queen-of-writing-bad-things

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Henry Danger The Movie Reader Insert | Chapter 15. Maple Syrup Mounties

pairing: Ray Manchester/f!reader + Platonic!Henry Hart/f!reader

summary: A new world, a new threat. This time, it's Canadian Mounties, and Henry, Missy, and (y/n) encounter a familiar face in an apocalyptic world.

rating: F + A - minor threats & violence, odd swear word, humour, silliness, Canadian stereotypes, end of the world stuff, mentions of death, slight angst, tension, bit of fluff

word count: 3.5k

a/n: took me far too long to realise they mean pancakes when they say flapjacks, which are two very different things in the uk (i was so confused)

Thank you for reading! I (respectfully) yearn for likes, comments, and reblogs. Click for vibes

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Travelling with the R.A.D never got any better. If anything, it got worse with each nauseating journey.

Henry, (y/n), and Missy landed with a rough bump, stacked on top of each other like pancakes, but at least the ground felt soft. And squishy. And slightly damp, with a twig poking in the kid's back. He looked down and saw an outfit he wouldn't be caught dead in, wondering what kind of world required him to wear tattered, brown cargo pants, a sweat-stained shirt, combat boots, and a thick, leather jacket, reinforced with extra padding. 

The trio leapt to their feet and panickedly spun around, trying to make sense of the forest, rusty cars, and abandoned outbuildings around them. Unlike the nightclub or Newtown, this place seemed deserted, overtaken by weeds, twisting vines, and unruly trees. No one was around, and all that could be heard was Missy pushing every button on her stolen device. 

"So, where are we?" Asked (y/n), already feeling her tummy turning upside down. Something about the eeriness and emptiness gave her the creeps more than her doomsday, apocalypse, survival-type outfit. 

"I...don't know yet," answered the girl, staring at the woods she didn't recognise - not a good sign since she was the author. 

Her focus returned to the R.A.D, and Henry glanced at his sister. They supposed the penny would drop eventually, but there were no bloodthirsty vampires or roided-out gym teachers. "Well, at least we're safe."

"HENRY, LOOK OUT!" Spoke too soon.

A heavy body collided with Henry's, pushing him to the ground but not hurting him. The guy groaned as a flying thing, meant for Henry, hit his head instead, leaving him squirming on top of the kid and cursing those who threw it over the border. Whoever he was, Kid Danger couldn't move quick enough, scrambling back onto his feet to stare at the weirdo who assaulted him. 

Only, he wasn't a weirdo. Well, not much. 

They all stood, mouths open like goldfish, as Jasper stared back, looking equally ridiculous with his thick beard and warm, protective gear. He didn't look like Captain 'Stache, not nearly as outlandish and heroic, but rather like he'd been through it. 

(y/n) swore she saw extra wrinkles on his face beneath the dirt, but he wasn't any older. Just worn down with stress and hardship that escaped him in the real world. 

This was the same Jasper, no matter what universe they were in. 

"The Mounties are back, and they've got weapons!" Although what he said made no sense to them. "Let's keep close to the barricade!"

"Mounties?!" Henry exclaimed, following his best friend up the stairs because he was the only friendly face around, and it felt right to go to him for help. It was better than being in the open like sitting ducks. 

As the kid and (y/n) followed Jasper, they never saw how Missy's face paled underneath her dark, heavy eye makeup. "Oh, God... It's the Syrup Wars!"

"The What Whats?!" The heroine gasped, glancing over her shoulder in horror, but the girl was too panicked to reply. Instead, they kept moving, following Jasper onto the top of the so-called barricade where they could view the harsh landscape Missy had created. 

"Why can't you write one where we chill on the couch?" Henry asked her breathlessly, too busy skipping up the last flight of stairs to turn around and see her eye roll.

"Because the Couch Wars would be boring!" 

The kid begged to differ, wondering what horror this world would throw at them, only to realise the problem once they peeked over the wall of junk. "Not to me!" 

There they were - the weirdest, most unnatural thing (y/n) and Henry had ever seen. 

"Sweet cheese, what the hell are those?" The woman frowned, watching as a group of uniformed men approached the barricade, but they didn't ride horses. They rode other men, brandishing hockey sticks and vaguely threatening snarls. 

They were as scruffy as Jasper and the heroes in their jumble-box outfits, yet something about them was frightening. Maybe it was their numbers or the fact that they seemed insane. 

"Just walk away, eh?!" The ring leader shouted, sneering at others as he steadied his...mount. "Just walk away, and we'll give you safe passage, eh?"

"Just walk away, eh? And we'll let you live!"

They talked funny, and Henry and (y/n) looked at Missy with puzzled faces. They couldn't quite place the accents, but to say they were being threatened, the invaders sounded oddly polite. 

"Just walk away and leave your liquid gold behind!—"

"Ah—s'il vous plaît."

"Yeah, please!" Their manners were impeccable - so friendly and polite - yet the blond boy turned to Missy, wanting to know what they were talking about. Only Jasper seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation. 

"Liquid gold?" He asked, and she pointed to a tanker near their border. 

"Maple syrup."

It was old and rusty, securely chained to the pallet it sat on, and had a dirty, faded sticker on the side. Henry would soon learn that those on their side protected that tanker and all its sticky deliciousness with their lives - the reason why so few remained. 

"Oh, well. As long as it's something worth our lives," muttered (y/n), scratching her head at the bizarre plotline. 

She didn't care for the stuff beyond pancakes and waffles, but Missy's expression told of a tragic, harrowing backstory. It was much darker than anyone could have imagined, particularly from such a young, bubbly girl. 

"In this story, nuclear war has scorched the entire planet. The people left behind scrape out a brutal existence, scavenging for the leftovers of human civilisation. That right there is the last bit of maple syrup left on Earth. We got it—Canadian Mounties want it."

(y/n) could only look at the girl like she'd grown a second head, and Henry's frown wasn't much better. "I have so many questions."

"Yeah, are any of your fanfictions not totally weird?" He asked, ignoring the various insults coming from Jasper. He hated the Mounties as much as they hated him - politely. Neither would ever get too mean.

Missy thought about it for a moment and shook her head. A normal story would be boring, and most were written from the colourful depths of her imagination. "No."

"Shut your syrupy mouth now!"

"Incoming!" Jasper yelled, causing (y/n) to cover Missy as Henry ducked to avoid whatever the Canadians catapulted over the wall. 

It missed the girls entirely, but before it could hit the kid in the head, Jasper caught the shrapnel midair in a remarkable show of his reflexes. The pain was worth it - anything for his best friend. Grimacing through the dull ache in his palm, the curly-haired boy went to throw it back, baring his teeth at the enemy as they cowered before him. 

"We're very sorry, eh?"

"Yeah, we're very sorry about our use of violence, but us Mounties...we need syrup!" The Mounties yelled, shifting from looking ashamed and vicious, torn between their instinctive politeness and their yearning for sticky, sugary goodness. 

"Don't Mounties need horses?" Henry asked, smirking - and silently disturbed - when the mounts pawed at the ground and snorted. 

The one of the end, a more comical-looking man with a sloping brow in a funny hat, spoke up. He hitched a pike over his shoulder and grinned a toothless smile, decayed by too much syrup. "They all took off during the war 'cause we ran out of syrup! We got plenty of fresh flapjacks out here, but we can't eat 'em without syrup, eh?"

"Can't you just eat them dry?" Said (y/n), wondering about alternatives like ice cream or something, only to get evil glares and harsh words. 

"YOU EAT THEM DRY!" The Mounties instantly replied, pointing fingers and practically frothing at the mouth over such a suggestion, even if she didn't mean any offence. 

"Are you stupid or what?! I'll hit you with this catapult, eh?" 

The threats and yelling made darkness descend over Jasper's face. His arm crossed over the heroine's body, stepping in front of her protectively upon hearing what the miscreants said. 

"Hey! No one says anything about (y/n/n) and gets away with it! So, just eat them dry!"

"That's so rude, eh? You wanna see what happens when I do that?" The Mountie, unfazed by the boy's scolding, reached under his hat and brought out a flapjack. He fed it to his man-horse, who chewed it like an actual animal, spewing chunks everywhere since it was too dry. Apparently. 

"He doesn't like it! It's so dry!"

"Crumble it in your mouth and cry like a bunch of babies!" Jasper sneered, mimicking how the Canadians whined over nothing, and Henry took their bickering as his opportunity to slip away with (y/n) and Missy in tow. 

They quickly ran down the stairs, with the kid glancing over his shoulder since he didn't want to spend much longer in another wacky world. Dystopia seemed like paradise, compared to this alternate reality. "Let's just give them the syrup, we can find Schwoz, he can fix the R.A.D, and we can get back to reality."

"We can't," answered Missy, and the boy stifled a groan at how nothing was ever easy, not when she was writing this stuff. 

"Because in this story, we're waiting for the Big Guy to come with the truck to haul the syrup to California. We'll eat flapjacks with syrup for a week before the Earth crashes into the sun."

(y/n) glanced at Henry, glad to see he looked equally concerned at the horrifically sinister ending. There was no happily ever after, just sudden, painful, terrifying incineration, and the woman couldn't help but clear her throat and tap the girl on the arm. 

"Uh...Missy?" She said tentatively since the girl turned her back on them, gazing at the landscape that a star would soon engulf. "Should we be worried or...?"

"I'm in a much better place now," replied the girl, facing the concerned woman with a dismissive smile and a wave of her hand. 

(y/n) didn't look overly convinced, and the hand that tapped Missy on the arm curled around her shoulder. It was a half-hug - not too restrictive, but Henry knew it was warm and comforting like all her snuggly hugs. "Well, if you ever want to talk about your...apocalypse things, I'm always here."

All the girl could do was giggle bashfully and grin at her idol, wrapping her arms around her waist and squeezing. Did she know how good her hugs were? Missy hoped so, soaking up that snuggliness until Jasper appeared. He could only tease the Mounties for so long before they got violent. 

"All right, guys. We're out of weapons and food, and those Mounties aren't going away without a fight," he said, glancing around the group expectantly, "are you guys in?"

They didn't know how to tell him they weren't looking for a fight, but the Canadians used dirty tactics. The moment the boy had his back turned, they shot an arrow, hoping it would hit something, and Henry always seemed to be standing in the wrong spot. 

"Look out, Henry!" Jasper, as always, swooped in like his guardian angel, shielding his best friend with his back. The arrow wedged into his thick leather jacket and poked through into his skin; it wasn't a grievous wound - only a flesh wound - but it still hurt. 

And it still made all the blood drain from (y/n)'s face. "Holy sh—Oh, my God, Curly—I'm gonna—Are you—are you all right?!"

"Don't panic, (y/n/n)... I'm fine!" Jasper tried to keep the grimace off his face, but the heroine saw how he stumbled. Her tummy twisted and churned, wanting to be sick at the thought of some miscreant hurting her baby, yet he pushed away her fussing hands. "'Scuse me... Son of a bus driver!"

"You're not fine!" She told him firmly, following when the boy hobbled away to lean over a rail. She needed to remove the arrow, patch him up, and preferably give him a damn good meal since he looked a little too skinny for her liking, and Henry watched as she mothered his best friend. 

(y/n) inspected the wound and petted his curls, cooing softly that it would all be okay. They all knew it wouldn't be; this time in a week, they'd crash and burn, but ignorance was bliss where Jasper was concerned. Even for a little while, Henry wouldn't leave him alone. "I'm in!"

"Aw...you guys are good friends," Missy said, smirking at Henry in a way that reminded him of Piper - teasing and all-knowing, yet subtly adoring. 

"Yeah, well, we're actually not that good friends in Dystopia," Henry admitted quietly, his gaze flitting to the ground as he remembered the mess he'd left, but he'd try to do better. He promised (y/n) he'd do that much. "But I'm not gonna leave him to the syrup-crazed Mounties, right?"

Unfortunately, the kid wasn't as quiet as he thought, nor was Jasper as lost in the pain as he assumed. In the blink of an eye, the boy left (y/n)'s tender care and practically pressed his nose against Henry's cheek, breathing down his friend's neck. He thought they were friends, so why did the other say they weren't?

"What's in Dystopia? What do you mean we're not friends?! And what's that thing under your arm?—And what do you mean we're not friends?!"

Henry leaned back, stunned by the bombardment of questions and how their noses nearly brushed from the proximity. He smiled weakly, not knowing how to explain everything, but he'd try, no matter if Jasper thought they'd gone insane from syrup withdrawal or something. 

"Okay, this is going to sound crazy..."

So, he recounted it all. Their lives in the real world - how he was an upcoming superhero who fell out with an alternate Jasper. How (y/n) retired from hero life with her husband and child. How Missy stole the R.A.D and plunged them into chaos with Newtown, Shimmers, Frankini, VamPiper, and Coach Cregg. The boy listened carefully, sitting down as he absorbed the weirdest story he'd ever heard, which included something about a genius scientist and going home, none of which made much sense.

"So, if there is a Schwoz in this world, and if we can find him, then maybe he can help us fix our R.A.D and send me, (y/n), and Henry back to where we belong," Missy finished the tale, perching herself next to the curly-haired boy. 

As he mulled over it all, the woman beside him, who squeezed in on the narrow, metal steps, patted his leg. It was weird for them, too; he was Jasper, but he wasn't her Jasper, and the same went for the others they had met. "I know it's a lot to take in..."

"Yeah." The boy nodded and then frowned, turning to Henry as he leaned against an old Land Rover, sipping coffee from a metal cup. "So, in this...other world, there's probably a pretty good reason why we're not friends anymore, right? Like, I probably did something terrible, right?"

"Ahem..." (y/n) couldn't help but clear her throat, and her piercing gaze made Henry feel small. 

Oh, he knew that gaze; it was the same one from the kitchen in Shimmers when he told her about the argument. She said nothing, but he could read her mind almost saying, 'You deserved that slap on the head. What you did was stupid.'

"I kinda just..." The words didn't come, and just like when he tried to explain to his sister, all Henry could do was look ashamed. "Got busy."

He hated how Jasper's face fell, nearly as much as he hated how (y/n) shook her head disappointedly. "You got busy?" 

The coffee was bitter anyway, weak and watered down since there was a war going on, but even the richest, most aromatic brew would have been tasteless. He gulped it down and went for another sip like he'd find answers at the bottom of the cup, but they were nothing but excuses. "And famous."

"That's no excuse," (y/n) said curtly, and whatever smugness made its way onto the boy's face swiftly died. 

If he wanted another slap, she'd give him one, talking about his heroics with the same arrogance that pushed his friends away. But it wasn't Henry's thick skull she needed to worry about—more like Jasper's as the Mounties threw more stuff over the barricade. 

"Ow..." He groaned and fell on the floor, woozy when the rock hit his head. 

Of course, (y/n) rushed to his side, muttering something about needing helmets and shields, whilst Missy glanced at Kid Danger, who continued to be less than the handsome, flawless guy she'd idolised in her childhood. 

"It's not really any of my business, but all he seems to do is save your life over and over again, and you're too busy and famous to be friends with him?" She asked sceptically, flooding Henry with guilt again. 

"Relax..." He huffed and sipped his drink, avoiding a certain hard stare as she hauled Jasper onto his feet. "He doesn't save my life as much back in Dystopia."

"Whatever!" He hissed, dismissing the arrogant hero after rubbing his sore head. He'd held the defensive line without them for so long and kept doing it until the end of the world. No one had time for dead weight in the apocalypse, and Henry's heartless excuses were just that. 

"You guys can go and find this Schwoz guy, get your thing fixed, and I'll fight the Mounties by myself."

He went to climb the stairs again, only for (y/n) to drag him back. She glared at Henry and pointed a stern finger at him as if to tell him he needed to watch his mouth. "No. No one is going to do anything alone—is that clear?"

"(y/n/n)..." The boys sighed, squirming under her firm gaze and tone, but she wouldn't let them become reckless or estranged. 

Even if they wanted to drift apart, she stood between them and placed her hands on her hips in a stance that said she meant business. "No, (y/n/n) nothing! We've never been cowards, and we're not starting now. We stand here, and we fight." 

There was no arguing with her. Missy and Jasper grinned when she realised she meant it, digging her heels into the earth where they might die, worlds away from where they belonged. 

Henry couldn't help but look at her and sigh in defeat, too, well aware that the sun's destruction wouldn't come quickly enough if he chickened out. She'd kill him for dipping on his friends, but (y/n) knew he'd never do that. It was like she said: they weren't cowards.

"You're not gonna budge on this, are you?" He asked, a fond smile creeping onto his boyish features. 

"Nope," the woman replied, shaking her head and looking at him with a determined expression. "Those Mounties look like idiots, but there's strength in numbers, right? I'm not leaving one of my babies to fight them alone. I just can't do it."

She was right to be concerned, always a little anxious, and that was without her tummy tingle. Yet another arrow flew over the wall, proving how relentless the Canadians were - sneaky and silently dangerous since they always sent a few weapons over just in case they killed someone. 

It went for Henry, the brave hero who apparently didn't need saving, yet always did. Jasper threw himself before him like a human shield again, allowing the arrow to penetrate his leather gear instead. He grunted through the agony, knowing he'd have another bruise and wound, but he couldn't let his best friend die—even if he were an ass. 

"Sounds good!" He said huskily, blinking away tears to try and seem okay, but they knew it had to hurt. The poor boy had two arrows in his back; the sooner they stopped the Mounties, the better. 

"Okay, so how do we keep them out until the Big Guy shows up?" Henry asked, and admittedly, (y/n) hadn't thought that far ahead. 

She was too busy fussing over Jasper again, telling him not to disturb his injuries until she could inspect them properly. Meanwhile, Missy paced and pondered as an insane, improbable, but not impossible idea came into her head. "Maybe we don't keep them out...Maybe we let them in."

"Let them in?!" Jasper gasped, his wounds suddenly forgotten as she talked crazy, suggesting the one thing he fought to prevent. 

Of course, Missy realised his sacrifice - years of toil, blood, sweat and tears to defend the last of the world's maple syrup as she'd written. It was reckless and out there, but it might just work. 

"Okay, you're either going to love this plan or think it's really dumb!"

The world was about to end in fire and terror. They could do with a little crazy. 

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@monsteryoungin

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

born to marry him, forced to read fanfics about him

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Henry Danger The Movie Reader Insert | Chapter 14. Missy's Magical Mystery Tour

pairing: Ray Manchester/f!reader + Platonic!Henry Hart/f!reader

summary: Joined by Frankini, our heroes hop from story to story, with some friendlier than others. They eventually return to Newtown and find it overrun with monsters - who's scared of the dark?

rating: F - minor threats & violence, odd swear word, humour, silliness, bad vampire puns

word count: 3.7k

Thank you for reading! I (respectfully) yearn for likes, comments, and reblogs. Click for vibes

Last Chapter - Next Chapter - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

There was no telling where the R.A.D would spit them out. It wasn’t an exact science, and as they’d discovered, Missy’s imagination was limitless. 

But if Henry and (y/n) had to guess where they’d end up after Shimmers, they’d picture something excessively ridiculous, overly colourful, and thoroughly humiliating – the sort of thing that a child believed to be brilliant, only for adults to shake their heads and ask why. Newtown had been bad enough; having to deal with Lord Lolli’s appearance in the club had been worse, but nothing – not even their worst nightmares – could have prepared them for the world they next opened their eyes to. 

None of them really knew what happened. One minute, Schwoz was explaining how the doohickey worked; the next, Frankini had caused chaos, and reality fizzled and popped around them, contorting into somewhere that put his sequinned hellhole to shame. 

Everything was strangely flat – lacking depth but not perspective. The colour palette looked like an explosion of psychedelic primary colours and neon, with a hint of glitter and squiggles mixed in. The laws of physics didn’t seem to apply, letting float in some sort of hazy, magical mind-fuck, where everything had a face, nothing made sense, and everyone was gratingly happy. 

And was that music they heard?

“What is happening?” Asked Henry, feeling like he was in a dream – flying and falling simultaneously. His Kid Danger uniform had returned, and the kid hadn’t been so happy to see it since he was fifteen, relieved to see no lollipops in sight. 

It was strange, though; he looked down, and his hands looked chalky, and when he looked at (y/n) as she floated beside him, he couldn’t help but realise how the red and blue bled from her uniform. Someone hadn’t drawn in the lines – pencil lines. Because pinch him – she looked like a kiddie’s doodle. 

“I made us cartoon characters for this story!” Missy told him, and a big, cheesy grin grew on her cheeky face. 

She adapted to the change much more quickly than they did, soaring through the rainbow sky with her cape flapping in the wind. Well, she imagined that it flapped. Everything was imaginary here. 

“Had you taken or sniffed something beforehand?” (y/n) questioned as she tried not to hurl from the dizzying brightness. “I feel like I’m doing Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds in Strawberry Fields with John, George, Paul, and Ringo.”

“Is that a reference to something?” The girl frowned, looking thoroughly befuddled as she tucked the R.A.D under her arm more, so (y/n) just let it go. She was probably too young, anyway. “I wrote it right after I had dental surgery. I hadn’t recovered from the medicine yet.”

“Not surprising…” The heroine grimaced, and it really did feel like an anaesthetic fever dream as they swam through the star and…filled sky until another bizarre creature joined them. 

“Frankini’s in this one!”

Well, that made it all worth it, and the diva had no one to blame but himself after messing with the upstaging device. He zoomed up beside them, then slid underneath the trio to act as their noble steed, which was both horrifying and hilarious. 

(y/n) couldn’t hold back her laughter, holding onto Henry’s shoulders as Frankini the Uni-Cow carried them through the magic. No one, not even Missy, knew why he was so bovine, but they didn’t complain. It was just so amoosing. 

“I don’t wanna be a cow!” He whined, shocked to see he now had hooves, a tail, and a snout. And a goatee, if he wasn’t mistaken. 

It was all very weird – a little too weird for Henry’s liking, having coped with everything very well, but he drew the line at…riding Frankini. The thought was disgusting, and he couldn’t escape the far-off, cheery music pounding in his skull. “Hit the button!”

No sooner said than done on Missy’s part. She admitted that the adventures of Kid Danger, Miss Danger, and Superfan in this world weren’t her best work – a side effect of the heavy medication that made her brain all loopy. So, in another flash of blinding light, the R.A.D teleported them to another make-believe version of reality. And this one couldn’t be more different. 

The kaleidoscopic, cartoonish style was gone. This was, once again, a semblance of the real world, with proper houses, a normal-coloured sky, streetlights, and no singing, grinning stars. It was another typical night in Newtown, and even if it meant they were back to square one, the heroes much preferred it to whatever acid trip they had previously endured. 

“So, we’re back in Newtown? And I’m back in pants?” (y/n) asked, looking down at her legs to see her updated Miss Danger uniform had returned. She would miss her disco outfit. 

“Think so,” answered Missy as she glanced around, recognising the buildings and roads, but it was hard to tell at night. 

Her storybook was full of too many tales to keep track of, but the girl thought she’d remember the one where her hometown looked so spooky. Mist swirled around their feet, even though she couldn’t remember when Newtown ever got damp enough for that, and every house had its lights switched off. 

The streets felt eerily quiet, too, with no soul stirring except for them as they stood in the middle of the cul-de-sac. All four of them. 

“Aw, why’d that thing bring him here, too?” Henry grumbled, pointing the finger at Frankini, who trembled like a little lamb as he found himself in such a strange, sinister place with three weirdos. It was better than being a cow, and he got to wear a particularly fetching suit, yet his presence made the boy and his surrogate sister sneer. 

“‘Cause I’m fabulous, and even the machine knows it,” Frankini replied, and it was precisely that kind of sour sass that ticked them off. 

“‘Cause it takes whoever’s touching it and whoever they’re touching, and whoever they’re touching, and whoever they’re touching, and whoever they’re touching—”

“Okay, Missy! We get it!” (y/n) exclaimed, flashing the girl a tight smile when she felt stuck in a loop. “The R.A.D just gets better and better.”

Missy buttoned her lip, looking sheepish, as Frankini glanced around, finding himself in a backwater town he’d never seen in his life. Usually, he’d never be caught dead in such a place, and his displeased grimace proved it. “What…is this awful place?”

“Oh, this is Newtown!” The young girl offered him a bright smile and pointed at the white-picket fence behind her. “That’s actually my house.”

“And it’s…amazing.” His tone didn’t inspire any confidence, and his acting left something to be desired. “But what happened to my fabulous party?”

“Fabulous is subjective,” the heroine muttered, folding her arms and sharing a look with Henry, who hovered by her side. “We told you not to hit the button.”

Frankini huffed and pouted, tugging on her arm like an impatient child—as if (y/n) could do anything. “Well, someone hit it again. I wanna go back to my party!”

Henry glared, damn near ready to break bones if that preening peacock put a single digit on her again. But he wasn’t much better, reaching out to prod the R.A.D, which Missy still had tucked safely in her arms. “Schwoz was about to tell us how to fix the R.A.D—let’s go back!”

The girl ducked out of the way, looking wary at how many fingers wanted to push the buttons. They teleported randomly the last time they tried that, so she snatched the device away. “I don’t think—”

“Just push the button! The one in the front!”

“Push the button!”

They were incessant – both boys shoving and jostling with each other to activate the R.A.D, but Missy was too quick. She was clever enough to steal it, dodging guards and slipping away into the night. She had no issues slapping their knuckles and looking at (y/n) with pleading eyes. 

“I don’t think that’s gonna—(y/n), help!”

“Okay, okay! Leave her—Henry—Fran—just stop!” She grabbed them by their collars and hauled them away with surprising strength. The boys recoiled instantly, looking kinda scared as Missy flicked their hands and pushed them back, too, guarding the R.A.D with a harsh glare. 

At least they looked ashamed, staring at their feet as Missy sighed. She didn’t think it was as simple as pushing a button. “I think when you hit the button, it just picks one of my stories at random and sends you there. We can’t guarantee it’ll send us back to your party.”

“It can’t be worse than here!” Said Frankini snarkily, only to receive an equally frosty stare from the girl. She heard his not-so-subtle diss about her home.

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Because one time, I wrote a story where Kid Danger, Miss Danger, and I fight sharks in the Arctic Ocean. I wrote another about an awful place called The Grey Zone. You’d hate it.”

All the man did was chuckle mockingly, smirking at the little girl who thought she could scare him. Admittedly, toothy, flesh-eating creatures and icy water didn’t sound great, but the latter didn’t sound so bad. Rather pleasant to his ears. “Oh, honey. I was born in The G—”

“Grey Zone! She said, The Grey Zone. Not whatever you’re thinking about,” (y/n) answered dryly, swiftly wiping the smugness from Frankini’s face. He glanced away, slightly embarrassed and looking a lot paler than before. 

“Oh, yes, well… That does sound quite awful. Listen here, Missy…”

‘Wait,” Henry paused, squinting suspiciously at Frankini, “how do you know her name?”

“I don’t know her name,” answered the man, looking haughty and aloof as he raked his gaze over Missy. She looked like a fashion disaster to him – those goggles did not go with that cape. “I was being condescending and disrespectful. Now, I have no idea what the two of you are talking about—Schwoozes and sharks and stories!”

Startled by his outburst, Missy smiled anxiously, knowing he wasn’t the first person she’d dragged into chaos, but, technically, this Frankini wasn’t real. He was one of her exaggerated characters. “I can—I can explain…”

“And I don’t care to know!” He snapped before swallowing whatever frustration bubbled up in his throat, standing straighter. “I’m off to find better lighting! You three—find a way to get me back to my party…But not too soon. I want them to miss me.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stomped off down the road, heading for a streetlight to make his highlighter pop. The trio watched him leave, shaking their heads at how annoying the diva could be, yet Missy couldn’t help but tug on (y/n)’s sleeve. 

“Is it a good idea to let him walk off?” She whispered to the heroine, looking strangely worried at how Frankini faded into the shadows. Who knows what lurked in them? “It’s so dark…”

(y/n) pondered for a minute, not particularly bothered if the guy got himself lost since she wasn’t his biggest fan. He wasn’t delicate – far from it – no matter how he stumbled and pranced from drama to drama, so she offered a brief smile. “Trust me, he can look after himself. God knows he’s caused enough trouble in his life.”

“Yeah, and I would also like to get back to that party, find Schwoz, and get back to Dystopia,” said Henry, sounding almost as impatient and bossy as Frankini – despite the mutual disliking. He glanced at his sister and nodded, knowing she felt a similar yearning. “(y/n/n), you’ve got to get back to Ray and the baby…”

“True. I’m starting to get doofus withdrawal symptoms.”

“…We’ve got bigger problems,” replied Missy, which didn’t sound ominous at all. She glanced off into the distance, staring at an old trailer that had been parked on the sidewalk since forever with a frightened gulp. 

They followed her gaze, peering through the rolling fog to see two figures strolling toward them. One was massive, impossibly tall, and muscly with broad, square shoulders, while the other was much smaller. Yet it swayed its hips and took baby steps as if it wanted to play, darting in and out of the streetlamp light.

Henry and (y/n) gasped when they got closer, shocked to see Coach Cregg and VamPiper approaching, looking vicious and grumpy. One looked like he wanted to smash skulls, and the other licked her lips like she wanted to drink the bloody mess.

“Come on! I just beat that guy!” The hero argued, frowning at the gym teacher, who stood with his meaty hands on his broad hips like he hadn’t been sent packing by Captain ‘Stache. And Henry, of course. “How is he back?”

“Actually, he’s in a lot of my stories—” said Missy, and she stepped back slightly, looking at the heroes with worried eyes, “—like this one, where your vampire sister is gonna go into my house and kidnap my sister!”

(y/n) did not like the sound of that, glancing at the terrifying villains as she stepped in front of the girl, shielding her. 

Out of the two, Cregg didn’t concern her too much; the man was just a hyper-aggressive moron, but VamPiper? Seeing her sweet, innocent baby as a bloodthirsty creature of darkness made her heart hurt. “Piper really isn’t as bad as you think. She wouldn’t want to hurt us.”

“Let’s go talk to her,” said Henry, nudging the woman with his elbow, and it definitely wasn’t because he was afraid to go alone. Certainly not. 

No, the boy knew his sister loved her – she was the one person who could truly get her to and back down. So, no matter how Missy whimpered, he pulled the heroine with him, approaching the vampire and gym teacher with a bright smile and wide, welcoming arms. 

“Hey, Piper! What’s going on? It’s us! Your big bro and (y/n/n)! You know, the one who…bakes…cookies?”

“Why is she looking at us like that?” (y/n) gulped, her confidence fading quicker than Henry’s. She saw the hunger in VamPiper’s stern gaze – how her eyes lingered on their necks’ pulse points – and alarmingly, she didn’t stop coming. 

Rather, her cold, blue eyes hardened, her chin tucked into her chest, where a strange, ruby-red crystal hung from a chain, but they ignored that. In the blink of an eye, the bloodsucker raced towards the heroes in a flurry of bats and electricity, appearing before them with her fangs out and claws bared, hissing dangerously. 

Henry and (y/n) jumped back, but as they did, another jumped in. Frankini, for some fathomless reason, peered at Piper with twinkling eyes and a fascinated smile, having wandered over from his streetlight to admire who he saw as a style icon. “Slay. The house. Down! You are a whole vibe! It’s giving…evil vampire realness.”

As ill-advised as it was for him to get so close, the heroes took advantage of it. They snuck off while the villains were distracted, heading for the old trailer since it was nearer than the house and unlocked. 

“It’s giving undead, majestic queen. It’s giving hot-girl, vamp power! Honey, you can drink my blood anytime.”

“Sweet cheese, what’s wrong with him?” (y/n) muttered once they’d ducked inside and bolted the door, feeling much safer than Frankini looked in the road. She watched as he offered the monster his hand, which she took graciously with a malicious smirk, and the woman couldn’t slap a hand over Missy’s eyes quickly enough. “Don’t look!”

With the young girl’s gaze averted from the horror, she and Henry watched as VamPiper sunk her fangs into Frankini’s wrist, nipping and sucking a mouthful of blood. The diva yelped and pulled his hand away, not thinking for a minute that he was in danger amongst a fellow fashionista. 

“I didn’t actually mean that!” He whined, clutching his wound, but the minor pain was the least of his problems. The boy and woman, and Missy as she peeked over their shoulders, stared in terror as Frankini gasped and writhed in pain, feeling something happening to his body, and it didn’t feel good. 

He stumbled away from the smirking girl before falling to his knees against a fence. The trio couldn’t make out all the changes in the darkness, but they heard his panicked, shallow breaths and saw how he trembled through a supernatural transformation. 

His pallor whitened, his brow thickened, his fingernails grew into long, pointed talons, his eyes melted into cold, pale-yellow irises, and two gleaming fangs replaced his previously blunt canines. Suddenly, Frankini stilled and rose to his feet, no longer the smiling, fun-loving, mischievous man he once was. 

“Oh, kiddies…” he called out softly, turning to stare hollowly at them through the trailer’s window, “care to join Bite Club? It’s…to die for.”

“This is not good,” muttered Henry, knowing he’d struggled against Coach Cregg alone. He and (y/n) had no chance against VamPiper and Fangkini.

Missy gulped, staring at the bad guys blankly – as if she didn’t know their genuine peril. “At least Frankini isn’t whining about his party anymore.”

“Yeah, because now he wants to literally bleed us dry,” (y/n) told her, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She’d protect her to the bitter end, but she didn’t want to die, not here, and certainly not by an overly flamboyant man she resented. 

“She twisted his mind. Now all he cares about is turning other people into vampires.”

“You sure know a lot about this stuff,” said the young hero, glancing at his sister as she peered at Frankini's remains in concern. It probably wasn’t a good idea to linger at the window, but they couldn’t help but stare at what he’d become. 

(y/n) just shrugged, looking utterly unbothered as she remembered her younger years. “Vampire romance used to be all the rage. I was a willing victim.”

Before she could elaborate, although Henry wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the grotty details, Piper stepped forward. Now joined by her spawn, they began to circle the trailer like vultures, thirsting for more than blood. “Henry… Don’t you want to fang out with us?”

“Come out, come out! We’re…!”

Their disturbing cooing only proved what the heroine said, and she stepped away from the window with furrowed eyebrows. “See? If they bite us, we’ll turn into vampires.”

“Our minds will change…” Missy nodded, dimly seeing what she was driving at, “and we’ll never want to go back to the real world ever again.”

“We’ll be stuck in this reality forever.”

That didn’t bear thinking about, and Henry felt his stomach drop. His face fell into a sombre grimace, and even his chipper, happy-go-lucky Superfan knew they were in too deep. “This is bad.”

“Just need a second to think—” And his second was up. 

The boy squealed like a girl when Coach Cregg appeared at the window, standing so close his breath fogged up the plexiglass, and they could see the bloodshot whites of his eyes. He growled at having his prey so close, and Henry’s heart jumped into his mouth, realising they were trapped in a metal tube with no way out. 

“Don’t worry. I locked the door,” said Missy, but that was wishful thinking. 

In hindsight, she shouldn’t have made the man-mountain so freakishly strong; he easily ripped the locked door off its hinges, tossing it to the side and leaving them painfully unprotected like sardines in a tin – ready to be eaten. “Okay, nowyou should worry.” 

Cregg hauled Henry out before he could reply, roughly shoving him onto the tarmac with the same grace and kindness he’d always shown – exactly none. Staring at the boy in panic, breaths coming fast and uneven, (y/n) stepped in front of Missy and spread her arms wide, boldly standing between the girl and the giant who wanted to grind them into dust. 

“If you want her, you have to go through—meeeeeeeeeee!” It was a valiant effort but futile, nonetheless. She joined the boy outside, thrown on top of him in a heap of carcasses, and she’d have to apologise later for catching his spleen with her elbow. 

Missy was next, and she didn’t even try to put up a fight as Cregg yanked her out of the trailer, too. It left the trio at the feet of VamPiper and Fangkini, who leered sadistically at such a bloody banquet, but that wasn’t all the evil girl wanted. 

She pointed an electrified talon at the device in Missy’s lap, enchanted by it since they met in Newtown. “Where does that contraption take you?”

“Uh…other worlds, kinda—”

“Don’t tell them that!” Henry hissed, but the young, inexperienced girl had already done the damage. 

Missy didn’t know some things a secret – this was her first hostage situation, after all – but Piper smirked at how easily she let it slip, more so at the idea of spreading her wickedness across the multiverse. “Other worlds…to conquer?”

“No, very strict, anti-conquering rules—you’d hate them!” (y/n) answered nervously, terrified by the villainess’ sharp, sinister smile. “You should probably stay here forever and not turn anyone else into vampires.”

That was not the answer VamPiper wanted to hear. Her sick grin fell, morphing into a snarl as Missy hugged the R.A.D tightly; she wasn’t a complete idiot for all her babbling, and she nudged Henry to remind him of the device. 

“Give!” She hissed, baring her fangs like a viper, and the trio huddled together instinctively, linking arms, knowing what they had to do. 

It wasn’t ideal – it was the very thing they wanted to avoid since it was reckless and unpredictable, but what choice did they have? Neither Henry nor (y/n) could fight the vampires or gym teacher, and after sharing a fleeting glance, they silently agreed. 

Time to make a hasty retreat.

“Uh…no!” The boy brought his hand down on the R.A.D, pushing the big button that always enveloped them in a whirl of light and purplish mist and teleported them out of danger – just in the nick of time. 

It was a narrow escape, leaving VamPiper and Fangkini bitterly disappointed, staring in shock at the space their prey used to occupy – they didn’t even get to drink a drop. All she knew was that she needed the contraption, as she called it, even if she had to wait a thousand years to see those pinkish, fleshy morsels again.

Next stop on Missy’s Magical Mystery Tour: ‘Somewhere safer,’ (y/n) silently begged. 

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@monsteryoungin

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Henry Danger The Movie Reader Insert | Chapter 13. Gold Star

pairing: Ray Manchester/f!reader + Platonic!Henry Hart/f!reader

summary: A small gesture from Missy gives Henry a chance to dwell on his past mistakes. Meanwhile, Schwoz has an update on the R.A.D.

rating: F - the odd swear word, angst if you squint, Frankini causing chaos

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this is quite short because i'm currently knee-deep in essays and exams, but i hope you enjoy it anyway. gold star if you do :)

Thank you for reading! I (respectfully) yearn for likes, comments, and reblogs. Click for vibes

Last Chapter - Next Chapter - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

Approaching footsteps finally pulled Henry and (y/n) out of the little bubble they'd created. 

They stayed close, with the heroine keeping her arm around his shoulders as the kid sniffled, pulling his face away from her neck with a renewed sparkle in his eyes. Maybe that was tears; he had to wipe them from his cheeks as the intruder drew closer, but he undoubtedly felt better. His chest didn't feel as tight, his head felt clearer, and his heart didn't feel like exploding – if anything, it was lighter.

That was a good thing. As Missy walked in, having grown lonely on her own as she waited for the heroes to return, she thankfully didn't see Kid Danger in pieces. Sure, he looked a little sad, with swollen eyes and red cheeks, still sitting on the dirty floor with (y/n), but if she noticed, she didn't mention his tears.

"There you are!" she said upon seeing their stretched-out legs. Only one person in the club wore tights and patent, heeled pumps. "I've been looking for you guys everywhere!"

The girl circled the counter, approaching as quietly as her chunky sneakers would allow, and hovered before them. It felt like an intrusion to burst in, but she couldn't sit outside any longer, offering a sheepish smile and an explanation. "I know you said to stay near the stage, but..."

"S'okay..." (y/n) smiled back, pulling her arm from around Henry when he awkwardly cleared his throat. He didn't miss how the girl looked at them, analysing curiously at his dour expression and their tangled limbs. That was between them – his moment with (y/n/n). Another set of eyes wasn't appreciated. 

"What are you doing?"

"Just...talking," answered the heroine, speaking for the boy before he said something mean or abrasive to ward off her nosiness. She wouldn't spill his secrets to Missy – it wasn't a burden for a young girl like her, but even she knew something was up, edging closer at the risk of upsetting him.

The air felt tense, and Missy didn't want to cause more problems after his frosty mood. Sitting alone felt like being on the naughty step; it gave her enough time to think about everything she'd do differently – like burn some of her older, cringier stories that involved lollipops and moustached heroes. 

It felt like the right thing to do, knowing that the real Kid Danger wasn't the squeaky-clean, chipper idol her younger self adored. Life wasn't so cut and clean, but there was one element she wanted to keep. Just a little thing she hoped would put a smile on the kid's sullen face. 

She tossed it to him – a wedge of crisp foil and gold sheen that Henry caught with a puzzled frown. He stared at the thingin his hands, wondering why she'd give him star-shaped chocolate of all things—the sort they dished out on school sports days as runner-up awards. 

"What's this?" He asked, showing it to (y/n) with a flat expression, feeling how the candy had already begun to melt under his fingertips. 

"A gold star."

"We can see that," the woman joked, watching as he toyed with the foil, peeling it back slightly to see the chocolatey goodness beneath, "and we still have questions."

They chuckled at that – breathing out a hint of laughter as Missy flopped down beside (y/n), sitting nearly as close as Henry did. It felt cosy, and they budged up so she could lean against the workstation, resting her head against the metal whilst trying not to disturb Miss Danger too much. They weren't there yet.

"Well, in this story, you have a hard time constantly living in Jasper's shadow," said the girl, sadness passing over her features as Henry unwrapped the star and broke off a point. 

Although not the best quality, the chocolate tasted sweet and thick on his tongue, contrasting the bitterness that rose with the bile in his stomach when (y/n) gave him a talking-to. He didn't care that it was a bit cheap and cliché, chewing slowly as he listened to her story. 

"So, I started giving you gold stars after missions. You know, just to let you know that someone appreciates you."

"That's really sweet of you, Missy," said (y/n), and she patted the girl's arm, giggling quietly when she preened like she'd been paid the highest compliment. Still, it rendered Henry silent, throat clogged with chocolate – or so he'd claim – doing nothing more than breaking off another piece to offer to his sister – the one who stepped up to parent him when othersfailed.

The heroine took it with a warm smile and savoured how it melted in her mouth. She said nothing, and they sat silently for a moment as Henry mulled over Missy's words, quickly realising that he felt guilty over a children's fairytale. It hit too close to home. 

"That's weird..." he said after the moment was up, staring at his hands as they fiddled with the gold foil.

"What's weird?"

"Well..." He swallowed thickly – whether that was from the candy or how (y/n) put her hand on his arm, he didn't know. "Back in reality, real reality...Jasper's always living in my shadow."

Missy pondered his confession, looking surprised and a little conflicted by it. Her stories were always lighthearted and good fun – the work of her young, innocent mind – but she learned that wasn't the case for the real Kid Danger. He wasn't untouchable or perfect in any sense of the word. 

"Mmm... Does anyone give Jasper gold stars?"

"Nope." The boy shook his head sadly, biting his lip as the guilt sent a pang through his chest. The thought of giving his best friend chocolate every time they won a fight or succeeded in whatever way felt patronising – Jasper would punch him for it– but he saw the metaphor. 

He felt (y/n)'s gaze on him—the one that said, I told you so. And he knew she was right. Missy was right. Jasper had been rightduring their argument. The guy worked his butt off for nothing more than the occasional thank you. No pats on the back for Jasper. No trophies or brand deals. Just an empty flat and a friend who'd been a solid-gold asshole. 

Henry felt terrible. 

"Then, maybe they should," answered the heroine, and she squeezed his forearm. Her smile weakened, and she looked sad and regretful about what she said next. "You've always said you hated being in Captain Man's shadow. Don't make the same mistake."

He nodded, not saying anything about the touchy subject. It was difficult to tell a person he loved so dearly that her husband caused him grief—even harder to tell the man himself when he never meant for things to happen the way they did. They'd moved past it; Ray definitely didn't feel salty anymore, but it still left Henry thinking. 

When they got back, and he'd fight until his last breath to make that happen, he needed to speak to Jasper. That was long overdue.

They sat sucking the last of the sweetness from their tongues; all snuggled up on the world's grossest floor, when the door burst open. Dull music flooded in from the next room, and footsteps approached them, leaving (y/n) braced to explain to the head chef exactly why they decided to sprawl out in his kitchen. 

"Yo!" Luckily, she didn't have to, silently relieved to hear Schwoz's bizarrely Bronx accent as he found the weird blond kid he'd been searching for. "I think I got this thing figured out."

He didn't have to tell them twice. They heaved themselves off the floor, the tender moment well and truly gone, as Schwoz placed the R.A.D on the countertop. It wasn't sanitary to talk science next to a gigantic bowl of shredded lettuce and scallions, but the dishwasher didn't care. He barely knew about hygiene. 

"All right!" Schwoz grinned, spinning the device like a record to show them the glowing buttons on the front. "Okay, so, basically, the only data that was on here when it got all busted was this chick's stories, which essentially turned it into a...closed system."

"So...we can only jump from story to story?" (y/n) said, earning a curious gaze from the genius. She looked ridiculous – all pinky and sparkly – and was the last person he expected to understand anything technical. Still, she seemed so serious, her arms folded and her face all cerebral, as if she'd actually studied electronics. 

He nodded curtly, showing a glimmer of admiration whilst wondering how these kids were. "Right. Finally, someone who picks up what I'm puttin' down."

"Can you fix it?" Asked Henry, sounding tired and looking it, as he didn't want to know the whys and wherefores. He just wanted to go home – now more than ever. 

"Let me ask you," muttered Schwoz as he picked up the R.A.D, which already told the boy's gut that it wouldn't be a simple answer. "Did there used to be, like, a crystal or something there?"

He pointed to an empty slot at the front of the device, and now that they noticed it, the trio realised it didn't look quite right. Too empty. Too much excess design that Evil Science Corp wouldn't have included if not for some wicked purpose. And now that Schwoz mentioned it, Missy did remember something crystalline about the thing, but she lost her train of thought. 

A flying interruption by Frankini could do that to a girl.

"It's...showtime!" The diva exclaimed, bursting into the kitchen the only way he knew how – twirling, screeching, and grinning in his favourite, melodramatic fashion. 

"Is there ever a time when there's not a show?" (y/n) sighed, eyeing the bedazzled man dryly, and she didn't miss how Henry pinched his eyes in exhaustion. 

She concurred; they didn't have time for his dog-and-pony show, nor did she fancy watching yet another routine by the man who tried to bamboozle her doofus many times in the past. Once you'd seen Frankini sing and dance, you'd seen it a million times, but her frown and sneer merely made him pout. 

"No!" He grinned – as eager to impress and dazzle as he was in any reality. "No hiding in the kitchen during my next song! Everybody, out!"

"Can you just—" Frankini shoved Schwoz with his shoulder, having no regard for his lowly plate scraper or whatever Henry had to say. "—just give us a minute, okay?"

The singer whined and pouted, damn near stamping his foot at the boy with a terrible fashion sense. That frilled blouse was so seventeen-eighties. "I don't have a minute!"

"Look, we need to fix this thing, all right? We just need—"

"You can fix it when I'm done." He really wasn't taking no for an answer. 

Henry had faced all kinds of villains and monsters. Nasty ones – the type that wanted to dominate the earth or could effortlessly rip off his limbs to have them for breakfast. They didn't compare to the stink-eye Frankini flashed, threatening to burn the hero into the floor as they stared each other down. "We need to fix it now."

"I will not be upstaged by some boring, little boombox!"

"Look, Frankini, we're not upstaging you," (y/n) said in her gentlest voice, offering the man a blinding, placating smile because it always made them firm friends in the past. "I'm not sure anything could when you're in that outfit, but I promise, we'll be out to watch you as soon as we—"

"Ugh, just give it to me!" No matter what they said or how much they sweet-talked him, the man would not listen. 

He was too used to getting his own way in his own club, where everyone treated him like a king since he had the authority to throw them out if they didn't like his set. With those delusions of grandeur, he snatched the R.A.D from the counter, fully intending to ensure it never saw the light of day again. 

Henry was quicker, though, grabbing the device and yanking it back with a low growl and all the muscle he'd built up over his years of crime fighting. He cradled it to his chest like the lifeline it was, trying to bat those grubby fingers away as he bared his teeth at the man in an ugly snarl. "Let go of the R.A.D!"

"I hate it, and I want to throw it away!" Frankini hissed, pulling on his half with all his twinky might. 

Like a tug-o-war, they pulled to-and-fro, yelling at the other to give up and leave the very delicate machine be, but neither would give up. Missy and (y/n) joined the fray, rolling their eyes at the little boys who couldn't talk like adults – they just had to cause chaos. 

Four sets of hands grappled the smooth, slippery metal. Four bodies jostled with each other, knocking elbows until someone hit the wrong thing. Really, it was inevitable that a finger would go astray, pressing a button that shouldn't have been pushed – not until Schwoz had looked at it. 

The poor genius was left alone, staring at an empty space as the four vanished into a poof of magical reality miasma. It was no skin off his back; Schwoz could go back to work, eyeing the mountain of unclean plates that demanded his attention, not to mention a hoarse of tomatoes that the chef might want dicing. 

Hell, maybe he wouldn't have to. His boss was gone – disappeared into the aether with two kids and a woman who strangely knew a thing or two about multidimensional devices but not enough to be wary about accidentally triggering the reality shift. 

Gold star to Frankini.  

Next Chapter

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@monsteryoungin

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

tongue on loving wound

simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader | omegaverse!au | alternate universe to In Limbo | alpha!ghost x omega!fem!reader | masterlist

Chapter Two: unravel me until i’m wrapped around your finger

tw: gore, blood, slight pseudo dub-con, is scent intox a thing?, scenting, nudity, light smut

Simon spits the blood out of his mouth before wiping the remainder off on his sleeve.

It lands in a bubbling glob next to Marco’s corpse, marring the floor with a faint pink before it’s overwhelmed by the flood of ichor pouring from his yawning throat. Pearl white teeth peek out from between parted lips, now stained rose, and Simon scoffs at the sight of his canines. Sharp. Whittled down enamel. They’re fake—the mark of an alpha without control. 

Closing his eyes, Simon breathes in the scent of a fresh kill. Raw meat, thick in the air, wafting through his nose and plugging it full until his mind is spinning. Pheromones fade and are quickly replaced by decay. Wet foliage and fur caked with dirt beneath a shallow grave. 

This is what victory smells like. This is success. 

“O-Oh my god, y-you…”

Eyes like burnt umber lock onto you the moment your trembling words burrow through Simon’s brain. Sweet little omega with her back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest, and hands covering her mouth—you’re shaking with wide eyes focused on the scene behind him. Simon glances back at Marco’s body for a split moment to take in the gore and he mulls over how this must look to you. A senseless act of violence. Revenge in its most brutal form. You’ll realize that this is a gift in due time. 

“I told ya I was gonna take care of all this, sweetheart,” he patiently reminds.

The moment he steps towards you, your attention snaps to him. Blood still coats his face, wetting his maw, dribbling down to his chest. You know humans used to kill one another like this back before nature was deemed unsightly. Sharp teeth are meant for protecting, for fighting, for piercing sweet scent glands on the tender sides of necks. Still, the sheer carnage before you stuns you into silence. 

All Simon can think about is what a good omega you are looking up at him as you curl on the floor. It instills an aplomb that swells in his chest, heating his blood as it pumps throughout his body. You. Yes, you. It feels right. He can’t name why, he just feels the fact of it settle in his bones, a weight he doesn’t mind keeping around.

Kneeling before you, Simon’s hands reach for your throat and you only flinch a little bit when his fingers hook underneath your collar. Faux pink sears his retinas as he thumbs over the polymer. Real leather would be more secure, but this infantizes you. Belittles you. 

Teeth gritting, he begins to yank it apart. Plastic and metal strains and creaks underneath the pressure, and you squeak just as the collar splits open, claps coming apart and clattering on the ground. Simon discards it to the side, and your hands are quick to rub your naked throat as you sigh in disbelief. Your skin is ripe and smooth with perspiration, but you can’t help but trace the ghost of your collar. 

“Simon, I—thank you—this is—I can’t believe—oh!” 

Without warning his nose is in the crook of your neck, crooked curve rubbing at your scent gland. His breath is soft and long as he inhales you. Your gland pulses against his nostrils, white hot blood throbbing beneath your skin, and he huffs. Palms flat on his chest, instinct tells you to freeze as he continues to nudge against you, hot breath fanning against your newly revealed skin. 

There’s a pit that pulls just behind his navel when you tilt your head to the side; a snarling beast that compels his mouth to open. He nearly listens to it. That whining dog within him. Yet his nose catches the unsavory redolence of Marco, and how it still taints your skin, leaving you sordid and rotten, and he licks his teeth instead. 

“Sweet little ‘mega… you still smell like him,” he mutters into your collarbone. 

Blinking, your feet begin to scrape against the ground, body squirming beneath all of Simon’s attention. “I do?” 

He nods, then covers your hand on his chest with his own as he leans back to look at you. “I’m gonna fix that.” 

“You will?” 

Lips still twitching, still yearning for something, Simon leans forward without warning, mouth planting against the center of your forehead. The taste of your skin is muted because of Marco’s blood, which now stains the crown of your head, but it’s enough to satiate the growling in his stomach. 

“Yeah,” he assures as he rubs the blood off your face with his thumb. “Gonna take you home ‘n get ya all cleaned up.” 

Before anyone can stumble upon the mess he’s made, Simon escorts you out of Tsar Trading and shuffles you into his car before speeding off through the city. Your body is airy in the passenger seat next to him. Limbs filled with helium, skull packed with balloons, everything zooms by in a blur. Hands drawn to your throat, you can’t help but hold your tender skin. How long has it been since you last felt yourself like this without a barrier? 

Without Marco’s threatening teeth hovering over your neck? 

The dull drum of your hangover worsens the moment Simon pulls into the garage, and reality crashes down around you with the sudden weight of a tidal wave. Marco. Your debt. His corpse heavy on the floor of a grimy pawn shop. A hunk of flesh in Simon’s mouth. The alluring sheen in his eyes as he spat out fresh ichor onto his latest meal. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.” 

The door is open. Simon’s hand is waiting for you. Beckoning. Calling you home. You gently place your fingers against his palm and he brings you out of the garage and into the house. It’s darker than you expected it to be. Windows shrouded with thick curtains, all overhead lights snuffed out with only lamps and secondary lighting to illuminate the rooms—it’s warm. Comforting. A blanket of drowsiness swaddles you the very moment the door is locked behind you, pulling you beneath rocking waves and drowning out the vicious storm you’ve attempted to weather most of your life. 

Simon leads you through the living room around his comfortable sectional and coffee table littered with motorcycle parts to bring you into his bedroom. His mattress is huge. Large enough to swallow both you and him for dinner and still have enough room for dessert. Much like the rest of his house it’s dark with plain walls and a strong aroma of tobacco and musk. You breathe in and your brain begins to spin; gyrating until you’re unsteady on your feet. 

Algid air greets you in the master bathroom and it acts like water against your face, shocking you back into your body. Simon turns on the spout in the bathtub and runs his fingers beneath the flow, humming to himself as steam begins to waft and he yanks on the diverter until it’s spewing from the showerhead. 

“Oh, that was kind of you. You didn’t have to run it for me,” you excuse, attempting to thank him for his kindness despite how gauche it feels on your tongue. 

Straightening himself, Simon wipes his hand off on the front of his jeans before his attention is back on you. “Course I did.” Then, he motions at you, fingers flicking up. “C’mon. Clothes off, sweetheart.” 

His order restarts your brain and you find your arms absentmindedly crossing around your midsection, guarding your stomach, the most tender part of your body. “What? Like, right here? In front of you?”

“Is that a problem?” he asks with a raised brow. When you stutter through your answer, he puts you out of your misery. Stalking closer, feet moving with purpose, he gently closes in on you, body waiting to smother yours. “I told ya I was gonna clean you up, didn’t I?”

You swallow. “Y-Yeah.” 

The blood on his mouth has dried, but the scent is still just as strong. Intoxicating curor like red wine and honey mixed with brutal sweat. All discomfort within you dissipates when he looks at you—when he’s so close that you can smell him. Rewired brain, neurons learning new pathways, doors opening that you always thought were locked shut. 

“You’re gonna let me clean you up then, yeah?” he prompts. His lips quirk into a pleased smirk when you nod. “Good omega.” 

All shame leaves you the moment you begin to peel your clothes off. Shirt, pants, underwear—it all piles up on the floor next to your shoes until you’re standing nude in the mist, nipples perking in the cold. Simon pulls back the shower curtain and ushers you inside then shuts it before too much water can splash on the floor. 

Mindlessly, you stand beneath the pelting drops of water and let it cascade down your body, ignorant to the quiet thudding that hits the floor next to you. The next time the shower curtain moves, Simon is naked. His pallid chest dully reflecting the light still isn’t enough to blind you as you watch him climb into the tub behind you. You inspect him within a single instant. The thick muscles that flex in his thighs, ink spreading along his arms in swirling designs, a fat keloid that digs into his shoulder—

—and of course, him. 

You know what he’s supposed to look like. The videos and pictures from your health class ages ago were able to teach you that much at least. Still, it’s different seeing a cock in real life. Flaccid, it hangs lazy between his legs, foreskin stretching over the head and hiding it from view. Speckles of silver attempt to make their presence known from the underside of his shaft, leading all the way down to his puffy knot where it rests as a dormant shade of pale pink. 

As he snaps the curtain shut behind him, you distract yourself with mindless swaying while your arms wrap around your torso. Hands behind your shoulders, fingers digging into the anxious muscles unguarded. Simon dips his hand beneath the stream then wipes at his face. Beads of rosy water roll down his abdomen, tracing along his sternum before eventually diving to the tub where it vanishes with the flood. 

It isn’t long before his attention turns to you. Shower gel lathering in his bare hands, he guides you how he wants your body and scrubs you clean everywhere he can reach. The side of your neck, down the curve of your spine, between your legs—you giggle when he reaches your flank, nails scraping over your waist, tickling your ribs. He spends extra time on your wrists. Thumbing over the tiny scent gland that lies just over your pulse, he brings it up to his nose after each rinse where you can hear him breathe you in even over the roaring water clogging your ears. 

“Do I—erm… do I smell okay now?” you question cautiously. 

There’s a long stretch of silence full of Simon nuzzling your wrist before he finally answers. “You don’t smell like anythin’ at all.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you say with a sheepish chuckle. “I guess that… makes sense.” 

“Do you not have scent glands?” His question is blunt—near invasive. Far from a proper thing to ask, but his need to profile you is nettling too deep beneath his skin. The only person in the world he cannot smell, here before him, and haunting all his waking thoughts. Yet, you are not scandalized. Simon’s curiosity is not the first you’ve encountered. 

“No, I have them,” you admit. “They just… don’t seem to want to do their jobs. At first they thought it was late puberty, then a hormone imbalance, then a genetic condition… Now they’re telling me I might just be a little broken with no fix.” 

Simon’s eyes narrow at your explanation as if the very notion has him upset. “You’re not broken,” he insists. 

Backtracking, you shake your head. “Oh, I know. I guess. I-I mean, it doesn’t bother me. Like, I’ve never had any of the urges everyone else gets. Nesting, or heats, or…” Your tongue is loose, flapping against your teeth before you’ve fully comprehended your words. You stare at Simon as if he’s tricked you—transfixed you—before swallowing down the rest of your explanation. “It’s for the best anyway, I mean, with all that stuff going on with Marco I wouldn’t have the time to deal with biology anyway so… s-so, thank you. For—erm—taking care of him.”

Simon is quiet for a long time. He holds your gaze and it burns, red hot coals shoved into the pits of your stomach, poking at your navel, urging you forward. Instead, you stay still as he pulls your wrist up to his mouth just as his tongue lulls out to lick your gland. It sends a spark through your nervous system. It sizzles along each neuron until something hums to life in the long forgotten slice of your brain and you’re left staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Anythin’ for you, little ‘mega.” 

When the water shuts off and you’re met with the bite of brisk air, Simon dries you off with one of the largest towels you’ve ever seen. It dances over your skin, down your back and in the crux of your arse. He doesn’t bother to grab himself a fresh one before he dries himself off, then lazily wraps it around his waist. Enervation tugs at your eyelids as you lean down, fingers reaching for your old clothes on the floor, but your movements cease the moment Simon’s hand is on the back of your neck, scruffing you like a mangy cat. 

“Nuh uh,” he warns. You yelp as he pulls you back and you spin around to face him with a huff. “You’re not wearin’ those. They reek of Marco, and I just washed you up.”

As if wounded, you wrap your arms around yourself, skin puckering into gooseflesh as you shiver. “What am I supposed to wear, then?” 

Instead of giving you any proper clothes to change into, Simon retrieves a spare quilt from the hallway closet, wrapping it tight around your shoulders before dressing himself. Half naked, you sit on the edge of his bed with glassy eyes and scenes swirling in your skull as you’re forced to confront the day's events. 

Sharp teeth in tender throat. Fresh ichor spilling like pomegranate juice. The pretty corpse of a pretty man. A pink collar next to pallid fingers. 

“Hey.” Simon stands before you, fingers pressing beneath your jaw, prompting you to look up at him instead of your lap. “I’m gonna get you new clothes. Gonna be okay by yourself for a bit?” 

Your blink comes slow as you stare at him, nose flaring as his scent pierces through you like a bullet through ripe flesh. “Yeah. You can take the key to my flat, it should be in my pants.” 

“No baby, I’m buyin’ you new ones.” 

“What?” you breathe. “But I’ve got perfectly fine clothes at home!” 

The look he gives you turns your tongue into stone as umber eyes darken into onyx. Lips squeezing tight, you stare at him, hips readjusting on the edge of the bed as you wait for him to speak. 

“You’re not safe right now. Goin’ back to your flat is a bad idea while things are too hot, ‘n you’re safer ‘ere with me.” Pausing, Simon’s fingers wander away from your chin and down along your neck, ghosting over that sensitive nook that makes you quiver. “I asked you if you needed an alpha to take care of this for you ‘n you said yes, so you’re gonna be a good pet ‘n let me do this, yeah? Gonna let me take care of ya?” 

All fight and urge to argue is siphoned from your marrow, forced into dormancy too deep for you to reach. Everything goes fuzzy as mirth seeps from your brainstem and into your blood. It pumps throughout your body. Everything tingles. You’re warm in his touch. Content. Happy. 

“I’ll be good.” 

Simon makes quick work of his trip. After gathering your old clothes and throwing them into the bin, he spends his time meticulously gathering everything he expects you to need. Trousers, panties, shirts and pyjamas—he forgoes getting you any sort of bra entirely, not even attempting to eyeball your size. He doesn’t intend on letting you leave the house, anyway. Not until things cool down. 

He returns with his arms full of stacked bags that he haphazardly places on the kitchen counter before meandering back into the bedroom. Numbra cloaks the room, nearly obscuring his vision, but he’s still able to make out your form on the bed. As he stalks closer, feet silent on the floor, he notes you’ve slightly rearranged his bedding. Pillows strewn around your body, duvet bunched up in supporting places like you’re in the midst of a bowl. 

Eyes closed tight with the quilt pulled just under your chin, you’re fast asleep. He can hear the air in your lungs and how it expels through your nose, soft against the sheets, eyelids fluttering in the midst of a dream. Something stirs within him. A primordial growl that doesn’t quite bubble up in his chest—a content beast purring. 

He’s compelled forward, knees dipping into the mattress, movement gently jostling your form but not stirring you into consciousness. This feels right. His body next to yours, back pulled close to his chest, arm caging around you as he digs his nose into the back of your neck. You smell pure. A natural redolence like jasmine. With Marco’s scent expunged, he falls asleep within mere minutes. 

A few hours later, he wakes to the feeling of your nose pressed to his flank. 

His shirt is rolled up slightly, exposing the soft padding of his stomach during his slumber, but something sears through him. Your skin. Without the quilt to guard your body, you’re leaning against him without a barrier and he swears he can feel the quiver of your pulse. Your sniffs are soft and delicate, near pathetic little things—secretive and tense. 

Breathing in, Simon’s legs go rigid as he stretches and you freeze the moment he moves, retracting back into yourself as if you can’t afford to be caught. It’s impossible to hold back the simper on his lips as he sits up, movements slow and careful so as to not spook you. Still, you pull the quilt up under your chin again as his body twists, hands planting on either side of your head. His pupils swallow his irises. Black holes ready to consume you. 

“Why’d you stop?” he asks. 

Your lips curl inward before you press them against the corner of the blanket. “Stop what?” Simon doesn’t expand on his question, but the rise of his brows gets you to spill. “S-Sorry, you just… smell really nice.” 

“You’ve never been this close to an alpha before, have you?” he hums curiously. When your only response is to shake your head, his simper grows into a smirk. Before you know it, he’s lowering himself onto his elbows, body blanketing yours until his neck is presented to you. “Go ahead. You don’t even have’ta ask, baby.” 

The speed at which you give in is laughable. Nose against the underside of his jaw, diaphragm forcing your lungs to suck in mouthfuls of him—you dive into him. Arms curling around his neck, you pull him closer and he relents. You nuzzle into him as if you’re trying to dig through his throat with your nose. The longer he lets you explore, the more brave you become with your movements—reeling him closer, tugging on his shirt, legs squirming beneath him. 

Then, there’s the pinch. 

Dull teeth nip at his collarbone, forcing Simon to pull back with a growl. Teary eyed, you stare up at him, apology already slipping from your mouth. 

“I-I don’t know what came over me, I’m sorry,” you spew. 

He doesn’t say anything in response—he simply allows silence to shroud the two of you as he reverses the dynamic. His own crooked nose knocks against the side of your neck and you keen so prettily his hips roll forward instinctively as his lips hover over your scent gland. There are times in the past when he’s messed around with omegas like this before, toying with their most vulnerable parts just to feel them melt, but there’s something that’s weaving through his brain that muddles his thoughts. 

Jasmine. Ichor on flowers. Fur warmed by the sun. 

It lulls his teeth out from between his lips. They’re dry. Thirsty. Screaming for something to wet them, to put them out of their misery. Simon nearly gives in. Tender flesh on full display for him, quivering pulse within his grasp—he pauses. The scent flees just as quickly as it appeared. 

Humming, his lips quietly press against your scent gland and—for now—he ignores the tickle in the back of his brain that demands more. 

Weeks pass like this. You laze around on any surface you deem soft enough as you flip through the dusty books that lie on forgotten shelves throughout Simon’s home or solve sudoku puzzles in the paper. He tells you this is to keep you safe—just until Marco’s corpse has fully rotted—but by the time the weather warms into spring you’ve already carved your own spot into this house. 

Curled up into his side on the couch, nose suctioning to his side, digging into his ribs, wandering up to the pit, nesting in his bed, snoozing whenever you please, smiling more and apologizing less—you’re not sure you want to leave anymore. It’s safe here in the secluded den Simon has built. You tread past windows without the worry of camera flashes burning your sight, you don’t flinch when he touches you—and his smell. 

It sows something inside of you. An infinitesimal seed that’s burrowed deep into your gut and has germinated for so long it’s ready to bear fruit. Delicious, ripe with juice and skin so full it shears with the faintest pressure of teeth. The roots burrow so deep that they affect not only you, but Simon, too. He feels it churn through his offals, spearing through all things unnecessary; intestines, liver, spleen. 

The feeling haunts him worse when he’s not at home. Far in the depths of Terminus’s maw where a sickening concoction of scents assaults his nose. Even here in the VIP room it’s overstimulating. Sour musk, faux pheromones, greed and bitter lust; it all coalesces until his eyes are watering at the stench. There’s a twitch in his fingers that beg for a cigarette, but he bites the sensation back as the sillage of rosewater pierces through the wall of odor around him. 

“There he is. My husband’s favorite delinquent,” Aelin chirps. Simon’s growling chuckle sounds like blended metal when compared with the soft music playing in the room. Aelin grins as she leans against the wall next to him, heels tapping against the lacquered floor. “I do hope he’s taking things easier on you now after that whole mess.” 

Mess. He nearly scoffs.

“Marco was a sod. It was a pleasure to get rid of ‘im,” he hums. 

“Even without permission?” she questions, inflection curling around each word. 

His reply dances on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. Of course it was worth it. He’d do it a million times over. Without permission, by himself, with a crowd, with his bare hands—the trouble he caused was worth it. Snuffing out the filth. Freeing you from your bonds. The sweet omega sleeping in his bed is just a secondary treat. 

“Chip didn’t come with you tonight?” Aelin reroutes when he doesn’t reply. 

He shakes his head. “Said she wasn’t feelin’ well.” 

“Ah.” An elbow brushes against his side; playful. “She seems to be staying with you an awful lot these days. Hardly even answers the phone when I text. Care to explain how that came about?” 

Truth is, he doesn’t. He thinks about your debt, and the secrets you’ve whispered to him about it, and he knows you couldn’t handle bearing your sins to Aelin. Not now, at least. Instead, Simon sighs as he rests the back of his head against the wall, looking at the crowd over the angled curve of his nose. 

“She likes the way I smell.” 

At that, Aelin smirks. 

The rest of the night moves at a snail's pace. Musk is tainted with liquor and hoppy beer, burning his nostrils until they feel void of hair. Simon remains at the edge of the crowd, eyes narrowing at each face that passes him by while something writhes beneath his skin. He thinks of you. Your skin on his. Nose on his neck. Gland in his mouth. It’s as if he has hives on his skin, they itch and burn, setting him ablaze, making him wish he could take his claws and rake it over himself until it stops. 

On the ride home he lights a cigarette to cleanse his palette of the filth he’s had to endure through the night. It swirls on his tongue and when he exhales he pushes it through his nose until the only thing he can note is tobacco and the buzz of nicotine. His dash reads 01:33 by the time he pulls into the garage and he’s groaning as he enters through the door, achy feet finally nettling too deep. 

The moment he steps foot into the living room, Simon knows something’s wrong. 

Thin fabric and glistening springs greet him as he stares at his barren sofa. Each cushion has been stolen away, leaving behind not so much as a throw pillow in its wake. Hackles raised, he carefully steps around the couch, eyeing it warily, as he enters the kitchen. The light is still on—you always keep it this way when you know he’ll be home late—but the island is a mess. Seven half empty water glasses are strewn about the countertop with no method to the madness, and he nearly slips right on his arse as he splashes through a puddle just by the sink. 

A piercing dither strikes his chest when he calls your name and he gets no response, sending him spiraling through the house until he’s bursting through the bedroom door. When he flicks the light on he freezes.

You’ve nested—properly. Damn near burrowed. A true hibernaculum. Sofa cushions line the wall and are held together by tucked sheets, and you’ve seem to have raided his spare blankets from the closet. His hamper is overturned, and he sees various articles of his clothing poking out from the medley of fabrics that you’ve buried yourself in. Even from the doorway he can hear your whimpering. Pathetic pules. The squeaking of a mouse or cries of a kitten.

Simon opens his mouth to grab your attention, but just as he does something hits him—a wall of thick air, something hardly permeable, yet strong enough to nearly bring him to his knees. He clasps a hand over his mouth as he stumbles toward you, but it’s not enough to smother the scent. 

Your scent. 

Jasmine and blood, fresh red oozing out of weeping meat, warm honey dripping onto a waiting tongue, the brine of needy tears spilling from a desperate cunt—

Your eyes flutter open as Simon seats himself next to your nest and the moment your gaze locks onto him, he knows he’s doomed. The sudden onset of your scent leaves his brain devolving until a demanding mantra plays on repeat—take. Take you. Take everything, all your pain and strife, and give, give, give. 

“Simon?” 

The crack in your voice sends his heart quivering as he leans forward, hands cupping your face. You’re febrile. It seeps through his skin and into his bones demanding that he purges it. “I’m right here, baby.” 

“S-Something’s wrong like- like, I feel really weird,” you whine. You reach up to wipe the sweat from your brow only for it to be instantaneously replaced by more perspiration and he has to fight back the urge to lick your fingers clean. “Everything’s so warm and I just- I can’t think straight… I-I’m sorry about your clothes, you just- it’s the only thing that seems to c-calm me and-and oh… Simon you… you smell so nice.” 

Each word you speak has his heart thudding in his chest, violent and raging like a storm. Your eyes are so heavy you can hardly keep them open, just peering up at him through heavy lids as you deliquesce in his grasp. He’s leaning forward, lips parting, tongue wishing to taste the delicate scent that teases his nose. 

“Did somethin’ happen?” Even his own voice sounds as if he’s under water—too far beneath your current to be saved. 

“N-No it just- I felt odd this morning but it just- it came out of nowhere sometime after you left.” You stutter as he breathes in against your scent gland. “Am I sick?” 

“You have a scent now,” he admits as the world seems to sway around him. It’s potent. So strong yet pleasant, smothering him in a way he wouldn’t mind asphyxiating. 

“I do?”

He hums in confirmation as he begins to traverse down your body. You’re wearing nothing but a dress shirt and a pair of panties, leaving your bare legs to spread wide for him as he slots himself between them. You listen to his touch, chest rising against his face as he trails down to your stomach. Then, he’s pushing at your thighs, giving himself enough room to shove his face against your clothed sex. 

Instead of exclaiming, you moan, hips rolling up as he inhales. There’s an intoxicating aroma that overwhelms him, sending all his blood straight to his cock where it aches against his jeans. You watch his eyes squeeze shut before he’s weaning himself off of you, and when he looks up at you, his eyes are warmer. There’s a new fire lit behind them and the sparks are jutting out to meet you—to know you, your skin, the softest parts of you, everything that makes you tick. 

“Poor little ‘mega,” he coos as he sits back on his haunches. “Can’t even tell when she’s in heat.” 

“What?” Everything you know crumbles around you as Simon’s words attempt to untangle themselves in your mind. “But I- no- I’ve never been in- they said I couldn’t!” 

“Might’ve been from the stress,” Simon offers, though it’s hard to think rationally when your scent muddles his thoughts. He attempts to recall any other omega who’s scent had this effect on him, yet nothing comes to mind. Something jovial purs in his chest at that revelation; that you’re special—his. “Owing Marco, workin’ yourself half to death the way you did, might’ve thrown your body into survival mode. Prioritized other functions besides scent and hormones.” 

There are tears in your eyes now. Frustration and fear clash head on in your chest, and you’re pawing at your eyes to will them away. “Fuck. No, no, I can’t—this cant—no!” 

Simon melts over you, elbows crashing into the mattress as he covers your body with his, sticking close to you despite the heat. “Shh, it’s okay baby.” 

“I dunno what to do! I’ve never… I can’t think, I just, it’s like there’s a hole inside of me, and it burns, and I just need it—I dunno what I need! I’m so-”

“Shh,” he coos again. He knocks your hands away from your face with his jaw before he’s presenting the side of his neck to you. Your sniffling slowly fades until you’re breathing deep, nose against his throat, drowning in his scent. “Poor thing. Need me to take care of you, yeah? Need your alpha to help you through your heat?” 

You hum, lips reaching up to grace against his Adam’s apple. “You smell… that’s not too much trouble? Helping me? Simon you—my alpha?—you smell so nice…” 

The keen in your tone has his fingers curling into your nest while the straining in his pants gets worse. He’s throbbing with want. It rattles inside of him so fiercely he fears you might hear the growling in his stomach. 

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

“No baby, it’s no trouble,” he assures. “Do you trust me?” 

You’re beginning to calm now, muscles no longer tense on the bed, yet still burning just as hot as you were before. But it’s better now. It’ll be enough—until it isn’t. 

But he’ll be right here to take care of his omega through it all.

“I trust you,” you eventually sigh. 

“Good. Now lay back and let me take care of my mate.”

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[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Another drawing I did while stressed from school, you get the reference instead bc the sketch looked like poo

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

By the way, fanfiction isn't the place for reviews or criticism.

When you're a published author, it's like you're preparing a meal in a food competition. You expect a rating and to be told what worked and what didn't to improve your craft and embark on your career.

When you're a fanfiction author, it's like taking some of your free time to enjoy the process of baking cookies and then offering them to someone to be kind.

If you take a cookie from the plate, you don't spit it out and tell them it sucked.

Unless the writer asks for your opinion, you can keep it to yourself.

Adding this to clarify, and you don't have to agree with this by any means, I cannot force you to, but the reason Ao3 and Fanfiction isn't the space for criticism and ratings...is that it is a fan space created by fans for fans.

It isn't school.

It is a space where people with the same interests can congregate and enjoy the same fandom.

When you think about commenting on an fanfic authors fics, don't think if it as fishing around in your pocket to give them a compliment.

Compliments are nice. Most everyone likes compliments.

"I like your character development."

"You paint wonderful imagry."

Those are comments that are compliments. Speaking for myself as a fanfic writer they're nice, but they're not what my fan heart craves.

I want engagement with my readers.

The best comments I get aren't talking about my skill as a writer, but what just happened in the story because you and I (the reader) are already fans of the world created.

Comments like:

"NOOOOOOOO!"

"Did she actually just do that?"

"EXCUSE me?!?!"

None of these comments are compliments and none are critical. They are emotionally aligned with the story. They are engaged and with this engagement we create a little community in this tiny little space we get to call ours.

I cannot stop people from saying cruel things, but I can inform those people of the "dangers" so to speak when people treat fandom spaces like Ao3 as if it's Goodreads.

Writers, who write for themselves and offer it to you out of kindness, can decide that if people are just going to spit out their cookies they don't need to post about them anymore and that is how fandom spaces die.

If you don't like the flavor of cookie they made, or you're allergic to one of its ingredients...don't eat the cookie. Put it back for someone else to enjoy and then go find the flavor you do like.

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

This is so cute look at themmmmm

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

henry danger kiss headcannons!

navigation!

including : henry , ray , charlotte , jasper x reader (seperate)

(written with fem presenting/ fem reader in mind, but no specification)

wanings : tiny lil make out (jasper) , cursing (me) , no use of y/n , 2nd person (you , yours , etc.)

notes from dice! : hope someone likes this bcz i have no other ideas and two other drafts

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henry • peck

he's always on the move, whether it's as he's leaving for a "quick" mission with ray he'll give you one both as henry and kid danger

has to give you at least one per conversation, so if you talk alot just be prepared for a bunch of kisses

also kisses you as he's talking like he'll kiss you and then start talking and then kiss you and start talking again and repeat

"Oh, today me and Ray went to stop jeff-" he gave you a quick kiss, "From robbing the nice Nacho Ball-" He gave you another, which left you giggling.

you honor, he's a loverboy

honestly i feel like no matter what, he'll always say his favorite thing is kissing you. even if someone asks him as kid danger, he can't help but be honest!

ugh he so fine

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ray • head

bro if SO fucking domestic for no reason??

like no matter what, he'll refer to you as his wife. to everyone. and GOD FORBID someone corrects him

idk i just kinda think he likes seeing you as a staple in his always-changing life, like YOU are the only thing that stays the same

whenever yall are just like chilling or something i feel like he'll put an arm around you and just press a little kiss to your head

As you listened to Charlotte ramble about truly anything, you felt a pair of arms snake around your middle. "Hey, babe," He pressed a kiss to your temple.

yeah, he's domestic as fuck

he can't help it, whenever he sees you standing or sitting without him he feels the need to just make sure you know he loves you

even if you're like doing something really important, no matter who's there, it really shows everyone how much he cares.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

charlotte • face

you already know

charlotte would most probably love to just pepper your face with kisses all the time though she doesn't like pda too much

if you like/ want pda though, maybe she will from time to time (esp if it's an important event/ your friends are there)

"Hi, my love," You greet as she walks theough your bedroom door. She sets her stuff down and crawls beside you, cupping your face, ready to give you as many kisses and she can, "Hey."

she honestly doesn't care what her firemds think, she'd (probably) fight for you

so even if everyone is in the man cave, she will still be kissing your entire face the whole time

until- she's never gonna fucking stop. nice joke, though.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

jasper • hand

my boy just wants to feel chivalrous(?)

he loves just walking while holding your hand, and randomly bringing it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles.

he's just happy your with him, happy that he gets to call you his.

he tries to be polite and stuff 24/7 but with how much time you're around each other, it's hard not to get comfortable.

Slow kisses had eventually developed into hungry, fast kisses. While you were kissing on his neck and jaw, his attention was somewhere else. "So pretty darling," He spoke as he brought your hand to his mouth.

it doesn't matter when or where, as soon as his thoughts drift to you he can't help but put a kiss on your hand

if you touch his face at all, expect one on your palm- if you touch him literally anywhere other than his own, he will grab you hand just to kiss the back of it.

why is my boy so fucking underrated.?

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Henry Danger The Movie Reader Insert | Chapter 12. Heart To Hart

pairing: Ray Manchester/f!reader + Platonic!Henry Hart/f!reader

summary: (y/n) sits down to talk with Henry, determined to find out what's going on with him. She's surprised and disappointed with what she hears.

rating: F + A - fluffy and angsty, adult language, jealousy, references to abusive/neglectful parents, henry gets a whack on the head for being dense, slight canon divergency

word count: 4.3k

a/n: i wrote this really quickly. henry needed someone to talk some sense into him, and (y/n) is the one for the job. also the jasper backstory is very self-indulgent cos i love that kid, but i think it's fairly canon to say his mom is shitty. they imply it on the show.

Thank you for reading! I (respectfully) yearn for likes, comments, and reblogs. Click for vibes

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There wasn't really anywhere to hide in Shimmers. People filled every corner; some danced, some drank, some puked, and others... Well, it was a good thing the shadows hid whatever they got up to. 

(y/n) didn't know the place very well, but she knew the boy she searched for. Henry wasn't the type to run away completely, not one to abandon his friends and lose himself over a temper tantrum. Logic said he wouldn't have left the building, which narrowed things down. 

The only problem was that the nightclub was big. Two floors at least. Besides the multiple dance floors, there were side rooms, VIP rooms, toilets, the backstage area, bars, a cloakroom, employee locker rooms, and more. Too many places for her to search quickly, but plenty for a young man to squirrel himself away. 

Still, (y/n) knew how the kid thought. She knew what he liked and didn't like. And she liked to think she was a little more levelheaded than he was. 

So, logic said he wouldn't go anywhere too icky, which ruled out the toilets. Nor would he go anywhere too busy, and that excluded the packed bars and the main floors since they were heaving with partygoers. As much as he liked to think of himself as a celebrity, Henry wasn't a VIP, either, so he wouldn't be there. And he couldn't get into the locker rooms without raising a few questions. 

It left the standing thoughtfully in a busy walkway, thrumming her fingers against her mouth as she scanned her surroundings. Everything came up as a negative until she chanced upon a possibility. One that called to her from the beginning since it was quiet, , and not overstuffed with morons popping shots and doing God knows what else. 

Into the kitchen, she went. 

It's where she thought Henry had headed, and it made sense. She pushed open the door and slipped in, luckily not spotted by a waiter or grumpy chef, who might wonder what a dolled-up lady was doing in their domain. They'd all scarpered after the fight, ditching their stations and leaving the kitchen barren. Not a soul to be found. 

Well, except maybe one. 

"Hey..." Her voice was soft not to spook the boy she'd found, offering a small smile even though he didn't look at her. 

Henry slumped against a workstation, cowering with his back against cold steel after removing the ridiculous wig that made his head itch. The navy tunic was gone, too, tossed to some unknown corner because he was sick of the sight of it, which left him in the frilly, white shirt. "Hey, (y/n/n)."

His voice sounded croaky, matching his swollen eyes and damp cheeks since he could let it all out with no one around. He'd heard her push open the door but made no move to run; Coach Cregg really did a number on him, stealing his strength and energy. At least she walked in, not Schwoz or Piper or a complete stranger. 

He loved those two, but (y/n/n)... He could break in front of her, and she wouldn't laugh or sneer. She'd be tender, and Henry needed some of that right now. 

(y/n) moved closer, circling the cookers and prep areas until she saw how low he hung his head, avoiding her concerned gaze in favour of staring at his lacy sleeves. She saw the wet, silvery streaks on his cheeks and frowned—felt her heart ache when he sniffed a little to try and be brave. It didn't work. 

"Are you crying?" Dumb question, but she asked it before she could stop herself. 

His tears were painfully obvious, evidence that the poor boy was hurting badly, but out of instinct, he brushed them away, acting like he was fine with all his snot and red eyes. "No..."

"Don't bullshit me, Henry," (y/n) told him with a sigh, and she sat down beside him, scooching over so they could both lean against the counter. "And don't you dare say it's liquid pride."

"Well...maybe a bit." A wobbly smile twitched on his lips, glancing at his sister sadly when she reached for his clammy hand – the one that kept bouncing against his knee. "Just all got a bit much, y'know?"

The heroine nodded, exhaling from her nose with a bitter laugh. As someone sitting on the floor of a nightclub kitchen, galaxies away from home, she knew the feeling. "Yeah, I know. We've seen some weird shit, but not like this. Never had reality change around me."

"Me neither," answered Henry, and he squeezed her hand. He saw the apprehension on her face; neither knew if they'd get home or if it was even possible. "How you up?"

"Surprisingly well. I miss my doofus, but I'll get back to him." But (y/n) was anything if not an optimist. Her smile grew, eyes crinkling as she pictured who waited for her back at that little house – strong arms and the little pitter-patter of tiny feet – and it helped. Wild horses couldn't drag her in the opposite direction. "I always do."

The boy could only wish he had that certainty, but he never considered himself like his old boss. Ray and (y/n) built a life together, and it almost made him jealous to know she had warmth and happiness to return to. His home had none of that—wasn't even sure if he had a home to go back to, and his anxiety grew. 

"...Yeah."

"But I didn't follow you in here to talk about me." She pulled him from his melancholy, and Henry looked away, shoulders tensing as she turned to a conversation he'd been trying to outrun. 

"No?" He tried to play it dumb. 

"No. So, do you want to tell me what this is all about?" But it didn't work. "Or am I going to have to use brute force?"

He huffed and dropped her hand, pulled his knees closer to his chest and pursed his lips as if to keep the world out. If anything, it made him look like a little kid, sulking in a ball, worlds away from the tough guy he wanted to be. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"No, but you're gonna," she replied firmly, prodding his side as she adjusted her position, facing him cross-legged to scrutinise every movement. "Come on. Tell Ol' (y/n/n) what's wrong."

How could he get away from that?

Henry sighed, all the air leaving his lungs as he pulled his palm over his tired eyes. He really didn't want to talk about it, but he knew she'd not let up. (y/n) always pulled the truth from him eventually, and unless the ground swallowed him up, there was nowhere to go. 

"...I had a fight with Jasper." The confession slipped from his lips in a little whisper, nearly making him cry all over again. 

"Oh." Was all (y/n) could react with – a bad habit that Ray could attest was like a punch in the gut when expecting another answer. But she was surprised, expecting some baggage from Dystopia, but nothing as serious. "Like physically or...?"

"No, we didn't beat each up!" The boy quickly protested, staring at her in alarm for ever thinking that. Sure, they argued, but he'd never hurt Jasper. At least not with his fists. "We just...fell out."

She nodded thoughtfully, piecing together everything from the moment they reunited to the dark look on Henry's face when he first stepped into Shimmers. "That why you've been giving Captain 'Stache daggers ever since we met him?" 

"Is it that obvious?" He asked quietly, thinking he had masked his resentment well whenever the moustached hero flew beneath the glitter ball or fanned out his cape to send the crowd swooning. 

Apparently not, as (y/n) snorted, shaking her head since she didn't find it funny. Her sharp eyes seemed to look right through him, making Henry feel guiltier, fidgeting like he was on the naughty step. 

"The guy's got a dumb cape, but at the end of the day, he's still Jasper. Your best friend."

"I don't think we're friends anymore," he mumbled, picking at the skin on his fingers so he didn't have to watch her eyebrows fly to her hairline. 

"God, is it really that bad?" Asked the heroine, assuming they'd bickered as all friends do, but it wasn't like him to lie. He had no reason to, and the confession had her leaning forward, an ever-deepening frown on her face. "What happened?"

He shrugged, acting like it didn't eat at his insides as he remembered every word between them—how they left cuts on both sides. "I want to move out. Get my own place. Do my own thing in Dystopia. He didn't take it well."

"Didn't take it well, or did you not give him a choice?" She asked, sounding as disturbed and disdainful as Jasper had when he learned the news. "Sounds like you didn't."

It was the sort of thing he always asked about whenever he phoned home, looking for advice from those who knew best. Still, truthfully, Henry hadn't said a peep in weeks before he found himself in Newtown, not to his roommate or his found family—a real go-it-aloner for no reason. 

"I—well..." he stammered, trying to think of an excuse or explanation when she bit back, but unlike with Jasper, all the lies dried up. She said not to bullshit her, and when she was this close – their knees touching – he couldn't. "I guess things got out of hand. I upset him."

"And this reality stuff all happened before you could apologise?"

"Apologise?" The word didn't sit right on his tongue, feeling clumsy and tasting sour. He looked at her with a scrunched-up nose and a furrowed brow, almost expecting the woman to crack a smile and say—ha-ha, got you! But she didn't. 

(y/n) stared back incredulously, searching his expression to see if he was joking. But he wasn't. "Yeah, Henry. It's where you say sorry. It's what friends do."

"But I did nothing wrong," he argued, looking more concerned with that idea than he had when admitting about the fight. He grew more restless with every second, not liking how her face suddenly looked displeased—and it was directed at him. "Don't look at me like that."

"Oh, I'm looking," she said sharply before folding her arms. Even in a world where she didn't have her tummy tingle, she suspected something suspicious. "What exactly happened between you two? Exactly."

Another sigh left Henry's mouth, and he tilted his head to look at the bright white lights, extractor fans, and pipes on the ceiling. He didn't know where to start, which was probably why he avoided the whole thing, but (y/n) insisted – took his arm and hugged it to her body, so there was no chance of escape. 

Once he started, there was no stopping. Everything from the fight tumbled out in a torrent of word vomit, but it wasn't exactly how Jasper would have told the tale. (y/n) couldn't help but hear all the I's and me's as the kid rambled. 

"There was a fight between us and Blackout. We won, but all he could focus on was this advertising deal I got with BizWatch. I mean, it's not my fault they blurred his photo, and then, he got all pissy with me 'cause apparently, I come across as his boss, and—"

"And then you decided that was the moment to tell him you wanted out," She asked, not wanting to jump in, but she got the gist. 

He nodded slightly, breathless but feeling like a stone had lifted from his chest. "Yeah." 

"...I mean, it's bad, but you think that's it? Friendship over 'cause of that?" The woman asked after a moment, mulling it over since he'd said a lot. 

She didn't look convinced, becoming a little softer after wrongly thinking the kid was panicking over a mere disagreement. Well, he had news for her. 

"That's not everything."

She tensed again, braced for the worst as he winced. The stone returned, crushing him with anxiety because Henry knew she wouldn't like the next bit. He saw it in her hard gaze and how she chewed her lip. "Oh, goodie." 

"Before we separated, he brought you up," he explained, looking more disgruntled as the story unfolded, particularly as he recalled Jasper's low blow. 

"Me?" (y/n) visibly recoiled, pointing at herself like there could ever be two of her. It made the kid smile bitterly, wishing that were the case because then, they wouldn't have to fight. there'd be enough (y/n/n) for the both of them. "What's this got to do with me?"

"Everything!" Henry exclaimed, finally coaxed from his moody silence as they reached his sore point – the bit Jasper prodded to provoke him deliberately. He just knew it.

"He said you'd want nothing to do with me if I left him. What he doesn't realise is that he's holding me back!"

At some point, he'd begun shouting, his voice echoing off the metal surfacing and ringing in the heroine's ears as she stared at him in shock. The outburst left him silently seething, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his fists squeezed like he was ready to hit something. She hated to see him in such a state, with reddened cheeks and frustrated tears pricking at his waterline, but she heard him—loud and clear. 

The anger and – dare she think it – hatred creeping into his tone made her tummy drop, alarmed to hear him speak so harshly about someone she loved and someone he'd known his whole life. It left her feeling disgusted and sad to see what happened when she wasn't around to steer her babies in the right direction. 

"Henry..." (y/n) said quietly, leaning back with an eerily calm expression. "Brace yourself."

"What do you mean brace my—ow!" The boy frowned, mouthing her words, only to grimace when she sharply whacked the back of his head, shaking her head as she did. 

All he could do was rub at the sore spot and pout, wondering what he'd done to deserve her harshest punishment. "What was that for?!"

"For being a moron," (y/n) replied, tutting through her teeth as she propped her cheek up against her fist. "I can't believe what I'm hearing."

He crumbled under her stern gaze, turning from a raging beast to docile with one glance – now a pup with blunt canines. He didn't want to upset her, so Henry felt like whimpering, dipping his head and mumbling to placate the temper he'd roused. 

"Please, don't take his side."

That had the woman blinking – one, two, three times, wishing she'd misheard him, but no. He said that—accused her of picking one kid over another, and truly, after so many years of knowing one another, (y/n) hoped Henry knew her better than that.

He didn't; otherwise, he'd know that (y/n) Manchester always tried to be fair, especially when it concerned the many children once under her wing. It was her number one rule: no one ever took her love away; it just grew when it needed to. 

"Take his side? Henry, I am not taking anyone's side," she told him sternly, spitting out the words, glaring furiously and leaving him slightly petrified. "But I see things differently to you."

"Yeah..." he answered quietly, scoffing and rolling his eyes as his insecurities crept in. Before he knew what he said, he spilt his guts, looking at the heroine with glassy eyes and quivering lips. 

"You see Jasper as your favourite, even though I've known you the longest."

Silence. Crickets. Could've heard a pin drop in China as (y/n) sat back and huffed. 

Even if she chewed him out, shouted at him, and said she never wanted to see him again, Henry wished she'd say something as the seconds dragged on. Anything. It was better than looking at whatever emotion was on her face. 

He wouldn't quite describe it as upset, angry, or shocked. Livid felt right, with (y/n) frozen except for her steady breathing, and all Henry could do was sit in the discomfort that came from knowing he'd screwed up--let his jealousy get the best of him. 

He didn't mean to, but he had. And it unleashed her fury. 

"Is that what this is about? Are you for real?" She asked him at last, spitting out the words and folding her arms. "Let me tell you one thing. I don't have favourites. Yes, I try to take care of Jasper a little bit more than the rest of you, but do you know why that is?"

He glanced away and shook his head, at least having the decency to look ashamed, although he wasn't thrilled to hear her talk about him. "No."

"Because he has no one else. Just me, you, Charlotte, Piper, Schwoz, and Ray," (y/n) said, her tone deadly serious as she reached out to take his chin between her forefinger and thumb. 

If they were doing this, she'd make him listen and see reason, pulling the kid's face away from his lap and towards hers, keeping it there. If he wanted to squabble about who got her attention the most, she'd treat him like a child because that's what he acted like. 

The truth was far from his childish jealousy. Emotion flickered across her face as she spoke of an unmentionable open secret– the elephant in every room they'd ever been in because Jasper didn't like to talk about it. But still, everyone knew. 

"You know just as well as I do that his parents never gave a damn about him."

"Yeah..." Henry nodded solemnly. He'd never liked talking about it, either. As long as Jasper went over to his house, stayed away from the toxicity of his own, and thrived in school, it was easy to ignore. Or at least it was that way for him. 

"When we lived in the Man Cave, you got to go home to your mom and dad. They weren't perfect, but they loved you. Jasper, on the other hand..."

He closed his eyes at the reminder, wincing as he knew who she was talking about. There was only one person it could be. "His mom..."

"Didn't care where he was as long as she didn't have to lift a finger." (y/n) nodded, her lips set into a straight line as she nearly growled at the thought of that despicable woman. 

Fortunately for Jasper's mom, they'd never met – the only reason why (y/n) hadn't put her in a hospital and herself in a jail cell. 

The heroine was sure she would've slapped her every time Jasper came to her crying or asked for dinner because he'd had none. Too many times, he'd had to humiliate himself, politely asking if he could use their laundry room because his mother didn't wash clothes—but he promised not to cause trouble! 

He never had to ask again; (y/n) made sure of that. 

"I remember once I went up into Junk-N-Stuff. It must've been nearly midnight, and he kept saying he'd do one last chore before heading off. Really, he just didn't want to go home."

"So, what did you do?" Henry asked quietly, hanging onto every word of the story he'd never heard. He knew things were bad, but he never knew the extent. 

"I let him stay, of course," she answered instantly, not doubting her reply like she didn't doubt her response all those years ago. 

There was never any question for her that night; within half an hour, Jasper had his own room, a warm bed, and a promise. It was his for however long he needed it. 

"Ray likes to pretend Jasper annoys him, but the minute he found out what was going on, he never sent him home again. He stayed with us—with people who love him."

"That's why he was always first to work?"

"He never left." (y/n) smiled. She always remembered how her doofus complained about the lack of hot water in the morning, how Jasper left crumbs everywhere, and how he always walked in at the wrong moment, but those were good days. 

She dreaded to think what would've happened if they'd done the opposite. That was the bit Henry didn't understand – the side he never wanted to see because it made him uncomfortable. 

"It's not about favouritism, Hen. Jasper always needed a little bit of extra love. God knows he didn't get it at home."

"Never thought about it that way," the young hero muttered as shame swelled within him, and the heroine sighed. 

"Sounds like you haven't thought about anyone else at all," she said, knowing it had to be said, even if the sight of him sniffling made her feel rotten. But not nearly as rotten as he'd been. "I've raised a lot of kids. I know what you all need." 

Henry looked at her curiously, having never thought his friends needed so much care and attention. If anything, he saw everyone as pretty low maintenance. Yet, when (y/n) began to explain, her eyes turning fond and gentle, he supposed he didn't get it. After all, he never had to care the way she did.

"Piper needs friends. People who actually see who she is under all her Piperness. Charlotte needs confidence. She doesn't want people to think she's a know-it-all, but being the smartest person in the room isn't something to be ashamed of."

"And the others?"

Happiness spread across the woman's pretty features, practically glowing at the reminder of the four heroes she and Ray left back in Swellview. "They're doing all right on their own at the moment. We check in every week."

"And me?" He couldn't help but ask. Everyone else had a mention, including the ones who came after his lot. Curiosity won out, and (y/n) gave him a bemused smile. 

"You, Henry Hart?" She raised an eyebrow, seeing the anxiousness on his face—as if she'd ever say anything other than her adoration for him. "You're a brave, funny, kind, caring kid, but you're arrogant. It's always been your downfall."

The boy frowned at that, naturally rejecting any smear of his character, even if it came from someone who knew him best. "Can't I just have friend issues?"

She didn't look mad anymore, and at least that was something. A warm hand returned to his knee as she spoke, not unkindly but frankly. He needed to hear it. 

"You're likeable, Henry. So many people care about you. So many people want to be like you, and it's been that way since you were thirteen. It's gone to your head."

"...I'm not that bad," the kid replied moodily, but in the end, he gave a defeated shrug. "I just don't want to be always known as Captain Man's sidekick. I want to be me."

"Doesn't mean you have to do it all by yourself," (y/n) told him, thinking she was beginning to sound old and wise, but it got through to him. Henry placed his hand over hers, dropping his head on her shoulder as she continued, soaking up every word like a sponge. 

"It's all well and good pretending like you don't need anyone, but one day, you'll look around after cutting everyone out, and you'll realise there's no one left. The problem with being at the top is you're alone, and the only way to go is down."

He had no answer for that, letting out nothing more than a snuffle as he brushed another tear away, wishing he could stop snivelling like a baby. The last thing he ever wanted was to end up as some sad, lonely loser, always assuming people would stick by him no matter how many times he climbed over them. 

(y/n) pulled him closer, holding him tight as she wrapped an arm around him, keenly aware of how her foot had gone to sleep, but she could ignore that. 

"Jasper has always had your back, and now, he's come into his own," she whispered, stroking her fingertips through the boy's hair to soothe his little sobs. It always worked when he was younger, crying when a girlfriend dumped him or Mitch Bilsky said something too mean. 

"You would be an idiot to let that friendship go. You'd regret it."

"Did you?" Henry asked quietly, feeling his sister tense momentarily since the pain was still a little near. 

"Yeah. Every day after it happened," replied (y/n), swallowing thickly before smiling, water gathering on her eyelashes, too. It all worked out in the end, but what she wouldn't give to go back in time and do things differently... 

"She's doing all right now, but we hardly spoke for fifteen years. I'd hate to see the same thing happen to you."

He nodded thoughtfully and released the lip he'd been chewing on. As much as it wounded his pride to admit it, he knew what he needed to do – before it was too late. "Then, I should say sorry..."

"Yep." At last, a bright smile crossed (y/n)'s face. She turned and planted a gentle kiss against his dirty blond hair, prouder by that one admission than any death-defying rescue he could have performed, and Henry relished it. 

"And lose this dumb idea in your head that there's some competition going on. 'Cause there's not, okay? All my babies make me proud."

"Okay," he answered, nodding or nuzzling closer – the heroine couldn't tell. Still, she didn't mind, rubbing her cheek on his head as they sat on the dirty floor, hiding in a kitchen staffed by mercifully flaky cooks. 

It was a peaceful moment, and Henry felt happier than he had done in weeks, finally okay with being in the world around them. It still wasn't great; neither wanted to linger, but (y/n) knew how to make it better. She always did. "And you know what?"

"What?"

"I love you, Henry," she whispered, holding him in one of her snuggly hugs as the brave, funny, kind, caring, painfully arrogant but trying-to-do-better young hero hid his grin in her shoulder. 

His ears felt hot as he replied, grateful no one was around to see a twenty-three-year-old man hugging his older sister with a blissed-out expression. He'd never live it down, but he'd be damned if he didn't say it back. 

"...I love you, too, (y/n/n)." 

Yeah, he felt better now. 

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@monsteryoungin

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

People get way too bent out of shape when I say Ray Manchester is not a bad person. But he’s not. He’s lonely and horribly misguided in a world he can’t understand. Death is an anomaly to him. That probably changes a person’s brain chemistry in ways we can only imagine.

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Fanfiction writers be like:

"here's the immensely time consuming 100K word novel-length passion project I'm working on between my real life job and family! It eats up hundreds of hours of my one and only life, causes me emotional harm, and I gain basically nothing from it! Also I put it on the internet for free so anyone can read if they want. Hope you love it!" :)

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

henry says he's not like ray... oh he is :')

I don't have abandonment issues. I am the abandonment issue.

[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Henry Danger The Movie Reader Insert | Chapter 11. I Want Candy!

pairing: Ray Manchester/f!reader + Platonic!Henry Hart/f!reader

summary: Lord Lolli answers the call. Only, he quickly remembers how sucky it feels to be the sidekick once again.

rating: F - slapstick violence, mild threats, pretty silly fight scene, mild adult language here and there, jealousy

word count: 2.5k

a/n: i'm so looking forward to the next chapter--we get (y/n) x henry content!!

Thank you for reading! I (respectfully) yearn for likes, comments, and reblogs. Click for vibes

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To say Captain 'Stache was in a pickle was an understatement.

As Henry walked in, feeling like a complete fool in his Lord Lolli costume, he saw a terrifying sight – a hostage situation that he'd eerily been in himself one too many times before. It wasn't exact, but he knew the peril—felt the fear he saw in his friend's knitted brows and wide eyes as Coach Cregg loomed over him. 

The giant held an electric razor, built with buzzing fang-like blades that were sharp enough to snip through hair with ease. It would be all too easy to run it through the hero's curly mullet, but that wasn't what Jasper feared. No, Cregg was far too cruel for such mercy, and he had his sights set on something much more sentimental.

"Time to shave your 'stache!" He growled, holding Jasper down so he was on his knees – helpless and petrified. 

As much as Henry disliked being in second place, he hated the fear in his best friend's eyes. Sure, the moustache was stupid – nearly as stupid as his stupid cape – but the kid wasn't about to let Cregg hurt him—or shave his excess hair, for that matter. 

Standing behind the villain, Lord Lolli tapped him on the shoulder with the Lolli Smacker, stopping the moustache murder before it could happen. The gym teacher turned around slowly, raging and eager to see who dared interrupt his heinous crime, but Henry stayed cool. He was, after all, the professional in this situation. 

"It may not be Christmas, but..." he said, twirling the lollipop in his hand as Cregg sneered, "I'm about to deck your face with boughs of Lolli."

It was a sick burn, one to be proud of. And he was; Henry smirked as he swung the Smacker across the man-mountain's face, causing gasps to ripple around the room. He hit Cregg so hard the candy snapped, leaving a red mark on his face and sending the wedge of candy clattering across the sticky floor. 

The scary thing was how the guy barely flinched; the whack didn't even phase him, and now, Lord Lolli was without his signature weapon. As if the uniform wasn't enough humiliation...

"This, uh...this doesn't have any superpowers?" He turned and asked Missy, showing her the useless, splintered stick.

The girl winced, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish as she tried to think of a reply. Nothing useful came to mind. "...That would've been a good idea."

"So, it's just a regular, albeit abnormally large, lollipop?" Asked (y/n), looking down at the awkward girl with a nervous expression as she now feared what Cregg would do. If he wanted to shave Captain 'Stache's stache, maybe he'd pummel Lord Lolli like a pound of fudge.

"Well, I wrote this when I was five," Missy replied, offering the heroine a tight smile before staring at her sparkly shoes. 

Her creativity might have been impressive, but that wouldn't help Henry. All he could do was glance at his surrogate sister for help, begging for some sort of solution, yet (y/n) had nothing. No weapons, backup, or way of transforming because this wasn't a Miss Danger adventure. 

This was about him and Jasper – the daring duo who feared nothing, kicked ass, and took names in the name of justice and bravery. 

But he didn't feel brave. Didn't even feel like he had a chance, what with a now enraged and slightly bruised gym teacher wanting to crush his skull like an egg. The kid could feel Cregg's breath on his face, watching as the giant huffed like a bull, ready to stampede, practically pawing at the ground.

"Hi..." he said tensely, offering his signature disarming smile, which always worked on the ladies. On the coach, though? Not so much. 

Two hulking hands seized the front of his tunic, and in an epic show of strength, Cregg tossed Henry across the room like he weighed nothing. The crowd barely dodged his flying body as he collided with the nearby barstools, landing in a pool of spilt alcohol and God knows what else. 

Grunts and groans fell from his lips as the kid braced his arm, sure it was broken or at least severely bruised after it hit the bar top, but he didn't have time to recover. The ground shook as his enemy approached at a terrifyingly slow pace, stopping only when he was close enough to grab a leg. And then, he threw him again. 

"Oh, my God..." (y/n) mumbled, clamping a hand over her mouth as her baby slid across the floor before Cregg got his hands on him again. She itched to go and help him, but she didn't know what to do. 

Fists? Nah, that guy had steel for skin. Feet? No, she'd only break her toes on his concrete shins. Teeth? Not a good idea – she didn't know where that miscreant had been. The woman was as helpless as anyone in the crowd as Henry received his beat down, taking several slaps to the face with what remained of the damn Lolli Smacker. 

Having retrieved the hard candy from the floor, the villain slapped him with it, leaving his cheeks tacky and sweet with each whack, making them sore and stinging before Coach Cregg brought it down on his skull. He went in for a second blow – which would surely leave Henry seeing stars – but the giant forgot one crucial detail. 

Lord Lolli didn't work alone. 

With his eye off the ball, he'd forgotten about Captain 'Stache, who'd had just enough time to recover from his near-miss moustache incident to leap into action. Jasper yanked the enormous man backwards before he could harm his beloved sidekick, drop-kicking him with all the momentum his flying body could muster. 

It winded him briefly, leaving Cregg clutching his protruding gut as he glared at the smirking hero. The pain fuelled his burning rage, but the mullet-haired kid was quicker; he skidded across the floor and curled around a meaty, tree-like leg, using all his strength to toss his enemy like a caber. 

"They work so well together!" Missy said to (y/n) as they cheered and applauded with the rest of the crowd – pleased to see the bully get what he deserved as his footsteps shook the earth. 

The heroine beamed as she watched her babies battle, not needing the girl to tell her what she already knew, but it was nice for someone else to see it. (y/n) did not doubt that Jasper and Henry made an excellent team—their bond stronger than anything Cregg could throw at them as he got back on his feet, fisticuffs ready. 

"No matter what world we're in, Jasper always has Henry's back..." she replied assuredly, clapping louder than anyone else when the hero caught Cregg off-guard again. 

Really, it wasn't her Jasper, but the woman didn't let that minor detail her proud moment. Captain 'Stache handled the villain beautifully, brushing the drinks and assorted nibbles from a service cart before throwing him onto it. 

As if he to be the perfect foil to Coach Cregg, the moustached boy knew of his strength – no one could pound him into submission – but if the guy was off his feet, like a tortoise on his back, all that muscle was useless. 

With a single push from his platformed boot, Jasper sent the gym teacher packing, wheeling him through the club doors and out to God knows where. Wherever it was, it wasn't far enough, but in storybook logic, the bad guy was gone – returned to his mama, sobbing and screaming probably – and thus, victory was theirs. 

Or at least, it was Jasper's. 

The crowd went wild. They yelled, and they whooped, and they couldn't wait to congratulate their courageous hero on a job well done, filling the dancefloor as they reached for a high-five. Captain 'Stache was happy to deal them out, surrounded by ladies and gentlemen – he wasn't fussy – who he guided toward a private booth. There, he'd schmooze and accept all the free drinks his heart desired, basking in the afterglow of a damn good fight. 

That left Henry on the sidelines, staring after the happy-slapping party like a lost puppy. Okay, maybe he'd spent half the fight on the floor, nursing a broken lollipop, but it was a team effort, right? He helped, right?

But nothing could explain why he felt so...deflated, like someone had rained all over his parade. Like he'd been overlooked. Forgotten about. And who for? Jasper. The guy with the stupid moustache and even stupider cape.

He really hated those. 

"Nice moves out there, kid," said (y/n), breaking the boy out of his nosediving mood. 

Glad to see her face first, they sat on the stage stairs, too exhausted to stand after that debacle. Yet not even her bright smile couldn't brighten his lousy mood, and instantly, the saw the sourness in his pout, even if he tried to smother it. 

"Yeah!" Oh, goodie. Missy followed. "Perfect distraction technique, Lord Lolli."

She wasn't deliberately trying to be hurtful; Missy wasn't the type of girl to throw salt in wounds or jab needles in anyone's sides, but that name... It left a wry expression on Henry's face and an aching in his chest, riding his last nerve after what felt like an endless bad day. 

He longed for home, a soft bed, and a world that knew him as the crimefighting celebrity he was. Not some moron in a lace trim and knickerbockers. "How do I get out of this thing? And don't tell me I gotta drink more celery soda."

A smile grew on the girl's face, unwittingly irritating the exhausted boy . He was delighted someone found this funny. "There should be another can in your tights."

Henry inhaled—counted to ten in his head—and tried to think nothing but happy thoughts. All the things his mom told him to do whenever he felt like a temper tantrum as a kid. And it worked. He didn't have it in him to yell at Missy; she was just a little girl, and he knew (y/n) would only chew him out for it. 

But – and it was a big, juicy but – the thought of more humiliation, weighing up the pros and cons of reaching down his pants to ferret around for more disgusting vegetable juice with a room full of onlookers, had him silently seething. No one could pay him to do that, and when a round of laughter hit his ears, emanating from Jasper's crowded table, it was the final straw. 

His fingernails dug into his shins, and he pulled his lip between his teeth, biting it until it nearly bled. He didn't know why or where he'd go, but he had to get out of there. 

Frankini's club was fun, but it had a way of getting under his skin and setting his nerves on fire one more minute, and he would explode, possibly ripping apart a girl's happiness in the process.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that." At least he took the mature way out. 

"Uh—" The girls watched with dropped jaws as he got up and stomped away without saying another word. He weaved through the crowd, practically snarling at some and shoving others to the side if they so much as mentioned a moustache or flying.

Gone was the chipper attitude of Kid Danger, the one Missy knew and loved, and in its place was the dark, moody angst of Henry Hart, the guy who'd never quite matured the way most teenagers did. It was a hazard of his former, after-school job. 

She didn't know what to say, scrambling to undo whatever she'd done wrong, but the words tumbled from her lips carelessly. "I'm learning a lot from you!"

He didn't turn around. Whatever Henry had his sights set on, he stuck to his path and left his friends on the dancefloor, lonely and confused – Missy, especially. The girl looked after him expectantly, thinking he'd change his mind and anxiously rubbing her knuckles against her thighs when he didn't. 

What was she thinking? All she had to do was play it cool, and all she managed was such a nerdy line. He couldn't flee quick enough. The mere thought made her want to knock her head against a brick wall, cursing herself for ever thinking she could help. 

Missy moved to race after him, naively thinking she could smooth things over if she got off those steps, but she never got that far, stopped before she could dig the hole that she found herself in any deeper. 

With age came experience, and such an experienced hand reached out to rest on her shoulder. Missy looked back to see (y/n)'s firm stare, looking both concerned and irked by her friend's sudden disappearance, which only confused the girl more. 

"Don't bother," said the heroine, puling the girl to sit back down since she knew any conversation was now futile. Missy plonked back onto her butt and turned to her, resting her chin on her knees and heaving a heavy sight. 

The crease in her eyebrows told (y/n) she didn't understand, still a little too young to know when to let someone cool off. As everyone partied around them, popping bottles of bubbly and asking the DJ to play something fun, they sat in silence, with Missy tapping her fingers against her legs as the woman fiddled with a sequin on her dress. 

It wasn't until a minute or two later that she spoke, mumbling quietly as if afraid to say the wrong thing again. "Shouldn't we go after him?"

At that, (y/n) paused, glancing up from her lap and pulling her lip between her teeth. She looked in the direction Henry went, heading toward the kitchens where they found Schwoz. Whether or not he went to vent to him, she didn't know, but she couldn't help but worry. 

It was in her nature, forever fretting about all her babies, but some had more problems than others. And Henry had problems. 

Something wasn't right with that kid—it hadn't been since they'd reunited in Newtown. She saw it in the way he glared at Jasper, treating his best friend like he was a nuisance, not an ally. He brushed off a harmless child, leaving Missy wondering what she'd ever done wrong. He swanned around like he was God's gift to humanity, when really, he was in over his head. 

That the sweet, boy she knew. No, her Henry was kind and caring, brave and selfless, and certainly not the type of person to let something as simple as a moustache get to him. 

Capes were still the devil's work, but mark her words, something was bothering Henry. And she intended to find out, even if she had to take him down, kicking and screaming. 

"...Wait here," (y/n) told Missy firmly, standing up from the stairs after leaving the kid be for five minutes – plenty of time to calm down before he faced her. 

She dusted off her dress and stretched out her back, flashing the wannabe sidekick a reassuring, albeit tense smile. Missy know whether to be nervous or relieved. "Leave this one to me."

Henry would not know what hit him, but was a good thing. He always wanted (y/n)'s attention all to himself. Well, now he could have it. 

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