can music save your mortal soul?!

"I know you could peel this door like foil, baby," you gasped breathlessly, nails clawing into his cape while his thick thigh rides the soak-seam of your suit, sending sparks of pleasure through your clit. "G-get both of us out."

He answered with touch: large fingers capture your wrist with disarming gentleness, his thumb sweeping tenderly along your lifeline until the hefty slipped from your grasp and clinked forgotten between your feet.

Summer blue eyes, dark with storming desire, held your gaze.

"Not until you give it up," he rasped, palm skimming from waist to ass, grinding you harder onto the meat of his thigh.

The other finally drags with your zipper south, exposing the swell of your breasts. Rough fingertips brushed your stiff nipples, pinching lightly and drawing needy whimpers from your throat that ricochet off steel. "No more games, yeah?"

"Try harder, Big Blue," you teased back, arching into his touch with doubled enthusiasm. Your teeth nipped his jaw, tongue soothing the barely-there mark. "Isn’t playing cop to my robber a thrill?"

His groan answered for him, vibrating through your chest. One hand settles on your ass, squeezing, drawing you impossibly flush; fabric sparks against fabric, nipples pebbling as his cock twitches against your stomach. Zippers descended lower, belts clattered, all revealing flashes of tantalizing skin.

You quickly sank to your knees, tongue tracing the sculpted groove of his abs before freeing him with practiced flicks. He’s heavy, jerking when your mouth envelopes the crown. His head thuds back against the door; your name escapes from his throat like prayer while you hollowed your cheeks, stroking the thick length and savoring the shudder rolling down his frame.

"Good God— sweetheart—" The plea broke as you pulled off with a wet pop, licking a slow stripe up the underside.

"P-promise me you’ll behave,” he tried again. "Walk away clean otherwise," he panted hotly against your ear, fingers finally slipping between your slick folds to thrust two thick digits deep inside. "No more thefts."

"No, I can't promise that I won't do that," you moaned, words spilling out shakily as pleasure coiled tighter. "B-but I’ll make it— worth your while if — if you let me keep— playing bad, baby—"

Superman's control snapped once again.

His eager mouth claimed yours in a ruinous kiss, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with the blunt head of his cock, nudging and pushing into your dripping heat, and finally, finally, filled you.

"Kal—!" You clenched around him, lost in raw surrender.

All the while, the Lunar Tear lies ignored, winking with each crimson flash while you and you and Big Blue burn hotter, brighter than any jewel this vault could ever guard.

.

.

“hm!?” you jolted at the touch, glancing back, and relaxed immediately to see that it was just your jason, “oh, you! you startled me.” you shook your head, seeing the amused smile quirk up on his face at your distress, “i can't find the orange gums that i like. were you saying something?”

“i said it's fucking unbelievable.” he said bitterly, when you turned around fully and leaned against the shelf behind you. he moved closer to trap you between his arms, “my card declined. was getting a pack of cigarettes and apparently the policy here is i gotta pay first. this guy doesn't accept crumbled bills. and my card fucking declined.”

your hands snaked up to rest against his chest, or rather the leather of his jacket, “you and bruce having a row again?” not that it'd matter. jason didn't even use the trustfund set up by bruce for himself. if anything, he only ever utilized that money to help out casualties. usually children caught in the crossfire of crime .

“that's what i thought. his communication skills are otherworldly afterall. but no,” jason sighed, “i texted dick, turns out he had tim doing this april fools prank. not funny.”

you frowned, agreeing with him obviously, as you nodded your head. you, too, would crashout and get really angry if someone thought it was okay to fuck with your personal stuff, “he's knocking it off though, right?”

“not before 12 o’clock.” he answered, “tim set a timer or whatever. i don't care. i wouldn't care if it was you who did it. “ he added, “i just don't like that-” he trailed off, dropping his forehead against your shoulder.

your hands immediately found home in his hair, soothingly running through the curls at the back of his head. “i know. i understand. you don't–” you murmured, "they're so childish when it comes to boundaries sometimes.”

he tilted his head and pressed his lips to the side of your neck before pulling away and standing to his full height again, towering over you by a couple inches.

your eyes widened as you looked past jason, checking for the third of the trio. roy harper. this friends with benefits thing was not a secret, you just didn't like the smug look roy got on his face whenever seeing you two get all sweet with physicality.

you liked kissing jason casually, just because. and he often did the same with you. you'd be deep in a gory tv show, wrapped up in your fluffiest self-crocheted blanket on the couch, and he'd walk by you, leaving a kiss on the top of your head. jason would get to your kitchen and heat himself up something to eat. he'd return to the living room, dropping beside you on the couch, watching you watch tv. and you'd open your mouth occasionally so that he could share his food with you. you had a habit of playfully biting on his fingers. he was very bite-able.

most days, you went out for runs right before dawn. you liked the cinematicness of it. how you could pretend to run from the cops or villains alike, even though there was no one outside. mostly it helped you regulate your anxiety. the adrenaline was addictive. and those runs always ended with you knocking on jason's apartment door. the door would open almost immediately. like he knew you were on your way.

him only in his boxers. taking you into his arms and into his bed. your legs wrapping around his hips, as he'd hastily close the door behind you. making sure it's locked safely. before taking you both into his bedroom.

most of these encounters ended with grinds of his hips into yours, dragging out sounds of excruciating pleasure from the both of you. sometimes with you on your back, as he'd stare down at your face with feverish want. you'd take his jaw into your hands and kiss him senseless. his cock greedily buried in your cunt, desperate to please you.

sometimes it was you on top of him, slow grinds of your hips down onto his cock eventually turning into the most erratic thing ever. jason always looked a little too wrecked then, he was pretty sure god was a woman and that woman was you. he'd take mouthfuls of your breasts, gasping at the flutter of your inner walls around his cock, and completely fucking gone for the moans and praises that left your mouth. he saw fucking stars whenever you grasped his throat.

sometimes, he'd pound into you relentlessly with your face smushed into the mattress, ass up, hands scrambling to hold for something, anything, as every thrust made your spine arch.

and then there was jason’s favorite. making out with your pussy. he'd drag orgasms after orgasms out of you until you were overstimulated and practically incoherent with your face buried in his pillow, telling him you can't again, and he'd tease you sweetly and dedicate his all into making you come again. he knew you loved it whenever he spat on you or spanked your cunt, so the smug bastard always withheld them til the end.

the days your brain was far too awake regardless of too little sleep, you loved having jason's cock in your mouth. sucking him off and letting him take control until you were all dumb and sleepy. the tip of his cock brushing your lips before he'd slip in, your pussy throbbing against the vibrator you'd be sitting on. your chin and chest coated with drool and precum, as jason would thrust into you lazily.

and then sometimes, jason would bring you to his bed, and you'd murmur in his ear that you didn't want sex this time. you just missed him, so you came here. he'd kiss your forehead and set you down against the pillows. he'd help you out of your running clothes down to your underwear, and let one of his shirts swallow you instead. settling in the bed with you, he'd hold you in his arms, into the clingiest of hugs ever. he'd once playfully said his friendship came with the benefits of spooning.

so, yes, roy harper knew about the situation. of course he did. he was jason’s roommate. he had to hear you practically every early morning for hours. well, more jason than you actually. but roy was convinced you two were oblivious idiots in love, reducing your world-class romance into just sex.

because roy saw you arrive at a group hang out once in jason's wonder woman tshirt. he'd seen how giddy jason had appeared over it. his hand immediately slipping into the back pocket of your jeans. he'd leaned down and murmured something in your ear. you'd rolled your eyes, one of the most formidable women suddenly so shy, as you'd buried your face against his arm. you were both smiling like hah! people in love!!

jason always held your hand whenever you guys were out together. no matter where. specially in crowds. whenever you or jason would catch roy's side eye, ya'll would defend the behavior saying holding hands couldn't be more intimate than sex, so it wasn't a big deal. if one would ask for roy harper's opinion on that, roy had only one thing to say : lies, nasty nasty lies!

jason had your coffee order memorized. he brought you flowers occasionally because it was disrespectful to not bring the woman he was with flowers; you deserved to feel appreciated and cherished. most nights he had dinner at your place before patrol because he liked your company.

he shared almost everything about himself with you because not being transparent with you about a mission once had made him sick to his stomach, he'd begged roy to shoot his guts out. roy had simply called you over. the moment you guys were together, jason started rambling and having a panic attack, and you cradled his head against your neck, shushing him and reassuring him with such gentleness that roy again knew, ha! these morons were in love!!

every time jason was forced to attend a wayne gala, you attended them with him as his date. you had a photo album in your totebag, filled with polaroids of jason. roy had asked about it once, you'd shrugged and said jason was your favorite person in the world and you liked capturing him. whenever jason read a book on his living room couch, you'd end up half on top of him. your arm across his stomach and head on his chest. jason never got annoyed by it, he seemed to crave it actually. you were his emotional support pillow practically, given the catastrophic topics he liked reading about. he'd hold the book with one hand, and hold you carefully with his other arm. you always looked really content just being in his arms. roy was genuinely sick of all these fuckery getting called 'just friends', because respectfully where was his hugs, and cuddles and wonder woman tshirt and flowers and gossip and polaroids. christ! you'd even crocheted a hello kitty stuffed toy that resembled red hood!!

roy had even once walked in on you telling jason about your insecurities, and him so so gently lifting you onto his lap. he spoke so softly, so lovingly, his eyes filled with so much empathy for you, as though you feeling down hurt him physically, it was fucking diabolical.

“where'd roy go?” you asked, eyes meeting jason’s.

“uh, yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck, “the girl he's been seeing? she called. her ex boyfriend broke into her apartment---fucking prick, i know---and she beat him up with her hockey stick-”

“hot.” you perked up and jason leaned down to brush his mouth against yours for a moment.

“yeah, so, she's pretty freaked out now cuz the creep passed out and isn't moving. roy’s gone to make sure he isn't dead, or if he is-” jason ominously shrugged, and you laughed, wrapping your arms around his middle and tipping your head back to look at his infuriatingly attractive face. you knew roy would make the body disappear if the man was dead. he was rather down bad for this woman. she seemed to know how to make a man walk like a dog, you loved that for the both of them, “they make an interesting pair, don't they?” jason shook his head, baffled.

you poked your tongue out goofily, nodding your head, and then leaned up to steal a quick kiss, “tell you what, find me my gums and i’ll get your cigarettes. nothing quite romantic like rotting teeth and fucked up lungs. we make an even more interesting pair, yes, we do-”

you were cut off when jason’s mouth met yours messily. you had to grip the back of his jacket, because gravity stopped entirely and your knees buckled. kissing jason todd was your favorite thing ever, as you met him with equal fervor. his thigh slid between your legs and you made a soft sound of approval. he pulled away, and took a quick look at your flushed face, committing it to memory. his cheeks were flushed too and he was grinning.

you rolled your eyes and dragged his face back to yours with the back of his head as you practically devoured him. you two could be obscene. it seemed less like just kissing and more like him trying to fuck your mouth with his.

eventually you two had to pull away, gasping for breath. and yet, not kissing him felt more claustrophobic than anything, “what—was—that—for?” you said between breaths.

jason shrugged, stepping back as you steadied on your feet, “just wanted to kiss my girl.”

you beamed up pathetically at him, butterflies doing cartwheels in your stomach, “oh, i’m your girl now, am i?” you playfully asked.

“yes, ma’am, you are.” he said, with theatrical seriousness.

you reached up a hand to mess up his ruined hair even more. “hm,” you paused for the dramatics sake, "then you must build a shrine for me." you bossily declared.

"do i get to fuck you in front of it?" he asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"if you're good." you eyed him, "yes."

he nodded immediately, "oh, doll, i'll be so good."

NEXT/SEQUEL

it's so badly written. that's cuz i just rawdogged this under 3 hours?!? 4 at best?!? and it's 8 in the morning rn. my head hurts and im pretty sure i'm starting a fever. lmao. have fun. i hope it wasn't too ooc and repetitive. i tried proofreading twice but ive memory problems because of health issues, so :) and and forgive my attempt at smut, i'm an inexperienced fuck who's never written it before.

A walk through the garden had turned into sitting beneath a tree when you grew tired, sweat clinging to your skin. You don't know how Diana still looks as put together as she did before the walk. You've been trying to will your legs to keep up for the past 20 minutes. 

You pluck some flowers from the ground as you attempt to make a flower crown, a mix of reds and yellows. 

“Can you teach me how to fight one day?” you ask absentmindedly.

She hums. “If that is what you wish.”

You grin. “You’d say yes to anything, then.”

“That is not what I said, my love.”

You drop the makeshift crown and wrap your arms around her neck from behind.

“Finished already?” She tries to turn, curious to see what you’ve done.

“Nope.” You continue to hug her, your face burrowing into her hair, taking in her scent as if it'll bring you peace.

“Would you kill a pegasus for me?”

The sudden question makes her blink, unsure whether to reprimand you or laugh.

“Pegasus are beloved creatures…”

“I’m your beloved creature.”

“Yes, that is true.” A reluctant smile graces her lips. “However, I do not kill needlessly. You, of all people, know life is—”

“Precious,” you finish for her, your arms falling to your sides.

She hums, satisfied. Her hand finds yours. “Will a kiss not suffice?” She's facing you now, her legs folded neatly beneath her

Pulling your hand back, you look for the crown. “Hmm, I don’t know. Anyone can kiss me, but can they kill a mythical creature?”

“I can do more than kiss you,” she says casually, not taking the bait. Her eyes dart to you before focusing on the flowers in your hand.

“Oh?” You ask, raising a brow. You reach up to place the flower crown on her head. “Such as?”

Diana shifts closer, near enough that her knee brushes yours. “I could spar with you at dawn.”

You wrinkle your nose. “That sounds horrible.”

“You asked me to teach you to fight.”

“Yeah, but not at an ungodly hour.” You admire your poorly done crown. Definitely not a crown fit for a princess. 

But it's somehow perfect for your princess, you think, when her eyes find yours. 

Masterlist

If you asked Stephanie Brown who Batgirl was, she’d say it depends. 

Barbara’s Batgirl was strong, brave, and cunning. A pathfinder, a wonderful hero who saved countless lives and gave everything she had to the life. She was a pioneer, a champion who pathed the way for the rest of them.

Cass’s Batgirl was different, a fresh take on an old hero. Though she’s quiet, though she’s vicious in her fighting, she’s still heroic.  She brings a calm sort of comfort wherever she goes. 

But if you asked her about herself, she’s not sure what she’d say. She’s a civilian amongst gods, someone dressed in a knockoff costume playing pretend while the others do the real heroic work. A cheap imitation of the real thing.

As far as hero-ing goes for her, she already feels that she doesn’t have much going on. Not that she needs the reminder.

Entering the Batcave, already exhausted from her lack of sleep and the incredibly long day she’s had, she’s not sure what to expect. Maybe the usual arguing amongst Bats, Tim and Damian trading insults like a normal day while Cass sits quietly and reads in the corner.

Definitely not the scene that comes to play out in front of her—Barbara and Cass teaching someone new to spar, someone she’s never seen before who is very much dressed in a rendition of the Batgirl costume. She blinks, rubbing her eyes like the scene will disappear when she does.

It doesn’t.

Her lips purse into a frown. Another Batgirl? Something ugly twists in her chest. She’d fought like hell for this mantle, had done it all on her own against the will of pretty much everybody, and here’s someone new, wearing it with the support of both her predecessors.

She shakes her head, blonde hair bouncing. No, that’s not fair. She forces a smile, stepping up to the mat to watch.

She watches quietly for a few minutes while you trade blows with Cass, watches you fight as hard as you can to keep up with Cass who’s very clearly restraining herself. Cass sweeps a leg, taking you down to the mat easily, your mask bouncing off your face.

You squeak, sitting up and rubbing the back of your head where it hit the mat. 

Steph’s eyes widen slightly. You took that hit like a champ, and now, seeing you without the mask, she can’t help but think how pretty you are. That twistiness inside of her only grows heavier. 

“Hey, good timing,” Babs calls, waving her over.

Steph tugs down her hood and mask. “Hey, guys.” She strains to keep her voice as cheery as usual, “who’s this?”

Cass introduces the two of you, and Steph can’t help but note the way she already seems warmed up to you. How long has this been going on? 

You smile and step forward, offering her a hand. “I’ve heard so much about you!!”

“Hi.” She takes your hand, that same strained smile on her face, and shakes it. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

She can’t help but notice the softness of your palm against hers—not yet calloused by night after night of hard fighting and acrobatics—and the purple sheen on your nails, almost perfectly matched to her costume. Her hand lingers just a moment too long.

“She’s helping us with this drug trafficking operation at the docks,” Barbara explains, and Steph wonders if she can see through the facade she’s putting on. “Cass and I are helping her brush up on her fighting skills.”

She nods thinly, “right.”

“The Batgirl thing is just temporary,” you explain. “I just needed something to conceal my identity and Babs—”

Stephanie winces at the way the nickname rolls off your tongue, like you’ve always been friends.

“—just had this one laying around.” You finish.

You do a little twirl in the costume, the long cape splaying out as you do. Steph can’t help but look you up and down, examining the way the costume seems to fit and accentuate every curve on your body. Her eyes widen slightly. It fits you like a glove.

The three of you get back to your training, leaving Steph to watch on the sidelines. Slowly, she edges her way out until she’s back outside in the Gotham rain.

If you asked Stephanie now who Batgirl was—her version at least—she could only tell you one thing: replaceable.

The Batgirl thing, it seems, is not just temporary, and Stephanie can’t seem to escape you.

She’s gotten used to your presence now—the way you linger nearby on missions, the way you spend more time with Cass than without, the way your eyes occasionally meet hers only for you to look away quickly like it never happened. She’s never quite sure if you’re judging her, or trying to get her attention, or some other third thing she hasn’t thought of yet. 

It would almost be sweet, if it didn’t have her feeling so self-conscious. 

It’s after patrol one night, the summer sun just beginning to kiss the horizon of Gotham City, when you catch up with her.

“Steph, hey, Steph, wait up!” 

She’s tempted, if only for a moment, to speed up and pretend she hasn’t heard. And yet, for some reason, she can’t. You’ve never been anything but perfectly nice to her, and this jealous mean girl act of hers is so high school.

She tugs down her mask, turning to face you. “What’s up?”

“I think Cass and I were going to this cafe this morning for breakfast, do you want to come?” You smile awkwardly, tilting your head to the side, “they have amazing coffee.”

She considers it for a moment, gears whirring in her head. Some coffee and breakfast would be amazing right now, as well as some time with Cass. But you’ll be there, like a constant reminder of everything she isn’t, and she knows she won’t be able to keep up her positive mood the whole time.

She flashes you a weak grin, “I think I’m just gonna go to sleep.”

“Oh,” disappointment flashes behind your eyes. “No worries, sleep well.”

You turn on your heel to leave, approaching the edge of the old warehouse rooftop you’ve been standing on, when suddenly you look over your shoulder. The golden light of the rising sun reflects off your skin, making your eyes glow and your skin shimmer. You look so pretty like this, Steph can’t help but be a little grateful she only sees you at night.

“I’ll get Cass to text you the address,” you say, that familiar hope back on your face, “y’know, in case you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

Despite what she said, an hour later Steph finds herself freshly showered and digging through her closet. 

She pulls out a casual pink sundress and tries it on, standing in the mirror and examining herself. She frowns at her reflection, smoothing her hands over the dress like that’ll make it fit better. It doesn’t.

Discarding it in the growing pile of clothes on her bed, Steph goes back to the drawing more. She pulls different garments out, trying them on only to drop them back in the pile. She always never struggles this much getting ready, least of all for a casual breakfast with friends.

Sighing, she lets herself flop onto her bed, sitting on her mountain of clothes. It’s just a casual outing, Steph, she tells herself. Just pick a damned outfit,

But she can’t, because all she can think about is what you’re going to be thinking. Are you going to look at her with those eyes like you usually do? She wonders what you’ll be wearing, if you’ll be dressed casual or cute or comfortable. Knowing you, it’s probably some perfect combination of the three.

Her eyes flutter closed as she pictures it. You, wearing some comfy practical outfit, hair perfect, sipping on some fancy drink from the cafe. She thinks about how your face will light up when she walks into the cafe, the way you’ll smile and wave at her when she approaches the table.

“Glad you can make it,” you’ll probably say, or some other line of the sort.

Her heart speeds up at the thought, stomach doing a whirlwind. You’re so…perfect, and here she is, sitting in her mess of a room, unable to pick a damned outfit. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

Tears prick at her eyes. One minute, that’s all she asks. One minute where you’re not constantly on her mind, where she’s not constantly wondering about what you’re doing, who you’re with or how you’ll replace her next.

She doesn’t end up going to the cafe.

Steph’s not sure how she ended up here.

The two of you, trapped in a burning warehouse, surrounded by low level lackeys. She’s not even sure who they work for, their outfits a mess of colours and patterns that she can’t quite make out through the steadily thickening smoke.

Your back is pressed to hers, the warmth of your body seeping through both of your costumes, acting as a comfort. At least, it would be a comfort, if the two of you were in any other situation.

The masked men close in, the roar of the distant fire burning gets louder. Steph’s nerves catch fire, buzzing with the impending promise of action. She bounces on her heels, loosening up her muscles just like she was taught. One more step, one more step and she’s ready.

The heel of the closest man inches forward. Steph pounces. All hell breaks loose.

It’s a blur of action, of fighting her way through the seemingly neverending wave of goons. Her muscles ache, every punch and kick only making the burning under her skin worse. The warehouse gets hotter, the smoke rises, clogging her senses.

Behind her somewhere, the sounds of your own violence echo off the walls. You’ve always been a good fighter—probably better than her—but something in the back of her mind buzzes with worry. Like something bad is going to happen, like she needs to look out for you.

She shakes it away, diving back into the action, trying to ignore the constant nagging in the back of her mind.

She finishes off the last of her men, freezing at the sudden silence. She can’t hear you fighting anymore, can’t see you through the smoky haze. Her heart hammers in her chest. Where on Earth could you have gone?

One second. That’s how long she’s distracted for, maybe less. But one second is all it takes for someone to come up behind her, a forearm pressed over her throat and a leg hooking over her ankles. She’s taken quickly to the ground, back thudding hard against the hard ground.

Stars explode behind her eyes, the wind knocked out of her. Through the haze, she just manages to make out the masked goon above her and the gun barrel shoved inches from her face. She cringes, bracing herself to duck and roll, to do anything but lay here and take it.

And just like that, he’s gone, slammed into the ground by a familiar figure. You’re breathing heavily above Steph, eyes wide behind your mask as you reach a hand to help her up.

She grabs you, letting you tug her to the feet, and the way your hand lingers on hers reminds her of the day you met. Your jaw is slack, worry written across every feature. Steph blinks, letting the air come back to her lungs.

“T-thanks,” she gasps.

“We need to get out of here.”

Steph nods curtly, letting you tug her after you as you search for the exit, only dropping her hand when you brace yourself against the emergency exit and shove hard. Cold night air greets her, filling her burning lungs with sweet relief. 

She’s dizzy from the smoke, dizzy from the hit she took. Her lips purse into frown. It’s surely going to leave a big, ugly bruise. Goodbye sundresses.

Standing on the rooftop of the burning warehouse, she watches you approach the edge, scoping out the ground below for any sign of the goons who almost overwhelmed you.

You turn to face her. “Tim called the fire department, they’re on the way.”

She braces her hands on her knees, still lightheaded from the fall. The fall. She forces herself to stand up straight, peeling off her mask and hood. “Where did you go back there?”

“Huh?”

“You—you disappeared, it distracted me. Where did you go?”

She cocks a hand on her hip, waiting for an explanation. She was too busy worrying about you, about your safety, to take care of herself. If it weren’t for your impromptu disappearance, she wouldn’t be coughing her lungs up like an amateur right now.

You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. “One of them tried to get away and—”

“You couldn’t have told me that?” She snaps, walking towards you, closing the gap until you’re inches away. “We’re partners, you’re supposed to tell me these things.”

“I didn’t think I had time!”

“Or you just wanted the glory for yourself,” she spits bitterly.

You pause, lips parting in confusion. She tugs at her hair. Even now, a slight cut on your cheek and sweaty from battle, you still look perfectly cute. She’s sure she must look a complete mess, sweaty and dirty and bruised.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She tucks a sweaty strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Nothing, just—nevermind.”

You shake your head. “No, what did you mean?”

“I mean it’s—it’s—” Frustration bubbles up in her chest, muscles pulling taut like she’s about to enter another fight. She’s not even sure where she’s going for it, what word vomit she’s about to shove in your face now. You’re inches away, staring at her like a deer in the damn headlights, and she’s the lone car on the road with the choice to hit you or not.

“It’s what?”

“It’s you! Always being so—so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you and—and—”

And that urge buzzes beneath her fingertips, that urge she’s always felt just beneath the surface. The one she felt that day you met, when she’d had that fear you’re replacing her. The one she’s felt every day since when you’re around, the same one she gets before a big fight.

She raises a hand and you don’t even flinch, looking up at her with those damn wide eyes. She’s not sure who’s more confused by what she’s doing—you, or her.

And then she’s kissing you, the taste of smoke heavy on both of you. Her hand reaches to cup your cheek, thumb swiping over the length of your cheekbone. It’s hot and tense and she feels more that she’s trying to eat you alive than kiss you.

She pulls away, taking a big jump back like she’s been burned.

“Steph,” you breathe her name.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “No.”

“Stephanie—”

“No, okay? I don’t—I don’t want to talk about it.” She’s shaking slightly, her voice breaking on the words, “I don’t even—I don’t want to see you right now. Okay? Just…just forget it.”

She spins on her heel, bolting over to the far end of the rooftop. She can still taste you on her tongue, like smoke and leftover chapstick and something else buried beneath. She wipes at her mouth and the taste still lingers, follows her down the fire escape at the edge of the roof, chases after her on the way home.

It’s only when she’s in the shower, desperately trying to wash it away, that she feels she can breathe again. What on Earth was that?

Your soap isn’t enough to wash away the smell of smoke on your body, or the taste of Steph’s chapstick lingering in your mouth. You stand under the water for what must be an hour, scrub every inch of your body twice, and still, it doesn’t help. Stephanie’s voice still rings in the back of your head.

You disappeared, it distracted me.

You just wanted the glory for yourself.

Always being so perfect about everything, being everyone’s favorite, having everything come naturally to you.

I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to see you right now.

Coming from Steph of all people, someone you’ve looked up to, pined after, tried to forge a friendship with, the words hurt. They leave you cold and numbed, a new weight in your chest that wasn’t there before the mission.

She’s always been the sun in your eyes, warm and scalding, bright and beautiful, painful to look at. You’ve always gravitated closer to her, done your best to accommodate her, and this is where you end up. With a bitter kiss and more distance between you than there was to start.

You blink the thoughts away, staring into the steam rising from your kettle on the stove. Your phone buzzes, an unfamiliar number popping up on your screen.

Hey, it’s Steph. Can we talk?

You pick up your phone, contemplating opening the message and answering, and yet you can’t. What do you even say to her right now?

You turn off your phone. Let her sit with it for a while.

A while turns into a week. A week of unanswered texts and calls, of attempts by Barbara and Tim and Cass to get the two of you to talk. You shirk your duties as Batgirl, spend as much time as you can locked away at home, far far away from your double life.

Still, Stephanie isn’t one to give up.

The knock at your door comes early in the morning, so early, it rouses you from your sleep. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up in bed, the pink hue of the rising sun greeting you.

Another knock at your door sends you stumbling down the hall, slippers barely on your feet. You squint through the peephole, stomach syncing when you see who it is.

Steph stands there, dressed in low rise jeans that suit her just a little too well and a baby tee. Her hair is still wet, curling slightly at the ends where it’s started to dry. She must have showered and ran over here right after patrol.

You sigh, turning away from the door, fully intent on ignoring her.

“I can hear you,” she calls.

You stop in your tracks.

“I know I screwed up,” she says, “please just hear me out.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I almost just died, c’mon.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath. Deep down, you know she has a point. You almost wish she didn’t, if only so you could stop seeing it from her side.

Despite yourself, you turn around and unlock the door, inviting her in.

She looks sad, undereyes sallow like she hasn’t been sleeping properly. She steps on the backs of her shoes, peeling them off before falling you inside.

“Do you want something to drink?”

She shakes her head, blonde strands falling into her face. You settle in on the chair in your living room, Steph settling in on the far end of your couch—the distance between you hurts, but you’re not sure you could take it right now if she was sitting any closer.

“I’m sorry,” she starts.

You nod, tight lipped.

“About everything.”

Everything. She doesn’t say it outright, but you can hear what she hasn’t said: I’m sorry for kissing you.

“I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have said what I said, I was scared and-and frustrated, and I took it out on you and it wasn’t fair.”

You always take it out on me, you’re tempted to say. It lingers on your tongue like her lipgloss from the other night, heavy and toxic and yet filled with something sweet.

“It’s hard, you know?” Her voice cracks on the word, pretty eyes brimmed with tears, “I’ve been Batgirl a while. I-I fought to be Batgirl even when nobody wanted me to be.”

You remember Barbara telling you about that, heard whispers about it from Tim. It was strange to you, you couldn’t possibly imagine a world where Steph isn’t Batgirl. Someone as wonderful and capable as her.

“But then you show up and it’s like, what’s even special about me anymore? And you do everything so well, you’re so—so perfect all the damn time, and everyone loves you and it’s like…what’s even left for me?” Tears brim at your lashes and Steph’s face drops. She frowns, reaching forward like she can stop them from coming. And then you’re laughing, the sweet feeling of relief flooding your chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make yo—”

“Do you think I don’t feel that way?”

Her lips part, shock clear on her face. “No,” she mumbles out.

“Do you think I don’t find you perfect and capable and honestly, really fucking intimidating?” You shake your head, “you left some big shoes to fill, Stephanie and—and it hasn’t been easy.”

She laughs, equally as wet and filled with emotion as your own. “You really think so?”

You rise to your feet, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down next to her. She’s so close, you can smell her strawberry scented body wash and the vanilla lotion she put over top of it. 

“Yes, god.” You giggle, and it tastes like relief, “I wish you would’ve just told me this before. We could’ve had this talk a long time ago.”

And she laughs with you, the sound like heaven and sunlight and everything you thought you could never reach, and her laugh makes you laugh more. You let your eyes flutter closed, leaning your head back on the couch, ribs starting to ache from the laughing you’re doing.

And then she’s cupping your face and kissing away the laughter, vanilla flavoured chapstick heavy on your tongue. She moves against you, body pressing to yours and pressing you further into the couch.

She pulls away, cheeks flushed. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

You press a hand on the small of her back, pulling her in again. “You might need to do that a few more times.”

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Her words are as sharp as her features. Emerald eyes that never soften, lips like something heaven itself carved too carefully. And you keep thinking, pathetically, that maybe under your touch, she would give in.

Stumbling forward, your arms slide around her waist. "Missed 'ya," you mumble.

Her hands awkwardly hover around you, hesitating. "That," she says, unimpressed, "is not nearly a sufficient answer."

You feel all mushy inside, like you want to confess your heart out. After all these years, after all the times she's left. You still want her.

“I love you.” Your words drag on like a noose tightening, and the way Talia breathes in, one would think it had slipped around her throat.

"No," she responds sharply, but she doesn't push you away. Back then, pushing you was all she'd done. Saying it was for your safety. As if you weren't safest in her arms. 

"But i do," you argue, lips close to her collarbone. She shivers slightly and peels you off of her.

"We will talk in the morning," she pauses, then slowly brushes some of your hair back. "You are a fool, beloved."

"Your fool?"

Her eyes flicker away. "No." Her hands leave you as if they'd never been there. "Not anymore."

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