#fallen too far sequel

[allegoryofthebeast]

I am obsessed that Jedi: Survivor explores Cal more or less slipping into the dark side/dark behaviors and patterns and how leaning into emotion as a Jedi can make you significantly more powerful though also extremely reckless and aggressive - however a balance could perhaps be reached by Jedi with the patience and support to understand their darker emotions and how it could be beneficial or harmful given the situation. But they fr don’t. Every time something within that vein happens to Cal everyone is like damn… crazy. Anyway

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 · 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦

contents: smut. minors dni 18+. reader wears a nightgown to subtly get the message across. attempt at seduction. lots of teasing and kissing. first time with him. size difference. fingering. borderline overstimulation. vaginal penetration. mostly sweet lovemaking but implications of leading to rougher sex. sylus has a huge dick (he is standing at 6’2 after all). 2.9k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ based off of this arranged marriage sylus x wife!reader post but can be read as a standalone. smut writing is never one of my strengths but I had fun with this one!! and I can only hope it’s an enjoyable read to those who were anticipating a sequel 🤍꒱

“Doing a little late night reading?” Sylus glances at your form through his peripheral as you enter his bedroom with a light skip in your steps. He’s perched at the end of his bed with a high profile report in hand, and with a tilt of your head and prying eyes you hover over the document between his fingers as you stand before him. You skim through a few lines before he tosses it aside, murmuring that it’s nothing of importance when something more interesting happens to catch his attention and you feel the heat of his gaze doing you a once-over.

Your cheeks warm and you feel a tad shyness wash over you when he quietly appraises your body clad in a gorgeous silk slip with lace embellishments. He hums in appreciation, a slow smirk curling on his lips before he reaches out to grasp your waist and pull you forward onto his lap. He secures one arm around you to keep you in place and his thumb sweeps over the delicate sleepwear and the bare skin of your thigh in a soft, languid motion. “You’ll catch a cold in just your nightgown, kitten. Or did you wear it for me?”

“Maybe I just wanted to change into something a little more comfortable.” You respond with a coy smile and playful shrug of your shoulder which causes the thin strap to fall from just a whisper of movement. He enjoys your little display and act of innocence if this is your way of telling him that you want to deepen the relationship through shared intimacy like normal marital couples do during this time of night. And truthfully, he’s been waiting far too long for this moment to come but he didn’t expect you to offer yourself on a silver platter. What a sweet and precious wife you are.

“I’m sure you could find something more suitable than a flimsy nightgown.” His knuckles brush up along your arm and hooks the fallen strap around his finger to slide it back into its proper place. “But then, perhaps you wanted to tease me, too?”

You click your tongue in disappointment. No matter what you do he was always two steps ahead of you—it’s thoughtful yet infuriating especially when you want him to act more surprised. “Nothing ever gets passed by you, it seems.”

His large hand slips under the lace trimmings of your nightgown and moves closest to your backside for a firm squeeze. “You should know by now how badly I want you, sweetheart. And with you sitting in my lap, looking breathtaking like that. I’m tempted to just rip this little thing off of you.”

You purse your lips into a small pout that’s adorable to him and grunt in disapproval. “What if this night dress is one of my favorites? Don’t I get a say in what you can and can’t tear?”

He arches a brow as though to challenge you by putting the theory into practice. You keep forgetting that he could read you like an open book, and he loves nothing more than proving you wrong at every chance. “Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy it if I did? I’ll buy you new ones. Better ones.”

You mull over at the thought. “Sounds troublesome. I’ll have to keep making these frequent shopping trips.”

“I just mean the nightgown is in the way of me seeing all of you. You’re more than welcome to wear it any other time, but right now… I want it off.”

“Well, it’s only fair you make the next move.” He groans lowly when you shift your weight in his lap and rest your head against him. You drag your manicured finger down his chest and gently flick at the silver chain looped between his collar. “I did come all this way just for you.”

He understood your meaning and leans down close enough so his warm breath fans over your lips when he tilts your chin to look at him. “If you want me to take off my clothes, you’ll have to undress me yourself.” The soft spoken words in his deep voice send a tingle to the back of your brain, and the lingering kiss he places on the corner of your mouth adds a fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“Still making me work for it? And here I thought I would be cherished and wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.” You bring yourself upright and shove him down onto the bed to climb over him and straddle him. He gives you a knowing smirk at the sound of your cute gasp when you feel just how hard he is for you against your clothed cunt. You make quick work of undoing the underlay of buttons tucked beneath the thick fabric of his tailored dress shirt and remove it entirely to reveal every bit of lean muscle. His build akin to that of a spectacularly sculpted marble statue down to the details of his veins on his strong arms.

“Making you work for it is half the fun, kitten. But just remember who will be putting in the most work tonight.” His hand wanders up your thigh again and moves along the curve of your waist, the expensive silk bunches under his touch and he gropes the fullness of your breast. You feel the strap loosen around your shoulder once more. “Are you liking what you’re seeing? You’re allowed to mark what’s yours, you know. But I’d like to be able to mark you as mine too, wife.” His hungry eyes slowly roam over your matching panties and midriff before he returns your gaze.

Your smaller hand covers his knuckles meanwhile his thumb brushes across your nipple and he revels in the feeling of the bud hardening over the material. “You’re just always so straightforward, aren’t you?” You sensually wrap your finger around the other strap that’s perfectly intact and at your cue Sylus glides his hand down to the small of your back and watches as the dress cascades down to your midsection.

“And you’re so beautiful.” You’re a heavenly sight to behold with the way his amorous stare commits your very existence to his memory, particularly the swell of your lovely breasts that’s heavy with lust and begging for more of his attention. He gently reaches for your wrist and his fingers smooth under your palm to bring your hand up to his face. His thumb runs over the wedding band that binds you to him laying a light kiss against your knuckles, then places your hand over his shoulder waiting for your next move.

You don’t waste another second closing the distance between you two and crash your lips against his for a needy and desperate kiss. Your fingers tangle into his silver locks and your heat grinds against him hoping for some semblance of relief from the ache that’s building inside you. You feel him envelop your breasts fully with each caress and tender squeeze and a little bit of nipple play.

Sylus tastes faintly of sweet, tannic notes from the lingering aftertaste of red wine as your tongue meets his through parted lips. His arms and hands alternate between hugging your body and grip tightening on your hips, bucking himself up into your heat. You feel yourself needing more, wanting more and being closer to him so you hurriedly unbuckle his belt and suddenly the sound of fabric tearing reaches your ears.

You muffle in surprise against his lips and push him back just enough to see him wearing a smug expression. “I should’ve known you’d go against my wishes.” You scoff in disbelief and yet there’s a grin playing across your features that betrays your earlier words. You hate to admit he was right from the start—that you’d find the ripping more attractive instead of being carefully unwrapped like you both have all the patience in the world.

Sylus discards the now ruined piece of clothing aside. He lifts you with ease and your back embraces the cool sheets when he drops you down on the mattress and returns to his full height. “I was never one to follow rules. Besides, you look perfect like this.” You support yourself up on your elbows to follow his movements, and any smart comeback you have dies in your throat when he picks up where you left off by unfastening his belt and stripping out of his trousers. His boxer briefs follow suit and he thinks it’s adorable how you look mesmerized from this performance alone.

Your eyes settle on his huge cock. Almost gawking at it and you unconsciously clench your thighs together. It’s perfectly proportioned to the rest of him—long and notably thicker with an upward center curve and a few prominent veins here and there. He flushes a pretty shade of red that’s gradient from the head down and his pubes are neatly trimmed.

“You don’t have to look so scared, kitten.” He rasps an amused chuckle, and he feels you tense slightly when his hand scales up along your knee to your inner thigh and he dips his fingers between your legs. “I’ll take my time with you so you can handle me.”

Your breath hitches when he feels how drenched you are through your panties. He offers a gratified hum, his handsome face and broad shoulders become your main focus as he closes in on you. “Spread your legs wider.” He murmurs into your ear, and as soon as you give him more access he delves into your mouth for a bruising kiss and chases you down onto the bed. His ministrations on your clit feel absolutely sinful yet so wonderful and your arm wrap around his back meanwhile your hand explores the muscled panels of his upper body and the areas that are within your reach.

A string of saliva connects you both then disappears as your lips come apart. But he doesn’t stray far when the exquisite look on your face is a breath away and he pulls your panties aside to collect your arousal with two digits sliding through your puffy folds. Your lustful sounds escape in a warm exhale as soon as he slowly inserts his thick fingers into your tight pussy, and you’re quite the vision arching your back so tastefully.

“Mmh, that f-feels so good, Sylus.” Your eyes glaze over when he steadily pumps in and out of you, curling so deliciously at your sweet spot and he marvels at the way your cunt is greedily sucking in his fingers. There’s nothing else like him, the way he stretches you and reaches the deeper parts and hits the bits you can’t yourself. He adores the breathless sighs and mewls of his name when he pushes you to the edge even more while kissing you senselessly.

“You sound beautiful. I love the way my name tastes on your lips.” You can feel him smirk against you, but you’re too immersed in your pleasure to respond in words that aren’t broken syllables. He trails open-mouth kisses down to your jawline and along the column of your neck, grazing his teeth and softly sucking on your skin until hues of velvet purple form. Your head burrows into the soft cushion of the mattress, hips squirming as your hand clutches onto his forearm from tension coiling inside you.

“M’gonna come soon, Sy—!” Your pretty moans and pants grow heavier each second, and he loves feeling your body quiver when you’re pressed under him. He’s still knuckles deep inside you with every intention of bringing you up to heaven and back down to him. After all, he doesn’t believe in doing things halfway but can’t pass an opportunity to tease his darling wife.

“You’re getting so close already? I barely got started with you, sweetie.” He chuckles lowly yet his cock twitches as precum oozes and leaks down from the slit of his tip. “Don’t hold it in now. Let go and come for me.”

He’s met with your gorgeous o-face when the euphoric bliss courses through your entire body as your walls tighten around his fingers. Your moans turn into squeals and you try to shove his hand away to soften your orgasm but he doesn’t budge from being much stronger than you. The feeling is more than you can handle when your thighs clamp together to stop his movements. But you don’t want the addictive sensation to leave just yet when he borderline overstimulates you, turning you into a trembling and writhing mess.

You barely have a moment to catch your breath when a chortle escapes you from watching him bring his fingers coated in your cum to his mouth for a curious taste. “Mm. Sweet, just as I thought. You did great, kitten.” He leans down to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead, and the first wave of your drawn-out release slowly ebbs away. “Don’t you think you deserve one more?” Sylus pulls your soaked panties down your legs and casts them aside, leaving you completely bare under his gaze.

“I should hope so. Been wanting for you to stuff me with your fat cock tonight.” You’re still a little breathless when your finger glides down his toned chest in a sensual and playful manner. He makes a content hum at the sound of that with an upward quirk of his lips.

“What a bold and resilient wife I have on my hands. As long as I have you, I’ll never be bored again.” He gladly hoists your leg to wrap around his waist and spits down, giving himself a few strokes making it slick before aligning himself to your dripping cunt. His precum mixes with the remnants of your previous climax with the heavy drag of his tip from your opening up along your clit. He revels in the way your body responds with a little spasm. “I won’t have you going back on your words now.”

The flutter of your lashes steers away from his deep and enigmatic eyes, a nervous gnaw of your lower lips as you anticipate the painful stretch from taking him. “Go slow, okay? Because you know…” He knew you were implying about his sheer size, and you feel him grab hold of your hand and press your interlaced hand against the bed beside your head.

He captures your swollen lips that feel entirely too sweet and intimate, replacing your worries with a gentle tangle of his encompassing love and adoration that seeps into your soul. “I wouldn’t dream about hurting you. That’s a promise. But you have to let me in first.” Your breath hitches when his aching tip probes your entrance, yet the tension doesn’t leave your body until he tells you to focus on him with the exchange of kisses laced with a growing insistence. “You’ll let me know if it hurts, kitten? I want to make you feel good.”

With that said, your sharp nails dig into his shoulder blade and draw red lines at the burning stretch that feels too much yet so good at the same time. Your soft sighs and whimpers fill the hazy room and he’s fucking you slowly with just the tip to help ease the initial discomfort. He searches your face every now and again making sure you’re okay before he continues, letting out a guttural moan when he slips in a little more with each thrust until he carves his way into you completely.

“You’re in too deep—hah. Feel so full and good.” You shudder when he stills his movements, throbbing cock nestled inside you to the hilt and kissing your cervix. There’s a carnal desire brewing in his stomach seeing you pinned under his weight keeping him nice and warm. He wouldn’t mind spending the entire night with you, any plans and commitments he had prior be damned the moment you swayed in through the double doors. “Want you to m-move, please.”

The sound of your polite begging makes him twitch involuntarily, and he could only imagine what desperate pleas you have in store for him tonight and he’s looking forward to it. When your pretty lips implore him to fuck you faster and harder he won’t be able to hold back. After all, he has always been ready and waiting to give himself to you that aligns with your willingness to accept him. There is no love purer than his, this craving he has reserved only for you. “You know you only have to ask, and I’ll give you everything you want. Just be careful what you wish for, sweetie.”

Sylus chuckles at your cute whine shortly after—such a needy little thing you are. He falls into a sweet and slow rhythm that makes you feel each thrust, the head of his dick down to its shape and following the shaft that caresses the underside of your pleasure endings so incredibly good. Your legs wrap around his back and you pull him in deeper because close just isn’t close enough for you. You need to feel the heat of his body sear against your skin as you hold him, and in turn you feel him squeeze your interlaced hand. “Tonight, you’re all mine. Forget anyone else in the world but me.”

[andypantsx3]

contents: general bakugou x princess reader; fem + afab virgin reader. nsft; oral (f receiving) & missionary. semi-sequel to this drabble. 3.2k.

Your wedding day arrives far earlier than you are prepared for.

It’s a tense affair, for you at least. The country depends on it, and you feel the scheming eyes of the nobility hot on your skin as you pronounce your vows to Bakugou. They will not take kindly to your having chosen him over their sons and brothers, over their own desire to rise to power. There will be a price they will want you to pay, soon enough.

The chapel is resplendent with sumptuous decor, the court in their finest. But the room is fringed with Bakugou’s men in their military leathers, a reminder that this is not a happy day, but rather a dangerous political stunt. It keeps the noble houses docile while they are in the room with you, but you know they will return to their estates and their plans. 

Your fate is in Bakugou’s hands, now, in more ways than one.

The ceremony is dizzying, and impossible to wrap your head around. The preceptor pronounces Bakugou your prince-consort, ostensibly to remain so while you assume the throne after your father’s passing. You will continue to rule him as his sovereign. But your vows to Bakugou also promise him your obedience as his wife. 

It is a contradiction, an impossible trap, the very reason why the general is the only man you could stomach the thought of marrying. If a husband is to rule you after all, Bakugou will do so justly. 

The thought does not stifle your nerves, however, as you make your way back down the aisle, sit down to the reception, and take your meal. A disquieting, anticipatory feeling settles over you, fizzing under your skin. You barely pick at your dinner, and drink too much of the wine.

You can tell Bakugou notices, scarlet gaze ever-perceptive, though he does not say anything until you are shepherded to the bridal suite to consummate.

Various aides try to follow you in to prepare you, but Bakugou slams the door closed on them, propping it shut with one broad shoulder. He barks at them to scram.

“Lord General—that is, Your Highness,” one of them stutters through the door. “We are required to witness the consummation—to verify that it is complete.”

A bolt of shame goes through you at this, and you catch hold of one of the intricately-carved wooden bed pillars. Bakugou grunts, holding the door closed with one palm while spinning to the nearby dressing table and chair. He grabs the chair, wedging it forcefully up under the door handle.

“You’ll be sure of consummation when I’m done here,” he growls through the door. “Don’t need you little fucking perverts making eyes the whole damn time. Now beat it.”

A weird sound escapes you, something between a gasp and a laugh—at his promise, at his gruffness.

“Your Highness,” comes a plaintive entreaty through the door. Bakugou slams a fist against it, and you hear a squeal and a sound like someone’s fallen over their feet.

An absurd laugh seizes you, and Bakugou eyes you pettishly.

“The fuck’re you laughing about,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

Your fingers twist on the bedpost, nervously tracing the lines. “You’re taking to your new post well.”

Bakugou’s features twist into something dangerously satisfied, a smirk painting his mouth. Your breath comes short.

“My post,” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “As your husband.”

Your stomach swoops. The disquiet flames back to life under your skin, settling heavy in your gut like a stone. 

“I supposed it is a post like any other,” you say, fixing your gaze on the ground. “There are responsibilities and… marital duties.”

You hear the soft tread of Bakugou’s boot as he steps away from the door, the rustle of his doublet as he draws closer. His many medals and ceremonial sword belt clink softly. It is a fashion you know he does not prefer, always living in his shirtsleeves—the better to fight in, to train in.

A calloused hand takes your chin, tipping your face up to his.

“You nervous, Princess?” he asks. His tone is obnoxious, as usual, but his crimson gaze traces your face.

You barely suppress a shiver under his touch. Your stomach churns with a thousand emotions and you find you don’t know how to feel. Relieved that you’ve made it this far. Annoyed with Bakugou’s composure and general manner. Apprehensive about what is to come. And warm, suddenly, all over. You do not want to examine why.

“Nonsense,” you sniff. 

A feral smile curls the corner of Bakugou’s mouth like he sees right through you. “You’ve never been with a man.”

Your face burns but you force yourself to return Bakugou’s assessing stare. “I’ve never been to Musutafu, either, but I know it well enough. I should think I am… prepared.”

Something hot alights in Bakugou’s gaze, burning like a coal. It’s not unlike how he looked at you that night in the dark outside his chambers, when you’d first come to him with this wild proposal.

“And what do you think you know,” he says, flatter than a question.

Your nose grows hot. “Enough.”

A thumb slides along your jaw, settling against the pulse in your neck. “Answer the question, angel.”

Your face just might be on fire. You steel yourself, reciting dispassionately. “You will undress me and then… enter me. I shall lie still—they say you can breathe through the pain and it will go away after some time. You will… work yourself to completion. And then we shall be done.”

A snort comes from Bakugou. “Is that how you royal tightasses do it?”

You feel your eyes narrow. “That is how everyone does it.”

Your ladies in waiting had been very emphatic. All of them had spoken of the same mechanics. The initial discomfort, the pain, the way a husband moved upon his wife until he was satisfied.

“You don’t know shit, Princess,” Bakugou says.

You reach up to pull his hand from your face, but he tenses, arm growing solid and immovable. 

“Explains why all you nobles are such fucking tight-buttoned pricks if that’s how you’re doing it.”

Your reply is startled out of you when his hand finds your waist. You take a step back, and then another, startling again when your back finds the wall. Bakugou follows you, eyes hot.

“You are insufferable,” you inform him hotly. “I am sure of the matter.”

“You’re always sure of a lot of things, Princess,” he says. His hand is back at your waist, and suddenly all your skin feels too hot and tight, stifling like a velvet dress in summer.

“I am sure you are the most obnoxious man on earth,” you say. “Now be quiet and commence with it. Let’s have done with it.”

Bakugou’s face is suddenly closer than you’d remembered it being.

“I’ll have done with you alright,” he says. “But I’m not gonna do it like you little uppity prudes.”

You find you can’t think of what he means, all of your thoughts clouded with his proximity, the feeling of his hand moving to your skirts.

“I—but there is only the one way,” you manage. None of your ladies had mentioned anything else.

Bakugou’s mouth cuts into a smirk again, and you hate him for how pretty it is. 

“We’ll fuckin’ see about that,” he says.

And then his mouth is pressed to yours. 

It’s nothing like the stilted peck you’d been obliged to give him at the ceremony—one that still left your face burning, for some unknowable reason. This feels entirely different in its intensity. Bakugou’s mouth is hot and soft and tempting and eager, and your body thrills with it.

Every inch of your skin feels like it zings with lightning when he licks into your mouth, and he presses you harder into the wall. You feel his groan all the way down to your toes.

“B–akugou,” you pant when his mouth leaves yours, only to stifle a yip when he moves down to your throat. He sucks a mark there, laving over it with his tongue, and you feel like you're melting in his hands. “That’s—not my—ah!—mouth,” you manage.

The tiniest scrape of teeth has you yelping again, and you find yourself clutching his bicep for purchase.

“No shit,” he says, leaving another mark lower, mapping his way towards your chest. Calloused fingers come up to cup one of your breasts, thumb swiping over your nipple through your stays. You catch hold of his hair, yanking a fistful of that flaxen blonde, clenching your thighs together.

“What are you doing?” you hiss. 

Bakugou looks up at you, expression annoyed. “Consummating.”

“But you’re not undressing me,” you say. “And shouldn’t we—on the bed?

Bakugou raises a blonde eyebrow. “They tell you it needs to be on a bed, too?”

You blink, momentarily disarmed. It was quite literally called sharing the marriage bed—where else were you supposed to do it?

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same thing?” you eventually ask him.

Both of Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot for the moon, and he looks very suddenly like he wants to laugh. A grin yanks at his mouth, sharp and beautiful.

“I knew you’d be a fucking handful,” he says, his tone somehow both annoyed and delighted. “Don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about and you’re still trying to give me orders.”

You yank at the fistful of his hair you’re still clutching and he hisses, hand shooting out to grab yours. He works your grip off of him, pinning your wrist to the wall. The air in the room suddenly feels a hundred times thicker, like trying to breathe through honey.

“Listen closely, Princess,” he tells you, leaning in. “We're going to consummate, alright. But I’m not just gonna squeeze my eyes shut and stick it in. I’m going to do what I want first, and you’re going to be good and let me.”

Your face ignites in flame. You want to disagree reflexively. “If it’s going to be painful I’d rather just have it over with, if you don’t mind,” you say.

Bakugou stares back, scarlet gaze roving over you. “It’s not gonna be if you shut up and let me do what I want.”

You blink. You hadn’t heard that there was a way around the pain—why hadn’t anyone told you?

“I—really?” you ask.

Bakugou nods. “Really.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well then… you may proceed, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” he echoes, staring you down. The look on his face makes you want to lean forward and bite it off.

“Well get on with it,” you say, arching your eyebrows.

Bakugou looks for a moment like he wants to shake you. But he ducks his head instead, lowering his mouth to yours again.

“Gonna fuck that bossiness right out of you,” he mutters, low like he’s promising himself and not you. But then he kisses you again, muffling your gasp in his mouth.

You’ve never kissed another man, and do not have a frame of reference for what he’s doing. But Bakugou is a good kisser, you think. Every flick of his tongue feels like someone has uncorked champagne and poured it beneath your skin, and every brush of his mouth against yours sends a liquid heat racing through your veins.

You moan into his mouth when calloused fingers delve beneath the collar of your gown, dipping into your stays and pinching a nipple. He rolls it carefully, and you arch against him without any say-so from your brain. 

“Been thinking about this, Princess,” he says. “Ever since I saw you in that little nightdress. Gonna show you what it really means to be with a man.”

You’re excused from answering by his mouth back on yours. Not that you think you could, with the way his fingers feel in the cups of your stays, or the press of a strong thigh between your own.

“Bakugou,” you gasp when he peels off of you, only to sink to his knees before you.

“It’s Katsuki,” he says, busying himself with the hem of your skirts. 

“B–Katsuki,” you say. “What are you doing?”

Long fingers roll up the hemline of your dress, then yank at your underthings, exposing you to him. You gasp again, moving to cover yourself, but Bakugou pins you to the wall with an arm across your stomach, catching your thigh and pulling it over his shoulder.

“Husbandly duties,” he replies, another smirk on his mouth.

And then your head thunks against the wall as that mouth moves, pressing to you.

“Katsuki!” you shout, biting off into an embarrassing moan when he laves over you. No one had told you about this part—about how a man’s mouth there would make you feel like fireworks had just been lit off in your veins. About how a man’s mouth could even go there at all.

Bakugou doesn’t reply, kissing you there as he had your lips. A delicate suck from him over the cleft of you has you arching in his hands again, and you can quite literally feel him smirking against you.

He works you thoroughly, licking and sucking for what feels like torturous hours, but must only be minutes, until you’re a writhing, panting mess, only held upright by the arm he has banded across your lower stomach. There’s a pressure rising within you, pooling in all your limbs, making you shake and shiver with it, and what feels like no way to release it.

“Katsuki—I feel strange,” you say, bucking against his mouth. “Oh—oh!”

“Just hold on, sweetheart, and let yourself feel it,” Katsuki tells you, before licking back over you. A finger presses up inside of you, foreign but strangely good in conjunction with his mouth. Then another one presses in and they curl as if seeking something, making you twist in his grip.

And then something makes you jerk—the press of Katsuki’s fingers inside you in just the right spot, while he sucks on you, feeling like he’s touching the same place inside of you from both sides.

Something inside you snaps, uncoiling, pleasure flooding down you like a mudslide. You cry out Bakugou’s name, tears in your vision, riding out your pleasure against his mouth. Bakugou licks you through it, groaning low in his throat with appreciation.

“That’s it, Princess,” he says, tone rough. “Now you’re ready for consummation.”

You hear his words as if through a haze, and it’s only once you’re moving—being picked up and carried over to the bed—that you register what he’s saying.

He frees himself from his breeches, and stretches out over you, kissing your mouth. You’re embarrassed to taste yourself on him, but the press of him to you overrides that concern. In one smooth stroke he presses in, and you are shocked to find that he slides home easily, your core slick and ready.

It feels strange, but not at all unpleasant—absolutely nothing like what they’d told you.

“You alright, Princess?” Bakugou asks.

“I—yes,” you say, voice fluttering off when he flexes his hips, moving inside of you. The slide of him inside of you is unexpectedly good, especially when he lowers a hand to your core, pressing a thumb to that bundle of nerves at the hood of you.

“Feel good?” he asks, his eyes hot on your face. You cling to him, hips lifting into him unthinkingly as his thumb pets over you again, as he presses in and out of you a few more times.

You nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

He grins anyway, feral and fever-bright. His pace picks up into something faster, and you’re embarrassed to hear the slap of him against you, the eager way your body welcomes him in.

The band of pressure builds up inside you again, slowly, with every sure stroke of Bakugou inside you. He’s hot and hard and heavy over you, pressing you into the mattress, and the tops of his cheeks are flush with effort—the way he looks sometimes when he’s just come in from the training pitch.

He’s beautiful—handsome and strong and hot-headed and determined. And it dawns on you that he’s yours now—not just your subject but your husband, your prince consort, and now your lover.

It makes all your skin turn molten hot again, especially when you look down and see your knees have rucked his shirt up. You can see the flex of his abs as he thrusts between your thighs, all that golden skin and dense muscle.

The slide of him inside you and the sight of him over you is suddenly too much, and you feel yourself tip right over the edge again. Bakugou catches your hand as you lift it to muffle your cry, kissing over your knuckles.

“That’s it, Princess, that’s it,” he says again, ducking his head to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth as he fucks you through it, and he groans with the clench of you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he says against your lips, pace picking up faster. “Knew you would, sweetheart, yeah.”

Embarrassingly you feel almost like you could come apart again with the praise. Bakugou groans once more, and you can hear his grip tighten in the blanket next to your head. His hips buck and flex, wildly uncontrolled now, until he gives one final hard thrust.

His weight pins you down when he relaxes over you, his breath tickling over your shoulder. You find you like the weight of him on you, covering you, like a shield against the rest of the world.

Apt, for a general.

“Better than how you wanted to do it, wasn’t it, Princess?” he asks, smug.

You scoff, but you catch the flash of a white grin in the corner of your vision. There is really no question that he’d had the better of it, this time.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” he says.

Over him, you can hear the flutter of feet outside the door, some muffled discussion. Heat rises to your face when you realize the castle aids most definitely heard you cry out under Bakugou’s ministrations. There will be no doubt of your consummation now, regardless of whether you were observed.

“Nosy fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugou says, rolling off of you. You catch another flicker of his chest with the way his shirt gapes, and he looks doubly smug when he notices.

“Not done yet, angel?” he says.

“I am, thank you.” You flush, embarrassed at having been caught. But Bakugou stretches an arm out to yank you over him, pressing you down over his hips.

Your stomach flutters.

“Give me a couple more minutes, Princess,” Bakugou says, scarlet eyes flashing with heat once more. His hand raises to trail through your hair, catching in the wedding hairstyle they’d pinned you into. 

“Five more minutes,” your new husband promises you, with a grin like the devil. “And then we'll give them something to really listen to.”

[defmaybe]

[AER-698] My Boss(?) Loves My Ass So Much She Puts Her Tongue on It, Then She Fucks Me in the Ass Like I’m Her Cockslut and Make Me Cum!

aespa’s Uchinaga Aeri/Giselle x Male Reader

1.2k words

Sequel to Excel

“G–Giselle, nghh.”

“Shh, call me Aeri, baby. I won’t bite you–and your ass.”

A giggle leaves Aeri’s lips just before her tongue dives right back onto your asshole, leaving you tensed up in the sensations.

Again, you’re caught in this “predicament” of having your collar tugged by someone while walking in the SM building’s hallway—happens to be Aeri this time. 

Should’ve been more careful.

Her hands grip the outer of your thighs ever so tightly, locking your willing, lithe body in place. Her dexterous flesh finds its rhythm in lapping up your rear, having your cock leaking droplets of precum on the tile floor. She doesn’t taste the insides of your body yet, but you’re quite sure that she won’t stop on the outside.

“You know–wait, Yizhuo would probably have told you this, our little rankings, haven’t she?”

“Y–Yes, yes, Aeri. I–I got the best ass for four years straight.” You aren’t certain whether to be proud of it, but it gets you here, bent over a desk to have your asshole licked.

“Yeah, you know, it’s not just the ass. There’s legs, abs, face, and you didn’t do bad in other categories!” she stops the tongue action, but still playing with the rim of your tightness with her deft fingers. The pleasure is still there.

“T–Thanks, hgngnn, Aeri.”

“Anyways, yeah, I’ll go back to eating your ass now.” Aeri chuckles, before placing her tongue on you again, eliciting an inaudible sound from you.

She lets out a quiet, satisfied moan with each swipe of her flesh. How can she be so good at eating ass? God, this woman, she’s making you struggle to stand upright. You would’ve fallen to the ground a long time ago if it’s not for this poor wooden desk.

You swear that your moans keep getting higher and higher with each lick of hers. She does it so, so well, fuck.

And as if she can listen to your body, she starts to invade your butthole—piercing her tongue into your body every two or three swipes. The shocks become stronger now, any contact with your cock and you’ll cum.

“Hmm, baby boy, you taste good,” Aeri says. You can feel your puckered hole clenching in front of her face. You can feel her warm breath on your cheeks. And you can feel the tightening of her hold on your legs. She want you so, so fucking bad.

“T–Thanks, nnhh, A–Aeri, again.” You just can’t form your thoughts with the waves and waves of pleasure surging through you now.

And she stops.

“W–What?” you utter, glancing back to catch her determined eyes.

“Oh, baby boy, my poor baby boy. Just wait a second, okay?” Aeri says with her doe eyes, her hands searching for something within her tote bag.

As she brings the object out, the size of it makes you gawk—a six-inch black strap-on. To be honest, the expectation of it being a dildo plowing your slutty ass isn’t exactly too far. But with the size of it, you won’t be able to walk home properly today.

“A–Aeri? I–I don’t think I–”

“Shhh, baby boy, let me fuck your ass, alright? Be a good boy for me~” Aeri speaks as she’s harnessing the plastic phallus on her waist.

You nod.

She paints lube on her shaft, and she manages to snuck a finger into your tightness to lather her target.

And so it begins.

She slowly pushes her cock into you. The coldness of the lube makes you shiver, and how her length enters your pliant body. You keep your mouth tight shut, unable to make any sound out of this otherworldly sensation. God, she’s fully dominating you.

“C’mon, make some noise, baby.”

And that’s when you let go.

You let out the loudest moan of your life at her command.

“Fuck, ngnghhn, Aeri.”

Her first filling of your snug hole brims with care—the ridges of her cock grazing your inner walls, the gentle hold of her hands on your slutty, slim waist.

“God, you’re well worth the wait, baby boy.”

The tip of her rod sears into your body up to your prostate, sending waves and waves of indescribable ecstasy through your frame. You’re such a slut for her.

“That’s it, baby boy. Take me inside you.”

And with an inch more, she’s buried inside you to the hilt. The edge of her hardness is poking your stomach. It hurts, but it’s also fucking satisfying.

“I wish I could stay like this forever, but unfortunately–” she pulls herself back, leaving some space inside you once again. “–I don’t have all day.”

And she thrusts back into your ass, violently.

“D–Daddy!”

Fuck, where does the moniker come from?

“Yes, yes, moan for me, baby girl. Be my good girl.”

She doesn’t let the slow pace linger for too long, as she starts to up her ante. Any leftovers of the initial gentleness are now replaced by the roughness of her cock ramming into your ass, into your prostate. Each stroke sends you closer and closer to ecstasy.

“Fuck, I wish I could stay soft. But god, fuck, I now know why Yizhuo was smiling that whole damn day.” Her grip on your waist—that slutty, slutty waist—becomes tighter. “Because of a slut like you, baby girl.”

“Ngnh, d–daddy.” You’ve submitted to Yizhuo before, but this is on another level. “Daddy, please use me like your slut. I–I’m your cockslut!”

“Good fucking girl.” And she gives your ass a slap, fuck, leaving you in such pleasurable pain.

Wet squelching sounds vibrate through the room. Aeri is fucking your ass relentlessly. She’s not leaving any room for your breathing. Her plastic phallus hits your prostate again, and again, and again. You’re her fucking dirty cockslut—made to be used and abused.

With each contact, you can feel your release coming in close. It’s building up in your loins, that familiar feeling. The echoing of each “daddy” doesn’t help either, only serves to declare your full submission for Aeri.

“Daddy, I–I’m gonna cum.”

“Fucking cum then, you useless cocksleeve. Cum on the floor!”

It doesn’t take many thrusts into your rearhole for you to lose your hold. Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of cum onto the white tile floor. She doesn’t relent, still ramming her own length into your prostate, so eager to squeeze every drop out of you.

Your cock twitches violently, each spurt descends in its intensity. Still, all of them send the same message: you’re Uchinaga Aeri’s cockslut.

“Yes, just like that, you fucking bitch.” She gives your ass a slap once again. That’s going to leave a mark.

Eventually, you come down from your high, all panting, desperate for air. You’re trying your best to keep hold of the table.

“F–Fuck, that was fun,” Aeri says, also panting.

“Nhgn.”

“C’mon, baby, let’s get some sleep.” And Aeri helps you walking towards the bedroom upstairs, being fucked in the ass and all. You can barely walk.

As you reach her room, she places you into her bed. Before tucking you in, letting you rest after one of the best sex you’ve ever had.

“Good night, baby boy.”

–

[b1rds3ye]

hi!! this is my first time doing a request so idk if I'm doing this right haha but uh, I was wondering if you could do like. yknow the masked one you made for the 141 (I can't remember the name rn💔)? I thought of like, a sequel idea. like, what if during combat an enemy manages to take reader's mask, and so reader panics and like, rips the enemies throat out with their teeth (or if that's too violent, just goes basically rabid on them lmao) and how they would react?? if this is too violent or specific dw you don't have to!! anyways, I love your content it's totally awesome ur writing is amazing! have a good day!!

YES I LOVE THE BADASSERY AND THE UNHINGEDNESS!! If I'm your first request I'm so flattered anon pls do feel free to drop by again <333 Also just going to do general rabidness because ngl the throat thing sounds like an infection speedrun and we want our masked reader to stay nice and healthy <333

Word Count: 1.2 (it got a little long WHOOPS)

Warning: Canon typical violence, reader does get a lil sadistic and unhinged <333

Beyond Task Force 141 and Laswell, many - if not all - allied soldiers wondered about what lay under your mask. Obscuring even the eyes, your visage was more unreadable than Ghost's. Larger than life, a soldier among men.

There was a running joke that there was just nothing under your mask, perhaps an eldritch horror of sorts. You let the new recruits entertain the thought, it kept morale up as they conjured more myths of you. They said that no one has seen you without your mask. They were partially right.

It simply was that no one lived to tell the tale.

You were never one for close combat, but fighting terrorists was never smooth sailing. The chaos of battle had all of the 141 separated against the tight streets of Las Almas. How uncanny that you could not see your allies but hear their gunfire. Running out of ammo, you couldn't lament at your misfortune as a shoulder pummeling into your chest, sending you to the ground and the air out of your lungs. Head bashing against the floor you groaned as you furiously clawed up to whatever heavy weight was crushing your body. You were starting to make up the figure of a man hovering over you through the blurry haze of a concussion that filled your sight. The distant static of Price's voice through the radio, probably asking where the hell were you but you had more pressing issues at hand.

Through your struggle and flailing limbs you managed to wring the enemy's pistol off of them with a painful twist of their wrist. And they retaliated tenfold, a large sweaty hand reaching down and pressing your head back against the ground. Your adrenaline makes you writhe further, he was going to suffocate you, or worse, poison you with how fucking awful his hand smelt as the stink of burning gunpowder replaced any of your oxygen. But no, he committed a far worse crime.

A singular pull and the grating tear of fabric as your mask is pulled off of your face.

A heavy moment where your enemy looks down at you and his gaze is not like before. It's clear, it's deep. It is not looking at your facade but at you and you are no longer a soldier. You are merely a human, so fragile, so weak. One that is on the verge of death in a foreign land surrounded by bodies of fallen comrades and enemies alike. One whose mythos is all but lost at the victorious and leering smirk of an enemy as they take in your face.

That simply won't do.

Pulling your knee up to create space between you and the man, you pull out your tactical knife from your waist and drive it into his torso. His smile falls only to land at settle on yours below him, just like his blood that trickles as forbidden crimson down your hands and seeps into your uniform. It's disgustingly warm. He grows heavier as he loses all control over his body and you heave to throw his figure off to the side. You stab him once again for good measure. And then again. And again. Quick, short jabs down with a sharpened blade that cuts through uniform, flesh and bone alike. You did not count how many times you drove your blade down, numbers were too complex when your mind was running faster than any comprehensible speed. There was only one goal. To make sure no one knows what happened.

A harsh grip on the shoulder yanks you back up and you swipe with your armed limb to cut your new assailant's neck but they were onto you. Catching your arm, they pull it up as they hold onto your shoulder once again with a tightening grip that digs into your uniform. But they do nothing more, no matter how much you thrash and kick.

"Wake up, Sergeant," your opponent seethes and that voice makes you still, a buoy that floats across through your rage. Deep and grounding and your captain's.

You nearly stumble back but Price catches you before you crumple to the ground in exhaustion. The adrenaline was escaping your body leaving you with barely the energy to stay upright. Your head lolls back for a second before you bring it to the side to look at your direct superior, the remnants of a concussion making your vision blurry.

"You broken?" he asks.

"Negative, sir,” you respond immediately but he looks a little doubtful, a singular eyebrow raised as he inspects you. Not your body, but your face. The dilated pupils and the taut muscles told more than any wound.

"Can't say the same about your wee friend over there," Soap whistles as he tilts his head to behind you. “Christ, you did a number on him.”

You dare turn to look over your shoulder but Ghost already situated himself in front of the body. But between his feet you could already make out the indistinguishable mass of tattered fabric and discoloured flesh. Fresh blood filled the rivets between the cobblestones, the remnants of the body inching its way closer to you-

"Was it the mask?" Simon brings your attention back to him. You nod dumbly. He only dips his head in what you can only describe as understanding as he folds his arms, fortifying his stance in front of the mess you made. You weren’t going to see your handiwork, he was too kind to ever let you.

John drops his hands down to his sides as Gaz approaches you with your mask.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," Kyle offers you a sympathetic smile.

"Learnt that the first day I saw 'em on duty," Johnny retorts and you instinctively smile as you take your mask from Kyle. The hardened plaster of your mask had cracked, the fabric that hugged your neck had become torn but it'll do for the remainder of the mission. Slipping the mask back on, Simon offers a nod of approval while Johnny tugged at the fabric for a few finishing touches.

Ultimately the mission was successful. The task force returns to base and although none of the boys mentioned the carnage you left, there are still whispers of it on base. You had hurried to debrief and get your mask fixed but it seemed some privates caught sight of you and that was enough to spark rumours. Your mask had gotten so fractured that a shard was left back in the streets of Las Almas and revealed one of your eyes to the rest of the world. Such a small organ but so vivid. The privates saw, and more was added to the myth that was you. There was now no question about what was under the mask. No lovecraftian horror or empty space, no monster beyond comprehension. No, what was under your mask was terrifyingly human.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[morning-star-joy]

Do you ever plan on writing maybe a little pregnancy one shot for our ASHWAH babies? 🥺🫶🏽

So I did actually write a little something playing with the idea last year, but it got buried in my docs and I forgot about it until now! Not an actual pregnancy, but just a short drabble of Joel thinking about it. Here it is!

give you my wild, give you a child

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, ASHWAH Universe

Summary: Joel imagines another kind of life.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI Mentions of previous smut. Joel is a breeding kink legend. Thoughts of pregnancy and body changes through pregnancy. Pregnancy kink.

Wordcount: 1k

A/N: Just a gentle reminder that ASHWAH pregnancy is not canon! It's just an AU exploration, and you do not have to consider it their ending if you don't want it to be. Any direct sequel won't have it <3

Important: Please read this post before engaging with any of my fics. How you can help Palestine.

Joel was trying hard not to think about it.

He had been trying so very hard not to think about it for months now.

But she was making that an extremely difficult task.

Especially with the way she was holding Hope right now, balancing Tommy’s one-year-old daughter on her knees, gently bouncing her up and down with a bright smile at the baby’s giggles that filled the air.

It was one of the many times the two had taken up babysitting their goddaughter, while Tommy and Maria got some much needed rest. But each time Hope was in their house—because that’s what it was now, their house, as she had hardly left it since that night in front of the fireplace when they had finally given into each other—Joel felt an ache in his chest.

That ache slowly grew into an unfamiliar longing, one that only deepened whenever the baby was balanced on her hip as she talked to the child, or rocked her to sleep in her arms.

Joel wasn’t an idiot. He knew how impractical it was, even with how happy they all were to have Hope in their lives.

He knew it wasn’t even something that she really wanted, or at least not the last time they had actually talked about it.

God, no, had been the words she sputtered when he had off-handedly asked her about it in Hope’s nursery a year before, long before they had fallen for each other as fully, as completely as they did.

But he knew how much their goddaughter meant to her, how much her natural instinct of a protector kicked in around the baby, much like his own.

And then there was that one night, when she had worn that lace that he still dreamed about, a memory that possessed his mind whenever they were apart. The way it laid against her skin, sticking to her cunt with her own release when she rode his thigh with a desperation that only became needier when he slipped his cock inside her, and words he’d never forget fell from her lips.

You’d like to put your baby in me, hm?

He’d nearly lost his goddamn mind when she said it, fucking into her with abandon, filthy words he’d never even dreamed of uttering to her streaming from his lips.

And she fucking loved it, begged for it, that pussy that he worshipped squeezing his cock tighter than he’d ever felt as she came from the promises he made of filling her up until it took.

So maybe…

No, Joel thought firmly, trying to cut off that line of thought before his mind could wander down it again, like it had every time they’d taken care of his brother’s child the past few months. He had to stop his brain from concocting an image that was far too sweet, too innocent and idealistic to ever be true.

But as she lifted Hope into the air, grinning up at the baby with a softness on her face he never saw with anybody else—he wondered.

He wondered how she would look with another child in her arms, a precious life made up of both of theirs. Maybe one with his strong nose, and her sharp eyes. Or his stern brow, and her striking hair.

Her hair that he so loved to admire night after night, along with every inch of her, his hands gently running over the body that had become a home to him, while she drifted off to sleep under his familiar touch.

As his fingers skimmed across her chest and down to her stomach some nights, Joel imagined if by some bizarre twist of fate, after one of their heated moments of passion where they got carried away in him filling her up, that it did take.

He pictured the swell of her breasts as she lay naked in their bed; soft, tantalizing flesh that would only grow fuller. The same way her whole body would slowly change, her stomach rounder because of him, as she—

“Joel?”

Blinking rapidly, he was pulled sharply from his silly daydreams, shaking his head to bring himself back to the present and focus on the love of his life as she stood in front of him.

Her eyebrow was arched as she looked over him with a question in those piercing eyes. Hope was balanced on her hip, the baby’s fingers gripping onto her hair, and Joel’s breath caught in his throat. He keenly felt that ache of longing again as she gently removed the small, chubby fingers from her hair and held out the baby to him.

“Can you hold her for a bit?” she asked, and Joel accepted Hope into his arms without question, even though in the back of his mind he kept picturing how it would feel to pass that child from his imagination, the one with some unique mix of their features, between them. “Gotta pee.”

Joel huffed out a quiet laugh, mumbling an affirmative, “No problem.”

Still, she watched him for a moment longer, glancing over his face before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Your mind’s a mile away today,” she mumbled, pulling back to move away, but not before Joel could wrap his free arm around her waist. He brought her back in for a proper kiss, no matter how quick the peck on the lips was so she could run to the bathroom.

“My bad,” he said quietly, avoiding her gaze to look down at Hope, even as he felt the familiar intensity of being analyzed by his woman before she moved away.

“Let me see inside your head later,” she called over her shoulder, her voice only half-teasing as she moved towards the bathroom. “I wanna see what has my man so far from planet earth.”

Joel stiffened, holding his breath until he heard the bathroom door close, and only then did he exhale sharply, lifting one hand from where he had brought Hope securely against his chest to rub his thumb and forefinger across his eyes.

Fuck.

[ladykailitha]

The Rise of the Fallen Part 1

The thrilling sequel to Icarus and Around the World is finally here!

This universe has decided though, completely without prompting to do a little Christmas story set in this verse. So.... yeah!

Enjoy!

Summary: On the ten anniversary of The Fallen's eponymous debut album, the band decides to do an unmasking. This is the interview with Variety journalist Karla Lopez. SEQUEL TO ICARUS AND AROUND THE WORLD READ THEM FIRST!!!

~

Exclusive Interview with The Fallen Behind the Veil by Variety reporter Karla Lopez.

Karla Lopez: I am deeply honored to be chosen to do this, you have no idea.

Astraeus chuckles: Oh I think we have an idea, yeah.

KL: Why did you decide to do a reveal now? You have all been pretty vocal about not wanting to break persona.

They all look around at each other like they trying to decide who’s going to answer that. Finally Abbadon speaks.

Abbadon: Back when we were first asked about it, Asmodeus said that maybe if we were still here ten years on. This marks the 10th anniversary of our first album, so I guess it just felt right.

KL: Fair enough. There were talks about this being live so you could answer questions from a chat on air. But all of you nixed that. Can you tell me why?

Asmodeus laughs: We all wanted to see the reaction on our friends and family’s faces when they find out who we are.

KL: You have fans among your friends and family?

Abbadon: Oh yeah. It’s funny having to pretend to hate metal so much I won’t go to our concerts.

Astraeus: You have to film yours, man. I have to see his reaction.

Abbadon laughs: Don’t worry, my partner has it on lock.

KL: Someone we’ve been told we can’t talk about until after the reveal.

They all snicker

Azrael: That’s because he’s here and them being a couple is also being revealed today, too.

KL: Awww, that’s so sweet. So this is how the reveal is going to work: each of you will take turns in the hot seat I point to a large red leather armchair off to the side a little and you will take off your mask, tell us your real name and a bit about yourself.

They all nod

KL: So you guys picked the order. Youngest to oldest, right? Again they nod So who’s up first?

Azrael stands up and moves over to the hot seat and sits down. He takes a deep breath and removes his mask. He pushes back his hood. Behind the mask is an unassuming man with blue eyes and wavy blond hair that goes to his shoulders. He’s conventionally handsome but he’s got a bump on the side of his nose where it’s likely been broken.

Azrael: Hi, I’m Spencer Peters, I’m 32 years old with a wife and twin little girls aged four. No she didn’t know I was a drummer for a metal band only that I travel a lot for business. He waves Hi, honey! Shout out to Sweet Pea and Pumpkin. I was an EMT before I met the rest of the band. I had been playing drums since I was ten, but I never thought it would become my job.

KL: Why did you chose the name Azrael?

Azrael: Because I wanted to pick something I wasn’t. As an EMT my job was to save lives. I figured that if I chose the angel of death no one would guess it was me. He huffs a bitter laugh And it fucking worked.

KL: No one in your life even wondered?

He shrugs: If they did, they didn’t tell me. As far as I know, no one in my life put together that my business trips line up with our touring dates.

KL: Do you feel angry about that?

He looks over the other guys and then back at the camera: Sometimes.

Abbadon ducks his head as Azrael (Spencer) stands up and walks back over to the group.

KL: Do you want to talk about that anger?

Abbadon lifts his head: My partner figured it out. Before we got together. It’s partly why we got together. But as far as any of us are aware no one else in our lives have figured it. Not spouses, parents, siblings, close friends. So yeah sometimes it hurts that they don’t know us well enough to guess.

KL: That’s got be hard. How does no one else know? Aren’t there dozens of people milling about after shows?

Asmodeus: Certain people have to know, our agent and our manager. Our chief security; they all sign NDAs but we’re also very quiet about it. We don’t get ready in their dressing rooms unless we have to. And if we do, we have armed guards in front of the door.

Abbadon waves: Shout out to Murray Bauman, though. He guessed I was the frontman for one of the masked bands. Just didn’t care which one. So he’s not on the list of people who knew I was Abbadon, because he didn’t. Until now. He wags his eyebrows.

Azrael: Plus once we’re ourselves again, everyone thinks we’re roadies or PAs or whatever role we can slip into that won’t draw suspicion.

I laugh: I guess I can see how they might make that mistake. Who’s next?

Asmodeus stands up and walks over to the hot seat and sits down. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Abbadon walks over and puts his arm around his shoulder and they whisper for a couple of moments. Abbadon stands up and moves just enough out of view of the camera but close enough that Asmodeus can still see him.

Abbadon nods and Asmodeus takes off his mask and pushes back his hood. The man’s coal dark eyes are apparently natural as he doesn’t remove any contacts. His hair is as dark as his eyes. He has a square jaw and a sweet smile. Abbadon smiles back encouragingly.

Asmodeus: he waves awkwardly at the camera My name is Simon Olsen. I’m also 32, but older then Spence by two months. I’m the biggest nerd of the group. I play D&D, I’m big sci-fi nerd, huge Trekkie. I was trying to write a sci-fi novel when I met the other guys. It’s not very good. I’m a better guitar player than I am a writer. I started playing when I was sixteen to get girls.

KL: Has it worked?

He laughs: As Simon? No. As Asmodeus, girls are always throwing themselves at me. But I never felt that was genuine so I’ve never indulged. I guess I’m a 32 year old virgin.

He winces and looks up at Abbadon. Whatever he sees there soothes him and he clears his throat.

Asmodeus: Like Spence, I picked Asmodeus because he was the antithesis of me. Someone to drive the girls wild. Cool, confident. I like being him more than me sometimes.

Abbadon holds out his hand just out of frame but Asmodeus stands up and takes it and they both walk back to the group.

KL: Is that something you all feel? That you like being your alter egos over yourselves?

They all glance around at each other.

Azrael (SP): Sometimes. We’re all what people in the 80s called preps. I’m not sure what they would call us now, probably nerds. Polos, chinos, Henleys. Suburban dads, I guess. So our alter egos, our personas if you will aren’t like that. They are so much cooler than us so it’s easier to be them.

KL: Has it been hard keeping the two lives separate?

Astraeus: More than you’ll ever guess. It’s why after a tour we don’t immediately go home we learn how to be regular guys again.

KL: I laugh How does that work?

Abbadon: Military grade specialists.

I laugh again but they don’t laugh with me: Wait, you’re serious?

They nod

Asmodeus (SO): They have these people that teach incoming soldiers how to turn off being soldiers and be people again. They’re kinda like that. Not exactly but close enough. Our head of security heads this up. He’s really fucking good.

Abbadon: I was the reason for this, by the way. My persona is so unlike my real life that there was actual talk about me being cursed. Our manager helped me that one time, because she knew me before I went on tour, but it was clear it wasn’t perfect. So she found a couple of people that would be willing to help us get in and out of character before and after our tours. It’s been a real life saver for sure.

Astraeus: And believe me, I know it sounds absolutely ridiculous. But it’s really helped us out.

KL: Who’s next?

Astraeus stands up and makes his way over to the hot seat and curls up on it like a large house cat. It’s a jarring affect to see the large bassist tuck his legs under him like a teenage girl about share secrets with her bestie.

He takes of the mask and drops the hood. He runs his fingers through a riot of tight red curls. His face is freckled and his has a gap-toothed, goofy smile.

Astraeus: Hey guys! My name is Shane Kendrick, I’m 33 and me and Abbadon have the same birthday, year and everything. I’d call us twinsies, but he already had a soul twin in the form of our manager, and you so don’t want to get into the middle of that!

Abbadon, their manager, and Abbadon’s partner all burst out laughing. Astraeus winks at Abbadon.

I am starting to see a pattern and it’s making me a little upset if I’m honest.

Astraeus: I tease, I tease. They’re super cute. I chose the name Astraeus because there aren’t that many night gods, lots of goddesses, but not whole of gods. But I am a huge mythology nerd. In fact I helped everyone come up with their names. I chose Astraeus because he’s not a god of night, he’s the titan of night and that sounded way more metal than just a god.

I was actually studying to become a history teacher for the middle school grade when I met the rest of the band.

KL: Where did you guys meet?

Astraeus (SK): Abbadon was working at a little cafe where the three of us would come in for coffee. Me and Simon would spend hours there. Him doing his writing and me doing my homework. Spence would come in after his shift and just sit in a corner to decompress.

KL: How did you guys become friends?

They all laugh

Astraeus (SK): Abbadon was playing Corroded Coffin on their speakers. First cafe I’d ever been to where they didn’t play some new age shit.

There is a choked off laugh from Abbadon’s partner and Abbadon ducks his head. I’m sure if the mask was off, we’d see him blush.

KL: You bonded over Corroded Coffin?

Astraeus (SK): Yeah, I told him I had a crush on the drummer and he told me that he had gone to high school with them.

My jaw drops: Wait? Really?

Abbadon nods: All Hawkins High alums. Almost all different years though, too. Eddie was ahead of me, Jeff and Brian were below me one year and Gareth was two years below me.

KL: Wow!

Astraeus gets up and swaps with Abbadon. They give each other five as they pass as if they they are tagging the one out and the other in.

~

Part 2

Tag list: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @chameleonhair

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @garden-of-gay

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @clockworkballerina @eyehartart

[thatdeadaquarius]

Soon.

☆

With a puzzled squint, you could see the adeptus was running over what you said in his mind, trying to parse out the meaning. Xiao then threw his head up out of his slight bow, almost glaring at you, “There is no task nor person more important than guarding you, my Lord. I will stand guard, worry not about my state.”

Nodding to you, he abruptly turned on his heel to shift to the side of the entrance to the mansion, his spear tall and ready. You’d have twitched a smile at him if you could, as you're sure he’s gotten a little more comfortable with you than when you first officially met. You’re also sure from meeting Zhongli just once in person that he’d have a small heart attack if he saw some of Xiao’s informal behavior.

But you’re glad he hasn’t, the more relaxed they are, especially considering your form, the better.

You duck inside, though the ceilings are so raised that you don’t have to go that low surprisingly. Huh, it was nice to be anticipated in a building usually sized for human heights. Wow. You’ve really reached the point of casually calling yourself inhuman.

…well, to be real with yourself right now, it might actually help to get more accustomed to that in case you’re never human again.

You also put that possibility back into the vault at the back of your mind.

☆

HEY I live, again,

I had a big life update what with my sib graduating grad school (getting their masters degree) at the same time we both moved like 2 states over from our home state 😅

and unfortunately, i wasnt able to get my monster of a sequel out in time to post it remotely to get it out to you guys while i was afk

(as i havent had wifi/free time consistently in like 2-3 weeks)

which, phew, im finally able to be settled in one place enough to write again, and have enough time in the day to not be dealing wiht my apartment to write ToT

i hope you guys arent too mad at me! (or have forgotten me?? sobs)

also.

i hear Natlan's coming out. 👀

I don't think it'll be out before i post the full (3 chapters total planned) sequel, but just in case, disclaimer-

🪄I am not to be held liable for not writing about Natlan bc it wasnt out yet woooo🪄

anyway, yeah its also taking a bit bc i wanna post the completed thing all in one go, over the course of like 3 days or so, that way u guys can actually look forward to the next little chapter in a reasonable amount of time lmao

well yknow, if anyones still reading this or my blog lol

happy summer you guys! I hope u all are having a good one so far, esp those of you in school, heart going out to yall fr <33

Catch you on the flip side (ao3 side?)✌️

Safe Travels,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit / @chinuneko / @silvers-tongue

@karmascreeches / @yomilyy / @0rah-s / @idontknowwhatimdoingbutweball / @blackstar-gazer / @voidsgarden / @a-gay-piece-of-paper / @oxyotl / @thefirstonetoeverlikemeback / @kurayamioterasu / @randompersoninyourworld / @byakuren100 / @lemonade7255

[feychannel]

So you want to play an indie otome or dating sim but don't know where to start...

Like the title says, I wanted to make a rec list for those who are more interested in indie otomes but don’t necessarily know where to start! So for those who saw the latest Nintendo Direct or maybe those who’ve just always wanted to try something new, this list is for y’all. I’ve immensely enjoyed every single title (and hope y’all do too). Without further ado... here's the short list!

Changeling by @steamberrystudio (and their sci-fi spiritual successor, Gilded Shadows): Liked "Buffy," but thought it needed more Faes? Changeling is exactly the type of contemporary otome you want and needed in your life yesterday. With several wonderful young men to romance, and an intriguing plotline that references fae mythology, you'll be set!

The Rose of Segunda: Liked Bridgerton? Thought it needed an even longer gala than canon? Then RoS (and its amazing sequel, "Thorns of War") by @blackcross-taylor is the game to play! I've been impressed with how this studio weaves political intrigue into the very plot, and how it commits to the stories it creates.

Band Camp Boyfriend: Somehow, this game is both a 00's sitcom and a thriller all in one (with all the drama of a gripping telenovela in some routes). If you missed summer camp, marching band, and/or just want to know what that's like, check out this delightful title by @lovebirdgames

3 Seasons: We love a woman with melanin!! But in all seriousness, the concept of a young woman applying for a job, only to find out she's the next Spring Spirit is delightful. Note: this is a free title (but the developer @hamiltonhour accepts payment on their itch).

Magical Warrior Diamond Heart: Precure meets Sailor Moon meets the sweetest otome!! In this house we love Valerie and her zany crew. @magicalwarriordiamondheart has truly outdone themselves with each update; the common route is free, but the developer has a Patreon you can support!

Herotome: I would be amiss if I didn't mention my current favorite superhero-themed otome, where your lovely protagonist will face pivotal choices in their quest to become a hero! While only the demo is out so far (just so y'all aren't expecting the full product), developer @herotome is a delight to follow with all their updates!!

Honorable mentions: Twisted Carnival, Titan Arum (warning: both titles contain more horror than the average otome), and Arcardia Fallen

[burningcheese-merchant]

"Our Little Dance" - BurningCheese Short #7

THE SEQUEL TO "Mine Forever More" IS HERE! After I went through the story in episode 6 a couple more times to help visualize things and NOT just to watch Burning Spice openly obsess over Golden Cheese over and over again I swear, I was finally struck with inspiration. Thought about some concepts during work, fleshed them out more when I came home, finally reached a coherent game plan, and here we are. I really hope you all enjoy it!

WARNING PART 2: Again, this is one-sided BurningCheese/GoldenSpice. This is Yandere Spice, not Flirty Asshole Spice. This Spice doesn't deserve Golden Cheese, he deserves a restraining order, or a spot on a registry, or to outright face the fucking wall. He is worse in this part than the last. Go read something else if you're not comfortable with that (and/or if you're a minor).

He knew she wouldn't disappoint him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Burning Spice never cared for dancing. Those few times he allowed himself to be dragged over to that happy, energetic crowd, in those long-gone days of his heroic youth, he always found himself regretting it. Slow, hunched steps so as not to accidentally stomp on the child's feet, as he was so much bigger and stronger than they were. Awkward mimicry of the group circling him, cheering each other on as they carried out traditional performances (he didn't join them on that, of course, the dance itself was tedious enough). Averted - rolled, if he was annoyed enough - eyes and polite disinterest for the red-faced girl who tripped over herself just asking for his hand (she seemed too starstruck to notice he danced with her out of obligation and nothing else).

He remembers people trying to change his mind on the matter. Dancing was not so different from fighting, they said. They had the same flow, the same energy, if one did them right.

What a bold-faced, silly little lie. Dancing only got worse each time he engaged in it. It was annoying. It was all fake. It was boring. Like everything else turned out to be.

He hated those people. He hated festivals. He hated the pitiful civilizations that conjured them. He hated peace and merriment. He hated history. He hated change. He hated life. He hated dancing.

...Or he did, once. He used to. He sees the error of his ways now.

It turns out that what he'd needed all along was the right dance partner.

And she was exactly that, and so much more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their first dance was too short. Their shared passion burned bright, but fizzled out quickly. She'd missed an important step. Stumbled. Fallen.

It was alright. He was angry in the moment, and he told her so. He punished her for her mistake, for her weakness - just as she deserved. They had both waited far too long for this for her to go on and screw it up.

But it was alright. Really. She was still here; she was still breathing; he could still her heart beating in her chest. So long as these were true, then it would be alright. She would collect herself. She would rise, strong and proud, shaking off all of the dirt and blood. She would return to him. To his embrace. They would dance again, better than before. He would give himself to her in his entirety, as he'd planned to. And she would do the same.

His usual lack of patience got the better of him, if only for a moment, as he tucked her into her prison cell. But how could he be blamed? She was simply too beautiful. She looked too perfect there, nestled into his arms, her head still resting against his chest. He'd told her that the kiss was payment for him allowing her lackey to live - and that was true, it really was. He'd wanted that man dead the very second he came into Burning Spice's line of sight. He was too close to her, in either sense of the word, and Burning Spice simply would not have it. It simply wouldn't do. This error shall be corrected soon enough - with extreme, ever-mounting prejudice, the longer the man spent anywhere near Burning Spice's beloved.

But really, more than that, he just wanted to taste her. He simply couldn't bear not doing so anymore. The faint shimmer of her golden hair in the pale light shining down from the ceiling, those rogue strands still framing her face so prettily despite being otherwise ruined, the feeling of her skin against his, that sweet mouth set in such a dazzling frown, that glint of furious determination in her eyes - it was all too much. It was her own fault, really. She made it too hard to say no.

Fuck, she tasted good. So, so good. Sweet, but tangy, and oh so rich. All mixed together into one flavor that he could only describe as her. As Golden Cheese. And fuck, he was already hooked. Addicted to the feeling of her soft lips on his own. Addicted to the feeling of his tongue caressing hers. Addicted to the feeling of her breath mixing with his. He needed more. He'd die without it. He'd die without her.

She would give him more, he knew. She had to. They had so much lost time to make up for already. A bit of time recovering in peace and quiet (ugh), and she'll be alright again. She'll come back to him. And he'll give her many, many more long-awaited kisses.

Their dance wasn't over yet.

She won't disappoint him. She can't.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Yes... Yes, this was what he wanted. Exactly what he wanted. She knew him far too well. Better than anyone ever had.

She escaped. With her lackey, unfortunately - but oh well, they can deal with that later. What mattered now was her taking this next step. Taking the lead in their special dance. So bold, so forward. He loved it. He loved her.

She led him through the halls of his temple; had him weave between the columns, hurry past faded murals depicting his former greatness. He chased her every which way, drank in her lingering scent with relish. Perhaps he should have let her take the lead sooner; this was SO much fun. He was having far too much fun following in her steps. Only she would have the cleverness and creativity to also make their dance a game. To add in all of those aspects of a thrilling hunt that he so adored into their little performance. Yes, he loved this. He adored it.

Honestly, where has she been all his life?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When their dance hit that fever pitch once again, he half expected his heart to burst from his chest out of sheer euphoria. Dragging one another through the temple a second time, all of those worthless walls and pillars and decorations getting caught in their beautiful maelstrom. Such delightful devastation, brought about by her. By his love for her. By them and their union. By this perfect little dance of theirs.

In his manic glee, he let his mask fall, if only slightly. Now wasn't the right time, he would pour his dark, aching heart out to her only when he knew that right time had come - but oh God, she knew exactly what to say to him and how, and how to bring out both the best and worst in him all at once. He would taunt her, mock her, and she would meet his sneering with her own sarcastic indignation. This bickering, this bantering - so, so much fun. SHE was so much fun.

She teased him, too, much to his heightened joy. "The world? I do not care for the world! Nor do I wish to protect it! Or to be called a hero!" A bold yet terrible liar, she was, after she ruined their first dance for the sake of that child. She was truly beautiful, inside and out; at her core shone the bright and pure soul of a hero. And yet, she denied it. It was funny. It was cute. She was so cute.

"I am the Radiant Deity of the Golden City! I fight only to protect my treasures. And I will NOT let the likes of you harm what is mine!" Oh, she truly was so adorable. Prized possessions were just what he loved to destroy most. And he HATED how much these things meant to her: her land, her palace, her gold and jewels, her subjects. He hated them so much, that he let his mask slip: he confessed that, when their dance was over, he planned to go and destroy it all. Everything she ever held dear, wiped off the face of the earth. She didn't need any of it, anyway. He realized long ago that nothing truly matters - nothing except for them, of course - and she would come to realize it, too. He would make sure of it.

Nothing mattered to him except for her. Nothing shall matter to her except for him. They shall keep on dancing forever, even as the world crumbled to dust around them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He began losing his patience near the end. Still more her fault than his. She got to him too much. Too badly.

Some of the weight behind his axe vanished, for he began to favor his own hands instead of it. The axe carved her open, drew her blood, had her dancing so erratically, so desperate to evade its brutal swing - and he enjoyed that. But he enjoyed touching her even more. When he got close enough - and he did everything in his power to get close enough, even for just a second - he would catch her off guard by striking her with his fists instead. He just... he NEEDED to touch her. The itch only got more unbearable as they danced on. Just one split second of his hands on her body, that's all. Even in the form of bloodied knuckles leaving deep bruises on her stomach, or knocking the wind out of her lungs. That's all he wanted. Was that so wrong?

If she noticed this, she made no sign of it. With the way she acted, it was fair to assume she no longer noticed much of anything. She was weakening again; though their dance continued on, though that fire still consumed them, it seemed now that she was being overwhelmed. She was starting to stumble again. She missed a step or two. Had him pick up the slack. It was unfortunate, but still fun, still amusing - he was too far gone to really be upset that this was happening again, to be honest. The spices in the air, the smell of her blood, the sound of her cries and labored breathing... too much. All too much. He was losing his damn mind, and it was exquisite.

But... oh, Golden Cheese, his little bird, with her tenacity and her endless surprises. Even as he took charge of their dance again, she found another way to get to him. To crawl beneath his skin and eat him alive from the inside out.

Her tongue - that sweet, soft, delicious, clever, beautiful tongue - became a poisonous barb, as sharp and painful as the tip of the golden spear that tried (and often succeeded, to her credit) to impale him everywhere she could reach. She attacked not only his body now, but his character, his spirit. She called him a failure. Declared that he had never been a hero nor a god, and never deserved to have been called either. She accused him of self-serving cowardice, of wanting desperately to hide his own shortcomings underneath all of that rubble and all of those mutilated corpses. All with that smug, little upturn of the corners of her lips, and a tiny but bright glint in her eye.

Yes... she knew him too well. She knew how to reach into his heart and twist it. She blinded him with love, then rage, then love again. Invigorating fury. Delectable pain.

And he would inflict this same pain on her tenfold, as punishment for her insults, and encouragement for her to say them to him all over again. For Burning Spice loved and worshipped Golden Cheese, poisonous barbs and all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She fell again. Their little dance came to an end. There she was now, on her knees, her head bowed, soaked in blood. THEIR blood, mixed together. For a brief moment, she had turned him into an artist; in turn, he used her as his canvas.

Just what would it take for her to stop being so damn beautiful, he wondered?

"You said I failed? Hahaha..."

Come, now. He couldn't help himself. Their dance had been so much fun; now he was just riding out the rest of his high. And he wanted her with him, doing the same.

"My... greed... never..."

Still fighting, even now. Even with so many shattered, aching bones. Even with her spear all but snapped in half, rendered practically useless. Her voice sounded tired, broken like the rest of her. But she still feigned strength and poise the best she could. A proud warrior to the very end. Lovely. He would never have accepted anything less.

His mouth contorted into a smile of bitter amusement. "Warlords, heroes, villains and kings... I've seen all of them in my time." She had seen fit to give him a scathing lecture before. Why can't he do the same to her here and now? "They all tried to avert their doom, and like one another, they all perished."

No response. Rude... but understandable. It was fine, regardless. Her silence was answer enough.

"You, on the other hand..." He knelt before her, leaning down and resting his forehead against hers. Her skin felt hot and sticky, those tufts of fluffy hair brushing against him damp with blood and sweat. "Forgotten by history itself, and yet you still persist."

He cupped her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to look him in the eye. Gone was that bitterness, no longer was he amused. Now his smile was a manic grin that all but split his face wide open, outshined only by the fire in his eyes. His mask had fallen off completely.

"I fucking love it," he told her.

And then he kissed her again, because he had to. Because he couldn't handle not doing so anymore. Their kiss - his kiss - was starved, desperate, sharp teeth and a hot tongue licking and biting at her lips, that same tongue forcing its way into her mouth and eagerly dominating her own. He finally let his hands roam, more than he'd been able to before, and he lost himself in her touch, in the soft, flawless skin of her arms and legs and stomach - every place she, through her chosen attire, had so graciously left exposed to him. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, pressing it into her back - right where her wings used to be. She winced; he hugged her tighter. She grunted in pain, he moaned in delirious pleasure, all but drowning her out. He couldn't take it. Just- just couldn't take it anymore. She was just so perfect. So delicious. She danced so beautifully. She drove him mad. He loved it. He fucking loved it.

Their dance was over, but it was fine. It was alright. It had been fantastic, better than he'd hoped. Another devastating loss to her name, worse than the last - but that was how their dance was supposed to go, anyway. It was alright. She's fine, she'll be fine. He won't allow her not to be, because she needed to get back up and dance with him again, and again, and again, and again and again and again and again and again-

"Master!"

His eyes shot open, and he froze mid-lick, still feeling the erratic pulsing of her jugular vein against his tongue (he had briefly abandoned her lips in favor of her neck, showering it with searing, ravenous affection). Slowly, regretfully, he pulled away, releasing Golden Cheese from his grasp and rising to his feet. Back came that old bitterness - pure and true this time, pulling his lips back into a furious snarl and replacing the burning desire in his eyes with boiling hatred.

Nutmeg Tiger bounded into the room and knelt (collapsed, really) at his feet, exhaustion written all over her features but offering him a dutiful smile nevertheless. "Heh... I'm glad to see you... pleased... Great One."

Pleased? She thought he was pleased? He had been relishing his ultimate victory, in this little dance he had with his little bird, finally holding her in his arms again and touching and tasting her... and this- this miserable wretch barges in and interrupts them, and she thought he was PLEASED?

"You! Where have you been?" he spat at her. "You seem even more pathetic than usual."

So pathetic was she, apparently, that she failed to notice his clear outrage at her presence and actually responded. "I merely... took care of that... lackey of hers."

Another fatal mistake. HE had wanted to be the one to "take care of that lackey of hers". He'd wanted to strangle him with his own entrails and gloat that Golden Cheese was HIS AND HIS ALONE as he watched the light in that worm's eyes dim. But no. Nutmeg Tiger robs him of joy and satisfaction yet again.

She kept talking. This weak, mindless, PATHETIC creature kept talking at him. Something or another about the lackey revealing information about Golden Cheese's subjects, and how she'd convinced some Spices to desert. For Golden Cheese's sake - and perhaps to sprinkle a bit of salt into her wounds - he feigned surprise and interest, and laughed in her face when Nutmeg Tiger was finished. He knew all of this already. He knew his little bird inside and out, thanks to the Soul Jams. But playing pretend for a little while wouldn't hurt, would it?

"How does it feel?" he asked her, after he'd indulged in his fair share of cruel mockery. "How does it feel to lose everything?"

Nothing but the sight and sound of her clutching at the ground, trembling fingers raking through the dirt.

"But I must give credit where it's due," he laughed. Perhaps a bit of honest encouragement would rouse her. "After all, it's thanks to you that I realized I had to get my Soul Jam back."

She'd done far more for him - to him - than just that, of course. More than mere words could express. But that was what their dance had been for, wasn't it? That's what all of their dances will be for.

He reached down and grabbed her chin again. "Look me in the eye, Golden Cheese," he said. "I wish to see your face when I kill you."

He won't kill her. He can't. Her death would only result in his own, out of grief and boredom. He will pretend to kill her, then steal her away when neither this brainwashed fool nor anyone else was watching. He'll take her to his palace, to his bedroom. He'll clean her up, help her recover faster so they could dance again sooner. And while he waited, he would open up to her. Pour the whole rest of his heart out to her. Make her whine and beg to have his hands and mouth explore those parts of her that she still hid from him.

"I shall crush your greed, your treasures, your dough." He squeezed her face hard, digging his nails into her cheeks. "And, in the end, I shall take back my Soul Jam."

He knelt down before her one more time, low enough so his face was level with hers. "Don't worry. I always keep my promises..."

He thought he felt her head shift in his grasp... He thought he felt her eyes flicker towards him, if only for a moment, before falling to the ground once more. He promised to bring them back and never let them leave him again.

"All you ever held dear will be swallowed by the Tide of Change."

Everything. Her friends. Her subjects. Whatever still remained of her kingdom. The world itself. All of it. There shall be nothing left except for him, and all of those lonely, adoring, battle-crazed promises he's been silently making to her all the way until that very moment.

Above all else, he promised to keep dancing with her forever.

All he could do - all he's done, all this time - was hope she heard him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She... Golden Cheese, she...

...Oh. Oh, Golden Cheese. His gorgeous, powerful, radiant Golden Cheese...

She surprised him again. As she teetered at the edge of this great precipice, she regained her strength and clarity and saved herself. She broke free from his grasp. She rose to her feet and stood tall. Her voice rose with each word she spoke; words born from pain and sorrow, but overcome with righteous determination. And the Soul Jam - her Soul Jam - recognized this show of unwavering courage and returned to her without hesitation.

And she... then she...

She... changed. She changed form. Gone were those numerous deep wounds that carved and bled into each other. Gone was the blood, the sweat, the tears. A warm, shimmering light enveloped her, stripped her of all of her woes - and her old, tattered clothes - fuck, he'd been staring closely enough to realize that the light had temporarily stripped her bare and damn it, why wouldn't it let him see?! - and released her back into the world, born entirely anew. Dressed in the finest gold, the brightest blue, the- the red? There was red on her now? She donned his color? Just for his sake?

Oh, Golden Cheese, his beloved Golden Cheese... His delectable prey, his precious golden thief, his pretty little bird-

No. Not just a bird now. A phoenix. His stunning, courageous, radiant phoenix.

Yes, his beloved phoenix took him by surprise again and hurried him back to the dance floor... and he watched, not daring to blink even once, as she rose into the sky, eclipsing the sun itself with her mighty wings.

"Burning Spice," she called to him, "It seems the Tide of Change has turned in my favor."

Ohhhhhhhhh fuck, this perfect woman. Always knowing what to say to him and how. Never without her confidence, her pride, her shine. Her radiance.

"Hear my words. You chose to let go of everything you ever had. You do not deserve even the smallest smidgen of my treasures."

Oh, he was hearing her words, alright. He was etching them into the walls of his skull, pouring them onto his brain, forcing them to sink in as deep as possible. Letting the sound of her angelic voice nest in his ears and infect his mind, forcing all of his remaining thoughts out and taking their place like a greedy parasite.

But she was lying and teasing him again, pretty thing. He hasn't let go of everything. He was still clinging to his darling phoenix, desperate to keep her close. She was the only treasure of hers that he ever wanted. And the only thing that will make him let go is death itself.

Yet more glittering golden lights appeared all around her, alongside thickening clouds of earth and spice. From this divine storm came a cluster of spears, each one sharper and deadlier than the last.

The grin on his face ached terribly now, with how great and long-lasting it was.

"How can someone who has forsaken everything prevail over someone who has lost everything?"

Ah, but that wasn't true, either. She has him! She still has him and his love, their love. She still had their little dance; all of those little steps and bends and twirls, their boundless passion and energy, the electrifying touch of their skin and mingling of their breaths. And as he told her once before, he would gladly forsake everything for her. His temple, his possessions, his fellow Spices, EVERYTHING FOR HER AND ONLY HER!

"Remember this moment and taste the bitterness of regret..."

Regret? What regret? He wasn't capable of that anymore and he never would be again - not as long as she was there, taking the Sun's place as the source of light and warmth in his world.

"For you are about to face defeat from everything you have ever discarded!!!"

She dove straight towards him, volley after volley of spears raining down alongside her. His very own meteor shower, with the most captivating shooting star right at the center.

He leapt towards her, the strength of his leap leaving behind a crater where he once stood, wild, demonic cackling spilling from his mouth with abandon. Eyes locked onto one another's: brilliant, wrathful, glittering gold and smoldering, ecstatic, lovestruck red. Spear aimed right at his heart. Axe ready to swipe at her waist and cleave her in two.

She was offering him her hand, asking for his own in turn. She wanted to dance with him again. She missed being in his arms, and the two of them gliding across the floor together in perfect synchronicity. Their unrivaled harmony, the envy of all who witnessed it.

He shall take her hand. How could he not? He loved dancing with her far too much to do otherwise. He loves dancing now, and it's all her fault. She made it too hard to say no.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She did not disappoint him, and neither did the crushing weight of his entire temple bearing down on his back. How touching of her to leave him with such a gift, honestly.

Their last dance ended with a bang. With her staying true to her word and striking him down with all that he had discarded. And now there he lay, in the ruins of that place he and many others once cherished as a home and sanctuary.

He could hear a voice, somewhere at the edge of all the rubble. Nutmeg Tiger. If only he'd had the good sense to slaughter her like a pig like he ought to have ages ago. Now, as he shrugs the debris off of himself and regains his footing, he consoles himself with the idea that in the future, he can execute her right in front of his darling phoenix as a way to return her loving gesture. Yes, that sounds like a plan...

His muscles and bones screamed at him with every little movement he made, but he did not listen. Instead he shambled forward, out of reach of the temple ruins, that mewling, pathetic creature that called herself Nutmeg Tiger still buzzing around him like the insignificant little fly she was.

Clutching at the stab wound in his side (the one that was bleeding the most heavily, anyway), Burning Spice threw his eyes to the early morning sky. Their dance had lasted all the way until dawn... Beautiful.

A smile crept across his face, that eventually grew into a grin, that eventually fell open as deep, joyous laughter erupted from the pit of his stomach and out of his bloody mouth. Nutmeg Tiger started laughing too, but he didn't care about that. This moment was meant for him to savor all alone.

His dance with Golden Cheese had been everything he'd dreamed of and more... And he knew that their next dance would be just like it, for she never, ever disappointed him and never, ever will.

And there shall be many more dances. They shall take each other's hand and sway to their unique rhythm over and over again, until pain and exhaustion consumed them both, only to rise and take each other by the hand and dance another day.

Perhaps those fools from eons ago were right: dancing really is like fighting, if done right. And he and Golden Cheese did it exactly right.

Dancing was Burning Spice's favorite thing now, just as Golden Cheese was his favorite person.

He wanted to dance with her forever. Forever and ever and ever...

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

this was hard to write lol. I really, truly wasn't expecting people to want a sequel to MFM, so I had no plan ready (which is not like me as a writer at all, I am very much an "architect"/obsessive planner with my stories). I waited for episode 6 to drop for inspiration, and when I got it, I hit another roadblock in the form of me having TOO many ideas I wanted to work with. I thought of focusing on their moment right before GC awakens, but then I wanted to also do something with his confession to her (where he admits that he will gladly destroy his entire life to get to her), but then I also wanted to acknowledge his enjoyment of their game of hide-and-seek in the temple, but then but then but then lol. I eventually zeroed in on that scene where he called what they were doing a "dance", and realized that that was what captured my attention the most. The idea that he views their fight as a dance. So that's how I chose to frame his POV and the story as a whole. Like he thinks they're "dancing" together through the whole thing.

idk if I'm happy with the end result overall. I really wanted to do you all justice since you wanted a part 2 so bad. I can always go back and retool things/try to do a "version 2" with those other, smaller concepts as well. Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed this. Thank you for caring enough to want to see more from me, sorry for the wait haha

And remember, Burning Spice canonically called her his "little bird" and "lovely" and that he was enjoying "their little dance", and he canonically admitted that he would destroy everything and everyone for her, and no one can ever take that away from us now :)

[topperscumslut]

Kiss Me With Your Eyes Closed (Sejanus Plinth x Reader)

Summary: (Y/N) is the victor of the 9th Hunger Games and the beloved girlfriend of Coriolanus Snow, though she’s secretly in love with his best friend (in this au the hunger games progressed more quickly, for example mentors were already present before the 10th games etc etc). title inspired by Hot Freaks’ Puppy Princess!

Warnings: not much rlly tbh, a wee bit of angst but mostly FLUFFY FLUFFFFF. might write a smutty sequel if this does well (or just if i feel like it lol) but even then it would be more fluffy smut, like sweet love making rather than getting absolutely railed lmao yk? (i probably will so stay tuned if u like this and lmk if u wanna be tagged!)

spoiler free apart from references to coriolanus x lucy gray!!

ok actually it is a pretty good amount of angst nvm lmao

Word count: 2k

You sigh as you run your fingers over the tattered poster, so shiny and new only a year before, reading the now barely legible words. (Y/N) (L/N) Victory Tour, In Honor of the 9th Hunger Games, Arriving Soon in Your District. You remember your victory tour all too well. Despite the traumas you had endured as a victor, you’re grateful for how far you’ve come. Sure, you still have nightmares of your games every now and again, yet even still you have the best fate a girl from District 3 could ever hope for - you had fallen in love with a boy from the Capitol.

From an outsider’s perspective, it was the perfect love story. A doomed romance from the beginning; star crossed lovers, one might say, a Capitol boy and a District girl. When you had arrived at the Capitol for the 9th Hunger Games, near certain you had no chance of winning, your dashing mentor Coriolanus Snow had immediately taken a liking to you. He took you under his wing and coached you through your games, and when you had miraculously emerged victorious and returned to the Capitol, he decided that he wanted you for his own, and who were you to say no? Not even a few weeks before, you were just another girl from District 3, completely unknown, barely scraping by. Now you had been thrust suddenly into a lavish lifestyle with a handsome suitor to boot, adored by all of Panem; the nation’s sweetheart. After your games, you could have left it all behind. Sure, you would never be granted total anonymity being a victor, but you could have gone back to your beaten down home in District 3 and lived a relatively quiet life. After all, it’s not like the Snows had the finances to buy your freedom from your district and turn you into a full fledged Capitol citizen.

But the Plinths did.

You never particularly enjoyed Strabo Plinth as a person, but you couldn’t help but be grateful to him for what he had done for you. You had, however, immediately taken a liking to his caring wife, as well as his juxtaposition of a son, Sejanus, who clearly took more after his mother. In contrast to your rugged, analytical lover, Sejanus was gentle, complex. The two of you had become fast friends while Coriolanus had helped you prepare for the games.

And so before you knew it, this was your new life. At first you were anxious, concerned that your becoming a Capitol citizen and Coriolanus associating so intimately with a girl from the Districts would be seen as an act of rebellion and put you both in danger. However Coriolanus assured you that the nation loved you, both as an individual and as a couple. Sure, it was unexpected, yeah, it broke the (admittedly unwritten) rules, but that’s what made it oh-so fun to watch. Because at the end of the day, the games weren’t a competition - they were a show, and everyone loved an underdog.

There was only one minor flaw. You had fallen in love with a boy from the Capitol, yes, but it wasn’t the one you had so publicly given your heart to.

Your relationship with Coriolanus was practical, and that was about the only positive thing you could truthfully say about it. Neither of you were particularly wealthy or powerful individually, but together, you had potential. If you could keep all of Panem tuned in to your epic love story, you could almost certainly ensure mutual survival. You offered Coriolanus the opportunity to be known as not only a mentor to a victor, but a lover as well. And though nearly a year later his eyes had started to wander, the dapper blond had been quite infatuated with you when the courtship had begun, and Coriolanus was notoriously possessive. While his family was in the midst of financial hardship at the current moment, becoming a Capitol resident gave you the opportunity to get by still much more comfortably than you had in your impoverished home district. And who knew what volatility Coriolanus was capable of if you had rejected his advances? You had been coaxed into this very moment and had no other option but to grin and bear it. After all, all the girls you knew back home would kill to be in your position. A handsome sweetheart, financial stability courtesy of the Plinths, and the whole country all but worshiping you. Coriolanus Snow had offered you not only fame and fortune, but more importantly, security. Safety, in return for your undying affection.

Coriolanus was sweet at first. Charming, for sure. He was certainly attractive, yet he had never really had much of an effect on you. Maybe it was simply intuition. Or maybe it was the fact that he could never compare to his best friend, Sejanus Plinth.

Kind, pure Sejanus. The type of boy that, unlike Coriolanus Snow, truly made your head spin. The chemistry between you and Sejanus was unspoken, yet undeniable. However, you had already reluctantly sworn yourself to Coriolanus, and knew running off with his best friend would certainly put both you and your not so secret admirer in a treacherous situation. Sejanus Plinth was a risk you simply couldn’t afford to take.

What stung the most was that in any other situation, it could have worked. Sejanus was certainly more wealthy and influential than Coriolanus, not that that was what truly mattered to you. If you had been just a bit more fortunate, you could have had the boy you truly loved as your mentor and still have the same security and more that you were now so gracefully granted, if you had simply found your way to Sejanus before Coriolanus had set his sights on you and claimed you as his own. But unfortunately for you, your current romantic relationship was one built upon the grounds of survival rather than love.

If you were fully honest with yourself, you never truly loved Coriolanus - well, not romantically, at least. There was once a time where you had loved him as a dear friend, but in the time you had known him, he had become cruel and vitriolic. You knew from the start that he had always had it in him to become this way, though you had always naively hoped that he wouldn’t, that he would control himself, but the poison within his soul had soon taken over his cold, uncaring heart. He had become hardened by the misfortune of his family and gradually more complaisant in the ways of the Capitol, as well as secretly resentful of the great fortune of his supposed best friend and honorary brother Sejanus.

Now just over a year since you had met, the 10th Hunger Games were nearing to start. You had heard the whispers of Coriolanus sneaking around with his newest mentee, your replacement in more ways than one, Lucy Gray Baird; however it never bothered you. Lucy Gray knew that your relationship with Coriolanus was nothing more than a facade, and the two of you had become unlikely friends. You weren’t sure just how much of his affections for Lucy Gray were genuine, or how much was motivated by a desire to flatter her in an attempt to gain another victor to further his own career. Though Coriolanus’s mood was recently heightened by his new lover, he was still resentful of being assigned such an impoverished district for two years in a row and was prone to fits of rage over this perceived insult. While your home of District 3 was never much of a spectacle, Lucy Gray’s District 12 was miraculously even more down trodden, the poorest district of them all. You couldn’t help but wonder if this assignment was actually made to compliment Coriolanus, to show that if he could made a diamond in the rough out of you, that perhaps he could do the same for Lucy Gray.

As you sit alone in Coriolanus’s bed, still running your fingers gingerly along the photograph, you hear a knock at the door.

“Sejanus?”

“Oh, hey. Is Coryo around?”

You shake your head. “He’s out right now.”

Sejanus’s jaw tightens at your response. “With her?”

You nod unenthusiastically and can see the disgust and anger wash over his face as he makes his way over to you.

“It’s not her fault, Sejanus. She’s actually really sweet.”

He sits down on the bed next to you, careful to leave enough space between the two of you as to not make you uncomfortable. “I know it’s not. It’s his. Does it really not bother you at all?”

“Not particularly.”

He chuckles to himself. “You’re better than me, (Y/N). I don’t know how you put up with it. If I truly loved someone, it would kill me to see them with someone else.” He’s subtle, but you can tell exactly what he’s implying.

“Well good thing I don’t have to see it.”

“Fair enough.”

Sejanus looks sympathetically at you for a second, blissfully unaware that his kind, beautiful brown eyes are making you melt, before noticing the poster in your hand.

“Is that-”

“Yep.” You shiver, remembering your games, the things you saw… “I don’t think it ever occurred to him, the things I had to do in there.”

“It occurred to me.” He gently places his shaky hand on your knee, carefully surveying your expression to make sure you’re okay with the contact, to which you nod slightly, nearly involuntarily. “Look, I’ll say it since no one else in this screwed up place will, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You bite your lip, feeling butterflies in your stomach once again as he gives you that look and it takes everything in you not to lean in and kiss him right then and there. Your boyfriend could come home any moment, after all, and you quickly compose yourself, breaking Sejanus’s gaze. “It’s okay. I won. It’s the Hunger Games. It’s an honor.”

He inches carefully closer to you before speaking up again, his deep voice barely above a whisper. “(Y/N), you don’t have to pretend around me.”

You shake your head in denial. “I’m not pretending.”

“Then why haven’t I seen that light in your eyes that I love so much since you’ve left the arena? Why don’t you care that he’s always off with Lucy Gray? Why are the rules different for you than they are for him?”

And suddenly it hits you all at once. Sejanus is right. If Coriolanus is sneaking around with your friend everyday, even when they aren’t training, then what’s to stop you from doing the same to him? What do you owe him when all he’s ever done is keep you like a bird in a cage?

You don’t stop yourself, you don’t even think as you lean in and kiss Sejanus. He gets over the initial shock quickly and melts into it, cradling your body in his arms and pulling you in by the small of your back. You both pull away at the same time, not quite sure what’s gotten into you, but whatever it is, you like it.

“Coriolanus has never kissed me like that.”

“Go figure.”

His nerves kick in once again as he starts to stutter an apology before you shut him up by kissing him softly again.

“Since I first got to the Capitol… Sejanus, nothing here has felt right, except for you.”

“I could say the same about you,” he muses as he leans in once again, kissing you slow, both of you pretending the moment could last forever. If only…

[gilbirda]

Ouroboros

Sequel to "Another Harley Quinn"

Go to the first fic: "Deal"

After everything is said and done, it is no secret that Bruce doesn't approve of Jason's choice of partner. How far is he ready to go to reject her, and what are Jazz and Jason willing to give?

[Read on AO3][Read on FF]

---

She was running.

She was running and the streets were too dark, the shadows too long, the air too cold. She was running through a city she had come to know but was alien to her, a place she wanted to call home and yet she couldn’t call hers.

Jazz was running. Her chest hurt. Her feet hurt.

That’s when she saw it.

It was familiar, something that looked like home between the streets she didn’t belong in, and yet, it wasn’t home.

(Nothing was really home since Danny—)

She knew it. Jazz was sure. It was a ghost, she was positive, but a ghost she had never encountered before. It was bright, glowing in the dark streets, its light making its features difficult to discern. The body was more like a floating torn bed sheet than a human body.

It had a face.

It opened its mouth, jaw unhinged, and screamed.

***

Jazz woke up with a start, the only thing not letting her fall forwards and faceplant on the coffee table was a strong arm around her waist.

“Easy there, love.”

She looked up at Jason, blinking the sleep away. “Did I fall asleep? I’m sorry.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. She usually doesn't fall asleep like this, but lately…

“It’s okay,” Bruce set his cup on the table, “you must be tired after last night.”

Last night… Right, she had been up late taking down a drug operation at the docks. That Batman knew about it even if she did it alone wasn’t surprising. The slight judgemental glint in his eyes wasn’t a surprise either — she had killed the lieutenant after destroying the cargo.

It had been the third chance she had given him and that person decided to mock her for being soft, claiming that “a man would have pulled the trigger already”. If that wasn’t enough to kill him, the fact that his ex-girlfriend had filed for a restraining order for the second time, and had been dismissed by the police again, was a deal breaker for her.

Not that Bruce would care about things like that.

“She's been having weird dreams lately and wakes up really tired.”

Jason, as always, jumped to protect her. Maybe he was trying to remind Bruce that they were in this together, that it didn’t matter that she was taking over while he got his GED and started college. That if Bruce had a problem with her he had a problem with the two of them.

“I think she’s trying to tell me something,” Jazz sat straight, cracking her back. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep like that, now her back was going to be sore. “I mean Gotham.”

“Again?”

“Is the same dream over and over again, the same noise. I thought after Joker…” Jazz trailed off, remembering that encounter with the Spirit. She had been another person then. Another woman. Felt like long ago and yet like yesterday.

“Hm?”

Both ignored Bruce’s clear “hm” demanding her to elaborate. Right. They never explained what happened with the Joker.

“I think she is trying to warn me about something that’s coming.” Her mind went back to the screaming ghost, to the dark alleys. That wasn’t Gotham, even if it gave the illusion to be. “Something more in my, uh, expertise.”

“Well, that’s ominous,” Jason was deliberately only looking at her face, “and vague. Wanna go over it when we get home?”

Any thought was derailed when he lifted a hand to comb it through her hair. It felt nice. He was very warm.

“Sure.” She picked his hand and kissed the palm. “I’m going to check if Alfred needs help with dinner.”

Still ignoring Bruce, Jazz stood up and left what was going to be another interrogation.

***

“Elaborate.”

Jason watched her walk away, conflicted. She had been a bit distracted lately, spacing out more and more; and even if he was positive she was not actively hiding anything from him, he was sure something was going on with her.

The thought that not even she knew what was happening was not helping.

“Jason.”

He looked up at his father. “What?”

“Elaborate.”

Jason didn’t like that it was worded like an order. Or that Bruce used that tone with him, with Jazz. Honestly? He was fed up with Bruce’s behavior about his girlfriend. She said it was okay, that Bruce would eventually let it go, but Jason didn’t like that she had to endure that constant drilling because of—

No. It wasn’t because of him.

Jazz had been firm when she insisted it was never his fault. That if Bruce decided to be a dick about her it was not because of Jason.

But Jason knew his father better than her, he knew what made the man tick, what he was thinking with each gesture. Sure, Jazz had investigated Bruce Wayne, Batman, and everything about Gotham — but she hadn’t lived any of it.

What Bruce hated about Jazz is what he hated in Jason, the new Jason, and what he refused to accept. It didn’t take a genius to see that the man berated her for things Jason taught her or did with her. It was obvious at this point, after all these months, that Bruce just couldn't let go of the little boy that died.

Listen. If Jason had problems with Bruce, it was his problem, not Jazz’s. She was innocent.

“Bruce.” He cut whatever the other man was about to say. “You have to stop.”

This made him blink in surprise. Yeah right. As if he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Stop what?”

“Don’t give me that crap. You know what I mean.”

They looked at each other in tense silence.

Bruce sighed, leaning back on the sofa, rubbing his face before looking elsewhere but him.

“I just —” he started, unsure of what he really wanted to say. Was he going to be honest, for once? “I don’t — There is something about her… I don’t like it.”

There it is.

I don't like her.

I don’t trust her.

Of course he doesn’t. That stupid control freak. Jazz was a bat trained individual that didn’t go through him or was approved by him. She had access to the Cave and to all their technology, just like Jason, just like Bruce promised they could.

But that wasn’t the problem. Jazz could be temporarily banned and put on trial phase until she passed all of Bruce’s tests and yet she would never be enough.

“We are a package deal, Bruce.”

The look the man gave him was equally annoyed and defeated. “I know.”

“She’s not a villain.” It hurt. How Bruce’s jaw muscle tensed like he wanted to say otherwise, it hurt. If he considered her a villain, he considered him a villain too. He was just too chicken to say it. “She’s my partner. She’s my other half.”

“I know.” He grumbled.

Bruce didn’t like her. He didn’t approve of her. He never would.

“Why do you hate her so much?” Jason swallowed the discomfort. He needed to know. He needed to understand if it was a stupid dream to think he could have both his family and his partner. If he had to put distance between them and Jazz, he had no doubt who he would choose to go with. “Why is she the villain and not me?”

Bruce looked at him like he grew another head. “That’s ridiculous. You are not a villain. I don’t agree with your methods, but—”

“But nothing! She’s just the same as me. I trained her! I brought her into this life! If there is someone you should distrust is me!” He stood up, angry at the argument.

Surprisingly enough, the older man was unfazed. He thought his words carefully, looking down at his clasped hands. After about a minute, he finally said.

“She killed her own parents.”

That was it? “What are you talking about? I was the one that did the actual killing.”

He still remembered it like it was yesterday. How he took his time, how he made it hurt. He let them know on whose orders he was doing that to them and why.

“She hired you to kill them,” Bruce shook his head, frowning, “is not the same.”

“What the fuck do you mean with ‘not the same’? Bruce, you weren’t there, you didn’t see what happened. They killed her brother.”

“It still doesn’t justify—”

“They tortured him, Bruce. Their own son. They deserved to die.”

Bruce blinked, eyes searching Jason’s face, like he was seeing him for the first time.

“They deserved to face justice. Not— Not whatever she asked you to do.”

She never asked him to torture them. Sure, she said ‘I want those two to suffer’, but she never specified how and what she wanted. She was angry and filled with rage, and she wanted to make them pay for what they did — but she didn’t ask him to break every bone in their bodies and keep them awake during the whole process.

It had been all him.

“That’s the thing, Bruce. She tried to seek justice, and the system failed her. If just—” Jason looked away, uncomfortable with sharing memories that weren’t his “ — If ‘Justice’ actually had helped her, her brother would still be alive. But she took too long with the longer route, and by the time she decided to fix it on her own, Danny was already gone. Torn apart by his own parents.”

“What she asked of you wasn’t justice either.”

“No.” He conceded. “She wanted vengeance.”

He remembered her dark eyes, so empty of any emotion except cold fury. It was easy to forget now that she smiled and regarded him with warmth, but not that long ago she had been an empty husk running on rage and rage alone.

“I still don’t understand… How?” At his questioning look, Bruce added: “We researched her, her family. There was no reason to believe they hurt either of their kids. Danny disappeared and run away and yes, it was suspicious as hell, but—”

“Are you listening to yourself? The investigation of Danny’s disappearance is a joke and obviously a cover up. Are you so dead set on making her the bad guy that you overlook something so simple?”

Bruce thought his words for a moment, maybe finally noticing how his rejection of his partner was affecting his own son. He was making that soft face he had every time he talked about how he messed up with Dick and how he could have done it better.

“A cover up by who?”

“What? The GIW, obviously.”

Did he not know?

Wait.

Bruce stood up, eyes wide. “The Ghost Investigation Ward?”

He doesn't know.

“Bruce?”

“They were supported by the GIW?”

He really doesn’t know.

“Bruce… they were the lead scientists of the GIW.”

Jason watched the pieces start to fit in Bruce’s mind, the whole story taking shape in his detective brain. Did he know about project P-001? About how Danny exactly died? About what they did to other ecto-entities?

“Did she know? Did she allow it?”

What was with Bruce and always assuming the worst? With a sigh, Jason gestured towards where the kitchen was, asking Bruce to walk with him. If what he needed to stop being hostile was answers, he would give them.

“About her parents working with the GIW? Yes. About the experiments? No.”

“And Danny—”

“Danny was taken away when she was away in college. Came back home to find her brother gone and her parents uncaring about his whereabouts.”

He truly didn’t like speaking for Jazz, but he also didn’t want her to relive all of this just because Bruce couldn’t let it go.

When Bruce didn’t ask another question, he continued. “She and Danny’s friends tried to get him back, but nothing worked. They were just kids against a whole shady fake government agency — they never stood a chance. They tried anyway.”

“They could have called the Justice League.”

Jason was already shaking his head before he finished talking. “And say what? ‘Evil organization that’s barely legal has kidnapped my brother’? Bruce, we both know that by the time a thorough investigation happened it would have been too late.”

“But we did investigate them. Sure, a lot of it was destroyed but the little we could find we completely tore down.”

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know.

Jason took a deep breath as they arrived at the kitchen, smiling when he saw Jazz completely engrossed with her task of cutting the vegetables. She was smiling and chatting with Alfred about something he couldn’t hear from there, but she looked… good. At peace.

“There was an anonymous tip to the Justice League, yes?”

“How do you—”

Jason looked back at Bruce, not hiding his thoughts. The older man made the correct connections and the correct assumptions. Who destroyed the GIW bases, who killed all those people, who brought the Justice a lonely soul desperately needed.

“Bruce. She has suffered enough. Let it go.”

The other man was also watching Jazz cook; and as if she felt their gazes, she looked up at the pair. Jazz smiled, the emotion not quite getting to her eyes, and she waved with the hand that still had the knife.

Bruce’s mouth twisted a bit.

“I didn’t know.”

“You shouldn’t have to know. She’s what I want. That should have been enough.”

Jason didn’t imagine the pain in his father’s eyes when he looked back at him.

***

Tim glanced nervously at the woman quietly watching the horizon next to him.

What was Bruce thinking? Making him do patrol with her? Alone? What if she snapped and killed him?

“I know you are scared of me.”

He jumped at the mechanical voice, finding her smiling down at him. He wasn’t sure. With the mask in the way it was difficult to know.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Yeah, right.

“Really. I don’t hurt children.”

“You shouldn’t kill people, period!” He snapped. “Sorry.” Tim muttered at his outburst. Murder girlfriend or not, he had manners and Alfred wouldn’t like it if he was rude to a guest.

Jasmine looked away, humming in thought, her eyes watching the shadows of the night. Did she see something special in them? Apparently she had some kind of enhancements due to her parents’ experimentation — something about contamination? — but no formal testing of her abilities had been done. Yet.

“Am I that scary?”

Tim almost missed the quiet question.

“It Isn't that — uh…” He tried to find the correct words. Scary? She was not scary per se. Her outfit was not made for intimidation, she looked pretty average with her dark pants, combat boots and black shirt. The most noticeable parts of her outfit were the full utility belt around her waist and the guns strapped to her thighs. And the red hair. But she was not scary. “I’ve seen scarier people.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She turned to look at him.

Her eyes. He didn’t like her eyes.

They were an uncanny shade of blue that looked green under certain lights. Eyes that sometimes glowed Lazarus Pits green. Eyes that gave him goosebumps.

“Why do you want to know? You are the head of the Crime Underworld of Gotham, of course you are scary.” She found his words funny. “You don’t kill the Joker with kindness, either.”

She tilted her head, looking back at the city. “Yeah. You might be right.”

“Of course I’m right.” He scoffed, walking closer. She didn’t react to his proximity. “Did you really kill him, though?”

“B didn’t tell you?”

“He just said… He said he found him dead. That Hood and you sent him in a wild goose chase and it was all so he couldn’t stop you from killing him.”

“There you go, then.”

“He also said there were screams and that he couldn’t get in the room.” He looked at her profile, since she refused to look back at him. “We reviewed the cowl footage but it was all noise and snow.”

Jazz hummed.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “You know why, don’t you?”

She thought for a moment before answering. "I do."

"Well?"

She smiled. "Why would I tell you?"

Robin groaned in frustration, like he did every time she deflected his questions. Jazz was very private and didn't share any information that wasn't already guessed or known; and even in the case of the former, she usually smiles and let him ramble theories of what actually happened and never confirm or deny them.

Tim was still deciding if he hated her. Well. Hate was a big word.

Dislike.

Did he mind the murdering? Yeah, it was disturbing to know the woman smiling in front of him hired a hitman to massacre her own parents and then decided to become a crime lord. Just because.

But Jasmine was kind and patient and understanding, and she didn't bend even after how mean Bruce had been with her. And she loved Jason, really loved him, which made it difficult to reduce her to a mindless criminal.

"I'm curious." He finally admitted. "Truly. No suspicion, no investigation. I want to know."

"You are such a curious bug, huh."

Again she looked at him without really seeing him.

You remind me of him. You have the same spark. I hope it's never beaten out of you.

Tim wasn't stupid — he knew she was seeing her dead brother in him and it bothered him. It bothered him more than when Bruce called him 'Jason' those first months.

"I can talk to ghosts." She said out of the blue. Like it wasn't even that important. "The Spirit of Gotham asked me to kill the Joker."

Tim did a double take, surprised. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. For real. She just contacted me and told me to do it. So I did."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

There was more story to it, but Tim was going to count his blessings and let it slide for now.

Patrol progressed like normal without any surprises. Just minor crime, barely anything that required Bat intervention, but it was good to be seen around, especially with The Ghost at his side. The people loved Robin, and if they wanted to make them trust that The Ghost was not out there killing everyone, pairing her with Robin was the quickest route.

Was that why B did it? Had he turned a new leaf?

By the time they called off patrol for the day, Tim noticed Jazz being quieter than usual.

"What’s wrong?" He asked her.

Her eyes were hesitant when she looked at him. “Are… I mean, it is— uh…”

“Just spit it out.”

The Ghost was nervous. She shifted a little when they landed on a rooftop to talk.

“Everything okay at school?”

Tim did a double take, watching her like he was seeing her for the first time. What the heck? Was she for real? Asking about school, out of the blue like this? What was the point?

What was her angle?

“Why would I tell you?”

She chuckled. “I had that coming, huh?”

He laughed too, amused by her switch in behavior. It was relaxing to see her act like a human — Jazz was a quiet presence glued to Jason’s side, always watching with those sad eyes.

“School’s good, but boring.”

“Boring?”

“Too easy.” He scoffed. “Teachers don’t know what else to throw at me to make me shut up.”

She hummed. It felt good to not get the speech about school not being just about good grades and that he should be kinder to his teachers, that they were doing their best.

“Any friends?”

What was she doing? Was she trying to be his older sister, trying to fill a void left behind by her loss?

Danny was dead. She wouldn’t bring him back by adopting another kid.

Tim almost laughed, amused at the similarities between Bruce and Jasmine.

Before he could open his mouth to gently ask her to stop, she tensed, looking at a nearby rooftop.

“Robin.” She switched back to The Ghost, the ruthless crime lord. “Go home. Call Batman.”

“What—”

“Do it.”

Tim hesitated a second too long, the glint of a sword on the edge of his vision put him in fight mode. He blocked in time, his staff and his arms straining to withstand the impact of a sword that had been aimed to his neck.

He jumped back, closer to Jazz, watching as a group of ninjas quickly surrounded them.

“We have a situation,” he heard The Ghost’s voice coming from the comms and his ears at the same time. “Requesting back up.”

“En route.” Bruce’s voice was a relief. Even if Tim had been trained and he wasn’t alone, he was starting to get overwhelmed by the quick moving ninjas that were hellbent on killing them.

He didn’t recognize the uniforms and their motivations were unclear. No obvious target either, since they weren’t trying to crowd one of them specifically. The Ghost held her ground, dancing around the assailants with ease and practiced moves, some of them reminiscent of Dick and some of Jason, and he was grateful that she hadn’t whipped out the guns and started shooting at them.

Robin stepped back, staff ready, feinting to the left to do a sweep under the closest ninja, making them stumble enough to elbow them in the side of the neck, knocking them out.

One down, three more to go.

He focused on his own fight, watching them, expecting their moves, dodging the very sharp blades they were swinging in his direction. Tim knew he was fast and he learned even faster, something Bruce always praised him about, and he decided to prove he was worth the chance to be Robin as best he could do.

The second assassin made a mistake, one tiny misstep, and he used his grappling gun to tie their legs together, leaving them dangling from the edge of the roof.

Now that he was facing only two of them it was easier to keep up with the speed. His staff was very useful to keep them at a safe distance, and he used that advantage as best as he could, even if the ninjas understood that they were losing the upper hand.

They changed tactics, instead of going for the kill they were planning on tiring him out — when he blocked one he had to be watching the other and expecting their move, not having a second to breathe. He was starting to get light headed and his arms starting to hurt after blocking impact after impact, when he finally saw his chance with one of them.

He attacked fast, staff ready, doing a series of katas that were meant to confuse the opponent and end with a strong push to the chest. Tim even managed to knock the sword out of their hands. When he hit them on the head and the guy was down.

“Ha!” He allowed himself the shout of victory, turning around to face the other one—

Only to find wide eyes on a partially covered face, a choked scream escaping the trained assassin. Tim looked down to find the point of a sword right on his neck, barely digging in his skin. He continued looking down and saw rivers of blood coming down the assassin’s front from where another blade was piercing their chest.

The body hit the ground with a soft thump, leaving The Ghost standing, her face blank, her eyes glowing toxic green, her hands stained with blood.

Both turned to look when a new person arrived at the scene.

Batman didn’t look pleased.

***

Jazz was tired and needed a bath, but she couldn’t even think about going back home yet.

Jason. She needed him, she needed his comfort, but he wouldn’t be home until his fight with Bruce was over.

A fight about her.

She knew killing the assassin would have consequences. She could have simply reduced them, she could have pushed Tim away and gotten hit instead, she could have thrown a smoke bomb and given Tim enough time to run away.

But she killed, and it had been a deliberate choice. Bruce knew that, Tim knew that — even if he had tried to defend her a few times before being completely shut down — and Jason knew that.

She just couldn’t think about anything else the moment she saw the black silhouette approach the boy from behind. Tim was just that, a little kid roped into hero life, and she needed to protect him. She needed—

Jazz was not stupid. Tim wasn’t Danny, she didn’t have any right to be any kind of older sister to him. She had one chance at that and she lost it, she couldn’t just act like she deserved another.

The Ghost looked at the rising sun on the horizon, her ears ringing with the screams and threats Jason and Bruce had been throwing at each other by the time she quietly stepped out and left the Batcave. She doubted any of them noticed her leave, too engrossed in the moral question of taking a life and the what if’s and could have’s.

Jason looked distressed and unhappy, not just angry. She knew him, she knew he didn’t like to fight with Bruce like this.

It felt that was the only thing they did when she was near.

“Finally caught you alone,” a smooth feminine voice purred behind her.

Jazz turned, finding a dark skinned woman looking down at her, her long black hair flowing in the breeze. She was tall, and strong, her common-looking t-shirt and jeans not hiding the powerful stance of someone that knew she was in charge.

She didn’t miss the gun on her waist or the sword at her back.

“Talia.” She recognized her from the photos Jason showed her. She never thought they’d ever meet in person. “If you are looking for Jason he is busy at the moment.”

“I’m not looking for him.” Her deep green eyes were fixed on her, analyzing. “I wanted to have a chat with you.”

Jazz tensed. Knowing what she knew about Talia, that couldn’t be anything good.

“I wanted to make you an offer.”

She arched an eyebrow. “An offer?”

“Yes. I have been following you and I’ve seen what you can do. What Jason made of you.”

So Jay was right. Talia was watching. She really couldn’t let it go, huh.

“And?”

“I think we can benefit each other.”

This made her scoff. “What makes you think you can give me something I want?”

Danny was dead, he had been avenged. She didn’t need anything else.

Somehow, Talia found her response hilarious. She chuckled with that silky voice of hers and approached Jazz to watch the city besides her.

“This is not your world. This is not your place. You have been aimless since the death of your brother.”

Jazz didn’t give her the pleasure of seeing her react to her words. Talia was a snake that dealt with information, she taught Jason some of her tricks. She would know about Danny and the GIW and how she came to meet Jason, of course.

“I’m not aimless.” Jason’s smiling face came to her mind. He had given her a home when she thought she had nothing to come back to. “I have—”

“Jason. Yes.” Talia hummed. “But do you really?”

This made her tense. “What do you mean?”

Talia’s smile was pitiful when she turned to look at her, the rising sun painting half her face with warm colors.

“You are in the way of his happy ending, dear.”

Jazz blinked, her heart skipping a beat. She knew that, she knew that things were rocky with Jason’s family, but to hear it put bluntly like that…

“You can have him, sure, but you’d make him lose everything else. Everything he wants. Jason lost his edge when he met you, and since that day he has gotten as dependent on you as you are on him. He has been declawed and what he wants now is a happy family to come back to, something you cannot give him, but he is too blinded by love to see it.”

Jazz hated that it made sense, that Talia was wording her troubled thoughts like this. She knew Talia pulled stunts like this, manipulating people until she had you working for her, but it made so much sense.

“Let him be happy, let him get his father back. Get his family back. If you love him, truly love him, then let him get his happy ending.”

Jazz watched the sunrise without blinking until it hurt. Her eyes watered.

She swallowed the knot in her throat and asked: “And what do you want?” What was her angle? What did she gain by this?

She didn’t turn to look at Talia when she answered, knowing she would crumble the moment she saw her cunning eyes. “I can help you become better, become perfect. I’ve seen what you can become and I’m positive you could use those skills to make sure no one else gets hurt like your brother was hurt.”

“You are talking about becoming an assassin for you.”

Talia chuckled. “Not ‘for me’, dear. You’d be your own person, you could choose your own targets. All I’m offering is resources and training Jason can’t provide. And Bruce wouldn’t ever approve.”

Jazz didn’t answer and Talia didn’t push, both stayed quietly watching the sun climbing in the sky as the city woke up and started to pulse with life one more day. One more day where people would get hurt somewhere in the world, people she could help and yet she was in Gotham feeling like an intruder in someone else’s family, trying to play house.

Talia was making sense. She didn’t like it.

“I’ll think about it.”

***

When Jason came back to the apartment he shared with Jazz, he was ready to drop dead and nap for the rest of the day. He was completely spent, his mind frayed and reeling with the argument and following screaming match about Jazz and how Bruce didn’t like her.

He had been doing so well after the conversation they had, he had been trying, smiling more and including her in things and putting her on patrol with Timbo so people got used to seeing her fight crime with the Hope of Gotham.

She killed the assassin, true, but she had saved the kid’s life. Could she have done something else? Sure, of course, but it wasn’t like the assassins were playing games and letting many chances or going easy on them. If Jazz thought the best course of action was killing him, he trusted her.

Bruce didn’t. He kept going back to the recordings of Robin’s mask, marking places where she could have done better, where should have taken another route. It didn’t matter that the kid said he agreed the assassins were going for the kill or that it was his fault for being careless — Bruce was set on banning her from the Cave, from the Manor and from operating in the city altogether.

Jazz was nowhere to be seen at the Manor when Jason decided that arguing with Bruce was pointless and got on his bike and rode off without explaining more. He was tired. He needed his girlfriend.

Just as he thought, she was at the apartment, waiting. She was not in her usual chair reading or at the kitchen having her post patrol tea; but he found her on the bed still wearing her suit, sitting with her back against the headboard. She was looking at the opposite wall with unblinking eyes, brows furrowed.

“Darling?”

She blinked, turning to look at him with empty eyes. He never wanted to see her look at him like that again, he hated that the situation had made her this upset.

“Hi.” She smiled, but it was wrong. “How did it go?”

“Bruce’s pissed but I don’t give a shit. He can choke for all I care.” Jason huffed, sitting on his side of the bed to start on getting rid of the suit. “I know this isn’t over, but whatever. He’ll get over it.”

Jazz hummed softly, with her ‘I’m considering something that you wouldn’t like’ voice. He stopped unlacing his boots, turning to watch her. She looked… off. Not just upset, but genuinely like— like she was back to that empty shell that accepted his offer of coming to Gotham with him.

“Jason,” she started, “was this… a mistake?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I… If…,” she licked her lips, looking away from his eyes. “If I left, do you think Bruce would drop it?”

Jason felt like ice crystals started growing in his chest. She couldn’t mean…?

“I understand you love me, but I can’t pretend to understand the relationship you have with your father. All of… this — “ All of me, he knew she wanted to say “ — is putting a strain in that relationship that I don't want you to have.”

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t seriously be talking about breaking up. Not like this.

“I love you too, and—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He had the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake the stupidity out of her head. “Are you seriously thinking about breaking up with me over this?”

She shook her head. “Not just over this. I’m talking about everything else, too. You have been sweet and I love you with all my heart, but darling, this is tearing you apart.”

He couldn’t argue otherwise. He couldn’t deny he had been thinking about not coming back to the Manor and just say fuck it to the whole thing.

Jason was tired of arguing. He didn’t want to fight anymore. If he tried to argue with Jazz right there, right then, he would give up and let her leave without a fight.

“Can we— Can we please put a pin on this conversation?”

She was going to say something else, but closed her mouth, nodding. “Of course. I’ll… There is food in the kitchen. I’m going to shower first, if you don’t mind.”

It’s true that they didn’t bathe together all the time, but he really, really had been looking forward to her affection and, for once, her physical contact. It felt empty, watching her stand up and leave the room without looking back. Felt like an ending to their story, even if Jazz had agreed she would want to talk about this when both were in a better headspace.

This was not how he expected his day to end, how he wanted this to go. He wouldn’t let the best thing to ever happen to him to either leave him or regress to that broken woman he extended his hand to.

Jazz carefully avoided him after the shower, and she chose to sleep on the couch instead of the bed with him. Jason didn’t have enough energy in him to convince her to get into the bed.

When he woke she was still there, calming down his instinct that she just packed her stuff and left while he slept — Danny’s rocket model was still on her night table and the apartment smelled like freshly made coffee.

She was looking outside the window at the sun going down, a still steaming cup of coffee in her hands. Coffee, not tea.

“Hey.”

She turned to smile at him, eyes still haunted, deep bags under her eyes. Did she sleep at all? “Hey.” At least her smile was more normal.

“Feeling better?”

She shook her head, but approached him to kiss him on the cheek before sitting down on the kitchen table. “Wanna talk now?”

With a heavy sigh, Jason got his own cup of coffee and joined her at the table.

“Let’s talk.”

She nodded. “Talia came to see me.”

Jason choked on his coffee. “What?” He managed to say as he coughed out the liquid.

“She made me an offer.”

“You know her offers—”

“Hear me out.” She stopped him before he continued, lifting a hand to signal she wanted to talk. “I’m not going to accept. Talia’s motivations are not clear and I trust you when you say she is shady about her offers.” She tilted her head. “I also think that she is the one that sent those assassins to provoke me”

This made him sigh in relief. That did sound like Talia, and it was good that Jazz caught on that quickly. “Okay.”

“But she made a good point.”

“She told you to break up with me?”

Jazz hummed. “Something like that.”

“Well that’s stupid.” He scoffed. “That wouldn’t solve the problem.”

“And what’s ‘the problem’, then?” She arched an eyebrow, daring him to say otherwise.

“It doesn't matter if Bruce hates you. It doesn’t matter if you stay, or you leave or if we don’t see each other again.” He leaned in to take one of her hands and smiled when she didn’t move away, and even squeezed his hand. “Bruce’s beef with you is actually with the stuff I taught you, the stuff that’s a part of me I wanted to share with you. If he cannot stand you because of that then he is making the active choice to not see I am the same.”

Jazz’s eyes were fixed on their joined hands as she considered his words. She sipped her coffee without looking away.

“If the condition for him to love me is for you to go away then he doesn’t deserve me — and that has nothing to do with you personally.”

Seconds ticked by in the quiet kitchen.

He was firm about what he said and was completely ready to fight Bruce on that if it came to it. It was beyond if Jazz was a ‘bad influence’ or not, beyond trying to play perfect son for Bruce, beyond trying to make him see that they couldn’t go back to how they were before he died.

“Okay.” Jazz said, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Her smile was watery, her eyes shining with tears, but she looked less pale and less like she was about to crumble down.

“I love you.” She said. Neither commented on how shaky her voice was. She wanted him, he could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t because she thought he would need her, or because she thought that was what he wanted — she wanted to be with him.

“Love you too.” He stood up and walked around the table, extended a hand to touch her cheek. She leaned into the touch. “We’ll figure this out, but we have to do it together. I need my partner in crime.”

A few tears went down her cheeks as she nodded.

***

Jazz kept her distance from the Manor the following weeks and focused on things on the crime side of their lives. Jason had been taking on more tasks since they were doing patrol with Batman and Robin as well; but she was now going to focus completely on the Narrows and Crime Alley and let Jason take care of things with his father. He asked her to trust him and she trusted him. They were partners.

She was going back home thinking about her cup of tea and maybe convincing Jason to cuddle under a blanket and read together for a bit; when she saw it.

It was bright and just at the corner of her mind, and she understood she had to follow it.

Not one to question Gotham after all that happened, Jazz followed her gut instinct further and further away from their territory, across the bridge and deeper into the business district. There were some people walking around at night, better dressed people, that looked at her as she followed the faint signs of something other. She ignored them all, how men and women alike chose to get away from her as soon as she was in their sights.

She knew what the “nice” people of Gotham thought of her, it didn’t take a mind reader to understand that it took more time for these people to realize she was no Harley Quinn.

In any case, it was good that she found no resistance as she pursued the white form across the serpentine streets. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was being guided somewhere, but she still needed to investigate.

The chase ended in a deserted street that had an opening to an abandoned metro station — if her memory was correct, it was part of the first metro line in the city, and the route was adjusted after the city grew in another direction.

Jazz wasn’t looking at the art decó structure of the metro opening, though. Her eyes were fixed on the white form floating in the middle of the street.

It grew and grew, quietly and quickly taking a longer shape — a human shape. Legs, arms, torso and a head. It was so bright on a dark background that it hurt her sensitive eyes, but she kept looking at the humanoid shape, wondering what or who it was.

The white light started to dim around the body, a white sheet, torn and dirty, gently floated in an invisible wind, hiding the actual shape of the body. It’s face was still too bright.

“Hello?” Jazz asked, testing the waters with a step towards the ghost. Because it was a ghost, she was positive. “Do you need help?”

She never thought she would need to help another spirit, but if this lost soul needed assistance to find peace, she was the only person that could help.

It was also what Danny would have done.

The bright figure’s face was too intense to really see the features, but as she walked closer she could see short red hair floating around their face.

“I can help you. My name is Jazz.”

It was like she had said the magic words. The slight humming she didn’t realize she had been hearing stopped. The light stopped pulsing. The figure froze mid-air.

Two eyes opened in the creature’s face. Deep black eyes, full of hatred.

A mouth opened, impossibly wide open, in a way that a normal human could never be able to do.

It was a split second — just a tiny moment as the light in its face dimmed enough for her to clearly see the features — but she recognized that face.

The creature screamed a high pitched sound that blasted the windows of the buildings around them.

***

A ping on the phone and Bruce’s slight frown was the first sign that something was wrong.

“A rogue attack?”

The older man looked up from where he was tapping on the phone screen, the chessboard totally forgotten. It was “bonding day” and Jason had spent the day with Bruce doing whatever. They were in the middle of a post-dinner game of chess, and Jason would leave after they were done. Surprisingly enough, there hadn’t been new arguments that day — but after a few weeks of screaming at each other they were too tired to keep at it.

Jason didn’t miss how Bruce’s mood lifted once he learned Jazz was not coming to the Manor anymore.

He didn’t miss either how Dick, when he came by one weekend, and Alfred were worried at that fact. Or how Tim frowned and looked down, distraught at the development. He didn’t know the shortstack actually liked his girlfriend.

“The Ghost is on her way here.” He tapped the phone screen. Jason hoped he was deactivating security. He better be, at least.

He checked his phone in case there was an emergency and he missed her calls, but there was nothing. She had promised to follow his lead regarding Bruce and he told her to not come around the Manor until he said it was ok, so why was she doing exactly that?

His mind reeled with all the possibilities, since she wouldn’t break her promise for something light.

Jason abandoned the game and approached the door, quickly opening it and running his eyes over the pitch black darkness, trying to identify her silhouette against the dark.

He barely saw the two green eyes before a body slammed against his. Her arms and legs circled around him like a koala, her maskless face buried in the crook of his neck. She was also trembling and her face was wet.

Something was very wrong.

“Jazz?”

She sobbed, rubbing her face against his exposed skin. Her breaths were accelerated too. What could have sent his girlfriend into a panic attack like this? She was made of the tough stuff, she had seen and done a lot of bad shit with him, so why…?

“I…” Her voice was rough. “Jason…”

He squeezed her tighter against him, frowning. “Just breathe with me, darling. Okay? Breathe with me.”

She continued muttering his name, but mimicked his exaggerated slow breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out. The shaking diminished a little bit even if her body continued to be tense.

“Is she okay?”

Jason turned to find Alfred and Bruce looking from the door. It had been Bruce who talked, genuine concern painting his expression. They’ve never seen her out of it before, not even during patrol.

“She’ll be.” He said, walking back up the steps of the porch and into the Manor, registering how Bruce moved aside to let them pass, one hand reaching out to help but not actually touching Jazz. “Alfred, could you—”

“Immediately, sir.”

Jason took the whimpering form of his girlfriend back to the sitting room, walked by the abandoned chess game and settled down on one of the comfortable sofas. He maneuvered her to be on his lap and let her cry in silence as they waited for Alfred to bring a glass of water. He didn’t acknowledge Bruce taking a seat in front of them.

“It was her, Jason. Her… How could this be?” Jazz’s voice was hoarse and spent, barely above a whisper.

“Her?”

“Is not fair.” She rubbed her face against his shoulder. “Not fair.”

He tried really hard to follow her. A quick glance at Bruce told him he also had no idea what was going on, so it wasn’t anything Bruce had done.

Not that he suspected Bruce to try going behind his back and harm Jasmine, but… Well, he wouldn’t put it past him after everything.

Alfred walked right in with a tray with a glass and pitch filled with water, a teapot and some cups. His face didn’t betray anything, but Jason saw his eyebrows furrow for a moment when he glanced at the trembling figure on his lap.

“Thank you.”

The butler nodded and moved to stand behind Bruce, watching them as well.

It was a bit longer before Jazz uncurled enough to accept the water, which she gulped down like a parched man in the desert. She accepted a second glass rather quickly, only giving it a tiny sip before placing it on the coffee table with a frown on her face.

“Jason. She’s back. I don’t know when, I don’t know how. But she—” her voice cracked. “Is not fair.”

“You keep saying that. But who could be—”

“My mother.”

Jason’s memory supplied the tear stained face of Madeline Fenton as she begged for her life. Her screams in the secluded basement where he tied her to a chair. Her void eyes when he explained for the last time why he was doing this.

“She’s dead.”

Jazz laughed, but it wasn’t nice. “Haven’t you heard? Sometimes the dead come back to life.”

“That’s impossible.” He watched her die. He buried her body.

“She’s come back and she’s in Gotham.”

“A ghost?” Bruce spoke, voice carefully low.

Jazz flinched, suddenly too aware of their audience. She kept her gaze on the abandoned glass of water on the table. “A wraith, I think. It’s a type of ghost,” she explained further, feeling the older man’s pointed stare demanding more information, “a subclass, if you will.”

Jason wanted to signal Bruce to stop talking, to not ask the next question. He knew what a wraith was in modern folklore, and he knew that Bruce knew as well.

“What does that mean?” He asked anyway.

Jazz looked him in the eye for the first time since she arrived. “It means she died a painful death and wants revenge.”

The words lingered in the following tense silence. Jazz had never talked about it, especially not with Bruce. He already had a poor opinion of her and she tried so hard to not throw more wood to the fire, so to speak. Her direct admission of what she did, what she asked Jason to do, settled like a block of concrete in their minds.

Bruce’s shoulders tensed for a moment before forcibly relaxing them. He glanced at Jason, expression unreadable.

“Is she going to be a problem?”

Of all the ways to word that question, of course he had to choose the worst one. Jazz took it anyway, licking her lips before picking up her tea cup. She took her time blowing off the steam and taking a sip of the liquid.

The fine porcelain made a clicking sound when she put the cup down, too loud in the quiet room. “She won’t stop until she eliminates her killer.”

Even Alfred looked at Jason with worry.

“We have to—”

Jazz cut Bruce off. “No mortal weapon can kill her. Nothing we can do can stop her.”

They looked at each other, both very tense. Bruce was trying hard not to cave in and take over the situation, push everyone away and fix it himself. Or at least Jason thought so, given what he knew about his father.

The older man unclenched one fist, reaching for his cup of tea. He took his time, considering Jazz’s words, looking at her form still curled on Jason’s lap.

“There’s one thing that can kill her.”

Jazz’s anxious confusion was almost palpable. Bruce let her ruminate his cryptic words like the sadist he could be, gently placing the teacup on the table. He didn’t make any sound, his pinky properly cushioning the porcelain.

“The Justice League seized all that was left regarding the Fenton’s research on Ghosts. Including their—”

“ — weapons.” Jazz finished for him, realization dawning on her.

All the tension left her body, her limbs untethered like a puppet that got their strings cut. Jason felt her heartbeat pick up against his chest, the implications of Bruce’s admission rolling in her head.

***

Bruce waited patiently in his office, watching the soft moonlight coming in from the windows casting shadows on everything. He felt more comfortable in the dark, he was used to it, so he didn’t bother turning on the lights. He could see just fine with the full moon illuminating the room.

Jason, when he was done helping Jazz calm down enough to sleep, would be fine with it too — when he came stomping into the office to make demands and scream at him again.

It was the only thing they did lately.

And it was always about her.

He didn’t hate Jasmine, contrary to what Jason must think. He knew that she was capable of kindness and was a damaged person trying her best. He knew she had a rough childhood and had redirected all that trauma and rage into something constructive.

But so did Bruce, and he didn’t become a mercenary.

Jason taught her how to kill, but she was the one encouraging that behavior in him. She was the one selling him the idea that what they were doing was okay. Bruce had long discarded the idea that she had brainwashed Jason; but Bruce knew how equally damaging toxic love could be for people in their line of work.

Did he think Jason could be nudged in the right direction if Jasmine stopped pulling him further away? That she was knowingly, or unknowingly, associating that life of crime with love?

Yes. Deep in his heart, he knew that sometimes even the purest love could drag you down. He wanted to protect his son from falling deeper than he was.

“Alright, here’s what we are going to do.” Jason said as he opened the door to the office, not giving Bruce time to interject. “I’m going to talk and you will shut the fuck up and listen, ok?”

At least he wasn’t screaming. Probably because his precious Jasmine was sleeping.

Bruce let out a deep sigh and stood up to see Jason eye to eye. His son’s stance was tense and guarded, his eyes shining with controlled emotions.

“You will help — No, it’s not your turn to speak.” He said when Bruce opened his mouth. “You will go to your stupid castle in the sky and you are going to bring down all the weapons you can bring. I don’t care how you do it, but you will convince your boyband to let go of the goods.

“In exchange —” his voice broke a little, but he quickly hid it by clearing his throat and combing back his hair with his fingers. “In exchange I’ll be the perfect little son you always wanted. I’ll come every Sunday for brunch. I’ll patrol with you, with the shortstack and with the Golden Boy. I’ll give up the guns, the killing, everything. I’ll even wear a stupid bat symbol so everyone knows who — that I changed sides.” Bruce knew that was not exactly what he wanted to say. “I don’t care what you do to me. But you will help us and you will leave her out of — out of everything.”

The first crack in his mask. His eyes shone with unshed tears. Angry tears? Jason used to cry when he was a child and rage was overflowing his little body.

“You won’t make her beg. You won’t humiliate her with silly little tests and sadistic games. No power plays. No punishments. I killed her parents. The wraith is coming after me. I will be the one that fixes this and after that… After that we will act like you never met Jazz and like I never died and like — I don’t know.” He breathed, shoulders slumping. “I’m done fighting, Bruce.” The expression he made couldn't be called pleading. It was too angry to be considered in the same category. But still it was a face he hadn’t seen Jason make, ever. “You win, I guess. That’s — That’s the deal.”

Night was quiet as Bruce looked at Jason, really looked at him, for the first time in the whole night. His son has grown into a big man, a bit taller than himself, and nothing like the child he lost years ago.

In that moment, in that place, his boy never looked so small. So disarmed.

Not even in the first days after bringing him to the Manor, when Jason was distrustful and thought he was going to be kicked out at any moment, he looked like that.

He saw the exact moment something changed in his mind, because the emotions in his eyes turned into a wall of ice. “And if you do — If you hurt her in any way,” his hands clenched around the empty space where his holsters usually rested, “if you don’t keep your word and go after her anyway — You won’t like the person I become. And that… that is a promise.”

Frozen and speechless, Bruce couldn’t stop Jason from turning tail and leaving the office as quietly and quickly as he arrived. By the time he made his legs follow him to the hallway, his son was nowhere to be seen.

“Master Bruce?” He turned, finding Alfred standing next to the door, quiet as always. “How did the conversation go?”

“Did you hear us?”

Alfred’s expression was unreadable. He had been unusually somber as he helped the couple prepare a room for Jasmine to rest, once it was decided they would spend the night at the Manor.

“The lack of screaming, while a good sign, made it difficult for me to eavesdrop.”

Jason never raised his voice, but it would have been better if he had. Then Bruce wouldn’t feel like he had messed up again.

He looked so… so angry and defeated. Tired. Weary. He talked about coming back home and being part of the family, but he said it like a prisoner accepting his fate in the gallows.

“Master Bruce?”

Bruce blinked back to reality, focusing on Alfred’s worried eyes. “Yes?”

“How did it go?”

He wanted to say “good”, but somehow his voice wasn’t working. “I don’t know.” He finally managed to say.

Alfred nodded, understanding anyway. “I suggest sleeping on it. Things will look simpler in the morning.”

He was right, of course. He nodded at the butler and bid him good night before making the trek back to the Family Wing of the Manor.

Still considering Jason’s words and the disconnection between his promise and his body language, Bruce walked past Jason’s old bedroom. It should be closed, but the door was open.

Right. They were staying the night.

He almost ignored it and walked past without giving it a second thought, but then he heard a quiet sniffle coming from inside. Was Jason crying? He doubted so, but he still approached the door, peeking inside.

“Bruce.” Jasmine called from inside the dark bedroom. A lamp was turned on, revealing her sitting up, alone, on the bed. Her eyes were puffy and red, so she’d be crying for a while. “What do you need?”

He didn’t want to be in this situation, but he couldn’t say that.

“Just checking on you.” He lied.

She smiled, knowing that it was a lie.

“Well, I am fine. Thank you.” Another lie.

Awkward silence. Jasmine took a deep and fortifying breath and gestured towards the reading chair next to the bed. Probably Jason had moved it from beside the window, where it usually was, and sat next to her before going to talk to him.

“Please sit.”

“I don’t think—”

“Sit.”

It was easy to forget she was the Head of the criminal Underworld of Gotham. That she held power Bruce would never dream of grasping in his own city.

Jasmine and Jason never talked about that part of their lives when they were at the Manor, and she very carefully avoided talking about anything regarding their time together before coming to the city or how they operated in Gotham. She stuck to gentle memories about her childhood, about her brother and vague mentions about picking up hobbies in recent months.

In front of him was the whole Jasmine, he knew. Like the moment before with his son, all pretense was dropped and what he could see was the truth.

In Jasmine, that truth looked cold and hurt.

Bruce walked closer and sat down in the comfortable reading chair, his hands placed on his lap. If she wanted to talk then so be it. It was about time they had a heart to heart.

“We need those weapons.” She opened.

“I know. The League—”

“I speak. You listen.” Jasmine interrupted and lifted her chin, her back completely straight. Bruce wanted to laugh at the gesture since it was all Jason. “We need those weapons and you are going to get them for us. I don’t know how, but I swear if I have to go up there and beat the shit out of every member of the Justice League, believe me I would do it.” She narrowed her eyes.

He held her gaze, letting the seconds pass. As amusing as it was watching her tired visage making vague threats to his colleagues, he was not going to poke the bear and make fun of Jason’s girlfriend.

“I don’t care what I need to do. I don’t care if I have to pass some kind of cryptic test or if I’m banned from operating in the city or if I have to — I don’t know.” She breathed in and out, her hands gripping the sheets with white knuckled fists. “I don’t care how many little dances or how many promises or how much of my soul I have to sell for you to give me those weapons. Believe me I would do it all.

“Do whatever you want with me, but leave Jason out of it.” Her glare was all hers, though. Her teal eyes glowing Lazarus Pits green, the bioluminescence adding shadows to her face that completely changed her expression. “Don’t make him choose between me and you like some kind of immature toddler refusing to share his toys.” She spat. “Give me those weapons and in exchange humiliate me as much as your heart desires, I don’t care. Just—” she let go of the sheets, her eyes dialing back to the dull teal he was more used to “ — Just don’t hurt him anymore.”

Bruce watched new tears gather in her eyes, but unlike Jason, she didn’t even try to contain them. She didn’t acknowledge them either.

“That’s… That’s the deal.”

A strong sense of déjà vu hit him. Did they rehearse this? Some kind of pincer movement with a similar speech? What was her version supposed to do, tug at his heartstrings and pin Jason’s suffering on him?

He wanted to scoff and walk out of the room.

“If you break your word or your only condition is for me to leave the city, to leave him, I swear on my brother, Bruce Thomas Wayne, that there won't be a shadow or bunker in this world that could hide you from me.”

It was a threat. It should be a threat.

Jasmine was trembling. She tried to hide it, and if Bruce were any other person, if he didn’t spend most of his days watching people and analyzing their tells, he would have missed it.

She was terrified. Of her mother, who came back as a vengeful spirit? Of a life without Jason?

He was tempted to smile, but he stopped himself in time.

“What did Jason tell you?”

She blinked, taken aback by his words. “What?”

“Did you guys practice long? They were good speeches, I have to concede it. Yours is a bit over the place, but good enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jason had the exact same conversation with me less than half an hour ago. He didn’t come to tell you?”

He saw it, clear as day. She didn’t know. She looked at the door and then at him, then at her hands that were still shaking. She fisted the sheets again, breathing in, breathing out.

“That idiot. What did he promise you?”

She truly didn’t know. Huh.

“Did he promise to give up his work? That he would be the son you want him to be?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm and her laugh was hollow. “Of course he did. I don’t even need to ask.”

She folded her legs to hug her knees close to her chest. She looked at Bruce, more tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Don’t let him do that. Bruce, that could very well be the thing that breaks him for good. Living that double life, wearing a mask when he’s with you, burying a part of him... Please, I’m begging you, don’t accept that deal.”

She rested her head on her knees, eyes fixed on him. Her shoulders were tense and her posture was deceptively calm, but he could see her slowly curl on herself as if she were trying to give herself comfort.

“Don’t let him hurt himself like that, Bruce.” There was barely any more fire in her voice. “I love him.” Jasmine smiled, the gesture as weak as everything else in her at the moment. “But I guess it doesn’t matter what I say.”

The switch was subtle. Her eyes stayed on him for a second before straying away; and when they did, her blue glazed over like she was not even there with him anymore.

“Good night, Bruce.” She whispered, still not looking at him.

He stood up, ready to leave, staying a moment to watch this new facet of Jasmine he hadn’t seen before. She was always guarded, quiet, and had this sad air around her that only went away when Jason smiled at her.

Jasmine never cried. She never begged.

And she never looked like this.

Bruce ignored the pinch in his chest, murmured a quick ‘goodnight’ and walked out of the room.

***

Next morning found him looking at his coffee with unblinking eyes. Alfred had already tried to ask what was wrong, but gave up after the third grunt in response.

Bruce watched his own reflection in the beverage, eyebags on his face after spending the whole night unable to sleep. Good thing he didn’t have anything to do that day, because he was ready to drop and the sun was barely rising.

You won’t like the person I become.

There won't be a shadow or bunker in this world that could hide you from me.

He frowned, taking a sip of his coffee. Bruce wasn’t a stranger to his kids threatening him. The echoes of Dick screaming at him in the tumultuous era back before Jason’s passing rang in his ears.

What was new was how… how final they were. How ready to follow through they were — Dick had thrown around threats and tried to act tough, but at the end of the day he always came back. These two threatened him with the desperation of an animal in a cage ready to bite off their own paw if it meant getting free.

But you will help us and you will leave her out of — out of everything.

Do whatever you want with me, but leave Jason out of it.

This is the part that confused him the most. If they had a strategy then why contradict each other so blatantly? Why sacrifice themselves for the other and demand they stay safe? It didn’t make sense.

I’m done fighting, Bruce.

Just don’t hurt him anymore.

Hurt him? He wasn’t—

Well. He knew he was being difficult. He knew that his rejection of his partner was taking a toll on Jason, and he felt so horrible about it. He had been meaning to talk to him about it, and he tried a few times, but it always ended with them screaming at each other.

If Jason could just listen—

I’ll be the perfect little son you always wanted.

Jason’s eyes. Hurt and guarded and his brows furrowed. His hands clenching and his shoulders tense, as if he was bracing for the worst. Even under the sunlight he still saw that interaction in a weird light — why was it such a difficult thing to go back to how things were?

Don’t let him hurt himself like that, Bruce.

What did she know about Jason? They may have spent months together, but Bruce had Jason for years. He knew his son, and he knew the kind of person he could be. Sure, his time in the League and then with Jasmine he might have been influenced — but he could be good, if he tried hard enough.

Bruce looked up when he heard footsteps, hoping he could catch Jason and tell him he would accept his offer. It was the most logical solution, and even if he still didn’t understand why his chest kept being weird when he thought about their conversation; he knew it was best for everyone and that it was the most peaceful solution.

Jasmine was glued to his side, of course, when they walked in. She still looked pale and her eyes were distant, but she had a solid grip on his son’s hand as he guided her to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Master Jason.”

Alfred’s greeting went unanswered as the couple froze in the doorway. Jason frowned a little, and Bruce didn’t miss the slight gesture to place Jasmine behind his back. She also glanced at him without really looking at him, flinching when Bruce lifted his cup to them in greeting.

Alfred cleared his throat. “Breakfast will be ready shortly, the table has been already set.”

Jason’s relief could be tasted in the air. “Thank you, Alfie. Let’s go, darling.”

Jasmine hummed and quietly followed him out of the kitchen.

Bruce sipped his coffee. It was impossible to miss the mood shift. Even these past weeks, when they couldn’t be in the same room without an argument breaking out, Jason never acted so guarded.

Something was breaking. Something was changing right under his nose. Jasmine —

I love him. But I guess it doesn’t matter what I say.

Jasmine had flinched.

He remembered her trembling hands, how raw fear completely messed up her threats. How she looked at him with complete defeat.

Jason had explained before how she tried everything over the table before coming to him, and how broken up she was when they met. He had given a description of the things he found in his own research, but Bruce knew he was omitting some details, probably because they were too private or personal for Jasmine.

He had said that she gave up everything to avenge her brother, and how she had to beg and promise her godfather, a sketchy individual, for the money to pay the job.

Jason also had talked about her nightmares. How she saw her brother being pulled apart again and again by the GIW, by her parents, as she watched. How helpless she felt. There was a lot unsaid, but it didn’t take a genius to understand that Jasmine had many reasons and many people to fear.

And she was terrified of Bruce.

The thought made him stop.

Jasmine was terrified of him?

Is that why Jason was acting like… like this?

I’m done fighting, Bruce. You win, I guess.

Win? What did he win? There wasn’t a competition to win. He just wanted his son back, was that too difficult?

Jason’s voice cracked when he said he would do exactly that. Jasmine had said that it would break him.

Bruce looked at his hands grasping the coffee cup, suddenly not feeling tired anymore.

“Alfred.”

The older man hummed, going back to prepare breakfast for the couple. They didn’t even cross the threshold. They didn’t look at him more than a glance.

“Why do I feel like a villain?”

Alfred didn’t hesitate. “Because you have been acting like one.”

He hadn’t, had he?

It’s just—

He remembered Dick’s worried face. Alfred’s judging frown. Timothy lying to his face claiming homework as an excuse to not go on patrol with him.

Either Jasmine had managed to somehow brainwash everyone into feeling sorry for her enough to look past how she was taking Jason down with her—

Or Bruce was wrong.

About her, about everything.

“What do I do?”

The butler placed the scrambled eggs on a plate just as the toaster pinged and released the freshly toasted bread.

“As far as I can see, you have one last chance to make it right.”

He did. He didn’t have to take Jason’s or Jasmine’s offers, there was another option.

He stood up, taking the cup with him to refill it. As he did, he didn’t dare look Alfred in the eye. “Do you think there’s enough for three?”

The older man chuckled. “Way ahead of you, Master Bruce.” He turned, showing him there was enough toast and eggs prepared for everyone.

***

Jazz contemplated the zeta tube, trying to not get her hopes up just yet. Bruce may have done a one eighty, but that didn’t mean everything was fixed.

Once he apologized and acknowledged he had been a grade A asshole for the best part of a month, he promised to help. No strings attached. No mention to them giving up their life of crime or jabs at Jazz about killing her parents.

Jason had been distrustful for a few days but in the end he accepted it if she accepted it.

They still had to convince the Justice League.

Bruce warned them — he was still just one member of the League, and if the others were unconvinced, he couldn’t just steal the weapons for them. He could vouch and talk about his time knowing her, and he promised he would try his best to help.

Jazz’s relief was evident, guarded as it was. Hope was difficult to come by in their line of work, and she knew the tall task of convincing the Justice League that giving her confiscated weapons to re kill her mother was the right thing to do, as bad as it sounded.

“Are you sure?” She looked up at her boyfriend, smiling at his worried expression.

“I’m positive.”

Only one of them could go with Bruce to the Watchtower, and Jazz volunteered. It made sense — she was the only one deeply entwined with the problem, and she was the one that made the call to kill her parents.

“I worry.” He placed a hand on her cheek, the cold material of his gloves wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

“I know.”

“I want to go with you.”

“You can’t.”

“I know,” he sighed, leaning in to gently place his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, feeling her presence. “I hate this, but— “

She hummed in agreement. This wasn’t the first time they had this conversation, and having it again in front of the zeta tube was not going to change the outcome. She was going, disarmed, with Bruce.

Jazz trusted Jason, and Jason trusted that Bruce was being truthful. That was enough.

A throat being cleared made them jump away from each other, turning to find Alfred and Dick, with Bruce approaching from the stairs. Dick’s little smile was refreshing after so much pain. He had been quick to like Jazz once he got to know her.

“Ready?” Batman asked, now next to the couple.

Jazz nodded, getting on the tip of her toes to quickly give her partner a kiss on the lips. “For good luck.”

“You think you are going to need it?” He asked, a smirk stretching his lips.

“I just wanted one.”

Both chuckled at the memory of another time, another place, and basked in the cozy feelings.

With a final nod, Jazz turned and joined Batman closer to the gate of the tube, head held high and shoulders thrown back.

Time to make her case.

***

Bruce watched Jazz closely since the moment they entered the Watchtower — maybe still wary about her murder tendencies, maybe to observe her behavior now that she was separated from Jason. Whatever he expected she was not it, since she looked exactly the same as she always did; a little bit sad but determined with the task in front of her.

She was very task oriented, so she didn’t stop for idle chat as they made their way through the Justice League base. Her steps were quiet, eerily quiet, just like his. He still couldn’t brush aside the discomfort of having another person know his techniques when he never actually participated in her training.

He heard her gasp, and turned to see what was wrong.

Jasmine was frozen in front of the nearest window, which gave an amazing view of the Earth from space. From being at the Watchtower so often, Bruce had gotten used to the views and usually just walked past without giving it much thought. Watching Jazz approach the reinforced glass holding her breath made him notice the astonishing view more than he did the first time he set foot in the space station.

He noticed one of her hands went for her neck and fished a necklace from under her shirt.

He had seen the chain before but he never asked about it, assuming it was a gift from Jason or something like that. Jazz didn’t strike him as a jewelry kind of woman, but he wasn’t curious enough to ask about it in case it was indeed a romantic gift from his son.

What an idiot he had been. He acted like he was concerned about their love being toxic but he actually just didn’t acknowledge their relationship as much as he possibly could.

“This was Danny’s.” Jazz’s voice cut him from his thoughts. He approached her and quietly waited for her to continue. “The only thing I could take from— When I ran away, there wasn’t much I could take.” He watched her fingers rub the piece of metal with a hole drilled in it. It was shiny from being rubbed like this many times. “Danny loved space. He had rocket models he put together himself.”

She looked back to the blue planet from the window, her voice trailing as much as her thoughts.

This was the first time Jazz actually talked about her brother to him directly, Bruce noticed. The first time she brought him up when they talked alone. She was usually fine with Jason doing the talking, or with him talking about her past to the others, including her past life back at Amity Park.

But she never talked to Bruce like this. She looked… vulnerable. In a way that wasn’t as broken and all over the place as she was when she tried to beg him back at the Manor.

“He would have loved the Watchtower.”

“Hm.” Bruce didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. He didn’t know the kid.

She glanced at him and smiled. “But it is better for all of us that he is not here now.” She put the makeshift necklace back where it usually rested, safe and sound. “Right?”

Bruce swallowed, unsure what would even be the right thing to say in this situation. Was she implying that Danny was better off dead? That he would hate confronting the Justice League? That he wouldn’t like having to kill their mother, who was turned into a wraith?

He nodded without really knowing what he was agreeing to and gestured towards the hallway that led to the meeting room he had prepared. She nodded back and continued walking.

Soon they were at the correct place, and Jazz froze at the door. He watched, waiting to see what she would do. She took a few fortifying breaths and nodded at him, signaling she was ready.

The meeting room was as it always was — pure chaos. The Justice League loved to appear professional and put together on TV, but reality is that sometimes Bruce almost yearned for his Gotham and herding Robin and Batgirl around every minute he spent with the League.

He cleared his throat, calling everyone’s attention.

Jazz’s feet make a bit of noise as she shuffled in discomfort at the looks from all the heroes in the room.

“Hi, Batman.” Clark greeted first with a polite smile. “And guest.”

Someone swallowed.

The others had been roughly briefed about the topic they would discuss that day, and Bruce could already see some of the frowns of clear disagreement. The weapons and technology they found in the Fenton household had been deemed too dangerous to even try to analyze. They were stored safely and untouched next to the other artifacts they keep hidden, just in case.

If he didn’t know Jazz and her situation like he did, he would have joined the ranks of the people against letting her have them.

“This is Jasmine Fenton,” her eyebrows twitched at hearing her real name, but she had agreed that she wouldn’t try to hide anymore, “and you should hear what she has to say.”

Without any other comment he glided towards his seat and gestured to Jazz to begin. No need for pleasantries. With a wraith loose in his city he wasn’t inclined to waste time.

He ignored everyone’s eyes on him. It was unusual for the Dark Knight to blatantly show this support with an unknown, specially when dangerous weapons were involved.

“Hi,” her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I am… well.” She ran a hand through her hair and glanced at Bruce, who nodded in encouragement. “As Batman said, I am Jasmine, Jasmine Fenton,” she swallowed hard as she said the last name. “My parents were Madeline and Jackson Fenton, who created all that anti-ghost technology you guys removed from my house about a year ago.”

Bruce could see a bunch of people were already twitching to interrupt her and speak up, ask her more about her story, ask her all the unanswered questions back when they were alerted of the Anti-Ecto Laws and found the destroyed labs.

“My… I need those weapons.” Jazz approached the table and placed her hands on the surface, eyes glaring at the pristine white material. “I knew they would be safe with you guys, it has always been my intention to bury everything, every gun, every device, every research; I knew it would be best if it was stored away wherever the Justice League keeps the doomsday devices and cursed amulets.

“But things have changed — my mother is back. Madeline is back. And those weapons,” she jabbed her finger against the table, making a point, “are the only thing that can stop her. I need you to help me kill my mother again.”

***

Jazz felt spent after defending her case for about an hour and a half. It was hard, and the Justice League loved to get distracted by questions that didn’t matter — what were ectoentities, who did the GIW really work for, who else was involved, how did they die, how did Maddie and Jack die.

No more secrets, she promised. Bruce helped her go through some of the questions since he knew all that information already. She watched as he skillfully redirected the questioning far away from Jason’s involvement in this whole thing without actually lying, offering just enough truth to satisfy his colleagues.

What a hypocrite. Always obsessed with knowing everyone’s secrets but refusing to give his own.

But she promised to behave, so she did, and after reliving the worst years of her life in front of a crowd of judging superheroes, she was asked politely to wait outside for the verdict.

She could still hear them discuss though. Did Bruce forget about her little ectoplasm-related enhancements? Or maybe he didn’t and he counted on her listening in.

Whatever was the case, Jazz paced outside the meeting room as she listened to her supporters and detractors pull apart her words and memories, talking about things she didn’t want anybody else to know. Danny would have hated sharing so much about his secrets, but Danny…

Danny wasn’t there.

Danny was—

“Jasmine.”

She looked up, startled. She didn’t hear the door open. Wonder Woman was there, gesturing her in with a warm smile. Diana had been supportive of her cause almost immediately, with the reasoning that if Batman vouched for her then she trusted her.

“Yes?”

“We have decided.”

She nodded and followed back inside with her head high and her back straight. She had been listening to the discussion go back and forth, but missed the actual verdict.

The heroes watched her intently, some with a slight frown, some with a curious smile.

Bruce was smiling one of his invisible smiles. Jason always said that understanding B’s microexpressions was an art in itself, and by this time she was starting to understand his wisdom.

Superman cleared his throat. “You can take the weapons,” she let go of the breath she didn’t know she had been holding, “but we will supervise and log what you take. And when it is… done,” he made a face, the topic of Maddie’s murder and wraith status had affected him, “you will return everything as it is. Do you accept these conditions?”

Jazz was already nodding. “Yeah! I don’t think I’ll need a lot. Just let me see what you managed to salvage.”

Having decided, the meeting was adjourned and almost everyone left the room as soon as it was declared done. Bruce stayed behind with Jazz, same as Diana, who watched Jazz with curious eyes.

“You have suffered, child.” She said in a soft voice. “I grieve for you.”

Jazz nodded, not knowing how to feel about the comment. Grief? Grieving was for the dead, and she was still alive. For a long while, that had been her problem.

She looked aside, feeling uncomfortable with her thoughts.

“Shall we?” Bruce took pity on her and asked her to follow him towards wherever the Fenton tech was stored.

The walk was long, but she didn’t mind it. It gave her time to focus back on the task and recenter herself after the grating discussion of her past in front of total strangers. She just had to suck it up and power through the discomfort, get what she needed and go back to Jason’s arms and brainstorm strategies with him.

Bruce guided her deeper and deeper into the guts of the Watchtower, sadly away from any windows that showed Earth and the stars.

“Here,” he stopped at a seemingly inconspicuous wall and placed his hand against a panel. There was a beep and the wall opened to show a computer. He typed something on the keyboard and a robotic voice requested a code. “Batman, B01.”

Another beep and the walls hissed before splitting open to show a giant storage room.

He went first, Jazz followed.

The room was floor to ceiling full of different things — weapons, jewelry, paintings, anything you could imagine. Some were easy to guess why the Justice League kept under lock and key, but others were more mysterious in nature.

Finally, he stopped at the back of the room, where a few crates were pushed to the side. They were labeled and carefully cataloged with numbers she couldn't decipher, but probably were some kind of League storage organization.

She did recognize her own last name written on the label.

This was it. Everything that was left of her childhood, reduced to a bunch of boxes.

She chuckled at the situation.

Under Batman's supervision she got to work. After a moment it was easy to ignore his quiet presence and got into the flow of opening a crate and rummaging through the items looking for what she knew was familiar.

Sometimes Bruce asked her questions she found easy to answer — what does this device do, what's an ecto signature, why did her parents use a toaster as a base for that. Jazz got into a comfortable stream of words and memories, feeling lighter as she revisited a past she had been trying so hard to forget. Maybe it was exactly because it was Bruce, and not Jason, who listened that made the detachment of her emotions and her memories work. It was less raw, it was less painful, but she still got lost in the memories and remembered facts that had drowned in the grief for so long.

Soon she made a pile with weapons and devices she knew she would need and aligned with Batman how exactly she planned to use them.

“What is this?” Batman asked with the same neutral but curious tone.

Jazz turned, finding him holding a wooden box in his hands. It wasn't a gun, and it wasn't anything she had ever seen before. She'd think that Bruce misplaced an artifact with her family's stuff if she couldn't clearly see the Fenton symbol burned on the lid.

She took the box and turned it in her hands, trying to guess what it was. Inside something rattled, something made of glass, and she decided against shaking the box just in case.

She opened it.

Inside she found a single glass marble. It was dull and cracked and she could guess it was supposed to be a light blue in color.

Jazz screamed, one hand rushing to her mouth.

She knew what this was.

How?

Why?

Bile rushed up her throat and she barely had time to push the box away from her before throwing up on her shoes.

“Jasmine?” Bruce carefully closed the box and put it on a shelf, but Jazz wasn't paying attention.

How?

How?

“Jazz? Talk to me. Breathe.”

Breathe? She tried to breathe but air wasn't coming. She was hyperventilating. She needed to calm down, she needed to leave, she needed to close her eyes and disappear.

But the box was still there. On the shelf. He was still there. In the box. On the shelf.

She went back to the box, slapping Bruce's hand away. She needed to see it again, see with her own eyes, to feel it.

The marble — the core — Danny's core was still there, in the box, on the shelf. But Danny was gone. They looked for him. They looked so hard for him.

She opened the box and the dull piece of glass greeted her back. She lifted a hand to touch it, expecting it to be cold. One time, Danny explained he had an ice core and that if a human tried to touch it they would be frozen in seconds. He had been excited about it, talking about thermodynamics and ghosts' wacky physics.

But Danny wasn't here anymore.

The piece of rock was warm to the touch.

Danny is dead.

He was dead and his core was stored amongst velvet in a repurposed jewelry box.

Danny is dead.

“I can't feel you.”

***

“They're taking their sweet time huh?”

Jason ignored Dick and continued reading his book, not at all glancing at the zeta tube and wondering if he should start assuming the Watchtower was on fire and Jazz needed a rescue. Bruce promised he would be there for her and Jason believed him.

But it has been hours and he knew how difficult the situation was for his girlfriend. He wished he could be there for her but Bruce could only take one guest at a time and Jazz was the best option and of course, she's a strong independent woman, but still, after everything he worried and—

“Oh finally.”

The telltale rumble of the zeta tube coming back to life was a blessing. He immediately stood up and approached the machine, ignoring his brother's snickers as he followed.

He expected to greet his beloved with open arms, maybe a twirl or two to celebrate her success — because of course he knew she'd be victorious — but he didn't expect to be pushed aside and be left in the dust with a confused sibling and their silent father. Jazz ran directly towards the stairs and disappeared before he could question why she was crying.

He turned towards his next best target.

“What did you do.” It wasn't a question.

Bruce had already removed his cowl. He looked tired.

“I didn't do anything. Calm down.”

“Did the League say no?”

Bruce shook his head at his eldest son. “Agreement was favorable. She can take what she needs as long as she gives it back.”

Jason looked between the stairs and Bruce. Console Jazz or get answers.

“Then what—?”

Bruce brought out a box from somewhere in his cape. Robins still had a theory the cape was some kind of bag of holding.

“From what I could gather,” his expression was very serious, more than the usual, “this box contains what remains of Jazz's brother. It was left behind at the house amongst the weapons so we took it, assuming it was some kind of power source. It… It wasn't.”

He opened the box, showing a cracked little glass sphere. This is all that remained of Danny? And it was with experimental weaponry?

Dick and Jason looked at each other, their minds going to the same places.

***

Jazz had thrown up everything in her stomach and more, and she was past the guilt of ruining Alfred's carefully maintained garden. She hoped the old man understood.

She was hiding next to some bushes right outside the kitchen backdoor. It was the first place she collapsed in after finding a door and it was in the shade and outside and it was all she needed.

It was also quiet and away from everyone, and she sobbed in peace.

Danny is dead.

Danny has been dead and gone for a while.

How long?

Given how her parents had his core in a custom box, she guessed it had been a while, probably since the moment he died. Knowing them like she did, they would have harvested his organs for further analysis.

More bile shot up her throat. She almost didn't have the strength to retch this time.

“Need some water?”

She didn't look up, not wanting to face Dick.

“I came as a stand in. Your darling is being calmed down by Bruce and talked out of looking for your parents' ghosts and… well. You know him.”

This made her chuckle. Jason would descend to the deepest pit of hell and shoot everyone in his way down if a single soul hurt her.

Jazz accepted the offering of a cold water bottle. “Thanks.” Her voice was rough but she didn't care anymore.

Dick hummed and sat beside her, carefully away from where she had thrown up. He didn't mind the smell. Or her pathetic state.

“My brother is dead.”

The words came out on their own, as if a supernatural force dragged them up her irritated throat.

Dick nodded, but didn't say anything. He waited for her to continue.

“My brother is dead and my parents killed him.”

If it was another time, she would have hated sounding so small. She was being silly. Danny died a long time ago, why was she feeling so raw as if it just happened?

She had grieved. She had done her time.

More tears ran down her wet face. She thought she had run out of those but apparently not.

“They tortured him and then kept his core as a trophy.” She drank some of the water, feeling her mind getting sharper as she talked. “No. Not a trophy. It was research.”

It was used. Cracked. Dull.

Dick hummed again and this time she finally looked up.

“They experimented with him after his body was gone, right?”

The man controlled his face well as he nodded. “We think so too.”

Danny was dead, and had been for a long time, but didn't rest.

He didn't rest. And his core was used until there was nothing left of him.

He wasn't dead. He wasn't gone. If only she found him sooner—

“It's not your fault.” Dick stopped her spiraling thoughts. “Your brother's death. Is not your fault.”

“I could have contacted Jason sooner. I could have found his core sooner.”

Why didn’t he understand? Danny was her little brother and she failed him. She was supposed to take care of him and she let him fade.

And here she was, playing superheroes and getting cozy with some guy and trying to fit in with a new family?

Danny would never have that.

Danny was dead.

“But you didn't. You did what you could and it was enough.”

She shook her head. Nothing was enough. Her baby brother was gone.

“I didn't learn about Jason until I was back from a mission offworld. It was weeks. I learned my brother was dead because people told me they were sorry for my loss.”

Jazz already knew this, but nodded in encouragement.

“I… I felt like I failed my baby brother. We didn't start close but I grew fond of him and tried to be there, but I had the Titans and my team needed me more and more. I always thought that the kid was fine without me, that it was fine if I pursued my hero career away from Bruce's shadow and away from Gotham. Until I learned what happened. How Jason died. How Bruce pushed him away. And then I thought ‘If only I was around more, if only Jason felt more comfortable telling me things, if only.’”

“It wasn't your fault.”

Even as she said the words she understood the irony.

“I know that now, but I felt that way for so long.” He smiled, showing his dimples. “It really helped having Jason back, having this second chance.”

“Danny is gone.”

He nodded. “Danny is gone.” After a moment of silence he added: “There won't be a second chance and we can only guess. But from what you told us about him, he wouldn't like you thinking that any of that is your fault.”

She watched him, his calm smile under the sunlight, his strong shoulders. Is this what having an older sibling was supposed to be like?

She tried to speak but only more sobs came out. Dick made the choice for her and pulled her into his arms and flushed against his chest.

He didn't say anything else as she screamed and sobbed for the life she never had, for the brother she wouldn't have back and for the second chance she had been robbed of.

***

“You know, I can try to figure out the portal schematics.”

Jazz looked up from the Fenton insignia on the lid of the box. Tim looked small and unsure, looking at her briefly before averting his eyes.

The kid hadn’t been present for the worst of it, but the others must have told him what happened. He wouldn’t be so careful if they didn’t.

Jazz felt annoyed. She wasn’t going to break if her brother was mentioned. “Why would you do that?”

Tim took her question as an invitation and walked closer, sitting down next to her on the steps of the back porch.

“I read,” he made a face, both knew whose research he had read exactly, “that spirits can be dormant in their core and the right amount of ectoplasm could jumpstart it back.”

Jazz opened the box, proud when her hands didn’t tremble. It’s been a few days and she was still recovering but at least it didn’t hurt to see the little glass core as much as it did.

“Like a car battery?”

The other chuckled. He sounded so much like Danny. “Yeah. Like a car battery. But with ghosts.”

She smiled but couldn’t gather the energy to laugh. “Would you do that for me?”

The kid didn’t hesitate. “Of course! You saved my life.” He said it was a no brainer. “And you are part of the family now.”

If Jazz had the mental capacity to deal with it, she would have commented on the tone Tim’s voice had when he said the last comment — the longing and desire and frustration. She knew the circumstances in which he became Robin and how he felt about taking a mantle that wasn’t his.

But she just couldn’t deal with any of this right now.

“It’s okay,” she closed the box, breathing in slowly, “I don’t think it will be necessary. The world doesn’t need another Fenton portal. One had caused enough grief already.”

She ignored the look in Tim’s face and how he opened his mouth to comment but wisely chose to close it.

“What are you going to do?” He asked instead.

Jazz hadn’t seriously thought about it, but after a chat with Bruce the seed of an idea started taking root in her mind.

“Did it help? Having a funeral, the tombstone, keeping it all after he came back?”

She could see her own face reflected back when he answered. “It helped… for a while. What is harder is what to do after.”

“I think I’m going to bury him.” She lifted the box. “Danny never got a funeral. He was actually never declared legally dead. He was just… missing.”

Missing implies the possibility of him coming back. Missing meant she didn’t have a place to mourn.

She had asked Jason what he thought about his tombstone and he shrugged. “Funerals are for the living.” He had said.

Danny was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

Maybe it was time for her to move on.

***

Killing her own mother should have been a harder task than it actually was.

If it was another time, another place, she would have had a difficult time. Maybe she would have hesitated, or lacked resources or her plans would have crumbled down the minute her target’s erratic behavior overwhelmed her.

But she was not that person anymore.

Jasmine Fenton died when Daniel died. When her innocence was shattered by the same people that were supposed to protect her and her brother.

She had made something new, someone new, with the parts left behind in the destruction. She had become someone who knew how to plan, how to kill, how to pull the trigger when it mattered.

If she was another person, in another time, she would have found the emotional detachment aberrant as she took the shot that ended her mother.

But that was not her mother and she was not her daughter. The cycle of violence had to end.

Jazz was met with her favorite dish and plenty of hugs and a foot massage when she got back home. Jason didn’t ask her, and let her talk as much or as little as she wanted. He hummed or clicked his tongue as the conversation needed, but never stopped listening.

Bruce accepted her bag with the weapons without making a single comment, trusting that she was returning everything exactly as it was supposed to be. He didn’t ask anything, but pulled her into a hug and gave her a pat on her head that meant more than anything he could have said.

Tim and Dick never wandered too far, and helped her with figuring out the plans for the funeral. Her only request had been to plan it after she finished the business with her mother, and they patiently waited until she asked about it when she visited the Manor to give back the Fenton tech.

Jason was there every step of the way.

***

It wasn’t raining the day of Danny’s funeral. A miracle being Gotham.

Tucker had commented that maybe the city was giving her grace on such an important date.

Jazz chose to invite Danny’s friends after a long back and forth. Their parting words had been hurtful and they were completely against what she had done to avenge her brother, but she also felt like they deserved to know. About the funeral, about the core.

They booked the first flight to Gotham and stayed with Jason and her the week before the actual day, getting to know her and reconnect and reminisce about Danny.

They still didn’t approve of her life choices but at least had the decency to behave.

They guessed the whole Ghost and Red Hood thing pretty quickly, not that either of them was hiding. Fortunately for all the parties involved, nobody brought up the Batman elephant in the room, not even when they met the rest of the family.

The funeral was simple and to the point, and a very small event. Only the family and Sam and Tucker were there, who said a few words before Jazz put the wooden box with Danny’s core in the ground.

She didn’t cry during the ceremony. She had already cried enough.

“I still think it’s hilarious that you have a tombstone, dude.”

“What can I say? I dig it.”

Sam groaned while Tucker and Dick chuckled.

Jazz smiled and glanced at Jason’s grave next to Danny’s. It was weathered with time and the elements but you could still easily read Jason’s full name and date of birth and death.

Danny’s chosen death day was a hard debate between Sam, Tucker and herself — the date of the accident? The date when he was taken away? Or the date that Project P-001 perished, according to the GIW records?

In the end, just because Danny would have found it hilarious, they put the date of the portal accident.

Jazz almost jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned, finding Bruce watching her with a worried expression. Well, as worried as his usual neutral face could be.

“I’m okay.” She said, and it was the truth.

She was okay. More than okay — she was content. She had a home, she had love, she had a goal, she had hopes and dreams. She still missed Danny and mourned the life they could have had, but she had so much more than grief and pain inside now.

The clouds parted and sunshine fell on the cemetery, blinding her for a moment. She lifted her face to smile at the sun, basking in the warmth that enveloped her body like an embrace.

She was okay. She was alive.

It’s what Danny would have wanted.

---

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[vinelark]

ALL timkon recs I BEG

hello hi! here are some of my favs! it got long so putting some under the cut

💄 Lipstick on the glass by @cairoscene read for timkon being soft and goofy and disgustingly in love, set in vague future college-y years with amazing core four dynamics too. cair is one of the funniest people to ever exist and we are so blessed that they decided to write some timkon. (also read for my own greatest contribution to literature, the fictional “jerry the void nexus” meme)

🎢 been a number and a name by @wynterstars i had SO MUCH FUN reading this one, a 90s comics-divergent AU where robin and superboy become friends—and crushes—when superboy is pretty new on the scene. feat. lex luthor being terrible, tim staging a rescue operation that at one point involves platform shoes and a blonde wig, spice girls references, and fantastic action sequences. it’s also a series, with an installment focusing on kon & clark, and a currently updating longfic sequel with SO MANY timkon identity shenanigans (my beloved) and kon feelings (also my beloved).

📸 the surveillance series by @smilebackwards i feel like i rec this all the time but it’s because it’s THAT GOOD. a tim-centric AU where tim joins the family late, but is still involved in bat business without the bats realizing. there’s some fun timkon identity shenanigans at the top, and some of my all-time favorite tim characterization (ruthless! lonely! brilliant!) plus a great tim & bruce arc, too.

🦉 Detours by miyaji_08 this is part 2 of a series and i def recommend reading the whole thing! a reverse robins + joker jr au that has lots of trauma and lots of healing, and in part 2 there’s timkon identity shenanigans that’s simultaneously enemies to lovers + And They Were Roommates. tim sure does run a gauntlet of horrors in this series, but it has so much healing and also one of my fav reverse robins concepts i’ve read so far.

📱 unfurl by @burins tim and kon might be dating, and there’s no kryptonian sex ed handy. bruce, being bruce, makes it his business, which means talking to clark and Realizing some things about his own feelings. superbat are billed first here, but i think timkon steal the show—i laughed out loud like five different times reading this. hilarious and sweet on all sides. (and if you like this, check out their timkon road trip fic!)

🌾 A Saturday Evening by malcyon in which tim visits the kent farm for family dinner with kon, feat. very sweet established relationship timkon and fun superfamily dynamics, and it touches on tim’s past grief over kon’s death (and complicated feelings post-undeath).

🤼‍♂️ Sore Loser by @hearteyeshayley kon learns that tim always let him win while sparring, and has to process that. this was such a fun exploration of tim’s prowess as a fighter—one who regularly has to go up against superpowered friends and foes alike—and also tim as a person who is always doing mental calculations about the people around him (in an endearing way). kon, too, got his time to shine and grow, and the ending was so smart and sweet.

🔮 Ascension by Violet_Witch an AU longfic where tim is a witchling and kon is a fallen angel who has (oops) just lost his wings. tim sets out to help get kon’s wings back, and there’s a ticking clock because angel wings are dangerous in the wrong hands—and tim has a big, horrible secret that’s about to come due. the plot/worldbuilding of this was WILDLY cool, and there was a big ol misunderstanding in the middle that had me clawing my face off (in a good way).

🌌 straight on ’til morning by merils kon vs. the terrifying ordeal of growing up, feat. sweet friends-to-lovers timkon and really thoughtful exploration of some of kon’s canon past relationships and their abusive dynamics. i haven’t finished this one yet but it’s been rec’d multiple times and i’m excited to dive back in (and it's recently complete!)—and what i have read so far gave me an amazing sequence of kon and dick interacting and dick’s big brother mode activating in an instant, which is something i now desperately need more of.

📧 aaaand would it even be a reclist by me if i didn’t include send to all by @cairoscene the absolute moment i find myself feeling down i go reread this and boom. i am instantly laughing again. timkon are just one part of a bat grab-bag here but they are so so funny and cute and in-character. maybe one day i’ll compile the timkon-centric sequel that exists in my head but for now i’ll just go reread this for the zillionth time.

okay yeah!! i’m probably missing so many good fics here because i constantly have like a zillion tabs open that i plan to read someday. also i reserve the right to reblog later like OH I FORGOT— but in the meanwhile, happy timkon reading!

[powdermelonkeg]

Echoes of Wisdom Trailer Analysis: Part 1

I'll tell you what, a new Zelda game, especially one this year, was NOT what I was expecting. I was hoping for a teaser a la "the sequel to BotW is now in development," but to have a full on main-series game come out? That caught me completely off guard.

But I've got my bearings. And I like what I see. So let's break down what we DID see, shall we?

Our opening shot has Link in some ruins, looking over at what appears to be Soldiers (as in the enemy, a lesser version of Darknuts), which are a staple for Fallen Timeline games.

However, they usually aren't this color, restricted to red, blue, and green. And they usually have swords or tridents, not axes.

The axes are a new development, as are the black armor and white capes. Maybe they've taken on the red -> blue -> green -> black -> silver difficulty pattern that BotW and TotK had?

Moving on.

Link here has a dark blue cape with teal geometric patterns on the back. Tempting as it is to connect this to the Zonai with the recent game-

-I'm going to abstain for now, because Zelda games like their teal geometry.

Looking around, the ruins Link finds himself in are unique.

We have eye patterns on the walls and double helixes framing the door. We haven't seen any pattern like this before, to my knowledge.

Link rushes in, sword drawn. The floor is plain square patterns on cracked tile.

We get our first glimpse of the Hylian Shield

As well as a clear shot of his sword. Oddly enough, it's not the Master Sword, or anything like it—it looks too plain to be something final, like the Four Sword or Phantom Sword:

And yet, it still very distinctly matches Link's current aesthetic, with the teal geometry.

Honestly, it looks more akin to a beginning sword that needs to change, like the Goddess Sword of Skyward Sword:

It's basic, it's easy to look at, but it's distinct and memorable.

Immedaitely after the cinematic run, the camera snaps to an overhead view, in which Link attacks. So there's at least a little gameplay as Link.

We see Princess Zelda in her crystal prison. Nothing unusual so far, but she definitely has a new look to her, even if her dress is distinctly Toon/Oracles/AlttP style remade.

Then we pan down to Ganon. Fallen Timeline's beast Gan, as we're used to seeing him. So far, he seems to look the most like his ALBW iteration, with the spiked cuffs around his wrists.

Link enters the scene. Purple mist is there for ambiance.

The pattern on the ground feels...ornamental. It doesn't stick out much or have enough detail on it to be the usual big-bad-evil-ritual.

Link throws his cape away dramatically.

Again, we get a camera-snapped view in which Link's attacks seem very much in the player's control.

And blocking Link off from escape, we have a magical barrier, though this one is emitting particles.

It's almost like Ganon's torn the ground open for this.

Defeated, ready for phase two, Ganon dissipates into purple sparks, only to reappear and start his tennis volley.

And here's where we get our proper view of him head-on.

ALBW's Ganon is a bit easy to miss in-game, because Yuga takes him over moments after he arrives. But he looks like this:

This is not our Gan's design.

He has the bracers, yes, but his forehead gem isn't spiked, his eyes are red, not white, his armor is gold with red edges and has chest plates that look a lot like really old art of ALttP Gan:

But most interestingly, his necklace is different.

In every version of Ganon that looks like this, he's either had a skull at his neck

Or a gem

But our Gan has something new. Something that, given the eyes in the corridor, feels deliberate:

There's a menace in this branch of Hyrule's history that's known for three things: a horned eye, purple magic, and possession.

And I'm out of images. Part 2 here!

[cheolism]

good things from bad days

✧ wen junhui x f!reader ✧ summary: jun returns to the apartment after you've texted him that you've had a bad day. seeing you drunk, jun decides to take care of you like you've taken care of him. only you are much more honest with your feelings when you're not sober. ✧ wc is approx 5.6k ✧ tags: fluff and comedy; roommates-to-lovers, mutual pining. in a relationship but only you two don't know. domesticity, knowing someone intimately. drunken confessions. ✧ warnings: this is not edited. despite jun being sober while reader is drunk, he doesn't do anything that takes advantage of this. this is ultimately: we've loved each other for five years and you admitting you're in love with him while drunk gives jun the push he needs. drink responsibly, kiddos. ✧ drabble sequel here!!!!!

When you had texted Jun that you were having a bad day, Jun didn’t quite know what to expect. You had your fair share of bad days, unfortunately; Jun wished every day was filled with nothing but happiness and contentment for you, but he was just one man and couldn’t fight the whole world. 

(Once, when you were having a bad day, a barista had nearly made you cry. She had given you a once-over, looking you up and down after you gave your order. Then she gave a little huff, irritated, before turning around and walking away.

Jun didn’t throw a punch at the barista because 1) she was, at the most, eighteen, and 2) it just wasn’t in his personality to do so. But he did leave a negative review and said he found a hair in his drink.)

Today had started out good, he had thought. But then around noon he got a message about your boss, and then twenty minutes later you were saying that you just wanted to be home, that you couldn't take another minute at work. His heart had broken, reading that.

But Jun did what he did whenever he noticed you were looking particularly sad. He went out and bought a bouquet of flowers, stopped at the little Chinese place that knew the both of you by name. Left a fiver at the little shrine in the back of the restaurant, placed his palms together, asked for your health and happiness, just as he always did whenever the two of you stopped. 

“Say hi to your lover for me!” Auntie Meilan waved, grinning at him. “Bring them in next time!”

“I will!” Jun called back, saluting and neglecting to correct the Auntie that no, you weren’t his lover, you were just his longtime roommate that he had been in love with for far too long. 

That was all. 

Night had long fallen on the city, street lights dim and headlights bright. Jun hated getting off this late. He hated it because it meant he missed out on the normal mealtime for the both of you, and he knew that instead of you just making food for yourself or even making a meal and saving some of it in the fridge for him to have later, you would hold off on eating altogether until he got home so the two of you could share dinner and talk about your day. 

Which was why he volunteered to grab food. 

Jun’s stomach grumbled as he walked to the car, and if he was a lesser man he would’ve torn open the takeout box and ate his portion right then and there. But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. No matter how hungry he was. 

“You wouldn’t be so hungry if you actually ate a meal at lunch instead of just eating those shrimp chips you like so much.” You had said once, watching as Jun tore open a container of cherry tomatoes and began eating them whole as soon as he walked through the apartment door. 

He had gasped dramatically, and still chewing the cherry tomatoes, scolding you. “How dare you talk about my precious chips as if they’re nothing more than a mere snack! They’re in a league of their own, they deserve an entire meal dedicated to them --”

“Okay, shrimp boy,” you had amended, your brow furrowing in adorable concern. You had rounded the island and went to the cupboard, withdrawing with a box of pasta. “Hold your horses and I’ll whip up some pasta. Don’t make yourself sick on those.”

The smell of takeout permeated the car, to the point where Jun couldn’t even smell it over the vanilla scentsy you had gotten him. It took far too long for Jun to get to the apartment, and every time the light switched to red Jun wanted to just slam his foot down on the pedal and speed through the intersection. 

But he didn’t. 

The man with the french bulldog was walking the dog around the parking lot when he pulled in, and gave Jun a short wave in greeting. Spotting the takeout bags in Jun’s hands, he called out, “Must be your night to make supper!”

Ignoring how misogynistic that seemed and how Jun was the one to primarily make your meals, Jun gave the man a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, haha. Nothing like takeout on a Friday night!”

“Tell your sweetheart I said hi!”

Again neglecting to correct the man, Jun made his way into the building. He greeted the old woman who always sat in the foyer because you always greeted her, remembering how you once commented on how she must live alone or feel lonely, to spend her entire day in the front watching people come and go. 

Jun took the elevator on the right, despite knowing that you didn’t trust that particular elevator and all the squeaking and moaning it did. He felt bad for the next person who would use the elevator, knowing they would smell nothing but delicious Chinese food. 

As Jun shoved his key into the hole to unlock your apartment door, he got the distinct feeling that something was off. He didn’t know how he knew, but Jun knew without even stepping foot into the apartment that something was wrong. 

This didn’t dissuade him; instead he hurried in, calling out for you as soon as the door was open. 

“I’m home! Food is acquired and ready for consumption as soon as you are!”

He kicked off his shoes, ignoring the shoe rack you had insisted on buying, and made his way to the kitchen. He set the takeout on the island, peering around the apartment for you. 

As it was Friday, the apartment was slightly a mess. Socks littered the floor, and Jun spotted your pants near the corner of the couch. He entered the space, noting the nearly-empty bottles of vodka and pineapple juice. There was an empty bag of chips -- his shrimp chips. 

He called out your name again, rounding the couch. The living room blankets were in complete disarray, and your laptop was propped up on the coffee table. There were a few crumbs on the couch, and Jun spotted a muffin wrapper on the floor. 

“Wen Junhui!”

Arms were suddenly around his middle, pulling him back and squeezing. Jun immediately knew it was you, and turned in your arms. You were already grinning up at him, slightly too-wide and with eyes that glittered brighter than usual. 

“Junnie,” you whined, pitching forward and burrowing your face into his chest. Bewildered, but slowly coming to a realization, Jun wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you to him. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” he agreed. You tightened your grip around his waist, leading him into a swaying motion. “Are you okay?”

You pouted, resting your chin on his chest in order to look up at him. “No. I had a bad day. And I’m drunk.”

You may be drunk, Jun acknowledged, but you were no less beautiful than when he left you. You were smiling at him like he was your favorite person on the planet, as if he was the person most dear to you, as if he was someone you treasured and loved, and Jun couldn’t help but giggle and bend down to press a swift kiss to your forehead. 

“Yes,” he laughed a little. “You are drunk. I brought food home.”

You gasped, mouth gaping and eyes widening dramatically. “For me?”

“For you!”

Squealing, you burrowed your face into his chest. He hoped you couldn’t hear the way his heart was threatening to leap from it. “You’re amazing! You’re the bestest!”

Squeezing you one last time, Jun reluctantly pulled himself away. While he loved hugging and loving you, and would gladly do nothing but that for days on end, you were drunk and vulnerable. “No, you’re the bestest.”

You frowned at him as he untangled himself, whining. Jun couldn’t help but coo at you, reaching out and pressing your cheeks together. You were so fucking cute. 

“Noooo,” you protested, hands reaching up to cover his. “Youuuuuu!”

“I greatly disagree,” Jun said. He pressed another kiss to your forehead and pulled away. He rounded you, hands going to your shoulders, and began guiding you towards the kitchen. 

Jun was careful to make sure you didn’t hit a hand or foot on the couch leg, gentle and slow enough to ensure you weren’t going to stumble. All the while you were chattering to him, telling Jun about a show you had watched as a child. 

“I don’t know that show,” he admitted, guiding you to sit down at the island. He left your side to return to the takeout, pulling the boxes out of the bag and setting them on the counter. He then went to the dishwasher and pulled out chopsticks. “I grew up in China, remember?”

“Ooh,” you said, eyes wide. It reminded him of Bambi, almost, how innocent and sweet you seemed like this. You were always sweet, he knew, but there was something especially child-like about you when you were like this. “I forgot.”

Jun set your chopsticks in front of you. He then went to the cupboard and withdrew two cups, quickly filling them with water and setting them down on the island. “It’s okay. We can always watch that show later.”

You nodded somberly, puffing out your cheeks. He couldn’t help but grin at how intently you were watching him open up the takeout boxes, your eyes taking in his every move. Jun picked up his chopsticks and clicked them at you once, watching your eyes focus, before reaching for the box of noodles.

“Hey!” You snapped, reaching out and smacking his hand. Jun startled, dropping a blob of noodles on the counter. “Where did you grow up! In a barn? We use plates when eating in this apartment, young man!”

“Yessir!” Jun returned, roughly saluting at you. He stood up and went to the dishwasher, and when he set down two plates you gave him a sharp nod of approval. 

“Good.” You glanced down at the mess of noodles. Frowning, you hopped down from the barstool.

“Where are you going?”

“To clean up your mess, Mr. Junhui,” you slurred, rounding the island to grab paper towels. He couldn’t help but laugh at the serious look on your face, as if he had committed a serious wrong. 

He was going to clean it, of course, after your meal. But he said nothing as you walked to his elbow and leaned against his arm, reaching and collecting the fallen noodles. “Dirty boy.”

Jun nodded, still smiling. “Yes, I’m a dirty boy, aren’t I?”

You returned his nod, still serious. “But you’re my dirty boy.”

Suddenly feeling his heart warm with affection and adoration, Jun inclined his head. “Yes. I’m your boy.”

Satisfied, you tossed the noodles and paper towel into the sink and returned to your seat. You brought the plate between yourself and the boxes, and Jun watched as you, very carefully, lifted your chopsticks and grabbed the box of sesame chicken. 

Even as the two of you ate, you were speaking. Jun listened as you talked about this woman at work who did nothing but complain about her children and husband, but then also said she was trying for a fourth, and how you didn’t think she had ever said a single nice thing about her family since you’ve met her.

Then you were frowning seriously at Jun, pointing at him with your chopsticks. “We won’t end like that no matter what, right, Junnie?”

“Right, darling.”

You set your chopsticks down on the table, reaching out with your other hand. Your hand wrapped around Jun’s cup and brought it to your lips. “Wait -- that’s my cup, I’ve already drank from it, it has my cooties.”

Jun watched you pause for a few seconds, eyeing him over the rim of the cup. And then you raised it to your lips and gulped it. 

“There,” you said, sighing in satisfaction. “Now I have your cooties.”

You then opened up the steamed vegetables, delight taking over your features. Jun continued eating as you shifted through the vegetables, picking out the broccoli and placing each piece on his plate. Jun ate them dutifully, shoving each piece into his mouth. 

“Careful,” you scolded, “you’ll choke.”

Jun watched as you then set down your chopsticks on the counter, the metal clinking against the surface. You pointed at him, peering at him with an extremely serious look on your face that didn’t really suit the situation and had Jun fighting to keep his smile off of his face. 

“Listen here, Wen Junhui,” you slowly began, brows furrowing. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you to not stuff your mouth. But I’m serious. Choking is not a joke. It’s not fun. Have you ever been choked before?”

You had begun gesturing with your hands during your little speech, and at the end of your statement you waved your hand and sent your cup tumbling. 

Jun jumped up, rushing for the paper towels and rounding the island. You were blinking at the water even as it dripped into your lap, and Jun shoved away the cuteness of how you looked, confused and taken aback, and ushered you off the stoll. 

“Oh,” you mumbled, moving. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, “we just have a small ocean in our kitchen. I’ll clean it up while you get changed out of your pants.”

He spun a few too many towels from the roll, focusing on turning the cup upright and wiping down the counter before moving onto the mess on the floor. You were still muttering to yourself, and it wasn’t until you made a small “oh” sound, followed by the sound of something hitting the wall, did Jun turn around. 

You were standing in front of him, legs completely bare and leggings sitting sadly on the floor from where you had thrown them against the wall. For a moment Jun couldn’t help but look -- look at your thighs and take in the shape of them, the color; his eyes trailed down over your knee and to your legs, taking in the spots where you had attempting waxing and given up halfway through, leaving bald patches on your leg surrounded by hair.

But fuck, if he didn’t want to wrap his hand around your leg and guide it around his waist, pull you tight against him and feel your body pressed against his. 

“Staring is rude,” you said, flapping your hand towards Jun. 

“Mm,” he hummed, turning his back to you. Jun dropped to the floor, beginning on the small puddle that had formed. “I won’t mention all the staring you do at me when I get out of the shower, then.”

“That’s not fair, though,” you argued. Jun stood, knees cracking, and watched as you stomped your foot. The fat of your thighs jiggled at the movement, and he wanted to dig his fingers into your flesh and see how it molded around his digits. “You know what you look like.”

“I do?”

“Irresistible,” you said matter-of-factly.

He echoed you, the word and its implications not really registering with him until he said it himself. And then the little light in Jun’s head flicked on, and he squinted at you. 

It wasn’t like you made it a habit to be drunk; you didn’t. In the years Jun’s known you, in the years he’s been your roommate, he’s only seen you properly drunk a handful of times. But he knows what you’re like when you’re drunk: you’re giggly, silly, and honest. 

“Alcohol is like a truth serum for me,” you had told him after a few weeks of meeting. “Get me drunk and I’ll tell you anything. It’s why I can’t be President: I’d reveal all the State secrets.”

And sure enough, Jun found out that when you were drunk, you were incredibly honest. He could ask you any question he wanted and you would answer. He had once tested this by asking you if you had ever lied to your grandma before. Sober you had frowned at him and shook your head, saying you had nothing to really lie about; drunk you had bursted into tears, sobbing about how you had lied to her about your whereabouts on your 21st birthday by saying you had been safely drinking with your friends at their apartment instead of being out at clubs. 

So: drunk you was as honest as you could get. You weren’t inherently dishonest, but all of the little things you were ashamed of or kept secret bubbled out. 

Irresistible. 

Truthfully, Jun wanted to poke at this some more. He wanted to ask you to elaborate, and he knew that if he was quiet for much longer you would elaborate yourself. 

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

It felt wrong doing that. You trusted him. You trusted him when you were sick, when you were drunk, when you were in tears; you trusted Jun when you were at your most vulnerable, and taking advantage of you in this state, even to just question you about your feelings towards him, was wrong. 

Jun instead began talking, filling up the empty space with his own chatter in order to get your mind off of him in the shower. He narrated what he was doing as he did it, loudly, speaking everything as it appeared in his mind. 

“I’m going to throw away these towels. I know you don’t mind it when I leave wrappers around, because you do it too, but I know you hate it when dirty things are left. Like I remember you scolding Seungcheol for leaving his sweaty undershirt in our bathroom. 

“Gosh, I’m going to have to take the trash down next time I leave the apartment. I know you don’t mind doing it, but I also know you don’t like it particularly either. I’m okay with that. You do enough for me, I don’t mind doing this.”

Jun rounded the counter once more, reaching out for you. You went easily, hugging yourself close to him. Despite the alcohol you had drank, you still smelled like you: fresh linen, oranges and lemons, the sort of things that reminded Jun of home. His favorite smells in the world. 

He swooped down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, smoothing your hair away from your face. You blinked up at him lazily at the gesture, eyes taking just a moment too long to open. “Ooh, are you my tired baby?”

You hummed, nodding sleepily. Then you opened your eyes, your arms going over Jun’s to wrap around him in return. “Yes. Your baby.”

Jun tapped his hands against your lower back, leading you into a sway. You complied easily, grinning and rocking back and forth. Your warmth was pressed against his front, your weight in his arms a comforting one. 

Sometimes he felt selfish for having you like this. Like he was keeping you from someone, like he was wrong for keeping you a secret from the world, keeping you up here in your shared apartment. 

Sometimes it felt wrong, leading you into a dance during the late evening, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your forehead. But the thing was, Jun wasn’t stupid. 

You didn’t share an apartment with someone for nearly five years without there being something. You didn’t settle into a routine for five years, didn’t spend hundreds of nights pressed together on the couch watching television; didn’t wait up until late in the night for him to return, didn’t welcome his mother and little brother into the apartment with welcoming smiles and hugs. 

He didn’t remember the last time you went on a date. 

Or: Jun didn’t remember the last time you went on a date that wasn’t with him.

Yes: Jun wasn’t stupid. 

He saw it. He saw how you took care of him, how you always made sure his favorite snacks were in the cupboard; how you went out and bought new soles for his shoes when he complained about his back hurting too much; how you looked at him when he wasn’t looking, how your voice always took this gentle tone with him, as if he was someone precious, someone you treasured. 

He knew you were in love with him. 

Just like he was in love with you. 

But actually saying it, actually bridging the gap? 

Jun sighed, pulling away. He looked down at you, his darling sweetheart with sparkling eyes. He brushed your hair back away from your forehead. “Let’s go find you some pants, baby.”

You blinked up at him, seemingly unable to process. Then you pouted, lips poking out and eyes furrowing. 

Oh, how cute you were --

“‘m not cute,” you childishly protested. You blinked again, and Jun felt his heart plummet when your eyes took on a red hue and tears began to swell. 

“Baby!” He gasped, hands moving to hold your cheeks. Jun brushed away the tears that began to drop with the tip of his fingers, feeling concern bubble up within him. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“You just --” A little sob left you, and you threw yourself forward and into his arms. Jun stumbled back at the sudden addition of your weight, his arms wrapping tightly around you. You nuzzled into him. “You just take such good care of me, Junnie.”

Jun chuckled, squeezing your shoulder. “I’m just returning --”

You shook your head against his chest. He reached up and brushed your hair back again, revealing a single red eye and tear tracks on your cheeks. “You don’t understand, Junnie! You -- you’re so good and handsome and sweet and silly, and I love you so much.”

His heart thudded against his ribcage; he was scared it was going to burst from his chest entirely. 

Jun smiled down at you nonetheless, cupping your cheek in one of his hands. “And I love you.”

“No,” you shook your head again. “You don’t understand. I love you. Like. Like Captain Ri loves Seri.”

Jun’s heart flew out of his chest and left the building. It fucking flew away, soared through the sky and and rounded the earth. As a matter of fact, it took his brain with him, and the two decided to fly up to the moon and wave at the stars. 

“You -- like. Like marry me levels of like?”

“Yes,” you sighed, as if he was dull. “We’re gonna move out of the apartment because we can’t have cats and then move into a little townhouse and adopt two of them so they don’t get lonely, and I’m gonna buy you a ring to match mine and we’ll share a bed and I love you so much.”

Jun’s heart returned to his chest and was fluttering and acting as if it were a butterfly trapped within his ribcage; his brain, however, was still up with the moon and sun. 

Then you grinned up at him, tear tracks still visible against your cheeks. “Dude, we should adopt like, twelve cats.”

And he remembered the bottle of nearly-empty vodka, the spilled water, and his sensibilities. You were drunk, and while you were an honest drunk, it wasn’t fair of him to do this. 

It wasn’t fair of Jun to pester you further, to make you unravel all your secrets; not when you were vulnerable like this. No matter how much he wanted to, how much he yearned to know about the sincerity of your words, he couldn’t. 

Jun pressed a kiss to your forehead again, closing his eyes and exhaling. He felt you mirror him, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his chest. 

“Love it when you give me kissies,” you mumbled against him. 

“Well, I love kissing you.”

You blinked owlishly up at him, mouth agape. “Really?”

He laughed, both hands going to cup your cheeks and hold your face so he could press another kiss to your forehead. “Really, darling.”

Your smile was brighter than any star or sun in the universe. If you were sober, Jun would swoop down and press a kiss to your lips, but alas. 

Instead he began guiding you towards your room. “I think we should get some pants on, don’t you? Wouldn’t want you getting cold. I heard that if you get too cold you turn into a penguin, no joke.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” Jun returned, reaching over to turn on the light of your room. Your room was messy, proof of how hard of a time you’ve been having lately. Clothes were strewn about, and your blankets were in a tangled mess. One of your pillows was on the foot of your bed, and your precious stuffed koala Jun had gotten you during one of his and Joshua’s dates to the fair was on the floor. 

“People don’t turn into penguins, Junnie,” you said. 

“They do if they’re cold,” Jun said. He left you standing in the doorway, moving to your dresser and pulling out a pair of sweats. “That’s how we got penguins. They’re just evolved from cold people.”

You were squinting at him when he returned. Jun held out your pants for a few moments, but you made no move to grab them from him. Finally you took your pants, holding out your hand; he offered his arm, and you held onto Jun as you slowly stepped into your pants one foot at a time. 

“I want you to know that I know you’re making this up,” you told Jun.

Jun laughed, shoulders shaking. He ducked his head, blonde bangs obscuring his vision. Your grip on his arm eased, and your other hand was smoothing back his bangs and revealing his eyes once more. 

“There you are,” you cooed at him, “my pretty boy.”

Then you yawned, wide enough to where Jun swore he saw down your throat. Despite seeing that, Jun still felt nothing but love for you as you blinked up at him sleepily, smiling like a dope.

“Okay, why don’t you lay down in your bed?” Jun pulled away, capturing your hand and pressing a kiss to your fingers. “I’m going to go get you some water, and then I’ll be back. All right?”

Jun returned to your room a few minutes later, cold cup of water in one hand and headache pills in the other for the morning. Despite the overhead light being on you were splayed out on your bed, face down and limbs going in every direction. 

He paused for a second, worried. Then he saw your back slowly move up and down. Assured he hadn’t walked in on a crime scene, Jun continued his way into your room. He set the cup and pills on your bedside table before leaning down and yanking the blankets out from under you. 

Grumbling, you rolled over on the bed and allowed Jun to gather the blankets. He took a few seconds to unravel them, and when he did he laid each one over your body. 

You hummed in approval as he tucked the blankets around your body, patting your arm and legs as he did so. “All snug?”

“Snug,” you agreed. 

Jun grabbed your koala off the ground. He hugged it to his chest, breathing in your scent that had rubbed off on the stuffie. Jun pressed a kiss to the koala’s forehead before setting it on the bed next to you. 

Your breathing was completely evened out as he smoothed your hair away from your face. He traced his fingers alongside your temple, your cheek. He ran his pointer finger over your nose, feeling the decline of it. Your lips, feeling the plush flesh give beneath his finger, watching as you subconsciously licked your lips. 

God, Jun was a fucking creep. 

Jun pressed a kiss to your forehead, finally retreating. He made his way from your bedroom, only pausing when he got to the doorway. Jun hovered his hand over the light switch for a moment, hesitating. And then: 

“I love you.”

And the light was switched off. 

You were conscious for only a handful of seconds before you were fleeing from the warmth of your bed and sprinting to the bathroom, the pressure of your bladder too great to wait a moment longer. 

Jun was laughing loudly through the bathroom door, and you opened it once you were finished washing your hands. Glaring at him, you flicked your still-damp hands at him, splashing him with droplets of water. 

“Hey!” He laughed, reeling back a little. His eyes were sparkling, and his pretty pink lips were parted to reveal his grin. “Stop bullying me!”

“You’re the bully,” you mumbled, reaching up and shielding your eyes. Natural sunlight shined through the windows of your living room, reaching into the bathroom and offending your sensitive eyes. You shot Jun a glare as he laughed some more, flicking off the bathroom light and retreating to your room once more. 

The sound of footsteps followed you. “I left some medicine by your bed for your headache.”

“Don’t have much of one,” you replied. 

“Probably because you’ve slept until three in the afternoon,” Jun returned. 

You spun around, eyes wide. Jun was leaning against your door frame, arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his grey t-shirt were rolled up to reveal his biceps, which were constantly gaining size as he increased his visits to the gym. His blonde bangs brushed against his eyes, and you couldn’t help but follow their movement as he flicked his head to get them out of his eyes. 

“Three?”

“In the afternoon,” Jun finished. You sat down on the edge of your bed, crossing your legs. Jun sat down next to you, though he laid back and let his arms fall above his head. “Should’ve woken me up.”

“I tried, Grumpy,” Jun said. He reached out and tapped you, and you fell back to lay beside him. “Several times.”

“Evidently not hard enough.”

“Next time I’ll play the trumpet, if you want.”

“I guess that’ll work.” You stretched your arms over your head, and when you rested them your pinkie was brushing Jun’s. You tried not to think about it, but every time your fingers brushed it was as if every nerve in your body was concentrated on that one point. “I wasn’t horrible for you last night, was I?”

Jun shook his head. You turned your head slightly to see him already staring at you; when your eyes met, he smiled. “You’re never horrible for me when you’re drunk. Now when you’re sober --”

“Oh, hush,” you said, reaching out and slapping his arm. He let out a small noise of pain, but you ignored it. You shifted onto your side, leaning down and looking at him. “I really didn’t do anything bad?”

Humming, he tilted his head. He moved one hand to rest behind his head, and the other reached up for you. Your eyes fluttered as his hand brushed over your forehead, fingers gliding through your hair. “Nothing bad, but you said some interesting things.”

Fuck. 

“Fuck,” you hissed. Your heart began to pick up speed, as if you were standing in front of a thousand people getting ready to perform a song you’d only heard once before. “Fuck.”

“Don’t worry!” Jun assured you, his fingers tracing over the shell of your ear. He pinched the lobe of your ear, causing you to wince. “You only confessed that you found me irresistible. And that you love me like Captain Ri and Yoo Seri love each other.”

You furrowed your brow, watching Jun. He stared up at you, eyes half-lidded, lips twisting into a little grin. He looked perfectly at ease, but at the same time, there wasn’t a single hint of true mischief on his face. 

“Did I really?” You asked, voice small.

Jun nodded. His fingers dipped underneath your ear and traced your jaw. “Really. It was cute.”

“And?”

His fingers rested on your chin. He shifted his hand, and then his fingers were brushing against your lips. You let Jun trace your mouth, still leaning over him, heart beginning to calm. Jun’s touch was easing your nerves, and his apparent acceptance and serenity soothed you into following suit. 

This was what often happened, you knew. Jun and you were both introverts; you didn’t like new situations. You hated crowds, hated the loudness of them and how close everyone stood together; you hated the unknown. But then when Jun was beside you, his features neutral and seemingly unbothered, it did something to you. It was as if his tranquility tricked your anxiousness, leaked into your soul and tamed the rough seas.

“And,” Jun murmured, “I love you.”

It was like when you found a blanket at the store and sunk your fingers into it, the feeling of smooth softness encompassing your digits completely. But instead of just your fingers it was your entire soul. 

It wasn’t a big revelation, you thought; not a huge unknown that needed to be answered. 

It was just another fact of life, you figured as you lowered your head to Jun’s. He shifted, elbows pressing into your mattress, raising himself to you. It was just another fact. The sun was yellow, the moon was white, the ocean is big and Wen Junhui loves you. 

With your lips pressed to his, you had one last fleeting thought before his mouth consumed yours entirely: now you didn’t have to feel bad about not correcting the Aunties at the restaurant about him being your boyfriend. 

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 8

Hey, guys! The plot is plotting and coming along. I've just had a rough week last week and really didn't get too far on any of my works but the omegaverse sequel. So I'm chomping through my backlog (which is a good thing, I promise, that's what it's for).

In this Steve has to deal with the not fun side of the music business, but Eddie is there to soothe the way.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7

****

Steve chewed on his nail as he looked over the contract for the tour they were going to be headlining for Corroded Coffin. It came with their usual anonymity clause.

The part Steve wasn’t sure about was the part where the guys and his roles on the tour to hide that they were part of the band.

Spence being a medic made sense. He was medically trained as an EMT and kept up on his certification even after they made it big.

Simon’s made sense too. Eddie had seen him as a roadie that night, so him continuing that was fine.

It was Shane and Steve’s that concerned him. He didn’t want to PA for The Fallen because then Dustin and his friends would want things like backstage passes and VIP tickets.

Things Steve didn’t want to do because that would get them too close to the action and he worried they would notice that they wouldn’t see Abbadon and him in the same place and put two and two together.

Shane’s role was that of an advance person. Someone that rode into town first to make sure everything was as it supposed to be according to their rider.

Steve loved Shane with all his heart, but he couldn’t think of a worse “job” for him.

Plus it wouldn’t make sense because he wouldn’t be on the same bus as the rest of the band.

He called up Robin.

“Hello!” she chirped her greeting. “What’s up?”

“I’m looking over the contract and they want me to PA and Shane to advance.”

There was silence on the line for a moment or two before Robin said, “I’m on it. I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Celeste,” Steve teased.

He was not surprised when she just hung up on him. He chuckled.

His best friend was working on getting Shane and him in the right roles. On their last tour, Shane and Simon had been roadies and Steve had been an assistant like Robin.

Steve looked back at the contract with a sigh. He set it aside and pulled out his notebook. He couldn’t write lyrics or music, but he could write down his thoughts and feelings.

He wrote about the fear of being discovered, of showing his true self. What people would think of him and his friends. Everyone said that metal fans were among the most welcoming in the industry.

Unless you looked like someone they didn’t approve of. Steve couldn’t remember which 1980s rocker it was, but the dude was papped outside a store waiting for his wife in cargo shorts and Birkenstocks and the internet had a fucking field day.

Like how dare he go to the store not dressed all in black and leather and chains everywhere.

It was no doubt the biggest reason no one had cottoned on to him and his friends being The Fallen. Because why would four preppy guys be the members of the hottest rising metal band right now?

He flipped to a different page and began writing about finding love where you left it. Eddie had always had Steve’s heart, ever since they were thrown together when a freak earthquake that was caused by nearby fracking destroyed almost half the town they grew up in.

Eddie ran the local DND club which Dustin and his friends had been a part of.

Steve had managed to keep all of them safe and Eddie, who had been unsure of the former jock had warmed up to him by the time they had come through at the end of the week long ordeal.

Steve had fallen in love with Eddie’s sense of humor, his dimpled smile, and doe brown eyes.

So he wrote about that too.

By the time Robin had called back he had written so much his hand was cramping.

“Hello, hello!” he greeted warmly.

“Hey,” Robin said. “So I talked it over with their lawyers and ours and I think we’ve go the solution.”

“Hit me with it,” Steve said.

“Right so we have Shane assisting with me,” she said. “He doesn’t have anyone really close to him who would ask for favors and shit, or at least not ones he wouldn’t gleefully tell to fuck off.”

Steve sighed in relief. “That’s good.”

“You were a little trickier,” Robin admitted. “But then I remembered you picked up a couple of CPR certifications in the past and got them to make you medic too. You just have to take the refresher courses while we’re in the studio.”

Steve chewed on his thumb. He had wanted to be an EMT before he met Spence and saw how much it took out of him.

“Wouldn’t it look bad if two medics suddenly vanished for two hours every night?”

Robin chuckled. “You’re assigned especially to the band. So you can’t be called during a performance. I do think of these things you know.”

Steve sighed with relief. “I know you do, I just worry.”

“Worry wart,” she teased. “It’ll be fine. You just have to keep it in your pants while on tour because an EMT dating a rockstar is going to be suspicious as hell.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You mean like every other tour we’ve been on?”

“Only this time,” she said, voice dangerously low, “you’ve got temptation in the form of one Eddie Munson, the man you’ve been pining over for literal years.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve groused. “Am I at least allowed to be seen with Eddie you know, considering we are friends?”

Robin sighed dramatically. “I guess. Just try to keep the PDA to a minimum please.”

“I promise.”

This was going to a very long three month tour.

****

Jim Hopper was a former Marine and he looked it. He was built like a tank with a grizzled appearance and cigar tucked between his teeth. Simon thought that he thought Hopper scared the enemy off just glaring at them and Steve privately agreed.

He was there for two reasons. To deprogram their stage persona and to brush Steve up on his emergency medical training.

Actually they all were learning because it was it interesting. Simon and Shane didn’t need to pay attention for certification, but they did anyway.

“How long do you guys plan to be in the studio this week?” Hopper asked. “I need to know if I need to have someone else pick up my daughter from the airport.”

“They want us to have at least eight hours in the studio a day,” Shane explained. “They want us to get as much done as we can before Corroded Coffin goes on tour so they can at least release a single or two.”

Hopper nodded. “Then I should be fine. She’s a fashion designer in New York and the fashion house she works at is sending her out here to intern at their LA branch.”

“That’s awesome!” Shane said. “Maybe while she’s here we can fan her design our costumes for the new tour.”

Hopper shook his head. “As long as it paid. This internship sure ain’t.”

Robin threw her arms in the air. “Fine! I’ll see what the budget is for that and get back to you.”

Hopper chuckled.

“They have you wrapped around their fingers, girly.”

Robin smirked. “Don’t I know it.”

****

That night Steve called Eddie up.

“Hey, baby,” he cooed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie greeted back. “How did today go? It was first day with the deprogramer, right?”

Steve curled up on the sofa and tucked his feet under him. “It was okay. He’s a bit scary, but apparently he has a daughter Dustin’s age.”

“The butthead will be pissed he missed that,” Eddie chuckled.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed warmly. “She’s really pretty, too.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Suzie’s a great girl. But we all know here parents aren’t going to let her marry someone ‘outside the faith’ as it were.”

Steve chewed on his thumbnail. “Yeah. I was hoping with them both going home for the whole summer would break them up.”

Eddie scoffed. “It’s good thing talk and text is included in mobile plans these days unlike in early days of yore when mobile plans made you pay for every text message and long distance calling, otherwise their cell phone bills would be through the fucking roof.”

“Tell me about,” Steve huffed. “And he’s going to spending the last week of vacation in Utah with her.”

“Eeee,” Eddie said with a grimace, “is it bad of me that I hope her parents scare him off?”

“Maybe a little,” Steve admitted. “But I just want him to be happy, you know?”

Eddie let out a long drawn out sigh. “Yeah. So you guys got the contract all figured out?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve muttered. “It’s going to be hard being in the studio and taking EMT course to pretend to be medical personnel. Well not really pretending. Both me and one of the other band members have training. Me with being a lifeguard for awhile there and them with being an EMT. But it feels wrong somehow.”

“Is there something else, some other role you can fill?” Eddie asked after a moment or two of silence.

“Not according to Robin,” Steve groused. “She says it’ll be fine and no one will figure it out. And I trust her. Her plans have gotten us through two tours already, one even being overseas...”

“But you’re still worried because I’ll be on the road with you?” Eddie asked gently.

Steve threw his head back and groaned. “God that sounds so horrible of me.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie admonished. “It’s not. It’s an extra variable you didn’t have to factor in before. But we will make it work.”

“I think the biggest part is that Eddie and Steve have to remain friends until after the tour so everyone doesn’t connect Steve with Abbadon,” he said. “God that sounded pretentious. Talking in third person like some Chad.”

Eddie giggled. “Maybe a little, but I got what you mean.”

“Don’t laugh!” Steve whined. “My dick is going to fall off from the sheer amount of blue balling that’s going to be happening on this fucking tour. Well not fucking actually. I’m going to be in hell!”

“And people tell me I’m dramatic,” Eddie said laughing out loud. “What do you normally do on tour?”

Steve sat up and stretched his feet out in front of him on the sofa. “It’s complicated.”

Eddie snorted. “I don’t doubt that, sweetheart. Are we talking NDAs or fucking with the masks on?”

Steve laughed. “It’s more like no phones, dark room, no staying the night. That sort of thing.”

“I’m betting there aren’t many that agree to that.”

“More than you’d think,” Steve snorted. “Groupies gotta fuck.”

“We’ll figure something out. I won’t let those pretty balls go blue,” Eddie said with a snicker.

“Help me, Eddie-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope!” Steve cried in a sharp falsetto.

Eddie laughed. “You’re a menace, Steve Harrington.”

“And you love it.”

Warmth just flooded Eddie’s tone when he replied, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Eds.”

****

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

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