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deadsetobsessions · 5 months ago

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Fae adjacent! Danny pt. 2

Timothy Drake hadn’t figured out what Danny Fenton was. The shop keeper had been kind, something the nine year old hadn’t expected when he walked into Danny’s shop, willing to trade away his name and soul to get Jason back.

As the young man tilted his head at Jason’s grave, something distinctly inhuman crossing his face as he smelt the soil, Tim had the slightest inkling that he didn’t want to know.

Tim, despite what most people would say, had some kind of self preservation instinct. He wouldn’t have survived traipsing after vigilantes in Gotham this long if he didn’t.

He did not want to find out what kind of creature Danny Fenton could be when enraged. (Despite the fear, something in Tim trilled in Danny presence. Safety, it said. Acceptance.)

——

Danny hummed. The soil here had been disturbed. The dead had not stayed dead. Danny smirked. He knew a bit about not staying dead.

“Your Jason isn’t here, little Sparrow.”

“What?”

“See the soil?”

The little sparrow- Tim- curiously looked down. Danny was sure the kid was smart and a few seconds later, he was proven right.

“The soul’s fresh. Overturned. Someone dug him up? No. An indent. No soil on the outside of the burial, it’s not square- he dug himself up?”

Danny sent the little sparrow an approving smile. “Well, Gotham was never known for its rule abiding citizens, dead or not.”

The little sparrow sighed. “Great. He’s a zombie now?”

“Not quite. Come, we will find your brother.”

“He's, uh, not my brother.”

Danny blinked, pausing. “You would give your name for someone who isn’t family?”

Tim flushed. “He’s- he’s my hero!”

"He'd better be thankful for this, then. What a good friend you are, little sparrow."

Tim lowered his voice, "He doesn't know I exist?”

Danny stared at him and wondered if Phantom ever had anyone who would give their names for him. He also wondered if the standard for human stupidity had lowered since he woke up.

“You see how that's worse, right?"

"Can we get this done, please? Preferably before Batman comes out at night?"

"There are worse things than the Bat, but yes, we may. This way."

As Danny led the way, following the scent of a newly retethered soul and trace amounts of what this world called Lazarus Pits, he found himself wondering who taught this kid his self preservation instincts because they needed to be fired. Tim had followed him, through shady alleys and darkened roads, without a thought for his own safety.

They reached the door of what clearly was a pixie den. Before Danny entered, he turned to Tim. "You, little sparrow, would be the first to be murdered in a poorly done horror movie. Now, stay here while I get Jason."

With that said and satisfaction taken from Tim's flabbergasted and insulted face, Danny headed inside the pixie den to collect the wayward soul.

——

"It's Danny!"

"Danny!"

The pixies in the room cheered as he walked in. Their teeth were a bit too sharp, ears a little too pointed, with shirts that did not fit quite right at their backs.

"Hey, guys." Danny strode to the room, following the scent of Jason's soul. "

"Ah, interested in our fresh catch?" One of the more... prolific pixies sidled up to him. "I think we'll make good entertainment of this boy yet. Maybe even the king would like a gift. His soul's pretty strong, mind's almost dead though."

Danny turned to the pixie and smiled. "I'm coming to collect on my contract, unfortunately."

The bar fell to complete silence. The mist and haze of the bar settled and drew back from the tinge of green in Danny's eyes. Oberon might have ruled his court but Danny's court was above even his.

"Oh- I. Yes, of course, please." The pixie stepped back hastily. Danny strode the rest of the way, content in the unnatural silence of the normally chatty pixies. He picked Jason up from the seat, frowning as he caught the scent of mind numbing herbal paste in the food in front of the kid.

"The children," he uttered commandingly. "Are off limits."

"But-!"

Danny clicked his tongue chidingly as he began leading the unsteady kid out the door.

"It isn't quite the days of old anymore, where people are aware of normal trickery. If an adult falls for your schemes, then that is on them. Children? No. To pick on a newly tethered soul is too far into my court for me to turn a blind eye."

"How are we supposed to do anything with the bat watching the skies?"

"Then fly below him," Danny drew his lips back, allowing Phantom to flicker onto his human face and warping it to something more inhuman. Like them.

"We understand," the bar's proprietor agreed. "Your word will be heard and heeded, king of another court."

"Much appreciated."

——

"Jason!"

"One second, little sparrow." Danny focused, drawing upon the chaotic magic that laid beneath the thrum of ectoplasm. He, oddly enough, has had enough practice returning memories to make this process as easy as a twist of his hand. Jason went limp.

"Jason!" Tim's cry had a little more panic in it.

"Worry not, he's simply sleeping. Regained memories tend to be quite taxing." He shuffled Jason a little closer to Tim. "Here you are, little sparrow. One Jason, whole and generally unharmed."

Tim glanced at Jason and then at himself. He sheepishly looked at Danny. "Would you mind helping me get him back home?"

Danny tilted his head back and laughed.

#fae adjacent danny #dcxdp #danny phantom #tim drake #tim drake and his crazy luck #what else would you call it though #he managed to find the only friendly fae in gotham #not that the other fae aren't friendly #they're super friendly as long as you sell your soul by the end

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goldenstring6123 · 4 months ago

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Lnds: Reconciliation

Warning: Still a bit angst-y. no teeth-rotting fluff. lots of drama.

Author's note: Please read "Lnds: Fighting with them" first before reading this one.

Zayne:

Well, most of the problems have been resolved already when you have heart-to-heart talks with him in his office. Although it was inevitable that you would shed a tear of frustration, Zayne would never let you go to sleep with a heavy heart.

Despite being mentally exhausted from your work and your fight, his genuine kindness will never flicker, especially towards you. When he gets home, his first instinct is to find you and check on your state—sure, you've resolved the issue through the conversation. Still, he isn't naive to think that lingering afterthoughts of the fight won't weigh your heart down.

Zayne loves you, and albeit he can't say it directly, he'd show it to you instead.

When he finds you, you are most likely lost in your thoughts, reflecting or distracting yourself in one way or another, but it will almost always be the same scenario: you will be sitting out in the garden in your nightwear.

Zayne would place his bag down and head to the kitchen to brew your favorite warm drink, doubling the amount of sweetened cocoa powder. It's not healthy to drink, but it was okay once in a while. You could hear the clinking of the teaspoon hitting the mug, and shortly after, Zayne was behind you, draping a knitted shawl over your shoulders.

He would hand you the drink and simply sit beside you in silence. He wasn't on his phone and dared not speak, letting only the chilly air envelop you both.

It wasn't awkward; there was no tension. Just silence.

And a little warmth as his hands clasped onto yours, his thumb grazing your palm.

That moment made you think that whatever you fought about felt trivial and tiny.

"I'm sorry for getting mad," you tell him lightly. "Thank you for the drink."

Zayne had said his sorries, and he didn't really need to hear one from you, but nonetheless, you were heard. He felt your head rest on his shoulders, and together, you basked under the full moon.

Xavier:

Xavier was looking for you. He went to the office and to that small hidden field, searching for an inkling of your presence. He didn't know what he would do once he managed to find you, but it was the last thought in his mind.

You weren't in your apartment, and it had already been 24 hours. Xavier waited patiently in silence, reflecting on your fight. A phantom of pain from you slapping him amplified the fear in your face, sending an ache through his heart.

He shouldn't have done that. He didn't know why. You never had the habit of running away during a fight, so he was unsure why he was unconsciously pressing you against the wall. Xavier is more than aware that his strength is incomparable to yours. You would, quite frankly, stand no chance if he used force, but that was precisely the point; he had no reason to use it.

He wanted to apologize to you, and he wanted you to reprimand him. He could take another hit from you, but what he can never accept is seeing that frightened, cornered look on your face.

You arrived pretty late into the night, and he was still there on your sofa, patiently waiting for you, almost like a little puppy. You spared him a few seconds of your glance but turned away soon after, taking off your coat, dropping your bag, and heading to the bedroom to speak.

You lay in your bed, facing away from the door because you knew too well that he would come in after you. Even then, you didn't lock the door. Xavier looked more than dejected when you didn't speak to him. You kept your position and closed your eyes shut.

Quietly, the silver-haired man made his way to your bedroom, peeking before carefully entering and lying beside you. Lightly, he clutched onto the hem of your shirt. "I want to apologize," his voice cracked a little, almost making it seem he was on the verge of tears.

"I don't like it when you corner me," you told him.

He scooted closer. "I know, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I promise."

"I don't like it when you don't listen to my side of the story."

"I'll listen to your side next time," Xavier said, his voice faint yet closer.

It was the perfect time to let go of your anger. You never really talked about his habit when you fight, and you were partly at fault for tolerating it, hoping he would just listen one day. But how would Xavier change something when he didn't know how it affected you so much?

You rolled over to finally face him, his eyes going wide. You stroked his cheek, the side which you slapped the day before. "I shouldn't have slapped you. I'm sorry." Luckily, you didn't hit him too hard; otherwise, the ring on your finger would've cut his face.

Relieved that you had forgiven him, Xavier grabbed the hand that stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes and basked in your warmth. "Don't be. I scared you, and I deserved that." It was a quiet moment for you. Neither of you really knew what you had to say to each other. All was forgiven, and what awaits is simply the both of you fulfilling the end of your promises.

To fill in the silence, Xavier scooted closer and closer, kissing the exposed part of your collarbone shortly after, burying his face in your chest. You smell like coffee, he thought, but rather than stir him awake, it lulled him to sleep.

It didn't take long for him to snooze off to dreamland; after all, he waited for you for a day, not once sleeping in the hopes that he could see you face to face.

Rafayel:

In this relationship, you're almost always the one who needs to go after him, coddle him like an infant, and practically mend the entire relationship. Almost.

On rare occasions, Rafayel would apologize. That was the case for that big fight between you two. You had gone no-contact, leaving him on read most of the time. You avoided the place where you could likely find him wandering about; after all, it was him who should be going after you in this fight. You didn't owe him anything.

You ended up on the sandy shore of the bay, watching the tides threaten to soil your shoe, only to retreat and slither back into the sea. The cold air brought with it the salty scent of the ocean water, bringing a slight comfort to your nose.

The roughness of the waters masked the crunching sounds of Rafayel's footsteps; only then did you notice his presence when those familiar, gentle arms circled around the dip of your waist.

Silence.

"I was looking for you," he uttered under his breath.

"Why?"

"To apologize."

"Do you even know what you're apologizing for?" That came out of your lips monotonously, yet it struck every fiber of Rafayel's being.

"I said too much. I was mad, and so were you, but that's not an excuse to insult you and your feelings." To Rafayel, the waves were ready to swallow him whole. Like a poor little crab, unable to run away from the sea. "I was wrong for doing that, and I was wrong for shutting you out."

The apology wasn't enough. It was sincere, but it wasn't enough. "You can't keep doing that to me, Raf. You don't even get to give me a chance to speak." You pried away the hands that tried to bring you comfort. "You curse at me, you insult everything about me, and then kick me out like I'm just a major problem you can toss aside."

You could see your lover bite his lip. Anxious.

You love Rafayel, and there's nothing that can change that, and even if you were the one running after him during your fights, he fails to comprehend that you get tired, too.

"I'm an adult," you started. "We both are, Rafayel. But when we fight, why do you belittle me so much? Do you really think that low of me? Do you think you can push me around and make me follow all of your emotional whims?"

"No!" Rafayel exclaimed, in disbelief that your thought process had led you to say what you said. "I was mad. I didn't mean anything that I sai—"

"Then treat me right, Rafayel. Is that so hard to do? Is it really complicated to just…talk? Is it so hard to just sit down on your couch and listen to me?" You kept your lips shut, eyes staring at him without much thought. The usual cheery tone of your voice, nowhere in sight, in its wake, exhaustion. "I can only do so much for you, and I'm growing tired the more you do this to me—I get tired as well, Rafayel. You need to realize that."

The poor man didn't know what to say. Your words invaded his head, ridding it of any thought. They hurt. They stung at his heart. His fingers raised to lightly pull the hem of your sleeve, eyes meeting yours, glossy and flickering with fear; with hesitation, he asked: "Are you…breaking up with me?"

"I love you too much to break up with you." You took his cold hands. "I want to make us work. So help me. I can't do this alone." You tell him.

Your fingers were tiny against his own, yet they belonged in the in-betweens. You closed them and placed a kiss on the back of his palm.

He pulled you into an embrace, tightly, like the world was about to end in a matter of seconds.

He was cold, but his hug was warm. "I promise I'll work on myself. I don't want to hurt you again, and I don't want you to get tired of me." Rafayel whispered in your ear. "So don't give up on me. I'll change…"

The spare hand that hung on your hand gradually crept up his back, finding its usual place between Rafayel's shoulder blades. You rubbed small circles, the only comfort you could provide despite your exhaustion.

"I'll hold you to your word." You pressed a kiss on his cheek. As you did, you realized something you didn't a few minutes before.

Rafayel's exposed neck, his thin clothing, and his sandals didn't cover his whole feet. In the cold seaside, Rafayel looked like a madman wearing an indoor outfit, as if he had just walked out of his home without much thought. No wonder why he was so cold. He was shivering both at the thought of you nearly breaking up with him and because of the chilly mists of water hitting his way.

You unrolled the cotton scarf that warmed your neck, wrapping it around him instead. "Let's head home, I don't want you getting sick."

He quietly complied, pulling away from you but keeping your hand locked with his.

Sylus:

The same things happen again and again; it makes you feel numb. Empty.

There was no difference when you woke up alone or when you woke up in his embrace. Not when you were fighting.

Not tonight.

Sylus was awake. You couldn't see him due to the sheer darkness of his room, but he was there, his thumb brushing against your nape while a leg crossed over yours. You stared off into the corner of the room, wondering who was going to speak first.

"We're not breaking up, sweetie." It was more of a demand rather than a statement.

"We won't," two can play at his game. "If you apologize." Nobody would want to be abandoned and left hanging for a month. Especially not you.

You mustered the strength to push yourself up, expecting a bit of restraint from your lover—to your surprise, he let you stand up.

"Apologize for what, exactly? It was you who decided to test my patience. You were the one who cursed at me, calling me names and even throwing things in my way, so pray-tell, sweetie, what do I have to apologize for?" He stared at you, his gaze unfaltering and intense.

"I'm sorry," you stood your ground, yet the apology was long due. "I don't remember what we fought about, but I apologize. For cursing at you, for throwing things in your face. That won't happen again."

A lengthy breath escaped his lips, sounding unsatisfied with your seemingly half-hearted and shallow apology. Sylus wouldn't want to admit it to you, but he doesn't even know why he was mad; all Sylus knew that evening was that he was overcome with too much anger, one that he would usually release through violence. But it involved you. He doesn't want to hurt you or lay a hand on you, so the best option he has is to get away.

He didn't know for how long he should be gone, and in the blink of an eye, a full month had passed.

His anger had long been gone the same time as your loneliness began to fester.

As simple as the apology sounded, it was more than enough for him. "You're forgiven. Don't do that to me ever again."

The man stood up, and you watched his figure as he strode closer to you. He could see the look in your eyes, the anguish mixed with despair, and as he was about to pull you into a hug, a reverberating slap echoed in his room.

The back of his hand stung. And so did your palm.

"You're not going to touch me until you apologize, too, Sylus." Your throat burned at your own words. Your feet felt like they were buried half an inch into the floor, preventing you from running away. He looked down at you, low-lidded eyes devoid of any life.

"Why should I?"

You wanted to laugh at his crap.

"Why is it that you demand compensation every time I leave you on read for more than 3 days? Why do I have to explain where I've been, who I was with, and why I was gone while you—" A bitter laugh bloomed out of your mouth, "While you come here and not even offer a single bit of an explanation nor an apology?"

Sylus offers nothing in exchange for your words. He avoided you, that he can't deny. He used his work as an excuse to bury you at the back of his head and intentionally minimized your presence in his life.

"Hah," the ache at the back of your neck crept to the back of your head, nearly sending your head to throb all over. "You're unfair, Sylus. You're so goddamn unfair that…" You couldn't continue the words you wanted to say. It will only fan the flame in your heart and his.

"I just," the shiver in your breath snapped Sylus into reality. The feeling in your throat was uncomfortable. It was slowly becoming tangled, choking you of air. "I just want an apology from you, Sylus. Even just a small apology for abandoning me." And the fact that you had to beg him for it is just…

Sylus wrapped his hand around you, keeping your arms in place. You tried to break free from his grasp, but he held on to you tightly, not offering you a way out. Your face was smashed against his chest, and you could hear his heartbeat, pumping, beating all too fast.

"Forgive me," Sylus whispered. "There's no excuse for what I did."

His words were like the key to your eyes as tears began to cascade down your cheeks. There was no need for him to say anything else; it was enough for you. There was no strength left in you to reciprocate his hug, but you wanted to.

Sylus slipped his hand underneath your thighs and lifted you up. Carefully trudging to the bed, he laid you down in the same place you got up, tucking a blanket over you. He got on the bed as well, pulling you closer to his grasp.

"I'll make it up to you tomorrow." He stroked your cheek and placed a kiss on your eyes. "We can talk properly, and I'll apologize again," Sylus said. The same hand that touched your cheek slid down onto your shoulders, caressing it up and down.

The weariness began to settle in. The soft mattress and pillows and his warm touch.

It was getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open, and you didn't know why you were fighting the fatigue, but Sylus' promise helped you settle down.

He doesn't go back on his words and doesn't say things he doesn't mean. You hold him up to his words.

And quietly, you drift off to sleep.

Author footnotes: I changed the writing style to a somewhat story-telling format. I hope you guys don't mind.Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

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escelia · 2 years ago

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I took a prompt from @ghostreblogging and ran away with it. I have other parts in progress that I'd be willing to post if you guys are into it. I'm not saying it's good, but I definitely had fun with this and got wild with the next part.

Danny Fenton-Wayne: Big Brother

To say Danny was excited to be a big brother was an understatement. He was so ready to finally be the older one, in a position where he was allowed to be protective but not overbearing. Jazz had trained him well for this. And Damian was just the perfect little brother to him, though he was sure that was weird to everyone else. It was so refreshing to have a sibling that didn't treat him like glass. He reminded him a lot of a smaller, angrier, less tech oriented Skulker. And it was great seeing the others' confused but entertained expressions.

"I will slit your throat while you sleep," Damian had glared at his new big brother. "You are not my big brother!" He insisted. Danny thought it was so cute! Skulker would love him. The other Wayne's had looked mortified as though the comment would scare Danny away. Really, the threat was weak. Slitting Danny's thought wouldn't be nearly as effective as Damian was hoping, and it wasn't even that creative. But Danny was a good big brother, and rough housing was a great way to let off steam and get in exercise, so Danny just laughed and responded,

"You could sure try!"

Damian lunged at him in rage. The kid was fast and efficient; he'd give him that. But Danny had faced things much worse than a 10 year old with a penchant for violence. He dodged and snagged the back of his shirt, scruffing him like an angry kitten.

"Damian! No! Bad!" Tim scolded. "Danny, I would tell you not to take it to heart, but he really will stab you, so please be careful?"

"Stab me? That's adorable!" Damian squirmed in his hold while Danny manhandled him into a hug. This didn't really count as being overbearing if it didn't last too long, right? Besides, with Damian fussing so loudly about it, he was sure this was exactly how Jazz felt when she smothered him. It was amazing. Being a big brother was the best.

He eventually let Damian go and he sped away like Pariah Dark was personally nipping at his heels. No doubt to go plan Danny's demise. He was kind of looking forward to it actually.

~~•○•~~

Dinner that night was eventful. He'd learned that Duke was a meta with an ability that affected his sight. Not that he'd outright said so, but Danny could tell. He also gathered a few inklings about his family being the freakin Bat Brigade? They were all vigilantes, and they thought he was some normal civilian! So was Damian being protective of his family in the face of some stranger? That was understandable. Respectable even. Jazz would have said that he was a newcomer in their space and that he needed to respect that. He wouldn't pry if they didn't want him to. Across the table, his baby brother waved a fork at him menacingly. Danny snickered.

"Damian…" Bruce warned. Dick tutted at him from his seat.

"Sorry about him, Danny. You can just ignore him," Dick assured. Danny found he really liked Dick too, what with his similar penchant for puns.

"Thanks, but I think I can handle him. He's what, 10 years old?"

"I'm clearly 12, you imbecile!" In the next moment, Damian was scrambling across the table embedding his fork into the back of Danny's chair, but Danny was no longer in it. Damian hadn't even seen him move if his stunned blinking was anything to go by.

"Trust me, I would not be good for your diet," Danny joked.

~~•○•~~

Danny had gotten a great idea when several days later Damian rushed him with a whole sword. Even as Phantom, Danny was never familiar with traditional weapons. He'd always wanted to learn, but knew that with Fentons it just wasn't a safe idea. So when Duke came running to reprimand Damian and the child saw an opening, Danny redirected the blade down and out of his hand, offering it back with a question about lessons. Perhaps he could bond with Damian by letting him teach him about his favorite weapon.

Their "training," as Damian put it, was going well. Danny genuinely felt like he was learning a lot from him as well as about him. And even with his ghostly enhanced speed the brat was keeping him on his toes. When Damian nicked him with his blade for the time Danny had been so proud. He knew he wasn't easy to hit.

"Say cheese!" Danny exclaimed, shoving his uninjured cheek up against Damian's for a photo. It had turned out amazing, with Danny pointing to the oozing scratch on his face while Damian scowled at him for enjoying himself.

"Please desist. You're taking all the fun out of trying to kill you." Danny just laughed

~~•○•~~

Damian's new brother was just weird. And apparently Damian was the only one who really knew it. At first he'd thought the fool was underestimating him, but boy was he mistaken. He was a civilian, right? Then why could he not land a hit on Fenton even without the interference of his inferior siblings? The wretched thing was able to snatch him mid air and wrestle him into a hug like it was nothing. He was a professionally trained assassin! This was embarrassing! The others thought Fenton just had decent reflexes and a lack of self preservation instincts, but Damian knew better.

The day Fenton disarmed him quickly went from infuriating to intriguing. His brothers had admonished him for attempting murder again, but Daniel had stood up for him and handed his precious blade back to him, going as far as asking if he was willing to give him lessons. Tt, at least one of his brothers could tell he was a superior warrior. He obliged, eager to show off his skills with a sword. And Daniel wasn't actually bad at it per se, but it was clear he wasn't versed in swordplay. After a few sessions with Daniel, he noticed something odd. Not bad, but odd. The room was always cooler when they sparred, and he found that he didn't often overheat. Daniel was a quick learner and very light on his feet. So light, in fact, that he sometimes seemed to float. And Damien would swear on his grandfather's blade that when Daniel got serious, his eyes would flash a bright, toxic green. Damian was determined to get to the bottom of this, and because he was, in fact, the smartest of the Wayne's, he would do it on his own!

Turns out, he didn't have to try that hard.

Damian woke with a start at the knock on his door. He didn't have patrol so he'd tried to turn in early for the night. Grumbling, he went to see who it was. He swore, if it was Drake and he wasn't sleeping even though he'd been kicked off the schedule for sleep deprivation, he would strangle him. He cracked the door to see glowing green eyes. But Danny didn't seem irrationally angry like Todd did when the Pit Rage consumed him.

"Can I come in please?" Danny pleaded. "I had a nightmare and don't wanna be alone, but the others are out and Tim needs his sleep…"

Damian sighed and opened the door for Danny to come in. He sat at the foot of the bed and curled his knees to his chest.

"I don't know what you expect me to do for you. I'm not some counselor." He closed the door and crossed his arms with an annoyed huff.

"I don't need a counselor, I just need my brother." Danny's tired smile was soft.

"Why? I've been told I don't have a comforting personality." Damain took a seat next to him.

"I don't need to be coddled, I'm not a baby. I really appreciate that you're straightforward and rough toward me. I'm traumatized, but like, I'm not gonna break, ya know?"

"You… like that I'm rude to you?" This had to be the first time anyone had ever said that to him.

"Do you know why I'm here? Why I was taken in?" When Damian shook his head Danny continued. "My parents were always pretty careless when it came to raising my sister and I. Their science always came first. We had to grow up pretty fast. And once you grow up, it sucks to be treated like a kid again. It's what got my sister into psychology, and she was constantly trying to psychoanalyze me. Well, I'd had a lab accident that… changed me. When my parents found out, they vivisected me. Bruce found out and got me out of there, but Jazz was already 18 and in college so she couldn't come with me."

Damian was horrified. Even the League with their harsh rules and cruel nature would never do something like that. Even so, it did explain a lot, and Daniel seemed to know how to handle his trauma. An accident in a lab would definitely explain Daniel's more meta-like features as well. He wondered if his father knew, but figured he didn't because the boy had been very secretive about any abilities he might have gained.

"So to summarize, your parents were atrocious to you and now instead of being coddled or analyzed, you prefer to spend your time with people trying to stab you? I tried to kill you." He pointed out.

"Yea, well so has everyone else in my family at one point or another. It's sort of like a rite of passage and you're the only one that's done it," Danny smirked and nudged Damian. The younger boy could admit he found the humor in that, dark as it may be. "Besides, you get it: not wanting to be underestimated or looked down on just because you're young even though you've been through hell." Damian couldn't deny that. Maybe they were more alike than he had anticipated. Interacting with him didn't grate on his nerves like the others did at least. He sighed.

"So, what now Daniel? We sit in silence until you feel safe enough to go back to your own room?"

"I strongly prefer Danny for reasons I'm not willing to talk about yet, but I get the feeling this is as good as I'm gonna get, huh?"

"Correct."

"Well then, do you mind if I call my dog? He's a good boy, I promise," Danny pleaded.

"I do like the company of animals. I didn't know you had a dog, I haven't seen a new one on the grounds." Danny took this as a go-ahead to summon Cujo.

"I don't take him many places, he can get rowdy and protective sometimes. But I'm positive he'll love you." He let out a sharp whistle and the green ghost puppy phased into the room from under the door. He trotted over to the boys, tongue flopping as he did. He pounced excitedly on Danny before giving Damian a thorough sniff and deeming his presence safe and acceptable. He happily let the boy scratch his belly.

"He's… uh, green. What breed is he?"

"The ghost kind," Danny replied sadly. The implications were heartbreaking. "My accident turned me half-ghost so now I have a ghost puppy," he said as if that explained everything. "You uh, won't tell the others about this, right?"

Damian tilted his head in thought while he scratched Cujo behind the ears. He'd definitely want more details on what exactly Daniel meant by "ghost," but for now, he felt pride at being the one family member Daniel actually felt comfortable talking to. He could lord that over his siblings later.

"We'll, you're no longer in any danger, and your past is none of their business unless you want it to be, so I don't don't see a reason to tell them."

Danny grinned at his little brother. He knew Damian would be his favorite! He already knew he would do anything for him.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #fanfiction #crossover #damian wayne #batfam #big brother danny au #dannys a good big brother #he learned all he knows from jazz #damian respects the crap out of danny for not treating him like a child all the time #but like he also wants to snuggle his brother

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fenneladeline · 3 months ago

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Grizzco Domestic Affairs; Log 1: Formation

Grizzco Domestic Affairs

2019 (Mollusc Era)

Founded by Fennel Adeline & Madison Selster

Grizzco Domestic Affairs is a group consisting of its two founders plus 4 Salmon Runner squads hand picked for their tenacity at dealing with internal Grizzco, Splatlandian and Inkadian home affairs related to the Salmon Run phenomenon, Eagle Squad, Grizzly Squad, Kingfish Squad and Wolf Squad.

Grizzco Domestic Affairs is dedicated to dealing with domestic threats to Grizzco Industries' operations. From corporate espionage, to thieves and protesters, to even salmonid breaches into Inkfish territory (most notably, the theorized potential Big Run phenomenon.)

Grizzco Domestic Affairs also assists local police units in tracking down offenders related to Grizzco, such as rouge employees and vandals of grizzco property.

The GDA is here to protect the company and its profits, no matter the cost. Inkfish or Salmonid.

Signed, Fennel Adeline & Madison Selster.

Junior Managers, Grizzco Industries, Inkopolis Square

#domestic trouble #grizzly phantom #salmon run #splatoon rp #grizzco employee #splatoon oc #splatoon 3 #oc rp #grizzco #inkling oc #splatoon #salmon run oc

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sable-roteuth · 1 year ago

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My silly splatoon biology headcanons!!!

#splatoon #nintendo #splatoonart #splatoonfanart #splatoonoc #my art #octoling #inkling #splatoon headcanon #Phantom's oc trash

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strlingsav · 2 years ago

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Your writing is *chef’s kiss* 🙏🏼❤️ would love to request CNC breeding with Ghost, convincing him to put on all his gear and dominate you until he decides its over

RAHHH THANK YOU FOR LISTENING TO MY TED TALK

After much deliberation and some pep-talking from @mykneeshurt, it's here!! Enjoy!!

Fantasy

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— You have an unexpected request for Simon.

Two

Warnings: Dead dove: do not open. Cursing, consensual NC/dubcon, degradation, soft hitting/slapping, fingering (vaginal & barely anal), breeding kink, rough sex. Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

It came to you in the middle of the night; an overtly sexual scene on one of the late-night TV shows. Bondage, submission. It intrigued you. It was an odd feeling, one that pushed you far beyond your usual flippant regard for romance shows- it sunk to the deepest parts of you, fluttering with arousal.

You found yourself beneath the stream of the shower that night, touching yourself, fingers between your thighs at the phantom of your husband having every single inch of your body for his every desire.

You'd kept it to yourself, not wanting to scare him, make him think of you differently, like you were a masochist. He wasn't a prude by any means, but your conscience was telling you he might be off-put by your suggestion.

It wasn't that you wanted to be hurt- you just wanted to have him entirely in control. Submit to him, your body and mind. You trusted him, implicitly, after all, but still; you never told a soul what that scene did to you, or what you did afterward.

Simon had an inkling you were hiding something when you'd suddenly told him to slap you while you were mid-climax. He was thrown, unsure whether it was a test of some kind or a trap that he could so easily fall into. To say he didn't want to would be a lie. He did, want to, he just didn't want to hurt you. But he did, softly, enough to sate you for the time being but not long enough to keep the requests at bay.

"You alright?" He asked.

You laid against his chest, his arm wrapped around you lazily, staring at the TV screen while his curiosity ate at him. There must've been some explanation for the recent, new requests you made while beneath him, through clenched teeth and swollen lips.

"Yeah," You sighed, cuddling into his side.

"You sure?" He knew you weren't alright- there was something on your mind. It was given away by the flicker of your gaze, how you'd chew on the inside of your lip when you were anxious.

"I- just..." You trailed off, unsure where to even start. How to soften the blow, make it seem less gruesome than it sounded.

"Out with it," He interjected, his eyes meeting yours when you lifted your chin to look at him.

"I have this thing, this fantasy, I guess, that I've been thinking about," You started, sitting up a bit higher. He was already intrigued, just watching your eyes light up. "I'd really like you to just... fuck me."

He quirked a brow up. "Already do," He nearly grinned, amused at your shyness while approaching the topic.

"No- like, hard. In your uniform. Degrade me, slap me, don't take no for answer." You held your breath, eyes widening as you stared at him.

He pursed his lips, staring at you for a moment before he nodded slowly. "You sure that's somethin' you want?"

"I can't stop thinking about it," You sighed, your hands resting on his abdomen as you sat up.

"How long?"

"Not long," You said.

He nodded again, thoughtfully, thinking over your suggestion while his Adam's apple shamefully bobbed in his throat. The mere suggestions of filthy things from your lips made him sweat.

"Alright." He was firm and decisive.

"You'd tell me if you didn't want to, right?"

"Yeah."

"You're okay with it? You like it?" Your teeth chewed at your lip.

He was even more amused now. "Whenever you're ready."

You smiled. His willingness had your pussy fluttering already, liquified warmth sloshing around in your abdomen. "You'd use me, like the slut I am?" Your fingers ghosted the muscles of his torso, teasing.

He could already feel his cock getting hard, his blood turning to ice in his veins as it travelled to his groin.

"Be a pleasure to, sweetheart." He was grinning, his imagination overactive while he thought over your offer.

It wasn't immediate; there was much more to be discussed, which the two of you deliberated over dinner and bedtime routines. A safe word, boundaries.

He was just as enthusiastic as you. In fact, he'd spent a few early-morning showers with his cock in his hand; long, languid strokes while he imagined his sweet, innocent, wife, on your knees, choking on his cock. At his disposal. He let his forehead rest against the shower wall, the warm stream of water washing away every sinful thought until it hit him all over again.

Now that you'd mentioned it, been the one to bare your desires, he wished he'd said something sooner. Told you how badly he wanted to fill you with his cum, while you couldn't do a damn thing about it. Then, he wouldn't be on edge most of the day, fighting an erection at just the thought of you.

You were fucking filthy, he knew that. He could see it in your eyes anytime you had sex- the whines and gasps you let out when he was a little too rough. You liked it. You liked letting him have control of you, letting go of responsibility to choose or decide. Being manhandled tended to get you off faster than anything, and he noticed.

He came home from work a bit later than anticipated, approaching midnight on a Friday. It wasn't unusual, not in his line of work, but still made your heart leap to hear him come home safe.

He strode in, covered in his fatigues, mask over his face. You'd busied yourself with cleaning before that, relaxing on the couch afterward, flipping through channels until you'd landed on a semi-entertaining show.

"Hey baby," You called over your shoulder, eyes averting back to the screen. "How was work?"

He didn't answer for a few moments, before he appeared beside you, moving to sit down. Your brows furrowed at the image of him- he didn't usually wear his mask at home. You decided against asking him about it when he let out a tired sigh.

"Fuckin' tirin'," He answered, his arm reached the back of the couch.

"Sorry to hear that," You frowned. "Can I make you something to eat?"

He smiled; the sweetness you exuded, practically seeping from every pore, made him weak.

"S'alright," He sighed, shaking his head.

You moved closer, cuddling into his side with open arms. Your head laid on his chest, watching the flashing images on the screen.

His eyes landed on your robe. You'd showered. Smelled like absolute heaven, wearing nothing but the silk wrap. Your thighs and calves peeked out from beneath the fabric, every slight movement further teasing the curve of your ass. You'd adjust it back over your shoulder when it slid down, unknowingly revealing your cleavage, showing a bit too much of your body for him to resist any longer.

"Could use a cheerin' up," He said suddenly.

Your head tilted up, "Anything, babe."

"Take it off," He spoke resolutely, not a question, or suggestion. It was an order. "The robe."

You were taken off guard, not expecting such a harsh demand as soon as he stepped through the door, but your mind quickly caught up with the fantasy you'd discussed at length- and suddenly it was so easy to do as he asked. Your body temperature rose a few degrees with the tone of authority in his voice.

Your hands untied the belt of your robe, letting it fall from your shoulders. You were bare, at his mercy as his eyes raked down your form. You shivered- not just from being exposed, but the overwhelming flutter of anticipation in your abdomen.

"Been thinkin' about you all day," A soft touch on your cheek made your eyes drift closed, leaning into his hand. He sighed- restrained and controlled. "Had a hard-on all fuckin' day cause o' you. You oughta fix that. On your knees."

His thighs spread, making room for you between them.

You slid down to the floor, kneeling before him with those wide, doe-eyes he found fucking irresistible.

"You remember your safeword?" He asked, his other arm now hooking around the back of the couch.

You repeated it back to him, earning a strangled inhale of arousal.

"Undo my trousers."

Your fingers worked quickly over the button and zipper, waiting with burning anticipation for your next order. Your hands laid on your lap, a pretty picture of obedience that he more than wanted to take advantage of.

"Go on," He nodded. "Put those lips to good use."

The permission nearly made you leap forward, yanking his briefs down to release his erect cock from his pants. Your lips wrapped around him, soft and gentle at first, before you inhaled, taking him deeper into your mouth.

His head fell back, a deep groan leaving his lips. Your tongue was warm and wet over his cock, eager as it slid up and down alongside your plush lips.

"Thaaaat's it," He blew a harsh breath from his lips.

Your eyes lifted to watch him, his fists clenching, his thighs flexing. Saliva pooled in your mouth, the excess dribbling from your lips to run down your chin, landing on your breasts.

He leaned closer, his hands reaching out to massage your breasts, thumbs running across your perked nipples.

You were enthusiastic, offering him nothing but fervent pleasure. You wanted to please him- to make him forget about the day, while also greedily savouring the way he touched you and bluntly told you what to do.

You pulled away, wiping the saliva from your face. "Enjoying yourself?" You quipped, raising a brow.

His head rolled forward, eyes piercing yours with an unforgiving intensity. His fingers gripped your jaw, tugging you closer. His eyes flickered between yours, before he laid a harsh slap against your cheek.

"No talkin' unless I ask you a question."

You gasped- your eyes fluttering shut, a tingle running up your spine. You straightened, turning your head back to look at him.

"Didn't say stop, dirty fuckin' whore." He leaned back, still focused on you.

You inhaled, a shaky breath accompanied by your racing heart, it was exhilarating, exacerbating the warmth inside you that spread like a wildfire. Your mouth opened to take his cock in your mouth again. You were softer this time, a bit apprehensive, knowing he did have what it took to punish you.

"Do I have to do it for you?" He asked, low and threatening.

You shook your head.

"Then get on with it. Know you can do better than that- suck my cock like a good whore."

You weren't entirely present, your head still reeling with the rush of arousal.

He groaned disapprovingly, his hands reaching your head, suddenly slamming it down. You gagged, sputtering and coughing as he continued to push harder, dragging you back up before another unrelenting shove. His abs flexed as he thrusted into your mouth, making your eyes and nose sting, tears gathering in your eyes.

He was groaning, leaning forward as both hands rested on your head, forcing your mouth and throat as far as possible, intent on making you beg for air. Your body lurched, your throat bulging as his cock plunged behind your uvula.

"Fuuuuck," He breathed.

His hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the head of his cock lodged inside your trachea, mumbling to himself with utter disbelief.

He could hear you desperately sucking in air through your nose, and finally relented. You gasped as you lifted your head- coughing. He chuckled. Low and menacing, entertained by the expression of pain and horror on your face.

"You ain't done," He said. "Keep suckin' my fuckin' cock."

Your eyes watered, dripping down your face, saliva and dry tears staining your cheeks. You inhaled again, your tongue reaching out first before you took him in your mouth.

His hands were there again, though this time he gripped your hair, helping you up and down the length of his cock. Soft slurps and grunts from you made his head roll back again, basking in the utter worship you offered his cock. Eager, searching for praise.

"Christ," He growled. "You like my cock in your mouth, don't you?"

Your eyes fluttered up to meet his, tears still spilling from the clumped lashes of your waterline, nodding slowly.

"Course you do," He huffed. "You're a fuckin' slag."

You shut your eyes, a quiet moan vibrating against his cock. You relished in the praise, even the degradation from him made you wet. Your hand slid between your thighs, desperate for some kind of contact to ease the ache. When he looked down at you, catching sight of your nostrils flaring, eyes shut- he saw your fingers running circles over your clit.

"The fuck are you doin'?" He asked, sitting up.

You stopped, waiting expectantly for his reaction. He did, and with a disapproving head shake, his hand wrapped tightly around your throat.

"Can't resist touchin' that cunt, you greedy fuckin' slut."

He lifted you to your feet, practically dragging you through the hall to the bedroom, where he let you fall back onto the bed.

"You wanna be used, sweetheart?" He asked, towering over you as you leaned back on your elbows. "Oughta treat you like the right whore you are."

"Yes," You breathed. "Yes, please."

"Spread your legs," He ordered.

You did, and his hand came down swiftly against the flesh of your pussy. You cried out.

"Shut the fuck up," He growled. "Or I'll leave you here."

"I'll be quiet," You nodded. "I'll be quiet, please."

"That's right, beg for it. Beg me t'ruin this cunt."

Your hands twisted the bedsheets between your fingers, knuckles bleeding white.

"Please, ruin it. Ruin me."

He hummed- not quite satisfied but he was too selfish not to continue.

He lifted his mask, enough that his lips could press against the flesh of your breasts, sucking harshly to leave deep, reddened splotches of broken capillaries. His hands reached your wrists, pinning them at your sides while he tugged at your nipples with sharp teeth, listening to your pleading whimpers and soft cries every time he'd bite a little too hard.

He reached the expanse of your inner thighs, holding both wrists with one hand, he let the other caress you softly before his now-bare palm would strike against them. You flinched, thighs closing together inadvertently, stifling the shout out of surprise and pain. He let his saliva shoot out of his mouth to your pussy, before leaning down and absolutely devouring your clit.

You arched your back. A relieved sigh, echoing around the room, low moans as he sucked and licked at you, sloppy, messy. His biceps hugged your thighs, tugging you closer. He nipped and bit at your clit, eliciting a twitch in your hips, harsh exhales when he'd envelope your clit in his mouth, caressing his tongue over it with reckless abandon.

On the third orgasm, you tried to push him away, tried to wrench your hands from his grip but it was no use. His strength overpowered yours tenfold, and the position was too difficult to slip out of. Your hips twisted, bucking wildly against his face.

"Stop movin'," He growled, his eyes narrowed as they flickered up to yours.

You swallowed, whimpering pitifully instead. Your pussy was drenched but sore.

"Please," You whispered, your head turning to press against the duvet. "No more- can't take anymore."

"Can't take anymore?" He repeated. "You'll keep cummin' until I say so, sweetheart. Y'like it, I know you do."

You let out a low groan at the feeling of his fingers opening you up, sliding into the drenched warmth of your pussy, curling upwards repeatedly.

"I feel how wet you are," He muttered. "You're enjoyin' this."

You grunted. "I-I can't, no more, please," You whimpered, your voice breaking.

"Take it. Know you can take it."

He continued, relentlessly flicking his tongue over your clit, drawing his fingers back and forth inside you. Your body was writhing, tears dragging down the apples of your cheeks. You were overwhelmed, your vision distorted with the fresh tears brewing in your eyes, thoughts flustered and incoherent. It was methodical torture.

"Look at you," He cooed. "Hardly even started yet 'nd you're fuckin' cryin'. You wanna stop?"

You nodded.

"Too fuckin' bad. I ain't done with you yet, love."

You groaned, eyes squeezed shut when your fourth orgasm overtook you. It was brutal, drenching you in sweat, making your hips and thighs ache with how long you'd been flexing to keep steady.

His lips and chin were soaked with your cum when he settled before you. He grabbed your hips, flipping you over. He yanked your arms behind your back, forcing your chest down to the bed, his other hand caressing the soft flesh of your ass that pressed against his pelvis.

He savoured the sight of his wife on her knees, bent over for him to use as he saw fit. His hands pulled at the malleable flesh of your ass, teasing slaps intermittently, soothed by calloused palms.

"Just a hole for me to use, ain't you?"

A quiet sob racked your shoulders- overwhelmed and overstimulated.

He pulled his cock from his pants, stroking roughly a few times before he plunged inside you.

"Fuckin' hell your cunt is tight. Gonna have to make this cock fit, huh?"

You whimpered, a pleading noise that came from your throat as your head fell forward. You took in a deep breath, relaxing into his touch- you trusted him.

A pleased sigh left his lips, he lifted you to his chest by your arms, his dark and mocking voice in your ear as he said, "There's a good girl. 'M gonna fuck you dumb."

The initial strokes were painful, deep and unforgiving, taking far longer than you'd like for him to glide freely in and out. Your teeth bit at your lip, holding in any and all cries building up in your chest, pounding against yours ribs.

"Go on," He groaned. "Wanna hear you scream on my cock."

You took in a shaky breath, your ribs flaring as you inhaled. He had a tight grip on your hands, his other wrapping around your throat, bruising the delicate skin. His shoulders tightened, back flexing as he moved his hips back and forth, using your pussy to massage his cock.

It was hazy, a veil of utter exhaustion having fallen over you. Your cheeks were tight with dry tears, nose running, body sore and contorted in a way that was uncomfortable. But Simon's hands didn't relent and his thrusts were poignant, purposeful and ruthless.

"Tell me how much you love this cock," He grunted, sweat dotting his forehead from his efforts. "Punishin' you like the pathetic whore you are."

"I love it," Your voice was meek, grainy.

A hand met your ass with a harsh impact.

"Can't hear you, speak the fuck up."

"I love it. I love being punished," It sounded pathetic, like complete surrender to his hands.

He grumbled, satisfied with your answer but still not finished his endeavour.

He took a handful of your hair, roughly pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder. You were sniffling, your eyes relentlessly leaking with tears.

"Fuckin' pathetic," He growled, his hips meeting your ass as he drove his cock up into you. "Feels good doesn't it? You love takin' this cock, eh sweetheart?"

You nodded, "Yes- yes it feels good, so good- fuck."

"Need a cock in you all the time, like the desperate slag you are."

"I do," You whimpered, your lip trembling as your eyes shifted to look at him.

His released you, forcing you to the bed while he slammed his cock in and out of you. Your arms bent at an uncomfortable angle on your back, hips positioned so he could dive deep inside you.

You were hardly stifling the sobs now, your lips parted as you gasped for air. His hand reached down against your cheek, his palm pressing your face further into the bed.

"You keep on cryin', I ain't stoppin' 'til this cunt is full of my cum."

His thumb traced over the tight entrance above your pussy, pressing every so lightly, teasing- the way he knew you liked. You couldn't suppress the moan that crawled up your throat.

"Might just try this hole next." He lifted you again, pressed tightly against his chest as he cupped your ass, parting your cheeks for better access.

You shook your head, quiet protests falling from your lips, barely audible.

"Think you'd like it up your arse." He was smug, relishing in your helplessness.

You couldn't help but moan as he whispered the filthy and depraved words in your ear. You were still protesting his suggestion, though with less conviction as you felt your abdomen tighten, flutters of pleasure dancing through your clit.

"I'd rather fill this cunt tonight," He said, his hand wrapping around your waist to reach your clit. "Put a kid in you. Use this cunt just how I like."

Your whines had turned to moans, back arching even further with each stroke of his fingers, every thrust inside you. He could feel the muscles inside you squeezing down, pushing against his cock- and it made him twitch.

"Be a good slag for me-" His breath against your ear made you shiver. "Cum on my cock."

You did- toes curling, crying out with unbridled pleasure, eyes watering, wrenching violently against his hands keeping you in place. Your heart pounded in your chest, sucking in deep breaths as his pace stayed steady.

"'M gonna fill this fuckin' cunt," He breathed.

You shook your head again- a quiet no leaving your lips as you twisted your body, trying to get away.

"Stay right there," He grunted, his hold on you even more firm than before, a slap against your ass punishing you. "'M buryin' my cum in you, like it or not."

His head fell back as he released inside you, his hips still driving against your ass. He began to slow not long after, pausing for a moment with his cock still deep in you.

Once he pulled out, he released your wrists, coaxing you against his chest in a firm hold. When you'd regained your breath, he spoke.

"You alright, sweetheart?" He asked, a light hand moving the hair from your face.

You looked up at him with tired eyes, smiling softly.

"More than alright- you?" Your eyes were half-shut with utter bliss.

He nodded. "I'd say the same."

He held you in his arms, fingertips and palms leaving soothing touches over the reddened expanse of your thighs and backside. He left comforting touches along your waist and hips. He kissed your cheek, gentle and loving, before pressing his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly, appreciative and loving, finally pulling away.

"Let's get you a bath, love."

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod mwii #mwii #simon riley #strlingsavwrites #ghost x you #ask strlingsav

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