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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 5 months

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how deep is your devotion? ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank u to @softgirlgonehaywire for having the biggest brain in the world and infecting me w this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading u can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy.

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work.

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into.

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears.

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere.

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever.

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company.

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone.

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true.

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house.

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight.

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying.

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect.

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue.

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now.

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes.

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is.

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl.

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.”

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time.

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?”

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable.

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself. awfully amused.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise your brow. unimpressed.

satoru steps back. inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own.

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little.

his knight. his favourite knight.

“.. fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate.

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily.

his chest is heaving. lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting.

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still.

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air.

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller.

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.”

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby.

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.”

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.”

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand.

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip.

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years.

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire.

”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then;

“i’d do it, you know.”

a questioning hum. “do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows.

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,�� you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing.

enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze.

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?”

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse.

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light.

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else.

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from the faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear.

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

#u both catch a cold the next day <33 #anyway i am normal about the devotion of a loyal knight paired w the devotion of a man who��s only ever loved one single person in his life #shoutout to knight x royalty dynamics for inventing romance #i wanted to get a good balance on prince!gojo’s twisted side and soft side so i hope i did ok!! :’3 #hes a kind man at heart he rly is but i think being born at the peak of the class pyramid does smth to a person lmao #i didn't touch on it in the fic but he would have turned out a lotttt more twisted if he hadnt met reader as a child …#what if i was ur knight..;;; and u were my prince….;;;;; and we changed the trajectory of each other’s lives 😳😳 👉👈#mickey if u see this!!! tysm for letting me write abt this concept i had so much fun!!! this fic is for u <33 #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen

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jojos-bizarre-imagines · 2 months

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thinking about simeon again.. he is so much more complex and tragic and interesting than the sweet innocent uwu angel that some of the fandom portrays him as

simeon writing tsl to cope with the terrible things he’s seen about the future and can’t tell anyone

simeon obeying the celestial realm only out of fear and obligation, not because he has any real faith in what it stands for

simeon, who would do anything for the brothers, but who will never be considered a core member of the family because he was too afraid to rebel with them

simeon, who would sooner blame himself for the brothers’ rebellion than the system they were all trapped in (as if him simply talking to lucifer the day before the war would have eased the resentment that had been building up inside him for a long time before that), who would rather feel guilty than accept the alternative, that there was nothing he could have done to save them

simeon’s initial dislike of diavolo because he still holds onto the hope that things could change, which simeon dismisses as naive, and probably also because he’s a repackaged version of celestial realm leadership: never lies but doesn’t say the whole truth, friendly and arguably well-intentioned but more manipulative and controlling than he wants people to think

simeon purposefully being as indirect of a teacher as possible to luke because he can’t directly badmouth the celestial realm but wants luke to learn to think for himself instead of absorbing an ideology and never questioning it until he realizes too late how much harm it’s done to himself and others

simeon’s quiet defiance of the celestial realm, more of a resignation than a rebellion because he knows firsthand from watching the brothers the futility of trying to fight an entity like that

simeon accepting his punishment so casually since he’s seen it coming for a long time and has grown numb to the anxiety it gives him (and maybe, he thinks, it’s even what’s best for him, because part of him still wants to believe the celestial realm has good intentions)

human simeon trying to convince himself that he’s better off this way, that he’s free from the celestial realm’s control now, but still feeling deep down that this is actually more isolating and a worse punishment than becoming a demon because most of his loved ones live in the devildom, not the human world

human simeon hiding his depression because he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, especially luke. simeon hiding his humanity because he’s not ready to see himself differently and doesn’t want other people to perceive him differently either, trying to fake it til he makes it by wearing different clothes but not feeling like himself in them

human simeon silently wishing mc would spend more time with him because this transition is scary—how does mc live like this? why did they seem to just abandon him after he confessed that he was a human? do they really accept him like this or are they just saying that?

i imagine human simeon having a private breakdown over something minor like not being able to open a jar of spaghetti sauce, because if he was already weak as an angel, he’s even more so now. his whole life he was told his sole purpose is to help others, and now he can’t even help himself

simeon knowing the whole time that he was going to lose his wings someday but still not being ready for it when it happened

#obey me #simeon #obey me spoilers

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javierpena-inatacvest · 2 months

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Sunday Naps

Summary: It's Sunday, which means it's time for your favorite weekend activity- an afternoon nap with Frankie. But when Frankie finds himself awake before you with an interesting problem, he knows just the way to wake you up, too.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of y/n, established relationship)

Word Count: 2.6K (The self restraint on this was UNREAL)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (don't do this irl), VERY CONSENSUAL Somnophilia, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, praise kink, this is porn with no plot, reader has no physical descriptions (but pls let me know if I missed any!!)Frankie being a menace but also literally the sweetest man alive, Frankie's a Tampa Bay Buc's fan (idk, if he lives in Florida, this makes the most sense to me, I will not elaborate), napping during football bc me too, girl

A/N: This is my first time writing somno so pls be nice, I am NERVY😭 I hope y'all enjoy, Frankie Morales is forever making me swoon, and I just know in my heart that this man absolutely loves to nap and is the world's biggest snuggler 🥺💕 not beta'd bc that's just how I roll

Before you had met Frankie, Sunday was arguably the worst of the weekend days- looming stress of the work week ahead, mettled with to-do’s and other chores before Monday got the best of you. There were very few times that you had found yourself anxiously awaiting a Sunday, but since Frankie? Sundays had easily become one of your favorite days of the week.

Slow and easy going mornings where Frankie brought you coffee as the sun rose before tangling your bodies between the sheets in a mess of soft and unrushed sex, followed by cuddling and leisurely making your way out of bed for breakfast, awaiting a relaxing day ahead of you.

Now that it was fall, it also meant football season, and while you didn’t really care either way about the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, you enjoyed any time that you got to spend cuddled up next to Frankie on the couch, considering more often than not, it normally resulted in the two of you fucking during half-time, followed by you promptly napping wrapped in Frankie’s arms for the better part of the 2nd half.

This Sunday was no different, you and Frankie had found yourself happily snuggled on your couch under your favorite fluffy blanket, Buccaneers game on in the background, Frankie’s arm draped around you as you leaned against his chest, soaking in the familiar warmth and scent of him radiating from the worn cotton of his t-shirt as you felt your eyelids slowly begin to droop heavier and heavier. With the way Frankie had been mindlessly rubbing soft, gentle circles against your back, his thumb dancing in swirling patterns across your skin, it wasn’t long before the comfort of being held in Frankie’s arms had completely washed over you, and you had found yourself fast asleep well before the start of the second quarter.

What you hadn’t realized, was that Frankie had fallen asleep not long after you, the weight of your body pressed against his, along with the long week he’d had from work and the symphony of melodic snores now roaring from your parted lips and knocked him out almost equally as fast, leaving the two of you in a blissfully happy pile of nap on another lazy Sunday afternoon.

That was, until, Frankie found himself wide awake well before you with a very curious problem.

He was hard as a fucking rock.

Some way or another in your sleepy, napping state, the both of you had rolled over on your sides, Frankie now spooning you with his arm draped over your middle and your ass pressed firmly against his crotch, quickly solving the mystery to the hardon straining at the fabric of his sweatpants.

But if just your ass nestled against your dick wasn’t enough, Frankie looked over to see that you were definitely also dreaming, and the type of dream you were having wasn’t hard to decipher based on the way you were quietly moaning in your sleep and subtly grinding your hips into Frankie’s lap.

“Mmmmmmm… Frankie…..” You quietly whimpered, your voice groggy with sleep as you stirred in Frankie’s arms, now finding himself almost unbearably hard at the sight that he’d awoken to, especially now knowing that the dream you were having was definitely about him. Frankie let out a deep, shaky exhale, now more awake than ever as you continued to gently squirmed your bottom half against him, biting down at his bottom lip as you moaned again.

“Frankie… Oh fuck…..”

“Fuck…” Frankie whispered, now raging an internal war in his head as he debated what to do next, knowing you were clearly turned on by whatever was happening in your slumber, his cock aching with each second that passed with you spooned against him.

Should he just try to get up and jerk off before you woke up? Wake you up and then ask if you wanted to fuck? Or maybe… Maybe, he’d wake you up a different way.

Although he hadn’t done it often, you had made it abundantly clear to Frankie that it had been more than okay to wake you up to sex, and every time he had, you’d absolutely loved it. Frankie had been hesitant at first, never wanting to do anything without your consent, or do anything that would ever make you feel even remotely uncomfortable, but after you had insisted and he had worked up the courage, he knew he had the green light from that point on- And given the state that you were in right now, Frankie was about to make good on your outstanding offer.

Carefully shifting his body out from behind you, Frankie let you gently fall so your back was resting against the couch, caging his broad body over yours as he worked his way down to the waistband of your pants, gently sliding them off your hips before tugging at your underwear and leaving your bottom half bare for him.

Frankie sat back on his knees, in shock and awe of the glistening, wet mess your pussy had already become in your sleep just dreaming of him, arousal coating your folds and inside of your thighs as you lazily shifted in your sleep, your legs seeming to instinctually fall open, just for him.

“Fuck me, baby girl…” He whispered to himself under his breath, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he audibly gulped, his eyes going wide as he locked on to your cunt, already dripping and aching for him. Settling down to lay on his stomach, he carefully lifted up your legs to rest over his shoulders, wrapping his arms around your waist, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your hips while he settled himself face to face with your heat.

With one long, flat press of his tongue, Frankie dragged himself across your clit, savoring the sweet tang of the juices that had been dripping from your hole, lapping them up with one more lengthy lick, before pulling his mouth away just enough to see how you’d react to the new presence between your legs.

As if Frankie wasn’t already turned on enough, your reaction was clearly aiding his cause.

After just one lick of his tongue through your folds, you were already incredibly responsive, your hips instinctively jerking towards his face as a breathy whine escaped from your lips, as if you were already begging for more without having to say a word. A slight smirk began to spread across Frankie’s face as he dove back in again, this time, working himself along your cunt in easy, languid strokes, feeling your body begin to twitch even more with the way he was working his mouth.

“Mmmmmmm…. Yeah…..” You muttered, still sleeping as you kept bucking your bottom half against his face, only encouraging Frankie to give you more with his tongue, beginning to change his pattern to swirl deliberate, steady circles around your clit, putting more and more pressure into each movement.

“Frankie….”

“That’s it, sweet girl…” Frankie hummed, his words rumbling in his chest as his hot breath danced against your core, continuing to coax you out of your slumber, working through your folds and at your sensitive bud with intensifying pace.

It wasn’t long until Frankie’s careful and meticulous work slowly began to turn more sloppy and desperate, feeling the wet mess you were becoming under his tongue driving him insane, wanting, no needing, to make you cum, to wake you up with pleasure flowing through your veins, turning your sleepy mumbles into cries of his name over and over again.

Letting one arm untangle around your leg, he brought the hand to your pussy, gently slipping one finger into your aching core, sucking him in with your warm, wet walls, only giving it a few pumps before realizing you could easily take a second, slipping it in to meet the first and curling the pair to brush against the soft and spongy spot inside you he knew drove you absolutely mad. Almost instantly, he could feel your cunt beginning to clench in response, your tell tale sign that you were getting closer and closer to reaching your high and completely coming undone around him.

“C’mon, querida, I’ve got you, baby.”

Suddenly, your eyes shot open, your heart racing as you felt a familiar feeling building in your belly, the coil inside you already wound so tightly as you let out a ragged moan, lifting your head up to see Frankie nestled between your legs, drinking you up like a man starved.

“Oh fuck, Frankie, fuck- baby, fuck, don’t stop” You whimpered, shooting your hand down to burry it in the messy, dark curls of his hair, tugging at his locks for any sort of relief as you had awoken to the savory sensation shooting down your spine and through your core from Frankie’s lips latched around your clit and fingers pulsing in and out of your cunt.

Frankie had barely any time to register that you were now awake, but as you grasped firmer at his hair and let out a ragged moan as you came, clenching around his fingers and gushing with your arousal, it had become very clear to Frankie that he had done his job, and done it well.

“There’s my good girl. Damelo (Give it to me), Hermosa, fucking soak my face.” Frankie smirked, pulling away to reveal the shiny slick covering his beard, still gently rocking his fingers in the warm, wet walls of your heat as you came down from your high, you chest heaving in low, shallow breaths, mouth hanging open as you let a moan of pure ecstasy fall from your lips.

“Frankie… Holy Fuck…”

“Good morning.” Frankie mewled, pulling his fingers out of your pussy, making you hiss at the loss as he laid himself on top of you, swallowing your whimpers in an electric kiss, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips as his tongue swiped across your mouth, silently begging for more. “Must have been some good dreams you were having, querida. You were so fucking wet for me, baby. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Frankie, please, I need you. Fuck- Fuck, I need you to fuck me, Frankie, please. Need you inside me.”

“Needy girl. I’ve got you, Hermosa. Don’t worry. Woke up so fucking hard for you, baby. Didn’t stand a fucking chance with that pretty ass all pressed up against me. Fuck, you’re so perfect.” Frankie sighed, reaching down to shuffle his sweatpants and boxers down off his hips, revealing his painfully hard cock, his tip red and weeping with precum, aching to be buried inside you from the moment he had woken up.

Wrapping his hand around his length, he stroked himself a few times before lining up with your entrance, the two of you letting out a heavy sigh of relief as Frankie pushed inside you, slowly filling you up inch by inch until his tip was kissing your cervix, taking a few moments to let you adjust to the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness.

His forehead dropped to rest against yours, the shimmering sheen of his sweat making his dark curls stick to him and brush against your skin, his broad palm cupping your cheek as he let your lips lock onto yours again for another tender kiss as he slowly began to thrust in and out of you, taking his sweet time with each stroke.

“Fuck, you’re so wet and tight, queirda.” Frankie grunted, gritting his teeth as his hips rutted into you, the weight of his body draped overtop of you sending your mind reeling, loving every second of being engulfed in his broadness. “What were you dreaming about, baby, hmm? What were you dreaming about that had you all worked up?”

Suddenly, Frankie’s arm was wrapping under your legs, pressing your knees to your chest to stretch you open even further, the new position making you breathless as he began to pound into you with more intensity, the room now filling with a mix of your moans and skin slapping against each other.

“I was dreaming- oh fuck- Fuck, I was dreaming about you, Frankie. Shit- dreaming about you fucking me like this, how good you make me feel.” You whined, Frankie’s grip in the soft flesh of your thighs growing tighter as you locked eyes with him, the dark, chocolate brown pooling with lust watching the wrecked mess you were quickly becoming as your cunt began to clench tighter, and the all too familiar tingle in your spine once again began to creep through your body.

Your response elicited a low hum in Frankie’s chest, rutting his hips into you with more intensity as he felt your pussy starting to flutter around his cock, freeing one of his hands to snake between your legs, the pads of his fingers putting just the right amount of pressure on your clit to have you screaming out his name as you felt yourself creep closer and closer to your second orgasm.

“Fuck me. That’s all I want baby, just wanna make you feel good. You gonna be a good girl and give me one more, Hermosa? Cum all over my cock before I fill you up?”

Frankie could feel his own high slowly approaching now too, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and frantic as he pounded against your g-spot and circled your clit, determined to make sure you came again before he did.

“Mmmmmhhhmmmm.” You whimpered, your brain barely even able to form a coherent thought, let alone a complete sentence, given how your eyes were practically rolling in the back of your head as Frankie’s punishing pace split you open in the best way possible, your legs beginning to tremble while you could feel the knot tightening in your core quickly building up to the point of snapping. “Oh fuck, fuck, Frankie, fuckfuckfuckfuck I’m so close, fuck, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh.”

Before you could even finish your sentence, your orgasm crashed through you, euphoria flowing through your veins as you came, every inch of you filling with pleasure as your cunt clamped around Frankie’s length, soaking him in your arousal. Watching you cum was all Frankie needed to follow suit, gritting his teeth as a ragged groan rumbled deep in his chest, pumping a few more times into your heat before burying himself in your warm, wet walls, and milking himself of every last drop as he came, the mix of his spend and your slick leaking and coating the inside of your thighs

Letting his body collapse into yours, he draped himself on top of you, your chests rising and falling in sync with heavy, heaving breaths, the both of you trying your best to regain your composure before Frankie gently pulled himself out, making you hiss at the loss of his fullness as he flopped over next to you, planting a soft kiss on your lips as lay his arm across your stomach, pulling you into him.

“Jesus Christ, Frankie… That’s one way to wake up from a nap.” You giggled softly, raising your eyebrows at him, softly biting down on your lip.

“Was that okay?” Frankie asked, shifting his hand up to gently cup your face, stroking his thumb in lazy circles around your cheek, staring back at you with his sweet puppy dog gaze. “I know I’ve done it before but I just always wanna make sure you feel good and-”

You caught the rest of his sentence in your mouth, swallowing his words in another long, and tender kiss, pulling away from his plush lips to peck a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose, giggling once again.

“God, I love you. What did I ever do to deserve you, Fransisco Morales? Yes, baby it was more than okay. So okay that in fact,” You huffed, wrapping your arm around Frankie’s waist and letting your head fall to lay on his chest, “I think I need another nap.”

@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @jaciejay13 @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @lola8888673 @persephone-girl @copperhalfcent @innerpersonunknown @messinadresss @devineconjuring @endlessthxxghts @cool-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @messinadress @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @ilovepedro @pascalscoffin @missladym1981 @ilovepedro @itsokbbygrl

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where-dreams-dwell · 3 months

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*spoilers for One Day*

For people saying ‘it’s tragic, Dex and Em only got 3 years together’ no. They got 15 years together.

Glossing over the span of their life together to sum it up as ‘only 3 years together’ misses all the love and time they had together that wasn’t solely romantic.

Why is their relationship only ‘important’ or ‘counts’ when it’s a romantic one? Maybe there was always romantic love buried in there or growing steadily but there was a whole lot of platonic love there too.

For 15 years they were the most important person in the world to one another, they described each other as their ‘best friend’ and the person they reached out to at every high and low moment. And for the last 3 of those years they were also a couple.

There are loads of examples of Dex reaching out to Em when he’s at his lowest: the last birthday with his mum, then he’s reeling from his divorce, when he’s scared people will hate him on TV. And you *could* read that as pathetic and Em being his emotional crutch, with Dex latching into her. But you could *also* see that as when you’re struggling and low, you just want your best friend. Because they *get* you. And part of being a best friend is being there in those low moments.

And Em has done the same with Dex, just in different ways. That first year out of uni Em had no idea what she was doing; in a job she couldn’t wait to leave, a relationship that didn’t make her happy, not sure where she was going in life or what she was doing. Em writes to Dex often, and doesn’t need him to reply to her, just to read her letters and be *her* emotional crutch and person to vent to.

Even at that breakup-dinner, Em has things she ‘needs to talk about’ and she’s reached out to Dex to do it. We don’t see her discussing it with Tilly, we see her trying to talk about it with Dex. She’s at arguably her lowest moment (hates her job, hates her partner, hates her home) and she wants her best friend to listen to her. Just like he did when she was 24 and thinking about giving up and leaving London, and Dex convinced her to stay and keep going.

So they are emotional crutches *to one another*. That’s also part of being someone’s best friend.

And for all the low moments Dex also wanted to share his best moments with her too: when he’s excited about the TV pilot he calls Em to say ‘the only person I want to share this with is you’, and begs Em to find a way to be there. Yes this is also him dismissing and ignoring her achievements, yes this is self absorbed and rude and at the height of his egomania, but in that moment of triumph he only wants his best friend there with him.

When they see one another again at Tilly’s wedding Em is brave and self assured when she reveals she’s ‘thought of you every day, missed you every day’, and that even though they are friends again now the fact that Dex will have a wife and child ‘feels a bit like loosing you all over again. Because people with families have different priorities…’ That’s how close they were before.

The sentiment that ‘we grew up together’ is really true, for the both of them. They were very different people throughout their lives, and if they had tried to be a romantic couple earlier there is no guarantee that version of them would have lasted the course.

Would Emma have stayed with a peak-of-his-tv-fame Dex, partying and living life ‘to the full’? Or would they have explosively ended and decided they were too different for one another for it to ever work?

Would Dex have even tried for a career in TV or a full year of travelling if he’d become a couple with Emma after Uni? Or would he have done something else but grown resentful of what-could-have-been?

If they had sorted out their issues and apologised after their fight and Em had left Ian, would Em have found the strength to turn rock bottom into a spring board and finally write her book? Would she have even hit that bottom at all? Or would the hook have remained a pipe dream while she continued as a teacher, happy with Dex but professionally unfulfilled?

We will never know what could have been, and that doesn’t necessarily make those alternatives the ‘better’ option that they ‘missed out on’.

Maybe they would only ever have had 3 years together as a couple and getting it in their mid 30’s the way they did was their most mature and peaceful version.

So yes at times their relationship feels like it’s moving toward the inevitable conclusion of a romantic partnership. But the time before they get there wasn’t wasted or unimportant or unnecessary. And they were always together.

#one day netflix #one day #emma morley #dexter mayhew #friendship #platonic love #romantic love #star crossed lovers #I just get frustrated when people boil ‘they always loved one another’ down to ‘oh so it was romantic from the start and never changed’#like bitch the power of friendship??#the bonds of brother/sisterhood and all that jazz #to say nothing of platonic soulmates #or love that changes and grows #spoilers

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obiwanwhat · 8 months

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I know someone has probably said this better but. There's really so much about Luke & Ahsoka interactions that can be explored. Because honestly they have every reason to resent each other?

Anakin was arguably much more of a father to Ahsoka than he ever was to Luke (even if he was more of an older brother figure to Ahsoka than an actual father figure). He trained her and built her lightsabers and had a dumb nickname for her and made dad jokes and like - everything Luke ever could have wanted out of his dad. She knew him when he was still Anakin Skywalker and not Darth Vader. She knew Padme!! Padme also was kind of her mom! Luke doesn't even know Padme's name until sometime post ROTJ - it's possible Ahsoka was the first person who could have told it to him.

Not only that, but she had the Jedi Order. She was trained by the Order at its peak, raised from infancy in the rituals and knowledge that Luke now must piece together from whispers from ghosts and whatever old texts he can scrounge up from the corners of the galaxy the Empire somehow missed. He is doing all of this on his own with no guidance, no oversight, meanwhile it's knowledge that came to her as easy as breathing.

And she walked away from all of it. Everything Luke has ever wanted - a relationship with his parents, proper Jedi training, the Jedi Order itself - she had without ever asking for it, and she walked away from it without a backward glance. And she's still walking away from it - she's not a Jedi, she won't claim that title, she won't join Luke's new Order. Maybe she shows up from time to time and tells him some stories and shares from knowledge, but she won't train him, and somewhere deep down he knows that he will never be as much of a Jedi as she is even though she doesn't claim that title anymore, and part of the reason because is she won't help him.

And for Ahsoka's part. Anakin returned from the Dark Side for Luke. He couldn't - or wouldn't - return for Ahsoka, who he trained, who knew him and loved him and would have died for him. He tried to kill her and would have if Ezra hadn't saved her. But this boy, who shares nothing with Anakin but a name and half his DNA - he was enough to bring Anakin back. She wasn't, not with everything they shared, not with all the times she'd almost died for him, and he'd saved her, and she'd saved him. How do you not kind of hate someone for that?

And besides, he's trying to bring back the Jedi Order. The Order that cast her aside as soon as it was convenient for them, the Order that allowed Anakin Skywalker to become what he did and was too blind to see a Sith Lord under their noses and that died for those mistakes. And sure, he's trying to do it differently, he's trying to do it better, but what does this boy know of better? What can he know of the sins of the Jedi Order? When he speaks of the Order with stars in his eyes, what can he know of the pain that she suffered? That so many suffered? How can he correct what he doesn't understand?

I just think it would be cool to see more of that explored in canon.

#i know we won't get any of this in the show because disney is a coward and refuses to just recast young luke but it's cool to think about #ahsoka tano #ahsoka show #star wars ahsoka #ahsoka #luke skywalker #star wars #star wars tv #star wars rebels #the clone wars #the mandolorian #darth vader #anakin skywalker #star wars meta #jedi meta #nothing can ever be simple AU

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mandowifey · 10 months

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i just read your miguel o’hara fic and it’s beautiful.

so i found out that when he bites his prey, his fangs have paralyzing venom and i was thinking about him being obsessed with reader who tries to ignore him, but eventually he becomes impatient and uses his venom on them and all they can do is moan and take him (with a sprinkle of breeding kink🤭).

sorry if this is too much and makes you uncomfy

WAH, thank you so much! ❤️

(Breeding kink is my fave kink, Id never be uncomfy) I've wanted to write this for him since learning about it, it's so...hot, HAHA.

P.s: this turned into arguably the longest Miguel x reader fic I have ever done 💀

× × ×

Dominion

Miguel O'hara x Fem!Reader

This is part of a nonlinear storyline.

Warnings; NSFW, extreme noncon/dubcon (reader is paralyzed from Miguel's bite), dark!Miguel, stalker!Miguel, PiV sex, unsafe sex, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, praise, taunting, general bad themes. Reader is a virgin in this.

× × ×

When Spider-man saved a bus full of children on a collapsing bridge, the world cheered. What the news outlets and fanatics fail to see are the people who are not rescued. Your family had been on the bi-monthly trip down state when the bridge had been attacked. They were one of the cars that went down with the initial rubble. There was no big heroic moment, no surprise rescue, or hero swooping in the last minute to save them all. On that day, you lost everyone you ever cared about and came to hate Spider-man.

Miguel O'hara understood a lot of things about this world. In fact, he understood a lot of things about a lot of worlds. There was synchronicity between the universes, such as Spider-man being the hero and getting the girl. What he failed to understand was how he couldn't get you.

It was a Thursday evening, and he was fighting Rhino in the open street. As the leader of the Spider-Society, Miguel didn't often get to run around and handle crime. Seeing an opportunity to release some frustration and get some air, he'd left Jess in charge to patrol the city. Cue, the bad guy showing up and their all-out, property destroying brawl. During the back and forth with his opponent, Rhino had picked up a small car above his head and chucked it. When Miguel dodged, the car hit the road, rolled, then skidded into a light pole as the engine burst into flames.

As he turned to lunge, he heard you.

Screaming, inside that car.

Duty to civilians was more important than apprehending a criminal. Still, he hesitated before, inevitably snarling and prowling towards the car. With his strength, Miguel lifted and shoved the pole to the side before he walked around to the front. Inside the glass was you. Small compared to him, bloodied from the glass and impact but still shouting. What confused him was the way your fearful expression twisted into a look of pure disdain once you two spotted each other. Regardless, he'd broken the windshield and pulled you out.

"You alright?"

Nothing.

Not a word.

As you wipe glass from your clothes, the masked crusader lingered in your presence, perturbed. Miguel did not do this for 'thank yous' and pats on the back for a job well done. He did it because, as a hero, it was the right thing to do. Certainly enough, people in the world hated him, and he could accept that. When you looked up at him finally, blood had run trails down your forehead and cheeks, painting you like some warrior of the macabre. The man wonders if the head injury had affected your brain.

"Go sit down, an ambulance is sure to be here."

Silence.

Miguel catches your eyes as they glint beneath flickering street lamps. There is something about the way you look at him that unsettles him. You stare at him as though you are judging his soul, like you could possibly know the wrongs he's done and lives he's lost. Anger blossoms within his chest, and he feels his muscles tense. This was not something he experienced around most citizens. After what feels like a decade passes between you, your eyes lower, and you turn away. Standing and watching, Miguel observes your limp as you hobble towards the sidewalk and sit.

Left to stand amidst the ruins of his run-in with Rhino, O'hara draws in a steady breath. Lyla pings, showing him the location of the villain, and he sets off to track him down. He found himself distracted by thoughts of you that night. Those burning, scornful eyes and those lips that pressed so tightly together.

The thoughts of you did not stop there.

Days of obsessing turned into weeks. Miguel had pulled your information from the local PD database and had started stalking you shortly after. He had learned your routines, your job, and where you liked to go out to eat with friends. You weren't busy during the work week and usually spent the weekends catching up on chores or TV shows. His favorite was perching in your fire escape and watching you do laundry. You were beautiful, oblivious too, and he liked that.

You two had a close call when he decided to get brave.

It was a late Saturday, and you had run out to the store last minute for some missing ingredients. Miguel had been watching your evening unfold and followed not far behind, even going as far as to track you inside the grocery. Mask-less, he loitered around shelves just in view and watched as you hurried around to grab eggs and flour. An older woman had pulled his attention, asking him if he could retrieve something from a high shelf for her. Though reluctant, he'd obliged, which had cost him his line of sight on you.

Urgently rounding a corner to attempt to locate you, Miguel hadn't been paying attention. Fate made you turn the same isle, and if not for his inhuman reflexes, you two would have collided. He stops himself just before impact and steps back while you gasp and touch your chest from being startled. "Sorry," you mutter, not bringing your eyes up to look at him. Miguel doesn't say anything as you skirt around him in a rush. He was frozen, having been so close to you and nearly caught in the act. You hadn't realized who he was and what he was doing, and that thrilled him.

After that day, Miguel decided he could wait no longer.

The next Friday, you were returning home from a late night at work. Clothes disheveled and eyes heavy, you fumbled to get your door unlocked and stepped into the dark. Before your fingers could brush the light switch, something hit you from the side and clapped over your mouth. You're aware of being attacked, and while your screams are muffled, you flail and kick and thrash, throwing your weight around to try and make it difficult for your assailant. His grip is like iron, and you hear him laugh, his breath fanning your neck. A drag of something warm and wet along your throat made you tense, and you scream suddenly as your flesh is punctured by teeth.

Miguel moans at the burst of blood across his tongue. You taste sweeter than he could have imagined, and he relishes your flavor. Closing his eyes, he releases his venom into your body while holding you into him. Your thrashing continued, even while the paralyzing agent pumped through your veins. He knew it wouldn't take long and indulged himself by withdrawing his teeth and sucking at the puncture holes they left. Blood smears across his lips, and he groans again, lapping at you like a starving animal. Miguel had imagined what you'd taste like, and this exceeded all expectations.

As you fell limp, Miguel licked his lips clean and scooped you into his strong arms. He'd been inside your home before, while you were asleep or away with work. Carrying you to the bedroom, he nudged the door open with his foot and placed you on top of your bed. Your eyes were closed, having fallen unconscious not long after he injected you. The man takes his time, propping your head up and removing your clothes until you are left in nothing but a tank top and underwear. Admiring his work, Miguel smiles to himself and steps away to give you time to wake up. He wanted you conscious for this.

When you woke, you were aware immediately that something was wrong. Your eyes stared across your room, darting around in your skull as the memory of being attacked came back to you. As you tried to sit up, you found that you couldn't. You utter a soft whimper, trying once again to raise your arms, but they only twitched and remained flat on the bed. Heart starting to pound, you look around and try to rationalize. This had to have been a bad dream, and you were stuck in some sort of sleep paralysis. Your eyes closed, and you drew in a shaking breath, telling yourself that if you fell asleep, it would be okay.

Everything was dark, save for the stripes of moonlight that stretched across your bedroom. Your door, wide open like a gaping, black mouth, and your closet door sealed shut. You felt unease build as you forced your eyes to the bedroom door again, then gasped. Red dots hovered six feet off the ground in the hallway. Transfixed, you didn't dare blink as the dots grew in size, coming towards you.

This had to be a dream.

This could not be real.

Slowly, a man emerges from the doorway and stops at the edge of your bed. His eyes red like coals, shoulders broad, and hips tapered. He was tall, brooding, and looked very real. The two of you stare at one another, unblinking. After a moment, his eyes lose their color, and his stoic demeanor breaks. Miguel was giddy. He couldn't deny it. A perfectly healthy young woman with a scent that told him you two were a perfect match genetically. He couldn't have been luckier.

A sound builds in your chest. You would be screaming if your mouth could move. The man before you raises his brows and smiles. "I wouldn't try it," He hums, "You're going to be like this for another couple hours. There is no need to panic. It will wear off and you'll be just fine." Lifting his large hands, he brings them to his chest. "I must say I'm a little offended. I knew certain folks didn't like me, but it appears you might even hate me." Miguel smirks into his words, giving you a glimpse of his fangs.

"I went through your phone." He tacked on. "I know it's rude, but I wanted to know you a little better. Y/N, works downtown, lost your family in a tragic incident where I couldn't save the day." His clothes rippled with light and slowly peeled away until he stood only in boxer shorts.

Horror seeps into your bones, and you cry. Tears dribble down your temples as you lay there at his mercy. Lips quivering, you try again to speak, but no words come. It slowly dawned on you that he had told you indirectly who he was. What happened to Spider-Man being the good guy? Nausea creeps inside your guts, a cold rush of dread rising under your skin. It shouldn't be possible, it shouldn't be real, but there he was.

Miguel wore a smile. He could observe the gears churning in your brain while you fought your own body. The smell of your feel was palpable to him, causing his other instincts to shudder. It had taken every ounce of strength not to feed on you, and now, with you limp and pliant, he could feel that familiar itch prickling up his spine. Luckily for you, he'd taken his injection not long before arriving in your home. With the other half tempered, Miguel had all the time in the world.

“Of all the people to be in their car that night, it just had to be you.”

Your fingers twitch as your brain screams. No matter how hard you tried or how loud your voice was in your head, your body was not listening. Helplessly watching him climb onto the bed above you, you close your eyes. Miguel sits back on his legs and places a large, warm hand on your shin.

“I guess fate always has a way of working out.” he prompted, pushing his fingers over your knee and gradually along your thigh. Your skin crawls, itching under his touch. You wanted nothing more than to break away and kick him for touching you. Miguel can sense it, his lips twitching in an impish smile. He could tell from your scent alone how afraid you were.

“I’m sure this isn’t how every girl imagines their first time going,” He continues, and your eyes fly open. Staring up at him, the color drains from your face and your heart begins to quicken. “Yeah, I figured.” Miguel hums impassively as his other hand touches your opposite leg and pushes it open. His dark eyes focused on the apex of your thighs. “But don’t worry, above all else I am still a gentleman.” Flashing his teeth, Miguel curls his fingers under your knees and folds you in half. The sudden movement makes you grunt and whine. “I’m going to take good care of you, princess.” You catch him as he winks before dropping his head down.

Miguel draws a slow breath above your cunt, savoring the heady aroma of your sex. As his mouth watered, he places a soft kiss at the tip of your crease over your panties. He hums and licks a slow stripe over you, drooling into the fabric as he caught the faintest taste of your pussy. “Just as I’d hoped,” he purrs.

You were revulsed, your eyes blurry with tears as you lay helplessly below him. Your body was betraying you now, and you could feel your clit engorging with blood from arousal and knew you were beginning to leak. Miguel knew too, and he places a series of firm kisses over your covered folds before turning his head and nipping at the fat of your inner thigh.

“Just relax and enjoy yourself. Most guys I know don’t even bother with this part.”

You can feel the fabric being pulled, then torn. It was an effortless motion on his behalf, using his claws to assist in shredding the unnecessary material. With your soft cunt now exposed, Miguel sighs, his breath fanning over you. He mumbles praise in Spanish, something you don’t recognize, before he delves in. Pushing the thick tip of his tongue forward, he prods your opening before shoving inside.

A cry smothered in your chest, feeling heat rising in your face. You hated him. You hated this, but your body wasn’t cooperating with you. Miguel moans, fucking the appendage inside your heat before suddenly lapping up your cunt in quick, successive motions. The flat of his tongue drags over your swollen clit and makes you squeak.

As you crumble, he latches his mouth around the sensitive bud at the peak of your folds and begins to suck gently. His attention to detail and willingness to make you feel good had you rising against your will. Your chest heaves again, another pitiful mewl trickling from your lips as he assaults your virgin cunt. Miguel was grinding against your blankets now, the bulge in his boxers painful.

Your scent had his blood pumping and desire growing. The fact that he would be laying claim to you first thrilled him enough to bring him to leak. As eager as he was, he kept his patience with working your body, wanting to see you fall apart under him knowing the man you spent years hating had made you cum.

Soft puling cries wept from your parted lips, your eyes closed in denial. You were being pushed closer towards the edge. The suction from his lips around your clit was perfect and he pulsed gentle sucks against it. Occasionally, you’d feel the press of his tongue on the underside of it, applying light pressure while his mouth continued to suckle you. Your clit was fully engorged now, and while you couldn’t move your thighs trembled as you grew closer. It was sick, degrading even, that you would ever cum from something like this. Miguel hears you gasp quietly, and he withdraws his lips to instead lap firmly at you with the flat of his tongue. Fast, firm licks that slipped over the sensitive bud that sent jolts through your abdomen and up your spine.

The venom rendered your mind in a haze, forcing you to live consciously aware of every grueling moment. Each lash of his tongue or rumble from his throat sending you hurtling towards your peak. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, yet your body paid your mind no heed. When his tongue rolled over your engorged clit, and was followed by a gentle suck, you fell. Even with the intensity of your orgasm, the most your body could do was tense its muscles. A cry squeaks out, along with a series of sharp, mewling gasps as you tremble and seize under him. Miguel laps you lazily now, vermillion eyes staring up at you between your legs. He had done it.

Now certain he had done his part in satisfying you, Miguel lifts and crawls up your body, peppering swift kisses to your skin as he goes. He hesitated, tugging your bra down your ribs to expose you to him. The words ‘please stop’ built in your throat, yet died on your tongue. You can only watch as his eyes grow heavy and his head drops to your breast. His tongue rolls over your nipples, causing them to pebble. Miguel’s spit goes from warm, to cold, shocking your skin and making you whine again. The worst part of it all was how good he managed to make you feel. You were aghast at the fact you had just cum for this lunatic, and hated the fact he acted like he knew your body, able to apply licks and kisses in places you weren’t aware that you liked.

After he satisfied his desire for your breasts, he kisses your collar and up your throat. Miguel is going slow on purpose; you know that now. He was relishing in the control he had over you, knowing that you wanted nothing more than to tell him to go to hell. Now hovering over your own, Miguel ghosts his lips against yours. “You’ve been such a good girl for me.” He purrs. “You sound so pretty when you cum, princess.” The smile that follows his filth tugs your stomach and fills you with embarrassment. Noticing your tears, Miguel tuts and kisses your forehead. “No need to cry, this part is easy. I’ll make sure to start slow.” The way you whimpered made the devil in him purr.

Miguel takes your legs and parts them as he sits back against his own. He enjoys the view of your spread form while he removes his boxers and tosses them on the floor. From the angle, you can see the spring of his cock. Fear makes you go cold at the sight. He was long, thick, bigger than anything you’d seen before. For a moment, you wonder if it were going to fit at all. Miguel closes a fist around his base and strokes himself twice as he lines up against you. “Big breath, kiddo.”

You realized too late that his venom that left you paralyzed had also weakened your muscles. When you tried to clench and fight his insertion, your body did nothing more than twitch. Smiling, Miguel nudges the fat, weeping tip of his cock into you and he grunts. “Dios-“he sighs, biting his lip while he trained his eyes in the spot you two connected.

“Look at you, taking me so well.” There is a flash of teeth as he edges himself inside. The stretch is excruciating, especially for your first time. Miguel’s cock was relentlessly thick, filling you to a capacity you didn’t know you had. Hearing the curling whimpers in your chest, he stops and looks down at you thoughtfully. “Almost there, you’re doing great.” You feel revulsed when he winks at you.

The venom kept your body relaxed, making it easier for him to violate you. As he eases inside, you see stars as he presses somewhere deep within you. Miguel’s pubic bone pushes against your swollen clit as he bottoms out, groaning salaciously at the squeeze of your cunt around him. His large hands find their way onto the back of your knees, and he guides one of your legs over his broad shoulder.

“I bet you thought it wouldn’t fit,” he taunts, smiling and biting his lip as he begins to slowly draw back. Miguel’s cock grinds every nerve in your canal, setting fireworks off beneath your skin and making you shriek and grunt in the back of your throat. You hated how full he made you feel.

With a firm jut of his hips, Miguel sinks inside of you and groans as your pelvises collide. He curses again, repeating the motion before lowering himself to cage your body under his own. “Take it,” He gasps, his head dropping to your neck. His breath pants across your skin, warming you further as he drives his cock home. The man begins to rabbit himself inside of you, using your pussy as he saw fit and throwing any concern for your lack of experience to the wind. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t had time to properly stretch, you were his now and meant to be taken. “G-good girl,” he pants, licking over the bruising bite mark he left on the nape of your neck. “S-so s-shocking good.” He laughs dryly, biting you once more without penetrating your skin. Pain blooms in your shoulder and you whine, your eyes closing as you see spots.

Miguel’s pace is relentless. He pounds into you with reckless abandon, bouncing your smaller body repeatedly up the bed and making your shitty mattress creak noisily. It felt as though the air was being forcefully shoved from your lungs, his cock spearing inside with such strength you think he may break your pelvis. The worst was the way he praised you, rumbling as you took him, calling you his good girl over and over. You were rising again, once more against your will as your attacker defiled you.

“That’s it, t-that’s it.” He gasps. Miguel was coming closer to the edge with each thrust, knowing he’d never be the same after this night; after finding you. He whimpers against your throat, the sound pathetic for a man with his strength. You see stars as he ruts sloppily, his thrusts uneven as he came apart above you. Ramming his cock to the root, the man shudders and growls, his muscle rippling as his cock throbbed and began to empty. The hot, heavy spurts of cum impacting and oozing against your cervix, coating your insides. While he slowed, his stomach pressed and ground just right against your clit, making you whimper much quieter this time. You throb, your eyes rolling back in your skull as you flutter and squeeze weakly around him. Miguel grunts again, then smiles impishly against your throat.

“Not so bad for a first time, huh?”

Sitting up, Miguel pecks a kiss to your lips before sitting back on his legs and casting his attention downwards. He watched as he began to withdraw from you, his cock coated in your joined fluids. There was a deeply sickening tremor of satisfaction as he watched his cum begin to dribble out. A part of him hoped his seed would take; he was certain you’d be just as beautiful with your belly swollen. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see his face. At least, you reason, it was over, and he would leave, and you could try to pick the pieces of yourself back up.

Miguel hummed, slipping off the bed and pulling on his boxers as he steals a look around your room. Once dressed, his suit reformed around his body in a glimmer of hard light. All but his mask. “Alright, let’s get you dressed and ready for the trip home.” Ice floods your veins and the nausea returned. Your eyes open and try to focus on him as the room begins to spin. “What? You thought this was just some random encounter?” His lips stretch into a smile as he holds his hands out. “First of all, I’m hurt, secondly, I’m going to try really hard to pack you some of your favorite stuff, I’ll supplement anything else you need.” Miguel hums as he walks to your closet in search of luggage containers.

Tears streak from your eyes and obscure your vision again. Your chest was so tight you felt certain you were going to break. He packs things for you while you panic, wanting to sob and beg him to leave, to apologize and tell him you were wrong about Spiderman. A sob escapes you as your chest shakes, your eyes closing again as you weep. Your body was sore, filled to the brim with this man’s fluids, and you knew you’d never be clean or safe again. Miguel glances at you from over his shoulder and smiles anyways.

You would learn to love him.

He just knew it.

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starry-bi-sky · 5 months

Text

I am procrastinating homework and finals studying so I'm making another DPxDC au -- or more accurately, I am making an au of an au. or combining two aus to make a third one, because I am Procastinating And thinking about it.

(the part two for my Danny is Jason Todd au is like,,, half-made and I will get around to finishing it, promiiissse)

So the two aus I had in mind were combining, of course, the two clone aus - the Danny Clone and the Damian Clone au. For folks who haven't seen either posts (or saw one but not the other) here are summaries of both:

Damian Clone Au: The LoA make a clone of Damian Wayne specifically to either kill Damian Wayne and have the clone take his place as the heir to the LoA, or to bring him back. At 6 years old though and through magical teleportation mishaps, Baby Damian ends up in the warehouse district of Amity Park and picked up (and later adopted) by Danny Fenton. They develop a brotherly dynamic with one another.

Danny Clone Au: Danny is straight up a clone of Bruce Wayne, doesn't find out until a year after he has his accident. And, for the fun of it, is also mostly-powerless (he retains his ghost sense and a semblance of a ghost core and signature, but no ghost form). His reasoning for becoming Phantom is because he has walked into the lab watching his parents dissecting ghosts post-portal working more times than he can count. And due to this, changes his beliefs from "ghosts are evil" to "ghosts are sentient and sapient beings who don't deserve this treatment". (masterpost pinned on my blog, its currently incomplete) He is also a little GNC, as a treat. Long-haired Danny ftw. Ellie is a halfa because of the ectoplasm that Vlad used, and also the same age as Danny. They call each other twins and she is viciously protective of him. He uses a baseball bat and brass knuckles that I call 'jawbreakers' to fight ghosts.

Now admittedly, not much probably changes with the combination of these aus other than the potential parallels between Damian and Danny, and Bruce and Damian - and of course, I am always a sucker for parallels. Plus Damian's running off would take Danny finding him much longer, since he can no longer fly, but all the more meaningful because he still took so much time to find him.

(It probably also makes their first meeting different as well - Danny wears a ROTTMNT Casey Jones Jr. esq. mask when he goes out, but Damian would recognize lazarus green anywhere. He'd probably try harder to kill him though once he sees his face, since he knows that its not his father but an imposter.)

It also includes what I consider a hilarious conversation: "Since I'm a clone of Bruce Wayne, does this make me your dad or your brother?" "Don't be an idiot, laeazir." "You didn't answer my question."

The biggest change that comes from this is, of course, the fact that Danny now no longer has a leg to stand on with the "you're a human, I am a ghost" excuse in order to prevent Damian to help him with ghost-fighting, because now Danny is also a squishy, fleshy and fragile human just like Damian. And a human who, arguably, has less combat training than Damian and no powers to make up for it.

Now, Danny in both aus are about 16-17-ish in age, so they've had time to adapt to their new vigilante-hero lifestyle, but its still not the same as Damian's training as an assassin. Damian, unlike in the original clone au, remains insistent on his want to help Danny.

And,,, eventually wears him down after weeks or months of sneaking out after him, helping in fights, interfering, arguing, etc. Danny eventually agrees, exhausted, but he makes Damian promise, promise, that he will be careful and to focus on dodging and distraction. At least until Danny can figure out a safer alternative. He wants him as far removed from the fight as he can, he's a child for ancient's sake, after all.

Which is another issue too - if we follow Damian Clone timeline, then Damian is six years old when this happens. I'll be point blank, I do not see Danny ever actually agreeing to let a literal 6 year old go with him. SO, solution, I bump Damian's age to 7 when he arrives in the Fenton Family, and make him freshly eight years old when he finally gets Danny to agree.

It still SUCKS. He is still very much an itty bitty child, but as someone who has seen the difference between a six year old and an eight year old due to working at a daycare, an eight year old is still... slightly feasible. And an 8 year old assassin even more so (even if he hasn't trained properly in nearly a year or so)

So Danny, reluctantly, agrees to let Damian come with him on patrols.

He ghost-proofs Damian's sword (as he has since learned to do with his bat and jawbreakers), makes him a grappling hook and a Fenton thermos, and reluctantly lets Damian come with in his old LoA uniform that he appeared in (with some tailoring and ghost-proofing, because he has since begun to grow out of the uniform).

(and Danny himself also finally starts looking into alternatives to improve his own "suit" - which is all but a hoodie and reinforced jeans and a hockey mask. He needs to set an example to his little brother, goddammit.)

Then, as they're planning for Damian's eventual (dreaded on Danny's part) debut, they sit in their shared room and brainstorm for what to call Damian. "Ellie already uses the name Spirit." Danny says, sitting criss-cross at his desk with the eraser nub of a pencil chewed between his teeth.

(Behind him he has an investigative corkboard set up -- his accident left him with the ability to see ghosts not capable of being seen on the visible plane. 'Stereotypical' ghosts. Between school work, his social life, and ghost fighting, some of his downtime is spent figuring out ways to help them move on. His most recent is a cold case.)

(Bc with Danny, I loove to have him have some sort of trait that ties him in with his original counterpart. Nature vs Nurture and all that. Investigative work can be part of that.)

"What about Wraith?" Damian suggests from the floor, leaning against the bed frame while he goes over one of his english books. They've been practicing his reading and writing.

Danny furrows his brows. "A ghost seen typically shortly after or before someone's death?"

Damian nods. "Yes, it's of a similar cadence to 'Batman and Robin'."

"What's with you and your thing with Batman and Robin?" Danny asks with a playful half-smile, Damian shrugs and looks at his books. Danny sticks the eraser back between his incisors. "Phantom and Wraith... that works, though."

The first night out together, Danny fusses over Damian, making sure every bit of uniform was secured and in place -- something Damian took mild offense over. His outfit was far more reinforced than the juvenile get-up that his older brother wore.

But he let him fuss anyways. It made him loved.

"Now remember, Wraith--"

Damian interrupts him: "Yes, I know, Dany. Avoid and distract. Stay situationally aware. I fear that is something I should be telling you, however. Mother would have your head if she ever saw what your training was like."

(It was, not for the first time, that Damian wondered how his,,, "mother",,, would react if she ever met Danyal. Not good, he knows.)

Danny's shoulders sag, and he sighs. "I believe that, what with that super-secret spy--"

"Assassin."

Danny sends him a half-hearted chagrined look, "Assassin," he corrects, "organization that made you. I'm sure I'd give your mother an aneurysm." When he's finally okay with whatever make-believe issues he found with his suit, Danny reaches for the nearby side table and carefully slips on a black domino mask over Damian's eyes. It was thin, flexible, and made with some kind of material that Danny reassured was environmentally safe.

("Some kind of matieral that Wayne Industries invented awhile ago, Sam bought it for me." Danny told him when he first showed it to him.)

It was also cold. But the chill was made up for, slightly, with Danny's warmer hands smoothing it out over his skin, and ridding of any ridges that could form. Damian isn't sure entirely what Danyal did to keep it stuck onto his face, but when he touches it with his fingers he feels a very faint seam at the edge, and it doesn't budge against his hands. It felt like a second skin.

"There we go." Danny smiles, pulling his hands back. He still looks nervous. "It's not the same as my hockey mask," which sat atop his head, ready to be pulled down, "but I think a domino mask will work better for you considering your background."

He was right, a hockey mask would only hurt Damian's peripheral vision. This mask was thin enough that it didn't.

"Ready to go, Wraith?"

"After you, Phantom."

+++

Damian has much issue with Danny's suit. He can think of a million ways to make it better. It is one of the things he and Samantha Manson can get along with, and the few times they have spent time together they have brainstormed suit ideas. He knows that since Danny took him on as Wraith, he has started to look into better suit alternatives.

However. They are both aware of the same thing:

Danny is not Batman, nor Superman, nor Wonder Woman, nor Aquaman, or the Flash, or Green Arrow, or Nightwing, or any single hero on the public roster. He is also not rich like Lex Luthor or Vlad Masters or Bruce Wayne himself.

He has no money and no contacts, and thus, no way of properly improving his suit to be something even half as safe as the other supers.

And he refuses to let Samantha Manson help him find a way to fix that - even with all that money, Samantha Manson is on an allowance from her parents, and also, despite her other range of abilities, not capable of getting those materials without putting herself on a list of some sort. They are at a standstill.

Damian knows this, because he has asked.

Until one day when Danny is talking about a case he is working on and telling Damian about old adventures he had in the Ghost Zone, does he see his brother get hit with a lightbulb.

He slaps a hand against his forehead and straightens up from his swivel seat. He huffs a laugh, "Of course! Why didn't I think of it sooner?" And he turns on his heel and hurries to his bookshelf, pulling down a notebook and flipping open to an empty page.

Damian frowns, "Laeazir?"

"I know you don't like my suit, Damian," Danny says, striding over to his desk and snatching a pencil out of a cup. He begins jotting something down on the notebook. "And there's nothing I can really do about it because, well, I'm poor in comparison to my facesake, and I don't have the resources to get my hands on someone who would make me a new suit."

"Yes, we have talked about this..." Damian nods slowly, still frowning, and trying to follow his brother's line of reasoning.

Danny shoots him a megawatt, half-tilt smile, his hair tied up into a half-bun. "But! I was thinking about it from the wrong angle. I don't have the living resources to help me get a suit, but..." he trails off, staring at Damian intently.

It dinged in Damian's brain to where he was going, "But you have the undead resources instead." He says, his eyes widening slowly. Of course, of course! Danyal was ridiculously charismatic by accident, and Damian has seen plenty of times where his heart-of-gold had one or two non-hostile ghosts be incredibly grateful to him.

His brother makes a loud, 'ding-ding-ding!' sound, pointing his pencil at Damian as his smile stretches further across his face. In a few quick strides, he was sat down next to Damian and showing him his notebook. "Correct! When I first started out as Phantom a few years ago, I managed to help a ghost who called herself Taylor, and apparently she was a seamstress both in and out of life."

Damian watches as Danny writes the name at the top of the paper, and creates bullet-points down the page. "She said that in return for saving her, I should come find her in the Ghost Zone if I ever need clothes made for me. It's a one-time thing, but I was thinking that she could perhaps help make me a new suit."

Danny turns a bit pink at the ears, and rubs his neck, "I never thought much of it because I didn't think I'd ever go into the Ghost Zone, or ever need ghost clothes, so I forgot about it up until now."

A scoff forces itself out of Damian's mouth, but he is smiling. "Danyal, you are the smartest idiot I have ever met."

For the next hour, both he and Danny make a bullet point list of what both of their suits would need. Reinforcement in certain areas, gauntlets with reinforced knuckles to replace Danyal's jawbreakers. A different weapon than a bat.... a utility belt, reinforced boots. Anything they could think of.

It was Damian's idea to add a cloak to both of their suits, asymmetrical and torn at the edges for a more 'ghostly' look. They have a theme, after all. It's quite fun.

Then Danyal calls up Sam for help in drafting up design ideas. And while Danyal steps mostly to the side when it comes to the design itself, Damian and Sam fill pages with designs until coming up with one they both agreed on and like.

"What about a lightning bolt on the chest?" "Why are we using my traumatic accident as a symbol of my identity?" "Ghosts do it all the time, Danny. Ember sings about her death." "I'm not dead?" "No that won't work, Manson. Shazam already has a giant lighting bolt emblem." "Okay, but I still want to use it somewhere." "How about this?" "...That could work. Okay, now onto your emblem--"

Last was the hard part: getting into the Ghost Zone without the Fenton parents noticing the disappearance of their precious Fenton Specter Speeder. They employed Jazz's help with that. She would get the Fentons out of the house long enough for him and Danny to get into the ghost zone, hopefully find the seamstress, and cash in that favor.

They went through with their plan that following weekend. Danny tossed Damian a small jumpsuit as they both climbed into the specter speeder, but did not grab his own. He had a small duffle bag on him that he threw under the seat.

"What is this?" Damian asks, nose scrunching up at the gaudy picture of Jack Fenton's face square at the center of the chest. He held it far away from it, as if it had a disease.

"Your hazmat suit." Danny replies, settling himself into the driver's seat as the door hissed shut and he began turning it on. He had some sort of gas mask on in his lap, too small to fit Danny's head, but certainly the right size to fit Damian's. "Normally you wouldn't need it since you'd stay in the speeder, but we're both getting out once we find Taylor. It's to protect you from the ectoplasm."

A scowl forces itself across Damian's face, "You don't have one." He points out, finding seat in the passenger chair next to Danny. His arms cross over his chest, and he was not pouting.

Danny looks at him amusedly, "I have enough ectoplasm in my body that I don't need one, you however, do not." He retorts, poking a finger into Damian's ribcage pointedly. "If you don't put it on now, you'll put it on when we find Taylor."

Damian's scowl deepens, feeling petulant as he sunk into his chair. Danny turns back to the console and flips a few more switches. "I will not, it looks ridiculous." He turns it around to show Danny the Jack Fenton Face.

The Specter Speeder hums to life, and there's a moment of turbulence as it lifts off the ground. While it does, Danny turns back to him blankly, stares at the emblem, and then reaches forward and yanks it off with a scriiiiich of the emblem. He crumples it up with one hand, and throws it into a small bin at his feet.

"There, fixed." He smiles. Then turns back to the controls, taking the yoke with both hands. "And I'm calling Dad Rights; you will put it on when we find Taylor or you'll stay in the speeder."

Damian sputters, sitting up incredulously. "You are not my father." He argues.

"Teeechnically, I am." Danny says, "I'm a clone of your father, and since I am fully his clone, that makes you my son by a technicality." He says cheerfully, pushing the specter speeder forward and into the swirling green portal.

Before Damian can retort, they're passing through the portal. This was his first time going into the Ghost Zone, and for a few seconds there was nothing but bright, swirling green filling his vision. His body felt like it was being twisted and pulled, his up and down reversing and returning. It was painless, but dizzying.

It only lasts for a few seconds, but it feels like a minute, and when they exit out the other side, Damian is holding his head while his vision spots and swims. Internally, he felt like those cartoon characters when their eyeballs rolled around in their head.

The dizziness fades away slowly, and as Damian regains his sight, he notices Danny's hand splayed over his sternum, gently keeping him pressed against his seat. It fell away when Danny saw that he was alright.

"Put your seatbelt on," Danny orders, nodding to his chair. Damian listens absently, before remembering their conversation before they went through the portal.

"That is not how it works." He scowls, and, annoyingly, only gets a challenged eyebrow raise from Danny. He could see the words written on his face without Danyal ever having to say it.

Because, dangit, he was technically right. Damian refuses to say this aloud. He screws his jaw shut, and crosses his arms back across his chest.

Danny chuckles under his breath, and turns his eyes back to the ghost zone. "My point still stands, either you wear the suit, or you don't leave the speeder."

"Fine."

+++

They eventually find where the seamstress is. Through quite a lot of Danny stopping to ask questions with any friendly ghost he came across, they eventually locate an island with a strange, urban city bustling with life on it. Massive, rocky stalagmites grew from the ground, and buildings were built on top of it or around it, with strange, warping architecture.

It was oddly beautiful.

Danny parked the speeder on the side of the street with a two hour parking sign on a nearby post. As he turned off the engine, he flipped a switch on the console that darkened the windows. He unbuckles his seat, and stood up, stretching out his back with a deep groan.

"Alright, put your suit on. The windows are tinted, so nobody should be able to see into the speeder." He orders, pulling out the duffle he brought in earlier and unzipping it. He pulls out his hockey mask and the hoodie he wore out for patrol, and the notebook they'd been using to jot down ideas for their suit.

Danny even had the hindsight to write in their respective heights, and with Tucker's help, some of their measurements. While he did that, Damian sourly pulled on his hazmat suit, irritated by the need to wear it.

Unfortunately, he also had to wear the boots and gloves for 'extra precaution'. Damian nearly bites out a grumpy 'you're as paranoid as father', but holds his tongue. He wasn't going to tell Danyal that secret.

Once he was done and Danny has his hockey mask and hoodie on, Danny grabs the gas mask and helps fit it over Damian's face. It was a sleek, simple design, shaped similarly to a regular face mask, with little filters on both sides of the mouth and a clear, protective covering around the eyes and forehead. Danyal improved it from the original his parents made.

He was smarter than he gave himself credit for.

Danny checks, then double checks that it the mask is tight, then smiles. Patting Damian's shoulders before standing up fully. "Taylor's shop should be somewhere nearby." He says, grabbing the notebook and tucking it under his arm.

Damian nods, and follows him out the door and onto the busy streets.

Finding Taylor becomes remarkably quick now that they were inside her city - something that Damian silently wondered was based loosely off NYC. Danny kept a firm arm around Damian's shoulders the entire time they walked down the street, keeping the both of them on the inside sidewalk.

Barely anyone passed them a second glance, spare the few odd looks shot at Damian. Danny whispers to him the first time it happens that it's because he has no ghost core, those more attune to their signatures might've been picking up on it.

They didn't notice Danny, because he had one, albeit a weak one.

Taylor's shop has a big sign on it in logographic writing that Damian has no idea how to read. The text shifts slowly, a jambled squiggle of lines, dots, and connected curves that look like a mix of messy cursive, gibberish, and logographic alphabets. He only knows its Taylor's shop because Danny pulls them towards it, stating that it was the place.

"You can read that?" He asks, incredulous as they draw closer to the door. Danny moves his arm off his shoulder, and wraps his fingers around Damian's instead.

"Yep," He replies, then scrunches his nose up, "sort of. It's - uh--" he stumbles over a word that Damian's ears cannot comprehend, but fills his head with slight static regardless. Danny winces. "It's the written form of ghostspeak, but since I'm not a ghost, I can only read some of it. Like uh, dyslexia."

"...I see." Damian says after a moment of silence, trying to replay the word in his head. His mind can't grasp the sound.

When they enter, the door doesn't ding with the sound of a bell, but rather it makes a low scream. Nobody bats an eye to the sound, keeping to their slow search through the racks of clothes.

At the counter was a woman talking quietly to another woman, one of whom Danny recognizes, as he walks over to her.

He doesn't need to say anything, because the woman behind the counter sees him coming, and her face positively lights up with delight. "Phantom!" She cries, and gestures to come over. "I was wondering when in the high ancients you were going to come see me!"

Danny's face is obscured by his mask, but Damian knows he's smiling sheepishly with the way he tilts his head and the way he tenses his shoulders. "My bad, Miss Taylor," he says, reaching the counter and standing beside the woman she was talking to, "It kinda... slipped my mind."

Taylor waves her hand dismissively, "Well you are here now!" She replies, grinning wide. Then her eyes pop open - literally - and she puts a hand over her chest. "Oh, how rude of me!" She turns and gestures between Phantom and the lady next to him, "Miss Mabam, this is Phantom. I told you about him a couple of years ago. He saved me from humans. Phantom, this is Gigi Mabam, she funds my shop. In return I make clothes for her and her staff."

The 'Gigi' woman turns just as Danny does, and smiles wide at him. Damian narrows his eyes at her, shuffling behind Danny legs as he looked her up and down. She had silvery-white hair and purple skin, and wore a darker purple business suit, a red gem cravat at her collar, and teal cat-eye glasses.

There was a lot of purple.

"So this is the ghost-touched you were telling me about, dear!" The woman, Mabam, said. Her voice was rich and low but she spoke in a whimsical cadence. It made Damian's skin crawl, and his narrowed eyes turned into a glare. "I must thank you for saving my seamstress, it would've been quite a fizzy-wink if she had been lost to those ghosty hunters."

What were those nonsense words? Damian hated it.

"Miss Mabam here runs a five-star hotel nearby," Taylor explains, her body turned to Danny, "she also is in charge of the city's Battle Nexus."

Danny is silent for a moment, and his free hand lifts and places itself on the back of Damian's head, keeping him close. "Battle Nexus...?"

Mabam claps cheerfully, laughing low, "Oh yes! Ghosts from all around the zone come to attend and watch as their fellow haunties are ripped from limbity-limb in a blood-curdling battle!"

Danny is still as stone. "I see." He says, careful. Damian wraps his fingers around his pant leg. "Well, I hate to interrupt your conversation, but I was hoping to cash in that favor, Miss Taylor?"

"Of course! What do you need?"

Danny looks down at Damian, and he looks up at him, locking eyes with the ominous green glowing from the eyeslits of his mask. He nods, and Danny looks back up. "Do you know how to make suits? Of the protective kind?"

+++

The seamstress it turns out, is capable of such a thing. And she ushers the both of them into one of the backrooms, sending off Mabam with a farewell and a promise to continue their conversation soon.

She flips through their design book, and immediately gets to work making their suits. In the end, with the help of her powers, she gets both done over the span of four hours. It's longer than both Danny and Damian want, but neither rush her.

Damian just hopes that Jasmine can keep the Fenton parents distracted for that long. She will have to.

The suits are better in real life than on paper, and Damian preens from the side in his own custom suit as Danny examines his own in front of the three mirrors. They were both dressed in all black, but whatever fabric Taylor used was of a blackest-black, turning Danyal - and Damian's - bodies into a black hole to look at. Both of them were fitted for agility, with reinforced padding around their shoulders and chests, as well as around the joints of their legs. Their boots were reinforced as well.

("It was hard to make your boots shock absorbent," Taylor explains, "since we all fly, but I applied similar stuff to what I did with your shoulders and chestplate.")

On the side of Danyal's legs were raised, black, lichtenberg-like figures that were contained to the seams and disappeared under his boots. There were similar designs going up his sleeves, with spiked gauntlets wrapped around his lower arm and hands. The knuckles were reinforced, just like he wanted.

Damian's favorite parts were their capes, however. Black like the rest of the outfit, but "wrapped" around their shoulders like an apocalyptic shawl with a back that went down to their knees, and at the hems the capes were torn and ripped like a wraith. Danyal's mask had gone through very little change. It was made of a stronger material, and Taylor had gone and made it more skull-like in its shape, with three large grills at the front, and the sides curving inward below the 'cheekbones' of the skull to better fit his face. It was still shock white, the only white part of Danyal's entire costume.

Damian's suit was almost identical. However, rather than having the seams of his suit resemble lichtenberg figures, the seams of his sleeves and upper torso were that of a black skeleton, with bone-y designs over his gauntlets and the fingers an ombre of dark red-to-black. And around his torso were raised lines that looked similar to a ribcage. The edge of his cloak was splatter a dark red as well. And he had a new domino mask that looked similar to the upper half of Danyal's mask, with the outer edges curved downward over his cheekbones. He was briefly allowed to take off the upper part of his gas mask to try on the mask.

The best part however, was that since the suits were made of material native to the ghost zone, they could also be taken off quickly and hidden in a small artifact. It was magic, is what it was. Danyal chose earrings, and Damian chose a ring.

When they got back to the Fenton house, Jazz demands a box of chocolate for her hard work. Damian thinks that's only fair as Danny takes them both out to get candy for Jazz.

+++

But other than vigilante stuff, not else much changes. Danny gets to pull a "Dad By Technicality Rule" card over Damian when he's being a brat. Danny doesn't have his run in with Rift (a ghost who portals him into Gotham) until after he meets Damian/lets Damian join him on patrol and when they get new suits.

My reason? Because I want it to happen after that point in time lol. It also makes the eventual "heyyyyy you have a clone" @ bruce much funnier to me because not only does he have a clone of HIMSELF but also THAT clone has a clone of Damian living with him.

Also when Danny destabilizes for the first time Damian is terrified for his safety. The fentons are surprisingly good at cloning, Danny hasn't had any issues up until this point in time, and that's only because he got hit with a new gun from Skulker that messed up the ectoplasm he had in his dna, which in term fucked with his own DNA.

Danny's destabilization, imo, is not "I cast you with Melt" he's not Ellie, he's not made of 50% ectoplasm. His parents surprisingly knew what they were doing, and he was human. So his destabilization should be unique to himself and different. Thus his destabilization is "I cast you with Compromised Immune System" his body slowly weakens over time as his cells destabilize. He becomes unnaturally frail and sick. Damian calls Ellie for help when Danny doesn't get up after being hit in a fight that he normally, and Ellie helps figure out that he's destabilizing. This is whats gonna happen in OG clone au too, but Ellie is going to be there rather than Damian.

It makes going to Wayne Manor after that slightly more interesting,,,

#dpxdc crossover #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny fenton is a clone #damian clone au #i couldnt NOT describe their new suits. i just couldn't. they're leaning into the ghost culture of being scary as fuck looking #i feel a little cheesy for giving them magic jewelry that lets them hide their suits instantly #but i have to make up for danny's lack of ghost form SOMEHOW #damian just gets it too by association #if anyone is curious #Ellie's ghost form is identical to Danny's suit just the colors are inverted. so her suit is all white and her mask is all black #its not a starry au unless its got a read more #did anyone notice the Big Mama cameo from ROTTMNT #its because Danny's mask looks like Casey Jones Jr's mask from ROTTMNT without the red marks on the eyes #Danny and Damian's dynamic itches my brain #Danny: im calling Dad Rights - youre grounded #Damian: nnOOOO #also also. danny uses sign language if he's in view of the living since they could recognize his voice. damian does not yet know ASL #so thats on his 'languages to learn' list #although he is not seen by the public since he has school and ghost attacks happen around danny and not him #Red Huntress gives the Phantom so much shit when she sees his sidekick. Phantom tiredly explains that he had no choice - Wraith would have #come with anyways. truly a robin at heart.#“idc if you say no imma do vigilantism ANYWAY. i dont NEED ur permission” is robincore and bruce/danny going #“fine but i'm gonna make sure you dont DIE then”#clone^2

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kydrogendragon · 8 days

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Hob hates changing lives.

He tells himself he likes it, a year or so in. He tells himself he enjoys the variety, the meeting new people, and seeing new sights. And he does. Just . . . not now. Now when he's still mourning his old life.

He sits on the couch—a new one, not the one that's formed to him over the last twenty years—and sighs as he stares at the few boxes he was able to bring with him. The small flat in Cardiff was fine, arguably lovely, in fact. He's been excited about it when he's first done the paperwork, and there's a distant part of himself that's still excited. But as he looks up at the unfamiliar walls and listens to the unfamiliar sounds of the street and city below, Hob can't help but feel trapped.

He can't go back. Not for a while. Not until he's forgotten in people's minds. He won't see the New Inn again or any of his friends from KCL or the Chens who knew his order by heart because he couldn't go more than two weeks without craving their food.

Robert Golding was gone to the world. Now he's just Rob Garroway—a nobody who lives in Cardiff who does . . . something. Hob hasn't actually gotten that far into figuring out what job he'll pick up this go-around. Maybe he'll try his hand at writing something other than historical essays for the university. Or maybe he'll buy a boat and become a fisherman. Lots of choices. All of them too overwhelming to even think about.

He collapses into the still-to-firm couch and tosses his arm over his eyes. The day is still young—its barely past one in the afternoon—and already he's exhausted. He can feel that familiar weight settling into his bones, holding him close to the earth. He doesn't even know any good take-out joints yet because Lord knows he won't have any energy to cook for the next week. Or two. Or more.

A problem for future him. For now, Hob turns into the back of the couch, face hidden from the sun and the foreign place he now calls home, closes his eyes, and sleeps.

#the muse struck #hob gadling #the sandman #ky writes #something something feeling like a guest or a prisoner in a place that's supposed to be yours #moving sucks #living elsewhere for a long period of time sucks #especially alone

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pedgito · 2 years

Text

𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐱 ·˚ ༘ 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: adventures in your shared obsessions of each other and your bodies—and eddie was insatiable when it came to you.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), oral fixation, hand kink, fingers in mouth/face squeezing, unprotected sex, oral (f&m receiving), deep-throating, slight pain kink, lots of dirty talk, multiple orgasms, it’s just straight filth i’m sorry. if i missed any tags lmk!

word count: 5k

Eddie’s always been aware of it—his constant need to keep his mouth busy, whether by talking or stuffing it full of food, it didn’t matter. If it wasn’t either of those, it was a cigarette or joint, occasionally his fingers, chewing idly at the skin—it was a nervous habit he picked up when he was younger and never really dropped, but the point is, Eddie always held most of his focus on his mouth. It didn’t take long for you to notice either.

He chewed at his straws like a menace, nibbled away at his pencils, left no survivors to the plastic lids of his water bottles that he always failed to actually throw away—you didn’t really mind though, you always cleaned up for him regardless, his mind too busy and wandering to focus on anything other than one thing at a time. It was like try to stop a train moving at the speed of light and there was no reason for you to cause that collision if you didn’t need to.

Eddie admits it often too, that it might be a problem—it’s followed him since he was a toddler, but has grown into something much more nuanced. He can control it, for the most part, but his idle hands and struggling focus need the assistance and it’s the only thing that helps.

But, there’s one thing that Eddie finds helping him more, when the itch becomes an undenying need.

It’s you—and your own guilty fixation.

Satiating your own guilty pleasure is just as good as helping himself, if not more, and he’s the one that figures it out initially.

It’s never your own hands, always his, mouth always begging to be filled, stretched, something to keep you occupied. And Eddie is undeniably innocent about it in the beginning, attempting to wipe the dust of the chips from his fingers, having dipped into your own bag despite his constant protesting of him not being hungry—and now he was going to wipe it all over his jeans, it drove you nuts.

“Gimme.” You order with a soft mumble, holding your palm out in a grabbing motion until Eddie gives in, laying his hand down, palm up. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s definitely not what you chose to do next, flipping his hand over carefully and picking the fingers apart one by one, laying the pad of his fingertips over your tongue—and you don’t make a big deal about, like you’re doing him a favor. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t already had worse inside of your mouth—though, you could argue that Eddie’s dick is far from the worst, it was arguably the best.

Either way, Eddie can’t help the twitch he feels in his dick at the sight, having to shift uncomfortably at the lunch table to avoid weird stares from his peers—not that they are paying any attention anyways.

It doesn't take long for you to realize that the only thing that helps your fix is Eddie’s hands, and in turn, it helps him too.

Occasionally it’s just pulling his hand until the back of it rests against your lips, pressing faint, gentle kisses into the skin—if you were cuddled up on his bed or sitting in the passenger seat of his van, you always had his hand in yours.

And Eddie loves kissing you—like, if there was a more expressive or forceful way to describe how much he enjoyed it, he wasn’t sure even that could measure it; though to Eddie’s fault, he didn’t have much to compare it all too, but it was still pretty fucking great.

Sometimes he’ll press his lips into your hair, that sweet vanilla scent of your shampoo invading his smell, or your ear, resting against the shell of it—but, that was usually reserved for the public, keeping his more lewd, dirty thoughts at bay.

When you were alone, it was all a completely different story.

It was rough, wild, and messy—it took a while to get into the rhythm of the things you enjoyed, but when it cliqued—it was like a light switching on and everything was intensified tenfold.

There were good days—the gentle ones, hours spent wrapped up in one another, thankful that his uncle Wayne worked such late nights. It wasn’t always about the sex either, just being in Eddie’s company, but it allowed for a small moment of calm in a relationship that was nothing but eclectic.

Then there were the unpredictable days, like tonight. It could’ve been either of you that set it off, but Eddie was particularly bothered. It could’ve been a number of things, none of them really important. All that mattered is that you were there, waiting, ready to be whatever he needed.

You make it back to his trailer before him—a late Friday night of Hellfire for himself, and you were too impatient. You ran into Wayne on the way in, which wasn’t nearly as surprising as it should be—he saw you often now and almost always had a plate set aside for dinner in case you were hungry, but it also meant that Eddie would surely eat that night, knowing his nephew was often too distracted to remember. There were nights when he would crash immediately, jumping into his bed without so much as a word or nod your way, just a kiss and a needy pull at you until you’re snug and tight at his side. He couldn’t always communicate what he needed, but you didn’t need him to, and it got easier over time.

He trodded in around midnight, not nearly as exhausted as you were expecting— “Got derailed again?” You ask amusingly, forcing him into the kitchen until he’s taking a seat on the counter, food being shoved forcefully into his already waiting hands. He smiles warmly, tapping you with foot until you’re squeezing between his legs, peering up at him with tired eyes.

“Yeah—“ He replies idly, shoveling the food into his mouth with a severe lack of grace and care, but it was endearing, “—Dustin can turn a thirty second turn into ten minutes if he wants to, I really need to reign that kid in sometimes.”

You huff a laugh, soft and barely audible.

He lifts the plate up that’s obstructing his view of you, peering from underneath the dishware, “Are you tired?” He asks with a small glint of hope, the glaze of something mischievous covering his features.

“Of course not.” You reply with a grin, pulling at the hem of his shirt as you stretch to the tip of your toes, pressing a quick kiss to the curve of his chin, “Are you?”

Eddie grins, mouth closed and tosses the plate off to the side.

“Fuck no,” He replies crudely, swiftly slipping himself off the counter and squeezing his hands underneath your thighs, baring your weight until he can settle your legs around his hips, pulling back to look at your giddy expression, “go wait in my room?”

Eddie knows when to be demanding—and you know he’s not really asking, but the playful tone excites you, a thrum of pleasure pulsing through your body.

“Don’t take too long.” You warn him softly, “Or I might change my mind.”

He knew you weren’t, but it was cute that you tried to play it as leverage. He leans forward, the biting kiss he gives you is a tell of how the night will probably play out—all fierce and teetering on that careful balance of pain.

And Eddie’s kind enough to carry you the short distance to his room, plopping you on his constantly unmade bed with a laugh, disappearing into his bathroom for a few minutes, water running through the silence of the trailer.

“Put a record on or something.” Eddie suggests through the wall as you scramble from the bed, sifting through his constantly growing collection of music.

“Because the soothing beats of Dio are such a mood setter.” You comment back snidely, flicking the record player on, letting whatever record he had in it already play lowly, the volume up high enough that it wasn’t dead silent—it did enough to drown out the chirping crickets and low buzz of the trailer park lights.

Eddie crowds around your back suddenly, pulling a startling squeal from your chest, hands gripping tight to your waist.

He hums a noise into the curve of your neck, “Look at me, sweetheart.” He asks softly, pulling back as quickly as your head turns, peering over your shoulder until he comes into view, eyes dark and piercing , still as wide as they always were—it made his gaze even more intimidating.

He sees the teasing, hopeful smile that pulls at your features.

“Open,” He instructs gently, the pad of his thumb rubbing at your chin, coaxing your lips wider and wider, his middle finger grazes over your bottom lip as it catches against your teeth—you see your opportunity, defying his order and clamping down over his finger gently, laughing softly as he stops dead, a sneaky smile pulling at his face, “—is that how tonight’s gonna be?”

You nod with giddy confidence and Eddie pulls his finger away suddenly, not much resistance on your end, but then he’s gripping your cheeks between his hand harshly, eyes tearing up in response—you couldn’t help but love the small tinges of pain it caused. Eddie always joked about you being a masochist, but you really couldn’t laugh—it was true.

“I can make it better,” You tease, speech muffled by the tight grip on your face, “I know what you need.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow in question, head tilting slightly. He can feel your curious fingers working at the hem of his jeans, yanking at his belt lazily.

“M’gonna get down on my knees,” You explain hotly, feel the grip on your face loosen and travel down slowly to the base of your neck, resting gently, “and suck your cock until you’re begging to come down my throat.”

Eddie wasn’t sure he had ascended to heaven just yet, but it was pretty damn close.

He allows you to lead him toward the edge of his bed, falling heavily into the mattress. He quickly forces off of his dirty Reeboks, watching as you settle onto the shag carpet, working at his pants with defined precision—it was so much easier now, like a routine. You yank at his jeans until he’s lifting his ass, letting you pull the pants the rest of the way down, his boxers joining soon after.

“That’s not fair,” He complains, fingers sifting through the hair at the crown of your head, “—already got my pants off and I haven’t even touched you how I want to.”

You take the bait, peering up at him between his widened legs, cocking resting against the base of his toned stomach, his shirt ridden up halfway.

“Fine—“ You respond with playful annoyance, lifting your shirt over your head and tossing it to the floor, your already bare breasts bouncing at the movement, “better?”

Eddie shakes his head like a nuisance, leaning forward with startling speed, head dipping down to mouth at the swell of your breasts, the soft bud of your nipple being pulled delicately between his teeth.

“Much better.” He comments against your skin, leaving a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses against the center of your chest until he reaches your mouth, pulling you in for another searing kiss that you have to force yourself to break away from—if you hadn’t, there’s no telling how quickly this would be over.

“My turn?” You ask hopefully, his hand reaching over his shaft and under his balls, palming at himself openly, watching your eyes drag from there to his face, smugness evident in his face. He nods slightly, letting you knock his hand away with ease.

You’re far too impatient to waste more time, eagerly mouthing at his heavy sack, tight from how easily you riled him up. You weren’t going for longevity or intimacy, you wanted the intensity that came with Eddie, how quickly he could throw over the control to you and let you take hold.

You lick a long stripe up the line of his cock, tongue flat against the thick vein the followed the underside of his shaft until you’re mouth closed around the tip, your lips pink and wet and downright sinful as you glanced up at him, his own lips parted in desperation. His hand rested gently against the crown of your head, not guiding or forceful—he just wanted a reason to touch you, not that he needed it.

“God, you look so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.” He comments, finger tracing along the side of your mouth, cheeks hollowed out. He wants you to move, wants to feel it as you go, taking him deeper and deeper—so you do. The hand that’s not resting against your hair forms around the underside of your jaw, fingers pressing gently against your cheeks, “Can you take more?”

You nod gently, nostrils flaring slightly as you force yourself to breathe, letting Eddie guide himself into your mouth until he budges against the back of your throat, holding until you can’t anymore, pulling back with a forceful gasp, eyes watering from the pressure. Eddie looks concerned for a half-second before you break out into a short fit of laughter, quickly taking him back into your mouth, hands forcing his shirt higher up his chest until he gets the idea, blindly tossing the material into the corner of his room, palms resting behind him as he watched, admired, tried desperately to memorize and catalogue every last moment of your mouth around him.

“Look at you,” He coos, “I know you love my hands in your mouth but you should see yourself right now,” His hand returns to the back of your head, cradling softly as he adds a small amount of pressure, quickening your pace as you forced his cock deeper into your mouth, pressing testingly against the back of your throat, “fuck—can I—“

You nod furiously, not even bothering to let him finish the sentence. He scoots ungraciously closer to the end of the bed, giving him a better angle to grasp your face, angling his hips slightly to rock his hips back into your mouth, trying your best to relax yourself as he moved himself deeper, feeling the muscles of your throat as you swallowed involuntary— a wet, hot blanket of pressure over his aching cock. He groans loudly, eyes downturned and hazy as he watches you, desperately at work trying to bring him to the edge—he was already there.

“Fuck—gonna come, sweetheart.” He warns, both hands twisting into your hair gently, angling your face up until he can watch himself disappear into your mouth with ease, eyes never leaving his own, only going blurry when he thrusts a little too rough, but it doesn’t matter once he falls apart, letting out a strangled moan as he comes down your throat, the hot and sticky strings coating your mouth in waves, his cock pulsing against your tongue as he rides it out.

He pulls your face away gingerly, fingers massaging at the hinge of your jaw as he pulls you toward him without question. He can feel your throat flex as you swallow his come, a sheepish smile pulling at your face. Eddie has no shame, eagerly pulling your mouth to his, tongue slipping past your bottom lip and into your mouth, the heady taste of him mingling with the taste of cigarettes; all encompassing and him. You moaned softly, keening into the gentle touch of his hands as they tightened around your throat.

“You’re unreal.” He comments in awe, grin pulling at his face as he pulls you up and over his lap, a violent reminder of how you still had on far too many clothes. “I’m gonna need a minute though.”

“Well,” You sing, fingers grazing over the outline of his lips, “I know what you can do to keep your mouth occupied—“

“What?” Eddie asks with mock offense, “Are you trying to silence me? Me? You’re really trying to silence Eddie The Banished—“

“Eddie.” You drag out with frustration, leaning back far enough in Eddie’s hold that he has to grab you tighter to keep you from falling, he squeezes, fingers digging into your side playfully.

“Get your ass on the bed,” He growls into the the underside of your jaw, ducking his head down swiftly to mouth at the concave of your chest, fingers still relentless in their attack to tickle you—a quick escape is made to put you out of your misery, nearly knocking him over in the process until you’re laid out on the bed, leaning up on your elbows as Eddie turns to you, his cock hanging heavy and thick between his thighs, the pale of his skin against ink black tattoos, it was a beautiful sight, “—see something you like?”

“Something,” Your voice replies airily, “someone.”

Eddie chuckles at that, roughly pulling at your loose sweatpants, pulling them down with ease—no panties either.

“Oh, you’re such a fucking deviant.” Eddie tells you, tossing the pants to the floor and relaxing on his stomach between your legs. “You take a shower at my house—get dressed in my clothes and you wait for me? You really want me to fuck you that bad?”

You nod sheepishly, watching with excitement as he pulls your legs further apart, fingers dancing along the skin carefully, around your ankle and up your leg, squeezing at the squishy flesh of your thigh, “Don’t act like you don’t want it just as bad.”

Eddie perks up at that, the bratty, condescending tone to your voice. He bites at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh with care, only enough pressure to make you jump, but it’s a warning. “Gonna let me have you how I want?” Eddie asks redundantly, “Because I have no problem fucking you until you can’t speak—not that I can just shove my fingers in your mouth and get the job done that way—“

Your pussy clenches at the thought, something Eddie noticed with rapt attention, smirk pulling at his features.

“Yeah—you’d like that. So fucking needy that I can shove my fingers in your mouth and you’ll be begging for me to stuff my cock inside you,” His ringed middle finger glides through your cunt, through your folds as the milky wetness gathers over his finger, stopping just over the sensitive bundle of nerves that pleaded and begged to be touched, but he pulls his finger away, slipping it into his own mouth, tasting with a look that has his eyes falling shut, breathing through his nose heavily.

“Tastes so fuckin’ sweet too,” He brags, shoving the fallen hair out of his face to look at you, “wanna taste?”

You’re not compelled to say no, so you nod—it was your own body, after all. Eddie grins salaciously, dipping his finger inside you this time with a quiet shush at your sudden gasp, quirking his finger teasingly. He pulls the finger away just as quickly, glistening with slick as he brings it to your mouth, pushing it past your waiting lips, barely any resistance as the heat of your mouth closes around his finger, dragging along your tongue until his ring bumps against your now closed lips.

“Shit,” He curses, eyes dilating at the sigh, honey irises now nearly black, “you’re a dream, you know that?”

You pull your mouth away with a noisy smack, “So I’ve been told.” You reply with a coyish grin, guiding his hand down to your throbbing cunt, awaiting the same desperately needed attention as him. “I hate to be a buzzkill, but if you don’t get to work—we’re gonna skip straight to the next step and I really don’t want to miss out.”

Eddie snorts with endearment, “Of course—sorry, princess.” He responds snarkily, knowing how much you hated the word.

You yank at his hair, earning a soft grunt as he buried as his face into your cunt fully—there was no gradual build up or teasing licks, his tongue flattening against you and gliding up the seam of your cunt in one fluid motion before his mouth was closing over your clit, working diligently and furiously—it was almost too much.

“Finally,” You sigh out, “—of everything you like to stick in your mouth, I didn’t think this is what would work the easiest.”

“Oh, I did.” He admits guilty, take a short break to sneak in the snide comment, “I’m a simple man—and this pussy is just—“

“Okay, okay.” You reply impatiently, bumping the side of his head with your thigh, urging him to continue, “less talking, please.”

Eddie has a way of ravishing you to the point of breathlessness, face heating up at the ungodly noises your arousal made when mixed with his mouth, his fingers joining in greedily, sinking inside you with ease, fitting perfectly, like they were right where they should be.

Your fist tightens his curls as the feeling builds, stomach tightening at the intense coil of pleasure at the base of your abdomen, you whine softly, legs shaking in anguish.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks hopefully, “Baby, you’re shaking—“

You nod desperately, urging him to keep going, blunt nails scratch at his back, “Eddie, please.” You beg for no reason in particular, but Eddie adores the way his name falls from your tongue like this, desperate for release—so he gives it to you without questions, pulling you right to the brink with his mouth against your clit, tongue working over the sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re moaning out, a harsh gasp ripped from your chest as you curl forward, hips involuntarily rocking through your orgasm that Eddie guides you through.

“I—“ You try to speak, feeling loss for words and gasping for air, chest heaving quickly, “—fuck, I can’t even think.”

Eddie laughs softly, adjusting his way up your body until he’s settled over you, arms encircling your waist and covering you in warmth, the sharp coldness of his bracelet shocking you back to reality.

“Are you calling it quits already?” Eddie asks petulantly, bottom lip forming into a subtle pout. You smile tiredly, raising your hand to drag along the faint stubble of his chin—he’d gone a few days without shaving and it was barely noticeable unless you were this close, invading his space.

“No,” You say wearily, Eddie senses your uncertainty and bursts into a fit of laughter, pulling back until he can lift you up and into his lap, supporting the majority of your weight, “—maybe, I don’t know?”

Eddie chews at his bottom lip in thought, a horrible habit that’s caused one too many bloody lips—you tap at his face lightly, pulling him out of his deep trance of thinking, giving him a soft look of warning.

“Sorry,” He replies earnestly, “—was thinkin’.”

“About?” You press, voice tipping up an octave.

You drag your thumb along his bottom lip, letting him pull the finger between his teeth gently, eyes boring into your own with intensity.

“You trust me?” He mumbled around your thumb, earning a jerky nod from you in response. “Good.”

And like that, Eddie’s flipping to his back, settling you over his lap with ease, “Not like that.” He instructs, making a motion with his fingers for you to turn the other way. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion but you listen anyways, turning until your thighs are spread out over his lap, “yeah—fuck, that’s—“

Eddie’s at a loss for words, for once.

“Don’t give up on me now.” You tease, pulling at his hands until they’re settling over the base of his own cock, allowing him to guide himself to your cunt, sliding and to the hilt in one gentle motion, his hand grasping back at your hip to keep you steady as you fall forward, mouth hung open in a groan as your fingers gripped the sheets between his legs. The angle was better, deeper, you couldn’t even fully describe it, but you could tell Eddie was affected just the same, doing the soft laugh he does when he’s overwhelmed with pleasure, elated and happy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie sighs, hands squeezing at the dips in your hips, “this view is—fuckin’ amazing.”

“Eddie, it’s so—“

“Deep,” He answers with a strained chuckle, “trust me—I know.”

“Come on, baby.” He urges, assisting in the slow lift of your hips, the first slam of your ass back against his groin pulling a deep guttural groan out of both of you.

Your legs are weak, still recovering from the intensity of your orgasm, the muscles twitching in protest as you bounced over Eddie’s lap, his dick disappearing inside of you as he watched on in awe, until he notices the muscles of your back contracting, palms pressed out in front of you as you struggled to keep upright.

It was a losing battle.

Eddie quickly sits up, adjusting himself until your back is pressed against his chest, arms wrapping around your stomach, he leans down to mouth at your back, whispering hot-breathed words of adoration into your skin and something closer to “Baby, baby—“ over and over again until it all blurs together, a similar tone to your desperate plea of his name, not entirely sure what you’re asking for.

“Look at me,” He asks breathlessly, hand reaching around to pull at your face, bringing your tired eyes to his gaze, lips parted slightly, “feels good, yeah?”

You nod slowly, his thumb heavy against your lip, parting further without question. Eddie can see the question in your eyes, he doesn’t need you to say it.

“You sure?” He asks.

You nod furiously, eyes squeezing shut on a rough thrust of his hips, his ring and middle finger slipping over the flat of your tongue, cold metal knocking against your teeth gently.

“Suck, sweetheart,” He encourages, the flat of his palm pressing against your stomach, his hips snapping into you from below, moans strangled out by his fingers.

“All it takes is my fingers, huh?” Eddie asks teasingly, “Is it that simple?”

You don’t answer, the inability made by Eddie’s fingers pressing further against your tongue, before pulling out and pressing the spit slick fingers to your core, the slide over your aching clit has you gripping to his forearms, letting Eddie take hold and pulling you to your second orgasm that night, the hand that’s pressed firmly against your stomach reaching up to grab you shoulder to keep you steady.

Eddie widens his thighs slightly, the stretch pulling at your already aching muscles, “Eddie, it’s too much.” You tell him, “I can’t—“

“You can,” He soothes, using every last ounce of energy he has to keep you upright, his steady pace falling off, more unpredictable as he nears his own end, “M’almost there, sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” You whine, Eddie’s fingers insistent as he circles your clit, determined to bring you over the edge with him, “I’m gonna—“

Eddie feels you tense around his cock, mouth falling open wordlessly as you come, letting him keep you pressed against him, tipping over the edge just as quick, the tightness of your cunt around him too overwhelming in the moment and he swears he nearly backs out.

It takes a moment for you two to come down, breath mingling together as Eddie slipped out of you, carefully adjusting your strained thighs until you could sit on the bed comfortably, his fingers brushing away a few wild strands of hair from your face, smiling through his own mused hair, bangs obscuring his eyes slightly.

You’re not even totally conscious again until you hear the familiar flick of Eddie’s lighter and the tinge of smoke invading your senses, cigarette placed between his lips.

You look at him with a subtle glance of scrutiny, admiring his unashamed nakedness, leaning back on his mattress in full glory, plucking at the cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, offering it up to you.

“No,” You reply softly, pressing up on shaky legs to climb over him—Eddie grips at your wrist instantly, eyes turned up in question, “—bathroom, hot shot.”

“Do you need help?” Eddie asks softly, rubbing at the tender spot on the inside of your wrist.

“I think I can manage.” You tell him, pulling at his grasp until you can lean over him, pressing your lips against his tenderly, the soft bellow of smoke pouring into your own mouth.

Eddie chuckles softly, tracing his pointer finger over your lips slowly, a smile pulling at your face.

“God, I fuckin’ love you.” He says warmly, finger pressing under your chin to tilt your face up to look at him. “You have no idea.”

You hum softly in response, “I beg to differ.”

Because you knew that feeling was shared—and just as intensely as you felt it, you knew he did too.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #my writing #1kfic

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