your forgiveness. And despite your better judgment, you would give it to him without hesitation.

But he did not come.

Eventually, you fell asleep again.

When you woke once more, you were indeed sore. But it was quickly forgotten when you saw something unfamiliar on the table before you – a leather-bound journal and a folded note with your name written on it in beautiful script.

Curious but cautious, you only grabbed the note before settling back into your seat to read it:

My dearest wife,

Forgive me for not coming to you myself to apologise, but given the way I acted the last time I did so, I believe you will prefer this.

I am so very sorry that my behaviour towards you has been utterly abhorrent. Please know that my stumbling words and foolish actions come not from a place of malice or even indifference. Rather, they are an attempt by a stupid and incompetent man to try and impress his wife.

There is nothing in the world that I desire so much as to see you happy. Nothing I wish for more than to see your smile and, if the gods bless me, to be the reason for it.

For my love, when you smiled at me yesterday – I have never felt anything so wonderful.

But as the past weeks have shown, I fear I am incapable of presenting myself with dignity when I am in your presence. Your beauty, kindness, and pure goodness overwhelm me the moment I see you, and all my good sense abandons me. No matter my intentions, nor the poetry I compose in my mind prior to coming to you, the very moment I am with you, I become little more than a bumbling idiot, unable to even say ‘hello’ without somehow offending or upsetting you.

So, I will no longer try. I know I have caused you much more discomfort than anything, and it pains me beyond measure. Already, I have begged the Seven for their forgiveness, and now I beg yours.

If you do not wish to give it, I will understand. I will accept whatever you decide and act accordingly. If you wish to not see me again, I will disappear. But I would be doing you a disservice as your husband if I did not at least share with you the depth of my feelings before we are parted – if that is indeed what you desire, though I hope it is not.

I am all too aware that if I tried to do this myself, I would say some ridiculous thing to make you hate me forever. That is, I admit, my greatest fear. So, I have asked the servants to deliver you this note, along with my diary. I know you keep your own, for I have seen it in your chambers. Therefore, you know that what you will read is not merely words, but the truths of my very soul.

Please know that I am not afraid to share it with you. As my wife, you are entitled to know everything about me. But more than that, I want you to. I want you to see all that I am, to know me as well as the gods themselves. I pray that what you will learn will not frighten or upset you but show you the man I so wish to be. The man I would be, if you allow me.

I pray you will like him, perhaps even learn to love him. For he loves you so very, very much.

I have marked the passages I most want you to read, but you have my permission to read everything. I will not hide anything from you, not anymore.

With all my love, more than you know,

Your husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen

As you lowered the note, now stained with several of your tears, you looked at the journal – the diary – on the table. It contained the truth of your husband, the man who had confused and angered you, delighted and amazed you.

It was a truth that, once you knew it, would change you forever.

But you had already been changed, hadn’t you? Irrevocably. The only thing the diary would change was whether it was for the better or for the worse.

So, after one last prayer, you set Aemond’s note back on the table, picked up the diary, and began to read.

Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you) If I forgot you, I'm sorry! I've never had a taglist this big before!

@hb8301 @that-girl-named-alex @bat-revival @dahlias-and-marigolds @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @padfooteyes @missusnora @bluebirdonafencepost @bellaisasleep @yentroucnagol @sarahkimtae @imjustboredso @howdoichangemynameto @hopebaker @yelenabeleovapocket @let-love-bleeds-red @maximizedrhythms @xideshiz @siriusdumblittlepuppy @skikikikiikhhjuuh @lemonivall @anisa269 @flavorofsalt @queenofshinigamis @elles-mind-palace @dragonfireandpixiedust @glitterandgoldfinds @daydreamerblues @tswiftsthings @kitkat-writes-stuff @miraclealignertlsp369 @cryztalline @im-obsessed-with-marvel @fluffiy @kotonei-molyneux @natie335 @killjoynotes @mariahossain @bellstwd

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thelargefrye · 1 year ago

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CARNAGE : HOW MONSTER!TEEZ FUCKS YOU … mature head canons

pairing : monster!ateez x f!reader

genre : monster au, mature, head canons

word count : 1k

warnings : language, mentions of cannibalism / human eating monsters

smut warnings : monster cock!ateez, unprotected sex, oral, sensory deprivation, breeding kink, marking (scratching), slight auralism, temperature play, double penetration, aphrodisiac pheromones, strength kink (i think i got everything!)

notes : inspired by @atiny-piratequeen and her ataraxia universe! sorry for always tagging you fie, probably will tag you one more time when i get the actual first chapter out

suffer with me tag : @sanjoongie also thank you for helping with deciding on what monster each member should be

how each monster!teez boys fucks you, as you have jointed down in your recent book on monsterfucking. please note that this is written as if you would find notes for a book or something!

ཐིiཋྀ ⸻ GORGON!HONGJOONG

DO NOT MAKE DIRECT EYE CONTACT WITH HIM!! – make sure their blindfold or yours stays on at ALL TIMES.

mostly fucks like any other human

no out of the ordinary autonomy; however, he does benefit greatly from sensory deprivation from his blindfold he always wears.

switching up and wearing a blindfold inside also heightens the other partners pleasure.

gorgons are not heavy into breeding and seem to not have any exact mating ritual or time compared to other monsters.

be careful when pulling his hair – the snakes bite!

also beware of them when a gorgon gives oral, snakes will also nip at your thighs... feels like being pinched... more annoying than anything.

forked-tongue. feels amazing. snakes still pinch though...

ཐིiཋྀ ⸻ KING GHIDORAH!SEONGHWA

not a dragon... but note he has several dragon-like qualities.

please note the hair color seonghwa has before proceeding with sex... they each have slightly different qualities but are generally the same overall

pink haired one is more lazy – you will do better at doing the work for the two of you.

black haired one feels the need to be in charge.

i think it's cause he is the middle head. does best performing oral and going rough.

blond haired one is the softer lover of the three.

eye contact is a must with him.

do NOT try to assert dominance over any of them! they do not like it!!

has a breeding kink it seems like it, but i don't think he will admit to it... will growl if teasing about being breed.

seonghwa is the largest monster in the book... standing at around 15,880 centimeters in his monster form and 365 centimeters in humanoid form.

cock is large, prepping yourself is key to taking him

only one of his kind... will find more about origins later on...

ཐིiཋྀ ⸻ BANSHEE!YUNHO

banshees are moaners, very loud whether topping or bottoming

have sharp claws that will rip clothing

they will also leave marks on skin... does not hurt too bad unless gone feral.

like the gorgons, no out of the ordinary autonomy

however male banshees appear to be rarer and larger than female ones

yunho stands at around 213 centimeters... taller than hongjoong and any human... same height as mingi.

talks a lot during sex... will tell you what he wants to do and what he will do

voice is very soothing... helps you relax similar to wooyoung's pheromones

ཐིiཋྀ ⸻ PHOENIX!YEOSANG

BEWARE! PHOENIX IS GUARDED BY A GUMIHO!

yeosang's body temperature is hotter than a normal humans.

temperature play seems to be a big thing... unsure if yeosang can control his body temp... will find out more about this later

will tease you and loves edging

phoenix performs well with his fingers and tongue... will have to do it again soon

has also displayed traits of breeding... however phoenixes do not breed normally

yeosang in his phoenix form is around 1,188 centimeters and his humanoid form is 274 centimeters

performing oral is the best way to make his submit

will be tag teamed with the gumiho – double penetration

special note: was gifted one of his feathers... reason unknown.

ཐིiཋྀ ⸻ DULLAHAN!SAN

san stands at around 182 centimeters... around an average human male height

he removed his head to perform oral while his body fucked throat

deep-throating, will feel cock in your throat

will fuck on horseback... rather scary... would recommend trying it once

loves to grope... will grope every part of you if you let him

loves to be close when fucking... san is a very loving partner

dullahans are also very loyal?? now san kind of patrols around the area near the cottage... interesting.

ཐིiཋྀ ⸻ FAERIE!MINGI

BEWARE!! FAERIES WILL ATTEMPT TO EAT YOU IF YOU LET YOUR GUARD DOWN!!

they love challenges so if you want to fuck one, make it a game

mingi says faeries vary in height and he is one of the more taller ones... some of them can be as small as 91 centimeters

rather unbelievable stamina and can go multiple rounds

mating press is the best position for mingi

have heard faeries have two cocks... will do more research on this

faeries also appear to have several mating rituals... make sure to not get mated to one! several fuck to mate and breed one person for life!

mingi has now decided to make camp in my living area... him and hongjoong get along quite well.

ཐིiཋྀ ⸻ PLANT MONSTER!WOOYOUNG

BEWARE!! MOST PLANT MONSTERS ARE MAN-EATING!!

wooyoung's monster form stands at around 609 centimeter while his human-looking form stands at 172 centimeters... same height as hongjoong

will use his vines as restraints

will also use vines to to fuck you – they vary in thickness

also produces aphrodisiac pheromones to calm his partner

his vines also produce a sort of liquid when he comes... makes your body slick with it

wonder what it taste like... maybe next time

wooyoung has also started a garden near the cottage where i found him... little plants that look like his monster form... will investigate further into this.

special note: has a lovely green hue over his skin in some areas

ཐིiཋྀ ⸻ GUMIHO!JONGHO

BEWARE! THEY EAT HUMAN HEARTS AND LIVERS!

jongho's gumiho form is around 9,997 centimeters and 304 centimeters in his humanoid form

weakness to getting him to submit is to scratch behind his ears... very cute when submissive

likes to show off strength... be prepared to be moved around a lot in different positions

jongho is very protective of the phoenix, yeosang, will do anything to protect him... do not try to threaten the phoenix if you wish to keep your life!

special note: can seemingly materialize his tails at will... doesn't have more than two at a time unless trying to assert dominance.

will have to do more research on all of them again at a later date. will add new entries and notes as i gather more research.

tag list (bold is unable to tag) : @frankenstein852 @watamotee33 @kawennote09 @mixling-blog @marahleiwhen @kpopnightingale @harry-the-pottypus @rdiamond2727 @sanniesbum @marvelahsobx @khjcoo @mysticfire0435 @exfolitae @kryybebe @dementedaly @simeonswhore @moonm1st @nvmbheart @spooo00oky @frogogh @marsanhwa @kryukyustar @sookacc @seongwin @melomatz @songmingisthighs @ad0rechuu

network : @cultofdionysusnet

#carnage.#cultofdionysusnet #kdiarynet #ateez x reader #ateez smut #poly ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez blurbs #ateez hea #ateez monster au #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #yeosang smut #san smut #mingi smut #wooyoung smut #jongho smut

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johannestevans · 1 year ago

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I came out as trans at about fifteen or sixteen, changed my name, and I’ve lived as a man since. As a young man doing my A-Levels, going to university, and working afterwards, I was out as a man, using he/him pronouns, using my actual name —

Two pictures of me, one at age 16, the other at age 19.

To people who had no idea what a trans man looked like, it was pretty easy to give people a funny look and say, “I’m a man,” in a tone that made them suddenly flustered and nervous, because cis people feel extremely guilty about misgendering another cisgender person in a way they don’t when they know you’re trans.

I was thin, had a lower-toned but still not masculine voice, didn’t have much of a chest — I got gendered correctly automatically maybe 30 or 40% of the time, and maybe up to 50% if I employed shame in the right way, implied I was cis with a hormonal imbalance, or if people assumed I was still a teenage boy rather than an adult.

To people who did know what a trans man looked like but weren’t trans themselves, talking to them was fucking excruciating.

I remember once when I was selling house alarms and some hideous cis girl asked, “Are you transgender?” and I immediately told her, “Nope,” as she kept questioning the point. Another time, I was in the back of a taxi when a man asked if I was trans, although thankfully when I told him, “Nope, just low testosterone,” he seemed to immediately believe me and back the fuck off.

It’s one of the reasons I feel conflicted about trans visibility — it’s great for other trans people to see a variety of trans representation, but cis people knowing what trans people are is a double-edged sword, because cis people are entitled, invasive, and often just straight-up weird about gender, most of all when they think they’re being allies.

When I started working at a hotel, my immediate boss was a very abusive woman — she was petty, vindictive, and because she had poor organisational skills and frequently got flustered by her own workload, she would take this out on any staff around her, whether that was her juniors, other management, or sometimes guests.

Her being abusive in the workplace wasn’t that unusual. Now and then the managers would misgender me, and I’d correct them, and they’d brush it off as they apologised, that sort of thing.

Because this manager identified as an ally, she flipped her fucking lid.

She went off on a tirade for some ten minutes about what a great ally she is, and how much she knows about and cares about trans people, and how a lot of people wouldn’t hire a trans person, and she volunteers with local queer groups (she was at the time a mediocre DJ, and frequently DJed at a local gay club), and all this bluster.

Over one (apparently needed) correction.

All she needed to do was not misgender me — a quick “sorry” might have been nice. A ten-minute rant about how she was a saint for hiring me?

Not really necessary.

Cisgender people hate trans people — and I know some cis people reading this are immediately raising their hackles and about to go “well not ALL cis people — “ because they’re allies, and it’s important that I know that they’re a good one, actually, and they’re a real ally.

But the reason that cis people have a knee-jerk negative reaction to trans people, intersex people, and any person that they have decided is gender non-conforming, the reason they respond so punishingly to our existence or to mild misbehaviours on our parts — such as demanding respect or correcting their mistakes — is because our very existence is an interruption to their worldview, the ideologies and biases by which they live.

They should know what a man is just by looking at one, and if they get it wrong, that’s embarrassing for them — because to cisgender people the binary male-female divide is crucial to the way they respect or disrespect others, people that interrupt their thinking on it can trigger a lot of rage and upset. A trans person represents a frightening challenge — what if they accidentally treated a man with the casual disrespect that is rightfully allotted women? What if they sexually objectified a man thinking he was a woman, and it made them gay for a moment?

If they think you’re cisgender and heterosexual enough, any of these things are their fault, and they feel very bad about them.

But if you’re trans?

Well, it’s your fault for existing that way, right? You’re the one doing genders wrong — they’re not the one that made the error!

There’s a particular rage reserved for trans men, lesbians, and any other trans or GNC person that’s perceived as being “biologically female” — because society feels the greatest gender-based entitlement over these people’s bodies, in large part due to institutional misogyny, we’re perceived as gender traitors.

Cis men hate us because we’ve ruined what they perceived as a resource for them — a source of sexual gratification and aesthetic pleasure, a breeding vessel for birthing babies, not to mention a mother with all the domestic labour that comes with; cis women hate us because they perceive us as gaining all the privileges of being male, of gaming the system, and at the same time breaking what they sometimes feel is a sort of sacred trust of femininity.

In order to cope with institutional misogyny, some cis women effectively craft a further gender-based bioessentialism — if you have a uterus and are perceived as a woman by society, you’re not just physically capable of birthing a child. You must also innately have the traits of an ideal mother — you must be nurturing and lovely, you must be caring, you must have the correct emotions, you must be submissive in the right way. But also, a woman like this must be cleverer than a man, and if she effectively parents or cares for the men in her life, she just does that because she is so smart, and men are so stupid.

Again, trans people represent an interruption to that mode of thinking. If trans people are real, and we’re the genders we say we are, all of that ideology is nonsense.

If I, a trans man, can just “choose” to be a man, doesn’t that mean that every woman that experiences misogyny is just “choosing” misogynistic abuse?

The fact that as a trans man, I experience abuses that are linked to misogyny is irrelevant — that I’m at a higher risk of sexual abuse, that medical professionals dismiss my symptoms as soon as some of them realise I’m “really” a woman and cease my treatment or cease treating me with the respect due a man; that people dismiss me and dehumanise me, either because they think I’m transgender, and therefore a lesser being, or an ugly and not sexually available woman, and therefore a lesser being.

If I’m a trans man, I must experience male privilege — why else would I choose to be trans?

And if I don’t experience male privilege in every situation, because people don’t always consider me male or legitimately male, or if male privilege in any given situation I experience is actually complicated by other factors, such as race, disability, sexuality, and so on, then I must be lying.

Passing privilege isn’t the same as male privilege — passing privilege generally refers to the privileges a transgender person experiences because they reliably pass as cisgender.

I don’t think that it’s universal — “passing privilege” assumes that everyone passes in all situations, and while I would say that I pass very reliably in a lot of mine now that I’m several years on T and my second puberty has been very good to me, this doesn’t apply everywhere.

When I’m in the hospital, for example, or otherwise seeing a doctor, I get treated with even more hostility — partially because most cis doctors practice misogyny-based medicine and are more likely to dismiss women’s symptoms or generally give them worse medical care, especially male doctors treating women. In my experience, cis female doctors are more likely to punish me for being transgender than a cis male one is.

I’ve noticed multiple times going to see a doctor, being treated as a man with all my pain or symptoms being treated as a concern, and then abruptly there’s a sudden withdrawal of care and concern when the doctor either realises I’m transgender and/or realises I’m “really” a woman.

But the thing is?

I’m pretty sure that the reason I suddenly receive such aggressive negative response is because I pass so well. When cis people realise that I’m trans, they feel even angrier and more personally betrayed, because I’ve so thoroughly “tricked” them by being a man without their permission.

Me at 24, about a year on testosterone; me at 25, about two years on testosterone. Same blouse, same vest.

But in general, day-to-day life — yeah, I’m perceived as a cis man.

Notably, a cis gay man.

Regularly, other trans guys and some butches tell me that as they began to present in ways perceived as more masculine, they noticed that women in public responded to them differently.

If they were out at night and a woman was walking alone nearby, she might cross the street to be a bit further away from them; she might choose to sit elsewhere rather than be near them on a bench; a woman alone might not want to share a lift with them.

I thought this was interesting the first few times I heard it — I hear it all the time, and it still strikes me as curious, because I don’t experience the same thing at all.

I’ve never had a woman walk away from me, or be careful not to be alone with me. Frequently, women strike up conversation with me in public, they chat to me on buses the way they might with other women — a little while ago I was waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up from the airport, and a young girl of 19 or so actually came up to me to ask if she could hotspot off my phone for a second and to ask me for directions.

It’s not that women alone shouldn’t strike up conversation with men, or shouldn’t be alone with them — but just to avoid any potential discomfort or risk of being harassed, many of them understandably avoid it.

But a lot of women see me in the street or in public places, and when they perform their internal risk assessment, I don’t prompt a red flag.

Part of it is that I’m skinny and white, sure — I’m not very physically intimidating in terms of my size, and I’m not racialised in the way many Black and dark-skinned men and boys are. Sometimes, I’m using a mobility aid like a cane, and that makes a difference, too.

But as a rule, I’m pretty. I wear make-up — I often wear face stickers and have visible “tattoos”. I’m fussy about my hair, and it shows. I dress in bright prints and florals, I wear silks and satins, I wear waistcoats and high-waisted jeans, I wear block heels.

When I walk, I sashay my hips. I hold my hands in a delicate way — I gesticulate freely, and I move my fingers when I do so in an effete way. If they hear me talk, people often guess from my accent that I’m English rather than Welsh, and that I’m more educated than I am, not to mention significantly posher.

The average cishet stranger in the street absolutely sees me as a man — and they exclusively see me as a gay one. No one ever mistakes me for a straight one, and that absolutely affects the way I’m treated.

I couldn’t possibly pose a threat of sexual harassment in many women’s eyes, because I’m obviously gay, and many cis straight women feel very comfortable with — if not entitled to — gay men’s companionship, especially white gays with effete mannerisms.

When talking about gender-based privileges for trans men and mascs, we don’t tend to consider any impact that perceptions of our sexuality can have, but because of the way gay men are sorted into a different subclass of cis masculinity than straight men, there’s a noticeable impact.

Straight people sometimes roll their eyes or look amused when they think I’m being particularly dramatic or gay; occasionally straight men wolf-whistle at me or make comments about how gay I look; people strike up conversations with me about RuPaul’s Drag Race, start chattering to me about drag, because they just assume that’s the sort of thing I would be into. I get looks sometimes on the bus if I’m chatting with friends or on the phone, or sometimes if I’m just there in front of them and I look very gay.

Most of this isn’t incredibly malicious — is it homophobic? Sure, sometimes. A lot of it is just straight people trying to understand what they think is gay culture the best way they know how.

Parents with kids actually make me the most nervous — not because there’s any danger posed by the kids themselves most of the time, but because parents can be the most vicious when it comes to homophobia. They’ll accuse gay men of being paedophiles just for existing in public and seeming a bit fruity, or they’ll get nervous about how gay someone looks in case their kids ask questions about it.

And kids do find how I look interesting — all the time, I’ll be out in public, and a kid will notice that my nails are painted or that I’m wearing high heels or that they see tattoos on my face, and they’ll ask their parents about it.

It’s anxiety-inducing for any parent when their child starts acting about a stranger’s appearance where the stranger can hear them, because they get worried about the potential impoliteness — when that stranger is a faggot, some of them get angry at me, because once again, even without their knowing I’m transgender, I’m interrupting their worldview of what the correct gendered behaviours are, forcing them to think about it, forcing them to explain aberrations to their kids.

A “normal”, “real” man is straight, after all, and does straight men’s things, like dress badly and sexually harass women and get ugly haircuts. It’s confusing, if I’m out on the streets looking fuckable.

The last time I was travelling, I was sitting in a restaurant in the airport, and some boys at the next table were staring at me.

“Dad, why is that man wearing makeup?”

“I don’t know, some men wear it.”

“How come?”

“…”

It is a truth universally acknowledged that wherever a faggot goes, little boys will be asking their mildly homophobic but well-meaning and liberal parents questions about that man’s physical appearance.

A classic response, and one that I overhear often, was this man’s retort: “Why don’t you go and ask him?”

Sometimes teenagers and kids laugh at how I dress, especially if they’re in groups together �� and especially, too, if there’s a bunch of us visible queers together.

One thing I’ve noticed about wearing crop-tops is that some people get het-up about how hairy I am and the hair visible on my belly, or under my arms if I’m wearing a vest — because some straight people see a white twink and want to reclassify him as being part of the woman subcategory instead of the man subcategory (based on his assumed sexual availability to men), they then apply women’s rules of physical appearance to him.

After all, if I’m wearing makeup and high heels and high-waisted jeans and a crop-top, that’s like how a woman dresses — and if I’m going to dress like a woman even though I’m obviously a man, I should be held to the standards a woman would be too. I should be hairless and odourless, like a sexy child, because “sexy child” is the ideal for an attractive woman, right?

Some cishet women also hate how I dress and instead of laughing or grumbling about it in the way that cishet men do, they wrinkle their noses and get really quite scornful about it.

Some of those women’s husbands are secretly on Grindr (I know because I have sex with them), and I believe this is the closest they get to facing their suspicions as to their husbands’ bisexuality.

A photo of me from earlier this month, age 26.

I started taking testosterone some months before the pandemic started, but experienced the bulk of my second puberty’s physical effects over the course of the following years.

Subsequently, when I went to a queer event being run after about two years on testosterone, many people there hadn’t seen me out in some time. I got a lot of looks and a lot of interest, especially from other queer men, in a way I never had before — I always got a lot of engagement and looks, but many cis gay men would take a little while to warm up to the idea of me as a man if they knew or suspected I was trans.

Maybe it’s just because I’m hotter, though, right? I’m hardly the only person to go through a glow-up on HRT, and I certainly feel more attractive.

Except that several of the older men looking at me were men I’d known casually for years — and a bunch of them came up and introduced themselves. Said hi, what’s your name, I’m x, it’s nice to meet you, are you new to the city?

Because up ’til then, they really hadn’t much looked at me in much detail. Many of these men had heard me give talks, had talked to me in queer bars, had met me at one event or another, and I just hadn’t stuck in their minds — they certainly hadn’t come up and spoken to me before, let alone with such enthusiasm.

And I do want to say, like —

None of these men would call themselves anti-trans — they’d try to use the right pronouns, they’d say that there should be trans events on, and so on. But there’s still going to be unconscious biases there — whether up ’til now they saw me as a woman (and therefore just looked past me) or saw me as trans (and therefore just looked past me), suddenly I was a fully realised human being. Maybe I was attractive and fuckable to some of them — but crucially, I was also another gay man, and therefore real and worth talking to.

And I will say that this isn’t all older gay men in my community or even like, a massive majority of them — but it was enough older gay men to be noticeable.

Even entering into new gay spaces, queer men tend to be friendlier to me than they used to, more outgoing in conversation, chattier, etc.

That’s obviously not necessarily because I’m trans — like I said, I’m also hotter than I used to be, I’m older, more educated, I dress better and more confidently, etc. There’s other factors at play, and I’m not comparing friendliness to cruelty or coldness — I’m comparing it to polite apathy, which was often mild enough that I wasn’t hugely affected by it pre-T.

Some men do treat me a little coldly, but from what I can tell it’s not usually because they suspect or know I’m trans — a lot of the time it’s actually because I’m so faggy and effeminate, or they just don’t trust that I’m gonna be cool because I’m so young.

Mixed queer spaces can be another story.

Other queer people my age have often found me intimidating — I’m a pretty outspoken person, my politics are more aggressive leftwing than many people’s, and as a autistic, I speak plainly and directly in a way that a lot of people don’t care for, or can find scary and overwhelming.

Now, though?

The response to my perceived aggression is a lot more dramatic and avoidant — because now they assume I’m a cisgender man.

People often interpret me as angry or aggressive when I’m not — I can sometimes be somewhat flat in my affect, I can be a very blunt communicator, I don’t tend to beat around the bush when it comes to my opinions. All of these are pretty standard as an autistic guy, and a lot of other people have experienced the same thing I have — the interpretation of those personality traits as aggressive or argumentative.

But it’s been interesting experiencing the negative response ramp up so much as soon as I’m perceived as “really” male, even by other transmascs, queer people, and trans men.

It can be strange at times navigating broader trans spaces as someone who doesn’t look trans in the way even other trans people expect you to, where they just assume that you’re cisgender, or that as someone who already passes and has therefore “finished” your journey as a trans person, there’s less reason for you to be in community with other trans people.

Especially when it comes to trauma like…

There is an assumption by many young queer people that cis gay people are just fine now, that homophobia doesn’t impact them in the traumatic way it did older generations, or that homophobia is no longer an active impact on people’s lives — I obviously am transgender, but to be brushed off with the assumption I haven’t experienced the same extent of bigotry or negative experience because I appear cisgender always strikes me as fucked up when of course a lot of cis men have had similar life experiences to me, or worse.

I will say that again, the negative responses are from a minority, just big enough to be noticeable, and the more people talk to me, the more they relax a little about the whole thing.

It’s still funny though, like —

I met some trans friends of a partner recently, and I came downstairs without a shirt on because I was hurriedly multitasking, and watched her do a double take at my chest.

I laughed and was like, “Did you not realise I was trans?”

And she went, “No!” and we had a giggle about it.

Most of the time meeting other queer people across the board, I’m extended care and compassion and love — it’s just weird, I think, being so aware of the gendered differences in how people speak with and apparently perceive me, and how things have and do change, especially because people assume transmasculinity means a one-way journey to Male Privilege, and all the benefits it can come with.

As with any and everything else, these matters come with nuance and layers, and nothing is as simple as A to B with no complications.

#musings #transgender #trans rights #trans man #trans mlm

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djarins-cyare · 6 months ago

Text

Never Look Down

Part 1: Din’s Evening

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+) with a smidge of explicit

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 5,330

Tags/warnings: alcohol, drunkenness, vomit (no description), numerous references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, non-explicit smutty thots, Din carries OFC a short distance, masturbation (male, semi-explicit, but I don’t think enough to push up the rating), 3rd person POV (part 2 will be 2nd person POV and OFC will become reader/you).

Author’s note: This was originally supposed to be for @beskarandblasters’ Din Djarin Fic Club Drabble Event, although drabble this is not! Kel said there was no word limit, but it grew so long that I couldn’t even call it a one-shot anymore, so I’m uploading it in two parts to make it easier to read and I think that probably disqualifies it from the Drabble Event. But Kel, thank you so much anyway for the prompt – it resulted in me finally pushing through my writer’s block and finishing/uploading something new, so I’m eternally grateful!

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

He’s panicking. It’s stupid, really – he’s been in situations far trickier and more critical than this. But Karga said he needed help urgently, and now his babysitter isn’t answering her comlink.

Should he just go and leave Grogu here? It’s not like he never left him alone on the ship.

Except… something’s changed since the adoption. Din has started to care what others think of his parenting style. He hears people whisper that fatherhood clearly isn’t coming easily to him (he thought he was doing alright). He watches how his babysitter closely monitors every move the kid makes (the Mandalorians never watched him that closely). He listens when people talk about how they raise their own children (he hadn’t realised it was such hard work). And it’s made him feel as if he’s… lacking.

He hates feeling less than adequate in any area of his life, but somehow, failing as a father cuts deep. Perhaps it’s because he grew up without one. Plus, that scolding Peli gave him after she found Grogu alone on the Razor Crest still haunts him.

Although the Mandalorian method of letting them learn from their mistakes has merit (and it never did him any harm), he wants to be there for his son. So, no. He won’t leave Grogu here alone. He can’t risk him waking up and wondering why nobody comes if he calls. The kid has probably had enough of that in his past.

Why isn’t Maia picking up?

Din paces the cabin’s length, listening to the gentle ping of the comlink as it tries to connect with the one he gave her. Even the soothing pulse doesn’t ease his frustration. Diligent parenting is hard.

Just as he’s wondering if he can wake the kid and bring him along, the comlink crackles to life.

“—know what the stinking stang is wrong with it! Ah, frotz! Hello? Is this thing totally borked?”

For a baffling moment, he can’t work out whether he’s shocked or thrilled. She certainly doesn’t use that type of language around the kid, but he’s delighted to hear her voice nonetheless.

“Maia!” He interrupts her frustrated confusion as loud as he dares, lest he wake the sleeping child downstairs.

“Shiny, hi! It works! What’s up, my metal man? It’s late… is this a booty call?”

Once again, Din can’t decide if he’s shocked or thrilled. However, his dick’s instant twitch of interest proves that it, at least, is clearly siding with the latter. Dank farrik, he wishes it were a booty call. “No, Maia, I need—”

“Course it’s not!” she interrupts, giggling inanely. “Sorry, that was ridiculous, ignore me. Go on, you were saying?”

He takes a deep breath and tries to push past the stab of dismay at her labelling the idea of a booty call as ridiculous. At least she sounds in a happy mood.

“I’m sorry to contact you so late, but Karga has some kind of crisis. IG-11 is still with the Anzellans for repairs after the last crisis, so he’s asked for my help. Grogu’s asleep, but I’m gonna need you to come over and wait at the cabin until I return. I’ll pay you double your usual rate. I just don’t wanna leave him here alone.”

“Suuure! I’ll haul my jets over to you now. Five, ten minutes, tops. If you wanna take off now, I know your door code. I’ll check on the li’l bug as soon as I arrive.”

Din breathes a relieved sigh. “Thank you, I owe you. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Happy hunting, Beskar Boy! Or happy dispute settling!” Maia signs off with a melodic laugh that instantly makes him grin beneath his helmet, despite the stupid nickname.

The grin fades as he processes the meaning of the words preceding her addictive laughter, and he sighs. She’s probably right, although he hopes he’ll at least need his blaster for whatever mess the High Magistrate wants him to clean up.

Karga was once able to intimidate the townsfolk, but these days, they see him as purely a leader and captain of industry. They respect his ability to govern and improve the town – he’s more than proven himself capable in those roles. But whipping out a blaster from beneath those ridiculous robes now gains him little more than dubious raised eyebrows. By contrast, Cara was a fearsome and capable law enforcer, and now IG-11 keeps the citizens in line.

Except a reptavian tore off both of IG’s legs a few nights ago. Apparently, whatever the droid equivalent of ‘sick leave’ is, he’s taking it.

Din doesn’t mind helping out when he’s not on jobs for Carson. As long as Karga doesn’t solicit his help too often, it’s an easy way to make a few extra credits. He supposes that kind of makes him a part-time deputy, though he’ll never accept a title or a contract. But if tonight’s job is nothing more than a neighbour dispute, he’ll be a little peeved. His friend is aware of his skillset and wouldn’t contact him unless it required weapons and armour. He hopes.

He checks on Grogu once more, then equips himself with his usual arsenal, making sure to lock the weapons cabinet behind him. For some reason, his blasters fascinate Maia. He’s given her several shooting lessons, and she always asks to hold them whenever the cabinet’s unlocked. Although he doubts she’d handle them without his permission, he’d rather be present if she’s caressing his things.

Truthfully, he’d prefer it if she handled and caressed something else entirely, though he buries that thought for now. He has work to do, and an ill-timed hard-on would be awkward at best, if not downright perverse. He can torture himself later.

Din wraps up the problem in less than an hour. It does require his blaster, in fact, and he does have to shoot someone. Okay, it’s in the shoulder to disarm him, but the guy is only on his drunken vendetta because he’s heartbroken. He doesn’t deserve to die.

A year ago, he would’ve just shot him in the head and gone home. But he’s lived among the citizens of Nevarro for several months now, and he’s almost starting to feel like part of the community. Passing through it to visit the old covert was different. The Mandalorians were a separate (secret) colony, and he was merely a visitor who lived on his ship. Even though his new home is still on the outskirts, Grogu attends the school in town, and he already knows many of the other parents by name. These days, the market stall owners try to chat with him instead of looking away in fear as they used to.

The guy standing on a table in the cantina tonight with a blaster trained on his ex and her new flame is someone Din recognises. He can’t recall from where, but disarming rather than killing him feels like the right thing to do.

Once he has him in binders, he delivers him to Karga and hurries straight home. The lava flats are quiet and peaceful this time of night, free from the nocturnal bustle of the town and lit only by the celestial display above. There’s no sulphur fog tonight, and the air smells fresh.

But as pleasant as it is, he doesn’t dawdle. Just like every other time he’s left Maia in charge, he relishes the chance to walk into his home and see her there. As if she belongs. He finds that image far more dazzling than the constellations sparkling above him. It’s far sweeter than the fresh air he inhales through his helmet filters as he hastens toward his cabin.

He can’t pinpoint when his interest in her changed from professional to passionate. Grogu made it clear that he liked her best out of the several childminders they auditioned, so he gave her the job. At some point between then and now, he became enamoured with her.

But he can’t do anything about it.

His loyalty to his son means he can’t fuck the babysitter, so for now, Maia belongs to the kid, and Din sleeps alone.

Even though he’s had no serious relationships in the past, he imagines he’d be willing to try it with her. But since it’ll never happen, it’s not worth dwelling on. He’s noticed a few locals checking him out, so he can always approach them if he’s looking to get laid. He’s much more used to casual encounters.

But none of that stops Din from thinking his babysitter is beautiful. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could run his hands over her welcoming body, indulge in her tender touch and heady scent, sink into her depths over and over until she’s crying out his name as they shatter together in ecstasy….

Dank farrik, he’d better quit thinking like that. He has enough trouble controlling his physical urges around her as it is. In fact, it’s starting to become a problem. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to dash off and furtively rearrange himself so his stomach padding hides his boner. He can’t wear the flight suits with the tight pants around her anymore, so the looser-fitting ones are getting much more use. In fact, he’s wearing his last pair. (That reminds him: he needs to do laundry tomorrow.)

Maia teases him whenever she can, but it’s always friendly, not flirty, and it doesn’t come close to being sexual. He’s never caught her looking anywhere other than directly at his visor. Still, he can’t help feeling embarrassed whenever something she says or does causes his cock to harden. He simply can’t control it.

Din reaches the cabin and punches in the door code, happy to note that his guest has locked it from inside. Her diligence and attention to detail certainly helped him trust her in his home from the outset of her employment.

Stepping across the threshold, he notices all the lights are out except for the one above the kitchen sink, which is unusual. Stranger still, all it illuminates is a near-full cup of water standing in a pool of condensation.

Nonetheless, it’s bright enough for him to survey the rest of the room cast in shadowed shades of grey.

He can’t see Maia.

Instantly, his heart rate rises, although he doesn’t panic. She’s probably just in the refresher or the kid’s bedroom with him. But the amount of moisture surrounding that cup shows it’s been sitting there almost as long as he was gone, which is curious. And there’s no light coming from downstairs either.

The cabin is small, with an open-plan kitchen and living space, and a staircase leading down to two bedrooms and the refresher. Din’s priority is his son, so he creeps down the ferrocrete steps, well-practised at following the route silently. With his night vision on, he can see that Grogu’s door is open a crack, and he pushes it wider. Little purring snores verify that the kid is sleeping soundly, and he slides the door fully closed to ensure he stays that way. Good.

Since his babysitter wasn’t in that room, and she wouldn’t invade his private space without permission, there’s only one other option. He bypasses his own bedroom opposite Grogu’s and heads to the door facing him – the refresher. He can’t pick up any sounds from within, but he’s not about to invade her privacy by listening too intently. The door is fully shut, but there’s a faint glow through the ventilation grill at the bottom, too weak to be the usual lights. A glowrod?

That’s rather odd. He’s grateful that Maia avoided putting on the hall lights while Grogu’s door was ajar, but she could’ve switched on the refresher lights once inside.

For an unsettling moment, Din isn’t sure how to proceed. He really doesn’t want to interrupt her if she’s busy. But… his instincts are telling him something is off, and he wants to know she’s okay.

He’ll give her a little longer. He’d rather be cautious than a perv.

He retreats upstairs again, conducting a thorough check of the living space and kitchen but finding nothing abnormal or suspicious. Nothing besides that abandoned cup of water, at least. Next comes his nightly check of the cabin’s weak points – the windows and entryway. He secures them all, figuring he can escort Maia out when she’s ready. Tipping away the water, he runs a fresh cup, turns his back to the stairs to lift his helmet and drink, and refills it. Finally, he disarms himself of most of his weapons, leaving one blaster in its holster and his vibroblade in his boot. He likes to bring some of his usual arsenal downstairs with him, even though he has multiple spares in a secure cabinet near his bed.

Which is where he’s headed now. Din sets the drink on his nightstand, switches off his night vision, and switches on the dim bedside light. His guest has seen him armourless a few times before, so he begins removing his beskar and the rest of his kit. He’s almost finished – just his armourweave stomach padding to go – when he hears a thump from the refresher.

In seconds, he’s outside it again, listening intently for any further clues. He’s been in the business of handling unconscious bodies for decades, and that sounded like an unconscious body.

“Maia?” he tries, keeping his voice low to ensure he won’t disturb the kid.

Nothing.

He knocks gently, giving it a few moments.

Still nothing.

Okay, now he’s really starting to worry. He returns to his bedroom, grabs his vambrace, and flicks through his visual settings until he’s replaced his night vision with the thermal overlay. He hopes he isn’t crossing a line here, but what else can he do? Walking to his doorway, he takes a deep breath… and directs his visor at the refresher.

Dank farrik, she’s on the fucking floor. Why didn’t he check sooner?

Jabbing off the thermal overlay, Din throws his vambrace on the bed, then rushes to the refresher door. He keeps his voice low in case he wakes Grogu, hoping it reaches her anyway. “Maia, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you’re decent because I’m coming in.”

He gives her five torturous seconds to respond or get decent if she isn’t already, and then he keys in the override code. The door slides open, revealing his unconscious (but blessedly fully clothed) babysitter slumped near the toilet, lit by a glowrod on the floor next to her. He can now hear her breathing heavily, though it doesn’t sound laboured, just a deep state of sleep.

His helmet isn’t sealed, so straight away, he’s able to detect the lingering smell of vomit. A somewhat grim consequence of being both a bounty hunter and a father means Din can also distinguish types of vomit. Although she has flushed, there’s no air filtration with the lights off, and the residual odour tells him that Maia has been drinking alcohol.

It also explains her unconscious state, so his worry dissipates a little, and mild annoyance starts to creep in.

She agreed to look after his son when she’d been drinking?

He kneels down next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Maia. Wake up.” He shakes her, but she doesn’t stir.

He assumes she slipped from a propped-up position against the toilet, and the thud he heard was her slumping onto the ferrocrete floor. Did she bang her head? If that didn’t wake her… shit.

He tries shaking her again with as much force as he dares, and she groans and curls up even more. She’s fighting it, but he sees consciousness sluggishly returning.

“Maia, it’s Din. Can you sit up?”

“… y’can’t make me sing for the cup….” She’s still half asleep and confused, but that’s not surprising. A few seconds later, she cracks open her eyes, becomes aware of her situation, and slams them shut again. “Oh… fuuuck… no no, m’sorry… so so so s-sorry… please don’t be mad at meee….” She’s tearful and rambling but mostly coherent, even though she’s still curled on the floor with her eyes squeezed closed.

“What happened?” He can’t think of anything else to say until he’s established her culpability. He knows she wouldn’t drink on the job, so she must’ve been drinking earlier this evening. It certainly explains her overzealous response on the comlink. Dank farrik, he should’ve realised. But, no, he was busy revelling in his own drunken high from her joke about it being a booty call. Idiot.

“It was accidet— ac-ci-den-tal,” she continues from her foetal position. “Tried to call you back, but m’comlink’s busted… figured better I’m here drunk than not at all… ’m sorry sorry sorry, kark, pleeease don’t hate me. I jus’ wanted to make sure the li’l man was okay. I didn’t realise how much I’d had till I stood up, n’ it hit me worse on the way over. But Grogu’s fine, I checked. But I’ve grossed up your ’fresher, ’m sorry…”

Din sighs. In the scheme of things, Maia did the right thing. He’d rather she was here puking in his refresher than risk his child waking up alone. And it occurs to him that she achieved a surprising amount while seemingly drunk as a pirate. She secured the cabin, poured herself some water, stomached a few sips, managed to descend the stairs unscathed, and checked on the kid. Then she sealed herself inside the refresher and threw up neatly into the toilet bowl with no spills, even managing to flush before she passed out. And she did all that by the light of a glowrod so she wouldn’t wake Grogu.

In many ways, his babysitter’s actions tonight were more responsible than some of his own questionable choices regarding his son’s safety. He can’t be mad at her.

He tells her so. “I’m not mad, Maia. Thank you for coming over anyway. Can you sit up? I need to know you’re okay.”

Her eyes are still clamped shut, but she cracks them slightly as she tries to push herself off the floor. It doesn’t go well, so Din reaches forward to help, and together, they get her into a stable sitting position. Nevarro’s volcanic environment means the basement maintains a cosy warmth, so he’s not surprised she passed out down here. It’s not exactly soft, but those who grow up in the Outer Rim spend their lives making do. He likes that she’s a survivor. Like him.

“Everything’s s-spinning,” she groans. “N’ my mouth tastes like bantha balls.”

Din suppresses a snort. “Hold on.” He climbs to his feet, retrieves the cup of water from his bedroom, and then passes it to her. “Here, sip.”

After she’s taken a few delicate sips, Maia gives him back the cup. “Don’t wanna puke again.”

“You won’t,” he assures, placing it in her hands again. “Pretty sure you got all the alcohol out of your system already. You gotta rehydrate, or you’ll feel worse.”

Kneeling down next to her again, he watches her try to follow his instruction, pleased she trusts him. He can’t help but admire how adorably dishevelled she is. Her hair is mussed, her clothes are wrinkled, and she keeps pouting between sips… but it’s all so… cute.

Once she’s had half the cup, he accepts it back, though she follows it up with more apologies. “M’so sorry… , m’such a karkin’ idiot… I get it if you don’t want me to look after Grogu anym—”

“Stop,” Din interrupts sharply, unwilling to let her beat herself up. “This is as much on me as it is on you. I didn’t ask you if you were busy. I demanded you come over and bribed you with extra credits. I didn’t question why you sounded different on the comlink. And I didn’t wait for you to arrive. If I’d done any of those things differently, you might not have ended up on my ’fresher floor. So I’m sorry too.” Maia doesn’t reply besides blinking at him a few times, so he asks, “What was the occasion? For the drinking, I mean.”

“One year of freedom from a terrible relationship,” she states resolutely, and for a moment, she seems a little more sober. “Me n’ Zandi, we were both in deep with some mudscuffers who locked us in when we were too young to know any better. But we got lucky. Marshal Dune caught them dealing spice, and now they’re spending a decade mining the asteroid field at the edge of the system. The Nevarran tribunal sentenced them a year ago today, so we drank to celebrate our freedom.”

Din doesn’t really know how to respond. She’s made some previous passing remarks about the toxic relationships she and her friend escaped from, which he’s always taken as hints of her wish to remain unattached. It’s yet another reason he wouldn’t feel right about making any sort of move on her. He settles on, “You… deserve to celebrate.”

“Thanks, Shiny.” He bristles at the nickname out of habit, but he secretly likes that Maia has numerous nicknames for him. “N’ you deserve a ’fresher without a woman on the floor. I should get outta your way, Beskar Boy.”

She tries pushing herself up but instantly becomes dizzy and topples to the side. Din’s naturally quick reflexes kick in, and he positions himself to catch her, letting her fall into his chest as his arm snakes around her back. Before he can even process what he’s doing, he’s slipping his other arm beneath her knees and lifting her up.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, grabbing onto his flight suit with one hand while the other flies to grasp his neck. He almost shivers from feeling her clutch at him so keenly. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I love it! Thanks for the lift, muscles!”

He’s glad his bold move has amused rather than perturbed her, so he doesn’t answer, too busy willing his cock to remain unreactive to this sudden closeness. His main goal is to get her off the ferrocrete floor and put her down somewhere softer as fast as possible. As he elbows open the door and navigates out of the refresher, he makes a split-second decision. His bed is closer than the couch.

“Shiny! This is your bedroom!” Maia whisper-shouts as he steps through the door. At least she’s lucid enough to keep her voice low in case Grogu hears across the hall.

Din grunts in agreement as he approaches his bed and starts carefully lowering her onto it.

She keeps going in a gleeful whisper. “Is this…? Are we…? Kriff, I never thought I’d actually end up in your bed, metal man! I mean, it’s been a dream, sure, but I figured your creed thing meant, like, no sex or whatever. But holy frotz, I guess tonight really was a booty call! Count me the fuck in!”

He’s already laid her down by the time he fully processes her words.

Dank farrik, he’s a fucking idiot.

He will never have sex with any woman in this state. He’s not that kind of guy. The fact that being with Maia is a dream for him too is meaningless, and so is the possibility that she might actually want him. Because does she really? Maybe this is still the alcohol talking. It has to be. Right?

It doesn’t even matter. All Din needs to do is extract himself from this situation in the least awkward way possible and without having to reject her verbally.

But how?

He points a finger at her. “Stay put.” She bites her bottom lip and acknowledges his order with a sloppy salute.

Damn it, the image of her lip caught between her teeth is now burned into his brain, haunting him with forbidden promise.

He pads back to the refresher in his socks and closes the door, relieving himself, flushing, and then pouring some cleaner down the toilet to sit overnight. He then washes up at the sink as fast as possible and refills the cup of water. Returning to his bedroom, Din places the cup on the nightstand along with the glowrod that belongs to his guest.

Speaking of whom…

In his brief absence, Maia has toed off her shoes, stripped naked and strewn her clothes across the floor, and burrowed under his covers. She’s still bleary from the booze, but he sees fire and lust behind her hopeful gaze as she blinks up at him.

It kills him.

He remembers he never finished removing his armour, so he retrieves the vambrace from where he threw it and places it on its shelf. Then he finally removes his stomach padding and puts that away too, directing his visor anywhere except at the naked woman in his bed. He’s doing everything possible to deny the physical reaction her presence is giving rise to.

When he’s done, Din approaches the bed again, acutely aware that she’s tracking him with a hunger he shares but can do nothing about.

Fuck, this is torture. The blanket has slipped down (or maybe Maia has arranged it) so low that it’s daringly close to exposing her nipples. She’s right there, waiting for him. Wanting him.

But she’s drunk. And she’s his kid’s babysitter. He tries to quell his ache by thinking about how she’s thrown up this evening, which would make kissing gross. It helps for a second, although the idea of kissing her at all ends up eclipsing the negatives, and he hardens even more.

Shit, he cannot think about kissing her. Or how naked she is. Or anything like that. Vomit. He should focus on vomit.

Okay. Din taps off the bedside light and picks up the glowrod, then heads to the door in the dark, stumbling over her clothes strewn on the floor. He can’t activate his helmet’s night vision without his vambrace control, but he won’t put it back on just to navigate his escape. Nor will he switch on the glowrod yet because he doesn’t want to see any dismay or regret in her eyes as he leaves her. He wants to remember the hunger he witnessed there.

Hazardous garments notwithstanding, he finds his way to the exit.

Crossing the darkened doorway’s threshold, he whispers, “Get some rest, Maia.” Then he fumbles for the control and taps the door close button, releasing a sigh as it swishes shut behind him.

Switching on the dim glowrod, he traipses upstairs. It’s going to be so kriffing awkward in the morning. Nonetheless, one thought keeps repeating itself to him above all others, one he can no longer prevent his dick from swelling at the prospect of.

Is she really attracted to him?

He has to know.

Din extracts another blaster from his cabinet, knowing he won’t sleep without one beside him. Then he sits heavily on the couch, thinking about how often he used to sleep in his helmet before this cabin became his home. It’s the first place he’s felt secure enough to remove it at night, so he’s no stranger to sleeping beneath his beskar mask. It’s almost a comfort in a way.

With his face covered in a darkened room lit by nothing but a glowrod while those he cares for slumber downstairs, more memories return…

Sitting in the Crest’s darkened cockpit, fucking his fist by the swirling glow of hyperspace, chasing a release during those first stressful days as a fugitive. In theory, if something had pulled him out of hyperspace, someone could’ve quite literally caught him with his dick in his hand. But the odds of anyone being close enough to peer in through the transparisteel at that very moment and notice his furtive actions were slim. Back then, he was so untethered that in his weaker moments, he desperately sought anything that made him feel good. Fleeting moments when he could pretend his life wasn’t falling apart yet again. The risk was worth it.

Here, too, although he’s locked up the cabin and closed the shutters, there’s a risk of Maia sneaking up the stairs and finding him. But a similar desperation fills him now – the utter frustration of loss. Back then, it was the loss of a stable income, the loss of his covert. Now, it’s his missed chance – the loss of what could’ve been with the woman downstairs. And maybe even the total loss of her in his life. Perhaps she’ll be too embarrassed about this evening’s events and quit. Din couldn’t take that, nor could Grogu. It’s why he tried to avoid this.

Can they get past this? Maybe he ought to find someone else to care for the kid. Would that be best? This is getting too complicated. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

So, right now, he’ll imagine the positive and lose himself in the fantasy, just like he used to. He’ll think about the hunger he saw in her eyes and let himself believe it wasn’t merely the alcohol. Just for tonight, he’ll believe it’s the truth. The risk, once again, is worth it.

He’s already tenting his loose flight suit pants, so he fumbles to expose himself and relaxes against the couch cushions behind him. The wet spot on his underwear displays just how profoundly turned on he is simply by the idea of being with Maia.

After all the temptation it’s endured this evening, his cock is extra sensitive, so he begins with measured, lazy strokes. Whilst he’d love to revel in the fantasy, he knows he won’t last long. As he imagines joining her in his bed, filling his palms with those half-exposed breasts he saw, pressing his naked body against her, his movements begin to speed up and his pressure increases. Very soon, he’s plummeting toward the edge of ecstasy like a podracer pilot with the finish line in sight.

His helmet tips back to stare at the ceiling as he pictures how it would feel to sink into her warm depths, and the notion ignites his fuse, burning rapidly. It only takes a few more strokes before the powder keg within him explodes into a million tiny raptures. His hips stutter, his muscles clench, and his orgasm tears through his body. He comes hard, and a fractured groan far louder than he’d intended escapes through the modulator as he spills forth his pleasure…

Fucking. Bliss.

Din’s mind is blank for some time, just a sense of fulfilment and contentment gently rippling throughout his relaxed form.

As the real world filters back in, he’s able to think clearly, and he now knows what he has to do. He doesn’t like it, but it’s the mature and sensible option. It’s also a fucking daunting prospect, but he’s faced worse. Has he? Yes, he has. He can do it.

He tucks himself away and finds a cloth to wipe down the mess on his flight suit. That task makes him realise he’ll have to sneak into his bedroom tomorrow without waking Maia to grab his armour and some fresh clothes. And now he really needs to do laundry tomorrow. The only pants he has left are the tighter ones, which he tries to avoid wearing around her. Great, there’s another reason to dread the morning. Although it’s not as if he’s ever caught her checking out his package – she may tease him verbally, but her gaze is always polite.

For now, he’ll enjoy the security of darkness and the lingering swirl of happy chemicals in his brain.

Din lays down on the couch and switches off the glowrod. With a deep sigh, he surrenders to the relaxing state of comfort brought on by his orgasm, letting himself fall into a contented sleep. Before he drifts off, his last thought is of Maia’s beautiful lips… leaning in for a kiss….

If only.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2 →

Those of you who've read my work before will be familiar with my copious end notes:

As usual, it’s British spellings I’m afraid. Demographic stats say about 60% of you are American, but I can’t help where I was born, so sorry about all the extra ‘u’s and ‘l’s and for using ‘s’ where you would expect ‘z’. However, I’ve channelled my inner linguist and used American language and speech patterns since the show is filmed in the US and Din’s accent is American. All other wording is internationally neutral, including Maia’s dialogue (since the next chapter is written from her POV and I’ll be switching to second person reader insert for that, e.g. you/your pronouns). I’m a little sad I didn’t get to include any Mando’a linguistics in this fic tbh. Maybe another time.

The cabin’s layout is inspired by the concept art by Christian Alzmann that appeared in the closing credits of s3e8, in which there appears to be a staircase leading down to a lower level. That makes sense to me, as Din would need total security to sleep without his armour on, and a windowless underground room seemed appropriate. I also like the parallel that on the Razor Crest he used to sleep on the lower level in a windowless room too.

I know Carl’s absence is going to be felt when we finally get the movie, so I wanted to write something where Karga is still around. If this had been a longer piece, I would’ve had him actually featuring in it instead of being in the background, but in any case, Karga lives forever in the universes I write.

The reference to Din wearing looser pants is, weirdly, Canon. One of the ways you can tell it’s Brendan Wayne in the suit is because he seems to prefer these weird baggy clown pants. Contrast to Pedro who likes them tight (Din Peña?), as does Lateef Crowder, and as did Barry Lowin in season 2. Since Brendan did the majority of season 3, we saw Din in the loose-fitting style a lot more, so I decided to write in a reason for that beyond actor preference.

Though we have no information on Nevarro’s judiciary system, they’re an independent world who have a marshal and a magistrate, so my guess is they’d adopt the New Republic’s system of having a tribunal. Generally, group decision-making is favoured during this era, in contrast to the single-judge system of the Imperial era, so it seems more likely that Karga would encourage citizens to serve on a tribunal rather than unilaterally passing judgments himself.

Apologies to @the-mandawhor1an for using the name of your longtime established OC – it was coincidental, I promise! I chose it after looking up the most common female names in the world, one of which is Maria, and I settled on the variant Maia because it sounded like a more Star Wars-y version (and for another reason which you’ll see in part 2). I only realised when you reblogged my WIP Wednesday snippet, and it was a bit late to change it by then. I guess it’s a common name in the SWU too! But I’m sorry and I hope you don’t feel like I’m muscling in on your domain. Your Maia is of course the original Maia 💖

I made the GIF myself. Sorry it’s a bit blurry, I’m not very good at making them yet. I tried to use Tumblr’s GIF-making function, but it wouldn’t let me crop out Grogu’s ears, so this was my alternative attempt. It’ll have to do.

Definitions: Comlinks are those little cylinder comms they all use. Glowrod is a catch-all term for anything portable that produces light. All the swears/insults (stinking stang, frotz, borked, kriff, kark) are from the Legends list of phrases and slang this time (it’s longer than Canon). Nevarran reptavians are the ones that Grogu saved Karga from in s1e7 and that the Mandalorians were roasting in s3e7. Ferrocrete is a compound building material (Canon and Legends) made from concrete and iron, used in roads, reinforced bunkers and building foundations. I figured Din would only be happy with something strong and defensible, so Karga had the cabin built with it. Transparisteel is used for windows and ship viewports, as well as helmet visors.

Part 2 is written and will be uploaded next weekend once proofing/editing is complete. What do we think? Is Din gonna be dumb and tell her she can’t babysit Grogu anymore? Deny himself what he wants for Maia’s own good?

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@foomoosworld @jude77 @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an

Those tagged below showed interest in my masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs), so I thought I’d sneak in some extra tags. Apologies if it’s too forward, if you’d prefer I didn’t tag you in part 2 just let me know…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

223 notes · View notes

hedoublehell · 7 months ago

Text

BITE

Damien Haas x f!reader

You wake up from a dream about Damien, only to find out reality may be better than anything your imagination could come up with.

SMUT -- 18+ ONLY!!!

Warnings: p in v, oral (both male + female receiving), degradation kink (slut + whore is used a lot), praise kink, spanking, dom/sub, dom!Damien, sir/master kink

Note: this is my first fic in about 5 years, so it may be a little rusty. but i hope you all enjoy!!

Tags: @agnewbones, @pedropascallme

“You’re this wet for me already?”

Cold sweat dripped down the middle of your back outlining the edges of your spine. Reality came back as the pitch black darkness engulfed your vision, replacing the blurs of skin, purple hair, and that one smile that seemingly haunts your every moment whether you’re asleep or awake.

Fuck. Another dream about Damien.

You shifted from underneath your duvet, cold air freezing the damp spot between your legs that was not there when you originally settled in for the night. While you loved living with Damien, your body could not handle the consistent proximity of your bodies. Whenever you wanted food, he was already in the kitchen preparing something that he was going to surprise you and your fellow roommates with. If you needed to shower first thing in the morning, you would come out of your room only to hear Damien’s singing over the monotonous rain of the water pressure. Even at work, you could not shake him, often going out for coffee runs together in between shoots. The only aspect of your life that he was void from was the one that your subconscious craved him in the most.

A sigh escaped your lips as you slid up your silk sheets into a sitting position. A subtle blink of baby blue light emitted from the digital clock that rested just off to the right of your bed. 3:47 am.

The ache of need still pulsed in your core, even as real-life came creeping back in. It pounded against the inside of your thighs as the slickness of your excitement dribbled down your panties. Whatever Dream Damien did, your body wanted more, and knowing that Real Damien was only two doors away made it even worse. Thankfully the room just before his was the bathroom. A cold shower was desperately needed, no matter the time.

You stumbled out of bed, your ragged graphic tee hitting just above your waist leaving your baby pink boy shorts exposed. Considering it was 4 am, you didn’t see a reason to bring a change of clothes, or even a pair of pants, to the bathroom. It was literally the next door down the hall, and no one else should be up.

The house was eerily still, something that you weren’t used to while living with half of the Smosh cast. That, along with the fact that you were always the first one asleep, quiet was never something that you were able to fully experience. The only thing that interrupted it was the soft padding of your bare feet against the wooden floor, the coldness of it sent shivers up your shins. This silence continued until you got closer to Damien’s room.

A faint mumble of voices emitted from the other side of the door. You tiptoed closer, trying to decipher which anime he had decided to throw on as background noise. However, as quickly as you heard it, it stopped. The stillness returned.

Damien’s door swung open. His purple hair was illuminated by the fluorescents behind him, which created a lavender halo around his head. All he had on was a ratty grey undershirt and a pair of thin black and white plaid pyjama bottoms. Your eyes immediately darted to his biceps, admiring the way they flexed as he held the frame. The muscle rippled against the taut skin that encased it. Hair trailed down to his armpit, leaving speckles of black on the underside. A moan threatened to spill out of your lips at the sight, but you held it in.

“What are you doing up?” His 4 am voice was rasper than you anticipated. Genuine concern spread across his face, knotting his eyebrows.

“I- I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I might have a shower to try to relax.” Which wasn’t a lie, but it sure as hell wasn’t the full truth. Dream Damien’s doing ghosted your memory, the stickiness of your desire still glued between the crook of your thighs.

His eyes wandered down your frame, stopping a second longer at the heam of your shirt before continuing onto your naked thighs. Shit. Heat spread across your bare skin as his eyes fluttered across the nudeness that defined your lower half. A similar warming sensation welcomed itself across your cheeks as he returned to your face.

“I didn’t think anyone else would be up…” You trail off.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” he whispered, not daring to look away from you. “I was just watching Demon Slayer, I only got up ‘cause I had to pee. Do you want to join me before you go back to bed? Totally cool if not. I get how hard insomnia can be, though.”

Before you could stop yourself you were nodding. You knew it was a terrible idea, going into his room right after waking up gasping for him, but you didn’t care. Damien slid out from the doorway, allowing you to tiptoe into his space. Behind you he shut the door, followed by the patter of his feet descending down the hall.

Alone in Damien’s room, you were able to notice more than you ever had. The muted light of his lamp in the far corner illuminated the grey walls which were littered with posters from various projects he had worked on over the years. A television was mounted directly across from you; it was still on Netflix, but it had resorted to playing a slideshow of upcoming titles while it waited for the show to be resumed. His sheets were softer than you remember, the fabric of his duvet caressed the back of your legs as you pushed yourself up against his headboard. His Snorlax plush leaned against your torso as it reacted to the new weight on the mattress. Everything smelt like him. Everything was him.

Moments later a creak echoed throughout the space as Damien returned. Silently, he walked to his bed and let himself flop beside you. As soon as he hit the mattress, a visceral craving for skin contact twisted your gut. Whether it was from lingering lust or exhaustion, you didn’t know. However, you remained composed, your fingers interlacing with themselves in an attempt to prevent yourself from reaching out and running the tips of them along his exposed skin. As if he could hear your inner dilemma, he cleared his throat.

“Are you okay? Did you have a bad day, or a rough dream?”

Dream? Your cheeks flushed with warmth as the word came out of his mouth just above a whisper. Did he know? Your heart pounded at the thought of him hearing you moan his name in your sleep moments earlier. Flashes of Dream Damien created a mosaic of colour inside your mind as your pulse began to creep its way down to your core. Your eyes remain glued to the ceiling, afraid that if you looked at Damien it would undo you right then and there. He couldn’t know.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You manage to choke out.

Weight shifted on the mattress, Damien’s dip coming closer to yours. His hand ghosted the inside of your arm, goosebumps erecting in its wake. His fingertips stilled in the crook of your elbow, lingering for a second before Damien retracted them back and shoved them underneath his head, interlocking them with the other set. As the coldness returned to the skin, a subconscious exhale escaped your lips.

You glanced over at the purple-haired man beside you. The dull light softened his features, blurring them with the wall behind him. A 5 o’clock shadow speckled across his jawline and his chin, which emphasized the natural pout in his lips. Both the top and the bottom were baby pink and seemed extra kissable with the rest of the world asleep. A piece of dead skin hung from the top, slightly sticking beyond the rest of the pink surface. Your hands found their way to your knees and gripped them tightly, knuckles turning white. No one would have to know, right?

“Hey Damien?” You whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you awake?”

Silence spread across the room once again. You could hear his breathing- somehow deep, yet ragged. Hesitation lingered in the air as Damien shifted in his spot, readjusting the position of his arms behind his head.

“It’s stupid, but I can’t stop thinking about how many takes it took me to do the intro to the new video properly. I tried so hard to be funny, but it felt like it kept on falling flat. I don’t know, maybe I had an off-day.” Damien sighs, keeping his eyes on the roof. You could feel his body tense up in fear of what your next words might be.

“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re the funniest person on Smosh. In fact, you’re probably the funniest person I know. It’s so fucking hard to not ruin takes when you’re around, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I promise you your humour lands. It at least does with me.” You shift down his headboard to lie down, turning onto your right to fully face Damien. A wave of his cologne hits your nose while you do so, leaving traces of pine, cherry blossom, and something spicy that you can’t quite place. The whiff of the scent subconsciously causes you to lean closer into him, in search of more. Notes of aftershave joined the mix while wetness began to dampen your panties once again, but you fought to ignore it.

His face brightened at the creation of eye contact. A smile erupted on his lips as he let himself take you in for a second. You could feel the movement of his eyes across your bare face while he attempted to memorize every detail of you, from the way sleepiness smoothed your features to the pimple patch that covered an outbreak on your cheek. Very rarely did he get to see you like this, in your most authentic form, and the sparkle that flickered in his eye let you know that he wanted to absorb every moment.

“Thank you, it means a lot to hear you say that.” He chuckled, a blush settling onto his cheeks. You reached out your hand subconsciously, letting it rest on his bare forearm. The heat of his skin seeped into yours.

“Sounds like we’re just two overthinkers tonight. I was so worried that you would’ve somehow known that I woke up because I had a dream about you.”

Panic sets in as soon as it slipped out of your lips, the hand that was resting on Damien’s arm immediately flying to cover your mouth. Fuck. Damien automatically pulled himself closer to you, his eyes darkening with an unfamiliar cloud. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“What kind of dream?” He growled into your ear.

Need shot to your cunt as Damien moved himself on top of you, one arm on each side of your frame. His knee inched between your legs, the fabric of his pyjama pants rubbing against the thin layer of cotton that covered your core. A groan fell out of your mouth.

“I think you already know the answer to that, Damien.” You purred needily. Your pulse erupted at the thought of what was about to happen— whatever it was.

“Are you okay with this?” He murmured.

For the second time within 20 minutes, you were nodding before you could give it a second thought. Desire dizzied around your thoughts and coated the space between your thighs. All you knew was that Real Damien was here and that he wanted you. That’s all you could ever need.

However, he didn’t move. You were pinned between his two arms, his biceps brushing against yours, sending electricity down your spine. His eyes seemed to consume you as he took you in, letting himself fully linger on the tightness of the grey shirt around your breasts before lowering his gaze to your baby pink boy shorts.

“Tell me about your dream. Please.” He whined, want dripping in each syllable of his ask.

“Y-you and I were fucking, Damien,” you groaned, “you had me on a table, legs open and I was dripping. So wet. So wet for you. I needed- no- need, you. Please.”

Your legs wrapped around the knee that rested between them, attempting to gain any form of friction, any form of relief. Damien sat up, shooting his hands around your thighs to prevent you from getting any satisfaction. He shook his head, eyes darkening even further.

“Not yet, needy girl. I need to know more. I want to know exactly how you imagined it. Don’t you want your dreams to come true?” He cooed, his mouth curled into a smirk. Your eyes widened as you became delirious with excitement at the fact that Damien was in front of you- that he wanted you just as bad as you’ve been craving him.

”I don’t remember a lot, but- but you were fingering me. God, they were so filling. I was naked, marks everywhere on my chest from your lips. I woke up needing you more than I have ever needed anything, please. Please, Damien.” You whined, jutting your lower lip out. Damien’s eyes remained locked with yours as he leaned in closer, his hands dragging up your thighs.

“Don’t you want to see a man up close?” He whispered, his breath dancing along the nape of your neck.

All you managed to get out was a “please ki-,” before Damien’s lips were against yours, devouring every inch of your mouth. Hints of toothpaste and mouthwash lingered on your tastebuds with every swipe of his tongue. His hands moved from your thighs to your shoulders, gently pushing you to lay down while he remained on top of you. He shifted around, moving his knees on either side of your legs. The hardness of his growing cock grazed against your inner thigh, causing wetness to begin to re-dampen the spot that Dream Damien left.

The new position allowed him to let his lips explore, a trail of kisses left along your neck in his wake. Once he hit your collarbone, he began to suck ever so slightly. His teeth nipped at your skin, leaving a light purple mark in the middle of the skin stretched around the bone. A breathy moan escaped your lips as he sucked a new spot at the crook of your neck. Your fingers laced into his purple locks, gently tugging at them. In response, he looked up, concern painted across his face.

“Are you okay, am I being too rough?” He said, frozen in place. You shook your head.

“I promise I’m fine,” you breathed, “I just- please. Please use me, Damien. I need you to fuck me, use me like a toy. Let me make you feel good.”

Darkness returned to his eyes immediately at the sound of your begging. His hands shot to the hem of your shirt while you arched your back, helping him take it off of you.

“Oh my poor little thing,” he cooed while bending down to lick a stripe between your tits. “You need my cock more than you want to admit, don’t you?”

Want surged through your core at the sound of his raspy voice mentioning the thing you’ve been wanting. You nodded, shivering at the thought. Gently he raised your ass, letting you shimmy out of your underwear. Wetness coated the inside of your thighs, droplets hitting the mattress underneath you as the cold air hit your cunt. Damien’s fingers tiptoed down your stomach, landing right above the dip towards your pussy. His other hand grabbed hold of your chin, jerking it toward him.

“Say please,” Damien barked.

“Please. Pl—”

His middle and ring finger plunged into your cunt. You let out a yelp at the sudden fullness. Slowly, he rocked them back and forth, letting the tips of his fingers brush against the spongy spot at your core. Moans spilled out of you as your fingers dug into his shoulders. As fast as it had started, he pulled his digits out of you, leaving you stretched and wanting more. A frown knotted your eyebrows in frustration while Damien was on the other side of the emotional spectrum, excitement lighting his features as he inspected his two fingers.

“You’re this wet for me already?” He groaned, bringing his ring finger into his mouth and twirling his tongue around it, attempting to get every speck of your sweetness onto his taste buds.

You squirmed in response, your eyes stuck to his digits in his mouth. Hearing Real Damien say the only words you remember from your dream overwhelmed your senses– this was a dream coming true.

He hollowed his cheeks against them, moaning as the tanginess of your desire flooded his tongue. After thoroughly sucking on them, he slipped them out of his mouth, creating a V shape with them. Bringing them back to his lips, his tongue darted out, tasting the last bits of you between his fingers. A hum of satisfaction escaped his lips as he looked up mid-swipe, catching you stare, mouth agape.

“You like what you see, baby? You like watching me suck your juices off of my fingers?” He smiled, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes.

“Yes sir,” you whispered, unable to look away from the man in front of you.

Nothing else seemed to matter but the way his every motion affected your heart rate. All you wanted was him, any and all of him that he gave to you. Damien leaned down again, pressing kisses to your mound.

“You’re not the only one who dreamed of this,” he muttered between nibbles, “I’ve been dreaming about having you since you moved in. Finding you not only outside of my room at 4am, but half-naked outside of my room at 4am almost made me to cum on the spot, baby.” He pushed your thighs apart before he dropped to kiss the inside of each, gently sucking up the stickiness that lined them. “I’ll worship this pussy as long as you let me. God knows how badly I’ve been needing it.”

His words shot straight to your cunt right as he dove in, parting your lips to connect his tongue with your clit. He slowly began swirling it around the spot, sending shockwaves down your spine. Curses spilled from your lips as he picked up the pace, your hands resuming their grip on his purple hair. Two fingers nudged at your entrance, still damp from the combination of your want and Damien’s saliva. He easily slid them in before starting to pump them in and out, matching the pace of his mouth. His digits hit the spot that you desperately craved, destroying the last bit of self-preservation that you had within you. Your walls tightened around them, desperately trying to get every inch of satisfaction possible from his mouth and hands. Nonsensical strings of words tumbled out of the slight part of your lips as the familiar swirl of pleasure circled around your core. Tiny sparks began to electrocute your clit with each flick of Damien’s tongue, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. However, as soon as your orgasm was about to spill, his fingers and lips were gone.

“You don’t think I’m really going to let you cum this fast, do you baby?” He smirked. “I’m not even undressed yet, and here you are, whimpering for my touch like the whore you are.”

Your hands moved from his hair, letting him stretch straight up from between your legs. Your fingers reached for the hem of his tanktop at once, trying to get the fabric off of his torso. Damien took the hint and tugged each strap of the shirt before yanking it over his head and throwing it behind him onto the wooden floor. Without thinking, a gasp exited you. You’d seen Damien shirtless many times, whether in the dressing room or while grabbing your morning coffee from the kitchen, but this was different. Specks of black hair sprinkled his chest, concentrating in the middle of his two pecs. Lust surged through your veins as you devoured the sight in front of you, taking in every inch of Damien. Never had you seen a man be so easily beautiful, and it nauseated you how badly your body ached for him.

Without breaking eye contact, Damien shuffled to the end of the bed. His thumbs dipped underneath the waistband of his pyjama pants and pushed them down to the floor, taking his boxers with them.

“Holy shit.” You mumbled, your eyes surging down to the new part of him exposed.

His cock stuck out from between his legs, the tip of it glistening with excitement. All you could think about was how to get it between your legs as fast as possible, and how its girth would fill you so perfectly.

“Damien, I need it. Pl-please sir.” You whined, glancing back up at his face.

He stumbled back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot between your thighs. However, this time he remained sitting. His shaft rested on your lower stomach, causing your mind to short circuit with how close it was to where you had dreamed of it being for months. Heart pounding, you reached out, letting the tip of your index finger brush against the head. He visibly shivered in response, goosebumps spreading down his arms as a tinge of pleasure shot down his shaft.

“I know you can touch my cock better than that, baby girl. Don’t be afraid.” Damien grunted, his eyes slightly closed in anticipation. Without a second thought, you sat up and spit in your hands. Greedily you grabbed his cock, fisting it. Your hands glided over the smooth, taut skin in a steady motion, occasionally flicking the tip with your thumb. A melody of grunts dripped from Damien’s lips as his hips matched your rhythm.

Slowly you leaned forward, lining up your mouth with his shaft. You darted your tongue out between your lips, gingerly flattening it against the tip.

“Is this okay?” You whispered, pulling back.

“God, yes.” Damien interlaced his fingers in your hair, encouraging you to continue what you had started.

Eagerly you wrapped your mouth around his shaft, hollowing your cheeks around it after it hit the back of your throat. You pushed it back out with a pop, a strand of drool attaching his head to your bottom lip. A smile crept onto your lips momentarily. This was not a dream, this was real. Damien’s cock was twitching with desire for you, nobody else. He was muttering your name under his breath as you licked a line from the base of his shaft to the very tip. Paying extra attention to the sensitive strip of skin at the connection point between the base and the head, you traced every inch of his cock with your tongue before returning it to the inside of your mouth.

“You’re doing so good, baby. What a good little whore you are.” He sighed, grinding his hips into your face.

Lightheaded with happiness, you gulped up the salty pre-cum that was dripping out of Damien’s cock. Momentarily forgetting about your own pleasure, all you could fathom was the feeling of his erection in your mouth and how pornographic the slurps were as you took as much of him as you could with each of his thrusts. Your cunt leaked with heat while you glanced up at Damien to see him slack-jawed, his eyes stuck on how your tits bounced in sync with his pushes. If you could frame moments, this would be your first choice.

Damien pulled his cock out of your reach, rotating his hips away from your mouth.

“I think your pussy deserves to be used properly now, do you?” He asked, putting his hands under your armpits and shoving you back onto the bed behind you.

“Yes, sir! I promise I-I’ve been so good,” You begged, subconsciously spreading your legs as you settled into the far side of the bed.

Damien reached out with his right hand, letting it caress your cheek. Tears welled up in your eyes while excitement, desire, and anticipation danced through your mind. Damien leaned over to your left, fidgeting through his nightstand to find a tinfoil packet. He held the corner with his teeth and used his index and thumb to rip it open. Returning to the bed, Damien kneeled directly in front of you, lining up the condom with his cock. Slowly, he began to roll it on, letting the latex surround his stiffened shaft.

“L-lemme help, sir. I can help.” Your hand reached out, brushing his knuckles with the tip of your middle finger. With his free hand, he swatted your attempt at help away.

“I don’t think so, baby. Master can handle it himself,” he chuckled, finishing the job.

Leisurely, he thrust the tip of his cock into your cunt. With every centimetre of him, your brain flooded with fog, nothing else seemed to matter but the way his cock fit so perfectly inside, as if you were made to please him. Each muscle in your abdomen adjusted to the welcomed fullness that came with Damien, the pressure of satisfaction immediately building as he situated himself in you.

A deep groan erupted from Damien as he flicked his hips back, fully taking his shaft out. As soon as the tip exited, he slammed his cock back in, letting himself bottom out in your pussy.

“Fuck- Damien!” You cried. A pleasurable pain rippled through your cervix, sending shockwaves to your clit. Damien’s right-hand shot to your mouth, cupping it over your lips.

“You have to be quiet, whore. We can’t wake up the whole house with the noises you make while I fuck you.”

His words shot right to your core, your whimpers muffled by the palm of his hand. Saltiness flowed down your cheeks as Damien continued to push and pull himself fully in and out of your heat. His presence was simply overstimulating, and all you wanted was more. The way his chest heaved as he plowed you was memorizing, its rhythm matched his thrusts inside you. Your fingers found their way to his ass, squeezing it tightly as he plummeted into your pussy. His shaft pushed deeper in response to your movements, causing both of you to hiss in satisfaction.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good, baby. Fit me so perfectly.” Damien growled, throwing his head back, eyes glazing over.

The vibrations of his voice darted to your clit, increasing the speed of your demise. The stubble of his pubes rubbed against your sweet spot, hitting it at a perfect angle. Damien’s hands wandered to your tits, giving your nipples gentle squeezes with his middle and thumb before rolling them. Mumbles of his title repeatedly spilled from your lips as you arched your back, letting his cock reach the soft spot inside. Sparks flashed in your vision while you came crashing down. Your cunt pulsed around Damien’s cock, extracting every ounce of pleasure from his force. Simultaneously, nothingness spread throughout your mind as you rode out your orgasm– the only thing that grounded you were the whines of pleasure escaping the man fucking you into oblivion.

As you came back to reality, the only thing that you managed to get out was “more.”

Without letting his cock leave your dripping pussy Damien immediately grabbed your waist, flipping you onto your stomach. With one hand he shoved your face into his mattress, the other looping around your hips to arch your back.

“Good girl, knowing we’ve only just started.” His breath tickled your cheek, causing you to tremble. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

Without warning, his cock nestled deeper into your aching heat before fucking you with fervour. The mattress underneath squeaked with each rapid thrust, harmonizing with the slapping of skin against skin. Loudness no longer seemed to be an issue as Damien slapped your ass, the noise echoing throughout his bedroom. He continued to rub the reddened spot, circling the rough skin with the pad of his thumb. Your brain shortcircuited with each jolt of his cock, the way it was still managing to stretch you was all you could focus on.

“S-so good, sir. Know how to fuck me so good. Love your cock.”

With another smack on your behind he bowed down, his head now behind yours.

“I know, ” he kissed your hair before tangling his fingers in it, pulling your head to become parallel with his. “Needed it so bad you couldn’t go a night without dreaming about how well I’d feel, huh? You’re that much of a greedy slut?”

A whine fell from your lips as you brought your eyes to his. Through your lashes, you could see a wild smile painted across his lips, happiness radiating from his dilated pupils. Never had you seen a man look so beautiful while doing something so inherently filthy, and your cunt throbbed at the realization of it all.

“I can’t be-believe this is real. I’ve been wanting this so bad, Damien.” More tears dampened your cheeks, the familiar tightness in your core forming once again.

In response, Damien leaned down, sloppily pressing his lips to yours. A mixture of saliva, spit, and tears smeared across your chin as he deepened the kiss, his tongue rushing out to collect traces of the salty combination. Damien’s free hand wandered down to the front of you, pressing his index finger to your sweet spot.

Sobs fell out of you between each breath while a woozy wave of lust swept over you. The rewarding drop of the pit in your stomach broke through the dizziness. Deepening the arch in your back, the swirling sensation in your clit hit its breaking point. Your hands gripped the sheets in front of you in a frenzy as gratification washed over you. The walls of your pussy clenched around Damien’s shaft, the pulse of his cock hitting your g-spot as your body convulsed.

“You’re such a good slut for your master, baby. G-gonna make me cum.”

As your orgasm fizzled out, Damien continued to haphazardly rock himself in and out of your aching heat. Overstimulation stung your core, but you pushed it aside. The only thing that would stop you from riding this out would be if the world ended. All that existed at this moment was Damien, who was behind you, smacking his hips into yours as he chased his high. His grunts filled the empty air between you. With one last nudge, a rush of warmth spread through your cunt as Damien cried out in relief. His head hit the middle of your back as he crumpled, letting his orgasm take over.

“Jesus, that was amazing.” He whispered, pulling out of you. Your pussy ached with both fulfillment and emptiness as you adjusted to the lack of him.

You rotated onto your back, craving the view of Damien’s post-O face. He looked hazy, a dopey grin plastered to his face as he gently pulled the condom off before tying it and placing it on his nightstand. Immediately he reached down to you, enveloping you in his arms as he lay beside you. His scent had slightly altered from when you first entered his room, the smell of sex and sweat now intertwining with the notes of his cologne. If you could bottle that, you would without hesitation.

“Thank you so much, really,” you smiled. “It wasn’t my intention to have this happen when I walked by your room, but I’m glad it did.”

Damien placed a soft kiss on your lips. Unlike the previous ones you had shared, this one had a pureness to it. Your heart jumped a beat at the romantic undertones as the moment overtook you completely. Your head buzzed with contentment as the past 45 minutes settled in your brain.

“Me too, baby,” he mumbled against your lips. “I hope I made your dreams come true.”

“You did, I promise,” you giggled, “but now I definitely need to shower.”

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daleyeahson · 2 years ago

Text

Girl On Film | Perv!Eddie Munson x best friend reader

Summary: Eddie tries to catch a sneak peek of what it is his best friend gets up to when he’s not around. He’s thrown for a loop when he finds out that you’re more than happy to play into his little game.

Warnings: 18+ smut// minors go on and get outta here. Male masturbation, mentions of female nudity, hidden camera, cursing, use of y/n just a little bit but mainly pet names, praise and degrading kink. If I missed anything let me know!

Word count: 4.4k

next part

A/n: Also, this is my first time writing a fanfic, let alone something with some smut in it. Let me know what you liked & what I can work on but please be nice about it! Thank you guys for the support and I hope you enjoy this as much as I do! P.s. I made the mistake of typing this on the notes app on my phone and just copying it to here so that’s why the spacing is messed up I’m sorry. I’d retype it all but it’s almost 3am for me so I’m gonna have to pass on fixing it for now lmao my b y’all x

It was Friday and you, Robin, and Nancy had all left to go have a girls night out. It wasn’t very often that the three of you had spare time to hang out all together, so when the girls called you last minute saying to hurry and get ready, you didn’t think much of it. You rushed to get dressed after hanging up the phone, throwing clothes all across your room in hopes of finding your favorite pair of jeans and whatever t-shirt you could get your hands on. Having just enough time to put your hair up in a somewhat cute ponytail and slipping your shoes on, you made your way out the door as Nancy and Robin pulled up to your place. You were so excited to hang with the girls again that you didn’t even give a heads up to your best friend, Eddie Munson.

You and Eddie had been best friends for as long as you could remember. Growing up and living across from one another, you two had always been very close. When you were younger, you both would take turns on having a sleepover at one another’s place, and you still do. Having graduated from high school, you moved out of your parents home and into your very own apartment. Eddie still lived with his uncle Wayne since he was still in school and was now in his third year as a senior. Eddie was super excited when you told him you had gotten the apartment and even joked about coming over all the time to annoy you, as if you didn’t see each other almost 24/7 as is. You had laughed it off thinking he was just joking, but he wasn’t. He came over more often than not, which didn’t bother you a bit since you genuinely enjoyed his company, and eventually you just decided to have him a key made so he could come and go as he pleased.

Which brings us to now, Eddie making his way over to your place just like he does any other day. Even though he knew he’d see you tomorrow for your sleepover, he still wanted to hang out with you and just talk about his day. He loved how you would listen to him talk about whatever it was he needed to say, whether it be about school or the newest thing that’s happening in his Hellfire campaign despite you not understanding a word of what he’s talking about. All throughout your lives you’ve always been there for him for whatever he needed. It was one of the many things he loved about you. Your love and support for him is what slowly made him fall for you and here recently he’s been having trouble keeping you off of his mind. The last few years he’s been able to bury those feelings for his best friend, but with all of this extra time you two have been spending together, he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out without doing something. He doesn’t want to scare you away or ruin your friendship by confessing his feelings. He doesn’t know if you feel the same way about him and he can’t bare the thought of not having you in his life, even if you remain only best friends. So with that, he does what he thinks is the next best thing and jerks off to you most nights. Is that really the next best thing? No, definitely not. Does he still do it? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Eddie pulls up to your apartment and steps out of his van. He makes his way to your door and reaches for his key to let himself in. It’s quiet, which he finds odd since usually you’d at least have music playing in the background or something.

“Y/N?” He says stepping into the place and closing the door behind him. “Hello? You here?”

He makes his way down the hall to your bedroom only to find it a mess and you not in it. “Huh, that’s weird.” he thinks to himself.

He didn’t expect you to be gone without letting him know first. Not that you have to tell him, but he’s so used to you doing it anyway that it puzzles him that you hadn’t said anything. Maybe you had and he just forgot. With all that’s been going on in his head lately, he wouldn’t be surprised if you did tell him you had plans and he just wasn’t paying attention. He walks further into the room and takes a look around not really knowing what to do. He must’ve just missed you because he notices the candle you always have burning was still melted and had yet to harden back again. He turns to leave and as he does something catches his eye. Right there out in the middle of your floor there it was.. a pair of black lace panties. Eddie instantly blushes when he sees it and can’t help but think about you in them, or the opposite since here they are laying here on the floor. His mind wonders to the thought of you stripping from them while changing before you left. Tossing them off to the side and standing in the same spot he was but nude from at least the waist down. Eddie would give anything, do anything to be able to see you like that. He wanted it so badly. He needed it. He just didn’t know how exactly he would get it though, until it hit him. He has a camcorder somewhere in his van that Wayne gave to him years ago. He’s never had a reason to use it, but this sure was a damn good one.

He runs to the van and opens up the back. Like a mad man, he starts going through all of the junk he has in there. After a minute or so of searching he starts to get frustrated.

“God damn, where the hell is it? Why do I have so much shit in here?” He curses at himself wishing he didn’t keep things so messy. Finally finding it, he picks it up and smirks. “Aha, gotcha.”

He hurries back inside and into your room. Instantly, he starts to look around for a spot to hide the camcorder. After searching for a bit, he notices a shelf where you had some of your old stuffed animals on display. “Perfect.” He says as he makes his way over to it.

It really is the perfect spot for such a thing. From that angle he’s able to see almost your entire room, apart from the doorway. He doesn’t mind though, thinking there’s no way you would change clothes right in the doorway anyhow, so it wasn’t a big deal if he couldn’t see that part. He doesn’t turn it on just yet. He plans on waiting until he’s here during the sleepover so that the next morning he can grab it and leave before you have a chance to notice it.

Once he has the camera hidden, he makes his way out the apartment for the last time. Getting into his van he can’t help but feel guilty. He knows he shouldn’t be doing such a thing, but the growing bulge beneath his zipper says otherwise. There’s no way you’d know about it, right? He made sure you couldn’t see the camera from any part of your room, or at least he thought he did.

He makes his way back home and as soon as he gets inside he makes a beeline to his room to take care of his situation. Just the thought of him possibly having a chance of seeing you like that for real has him making a mess all over himself. Afterwards, he cleans up and decides to go to the living room to watch tv and have a beer or two. He figures he would just try calling you in a few hours to see if you made it home alright and to see where you went.

******

It’s about 10:30 at night before you make it home. The three of you would’ve stayed out later if Robin didn’t have work early in the morning. You make your way inside and take your shoes off at the door. Heading straight for your bedroom, you start to take your hair out of the ponytail. Instantly feeling that sweet sensation of having it down after keeping it pulled up for hours on end. The kind of relief that hurts just a little bit but feels so good at the same time.

You search your drawers to find some pjs to slip into then start to make your way to the bathroom. Just as you’re about to go in there, your phone rings.

“Hello?” You say hesitantly, not expecting anyone to be calling this late.

“Hey, sweetheart, where ya been?”

Eddie. You had forgotten to tell him you were leaving this evening. You felt guilty thinking he must’ve been worried about you not knowing where you went last minute.

“Eddie, I’m so sorry. I meant to tell you but it just slipped my mind. Robin and Nancy called and told me to hurry and get ready so we could have a girls night.”

“There’s no need to be sorry, I promise.” He reassures you. “I’m glad you got to go have fun with them. I know it’s been a while since you last had a girls night. Are you just getting in?”

“Yeah..” you said with a sigh, tired from the night you just had, “I was actually about to get a shower right before you called.”

Eddie has to stop himself from audibly moaning once you said that. He can’t help but think about how if he hadn’t called, you’d be in the shower all hot and steamy. Soap running down your body and between your breasts. Eddie finds himself fumbling over his words like a fool when he tries to speak again.

“Oh- well I-uh - don’t let me keep you waiting.” He chuckles. “I’m sure you’re wanting to hurry and get that over with before you have to go clean up the mess of clothes in your room, right?”

“Oh..” you say feeling slightly embarrassed that he saw the mess you had left in a hurry. “..you saw that?” Usually, you tried to keep things somewhat clean when he came over, not that he would mind because lord knows he shouldn’t be one to judge, you just didn’t want him to see things in such a big mess like that.

“Oh- uh- yeah, I did. I came by to hang out but I must’ve just missed you.” He laughs, “Don’t worry though, I didn’t stay long so whatever you may have laying about in your room, my eyes did not see a thing. Scouts honor.”

You couldn’t help but blush at the suggestive comment he made. The idea of Eddie thinking you’d have anything like that brought a familiar feeling to your core. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve felt like this because of Eddie or something he’s said. You two were very close so it was only a matter of time before one of you caught feelings for the other. What you didn’t know what that he felt the same way about you, as you did him. Yeah, Eddie would flirt with you but he was always the charming type. He was like that with almost everybody. Sure he called you cute pet names, but you just thought it was because of how close you two were. Just something best friends did, right?

“Eddie, first of all, you weren’t a scout, and second of all, even if I did have anything like that, I sure as hell wouldn’t leave it out in the open for just anybody to see.”

“Just anybody?” He said with pretend jealously, “who else has a key to get into your place?”

“You’re the only one, but with that big mouth of yours I’m sure if you did find something, everyone in this town would know about it by morning.”

Eddie gasp. “You’ve wounded me, princess. Truly, you have. I’m glad you think so highly of me to believe I’d stoop so low as to share such personal information with the common folk of this kingdom.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how dramatic he can be and decided to play into his little game. “If you live to see the morning light, I shall see you then for our annual weekend festivities, but for now I must say goodbye, Sir Munson, for this ass will not wash itself, unfortunately.”

Eddie let out a loud hearty laugh at that statement. “Alright, I guess I’ll let you go take care of that. Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Goodnight, Eddie, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning…Right. He’d be coming back over early in the morning so you guys could fix breakfast together to start the day just like you always did. Eddie couldn’t help but get nervous thinking about how far into the future that was. It was 11pm now and he usually comes by around 9am. Ten hours. Anything could happen in that amount of time. What if you found the camcorder? What would you say? What would you do? Would you never speak to him again? He knew he’d never be able to sleep with those questions floating around his mind. So he laid there in bed, wide awake. Ten hours, he reminded to himself, all he had to do was wait ten hours.

******

Somehow, Eddie managed to get around 4 hours of sleep that night. He was never one to willingly get up this early, especially on the weekend but for you he’d do just about anything. He got out of bed and took a quick shower to help wake him up some more. Throwing on his usually attire, he makes his way out the door and to his van, deciding against a morning coffee knowing you’d fix some once he got there.

Eddie pulled up to your apartment once again and slowly made his way over to the door. Before he could reach for his key, you opened the door and greeted him in a very enthusiastic manner.

“Good morning, sunshine! Are you ready to get this party started?”

“Y/n, please, you know I can’t get excited about the day without coffee first.”

“I swear, sometimes it’s like I’m best friends with someone’s southern grandpa. My own little personal peepaw.” You joked but it only made him send a glare over to you. He really wasn’t a morning person at all. “I’ve already got a fresh pot of coffee waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“You truly are the best…I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He says as he walks by you towards the kitchen to pour himself a cup.

You closed the door and followed behind him making your way to the fridge. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.. so..” you said as you opened it, “what do you want for breakfast? Pancakes? Waffles? We could just have cereal if you want that instead.”

“Could we have French toast again?” Eddie asks walking up towards you, coffee in hand. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it since the last time we had it.”

Your back was to Eddie so you hadn’t realized just how close he had gotten. As you turn to face him so you could answer his question, you accidentally bump into him causing him to spill some of his coffee down your shirt.

“Son of a bitch!” You yelled while trying to hurry and pinch your shirt so the coffee wouldn’t burn you.

“Sweetheart, I- I am so sorry I didn’t mean to-“

“No, no, it’s okay” you put your other hand on his shoulder to try and stop him from panicking, “it was my fault anyway I bumped into you. Don’t worry about it, really, it’s not a big deal. And to answer your question, yes we can have French toast again, but we need to get eggs first.”

“Uh- y-yeah sure. I can run and get them real quick.”

“That’s fine with me. While you go do that, I’ll go get a shower and change out of these clothes.” You said as you headed off to the bathroom.

Suddenly Eddie didn’t feel as bad as he did before about the coffee. It was like the universe itself was helping him with his mission. This was it, his one chance. Once he heard you start the shower, he hurries into your room. Making his way over to the camcorder hidden away, he turns it on and presses the record button. “Jesus H. Christ please let this work” he mutters to himself. With that he leaves to make his way to the grocery store and tries to keep his mind busy, thinking of anything other than what’s happening back at the apartment.

Eddie comes back with the eggs and your morning routine is back on track. You fix breakfast together like always and just spend the day hanging out. You didn’t do much during these sleepovers, but you both still enjoyed the quality time together. By the end of the night, you found yourselves cuddled up on the couch watching a few movies you had on hand. You had fallen asleep on Eddie, your back to his chest. He somehow manages to get out from under you without waking you, and he carries you into your room. Laying you down on the bed, he covers you up with the blanket and makes sure you’re still in a deep sleep before he walks over to the shelf with your stuffed animals. He reaches over and turns the camcorder off and forms a mental note to himself to make sure he’s up before you are so he can somehow sneak it back out to his van. Eddie climbs into the bed to lay next to you. Sharing the bed is something you always did even as children growing up so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. While in a deep sleep, you turn over to face Eddie and snuggle right up to him. He wishes you two could stay like this forever and not just on Saturdays when you have sleepovers.

*****

The next day you both wake up closer to noon rather than super early like before. Of course Eddie didn’t wake up earlier than you, who does he think he is? He’s thankful that you get up and head to the bathroom and as soon as the door closes, Eddie jumps up to grab his camcorder, practically running to his van and back in hopes of not getting caught. When he comes back in, he jumps at the sight of you standing there across the room from him.

“Whatcha doin’ big boy?” You say standing in the kitchen, sipping on a glass of water.

“I-uh- went for a smoke.”

“With your cigarettes on the table the whole time?”

Shit. Shit shit shit. He was starting to freak out. He had to come up with something quick.

“Not that kind of smoke, princess.”

“Ah, gotcha.” You finished your drink and turned to set the glass in the sink before returning your attention back to Eddie. “So, do you wanna go get something to eat? Lunch at the diner maybe? I’m starving.”

Eddie couldn’t let you in his van knowing what was sitting in the passenger seat. He didn’t have time to hide it in the back again and he knew you’d race and beat him to the van if he agrees to go out.

“Uh, no not this time. I- I actually have to leave.”

“Leave? Why?”

“Wayne needs me. Yeah, uh he’s got this thing he’s been working on and he told me the other day that he would need my help today with it so um, I should get going.”

With a confused look on your face you stare at him suspiciously. The longer you take to say something the more he feels like he’s going to have a heart attack right here in the middle of your apartment. Finally, after what feels like forever to him, you say something.

“Yeah, sure, okay.. um, well I guess I’ll see you around then? Call me tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah, yes, of course I will.”

Eddie leaves your place in a hurry and speeds back home. He can’t believe he just did that. The thrill of it all. He gets home and rushes inside. Going straight to his room and setting up the tape to play, he sits on his bed with his back to the headboard. He was already semi hard on the drive home, just thinking about what was waiting for him on that tape.

After a few minutes, he could hear your bedroom door open on the video. It took you a second to come into the frame but when you did, Eddie thought he had died and went to heaven. There you were, in nothing but a towel, water still dripping from your hair and making its way down your body. He starts to palm himself over his jeans making him hiss at the physical touch he so craved.

“Shit.. oh fuck…”

Things had just started and he was already a whimpering mess. A small wet patch forming on his jeans just from what little bit he saw of you. He couldn’t take it any longer, needing to feel more he took his jeans and boxers off. His cock springing up to his stomach as he groaned, finally feeling some relief. He spit in his hand and started stroking himself, gathering up his precum from the head as he watched you walk around your room looking for new clothes to wear.

Once you found an outfit, you laid it on the bed and began to dry yourself off. Your back was to the camcorder as you removed your towel. Your bare ass was on display for Eddie now and he tries his best not the cum at the sight of it.

“Oh god, baby, fuck you’re so beautiful.”

Every once in a while he catches a glimpse of some side boob but he grows impatient wanting to see more. Speeding up his fist, he becomes a blabbering mess as he tries to find his release.

“Shit, oh my god look at you. Just look at you. You’re so god damn beautiful. Fuck, you’re being so good for me, baby. Letting me see you like this? Sticking that ass out for me? God you’re so fucking good. So, so, good.”

He stops for a second to spit some more on his cock and then resumes the same pace he had before. At this point of the video, you had dried off and discarded your towel, but was still standing there fully nude for him.

Throwing his head back, he started to beg even more. “Oh fuck, princess, I’m getting so close. So fucking close.. please turn around for me baby. Please please please, I need to see you. All of you.”

Eddie knew you couldn’t hear him, but that didn’t stop him from saying it. He looks back up at the screen and suddenly, as if you had actually heard him, you turn your head slightly over your shoulder and he swears you were looking straight into the lens of the camcorder. Before he could process what was happening, you spoke.

“Be patient, Eddie, you’re not the only one who gets to have fun with this.”

Eddie instantly froze, hand not moving but still holding his cock. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? No, there’s no way you actually said that.

You turned around and Eddie let out a moan. Seeing you fully nude, your cunt on display right in front of him. He wanted to cum so bad. He needed to cum.

You start to feel yourself up looking directly at him. He starts to jerk himself off again at the sight of it all.

“Oh, you’re so dirty. Such a filthy little slut for me. I take back what I said about you being good. You are bad, very bad, sweetheart.”

Eddie could feel himself inching closer to his orgasm with every pump of his fist, his breathing gets heavy as he chases his release.

“Fuck, oh fuck, just like that baby, keep playing with those pretty tits of yours. Shit, oh- oh my god I’m gonna cum baby, I’m gonna fucking cum. You gonna let me cum all over those tits, hm? Ohhhh shit.”

Just as he’s about to cum he hears a noise come from the video causing him to pause what he’s doing yet again. The sound of your front door opening and suddenly a voice. His voice.

“Princess? I got the eggs! I’m gonna get started on breakfast, okay?”

You call out to him, “Yeah, okay, I’ll be out in a minute!”

You made your way closer to the camcorder and looked directly into it. At this point Eddie knew for sure he had been caught and wasn’t just imagining things.

“Looks like you just cockblocked yourself.. let’s see if you’ll have the guts to finally make a move in person. If not, I guess we’ll just have to wait until next weekend, yeah?”

You turn to go put your clothes on before quickly turning back. “Oh and by the way, next time you want to sneak and record someone, make sure there isn’t a big red light coming from the camera.” And with that you winked and started getting dressed.

Eddie sat there for a second, mouth hanging open in disbelief before quickly putting a pair of sweats on and grabbing his keys. He’ll be damned if he waits a whole week before making a move now after that stunt you just pulled.

******

Wanna join my taglist? Click here

#sorry this took so long #I hope you like it omg #perv!eddie #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn smut #joe quinn #st4 #stranger things #ralph timewasters #mechanic!eddie munson #professor quinn #ghostface!eddie

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shadowdaddies · 7 months ago

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Distraction pt. 2

A/N: this is more of a drabble because I'd planned on Distraction being a one shot, but I hope this gives you all a satisfying ending💜

Distraction - Part 1

warnings: canon-typical violence

Hand grasping Azriel’s tight, you ignored the thrill that shot through you at his touch as you wound through the crowd of people.

“I think he may have recognized you, so we’ll need to stick to the shadows and keep our distance,” you murmured over your shoulder, noting Azriel’s wide eyes as he stumbled after you. “...Or I can go out on my own, and you stay behind in case anything happens inside the ballroom,” you amended.

Azriel only swallowed thickly, his jaw tight as his grip tightened around your own.

You’d never seen Azriel like this. It wasn’t typical of him to be flustered during missions, but there was no time to waste with questioning him as you watched the Hybernian male walk swiftly from the balcony to the steps leading towards the garden.

“I will follow, you stay and keep watch,” you whispered, ignoring the tightening in your chest as you leaned up to press a kiss to Azriel’s cheek.

“I’m just stepping out for some air, if you wouldn’t mind grabbing us some drinks in the meantime. I love you, darling,” you cooed to Azriel, loud enough that the surrounding fae could hear your newly-mated endearments.

Azriel turned still as a statue as you leaned closer to him, something you couldn’t place shifting in his scent as you pressed the kiss to his cheek. It was difficult to maintain your facade when your friend was acting so strange, but if Azriel wouldn’t use any warnings or signals, you decided to continue with the plan.

Taking a deep breath, you plastered a dazed, pleasant smile on your features as you strode out into the moonlight. Pretending to take in the view of the garden, you scanned for any sign of the white-haired male you’d been watching, only to see him slowly meandering towards the garden maze.

You sighed, hiking up your skirts to trod down the stairs after him. Smiling at a guard, you asked politely whether the gardens where open for a stroll, sure to flash him your wide innocent eyes and ample breasts as you did so.

Eyes flashing from your chest to your painted lips, the young guard managed with reddened cheeks to affirm that you could enter the maze. “Thank you,” you purred, fingertips grazing his arm as you passed, smirking at the shiver you felt pass through him at your touch.

Dim faelights bobbed throughout the hedges, illuminating the path just enough to show your next steps. Layers of skirts dragged on the ground, and you cursed your womanhood as you struggled to stay discreet while wandering through the florals.

Peach-colored roses blossomed on the hedge that you passed, the scent sweet and gentle when you stopped to smell their blooming petals. Movement caught the corner of your vision, body standing at attention to see the male from the ballroom watching you with dreadful gaze.

“Pardon me, sir,” you laughed softly. “I was finding some fresh air, and succumbed to the temptation of the beautiful roses.”

He didn’t respond, arms flexing beneath his coat as a long dagger shot from his hand. A wicked smile curved upon his lips, and you noticed the reddish eyes tracking you like a hunter with its prey. “Naive, female, Night Court filth,” he cooed, shadowing dancing around you as he took a step forward.

Bushes rustled, and you realized that you were surrounded, frantic arms reaching for the dagger under your skirts pulled to your sides by two other fae.

“Is your lesser fae mate the reason you are so amenable to the humans’ cause? Would you still fight as valiantly if something were to happen to him, I wonder?” He chuckled, raising his blade to glint in the faelight as Azriel was brought into view, cuffed in Gorsian schackles, blood dripping from his face.

Something felt ripped from your chest at the sight of him - hazel eyes helpless and shameful as he gazed up at you - but you were trained better. “If you know well enough to know that we are from the Night Court, then you should know well enough that we are not truly mates,” you countered, although your voice shook and muscles trembled while you held your head high.

A chorus of laughter erupted around you, your own arms shaking from the fae at your sides finding amusement in your words. “What a pathetic excuse,” the male drawled, white hair glinting in the moonlight as he strode towards where Azriel kneeled on the ground.

Tipping up his chin with the blade, the Hybernian rogue tilted Azriel to look at him. “She doesn’t claim you as her mate,” he cooed, “even though we can all smell it on you. How sorrowful, yet how apt for a lesser halfbreed like you.”

Shucking Azriel to the side, the shadowsinger’s blood spilled as the male focused his attention again on you, but you were lost to his cause.

Red blood dripped onto the cobblestone path, hazel eyes gleaming in the dark sending that spark through you tenfold. It hit like a gale of wind, knocking the breath from your lungs as your mind tumbled with the force of realization. Azriel was your mate.

A world you hadn’t recognized before seemed to snap into place, everything you’d been through in your life fitting together like puzzle pieces that led you to this moment, this male. For the first time, everything made sense.

And with that recognition, so came the instincts. Your mate was in danger. Alarm bells rang in your head, but sense was thrown to the side when your vision turned red with rage.

You vaguely remembered roaring, “get your hands off of my mate,” before spiraling into bloodlust, cutting down every living being, save Azriel, within your vision.

Blood dripped, sticky against your face, arms, hands - but nothing lit up your senses like Azriel did in that moment. Knees hit the stone hard in front of him, kneeling at even level as you shakily grabbed the key, freeing your mate from his shackles.

“You... You are my mate,” you muttered, awestruck at the male before you, more vulnerable than you had ever seen him.

“I am,” he choked out, eyes pleading. “I am sorry. I didn’t know what to say, but I couldn’t let you go out here alone. I love you. Before I knew you were my mate, I have loved you more than I thought possible. You are my best friend, the one person who understands me more than anyone, and I feel foolish that I did not realize it sooner,” he muttered, gaze falling downcast as you felt his regret down the bond.

“Azriel,” you whispered, voice light with a mixture of amusement and wonder. “You are my best friend. And yet, it took me even longer to realize. You are my forever, what life has been leading me to this whole time. You are the kindest protector and supporter, and I am honored to be your mate.”

Azriel grew radiant, shadows dancing as they wrapped over his wings and enveloped you in a cool embrace. Hands dropped your weapons, twining in the hair at the nape of his neck as your lips found his.

Azriel’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your body flush to his in a way that you’d never felt with him before. Heat pooled in your core at the feeling of his hardening length against your stomach, hands tugging on his onyx hair as you moaned softly into your mate’s mouth.

“Azriel, can we go somewhere to be alone?” you whispered.

“I am yours for the rest of my existence, and whatever may follow,” Azriel groaned, shadows enveloping the both of you as you were spirited away.

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minkydinks · 2 months ago

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Why HiveWings in canon do NOT have to be the result of tons of generations of detrimental incest (a hot take maybe)

@sarcasticrat @incorporeal-entity @daishitheprofessionalfool

It's a funny meme in the WoF community that HiveWings are incestuous abominations having all descended from a single dragon (Clearsight). But honestly I think a lot of the weirdness revolving around that idea is missing a fundamental piece of the way WoF genetics work.

It's relatively well known that when two dragon tribes hybridize, their offspring will primarily take after their mothers. Every. Single. Time. At most, there may be somewhat-even mixes of both parents, but the mother's tribe is still largely apparent. We see this with Whiteout, Darkstalker, Typhoon, and Sunny. Whiteout and Darkstalker appear primarily NightWing, like their mother Foeslayer (although Whiteout has a little more IceWing than Darkstalker). Sunny is mostly SandWing in appearance like her mother Thorn; enough that most regard Sunny as a regular SandWing that may just have a rare genetic anomaly. Typhoon confirms his mother as a SeaWing in his dialogue, when he mentions that his father is ill by the animus IceWing plague that Darkstalker caused.

What does this mean for HiveWings?

While it does still sound exhausting to have so many relatives, it's very plausible for her to have caused a branching new tribe with her genetics, WITHOUT inbreeding being involved in that process.

Because Clearsight is female, the VAST majority of her dragonets with BeetleWings would appear.... mostly NightWing! Mostly black scales!

Somewhat like this, if you assume this is relatively canon:

And, any of her daughters who decided to have dragonets themselves, would have ALSO had dragonets with primarily black scales, no matter WHO they married to. The black scales would have easily passed along hundreds (if not thousands) of dragons, without a single instance of genetically problematic inbreeding, so long as the direct descendants of Clearsight were female and had black scales. Regardless, no matter how many children Clearsight had, her daughters, granddaughters, great granddaughters and so on, would pass down her black scales to future generations; all of their Night/Beetle offspring would have taken after the mothers that appeared more NightWing-like, until eventually the form of HiveWings became most familiar because of the consistent mixing of the NightWing & BeetleWing physical traits.

Clearsight may well have only needed to EVER have 6 of her own dragonets total, for there to be a tribe split based on her genetics; depending on whether or not all of her dragonets chose to have families of their own (which we assume they all did). But, it is canon that Clearsight remarried several times, so we can assume she had more than 6; albeit probably not as many as your mind wanders into thinking. No slutshaming!!!! /j

Assuming she had 4 daughters and 2 sons, and each of her children had 3 dragonets of their own (predominantly female from her daughters and predominantly male from her sons), that would be 12 NightWing-dominant hybrids and 6 BeetleWing-dominant hybrids to kickstart the tribe splitting. It's perfectly plausible with the way canon genetics work.

What about SilkWings?

BeetleWings were a spread-out tribe, not existing purely in one location for their kingdom. So, while it's fun to theorize about SilkWings also being descendants of Clearsight, it's improbable at best (and disprovable at worst) that they're related in any way. It's theorized (and probably accurate) that BeetleWings had already been in the process of diverging into SilkWings, and Clearsight's arrival sped up that process significantly by reducing the population of non-diverging BeetleWings.

Incest had to happen at some point, didn't it?

I'm going to tentatively say, yes. But not in the way you're thinking.

At some point, after the BeetleWings had been bred out of existence and replaced by HiveWings and SilkWings, there HAS to be interbreeding of HiveWings at some point. And if ALL HiveWings are descended from Clearsight, that would mean that modern HiveWings are technically inbreeding by continuing to have eggs with other HiveWings, instead of more BeetleWings.

However, this is not as problematic as you'd think. (Stay with me here, this isn't proship territory. I promise.)

If we're looking at animals as a prospect, you'll notice that millions of extant species in REAL life are actually the result of similar conditions. Direct descendants of ancestors that they inherited their primary abilities and traits from, that have ultimately somewhat inbred.

You may be shocked (and even grossed out) to hear that we're actually all somewhat related, especially to those in our own countries. However, the reason incest between close relatives is considered immoral to people (and is illegal in many places, thankfully) is because of genetic anomaly. There is always risk to pass down genetic anomalies, I happen to have one myself! (A congenital defect of the heart that gives me two aortic valve flaps instead of three. This is a standard defect though and I promise I'm not an incest baby.) But the issue with inbreeding is just that it drastically increases the chances of such anomalies happening, the more closely related to an individual you are.

To put it more science-y, inbreeding only increases the chances of consequential or fatal anomalies if the offspring of two individuals contain alleles at the gene site that are identical from descent. In other words, there's a single ancestor shared from both the maternal and paternal sides. This becomes negligible when it's no longer probable to pass identical alleles from both sides; i.e, hitting about 6th degree (roughly second cousins once removed).

In other words, should someone interbreed with their second cousin-once removed, the chances of there being genetic anomalies or consequences are so low, that it's about as likely as if you had a child with any other person in the general population of your area. Your average shared DNA with that 2nd cousin-twice removed would be ~1.5%, which is actually lower than the default chance of any other average birth defect happening to the child of an unrelated couple (~3-4%). Genetic counsellors themselves state that they completely stop worrying about the potential for inbreeding-related fetal anomalies (AND moral code) once the relativity is 4th degree or further, because there is simply such a low chance of any defects, and it would be substantially different from marrying & reproducing with your siblings, parents, grandparents, and other direct relatives. Simply put, incestuous pairings are not black & white when it comes to more distant relation. Although direct relative pairings are inherently risky and therefore morally & ethically reprehensible by any means.

Dragons in Wings of Fire live to a maximum of about 130 years, and 2000 years had passed since Clearsight's arrival to Pantala. That's about 13 generations of dragons, give or take a few. We know based on the story told by Lady Scarab that a close relative of hers that she knew personally actually named the HiveWing tribe - implying that BeetleWings' extinction was actually relatively recent; within the last 200-400 years. Meaning that the genetic diversity of modern HiveWings is high enough that it would be incredibly unlikely for any random pair of HiveWings to pass down identical alleles to their child and cause significant issues.

So while, definition-wise, it is TECHNICALLY inbreeding, it is not a morally questionable issue because there are very few physically consequential results from their pairings; there have simply been FAR too many unrelated BeetleWings in their family trees for so long, that the VAST majority of HiveWings are as closely related to one another as the average city population in the United States.

Additionally, reptiles are not affected by incest the same way mammals are. The majority of unique pet trade reptile color morphs is a result of inbreeding for those colors; it's quite rare for them to have consequential anomalies as a result of such inbreeding as long as they aren't direct relatives only exclusively inbreeding with each other. Also these are magical fantasy dragons, so like. Shrug. I can't imagine incredibly distant relative consanguinity would affect them as badly as anything that's ever happened to British royalty.

(Also you didn't hear this from me, but MudWings are probably significantly more worrisome because of their monthly random breeding nights and no real semblance of family trees. I'd worry about them before worrying about tons of generations of hybrids with the genetic diversity of New York.)

#wof #wings of fire #wof theories #hivewings #beetlewings #silkwings #nightwings #wof hybrids #NOT PROSHIP

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velvetvexations · 1 month ago

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@trans-androgyne made this lovely post that spurred me to have thoughts about how their second point also applied to transfems but I didn't wanna derail theirs so I decided to make my own post.

Transitioning being a pro-feminist move applies to trans women as well. Gender abolitionists want to get rid of gender but in practice mostly seem to want to just go back to not considering it separate from sex and otherwise keeping such clear lines between one or the other* that gender would be the only possible result. Like, the feminist future is one where anyone can undress in front of anyone, not where we recognize that women are weak prey animals that need to be kept separate from their natural predators.

So like, it's said that trans women further the patriarchy because they associate things like the color pink with womanhood. This is an understandable perspective that appears logical on the face of it, but dig deeper. When you say pink is a woman's color, and liking the color pink - to vastly simplify the many things that goes into recognizing a desire to transition - means you must be a girl, the implication is that there is an inherent link between womanhood and the color pink. But you're missing the forest for the trees, because the actual idea at play here is that whether or not you're associated with the color pink is no longer decided for you at birth!

Naturally the counterargument is that plenty of women throughout the world and history is that plenty of women have gotten by without liking the color pink, yet not categorizing themselves as a man. GNC cis women have a long, storied history, and in this modern age are especially prominent. They are not men, or non-binary, simply because they dislike pink.

However, cis women that are gender conforming exist literally everywhere you look. Performing femininity is not at all a trans thing, and radical feminism has had a ton of conflict with cis women who shave their legs, enjoy makeup, and things like that.

But cis women, you might say, have expectations of femininity thrust upon them. Isn't it uniquely bad of trans women to choose to define their womanhood that way?

That might be the case except that a lot of trans women are also GNC as well. Literally if you saw me you'd be like "that's a gender conforming man."** It's not only about separating gender from sex, but rendering it a totally meaningless form of personal expression. That doesn't mean erasing, trivializing, or appropriating anything about cis women, but I think it feels that way to many because they have a hard time getting away from terms like "woman" meaning what it traditionally has in the past. TIRFs*** take a stab at the linguistic evolution, at least, but otherwise still see everything the same way, and will often use words like "male" and "female" to directly refer to sex specifically despite the synonymous associations they have that make trans people still reject that kinna labeling**** even before you get into the actual ideological stuff that most trans people of either assigned sex reject.

But I think you need to have both. I think a gender conforming woman who has a penis goes to show that that gender role is not defined by having a vagina, nor is having a vagina defined by that gender role. Then, on top of that, you have GNC trans and cis women alike doing whatever the fuck, breaking down the idea that a woman is one thing in particular not only regarding sex but also in how they exist in society.

*ignoring for now that even sex isn't a binary; I would love if an intersex person could please add on addressing that if they felt they had anything to add

**until I get my breasts, anyway, after which I'll look like an otherwise gender conforming man with breasts

***distinct from TRFs, TIRFs are the ones who reskin TERF frameworks with trans validating language

****I consider myself male and specifically because of my body, but this is personal to me because my identity is based heavily in a lot of archetypical stuff that doesn't play a factor in the identity of others; one way to view it is that I like to use a certain shade of purple because it was used in a lot of paintings that inspired me, but other people use other shades of purple because they were inspired by different things that come at their self-portrait from a different angle

#transfeminism #transfem #trans women #discourse

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acourtofthought · 4 months ago

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“I believe everything happens for a reason. Whether it is decided by the Mother, or the Cauldron, or some sort of tapestry of Fate,

Lucien rolled his shoulders. “Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn’t.

“By the Cauldron,” Lucien said

“Two jokes in one day—a miracle sent from the Cauldron,” he said

“By the Cauldron, are you all right?”

“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.”

Only when her footsteps vanished did Lucien say, “Mother spare you all.”

And when Elain began praying to the Fae’s foreign gods, to their Mother, Nesta bowed her head, too.

Accepting fate is realizing that the same entity one prays to, one thanks for small miracles, is the same force that mated you to a stranger.

Accepting fate is the awareness that what you thought you wanted wasn't the best thing for you, that unanswered prayers are actually the kindest mercy of all.

Accepting fate is letting go of your tightly held control, realizing that though you may have years upon years to your age, yours will never be a match for the knowledge that the Mother has.

Many times throughout the series Lucien refers to the Mother and Cauldron. We see Elain praying to the Mother to save Feyre's life in SF, what is now her goddess as she's been made fae.

This is the higher power these characters turn to when in need. Religion is not just about asking for what you want and getting it at every turn, it's about trusting in the knowledge that there's someone who guides you, who will help you see why fate has led you to a certain point, who will help you to understand why what you thought you wanted is not actually the best thing for you and why Fate, the Mother, Destiny, knew it all along.

It's normal to lose your way while traveling that path, to experience confusion why this is the hand that you've been dealt when it's nothing you ever expected or asked for. If Lucien got what he thought he'd wanted, Jesminda would still be alive and he'd have walked away from court life.

If Elain got what she wanted she'd been married to Graysen, a human housewife to a man who hunted the fae.

That is not what the Mother wanted for Elain and Lucien though, she wanted something more for the two of them. She wanted Elain to have sunshine every day of her life, she wanted her to have a male who she could travel with, a male who was a match to her in personality but who would still allow her to shine, who did not choose a life of violence in the way her fiance did considering cruelty troubles her.

The Mother wanted Lucien to have a mate in an eternally hopeful female who could help him regain the hope he's lost, she wanted him beside a female with the power to change their world, a power to match his own so they could bring about that change together, an intelligence to match his own, a mate with beauty inside and out to match the beauty in / on the outside of him despite his constant feelings of self doubt and being self conscious over his scar / eye.

The Mother is an ancient deity so a few years of Elain and Lucien not being ready is barely a moment in time but it's not going to be long before they realize the Mother answered the prayers they never knew they had.

@elucienweekofficial

#elain archeron #pro elucien #elucien #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #pro elain archeron #elucienweek2024 #fated mates

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themasterofo · 2 months ago

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To My Readers

Please bear with me while I take a somewhat more serious tone today. I've been wanting to write something like this for a while now, and finally got to putting my thoughts down.

I have always kept an eye on you readers who like and reblog my stories, and it has not gone unnoticed that, in addition to girls who more-or-less match the submissive female character I write, many of my readers are lesbian, or trans, or even sub men. Some of you I've chatted with in the past, even to the point of giving permission to rewrite my stories, altering some preferred biology and/or gender details.

I dislike virtue signaling for its own sake. I find a lot of it distasteful and self-serving, but I also know that statements of support can mean a lot to people who may not be sure that they are welcome. So it's in that spirit that I did decide to write this.

Assuming you are an adult, and that you are not a predator, you are welcome here.

Whether Dom(me) or sub, whether male, female, or anything else, and whatever genitals or body you were born with or have managed to make for yourself, you are welcome here.

I write about denial from my particular perspective, which includes my own sexuality, orientation, and gender. In my mind, the man in my stories is me, and the girl is an afab girl. Because of this, you'll hear talk about his cock, her cunt, and things like this. But, if that doesn't match you, and you still want to read, and if you identify with any part of my writing, you have my absolute blessing to take whatever liberties you wish in your own mind. Not that you needed my permission, but maybe for some it might help.

To be clear, for my own part, I'm not really interested in interacting sexually with sub men, or with girls who don't match the physical type of person that I'm attracted to (girls with a cunt). I don't mean any offense here and I hope that none is taken. For me, life is too short to do anything other than follow what makes you feel authentically happy, and that's part of what does. But it costs me nothing to accept the gender or sexuality that someone identifies with themselves, and I consider it a matter of kindness and decency to do so.

But I am also happy to chat with anyone in about denial and so forth, as long as there is respect and if I have the time (the latter being a larger issue these days!)

So in summary, welcome. If you're a sub, I hope you find inspiration here, and I hope you can learn to edge more and cum less, if you agree with me that this is what's probably best for you. If you're a Dom(me), I hope you enjoy the stories and maybe get some inspiration and ideas to take responsibly to the sub(s) in your life. I tell sub girls they don't have my permission to cum when reading my blog, but if that doesn't resonate with you - you do you. And if you want to imagine that my Dom character is a woman, or that the sub character has a cock, or whatever else will make bring you some happiness, just do it.

#serious #community #respect #denial

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majycka · 3 months ago

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Megumi stans....we won, I guess? maybe just for now..

JJK 266 THOUGHTS AND SPOILERS AHEAD!

Aight megumi enjoyers, at least one of us has been in the trenches when Megumi was getting SHOVELED PILES OF SHIT ON for losing his will to live when he's a traumatized 15 years old boy having a valid reaction to a death of a loved one (aka who may I repeat, HEAVILY REITERATED in the manga is someone whose his entire desire to live hinges on). As of from the currents chap, I'm considering Yuuji's acknowledgement/understanding to Megumi's actions a W for us or idk maybe that's just me because he gives Megumi the empathy and understanding he needs in his crazy ass suicidal life, and it raises the question of whether this is gonna fully push Megumi for his comeback moment?

More yapping under the cut

In order to explain why the magnitude of this chapter is such an important development for Megumi, his trauma needs to be discuss first and, there's four people we need to go through to reflect his stages of life. Toji, Tsumiki, Gojo, aaaannd Yuuji! :D

TOJI, the dad who left for milk.

Although we barely see any interaction with these two (only one fight scene from them), Toji no doubt kickstarted the trauma of Megumi the moment he decided to left for milk and never return again. He's traumatized by the Zenin's which explains why he acted out in that way and abandoned his child. All he's life he's treated as the outsider for being the odd one out. He lashed out from it as he got stronger, calmed down when meet Meg's mom who then died, and went back to lashing out again, forgetting that he has a tiny son waiting for him at home. Big L for Toji.

I know that Gege reiterated in his interview that he wants to craft a story where there's no right and wrong people, but I'm gonna proceed to be harsher towards Toji here because he's the ADULT situation. Yes, a traumatized adult who's fucked up and not perfect, but I still hold him accountable in perpetuating Megumi's trauma because Toji proceeded to repeat the cycle of trauma that moment he decided to leave, thinking that turning over Megumi to the Zenin is the best option cuz he got The Ten Shadows Technique. From Toji's perspective, it seemed the better option because he was raised knowing his no cursed energy made him an outcast in his family. It's drilled to him that cursed technique was everything for Zenins, so of course, he thought that his son with a valued technique will make the Zenins, olympic gold medal holder of abuse, treat him better. But, heck no! Just look what happened to that Naoya, who despite being raised differently as Toji or Maki and Mai, ended up as a piece of shit. In the end though, I gotta give him the bareeeessst minimum because he kinda pushed Gojo to interfere with Megumi being sold off to the Zenins(which has another set of problems discussed for the later part of discussion).

I try to stay true in including Gege's intention in writing here, and also other nuanced perspective cuz that's the type of series JJK is that yes, Toji DID care for his son in the barest minimum and in his most emotionally stunted way.

However, the damage is done, and Megumi is left with no prime adult caretaker to protect/guide him with only an older sis to have any resemblance of it .

2. TSUMIKI, the manic pixie dream girl sister.

To define the term (as I've stolen from Google) , manic pixie dream girl (MPDG) means "a type of female character depicted as vivacious and appealingly quirky, whose main purpose within the narrative is to inspire a greater appreciation for life in a male protagonist." They are often associated as love interest in movies, BUT I AM NO WAY SHAPE IN FORM ENDORSING MEGUMI SEES HER THAT WAY. Instead, I am using MPDG as a loose term to describe Tsumiki because like most MPDG, we barely know ANYTHING about her actually and we only saw her through the eyes of Megumi which is being pretty and dead.

Not essentially dead and not essentially just pretty because Megumi described her to be the model of a kind person and someone that Megumi wishes to protect, aka his greater purpose of life, which is yah, great, but we are stuck with this perception of Tsumiki. We don't know her, and I think the closest thing we got an unbiased perception of her is when she chucked a cartoon of milk to Megumi (she will call out his BS). This connects back with Megumi's trauma because who else are you gonna hinge your will to live on when the prime adults in your life failed you? He sees her in a brighter light in order to survive. A way of coping mechanism even.

AND YET, despite all his talk appreciating her kind traits and killing people in the culling game to get back to her, you would be surprised that instead of apologizing to her that he was all emo about, he was a dick to her when they reunited. 💀💀

And in fact, the narrative punishes him for this flaw.

To the point that when Sukuna took over his body, he "killed: Tsumiki in his hands which didn't just left Megumi the guilt and shame of being a dick to his sister before she dies but also the impression that Megumi was the one who "killed her." This makes Megumi an active participant to his own tragedy, and it serves a big slap on his face that he's also at fault here.

3. GOJO, the traumatized bro who tried his best.

This is definitely the raging hot debate of the fandom which is their dynamic, and my take breaks this perception of the uwufied Gojo a lot of the fandom seems to like. Yes, I do see Gojo as another perpetrator to Megumi’s trauma, another adult that failed him but not in such of a black and white way thinking of Gojo’s the wholly bad guy here. Believe it or not, he’s still a part of the chain of generational trauma, being a "chain" as in he's a victim AND perpetrator of the system. I called him the traumatized bro who tried his best here because as much as Gojo knows how cruel the jujutsu system is for the kids, he still unintentionally passes over the core mindset of such cruel system to Megumi since Gojo still did grew up in this system normalized in his eyes.

"Jujutsu Sorcerer is an individual sport."

I say "unintentionally passes" because no, Gojo doesn't have the same intention as Zenins/majority of the system who drills "strength is everything" in the most fucked up way possible. Yes, he enjoys Megumi’s company and treats him nicely. Yes, he sticks his neck out for him. Yes, he wants them to be strong so they can change the system. But this isn't about Gojo. It's about Megumi who still undeniably suffered from the accumulation of the few adults in his life failing him which includes Gojo. Gojo offers protection to Megumi. KEYWORD: Offers. It’s in exchange for Megumi working under Gojo as a jujutsu sorcerer. Now, for smol Megumi here, who truly going through the horror show of abandonment from his dad, agrees to it because apparently, according to Gojo, it’s the only way to protect his sister.

"I'll take care of things! But you're gonna have to work extra hard. I'm countin' on ya."

Annnd thus the cycle repeats! Although it wasn’t as bad as Zenin’s abusive environment Toji was raised, Megumi is still pushed in the same cutthroat environment of the jjk world that Gojo believed he can survive just because Megs has a valued powerful technique if only he himself fullfills his potential, like Gojo’s Six Eyes. BUT Gojo, who delights in his power, forgets a crucial part that…..Megumi isn’t like him!

Check out what Megumi has to say. (aka bud doesn't want any of that sorcerers shit and just wants a domestic life)

So the thing is, was Megumi ever asked his input in choosing to be a jujutsu sorcerer? Well, yah….and all it circles back to just protecting his sister and people like her. There’s a set of problems that comes with this mindset though that Gojo was valid to point out and that is Megumi doesn’t think about himself enough. “It’s ok to be selfish!” Gojo said in the context of being a stronger sorcerer.

But at the same time, he also gave Megumi the idea to that if he doesn’t work as sorcerer, then he won’t be able to protect his sister when he was a mere 6-7y/o boy.

You know that circulating meme of Megumi pulling Mahogora for minor inconvenience? Well, guess what that tells his suicidal tendencies in protecting anyone but himself. Kid got no sense of self-preservation because his self esteemed has completely tanked itself due to his abandonment issues, and now that he’s expressing how it emotionally and physically paralyzes him, he has every valid reason to do so.

Why, yes, Gojo was 19/20 at the time he first met Megs, still a kid, doesn't know shit, and has unaddressed issues being treated as The Strongest Weapon(here’s a dedicated gojo-centric meta I wrote previously about Gojo and his issues cuz he's one complicated fool). I describe this whole situation as an unaware traumatized kid taking in another traumatized kid which is not a fun mix to have, and I understand that Gojo ain’t exactly prepared for that kind of job.

HOWEVER, I’m way harsher to point out Gojo’s failure as an adult in Megumi in the later part of the series because at this point, Gojo's a grown adult, he waxes poetry in being responsible for the next gen , and we get to see his priorities throughout the series especially with the Sukuna’s fight, like seriously he had one legitimate fun fighting someone on par with him.

Gojo DELIGHTS in power no doubt, he chooses kids with most potential, he gets excited finding those kids, and this is the type of the closest dependable adult Megumi has in his life.

Yes, financially supported but Gojo isn't around much when he's working and on demand sorcerer almost 24/7. That's why growing up sure do sucked ass for Megumi especially when no one’s really there to guide and to keep an eye on your development AS A PERSON AND NOT JUST A SORCERER which the latter part is what unfortunately Gojo’s more eager to do.

4. YUUJI, the guy who just wants Megumi to know he matters to him as a person.

Yuuji and Megumi were definitely the highlight of this chapter because in the bleak world of JJK where everyone seemed to be succumbing to the repeated fuck ups of the previous gen (like that Yuta-Gojo situation), this chapter actually offers that THERE IS HOPE that the new gen can do better like what Yuuji just did that the adults in Megumi's life are too emotionally stunted to do. Yuuji take the time to listen to Megumi's emotional thoughts, what he feels as a person, and not just listen, but to understand and empathize. It even took lots of attempts for Yuuji to make Megumi open up.

He responds to Megumi's vulnerability with care and love, and Yuuji understands the pain Megumi is going through from losing his sister. With someone in pain like that, Yuuji knows he can't just go around saying "just live" to someone who's practically suicidal.

The treat of this all is when this scene comes next. Yuuji also shows his vulnerability and expresses that Megumi matters to him!

"It's lonely without you..Fushiguro."

This scene clearly parallels Gojo and Megumi's first meeting, so I'm gonna try to throw my two cents here and explain why Gege choose this direction. Remember what I said about Yuuji giving us the hope of the new gen escaping from the shackles of generational trauma? Well, I think this parallel is a way in saying that what Megumi needed when he was so young was someone to see him and his pain who's just a kid abandoned and forced to fend for themselves because the prime adults decided to to dip out. This is Megumi we are talking about here who's unaddressed issues stays hidden beneath all the pressure of him being The Ten Shadows Technique. He's valued for his technique. That's why Gojo showed up to meet him in the first place. That's also what the jujutsu system looked after for their child soldiers. Yuuji tries to break this chain of trauma their mentor unknowingly repeats. He'll show up for Megumi again and again because he's his dear friend even if Megumi's being difficult to be pulled out of Sukuna. And the beautiful thing is Yuuji didn't had some grand inspiring speech or grand offer to convince Megumi, he wasn't even sure Megumi will be up for it. Yuuji simply want to say that he matters to him. That understands him. That he's important to him so much he'll be sad when he dies, and it mattered.

"This is...Fushiguro Megumi's...!!"

And now that Megumi is showing signs in taking his body back, it's now his turn to save himself. Yuuji did his part, and for someone whose future has been controlled by everyone but himself, this time Megumi gets to decide what comes next.

#jjk 266 #jjk manga #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #tsumiki fushiguro #fushiguro tsumiki #jjk meta #jjk spoilers #yall this is the fastest i pulled words out of my ass and provided evidence for it #my uni paper would never see such treatment kdngjksd #it's very messy but gah i gotta type this shit out or it will be forever be stuck in my head and messes with my daily routine lol #meta attempt

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