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#and this knowledge haunts him to this day
moondirti · 2 days
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so.. simon and johnny stopping by a seedy 24/7 roadhouse on their way back home post-op
featuring: established ghostsoap. pregnant fem!reader. alluded kidnapping, extremely toxic attitudes. they’re literally delusional. mentioned death. this verges on dark so please beware!
They’ve driven past it about a hundred times, never having given it more than a passing glance. Who would, really? Nothing about it seemed appealing – in all its sun-bleached paint job and flickering neon signage glory – but circumstances lent themselves to its consideration. What was supposed to be a half-day mission ended up taking two, meaning they haven’t had time to sleep let alone eat. On top of that, a delayed exfil made it so they touched down on base at an ungodly hour. By the time Price waived their paperwork and they got into their car, they were famished.
“Could eat the scabby heid aff a dog,” Johnny eventually groans. He’d tried his best to hang in there, mindful not to be a pest during the hours it takes his partner to decompress after a rough operation, but his stomach kills and he knows Simon’s does too. He only receives a grunt for a response, though the man abruptly steers into the leftmost lane, catching the nearest exit towards the place in his periphery. Cleary meant to model an American diner with it’s fading blue exterior and obnoxious banner: The Dahlia
But they’ve been in worse. They hardly take note of the coffee rings staining their table, or the homeless man who’s taken residence in a corner booth (besides the brief once-over in their threat assessment upon entering). No; they just slot themselves by the nearest exit, scan over the menu and decide to order the quickest meal possible.
Only for things to take a sudden turn when their waitress stops by.
Christ alive, Johnny wonders how you manage to glow under the harshest of fluorescents. Dewy skin. Bright eyes, if not a little sunken at the late hour. Still, you smile and do so genuinely as you waddle to their station, clicking a pen before asking: “And what can I do you for, gentlemen?”
Simon doesn’t look at you immediately, not even when you speak up. He’s too fixed on Johnny, replaying the past days’ events in his head. Revisits the hour where their comms malfunctioned, when he lost touch with his boy and had to fight not knowing whether he was holding up okay. He has trust in him, of course, more bleedin’ trust than he has in earth to keep rotating. Still–
You clear your throat.
His pupils shift to pin you under their scrutiny, only he can’t bring it in him to be as severe as he wants to be. Because, while the first thing Johnny notices about you is your beauty, the first thing Simon sees is your bump.
Obscured by your apron, but still there. Round. Full. 6 months along, by the looks of it.
He’s forced to recall Beth, Tommy by extension. An old working knowledge that comes back to haunt him. At 23 weeks, his sister in law’s pregnancy began to weigh on her. Heartburn. Backaches. Hot flashes that resulted in bouts of dizziness. She couldn’t be up for more than 2 hours at a time, and yet here you are.
What the fuck were you doing in a place like this?
“Need more time to decide?” You ask. Patient. Lovely. If Johnny weren’t so sleep-deprived, so in over his head, he would perhaps realise the subtle hints you were dropping. They’ve been staring too long now, unsettling no doubt. Grimy, each with a tell-tale bump on their waistbands that point to their armament. Simon sans hard-shell mask, but still in a balaclava and eyeblack. Both larger than life and practically alone with you in this isolated place.
It’s Simon who speaks up first. “Fish and chips for the both of us. To-go. Cheers.”
You scribble the order down, pausing to consider. “Coffee? Gotta inform you, it’s drip, bottom of the carafe so it might taste burnt too. Hotplate’s all out of sorts.”
“Aye, just the one. Gae head an’ dip yer finger in it too. Might benefit from a little sweetener.” It takes you a second to process Johnny’s flirt. When you do, though, you visibly blanch, ducking your head to hide your face as you pretend to jot what he said down.
“I’ll have that right out for you.”
And then you scurry off, glancing over your shoulder once you think you’re out of sight. Curious. Flustered.
Simon’s attention refocuses on the scotsman once you’re gone, an eyebrow raised under his mask. His partner is able to read the expressed question well enough: what do you think you’re doing? Strict, but not so much angry as it a press for him to think before he speaks, to balance the scales before he asks something of Ghost that he can’t refuse.
“Dinnae look at me like tha’.” Johnny whispers. “Bonnie lass, isn’t she?”
Simon blinks. “Expecting, too.”
“We cannae leave her here.”
Memories occur in rapid succession. Tommy. Beth. The cherubic face they had brought into the world – little Joseph, who was the first he found dead upon returning home.
He considers Johnny, Soap, this force of nature that wormed his way into his life and sunk his teeth into the rot of his heart, fastened before Simon could even think of brushing him off.
“And here’s that coffee! Your meals should be coming out soon, thank you for being patient.”
It’s a bad idea. Horrible. You could have a partner, a cozy home waiting for you. Nursery already painted. Names already chosen.
What good partner would let you work this shitty job?
It’s a bad, horrible idea. No good for anyone. They’re on constant deployment. They risk their lives on every run. You’d be put in harm’s way yourself.
Not if they hide you well enough. Their house is secluded for a reason.
It’s a bad, horrible, no good idea – but Johnny accepts the mug with a gracious smile and you bloom all pretty, hand inadvertently cradling your belly. Little flower, persisting against all odds. Growing from the fissures of broken concrete. Dignified still. Kind. Strong.
So what if they pluck you from your place? They’ve got somewhere much better for you to thrive.
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wintaerbaer · 1 day
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things we don't say: part 6 (TEASER) (kth)
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banner credit: @itaeewon
summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.
pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)
rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)
genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff
word count: 1.2k
teaser warnings: a very sad boy, references to sexual situations, brief mentions of child abuse, vomiting, someone has a wet dream, guilt, shame, a haircut
a/n: sincerest apologies that this series has gone so long without an update. i was struggling with some aggressive writer's block these past few months, but i think we're back in business! <3
PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST
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To say he falls into a state of depression may be an understatement.
He barely eats, barely sleeps, and while Taehyung has always considered you to be the center of his universe—his entire being oriented to you like a star—you’ve begun to haunt him in ways that you never have before. Reminders of you creeping into every minute of his days.
It’s passing your favorite ramen place on his way home from a photoshoot. Or finding a can of your favorite sparkling water buried in the back of his fridge. Or flipping past the cooking show you used to watch together or stumbling upon one of your sweatshirts in his closet or the fact that he still has that damn photo of you hanging up behind his desk.
You’re everywhere—your being so deeply ingrained into his life that he couldn’t erase you even if he wanted to.
And he certainly doesn’t want to erase you; he’s too selfish for that. Even now, even after he’s fucked up to catastrophic degrees by forcing his feelings on you, he still can’t bear to face you directly. Because he knows it would be the end of him for you to reject and abandon him too, even if he can’t blame you for it.
It keeps him up at night, thinking about what he could’ve done differently. How he somehow lost his handle on the control which he has always internally prided himself on (sans a drunken conversation with Namjoon last year where he spilled his guts as was met with a lack of surprise on his friend’s part). He’s always promised himself that he would never burden you, that his love for you was not your responsibility but something for him to manage on his own.
And yet, with you sitting so close on the hotel bed—looking absolutely beautiful in your simple PJs even after he spent the day with you all dressed up—his defenses had crumbled the second you pressed into his side and asked him the final question of your fateful game.
How could he not kiss you then? How could he not give you what you asked of him when he wouldn’t hesitate to lay down his very life if you required it?
But still, he spends hours each night staring at the white expanse of his ceiling wishing he had held back like he always did. Years spent training himself to resist the way his blood calls out for you reduced to naught the second he got his first taste of your lips. And now you likely hate him.
And as if it’s not enough for his brain to put him through this nightly torture, the guilt eating him alive, when he finally does manage to scrounge up a few hours of sleep, there’s the matter of the dreams.
He revisits the hotel room every night. Can taste you again, hear your moans, feel your mouth on him and your warm skin underneath his hands as his mind drags him back through every minute detail on a loop. It’s agony, having to both wrangle with the knowledge of how it felt to be with you as well as face his sins every time he closes his eyes. Realize just how badly he fucked up when he wakes to once again find the other half of his bed empty.
Because in spite of him spending years convincing himself that you were never meant to be, there’s still a small part of Taehyung’s subconscious that’s always carved out space for you in his life. It’s the part that stocks your favorite drinks in his fridge, keeps that photo of you pinned behind his computer, leaves a side of the bed open for you because he became so damn accustomed to sleeping next to you in high school.
He’d found that the bruises from his father didn’t hurt as much when you were sitting next to him making him laugh in your bedroom. That his brain would quiet enough from the terrors to allow him to sleep if you were there lying next to him. That he didn’t feel the dull pain, only the gentle touches of your fingers, as you carefully applied makeup onto the dark patches of skin before school.
It had been easy, then, to dedicate himself to providing you with the same support and care you had shown him in any way he could. To wish for your happiness above all else—his guardian angel through and through.
At least, that is, until he lost control in that hotel room.
One night, after a particularly vivid dream involving your body under his, he awakes to sheets that are soaked around his middle. He blanches at the evidence of his body’s desire for you even now, the horror at the audacity of his unconscious mind causing bile to churn and rise in his throat.
He bolts for the bathroom, barely making it there before he empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet. His body shakes as he retches above the porcelain, guilt rattling his bones until he can hardly keep himself upright.
When the waves of nausea stop, when he can finally pull himself up to lean his elbows against the sink, he stares hard at the mirror and man he sees there.
He looks haggard, dark splotches sitting under his eyes and hair hanging limp around his face and over his forehead. The pale skin of his cheeks and lips is surely due, in part, to the vomiting, but there’s no denying that he’s a shell of his former self. A ghost just going through the motions of a past life.
And it’s there, peering through the darkness at his own reflection, that Taehyung decides he hates himself.
He’s not sure if it’s the raw disgust or the unrelenting shame that has him reaching for the hair clippers, but as his sable tresses begin to fall in chunks over the bathroom counter and floor, Taehyung thinks he deserves this.
He deserves the torment of his dreams. That disturbing combination of his wildest fantasies and nightmares rolled into one.
He deserves to wake up alone. To be reminded of his transgressions at the break of each day.
And he deserves to lose you.
Hell, he never deserved to have you.
The silence that follows the buzz of the trimmer seems at odds with the roaring in his head. Still, he manages to scoop the mess of hair into the trash before dragging himself back to the tangle of his sheets.
He finds himself right back in that cursed hotel room.
When he shuffles into the living room the next morning, still fighting the lingering tastes of bile and your lips, Jungkook and Jimin are already awake at the kitchen bar drinking coffee. They freeze at the sight of him; the pastry that Jimin was halfway to putting in his mouth hits the ground with a thud as Jungkook lets out a low whistle and simply shakes his head.
“That bad, huh?”
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a/n: may or may not go back and revise this again for the final draft. in the meantime, a reminder that my ask box is always open! <3
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nayziiz · 2 days
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Shadows | LN4
Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.
Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns
Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers
Masterlist
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Chapter 12
As the morning light filtered through the curtains, Amelia stirred from her slumber, finding herself cradled in Lando's comforting embrace. The warmth of his body pressed against hers sent a wave of contentment washing over her, soothing her troubled mind. In that moment, as she lay tangled in the sheets beside the man of her dreams, Amelia felt a profound sense of peace and happiness. It was a simple pleasure, yet one she cherished above all else – waking up to the gentle rhythm of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart against her own. With a soft smile gracing her lips, Amelia nestled closer to Lando, grateful for the love and security he brought into her life with each new day.
As Lando contemplated the weight of the truth he had uncovered, he knew that he couldn't keep it from Amelia any longer. She deserved to know the whole story, no matter how painful it might be. Yet, he also understood the delicate nature of the situation and realised that he couldn't confront Amelia with this revelation alone. George, despite his troubled history with Amelia, held the key to unlocking the secrets that had been hidden for so long. Reluctantly, Lando reached out to George, knowing that their meeting would be fraught with tension and uncertainty.
As Lando swung open the front door to welcome George into their midst, Amelia's gaze hardened with palpable disgust. Her features contorted with a mix of anger and resentment, her eyes narrowing into sharp daggers as they locked onto George's figure. In that moment, he represented everything she despised—the bearer of painful truths and the architect of her shattered reality.
Every fibre of Amelia's being recoiled at the sight of George, the very embodiment of deception and manipulation. It was he who had wielded the power to unravel the carefully constructed facade of her life, exposing the dark secrets that lurked beneath the surface. The mere presence of George served as a constant reminder of the betrayal and turmoil that had engulfed her world, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty and despair.
As George stepped across the threshold into the sanctuary of Lando’s home, Amelia's contempt burned like a raging inferno, consuming her from within. She resented the fact that he held the key to unlocking the truth, that he possessed knowledge that had the power to irrevocably alter the course of her life. He was the unwelcome messenger, delivering tidings of turmoil and upheaval, and she despised him for it with every fibre of her being.
Yet, beneath the veneer of her disdain lay a deep-seated fear—a fear of confronting the painful realities that lay buried within the depths of her past. Amelia knew that facing the truth would require her to confront her deepest insecurities and vulnerabilities, to confront the demons that had long haunted her dreams. And in George, she saw the embodiment of those demons, a constant reminder of the darkness that threatened to engulf her at every turn.
Sitting together in the elegant living room, Lando began to recount the events that had led him to unravel the truth about Amelia's past. With each word, the weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the room.
Amelia listened in stunned silence as Lando revealed the shocking details of her kidnapping and the role her father had played in orchestrating the deception. Her emotions surged like a turbulent storm, alternating between disbelief, anger, and profound sadness. Yet, amidst the chaos of her emotions, there was a glimmer of relief in knowing that the truth had finally come to light.
As Lando concluded his account, he turned to George, silently acknowledging the pivotal role he had played in bringing the truth to the surface. For the first time, George appeared genuinely remorseful, his usual bravado replaced by a solemn sense of responsibility. With a sense of urgency, Amelia seized the opportunity to ask the questions that had been gnawing at her soul, her voice trembling with emotion as she sought to make sense of the shattered fragments of her past.
Amelia’s disgust was evident when Lando opened the front door for George. She hated the fact that George was the gateway for the information that turned her world upside down. When George entered the living room of the Norris home, his demeanour was softer and less questionable than usual. His intentions were pure this time around. He simply wanted to help her get the justice everyone deserved, especially the Mitchells.
“Well, I can’t say I’m happy that you’re involved.” Amelia's voice carried a heavy weight of resignation as she spoke, her gaze fixated on George with a mixture of weariness and disdain.
It was clear that his presence grated on her nerves, a constant reminder of the chaos and upheaval that had engulfed her life in recent days. Despite the gravity of the situation, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach at the sight of him.
With a weary sigh, Amelia shifted her gaze to Lando, her expression a silent plea for reassurance amidst the tumultuous storm that raged within her. She had always valued his steadfast presence, his unwavering support serving as a beacon of hope in even the darkest of times. And yet, as she stood on the precipice of a harrowing revelation, she couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation at the prospect of confronting the painful truths that lay buried beneath the surface.
“Believe me, I wish there was another way.” Lando interjected, his voice tinged with regret as he reached out to grasp Amelia's hand in a gesture of solidarity. “But George has proven himself to be an invaluable ally in uncovering the truth. And right now, that's exactly what we need.”
Amelia nodded in reluctant agreement, her features softened slightly by Lando's words of reassurance.
“So, what do you think would be the best way to expose Harold and the truth?” Amelia asked as she glanced between the two men in front of her.
Amelia's question hung heavy in the air, the weight of uncertainty palpable as she awaited a response from Lando and George. It was a pivotal moment, one that would dictate the course of their actions in the days to come. As she looked between the two men, she couldn't help but feel a surge of anxiety coursing through her veins, a nagging sense of doubt gnawing at the edges of her mind.
Lando furrowed his brow in deep contemplation, his mind racing with possibilities as he considered the best course of action. He knew that exposing Harold and revealing the truth would require a careful strategy—one that would minimise the risk of backlash and ensure that justice was served. With a thoughtful expression, he began to outline his plan, each word measured and deliberate as he laid out the steps they would need to take.
“First, we need to gather as much evidence as possible. That means digging into Harold's business dealings, tracking down any connections to Clyde Mitchells, and uncovering any incriminating evidence that could corroborate our claims.” Lando began, his voice steady and resolute.
Amelia nodded in agreement, her expression set with determination as she absorbed Lando's words. She knew that exposing Harold would require irrefutable proof, evidence that would withstand even the most rigorous scrutiny. With a sense of purpose driving her forward, she resolved to do whatever it took to uncover the truth, no matter the obstacles that lay in their path.
“And once we have the evidence, we'll need to go public.” Lando continued, his gaze unwavering as he met Amelia's eyes. “We'll need to ensure that the truth is heard far and wide, that there's no hiding from the consequences of Harold's actions.”
Adam stood just beyond the threshold of the study, his heart heavy with the weight of the conversation unfolding inside. As he listened to the trio discuss their plan to expose Harold, a sense of conflict gnawed at the edges of his conscience. On one hand, he felt a deep sense of loyalty to his best friend, Harold—a loyalty that had been forged over decades of shared experiences and mutual trust. Yet, on the other hand, he couldn't ignore the undeniable bond he shared with his son, Lando, and the fierce determination burning in his eyes.
For Adam, the situation presented an agonising dilemma—a choice between his loyalty to a friend and his duty as a father. He knew that whatever decision he made would have far-reaching consequences, shaping the course of their lives in ways he couldn't yet fathom. As he grappled with his conflicting emotions, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing at a crossroads, torn between two paths that seemed irreconcilable.
As the conversation inside the study continued, Adam found himself wrestling with his own sense of right and wrong, his mind racing with the weight of the decision he knew he had to make.
“If you need evidence, I’m sure I can help.” Adam announced as he stepped into the study.
Adam's sudden entrance startled the trio, their conversation abruptly halting as they turned to face him. Lando's expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and concern crossing his features as he regarded his father. Amelia's eyes widened with curiosity, while George watched Adam warily, uncertain of his intentions.
“Dad, what are you doing here?” Lando asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.
Adam took a moment to compose himself before responding, his gaze shifting between the three of them.
“I couldn't help but overhear your conversation.” he admitted, his tone sombre. “And I believe I may be able to assist you.”
Amelia's brows furrowed in confusion, while George remained silent, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Adam.
“If you need evidence to expose Harold and uncover the truth, I may have access to information that could be of use to you.” Adam continued.
Lando regarded his father with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. Amelia leaned forward, her curiosity piqued by Adam's offer, while George remained guarded, his expression unreadable.
“What kind of evidence?” Lando inquired, his voice laced with cautious optimism. Adam hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering with uncertainty.
“After all these years, after all the shady business I’ve done, I’ve built up reliable connections. That includes people who have knowledge of Harold's dealings, who could provide the evidence you need to expose him.” He explained carefully.
A sense of anticipation settled over the room as the implications of Adam's offer sank in. For Lando, Amelia, and George, it seemed that a glimmer of hope had emerged amidst the shadows of uncertainty. Yet, beneath the surface, lingered a sense of unease—an awareness of the risks and challenges that lay ahead.
“Mr Norris, I know you and my father have been great friends for a very long time. Please do not feel obligated to help if that means hurting your reputation.” Amelia's words were filled with sincerity as she addressed Lando’s father.
Adam's expression softened as he listened, a sense of warmth and understanding reflected in his eyes.
“Amelia, my loyalty to Harold does not outweigh my commitment to Lando as his father.” Adam responded, his tone measured yet resolute. “If aiding in this endeavour means holding those responsible for their actions, then I am prepared to do whatever is necessary. I can see how much this means to you both, so I will help as much as I can. You’re like a daughter to me, so it would only be an honour to assist.”
Amelia nodded in agreement, her appreciation for Adam's willingness to assist evident in her eyes. George remained silent, but a hint of gratitude flickered in his gaze as he regarded Adam.
“I understand the complexity of the situation, and I respect your friendship with Harold, Dad, but thank you. We’ll take all the help we can get.” Lando interjected, his voice steady.
Adam offered a reassuring nod, a silent acknowledgment of Lando's words. In that moment, a sense of unity and determination settled over the group—a shared resolve to pursue justice and expose the truth, regardless of the challenges they may face.
With a solemn expression, George retrieved a small, weathered envelope from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. The envelope, worn and creased with age, held the key to unlocking the truth they so desperately sought.
“Inside, you'll find documents that detail Harold's involvement in the events surrounding Clyde Mitchell's death. These are all original and no copies exist. My father hasn’t noticed that this is missing from our safe.” Georged confessed, his voice tinged with regret as he handed the envelope to Lando.
Lando accepted the envelope with a mixture of apprehension and determination. He could feel the weight of its contents pressing against his fingertips, a tangible reminder of the gravity of their mission. With careful precision, he opened the envelope and began to sift through its contents.
Within the folds of the envelope lay a collection of photographs, documents, and correspondence—evidence that painted a damning portrait of Harold's complicity in the tragic events of the past. Among the evidence were records of clandestine meetings, financial transactions, and witness statements corroborating Harold's involvement.
As Lando and the others examined the evidence, a sense of unease settled over them. The documents revealed a web of deceit and corruption, exposing Harold's true nature and the extent of his wrongdoing. Each piece of evidence served as a damning indictment of his actions, providing irrefutable proof of his guilt.
With each passing moment, the weight of the evidence grew heavier, its significance looming large in their minds. Yet, despite the gravity of the situation, there was a glimmer of hope—a belief that justice would prevail, and the truth could finally be brought to light.
Later that afternoon, after George left and Adam retreated to his room, Lando found Amelia huddled on the sofa in his room watching the fire crackle in front of her. Lando approached Amelia with a sense of tenderness, his footsteps soft against the carpeted floor. He could see the weight of the day's revelations bearing down on her, her shoulders slumped and her expression etched with a mix of exhaustion and contemplation. Sitting beside her, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, offering a silent gesture of comfort and support.
“Hey.” He murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm in the hushed tranquillity of the room.
Amelia turned to him, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames of the fire as they met his gaze. There was a vulnerability in her expression, a rawness that spoke of the emotions swirling within her.
“Hey.” She replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire providing a backdrop to their thoughts. Lando could sense the turmoil raging within her, the myriad emotions vying for her attention. He wanted nothing more than to ease her burden, to offer her solace in the midst of the storm.
“Are you okay?” He asked gently, his concern evident in his voice.
Amelia sighed, her breath hitching slightly as she released a pent-up tension. She leaned into Lando's embrace, seeking solace in his presence.
“I don't know. Overwhelmed, mostly.” She admitted quietly.
Lando nodded in understanding, his grip on her tightening ever so slightly. He knew that there were no easy answers, no quick fixes for the pain and uncertainty they were facing. All they could do was navigate the tumultuous waters together, drawing strength from each other along the way.
“I'm here for you, Milly.” He murmured, his words a whispered promise. “Whatever you need, I'm here.”
“What if he kills you?” Amelia suddenly asked, causing Lando to peer down at her.
The question hung heavy in the air, its weight palpable as it settled between them like a dense fog. Lando's expression softened as he regarded Amelia, his gaze unwavering despite the gravity of her words.
“I won't let that happen. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure we're both safe.” He reassured her, his voice firm with determination.
Amelia's brow furrowed in concern, her thoughts racing with the myriad of possibilities that lay ahead. The fear of retaliation loomed large in her mind, casting a shadow over their plans for justice.
“But what if he tries?” She pressed, her voice tinged with apprehension.
Lando's resolve remained steadfast as he reached out to gently cup her face in his hands, his touch a comforting anchor in the midst of uncertainty.
“We'll be prepared. We'll take every precaution, every measure to ensure our safety. And if it comes down to it, we'll face him together.” He vowed, his tone unwavering.
Amelia's gaze softened at his words, a flicker of hope igniting within her chest. Despite the dangers that lay ahead, she found solace in the unwavering support of the man beside her, his presence a beacon of strength in the face of adversity.
“Fuck, I love you.” She whispered, her voice filled with gratitude.
Lando's heart swelled with emotion at her words, his own feelings echoing the sentiment she expressed. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before meeting her gaze with unwavering sincerity.
“I love you too, Amelia.” He murmured, his voice a soft caress against her ear. “More than anything.”
As their lips met in a tender embrace, a rush of warmth surged through Amelia, igniting a fiery passion within her. The crackling of the flames mirrored the intensity of their kiss, each flicker of light casting a glow upon their entwined forms. In that moment, all worries and doubts melted away, consumed by the heat of their desire.
Lando responded to her kiss with equal fervour, his hands gently caressing her face as he deepened the connection between them. Their love blazed brightly, casting aside the shadows of doubt and fear that had clouded their hearts. In each other's arms, they found solace, a sanctuary where they could lose themselves in the intoxicating bliss of their shared affection.
With gentle care, Lando cradled Amelia in his arms, her weight feeling light and precious against him. He carried her effortlessly to the bed, where he lowered her down with tender reverence. As she settled onto the soft mattress, he hovered above her, his gaze filled with adoration and desire.
Amelia's heart raced with anticipation as Lando leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. She reached out to him, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him closer, craving the closeness only he could provide. Their eyes locked in a silent exchange, speaking volumes of unspoken longing and devotion.
With a gentle touch, Lando brushed his lips against hers, igniting a fire that blazed to life between them.
“I had a dream once that started just like this.” Lando murmured against the skin of her neck in between tender kisses.
Amelia's breath caught in her throat as Lando's hands explored her with a gentle urgency, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her veins. His touch was electric, igniting a fiery desire that consumed them both. With each caress, he traced the contours of her body, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in his wake.
Her skin tingled at his touch, her senses heightened by the intensity of their connection. As his lips continued to pepper kisses along her neck and collarbone, she arched into his touch, her body responding instinctively to his every movement. In that moment, they were lost in a world of their own creation, a world where nothing else mattered but the passion that burned between them.
With trembling hands, Amelia reached for Lando, her fingers entwining with his as they sought solace in each other's embrace.
“Let me take care of you.” Amelia tells Lando. “You're always looking after me.”
“Take care of me?” He asked, confused as he watched her.
Amelia reached down and found his hardened cock trapped behind his jeans. Their passion ignited as Amelia's touch sent a jolt of desire coursing through Lando's body. He surrendered to the sensation, his breath hitching as she explored the contours of his desire. With each caress, he felt himself drawn deeper into the intoxicating dance of pleasure, his senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their connection.
“Milly, baby.” Lando moaned, his voice a husky whisper as he succumbed to the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing over him. In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the exquisite sensation of her touch igniting a fire within him.
He flopped over on his back as she moved to unbutton and unzip his jeans. She positioned herself in between his legs and pulled down his jeans and briefs in one smooth movement.  With a soft groan escaping his lips, Lando surrendered to the exquisite pleasure of Amelia's touch. He watched with eager anticipation as she leaned down, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine. As she wrapped her hand around him, he felt a surge of desire coursing through his veins, his body responding eagerly to her gentle touch.
The sensation of her tongue tracing a path from the base to the tip sent waves of ecstasy washing over him, his breath catching in his throat as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. With each flick of her tongue, he felt himself spiralling closer to the edge, his senses consumed by the intoxicating rhythm of their desire.
Lost in the moment, he threaded his fingers through her hair, his touch gentle yet urgent as he urged her on. Every movement, every caress, sent sparks flying through his body, his skin tingling with anticipation as he surrendered to the exquisite sensation.
As she continued to tease and tantalise him, he felt himself teetering on the brink of ecstasy, his body yearning for release.
“Ah, that's nice.” He assured her, his voice laced with satisfaction. In that moment, all worries and concerns melted away, replaced by the overwhelming warmth of their connection.
Amelia's mind raced as she contemplated her next move. She wasn't one to perform oral sex, having disliked it immensely the one time she had tried. But in that moment, she felt an overwhelming desire to show Lando just how much he meant to her, to express her gratitude in a way that transcended words.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed aside her reservations and leaned down, pressing her lips to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. She trailed soft kisses along his length, her touch tentative yet filled with determination. As she reached his tip, she hesitated for a moment before tentatively taking him into her mouth.
The sensation was foreign to her, yet she persisted, determined to give Lando the pleasure he deserved. She moved with cautious deliberation, her movements slow and deliberate as she explored his length with her tongue. With each passing moment, she felt a growing sense of empowerment, knowing that she was bringing him pleasure in a way that was deeply intimate and personal.
Despite her initial reluctance, Amelia found herself lost in the moment, her focus solely on the man before her and the overwhelming connection they shared. And as Lando's pleasure intensified, she felt a sense of satisfaction wash over her, knowing that she had succeeded in conveying her love and appreciation in the most intimate way possible.
As she continued to explore him with her mouth, Amelia focused on the sensations coursing through her, the taste and texture of him overwhelming her senses. She experimented with different techniques, using her tongue to tease and tantalise him, eliciting soft moans of pleasure from Lando's lips.
“Baby, I'm going to cum in your mouth if you keep doing that.” Lando murmured his warming to her.
Amelia paused for a moment, savouring the intimacy of his words, before resuming her ministrations with renewed determination. She adjusted her technique, focusing on the sensitive areas that she knew would drive him wild with pleasure.
As Lando's arousal grew, Amelia felt a surge of excitement coursing through her, knowing that she was the cause of his overwhelming pleasure. She continued to work her magic, using her mouth and tongue to bring him to the edge of ecstasy.
Lando didn't want to cum in her mouth. He pulled her up and hastily removed her leggings. He was too eager to wait and pushed her panties aside before thrusting into her. A deep groan left her lips as he flipped them over, with her laying on her back.
Amelia's breath caught in her throat as Lando's urgency swept over her, igniting a fire of desire within her. She arched her back, offering herself fully to him as he entered her with a force that left her gasping for air.
“Want to cum inside you, baby.” He informed her in between sloppy kisses.
“Yes, Lan.” Amelia conceded, swept up in the pleasure of feeling him inside her.
As he began to move inside her, the sensation of his powerful thrusts sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body, each movement driving her closer to the edge of ecstasy. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper into her as they moved together in perfect harmony.
Their bodies moved in sync, each movement bringing them closer to the brink of pleasure. Amelia's moans filled the room, a symphony of desire that echoed in the air as they surrendered to the intensity of their passion.
After several fast thrusts, Lando released his cum inside of her. Amelia clung onto him as he shook from pleasure, her nails digging into the skin of his back as he continued to thrust lazily. As their breathing slowed and their heartbeats steadied, Amelia found herself lost in the depths of Lando's gaze, her soul laid bare before him.
“Fuck.” He moaned once more, hovering over her before pulling out. “Now you, baby.”
“No, Lan. That was for you. I wanted to take care of you.” Amelia insisted, offering him a reassuring smile, her eyes filled with affection.
“But, you didn't finish.” Lando pointed out, his brow furrowed with worry.
“I don't have to. Watching you cum was enough excitement for me.” Amelia replied softly, her tone laced with sincerity.
“Are you sure?” Lando's expression softened as he realised the depth of her love and selflessness.
“Certain.” Amelia affirmed, her gaze unwavering.
“Let me clean you up at least?” Lando insisted to which Amelia nodded.
Lando retreated into his ensuite bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water. He returned to the bed and gently wiped away the remnants of their lovemaking from Amelia's thighs. He then proceeded to wipe himself down and pulled up his briefs to his hips once again.
As Lando helped her get dressed, a fleeting thought crossed his mind about the possibility of pregnancy resulting from their intimate encounter. It was a natural concern, given the intimacy they shared and the potential consequences that could follow.
“Do you think you could get pregnant?” Lando asked, his tone earnest yet slightly hesitant.
“I'm sorry, what?” Amelia replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
“Do you think you could get pregnant?” Lando reiterated, his expression reflecting a mix of concern and curiosity.
“Uh, I don't know, Lan. I doubt I could, considering I'm on birth control.” She explained, trying to sound reassuring despite the lingering uncertainty.
“Okay.” Lando acknowledged, his tone softening as he processed her answer.
The expression on his face allowed Amelia to put two and two together and she decided to tease him about it.
“Tell me, Mr Norris, do you want me pregnant, carrying your baby?” She wondered.
Amelia's question took Lando by surprise, his cheeks flushing slightly as he processed her words. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to her inquiry.
“Stop, you make that sound sexier than it should be.”  Lando replied, attempting to deflect Amelia's question with a playful remark.
Despite his attempt at levity, he couldn't shake the subtle undercurrent of arousal that coursed through him at the thought of such an intimate scenario.
“God, Lan, do you have a breeding kink?” Amelia pressed further, her tone teasing yet curious.
“What? No.” Lando replied quickly, his voice betraying a hint of defensiveness. He struggled to find the right words to articulate his feelings, his mind racing with conflicting emotions.
As Amelia studied him, her gaze unwavering, Lando couldn't help but feel a pang of vulnerability. He knew that their intimate conversations often delved into uncharted territory, but the topic of pregnancy and parenthood struck a particularly sensitive chord within him.
“Look, Milly, it's not like that.” Lando began, his voice softer now, tinged with a hint of uncertainty. “I mean, sure, the thought of... of us, you know, creating something together, it's... it's kind of... exciting.” He admitted, his words trailing off as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.
“You want to have my babies, Lan?” Amelia continued to tease him.
Amelia's playful banter brought a smile to Lando's face, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and desire. He couldn't deny the rush of excitement that coursed through him at the thought of starting a family with her, their shared intimacy deepening with each passing moment.
“All of them.” Lando replied with a mischievous grin, his voice laced with anticipation.
The prospect of fatherhood filled him with a sense of purpose and joy, the idea of creating a life with Amelia igniting a flame of passion within him. Amelia's touch was gentle yet electrifying as she cupped Lando's cheek, her lips meeting him in a tender kiss. In that moment, their connection felt unbreakable, their love transcending words as they shared their hopes and dreams for the future.
“You’d make a wonderful Daddy for our babies.” Amelia remarked, her voice filled with affection as she gazed into Lando's eyes.
Lando's heart swelled with love for her, his desire to build a life together growing stronger with each passing moment. He couldn't wait to embark on this journey with her, to experience the joys and challenges of parenthood hand in hand.
“Alright, just fuck me again so I can put a baby in you.” Lando teased, his playful tone belying the depth of his longing.
Amelia's laughter filled the room as she straddled him, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
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endawn · 2 months
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ooohhhhhhhh, instead of paying withers for a resurrection, the tadcrew would have to give an offering to molag bal to get pax back if he dies. resurrection scrolls wouldn’t work, either. after pax dies, the party will be visited by the archdevil in camp with a proposition; they give him a soul, they get a soul back ( pax ). he’s being generous by not asking for more and would even accept soul coins because frankly he was enjoying the camaraderie
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kitkatscabinet · 5 months
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Don't feed him he'll come back
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simon riley x neighbour! reader
summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.
word count: 1.6k
part 2 here
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There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment block. Though it feels more accurate to say he’s an occasional visitor. He comes and goes, like a lost spirit, unsure and aimlessly wandering. He slinks silently through the hallways like a wraith in the few instances when he is there. 
The first time you see him is just a glimpse from the corner of your eye, a large hulking shadow standing at the door next to your apartment as you step out from yours. 
Your feet stutter to a stop, the landlord had mentioned a neighbour but in the 3 months you’d lived there you’d never seen him. As if sensing your eyes lingering curiously on his form, deep brown eyes turn to meet yours. You can make out no other details of his face, the black material of his balaclava obscuring most of his features. 
A century could have passed in those few seconds and you doubt you’d have noticed. Despite the weariness in his gaze, you found yourself pulled into the deep pools of those stunning eyes. Like a predator, his gaze never moves from your body, even as you offer him a friendly smile and wave before walking down the hall to continue your day. 
You’d heard the uneasily whispered tales of the Ghost that haunted the apartment next to yours from some of the older tenants, though you’d never put much stock into the idle gossip. His burning gaze bores into your back and follows until the doors of the elevator close and you suppose you should feel intimidated. 
It’s hard to conjure up any such feelings, even with the knowledge of the wariness he elicits in others. It’s hard to fear the hulking figure of the Ghost when he had such sad eyes. 
He hid it well but you recognised the loneliness that lined his shoulders, the bone-deep exhaustion for life that managed to slip through tiny cracks in his self-imposed shield. 
You suppose at that moment that even Ghosts can be haunted. 
Maybe that’s why you found yourself knocking on his door later that evening with the tray of pasta bake. Initially, you’d made a large batch to have a few days left over for yourself. Yet just as you opened your fridge you’d hesitated, mind flashing to the man next door. Did he have any food for himself? There was likely nothing fresh, and he’d seemed too exhausted to pull himself to the grocery store during the brief encounter earlier. 
Donning your Crocs, you’d marched over and knocked on his door before it properly registered that you were in pyjamas. The door swings open and your eyes trail up, the balaclava is gone, replaced with a simple black face mask letting you glimpse blond hair. 
“Sorry if this is a bit intrusive, but I figured you probably didn’t have any food so…” you trailed off, pushing the tray towards him, expectantly waiting for him to grab it. It took a few seconds before he robotically took the tray, probably out of sheer confusion more than anything else. Stepping back before he could return the food you offered one last smile before fleeing to the sanctuary of your apartment. 
Two days later you exit your apartment to an empty and cleaned tray, a small note with a simple ‘thank you’ placed within. 
His name’s Simon, and apart from an introduction and the occasional dish left at his door, you don’t actually interact with him again until nearly a month later. And that had simply been a case of forced proximity a la broken elevator style. 
Simon remained unflappable as ever, and it’s at that moment you decide to try and get a reaction that isn’t stoic silence. 
“A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and …cola” Brown eyes turned to look at you curiously, brow raised to let you know he was listening. “Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.” 
The joke doesn’t land, silence is the only reward for your comedy genius. “Ok, playing hardball. Alright then… Why did Susan fall off the swings?” Again, there is no answer, but a glance at his relaxed posture indicates he’s listening. “Because she had no arms.” 
No laugh but you blaze ahead. 
“Knock knock.” It takes a few seconds but with a playful glare, he responds quietly and with a tinge of amusement. 
“Who’s there?” It’s not the first time you’ve heard his voice, but it still births a serious case of butterflies in your gut that takes more than a few seconds to fight down and regain your composure. 
“Not Susan.” You can’t stop the peal of your giggles at that one, and while you swear you see the corner of his cheek curve upwards a little it’s not enough for you to be satisfied. 
“I can’t believe it’s come to this, but I guess it’s time for the big guns. You better prepare yourself Riley 'cause I’m done holding back.” You pause for a few seconds to let the anticipation settle. 
“What is… Whitney Houston’s favourite type of coordination?” You take a deep breath before positively belting out, “HAAAAAAAND-EEEEEYE.” Whether it’s the shock from the sudden musical number or the joke itself you’re finally rewarded with a faint chuckle. 
“Aha!” you shout in triumph, a smug grin splitting your face, “I heard that laugh, you can do more scowl!”
The doors suddenly open with a ding and Simon pushes off the wall, but not before rolling his eyes playfully your way. Silence once again descends during the walk to your respective apartments, yet it’s not uncomfortable. Swiping your key card it’s just as you step through the threshold that you hear it, 
“Why did the chicken go the seance? To get to the other side.” Whipping your head around, you are met with the sight of his door closing behind his large frame, but a win is a win and you celebrate mentally over the exchange. 
The next time you leave a dish at his door it comes with a written joke. Sure enough, a few days later you received one back. The months start to blur, and your Ghost comes and goes, but the jokes remain. 
Month three sees you snagging his number, a daily joke sent his way even when he can’t respond. Because as much as Simon Riley tried to hide his hurts from the world, he couldn’t hide them from you. 
You’ve loved a soldier before in your brother, can see the signs and smell the gunsmoke and blood from miles away. Apart from his team, it becomes obvious the man has nobody left, and believes he doesn’t deserve to be cared for.
You’re not foolish enough to think you can be that for him, but you are understanding enough to give him the choice. So you continue to send him jokes, puns, pictures of your cat Bingbong and anything that you think will get him to at least smile.  
Three months turns to six turns to eight. He’s not physically there most of the time but you take every opportunity he is to coax him from the loneliness of his apartment like a stray kitten.
Once-a-week dinners at least. Freely sharing your life’s story without expecting anything in return. One evening you’d plopped your chunky tuxedo cat down on his lap and watched him freeze, hands hovering with wide eyes as he considered the ball of fur making biscuits on his thigh. 
It was cute. He was cute. Even when he whipped around to glare when you took a photo, the corners of his lips downturned and tugged at the scars on his face. His bare face wasn’t necessarily a new sight but it causes your breath to hitch nonetheless. 
Something you think he notices given the way his lips quirked up suddenly in a smirk. Rolling your eyes you huffed before plonking yourself down next to him on the couch. Bingbong doesn’t scramble onto your lap like you expect, instead deciding to remain on his new favourite human, traitor. 
You pay very little attention to the movie even though you’d chosen it, too acutely focused on the large bulk of Simon next to you. Your shoulder rests against his arm, his body heat emanating from beneath his hoodie and absorbing into your skin. 
You’ve never been one to fall asleep during movies, but there’s something about Simon’s presence that soothes you, lulling you into a restful slumber as you slump against his chest. Bingbong meows his discontent as you accidentally squish him, jumping away with a huff, none of which you notice. 
It’s the sun shining straight onto your face through the open blinds that wakes you the next morning, a groan of confusion leaving your lips as you stretch and look around to orient yourself. 
Sitting up, the blanket that you just now realised covered your form fell down to your waist. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes your phone falls to the floor when you stand, the screen flicking on to display the time. 
It’s not until you sleepily stumble into your bedroom, plugging your nearly dead phone in and face-planting onto your pillow that you realise Simon must have tucked you in. The smile that covers your face is so wide it is painful and you fall asleep once more, dreaming of the phantom sensation of his arms wrapped around you.
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augustinewrites · 7 months
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the dull throb resonating over your entire body is what eventually rouses you, slowly bringing you back into consciousness. your head feels like a sword’s been driven through it, leaving your mind muddled.
the first thing you see is satoru hunched over your bedside, his hand carefully clutching yours. you call his name, but your voice is hoarse and scratchy and barely above a whisper.
he hears you regardless, eyes wide and alert as he lifts his head. he looks tired, dark circles stamped under his eyes and an unusual stiffness in his movements.
“you’re…okay,” he says, strained. as if he can’t believe it. you hum in response - because it’s all you can manage at the moment - feeling your eyelids begin to droop your will. “get some more rest. i’ll call shoko.” 
the gentle brush of his lips against your forehead is the last thing you feel before drifting back to sleep.
_____
you’re not sure how much time has passed when you come to. now, the room is illuminated by honeyed lamplight and you see shoko and satoru talking quietly at the foot of your bed. 
“glad to see you’re still with us,” your best friend smiles once she notices you’re awake. she moves to your side, leaning over you to pull back the thin blanket. there’s a swathe of bandages wrapped around your shoulder and a sling immobilizing your arm. 
“how do you feel?” satoru asks, that worried look still set in his expression. 
“i‘m fine,” you manage to answer, trying to blink the room into focus.
“you need to be more careful,” shoko tells you, peeling her gloves off and tossing them into the trash. the usual air indifference in her voice is gone, replaced with concern. “take satoru with you next time. not because i think you’re incapable of doing your job, but so he can do the corny, heroic thing and take the hit for you. god knows he could stand to be humbled every once in a while…” 
“thanks, shoko,” your boyfriend scoffs, but the way his hand grips yours tightly tells you he’d be more than willing to be your corny hero. 
you hate the way they look down at your prone form as shoko goes over your treatment plan. it makes you feel small and weak, and you are neither of those things. 
“can you help me sit up?”
“you shouldn’t be moving around–” 
your body burns with protest as you awkwardly push yourself up anyway, exhaling a pained hiss as gojo swears, reaching out to help steady your trembling torso as shoko shoves pillows behind your back. 
“i’m fine,” you argue, trying to ignore the throbbing behind your temples. you don’t remember exactly how you’d ended up in the school’s infirmary, just remember the way pain had exploded across your left side when you’d been hit.  
“you almost weren’t,” he says quietly. a deeply haunted look clouds his face as he recalls what must have happened after you’d been brought in, and you feel guilty for not being able to remember it. 
so you let him squeeze into bed next to you, let him carefully pull you into his chest and hold you until you feel the tension in his body dissipate. you know he needs this a little more than you do, know that the knowledge of you being okay isn’t enough. it won’t stop the fear and anxiety of losing you from gnawing on the edge of his sanity.
“i wanna give the flowers–”
“so you can take all the credit? i’m the one who bought them!”
your pained grimace easily turns to a smile when the door opens to reveal megumi and tsumiki, who are both gripping a bouquet of flowers. nanami follows them in, wearing the tired look of a man that’s never spent more than three hours dealing with moody preteens raised by gojo – until today.
_____
your family spoils you over the next few days. the three of them falling asleep on the little couch in your room, tucked under gojo’s arms every night until you’re cleared to go home. even then, they don’t leave your side. tsumiki snuggles next to you to watch movies and bakes you little treats. megumi reads to you from the book you’d been going through together and listens to your favourite records with you after school. 
satoru posts himself by your side. you like having him around. like the gentle way he handles you when working through the stretches shoko prescribes. like watching the way his hands move he diligently slices wedges of fresh fruit. 
you like being the focus of his single-minded attention, but you know how restless he can get when he doesn’t go off to work. rightfully so, because the jujutsu world would probably fall apart without him.
“you can go if you want,” you say one day, when he gets off a phone call with yaga. “i’ll be okay for a few hours.” 
he doesn’t get up, instead beginning to peel a plump orange (you’d never noticed how nice his hands were until now). “no, nanami’s still covering for me.” 
“satoru,” you sigh, taking an orange slice from him. “there’s a lot going on, you have bigger fish to fry.”
“i’m not going anywhere,” he tells you firmly, looking like he’d physically fight the idea of leaving your side. “you’re my fish.”
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candy-heart-brew · 18 days
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So this last update seems to have confirmed the fan theory that there's some force within the neighborhood that wants Eddie gone. He spends the entire day waiting for a call that never comes, he's left out of the Homewarming storybook entirely, the narration cuts out as soon as his name is mentioned in the Wish Book advertisement, and it seems that no one told him about Wally's housewarming party that evening since he doesn't mention it when trying to figure out why no one's contacted him. Something is isolating Eddie, trying to push him out of the neighborhood entirely.
But just as Eddie is about to reach his breaking point, he's saved by Sally of all people.
Sally doesn't like Eddie, this has been established in past updates. She refers to him exclusively as "mailman," is incredibly dismissive towards him during "Happy Haunting," and in general she seems to not want him around. But she was watching Eddie all day from her spot on the tree, being able to tell why he was upset from the outside looking in. She assured him that everyone just wanted to give him a break, quietly dispelling his fears of being unneeded. She's the one to invite him to the Housewarming party he wasn't told about. And she tells Frank that something is wrong with Eddie.
Why would she tell Frank of all people that Eddie is upset? By all accounts she shouldn't have any reason to believe that those two are especially close, they rarely interact out in public and when they do they address each other only by last names. But as these last two updates have shown, Sally knows things she's not supposed to, she sees thing that she's not supposed to. She likely knows that Frank and Eddie are far closer than they're meant to be and just this once she's willing to use that to keep Eddie from spiraling any further. Interestingly enough, she also leaves the two of them alone just as Frank is starting to become concerned, as if she knows that Frank can only show his true feelings away from prying eyes.
Sally doesn't like Eddie but she's not going to let him be pushed out of the picture. She brings him to the Homewarming party he wasn't invited to- potentially putting herself in the line of fire- and makes sure that Frank knows something is up with him. By all accounts, Sally is now silently rebelling against the malicious force lurking in the neighborhood and using her forbidden knowledge to do it. As she says herself-
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nerdpoe · 6 months
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Danny decides to open a haunted house for Halloween-in Gotham. For kicks. He reserves the opening night for the Bats and only the Bats. The Bats do not have a choice in this.
They all wake up in the haunted house.
Their rogues, who had big plans, also wake up in the haunted house-but they don't get the toned down spooky version Danny's working on for potential customers that he's doing a test-run with via Bat testers.
No, the Rogues are locked in the basement with the ghosts of everyone they've killed.
Danny's got Tucker running the cameras, Sam helping coordinate the Ghosts, and Danny himself is running the actual spooky bits.
In theory, it's the perfect haunted house.
The best way to test it though, he feels, is against heroes that face scary things every day.
So.
Red Hood walking down a hallway, sees feet dangling from the ceiling. But there's a convenient beam blocking their view, so he strides up just as the feet vanish-and that's a solid wooden ceiling.
There's a note with a smiley face.
"Please rate your haunting experience on a scale of one to ten! :)"
Robin sees a shadow, and he chases it. And chases it. And chases it. And foolishly he somehow manages to let it lead him to a dead end-only when he turns around, the shadow is in the door.
And it's just a being made of pure shadow, with elongated limbs, breathing with a horrible wet rasp as it stares down at him.
Then it disappears.
In it's place, there's a note.
"Please rate your haunting experience on a scale of one to ten! :)"
Red Robin hears Batman call out for him to look something over, so he goes into the room.
Batman isn't there.
Batman's voice whispers in his ear from behind.
"Never thought you'd fall for that~"
The door slams shut.
Red Robin turns to open it, but it won't open. Not even if he picks the lock.
The floor creaks, and when he turns around he sees Batman standing right there-only for him to dissolve piece by piece.
In the puddle of weird green goo, there's a note.
"Please rate your haunting experience on a scale of one to ten! :)"
Bruce is in what looks like a child's room.
The temperature drops, and he braces for a supernatural event, because this is clearly what's going on.
The air stands still-and every single toy's head snaps to look at him.
They open their mouths and scream, green goo gargling up and spilling out of their lips.
The lights cut out, then they come back on; and the toys are all arranged around him in a peculiar pattern.
There's a note at his feet.
His lips quirk up against his will.
"Please rate your haunting experience on a scale of one to ten! :)"
Nightwing knows he's being fucked with.
He knows it.
He recognizes the room he's in-it was in the pamphlet for the new haunted house opening in Gotham. He'd really wanted to go, actually, but he was kinda sad he didn't have anyone with him.
He wanted it to be a family outing.
But from what it looks like, this is probably a test run. No ones emergency beacons have gone off, and there's only swearing in the comms cut through with mild amusement on Bruce's part.
Ugh, he doesn't want spoilers! He wants to go through it for the first time with everyone else!
"Hey, um, I was actually planning to come here with my family! I don't really want to be spoiled on anything, so can I skip this? And can I have anyone you haven't tested it on skip it too? Cuz they're probably friends or family and I want to be on the same knowledge level of what to expect."
The air itself seems to pause.
"Ah, shit, I'm sorry man. I didn't even think of that; I'll pull Spoiler and Signal before we start their runs."
Nightwing turns towards the intercom and waves cheerfully.
"I mean, we'd definitely be down to walk through the house tonight, but I want to do it in a group so we can laugh at each other."
"Oh, for sure, I just got too caught up in the 'creepy' part of the haunted house. The exit is hidden in the wall to your left, just pick up the rotary phone and it should pop out."
"Alright, I'll be waiting for them at the front!"
@simplestoryteller
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shower-phantom-ideas · 5 months
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Bruh emotional support ghost kid? Well thats what they are calling him
Suicide cases in gothem are about to fucking plummet boiz cause this one weird blue eyes, black haired boy is now heading to your location.
How does he know where to be? Having a bad day and are all alone? No the fuck your not cause don’t turn around now but theres some shiny blue eyes coming at you from that dark ally. Oh shit hes here to drop some information about you and your lost loved ones that he should know. Oh god the closure. How could you have been afraid on this sweet, creepy, boy who just helped you find your way.
Meanwhile Danny is chillin in Gothem cause the GIW hate it there (none of they equipment actually functions in Gothem so it’s either super haunted or actually not haunted at all). Then all of a sudden he gets approached by a random ghost begging for his help because their sweet baby girl is about to do something horrible. Oops now all the ghosts are following their most loved ones around just to make sure they are there to rush to Danny for help when all else fails. Now hes getting to fulfil his protection obsession double time because one hes helping protect people from themselves and two hes protecting everyone in Gothem by stopping people from becoming villains for revenge. Plus he gets to see first hand how hes making a difference because all those people he saved are sending him some good vibes from all across Gothem.
Thank god he followed Jazz around so much to slightly absorb some of her phycology knowledge over the years. Plus it was actually pretty interesting so she gave him her old text books. Shes also helping him deal with the rare events where he can’t save someone. Just a moment too late or he stops them but they later succeeded in the hospital. Neither are his fault. Now only if he could convince his core of that.
Anyway why Gothem you ask? Amity Park would have been just as good tbh but imagine Batmans face when he finally gets to be face to face with the emotional support ghost boy. Why is he here? Bruce is fine. Batman is fine. Hes not gonna do anything crazy. It’s just a hard time of year. Around their death always gives him grief. But hes an adult and can manage it.
“You know they are so proud of you.” The boy states. As if it’s clear as day, even though it’s Gothem and never a clear day. Batman blinks at him, stunned for a moment. “What?” This boy can’t possibly know that. No one will ever know that, Bruce can only hope. “They see their home, full of such life. That big house that felt so empty, so cold, to them as well for years. Then you filled it with Family and Love like they had always wanted for you. They are so proud of what you have turned it into. Somewhere full of life and warmth.” A small smile graces his face as finally “you have made your parents so proud” and its all he can do to contain himself. Emotions are running high and sue him because he really did need to hear that ok. The boy suddenly looks to Bruces right with a confused face “aren’t all basements like that though?” Before Bruce can even get a word in hes gone. Just vanished before his eyes.
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deadsetobsessions · 3 months
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AU of my Gotham/Tim Drake! Danny where Danny doesn’t know any knowledge beforehand about the DC universe.
Danny doesn’t know how he got here, but the fact that he now shares something in common with Vlad other than their technical halfa status disgusts him
His new name is Timothy Jackson Drake. It’s so far removed from Danny that his parents had him examined for deafness because he didn’t respond to it. He got better at it, at putting on the mask Janet and Jack Drake wanted to see. So they took him to the circus.
He meets Dick Grayson. Danny thinks the kid is adorable, even if Danny himself is technically younger. He sees the flying Graysons fall. The buzzing in his head doesn’t go away.
He’s five, when the fading spirit of Gotham reaches out and pleads her King to protect her city in her stead. She is fading. He says yes, because she’s one of his. The buzzing in his head settles and oh because that’s what’s been missing this entire time. Danny didn’t have a haunt and Gotham gave him one.
He grieves when she dies, the new title settling around small shoulders, and the city grieves with him. In the city proper, Batman and Robin are having the worst night of their lives in the sudden storm.
He’s nine. Robin is Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson, in turn, is an idiot. Batman… well, he’s at least mentoring and protecting the child vigilante, which is more than Danny ever had. He grows fond of them. How could he not, when they tried their hardest to help his city? To help him?
He shows himself, to the duo, in his Phantom form. It’s still him, still modeled after Danny Fenton’s face instead of Tim Drake’s. Ghosts are a reflection of the soul, after all.
“Who are you,” Batman demands, shielding Robin with half a step.
“Gotham.” He replies. Danny wills the city to affirm his claim and the city wraps its arms around the vigilantes. Batman and Robin understands, a deep well of pure knowledge being tapped into in ways they weren’t truly meant to understand.
“…How?”
“Magic,” Phantom says, dry. He tells them of city spirits, and that they can call him in times of dire need.
Dick calls him to help with Two Face. Two Face learns the pain of unmelting ice to the balls.
His core aches when the Bats fight, but Danny knows now that it is inevitable. They’re part of his haunt, his ‘fraid. He knows these things far before they come into fruition.
Dick moves to a sister city. Phantom expands his haunt to Bludhaven because he doesn’t, won’t, ever leave his Robins to themselves.
Nightwing is hopeful, is pleasantly surprised, and very suspicious when he shows up during patrol.
“Gotham…? What are you doing here…? This isn’t, well, Gotham?”
“Satellite City. It is an extension of myself. You were Robin, yes. You’re Nightwing, now. But that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you when I can.”
Phantom goes back, and finds a kid trying to steal tires to make a living. He guides his Knight to him. The starved features, the bones Danny could see, it tugs at his core. It feels like the Ancient of Fate themselves were pulling him along.
“How’d you know I was taking the wheels?”
“Gotham.”
“Are you… high on shrooms or something?”
Bruce sighs. Batman asks Gotham to meet the new Robin, and chuckles when Jason is surprised by the glowing green figure.
Phantom hides this Robin just as much as the last one. He curls shadows around his vigilantes, sometimes at the same time, and softens what little sounds they made while stalking through his city for crime.
He makes small jokes with Jason. Danny forgets, a little, the crushing loneliness of being Timothy Drake.
“I didn’t kill Garzona!”
“You-”
Batman stops as a chill he’s never had experienced directed at him weaves around his neck. An angry Gotham.
“He didn’t kill him.” Danny slides a cold hand on Jason’s shoulders.
But the damage had been done and the next day, Batman is begging Danny to tell him any clues of where Jason had gone.
“Ethiopia.”
He clears the way for Batman to get to Robin. He clears the way for Bruce to get to Jason.
He’d fallen into the trap of believing that Batman would handle everything when in the end, he’s just a man in a mantle that demands more than he ever thought he’d have to pay.
Robin is dead and Danny grieves. The skies crack open and pours a torrent of smogged rain water upon the streets of Gotham. Despite that, Crime Alley is untouched by flood. They say the second Robin was protecting his home.
In a way, it’s not wrong.
Gotham fishes Batman from the bay, carelessly tossing the broken Joker against a shipping container.
“You can’t keep doing this. You’ll die.”
Bruce, Batman, lays on his back, eyes glazed and empty. “Maybe I want to.” He admits. And Danny can’t lose someone else. It’s already bad enough he feels the death of everyone in his city, he can’t lose him too. But Dick won’t come back. He already denied Gotham when Phantom had asked him to come back. Granted, Dick was nervous about denying him the entire time, but Danny realized that he’d lost a brother in the colors his parents chose for Dick. Danny- Phantom had cradled Dick in a swaddle of shadows and comfort.
“Alright.”
“Is it? Alright? I- I don’t want to fail you, Gotham.”
“It is. You’ve always made me proud. You will always make me proud. Whether it be by different name, it matters to me not. Stay. Heal.”
Like Dick was given permission, like he received a hint of peace, Dick Grayson crumpled to the floor and sobbed into Gotham’s shoulder.
(Later, long after Dick Grayson realized his little brother was also his city personified, he cries again into Tim’s shoulders after the later dropped a flower pot perfectly on top of Catalina Flores’ head.)
Gotham, Phantom, Danny makes a choice.
“Tomorrow, a child will show up at your door. You will let him in.”
“No- I can’t. I won’t.” He knows what Danny will ask of him.
“You will.” Danny doesn’t ever do it with his people, with his city, but dire times call for dire actions. It is an order. And Batman is Gotham’s knight. “You will. You will train him. You need a Robin to leash your brutality. I need a Robin, for Robin is my hope. The city’s hope. Our people’s hope. Do not forget the goal you have set out to accomplish in my city.”
Batman rages at him, until he falls unconscious from the wounds he’s gathered. Danny brings him home. He tells Alfred what to expect tomorrow. Bruce wakes up, eyes fixated on the crack that appeared on Danny’s neon green face. “Did. Did I do that?”
Danny nods slowly.
Batman crumples into Bruce Wayne. “Okay.” He says. “Alright. Tomorrow.”
Gotham watches him, unreadable. “Tomorrow.” He says, before fading away.
Tim Drake shows up at the door. Nightwing shows up not long after. Tim Drake adapts to Bruce Wayne’s cold looks and brutal training. Slowly, but surely, he leashes in Batman’s grief fueled brutality and less criminals go to prison with half of their lives beaten out of them.
Batman doesn’t see Gotham as much anymore. He feared that he’s angered his city, that he is no longer welcome.
When Tim figures it out… he allows the roads and the shadows to help Batman once more.
Batman stared intently at the extra coverage. “Thank you,” Tim hears him whisper. “I’m sorry.”
And when Jason Todd comes back to life and attacks Tim in the tower, Tim lets Hood beat him. Gotham had failed him, as Jason’s city. He deserves it. (He doesn’t but Danny had gone past the point of being healthy about his own physical wellbeing. Perhaps being a city spirit this long had affected him, even with the King’s title mitigating the worst of the damages.
“HE REPLACED ME!”
“Because I ordered him to.” Tim whispers, past the pain of a broken leg.
“You? Order Batman around? If you’re going to lie, make it a better one, Replacement.”
Tim catches Jason’s wrist, the one holding the knife to Tim’s throat.
“Robin,” he says simply, allowing Gotham to come out and peer at the child that is his.
Jason stares, disbelieving. Gotham had… Gotham had come by and approved of his plans to clean up Crime Alley. Gotham had extracted a promise not to damage the buildings.
“No.”
His city stares back and him and Jason stumbles away. Tim shifts into Danny, into Gotham.
“You…”
“I am Gotham. I- I did not want to wear these colors. They were yours and Dick’s. But Bruce was hurting the city, he was hurting me. So I made sure he stopped.”
Jason stares at the new cracks, the fresh ones he just caused and the old ones he does not remember being on Danny’s ghostly skin.
Jason swallows. “I’m sorry.”
“As am I. I am sorry I was not there to save you. I am sorry that you died.”
Jason stares at him. The Replacement is Gotham. Jason almost destroyed his city.
“I am glad that you’ve returned. That you’re alive, now.”
“…Really?”
“Always.”
Alternative Version of the above Tower Scene:
Jason slides the knife against the Replacement’s neck.
Danny sighs. “I can’t believe I’m dying again.”
Jason pauses. “What the fuck did you just say, Replacement?”
Danny rolls his eyes at him and Jason rethinks his decision of not offing the little fucker right away.
“You think you’re the first one to die in this household? Get a grip. I did it first, way before you did, jackass.”
Tim is 14. He’s a child. What the fuck is Jason doing?
“When…?”
“How do you think I became Gotham, little bird?”
Jason freezes. And then he’s scrambling backwards, the knife flung away in his horror.
Tim shifts into Gotham and Jason bites back a cut of regret and bitterness.
He… no, what? What even is happening?
“Why is the Joker not dead? You… you told me that you loved me. That Gotham… that-”
“I’m cruel, little bird. The Joker would not suffer as much if he were dead.”
“He’s killing people! He’s killing your own!”
“So everyone thinks.”
“What?”
“I am Gotham, little bird. Mass hallucinogenic gasses are so within my reach to the point it is concerning. Perhaps you should help Ivy with the city clean up?”
“Huh?!”
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yuujispinkhair · 5 months
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Brother (Part 2)
When you start dating Yuuji, you don't know that your sweet sunshine boy has an evil twin who wants to have his brother's girl, too.
Part 1 ++ Halloween Masterlist 2023
Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) + Yuuji x Reader Genre: Horror, smut Word Count: 6k Warnings: 18+, dark content, consensual sex with Yuuji + noncon with Sukuna. Rough sex, degradation, humiliation, getting called slut, whore, cheater. Forced orgasms, pussy spanking, squirting, cumshots, creampie, kind of forced breeding. Sukuna isn't a nice guy in this story. Sukuna and Yuuji look completely alike. Sukuna doesn't have his tattoos. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.
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The flashbacks of that night haunt your every thought. The memories of being forced to watch yourself in that dirty bathroom mirror and Sukuna standing behind you with his hands all over your body. His sneer, his mocking laugh. The helplessness you felt. The humiliation of cumming against your will and getting taunted for it.
Sukuna broke you that night. And maybe you would have stayed there on the bathroom floor lying in a puddle of squirt and cum after he was finished with you, waiting for someone to walk in and find you. But there was one thought that kept repeating in your mind over and over again: Yuuji must never find out!
You knew he would blame himself for what his brother had done to you out of jealousy.
And so you scrambled to your feet and hastily cleaned yourself before you stumbled back to the party with a fake smile plastered onto your face. When you spotted Yuuji in the hallway, all your instincts screamed at you to run the other way. He looked too much like his brother.
But you forced yourself to stay and smile as he walked towards you and smiled that big sunshine smile and pulled you into his strong arms.
"Cutie! I was wondering where you went. Did you meet some friends? Oh, why are your clothes wet?"
You forced yourself to lie to him when his gaze trailed over you with a worried expression on his pretty face.
"Oh, I knocked into someone, and she accidentally poured her drink over me. It's ok, baby, don't worry."
You forced yourself to go home with him after the party and sleep in his arms. Arms that felt exactly like the ones that had held you captive.
And since that night, you keep forcing yourself to act like everything is fine. You do it to protect Yuuji from a knowledge that will hurt him.
It's been three days since the party. Three days since you met the evil twin. And the shame and disgust still cling to you.
And the fact that the man who did this to you has the same face as your boyfriend makes this whole thing even more fucked up. Anytime you look at Yuuji, you now also see his brother.
And another thing bothers you: Yuuji lied to you.
You remember your first date very clearly. The typical small talk the two of you exchanged to get to know each other. What are your hobbies? What is your favorite color? Do you have any siblings?
You remember loud and clear that Yuuji said he has no siblings.
You are currently sitting on Yuuji's bed, watching a movie, but all you can do is stare at his side profile, watching him with narrowed eyes. Was it a misunderstanding? You can't stop yourself from blurting out,
"Yuuji? Do you have a brother?"
"Huh?"
Big golden eyes blink at you in surprise, and Yuuji shakes his head,
"I only have my grandpa. Didn't I tell you?"
Your heart is beating too fast. He is doing it again!
"I thought maybe you have a sibling who lives somewhere else....goes to college in another town or something, and you forgot to mention them."
"Oh, I see! But no. I am an only child."
He grins at you, that cute big boyish grin, and stretches, causing his hoodie to ride up and expose some of his firm tan abs before he laughs softly and lunges towards you to wrap you in his strong arms and pull you into one of his bear hugs.
You feel irritation well up in you. Why is he lying to you? Yuuji is such a sweet guy. Always smiling, always helping others, always so sweet and fun to be around. He always seems so genuine. And yet. He is keeping a dark secret from everyone. But why?
Is he worried you will leave him if you find out there is another guy who looks like Yuuji but is a violent and cruel sadist? You blink. Maybe that is it.
It must be hell for Yuuji to have a twin like that. Sukuna said he is the family curse. Now that you think about it, you realize that this is true. He is Yuuji's curse. Anytime Yuuji looks in the mirror, he sees the face of his evil twin. No wonder he doesn't want to talk about Sukuna! No wonder he moved far away from his hometown to attend college here!
But what was Sukuna doing at that party? Did he travel here to visit his brother and then see the two of you at the party? Is he gone again now? Or is he still somewhere near? Is he lurking in the shadows? Is he watching his brother's every move?
You gulp hard. It scares you to think Sukuna might be here, stalking you and Yuuji.
Instinctively, you snuggle closer to your boyfriend, seeking comfort, seeking his protection. And Yuuji reacts to it immediately, cuddling you tightly and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, sighing softly before he tells you how happy he is to have you and how much he loves you. His lips find yours and kiss you sweetly before they wander down your body, kissing, licking oh so tenderly, the complete opposite of his brother's touch.
Your anger at him has dissipated. Yuuji is a victim, too, cursed with a twin like Sukuna. And so you let Yuuji touch you. You caress his soft pink hair and moan his name as you spread your legs for him willingly when he asks you in that sweet, low voice if he can please eat you out.
And when he is lying on top of you later that night, fucking you into the mattress with deep but loving thrusts, you find yourself digging your nails into the buff muscles of his back, clinging to him, scratching his skin, as if you want to make sure he will never leave again.
You need him here with you. As long as Yuuji is here, you are safe from Sukuna. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips, arching your back to meet his horny thrusts, begging him for a second round, begging him to fuck you again and again and stay inside you all night.
He doesn't know it, but you need him to claim you back. You need the good twin to overwrite what the evil twin did to you.
You feel guilty the next morning when Yuuji gets up and stands before the bed with his back to you, and you see the deep red scratches your nails left on his muscular back.
But he just shrugs and grins that cute sheepish grin at you,
"Don't worry, cutie. It doesn't hurt, and I really loved how you didn't want to let go of me. That was so cute! I love knowing that I made my girl feel good."
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It's party time again on Saturday, but you go there with an uneasy feeling. You cannot stop the shudder running down your back. You cannot stop your gaze from wandering restlessly through the room, watching, waiting, worrying.
Is Sukuna somewhere near?
You cling to Yuuji desperately, holding his hand the whole time, hugging him, burying your face in his broad chest, unwilling to let go.
He thinks it's cute that you are so clingy and kisses you sweetly, smiling at you so innocent and sweet. It breaks your heart. You need to protect this smile, this innocence.
You realize with horror that Sukuna isn't just Yuuji's dark secret anymore. He is also yours.
He managed to force his way into your life, into your relationship, into your body, and into your mind.
Yuuji gently pries his hand out of your grasp, smiling apologetically before he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek and tells you that he has to use the bathroom real quick.
"I'll be back in a second, cutie!"
You feel like an idiot at how terrified you feel when your boyfriend leaves the room. You stare after him, watching him make his way through the crowd, taller than most of them, his pink hair standing out. Your gaze stays glued to that flash of pink, watching him walk further and further away from you, and with him, the safety you felt leaves you too.
You grab the cold bottle of coke from the table next to you, holding on to it as if it is your lifeline. You feel your breath speed up, and your hands cramp from how tightly you clutch the bottle while your gaze is fixed on the open doorway, heart hammering fearfully in your chest as you count the seconds waiting for Yuuji to come back. This time, you won't leave your spot. You won't wander around alone.
A flash of pink appears in the doorway, and you slump against the wall as a relieved smile lifts your lips. Until your mind provides a disturbing thought. Is that Yuuji? Or is that the wrong twin? How can you be sure this is Yuuji and not Sukuna, who is walking towards you? Isn't that gaze too devilish? Isn't that a smirk instead of a smile?
The relief you felt a moment ago is replaced by panic. Your heart is racing, your vision dancing with black spots. The bottle you were clutching so desperately slips out of your hand and lands on the floor.
You are frozen in place, watching an Itadori twin walk toward you without knowing which one it is. You stare at him like a deer trapped in the headlights, eyes wide, heart hammering wildly.
But then he blinks, and his lips lift in the typical broad smile. You can hear his happy laughter, even across the loud mix of voices.
You exhale loudly and shake your head to clear your thoughts. Stupid. You are so stupid! Of course, this is Yuuji! You curse yourself for being so paranoid and confusing your sweet, loving boyfriend with his evil twin.
Yuuji reaches you and leans down to peck your lips sweetly. He pulls away, and worry washes over his handsome face.
"Are you ok, baby? You look a bit sick. Do you need some cold water? Or some fresh air? Do you want us to leave?"
You smile at him weakly, shaking your head, still feeling shaken but refusing to let the memory of Sukuna ruin your evening.
"No, I'm fine, baby."
You step closer and wrap your arms around him, getting on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply, trying to chase every trace of his twin away. You just have to keep kissing Yuuji. When he kisses you, you know who he is. You know that this is the right twin. That this is your sweet Yuuji.
Your left foot steps in the small puddle of coke, soaking through the canvas of your Converse, dampening your sock uncomfortably, but your lips keep moving against Yuuji's desperately.
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You spend the night at Yuuji's, falling asleep in his strong arms, spooned by his warm buff body, finally feeling at ease here in his bed with his body pressing so reassuringly against your back.
But your dreams aren't that comforting.
You dream of a black hallway with hundreds of mirrors lining its walls. On the other end of the hallway stand two men. They both have the same pink hair and undercut. They have the same face and the same build. And they watch you with the same eyes as they both lift a hand, reaching out for you, silently beckoning you over. Come here, come to your boyfriend.
You wake up with a gasp. The red neon digits on the alarm clock tell you it's still the middle of the night. Yuuji's strong arms are still wrapped around you, his body is still pressing against your back, his warm breath is on your neck.
Warm lips close around your skin and suck. You moan softly, pushing your ass against the warm body behind you, rubbing it over the growing bulge in those boxer briefs. Maybe a good fuck with Yuuji will chase away the lingering uneasiness from the bad dream.
The lips on your neck become bolder, sucking roughly on your skin. The arms around you tighten, making you squeak because it's painful. Large, strong hands dig firmly into the soft flesh of your belly.
Your eyes widen, your body turning rigid as fear crashes over you. Cold dread fills your every fiber as you realize this isn't Yuuji behind you.
"Missed me, brat?"
Sukuna's low, mocking laugh fills your ears, and you spiral into the dark again. You tumble from one nightmare into the next. But this time, you can't wake up from it.
How did Sukuna get into Yuuji's apartment? Does he have a key? Or did he break in? And most importantly...
"Wh.. where is Yuuji?"
Sukuna's nails dig painfully into your skin. His voice sounds rough, angry,
"I don't like it when you talk about him while I am with you! You have no manners, brat!"
His hands grab your tits firmly, kneading them roughly through Yuuji's shirt that you wear for the night. The huge hard bulge of his erect cock is rutting firmly against you, letting you know what he will do to you.
And you know there is no escape.
You are once again trapped in the evil twin's arms. You cannot run from him, and you can't even scream, or you will alert Yuuji. Yuuji, who is probably in the kitchen or bathroom, and if he comes in here and sees you with his twin... You must protect him! He must not know!
And that leaves you here in the arms of this monster.
Sukuna shoves one hand under your shirt, groping your tits roughly, squeezing them possessively, and pinching your nipples between his fingers until they sting from a mix of pain and pleasure.
His other hand pushes between your thighs, forcing them apart so he can yank your panties to the side and expose your pussy to him, giving it a mean, hard slap from behind that makes you gasp.
Sukuna's mocking laughter fills your ear.
"Gotta remind that pathetic little cunt again what it feels like to get fucked right."
His unrelenting fingers slip between your pussy lips and push inside you, making tears well up in your eyes. Sukuna doesn't give you time to adjust but starts fingering you instantly, fucking you with two long fingers, hard and fast, making your whole body tremble from fear and pleasure. To your horror, you can hear the filthy squelching noises of your wet cunt, creaming up against your will.
"Oh, do you hear that? Your slutty little cunt is weeping for me. You thought about my cock every day, didn't you? Don't be shy, tell me all about it, slut! Tell me how much you missed getting fucked by me!"
Against your better judgment, you try to beg for his mercy,
"S...Sukuna, please just stop..."
A long finger curls brutally inside your cunt, pressing against your g-spot and massaging it with firm, rough circles, making your thighs press together and your body shake.
"Uh uh, what did I tell you?"
Of course, you should have known there is no mercy in him. You know his game by now, know what he wants. Sukuna fingers you brutally, torturing your g-spot, laughing when your hips jerk uncontrollably. Your resistance breaks, and you sob softly as tears of shame run down your face, and you tell him what he wants to hear,
"I'm sorry... I missed your cock so much, Sukuna. Please fuck me. Please let me cum on your cock again."
He laughs, opening his mouth and letting his canines graze over your neck,
"Bet you thought about me anytime my brother fucked you. A naughty cunt like yours isn't satisfied with a guy like my brother. You cheating little slut need my cock to fuck you right."
Your breath hitches, and your body goes rigid because you know what will come when Sukuna pulls his fingers out of you.
For a moment, your pussy flutters around nothing, but then Sukuna rams his thick hard cock deep into your wet heat, impaling you on his fat length with one brutal thrust.
Long fingers get shoved into your mouth, stuffing it with them, muffling your cries, filling your mouth with the taste of your own juices. You choke around them, but Sukuna just presses them firmer into your mouth, forcing you to take him from two sides, stuffing your cunt and your mouth as he uses you for his sick pleasure.
He humps you like a rabid animal, fucks you with brutal hard snaps of his hips while he groans in your ear, voice filled with glee and arousal,
"Ah yeah, that feels good. My brother fucked that little cunt so often that it molded to our cocks. You're such a dirty little cock slut, so insatiable, huh? Wanting every Itadori dick to fuck you stupid. Good thing you have two of us to fuck that greedy cunt."
His pace is brutal and unrelenting. His fat mushroom head hammers against your g-spot, torturing you with his cock, making your body react to the stimulation against your will, pussy creaming up for him, body jerking from pleasure in his violent hold.
Sukuna growls in your ear as one large hand grabs your wet pussy, keeping you in place, pulling you back against him. You keen around his fingers when he pinches your swollen clit meanly between two fingers, making your hips buck wildly.
"Take my cock, you slut!"
His taut balls slap heavily against your cunt with every rough thrust. Sukuna's fat cockhead is pressed against your g-spot, hitting it brutally, while his fingers attack your clit with rough strokes, rubbing hard, fast circles around it.
It's too much, too intense. The pleasure is hot and red, making your whole body jerk uncontrollably as you cry and sob around Sukuna's fingers. Your cunt shudders and pulses hotly around his brutal cock.
Heat floods your body as an intense orgasm gets forced out of you. Hot and wild, making you cum so hard that you think you will black out from it.
Your body is shaking from the intensity of your orgasm, pussy twitching hard around Sukuna's fat cock, which doesn't go unnoticed by him, of course,
"You little slut. Milking my cock so eagerly. You want more, huh? Want my cum this time? Was the greedy little cockslut sad that I didn't fuck her full last time, hm? Want to have your pussy fucked full like a big girl? Yeah, tonight you're gonna take my cum. I'm gonna fuck that greedy cunt full of it."
He growls, wrapping his arms around you and manhandling you into another position, on your belly, your face pressed into the pillow as Sukuna mounts you from behind. One of his hands is in your hair, grabbing it painfully and pushing your face down, keeping you firmly in place. But you couldn't go anywhere anyways. Not with his heavy body on top of you, fucking you brutally into the mattress.
He fucks his cock into your tight heat with erratic wild thrusts, giving himself over to pure primal need, punishing you with every hard thrust, chasing his orgasm with rough horny thrusts until you feel him cum in you, flooding your pussy with his hot seed.
"Yeah, take all of it, you greedy slut! I hope you get pregnant and have to carry my brat!"
He groans and growls as he leans down, cock still deep in your pussy, as if he wants to plug you up. His voice is amused when his lips brush over your ear,
"Now say thank you, you little slut."
You sob softly, hiding your face in the pillow, crying from the humiliation you feel as you mumble,
"Th... Thank you..."
But Sukuna's fingers twist painfully in your hair and yank your head up, forcing you to look at his sneering face. You hiccup as you stare at him with wide, tear-stained eyes. His mocking smirk looks even more evil here in the dim red glow of the alarm clock's light.
"Where are your manners, brat? Look at me while you thank me."
You sob weakly but force yourself to do as he commands,
"Th.. thank you, Sukuna. Thank you for f... fucking me.. and for g... giving me your cum."
He chuckles at your words, a sound full of mocking and triumph. One of his large hands grabs your chin, strong fingers pressing into your skin as he leans closer to lick over your cheek, licking up your hot tears,
"See, you can be a good girl if you want. It's a shame that I have to leave already, but my brother will be back any second now. 'Til next time, princess. Can't wait to make you cry with my cock again."
He leaves you lying there, pussy throbbing and full of his cum. You feel dirty, debauched, crying softly into the pillow.
You hate Sukuna so much, and you hate yourself, you hate your body, for reacting that way to him. How can you do this to Yuuji? Cumming on his brother's cock right here in Yuuji's bed? Lying here with your pussy filled to the brim with Sukuna's cum, while sweet Yuuji has no clue. Maybe Sukuna is right, and you are really a slut.
The door opens, and your body goes rigid. Which brother is it now? Sukuna or Yuuji? Somehow, both options sound terrifying at the moment. You are scared of Sukuna, but you feel guilty when you think of Yuuji.
You hastily wipe your tears off and force yourself to calm your breathing as you roll onto your side, pretending to be asleep.
The heavy weight of an Itadori man makes the mattress dip as he gets in bed behind you. You gulp hard. You don't dare breathe as a pair of muscular arms slips around you and a warm, buff body presses against your back.
But then a soft kiss is breathed on your neck, and a happy sigh exhaled against your ear.
Yuuji.
Sweet, strong Yuuji.
You snuggle against his buff body instinctively, needing him, needing his love and strength, even while you are drowning in shame and guilt.
Yuuji chuckles happily,
"Aww, hey, cutie, did I wake you up? I'm so sorry. I got hungry and had to make a sandwich. Come here. I'll cuddle you so my princess can sleep again. Or maybe we can do something else that will make you sleepy..."
His voice turns into a low, raspy whisper, making your pussy flutter even in this situation, as if you are conditioned to react with arousal to the sexy sound of his voice when he gets horny.
Yuuji's strong, muscular arms tighten around you as he nuzzles his face against your neck. You can feel his smile, and it makes things better and worse at the same time.
The guilt makes you feel sick. Here you are, lying in your sweet and loving boyfriend's arms, with your pussy still leaking his brother's cum.
Yuuji's lips trail tender kisses up and down your neck while he hums softly, oblivious to your inner turmoil. His large hands start wandering over your body. But it's such a different touch from Sukuna's. Yuuji's hands are gentle, loving when they slip under the old t-shirt he gave you, caressing your tits sweetly, circling your nipples tenderly until they are stiff and pleasure throbs in your lower belly.
Yuuji moans softly against your skin,
"I love you, baby. You feel so soft and sweet. I wanna spoil my pretty girl."
You can feel his fat cock hardening and pressing hotly against your ass through his boxers, so needy for you. But Yuuji is sweet about it, not demanding, not aggressive. He slips a hand into your panties to lovingly caress your clit with gentle slow flicks, pampering your pussy with his tender caresses.
Your head is spinning, lust pulsing hotly in your clit, making you spread your legs eagerly for Yuuji, pushing your throbbing cunt needily against his loving fingers, wanting to feel him, wanting him to chase away every trace of his brother.
He moans loudly when he feels more of your hot wet cunt, voice so sweet and sexy,
"Fuck, cutie. You are already so wet. That's so hot."
And your eyes fill with tears. You are choking on the guilt and shame. Knowing that most of the wetness is from the orgasm, Sukuna forced out of you and from his cum that's seeping out of you and coating your pussy lips so obscenely.
Suddenly, you see red. You can't take it anymore. You can't just lie here and spread your legs and let Yuuji pamper you as if you deserve it. As if everything is ok.
Nothing is ok! And it's all because of that monster, Sukuna! You hate him! You hate him for doing this to you and to his brother! You hate him for driving this wedge between you and Yuuji! But you won't let him destroy what you and Yuuji have! You won't let him win! Yuuji is the only Itadori brother you want to belong to, and you will prove it tonight!
You turn around in Yuuji's arms, making him gasp in surprise when you attack his lips with a fierce kiss, your hands running roughly through his pink hair, tugging on it and biting his bottom lip as you moan his name.
"Yuuji... I want to fuck, you baby. Let me ride you."
He moans in answer and rolls onto his back, pulling you with him eagerly while he licks into your mouth. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, taking his fat cock in your hand and giving it slow, firm strokes that make him throw his head back and moan loudly.
Your mouth falls open as you watch him in the dim light. He looks just like his brother, just like Sukuna, but the difference is that you are the one in control now. 
Yuuji is just as strong as Sukuna. He could manhandle you and use you just like his twin, but he isn't like that. He is so sweet for you, such a good boy, obediently giving himself to you. You are the one who can do anything you want with him.
It sends a thrill through you, making your skin tingle with excitement and pleasure.
You are breathing heavily, grunting and gasping, lost in a feral need. You hastily pull your soaked panties to the side, not bothering to take them off, too lost in this primal need to get your man's cock into your wet needy cunt.
Yuuji moans loudly when you bring his fat mushroom tip to your puffy wet clit, rubbing it against your little bud, using Yuuji's cock to pleasure you.
Hot waves of pleasure shoot through your whole body, your clit pulsing hotly as you rub it against Yuuji, almost in a frenzy now in your need to fuck him and fuck every thought of Sukuna away.
You feel exhilarated by the power you have. Rubbing your wet messy pussy over Yuuji's twitching fat cock, hearing him moan and gasp. You're teasing his fat cock, basking in what you can do to him, how you can reduce an Itadori brother to a whimpering needy mess.
You watch that pretty face as he moans and whimpers, so openly showing you his pleasure. So submissive and good for you. His lips open in a loud, strangled moan, and then he starts begging you,
"Fuck... ah ah baby! Oh, cutie, please fuck me. Fuck me, baby, please. I need you, please wanna feel you. Please let me feel your pretty pussy around my cock!"
Your cunt is twitching hornily at his words. The power surge almost makes you cum all over Yuuji's swollen tip. But you need more. You need all of him. You finally sink down on his fat length, taking him in you in one eager motion until you sit completely on Yuuji's muscular thighs, his cock buried all the way in you, and your feral groan fills the small bedroom.
You feel dizzy with lust, dizzy with power, unable to hold back now that your boyfriend's cock kisses your g-spot and fills you so fully. You cry out softly, cumming just from sitting on Yuuji's fat cock.
You dig your nails into his buff pecs as you let him feel your pussy twitch around his cock, watching his pretty eyes roll back when he feels your orgasm around his cock.
"Yuuji! Ah, baby, you feel that? That's what you do to me, baby! I love you so much! I love you and your pretty cock, oh god!"
Sukuna could never do this to you! He can break and humiliate you, force you to cum on his cock. But he can never make you want him! You clench your teeth, not giving yourself or Yuuji a break, and start bucking your hips against him, riding his cock eagerly.
Soon you are bouncing wildly on Yuuji's fat cock with your head thrown back, moaning and screaming his name as you ride him hard, not holding back. And he lets you use him, lets you fuck him while his large hands knead your ass. His hips buck needily fucking his cock even deeper into you, so eager, so horny. And so sweet with his loud, needy moans and mewls, with his moaned love confessions and sweet praises.
Your sweet Yuuji.
He doesn't know he is fucking his brother's cum deeper into you with each deep horny thrust of his cock. He doesn't know he is mixing two Itadori seeds in your greedy pussy when he cums with a loud cry and fills you to the brim with his hot seed.
You won't let Sukuna win! You won't let him spoil what you have with Yuuji! Yuuji is the one you love. Yuuji is the one who deserves to cum in you and who deserves your pussy, and who deserves your orgasms. You will give him that! You will be his girl! You will fuck him even harder and cum even more for him than you do for his brother!
You moan Yuuji's name, not stopping but going for another orgasm, smiling when Yuuji lets you, even though he is mewling from how overstimulated his cock is.
And you slide up and down on him feverishly, letting his fat girth drag over your swollen clit until the pleasure peaks again and you feel your next orgasm wash over you in hot waves.
And this time, you finally squirt on him, feeling your hot creamy wetness gush over Yuuji's fat cock and his heavy balls, giving him your all.
He moans loudly when he feels it, his large hands kneading your ass firmly, guiding you up and down on his cock, letting you cum and cum and cum.
"Fuck, baby!! Yeah, make a mess on me, cutie. Fuck!"
Your pussy is overstimulated and puffy from how hard you fucked yourself on Yuuji's gorgeous cock. But you don't stop but keep riding him wildly. It's messy, slippery, and wet from your combined fluids, your cream and squirt, and Yuuji's hot cum that is seeping out of your cunt.
But you need more! You are in a frenzy, driven by the urge to cum on him again and again, making sure Sukuna loses this fucking game!
Yuuji is mewling under you, overstimulated, but letting you use him regardless, so eager to give you pleasure. And you ride yourself to orgasm after orgasm on his gorgeous fat cock, while moaning and screaming his name over and over again.
"Fuck! Yuujiii! Yes yes!! You're gonna make me squirt again, baby!"
You almost black out when the next orgasm rips through you. Your body is shaking uncontrollably, so weak that you just slump on Yuuji's lap, moaning even louder when his fat tip presses even firmer against your g-spot.
But Yuuji's strong hands catch you and hold you, lifting you up and down on his fat cock, letting you ride your orgasm out on him, his golden eyes watching the spot where your pussy and his cock are connected. The spot where you squirt all over him again, making a sticky mess on his cock and his abs, showing him how good his cock makes you feel.
"Yes! Yes! Oh, Yuuji!! Oh, baby!! I love you! No one could ever fuck me as good as you!"
I hope you are still here somewhere, Sukuna. I hope you hear me fuck your brother and how much I love it. I hope you hear me scream his name like I will never scream yours.
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You spend the following week being a clingy girlfriend to Yuuji. Always hugging him, always snuggling against him, following him from room to room. He notices it but doesn't mind. He wears a bright, sunny smile on his pretty face, happy that his girl loves him so much. And he moans so sweetly for you when you keep him up every night for hours, fucking him almost desperately until the bed is a mess from your combined cum.
You try to keep Sukuna away by always being by Yuuji's side, telling yourself that the evil twin will not dare approach you while his brother is by your side. 
But it is hard at times.
Yuuji, Sukuna. Sukuna, Yuuji. They look the same, and it fucks with your mind. Sometimes, you get scared. Sometimes, you think Yuuji's fingers dig too firmly into your flesh. Sometimes, you think he is smirking at you. Sometimes you shudder when he fucks you from behind with hard, fast thrusts, and his low voice growls in your ear, sounding too similar to his brother.
You hate that the evil twin has that effect on you. That Sukuna somehow always seems to be with you, even when you are with Yuuji. But you have to make the best of this. You will love and fuck Yuuji even harder. You will spend even more time with him. Maybe this way, you can chase Sukuna completely away from your mind.
Maybe after college, you and Yuuji can move far away, making sure Sukuna will never find you again.
An old friend of Yuuji visits for the weekend. A guy with tousled black hair and dark blue eyes who watches his surroundings with a cool, intelligent gaze.
Fushiguro Megumi. He grew up with Yuuji. Went to school with him. They played together as little kids.
You wait until you are alone with him before you ask,
"Megumi?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever met Yuuji's twin brother, Sukuna?"
Megumi's head whips around, and he frowns at you. His gaze is surprisingly hostile. Blue eyes narrow as he looks at you and answers in a cold voice,
"What do you mean? What sick game are you playing? Of course, I haven't met him. Sukuna died in the womb! Yuuji consumed his brother before he could be born. It's something that bothers him a lot. That's why he doesn't talk about it!"
The world around you seems to crumble away. You stare at Megumi, eyes wide, fingers tingling. For a long moment, a heavy silence fills the room. And then hysterical laughter bubbles out of your mouth. You can feel your mouth lift, stretching your cheeks in a horribly grotesque shape as your loud, hysterical laughter carries through the apartment, sounding shrill and insane.
And deep inside Yuuji, his evil twin throws his head back and laughs, too.
Do you understand it now, you stupid girl? There is no running from me. He is I, and I am he.
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Thank you so much for reading the last part of "Brother"!! I hope you enjoyed it!! I had a lot of fun planning and writing this story. I love the horror elements, and I hope it could give you an uneasy feeling too lmaooo. It's so terrifying to me to imagine that the guy you love has the same face as the guy who does all those horrible things to you.
And how did you like the ending?? Ahhahaa, I am laughing with Sukuna. So much for running away together with Yuuji to escape his evil twin ;)
The smut part with Yuuji affected me A LOT. I hope my fellow Yuuji lovers had a feast with this!!
I hope you enjoyed this horror mini-series! Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be sweet.
2K notes · View notes
valeskafics · 1 month
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"Punishment" - Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Reader
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a/n: a request for my darling @xxhellfirebunnyxx - i hope this lives up to your expectations dolly my dear 🩷🩷. this is my first full oneshot for ani, so be gentle with me besties haha🩷
Summary: Anakin puts you in your place after you put your safety at risk on a mission.
TW: dubcon due to power imbalance between master and padawan, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, spanking, choking, inappropriate use of the force, fingering, p in v sex, breeding kink
Word Count: 2,750 words
Rating: 18+, MDNI
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Star Wars characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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When you were told the Chosen One would be replacing Jaro Tapal as your Jedi Master, you were a bit conflicted. Being nineteen years old and so close to facing the trials, the change is somewhat unsettling. But, with the shortage of available Masters to pair with younglings and Anakin Skywalker’s padawan having recently left the Order, it made sense. Anakin didn’t want to have to start from scratch with a youngling. Having someone who already had foundational knowledge as his padawan and wouldn’t even remain a padawan was the ideal situation for him.
What neither of you saw coming, however, was falling in love. Somewhere between the late night meditations, the early morning training sessions, the off-world missions, Anakin became the person you can’t live without. And you became the love of Anakin’s life, his only source of happiness. This love affair of yours, however, if exposed, would have serious repercussions. So, you kept it a secret. Sneaking into each other’s quarters to exchange forbidden kisses, lingering touches to the other’s hand during a mission…
The complication that arises from your Master being in love with you is his overprotectiveness when you two go on missions. Not only is he trying to protect his padawan when he protects you, but he’s trying to protect the woman he loves. And while you appreciate what it is he’s doing, you have a mind of your own. You’re just as stubborn as he is and refuse to be sidelined while he gets all the glory.
Which has come back to haunt you today.
The ride back to Coruscant couldn’t be more tense. Anakin had specifically instructed you to stay with the ship and wait for him to return. Naturally, you did the exact opposite. The ride home is usually the part of the mission where you sit in Ani’s lap, letting him teach you some of his piloting tricks. But today, you sit in the seat beside him, drumming your fingers against your thigh. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Anakin look so serious, and that’s saying something.
“Oh, come on, Master, don’t be so mad-”
“Don’t be so mad?” He repeats, his voice sharp as he turns to glare at you, “You do realize you could’ve been hurt much worse than you ended up being.”
You roll your eyes at his words, ignoring the truth behind them, “But I wasn’t. My idea worked.”
“Because you got lucky,” Anakin snaps, “Your job as my padawan is to listen to me. You’re too damn cocky and one of these days, you’re going to get seriously hurt.”
“I’m not cocky!” You protest, an annoyed expression on his face, “I’m confident. There’s a difference.”
“You went into the middle of the battlefield, alone while outnumbered by the enemy. That’s reckless,” Anakin shakes his head in disbelief, his voice cracking slightly as he speaks, his voice teetering on the edge of that of a disappointed Jedi Master and a lover who nearly lost their other half, “You’re lucky you only got a bit banged up.”
“It was a distraction! The clones were coming in right behind me!”
“It was still a dangerous situation. The mission was to secure the area. Not to take the fight to the enemy. Your job was to stay by the ship and report anything suspicious.”
His gaze lingers on the scrapes that litter your body, the bruises that are slowly darkening against your skin. But, too stubborn to admit any wrongdoing on your part, you simply slouch in your seat and grab your datapad as you mumble out a “whatever”.
Anakin shakes his head, grabbing the datapad out of your hands and tossing it aside, “No.”
“Hey, give that back-”
He grabs your chin with his metal hand, jerking you up to face him, demanding your attention, “If you’re going to act like a reckless child, then I’m going to treat you like one. No more screen time until we get back to Coruscant.”
Your jaw drops, “What?! You can’t be serious, Anakin!”
When he shows no indication of changing his mind, you give him an annoyed glare, “You suck.”
“And you act like a child. Now stop whining.”
You hate to admit it, but that firm, domineering edge to his voice is enough to have you crossing your legs, squirming in your seat. It’s always gotten you a bit hot under the collar when he exerts his dominance over you, but right now, you have a point to prove. And that’s not going to happen by bending over for him and “yes sir”ing. No, you need to be strong. You need to resist him.
-
The rest of the ride back to Coruscant is spent in somewhat uncomfortable silence. You stare straight ahead, refusing to look at Anakin. But you’re painfully aware of his presence, and the way he keeps leveling you with that blue-eyed gaze.
It’s late when you finally get home. No one is in the hangar, no one in the hall. Everyone is already asleep for the night or out on missions of their own. Force’s sake, you wish you could go find Kestis or one of the others to complain to, but no such luck. You start to stomp back toward your quarters, footsteps echoing through the corridor, when that cold metal hand grabs you by the wrist, stopping you from going any further.
“Ugh, what?” You demand.
Anakin pulls you back toward him so that you stumble against his chest, your free hand reaching out to balance yourself. The tension between you is thick, like a time bomb ready to explode. His eyes bore into yours in that typical way he has of making you feel naked under his gaze. Vulnerable. 
“Apologize.”
His voice is low, stern. So very demanding.
But you’re not giving in, responding in an almost petulant voice, “No. No, I don’t think I will, Master.”
“No?” He arches a brow, his tone still the same but a smirk playing on his lips, “Then you’ll get a punishment instead.”
You let out a yelp of surprise as he pins you to the wall, grabbing your wrists and holding them above your head with one hand, “Anakin, not here! Someone could see us-”
“Yes, here,” he cuts you off, leaning in, his forehead pressed against yours, “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
“Ani-” You cut yourself off at the reprimanding look he gives you, correcting yourself, “Master, come on. Let’s just go to my quarters and forget-”
“I’ll say this once,” he replies, the intensity and heat in his voice almost too much to bear. Almost forcing you to look away, as if staring into the sun for a moment too long, “Apologize and I might consider kissing you, little one.”
You narrow your eyes, glaring up at him, “Who says I even want to kiss you-” You let out a cry of surprise when he grabs you by the hips to turn you around. Before you can say another word, he has your hands pinned over your head with his metal one, his flesh hand landing a hard smack against your ass, “Ouch! Anakin, what the kriff-”
“I said I might give you a kiss,” he taunts, “Never promised to actually give you one. What I did promise you was punishment for acting like a brat all day.” He lands another slap against your ass, your whine echoing through the hall, “Are you going to behave better now, padawan?”
“Oh, fuck you- OW!”
You can almost hear the grin on his face as he whispers in your ear, his free hand squeezing at your ass, tugging your robe so it falls to the floor, getting rid of one layer of the fabric that keeps the two of you apart.
“You act like a child, you get punished like one. I’ve got all night, little one.”
“Ani, stop being a jerk-” You whine as he tugs your training pants down to land a smack against your bare ass, your entire body trembling from the feeling, “Someone’s going to see!”
“I’m not Ani right now. You lost the privilege to call me that when you acted like a brat,” he chuckles darkly, “Apologize and I’ll stop, padawan. Come on. I’ll wait.”
Before you can even say another word, he lands another slap, admiring the way your ass jiggles at his touch, the way you barely hold back a moan of pleasure at the way he’s treating you. Anakin knows you better than you know yourself. Knows your needs. Knows when you’re acting like a brat because you want him to remind you who’s in charge here.
“No way, I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Oh, but you did,” he replies, his voice a low rasp against your ear, breath hot against your skin, “It’s my duty to praise you when you’ve done well, but also punish you when you’ve done wrong. I’ve been too lenient with you, little one.”
Every smack comes down harder than the last, making you whine pathetically, though you can’t help rubbing your thighs together, the sensation of his calloused palm coming down against your flesh making you throb between your thighs. Force, you hope he can’t tell. You’ll never live this down.
“Master, stop,” you whine, earning a laugh from him.
“Apologize.”
Through gritted teeth, you mutter out a rather insincere, “Sorry.”
“Hm?” Anakin questions, turning you around to face him, a playful gleam in his eyes, “I didn’t quite hear you, kitten. Say it a bit louder.”
“I’m not saying it again!” You scowl, squirming in his grip, “Let go.”
“Oh, come on, little one,” Anakin chides. He stares down at you, head tilted to the side and a mocking little grin on his face, “I want to hear a real apology. That wasn’t good enough.”
“You’re a jerk, you know that?” You blurt out, “This is padawan mistreatment-”
His hand moves to your throat, squeezing slightly, just enough to remind you who it is that has the upper hand here, “You want to talk about padawan mistreatment? When you disobey my commands and go out of your way to put yourself in danger, do you think that’s acceptable?” He squeezes a little harder, your hand moving to rest on his wrist, your breath catching slightly at the oddly pleasurable sensation, “As your Master, I will punish you however I want. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re acting up because you want to be punished. Because you want me to remind you who it is you belong to, little one. Is that it?”
“No,” you insist, letting out a soft moan as he squeezes once more, releasing your throat, “Okay, maybe I was a little bratty, Master-”
“A little?” Anakin scoffs, tugging at the padawan braid that falls against your cheek, the slight pressure making you let out another noise of pleasure. His lips move to your neck, ghosting along your skin as he speaks in a husky voice, barely above a whisper, “I swear you just do this because you want me to punish you.”
“No…”
Anakin clicks his tongue, moving to cup your mound over the fabric of your pants, stroking you gently, two fingers pressing against you, watching as you squirm, “Really? Then why are you so wet if this wasn’t exactly what you wanted, kitten? Why are you trying to ride my hand like a desperate little slut, hm?”
“Ani-” You correct yourself, whimpering softly as he lands a slap between your thighs, “Master…”
His fingers move up, sliding under the fabric, tugging it downward so that your pants rest just above your knees. Anakin moves your panties aside, letting out a low groan as he feels how wet you are against his fingers. He pushes two inside you, watching your lips part, your head falling back against the wall as he begins to pump them in and out of you. His thumb rubs against your clit, fingers moving so fast that the pleasure is almost too intense, but you know if you say anything he’ll just be even more smug about it. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel the cool metal of his hand grasp your jaw, his voice a low whisper as he demands for you to keep your eyes on him.
“Want you to look into my eyes while I fuck your pretty little pussy with my fingers,” he all but snarls, his gaze burning into yours.
You’re so close to him, close enough to kiss, but you know he won’t give you that satisfaction. Your breath seeps into his breath, your body molding against his as he brings you to your peak, your cries of ecstasy echoing throughout the hall as white hot pleasure shoots through your entire body. All you want now is for Anakin to bury himself inside of you, to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. But he just keeps pumping his fingers, now adding a third. You don’t realize that it isn’t actually his hand but rather he’s using the Force to pleasure you, until he cups your face, that damn smirk on his lips.
It’s so wrong, so forbidden what he’s doing. Using the Force to give you pleasure. Fucking his padawan. But the two of you don’t care. You stare up at him and he stares back at you, your eyes rolling back as you come undone once again.
For a moment, you’re terrified he won’t give you what you want, but when he moves to lower his pants slightly, tugging at his cock, the tip a red angry color, leaking precum, you know he’s about to take you.
Anakin pushes inside you with one slow thrust, bottoming out in you, just staying like that for a long moment. The feeling of having him inside of you, the tip of his cock pressed right up against your sweet spot, is almost enough to make you sob with need. Your arms remained pinned in place as his free hand grasps his lip and he begins to fuck into you like some sort of depraved, wild animal. His golden curls are matted to his forehead, blue eyes burning with desire as he presses a kiss to your neck.
“Almost lost you,” he whispers, his hips snapping against yours faster and faster, “Almost lost you.”
He takes out his anger at the situation on you in a way you can’t help but enjoy. You feel a hand around your throat, but see none, knowing he’s using the Force to apply this slight pressure. Reminding you that you belong to him.
His balls slap against you as he fucks you hard and fast, muttering beneath his breath, “If I fuck you enough, fill you up enough, get you pregnant so you can’t go off being a brat on these missions,” he hisses, gritting his teeth as you squeeze around him, “You’re going to look so pretty, little one, your stomach all round with my baby. You want that, don’t you? You want that with me, you little fucking brat?”
You nod, letting out a mewl of his name, “Yes, Master, I want that, I want you, please-”
“Then give me another one,” he rasps, thumb circling your clit, pressing down gently making you whimper, “Give me another one and say you’re sorry.”
You come on his cock, squealing his name, apologies tumbling forth from your lips as if you never had any reservations about saying sorry. Anakin gives one, two more thrusts before spilling himself inside you, the thought of you bearing his children being one that brings a pleasant shiver up and down his spine. 
His hands move to caress, forehead pressed to yours as he whispers, “Please don’t scare me like that ever again. I… When I saw them shooting-”
“I’m sorry, Ani, I promise. I’ll try not to be so reckless,” you promise, brushing your nose against him, “I’m not saying it’ll work all the time. But I’ll try.”
Anakin nods, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, tender kiss, holding you so delicately that you wonder if he thinks you could break if he gripped you too hard, “Let’s go to bed, little one.” He takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist, “Despite your reckless behavior, you really made me proud today. I love you. So much.”
“I love you too, Anakin. More than words could ever express.”
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727 notes · View notes
dragonsholygrail · 26 days
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Reminiscent Nightmares
Astarion Ancunin x Durge!Reader
a/n: I am consumed with soft wordless sex. Total physical communication showcasing a couples intimate knowledge of each other. I love I love I love.
summary: After a nightmare of past pains you’ve inflicted, Astarion is right there to comfort you. While you feel as though you can’t talk about it, Astarion will be there for you in other ways until you can. He will always be there for you.
warning: MDNI +18 make outs, groping, soft p in v sex, clitoral stimulation. Nice and simple.
word count: 2K
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Your brows furrow, shaking your head, even as you lay in a deep sleep. Squirming around in your bed a whimper escapes you as visions— no memories, whirl through your mind in a torturous loop. Pools of blood come in waves, crashing against the walls and flooding the vision of your dream. Endless faces pass the view of your eye, being presented with them all before they fall off to the side and another takes its place.
Kill after kill you’re reminded of every single one. Your mind not allowing you to forget about a second of the pain you inflicted on others. An unending stream of the damage you caused and the torture you brought upon others. All of it now coming back to you.
By the time you’ve gone through them all, you’re whimpering, tears streaming down your cheeks even though you remain asleep. Just when you think it’s over, when all is done, when you’ll finally be able to gain some release… one more head slowly floats through the river of blood.
The head slowly comes to a stop and the face that greets you is none other than Astarion’s.
You scream and a second later Astarion is shaking you awake. Your eyes shoot open and scatter around as you try and take in your surroundings, your breath is heavy with panic, and you can’t stop squirming as you feel your skin crawl. The idea of Astarion being gone, and worse by your hand, haunts your every waking thought.
When Astarion gently cups your jaw, bringing your gaze to his, you cry out at the sight of him, more tears streaming down your cheek. Astarion shakes his head, quietly shushing you in hopes to calm you down. Your tears seem unable to stop as your eyes move over his every beautiful feature. Your hands reach up, taking his face in your hold. Thumbs rubbing over smooth cheeks. You feel him. He is here. He is unharmed.
Your eyes catch onto your hands and you know that he is safe. He is safe in your embrace. You aren’t like that anymore. You don’t do those things anymore. Neither of you do. Ever since everything ended and you’ve both settled into your new lives in Baldur’s Gate. You would never hurt him, not then nor now. While there were some close calls you have full control. You’re positive.
Nothing will ever harm him. Not you or anyone. You two will spend your days protecting each other from whatever threat may come your way. You’re a team. You continue rotating through those thoughts, filling your mind with them as you inhale and exhale deeply, meeting Astarion’s worried gaze once more. His free arm moves around your waist and he brings you impossibly closer. The feeling of his body against yours furthers your comfort.
With time you eventually calm down, your breath slowing down and the panic dissipating. When fully relaxed against his body, Astarion’s eyes furrow in a silent question. You blink back, not wanting to even think about it right now. Not wanting to think about anything. So you lightly shake your head at him and his features drop just as quickly as his question, understanding you immediately.
Instead he uses his hold in your jaw to gently guide your lips to his, continuing to provide you with closeness and comfort. You inhale sharply through your nose as your lips collide. A small moan escapes you as you lean into his touch, lips simply connecting for a moment. But you both easily fall into a gentle rhythm as your lips caress each other lovingly.
Astarion’s hand slides into your hair and he uses it to pull you in closer, groaning as his mouth devours yours. Both of you quickly become swept up in the easy dance of your mouth’s movements. You whimper, everything Astarion being the only thing you can focus on. The only thing you can think about.
When he slowly brings you back down on the bed, hand on the back of your head for extra cushion, you moan again, flicking your tongue along the seam of his lips. Astarion rolls on top of you, legs cradling your hips as he opens his mouth to you. You both grin as you take turns teasing each other with your tongues. His actions meant to distract and comfort and you weren’t ashamed to say they were working.
Astarion slowly works to undress you both, taking his time, savoring the taste of your tongue on his. Only separating when you have to and then his lips are crashing back down on yours. You moan, softly pulling him down once he’s finished, your body shuddering to feel his cold skin brush along the heat of yours. The contrast sending sparks up your spine.
Your body arches into his as you feel his hand slowly making its way down your form. The sensation of his mouth and hands continuing to drive all worrying thoughts out of your head. Astarion takes his time with you, wanting to feel every groove and curve that makes up your body. His hand slips between you both once he reaches your hips.
A hiss escapes him and you feel his breath ghost across your face. Your brows furrow and you whimper, hips jolting up, knowing his next movements precisely. A moment later you feel the crown of his cock parting your folds. Your eyes snap open only to meet Astarion already looking down at you. A soft expression on his face as he gages your reactions, always making sure you’re ok. You do the same, reaching a hand to touch his cheek. You bring his forehead to rest against yours, taking a moment to connect with him emotionally.
You gasp as he teases the hole of your sex and your heart skips a beat at the slight quirk of his mouth. Which only grows wider once he hears the way your pulse instinctively reacts to him. Your moans rip through the silence as Astarion pushes inside of you with ease. Your eyelids drop as you let out a whine, the feeling of him entering you has your body filling with warmth.
Astarion easily moves straight into a languid pace, his length gliding through your wet heat as he works you open, stuffing you full of him. Your hands slide into his hair, foreheads remaining connected as he thrusts inside you. Both of you maintaining eye contact. The intensity of emotion in his gaze takes your breath away. He wants to be here for you. To look after you. And though you may not be ready to talk, he is right here to comfort you.
Your nose nuzzles against his in a silence appreciation, your chest blooming with even more love and devotion for this man. Astarion grunts, a low rumble in his chest at your sign of affection, before picking up his pace only slightly. You sigh at the feeling of his cock massaging your walls, head falling back slightly as hips roll into yours. Soon your body falls into rhythm with his, pushing back against every pump into your core.
A soft cry leaves you as he hits your G-spot. Arms tightening around him, you’re desperate to feel him close. Astarion’s hands squeeze at your waist while his cock leisurely pumps its way inside you. He nips at your jaw gently, wanting your attention back on him. Your breath stutters as your hips meet once again in a quiet smack. Tilting your head up you meet his gaze and his lips are immediately connecting with yours, causing you to groan.
Heat swirls at the bottom of your belly as you feel your orgasm begin to grow. Your hands softly play with Astarion’s curls as you kiss. Your lips moving in tandem with the steady rhythm of his pulsing length. The feeling sends your heart racing and your skin tingling. An easy passion falls over you both like a thick cloud, blocking away the rest of the world and all that remains of you and Astarion.
You whimper against his lips, mind growing hazy as you’re lulled by his soft lips and the occasional nip of his fangs. Your nerves are on fire, your entire body prickling over as you savor each time he fills you. With the building pressure within you, you know you’re getting closer and closer to your climax. Astarion groans, feeling the way your muscles tense underneath him, feeling how your body radiates heat those moves through him and drives him with a need he’s only ever truly felt with you.
His hands caress your thighs, soothing out the slight twitching occurring as you find yourself just on the edge. Then a hand is moving to the apex of your thighs, his diligent fingers quickly finding your clit. Your jaw drops slightly and he uses this to his advantage, tongue slipping into your mouth to brush along yours. Your body jolts into his touch and you melt against the slow circles applied to your bundle of nerves.
It only takes a few more soothing strokes before your walls are fluttering around his cock and you’re falling off the edge, your release coating his cock. You moan loudly and Astarion swallows it all down, mouth latching down on your tongue and sucking lightly. Your body shudders in response, making the slight shaking of your body all the more worse as your orgasm moves through you in gripping shockwaves.
You clench down on Astarion, not even aware of your actions as your release consumes you. Astarion grunts, his stomach clenching and with a few stuttering thrusts, he sinks down inside you before spilling himself. Your eyes roll back into your head and you gently grind against him, milking him for every last drop.
Both of you rock into each other slowly, helping each other ride out your highs. Your kisses grow lazy, mouths smacking together, unable to stay away for longer than a few moments. Your eyes flutter as you desperately try and stay awake. Astarion watches you, his own eyes half-lidded, a storm of powerful emotions brewing in the depths of his red gaze. Yet you don’t back away from it, instead lulled into its embrace.
Astarion rolls you both onto your sides once you’ve both calmed down. He keeps you connected as he draws you tight against his chest. You breathe deeply, your body relaxed, contentment now coursing through you as you lay in Astarion’s arms. Both of you protected. Both of you safe. You slowly begin to fall asleep, grateful for your love and the way he flawlessly has come to understand you.
A moment later you feel a hand rest on the back of your head and your body jolts a bit, the touch waking you up more. Astarion shushes you gently, leaning in to press calming kisses across your brow. You hum and snuggle back in closer to him, accepting every kind of comfort he’s been giving you since your dream rousted you two up. It was only when he started to kiss your forehead did you realize you still remain partially tense. But with his lips on your skin your body completely melts into his and you fall into a dreamless sleep without issue.
Astarion stays by your side, not wanting to get up or move away from you. Watching over you as you rest and hoping the night passes by without anything else waking you. He knows you will talk to him once the morning comes. Share your concerns and let him be there for you in that way as well. He will always be there for you so long as you wish him and doesn’t mind having to prove so. Looking down at you and thinking this all through, he can’t help but lean in and nuzzle into your hair. He closes his eyes, for even if he won’t really sleep, he’ll bask in the act if it means lying with you.
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florencemtrash · 2 months
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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Ten
Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader
Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.
Warnings: Mentions of cannon-typical violence. Azriel and Y/n have a late night conversation. Fluff and other stuff.
The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist
Masterlist of Masterlists
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“Gwyn says hi by the way.” 
Azriel choked on his coffee, bitter flavor rising in his throat. Nesta sauntered into the kitchen, cool eyes glaring at the back of his head. Your familiar silhouette was nowhere to be found. 
Not here. His shadows whispered. With Rhys.
“Calm down you idiot.” Nesta’s voice dripped with unrestrained contempt as she poured herself a cup and sat. His tan skin glistened with sweat after his morning training session, inky tattoos splashing across his bare chest and trailing over his shoulders, down his back, and up to his neck. In the cloudy afternoon light it was difficult to tell where his shadows ended and where his tattoos began. 
“Y/n’s not here. You’ll have to walk around half-naked some other time.” 
Azriel winced. “That isn’t what—”
Nesta brushed him off with a wave of her hand, eyes narrowing over her mug. Azriel felt like a bug pinned down under a microscope. A crushed butterfly about to hang.
“How is Gwyn doing?” he asked gingerly, casually. 
“She’s fine. Believe it or not, the world did not end when you broke up with her.”
Again he flinched. “I’m sorry, Nes,” he whispered rather pathetically. 
“I’m not the one you need to apologize to. But you already know that.” 
There seemed to be no shortage of people he needed to apologize to: Elain, Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, even Lucien — especially Lucien. His cheeks burned to think of the absolute mess of things he’d made. Feyre had been the quickest to forgive him for the debacle with Elain and Gwyn. But as Cassian had mentioned at dinner, there was a reason everyone was staying away from the River House, and the reason was him. 
Two years ago he’d challenged Lucien Vanserra to a blood duel for Elain’s hand. It had felt so right at the time, so obvious: three sisters for three brothers. But it was only when their deaths had loomed over her head with shocking reality that Elain realized what a horrible mistake she’d made. The mistake they’d made together. 
“Call it off,” she’d commanded him, blocking Lucien’s bloody, heaving body. The son of Autumn’s sword had been kicked away, scraping across the rock with an eerie scream and disappearing over the cliff edge. But Elain had stayed, soft brown eyes begging, “Do this and I will never forgive you. What we did… it wasn’t right. It was a mistake.”
A mistake, she’d called it. Years of silent longing and bare bone brushes of their hands in dark hallways. All a mistake. Those words had haunted him. They’d chased him into Gwyn’s kind arms where he once again mistook the friendship he felt towards her as love and broke her heart in the process. Add that to his lackluster response to Mor’s coming out and… well he had a lot of work ahead of him. 
He hoped he would be forgiven in time, but that didn’t mean he’d twiddle his thumbs until that day came. He scoured Prythian’s publishers for new releases of adventure, mystery, and romance books — the raunchier the better — and they showed up every month at Cagniv Library like clockwork. The priestesses still thought it was part of a trade bargain with the Day Court. He’d sent Elain and Lucien plenty of letters and gifts, but either they weren’t being opened or they weren’t bothering to respond. He wouldn’t blame them either way. As for Mor and Emerie, they were gone with the wind, too busy infiltrating lands and enjoying an extended honeymoon on the continent to bother with him. 
That cold stillness in Nesta’s eyes transformed into pity. It was hard not to be reminded of her own failures when she looked at him. Seeing him angry. Watching him crawl into the darkest corners of himself and burn every bridge he crossed had been a shock to Nesta’s system. A plunge into freezing waters that brought pain and clarity. 
She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just give them time, Az. They’ll come around. If they did it for me, they’ll do it for you.” “I think our situations are rather different.” 
“I don’t.” 
“You didn’t try to kill anyone.”
She grimaced. “I came close.”  
He stayed silent for a long while. He washed his cup. He dried it. He put it in the cupboard. 
“Can you—can you please not tell Y/n?” he begged. His voice was small and quiet. He’d been a fool in the past and made terrible decisions in the name of love. Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. They’d all lived more in his mind than in his heart — people he could never fully grasp, and therefore never lose. They’d been safe. Easy. 
It didn’t feel that way with you. You felt solid and warm, even if he’d only touched you once. You felt more real to him than anyone else. You felt like someone he could actually have. Which meant he could lose you before you’d even become his to lose. 
“You can’t keep her in the dark forever. Not about your history, not about the bond. If you’re going to learn anything from your brothers, learn that.”  
“I know,” he whispered. “I just want to get it right this time.” He had to get it right this time. “I want her to fall in love with me because she wants me, not out of some sense of obligation. I want…” I want to be worthy of her.  
Nesta shook her head, a laugh escaping despite her best attempts to stifle it. Azriel looked at her like she’d gone mad.
She giggled again. “It’s funny. For a male as handsome and desirable as you, you have the worst fucking luck with women. The Mother must have a twisted sense of humor.” 
Maybe she did. But Azriel was still enough of a romantic to hope that he had learned from his mistakes, and that his bad luck would end with you. 
You shoved the notebook off Rhysand’s desk, loose papers flying out like uncoordinated doves. 
“I told you notetaking was a futile effort.” The High Lord didn’t even look at you, too busy searching for invisible dirt beneath his manicured fingernails.
You groaned and dropped your head against the book he’d handed you two hours before. 
Rhysand had to smile at your frustration. It was a wholly different experience teaching you magic compared to teaching Feyre. With Feyre, her greatest barrier had been her lack of knowledge (and her hatred of him at the time). She’d been thrust into the world of fae without preparation, but it had left her malleable and adaptable. It was like teaching a newborn how to walk — a mind that could absorb more because it knew so little.
But you knew too much. You could spout off magical theory at the drop of a hat. You were a pedagogical master with a thousand mnemonics to your name. You were the first to wake in all of Velaris, making your way to the Library before bodies could fill the streets, and you only returned when the crowds had either turned in for the night or gone out to drink until daybreak. You swallowed every history book on the Night Court, Clairvoyants, daemati, and death gods until you felt untethered from the earth — until your mind began to float outside your body, buzzing with thoughts that never went away. 
But none of that mattered. Your power was an immovable object that couldn’t be controlled by logic or studying. 
You shoved against that power now.
“Good,” Rhysand nodded, leaning against the window, “You’re getting better at it.” 
He lingered in your mind, hovering over the depths of your emotions and memories like a bird ready to break water. It had taken some time before you felt comfortable with the intrusion. Your first lesson together, Rhysand’s presence in your mind had made it impossible to focus. Panic had seized your mind and your body until you could do nothing more than brace your hands and feet against the chair’s leather upholstery. You could have sworn you saw a head of silver hair to your left. The gentle pitter patter of rain had sounded like dripping blood. 
It wasn’t like that anymore. Henna had left you with a useful skill — you could wind your consciousness around Rhysand and keep him there, suspended in that indescribable space where your thoughts lay so he could do no more damage than you permitted him. 
Through your mind he felt the narrowing of your power. You imagined it like a blanket wrapped around your body, suffocating but familiar. It was this power that laced your skin and made contact with others so hard. You imagined the fabric shortening, creeping up your arms and legs, curling around your torso and squeezing like a snake. Inch by inch you tightened it around you, burying it within your chest instead of carrying it openly like a wound. 
You held a music book between your hands — Nyx’s to be exact. The little Lordling showcased a certain aptitude for the piano his father could only dream of, and being as young and protected as he was, the worst kind of emotion imbued within its pages was agitation. You could hear one of the ballads written within it as clearly as if Nyx was sitting beside you plucking out the melody. 
Tighter. Tighter. Tighter. You swallowed your power. Pulled what was outside inwards. Slowly but surely the music faded away until the book was as all books should be — silent. 
Sweat beaded your brow. This was the most difficult part — not tuning out the music, but keeping the volume at zero. 
Rhysand checked his watch. Waited. Checked it again. 
You lasted thirty minutes before your power burst out along your skin once more like a thousand prickling needles. You shuddered, half-disappointed, half-grateful that you could hear the melody again.
Rhysand clapped his hands, slow and proud. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room was dangerously close to five bells. Rhysand nodded. 
“Perfect timing. We’re done for today.” 
“I can go for longer,” you pleaded. 
“I know you can.” Rhysand pushed off the wall, polished leather boots gleaming. He was wearing his Illyrian leathers this time, the scent of wind still clinging to his skin after a visit to the northern war camps.
Old Illyria lasted thousands of years. The clans used to flow up and down the Steppes, following the tundrabeast that lay claim to those mountainous regions and were said to speak for their god Ramiel — Starbreaker, Night Herder — after whom the mountain is named. They don’t move with the cold winds anymore, even if they’ve kept their names: Ironcrest, Bloodborn, Windhaven, Seawhip, Hawkseed, Timberbane, and a dozen others. And they don’t make sacrifices, although the Blood Rite might be a close—
Rhysand rapped his knuckles on the desk to grab your attention and splayed his fingers wide. “I also know that the moment I dismiss you, you’ll scamper off to the Library to work until you can’t see straight.” 
You shifted in your seat. “I like it there.”
“That’s besides the point. If you keep going at this pace you’ll burn out. Then you won’t be able to help anyone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 
Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You hadn’t thought he’d noticed. “I know what it feels like to burn out and it’s not going to happen anytime soon. I promise.” 
Rhysand suppressed the urgent need to roll his eyes as you gathered your things and walked out the door. “And here I thought I worked too much,” he muttered beneath his breath. 
You carried Henna’s journal tucked within your new Librarian robes — black with ivory detailing and wide sleeves that narrowed at the wrists. You kept a hand on it during late nights at the Library. You ate with it propped open, black splotches swimming across the page like worms. You slept with it beneath your pillow. 
But alas, it would seem the book was going to make you work to wring meaning out of every odd symbol.
You were muttering to yourself as you walked back and forth in front of the fireplace. You’d effectively commandeered one of the reading rooms on the seventh floor, leaving the library only when required for Rhysand’s lessons. Helion’s most recent letter lay open on the table with Cherp’s resting just beneath it. A map hung crooked on the wall, four athenaeums circled in bleeding red ink alongside a list of books that had gone missing — the ones that people knew about at least. 
The Alcove, Ares House, Folkmen’s Bard, and most recently, Argot’s.
 Three Librarians dead. Their throats slit. Blood dribbling down their burgundy robes as they’d sat hunched over their desks. The week before it had been two from Ares House caught swaying from the third floor balcony. 
No one has any idea how it happened. The wards were never set off. Nothing in the Library was disrupted. I tell you this only because you deserve to know what’s happened to your people. Continue your training. Continue your research. Do whatever you need to do. But leave the court business to me, dear. I’ll write to you again when I can.
~ Helion 
“It doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled, drumming your fingers against your hip where the book remained silent. “None of this makes sense.” 
You’d used every ounce of Rhysand’s training on the book. You’d imagined your power sliding over it like water, fire, needles shooting through cowhide, a hammerstrike, every metaphor imaginable. You’d glared at it with an intensity that would have disintegrated a lesser object. 
When that failed, you had moved onto solving the murders and thefts at your father’s court. You couldn’t content yourself with sitting in one of the cushy, high-backed chairs in Rhysand’s office sipping imported tea in porcelain cups while athenaeums were on lockdown. 
The pattern was shockingly simple — Koschei was going after books that could be traced back to him. Books that might give his enemies the upper hand: folktales alluding to him and his siblings, translated texts from old Bauldish that might have proved useful in deciphering Henna’s book, secondary accounts of the age before High Lords ruled. 
If you were Koschei you’d go after Godswoods next — the collection of athenaeums dedicated to religion. Then on to The Gallows — the athenaeum on death and dying. The two were intricately tied to one another, but people tended to write books on dying before coming up with explanations for what comes after. You’d spent a great deal of time there following your mother’s death, and you could picture it now — solemn black bookshelves looping around a circular room that tapered up into a point like a blade pointed to the sky. 
You finished writing your letter to Helion, along with the list of books you wanted pulled from the archives. Cagniv Library may have been a glowing beacon in the Night Court, and a place of sanctuary for the priestesses, but it was nothing like you were used to.
You held the paper out in front of you, Helion’s glimmering pen tucked behind your sharp ears, and blew. The black letters lifted off the page and faded away like a breath in cold air. The message was already writing itself back into existence in Helion’s office.
“It doesn’t make sense.” 
You scribbled out another note, this one for yourself with another pen. You ripped it to pieces and fed it to the fire. 
What was Koschei looking for now? Was he still looking for the book that now rested against your hip, or had he turned to some other prize? And why kill the Librarians and set all of Day Court on high alert? 
Henna had been careful. She’d stayed hidden until she was forced to tear down the Alcove to get the book. Whoever was causing the killings now was either a showman or a fool. They left bodies hanging from rafters. They carved smiles into throats. They let the Librarians know what they were stealing whether they meant to or not. They left patterns scattered among wreckage for someone like you to figure out. 
It all felt… juvenile for lack of a better word. Someone young. Someone who wanted to prove themselves in a loud way. Someone whose ego hadn’t been tested yet and wasn’t listening to Koschei’s commands in their entirety. 
Azriel. 
You couldn’t help but think of him. 
Azriel was nothing like that. 
He wasn’t loud. He didn’t vy for attention. He didn’t seek the light in a room. His confidence was quiet and true. His kindness took the shape of the shadows that lingered by your ankles. It took the shape of the robes you wore now. He was the only one who’d seen them at The Alcove. He was the only one who could have requested the court seamstress to make a copy and leave it hanging in your closet.
No. Azriel was nothing like that.
Azriel’s eyes lit up like embers when you slid through the front door, weary but bright-eyed and cradling your journals against your chest. The shadows he’d left behind with you slithered across the floor like mist. 
She’s been in the Library all day. Working. The shadows whispered in his ear. She thought about you. 
Azriel smiled. He’d thought about you as well. “I was wondering where you’d gone.” 
You gasped, closing the door louder than you intended. You’d developed a talent for sneaking in and out of the River House unnoticed to the point where Cassian considered hiding bells in your pockets. Nyx had tried to do it as a joke, but you’d caught him giggling too loudly in your bedroom. 
You brightened immediately, a broad smile appearing on your face. Azriel felt his heart leap, then quiet as he caught the scent of parchment paper. 
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow?” You whispered, tip-toeing through the dimly lit hallway to where Azriel was in the sitting room. You sank into the couch with a groan. The hardwood desks at the Library had not been kind to you. 
He shrugged and brushed back his wind-thickened hair, shifting to face you better. A crumb-coated plate lay on the table and he still wore his leathers. He must have just arrived home. 
“I flew as quick as I could. I wanted to be home.” With you. 
He’d gotten so used to the feeling of you sleeping across the hallway that he’d flown the last three days without sleep. It was worth it to see you again. From the looks of it, you’d not fared well in his absence either. Your eyes had that glassy, half-there sheen: a perfect mixture of exhaustion and mind-crackling clarity. 
“And how were the Mortal Lands?” You tucked your knees beneath you and leaned against your hand, fighting the sleep that seemed to grapple for you now that Azriel was home. His wings were spread wide and you resisted the urge to close the last few inches between you and the talon that glimmered in the faelight like obsidian glass.
You’d never been that far south. You’d never had reason to. But Azriel flew far and wide. The Continent was now Mor’s domain, but the secret goings of Prythian and the Mortal Lands belonged to him and him alone. The Spymaster of the Night Court. The Shadowsinger.
Azriel shook his head. “Quiet. Koschei hasn’t touched them yet as far as I can tell, and the Mortal Queens don’t care. They seem to think that they can handle Koschei because he’s agreed to bargains with them in the past.” 
You made a noise of disapproval. “Like they handled Hybern? The only reason they’re still standing is because fae fought their war.” 
The scattering of human armies that had arrived on that battlefield had belonged to no crown. They’d either fought for the bloodlust or the money. You could respect them for that. 
Azriel tipped his head to the side, following the curling of his shadows around his shoulders. “But they are still standing. They don’t know what we sacrificed to keep them safe. That’s the problem with humans. They forget too quickly and get complacent” 
“It would seem we have the opposite problem. We can’t help but remember everything,” you said, with no small amount of bitterness. 
He wanted to keep you talking. He wanted your thoughts. Wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice after three weeks of silence. You weren’t aware of it, but the bond had felt thin the further he’d traveled away from you. Like a tightrope stretched to its snapping point. Now that he was back, and you were here, his heart didn’t feel like such a strenuous burden.
He smiled. “I think that’s just you. I know plenty of fae who are forgetful and empty-minded.” He leaned back, stretching his wings out to the side, and winced. They were whipped raw and tender from the flight. 
Without thinking you got up and moved to the fireplace, feeding wood to the flames until it crackled happily. There was a reason Cassian and Azriel loved to bath their wings in sunlight every chance they got. The heat helped the soreness and eased the wind’s rough edge. 
It also drove color into your cheeks and set your hair alight in a soft golden haze. You were a marvel. An angel with a halo to match and Azriel drank in the sight. 
“Like who?”
“Cassian.” 
You smirked and chucked the last of the wood into the flame’s gaping mouth. 
Cass was far from empty-minded, but after decades of being feared as the Lord of Bloodshed he was grateful that people loved him enough to be just a little mean. He gave and received friendly blows like kisses on the cheek and smiled all the wider for it. To threaten his life was the same as saying I love you. It must be why the Mother had made Nesta his mate. She said I love you to him all hours of the day. 
Azriel asked you what you were thinking, and when you told him he felt some of that pain slide off his shoulders like rain. He threw his head back and laughed until his chest started to hurt again and you thought about how rare that sound must be, and how much you loved it. 
“How are the others? Rhysand told me Feyre’s sister is down there along with your friends.” 
Azriel sobered up quickly and cleared his throat. “Yes. Elain, Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa.”
His voice caught on two names: Elain and Lucien, and it didn't escape your notice. He sounded... nervous.
“And? Are they alright?”
He rolled his shoulders and looked out the window to the inky black sky. Vassa would be sleeping now in her human form, and if she was lucky, she’d wake up in the morning still within the manor’s grey stone walls. Safe. Home. 
He shook his head gravely. “They’re nothing short of terrified. Koschei has Vassa under a spell that would normally keep her tied to his lake. He let her go during the war against Hybern and he’s been allowing her to stay, but… everyone’s just holding their breath and trying to prepare for the day he’ll take her back.”
You shivered and wrapped one of the spare blankets around your shoulders. You couldn’t imagine a life where every waking moment held the risk of being torn away from everything you held dear. The anticipation would have broken you more than the act itself. 
“I’ve heard of her. The firebird.” You murmured softly. You imagined a creature with glowing eyes, blue-red feathers streaking behind like ribbons set on fire. Azriel narrowed his eyes in confusion, and you explained, “Ares House records all wartime information. I read the reports. We’re very thorough.”
Azriel smiled. “I would expect nothing less.”
Silence passed in comfort, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Vassa.
“Do you think they’d be able to stop it if Koschei did make her go back?” 
“I don’t know, Y/n.” And it was driving him mad to have Koschei hanging around like a forgotten word at the end of his tongue.
“I hate this,” you spat out, “The not knowing. I hate it.” 
Azriel stared at you, hazel eyes silently begging you to continue. Shadows curled around your body, gently tugging you closer to him until your knees were a whisper away from touching. 
You both sighed softly into the quiet air. Even the River House seemed to be at rest for the night. The usual background hum of cooking and cleaning were absent. It was just you and the Shadowsinger. 
“How are things going? With the book?” 
You slipped your hand through the slit in your robes and pulled it out. The gold chain rustled, glowing faintly from your touch. 
“It’s going.” You shoved the book back out of sight. You couldn’t even stand to look at it after the hours you’d spent agonizing over its pages. “Rhysand’s been teaching me to contain my power better. I can actually touch some things now.” 
But not him. Still not him. And it was killing you. 
Azriel gave another one of his small smiles. The ones that never failed to make the world a smaller, more manageable place. “That’s good.”
“I just… this may sound silly but, I’m not used to things being this hard. With my powers a lot of things just sort of came naturally for me. But now people are dying and I’m just sitting here on this very expensive couch and I can’t do the thing I was brought here to do and I… I don’t like feeling this useless.” 
“Hey, hey, hey,” Azriel murmured. He closed the space between you even more, shadows hovering over your face in silent permission. When you didn’t pull away they brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over your face with a cool, silky touch. 
Azriel was all calm darkness and you imagined that if you reached out to touch his chest your hand might just slip through him like he wasn’t there at all. He seemed too good to be real. 
But he was real, and he was sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fan your cheeks. 
“You’re not useless. Never believe that. Not even for a second. And even if you were useless, it wouldn’t matter. You’re worth more than the things you can do, remember?”
“I remember.” Your voice was quiet and thick. 
You rested your cheek in the crook of your arm as you gazed at him wearily. 
Azriel kept his hands out in the open, one hand reaching across the couch cushions before stopping mere inches away from yours. His shadows closed the remaining distance, slipping in between your fingers to mimic Azriel’s touch. 
“Did you uncover any more secrets of mine while I was gone?” Azriel asked as your eyelids began to droop. 
“I confess I forgot to look. But maybe now that you’re here, I’ll start again,” you mumbled into the encroaching dark.
“I look forward to it,” were the last words that filtered through your ears before you fell asleep to the untranslatable whispers of shadows. 
Nyx bounded down the stairs, leaping the last six steps before landing soundlessly on the floor with a soft bend of his knees — just like Azriel had taught him. Feyre gave a proud nod before ruffling his ebony hair and Rhysand beamed. 
Let me. Feyre adjusted the wrappings around Rhys’s chest that kept Velaria’s plump body swaddled and comfortable. Her pink lips opened in a yawn that had both mates sighing. 
“Uncle Az!” Nyx raced forward towards the sitting room and then froze, mouth opened in a surprised oh.
Azriel slept like the dead on the floor, chest rising and falling with the beat of his gentle breath. You lay stretched out on the couch, one arm propped beneath your head and the other dangling over your waist and off the cushions. Your fingers swayed an inch above Azriel’s chest, shadows swimming over his torso and creeping up your arms so that even in sleep you were connected to one another. 
Feyre gasped softly at the picture. The sunlight blanketing the both of you in peach fuzz. The faint uptick of Azriel’s lips and the smoothness of his brow. The way you looked like you were bleeding into him. The black of his shadows and your robes. 
Rhysand rubbed Nyx’s shoulder and kissed Feyre’s cheek.
Let them sleep, Nyx. We’ll get breakfast at Huth’s today.
Nyx let his parents lead him towards the door without protest. He’d never seen Uncle Az sleep so soundly in his life. 
<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->
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Author's Note:
Yeah... this slow burn is burning... but I just love it so much and I love writing all the sweet little moments they have and their conversations with one another and I hope you're enjoying it as well.
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dcxdpdabbles · 5 months
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hello hello! After a few posts of this premise I just had to say something and because you just make them come to life I just had to ask :) anyway, Danny let’s say in seriously injured by the giw or even his parents but he is reverting to his core and he goes to Clockwork to help since he’s the one he’s the most closest ghost to and kinda his guardian ghost, Clockwork sees that he himself will not be able to help forever and finds a different solution. He takes Danny’s core and makes a magic safe guard and puts his core inside in the guise of a doll like this one:
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But with Danny’s coloration! He sends Danny to Gotham and ends up being picked up by Robin!Jason who thinks he’s cute and gets attached, Danny is weak but trying to gather ectoplasm but sends a sense of gratefulness to Jason who feels it but is a bit confused but happy he saved a doll. He brings it with him everywhere and takes it with him everywhere but when Jason dies and buried Danny is sat at his grave and he wakes up a little earlier with Danny and brings with him. He gets a strange attachment and feeling of safety with the doll and then is able to talk to it and Danny and him become closer and when he eventually reunites with everyone and things smooth over he feels it’s fine to bring Danny the doll to the mansion and the others realize that Jason has a haunted fucking doll and with the already thin trust they can’t do hair when Danny messes with them with moving their stuff, appearing out of nowhere, and being all around creepy but he helps Alfred so Jason has no issues and finds it funny. There are probably times where they try to dispose of it anyways but comes back completely fine and they become even warier but Danny is just having the time of his life while eating his ectoplasm while helping them with cases and finding things and such and Alfred even defends him when they try to talk Jason around about the creepy doll and is like “Did you stay at my grave 24/7 in all weather? That’s what I thought.” When Tim tries to get evidence he takes a picture of the doll all he sees is a boy around the age Jason died with pale soft blue eyes staring back with a soft smile that even if it wasn’t really creepy he still felt a chill down his spine
First of all, the photo almost gave me a heart attack. Haunted dolls terrify me (ironically, I fear ghosts.) But honestly, I love the prompt, so here you go!
Jason moves back into the manor- sort of. He's still in the middle of his hostile takeover of Crime Alley, but things are a little less stressful between the family. Maybe it was because Jason's Pit Madness was slowly disappearing, thanks to his friend Danny.
Danny was a great listener and always willing to help Jason sort through his feelings and thoughts. He was the reason that Jason chose to try to talk things out with Bruce before going through his insane idea of attacking Tim at the Titian Tower.
Which, you know, Tim was grateful he didn't actually go through with it after finding the plans in some of Jason's stuff while helping him move. The fact he wanted to wear his old Robin outfit- which would not fit on his body now- would have been beyond traumatizing enough, thank you very much.
"I know." Jason laughed as the rest of the family crowded around the plans. Even Damian seemed a bit disturbed by what was written. "Danny made me realize I didn't have the skinny legs to pull off the outfit."
Tim has never met Danny, but he has heard about him. Jason spoke about him when he followed Bruce and Jason around with his camera, which was enough for him to know Danny was likely a childhood friend.
Of course, Danny went by the code "Doll" in those days. Personally, Tim had always assumed that Jason and Danny shared a relationship that went beyond friends.
It had been another reason that Jason was his favorite Robin. If Robin could like boys, then Tim could too, and the knowledge that one of his literal heroes was like him helped Tim accept himself faster.
He never brought it up, even as Jason slowly gained control over Crime Alley as a Crime Lord- one that didn't kill because it would make Danny sad, which was another point in his secret boyfriend checkbox list.
Everything was fine- until Bruce found out about Danny.
"Jason, I thought you outgrew Danny," Bruce uttered hesitantly as Jason explained how Danny had fallen over himself when describing his Titain Tower plan.
Jason's eyes flashed green at once, and everyone in the cave grew tense.
"I will never outgrow Danny!" The second oldest barked, his neck muscles straining.
Now Tim knew that Danny was a secret, so he never brought him up despite the burning need to ask every question under the sun about him. Jason wasn't out to the rest of the family- detectives or not- that was up to Jason to decide when they would know.
He just always assumed Bruce knew since, you know, his son called his best friend Doll back when he was fourteen and running around in green spandex.
How could he not know? Did he want Jason to change his cape out for a rainbow and sing musicals at the top of his lungs on Wayne Tower?
Actually.....Jason did sing in musicals at his drama club. Honestly, Bruce was in denial.
Jason may not be out, but Tim wouldn't let Bruce bully him about his lover!
"Jason can have whatever friends he wants! And feel whatever he feels about them!" Tim snares, and that causes Dick, Damian, and Steph to bristle. They stand beside a huffing Jason, slowly coming down from his rage at the sight of support.
Cass and Alfred watch from the Batcomputer, a tension around their eyes the only sign that they, too. Bruce intelligently raises his hands in a placating manner.
"I did not mean anything wrong by that, Jason. I'm just surprised Danny still has such a strong hold on you." Bruce starts, his eyes never leaving his boy's face, even with all his other children flocking around him. "I thought Danny was lost when you died."
There is a long pause where Tim considers the words. It's a fair assumption. After all, Danny thought Jason had died and been buried. Why would he wait around after that?
Even the Bats still didn't know what caused Jason to come back. How would a civilian possibly begin to consider his boyfriend returning from the grave- or Tim assumes to be a civilian since Danny had never joined them on the field? He had to be in the know for Jason to tell him the plans comfortably.
"He waited every day, twenty-four seven at my grave," Jason tells Bruce, puffing up his chest. "He was with me when I was in a coma and when I was practically brain-dead on the streets. Hell, he was even there when the League of Assiasns brainwashed me!"
Damian jerks in surprise. He always gets taken aback by how casually Jason admits being part of the organization of his upbringing, no matter how briefly. Not even Bruce does that. "I....was unaware Daniel had been with you. I never saw him."
"Talia allowed me to have him with me just as long as I kept him tied up in my closet so he wouldn't be spotted."
Everyone but Alfred and Bruce step back, staring in horror at Jason. Tim can figure out by their reactions alone that everyone in the Bats had come to the same conclusion as he did about Danny being Jason's lover then.
After all, it's hard to hide that kind of thing from the family of detectives.
How could I have missed this? Tim thinks in dismay. Quickly, his brain runs through every time Jason has so much as hinted at Danny, trying to spot the signs that apparently his brother was abusive and honestly psychotic towards his boyfriend.
"Jason," Dick began in the same casual tone he usually used on hostile witnesses. "Where is Danny now?"
" Upstairs in my closet. He kept trying to escape, so I had to switch to chains." The responses are as easy as they are casual. Tim's stomach drops.
Quickly, he makes eye contact with Steph, who very quickly lowers her chin at him, and then his eyes flicker to the others. Damian's hands have curled, while Dick moves casually to stand behind Jason, which will make it easier to restrain him.
How long had Danny been up there? How many days and nights did he spend held against his will in the one place that should have been the safest of Gotham?
They all tense their muscles, ready to strike-
"Danny is a doll," Bruce suddenly speaks up, his eyes flickering to all of the gathered children with a wild, alarmed look. Ah, he caught on to the fact they were about to take Jason down. "A doll that Jason found in Crime Alley. Made of porcelain and fabric. Not a person."
The Bats are still eyeing their father with sharp, trained eyes, but Alfred's agreeing nod has them relaxing. Oh, thank the gods!
"Of course, Danny isn't a person," Jason replies mystified. He is unaware of how close he came to being jumped. As it were, the Bats stepped away from him as he looked around, confused. "Why would I have a person chained up in my closet?"
Bruce gets a strange, sad smile on his face. "Yes, Chum, why would you."
Tim isn't following. "If Danny is a toy-"
"A doll." Jason cuts in with a hard edge to his voice.
"Right, sorry, if Danny is a doll, why must you chain him up?"
Jason smiles. "Cause Danny runs the first chance he gets."
What?
"Danny is a haunted doll," Bruce starts, only to have Jason huff.
"No, he isn't! Danny is not haunted; he's just curious." Jason rolls his eyes. "Yeah, he never stays still, and okay, sometimes things disappear around the house, but that doesn't necessarily mean a haunting!"
"Master Jason, might I remind you that while you and Mister Danny were first living here, I caught the vacuum moving by itself?" Alfred calls. "I also remember that Mister Danny's head turned to me and followed my movement as I dusted."
"He just wanted to help you clean," Jason defends in a rather childish manner that Tim never thought he would see from someone his age. Maybe that's why Bruce was worried Danny was still around. "He's not a ghost."
"Chum, I hear laughter from your room even when you are not home." Bruce starts. "The laughing started the day you brought Danny home."
"He can tell great jokes!"
"Wait, tells jokes? Jason, does Danny talk to you? " Steph questioned, looking a tiny bit spooked. Oh yeah, she hates ghosts. Tim forgot her fear of them after living so close to the Gotham cemetery and all the nasty ghost stories surrounding it.
Jason blinks down at her, likely forgetting they were present, before considering the question. He moves his hand in a so-and-son motion. "He tries, but it sounds like fast past whispers. I have to strain to hear him."
"Jason," Dick says with an easy-going smile that belies the worry in his eyes. "That's haunting one-oh-one. You're haunted."
"No, a haunting implies that Danny is dead, which he is not. Danny is just resting until his body can reform. I think he's an alien." Jason taps his chin. "He told me before that his species are the conscious manifestation of ectoplasm but that their souls are within a small core, they can retreat to when badly injured. Danny was really hurt, so he's taking a while to reform."
Bruce's strained smile becomes tighter. "We can have Zatanna or Consitine take a look at him. They might-"
"I'll blow your fucking head off if you try it, old man" Jason's eyes were a bright green, an animistic sneer at his lips, and bloodlust was thick in the air. The abrupt change makes Tim wonder if he has passed out and missed the trigger.
Bruce sighs. "Of course, Jason. Why don't you show everyone, Danny? I think it's time they meet him."
Jason beams, shooting up the stairs to go get his doll. Everyone watches him go, and until they are sure he can not hear them, they burst into conversation.
"Jason is definitely haunted!" Dick despairs, throwing himself dramatically on a nearby chair. "We need to do something! Get it away from him."
"We will do no such thing," Alfred huffs. "Mister Danny is a fine young ghost who helps Master Jason. It would be unwise to separate them."
"As much as I hate to admit it, even Dinah claims that the two are good for each other." Bruce says, likely unhappy that Black Canary used her therapy license against him, "Apparently, Danny is Jason's support doll."
Before anyone can say anything else, Jason races down the stairs with a broad smile. In his hands is a beautiful porcelain doll with black fabric hair, a fine little king suit made from expensive material, and a pretty painted face.
Its green glass eyes- colored to seem almost watery- seemed to stare into everyone's soul as Jason held him up for the room to see. Danny had no facial expression- not even a smile, just a soft, relaxed neural set of features that were popular in the era he was likely made in, but the eyes held emotions.
There was definitely something intelligent and aware in them.
Tim shuddered.
"Oh, Tim, can you take our picture? It's Danny's first time in the cave, and I want to commemorate the date!" Jason suddenly asks, rocking on his heels like he used to do as Robin. Tim wonders if Danny was doing that to him- reverting him to a child-like mind.
If so, was that a good thing? Should he let it keep happening?
"Sure, Jason," He says, instead picking up his camera that he had taken on patrol. He aims his lends, trying to find the perfect lighting as his older brother quickly holds the doll up in his arms, allowing it' head to be at the same level as his face.
Tim snaps the picture, but when he looks at the screen, a shiver runs down his spine, and it takes all his training not to scream.
Jason's smirk is not out of place for his hulky form. He takes up most of the frame, but where Danny the doll is, there is a faint outline of another person. A teenager, maybe a year younger than Jason, with pretty features, a copy of the beauty in Jason's arms, but much more human, yet not human, is smiling at the camera.
He's about a head shorter than Jason, but even with the softness of his smile, Tim has never been more creeped out in his life.
Jason is definitely haunted.
"How did it come out?" Jason asks as Danny's doll head turns to look at Damian. The younger boy imminently moved back, hiding behind Bruce. The doll's eyes followed him, almost amused by the boy's actions.
"G-good." Tim stammers. Steph is already racing for the safety of Bruce's cape, joining Damian. "Danny is beautiful."
Jason pauses, tilting his head as if hearing something, eyes flickering down to his right where the teenager ghost stood for the picture, and then grins.
"Of course he means it." Jason's ears turn pink as he admits, "I also think you're the most gorgeous person I've ever met."
Okay, Jason is definitely being haunted by someone he might have a crush on. That's....something Bruce has to deal with because Tim is the younger brother, not the dad, and thank god for that.
He might be wrong, but he gets the sense that the doll is blushing even though nothing changes.
It's not my circus and will never be my monkies. Tim thinks racing to Bruce's cape is a good idea as well. He is scared to be out here in the open like Dick and Cass.
Those two might be okay with being haunted, but Tim isn't. Just in case, he'll have to steer clear of the manor for a few days.
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solarisburns · 1 month
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Pandora Rosier who dreams of the future, who doesn't just dream of a boy drowning in a cave. but sees her brother laying on the ground; not moving, the normally cheerful Barty screaming for his mother in the dark. Who hears Dorcas' sobs ringing in her ears no matter what song she hums.
It's not just her friends she sees in visions, one day Marlene Mckinnon falls from her broom and a flash of her falling after being hit with a spell haunts Pandora for weeks. Lily and James bickering in the hall turns into death on Halloween. Alice's shrieks as Frank tosses her in the lake morph in screams of pain. Sirius staring at his brother across the dining hall melt into him staring at his brothers star from a prison cell. Remus reading alone in the library turns into his sitting alone at a graveyard. Oddly enough she never sees Peter though.
Pandora Rosier who is cursed with far to much knowledge and no power to change it. Pandora, who will see her own demise after watching all those she cares for go before her.
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