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confessedlyfannish · 6 months

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DP x DC Writing Prompt #9

"Are you sure about this?" J'onn asks, reading the discontent amongst the Kents. Clark and Lois each have a hand on their teenage son's shoulders, who several weeks prior was aged ten years old.

"We're sure," Clark says. He is not, nor is his wife. But his son is, who lays his hand on his mother's and squeezes. It is that surety that J'onn honors as he delves into the young (but not as young as he should be) man's mind.

The memories are hard to find but not gone, hidden behind what Jon can only see manifested as a glowing green wall. When he raises a tentative hand, the shield sparks green, but does no harm. Pushing through is like wading through the consistency of jello, which he finds an overall unpleasant experience. But he is unharmed as he passes through.

Before J'onn can sort through the memories he is all but sucked into the one at the forefront, where a Jon most similar in visage to the one recently returned perches on the edge of a building. Beside him lies a burger, partially unwrapped though uneaten, and a small soda.

As the memory builds out a sun sets on a small suburban town, and a muscled thigh knocks into Jon's, an older man with a shock of white hair and eyes the same light and color as the shield formed around these memories appearing. He's tall even sitting, likely about as tall as Superman, and looks to be in his thirties. A full body suit comprised of black and silver accents stretches across broad shoulders, a stylized D on his chest. He knocks his thigh into Jon's again.

"You said I couldn't go back," Jon says quietly.

"I lied," the man says lightly.

"You're lying now," Jon says, glaring at him. "I can hear your heart."

"Nice try, kiddo, I don't have a heart in this form," the man says, reaching a hand out, presumably to ruffle his hair. Jon dodges.

"I know you're lying. You would've told me. You would've helped me get home."

"Jon--"

"You're protecting Clockwork, aren't you?" Jon demands, eyes beginning to burn red. "That old coot decided it wasn't enough to play with you, he had to play with me too."

The man slaps a hand over Jon's eyes. "Breathe, like we practiced," he instructs firmly. Steam rises from where his palm meets Jon's eyes, but if it hurts he shows no indication. "In, 2, 3. Out, 2, 3."

Jon whimpers but heaves a breath, and the burst of red light dies down from between the man's fingers. His hand moves down to Jon's shoulder.

"I can't pretend to understand Clockwork's decisions," the man says, as tears begin to pool in Jon's eyes. "Frankly, I don't want to. I suspect they are hard decisions to make, sometimes."

"I don't get why you defend him," Jon says. "Dumbledore acting bastard."

"Language," the man says, lightly bopping him on the head. J'onn notes the boy actually winces, as if the blow hurts.

"I am upset with him, I hope you know that," the man continues. "But at the end of the day I'm also grateful. Because I got to meet you." He hooks an arm around Jon's shoulders, pulling him in. "And now you'll get to see your family again. And Sally, Arnold, and Damian!"

Jon sniffles, rubbing roughly at his face. He leans into the man's bicep. A trusted adult figure, then. One he's described his life to. A life, J'onn is sad to note, he appears to have lived for the past six years, as opposed to a sudden shift in appearance. Jon's next question all but confirm it: "Can I really go back? It's been so long. They'll be all grown up."

"Hey, of course you can," the man says, rubbing his shoulder. "I'm sure they've missed you so much. They'll be so happy to see you again."

Jon starts to smile. "I'm going home."

"You're going home!" The man laughs, shaking him.

"I can finally eat some decent barbecue again!"

"Hey!" the man protests, "The smoker blew up one time!"

Jon continues, beginning to get excited. "And Ma will make her jalapeño cornbread! I never could get it right, I can't wait for you to try it!"

J'onn notes the older man's smile fading, eyes growing sad.

"And Damian will definitely want to spar and oh, oh! With you on our side we can totally prank Batman! I bet Alfred will even help! And Mom gives the best hugs, Pops comes really close but Mom will be really excited to meet you, everyone will."

"Jon," The man says.

"I knew you'd be worried about it, but they'll want to meet you," Jon says, clocking his expression. "They'll be grateful. You, you helped me. You kept me safe and taught me how to be Superman. They'll love you, I promise."

"Jon, I can't go with you," the man says gently.

"I'm not saying you stay, but you can visit! I'm sure the Justice League can figure out a way to maintain a portal, they're super used to all that multiverse stuff. Once they have the coordinates, you can stop by whenever!"

"I can't go through the portal, Jon," the man says. "To other worlds, I'm a god. And gods can't interfere. The only reason I can continue to live here is because this is the world of my origin."

Jon gapes at him. "But--but,"

"You're going to see your Mom and Dad again," the man says. "And your brother, and grandparents."

"I can come here, then," Jon says desperately, pushing his way out of the man's arms. The man is already shaking his head. "I can!"

"You can't."

"Why, because Clockwork says so? He's a liar!"

"Because multiverse travel is never a good idea. If you got trapped here again--"

"I wouldn't,"

"You belong with your family,"

"You're my family!" Jon cries. The man freezes. "You, and Sam, and Jazz, and Tucker and Val and Ellie and Pops and Mads, you're all my family! I can't just leave you, I won't!"

"Oh kiddo," The man says, eyes wet. "I love you too. We all do."

"So I'll stay," Jon says decisively. "For all we know my world is a wasteland. Gramps wasn't exactly right in the head when I left. It's better to stay here."

J'onn notes a green vine unwinding from a nearby trellis. It slides down the eave towards the pair.

"You don't mean that," the man is saying.

"I'm sixteen. I can make my own decisions. I'm staying."

The man cups Jon's face. "Your parents did not have a choice in losing you. I'm willing to bet they're devastated. Because I'd be devastated, losing a kid as great as you."

"Maybe they're not even there," Jon says, but the words are half-hearted, and it clearly hurts him to say them.

"I know I seem like a pushover, but if I thought Clockwork was sending you back to anything less than your loving family, I'd destroy him first. And he knows that. They're going to be there, I promise."

"I don't want to go," Jon says. Behind him, the vine rises from the eave of its own will, poised like a cobra enchanted by a snark charmer.

"I know," the man says, eyes drifting to the vine. "I'm so sorry, Jon."

"For what?" Jon asks, as the vine attaches itself to the nape of his neck. His eyes roll back as he collapses into the man's arms. The man hugs him tighter than is strictly necessary.

J'onn expects the memory to now end, alongside Jon's consciousness. To his curiosity, it does not.

"For what it's worth," a young woman spits bitterly, vines supporting her weight as she slips over the side of the roof. "I still think this is horrible." Her eyes are red and miserable.

"Seriously, team punching Dumbledore in the face," A young black man says, appearing in the air supported by a woman almost identical in appearance to the man holding Jon, down to the suit colors. They land on the rooftop.

"Are you sure about this," the dark haired woman with powers over plants asks. "Because to be honest, Danny, I'm five seconds away from punching you in the face."

"Jazz won't speak to you for months," the girl, likely his sister, points out.

"Make it a year," the man says, crossing his arms.

The man, Danny, ignores them all. He cards a hand through Jon's hair. "He'll retain the experience, but not the memories?"

"Yes, he'll be a perfect little superhero, just as you taught him," the woman says, vines twisting agitatedly around her, wrapping around her thigh, wrists and neck almost punishingly.

"Sam," the man says. "He needs to go home. All of you know that."

"He doesn't have to forget us to do so!" the sister bursts, eyes flashing green.

"Remembering would be a torment," Danny says. "He'll know he was loved. That's enough."

"Danny," the plant woman says, sitting beside them both. She puts a gentle hand on his, both on Jon's back. "This is just a different torment."

"And if someone finds out?" Danny asks. He has been patient amidst their scorn, but now a tiny edge ekes into his voice. "A god's child, unprotected? Threatened? He would never stop looking for a way back, and being vocal about it could get him killed."

The others are silent.

"He'll be home. He'll be happy," Danny says. More powerful than a prayer. A directive. He raises his head past the child slumbering in his lap, past them all, face hardening, and says to J'onn: "And you will say nothing."

J'onn takes a step back, fear so thick he could choke on it flooding his very being. Thismanwillkillhim, thismanwillkillhim.

This man will reach through dimensions and kill him.

"Now, get the fuck out of my kid's head," Danny snarls. J'onn is pushed back with enough force he enters his own mind in a vicious whirl that leaves him physically on the floor, gasping.

"I'm sorry," he says as Superman rushes to lift him, and he's not sure who he's apologizing to. Green eyes will pierce his dreams. Vines will crush his throat in his nightmares, screaming silence, silence.

You will say nothing.

"I'm sorry," J'onn says, politely pushing Clark's hands away as he rises. He's already beginning to calm, because he understands. Those are consequences he will not face. He will do as directed. He looks at Jon Kent, bewildered but unharmed, clutching his mother's hand.

J'onn reaches down and dusts at his pants. "I'm sorry," he says evenly, ready to spin his tale. Perhaps the Kents will continue to seek their answers. Perhaps not. He will stay out of it either way. He has been warned.

You were loved by gods. And to keep you safe, they would quiet us all.

#dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #dpxdc #superman #superboy #jonathan kent #jonathan samuel kent #my writing

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flamingpudding · 7 months

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Reincarnation is a tricky thing

A/N: This was sort of inspired by this post from @nerdpoe and the rebblogs of it. I came across it again scrolling through tumblr and reread it during my break and couldn't help but continue thinking about DC characters being a different version or a reincarnation of people Danny knew. Blame the too many reincarnation or isekai light novels / manwhas / mangas I read if you want.

At first Danny didn't mind it. Becoming the Ghost King had its pros but its cons as he learned later on. By accepting the title he had become an interdimensional being, and thus had gotten kicked out of the reincarnation cycle. Clockwork nor Pandora thought about telling him that sooner. But in a way Danny still didn't mind it.

He still got to watch and protect his friends and family or at least their souls and reincarnations. Though there were some things with the recent one he definitely did not expect. For one, Dan wasn't part of the reincarnation cycle either, so to pass the years he took up the same position Fright Knight had. Danny suspected that it was more to spent time with his ghostly best friend than actually doing Danny a favor.

Dani on the other hand had become a part of the reincarnation cycle, he hadn't liked how her childhood had been but once the reincarnation of his father took her in things started to turn better for his once upon a time clone sister.

He laughed at the fact that his mother in this life had become a thief, well at least she wasn't ghost obsessed but he wasn't sure if cats were a better one considering a lot of the things she stole were cat themed. But at least she still had a thing for his dad.

The man was still a lovable oaf but different, more stoic and short worded but when he put on acts for the public Danny could see hints of his previous life shining through. His dad was still a genius and inventing things that added him and his goals in protecting the city. Just like he did previously, just a little less extreme and upfront.

Jazz wasn't his dads and mothers direct daughter this time around but she still got counted as a daughter in a way as he watched her becoming a crime fighter alongside his father and the kids his dad picked up before an incident made her take up more of a operator like position. And ancients did Danny cackle watching Jazz still pulling one over everyone every time she gathered information on their family.

He was sad to see how Sam's life went but at the same time he was proud of her. Undergrowth's influence had swapped over into this life for her and he watched how as a criminal at first she continued to fight for what she believed was right. He was definitely happy when he saw her fall in love and turn a new leaf.

Tucker was not as electronic affine as he was before but he had what the humans started to call Meta Powers now. It was funny, whenever Danny compared his usually brain behind the scenes best friend with the vigilante that got mentored by his father.

All in all he was definitely happy with the life's his family has gotten this turn. Even if the start of some of their lives wasn't as ideal as it was supposed to be. He still hadn't figured out where Vlad's reincarnation was and to the ancients he hoped he wasn't the crazy clown obsessed with his dad. That would be just wrong.

Still as he watched them he couldn't help but muse at the knowledge that he originally was supposed to be among them. He also knew who he was supposed to be, thanks to clockwork but that boy had gotten a brand new soul, one that hadn't been in the cycle before. He wasn't mad at that but just a tiny bit sad. He would have loved to become a vigilante alongside his father too, even if this version of him was socially awkward and instead of space had a fascination with animals and art.

He still would have loved to live among them but he had gotten kicked out of the reincarnation cycle so all he could do was watch over them. It still made him feel giddy whenever he found another soul of the ones he had known before.

That was until the cultist decided to use would-be-him as a sacrifice to summon the interdimensional being that was atactual-him and he ended up face to face with some stupid soul magic mumbo jumbo tied to the kid.

Clockwork was laughing at him, he just knew this was pure entertainment for the ancient of time. Pandora was most likely shaking her head and Dan was probably literally rolling on the ground of his throne room laughing.

"You are supposed to be me, aren't you?" The boy had whispered wide eyed and Danny huffed in annoyance as he saw a familiar fear flit across the boy's eyes. A fear he had seen with Dan as well as Dani so long ago before.

"Don't talk bullshit kid. I am an Ancient being. This is your life." He was just now stuck having Danny tied to him like a guardian angel while being the only one able to see him clearly. How was he going to explain to the kid that he was entirely his own soul and not tied to Danny at all aside from taking his place in the reincarnation cycle without mentioning that nearly half the people in the kids life where his family and friends previously?

Danny was starting to have a crisis stuck to his would-be-him in the mortal realm and all he could think was to yell at Dan and Clockwork to stop laughing!

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ariasdistress · 1 year

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blood lust.

pairing: vampire!fem reader x sheriff!tyler

warnings: dark mature themes + knife play, gun play, heavy degradation, dub-con, non-con. all my characters are over 18, implied age gap.

after months of bickering and tireless efforts with his father, tyler galpin graduated the police programme. taking on the same career as his father, becoming the new sheriff of jericho.

being the sheriff wasn’t a popular position yet he was a lot more beloved than his father. especially by the outcasts. the new sheriff galpin had a certain avoidance - you could call it leniency that was not shared by his father towards the targeted group.

that brings us to now, riding down suburban slopes while the night was still young. you were staring deep in awe of the navy sky, infinite and vast. the overtly deep thinking accelerated from riding off a high fuelled by petty theft. well, stealing booze.

holding up a normie store was actually easier than expected. in complete honesty, you just threatened to drink them dry and to help your case - you were also an attractive vampire, visually the type of ‘sweet girl next door’ that nobody suspects to be a troublemaker.

although, you were quite the contrary even aspiring to be a big time criminal. like a textbook rebel outcast. coming from a broken home, forced to go to nevermore and misbehaved just to feel something; to feel alive.

misbehaving in nevermore was mainly stealing blood bags, smoking behind the sports hall or sometimes doing a little more than ‘fanging out’ with guys in your dorm room after hours.

struck by an idea while riding past a dimly lit house. you gazed in wonder at the isolated structure. far from town with a variety of towering lithe trees surrounding it.

‘perfect’ you clapped your hands together, smiling to yourself. the light of the moon twinkled off your fangs as the alcohol caused a certain swing to your hips. your confidence exhilarated, without a care for the consequences.

karma, however, waits for no vamp.

not realizing sooner that the one inside the home was awake.

watching you.

knowing what you were about to do.

knowing who you were.

with ease you swiftly climbed up the pipe, skilfully opening the lock on the vintage window. “like clockwork” you mumbled happily. a little tug of the lock was needed then you were in. sliding inside and taking in the somewhat messy bedroom.

‘damn, whoever lived here is a slob.. pick up a coffee mug once in a while..’ you thought to yourself.

white sheets contrasted the dark toned clothes scattered across the large bed. a sigh escaped you while your claw shaped nails playfully brushed against a hoodie thrown onto a chair..

you noticed an old desk sat adjacent to it, curiosity starting to arouse your interest as you tiptoed over to the desk. once again messily dispersed with.. case files?

panic quickly spread like an disease causing your eyes to widen. frantically reading the front of the mustard yellow folder.

“property of jericho county police station.”

“holy fuck” your voice became shrill as you muttered. your smugness had been drained and replaced with a sense of pessimism.

“out of all houses to rob?? why the fuck did it have to be sheriff fucking galpin??” you were left with nothing to do but crouch idle next to the bed. hoping, praying to anything out there that nobody was home.

as you got up to leave through the window, the silence broke with the pump of a shotgun echoing behind you.

a symphony of goosebumps ran through your body as you held your hands up in fear. biting at your lower lip. turning around slowly to accept whatever fate had in store for you.

“what is a pretty thing like you doing in my house so late?” an older man grinned. in your mind, far too old to be the freshly 18 tyler galpin that worked at the weathervane while you were a kid. the messy blonde didn’t back down, now aiming the shotgun at your forehead.

you stepped forward taking a closer look at him. almost surprised, it was tyler only quite older, taller and physically much more muscular. he cleared his throat, the sound snapped you back into reality.

“answer me, what the fuck are you doing inside my house.” you tried to respond but your vocal chords shrivelled up, watching the barrel of the shotgun approached closer to you.

your glossy pink lips instantly pouted with eyes welling up in tears, “i-im so sorry sheriff”, you mumbled out. mascara trickling down your flushed cheeks.

knowing deep inside you looked beautiful, you weren’t surprised when dark green eyes fell onto your mirage of sadness.

“see i thought this was my friends house- i wanted to surprise her- it was my first time i-in this new neighbourhood and i-.” you put your all into this act, knowing the only card left to play was the ‘innocent sweet nymph.’

“cut the shit sweetheart” he interrupted, lowering the shotgun yet his stance stayed stern. his strong fingers trailed over his forehead, eyebrows, toward his hair as the corner of his mouth warped into a smirk.

“i can smell a vampire like you from yards away. i’ve been watching you too. for weeks. you’re an amateur at best. thought you were going to rob me huh? fucking airhead.” his voice was spiked with venom as he inched closer.

everyone assumed he broke the generational curse of disliking outcasts - being a normie and all. but nobody except his colleagues knew his secret; his burning hatred for outcasts. developing from his father, he harboured a special animosity especially towards vampires; calling them vermin and leeches behind closed doors.

“n-no sir i couldn’t even dream of robbing you, i’m um just a bit tipsy and wanted to surprise a friend! honest!” pleading, you realised the ‘innocent girl’ was fading. you swallowed the lump in your throat, the atmosphere in the room now becoming unbelievably tense.

tyler burst out laughing, “do you think i’m stupid y/n i’ve been watching you this entire time. you vampires really think you’re better than everybody? your ego needs to be brought down a few pegs doll.”

you felt your blood boil, why was he being so mean? sure, this wasn’t the most optimal of situations but you being a vampire had nothing to do with this.

“sheriff.. me being a vampire doesn’t have anything to do with this. if you let me go, you won’t ever see me again. please.” tears flowed mixing with your eyeliner while your voice started wobbling out of a mixture of anger and fear.

the last thing you wanted was to be on tomorrow’s local news as the idiotic thief who got caught stealing in a sheriff’s home.

“keep crying pretty like that and i just might let you go.” sheriff galpin joked, before whacking you with the side of his shotgun. the sting greeting your cheek as you laid there in pure agony.

“i’ll teach you a lesson, doll, one you won’t forget” the world was spinning out of focus. the blurred image of a malicious grin and strong arms lifting you was the only thing left. only moments later, engulfed in complete darkness.

you awoke to being bound. legs and arms restrained in cuffs behind your back as you kneeled in front of tyler, his dark boots took up your eyesight.

you could almost taste the dampness of the room. was this a basement? a prison? you jolted at his rough fingertips lining your jawline, forcing you to look up at him.

“aren’t you a vision for sore eyes? never knew a bloodsucker could be this lovely looking...” he whispered. the older male now turning your face to observe your every feature. the left side of your face was red, ready for bruising while your long lashes parted. showcasing your dark eyes staring knives and daggers at tyler.

“fuck you.” you were able to mumble out before you were met with another pain. a large hand tugged on your hair violently, gesturing your face toward his boots. after struggling and fighting against his grip nothing was working.

“lick them. whore.” strings of your hair began to pluck out, deciding to give into his demands quickly. you sobbed as you licked a small stripe on his black boots. a shine forming where your saliva met his boots.

wincing, you spat out the taste without hesitation. with rage consuming your mind.

“don’t look at me like i’m a bad guy sweetheart. you did this, but i’ll be nice. i promise.” tyler hummed, cupping your face, almost lovingly with his palm. he pointed to the end of the room, pivoting your head to look at it.

“let’s just make a little home video, to show the guys at the force what happens to pretty little outcasts who decide to become petty criminals”. he smiled, sinister intent masking any kindness left behind his mossy eyes.

before you could utter a word of objection, tyler slashed his palm with a silver kitchen knife. hissing, pushing the dripping blood up to your mouth. your tongue lapped up the blood like a starved animal with greedy fangs greeting the sheriff’s palm.

you scanned the older man’s face through wet lashes; maroon orbs twinkling while you whimpered against his cut for more blood, tongue pushing and swirling around his wound. tyler looked down at you, hating himself for admiring how pretty you were under the broken lights.

“god you’re a good girl. you’re so obedient for me.” the blonde praised, using a free hand to run through your hair. after soaking up every drop you detached your fangs from his hand, licking the excess from your lips making sure the older man saw it.

tyler used his wounded hand to rub your bruised cheek, cooing sorrys and awws. being blood-drunk you leaned into tyler’s palm like a touch starved pet, hoping he would feed you again.

the sweetness of the action turned into malice as he grabbed a handful of your hair, forcing your lips to crash into the crotch of his sweatpants. he laughed while the outline of his hardening cock rubbed up against your lips and nose.

“you’re so stupid, it’s almost cute. thought i’d gone soft on you huh?” the corner of his lips turning upwards as he turned his body towards the camera - hoping it catches your every pitiful sound as you whimpered in protest against the thick fabric.

whines and no’s left your lips as you tried your best to keep them shut. you felt like crying out for help again, but you knew it wasn’t any use.

his hand sneaked down and grabbed your cheeks, pushing them open as his other hand slid his sweatpants and boxers down in a singular motion. his pale cock sprung free, precum leaking down his blushing shaft.

staring in awe of his length, it was so thick you could feel your throat closing up. tyler couldn’t help but fight back a smile looking at your desperate expression, wanting to run his tip over your perfectly shaped lips.

“suck. if you use your fangs i’ll break your jaw, leech.” he spat, gripping your jaw tighter towards his throbbing cock. you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out as the sheriff gestured to you to lick it.

it was beyond embarrassing knowing you were being filmed. giving pet-like licks to an older man’s cock but you couldn’t help but fight a growing impatience between your legs. how tyler’s disheveled blonde hair, low eyes and big muscular arms enchanted you into wanting more.

growing impatient of the teasing from your blood covered tongue, he forced himself into you. groans left the older man as you glanced up at him. his lips half open and brows scrunched together in pleasure; you hummed around his cock, rubbing your thighs together for any kind of friction - shamelessly imagining tyler’s thick fingers inside you instead.

“keep looking at me, just like that slut. that’s all you’re fucking good for. god you’re pretty with my cock inside your filthy mouth.” the male growled, bottoming out inside you with your drool coating the base of his cock entirely. his hands found their place in your fluffy hair, interwoven in your locks to fuck your mouth deeper.

hoping tyler wouldn’t notice, your fangs lightly grazed the tip of his cock as he pulled out. unfortunately he did, his agonising grip getting firmer craning your neck up to look at him.

“the one thing i asked for you not to fucking do, you brainless airhead. you fucking deserve for this.” he cut himself off with a groan of frustration. he grabbed your waist and spun you around, angrily unlocking both the cuffs to spread your legs. dropping to the floor like a ragdoll, your ass was up in the air while he palmed your heat through the denim shorts.

“please.. stop.. sheriff please. i’m a virgin.” you told him the truth, hoping he would show you some mercy. sure you did stuff, but never to the extent of getting fucked, this fact embarrassed you beyond belief.

“you should’ve thought twice about that, hopefully that tight little cunt will listen to me.. maybe i’ll send this to your parents too huh sweetheart?” tyler sneered, his cut hand groping the exposed skin of your ass that the shorts couldn’t cover. wishing to crush whatever spirit you had left, he wanted you to submit completely to him.

large veiny hands creeped down your body, “look how slutty a virgin like you dresses. pathetic, like you’re begging to get fucked against your will” he mumbled in your ear, large hand coercing your jaw to look at the camera in front of you. tyler’s other hand perfectly cupping your tits, twisting the hardening peaks through your thin black shirt.

“smile for the camera sweetheart, tell them how you’re about to lose your virginity to a man old enough to be your dad” he softly spoke smiling toward the lens, his deceivingly loving touch creeped lower to skilfully undo your denim shorts. realising what was going to happen you sobbed quietly, your cries evaporated. “shut the fuck up” sheriff whispered ripping your shirt into pieces from your back. the black fabric caressed the ground.

at this point the large video camera was facing you as you were on all fours, your arms shaking from holding your weight up. the metal cuffs did a number your skin, with bruises forming from the violent friction. trying to cower and hide your privacy didn’t work with tyler as he kneeled behind you, forcing your legs apart in his presence.

awe and wonder contorted the sheriff’s face, drinking in your puffy leaking cunt.. “prettiest cunt i’ve ever seen” he spoke, loud enough so only you could hear it before rubbing your entrance softly.

your face flushed at the sounds behind you, unable to wait tyler slapped his cock around your wet pussy. slowly rubbing the tip of his head against your ball of nerves, grunts of satisfaction leaving his parted lips.

the screen next to the camera filled with the image of you getting violated. your were lips bitten trying not to let out noise when tyler glanced at the screen pissed off that you were holding back.

he slapped your ass painfully, enjoying the look of the skin rippling. “make as much sound as you like sweetheart. i’m sure the guys down at the the station would love to hear how i break you down into nothing but a whore.”

just as he finished his sentence, you felt his thick head poke at your entrance, “you’re so tight, i might not even fit.” forcing himself inside, a groan leaving his mouth as his entire throbbing cock hugged the inside of you. you whispered profanities to yourself, not wanting to make noise.

your wetness didn’t help your unstretched cunt from latching onto him, making it unable for him to move. the glint of the knife next to him grabbed his attention. sadism taking over, he started cutting into another part of his bloodied hand and bringing it around to your lips.

the scent and sound of blood droplets on the floor made your brows perk up, blood-lust ran through your veins as you soft inhaled the aroma. the mouth watering, sweet scent of blood.

you caught onto what the sheriff was doing as your vision filled with cloudiness, his deep voice sounding like a hallucination.

“drink up.. don’t make me force it down your delicate little throat” his voice was like molasses to you but his blood smelled sweeter. his heartbeat was quickening, the sound of his blood travelling through his veins filling your ears.

you couldn’t fight it back anymore. letting yourself slip with your fangs leading the way. letting the wet skin touch your lips as you consumed the red liquid, wanting to drain his hands. tyler laughed at the scene feeling how soaked you were getting.

pushing his hand against your mouth, the older male grabbed at your waist. squeezing your skin as he bucked his hips inside you, making you cry our. tyler used his cut up hand to grab a handful of your hair, pounding you in the process. euphoria washed across your face as you tried to protest but nothing came out your throat except needy sounds.

“you’d fuck anyone on camera if they gave you some blood huh?” like second nature you cried out for tyler, his name the only thing on your broken mind. he drove his cock into the spongy part of your insides, making you gasp out ‘no’s’ - not wanting to climax so soon.

“no? no??? you want to say no to me?” the sheriff’s voice darkened, dragging out the last sentence as he reached for a pistol behind him. in the same motion he pulled out, pushing his entire length deep inside of you. rapidly hitting your cervix at a pace your body couldn’t keep up with.

large hands played with the pistol. a calloused finger dancing with the trigger, the gun was ghosting around your skull. cold metal pushed against the temple of your head, fear erupting - you felt beyond helpless.

breathless moaning and efforts to finish your sentence fell short. his cock felt full inside you and you didn’t even realise your hips were moving.

“you’re choking my dick so fucking good. you like this pervert? i should put a bullet in your head?” his hand rapidly traced down your body, gliding over your soft skin. the blonde rubbed your clit mercilessly, forcing you into let out shameless noises.

skin smacking against each other and high pitched moans left your plump, dark red and bitten lips. you turned around to look at him, both your eyes connecting to catch a longing gaze.

dark red nails scratched into the floor of his basement as your release neared closer. the older man noticed how your swollen cunt gripped his cock every time he degraded you.“everyone’s going to see how stupid you get on my dick now? are you proud slut?”

“please, sheriff ‘m gonna cum” you yelled out, clamping your pussy involuntarily against his cock. tyler was close, his pace becoming animalistic, letting his cock think for him. mere moments after, your insides were filled with his warm cum. his cock pulled out of you causing your body collapse.

in response tyler dropped his gun to the floor. his strong arms held your unconscious body up - his hands carrying your thick thighs. spreading your legs apart to show the camera your pussy, his cum dripping to the floor shamelessly.

“this stupid bimbo won’t be stealing anytime soon”

author’s notes: sorry i haven’t posted in so long! i’ve been in a kind of slump!! i’ve been pretty inspired with the whole sheriff and criminal relationship n i wrote this, hope everyone enjoys! i will be writing more soon!

thank you for reading! aria. ᥫ᭡

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flowerandblood · 11 months

Text

The Crime and Punishment (7)

[modern! lawyer • Aemond x fem!reader]

[warnings: sex content, age gap, smut, domination kink, sexual tension, fluff]

[description: Aemond becomes a co-owner of one of the largest law firms in the area. He is invited to cooperate by one of the best lawyers he knows. While working in the evenings on further matters at his house, he meets his daughter, much younger than him, whose behavior gives him sleepless nights. Anon Request: Age gap, domination, lots of sexual tension and guilt.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Ever since her father caught them almost in the act they decided they had to be more careful. They texted each other and saw each other in the office, but decided to wait with any intimate contact until the business trip that awaited them.

Hannah finished her apprenticeship and she took her place. Surprisingly, now that she was the one handling his files, tidying up his archives, and completing his paperwork, he was completely calm and had no complaints about her work. Everything was going like clockwork.

It was hard for her not to walk over to him and touch him. When he was standing next to her she took his big hand and lead her inside his panties, letting him feel how wet she was because of him.

Sometimes they would stand by his bookcase, kissing like teenagers afraid of being caught by their parents. Both of them were overwhelmed with tension and frustration, but on the other hand they loved this secret relationship.

They had a business trip ahead of them which they both kept thinking about. A very big case was going on in the city a few hours away, and Aemond was the lead defense attorney on the defendant's case. The situation was about millions, bribes and no compensation payments to employees. Aemond believed that the failure to pay proper compensation was fair, but the bribery allegations were made up.

“They have nothing on him, apart from the testimony of one of the employees who allegedly saw such a transaction. No suspicious bank transfers, no sudden large withdrawals, nothing. The young prosecutor deals with this case and wants to shine which is why he is pushing for the strictest sentence. A fucking brat.” He grunted as he sat behind the wheel, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as she looked through his documents.

They were on their way to the hotel near the courthouse where everything was to take place. There were a lot of witnesses on both sides of the case, there was also quite a lot of media coverage, so they prepared to stay there for a few days. Not that they mind.

She suspected that he wanted nothing more than to fuck her in his hotel room. They had booked two separate apartments for appearances, but she knew she would sleep in his bed. She sighed at his words.

“He will show off and will not give up. I also believe that the accusation of bribery is unjustified. They just want to destroy him. You've got to put that Thomas Moor under pressure, to get him bogged down in his testimony. I don't think he saw anything, just taking revenge on the old boss." She said, reading the file again in the last few days. She felt like she knew them by heart, but she didn't want to disappoint him.

"I know." He murmured low.

She flinched as she felt his free hand on her knee, stroking up and down her thigh, she's been wet since she got in the car. She wanted to ask him to stop somewhere in the woods, undo his fly, and start riding him, fucking him hard. She decided not to show him how desperate she was.

By the time they arrived they had two hours left before the trial. They knew they couldn't be distracted, so each of them went to a different room.

She began to dress, deciding that the light dress she was wearing was not suitable for the courtroom. She put on a black, tight turtleneck and bright, elegant pants fastened with a belt high at the waist. Some of her long hair was tied up in a bun at the back.

She looked at herself in the mirror and decided that she looked nice, elegant and serious, but not old at the same time. She decided not to wear any jacket, leaving herself a little slack. She took the folders with the documents she had to take and left the room, waiting for him in the corridor.

She smiled to herself as he left, his shirt and trousers impeccably arranged and ironed as usual. She wondered if she would be taking those clothes off him today. She saw him look her up and down, feigning indifference. She knew he liked the way she looked and that he was thinking the same thing as her.

"Let's go." He said calmly and they left the hotel, heading across the street to the courthouse.

Aemond didn't change into his attorney's robe until he entered the courtroom. She had seen him in it many times before, but she had never sat next to him.

She brought them both coffee and tea. People began to come inside, the prosecutor appeared on the opposite side. He smiled at them and nodded, but only she smiled back.

After a while the judge came in and everyone got up. A middle-aged man with visible, gray hair opened the trial, briefly stating what they would do and what witnesses would testify.

The prosecutor had priority in asking questions. Their client, seated behind them fidgeted uneasily, pale and tired. It was obvious he hadn't slept through the night.

The prosecutor was very well prepared. He was acutely aware of their client's slightest lapses, his private conflicts with his associates which he theorized, would force him to bribe a few people to keep him in the chair.

He used words like "surely," "as everyone knows," "well known to be," and so on. She thought it was pathetic that he was trying to create an image of their client by mere manipulation, instead of relying on evidence she and Aemond both knew, he didn't have.

She jotted down on small sticky notes any slip-ups she thought were worth noting. Then she taped them to Aemond's briefcase in front of him. He read them, then listened to the prosecutor again, his face set as stone.

Cross-examination of witnesses followed, and Aemond was able to relate to what the prosecutor had said. She heard with satisfaction as, in addition to his own conclusions, he also used her phrases and sayings which she had noted for him.

She watched with a kind of pride as Aemond clarified the situation, explaining slowly that everything that had been said was based on mere conjecture without any physical evidence.

After a few hours, the first day of the trial was closed. Aemond said he'd stay with the client, but if she wanted to she could go eat at the restaurant downstairs. She agreed, because she hadn't eaten anything since the morning due to stress and was dying of hunger.

She stood at the counter, staring at a large refrigerator full of all sorts of sandwiches. Someone stopped next to her, and she thought the man was choosing the products as well, but he turned to her suddenly, causing her surprise.

"Your boss is quite a beast." Said the man she recognized as the prosecutor.

Up close she found him handsome. He had slightly curly, short black hair, dark, large eyes, and something about his smile that would make you uneasy. She thought he was a few years younger than Aemond. She turned her head, looking at him curiously, wondering what he wanted.

"I know." She answered softly and lingeringly, smiling with an inscrutable expression on her face.

They stood side by side, just staring at each other, she could feel the tension between them. She thought that he wanted to spin her a little, maybe take her to the room for a one-time fuck and get a few words out of her about Aemond, so he'd know how to attack him or just to annoy him.

"Are you his assistant?" He asked suddenly, taking a sip of coffee from the disposable cup in his hand. She smiled even wider at his words.

"Not completely." She spoke truthfully.

The prosecutor raised his eyebrows at her words in amusement, tilting his head. He pursed his lips and opened them with a soft, wet click. She could see that he was analyzing something in his head now.

"Interesting." He grunted low, narrowing his eyes.

She thought he was quite a player. That if it weren't for Aemond she might have been tempted. But the only person she wanted to spend the night with was him. She opened her mouth to say something, but his low, cool voice sounded behind her.

"Any problem?" He asked, looking at prosecutor as if he wanted to tear him apart for daring to speak to her. The prosecutor smiled warmly at him, unfazed by his tone of voice.

"No. We were just talking. You have a wonderful assistant." He said, looking her up and down. She knew he was doing it on purpose and somehow it amused her.

“My craving for sandwiches is gone.” She said, walking past him, not paying attention to what Aemond would do.

She walked over to the cupcake stand and saw Aemond say something quickly to prosecutor out of the corner of her eye. He skirted him and headed for the stairs without even waiting for her. She sighed softly as she handed the bill to the clerk, knowing he was furious.

She knocked on his room, eating the rest of the cupcake she had just bought. No one answered and she sighed softly as she sat down on the floor, leaning against his door.

"I'll stay here until you open." She said loudly as she continued eating. She heard someone move in the room, then a key turned in the lock and the door flew open. He looked down at her with an indifferent expression, his gaze cold.

"Do you always have to make such a show of yourself?" He asked impatiently. She frowned as she stood up, swallowing the last bite of her quick meal.

"What have I done to deserve such words?" She asked with slight resentment.

He stared at her enraged, his lips pressed into a line. She moved closer to him, their bodies almost touching. His face remained stone. She was touched by how easily he became jealous of her.

"You know what." He spoke short and low, menacing. She put her hand on his shirt and felt him flinch. She ran her fingers over his chest, looking him straight in the face.

"I don't know. Haven't I been good for you, sir?" She asked softly, her bottom lip slightly parted.

She needed it, she needed him to fuck her, to feel his desperation and desire, to feel him deep inside her. She heard him swallow hard.

He suddenly closed the door behind her and pressed her against it, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, licking and sucking her, not allowing her to catch her breath.

She began to quickly unbutton his shirt, continuing to kiss him, his hands quickly pulling her turtleneck over her head. Especially for him she put on her lovely cream lace lingerie, sweet and alluring at the same time. He took a deep breath as he saw her bra through which her pink nipples showed slightly.

He lifted her by the hips and carried her deeper into the room, her hands intertwined in his hair, her legs clasped around his waist. He threw himself on the bed with her, massaging her lips with his with a loud, wet click, their kisses one, big mess.

They both unzipped their pants quickly, Aemond moaning low as she immediately removed his boxers. He lay down on top of her, panting heavily with her, both of them on the verge of a nervous breakdown from the frustrations and tension that they were building up between them.

In one swift motion he took off her panties, spreading her thighs in front of him. His thumb brushed over her entry, causing her to arch back with a sweet moan, her juices dripping onto the sheets beneath her.

"He's got you so wet?" He asked low, dangerously, excitingly. She felt her insides tighten at the tone of his voice, commanding and uncompromising. She shook her head, breathing fast, her thighs quivering with thirst.

"N-no, of course not, sir" She mumbled, looking pleadingly at him, her hands clenched helplessly on the pillow beneath her head.

Her body quivered all over, her mouth parting more as he ran his fingers over her quivering, hot womanhood, teasing her clit casually, making her squeal softly beneath him each time. He smiled at the sight, but it was a disturbing smile to say the least.

"You like to play with men, don't you? You like it when they want you." He hissed, his thumb circling once in a while around her clit, giving her a hard, one-time sensation, pausing each time her thighs pushed out toward him for more. She looked at him innocently, her breasts rising and falling restlessly, her whole body trembling.

"I only want you, Aemond, please" She whispered, for some reason, shocked, she felt tears well up in her eyelids.

Frustration, thirst, and helplessness made her want to cry. Seeing this, he stopped suddenly, hesitation on his face. Her lower lip trembled of its own accord, a single tear slid from the corner of her eye onto the pillow.

She saw his gaze soften slowly, his fury receding like clouds dispersing after a storm. His fingers began to massage her more intensively, bolder, finally allowing her to feel the pleasure. She moaned sweetly, her cheeks all red. His mouth dropped open at the sight.

"It's okay. You know I'll take care of you. Do you have to drive me crazy every time?" He asked with irony and frustration, his finger slid inside her suddenly, causing her to lean back with a loud moan of surprise. He rubbed her in a wonderful spot that sent heat through her body, her hips involuntarily responding to his every move.

"I won't anymore, I promise, I promise I'll make you feel so good" She sobbed with pleasure and desire.

She clamped one hand on his shoulder, looking pleadingly at him, his fingers rubbing her cruelly slowly and thoroughly, his head tilted as if in curiosity as he looked at her.

"Please, put him in me already" She mumbled, all red with embarrassment and the heat that was rushing through her body.

His eye lit up dangerously in satisfaction at her words. He hummed appreciatively, pressing his lips together, running his tongue over them.

"I'm not sure you've learned your lesson right yet. I think I need to show you what awaits you if you flirt with other men again." He grunted lowly, taking her thighs in his hands, lifting them slightly.

He leaned over her, his tongue running from her entrance all the way to her clit, making her sob with desire. Her pussy throbbed all over his face, aching with thirst. She felt him smile under his breath, his tongue slowly and carefully licking her moisture that flowed from her with the tip of his tongue.

"Please, sir, please" She moaned helplessly, her fingers tangling hard in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting to feel him more.

"Take what I give you." He growled, his tongue sliding in and out of her, teasing her, driving her crazy.

His hands gripped her thighs painfully tight, not allowing her to move. He licked her with the wet, sticky click of her juices, building more and more tension in her. She felt that even if he only touched her like this, she would come.

"So desperate already?" He asked, panting with desire himself, seeing how he affected her, what a mess she was. She moaned softly at his words, trembling all over.

"Yes, please, I need you so much" She sputtered helplessly, writhing under him, her hips pressing against his face, unable to stop herself. She felt a shiver run through him at her words.

He rose suddenly, turning her over onto her stomach in one firm motion, lifting her hips high, pulling them close to him. She moaned loudly, her hands clenching the sheet as he suddenly slid his cock deep into her, filling her to the very end.

He immediately began to move inside her, fast and hard, panting and moaning with her, defeated. He didn't have the strength to pretend that he didn't need it himself, that he hadn't just dreamed about it for weeks.

"I'm gonna fuck you all night long. Do you understand? I'll cum in you as many times as I want." He hissed, his hands clenched painfully tight on his buttocks, his thighs slapping lewdly against hers with a wet slap, sweat pouring down their bodies with the effort.

His words made her shiver. She tensed up so that he was rubbing her where she most enjoyed it. Her hips responded greedily to his thrusts, wanting to feel him as deeply as possible. She felt her impending fulfillment, heat melting in her lower belly.

"Y-yes, please, please, fuck me!" She sobbed sweetly, helplessly, his thrusts getting more brutal and faster, both of them gasping loudly, as if they were running in a sprint.

She suddenly felt her whole body tense, her voice stuck in her throat. She parted her lips, and after a moment, a broken, loud moan of fulfillment escaped them, her insides tightening painfully on him, making him throw his head back in pleasure.

"Fuck!" He panted with a loud groan as he cum hard, his warm seed gushing inside her, filling her all over, his cock throbbing greedily inside her. "Here you go, babygirl. All my semen, just for you"

"Oh, God, yes" She moaned blissfully, her thighs moving with him a moment longer, wanting to prolong their pleasure.

After a moment he rolled her onto his side and hugged her from behind, burying his face in her hair, his slowly softening cock still deep inside her. Both of them were breathing heavily, unable to calm down, trembling all over.

"Rest for a while." He whispered, brushing the tip of his nose over her ear, her soft purr answering him. "It's going to be a rough night for you."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9

Others: @fangirlninja67 @the-common-cowgirl @glame @xcinnamonmalfoyx @toodlesxcuddles @virtualsweetsqueen @nina2697

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fenricken · 6 months

Text

You Keep Slipping From My Grasp 1/7

Ao3

Ship: Spirit Halloween

Summary:

Danny has been getting the hang of this whole “Ancient of Doors”, “Apprentice to Clockwork”, “Dad to the Chaos Gremlin Dani” thing, and he’s really starting to find his flow! Sure, he sometimes misses the life that could’ve been, but overall everything has been great! Sure doesn’t need anything throwing a tangle in things.

Bruce is suffering. He doesn’t know who he is, where he is, or what the hell is going on. All he’s running on is instinct and strange forces propelling him towards some end he’s not entirely certain of.

Basically, Danny tries to help Batman over the course of events covered in Batman:Return of Bruce Wayne

Chapter One:

“Clockwork? Are you here? I got your message.” Danny floated up the tower, peeking behind cogs and pendulums, hoping to find a glimpse of his teacher’s signature purple cloak.

It had been a long time since certain… events had led Danny to become a far more permanent resident of the Infinite Realms. Of course, he wasn’t alone, as much of Amity had also followed him here to carve out a new life all together, his friends and family included.

Danny had since reached maturity and been recognized as Ancient of Doors for his actions. When faced with his evil future self, he strove to find another path where he didn’t become that future self. When Dani was revealed to be with the enemy, he chose to love her still, rather than hate her as many would. When he was faced with a reality where he was famous, and accepted by his parents, he chose to undo all of that for the peace and safety of his friends and family. While he now knew his parent’s acceptance would always come, he still had to make the choice then to put his trust in them and reveal himself so his friends could be saved when the GIW came to destroy Amity Park. And so, for his commitment to forging new paths, always finding another choice, and braving the unknown he was named Ancient of Doors.

Sam had also found her own mentor in Undergrowth, working hard as his apprentice to aid him in his duties as Ancient of Wild Growth. Tucker and Technus had quickly formed a rivalry, both competing to see who would reign supreme as the Infinite Realm’s ultimate tech master. Jazz had found her purpose in the Department of Lost Souls, as an advisor to those who weren’t certain about their afterlife, and what they wanted to do with it. After Jack and Maddie’s change of heart with regards to ghosts, it was not long before they found new purpose in investigating and researching the many mysteries of the Infinite Realms and beyond.

While he and his friends had reached their own maturity, Dani had remained a child. Something about “It’s easier to cause chaos this way” and “No one ever suspects the baby”. Danny’s fondness for his clone only grew until he saw her less as a cousin and more as a daughter. Ultimately, it was only a surprise for Danny and Dani when the ghost-bond snapped in place, formally cementing her as his daughter, to both of their suffering.

Currently, she was out in one of the universes, chasing after some hybrid spider-pig, Danny thinks. Unless she got distracted and went to hang out with Klarion again, in an effort to “maximize joint chaos”. Tucker and Sam were both busy with their respective duties, Jazz was at work, and last he checked Mom and Dad were elbows deep in a mech suit they were hoping to get working off an Infinite Realms Corn-based fuel Sam had created. Danny had been feeling quite bored before he got the summons from Clockwork, and had jumped on it right away, hence his surprise at not being able to find his Mentor anywhere.

Danny had finally reached the top of the tower. He could see a table set up with a small tea service, but still no Clockwork. Figuring there’s nothing else to do, Danny pours himself a cup of tea, and settles in to wait.

—

Who is he? What is this place? His hand rests against a cool, smooth surface that appears so at odds with the rest of his surroundings-rocky ground, a red sky, and the water lapping against the cliff-side. There is nothing, and no one else that he sees, except – a cave. He stumbles in, visions of symbols surfacing in his brain- two “W”s, an “S”, a bat. He carves these into the rock-face desperate to have a visual trigger that would help him remember anything, but nothing comes.

A rock clatters against the floor of the cave, followed by someone’s voice. He approaches, steadily, entering into the light. Four men stand before him, weapons raised. They say something else, but he can’t understand.

“Where am I? What is this place?”

They do not answer him, but pull back their weapons. They introduce themselves, and speak some more. Names, he realizes- Man, Boy, Giant, Surly, Joker. This last one gives him pause, tickles something in his brain that upsets him, but soon his eyes lay on the structure from before, and he stumbles back to it, certain it must contain some clue.

The men he walks past continue to converse amongst themselves, but he has only one destination in mind. He digs through, looking for anything, but comes up only with a large swath of fabric. That same “S”, that calls to him but gives no answers.

The men set up camp, cooking as they go. They invite him to join, and he does, his hunger for food now outweighing his hunger for knowledge.

—

“Danny, I’m glad you came as soon as you could.”

Danny’s teacup clatters as he jolts in surprise. He turns to face Clockwork, “I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself. What did you need my help with?”

Clockwork’s face turns a bit grim. “There is… something twisted in the time stream in one of the Justice League universes. While I can tell it is meant to happen, I am still uncertain about what is actually happening, and fear that I am unable to see with any certainty the outcome. I need you to venture to when this is to investigate on my behalf.”

Danny nods, his concern growing. “Of course. Is there anything in particular I should be prepared for?”

Danny swears he sees the corner of Clockwork’s mouth twitch up into his signature sly grin, before his face is quickly schooled and he says “No, just observe for now. Your destination is through here.”

Danny watches as the cog begins to glow before he ventures forward.

Immediately he is met with the sight of violence. It seems one group of cavemen has taken to attacking another during their dinner. Danny watches, cautious against intervening, trying to figure out who he is meant to watch for. He sees one man, dressed in black bottoms, escape the field of battle with a young boy and hide in the bushes. The battle quickly turns against the four who had been eating dinner, and Danny looks at the leader of those attacking, surprised that the leader’s face is familiar to him…though he can’t quite place who.

The man from before rejoins the fray, quickly beating many off before ultimately being subdued himself. The leader of the attacking cavemen crows in victory, before the army collects the man they’ve now taken prisoner and any other spoils, and returns to their home base.

Danny follows, trying hard not to focus on the bloodshed beneath. He may have lived a long time, but the kind of person willing to commit such violence is not someone he goes out of his way to find. He watches as the chief holds the man they took captive above his head.

“Conquering Chief Savage brings gifts from the forbidden land!”

“Shit,” Danny thinks, “I can’t believe I’m witnessing Vandal Savage’s villain origin story. Or is he already a villain at this point?”

Danny continues watching as they tie up the captive, who they’ve been calling ‘Man-God’ underneath a giant bat pelt. He takes a closer look, before reeling back in shock.

“I thought his pants were weird, but those are pretty 21st century” he thinks, before glancing around at hearing a shuffle. He sees a shadow lurking beyond the camp, crouched down. Danny approaches, recognizing the boy that had been rescued from the fight. He wears what looks like a yellow utility belt, and has painted a bat-shaped mask over his eyes.

“Wait… bats, a yellow utility belt…” Danny glances again to the Man-God strapped to the ground.

“What is Batman doing here..?” Danny pauses, thinking. He should only be here as an observer, but it has never felt right to just stand on the sidelines when he can make the choice to do something to help. Maybe he doesn’t have to do too much. He floats over to where the Boy is crouched, clearly wanting to help but paralyzed with fear and indecision.

“Go to him. Help him as he has helped you. There has been enough bloodshed this day, will you wait around to see more?” Danny whispers to him, watching the boy’s eyes harden as he comes to a decision.

The boy is quick to act now that he’s made a decision. He approaches Batman, and frees him from his bonds. Danny watches as they collect themselves. Batman dons his utility pelt, and the bat pelt that had been hung over him. By the time they’ve finished their preparations, the sun has risen and the men who captured Batman are rising.

“Should I cause a distraction?” Danny wonders, but before he can do anything, Batman and the boy spring into action, taking out fighter after fighter, until Batman is left facing Vandal Savage.

They charge towards each other, but Danny’s attention is caught by a shadow that begins to pass over the battlefield. He looks up, noting an eclipse is starting. He can feel the energy changing, knows that something is going to happen when the sun has been completely blotted out.

But Clockwork has instructed him only to observe, so observe he will. He turns back to the battlefield, noting that Batman and the boy have managed to push back Vandal Savage, but are still being chased off by the remaining caveman. They drop over a waterfall, but when Danny follows, he only sees the boy surface.

The sky is dark now, as the sun has been completely covered, and there is energy concentrated underneath the water. Danny focuses, in the way Clockwork has taught him, to figure out what lies beneath and where Batman has gone.

“A strong amount of time-manipulation energy…No Batman, not in this time anymore.” Danny looks around to see the boy has realized Batman will not follow, and has left to find shelter.

“Did he make another jump through time? But how? I didn’t see that he had anything on him capable of such a jump?” Danny thinks. He’s considering if he can piggy back off the residual energy to jump to when Batman is, but a portal opens behind him and Clockwork steps out.

“Danny, I think it would be best if we return now.” he says, gesturing for Danny to follow.

—

Back at his mentor’s lair, Danny explains the situation to Clockwork. Clockwork inclined his head in thought, only speaking after some time, “I can’t say for certain whether or not Batman was meant to be in that time period. However, there is something suspicious about the way he’s been traveling through time. Did you notice anything off with the time manipulation energy, Danny?”

“I can’t say for certain,” Danny starts, “Though I did notice there was a build-up to the event, in line with an eclipse. Then again, I’m not familiar enough with the way dimensional energy manipulation feels in the universes with the Justice League to say for certain.”

Clockwork hums, before turning to rifle through a cupboard that popped up behind him. He pulled out a glowing orange orb. “Here, it’s a record of the time-manipulation energy gathered from one of the Flash’s misadventures. Can you compare and feel any difference?”

Danny closes his eyes before focusing again. “I can feel there are some significant similarities, but it feels like both have an added component that is different from each other? I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

“The energy reading from the sphere I handed you will likely contain energy both from the time-manipulation and the Speedforce the Flashes use to travel between time. If we assume the time-manipulation energy is the constant in both samples, then…”

“There’s some other energy added into the mix that is propelling Batman forward through time?” Danny finishes.

“That is likely the case. Until we know what it is, it would be best to exercise caution. We don’t know how it interacts with the time-manipulation energy, so we can’t predict how it might affect you Daniel.” Clockwork pauses in thought once more, “I’ll spend some time figuring out where Batman made his next jump. In the meantime, take a rest and prepare yourself.”

“I’m not totally familiar with the universes containing the Justice League. I’ll spend some time researching for now… and maybe I’ll ask Dani what she knows when she returns.”

Clockwork smiles slightly, before nodding. “A fine course of action, it might be best to gather all the information we can before proceeding.”

A/N:

At the time of plotting this, I haven’t read A Glitch in Time. I know that there are some time periods in common that Danny and Bruce travel to, so I want to address that at this moment I’m not planning to reference A Glitch in Time.

As for actual writing, I feel a bit stuck on how much of Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne to actually reference, as I’m aware that most people in the dp x dc fandom are more familiar with Danny Phantom, and from other references I’ve seen to Batman’s travels through time it might not be a story many are familiar with. That being said, I don’t want to just directly repeat details from the comics. I guess if you feel I didn’t provide enough background from the comic series to understand what’s going on, or that I should maybe try referencing less, please let me know so I can make corrections.

On that note, I do recommend reading Batman:The Return of Bruce Wayne if you get the chance. There are so many interesting layers it adds to the mythos and history of Batman and the Wayne family, and it’s really a great read. It helps that you don’t really need too much knowledge of what comes before– except maybe that Batman had crafted a god-killing bullet he shot Darkseid with, before Darkseid retaliated and “killed” Batman. Even this is alluded to in the story in enough detail that you can understand what’s going on, though.

#dpxdc #spirit halloween ship #batman comic rewrite basically #Stared at this for an 2 hours like “hm one more change”#post already you coward #icarus may have fallen flying too close to the sun #but the sea spray will weigh down your wings if you fly too close to it #Danny being a dad to Dani makes me soft #So I'm putting all of that next chapter >:)#dp x dc crossover

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pedgito · 1 year

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How abouttttt edging Tom until he's pouty and crying

author’s note: this is purely self indulgence. i tried to mimic some of tom’s dialect in my prose without going too cornish, so i hope it isn’t too terrible. i’m so horribly american that i didn’t want to butcher the shit out of it lol. anyways, love tom grant, he’s supreme boyfriend material.

cw: 18+ (minors dni) strangers to lovers, meet-cutes, cooking for each other, oral (m receiving), edging (to tom), grinding over clothes (sorta), talks about past relationships/cheating (on both of them), tom is a sweetie, if i missed anything lmk

word count: 4.7k

You meet him by chance, out at the market for your daily errands. He’s always dressed in his work uniform, seemingly jumping straight from work to grab a few things for the night or the rest of his week, arms always full of items because he refuses to grab a basket and he’ll pile them high until the food is toppling to the floor. He’s stubborn, you can see it in his face as he squats down to pick up the unlucky can of vegetables that crashes against the tile, denting the corner.

You don’t introduce yourself the first time, grabbing the can and handing it back to him with a smile—he looks a little dejected, pouting at the kind gesture but mumbling a quiet thanks, regardless.

But, you see him everyday for a few weeks and suddenly you’re wondering how someone you’ve never met can be so interesting. He’s kind to the people stocking the shelves, the woman at the counter, but he doesn’t speak a word to you.

That’s why, after a long, dreadful three weeks of tense eye contact and awkward encounters, you finally take that plunge.

He’s reaching for the same box of cereal as you, caught up in his own thoughts so much that he doesn’t even realize you are leaning down beside him—you try to stumble out an apology but it dies on your lips.

“Those are your favorite?” He asks curiously, grabbing the box with ease and handing it over. You stall for a moment, wondering if you’d imagined him talking to you—he could’ve been talking to someone behind you, anyone but you. His eyes are locked on you when you glance up.

“How’d you know?” You ask, clutching the box to your chest with a kind nod. It was the last one.

“You’ve grabbed the same box every Monday,” He notes, pointing at the box of cereal, “but—never any milk?”

You snort a soft laugh, being caught up in your own weird ways of eating. He didn’t seem like he was judging, but it was something he couldn’t help but notice.

“Soggy cereal makes me ill at the thought of it.” You confess, “plus, it’s so much better when you can just eat it by the handful.”

He smiles wide, tongue poking through his teeth slightly.

“I’m Tom,” He introduces himself, “consider that last box an apology for being an ass to you the past few weeks.”

“Thank you,” You reply sweetly, patting the box lightly, “though, I definitely touched it first. I would’ve pried it from your hands if it came down to that.”

Tom laughs, shifting the weight of his groceries in his arms. And like clockwork, a can falls to the floor. You can’t help but take a small jab at him as you reach for it.

“Are you allergic to the baskets?” You ask playfully, “It would squash this whole ‘feeling too awkward to apologize’ when I have to pick up the stuff that you drop.”

Tom shakes his head slightly, a weak and unintelligible answer.

“Unless you’re doing it on purpose.” You suspect.

It had taken Tom a while to get over Ruth, forgive her, allow himself to rid his trailer of her things and move on. The only thing he hadn’t managed was allowing himself to return back to normalcy, talk to his friends, meet a nice girl—when Tom isn’t working, he’s home, unless he’s here and sometimes, the trips were unnecessary, just an innocent hope that he might run into you. But, his nerves constantly got the better of him, the words choking up in his throat. He wasn’t sure why today was different, but it was.

And while he was on that high, he takes a chance before his mind tries to talk him out of it.

“You’ve caught me,” He admits humorously, “there’s probably better ways to ask someone on a date, but uh—“

“Loads,” You interrupt with a hoaky smile, “but lucky for you, I’m interested.”

“Really?” He perks up instantly, nearly dropping his groceries in one giant pile. “Oh, well um—I didn’t think I’d get this far—“

You laugh at his honesty, pointing at his jacket pocket wearily, noting the outline of his phone, “Mind if I—“ He nods, angling his hip toward you to grab it. He rambled off his lock code without question and you entered your information swiftly before returning it back to him.

“I’m a bit rushed but call me later?”

“Uh, yeah—yes, I will.”

He does, which isn’t much of a surprise. You’d been anxious about the call since you left the store, wondering when was the last thing you were this caught up over a boy you knew nothing about. He called you that night, your name falling from his mouth like velvet—he sounds more relaxed, less wound up. You weren’t sure how stressful his job was, or what his life was like, but it’s a difference from the man you had ran into earlier.

“Are you opposed to a home-cooked meal?” He asks, straight to the point. You huff slightly, debating on the question to torture him slightly, the silence lingering.

“Seems a little forward, yeah?” You tease, laughing floating through the receiver and making him smile on the other end. “It’s fine, Tom. I really don’t mind.”

“You sure?” He asks for reassurance.

After Ruth, he doubted almost everything he did—wondering if he was doing too much, or not enough. It was never good enough.

“If I’m being honest, a home-cooked meal sounds much better than dressing up and going out to a fancy place to eat.”

“As if I could afford fine dining on my salary.” Tom jokes, settling into a sense of comfort in the conversation, a lull that felt natural. “But yes—I’m an excellent cook, so you have nothing to worry over.”

“I’m putting my life in your hands, Tom.” You tell him carefully, though the affection is still there. “Don’t be the first boy to put me in the hospital with food poisoning. I’ll never be able to forgive you for that.”

“Fucks sake—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

The curse sounds too dirty falling from his mouth, tarnishing his rather innocent, boyish looks.

“What time is good for you?”

You hum softly, pondering on how long you should make him wait. But, you were too impatient yourself.

“How about tomorrow? Say, six?” You suggest.

“Perfect.” He responds softly.

The date quickly evolves into something that you and Tom didn’t really plan on—and it’s a silent agreement that settles between you two as that date turns into several dinners over the course of a couple months, either at your place or his, venting about your day and getting to know each other better than anyone else you knew in town.

You weren’t familiar with the place, having only lived there a few months, but Tom had told you everything you needed to know—where to eat, where to shop, even if you always ended up at his place anyways.

And you realize rather quickly why you both latched onto each other without hesitation—there was a weird yearn for companionship, or friendship even, that neither of you acknowledged audibly, but sensed within each other.

Tom has empty pictures frames stacked on his bedside table that he doesn’t mention, even when you two end up on his bed one night after a particularly filling meal, listening to him complain about how much the weather had been bothering him.

“I live right off the beach, you know—it would be nice to go but the water is always freezing.” Tom complains, tracing the outline of your fingers with his own, hands held straight up in front of you as you both stared toward the ceiling.

“So I suppose streaking into the ocean is out of the question for you?” You ask, only slightly joking. Tom turns to look at you, eyes comically wide as his movements still. “Tom, I’m fucking with you.”

Tom looks away briefly, face contorted in a semblance of pain, like maybe you hit a sore subject. It fades quickly, replaced by a flat emotion of content.

“Okay, fess up.” You pester him, turning on your side and propping your head up into your hand. “What’s got you so bothered?”

“Nothin’,” He laughs awkwardly, releasing your hand to replace it with his own as he settles them against his stomach, soft cotton rubbing at his fingertips, “s’just bad memories.”

“Well, whoever it was, I’m sorry.” You tell him honestly. “They’re missing out.”

Tom smiles sadly, looking over at you briefly.

“Piss off,” He says softly, shoving at your thigh with no real strength, “s’not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“You gettin’ to flirt with me, but you always tease me when I do the same.” He explains, cheeks blushing a faint shade of pink.

It’s the similar pink that happens when he’s out in the wind for too long, settling in the apples of his cheeks and staying for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asks curiously, “M’not trying to pry or anything, but—“

“Think I held her back,” Tom admits, “She loved me in the beginning.”

“And it just faded out?” You try to perceive where the story is going, but Tom shakes his head.

“Nah, it was kinda sudden.” He explains, glaring up at the ceiling, “I don’t see her for a while and then she comes back and it’s like—she hates being here. It was good those couple days but I think whatever she’d been dealin’ with had been there the whole time.”

“That’s not your fault,” You tell him, “her problems aren’t your problems, whatever they were.”

“Took me a while to put it all together, but she thought I was cheating—I mean, who does that?” Tom asks with a strain to his voice, frustration lining his tone. It seemed like a sore subject, but Tom powered through. If he didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t.

“Cheat? Loads, Tom.” You emphasize, “And I’m speaking from experience, it’s not fun.”

“I’m not like that,” Tom insists, “I couldn’t—I didn’t even think about that stuff. I loved her.”

“Did she cheat on you?” You ask carefully, wondering if you're straying too far into territory that wasn’t yours to venture into.

“I dunno,” He shrugs, “She started hangin’ out with this girl and getting teasy for no reason—maybe she expected it to be different here.”

“I like it here,” You shrug, “it’s quiet—people are nice.”

Tom smiles at that, noticing how your eyes trailed toward him. You sit up slowly, crossing your legs in front of you.

“Felt like I was forcing her to love me,” Tom says, voice teetering of sadness that clogged his throat, “some days we’d be okay and then others she would throw herself at me—like she was tryin’ to make up for acting distant.”

“How so?” You ask.

People showed their love differently, so you couldn’t really judge. You were just trying to understand.

“It’s embarrassing,” Tom admits, shaking his head at the thought, “she came home late one night and tried to—“ Tom gestures to his groin vaguely, “I couldn’t get into it.”

“That’s not your fault,” You shrug, backpedaling for a moment, “well, technically—yeah. But, if you weren’t feeling it, that’s not something for you to get upset about.”

“And then sex was,” Tom starts, looking over at you, gauging your expression, “—is it weird if I talk about this? Don’t want you feelin’ uncomfortable.”

“Tom, we’ve talked about everything. You’re not gonna have me running away at the first mention of sex. You thinkin’ I’m some kinda prude?” It’s teasing and playfully in tone, but Tom is straight-faced, sincere. “It’s not weird.”

“We’d kiss for a while, she’d make some excuse to go to the bathroom—brushing’ her teeth or something else, but then she’d come back and she couldn’t look at me.” Tom says, eyes straining slightly as he roamed around the room briefly, blinking the dryness out of his eyes, “anyways, ‘nough that.”

You laugh slightly, rocking in place as you stare down at him.

It’s the most he’s opened up since you met him, part of it feels forced—like he’s trying to clear up for his standoffish behavior, why he comes off a little forward, but it’s never bothered you.

“Got a pretty lady right here and I’m boring her to death over my ex-girlfriend.” He says, taking a stab at himself, “That’s not kind of me.”

“Kind?” You tease, poking at his side, “You? Never.”

“What about you?” Tom asks innocently, turning on his side now, knees grazing his torso. His right hand rests against your leg as he settles in a similar position to how you were earlier, paying full attention to you. “Some bloke break your heart?”

“Break? Not really. He was an ass and slept around on me every week. Took me a few months to catch on. But, there was never anything there.” You explain, “I got a nice job out here, destroyed his ego when I dumped him in front of friends, and never looked back.”

Tom grins widely, “Damn, that’s cruel.”

“He was fuckin’ them in my apartment. That shit was justified.” You tell him, the endearment is a little patronizing on your tongue. “Don’t cross me, Tom. You’ll regret it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Tom replies flirtatiously, letting you drag your fingers through his short cropped curls, eyes falling shut at the touch. “Wouldn’t ever—you’re too sweet of a girl.”

“As far as you know.” You counter, his eyes peeking open briefly to look at you, teeth peeking through his smile. It makes your heart melt, his features soften every time he looks at you. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Tom asks, knowing full well.

“Giving me the eyes,” You chuckle softly, “If you want to fuck me just say so—I hate dancing around that shit.”

“You’re something.” Tom notes, squeezing at your thigh gently.

The touch had become normal, something you both seeked after long meals and tiring work days. But this, it had your stomach fluttering and ignited a deep, unfurling pit in your stomach.

“What, are you scared of me?” You ask teasingly, flicking at the collar of his shirt as you graze his chin. It had only ever been playful touches, some suggestive touching and the one time that he kissed you on the cheek when you left his place after a late night, delirious from sleep and not really thinking.

Still, you thought about it every time you looked at him. Tom was as honest as they came, open to anything, willing to do whatever to make you comfortable. It was everything you weren’t used to but also everything you wanted.

“I don’t bite,” You tell him quietly, “not unless you ask for it.”

Tom pulls his bottom lip between his teeth slightly, smothering the laugh that escapes, attempting to cover up for the obvious surprised noise that tried to come out.

“And if I do?”

Your eyebrows raise slightly, daring him.

“Because I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” He admits, his hand trailing dangerously higher up your thigh, your hands having moved behind you, watching his movements.

“Then I’d say you’re in for it,” You confess, “you may not survive me, you know.”

“Soundin’ like a good way to go.” Tom replies confidently, his fingers dipping past the hem of your sweatpants, grazing the thin fabric of your underwear. “Show me?”

He’s not asking for anything in particular. He wants everything,

You bite at the inside of you check, considering how deeply this could affect your friendship with Tom—and as much as you tried to think about the cons, it was outweighed by the pros. It was a long, endless list that you couldn’t even begin to speak on—the only thing that mattered was that Tom wanted this, just as badly as you did.

You hadn’t been with anyone in a few months, let alone touched in any type of way—the kiss on the cheek was the closest you got to anything in a while. So, even with Tom’s gentle, fleeting touches, you were already willing to do just about anything to prove to Tom how much he deserved to have someone who cared, somehow who wasn’t going to flee from him without an explanation.

You hand grazes over his jeans testingly, the fabric worn from constant use, frayed at the thighs and thinning. He’s already hard under the line of his zipper, jaw clenching at the slightest bit of friction.

“How long?” You ask curiously, undoing his jeans silently.

Tom watches on, turning to his back to give you more room.

“A couple months,” He admits, “got on with a girl out at the bar after I had too many beers, don’t remember much if’m being honest.”

You nod, Tom speaks softly, “And Ruth—Ruth, she never liked to—“

“Touch you?”

“Or I touch her, not really.”

You tilt your head, wondering who could resist someone like him. He was sweet to the core, staring up at you with his hopeless eyes, wide with adoration.

“Let’s fix that, yeah?” You ask, earning a jerky nod from Tom.

He lifts his head slightly, propping himself up on his arms as he watches you tug at his jeans until he can kick them the rest of the way, your hand coming up to cup over the strained tent in his underwear, squeezing gently.

“That’s, fuck—“ Tom sighs, “this isn’t going to last long, ‘m sorry.”

“It will.” You assure him, smiling with a devious intent that should scare him away, but it only entices him further.

You settle over his legs, spread wide on your knees as you pull his underwear down the rest of the way, cock springing free and upright toward his stomach, the tip matching the vibrant blush in his face. He stares up at you nervously, hands dragging up his thighs teasingly.

“You’ve got a pretty cock, Tom.” You comment, watching as he stumbles to find his words. “Anyone ever told you that?”

He shakes his head slowly, your delicate fingers wrapping around the base, the skin like soft velvet under your touch. He’s not nearly as good at keeping his composure as you thought, letting out a small groan as you touched him.

You squeeze gently, hand slipping up to squeeze at the the tip, thumb rubbing over the slit at the head of his cock, rubbing the small amount of precum there, making the slide down all the more torturous.

“Love, that’s so fuckin’—“

You nod knowingly, just as affected despite that lack of touch. Your thighs squeezed together desperately, mouth watering at the thought of him heavy against your tongue, what he tasted like—it was impossible not to think about.

“Can I—or do you not like that?”

Tom doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second as he watches you eye his cock in your hand, licking your lips as you parted them.

“Please, please—“ He all but rushes out, “that’s, yeah, of course.”

You snort at his eagerness, relaxing himself over your lap as you take him in your mouth slowly. First your tongue, dragging it up the line of his shaft, swirling over the head slowly, repeating the process a few more times until you finally decide to take him in your mouth, the moan that escapes him is desperate, noisy, need—his fingers dragging at your hair, pushing it away gently. His hands follow the slow bob of your head, never pushing or pulling, only feeling.

And he’s mouthy, mewling all sorts of noises alongside his words. It doesn’t surprise, given how much he can talk your ear off. Though, this is so much better.

“God, it’s been ages, fuck—“ Tom grunt softly, head falling back against the pillow, fingers rubbing tenderly through your hair, silence filled with the obscene noises of your mouth on his dick, “told ya I won’t last long.”

You lean down briefly, taking his balls into your mouth, tongue rolling over the tight skin and forces and strained moan from his chest, the grip on your hair tightening slightly. You can feel the muscles in his thighs flex, the quickening in his breath—so you pull back, a vivacious grin on your face.

“What?” Tom asks flippantly, his deep cornish accent peeking through, “S’goin on? I was there.”

“I know,” You nod slowly, “It’s the whole point.”

“M’sorry?” He asks, eyebrows falling together in confusion.

“Have you never edged yourself?” You ask curiously. “Got close and stopped? Nothing?”

“That sounds horrid,” Tom admits, “Isn’t cumming the whole point?”

“Well, yeah—“ You squeeze at the base of him gently, punching a huff out of his chest as his eyes roll toward the ceiling, hands clenched into fists at his side, “but this is more fun, don’t you think?”

“Sounds like you want to torture me.” Tom notes, losing the last bit of sanity he had left when your mouth closes over the head of his cock again, tongue swirling lightly. “—N’ here I was calling you sweet.”

You grin darkly, “I can make you cry, if that’s what you really want.” It wouldn’t be the first time, definitely not the last. Most of the time you did it to be petty, bring a man to a primal state of begging just to embarrass them. But for Tom, it was more than that.

He’d never really been touched, not like this. He’s had his fair share of encounters, and his relationship with Ruth spanned a long part of his teenage years, but there was always something missing. There was always a sort of shame behind wanting things for himself and not asking, feeling like an ass for voicing his needs, so he didn’t. You didn’t need to ask him because you saw it everyday, always putting himself second for anything and anyone. Besides, you wouldn’t mind forcing a few tears out of him, a few breathless pleas.

He was already halfway there, it seemed. Tom had his eyes squeezed shut, fists still clenched at his sides as you bobbed your head slowly, eyes flicking up to watch the muscles in his jaw tense, blush traveling down his neck.

“Gotta slow down,” He begs weakly, “s’too much.”

“You sound alright to me,” You tell him snarkily, licking a long slow stipe up his cock, “should I stop?”

“No, no, no—“ Tom quickly answers, hands reaching for your head as you move, “just—I,” He sighs, feeling like a sap for saying what’s on his mind, “I’d rather have you up here.”

Sex wasn’t totally off the table, but it hadn’t been on your mind.

“Do you have condoms?” You ask, earning a slow head shake from him. The last thing you needed was a baby by someone you’ve only known for less than six months.

“You can uh—you don’t have to take your clothes off or anything,” Tom starts, “we could, just like—“

“I haven’t done that since high school, Tom.” You answer with a faint laugh, bubbly and free of judgment. “But, it’s really our only option.”

Tom breathes a heavy sigh of relief as you sit up, slipping your sweatpants down your hips and off your legs, his calloused hand traveling up your thigh as you settled over his groin, hard cock pressed against the thin cotton of your underwear, sticky with the small wet patch that had grown there, much to your own embarrassment. You hadn’t even touched yourself, or he you, and you were already just as needy. You push his shirt higher up his chest, pale skin hot to the touch, fingers dragging through the small trail that led down to his dick, hips heavy against him as you dragged your hips once, twice.

“Oh, fuck,” Tom sighs loudly, fingers gripping your hips tightly, “tits—can I see your tits?”

And no one’s ever asked in such a polite way, you can’t help but chuckle, nodding eagerly. You slip the shirt over your head, breasts bouncing freely, having forgotten your bra at home in rush over to his place. They were all in the wash, thank god.

“Beautiful,” He notes, his voice low and rough, leaning up to mouth the flesh, plush pink lips pressing against your skin, “s’like the rest of you. Perfect.”

“Tom.” You warn lightly, feeling your own face heat at his compliments.

“It’s true, love.” He tells you, eyes connecting with your face briefly, eyes vulnerable as he stares up at you. It’s the most expressive part of his face, mesmerizing, to say the least. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You nod slightly, “I know, I know.” You respond, “M’not used to people saying stuff like that to me, never know how to respond.”

“Don’t.” He assures you, “As long as you know.”

And you’ve never felt love this strongly, this early—it could be because of the situation, given your heightened state of connection, but those three words rest on your tongue heavily.

It’s a slow gradual rise as you grind against him, pressing against you in just the right way, clit catching the head of his cock with every pull back of your hips. Tom’s a mess, murmuring words that don’t make sense, soft noises, not having the strength to hold himself up any longer as he rests back against the pillow, grip tightening on your hips as you ride it out, stopping briefly when he starts to squirm a little more than usual.

It goes on for forever, it feels like. In reality, it was only about a half hour, watching Tom fall apart every time you denied his release, nearly to the point where he’s gasping at every touch, wicked pleas turning into desperate whines.

“I can’t.” Tom concedes, eyes brimming with tears, face excessively flushed, “Need it—please?”

You nod, impatient yourself as his hands travel up to touch you, thumb finding your clit over the fabric—it amazes you how he has no trouble at all when feeling out your body, despite how new this was to both of you.

“Fuck, you’re just as bad,” Tom notes with a breathy laugh, it quickly dying out with a rough snap of your hips, chasing your own orgasm selfishly, “take it, come on.”

Take what you need. Take all of it. Tom would give you everything if you let him.

It hits you fast, hard, eyes squeezing shut as you whimpered a soft ‘Fuck.’, fingers finding his wrist for purchase as you rocked your hips one final time—Tom watches your face as you come, which does him in immediately. He blinks hard, watery eyes lending a few tears to escape as he finally breathes in relief, coming in long spurts over his stomach and ruining his shirt in the process, though it’s the last thing on his mind.

“Not how I thought this night would go,” Tom admits with a lazy smile, rubbing at your thighs gently, pointing out how ruined your underwear were now, covered in a mix of slick, yours and his, “come here.”

You slump forward weakly, hands sprawling out over his head as you rest on your arms, nose grazing his. “Me neither.”

“You’re really good at that.”

You snort a tired laugh, “I’ve made many men cry—gotta admit though, you’re the prettiest.”

“Fuck off,” He laughs, reaching up to press a soft, gentle kiss to your lips, “shit hurts after a while.”

Your eyebrows raise, as if trying to prove your point.

Tom grins, attempting to hide his face in your neck. He’s never been this shy until now and it melts your heart.

“You can take a shower here,” He tells you, “sleep too, if you don’t want to mess with the drive.”

“Clothes?” You ask curiously, knowing you didn’t bring any spares.

“No, no—that’s where I draw the line.” He jokes, failing to hide his obvious smile. “‘Course, take what you need.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” You tell him honestly, watching his expression blank for a moment, “I still want my dinners, too.”

Oh.

Tom nods fervently, “Got it. Not like you could do without my cooking now, anyways. You get pissy when it’s your turn.”

You gasp slightly in shock, taken back by the jab and slapping his chest lightly.

“Don’t get coarse with me,” You warn playfully, “or I can make it a lot worse for you.” Unfortunately for you, Tom was already diving in head first. He didn’t care.

“Sounds like a challenge.” Tom counters, “I’m sure I could take you on.”

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#tom grant x reader #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #tom grant make up #tom grant x you #tom grant x y/n #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fic #tom grant smut #my writing

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fullofpossibilities · 1 year

Text

I don’t know if this has been done yet but here goes.

No one knows what the Lazarus Pits are made out of, a lot of dc x dp fans have speculated that it is made out of corrupted ectoplasm or that it’s a natural portal from the Ghost Zone.

I have another idea.

Tim didn’t quite know what he was looking at.

He had been sent to investigate what Bruce suspected to be another Lazarus Pit forming, but what he found instead was...well yes a Lazarus Pit, but also a angsty teenager with white hair and eyes to match the waters behind him.

One that was glaring at him in a “don’t come closer or you’re gonna have a bad time” type of way.

Darn it, he just has all the luck doesn’t he.

“Look, we can talk this out if you want, but you need to step away from that stuff, it’s dangerous.” Tim had been having this conversation with the kid for almost twenty minutes, if you counted talking to someone who didn’t talk back a conversation.

In fact, he almost jumped when the kid finally spoke.

“I could say the same about you, do you even know what that stuff is?”

Tim frowns at this. “Yeah, do you?” The kid just looks amused. “Do you now? Well then you won’t mind if I take it.”

OK time to wrap things up.

“Look obviously you’re messing with stuff you don’t understand-”

“Look if you know what this is then you know it’s mine so-”

“Woah woah back up! What are you talking about??????”

“It’s glowing, it’s green, it brings people back from the dead, and OH YEAH it’s kind of my blood because I died here lol.”

......all the freaking luck.

Au built on the idea that the Lazarus Pits are places where Danny has “fallen” in battle when doing errands through time for clockwork. Building off the idea that he is a halfa, and a king at that, that is why his blood is powerful and brings people back to life instead of leaving them in death (plus, you know, the whole he represents both?). Whenever he ‘dies again’ and some of his blood gets left on the ground after a few centuries it creates a natural well of “corrupted life” that Danny has to clean up now that he’s back in the present.

Also please have this.

Danny:

Jason:

Danny: So why exactly do you smell like you bathed in my blood?

Jason: Uh...

#danny phantom #dc x dp #tim drake #Lazarus pits #mentions of death #blood #jason todd #funny dc #au theory

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da3dm · 3 months

Text

I Can Hear You

Got late night thoughts about how my cats always bother me at night and wondered what a good version of that with Irzayn would be...enjoy!

tw: language (Irza is verrrry unhappy)

Then again, when is he ever happy anyways? Also, Vara's sister makes an appearance for the first time!

Word Count: 1022 (so short lol)

ONESHOT

It was the middle of the night. Two borrowers darted away from a hole they'd hidden behind the typically unused toaster. They were silent as they rushed across the smooth marble countertop and began on their mission--food. The human would be asleep at this time, giving them the perfect opportunity to snatch what they need and be out of there. Well…that would be a lot easier if they were quiet. It didn't take long for the one to dash away from the other, recklessly going in one of the cupboards. Of course, this made the other one upset. “Eva! Get back down here!” He was whisper-yelling at his sister.

And she proceeded to ignore him. She wormed her way through it all, aiming for the sugary sweets that had been newly bought by the human today. “Chill, I'm just gonna take a little bit! You overreact too much.” She tended to push the boundaries of safety fairly often…this also meant her brother had once needed to drag her away from a rat. For some reason she was intent on riding it. This made her brother fully believe she lacked any desire for even the most basic of survival. This was also aggravating.

He shot her a glare with no hesitation. “You do this every night! You're going to wake the human!” She wasn't even trying to hide her voice tonight. He growled in frustration and got his hook out, unable to simply scale items to reach the cupboard like his younger sister.

It was while he was attempting to throw the hook that she reappeared, sidestepping his hook and staring at him. “What’re you worried about? That moody guy has never once noticed us, or maybe he just doesn't care.” She kicked the hook off when he managed to get it latched, sticking her tongue out at him. “And like hell I'm letting you reach me before I finish.” Her smirk taunted him as she vanished back into the cupboard.

He was beyond done with this girl as his hook clattered back down beside him. “Get down. That is enough, get down!” He took a few steps back and looked for a better place to throw his hook, only for a warning shout to echo down to him. Just barely, he managed to scramble away before a package slammed onto the counter, right where he'd just been standing. His heart leapt out of his chest and his eyes shot right up to his sister.

She was peeking down at him, then innocently raised her hands in a shrug while avoiding his eyes. “Oops?”

He shot to his feet. “What are you doing?! Why would you drop the entire package?! We can't get it back up there! You've gone too far this time, get down here!” His glare burned into her while she attempted to scale back down, hanging her head once she was on the counter. She didn't say a word, but did start to rub her arm. He sighed at her and stepped closer to her, raising a hand to set it on her head. “You know better. Leave everything how it is and he might think it just fell out. Let’s go, Eva.” Except when he turned, a chill shot through his body. The human was standing there as simply a dark, heavy shadow, its sinister eyes gleaming from the lowlight of the darkened kitchen.

0_0

It was the middle of the night. So why did he keep hearing voices?? He just wanted to sleep! Every night, it was like clockwork. He'd go to his room for the night, and hardly ten minutes later, these two annoying voices argued in his house. At first he felt he was imagining it all. It didn't really make sense otherwise, how would there be two people in his home every night with no sign of forced entry? Also, they always spoke with a forced tone, as if they were trying to be quiet but shouting. What shout would be so quiet? So it wasn't like he had any real reason to suspect the voices. He was probably just going insane, which made sense.

Until tonight. A loud bang startled him to be sitting upright and he immediately got out of bed. Alright, enough of this. His mind falling apart can't make things fall over in the other room. His patience only went so far. Therefore, he got to his feet, keeping his steps quiet as he made his way to the door. He stopped to listen. More shouting. “What…why would…get…here!” He muttered under his breath before he finally stepped out and stalk over to the kitchen, stopping in the entrance to scan the room.

Right there. He stared silently at the apparent tiny people on his counter, standing next to his cookies. His expression hardened into a glare…right as they turned to see him standing there. Using their sudden attention, he scowled and began to speak with a forced tone, “I can hear you…EVERY DAMN NIGHT! WOULD YOU JUST GO TO SLEEP AND LEAVE ME ALONE?! I AM BURNING THIS HOUSE DOWN THE NEXT TIME I FALL ASLEEP IN CLASS FROM YOUR IDIOCY!” He truthfully didn't care if he was too loud or too aggressive…he was already tormented enough while awake, he didn't need to get gum in his hair again.

He stomped closer, ignoring how they both cowered away from him even as the shorter one hid the other. Reaching past them, he grabbed the package and waved it in the air at them. “And of all things to take, this? If you're going to steal food, why not get creative and take some of the steaks in the fridge if you can move something like this. Oh yeah, and, leave my cookies alone.” His voice dropped to a growl before he turned away and took the package with him, grumbling, “Why the new strawberry ones, take the chocolate ones, or even the sugar ones, why the expensive strawberry…keeping me awake all night…” He slammed the door shut behind him, hid his cookies, and went to sleep in his now silent house.

The end

Taglist: @brick-a-doodle-do @i-am-beckyu @awkwardgtace @nobodywritingao3 @local-squishmallow @safety-writes-noms @justarandomsloth @kayla-crazy-stuffs @munchkin1156

If you want to be on the taglist, you gotta ask

P.S. He didn't even care they were small or in his house, he just cared they were taking his strawberry cookies and keeping him up lol

#the talking dead #my characters #oc irza #g!irza #t!vara #t!eva #oc #oc writing #gt #g/t #gt writing #g/t writing #gt community #g/t stories #my writing #dead writing

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lorcandidlucienwill · 6 months

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Lucien finally loses his shit part 6

“You should know better than to get between a male and his mate.” Lucien looks to survive the aftermath of breaking the feysand mating bond!

“How long until they figure out it was me, do you reckon?” Lucien asked Nesta as he prepared to leave the house. Nesta snorted. “Given your track record? I’d say their first suspicion will be me, not you.” She said it nonchalantly, but Lucien could smell the fear on her person.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Nesta,” he said quietly.

She looked at him, eyes blazing. “How can you promise that? Your magic is drained, and the Inner Circle has power you can’t even begin to imagine.”

Lucien smiled. “Because I won’t be alone.”

Like clockwork, Feyre Archeron winnowed right to the entrance of Nesta’s apartment. Feyre gasped as Lucien opened the door for her. “Come in,” he said.

Feyre gaped. “I-How?”

“Now,” he said a little more forcefully, and tugged her inside.

“I meant to winnow out of the Night Court,” Feyre grumbled. “Why did I winnow here?”

Lucien chuckled. “Just a little old magic I’ve been trying.”

Feyre glared at him. “Sometimes, I think you’re too smart for your own good.”

“There’s no such thing,” Lucien retorted. “Can you get Nesta out to Graysen’s mansion?”

Feyre’s face hardened. “It was you. You broke the mating bond.”

Lucien shrugged. “Technically, it was the Mother.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. “I’m assuming by the state of you that Rhysand didn’t react well.”

Indeed, there was a piece of glass embedded in her cheek. Rhysand must have thrown something either at her or someone else. “Well, of course not,” Feyre said. “He threatened to kill Nesta.” “And is that the kind of male you want as a husband?” Lucien pointed out. “Come on Feyre. I know you. You know you. And I know that you know that I know you. Your whole life you worked for your sisters. You’re not about to let a male like Rhysand get in the way of that. Even if he is-was- your mate.”

Feyre continued to glare at him.

“Oh, please,” Lucien said incredulously. “We can argue this shit later. Right now, we need to protect Nesta. Can you get her out or what?”

Feyre nodded. “But what about you?”

Lucien snorted. “They won’t suspect me. I’m Mr. Nice Guy to them.” A wicked smile danced on his lips. “It’s her they’ll be after.” He pointed at Nesta.

“You’re right,” Feyre muttered. “I’ll get her out.”

A heartbeat later, Feyre took Nesta’s hand and winnowed her out. Lucien sighed in relief. But his relief was only short-lived. He knew he had to get Elain out. When they found out what Lucien did, they’d try to use Elain to get to him. Elain, Elain Elain-

She was fine. Lucien knew that rationally. He would know deep down if something was happening to her. But he couldn’t deny the panic that was beginning to set in. If his ridiculous plan hurt Elain, he’d never forgive himself. He rushed into the palace, tracking her scent like a goddamn dog. He was too anxious to care. He had to see her, touch her, smell her, get her out of this goddamn place-

“Looking for someone?”

Lucien whipped his head around and cursed. The shadowsinger had used his freaky winnowing-that’s-not-winnowing abilities to come up behind him. And in his hand he gripped…

Pure red as bright as the Spring Court roses blared through his vision. Azriel was gripping Elain’s wrist, and not gently. She winced slightly as Azriel gripped her wrist a little tighter at Lucien’s attention, and a snarl ripped through Lucien.

“Let go of her!” He roared. He was past civility. Every sound out of his mouth was purely feral. Azriel was hurting his mate. He was going to die.

The scent of Elain’s fear whetted his rage into something unbelievably feral. Rage such that he had never felt in his whole life.

“Not until you tell me where my High Lady went,” Azriel said coldly. “You know, don’t you?”

Lucien only snarled in answer, baring his teeth, preparing to pounce. His blood roared through his brain, his veins, a sound so loud he was sure all of Velaris could hear it.

Azriel pulled Elain to him, gripping her waist. She cried out, and Lucien struck.

He reached for the arm that Azriel had looped around Elain’s waist, and yanked. Surprised by the strength Lucien had exhibited, Azriel fell forward, and Lucien dove and caught Elain as she fell towards the ground. He stood protectively in front of Elain, his sword now in his hand.

“You touch her again,” Lucien growled, “and you die. Do you understand me?”

Azriel smirked ever so slightly. “You really mean to take me on, Lucien?” His blade, Truth-teller, glinted in the sunlight. “You’re no match for me in combat.”

Lucien hissed in Elain’s ear, “Run. Please.” He didn’t wait for a response before turning to the shadowsinger.

“You don’t know what I can do. Besides…” Lucien could feel some of his strength returning, the speed of his magic’s return accelerated by the regeneration Wyrdmark spell he had used beforehand. “You should know better, shadowsinger, than to get between a male and his mate.”

He didn’t let Azriel respond before he lashed out with his sword.

Only the strength of Lucien’s rage kept him alive in the fight.

Azriel, arrogant as he was, had not overstated his abilities. He fought like the seasoned warrior he was, battle hardened by 500 years of brutality. Lucien was no stranger to war or fighting, but he typically opted for words to win his battles. Violence was not something he particularly enjoyed or wished to partake in, especially after Jesminda. His aversion to violence had only intensified after Amarantha had ripped out his eye.

The pain had been unbearable. His best friend, Tamlin, had vomited at the sight. After the pain had subsided, however, Lucien had taken a good look at his face and recoiled.

It was amazing how one injury could disfigure your entire appearance. Lucien had been ashamed of the male staring back at him. Not what he had been through, but the product of all that.

He had been ugly. That wasn’t a word anyone would’ve ever used to describe him before that, but so it was. Having grown up in the Autumn Court, having the role of emissary, appearances were crucial. And how could he be a spy when he could only see through one half of his face?

So, he had gone to Nuan. The two of them went long back, ever since a particularly memorable party at the Dawn Court where a male had been hitting on Nuan. Lucien had been drunk himself, but he had pretended to be her partner to scare the male off. When he had threatened violence, Lucien had punched his face. Afterwards, they’d run away, where Nuan had given him a drink that had cured his drunkenness. They’d been close friends ever since. Nuan was one of the few faeries who Lucien could say could keep up with him intellectually. She hadn’t even hesitated to help him when he had made his request. She’d wound up creating an absolutely incredible magical eye. And he couldn’t say he was happy he’d lost his eye, but his new eye certainly had its uses apart from cosmetic appeal.

He knew what he was capable of, though. He had found his way to Vassa through lands even the most powerful High Lord had feared to tread. Had faced obstacle after obstacle and survived. On his own. Had fought his way to his mate at the end of the war on Hybern. He was no slouch in combat.

And he made damn sure Azriel knew it.

Lucien had cuts on his face and arms with a particularly wicked gash running down his leg, but Azriel didn’t look much better. He was panting, blood flowing from his neck, his chest, his arms. Azriel winced as Lucien ducked a blow to the shoulder and slashed into his wings. A one-inch hole formed where Lucien’s sword landed deepest. Azriel snarled at Lucien now, swipes getting faster and more vicious. Lucien couldn’t hold out for much longer. Azriel folded his wings tightly into his spine, forcing Lucien to find another target. It took everything in Lucien to block the shadowsinger’s next strike.

At last, Azriel got him on his knees, right where he wanted him. “Tell me where she is, or die,” Azriel whispered. He raised his blade.

Light bright as the sun flared from Lucien’s chest, and Azriel stumbled backward, giving time for Lucien to stand up. He swung his sword, prepared to fight to the death, and Azriel swung at the same time.

Elain was gone. She had disappeared quite some time ago, much to Lucien’s relief.

He would gladly die now if she was free. That was all that mattered. She was all that mattered.

#lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #anti azriel #elucien #pro elucien #feyre archeron #nesta archeron

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maybebabyplease · 1 year

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Sirius Black, The Nosebleed God of Blunt Force Trauma

(ok so this is heavily inspired by my conversation with @black-sparroww, who slid into my DMs to talk about nosebleeds and came up with the lovely idea of Sirius Black as a God of Nosebleeds that i couldn’t get out of my head) (tw: blood, so it’s below the cut!)

When you’re a Nosebleed God, you end up wearing a lot of dark clothing. Sirius can’t count how many white shirts he’s ruined with the blood dripping down from his face. Plus, he always has two black eyes, and while he suspects he looks quite dashing and dangerous with them, they do sort of scare off potential love interests.

Regulus, of course, is the Nosebleed God of Pollen. Fucker. He wears white all through the fall and winter, when the leaves turn yellow and fall off and the plants stop reproducing. Regulus finds potential love interests just fine.

Pollen isn’t quite as dramatic as Blunt Force Trauma, though, so Regulus’ temples tend to sit empty. Sirius’ shrines attract men after bar fights and skateboarding accidents and baseball games gone wrong. He watches as they pray for a speedy recovery, for a straight nose, for a bag of frozen peas to press to their face. They hold the backs of their hands to dripping noses, red smeared across lips and chins. They look around at each other, searching for reassurance. Sirius tries to give it when he can. He hands out cool washcloths, scented lavender for that little extra something. They wince at the look of him and accept the washcloths, averting their eyes, as if he’s any worse off than they are.

Most men come to him once, twice maybe. He’s not used to seeing familiar faces. But there’s one man who pops up like clockwork, once a month and maybe more often on lucky months. This man is tall, maybe even taller than Sirius, with messy hair and patched-over rips in his trousers. He always half-smiles at Sirius, never looks away, shamed, like the others do. And he lets the blood drip all down his face, down to the chest of his cardigans. Sirius finds it charming.

Today the man sits towards the front of the shrine, staring up at a painting of Sirius with a glowing halo. He’s grinning. Sirius can tell even by the back of his head, from the set of his shoulders.

“You’ve never seemed all that angelic to me,” he says, tilting his head.

Sirius steps up behind him and places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not,” says Sirius.

They sit like that in silence, Sirius’ hand burning where it touches the man’s shoulder. He wants to remove it, put it back in his pocket. He wants to leave it there forever.

“Do you ever wonder about me?” the man asks, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling. Not at Sirius.

“Yes,” Sirius says, honest at least. He wants to ask a million questions. He doesn’t know where to start.

“Remus,” says the man. When Sirius stills in confused silence, he continues. “My name. I’m sure that’s your first question.”

Sirius nods. “Sirius.”

Remus chuckles. “I know.”

“Still, it’s polite to introduce yourself,” Sirius says with a sniff. He may not have been raised well, but he was at least raised with good manners.

Remus turns to look at him, fresh blood running down his face. His nose looks crooked. Sirius wants to reach out and touch it.

“I can fix that for you,” he says.

Remus grins. His lip splits. “Don’t you always?”

Sirius reaches out a hand, cupping Remus’ jaw. He brings the other up to Remus’ face and rests two fingers on his nose. His touch is light, but Remus winces anyway. Sirius’ bloody nose has long since stopped hurting, but he winces with sympathy anyway. He shuts his eyes, focuses his energy, and heals. He can feel the circles under his eyes grow darker as Remus’ nose straightens and sets. Opening his eyes again, Sirius finds Remus staring back at him in wonder.

“Thanks,” Remus says, standing up and sticking his hands in his pockets. He turns to leave.

“Wait,” says Sirius. “Are you coming back?” He sounds desperate, he can hear it in his voice. But this is what he wonders the most, every time Remus walks into his shrine. Will this time be the last?

At that, Remus tips his head back and laughs, as if he’s sharing an inside joke with only himself. “Yes,” he replies. “I’ll be back. I’ll see you in a month.”

He walks out of the worship space and into the light. Sirius watches him go.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #this is wolfstar and a microfic #but not a wolfstar microfic #ya know?#anyway. the product of some fun late-night (on my end) dms!#tw: blood #em goes micro #ish #i would really call this more of a flash fiction #but who's here for semantics! not me

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theold-ultraviolence · 2 years

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Wake Me Gently

Eddie Munson x fem!reader // 18 + minors dni

Summary: comming up on the anniversity of Hawkins' earthwake, Eddie notices a new twitch that's been troubling you in your sleep. One morning he calms you down by waking you up with kisses that soon turn into something more. ////This is a request from the lovely @eddington-munson but I accidentally hit 'delete' instead of 'post' like a jackass just when I was about to post it directly as a reply to your ask. The prompt was: unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping + sleepy kisses. Thank you for requesting, Tori!! words: 1k // CW: PIV sex, unprotected sex, morning sex, a little bit of angst but lots and lots of fluff. ST4 VOL 2 SPOILERS. fix-it fic. PS. if anybody gets the references of the place where they move and who these new metalhead friends are, I'll be delighted to know!

This is a new quirk he’s noticed.

It started after…well, after the great cataclysm.

After you’d emerged from the Upside-Down, rushed Eddie to the hospital along with Dustin and remained glued to his side until he’d been cleaned up and bandaged.

When all was tranquil two days after, you were able to rest your eyes and feel safe enough on Eddie’s chest to finally doze off into a deep sleep in the hospital bed.

Eddie had remained wide awake though – he’d just slayn hundreds of demobats yet he couldn’t kill those war flashbacks and the moments where he’d looked at the grim reaper right in the eye. It hadn’t been as badass of a sight as his favorite albums painted it out to be. He had been scared, like he never had in his life.

Amidst that mental dialogue, he had noticed you whimpering in his embrace. Your arms shot out of the blanket, hands itching to grasp onto something as your entire body shook and your hushed whimpers turned into pained moans.

He had tightened his hold around you, gently nuzzling your head to try and calm you down, but your arms outstretched more urgently and it wasn’t until he interlocked his fingers with yours that you were finally able to wind down slowly, with your breath coming back to normal and your body relaxing against his once more.

After that, you hadn’t waited long to flee from Hawkins, leaving it as a figment of the past to start anew.

You moved to Aurora, Illinois and were living in a tiny department in a decent neighborhood. Life was slow paced and step by step you nurtured your tiny square of a home into the cozy space you deserved after everything you’d been through together. You even lived in the same lane where this group of fellow metalheads broadcasted their own TV show from home, which you quickly befriended and with whom you went out to shows at The Gasworks bar.

Recently though, Eddie had begun to notice that late at night, like clockwork, you started to whimper like you had all those nights ago at the hospital.

One time you’d been laying face to face in bed and you’d accidentally slapped him in the forehead trying to seek for his hand; he’d quietly chuckled and captured your twitchy fingers in his until you calmed down.

You did this sporadically, but Eddie never once complained about being woken up. He held you closer each time, holding your hand in a tight grip until the frown on your face smoothed out.

He reasoned that maybe you’d started doing this because the anniversary of the event was creeping up.

Settling you down at night tugged at the strings of his heart with equal parts of endearment for how you sought for him in sleep but also guilt for having put you through such distress. After all, you had gone out to search for him the very moment he had been declared a suspect of Chrissy Cunningham's murder and afterwards you followed him along to Hell itself just to make sure he made it out alive. You’re his hero.

In tune with his poderning, you start to quiver in his arms, weakly at first before your arms are clawing at the sheets seeking Eddie’s form. He was spooning you from behind so he envelopes his arm around your middle, slots his face in the crook of your neck and blankets his front to your back before grabbing your hand.

Outside, the sun is rising and timidly peering through the curtains, sweeping away the blue hues of the night with beams of white sunshine that turn everything softer.

You shiver, instinctively squeezing Eddie’s hand in yours, making him shush you, murmur sweet nothings against your forehead.

“I’m here, baby…I’m here…we’re safe…”

His gentle words serve as a lifeline as you come back to the waking world and realize there are no monsters around you, no more darkness nor streaks of blood-red lightning.

You relax with a feeble moan before Eddie turns you over in his arms so you’ll wake up to the shield of his chest in front of your face.

His heart swoons over the sight that greets him: your sleepy eyes slowly blinking awake – once, then twice – before you nuzzle your head against Eddie’s front once more to try to sneak in five more minutes of sleep.

Because Eddie’s such a little shit he won’t let you go that easily, pressing smooches along the crown of your head, your forehead and temples until he’s kissing away the sleep from your eyelids before going down to your scrunched nose.

Now that you’re awake you’ll have to put up with his affection – he doesn’t make the rules.

“Eddie!” You push him by the chest but he takes advantage of you breaking into a fit of giggles to swallow the sound with his own lips despite your complaints. “Morning breath…” you sigh against his mouth.

“So?” Eddie couldn’t give a single fuck about that – he’s sure you’ve stuck with him through worse, like when you’ve had quickies in dirty bathrooms right after his shows when he’s all showered in sweat, when you kiss him after he’s been chain smoking out of nervousness, or when you stuck with him while he was on the run, hiding at Reefer Rick’s without a proper shower for days.

He licks into your mouth and merely rests his lips against it, not really doing much other than lightly pressing them to yours, exchanging breath and drinking in your quiet moans as if they were his first sip of freshly brewed coffee in the morning.

You wrap yourself around him, clinging to his shoulder blades that protrude from his old Megadeth tee he uses as pajamas. He usually sleeps shirtless unless the crisp air from the last bit of winter likes to linger on some nights.

The rest of his body begins to wake as you languidly rub yourself against him to seek his warmth, hiking up a leg on the small of his back which he firmly grasps so you’ll remain pressed to him while he continues to kiss you tenderly.

It’s a Sunday morning and there’s nowhere else to be; it’s a morning faraway from the urgency of last year’s peril and Eddie takes advantage of the kind of leisure you have been granted where once he thought he wouldn’t survive the year of 1986.

The hand that had been supporting your leg moves over to your lower back, adding more pressure to his rutting against your core while he kisses you.

“Eddie…” you whine against his mouth, lips joined only by a frail string of saliva.

“Let go, baby, I’m here…we’re safe,” He whispers, more out of reassurance for the both of you rather than seduction. It’s a gentle kind of mood this morning.

You free his erection from his boxers and slowly glide his silky head all over your wet folds, eliciting a deep groan right out of Eddie’s chest before he joins your hand where it’s wrapped around the base and guides his cock, inch by tantalizing inch inside you until he bottoms out.

He doesn’t move immediately – seeks your lips again, serenely switching between exploring the inside of your mouth with his tongue and nibbling your bottom lip before sucking on it, hissing each time he feels a contraction of your walls squeezing his cock, enveloped by your heat.

It’s when he feels you scratching the nape of his neck and entangling your fingers amidst his heap of frizzy curls that he starts to move his hips, planting one foot on the bed to keep his thrusts in a slow, deliberate pace.

The time you spend interlocked with one another seems endless; all else dims except for your hushed moans and sighs, the wet sounds of your tongues as they trace each other’s lips, as you bite and suck on the sides of your necks and earlobes, as well as the juices that Eddie pumps right out of you, dripping down your thighs each time the head of his cock grazes your g-spot and the subtle slaps of skin against skin as he rams into you.

He can hear the sound of his heartbeat ringing in his ears which compels him to augment the speed of his thrusts just enough to feed that fuzzy feeling that’s overflowing from deep within his core and extending all over his skin leaving behind goosebumps.

He’s moaning and moaning and moaning your name, the faster he goes, and now he’s the one that needs your hand for support.

He grabs it and pins you down on your back to plunge himself all the more deeper without breaking his steady pace.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie…” you quietly chant, over and over against his lips. One hand you squeeze, soothing his knuckles, while the other travels down to rub your clit in wide, urgent circles.

“I got you (Y/N). You’re safe, let go…cum with me…”

“I know you do, Eddie, I know…ohh…”

You both cum with a shared grunt against each other’s mouths; it’s one of those prolonged orgasms that start as a tiny flicker that pulses and pulses and pulses in crescendo until you’re sent out of orbit, suspended in a sea of stars and never ending pleasure.

You’re pulling yourselves closer to one another to ride that lightning and hold on until the thrumming within you starts to recede.

Eddie grins on your lips, making both of you chuckle in a sleepy daze.

He doesn’t pull out of you for a long while, cradling your face in his hands to kiss you with more determination now that you’re fully awake.

“I’m here,” He reaffirms, staring intently at you with all the conviction he can express through his big doe eyes. “We’re safe.”

“I know, Eddie,” you nod and give him one last peck on the lips, placing your palms atop his hands where they lay against your cheeks. "We're finally safe."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #reader insert fanfiction #joseph quinn #stranger things #spoilers #fix it fic #fluff and smut #hurt and comfort #my writing

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scarlet-traveler · 1 year

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If you asked Tails, thunderstorms were one of the worst things that he could go through. No matter how hard he tried, and no matter how many equally bad if not worse situations he’d been in during his short life, he could never get over his fear of lightning. It was deep-rooted at this point, the slightest bit of light that flickered behind closed curtains always making him jump and want to hide under the thickest blanket he could find. He usually felt older than his age, but in the middle of a thunderstorm he really felt like the eight year-old he actually was.

It was doubly bad if said storm knocked out the power in the process. His usual go-to method for dealing with a storm was to throw himself into a random project in his workshop. After all, he couldn’t see the flashes of lightning or hear the subsequent booms of thunder if he had a welding helmet strapped to his head. But none of his equipment worked without electricity, so with no power and no way to fix it without going outside into the rain, all he could do was cope and hope the power came back on soon on its own.

At least, that’s how it was the first time.

Somehow, every single time there had been a power outage because of a storm, Sonic had been there. It was like clockwork: Tails would hear the first drops of rain patter against the window, then seconds later he’d hear frantic knocks at the front door, his big brother standing on the other side with soaked fur and a sheepish smile as he asked Tails if he could stay over for the night.

(The answer was always yes, always would be yes. Tails always enjoyed Sonic’s company, even if he never asked for it, not wanting to hinder his wandering spirit.)

But Sonic would be there when the lights flickered before shutting off, and he’d swoop in with a flashlight and drag Tails out of the workshop claiming he needed a break anyway (which he didn’t, he was about to make a big breakthrough on his latest invention if the stupid storm hadn’t taken out the power), and he’d rope him into a board game or puzzle or some other miscellaneous thing he’d dug out of the attic.

A corner of Tails’s mind suspected that Sonic always knew to be there during a power outage, like some kind of sixth sense the hedgehog had. But the rational side of him wasn’t going to complain. Not when his brother’s laughter and teasing as they played Monopoly were the perfect distraction for the storm raging outside.

~ Days 5+6 of the 30 day writing challenge: write 100 words today and write about a blackout (I technically wrote the 100 words yesterday)

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#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #unbreakable bond #sonic fanfiction #fanfic #traveler writes #god i'm so rusty at writing sonic #this prompt fit so well with my boys though so I had to try and write it

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pb-dot · 6 months

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Spooktober Sunday Special: The Clockwork Monster V

Halloween is right around the corner, and I'm finishing off the Clockwork Monster for now. Jake and 13 go on the lam, and a twist of sorts presents itself.

16.09.552 Recovered from Site B after the incident I’ve had the opportunity to confirm the date since my last entry. Tempted as I am to try to correct the dating on my previous entries, I know it’d be mostly guesswork. Besides, I seem to have left my diary note behind when we left the coal cellar. I hope this mistake has not cost us our freedom. I hope there is no sensitive info for me to redact in the first place, but in hindsight, I realize I should have checked.

From what little 13 told me, he has been dodging a member of his organization, well I suppose former organization at this point, but she has been sniffing out his trail ever since. He and two of his fellow modified people, One and Two, were sent by their boss (ruler or religious head?) to capture me for this reason or another. I personally suspect it is because my work on clockwork limbs is relevant to their interests in some way, but 13 has been unable to confirm this. One had stalked me for an extended period of time in preparation, and the plan was for Two and 13 to move in to snatch me on the 8th.

13, however, had other ideas. He hasn’t said much about it other than that he didn’t want to stay with his organization any longer, and that he had temporarily disabled Two, kidnapped me ahead of schedule, and made sure to keep me somewhere hidden. I have no idea what caused the damage I repaired, but his ex-colleagues remain my main suspects. It is, for example, quite possible that One made his escape difficult after dealing with Two, but without knowing her abilities and strengths it is hard to determine for sure.

The night grows dark, and my head grows weary from exertion. I’ll get to discussing our escape and my plans on the morrow.

17.09.552 Recovered from Site B after the incident Our new hideout is considerably less cramped than it was upon first viewing. The sunlight and draft in the abandoned apiary make waking up here a mite shocking, as I had grown accustomed to the darkness of the cellar and we arrived here by moonlight. Apparently, buildings such as these small towers were built in an attempt to vivify the town’s dying greenery by the presence of a large population of domesticated bees, but needless to say, they’ve been empty for just about as long as I have been alive.

After sunset yesterday, 13 had unlocked the door to the coal cellar he had been keeping me. As I had suspected, it connected to one of the collapsing manors of the old Noble Quarter. The huge building was no doubt owned by someone on paper, but inhabited only by dust and decay. There were many of those after the nobility that knew sense sold off their assets and fled the country while there was still a country to flee in the later days of The Wars. The Spire owned most of them now, but seeing as restoring them was expensive and most everyone who could afford it lived comfortably in the spire itself anyway, the houses mostly just got lost to entropy until they could be torn down for cheap.

The Noble Quarter was eerily quiet as we left for the city proper. It was about at this point I realized that I thought about 13 and me as “we,” and the thought of ditching him and making a run for it just didn’t occur to me anymore. He could be lying about any number of the things he has told me, but for better or worse I believe him because - Entry ends suddenly with signs of being rushed by outside factors, see next entry.

17.09.552 (later) Recovered from Site B after the incident We couldn’t stay at the apiary. Two found us, and although I barely got a look at her as she scaled the walls of the little tower, climbing like half a spider might, I now understand why 13 had no desire to remain in her company. While the modifications done to 13 are considerable, there’s a certain level of effort put into making him move like a human. Two, on the other hand, have been outfitted with entirely clockwork-powered joints for the elbows and knees, with the limbs themselves being stripped to the bone. Hell, the way she climbed, it looked like her joints had been replaced entirely by mechanical ones, as she was both double-jointed, and much faster than a human could be. 13 spotted her a second later than me, and we wasted no time fleeing into the crowds. I couldn’t see her, but I’m sure somehow that One was also present somewhere in the area.

After the many days of isolation and skulking by night, it was chaotic and scary to be back in the crowded bustle of the city. If it was unusual and stressful for me, though, I can only imagine how scary it was for 13, who was out among “regular people” without his cloak for what must’ve been the first time. At one point he grabbed my hand, and I held on for dear life as I dodged and ducked our way through the lunchtime rush. I had no idea if Two had any compunctions about following us through the crowd, but a staccato of clacking from the roof somewhere over us hinted that she probably chose to pursue us that way.

While I’m no canny street urchin, I will say I am good at moving through crowds and navigating the city. It didn’t take us long to lose the clacking that I took to understand as the sound of Two’s pursuit, although it is quite possible we were still followed in silence.

I’m writing these words from our current hideout, a room in a semi-reputable inn in the Entertainment District. It’s noisy and it smells like stale beer in here, but the proprietor seemed like a decent enough sort. He may not be above selling us out to our pursuers, but he didn’t seem bright enough to connect the dots just yet.

13 is sleeping. After our mad dash through the city, he seemed disproportionately tired, so I let him take the first shift in the room’s one admittedly decent bed. If I can find the peace in my soul to get some sleeping done, the couch’ll have to do for me.

Peace in my soul does seem unlikely though, as I am starting to realize this problem is bigger than I assumed. 13 may not want to carry out his assigned task, but his former allies seem to have no problem with the parameters of the mission. I can’t return home, and I can’t return to my place of employ. My life as I know it is, effectively, forfeit. I guess 13 and me have that in common now.

18.09.552 (morning) Recovered from Site B after the incident To whoever may read this: My name is Jake, former Journeyman at Barker Automatics. For reasons I still don’t fully understand, I have been targeted by an organization that implants complex clockwork gadgets in human subjects to enhance their abilities. I believe it is my experience with clockwork limbs that has brought me to the attention of this organization as my expertise should allow me to eventually repair and replicate the modifications in 13.

My savior turned out to be one of my would-be captors who decided to take this chance to flee from his fellow modified in the hope that I would know or be able to learn how to maintain his clockwork parts. He has since introduced himself as Adrian, and let me know the number tattooed on his forehead is his production number.

Both Adrian and I know that we can’t hide out where we now hide forever. Our pursuers are clever, and there’s little doubt in my mind they’ll sniff us out before long. Adrian and I have come up with a plan of sorts, but for it to succeed we’ll need to visit my former workplace to secure my closing wages and a few personal effects. There is a good chance our pursuers will attempt to stop us, and there is every chance they’ll succeed, but I know in my heart that if it comes to that, we’ll make them fight for it. Adrian has asked me to promise to kill him if it looks like Two and One are going to bring him back in, and I can only be thankful that he didn’t press the issue, as I still don’t know if I’m capable of such a thing. I will say his intensity on the matter makes for a compelling argument.

If we succeed in securing my resources we will endeavor to The text ends suddenly here, as the remains of the pages were ripped out, possibly by 13.

Post Script I bring to you now this incomplete record of events, Oh Creator. It is unfortunate that I was not able to bring you the young clockmaker and your wayward creation as you have asked of me, but I beg your forgiveness in the matter as I am but a poor servant of your brilliantness. It is still not known to me whether Two is still alive, as she has not made her appointed check-ins since moving out on a lead to intercept Adrian 13 and the clockmaker. She may be dead, but equally possible that she is not, as she is mercurial even on her best days.

In my efforts to track down my quarry, I found 13’s former hiding spaces, the coal cellar, and the room in The Pelian Lady, Site A, and B, respectively. Apart from the documents I have attached, as whole and unmodified as they could be found, there was little trace to be found of 13 and Jake. I was unable to confirm the location of the disused sky-apiary mentioned in earlier entries, but I maintain my watch and vigil after it all the same.

While I am tempted to indulge in speculation, I know it to be folly in the face of such a mind as yours, and shall do no such thing. With that said, I personally suspect Jake may have tried securing charter on a ship heading towards Pelia or one of the former colonies. It is also possible that he and 13 are trying to make their way out of the city and try their luck with the Farmer Lords. With your blessing, I will follow these leads such as they are and attempt to secure that which you so desperately desire.

With Equal Loyalty and Admiration Your Slave One

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#writing #hearts in clockwork #horror au #the clockwork monster #the clockwork boy

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senalishia · 1 year

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Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 14: Elves in a Workshop

Rating: G

Characters: Curufin, Miriel Therinde

Word Count: 447

Summary: Mandos has found the perfect way for naughty elves to repay their debt to society.

Curufin dabbed a delicate brush onto his palette one last time and with a swift but steady hand drew a final, shining gold stripe along the side of the little vehicle, the so-called "steam engine". Careful not to smudge the drying paint, he wound the clockwork tight and set it down for a test run across the length of his workbench. It worked perfectly, of course. He'd made more than enough of them to perfect his craft.

He sighed. Stretched his fingers. Allowed himself one moment to appreciate his handiwork before he moved on to the next task.

"Such noble work for a prince of the Noldor," he muttered.

"Would you rather you still tarried houseless in the Halls of Mandos?" his grandmother asked pointedly from behind her loom, her hands never stopping as they flew between shuttle and batten.

"No," he admitted. He still bristled at the terms of the arrangement the Judge had offered him--but as a mere Elf he had no power but to accept or refuse. And he felt better having hands to work with, having something practical to do, rather than drifting aimlessly and avoiding the spirits of those he'd slain. "But of all the tasks I could have been set to--crafting toys to be distributed to mortal children? I cannot but suspect that the humiliation is rather the point."

"What, you are not motivated by the thought of their sweet, cheerful faces at receiving such a gift?" That made Curufin smile a bit--getting to meet his grandmother at all had been a gift, but discovering her wickedly sarcastic streak was an endearing surprise. "You may not be far wrong. No doubt He does believe your pride in need of testing."

Curufin laughed mirthlessly. "And what reward should I expect, should I pass such a test?"

For a long moment, Miriel filled the air only with the rapid clack-clack of her loom. "I cannot claim to know His mind, but... Perhaps if he deems your case a success, He may extend the same offer to others." Her eyes suddenly filled with an intense wanting, the likes of which Curufin had seen often in the faces of her descendants.

He hated that it had come to this. That the power of the Valar over Eru's Firstborn was indeed so absolute. But such was the truth of the world, and no use would come of denying it. If this was what it took to reunite them with the ones they both missed so dearly, so be it.

"You really think that any of us will be considered worthy of being treated as proper Elves again someday?

"Of course you will. It just takes practice."

#tss2022advent14 #tss2022advent #silmarillion #curufin #miriel #fanfiction

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grumpygreenwitch · 1 year

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The Fairy and the Prince #44 + #45

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

Welp, a little more violence. Tags have been added appropriately, and bear in mind from here on out it’s probably going to stay violent for a while. Edit: It’s complete! The queue runs until February 22, at which point it will be done! At a little over 103K words, so much for a speed-writing exercise XD

He lived, of course.

He went through his classes and his studies and his practices like one of the clever clockworks that were brought to entertain the Court. He went through the motions, and presumably pretended to them well enough, as no one complained of his inattention. Dane and Beli tried to get him to go out on the grounds, to at least visit the Royal Gardens, but Adam refused to go that far, refused to so much as look at the woods. He wouldn't climb so much as a tree. Rumors began to go around that he'd been elf-touched and rejected, that he would soon wither away and die, pining after a fairy-maid that had enthralled him for a lark and abandoned him directly after. As rumors went, it didn't go very far; the visit of the priests ensured that.

Adam didn't cry, he hardly spoke, he ate only because Culli-maid and Trout would harass him into it. Spring rushed headlong toward summer and he didn't even notice. Master Leminy assigned him nearly permanently to clean the stables and the training rooms if only to get him to leave his rooms. Adam suspected the teachers there had been instructed to keep him busy, with whatever kind of sparring they could think of if nothing else presented itself. Yet again, they could only report that the prince did his duties with admirable skill. This time they could also add that he did them with little heart.

The first true days of summer found him sweeping one of the long, narrow storage rooms that abutted the elegant hall where the princes were trained in fencing and dagger-work, sweating. His coat had been hung on one of the pegs and Trout dozed lazily in a pocket, wings twitching occasionally; the pixie could fly short bursts, but could not yet maintain altitude.

A class had just ended, and it occurred to Adam as the princes came and went that they were all younger than him. Camlen had given up his claim to the crown at some point, when his family had shown up to beg him to do so. That left only Sean and himself of the Dowager's first attempt at a King. The thought came and went, impossible to hold onto through the fog of his grief. Dimly he was aware that some of the princes had remained behind, likely the older boys sparring with one another. He was aware of the low give-and-take of their voices, of the clash of their swords. Knowledge, rising from unknown depths, told him they were using true blades, and laughing about it. He had to wonder if Rickard's first lesson would linger on with this new set of princes.

He opened a door and the words hit him when he'd thought he could never be wounded again.

" - would just burn down the woods."

He went so still he forgot to breath.

"You can't just burn down the woods, Liam. The people need those for eating and for firewood and whatnot."

"I'm supposed to put their lives above mine?" Liam's voice was both angry and elegantly disbelieving. "There's the river, right there, let them eat fish. They grow grain, they can eat that. Haven't you heard a thing we've been taught? The Folk in the Woods, they're called."

Adam shuddered violently. Trout suddenly snapped from its drowse when it heard the wood of the broom's handle creak. The prince's hands were closed so tightly on it that his knuckles were the color of ash.

"No one's going to let you burn down the woods, Liam," the second boy's voice scoffed.

"When I'm King, who will stop me?"

"They're the Folk In The Woods, Herringmere. I'm pretty certain they would, if no one else."

I think they wouldn’t, Adam thought. I think they very much wouldn’t, because they aren't really in the Woods, are they.

"I wouldn't give them a choice. Arm a few dozen men with blessed rowan-wood shields and iron-tipped spears, and what are they going to do then?" Liam snorted. "They picked this fight. They started this curse. Do you expect I'd negotiate with them? No, burn it all, I say. No more fairies, no more curse."

No more gracious linden tree. No more wild irises nodding against the still waters of the kelpie's old pond. No more elegant willow, fronds always ready to lift someone to their branches. No more generous cherry trees, sharing their bounty of tart little red fruits. No more songbirds bringing gossip, no more nesting pixies, no more stalking bees back to their hollows to steal a single bite from their hard-earned combs, no more, no more, no more...

Adam had thrown the two halves of the broom aside and was stalking across the exquisite marble floor before he knew what he was doing. He felt so cold that everything, skin and flesh and bone, burned him. He made a beeline for the princes. There were four of them, the three he'd heard and one that had yet to speak. They were all young reeds, grown into their lanky teenage years and quickly becoming refined by their education in the Dowager Queen's court.

"No one," he said, startled to find his voice scratching as if he hadn't used it in days, "is burning down the woods."

They stared at him as if he'd grown two heads, until the second boy spoke. "You're Lestrelle, aren't you?"

Adam turned to stare at him. "I'm sorry I don't know you," he said politely, his manners an instinct that refused to die. "But no one is burning down the woods."

"Oh, come off it, Lestrelle." Prince Liam was a rapier of a young man, lean, as elegant as his voice, blond and pale and sharing the deep blue eyes that said his bloodline was as true as Adam's. He was wearing simple training armor and was swinging lightly an elegant rapier. "Look at you. One would think if anyone, you'd be glad to see that place and the Folk inside it gone."

"I would not," Adam said plainly.

Liam's brows went up. "Well, alright," he replied with a lopsided smile. "I'm afraid only the people interested in the crown get a say on this one, Lestrelle." He moved forward.

So did Adam. His hand shot forward and his palm came to rest on Liam's chest. "No one," he repeated tonelessly, "is burning down the woods."

Liam looked down. He was of a height with Adam, not quite two years younger. "You want to take your hands from me, Lestrelle."

"Liam, don't," the boy who'd warned about the commonfolk needing the woods said nervously.

"Herringmere, leave it. You know he's not well." The other boy was solid, wrought of darker colors; perhaps if the future allowed him to live he'd grow to be somewhat a match to Dane, but on that day he barely managed to be the tallest of those there by a wisp of brown hair.

"I wasn't speaking to you, Macallan," Liam snapped.

"You should listen to your friends." Adam said very calmly. "No one's worth spit on hot cobbles without them, least of all a king."

"What would you know of either friends or kingship, Lestrelle? Last I checked, you're only waiting for your birthday so you can go to the woods and forswear the crown." Liam gave him a mocking, indulgent smile. "They won't burn before then, you don't have to worry."

"Herringmere -"

"No one is burning down the woods," Adam repeated.

"You're not the one to stop me, Lestrelle. Look at you. You're a ghost. Have you even bathed recently? Eaten? Changed clothes? You walk the palace like a shadow. Some fairy-maid bespelled you and sucked you dry and you think -"

Liam didn't get to finish that very dangerous accusation. Adam punched him and sent him crashing to the ground with both the suddenness of the attack and the sheer force behind it. For nearly all his time in the palace he'd been sparring with larger, heavier partners. He'd hardened his hands on a troll. He'd taught a boy twice his size to be fast or regret it. Liam was lucky to still have all his teeth when he hit the marble floor.

The two younger boys scrabbled back. The older prince stepped forward. "Mother-Night, Lestrelle, don't -"

"Give him your steel, Macallan."

"Herringmere -"

"Give him your bloody sword, Connor!" Liam scrabbled to his feet and spat blood to one side, his mouth a crimson bruise, his eyes a storm. "Or I swear to all of you I'll run him through unarmed!"

Prince Connor Macallan swallowed visibly, his hand going to the rapier on his belt.

Adam stared at Liam in distant, absent disbelief. He wasn't asking for anything outlandish. He wasn't asking for the impossible. Everything the other boys had said was true; the woods were needed and more, the woods were not the real problem. But in Liam's eyes Adam saw that this was someone who would never tolerate being told 'no', and everything he'd felt against the Prince Beyond The Woods rose in him like a black, deadly tide. "Prince Macallan," he said mildly. "Not your sword, but I thank you for the thought. May I have your dagger?"

"Against a sword?" The prince sounded aghast.

"It's a rapier," Adam told him simply. "I'm sure you're all very good with yours. They're worthless in a real fight. If I may?"

"You can have mine," the last of the boys, who'd said nothing until that point, stepped forward and drew his dagger, offering it to Adam hilt-first. It was very simple, but a faltering hand had stitched leaping fish on the hilt, a tiny gesture of such love that Adam had to forcibly tear his eyes from the sight of it. It wasn't hard; all he had to do was stare at Liam.

Almost before they squared off, Liam came at him in a classic fencing surge. Adam, apparently the only one who remembered this wasn't a fencing match, merely stepped aside, swatted the rapier aside with the dagger, and punched Liam again, sending him staggering into the ground a second time. Against all his fury, all the immensity of his loss turning into fire inside him, he still didn't want to be cornered into a choice that would be far too costly. If Liam could show any sense, any at all -

The young prince yelled in wordless fury and launched himself at Adam.

Adam ducked and twisted around the rapier. A rapier is a fine weapon, but one of precision and elegance. The blade dances nearly as much as the hand that holds it, and not always in the same direction. Liam was exceptional with it, but Adam, once again, had learned speed from two someones who moved like the boughs of a willow in the breeze, like the branches of a linden tree in the wind, like blood spilling from an unexpected wound or the flood of shadow and death that overtakes a fortress with a blood-hungry howl. To him, Liam was moving as slowly as molasses.

To the other princes Adam was a blur.

Liam fought him first with fury, and then with desperation, but he wouldn't yield. He was the sort, Adam realized, that couldn't give up, that had to be always right, that wouldn't abide defeat or challenge or shame. The older prince slashed the laces open on one side of the younger prince's armor, accepted a long, shallow gash to one arm, latched his fingers on the other set of laces and kicked Liam. The prince went down a third time, too winded at that point to do more than grunt in pain, and found himself hopelessly tangled up in his leather armor.

Adam stood before him, breathing a little hard, and patiently waited for his opponent to disentangle himself and get up. "No one is burning down the woods."

Liam cast aside his rapier, drew his dagger and lunged at him.

Adam caught that wild lunge, twisted the young prince's dagger arm away, and sank his borrowed blade all the way to the hilt past Liam's ribs. Those blue eyes, his own for all intents and purposes, widened in shock and disbelief, pain not yet having caught up with their owner. The younger prince shoved himself away, staggering; Adam hung onto the dagger, which came away bloody, and Liam lifted a hand to catch his side, staring without understanding at the blood that filled his palm. His dagger clattered from a grip gone nerveless.

He crashed to the ground, staring at Adam, unable to understand what had just happened.

At some point the training hall had filled with people, teachers and students both; they'd closed in a circle around the princes, but no one had intervened. The Dowager Queen had made it very clear what sort of life, and death, her princes were to expect.

Adam drew a deep breath. He didn't think Liam would understand, not even at that moment, but there were many around them that might take heed of the younger prince's death. "No one," he said very calmly to those deep blue eyes quickly glazing over in death, "is burning down the woods."

***

Dane found Adam sitting on the stands of the jousting yard, his coat on his lap. He sat quietly by his prince, his hands laced in his lap, and they were silent for a very long time in the golden summer afternoon. "He died quick," the young man said at last. "But then I think that's what you meant."

"I meant for him to listen," Adam explained, feeling weary to his bones. He wanted to regret what he'd done, he wanted to mourn the dead prince, but the cold and black rage that had come over him, that had wanted him to see Canemore in Liam, pulsed like a heart inside him, and he almost couldn't feel his grief anymore past it. It was too sweet a relief and he wouldn't be pried from it. "He had... a dangerous idea."

"Was it a bad one?"

Adam closed his eyes. "No. And yes. Everyone calls them the Folk In The Woods, Dane, but they aren't. They never were. They come through the woods, they come from beyond them. The woods were -" His breath ran out abruptly at the very thought of saying the name and he ducked his head, willingly calling up his rage, allowing himself to wallow in it. "Linden's. The woods were Linden's."

Dane popped his mouth thoughtfully. He was the source from which Adam had picked up the habit. "That's not the sort of thing that's easy to explain to people."

"I know. I tried. But it's like he didn't see me, like I didn't matter. Only what he wanted and what he'd chosen did."

Dane sighed. "It's new to you," he explained slowly, "because you don't do that. You've always seen us, Adam. Me, Culli, Beli, we aren't there like your coat and your bed. We're people to you, we're friends." He shook his head. "That's not how it is for nearly anyone else in the staff of the palace. And you've been saying for nigh on nine years that you don't want the crown, so what's that make you? Not a prince, for sure. Just sort of... staff-in-waiting."

Adam thought on that. It would have been foolish of him to pretend that Dane wasn't speaking the truth. Even so recently as Liam's callous disregard of the immense difficulties the commonfolk would face if the woods were burned, he'd always been aware of a deep divide. He'd just never worried about it because he'd grown used to fording it effortlessly.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned low. "They're only going to listen to me one way, aren't they. They're only ever going to listen to me the one way."

Dane blew out a low breath. "Or you could... leave. Go elsewhere. Forget. It might take years and years, but you're bound to find some peace somewhere. You deserve that much."

Adam smiled wearily at the desperate little wish Dane was making for him. "Dane, that girl better snatch you up, there's not a better man than you in this place, and I'm glad you're my friend," he said, even though he knew that not all the years in his life, nor ten times as many, would ever let him forget what he'd lost. "I can't. Today it was Liam. Tomorrow it'll be someone else." He stared at the beautiful summer world without seeing at all. "This is not what I wanted, Dane."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"So am I." Adam rattled out a sigh. "And it might get bloody."

Dane shrugged. "It's been a relief that it wasn't until now, I won't say it hasn't," he admitted. "But a fight is what we signed up for, back when we got hired on to be your friends."

Adam nodded. Together they went back to the palace. He washed up, dressed neatly, and sent word to the Dowager for a brief inquiry. She received him with tea being cleared away, an oddity from all their meetings before, when the cups and saucers were just being set down as a maid showed him into the elegant sun-room. "Adam."

"Majesty." Adam bowed and sat when given leave. "How does one go about cutting off someone from his sphere of power and influence?"

Her delicate brows rose up. "Not even Eleanor?" she asked mildly.

"I would, if I didn't think my father would take advantage of even that slender thread."

"True," she agreed. "Unfortunately so. And you're certain?"

"That I mean to be King?" he asked, consciously misinterpreting her question. "Yes. I think you've done a good thing, stalling them, the Folk Beyond The Woods. I think you did it at a terrible price, a price that you know no one will ever forgive, least of all you. And I think," he looked at her directly, "I think it's not enough anymore. Not for me."

"Didn't you just kill a boy today for threatening them?"

"No. I killed Liam because he wanted to burn down the woods. No one is burning down the woods. My enemies aren't there. That's what I tried to tell you once before. They are the Folk Beyond The Woods. The Folk In The Woods -" For all that he'd planned so carefully every step of this conversation, Adam found himself faltering, strangled by sorrow that kept on trying to rise above the black flood of his rage. He smothered it savagely. "They wanted to be free of them just as much as we do."

She stared keenly at him for a long moment before reaching for a bell and instructing the maid who answered her to fetch the Court Genealogist.

#the fairy and the prince #linden and adam #linden the fairy #adam the prince #original writing #fantasy #fantasy writing #boul #boul the troll #boulders-for-brains #needlemaw #needlemaw the redcap #trout the pixie #fantasy violence #injury and death

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