#posting this both here and on ao3

[the-holy-ghosted]

congrats 2 henry peglar for being the only bitch confirmed as to be Fucking That Old Man

[marragurl]

Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

[queer-brainrot]

all i want for christmas is for AO3 to be flooded with holiday jercy fics

[you-me-we-04]

Sometime I see stuff from a centred fandom (911) and just feel the need to gently remind everyone that the author is dead so people can interpret the show however they like and it is a Fox turned ABC procedural drama and at the end of the day it's not that deep (like they 100% are making the show up as the go) and while it's cool when things from the past come back I can almost guarantee they are not working from some master plan (like a game of thrones would). If you watch any of the season 7 production you can tell everything was done on the fly.

Also the characters are just at the end of the day fictional characters and I'm sure the fictional character of Evan Buckley will not be offended if someone writes a silly little fanfic using the name Evan rather than Buck.

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

I was thinking to myself recently how wild it would be if this fandom was big enough to do a kinktober. Alas...

[enterpris]

Trials and Games

Pairing: Reader x Gojo

Summary: After training your whole life and making it to the Olympic Games, you are finally able to compete with the most elite athletes from around the world

You finish your event and are looking to celebrate- with the help of a handsome, white haired athlete of course

Warnings: Bad flirting, bj, fingering, v*aginal sex

Length:

Ao3: PlaidSparrow

Gojo's leaning on the table behind you. 

“Hey, you didn’t mention that you’d finished your event yesterday! Congrats on the gold.” He give you a rakish smile.

“Yeah, everything’s been kind of a blur honestly. I’m glad to have it over with though. Is it difficult having your event at the end of the games?”

“Nah, it leaves plenty of time before the event to check out the competition and get some more training in. Plus, it also gives me time for some extracurriculars,” he looks you up and down again. 

Maybe it’s the high that’s leftover from the winning, but there’s something intoxicating about being desired so blatantly. If he doesn’t think some casual sex will throw him off his game for the event, you’d be more than happy to take advantage of his advances. 

“I happen to be looking for some extracurriculars myself. I think we could find something to do together.” You return a flirty smile of your own. 

“Oh perfect! You’re good at swimming, too, right? I've been wanting to get in the pool and do some laps, it's a great full body workout.”

If it weren't for the glimmer in his eye when he says it, you'd probably assume you had completely misread his interest. As it is, it seems Gojo is interested in verbal sparring as foreplay.

“There’s plenty of ways to workout the whole body. But I’m happy to show you the training pools.”

He seems to be pleased with your answer, that you’re willing to play. 

“Oh you're bold, huh? Maybe after the pool we can try out one of those other ways. What do you say we put some work on?” His smile is radiant. 

“Well they did hand me like 30 condoms, I wouldn’t mind using them,” you shoot back.

“I bet we could do some damage to one of our cardboard beds. Tomorrow then?” The accompanying finger guns are equally dorky and charming. 

“Yeah, sounds good.” You give him a quick wave and set off towards your building- gotta make sure the room will be empty tomorrow.  ~*~

You’d spent the morning in one of the training pools warming up, swimming some laps and showing Satoru the training building allocated to aquatic events, then returned to your respective buildings in the village to freshen up. You shower and thank your past self for deciding to live a little while you’re at the Games.  

Watching the way Satoru’s body moved in the pool, pulling muscles tight and his face flush to catch his breath, thinking of all you'd like to do with him, was an hours-long exercise in self control. You’d like to touch his skin, be the reason his cheeks are pink and breath is short. 

You wait for him outside your building, absorbing the sunlight that filters through the branches of the trees. A few moments later, you lead Satoru back to your (empty) room on the third floor. For all of his talk, Gojo is surprisingly non-initiatory when you walk into your room. 

He looks around at the slightly messy room- there’s luggage on your floor and the unpacked clothes hanging on the back of your door- before looking back at you. In your defense, there’s been a lot going on, and pretty much everything is more interesting than unpacking the different uniform options. 

You raise an eyebrow, and Satoru shrugs back at you.

“Just thought I should know a little more about you before we dive right in.” He smiles at you impishly, and it ignites your need for him even more. You take a single step towards him. 

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“I think there’s a lot I’d like to learn about.” 

You take another step towards him. 

“Let me show you then.”

Satoru waits for you to take the last step between you, bringing you nearly face to face. He’s taller than you are, and he looks at you heatedly for a moment. 

You stare into his dark eyes for a moment and your heart is already beating faster. Then the tension snaps. He pulls your body to his own, and you can feel the firm muscles of his chest through the thin uniform shirt. He’s exuding heat, and as he brings his lips to yours for an open-mouthed kiss. Satoru’s lips are soft but insistent, and he sensually runs his tongue along your own. He tastes just slightly of mint, fresh and a little sweet.

His strong arms are still pressing you into his chest, and you maneuver one of your hands under the fabric of his shirt. His skin is burning there, and his abs flex when you press your hands against him. The wet heat of his mouth on your own intensifies your own want, pulsing through every inch of your body. 

You break the kiss and peel the shirt off, revealing his superb body once again. The small room is filled with your pants, catching up on breaths lost to each other, and you admire his physique. He’s got incredible definition, and you can tell the muscles have been built up for strength and power, not just looks. Under the bright shirt he's pale everywhere, an expanse of clear skin and fine hair trailing down the v of his hips. 

“Like what ya see?” 

Satoru puts his hands on his hips and then jokingly poses, flexing his arms and then turning to give you another angle. He’s stockier than you had originally thought, but is lithe and light on his feet. It’s easy to see how he could out-maneuver an opponent, and you’re halfway hopeful he’ll be able to take you down in a similar way. 

“I do.”

Your eyes are hooded as you watch him preen. Satoru continues to peacock until you corral him toward the bed. His own hands find their way under your shirt, skirting around your bra. His fingers are thick and rough from his own training, they're pleasantly coarse on your own smooth skin. 

It's starting to feel uncomfortably warm in the small room, and you're ready to divest yourself off some of your clothing. You help him tug off your top, and he immediately palms your breasts, your nipples already peaked under the thin lace. 

He leans down to kiss you again and you run your hands over his torso. His warm hands continue circling your nipples and he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. When you reach the waistband of his shorts, he groans into your mouth and you can taste his neediness.

You're up against the low mattress now, and you push Gojo to a sitting position. The small cardboard bed frame doesn’t give you much to work with, but slowly, teasingly, you get onto your knees before him, placing open mouthed kisses down his chest and stomach before painstakingly pulling his trousers and underwear to the floor.

His cock is flushed and smacks against his stomach, already beaded with pre-come. 

“Just a sec” Gojo reaches down and pulls a condom out of a pocket in his shorts. “I know you said you had plenty, but it seemed more gentlemanly to bring my own.”

Then he bites the package open and easily slides the rubber down the what of his cock. He tilts his head and pumps himself a couple times.

You grasp him and replace his hands with your own, maintaining the steady rhythm he had begun. Achingly slowly, you lower your lips to his member. You take just the tip into your mouth, and his cock jumps. 

The taste of the latex isn't your favorite, but as you take more of Satoru into your mouth, his breath hitches and you can feel him grow even harder. You explore him with your tongue, running over the veins, and with your hands, one closed over the base of his shaft while the other cups his balls.

You continue bobbing your head, slowly increasing the speed and you can feel his cock pulse in your mouth. 

There are spots of pink on his cheeks as you look up at him. You maintain eye contact as you dip back down to the base of his cock and slowly pull back up. Gojo leans his head back and sighs as you push your tongue along the thick vein on the base of his shaft. “Jesus.”

His legs are tense now, and the movements of his hand are erratic as he cups the back of your head. HIs breaths are coming faster now and he’s watching every one of your movements carefully. You flick the tip of your tongue across the head and then descend again. You can’t quite take all of him into your mouth, so you manage what you can and then suck gently.  

Satoru sighs above you. 

Knowing that you've got him on the edge of coming leaves you breathless and wanton. You can already feel the slickness between your thighs. 

Before you can do any more, Satoru gently moves his hand to your jaw and lifts you off of himself. He pants a couple beats and then partially rises, allowing you to join him on the bed. Before you recline he slips your shorts off, leaving you in only your matching lace underwear. 

He takes your prior place on the floor and traces his hands up the defined muscles of your legs, lingering on the bulk of your quads and calves, and his eyes sinful in their appreciation of your physique. He spreads your legs farther. 

“God, do all divers have legs as delicious as yours?”

His blue eyes linger on the valley where your legs meet as his fingers find their way to the top of your lacey underwear. 

“Maybe all Olypian divers do.”

You’d meant to be a little flirty and teasing, but it comes out breathier than you meant when he runs the pad of his thumb over the fabric. It’s already soaked, you know, and his first touch slides deliciously against you. 

“I dunno, I think what you’ve got is special.”

He strokes you again, licks his lips, and then returns his hands to the top of the underwear, slowly sliding them down and exposing you. Once the garment is out of the way, He runs his finger across your bare sex, gliding easily through your folds. 

You inhale sharply and he locks eyes with you as he slides a finger into your dripping pussy. His eyes are aflame and his attention is glued to you as he slowly pumps into you, watching for any change in reaction. He adds another finger, stretching you just slightly. 

Besides your heavy breathing, the only other noise in the room is the lewd swash of his fingers pumping in and out of you. When he lightly rests his thumb on your clit you jerk, and when he begins to rub soft circles on it you moan. 

Your eyes flutter shut to absorb the sensation, but you realize that you miss the intensity of Satoru's eyes on you. You look back down at him, and trace his body as he continues to touch you, cataloging the way his abs clench when he pants out breaths and how his cock twitches.

Knowing he's so hard and ready for you pushes you closer to the edge, your legs tense with the prospect of release. Satoru analyzes your responses with the keen eye he would turn to an opponent, but he's not looking for an opportunity to pin you, but to bring your pleasure wide open. 

Satoru nips your bottom lip, moves his other hand to unclasp the bra behind your back. Now uninhibited, he palms the breast in his huge hand then rolls your nipple.

The pleasure in your body is fluid, rising and pooling between your legs. You pulse around Satoru’s fingers and a moan slips out. He keeps his fingers deep inside you and the thumb on your clit moving steadily, it's enough for the waves of pleasure to break over you. 

Your vision whites out for a moment and then your whole body is liquid, melting in the aftershock of one of the most intense orgasms you've had in a while. 

Gojo looks down at you, pleased, then climbs back into the bed next to you. He lets you continue to catch your breath laying down, but drapes your legs over his thighs as he rests back on his haunches. The position will give him plenty of access to your body. 

“Is this ok?” 

You nod, and then he lines up his cock to your entrance. 

The first couple thrusts are shallow, as he watches your breasts bounce every time he pumps into your slick cunt. The position affords you quite the view too- the exertion has left Satoru with a sheen of sweat on his skin and a pleasing pink  On his chest that wasn't there when you started. 

He grips your hips now and pulls himself deeper, increasing the rhythm between your bodies. This angle is reaching deep within you and building a mounting pressure that could build you back to another peak. 

Clearly the training you've each done for your sports is paying off in the bedroom too- your appetite for Gojo is voracious and he seems to have plenty of stamina.

Watching him pump his hips languidly, his cock disappearing into you, you reach down and hold his wrists where he's clinging to your hips, taut and aching.

Using the leverage from your handle on Satoru’s arms, you lift yourself to meet each thrust. The extra pressure of your weight on his arms doesn't seem to bother Gojo, if anything, his soft moans seem to get more frequent the more you touch him and use him to chase your pleasure. 

“I want you like this,” Satoru groans and then unfolds his legs, resting his forearms on each side of your head and bringing you nearly face to face. 

As you adjust he pushes the hair out of his face, which displays the long line of muscle down his bicep and torso. The modem disrupts the roll of his hips into your own for a moment, but he's quick to resume.

Now you're close enough to taste him- you lick a stripe up his corded neck, relishing the salt of the sweat you've put there, before whispering in his ear. 

“I’m close again.”

The words galvanize him, and Satoru crushes his lips to yours, messy and lustful and frantic.

“What do you need?” His voice is breathier now. 

“Keep this pace, God, you're so deep.”

He nods and glances down your body, then licks his thumb and returns it to your clit.

He circles the nub again, but his motions are disjointed and jerky now. You can tell he's close to his own high. 

“Come first one more time, you got a gold, chase this too.”

You shatter for the second time, pulsing around Gojo, who's buried deep. His steady pace starts to feast and he ruts into whole biting his lip before he comes apart with a sigh. 

The two of you share another kiss and gulp in air, then Satoru pulls himself out of you and nimbly climbs off the bed. Instead of feeling spent from your prior orgasms, you're left invigorated. You breathe deeply and can hear Gojo tie off the condom. 

Is it narcissistic if remembering the elation of winning sends you over the edge? Gojo's lips on your ear certainly helped, and either way you're grateful for the second high. 

You look back up at him when you feel the mattress shift under his weight. 

“So, you ready for round two?”

[jamiesfootball]

Whoop, here it is!

Roy’s got a new job, a therapist, and a niece who isn’t around as much anymore. He’s got decades of anger that’s never seen the light of day. He’s got a coaching staff trying to move forward without Ted. He's got four footballers looking to him for answers, and one of them—the one that’s become a bit special to him—is hiding a ticking time bomb under goofy outfits and complaints about classic literature.

Roy’s got one month to get his shit together before the season starts.

[sandubadetomate]

I'M WORKING ON A SUPERBAT x YOU'VE GOT A MAIL - AU!!!

Here's a lil' sneak peak:

Clark Kent is a charming young man who runs an independent children's bookstore on Metropolis, called 'The Shop around the corner'. In this story we will also know him as an online user under the name of "Superman", who exchange messages with "Batman", a friend of whom he first met in a chatroom. As they have agreed not to share specifics about their personal lives, he knows nothing about him. "Batman" however is the username of Bruce Wayne, heir of 'Wayne Books', a major chain of bookstores. Who is looking foward to the opening of a new storefront at Metropolis, just a few blocks from 'The Shop'. Wayne and Kent turn into mortal enemies. Bats and Supes fall madly in love for each other. What exactly could go wrong, right? ;)

Clark Kent as Kathleen Kelly!!

Bruce Wayne as Joe Fox!! (BONUS!!)

Kid!Jason and Kid!Dick as Matt and Annabelle!! (But they'll appear way more than the kids do on the film lol) I'm going to update y'all soon!!! XO

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

re: the last post i reblogged bc i am realizing just how much i yapped in the tags and i do not wish to subject the wider tumblr public to that rant LMAO

[valeovalairs]

People follow me for my fanart only for me to then remove my clown mask and reveal my second clown mask beneath it that says fic writer on it.

[cookiesandbiscuits]

One of my all-time favorite Devilgrams isn't a UR card but this:

Why is no one talking about this??

It has so much Lucifer x MC angst potential that makes you go RAAAAAAAAAAH!! And the ending?? So perfect!! (Solmare, please give us more of MC getting upset with one of the boys and the guy in question trying to make up to them)

Now I'm thinking about making a fic based on this.

[saturfied]

kudos to all kimchay writers!!! y'all are doing a great job🫡👏❤️

[necrotic-nephilim]

WOAH Bruce not only feeding that assumption in steph but planting the seed of it by saying something about Jason while he’s behind her and they’re looking at the memorial case together. Like this being after a build up of like you said him being harsh with her training “you didn’t match those fingerprints fast enough they could’ve matched 50 in 40 seconds you took almost twice that” but being kind while he’s physically touching her. Bruce standing behind steph, not to the side but directly behind, with his hand on her shoulder and the hand drops down to squeeze her arms and steph looks down at it and turns around and kisses him. I think if steph sent a post coitus pic to Bruce he wouldn’t even get mad he’d just get horny thinking about them together. Thank you for the photo steph can I get one in your robin costumes next time

(based on this post and this post) oh my god. your vision anon. i was going to just build off of this with headcanons but the scene you described i cannot get out of my head so uh have a fic that's 6k and far longer than it should've been with vanilla sex that somehow is very dead dove anyway, also crossposted on ao3. ily i would guard you with my life- <3

When Stephanie thought about Bruce, she remembered skin that tasted like salt and brimstone. She remembered warm hands that held her more gently than she'd probably ever be held again. She remembered a cold voice that was more cruel to her than anyone had ever been.

Which, given who her father was, Stephanie personally found that to be a pretty fucking impressive feat.

She remembered a lot of things about Bruce. So many memories sat on her tongue and threatened to spill out whenever she opened her mouth.

Memories like Bruce's hand on her shoulder, giving her another lesson she never got to use before dying.

"You didn't match those fingerprints fast enough," Bruce said. He was unforgiving, and Stephanie didn't have to be looking at him to know his features were painted in disappointment. She scowled and focused harder on the slides in front of her, ignoring him. When she didn't answer, he twisted the knife deeper. "Tim could've matched almost fifty in forty seconds. You took twice that."

It was always Tim being dangled like a carrot in front of Stephanie's face. So many times had Stephanie wanted to twist around and snap at Bruce that he wasn't the only one who lost someone when Tim had to quit being Robin. Bruce wasn't the only one with a gaping hole in his chest that couldn't be filled.

At least Bruce had Stephanie trying to fill his loss. It wasn't like anyone had stepped up for her.

Stephanie's grip on a fingerprint slide tightened until she was sure the glass would crack. "Did Tim have you breathing down his neck the whole time, making unnecessary commentary?" Her snark could cost her this role she fought so hard for.

After hours of useless training that didn't even involve punching things, Stephanie wasn't sure if she cared about that.

It took a silent, brooding moment before Bruce answered. "In the field, you won't always be afforded an undisturbed working space. But you also can't tune out distractions that could cost your life."

If she could, Stephanie would punch Bruce. If she thought her fist had the slightest chance of actually connecting with his face before he dodged or deflected it, there would already be a satisfying crunch of bone against bone echoing through the cave. Just the mental image of it made Stephanie almost smile.

She took a slow breath.

"Point taken," Stephanie said carefully. She set the glass slide down, flexing her hand that still itched for violence. Another cruel comment was on her lips when Bruce's hand started massaging her shoulder. The touch was so gentle it forced tension out of her muscles, and Stephanie sighed. "Are we done?"

"No," Bruce was icy, lacking any emotion. "We need to go over your lackluster decoding skills again." His other hand came to rest on her other shoulder, massaging in tandem. It was an electric touch she wanted to lean into.

"For fuck's sake!" Stephanie threw her hands up, then dropped her head into them, rubbing her temples. "What has it been, four hours? We haven't even eaten."

The shadow Bruce cast over her just seemed to grow, engulfing every inch of Stephanie's existence. "This job isn't one that comes with luxuries. And it's a job you asked for," he reminded her. His thumbs were working into Stephanie's neck, perfectly pressing out a stiffness she'd been harboring for weeks. She couldn't stop herself from pressing into the touch. "If you lose even once... you lose things you can't afford to lose. Things I can't afford to lose."

Stephanie looked up from the desk. Her gaze snagged on the memorial case that loomed over her every time she walked into the case. The name that was carefully carved into the plate at the bottom of a boy she never even got to know.

Because he was what Bruce lost.

"You're not going to lose me." Stephanie turned her head to face Bruce, giving him a much kinder look than she'd been wearing just seconds ago. One of Bruce's hands drifted down to hold her bicep. "You know that, right? I know what you've already lost, but I can be better than that."

It was gently possessive. Like, at any moment, she could evaporate, and he would be alone again. For all his flaws, Bruce sure as hell knew how to tug on Stephanie's fragile heartstrings.

"You have no idea what I've lost." Bruce's voice actually broke, like he was a marble statue cracking, every grove held a story. Real emotion, real pain beyond her comprehension. That was a rare thing. Stephanie studied the way his face shifted. She tried to remember all the training he'd given her about noticing small changes and what they meant.

Sorrow and pain in his brow. Worry and tension in the thin pressed line of his mouth.

Love in his eyes. A familiar love Stephanie knew better than anyone.

But he wasn't looking at Stephanie. He was looking at the memorial case.

"Oh," Stephanie realized out loud, eyes going wide. "I didn't know- oh. I'm so sorry, Bruce."

Bruce's gaze snapped away from the case all too abruptly, as if he'd revealed far too much to Stephanie in a single instant. His eyes were guarded again, and he stared down at her with a tense expression, stroking her skin with his thumb.

It was stupid, that Stephanie had never considered this... thing with Bruce to be a unique thing. Maybe she liked the naivety of feeling special in how Bruce showed her attention. She was never going to be the only Robin, definitely never going to be the best Robin, but she had always assumed she was the only one Bruce loved, like that.

The lining of jealousy calling her bones was put out by sympathy for Bruce. The loss of Jason was worse, if that was how he and Bruce were. It was more than losing a sidekick.

It was losing a lover.

Was Tim the same? Probably. Undoubtedly, Stephanie decided. And Dick, the way Bruce talked about them. She'd always known Tim and Bruce were weirdly entangled in ways it wasn't her business to understand, but now, the pieces clicked further into place.

And in one way or another, Bruce had lost all of them.

Now here she was.

No wonder her training was thankless. She could die or leave him at any moment, in Bruce's eyes.

Stephanie properly turned around, spinning her chair. Facing him fully, none of Stephanie's concern was hidden from Bruce. He answered it with a frown, running his fingers through her hair and cupping her face. Stephanie looked at the hand as it lingered on her body. Like Bruce couldn't force himself to pull away. Like he knew he was being selfish, putting her in danger.

But Stephanie wasn't fragile. She had what other Robins didn't. Experience on the field, doing this on her own without Batman. Who knew how strong she could be under his touch, how she’d blossom.

Stephanie stood up and touched Bruce's face. She had to stand on her toes to do it, but she kissed him. Gave him the moment he always needed to go from stiff and overthinking to melting into Stephanie's touch. He kissed back and licked his tongue into her mouth, like she was a decadent food he was savoring.

How he always tasted the same, salty and earthy, Stephanie would never know. She'd add it to the tally of mysteries about Bruce Wayne.

Bruce's hand drifted down to Stephanie's waist. Then, like something out of a movie, He brushed aside all the fingerprint slides, letting some clatter to the floor so he could pick her up around her hips and set her on the table. She was raised up enough that she didn't have to strain to reach his mouth now, letting them deepen the kiss.

For a while, they stayed like that. Kissing and hands wandering. Stephanie slipped her hand under Bruce's cotton t-shirt, feeling against hard muscle and a bandage over a deep cut that had needed stitches only a few days ago. A part of Stephanie wanted to push her fingers under the medical tape, just so she could feel where the cut was. Press her fingers up against the painful wound, exploring where Bruce's flesh ripped open and paid the price for his sloppy actions, as he would put it.

But she didn't. Stephanie did her best to keep the more inhumane parts of herself out of reach from Bruce so he wouldn't scrutinize them and make her feel like more of a failure.

Bruce ran a hand up the inside of Stephanie's thigh until he found the zipper of her jeans and just rested his thumb there. His other hand was cupping one of her breasts in a hold that wasn't nearly tight enough for Stephanie's tastes. It was such a cruel thing, how he was rough and unforgiving with his words, but treated her like a doll about to break whenever he fucked her.

Just once, Stephanie would give anything to fuck the Batman and hear words from Bruce Wayne. Not the other way around.

If she told Bruce that, there was a non-zero chance he would throw her in Arkham for it. He'd told her at length how relationships with women like Catwoman failed because they wanted him to be gentle in places he couldn't be.

He found gentleness for Stephanie in those places, though.

Bruce trailed kisses down Stephanie's throat. She tilted her head back to give him better access for sucking colorful marks into her skin, making her shudder. Her body begged for more where her voice failed her.

"Are you hungry?" Bruce asked, his voice vibrating against her skin.

Stephanie's head was swimming. "What?"

She swore she felt him smile against her throat. "You pointed out we haven't eaten. Do you need dinner, Stephanie?"

"Oh, you bastard." Stephanie smacked his arm, and he let her. "Later. We can order Chinese or something after this."

"Good." Bruce's voice dropped a dangerous octave. He always found some covert way to ask for her consent without directly asking for it. Just another part of his mind games she would never understand.

His hands pushed under her shirt. He pulled away from the kiss long enough to pull it up over her head, exposing Stephanie's plain white bra. She fantasized about being the type of girl who wore fancy lingerie for an older man like Bruce, but that wasn't something for Stephanie's shallow pockets.

She knew she could ask Bruce. He'd probably fall over himself for the chance to buy her lingerie. He always said yes when it came to money things, and even offered her a debit card attached to one of his smaller accounts. Which, in Bruce's language, meant an account with only a couple million instead of hundreds of millions.

But Stephanie always said no. She needed some side of her life to keep to herself without Bruce influencing it.

She needed Bruce to know she could still hold herself above water without him.

Her fingers buried in his short hair, carding through the soft, dark strands that still had the scent of his sandalwood shampoo. If he grew his hair out, it would probably have a faint curl pattern, like the pictures Stephanie had seen of Martha Wayne, from back in the day. It was a shame he kept it so short.

"How are your ribs?" Bruce asked, his fingers brushing over the still purple bruise and making Stephanie wince.

"Fine," she insisted, wiping the pain off her face. She had been the one stupid enough to take a punch from a Riddler goon, of all people. She didn't need Bruce pointing out her failures now.

He didn't look like he believed her, but he didn't push it. Bruce just bent over to press soft kisses over the marks, like he thought his love could heal her. If it could, it would've by now. Just the thought made Stephanie shiver and relax more into his touch.

One of his hands snuck behind her to undo the clasp on her bra. Stephanie shifted her shoulders, and it fell to the ground.

Bruce latched his mouth around one of her nipples. Stephanie groaned and pulled his hair. He always let her be rough, if she needed it. Her nails left angry red marks down his back, and she held onto him so tightly there were bruises. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Stephanie was pretty sure Bruce liked the marks as much as she did, proof that she'd laid claim to him as much as he'd claimed her.

Their relationship was one of reciprocity if nothing else.

It was a maddening tease to have Bruce's mouth on her flesh. He kneaded her other breast with a strong hand that had crushed bones, brushing across her nipple until it was standing upright and there were goosebumps on her flesh. She wanted to stay like this forever, having the goddamn Batman worshipping her skin.

She needed more, though.

Stephanie unbuttoned her own jeans and shimmied them down. They were barely past her hips when Bruce grabbed her wrist.

"What have I told you about patience?" Despite everything, he used the same tone he would've if he was scolding her about rushing into a mission too quickly.

"You're a bastard," Stephanie was breathless just from the few touches he'd given her. Heat was pooling between her legs and she needed to alleviate the pressure somehow, like expressing an infected wound. Sometimes, Stephanie's cunt felt less like a sacred hole for pleasure and more like a bleeding gash that she needed Bruce to provide triage for. He fucked her with the same intimacy that he dressed her stab wounds, finding the gaping flesh and pressing into it until there was finally relief.

Bruce probably didn't see it that way. Stephanie didn't care.

He dared to laugh against her skin, deep and rough. "Relax. Trust your body. Trust me." His voice was so steady and firm, it was hard not to lean against.

Stephanie huffed, but bit her tongue. "At least take your shirt off. Fair is fair."

A gruff hum came out of Bruce, but he complied, pulling away to shuck the garment and give Stephanie one of her favorite views. Like watching a sunset over the Gotham horizon, every time she saw Bruce's naked skin was just a little different. The same gorgeous sight, but if her eyes wandered she would find all the new little scars, the older scars that were fading more, the ever-shifting wall of muscle that didn't look one bit human.

Stephanie groped his chest, running her fingers over coarse hairs that Bruce sometimes shaved, and sometimes didn't. She preferred the natural look, the same way she preferred when he went a few days without shaving. It made him just a touch animalistic.

He went back to devouring her skin with his mouth and hands. Stephanie was at Bruce's mercy as he kissed, sucked, and licked his way across the dips and valleys of her body. He was reverently gentle over her scars with soft kisses. Then he sank his teeth into sensitive places Stephanie never knew she had. The skin under her breasts, the stretch marks over her hip dips that had never quite gone back to normal after she gave birth.

The world spun around them and somehow, Stephanie was the only thing that mattered to Bruce.

When Bruce seemed pleased with the soft marks he'd covered her in, his hands finally pushed Stephanie's pants down the rest of the way, and he helped her kick them off with her shoes.

Then, he got on his knees.

Stephanie's eyes were wide, and her face turned a soft shade of red that matched the hickeys on her chest. "I haven't waxed-"

Bruce arched an eyebrow at her and pushed her knees open. "I don't care."

She didn't know what it was about Bruce, but Stephanie was always too shy about her body around him, expecting him to scrutinize it for the same faults he found in the rest of her. The first time they kissed, she started waxing that same night, from her pubic mound to her asshole, just so she would be smooth for him. She shaved more often, bought a nicer perfume, and tried her hair in styles she never would've worn before. It made Stephanie feel childish, but she could never stop herself.

She needed to be good for him.

Proving the point in his words, Bruce started kissing Stephanie's thigh. He left marks there, too, working his way closer and closer to her cunt. Stephanie could feel her heart rate spiking as the cold air hit her vagina. She was digging her nails into his scalp, too deeply, she realized. But like always, Bruce didn't seem to mind.

Finally, he made his way to his destination.

Bruce's tongue was hotter than a brand over Stephanie's cunt. She gasped and jerked. Every time, it never failed to make her dizzy. It was a reminder how inexperienced Stephanie was at sex. She offered to give him head and without fail, Bruce always said no.

Yet, he did things with his mouth that Stephanie didn't know were fucking possible.

Bruce licked his way inside of Stephanie, pressing his tongue as deep as it would go and flicking upward. A groan ripped out of Stephanie, and she was practically grinding on Bruce's face for more.

He used his hands to pull her folds open for better access. If Stephanie tried closing her legs, Bruce just pushed them back open with his elbows. He forced her on display for him, whining and squirming for desperate pleasure from his mouth.

"Bruce," Stephanie moaned, eyes fluttering. It was a simple pleasure, but an overwhelming one, hard to even look at Bruce without losing herself to it. Every time Stephanie looked down, those piercing blue eyes were locked on her, drinking up her reactions.

It was fucking intimidating, was what it was.

He moved his mouth upward and Stephanie shattered. Chapped lips wrapped around her clit and sucked until Stephanie's eyes were rolling into the back of her head. He flicked and twisted his tongue in ways that shouldn't have been humanly possible to send sparks up her spine. It was like getting shocked over and over again.

His fingers pressed inside of her hole, arching up. It was nothing like being finger banged by a horny teenage boy behind the bleachers and all the other clumsy sexual interactions that crowded Stephanie's youth. This was a touch with experience, fingers curling inside of her with movements that went for precision instead of speed or force. Like Bruce knew he didn't have to rush Stephanie's pleasure, he just had to find the right spots to tug at until he unraveled her.

"Fuck, Bruce!" Stephanie grabbed onto the end of the table and thanked every god that she didn't have super strength, because if she did, the metal would've crumpled under the force she put behind her grip. "You... you're going to drive me fucking insane... Bruce-" She canted her hips up to chase more pleasure. Her body was greedy, making up for how shy her mind wanted her to be.

There was a gleam in his eyes when she managed to look down again. She could see how smug he was about knowing it was only his touch that could reduce her to this, naked with pleasure dripping out of her.

She was going to make a mess of the table. The last time she did that, Bruce gently guided her to her knees and pressed her face into the slick puddle until Stephanie got the message without a single spoken order. Licking up her own cum while Bruce had fucked her behind, a hand around her throat.

That memory was one she still jerked off to. It was too rare for Stephanie to get those wilder, kinkier inclinations out of Bruce, no matter how much she begged for his dirty fantasies she knew he was thinking about every time he looked at her.

One day she'd convince him to do whatever he was thinking about the time he stared at her a little too hard when she was trying to get out of those handcuffs.

The thought of that alone had Stephanie's pleasure rushing toward its crest, and her noises got higher and more desperate. Bruce couldn't say anything, with his mouth locked around her clit and still working it so well, but he stroked her thigh with his thumb as if he was encouraging her to let go.

It may as well have been an order.

And Stephanie obeyed.

She pulled hard on Bruce's hair and clamped her thighs tight around his skull, holding him there. Bruce didn't force them open this time, he just let her body take what it needed. Stephanie was almost positive a third finger pushed inside of her to join the first two filling her as she hit the peak of her orgasm.

A scream tore free from her lungs. She kicked uselessly, one foot accidentally hitting one of Bruce's shoulders. He was a concrete wall, though, not moving or even flinching from it. He just kept licking and sucking and looking through his dark curls to stare at her as she howled. Stephanie tried to say Bruce's name, she tried to tell him how good it felt, but all the words got lost in translation. All she could do was hold onto him and ride through every electric wave, hoping he understood.

Of course, he did. He always did.

Just as Stephanie reached the peak of pleasure and tipped into overstimulation, Bruce pulled off of her clit. He looked almost disappointed by it, staring briefly at her soaked, pink folds. Like he wanted to stay there and make her suffer and beg for reprieve.

If Stephanie had any sense to her, she would've pouted about him not doing just that.

At least his fingers stayed inside of her. They weren't moving anymore, but they were a warm pressure, keeping her full and satiated as her body went boneless. Bruce studied her and watched Stephanie hold herself up with her arm to keep from flopping onto the table and passing out right there.

"Fuck me," Stephanie said, already knowing that Bruce was debating it. Sometimes he fucked her after he ate her out, sometimes he didn't- no matter how she begged for it. Even when she could see the tent in his pants. The time she'd begged particularly hard, he laid her out on his bed and told her to stay still and just jerked off on her tits, as if to prove some kind of point she didn't understand.

She did understand, though, how fucking hot it had been to have his spent pleasure against her skin. Perverse and disgusting, but hot. She had scooped it up with her fingers and sucked them clean in front of him, the only time she ever got to taste his cum. It earned her a scowl as he carried her into the shower, practically dropping her into the tub.

Of course, she did manage to get Bruce to properly fuck her in the shower. So it was a happy memory, no matter how Bruce's disapproving stare the whole time tried to taint it.

A healthy collection of memories. And still, Stephanie's greedy hands wanted more. She wanted, craved more than just his fingers inside of her.

"Please," Stephanie added when Bruce was quiet for too long. She did her best to appear submissive and doe-eyed, looking at him through her lashes and spreading her legs. "I want you to feel good, too. Let me take care of you." When the soft, sultry tone she used didn't do anything to make him budge, Stephanie sighed and grabbed his wrist, pressing her thumb against the pulse point to feel his hammering heartbeat. "Take what you need, Bruce. I'm not going anywhere."

Bruce groaned and Stephanie felt it in her core.

He pushed himself to his feet, fingers still buried inside of her. When he grabbed for one of the drawers to a nearby desk, Stephanie practically preened, knowing she'd won.

"We don't need a condom," Stephanie said. She tried this argument every time. It never worked. She never stopped trying. "I have an IUD and we both get tested regularly-"

"It's not up for debate," Bruce nearly growled. He pulled a condom out and ripped the package out with his teeth. Stephanie squeaked at the sight.

"Let me put it on, at least?" Stephanie said, trying to get her voice out of the higher register he'd startled her into.

Bruce didn't put up a fight as Stephanie opened his jeans with her hands and pushed them down just enough to pull his cock free. He handed her the condom and watched with rapt attention as she stroked him a few times. It got no reaction from Bruce, and Stephanie didn't expect one. She just enjoyed the feeling of his stiff, hot flesh underneath her touch. All the little places only Stephanie got to touch and hold.

She worked him until his cock was twitching, and he grabbed her thigh again and squeezed with warning. Hypocritical bastard. He got all the time he wanted with her body, but she was always rushed when she got to touch him, sliding her hand over his cock and rubbing a thumb over the slick head.

The condom was rolled on as Stephanie imagined putting it on with her mouth. She'd practiced the skill on a dildo more than once in anticipation of the day she finally got to show it off to Bruce. She licked her lips at the thought.

"Good," Bruce grunted when the condom was snugly on his length. It was a coveted, rare praise that made Stephanie almost choke. And somehow, he said it like it was nothing. Like he didn't even mean to. Like he was unaware of how it made her react.

She liked to pretend it just slipped out because he was so caught up in her, but the realist in Stephanie knew that, like everything else about Bruce, it was calculated. Still, she took what she could get.

Bruce tugged Stephanie closer to the edge with his grip on her thigh. It was practically manhandling, and she couldn't stop the moan at the rough treatment that begged for more. Instead of giving her more, Bruce just gave her a sour look and pulled his fingers out of her cunt, and pushed them into her mouth to keep her quiet.

To make her taste the pleasure only he could bring her.

Stephanie mewled and sucked on Bruce's thick, calloused fingers as he lined himself up with a guiding hand. The push in was a blunt pressure, then a fullness that made Stephanie lean back until Bruce wrapped his arm around her shoulders to give her support.

Their bodies were flush together. He buried his face into her neck and breathed in her scent while she tasted his skin, savoring the flavor she only found on him.

Salt and brimstone.

Bruce fucked her at a controlled pace. He never let go to push her body to the limit the way she knew he could. But with how overwhelming it was to be fucked by him, maybe that was a thing. Bruce was thick and long, driving air out of Stephanie's lungs every time he drove in.

He pulled his fingers free from her mouth, and she mourned the loss with a soft noise. His hand trailed down to press against the bottom of her stomach. She didn't know where the hell Bruce learned the trick, but the slight pressure on the outside of her body somehow made the thrusts more intense and filling. It made sure his cock assaulted her g-spot with every stroke and her back arched.

"Bruce, Bruce," Stephanie chanted his name, clawing at his back, not caring that her nails were catching on sensitive scars. She felt like she couldn't think. She locked her legs around his waist to pull him impossibly closer.

Her back arched until her head was practically hanging upside down, all while Bruce kept his face buried against her collarbone. So he couldn't see where her gaze fell and what made her stuttered noises get more guttural.

The memorial case danced in front of Stephanie's eyes, even from this upside-down shaky view, grounding her to the moment even as she was soaring through pleasure.

Stephanie didn't know much about Jason Todd. She didn't know his hobbies or his favorite books. She didn't know what jokes would make him smile and what worries clouded his head when he was trying to fall asleep.

But she knew they shared this. She knew, in this way, they were always going to be connected. Bruce had been buried deep in Jason the same way he was buried in Stephanie, chasing his pleasure. And just like Stephanie, Jason must've liked it.

How could he not, when being loved by Bruce was like being on a direct path of a meteorite? Fleeting, but brilliant in the chaos.

Stephanie tried to remember what Jason looked like, from the pictures. She tried to imagine how Bruce liked to fuck Jason and what Jason looked like under Bruce. How his dark hair got sweaty and his ocean-blue eyes squeezed shut. What type of noises he would make and what kinds of pleasure he liked.

Did Bruce suck him off? Eat his ass out like he ate Stephanie out?

Did Jason love the fall into absolution the same way Stephanie did?

All the mental images overwhelmed her as the Robin suit danced in front of her eyes, bright colors blurring together. The thought of Jason bent over the same table Stephanie was getting fucked on made her moan and her eyes squeezed shut.

In another universe, maybe they got fucked by Bruce at the same time. Two Robins for the price of one to finally get Bruce to go over the edge and take what he wanted from both of them.

For now, though, Stephanie would have to do the work for both of them. For all the Robins and this torch she carried.

She clenched down around Bruce as best she could. Her second orgasm was already too close. Usually she needed Bruce to stroke her clit to work her to the edge, but now, lost in all her fantasies of a boy she never knew, Stephanie was lost to it. She started to shake.

"Close," Stephanie warned, even when she didn't need to. Her noises were hitched and broken, lost in every thrust.

Bruce didn't speed up, but he did fuck her harder, giving her just a fraction of more force from his strong hips. It pulled a scream out of her, and Stephanie shattered.

The pleasure took its hold on her. Toe-curling and mind-numbing and every other cliche Stephanie thought only happened in porn. She clamped down around Bruce, so tight she didn't know how he managed to keep fucking her.

"Stephanie," Bruce whispered, so softly she almost convinced herself she hallucinated it. It was the only sign she got that Bruce had come, burying himself to the hilt just as her orgasm came to an end. He shivered and exhaled, and nothing else. No loud noises, no sexy dirty talk.

Just unspoken simplicity. Stephanie could appreciate it for what it was.

She nuzzled into him, pressing her head against his and holding him tightly. It would've been a hug if he wasn't still buried inside of her. She even dared to stroke his hair, like a mother soothing a child after a nightmare.

After an orgasm was the rare time Bruce allowed Stephanie to take care of him in these little ways, and she never squandered the chance. She hummed softly, carding her fingers through his curls and rubbing his back.

It wasn't a long moment.

"Chinese?" Bruce asked, pulling away from Stephanie's skin.

Stephanie rummaged around inside her worn mind, trying to find her cockiness. "Worked up that much of an appetite?" She gave him a sharp smile.

"If you don't give me a straight answer, I'll order Pizza Hut," Bruce threatened.

"Oh, gross." Stephanie made a face, afterglow sufficiently killed. "They have the worst pizza, don't you dare."

Bruce gave her a rare smile. He leaned in and kissed her one last time before they had to separate and be real people again.

That was where the memory faded off, for Stephanie. It bled into all the other little almost-domestic moments she had with Bruce.

It was a memory that stuck out because it was the first real time Stephanie had ever thought about Jason. And now, it was a fitting one to mull over as she was curled up against Jason’s chest, enjoying an entirely different afterglow.

And a much more sore body.

Because Jason didn't hold back all the things they both wanted more than anything.

"Say cheese," Stephanie said, holding up her phone to take a selfie.

Jason, whose head was propped up by his arm, looking perfectly serene, cracked an eye open. "What are you doing?" He sounded suspicious, watching as Stephanie twisted and turned the phone, trying to find the perfect angle.

She needed to make sure both of their bare chests were in the picture, with all the bruises and marks covering them.

She needed to make sure there was no mistaking what the photo meant.

"I'm sending this to Bruce," Stephanie hummed. She didn't smile for the picture, but there was an unmistakable smugness in her eyes as she snapped a couple of pictures, giving her options to pick from before pulling the phone back to her face.

Jason snorted. His grip on her hip tightened. "Why?" He didn't protest the idea.

Stephanie just shrugged. "It'll piss him off."

"You like kicking hornets' nests that much?"

"You've got no room to talk. How many heads were in that duffel bag again?" Stephanie gave him a deadpan look before going back to her phone. She debated on a message to send with the selfie, before ultimately deciding on none.

After all, Bruce was a man of few words. Surely he would understand.

Jason made an annoyed noise but didn't argue. "Tell me what he says back," he said, closing his eyes again and adjusting to get more comfortable in bed. This was his base they had chosen to fuck in.

The first place they fucked on was a rooftop. But of course, the lighting there wasn't the best for a selfie, so Stephanie had to hold off on taunting Bruce.

Sleeping with Jason was a lot more dangerous than sleeping with Bruce had been. She heard all the warnings and stories about what he was capable of and how he wasn't the sweet boy he'd once been.

Maybe she liked the danger. Maybe she needed someone who would finally stop treating her like a doll.

And just maybe, she needed to gloat.

The message was marked as read nearly as soon as it was sent. The three little dots indicating Bruce was typing appeared and disappeared no less than a dozen times. It made her smile, imagining him sputtering and cycling through emotions as he tried to figure out a response.

Just as Stephanie was sure she wasn't going to get any response, a message appeared on her screen.

Thank you for the photo. If you plan to send more, I still have your Robin suit. You can wear it in the next one.

Stephanie's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She elbowed Jason in the ribs and showed him the screen.

Jason grunted and looked down for a moment, silent. "I'd fuck you in your Robin suit," was the only input he offered.

"Only if you're wearing yours too," Stephanie rolled her eyes at how unhelpful he was.

Jason gave the thought a hum, considering. "Ask Bruce if he still has it, and I'll think about it."

She had no idea if he was serious or not. It was always hard to tell, with Jason. She had no idea if Bruce was serious either. Maybe he was playing some kind of cruel joke on her too, trying to outsmart her in some game of chess just because she'd dare to mock him with the picture.

At the very least, she could be pleased she got under his skin either way.

Stephanie smiled and typed out what Jason had said, hitting send.

She always did like calling people's bluff. Whatever the outcome was, one thing was sure.

The game was on. And Stephanie wasn't stopping until she got the last fiber of Bruce's control to snap. 

[keekeenuggets]

RadioStatic Week, Day 2: Vintage / Modern

We were writing this for other reasons, but then realized it happens to fit the prompt for today, so... figured we'd post it. We probably don't have the energy to participate in a lot of the days for this week, but we're excited to see more of what other people create, regardless!

Summary: A year into Alastor's disappearance, Vox makes one last attempt to reach out to the demon -- he hosts a radio broadcast.

Title: Old-Timey

Day three hundred and sixty-five since the last time Vox had heard from Alastor. Not that he'd been keeping track. He only had the date memorized, of course, and he just happened to look at the calendar and notice how many days had passed. Just like he did every day. It was part of his daily routine, not that he would ever admit it. It just so happened that he had a calendar posted on his door, which he looked at every day before exiting his room. Of course he'd look, because how would he not look at before leaving his room? It only made sense.

But as much as he didn't want to admit it, he'd started actually growing concerned for the old prick. An extermination had passed, not too long ago, and Vox wanted some kind of confirmation that Alastor was still alive. Even more, he wanted to know that his old friend cared, but he knew that was asking too much.

Still, he had an idea. He had the right equipment for it. Though radio broadcasts weren't his thing, what if...? It was a long shot, but if anything would catch the Radio Demon's attention enough to get a response, it would be Vox, the modern television overlord, going live on the air an old-timey piece of junk.

He wouldn't abandon his TV equipment, of course. He'd simply both avenues at once. Talk about the Radio Demon's mysterious disappearance, perhaps. It was as interesting as any news segment that bitch Katie Killjoy could come up with. Most of her shit consisted of boring, desperate grabs for views. At least Voxtek could come up with things that garnered actual interest. The hypnotism didn't hurt, either.

"... And three. Two. One. Going live!"

Travis, the studio director who bounced back and forth between shooting for Vox's segments and Val's pornography happened to be in charge of cameras, that day. He was mediocre at the radio tech, but they managed. And with the push of a few buttons, he saw the green light that let him know he was live not only on the television, but also on the more traditional radio waves. The perfect venue for grabbing the attention of all citizens of hell. Not only the most up-to-date ones.

"Annnnd good day, fine sinners!" Vox grinned into the camera, his hands folded in front of him. "Today's broadcast is brought to you by Voxtek. Trust *us* with your news." His eye sent out waves of persuasion, for only a moment. Today, he was all about the audio. And no one, not even -- or especially not -- Alastor, would be able to hear the hypnotic frequencies. He had to rely on his charm and showmanship, today. But that was not a problem.

He cleared his throat. "I come live to you in a rather unique format. Yes, this time, I'm broadcasting over the radio, too. A little bit of traditional medium for old time's sake, right? It doesn't hurt, every once in a while." He laughed, to himself. Then he continued. "Now, we've got a special topic this morning, and it's the reason I've decided on this dual transmission. As some of you may be aware, the Radio Demon hasn't been around in quite some time." Speaking the words gave them a truth he didn't want to think about, but Vox kept the grin plastered on his face like his life depended on it. He refused to slip up. "In fact, it's been an entire year since his last reported sighting!" Not that he had checked every social media platform in case of any mention of the Radio Demon.

Except that was exactly what he'd done. And as the overlord of technology, he'd been able to keep an eye on cameras and through screens all throughout the Pentagram. Sure enough, Alastor was nowhere to be seen. That is, nowhere that modern technology had any reach, at the very least. He still didn't want to believe him to be dead, but the fact Alastor would work so hard to avoid any detection or communication with Vox was also infuriating. As if had never meant anything to the other overlord. Maybe he hadn't. But he didn't need to think about that.

"Now, there has been some speculation on where he's been. Having a nice vacay off-the-grid, entrapped by another, more powerful, overlord..." The last one didn't seem likely -- or at least had been a possibility Vox feared the thought of. The Radio Demon was already quite powerful to begin with. "Some even speculate that the demon might not be among us any longer at all!" That would be much worse, of course.

"But hey, maybe there are some upsides to this change of pace, am I right?" He said this only because he knew that if anything would get a response from Alastor, it would be demeaning his choice form of expression. "I mean, radio is so outdated. It's about time we give Hell a more modern entertainment makeover. And sure, as I said, radio can be fun every once in a while, but who wants to rely on only barely audible sources of pleasure? With no visuals?" He laughed. "Please. That's so old school. And we've got much better means of enjoyment, nowadays."

He paused. Half-expecting the Radio Demon to interrupt his broadcast. Such a thing certainly wasn't unheard of before. Alastor enjoyed displacing mediocre radio hosts. And though Vox was confident in his ability to entertain, he knew that his old thought of himself as superior. Maybe he was right; maybe he was wrong. Regardless, it was his opinion that made the difference, and yet, Vox's program remained uninterrupted. It was almost disappointing.

So Vox continued, sharing some of the theories and speculation he'd found online about Alastor's disappearance. All found while searching for any signs of him being spotted anywhere. Stories were all kept anonymous, and there were a few ideas he made up himself. But no one needed to know that. The viewers, the listeners, they were just there for the entertainment and fun. Most of them didn't care about what was genuine or not, so long as it was enthralling, and technically, Vox wasn't lying about anything -- only pretending that the speculator of some of the rumors wasn't himself.

The segment Vox had planned out was only about an hour long, and as the top of the hour began rapidly approaching, he started to feel more restless and agitated. It became clear that Alastor really wasn't listening. Or at least, wasn't planning on showing it. Responding at all. What an ass. A year of absolutely no contact after an argument-induced battle, no way of even knowing how he could possibly contact his old friend, and all after Vox had dared ask Alastor to join him in expanding the medium he worked with? As if it was such a major offense. At least Valentino and Velvette supported him, even though they didn't seem to understand, either. They didn't understand the joy of broadcasting, not in the same way Alastor had. They'd had that in common, and he still had been too stubborn to stray from radio, even a little bit.

"Well, that about wraps it up for this broadcast," Vox chimed as happily as he could muster. The viewers, he knew, didn't care whether the grin was genuine or forced, and most didn't know it was the latter anyway. "We'll be back later for some more daily news. In the meantime, I leave you with this ad from our sponsor. And don't forget: You can always trust us, Voxtek, with your entertainment."

As soon as the cameras shut off, Vox's smile faltered, but he plastered it right back on when Travis came up to him.

"We're done here, right?" He asked. "'Cause Val's expecting me down at his studio for a shoot. The rest of the camera crew can handle the afternoon broadcast for you."

"Yeah, yeah," Vox waved him off. "Go help Val. He won't let me hear the end of it, if I keep you." It was good news, though, if Valentino was going to be busy with a shoot. He knew Velvette had her work, too. And he just wanted to be alone.

He retreated to his room and sat surrounded by his screens, all connected to cameras and tech across town. City-wide surveillance. Vox flipped through different feeds absent-mindedly. As always, in the back of his mind, he was searching for one specific person. But he should have known, by now, it was pointless.

What if something really had happened to him? Vox shook his head, sighing at the thought. No. Alastor was too tough for that. He was the Radio Demon. No, it seemed more plausible that he was simply avoiding Vox. Avoiding all detection. How, Vox wasn't sure. Strange that he could disappear so effectively. But, of course, if anyone could do such a thing, it would be Alastor. For whatever his reasons, Alastor knew how to remove himself from the public view if he needed to. That was their thing, of course, media and coverage of different sorts. Vox figured he, too, could avoid being detected, if he'd wished.

Vox sighed. It was time to just admit what he didn't want to before. Whatever he had with Alastor before, if he ever had anything at all -- it was over. Truly. By this point? Any hope of having it back was futile.

The aching became rage, like a protective shield. Rage, bitterness, was easier to handle. It meant he wasn't being hurt, but that he was the one in control. He was the one that would do the hurting, if it ever came down to it. If he ever saw Alastor again. That had been one thing he'd learned from the Radio Demon. Always find a way to keep the upper hand.

With his control over technology, now, he would. And someday, Alastor would see what he left behind.

[venture-through-the-mist]

Songs of Solitude

A song—and the Cavia’s reaction towards it—drags a slightly dismayed Loid from his work. He certainly didn’t expect the voice to belong to her.

TW: Hi there! Before we get into this fic, I have a bit of a trigger warning to mention to y’all.

There is a very brief moment in the last paragraph of the fic that, depending on how you read it, could be interpreted as a mention of potential suicide. Nothing happens, this is fully just Loid being worried about Lotus (he doesn’t really know her, after all, and the situation is definitely odd), and that isn’t really how I’d intended for it to be read anyhow, but figured I’d put up a warning in case.

Anyways, with that out of the way, the fic begins under the cut.

The singing begins on a day not too dissimilar from any other, by his account, at least. At first, he wonders if it’s simply yet another of his Albrecht’s ‘surprises’. It certainly wouldn’t shock him if that is the case, Albrecht always did enjoy concealing his inventions until their revelation suited him. It doesn’t bother him, not until he hears a shrill, questioning voice.

“Mister Loid! Mister Loid? Hey!” He sighs, turning to the brightly colored creature.

“Yes, Bird 3? What is it?” He’s known that the bird in question has been able to ‘escape’ that cage for…a while now. Granted, it isn’t entirely a cage, more of a large resting area, so this should not be surprising. His eye twitches slightly as the bird squawks again. Gods, why couldn’t Albrecht have chosen some other creature fo—he interrupts his own mind, scolding himself for the thought instantly. The Cavia have been through quite enough in their time. 

“What’s that sound? I thought it was the voices, but it doesn’t sound like ‘em. Rark.” Loid sighs once more. It seems he’s likely going to have to investigate what is certainly another one of Albrecht’s many projects. Strange that it seems to have decided to start working again now, but he supposes he cannot fault a machine. 

“I do not know. I suspect it’s something of Albrecht’s. Would you like me t—“ He’s interrupted rather abruptly as another voice shouts, the words punctuated with sharp hoof-beats, and he notices Tagfer nearly sprinting over.

“LOID. There’s someone over at the edge of the cliff. Not a Tenno. How the hell did it get here?” He frowns, adjusting his glasses—a nervous habit, he supposes—, before trying to appease the anxious Cervulite. Surely he’s mistaken?

“Are you quite certain that whoever it is isn’t a Tenno? I haven’t seen anyone else come through here.” The Cavia lowers his head, shaking it. He stomps a hoof on the ground, clearly agitated.

“Yes, I’m sure. Go see for yourself.” The animal’s nerves are, admittedly, not pairing well with his own curiosity, and Loid sighs. None of them will get any answers if he doesn’t investigate, will they? 

“Fine. Show me where they are.” He follows the Cervulite across the dunes, leaving Bird to his own devices for the moment. He will not cause…too much trouble, Loid hopes. As they near the edges of the dunes, where sand begins to meet the stony outcrops which fall away into the misty nothingness below, he does catch sight of a figure. He cannot discern the details from this distance, but the silhouette doesn’t seem too dissimilar from the average Tenno’s. He almost misses Tagfer’s abrupt stop, and he very nearly crashes into the creature. The animal’s thin tail thrashes in the air, his head shaking from side to side. Tagfer stomps a hoof down, though the sound is muffled by the sand.

“I’m not going any further. Something’s not right.” Loid rolls his eyes, but, given the Cervulite’s state, thinks it wise to refrain from arguing. 

“Alright. I’m sure it is only a Tenno. You needn’t be so concerned.” Tagfer glares, his tail flicking, the movement calmed now that he knows he doesn’t have to continue the trek. He turns, though mutters a parting comment to the man.

“Don’t die.” Loid huffs, amused. He continues his approach, noticing that the singing seems to get louder as he nears the figure. Well, that gives him one less thing to worry about, and one less invention of Albrecht’s to keep up with. Now closer, he finds that he can discern the tone of the singer properly. She—it is a woman, he realizes—sounds…distracted. The notes are sharp, disconnected. Lonely. He wonders which of the Tenno could possibly be in such a state. He frowns as he begins to see her properly through the fog. Why does she stand so close to the edge? What is she looking at? His curiosity is piqued as he notices the garments she wears, the crested helmet that adorns her head. This is certainly not a configuration of Warframe that he has seen yet. Perhaps Tagfer was correct. She must hear him, and the singing halts abruptly. She does not speak, however, so Loid takes it upon himself to take the first step towards conversation.

“I apologize if I have disturbed you. Might I ask what you are doing out here?” She turns, and as she does so, a memory flashes in his mind. A description, one given to him by many Tenno, eager to tell the stories of the world outside the Sanctum. The crested helmet, the flowing robes…these belong to a creature that he has only heard tales of. The Lotus. The leader—the mother—of the Tenno. The being who many have held partially responsible for the near-fall of the Origin System, and the being who was ultimately responsible for saving it regardless. She speaks, her voice poised, as would befit a leader.

“Do not apologize. It is I who have caused a disturbance. I am…answering a call. One that seems to have led me here.” That is…woefully cryptic, even by his standards. He cannot see her eyes, cannot see much of her face for that matter, which puts him ill at-ease. He has little way of reading her. 

“It has led you to the edge of the cliff?” His skeptical question causes her head to turn slightly, perhaps glancing back into the near-empty Void below. He notices something in her hand, an odd rectangular object.

“What is that?” Her attention is directed back to the object, away from the nothingness that is mere footsteps away from her—Loid finds himself relieved by that, though he is unsure why—and she hums softly.

“I am not sure. But it is calling to me, trying to influence my thoughts. Can you hear its voice?” No, he finds he cannot. Even as she shifts, holding it slightly in front of herself so that he can get a better look, Loid finds himself unable to determine what exactly the device is. He certainly does not hear any sound from it. But, something she had said sticks in his mind like a thorn, sending a spike of unease through his bones. Surely It is not…He shakes his head, both ridding himself of the thought and serving as a reply to the Lotus. He hears the being sigh, notices her shoulders lower slightly, almost as if she’s discouraged by the fact that only she seems to hear whatever is calling her.

“It wants the Tenno. I am not sure what for, but It…makes promises. Things that can be granted if I allow It to take them. Memories that can be…altered.” Loid groans softly. If he had any hope that the Indifference was not the one behind this, it has been squandered, dashed to shreds. 

“The Indifference is known to do…strange things in order to get what It wants. And what It wants, It cannot have.” He notices the Lotus shift, tilting her head slightly. Her tone is rather curious, if guarded—understandably so, of course.

“The Indifference. Some of the Tenno have mentioned It in passing, but never enough for me to be properly aware of what they are speaking about. I…” She trails off, and Loid notices her form tense slightly. He has no way of knowing what exactly It is showing her, but it cannot be pleasant. Perhaps that is why he’s rather surprised when she begins to address him again.

“I cannot—no, I will not let It harm them. It seems that I am a distraction, keeping Its attention off of my children. I will endure.” She sounds only slightly distant, something in her tone indicating that she isn’t entirely focused on the conversation right in front of her. Yet, he notices a firm determination in her voice, something that proves its existence further by the set of her jaw, the rigidity of her back. It seems that he and the Cavia have another mind to work with, someone else who can understand the destructive capability of the Indifference. If she wishes to endure Its torment to keep the Tenno out of Its clutches for just a while longer, well, Loid finds that he won’t stop her. It will only prove beneficial to his efforts anyhow. In her solitary vigil, she gives him more time to prepare, more time to ensure that their next move is successful. 

“Then welcome to the Sanctum. If you find yourself needing anything, I will do my best to aid you.” Her only response is a firm nod as she turns to face the fog once more, turning to look towards the massive expanse of floating rubble and the screaming maw. As he too turns his back, Loid hears the song begin anew. The sharp, determined notes sound only slightly less lonely than before. He makes his way back to the Sanctum, his shoes nearly sinking in the sand. He scoffs quietly. Of course. As two figures become clear, he realizes that the Cavia remain nearby his workspace. Two voices speak at once, one shrill, curious, the other sharp, still agitated.

“Soooo? What happened, Mister Loid? Did’ja find whoever’s making that sound too?”

“I told you it wasn’t a damn Tenno. At least you didn’t die. That would’ve been a mess.” Loid narrows his eyes at the Cervulite. Any response he would’ve given, however, is cut off by a third a voice. The fish.

“Have you discovered what is causing Tagfer to be in such a state of distress? Is this yet another conundrum that we must work out how to solve?” ‘We’? Loid nearly laughs at the absurdity of that. Yes, he has grown fond of the Cavia, but make no mistake. He is the one solving—or, attempting to solve—the vast expanse of ‘conundrums’ that seem to be lurking around every corner. He tempers his response, however. It will do no one any good for him to be upset with the fish. He’s done nothing wrong. Not really. Besides cheating at Komi, at least.

“Yes, Fibonacci, I did. Now, may I explain, or would you all prefer to speak over me once again?” He’s met with a somewhat remorseful silence. Blissful silence. Which…is about to be broken when he reveals what he has to tell. He exhales sharply. Might as well get it over with.

“Fantastic. Now, yes Tagfer, you were correct in that she is not a Tenno. However, I will also tell you that you needn’t be afraid of her. She is the Lotus, the Daughter of Hunhow, the leader of the Tenno. The Indifference seems to be targeting her in order to get to them. She will be spending some time here to distract It, which should buy us enough time to prepare for our next steps.” He grits his teeth as Bird 3 interrupts.

“So is she making the sound?” He nods, but before he can get a word in, the bird continues. Sometimes…sometimes this creature is insufferable. 

“She sounds sad. Is she sad? Can we cheer her up? Maybe she’d want some of the shinies that I have lying around! Rark.” Well, he might not be the most…obviously intelligent of the animals, but even Loid has to admit that the bird has more emotional intelligence than possibly any of the others, himself included. He adjusts his glasses, wondering how exactly to word this. He settles for simplicity.

“She seems fine, if a tad lonely.” Once again, he isn’t allowed to continue speaking, and he has to hold back a groan of annoyance.

“We should go say hi to her then, right Mister Tagfer? Mister Fish-O-nacci, we can say hi from you too!” It’s the Cervulite who replies, stomping his hoof in annoyance.

“No, Bird. If she wants to mess with It, she can do it on her own. I don’t trust her.” Now, that seems uncalled for, and Loid finally manages to enter the conversation once more.

“She’s trustworthy, Tagfer. She isn’t someone you need to be worried about. She’s actively trying to help. However, I do think she wishes to do this alone.” Whatever ‘this’ is, he supposes. Not that he thinks that’s necessarily a great idea, but it’s a better plan than he’s got at the moment. Somehow, that appeases them, at least enough that they don’t continue to discuss the matter. Tagfer snorts, his hooves clicking against the floor as he returns to his spot by the entrance to the laboratories. Bird 3 seems to understand, and begins his trek back to his gilded ‘cage’. Only Fibonacci remains nearby, and he keeps silent. Thus, a new era begins. The Lotus never ventures into the Sanctum, always remaining at the cliff’s edge, as if she’s physically repelling the Indifference from leaving its position in the Void. Her song continues, day in and day out, hardly—if ever—pausing. She does not eat, she hardly sleeps—and Loid is still unclear as to if that hour of silence truly meant that she was asleep—, she simply sings. He keeps watch, telling himself that it’s only for the Tenno, but he knows he is lying. Despite everything, the Lotus might very well find a sort of family in the Sanctum, if she so wishes to. As the days pass, her tone changes. Sometimes, it is firmer, more determined. Others, she’s lonely, saddened, desperate. It’s always distracted, the notes sharp as if she must take a moment between them in order to recall which will come next. He can tell that this takes a great toll on her, but Loid is unsure what he or the others could possibly do to lessen her discomfort. So, he keeps watch, venturing away from his workbench when he can, or when the sound becomes too uncomfortable to listen to—though, her voice is always beautifully melodic—, venturing quietly to the edges of the dunes. He watches from afar, eying her for signs. Signs that this is simply too much. Signs that, gods forbid, the edge of the cliff, the call of the Void, is too tempting. Yet, despite everything, her form remains steady. Stiff, yes, but she does not waver. Her resolve does not falter. It must not. So, day in and day out, she sings. Day in and day out, she drowns out the incessant voice of the Indifference whilst Loid throws himself into his work. He finds that he too is missing out on sleep in order to find the missing piece of the puzzle. Two sides of the same coin, each tasked with their own unique tragedy. Each both waiting for and dreading the day the call is answered. Not by the Tenno, no. By someone else, though he’s unsure of who. But one day, for better or for worse, the call will be answered. The Lotus’s melody will cease. His work will be finished. But not yet. No. He won’t be late this time.

[blushinggray]

change of plans | master list

fuckboy!sero hanta x fem!reader

summary: Sero Hanta is a fuckboi if you've ever seen one. A smooth talker, tireless confidence, an amazing kisser... But you know he's going to become a much bigger headache than he's worth if you play into his little game. Problem is, he is way too good at luring you right back in.

total wc: 79k

NSFW 🔞 / tags / cw: university!au, no quirks, playboy!sero, slow burn, excessive flirting, fluff, slight angst, denial of feelings, pining, miscommunication, recreational drinking, recreational drug use (marijiuana), reader knows french, sero knows spanish, past relationships, meddlesome friends, smut, porn with (a lot of) feelings

you can also read on AO3

and special thanks again to leo @4xesp for helping me with the spanish in this fic and mia @pageantdisaster for helping with the french. i appreciate it so very much 🥹🙏

table of contents

🔞 — contains nsfw content

part 1 — birdfeeder

part 2 — aphrodisiac

part 3 — spider-man 🔞ish

part 4 — allons-y

part 5 — consequences 🔞

part 6 — sympathique 🔞

part 7 — reason

part 8 — mistletoe

part 9 — chance

part 10 — honest 🔞

part 11 — surprise 🔞

part 12 — querida [final]