#ei: rogue attack

[recycledraccoon]

The Batkids, all seriousness aside from the reveal, do think this is absolutely hilarious. Like, almost all of THEM have gotten surprise siblings or a sibling returned from the dead and now it's Bruce's turn.

Plus Danny and kids being openly suspicious of this billionaire?? *chefs kiss*

Most of the siblings are eagerly watching but trying SO HARD to not overwhelm Bruce's long lost little brother and his kids. It's bad enough that Damian has got off to such a bad start with the new cousins. They all meet in the hallways now and it's like two semi-feral cats (Dan and Damien) and one mischievous ferret (Ellie) having a stand off.

Dan and Damien: *locked gazes and raised hackles*

Ellie: *trying to decided which BatBurger would be the best option to stage an after school brawl behind*

Dick, in the distance: "I have the sudden premonition that I should check in on Damien today."

Steph, also in the distance: "Something's happening. I don't know what but I want to be there."

MEANWHILE

Danny, on the phone with Tucker and Sam: "He has a creepy lair in his basement I just KNOW IT."

Batman, lurking: *sweats*

Red Robin, watching Batman Lurk™️: *trying not to laugh*

Duke has only met Danny so far as Signal, but former Teen Hero Danny Fenton spots him and is SO intent on giving this young hero high calorie snacks or even a damn gatorade. If he sees him he will sprint into the closest store if he has to. Duke has a large collection of random post-it notes or wrappers/bottles with affirmations and gratitude Danny wrote. (It goes with other similarly sentimental gifts from Gotham citizens).

Danny hasn't MET Cass personally, but he has taken the kids to a ballet performance once with Jazz when she visited as "cultural enrichment". Surprisingly, Dan liked it more than anyone thought he would. Ballet is incredibly physically demanding, and he can see the beauty in that in their movements.

Jason tho. Jason sees Danny eye sad-wet cat Brucie Wayne with deep suspicion and immediately pushes his way into the Fenton's lives.

Jason LOVES Uncle Danny. Both because it gets Bruce's panties in an absolute twist and because something about the Fenton family just clicks with him. (Danny has absolutely clocked Jason as having returned from the dead. He's not a halfa or a ghost, but he has died and returned from the dead. Probably some type of Revenant? Danny's not sure when or how to broach the topic as they don't know each other well enough yet to our themselves, but Jason being around the family in the meantime will be good for him. Plus the kiddos love'm.)

Bruce is struggling to get his emotional constipation under control long enough to establish a non-hostile or unintentionally-creepy-billionaire relationship again with his baby brother.

Meanwhile Jason is already on the couch playing games with Ellie and Dan. He's already ordered himself a "I'm Someone's Favorite Nephew" mug which he absolutely drinks from at the Manor almost exclusively while he's there. Alfred allows this, given Jason got Danny to agree to meet him.

Jason will happily give Bruce the middle finger but he loves Alfred fiercely. It takes a bit but eventually Danny agrees to meet him. Jason takes Ellie and Dan out for the day to terrorize Gotham, and leaves the two older men to talk.

Danny has a long talk with Alfred, who absolutely has tried so so hard not to cry during all this, but absolutely does eventually. He must have felt so guilty for so long, his beloved friends Thomas and Martha gone, and their youngest son Daniel stolen and he had been unable to do anything but hold Young Master Bruce in both their grief. And yet here he is, a kind father to two beautiful children, telling him he's happy and grew up with a family who, despite a weird, bumpy road, loves him and his kids so so much. Danny doesn't have a photo album available right now, but he and Alfred set a date for Alfred to come back and have dinner to meet both Dan and Ellie, and to look at photo albums together, Fenton and Wayne both.

Alfred reminds Danny of Clockwork just a bit, with his impeccable timing and knowledge/intuition.

Slowly as Danny gets to know Alfred (and Jason, despite how he rags on Bruce, or how Damien seems to have become Dan and Ellie's highschool nemesis, which makes Danny think fondly of fighting-as-bonding in the Infinite Realms) he warms enough to agree, finally, to have dinner at the Manor with the family so Alfred can host, back in his environment as the impeccable Wayne family Butler.

This also means of course that Danny has also agreed to meet and talk with Bruce. (Creepy Billionaire...but also a name that long since lingered in the back of his head and heart though he didn't know why. A photo of a little boy and his big brother that pulls at those same heart strings.)

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I had another 11pm brain worm.

Enjoy

-x-x-

Daniel Wayne, the younger toddler brother of Bruce Wayne and the son of Martha and Thomas Wayne had been kidnapped the night their parents were murdered.

Daniel had been snagged the moment their killer heard people headed to the alley and Bruce in his state of shock didn't realize it until it was far to late and could only scream in horror (from everything) as his baby brother is crying his name. (If you wanna make it even more heart wrenching, make it Danny's first time being able to say Bruce's name right and/or Bruce had said some mean things to Danny earlier after he accidentally broke something of Bruce's, something like 'I wish youd go away' or 'I never wanted a brother, you're such a bother!')

Bruce is being held by Alfred as some police officers are chasing down the Wayne's parents killer while some stay behind to see if they could do something.

Minutes turn to hours and as they wait, praying the police at least found Danny, Bruce is ridden with guilt. From his parents death to allowing his brother to be kidnapped.

Eventually the police return to give Alfred and Bruce the news. And it's not good.

The killer escaped and Danny was nowhere to be found.

And it would take many years before he would be found.

-x-x-

Bruce gets a call from Damian during school hours one day. When he answers he is greeted with Damian demanding him to get to the school and explain himself.

Confused Bruce asks what does he mean and Damian responds with

"The two new students in class today are the spitting images of you and I father! Either they are poorly created clones or you have more hidden blood children!"

-x-x-

Meanwhile the very students being discussed are calling up someone too

"Ellie? Dan? What's wrong? You better not have made too much chaos already, I just paid for the uniforms for that place."

"DAD! I THINK ANOTHER ONE OF THE FRUITLOOPS FAILED CLONES SOMEHOW SURVIVED!"

"What?"

[rosemaryhoney27]

Operation: Gaslight the Billionaires”

aka: How Danny Phantom Accidentally Became the Perfect Wayne

The chaos of the Batcave had mostly settled. Danny had been with them for three days, and Vlad Masters was officially on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

It wasn’t the ghost attacks. It wasn’t even the rogue AI that tried to merge with the espresso machine (thanks, Tim). It was the fact that Danny was actively making him look insane.

Bruce entered the kitchen expecting the usual post-patrol disaster: someone bleeding, Jason frying something suspicious, Damian glaring at vegetables like they insulted his honor, and Tim unconscious on the table with a Red Bull IV.

Instead… the kitchen was sparkling.

Alfred was humming. HUMMING. And Danny?

Danny was wearing an apron that said “I cook with spirit (and some ectoplasm)” and was gently stirring a pot of something that smelled incredible. He handed Alfred a tray of prepped vegetables with the air of a beloved sous-chef in a Michelin-starred restaurant.

“Knife is clean and set aside, Mr. Pennyworth. Do you want the counter disinfected again before the meat’s on?”

Alfred smiled. Smiled. “That won’t be necessary, Master Daniel. You’ve done splendidly.”

Bruce stood in the doorway like a man waiting for a piano to fall on him. “…Who is this child?”

Alfred replied calmly, “The most helpful young man we’ve had in this kitchen in years. I daresay Master Richard could learn a thing or two.”

Danny looked up, beamed at Bruce, and said, “Good morning! You want coffee? I just finished a batch of Colombian roast. Tim said you like it strong enough to dissolve crime.”

Tim, from under the counter where he’d been sleeping with a tablet as a pillow: “That’s not even a joke. I’ve seen it eat through one of Damian’s throwing knives.”

Bruce walked over and took the mug Danny handed him. It was the perfect temperature. The exact strength he liked. He took a sip.

His soul briefly ascended.

“…This is better than Alfred’s.”

Alfred gave an approving nod. “Indeed. I showed him once.”

Vlad stormed into the room like a man preparing to perform an exorcism. His hair was frazzled, one of his slippers was missing, and there was what looked suspiciously like slime on his sleeve.

“BRUCE. Tell me honestly, what have you done to him?”

Bruce blinked. “To Danny? Nothing.”

“HE MADE A THREE-COURSE MEAL AND ASKED IF I WANTED A MIDNIGHT TEA.”

“I like being helpful,” Danny said, halo practically visible. “Uncle Vlad gets stressed so easily.”

“I DO NOT—!”

“He also helped Damian organize the armory,” Alfred added serenely.

“Color-coded the blades,” Damian muttered, glaring slightly less than usual. “And sharpened them.”

Jason walked in, paused, sniffed the air. “Is that real garlic bread? Did we finally break the food curse?”

Danny handed him a plate. “You should eat. You looked hangry yesterday.”

Jason stared at him. “I could kill for you.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Nice. Boundaries.”

Vlad was gaping. “You are all being tricked! This is an act! He’s a little gremlin with teeth! He ate my briefcase!”

Danny blinked innocently. “It smelled like almonds. I thought it was marzipan.”

“IT WAS NOT MARZIPAN.”

Cass wandered in, stole a breadstick, and gave Danny a high-five. “Nice work.”

Vlad turned to Bruce, furious and hollow-eyed. “This is not fair. He fought a space god last week, and now he’s making quiche.”

Bruce just shrugged. “Some people contain multitudes.”

“He bit a vampire diplomat in Prague.”

“He was undead and had no permit for summoning circles,” Danny added cheerfully. “Also, he was rude to the hotel staff.”

Stephanie peeked in. “Did I hear someone say quiche?”

“Spinach and mushroom,” Danny called.

“I’m going to implode,” Vlad whispered to the heavens.

Danny wiped his hands and turned to Vlad with a kind, innocent smile. “Uncle Vlad, I know it’s hard to accept, but maybe… I’ve matured?”

Vlad squinted. “You turned your teacher’s car invisible three weeks ago.”

“She parked in the ghost zone exit lane,” Danny said, wounded. “I was helping traffic.”

Bruce sipped his coffee and studied the boy who had seamlessly infiltrated his house like a social trojan horse. “How did you convince him to stay with you again?”

“I blackmailed the adoption agency and offered full scholarship access, six haunted properties, and a personal lab,” Vlad muttered.

“Reasonable,” Tim said. “Sounds like a good pitch.”

Bruce looked at Danny. “Would you like to stay a bit longer?”

Vlad: “No.”

Danny: “Sure!”

Jason: “New little brother unlocked.”

Vlad looked down into his empty tea mug like it had betrayed him. “This is how I die. In a Wayne manor. Smothered by domestic competency and passive-aggressive hospitality.”

Danny patted his arm. “It’s okay, Uncle Vlad. Want me to make you some chamomile?”

Vlad hissed like a vampire at dawn.

[stealingyourbones]

Danny, being a halfa, falls under the strange category of people who can converse with the dead and act in their names. Most mediums simply convey messages. It was rare for someone to be able to fulfill a ghost’s dying request and have that act tied to the ghost’s core.

Honestly it’s annoying.

He doesn’t get any alone time anymore for homework or hobbies. The dead are constantly pestering Danny to help with their desires - which, sure, it helps them move on which means they’re out of Danny’s hair, but come on!! Give a guy a break! Just because he doesn’t need as much sleep as a fully living person doesn’t mean he can go without entirely!

“No Scott,” Danny repeated for the fifth time, “I am not flying to California tonight. Do you know how far that is? Literally the other coast of this massive continent. Meet me there in August like everyone else on the list.”

Spending the first spring break of college creating a map and calendar for Last Rites was not something Danny expected when he moved to Gotham.

Why did this city have so many ghosts?! It was ridiculous. And he thought Amity Park was bad? At least the ghosts here were mostly Shades. Not visible to anyone unless they were also dead-adjacent or had The Sight or a bloodline curse or a magical amulet… you know what? There were enough of those in this curse ridden city, why couldn’t these ghosts go find one of those people instead? Danny was exhausted.

So exhausted he didn’t notice the vigilante dropping down from the rooftop.

“Hey there kid, you alri-”

“Yeah yeah,” Danny waved a hand dismissively at the voice without looking up. “Wait in line like everyone else. But honestly you’d be better off coming back tomorrow when I’ve had some sleep.”

“Think maybe you outta get started on that sleep now, bud?” the voice behind him spoke in a calm careful tone.

One Danny had heard all too often since dying.

His head jerked sideways to stare wide-eyed at Nightwing, who tensed just a little as if expecting Danny to run or fight. Instead he let out a groan and slumped onto the park bench, rubbing his eyes to ease the burn of fatigue. He’d been coming out to this park at the corner of campus each night to keep the Shades from mobbing him all day long in classes, but they’d spread the word around Gotham that he was here and his precious spring break had become a non-stop line of requests and arguments. Made sense he’d caught the attention of one of the Bats. Should have expected it sooner.

Danny ignored all the voices around him and looked at Nightwing directly as he prattled off his usual list when someone caught him talking to thin air.

“No, I’m not hallucinating. I got all my Rogue Gallery immunizations the day I checked onto campus. I’m not schizophrenic. The only meds I take are for adhd and the occasional Tylenol. I’m not a danger to myself or others. Unless they attack me first.”

Nightwing nodded along, but tilted his head at the end.

“I’m talking to the dead,” Danny answered the unspoken question in a tired monotone, waiting for the usual skepticism or plea for help with lost loved ones.

“Oh. Okay then.”

“What?” That wasn’t expected.

“No yeah, that makes sense.”

Danny was sure his jaw was on the ground. “You… you believe me?”

“Well sure,” the hero shrugged and chuckled. “I can’t see ghosts myself but I know a couple magicians who work with one, and my little brother Robin has a ghost on his team - she’s actually visible most of the time so I don’t know if that’s a special skill or something else going on. But I’m glad you’re okay and don’t need any emergency medication. I know a couple 24 hour pharmacies that would help but it’s nice when they’re not needed. We don’t get a lot of mediums around Gotham holding court at night so you really can’t fault me for checking in.”

Danny was still floating in the relief of not being questioned or doubted. That hadn’t happened since Jazz found out his secret. She’d had plenty of questions about his halfa status, of course, but never called him crazy for talking to things others couldn’t see. Even Sam and Tucker would forget sometimes and give him strange looks before realizing he was dealing with a Shade, Wisp, or Memory.

He didn’t realize he was wobbling until Nightwing’s arms shot out to stabilize him.

Danny blinked up at the pretty face that was trying not to chuckle, held by strong arms, and so far past tired he might be getting delirious after all because his brain seemed to have lost its filter and he said out loud,

“You actually believe me. I think I love you.”

Then the horrifying embarrassment hit at the same time as Nightwing’s laughter. Which… sounded delighted rather than mean spirited?

“Well now it’s your turn to wait in line, cuz that’s the fourth confession I’ve had this week!” They both devolved into snorts and giggles, Danny still relying on those arms for balance, but when they’d caught their breath the vigilante said, “Come on, you’ve really got to get some sleep. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

Ignoring the whispers and grumbles of the Shades was easier with someone walking beside him.

This is so incredibly cute oml. It’s so rare to see the bats actually go with the flow and god it isn’t done enough. 12/10 immaculate, glorious.

The entire plot I can see so clearly in my mind dude:

Danny chatting to Nightwing as they walk to his dorm

Nightwing asking some casual questions about ghosts and Danny asking about vigilante work.

Nightwing informs the Bats of Danny as he might be a valuable asset in the future.

Nightwing helps free shades with Danny and he realizes why Danny is so incredibly tired all the time.

Nightwing managing to stumble into Danny every day of his break, slowly getting to know each other more and more and becoming really good friends (perhaps lovers 👀).

Wonderful stuff man ty for the ask!

[fltner]

Tim gets so used to making up cover stories under pressure that it becomes his first instinct when questioned about anything that stresses him out, completely autopilot.

—

Tim sighed. “Well, I guess I'll start from the beginning: my name is Alvin Draper, I lived in the Narrows with my grandma — until I was ten, that is. A rogue attack went wrong, and she was killed in the crossfire; it hadn't even been intentional, just collateral damage, couldn't pin a revenge scheme onto it if you'd tried, and trust me, I did.” He spat, bitterly.

“Placing the blame on Batman for not coming to rescue her hadn’t felt right, and seeking revenge against Two Face made me feel wrong. The blame game was cut short however, because I was soon starving. Long story short, I decided it'd lessen the internal turmoil if I robbed the. . . more fortunate, up in Bristol, leading me to Drake manor.” He let out a breath. 

“Arguably lucky for little Alvin Draper: the young Drake heir, tiny eight year old Timmy, had succumbed to illness and passed away during the very same week. Jack and Janet hadn't been concerned about more than the question of who'll pass on their legacy and family standing within the public eye. Their eyes landed on the black haired, blue eyed intruder, sharing a similar build and height to their late son, and decided the job was —

“Replacement, I asked why my spicy marinara sauce was missing.” Interrupted Jason abruptly, after the two minute mark had passed, looking somewhere between incredulous, confused, and done-with-this-shit.

Tim blinked for a second, as though remembering where he was. “Oh, sorry, reflexes.”

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #29

Jazz Fenton did not mean to become a Black Widow. It just kind of happened. One minute she was babysitting Danny’s mess because he decided to pick a fight with Kang the Conqueror (again), and the next she was knee-deep in S.H.I.E.L.D. files, covered in blood, and being hailed as “one of the most promising Red Room graduates they had ever seen.” Which was strange, considering Jazz had never been to the Red Room. Or Russia. Or… spy school at all. She was a licensed therapist. She had a degree. She paid taxes. She made salad. She was a normal woman, damn it!

“You killed fifteen HYDRA agents with a clipboard, Fenton,” Director Fury said, pinching the bridge of his nose as Maria Hill silently sipped her coffee and refused to make eye contact. “That’s not normal.”

Jazz folded her arms stubbornly. “In my defense, they attacked me first. And they insulted my handwriting.”

“You wrote ‘Your unresolved childhood trauma is not my problem’ on a sticky note and taped it to one of their foreheads.”

“And it wasn’t my problem.”

Across the room, Natasha Romanoff watched with the wide-eyed horror of someone seeing their own ghost. “She’s… she’s me,” Natasha whispered, pointing at Jazz. “But worse. Worse.”

Clint Barton leaned in. “I think I’m in love.”

“Shut up,” Natasha and Fury barked at the same time.

Things had spiraled out of control after that. Somewhere along the way, some Russian spy network got hold of a very blurry surveillance photo of Jazz decimating an entire mercenary squad with nothing but a heel, a pair of chopsticks, and a very aggressive therapy session. They promptly assumed Natasha had gone rogue (again), and put out a bounty. A very large bounty. The kind that made even the Winter Soldier raise an eyebrow and go, “Damn.”

Naturally, Danny found out.

Naturally, he panicked.

“JAZZ,” he screamed through the phone while flying upside down over Manhattan traffic, “WHY IS THERE A TWENTY MILLION DOLLAR BOUNTY ON YOUR HEAD?!”

“I don’t know!” Jazz screeched back. She was currently riding on the back of a stolen motorcycle with Deadpool (who thought she was Natasha and wouldn’t take no for an answer) while simultaneously answering frantic S.H.I.E.L.D. calls and rerouting an emergency therapy hotline. “ASK THE RUSSIANS!”

“WHICH RUSSIANS?!”

“YES!”

Meanwhile, Deadpool, wearing a T-shirt that said “I Heart Therapy,” shouted over the wind, “YOU’RE MY FAVORITE AVENGER NOW, NATASHA!”

“For the last time, I’m not Natasha—”

“I LOVE YOU TOO!”

Things escalated when Bucky Barnes appeared out of nowhere, tackled Jazz off the motorcycle midair, rolled into a perfect crouch, and then pinned her to the ground with a knife to her throat.

“I thought you were dead,” Bucky hissed, eyes wild.

Jazz blinked up at him. “Buddy, I don’t even know you.”

“That’s what you used to say before,” Bucky whispered, full of tragic anguish.

Deadpool sniffled loudly from behind them. “I love a good forbidden lovers-to-enemies-to-strangers-to-lovers again trope.”

Jazz kicked Bucky in the face and ran.

Within three hours, every major faction of Marvel’s expanded universe was hunting her down—S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, the Russians, Deadpool, Bucky, a very confused Peter Parker who thought he was supposed to save her, the X-Men (who thought she was a rogue mutant), and Kang the Conqueror (who thought she might be a time-displaced Natasha clone sent to assassinate him).

Thor, meanwhile, simply declared her “a most worthy warrior maiden” after she threw an entire food court table at Loki during a hostage situation.

“It’s about time Midgard produced more women of valor!” Thor bellowed, swinging Mjolnir with dangerous enthusiasm. “I SHALL TAKE HER TO ASGARD.”

“Get in line,” Deadpool snarled, adjusting his “I Heart Therapy” shirt.

Meanwhile, Natasha was trying to commit actual murder.

“I swear to GOD,” she growled, stalking down a S.H.I.E.L.D. hallway, “if one more person says I’m being so quirky today—”

“Natasha, babe,” Tony Stark said, popping out of a side door, “your emotional dysregulation is off the charts and honestly? It’s refreshing. You should get cloned more often.”

Natasha shot him a look so cold that even JARVIS’ firewalls froze.

Tony raised his hands. “Okay, okay, chill, Strawberry Shortcake. No need to murder me. Save that for—” he pointed dramatically— “your emotional support twin.”

“She is NOT my emotional support twin.”

“That’s not what the footage says.”

On a giant monitor, Jazz was currently choke-slamming Sabretooth into a dumpster while shouting, “YOU NEED TO LEARN HOW TO HANDLE REJECTION HEALTHILY!”

“Icon,” Clint whispered, wiping a tear.

Even Steve Rogers, paragon of old-fashioned dignity, was looking a little starry-eyed. “She’s very… efficient.”

“Efficient?” Natasha barked. “She’s deranged!”

“I like her,” Steve said firmly.

Jazz, blissfully unaware of the chaos she was causing, had holed up in a New York City bookstore, eating chocolate muffins and trying to finish her psychology notes while surrounded by six unconscious mercenaries she had “politely discouraged” from kidnapping her.

Danny phased through the ceiling with a pop and immediately tripped over one of the bodies.

“OH MY GOD, JAZZ!”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, Danny,” Jazz said absently, underlining a particularly important point about cognitive-behavioral therapy.

“YOU’RE IN A BOOKSTORE FULL OF CORPSES.”

“They’re not corpses, they’re just resting. Violence-induced naps.”

“WHAT—”

“Keep your voice down, you’re disturbing the literature.”

Meanwhile, Nick Fury was in a meeting with the Avengers yelling so loud birds outside fell out of the sky.

“I WANT HER ON PAYROLL,” Fury shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “GET ME FENTON.”

“Already tried,” Maria Hill said wearily. “She hung up and said we needed therapy more than she needed a paycheck.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bruce Banner muttered.

Tony smirked. “I mean, I am kind of curious. What happens if we just… hire her?”

“World peace,” Clint said instantly.

“Or total annihilation,” Natasha said darkly.

“Either way, it’ll be entertaining,” Deadpool chimed in, somehow already sitting in one of the chairs with popcorn.

“WHO LET HIM IN HERE,” Fury bellowed.

In the bookstore, Jazz finally looked up from her notebook to find Deadpool holding out a bouquet of slightly singed daisies.

“For you, my queen,” he said solemnly.

“I will mace you,” Jazz promised.

“Just like Nat used to,” Deadpool said, sniffling again.

Peter Parker dropped down from the ceiling. “Hey, uh, hi, Miss Fenton? I don’t really know what’s happening but I think you’re amazing and could you maybe not kill me?”

“I don’t kill people,” Jazz said, affronted. “I help them confront their inner demons and process their suppressed trauma through intensive violence-based therapy.”

“That’s… oddly comforting,” Peter said.

It all came to a head when Kang, exasperated beyond mortal comprehension, opened a portal above the bookstore and tried to yoink Jazz into the timestream.

He succeeded.

Sort of.

Danny grabbed her ankle mid-yoink. Deadpool grabbed Danny’s ankle. Peter grabbed Deadpool’s ankle. Clint Barton, swinging from a grappling hook, grabbed Peter. Then Thor decided he wanted in and hurled Mjolnir into the pile for good measure. The portal overloaded with a sound like an air fryer exploding in a church.

When the dust cleared, Jazz was standing on top of Kang, holding his own dislocated arm in one hand and a muffin in the other.

“HOW?” Kang wheezed.

“You tried to abduct a woman during her muffin break,” Jazz said sweetly. “Actions have consequences.”

Thor roared with laughter. “TRULY A MAIDEN OF WORTH!”

Fury appeared, looking absolutely done with existence. “You’re hired.”

“I don’t want a job.”

“Too bad. You’re in.”

“Can I negotiate for dental?”

“You already have dental.”

“…Sold.”

And that’s how Jazz Fenton, licensed therapist, ghost expert, and once-proud civilian, accidentally became a Black Widow. She wasn’t trained. She wasn’t programmed. She wasn’t brainwashed.

She was just tired.

And honestly? That was worse.

By the time she got back to Amity Park, her parents had no idea why Nick Fury was sending them fruit baskets or why Deadpool kept showing up at their front door with mixtapes titled “For My Future Therapist Wife.”

Danny refused to speak to anyone for a week.

Tucker made it worse by posting “Jazz Fenton, New Black Widow” memes online. Sam bought Jazz a leather catsuit “for the aesthetic” and refused to take it back.

And Jazz… Jazz just made another cup of tea, put on a sheet mask, and scheduled herself a very long therapy session.

Because someone in the family had to be sane.

It just wasn’t going to be today.

[azulhood]

Danny and Jazz were almost at the end of their rope.

They've checked almost everyone they knew who would take them in.

Sam's family? Didn't want them living under the same roof as their daughter.

Mr Lancer? He did actually want to take them in but his one bedroom apartment was not a suitable place for kids to live and his teachers salary couldn't afford to support three people.

Tucker's family? Got shut down by Vlad.

Which was the end of the list of who could get custody, well living at least.

There was no way either of them were living with Vlad, and with that in mind, they decided to get creative.

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

When Edward woke up, sitting at an old interrogation table in what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse (don't ask him which one, gothem had too many) and splitting pain in his head from most likely getting knocked out, his first thought was I knew it.

Gotham rogues had been disappearing only to reappear the next day with no memory and often in bad shape, like black mask and Bane.

Some of the rogues, such as penguin and Ivy, believed that they would be safe from the next attack.

Edward was slightly more pessimistic.

And it turned out he was right.

"ahem." Noise brought his attention to the warehouses other occupants.

Two teenagers.

It was strange to think that these two put Bane into a coma, but Edward had spent most of his nights getting the stuffing beaten out of him by a child wearing the colours of a traffic light so he was suitably wary.

"How can I help you?" Being polite was always a good idea when kidnapped by possible meta children (because no normal person could walk away from a fight with Bane, the bats don't qualify as normal.)

"Hi, I'm Jazz and this is Danny." The red head introduced herself and the blue eyed boy next to her. "Nice to meet you Mr Nygma."

"Nice to meet you as well." His mouth responded on autopilot as he panicked over being addressed by name, no one who kidnapped him did that ( which was mostly the bats taking him back to Arkham after another foiled plan) unless they were Amanda Waller.

"Right, now that we all know each other, let's get started." Danny said pulling out a sheet of paper and star themed pen from somewhere.

"Get started on what?" Torture? Edward would really like to know if that was the case.

"The interview." Jazz explained " You just have to answer a few questions then you get to go, after we wipe your memory of course, we have someone who we don't want knowing we're in Gotham."

"Oh, of course." Edward replied faintly as he processed the information given to him.

"And if you get job we'll contact you in a week." Danny added as he twirled his pen. "Got it?"

"Yes." Edward had never been more confused in his life.

[andypantsx3]

READY OR KNOT | 1 | TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! LENGTH: 4.6k, 1st of 7 chapters

Tetsutetsu’s apartment was exploding with people by the time you made it in from the cold.

Even from outside, you could hear the chatter of dozens of voices, the thumping bass of a distant party playlist. The front door was practically wedged shut by all the bodies blocking it, and you had to suck in a breath as you squeezed yourself through, slithering through what seemed to be every single employee of the Pink Riot agency—a plethora of bulky pro heroes stuffed in among lanky support techs and sleepy-eyed case analysts.

Inside, it stank of warm beer with a slightly sweeter, sharper liquor undertone. Your nose wrinkled. You could only imagine what the scent was like to your alpha and omega coworkers, grateful you had a beta’s dulled sense of smell, and no innate reaction to the physical proximity of other secondary genders. The space was already almost overwhelming as it was, the press of people nearly claustrophobic, although no one else looked like they minded much.

You shoved yourself through the crowd, squeezing through people, somewhat regretting how late you’d gotten here. You hoped there was still something good to drink.

In your defense, you’d gotten bogged down with a bombshell of a new case at the agency, something Mina had pulled you aside to talk about on your way out to the party. She’d meant for you to pick it up Monday, as you couldn’t take any action until a supervising hero had been assigned to you. But it was so unlike any other case you’d been handed in your years at Pink Riot that you’d immediately yanked your coat back off and holed yourself up at your desk, poring over the information in shock.

The case file told you that there was a rogue pro hero harassing and assaulting the omegas in Bunkyo ward—the very ward the Pink Riot agency operated in.

What was more, local authorities suspected someone from the agencies within Bunkyo itself, considering the attacks were exclusively confined to the ward and had so far never deviated. The police had been alerted to the fact that a hero might be involved when one of the omegas who had been attacked last night had escaped, shaken but untouched, and reported their aggressor attempting to strap quirk suppressors on them—tech that was almost exclusively a tool of the heroics trade.

And so all Bunkyo-based agencies had been asked to internally investigate their heroes, with mandatory out-of-agency supervising heroes to be assigned to the cases as well, to ensure everything was above board and no cover ups were being staged. And you, as Mina’s personal friend and therefore the case analyst she trusted most with a sensitive file like this, had been assigned the task.

And it was already almost too mind-boggling for you to bear.

You plowed your way towards the kitchen, eager to chase away the idea of any of your hero coworkers as the perpetrator. You liked and trusted all of the heroes Pink Riot had on call, and hoped so desperately that another agency was at fault here. You couldn’t imagine a single one of them being responsible for something like this. You couldn’t imagine the harasser themself attending this very party.

Once in the kitchen, you discovered that Tetsutetsu had invited more than just the Pink Riot agency itself—he had also apparently invited a plethora of heroes from his former UA days. Sero Hanta and Uraraka Ochako were propped up in the kitchen with Mina and Kirishima, smiling and chatting, while Iida Tenya stood next to them, looking, as usual, like he was on the verge of a hernia. Monoma Neita was skulking in a corner, along with a couple of lower-level heroes you recognized as Tetsu’s Class B friends.

Mina perked up immediately when she caught sight of you, hopping off the counter at Kirishima’s side, beckoning you closer with a hot pink nail.

“You have to taste this disgusting thing Tetsu made,” she told you gleefully, gesturing at something vaguely gelatinous on the stove. You recoiled reflexively, even as Mina ladled a generous portion into a plastic cup for you, passing it over.

You did not like the weight of it in your hand—and the smell of it, even to your duller senses, was not exactly appetizing, more nail polish remover in profile than anything.

“Wow, this looks almost as lovely as the new case file. How generous of you,” you intoned, taking a small, investigative sip. The taste zipped down your spine all the way to your toes, so alcoholic you could almost taste an emergency room visit.

But it figured. Pro heroes in general were a hard bunch to get drunk, their metabolisms fast and their bodies honed to withstand limits a normal person could never. You imagined this was Tetsu’s own invention based on years of personal research.

Mina sloshed her own cup at you, bright-eyed as she normally was, but otherwise looking unruffled. “Tetsu and Eiji already have a bet going which of them can put back more of this, but my bet is on me,” she grinned. “They’re behind a cup already.”

You winced. “Such responsible agency heads I have.”

Mina practically cackled. “You love it.”

You couldn’t help the fond smile that pulled at your mouth, listening to her bright laughter. “I do.”

And it was true, after years at the Pink Riot agency you were spoiled for anywhere else.

Your caseload was broad and interesting, Mina and Kirishima the perfect amount of invested but trusting, always caring about the results you brought in for the safety they brought Bunkyo ward, but never micromanaging you or demanding the impossible. The agency was a little bit smaller than other agencies founded by members of their former class—a mid-sized, fairly-closely knit operation that prioritized action and minimized bureaucracy.

And it was a sort of family operation. Mina was an omega, small and bright and totally beautiful the way so many omegas were, the warmness of her personality like a magnet. And Kirishima was her bonded alpha—fairly friendly and easy-going for one, you thought—but strong, firm in his resolve, and deeply committed.

You liked them, liked their relationship, and liked how their traits translated to their management of their joint agency. You liked how the agency had basically sprung up around them, filled to the brim with good people. And so yeah, Mina was right. You did love it.

“Make sure you unwind,” Mina ordered you, flashing a pink nail in your face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that it’s been like two hours since I saw you disappear with that case file.”

Your cheeks heated. “Did you know some agency heads like it when their employees do their jobs?”

Mina grinned wickedly, then made a sort of clucking noise. “Did you know that some agency heads are no funsies? I like when my employees do their jobs and still have time for a social life.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. Your social calendar had never been so full as when you started working at Pink Riot, their rosters absolutely packed with outgoing heroes. Someone or other was always throwing a party, organizing a celebratory dinner when an especially big case was closed, or dashing across the floor yelling “drinks on me!” after nailing a particularly notorious villain.

Between the agency and your own friends you thought you were kept rather busy. But the sudden, shifting look of undue interest on Mina’s face told you she thought otherwise.

“When was the last time you went on a date, hmm?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows. “I never catch you smelling like anyone. Looking for anyone here?”

“And who told you you could smell me?” you demanded.

Mina cackled. “It’s not like I can turn my nose off. Plus you smell nice and comforting. Very beta. I wouldn’t stop smelling you even if I could.”

Your ears went hot. Alphas and omegas were always so nosy and inquisitive, a byproduct of being able to smell way too much for your comfort, a fact you and your circle of beta friends never missed a chance to bemoan.

And this was not the first time you’d been told as much, most betas apparently smelling some level of chill and less intrusive than the insistent scents of alphas and omegas. You didn’t exactly understand how something could smell chill, but enough people had said it that you accepted it.

“Well then it’s good I’m not polluting that with other smells,” you said. “Now mind your business.”

Mina’s grin was sharp as she reached over to ladle more of Tetsu’s concoction into your cup, a small revenge. “Fine but keep your options open tonight! I know plenty of nice beta boys I can set you up with—there’s a couple of analysts from Ingenium’s crowd here tonight.”

You nodded, affecting sincerity, although you had absolutely no plan to follow through. You were going to find your agency friends, go ham on some apps, and then head back home just as soon as Mina and Kirishima ended the night the way they usually did—locked mouth to mouth after drinking a little too much, causing a scene.

You waved Mina away, poking your head back out the kitchen door and surveying the rest of the party. Over near the couch, you caught a flash of a couple of your fellow case analysts in conversation with Asui Tsuyu, a beta hero at your agency who you got on well with. Your people exactly.

However, no sooner had you started to push back into the crowd than something slammed into your shoulder, sending you stumbling back into the wall. Your drink splashed right up over your shoulder, cold and biting. You let out a strangled noise, turning your head on impulse and catching a mouthful of hair.

“Oh my god, I am sooo sorry,” a soft voice said. You realized you’d collided with an omega analyst from another Bunkyo agency—a girl you vaguely remembered from a joint case a few years ago. She was small, petite, and delicately pretty in the way of most omegas. And she had also managed to empty nearly the entirety of your cup onto you.

“Shit, shit—I got your shirt wet!” she said, yanking herself back from you. She looked a little glassy-eyed, but genuinely apologetic, and she wiped at your shoulder with her bare hand. Definitely a bit drunk.

“No—it’s fine,” you told her, attempting to duck her hand. “I also didn’t see you!”

The omega girl didn’t look reassured however. She frowned, pausing over you—then suddenly slithered right out of her cardigan, throwing it over your shoulders.

“We’ll hide it like that. Please take it,” she said, her delicate fingers flitting back and forth over your now-covered shoulder, like she still itched to fix something. The cardigan was soft and warm, and even you could tell it smelled good—a soft, powdery, classically omegan scent.

“It’s really fine—” you insisted, immediately shrugging the cardigan back off, though you appreciated the gesture. You glanced down at your shoulder, surveying the damp patch that was slowly soaking closer to your boob. “It’s clear—it will dry in a couple of minutes and no one will be any the wiser. It already stinks like alcohol in here anyway.”

The omega girl hesitated as you handed her sweater back to her. She leaned in to sniff you tentatively. “Are you sure? I really am so sorry. Your mate is going to be so mad, now you can’t really smell you over the vodka unless you get in close—”

You held up a hand, sending her a reassuring smile. “I don’t have a mate, so there’s no problem. I promise.”

You did not add that as a beta, your pool of potential mates was limited to other betas, and that no beta’s sense of smell was enough to get worked up over this. Alphas and omegas tended to forget that not everyone was as sensitive as they were.

She bit her lip, the gesture pretty, but looked somewhat mollified. “You’re sure?” she ventured one last time.

You nodded. “Totally sure. I appreciate the gesture though.”

She nodded, still looking hesitant, and you decided there was only one way to put an end to this.

“Nice to see you, though. Maybe I will catch you around later!” you said, waving her off firmly. You quickly abandoned your now empty cup on a nearby table and turned to head back into the living room. You spotted Tsuyu’s head of dark green hair through the crowd of shoulders, a homing beacon in the dim.

As you charted an unsteady path through the crush of people, you noted several more heroes and analysts from other agencies, including Kaminari Denki and a beaming Midoriya Izuku, crammed into a corner and chatting animatedly to—oh.

Your cheeks flushed. Pro hero Shouto was here.

The other hero stood tall and solemnly handsome across from Midoriya, just as maddeningly gorgeous as always. You, like every other person with working eyeballs, had long nursed a tiny bit of a celebrity crush on him, as he was literally the most beautiful person on earth—a fact evidenced by his now six-year running sweep of Tokyo Beat magazine’s cutest hero award.

In your time at Pink Riot, you’d worked a couple of joint cases with Shouto’s agency and met him a few times in passing. You’d always found him to be a little bit intense, but kind, thoughtful, straightforward, and diligent. He was every bit the reassuring hero the media made him out to be, and even more striking in person. He also always wore scent patches flush at the sides of his neck, concealing what his secondary gender was from prying noses, although you’d always sort of suspected he had to be an omega.

He was tall and solid and strong in the way of most pro heroes. But his features were so finely-wrought, so strangely graceful and elegant for a man, that you would have put significant amounts of money down on his omega status.

Not that it mattered. Betas really only dated betas, and alphas really only omegas, so Shouto’s status wasn’t much to you, regardless of what it was.

You slipped past, averting your eyes, wondering absently if an omega like Todoroki Shouto ever encountered harassment like the victims in your newest case file. Maybe his scent blockers were for this very purpose—hiding his omega status so he didn’t run the risk. You imagined with a face like his, he would be sure to garner migraine-inducing levels of undue interest.

This thought was suddenly arrested, however, when a hand pressed to your chest, shoving you back into the wall you were sidling past.

Your breath wooshed out of your lungs as a strangled “fwuuh” noise escaped you. Your gaze jerked up to find an alpha you somewhat recognized was holding you against the wall, grinning in an incredibly unsettling way.

Fuzzily, you matched his face to one of the techs from the support department, someone you occasionally saw at work functions but never worked directly with. Support interfaced mainly with the heroes, mending their tech, inventing new items, and—if Mina’s complaints were to be believed—running up quite the bill for the agency with their experimentation.

“Can I—help you?” you garbled out, staring the alpha down.

He leaned in, leery, slurring, “What’sa pretty li’l thing like you doin’ here, huh?”

He smelled strongly of Tetsutestu’s horrid concoction, like the alcohol was literally seeping from his pores. You frowned, shifting uncomfortably under his hand. It was large, and too-warm against your shoulder, and the desire to turn and bite it welled up in your mouth.

“Can you get off me?” you asked, grabbing the alpha by the wrist. A support tech though he was, his hold on you was firm, and your grip didn’t dislodge him. He clung to your sweater, his gaze glassy but intense.

He closed his eyes, nose twitching like he was-–ew—like he was scenting you. “Aww come on baby. A li’l omega like you? There’s no need to pr’tend you don’t want this.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion bubbling up inside you. A little omega like you? What the fuck was he talking about? Was he that blasted?

“You have three seconds before I bite you,” you said, certain that would be clear enough, even if he was too drunk to tell you were a beta.

But his hand didn’t move. Instead he laughed, hot and humid and smelling strongly of liquor, and he fumbled with something at his belt.

A hot wave of fear suddenly washed over you, a stab of panic lancing your heart. He wasn’t going to expose himself right here, was he? You pushed back against the wall, feeling entrapped, yanking at his wrist harder to get him off of you.

“I’m not an omega,” you said loudly. “And I’m not interested, now get—”

The alpha’s hand was gone. You blinked, suddenly finding his face missing too, your vision gone entirely gray and strangely…knitted?

“Do not touch her,” a deep voice intoned, and you realized you were staring at a broad back, clad in a handsome gray sweater. You tipped your head back, your gaze fixing on a suspiciously familiar mop of scarlet and white hair.

Shouto. Pro hero Shouto had put himself in between you and the asshole alpha.

A thrill raced down your spine.

“The fuck I won’t,” a snort issued over one of Shouto’s strong shoulders.

There was a small, silent moment where you watched Shouto’s head tilt just the tiniest bit. He didn’t say anything in return—but a sudden, creeping unease slithered over your senses, raising the hair on the back of your neck. An audible hush fell over the people nearest you, though you couldn’t see what exactly was happening, caged between Shouto’s back and the wall.

You could just make out Shouto’s scent patches, perfectly even against his neck like always, and wondered whether they would help—-if the alpha couldn’t smell Shouto was an omega, maybe he thought he would respect his boundaries more?

“Dude—” someone hissed, from somewhere near the alpha, just as Shouto spoke once more.

“You will leave,” he intoned in that deep tone again. His voice was soft, placid—but the feeling of unease grew within you, a strange itch under your skin. You had the sudden urge to flee, but one of Shouto’s hands closed over your wrist, as a cerulean eye caught yours over his shoulder. “You…please stay.”

You could do nothing but nod, your feet practically freezing in place, the desire to obey subsuming your entire brain. What the hell was happening?

As Shouto turned back to face the alpha again, that hunted feeling grew stronger, like there was something in the apartment that you should be very, very wary of. Your throat started to close up, and your breath came a little short.

The room was so suddenly silent that you could hear the nervous shift of the people beyond Shouto, and you caught the sound of the alpha suddenly stumbling back.

“You’re—are you fucking Ordering me?” The alpha asked, but you could hear that he was still backing away.

The question crawled right under your skin along with the unsettled feeling.

An Order. As in, an Alpha Order. From Shouto? Pretty, kind, patient, careful Shouto? Classic omega material Shouto?

Was…using an Order on an alpha, and it was working?

Your head spun with the mismatch between Shouto’s face and the latent command in his tone. It was almost too strange to be contemplated, and yet here it was playing out in front of you.

Shouto, for his part, didn’t bother answering the question. “I believe I asked you to leave,” he said firmly. His voice carried an inflection that sliced through the air like a knife.

“Sorry, Todoroki, he’s super fucking drunk—I’ll get him out of here,” another voice said, one you recognized as a different support tech.

It sounded like he didn’t need to expend the effort, however, as the alpha’s footsteps were already beating a hasty retreat. The other support tech’s footsteps followed, his pace clipped on the hardwood.

As soon as they were out of view, the suffocating feeling all but evaporated. You could almost feel the sigh of relief around the room, and the line of Shouto’s shoulders untensed.

He turned to you slowly, drawing in a deep breath. His normally blank expression had been exchanged for something troubled, his perfect eyebrows knitted in concern, his full mouth pursed up like he’d just let it drop from a snarl.

He blinked down at you for a second, those distinct heterochromatic eyes flicking over you, before you found yourself suddenly crowded back into the corner, your back bumping the wall. Shouto leaned down and gave a delicate sniff at your temple, as if checking your condition.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His voice was still strange, rough with something you couldn’t name.

He was warm where he lingered over you, his shoulders broad enough that they blocked the light and cast falling shadows into the meager space between you. He was near enough that the dip of his sweater collar rasped over your shoulder, sending a swarm of tingles over your skin. You drew in a careful breath, trying to figure out just what the right answer was, coming up with nothing.

Shouto frowned over your lack of a response. His nose pressed right into your hair, and he crowded even closer, like he was trying to find the source of your discomfort—even though he’d just chased that source right through the front door.

“Your scent is difficult to find,” he murmured, his chest expanding and contracting. “It is covered by many things…” He trailed off as he seemed to find it—and then something strange happened—even stranger than the scene with the support tech alpha.

Shouto froze in place, going so unearthly still he might have been transmuted into marble. You heard his breath catch and hold in his lungs, and his fingers came up to grasp your sleeve, clutching you tightly.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong when a shudder swept down him, from head to toe. His grip on your wrist tightened for a moment, and a groan bubbled up from somewhere low in his throat.

“Your scent—” he rasped, then cut himself off.

He huffed out a harsh breath instead, stirring your hair, before his face dropped into the cradle of your shoulder. He breathed in, slow, measured, his mouth just barely touching the skin of your throat. You could feel his long, pretty eyelashes flutter against your skin, and the sensation sent shivers down your spine.

Something under your skin shifted in response, then.

To your utter shock, you could feel yourself tilting your head to the side, baring your neck. A strange feeling of malleability settled over you, like your bones had jellified and your muscles had atrophied.

“Shouto—?” you garbled out, unable to articulate any question beyond what the fuck was happening? You knew it had something to do with the way Shouto was most definitely not an omega after all. The thought made your brain fuzz with static.

Pretty, gentle, elegant Todoroki Shouto was an alpha. Kind, placid, beautiful Todoroki Shouto was even some kind of…distressingly strong alpha.

It crossed all the wires in your brain to think of that face possessing that kind of strength. But there was clearly something there. And you were being so weird and embarrassing about it, but you couldn’t have moved, even if you wanted to.

It felt like a short eternity, the time Shouto stood over you like that, his face pressed into your throat, your own throat bared to him. Your heartbeat pounded in your chest, simultaneously hammering a zillion miles a minute, and yet feeling slow, syrupy.

Distantly, you registered the hum of voices in the background, Tetsutetsu trying to rekindle the happy atmosphere. But Shouto was so warm over you, breathing slow and shallow, a tall, strong anchor weighing you against the wall.

It could have been minutes or hours before he finally stepped away. He looked calmer, but a little dazed. You felt the same way, mystified by what had just occurred between you.

His gaze picked over you in some kind of assessment. “You’re well?” he asked carefully. His voice was pitched low.

“Yeah,” you managed, your throat weirdly dry. “Yeah. I—thank you, Shouto.”

Shouto inclined his head in a nod. “You, as well. I don’t usually…I try not to rise to anger. But when alphas try to use their power to—” he cut himself off. His throat bobbed with some emotion you couldn’t name.

“Your scent is….calming to me.”

You nodded. The beta chill thing again, like Mina had said.

“Your friendly neighborhood beta, at your service,” you saluted him, trying to ignore the strange, lingering shiver in your limbs.

A tiny smile quirked the corner of Shouto’s mouth, but his gaze remained fixed on you, almost inhumanly intense.

“That is not quite what I mean,” he said, but did not elaborate. There was something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you that you didn’t understand, but you didn’t know him well enough to try to dig into it.

Instead you just gave him another smile, your face heating as you noticed several people around you were still watching you.

You figured it was probably time to make an escape after that little scene you had just caused, for Shouto’s reputation as well as yours. You didn’t need people thinking Shouto had been scenting you for any reason other than your apparent beta chill pill scent, especially now that people at the party would know he was an alpha.

God, he was an alpha, even with a face like that.

You waved at him, garbling out another, “Well, thanks for the save! I, um, have to be going, but I’ll see you around!” before throwing yourself back through the crowd, your head spinning.

Mina had come out of the kitchen and tried to flag you down as you passed. You waved back at her like you’d misunderstood, quickly fighting your way back to Tetsu’s front door. You felt the weight of dozens of eyes on your back, and the prick of two heterochromatic ones, somehow more certain and weightier than the others. But you didn’t turn around, eager to get out of the crowd, still reeling from what had happened.

You didn’t know how you had been mistaken for an omega by that drunk alpha, and understood even less what had possessed Shouto to sniff you all over like that, embarrassed by how much you had liked it. It most probably had something to do with how inherently non-aggressive beta scents were supposed to be, maybe helping Shouto down from how keyed up he’d been about that other alpha.

But it had still been so embarrassing and strange, the way your head had tipped right back for him, the way your limbs had gone to jelly in his hold. You hoped he’d had a little to drink too or he’d probably realize how weird you were, reacting like that.

Finally, you spilled out of Tetsu’s and into the night, the evening air cool on your heated skin. The phantom touch of Shouto’s mouth still lingered on your throat, warm and disconcerting.

You beelined for home, your head swimming. You wondered just how long it would take you to forget how very strange this evening had been.

[redheadspark]

Here (Part Two)

Summary - Azriel stays by his mate's side, not knowing his family is rallying behind him to find out who attempting to kill his mate

Warnings - Mostly Angst

A/N - Part of the Ocean Eyes Series. I posted this as a sequel of Part One, which got insanely reactions! I am so glad you guys liked Part One and I hope you like Part Two!

Part Three Found Here

"What's the plan, Rhys?"

"I'm focusing more on my cousin's health and her life in the balance than dealing with her attacker."

"That's not where my head is,"

"Enlighten me then, Cassian,"

Cassian rolled his shoulders and eyed his High Lord as Rhysand was perched at his desk in his office, the sun setting over the rolling hills outside the River House, and the cooler air was blown onto the office with ease. Cassian leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his head reeling with questions and scenarios that he wanted to figure out immediately. But Rhysand was remaining calm, too calm for the Illyrian Army Commander's liking. He considered the wounded Illryian who was asleep upstairs, his friend's mate, his family. Someone tried to hurt his family and take away his family, and Cassian was fuming from the inside out.

But he was also a changed Illyrian, just as Rhysand and Azriel were. They were all fathers now: Rhysand with Nyx, Azriel with Alec, and Cassian with his daughter Rose. His daughter, sweet and yet fiery Rose was a splitting image of her mother but had his infectious and playful heart. They all had offspring to protect and think about, no more rash decisions and acting out on a limb. The children had to come first, and Cassian was not willing to do anything that would bring his family harm. Azriel never did that himself, yet that led to Alec almost being killed as a toddler and Azriel's mate now in a bed upstairs hanging between life and death. Nesta would never let Cassian do anything like that, not just for Rose but for Nesta too.

Cassian was the one who found you first, sprawled on the forest floor bleeding from your wing and the arrow still hanging out of your wing. You both were out in the outline border of Velaris, Cassian getting a hunch that there were rogue beings there making their way across the border into Velaris territory. You on the other hand were meeting with some of the farmers and shopkeepers that lived in the cottages there to check on them and talk business in contributing to the Community Center.

Maybe it was fate that he was there and come enough to hear your scream out, but he knew your scream far too well from knowing you since you both were younglings. He flew towards the wail you let out, his heart hitting against his chest far too hard and thinking it was a trick of the mind.

Everything slowed down for him as he gathered you in his arms, you were out cold and the poison already working in your blood. He had to act quickly, time was of the essence, and your time was about to be snuffed out if he didn't get you help in time. 

"The marks on the arrow," Cassian stated, reflecting on the arrow that was piercing your wing and sicking out so harshly that it sickened him to rethink it again, "We need to know where they came from so we get a hunch as to who did this,"

"I already have a big hunch, and I got in contact with the very High Lord that I'm thinking," Rhysand hummed, his cooldemeanor was hiding the anger he had. Cassian raised a brow at him as Rhysand rang his thumb over his fingers back and forth, a tactic he would use when he was thinking deeply, "High Lord Beron has been notified and is coming tonight,"

"What?" Cassian asked in shock, standing up stiffly and no longer leaning against the wall. 

"He knows the utmost importance of this since it does involve my cousin…my fucking family," Rhysand said the last part in a low tone, not a growl but close enough, "We are going to meet at the Townhouse since I know both yourself and Nesta would rather not have the High Lord of Autumn Court in your home,"

Cassian snorted, then gave him a questioning look, "Does Elaine and Lucien know what happened?"

"Feyre reached out and told them to stay at their home here in Velaris for the time being. In fact, I don't want any of the Inner Circle going anywhere outside of Velaris until this is resolved once and for all. We either stay in our homes or at The House of Wind until I say so," Rhysand explained as his violet eyes looked out the window to see the last images of the sun still in the sky before it hid into the horizon.

"Is that an order?" Cassian asked, Rhysand’s eyes shot back to his Commander.  Cassian, though tamer than he used to be when he was younger, was still reckless at heart at times. Something inside of him wanted him to find whoever did this and bring them pain. You were family to him, meeting him through Rhysand when he was a boy and considered him a brother of yours. His rational side was teetering to be pushed aside, and he was fine with it.

"I don't want another member of my family hurt, Cass. I consider you family, long before you became my brother-in-law. You need to think of your wife and daughter and that they need you," Rhysand explained to Cassian, seeing Cassian's eyes soften from the mention of Nesta and Rose, "We need to be smart about this, not reckless. I want you with me when we meet with High Lord Beron,"

Cassian hummed, knowing that Rhysand was right when it came to being reckless. He then gestured his head over to the doors that lead out of the office, "What about Azriel?"

"I don't want him anywhere else but with his wife, she's his priority now. And besides, I would rather not leave Azriel alone in the room with High Lord Beron. That's if Beron, or Autumn Court for that matter, did have something to do with this. He is not in the right frame of mind to be anywhere else," 

Cassian knew he was right about that too. The rage Azriel must be feeling at this moment, not knowing who in factharmed and attempted to kill his mate, must have been explosive. Cassian himself has been Azriel in such a way before, the anger that would fester deep down and be unlashed by either his shadows or his Truth Tellers. Cassian and strength behind him, but Azriel had something deeper.

Something more menacing.

"Alec is also staying here until his mother is well again, though he still doesn't know what precisely happened," Rhysand explained as he got up from his chair and walked around the desk to stand near Cassian with his arms folded in front of him, "I don't want Alec anywhere else but here, he's my nephew and he needs to be protected now more than ever. We all do, but epically him: someone is hunting his mother and father, and I won't let him become an orphan under my roof,"

"None of us want that, Rhys," Cassian reasoned with Rhysand, "He's secure and protected here with you and Feyre, and he's safe with his father, the safest he’ll ever be,”

"Which is why we need to be smart. For now, let's just focus on this meeting with Beron and making sure my cousin is comfortable and safe while she heals and come back to full health," Rhysand stated, then pausing as he gave Cassian a more cornered look, "How is Alec and Azriel now?"

"Alec's okay, he just misses his mother. As for Azriel…it's hard for him," Cassian confessed. Rhysand hummed and rubbed his eyes, already thinking of the next steps that were to come. The meeting tonight would be far too important, life-changing, and yet his cousin was still in the back of his mind and her health was his main concern. 

All he could do now was hold onto his Inner Circle, his family, so close in hopes they wouldn't slip away.

"Alright, buddy. Time for bed, okay?"

"Ok, daddy,"

Azriel softly smiled as he watched his son hop into the massive bed he was going to sleep in, the guest room that wasacross from where you were still sleeping and still healing. He left the door slightly open, being able to see you from where he was in Alec's guest room as Alec was settling into his bed. 

Alec was only told that his mother was sick, severely sick, and he was not able to see her.  Of course, it confused him at first, not understanding that he wasn't able to see his own mother since he had seen her sick before, but he knew better than to question his father.  Seeing Azriel looking worn down and defeated made Alec worry all the more. 

But Feyre was a step ahead, making sure he was well fed at dinnertime and kept him busy with his cousin Nyx until it was time for him to go to bed. Still, his mother was in the back of his mind, wondering what was it that made his mother so sick. He missed his mother, hugging her and hearing her voice telling him goodnight. Azriel tried his best to be present with Alec, but his son caught onto something that was hidden from him. 

Perhaps a trait he inherited from his father.

"Alec, I know this is different from what we're used to," Azriel explained to Alec, who was watching his father with his wide blue eyes as he was snuggled under the soft sheets of the bed, "But you are being such a trooper for going with the flow of it all.  I promise you that things are going to go back to normal soon, okay? As soon as momma is all better, we'll go back to our house and things will be back to the way they were,"

"Is it going to be forever?" Alec asked tentatively as he searched his father's tired eyes. Azriel felt a twinge of pain that his son was still kept in the dark, so speak, when it came to what truly happened to his mother. The last thing Azriel ever wanted to do was to lie to his son like this, to have that trust broken at any moment. 

"No, not forever, baby," He reassured Alec as he pushed the inky black hair out of his son's blue eyes, "This is not forever, I swear to you. You believe me?"

"Yes, Daddy," Alec replied, Azriel smiled at his son and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. He was about to leave his son to sleep, and as Azriel eased himself up from the bed, Alec spoke up again in a gentler tone. So gentle, that it sounded like the curtains were swaying in his room from the night breeze.

"Daddy, is momma gonna be okay?"

Azriel could have cried then, seeing his son watch him for an answer. Azriel never wanted this for his family, the fear of losing someone he loved and another person he loved was filled with fear and worry. Alec was only four years old, far too young for something like this to happen in his life. Nothing could prepare him for this: consoling his son and hoping that his wife would pull through. 

Alec needed his mother, Azriel knew that deep down. There was no greater bond than Alec's bond with his mother, it was thick and filled with so much happiness and love. Inwardly, Azriel wanted that himself with his mother, and he did have that in the blink of a moment when he was young.  To see his mate give that same love to his son was beyond rewarding.

Now his son, looking at his father with worry in his young eyes, was asking about his mother.

"Yeah…yeah she's gonna be okay," he reassured Alec. He had to give Alec hope, the hope that his mother would be herself again. Although he had very little hope, he would at least give some of that hope to his son. He leaned down and kissed his son one more time, "Get some sleep, okay? I'm gonna check on momma and come back to you, I love you,"

"I love you too, Daddy," Alec replied, then curled into the bed under the sheets as Azriel moved away. He felt like he needed to be in two places at once: with Alec and with you. Although you were sleeping and till healing, Alec needed you and needed your warmth. Azriel wished he could change it all, make you all better so you can hold your son. Yet as he watched Alec fall asleep, facing the window with a look of peace on his face, Azriel could breathe a bit easier. 

He kept the door into the guest room open slightly, mostly in case Alec needed him as he walked silently across the hall into the room where you were in. Still asleep, facing the empty chair where Azriel was perched for the past few hours, the moon shining into your room to cast a bluish light along your still wounded wings. Azriel could even see the moonlight shine through the thin membrane of your wings, showing the veins and the damage from the Ash Arrow.

But the way you were snuggled against the body pillow, head against the soft pillow, and your long hair draped over your shoulder, you looked more peaceful than you did earlier when Azriel found you. Azriel sat down on the chair, taking in a long breath as he held his hands together in his lap and watched you. Your deep breathing, the softness that was now slowly coming back along your skin and your cheeks thanks to the medicine from Madja. 

"I might be talking to myself here, but I hope you can hear me," Azriel said aloud in the room, his voice sounding a bit raw as he watched you in earnest, "But I need you to pull through and get better. I….I don't think I can do this without you. I won't have the strength to, no matter how hard I'll have to try. I need you, our son needs you. He needs his momma, and I…I don't wanna do this alone and without you."

He might have sounded silly since he was talking alone in the room, but then again he needed to get it off his chest. Bottling up all his fear that he's had for the past few hours, would have suffocated him. The only person he was ever safe to unload his feelings, to be open and exposed therapeutically, was the one who was asleep in front of him and unable to be fully present with him.

"I'm sorry I failed you and couldn't protect you," Azriel admitted, sinking a bit in his chair as he was fiddling with his fingers, Clutching them together tightly and refusing to let them go, "I promised you when we were mated that I would protect you, keep you safe and never let anything happen to you. I broke that promise, and I know I can never repair that,"

He thought that if you were awake, you would reprimand him for being hard on himself. Azriel could even hear it clearly in his mind, your kind voice scolding him for being immensely harsh towards himself. You've always helped him out of his moods and insecurities, including what he does and how he takes care of others around him. Azriel thought back to a talk that he had with you when Alec was still a young infant, he was voicing his worry about taking care of his family and if he was doing enough. 

He needed you to bring him back to the light, and not have him hide in the darkness.

Azriel reached out and took your hands in his own, feeling the coolness of your skin and yet how soft they were. Healways loved your soft hands, a soothing balm against his calloused and scarred skin. He leaned down and kissed the back of your hand, his lips along your skin had you shift in your sleep and hum.

"Sleep and come back to me, come back to us. Your son and I need you more than anything, so I need you to get your strength and open those eyes for me when you're ready. I'm here when you wake up, I promise.  I love you more than life itself, more than my own life, and if I could trade mine for yours then I would in a heartbeat. Just gather your strength, we'll be here waiting for you," Azriel proclaimed to you and your sleeping form.  He did speak the truth: he would trade his life for yours since at times he felt you had more good for the world than he ever did.

Azriel cannot picture a world without you, without any of your beautiful traits or your tender heart. 

Azriel heard it, almost like a whisper, as he was dead asleep with Alec cradled in his arms in the spare guest room.  His arms were tucked around his son, who was snuggled against his father and snoring softly. It was so soft, like a breeze, which didn't disturb the Spymaster at first.

But it was also distinct, not the sound of the curtains fluttering next to the bed or the very soft ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle.  This was a shutter of a whisper, and it was calling his name.

Azriel…..Azriel….

His shadows hummed, licking along Azriel's arms as he stirred a bit in his sleep. Alec was thankfully a deep sleeper and stayed in slumber, even though his father was feeling the sensation not just with his shadows but in his mind. It was a familiar voice, so familiar that maybe it was a trick of the mind as Azriel took in a long breath. But he heard it again, a pinch louder and his name being called out as if the source was so far away.  Fighting through a fog that was thick and almost recognizable.

Azriel…Azriel…

Azriel was still asleep, but it was becoming more alert as the voice was getting a bit louder now in his mind. It was no longer a dream, it was something else, something familiar to him.  So familiar like coming through the front door of the small little cottage where he lived, or flying amongst the cloud with his wings stretched. Even the familiar touch of your lips against his own made him feel safe.

But he finally heard it, and his eyes shot open on high alert.

Azriel….I'm here…

It was you, your voice, speaking through the bond.

You were awake.

To Be Continued….

A/N - Part three?!?! Let me know if you want a part three!

Tagging - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams @prettylittlewrites @fxckmiup @sizzlingstarlightsky @iluvyewman-blog @masbt1218 @a-courtof-azriel @homeslices @zanzie @topaz125

[mintyys-blog]

LA VIE EN ROSE | kon el kent x reader

DC COMICS MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: smut, swearing

imagine this; Kon finds his girlfriend in lingerie and absolutely malfunctions—hard, fast, desperate, and completely hers.

It started with a harmless trip to the garage.

Kon was looking for a charger. Not the futuristic kind he could get from S.T.A.R. Labs, just the old blocky one that fit that one backup communicator. He was humming some random pop song under his breath, shirtless, hair a bit tousled from flying in earlier. That’s when he saw it—tucked behind an old box of Halloween decorations and a cooler that hadn’t been used since last summer.

A Victoria’s Secret bag. And not just that.

Right next to it, a La Vie en Rose one, the soft pink peeking through the white tissue paper like a secret waiting to be unwrapped.

His heart stopped.

No way.

Kon’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. He ran a hand through his hair and grinned, teeth flashing. “No way,” he muttered again, grabbing the bag carefully like it was sacred treasure.

You had never worn lingerie before—not that he minded. You in one of his t-shirts, bare-legged and sleepy-eyed, was enough to short-circuit his brain. But this? This felt like a sign from the heavens. Maybe you’d been planning a surprise. Maybe you were finally leaning into the whole “sexy superhero’s girlfriend” thing. Maybe—

He hovered into the house like a man on a mission.

“Babe!” he called, practically bouncing into the kitchen where you were sipping iced coffee and scrolling your phone. “Were you gonna tell me about this? Or were you planning on sneak attacking me with it?”

You blinked. “Tell you about what?”

He plopped the bags onto the counter with the most dramatic flair. “This. The finest kind of ambush.”

Your eyes widened when you saw the bags. “Oh my god. Where did you find those?”

“The garage,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Behind the cooler. Are we talking lace? Silk? Something red?”

You burst into laughter. Not a giggle, a full-body, can’t-breathe kind of laugh. Kon frowned, confused and a little concerned his dream was slipping away.

You wiped a tear from your eye. “Those aren’t mine, babe. That’s stuff I bought for my cousin’s bridal shower. I hid them in the garage because she lives two doors down and comes over unannounced.”

Kon’s expression cracked. “Wait… seriously?”

You nodded, still chuckling.

He looked at the bags like they betrayed him personally. “So you’re not gonna randomly show up in red lace and heels?”

You leaned in, smirking as you slid your arms around his waist. “Sorry, Superboy. Not today.”

He groaned dramatically, flopping his head back. “You hate me.”

“I do not hate you.”

“You’re denying me character development!”

You kissed his cheek. “Maybe I just like the way your brain malfunctions when I wear your flannel.”

That got him smiling again. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his forehead to yours. “Okay… but if you ever want to malfunction me harder…”

You grinned. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“…and I’m allowed to keep hoping?”

“Sure.”

Kon smirked. “Cool. I’ll just be in the garage. Checking behind every box. Just in case.”

It had been a week since The Great Lingerie Letdown, and Kon hadn’t let it go.

Every so often, he’d toss out lines like, “Wonder what’s behind the rice cooker in the pantry…” or “Just gonna go check under the bed. You know. For science.”

You always rolled your eyes. But you were thinking. Planning. He did deserve a little malfunction.

You timed it perfectly. He was out late helping Nightwing track a rogue android in the city. The sun was down, the lights in the apartment dimmed, and you’d set the scene with soft music and warm lighting in the bedroom. Not too much—just enough glow to catch the shimmer of the little number you’d picked out just for him.

Silky black lace. A tiny bow at the center. Straps that sat high on your hips and a matching robe that slid off your shoulders like a whisper.

It wasn’t about the lingerie. It was about the look on his face you were hoping for.

So you waited, sitting casually on the bed with a book in hand, legs crossed like this was just another normal night.

You heard the familiar rush of air before the door even clicked open.

“Babe? I’m home. You wouldn’t believe how annoying androids are—”

He froze in the doorway.

Dead. Silent.

He blinked once. Then twice. His eyes trailed slowly down your figure like his brain couldn’t quite process what it was seeing.

You lowered your book and met his wide-eyed stare. “Hey, Kon. You find anything behind the rice cooker yet?”

He made a sound you couldn’t quite classify—part choke, part laugh, part whimper.

You stood up slowly, taking your time with each step as you walked toward him, the heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. His hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab you or drop to his knees in reverence.

When you stopped in front of him, you brushed your fingers lightly over his chest. “You gonna say something?”

“…I think I forgot how to talk,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Good. Then shut up and let me make you malfunction.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He didn’t even try to hide the way his hands found your waist, fingers twitching against the delicate fabric. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, like he was afraid one wrong move would make the vision in front of him disappear.

“Holy crap,” he muttered, voice low and hoarse. “You’re real. This is real. You—this is for me?”

You smirked, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck, leaning in close enough that your lips barely brushed his. “Took you long enough to find the secret stash.”

Kon’s breath hitched. You could feel the tension radiating off him—pure, electrified restraint.

“I’m trying so hard not to break the sound barrier right now,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t even understand.”

“Then stop trying.”

That was all it took.

His mouth found yours with a sudden, desperate heat—like he’d been starving and you were the first taste of something real. His hands slid down, cupping the curve of your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly, walking the few steps to the bed without breaking the kiss. Your legs wrapped around his waist, body arching into him instinctively.

“You feel so…” he whispered against your skin as he trailed kisses along your jaw, your throat, down the curve of your collarbone. “God, baby. You’re unreal.”

You tugged at his shirt. “Then take this off. I want to feel you.”

He practically ripped it off. You made a mental note to stop buying him shirts—he clearly had a vendetta against them.

Once the fabric was gone, all you could do was admire the way his muscles moved under your hands—taut, warm, real. He laid you down gently, like you were something precious. Sacred. But his eyes? They were hungry. Wild. Focused. His fingers traced along the lace at your hips. “Can I…?”

“You can do anything you want, sweetheart.” That was it. That was all he needed.

The second you whispered “You can do anything you want,” it was like flipping a switch inside him.

Gone was the flustered, wide-eyed boyfriend who couldn’t believe his luck.

Now, his hands were everywhere—strong, possessive, like he needed to touch every part of you to believe you were real. He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, your sighs, the way you whispered his name when his palm slid under the lace of your panties and found just how ready you were for him.

“Shit,” he hissed, lips brushing your ear as his fingers teased you—slow, patient at first, then with a growing confidence that made your thighs tremble around him. “You’re soaked. You did all this for me?”

“For you,” you breathed, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripping his bicep like a lifeline. “Just you.”

Kon groaned—a low, filthy sound that came from deep in his chest—and then he was pulling the lace down your thighs, dragging his tongue slowly along your inner thigh as he went.

“Wanna take my time,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Wanna taste you first.”

And he did.

God, he did.

He buried his face between your thighs like he’d been dreaming about it since the first time he met you. His tongue moved in slow, devastating circles, his hands pinning your hips down when you tried to squirm. And when you cried out his name, tugging hard on his hair? He groaned against you like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

“You’re not gonna last long like this,” he teased, voice husky, smug.

“I don’t care—Kon—”

He didn’t stop until your whole body arched, trembling, crying out his name like a prayer and a curse in one breath. He watched you ride it out with a wild, starstruck look on his face, licking his lips like he’d found the sweetest thing in the world.

Then he was back up—rising from between your thighs with that same wild look in his eyes, lips wet, flushed and swollen from everything he’d just done to you. His mouth found yours in an instant, kissing you deep and messy, tongue sliding against yours, letting you taste yourself on him. You whimpered into the kiss, overwhelmed, electric, your whole body still pulsing from his mouth.

He groaned at the way you kissed him back, your fingers threading into his thick black hair, tugging like you wanted him even closer—deeper. His hips rutted against yours in a slow, grinding roll, and you felt it: hard, hot, pressing against your center through the fabric of his jeans, so thick and heavy it made your thighs twitch in anticipation.

“Kon,” you gasped against his lips, your voice trembling. “I need you—now.”

Your fingers fumbled at his belt, frantic, clawing and tugging with shaking hands. You couldn’t get the buckle undone fast enough and let out a frustrated little sound that only made him grin—cocky, flushed, and barely holding back.

“Easy, baby,” he whispered, breath ghosting over your mouth. “I’ve got you.”

He kissed you again, softer this time—slower—and his hands moved to yours, helping you unbuckle his belt, popping open the button, dragging the zipper down with agonizing ease. You pushed at the denim, desperate to feel him without the barrier, and he chuckled low in his throat, voice thick with restraint.

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered, breathless, needy. “I don’t care.”

His jeans hit the floor. The moment your hand wrapped around him through the thin fabric of his briefs, he shuddered, hips twitching into your touch.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut for just a second, jaw clenched tight. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And when you slid those briefs down and he sprang free—thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip—you sucked in a breath. He was perfect. And he was yours.

“Kon,” you whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in. “Please. Don’t tease. Just—please.”

He didn’t make you wait.

He grabbed your thigh with one hand, the other guiding himself to your entrance. And with one deep, slow thrust, he slid inside you—inch by thick inch—until your breath caught and your back arched against the sheets, overwhelmed by the fullness, the heat, the connection. His jaw clenching, your nails digging into his back. He was big, thick, the stretch just enough to make your back arch and your breath catch.

Kon groaned like the feeling physically broke him.

“You’re so tight,” he rasped, panting against your neck. “So warm—fuck, baby. I’m never gonna get enough of this.”

He paused for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, letting you both breathe, letting you adjust, and then—

Then he started to move—slow at first, a steady roll of his hips that let you feel every inch dragging against your walls. But that didn’t last long. The moment your nails dug into his back and you gasped his name like it burned, Kon snapped.

His control shattered.

He pulled back and thrust in hard—deep—drawing a strangled cry from your throat as your back arched. You clung to him, breath ragged, every inch of your body sparking under his touch. “God, baby…” he groaned, voice rough, breaking against your ear. “You feel so good—too good—I can’t—” Another thrust, faster, harder “I can’t stop.” You didn’t want him to. You didn’t need him to.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him in for another kiss that was all tongue and teeth and moaning into each other’s mouths. His pace picked up, hips pistoning into you with the kind of desperate rhythm that made the bed creak and the headboard slam softly against the wall.

You were soaked, your body welcoming him with each stroke, your legs locking tighter around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Skin slapped against skin, sweat slick between you, the only sounds filling the room were your moans, his grunts, and the wet, filthy rhythm of him ruining you in the best way.

“You like this?” he panted, one hand gripping the headboard, the other squeezing your thigh as he fucked into you like he needed it to survive. “You want it harder? Say it, Y/N.”

You cried out, head thrown back. “Yes, Kon—harder—don’t stop—please don’t stop!” That flipped something in him.

He grunted, teeth gritted, and slammed into you harder, faster, rougher—every thrust making your breath hitch, every stroke hitting that perfect spot. You felt yourself building again, spiraling up fast, your body coiling like a wire about to snap. And Kon? He could feel it. “I can feel you, baby—shit, you’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”

“Yes—yes—I’m—”

“Come on,” he growled, slamming into you with punishing force, his voice thick and shaky. “Come for me. Let me feel you—now.”

“Fuck, baby…” Kon swore under his breath, hips stuttering before finding a rhythm that had your eyes rolling back. “You feel like heaven.”

He made love to you like he was trying to burn the moment into time—deep, slow, grinding into you with each thrust like he needed you to feel how much he wanted you. But the longer it went on, the rougher he got—hips snapping, teeth grazing your neck, growling things like:

“No one else gets you like this.”

“You’re mine.”

“You wear this kind of thing again and I swear I’m never letting you leave the bed.”

“Say my name—let me hear it.”

You came with a cry—loud, raw, legs shaking around his waist as your whole body clenched around him. He groaned, deep and desperate, and after a few more stuttering thrusts, he was right there with you, cursing under his breath as he spilled inside you, hips jerking until he couldn’t move anymore. You stayed tangled together, skin on skin, his fingers lazily tracing your thigh as your breathing slowly synced.

He leaned down, kissing every inch he could reach, his touch turning from careful to confident—trailing fire across your skin. Every sigh you let out only pushed him further, until he was murmuring things you could barely register between gasps:

You arched up into him, your hand tangled in his hair, lips finding his again, softer this time. Slower. The kind of kiss that said: I love you. The kind that held trust, not just heat.

“You,” he muttered, kissing your shoulder, “are evil.”

You laughed, running a hand through his messy black hair. “Told you you’d malfunction.”

“…holy shit,” he whispered after a long beat, voice dazed and hoarse. “You definitely malfunctioned me.”

You laughed breathlessly, arms wrapped around him, your fingers tracing the sweat-slick lines of his back. “That was the plan.”

He smirked against your skin. “You’re gonna have to reboot me tomorrow morning.”

[zhelin-thames]

PHANTOM OF THE BATCAVE: A GOTHAM MUSICAL ~A tale of ghosts, bats, and questionable life choices~

There can only be one brother extras 5 - 25 + bonus parts

ACT 1: "WHO'S THE (DEAD) GUY IN THE MANTLE?"

Opening Number: "Shadow in the Manor"

*(Gotham Manor. Night. Damian returns early from a mission, sensing an intruder. The Batfamily is out—except for Alfred, who hums as he polishes a teacup. Danny Fenton, half-asleep, leans against the kitchen counter. The lights flicker—Damian attacks!—Danny catches him mid-air. The orchestra strikes!)

DAMIAN: (snarling, suspended in Danny’s grip) "Who dares invade the Bat’s domain? What fool walks where death is plain? I’ll strike you down— AGAIN! AND AGAIN!—

DANNY: (yawns, spins him gently like a top) "Kid, please. I’ve fought my own reflection. You’re adorable— Now sit down, have some tea."

(Alfred enters, unbothered. Damian is outraged. The chandelier sways ominously.)

ALFRED: (smoothly) "Ah, Master Damian. How kind of you to greet our guest. Now, if you’ll excuse me— The shadows require their breakfast."

(Lights fade. The curtains pull back to reveal—)

Group Number: "TT (The Tiny Tyrant’s Lament)"

(The Batfamily returns. Dick is thrilled. Jason is suspicious. Tim is recording everything. Damian sulks on a chandelier.)

DICK: (dramatic flourish) "A brother! A friend! A mystery to unravel! He caught Damian mid-stab— Is he magic? Trained? TROUBLE?!"

JASON: (loading a gun, eyeing Danny) "He’s too calm. He’s too chill. I don’t trust him— I WON’T— (…Why’s he floating now?) OH COME ON."

DAMIAN: (from the rafters) "TT! TT! TT! I hate you all! ESPECIALLY HIM— (…But his shoulders are good for climbing.)

(Danny, now upside-down, grins. The Batcomputer glitches.)

ACT 2: "GHOSTS, BATS, AND OTHER TERRIFYING THINGS"

Villain Interlude: "Why So Ecto?"

(The Rogues gather in a secret hideout. Joker is fuming. Riddler is traumatized.)

JOKER: (wild-eyed, clutching a deflated whoopee cushion) "I planted bombs! I stole diamonds! Then a tiny ghost girl turned my acid into LEMONADE! SHE SIPPED IT AND SMILED— WHAT AM I MISSING?!"

HARLEY: (twirling, unfazed) "Bats are fun! Ghosts are funner! Wanna join their chaos crew? I’M ALREADY THEIR AUNTIE— THEY TOLD ME SO!"

*(Pause. The Rogues stare. Then—BANG!—Ellie crashes through the ceiling.)

ELLIE: (grinning, covered in glitter) "DID SOMEONE SAY CHAOS?"*

(The Rogues scream. The scene cuts to—)

Emotional Ballad: "Home (Is Where the Haunt Is)"

(Danny and Damian on a rooftop. Damian pretends he isn’t attached. Danny knows.)

DANNY: (softly, watching Gotham’s skyline) "I was living and dead, Neither here nor there— Then you dropped from the ceiling, Like a tiny, stabby prayer."

DAMIAN: (grumbling, but leaning closer) "TT. Obviously. You’re adequate. (…Don’t leave.)"

(A shadow passes over the moon. The Ghost Zone hums.)

ACT 3: "THERE CAN ONLY ONE (FINAL BATTLE)"

Showdown: "Danny vs. Santa (Holiday Havoc)"

(Flashback. The North Pole. Snow flies. Danny duels Santa on a frozen lake.)

SANTA: (booming, dodging ecto-blasts) "YOU’RE RUINING CHRISTMAS! YOUR LIST SAYS ‘TERROR’!

DANNY: (grinning, mid-backflip) "YOU STOLE MY SNICKERDOODLES— PREPARE FOR WRATH!"

(Ellie and Damian sled in on a ghost polar bear, singing backup.)

ELLE & DAMIAN: "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! KICK HIS JOLLY BUTT! THERE CAN ONLY ONE— (…But two is more fun!)"

(Santa surrenders, tossing Danny a magic cookie tin. The Batfamily applauds from a snowdrift.)

Finale: "We’re All a Little Dead Inside"

(The entire cast assembles on stage. Bats, ghosts, even the Rogues.)

FULL CAST: (harmonizing, confetti cannon) "Gotham’s dark! The nights are long! But with a ghost, it’s kind of fun! So welcome home, you weird dead son— THE CHAOS HAS ONLY BEGUN!"

*(Danny bows. Damian stabs a balloon. Ellie hugs the Joker. Alfred serves tea to a very tired Batman.)

CURTAIN.

STANDING OVATION.

POST-CREDITS SCENE: Constantine, smoking in the alley behind the theater: "I hate musicals." (A shadow nods in agreement.)

A/N: This is Broadway-ready. Casting suggestions:

Danny: A chaotic tenor with parkour skills.

Damian: A 12-year-old with resting murder face.

Ellie: A feral soprano who actually stabs the crew.

[blouisparadise]

Here are some great bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of February. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Just Wanna Be Loved By You | Not Rated | 1,901 words

Louis is too tired to be tough and Harry tries to love him through his struggles. A Defenceless AU.

2) Darling, I Will Give Up Everything | Explicit | 1,903 words

Louis' had a terrible day at uni, but thankfully he can always fall into Harry's arms and be taken care of.

3) Dear Harry, | Not Rated | 1,945 words

The one where Louis writes a letter to the Alpha that he one day dreams of meeting.

4) The Eagle Has Landed | Not Rated | 3,311 words

Note: This fic has TL mentions.

Louis comes back from the Superbowl and Harry exacts his revenge for Louis' night with Zayn in LA

5) Early Mornings | Explicit | 3,428 words

“You’re everything to me, you know that?” Harry whispered, his forehead resting against Louis’ as he looked into those familiar blue eyes. “I know,” Louis whispered back, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

6) Skulls And Crossbones | General Audiences | 3,467 words

“Thanks for the tea, mate… but uh, why did the steam turn into a skull and crossbones when you stirred it?”

7) Truth Or Dare | Mature | 4,296 words

"See that guy over there?” Louis shifted slightly in her seat, directing her gaze toward the table across from her. “The one in the wool vest?” Camila nodded at the blue-eyed girl's question. "Go make his day, Lou; he looks like he wants company.” Louis raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s cute. Just look at him; he looks so adorable with his plaid vest and coffee.” .... "I've never done this, I don't want to ruin it" Louis leaned on his chest. "You're not going to ruin it, just let yourself go" She kissed him again tenderly and Harry ended up nodding softly.

8) Are There Still Beautiful Things? | Explicit | 5,473 words

Louis brings Harry to a secluded meadow for one last night of happiness before they both go to war.

9) Fuck Me Til I Feel Better | Explicit | 6,904 words

Louis is stressed, tired and anxious and he just wants his Hazza!

10) The Devil in Disguise | Explicit | 8,276 words

At a lavish masquerade ball, Harry and Louis, once inseparable bandmates of One Direction, find themselves unknowingly drawn back to one another after years of silence since the band’s split. Hidden behind elaborate masks, they exchange furtive glances from across the room, each wondering if the other can see past the disguise. As the night unfolds, their quiet game of cat and mouse leads them to a secluded spot, where the truth of their identities—and the years of separation—are finally laid bare, sparking a reunion neither of them saw coming.

11) Not Quite As Planned.... | Not Rated | 9,105 words

The plan was for them to make gingerbread houses with the gingerbread Harry had made. But things don’t end up going quite to plan….

12) Where You Lead, I Will Follow (Part 1) | Explicit |2,301 words

Louis and Harry are best friends. One night after a great show, he admits his feelings for one of his friends, his male friend. He knows his crush has experience and asks Harry for his help on what to expect.

13) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 22,795 words

Louis has a hopeless crush on his best friend’s dad but his crush may not be as hopeless as he thought.

14) With All My Heart | Not Rated | 34,339 words

Popular omega Louis receives a present each day from a secret admirer. Throw in some humor, jealousy, calculus, a masquerade ball, Mario Kart, snowball fight, mixed CDs, a cute dog, oh, and a cute nerdy shy alpha, who just might be the biggest surprise of all.

15) Rogue Omega | Mature | 38,791 words

Louis is a rogue on the run from his birth pack, who want to kill him because he's a male omega. He ends up in the Styles pack's territory, trying to get away from his hunters. But it's too late--the alphas surround the exhausted omega and attack him. The last thing he sees, before he passes out, is a huge black wolf with green eyes. What a sight to die to.

16) Loving You's The Antidote | Explicit | 60,450 words

Louis is a struggling musician who can barely pay his rent, Harry is a successful art curator with a rich family. Louis ends up as Harry's fake boyfriend for a weekend and they have to share a bed.

17) I Believe In Magic | Explicit | 115,276 words

Harry is the Crown Prince and the future king of Camelot. His sworn duty is to protect his kingdom from outside threats, especially from the dangers of magic. Louis is his best friend and, technically, his servant. And he has a secret.

18) You Belong To Me | Explicit | 125,621 words

Where Louis is sent to prison for the first time. He is set up with Harry who is willing to help him to get through his sentence. But his help doesn't come without a price tag.

19) Yours, Mine, & Ours | Explicit | 126,630 words

A ten year reunion puts ex-boyfriends, Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, in the same room together for the first time in ten years. Louis' desperate to avoid the man who left him sobbing outside a dive-bar in the middle of London. It's going swimmingly until an accidental submission to the reunion's slideshow highlights the existence of the son, Leo, that Harry never knew about. Harry's determined to stake a permanent claim in Louis' life as their child's father. Louis knows Harry's temporary, and refuses to allow him to break their son's heart too. The past bubbles up in uncomfortable ways, and choices need to be made. Will Harry and Louis be able to put everything aside in the best interest of their son? Or will everything fall apart just like it did all those years ago?

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[rdmasevi]

Like Fire and Venom

Title: “Like Fire and Venom”: a Twilight fanfiction

Pairings: Jacob Black x Reader Male ( Red Eyed Vampire )

Genre: Supernatural Romance | Drama |

Slow Burn | Angst with Comfort |

Forbidden Love |

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, Emotional angst, Discussions of blood-drinking, Light possessiveness and jealousy, Swearing, Mentions of past isolation/loneliness.

Summary: Jacob Black struggles with Bella’s engagement to Edward — until his world is turned upside down when he unexpectedly imprints on the last creature he ever thought possible: a red-eyed, rogue male vampire.

You never expected to step foot in Forks.

You’d heard about it, of course. Every vampire had. A strange pocket of the Pacific Northwest crawling with wolves, the Cullen coven settled like royalty in their glass castle in the woods. A treaty held together by mutual tolerance and necessity. You didn’t care for politics, or power.

You were just passing through.

A red-eyed nomad. A rogue.

You never stayed in one place long. You fed clean when you could — criminals, drifters, the kind of people no one looked for. Still, you were a predator. Always watching. Always watched.

You didn’t mean to get caught in their territory.

But fate doesn’t wait for permission.

You didn’t even notice him at first — the towering boy with warm brown skin and too-bright eyes, panting as if he'd just finished phasing. The second you stepped out of the trees, though, he stopped.

And stared.

It wasn’t fear in his eyes.

It was something else.

You tilted your head, fangs retracted but guarded. “You gonna growl at me or just stand there?”

“I…” he blinked, jaw going slack. “No. I… I don’t know what’s happening.”

The silence between you charged with something ancient. Something irreversible.

Jacob Black — the boy who hated vampires with a fire so hot it burned off his skin — had just imprinted on one.

You.

The red-eyed rogue.

He didn’t fight it.

Not for long, anyway.

The days that followed blurred into long walks in the woods, tense conversations, the occasional snapped tree trunk when he lost his temper. You told him your story — not all of it, but enough. He saw something in you no one else ever had. Maybe it was the way you didn’t try to explain your thirst away, or the fact that you didn’t want redemption. You just wanted… peace.

“I thought I’d hate you,” he admitted one night, sitting across from you on a fallen log. “But when I look at you… it’s like everything makes sense.”

You didn’t smile.

You wanted to.

But you’d lived long enough to know nothing this good lasted.

You were right.

When Bella found out, it all came crashing down.

She stormed into the woods, eyes wild, voice shaking. “Jacob, you imprinted on a vampire?! A blood-drinking, red-eyed—”

“Don’t,” Jacob growled. His body trembled, the shift hovering just beneath his skin. “Don’t say it like that.”

“He could kill someone. You! You used to hate them! You hated the Cullens and they don’t even feed on humans!”

You stood behind him, silent but composed, crimson eyes unreadable.

“I did hate them,” Jacob snapped, “because I didn’t understand. I hated you, too, Bella. For how you played with my feelings. For stringing me along while you picked a leech.”

Bella paled.

“This is different,” he continued. “He’s mine. I don’t care what he is.”

Bella left in tears.

The pack didn’t react how you expected.

At first, there was tension — growls, posturing, mistrust. Paul nearly attacked you once, until Jacob put him on his back with one punch. Sam called a meeting. The others watched. Quiet. Waiting.

And then something strange happened.

They accepted you.

Not fully — not yet. But they saw the imprint. They felt it through Jacob’s thoughts. They watched the way he stood in front of you, ready to tear through anyone who even looked at you wrong. And slowly… they began to trust.

“He’s calm around you,” Emily said one afternoon, watching Jacob lean against your side by the fire. “That’s new.”

Even Leah, fierce and bitter, didn’t say a word. She just nodded once in your direction and walked away.

Edward didn’t trust you. But he respected the bond.

Carlisle welcomed you into their circle, even offered you blood bags if you needed them. “You’re not the first to try to walk a different path,” he said. “But you may be the first with someone fighting beside you.”

And Jacob?

Jacob made it clear to everyone — vampire, wolf, human — that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” he said one night, his hand brushing yours, fire and ice colliding with skin. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. That’s all that matters.”

You’d never belonged anywhere. Not in centuries.

But now, wrapped in the scent of pine and fur, surrounded by a pack that tolerated you and a boy who burned brighter than any sun, you started to believe you could.

Bella still watched from a distance. Heartbroken. Bitter. Maybe even jealous.

But Jacob never looked back.

He never needed to.

He had you.

And for the first time in his life, that was enough.

My main masterlist

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Could I request an Alicent (HOTD) platonic familial imagine where R is her sister and R is a kind and innocent person and is almost assassinated?

Alicent X Sister! Reader: Sworn protector

Warnings: assassination attempt, fear, death, Alicent being a badass, innocent reader, no use of y/n.

Word count: 740

The sun was setting over the Red Keep, casting long shadows across the stone corridors as you walked through them, your soft footsteps the only sound in the otherwise quiet hall. Your gentle smile never faded as you greeted the servants and passing knights with warm words, your kind nature a stark contrast to the growing unrest in King's Landing.

Alicent had always been protective of you, perhaps even more so lately. She'd noticed the tension that had been building in the capital, the whispers that slithered through the courtyards like a silent poison, but she never wanted to worry you. You were too innocent, too pure in her eyes. She adored you for it, though at times, her love for you was laced with a protective fear—one she tried, unsuccessfully, to keep at bay.

Tonight, she had insisted that you stay in her chambers after supper. The invitation was more a command than a request, though you hadn’t questioned it. Alicent had always been a motherly presence to you, even as her own position in court had grown more complicated.

The evening passed in a haze of simple comforts: the low hum of quiet conversation, the clink of a goblet, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows across the walls. But you hadn’t seen how uneasy she truly was, not until she had dismissed everyone from the room, save for her most trusted maidservant.

You had barely finished settling into the cushions beside her when the door burst open, a figure cloaked in shadows slipping into the room. Before you could react, the figure lunged, a dagger in hand aimed at your throat.

Alicent’s scream rang out in the dim light, but it was drowned by the chaotic clash of steel and the struggle between your assailant and Alicent herself. Panic flooded your chest as the cold steel of the dagger brushed dangerously close to your skin.

But Alicent was there, always there. Her hands were strong, and the once gentle, serene woman you knew had become a warrior in that moment. She shoved the attacker back, her voice harsh and commanding.

“Stay away from her!”

The usually composed queen was now full of nothing but fury.

The assailant, a rogue mercenary sent by those with more sinister ambitions, faltered, shocked by the ferocity of the woman they had underestimated. In that moment of hesitation, Alicent moved towards one of the knights, grabbing his sword. Before he could react Alicent had made her way to the mercenary. She raised the blade  moving  with a precision that shocked you. She struck striking with unrelenting force, bringing the would-be assassin to the floor, lifeless.

You stared, wide-eyed, frozen in fear, your chest heaving with the sudden shock of what had just transpired. Alicent turned to you, breathless, her eyes wild with a fierce protectiveness.

"Are you hurt?" 

She demanded, voice trembling as she knelt before you, her hand gently lifting your chin to check for any injury.

You shook your head, too stunned to speak. You had always thought the danger of the court was something distant, something spoken of in hushed whispers. But now it had come for you, for the innocence that had been your shield until now.

Alicent’s expression softened as she looked at you. Her eyes, so often sharp and calculating, held only concern now. 

"You’re safe, my sweet sister." 

She whispered the words, pulling you into her arms, her hands running through your hair. 

"I won’t let anyone harm you. Not ever."

You clung to her, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Why would someone want to hurt me?"

You questioned the cruelty, voice barely a whisper, your heart still racing from the near-fatal encounter.

Alicent sighed, brushing your hair back from your face. 

"Some people do not care for kindness, sister. And they will stop at nothing to tear down those who show it." 

Her eyes hardened for a moment, as if contemplating something darker. 

"But I will protect you, always."

You couldn’t find the words to reply, still shaken by what had just happened. But in that moment, as you rested against Alicent’s chest, the weight of her embrace gave you a strange comfort.

The world outside may have been treacherous, cruel, and filled with shadows, but here, in her arms, you knew you were safe. No matter what trials lay ahead, Alicent would always stand between you and harm.

And you trusted her, as you always had.

[lyn31]

Hiii, i hope you don't mind me requesting this (if someone havent requested the same thing) i'm obssessed with your writings 😬 👉👈 so... can you write about the Li family going on a beach trip when the twins were younger (maybe 1 y.o ish?) and their reaction to touching sands and the sea for the first time? Since i saw some babies being kinda terrified of them and then we have our unbothered serena having a fun time building sand castles and eating fruits and even helping taking care of the twins, like stopping when one of the twins were about to eat sands or something, overall just a fluffy family time, anyway thank you in advance, love ya 😘

Awwww, I hope you still do! This is quite late ahahaha I write it in a span of few days just this weekend, but here it is! Enjoy the chaotic fluff! 🫶🏻☺️ Let me know what you think! 👀💕

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First Beach

Summary

A first beach day always becomes a quiet testament to love, growth, and the joyful impermanence of childhood.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Family fluff, more focus on the kids! chaos, banter, cuteness overload!

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The first scream of joy comes before you’ve even finished setting the picnic mat down.

Lucas, already half-free of his tiny sandals, is barreling toward the shoreline like the ocean sent him a handwritten invitation and he RSVP’d with fireworks. His arms are flailing, hair bouncing, mouth wide open in an elated squeal that has every sunbather within a five-meter radius turning to look—some amused, some startled, one older lady outright clapping.

"Lucas!" you call out instinctively, already halfway rising to your feet. “Wait—don’t go alone!”

Callum, several paces behind, pauses. He’s staring at the water like it just said something suspicious in a language he almost understood. His brows furrow, one hand gripping the bucket Serena gave him like it might defend him if necessary. He inches closer to his sister.

“I’ll go,” Zayne says beside you, calm as ever—but he’s already standing, brushing the sand from his hands as he jogs to catch up to Lucas.

Serena gives you a serious little nod and says, “I’ll go too,” like she’s somehow twenty-five and this is a very official joint mission. She takes Callum’s hand before darting off after Lucas and Zayne, her tied-up hair bouncing with each step.

“He’s actually going to launch himself into a wave,” you mutter, brushing your chest like you’re about to have a heart attack, watching your son throw his arms in the air like he’s about to hug the entire sea.

Zayne reaches them in seconds—Serena trying her best to coax Callum into the shallows. Callum hesitates at the edge, eyes still wide and cautious. That is, until Lucas turns around, grinning and soaked, and lets out another whoop of glee.

Callum follows. Of course he does.

Serena does her best to shield him from rogue splashes, while Lucas stomps through the water like he’s conducting an orchestra made entirely of waves. Zayne steps in easily, positioning himself between them and the deeper water with practiced ease, catching Lucas mid-splash and adjusting Callum’s hat in one smooth motion.

You laugh—a soft breath of disbelief—and settle onto the mat, brushing sand off your legs as Serena gently herds the boys like a mother duck in miniature, earning one of Zayne’s approving nods. Watching them now, all sun-drenched and chaotic, sparks an old memory.

Serena’s first beach day. No running or shrieking then, just that wide-eyed stare like the ocean was something ancient and unknowable.

You’d barely gotten her out of the carrier before she froze, chubby feet planted in the sand, body angled like she was trying to hear it better. Not scared—just quiet. Thinking.

Her brows were slightly drawn, lips parted, eyes impossibly wide beneath her sunhat. You’d crouched beside her, brushing a hand over her back.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” you asked softly, though she barely spoke yet—one word at a time, when she felt like it. She didn’t answer, but she did look up at you, then back at the waves, like she was trying to ask, why is the bath so big?

Zayne had knelt on her other side, reaching for her hand and adjusting the brim of her hat. “We’ll stay close,” he promised, not that she looked particularly worried.

It wasn’t until her foot sank slightly into wet sand that her confusion turned into action. She squatted low, grabbing a handful like she need to know more, squishing it between her fingers and turning it over in her palm. She’d played with sand before, but this—damp, heavy, shifting sand—this was something new.

So you built her something. A crooked tower at first, then a little wall to go with it, both you and Zayne working quickly, guiding her tiny hands to help.

When it was done—just a lump with vaguely architectural aspirations—Serena beamed. Absolutely beamed. She pointed to it, then to the bigger one Zayne shaped beside her, and made a quiet, triumphant sound, somewhere between a breath and a hum.

Then the tide rolled in.

A little wave reached out like a hand and tugged the base of her tower. It crumbled instantly, dissolving into the shore like it had never existed.

Her mouth wobbled, hands frozen midair, unsure what to fix—what to save.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you said gently, already reaching for her.

Zayne touched her back. “It’s alright. This just means we get to build more.”

She looked between you, uncertain, then gave the smallest nod, her eyes shining with sudden, serious determination.

A squeal from Lucas jolts you back to the present.

Lucas has kicked water high enough to soak Zayne’s pants. Callum gasps, scandalized, while Serena laughs, reaching for another seashell to add to her growing collection of ocean “treasures.”

You smile, standing up and brushing the sand from your legs.

Time to join them.

Lucas spots you first. He lets out a delighted squeal and does an awkward little jump that turns into a half-run, his chubby legs kicking up water as he makes a beeline for you. Just as suddenly, he stops short at the edge of the wet sand, toes wiggling like the ground just changed languages on him.

“Oh?” you say, amused, crouching slightly. “Finally noticed the sand, have we?”

He giggles behind his hands, clearly thrilled by this new texture, then immediately squats and scoops up a double handful of it—damp and lumpy and definitely not edible, not that he knows that. He stares at it with intense toddler curiosity, turning it over like it’s a precious relic from another world.

You can’t help but smile. It's always the sand.

Zayne approaches with Serena and Callum in tow, the latter still gripping his little bucket with both hands like it's mission-critical equipment. You notice it's already got a bit of sand inside—undoubtedly thanks to Serena, who’s walking just behind him, keeping a close eye on both her brothers like she’s the head of beach security.

“Callum’s collecting ingredients,” Zayne says mildly, like this is a perfectly normal thing to say about a bucket of sand.

Callum glances up at you briefly, proud but bashful. His cheeks are pink from sun and exertion not even his sunhat can help with that, and his eyes flick to Lucas’s overflowing hands as if to say, I got mine the proper way.

You’re just about to praise him when Lucas shifts—and lifts the handful of sand directly to his mouth.

“No—wait—!” You lunge in time to catch his wrist, managing to stop the full mouthful, though a generous smear coats the outside of his lips.

Lucas blinks at you, clearly wondering why something that looks so fun can't be eat.

You wipe his mouth with the edge of your shirt and say, “Nope. We don’t eat the sand, baby.” You glance at Callum. “Not even if your brother makes it look like a five-star snack.”

Callum solemnly hugs his bucket closer, as if to declare he would never.

“But!” you continue brightly, crouching again. “We can do this.”

One scoop becomes a second. Lucas watches, still mildly betrayed, but quickly perks up when he sees what you’re doing. Serena drops beside you, solemn and focused, reinforcing the mound with extra scoops.

Zayne sinks to the sand like this was inevitable, sleeves already rolled up, casually adding structure like he’s been waiting all day to get roped into this.

Callum hesitates just a step away, eyes flicking between everyone. Then—quietly, without a word—he walks over, kneels beside you, and very carefully turns his bucket upside down.

A perfect, clumsy little sand dome flops out. He stares at it. Then up at you.

You grin. “Perfect technique, engineer Callum.”

Callum beams.

“Daddy,” Serena says suddenly, tilting her head like she’s just had the world’s most important idea, “can we have a sea monster inside the cave?”

Zayne blinks, already halfway through reinforcing one of the lopsided walls. “A monster… inside the cave?”

She nods seriously. “A sea monster. Big teeth. But nice.”

Beside her, Lucas lets out a delighted shriek, clearly sold on the concept. He flops down next to Serena and starts digging with his hands like he’s going to personally uncover the beast.

Zayne sits back on his heels, considers the structure in front of him as if it’s a legitimate design challenge, “Alright,” he says, adjusting his posture like a consultant brought in late to a crisis. “I’ll make the interior spacious enough to accommodate a creature of… substantial size.”

“Daddy's serious now,” you whisper to Callum, who’s already begun collecting more shells with solemn purpose. “This just became a full-scale operation.”

“Do be careful with the west wall,” Zayne says calmly, pressing in another scoop of sand with surgeon-like focus. “It’s still soft near the base.”

“Oh, you mean this part?” you ask innocently—and then accidentally-on-purpose chip a corner with the edge of your hand.

“Oops.”

Zayne slowly lifts his head, his expression blank but unmistakably judging. “Yes. That part.”

Serena gasps. “Mummy!”

“Oops again.” You give her a wink.

Lucas cackles. Callum presses his bucket mold to the sand with extra determination, like someone has to hold this team together.

Under Serena’s direction, the kids begin accessorizing the area around the cave. Pebble paths. Shell fences. A driftwood “bridge” that Serena insists must be guarded by the sea monster’s best friend, which is apparently a crab. Lucas offers to be the crab. You gently redirect him.

When the cave and the "sea monster" is finally finished—lumpy, slightly uneven, but deeply impressive for a family armed with only tiny buckets and too much enthusiasm—everyone pauses to admire it.

“Oh there he is,” Serena whispers, eyes wide.

Lucas, not missing a beat, roars and hurls himself into the cave like a cannonball. It partially caves in with a satisfying crunch. Sand flies everywhere.

“The monster is here!” you announce, tossing a little sprinkle of sand a way like confetti.

Callum springs to his feet, bucket in one hand like a shield but spread out in front of Serena and you, with a loud babble.

“You have to fight him!” Serena yells, crawling behind you and ducking low. “Only my brother can save me!”

Lucas, covered in sand and absolutely thrilled to be the villain, lets out another delighted screech and flops onto his back, kicking his feet like a triumphant kaiju.

You plop down beside Zayne with a soft laugh, brushing your sandy hands together.

“That’s the best monster cave we’ve ever built,” you say.

Zayne, watching the scene unfold with a gentle look, nods. “We should put that on a plaque. Li Family Sand Structures. Established today, Destroyed Within Minutes.”

You nudge his shoulder with yours. "You’ll fix it again, won’t you?"

“Of course,” he says, brushing sand off his pants—then reaches over to gently flick a bit off your shoulder too, his fingers lingering just a moment. “I built it once. I can do it again.”

You both share a smile, exchanging a quiet, knowing look, before turning to watch the kids.

Callum “defeats” the monster with a triumphant stomp near Lucas’s belly, and Serena throws her arms around him in a hug so dramatic it knocks them both over.

Lucas cheers anyway, proud to be conquered.

The tide hasn’t touched them yet. The sun is still warm. And for a little while longer, everything holds—just long enough to feel infinite.

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Notes

One more req! and then I'm out and we probably going back to slower rate because it's not weekend anymore.... but hopefully you enjoy this! 🫶🏻 I'll be back!

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU list ✨

Although if you missed the Newlyweds series! Here How it all happen And also the Pregnancy series, starting with Try For Baby

[flamingpudding]

Inherited Driving

A/N: Credits also to @escelia 💖 Thanks for helping flash out this idea even more!!

Bruce Wayne was going crazy about Gotham's newest rogue. He stared at the open case file, the reports were laid out all over the table. On the Batcomputer various images were displayed. Images from bent light posts, street sights that were found three blocks from their original position, buildings that were missing chunks of their walls, and even buildings that had distinct car-shaped holes.

Next to that various reports were open about hit-and-run cases. None appeared to be connected. All the victims appeared to be chosen at random, good or bad didn't matter. No connections. Mugger, Politicians, other rogues, or even his children when on patrol. And then there were also reports of apparently people going insane claiming they had seen a silver car come right at them but never hit them.

He looked at the reports of his children.

Jason complains about a drug deal busted by a car bursting in and nearly ruined it for him by knocking out the main targets before crashing through the opposite wall.

Tim claimed that the corrupted CEO he had been investigating both as Red Robin as well as Tim Drake-Wayne got run over on the open streets and was now hospitalized.

But the most absurd reports came from Dick and Duke.

Dick one night reported that a silver car barely missed him while out on patrol. Nothing strange so far. If his son hadn't reported that he was jumping over roofs when it happened.

And Duke? He just reported that he felt like he had a near-death experience and saw his life flashing before his eyes. The cause? A glowing car came straight at him.

Bruce gripped his hair in frustration. This new rogue didn't make sense. They went for bad guys but also good guys? What was their pattern? The connection? Their goal? Was he lucky that none of his other children had so far encountered them on patrol?

They appeared at night as well as during the day.

Who was going to be the next target? Would it be one of his kids or possibly another corrupted politician or maybe even a mugger again next?

Tim had specifically created software to keep track of this rogue in the news or any online posts. Barbara was not able to get any video feeds or photos of this rogue for some reason. All images or videos found for the areas of his appearance were either entirely static or corrupted to the point of unrecognizability. He didn't even have the damned silver car's license plate!

Then there was the car driver's description from witnesses, which also varied from person to person. One stated him to be black-haired and blue-eyed looking like a tired College Student, another stated the man had white hair and green glowing eyes and lastly a more crazy person stated it was like an Eldritch being possessing the car.

The software peeped and Bruce turned to click on it, a news article appeared and the man groaned at what he read.

Breaking news: Scarecrow in custody after getting hit by car through Starbucks!

Witnesses say that during what was shaping up to be a fear gas attack, the driver hit the man before swerving through the front window of a Starbucks.After confirming everyone was okay, the baristas on shift gave the driver an iced coffee and a croissant while waiting for the police to arrive on scene. One employee even insisted this reckless driver saved their lives. [...]

Bruce closed the news, not reading any further and ready to slam his head onto the table. Who was this rogue?

Danny blinked at the newspaper in his hand, sipping his coffee and wondering who that driver was. He would have to be more careful now on the streets with a driver like that, that's fine. Jazz wouldn't probably call him soon again to nag about these crazy drivers Gotham appeared to have. She had been naggingly worried ever since he started going to college here. He just had to assure her that he would be even more careful to not get involved. Though his parents had already reinforced his car as a stay-safe-son measure. So he would just have to get in the car, drive from point A to point B and not hit anyone or anything like his parents.

He glanced at his kitchen clock and spat out his morning coffee.

"Shit! I am going to be late for my classes!"

In a rush he grabed his keys and ran to his car. He needed to hurry if he wanted to be there in time without upsetting his professor. Good that he learned about some pretty neat short cuts from his classmates.

[bonefall]

BB!MALICIOUS ENTITY: Ancestor Rats

A cruel fate that can befall a shattered pantheon, and the enemies of Firestar's Quietus

With SkyClan homeless and exiled at the end of the Skyfall Era, StarClan itself was in chaos. 1/5th of their ranks broke from the sky to walk with their descendants into exile, with only some of the most powerful ancestors staying behind.

Skystar himself, Patron of War, was one of them. He scoffed that a Clan that couldn't hold even a sliver of land had failed his teachings, and deserved nothing.

Scores of cats died in exile, starved, exposed, killed by predators. Cloudstar desperately tried to keep his cats together as SkyClan dwindled. Soon, there were barely enough cats to maintain a Clan, let alone such a large pantheon.

When Cloudstar died, his successor Spiderstar found herself facing a new threat. One she couldn't defeat.

Over and over, there were rats who would attack the camp. Horrible, twisted creatures of many colors, with sharp claws like a cat and jaws full of needle teeth. They swirled like a storm around a central point, wound so tightly that it was impossible to see what lay at the eye.

While watching baby spiders fly away from their mother on little silk balloons, Spiderstar devised a Great Plan. SkyClan would live apart but connected, loosely, like a web. The Rats could not kill what they could not find.

As she watched her Clan disperse, some to humans homes, some to live as rogues, the blood roared in her ears. It pounded, throbbed into a rythmn, until the words of a prophecy became overwhelming,

"EEK SHARRARRAM SSARSHAIWO!"

[Rat ancestors disastrous-they-will-kill]

Could this be true? Would their ancestors save them from the rats, someday?

(Below the cut; a guide to Ancestor Rats and how they are dealt with in Firestar's Quietus. CONTENT WARNING: BODY HORROR, GORE.)

Firestar's Quietus; The Secret of the Rats

Exactly as before, when Firestar and the spirit of Brokenstar gathered the SkyClan web together, the rats had one point of attack. They washed over the soon-to-be warriors in a wave, but they were able to fight them off.

Skywatcher laid on his side in the clearing, trembling and wide eyed, covered in horrible bites. At first they could barely get a word out of him, too shaken to speak. When he was finally able to force a word out, he could only mumble;

"I saw Lowbranch. That was my mother..."

And then, someone else came forward, sharing that one rat had the same stripes as their brother. Another recognized their son's tufts on another's ears. The camp buzzed with tension as the stories bubbled forth.

Everyone recognized something in the rats.

Something had happened to their ancestors. Something terrible. It became clear why they had never answered their prayers or sent a hero to save them. Brokenstar tried to reach them, but he could only hear a command echoing in the darkness.

"Neek urrspeekorreen urrsnyarhak, karrl urrsnakochya." "THAT WHICH CANNOT BE FIXED, MUST BE BROKEN"

It was only later, when they went to confront the rats once and for all, that they realized what those words meant. Stumbling out into the dim light out of the barn, they saw them.

Those weren't just rats!

And the most horrible thing of all was the atrocity behind it all, the creature at the center of the swirling, agonized mass, the eye of the storm...

The Rat Leader; Cloudstar

He promised to keep his Clan together. So he did.

As each life wasted away and his Clan dwindled, smaller and smaller, as their heaven crumbled above them and became too tiny to hold their ancestors, Cloudstar kept them in one piece.

When he died, that mission continued. Trapped as this cursed creature, Cloudstar was mindlessly commanding his cats like a storm around him, dragging in both the dead and the living in a desperate attempt to save the Clan he'd vowed to protect.

SkyClan could not mend until this curse was broken. These fallen angels needed to be released, by force, to rejoin a new heaven of modern making. Slipping into the body of Firestar, Brokenstar was able to lend all of his talents for one final fight. It was just like being back at Carrionplace.

With his purpose as the fallen 5th tree, a guardian spirit, fulfilled and the rats freed from their prisons, Brokenstar's soul grew sleepy with peace. Firestar buried the acorn necklace that he had used to channel him overlooking the gorge, where it quickly sprouted into a new oak.

Rat Ancestors; Tome of Beasts

When an afterlife is destroyed, through mass death or supernatural attack, and the spirits within it cannot peacefully fade away or join a new pantheon, all of its souls can become earth-bound.

There are many types of entities and curses in this world, each one completely unique. Ancestor Rats are the form that this pantheon took.

From a distance, an Ancestor Rat could be mistaken for an odd, escaped domestic rodent. Their faces were an unsettling mix of rat and cat, with teeth laid out like a cat's but endlessly growing like a rat. They had the blade-like claws of a Clan cat, tearing through the skin and laying at various angles.

They had no physical needs, but were unable to handle being separated from their leader. Cloudstar himself, however, did need to rest in some way, returning to the barn where he died every day.

When one was killed, it would flash blue as if briefly turning into a shard of the sky, before leaving a completely standard rat corpse in its place. As long as Cloudstar was alive, the pulsar of each spirit would simply be dragged back into another rat after some time.

There was no escape until he was killed.

After the defeat of the Ancestor Rats, the spirits moved on to SkyClan's special heaven; Skypelt. Even after moving to the lake, Skypelt maintains its independence from Silverpelt, judging its own souls and staying separate (but connected) to StarClan-Prime.

With an abundance of rat bodies on their paws, SkyClan started a morbid tradition for a very special celebration. "The New Day" is celebrated every year with a grand feast, where a traditional rat meat dish called "Roasted Grandpaw" is served.