#flying. green lasers from his eyes

[tanglepelt]

Dp x dc idea 165

Super Danny decided that amity was too small. He was a hero. He was needed elsewhere.

Super Danny ends up in metropolis. Kryptonite is ectoranium. In this ectoranium works the same as kyrptonite. Potential mistaken identity.

Then sam and tucker eventually come to hunt super Danny down. Fun Danny in tow. They need to merge the two back into one. They just have to catch super Danny first.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: billy butcher, hughie campbell, frenchie, mothers milk, kimiko, and soldier boy

↳ warnings: canon type violence and happenstances. hinted to take place during season three at some points.

↳ notes: sorry butcher is in here so much. he's the kind of guy that can't shut the fuck up, so i feel like he's always getting in everyone business no matter what

↳ song: rock me like a hurricane—scorpions

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

• He has mixed feelings about you

• On one hand, you’re a great team player. Always making sure the job gets done, willing to put yourself on the line for the team, one of the most willing to kill a supe in a snap—second only to him—and always managing to make shit up on the fly whenever something inevitably goes wrong on a mission. Butcher has seen you fend off an entire team of armed Vought men before with nothing but a well timed lie and piece of pipe. That’s not something to scoff at, even if he does anyways

• But on the other hand, he has a feeling that you were just as much as an annoying shit as he acted sometimes

• “Sorry to say this guys—“ You said one night through the food in your mouth as Chinese takeout sat on a dirty table in front of you, curtesy of M.M and his pocketbook, “—but I think I’d betray you all for a fortune cookie. I’d betray my country for a fortune cookie.”

• "You say that like we ain’t already betrayin’ the cunts, sunshine.” Butcher eyed you from across the room as you nicked Frenchies own cookie from him while he was staring off at Kimiko for the tenth time that night

• “Too right, Butch.” You grinned like a shark at your idiotic nickname for him, and he ignored you as you did so; like he always did

• He definitely appreciates your enthusiasm behind his plans. Unlike Hughie or M.M, who despite working in the business of taking down supes seem to be hesitant about doing too much shit, you don’t seem to have a very strong moral code. That’s not necessarily a good thing in anyone’s eyes except for Butcher’s, who knows that he can always count on you to have his back in whatever situation he manages to squeeze himself into

• “Thanks for comin’.” He grunted at you while vomiting into a toilet, green bile spewing from his mouth. Butcher’s eyes burned with the urge to let out a laser beam, and he did so for a moment, splitting the porcelain throne we was leaning over in two

• “Want me to hold your hair back for you, honey?” You didn’t even miss a beat to start making fun of his situation, which made Butcher growl at you even from his current position. Despite your sarcastic demeanor in the moment, and the way he had just scorched an unexpected hole through the shitty bathroom, Butcher knew you’d help, no questions asked. And that’s exactly what you did, grabbing whatever he asked you to as he gave you a run down on the latest solo mission he had been attempting to get by with on his own

• “Jesus, poor Gunpowder huh?” You mused as you crossed your arms and leaned on the sink above him. For a moment Butcher thought you were granting the dead supe a bit of sympathy before he saw the glint in your eyes. “If the last thing I saw before I kicked it was your mug, I’d probably wanna get it over with yeah?”

• “Do me a favor. Go grab the toaster in the other room an’ take a nice bath with it, would ya?”

• “You first, Butcher.”

𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥

• The two of you are like peas in a pod. Two very weird, very cautious peas in a pod

• Even if Butcher is beside himself with annoyance at having another, as he put it, “soft cunt with a morality complex,” join the team, Hughie couldn’t be happier that someone seems to share his values on supes, on Vought; on the world, really

• In the first season or so, the two of you would probably spend a lot of time in between working with everyone else in the field to come up with a way to take Vought down the right way. Eventually,as we all know, that later falls apart, but it exhilarates Hughie to know that there’s people out there like him that want to try and put in the effort for things like that

• “Yeah, so if we can get one more witness about the Termite incident to come forward and testify—“ You bit your pen between your teeth and nodded as Hughie waved his hands over a stack of papers and talked at a million miles an hour, somehow understanding each and every word.

• “—then we could finally take a supe down legally. And that would make way for a whole round of others; Hughie you’re a genius.” You finished his sentence for him, slapping a hand down on the table with a grin as Hughie smiled. Somewhere in the distance someone snorted wryly, no doubt having heard the entire conversation. You had no doubt it was Butcher, but that didn’t matter to the either of you with how happy you were at the revelation. No matter how temporary it would turn out to be

• Hughie finds himself trusting you quite a bit. He can get attached pretty easily, so he finds himself willing to do anything to back you up—within reason of course. He still has some semblance of sanity left

• Listens to Billy Joel with you! Doesn’t matter if you all are coming back from a mission covered in blood—once it was whale guts—he will stick one earbud in and leave the other out for you as he presses play on a mix. More than once the others have found both of you passed out and snoring as the faint sound of Billy Joel plays through the headphones

• “Think we should wake them up, mon amie?” Frenchie tilts his head as he looks down on the both of you. Hughie chest rises and falls with a softness he couldn’t afford on the regular. You were positioned far away from him to have your back to him, somehow keeping your end of the earbud in as you drooled

• “Nah, let em sleep. God knows they need it.” M.M shook his head with crossed arms, the sight reminding him of better times

• “Oi! Stop ogling at the knackered sods and come help me with this, would ya?”

• “Fuck you, Butcher.” M.M said with a sigh, leaving the room to go and help anyway

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞

• He fucks with you so hard

• I mean, come on, someone that’s as excited about making bombs as he is? Someone that is willing to understand French? To shit talk everyone else to their face—especially Butcher?? He might have to marry you on the spot

• Please learn French. He will literally beg you to start. Conjugates, vocabulary, even a simple ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Anything at all. Will absolutely not judge you for your horrific accent or pronunciation if you have any

• Bomb lessons on the side, too. If you already know the basics, or are a pro, it’ll be a lot more breezy, but he’s willing to start from scratch. It’ll be nice to have a partner to help him with his creations on the team for once, and even better since he likes you

• The two of you, and Kimiko obviously, are practically joined at the hip. What I said about the shit talking earlier was real, too. All of you use different languages or sign to voice whatever you’re thinking. It’s nice to be able to speak your mind freely, and there’s the added bonus of not having M.M give you that sharp look of his, or Butcher calling you names. Anymore than usual, that is

• “What do you reckon the three of ‘em are always on about?” Butcher took a swig from his drink. He was sitting next to Hughie with a beer on one of their down days as the younger man typed away on a computer. He was watching you Frenchie and Kimiko from across the room as you all signed at each other with giant smiles on your face. Frenchie would speak occasionally, but all that came out was his mother tongue, and your face would pause for a moment as you let your brain process what he was saying. Then all of you would break out into another round of grins, something that Butcher had to deadpan at

• “Probably planning a coup.” Hughie answered Butcher without even looking up from his screen. He knew who he was talking about anyways. It wasn’t hard to guess thanks, to the occasional loud exclamation from Frenchie as you signed something particularly risqué or funny

• Butcher flitted his eyes away in annoyance from you all after he recognized the word ‘cunt’ in the passing conversation, along with a sign that was clearly supposed to represent him

• “I think at this poin’ I’d prefer tha’.” He grumbled into his cup, and all of you laughed

• “Cheer up, Butcher. At least Frenchie isn’t teaching them how to make homemade cherry bombs again.”

• “Shut up.”

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤

• Finally. Someone other than him can be the voice of reason in the group

• It’s tiring being the one to hold everyone together all of the time. It might help if Butcher wasn’t so much of an ass, or if Hughie didn’t feel the need to derail every plan with thoughts of his own, but M.M knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. So he’d take any help he could get with reigning everyone in

• Definitely bonds with you over your shared habit of wearing band t-shirts to meetups or hideouts. I’d like to imagine that at one point the both of you show up wearing the exact same one, and it goes exactly how one would expect

• “Same shirt.” M.M notices one morning, pointing at your torso with the initials N.W.A written over it. He’s smiling, and so are you as what he’s wearing in turn dawns on you

• “Same shirt!! Hell yeah.”

• Fist bumps. Fist bumps galore, man. The two of you fist bump a lot. To punctuate sentences, drive a point home, agree on stuff—anything. It’s your own way of communicating with each other without having to bat an eye

• It’ll take M.M a while, but eventually he’ll start to really open up about missing his family to you. Beyond just showing you pictures of his daughter at soccer practice, I mean. If he trusts you enough to have his back in a shoot out, then he trusts you with this

• At one point, it goes farther than his (regrettably ex) wife and daughter, and eventually branches out into what he’s willing to tell about his dad and brothers. You feel like you know all of them by the time he’s done, and that only makes the typewriter story hit harder when he finally decides to reveal it

• Let’s just say you were pretty willing to jump Soldier Boy on M.M’s half the first time you were left in a room with them

• “Just one swing I swear—“

• “He will literally beat you into a pulp.” M.M deadpanned, doing his best to avoid looking at the other imposing figure in the room as he clasped two hands on either of your shoulders

• “Listen to your friend, sweetheart. Would hate to have to scrub my hands clean of any of your blood. Getting under the fingernails is always hard.”

• “See what I mean, just one punch that’s all—“

• “No.”

𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐨

• It’s honestly great for her to be able to hang around someone that feels the same way that she does. Maybe it’s how silent you are that really draws her attention at first, but Kimiko really grows to appreciate you as a member of the team

• Probably gets a lot of joy from having a friend like you. She constantly asks to do things like have you watch movies with her or to do ‘sleepovers,’ which are really just the two of you crashing on the main room couch together

• She never got a chance at a normal childhood or friends, so you and Frenchie are the closest she gets to a peace of mind

• Not even a question about it, she’s making you learn her sign language

• Will stare at you for days on end, saying nothing but everything at the same time until you agree to learn. Once you do, it’s all over. She gets the biggest most happiest look anyone ever seen, and there’s no turning back from that

• “Kimiko, what are you doing. It’s two in the morning.” You groan at her from under the thin covers of your bed, doing your best to ignore her hands as they fly about. It’s the childish equivalent of ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’

• ‘No time to sleep. We have to go over stuff before the mission tomorrow. It will help us communicate.’ She was unnerved by your lack of enthusiasm. If anything it only spurred her on more, shaking your bed and pulling at your covers as you groaned. Even with the progress you had been making with signing over the past few weeks, your knowledge was still a bit shaky, and being half asleep didn’t help, so you only caught a few words. Enough to know what she wanted, however

• “Go away, Kimiko.” You whined. The shaking stopped, and for a moment you thought your request had worked. You were more than happy to fall back into whatever dream you had been having beforehand

• Then you heard the rushing of feet and a large weight slammed onto your legs

• “Goddamnit!—“

• Frenchie found the both of you the next morning; Kimiko looking bright eyed and bushy-tailed while you were practically falling asleep from where you sat. It was a teasing point for you over the next two weeks

• Between you, there’s moments like that where, despite Kimiko’s silence and your habit to keep your thoughts to yourself, nothing ever goes unseen or unsaid. The two of you know each other like the back of your hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’d even need her sign to communicate

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

• If the saying ‘this town ain't big enough for the both of us’ could apply here, it absolutely would

• It’s almost ironic how bad Soldier Boy handles another version of himself. You’ve got just as much snark and anger as him, and it pisses him the hell off. Constantly.

• Maybe it’s because you didn’t fan boy over him as soon as he flashed a few cheesy lines that keeps his disdain for you boiling, or that you didn’t keep your distance when he threatened to eradicate your entire bloodline if you didn’t stop running your mouth at him

• “Need help with that?” He cocks a brow at you one day, watching with poorly hidden annoyance as you struggle to tie a knot in your shoes for the fifth time in a minute. The offer isn’t serious, and even if it was, he has no doubt you wouldn’t hesitate to kick him in the face if he bent down to tie your shoe for you

• “Need help taking my dick down your throat?” You parroted back at him while raising your voice in a false-happy tone. Finally you get the shoestrings to cooperate, completely missing the way Soldier Boy glows in a harsh warning at your attitude

• “Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty.” Butcher calls from the room over, no doubt tired of the bickering between the two of you that had been nonstop for the past few days. “Let’s get a move on before one of you decides to claw the others bloody eyes out, yeah?”

• The fact that you’re not even a supe just ticks him off more. Only a few people have ever pushed his buttons like this, most of them being supes, and they always ended up being nothing but red paste in the next few minutes

• You make sure to point it out to him several times that you’re just acting like he always does, making sure to don a shit eating grin when he clenches his fist at your comment

• Please for the love of everything that’s holy tone it the fuck down. Some people may say that Soldier Boy has no self-control, but it sure is taking a whole lot of it not to kick you in the crotch as hard as possible

• “The feelings mutual.” You deadpan at him when he eventually shares that fantasy out loud. He knew full well that if you even so much as tried that, you’d end up with a broken ankle and your front pinned to the closest brick wall, but he had no doubts that you would go for it anyway

• Seriously. How has he not murdered you in your sleep yet

[faeriekit]

Feet on the Ground

loose phic phight fill for @oldfashionedbattlehymn

warnings for: murder attempt, discussion of child death

********

Danny wakes up in a garbage bag.

It isn’t as gross as it sounds. Danny’s the only thing in there, and it’s not like the lack of air is going to kill him; he could rip his way out, but honestly, going intangible is just as effective and twice as easy.

And, of course, once he’s phased his way out of the dumpster behind the gas station, Danny is very, very grateful that he didn’t even try. Everything else in there is….eeugh. He shivers.

Well. It’s got to be early morning now—it’s dark. There’s no other cars on the highway. Even the gas station itself is closed, and the stars have already lost their spark.

Time to head home.

*

Danny wakes up behind the gas station. Again.

…Okay?

The first time, Danny had just assumed he’d fallen asleep somewhere weird while flying around the neighborhood, but a second time is a pattern. It’s definitely not his fault this time either, because there’s no way he would have duct taped his arms and legs together or slapped a gag on his mouth.

That’s kind of. Ominous.

Danny frees himself of the garbage bag first— and thank goodness he doesn’t have to breathe— he floats himself out of the bag and the dumpster, which had…thankfully been given a good scrubbing since last time? There’s some other trash, apparently, but nothing sharp enough to cut through his durable, tape-based bonds. It takes some finagling and some eye lasers for Danny to finally get his arms free.

And. Hoo Boy. There’s no more liberating a feeling than peeling tape off your mouth, even if your mouth skin kind of comes off with it and you bleed a little. But it’s fine! It’s green, which means it’ll heal.

Fabulous. Danny zooms off invisibly into the night, more than willing to put the night behind him.

*

…Okay, the third time is what makes it more than a coincidence.

Danny shucks out of the bruise-tight ropes around his wrists, torso, knees, and legs, spits out his gag, and flies home. He finally has to give into the inevitable, and attempts the last resort:

“Jazz?” he whispers, slowly rocking his sister in her bed. Jazz mumbles in her sleep.

“Jaaaaazzy…” Danny tries again, trying not to look either too spooky or too imposing. Jazz’s reflexes are such that—

The laser she keeps under her pillow goes off. Danny loses a few millimeters of hair, which means that her aim is getting better.

 He doesn’t have any trouble seeing in the dark (or, uh, not anymore, anyway), but it’s easy to see Jazz’s sleepy squint as she pulls herself somewhat upright. More like a shrimp with scoliosis, but, well. You know.

“Whuh,” Jazz asks. “...Danny?”

“Hey,” Danny whispers, a ghost at her bedside. Jazz grunts. “Uh. What does it mean when you keep waking up in a trash bag behind the gas station?”

Jazz blinks. Jazz rubs her eyes. Jazz blinks again, looking more sleepy than coherent but at least somewhat aware of her surroundings.

“Garbage bag?” Jazz asks blearily. “You were in a garbage bag?”

“Yeah,” Danny whispers back. “My legs were tied down?”

“...Danny, were you murdered?”

Danny stops.

“Huh?” says Danny.

*

“So, if you look here,” Tucker points out, finger not quite touching the glass of his CRT monitor, “That’s when Danny gets murdered.”

There is a collective eeew from the assembled viewers— Jazz, Sam, and Danny, all crowded in Tucker’s room.

“Yeah, Tucker agrees. The light from the black-and-white footage flashes in the reflection of his glasses. “Here’s where he’s tossed in…there. And this is when they tossed him in the dumpster.”

There’s no sound on the gas station surveillance footage, but Danny imagines that his body clanged on the way in. What the hell. Danny got murdered behind a gas station, and he didn’t even notice?!

They watch the archived footage of a Ford F-150 driving off the property, and then Danny’s dead body being unceremoniously tossed in a dumpster. It’s kind of surreal. No one had noticed. There was no one to report the crime committed.

“I can’t believe that guy just clocked you over the head, like that,” Sam points out. “It’s just a regular car jack. It shouldn’t have gotten you in the first place.”

The observation isn’t appreciated.

“Be nice! My brother was just murdered,” Jazz scolds. Danny doesn’t think she sounds as offended as she should be. “Either way, it’s certainly an attempted murder, if not a successful one. We have to do something.”

“…Can’t we just call the cops?” Tucker asks, turning away from the computer. “I mean. Look. That’s proof. We have proof right here.”

Sure enough, there is footage. Right there. There’s Danny’s murder, in 240p black and white.

“Where’s the body?” Sam asks dryly, and. Uh. That’s a problem they’ll have to solve.

Everyone looks at everyone else. No one has a good solution.

“…Do we have to do this?” Tucker realizes at the same second as the rest of them.

Jazz looks at Danny. Danny looks at Sam. Sam looks at Tucker.

Tucker stares back at them, entirely unenthused with the conclusion they’ve come to.

“…Okay then,” Jazz exhales. “How do you want to do this?”

*

Sam ends up on top of the gas station, a cell phone in her hand.

Tucker, PDA in hand, sits in Jazz’s passenger seat. The camera feed is ongoing and recording for posterity.

Jazz taps her fingers on the wheel of her car. There isn’t anywhere better to hide than down the road and around the corner, so she does, hoping that they’re on the other end of the road from whoever’s killing her brother every night.

Danny is, of course, wandering through the neighborhood.

Losing her baby brother—on purpose—is the worst thing Jazz can imagine. She feels sick. She wants to throw him into the car and speed away, and break every speed limit law in the county on her way out. She wants to pack him in bubble wrap and ship him expedited to France.

But she does leave her brother alone. She lets Tucker look over the footage as Danny roams around town, just as unaware and unsuspecting as his last few outings.

Tucker sees the man first.

He bolts upright, eyes on his PDA. “Jazz.”

Her head whips around. They watch, silently, as someone approaches Danny’s lone figure on the doorstep outside the gas station.

They can’t hear anything. That’s the scariest part.

“Call,” Jazz demands. Tucker does.

Doubtlessly, on the roof of the gas station, Sam is dialing too.

*

So. Danny knows this guy.

And. Uh. It’s kind of embarrassing; he’d asked if Danny was okay walking home alone at night a few hours before his dumpster wake-up call, and Danny had said it was fine.

Apparently, no, it wasn’t fine. That being said, Danny hadn’t been expecting a guy in a button-up and khakis to be the guy murdering him on the down low. He kind of looks like the dude who sells you televisions and burner phones at a Wal-Mart.

The guy comes all the way over to where Danny is sitting on the thin concrete step of the gas station. His breath fogs up from the weather and his eyes rake over Danny, up and down; down and up.

“Hey,” he says, looking all the world like any other concerned citizen. Danny’s heart throbs. “It’s cold outside. You need a ride back to town?”

“…No,” says Danny, who doesn’t.

“Your mom okay with you comin’ home late by yourself?” the man asks nervously, hands going to his hair.

Danny thinks about how many times he’s woken up in the dumpster. He thinks about seeing his own body on the camera tape. Prone. Dead.

“You still keep a car jack in your passenger seat?” Danny asks instead.

The man freezes. An attempted murderer he might be, but he’s not exactly an Oscar-winning actor. “What?”

“The car jack,” Danny repeats. He doesn’t know if he’s mad the man keeps targeting him, or whether he’s grateful Danny’s the only one who’s died so far. “It’s got a lot of sharp corners. They hurt, you know.”

The man…carefully laughs the statement off, but he looks. Nervous.

Danny doesn’t really need to confront him; he only has to stall long enough that Tucker or Sam can call the cops, so that they can see this man’s face and get him on the record. But.

There’s a part of Danny…

The man looks so human. Flush with blood. Solid enough to break. Fragile enough to be made broken.

Danny still resents being made dead. This man didn’t kill Danny—not in any way that mattered, but he’s an easy target.

He doesn’t breathe. The man watches a boy sit in the shadows of a building where he’s been dumping bodies, and Danny can taste his fear.

“It hurt a lot,” Danny says, and he isn’t referring to waking up in the bags every couple of mornings in the last few weeks. “It hurt so much. I was screaming.”

The man is silent.

“Do you like to hear the screaming?” Danny asks, suddenly curious. Did he care, if Danny had screamed, or if he had been too unaware to notice he was dying? Would he have cared, if there were others more breakable than Danny that he had hurt?

He doesn’t answer.

“I don’t like it,” Danny confesses. In a horrible way, it’s easy to tell his would-be murderer about his death—unlike Tucker or Sam, who witnessed it, or Jazz, who loves him, this man can’t be affected by Danny’s take on his own death. In fact, if he is hurt by the thought of Danny’s death…good. It’s better if he is. If there is remorse in him. “I don’t like to hear screaming. I screamed for so long, and so loud. It felt like forever.”

The man’s hands curl. He steps back.

Danny can’t help but to frown. If he leaves, the whole point of calling the cops will be for nothing, and he’ll be warier of coming back to where Danny’s body was dropped. “Where are you going?”

The man takes another step back. Danny rockets upright. He’s on his feet in seconds. “Weren’t you here for me?” Danny asks, genuinely confused, arms outstretched. “We’re here. You dumped me here over and over again.”

“Shut up,” the man snaps, startling the both of them with his volume. “He—you’re not real. You’re… Be quiet. I have real things to get done tonight!”

Danny’s dead heart throbs. Is there another dead kid? Did Danny let another kid get killed in Danny’s place? “Do you?”

The man loses his voice.

“We’re already here,” Danny points out. He steps closer—closer to the truck that drove his dead body around town, further from the dumpster where his body had been dropped. The disposal hadn’t been a funeral, but it’s closer than anything Danny’s ever had. “You’re here. I’m here. Aren’t you here for me?”

A choked breath. Danny gets closer. The ectoplasm in his skin is too warm and too cold—but he has no idea what he looks like from the outside. Is he glowing? Is he see-through? Does he just look like any other dead kid: a little too cold, a little too pale?

They’re eye to increasingly shorter eye. Up close, the man just looks like any other guy. Shaved in the face. Wrinkles around his eyes. A nose. A mouth.

Danny’s not afraid of him. His head tilts. “You’ve already killed me three times. What are you going to do now? I’ll just come back again. I won’t even notice. I died. I know what you look like—I know how to find you. It’ll be easy.”

The man’s pupils dilate—

And then there’re hands on Danny’s neck. And. It’s kind of painful, but Danny doesn’t have to breathe. So. He just kind of…pretends to be hurt?

He’s meant to be stalling for time. The cops are coming. All he needs is time.  

So Danny makes some somewhat dramatic sounds and kicks out with his feet, because a fight lasts longer than a passive victim. He lands a hit to the man’s stomach, and another to his chest—he doesn’t drop Danny the way Danny might have expected, but Danny isn’t going to run out of air, so this can last forever until the man lets go. Or does something.

“Stop— coming— back,” the man snarls, and suddenly sounds nothing like the dudes who man the tech counter at the Walmart. “I got you— you should be gone!” 

Danny is gone. But he’s also here. And he’s also been gone for a very long time, and he’s also getting choked out by a guy in a gas station parking lot. It’s been a rough few hours of waiting for this dude. He might as well make it worth it. 

So maybe his body turns a little translucent. Just a little. Just enough to see the streetlight through his skin, probably, and the hazy road behind them. 

Getting thrown to the concrete hurts, but, you know, not as badly as getting tossed into a wall by Skulker on a rampage. Danny’s barely going to be bruised after this. 

The guy runs to his car, and Danny frowns, scrambling back up, and, wait. Wouldn’t having bruises be better? As evidence? They better not heal too quickly, or else that’ll be it of his physical proof. 

“Where are you going?” Danny asks, more perplexed and angry than anything. Isn’t he supposed to try to kill the witness??

But the guy hauls butt into the cab of his truck— and then the lights go on and the tires start spinning, the engine roaring to life. 

If Danny wasn’t actively on camera at the moment, it would be easy to fly after the car. As it is, he’s pretty fast, but he’s not quite quick enough on his feet to chase after a pickup truck careening down the highway in the dark. 

The man’s gone in a few seconds. Honestly, Danny’s kind of annoyed about the whole thing. It would have been nice for it to work. 

Sam climbs down from the roof of the gas station, phone in her hand. “No, I just— he choked out my friend and drove off! Send someone over here already!! You— do you need the license plate again?!” 

Danny just looks at her. Sam covers her phone’s mic with a hand: “They’re saying five minutes,” she mouths. 

Great. 

Danny hunkers down, throat bruising, and Sam sits down beside him. They wait.  

By the time the cops pull into the gas station, the guy’s more than out of sight. Sam’s the one who takes the lead on dictating their story. Danny sort of doesn’t realize how out of it he is until someone tries to throw a shock blanket on him. He almost hits the guy square in the face— and Sam’s the one who has to catch his arm. 

Uh. Oops. 

Jazz and Tucker roll in, hardly pretending to have not been nearby; Jazz wraps her arms around him, and Danny lets her. 

Sue him. It’s late. He’s tired. 

“...And I can’t believe you weren’t able to get down the road in time to catch a man who choked out my best friend,” Sam snaps, which, aw! Danny’s a best friend. The cop she’s attempting to strip down for parts looks less sympathetic than Danny feels. “You’re barely a ten minute drive up the highway! What were you doing, meandering?” 

“No,” the cop grits out, eying Sam like a bug on his shoe. “We were telling the officer down the road what to look out for.” 

Apparently, jamming the gas down hard enough to bust your speedometer gets you pulled over at the speed check. 

The night is over before Danny knows it. Someone gets him to the station, someone takes photos of his bruises and takes his statement. Someone calls Mom and Dad and then Danny’s in the GAV, half asleep and exhausted beyond belief. 

He falls asleep on the couch, Mom’s fingers in his hair. 

*

It’s not like the Amity Park police tell them anything, but Jazz is the one who finds the report on the news. 

She records it on the TiVo for him. 

“Eustace Miller, from Tennessee,” Sam reads aloud, knee to knee on his couch. Tucker adjusts his glasses. “Looks like he was already on the run.” 

“Or as good as,” Tucker agrees quietly. “Looks like they’re pinning a couple of cold cases to him.” 

They watch; there’s pictures of him from his hometown, and from the towns he would visit on his joyride across the country. There were pictures of his family. There were pictures of kids Danny would never meet: kids who were already dead, and who had been for months. Years, even. 

They’d looked so happy in the photos from when they were alive. 

…Danny could relate. 

Jazz turns the report off that night, thumb on the power button. And that’s all it takes for Danny to stop waking up in a trash bag. 

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"dressing up" - hotch x fem!reader

you and aaron get ready for a party at rossi's

cw: mentions of food and alcohol! preestablished relationship! besides that... none? enjoyy

1620 words

---------------

Another soirée at Rossi’s - red wine flowing liberally from vintage bottles, unless, of course, he’s serving acqua puzza. There will be talk of work, as always, but it will shift once Penelope smacks both palms on the table and demands a change of subject. You’re betting she'll make it thirty minutes, especially after last time, when Spencer rattled on about the particular species of earthworm he saw in a corpse. 

Rossi always demands that everyone dress nicely, too - it’s a dinner party, after all, he often says with that leisurely shrug of his shoulders. That’s why you haul ass after work to your favorite upscale boutique. You need a new dress - you wore your red one to the last two Rossi parties, and though they were roughly a month apart, you still feel guilty of being an outfit repeater. Plus, there’s nothing wrong with buying a new dress, especially if it gives you that New Outfit Self-Confidence. 

Unfortunately, though, your shopping trip after work, plus the crowd on the Metro, means that you’re running dangerously behind by the time you reach home. 

You flurry in like a tornado, kicking off your sensible work flats and haphazardly tossing everything in your hands, with the exception of your shopping bag, onto the couch on your way to the bedroom. You hear your stainless steel water bottle fall off the couch and onto the hardwood with an obnoxious clunk, and grimace as you fly into the bedroom. 

Your boyfriend sits on the cedar hope chest at the end of the bed. He’s bent at the waist, tying his shoes. “I was just about to call you,” he says by way of greeting, looking up and sideways at you as he hunches over to loop the black laces of his loafers. “You’re running a little late, honey.” 

“Thanks, Aaron, that’s super helpful,” you spew sarcastically, setting the boutique bag on the bed. Unceremoniously, you tug your dress pants down over your tummy and your hips, then step out of them, kicking them to the side. Aaron’s on them in an instant, like a cat with one of those laser pointers, scooping them up off the floor and tossing them into the laundry hamper in the corner. 

“We have to be there at seven-thirty,” Aaron reminds you, crossing his arms over his chest. For most people, that’s a sign of displeasure. This is just Aaron’s default stance, though, and you can tell he isn’t annoyed. He’s just anxious about being tardy. 

“Baby, I know,” you snap. You love that he’s always punctual - five minutes early is already ten minutes late, he always says. Generally, you can abide by that rule. The cards are just not in your favor today. 

Aaron’s palms are held up as a white flag. “Sorry,” he says, then looks around the room dumbly. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You’re sliding the new dress on - luckily, you already had your shapewear on for your work clothes, so changing is no big deal. The dress is a lovely forest green, with golden flowers, embroidered as if they’re growing up from the bottom hem of the skirt. You smooth your hands over the bodice, and finally meet Aaron’s eyes. 

The sunset is leaking in through the blinds, catching his profile and gilding his irises. You could swim in those deep pools for hours, searching for treasure. Your annoyance has dissipated completely after one look at him. “Can you cut the tags off?” you ask him, your voice a low whisper. 

Aaron’s gliding into the en suite, to your vanity, in an instant, a testament to how whipped you have him. He’s searching for your manicure scissors, and his back is turned to you. His suit is black, different from the gray one he wore to work today. This one is just slightly more fitted, and your eyes travel shamelessly over his rear, admiring, with a dropped jaw, just how sculpted it really is, a testament to how whipped he has you. 

You lift your arm when he returns, watching his eyes as he delicately snips the tags off the armpit part of your dress. He’s so careful, like he’s performing brain surgery, and you want to tease him for it. But there’s no time.

When Aaron’s moving back to the en suite to throw the tags away and put your scissors back in their place, you have to force your feet to shuffle over to the closet. You select a semi-comfortable pair of black heels. They don’t perfectly match your dress, but you typically end up taking your shoes off after dinner, anyway. 

Aaron’s watching from the bathroom doorway as you snap on your heels. His ever-observant eyes follow you as you step past him into the bathroom. You run the comb through your hair, and touch up your makeup quickly, carefully applying a winged eyeliner and lipgloss to elevate your look efficiently. Aaron’s eyes meet yours in the mirror, and you look back at him over your shoulder, scrunching your nose playfully.

When you’re done in the bathroom, you float over to your dresser to select a pair of earrings from the jewelry box Aaron got you for your birthday. Gold hoops soon adorn your ears, and you pull a golden chain necklace from the jewelry box, complete with a charm in the middle that looks like a knot. 

You take the necklace over to Aaron, and without saying anything, you stand before him, back turned. He gathers your hair in one hand and sweeps it aside. “Hold this for me,” he murmurs concentratedly, and you reach your hand up to hold your hair out of the way for him. 

The need to rush out the door has suddenly vanished into thin air. 

Aaron’s breath is warm on the back of your neck. You feel goosebumps appear up and down your arms as he brings the necklace around. His fingers are ginormous, so you hear him fumble a little with the tiny clasp, but he finally snaps it in place. His thumb and forefinger trail along the chain to bring the knot charm to the front, so it rests in the center of your collarbone. 

You release your hair, and as it falls, ticklish against the back of your neck, Aaron steps around in front of you. A small smile twitches from his lips and you feel your knees wobble a little beneath you. Why does he have to look at you like that? You’re supposed to be in a hurry. “You look like Christmas,” Aaron says quietly, like maybe he didn’t mean to voice the thought, like maybe it just slipped out. 

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You laugh breathily, feeling your cheeks go pink. 

“It’s a very good thing,” Aaron assures you. His fingers close around your wrist, and he’s tugging you in for a hug. You wind your arms around his neck just as his find your waist. He’s crushing you to him, constricting you in the best way possible. 

“I thought we were in a hurry?” You ask, pressing your glossy lips against the column of his throat a couple of times. Your kisses are viscous because of the lipgloss, and you know you’ll have to wipe it off his neck, but for now, you don’t really care. This is the first moment you’ve had with Aaron since waking up next to him this morning.

You inhale, your nose nudging against his neck. He smells like an idyllic autumn lake - pine, rainfall, leaves. 

Aaron’s grip around you tightens a little more, and you feel his nose nuzzling into your hair. “We can be a couple minutes late.” 

He’s not wearing a tie, you realize, as you pull away from the embrace. Your palms lay flat on his chest, straightening the collar of his white dress shirt beneath the black jacket. The top two buttons are undone, revealing the smallest bit of chest hair. You quirk your brow up when you meet his eye. “No tie?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “No tie,” he confirms. “Going for laid-back, super casual.” 

“That lines up with your personality,” you snicker, licking your thumb and using it to wipe the lipgloss off his neck. 

“Do I look like Magnum, P.I?” He asks as you step back. He straightens his jacket. 

You burst out laughing. “Absolutely not,” you giggle, and Aaron rolls his eyes. “You’re not wearing a Hawaiian shirt, nor do you have a mustache,” you remind him, taking his hand. His fingers trail along your palm before twining with yours. 

“I could grow a mustache,” he proffers, his lips a straight line, the closest thing he does to pouting. 

You lead Aaron out into the living room, shaking your head and laughing. “No, baby, you look like James Bond,” you tell him, letting go of his hand and reaching over the back of the couch to grab your purse. You sling it over your shoulder. 

You catch Aaron looking at himself in the ornamental mirror on the wall and smirk. “I think I like that better than Magnum, P.I,” he muses. 

“It is better than Magnum, P.I,” you shrug, heading for the door. You feel Aaron’s hands on your hips from behind just as you reach for the doorknob. He squeezes your hips and kisses the back of your neck. “Aaron,” you whine a little, just as Aaron guides you to the side for the sole purpose of being able to open the door for you. 

“Come on, honey,” he teases, facing you in the open doorway and tugging your hand. “Rossi’ll be mad if he has to wait on us to serve appetizers.”

Edit: read "dressing down" here

[cherry-leclerc]

stolen sweethearts ☆ cl16

genre: humor, angst, yearning, pining after three years so maybe slowburn??, fluff, second chances, whipped!charles

word count: 4.3k

Everything that leads to your wedding day and ends up with a knock on your door from your ex-boyfreind and an infamous letter.

req!...longer than intended, whoops! enjoy, anons :)

inspired by this !

“You’re making a mistake—”

Your eye twitches in the slightest, glossy lips curling into a snarl. “Shut up and be quiet.”

“What?” 

Looking down at your boyfriend, dressed in Armani from head to toe and a blank expression, you wince apologetically. You grasp his hand tighter, knuckles becoming white, and smile widely, tears brimming the corner of your eyes. “Not you, honey!” A wet chuckle escapes when he visibly relaxes. “Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes.”

The engagement party was a pleasant surprise, filled with congratulations and early wedding gifts. It also brought out a large group of your friends from hibernation. “Felicidades,” Carlos says with a teasing smirk. “I truly never thought I’d see the day you settle.” 

You bit the air. “Ha ha. That was the old me. New me is a completely changed woman thanks to true unconditional love. It’s crazy, try it out some time,” you shoot back. 

The Spaniard simply scowls and bows away, returning to his earlier conversation. You consider yourself lucky—as if you committed a successful heist and somehow got away with it. He was handsome, with bright eyes, dark hair, and tempting lips. There truly wasn’t a single flaw to your now fiancé. And if there were, no one ironically saw it but Lando.

“You’re making a—”

“Mistake?” you finish off his sentence, sighing and rubbing your temples. “So you say.” You were in the middle of ordering yourself another piña colada when he hounded you like a madman. The Brit blows out with a tired expression, as if he were giving up on all of humanity. 

“Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.” Angling your head to aim a dirty glare, you silently flip him off as he uses your earlier words against you. 

“Aren’t you tired, Lan? It’s been three years, let it go.”

The blue eyed boy musters a threatening look and then rips your sweet treat away from your grip, immediately claiming ownership. Your brows fly up with an offended scoff. He chugs it all down before shaking his curls adamantly. “No, I will not let it go. Bloody hell, you’re one stubborn gal—you can’t go through with this.”

For the shortest second, a ray of hesitance strikes your face when you spot your fiancé, happily indulging in a round of shots with Carlos, Max, and Daniel. The group laughs with amusement over something he says. Your lips wobble, turning back to your friend, shooting lasers. “Why not? And please don’t say—”

“Charles.” Somehow, even with the mention of his name, your world still manages to spin off its axis, alarming your remaining sanity. Last time you saw the Monegasque was quite the day, ending with regretful words and inferior decisions. Lando grimaces when you let out a shaky breath. “You know you haven’t gotten over him. And I can guarantee you that this…” He spins his index finger around the flashing room. “Will not make the difference you're hoping it will.”

-

Have you made your Christmas list? I told you I need it at least two weeks prior. I work well under pressure, but for God’s sake, honey, this is too much. Charles chuckles, cleaning his pair of Ray Bans against the hem of your skirt. You sigh. 

Oui. Making his way over to his duffel bag, he retreats a crumpled up piece of paper. Oh, um, shit. The green eyed boy cringes with embarrassment, pouting modestly. You swallow the giggle sliding up your throat when he frowns furthermore. I swear I had it! It must've gotten crushed with all my stuff. You know what? Charles strolls over to the flight of stairs. I’ll just make a new one, give me a sec. 

As soon as he leaves, you yawn, stretching out like a cat. You can’t help the fluffy feeling; Christmas always adds to it. But something about this one felt distinctively different and you couldn’t place the reason why. 

Your orbs flicker across the dimly lit room before falling back to the thin piece of paper. Patting your palms on your thighs, you get up and delicately open it up, curiosity overflowing. It shouldn’t have mattered, he was going to re-write it anyways. 

His calligraphy had always been messy, and yet you always—somehow—understood; from the start of his sentences to the final dot. But this had to be the one and only time you wish you weren’t so comprehensive. 

I’ve been thinking about us

A lot recently, actually

I’ve had some thoughts over these past few weeks and

I think we should just end things.

You bat your eyes, already feeling the pressure forming behind, stinging harshly. Was this meant for you? For you to find? Had it been intentional the moment he pulled out the fucking note? Would he just not come back and was it all an excuse?

But he does. And his pale face answers all of your questions. 

Oh fuck, what have you done?

Rage fuels within you as you briskly brush away the acid sliding down your burgundy cheeks, heat rushing through your body. What have I done? What the fuck is this bullshit, Charles? 

The Monegasque instantly rushes over, trying to get ahold of the piece of paper. You rapidly pull it away and force a step back as you let out a wet chuckle. He winces at the cold sound. Why would you do that? Why did you do that?

So you’re not denying it? You wrote this? You knew he had, his writing was imprinted into your brain like a manuscript you had professionally studied endless hours.

His skin only loses more color with every passing second. I’m not trying to blame you! I did. I did write that—but that was so long ago, you have to believe me, and I can explain! He kneels down, silently pleading you to bless him with a spare minute. Just let me explain it all to you. 

I never took you for a poet, you bitterly spit out as you continue skimming through the full page. You have a lot on your mind—a lot. Scanning his desperate state, you can’t help but let out a soft whimper, scrunching your nose. 

I’m not, shit. He grips your thighs from where he is and lets out a set of shaky breaths. Do you remember when—

I don't want to remember, you let out. I just simply want to forget. 

He can creepily hear the way your heart is breaking and how his follows along with every word, puncturing his soul. You don’t even notice his coming arm, taking half of the note away and you irritatedly pull back, causing it to rip in half. 

That does it, bullying you down to the floor where you start to cry. Out of anger, out of betrayal, out of everything. The green eyed boy tries to soothe you, mumbling into your hair but you’re too busy zoning out that you don’t catch a single confession.

Leave.

Charles flinches; you can feel it as he presses close to you. What?

He almost doesn’t recognize you when you furiously push him off, crawling back with a sense of suffocation. Pain crosses his eyes as he watches you create distance. I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want you here anymore—leave.

Anyone who knows Charles would know that he never gave up. He either spoke down on himself and pitied for a while, but never ever gave up. So this was a first. A tough pill to swallow.

If that's what you want me to do, then…okay. He stands up firmly, but inside he’s terrified that his limbs might call out for the day. But I love you. So don’t ever ask me to stop. And he walks out of your life after evilly twisting the knife.

With a new note and ring box deep inside his pocket.

-

Despaired eyes flicker over to where Charles eases into a conversation with Carmen and George, occasionally clenching his jaw. You hadn’t invited him—that’s just absurd—but he had gotten word from blabbermouth Pierre and you didn’t have the solidity to say no. From the looks of it, he didn’t want to be here either.

“Well I’ve got news for you, my dear friend, I love Hudson, so climb on board because this is happening…” Your voice trails off the second your ex looks up, as if he felt your eyes drawn onto him. Normally they’re dazzling and filled with joy, but the unfamiliar injured expression is like a punch to the gut. Your conscience calls you out on it, slapping you back into reality. Turning to Lando, you purse your lips tightly. “Who even is Charles?”

-

“God! When I saw Charles had showed up I just wanted to dig up a hole and never come out! Who would willingly go to their exes' engagement party?” Like a spinning top, you fume at Kika whose eyes shine at the sight of you, even after barking. “You should have warned me Pierre would do that. God, I hate that jerk sometimes.”

The Portuguese hums. “Me too…” You flick a questionable brow. Kika giggles, fixing your white gown, feathering it out like a dove. “I know, I should have! Bad friend, bad friend,” she childishly says. You can’t help rolling your eyes, returning your attention back to your reflection. “But if we’re being truthful here, someone should have warned Charles.” 

“What are you talking about?”

Taking a quick sip of the complimentary champagne, she nods enthusiastically. “No one gave him a heads up. He thought it was just any other ordinary party—nowhere near a proposal.” 

Your stomach churns, mortification taking over at the sudden report. Charles’ reaction was odd, but you couldn’t help filling up with satisfaction, climbing onto your high horse when you saw it. Never in a million years did you ever consider that being a surprise to him too. Hellooo? Coughing awkwardly, you swat her hand far away. Kika yelps. 

“Yeah, well he deserves it.” You chug down the rest of her drink in a matter of seconds. Her wide eyes grow larger as she nervously giggles. “No one ever gave me a warning either.”

-

You were never one for being superstitious, but if anyone ever taught you something valuable, then it would be to never make contact with the groom before the wedding ceremony. He probably didn’t know any better—it of course wasn’t intentional—but that doesn’t stop your heartbeat from spiking up when you spot your fiancé sauntering over to where to stand.

“What are you doing here?” you hiss. Hudson furrows his thick brow. What are you talking about? I came to see you. You look fucking hot by the way. Squeezing your eyes shut, you shoo him, expensive jewelry clinking against one another. “Listen, that’s sweet and all, but you need to leave or else you’re going to ruin it!” You already did, the devil on your shoulder growls. You try relaxing, but can still feel the tenseness shifting between your shoulder blades. “Hudson, I’m dead serious, go.”

The stubborn brunette raises his arms in defense, mouthing a quick wow and walking back out. Were you being a tad bit colder than intended? Was there a better way to deal with the unwanted interaction? Yes. Probably. That’s what you tried to convince yourself because you knew the longer you pondered, the quicker you would realize that Lando was right.

You were making a mistake. 

Charles isn’t any better off. He twists and turns the entire night, debating whether he should attend the occasion he knew would most likely make him flat line, but the curiosity definitely got to him. He always wondered what type of dress you would exclusively choose, perfect in every detail. Your hair, your heels. Your smile. Because they weren’t all the same. There was the kind that would sort of slip to a subtle, shy frown when he would compliment you, so he often saw lots of those. Or the kind that would cause your eyes to crinkle—he witnessed those when he would tickle you half to death, laughing loudly as tears would start to form. What he would kill to see you beam back at him once again…

But naturally, he talked himself out of it. What good does it do for him? The following morning, as he blinks strangely at the white wall, he starts to reminisce to himself. Like your first date—which was originally for both Carlos and Isa—but you both weaseled your way in. Or the time he taught you how to skate; only to remember he doesn’t know how to skate. He kept apologizing as the doctor secured your arm with a bright pink cast, but you only laughed, begging him to be the first to sign it. You were probably high off of meds, but still. 

A peculiar feeling washes over as he spots an old shoe box. He almost dashes out of the arctic room when he realizes what it holds, but deliberately crunches down to open it. 

And he knows what to do.

-

“He wants to see you,” Lily shrieks, peeking out into the hallway, then jumping back in. The teal dress was doing wonders for her skin tone, but you couldn’t help the agitation. Tell him I don’t want to see him. We have a whole lifetime to do that, you groan, slipping onto your heels. 

Your bridesmaid clicks her tongue, widening the entrance as you hold back a much needed gasp. “I think you should tell him yourself…”

“I only need a minute,” Charles stammers, a thin layer of sweat coating his sharp nose. You’re too afraid to speak, so you robotically nod as you watch everyone scurry out, giving you two privacy. The twenty-six year old shyly gets closer, gently pinching a piece of paper in between his clammy grip. Your heart stops. “I walked beneath a ladder…on my way here,” he clarifies. You blink, long lashes fluttering like a fan. “I don’t think I’ll ever learn.”

-

If I had known you were this manly, I would’ve married you a lifetime ago. It slips out like a force of nature before you can stop yourself as your boyfriend halts from his task. The day was soon ending, late November, and you were both working together on painting the bedroom your dream shade. He had tried talking you out of it because it was simply—just white— but you had hounded him until he agreed. Now he stands here with a white coloring staining his dark gray shirt and you’ve never been happier.

Is that something you might want? Charles tries to play it cool, picking up from where he left off, lips itching into a goofy grin. To get married?

You’re almost glad he’s not facing you since you're as bright as a tomato. I won’t lie, I’ve definitely thought about it. You take a sip of water, suddenly caught with a dry throat. Could be nice. 

The Monegaque flips around to face you, placing the paint roller down and strolling over to where you sit criss-cross. You visibly gulp; electricity slipping into the small room. It would be, wouldn’t it? His pink lips ghost over yours as you lean in a bit. 

Yeah…

Could kiss you anytime I want… Kiss. Fuck you anytime I want… Another kiss. My fucking dream.

You moan against his touch, melting away like an ice cream sundae. I-I-I really think we could do it; be married. You had been together for so long now, you’re honestly surprised you hadn’t had this conversation any sooner. I would choose that exact same shade for my dress, you squeal, pointing at the wet wall. He hums. Not eggshell, not timid white—whipped cream, if you will.

Ahhhh, smart girl, he teases, nipping at your bottom lip. You practice this shit when I’m not around?

You laugh. I’ve been taught all kinds of tones from birth. My father was a painter himself, remember?

Of course I do, mon amour. He only created the best piece of art yet, he announces with a cheshire smile, watercolor eyes pointing down at you. You blush. 

You’re such a klutz, you would probably do something stupid like walk underneath a ladder on our wedding day. You only do it every time, you say, wiggling out of his grip as he tickles you. 

I swear I don't do that shit on purpose, it just happens, okay?

Pressing your nose against his, you cozily sigh. As long as we don’t see eachother until the actual ceremony, then I won’t be too upset. 

Is that a promise?

You nod. That’s a fucking vow.

-

“You called it.”

Shifting uncomfortably, you chuckle when you nearly tip over. “Yeah, you’ve always been like that, but don’t think about it too much—it’s not like it’s your wedding.”

He clenches his sharp jaw. “Sure, but bad luck is bad luck, no? And I think I’m quite familiar with it.”

His words shouldn’t impact you so much years laters, but they do. Perhaps it’s due to his sorrowful stare, or his anxious tick, but it kills you just the same way it did that December night. You let out a light shudder, blinking away tears. “What do you want, Charles?”

“I wrote you a letter.”

God—a heartfelt note is the last thing you wanted and today was not the day to receive it either. Or ever. Not when it came from him. “I’m sorry, but it’s a bit too late for that. I’m about to be a married woman in approximately an hour.” You narrow your neat brows, flawless makeup shimmering against the sunbeams. “What gives you the right to walk back into my life, get shit off your chest for your own sake, and just for you to do what? Leave?” 

You’re not being fair; not completely, but you can't help it. For the longest time, you thought you were over it, but clearly not. Charles licks his rosy lips, closing the gap between you two. “This isn’t something I just came up with.” He extends his arm out. “I wrote this three years ago.”

You inhale sharply, suspiciously eyeing the white paper. Please, just read it. Back then you could never turn him down, as much as you tried…

And it appears like today wasn’t any different.

It’s almost hilarious to think about how much you cried on your proposal date and how much you are now. You were a light rain at best when Hudson got down on one knee, but Charles stands here, tall, and you’re a complete waterfall. 

“Y-you were going to ask me to…” A headache comes rolling in as you let out a wet cry. “This isn’t true; it isn’t real. You wrote this today and came here to fuck with me.”

The Monegasque shakes his head in panic, blood painting his higher cheekbones. “No—listen; the first letter you found, I did write that.” You grimace. “But I swear I took it back immediately. It’s just that you were getting so much hate during that time, and you would always cry, and then you’d say you were never crying…You were in a really dark place. Do you remember?”

How could you not? You knew not everyone was going to love you for dating one of the top Formula One drivers, but you never expected to read such brutal messages either. They were descriptive, and cruel, and ruthless, and it crushed you more than you’d like to admit. Which was fucking stupid since there was always a rather large community that loved and adored you, and Charles loved and adored you—and yet.

You release a shaky breath, desperately rubbing your eyelids. Lily would probably throw a fit at your now snotty and smudged makeup, but you couldn’t really think too deeply about any of that right now. “What does that have to do with anything?”

The brunette cradles your face and you hate when you lean into his warm touch. “I just wanted all of that to end; for you to feel better. And I could never actually say the words, so I drafted a letter, and I’m so fucking sorry, mon amour.” The tides crash inside your chest, getting harder to breathe. “It has been my biggest regret. Hurting you.”

He did more than hurt you; he broke you completely. Like a porcelain doll, like a trophy, like a mirrorball; it ruined you. But you know he knows that when his eyes slowly turn red. “But then I thought to myself, it doesn’t have to be that way! W-we could restrict comments, I could post something and stand up for the woman I love, and I could reassure her by vowing the most sacred thing there could ever exist…And I sat down and wrote this letter.”

If you thought Charles loved you before, then you’re a fool. He was utterly infatuated, devoted, obsessed and drowning in fervor. This letter may be old, slightly cutting loose around the edges, but it’s pinned as straight as can be. Not like the last.

“My only mistake was writing the first, and to even consider giving up on us. My best decision has been writing the second, and promising to stick by you the way I knew I was put on this Earth to do.” Charles carefully draws you in closer. “But I know nothing could ever fix the shit I’ve put you through, but I’m begging for the chance to try.” He kisses your temple and you relax against his lips. “I’m fucking desperate—just one.”

He slips out his original ring box and shines the gem back at you. It’s smaller than the one Hudson had given you, thinner too.

But it has you written all over.

A dizzy spell hovers over as you blink hastily. Charles doesn’t dare to breathe, waiting for you. “This isn’t…I just…” You bite your lower lip, glossy orbs flickering towards the band and then back at him. “Thank you for taking the time to apologize and clear things up; I really needed that, but I can’t do this.” You step out of his embrace, immediately freezing as if you were spending a winter in Iceland. His heart palpitates hysterically, green eyes skimming your features. “This isn’t what I had in mind—this isn’t what’s supposed to happen,” you press sternly.

“You’re right; it’s not.” Though you had just said the same, hearing him repeat it jams the knife deeper into your heart. You can hear chaos ensuing down the hallway, your friends chirping happily at one another. Contrary to what was going on in here. “It’s not because you can’t marry him. Because you know you don’t love him the way you say you do.” He laughs. “You tolerate him at best! I saw the way you avoided him getting down on one knee that day. You kept running off until you couldn’t anymore.” You burn up. “And who was the first person you looked for as he slipped that ring onto your finger? Me.”

“You’re paying too much attention to detail,” you retort, almost snarling.

 “Sure, and that’s eggshell.”

It’s like a slap to the face. Your blurry vision focuses onto your dress for a second before snapping back up. “It’s whipped cream. The way I wanted.”

The Monegasque rolls his watercolor eyes, nostrils fuming. “Open up your eyes and see—It’s. Eggshell. Nothing about this is anything you ever dreamt of for your wedding! From your dress, to your ring, to your fucking fiancé!” He huffs. “This ring is all I could have afforded back then, but I would have sold my heart to get you a fucking star if that’s what you wanted…But you’ve always liked the simpler things. You always said you didn’t need a huge diamond to prove your devotion. Look at you now,” he says, signaling to your ring that swallows your hand whole. “All of this is fake.”

You’re sobbing now. You’re bubbling with anger. Because he was here, with you, out of all days. Because he was still the same man who broke your heart and stitched it back up. 

Because he was right.

Brushing your nose with the back of your hand, you stare up weakly, defeated. “What do you want me to do?” you whisper, brows drawn together as he folds over completely over your goddess state.

“Don’t marry him and come with me.”

Though you knew that was what he wanted from the moment he walked past the door, it still knocked the last breath you held. 

Things were never easy with him. There were constant fights—but that never seemed to matter by the end of the day. There was constant hate—but you always braved through it because you needed him. 

And he steadied you. Charles was the first one to apologize, even if the majority of arguments weren’t his fault. Charles was the one who despite crushing his own heart, he wrote that letter to keep you untouched from his fans, from the media.

The letter hurt; like a motherfucker—and it would take a while to forgive…

But there’s no one else you would rather work through with it than with him.

Smiling softly, you nod, almost as if you can’t believe you’re actually doing this. Charles lets out a heavy exhale, laughing as he hugs you tightly, leaving you like a fish out on land. But you’re giggling through it all. “I have to talk to Hudson first, oh God, I have to talk to his family…” you shriek, pale and mortified.

“You know,” he starts. “We could skip all of that and just—”

“No,” you coldly press. Charles’ brows fly up. “I have to do this.” Distancing yourself from him, you wobble to the wooden door before looking back at the handsome man who stands proudly with his neat suit. Butterflies expand freely. “You’ll still be here when I get back, right?”

With a single hand pressed against his heart, he nods, as if you held the keys to all gates. “I’ll be wherever you need me to be from now on.” With that, you grin, eyes crinkling and exit the room.

What happened to your makeup? Lily squeals when she spots you running down the hallway, tripping over her tall heels as Alex catches her. There better be a reasonable explanation to this!

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @val-writes

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Angel In the Infield - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw is a struggling first-baseman in the major leagues. He's had bad season after bad season, until he met you, his angel.

A/N: While I'm currently struggling with motivation to work on on Take One for the Team, please instead enjoy this baseball au fic I've done in the meantime! Also I started reading sports romance novels, pls send help half these men are baseball players with dark hair. Also if you like this concept/set up, I'm toying with the idea of making this a series of connected oneshots?

pairing: baseball player!Bradley Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: baseball au, smut throughout, oral (both m + f receiving), praise, dirty talk, mentions of divorce, unfaithfulness (neither Bradley, nor reader), public sex.

word count: 3.7k

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted

The sun hung high on the horizon for a Saturday afternoon, radiating an unseasonable warmth as its rays beat down over the course. A gentle breeze made its way through the palm trees that stood tall outside of the stadium, causing large, deep green leaves to sway in its wake. A crowd of spectators sat on the bleachers that surrounded the diamond, a sea of faces filling the scenery, silently watching, sipping beers and eating hotdogs as they took in the spectacle before them. Media representatives dotted the balcony, press passes on display as they gawked at the game unfolding below. 

Bradley Bradshaw approached the plate, lining up to take his turn at bat. His bright white uniformed baseball shirt, emblazoned with the team logo across the front, his last name in bold, block lettering across the back of his broad shoulders, hugged at his sun kissed biceps as they flexed. One of his tattoos just barely visible from under the sleeve of the shirt.

 He took two practice swings, and once he was comfortable, lined up with the plate. He narrowed his eyes in focus as he looked to the pitcher, giving him the coldest stare down he could muster, his face fixed in a state of concentration. A year and a half ago, he would have begun trash-talking his opponent from the start, calling out that he’d seen his grandmother lob better pitches, and she’d been dead for 15 years. Instead, Bradley forced himself to behave, willing any inappropriate comments about Jake Seresin’s mother to himself, for now. 

He took a swing at the first pitch lobbed towards him with a loud grunt, biting his tongue as he held back a frustrated fuck from his lips as the ball sailed past him, landing in the catcher’s mitt with a thud. 

Strike one.

He caught your gaze in the sea of faces that were watching him expectantly, his lips curling up into a soft smile as he looked towards the family and friends boxes where you stood, waving subtly to him to gain his attention. He gave you a subtle nod of his head, symbolic of a thank you, for Bradley. 

In an instant, Bradley was back in the game, level-headed and laser focused, ready for the next pitch that was coming, as if seeing you had brought him back down to earth, willing him to focus his attention on something other than his once uncontrollable anger. 

He wasn’t often this soft. He never used to be. In fact, he was never considered to be a gentleman when he played any sport. He couldn’t lose graciously. It wasn’t in his nature. He was serious, determined and reserved, focused and dedicated, but even his best intended plans couldn’t withstand his explosive temper. It wasn’t that he wanted to be a walking stick of dynamite. 

He didn’t intend to fly off the handle at everyone around if he made a bad play or if someone commented on his skills not being on point the way they once were, but after nothing but criticism for the last four years of his career, Bradley thought his outbursts were justifiable. 

If he had to hear another comment about being “washed up” at thirty-one, he might snap again, unable to bite his tongue much longer. And if he had a bat in hand? He’d show whoever it was just how good his game still was. He knew his career didn’t have many years left in it, but he had just as much right as any other up and coming young asshole in the MLB to be here. But one bad year at twenty-seven had turned into two, which turned into three, which now crept up on reaching four. 

Admittedly, this year was turning out to be marginally better than the three previous - he didn’t know what to chalk it up to at first. 

Herefused to admit he could be in love. Love was never for him. At least, that’s what his ex-wife told him when she filed for divorce four years prior. He’d just been starting to make a name for himself as a promising first baseman when she served him the papers, leaving him with a burning desire to focus everything he had on the one thing that he thought couldn’t break him - baseball. That desperate need to be good at something, anything, drove him to the brink of insanity. He couldn’t control himself or his need to be the best in the only area he knew he could be anymore. 

However, that train of thought came to a screeching, grinding halt when he met you. 

As Bradley remained focused on his turn at bat, he took a swing at the second pitch sent his way, a fastball that, if he was a smart man, he would have let go, taking the ball instead of risking a strike at a pitch that far outside.

However, Bradley was not a smart man. Not when it came to his turns at bat.

Even he couldn’t hide his momentary shock as the ball made contact with the wooden bat in his hands with a crack. He started running towards first base, rounding it quickly before making the smarter decision to stay put, rather than aim for second. He looked towards where you were watching him from once again, smiling to himself as he watched you blow a kiss towards him. He couldn’t wait to finish this game and just hold you and kiss you. Watch you walk around the house with nothing but his baseball jersey on, just barely long enough on you to cover your private areas, giving him a little sneak peek as you bent over to unload the dishwasher, or reached up to grab a wine glass for yourself when you were ready to unwind for the evening. 

Those delicious thighs, soft and smooth as he ran his hands up and down them, the way you’d giggle and kick your legs playfully when he grasped at the back of them, even though he knew you were ticklish there. He didn’t give a rat’s ass though. He loved the way you laughed. He swore it was up there on the list of the most beautiful sounds in the world, along with the way you said his name right before you reached your orgasm, the way you’d call him ‘honey’ in passing and the sound of a World Series crowd chanting your number. 

Images of his hands lifting the back of that jersey up, shoving the excess material at the bottom out of his way as he pounded into you from behind flashed across his mind, the sounds of you whining out in pleasure as he relentlessly fucked into you, your pretty, pink folds glistening with arousal, letting him slide in and out of you with ease. The thought alone was almost enough to make him curse the athletic cup that was sitting in his baseball pants at the moment, making it increasingly uncomfortable to move as he felt himself hardening at the thought of you. 

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to take you in the hotel room later. 

As he rounded the bases to home after his teammate’s home run hit, his mind drifted to the thought of your teeth sinking into the tanned, taut skin of his shoulder as he made love to you in the California King Bed that awaited you both in the hotel suite after the game. Your fingers gripping his dark curly hair tightly, tangling into them and tugging as he licked and sucked on your neck, leaving a trail of purpling bite marks down you as he marked you as his own. Not that you protested - in fact, you encouraged it. 

As the game progressed, Bradley continued to think about the various ways he could make you his as soon as he got you alone. His mind raced as he thought of you again - in every way possible. He thought about your perfume, how it had some kind of hypnotic hold over him, leaving him momentarily dazed whenever he breathed in your scent. He thought about your smile, how you lit up the entire room when you beamed at him - how you were one of the only people to ever look at him like he meant everything in the world to you, and how you made him feel special and loved and wanted, for the first time in years. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt the way you made him feel. 

 His ex-wife had been cold and cut-off from him emotionally, physically. She was never satisfied just being with him. She resented that he couldn’t put all of his attention on her, 100% of the time, despite Bradley feeling like he tried his best to balance his career and home life as best as he could. When she had told him she was ready to have a baby, he’d been entirely on board - ready and willing to start a family. What he wasn’t prepared for, was walking in on her sleeping with a rookie from a rival team in the hotel room that Bradley had paid for. 

As he packed up his gear after the game, his team pulling ahead with a win thanks to a home run hit he scored in the 8th inning that shocked even him, he let out a deep, satisfied sigh. He had proved himself for another day, and he was proud of himself for it. He figured at this rate, if he kept it up, he could be discussing his comeback season with the press after another couple of games. The thought of being respected once again in the sport was electrifying, enough to send a shockwave pulsating through his veins as he switched out of his cleats and into his street shoes. 

He headed out of the locker room, his baseball bag slung over his shoulder and his cap turned backwards, with tufts of dark chestnut brown curls peaking out through the opening. He spotted you, wearing one of his spare jerseys unbuttoned with a short little black dress on underneath, with a pair of stark white running shoes. Your matching baseball cap was sported backwards, just like Bradley’s, a style he started adopting on your advice. You’d flipped his cap around one day during a playful round of sex in the backseat of his vintage Ford Bronco, telling him it looked so much hotter on him when he wore it so that you could still see his face. He took that advice to heart, and now, every chance he could, backwards is how it was. 

You happily skipped over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck loosely as you peppered his lips with feather-light kisses. He laughed softly and shook his head when you finally pulled away, his cheeks burning into a rosy red tone as a slight wave of embarrassment washed over him. 

It wasn’t your kisses or affection that embarrassed him though. It was the fact that after 18 months of dating, he still wasn’t used to it. It was partially his own fault — his ex-wife had never been an affectionate lover, but even after that, he refused to actually be in a relationship with anyone. He enjoyed sex, and that was all he wanted. He wasn’t looking for his heart to be broken again, and it suited him just fine until you came along. 

He’d met you once in passing — he’d gotten himself embroiled in a bar brawl with some guy who’s mouth ran faster than the speed of light. Bradley’s nose had been broken and bloodied as a result, and you’d been leaving the bar with a handful of friends. You’d recognized Bradley as the guy who’d hit on you earlier in the night, and to your surprise, graciously accepted your rejection when you turned him down. When you saw him in this light though, drunk and vulnerable, you felt sorry for him. 

Taking a couple of tissues from your purse, you helped clean up his face as best as you could, sending your friends on their way without you as you took on this newfound role of nurse to him. With few other options to stop his nosebleed, you’d handed him a tampon from your purse. He laughed initially, in complete and total refusal to use it. You had gestured to his floral print white polo shirt, the collar now stained with drips of blood from his face. He huffed a sigh and followed your advice, grumbling as you insisted on making awkward small talk as you sat and waited with him to get checked out. 

That was the first time since his mother’s passing that anyone had ever shown Bradley an ounce of compassion when he was injured. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking or not , but he could have sworn you were an angel with the way you smiled at him and how soothing he found your voice. 

Now, eighteen months later, standing here with your arms wrapped around him, his hands on your waist as you fussed over him and congratulated him on his performance in this afternoon’s game, he was sure. You were heaven sent.. In fact, it was what he called you — angel. He’d decided early on it was the perfect nickname for you, and as time went on, he only proved himself right. 

“Everyone’s left, right?” You asked him, raising an eyebrow at him as he snapped back to reality, shooting a quick glance behind his shoulder.

“Mhmm. I was the last one out of the showers. Looks like it’s just us left here.”

“Perfect. I have a little something for you.”

“Do you?” He inquired, eyebrows raised as he smirked, a million ideas running through his head at what his surprise could be. 

Together, you walked back towards the now deserted dugout, the ballpark that was roaring with excitement an hour ago was now silent, deserted by players and fans alike. You grinned as you turned around to face Bradley, dropping down to your knees in front of him, gazing up at him with a doe-eyed stare that was almost enough to make him groan out in pleasure.

“Wh-you mean, this is my surprise? You’re gonna suck my dick in the dugout, angel?”

“I know you’ve always wanted me to. And you played so good today, honey. How could I say no?” You purred as you undid the belt holding his pants in place. 

He dropped his baseball pants down to his ankles, and before his hands could remove the tight fitting boxer briefs he’d changed into post-game, your mouth was pressed against the tightening bulge, pressing warm kisses to it in a way that made Bradley’s mind foggy. He couldn’t think straight and he wasn’t even in your mouth yet. 

Fuck.

He knew he wouldn’t last long if this was how worked up he was feeling at your mouth touching him. As you tugged his boxers down, peeling them off his thighs to free his cock. A white bead of pre-cum pearled on his tip, leading Bradley to elicit a pornographic moan as your thumb swiped across it, whisking the liquid away before you began pumping your hand up and down his shaft. You tauntingly flicked your tongue out over the tip of his erection, encircling the red, throbbing head with a trail of saliva before licking a strip along the underside to his balls. Bradley shuddered as he felt you continue to lick up and down his length, your hand pumping him tightly when you alternated and pressed your lips to the tip. 

After what felt to Bradley like an eternity, you took his tip past your parted lips, hollowing your cheeks as you began to suck on his cock like it was some kind of refreshing summer treat. As you took him further back in your mouth, your saliva began to pool around his shaft, dribbling out down his length as you tried to take more of him into you. He grunted your name as he gathered your hair in his hand, gripping tightly as he thrusted his hips forward into your mouth. 

You gagged as you felt his tip brush the back of your throat, causing more of your spit to soak his cock, your hand using it as lubrication as you continued to pump on whatever didn’t fit past your lips. Bradley began panting, gasping and singing your praises as he fucked your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered as you shut them for a quick moment to concentrate yourself on your technique until you felt a hand gently squeezing your cheeks, making your mouth seemingly tighten harder around Bradley.

“Nuh, uh, beautiful. Eyes on me,” he directed. 

You gazed up at him with that same doe-eyed stare again, batting your lashes as you watched his facial expression, his eyes shutting as he enjoyed the feel of your mouth as it sucked and licked at his cock, working him into his orgasm.

“Shit, angel, ‘m’not gonna last,” Bradley panted, deep chocolate brown eyes fixated on you as he watched you pull your mouth back from him almost entirely before thrusting yourself fully into him. 

His lids shut again as he drew his head back, saying your name as if it was a hymn he was singing. He let out a deep, throaty grunt as he shot hot, white ropes of his cum down your throat. Your eyes never left his as you swallowed hard, making sure that he could see you as you did it before pulling yourself back off his cock. Pulling yourself to your feet, you wiped the saliva from your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning proudly at the mess you’d made out of Bradley.

His eyes deepened with a burning, lustful hunger for you as he wrapped his arm around your waist, picking you up off your feet and grinning. 

“I gotta return the favour, now, angel. You know the rules. You wear a pretty little skirt like that, and I just have to eat that pussy of yours.” He said matter-of-factly as he pulled his bottoms back up, chuckling to himself as he tightened his belt back up. “Bet you did it on purpose, didn’t you, honey? Knew I wouldn’t be able to resist eating that perfect little cunt of yours if you wore something like this?”

“I may have been thinking something along those lines,” you teased, shrugging your shoulders as he laid you down on the bench. 

He straddled the bench in front of your legs and tutted his tongue at you, giving you a head shake of disapproval before raising an eyebrow at you.

“Angel, come on, spread those pretty thighs of yours nice and wide for me. Throw your legs over my shoulders if you have to.” 

You obeyed his command, biting down on your lip as you fought back a grin, draping your legs over his broad shoulders as he slipped between them, his mouth hovering just over your folds. He pressed his lips to your inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth. You let out a soft yelp of pleasure, feeling your body writhe at the mere suggestion of Bradley’s mouth down there on you.

“Look at you,” Bradley purred as he spread your folds apart with two thick fingers. “So pretty and wet for me already? Sucking my cock got you all worked up like this?” 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, trying to concentrate your thoughts into a sentence. 

“C’mon, honey, use your words for me. Wanna hear you say it,” Bradley said as he flicked his tongue out, swiping it across your swollen, sensitive clit. 

“Bradley,” you whined as you arched your back at the slow, sensual teasing, “You know exactly why I’m like this already.”

“Mhmm, my perfect angel,” he cooed as he licked at your folds again, gathering your arousal on his tongue. 

As Bradley’s tongue ravaged you, eating you out like a man starved on a desert island for the last few months, your heart began to race, a burning desire brewing in the pit of your stomach. While Bradley’s tongue lapped at your arousal, he delved two thick fingers into your pulsating core, pumping them into your g-spot. You could picture him grinning to himself as he heard your needy, whiny moans, panting his name as if it was the only word you were able to say anymore. That was just how he liked it though - making it so he was the only thing on your mind. He prided himself on it.

Your thighs began to shake as he dug the fingers of his free hand into your flesh, holding you in place. He pulled his mouth away from you for a moment with a loud suck. You whimpered at the loss of contact, looking down at him from beneath hooded lids as he continued to fuck his fingers deeper into you. 

“That’s it, angel. I played my best for you today, wanted to do right, earn this pretty little pussy of yours. Make it mine,” he husked. 

Your walls clenched down tightly around his fingers as he spoke, the words alone enough to send you over the edge. He pressed his lips to your clit once again, giving it a long, tantalizing suck as he drew your orgasm out of you. Instead of his name, this time all you could get out of your mouth was a breathless, blissed out moan, unable to formulate words as your brain fogged. Bradley continued to praise you, coaching you through your climax like a personal trainer coaching you through a workout. 

He drew his hand up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers until they were clean, his wide tongue pressing flat against them before pulling them out of his mouth with a loud pop. You blinked twice at him, still dazed from your orgasm as he pulled your underwear back up your legs. 

“You ok, angel?” Bradley grinned as he tapped your thigh gently with his hand to try and bring you back to reality. Your blissfully fucked out stare was all he needed, a soft smile on your face as you tried to regain your composure. 

“We’re just getting started, baby. I’ve got 48 hours with you before my next game, I’m making each one of those hours count.” 

[snaileer]

Dare to Live (Part 2/2)

DPxDC Part 1

It all started with a dare really. You’d think, after all these years, after having done at least a /bit/ of growing up, Danny would be able to refuse a dare from his best friend.

But here he was, about to drop through a mystic portal with full intentions to make Tucker eat his words.

And Sam too, for agreeing!

“Come on Danny, times a ticking, sands a wasting.” Tucker said in a sing song voice, floating behind the portal lazily.

“Yeah, Danny, we didn’t spend two days finding the perfect dimension just for you to chicken out,” Sam said, laying on her back in the air and pretending to inspect her nails.

Danny felt his eye twitch.

“I told you, Sam, he couldn’t be mysterious and mystical if he tried, even under pain of a double. Dog. Dare.” Tucker emphasized.

Danny whipped his head around, staring his best friend in the eyes, “You really think so Tucker? A double dog dare?”

Tucker smirked, leaning back with his arms crossed and a smug look, “I know so.”

“Then prepare to eat Lunch Lady’s hairnet, Tuck, you’re on!” Danny grinned and shot backwards through the portal.

He relished the way Tuckers face went green as he passed through. Well, greener.

Danny turned invisible the moment he felt the resistance of a dimensional barrier go past him, and boy was that the right decision, the whole place was in chaos.

Danny floated invisibly in the sky with a puzzled look on his face. Was that guy… flying? What in the-?

A laser beam passed through him, making Danny look down to see he was intangible, but why? Could he be tangible again? He focused, and yep, there he was, tangible and visible- visible?! Danny lost focus and disappeared again.

Hmm, okay so looks like his default state here is invisible and intangible but like even more so than back home, interesting.

Danny looked back at where the laser came from, surprised to see an entire ship behind him. And not like a pirate ship, oh no, not even a cruise liner, a big, bony looking alien ship.

Danny wanted to squeal! Aliens! This realm had aliens!

Calm down Danny, remember the dare, mysterious, mystical, think, what gives off big mystical vibes?

Ok, first off, royalty. Danny summoned his crown, ring, sword, and cape, ok good but what else?

Eldritch maybe?

Okay he’s already got fangs, and blue skin, he could probably let his hair be a little more free floaty, and he’s already a full grown adult with shoulders like his dad, that should be enough right?

Another laser shot through him.

Rude!

He looked back, surprised to see a group of people aiming weapons at the big alien ship. He looked closer.

Was the… was the alien ship trying to… to crush this city?

Were these…. bad aliens?

Noooooo, that meant he had to stop them! But he likes aliens!

Danny reluctantly reared up to punch the big ship, pausing when he saw how the other flying people were struggling against it.

Oh Idea?

Super-strength? Now there was mysterious and mystical.

He smirked, oh he had the perfect entrance!

Thank youuu Kingly strength.

Danny positioned himself in front above the ship then created a double actually touching the ship.

He let himself appear, keeping his double invisible as he held out a hand and then swiped it down, using the double to push the ship into the ground.

Luckily, as Danny had just noticed, the ship seemed to be floating just outside the main city area and most everything below it was already destroyed.

Err, well, it certainly was now.

He fought the urge to wince. Mystical powerful beings in the sky don’t wince, Danny.

Still, he looked around at all the destruction. He hadn’t been back in a human realm since his own life, and the destruction had been common place then too, in his own hometown at least.

This was… worse, much worse. He really had to hold back a grimace as he saw a couple ghosts start forming on the edges, he could feel that they were feeding off of his own ambient ectoplasm.

Yikes okay, maybe giving a source of brand new ectoplasm at the sight of a disaster was not the best idea but… he could fix this!

Danny held out his arms, calling the newly formed ghosts to him, letting them use him as a portal to the Zone.

And then he very quickly locked up his aura from releasing more. No one saw that right?

He stood there floating for a minute before he saw the blue and red flying man begin to approach him.

He smirked again, aw yeah time to see if it worked!

Danny lowered himself marginally to meet the man in the middle.

“I am Superman,” Weird name but okay, “Protector of Earth. Thank you for helping us. But…” Superman looked hesitant, “Who are you?”

Aw crap, okay think Danny, big dramatic name, do NOT blurt out your real one. Double dog dare, come on think of something, anything, you have been staring for way too long-

“I am High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms of the Eighth Dimension; The Great One, Feller of the Tyrant Pariah Dark, Tamer of Vortex, Conquerer of My Future Now Past, Keeper of Death and Life, Wielder of the Ring of Rage, Bearer of the Crown of Fire and The One True Balance.” Danny blinked slowly, hoping that was ‘mystical’ enough for Sam because ancients he was really running out of coronation titles there.

“You are well met Superman, Protector of… Earth.”

Hang on. Earth? He was on Earth? Not his Earth but really this was Earth? With Aliens?

He wanted this to be his Earth, dang it why did he have to get the boring ghost invested one?!!

The man looked like he wanted to back up by about thirty steps so.. it worked?

“And.. Your Majesty is here because…?”

Danny stopped his gentle float.

Uhhh. Uhh. Okay good reason, think of a good reason to be here. Visiting? No that’s dumb, it’s not a zoo. Uhh, curious, no that’s not mysterious enough! Okay mysterious, mysterious, think mysterious. OooOooooOo, MysTeRIouSssss.

Who does he know that’d be mysterious enough to pull this off?

…

Clockwork!

Okay, what would Clockwork say? Uhhhh

“You will find out all in due time, Superman of Earth,” Was that good? No that sounded threatening, “But for now, I am here simply to observe.” That was better right? Okay leave before he asks more questions.

Danny floated down to where the other colorfully dressed people stood in a semi-circle.

Well colorful and one in all black.

“Superman, who is this?” The one in all black said with a glare as he stepped forward.

Danny opened his mouth to recite the titles again, points for mystical-ness, when he was cut off.

“Batman, this is King Phantom of the Eighth dimension, he’s… visiting?”

‘Batman’ raised an eyebrow under his cowl, “Eighth dimension, is that at all related to your troubles with a certain fifth dimensional imp?”

Now Danny felt justified in being at least a little offended, “Watch your tongue, Man of Bats,” that was a sufficiently mystical naming right?, “Accuse me of being a fifth dimensional pest again and we shall see how long you last in no dimensions at all,” Danny paused, “Mortal.”

Ha, in your face Tucker, he was so good at this!

Tag list:

@blep-23 @theblackcatscratchpost @fylylowo @coruscateselene @breesperez139 @kataaitheskittle

[sehtoast]

The Mentor and The Mirror (Homelander x Reader)

700 words, similar powers!reader, gender neutral reader.

Ask prompt: What if Homelander was "given" someone, by the higher ups of Vaught, to mentor? They have powers like his, but are a bit weaker and different. What Homelander doesn't know is that they are from the lab like him.

If he found out this person grew up like him, do you think he'd be meaner or sympathetic to them?

“Someone could kill you with a sneeze.  They really think you’re worth training?”  He asks bitterly.  You two have been out in this field for hours now, and he’s fucking over it.

Well, for the most part.

There’s something endearing and fun about teaching your pet new tricks.  See, they’d told him flat out that you were his to mentor, but all he heard was you’re his. The sentence stopped there.

You’re a peculiar thing, equipped with all of his same abilities, except that you lack invulnerability.  You’re a liability for crime fighting, but those fucks on the board of directors already made their choice.  Besides, either he trains you or Stan will be an ever present thorn in his side.  Last thing he wanted was to deal with that asshole.

“Why the fuck can’t you fly yet?  Just do it,” he gestures with his hand, “like a… I don’t know, a normal person?”

“Sorry-”  You blurt out, accidentally flipping upside down.  “I uh, they didn’t let me practice much in the rooms growing up.  Ten foot ceilings, you know?”

He blinks rapidly at that, cocking his head slightly.  What rooms? 

Homelander stores that little bit of information away for later, chuckling instead as you plummet to the ground and land on your ass.

You groan pitifully.  This has been absolutely awful.

“I don’t think I can do it…” You murmur dejectedly, sitting upright.  “It’s hard.”

Now that bothers him.  No student of his is going to fail and make him look bad, and you’re certainly not going to make him have another fucking meeting with Stan.  He rolls his eyes in exasperation before leaning down to lift you.

“Wh–”

You’re weightless in his arms as he spins, winding up to–

“N- NO, NO, NO!”  You shout as he hurls you into the sky.  You flap your arms and legs, begging your powers to work as you ascend past the clouds, further and further until the air gets thin and the world below is square patches of various greens.

“Always gotta do these things the hard way,” Homelander muses, clicking his tongue below.

You continue falling, tears spilling as you plummet faster than you can gather yourself.  You see your life flash before your eyes until–

Oh.

You flex your shoulders back and suck in a breath, and suddenly…

“About fucking time!”

He’ll never admit it, but the excitement on your face and the hug you give him makes him so fucking proud of you.  

Later that night, he delves into your files.  Madelyn’s access codes still work, and he finds your full file with ease.  Your record is squeaky clean.  No past employment, no education, no family records…

There’s nothing. 

And that’s how he knows.

He knows exactly what you meant earlier, and he knows exactly where you came from.

He knows because that’s how his file looks, too.

He knows because he came from there, too.

The next day, when you excel with laser practice, he’s proud, but he’s also resentful.  You’re not just his student now; you’re him.  You’re a physical reminder of everything he’s gone through.  

He hates you for it.

But he hurts for you, too.

It breaks his heart when you pass the medical ward and shuffle closer to him.

He used to do that, but there was never anyone walking with him.

The next time you two are out in that field, he’s much more patient despite how much it grates his nerves to watch you flounder in the air again.

He looks at you and suddenly he’s back there.  Remembers when the doctors would correct his mistakes with enough electrical voltage to actually hurt him.

It always made the lights flicker.  Made the room smell terrible– all hot and rotten.

He hears Vogelbaum’s voice.  

Not good enough, John.  Do it again.

He’s angry that you clearly weren’t subjected to the same. How the fuck was that fair?

And yet…

He’s so fucking happy knowing you weren’t.

If nothing else… they clearly didn’t hurt you as much as they hurt him.

This time, when you fall, he catches you.

Just like he wished someone would have done for him.

[earl-grey-teacake]

Omg we need the Fernando Aston Martin story! It would be hilarious like just imagine George trying to convince Logan that he should drive for Mercedes but Logan doesn’t even know what he is talking about and because he practised his lines with Fernando he does not agree😂

Sorry it took so long 😅

******

"Logan, what's your favorite team?" George asked, his eyes laser-focused.

Unlike his father, Logan was more preoccupied with the green cap in his arms. "Aston!" He yelled, holding the cap up with the biggest smile on his face.

The response did not elicit the same effect with George sighing and Toto looking displeased, a silent "fix this". Lewis seemed quite amused at the situation, already texting Fred to get a team kit in kids size for Logan.

"No, it's Mercedes. Can you say Mercedes?" Stress evident in George's voice.

"Mercedes!" Logan smiled and pointed at the Mercedes logo in the engineer's room.

Lewis leaned over the table and asked, "Buddy, who's your favorite driver?"

Logan paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, his face pensive. "Alonso!"

"Ugh!" George put his head in his hands.

It was bad enough he foolishly let Fernando babysit Logan, "something something bonding with his nephew". Logan had come tottering back, happy from an exciting game of tag and lots of $200 Japanese grapes, going on and on to Shov, Marcus, and Bono about how "Aston was so fun" and their "Car is really fast" and the most egregious of all, "Aston is the best!" "Alonso is the best!"

Some of the engineers smiled while Toto's frown deepened. Lewis laughed, "Why? Why is Alonso your favorite?"

Like being asked to recite the alphabet, Logan recounted the script Fernando had him memorize, earning a fancy grape as a reward for each line he recited perfectly. "Alonso is the bestest driver in the world. He is fast, and cool, and really smart. He is better than the grid.”

Each word was slow, methodical, and said with a smile. Logan looked up expectantly at the crowd, clearly expecting a reward or praise for his perfect recitation.

“I’m going to kill Fernando!” George scowled as James Allison started to look at the upgrade package, deciding on what could be implemented for the next race that would leave Aston Martin in the dust. The others returned to their work, emboldened by a sense of either deep competition or revenge.

“Logan, come here. We’ll leave everyone to do their work” Toto called out. Logan hopped off the car and followed him, the green cap in hand. Maybe with enough treats, Logan can unlearn whatever ridiculous thing Aston Martin taught him. If Mercedes needed to fly in expensive fruit from Japan, they can write it off as a business expense.

Official F1 Group Chat [official use only]

George: watch your back Fernando

Lando: Woah

Max: ???

Charles: is this an official thing?

Carlos: what happened?

Alex: George

Fernando: what did I do?

George: you know what you did! Lance too!

Lance: What did I do?

George: brainwashed my son into an Aston Martin fan

Lando: 😧

Charles: 😮

Max: 😨

Carlos: 😬

Lance: it’s not brainwashing! He just saw the truth😎

Fernando: 😎 no regrets

Lewis: to the brainwashing?

George: I’m sending you both into a wall

Alex: George

Lando: bit of an overreaction

Fernando: Soon Oscar will see the light that is Aston Martin

Lando: Stay away from my son

Carlos: 😨

********

Thank you for the ask! I had a lot of fun answering this!

[mischieveousmayhem]

Hiiii I was wondering if I could request a Deku x reader and jealous ochako??

It goes where reader and deku are childhood besties like pinky promised to marry each other when they get older besties but reader had to move away to another country due to being accepted into one of the most prestigious quirk schools in the world (besides UA) and she ends up coming back to Japan during the UA sports festival and her and deku have a sweet reunion but ochako seems to be a bit jealous of reader and tries to make it obvious abt how she feels abt deku but in the end ultimately decides her jealousy isn’t worth losing her friendship over and deku and reader end up together :3

"Until we meet again.."

a/n: ok this took me a minute to figure out what i wanted to do but please enjoy! i did see the other part anon , where you requested what the quirk is, i just spiced it up a little! also please request guys im so uninspired till i see requests.

pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Fem! Reader , one sided Izuku Midoriya x Ochako

Warnings: Jealousy, Cursing, Making Ochako act slightly fannon and annoying, Reader moves to Getmaly

Genre: Fluff , maybe slightly angsty?

Synopsis: Y/N L/N finally returns to Japan where she can finally see her bestest friend. However, someone (Ochako) has a crush on her best friend, Izuku. When Ochako sees the two super close she tries to steal all of Izuku's attention away from the reader. But is it worth the loss of making her crush, but friend hate her?

Readers Quirk: Energy Absorbtation. User can absorb energy around them (ex. electricity, heat, etc.) and release powerful bolts of pink bolts. User also has laser eyes and can absorb enough energy to fly . (Basically Starfires powers but using energy to create the power). However the user must be super careful! Absorbing too much energy can make them have too much adrenaline and lose control and go manic!

—

"HEY!" A small voice boomed across the playground.

The ash blonde and his friends turned to see to see who was yelling at them. The green haired boy sunk more thinking it was just another person who would treat him the same as the ash blonde, Kastuki Bakugou and his friends were.

"Leave him alone! He didn't do anything to you."

Looking at the figure it was a girl, she had H/C pigtails and beautiful S/C toned skin. This made Bakugou smirk. Really? A girl tryna challenge the great Katsuki.

"Ooohhh I'm so scared , what is a little weak girl gonna do." He sarcastically remarked.

She smiled, "Weak? You call this weak?" There are pink bolts forming around her hand.

"Wowww so your a night light?" One of the ash blondes friends say.

"Hmm, no." She takes the bolts and pulverizes a nearby petite plant. The ash blonde and the rest of the bullies eyes widened, "Could be you next by the way." She said knowing that the plant was only turned to ashes for two reasons, it was a small plant and secondly, she didn't really know how to use her quirk that well so she absorbed a powerful bit.

Bakugou snaps out of it, "Yeah whatever, I'm not scared of you. We're just gonna leave cause we don't hang around useless nerds." Bakugou leaves while his "posse" follows behind him.

The girl walks up to the green-headed boy on the ground and reaches out a hand. He immediately takes it.

"Thanks for that..." He spoke shyly not knowing the girl who was seen as a stranger.

"No problem! Whats your name by the way?" She smiled.

"Izuku Midoriya."

"Cool name! I'm Y/N L/N"

"Nice to meet you L/N"

"Please just call me Y/N!"

From then on the two hung out more and more each day and they grew closer and closer. To the point where one day when they were playing house in Y/N's backyard a conversation came up.

Currently the two had stuffed animals and dolls as kids and Y/N smiled "I can't wait to have a life this growing up! It's so fun being married to you too!"

"Yeah it is fun. I want to have a life like this when I grow up to! Being a hero and having kids that look up to me would be a great life" Izuku smiled at her agreement.

"I have an idea, when we grow up, let's get married!" She exclaimed.

"Okay!" He says giving her a hug.

Once the hug breaks she holds out her pinky.

"Pinky promise?"

Their fingers lock.

"Pinky promise."

The two were super estatic to grow up and marry each other. However they ran into a road bump.

"Izuku..I'm sorry but I have to leave the country. I got an offer to go to a better school than U.A."

Those words rang into Izuku's ears everyday even to the present day. Everyday he missed her , everyday he wanted to see her face to face instead of just texting her or calling her. He missed her dearly. Y/N was like Izuku's oxygen. He felt it hard to breathe without her. However her going away didn't set him back from his journey to becoming number one hero. In fact, it pushed him harder.

This takes us to present day, the day Y/N gets to come home. Although it is not permanent, Izuku is very happy she is coming back home even if it's just for the festival. Sure all his friends were nice at U.A. Especially Ochako. She considered Izuku her best friend, but he didn't consider his. Y/N would always be his best friend no matter what.

They haven't been separated that long either it's been like what? A year? Maybe a little less? Either way he was just happy he was going to her again. And again was today.

Waiting at the bus stop for her to get off, Ochako stood next to him, more like against him, she gave him like zero personal space. They were gonna walk with Y/N to U.A since she must not be familiar with Japan anymore.

"Soo who are we waiting for?" Ochako started conversation.

"My childhood best friend." Izuku says.

Ochako questions, "Oh really? Did they not pass the exam go get into U.A?"

"Actually that's not it at all. She got an offer to take an exam at a much more prestigious school and she passed. She is one of the top students in her class." Izuku explains.

She? His best friend was a she? This made Ochakos stomach turn into knots. She has had a crush on Izuku for a while but he knew his so called childhood best friend longer. What if he liked his childhood best friend instead of Ochako? Is that why he ignores all her small hints? Or maybe the boy is just oblivious as hell.

Snapping her out of her thoughts, the bus pulled up and there came a beautiful S/C toned girl who stepped off smiling as wide as possible.

Izuku didn't even almost notice her! She had changed so much. Her hair had pink highlights, the same shade as her energy bolts along with puberty hitting her like a bus, and not just her body, but her face matured. The only thing that made Izuku sure it was her was that wide smile and her glimmering E/C eyes.

"Izuku!" She jumped and embraced him. Before he could even embrace her back they started flying in the air in circles. After 5 seconds of spinning Y/N made sure both their feet touched the ground.

Ochako just stood there awkwardly watching this entire interaction. However her awkward stance is what was hiding that boiling feeling inside her.

"You can fly now?!" Izuku exclaimed at Y/N.

"Yeah! Training really does help you explore what else you can do with your powers." She smiled. "I can't wait to see your awesome quirk today at the festival."

She knew Izuku got a quirk , however she didn't know the backstory on how or why he got it so late. She didn't even bother to ask because the boy was happy and she wouldn't dare ask unless he offered to tell her.

"I'm gonna try my best to win." He says before turning to the awkward Ochako.

"Oh Uraraka, this is my best friend I was telling you about! This is Y/N and Y/N, this is Uraraka." He introduced the two.

Y/N stuck out her hand in front of Uraraka to shake it, "Nice to meet you, by the way you're like soo pretty."

Ochako shook Y/N's hand, "Nice to meet you too, and thanks." She said, but you could hear the slight bitterness in Ochako's voice.

The three walked to U.A together, mainly Izuku and Y/N talking and laughing while Ochako trailed behind them, like a third wheel. This wasn't fair. When Y/N wasn't here Izuku would be talking and laughing with her not Y/N. She would just have to get Izuku's attention some way.

—

Before the festival started Izuku and Y/N shared on more conversation.

"Woww , it must be fun to be able to compete! In Germany we can't compete in festivals till we're second years." Y/N explained.

"I wish so too, I would love to try to compete against you so I can show you how I can beat you with my quirk." He said pumping a fist up.

"And may she might, young students!" All Might appeared out of no where behind the two. The voice startled Y/N but when she turned around she saw All Might.

"Oh my stars! It's All Might!! Wait what do you mean?" She titled her head.

"I have heard about you , L/N. You and your fellow students were in a magazine a while ago." He explained, while Y/N's eyes lit up. "I can speak and have it arranged for you to join us in our festival. I want to see you at work."

"Oh my stars! Really?! Like really , really?!" Y/N was so happy right now she looked like she was gonna pee herself.

"I can try. Now wait for me outside in the hall while I speak to this young student." All Might says as Y/N obeys and closes the door on the way out.

All Might shrinks back down to regular old Toshi. He coughs before speaking.

"Does she know?"

"No, I didn't tell her."

"Good , I was afraid you would tell her especially since she doesn't go here." Toshi says, weakness in his voice. "I'm going to go take her to talk to the other pros in charge to see if we can get her to join the festival. I know you will do good Midoriya." He places a hand on Izuku's shoulder before going back to being All Might.

Before leaving he turns around and says, "Good luck."

—

Y/N hummed as she changed in the locker room. Ochako so happened to be there getting prepared. When Ochako spots her she immediately tries to avoid Y/N however Y/N's attention was somewhere else. She was just too excited for this opportunity.

When Ochako realized Y/N wasn't paying attention she stared at Y/N. Damn, she wouldn't blame Izuku if he did like Y/N. Y/N was beautiful and she looked so much better in the gym uniform then Ochako.

Y/N wore a sports bra only under the uniform because she wasn't prepared for this. Ochako saw this and thought she should do the same so Ochako took off her tank top and left her sports bra on with just the gym uniform on top.

Y/N turns, "Oh Uraraka! Guess what they're letting me compete in the festival." She smiled.

"Oh. I am happy for you. I hope you do well."

"You too! May the best one win." Y/N smiles friendly before leaving.

"Yeah may the best one win.." Ochako mutters knowing that she didn't want to just win the festival she also wanted to win Izuku's love and attention.

—

The festival contained of many challenges.

The first one was the obstacle course. Y/N ended up passing at number 15. That was only because she didn't use flight for it. She used her pure skills.

Next was the calvary battle. Y/N ended up being placed on team Todoroki. She was having so much fun she barely noticed it was a challenge.

Finally , it was one on ones. Y/N won her first round against Mina and she was super pleased by it. She didn't think she was that good with her quirk. But she had an advantage against Mina's acid. Acid is a chemical, and chemicals have energy.

It was time for Uraraka and Bakugou to fight and Uraraka was nevous before she went on so she went to Izuku.

But before she did she unzipped her uniform to show off her sports bra and then confronted him unfortunately Y/N was there.

"Oh Midoriya!" She exclaimed interrupting what Y/N and Izuku were talking about. "I have to fight Bakugou and I'm so gonna lose" She said almost in an almost too dramatic way.

"Let me help you come up with a pla–" Izuku tried to speak.

"I don't need your help with winning, I want to do this on my own. I know I can do it." Ochako say, "I'm just so nervous, can I have a hug before I go on?" She asks with pleading eyes.

Izuku and Ochako embrace for a solid 10 seconds before Y/N joins in. Then the unwanted group hug only lasts about 5 seconds.

"You're gonna do great Ochako! Bakugou just has a bigggggggg ego since forever. You're gonna win." Y/N smiled.

"Yeah, you are Ochako!" Izuku agrees.

"Thanks guys..." The "guy" thats came out her mouth was super bitter and she stared daggers at Y/N while she said it. However Y/N thought it was on accident so she smiled.

That almost frustrated Ochako past her limits. But made her think why is Y/N being so nice? Why can't Y/N back off OCHAKOS Izuku? Whatever it didn't matter.

Ochako hugged Izuku one more time before going to her battle. As she walked off she thought that if she did well it would impress Izuku and he will fall in love. Maybe she's being delusional but she won't give up on him.

Y/N and Izuku watched the painful battle of Ochako vs Bakugou. They were both putting on a strong fight but Bakugou was obviously winning.

"She needs to forfeit or she's gonna get seriously injured, Izuku."

"She's gonn—" He's cut off when Ochako hits the ground.

Y/N gasps and Izuku's eyes widen.

Midnight declares Ochako is unconscious, however leading Y/N and Izuku rushing down to recovery girl.

A few moments later Ochako's eyes fluttered open. She saw Y/N and Izuku next to her.

"Shes awake!" Y/N exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

Ochako stared blankly. Why was Y/N here? But she knew Izuku was here so she put on a little act, "Oh my..I'm in so much pain right now." She wasn't seriously lying, Recovery Girl can't fully help Ochako recover.

"You put on a good fight Uraraka! It's nice to see you awake however, I have to prepare to fight Todoroki in a little. I'll catch you guys later!" Izuku hugged Ochako and she became slightly flustered before he left the room.

Sitting down in a chair next to Uraraka, Y/N speaks, "That fight was so impressive! I could see your strategy. I wish you won it would have been so badass for you to beat Bakugou."

While Y/N kept complimenting Ochako and talking about the fight. Ochako realized something. Ever since Y/N came back she's just been jealous of her. When in reality she shouldn't have. Y/N has no bad intentions towards her, she just wants to be her friend. Imagine if Izuku knew what she thought of Y/N? He would hate her guts.

Realization.

"And the way you used your jacket for a—" Y/N was cut off by Ochako,

"Do you like Midoriya?" Ochako asks.

"Yes, he's my best—"

"I mean do you like him?" She exaggerates the like this time.

Y/N stops and thinks before answering.

"... It doesn't matter, I don't think he feels the same." The answer came out her mouth almost too quietly, but Ochako heard it.

"L/N," Ochako sat up, wincing from the little pain she had left and grabbing Y/N's hand. "The way he looks at you, the way he interacts with you, every time he interacts with you it's different from others. He doesn't just like you, I'm sure he loves you. You're the love of his life, you should tell him."

Y/N is speechless, "But don't you like him?"

"How'd you know?!?" Ochako becomes flustered.

"It's obvious."

"Then it's also obvious he doesn't like me back."

Y/N got up and helped Ochako get up. "I know you like him, but I don't want to get with him if you lik—"

"Please, who cares if I like him, I want him to be happy and he's obviously happy with you. So let's go watch him kick ass." Ochako smiled hooking her arms with Y/N's as they went to go watch Midoriya vs Todoroki.

—

"Aww you did so well , though." Ochako spoke, where Ochako, Y/N, and Izuku were all back with Recovery Girl.

"I agree." Y/N smiled.

"Thanks guys, I'm disappointed though."

"Next year, you're going to beat him for sure." Ochako says.

"Same goes for you beating Bakugou."

"Speaking of Bakugou," Y/N chimes in, "I'll avenge you right now. Cause guess who has to fight him."

The two stared at Y/N.

"He's super strong though." Midoriya spoke up.

"He may be strong but I'm sure I'm stronger." Y/N smiled.

"You got this girlie! If anyone can beat him it's you." Ochako smiled optimistically, and this time there was no bitterness.

—

Y/N stood in the ring across from Bakugou.

"We meet again Katsuki." Y/N smiles.

"Don't call me that."

"Hmm, I'll call you whatever I want after I beat you." Y/N smiles.

"The hell? You'll never beat me."

"Wanna bet?"

"Damn right, I do."

Y/N giggles, "I'll go easyy.."

Bakugou had enough of the talk he sent the first explosion towards her. Using acrobatic skills, she flipped out the way dodging the attack.

"Damn, thats all you got?"

"Fuck no."

Y/N flew up throwing bolts at Bakugou.

The two were fighting for a good 15 minutes. The area was smoky from not only Bakugou's explosions but Y/N's bolts and laser eyes.

Unfortunately, Y/N was beat by Katsuki by default because she absorbed too much energy and went manic.

—

When everyone recovered and everyone recovered it was time for Y/N to go home. Izuku was sad and so was Y/N. They didn't know the next time they would see each other and this made them both upset.

It was rainy, and they both stood under an umbrella waiting for the bus to take Y/N to the airport.

"You did awesome at the festival." She broke the silence.

"So did you." He spoke , but there was sadness in his voice.

"You know, I'm really proud of you and your quirk is amazing. I can't wait to see how hard you train and how good you are next time I see you." She smiled almost sadly, "And then I'll fight your that time."

He chuckles, "I hope you don't think you're gonna win."

"Trust me, I will."

The bus pulled up and the two looked even more sad.

"I guess this is it for who knows how long." Izuku turns and faces her.

"Don't be sad, Izuku. Our separation is only temporary. Remember, I'll come back and we will get married?" She cuffs his cheek.

He lit up a little, not thinking she remembered the promise. He melted into the touch of her hand while nodding.

They shared one last embrace,

"Goodbye, Y/N."

"Until we meet again, Izu."

The embrace broke but Y/N didn't walk off yet. What did was totally unexpected. She pecked his lips and ran on to the bus, "Call me later!"

Those were the last words he heard her say before he stood there flustered.

They wouldn't just marry each other in the future because they were best friends.

Izuku Midoriya found his true love, his soulmate, and he can't wait to see her again.

[dearest-dirt]

Headcanons: Hal Jordan as a dad

Warnings: Fluff

Gender Neutral Reader

Authors Note: Hi!! I'm trying to get through stuff I've already written in the past. But, I've lost interest in DC, so this is gonna be the last set of DC headcanons (unless I get back into it in the future). As with my other head canons, I tried to make these as inclusive as possible so if you catch any mistakes, please let me know. Bestie, please reblog. I hope you enjoy my work!

Masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chill dad™ 

Would definitely want a few kids, especially after the first one. 

Hands-on dad, tries to be super involved with his kid’s upbringing and life. He helped out as much as he physically could with the newborns. 

Knows all his kids likes and dislikes.

Would play dress up, have tea parties, play with Barbies and dolls, nerf gun fights, video games, superheroes and villains, cops and robbers, water balloon fights, etc. Basically anything his kids want to do he’s down.

Dad jokes galore

Constantly would show the Justice League and other Lanterns pictures and videos of his kids. 

“Hey, wanna see my kid do a black flip on the trampoline?” 

“Look at my kids, aren’t they just the cutest?”

“We took the kids to the zoo, look at them feeding the giraffes.”

Supportive af!

His kids would never feel like they can’t tell him or talk to him about something. 

When his kids are infants, he’ll fly them around the house to get them to settle down. 

Cute things you constantly witness: 

Hal passed out with a baby napping on his chest

airplane noises whenever he feeds them

reading books to them with funny voices and sound effects

pretending his kids are planes and “flying” them around the room

Him being wet from bath time because he got carried away playing with the ducks and other toys

kids climbing him every time he sits down

Super affectionate dad; tells them constantly that he loves them and is proud of them. 

Hal would be firm and strict with his kids if and when he needs to be.

He wants to be the best dad that he possibly could, so at times he can be super insecure about his parenting abilities. He always turns to you when he feels like that and you always reassure him and point out how great he is. He would do the same to you whenever you feel insecure about being a good parent. 

First time he was called away for superhero business, he would be a mess. Constantly calling to make sure the baby was okay. 

“Hal, you called 10 minutes ago! The baby is fine!”

“I know but I just want to make sure.” 

But overtime and with each kid he got better at dealing with being away.

You guys would decide not to tell your kids that he's a Green Lantern until they are old enough to keep secrets (because kids tell everyone everything). But once they find out, oh boy, they would always want him to fly them around and beg him to use the ring to play games. Hal would love it! Especially if he’s their favorite superhero. 

Hal would take you guys to OA and other different planets when the kids are old enough.

Would help with homework if he’s home. Wouldn’t always get things right though.

“Dad, the answer is 43. How did you get 186?” 

“I swear this was easier when I was in school!” 

Would beg you to let him take them out on plane rides. 

“They’ll be fine, babe! I’ll take care of them! They’ll love it!” 

“Hal, they are toddlers.”

Barry, Guy, and Kyle would be the best uncles! So would the other Lanterns/League members! 

“The Flash is my favorite superhero!” 

“Uncle Guy/Kyle's the best green lantern ever.” 

“Batman’s the coolest superhero ever.” 

“No, Superman's cooler because he can shoot lasers from his eyes.” 

Hal: -_-

Loves his kids more than anything!

[comicaurora]

One thing I noticed is ever since MAWSM came out is how people in discussions have been decreasingly calling Clark "Superman" and now almost exclusively refer to him with his real name. Yeah, of course. He is Clark first and foremost. The farmboy from Smallville, Kansas; reporter at the Daily Planet. Superman is an extension of Clark. He's not like the other dude whose hero persona is his core identity. He's just a normal guy at heart who happens to be indestructible. He's just... Clark.

I think it's because until My Adventures With Superman, his primary cartoon presence was in series that were overtly superhero shows with threat-of-the-week formats, where Clark's life was the two-minute framing sequence around Superman getting to do the good stuff. Even the original Fleischer superman cartoon was ten-minute shorts that couldn't afford to go slice-of-life when they could be animating Superman punching a hole in a jet.

There have been little moments that hinted at this in other series - the Justice League episode Comfort and Joy springs to mind, being one of the only downtime episodes the team gets, where J'onn sees Clark back home on the farm with Ma and Pa Kent and is surprised at how relaxed and genuine he is when he isn't "working", aka "being superman." But for the most part Clark doesn't get that kind of personal focus, and the seasons that center on him are entirely about Superman's villains and the risk of Superman becoming a despot like his Justice Lord counterpart.

Live-action shows have been a little better about this, if only because of the SFX requirements of superman meaning it's cheaper and simpler to lean into Hometown Hero Clark Kent, exemplified in the series Smallville, which had an actual development policy that Clark was never allowed to put on the cape or costume. It started as teen drama where the protagonist just happened to have superpowers and a weird allergy to green rocks, and for a while it even had a similar gimmick to MAWS, where every other episode he developed a new power or discovered a new trait of his physiology that the audience was already expected to know about. But the problem there is that the audience also has the biggest point of dramatic irony hanging over their heads for the entire show - we know Clark's destiny is to become Superman. So while the show is ABOUT Clark, there's this tonal undercurrent that most of the messy things that make him Clark are things he'll eventually outgrow.

I think what's making My Adventures With Superman work is that it's (a) deeply sincere and (b) centered on the thesis that Clark is an emotional, vulnerable person AND ALSO a flying invulnerable brick with laser eyes, and his stress over his powers isn't just "aw it's tough to be a god now put on the tights already" but it's the very reasonable "I don't know why I'm like this, I don't understand what it means or if it's dangerous, I can't stop breaking the things I touch but I don't want to be alone."

Clark's isolation has always been something other characters muse about privately (usually Batman) or a bit of fridge logic he turns into a cool boast (the World of Cardboard speech reframing every fight he's ever been in by telling the audience he is 100% pulling his punches ALL THE TIME) but to my knowledge it's never been played for this deeply impactful and HIGHLY resonant "there is Something Wrong With Me that I don't have a name for but I will regardless find a way to live with myself and the people I love."

When Superman is framed as Clark's inevitable destiny, we lose sight of the fact that Clark is, by necessity, the kind of person who would create Superman.

[liaromancewriter]

Perfect Day

Premise: When the leaves turn, it’s time for childhood fun.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine); feat. Max Valentine Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 930

A/N: I wanted to write this fic last Fall, but I couldn't seem to do it. It's not officially Autumn in my part of the world, yet, but this weekend feels like it as the temps drop. I'm using prompt 1 from @creativepromptsforwriting's Grumpy-Sunshine dialogue prompts. Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills

It was a perfect Fall day. Crisp air, a clear blue sky, the sun hanging low, casting a golden glow over the backyard blanketed with fallen leaves from the old oak tree. Their vibrant hues—reds, oranges, and yellows—created a kaleidoscope of color on the ground. Still more fell, raining down on the little girl captivated by the magic of the season.

Six-year-old Cassie Valentine turned her face up to the sky, arms spread wide as she spun in circles, laughing when errant leaves grazed her forehead before drifting to the soft ground.

Her twin brother Max whooped and hollered like a banshee, leaping into the largest pile. His maniacal laughter stood in stark contrast to her joyful giggles. The leaves crunched under his weight, releasing an earthy scent reminiscent of the changing seasons.

Not wanting to miss out on the fun, Cassie charged forward, sharing a mischievous glance with Max.

They leaped into the air together, seeming to float for a second, and then, with a soft whoosh, landed in the pile, leaves flying around them and their laughter echoing through the yard.

The crunch beneath them was satisfying, a symphony of fall, and they both giggled uncontrollably as they sank into the colorful mound. They took turns burying each other, tossing handfuls of colorful leaves into the air just to watch them flutter down like confetti.

Cassie lay on her back, flailing her arms as if making a leaf angel, while Max jumped from pile to pile. Eventually, he grew tired and flopped down beside her, his head resting against hers.

They lay there side by side, staring at the slowly darkening sky. The sound of rustling leaves in the gentle breeze and their steady breathing were the only things breaking the peaceful silence.

“Best day ever,” Max said with a grin, showing off the gap in his front teeth.

“Best season ever,” Cassie whispered, sighing in contentment.

At that moment, the world was just them, the leaves and the endless possibilities of a perfect autumn day.

Many years later…

There was no season quite like Fall, thought Cassie. And her adopted hometown of Boston was a sight to behold when the seasons changed and the leaves turned.

The city hummed quietly in the distance, but here in the wide expanse of Boston Common, the sounds were a symphony of children laughing, branches rustling in the wind, and squirrels scurrying from tree to tree.

The winding paths were blanked with a patchwork of Autumn hues—red, gold, amber. The ancient trees seemed to bow overhead, shaking loose leaves that drifted lazily to the ground.

Leaves crunched beneath her boots, a satisfying sound that reminded her of childhood pleasures and a time of innocence.

She glanced sideways at her husband, his brow furrowed in deep thought, her hand warm in his. A sudden idea sparked. Ethan Ramsey could use some fun.

Cassie tugged at his hand, ignoring his startled shout as she dragged him toward the piles of leaves scattered across the green.

Her eyes sparkled with laughter as she gathered handfuls of leaves and tossed them over his head. A red leaf stuck to his hair, and his exasperation was evident in the way he stared at her.

Cassie grinned mischievously, daring him with her eyes. Ethan slowly plucked the red leaf from his hair, almost nonchalantly, but his laser blue eyes glittered with challenge.

In one swift motion, Ethan bent down, scooped up a pile of leaves and tossed them in her direction.

“This means war,” he warned, his voice playful as he grabbed another handful.

Cassie shrugged, unfazed and tossed a ball of leaves straight at his face. “Bring it!”

Ethan shook his head, raising one hand in mock surrender. But with the other, he swiftly swung a handful of leaves toward her, like a pitcher letting a ball fly. Cassie squealed, trying to dodge the cascade of red, orange, and yellow foliage as it sailed toward her.

Her laughter echoed through the park as she darted behind a nearby tree, peeking around it with a grin. Ethan pursued, grabbing more leaves and flinging them toward her, the cool breeze carrying some of them away before they landed.

“You can do better than that, babe,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

With a laugh, Ethan finally closed the gap between them, gently tackling her into a pile of leaves, collapsing into the soft mound, their cheeks flushed and hearts pounding from the spontaneous game.

They lay there for a moment, leaves tangled in their hair, the cool, damp earth pressing gently through their coats.

Cassie turned to Ethan, still breathless with laughter.

“For the record, I won,” she teased, nudging him playfully.

Ethan chuckled, shaking his head. “Looks like a draw from where I’m sitting—”

His words cut off as he sputtered, Cassie burying him under an armful of leaves.

“Now, I won for sure!” she declared, her voice triumphant.

Ethan smiled, his eyes softening as he pulled her toward him, his hands gently gripping her arms. In one smooth motion, he rolled her over, their faces inches apart, the world around them fading into the crisp autumn air.

“I think you're right,” he murmured, his voice low, “You’re definitely the only person I would do this for.”

He closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that felt as natural as the falling leaves.

In that moment, there was no winning, no losing—just the two of them, lost in the magic of a perfect autumn day.

---------------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @justyourusualash

@lady-calypso @kyra75 @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect

@queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @snoopdogcone @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 14

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Jazz dismissed herself from the rest of the group, fingers tightening on the strap of the bag on her shoulder. Jason's eyes trailed after her as she made her escape from the group, concerned.

"So, how about we get to that shooting competition that we shelved earlier this week?" Danny asks Jason and Ellie.

"Hell yeah, that sounds awesome, I've been practicing with Dante's help!" Ellie exclaimed. "We should probably change first though, last one to the training grounds has to give Cujo a bath in his huge form!" With that she sped down the halls towards the family residence halls.

"Well you heard her, you can navigate the castle enough to get there yourself right?"

"Yeah I can figure it out, you got some guns I can use though?" Jason asked.

Danny grinned, though there was something sad in his eyes. "Yeah, our parents were inventors and until they realized that ghosts aren't inherently evil they made weapons. I'll show you when we get there, see ya in a bit." He vanished from sight, presumably to go change.

Jason jogged through the castle, resigning himself to losing the race considering the two he was racing could fly at high speeds. He changed into his Hood gear and jogged his way to the training ground where it looked like Ellie and Danny were in a snark-off with each other by the targets.

Danny noticed his first and flagged him down. He led him to a building next to the targets and stepping inside Jason had to tuck in the back of his mind that the parents of the Royal family were mad scientists who saw the aesthetics of 1950's sci-fi and stuck with it. Gleaming chrome with green accents shone from the displays on the walls and from the display cases throughout the room. There were bazookas, sniper rifles, hand guns, a cat-o-nine-tails, and a vacuum all along the walls. In the display cases were tubes of lipstick, bracelets, small rods, grenades etc.

"What's with the lipstick?" he asked Danny.

"Oh, they're lasers. Same with the bracelets. This rod extends into a quarterstaff, this rod has a taser at either end. These grenades form a small portal to a random point in the Realms, these ones stun most ecto-entities." As Danny kept going on about what everything in here does, he would add in little anecdotes about how strong each weapon hits a ghost and it was starting to set Jason on edge.

"How often have you gotten hit with these?" Jason asks levelly.

Danny just shrugged. "Honestly not all that often outside of training, my dad was a bad shot and I mostly managed to dodge my mom. Honestly Jazz is the one who hit me the most when she was still learning combat. She also caught me in the Thermos many, many times." He shivered at the memory.

"Excuse me, thermos?" His previous rage was knocked away at the ridiculousness of the statement.

"Oh yeah, when we were still on Earth I had to capture the ghosts and put them back into the Realms. My parents would build things out of whatever we had when their grants started to run out and so they made the thermos as a capturing device. It didn't work at first, I think it needed more ectoplasm than they had access to because it worked after I charged it with energy. When I found out Jazz knew about me being part-ghost, she ended up trying to join us in taking out the ghosts. It...did not go too well." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. "There was a lot of miscommunication, she wasn't listening to us even though we had experience, and we weren't listening to her thoughts on what a specific ghost was up to. She caught me six times that first night I think." He laughed a little. "Eventually we got on the same page and she started training and actually listening to us and we all became stronger for it."

Jason nodded along to the story, glad for more information on the dynamics of the family he's technically at the mercy of right now. He gestured to a pair of pistols on the wall. "Let's get this competition underway, huh?"

Danny smiled at him. "Yeah, let's get to that."

"About time you guys came out here. Let's do this!" Ellie exclaimed when they exited the building. Now that Jason had time to look, he noticed that Ellie was dressed like you would imagine a nomad during the apocalypse would look. She had jeans covered in band patches and other patches and embroidery. She wore battle vest covered in more patches and pins with spikes on the shoulders and a breastplate with the same D-shaped logo Danny had etched into the front of it messily. She had fabric scraps wrapped around her arms under armguards and steel capped boots. Her fingerless gloves also had metal spikes on the knuckles. She also had a pair of aviation goggles over her eyes.

"Well now I definitely need to introduce you to Kon. He's also a superpowered clone who appreciates the Punk culture."

"Really? Hell yeah, that sounds awesome. Hopefully we find your dimension soon then!" They all lined up at the targets. "Now let's see what you can do Lover Boy." She smirked at him.

Jason did his best to not blush. "I'm not gonna push my feelings at your sister. Plus, we barely know each other." He readied himself to shoot, and the competition was off. They all shot true for the short range targets and moved to larger ranges. Ellie misjudged the power on her blast and blew the target apart and Danny sneezed when he fired. Jason was getting used to the fact there was no recoil on these guns as they were energy pistols, but quickly adapted. Once they got bored of stationary targets they moved to skeet shooting and they ended up playing around for a few hours at that before the guns ran out of charge and the two ghosts were starting to get tired.

They all went and changed for dinner where they met Jazz again. She was faintly glowing yellow, her eyes had more flecks of golden light swirling in them and the tips of her hair seemed to be blowing in an unseen breeze. Danny didn't seem to be bothered by the change and took his seat at her right, Ellie next to him, though she looked a bit concerned. Jason took his seat at Jazz's left and Danny began chattering away at Jazz about their afternoon.

"Jason's a pro with the pistols, we'll have to test him against you sometime and see who's better." Danny grinned, all teeth and a spark in his eye. "You're training tomorrow right? You two should spar!"

Jazz and Jason looked at each other and caught each other's eye. After a moment they both turned appraising the other, sizing up their opponent. Jazz grinned. "I think that can be arranged. I do have a meeting with some of the yeti scholars looking into the binding in the afternoon, but my morning will be training yes." She held out her hand to shake Jason's. "Do we have an accord?"

Jason grinned back and clasped her hand, giving it a firm shake. "I can't wait."

[bibiwrld]

SHE’S IN THE WOODS— l.howlett x black fem! mutant!

Pairing: Logan Howlett! x Black fem! mutant oc!

Contains: Scott is an ass, Logan tries to do the right things, animalistic oc. (Written with Logan from the first movie X-Men in mind)

part 1

"Is that all of them?" Ororo asked, mentally counting the frightened mutant children.

Charles gave a specific number, 37, there were only 33 mutant children in their possession.

"Fuck, there's four missing." Jean cursed.

Ororo began barking orders, wasting no time. "Jean, help me bring these kids into the jet. Kitty and Hank, you two go upstairs and search, Scott and Logan, do the same downstairs."

Kitty and Hank were already on the move. Then there was Logan and Scott, bickering at a time like this.

"Now you guys!" Ororo shouted sternly.

There was no time to waste.

Logan grunted and followed her orders, Scott failing to keep up with Logan's incredible speed.

"I told you to stop running so fa—"

"Shh." Logan put a finger up, shushing Scott's loud complaining, then averted his finger to the green glowing pod filled with liquid in the center of this old looking lab.

"Did Charles mention an adult mutant?" Logan stared at the unconscious woman floating in the pod.

She was bare, nothing but her long, coily hair and odd metal helmet on her head, along with wires and large syringes embedded into her skin and a tube in her mouth.

"No, but we shouldn't interfere." Scott said firmly, giving Logan a stern look.

"You can't be fucking serious, Summers." Logan tilted his head. "We can't leave her here." Logan has had his fair shares of experiments and it's not something he'd wish on anyone, not even Scott.

"We were given specific orde-"

"You know I don't give a fuck." Logan barked back, a strong bass in his gruff voice. "When has Charles ever turned away a mutant, huh?"

Scott knew Logan was right, for once. "If shit goes south, it was your call and you're reporting it back to Charles."

"Whatever, let's get her out of here." Logan looked around at the panel of buttons, not knowing which one to press. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

"Let's just hurry this up." Scott put a finger to his goggles, his lasers slicing the bottom of the pod, breaking it, with Logan ducking at Scott's sudden and reckless actions.

Logan snarled. "Scott!" His long metal claws unsheathed in an instant, shielding himself from flying debris.

Water rushed out, slightly flooding the front of the lab, followed by sparks of electricity and a large amount of smoke. The unknown mutant's body falling onto the ground, going unnoticed by the men because of the thick smoke.

An emergency alarm started going off, causing the room to glow red, startling both men.

"What the hell, Summers?" Logan whipped his head towards his teammate in disbelief and anger. "You could've killed her."

"But I didn't." A smug smirk on his lips. "Now let's get her and go." Scott motioned to where the pod once was, glass crunching underneath his black heavy boots.

Logan was about to follow suit when he heard Scott grunt and his body flying past him, and into a wall.

His ears perked at the sound of glass crunching and nose twitched to the smell of a new scent.

A short, slim and toned body emerged from the smoke, slowly swaying from side to side, she could barely stand on her two feet. Settling on all fours, as she found it comfortable, she sat in a dog like position.

With one small hand, she pulled the tube that was pushed deep within her throat. She gagged and coughed at the feeling, finally removing all of it entirely. Painfully tugging at the wires and syringes in her, she winced and groaned in a small voice.

Logan watched as the massive holes where the syringes once were, close up in an instant, his head slowly cocking to the side, trying to figure out what she was.

Labored breathing, eyes blown wide and dilated, canines sharp and nails extended like claws, her heart rate was irregular with the inhumane high she was on. She didn't notice Logan, so she began studying herself, staring at her palms, then flipping them over to stare at her hands, more so her claws.

Then she began touching her body, hands roaming, then traveling to her head, panicking when she felt the helmet. She clawed at it, desperately trying to get it off, panic and fear instilled in her.

"Hey, hey." Logan squatted to her level and retracted his claws, trying not to seem threatening, his rough voice now hushed. "Let me help you, princess."

She was on full alert, growling and hissing at Logan.

"How long have you been down here, huh bub?" Inching towards her slowly, he unzipped his leather uniform jacket.

Shooting him a quizzical look, her entire demeanor changed, confused as to why the man was undressing himself. Her curious eyes loomed over his bare, buff chest, hair cascading from his pecks, to his abs, then his belly button, his happy trail leaving her mind to go wild with her imagination as to what’s beyond it.

“Here, bub.” He draped the jacket over her, helping her put her arms through the sleeves.

He brought her to her feet, noticing how they trembled when she stood only on two of them.

She sniffed him, from his neck, to his chest, to his arms. Logan smiled softly at her curiosity.

“They could’ve had the decency of giving you clothes.” He zipped up the jacket on her, stepping back to look at her. The jacket was rather large on her, her hands disappearing in the sleeves and the jacket itself slightly past her thighs. It was the best he could do for now.

She quickly went back to her dog like sitting position, not being able to stand on her feet for long.

“Logan!” Scott’s voice rang.

Triggering the unknown mutant, she darted towards Logan at full speed, her body moving faster than her mind could, but she was stopped mid air by Scott's beam, knocking her into a nearby wall.

Logan watched as she laid, then brought his attention to Scott, glaring daggers at him. “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

"Let's get the hell out of here, Logan!” Scott urged in fear that the unknown mutant would get back up.

"I was making progress!” He shouted, taking large strides towards Scott.

"She was two seconds away from mauling you!” He retorted.

They were now in front of each other, rage radiating from both of them.

“Because you fuckin’ scared her!”

Scott exhaled deeply. “She’s a danger to not only us, but to herself. She can’t fucking control herself.” He turned and began walking away. “Let’s go.”

Logan stood still, as if he was cemented into the ground. “We can’t leave her.”

“As co leader of this mission, I'm ordering you to retreat."

Logan clenched his fists and grumbled under his breath. "Fine."

They finally boarded the jet , but not without the others staring at them oddly.

"What the hell happened downstairs?" Hank asked, glancing between the two irritated men.

“And where’s your jacket?” Kitty rose a brow.

Logan stayed silent, arms crossed as her stared out the jet. And Scott, oh he couldn't wait to complain about how Logan is a terrible teammate and almost got them killed.

After making it back to the mansion, Logan wasted no to time in going to Charles about the mysterious animal-like mutant he encountered.

With no hesitation, Charles went to the cerebro with Scott, Logan, Storm, Hank and Jean tagging along.

"Hmm." Charles hummed to himself. "Well I can't find her."

“What the hell do you mean you can’t find her?” Logan slammed down his hand.

“Logan.” Ororo warned.

“Sorry.” He sighed. “Why can’t you find her?”

“Something..must be blocking her mind from being reached.” Charles brought a finger to his chin. “Did she perhaps have some type of device on her head when you found her?”

“She did.” Scott answered before Logan, shooting him a smirk.

“She was trying to get it off, but I stopped her.” Logan thought back to that moment, mentally cursing himself in regret.

“It’s okay, Logan. I know you were only trying to help.” Charles reassured him.

“So, what do we do?” Hank asked, adjusting his glasses.

“There is nothing we can do.” Charles simply answered, his wheelchair turning to face them.

“What the hell do yo—”

“Logan.” Jean side eyed him.

He huffed in defeat, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his old jeans. “So we’re gonna wait?”

“Precisely. She will make herself known to us.”

part 2

[kkeidawrites]

Toy Enigma

Welcome to Day 16 of Blacktober!

On a warm night in Autumn, the famous man of steel flew overhead of the city of Metropolis, keeping an eye and ear out for any suspicious activity that could occur.

Superman keeps his watchful eye on the city and at times he wished that the city would stay this way like tonight but, by living in said city that was wishful thinking.

Without paying any attention to what is in front of him, Superman is slapped in the face by a metal pole. He shakes his head to get himself together and forward to see Toyman causing usual mayhem in uptown Metropolis. That blasted giant robot that he would normally use was twice as big as the last one he designed.

Flying faster in order to stop him, Superman uses his x-ray vision to see where Toyman was and saw he was encased in the dome of the robot. In one clawed hand the robot held a blaster in one hand and used it to blast green orbs into the buildings he would stomp through.

Superman uses his laser vision to destroy the blaster and punches the chest area of the robot. Toyman rocks back and forth in his car seat and glares angrily through the glass window he sat behind.

“Annoying, Superman! You’re ruining my fun!” He uses the levers and pulls the left one down so it would make the right hand of the robot swat at the hero in red and blue.

Superman dodged the clawed hand and uses his laser vision again to make a dent in front of the robot. It didn’t do a thing and Superman grits his teeth in frustration.

The clawed hand tries to make a grab at him but Superman dodged again and punches the robot once more.

It stumbles backward, destroying the cars below him and creating some explosions from the crushed cars. This became an issue, as the explosions started fires below the robot. Superman was in a tight position here, with this robot in the way, firefighters wouldn’t be able to help battle the fires nor help any people trapped.

“Yoo-hoo, Superman! You should really pay attention to your playmate!” Toyman taunts and was finally able to grab Superman in his clawed hand. Superman struggles to free himself but, it was useless.

Superman needed help and fast. The people below watched on in distress as their hero was being held captive.

“Superman!” A man gasps in disbelief.

“Come on, fight back! You can take him!” Another citizen calls out.

It didn’t do much for the man of steel as the clawed hand seemed to tighten its hold around his middle. Superman groans in slight pain and glares at Toyman who laughed manically.

“You like it? I was able to make my new toy out of magic alloy, a little tip I was able to get from a very good friend of yours. I’m sure you know him well, Superman!” Toyman says places his hand on his cheeks.

“Luthor.” Superman hisses and groans in pain.

“Ohhh a gold star for you! Now, I will be able to know if you can break in half like an action figure!” Toyman presses a button and this activates the robot’s hand to start squeezing harder.

Superman begins screaming in pain but still struggles to get out of his grip.

Just in a nick of time, a grey beam cuts the hand holding Superman and this slacks the pressure off the hero to get out. Looking behind him, Superman sees a brown skinned woman levitating. He hadn’t seen her before and took in her fit. Her brown-red hair is partially translucent, and rippling along with her eyes glowing a grey color. She wore a tight grey and blue one piece unitard jumpsuit, with her breasts peaking out and a grey mask.

She flies by the speechless Superman and uses her powers to take out the left leg of the robot, making it get down on one knee.

“Help the people below, I’ll take care of the robot.” She says and Superman nods.

He flies down to where the fires were beginning to spread and uses his super breath to extinguish the flames, even picking up the fire trucks that were finally able to get pass the carnage, to the buildings where they can help civilians.

“We’ll take it from here, Superman! You go and help that lady stop that thing.” A firefighter tells him and Superman salutes him then flies off to return to the robot battle.

Toyman tries to use his other weapons installed in his robot to destroy the fleeting woman but, it was all taken out by said woman. Using her beams again, she slices off the other leg of the robot, and just in time Superman punches the robot’s remaining upper body and uses his foot to kick the glass.

Toyman yells in fear as he’s grabbed by the front of his purple shirt and lifted out of the robot. The woman blasts an orb into the husk robot and it destroys it completely.

Citizens below yell in delight and cheer for the heroic duo. Superman slowly floats down to the street and hands over Toyman to the police that were on standby.

Reporters were already swarming him as soon as he had turned around and of course, the one in front is none other than Lois Lane.

“Superman, after that struggle with Toyman who is the woman that helped you?” She asks and Superman glances over his shoulder to where the woman was last seen but, she had already disappeared.

“I don’t know.” He says.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The next couple of days pass by and Superman had donned his human persona, Clark Kent at a fashion show event he needed to attend to get the scoop on the latest for his upcoming article.

Fixing his glasses, Clark fishes through his pocket to get a pen for his notepad but, couldn’t feel one on him.

“Clark Kent, you’re a familiar face that I wasn’t expecting to see tonight.” He looks up to see Lana Lang walk up to him, and puts a hand on her hip with a smile beaming at him.

Clark blinks in disbelief at whom he was seeing and a smile forms on his lips.

“Lana, I haven’t seen you in Metropolis in two years! How’s Paris?” Clark asks as the two old friends hug.

“Eh, oui, oui, this and that but, the food is exquisite. You should fly over there sometime and try it.” She whispers the last part to him and Clark chuckles.

“Been to Paris, the portions aren’t quite enough for me I’m afraid.” He says.

“Oh, well since you’re here, I would like to introduce you to one of our newest models for Lana Lang Fashions. I know you’re here for the big scoop and I’m sure you’d want to know what it is.” Lana grabs his arm and practically drags him to one of the designated dressing rooms.

Knocking, Lana hears a woman tell them to enter and the two walk into the dressing room.

A brown skinned woman sat at the plush pink vanity in the room, wearing a grey robe and matching slippers and looks up from the mirror to her guests.

“Y/n, this here is my old friend Clark-“

“Kent. Yes, I’m quite familiar with the infamous reporter of the Daily Planet.” She swivels around in her seat to face forward with the two, her brown-red hair pulled away in a updo of hair clips as she brushed at another section of her hair. Black eyes take in the two, as she adjusts the shoulder of her robe to fix.

“Even more so that I would be seeing the one and only Superman in person, once again.” Y/n smirks smugly and both Lana and Clark eyes widen in surprise. Clark is quick to point a glare at Lana who jumped in surprise.

“Lana!” Clark barks and Lana puts up her hands defensively.

“I hadn’t told a soul, Clark I swear!” Lana exclaims.

“Calm down, I figured it out myself. Lana didn’t say anything, and I believe we’ve already met, eh Superman?” She says and puts down her brush. She uses her right hand to illuminate the familiar grey glow of her powers and levitates a nearby shoe.

The two stare in a stunned silence, and were forced to walk into the room more as the door closed behind them.

“I think we have some things to discuss, don’t we Clark?” Y/n says and puts her left leg over her right.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Enjoy and thanks for reading! Be sure to like, reblog, follow and comment!

Let me know if you guys want a part 2!