Fandoms: HOTD, GOT, Modern Family, Resident Evil (games not the Netflix series.), Detroit Become Human, Stardew Valley, JJK, Solo Leveling, Frieren, DAN DA DAN, Black Clover, Demon Slayer, Dungeon Meshi, Superman (David Corenswet), Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, more to be added…
(characters aged up where applicable cause some of them are in high school or teen aged.)
Requests: Closed.
Rules for Requests: Here.
Current Requests: Here.
Heyy are u planing to continue the HOTD series with jacaerys??
Hi pookie!!
Yes I am!!
With the release of season 3 I will inevitably be ripping my hair out because HBO writers are somehow incapable of writing well, or following canon without thinking they need to be quirky and change somethings to stand out
So I will try to slip chapter 17 in at some point!! I don’t know if Chapter 17 will be the last chapter before the epilogue but we will see!! ♥️
Hope you're doing good n that writing isn't taking too much of a toll!
The song 'Super Trouper' by ABBA randomly came on shuffle the other day and i literally just couldn't stop thinking about your Alpha footballer Jacarys series. Hope you don't mind the little ramble below xoxo
Just imagine that even though Jace always tries to join (y/n) on tour, he isn't consistently able to 'cause of training camp and games. When (y/n) started touring early in his career it was great! Joined by friends and a crowd who loved him. But tasting heaven by touring with Jacarys, knowing he was watching him on stage and cheering him on (plus the dates and insane sex afterwards), touring without JAce now just felt like a drag. (Y/n) would just drag through shows and go back to his hotel room after a meal with his friends, like bro just wants to home to his Alpha (and kids oop-).
But then, on a random show in Europe, as you put on a smile to go on stage, the big screens pan to a VIP booth and show Jace and the kids cheering you on. (Y/n) couldn't feel blue, like always, 'cause somewhere in the crowd were the most important people in the world to him.
HI MY BELOVED 😘♥️
I’m doing good!! This Superman req you blessed me with is coming together!! 😭
(Y/n) Kyle…son of Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne…he’s a thief like his mom…he gets into some things for sure 🤭
I literally never— NEVER— mind babes it makes me so happy to see you mention it ♥️😭
oh (Y/n) would literally be so spoiled by Jacaerys and the kids being on tour with him…(Y/n) would hate it when his tour dates happen to be when Jacaerys has training camps and games like BADLY
(Y/n) would literally probably only fall asleep after FaceTiming Jacaerys to say hi to the kids and him, and then actually fall asleep on FaceTime with Jacaerys…
and Jacaerys being a real lover boy doesn’t hang up, he falls asleep too, so he can be the first one to say good morning…
(Y/n)’s team would be so confused cause he’d for sure be annoyed and not as up beat because Jacaerys isn’t waiting for him, and then BOOM!! The energy switches up once (Y/n) hits the stage…
(Y/n) would def cry on stage once the camera pans and he sees Jacaerys and the kids…(Y/n) would be a fucking mess…then he’d kill it, and when they’re back stage he’s tackling them all and making sure they know how much he missed them.
brooo, just finished the Jaehaerys’ part on F&B and I gotta say… Aemon is🤌🏻
He really would’ve made a great king. And, Rhaenys would be his heir. Imagine…
(All credits to the artist)
HONESTLY!!
also George RR Martin is foul as fuck for how he did Alysanne…
like this part from F&B
Queen Alysanne reflected on his words. “He was wrong, I think,” she wrote, “for surely the Mother Above loved my children more. She took so many of them away from me.”
always has me fighting back tears because oh my god 😭
Imagine a toxic situationship with a religious man, who believes that being gay is a sin
He liked spending time with you. He may not agree with your lifestyle, but the man couldn't deny that he enjoyed being around you. As prolonged looks and late-night talking slowly developed into blushing and touching, he could feel shame and excitement fight for dominance inside of him. It was unavoidable that one night, it escalated, and the two of you were in your bed, hands roaming each other's bodies as you made out.
His hands were trembling yet forceful when he pushed you off. No words came out, no matter how hard he tried; he couldn't act like he didn't want this more than anything. Instead, he got out of your bed and kneeled, clasping his hands and mumbling a quick prayer. It jarred you, maybe even offended you a little, but you quickly got over all of those complicated feelings when he promptly finished his prayer and got back to devouring you.
It became routine. He would come 'round, the two of you would hang out and then things would heat up. Though after a good hour of his tongue wrestling with yours and his hands groping your body, he would push off of you. Kneeling on the floor, the man would pray, attempting to atone for the sins he was about to commit. Over time, you tried to understand him less and less; you stopped getting offended when he called what you two shared a sin and instead focused on how the rosary he held in his clasped palms framed his veiny, masculine hands so nicely.
Many nights of desperate moans and ragged breathing, followed by skinship and pillow-talk, obviously led to the man lowering the many walls he had built. Conversations of religious guilt, of your coming-out story, of love as a concept, they all flowed so naturally whilst his fingers brushed through your hair and your eyes fluttered shut as exhaustion hit you.
Of course, because being gay is obviously natural and not sinful, his feelings just kept growing. The war inside of him between shame and guilt versus love and warmth kept eating at him, until one night, the man began to cry in your arms.
"If this is so wrong, why does it feel so right..? Why does my heart ache for you? The thought of you with another feels like a greater sin than our love..." The man mumbled into your neck, his tears slowly dripping down your shoulder.
"You show me colours I can't see with anyone else! You've taught me a language I can't speak with anyone, even with God"
"I... I don't think I care if it's blasphemous or sinful anymore... I need you (name)... I love you! I feel with you what others claim to feel in the presence of God"
Toxic as fuck, but I've had this in my notes app for (I promise I'm not exaggerating) YEARS!! So hot imo, so hope you guys enjoyed! Yearning and toxic yaoi? Hell yeah!
Plot: Repressing his sexuality led to Nate standing at the altar in front of Cassie, despite spending most nights in his high-school fuck-buddy's bed. But unlike everyone else, you don't entertain Nate's bullshit; you couldn't care less about him figuring himself out
Featuring: Top Nate x Bottom Male Reader
Note: Haven't touched Season 3 of Euphoria guys but wtf is this shit that I've seen on TikTok??
Basically all of S3 plot is irrelevant except Nate & Cassie being together, Nate getting his dads bussiness, and Cassie doing BTEC Only Fans
Warnings: amab m!reader / FDNI ~ MINORS DNI
The sound of skin smacking against skin was one of many sounds bouncing around your bedroom. The smell of musk and expensive men's aftershave was one of many things overwhelming your senses, and the feeling of hands roaming your body - from the small of your back, to your throat, to your ass - was one of many things you were experiencing. Out of all five of your senses, only sight was the least overwhelmed; that being because your eyes were currently tightly shut, so the only thing you could see was black, along with random patches of white spots appearing and then disappearing.
Pornographic moans were being forced out of you; every thrust from behind hit you at the core in the most amazing way, but forced your body forward, pushing out gasps, and groans, and moans, and high-pitched whines. The weight of the man behind you, more on top of you really, kept your chest against the bed, rubbing your nipples raw against your bedding. However, his rough hand on your hip and your natural instinct to push towards the pleasure kept your hips up, just off your bed. The muscular, veiny arm around your neck prevented you from resting your head on the pillow you were tightly scrunching in your fists. Though you had no complaints, not only was it hot as fuck to get fucked whilst you were technically in a headlock, getting to drool all over Nate Jacobs' bicep and forearm was sexy yet felt like payback for him being a douche. Nate's head was resting right next to yours, his massive, muscular body draped over yours as his hips thrusted his huge dick in and out of you.
His breath was hot against your ear; his rough moans, his groans, his rare whines that he cut short the moment he was letting such a noise out, they were the main sounds echoing throughout your head. The background noise of rhythmic, animalistic skin slapping against skin - from either Nate's hand crashing against your cheeks to spank you, or from the sheer force of the man's hips fucking against your plump ass - joined the harmony of sounds within your bedroom. Your own moans and rough breaths, along with the drowned-out, fuckboy music Nate had put on beforehand, were also adding to the sonic ambience of your bedroom. While the shockwaves of pleasure zapping throughout your entire body and stimulating every single nerve ending were the main source of your pleasure, you couldn't deny that the fact Nate Jacobs was fucking the shit out of you also incredibly turned you on. Sure, he's ridiculously attractive in that all-American, quarterback way. But it was mainly the fact that the dickhead who would bully you in high school, then fuck you in the back of his truck, was still so wrapped around your finger. Among the sexy moans and groans Nate would let out, Freudian slips of compliments and desperate statements would also pop up. On a nightly basis, you would hear many things along the lines of "Fuck- you're so beautiful", "A-Ah- Shi- (nameeee)... Fuck yeahhh~", "I need you so bad... please- fuck- I want you....", and your personal favourite "I'm sorry- augh- please just- just be with me... Ngh- please". Fuck yeah, that fed your ego.
Although when it got to this point, when your sight had gone blurry, your body trembling and your voice hoarse, you found you struggled to focus on the pathetic fall from grace of Nate Jacobs. Instead, your focus was on the intense muscle spasms across your body and how your moans would increase in pitch with every one of Nate's thrusts. Your focus was on how Nate's eight-inch, uncut cock had practically moulded your hole to its shape; his thick, mushroom head hitting your prostate and further every. single. time. Literally making you see stars in the form of white dots. Your focus, however little was left of it, was on the way the leaking tip of your dick would rub against your bedding in rhythm with the man's thrusts and send your body into overdrive. You could hear Nate's voice change in tone and volume, his groans becoming even more annoyingly attractive somehow as the rhythm of his thrusts began to become slightly erratic. You knew he was desperately close, and so were you; despite him already making you cum from his fingers and mouth alone during your heated foreplay. Finally, your release hit; your muscles tightening, dopamine and serotonin hitting you like a truck as your moans became pathetically whorish. Your dick almost hurt as it gushed a second load, shooting straight onto your bedding and soaking whatever Nate had put below your hips to help keep you up. Nate, on the other hand, was groaning your name along with unintelligible strings of compliments as he buried his dick as deep as he could inside of you. His muscular hips, his perfect V-line, was pressed up against your plump ass as hard as he could, grinding his dick into you as he shot his thick load inside of you. You know for a fact he was pent up. Not just from the sheer volume of cum and how hard his orgasm had hit him, but also from his constant sob-stories and complaining about Cassie.
............
Your entire body was drenched in sweat and littered with love bites, your neck tattooed with hickeys. The cacophony of sex had quietened down; now, all that could be heard throughout your bedroom was you and Nate catching your breaths out of sync. The real-estate developer had moved off of you, lying beside you, an arm still draped over your waist. These days, he tries to keep the physical contact going; whether that's conscious or subconscious, you don't know.
You weren't facing him. You didn't like facing him right after; you liked to give yourself a moment. Instead, you lie on your bed and look outside your window. The city skyline on a rainy night was one of your favourite views. You'd done well for yourself after high school. In those five years, you'd gotten a degree and landed an internship you'd studied hard for. You make enough to pay for a whole floor to yourself, even though you're still entry-level at your current job. It's not a penthouse, but you have no neighbours; good thing, 'cause they would hate you for how loud you can get with men.
Nate's voice broke you out of your thoughts and admiration of the California night sky.
"Y'know... I'd leave her for you" The man mumbled behind you.
You quietly sigh and turn over to face him.
"Nate... I don't want you to do that" You chuckle.
"Wh- (name), c'mon... please... Y'know I..." Nate's words die on his tongue.
"Know you... what?" You play dumb. You knew exactly what Nate wanted to say. You also knew he could barely bring himself to say something like that.
"Fuck's sake... You know I'm gay, (name). You know I haven't stopped fucking thinking about you for five fucking years-" His fingers tighten around your waist. "I fucking..." Nate's words die on his tongue again.
Every night, Nate shocks you with how much less prying it takes for him to admit that he's gay. But honestly? You don't care.
It shocks you because the quarterback who would publicly slam you into lockers and call you fag would never have admitted he was screwing you and saying 'I want you' on the weekend. It doesn't shock you because you hope that one day, the two of you will walk off into the sunset hand in hand towards a happily ever after. Maybe the insecure gayboy you were in high school truly hoped for that when Nate would cuddle you to sleep and would smooth-talk you, but he's shown you time and time again his selfishness and his own insecurity. You don't care about him anymore; he's just a screw. A really good, mind-shattering screw. But nothing more than that.
"What about Cassie? I remember you saying she was the right girl for you, especially since she was y'know... an actual girl haha" You giggle again, remembering the speech Nate gave you when he broke things off with you to get with Cassie.
"I don't fucking love her- She's tryna get famous by doing borderline porn..! I'll divorce her right now, just give me the signal!" Nate insists.
In all honesty, you didn't care about Cassie in this situation, just like you didn't care about Nate. If that made you a bad person, you, again, didn't really care. Both he and she were far removed from your life at this point, no matter how hard Nate tried to force himself back into your life. Really, you didn't know what to expect when you ran into Nate for the first time after high school. You definitely didn't expect to start fucking again, but you didn't mind it. A consistent, no-strings-attached fuck buddy who was really good at sex? Didn't seem like a bad deal. You really didn't expect Nate to catch feelings for you again, and you absolutely didn't expect him to seriously insist that he'd somehow grown up and was becoming more confident in his sexuality.
"Nate... Baby... You can leave her if you want. That doesn't mean I'll be waiting for you with open arms" You say in a slightly patronising tone.
"But why?!" Nate sat up, forcing you to lie on your elbow to be able to face him. "I fucking... I fucking love you! Why won't you just let me love you?"
It was so weird hearing that from Nate. Only once had he said it in high school, and once since you'd started screwing again.
"Because I don't believe you..? Obviously?" You said it like it was common sense.
The look in Nate's eye did tug at your heartstrings a little. He looked hurt, not understanding why you assumed he was so untrustworthy.
"Nate. You told me time and time again that you'd fuck everyone off and date me no matter what people think, then the next morning act like I was stupid for believing you. Why would I believe you now? Why would you want me now, all of a sudden? 'Cause you find me a better screw than Cassie? Or is it 'cause I'm making more money than your failing business and you need me to send you money like I used to in highschool?" You dished out some low blows, but they had to be said.
"What?- No- I- Ngh fucks sake (name), no! I just... I love you... I don't feel like this towards Cassie; I never really felt like this for Maddy. It's always been you 'n I've just been too much of a bitch to grow up and make you mine!"
"Nate... Just leave it. You're married to Cassie. We've both ended up fine; there's no need to fuck it up. If you wanna keep screwing, then I'm down, but I'm not taking your word on anything" You say as you turn back around, facing your window and closing your eyes to fall asleep.
Nate doesn't quip back at you; he sits with what you said. His arm tightens around you and pulls you into him. As you fall asleep, Nate tries to come to terms with the fact that you find him untrustworthy. One way or another, he needs to make you his. It feels like he's drowning; he's in a shit marriage, married to a woman as a gay man, and his business is slowly losing money. Nate feels like he's drowning, and that you're like a breath of fresh air, giving him a break from life every second he spends with you. Slowly, Nate falls asleep, thoughts of divorcing Cassie, and doing anything to prove himself to you, running through his mind as he dozes off to the feeling of your warmth in his arms.
YO YO YO! The yaoi prohet, the gay gangsta, the male reader maniac has returned!!
That was cringe but highschool english taught me rule of three so i stick by it! Anyways I've officially finished my second year of University! Very fun but a lot of work; I also earned a role on a society (club) commitee so I was just real busy sorry guys. Also got a boyf and broke up with said boyf cause he was not for me lmfao so yeah busy busy!
Idk if I'll be writting often but it's still my only way of expressing creativity so I don't see myself fully stopping anytime soon yk
Anyways hope you enjoyed this fic cause wtaf is Euphoria becoming?
P.s HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!! You don't owe anyone an explanation of your sexuality, especially if it puts you in danger or bad situations. BUT don't be like Nate Jacobs over here, don't internalise homophobia and try to bury your sexuality, Lots of love - MRM
The calloused fingers tracing the edge of the ceramic mug were too large for the delicate thing, though Toji handled it with surprising care. Steam curled lazily from the chamomile tea inside—too sweet, but he’d added the extra honey anyway, just how he liked it. The kitchen was quiet save for the hum of the refrigerator, the dim overhead stovelight casting small shadows across his knuckles where they gripped the cup.
Down the hall, the bedroom door was cracked open. He could see the edge of the comforter tangled halfway off the mattress, the way it always was when sleep turned restless. He didn’t need to step closer to know the sheets would smell like salt and exhaustion, the pillowcase damp in patches. His throat tightened, but he forced his feet forward, the mug radiating warmth against his palm.
"You’re supposed to be asleep," Toji murmured, nudging the door wider with his hip. The figure curled on the bed didn’t stir, but the hunch of his shoulders said enough.
The tea found its place on the nightstand, condensation already beading on the ceramic. Toji sat heavily on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning softly under his weight. He reached out without thinking, fingers brushing against the back of his neck—cold and sweaty, despite the blanket pulled up to his chin.
Toji’s fingers lingered against the chilled skin of his omega’s neck, the contrast between his rough touch and the fragility beneath it sharper than ever. The scent of chamomile mixed with something sour—suppressed grief, maybe, or the remnants of tears wiped away too quickly. He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, before sliding his hand down to rest between his husband’s shoulder blades. The ridge of spine beneath his palm felt too pronounced, as if the weight of the last few days had carved him hollow.
"Tea’s gonna get cold," Toji said, voice lower than he intended. The words weren’t about the tea, and they both knew it.
A shaky inhale. Then, muffled against the pillow: "I don’t want it."
Toji’s jaw worked. He could’ve pushed—could’ve nudged the mug closer, reminded him that he had barely eaten since Friday–which was two days ago, that the hollows under his eyes were dark enough to bruise. Instead, he let his hand press a little firmer against his back, grounding. "Then don’t drink it," he conceded. "But you’re gonna sit up for me."
The mattress shifted as Toji leaned forward, his free hand sliding beneath his omega's shoulders to ease him upright. The movement was slow, deliberate—the way he'd handle a spooked animal, all measured pressure and no sudden motions. His husband's body resisted at first, limbs heavy with exhaustion, but eventually he relented, allowing himself to be guided up against the headboard. His face stayed turned away, the sharp line of his jaw clenched tight even as his fingers twisted weakly in the sheets.
Toji didn't comment on the damp streaks glistening on his cheeks. Instead, he reached for the mug again, pressing it gently into his omega's hands. The warmth seeped into his pale fingers immediately, his grip so loose Toji had to curl his own larger hands around them for a moment, just to make sure he wouldn't drop it. "There," he murmured, thumbs brushing over his knuckles. "Just hold it for now. Don't gotta drink."
A shuddering breath escaped his omega's lips, his shoulders curling inward as if the weight of the mug alone might crush him. The scent of honeyed chamomile wafted between them, undercut by something sharper—grief, thick enough to taste. Toji stayed close, his knee pressing into the mattress beside his hip, close enough that their body heat mingled in the scant space between them.
"Should've been stronger," his omega whispered finally, voice cracked at the edges. His fingers trembled around the ceramic. "I—I could've—"
Toji’s fingers tightened around his omega’s before he could stop himself—not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt, but enough to make the words stutter to a halt. The tea sloshed dangerously close to the rim of the mug, but neither of them moved to steady it. "Don’t," Toji growled, the sound rough but low. "Don’t fucking say that."
His omega flinched, but Toji didn’t let go. Instead, he shifted closer, his free hand cupping the back of his neck, forcing his forehead to rest against his own. The scent of salt and chamomile filled the space between them. "You think I give a single shit about ‘strong’?" Toji muttered, breath hot against his lips. "You’re here. That’s all that matters."
A broken noise escaped his omega’s throat, something between a sob and a laugh. "But—"
"No." Toji’s thumb brushed the hollow under his eye, smearing the dampness there. "Listen to me. This wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t you." The words came out sharper than he intended, but he needed them to stick, needed them to carve through the guilt festering in his husband’s chest. "You didn’t fail. You hear me? You didn’t."
Toji’s words hung heavy in the air, but they didn’t land—not really. His omega’s breath hitched, then fractured entirely, a wet, ragged sound tearing from his throat as his shoulders crumpled forward. The mug slipped from his grasp, tea splashing across the duvet, but Toji caught it before it could shatter against the floor, tossing it carelessly onto the nightstand. His hands were back on his husband in an instant, gripping his wrists as his omega’s fingers clawed at his own chest, like he could dig out the grief festering there.
"I felt it," his omega choked out, voice shredded. "I felt when—when it stopped." The last word cracked like a whip, and then he was sobbing, really sobbing, his entire body convulsing with the force of it. Toji hauled him forward, crushing him against his chest as his omega’s fists pounded weakly against his ribs—once, twice—before going limp, fingers twisting desperately in Toji’s shirt. "I hate this," he gasped, the words muffled against Toji’s collarbone. "I hate that I couldn’t—fuck—"
Toji’s arms tightened around him, one hand cradling the back of his head as his husband’s cries turned raw, guttural. He didn’t try to shush him. Didn’t tell him it would be okay. He just held him, let him scream into his shoulder, let him shake apart in his arms, his own jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. The anger was there, simmering under his skin—not at him, never at him—but at the fucking universe for carving this pain into someone who deserved it least.
His omega’s nails dug into his back, sharp even through the fabric. "It’s not fair," he spat, the words ragged with fury. "We wanted them. We—god—we picked out names." The last syllable broke into a wail, and Toji’s grip on him turned bruising, his nose buried in his hair as his own vision blurred. He hadn’t cried. Not yet. But feeling him like this—the way his body heaved with every sob, the way his scent had gone sour with anguish—it was fucking breaking him.
"Let it out," Toji growled against his temple, his voice rough. "Fucking let it out." He didn’t care if the neighbors heard. Didn’t care if the whole goddamn world heard. His husband had been swallowing this grief for days, choking on it, and Toji would be damned if he didn’t let him scream it into the open air.
His omega went rigid for a moment, as if fighting the urge to collapse entirely.
Then he broke.
Completely shattered.
A sound tore from his throat—something primal, something wounded—and Toji felt it in his own ribs, a phantom ache. His husband clawed at his shoulders, his hips, anywhere he could reach, like he was trying to anchor himself. "Why us?" he gasped, forehead pressed hard against Toji’s sternum. "Why—why our baby?" The question was a blade, and Toji had no answer to give. Only the steady press of his palms against his back, the unyielding heat of his body.
The anger burned hotter then, sudden and vicious. His omega reared back, eyes wild, teeth bared. "I should’ve known," he snarled, fingers twisting in Toji’s shirt. "I should’ve—felt it sooner, done something—!" His voice cracked, and then his fists were slamming into Toji’s chest—once, twice—weak punches that barely registered before he collapsed forward again, his breath coming in sharp, wet hitches.
Toji caught his wrists, not to stop him, but to hold him together. "You couldn’t," he said, low and firm. "You hear me? You couldn’t." His omega whimpered, a broken sound, and Toji hauled him closer, tucking him under his chin. "This wasn’t your fault," he repeated, lips moving against his hair. "It wasn’t. It wasn’t."
His husband shuddered, then went still—too still. For a heartbeat, Toji thought he’d finally exhausted himself. Then, with a ragged inhale, his omega whispered, "But what if it was?" The words were so quiet, so small, that Toji barely caught them. His grip tightened instinctively. "What if—what if I did something wrong? What if I—"
"Stop." Toji’s voice was sharp, but his hands were gentle, framing his husband’s face. "Look at me." When he didn’t, Toji ducked his head, forcing their eyes to meet. His omega’s lashes were clumped with tears, his cheeks flushed and damp. "You didn’t," he said, each word deliberate. "You loved them. You wanted them. That’s all that fucking matters."
His omega stared at him, lips trembling. Then, with a ragged sob, he buried his face in Toji’s neck again, his body wracked with silent cries. Toji held him, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other splayed across his spine, as if he could press the shattered pieces of him back together through sheer will alone.
Minutes passed—or maybe hours. The room grew dimmer, the shadows stretching longer across the floor. Eventually, the sobs quieted to hiccups, then to uneven breaths. Toji didn’t move. Didn’t loosen his hold. Not until his omega shifted, his fingers uncurling from Toji’s shirt to press weakly against his chest.
"M’ sorry," he mumbled, voice hoarse. "I—I didn’t mean to—"
"Don’t." Toji’s hand slid down to cup his jaw, thumb brushing the redness of his cheek. "Don’t apologize. Not for this."
His omega swallowed hard, then nodded, his gaze dropping to where his fingers now rested limp on Toji’s chest. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t suffocating anymore—just heavy, like a shared weight.
Toji exhaled slowly, then reached for the discarded mug on the nightstand. The tea had gone cold, but he drained it in one gulp anyway, the bitterness of oversteeped chamomile coating his tongue. "We should eat," he said, setting the mug down with a clink.
His husband shook his head, pressing closer to Toji’s side as if he could disappear into him. "Not hungry."
"You will be." Toji pressed a kiss to his temple, then shifted to stand—only for his omega’s fingers to tighten in his shirt with surprising strength.
"Stay," he whispered, voice cracking. "Just—just a little longer."
Toji hesitated, then sank back onto the mattress, pulling his husband into his lap. He didn’t speak—didn’t trust himself to say the right thing—but his arms wrapped around him all the same, solid and unyielding. His omega melted into the embrace, his forehead resting against Toji’s shoulder, his breath warm against his collarbone.
The silence stretched, thick with unsaid words. Then, a shuddering inhale. "I keep thinking—" His omega’s voice was raw, barely audible. "What if I dream about them? What if I see them and—and it hurts?" His fingers twisted in Toji’s shirt again, knuckles white. "I don’t want to forget, but I don’t want to remember either."
Toji’s throat tightened. He hadn’t considered that—the way grief could twist even sleep into a battlefield. His hand slid up his omega’s spine, fingers threading through his hair. "Then you wake me up," he said, voice rough. "Every time. You wake me up, and I’ll be here."
His omega made a sound—half a sob, half a laugh—and pressed closer, his nails digging into Toji’s back. "You can’t fix this," he murmured, the words muffled against his skin.
"I know." Toji’s grip tightened. "But I can be here."
Authors note: Well I’m back on a small steady track of posting stories. I hope to keep it going but generally we’ll see. Anyway I hoped you enjoyed, please leave any tips, comments, or suggestions down below.
A/n: (Y/n) Zatara. Son of Giovanni Zatara, brother to Zatanna Zatara, beloved friend of the Justice League. Also the axis on which reality turns, the balance by which creation weighs itself. (Y/n) Zatara, the Scarlet Witch, a being of unfathomable power, condensed into human shape.
Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (male reader is an omega, Clark Kent is an alpha), Graphic violence, Gore, Body Horror, Character Death, Mind Control, Body Manipulation, Child Injury (Done to (Y/n) in a flashback), Angst/Comfort
P.S: I had this in the tank for a while, please enjoy while I work on reqs 🫶🏽
Credits: banners/dividers are made by @/cafekitsune
The sulfurous scent of Hell fills the air and your lungs.
“John, why am I having to barter with another demon for your soul?” You ask unimpressed, arms crossed.
A nervous laugh leaves him. “Uh— ‘cause you care about me?”
“‘Sides ‘barter’ is a generous word for whatever you’re doing with him.” John snorts.
“I guess so.” You laugh, hand still glowing red.
Both of you watch as the demon tries and fails to put himself back together.
His body chases after his head, before falling apart at the joints once more.
“Take the human mongrel with you!” He snarls. “Just put me back together!”
His screech sounds like a cacophony of voices with no end or start.
“I’m not dumb,” You breathily laugh, “go ahead and cancel what contract you have with Constantine.”
When the demon hesitates, you lift your hand, the red glow getting brighter and meaner as you threaten him.
“Very well! John Constantine, I release you from your vow!” The demon snarls.
“There we go.” You whisper, your magic stringing the demon back together. “Word to the wise, avoid making deals with John Constantine.”
The demon vanishes in a puff of shadow and smoke, the air still reeking of sulfur and brimstone.
“Aye, cheers’ mate, thanks for helping.” John chirps.
You barely hear him as your attention is pulled elsewhere.
Back in your home dimension, right on Earth, you could feel the fabric of reality tearing apart.
“John stop talking.” You grit out, eyes narrowing as your consciousness tries to home in on the disturbance.
“That’s bloody rude of ya.” John scoffs. “Anyways mate—“
John’s eyes widen as his mouth disappears.
“I said stop talking.” Your voice loses all friendliness and pretense.
John starts to sweat seeing your magic coil around you in wisps, like a cobra’s tail rattling.
You continue to refine your focus until your consciousness locks onto Metropolis.
“What the fuck is Clark doing?” You groan loudly.
John makes a muffled sound that vaguely resembles a ‘what’s going on?’.
“Lex Luthor’s cheap imitation of a boom tube is causing a tear in my domain.” Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose.
You sigh heavily.
More annoyed and put off than anything else.
“I’m gonna kill him.” You say pragmatically. “If that rip in space-time doesn’t do it for me, that is.”
John makes another pathetic sound.
With another red wisp John’s lips unfuse, he takes a deep breath through his mouth.
“Bloody ‘ell mate, just tell me it’s serious next time.” He struggles to get his breathing under control.
“John when have I ever not entertained you?” You shake your head. “If I’m asking you to stop talking, that should be sign enough.”
“Let’s go.” You say, as your red magic punches a hole through time and space.
The edges warble, crackling like static and lightning.
You both walk through, the sun shining and blinding as Metropolis opens up, coming into view.
The world shifts beneath your feet, depositing you and John on the roof of the tallest building giving you the best view of the mayhem.
“You…you don’t need me ‘ere for this do ya?” John can’t meet your eyes. “This is more your jurisdiction than it is mine anyways…”
“Yeah.” You snort. “Yeah, go on get a head start on tomorrow’s hangover.” You wave him off.
John gives a sheepish wave back as you tear open a portal under his feet.
You don’t hear his parting words as he falls through.
You sigh softly.
You rest your head against your fist, a small smile on your face.
You’re hyper focused on the way Clark’s muscles ripple just underneath his suit.
You shake your head when you realize you’re swooning over Superman.
Not exactly new, but you’re here in an official capacity.
You wince as Ultraman gives Clark a run for his money.
Even as Clark gets his ass kicked he doesn’t give up.
The fight rages on, completely consuming your attention, until you feel a hum, a slight distortion in the air.
“Hey Zee.” You say, line of sight never breaking as Superman fights Ultraman.
Zatanna laughs as she rubs her cheek against yours, scenting you before she sits down next to you.
“I thought I felt you blip back here. Is today the day you tell him?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“No, I’m here on business.” You chuckle.
“What business could you have in Metropolis, that doesn’t include Superman?” She asks raising an eyebrow.
“The kind that rips open reality.” You say pointing down to the giant multicolor divide in the city.
Zatanna’s throat works.
“What are you gonna do (Y/n)?” She asks softly.
“Well…” You lean forward, “I’ll see what happens…if Lex falls into that rift then nothing, but if he doesn’t then I’m wiping him out.”
“But this is Metropolis.” She says gently. “Clark is…he’s new so he doesn’t know the agreement you have with the league.” She whispers.
“This is his bad guy.” She adds.
“Not anymore.” You say unmoved. “Besides even if he is new, I’m sure they gave him a briefing of some kind.” You wave off her concerns.
You both watch as Superman finishes off Ultraman, tossing him into the tear in reality.
“Alright then, (Y/n).” Zatanna stands up.
“Latrop.” Her magic glows blue, opening a seam in the air.
“I’m heading home. Mom made your favorite.” She singsongs as goes through.
“See ‘ya.” You chirp.
Superman gives him one last look, before flying straight into LuthorCorp.
You raise an eyebrow. “Well Smallville, go ahead and show me what you’re made of.”
You hold your breath.
You have high hopes.
Had high hopes.
You sigh dramatically, shaking your head as you see Lex walk out.
Still breathing, still unfortunately alive, just in handcuffs.
You stand up, hand patting your clothes to get rid of any dust on them.
A swirling cloud of red smoke opens behind you.
You walk through, ending up back home.
The wards of the estate hum in a low register.
The soft blue light feels like home.
It’s warm, and always seems to greet you just as happily.
You walk through the estate, moving towards the lush gardens.
You smirk to yourself hearing a man’s voice in the kitchen.
“Hi Dad!” You greet.
You snort as he jumps.
“(Y/n) Zatara!” He chides. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
“You’re Giovanni Zatara, I’m sure— I know actually— a simple scare wouldn’t kill you.” You snicker, continuing to the garden.
The plants seem to bloom brighter as you walk past them.
You open your hands, letting your magic seep and permeate the grounds, rejuvenating the foliage.
You take a deep breath letting the crisp clean air fill your lungs.
You cross your legs.
You start to float upwards, stopping a few feet off the ground.
You slowly shut your eyes, as you hover in place.
You project your presence, your consciousness, into the very prison they’re holding Lex Luthor inside of.
You walk through the doors, phasing past the bulletproof glass and heavy steel.
“Hey, you can’t be here!” One of the guards yells.
“You shouldn’t be able to see me.” You think.
You don’t say anything, making intense eye contact.
The guard freezes, his eyes unfocus.
He twitches, making a choked sound.
Your head tilts to the side ever so slightly, staring him down as he tries to fight against the telepathic command, against your hypnosis.
“Bawk!” The guard screeches, arms folded back like wings.
He duck-walks before trying to peck at the imaginary seeds on the ground before him.
You walk right through the security holding Lex Luthor.
The other guards either ignore you, or cannot see you.
You keep walking until you’re face to face with the bald menace.
“God—“ Lex jumps in his cell, clearly annoyed at your presence.
His eyes scan over you.
His face scrunches up in disgust.
“Another meta that thinks he’s so much better than the rest of us normal people.” He snarls.
“No.” You say concisely. “I know I’m better than you. And you’re certainly not normal.”
“You don’t mess with the multiverse, especially when you don’t know what you’re doing.” You state.
Lex scoffs, shaking his head laughing at you.
“‘Don’t know what I’m doing?’” He parrots back. “I am the smartest man on the planet, probably in existence. What you saw was exactly what I wanted to happen.”
Your eyes go over his face, you can tell he’s lying.
He may have let it happen…but it wasn’t something he planned or willed into existence.
“Hmm, right.” You say unimpressed. “Anyways.”
Red smoke leaks from your being with no obvious source.
“What’s that?!” Lex screams scrambling back deeper into his cell.
You don’t answer, lips pressed into a thin line as the smoke enters Lex through his ears, nose, mouth, every open orifice.
In an instant he freezes, body shaking, trembling from the sheer weight of your magic.
You see his memories play out in milliseconds.
Every single thing he’s done from his birth, all the way to Superman, to cloning, and finally to invading Superman’s home.
You grit your teeth hard enough the concrete around you cracks soundlessly.
“W-what’re— y-you—“ He says strained.
A billion billion different iterations of himself flash across his mind.
His psyche shatters in countless fractals, conjoining incorrectly, before shattering again into even more pieces.
“You’re too dangerous to leave alone. If just one of you was willing to let the fabric of our universe unravel, ‘cause of some petty one-sided grudge against Superman…the whole lot of you are.” You say nonchalantly.
“Actually…some of you aren’t so bad.” You say conflicted. “You’re a hero in a different universe…”
“So I’m getting rid of every last one of you.” You shrug your shoulders. “Every Lex Luthor that would risk reality.”
Before Lex can beg for his life, your magic forces his head to twist around.
Bone and cartilage stretches and compresses before shattering.
Lex’s head does a complete 360°.
Blood trickles from his eyes and nose.
You take a step back, letting your magic surge and explode from the inside, sending countless pieces of Lex Luthor’s brain flying and painting his cell in him.
His body slumps forward, twitching occasionally on the ground.
You grimace as the blood pouring out from his neck touches your shoe.
You roll your eyes, before focusing on Lex’s signature across creation.
You start to feel every one of him across the multiverse slowly snuff out of existence.
When the last Lex Luthor that has ever risked his own universe has died, when every Lex Luthor that could’ve risked the fabric of reality has been prevented, your consciousness dissipates from the prison, immediately rejoining your physical body.
You slowly open your eyes.
You look down to the ground, you can still see the blood pool.
You shrug, clapping your hands together.
“Hey (Y/n)!” Zatanna peeks into the garden. “Thanks again for saving my boyfriend he said to tell you he owed you one.”
“S’no big deal, Constantine can be fun.” You snicker.
“I hope you’re hungry, mom just finished dinner.” She says happily, tugging you along with her.
Clark wakes up bright and early.
He stretches in bed sighing happily, before using his super speed to get ready for his work day in mere moments.
It’s only been a few weeks since Lex Luthor’s arrest.
Clark’s managed to clear his—Superman’s—name after seeing the rest of the video his Kryptonian parents sent him to Earth with.
He takes his time.
Being painfully human.
He rides the subway before walking to the Daily Planet with pep in his step.
“C-Clark.” Lois says shaken.
Lois pushes him into a private room that’s been in disuse for as long as she can remember.
“Hi, to you too Lois.” Clark chuckles. “What’s the matter?”
Clark’s face hardens seeing the sweat on her brow, the instability in her body, the way her heart pounds in her chest.
“It’s Lex Luthor.” She says softly. “Look.”
She holds up her phone playing the video the federal government has released.
“We’ll never truly know what happened to Lex Luthor, or who got to him.” The news anchor solemnly says.
“This is the only video evidence we’ve been given, and we have independently verified it has not been tampered with.” He says before letting the video play.
A guard speaks to someone, or something, before he seems to dissociate.
The guard shakes, before he drops down, mimicking the actions of a chicken.
The video cuts to Lex Luthor’s holding cell, clearly showing he’s speaking to someone despite there being no one else in the shot.
The rest is blurred just enough to be able to show it on the news, but Clark watches in horror as Lex’s head spins around before exploding.
Clark shuts Lois’ phone off.
He pulls his strength back at the last second, stopping himself from crushing her phone.
Clark’s face contorts into a horrified expression at what he saw.
“I have to do something.” Clark utters.
“Now Clark…just a second…” Lois hesitates. “Do you really?”
“Lex literally let a tear in reality travel all the way through Metropolis, and God knows how much farther it would’ve gone if you and Mister Terrific hadn’t stopped it.” She elaborates.
“Lois…” Clark says horrified and disappointed.
“I know!” She huffs. “I know it’s bad! But look at what he did to you, to the city!”
“He was a person…regardless of what he did to me, or our fine city.” Clark says hopeful. “He might’ve changed. He could’ve learned his lesson…now he’ll never get that.”
“Cover for me will you?” He asks, fire shining behind his eyes.
“Yeah. Sure, okay.” Lois utters leaving Clark alone.
He watches Lois leave, sighing heavily the moment the door closes.
Clark uses his super speed to quickly get out of the building before anyone spotted him.
He dons his Superman costume, before flying off to the Watchtower.
The doors open the moment he arrives, he waits for the hum of the airlock. Clark braces himself for the pressurization, before walking in all the way to the war room.
“Batman.” Clark says clipped.
“Superman.” Bruce answers.
“I take it you’ve seen the news.” Batman says, eyes never leaving Clark as he takes a seat.
“Superman, you know Guy Gardner, Wonder Woman, John Stewart, Martian Manhunter, The Flash, Zatanna Zatara, and Giovanni Zatara.” Bruce quickly introduces them all.
“Nice to meet all you nice folks.” Clark smiles before turning back to Bruce.
“How long did you know?” Clark asks hurt.
“The Watchtower’s sensors picked something up approximately two weeks ago.” Bruce starts. “A disturbance in the multiverse, inexplicable ripples, that left no consequences.”
“We knew Lex Luthor was dead before the news did.” He admits.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Clark whispers.
“The government reached out to us to assess.” Bruce hesitates. “And we did.”
A silence falls across the room.
One that only seems to bother Clark.
“We decided it wasn’t worth intervening, once we saw what— or rather who— caused Lex Luthor’s death.” He says pragmatically.
“You mean his killer.” Clark snaps. “Don’t speak about Lex’s murderer like they’re untouchable. Like they’re just a climate event we need to survive.”
“In this case I’d wager he is.” Bruce says dismissively.
“Play the video. I know the cameras the Watchtower uses are leagues better than what anyone can get on earth.” Clark demands.
“Very well, but do not, I repeat, do not go picking a fight with the man in the video.” Bruce almost sounds like he’s pleading.
The keyboard clicks rhythmically as Bruce pulls up the video.
The moment it fully loads, Clark is already on the edge of his seat.
The censorship is gone, and now a man is on screen where he wasn’t before.
Clark’s eyes widen as he finally eyes Lex’s killer. “Freeze frame.”
There you are on video.
Standing over Lex’s corpse, looking entirely unfazed.
“Him. He killed him.” He utters.
“He did.” Bruce doesn’t disagree.
“We need to bring him in.” Clark asserts.
He looks around hoping the League will side with him.
“I won’t be helping.” Bruce states.
“Me neither.” Wally echoes.
Guy shakes his head. “Listen Supes, you’d be in over your head.”
“Superman, we’ve only just met, but I would urge you towards caution.” Diana says regally.
“Count us out.” Giovanni says, looking to his daughter.
They both share a look.
They knew you’d do something like this, but neither expected you to be so brazen about it.
“Yeah Superman, good luck if you go after him.” Zatanna adds, leaning back in her seat, arms crossed.
“John Stewart? Martian Manhunter?” Clark asks softly.
“Sorry Big Blue, good luck.” John says with a laugh.
“I refuse.” Martian Manhunter says without elaborating.
“Fine. I’ll bring him in myself.” Clark whispers turning on his heel.
Clark’s cape whips dramatically. “Where is he?”
“Right now?” Bruce says unimpressed. “The map readings say Metropolis.”
Clark’s eyes widen, nearly bulging out of his head.
In an instant he’s gone, blitzing down and coming to a sudden stop in Metropolis airspace.
Clark squints his eyes scanning the city.
He stops when he spots the same face from the security cams, just lounging, having a drink outside a cafe.
He flies forward until he’s hovering overhead, just high enough to lord over where you sit.
“Hey.” You say calmly.
You blow a small stream of air, cooling your drink before taking another sip.
You sigh contentedly.
“Is that all you have to say?” Clark seethes.
“Usually people introduce themselves when speaking to someone they haven’t met yet.” You say sternly, lacing your fingers together as your eyes meet his.
“Clark…”
Superman’s eyes widen.
He heard your voice by his ears.
He felt the warmth of your breath brush against his skin.
His head snaps around, but no one seems to be reacting to his human name.
Your voice was carried straight to him by the wind, your magic, or telepathy, he doesn’t know.
“I’m Superman. As you might well know.” He says strongly.
“Nice to meet ya, I’m (Y/n). (Y/n) Zatara.” You introduce yourself, smirking and holding back a laugh at the incredulous look on Superman’s face.
“You’re related to Giovanni and Zatanna.” He states incredulously.
“Yeah. My Dad and sister.” You give him a look. “I don’t really need the family tree lesson Boy Scout.”
“They’re heroes…” He murmurs.
“So am I. In a sense I guess. It’s a family business really—”
“No, you’re not.” Clark immediately rebuffs.
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And what makes you the judge of that?”
“What you did to Lex Luthor…” Clark’s hands tighten into fists, “no hero would’ve done that.”
“Maybe none of you all would, but I would. I did. That’s what sets us apart.” You argue.
“He trampled into my domain Superman.” You stand up, getting agitated.
Your scarlet magic wisps together coiling like snakes before falling back into your being.
“He got what he deserved for fucking with the fabric of reality.” You snarl, slamming your hands down onto the table, sending a red shockwave at Superman.
His eyes widen, he braces for impact but the moment it touches him the shockwave shifts into red bubbles, each popping on their own.
“I don’t want to fight you.” Clark admits, he can smell your sweet scent from where he is. “But I’m taking you in one way or another.”
“Oh?” You laugh again, insultingly, mockingly. “And how will you accomplish that?”
Clark uses his super speed, trying to blitz behind you and hold you in a bear hug.
He thinks— he’s convinced if he’s moving fast enough you won’t see him.
If he’s fast enough you won’t be able to counter with a spell before he touches you.
His arms lock around your midriff, but they crash into each other, instead of locking you down.
Clark’s eyes dart around, to the ground, to his sides, before they find you now floating where he was.
“I had you…” He murmurs.
“Gonna have to move a lot faster than that to get the drop on me.” You say.
Your magic condenses in your hand, before you fire an energy blast at him.
The scarlet blast hits Clark in the chest.
The people watching gasp in horror, as Superman tumbles through countless buildings.
Before any of them can panic or react, they all freeze.
Each of them feels a wave of dread wash over them as a pair of hands land on their shoulders.
Behind every single bystander, countless projections of you appear behind each civilian.
You lean in close.
Close enough they can all feel the warmth of your breath breaking against their skin.
“Ruuuun.” You drawl, before fading away from their perception.
Their voices form a maelstrom, all screaming, as they run away from the epicenter.
“Superman is fighting (Y/n).” Bruce sighs.
“Oh god.” Zatanna softly says. “Dad, let’s get down there.”
“It’s Superman.” Giovanni waves her off. “I’m sure he can handle what (Y/n) throws at him.”
“And that’s exactly why we need to get down there.” She stresses. “(Y/n) will know, he’ll feel how much Superman can take before breaking, and it’ll be a whole lot more than the city can handle.”
Zatanna starts whispering a transportation spell.
Giovanni’s eyes widen, his expression tightens.
“God you’re right…he’s grown into himself with restraint…but he isn’t one to pull his punches if attacked first.” Giovanni murmurs, getting up and moving to Zatanna’s side.
“Keep comms open.” Bruce orders without looking at them.
He lowers the universal star map, turning all sensors to high.
“You’re worried Batman.” Diana laughs.
“I don’t know why you aren’t.” He counters.
“Because I know him.” Diana says fondly.
Your eyes quickly dart around, making sure all civilians are gone from the immediate area.
You close your eyes, picturing the city block you’re fighting on.
You can feel every pulse, hear every heartbeat, see the warmth of each body present.
“No signs of life other than him and me.” You smile to yourself.
Your eyes snap open as you hear stone and concrete shattering as Superman shoots out of the rubble.
He flies straight at you, arms extended, hands clenched into fists.
You just smirk, bringing your hand up, and snapping.
Clark disregards it, but suddenly he’s flying downward.
He keeps telling his body up, but he only goes down quicker.
He moves left when he intends right, and vice versa.
He struggles to get the hang of it, but manages to shakily fly back up to your level.
“Sorcerer…using magic against me?” Clark snarls.
“Oh please. Like using your strength against someone physically weaker isn’t the same thing.” You scoff. “Besides, I’m just keeping the fun going.”
Clark’s lips twitch, at your words, he closes his eyes taking a breath.
You raise an eyebrow, you can feel it in the thrum of the air, in the fabric of reality something’s coming.
Clark’s eyes snap open, two beams of concentrated heat shoot out.
You groan, flipping backwards, as his heat vision hits you directly in your chest.
You come to a halt upside down, eyes bright and locked onto Superman.
“See, I knew you had more tricks.” You giggle.
You look down at your singed clothes and bright red flesh.
You make eye contact with Clark who looks smug at landing a hit.
Your eyebrows twitch, your hand smoothes down your chest leaving your shirt intact, like the laser beams never struck you.
“Betcha’ can’t do that again.” You goad.
Clark’s face cracks seeing you shake it off like nothing.
“Okay then.” He answers, before firing off another pair of beams.
Clark watches as your scarlet magic condenses in your hands, before you toss a black orb towards his lasers.
The hair on the back of Clark’s neck stands up.
A queasiness settling in his gut.
In an instant the black ball swells into a spiraling black hole, sucking in the lasers before they ever reached you.
Clark’s eyes widen, his instincts were already telling him you’re dangerous.
Now?
He’s sure you’re lethal at best.
And planetary destruction at worst.
The glass and buildings near it crumble as they’re sucked in before the black hole snaps out of existence.
Clark feels his muscles relax, the sweat from his brow disappear.
“Are you starting to understand you’re fighting someone above your weight class?” You project.
“It doesn’t matter. I will bring you in. I will win.” Clark answers.
“Boring.” You yawn. “Try something new.”
He tries his heat vision again, but nothing comes out.
He tries again and again, only straining himself and his eyes.
You roll your eyes. “Say Supes, what’s the chance your eyes don’t work, or worse they misfire?” You tilt your head.
He doesn’t answer, but you nod all the same.
“Probably low, maybe even zero, but if you keep trying I’ll just keep dialing the chance it’ll misfire up.” You warn.
“What are you doing to my body?” Clark asks, unnerved.
“What I want.” You say with a smile, like it’s simple and obvious. “But don’t worry, I’ll fix your ups and downs, your lefts and rights,” You chortle to yourself, “cause this,” your hand motions between you and him, “is getting boring.”
Clark can feel the change instantly, his body isn’t inverting its electrical signals anymore.
He sets his jaw, fists clenching at his sides. “You’re going to wish you didn’t do that.”
“Oooo, I’m so scared.” You sarcastically remark, before flickering out of the way.
You lift your hand, an enormous red magic construct bleeds into the air.
You snap your hand down at the wrist.
The red construct seems to groan before mimicking your action, and smacking Superman down, slamming him into the ground again.
Clark winces as he stands.
He looks back up to you, he notices the crater is deeper this time.
He floats up, getting ready to charge at you but as the air shifts his head snaps to the side.
“Zatanna, Zatara, thank God you’re here.” Superman says with a smile, relief bleeding into his voice, as he fully turns to them.
“I know he’s your son,” He squeezes his eyes shut, “but I need you two to shield me magically.” He pleads.
“Oh no can do.” Zatanna laughs, before clearing her throat.
“We’re just here to set up a magic containment field, layered over the one (Y/n) already set up.” Giovanni elaborates.
“…what?” Clark whispers, stunned.
“Superman, listen, you’re in over your head.” Zatanna says matter-of-factly. “Just apologize and I’m sure (Y/n) will let this go.”
“He’s a murderer, and neither of you are even the slightest bit shocked or upset?” Clark asks incredulous, flying closer to them.
“The multiverse was at risk of being torn apart. (Y/n) acted as he needed to protect all of existence.” Giovanni says pragmatically.
“No. He’s a murderer. And none of us, not even him, are above the law. Do what you want, but I will take him in.” Superman asserts before flying back into the sky.
“You got anything else in the tank Supes?” You ask with a lilt.
“You’ll tire yourself out before I even break a sweat.” Clark responds, he blitzes forward, before immediately changing his angle.
“I like the sound of that.” You sultrily speak. “I hope you can make good on that.”
He keeps moving like a pinball, all while your eyes keep tracking him.
He feels something coil in his gut as he notices your eyes go to where he’ll be before he’s even there.
He manages to get behind you, punching you square in the back.
You fly forward, but freeze right in front of a building.
Your body turns in red butterflies that all rush over covering him head to toe.
Clark’s eyes widen.
The video of Lex’s execution replays in his mind.
The red smoke.
The way it entered Lex’s body.
He brings his arms up, covering his face, preparing for the worst.
When they dissipate, you’re standing behind Clark.
Before he can react, or lower his arms, you deliver a hard kick, forcing him down to the ground, though he manages to land on his feet.
“I’m bored, so I think it’s time we end this.” You say looking down at him.
“And how will you manage that?” He asks smugly. “Just admit it! You can’t win this fight.”
“It’s already in motion.” You say with a smirk.
Superman flies back towards you, but he overshoots it.
He shakes his head, before blitzing you with a combo that keeps phasing in and out of your body.
“(Y/n) stop! This isn’t a game!” Zatanna shouts from a nearby rooftop. “You’re going to kill him and destroy the Earth!”
“I’ve got this Zee.” You telepathically project.
Clark makes a face at her, watching the horror on her face solidify.
“Dad, say something.” She begs, head continuing to snap back to the sky, before she looks to Giovanni.
“(Y/n) Zatara.” He starts sternly. “You know you shouldn’t do that.”
Your shoulders jump.
You sheepishly look over to him. “But Dad—“
“No buts (Y/n).” He interjects.
Superman manages to get a look at the sky, but it’s clear blue, not a single cloud in sight.
“Don’t worry, it’s almost over.” You assure Giovanni, watching as Clark starts slowing down.
Each punch feels heavier than the last, even staying in the air is harder than it was moments ago.
He feels sick, clammy, cold sweat across his forehead.
He can’t get enough air in his lungs.
Every cell in his body is screaming for mercy.
He throws one last punch that manages to touch your chin.
It has as much strength as a newborn, before he falls backwards plummeting from the sky.
As his body lands an echoing thud rings out.
The concrete cracks, spiderwebbing out in a radius.
His vision wavers and feels cloudy as you descend from the sky.
“(Y/n)! Change it back now!” Zatanna yells, pulling your ear.
“Ow ow ow! Okay! Okay!” You whine.
Clark can feel the air shift, the temperature rising, but nothing changed, at least nothing he could see.
You kneel down beside him.
“(Y/n) don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Batman’s voice comes over the comms.
“Never Batsy.” You say softly, yet your voice is carried through the mic like you’re speaking directly into his consciousness.
Clark can feel his heart rate spike, as you approach him and kneel down beside his body.
When he saw your hand held out, he expected to be pierced through his chest, his head to explode, something anything, he expected death.
And yet within seconds he saw scarlet wisps coalesce in your palm, before a yellow light blinded him.
He groaned softly feeling his cells rejuvenate, and swell with solar energy.
His eyes opened a little wider watching the nuclear fusion taking place in your hand as if you were just holding a baseball.
His eyes flutter shut the moment the light fades.
Clark wakes up in the Daily Planet, seated at his desk, fingers typing away.
He freezes.
He remembers the fight.
The sudden awareness that he was a big fish in a little pond and now a guppy in the ocean still hasn’t settled over him.
The dreamscape seems to melt and shatter into scattered starlight, before shifting to Metropolis airspace.
Clark can hear the cars honking below, the millions of conversations taking place, the hum of cars’ engines as they sit in traffic.
“Oh Claaaaark.” Your voice calls out. “What’s wrong Boy Scout?”
“Bit off more than you can chew?” You wonder.
Clark tenses feeling your hand gently cup his cheek.
He almost leans into it before stopping and throwing a blind swing.
His breathing gets heavier as he turns around to find himself still alone.
“I have to bring you in. I have to arrest you.” He says pragmatically.
“Lex Luthor’s—“
“Before? Sure, maybe.” You admit.
“But you know that’s not true now.” You whisper. “Can you hear that?” You ask.
As if the world’s volume is dialed down to zero everything quiets immediately.
Clark feels a chill wash over him.
Before he can get used to the sudden quiet, a rhythmic thumping echoes through the city and its alleyways.
Clark can somehow feel you smiling softly.
Clark stiffens again, as your hand reaches out to touch him.
His eyes widen as the once rhythmic thumping starts to speed up, becoming erratic and out of sync.
“That’s you.” You whisper.
“I make you nervous…I wonder why?” You giggle.
Clark gasps loudly, jerking forward in bed.
His hand shoots to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his suit.
He takes deep heaving breaths as his eyes adjust to the light in the Watchtower med-bay.
“Ah, you’re awake.” Bruce says standing up. “Let’s debrief.”
“Sure.” Clark manages to get out.
He catches his breath, hand dragging down his face as he struggles to accept what he’s seen.
“It was just a dream…nothing deeper than that…” he tells himself, even if it feels like something halfway between a truth and a lie.
He begrudgingly rises following Bruce out and towards the war room.
The gentle hum of the machinery and wiring does nothing to ease him.
Nor does it rid him of the shame, and something deeper, something warmer he can’t and won’t name, he feels reluctantly blooming in his chest.
The doors hum lowly as they slide open.
They both step through the threshold.
Clark immediately spots Guy Gardner, John Stewart, Wonder Woman, Zatanna, Zatara, Batman, and shockingly Klarion the Witch Boy.
“So Big Blue,” Guy starts, holding back a laugh, “where is he? I thought you were going to bring him in.”
“Very funny.” Clark tersely answers.
Guy manages to make a shocked face, before laughing hysterically.
“Now, now, Superman is just inexperienced with (Y/n). I should’ve warned him.” Bruce starts. “Though he should’ve taken our warnings.”
“Listen he just caught me off guard is all.” Clark defends himself. “Besides family or not, Zatanna and Zatara should’ve helped me.”
“There’s nothing they could’ve done against the magic (Y/n) wields.” Klarion interjects with a sneer.
As he quiets, his familiar Teekl purrs, before jumping onto his lap, flicking her tail.
“What is he doing here?” Clark asks eyeing the Lord of Chaos.
“I know Superman. Trust me I don’t want him here either.” Zatanna says shooting Klarion a glare, that earns her a mocking laugh from the witch boy.
“I felt what happened,” Klarion shrugs his shoulder, a small spark of his magic circling as he waves his finger, “I’m making sure (Y/n) is okay.”
“Why is no one bothered a Lord of Chaos is in our midst?” Clark asks the room at large.
“We have a sort of….truce—“
“I wouldn’t call it that.” Klarion cuts Zatanna off.
“As it pertains to (Y/n).” Zatanna finishes.
“About that magic, Zatanna, there’s no lingering damage, or any at all really, to the universe. It blipped in and out like it never existed, though our sensors still registered it as an anomaly.” Bruce reveals.
“Doesn’t make it any less frightening.” She laughs before leaning back against her chair.
“What are you talking about?” Clark asks.
“You didn’t see it?” Zatanna asks confused.
“You kept looking at the sky Superman, I thought you’d seen it.” Giovanni adds.
Clark scoffs, crossing his arms. “The sky was fine.”
“I don’t know why you two were acting all out of sorts.” He adds. “It’s not like he was fighting either of you.”
Clark finally walks over to his seat, sitting down.
“Batman, play the footage!” Guy begs wiping a tear from his eye. “I gotta see his face when he realizes.”
Klarion laughs too, dramatically, a high falsetto as he sees Clark more confused than ever.
“See what?” Clark asks again trying not to snap.
No one responds, but the sound of keyboard tiles clicking registers as the lights dim.
Incident Log #378 - Metropolis Anomaly
Flashes across the screen as the video plays.
Diana and John Stewart recline in their seats like they’re watching a highlight reel.
Guy Gardner sits up straighter, still eyeing Clark’s face.
Klarion conjures a bowl of popcorn, sharing some with his familiar.
Bruce doesn’t react, but that’s not exactly shocking.
Zatanna and Giovanni don’t flinch either, as though it’s not the first time this has happened.
Clark watches with a stone face.
Rather he tries to.
His eyes widening as the fight plays out again, but this time he can see what had Zatanna and Giovanni freaking out.
“(Y/n) stop! This isn’t a game!” Zatanna shouts from a nearby rooftop.
Her head snaps over to the horizon.
The camera follows her line of sight.
The yellow star, Sol, the celestial giant that holds the solar system together, crackles and warbles.
The video glitches like it’s skipping a few frames, before stabilizing and catching the star collapsing in on itself.
In mere moments it becomes a swirling black maw, drawing in all light and space debris.
The smile stitched across your face stretches further as you see the solar power draining from Clark.
The video continues showing the skirmish.
The moment Clark falls from the sky, the black hole shrinks, and the yellow sun returns instantly, like it had never left.
You approach the same as he saw, scarlet wisps combining in your hand as you recreate a yellow star in the palm of your hand.
You bathe Clark in its light before your red magic swirls and punches another hole in reality that you walk into.
Clark sits aghast at the video.
His hands tighten around the armrests.
The lights brighten, as the incident log closes.
“Could I perchance get a copy of the footage?” Klarion asks innocently, a wicked smile stretched across his face. “Strictly for archival purposes.”
No one acknowledges Klarion but it doesn’t take the wind out of his sails.
“Batman…” Clark grits his teeth, hands clenching into fists against the table. “He’s a monster.”
“Watch your mouth, Superman.” Giovanni icily says.
“That’s my brother you’re speaking about.” Zatanna says. “Tread lightly.”
“Monster?” Klarion’s voice loses that recognizable falsetto. “Careful, alien, he’s my favorite thing in this wretched plane of orderly existence. Disrespect him at your own peril.” Klarion says hands glowing, twitching with magic as he spins in the chair he’s occupying.
Even Teekl seems upset at Clark’s word choice.
“Superman, do not think to disrespect (Y/n).” Diana says, voice sharpening.
“He could destroy your home, the way he nearly destroyed mine.” Clark crosses his arms, disbelief mounting that no one is siding with him.
“And he has not. He could rend the multiverse itself into threads, and he has not.” She defends. “You only see a monster because he does not fit your morality. You do not see the boy behind the power.”
“Wonder Woman has a point Superman.” John interjects, a small smile tugging at his lips. “(Y/n) is a good kid…just more powered up than most his age. He holds the multiverse together, he helps us when we need, he is a friend.”
“He’s an adult!” Clark roars.
“He’s a young man, Superman.” Giovanni defends. “My son. I’ve raised him well.”
“Snapping Lex Luthor’s neck in a jail cell doesn’t seem like a very high bar to clear.” Clark retorts, seething. “And you want to talk about it like it’s something to be proud of?”
“(Y/n) does what he deems necessary to protect the multiverse.” Giovanni counters.
“Superman, believe me I’ve had my fair share of problems with him.” Batman takes a breath. “No one here, especially not me, has forgotten what he did in Gotham.”
“(Y/n) could handle every problem in existence, and make a utopia. He doesn’t because he respects self-determination. He lets us handle our villains as long as they don’t cross into his jurisdiction.” Batman says plainly. “Lex Luthor played in a sandbox he had no business being in.”
Clark laughs breathily, looking around to everyone’s faces. “Do you all hear yourselves?”
“You’re making excuses for a murderer.” He says quietly. “No one is above the law.”
“You don’t protect people by deciding who lives and who dies.” He adds.
“No one, asterisk, except (Y/n).” Guy laughs. “Face it Big Blue, no matter how much you feel it’s injustice, or unfair, or whatever else gets your cape in a knot, you’re not someone (Y/n) will answer to.” He states with annoyance that Clark isn’t letting this go.
“Superman is not wrong to be horrified.” Diana chimes in.
“The act is horrific.” Bruce adds. “That does not mean the act was unnecessary.”
“If none of you are going to physically help me, then at least tell me how to find him.” Clark asks, jaw set, teeth grinding against each other.
“I host him from time to time on Themyscira.” Diana says smiling softly. “Though I doubt he would continue to look fondly on me and my sisters if I told you when he was coming to visit.”
“How’d he swing that?” Guy asks bracing himself against the table.
“Themyscira is known for being barred to men.” John adds.
Diana smiles softly, taking a breath.
It was an ordinary day.
Or as ordinary as it could be really on the Zatara estate.
Giovanni was wrapped up in his spell books, believing Zatanna was with you.
She was.
For the most part.
She was responsible.
She played, she entertained you, until nature called.
Zatanna stepped away for the briefest of moments, needing to use the restroom.
She was gone for five minutes, at most.
To you, as a little four-year-old, Zatanna was gone five minutes too long for your liking.
It was small, innocent.
“Zee’ I’m bored….” You drawled, lying on the grass, watching ants march in single file across the air.
As soon as the words left your mouth the air shifted.
The pressure in the garden seemed to lessen and increase.
Scarlet wisps pooled into reality, concentrating in the air just before you, swirling like water down a drain.
You stared into it, eyes wide and shining, before looking over your shoulder to see Zatanna still wasn’t back.
“I’ll ownly be a minute…” You giggled walking through the portal you unknowingly opened.
In an instant you found yourself on the shores of the beach closest to your home.
You squeal with joy, running around, feeling the sand between your toes, collecting shells, and letting the sea salt flow through your hair.
You don’t know how long you’ve spent here, but another portal opens, just as welcoming as the first.
You don’t hesitate as you run through.
You found yourself running through the streets of Rome.
You ooo and aaah at the marble columns, the giant colosseum that looked like it had held a thousand battles.
You can almost picture the men and women in bed sheets walking around.
“I wanna see something older. Older than daddy.” You laughed to yourself, arms stretched out, taking steps and balancing yourself on the banister of the arena.
Another portal opened, swirling more intensely than the last one, like it was fighting against something.
Red lightning occasionally crackled across the diameter, not in warning, it felt warm as it touched your skin, welcoming still.
You ran right through, styling yourself an explorer.
You unknowingly breached wards.
A barrier older than anything you’ve ever knowingly seen.
Erected by the first gods, that lead to a beautiful island, untouched by mankind.
“The sand ‘eels different here!” You giggled.
Even the waves that lapped against the shoreline felt ancient.
Within seconds you felt the curtain-like-thing draped across the land react and warble.
“I wonder what’s that ‘bout…” You mused to yourself running onto the marble floor.
Your hands went to your ears, your face scrunched up as the magical background hum became even more incessant.
A beam of golden light projected down, circling you.
You felt a tug, a push, a pull, something that wanted to move you.
It was heavy, suffocating, as if trying to pin you down before you could go farther.
You didn’t recognize it as the island’s magical defense.
It had no discernible voice.
No authoritative words telling you to go home.
“I don’t wanna go yet…” You whined softly.
In an instant your red magic pooled forth, and took the shape of your chubby little hand, before extending a single digit.
With all the innocence of a four-year-old, it touches the column of golden light, shattering it instantly.
“I can stay?” You ask aloud, waiting for another golden column to come down, but it never does.
“Yay!” You giggled running again touching the architecture.
You could feel the ground shaking like people were coming towards you.
Diana ran faster than she had before jumping over her sisters in a blur of gold and red.
“Magical intruder.” She quickly thought. “Circe?”
“No…it’s too raw and uncontrolled…chaotic…” She surmised.
She leaped through the air again, eyeing the small intruder, skidding to a stop before you.
“Identify yourself.” She said with powerful regal presence.
“Huh?” You asked looking up to her.
You thought she was pretty, like the princesses in the books your dad or Zatanna read to you.
“Hi!” You said excitedly, you reached out your hand to introduce yourself, but your magic responded to your excitement.
A tiny red lightning arc jumped from your fingers.
It wasn’t on purpose.
It dealt no damage, merely tingled and felt like a tiny zap.
She didn’t hesitate, her instincts overrode everything else.
“Oof!” You groaned in pain as her heel came in contact with your chest.
You felt the air forced out of your lungs in a single choked sound.
Diana watched as you flew through the air, before slamming into a column.
A cloud of white dust billowed up from the impact.
Diana braced herself, ready for the next attack, but it never came.
She heard a wet broken sound rip from your throat.
“He’s a child…!” She thought frantically.
She could see you struggling to get up, holding yourself against the broken marble.
Your shirt torn, your chest bruised in ugly angry colors from her strike.
She was sure she could see and hear your tiny ribs snapping into place again.
“Little one, I’m so—“
Diana’s hands shot to her ears, the weight of the air, the pressure of your magic, dropped her to one knee.
Your sobs grew louder, interrupting her apology.
She watched heart heavy as your chubby hands smeared your tears in uneven streaks against your skin.
She started approaching but noticed she’s not getting closer with each step.
“Spatial distortion?” She questioned.
She ran towards you, picking up more and more speed.
She almost made it to your side, her hand outstretched.
Her fingers just barely touched the back of your hand, before the ground stretched again and forced her back to her starting point.
Your sobbing slowly quieted down to hiccuping sniffles.
You looked upset, angry, Diana wanted to apologize again but the air shifted.
Her warrior instincts were tearing her in half.
One part of her could see you, the child, right in front of her.
The other saw a being with raw magical might, a threat to Themyscira.
Diana’s eyes widened as you threw a red blast at her.
She put her arms up, crossed in an X, aiming to let the strike dissipate across her gauntlets.
She groaned fighting against the concussive force of the strike, her feet dug into the marble as she tried to stop herself from skidding back any more.
She didn’t lower her arms, but she moved to get a good look at you.
You quickly lifted an arm, hand curled into a chubby fist again.
Diana waited, she could feel it.
Before she could react a red fist erupted from the ground.
It was as tall as a skyscraper, carrying strength proportional to its size, forcing her to the sky.
Diana caught herself midair, she could see the very ground beneath her shake and screech.
“He’ll destroy Themyscira at this rate!” She panicked.
Her eyes flitted about the ground wildly, looking for you.
She felt the air still, no more accurately, she felt time stop.
Oppressive, haunting, chilling, she couldn’t move.
She felt your tiny fist poke her back.
It carried thrice the concussive force the earlier red blast did.
She could feel her armor start to warp ever so slightly.
She surged forward body slamming into the ground, the marble cracked in spiderweb before giving way and leaving a crater.
“Diana!” An Amazonian shouted.
A multitude of warriors nocked their arrows, all aiming for your head or chest.
Her eyes scanned your tiny body.
She immediately noticed the tremble in your finger, the way your magic fell from your body in wisps before shooting back, the way your eyes narrowed and your lips quivered.
“He’s holding back…” Diana quickly deduced.
“They’ll loose their arrows before I can stop them.” She quickly assumed.
“Don’t fire!” She yelled.
It was enough to make you look to your right, seeing the countless women aiming at you, primed and ready to fire.
Before you could react defensively, you felt a soft warm hum around your body.
You looked down, spotting the golden end of the lasso wrapped around you.
When you looked back to Diana, she was holding a golden magic-imbued rope.
“I didn’t know you had magic here too!” You said excitedly.
The change was instant.
The damage you caused reversed.
Not with conscious decision, but on instinct.
As if when the fear loosened and the anger softened, your magic had responded in kind.
The hole in the ground your construct erupted from knitted itself closed.
Before Diana could respond, the world shifted again.
Reality blurred, Diana felt the wind against her skin.
She hovered in the air, ensnared by her own lasso, while you stood where she did, holding the end of it.
“Why did you hurt me?” You asked, fear heavy and thick in your cadence.
The golden rope hummed, glowing brighter, responding to your magic.
“This island is my home. Men are forbidden to set foot here.” Diana answered, compelled by the magic of her lasso.
“I didn’t know that…” You softly spoke, face breaking with guilt.
Diana’s chest felt even heavier.
“M’sorry…I was just soooo bored.” You sheepishly said, looking towards the ground like someone scolded you.
“I-I’ll go home.” You said lowly, your shoulders slouched and your sniffles echoed in her ears again.
She couldn’t reconcile what was happening before her eyes.
She didn’t know how to accept the guilt on your face when she struck you first.
Before she could speak again the end of her lasso you were just holding fell to the ground.
“Wait—!” She called out, but you had already disappeared in a puff of red smoke.
The scent of magic and a child’s milk cream still heavy in the air.
Diana wanted to go forth, out into the world of men, one goal in mind.
Find you.
She hoped to apologize, to invite you back, to show you the wonders of her home you had wanted to see, but her duty demanded she stay and help rebuild.
Days later she felt the barrier to her home shake again.
Not with the raw chaotic energy it did when you breached it, but precise, surgical.
Whoever was coming, was coming with purpose.
“Mother—“
”I know.” Hippolyta responded immediately, heading with Diana to the source of the intrusion.
The raw magic crackled and surged through the air as Giovanni Zatara and Zatanna Zatara walked through the barrier undisturbed.
“Giovanni Zatara, human magician, man.” Hippolyta spoke.
“This island is forbidden to your kind.” She reminded.
Giovanni’s jaw tightened hard enough his teeth creaked.
“My son (Y/n) Zatara, found himself on these foreign shores some odd days ago.” Giovanni’s voice didn’t waver, but his fury was evident in the way his magic responded.
“He returned home with a boot-shaped bruise on his chest.” He snarled, eyes landing on Diana.
She tensed, freezing, hands clenching at her sides, but she didn’t run, she didn’t hide.
“(Y/n), honey, what happened here?” Giovanni asked softly, eyeing the black and blue on your chest.
“I went to a beautiful island!” You said excitedly, playing with your toy boat.
You didn’t notice the way the bubbles came together behind you to form the very island you spoke of.
The curl of the shoreline, the rising marble, you didn’t know its name, but Giovanni did.
“Themyscira…” He thought to himself.
“It was old…older than you daddy!” You giggled.
“I was playing with a pretty lady, but I think she got too excited…” You said softly, almost guilty. “She got too wough…I didn’t know I wasn’t ’pose to be there…she coulda asked me to leave…”
The soap bubbles reform to show Giovanni Wonder Woman.
Giovanni’s hand curled around the rim of the bathtub, his magic coiling tighter around him, like a promise or vow to protect you, to make sure this doesn’t go unanswered.
“I dunno why she hit me…” You whisper.
“She may have not meant to, (Y/n).” Giovanni whispered, tousling your hair.
“I dunno…seemed like she did…” You whisper, chubby hand smacking the water.
“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” You looked to your dad.
“Does she hate me?” You sniffled, eyes watering.
Giovanni could already feel the universe at large stretching and responding.
“Of course not.” Giovanni whispered, pulling you out of the bath and into his arms.
“Sometimes adults make mistakes. And just like when you do, they apologize.” His hand gently patted the back of your head.
“I’ll make sure of it.” He said, putting you back into the tub.
“Now none of that, little one.” He cooed, wiping away your tears.
“Why don’t you pick what we eat today, hmm?” Giovanni offered watching you brighten up instantly.
“Weally?” You giggled, slapping the water with your hands.
“Really.” He assured you.
“Yay!” You laughed, splashing your dad.
“I would like an explanation,” Giovanni took a deep breath trying to calm down every cell in his body, “as to why she struck my four-year-old son.”
The air around Giovanni’s hands crackled as he squeezed them into fists.
“Diana.” Zatanna stepped forward. “Why did you hit him?”
Her hand stretched out in front of Giovanni as if she alone could hold her father back.
Diana walked forward, steadfast, head held up high, even if she felt the weight of her actions bearing down on her.
“He breached our wards.” She said pragmatically. “Something only the likes of Circe and gods have managed.”
She cleared her throat. “I am beholden to my duties first, Giovanni.”
“I struck on instinct, not by intent.” She whispered sadly. “I tried to defuse the situation after I realized he was a child.”
“You dare to compare my son to Circe?” Giovanni seethed.
“Dad.” Zatanna said softly, hand going to his shoulder.
Giovanni’s face softened, he took a breath.
The space, the air, itself relaxed.
“In raw power. Magic itself. Not in attitude.” Diana clarified.
“He is a child. (Y/n) did not know better.” Giovanni snarled.
“Giovanni, he traipsed into our home.” She stepped forward.
“Unintentionally.” He defended.
“All the more reason to guard our shores.” Diana whispered.
“Giovanni, you can attest to how difficult it is to push through Themyscira’s barrier.” Diana said. “Your son broke through without meaning to. The island itself tried to reject his presence, send him back from where he came, and he broke the enchantment.”
“A single touch of his finger is all it took, for millennia-old magic to fall before him.” She paused. “More than that, we exchanged blows after.”
“I will not hold him to my standards or yours. Any child cornered might lash out.” She shuddered remembering the force behind your tiny grubby fists. “He nearly destroyed Themyscira.”
“I am sincerely sorry I struck your son. I have been wracked with guilt since our encounter. But I am not sorry, nor will I ever apologize for defending my home.” Diana said steadfast.
“Then apologize to him.” Zatanna suggested softly.
“All he spoke of when I asked him about his bruise was the beautiful island, and the pretty woman who gave it to him.” Giovanni icily said.
Diana felt an ache in her chest, a surging shame she couldn’t hold up.
“If you’d have me as a guest in your home despite my actions…I’d be more than happy to apologize to him myself.” She said softly.
“If you’ll have me in your home, I’ll apologize to him there. Or host you here, and show him Themyscira as it should have greeted him.” She whispered.
Giovanni’s body relaxed.
His alpha instincts still prowled, but seemed sated for the moment.
Zatanna sighed softly, she couldn’t physically smell the furious pheromones coming off of her father, but she could feel them in the waves of his magic.
“That is acceptable.” Giovanni spoke.
“Thank you, Princess of Themyscira.” He murmured.
“Thank you, Giovanni Zatara.” Diana answered with a smile. “When should you expect me?”
“A week from today.” He responded.
“Excellent. I look forward to speaking with the little magician.” Diana smiled warmly. “I’ll be bringing a gift. A token rather. So when he returns, he’ll be received as a guest, not an invader.”
“You honor us Princess, even after I, of necessity, broke through your barrier.” Giovanni bowed ever so slightly. “I look forward to receiving you. If your wards ever need reinforcement, you need only ask.”
“Let’s go Zee.” He whispered, already turning away.
Zatanna looked back to Diana, mouthing ‘thank you’, before following her dad.
The hole Giovanni cut open slowly sutured itself back up, shining blue before returning to that misty gold.
“I hope you know what you’re doing Diana.” Hippolyta spoke, watching the horizon.
“I do, mother.” Diana responded, before turning on her heel.
The days bound together, bleeding like starlight before scattering.
The rain poured from the sky, as though a spigot has broken.
Diana could hear the way the raindrops pelted the ground as she approached the Zatara estate gates.
She smirked to herself, shaking her head and laughing under her breath.
“Of course.” She thought to herself as her eyes drifted upwards.
The rain stopped right outside the gates.
She could see faint red wisps that stopped the weather itself.
The gates opened for her, reacting to the sigil Zatanna had given her the week prior.
“Make sure no one comes in with you.” Zatanna said with a smile.
Diana looked around, lifting her foot and striking the ground to scare off any would-be intruders.
She passed the threshold, turning around and watching as the gates closed by themselves.
She approached the door, hand outstretched to knock—
“Hi Diana.” Giovanni said with a tired look on his face.
“Hi Giovanni.” Diana greeted, walking in as he holds the door open wider.
“Need I ask?” She chuckled hand lifted, thumb pointing to the rain that wouldn’t reach their home.
“He wanted to play outside. I told him no because it was raining, and well…a few seconds later it wasn’t.” Giovanni laughed softly. “I think a hole in the sky opened when I heard him mutter that he wanted to splash in a puddle.”
Diana laughed with him. “My, my…The little sorcerer sure is something.”
“He’s in the backyard.” Giovanni said, showing Diana to the estate’s sprawling patio.
Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open at the floating boats littering the sky.
Her eyes found you instantly, posturing in the crow’s nest, telescope in hand.
A giant whale jumped from one cloud, diving into another, the sky itself splashing upwards like its water.
“Try not to be so surprised, Diana.” Giovanni laughed, walking outside, watching with warm loving eyes as you played in the cloud.
Diana walked forward, past Giovanni.
The moment her foot touched the grass, the clouds froze as if paused.
The drops of sky that were still settling back halted, your attention snapped to her immediately.
She felt her body tense up, instincts screaming to be ready for a fight.
She didn’t act on it, trying to be as non-threatening as possible.
She gasped softly when you disappeared in a puff of red smoke.
She panicked eyes flitting about before she turned to look at Giovanni.
“Daddy that’s her…” You whispered, hiding behind his legs.
Your chubby hands gripped his coat like a lifeline.
“I know, son.” Giovanni whispered, kneeling down, hand on your back.
“She has something she’d like to say to you.” He said gently.
“Why don’t you come in front of me?” He said gingerly, trying to push you in front of him.
“Mnh-mnh.” You shook your head, burying your face into his coat, fingers hooked into the fabric.
Diana took one step closer, but no further.
She could already see the way reality prepared itself to stretch and warp for you.
She dropped to one knee.
“Little one. I am Diana of Themyscira.” She said kindly. “You might also know me as Wonder Woman.”
“What’s your name?” She asked gently.
You didn’t answer, still eyeing her.
“It’s okay, honey.” Giovanni whispered.
“(Y/n)…Zatara.” You say muffled.
“A strong name for a strong boy.” She smiled. “A few days ago, you came to my homeland, and I acted too swiftly in defense of it.”
“I did not know you were a child, that does not erase the harm. For that, I am sorry.” She hung her head.
“You are…?” You asked voice small, unsure.
“I am. I wish I could go back and stop myself.” She admitted.
“I have a token for you, if you’d be kind enough to receive it.” She smiled and reached into her pocket.
Your fingers unfurled from your dad’s coat.
You walked over slowly.
“Uhmmm hi…” you looked to the ground, already shy.
“Hello (Y/n).” Diana answered, she held out her hand, an Amazon ward carved from Themysciran marble, inscribed with protection wards, sat in her palm.
You looked at her hand, before looking to her face, your hand reached for it before pulling back.
“It is yours, bearing Queen Hippolyta’s seal, I had it made just for you.” She assured you.
You took it from her, your lips curling into a smile as you looked it over.
“It has magic!” You said excitedly.
“I would be honored if you came to visit that beautiful island again. This time I’d like to show you everything you didn’t get to see.” She said cheerful. “Would you like that?”
You kept looking at the stone in your hand.
Diana wondered if you understood the significance of it.
“Thank you Di’ana.” You said brightly, arms looping around her neck as you hugged her, tiny hand clutching onto the stone like it’s your most prized possession.
“You’re welcome (Y/n).” She responded patting your back.
You pulled away running back over to Giovanni.
“Daddy! Daddy! Look what the pretty lady gave me!” You beamed showing off the Amazon ward.
“Such a thoughtful gift isn’t it?” He smirked, kissing the crown of your head.
“Queen Hippolyta and I have hosted him countless times since.” Diana recounts fondly.
“That’s the kid I know.” John leans back chuckling to himself.
“So,” Clark takes a breath, bracing himself against the table, “(Y/n) breaks into your home, fights you, nearly tears apart your island, and you make him an honored guest?”
The silence that follows makes Clark recalculate.
Clark shakes his head, clearing his throat. “I see the restraint you’re talking about, Wonder Woman. That doesn’t change the fact that (Y/n) showed none to Lex.”
“None of us are above the law. And I’d just as quickly arrest any one of you for breaking the law.” He adds.
“I’ll find (Y/n), and have him answer for what he’s done, even if I have to do it alone.” He says strongly.
“Wow, Big Blue.” Your voice echoes in the war room.
The sensors start blaring, before the noise shrinks and fades, though the warning lights haven’t changed back.
“I haven’t had such a romantic declaration.” You giggle.
“If you wanted to look for me, all you had to do was ask nicely.” You tease, as a portal rips open in the war room.
You walk through before it snaps shut behind you.
You pull on Klarion’s chair.
He doesn’t even react aside from the small amused smile.
The chair stretches as you conjure an exact duplicate next to him.
You plop down as he laughs and smirks to himself over the casual chaos.
“Hi Diana, Hi John, Hi J’onn, Hi Guy.” You greet excitedly.
“Hi (Y/n).” Diana responds softly.
“Hey kid.” John nods.
Guy raises two fingers in greeting.
“Hello (Y/n).” J’onn says softly.
You gasp loudly, as you make eye contact with Batman.
“Hi Bruce!” You run over, hugging him, laughing as his body tenses.
“It’s been ages! I haven’t been able to stretch my legs in Gotham.” You say excitedly.
“How’s Jason doing?” You ask warmly, moving back to your seat.
“I miss the little nights out we’d have with Harley and Ivy.” You say fondly spinning around in your chair.
“He’s doing well.” Batman’s hands relax, his jaw eases. “He’s asked me to lift your Gotham ban a few times.”
Bruce’s signature scowl seems to twitch, but no one else notices. “Obviously that’s not happening.”
“Guess I’ll just have to keep sneaking in then.” You shrug your shoulders. “Allegedly.”
“I’ll catch you one day.“ Bruce says offhandedly.
“Sure you will, I love our little cat-and-mouse game.” You chuckle.
“(Y/n).” Clark sets his jaw, crossing his arms. “Do you have no boundaries?”
You make a face, you lean back in your chair crossing your arms. “I’m an honorary member. I can be here.”
“Is this still about Lex Luthor?” You ask tilting your head. “I thought the smackdown in Metropolis was enough to make you get over it.”
“You killed someone.” Clark reminds.
“If you miss him so much, I could always bring him back?” You sarcastically offer.
The room tenses, Zatanna looks uncomfortable, Giovanni’s lips purse into a thin line.
Diana and John both tense, eyes quickly meeting before settling on you again.
Clark’s eyes widen, his mouth drops open.
The knowledge didn’t shock him.
It was the implication.
The fact your voice was solid as you casually spoke of bringing Lex Luthor back to life.
As if he were in another room and not dead.
The silence stretches far into the moment, refusing to move, just like anyone.
Your expression cracks, the silence gets you just a bit.
“Just kiddin’ Boy Scout.” You purr.
“I refuse to raise the dead, but more specifically there’s nothing left of Lex Luthor, in this universe or any of the other infinite ones to pull from.” You say candidly, waving your hand.
“What does that mean?” Clark’s teeth audibly grind at your flippant attitude. “He doesn’t exist anymore. That one, and every iteration of him that would risk reality.” You bluntly say. “Nor will that category ever rise again. A risk to the multiverse is a risk too high.”
Clark’s eyes widen, his hands drop to his side. “You…you what?” Clark laughs in disbelief. “You just…what? Erased him?”
“Yeah.” You affirm, not understanding his attitude. “Poof. Gone. And the multiverse breathes easier because of it.”
“Besides it’s not so different from you yanking the president of Boravia to ‘have a chat’ when he wanted to invade Jarhanpur.” You say tilting your head and shrugging your shoulders.
Clark’s jaw tightens.
“It’s how I operate, Clark.” You say his name softly.
Clark feels his face warm up, his heart skipping a beat. “How you operate?”
Clark’s voice wavers, a disbelieving laugh leaves him.
“You’re a monst—“ Clark’s voice stops mid-breath.
His eyes widen, his hand shooting to his throat.
He exhales in a steady stream.
Clark wheezes, lungs spasming as he tries and fails to draw in another breath.
His eyes water, turning red, before they flare like he’s going to fire off his heat vision.
The warning lights blink faster, the buzzer echoes once. A hairline fracture appears on the Watchtower viewport.
Clark falls to his knees, fist landing against the table.
When you realize you’re causing it, your mouth drops open.
You collect yourself, face steeling.
You close your eyes, softly exhaling, reining in your magic.
He feels the crushing pressure around his trachea disappear.
Clark takes deep ragged breaths as he feels the air rush back into his lungs.
He can smell and taste chocolate and brandy, before it turns to ash on his tongue.
“Yeah…I guess I am, Superman…” You flash a quick smile, before your eyes dart down to the table.
Clark feels his alpha howl at the loss of his nickname.
He can’t stand the conflict inside him.
He can’t stand the way he enjoys having gotten to you.
He can’t stand the way he wants to apologize immediately.
He didn’t think he’d hate hearing his hero name fall from your mouth like this.
Your chair skids across the floor before fading into red smoke.
“(Y/n)…” Zatanna whispers, her hand going to yours.
“Honey…” Giovanni says softly.
“(Y/n)…” Diana says gently, leaning towards you.
“Kid…” John murmurs, eyes pained.
You don’t answer as a portal rips open behind you.
It swirls angrily, the edges more frayed than they normally are.
You turn around, walking through the portal without another word.
It slowly swirls shut, leaving behind scarlet wisps that fade into nothing.
“You’ve got some nerve calling my little prince of chaos a monster.” Klarion seethes. “At least he was born here, you foreign invader.”
He stands up just as abruptly, fading into the shadows.
The silence is palpable.
It’s an oppressive air that threatens to crack Clark under its weight.
“We’re going to check on (Y/n).” Zatanna projects into Bruce’s mind, as she and Giovanni stand up.
“Latrop.” Zatanna casts.
“Zatanna—“ Clark sputters. “Zatara—“
Neither sticks around long enough for him to finish, walking through a conjured portal that zips closed behind them.
Clark looks to Diana. “Wonder Woman—“
”Too far, Clark.” She says. “I understand your frustration, but you don’t know him.”
John doesn’t say anything as he leaves.
“This guy can bench-press a planet but (Y/n) is the monster?” Guy mutters as he follows after John.
“You intended to speak the truth.” J’onn speaks as he stands. “Truth without empathy harms more than anything. Especially someone whose pain radiates through all of existence.”
J’onn places a hand on Clark’s back. “And disregard the Witch Boy’s comment, his words are provocation, not truth.”
“Batman, there are cracks in the viewport of the Watchtower.” He adds before taking his leave.
The room feels colder to Clark, he stares at the space you walked into when you left.
He almost wishes he had followed.
Clark shakes his head.
“If your goal was rallying them to your side against (Y/n), evidently you’ve failed.” Bruce says pragmatically, heading over to the sensors, and watching them intently.
“Bruce, you must understand where I’m coming from.” Clark says exasperated. “You said it yourself, no one’s forgotten what (Y/n) did in Gotham.”
“Be that as it may, I’ve never called him a monster.” Bruce states.
valarr targaryen x male reader; a sweet first kiss that Valarr will remember for years to come
"Valarr… are you feeling all right? You're burning… Do you have a fever?"
The prince stepped back as if scalded by wildfire. [Name] from [House Name] stood a few steps away, looking at him worriedly.
"I'm fine. Nothing serious, anyway." Valarr muttered in response, putting down his sword. The servant took his weapon. He felt [Name's] burning gaze on him. His best friend was looking at him as if he were insane. Maybe he was, Valarr couldn't tell.
He felt like he'd been mad for a long time. He'd forgotten what it was like to feel different. All the responsibility for his condition stood a few steps down the alley. [Name] His best friend, the boy he'd played with as a child, now a young man – Valarr's friend. The bearer of his secrets. Someone Valarr had fallen in love with.
[Name] handed the sword back to his squire. "You look really bad. Maybe it's a cold… better let the mester see you before you get seriously ill."
Valarr wished he could argue with him. He really did. But he couldn't. A blush burned his cheeks as [Name] helped him off with his armor. He insisted on doing it himself. He insisted on escorting him to his chambers. He had the maester summoned. He stayed until the old man left, assuring him it was just a minor cold.
"You're making too much of a fuss." Valarr sighed, but deep down, he was happy. [Name]'s attention was focused solely on him. He was here only for him. Even though Valarr almost made a fool of himself in front of him every time.
[Name] smiled and shrugged. He lay down beside him on the bed. If anyone else had done so, they would have been thrown into the dungeon. But it was [Name], so all Valarr did was blush even harder. His friend crawled under the silk covers and rested his head against the pillows.
"I'm worried about you," he said quietly, playing with the silk, crumpling it between his fingers. "You've been… different lately. I feel like you're avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?"
Valarr felt trapped. He just shook his head. How was he supposed to explain this? What was he supposed to say?
[Name] sighed. "You run away from me, Valarr, as if I were burning you. Every time I touch you, you run away. Are you disgusted by me?" he asked quietly.
That [Name] preferred men was a secret everyone probably knew. However, no one could do anything about it because of the young nobleman's position. Valarr didn't mind, but the older he got, the more he envied the boys [Name] kissed secretly. He wished he were in their place.
"I…" You're a prince. A future king. Be brave, stupid. "…I like you. Like… you know how." He said after what seemed like an eternity. Or at least, it felt like an eternity to Valarr. He looked away.
"Really?" A soft laugh surprised him. "Stupid, stupid… both of us."
The kiss that followed would remain in Valarr's memory for years to come. Sweet, smelling of a bath after a sparring session and tasting of willow bark syrup from the maester. But he was theirs. And that was the best part.
Even if he caused the kingdom to ignite with gossip, rumors, and whispers from the people and nobles a few years later, when he placed the crown on [Name]'s head and it took another year to calm the situation down, Valarr claimed it was worth it.
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