#one alien split in two

[freakrenaissance]

Just got the craziest idea:

Ok, so we all love the din fics when he falls for the new member of his crew as she takes care of lil green bean baby... but what if she has a secret?

Not just that she's kinky crazy in love with our tin can man, but that she's a part of a rare alien species: they're born in 2 parts.

No, she's not a twin. Her people are born into two bodies, that share a consciousness (to a degree) & they feel everything that happens to the other... though they have different kinks & preferences (one is sweet & soft, & the other is similar, but craves ownership & corruption), they are ONE.

Due to the fact that they're so vulnerable (if one dies, they both die), & the fact that their people are nearly extinct, they keep their alien biology a secret... their whole life...until they meet din.

Maybe it's the baby who outs them? Force sensitive toddler can't keep a secret 😆 or, they're both on the crest (one stowed away), & din comes back early from a hunt, to find the mirror image of his crush cooing over his son. Idk....

I have many ideas I'm too afraid to write down (yet), but i loved this one so much, I had to post this lil thot before I forgot it! 😬

I blame the glorious monsterfucker writers i follow for this tangent... & I'm thrilled 😆

(If anyone takes this idea & runs with it? Please, tag me 😆 I expect it to disappear into the void until I get the courage to get the laptop out, but we'll see 🤪)

[flutterdown]

I just remembered that in my dream I heated up two slices of pizza and then left the house without eating them. fuck dude they looked good too

[zanzanne]

amy is teaching me their "telepathically send your food to people" power. to make myself feel better i'll believe this silly little landmine is actually psychic

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Alt Rock to the Rescue

[Inspired by this art]

"...Alright, I might have an idea," John Constantine, who was seemingly busy texting someone for the past ten - or twenty, no one really counted - minutes, puts his phone away and snaps his head up.

The room falls silent. Superman blinks in surprise, Diana frowns slightly, and Batman's mouth is pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Flash recovers first.

"You have an idea?" He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, "No offense, but I'm not sure a magic trick can help us against, you know, an alien fleet." He gestures to one of the screens on the wall, where said fleet is approaching Earth on live.

The rest of the Leaguers present don't exactly agree with him, at least not verbally, but the mood in the room shifts from tense, anxious alarm to an almost palpable annoyance. To be honest, no one was even sure why or how John Constantine of all people ended up in the meeting. It's not like JLD could actually help with an ongoing, massive invasion that was about to happen in less than three- Correction, less than two and a half hours. Besides, it's John Constantine. The man that never shows up unless outright bullied into submission.

The magician winces briefly and starts rummaging through his pockets under the weight of everyone's attention.

"I said I might," he amends gruffly, getting a cigarette out of one of his pockets and sticking it in his mouth but not lighting it. Seems like it wasn't what he was looking for, though, because after that, the man keeps going through the various places on his coat, patting himself down. "I know someone who can deal with it. Granted, I already owe him a great deal, but he won't say no," he pauses and grimaces, "At least I hope he won't."

"I do not think it would be wise to call upon gods in our situation," Diana tries carefully, but John pays her little mind.

"Or demons," Green Arrow adds, crossing his arms on his chest, "I'm not selling my soul to get rid of some rocket ships or whatever they are."

Now, that makes the magician bark a laugh. Or, maybe it's the piece of lime green paper - a sticky note, actually - that he finally finds in the depths of his pockets.

"Oh, your soul's gonna stay where it is."

"Constantine-" Batman starts, but John cuts him off instantly.

"Mine will stay wherever it is as well," he reassures the man, "It's not that kind of entity." And with that, he promptly sets the green note on fire - green fire - and uses it as a lighter for his cigarette.

The next moment after the note is reduced to ash, there's a shift in the air in front of him, and, before any of the heroes have a split second to react, there are two people floating in the middle of the room, backs pressed to each other.

Two teenagers, to be exact. A girl and a boy, both of them so pale that their skin looks gray, and both dressed in grunge, like they just came from a rock concert. Yet, that's where the 'normal' parts of their looks end - the boy's hair is so white it looks blinding, and moves in the air slowly, undeterred by gravity, and the girl's hair is neon blue, her ponytail flickering up like a flaming torch.

The boy nearly topples over as the girl leans her back on him harder and kicks her feet up slightly. The movement is awkward, like both of them were taken by surprise by the sudden relocation, and maybe the guess about the rock concert was not so far from reality; there are drumsticks in the boy's hands, and the girl is holding an electric guitar in her hands.

"The fuck?.." The boy asks no one in particular, as the girl makes an annoyed groan and straightens up, still floating in the air. Her guitar makes an aborted sound. Meanwhile, the boy's eyes land on Constantine, and his whole face scrunches in disgust, "John, for the love of Ancients, I was in the middle of something."

The girl takes a look around while her friend is busy expressing his annoyance and elbows him in the side, "Oi, look, it's the whole Comic Con in the flesh here."

Green Arrow sputters. Flash makes a wordless but very offended sound. The floating boy looks around, taking stock of faces in the room, and the disgust on his face morphs into exasperation.

He turns back to Constantine, "Really? I thought I told you I want no part in your furry parade."

"Alien invasion," the magician decidedly doesn't address any of that, instead pointing his finger to the screen behind him. "Thought you ought to know," he adds, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.

"Ooh, is it my turn to be your world saving buddy, Phantom?" The girl perks up, turning around and draping herself over the boy's shoulders with a giddy laugh. Her guitar shifts to hang in the air on her side all by itself.

The boy - Phantom - rolls his eyes. Bright green, glowing eyes that definitely don't belong to a human being.

"If I had a nickel every time I had to save the world, I'd probably be able to buy myself my own guitar," he grumbles and looks back to Constantine. "Do I, like, have to? Right now? You know, I don't get paid for this bullshit, and the studio we rented for rehearsal has an hourly rate, so if we can postpone this for about an hour and a half, that'd be real nice."

"The fleet is only two hours away from Earth," Batman supplies suddenly, and, when both floating kids turn to look at him, adds, "I can pay for your next rehearsal. Or a few of them." Evidently, Phantom's comment about nickels struck a nerve. Or, maybe, the man just likes throwing money at any teenager he encounters. Who knows.

The boy blinks, taken aback by the proposition. But the girl grins, sharp and wicked, and shoves her drummer - if the drumsticks are to tell - in the side again.

"Hey, free studio. Better than the last time."

That snaps Phantom out of his stupor, and he groans, "Don't remind me." With a weary sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the air, almost like reclining on it. "Okay, fine, sure. Do you want them, like, away from Earth- um, this is Earth, right?" He turns to Superman, surprisingly, looking for confirmation, and the man nods, thrown off guard. The boy nods back and continues, "Or you want them blasted into oblivion, or what?"

"Whatever suits your mood, kid," John waves his hand at the screen as if making a welcoming gesture, "But all the aliens gotta go."

Unexpectedly, that makes the girl's grin even wider, and she reaches for her guitar, floating around Phantom and looking him in the face. The look she gives him speaks of mischief, and the boy seems to understand what she's implying before she as much as opens her mouth.

"Ember, no," he pounts a drumstick at her.

"Ember, yes," she wiggles her eyebrows, "Come on, your wail is boring as fuck as it is, why not spice it up?"

"I'm not wailing," Phantom scrunches his nose, "My throat will hurt for weeks."

Ember runs her fingers over the strings of her guitar, and it makes a comparatively quiet, vibrating sound. A few cords shoot out of the bottom of her instrument, like ones used to plug an electric guitar to an amp. She raises her eyebrows, still looking at Phantom, a silent conversation between them.

Then, the boy huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling a drumstick in his fingers.

"Fine."

The cords fly at him like snakes, aiming at his neck. None of the Leaguers watching the encounter get to say even a word as the metal pins insert themselves into the boy's neck, acting like some twisted kind of collar. Phantom doesn't even flinch.

Ember's guitar, on the other hand, reacts to the connection quite violently: it makes a high-pitched sound all on its own and then changes color from black and blue to white and green, with lightning bolts instead of flames for design. The girl's ponytail flares up higher as she softly murmurs in delight.

Then, she turns to the people around them and smirks, "Which way is the evil alien fleet?"

Flash wordlessly points his finger to the right and up. The girl nods in satisfaction, turning in the air so her guitar is facing that way.

"You might want to cover your ears," Phantom advises, a sly smile on his face and a glimmer of anticipation to his eyes. John Constantine follows that direction immediately, and, taking his move as the best course of action, the other heroes follow as well. Except Batman, who only narrows his eyes and looks at both teens in the air apprehensively. Phantom shrugs, "Or don't, I don't hold any responsibility for your shattered eardrums."

"Pick up where we left off, then," Ember tells him, and the boy blinks:

"Wait, I thought you'd just-"

[For some wholesome experience, put your headphones in and listen to 'KULT' by Jisaiah, grandson, and Steve Aoki]

But the girl has already started a tune, nodding her head to the rhythm of it and slowly picking up the pace. Phantom huffs, but doesn't protest any further, floating up as much as the cords allow him and spinning a drumstick in his hand.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

That the world's a fucking circus

That my life feels fucking worthless," he spits the words out with a sneer, slowly rotating in the air until he is hanging upside down. His eyes are closed, and his voice becomes more and more staticky with every new sound. The volume of Ember's guitar gets up, higher and higher, until the walls and the floor of the room around them start to vibrate.

Then, Ember's voice joins Phantom's, and the boy brings his drumsticks down on thin air, mimicking the moves. Only, even with the actual drums not there, the air around him ripples like they are, and they all can hear the beat.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

When it all comes crashing down

We'll see who's laughing," both kids pause, just for a beat, and Ember uses that split second to spin the volume knob to the max before strumming her guitar in one wide, sharp move.

"NOW!"

The sound wave is not only palpable, it's visible. A wave of toxic green ripples through the air, knocking everyone present - sans the two kids in the air - to the ground, and goes beyond. The screens on the walls flicker and turn off, sending sparks in the air, and the comms give off loud, screeching noises, and-

The following silence feels almost deafening.

Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first one to stand back on his feet and see a few of the screens come back online.

Just in time to see that same green wave of... sound? energy? power?.. decimate the entire fleet like a wet cloth over a chalkboard. One moment, the spaceships were there, and the next they are gone, wiped out of existence.

Ember laughs, leaning back and almost doing a backflip in the air.

"That was nice, dipshit!" She shoves Phantom in the shoulder, and the boy snorts, plucking the cords out of his skin and grinning.

"Yeah," he agrees with a smile, not even looking at the screens around, "Maybe we should try rehearsing in space next time. Sing to the stars and all that crap."

"Sing to the stars?" Ember raises her eyebrows mockingly as the rest of the heroes scramble to their feet, bemoaning their ringing ears. "Na-ah," she clicks her tongue and turns to Batman, "You still up for paying for our studio?"

The man just grunts in a semblance of affirmation.

"Sweet," the girl grins and offers Phantom a hand for a high five, which he returns instantly. "Cheers to the world being saved once again!"

The boy just rolls his eyes and turns to Constantine, "Next time, be a dear and text me before summoning, or I'm going to sell your soul to Morpheus, and who knows what he'll do with you."

John Constantine grimaces. "I did," he offers grudgingly.

But both unearthly teenagers are already gone without a trace.

[Edit: I want everyone to know there's ART now!!!]

[Edit 2: There's more art!!!]

[megalony]

You Called My Wife?

This is a new Jake Seresin imagine, my first request for Jake and I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Masterlist

Summary: The Dagger squad don't know much about Jake's personal life. And when he gets hurt during an exercise, they are surprised who comes to look after him.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reaching into his back pocket, Jake pulled out the pair of sunglasses he had been carrying around with him for the last few weeks. The sun here back at home was intense and he couldn't stand the migraines it gave him. Even when he was up in the air, he often had his sunglasses on. He didn't care about the way the glasses pinched his ears or gave him splitting pains in the sides of his neck.

If Bob could wear his prescription glasses to see, then Jake could wear his sunglasses to stop him squinting so much and relieve the headaches he got that were becoming chronic.

His hands fell to his hips once his visors were perched on the bridge of his nose and he looked around.

It hadn't taken Jake nearly as long as he thought to complete his physical. They were doing physical assessments and training every other day to get them ready for their next assignment. They were going to be going against gravity, travelling up to G9 range and it would cause problems with breathing, taking in oxygen and could starve their brains for a few seconds, if not longer.

They all needed to be at their best physically and mentally to prepare for this and up to now, Jake was ready and rearing to go.

Today was training exercises on the ground rather than in the air. They were all doing different activities and now that Jake was rejoining the rest of the squad after his physical, he was supposed to be doing safety and maintenance checks.

He took a look around the open air field. Bradley was over to one side, looking like he was trying to do some physical exercises, but he kept stopping to quietly argue with Maverick who was following him around like a dark, looming shadow. Jake wasn't going to be going over there. He noticed Phoenix and Bob were at their aircraft in the middle of their maintenance. While Coyote was off to one side doing pushups; he had messed up somewhere if that was his punishment. And Jake had already passed Fanboy who was on his way for his own physical.

He busied himself finding one of the clipboards and he jogged over to his aircraft, smiling and patting his hand against the bulk like it was an old friend he was meeting up with.

He circled the aircraft like a vulture, checking the wings, the engines- which had had a run in with a flock of birds two days ago which Jake had been lucky hadn't completely ruined his left engine. He checked the wheels and made sure they were all clipped and chained down so the craft wasn't going anywhere without him.

Once all the outside checks were done, he climbed up the ladder and hopped inside.

It always felt weird to sit in the plane without his proper flight suit or his signature red helmet, but he wasn't going anywhere today. He was only turning the engine on to check everything was working and making sure he got all the right responses to show he would be ready for whatever training exercise he had to go out on next.

He slouched back in the seat, spreading his knees apart with the clipboard in front of him and the pen twisting between his fingers.

After ticking a few boxes, Jake tilted his head back and poised the pen behind his ear while his hand shifted to undo the first button on his uniform. He slid his hand beneath his shirt until his fingers found the familiar silver chain hanging around his neck.

He imbedded the ring into his palm that hung on the end of the chain, always tapping and jostling against his chest whenever he moved.

It felt safer to have his wedding ring on his chain rather than his finger. If he had any accidents and needed to be taken for a scan or for surgery, they would cut his ring off. Rings got in the way, jewellery got in the way and got lost but a chain around his neck was private and secure and more importantly, Jake had that ring as close to his heart as possible.

A soft look crossed his face as he brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the ring that had created a halo indent in the centre of his hand.

"I'll be home soon." He murmured against the ring as a picture of (Y/n) flashed before his eyes.

The last deployment Jake had been on had almost killed him. Three and a half months away from home. Three and a half months where he couldn't see, touch or feel his wife in his arms or have her lips against his or her body pressed up against his own. All he got were a few brief phone calls or five minutes of faceTime every other day, if he wasn't being shipped straight out from dawn until dusk.

He was much happier here where he could spend each night in his own bed, safe in his home with his wife. He didn't have to sleep alone or feel like he was going insane from having absolutely no physical touch or contact with (Y/n). Never before had Jake thought or believed in having withdrawal symptoms for another human being until he got married and had to face the prospect of leaving (Y/n) behind.

When he was done with his checks, Jake heaved himself up to his feet and climbed down back to level ground again.

He waved his clipboard up and down in front of his face like a fan, relishing the slight breeze it created to his melting skin. If he were back home in this heat his shirt would already be off and he would be lounging around in a pair of shorts. Or be would be on the beach in this weather. Either of those thoughts sounded very appealing right now.

He stood still for a few moments, taking in his surroundings and wondering what the next task would be, but his mind kept wandering off to the girl waiting at home for him. Exactly where he wanted to be right now.

"Bob, are you almost done?" Phoenix tilted her head back with an exasperated sigh, one hand clamped around her hip as she the other held onto the ladder Bob was perched on top of.

He was filling up their aircraft with fuel, they had half a tank but it was better to be safe than sorry because they didn't know how long they would be out on their next flight exercise. The last thing they needed was to be marked down and sent to do two hundred push ups because they thought half a tank would be sufficient.

"Almost." His voice was as passive as ever while he swiped his arm across his temple, wiping away the beads of sweat glistening in the afternoon sun.

"Bob, come on we've got other stuff to do."

He didn't know what happened.

One moment Bob was pushing his glasses further up his nose, rolling his eyes at his impatient partner calling up the orders below him. But the next, a shockwave was rattling up the ladder he was perched on and set him off balance.

His hands scrambled to steady himself before he fell off and he subsequently dropped the fuel line that had been in his right hand just as he unclipped it from the air craft that was now fuelled up. Bob scrambled for balance, bashing his legs into the side of the plane and earning a cut down his left forearm that scraped along a jagged edge on the ladder.

But it was the fuel line he was concerned with. It wasn't like filling up a car at the fuel station. The air crafts were large with tanks high up at the back. They had to use large funnel lines that looked like double sized garden hoses with a large round metal clip on the end the size of Bob's hand. That metal created a sizzling sound that sliced through the air when he dropped it.

The line swooped through the air like a bird trying to land but Bob could of cried when he heard a sickening crunch below him. He didn't want to imagine what it collided with- who, it collided with. His eyes snapped closed and he clung to the ladder, trying to gain his balance back so he didn't fall and break an arm or a leg.

The resounding crack echoed around the base and shuddered through everyone within close range. It was a sound no one expected to echo through the open air like that, it travelled far and wide and had everyone coiling in on the spot.

The metal end of the fuel line pelted down, gaining strength and speed as it swung past the ladder, lifted slightly into the air and smacked straight into the right side of Jake's head. Upon impact, his sunglasses snapped and flung off his nose and took flight on a course of their own, six feet across the base.

An awful crack shuddered through Jake's ears and rattled through his head as his eyes automatically snapped closed and his shoulders hunched up. Both arms recoiled into his chest as his clipboard slipped through his fingers that twitched and spasmed, unsure what to do as his body seemed to shutdown and recalibrate all at once.

The force sent his head snapping backwards until his neck got whiplash and his body followed his head's sense of direction, thrusting backwards until he landed harshly on the concrete floor.

Shockwaves rattled through his body causing his legs to shake and spasm out against the floor as if he was kicking and throwing a tantrum and all the air left his lungs when his back hit the floor. It took a few seconds for his diaphragm to loosen and allow his lungs to take in a deep breath, but when he did, a choked moan escaped his lips.

It felt like he'd been shot in the head.

He could feel his pulse throbbing through his temple and circulating all around the circumference of his head like someone pelting round a relay race. He could feel his veins throbbing and the blood steadily trickling down the right side of his face. The feeling of blood oozing down the bridge of his nose and around his eye socket made his nose scrunch up in disgust.

His hands curled and twisted against his chest, desperate to move but the sudden onset of trembling in his bones made it impossible for Jake to coordinate his body properly.

The trembling continued even as Jake suddenly realised he couldn't hear anything around him. He couldn't open his eyes. No sounds broke through the static barrier building up in his ears. He had no control over moving a single part of his body. It felt like his head had been severed from the rest of his body.

"Jesus Bob, what the Hell?!" Bradley spun on his heels and made into a sprint towards the three of them, Maverick hot on his heels.

The sight of Jake, laid out on his back, body overwrought with trembles and blood pooling steadily down one side of his face was a sickening sight none of them ever wanted to witness.

"I wasn't- didn't you see the ladder?" Bob hissed like a snake as he shakily slid down the ladder onto unsteady feet.

His hands began to rake up and down his thighs, wiping the sweat onto his trousers as his glasses started to fall down the bridge of his nose. He hadn't done that on purpose. He didn't just let go of the fuel line; Phoenix bashed into the ladder and knocked him off course. He would have fallen if he didn't scramble for his balance. It could just as easily have been Bob's head split open if he fell the other way or completely lost his footing on the ladder.

"I'm sorry-"

A groan spluttered past Jake's lips and stopped all their ramblings. He managed to curl his fingers around the middle of his shirt and he scrunched it up in his fists as tightly as possible. His legs continued to thrash against the floor but when he tried to open his eyes, he couldn't seem to do it.

"Oh God." He tried his best to reach his hand up towards his head but he could barely lift either arm from trembling against his chest.

Without his glasses that had been broken and flung off somewhere on the base, the sun was beating down on him with unwavering strength. His right eye was blinking furiously to try and stop the blood from getting into his eyes that were rolling to the back of his head that was pounding like a drum.

"Everyone shut up." Maverick's voice snapped through the air like a whip and stopped all their ramblings at once.

He crouched down beside Jake with Bradley on his other side with Bob and Phoenix hovering anxiously in the background and Coyote running over at the sound of commotion.

The wound looked bad. Maverick tilted Jake's head back and tried to touch his hairline to get a proper look. A large slash line went from his hairline towards his eyebrow and the skin had been split apart so neatly it looked like it had been cut with a sharp knife. Blood oozed out in every direction and splattered across Jake's temple and down his nose towards both his eyes like a jam donut had been tossed at his head.

He couldn't see his skull or any bone which was a good sign, but the blunt force could have been enough to crack his skull and give him a fracture. He most definitely had a concussion which meant he could have side effects.

He could start throwing up, he could black out or go fully unconscious, he could have a seizure if the impact was bad enough.

"Get him down to the medbay now." With a click of his hand over to the left, Coyote hurried forward and knelt down behind Jake while Bradley shuffled forward.

The pair of them carefully took one of Jake's arms each and looped them around the back of their necks.

"Alright, up. Let's get you up Hangman." Bradley looped his right arm around Jake's waist while his left hand gripped Jake's wrist. He held his breath and slowly pushed up onto his feet, slowly pulling Jake with him who looked very worse for wear.

Jake's head flopped forward as soon as he was sitting up. He groaned again, spluttering through a moan, spit forming on his lips and blood still trickling down his face. He could feel the shock setting in because even his neck was shaking now and once he was on his feet, his knees wavered and his legs felt oddly heavy and useless. He could barely stay upright and when his knees gave way, he slumped down like he was trying to sit on an imaginary chair.

His hands scrunched down around Coyote and Bradley's shoulders as each of them held his waist and kept him up on his feet.

Both Jake's feet bent awkwardly and the toes of his shoes scraped against the floor as the pair of them dragged him slowly towards the open hanger doors. He tried to move his legs and he did somewhat help them, but he relied on them to drag him along because he felt like collapsing to the floor and curling up into a ball.

He managed to find the will to open his eyes once they were inside, but the sight of the tiled floor disappearing and all the lines blurring before his eyes made his head swoon.

He found his eyes rolling around in his skull before he jolted forward with a croaky "Gonna puke."

True to his word, Jake tossed up his lunch the moment the boys paused in their quick shuffle towards the medbay. He felt a little better after that and he managed to lift his head once the three of them began their awkward tandem walk together.

By the time they were near the medic bay, Jake managed to place one foot in front of the other. He did an awkward walk and started to help them so they didn't have to heave him the whole way there.

"We've had an accident. The fuel line cracked Hangman straight in the temple and knocked him out. He threw up on the way down here." Bradley looked between the two medics idling around and waited for one of them to point towards the bed in the left corner of the large bunker space.

They trotted to the left and turned around, carefully easing Jake down until he was sat in the middle of the bed.

He felt more alive and a bit better once he was sat down. His head flopped back until the base of his head was touching the back of his shoulders and his shaking hands gripped the edge of the bed with intensity to keep himself sitting upright. It took all his effort to stop himself trembling and he tried to take deep breaths to ward off the sickness and the wave of dizziness that overwhelmed him.

"Okay Seresin, let's take a look."

Coyote and Bradley backed up until they were stood to one side. Neither of them fancied going back outside to finish off their exercises when Jake didn't look in his best shape. They would rather wait here to make sure he was alright and then head back to the rest of the team and tell them how he was fairing up. It was clear that Jake would be going home early today, he was lucky not to have been killed with that force, there was no way he was carrying on with any work today after this.

Jake begrudgingly lifted his head when one of the doctors stood in front of him. He let the man hold his chin and tilt his head from side to side to assess the damage and when he shone a pen light across his eyes, Jake winced.

A frightful yelp left his lips when the man tried to touch the wound and he reeled back with a groan.

"Afraid I'm gonna need an X-ray before I can stitch it. I'll clean the wound and get you some painkillers first." They were lucky the wound was on his head as they had a small, portable X-ray scanner in the back room they could use just to double check they didn't have to send him to hospital for urgent treatment. But if it looked okay, he could get some pain relief, be stitched up and sent home for the day.

"Great." Jake winced, trying to form a lopsided smile, but he couldn't quite manage it.

At least he would get to go home earlier than he thought.

***

"Hey," Bob groaned as sweat dripped off his body and onto a small puddle forming on the stone beneath him. His arms trembled as he tried to continue his push ups now that he was well into the hundreds. "Who's that?"

He nudged his nose against his shoulder to push the glasses further up his nose while he indicated his head to the left, signalling Phoenix's attention towards the person advancing across the base.

Maverick had told Bob and Phoenix to finish off Jake's safety checks, prep his fuel tank too and then do a set of two hundred push ups. They both knew they should have been more careful and they shouldn't have started squabbling like children when Jake was hauled off to the medic bay.

Phoenix lifted her head and glanced her eyes around, trying to find out who Bob was referring to. When her eyes set on a woman walking their way, her brows furrowed and she watched where she was walking.

She wasn't in uniform, whoever she was. She had on a baby blue tank top and a pair of denim shorts that stopped just before her knees. Her bag was hung on her shoulder, the strap clutched tightly in her hand and there was a nervous look plastered across her face.

The woman seemed to spare them a glance, noting that they were both sweating through their uniforms, before her eyes set on Maverick and she made a beeline for him.

"Mav, where is he?" (Y/n) bit her lower lip nervously when she reached Maverick who greeted her with a warm smile and a hand on her elbow.

"He's with a doctor, come with me."

(Y/n) nodded and let Maverick lead her inside the base. She couldn't quite believe how high up the ceilings were or how large the bay doors were, it was like everything was amplified as if giants worked and lived here. It felt strange to be walking round here with Maverick when Jake always said he would give her a tour round one day. Plans changed.

She had been expecting much worse when Maverick rang her and said Jake had had a 'minor accident' at the base, but knowing it was nothing to do with a crash or him being in a plane at all made (Y/n) feel better. It stopped her from having a breakdown or a panic attack as she drove down here, but she couldn't fathom what had happened. What kind of accident would her husband have when he was supposed to be safe here on the ground?

She glanced over her shoulder, noticing that the two others who had been doing press ups were now following after her and Maverick, presumably so they could see Jake too. They must be part of his team.

"What happened?"

"Phoenix and Bob, behind you," Maverick tossed a look over his shoulder and pointed his thumb in their direction. "Had a mishap when they fueled their plane. The pipeline dropped and caught Jake in the temple. I think he's got a mild concussion, but he'll be fine."

(Y/n) brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, hearing her shoes clicking loudly against the tiled floor as she followed Maverick around three corners and down a long corridor until they were in front of a medical wing.

That didn't sound too bad. That wasn't nearly as bad as she had been expecting, but it still wasn't good.

Her husband shouldn't be getting into accidents like this at work. He shouldn't be getting smashed in the head with their equipment. He was a pilot, an aviator. He was training every day to be in top physical performance and here he was with a concussion because his team had clearly lacked concentration.

It took all the effort (Y/n) had not to run ahead once they walked into a large open unit almost the same size as the open field outside. There was only one patient in here and (Y/n) set her sights on him immediately.

Jake was sat on the side of a bed, his legs swinging back and forth like a child at a doctor's appointment. His hands were clutching either side of the bed, his lips were set in a firm line and he kept squinting and closing his eyes as a doctor was stood in front of him, cleaning his wound.

Once they were close enough, (Y/n) hurried past Maverick and dropped her bag down by the foot of the bed. She didn't want to get in the way when the doctor was clearly trying to assess Jake and sort him out, but the moment Jake glanced to the left, his eyes widened and he jerked out of the doctor's grip.

"Baby." The surprise was evident in his voice and he let go of the bed to reach an arm out in (Y/n)'s direction. As soon as he started curling his fingers in a grabbing motion, (Y/n) smiled and moved forward.

Jake immediately coiled his arm around (Y/n)'s waist and reeled her closer until she had to plant her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. His fingers squeezed her hip tightly and he kissed the top of her chest before he glanced over her shoulder towards Maverick.

"You called my wife?"

The shock was evident in Jake's voice, but it was the looks of the rest of the team that made him wince. He hadn't mentioned to any of them that he happened to be married, that knowledge was on a need to know basis and as his superior, Maverick was the only one who needed to know. For emergency situations like this if Jake ever got hurt or shot down or sent to hospital.

There was no way they could let him drive home and since he had been injured, Maverick knew it was best to call (Y/n) and let her know so she could come and pick him up.

"You got concussed and you won't be able to drive home. Yes, I called your missus. You're welcome."

Maverick placed his hand on his hip and tilted his head to one side. Once Jake was silenced with that one look, Maverick nodded to himself and turned to leave. He knew none of them would be doing any more exercises today and he was okay with that, they would call it a day and start again tomorrow.

"You're married?"

"You never mentioned you're married to such a stunning girl."

(Y/n) tilted her head to the right, figuring the man that said that must be Bradley, the one Jake said was close to Maverick. He had a raised brow and his lips quirked into a smile beneath his moustache while both arms folded tightly over his chest.

She could feel the glares Jake was sending towards Bradley, squinting and glaring over in his direction before he looked back up at his wife.

With a quiet groan, Jake moved his hands from (Y/n)'s hips so he could bind his arms tightly around her waist. His hands feathered up and down her back and he pushed forward until his lips attached to her exposed chest just beneath her collar bone.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Why did you need to know?" He countered, smirking tiredly against (Y/n)'s chest and he twisted his head so the left side of his face could press down against her skin. His cheek nuzled into her chest and he looked over at the team, watching the blush that rose to Bob's face that tilted down to look at his shoes and the way Phoenix rubbed the back of her neck bashfully.

He hadn't told them because it wasn't their business, they didn't need to know. He was in love, he was head over heels in love with his wife and in Jake's eyes, she was his little secret.

He didn't want the team teasing him or asking about her or trying to make jokes that he was tied down. He had dealt with that in the past with other people he worked with and he didn't like it. He smiled when people flirted with him in bars, but he kindly turned every one of them down and didn't let them get too close. (Y/n) was the reason why.

Sometimes it felt safer to keep (Y/n) as his little secret. What they did was dangerous, they had all lost friends in this job and it was hard to bring friends and family into this life. Jake didn't know if introducing (Y/n) to his team would be too much.

For him, it felt better to keep work and home life separate.

With a sigh, Jake lifted his cheek from (Y/n)'s chest, his lips forming a thin line as he stared up at her despite the headache that was swirling around behind his eyes. He scanned his eyes around the team who were all watching on eagerly like this was their favourite tv soap.

"Darlin', this is the dagger squad," Jake waved his hand around, muttering their call signs to which (Y/n) nodded earnestly. "Guys, this is my wife, (Y/n)."

"Nice to meet you all, even under strange circumstances," (Y/n) quirked a brow when Bob tipped his head down with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Clearly he felt guilty for the accident and (Y/n) was sure she heard him mutter a soft 'sorry again' clearly directed towards Jake.

He wasn't going to hold a grudge. It had been an accident and a few stitches was much better than some of the injuries he'd gotten on this job. But he would be holding this over them in the future and he knew he had earned himself a few free beers down at the Hard Deck for this.

"How bad is it then?"

Jake felt shockwaves coursing through his blood when (Y/n)'s hands moved from his shoulders to gently cup his face in her hands.

He loved the feeling of her thumbs brushing across his cheekbones just beneath his eyes and the way her fingertips tapped behind the tip of his jaw near his ears. His lips curved into a smile, despite the aching in his temple that had gone down a little when he took the aspirin and painkillers he was given.

His eyes squinted up at his wife whose lips curved into a pouting smile while her head tilted to the side, inspecting the wound on his temple.

All the blood had been cleaned from Jake's face and neck and his head had been X-rayed and dabbed with anticeptic, all he needed now was stitches.

"What am I gonna do with you?" (Y/n) murmured softly while she tilted Jake's head down in her hands so she could pepper kisses against the middle of his temple which no doubt would be aching. She didn't want to touch or go too near the wound, she knew even a light touch was going to hurt and she didn't want to hurt him. But he leaned into her touch and groaned, tightening his arms around her waist while his hands slid further down her back.

"I can think of a few things."

"I don't think I wanna see that." Coyote ran a hand down his face and patted Bradley's chest before he began to walk. He would see what Maverick wanted them to do, whether they were all getting the afternoon off or just Jake. He murmured a soft "Nice to meet you, Mrs Seresin." And laid a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder as he passed her.

"Yeah, us neither. Sorry again, Hangman, we'll owe you a few rounds when your back in action." Phoenix waved her hand towards Jake and dipped her head before she headed out with Bob following in her wake.

He uttered a soft "Nice to see you, sorry Hangman." before he followed Phoenix, silently praying they wouldn't have to finish the last twenty six push ups they had skipped when they followed Maverick and (Y/n) down here to the medic bay.

"Well, you look like your in good hands, so I'll catch up with you later. Maybe we'll see you soon, Mrs Hangman."

Once Bradley disappeared, (Y/n) managed to untangle herself from her husband's arms, causing him to grunt and pout dramatically. His hands reached out for her but she didn't move far. She stepped out from between his legs and moved to stand on his left side near the end of the bed he was perched on. Her arm looped around his back and her hand gave his shoulder a squeeze while she kissed the good side of his temple.

"When can I take him home?"

"I'll just do the stitches and then he's all yours."

Jake couldn't hide the grimace that flooded his face when he saw the needle and thread. He didn't like the inconvenience of stitches. His eyes briefly glanced up at (Y/n) before he shimmied round on the seat so his back was towards her. And he slowly reclined his head until the back of his head was settled down on (Y/n)'s shoulder.

He did his best to keep his head steady and his eyes fell closed when he saw an injection needle coming close. The numbing agent to make the stitches more bearable.

A low whistle passed his lips and when (Y/n)'s free hand curled over his thigh, Jake reached down and curled his hand over hers. He squeezed tight and tried to take slow, deep breaths when the needle finally started puncturing through his skin. It didn't exactly hurt, but he felt a sharp sting and each time the thread was pulled tight, Jake could feel his brow lifting as the skin was dragged back together.

Six stitches later and (Y/n) could barely feel her hand from how tightly Jake was squeezing it. She leaned her head down and kissed the top of his head, nudging her nose against his soft wavy hair as Jake finally opened his eyes.

"You're good to go with a mild concussion, Seresin. No flying for twenty-four hours, and if you go any higher than G7, I'll need to see you back here for a check over."

"Copy that."

"Thank you for patching him up."

When Jake hopped up from the bed, (Y/n) moved her arm lower to secure around his waist and she pressed a quick kiss to the side of his jaw which caused his lips to pull into a wide grin. He draped his arm over her shoulders, feeling much better than he did earlier.

The last thing he wanted to do was lean on (Y/n) and have her dragging him out of here like the guys had heaved him in earlier. He could walk on his own two feet again.

"That's going to leave a scar." (Y/n) murmured softly, reaching her left hand up to graze her fingers over his brow just beneath the row of navy blue stitches on his temple. It wasn't going to leave a dent or a prominent, deep line, but it would leave a faint streak of white like a dash of paint across his skin.

She pressed another kiss to Jake's jaw until he tilted his head down and captured her lips in a soft, burning kiss instead. "I know," He muttered softly against her lips, kissing her again and again as they walked as slow as possible out of the base.

"But I know you love my war wounds."

[maromarlade]

It is widely known in fandom spaces that Gotham is heavily split between the SuperBat shippers and the BruceMan shipper

It's an all out ship-war, the two sides vehemently hate and bash each other online

One day someone proposes the obvious: a poly ship

SuperBruceMan becomes one of the biggest ships in the Gotham real-people shipping community

And then Bruce Wayne ruins everything, by publicly dating nobody-reporter Clark Kent

This spawns a third faction (the Brent shippers), and the magic of poly ships are forgotten

Until someone (yet again) proposes polyamory, and SuperBrentMan is born

Identity shenanigans quickly becomes a SuperBrentMan staple, as the ship is made up of two civilians and two unknown vigilantes/superheroes

And thus, the first SuperBrentMan miraculous square fic is born

The utterly charming but ditzy Bruce Wayne must find a way to tell the love of his life, Clark Kent, of his secret identity as an alien superhero, while Clark Kent tries to come clean about being Gotham's dark knight

The real Clark and Bruce are just thankful that the shippers got the identities switched

now with a part 2 :)!

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCXDP fanfic idea: You ARE the Father.

Clark Kent gets a call from his old high school situationship. Really, he liked her well enough, but both had agreed they did not want to stay stuck in Smallville forever.

Clark wanted to go to the big city for journalism, and Maddie wanted to go into the sciences - she was unsure if she wanted to do organic chemistry or engineering. His parents supported his dream, Maddie's....not so much.

While she did come from a family of intelligent women, the Paynes believed they should stay on the family farm to support the family. They could not understand why Maddie wanted to be strong and independent woman if all that would bring her was dying alone.

According to them, no man wanted a disobent wife. She argued too much with men and often wouldn't back down from her stance.

Apparently, that made her "unlady" like.

Clark never saw it. Personally, he thought women with backbone, who wouldn't take anyone shit, was insanely attractive. That's why he had approached her at the local science fair where she was steaming by her impressive solar energy powered homemade phone.

Her mother had just finished reminding her that her first place in a small high school fair was nothing to be proud of. It was, after all, only Smallville, and really, there wasn't much competition anyway.

Clark told her that she was likely the smartest person in their entire state and he was in awe by her. Maddie kissed him behind the gym the science fair was being held.

Her family forbade her from dating, which made the kiss somehow more exciting.

They met up regularly to sneak kisses or lend a sympathetic ear. Around their last year of high school, they went a little further then kisses, and really the Kent Barn is not the most comfortable place but it was hidden well enough her family wouldn't know what she was up to and Ma wouldn't question him spending the night there.

All the years of sleeping near the cows to keep them company, since he worried they were lonely, as a child paid off. Despite the numerous times they put Kent barn to work, both knew it was nothing serious.

Maddie needed a break from her family. Clark was more than happy to be her stress relief. He did worry a aweful lot about his powers and the fact he was an alien, so he needed some stress relieving of his own around those years too.

Maddie applied secretly to a big college on the Wayne Scholarship states away, and Clark planned on going to Metropolis as soon as possible for the open intership at the Daily Planet.

They were friends with benefits, but the day graduation came around, they never spoke to each other again. Neither were bitter. They had both known what would be the ending long before it arrived. It would have never worked between them.

Clark wasn't sure what Maddie had wanted after all these years, but being presented a teenage girl- the splitting image of Maddie at that age- who was flouting five feet off the ground was not one of them.

"Jazz, meet Clark Kent, you biological father" Maddie Fenton, for she was married now to the man who had raised Jazz like his own. "Clark, this is Jasmine Fenton...you're daughter"

The man of Steel felt like he's was going to faint.

Or.......

Maddie met Jack in her first semester of college. They get alone really well, and she finds herself with a pregnancy scare before she knows what happened. Sometime between the protrype portal and Jack treating her like an equal, she had found her walls coming down long enough to have a little fun.

The worst part is she is unsure of who the father is, the loveable goof she can see herself spending her life with or the kind gentle famer boy she left behind. It's only two months apart, but it was close enough it could go either way.

She tells Jack the truth, who declares that he doesn't care and gets down on one knee right there and then. Maddie agrees to marry him over the choked tears, blooming happiness and love so strong she feels dizzy from it.

A few months later, she gives birth to her Jazz, and two years later, she has Danny. The Fentons finish school, set up Fenton Works, and raise their family. She never considers telling Clark or getting Jazz tested.

She's Jack Fenton's daughter. That's all there is to it.

Until Jazz one day starts showing signs that Jack is not her father. How does Maddie know? Simple, she recognized the man flying around calling himself Superman, and after hearing of his home planet, and all the little things Clark had been too clumsy to properly cover up back in the day, it clicks.

Her daughter is half Kryptonian and her powers were awakening. Did all Kryptonians unlock thier abilities at the teenage age? Was it a puberty thing for thier kind?

Maddie didn't know, but she couldn't afford to let her daighter go in blind. Metas had tough lives. Who knows what being part alien could do. So she picked up the phone and dialed the man who may have the answers.

Meanwhile, Danny and Jazz are desperately trying to hide the fact that Jazz may have gotten some ghost abilities due to exposure from Phantom's Ghostly Wail and have no idea it's being confused for Kryptonian blood. They were careless in training, and now, similar to that whole fiasco with Spetra and her hospital, Jazz was unable to control her temporary abilities.

Jack is just happy to be there and is unaware of any of his family members' delimas.

[polaritydisturbed]

One thing that’s become really clear while watching Classic Doctor Who alongside the current era—especially starting with the Fifteenth Doctor—is how well the Ninth through Twelfth Doctor eras nailed the balance of episode length and story structure.

Classic Who usually split its stories into four or five 20–25 minute episodes per arc, which roughly equals the runtime of a modern two-parter. But while that format allowed for sprawling narratives, it came with a tradeoff: pacing. Entire episodes sometimes feel like narrative treading water—not because the writing was bad, but because of the constraints of mid-20th century television. (That’s its own fascinating rabbit hole, but we’ll save that for another time.)

To be fair, Classic Who did experiment with its format. Some stories, like The Edge of Destruction—a tight, two-part psychological thriller set entirely inside the TARDIS—used a smaller runtime to great effect. It’s still one of the strongest entries of Season 1, partly because it had no room to meander.

Later, the show dabbled in stories of two 45-minute episodes during Season 22. But those episodes often had the same problem: some stories still didn’t need the extra time. Take The Mark of the Rani, for example. It was padded out to fit that two-part, 45-minute-per-episode format (roughly 90 minutes total), but honestly? It could’ve been a sharper, more effective 40-minute story. There’s a lot of unnecessary fluff that drags the pacing down.

But then you get something like The Keys of Marinus—a six-parter (20 min each part) that essentially functions as a sci-fi anthology. Each episode throws the Doctor and co. into a completely new setting with its own self-contained mini-plot. It uses its extended format to experiment and surprise without feeling stale. That’s when the long form works.

Then came the 2005–2017 revival era, and honestly? The show hit its structural gold standard: twelve episodes per season, blending 40-minute standalones with 80-minute two-parters. And it just worked.

Episodes like Blink and Midnight were tight, high-impact stories that landed precisely because they didn’t overstay their welcome. Try stretching either one to feature-length, and the tension would unravel. Meanwhile, two-parters like The Empty Child / The Doctor Dances had room to build atmosphere, layer in character development, and deliver those signature emotional wallops. They remain fan favorites for a reason: the format gave them the breathing room they needed—and then stopped.

Which brings us to the Fifteenth Doctor’s era.

Right now, we’re back to a one-size-fits-all approach but the opposite direction: single 40-minute episodes across the season, with only the finale allowed to be a two-parter. And the result? Some stories just aren’t getting the space they need to land.

Doctor Who thrives on structural flexibility. Some stories need 80 minutes to unfold. Others are perfect little 40-minute excursions. Locking every episode into the same runtime is like asking every alien to fit inside a human suit: it works until it doesn’t, and when it doesn’t, it’s obvious.

The point is: variety in format has always been one of Doctor Who’s strengths. When the show leans into that, it sings. When it forgets that… well, you end up with stories that could’ve soared if they were just given a little more space to breathe.

(Also I don’t mean to exclude 13—it’s just that her era experimented with structure so much across her run that it’s kind of its own thing, there’s a whole separate post to be written about what worked and didn’t there.)

(Fun fact for reading this far: The Edge of Destruction was only two 25-minute parts because the production team didn’t know if the show was getting picked up for more episodes. They wrote a short, self-contained story set entirely inside the TARDIS to avoid building new sets. It was meant to be cheap filler—and it ended up being one of the highlights of the First Doctor’s era.)

[0bticeo]

air sex with mark. reader has begged him to take her flying before, but bouncing on his dick in the sky is new for him. i feel like at first he would be hesitant, but then would enjoy the thrill of showing off his strength. and maybe he also likes the idea of someone looking up and seeing, as a treat

WHAT'S NEXT, ALIEN SEX?

summary:

what happens next can probably be explained by a mix of sleep deprivation, adrenaline, and not having seen your boyfriend for two months. fuck martians. fuck the nasa. fuck cecil.

“mark?”

“mm?”

he keeps pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck, hands already reaching for the small, silver zipper of your catsuit.

“fuck me while you fly us home.”

tw: air sex, piv sex, fingering, slightly ooc!mark but it'll make sense in part 3 i prommy, switch!mark, cunnilingus, mark being whipped, fluff, couples fighting together against a common enemy à la will turner/elizabeth swann minus the swords, if u know who the art belongs to pls lmk so i can give credit pls, the author being a vv slow writer and apologising, pls show my bby some love and leave a comment, mwah

part 2 to boyfriend material

having a superhero boyfriend has its perks. 

sure, you may get interrupted mid-date by a world-ending emergency or a bank robbery - because invincible has range like that. sure, cecil stedman has you on watch because anybody that gets close to mark gets the GDA premium treatment of you-could-potentially-be-useful-so-we-keep-a-close-eye-on- you-in-case-something-happens. and sure, nolan grayson's ice cold gaze - assessing, cutting, predatory - sets you on edge.

but at the end of the day, you're in love with mark grayson. mark grayson is invincible. so you love invincible. perfect syllogism. however, you could really do without the flaxans invading downtown chicago in the middle of your coffee date. 

“seriously? it’s the third time this month!”

he sends you an apologetic look over his sugary monstrosity of a beverage. something with so much caramel and whipped cream you’re getting vertigo just by looking at the damn thing. viltrumite biology-induced cravings, maybe?

you’re cut in your musings by panicked passer-bys running for their lives.

he takes a sip through his straw, brown eyes darkening, split earth after a thunderstorm. a little pout has his lips curling downwards. you kiss it away, a short, sweet peck that has him smiling against your mouth.

“karma’s a bitch,” you grumble, downing your coffee - black, no sugar because you’re no heathen.

mark lets out a huff of laughter, something awfully soft in his eyes. his fingers lace with yours, bringing your hand to his lips.

“c’mon, baby. duty calls.”

duty is a damn bitch is what she is. one flick of your wrist has your civilian outfit - pretty, casual, a nice little sundress that had mark do a double take because you don’t wear these that often - melting away in the shadows, replaced by your trademark coat and catsuit. 

shadow’s back in the game and she’s pissed.

(her boyfriend’s struggling in the men’s room with his invincible suit, because clark kent makes wearing his super suit under his everyday clothes seem easy, but it really isn’t.)

it’s a bloodbath. 

downtown chicago has been turned into a one-sided battlefield, the harsh, viscous green of alien skin burnt into your retina. your jaw ticks. they’re aiming at civilians, laser beams turning innocents into fine, bloody paste.you witness a little girl, no older than five, face half melted in the concrete, whimpering as she takes her last breath. a twenty something college student cradling his abdomen, innards spilling out. christ’s sake, a dog, half eviscerated, crawling towards its dying master, man’s most loyal companion.

you step forward, cracking your knuckles. 

“sorry lads. the earth is closed today.”

the sun is still high above, a witness to dull afternoon hours turned into a horror scene. your shadow spreads and spreads, encompassing the army standing before you. you tilt your head, eyes rolling back behind your domino mask as you call in the darkness. the shadows twist. you raise your hand, pointing at the first few ranks aiming at you, barking in their language. 

further back, near the portal, on what appears to be their equivalent of a tank, their leader, face marred by a long, jagged scar running from his brow to his lips. they twist in a snarl upon glimpsing your silhouette. he raises an arm, finger vengefully pointed at you. ah, so they do recognise you.

looks like somebody didn’t appreciate being on the receiving end of your tridagger. pity.

you clench your hand into a fist. it doesn’t deter them, the way the ground shifts under their boots. the slow corruption of the concrete below, as it is rendered one with the dark. your shadow’s stretched out enough to encompass all of them and give them a nice, cosy one way trip to the shadow dimension. its many beasts are hungry for fresh meat. maybe then they’ll stop ruining your dates.

something shifts when the first bullet manages to hit you, the laser burning away both leather and kevlar. blood drips from your shoulder.

“oooh, so you want it close and personal, huh?”

 you grin and throw yourself in the fray, black cloying the edges of your vision.

adrenaline courses through your veins. your shadows move along with you, sliding and shifting, the ground caving in treacherously under the aliens’ feet. concrete splits open. the one on your left shouts, beady eyes wide and panicked, and shoots. bang. dodge, duck, slam your foot at the back of its knee and watch the fucker fall into the abyss. kick up its rifle and shoot. slam it in an alien’s skull before it gets to you.

the scent of charred flesh fills your nostrils. ah. you’ve been hit again. spots dance in front of your vision. you take a hit. another. another - your lips split, grin flashing wide as your hand pierces feeble tactical gear. blood drips on the ground. the alien looks at the gaping hole in its sternum.

(shadows bend to your will, you’ve explained to mark when you first met, on the edge of midnight city where you hail from. your legs were dangling carelessly at the edge of a skyscrape under his watchful gaze. even then, even before the both of you became something too much to be put into words, he wanted you safe.

you’ve demonstrated it for him. harmless things, your fingers molding together, shapes taking form on the wall, shadows rippling as they came to life, dripping down like ink as small rabbits hopped out of the dark and around mark’s legs. 

you’ve shown the lethality of it. 

your gloved hands shifted, middle and index fingers pointing towards an approaching thug, other hand cradling your curled fingers.

bang.)

you’re laughing, cradling the poor thing’s heart, darkness like ink coating your fingers like a glove. you  make it sharper, deadlier. 

a shift behind you. the burning energy of a laser bullet aimed your way, straight for the head. too fast for you to dodge. 

a fist closes on it. 

you smile, lazily.

“mm. you’re late, invisible.”

invincible grins, a little sharp, wiping away flaxan blood on his suit, red a stark contrast against the bright yellow of it. lasers ricochet off him, rippling across his broad back as he turns to face you, shielding you with that cocky little grin you love. he rolls his shoulders, barely affected by it. you bite your lip at the sight.

“sorry, shade. you wouldn’t believe the traffic.” 

he moves, liquid smooth, hands on your hips as he shifts you away from an opponent. you use the momentum to head kick the fucker, its jaw giving away with a sickening crack under your soles. a sharp, screeching sound as it crumbles to the ground. you kick up its rifle, leaning on it with a sigh.

a tilt of your fingers and a shield rises before you, lasers sizzling against the surface.

invincible’s lips brush your jaw, gaze lazily surveying the progression of the flaxan troops.

“can i make up for it?” he breathes. “being late?”

even with his goggles hiding his eyes, you feel the weight of his gaze, something that has heat settling low in your core. his grin sharpens at that, nose brushing against the sliver of skin left bare by your suit. his thumbs rub small circles on your hip bones, and you’re intimately aware of how close he is, the firm line of his body pressing against yours, all hard edges, battle-honed. you lean back into him.

“maybe later. y’know, when earth isn’t invaded by murderous aliens.”

he chuckles, pressing a soft little kiss to your cheek. you gasp when he squeezes your ass. cheeky bastard.

“lemme deal with that.”

and fuck, the way he tears into them and slams their leader into the nearest building, fingers digging in the soft, breakable flesh of its throat, concrete shattering upon impact… you watch, eyes wide behind the lenses of your domino mask, as he crushes its skull between his hands, the bone brittle under his palms.

he turns back to look at you, floating above the battlefield, sun setting low behind his frame, his shadow stretching and stretching. blood drips down his clenched fist. you think of the deadly edge of a sword, perfectly poised, teetering on the edge of carnage. 

the flaxans look up, panicked, and aim at him. 

“sorry guys.” he cracks his knuckles, his grin sharp. “can’t keep my girl waiting.”

and fucking hell, you think as you leap towards the now empty tank, taking advantage of them being distracted. you should be focused on smashing the device creating their portals. it’d be easy enough, to use the shadows as an exoskeleton to enhance your strength. 

it would be, if mark wasn’t so bloody gorgeous while smashing his enemies to pieces. you think you hear him laugh as he does, something almost boyish. sunlight hits him, all goldens and reds - so much red, dripping down his chin, staining his goggles. you watch the lean muscles ripple under his suit, the way his fingers flex as he curls them into fists, the way his shoulders tense. the way he toys with them, faster than they can perceive, dodging their shots at the very last second. he’s making them harm their own kin.

snap out of it.

you smash your rifle against the complex machinery beeping before you. utterly unrefined, but you’re not exactly well-versed in alien mechanics, so it’ll have to do. the green light of the portal fizzles out. it’s closed.

mark flies above, lazily cracking his wrist.

a low, mournful cry rises from the troops.

//

you’re standing in a secluded alleyway, having bravely fled from the crowd of journalists creeping closer to the scene of carnage. 

“wasn’t that meg?” you muse, taking off your domino mask with a relieved sigh.

mark’s thumbs find the underside of your eyes, gently massaging the skin where your mask has been pressing.

“oh, her?” 

he pouts. you giggle at that, leaning into his touch. gently, you pry off his mask, revealing what has to be humanity’s most devastating puppy eyes.

“what? she’s pretty.” a conspiratorial smirk. “i need to know where she bought that skirt.”

his hands drop from your face, lightly resting on your waist in a way that makes something primal in you purr. he’s soft with you, mindful of the cuts on your shoulder, on your forearm. from this close, you can smell him, sharp ozone, and something distinctly mark that has you almost nuzzling him, burying your nose in the crook of his neck. 

“actually that’s not a bad idea.” he grins. “it would look good on my bedroom floor.”

“mark, you little-”

“what? would you prefer your bedroom floor?”

you slap his chest.

he cackles at that, looking down at you like you’re something precious.

you inch closer, hands pressed up against his chest. you watch as his pupils dilate, a never-ending void consuming the soft brown of his eyes. his gaze darts down to your lips and he frowns. his thumb brushes away a small drop of blood oozing from the thin line where your lower lip has been split.

his thumb meets the tender skin of your mouth and you press a soft kiss to the tip of it. 

mark finds his heart stuttering in his chest. you’d think he’d be used to have you by now. three months in, tangled up in each other in both hero work and school work and yet there he is, back pressed up against the washed up wall of a dingy alleyway come dusk, flushing under your adoring gaze. 

you’re devouring him, hunger practically oozing off of you as you take him in, all firm lines and soft gazes. god, you think michelangelo might weep in despair for having died in an era without him to immortalize. his hand clenches, long, slender fingers left bare by his suit flexing smoothly in a motion that has you pressing your thighs together with a soft sigh. 

dusk settles over chicago, golden sunbeams brushing the sharp edge of his jaw and you raise your hand to trace it, absently. a smile curls up your lips when he leans into your touch, as your gloved fingers brush past his jaw to go up, up, up, carding through the soft mess of his hair. blood and viscera got stuck in it. he does get violent when he fights, you muse, absently.

there’s still blood splattered on his suit.

maybe you love him a little too much. maybe you should be worried your boyfriend once tore out one of the mauler twins’ head for having made fun of your hair, laying it before your feet like an offering. doesn’t matter when you feel him against you, hard and wanting. doesn’t matter when he’s burying his face in your neck, teeth nipping at the soft skin, marking you. 

what happens next can probably be explained by a mix of sleep deprivation, adrenaline, and not having seen your boyfriend for two months. fuck martians. fuck the nasa. fuck cecil. 

“mark?”

“mm?”

he keeps pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck, hands already reaching for the small, silver zipper of your catsuit. 

“fuck me while you fly us home.”

he freezes, parting from you. you nearly whine at the loss.

“wha- baby are you…?”

a soft flush blooms on his cheek and you coo, peppering soft kisses to his sweet face.

“c’mon… it’d be fun…”

you send him that look. the look that had him reeling at teen team’s base after a group mission. the look that had him fucking you in their showers, one hand firmly clasped on your mouth to muffle your moans as you heard rex and eve arguing outside. the look that had him fighting for his life under cecil’s no-nonsense gaze during briefings. the look that kept him company during his two months trip to space, palming himself through his suit to the thought of you.

fuck martians and their unchecked sequids invasion, he wanted you by his side. 

he has you now, so he puts his mask back on and pulls you close, breathing you in. coffee. that one vanilla and caramel perfume you love. blood. his thumb grazes the cut on your shoulder. you squirm in his grip.

“let’s get you home, mm? i’ll patch you up there.”

he scoops you up in his arms, fingers digging in the fat of your thighs as your legs wrap around his - sinfully small - waist. you’re in the air before you know it, arms wound tight around his neck, gloved fingers playing with what little baby hair is left uncovered by his mask. he shudders at the contact, a small whimper leaving his lips, barely audible with the roaring of the wind whipping past you.

you glance down. chicago stretches out, glimmering gold. at the edge of the horizon, you watch the sun set, all-consuming gold bleeding into creeping night blue. mark keeps flying you higher, careful not to go too high, where the air would be too rare for you to breathe.

your fingers dig in his shoulders, pulling you closer to him. he wouldn’t let you fall, you know.

(you’re in his bed, still panting, flushed and full in a way you’ve never felt before. mark has gathered you in his arms, and you’re curled up against him, head on his chest as he strokes your hair. he hasn’t been this relaxed in a long time, and you’re putty in his hands. 

you inch closer, fingers lacing with his, lips pressed to his knuckles. the bruises from his last fight are fading.

“mark?”

“yeah?”

“i meant it, y’know. i’m falling for you.”

he stills, a split-second of terrifying second-guessing. too much? too soon? you open your mouth, mortification creeping in. you close it when you meet his eyes, impossibly fond, the softest you’ve seen them yet.

“don’t worry. i’ll catch you. always. can’t have my baby falling.”

you boop his nose.

“sap.”

there’s a wide grin on your face. your heart feels light.)

his grip on you tightens. his lips brush against your ear, his voice low.

“i need you, baby.”

you feel his breath, harsh and heavy on your nape, the way his shoulders tense, adrenaline still coursing through him. your fingers palm his bulge, and you grin against his collarbone when you find him hard and wanting. you can feel the outline of his cock, even through the damn kevlar. you think you might feel the way he’s leaking through his boxers, too, tip flushed the same pretty shade of pink spreading across his cheeks. palm pressing in, grinding against the kevlar of his suit, you look up at him.

his breath catches. his hips stutter, his flight grows haphazard. his lips part in a soft, ragged little exhale of your name. you don’t think you’ve seen him this needy, with the way he presses you close - not just for safety - his hands somehow managing to knead your breasts, your ass, your thighs. 

it has you clenching your thighs, desperate for any kind of friction.

you lean closer, a soft whisper in his ear, lost to the icy wind nipping at your cheeks.

“is it the suit that turns you on?”

“it’s just…” he lets out something suspiciously close to a whimper. frustrated. needy. “i’m not sure how we should do this, y’know? logistically, i mean. i won’t let you fall, you know that, but what if-”

you press your lips to his, sweetly, softly. he melts against you. it feels like the roaring of the world has finally stopped, his mind a delicious, blissful blank. he’s stopped flying, he realises absently, pulling you close to him by the waist. you shiver, nestling against him, eager for warmth - viltrumites run hot. a side effect of having to fly in cosmic depths. 

he shudders deliciously when your nose brushes the sharp edge of his jaw, your mouth hot against his pulse, rabbit-fast under your ministrations. 

“baby…”

“you think too much,” you breathe.

he lets out something like a strangled gasp when you bring your hips closer to his, thigh brushing his aching cock. you stroke his cheek over his mask and he’s burning, inches away from ripping his suit off and fucking you senseless. 

he leans into your touch with a sigh, nuzzling your palm. 

“hey.” you give him a tiny eskimo kiss. “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“no, i want to.” 

his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in the fat of them hard enough to leave bruises. he wonders how long it will take him to lose control, with the way you look at him like that, flushed and needy, practically gasping for air, like you can only breathe when his mouth is on yours. 

still he hesitates, because there’s something about the way you press yourself against him, catsuit drenched in blood, about the soft ripples of darkness fluttering along the edges of your coat, about how fucking out of it he makes you -

he couldn’t stay away from you if he tried, even if he should, for your sake.

he all but pins you against him, relishing in the feeling of your smaller frame pressed tight against the broad expanse of him, his hand finding its way to your chest, to that small, tantalising zipper between your collarbones. his thumb brushes the sliver of skin you’ve left exposed. for comfort, you said. 

he flashes you a grin, thumb soft on your pulse. persistent. deadly.

“comfortable?”

you splutter.

“mark!”

“that’s invincible to you, shadow.”

your jaw snaps shut. you swallow. right. no names while wearing the suit, but fuck. it’s getting hard to breathe, and the lack of oxygen isn’t at fault. mar- invincible cups your chest, hand gently squeezing the soft mound under your suit. you feel your heart hammer violently under his touch and know he feels it too. he hums, finger circling your nipple, the kevlar brittle under his touch. the motion, the rush of air as he slowly makes his way through the skies, the only thing stopping you from plummeting to your death being him-

it has you wet beyond reason.

“invincible,” you whine, desperate. 

it gets to him, the way your voice softens, the way your hips grind against his thigh mindlessly. he can’t see your face, with the way you’ve been trying to bury it in his chest, with a flustered noise.

fuck, you’re cute.

he pins you to him, your back to his chest, one strong arm locking you in place, a vice grip around your middle. you bite back a soft cry, his erection firmly pressed against your ass. his mouth presses against your neck, a hint of teeth against your carotid that has you gasping his name.

his fingers grasp the zipper, the motion a delicate little thing. cold air hits your skin and you whimper softly, invincible’s cheek nuzzling yours as he pulls it down, down, down, until your breasts spill out of your suit, nipples pebbled and aching, until his fingers reach your cunt.

“shit…” 

you see him bite his lip from the corner of your eye. his fingers dip between your lips, teasingly, barely brushing against your clit, enough for him to find you soaked and eager.

“all for me?”

you smile at his eagerness, at the (almost) innocent surprise in his voice. 

“you see anyone else here?”

he nips your earlobe, grinning wide against your ear.

“cheeky.”

you and invincible- fuck it, you and mark had sex before. hell, you lost your virginity to him in what has to be one of the most intimate moments in your life. but this? this is close second. this, you and mark, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground, head in the clouds, watching as the sun sets. mark’s lips slot against yours, your head tilting back to meet him halfway, his fingers curling in you in a way that has you seeing stars.

he sweeps your coat away with a soft growl.

“careful! it’s a gift!”

“yeah, a very inconvenient one.”

“you gifted it to me you- ah!”

somewhere along the way, he managed to free his cock, the bite of the cold air harsh against his leaking tip. you let out a soft whine of protest when he drags it along your folds, robbed of the sinful vision of his leaking tip. 

“m’gonna put it in, okay?” he babbles against your ear, hips grinding against your ass. “oh, baby-”

he lets out a low, soothing sound, nuzzling your neck as he drives himself deeper in you, until you’re clawing at his bicep with a keen.

“m-mark-”

it’s one thing to have him take you from behind, his hand warm and steady on your hip, pulling you impossibly closer to him. it’s another to do it in the air, where you have little to no leverage to make him feel good, too. 

“fuck- do you like it?” he rasps, hips snapping forward.

“mm-”

you’re caught in the in-between, the cold air nipping at your skin, mark hot and heavy behind you, fucking up into you like he’d die if he didn’t. your vision blurs at the edges. it’s too much, the delicious drag of his fingers as he teases your clit, the way his cock fills you to the brim. so fucking warm you feel like you’re about to melt into a puddle of heat. 

looking down would mean a casual reminder of your situation, hundreds of feet above ground, but you do. the sight has you moaning, wanton and debauched, with the way mark’s cock has your lower abdomen bulging out ever so slightly with each thrusts. 

you don’t even realise he’s leaning back until you’re faced with a flurry of emerging stars, watching you from lightyears away. he’s practically lying down in the clouds, the humidity of it raising goosebumps on your heated skin, like he’s baring you to the world.

slowly, he pulls out and has you straddle him, facing him.

he grins up at you, hands resting on your hips, thumbs drawing soothing circles on your hips as you sink down on him with a soft little moan of his name.

“talk about being on cloud nine.”

you snort.

“and i’m the cheeky one?”

“absolutely. my cheeky, adorably fucked-out girlfriend.”

you open your mouth to bite back when his cock hits that sweet, sweet little spot inside of you and your words die in a low, needy little moan. he’s taken off his mask, you realise, absently, discarding it god knows where. he’s taken off his mask, and he’s looking up at you like you’re his sun.

and you’re beautiful, he thinks, running his hand along the slope of your neck, relishing in the contact, in the way you melt against him. absolutely breathtaking, the setting sun cradling you in gold until, shadows framing the dips and planes of you as you ride him until you come apart. he groans, watching your slick coat the base of his shaft, your cunt milking him for all he’s worth until he’s bursting at the seams, your name the only constant on his lips as his hips buck up into you. 

“mmm fuck- i wanna try something-”

“mmn?”

he grins, something a little sweet, a little sharp. there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s up to no good.

“sit on my face.”

“you- mark!”

“what? i won’t let you fall. besides… i did say i’d eat you out, didn’t i?”

you’re trembling, when he slides out of you and pulls you to him, eager, arms wrapped around your parted thighs as he settles you over his mouth. you keen at the first contact of his tongue against your cunt, hips bucking up instinctively. he groans against you, the vibration sending shivers up your spine. 

“taste so good, baby…”

he’s looking straight at you, feeling his cock harden as you grind yourself on his face, the lapels of your coat spread out on his abdomen like he’s about to spread you out, thumbs parting your nether lips to sink deeper in you, to taste you better. 

next thing you know, he’s sinking his fingers in you and sucking at your clit, the sharp press of his teeth against the sensitive bundle of nerves a shock to your system. you fist his hair and feel him tense beneath you, his eyes hooded as they take you in.

“mark- mark i can’t-”

he presses a soft kiss to your clit. sweet. reverent. you don’t know if you find it cute or unfairly hot, not with the way you’re dizzy with him, begging for something, anything. something in you builds, coils low in your underbelly and snaps, leaving mark’s lips drenched and his eyes rolling back in his sockets with a strangled moan. you make out more than you feel his hips stuttering, coming to a stop as he cums.

there’s a ringing in your head. nagging. persistent. it won’t go away, no matter how badly you want to shake it off. the world is narrowed down to you, mark, and the way his tongue gently lap at your oversensitive cunt, cleaning you up with tiny kitten licks that have your heart hammering in your chest.

then, slowly, he peels back from you, his face ruined by your slick. he presses a kiss to your inner thigh as he pulls back, a teasing little bite, and zip up your suit.

“can’t have you catching a cold on me, can i?”

the sun sets. mark grayson tucks you in his arms and flies you to midnight city as you doze off, his heartbeat strong and steady against your ear. he looks at you, all pressed up against his chest, head leaning against his shoulder, and smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

when he gets to your home - a small little flat tucked away in sixth avenue, midnight city, seventh floor, third window to the left - he lays you down on the couch and fetches the med kit. you curl up into yourself, half-asleep, reaching for the soft blanket draped on the armrest. a little meow interrupts you, nero looking up at you blearily. you scratch him behind his ears and watch at your cat falls back asleep on the blanket, his little paws curling. 

mark takes in the sight of you, sleepily petting your grumpy furball of a cat, the two of you curled up on the couch, and feels something tug at his heart. affection. boundless love, the kind that would raze cities and bring civilisations to ashes if needed be. he settles next to you, med kit on the coffee table, helping you shrug off your coat and catsuit.

“it’s not too deep.”

his hand brushes your shoulder, relishing the contact with your soft skin. you hum, drowsy, exhaustion catching up with you.

he patches you up, quietly, pulling you close once he’s done. he breathes you in, burying himself in your hair, taking in your flat. a little messy, books everywhere, little plants soaking up sunlight because you like your tomatoes and basil fresh. your cat, snoring lightly on the armrest. you, breathing slowing down, curling up against him with a soft little: “thanks.”

he leans back on the couch, pulling you closer, and thinks, stroking your hair.

he’s been deep in the abysses of earth and felt the tides struggle against him, trying to push back. he’s been close to its core, and felt gravity weigh him down, a feeble attempt at bringing him to his knees. he’s been in space. he’s seen supernovas burn before his eyes, stood before a black hole and watched the event horizon as it tried to pull him into its orbit, a gaping, hungry maw.

but, at the end of the day, it’s you he orbits around, the earth to your sun. 

taking the liberty to tag the the amazing ppl that left comments on my mark os: @gaiasmight @vinnyvamppp @odessa-is-my-queen @shadylilac @linkwho1 @tokoyamisstuff @sp4ceboo

[letoasai]

Will work for food

DP x DC An idea that's probably been done before but... here it is again.

~~

It was not an ideal setting for this. Out in the open, debris being their only cover. An unnatural storm closing in. The area had been evacuated but there was still no telling how many civilian eyes could be on them at this very moment. 

The League was scattered, making this current group a touch at odds while away from the majority of their normal teams. 

Batman stood with Red Robin, Flash, Superboy, and Raven. It wasn’t a bad lineup, but things were getting dicy. 

A monster had appeared, a creature foreign to most of them. With it came storms of all kinds, winds, hail, rain. It was a mess but there was nothing natural about it. The hail shattered the pavement. The winds were picking buildings up off their foundations. The blue lightning went without saying. The ice was changing the terrain. The temperature changes were disorienting to most of the heroes.  

Worse was the fact that this creature seemed to be able to duplicate itself, spreading the chaos out to a much wider area. They were having trouble even touching the thing let alone capturing it. 

“Are you sure about this?” Batman asked, a deep frown etched into his face as he watched Raven mark out a summoning circle. 

“It’s the only idea i have.” She said bluntly, shivering from the sudden chill. “That thing is not of this realm. We need something else not of this realm to subdue it.” 

“I hear what you’re saying but summoning a demon to deal with a demon still leaves us with a demon.” Flash said, seeing the flaw in this plan. 

“Unless you know this one personally or something.” Red Robin offered, his voice exhausted. 

“It’s not a demon.” Raven said, tone irritated but it wasn’t like any of them were having a good day. “Depending on how you want to look at it, it’s far worse than a demon. That thing came from the Infinite Realm.” 

Superboy just grunted once, watching her put the finishing touches on her spell circle. “You said that in a tone that said it was in capital letters. What’s the Infinite Realm?” 

“Bad news and something we shouldn’t freaking touch.” Raven answered swiftly. She stood, eyes going over her work. 

“Then what the hell are we doing?” Flash asked quickly, all of them tensed as the wind started to pick up again. If a hurricane was thrown at them, there was little they’d be able to do about it. 

“Raven.” Batman’s voice was serious. “You’re sure?” 

“It’s all i’ve got.” She repeated. “This is not a problem this realm was meant to handle on short notice. We need help.” 

There were several things in that one statement he didn’t like. “Who are you summoning?” 

Raven was looking rather pale herself. “The Ghost King. The King of the Infinite Realm. I’ve heard word that he can be bargained with so… we’re gonna give it a shot.” 

She didn’t wait for permission from anyone else to throw in their two cents on the matter. She threw her hands out, alien words no one else understood on her lips. The chant repeated and the summoning circle began to glow a green that the present Bats didn’t care for. 

It crept up the walls of the summoning circle in oddly pretty patterns before a gaping void opened on the ground. Silently, a figure rose into the circle from that same void. The king was smaller than they’d been imagining the last minute or two. He was human shaped and sized, a black crown floating several inches over his head. He was a wispy figure, face hidden by a large hood but there were strands of white hair floating around their shadowed face. He’d had nothing but a smoky looking tail when he’d first appeared but that had now split into solid looking legs. 

Given his size, he seems like a young adult, but it was hard to say for certain without seeing his face. 

“Woah.” Red Robin muttered, Superboy agreeing with the sentiment. 

“Heroes?” The Ghost King wondered, voice soft and lethargic. “Interesting.” 

Raven bowed her head in a show of respect. “Your Majesty. I apologize for the abrupt summons. We have a dire situation and are willing to make a deal for your help.” 

“A deal…” His voice echoed gently. He spoke as if raising his voice would shatter the very air around them. “That’s not something to choose lightly. What do you want from me?” 

Raven swallowed, her body rigid with nerves. She was almost relieved when Batman took over. 

“As i understand it, we have a being from your realm here in ours. We are underprepared to deal with such destruction and-” 

“Of my realm?” The King interrupted softly, head tipped a little as his attention turned to Batman. “Who?” 

Flash laughed nervously. “We’re not on a first name basis or anything but the guy seems to control the weather.” He pointed up and the sky above them was darkening the longer they spoke. 

The King made a noise like he’d clucked his tongue and it struck all of them as a very human kind of gesture despite his title. 

“I can handle that. Your deal?” 

Raven inhaled again, this obviously being the part she was dreading. “Blood, i have the blood of the Demon Lord Trigon-” 

“Pass.” 

That drew everyone up short. The others didn’t exactly understand the significance of Raven offering her blood but it clearly wasn’t something she’d expected to be declined so quickly. 

“My soul then….” Raven muttered. 

“Raven, no!” Superboy hissed. “The fuck!” 

Batman was also eyeing her unhappily. “Absolutely not. You are not Constantine.” 

Fortunately for the heroes, each of which was ready to revolt for such a barter, the Ghost King waved the thought away. 

“Nah.” He tugged on his hood a little and Batman realized he was likely brushing away one of those white strands of hair from his face. “That’s the thing about being the King of the Infinite Realm. Souls come to me one way or another in time. No need to preorder them.” 

Raven’s shoulders sagged, eyes shifting as she rapidly tried to think of something else she could offer. 

“What do you want?” Red Robin asked before anyone else could say something stupid. “You’re the one that’s going to fight this threat for us. What’s a good deal?” 

The King turned to him and stared. They could only assume he was contemplating his answer when he hummed quietly. “Food.” 

“Wha…” Flash muttered. 

The Ghost King just nodded. “Food from your realm. It’s been…a long time since i’ve eaten.” 

“Really? Like we could go grab you a burger and that would be cool?” Superboy asked, a touch suspicious, but the King just nodded.  

“Deal.” Raven said before anyone would make it worse. “A meal for returning this threat back to your realm.” 

The King nodded again, and each of them backed up several paces when the walls to the summoning circle broke apart and the King stepped out. For the briefest of moments he seemed to nearly stumble under the gravity of actually ‘walking’ but he got over it quickly enough. 

“Can we offer you any assistance?” Batman asked. 

The King shook his head. “No.” He wandered off towards the storm, the floating crown on top of his head seeming a little larger. He moved confidently and with purpose. “Oh Vortex…” He called, walking into the winds. 

He sounded young, but all of them agreed immediately that they never wanted to hear him beckoning them the same way. His tone was dangerous, and he walked right through a car that had been flung in his direction. 

“Cool.” Red Robin muttered. 

“Simmer down, Red.” Superboy muttered. All of them wanted to follow, but with the unstable weather and a literal Ghost King wandering about, staying out of the way felt like the best option. Of course that didn’t mean they weren’t dying of curiosity. 

Flash moved to stand beside Raven, making sure she wasn’t about to topple over because of the power it must have taken to summon a king from another dimension. “You good?” 

“Yeah.” she breathed out a sigh. “Honestly, this was an unforeseen best case scenario. You should really go get that food for him.” 

Batman moved to her otherside, hearing the voices over comms noticing a shift in what was happening. “You think it will be over that fast?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well-” Flash looked up at the sky that was rapidly clearing. “Yep. I’ll be right back.” He was gone in a blur but it was hard to believe a change was happening so quickly. 

“Has it even been a full minute?” Superboy asked. “I mean, damn…” 

“Someone better have been recording visuals.” Red Robin muttered. “We are absolutely missing something amazing.” 

“He’s the King of the infinite Realm.” Raven said. “It’s the realm that connects every other realm and it is as the name implies… infinite. He rules it. I don’t even think Trigon would dare mess with him.” 

Batman had his arms crossed, still listening to the amazed chatter over comms. “Should it be suspicious that all he wants is food?” 

“He made the deal.” Raven shrugged. “He could have asked for anything. Literally.” She stopped speaking when the hooded king returned. He was floating this time though only a foot or two off the ground. He didn’t look tired or dirty or anything. 

Just the same ethereal otherness he’d arrived with. “Done.” He announced. 

“What uh- happened to the guy?” Superboy asked, pointing vaguely at where the storm had been raging. 

The Ghost King just dug into his cape and pulled out…a thermos. “Souped him. He’s gonna have a little time out.” 

“Oh my god, i have so many questions.” Red Robin whispered. 

The thermos was put away and Batman was suppressing his own urge to ask a dozen questions over what just occurred. They’d been struggling with the Infinite creature for hours and countless lives had no doubt been altered. Clean up would take weeks if not months and this Ghost King handled it in minutes. 

“My food?” 

“On the way.” Raven said immediately. “Flash is one of the fastest men on the planet. He’ll be right back.” 

The King nodded and looked around before moving to a pile of bricks that had once been a fence. He sat down and waited, somehow looking regal among the wreckage. 

“So… I’m Red Robin.” Batman looked up again when his son was sliding closer to introduce himself. “Superboy, Raven, Batman.” He gestured and the King’s hood shifted as he followed Red Robin’s introduction of them. “Is there something we can call you or is your Majesty the most appropriate?” 

The Ghost King sat in silence for a moment before reaching up to lower his hood. The shadows that had hidden his face disappeared revealing a young man only a little older than Tim. Maybe around Jason’s age. His hair was indeed white, and was braided down the nape of his neck save for the tufts of hair that floated around his face. 

His skin was pale, and Batman thought it might have been gray or even blue in different light. His ears were pointed and his eyes were a haunting green. 

With the hood out of the way, the crown lowered to sit on his head. 

“Phantom.” He finally answered. “You can call me Phantom.” 

Raven bowed her head again and Red Robin beamed. “Thank you for helping us! We literally couldn’t have done it without you.”

Phantom nodded again but without his hood to shield him there was something shy about the action. 

The Flash reappeared in a cloud of dust, two bags of fast food in one hand and a collection of drinks under the other arm. “I got a little of everything!” He announced. “Got some burgers and some chicken nuggets and fries and onion rings. There’s one of those little apple pies in here somewhere too.

Phantom took the bags with a small smile and set them beside him so he could go through them. Superboy helped with the drinks, setting everything down so Phantom could have his pick. There were three different sodas, a lemonade, and a water. 

It wasn’t fancy and probably wasn’t a fair trade of a meal for his services but he didn’t seem disappointed. 

In a flash of rings made of light, Phantom transformed. The otherness of him was still there, but instead of a noble king of a realm, a young…very living human was in his place. Black hair instead of white was still braided down his neck and the strands around his face hung limp instead of floating. 

Those eerie green eyes were now blue but that– oddly enough– was not the most startling thing about his transformation. He wore a large hoodie and jeans but his feet were bare. 

His hands and feet were almost skeletal, and his face was gaunt and starved looking. His eyes were slightly sunken and his skin was a sickly kind of pale. 

He looked emaciated, but there was the smallest of smiles on his face when he ate one fry and then another. He took a sip from every drink offered to him and then took a bite out of the burger. 

They couldn’t help but stand there and watch, all of them transfixed over what they were seeing. 

Phantom took two more bites before wrapping up the rest of his burger and placing it back in the bag. 

“Not to your liking?” Flash asked, voice small. 

Phantom licked his fingers and shook his head. “No, it was good. I’m just full. I’ll take it with me and eat it later when i’m hungry again.” 

Batman could only imagine the size of his stomach. Stopping now was probably the healthiest thing he could have done if he wanted to keep the food down. He cleared his throat. “Are you alright?” 

“Mhmm.” Phantom nodded, the rings of light appearing again. He was back in his healthier looking ghostly form. That was an oxymoron, wasn’t it? A healthy ghost form… 

“You’re still alive.” Raven whispered, stuck in her shock. “The living shouldn’t… The Infinite Realm isn’t…” 

Phantom’s lips tipped up in a smile. “You’re right, but wrong. I’m both. I’m dead. I’m alive. I’m balance.” He paused for a moment. “I haven’t been in a living realm for a while… guess i’ve been neglecting that side of me. Thanks for the food, it was a good deal.” 

He was gathering up the bags he clearly planned to take with him. 

“You should come back.” Red Robin spat the words out, likely before giving them any real thought. “I’ll take you to lunch. I’ll take you like… all the time. I am not going to pretend to know what you have going on but… shit, Agent A would disown me if i did not offer to feed you.” 

Phantom looked cold briefly. “Agent… A…?” 

Red Robin winced, “Code name for my grandfather. He’s an amazing cook.” 

“Red Robin.” Batman scowled at him. 

“Oh, what? He’s gonna give you the look for you not being the one to offer.” Red Robin said unapologetically, but the explanation had Phantom softening again. “What do you say? Lunch? Do i have to summon you?” 

“Jesus, Red. Let him actually decline or accept.” Superboy was snickering. 

Phantom looked between them, the confusion on his face clearing up after a beat. A piece of paper appeared between his fingers. It had some kind of squiggle on it none of them could read at a glance. He handed it over to Red Robin. 

“Have that on you, say my name. I’ll find you.” Phantom said. “I should…eat again.” 

“We…appreciate you helping us.” Raven added quickly, determined that they make a good impression. 

Phantom’s look grew warmer again. “It was fun.” With his bags and drinks in his arms, he wandered back over to the summoning circle. “I don’t mind helping when the trouble is severe and you were right. This particular problem was mine to clean up. Sorry about him, by the way. Vortex is an asshole.” 

Superboy and Flash both snorted. “Thanks anyway.” 

Phantom nodded at them again, floating in the middle of the circle before his eyes glowed that bright, toxic green again. He slipped inside the void and disappeared as quickly as he arrived, the remains of the summoning circle erasing itself. 

“So… That happened.” Flash muttered, not sure how they were gonna put this in a report to the rest of the League members. Batman wasn’t so sure either. 

“I can’t believe you were just hitting on the Ghost King, Red.” Superboy laughed. “I mean… Lunches?”

“What?” 

Raven was on her phone. “I am already telling Nightwing.” 

“What!? Hey!” Red Robin was looking between them. “I wasn’t hitting on him. You leave Wing out of this!” 

“No way.” 

“You asked him on a date, man!” Superboy grinned. “All the titans are going to know about this in the next hour.” 

“You guys suck!” Red Robin growled, his face a flame. 

Batman just sighed. “There’s clean up to do. Get to work.” 

He definitely did not need to think about his son’s audacity, coming onto a King of an entire realm. Where did he even learn that kind of behavior?

~~

Masterlist

[afreakforyautjas]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 4

[oop- more interaction with our Yautja 🤭 I love your comments and your support, they keep me writing more 💚]

(Tagging @celticsrightbuttcheek for their ongoing support 🥰)

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts.

This is it… this is happening, you told yourself.

You could hear the guttural sounds of the two aliens battling nearby. Quietly, you slipped out of the chamber that had served as your only protection and crept around, desperately searching for something—anything—that could be used as a weapon.

Your panicked hands rummaged through drawers, the noise loud enough to draw the xenomorph’s attention toward you.

That split second of distraction was just enough. The Yautja drove its talons deep into the xenomorph’s ribs, earning a piercing hiss before tossing the creature aside to avoid its acid blood.

You had studied xenomorphs long enough to know their blood could melt through nearly anything on contact.

You had, unfortunately, learned that the hard way.

You could run now. This was your chance, both creatures were locked on each other. You grabbed an intravenous stand and with your hands trembling you began slowly backing out of the lab, keeping your eyes locked on the xenomorph.

Somehow, you felt the Yautja wouldn’t hunt you. You weren’t a worthy challenge in comparison.

The xenomorph, however, would kill anything without a second thought.

It hissed in your direction, and your stomach dropped. But then it looked to the left, where the Yautja had moved to flank it. Strangely, it felt like you and the Yautja were circling the xeno together, like predators converging on a common enemy. The Yautja seemed to notice your synchronized movement, perhaps thinking the same as you.

The enemy of my enemy…

The Yautja wasn’t quick enough this time. Already wounded and bleeding, it didn’t react fast enough when the xenomorph made its choice.

You.

The weaker one.

You froze in fear but stood your ground as the creature lunged. The medical probe you clutched became your only defense. You collapsed under its weight, struggling, your head thrashing side to side as its inner jaw shot out, aiming for your skull.

You held it off, just long enough.

The xeno’s weight lifted suddenly, and you gasped, the breath finally returning to your lungs. You barely registered what was happening, before your eyes locked on the savage scene before you.

The Yautja had pounced. It didn’t roar or cry out. It fought in silence, its primal, brutal attacks overwhelming the xeno. No armor, no advanced weaponry, just claws, fangs, and fury.

Everything you’d studied about their kind told you they were strategic, calculated warriors. But this? This was personal.

You remembered then—this was a younger Yautja. Not an elder. Not even a forehead scar to mark its first successful hunt. That explained the lack of discipline, the rage driving every blow. It wasn’t fighting for honor. It was fighting to end this, no matter the cost.

Please…

You whispered to yourself.

Please run.

This wasn’t your place anymore.

The xenomorph’s tail twitched, about to strike a fatal blow to the yautja’s back.

You saw it, just in time.

You ran forward and shoved the tail aside with your probe before it could pierce through the Yautja’s chest. The predator paused, its masked gaze snapping toward you. It growled, low, furious. It didn’t want your help. This was its fight. You were in the way.

But there was nothing honorable about dying in blind rage, you thought. You ignored its warning growls and pushed the tail aside again.

That second of distraction was all the xenomorph needed. With a violent shove, it knocked the Yautja off of it and launched itself at you.

You hit the floor hard. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, and for a moment, you couldn’t move. The xenomorph raised one deadly arm for the finishing blow—

But it was yanked off you before it could strike, though not without pain: its claws had grabbed a fistful of your hair, ripping it clean from your scalp. You screamed in agony.

The Yautja’s reaction to your scream was unlike anything you expected. A deafening roar erupted from its chest, a sound so raw and agonizing that it made your blood run cold. You clutched your ears, trying to block out the piercing noise.

The predator had lost all restraint.

It straddled the xenomorph now, attacking like a beast possessed. It grabbed the creature’s jaws, prying them open with brute strength. The xeno shrieked and hissed, its inner mouth striking out and biting the Yautja’s hand, but the predator didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

With a final, sickening snap, it broke the xenomorph’s jaws apart, ripping one entirely off and tossing it across the lab. Then it backed away quickly, avoiding the toxic spray of its blood.

It roared loudly, as if savouring its victory.

You lay there, breath ragged, heart pounding, staring at the terrifying figure before you.

A true menace, in spirit and flesh. It was deadly and the only thing alive besides you in the room.

The Yautja moved slowly now, chest heaving. It looked at the xenomorph’s hand—still clutching strands of your hair. It knelt, touching them gently, its fingers strangely delicate as they brushed against the human hair. It took a second, trying to make sense of what it meant for you to lose strands of hair.

It meant something entirely different in Yautja culture, you figured, since their dreadlocks were more of an organ than hair.

The Yautja now turned to you and slowly stepped closer.

You instinctively backed away, just a little, unsure of its intentions.

Were you next?

It knelt before you, head tilted slightly, its eyes fixed on the bleeding spot on your scalp. You both stayed still for several long seconds.

When it finally moved, you flinched and shut your eyes.

You expected pain, maybe claws digging in…but instead, you felt the soft weight of its fingers pressing near the wound, careful, almost… curious.

You didn’t move, didn’t breathe too hard, just stared as it tilted its head, like it was trying to make sense of your bleeding. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, confused as hell, not knowing what to do. Run, fight, say something?

“It hurts,” you whispered, even though you knew it wouldn’t understand.

It stopped.

To your surprise, a soft purr started rumbling in its chest. You squinted up at it, trying to understand what that meant again. The sound rolled out of its chest in slow, steady waves, and for some reason you could feel it in yours.

You didn’t want it to. You were still scared. You should have been scared.

But that sound…

It was doing something to your nervous system, whether you liked it or not. Your shoulders dropped without you realising it. Your breathing slowed. It was like being wrapped in low-frequency sound that you couldn’t shake off. Some primal part of your brain responded to it like it meant safety. Calm.

You didn’t get it.

When you looked up again, it was still making that sound. Still not moving. Still just watching you quietly.

You noticed its arm then, coated in green blood. Your eyes widened in shock. You reached out instinctively, wanting to check the wound, but stopped halfway, afraid it might lash out.

But the Yautja didn’t move. In fact, it seemed to wait.

“Will you let me help now?” you asked, half-joking. If it had let you help earlier, maybe it wouldn’t be this bad.

The alien let out a low grunt, a sound that could’ve meant anything, but didn’t seem like a no.

You stood slowly, and it rose with you. When you moved, it mirrored you, as if still watching your every step.

You made your way to a specific cabinet. You remembered the tools the Yautja came with when they were captured to be studied—medical equipment and some kind of salve that you had studied before. Human medicine wouldn’t help it, but this… this might.

You reached up to the shelf and grabbed what you needed. The Yautja stood close behind, waiting. You turned to show it.

Its reaction was almost funny, looking between you and the supplies as if realizing, maybe for the first time, that you’d been capable of helping all along.

It grunted again, sounding… annoyed, maybe. Then it strode over to the operating table and sat down with exaggerated weight.

You hesitated.

It flared its mandibles at you, letting out a louder noise this time, clearly impatient.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, suppressing a strange urge to laugh. You didn’t know why, but the way it behaved—almost human—was oddly comforting. And a little terrifying.

[natalievoncatte]

They didn’t know Alex was watching them.

She was the only one awake- Kelly was sleeping in near silence, her breath tickling Alex’s throat, as her head lay pillowed on Alex’s chest. After the reception had formally drawn to a close, the core group, the Superfriends, had all moved on to the sprawling mansion that Lena had generously rented for them to inhabit for a few days before Alex and Kelly left for their proper honeymoon.

Alex was the only one awake. They’d all be tired and hadn’t even finished the drunken game of monopoly they’d begun for old time’s sake. Kelly had changed out of her wedding dress and Alex out of her suit and they lay curled up on a loveseat beside the crackling fireplace. Nia and Brainy were in a similar state on the couch. Between them all, Kara’s little doggie monopoly piece remained where it had last landed on Park Place, forcing her to declare bankruptcy and, of course, end up ceding all her deeds to Lena.

The game was essentially over at that point and everyone knew it, so the drinking began to lubricate the passing of stories and telling of tales. A second buzz in the same day always hit harder than the first and everyone fell asleep where they sat, except Alex.

She had a sick terrible feeling in her stomach, not of regret surely, but a dread she had trouble explaining. It finally hit her as she watched the firelight dance across Kara’s features.

Something had changed. Something was over, a page turned to a new chapter. One where, Alex somehow knew, their lives would no longer revolve around alien insanities and mystical calamities. The world was settling, shuffling back to the state it was in before Kara caught that plane all those years ago and announced herself to the world.

A more normal time, calmer, changed perhaps in many ways but just… life.

Now that Alex was at the threshold with her toes curled back from it and unsure if she was ready to cross, she felt a little loss. Her future was looking less superheroic and more soccermometic; Kelly had her two-thirds of the way convinced to reactivate her medical license and join a practice. When everyone talked about their futures the sounded mundane, even Kara was more excited about her big new job and chasing her dreams.

Wait.

Alex was wrong. Kara was awake, she was just so utterly entranced that one might be misled into thinking that she was merely dreaming.

Kara and Lena somehow ended up in a wide chair together, curled up in a tangle of limbs, wrapped in Kara’s cape as a blanket. Lena was tucked in under Kara’s chin on Kara’s lap, clearly in a deep, peaceful sleep.

Kara, however, was very much awake. She held Lena in a particular way, at once shockingly gentle and fiercely protective, making a fortress of her arms. Kara was intently focused on her chair-mate, either staring at her with the most pitiful expression of fear and anxiety or nuzzling her nose into her dark curly locks and sighing.

Alex frowned, unsure what to do or say. Her sister looked pained, as pained as Alex had ever seen her. She knew for a fact that she and Lena weren’t fighting- they spent more time together than ever now; it had started with them effectively splitting their time between their respective apartments but over the last couple of months had shifted to Lena, for all intents and purposes, shacking up with Kara. They spent no more than one night in ten apart and of those nine they were together, eight seemed to be at the loft.

Whenever Alex set foot inside, Lena was simply there, for no special or particular reason, the two of them just sharing the same space casually and naturally.

So why did Kara look so broken?

“Hey, kiddo,” Alex whispered. “Why the long face?”

“I can’t talk about it now.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“You guys didn’t have a fight or something, did you?”

Kara was quiet for a time.

“I think I waited too long.”

“For what?” said Alex.

“Don’t you know?”

Alex furrowed her brows, watching intently. Lena stirred, perhaps nudged towards consciousness a little by their murmured conversation and the urgency in Kara’s soft voice.

Then it hit her. Indeed, it struck her like a physical force. Kara looked down at Lena again and Alex gasped at the realization, wondering how the hell she had missed this, of all things.

She’s seen Kara smitten before, like she’d been with Kenny or the fuckboi from the dickhead planet. That was different. That was not this. Kara looked at Lena like she might not be able to breathe if she let her out of her sight.

Oh. Oh shit.

“We’re all moving on with our lives,” Kara whispered. “Taking new jobs, getting married, starting new careers. What happens when she’s too busy for me, Alex? When she finds somebody else and wants a real family and a real life and not… whatever we’re doing? What happens when…”

Kara must have noticed, her incredibly unfair super senses alerting her even before Alex noticed that Lena was awake, her blue eyes dark and soft in the flickering light.

Total silence fell over the room; all Alex could hear was Kelly breathing against her.

“I have a real family, Kara,” Lena said, softly. “They’re right here. You’re right here.”

“Lena?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lena said, lifting her head gently from Kara’s face. “Ever. I promise.”

They stared at each other for long heavy moment and said nothing. Kara’s eyes were so soft, her gaze so heavy with love, beyond love, adoration, almost worship. Lena gave her a little smile and looked up at her through her lashes.

“Oh for fucks sake, will one of you just goddamn do it already?” Alex blurted.

To her surprise, or maybe not, it was Lena who crossed the gap, who sealed the deal. She was the one who kissed Kara but in moments it didn’t matter who started it, and Kara simply stood and lifted Lena with superhuman ease and was already carrying her up the stairs.

Silence again fell on the room.

“Querl,” Nia said, from the couch.

“Yes?”

“You’re from the future.”

“Indeed.”

“You knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh come on!” Nia snapped.

“I’m trying to sleep,” said Kelly, prompting Alex to snort.

Finally, they all did.

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝒜𝓇𝑒 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 ℒ𝑜𝓋𝑒? - Part One

Pairing: Viltrumite!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Power imbalance, reader is essentially held captive

Tags: Angst, obsessive love, soft!yandere

Word Count: 2,771

Synopsis: After Earth’s fall, you became the prize of its conqueror — a human kept in silk and starlight, bound to a man who swears he loves you. Mark Grayson, no longer the boy he once was, now rules as a Viltrumite prince — powerful, calculating, and desperately, hopelessly obsessed with you.

a/n: i'm breaking this into two parts cause i actually loveee this and i figure if people don't want the smut they can still at least enjoy part one :')

The palace on Viltrum was quiet tonight. Too quiet. The kind of silence that lingered, echoing through the endless halls of polished obsidian and starlight. Even the wind outside the citadel windows sounded like it was holding its breath.

You sat on the edge of the grand bed — a bed too big for one, too cold despite the warmth around you — wearing another impossibly soft gown he had picked. The fabric clung to your skin like fog, silver and light as breath, and you hated it. You hated how beautiful everything was.

Because it wasn’t yours. None of it was. Not the clothes. Not the bed. Not even your name, which was now spoken like a prayer by a man who had taken everything from you.

You didn’t hear him enter. You never did. One second, the room was yours. The next, it belonged to him again.

“You didn’t eat.”

His voice was low, velvet-wrapped steel. It was concern. It was command. It was both. Mark stepped closer, hands behind his back like he was trying to look less threatening — as if the blood of galaxies wasn’t still drying beneath his nails.

“It was your favorite. Or… it used to be,” he added, watching you.

You didn’t respond. Not at first. Then, quietly: “That was before.”

He didn’t flinch. Not exactly. But his eyes — sharp, golden, alien — dipped to the floor for a split second, like the words had sliced through something soft inside him.

“You don’t have to pretend tonight,” you said, still not looking at him. “You don’t have to ask me how I am. Or what I want. Or what I need. You already decided all of that.”

Silence. Not angry silence. Wounded silence.

He crossed the distance in one slow step, then another, until he was kneeling in front of you. Viltrumite armor peeled from his shoulders like shadows falling away. You hated how familiar it looked now. How human he tried to make himself seem, just for you.

“I can give you anything,” he said, voice hoarse. “Anything you ask for.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. At the war prince who had shattered Earth like glass and crowned you with its ashes. He looked up at you like you were a sun he hadn’t seen in centuries.

And then — as he did so many nights before — he asked it again. “Are you in love with me?”

It was always that question. As if he didn’t already know the answer. As if asking it in a whisper might conjure the truth he wanted instead of the one he feared.

You felt your throat tighten. The ache that lived behind your ribs bloomed again, heavy and hot. You could lie. He always let you lie. He never said it out loud, but you could tell: he'd rather have the illusion than nothing.

So this time, for the first time… you gave it to him. “Yes,” you said. Not loudly. Not convincingly. But it was a word.

Just a word.

His breath hitched. You saw it. His whole frame tensed like he’d been holding it in for days — weeks — months.

“Say it again.”

You looked away.

“Please,” he whispered. “Even if you don’t mean it. Say it again.”

You closed your eyes.

“…I love you.”

A pause.

And then his forehead rested gently against your knee like he was praying. Or breaking.

Outside, Viltrum’s moons shivered against the glass of the citadel. Somewhere, another planet mourned its lost sun.

But here, in this room built on stolen stars, he smiled like he had everything he ever wanted.

His forehead pressed against your knee like he thought he might fall apart without the contact. You stayed still. Every part of you told yourself not to touch him — not to thread your fingers through his hair, not to soothe the tension out of his jaw. Because the moment you gave him comfort, he would take it as love.

And love, real love, didn’t exist between conqueror and captive.

But still… he looked so human like this.

“You said it,” Mark murmured, more to himself than to you. “You said it.”

You didn’t answer.

He looked up, and his eyes were shining — not from tears, no. Viltrumites didn’t cry easily. But there was something like hope there, glinting sharp and fragile behind the gold. Like the words had been water, and he’d been dying of thirst this whole time.

“I know you don’t mean it yet,” he said slowly. “But you will. You just need more time.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Time won’t fix this.”

He tilted his head, smile faltering. “You always say that,” he said softly, “but you’re still here.”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You do.” He stood, quietly, not angry — just... hurting. “You could’ve taken your own life. You’ve had the chance. You didn’t.”

The words hit you like a slap. Not cruelly — not even accusingly — just with the unbearable weight of truth. One he had clearly thought about more than once.

You stared at him.

“Is that what you’re clinging to? That I haven’t killed myself, so I must love you a little?”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped closer.

“You think I don’t know how you look at me,” he said, voice low and slow and wrecked. “Like I’m a monster. Like you’re surviving me.”

“You are a monster, Mark.”

Something flickered in his expression. Not rage. Not pain. Something quieter. Acceptance.

“Then why did you say it?” he asked.

Your mouth went dry.

“Why did you say you love me?”

And there it was again — that question. Not as pleading this time. Almost like a test. Like he wanted to see how far you’d go.

You could lie again. You could push him away.

Or…

Maybe you were just too tired to lie anymore. So you looked him in the eyes and said: “Because I knew it would make you stop asking.”

Silence. Long and cold. His face didn't move, but you saw his throat work as he swallowed something sharp.

“I don't want to force you.”

“You already did.”

“I’m trying—”

“You took me, Mark.” That made him flinch. “You burned my planet, murdered millions, and then dressed me in silk and said you wanted me to smile. You didn’t give me love. You gave me a cage and called it paradise.”

He looked away.

“But I could’ve broken you,” he said after a pause, voice nearly a whisper. “I could’ve taken what I wanted. I didn’t. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Your heart pounded.

“You think restraint is love?”

Another silence. But this one was different. It hung heavier in the room. He was shaking now, almost imperceptibly. Not from rage. From restraint. The same restraint he was trying to argue made him good.

“I don’t want to be your prisoner,” you whispered.

“I don’t want you to be.”

“Then let me go.”

For a moment, the silence between you stretched so tight you thought it might snap. Then — without a word — Mark turned away. He walked to the door.

No argument. No threat. No grand speeches about how you were his or how he’d burn a thousand more worlds before he let you leave. Just the quiet click of his boots against marble, the long shadow he cast in the dim light… and the soft hiss of the door sliding open.

He stepped through it.

Stopped.

Turned.

And looked at you.

His eyes didn’t plead. They didn’t rage. They just… waited. He looked at you like he was already mourning something.

And then he walked away.

The door stayed open.

For a moment, you didn’t move. You couldn’t. It felt like a trap. Like one of those dreams where you’re being handed exactly what you want, and you know it’s wrong but you want it anyway.

But eventually, your legs obeyed.

You stood. Moved carefully, like the air itself might snap shut around you.

You crossed the room. Past the silks and the untouched food and the view of a galaxy that wasn’t yours. You reached the door, half expecting it to slam in your face.

It didn’t.

You stepped into the corridor. It was… quiet. Still. There were no guards. No alarms. No footsteps pounding after you.

No Mark.

And so — heart in your throat — you ran.

Hall after hall. Corridor after corridor. The palace unfolded endlessly, a labyrinth of white marble and silver veins, all beautiful and sterile and wrong. You didn’t recognize any of it. You realized, with a sick twist, that you’d never actually been outside your wing before.

Not alone.

Not free.

You turned corner after corner, frantic now, chest heaving, your bare feet slapping against cold stone. And then — at last — you saw it.

A door.

Not like the others. This one was wide and arched, rimmed in some kind of pulsing light. A launch bay? You could feel the thrum of ships beyond it.

Escape.

You ran for it. The door opened as you approached — and you stumbled to a halt.

What lay beyond wasn't freedom.

It was a void.

Not the vacuum of space — not yet — but an endless, circular chamber filled with projections. Walls of shimmering glass and data, holograms flickering and changing.

You stepped inside.

There were images. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Of you. Sleeping. Eating. Reading. Crying. Wearing the silk gowns. Wearing nothing at all.

Every moment since you’d arrived here… was archived. You covered your mouth with both hands, your stomach flipping.

The air was cold in this place. Clinical. Like the absence of love.

There were files. Audio recordings. One of them was labeled simply:

“Say it again.”

You didn’t dare press play.

And then — against the far wall — a frozen hologram hovered, flickering faintly in blue.

It was him. Younger. His human face still softer, the jaw less sharp, eyes less cold. Blood smeared his mouth and hands. His suit was torn, barely holding together. He was kneeling on a battlefield — a shattered crater of ash and ruin, the ground beneath him cracked like broken glass. Smoke curled around him in slow spirals.

In his arms, he was holding something.

Someone.

You squinted.

It was hard to make out — the projection was corrupted around the edges — but it looked like a person. A body. Limp. Unmoving.

A human, maybe. Maybe even someone he knew.

There was a rawness in his expression you’d never seen before. Pain. Conflict. Doubt.

Below the image, a single caption glowed in quiet, sterile white:

“The last moment I hesitated.”

For the first time since the day he stole you from Earth, you felt something other than rage or fear. You felt a kind of grief — not for him, exactly, but for the version of him that died in that crater. The one who might’ve still loved humanity. The one who hadn’t yet learned to take instead of ask.

The ache in your chest was sharp and unwelcome.

You looked away. Tried to push it down. Remind yourself what he’d done. What he was.

But the image stayed behind your eyes like a burn — that version of him, wrecked and young, clinging to something he couldn't save.

And for just a breath, you wondered: If I’d known him then… would I have hated him?

You hated that you wondered that at all.

You turned and ran again. But this time, the palace didn’t feel empty. It felt aware. Like it had always been watching. Because of course it had.

And then — right before you could reach the main corridor again — he was there.

Mark.

Waiting.

Hands at his sides. No armor. No anger. Just… disappointment.

“You saw it.” You didn’t answer.

Because you did see it. And the tears were already gathering, hot and sharp in your throat, but you wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

He took a step forward. You flinched. That made something shift in his face — pain, maybe. Guilt. But it passed too fast to hold onto.

“Now you understand,” he said. “Why I can’t let you go.”

You shook your head, stumbling back a step, words fighting to get out of your mouth and choking in the effort.

“That wasn’t love,” you finally managed, voice hoarse. “None of that was love, Mark. That was surveillance. Control. You watch me like I’m an experiment.”

His jaw tightened. “I watch you because I care.”

“No, you obsess.” Your voice cracked on the word. “You’re not protecting me — you’re keeping me. Like some—some precious thing you don’t understand but refuse to let go.”

You didn’t mean to start crying. Not really. But the panic was catching up to you now — the truth of what you’d seen, what it meant, what it always meant.

You would never leave.

You would never be free.

The sob hit you before you could stop it. Loud. Ugly. The kind of cry that starts in your spine and rips its way up.

Your knees gave out and you dropped to the floor, covering your face with shaking hands as everything crumbled all at once — the rage, the grief, the exhaustion of pretending not to feel.

“Please,” you whispered between gasps. “Please, I can’t— I can’t do this anymore—”

And then he was there.

Arms around you, strong and steady and so gentle, pulling you against his chest like you were something breakable — like he hadn’t broken you already.

You should’ve pushed him away.

But the weight of it all had hollowed you out. And he was warm. And human feeling. And holding you like you mattered more than any world he’d ever destroyed.

“You’re here now,” he murmured into your hair. “You don’t have to run anymore. I’ve got you.”

You sobbed harder.

“You’re safe,” he kept saying. “You’re safe, you’re safe—”

But it didn’t feel like safety.

It felt like drowning in silk and being told it was water.

And still… you didn’t pull away.

His arms tightened around you like he thought you might vanish. One hand cupped the back of your head, the other resting on your lower back, pulling you close enough to feel every unsteady breath.

“I knew you’d come to me,” he whispered, his voice trembling with something too raw to name. “I knew you just needed time.”

You were still shaking, but you felt him kiss the top of your head — slow, reverent, like he thought this was holy.

“I’ll never make you feel alone again,” he promised. “You’re mine. You always were.”

And somewhere inside you, something snapped.

Because even now — even now that he had you crying in his arms, broken and clinging to anything — he couldn’t see it for what it was.

Not pain.

Not terror.

Not collapse.

He thought it was love.

He cradled you in his arms for a long, quiet minute, as if he was afraid to move too fast. His hands didn’t grip. They just… held. Pressed softly into the fabric of your gown, his fingertips brushing skin like he was afraid you might vanish if he touched you too hard.

Then — wordless — he stood.

Lifted you into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the universe. Like he always carried you after moments like this.

You didn’t protest.

You didn’t do anything.

Your cheek rested against his chest, warm with the steady thrum of his heart — slower than a human’s, stronger. Familiar now. Terribly familiar.

He brought you back to the room you’d just tried to run from. Set you down carefully on the edge of the bed. Knelt before you again.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly. “I know how it feels, when it finally starts to break through. I know it’s… overwhelming.”

You looked at him.

He was looking at you like you were precious. Like this was the moment he’d been waiting for since the day he took you.

His hand reached out, slow, asking without words — and you gave him your palm. He kissed it. Eyes closed.

And then he climbed onto the bed beside you.

There was no command. No force.

Just his hands at your waist, slow and gentle. His mouth brushing your shoulder. His breath warm against your skin.

“Let me show you,” he whispered, “what it feels like when you’re mine.”

You let him.

Maybe because you were exhausted. Maybe because some broken, tired part of you wanted to feel something that didn’t hurt so sharply.

Or maybe because, for a moment, you wanted to believe you were in love, too.

----------

Part Two

[perilusjax]

Dc X Dp

The Rage of Two Brothers

The world could only look in fear as an image is shown throughout the world. As two white haired figures raced throughout the sky. The image split to show them both.

One is covered in an inferno, the colors always shifting as he destroyed the land. The two figures fighting him were Wonderwoman and Shazam. The heroes being pushed back with ease.

The land scorched as even from so far apart they could feel his blazing rage.

The second figure only trailed the silent lands. Without a word, the area froze in his silent fury. Spires of ice shot up impaling military machines and encasing soldiers. His eyes only looked forward as he traveled.

Until Superman stood in front of him, trying to calm the being. When a white flash covered the screen, as it ebbed, many could see the man of steel encased in ice.

The man walking past the alien, still walking forward.

Suddenly, Wonderwoman had ensnared the being withing her lasso.

"Speak Spirit! Why are you here? The lasso of truth compels you!" Diana shouted, her grip tightening despite the burns along her arm.

The fire spirit growled as he form shifted, instead of the fire collosus, stood a a tall humanoid figure.

His white hair flowed like fire, his athletic form was covered in a blood red button up, and ash gray pants. His snarling face showing elongated canines and blood red eyes.

"You think this will hold me, Amazon!" He shouted, his voice filled with viseroul anger, that it caused many to flinch.

"I repeat! Why are you here?!" She shouted as she reaffirmed her stance.

As this was going down the icy figure stopped, and turned slightly, as if he was looking at something.

Then the fire deity shifted, as if another being took control, his once red eyes became red and blue. While red was a raging fire, blue was a cold fury.

"Leave Princess Diana of Themyscara, Shazam Champion of Magic, the only reason you live is because your roles are needed," he? They, spoke two voices overlapping each other.

One being the fire spirit's voice, the other a cold and emotionless tone probably belonging to the Ice being.

As the two heroes flinched, they looked to enother. Before Diana's eyes hardened as she turned towards the ensnared creature.

"I ask again spirits! Why are you here?" Diana commanded, as the spirit grunted from the lasso's power. Before the two figures opened their mouth in tandem.

"WHERE IS OUR SISTER!" They shouted in tandem before their powers burst in a flurry.

No longer restrained by their physical forms, the beings power flowed throughout the lands. The heroes only stared, unable to do anything. As the two brothers unleashed their fury, trying to find their missing sister.

[luxaofhesperides]

when in metropolis ; a not fic

Quiet day in Metropolis with clean up almost complete from the latest alien attack where a scout group of warring aliens got spit out a black hole into the Milky Way and somehow honed in on Superman specifically to make his life worse.

Clark is enjoying a cup of coffee during a break, chilling on the roof while Lois texts him for help spelling words which he answers promptly because he’s a good husband.

He hears something strange. Something like… whirring? Buzzing? Like if bees were getting electrocuted on a dance floor next to a washing machine that’s breaking down mid-load.

‘Please No,’ thinks Clark, who doesn’t wanna do shit on his roof coffee break.

‘Lol Yes,’ says the universe and a section of the sky above Metropolis splits open. This gaping maw of dizzying green swirls and crackling electricity can only mean Bad News.

Clark is gone. Superman is in his place in 0.2 seconds. He sends one last text to Lois, correcting her spelling of catastrophe followed by a quick explanation of why he’s disappearing.

That explanation being gotta go check out the hole in the sky brb

CLARK???? she texts back but it’s too late. Clark’s gotta go.

He flies up to the area around the hole, which is large but has stopped growing. He can probably rule out the possibility of it trying to eat the city below him, but better to be safe than sorry.

Below him, Clark can hear people shouting in alarm, cars honking as people come to abrupt stops to stare up at the sky. There are multiple shutter sounds of photos being taken. When he glances down, he can spot Jimmy leaning almost all the way out of the window of the 13th floor of the Daily Planet, two seconds away from falling to his death. Luckily, behind him is Cat who is holding onto the back of his shirt, swearing up a storm as she tries to pull him back in before he breaks his own neck for a good shot of the hole in the sky.

He makes a little mental note to get her a nice pastry as thanks for saving Jimmy while he’s otherwise occupied. She could definitely use it, given how her week’s been going.

The hole makes more strange noises. Like it’s gurgling. Like someone’s stomach when they’re really, really hungry. It’s kinda gross, honestly. Clark backs away from it a bit, eyeing the hole warily.

Abruptly, the hole glows brighter, hisses, and spits out a boy.

Oh Shit, thinks Clark but he’s already moving, swooping down to catch the boy before he can plummet into Metropolis.

A quick look at his face tells him that this boy is Queasy to a dangerous degree and Clark quickly flies him just outside city limits and sets him gently onto the ground. Out of danger for now, and the hole closing up quietly and disappearing, gives Clark time to properly look at the boy and process what he’s seeing.

So. This kid is probably an alien, right?

He’s got white hair that’s moving around like he’s underwater. His eyes glow green, he’s semi-translucent, wearing a skin-tight hazmat suit with a symbol on it that looks like a D and P stuck together, and most importantly, Clark can’t hear any organs inside the kid’s body.

Like. None at all. No heart. No lungs. Not even any blood.

“You alright, kid?” Clark asks, because even if this kid is an alien, being spit out of a hole in the sky is probably upsetting for anyone.

The kid doesn’t answer because he looks green in the face, expression twisted up into a grimace, eyes slightly glazed over. “Mrph,” he manages to mumble out, then claps a hand over his mouth.

Alarmed, Clark moves to the side so he’s not about to get puked on, and rests a hand on the kid’s back. “Easy now, head between your knees and take deep breaths for me.”

The kid follows his instructions well, so he probably knows English. That’s good. Clark pats his back as the kid takes deep breaths that make his thin frame shudder. It’s a few minutes before he’s able to sit up, looking much more composed and less likely to hurl on anything that bothers him.

“Feeling alright now?” Clark asks.

The kid gives him a weak smile. “Yeah, thanks. That sucked. I’ve never felt so motion sick in my life.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Not really? I got sucked into some kind of…. Ecto whirlpool, I think, but it kinda rattled my brain and I am having so much trouble focusing right now. Where am I?”

There’s a lot Clark wants to say to that, but he holds it back. He’s got a question to answer, after all. “We’re just outside Metropolis. A hole in the sky spit you out then closed right back up.”

“Metropolis?” the kid repeats doubtfully. “Isn’t that just calling this place ‘City City’?”

Clark has no idea how to respond to that. 

The kid doesn’t care. He looks at Clark, properly takes him in, and tilts his head. “Nice costume?”

“...Thanks.” 

He’s about to explain that he’s Superman™ and the costume helps people be less afraid of him when he arrives to help in disasters and other such situations but the kid has already moved on.

“I hope I can get enough signal to call my parents,” he mutters, pulling an old, clunky flip phone out of his chest. Clark blinks and tries very very hard not to react. “Nope. No signal. Oh well, my parents will come pick me up eventually. Sorry for crashing into you, and thanks for catching me!”

The kid gets up and flies away. 

Clark quickly flies after him.

“Hey, kid!”

“It’s Danny!”

“Okay, Danny! Can you stop for a second?”

Danny stops and Clark floats in front of him. “Do you have someplace to stay while you wait for your parents? Any family friends are guardians around here?” It’s a long shot, since he really doubts someone that got spit out of a green hole in the sky has any connections on Earth, but he’d like to believe that something could be easily resolved for once in his life.

Clark should have punted his hopes out a window because Danny shakes his head. “Nah, I was just gonna fly around and pass the time until my parents get here.”

He bites back on the concerned question of what if your parents can’t come and you’re stuck here for the rest of your life?

Don’t freak the kid out Clark, that’s a terrible way to be a Responsible Adult.

“Why don’t you stick with me until your parents get you? It’s a dangerous world out there, especially to people who aren’t human.”

“...I am human.”

“Humans can’t fly like us Danny.”

 “Well, what does that make you, then? A ghost?”

Why a ghost, of all things? What a strange comparison. Clark shakes his head. “No, I’m Kryptonian.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“I’m a refugee alien from the planet Krypton. One of the last of my kind.”

Danny Lights Up. Literally, he glows and gets really bright. “An alien!” he shouts, as if he, too, is not an alien.

This leads to a long back and forth where Danny shoots off questions about space and alien culture that Clark really isn’t fit to handle, having grown up on Earth, and Clark struggling to get the conversation back on track, which Danny doesn’t care for at all.

This is somehow more exhausting than a physical fight. Teenagers are stressful.

The impromptu Interrogation On Aliens comes to an end when Danny winces and puts a hand on his stomach.

Clark is on High Alert. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just hungry,” Danny says. Which is strange because as far as Clark knows, this kid doesn’t have a stomach. Or any other organs.

“Want me to buy you a sandwich?”

Danny squints at him. “I feel like I’m not supposed to accept food from strangers.”

“I don’t think you have a choice when everyone on this planet is a stranger to you.”

“Fair point. I’m in the mood for chicken wings. Know a good place for that?”

Clark and Danny get chicken wings. He’s sure social media must be having a field day from the amount of people snapping pictures of Superman babysitting an alien teenager. Lois is never gonna let him live this down.

In fact, when he focuses, he can hear her talking to Perry about where he is.

“Yeah, he really shouldn’t try new types of coffee,” she’s saying. “It really messes with his stomach. Smallville’s gonna be on that toilet for days.”

I Love My Wife, he tells himself firmly. I Love My Wife And I Am Not Stealing All Her Left Socks When I Get Home.

He is going to eat the pudding she’s been saving because, frankly, Clark deserves it more right now.

Chicken wings can only occupy Danny for so long. As soon as he’s had his fill, Danny’s up and flying around, eyes wide at the skyscrapers that make up Metropolis’s downtown area. He looks like any other tourist, if you take out the flying, glowing alien boy part.

Sighing, Clark follows along.

This is what Superman does. He saves the world and then babysits easily distracted teenager aliens. 

He bets Batman never has to do this.

Batman has to raise gleefully destructive teenagers who like to wage psychological warfare on him to pass the time, so you know what? Clark’s happy to babysit Danny.

A few times, he hears a cry from help and grabs Danny to fly over. Danny is given strick instructions to stay in the air and not interfere while Clark helps people. 

This means stopping a mugging, scaring off a group of low level gangsters who cornered a doctor on her day off, and stopping two car accidents. 

Danny polite applauds him when he flies back up to join.

“You’re like a real superhero,” he says.

“I am a real superhero,” Clark replies. 

It doesn’t matter, Danny’s moving on already.

Danny starts asking more and more questions about Metropolis. He’s fascinated by the big city, from the high rises of corporate hell to the gritty underbelly where gangs roam and weapons pass through too many hands. There are places all around being rebuilt after the last alien attack, and the hospital they pass by has a bunch of pictures of Superman, drawn in crayon by the children on that floor, all taped to the windows facing out so he can see them.

Clark is a grown man who’s seen a lot of shit. He’s died once. And come back. Been brainwashed too many times to count and stopped the end of the world multiple times. He can handle a lot.

But that does make him want to curl up and cry because it’s so sweet.

Danny starts comparing Metropolis to where he’s from. Clark listens carefully and tucks all that information away to pick through later.

Oddly enough, everything Danny describes sounds rather… midwestern. Very American.

When the sun starts to set, a whole chorus of gasps catch his attention. Clark whirls around to see what new crisis is occurring only to spot the green hole ripped into the sky appear once more.

Danny brightens and goes flying over. 

Clark follows, Stressed As Fuck.

He has a dreadful vision of a whole horde of teenage aliens tumbling out of the hole trying to rescue Danny. And he’s gonna have to look after all of them. Lois better come up with a really good excuse for why he can’t come in the next few days.

It’s not a teenager that comes out of the hole, but a whole ass space ship.

“My parents are here!” Danny announces cheerfully as a small white vehicle that resembles a space shuttle drops out of the hole and hovers above Metropolis. 

‘Please NO,’ Clark thinks despairingly.

The universe doesn’t have to say anything in response because Danny’s parents do it for him.

The top hatch of the ship pops open and a large man (bigger than Clark, who the hell is bigger than Superman™????)  gets his whole upper body out and waves his arms in the air with a grin on his face. “Danny, my boy!” he bellows.

Danny wastes no time and zooms over to crash into the giant, who easily gathers him into a hug.

Clark floats over slowly, cautiously, testing the waters. He doesn’t need to because Danny’s already talking him up, but a little caution never hurt. 

The giant man lets go of Danny, then disappears into the ship. He’s quickly replaced by a normal sized woman, pushing a pair of red tinted googles up her forehead. She also hugs Danny and Clark hears her say, “Well, at least we know the tracker works!”

He’s just. Not going to think about that. Thanks.

Then she asks more questions that he’d expect from a mother: what happened, are you okay, how are you feeling, did anyone try to hurt you, etc.

Danny assures her that he’s fine, he was just motion sick from being sucked into an ecto whirlpool and his head’s still a little fuzzy but that’s normal after he hits his head.

“Oh, honey, that sounds like a concussion,” the woman says.

“It’s fine, it barely hurt!”

“It’s still brain damage, Danny.”

“Oh yeaaaaaaaah.”

Then attention is suddenly on Clark and the sharp light in her eyes feels distinctly threatening. But her smile is warm as she extends a hand and Clark was raised with manners, okay, he has to return a handshake.

“Thank you for looking after my son,” she says, giving his hand a firm shake. “I’m Dr. Fenton.”

“Call me Superman, and no trouble at all, ma’am,” he replies. “I’m glad you were able to come pick him up.”

“Yes, Jack and I had prepared to face this possibility, so we knew just what to do when we lost track of Danny. Now that we’ve got this tunnel on the map, we can visit in the future, so if you ever need any help, call for the Fentons!” Then she looks down in the ship, yells, “Jack!” and a thick walkie-talkie looking device is tossed up into her waiting hand.

She gives it to Clark. He takes it to be polite.

“We have to get going now, but it’s nice to meet you!”

Danny floats into the ship. As in, he density shifts and just. Goes in through the wall. Good for him. Dr. Fenton ducks back down into the ship and the giant replaces her to give him a hearty pat on the shoulder. 

“Give us a visit if you ever end up in our neck of the woods!” he says brightly. “Any friend of Danny’s is a friend of ours!”

Clark nods and that’s enough for the giant to duck back into the ship. A moment later, he sees all three of them waving to him from the cockpit, and then the ship turns and flies back into the hole in the sky, which closes up after them.

Clark looks at the device in his hand. He looks at the sun setting on Metropolis. He goes home. He deserves a nap.

Pudding first, though. Lois will forgive him if he tells her all about what happened.

And the next time Brianiac attacks, she’ll shout something into the walkie-talkie and a hole will rip open in the sky above Metropolis ten minutes later, dropping Danny and Dr. Fenton, dressed in some sort of cyberpunk astronaut suit armor, right on top of Brainic to help him finish up the fight much faster and with much less property destruction.

He gets them both a slice of Ma’s apple pie as thanks.

And as Midwesterners, they return a day later with some absolutely delicious fudge.

Clark is a man of honor. He gets to planning on what he’ll need to make the best berry tart this side of the Mississippi has ever seen to give to the Fentons.

All in all, life is pretty good in Metropolis.

“What the hell kind of name is Superman?” Sam asks.

Clark, in the middle of talking to Perry, sneezes so loudly half the office turns to stare at him.

[megalony]

Nurse Nightingale

This is a new Evan Buckley imagine that I had a little idea for. I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Any feedback is always appreciated. And I am thinking about doing a follow up or two for this one.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars

@teenwolfbitches28 @mandmilovehim @jooniesbears-blog

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: When Evan's leg gets crushed by the fire truck, no one can calm him down or ease his agony. Except one nurse who has a magic touch, and she happens to be the only person Evan will listen to while in hospital.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"We're here! Let's get him out!"

"You're gonna be alright. Just keep those eyes open, okay?"

It was too hard for Bobby to try and force a smile onto his face. The only expression he could muster was a twisted look of anguish that made his lips wobble and pull down at the corners and had him close to tears.

He slid his hand down and tried to grip Evan's hand, but it didn't seem to be the right move when Evan clenched Bobby's hand so tight that he cut off his circulation. His nails punctured into the back of Bobby's hand and the Captain could almost feel the agony rolling from Evan through him in large waves that were all consuming and frightening.

And when Bobby dared to look down a the end of the stretcher, he hated the sight he was met with.

Dramatic chunks of flesh that had been hacked apart and looked like a butcher's dream. A gut-wrenching sight where skin and muscle had been split apart and the bone was visible even to the untrained eye. Bobby could see breaks in the bone and splinters of bone pushing out at odd angles. He could see through the gauze that was moulding into Evan's wound from soaking up all the blood that the strap around his thigh couldn't cut off.

It didn't look good.

Both Eddie and Hen had been doing their best to make him comfortable on the ride down here, but it was hard. They couldn't give him any morphine, not when he was going to need X-rays and scans and an emergency operation. Morphine and anaesthetic didn't always mix well and Evan had a bad track history with medications causing severe reactions.

All they could give him was the gas and air tube to breathe through and although it had done nothing to take the edge off, Evan had been breathing it in since the moment they got him in the ambulance. His teeth had punctured through the plastic tube they were going to have to replace.

"Let's get you inside, you're gonna be just fine." Hen's voice was soothing, but Evan couldn't believe her words.

He didn't feel fine.

He didn't feel as if he was going to be fine or make a swift recovery from this.

He felt like he was going to be put under anaesthetic and wake up with one leg. He could feel each piece of tattered skin desperately trying to cling to his leg. He could feel his leg pulsing and aching from where the blood supply had been cut off mid-way down his thigh. Evan felt like his body was on fire, his leg was disconnected and each breath was becoming harder to take.

When Eddie reached across to try and take the gas and air tube from his grip, a deep growl emmited from Evan's lips and he clenched his hand tight around the tube.

He pulled the strange looking tube back to his lips and inhaled three fast, choked breaths. The tubes were always switched and cleaned out after every use, but Evan had a feeling they would have to bin this one. He had chomped down so hard on the tube that he had left puncture indents in the plastic.

"No! It f-fucking kills-"

"Buck, you can have more pain relief once you're inside, I swear. Please, please we have to move you now." Eddie felt horrible when he had to prize Evan's fingers from the gas and air, he felt like he was taking the only air supply Evan had left like it was going to kill him to part with it.

He hated how desperate Evan was for some sort of relief that they couldn't give him and he hated the cry that choked past Evan's lips the moment Eddie managed to toss the tube to the floor so it was out of reach. But once it was out the way, Eddie swiftly kicked his foot out and clipped off the breaks so they could move him.

Bobby leaned down and took Evan's hand once they all climbed down and were on the move. He held Evan's hand high to his chest as Evan started to thrash around on the gurney.

His chest stuttered up and down and repeatedly pushed back to the point the gurney was shaking and about to unlock and lower down. His free hand curled into a fist and slammed into the metal frame harsh enough to split some of the skin around his knuckles.

He was in agony. He needed it to stop.

"No, pl- no… stop! Help!" A horrible sob broke free from Evan's lips when the gurney wheeled over the threshold into the emergency room. He couldn't get his thoughts in order. The one and only thing that was crystal clear in his mind was that he needed someone to make the pain go away. He needed it to stop. He needed help.

Bobby tightened his hand around Evan's and leaned down so he could talk to him better because he knew Evan was now having a hard time concentrating and taking things in. Who wouldn't in his state?

"We're getting you help Buck, the pain won't last much longer."

"I wa- I want-" Evan broke off into an animalistic howl when the gurney jolted over the threshold of reception and towards the cubicles and the shock sent his leg jerking. Shockwaves rattled up and down his spine and both legs shook as if he had been electrocuted.

He lifted his head and shoulders, doing his best to sit up although he wasn't sure what he was doing, he just wanted to move.

He wanted the pain to stop.

Tears flushed down his face and a broken sob left his lips as all the lights started to blur his vision and he could feel everything turning upside down and making him sway until his head flopped back down on the gurney.

Was he dying? Were his last moments going to be spent in the emergency room, holding onto the one person who had seen him through thick and thin during this job? Was his last moments going to be spent in crippling agony, clinging to Bobby's hand as he wished for everything to stop, for things to have gone differently?

Was Evan going to die at such a young age, with no one to leave behind? He had no family of his own. No partner, no children, no significant others to mourn his loss. He hadn't done enough with his life. He hadn't saved enough people, he hadn't made enough of a difference yet. Evan didn't want to die; his life was still unfinished.

Evan let out another sob while the team paused the gurney in the hallway and Eddie moved to flag someone down. This was a dire emergency, they needed a doctor here now and they needed Evan taken to theatre before he lost his leg.

"Trauma room five!"

That was all the team needed to hear and they made quick work of getting Evan into the room where at least three nurses were hovering around like flies. They seemed desperate to get a look at the wound so they knew exactly what they were going to be treating and which specialist they were going to have to call to sort this out.

Eddie hurried backwards, pulling the gurney along with him while Hen was on the other end pushing it forward and Bobby was beside them. Their Captain had changed tactics from holding Evan's hand to pinning his shoulders down to stop him from either trying to get up or rolling off the gurney. Evan's actions were uncoordinated and erratic, they didn't know what was going through his head or what he was trying to do.

Once the gurney was in place, Eddie's hands moved to his hips and he looked around the team, including Chimney who was stood towards the doors filling the nurses in on their situation.

How were they going to get him onto the bed? They couldn't move him from the gurney without giving him another wave of torture.

"Okay Buck, try and help us out here." Hen seemed to be speaking to herself rather than to Evan because he wasn't listening or paying any attention to her.

He didn't seem to realise that the buckle over his waist that had kept him secure on the gurney had now been unclipped. But he realised the moment Hen and Eddie were stood on either side of him and he felt their hands on his waist that they were about to move him.

"Off! Fuck off!"

A round of 'don't touch me' and 'leave me the fuck alone' spluttered past Evan's bloodied lips, causing everyone in the room to pause. He had been stuttering through the simplest of words since they got him in the ambulance, but now he was riled up he wasn't quieting down. And his expletives had been loud and clear.

He never swore. Evan never swore when the occasion called for it. When his parents mistreated him, when patients blamed him or lashed out at him. When someone started a bar fight with him and swung at him, when someone was rude to him and Christopher when they were out. Evan never swore or lashed out, he let people shout and swear at him without lashing back because he was such a laid back and easy-going person.

For him to be hitting them and swearing at them showed just how much agony he was in and how this torture was hacking away at his mind and making him delirious.

His arms thrashed at his sides and he fought off the hands trying to push him back down on the gurney.

They needed him off the gurney and onto the bed, but Evan wasn't making any of this easy. The more Evan thrashed around, the harder he would make it on his leg and the more pain he was going to give himself. Not to mention moving and disrupting his leg could cause damage to the split blood vessels and torn muscles and the bone that was splintered in multiple places.

The nurses hovering around seemed intent on staying out the way. They could see that it would be easier if Evan's own team transferred him onto the bed, he might not fight quite as much and he might be more comfortable with them than with strangers.

But it was going to be a long night if Evan was going to be fighting this much about being moved a few feet. He was being lined up for a portable X-ray, his leg would be assessed, packed and checked for the kind of surgery he would need. He had to be hooked up to monitors and then they would get him on medication.

Hen and Eddie busied themselves carefully twisting Evan onto his right side so they could place a slip sheet beneath him but once he was rolled onto his back again, his hands were moving. He smacked Eddie in the shoulder with a surprising amount of force before he fisted Bobby's shirt in his hands.

"Make. It. Stop."

"Buck, if you want the pain to stop you have to let us move you." Bobby held his arms while Eddie and Hen pulled the sheet on the count of three.

Evan screamed. His voice crumbled and the sound pierced through the air when he was jostled onto the trauma bed and the gurney was shunned out of the way.

The agony short-circuited his mind and had his thoughts tumbling out of order and sent his blood curdling like sour milk. How long had he been like this? How bad was his leg? Was it going to be amputated, or did they have chance of saving it? How much longer was he going to have to suffer like this?

His senses came back to him in one big hit like the truck had collapsed on him all over again when someone tried to touch his leg. And his left leg- the one that wasn't currently split open- automatically jerked and twitched from the pain that radiated throughout his whole nervous system that had been shot to pieces by now.

He did his best to sit up. He didn't want to be laid down because it was making him feel woozy and sick.

He felt a bit better when someone angled the bed up so he wasn't laid flat on his back. He was barely sitting upright and still felt mostly laid down, but it was better than nothing.

His upper lip curled and he huffed when someone started undoing the buttons on his shirt. What were they doing? Why were they stripping him down? His trouser leg had already been cut off near the bottom of his boxers to expose the full extent of his injuries. He gruffed and groaned when he was leant forward and his shirt was pulled off him completely.

But when cold stickers attached to his chest and wires clipped in place, he started to get uncomfy. The ECG machine beeped to life, showing his erratic heartbeat that was far too fast for his own good. And when a blood pressure cuff was slid onto his arm, Evan reeled his arms to his chest and closed his eyes.

The numbers were too high. He was getting more and more unsettled and he was going to crash if this carried on.

He barely felt the lady tapping the back of his hand and inserting a cannula into his vein.

"Help. Help me." His head angled back until he was imbedding the back of his head into the pillow and his elbows jammed down into the bed, arching his chest and back up off the bed.

"…blood thinners now, and get a dose of morphine ready. Get the leg in place for a quick X-ray, and I want the anaesthesiologist in here now."

A bubbling scream erupted from his lips and his body writhed when his right leg was moved. Their touch was tender and slow but Evan felt like his leg was hanging on by a single thread that was about to snap. He didn't like the foam blocks placed on either side of his leg to get a clear X-ray. He didn't like them moving the wires and straps around his fragmented skin to make the shot clearer.

And he hated the small, portable X-ray that was wheeled over his leg and felt like half of his body was stuck in a tanning machine.

All the surrounding bodies stepped back so pictures could be taken and every time his leg was adjusted, his split knuckles bashed into the bedframe and he screamed. Guttural, horrendous sounds vibrated past his lips and spit foamed around his mouth as his pain was amplified into sound.

Maybe it would be better if they just chopped the leg off. He wouldn't be in agony if they simply knocked him out and took it off. He wouldn't have this pain, this suffering, this agonising wait.

Blood and spit foamed past his lips and Acidic tears stained his already bloodshot cheeks as his chest started to shudder up and down against the bed.

He moved his trembling hands to the ECG wires that felt like they had been superglued to his chest. He ripped them off without a second thought and tried to throw them away. He snagged the cannula from his wrist, not caring that even more blood was leaving his body and was going to drain him dry. He had to make the pain stop or he had to die. Those were the only two viable options Evan could comprehend.

"Mr Buckley calm down. You need to let us help you."

"Buck no don't do that. Stop it!" There was an odd sense of authority in Hen's voice but it fell upon deaf ears.

"Kill me!" His words screamed through the air and had everyone wincing and jerking away from him. They weren't going to do that, but they could understand why he was begging them to end it. The pain was overwhelming and he wanted it to stop. They had to help him. They had to do something now.

But when one of the doctors grabbed Evan's wrist and shoulder and tried to pin him to the bed, all Hell broke loose. A deafening roar left Evan's lips, his body jerked up from the bed and he thrust his bloodied hand into the doctor's jaw.

The doctor stumbled back, knocking into the ECG machine before Eddie grabbed him, saving him from a harsh landing on the floor. Both his hands moved to cradle his jaw that had almost clicked out of place and spots danced before his eyes as he leaned into Eddie until his sights and senses came back to him.

He coughed into his hands, anger and resentment in his eyes before he looked around the room.

"Where the Hell is (Y/n)? She can handle trauma patients like him."

It was clear the team wanted to bite back and respond that Evan would be a model patient under any other circumstance. He wasn't naturally like this, these were exceptional circumstances with horrible agonising pain that he couldn't deal with.

But before the team could respond, the doctor was leaving the room with a hand cradling his bruised jaw.

He stormed through the emergency room, peeking into each room and cubicle he passed and he looked towards the nurse's station before his eyes finally set on the one person he knew could handle the trauma that was Mr Buckley.

"(Y/n)!"

Turning on her heels, (Y/n) looked around for the familiar voice of Logan, one of the doctors she didn't have much dealings with since he tended to stay out of the emergency room if he could help it.

When she locked eyes with him, her jaw went slack and she wasn't sure whether to smile or panic. Someone had punched him. He had blood smeared onto his jaw and mouth which was starting to swell and the veins in his neck were popping out in fury.

"Logan, what happened?" She set down the paperwork in her hand and headed towards him, but confusion was swarming her head.

Why was he asking for her? If he was hurt she wasn't exactly the first nurse he would go to.

"Trauma bay five. He's all yours."

A deep sigh left (Y/n)'s lips and her shoulders slacked. Great. She was being handed a patient that Logan clearly couldn't handle. She always got those cases. The drunks, the frightened patients, the ones who needed a psyche exam, they were all the patients who nobody else wanted to deal with and (Y/n) was left to calm them down.

She would admit she had a way with most of the patients, she seemed to have an aura they could associate with and she was a calming presence, but that didn't mean she always had to be the one to look after the patients.

She pointed her finger at Logan as she went to walk past him. "You're lucky I'm free; you owe me."

It was pure luck that she didn't already have a patient to care for, she was free at this moment and her break could be postponed to help a soul in need. But Logan was going to owe her for this. If she needed a shift swap he was going to have to pay up and agree no matter what day it was.

Her hand moved to her temple and she tried to rub away the migraine as she headed to room five. Not that she really needed the room number, the screams and havoc were leaking out into the hall and it was clear which room had the troubled patient.

Bobby dragged his hand through his hair and twisted to look at the doorway while Hen and Eddie moved over to Evan. Hen busied herself holding Evan's hips down to the bed while Eddie grabbed his wrists, bracing one knee on the side of the bed so he could lean over Evan and pin him down as he struggled.

A round of "No!" and "Fuck off!" was spat at them, but neither of them listened.

"This is for your own good, if you want that leg then stop fighting us."

The remaining doctor and nurses looked at the X-ray images, conferring together in the corner of the room about the damage to the bone. They were all in agreement. They could save the leg if the blood vessels could be repaired and the nerves were in tact, and judging by the way his leg jerked and reacted to stimulant, he had a chance.

"Give me your hand for the IV." Hen turned around with a huff and pinned the right side of her chest and hip down into Evan's abdomen to try and keep him still and in place.

She tried to take his hand when Eddie let go of his wrist, but she couldn't get a good grasp when Evan started throwing his arm out at her. He wasn't opposed to elbowing, hitting and punching his colleagues if they were going to continue pinning him to the bed like this.

They were lucky he hadn't been restrained to the bed already for punching a doctor. Bobby was going to have to have a few conversations and do some pleading to make sure the doctor didn't sue or try and cause problems for Evan after this. But the doctor hadn't seemed vengeful, he seemed to understand that Evan was acting out of trauma and the worst agony of his life.

With a deep breath and a new pair of gloves snapped onto her hands, (Y/n) walked into the room. She took a moment to look at the chart and the name of the person she needed to assess and help before she weaved around who she presumed were his colleagues with how frantically concerned they were for him and how they hadn't left his side yet.

"Alright mister Buckley, if you want that surgery you're going to need some help. Will you let me help you?"

(Y/n)'s voice broke through the air and caused the few people around her to step back as if she were a Goddess walking amongst them. Her hands settled on the bedframe and she pushed up on her toes so she was leaning close to the patient. Not enough to overpower or frighten him, but enough so he could see her face and see that she was a helping hand, not someone here to hurt him and cause him further agony.

He finally stopped writhing and lashing out at those trying to keep him stable on the bed and he cracked his eyes open just enough to see (Y/n) through the halo of light that surrounded her.

The meek mumbling of "Help," was all Evan could spit out and it was all (Y/n) needed to smile and rest a hand on his forearm.

He looked worse than she expected. His leg was split apart with torn muscles and ligaments breaking free and a broken bone that had fractured into smaller broken pieces that were going to be Hell to put back together again. He looked like a fragmented puzzle and if all the pieces weren't there, they might not be able to make something else fit in their place.

"Alright then, let's get you back to normal."

Her voice was so soft, so lulling that Evan let his eyes fall closed and he gave in to the shaking in his system. He was vibrating as he writhed and trembled from side to side, but he was a lot less volatile now that he wasn't fighting and hitting at everyone around him.

She could feel how flushed he was as she pressed the back of her gloved hand against his temple, and he smelt of smoke and dirt and burnt rubber. An odd combination for the emergency room.

"Has he had any morphine?" (Y/n) looked up while she carefully took Evan's left hand in hers and started to clean the blood so she could see where the cannula had been before he clearly ripped it free from his vein.

"Not yet."

"No wonder he's fighting you." Her words were quiet because she wasn't chiding anyone, but it was clear he was fighting because of the untold pain he was in. His leg was torn in half and they expected him not to put up a fight when each little movement felt like they were sawing him apart.

She expertly slid the cannula back into his hand and when the nurse opposite her handed over some tape, (Y/n) taped it in place before she laid his hand back down on his chest.

"I won't disrespect you by asking how bad the pain is. Let's assume it's one hundred and give two doses of morphine, how does that sound?"

(Y/n) was as gentle as she could be when she lifted Evan's eyelids and shone a light across his pupils that were already constricted, but they were still adjusting well to light. She wouldn't be so rude as to ask how much pain he was in because it was clear he was at the top of the pain scale. He needed morphine now and then he would need anaesthetic and they could get him to surgery.

"Please." Was the only word Evan could fathom and before he could stop himself, he reached his shaking hand up and clamped it down around (Y/n)'s arm.

She paused briefly, unsure whether he was going to ask for something else or if he was just seeking reassurance or if indeed he might lash out at her and tell her to leave him alone too. But his grip tightened on her arm and he pulled her closer. He wanted help. She was helping him. She was being kind to him. He needed her assistance.

Once the nurse opposite (Y/n) had given Evan two doses of morphine, (Y/n) began to attach the monitoring stickers back to his chest and she kept an eye on his heartbeat.

"How are his nerves?"

(Y/n) couldn't stop herself from smiling when she heard Evan mutter "They're broken," through gritted teeth. So he still had some sense of humour left within him even in his state.

"Oh, I don't think so. Let us check for nerve response, and then we can get you anaesthatised and up to surgery. Okay?"

He nodded but still kept tight hold over (Y/n)'s arm which meant she had to twist and press her left hip into the bed frame so she could look towards his legs.

Her free hand moved down to his leg where the plastic strap was cutting tightly into his thigh to cut off the blood supply and she carefully pressed her hand down to keep his leg firmly in place.

"Try and hold still, I promise this won't take long." She murmured softly and squeezed his arm despite the little movement she had left in her hand that was going numb from his grip on her forearm.

(Y/n) watched carefully, along with the other people crowding into the room as the doctor began testing for nerve responses. He poked a small pin into various nerve points around Evan's leg, avoiding the tattered and broken skin but checking all around.

Each time the needle prodded his skin, Evan's leg twitched and he groaned. Spit froffed at his mouth and his head and shoulders pressed down into the bed, but he tried to steel himself and hold still. When a particular nerve sent his leg jolting, Evan snapped his eyes closed and let go of the nurse's arm in favour of grabbing her hand. He squeezed so tightly he felt her arm jerk and he was sure he had hurt her, but he couldn't find it within himself to let go.

He needed something to ground him, and right now, (Y/n) was that sense of gravity.

"Nerves are still in tact, and blood vessels look like they can be repaired. We have to move quickly. Get the anaesthesiologist in here now."

He needed to go straight to an operating room so they could start patching him up. If they didn't move quickly the blood vessels might not be repairable, hi leg couldn't survive much longer with no blood supply.

"Let's get you settled, hm?" (Y/n)'s voice was so lulling that Evan hummed and agreed but he had no idea what she was talking about.

He kept his eyes closed but he wouldn't let go of her hand, so it had to be the other nurse who got some medicine injected into his IV to settle his heartbeat. And she also prepared something for his blood pressure to get it lowered ready for surgery to take place.

"We can prep you now." (Y/n) ran her free hand up and down his arm from his wrist to his elbow and she squeezed his hand while the doctor asked his colleagues to leave the room.

Each of them leaned over to either squeeze his shoulder or whisper something in his ear, telling him they would be right here when he came out of surgery and that he would be just fine. Exactly what he needed to hear to keep him calm and settled.

He stayed compliant, but he did surprise all of them left in the room by coiling (Y/n)'s arm to his chest. He took deep wheezing breaths as he bound her arm against his bare, burning chest and clutched at her forearm with his free hand.

The anaesthesiologist checked Evan's chart while his leg was shifted and kept in place and the bed was lowered so he was flat on his back again.

"Okay Mr Buckley, once this is in your system, we'll get this mask on you and I'll need you to start counting for me. Don't worry, when you wake up your leg will be as good as new." The newest doctor seemed calm and attentive with a charming smile that Evan couldn't see as his eyes were tightly closed and he was clinging to (Y/n) like she was his lifeline that he couldn't bear to lose.

The doctor fiddled with the medicine trolley and once a large dose was in Evan's system to work with the anaesthesia, he found the mask and got the tank turned on.

Evan whimpered again, trying his best to wriggle and twist away, but he was far more compliant now and he was starting to become drowsy. He couldn't fight them even if he wanted to.

A quiet "Let me," passed (Y/n)'s lips as she took the mask and gently held it over Evan's mouth and nose while the doctor asked him to start counting.

He didn't count like he had been asked, but he tried to mutter something which was as good as.

The shaking started to subside the more anaesthesia he inhaled until he was loosening his grip on (Y/n)'s hand and arm which would no doubt be bruised come morning. He began to drift into a calm, delirious state with the last thing he heard being that nurse's sweet lulling voice flooding his ears.

"You're gonna be okay."

***

Shivers coursed up and down (Y/n)'s skin when she felt a pair of hands clasping around her shoulders, pulling her onto her back foot with some enthusiasm.

Her head twisted to the left and she stepped away from the room he was just about to head into. Amy. One of the other nurses working on ward B today. She was holding onto (Y/n) with a bright smile and before she even spoke, she twisted (Y/n) away from the patient room she was about to enter and turned her to face the nurse's station instead.

"If this is your way of asking for a break, I can't. I have to change the dressings on Mrs Mitchell." (Y/n) pointed to the room she had been trying to enter and she smiled brightly as Amy finally let go of her shoulders.

If she wanted (Y/n) to take a break with her she was going to be let down. (Y/n) had patients to tend to and so did Amy, they would have to wait until lunch to have their next break.

Her arms folded over her chest and she waited while Amy's smile changed to that cheeky look with a glimmer of hope and pleading in her eyes that made (Y/n) narrow her eyes in curiosity.

"Actually, you have another patient who needs you more. Room eight."

For a moment, (Y/n) just stared at her friend who was no longer smiling and was now fully pleading with her for a patient swap. It wasn't as if they all had to care for the same patient every day, they were changed onto different wards and sent to the emergency room or the CT scans, they drifted everywhere in the hospital. But there weren't many times when anyone asked for a swap.

(Y/n) leaned around Amy and looked at the whiteboard on the far wall until she saw whose name was written down for room eight.

"Why?" Her arms folded over her chest and her head angled to one side as she waited for Amy to explain.

It was Mr Buckley in room eight. He wasn't a bad patient, he wasn't a fighter- only that one time two days ago in the emergency room when he was brought in. He didn't shout or swear anymore and he hadn't been rude or offended anyone. He was simply adjusting to a big set back in his life, a fireman with a severely broken leg wasn't going to be a happy patient.

"He's refusing any help, come on (Y/n) please? You got him under control in the emergency room, he might listen to you."

A quiet "Fine," tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips and her arms dropped from her chest as Amy grinned and hugged her.

"Thank you."

She didn't see why he was such a bad patient. He just needed people to be patient with him and talk to him. He needed people to understand where he was coming from and how life changing this was, he was in extreme pain and they were expecting him to be the model patient and not be upset or gruff or angry or rude.

When she entered the room, she quietly closed the door behind her and took a look at the notes. He was going to be signed up for physio next week, as they were expecting him to be in here for a little while before they could think about sending him home.

He hadn't gotten out of bed yet. They would need to get him up and mobile on his crutches because the sooner he was stable on his crutches, the sooner he could start his recovery. The pins in his legs were holding the bone together and as long as he kept his weight mostly on his good leg, he could walk around on crutches without any problems.

"Hi there," (Y/n) spoke softly when she noticed he had finally opened his eyes to see who was here.

He was sat up in bed, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilted to one side like he was about to topple out of bed. His right leg was held up in a sling to make him more comfortable, but he didn't seem too happy about that either.

At least he wasn't glaring or sneering at (Y/n). When he looked at her, his expression stayed mostly blank, but he didn't look unsettled or unhappy and (Y/n) counted that as a win.

"Alright Mr Buckley, are we getting up today?" (Y/n) rounded the bed and stood at his side with her hands on her hips and that same smile that Evan could see when he thought back to the pain that brought him here.

But her smile wasn't enough to lighten Evan's mood.

"No."

He couldn't find it in himself to turn his head away from her, but he adverted his eyes down to look at his hands. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to fall on the floor or heave himself around or resort to crawling if he couldn't hold his weight up with a bum leg. Staying put and becoming a hermit seemed the easier option. At least until the team or Maddie came to visit and he was forced to sit up or move around.

But he couldn't stop sneaking a few glances at the nurse stood at his side. She was determined, he would give her that, and she didn't seem unhappy. The few times Evan had seen her since he had been here, she had always smiled in such a way that made his stomach turn to mush.

She was kind, she didn't get angry with him when he had shouted and screamed in the emergency room. She didn't tell him to stop or calm down, she didn't diminish the pain he had been in and she had understood his trauma.

Evan wouldn't give the other nurses the time of day. He wouldn't have them trying to drag him out of bed, he wouldn't listen when they told him to stop pouting or when they asked why he was so upset, as if they couldn't see the problem.

"And why not?"

Leaning forward, (Y/n) folded her arms on the plastic bedframe and arched her lower back out while she smiled across at him.

With how desperate he seemed to be to want to leave, she thought he would have been up moving about without help. (Y/n) thought he would be falling over, grabbing a walker, throwing his crutches and doing everything possible to try and get out of this bed and speed up his recovery. She hadn't expected him to be in a slump like this.

"Look at me." A grimace flooded Evan's face as he motioned to his leg.

He hated to look down at his leg and see that horrible plaster cast that went from the middle of his thigh right down to his foot. Only the very upper portion of his thigh and his toes were visible, the rest of his leg was in a cast. He couldn't itch his leg, he couldn't move his knee which was slightly bent to make it easier to move around in this stupid cast.

But when he looked up at (Y/n), he was surprised to see a grin on her face and see how she was biting down on her lower lip.

"I'm looking, and I see a big strong fireman perfectly capable to stand up if he accepts some help. Will you let me help you up please?"

As soon as her words registered in his ears he found himself looking her up and down. He was taller than her, he probably weighed two of her with all the training he had done this last year- training that he couldn't keep up until his leg was healed. He would overpower her if he was unbalanced and he would end up knocking them both to the floor and he could hurt her.

But the way she was smiling at him was making Evan's grimace disappear no matter how desperate he was to keep it plastered across his face.

He could feel his heartbeat increasing the longer she looked at him and he was relieved he was no longer on an ECG or she might have thought there was something wrong with him.

She was looking at him like the world wasn't ending when she knew it was. She knew what Evan did for a living and she must realise that a fireman with a bum leg wasn't going to be able to do his job. How could he do his job if he couldn't run? If he couldn't hurry in an emergency or carry someone on his shoulders or lift a heavy weight that was crushing someone or blocking an exit.

There was so much Evan wouldn't be able to do if his leg didn't gain back the strength he had before. If these pins didn't hold his bone in place and he lost his leg then he would lose everything.

But here was (Y/n), looking at Evan like he was the strongest, most mesmerising person she had ever seen. She looked at him like she couldn't see the cast on his leg and thought he could just get up and walk like he used to. She had faith in him that Evan didn't feel for himself.

"I think we can get you up."

Evan felt like he was turning to jelly and he watched, dumbfounded as she started to help him like this was their routine that they did every day.

His wide eyes focused on her as she carefully eased his cast from the sling elevating it from the bed. She didn't seem put out or weighed down when she manoeuvred his leg down onto the bed.

And Evan couldn't help but gasp when she took his hands. He couldn't stop himself from squeezing her hands even though he had no idea what she was trying to do. His parted lips began to blush while he let her move his hands to her shoulders so she could reach out for his legs and carefully swing them around over the edge of the bed. Now he was sitting up on the side of the bed and (Y/n) had moved herself in between his legs.

If this were a different situation, if he weren't crippled in hospital like this, he might have done something rash. He might have moved his hands from her shoulders to her waist. He might have pulled her closer or tried his luck with kissing her.

His hands squeezed her shoulders while he felt (Y/n)'s hands move to grip his underarms like she was bracing herself to take some of his weight. And he found himself letting out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

"I'll hurt you, I can't lean on you." He shook his head as he looked her up and down and sank his teeth into his lower lip harsh enough to draw a spot of blood.

He didn't want to lean his weight onto her and push her down. Evan was heavy, he knew that and he knew that the height difference wasn't going to do them any favours. Besides, he didn't want to get up. He wanted to sit and wallow in his misery and dwell on how his life was going to change. He didn't like change, whether it was permanent or temporary, and this definitely felt permanent to him.

He almost jumped when he felt (Y/n) squeezing his arms and the way her head tilted to one side and subsequently leaned closer to him made Evan's breath catch in his throat.

"Neither of us are fragile, once you're up we'll get a crutch under your arm. Trust me, you won't hurt me and I won't let you fall."

He trusted her.

He wasn't quite sure why, he hardly knew her and he had more reason to wait for Eddie or Bobby to visit and see if they would help him up rather than depending on a nurse he could potentially hurt. But for some odd reason, Evan felt comfortable with her and he felt like he could trust her enough to save him from a harsh fall, in any aspect of the word.

Evan let go of her shoulder with his right hand to press his palm into the bed, he needed some support to push himself up. But his left hand stayed tight on her shoulder and he inched closer until he was sat on the very edge of the bed.

The contemplation must have been clear on his face because (Y/n) squeezed his arm and coached him. "Weight on your left foot, once we get you up just bend your right leg until only your toes are touching the floor. And don't be afraid to lean on me, that's what I'm here for."

He didn't quite believe that last part, but Evan found himself nodding along as he tried to push forward.

He wouldn't have been able to do this without her holding onto him. She was stood in front of him like a railing preventing him from falling into deep waters. He was leaning on her without realising it, without wanting to and he wobbled to the left until (Y/n) leaned with him and straightened him up.

She kept tight hold of his arms and levelled him out while he scraped his right leg back and pressed his toes into the floor. It was hard to balance on one leg, this was something Evan hadn't done for a long time, not even in training did he try and stand or balance or move on one leg. But having (Y/n) in front of him like a guard rail was really helping; she was keeping him up.

"Are you okay, does your leg feel alright?"

"Stings like a bitch, but that's normal."

For once in what felt like a lifetime, Evan managed a smile that he knew was the first smile since this gut-wrenching accident happened.

He was standing up. Even if he didn't particularly want to be up and moving about and he wanted to be wallowing in his self-pity, he was up now and he was going to start making progress as of now.

"Okay, try and hold still for a second…" Reaching her arm out, (Y/n) balanced Evan with one hand and stretched out to grab one of the crutches propped up beside the bedside table.

A soft "Here we go," passed her lips as she pressed the crutch up under Evan's right arm, but she tilted her head back to stare up at him when he didn't let go of her. He wouldn't look away from her. He was looking at her with those wide eyes and parted lips as soft breaths mingled with hers. She couldn't find the will to say anything, she simply kept hold of him and kept the crutch in place, waiting patiently for Evan to make the next move.

It took Evan at least a minute to unhook his hand from (Y/n)'s shoulder and hold onto the crutch instead.

And once he was leaning on that one crutch, (Y/n) held onto the second one and propped it beneath his other arm, but he seemed very reluctant to let her go this time.

"I've still got you." (Y/n) spoke before she could think better of it and she squeezed both hands on his biceps to show that even if he let go of her, she wasn't going to let go of him. She would wait until he was properly supported on his own feet.

She wasn't going to let him fall.

Evan really didn't want to let go, but he forced his trembling hand to unlatch from her shoulder and hold onto both crutches. It was a lot harder than he thought to stay balanced on one leg. He found himself wavering forwards towards (Y/n) until she slid her hands down and quickly held onto his torso instead.

A quiet laugh left her lips which sounded like music to Evan's ears and he looked down as she squeezed his waist and looked down.

"I think we might need to do some core exercises, but you'll get there."

"Thank you." Evan was starting to feel better already when (Y/n) looked up at him with that beautiful, beaming smile. "You're a real nurse Nightingale, aren't you?"

"I have my moments." When she tilted her head back, (Y/n) found herself lost in those deep blue eyes that captured her full attention. She couldn't seem to look anywhere else and her stomach tightened when Evan continued to smile at her.

She would never have thought such a simple gesture as helping him up would have made him so grateful or that he would be smiling at her like this. She could have gotten lost in those eyes forever and the way they creased and zoomed in on her made her hold her breath in anticipation.

"I'll do those exercises, if you're the one to train me."