fishbrain-glubglub - Tumblr blog

[fishbrain-glubglub]

Despite the looming threat of the fast approaching school year, the Massachusetts beach scene was filled with adolescents grasping at the last straws of their summer freedom. Jet Skis were rented, sunbathers were lounging, and many athletes excited for their upcoming seasons scrimmaged constantly in the sand. Cornwall’s boys and girls soccer teams traded places on their makeshift sandy field, taunting each other on skill, bragging about their stats, and jabbing about the other’s previous seasonal record.

The keeper for the Cornwall boy’s team eyed a particular forward on the girl’s team, smirking every time she juked out her fellow teammates, stole the ball, or made an incredible score. Her skills were definitely improving, pretty rapidly, in fact. There was a mixture of both pride and fear as he glanced at his fellow teammates and realized she could seriously compete with many of the first string members on his team, bypassing the second stringers altogether. This uncomfortable mixture of emotions were swept away by affection as he watched the ball curve almost expertly into the right side of the small net, right where he knew she would. Both teams cheered at the goal, celebrating with wild antics as she pretended to blow them all away. The keeper fell back as dramatically as he could, causing the forward to laugh with adoration in her eyes.

After a couple more shots made by each side, the teams disbursed, ready for other beach-centered activities. The boy’s keeper sprinted off down the beach, knowing exactly what the girl’s center forward was thinking. She dribbled the ball, eyeing the shot, and with a confident smile, she swung her leg, connecting with the ball, and watched it sail flawlessly through a decorative lifeguard life preserver right into the keeper’s hands. With wide smiles on their faces, the two players met in the middle.

“Oh, she shoots, she scores!” The keeper narrated while tossing the sandy ball in his hands. “Gooooooal!”

“What? That’s right!” The forward bragged, attempting to grab at the ball. But the keeper moved it out of reach. “Give it. Come on!”

Instead of giving in, the keeper tossed the ball aside before bending down and lifting the forward up by her legs over his shoulder. She playfully swatted at him and shrieked his name, but they were laughing all the same.

“Put me down!” She shrieked. He didn’t catch the way her body had tensed as he laid them down on an abandoned towel as his fingers grazed her exposed skin or the brief pinched expression her face held as she realized how he was laying them. Instead, he continued the charade and fell right onto her shoulder with a dopey smile on his face.

“Oh, sorry.” They both knew he was not sorry. She laughed.

“Hey.” Her voice pitched up in greeting before her hands found his face, closing in for a kiss. It was brief, but the keeper felt confident all the same.

They smiled at each other before the keeper dipped his head in mock defeat. “Okay, you’re really getting good.”

“Aw, you too.” The forward teased. “I mean, when we first started going out, you couldn’t kiss at all.”

“I meant at soccer.”

“Aw, really?”

“Absolutely, you’re-” The keeper took a breath, bumping foreheads with the forward before stroking her hair as she laughed. “Probably already better than half of the guys on my team.”

The forward laughed some more. “Probably more than half.”

There was a beat of contemplation for the keeper before the forward leant in for another kiss. As it progressed, however, her comment from earlier clicked in his head. He pulled her away rather sharply in confusion. “What do you mean ‘I couldn’t kiss at all?’”

“Don’t worry.” A slight smirk danced on her face. “I’ve taught you well.”

The keeper and the forward shared teasing smiles before leaning in for another kiss, this time with heat behind it. The keeper let his hands roam, feeling the player underneath him.

For the forward, however, her thoughts were running, but not with excitement. Alarms began ringing loudly in her head, warning her of the blatant discomfort at the touch. It wasn’t necessarily the fact that the keeper was touching her, but where he was touching her. As his lips followed her jawline down her neck and onto her shoulder, a cold chill ran through her body.

He’s too close. Her thoughts ran. It’s too much. He’s too close. I can’t. Please, don’t touch them. Her hands shook slightly as the forward guided the keeper back to her lips, preventing the keeper from exploring more. There was a slight whine of protest, but as the kiss depended, the forward felt the keeper forget about his previous adventure, content with exploring her mouth.

The warnings subsided, but never left, for as the forward and the keeper continued their heated adolescent escapade in the sun, the forward wished deep in her heart that things could be a little different. She wanted to feel his lips touch her skin, but without the rather obnoxious protrusions on her chest. She wished she wasn’t forced to wear such a stupid and itchy top that made her feel squeamish and sensitive at the same time. She desperately wanted to trade her worn pair of jean shorts for swim trunks and feel the way they swayed in the breeze. She was almost tearful at the way the keeper teased her long brown hair, wishing she could cut it to match his and feel him scratch her scalp with care.

There were many things the forward wished for. The biggest was that she wished she could tell her boyfriend her biggest secret, one that had been following her since she began her high school career at Cornwall Academy. The secret that only a handful of people in her life knew, because if the wrong people found out, she would be in danger wherever she went.

The forward wished he could tell the world that his name was Victor Hastings, and he was a man.

[fishbrain-glubglub]

Now cross-posted on AO3 if that's more your jam.

Enjoy. :)

She's Not Here

If anyone were to ask the BAU who the epitome of masculinity was, they would all immediately point towards their Unit Chief: SSA Aaron Hotchner.

The man effortlessly oozed masculinity. His solid 6’2” stature framed perfectly in his tailored suits made many mouths water at the sight, daydreaming about the body that lay in waiting underneath. Not a day went by where at least one person hadn't drooled over his stubble-peppered jawline, claiming it was sharp enough to effortlessly cut glass. His signature stoic aura only emphasized his classic alpha male status to any passersby familiar or not to the man. There was no doubt to anyone's mind that Aaron Hotchner was what every man dreamed to be.

But standing in only his boxer briefs in front of his bedroom mirror, all Aaron could see was everything he deemed wasn't manly. His hips were too wide despite being surrounded by well-toned muscle after decades of running and UnSub chasing. His jawline, while covered in stubble not yet shaven, wasn't as sharp as many of his admirers claimed it was. His shoulders, while looking wide and commanding in a sharp suit, felt narrow and small bared for his room to see. His chest bulged in all the wrong ways despite the faint twin scars bordering the bottom of each toned pectoral. Despite the decades of time Aaron had worked to achieve his current form, he could still see her poking through every insecurity he kept hidden, taunting him with the same dark chocolate eyes that sent even the most hardened UnSubs cowering.

A scowl glared back at him in the mirror as he crossed his arms defensively across his chest. The phantom ache of utter wrongness seeping from every inch of his skin began to rapidly bubble to the surface. No matter how hard he tried to quell her from resurfacing, she always managed to seep through the cracks, blasting a neon sign to reveal all of his obvious flaws to the world and to himself. He couldn't seem to shake the ghost of her presence no matter how hard he tried. It was days like this that he wondered why he even tried so hard to be himself, to be comfortable in his own skin.

A tiny flash of silver caught his eye in the mirror before two familiar lanky arms enveloped him from behind, pulling Aaron out from his mental spiral. A calming warmth spread against his backside before the caress of soft lips peppered his shoulders.

“Keep glaring at the mirror like that and it might just confess.”

A soft huff of laughter escaped from Aaron's lips as his gaze left his own and settled on bright amber hues eyeing him lovingly from behind. His arms never left their tight embrace over his chest, but his stance softened significantly. He let his shoulders sag and gently leaned back into the comforting embrace of his husband.

Spencer gave Aaron's torso a soft squeeze, beginning a gentle sway of their body's to a tune unheard by Aaron but calming nonetheless.

They stayed tangled in front of the mirror until Aaron's arm finally fell from their tense state across his chest, turning his back to the mirror and nuzzling his face into the crook of his partner's neck. His hands settled on Spencer's hips as Spencer snaked his hands up his husband's torso before settling around Aaron's neck. They continued to sway to an unknown tune in the comfort of their room hidden safely away from the rest of the world. Aaron was so lost in Spencer's embrace that he hadn't realized he had begun to tremble until he heard his husband begin to gently soothe him.

“Shh, sweetheart. It's okay. I'm right here.” Aaron felt one of Spencer's hands begin to caress the hairs on his neck, causing his already shaky resolve to fracture further. His arms tightened around his husband briefly, desperately trying to cling to any semblance of his hardened stoic mask as he could.

“Aaron.” Spencer's hand left his hair to cup his face, pulling Aaron from the safety of his partner's neck. He kept his gaze down and away from the growing concern in his husband's eyes and tried desperately to reign in his emotions.

Spencer was having none of it. “Aaron,” he repeated, rubbing gentle circles on his husband's trembling cheek. “Honey, please. Talk to me.”

Aaron instinctively shook his head, not wanting to voice his thoughts. If he said them out loud, it meant admitting they were true. He desperately clung to the silence, wanting to cling to his masculinity as long as he could.

Aaron felt his husband sigh. He closed his eyes, mentally preparing for the worst: Spencer telling him he couldn't be with someone so unmanly as Aaron. Spencer withdrawing and leaving him to deal with his internal turmoil on his own. Spencer telling him to suck it up and deal with it like a real man. 

Deep down, Aaron knew these scenarios would never happen. Spencer had seen Aaron at his lowest many times over, had known his deepest secret longer than the rest of the team - save for Rossi who had known since Aaron had originally joined the FBI. They wouldn't have gotten married if Spencer hadn't been confident in their commitment to each other for the rest of their lives.

That still didn't stop Aaron's mind from jumping to the worst at every moment it could.

A gentle hand under his chin snapped Aaron's gaze to his husband's, finding nothing but concern and worry in the comforting amber eyes. Spencer's frown pulled his brow down in a way Aaron wanted to kiss away, instantly hating himself for putting that look on his face.

“Why don't you finish getting ready, okay?” Spencer's hand returned to his cheek, rubbing soothing patterns against the peaking stubble. “I'll be right here when you're ready.”

With a small nod, they untangled themselves from each other before Aaron walked over to his dresser, ignoring the mirror as much as he could. It only took a moment for him to slip on the thin shirt before turning back to their bed.

Spencer had already settled on his side of the bed, watching his partner with caring eyes. Aaron crossed the room quickly, turning off his bedside lamp before slipping under the covers and settling against his husband, holding him as close as he could without suffocating the man.

Aaron was grateful for the few moments Spencer allowed them to stay tightly embraced. He knew he would have to talk about it soon, but for a moment, he could lose himself in the embrace of the man he trusted everything to. He siphoned as much love and comfort he could before Spencer shifted, squirming his way out of Aaron's close embrace and forced their eyes to meet.

No words were spoken at first. Spencer had resumed the comforting patterns on Aaron’s cheek, providing a grounding presence to his inner turmoil. After a few more silent moments, Aaron closed his eyes and braced himself.

“She won’t leave me alone.”

Arms immediately wrapped around his shoulders, pulling Aaron close to the warmth of his husband’s chest. Tears he wasn’t previously aware of began to stream down his face as he took in a ragged breath, all of his pent up emotions flooding to the surface. It was as if the dam holding back all of his frustration broke at the contact. Silent sobs wracked his body as he felt the soothing hum of Spencer’s voice against the man’s chest.

“Shh, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Spencer resumed carding gentle fingers through Aaron’s short locks. “She’s not here anymore, remember? She hasn’t been here in a long time. All I see is my amazing, strong, handsome, sexy husband.” A weak wet laugh cut through the quiet sobs. “I’m serious!” Spencer added with a smile in his voice. “Do you know how many men and women I catch eyeing you at the office? Hell, the amount of times I’ve caught Morgan eyeing you out of jealousy in the past two weeks and three days alone should be enough proof. That’s not even mentioning how many whispered conversations I overhear in the bullpen from JJ and Emily on what you look like underneath your suit on a weekly basis. JJ, who is perfectly happy in her marriage to Will, and Emily, who hungrily stares at every woman in a short skirt who walks past her desk. Rossi might seem like a neutral party, but anyone can see the smirk he hides in his morning cup of coffee when you open the door for a poor intern as they practically trip over themselves to follow. Garcia doesn’t even need an explanation. And don’t even get me started on the amount of LEOs I’ve caught eyeing you in your vest. It should be downright sinful to look as rugged as you do with your sleeves rolled up, gun in hand, commanding the scene with only a glare.” Spencer chuckled softly, scratching Aaron’s scalp. “That’s not even touching the amount of glazed over faces I spot when you talk. I’m sure you could get almost an entire room of highly decorated officers to do whatever you wanted with a single command. Any deity knows I would comply to your sultry voice in an instant.”

Laughter had rapidly replaced the sobs shaking Aaron’s body. He hid himself against his husband’s chest, covering his blushing cheeks from Spencer’s generous observations. “Spence,” he whined.

“I swear, Aaron, it’s a good thing you're married. Otherwise, you’d have people throwing themselves left and right at you. You’re the perfect male specimen. Hell, even I’m jealous of you, and I’m the one that married you!”

Aaron couldn’t hold back the eyeroll as he peaked out from his hiding spot. He felt his face split into a wide grin before replaying Spencer’s words in his head, his smile faltering. He glanced away, muttering softly under his breath, feeling himself tense all over again.

“Hey, hey. Don’t do that.” Spencer cupped his face with one hand and forced their eyes to meet. “What’s wrong, love?”

A sigh escaped Aaron’s lips before he whispered, “I’m not the perfect male specimen.”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Aaron let out a dejected huff. “I’m not the perfect male specimen,” he repeated a little louder. “I can’t even-” His voice cracked. “I don’t have… I couldn’t…” Tears blurred his vision. “Haley had to… Jack isn't even-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Aaron.” Spencer propped himself up on one elbow, still cradling Aaron’s tear-stricken face with the other. “Whatever you’re thinking about stops right now. You, Aaron Thomas Hotchner-Reid, are that boy’s father. No amount of DNA tests or medical insemination procedures with sperm donors can tell you otherwise. You have raised Jack from the very beginning, and you have done it wonderfully. He is growing into such a bright and confident young man because you are showing him how. You are an amazing father, and I know for a fact that Jack wants to grow up to be just like you.”

Whatever argument Aaron had to counter died on his tongue as Spencer leaned down for a soft kiss. There was no heat or alternative motive behind the gesture. It stayed soft and gentle, soothing Aaron’s inner turmoil. Reaching up, he wrapped Spencer in his arms and pulled the man down to his chest, soaking in the love and care from the contact. They laid together, wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing gentle kisses until the last bit of tension left Aaron’s body. After one more press of their lips, Spencer scooted down his body, snuggling into his chest and resting his ear right over Aaron’s now calm heart.

“Now sleep,” Spencer muttered, already half asleep. “You need your energy to ward off all your admirers at the office and to take your husband on an extra long lunch break tomorrow.”

Aaron frowned. “What are we doing that requires a long lunch break?”

He felt Spencer’s sleepy mischievous smile against his chest “You’re going to prove to me just how manly you are.”

“Oh really?” Aaron couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “And how am I going to do that?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with a few ideas.”

As Aaron kissed the top of his husband’s head and settled in for the night, he couldn’t help but think of all the ways he would prove Spencer right.

[fishbrain-glubglub]

She's Not Here

If anyone were to ask the BAU who the epitome of masculinity was, they would all immediately point towards their Unit Chief: SSA Aaron Hotchner.

The man effortlessly oozed masculinity. His solid 6’2” stature framed perfectly in his tailored suits made many mouths water at the sight, daydreaming about the body that lay in waiting underneath. Not a day went by where at least one person hadn't drooled over his stubble-peppered jawline, claiming it was sharp enough to effortlessly cut glass. His signature stoic aura only emphasized his classic alpha male status to any passersby familiar or not to the man. There was no doubt to anyone's mind that Aaron Hotchner was what every man dreamed to be.

But standing in only his boxer briefs in front of his bedroom mirror, all Aaron could see was everything he deemed wasn't manly. His hips were too wide despite being surrounded by well-toned muscle after decades of running and UnSub chasing. His jawline, while covered in stubble not yet shaven, wasn't as sharp as many of his admirers claimed it was. His shoulders, while looking wide and commanding in a sharp suit, felt narrow and small bared for his room to see. His chest bulged in all the wrong ways despite the faint twin scars bordering the bottom of each toned pectoral. Despite the decades of time Aaron had worked to achieve his current form, he could still see her poking through every insecurity he kept hidden, taunting him with the same dark chocolate eyes that sent even the most hardened UnSubs cowering.

A scowl glared back at him in the mirror as he crossed his arms defensively across his chest. The phantom ache of utter wrongness seeping from every inch of his skin began to rapidly bubble to the surface. No matter how hard he tried to quell her from resurfacing, she always managed to seep through the cracks, blasting a neon sign to reveal all of his obvious flaws to the world and to himself. He couldn't seem to shake the ghost of her presence no matter how hard he tried. It was days like this that he wondered why he even tried so hard to be himself, to be comfortable in his own skin.

A tiny flash of silver caught his eye in the mirror before two familiar lanky arms enveloped him from behind, pulling Aaron out from his mental spiral. A calming warmth spread against his backside before the caress of soft lips peppered his shoulders.

“Keep glaring at the mirror like that and it might just confess.”

A soft huff of laughter escaped from Aaron's lips as his gaze left his own and settled on bright amber hues eyeing him lovingly from behind. His arms never left their tight embrace over his chest, but his stance softened significantly. He let his shoulders sag and gently leaned back into the comforting embrace of his husband.

Spencer gave Aaron's torso a soft squeeze, beginning a gentle sway of their body's to a tune unheard by Aaron but calming nonetheless.

They stayed tangled in front of the mirror until Aaron's arm finally fell from their tense state across his chest, turning his back to the mirror and nuzzling his face into the crook of his partner's neck. His hands settled on Spencer's hips as Spencer snaked his hands up his husband's torso before settling around Aaron's neck. They continued to sway to an unknown tune in the comfort of their room hidden safely away from the rest of the world. Aaron was so lost in Spencer's embrace that he hadn't realized he had begun to tremble until he heard his husband begin to gently soothe him.

“Shh, sweetheart. It's okay. I'm right here.” Aaron felt one of Spencer's hands begin to caress the hairs on his neck, causing his already shaky resolve to fracture further. His arms tightened around his husband briefly, desperately trying to cling to any semblance of his hardened stoic mask as he could.

“Aaron.” Spencer's hand left his hair to cup his face, pulling Aaron from the safety of his partner's neck. He kept his gaze down and away from the growing concern in his husband's eyes and tried desperately to reign in his emotions.

Spencer was having none of it. “Aaron,” he repeated, rubbing gentle circles on his husband's trembling cheek. “Honey, please. Talk to me.”

Aaron instinctively shook his head, not wanting to voice his thoughts. If he said them out loud, it meant admitting they were true. He desperately clung to the silence, wanting to cling to his masculinity as long as he could.

Aaron felt his husband sigh. He closed his eyes, mentally preparing for the worst: Spencer telling him he couldn't be with someone so unmanly as Aaron. Spencer withdrawing and leaving him to deal with his internal turmoil on his own. Spencer telling him to suck it up and deal with it like a real man. 

Deep down, Aaron knew these scenarios would never happen. Spencer had seen Aaron at his lowest many times over, had known his deepest secret longer than the rest of the team - save for Rossi who had known since Aaron had originally joined the FBI. They wouldn't have gotten married if Spencer hadn't been confident in their commitment to each other for the rest of their lives.

That still didn't stop Aaron's mind from jumping to the worst at every moment it could.

A gentle hand under his chin snapped Aaron's gaze to his husband's, finding nothing but concern and worry in the comforting amber eyes. Spencer's frown pulled his brow down in a way Aaron wanted to kiss away, instantly hating himself for putting that look on his face.

“Why don't you finish getting ready, okay?” Spencer's hand returned to his cheek, rubbing soothing patterns against the peaking stubble. “I'll be right here when you're ready.”

With a small nod, they untangled themselves from each other before Aaron walked over to his dresser, ignoring the mirror as much as he could. It only took a moment for him to slip on the thin shirt before turning back to their bed.

Spencer had already settled on his side of the bed, watching his partner with caring eyes. Aaron crossed the room quickly, turning off his bedside lamp before slipping under the covers and settling against his husband, holding him as close as he could without suffocating the man.

Aaron was grateful for the few moments Spencer allowed them to stay tightly embraced. He knew he would have to talk about it soon, but for a moment, he could lose himself in the embrace of the man he trusted everything to. He siphoned as much love and comfort he could before Spencer shifted, squirming his way out of Aaron's close embrace and forced their eyes to meet.

No words were spoken at first. Spencer had resumed the comforting patterns on Aaron’s cheek, providing a grounding presence to his inner turmoil. After a few more silent moments, Aaron closed his eyes and braced himself.

“She won’t leave me alone.”

Arms immediately wrapped around his shoulders, pulling Aaron close to the warmth of his husband’s chest. Tears he wasn’t previously aware of began to stream down his face as he took in a ragged breath, all of his pent up emotions flooding to the surface. It was as if the dam holding back all of his frustration broke at the contact. Silent sobs wracked his body as he felt the soothing hum of Spencer’s voice against the man’s chest.

“Shh, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Spencer resumed carding gentle fingers through Aaron’s short locks. “She’s not here anymore, remember? She hasn’t been here in a long time. All I see is my amazing, strong, handsome, sexy husband.” A weak wet laugh cut through the quiet sobs. “I’m serious!” Spencer added with a smile in his voice. “Do you know how many men and women I catch eyeing you at the office? Hell, the amount of times I’ve caught Morgan eyeing you out of jealousy in the past two weeks and three days alone should be enough proof. That’s not even mentioning how many whispered conversations I overhear in the bullpen from JJ and Emily on what you look like underneath your suit on a weekly basis. JJ, who is perfectly happy in her marriage to Will, and Emily, who hungrily stares at every woman in a short skirt who walks past her desk. Rossi might seem like a neutral party, but anyone can see the smirk he hides in his morning cup of coffee when you open the door for a poor intern as they practically trip over themselves to follow. Garcia doesn’t even need an explanation. And don’t even get me started on the amount of LEOs I’ve caught eyeing you in your vest. It should be downright sinful to look as rugged as you do with your sleeves rolled up, gun in hand, commanding the scene with only a glare.” Spencer chuckled softly, scratching Aaron’s scalp. “That’s not even touching the amount of glazed over faces I spot when you talk. I’m sure you could get almost an entire room of highly decorated officers to do whatever you wanted with a single command. Any deity knows I would comply to your sultry voice in an instant.”

Laughter had rapidly replaced the sobs shaking Aaron’s body. He hid himself against his husband’s chest, covering his blushing cheeks from Spencer’s generous observations. “Spence,” he whined.

“I swear, Aaron, it’s a good thing you're married. Otherwise, you’d have people throwing themselves left and right at you. You’re the perfect male specimen. Hell, even I’m jealous of you, and I’m the one that married you!”

Aaron couldn’t hold back the eyeroll as he peaked out from his hiding spot. He felt his face split into a wide grin before replaying Spencer’s words in his head, his smile faltering. He glanced away, muttering softly under his breath, feeling himself tense all over again.

“Hey, hey. Don’t do that.” Spencer cupped his face with one hand and forced their eyes to meet. “What’s wrong, love?”

A sigh escaped Aaron’s lips before he whispered, “I’m not the perfect male specimen.”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Aaron let out a dejected huff. “I’m not the perfect male specimen,” he repeated a little louder. “I can’t even-” His voice cracked. “I don’t have… I couldn’t…” Tears blurred his vision. “Haley had to… Jack isn't even-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Aaron.” Spencer propped himself up on one elbow, still cradling Aaron’s tear-stricken face with the other. “Whatever you’re thinking about stops right now. You, Aaron Thomas Hotchner-Reid, are that boy’s father. No amount of DNA tests or medical insemination procedures with sperm donors can tell you otherwise. You have raised Jack from the very beginning, and you have done it wonderfully. He is growing into such a bright and confident young man because you are showing him how. You are an amazing father, and I know for a fact that Jack wants to grow up to be just like you.”

Whatever argument Aaron had to counter died on his tongue as Spencer leaned down for a soft kiss. There was no heat or alternative motive behind the gesture. It stayed soft and gentle, soothing Aaron’s inner turmoil. Reaching up, he wrapped Spencer in his arms and pulled the man down to his chest, soaking in the love and care from the contact. They laid together, wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing gentle kisses until the last bit of tension left Aaron’s body. After one more press of their lips, Spencer scooted down his body, snuggling into his chest and resting his ear right over Aaron’s now calm heart.

“Now sleep,” Spencer muttered, already half asleep. “You need your energy to ward off all your admirers at the office and to take your husband on an extra long lunch break tomorrow.”

Aaron frowned. “What are we doing that requires a long lunch break?”

He felt Spencer’s sleepy mischievous smile against his chest “You’re going to prove to me just how manly you are.”

“Oh really?” Aaron couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “And how am I going to do that?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with a few ideas.”

As Aaron kissed the top of his husband’s head and settled in for the night, he couldn’t help but think of all the ways he would prove Spencer right.

[fishbrain-glubglub]

Imagine being an Amazon Themyscira, living up your Amazon life, but you feel wrong. You're surrounded by so many amazing warrior women, but you feel disjointed from those around you. You dismiss these feelings, of course. Just silly thoughts of adolescence. Nothing to be concerned about. Until someone dies. Right on the island. Training gone wrong. That's not supposed to happen. As long as man don't step foot on Themyscira, you and your sister are immortal. No true harm can come to you. Must have been a fluke. But then someone else dies. Your sisters are extremely worried, no matter how much Hippolyta assures everything will be fine. No man has been found on the island, but whoever is harboring them will be severly punished. All those horrid thoughts you've pushed down deep inside come flooding to the surface. The wrongness you feel, disconnected from your sisters no matter how hard you try, the feeling you get trying on the tightest of chest plates and enjoying the flatness you see, everything hits you at once and you realize: you are the man. You are the reason they are dead. As much as you tried to deny it and dismiss it, it's you causing the mortality of those warriors all by existing on the island. And now you have to leave your home forever before anyone else dies.

[fishbrain-glubglub]

Excerpt from a larger story I'm working on. Enjoy :)

TW: Slight Internalized Transphobia

As I entered my bedroom window, finally ready to fall asleep for the night, my thoughts were solely focused on releasing my tortured chest from its bindings and collapsing into bed. I haphazardly removed my cape from my shoulders and threw it in my hamper in the corner. With a heavy sigh, I grabbed the hem of my uniform top and carefully peeled it off, exposing my large bare chest to the bland beige walls of my apartment. 

“Clark?”

My entire body froze. My blood ran cold. My throat constricted until I could not take another breath. There was a buzzing noise that enveloped my entire hearing loud enough that I almost didn’t hear my name getting called again in earnest.

“Clark?”

I slowly looked over at my bedroom door, my body refusing to unclench itself from its terrified position, and my stomach dropped to the floor.

Bruce was standing halfway in the doorway, one hand clenched tightly around the doorknob, the other cradling a vintage bottle of too expensive wine that was no doubt from his personal cellar. His face, usually so poised and confident, was rife with confusion and what looked close enough to horror that my arms finally had the decency to drop my uniform top and wrap themselves as tightly as they could to my still naked chest.

“I-I can explain!” I croaked out.

Bruce’s eyes snapped up from my chest to my face at my words, his face twisting from blatant emotions to something completely unreadable. My stomach dropped from my feet to the first floor of the apartment complex. I wanted to bolt back out through my window and as far away as I could, but I was still frozen in place, staring back at my boyfriend with absolute horror and already terrifyingly close to tears.

Very slowly, Bruce entered the rest of the way into my bedroom, closed the door behind him, and set the wine bottle on my dresser. He took a few cautious steps closer, but my feet decided to unglue themselves from the floor and immediately took several steps back. Bruce stopped, looked back down at my arm-wrapped chest, then back at my face with that same damned blank face that made me want to both scream and throw up. I wasn’t sure which I preferred at the moment, but anything was better than doing nothing.

After what felt like an eternity of mental torment, Bruce took another few cautious steps closer, his hand reaching out and carefully setting warm calloused skin on my arm. It wasn’t until I felt the grounding pressure of Bruce’s touch that I realized I had been trembling violently. Tears quickly clouded my vision and threatened to gush down my face as Bruce mirrored the gesture with his other hand and began rubbing my arms gently up and down. I couldn’t do nor say anything that would convince Bruce that what he saw wasn’t real, some trick of the light or a random bout of magic. I was terrified to open my mouth again to try and explain myself, pretty sure that I would start to sob loudly instead. So I just kept my mouth firmly shut and took shaky breaths through my nose. Nothing I could do would explain the situation I had firmly face planted in.

“Clark?” Bruce’s voice was cautious and soft, causing my sealed lips to tremble. “Honey, are you… are you okay?”

An involuntary gasp left my mouth, causing my body to shake as it contained a fast approaching sob. This was not supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen. Not like this. Not so exposing and abrupt. Not so out of control.

He wasn’t supposed to know.

I had it under control.

He wasn’t supposed to find out.

And now…

Now…

There was a gentle brush of a thumb across my cheek. I hadn’t realized the tears I was fighting to stop had already begun to streak my face. Bruce's warm thumb brushed away any stray tears in its path, leaving nothing but warmth in its wake.

“Kal?”

That's what broke me. That damn name from his lips, the name I told him was given to me at my birth on Krypton, cut through my soul like a kryptonite blade. My legs gave out beneath me, causing my knees to land harshly against my thinly carpeted floor. Bruce followed me down, still cradling my face and arm in his gentle touch. His beautiful steel-blue eyes never left my face as I crumpled around myself in a pitiful ball of disgust. How Bruce could still touch me so gently after what he had seen, I wasn’t sure. I felt gross and pathetic, and more alien than my powers had ever made me. I felt like a fraud, and the one person I never wanted to deceive had found my deepest darkest secret in the worst way possible. I had never craved death more than I had kneeling on my shabby carpeted floor, topless, with Bruce in clear sight of my wrongness.

Maybe I was going to throw up after all.

The hand that brushed away my tears carefully cradled my face and tipped my head up so I was once again face-to-face with Bruce. His face was still blank, but there was a calming comfort to the familiar features. Under different circumstances, I would've leaned in for a slow sweet kiss, but my body stayed frozen where it was, repulsed at the idea that I may never feel the sensation of Bruce’s lips on mine again.

“Hey,” Bruce cooed softly. “Hey now, don’t do that.” His other hand cupped my remaining cheek, so now my face was completely cradled in his careful grasp. “No need to cry, love. It’s okay.” A stifled sob tore from my throat, but Bruce just continued. “I’ve got you, Kal. You’re okay. It’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay.”

I gave Bruce a weak shake of my head. No, it was definitely not okay. In no definition of the word was this very situation anything close to okay. Everything I had worked so hard to hide, everything I had worked so damn hard to seem like the truth crumbled away before my very eyes. Bruce knew. He knew what I truly was. There was no going back from this. This was the line I never wanted to cross, and now that I had, my life would be over. 

This is where Bruce would leave me, call me a freak, disgusting, unnatural, worse than alien, lower than humanity. He would tell the rest of the world what an absolute disgrace their supposed “savior” was and begin a witch hunt for my removal from Metropolis, North America, the whole fucking planet. Everything I had would be lost to me forever, all because I couldn’t be happy with who I was born as. I couldn’t be happy as Caroline Joe Kent, the only daughter of Jonathan and Martha Kent. I couldn’t be happy as Kaia Jor-El, the last survivor and daughter of Krypton. I couldn’t be happy as an icon for all little girls everywhere by being one of the most iconic heroines right next to Wonder Woman herself. I couldn’t be happy as that stupid little girl who grew up wanting to make a difference in the world that she barely understood. I just couldn’t be happy as that girl.

I couldn’t be happy.

So I changed.

And now I was suffering for it.

At some point during my mental spiral, Bruce had cradled my head to his shoulder, wrapped one arm around my back, and started to slowly rock back and forth while rubbing soothing patterns along my bare skin. Wet sobs had begun to crawl their way out of my throat, but they only seemed to make Bruce hold onto me harder as if he could shield me from my own suffering. It was disorienting to feel such gentle care before the unavoidable rejection happened. I wanted to pull away and let Bruce go first, tell him I understood and that there were no hard feelings, then cry myself to sleep. I wanted to plead for him to forget what he saw and not tell a single soul. I wanted to live in a world where I was a real man and not some pathetic imitation. I just wanted to feel whole.

[fishbrain-glubglub]

Posted this on AO3 if anyone is willing to check it out over there!

Seven months, fifteen days, four hours, and thirty-seven minutes.

It had been that long since Bruce's heart had been violently ripped out of his chest as he watched Superman- his best friend, his partner in-and-out of crime, his sunshine, his husband- crumple lifelessly to the ground, bloodied almost beyond recognition in his tattered uniform worn from his final battle against his home planet's ultimate weapon. It had been that long since the life left the Kryptonian's otherworldly cornflower blue eyes, taking Bruce’s soul along with it. It had been that long since Batman stopped pulling back his punches, beating even common crooks inches within their lives just to feel the pound of flesh against the void that filled his senses. If it was a bad night, the Dark Knight would even allow those same criminals to get the drop on him, allowing these low-level nobodies to beat him senseless just to remember what it was like to feel something, anything other than the bare nothingness where his heart used to reside.

Sometimes, the Batman even allowed the higher level rogues get the drop on him, falling into trap after trap just to feel the thrill of adrenaline at the thought that maybe it was his time, and he would finally be reunited with his zrhomin again in blissful eternity amongst the stars.

This was one of those moments.

"Truly, Batman, I must admit I am perplexed." Edward Nigma circled the captured Caped Crusader twirling his question mark cane lazily in the air. "I have created quite a list of complex contraptions in the past, only for you to masterfully evade and vanquish my plans without so much as a batarang out of place." Nigma stopped right in front of Batman, a menacing sneer warping his pale face. "Yet here you are, battered, bloodied, and barely a threat. I can only conclude that all those seemingly ludicrous rumors are true."

Batman bared his bloodied teeth with a sneer of his own, itching for Riddler to finish his monolog so the fight could commence. The overwhelming inner numbness had already begun to creep within the vigilante's chest, stealing his every breath in its greed to consume.

Nigma only sighed and shook his head slowly, pulling at the question mark end of his cane to reveal a blade. "I had always imagined our final battle to be both a test of brain and brawn, but I guess I must settle for what I am given." He placed the blade against Batman's jaw and leaned in close. "Give my regards to the Man of Steel, will you? At least he still appreciated my riddles in the end."

Behind the white lenses of his cracked cowl, Bruce closed his eyes imagining the golden radiance of his beloved's ethereal form, accepting the final blow and awaited his eternal damnation.

The blow never came.

There was a brief gust of wind, knocking Batman to the ground before his bindings vanished, freeing his aching limbs from their containment. The man's eyes snapped open as he regained his equilibrium, rolling to his feet before he could collapse. He looked around for the Riddler, expecting another ploy to spring any moment.

Instead, a figure clad in a simple black Kryptonian suit hovered just outside the Dark Knight's reach, radiating light like the sun itself despite the sliver of moonlight peaking through Gotham’s cloudy skyline. The man's curly black hair gently brushed against his shoulders, pairing strikingly well with the face of slightly disheveled facial hair that framed the man's face perfectly. His eyes, vibrant and full of warmth, bore right through Bruce’s chest, warming the external chill he had been damned to carry. The sight before him was too good to be true.

It had to be.

"B." The black-clad figure flashed a strikingly familiar smile, sending the Dark Knight's nonexistent heart racing.

Batman took a large step back, crouching into a defensive stance. "I don't know who you are, or who made you, but I will not hesitate to send you back in pieces."

A confused look warped the mysterious figure's face. "B? What are you talking about? It's me."

"You may have his face, automaton," Batman snarled. "But you will never truly capture the essence of the Man of Steel."

Hurt merged with the figure's confusion. "Bruce, please-"

A batarang bounced harmlessly off the black-clad chest, the figure's hand catching the weapon in the blink of an eye. It looked down at the object in both disappointment and slight anguish before raising its gaze back at Batman, its well-crafted eyes pleading.

"Bruce-"

"Stop!" Batman threatened the figure with another batarang. "I don't know how your creator gained that name, but if you say it one more time, I will destroy every trace of your and your creator's existence before the night's end."

The figure held up its hands in a placating gesture, still holding the batarand between its pointer finger and thumb. "It’s okay, B. I promise it's really me." When Batman said nothing, it continued. "Will you let me prove it to you?"

Batman growled. "Nothing you do can prove you are nothing more than a fake."

The figure's chuckle sent a tingling warmth through Batman's body. It was so familiar, so realistic, he could almost imagine this automaton was the real Man of Steel. The figure's mouth curled up into an accurate teasing grin. "Try me."

Batman quickly internally rattled off a list of questions, only to just as quickly dismiss them from thought. Many of them contained information accessible to the public. Questions related to Justice League information unknown to the public could still be obtained (though if that were true, Bruce would've been alerted before it could ever be transplanted into a fake). Still, there were so few options for the figure to truly confirm its identity.

Unless...

Batman straightened from his battle stance, storing his batarangs back in his belt and looked the figure directly in its eyes. The automaton slowly lowered its arms to its side, dropping the batarang to the dusty warehouse floor. A hopeful smile danced on its perfectly sculpted features, eyes gleaming similar to Bruce's memory.

The Dark Knight took a moment to brace himself, taking a deep breath before speaking as calmly as the numbness would allow.

"There lies the heat of summer

On your cheek's lovely art;

There lies the cold of winter

Within zhao,tes lonely heart."

Recognition and joy lit up the figure's face as it made an aborted motion forward before forcing itself to stay.

"That will change, Vikhzhao,

The end not as the start!

Winter on your cheek then,

Summer in your heart."

Before Bruce could even register the movement, he was lunging forward into the figure's- into Kal's- strong yet gentle arms, burying his bruised face into the crook of his husband's neck. The comforting warmth of the Kryptonian filled the crushing void that hard tried to consume Bruce for months, restarting his heart and sending a rapid rhythm under his skin. Seven months, fifteen days, four hours, and fifty-two minutes worth of anguish and sorrow bubbled violently to the surface of the Dark Knight's psyche, threatening to escape through his now trembling lips.

A gentle hand began rubbing soothing patterns against Bruce's tattered back while the other held him close, not daring to let go anytime soon.

"Hey now, B. It's okay." Kal's soothing tenor sent another wave of relief amongst Bruce's other overwhelming emotions threatening to consume the man. "I'm here, darling, I promise."

"You idiot!" Anger swelled above everything else, causing Bruce to pull away from Kal's embrace enough to look his husband in his beautiful otherworldly eyes, pounding half-heartedly on his perfect chest. "You fucking moron! You weren't supposed to die! Not until I was long gone, our life full of happy memories and zero regrets!"

"And that can still happen." The Kryptonian's smile didn't waver as he cupped his partner's jaw, lighting up every inch of Bruce's being. "I'm here, aren't I? There's still plenty of time."

"No."

Confusion shrouded Kal's smile. "No?"

Bruce tightened his grip on his love's waist, scowling without any heat behind it. "No. We have seven months, fifteen days, four hours, and fifty-six minutes of catching up to do." He glanced at the distant Gotham skyline before returning his now heated gaze to his partner. "And Bruce Wayne has a mandatory quarterly review meeting in six hours and twenty-seven minutes."

A darker, more mischievous grin spread on Kal's face. "I can get us home before you can list all of the things we have missed."

"That's not fair." Bruce huffed. "That's a very long list."

Kal scooped Bruce into a long familiar (yet still embarrassing) bridal carry before leaning down for the most heart-felt kiss Bruce had ever experienced in a long time. His body was instantly filled to the brim with warmth and love and happiness and Kal, melting away any physical or mental pain from Bruce's mind. Everything was realigned once more, life becoming worth living once more.

After what felt like a millenia and yet only the briefest of a millisecond, Kal pulled away, his brilliant sapphire eyes gleaming with light Bruce never thought he'd see again.

"You better get started then."

He never did finish that list.

[fishbrain-glubglub]

The piercing shriek was nothing Clark had ever heard before. Pure agony rang in his ears as the reporter sat dutifully at his desk, his body stiff from the intense onslaught his advanced hearing honed in on. Clark held back a wince as the screaming continued, consuming his attention with heartbreak and despair.

This voice, as anguished as it was, seemed familiar to Clark. It stood out compared to similar cries he heard daily. This cry was distinct, yet one he had never heard before. The man wracked his brain to understand the source, provide comfort possibly, be a shining light to whatever the cause could be-

Every thought froze in the Kryptonian's mind as he realized what, no, who he was hearing. Without a second thought, Clark excused himself out of the office, flying up and out the Planet at his fastest possible speed, not daring to waste another second to hear more of such a pained outcry.

It was what felt like both long torturous hours and mere blink-and-you'll-miss-it seconds before Superman landed at the wreckage. Fire licked across the scattered remains of a warehouse as the hero's gaze desperately scanned the landscape before spotting the source of such despair.

One would think that Superman had seen it all during his ever growing heroic career. He had witnessed so much death, destruction, and destress almost every time he put on the cape that one would believe that what he saw wouldn't bring him to his knees, trembling and begging Rao or God or whoever would listen that what he saw was a lie, that it was just a dream. Please, please, please let it just be a dream!

A crimson stained red, yellow, and green costume hung tattered against the limp form of a young figure very precious in the Man of Steel's life. The familiar facial features were frozen in a warped mangled caricature under a ripped green domino mask, barely hiding the lifeless gaze of brilliant blue joyous eyes that bore right through Superman's impervious skin. The entire broken form was cradled within the trembling black and grey armored embrace of the source of Clark's urgency.

The wailing never faltered as the Kryptonian slowly approached the gust-wrenching sight before him. It took every fiber of self control from the Man of Steel to not collapse and join in on the mourning before him. He pushed down his grief, his pain, even his anger as he slowly knelt beside the crumpled forms of a loving father and his battered son.

For someone who dedicated their entire career to mastering their prose, the right words failed to come to Clark as he kneeled against the man he had devoted his life to. He scrambled his brain for any comforting phrase, but only the mantra of "No. Not him. Please, not him. Not our precious boy." repeated over and over and over again and remained over his partner's cry. His throat squashed any attempt at speaking, halting any comfort he could possibly give. All he could do was look down at the battered and bloodied form of the boy he considered a son and silently weep at the sight.

A sudden movement from the corner of his eye followed by a muted thump grasped the Man of Steel's attention, forcing his eyes away from the massacre and to his partner. A chill ran down Clark's spine before he shifted behind the Dark Knight and pinned the grieving man's arms to his kevlared chest, stopping the self-inflicting attack before actual damage could be done.

"Please, B." Clark whispered against the trembling cowl. Peak human strength struggled desperately against the Man of Steel's alien grasp, fighting wildly for a release. "Stay with me."

A horse battle cry replaced the anguished screams of before as Clark held a firm - yet gentle - grasp on his partner. With every attempt of escape, Clark's only strengthened his resolve to not let go until the thoughtless thrashing stopped. He whispered the same five words again and again until the man before his ceased his attack and crumpled back over the boy.

Croaked whispers fell from the Bat's lips as the man stared down at his son. The were so soft and wrecked that Clark almost missed their meaning.

"It should've been me."

"I should've been faster."

"I should've known sooner."

"It's not fair."

"All my fault."

"Jason, I'm so sorry."

"Should've been me."

"No." Clark's voice was stern as his grip on his partner tightened ever so slightly. "Don't say that."

"It's true!" Bruce yelled. He sounded so broken to Clark to make his heart clench. "It's my fault!"

Clark shook his head against the back of the cowl. "It's not. You couldn't have known-"

"I should have! I'm the goddamn Batman, World's Greatest Detective! I should have known this would happen!" The kevlared man tried to withdraw again from the Man of Steel's grasp, trying to stand from their knelt positions. Clark held on, however, and pinned the man to his chest despite Bruce's newfound resistance. It pained him to restrain his partner, but nothing good would come from Bruce's pain at his own hands.

It took some more struggling before his partner calmed down again, falling limp once more against the Kryptonian. The Dark Knight's self-depreciating murmurs slowed until exhaustion finally took over, silencing his grief for now.

Clark sat there in the eerie silence as the rest of the world fell away, his resolve quickly crumbling under his desperate need to stay strong. With a deep breath, Clark stood cradling both his sleeping partner and the broken form of their young son and took off towards the hotel Bruce Wayne was staying at. He felt separate from his body as he set both forms on the overly luscious beds, both looking as if they were fast asleep.

Without making a sound, Superman left the hotel room and rocketed into the sky, blasting past Earth's atmosphere and into the void of space. He left himself float aimlessly for a moment, letting his resolve completely dissolve and his emotions emerge.

The Man of Steel closed his eyes for what he wished was the last time and screamed.

fic idea: Clark having to hold a screaming Bruce down on the ground, he’s the only one strong enough to do it without hurting him.

[fishbrain-glubglub]

The fight was going on forever, and Danny was exhausted.

Plasmius had appeared in Amity Park, flaunting some evil plan or whatever. Danny had honestly stopped paying attention after the fourth "Little Badger" and was just trying to figure out a way to escape so he could not study for his upcoming Biology exam and maybe catch more than five hours of sleep in a night.

At least the "not studying" part seemed to be going well for him.

"Honestly, Daniel, I expected more from you." The vampire-imitator blasted a pink ecto-ray at the boy, who didn't have the energy to dodge, and was sent sprawling onto the nearest rooftop, oozing ectoplasm from various cuts across his body. His healing factor was slowed due to lack of rest, and his body was utilizing more of his ecto-energy to just stay in his ghost-form, let alone try and counter-attack. If it wasn't for the fact it was a weekday, Danny would've put more effort into fighting back so he could spend the next day resting.

"Sorry to disappoint, Vlad." Danny rose slowly to his feet, hoping he wasn't shaking. "Not everyone can lounge around in an oversized mansion making thousands of dollars by just breathing."

"Oh, but you could, my boy. All you have to do is-"

"Renounce my father and become your loyal son, blah blah blah." Danny rolled his eyes and held his still bleeding side, praying to keep his ghost form long enough to escape. "You're so predictable. Is there anything you think about that isn't pining over my mom and bribing my loyalty? Get a cat or something."

Plasmius growled and sent another blast to the boy, knocking him back to the ground. Coughing up what felt like three lungs, Danny looked up at the looming fruit loop and shuttered before his ghost form finally dissipated. Ectoplasm transformed into blood and began staining his normal clothes before he was picked up by the back of his shirt. As Danny was turned to face Plasmius, he noticed the frown on the halfa's face.

"What," growled Danny, baring teeth slightly bloodied from his nose. "Was my beating not satisfying enough for you?"

Instead of replying, Vlad set Danny on his shaky feet, stabilizing the boy by holding him under his arms. Settling himself next to Danny, Vlad transformed back to his human form, the frown never leaving his face.

"Oh, now are you going to prove your superiority by beating me in human form?"

Vlad's grip tightened around Danny, digging his fingers into the boy's side, tensing the wraps around his chest Danny had forgotten about.

Oh shit.

"Care to explain, Daniel, what these are?" The man dug his fingers into the wrap again, causing Danny to wince.

"None of your business, Candy Pants." he bit out.

Vlad hummed before narrowing his eyes. "Despite what your naive young mind believes, I do care about your well being."

"You have a wonderful way of showing it."

"And because I care," Vlad continued. "I must insist that if you are to be binding, you are to do it properly and only for the maximum allotted hours for your safety."

Danny's blood ran cold as his entire body stiffened. There was no way that Vlad, after a single interaction, knew what the wraps around Danny's chest were for. "I don't know what your talking about."

"Oh please, dear boy, spare me your pathetic excuses. I know improper chest binding when I see it." Vlad had begun to guide Danny to the edge of the roof, glancing around to check for bystanders before turning the duo invisible and floating them down to the alley below before they emerged onto the sidewalk. "I might be old, but I am not oblivious."

Panic started to settle deep within Danny's core as Vlad led him down the street. The man seemed to be busy on his phone, typing away, probably doing boring rich people things Danny was too poor to care about. He didn't even think he had enough energy to phase out of Vlad's grip or even run down the street without collapsing. He could only hope that Vlad would take pity on him and leave him on a corner so he could crawl his way back home and get many three hours of sleep before starting his day over again with a new set of bruises.

To his surprise, waiting at the corner was a limo with the driver holding open the back door like in the movies. Danny glanced up at Vlad, but the man was still engrossed in his phone, barely sparing a glance at the driver as he dragged the boy into the back, signaling to the driver to start driving.

"I would say I'm surprised at the kidnapping," Danny snarked, trying not to get too comfortable in the admittedly luxurious seats while also trying to push down his rising panic. "but you've already tried to kill me on multiple occasions, so I'll just wait until we get to the torture chamber I'm sure you have hidden in your basement."

Vlad let out a sigh, still not looking away from his phone. "Relax, Daniel."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one being kidnapped." He wrapped his arms tightly against his aching chest as Vlad sent him a short glare, flashing red eyes before returning to his phone.

Seriously, what was going on?

He must have nodded off without realizing it, because when he opened his eyes, the neon sign of Fenton Works was shining through the window. Vlad, no longer on his phone, seemed to be patiently waiting for Danny to rise from his much needed slumber.

"Take a photo, it'll last longer."

Vlad only rolled his eyes before exiting the limo. He motioned for Danny to follow, tapping his foot impatiently on the pavement.

After sliding out of the back, Vlad placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his back before guiding him up the steps to the front door.

Before he could slip inside and collapse on his bed for the foreseeable future (until his alarm went of in the morning), Vlad's hand shifted to his shoulder, squeezing for a moment before turning the boy to face him. There was a glimmer of something different in the older man's eye than Danny hadn't seen before. The only word his sleep deprived brain could conjure up was sympathetic. But that couldn't be true. This was Vlad after all.

"If there ever is a time where you need anything..." The man's eyes glanced down to the hidden bindings for a moment before looking back to Danny. "specific your parents might not be aware enough to fund, I am willing to support those endeavors."

Danny narrowed his eyes. "What game are you playing at, Plasmius?"

"No games, dear boy." Vlad patted his shoulder before withdrawing his hand completely. "As I have stated, I care for your well being. Despite our differences, we are more alike than you think. I have a certain understanding that others might be unable to comprehend."

Danny's sleepy brain tried to read between the lines, but he had clearly spent too much energy just trying to stand up straight. Vlad noticed, huffing out a laugh to himself before turning back to his limo.

"Wait!"

Vlad turned around and raised an eyebrow.

"You're not gonna..." Danny licked his lips. "You're not gonna tell anyone, are you?"

That weird glimmer returned to the fruit loop's eyes. "It's not my place, Little Badger. I'd be quite the hypocrite if I went around 'exposing' your secret."

Danny frowned. "Why?"

Vlad flashed his perfect human teeth. "You'll understand soon enough. Rest well, son" He turned back around and reentered the back of the limo, riding away from a bewildered Danny.

Shaking his head, Danny entered his home, surprised at the lack of parents hovering at the door demanding why he was past curfew. Not wanting to press his luck, he rushed upstairs to his room, shutting the door quietly and ready to sleep until he was 20.

Before he could collapse into bed, however, he noticed the decently sized package waiting for him. It was in a plain black bag, no decals, no logos, nothing. Curious, Danny looked in the bag.

He gasped.

Inside was a stack of skin-colored binders. Proper binders from those websites Danny browsed every so often, unsure on how to ask his parents to buy one. Despite the risks, he had opted to just use ace bandages knowing the abundance they had due to the injuries of ghost fighting. My chest isn't that big. He would reason with himself. I'll be fine for a few hours.

It was never just a few hours, though. As long as Danny existed outside his room or the comfort of Sam or Tucker's room, the bandages were there, squeezing his chest to create the illusion that created enough serotonin to get through the day. Sure, he bound longer than he should, but he was already dead, right? What was the harm?

There was a note at the bottom of the bag, somehow written in familiar snobby fruit-loopy handwriting.

Daniel, I pray that you only use those horrid bandages for their intended purpose from now on. This bag should contain enough garments to last you a while, though with your track record, you'll require more within the year's end. Regardless, I expect you to be safe and take care of yourself properly. I am not above overshadowing you just so you don't permanently damage your ribs by being, as you so eloquently call me, a "fruit loop." I look forward to our next exchange. Vlad Masters

Danny stared at the note, rereading it again and again just to make sure it wasn't a prank and Vlad's pet ghost vultures weren't going to pop out of the bag and capture him for Vlad's gloating Packer-filled pleasure. It seemed too good to be true.

Nothing happened though. The garment stayed where they were and Danny's ghost sense didn't alert him to another threat.

The boy smiled, surprised at the tears forming in his eyes. "Thanks Vlad."

In the morning, if anyone noticed that Danny's shirt didn't seem as rumpled at his chest or that his smile seemed brighter than usual, no one commented. They let the boy go about his day, glancing out the window seemingly staring off into space, his smile never failing for a second.

[fishbrain-glubglub]

Seven months, fifteen days, four hours, and thirty-seven minutes.

It had been that long since Bruce's heart had been violently ripped out of his chest as he watched Superman- his best friend, his partner in-and-out of crime, his sunshine, his husband- crumple lifelessly to the ground, bloodied almost beyond recognition in his tattered uniform worn from his final battle against his home planet's ultimate weapon. It had been that long since the life left the Kryptonian's otherworldly cornflower blue eyes, taking Bruce’s soul along with it. It had been that long since Batman stopped pulling back his punches, beating even common crooks inches within their lives just to feel the pound of flesh against the void that filled his senses. If it was a bad night, the Dark Knight would even allow those same criminals to get the drop on him, allowing these low-level nobodies to beat him senseless just to remember what it was like to feel something, anything other than the bare nothingness where his heart used to reside.

Sometimes, the Batman even allowed the higher level rogues get the drop on him, falling into trap after trap just to feel the thrill of adrenaline at the thought that maybe it was his time, and he would finally be reunited with his zrhomin again in blissful eternity amongst the stars.

This was one of those moments.

"Truly, Batman, I must admit I am perplexed." Edward Nigma circled the captured Caped Crusader twirling his question mark cane lazily in the air. "I have created quite a list of complex contraptions in the past, only for you to masterfully evade and vanquish my plans without so much as a batarang out of place." Nigma stopped right in front of Batman, a menacing sneer warping his pale face. "Yet here you are, battered, bloodied, and barely a threat. I can only conclude that all those seemingly ludicrous rumors are true."

Batman bared his bloodied teeth with a sneer of his own, itching for Riddler to finish his monolog so the fight could commence. The overwhelming inner numbness had already begun to creep within the vigilante's chest, stealing his every breath in its greed to consume.

Nigma only sighed and shook his head slowly, pulling at the question mark end of his cane to reveal a blade. "I had always imagined our final battle to be both a test of brain and brawn, but I guess I must settle for what I am given." He placed the blade against Batman's jaw and leaned in close. "Give my regards to the Man of Steel, will you? At least he still appreciated my riddles in the end."

Behind the white lenses of his cracked cowl, Bruce closed his eyes imagining the golden radiance of his beloved's ethereal form, accepting the final blow and awaited his eternal damnation.

The blow never came.

There was a brief gust of wind, knocking Batman to the ground before his bindings vanished, freeing his aching limbs from their containment. The man's eyes snapped open as he regained his equilibrium, rolling to his feet before he could collapse. He looked around for the Riddler, expecting another ploy to spring any moment.

Instead, a figure clad in a simple black Kryptonian suit hovered just outside the Dark Knight's reach, radiating light like the sun itself despite the sliver of moonlight peaking through Gotham’s cloudy skyline. The man's curly black hair gently brushed against his shoulders, pairing strikingly well with the face of slightly disheveled facial hair that framed the man's face perfectly. His eyes, vibrant and full of warmth, bore right through Bruce’s chest, warming the external chill he had been damned to carry. The sight before him was too good to be true.

It had to be.

"B." The black-clad figure flashed a strikingly familiar smile, sending the Dark Knight's nonexistent heart racing.

Batman took a large step back, crouching into a defensive stance. "I don't know who you are, or who made you, but I will not hesitate to send you back in pieces."

A confused look warped the mysterious figure's face. "B? What are you talking about? It's me."

"You may have his face, automaton," Batman snarled. "But you will never truly capture the essence of the Man of Steel."

Hurt merged with the figure's confusion. "Bruce, please-"

A batarang bounced harmlessly off the black-clad chest, the figure's hand catching the weapon in the blink of an eye. It looked down at the object in both disappointment and slight anguish before raising its gaze back at Batman, its well-crafted eyes pleading.

"Bruce-"

"Stop!" Batman threatened the figure with another batarang. "I don't know how your creator gained that name, but if you say it one more time, I will destroy every trace of your and your creator's existence before the night's end."

The figure held up its hands in a placating gesture, still holding the batarand between its pointer finger and thumb. "It’s okay, B. I promise it's really me." When Batman said nothing, it continued. "Will you let me prove it to you?"

Batman growled. "Nothing you do can prove you are nothing more than a fake."

The figure's chuckle sent a tingling warmth through Batman's body. It was so familiar, so realistic, he could almost imagine this automaton was the real Man of Steel. The figure's mouth curled up into an accurate teasing grin. "Try me."

Batman quickly internally rattled off a list of questions, only to just as quickly dismiss them from thought. Many of them contained information accessible to the public. Questions related to Justice League information unknown to the public could still be obtained (though if that were true, Bruce would've been alerted before it could ever be transplanted into a fake). Still, there were so few options for the figure to truly confirm its identity.

Unless...

Batman straightened from his battle stance, storing his batarangs back in his belt and looked the figure directly in its eyes. The automaton slowly lowered its arms to its side, dropping the batarang to the dusty warehouse floor. A hopeful smile danced on its perfectly sculpted features, eyes gleaming similar to Bruce's memory.

The Dark Knight took a moment to brace himself, taking a deep breath before speaking as calmly as the numbness would allow.

"There lies the heat of summer

On your cheek's lovely art;

There lies the cold of winter

Within zhao,tes lonely heart."

Recognition and joy lit up the figure's face as it made an aborted motion forward before forcing itself to stay.

"That will change, Vikhzhao,

The end not as the start!

Winter on your cheek then,

Summer in your heart."

Before Bruce could even register the movement, he was lunging forward into the figure's- into Kal's- strong yet gentle arms, burying his bruised face into the crook of his husband's neck. The comforting warmth of the Kryptonian filled the crushing void that hard tried to consume Bruce for months, restarting his heart and sending a rapid rhythm under his skin. Seven months, fifteen days, four hours, and fifty-two minutes worth of anguish and sorrow bubbled violently to the surface of the Dark Knight's psyche, threatening to escape through his now trembling lips.

A gentle hand began rubbing soothing patterns against Bruce's tattered back while the other held him close, not daring to let go anytime soon.

"Hey now, B. It's okay." Kal's soothing tenor sent another wave of relief amongst Bruce's other overwhelming emotions threatening to consume the man. "I'm here, darling, I promise."

"You idiot!" Anger swelled above everything else, causing Bruce to pull away from Kal's embrace enough to look his husband in his beautiful otherworldly eyes, pounding half-heartedly on his perfect chest. "You fucking moron! You weren't supposed to die! Not until I was long gone, our life full of happy memories and zero regrets!"

"And that can still happen." The Kryptonian's smile didn't waver as he cupped his partner's jaw, lighting up every inch of Bruce's being. "I'm here, aren't I? There's still plenty of time."

"No."

Confusion shrouded Kal's smile. "No?"

Bruce tightened his grip on his love's waist, scowling without any heat behind it. "No. We have seven months, fifteen days, four hours, and fifty-six minutes of catching up to do." He glanced at the distant Gotham skyline before returning his now heated gaze to his partner. "And Bruce Wayne has a mandatory quarterly review meeting in six hours and twenty-seven minutes."

A darker, more mischievous grin spread on Kal's face. "I can get us home before you can list all of the things we have missed."

"That's not fair." Bruce huffed. "That's a very long list."

Kal scooped Bruce into a long familiar (yet still embarrassing) bridal carry before leaning down for the most heart-felt kiss Bruce had ever experienced in a long time. His body was instantly filled to the brim with warmth and love and happiness and Kal, melting away any physical or mental pain from Bruce's mind. Everything was realigned once more, life becoming worth living once more.

After what felt like a millenia and yet only the briefest of a millisecond, Kal pulled away, his brilliant sapphire eyes gleaming with light Bruce never thought he'd see again.

"You better get started then."

He never did finish that list.

[fishbrain-glubglub]

New story drop. Working on the companion piece to my first posted work, and it's turning into quite the doozy. So I have this piece for people to enjoy while I work. Hope you enjoy.

[fishbrain-glubglub]

Hey guys! I just posted by first story! Always have loved SuperBat, so of course my first story is of my favorite duo!

Please feel free to leave a comment either here or on the story and let me know what you think!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Superman - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman), Wally West, Hal Jordan (Green Lantern), Arthur Curry (DCU), J'onn J'onzz Additional Tags: Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Red Kryptonite (DCU), mentions of batfam - Freeform, Mentions of SuperFam, Established Relationship, Comforting Bruce Wayne, Sad Clark Kent, POV First Person, POV Clark Kent, Bruce calls Clark an idiot, but in a loving way, I'm Bad At Summaries, Choose Your Own Continuity Summary:

Superman becomes exposed to red kryptonite and goes on a rampage. How will his fellow members of the Justice League help him out?

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Red.

Red. All I see. All I feel.

Red.

Rage.

Rage and fury.

It fuels me. It surrounds me. It is me.

Red.