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tojisun · 2 months ago

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immoral in a stranger’s lap (WIP)

established price x f!reader; poly!141 x f!reader

cw: smut - mdni; switching povs; older men x younger women trope; so much speedrun yearning from the squad; john calling the ‘shots’ and shots being reader; power dynamics at play // 2.6k words

extra notes: filing this as WIP wednesday because i could no longer find the inspiration to finish it. i have a concrete idea of how i wanted it to go but writing it became so difficult, still hope it’s a good read! (title from gibson girl - ec)

Captain has a pretty darling—apparently she’s doe-eyed and young.

She packs him food when she can and always writes him letters, dainty envelopes spritzed with perfume and sealed with wax and baby’s breaths.

They always sit atop every other sealed envelopes because the rookies are afraid of damaging the package. No one can really blame them, not after seeing the extent of care and love put into a single parcel. Apparently, she writes to their Captain even when she has a burner to use to contact him; choosing to, instead, fill up envelopes with a love so sweet it makes their teeth ache.

Captain has a pretty darling—that’s the news that’s been circulating around the base recently, cascading through the gaps of their barracks and settling into the corners of their own rooms. The knowledge of normalcy pierces against the hard-set routine that sustained them through the years, and fills their jowls with their own yawning desire.

Because now they know it’s achievable. Liveable. Guilt no longer races through their veins when they dream about the idea of settling and, instead, they lean into the want yowling from the bases of their stomach. It makes them twitch, leaving them feeling too hyper-aware of everything.

Hunger swirls from their irises and they watch, on the sidelines, as their Captain submerges himself in the one good thing he has. They refuse to name the new feeling, the one rising from their desires, but it is futile—it bloats, leaving them gritting their teeth and clenching their jaws as though by doing so, they could stop the venom.

They couldn’t. Jealousy sings in their blood.

They were startled by the invitation, frozen in their steps when the Captain extended his home to them—“My baby wants to get to know my friends.”

His smile was kind, gentle, the years having made him brighter, but his eyes—the look in them is cold, calculating. Dangerous on all fronts. There was a beast lying in waiting and its presence bore down on them, the siren sounds of a threat ringing because this one was greater than them all.

“Alright,” Ghost replied, the first to get his voice back.

“Great,” their Captain said, then he was off, hand fishing his burner from his pocket to call his pretty darling. His beautiful sweetheart.

‘My baby’ he said.

And now, they get to meet you.

Their gums ached with the phantom desire to bite; to have their teeth digging into flesh—not tearing fully but puncturing enough to mark. To taste.

Their eyes met, their blood thrumming with singularity, and their excitement palpable as it left them in tethers. Because there was much to be said about the mutual desire; how it rippled amidst them all, now noticed by their Captain and invited to play.

The quaint little house lives on the outskirts of the city, not really detached but far enough to know that this was a conscious decision carved out by their Captain.

It has a huge front lawn from inside the white picket fence, littered with a well-tended garden full of shrubs and flowers and stone plants. Their trained eyes flit to the hanging entryway sign—“Home Sweet Home”—and to the small baby’s breath wreath tacked underneath the plank, and feel viscous nectar slide down their throats.

It’s all so domestic, so gentle, that a strange feeling settles deep in their stomachs, their steadied steps dying down to shuffles as their boots crunch against the gravel. They feel like intruders, even when they have yet to set foot inside their Captain’s home. Their mission-trained bodies are stark against this place, which oozes with comfort and flowery scents so delicate it makes their blood jump.

Simon takes the lead again, herding the pack in silence. He raps his knuckles against the well-loved door, sharp knocks bouncing from the wood. Soap and Gaz are both quiet behind him, and they are all tense in their reluctant patience.

It seemed like now that you are close—just a door away—they no longer know how to leash the desire lapping at their feet; ears straining, mouth dry. The hunger scratches at their throats, ragged. Angry.

(It had taken weeks when their Captain finally reached out again with a date and a location, disclosing the details in a way he always did for missions. It had grounded them for a while, bodies locking the way they do when their Captain barked out orders—his expectations pushing them to their limits, their mind geared into a focal point.

“Be kind,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

Gaz ran his tongue on the back of his teeth, head tilting at the sudden twitch from Soap.

“‘Course,” the Sergeant replied with a grin, one that was a bite too big. “We always are.”

Their Captain hummed, eyeing Johnny with a pensive look. Kyle looked away, hoping to melt into the background to avoid any more of their Captain’s playful teasing.

Then, Kyle met their Lieutenant's eyes, wide and rabid, and saw his desire leaking from his pores. His fists were balled, leather gloves straining against the force, and Kyle felt a shiver rack his body at seeing the tangible excitement coming from Simon.

It was so huge, it felt daunting. Addicting.)

Their fingers twitch at the sound of the door’s lock clicking—something they catalogue—before it swings open.

Johnny’s shoulders tense up, his breath getting stuck in his throat at the morbid anticipation burning through him. Simon’s bulk is hiding the view, a solid wall between him and you, but Johnny waits, sees the way their Lieutenant’s gait changes, and knows he needs to be good.

“Oh! You must be John’s friends!”

Simon devours the sight you make, razing his eyes down your form, noting the fine details of domesticity that you’re clothed in—all soft and flowy material that brings out the shine in your eyes as you look up at him, head tipped up to account for the ridiculous height difference.

Something glints in his peripheral—

“Yeah,” he hears himself say. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

A diamond ring.

Their Captain introduces you to them, cinnamon in his eyes and his words honeyed. Your name settles on the tip of their tongues, waiting to be digested. To be sounded out by their own voices.

Simon murmurs it to himself, feels the word sliding between the cracks of his teeth like milk, and gulps it down, starving. It fuels him, this little piece he now has of you, and sets him ablaze as you flutter between them with gentle questions and quiet giggles.

You are soft—too soft for any of them, in fact—but they can see why their Captain is enamoured, his own desire greater than their own. It is intense as it scalds down their spines and jagged because their Captain isn’t a good man, they all aren’t, but there is something disconcerting in the way their Captain had claimed you.

It was rushed, sweet to a fault, but done so rapidly it felt like a beast pouncing on its prey. Like their Captain had seen the beauty of your soul and decided, then, that you’re all his.

Simon washes down the taste of defeat in his mouth with his whiskey, mentally dedicating this drink to his Captain because he knows he would’ve done the same. He would’ve kept you in a home just as cozy; would've played house with you to distract you from the foulness of his virtues because kindness, civilian to that extent, can become so foreign to them now. He would keep you full of him, satiated with his presence and dripping with his cum—

“Sweetheart, c'mere.” Their Captain’s voice pierces the staccato of his thoughts. Simon twitches, suppressing the full-body jolt because there’s something measured in the way their Captain called you.

They watch as you pad towards him with a hum, a bounce in your steps, before reaching to cup his cheek the moment you get close.

“Hi,” you murmur, a breath too quiet.

Their Captain chuckles, basking in your warmth, before curling an arm around your waist and tugging you to his lap. You fall with a little gasp, your hand tight on Price’s shirt as your eyes swing to them in surprise.

“John, they–”

Price kisses the back of your shoulder, fixing his arm over your stomach. “They won’t mind.” Dark eyes turn to them too. “Would you, boys?”

They feel parched; thirst palpable in the way they have their jaws clenched, their tongues heavy inside their mouths. They devour the pretty sight you make—all bashful looks and hunched shoulders, looking so utterly soft, so charmingly fragile, atop their Captain’s lap.

It sets off their base instincts, their desires ravaging their sanities.

“No,” Gaz is surprisingly the one to reply. His voice was smooth and clear, bouncing against the walls with surety. “Don’t mind at all.”

There must be something in the way Gaz was looking at you or perhaps you were also able to hear the unabashed want coating his words, but whatever it was, it made you sit up straighter, head tilted to the side, thinking.

Considering.

It makes all of them jolt, even Price feels a stirring inside his jeans at the sudden shift in your posture, because this changes everything.

It was not that they would be satisfied with only having a look, with only seeing what they want and pretending that their thoughts—dirty and ragged and full of filth—are enough to satiate the fire stoking deep inside, but they didn’t want to set off their Captain.

They didn’t want to meet the beast inside the man’s eyes, and be further punished by having you be taken away from their reach. Because the moment they crossed that little door, the moment you smiled up at them and told them that they’re welcome in your quaint little home, in your space, you were theirs.

And their Captain would just have to deal with that.

But Price is already looking at them with crinkled eyes, his lips busy as it dragged all over the expanse of your shoulder, his palm gentle as it rubs over your stomach.

Kyle takes it for what it is—a permission.

Johnny fists his cock, muffling his moans on the back of his palm, remembering the way you looked. The way you smelled.

All flowers and vanilla—it’s cliche yet so, so fitting.

You were so curious, poking at Ghost’s tattoos and murmuring your awe at every revelation of their becoming, stories that were watered down because they didn’t want to scare you. They didn’t want to push you away.

You were so enamoured by them, all giggly when Garrick told you about his recent mission with the Captain and Laswell, pressing yourself to his space and vibrating in anticipation at every turn. Their Captain rumbled in laughter when you turned to him with a gasp, disbelief coating your voice as you whined, “John, you didn’t!”

There was that pride in your eyes when their Captain reassured you of their success, and you preened when he said, “We had to return to you, after all, baby.”

You got so quiet and shy, then. So docile, just like the precious darling that you are.

So it burned him when it had been his turn to receive your attention.

“‘Soap’?” you asked, nose scrunching in that way that made him coo.

“Yeah, lassie. S’cool, huh?”

You were sitting so close, he could feel the heat from your thigh reverberating from where it was pressed to his. He breathed you in, slow and careful, and felt ablaze with the knowledge that everyone’s eyes were on you two.

Not only their Captain’s but Simon’s. Their Lieutenant whose growled promises ravaged his throat the night before, grunting and groaning, using Johnny’s skin as an alternative to yours.

(“Imagine ‘er, Johnny.” He rutted forward, lips tickling the shell of Johnny’s ear. “Imagine ‘er so full of you.”

It had Johnny mewling, ragged gasps rasping between his clenched teeth because he could imagine it, alright.

He imagined the way you’d be stuffed—greedy holes gaping as you took their cocks and their cum. Their Captain would be there, Garrick too. Their Captain would fuck his own fist as he watched them take you apart with pleasure, and Garrick would have your mouth, his tip painting your lips with his pre- before fucking it down your throat.

“Fuck!” Johnny cried out, humping the mattress to get more stimulation; to feel better.

He imagined that he was rutting against your chest, sliding between the valley of your tits while Ghost took him from the back. He imagined the way you would watch them, enraptured amidst your pleasure because he knew you wanted a show.

They always do.

“Cum for me, pup,” Ghost rumbled into his ear and Johnny’s body locked in obedience, intense euphoria seizing him whole.)

He cums with your name on his lips, rumbled in a way he hopes would drive you mad. Would make you desperate.

Johnny wants to make a slut out of you. Strip your sweetness and tinge it with sin—show you what they say about men like him. Like them. He wants to take you, or whatever scraps their Captain gives them, because every inch and every part of you is too delectable.

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyeing the thick rivulets of cum pooling in his palm.

What he would give to see you lick this clean.

“So, what’d you think of her?” Their Captain asks as he twirls his glass of bourbon, the alcohol sloshing carefully from inside the cup like liquid gold. It snags fractures of light, smothering the little glints with its every ripple.

Simon hums, distracted, his mind a gallery made up of all of the little bits and pieces he was able to snatch from that day in the quaint little house: the sound of your voice, the titter of your giggles, the way you looked up at him when he offered to help pluck out the cups stowed away in the highest shelves, before your lips danced into a grateful little smile, dimpling your cheeks and wrinkling your eyes.

You were everything he adored. The woman of his dreams, there, in the pretty little cage that their Captain has you in.

“She's beautiful,” Ghost says, quiet. Honest. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, really.”

It is in the stretching silence that follows that he picks up his own whiskey and pours it into his parched mouth to wash down the desire lodged in his throat. He doesn’t look at his Captain; he doesn’t want to be the one to ask.

He wants it to be offered; to be presented to him like the twisted blessing that it is.

Simon wants to know if you would allow him. If you would allow all of them to have you too.

Price huffs, his glass clinking against the table when he had put it down. Simon licks the back of his teeth as he waits, patience thrumming underneath his veins raggedly. He feels like a boy, waiting to be told that he’s done good; that his obedience is going to be rewarded lucratively.

Price chuckles like he can read the thoughts churning in Simon’s mind.

“Not yet,” is all that their Captain replies.

Not yet—it was not a rejection, then.

Simon burns, feeling the way such simple words sustain him. The idea that they were allowed to taste, not now, not yet, but soon, in that cage that you call a home.

#suns #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #x reader

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millers-angel · 2 months ago

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patrol!joel x female reader

summary: joel scolds you because you messed up a patrol, until he makes you cry and realizes he crossed the line. warnings: scolding, mean joel, thumb sucking, smut ig, they get caught by tommy.

“are you stupid? you wanna die?” he grunted, clearly upset with you.

ha had been upset for a while, lecturing you on how you have to be more careful, but as he did, you both kept walking till you got inside the safe place—an abandoned house in the middle of the woods.

“i always have to repeat myself every goddamn time. stay quiet, do what i say, and most importantly, don't do anything stupid," he said, dropping his gear onto a table. "and that's exactly what you do."

you stayed quiet, holding back tears. you liked coming on patrols with him, except this time tommy came with you, but you fucked up. you didn’t listen, you put yourself in danger, and joel had to come find you—again.

he scoffed, shaking his head. “should’ve just left you out there. maybe then you’d finally learn.”

his words hit hard, and you felt your throat tighten, your vision blurring.

“you don’t listen, you never fucking listen,” he went on, voice rough with frustration. “i tell you to stay close, i tell you to stay quiet, and what do you do? the exact opposite. every goddamn time.”

he ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “you think this is a game? you think i like risking my ass for you every time you decide to be reckless?”

you bit your lip, trying to keep it together, but the lump in your throat only grew. he was mad—really mad. you were looking at your boots wipping your tears away, you didn't want him to see you like this.

he exhaled hard through his nose, his breath heavy with frustration. his hands were on his hips, fingers digging into his belt as he tried to calm down. but when he looked down, he saw you sitting there on a worn couch, head bowed, your pants dotted with tiny dark spots.

tears.

his jaw clenched. maybe he’d been too harsh. maybe he’d gone too far.

“you good?” his voice was still rough, but quieter now.

you nodded quickly, wiping at your face.

“use your words,” he muttered. “now you're quiet, huh?”

you swallowed thickly, voice barely above a whisper. “i’m fine.”

he huffed, unconvinced. “look at me.”

you shook your head.

joel sighed, deep and slow, forcing himself to be patient. then, with a gentleness that didn’t match his earlier anger, he reached out, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up.

watercolor eyes. tear-streaked cheeks. swollen lips.

his grip tightened just slightly, his own frustration shifting into something else.

you sniffled, wiping at your nose with your sleeve, but it didn’t do much to stop the way your shoulders shook. joel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. without a word, he grabbed you and pulled you onto his lap, his arms firm around you as he sat.

you didn’t resist. you never did.

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, voice unsteady. “i didn’t mean to put you at risk. or tommy. i won’t do it again.” you swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. “i get it if you don’t want me on patrols with you anymore. or if you just want to give me the easy routes.”

joel sighed, his chest rising and falling against your back.

“i tell you this shit for a reason,” he said, voice quieter now. “it’s dangerous out here. you keep acting like this, and it’s gonna catch up to you. and i don’t want that. i don’t want anything happening to you.”

you hesitated, then whispered, “really?”

“yeah, really.” his grip on you tightened just slightly. “i get so goddamn mad ‘cause you’re stubborn. you don’t listen. you scare the hell outta me.”

you were still new to patrols, still learning the way things worked out here. and you liked going with joel for two reasons—because you wanted to learn from him, to be as capable as he was, and because no matter how bad things got, no matter how much he yelled, it always ended the same way. with him pulling you close, keeping you safe... and his cock deep down inside you.

you loved being with joel on patrol, the way he moved with such ease, like he was made for this. every step was calculated, every decision precise. the way he handled the knife, the rifle—how it all seemed so natural to him, like he was in complete control. when danger came, he didn’t hesitate. he knew exactly what to do, and you couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly he commanded the situation.

and when things got tough, when he needed to push you out of harm’s way or pull you into cover, there was something about the way he manhandled you that drove you crazy. it was rough, but it was him taking control, keeping you safe. and in those moments, with his hands on you, you felt safe. you felt protected—like now.

you hiccupped, the sound shaky from how much you’d cried. joel’s thumb brushed your cheek, his hands gentle as he lifted your face to meet his eyes.

“i’m not gonna put you with anyone else,” he said softly. “we’re gonna keep going together, on patrols.”

you looked up at him, surprised. “really?”

“yeah, really,” he muttered, his voice a little rough. “i wouldn’t leave you with anyone else, not when you’re putting yourself at risk every damn minute. no one else is gonna risk their ass for you like i do.” he paused, a flash of frustration in his eyes before he noticed your lip trembling.

he softened, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, trying to calm you. “you’re damn stubborn, you know that?”

he pressed his thumb on your lips, parting them, so you sucked him. "that it," he said softly—too softly. "that's gonna calm you down."

you closed your eyes, holding his hand close to you, sucking his thumb as if your life depends on it, you pressed your tongue on it, lips tight around him. he loved the sensation, he loved when you sucked on his fingers just as you suck on his cock.

you opened your eyes when you felt a growing bulge beneath your thighs, meeting his gaze, all dark. nothing but desire behind them. he could yell at you all he wants—make you cry even, but you'll always end up like this.

his other hand made its way under your shirt, the feeling made you squirm. he played with the tip, squeezing it between his fingers, pulling it gently, getting muffled moans on his thumb in response.

and that was enough for him, he needed to fuck you now. he took his thumb out your mouth to tug your shirt over your head, your skin prickled when the breeze hit your bare breasts. he loved seeing thoes perky tips all hard for him. he got rid of your jeans too, throwing them somewhere in the dusty cabin.

"joel... we should go looking for tommy," you mumbled between gasps.

"he can take care of himself, i'm taking care of you."

he loved having you like this, all naked and vulnerable. he had fucked you behind a tree, over a rock, on the grass, in old cabins like this one, even in the back of an abandoned jeep, its wheels long deflated and covered in dust. he knows he's the only one who got to see you like this, back in jackson you're all shy with everyone, they don't know you're his personal little sex toy.

he made you stand up for him to unzip his jeans and then, he made you lean over the coach, while you positioned yourself on your hands and knees, you knew the drill, you knew what he liked. what he liked to see.

by god he loved the view.

all you felt then, was his dick trailing your slit, you were wet, and he can tell you got a while like that. you love being scolded, the tone of his voice, the way his eyes gets dark, the way you know it's because he wants to protect you. yeah, it got you wet.

he slammed his cock in you, you let out a gasp and gripped to the backrest of the couch. he dug his fingers on your hips when he thrusted. you were warm, too warm and soft inside, always making him feel like he's about to come as soon as he gets in, like a goddamn teenager.

"you take this cock so good," he muttered.

you were biting your lip to not moan, cause you had to be careful, right? he said it. you must be careful from now on.

"lemme hear you, baby," he grunted, fingers going white from his grip on you.

your grip on the couch loosened. "b-but you said we must be quiet and careful—"

he almost chuckled, you're adorable. "i don't want you quiet when i'm fucking you"

and his approval was all you need to let those breathy little moans bubble up from your mouth. he went harder, couldn’t stop once he saw how your skin jiggled with every thrust. he loved that.

he was leaving his fingerprints on your skin. one of his hands slipped between your thighs, making its way to your clit. you held your breath. he could feel it, swollen, probably aching and needy. he drew circles around it.

“poor baby,” he cooed, your legs trembled cause it was too much, he was too thick, and his fingers stroking your most sensitive spot, you went weak. “you like causing trouble?”

he pressed his fingers on your clit, feeling how it throbs. “no—“

he slapped it. “be fucking honest.”

you squirmed, it felt too good. “i do.” you admitted in a moan. “i like causing trouble.”

he rubbed the little button harder. “i know," of course he does, weird thing you always do the same to end up with his cock buried deep inside you. you love being trouble so he can fuck you right after. "stubborn as hell."

you curl your toes, his fingers worked so good, he sent you to a bliss, your walls choking him. he wasn't being gentle. he loved seeing you falling apart, seeing your legs get weak.

"joel, please—" you cried out.

"this mine, yeah?" you. you're his. "you ain't goin' on patrols with anyone but me, understood?"

you whimpered. "ah—yes."

he let out a chuckle, delighted to see you like this. he knows you're his, but he likes to remind you.

"i'm gonna get you all round so everyone in town knows you're mine too." his hand drifted to your belly. "right here."

he moved his hand a little lower just enough to feel himself, stretching you out. "attagirl," he cooed. "come f'me."

you fell apart beneath him, your body squirming, trembling legs, spasming walls that milked him out, but he didn't stop thrusting, not until he was sure you were filled up.

the cabin was a bunch of whimpering from both of you.

until…

the door swung open. you’ve been caught.

by tommy.

he had been looking for you since you didn’t show up to the meeting point they have in case something happened—so he came looking for you, thinking the worst, it’s been a while and he’s exhausted, sweating. he should be upset because you made him worry and waste his time when all you were doing was fucking.

but more than upset he was… aroused. the quiet girl he knew back in town wasn’t being that quiet and shy right now. the quiet girl loved having a cock buried inside her.

he had to adjust his jeans before coming further. “what the fuck is this?” he asked.

your face went pale and you tried to cover yourself but it was pointless—joel didn’t let you. he knew his brother well enough.

“‘s this what you’ve been doing? you have an idea how many time i’ve been looking for you? you—“

“cut the shit tommy,” joel growled.

“so this is the quiet girl from jackson, huh?” he leaned, fingers on your jaw, making you look at him. your lip was trembling.

joel pulled out with a loud pop sound, his cum dripping from your cunt, your thighs all sticky with the mess you made.

"you're gonna explain?" tommy asked to his brother, but not letting go his grip on your jaw, you were curling your toes, being in the middle of the miller brothers always got you nervous. "is she your

"she's mine," joel said firmly. "but i'm sure she wants you to fill her up, don't you sweetheart?"

you nodded, holding eye contact with tommy, then your eyes drifted to the bulge on his pants.

"she can be our secret."

#diana writes ♡#joel miller #joel x reader #joel smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x you #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #smut #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

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cowboycid · 1 month ago

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Ok here's a wip!

I build a lot of homes in traditional styles so I went for something modern. It's a replica of this house in Utrecht by Gerrit Rietveld called the "Chauffeur's Apartment" or the "Garage with Chauffeur's Flat".

It's a very compact space, I almost put it on a 20x20 but I wanted to put a house next to it so it didn't look like it was floating. It also provides a nice contrast I think! Gonna add more trees cuz I love how lush the reference photo is and finish detailing the house next door. Maybe even the owners of that home rent out the apartment? (I still wanna check out the For Rent gameplay as you can tell).

There's virtually no room on the bottom floor cuz the garage takes up half the space. So, I'm thinking of opening the second floor so it's kind of like a loft and then just close up one area for a bathroom. It's got the potential to be a very cool home.

...may have built a home for the new world Nordhaven...

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 wip #ts4 build diaries #oh the house is in windenburg cuz In don't have the new pack and probably won't for a month or two #still not ready to update and frankly I'm overdue for a couple cuz I never updated for For Rent or Lovestruck #I am several packs behind cuz I was so stuck into building but we are gearing up for gameplay this month so lots of setting up to do!#anyway love how it's looking so far #gonna pop in game and work on it some more tonight

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max-nicoxfandom · 2 months ago

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Happy WIP Wednesday ! Here is a first draft/snippet of a random chapter in my long fic I'm working on (don't go looking for it, still unsure if I'm going to post it), bc I think I'm gonna take this part out even if I really like the concept.

Danny is like 6-7yrs old in this

Danny is a weird kid.

That's not to say Dick expected him to be normal when his family took him in. No, even if Danny wasn't still half dead, no one in this family is normal. Not even Duke and Barbara, the self proclaimed normies of the family.

Danny has brought a certain life to the manor, even in death, that has Dick contemplating moving back. Somehow, even Jason has been spending more time than usual there. Arguments have been lessened, the manor has been less creaky and more settled, Alfred even looks a little younger these days.

It's both the fault of Danny's sweet exterior, and the odd green that swirls in the blue of his eyes. Not the same hue as Jason's, but something near to it.

He's a lot like Jason, actually. Dick is sure if Jason had come to them just a little bit younger he'd be the spitting image of Danny.

It's the little things that make them look so similar. Almost everyone in the manor has the blue-green eye, black hair combo. It's everything else in Danny that makes him look exactly like Jason.

Danny likes to wish the moon good morning when he sees it during the day, and insists on opening his curtains when he goes to sleep so the moon can listen to his bedtime story too. He likes to check his stuffed animals for injuries when they fall off furniture. He thanks Alfred for his food, and thanks his food for being yummy. When he leaves the manor, he blows the building a kiss goodbye.

Dick does not tell Bruce that the house pulls itself from the ground, and creaks back.

Sure, Jason wasn't dead (not yet, anyway), but he was so excited to be alive. He had that same disposition to do good to everyone and everything that Danny does. Jason may not be some sort of partial human like Danny, but Jason was Robin, and Robin? Robin is magic.

You don't have to believe in ghosts for them to be real, and you don't have to see Danny for him to exist. On the same wavelength, you don't have to see Robin to know Jason made him magic. It was just the truth. Like how the sky is blue and Bruce is Batman.

Dick is watching his life be changed one step at a time, just like it was with Jason–like how it was supposed to be with Jason–and like it was with his siblings.

He keeps flowers in his car now. He didn't before, he never had a reason for it.

But one time, Danny cried as they passed a graveyard. He was sitting curled up against the window in the back while Dick hummed along to some ballad on the radio. It was peaceful, as things tend to be when Danny's around, and even as the kid cried Dick never stopped feeling tranquil. He knew everything would be okay, Dick would stop at nothing to make his new brother happy again.

“I have no flowers.” He’d said. Dick hadn't even gotten the chance to ask what was wrong. “They'll all be so sad I came by, and I had no flowers.”

Danny's eyes were green when he'd spoken. Green, teary, and filled with more mourning a child should ever understand. Dick's heart broke about a thousand times over.

So now Dick keeps flowers in his car. Whenever he drives past a graveyard he throws a flower out the window, just like Danny does. And if the bouquet dies before he gets to give them away, he gives them to Danny, and he buries them in the backyard.

Green eyed and sad. Sometimes Jason joins him, sometimes Damian does. Dick never feels like it's his place.

This fic also has to do with the cult thing I was talking about sometime ago, and the post about big cities. I kinda regret having this take place in Gotham instead of Amity, but it's too late now (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Asks and interactions are always welcome !

#batfam #danny phantom #dcxdp fanfic #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp au #dcxdp #dc x dp fic #dc x dp #dick grayson #richard grayson #jason todd #de aged danny #danny fenton #˗ˏˋ ★

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