#does he find out all at once or does he find out one and domino from there

[littlelostbirdy]

In your headcannons when does Jim Gordon find out (actually learn the identities) or 'find out' (get confirmation of the identities he figured out and, very purposefully and politely, firmly ignored until just now this minute) of the batfam?

[imissthefire]

stefan is my babygirl, my kitten, my sweet little rat, my caution wet cement sign that goes unheeded, my silly rabbit, my goofy goober, my cracked mirror that exudes an ominous mist, my sock lost in the dryer, my rusty nail, my fortune cookie with two fortunes inside, my broken drippy faucet, my glasses with fingerprints obscuring my sight, my soft taco, my little birdie in the woods who sings songs haunting as his past, my half melted ice cream, my dented can of peaches, my doorknob, my ergonimically designed powerdrill, my worn out jeans, my—

[slushycoookie]

I Like Your Dress ~ Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

✩ Word Count: 2.7k

✩ Content: Logan goes crazy over your dress, Domino shows up (I miss her so bad), cream pie is mentioned A LOT, Wade breaks the 4th wall, P in V, Logan does NOT wrap it up this time, MINORS DNI!!

✩ A/N: Reader is the same reader as the one shot I wrote. You don't have to read that one, I don't go into much detail but if you guys want to read that one, read it here

Masterlist | Commissions

The fresh smell of food made Logan awake from his slumber.

Sleepily searching for you on your side of the bed, only to discover that you weren't there. Having a sudden burst of energy, Logan got out of bed to find you. He didn’t need to go far when sees you wiggling your hips at the stove, stirring a pot.

“Hey.”

You look behind you when hearing his voice, “Hi!”

Logan pulls you close as you greet him with good morning kisses. Well, afternoon after checking the time.

“How did you sleep? I let you sleep in a little bit, you were so tired from that mission last night.”

Logan smiles, “I slept alright.”

He sees the multitude of ingredients on the counter and remembers what they're were for. Wade was throwing a potluck since Domino was coming back from a month long mission. Of course, he invited you two and you were so excited. Logan was neutral. He would've preferred to stay in bed with you all day.

You said you were making a few things, but the amount of ingredients you had made him wonder. “How many people are you planning to feed?”

“Enough.” You said, going back to your pot, which he found out was pasta. “Colossus and Peter will be there. We both know how much they like to eat.”

“Don’t push yourself.” His tone was rough but you knew it was his way of caring.

“I won't.”

Logan grabbed himself an afternoon shot of bourbon before excusing himself to get ready. Trying to prepare himself for socializing and dealing with Wade.

When he came back clean and not as rugged, you were finishing up, putting white icing on the strawberry cake. Logan swiped his finger on the cake and licked it, cream cheese on his tongue.

“That’s good.”

“Don’t lick it anymore.” You lightly threaten, smacking his hand away. “Save it for the party.”

“Fine.” Logan kisses your cheek and stands behind you to watch you finish icing the cake. In your beautiful handwriting ‘Welcome back, Domino’ in pink icing. “Would ya look at that? You should be on those baking shows.”

“Nuh uh, I'm okay with just watching videos.”

Once you were finished, he helped you place the cake in the dome, ready to go with the rest of the food. You gave him an order to not eat any of it before you ran into the bathroom to get ready. Logan gave you about five minutes before inspecting the tins. He smiled when he saw you only made a few items, a large tray of pasta salad and spinach dip. Just to make sure it wasn't poisoned, he took a swipe of each, humming at how good it tasted.

He knew you were going to be a while so he opened a window, grabbed a cigar and lounged to smoke. Logan knew you didn't like it when he smoked in the apartment, but said it was okay as long as he let in some fresh air after.

As usual, you took almost a hour getting ready, but it was well worth the wait.

When you stepped out of the room, Logan started coughing, blowing smoke out the window to make sure a lot didn't linger. His eyes trailed your outfit, a tie dye colored maxi dress with thin straps, and cute, brown sandals to match. Logan didn't care when you scolded him for obviously taking a bite of your pasta salad. His breath was stolen away.

“I like your dress.”

“You're changing the subject, but thanks.”

He steps in front of you, eyes lowered as he kept gazing at your form. The dress hugging your body while still being appropriate. Logan's hand rests on your ass cheek, giving it a firm squeeze.

“I really like your dress.”

You avoid his lustful gaze, “Don’t you start.”

“Start what?” He steals a kiss from you, careful not to mess up your lipstick. “I can't compliment my lady?”

“You can compliment me by using your words.”

“It's not as fun that way.” He dips his head between your neck to smell you. You weren't wearing any perfume this time, but the honey scent from your lotion was enough to complete the entire package. Logan growls, squeezing your ass some more and making you giggle.

“We should go, I don't wanna be late.”

“We won't. I swear.” His hand cups the nape of your neck, putting it back so he could kiss you some more. Parting your lips to dive his tongue right in. Your moans spurring him on.

It didn't last long though.

“Logan.” You gently push him away, “We will have some time later.”

He sucked his teeth before grabbing all of the food you made.

Logan remained a scowling mess when you two arrived for the potluck.

You were the more social one out of the relationship, so you immediately flocked to the crowd who welcomed you with open arms. Even Domino, despite that this was the first time you two saw each other. Logan makes his usual rounds of saying hi before picking a corner with a drink in his hand and observing.

It was his way of enjoying himself without being easily annoyed and overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in the apartment. Best of all, he could watch you socialize. Your face lighting up at the conversations while that gorgeous dress clung to your body. Logan always likes to admire you in your element, but you wearing that dress was more than enough to make him want to do things to you. His hands involuntary flexed at the idea of feeling your body through the dress.

“There’s my grumpy kitty!” Domino says to Logan, who scowled at her, but there was no malice behind it.

“Hey, Dom.”

“Wade told me that your hair was getting better and now I see why.” She motions to you talking to Peter about him getting highlights. Logan's lips curl upwards again at the sight of you. “She's cute.”

“Thanks. I heard she scheduled you an appointment?”

Domino nods, “Gonna try something new. This is getting stale.” She motions to her afro.

“Don’t you dare change it.” Wade joins in, pointing at her. “You know how I feel about change.”

“Aww.” Domino pinches his cheek, “We all gotta grow up sometime.”

“You know who you're talking to right?” Logan comments under his drink.

“Your afro was one of the reasons you were so likeable in the second movie. Now what do we have, a woman with luck powers? I still don't believe that's a thing, by the way.”

Domino shakes her head at the audacity of it all, “I missed you too.”

She excuses herself, leaving Logan and Wade together. The latter started getting a little giddy, cradling his cup, while shooting multiple glances. Logan promised you that he was going to play nice during the party and not get easily annoyed at Wade.

“What?”

“We’re having cream pie.” Wade mentions, “Do you wanna know what flavor it is?”

Logan holds back an eyeroll, “Sure.”

“It's boston cream pie. I know we have a lot of sweet things considering we also have the cake your lady made, but I really wanted some. Actually, it's been a while since you've had cream pie, right?”

“I guess.”

“Oh you'll enjoy this one. You have a bit of a sweet tooth.” There was a moment of silence between them as they watched everyone enjoy themselves. You were getting many compliments on your food, asking for the recipes to make at home. “ Vanessa and I are huge fans of cream pie. Does your lovely lady like it too?”

Logan glared at him for a second before thinking about the question, “I think so.”

“Has she had it in a while?”

“No.”

“I think she'll be very happy when she gets some-”

“Why…in the fuck do you keep talking about the damn cream pie?” He feels a slight headache coming on.

Wade shrugs before taking a sip of his drink. “I can't like pie?”

Logan growls, ready to toss him out the apartment when you inadvertently save Wade, walking over with a huge smile on your face.

“Hi.”

“Hey, sugar.”

You embrace him with arms around his neck. Your lips kissing his cheek, taking in the aftershave.

“Hi Wade.”

“Hi. Your grumpy boyfriend and I were just talking about cream pie. Do you know we're having pie later?”

Logan felt his eye twitch at the question, his hand on your hip to keep himself from punching Wade.

“No, I didn’t!” Your eyes light up, “What kind of pie?”

“Boston cream. One of the best pies in the world, I should say.”

“Ooh, you know what, I haven’t had cream pie in a long time.”

“Oh really?” Wade tilts his head a little, while you nod. “Well, obviously you gotta have some. I think you'll enjoy it. The author knows what I'm talking about.”

And just like that, he's gone.

Logan didn't want to acknowledge whatever that was so he pulls you amongst his body. The most handy you'll ever allow him to be in public.

“We should go.” He whispers in your ear.

“Hm? We've only been here for two hours.”

That was enough, he wanted to say. Everytime he focuses on you and that dress, he wants to forget behaving and take you back home to lavish on you all night. For those two hours, Logan was trying to keep his thoughts pure enough to get a raging hard on. He didn't know how long he could last.

“Just hang in there a bit longer, okay?” You give him a kiss for encouragement. Logan takes in the imprint of your lips as you go back to socialize. No, he wasn't going to make it.

He hangs on when everyone sits around the table, laughing and talking. You're beside him, hand on his thigh to stabilize him and keep him in the conversation. Logan wants you to go higher, feel the impending hard on.

He needs to get you alone, show you that he was failing at behaving. There weren't a lot of places where you two wouldn't be disturbed. And he didn't want to take you outside and fuck you in an alleyway.

But God answered him.

You excused yourself, making your way to the bathroom. Logan watches you go as everyone continues talking. He gives it a minute before getting up and pretending to grab another drink. Instead, he beelines to the bathroom, standing beside the door and waits. His heartbeat in his chest.

“Who wants some cream pie?” Wade asks, everyone roaring with excitement once you finally open the door.

Logan pushes you back into the bathroom, lips immediately on yours. Your surprised gasp eggs him on while he traps your body against the wall.

“This is all your fault.” He mutters, constantly stealing kisses.

“Huh? What?” You try to keep up with him as his hands are all over your body, feeling your soft curves through the dress.

“You know what. Wearing this dress, not letting me do something to you before we came here. Torturing me.”

As he spoke, his lips were everywhere. Your face and neck. Trying to wear you down and submit.

“Torturing you? That, that wasn't my intention-oh.” His teeth latched on to your shoulder, having some self control to mark you in a place no one could see.

“I need you.” Logan starts bunching up your dress.

You try to stop him by pushing his hands down, “L-Logan? Logan, baby you didn't lock the door.”

“It's gonna be quick.” You let him bunch up your dress, seeing a glimpse of your panties, which he now sees that it's the lacey blue ones he liked. The ones you mentioned reminded you of the accent colors of his suit.

Logan's jeans were getting tight when he removed them, stuffing them in his pocket. Without saying a word, you jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist. You whimpered under his lips as he was finally able to touch you while wearing the dress. Large hands molding your breasts through the fabric, still managing to locate the nipple and pinching it. His hips rolling against you, creating a nice friction against your cunt.

You were doing so good at keeping quiet for him, only managing the occasional whimper when he hit a perfect spot. Making sure you were stable on his arm, Logan reaches down to your core. His chest rumbles when he feels how wet you're getting. Sinking one digit inside while his thumb presses on your clit. Making circular motions while he was getting you ready.

“Didn’t need to do much, huh?” He said, watching you twist and turn. “You wanted this as much as I did.”

You didn't say anything but he smelled you. His finger coated in your delectable arousal. If you two weren't on a time limit, he'd reach down to get a taste.

Once you were ready, Logan maneuvers to unzip his pants. Even though you were dazed out of your mind, you remember something.

“I left my purse out there.” Your purse had condoms and knowing Logan, he didn't bring them as you insisted on being prepared in case something like this happens. But now both of you were unprepared.

“I'll get ya plan b at the store.” He continues to unzip his jeans.

“Don’t forget…”

Logan pulls his cock out with one motion, using some of your wetness for lubrication. “I won't.”

He then slips into you. You clutch on to him for dear life, your nails digging into his shirt. Curse his healing factor. He wanted to see the marks you'd leave on him.

He keeps you stable against the wall, sinking into you completely before starting to move. Quick and sharp thrusts in and out of you. Low, wet sounds filling his ears besides your shaky sobs.

“O-Oh god…”

Logan rolls his eyes back at your desperate tone, “God's not here, honey.”

His own voice comes out strained as he's fucking you. How he wants to pull your dress up further to see your breasts move. But having you like this was much hotter. Wanting you to remember that this was the dress that made him go crazy.

“Mmh Lo’…” He almost comes right there when your hand grips the nape of his neck, pulling the hairs.

Logan grunts, picking up speed, feeling some of his cum leaking out into you. His tip pressing against your cervix that was making you croon. Goosebumps forming on your skin as he hit that spot repeatedly. Making you whine and wince under him.

“Squeeze around me, sweetheart.” He commands and you do so. Your walls molding around his cock as you silently cried out. Even at the height of your pleasure, you still managed to be quiet, mouth agape and he wanted to shut those lips with his own. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Logan wasn't far behind, pounding into you mercilessly before shooting his cum inside you. He stilled for a moment then pumped into you a few times to make sure all of his load made it inside. You capture him in another kiss, both of you sighing against each other.

Laughter nearby caused you two to come down from the high. Logan put you down, handing you your panties. He grabbed a few paper towels to make sure no cum stained his jeans. You were checking yourself out in the mirror, making sure Logan didn't mess up your makeup. He did ended up getting some on his face, which had you quickly trying to wipe it away with your thumb.

“I'm good, I'm good.” Logan reassures you before fixing his shirt. “I'll go out first.”

“Okay.” Before parting, he gave you another kiss, completely not caring if lipstick stained his lips.

The party continued as if the two of you weren't missing for the last fifteen minutes. Logan played it cool by grabbing another drink. When you came out the bathroom, you two momentarily locked eyes, before acting like nothing happened.

“Did you enjoy the cream pie?”

Logan jumps at Wade's sudden appearance, “What the fuck? How did you know that I-?”

“The pie's right there.” Wade points to the cut up pie on the kitchen counter. Logan stares at it, a bit dumbfounded. “It's good right?”

Logan's eyes land on you as you're speaking to Domino once more, “Yeah. It was good.”

Tags: @allmyn1ghts

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 17

Somewhere in the back of Bruce’s mind, there a voice that was grateful that no one Bruce had slept with had experimented on their own child. With Talia and himself there were already lines that had been crossed, but what Danny had been through was another level of horrible. Which is why that tiny voice didn’t mater.

This wasn’t about Bruce, this was about Danny. Danny who looked ready to bolt again. Bruce reached out and placed his hand on Danny’s still cold cheek.

“Danny, being my clone doesn’t make being my son any less true.”

“That’s not—” Danny’s eyes welled with tears again and he leaned into the touch even as his foot scooted backwards. “That’s not how it works.”

“It does for us. Our family is messy. It’s complicated and confusing and… wonderful,” Bruce said. He spoke slowly both so that his words were clear, but also so that he could find the right words. “It’s a butler and orphans, assassins and demi-gods, sons and daughters and sometimes people who are neither. You being a clone is just one more thing in that mix. You’re still my son, if you’d like to be.”

“You can’t want me, I’m dead,” Danny insisted.

Jason set a pot down, loud enough that Danny’s eyes flickered to him.

“Kid, Danny, that doesn’t mater,” Jason said in a carefully controlled tone. “It’s the same as I’ve said before, they all know I died.”

Danny’s eyes widened, causing the tears to sleep free. He blinked rapidly.

“…Oh.”

-

They’re sat around the living room, each with their own mug of hot chocolate, even Bruce Wayne— even… well, Danny supposed it would be Tim Drake-Wayne, once he had shown up. He had flown through the door as he spoke through gulped breaths of air. He didn’t have a domino on either. They all sipped slowly at their drinks.

They were waiting for him to talk.

Talking seemed an insurmountable challenge.

Danny took another sip of the hot chocolate and licked the sugar sprinkle bat from his lips. He didn’t look at them as he spoke.

“Dick Grayson, Jason Wayne, Tim Drake-Wyane. Cassandra Wayne… Duke Thomas, and Damian Wayne. I don’t know Spoiler or Oracle. I only… I looked up Bruce Wayne on a library computer after I ran. That’s why I know.”

“Close friends of the family,” Mr. Wayne said.

“And ex-girlfriends,” Night— Dick spoke up.

“Right. Red— Tim said him and Spoiler had dated.” Danny mumbled. He glanced over at Hood from under his bangs. Hood… Jason? Hood. Too many changes. Hood hadn’t said anything since he had revealed everything.

He must have noticed Danny looking though, because he sent a melancholy smile Danny’s way. “I get it. We kept a really huge piece of information from you, but we didn’t lie. When we said you had us no matter what Bruce Wayne did, we meant it.”

“But he’s your dad.”

“And that means we're all very good at not listening to him,” Tim said proudly.

Mr. Wayne just gave an amused snort at that.

“Dandelion,” Hood said, ignoring his family, “the first time that you looked up at Red and I we both clocked who you were instantly.”

“Not the clone part,” Red added.

This time it was Danny who gave a little snort.

(Fuck, they even snorted the same.)

Hood just flicked Red off. Tim. “Sure, not the clone part.”

“Because someone wouldn’t let me take DNA,” Tim interrupted again.

“It’s corrupted anyways,” Danny said and suddenly all eyes were on him again. He ducked his head down into a shrug. “From my death. This form I guess it would match enough? But my ghost form wouldn’t be any help.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Tim said softly. “But also Hood was right, you didn’t deserve us doing that to you right then, even if I just wanted to help. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t know that you came from Bruce. You just came from him in a different way than we thought.”

“You were family right away, kid,” Hood said. “If didn’t matter your name or pronouns or history or if you’ve died or even that you’re a clone. As soon as we got a good look at you, you were family.”

Danny could feel the tears coming again and he wiped at his eyes in frustration. He wanted to just stop crying today.

“You could have been wrong,” Danny said. They didn’t get it, why didn’t they get it?

“Could have. But you were still a hurt kid that needed help,” Hood said.

“You don’t need blood to be family,” Dick said. “Me and Jason and Tim and Cass and Duke… Alfred, none of have blood with each other or Bruce and Damian. If you had turned out to not be related to Bruce at all? Well, you were already family.”

The tears came now and Danny couldn’t stop them. The hot chocolate was taken carefully from his hands by Jason while Dick pulled him into a hug.

“I don’t— I don’t get it,” Danny said through the sobs. “Why can you all— why can you all love me after a month when they— when my— when the people that were supposed to be my parents never did?”

“Danny—”

“They killed me!” Danny roared. He was shaking now and Dick help him tighter. “They made me just to kill me and cut me into pieces! I was their son! I was…. I was their son. Why couldn’t they love me?”

Between one blink and the next Mr. Wayne was up from his chair and in front of Danny. His large hand was so warm on Danny’s cheek. Danny sobbed harder.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, I don’t know because you are so loveable. It’s something wrong with them, not with you. I already know you’re wonderful and I can’t wait to get to know you more.”

Danny didn’t get it.

Danny didn’t believe it yet.

But god did Danny want it.

Danny flung himself forwards, landing in the arms that were waiting to catch him, and let himself cry.

-

“Nose bleed stopped and he’s resting now. Jay is staying in there with him in case he wakes,” Dick said as he closed the door to Danny’s bedroom softly behind him. A sad, wet blue lump was in his other hand. “We’ll try to get his bear dried out, it was in the bag he took.”

“See if the dryer has an air dry setting,” Bruce said. When both sons in the room looked at him in surprise he just gave a little shrug. “Dickie used to play with Zitka outside all the time. I learned to help make sure she was always ready for bed.”

Dickie gave a little laugh. It was heavily tinged with stress, but it was a laugh. Bruce would take what he could get right then. Jay still had a job, so he’d be alright for now. Dick would need to stay busy and close to people, but both those would do most of the work for the moment. It was Tim that Bruce had to worry about the moment; he was being very silent.

“Tim, chum, are you done with your drink?”

Tim blinked up from staring down at said drink. “What?”

Bruce crouched down in front of Tim (trying not to think of how he crouched down in front of a sobbing Danny just a bit ago) and took the mug. “What are you turning over in that head of yours, chum?”

Tim fiddled with his nails now that the mug was out of his hands. Bruce wouldn’t stop it unless Tim managed to make himself bleed. It wouldn’t be the first time or the last.

“Sweetheart?”

“It’s going to take him a long time to believe us— this,” Tim said, the words almost a rush.

Bruce nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

“And he could run again,” Tim continued, still speaking quickly. “It could all be going well and then suddenly he could be thinking of running again because he’s doubting things.”

“Okay Tim,” Bruce said with careful words. His mind was running through all the times when Tim had pulled away from the family, “what do you think we can do to help that?”

Tim shrugged and looked away. “I guess— I mean, saying things to him is good but it won’t get as far as actions. And those actions need to include making him feeling useful.”

“But—” Dick started, the dryer now rumbling away in the linen closet.

“I’m not saying make him do work,” Tim interrupted. “But until he can consistently believe that we want him in the family, him feeling useful will help give him a reason to stay. As long as he’s useful, he won’t think that there’s no reason for him to stay when he thinks no one wants him around.”

Gently, Bruce reached out and took Tim’s hand away from where his cuticle had started to split and bleed. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the spot gently. “We’ll make sure to offer him ways to help out. We’ll talk as a family about where the lines will be and what sort of work is alright, especially as Danny is still healing.”

Tim took a careful breath and nodded. “Good.”

“And Tim?” Bruce waited until Tim was looking at him to continue. “I love you and I’m very glad that you are part of this family.”

-

Bruce sent Dick back to the manor after Cass arrived. They talked about what was best and agreed together that for Danny, Bruce still needed to be here in the morning. Bruce knew Dick hated to leave, but he was the other one who could handle Damian and whatever moods this may have invoked. And they were both worried about pulling Jason away from Danny right then.

Once Dick had wrangled Damian, they all had a meeting. Jason joined in with headphones Tim delivered and stayed mostly silent. Alfred lingered behind Dick’s shoulder.

Bruce went over the day, doing his best to treat it like a debrief just so that he could get through it without his heart breaking the rest of the way.

Danny had run of his own volition, afraid that those who had hurt him would find them. He was most afraid of them hurting Jason and Damian. (Dick pulled Damian close). He wasn’t Bruce’s son, biologically speaking, but his clone. They would try, with permission, to take some blood and analyze it soon. There were worries about the state of Danny’s DNA that Bruce wanted them to look into, for Danny’s safety.

There was worry any tests might set Danny off.

Danny knew about their identities, though they did not share Stephanie and Barbara’s name— both girls gave their go ahead. He seemed confused, but alright. They had to be ready for a possible out burst over it later after everything that had sunk in.

They would be sure to give Danny things to do that made him a quick part of the family, Bruce wanted everyone to think what those would be. There was to be nothing that was patrolling or anything dangerous. They would all agree on the list.

When Bruce ran out of things to say, Alfred stepped forward, there as always to help with the next step. “Is there anything specific I should prepare for his room?”

“Blue,” Cass suggested.

“Stars,” Tim said from where he was tucked into Cass’ side. “He likes space. Maybe one of those projectors that turns the ceiling into the night sky?”

“Soft blankets,” Jason spoke, a quiet addition.

“An air diffuser, natural scents like flowers and earth,” Dick chimed in.

“A… a pet,” Damian said, words uncharacteristically hesitant, though he straightened up defiantly at the look of confusion on everyone’s face. “If he is a flight risk, then a pet will be something he stays for. It will also be a responsibility for him that is little effort and not dangerous. Also, when he needs company but the family is… overwhelming, his pet will be there for him. There are many cats and some suitable dogsat the shelter right now, I will take him.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched up in a little smile. “That’s a very good idea, thank you. I’m sure Danny would like your help, after we introduce you two properly.”

Damian nodded, though that slight uncertainty was still there in the curve of his shoulders.

“Dami?” Dick prompted.

“When will I be able to meet him? Properly.”

“How about in a few days, before we move him to the manor, I’ll bring you over with me, okay ayouni? We can bring lunch with us and have a meal together,” Bruce offered.

Damian nodded sharply, a slight smile on his lips. “Acceptable.”

“Good. We will try to have everyone over before we move Danny, which will be mostly on his timetable. For now, everyone get some rest.”

There was a chime of voices agreeing to that and signing off. Bruce made sure he was the last to leave the call.

---

AN: It's... mmm... not great day, so you all are getting this now instead of tomorrow when ao3 updates. Stay delightful, darlings <3

[spider-stark]

GREED IS GOD

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - If Kaz Brekker insists on being a jerk to you, then why does he keep threatening the boys you like?

Warnings - fem!reader, toxic, subtle power dynamic, kaz being emotionally constipated, could deviate from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, !minors dni 18+!

Word Count - 2.2k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“You had no fucking right, Brekker!” 

The words tear straight from your throat, rageful as you swing open the door to one of the Crow Club’s private gambling parlors. Inside, several heads snap to where you’re looming in the doorway. Some of them wear baffled looks, unsettled by the violence of your intrusion, while others look as if they’re holding in a cheeky laugh behind tight lips.

You’re not sure what they find so funny, whether it’s the prospect of Kaz Brekker getting his ass handed to him by a girl or something to your expense.

The grunts—about ten of them, in total—sit around a black poker table, the center of which is lavishly adorned with the striking silhouette of a crow, styled in sleek, bloody crimson. At its head is Dirtyhands himself, his elbows digging into the bolstered edge, leather-clad fingers pressed together in a stiff steeple. 

His eyes slide to yours, cold and detached. 

Your chest locks, lungs constricting around a breath. 

“I assume you’ve all been introduced,” Kaz rasps, a terse nod in your direction, “to the Dregs dearest asset and resident instigator.” 

There’s a snort or two, but no laughter. No one can ever tell when Kaz Brekker is making a joke, and as such, it’s best to never laugh at him. 

In the main hall behind you, the Crow Club’s usual clamor seems to grow, low-lives and thugs barking over games of Blackjack and Craps. It’s loud and obnoxious, a rival to the incessant pounding in your head, your blood turned to an erratic rush in your ears. 

It hits you this might��ve been a bad idea. 

Then—like an idiot—you choose to double-down. 

“You had no right.” The words catch in your teeth, serrated on the way out. You point at him. “You over-fucking-stepped, Brekker!” 

It’s a domino effect, the low snicker of one grunt setting off the next until they’re all laughing at you, chortling like a bunch of rowdy pigs. Your fingers curl, rage smarting—but then there’s embarrassment, too, red hot as it crawls up your neck. 

Why is it that a man's anger earns restraint, but a woman’s is entertainment? 

Before you think to find the answer in the way Jesper would—by drawing the pistol at your hip and shooting a Saintsdamned hole in the ceiling—Kaz lifts a commanding hand. 

“Shut up. All of you.” 

Kaz doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. 

The grunts fall into a wary silence. Kaz’s glower drags around the table, marking each face. The men start shifting in their seats like the cushions have been set on fire, but they’re too afraid to stand up. 

“Get out.” 

Chairs screech back. Cheap boots scuff against polished floors, the grunts shuffling toward you in a disorganized heap. You suck in a breath, turning sideways to let them file out past you. They avoid your gaze—not because they’re scared of you, of course, but because Dirtyhands had already snapped their leash once tonight. 

When the last grunt skulks out, Kaz gives you an order, too. 

“Close the door.”

And damn if your feet don’t obey, so used to blind obedience that you immediately step into the parlor and do as he bids, a palm pressed flat to the door's glossy-black paint, feeling it in your bones when it clicks shut. 

The air shifts. 

A lump forms in your throat. The sensation of a noose getting tighter, tighter—the persistent, strangling fear of a child who knows they’re about to be scolded, who's still innocent enough to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they can escape it by crawling under their bed, by keeping their back turned. 

But you’re not a child. And this isn’t your fault. 

You turn around. 

“Do you know what keeps men in line?” Kaz asks, giving you no time to answer before he continues, “I’ll give you a hint. It’s not respect. Not loyalty, either. So what is it? What keeps a gang from going off the deep end, from turning order into chaos?” 

You swallow. Try to feign nonchalance. “I don’t know, Brekker. The enduring power of friendship?” 

Kaz doesn’t so much as blink. 

“Fear,” he answers simply, firmly. “Fear keeps them in line. Fear of consequence, fear of uncertainty—” he leans slightly forward, gaze unnervingly intense—“fear of me. And do you know what jeopardizes that fear?” 

Your skin feels tight. “Me?” 

An irked, tight-lipped smile. “Exactly. You.” 

Kaz relaxes back into his chair, and it strikes you how he almost looks like a fixture of the room—his dark, austere style blending seamlessly with the parlor’s imposing black-and-crimson decor. Or maybe that’s not right. Maybe it’s the other way around—the parlor, the Crow Club itself, exists merely as an extension of Kaz. It’s his blood woven into the crow’s silhouette, the blackness of his soul that paints the walls. 

A tired, gloved hand combs through his slicked hair. Pink lips part with a sigh that feels purposeful. “So. Next time you want to act all big and make a fool of yourself, give me enough time to clear the room, hm? That way, I don’t have to deal with men getting it in their heads that they can talk back to me all because you do it without losing your tongue. Understood?” 

You suck on a tooth, glancing off to one side. It takes a minute for words to find you, and when they finally do, they spill out in a frustrated heap. “Raske told me about Leon,” you tell him, more an accusation than a statement. 

Images flash in your mind, the spattered freckles and gap-toothed smile of the dealer you’d gotten sweet with. 

The dealer that, as of a few days ago, disappeared from the Crow Club without a trace. 

“What,” you press, brows lifting expectantly, “you’re not even gonna say anything? Deny it, even?” 

His expression is one of perfect neutrality. Still, the tiniest hint of satisfaction slinks into his tone. “I’m not sure why you’re so upset,” he tells you, almost patronizing. “Did Raske not tell you everything? I was quite gracious, all things considered. He even convinced me to let Leon keep his tongue.” 

A scoff pushes from your lungs, frustration bubbling into childish fury. It takes all your restraint to keep from stomping your foot at him. 

“You broke his hand, Kaz!” 

He looks offended. “I broke both of his hands,” he corrects you, the distinction incredibly important. “Leon should consider himself lucky I didn’t take a finger for all the times he’s been caught skimming. So long as the bones heal, he should relearn his shuffle just fine.” 

But you’re no fool. The bones won’t heal. Not properly. 

Leon will never deal again. You’ll never see him. And Kaz… 

Kaz wins. 

“Leon isn’t a skimmer,” you defend, a bitter growl as you stomp for the poker table. You stop opposite him, palms pressed flat to the felt-top as you hold his stare. “And even if he was,” your voice cracks, “we both know that wasn’t your reason, Brekker.” 

Kaz lifts his chin, the muscles in his shoulders tensing in a slight, barely perceptible shift. “Oh?” 

You count on your fingers. “Leon. Junip. Teller.” 

Each name tastes acidic in your mouth, cheeks burning with the memory of friends and almost-lovers, boys with nothing more than the misluck of smiling at you in a place where Dirtyhands could see. 

“Kerrigan, Donni.” Your voice climbs, “Mikael, Alyn!” 

How many have been punished? Made to pay for fallacies at the cost of shattered bone or cut-off digits? And why, why is it that anytime you seek happiness, Dirtyhands comes to tear it away? 

“Do I need to keep going?” you finally spit. “Or have I painted well enough for you to get the picture, Brekker?” 

He nods, dusting a speck of lint from his suit coat. “Oh, you’ve painted plenty well enough. This is becoming an epidemic, isn’t it? Parents giving their children such stupid names.” A harsh shadow flickers across his face. “Or was the point simply that you get around?” 

The words land like a blow—and you falter with the impact. 

Your stare drops, nails scraping against the felt-top. “This isn’t fair,” you mutter, head shaking. 

“What isn’t?” 

“This!” 

It’s an exasperated breath, an explosion that wracks through your body. You shove back from the table. Kaz sits straight, a line between his brows. 

“I do my job, Kaz!” 

“As is expected.” 

“I do more than my job!” you argue. “I do everything you ask!” 

“Good.” 

“I scale every rooftop, climb through every window, gather dirt on every fucking rat in this absolute sewer of a city!” 

His head tilts, antagonizing, “As does Inej.” 

You jab a finger to your chest. “I helped you steal a DeKappel!” you hiss, careful not to speak too loud of the one-hundred-thousand kruge painting you’d nabbed from Van Eck. “A fucking DeKappel, Kaz!” 

A sigh slips from his nose. Two leather-clad fingers press to his temple, rubbing in circles as if to soothe some budding ache. “Could we speed this along?” he asks. “I’m a busy man, and dealing with Leon took precious time out of my–” 

“Why?” Your voice is wretched, desperation lashing with every syllable. “Why is it never enough? Why can’t I have one, just one thing outside of my obligations to you? One thing to make me happy, one thing to-” 

His hands brace the table, shoving to his feet so quickly the chair screeches from underneath him, clattering back onto the ground. “Because it makes you weak,” he snarls, low and threatening. “It distracts you.” 

Bullshit. You audibly call bullshit. 

Then something snaps. 

Kaz slams a fist against the table, hard and loud enough to make you jolt. He won’t look at you. “Because,” he starts, pained as if the words have to slash and claw up his throat, “it distracts me.” 

Everything. 

Your wretched feelings, your childish fury, your anger for Leon. 

It all fizzles into something static. 

“It… what?” 

“You heard me.” 

You blink. Once. Twice. 

A third time for good measure. 

“Well—I did, but… Why?” 

Kaz sucks a breath deep into his lungs. Low, to himself, he admits, “Because Inej was right.” Dark eyes look up. “I am selfish and violent. Hungry to the point I feel it in my bones. Greed is my god,” he rasps, wavering, “and you, you are my altar.” 

Oh. 

You take a step back, nearly stumbling over your own feet. “Sorry, I…” a breathy, humorless laugh. “What do you… what does that mean, exactly?” 

Fucking hyperbole. 

A gloved hand rakes through his hair. “That I want,” he starts, only to trail off. 

But then the words settle. Become their own sentence. 

“I want.” You’ve never heard Kaz this desperate. Never seen his eyes this soft, this hazy with apprehension. “It’s abhorrent and I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t. I can’t stop wanting,” a pause, a space left for the word he can’t quite form. You. You, you, you. 

There’s a moment. 

Silent consideration, internal debate. 

Kaz is a monster, one part of you argues. He doesn’t think before he speaks, shatters the bones of any boy you bat eyes at. 

Kaz is a shield, whispers the other. He’ll dismiss a room on your behalf, threaten the lives of any who might hurt you. 

There’s a moment. 

Then, all at once, there’s motion—glorius, frantic, thoughtless motion. The scuff of your boots across the floor; the shocked catch of his breath; the feel of stiff fabric bunched between your fingers, pulling him closer closer closer by his lapels, brow furrowing when his head turns to dodge your lips. 

Gloved hands settle on your waist, the electrifying feel of cool leather brushing bare skin, shirt lifting as Kaz pushes you backwards, up onto the poker table. 

“I can’t,” he struggles. But your legs tighten around his waist, core pressed to the growing bulge in his trousers, and hips seem to meet yours to the tempo of Oh, but I want to. Saints, I want to.

“I can’t,” it's a pant, a moan, his head shaking, dark eyes fluttering, “I can’t be what you deserve.” 

“Then be what I want,” you beg, “be what I need.” 

Your palms lay flat against his chest, slowly drifting up toward the smooth nape of his neck. Your fingertips barely graze the warmth of his skin before a leather-clad hand snaps from your waist, roughly taking hold of both your wrists. 

“No,” he almost chokes, desire held back by fearful restraint. “Not yet.”

His grip loosens—trusting you to obey, to let him set the pace.

And he does.

Nimble fingers are already sliding your pistol from the holster at your hip, sliding it across the table before setting to work on your trousers, fiddling with the flimsy closures before tugging them down, bearing witness to the parts of you he’d only ever seen in dreams. 

Not yet, you think, hot and desperate, cool leather grazing against sensitive skin. But eventually, inevitably. 

Perhaps greed is your god, too. 

a/n - yeah, idk guys? i guess i just can't write smut. the amount of times i walked up to my sister while writing this just to scream "I can't take Kaz Brekker's pants off" was alarming. alas, this exists now and maybe some of you will enjoy it! i'll give true smut another go at some point, probably will something shorter so i don't get distracted with other things lmao

anyways, would love to hear what you think (what works, what doesn't work, what you love, what you hate lmao) and thanks for reading! 

[stealthetrees]

I am once again not working on my fic. Instead I wrote this, which would be at the very end. Sequel to this post.

Hunter was not happy to be sitting in Fox’s office. He was clearly used to doing things very differently. Fox did not know how he did things because neither he nor his squad had ever filled out a report in their lives.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” said Fox bluntly. “The only reason I am even considering offering you a position because Echo is in your squad.”

“What does Echo have to do with anything?” asked Hunter, slouching down further.

“You know when you get cats from a shelter and you find those two that are so attached to each other you can’t separate them?”

“No?”

“Well Echo has this twin, Fives, who I don’t trust you to look after properly so it’s either you come to Coruscant or I keep Echo.”

The gears in Hunter’s head took a long time to start turning under the mullet. He’s probably never used them before. Poor dumb kid, no one to teach him how to think. No! Bad Fox! You can’t keep all of them, Stone will have another intervention.

“You can’t just take Echo, he’s part of our squad,” Hunter said indignantly.

“That’s why I’m offering you a choice,” said Fox. “Coruscant is no one’s first choice for assignment, but we do have more options than you think. You’d have to go through training first. Then maybe an assignment at the Kennals to give you some experience, but eventually I think you could even be trusted with a few off-world assignments.” They would like the Kennels. The small station built to monitor the rancor infestation was a favorite for troopers wanting a change of scenery.

“Why are you so determined to keep Echo?” He asked, sarting to sound suspicious. Knowing his history, Fox knew suspicion would come through eventually. Clone Force 99 did not have the best experience with authority figures, which Fox could relate to.

“I listened to Rex gush about his pet Dominos enough to take this seriously. If he found out I purposefully kept them separate he would kill me.”

[adventuringblind]

Any chance you could do Lando x AUDHD (Autism&ADHD) reader?? Either just him or poly with Oscar, maybe Oscar try a keep them both in line??

The Responsible One

Landoscar x Reader

Summary: Oscar reflects back on the chaotic duo he has for partners

Warnings: none :)

Notes: Lando is ADHD coded... change my mind, I dare you. Also, a life update for you all! I know things have slowed down, but I am still writing! I've been working my ass off and getting ready to start my masters program, so life has been insane. Thank you all for the continued support! ❤️

Masterlist

It certainly wasn't anything new to Oscar, having to manage both Lando and their girlfriend. The chaos they bring with every footstep is insane, but he loves them both dearly.

One time, he found them deep in a conversation about the difference between chocolate and vanilla. Sometimes, he gets absoloute silence only to be interrupted by Lando's strange thoughts that he just needs to say.

Don't get him started on taking them anywhere out to eat. He hates anything to do with it because both of them have differening food sensory issues. It's a pain to get them to agree on anything.

His favorite moments are when both of them are incredibly clingy. It's like being suffocated with hugs, kisses, and cuddles. It's an amazing way to die if you ask him.

He once had to run around looking for them because neither was getting back to him. Turns out they were asleep on the floor together. Blankets tangled with their limbs. Rain sounds playing from somebody's phone. They looked so cute and peaceful, and Oscar does love to sleep. So the Australian joined them in their huddle on the floor.

Speaking of the floor: why are they both obsessed with it? He can't tell you exactly why, but they both love it. Floor time is an essential part of their day that Oscar has adapted to. When Kim started finding him on the floor, he laughed and said, "Oscar! They got you, too!" Apparently, Max also likes the floor because of them. Then Charles started because of Max. The domino effect her supposes.

The one thing he spends most of his time trying to figure out is volume. Specifically why Lando can be quite on second and not the next. It's a jump from word to word sometimes. Whereas the female is so random, he can't predict it. He wouldn't mind it, except for when they set each other off, and then she gets overstimulated. Lando feels so bad that he has to apologize at the end of every sentence for the rest of the day.

He spends many hours trying to soothe both of them. He knows, however, that's at the end, he will be treated to comfort food and a movie. Not because he needs it neccecarily, but because the other two do, and he gets to reap the benefits.

Humor and jokes with the two are his favorite. One of them is blunt, and she loves to tell people like it is. She has no filter really and is a deadpan like Oscar himself. The other can't lie to save his life but tries. He lacks a filter in such a strange way that really Oscar never knows what he's going to say. Oscar is constantly having to hold in his laughs.

They both talk his ear off about random information about the things they love, but he could listen to them all day. They get overstimulated and need breaks. But he's happy to provide a safe space. They cuddle and hug and cling to each other, but he basks in it.

They love him unconditionally, including him. They make him feel wanted.

And it doesn't matter him to him how many people ask him why, or how many tell him they are too chaotic. He could care less. He loves them because they are the definition of distraction walking around as humans.

They are his chaos. He doesn't mind being the responsible one if he gets to keep laying on the floor listening to their ramblings.

And what can he say? It's fun to watch them be brutally honest with people.

[thedemonsurfer]

Back on my bullshit with trying to guess character motives feat. Dark Sun

Sooo Dark Sun (or 'Just Sun') finally rolled up to talk to Sun in todays SAMS ep, and naturally I'm putting him on the high-speed cycle in my head trying to parse what his motives are. What does he GET out of this?

Because he was leaning on Sun really hard to kill Nexus-- specifically, he wants Sun to see Nexus as a representative of the worst kind of person Moon can be, and to recognize that as a threat that needs to be killed.

But-- why?

Roll back a bit: Dark Sun has been involved in every step of Nexus' fall from grace.

He did something to New Moon at their very first meeting.

He provided Eclipse with the means to bring back Solar, and then prevented him from acting until Dark Sun wanted him to.

He dropped Ruin off on New Moon's doorstep when Moon was at a point where he could have accepted Solar's death, causing Moon to double down on his efforts.

He plucked New Moon out of space and pulled the chip containing Old Moon out of his head and left it for Monty to find.

He's provided Nexus with a new base of operations and enables his monkeying around with dark energon dark star energy, despite the damage it's doing to Nex.

Dark Sun needs Nexus to make himself into a threat. Because that's what he does, he sets up the dominoes and pulls the strings, but he doesn't outright tell others what to do (unless it's bossing Ruin around, but Ruin is his bitch so he doesn't count.)

And today, he was leaning real hard on Sun to see Nexus as a threat. to see all Moons as a threat (though, curiously, not mentioning Old Moon).

So what is he getting out of this? Why does he also need Sun to see Nexus as a threat that needs to be stopped? Why does he want Sun to 'understand' that he has to kill his brother?

Dial back the motives. The most compelling and strongest motives are Simple and Selfish: Eclipse didn't actually want power, he wanted Moon to pay attention to him. Ruin did want to prevent a total catastrophe, but he also wanted revenge on the Creators for destroying his life and world.

(As an aside, this is why I feel that Bloodmoon didn't make a good antagonist, and why Ruin's initial appearance was kind of boring. 'I'm here just to fuck shit up' isn't a very compelling motive.)

What do we know about Dark Sun?

He lied about having killed his Moon and actually kept him to torture-- or he DID kill his own Moon, and the one Ruin met was a substitute

He never gets his hands dirty, he gets others to act for him

He's obsessed with Sun

He fucking hates Moon

Dark Sun tells Sun that 98% of dimensions lose their Sun, and Moon is often the one that kills them. But it's not exactly that straightforward, is it?

Atlas points out that Dark Sun is counting dimensions where Sun was reset as him being 'dead'. Dimensions where Eclipse has a hand in Sun's death could be considered Moon's fault, since Eclipse is a byproduct of the killcode. Ruin's situation resulted in the ego death of both his Sun and Moon, on his Moon's suggestion. Ruin also wiped out 5000 dimensions and I think that's gonna skew some of the numbers.

And... how many dimensions have we seen a dead Sun in the show? Two, I think? The one where they never split up and Moon consumed Sun after the killcode took full control, and Solar's. And in Solar's, that Moon went mad trying to bring his Sun back.

Almost every instance we've seen, Sun and Moon coexist just fine once they're in separate bodies.

And I think that's what Dark Sun wants. I think he's trying to justify killing his own Moon before they ever got a chance to get along.

Moons MUST be evil and unable to change, they MUST be cruel. It's impossible for a Sun to get along with a Moon for any length of time, and that Sun is in the right when he has to kill his Moon.

And he's going to use Sun and Nexus to prove how right he is.

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter six || grief

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 6.2k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

Grief is a cruel emotion. It wraps its clawed hands around your throat and drags you down until you can no longer catch your breath. It threatens to drown you in its grasp, leaving nothing behind but the bubbling feeling of what once was. Like an anchor, it holds you below the surface until there’s nothing left but a shell of your former self.

Gojo knows the feeling well, although he’s gotten better at hiding it over the years. He didn’t have a choice. After all, he’s the strongest.

He tilts his head to the bedside table, flipping his phone screen towards him to check the time. Three in the morning. He lets a breath out through his nose, staring at the ceiling. His stomach churns as he lays there, a grimace plastered to his face.

He can’t help but find the whole situation he’d found himself in ironic. Despite your inherent kindness towards others, he had pushed you away. He had pried away any ounce of respect you may have had for him because of his misconception of Miriko, and when he had been wrong he hesitated. Satoru Gojo hesitated.

Although the thought clung to him like a hangnail, it wasn’t what kept him awake at night. What kept him awake was the haunting sound of your sobs. The reminder of the domino effect his poor judgment had caused.

It all could have been prevented, had he treated you like the rest of the faculty. He could have treated your first meeting as a lapse in judgment on his behalf and moved on. He could have been civil. He could have accepted your original denial to help him train Yuji.

Would that have changed anything though, really? You were too kind to have denied Gojo your help in training Yuji, he was sure of it. You would have said yes had he begged. At the end of the day, you were always meant to be here. Here in the cabin, in this moment, choking on your agony.

It didn’t stop the fact that Gojo blamed himself. You likely did too.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he flips onto his side. Eventually, things would get easier. He kept reminding himself of this fact. That no one was there when he lost…

Suddenly jumping to his feet, he grabs his glasses from the bedside table and slides them over his iridescent irises, throwing on a loose white T-shirt and gray sweats and bounding down the stairs to the kitchen. He steels himself in his resolve, swallowing his guilt. Maybe no one was there when he needed someone, but that was no reason for him to let you drown alone.

More importantly, it occurred to him for the first time since you’d agreed to stay in his cabin almost two full days ago that you hadn’t eaten anything. Shoko would not be happy to know that Gojo hadn’t been doing his job keeping an eye out for you.

Your sobs subsided as he moved through the kitchen, opening the fridge and cabinets. He was assuming you held them in at his expense, not wanting him to hear your moment of weakness, but he didn’t blame you. Were he in your position, he would have done the same.

His hand pauses over the carton of eggs as a stray thought wanders through his mind. 

“It’s lonely,” he recalls your words to Yuji, “being at the top with no one able to touch you.”

He lets out a long sigh through his nose. It pained him to say it, but you were right. He knew you meant it in a different sense than how it felt for him, that you truly had been lonely for a long time, but it didn’t change the way your words struck him. Gojo was surrounded by people in a way you never had been, but that didn’t change the fact that at the end of the day, he too pushed everyone away, even if they failed to see it.

He had a job to do, a part to play. It was a trait of his that Yuji had picked up and he hated it, but he also saw the way that you were attempting to coach those thoughts out of him and he admired it.

Standing with his hand over the eggs for so long, the fridge beeps as a warning to close the door. Bringing him back to the present, he pulls out a pan and cracks a couple of eggs straight into the pan before seasoning them.

He doesn’t bother worrying about whether or not you’ll hear him, he knows you’re awake. He’s not sure you’ve managed to sleep at all. Your sobs were near constant and although he had hoped that maybe by the time the second day came around things would subside, they hadn’t yet. Gojo’s own sleep schedule was a nightmare as well, unable to find rest between keeping up his appearances with the students, missions, and trying to sleep through his guilt. He had hoped to catch up on sleep when you woke up, but that didn’t seem to be the case either.

He stares at the pan, so deep in thought and more exhausted than he realizes, that he doesn’t realize it’s burnt. Only a little bit though. It’s fine. Gojo’s not a chef.

He pulls a plate from a cupboard and throws the omelet on it. It looks a bit sad sitting alone on the plate, but he figures it’ll have to do.

With the plate in one hand, he knocks on your door with the other. Taro’s barks startle him and he whips around to where the dog had been roused from his sleep. Before Taro has time to growl at Gojo, he’s quickly distracted by the realization that Gojo is trying to get your attention.

He waits a moment, praying you’ll open the locked door, but when you don’t he tries again.

Silence.

Third time’s the charm.

Taro whines when you still don’t respond.

“C’mon, y/n. It’s important.”

It takes a moment, but he hears you shuffle around, followed by the scuffling of your unsteady steps.

When you open the door, he forces his reassuring smirk. Taro bursts past Gojo straight to you, sitting at your side comfortingly as though sensing your mental state.

He swallows at the glum sight of your sunken eyes, one leg shaking despite leaning against the doorway. Your skin is gaunt and shoulders slumped. It takes everything in him to remind himself to play his role in this matter. Right now, he was nothing more than a doctor. That was what you needed, right?

“Omelet?”

Your eyes dart to the plate in his hands, raising a brow. “You said it was important.”

Sensing that his smirk wasn’t an aid in your well-being, he decides to drop the act. “Eating is important.”

“I’m not hungry, Gojo.”

“I put my heart and soul into this omelet.”

You eye the plate again, your crimson eyes taking in the admittedly sad looking plate with a single omelet in the middle.

“Did you put anything in it?”

He frowns, eyes flitting between the eggs and you. “Seasoning.”

“So you made eggs,” you deadpan.

He shrugs. “Eggs, omelets, it’s all the same.” God, why were you so difficult with him all the time?

Sighing, you slowly straighten, leaning your shoulder against the door as you accept his offering. He grins eagerly as you try the eggs. The way you furrow your brow after taking a bite doesn’t instill confidence in his abilities. You flip the omelet to the other side, holding the plate out to him.

“They’re burnt.”

“They’re crispy,” he insists without missing a beat.

Had he blinked, Gojo swears he would have missed it, but a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

It’s a start.

“Can I come in?” He asks hopefully, examining your suspicious expression. When you let up and shuffle aside, he passes through the threshold of the door and waits as you balance yourself against the walls to make your way to the bed on wobbly feet.

When you finally take a seat and mindlessly pick at the eggs he made, he sits at the end of the bed. It creaks under his weight as he settles in the tense silence that hangs between you both.

It’s funny, the way he seemed to lose his words suddenly. After all, there was no right answer to the question of what to say to you. At the end of the day, it wouldn’t change how you felt or what happened. Regardless, he didn’t like the idea of leaving you to drown alone just as he had so many years ago.

“Still sore?”

You shoot him a look and he winces. He had just watched you shuffle along the wall to make your way to sit on the bed, he supposed it was a stupid question.

“Is, um,” he clears his throat, “the bed comfy?”

You pause your movements, chewing on your lip for a moment. “It’s fine,” you say with a humorless chuckle at his attempt at conversation. “Cat got your tongue, Gojo?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Yeah, a cat named Guilt. “Sorry, I-” his blue eyes flicker around the room in search of a reasonable answer but it never comes to him. The moonlight flooding in through the open window shines in the crimson eyes that stare back at him, clearly awaiting an explanation. “Look, I’m trying y/n.” It’s all he can think to say.

Your shoulders relax, if only a bit, and to his surprise your hardened expression softens. You let out a long breath and nod. “Thanks, Gojo.”

Slightly taken aback by your more relaxed figure, the white-haired man reclines on his palms as he relaxes in your presence, offering a sympathetic smile. “Have you slept at all?”

“... No.”

The smile falters. “And this is the only food you’ve had.”

You nod, training your attention on Taro to avoid the air of discomfort between the pair of you. Taro eagerly awaits the moment your attention slips so that he can eat the meal that was growing colder by the second.

“Would you at least sit at the table and try some food if I make some tomorrow morning?” It’s a rhetorical question and you both know it, Gojo isn’t about to stand aside and watch as you fade away wallowing in your grief.

“Sure,” you sigh, a glint in your eyes as you snidely add, “try not to burn it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo snorts, rolling his eyes. You managed to eat about half of the omelet before sliding the plate over to your dog, but at least you’d eaten something. If Gojo had to take care of you himself, then he would.

He takes the plate from you, heading to your door.

“Gojo?” He turns his head to face you before leaving the door. “Thank you.”

He smiles. Not his signature smirk or grin, but a genuine smile, before closing the door behind him.

–

Getting to the table had been a colossal effort. With your chin leaning on the ball of your palm, your tired irises follow Gojo’s movements as he moves ingredients around in the kitchen. Maybe eggs weren’t his forte, but his pancakes were turning out fluffy, albeit very sweet and sugary.

The white fabric of the T-shirt he wore is pulled taut as he reaches up to a shelf to grab a plate. He grunts when he sets it down, adjusting his blindfold over his eyes before returning to cooking. It’s strangely domestic in a way you had never thought of Gojo before.

Pouring a couple more small pancakes into a pan, he sets a small stack in front of you.

“S’alright if you can’t eat it all.” He turns back to continue cooking for himself. Pouring some syrup over the stack, you thank him and take a bite.

“This is actually pretty good,” you comment.

“You say that like you expected me to be a bad chef.”

“I’ve only ever seen you eat sweets and your eggs were burnt.”

“You never came out for lunch with me,” he shoots back in defense of his sugary tendencies.

“You were kind of a dick,” you tell him bluntly.

Before he can retort, there’s a knock at the door. With an exaggerated huff, he turns to the door, ducking through the entrance as he peeks through it and grins at the sight of Megumi. The young boy grunts and slaps Gojo’s hand away as he ruffles his hair.

“D’you still need me to walk the dog?” Megumi asks, eyes flickering to meet yours. You conjure up the best reassuring smile you can manage and nod to him.

“Thanks, Megs,” Gojo grins, ruffling his hair again. Megumi shoots daggers at Gojo for ruffling his hair again before he takes off into the training field with your excited pup in tow.

You knew Gojo cared about his students a great deal, but even so it caught you off-guard just how much he acted like a proud parent to Megumi, puffing his chest out as he turns back to you from the door. Gojo takes note of the way your head is tilted, lost in thought.

“I’ve been taking care of him since he was six,” Gojo explains, smiling over his shoulder.

You blink in surprise, straightening in your seat at the thought of Gojo taking care of a child. He couldn’t be much older than you, which had to mean he was young when he took in Megumi. Thinking of Gojo as a father was an equally strange thought to the domestic setting you’d found yourself in with him once again. 

When the look of shock didn’t leave your face, Gojo chuckles to himself as he sits down at the table across from you, setting a plate with a much larger stack of syrup-drowned pancakes in front of him.

“Him and his sister had nowhere to go and he’s a talented kid,” he explains fondly. His smile grows as he cuts his pancakes, dimples notably showing at the corners of his lips. Every moment this morning, it felt like you were seeing him in a strange new light.

“Didn’t take you for a dad,” you mumble through a mouthful of pancakes. “You’re pretty good with kids though.”

“Compliments? This early in the morning?”

“Are you always this much of a pain in the ass?” You grumble, leaning on your fist.

His silence says no, but his shit-eating grin says absolutely. Still, he recognizes you aren’t genuinely annoyed with him. If anything, this was the most friendly the two of you had ever been. You could only wonder what switch flipped in him that he decided to be more friendly with you but you don’t have the energy to think too hard about it.

“How’re you feeling?” His tone takes on a more serious timbre as he gets up to set his already finished plate in the sink, running a hand through his hair as he leans on the counter with crossed arms.

“A bit better,” you admit, rolling your shoulders. “I hate the disconnect with Miriko though,” you confide, stabbing a small portion of pancake for the dozenth time. “It’s weird, it’s like this strange feeling that I’m forgetting something in the back of my head.”

Gojo hums in understanding, “Has your connection with her gotten stronger in the past couple of days?”

“A bit last night,” you nod. The only difference between last night and the previous was food, so you had to imagine that was an important factor in her energy recovery. “It’s quiet, though.”

Your words hang in the air as Gojo takes them in, his chest rising as he takes in a breath.

“Lonely?” Although the intonation of his tone implies a question, it isn’t one. He knows the answer.

“It is,” your voice is barely a whisper, meek. You’re not sure why you find yourself divulging information to Gojo of all people, but who else was left? You couldn’t drive yourself crazy in the silence that your own mind had become. It was strange, the way your own brain wouldn’t shut up, and yet you craved the familiar presence of the curse that had caused this whole situation in the first place. Of course, you couldn’t blame her. She was the only reason you were alive to this day.

Then again…

You turn your attention to Gojo, examining the strangely casual outfit he was wearing before trying to make sense of his expression. His lips are pursed, as though he’s waiting for you to continue.

If you couldn’t blame Miriko, could you really blame Gojo? Would you have ended up here with or without him?

You press your lips into a tight line, turning your attention back to your plate.

No, you decide. You wouldn’t be in this position if not for him.

But then again, you never would have met Nanami. Even with the loss hanging heavy over your head, you wouldn’t trade your relationship with him for the world. You wouldn’t trade the feeling of being loved.

You stab the pancake harder than intended as you juggle your thoughts, causing you both to jump and pulling you out of your trance.

Gojo clears his throat. “I’ll um, give you some space,” he tells you and hurries off to the washroom to shower.

A shower sounds nice. Maybe that would help clear your thoughts.

–

Dull lights flicker above you, illuminating your figure. You lean over the washroom sink, sighing at your reflection. The woman staring back at you barely feels like someone you recognize. No wonder Gojo had forced you to eat. Even you were able to admit that you looked like a damn wreck.

Pale skin matches your equally dreary and tired expression, not to mention the dull ache in your limbs forcing you to lean on surfaces for support. Lifting a hand, you run it through your wet hair, wringing out what water you’re able to before letting it fall over your shoulders. If it dripped down your shirt, so be it.

Holding yourself up on the door frame, you pick your phone up for the first time since you’d woken up. Of course, you’d always kept your distance from others so you weren’t expecting any messages, but to your surprise your dad had texted his worries. Sliding your phone to unlock it, you read through a flurry of worried texts, followed by one that surprises you.

12:32 PM | Dad: Your friend answered the phone and told me what happened. Love you. Text me when you wake up.

You open your mouth to ask Gojo about the text, but the words die on your tongue as you look up at him.

Gojo is sitting at the table with his legs up on the chair opposite him. He’s wearing a black compression shirt, the outline of his pecs visible beneath the thin fabric. A pair of loose white pants adorns his lower half, tied at his hips. You can’t see his eyes from beneath the thick fabric of his blindfold.

He tilts his head curiously as you freeze with parted lips and wide eyes, trained on the mug in his hands that made your blood run cold. It’s nondescript, he likely picked it up when he’d gone to gather things from your cabin without thinking twice about it, but the sight has a familiar tightness clenching in your chest.

“Where did you get that?” Your voice is eerily devoid of emotion.

Sensing he did something wrong, Gojo sits up, holding the mug up to look at it. “Dunno, I brought it over from your cabin.”

“It’s not yours,” you tense at the sight, spitting the words through your gritted teeth. Images of Kento using the mug each morning flash through your mind, the sound of his gruff morning voice stirring panic in your chest as you act without thinking.

“It’s just a mu-”

“It’s not!” Your voice is loud enough to shock the both of you. You’re gripping the wall hard enough that your knuckles run white. He takes the hint, setting the mug down as realizes what has you so upset, hands up in the air to depict his innocence.

“y/n, it’s not a big deal, ple-” Gojo tries to mediate the situation, knowing you aren’t in a good enough headspace to cooperate, but it does him no favors as he sees the tears beginning to well in your eyes. He panics as hot tears trail down your cheeks and he does the only thing he can think to help.

With only a couple of wide strides, he closes the distance between you and envelops his arms around you. You tense at the contact, unmoving, making him wonder if he’s made a mistake. You swallow hard, not wanting to give in as if you were admitting defeat, but you would be a fool not to accept what you had needed so badly. Even if it was from the person you wanted to blame.

So you give in, wrapping your arms around his torso and struggling not to shake from the tears that were staining his white shirt. Toned arms tighten around your core as you accept his embrace and he stands unmoving as you let the sound of his steady beating heart soothe you.

Even if it was only for a moment, as you feel the weight of anxiety lift from your chest, it feels like you can finally breathe again. It was a solace you hadn’t expected to find in Satoru Gojo, but even if only for a moment, the feeling of breaking through the surface of the sea of emotions swirling around you is a relief.

You don’t dare move as Gojo’s chin rests atop your head, his thumb rubbing small circles against your ribs as he mindlessly offers you comfort. His warm breath fans across your shoulders, the rhythm of his breathing offering a distraction from the panic that had settled in at the sight of someone else in the place that Kento should have been.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly push off of Gojo, who keeps one hand under your forearm to keep you steady. He continues to rub circles into the skin of your arm with his thumb, his expression serious as he lets you get your bearings.

“I- I’m sorry,” you squeak, barely able to get the words out at all as you bring a hand up to wipe your tears. “I don’t know- I- I-”

“It’s fine, y/n,” he assures you, a small smile revealing the hint of the dimples on either of his cheeks. “It happens. You’re going through a lot.”

Your head hangs in shame at how you lashed out at him, your eyes resting on the floor.

When you mutter another apology, Gojo lets out a breathy laugh, clearly not sure what to do with a small crying girl in his home who wasn’t exactly fond of him. Gripping your forearm reassuringly, he slowly begins to move to the table, sitting you down in the chair he was using and letting you take the mug as he sits beside you.

Your eyes train on the familiar light blue speckled mug with brown undertones. It hadn’t been purchased for him, it wasn’t a gift. It shouldn’t hold any meaning, really. But it was the only one Kento had seemed to use, causing something to snap in you at the sight of Gojo using it.

You can’t bring yourself to hold it, your eyes trained on the familiar shape that was held with a warm smile most mornings.

“Did he ever tell you we went to school together?”

You wipe another tear, nodding as you watch Gojo take his blindfold off. Uncovered, his cerulean eyes seem to hold an entire other world within them.

“You wouldn’t have believed what he was like.”

“What do you mean?” You ask curiously, leaning forward as Gojo reminisces.

“He was a year behind me, Shoko, and-” he stammers over his words, recovering before you have a chance to think twice about it. “He was just as reserved back then as he was when you met.”

“Even as a teen?”

“Especially as a teen. So straight and to the point,” he grins, shaking his head. “The other first-year was good for him, I think the two of them brought out the best in each other.”

“I never heard him mention anyone else in his year.”

“And his hair, did he ever show you?” Catching your curious look, he stands and bounds up the stairs, choosing to ignore your statement. From the bedroom loft you hear his voice. “Would you believe me if I told you he wasn’t my biggest fan?”

“He has good taste,” you mutter somewhat jokingly.

“I heard that,” Gojo teases as he bounds back down the stairs with a single photo in hand and his sunglasses now hanging from his shirt. “Check it out, this is from his birthday.”

Standing in the center of the photo is a very young Nanami sporting long blonde hair and an unimpressed expression. A party hat is strapped to his head and he’s standing as stiff as a board. The photo is blurry, clearly taken from a flip phone several years ago.

A bittersweet smile spreads across your lips at the sight.

“His hair…” You mumble in disbelief, a choked laugh escaping your lips as a tear slips down your cheek. You slowly reach out and take the photo from Gojo, thumbing over the photo as though you’ll feel anything more than glossy paper. You don’t, of course, but the sight brings a comfort you haven’t felt in a while.

“Told ya, it was a sight,” Gojo chuckles. He watches the way you hold the photo, like it’s precious, a grimace pulling at his lips. He replaces it with a smile. “You can keep it.”

“Hm?”

“The photo, you can keep it.”

“Oh, I- Are you sure?” You ask, examining the blue eyes that could pierce right through you. He nods. “Thank you, Gojo.”

Silence falls over the cabin as you observe him. He leans back, his arms crossed behind his head with a small smile as he leans his head back. His chest rises and falls slowly, muscles flexed as the material of his shirt bunches at his biceps.

You can’t help but wonder what changed. Was he only being kind while you grieved, would the switch flip in a month when you had recovered? Your eyes fall to the photo at your fingertips.

You’d once aired your grievances to Kento about the strange way Gojo reacted to you and he’d mentioned having a hunch about what his issue with you was, the discussion now clear in your mind.

“You think he’s doing it on purpose?”

Nanami nods. “Yes. Gojo is annoying, but he’s smarter and more emotionally intelligent than he comes across.” He pauses with a reminiscent laugh. “Sometimes, anyway.”

“Why would he purposely be an asshole?”

Kento shifts to prop himself up on his elbow, moving his pillow beside you. Your eyes flicker to the flexed bicep and he smirks. “I have a hunch…” he hums, his mahogany eye trailing down to your fingers as he threads his own through yours. “That he’s worried you’ll turn on him.”

“Oh,” you blink, eyes widening. Your grip on Nanami’s hand tightens. “Can you ask him about it?”

His lips press into a thin line. “I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t admit anything.”

“Right…”

With that thought resurfaced, you could only hope to bring it up sooner rather than later. The opportunity didn’t come until a couple of days later. You were regaining your vigor and had even managed to reconnect with Miriko, whose strength was growing steadily.

Of course, that didn’t make the turmoil of emotions any easier and you would be lying if you said being alone at night with your thoughts was something you enjoyed, but at least a semblance of normalcy was returning to your life.

Even so, admitting that Gojo’s presence had been a strange comfort pained you.

Gojo had also proven to be a half-decent chef, but more to your surprise he seemed to be attempting to take care of you. He also didn’t dare leave you alone. He had needed to step out for a mission and had left Yuji to keep an eye on you, whose eyes had brimmed with grateful tears that you were okay, something that warmed your heart and sent you into a flurry of sobs.

Megumi continued to drop by every day to walk Taro, each interaction between him and Gojo continuing to baffle you as you realized just how much he did see the students as his own children.

In particular, you began to notice more and more the way Gojo acted like a proud parent towards Megumi. It was oddly heartwarming, when you realized the few things that decorated the rather barren cabin Gojo stayed in were things that seemed to be made for Gojo by Megumi when he was quite a bit younger.

A couple of the magnets on the fridge held up drawings or cards that you’d never bothered to look at but it became clear they were school projects and notes, as well as a couple of small gifts sitting on the kitchen windowsill. A pipe cleaner flower from Megumi’s little sister and a pipe cleaner dog from the young boy, both horribly sun faded but full of love.

It grew harder every day to hold any amount of hate for him.

Five days after waking up again, Shoko dropped by to check in on you and run some tests before getting you up and walking again, doing some basic rehab. Miriko had insisted she would be able to heal you but Gojo was adamant on having you recover as soon as possible.

Closing the door behind Shoko, he turns to where you’re sitting on the couch in the living room, your crimson gaze following his movements. He sighs, stepping over the back of the couch and sliding down onto the couch beside you, legs spread in typical man fashion.

You raise an eyebrow at him as his knee brushes yours, but Gojo just smirks, slinging his arm over the back of the couch. He had very little regard for personal space.

“How’re ya feeling?”

“It’s nice to walk again,” you tell him, dodging the question as you lean back into the couch.

“Ya look like a penguin,” he snickers, throwing his head back.

“You’re such a pain,” you groan, knocking your knee back against his teasingly.

The warm afternoon sun threads through the blinds at the end of the couch, illuminating Gojo’s cheek with its gentle rays. His white lashes seem to sparkle from where they’re barely visible over his sunglasses, fluttering every so often as he blinks.

“Gojo?”

He hums, giving his head a shake to keep his bangs out of his vision.

“Why do you want me to recover quickly?”

“Cause I care?” He says as though it’s obvious.

“Yeah right,” you sneer. “Really, why?”

“Okay first of all, ouch,” he puts a hand over his heart in feign offense. A smile pulls at the corner of your lips. Slowly but surely, he was earning your trust. Believing he cared in the friendly way he seemed to imply could still be seen as a stretch, but you decide to leave it be. “Second of all,” he frowns now, “the higher ups aren’t happy.”

“Okay…” you urge him to continue, pulling your legs up onto the couch as you face him.

“They want you dead.”

Your face falls at the admission, the muscles in your jaw clenching as a familiar thought runs through your head. You wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for Gojo in the first place.

“Why not just kill me, then?” Your words are ice on Gojo’s skin, as though any ounce of trust he’d earned is gone in an instant. The tension in the air grows steadily the longer he doesn’t answer, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end.

“What kind of a question is that supposed to be?”

“You never liked me to begin with, so why-”

“For fuck’s sake y/n, what are you on about with that?” He pulls his shades off as he asks the question in exasperation, waving a hand in the air.

“What am I-? You- You know the answer to that question!” You retort in disbelief.

His jaw hangs open as his head falls back against the couch. “Fuck, I-” He closes his eyes, bringing a hand up to the bridge of his nose. “You are so fucking difficult, you know that?” He grumbles.

You stand up abruptly in disbelief. “I’m sorry, do I need to remind you of the shit you pulled to get me here? About how my last three weeks have been?”

“y/n I know you’re upset but that’s not fair.”

“Not fair? Not fair?” Heat gathers at your cheeks as tears threaten to spill. And god damn it, it only makes you more angry that you can’t stop yourself from crying in an argument. “You want to talk about not fair?”

The silence that hangs between you both as you pause could be cut with a knife. It hangs heavy in the air as you both know what’s coming. Gojo presses his lips into a thin line, standing as he prepares himself for the onslaught of what’s to come.

“Kento is dead. I destroyed the entire schoolyard, I can barely walk, I need help just to take care of my own dog and-” you pause, trying to regain your composure before tears can spill down your cheeks. “-and now I can’t hide anymore. I don’t get to have a normal life, because of you.”

“C’mon, that’s not fair.”

His repetition only makes you angrier and you take a wobbly step away from him, wanting out of his sight. For all the kind things he did for you, each one seemed to be constantly outweighed by the reminders of the situation you’d been thrown into. All from one unfortunate meeting two years ago.

“I’m fucking trying, y/n!” He raises his voice, taking a step forward to tower over you. His chest is rising and falling fast, blue irises darting across your face as he takes in the change in your expression. Your brow furrows, lips parting as he airs his grievances. “I made a mistake, okay?” His resolve wavers as the volume he’s speaking at returns to normal.

You don’t dare utter a word, out of fear he might not continue.

“I know I can’t make it up to you. That’s fine. But it’s not fair to blame me for Nanami’s-” he doesn’t finish the sentence when you can’t meet his gaze. “That loss hurt us all.”

With the sun nearly set, there’s very little light left illuminating the two of you. The sounds of the summer cicadas in the distance seem to disrupt the tense air in the cabin, a welcome distraction from the pain settling into your chest once more.

Taking a deep breath, you swallow the lump in your throat. “Can I have some space?”

You see the subtle way his shoulders slump. It’s not a response, but he knows as well as you do that his answer wouldn’t have mattered either way as you turn and shuffle into the guest room. Taro follows behind you, able to sense that you’re upset. You’re thankful for his endless support, no matter whether you were in the right or not.

No matter how much you wanted to feel you were right, it wasn’t easy when Gojo had a point. You’d been so caught up in your own emotions you hadn’t stopped to think of the way the loss had affected Yuji, Megumi, Shoko… or Gojo. You knew him and Nanami weren’t close, but you’d never considered what kind of relationship they did have.

Settling down onto your bed, you pick up the photo sitting on your desk. Nanami in a party hat. Your bittersweet smile returns at the sight and you sigh, long and forlorn.

You couldn’t keep blaming Gojo. You hated to admit it, but he was right. It wasn’t fair. Regardless of the fact that a portion of the situation was his fault, you’d fought about that enough times to last a lifetime. It wasn’t worth the energy anymore.

Miriko?

Yes?

Would it be so wrong to forgive him?

It takes her a moment to respond.

It is not my place to make that decision.

Shuffling on the bed to lay flat on your back, you stare at the wooden ceiling, turmoil threatening to bubble over in your chest as you wipe the tears that finally fall.

He was trying, you owed it to him to try as well.

But fuck were things ever more difficult now that you were alone, without your boyfriend to go home to.

For the fifth night in a row since you’d woken up, Gojo feels the familiar knife of guilt twist in his gut as he hears your quiet weeping. Unrest is quickly becoming his closest friend.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || he's trying 🥹 writing domestic gojo is so fun, hope you all enjoyed! 💖

btw this is the nanami photo ehehe

[brucewaynehater101]

I think that prior to Tim being found out as a spider demon, only Cass had good thoughts about Spiders. And maybe Damian but in more of a "don't kill it, you put it in a cup and move it to the garden" kind of way. Dick *hates* them and Jason had a bad experience with Beast Boy using the form of a spider the size of a dinner plate to jump scare him when he was still Robin.

As for how he makes his silk, i once saw a design of a spider demon that had two black dots at the corners of its mouth and when it pressed a finger to the dots and pulled them away, a line of string was hanging between their finger and the dot. I think his thread looks like normal spider thread (including the size) but is durable enough that only a few strands can stop a charging Bane. It's possible for him to take the silk he produces and turn it into thread and from thread into fabric. The fabric moves and feels like high quality silk but is about twice as durable as Kevlar due to how strong his threads are.

The only reason all of the Bats aren't already decked out in full Tim Silk Gear is because of the sheer amount of time and energy it takes to make that much thread. If he uses all of his spare time to make thread and turn it into fabric as quickly as he can, he would only make 2 or 3 fabric napkins in a month. If he was only eating, sleeping, and making silk he could produce a single sheet about the size of a picnic blanket in the same amount of time. Not exactly a lot of fabric to work with. Plus there's the fact that his thread is very weak by the standards of his species due to a mixture of malnutrition, constant exhaustion, and frequent injuries.

However, most of his family does have at least one thing that he made with his thread for them. They have no idea what kind of fabric it is that Tim brings them things made of and when asked if he can get more, he simply shakes his head and says, "I wish I could, but farming to much of the material needed to make this stuff can seriously harm the type of creature that creates it. I'm keeping it vague so that you guys don't try to buy it yourselves. The person I get this from have been very, *very* heavily researched to make sure that it's done in a humane way. Basically anywhere else you find this stuff is almost garenteed to be horribly mistreating the creatures to force them to produce as much as physically possible. And I got my guys entire stock just to make this for you." This throughly covers his tracks and makes it so that the Bats won't consider trying to buy more silk from other sources. Most of the things he makes for them are small, like gloves or Domino Masks or at most an under shirt to give them an extra layer or protection. Cass's whole cowl is made of Tim's Silk.

As for what kind of malnutrition Tim has, the Bats already knew about that, sort of. John saw Bruce's new gloves and after feeling them asked where the fuck he got that much Jorogomo Silk and why it's such Shit Quality. When Bruce asked for him to elaborate, Constantine ran his hands over the gloves a few times while muttering to himself before sighing, "Malnutrition. Their silk is a direct reflection of their health. Whoever made this, they have *not* been eating well. Probably only just enough to survive and with no... well, you'd probably be glad to hear that the one who made your gloves hasn't been chowing down on an human flesh. But it's an important part of their diet. Yeah, this one seems to have been trying to use supplements for the shit it needs, but that'll never truly work. Like you can take all the vitamins tablets ya want, but unless you go out and soak in some sunshine every now and then you'll always be deficient in Vitamin D cause your body just won't process it. If I were you, I would get in contact with your seller and get them a deal with the local mourge. After all, you're from Gothem. I'm sure no one would notice if a few of the already dead disappeared."

That night Bruce had an uncomfortable conversation with Tim about how his seller might not be as good as he thought and what Mourges tended to "loose" bodies most often. Tim did start eating some from the already dead but he hates it. Not because hes eating people but because they've been dead for a while and only fresh bodies taste good.

As for Jack, he goes into a coma until Tim gets there and he uses some of his threads to make Jack his puppet. However, Tim doesn't have any practice with preserving the bodies of his puppets yet so after about a month, Jack is starting to fall apart a little so Tim sets up for him to be part of a car crash and makes a new puppet to be Uncle Eddie. The second puppet does last longer, but only about 2 and a half months and then Tim eats what's left of Uncle Eddie. Maybe one day he'll be able to make puppets that last for years like his mom did, but not just yet.

Also she isn't dead and does stay in contact. She just got bored of her life as Janet Drake and ditched her puppet, telling Tim "here's my new number and new name and the puppet of your father. Good luck kiddo." And Tim was like "YOURE THE BEST MOM" because really, by their standards she is. Most of his species are completely abandoned once they can walk, hide themselves, and produce silk. Most don't have any idea who their parent or parents are at all.

Ooh! The way you made his silk OP but then put in a very realistic limitation was cool as hell.

I'm also curious how the Bats would feel about Tim needing to consume human flesh. If Red Hood is still killing, it would he super cool of him to offer up some of the people he murders. Hopefully that will be a bit fresher and better tasting for Tim.

Also, would Alfred try to cook food for Tim's diet? Or would that be too much for Alfred to handle so he refuses to cook human flesh?

If Tim or someone else cooked that food (post-reveal), they probably would have to build an entire kitchen just for him. They wouldn't want to cross contaminate that since it could make the humans really really sick.

You mentioned that Tim doesn't hate consuming flesh. Does he have any reservations about it? Are there parts of his being that he hates for not being human enough?

At least Bruce doesn't seem to mind a creature consuming already dead people. Though, maybe Tim (pre-reveal) worries Bruce would mind if it was someone he knew.

I'm also hella curious where puppet Uncle Eddie comes from. Dead body? Bad guy Tim doesn't mind turning into a puppet?

Love Janet Drake. Maybe Tim could go visit her every once in a blue moon. If not, at least both of them seem happy and content with their relationship

[gilverrwrites]

Been reading back through the Sionis!readerxJason posts, and I cant stop thinking about specifically this bit:

"God forbid he ever finds out Jason is Red Hood. He’s dragging you home kicking and screaming and locking you up. His kid? With Red Hood. He thinks the fuck not."

But like combined with part 2 and the idea of you getting caught in the act with Red Hood. Like tbh I feel like Jason would be so careful about mixing you up in his Red Hood side (especially when you eventually let slip how Roman lost his shit at you when he learned it was Jason you were dating) but things happen and eventually you and Jason slip, caught up in the moment and one of Blackmask's goons sees you getting dicked down by real "friendly" with Red Hood and reports it to your dad.

And maybe Blackmask is able to put 2 and 2 together that you've been actively, knowingly warming the bed of his Nemesis for months just to spite him, or maybe the magic of the Domino Mask prevails once again and he just thinks that you're deliberately hooking up with people he hates (first you're spreading your legs for that Wayne fucker, Todd, and now you're FUCKING RED HOOD in his (Blackmask's) own warehouse?!?!?!?!) But either way he loses it. No more Mr Nice Dad act, he's been too lenient with you for too long and it ends now, its time you learned your lesson. And then he's dragging you kicking and screaming to be locked away (and probably worse).

OR if he does realize that JT=RH (whether he figures it out immediately or it only clicks after he confronts you) he decides to use you as bait to lure Red Hood into a trap. What better way to teach you the consequences of rebelling than to make you watch as he kills the prick you've stupidly fallen in love with (that might be the most nauseating part of this for Roman. Didn't he raise you better than that?).

Regardless, it all comes to a head when Jason shows up to bring you home, and you finally get to witness first hand exactly how the Red Hood came to be such a thorn in your father's side.

I have nothing to add to this, anon you're brilliant. I didn't post this straight away cause I was trying to think up something to add, but I got nothing, you've perfectly encapsulated it, and I agree with everything you’re said. 💖💖💖

[jjunieworld]

18. in the clouds ⸝ ˚⋆

↳ half written, half texts. word count: 1.4k

— SOOBIN’S POV —

soobin’s hands shook as he clutched his phone. he was sitting in the library of the parking lot reading his messages with taehyun over and over again. how did he know? how could he be so careless?

get a grip, soobin tried telling himself. it didn’t work.

he loved his friends deeply, he did. he didn’t know where he would be without them. but he also knew that if they found that he was actually in love with y/n, all hell would break loose. soobin already had to bite his tongue when they even mentioned her. it made his skin crawl the way they talked about her.

soobin wasn’t embarrassed by y/n, not in the slightest. if he could shout from the rooftops how much he loved her he would without hesitation. if he could spread it all throughout the internet for everyone to see, he wouldn’t think twice. in fact, he has already been trying.

a part of him was relieved that taehyun knew. it was one less person he didn’t have to pretend with.

soobin took a deep breath before making his way towards the door of the library. when he entered, he scanned the room for taehyun and found him tucked in the corner of the library. soobin sat in the seat across from him and said nothing. taehyun was busy writing something down in his notebook. he had multiple textbooks open and scattered across the table.

after a moment, taehyun looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. soobin furrowed his eyebrows. “so you still aren’t gonna admit it?” taehyun asked.

“like you said,” soobin replied, “it was obvious.” he sank down in his seat a little. he felt like his dominos were falling down one by one.

“so tell me about how it happened.”

soobin hesitated to answer. he really wanted to keep as many details about y/n to himself.

taehyun must’ve sensed his hesitation because he then added, “i’m not gonna tell the others. what you do in your love life isn’t my concern.”

soobin couldn’t help his glare. he bit on his tongue and looked away. underneath the table, he gripped the end of the jacket he was wearing. taehyun raised his eyebrows.

“that wasn’t a dig at her. i actually think she’s really nice.” taehyun spoke. “real pretty too, actually.”

soobin’s eyes snapped back to taehyun’s. if looks could kill, he was sure taehyun would be dead by now. taehyun laughed at him.

“so i’ve essentially been lying about her this whole time,” soobin finally said. taehyun nodded, motioning for him to continue. “she’s really amazing, and that date was the best date i’ve ever had.”

soobin went on and on until he realized he was talking too much. he looked up to see taehyun staring at him with a smile on his face, his head resting in his hands. his cheeks heated up and he was sure he was blushing now.

“i just really love her,” soobin concluded. he started playing with the zipper of his jacket.

“have you told her all this yet?” taehyun asked. soobin shook his head.

“i was gonna tell her on her birthday, but that may be too cheesy.” he had it all planned out too before sakura ruined his plans, once again. soobin sighed to himself. he’ll have to make the party work.

how does he even bring up the fact that he loves y/n? he couldn’t just bring it up in normal conversation. but it also couldn’t be some big display of affection in front of the whole party. soobin wanted it to be private, intimate, just between the two of them. he wasn’t worried about her not saying it back. she’s already been dropping subtle hints that she loves him too.

soobin’s cheeks heated even more as he thought about it. she loves him. she actually loves him. soobin had to keep himself from smiling at the fact.

“and what about the bet?” taehyun asked. soobin was suddenly and harshly brought back to reality. it felt like he got slammed into a brick wall. “and what about it?”

“you can’t keep it a secret forever,” taehyun said. “she’s gonna find out sooner or later. especially if she keeps hanging out around our friends. even if they do warm up to her, someone is gonna let it slip.”

soobin stared taehyun down. what was he insinuating? was he saying that if soobin didn’t tell y/n about that damn bet that he will? or that he’d make sure someone else would? soobin’s heart raced at the thought.

“what are you saying?” soobin demanded. taehyun raised his hands a little and sat back in his chair.

“i’m not saying that i’m gonna tell y/n. i’m saying that you’re in the clouds right now and sooner or later you’re gonna get hit and fall.”

soobin left the library as fast as he could like the devil himself was on his heels. he couldn’t think straight. his heart was racing and his hands shook so bad he had to clench them into fists.

he didn’t even realize he was at your door until after he started knocking.

you barely got to open the door before he pushed it open and his lips were on yours. soobin kissed you like you were the oxygen he desperately needed. like you were the hunger he was trying to satiate.

“what happened?” you barely got out before his lips were on you again. he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. but it wasn’t close enough.

“soobin…” you said, and pushed him away a little. you were both breathing heavily. soobin put his forehead to yours.

“i’m sorry,” he breathed. “i really missed you.” he just then realized how tightly he was holding on to you. soobin exhaled and loosened his hold on you.

soobin gave you another kiss before he pulled back completely. you were in pajamas and it was clear you had just woken up from a nap. your shirt rode up from the exchange.

y/n pulled soobin into her dorm and made him sit down on her bed. he saw the remnants of the uno game he left in the middle of. he wonder who won. he made a mental note to check your twitter later.

she stood in front of him, her arms crossed, as she waited for an answer to her previous question. he grabbed her hips and pulled her closer until she was standing between his legs. soobin looked up at her.

“i told you, i really really missed you.” y/n raised an eyebrow, but he could see her softening as her arms were already making their way around his neck. “mhm,” she mumbled as she leaned down. she brought her lips to soobin’s cheek and he felt the area heat up after they left.

soobin turned his head so the next kiss would be on his lips instead. you giggled at the sudden change before deepening the kiss. it took everything in him to not pull you closer and into his lap.

he was so close to it, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping your hips, until the door to your dorm room swung open. jake and hueningkai walked in with snacks in hand, took a good look at the position the two of you were in, and stood in shock for a moment with wide eyes.

“oh my god!” hueningkai finally said as he snatched jake’s arm and slammed the door shut.

soobin looked back at his girlfriend and saw the embarrassed expression on her face. he was too focused on you to even think about what just happened with your friends. he was sure once it processed his face would be bright red.

he squeezed your hips slightly so you would look back at him. you gave him a sheepish smile and buried your face in his neck. soobin started placing feather-light kisses on the side of your neck.

“don’t be embarrassed,” he smiled against your neck as he tried not to laugh.

“it’s not funny!” you exclaimed, burying your face deeper.

masterlist.

summary: choi soobin has always been the popular kid surrounded by his popular friends. y/n… not so much. one night, soobin and his friends make bet that soobin can’t get y/n to date him in a month. unfortunately for y/n, they’re a hopeless romantic.

A/N: tell y/n to get in line

taglist: @imagineyour-kpopboy @gothgyuu @carengene @spooksh0wbabe (if your name is bold it wouldn’t let me tag you!)

— kipo <3

[fictionalmenxyn]

🂱𝐑𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧🂱

Pairing: redhood!rafe x Wayne!reader

Warnings: p in v, no mentions of protection (protect!), pet names, dirty talk, spanking, language and possessive

𝐑𝐑𝐑

It was yet another night of patrolling for you. In your black combat boots and pants with your dark grey hoodie and black tactical vest and belt along with your domino mask. You searched the streets on your own. Usually you were with your father, Bruce Wayne. But he had Justice League matters to attend to.

So on your motor bike you zoomed through the dark and rainy streets of Gotham. Your helmet collecting rain droplets as you speed through the streets.

Your hearing caught your attention of something. Commotion, finally, your night isn’t so boring after all.

You tilted your bike to the side as you spun your bike around. Speeding into the direction of the commotion.

We park your bike near by and hide your helmet behind some trash cans. You go on foot. As you make your way over you double check your knives. Since your dad doesn’t like ‘killing’.

You peak around a corner, seeing a woman getting mugged by two guys.

You headed over, running as fast as you can. I tackled the one to the ground. Starting to punch him a few times till the other on pulled you off the goon. You elbowed the one behind and flipped. Your on the guys shoulders as you elbow his head. He shoved you into the wall. Causing you to fall off of his shoulders. I threw one of your knives into the guys thighs. He yelled out in back “fuck you! I know you! You’re Batman’s sidekick!”

You laughed “no, no… I’m my own person…” you lunged at the guy and placed a knife to his throat. He froze, you smirked “what were you saying??” The other guy was about to grab you. That’s when you head two gun shots fire. You quickly go to the woman and cover her the best you can. You look over your shoulder to see the two goons dead in the alley.

You grabbed the woman’s things and told her “stay in the light, find people and get home safe, yeah?” You hand her things and watch as she runs away.

You see a figure at the end of the street, holding a gun up. Pointing at you.

You raised your hands, still holding a bat-a-rang you had grabbed moments ago. The person seems to froze. The deep voice asked “where’d you get that?” You looked to the bat-a-rang then back to the figure “what’s it to you?”

“My past…”

The guy stepped forward. The dim light coming from the street behind you showing you who the man was, Red Hood. Your eyes widened ever so slightly “Red Hood? What’re you doing here?” He spoke under the helmet “patrolling, same as you… you didn’t answer the question, doll”

The voice seems familiar, a little too familiar. You answered “a friend…” the guy asked “friend?? Or family??” You gulped. How’d he know? Has he seen me before? Why does his voice sound so familiar?

You counteracted “how’s this from your past?” He replied briefly “used to use them..” you asked “how come?” “Doesn’t your dad have many Robins?” Your eyes widen. “R-Rafe…? No… can’t be… you’re-” “a dead man, yeah, I’ve heard it before…”

You couldn’t believe it, once you two were inseparable. You attended his funeral, walked to his grave every other day. Checking his flowers were fresh. You would kiss his headstone before leaving. Before his death, you two were attached to the hip. People would think you two were each other’s first love. But you were friends… Bruce could tell there was more.

Rafe spoke “hey, seeetheart…mind putting the stuff down?” You were snapped out of your thoughts. Seeing his gun was in a holster. You put your bat-a-rang into your tactical belt.

You stuttered “h-how? I-I visited you-your grave almost every day? Rafe… I-i cried for a week when dad didn’t come back with you…” he nodded and slowly approached. “I did die… but I’m back now… it’s a long story for another day… y-you really did all that?” He was now only inches away from you.

Both of you being older now, you could see just from his height and form, how much he’s grown. Whereas you stopped growing at fifteen. He towered over you, easily. You nodded “all of it was true… I made sure I did… if I was busy with homework I got Alfred to remind me after to go visit…” Rafe smiled softly under the mask. A first time after his death.

He place a hand on your hip “you’ve grown up…” you chuckle softly “so have you… probably more than me… still can’t see that face I’ve kissed for years…”

He chuckled lowly “maybe you can see it… but not out here, too risky…”

You nodded completely understanding, since it’d be risky for you too. You asked “would you uh… wanna come back to the Manor…? I know you probably wouldn’t want-” “yes, sweetheart, I’ll come back with you…” he joked lightly “still in the same place, right?” You smiled softly and nodded.

You both got on your bikes and sped through the streets once again.

𝐑𝐑𝐑

You both sat in your room. Your big bag windows over looking the backyard and forest in the back. The rain heavily pours and creating the perfect background noise for your catch up session with Rafe.

You had Alfred find some spare clothes for Rafe. He, now in some black sweatpants and a dark grey gym shirt, sat on your bed. You had changed into some grey sweatpants and a baggy black sweatshirt. You sat on your desk chair (that has wheels). Crossed legged as you talk with Rafe.

Rafe would check you out as you talked, you not minding one bit. Considering he used to do it all the time, so it felt familiar. He was back. We were back…

He placed both his hands on the arms of your desk chair and wheeled you closer. So you were right up against the bed and between his legs. He smirked “so, since I haven’t seen you in a while, why don’t we cut to the chase and you give me one of those magically kisses you used to give when I would be injured after patrol.”

You smiled softly, leaning forward and softly kissing his lips. He lifted you up with ease and put you on his lap. Placing a hand on the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. Your tongues clashing as he claims dominance. He groaned into the kiss, kissing the taste of your cherry lips. He felt like you have brought him back to life.

You felt his hard on as you continued to sit in his lap. His hands moving to your ass and softly squeezing them. He pulled away to get some air. Pressing his forehead to yours. He whispers “ever since I came back… you were on my mind… all the god damn time… wanted to find you sooner, without your dad…” you nodded. He smirked “thought about you in so many different ways…” you whispered “yeah? What way was your favourite?”

He chuckled lowly “you under me, baby… loved cuddling you… but we are grown up now, I want more…” he grabbed your hips and rocked you against his hard on. You gasped softly.

Rafe smirked “you want it?” You nodded “missed you so much…” he pecked your lips. Mumbling against your lips “missed you too.. wanna feel you all over, yeah?” You nodded.

Soo enough you were both naked, you laid in the middle of your large silk black bed. He hovered over you. You glanced down at him. Fuck was he huge…

He smirked “want it, baby doll?” You nodded “want you…” he moved his tip against you. Moving it up and down along your entrance. Causing you to softly moan. He pushed the tip in, groaning as he started to fill you up.

He gripped your hips, he looked down at your chest. Fuck did he love your chest, but what caught his eye. Wasn’t your boobs, but the necklace you wore. The same gold necklace with the letter J on it. The one he gave you on Valentine’s Day when one of your shitty not so boyfriend dumped you. He knew it would make you happy. So that’s why he got it. But after his death he didn’t expect you to keep it on.

It made him twitch inside you, seeing such a memorable thing still on you. Made him want you as his, no one else’s.

He slowly started to grind into you, you moaning softly. He groaned “fuck… you’re so tight, baby… feel so fucking good…”

You moaned “Rafe…mmm so big… missed you, Rafey…” he groaned and bucked a little harder at the old nickname “missed you too, gorgeous…”

He started to pick up his pace, ever so slightly. Causing you to become a moaning mess. He grabbed the bottom of your thighs and pushed them up more. Going deeper into you, filling you more. His long, slow yet deep thrusts made your mind fuzzy. No one has ever been like this.

The past relationships you’ve had, mostly wanted you to be closer to your dad. So they never really took care of you in that sense. That’s why when you dad noticed your ‘partners’ wasn’t treating you right. He’d have a very stern conversation and kick them out.

Rafe kept going. You moaned “feels sooo good, Rafe… mmm”

He smirked, pecking your cheek and talking against it “yeah? Like my big cock filling you up?… fits so perfect, might be made for each other, hm?” You nodded “yess…” Rafe smirked against your cheek. Then his jaw fell agape when you tightens around him. He moaned against your cheek “fuck, baby, wanna take my time with you… make you feel good… wanna make you mine, how’d that sound? Hm?”

You nodded “wanted it…. For so long…” he grinned “me too, baby… wanna have you as mine, mine to touch… mine to take… mine to love and take care of… to protect…” you moaned.

Rafe started to speed up, the sound of your breathing and squelching starting to fill the big room. The sound of the rain making it surprisingly more intimate. You both loved rain. You’d cuddle for hours talking about go knows what.

You moaned as he started to pick up the pace. “Feel so good, sweetheart… gonna take you as mine, yeah? You’d like that, huh? I’d be the best for ya” you put your hands on his shoulder blades. Digging your nails into his shoulders slightly. His hips stuttered for a moment. Your nails feeling good against his hot skin.

You both started to feel it coming on. Almost at the edge. Rafe gently spanked your ass “gonna come for me, Pretty?” You nodded “yesss!” He smirked “good girl. Come all over me, yeah?” You nodded.

You moaned his name one last time before squeezing against his big hard cock. Finish on him. He keeps his money as he feels his climax approaching. He moaned “fuck… where’d you want me, baby?” You gasped “inside!” He moaned “fuck, you sure??” You nodded “on… the pill…” he nodded.

He gave one more big thrust as he fills you up. Finishing inside of you, just like you asked. He groaned as he slows his pace then comes to a stop.

He gently pulls out, looking down to see the mess you both caused. He could honestly get hard again at the sight. He patted your ass “good job, babe…”

That’s when he squeezed your hand, that’s also when you realised he hand been holding your hand the whole time. God he had a soft spot for you, always had. But Rafe was always like this for you. And showing you all his love was always one of his favourite missions.

You looked at him, breathless and satisfied. He leaned down and kissed your lips softly. Pulling away he asked “so? Is it true? You wanna be mine again? But more this time?” You nodded “forever and always…” he smiled. His first time feeling truly happy after his ‘accident’.

𝐑𝐑𝐑

[leslie-lyman]

Election Night

A Euclidean Geometry drabble

Summary: Election night 2024 does not go as they’d hoped.

Pairing: modern!Pero Tovar x Frankie x Jack x nameless!OFC/f!reader (written in third person, reader is only referred to as she/her/their girl, with no physical descriptors)

Word count: 1.1k

Rating: G, just some election-related angst/hurt/comfort

a/n: Trying to work through my feelings about the 2024 election results. Would like to have three large Pedro boys comfort me. Had a breakdown. Wrote this.

Masterlist.

———

She hadn’t wanted to stop watching the results come in.

Not even after the swing states had started to fall, one by one, like red dominoes. But at some point the hands she’d pressed tightly over her mouth had begun to shake, tears spilling down her face, breath catching in her throat with each shallow inhale.

Frankie had finally turned off the tv, slipped her phone into his pocket, and carried her to bed. They’d pressed in tight against her as she sobbed, soaking the front of Jack’s tshirt as he held her against his chest, crying so hard she nearly made herself sick.

I don’t understand, she’d said, over and over. I don’t understand. This can’t be happening again. I can’t do it, I can’t face another four years of this…

In that moment the worst thing is how helpless they feel. The three of them are smart, strong, capable men, men who are trained to protect, to figure out how to get out of impossible situations. And if they could they’d burn the world down if anyone or anything caused their girl to hurt like this. But there’s nothing they can do to fix it.

She’s scared for herself, yes, but they know she’s far more worried about the three of them. The horizon of possibility stretches terrifyingly wide before them.

Pero has his green card, but will that matter? How careless and indiscriminate will the promised deportations be? At the end of the day, being a tan-skinned, Spanish-speaking immigrant may be more than enough to put a target on his back. Frankie and Jack are citizens, but neither has to branch out terribly far in their respective family trees to find relatives who are undocumented.

To say nothing of the fact that the four of them live together in a queer, polyamorous relationship. Where even now they have to be vigilant in public, wary of how obvious they are, always aware that simply being who they are out loud could result in unexpected attack. How much worse will it get? How much harm will be caused?

And as they do their best to soothe the woman they love, they know this reaction isn’t just about fear, or frustration, or anger.

It’s grief.

It feels like suffering through a death because that’s what it is. The death of a hope, of a dream, of what could have been and what should be if there was any justice or common sense or decency in the world. And even though this grief inwardly pummels them black and blue too, they know they will never truly feel it the way their girl does. The unique pain of women, who hope so much for so little, for even just the opportunity to be equal, and to be denied so resoundingly. To have gotten so close to a woman president and to have that chance ripped away by a man as odious as he is dangerous not once, but twice? It’s just cruel.

They do what they can for her, holding her close, letting her cry it out, murmuring soft words of reassurance.

It’ll be okay, sweetheart. Just let it out.

We’re here. We’ve got you. We’ve always got you.

I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m so sorry.

Tears roll down their cheeks and they try to muffle their sniffles for her sake, but the looks they share with each other are pained and haunted.

At last their girl quiets, having cried herself into a fitful doze. The clock on the bedside table reads 1:37am.

Jack, Pero, and Frankie all lie awake, ingrained military instincts refusing to let them sleep when they have something precious to keep watch over.

Jack breaks the silence.

I’ll call our lawyer later today, he half-whispers. Make sure we have all our paperwork in order. Wills, power of attorney, that sort of thing. So we’re as protected as possible, legally speakin’, should anything happen to one of us.

Frankie and Pero nod in silent agreement.

We should sit down with Robert soon, Frankie adds, mentioning their financial advisor. Reassess where we’re at, have a contingency plan in case we decide we need to move.

She’ll want to increase where and how much we donate, Jack adds, looking down at their girl with her head on his chest, one first curled into his shirt.

This is good. This is a plan. This is what they need.

We should go away for a bit. Pero’s voice is low and deep in the dark. Take some time somewhere remote, just the four of us.

I can think of a long weekend in January when I wouldn’t mind be disconnected from the rest of the world, Frankie quips humorlessly.

There’s an old Daniels family cabin in the U.P., near Mackinac, Jack says. Snow-covered trees, big roaring fireplace, little to no cell service…

Their girl shifts to blink sleepily up at him, just awake enough now to interject.

What about someplace warm, Jack?

Oh you’d be kept plenty warm, sugar. Don’t you worry about that.

He softly brushes her hair back from her tear-stained face, placing a delicate kiss to her forehead.

How are you feeling, querida?

She reaches for Pero’s hand to anchor herself before she answers him.

Sad. Scared. Angry.

That is how you should feel, Frankie murmurs, and the validation is strangely reassuring.

And tired, she says, tears starting to clog up her throat again. Fuck, I’m so damn tired. Tired of fighting, of resisting, of feeling like I’m screaming at the top of my lungs to have my and others’ basic humanity recognized by people too devoid of empathy to care. I’m so, so tired.

I know, querida, I know you are. And it seems overwhelming right now. But the alternative is giving up. And that is the only thing that truly feels impossible to do, no?

Her hand squeezes Pero’s as she nods, reluctantly conceding that he’s right.

But not at this moment, Frankie says. We should rest. There’s nothing else we can do at this moment.

Their girl turns to face him, making sure she’s still touching all three of them before closing her eyes and snuffling down into the pillow.

Should call our lawyer, she mumbles, starting to slip away into sleep again. And Robert…make sure we protect ourselves…as much as possible…

The three men share an amused look.

Those are great ideas, baby, Frankie praises her quietly, pulling a blanket up to her chin. We’ll do that.

And maybe…find a place to go…a beach somewhere?

Muffled chuckles break out around her.

Whatever you want, darlin’, says Jack.

It doesn’t matter where they go. And whatever happens next, they can face it, as long as they’re together.

[dailycass-cain]

It's been A LONG TIME, but I feel I am so gonna have to catch up on my thoughts with Birds of Prey. So tonight I'm gonna do a three-parter.

Tonight, part 1 will cover #9-10. So let's start with my thoughts on the two issues.

Starting off, this issue means a bit to me three-fold as #1 it occurred during the character's anniversary month.

#2 Artist Jonathan Case once again draws the character (having gone to town with the character in Batgirls #14).

#3 said GORGEOUS AAPI variant cover by Phillip Tan and Elmer Santos. I remember seeing Tan's Cass at a C2E2 a few years ago and nabbing the print (for myself and a friend). He always drew a nice Cass, and I'm glad AT LAST he drew an official one.

As for the issue itself, it's a nice beginning piece to the new arc as the Birds are basically lost trying to find Babs, along with figuring out their new surroundings.

For the special costume given to Cass this issue. I saw an article via Screenrant going into detail on how edgy this suit gives off.

I agree it does, but also to a degree of how maybe she views herself internally. Though of all the unique designs, I'm quite curious on how the artists throughout this arc corresponded with writer Kelly Thompson on the unique looks to each Bird.

Regardless the "Victorian Era" Birds as I view this issue give a very Gothic style and lend to the twists and turns this issue has.

Which, leads into one of the major moments Cass gets in the issue.

The first is a move hyped on the covers during the first arc: Barda launching Cass via a fastball special.

The moment had me squeeing as we get our first tag team move of the two and I hope there is MOAR from them besides the old classic (which you can't go wrong with).

The Birds rescue Babs, and for the briefest of moments everything "seems" right, but well Thompson remembers something OTHER writers kind of neglect with Cass.

In that, she can tell when someone is not truly themselves and is a walking lie detector.

It's a brief, but if "you're in the know" of the character, yeah Cass would easily see via a few steps of body language and behavior that Babs wasn't really Babs.

It's a character quirk that a lot of writers usually overlook coughs some Batman writers coughs.

Again, Dinah trusts Cass 100% with her insight (as the series has already established) and attacks "Babs" and we get out fight in the issue: the Birds vs. this mangled Bat Babs creature.

This issue also feels like the closest meta Thompson has regarding the whole Babs as Batgirl in the issue too. If you take in the fact that her costume has a rather "classic" look to it. And well...

And that leads me to the only downer of the issue because like the Birds themselves, as the reader we are left clueless as they are as to whom or what is behind all of this.

However, for this "one and done" different look. I'll give it being something totally different and again this series trying something new (akin to what we've gotten in the first arc).

Case's art is still stunning, and though more minimalist (compared to his Batgirls issues) still packs a punch. The costumes and crazy demon she-bat Babs still pops in my head.

I just wish we got more information other than the teases for the issue, but this is an unfolding story and like the Birds I'm here for the ride.

Birds of Prey #10 continues this wacky out-of-this-world adventure this time with a 50s twist that has the same dark edge of the prior issue. So what about the Cass within? Well...

Again, another artist of Batgirls helps with the issue as we get Robbi Rodriguez (who's been drawing A LOT of Cass granting 2016 me a wish) and Gavin Guidry on art duties.

Their art compliments the setting within the issue with this 50s to 60s style with a dark undertone (like the prior issue).

So the issue begins with the newest suits we get a '66 version of Cass. The suit itself uses a bit of what we got with the '66 bat costumes but we get Cass bits to it. The bat symbol. The belt. Oh hey! A domino mask! How Black Bat of this suit!

I do love the look, and for a "66' Batgirl" look for Cass checks all the boxes making it different from Babs' look.

Though I have to admit it's weird that Babs herself looks a lot more like her short-lived Sean Murphy bat ears look than something more to her '66.

We also get A LOT of exposition in the issue of what's going on, why someone is targeting Babs, and HOW this is happening.

And it works for me given well we need that info dump and this does feel like the part where we NEEDED this. Even if it does feel like a slight retread of Megaera from the first arc.

However, with one tiny bat twist…

The big fight for this issue is the Birds vs. a corrupted Barda. And oh dear me she is utterly terrifying. But like I said we get a twist, and it is SOOOOO Cass-characterization perfection.

Instead of a brutal fight between the two new friends we get Cass trying to reason to Barda, knowing the New God can beat this on her own.

The moment between the two is just SOOO Cass. Akin to so many stuff with the character in the past. Thompson just GETS Cassandra Cain as a character.🥺

If there's any really nitpick of this issue I have is this issue felt so quick. Like we get so much info, Possessed-Barda, Cass does Cass thing, and that's it. I kind of wish we got more but I get we're sprinkling the Sin and Vixen stuff for later.

But man, Barda/Cass are just the anchor of this series period. Their friendship is something I always wanted and this series hasn't disappointed. I can't wait when Thompson repays this with Barda coming to Cass's aide or does this.

I KNOW THIS IS COMING.

I just wonder WHEN and if I'll have tissues for this moment when Barda unleashes hell or shows this compassion to free Cass from whatever bind.

But yeah Birds of Prey has been my favorite book of the early half of the month, with Tec always complimenting it for the back half.

[hmslusitania]

35. “They’re not you.” for Jason/Dick

Which are "I'm dying." "You're not dying." and "I missed the train, can I stay with you?" It ended up being a little more pre-romance than actual romance, but! Have 1.5k of whatever this is (sick fic; it's sick fic)

It would be one thing if Jason hadn’t totalled his bike tracking down the smugglers in Blüdhaven. It would be another if he hadn’t lost his stupid grapple line, and still another whole situation if Dick hadn’t watched literally all of it happen.

“Need a ride back to Gotham?” Dick asks while they crouch on the fire escape to make sure Blüdhaven’s cops actually collar the smugglers they’ve so neatly lined up for them.

The concept of sitting on the back of Dick’s bike with him for the entire drive back up to Gotham makes Jason’s palms start sweating in his gloves.

“We’ve got trains for a reason, Dickhead,” Jason replies, and doesn’t need to see Dick’s face under his domino mask to know Dick’s just rolled his eyes.

Jason slips off the fire escape and in the shadow of the ’haven alleyway, he does his best to strip down his tactical gear into something that passes for civilian attire, stuffing his helmet and the rest of his gear into a bag. Collapsible duffel bags: never leave home without them.

He has to turn his collar up against the rain on his way to the station, and he doesn’t appreciate the way the grimy water drips down the back of his neck or soaks his hair, and he really, really hates it that he gets to the station in time to see the station master flip all the lights off and tell him that the next train to Gotham won’t be until the commuter run at six in the morning.

He does contemplate just crashing at the station entrance. Except his phone buzzes and he pulls it out to see a text from Dick that just reads, “Didn’t the trains stop for the night?”

It’s not an invitation, Jason knows that. It’s never an invitation. Dick had moved to Blüdhaven to get the hell away from all of them and like, sure, he won’t argue about it when Tim or Damian or the girls turn up at his door and invite themselves in, but he doesn’t like—

You know I’ve got a couch, right?

The second text makes Jason’s palms start sweating again. Or maybe that’s just the rain.

Whatever. Whatever. What. Ever. It’s fine. It’s literally so fine. He’s not a fifteen-year-old dipshit tagging along on Teen Titans missions in the blind hope of getting his crushes’ attention anymore. He’s a twenty-five-year-old dipshit chasing smugglers to the next city over to get his crush’s attention, which is totally different. And also not at all what he’d been doing. Whatsoever.

It’s not a long walk from the station to Dick’s apartment, but in the sixteen blocks or whatever it is, he gets even more soaked, in ways he really doesn’t enjoy. He’s at least too physically miserable to second-guess his own choices by the time he gets to Dick’s and tries not to be offended when Dick’s dog sniffs at him once and then ducks behind Dick’s bare calves because Jason’s gross from the Blüdhaven night.

“Can I use your shower?” Jason asks, already dropping his duffel bag and hanging his jacket on the hooks by Dick’s kitchen door.

“I’ll see if I can find anything that’ll fit you,” Dick offers. “Towels are in the cabinet.”

Jason grunts eloquently in response and then hides in the steam of Dick’s shower for longer than strictly necessary. He doesn’t come out until Dick knocks on the door to let him know there are clothes waiting for him. In a mostly neat pile by the bathroom door, Jason finds a pair of threadbare sweats he’d bet money had once been Bruce’s, and a shirt that’s even a little too big for him that advertises for the Metropolis Meteors.

Jason pulls it on and then tracks Dick back to the kitchen. He plucks at the logo pointedly and Dick just shrugs.

“Clark left it behind the last time we were catching a game,” Dick explains.

“Right, yeah, because Superman just hangs out in your apartment to watch baseball games,” Jason mutters, which only gets him a shrug again and then Dick goes back to prepping his coffee pot for the next morning.

Jason helps himself to the couch, dragging the blanket off the back of it and fully intending to pass out without speaking to Dick again that night. He gets as far as snuggling in with his damp hair on the throw pillow when Haley bounds over to him, licks him on the nose, and then retreats to Dick’s room while Dick laughs.

“Night, Jay,” Dick calls from the doorway.

“Night,” Jason mumbles, rubs the dog slobber off his nose and tries to sleep.

He figures out something’s gone terribly awry about the moment he wakes up to Haley frantically licking his face.

“Wh—” he croaks, and then he feels the prickliness in his throat and the chills of a fever, and it explains the little dog’s anxious investigation as well as the concerned frown he finds on Dick’s face when he can finally look away from the dog.

“I think you caught something,” Dick informs him.

“No, I did—” Jason starts and then interrupts himself to cough. “Mother—” cough “—fucker.”

Dick doesn’t quite laugh at him, but his face does contort into a sympathetic and pitying smile. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Don’t laugh at me, I’m dying,” Jason protests.

“You’re not dying,” Dick says, and goes to get him coffee anyway.

“You go out in the rain without a hood or a helmet and you never get sick,” Jason grumbles.

“I built up a tolerance,” Dick replies. “It’s like why you shouldn’t stop kids from eating dirt. It helps them build their immune systems or whatever.”

“Is that why you—” cough, cough, pitiful hacking wheeze “—keep licking evidence at crime scenes?”

Dick doesn’t dignify that with a response, which Jason guesses is fair enough, and his next request is for Jason to lift his head. It makes his head throb, but he makes it most of the way upright. He accepts the coffee and doesn’t know what to do with himself when Dick sits down on the couch beside him, clicking on the tv and scrolling through the offerings. He lands on a nature documentary programme that’s probably something Damian loves, and seems perfectly content to just drink his coffee and watch the show while Jason convalesces on his couch.

Despite the caffeine, as soon as Jason’s done with his mug, he finds himself slipping sideways and losing physical integrity until he fully collapses with his head in Dick’s lap. He expects Dick to push him off or to stand up and leave him there to his misery, but instead, Dick’s hand falls to the side of his head and he starts absently running his fingers through Jason’s unruly hair. It’s so pleasant it very nearly puts Jason right to sleep again, but he doesn’t trust himself not to, like, sleep-drool onto Dick’s thighs and he doesn’t think he’d ever recover from that emotionally, so he doesn’t let his eyes shut, and keeps focusing on the screen while the narrator talks about deep sea octopuses and some pilot programme from a land university for their marine biology department to conference with Atlantean zoologists or whatever.

When the episode finishes, Dick stands and audibly winces when Jason lets his head fall to the couch without catching himself.

“Do you want—” Dick starts, exactly as Jason says, “Should I—”

“Go ahead,” Dick suggests, taking their mugs back to the coffee pot.

“Should I head back to Gotham?” Jason asks, and finishes the question with a cough.

Dick doesn’t respond right away, but when he comes back to the living room, he’s got both their mugs still.

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to order in some soup,” Dick says, and then stands pointedly next to the couch until Jason lifts his head up again to make space for him.

Jason has to use his new cup of coffee to swallow past the lump in his throat. “That, um, that sounds better than going back to Gotham.”

“Yeah,” Dick agrees and once he’s finished placing the order on his phone, he goes right back to running his fingers through Jason’s hair.

“You never invite any of the others back to your apartment to stay,” Jason says, and he’s thoroughly losing the fight to stay awake now.

“The others all invite themselves,” Dick points out. “And also?”

He stops talking when the title of the new episode pops up and tells them that it’ll be taking them on a guided tour of the mutated and weird fauna and flora found exclusively in Gotham! Dick fumbles for the skip button and Jason wheezes out a croaky laugh that’s half cough.

“I figure we both get enough first-hand experience with Gotham’s weird shit,” Dick explains.

“Yeah,” Jason agrees. “You were saying, and also…?”

Dick’s hand stills in his hair for long enough that it seems pointed. It takes some doing for Jason to twist far enough that he can see Dick’s face, but it’s worth it when he does. Dick is looking — gazing, really — down at him, with a small smile on his face. It makes Jason blush against his will, like he’s some kind of damsel, but worst comes, he figures he can blame it on being flushed from his cold.

“And also,” Dick says. “They’re not you.”