#good night friendos | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beefrobeefcal · 11 months

Text

Chubby!Frankie fic

Is it a one shot? Sure... for now. Nope. Totally not. send in your thoughts, ask box is always open!

The Catfish & The Mouse: Part 1

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary: You meet Frankie and he begins to full-fill his destiny. AKA How chubby!Frankie came to be!

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 8,149 damn, I over shot that one

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, oral (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), talk of eating, belly praise, self esteem, weight gain

Author's Notes: This is my first fic ever; always appreciate constructive critism, but pls be gentle. Thank you to the baddie who anonymously requested a foodie Frankie fics to different fic writers on here and inspired me to put the fingers to keys to create my own debauchery. And an even bigger thank you to @harryleatherfit - this one's for you, friendo!

_______________________________________________

You first met Frankie three and half years ago at a barbeque your cousins Will and Benny hosted. Both cousins had wanted to introduce you to their army friends, and Frankie was first.

“Fish, this is our cousin, Mouse.” Benny announced, slapping a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to turn around and face Frankie. You internally cringed at Benny using your childhood nickname.

Francisco “Catfish” Morales, or Frankie as you came to love him, was handsome, but also looked a little like an abandoned puppy who needed a good home and hot meal, with his big brown eyes and sharp features. From his broad shoulders, his frame was slight. He looked a little less secure about himself than some of the other guys in attendance, but this charmed you right away.

Then you were introduced to Santiago “Pope” Garcia. Santi had the handsome-and-he-knew-it personality down pat with his intense dark eyes roving up and down your body as he shook your hand, causing an intense heat to wash up and bloom as a blush over your cheeks. Had Frankie not been there and had you not met him first, Santi was convinced you might have fallen right into bed with him that night.

Instead, Frankie’s sweet demeanor and gentle brown eyes only wavering once, down to your lips while you chatted with him, had you seeing him and only him for the rest of the evening. Your chemistry was electric and by the end of the night, he’d asked you out to dinner, setting the date for the following weekend.

It was during your first date that Frankie’s ferocious appetite piqued your interest. He’d taken you to a mid-range family restaurant with a buffet, and he’d eaten close to two full plates of food by the time you’d only managed one without any encouragement or words from you about it. You spoke about your jobs – he a heavy duty mechanic and you an administrator at an accounting office – and histories, and eventually the topic of his military past came up. He’d only recently come home, discharged from the military. You had already deduced that being in said military, food insecurity through rations and high-intensity work outs had left him feeling famished, leading to his current slight state, and based on his lack of reluctance to not eat as much as he did, you took that he may not be aware of that yet.

“I’ve done a couple tours, some with your cousins, and it’s not something I would wish on anyone.” He said quietly, looking down at his fork while pushed some scraps on his plate around.

You knew how tough military service was from hearing Benny talk about it. Will was less open with you, trying to shield you from the horrors he had seen, but would begin to open up when he was drinking.

You reached your hand out and placed it on Frankie’s holding the fork, stopping his movements, and your gaze met his. You smiled warmly and nodded, no words needed to convey that you understood, and it wasn’t going to deter you from pursuing this between you. A broad grin broke out on Frankie’s face, and he broke the eye contact, dropped the fork, got up from his side of the booth and crawled in next to you. Now sitting next to you, he leaned in, cupping your face.

“Please tell me I’m not reading this wrong…” he whispered as he leaned in and kissed you. Eyes closed, you leaned into him in kind, reaching up your hands, one to his shoulder and the other on side, feeling his slight tummy from the dinner he ate.

You deepened the kiss, opening your mouth slightly, and Frankie took it as an invitation to push further. You let a small whimper out, and his hold on you tightened.

Before the kiss could escalate further, you both heard someone clear their throat. Breaking apart and looking up, you were greeted with a scowling, middle aged waitress bearing the name tag “Martha”.

“You two need the bill?” she asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes, contrasting the frown on her mouth.

After an awkward exchange with Martha and paying the bill, Frankie held your hand as you walked through the parking lot to his truck. Once there, he went to unlock the passenger side door for you. Before he could turn the key in the door, you stepped in between him and truck, wrapping your arms around his neck. Gently pulling his face to yours, you murmured, “You’re not reading anything wrong.” before pulling him back into a kiss.

Frankie dropped his keys and wrapped his arms around you, no longer just a kiss, you reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair and the other hand clawed at the back of his shoulder as you made out. His hands traveled around your back, and one reached down, grabbed a handful of your ass, and pulled your leg up onto his hip, pushing you into his truck. From the angle he held you at and the way his hips had thrust you up against the vehicle door, you could feel his hardening cock press up against your lower stomach, and you sighed into his mouth.

That night, after prying yourselves off each other and making your way in the truck to your house, you invited him in, and he made you come on his mouth no less than 3 times before he fucked you.

You were not letting him go.

*****

After a few months of dating, your lease came up on your apartment and Frankie asked you to move in with him; you excitedly agreed. Benny was instantly supportive of your solidifying relationship, saying, “Fish finally caught a good one!” while Will took a little longer to warm up to the idea. Santiago was happy for his friend, albeit a little disappointed and jealous that you went for Frankie and not him.

Living together allowed you to create a home and you carved out your roles together. He handled the maintenance and outdoor upkeep, you both shared the household chores, and you handled the laundry and the cooking. You had learned how to cook from a family friend with a large family, and thus you only knew how to cook for a crowd. At first, there were always leftovers after each meal, but slowly, there seemed to be less and less of that happening. You noticed Frankie having larger servings, seconds or both. After a large dinner, he would haul himself to the couch and lay back, hand on his stuffed tummy, and say how he may have overdone it but, “damn, that was good.” You took it as a compliment and carried on.

You, on the other hand, started to use the gym membership offered by your job, taking advantage of the different classes, getting up early to go work out so your evenings with Frankie weren’t interrupted. Over time, both of your hard work started to show; you were in the best shape of your life and Frankie was filling out his frame. Frankie loved your lithe body, and you loved his fuller one.

Your sex life with Frankie was – in a word – amazing. He could be gentle during Sunday morning sex, rutting into you, murmuring sweet words of praise into your ears, bringing you to a beautiful, soulful orgasm while staring into each other’s eyes. He could also use his entire body’s weight to pin you to what ever surface he was fucking you on, using his strong arms to hold you in place and his military trained voice to bark orders and causing you to almost black out from coming so hard.

Then there were the evenings after he would eat a large dinner; like the last time you made lasagna – Frankie’s favourite. After he ate all he could handle, he cradled his poor, bloated tummy as he gently laid back on the recliner, popping the foot rest out with a grunt.

“Oof, Mouse, baby. That was amazing. Gets better every time!” he said, trying to tug his now too-tight t-shirt back over his engorged belly.

“I’m glad you liked it.” You said with a smile as you leaned down and kissed him.

You stood up, and as you turned to walk away, Frankie reached out and touched your leg to get your attention.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?” He gave you the biggest, saddest puppy-dog eyes he could muster.

You laughed and rolled you eyes, then said while attempting to leave the room, “Yeah, yeah… I’ll get dessert.”

His hold on your pant leg did not let go. You turned and looked back at him. His wanton gaze roaming up and down your body.

“Oh no, baby… nuh uh… dessert is right here.” He said lowly, and tugged you back towards him, running a hand up to between your thighs and cupping your heat.

“Yeah… you take good care of me, baby…” he croons as he rubs your damp centre through your leggings while a quiet moan escaped out through your barely open mouth. “Tell me how I can take care of you.”

He was offering for you to take the lead; this was the dance you both would move through on evenings when he overindulged on your cooking. Standing over him with his hand between your legs, you run your fingers over his taut belly, lifting his tight shirt up and push down gently feeling his fullness, eliciting a grunt from his mouth and stopping his hand’s movement.

“You look like you’ve already had your fill for the night.” You coo, leaning down and rubbing a little firmer over his tummy. “Ready to pop.”

You push in a little harder with the final ‘P’ sound come from the word pop, and Frankie whimpers. You know it’s not from pain or discomfort because of the tenting that had grown in his sweatpants. You ran your hand to his waistband and pulled down, his hard cock popped out and hit up against his belly, tip angry and red, weeping precum.

Frankie shivered as you grabbed his aching member and ran your thumb over the slit. “… fuck… I’m… I wan-want to take care of you… baby… please… fuck.” He begged, each pant causing his belly to move up and down.

You stood back to your full height and removed your shirt and bra, then reached down to remove your leggings and underwear, stepping out of them and standing in front of Frankie naked, while he watched, mouth agape.

“I know, Frankie… shhhhh, I know. And you will. Can I ride you? You gonna let me do that?” you cooed again as you threw your leg over him and began to straddle his thighs. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Please baby… let’s me eat your pussy… want to eat y-your pussy… need to…. Fuck, please… ” he pleaded, as you palmed his tummy and grinded down on his thigh.

“Don’t think you could handle another meal in here.”, you interrupted him as you pushed down gently on his very full belly, right in the middle, not to elicit pain but to emphasize how full he really was. Frankie keened, eyes pleading for whatever it was you were wiling to give him. You eyes broke contact with his, and looked down where you were pressing into his middle, smiling devilishly.

Frankie shivered again and mewled, “A whole tray of your fucking delicious lasagna.”

He grabbed your waist as you moved forward on his lap. You brought your slick cunt over this throbbing cock, aligned your entrance to him, and gently sunk down, both moaning.

He held you in place, not allowing movement just yet, and said in an almost whimper, “Not too rough, baby. I-I’m pretty full.”

You smiled at him, and as you pushed to move your hips against his firm hold, you mock-whimpered to him, “You can’t handle me, big boy?”

Frankie’s eyes rolled back with a groan loudly escaping his mouth; any restraint he was trying to exercise to console his over-stuffed belly broke, and he planted his heels into the couch, thrusting up into you repeatedly. His hold on your hips was harsh, you knew it would leave bruises for you to discover tomorrow, and he alleviated any responsibility to your own movement on his cock.

Every downward movement you made had his belly crashing into your mound, sending shocks throughout your body, bringing you closer to your peak.

“Frankie! …oh fuck… baby…. Keep going….” You cried out with your head thrown back.

“You close? Yeah? …. I can feel it…. Baby… let go… baby – fuck – let go… come for me-m’you look for pretty when you come…” he called back to you in equal desperation.

A few more thrusts caused your orgasm to crash over you, sending waved throughout your body. Frankie soon followed with panting and groaning, and you collapsed on to him.

“Careful… careful… full… so full… “, he panted, smiling, one hand leaving your hip to place on the back of your neck, soothing you to quiet your movements over his aching, yet satisfied, middle.

This was not the first or last time this happened. These kinds of intimate moments remained unspoken between you. You had discussed sex, even kinks, before, but this was topic that hadn’t been discussed before or after each encounter. Although he figured you liked feeding him based on the look of awe you gave him when he ate more than his fair share of the food you prepared, purposely not allowing leftovers if he could manage. He liked to tease you by pretending he couldn’t eat another thing, then continue to finish what was ever left on the table while you praised him for being a “good boy”. He especially enjoyed when he caught you watching him while he would lay in the couch and his shirt would ride up his swollen stomach involuntarily when he really over did it, dramatically rubbing his belly. Anyone of those actions generally led to you needing him like you were in heat. He enjoyed eating to his heart’s content and was encouraged by the response he got from you; he was all too willing to go down this route, never feeling like you were making do anything he didn’t want.

He didn’t over do it or push himself every day, but it was beginning to happen more often, and he could see the effect him letting his inhibitions go had, feeling his clothing fitting different, especially around his midsection. He didn’t care, except for the nagging thoughts about what you thought of being with a big guy, one that he hadn’t been when you first started dating.

The guys at the mechanic shop teased him in good humor when he had to size up his coveralls, all making comments about how lucky he was to have a lady who cooked that well for him at home. He smiled and knew he was lucky, but still wondered if you felt the same about him.

*****

It was about 6 months later, you were at one of Benny’s fights, along with Frankie and Will.

“I’m going to get something to drink, and maybe eat. Want anything?” Frankie asked, pointing between you and Will. You both shook your heads, and Frankie nodded and smiled at Will for his approval of his next movement, then leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on the top of your head before heading to the concession.

Will watched him walk away chuckling, then turned back to you. He knew both you and Frankie were still nervous about being an item in front of him, but he thought it was sweet.

“So… everything is going well with you, Mouse?” Will asked as he turned to you.

“Yeah,” you said with an equally bright smile. “It’s good… great! He’s … we’re great!” you smiled, looking down at your hands. “Work is good and Frankie is great.”

Will smiles, softer this time, and puts his arm around your shoulder. “Glad to hear it. You look happy… happier than I’ve seen you in a while.”

Will was like an older brother to you, the one you wish you had. Being an only child of a single mother, he offered additional stability when you needed it, whether you wanted it or not. He was your babysitter growing up and kept tabs on you during high school onward. Benny, on the other hand, fit the goofy brother mold to a T; you were the same age and we’re raised together. If Will was getting you out of trouble, it was usually because Benny got you into it.

“Yeah, I’m really happy. You know, I have a good routine down; work, gym, Frankie. It’s good!”

Will gives you a soft smile and nods. You both look back towards the ring, but you get the feeling that he has more to say. You knew Frankie’s bulkier frame was not lost on your cousin, but that didn’t seem to the button he wanted to push. After a pause, he cleared his throat.

“But, uh, Fish is treating you good?” he said, voice quiet, and his eyes not moving from the boxing ring.

You turned your head and looked at Will’s profile. “Yes, he’s treating me really well.” You paused a beat and put your hand on Will’s shoulder to get him to turn to you. “I’m really good. He’s … I love him, Will.”

Will turned to look at you, eyes scanning your face, then nodded and smiled. His eyes caught something behind you and you turned to see Frankie coming back, carrying a beer and two hot dogs – one he was already halfway through.

Will smiled as he saw his friend approach and said while chuckling quietly to you, “He looks really happy, too.”

*****

Santiago was back in town for the first time in a while, and the guys wanted to go out to their favourite bar. Both you and Hannah, Will’s wife, were invited along, as it had been over six months since you’d seen each other. Frankie had taken a shower and was now standing in the bathroom, jeans on but not done up and slung low on his waist with his stomach pushing over the waistband of his boxers, brushing his teeth.

You stood, leaning against the doorway, and watched him. His mechanic job kept his body strong; his shoulders were broad and lead into his strong, thick arms and large, beefy chest. He was still muscular, but it was all now covered in a layer of softness. His thick, meaty thighs carried what bore the brunt of his new eating habits; his waist had filled out, producing love handles, and then his stomach. It was no longer flat and toned; it was a good sized belly – round and soft with a firmness underneath. But through his changes, he had never lost his strength, and it was still easy for him to pick you up like you weighed next to nothing.

“Well, hello there.” Frankie crooned at you with a sly smile. “And what are we looking at, lovely lady?”

A blush rose on your cheeks, and you smiled back. Sauntering over, you stood behind him, wrapping your arms around on top of his belly. “Just my sweet, sexy Frankie.” You planted a kiss between his shoulder blades, and he leaned back, his hand on yours.

A little while later, you and Frankie got out of the truck and walked hand-in-hand into the bar. Frankie scanned the tables and saw Will with Hannah, waving. Waving back, he pulled you by the hand towards them.

“Fish! How you doing, buddy?” Will asked while standing up, coming over to give a hug. You noticed that he looked Frankie up and down quickly, trying to take in his friend’s now larger figure.

Wait until he takes off his coat. You thought to yourself, knowing the tight grey t-shirt underneath would really highlight all the newly added Frankie there was.

Hellos and how-are-yous exchanged while you take your seats. Benny arrives and has a similar response to Frankie as Will, but neither saying anything. The conversation between the five of you flows naturally, and Frankie has his arm around the back of your chair.

Santi hasn’t arrived yet, and you’re somewhat relieved. You like Santiago enough, and he’s Frankie’s best friend, but he’s not the kindest or gentlest person. You we’re told by Benny that he had taken it a bit hard when you started to date Frankie, but hadn’t heard anything further about it. Frankie, on the other hand, got the ribbing and teasing from Santi, and although he said he was fine with it, you knew Frankie could be sensitive.

The guys started to catch up and you offered to get you and Frankie a drink.

“Just a beer, baby. Whatever is on tap.” He said, then turned back to Benny to hear his outrageous, and probably over embellished, story about grocery shopping.

You nodded and headed towards the bar. You waved down the bartender and placed your order. While waiting for your drinks, a familiar voice says your name. You turned and saw Santi.

“Hey!” and you smile as he pulled you into a hug.

He pulled back from you smiling, with his hands on your waist, “Wow… you look… insanely good!”

His eyes roaming up and down your figure. “You hitting the gym?”

You laugh and roll your eyes, still not used to compliments about your fitter form, and feeling more so that it was coming from him. “Yeah, yes… my job comes with a gym membership and I’m finally putting it to use.”

Santi nods. “Need a workout buddy? A spotter? I’ll be in town for a while and need something to do.” He said as he leaned his face closer to yours while making intense eye contact.

You try to not let your smile falter and you pulled back; Santi is smooth, but not that smooth. You’ve caught on to what he’s doing.

“I, uh, have a personal trainer.” You lied.

“And it’s a women’s only gym.” You lied again, nodding like you’re trying to not only convince him but yourself, too, so it seems credible.

Santi’s smile simmered down a bit and he pulled you back in for a tighter, more intimate feeling hug, lingering just a bit too long with his arms around your waist. You swore you heard him take in a deep breathe and smell your hair, but you couldn’t be sure.

“I missed you, Mouse.” He says in a hushed tone.

You broke the hug abruptly when the bartender called out that your drinks were ready and stated what the total you owed was. Santi tried to keep a hand on your waist and went to pay, but you were quicker and moved away, handing the bartender cash and telling him to keep the change. You hurriedly grabbed your and Frankie’s glasses and turned to Santi.

“Everyone else is here. Over there.” You motioned with one of the glasses to the other side of the room.

Santi followed you to the table and greeted everyone, and then gave Frankie a once-over.

“Fish! Man oh man! Are you enjoying the tethered life or what!” he exclaims, pulling Frankie into a hug and patting him on the back firmly.

“Yeah, yeah, Pope.” Frankie says with a headshake and a smile.

The conversation flowed again, and you started to relax into your chair. Frankie’s arm went from the back of your chair to around your shoulders, fingers drawing shapes on your arm, as he continued to chat with Santi.

After a bit, Benny wanted to get another round for everyone, and Frankie offered to help. As the two walked back to the bar, Will came and took Frankie’s seat.

Leaning in, he asks quietly, “How’s it going? Everything good?”

You look at him with confusion. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good. Why? Does it not look it?”

“Well,” Will paused then chuckled to himself, “Frankie looks like he’s really enjoying living with you. What are your feeding him?” he asked, laughing.

“Hmmm?” you responded, turning your head to Will, with a questioning look.

He laughed again. “Frankie. What are you feeding him?” he pauses, “I’ve known Fish for a long time, and I have never seen him this…” he gestures his hands like he’s trying to find a nice way to put something. “…well-fed.”

You shrugged and feigned innocence with a head shake. “He really likes my cooking. What can I say? Just let him be happy.”

Will’s hands went up in surrender, smile growing. “No, no, no… I mean, I’m glad he’s comfortable, and being taken care of… and happy. And that you’re happy, too.”

You gave him a stern look, leaned in, and hissed, “Don’t you dare say a thing to him about this.”

Will let out a hearty laugh, waving you off. “I won’t, Mouse. I won’t.”

Benny and Frankie came back to the table and, once the drinks were handed out, Frankie took his jacket off, hanging it over the back of his chair. His shirt pulled tight on his arms and shoulders, and emphasized his protruding belly.

“Whoa, Fish!” Santi, exclaimed with raised eyebrows and eyes scanning down his ample torso. He then reached out and poked Frankie’s belly with two of his fingers roughly. “You enjoying civie life that much?”

Frankie forced a fake laugh, shaking his head as he pushed Santi’s hand away. He looked up and stared right back at him, and snarled with a not-so-friendly grin, “With this girl by my side? Absolutely.”

He sat back down and put his arm around you again, although it was a little more of a firmer hold this time. You looked up at Frankie and then to Santi, giving him an awkward smile and shrugged.

Santi’s mouth was in a tight line, and he nodded, staring back at Frankie then sneered, “Mouse says she’s hitting the gym.” He looks at you, his eyes exaggeratingly moved from your chest back up to your face with a feral grin, then back to Frankie and spat, “Clearly, you’re just making it to the kitchen.”

Before any further nastiness erupted, Will leaned over the table, hands up with a palm facing each man. “Alright. Enough. Knock it off, both of you. Let’s just enjoy tonight you guys.”

Frankie’s smile was gone, replaced completely with a challenging scowl directed at Santi across the table and his hold on you tightened. You looked up at him again, and his gaze softened. He then nodded at Will then dropped his eyes to the beer in his hand.

Santi continued to stare at Frankie, watching him in the same way, then to you with a smirk. He obviously wasn’t expecting you to return his gaze with a furious glare. What you could only describe as regret washed over his face before he looked at Will and nodded.

The conversation began slowly again, awkward at first, then picked up. Benny had more to say about his upcoming boxing opponent, Santi shared stories from his travels, Will talked about his and Hannah’s vacation plans, and Frankie talked about the interesting people he encountered at the mechanic shop he worked at. You chimed in occasionally to share an anecdote here and there, too.

After a while, Benny said he was hungry, and wanted to go to a real place with real food. After deciphering that he meant a restaurant, you all, but Frankie, started throwing out ideas of where you could go. Frankie’s lack on contribution to this topic was not lost on you, and you watched as he kept his head down, fingers playing with the residual condensation on his glass. It was Santi’s voice that made you wince.

“Come on, Big Fish.”, curling his lip as he sneered. “You must know a good place to eat. I’m sure you’ve had your fill from every restaurant in town, buddy.”

You stared at Santi, completely gobsmacked and horrified by not just his words, but his nasty tone. And you were not alone. Benny’s mouth hung open with his brows furrowed in disgust, Hannah just closed her eyes and shook her head, and Will stared at him with a terrifying intensity.

Before you could answer, Frankie, shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Nah, I think this is it for me tonight.”, he said quietly, trying to force a smile, while not making eye contact with anyone in particular. “You guys enjoy. I’ve, uh, I’ve got an early morning, and need to head home.”

You knew that was a lie. He’d purposely taken tomorrow off in case tonight went on into the early morning hours, but it was barely 7:30 pm.

You were enraged. You wanted to lunge across the table and throttle Santi. But before you could do anything, Frankie turned to you as he got up and said with the same quiet tone and sad eyes, “You go with them, get some food. Call me when you’re done and I’ll pick you up.”

That look and those words broke your heart.

You shook your head and got your purse and jacket. You said your goodbyes to the group, except for Santi, purposely avoiding him. Santi only looked up at you once, but when to refused to meet his eyes, he sat back and lowered his head. Benny hugged you goodbye, giving an extra squeeze before letting you go. He then hugged Frankie next, saying quietly - but you managed to hear him- “Ignore Pope. He’s just jealous. She picked you, Fish.”

Frankie pulled back and nodded unconvincingly, and Benny patted him on the shoulder and Hannah pulled you both in for a hug.

Will waved both you and Frankie off with his anger at Santi barely being contained, not moving from his seat until he deemed that you both were out of earshot. Before you walked out the door, you took one last look at the table and watched as Will stood over Santi, berating him. You couldn’t hear what was being said but knowing Will and seeing Santi just sit with his head hung low, you knew he felt like every word like a dagger.

The ride home was quiet. Any topic you tried to bring up, Frankie either responded with in one-word answers or not at all. As soon as the truck was parked, you undid your seat belt and shuffled across the bench seat towards Frankie.

“Honey? Frankie? Talk to me, baby.” You said reaching up and cupping his cheek.

He turned his head, but his eyes stayed low. He sighed and shook your hand off his cheek, then got out of the truck. You felt crushed.

You followed him up to the front door, then into your home. You both removed your coats, hanging them up. As he was kicking off his shoes, you pushed yourself in front of him and wrapped your arms around him.

“Frankie, please. Talk to me.” You said into his chest.

He sighed again. You could feel his body tense up under your hold and his hands came up to your shoulders. It felt like he was going to push you away, but instead, he moved his hands around your shoulders and buried his face into your hair.

“I love you, you know.” You said to finally break the silence.

“I love you, too.” He responded in a sad sigh.

“And you know I love everything about you.” You pulled back, hands on the side of his waist, staring up into his eyes. “Everything.”

Frankie hesitated. He looked away from you and stated, “I saw Santi and you at the bar. I saw him hug you - his hands on you.”

He looked back up to your face, eyes wide with worry. You ran a hand up through his hair, resting it on his cheek.

“What did you talk about?” he asks, quietly, shifting away from eye contact.

“He asked me if I needed a workout buddy…”

Before you could end you sentence, you could see the hurt that crept up into his eyes. “…but I lied. I told him I had a personal trainer. And that it’s a women’s only gym.”

The hurt, while not completely gone, was now mixed with you recognized as amusement and pride as he knew for a fact those statements were both lies.

“Santi’s an ass.” You state bluntly, cocking your head and softly looking up at him.

“A skinny ass.” Frankie retorted; his brows furrowed again.

There it was. It wasn’t that Santi having interest in you that upset him or how he may have been jealous of you being with Frankie - it was the nagging worry of you wanting to pursue a leaner body than he now offered.

Scratching your fingers gently through his beard, you look up at him through your eyelashes, and coo, “Good thing I don’t have a thing for skinny guys anymore.”

Your hands moved down to his waist then under his shirt, gently caressing his middle. You feel the goose bumps on his skin and see his eyes flicker.

“Good thing I want a big boy who likes to eat and can pin me to the mattress when he fucks me.” You said softly as your hands moved further down so you could hold his belly and lift gently, feeling it’s weight.

Frankie’s breath hitched in his throat and he swallowed harshly. His now darkened eyes dart to your lips then back up to your eyes, his confidence growing hearing your confirmation out loud.

Normally, when anything to do with Frankie’s expanding waistline came into play, you held the control - seizing it – and he was more than happy to oblige, not being fully sure what you were getting out of it. But hearing you confirm that you wanted this - him in his newer, fuller state - and seeing the arousal screaming in your eyes, it was his turn to dominate.

“Yeah?” Frankie asks in a breathy voice, tongue poking out to lick his bottom lips before he begins to gently push you backwards towards the back of the closed front door.

“That why you feed me good? Huh, baby?” his voice almost in mocking tone when he asks you. “Stuff me and keep me happy?”

Your back hit the door and Frankie pushed his belly up against you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. “I’m asking you a question, baby.” His voice dark and teasing. The unspoken thing was now in the wide open, and there was no putting back into what ever box you both had kept it in. The heat pooling in your lower belly was beginning to become more and more intense, and you could feel your cunt fluttering and clenching on nothing.

“Uh huh.”, you nodded dumbly, your eyes wide and your arousal saturating your underwear and into your leggings.

“Yeah, I bet. That’s why you cook too much food, huh? Keep me big and round?” he asks again, is a voice dripping with taunt and need.

You whimper. Frankie smiles menacingly and puts his hands on either side of your head and cages you in.

“Baby,” he licks his lips and runs his eyes down to your heaving chest, encased tits moving up and down with every strangled breath you take. “I’m hungry. I want to eat.”

He leaned in and ghosted a kiss over your wanting mouth. He pulled back enough so you’re unable to reach him with your lips and he smiles darkly. “I’m starved.”

“Wh-what do you want me to make for you?” you asked breathlessly against his mouth, trembling. Your eyes were heavy lidded with arousal and begging. Between Frankie’s whole domineering demeanor and being pinned between the door and his belly, you were like a rocket, ready to launch the second NASA gave the go ahead.

Frankie chuckled. “I want you to make yourself comfortable on our bed, baby. I’m going to devour that sweet cunt of yours, over and over and over and over….”

He trailed off as he began to nip and suck your neck, turning you into a panting, gasping, moaning mess.

“Fra… Frankie!” you keened as one of his knees jutted up between your legs, pushing into the apex of your thighs.

“Oh Mouse… baby... I can feel how wet and hot you are through your leggings and my jeans.” He cooed mockingly at you, one hand coming up and stroking your cheek. “What’s got you all worked up? Huh?”

You moaned and whimpered as he pushed his knee with more force into your aching apex - any friction at this point sending electricity directly through body from your throbbing cunt.

“Words, baby. Use your words.” He huffed.

You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out were pathetic whimpers and gasps.

“You gonna come from my knee, baby? Just my knee?” he snarled as his knee pulled back and you whined. “Nuh uh, baby girl. You’re coming on my tongue, on my mouth. I’m ready to eat.”

He grabbed you by the waist and flung you over his shoulder. You squealed as he carried you to your bedroom.

Frankie tossed you on the bed and grabbed the waist of your leggings, pulling them down along with your underwear in one smooth movement.

“Frankie… b-baby… pl-please!” you cried, not really sure what you were asking for.

As soon as he had your bare, glistening cunt in the open, his eyes went dark and feral. He crawled up, laid himself down on his side next to you and forcefully kissed you. One hand snaked down your body and pushed in between your legs, gently moving his middle finger through your slit.

He pulled away from the kiss and nudged you with his nose. “Fuck… you’re so wet for me… you have no idea what you do to me.” He paused to insert a finger into you sopping cunt, thumb circling around your clit. He watched your face with a smile and continued, “So fucking good to me… keeping me happy… keeping me fed… fuck baby… keeping me full…”

He could feel your cunt squeezing his one finger, starting you towards your orgasm, and he then added another, pumping into you with a little more effort. You cried out and gripped the wrist of the hand he had buried in you, while the other pushed up into your headboard.

“Baby… fuck… you look so good falling a part around my fingers… you’re so close… I can feel it.” an evil smile crosses his face. “But I’m hungry, baby…” he hisses as he pulls out his fingers.

Your eyes shot open, and you growled, trying to continue your hold on his wrist. “Don’t you dare fucking stop, Francisco!”

He pulled back and grinned at you, breaking out of your hold, while sitting back on his knees. He sucked his fingers clean and moaned in contentment, “So fucking tasty, baby.”

Before you could use your own hands to get relief from the unsatisfied edge in your heat, he moved between your legs, laying down on his belly and pulled you by your thighs toward his face. Your legs were draped over his broad shoulders as he wrapped his arms under your hips to anchor you to him , then pushed his face into your cunt and licked harshly.

Your eyes went wide, and you shrieked and writhed, shooting both hands down into his curls and yanking. Frankie hummed, holding you in place with his strong arms, and began to fuck you with his tongue while his nose rubbed into your clit. You could feel the tight coil in your lower belly begin to reach a breaking point, and then you saw stars.

You came hard and loud and Frankie moaned into your pussy, lapping up everything you had like he had promised - like he was starving.

You rode out your orgasm on his face, gripping his hair and crying out. As you started to come down, Frankie moved and sucked your clit between his lips harshly, while thrusting a finger in and out your cunt.

You cried out and dug your heals into his shoulders.

“Frankie! I-I can’t! T-too much!” you wailed, as tears began in your eyes and you tried to close your legs.

Frankie wedged his shoulders further between your thighs to hold you open to him. He pulled his mouth off your clit and added another finger to his pounding of your pussy.

If you hadn’t been in a fucked-out state, you would have been unnerved by the gentle, saccharine sweet tone of his voice, crooning, “You can do it, baby girl… shhhhhh… yeah you can.”

Then he dropped his voice low and snarled, “Be a good girl and FEED ME.”

He dove his mouth back onto your swollen clit. Your grip on his hair only egged him on while he pushed another finger in and made you come again.

He didn’t relent. Before this one ended, you could feel another building up but far more intense. You knew the feeling well, being Frankie was the only man who had ever made you come that hard.

“F-FRANKIE-EEEEEE! Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…” you chanted as you came again, arching your back right off the bed and feeling a gush from your abused pussy right into his waiting mouth.

“Yeah baby! Give it to me! Fuck baby!” Frankie moaned while you squirted and came all over his face and in his mouth, causing a damp spot to widen under you on the bed.

As you came down, he placed gentle kisses and licks on your pussy, nuzzling you with his nose through the aftershocks. He pulled his face back and laid his head on your thigh, looking up at you with adoration.

“Good girl.” “You did so good for me.” “Yeah, baby, you’re such a good girl” he praised while rubbing your hip with the hand that had been holding you down.

You raised your head and looked down at Frankie. He smiled, moustache and beard scruff wet. You smiled back, still trying to catch your breath.

You flopped your head back onto the pillow and closed your eyes as Frankie crawled up your body. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he smiled and chucked.

“Hey.” He said gently, while cupping your cheek.

You gave him a goofy grin, eyes still closed. “Hey.”

You reached up and put your arms around his neck. He kissed you deeply, pulled back and said, “You ready to get fucked into the mattress by a big boy with a big cock?”

Your eyes opened wide and you nodded eagerly. He sat up on his knees and helped you removed your top and bra. He kissed you as you laid bare before him and grabbed one of your bare tits in his hands while worrying your nipple between his thumb and index finger.

You broke the kiss and reached out and started to remove his clothing, not wanting to wait any longer. Frankie stood up to the side of the bed and took off his shirt while you started on his jeans. The waistband of his jeans was straining under his ample belly, enough so that the button keeping his jeans closed was so pulled tight that you couldn’t undo it without his assistance.

Frankie chuckled, his belly moving along with his laugh. “I have to suck in to get them open now. Might need new jeans.” He said, playfully, a blush of embarrassment flushed his cheeks.

Your cheeks flushed back, knowing that his belly was not currently full - not even close - and you wondered how much trouble it would give his jeans if he’d just finished a big meal.

You couldn’t help it and leaned forward to caress and kiss his belly, while he sucked it in and open his jeans, and you marveled at his stomach’s weight and size pushing the zipper down on its own.

You pushed his boxers down with his jeans, his cock popped out pushing against his plush middle, and he kicked them off entirely. You grabbed his cock and began to eagerly pump it. Frankie grunted and bucked his hips with a whine, trying to stop you.

“No… no, baby. If you do that, I’m going to come, and I want to come in that sweet, tight pussy.” He murmured as he grabbed your wrist and pushed you down on your back, crawling over you and holding you in place with his weight.

“Oh Frankie… please… fuck me… please… ” You panted into his ear.

He grunted again, and l leaned up on his elbows, maneuvering one arm between you to line him up with your entrance.

He then braced himself, elbows on either side of your head, and pushed in.

Your mouth opened and your eyes closed. The feeling of him opening you up never got old, each time splitting you into euphoria.

His eyes never left your face, looking for any indication that you wanted or needed him to stop. He bottomed out and you whimpered, pleading with him.

“Baby… pl-please, Frankie!” you moaned. You tried to move your hips to get him to move, but his weight pinning you to the mattress had you stuck.

“Oh fuck you’re tight… just… so tight and warm… fuck, baby….” He panted, enjoying you squirming underneath him.

His hips began to move, slowly, giving him time to acclimate so we wouldn’t blow his load too soon. He continued on this pace, you walls getting slicker as his cock rammed deep.

“Please… Frankie… baby…. Harder… Harder!” you cried, wrapping your legs around his waist to get more leverage.

He picked up the pace, adjusting his position over you to piston you on his cock, harder and faster, bruising into your cervix. You could tell he was getting close with his movements beginning to fall out of rhythm.

“Baby girl…” he panted and began to beg, “Come with me… I’m close. Touch yourself… pl-play with your clit…”

You reached down and circled your middle finger around your tender clit and felt yourself moving fast to your next orgasm.

“I’m close… fuck… Frank-kie… I’m close..” you moaned.

“I know…I know… Look at me when you come. Fucking look at me.” He growled through clenched teeth.

You felt your orgasm begin to wash over you, and you looked up to his face.

“Good girl… fuuu-uck!” he grunted as your pussy clench him, and he began to paint the inside of your pussy.

With one final thrust, Frankie threw his head back and cried out, “fuck!”

He was breathing heavily when he dropped your shaking legs from his hips, while you laid fucked out and panting on your bed.

Evenutally, Frankie pulled out and you let out a whine.

“I know, baby… I know.” He flops over beside you and pulls your back up against his chest, making you the little spoon to his big one, both breathing heavily.

There’s a comfortable quiet as you both lay in the bed you destroyed together.

Frankie breaks the silence with a sigh. “So… you… like me like this?” he asks into your hair.

You smile and nod, eyes still closed. “Yeah. I like, well, I love that you like to eat, and..” you pause then let out a sigh. “…and your belly. And you’re strong and make me feel safe.”

You can feel Frankie breath a laugh, his stomach pushing against you with each breath, and feel the light kisses he’s adorning the back of your head with.

As you said that, you heard a low rumble. You turned your head and Frankie smiled sheepishly at you.

“I’m hungry… like actually hungry.” He laughed. “You make me work up an appetite!”

You rolled over in his arms, facing him, and you grinned like idiots at one another. You placed a hand on the side of his tummy, drawing circles with your fingers. “Poor baby… can’t let you go hungry.”

Frankie giggled and laid his hand on yours, then kissed you and leaned his forehead against yours.

You released yourself from his embrace and got up off the bed with a slight wobble in your legs. You wandered into the bathroom to get yourself cleaned up.

When you came back out, Frankie was standing, having just pulled his boxers back on. You walked towards him and patted his grumbling belly.

“Let’s get you fed, big boy.”

You managed to get a slice from the large frozen pizza you made, while Frankie happily enjoyed the rest. When he finished that and half of a McCain’s frozen deep-dish cake for dessert, he leaned back as his stuffed tummy pushed out against the table, and sighed, rubbing it gently.

“Thank god you like to feed me because I fucking love to eat.” He laughed.

-----

Leave your comments after the beep!

beep.

#frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #chubby frankie rights !!!!!#triple frontier #frankie morales x f!reader

216 notes · View notes

britcision · 1 year

Text

OKAY FRIENDOS

This chapter fucking fought me, not least because I wasn’t actually sure what exactly Danny wanted out of meeting Waylon… and then I realised that was because Danny wasn’t sure either

I did consider just letting this one run long and posting in two parts when all was said and done, but this was where I’d have had to break the chapter in two for Tumblr anyway, and it’s actually a really good place to end… so one more chapter for Waylon!

And then tumblr mobile decided not to let me fucking paste the chapter in, and I am fucking DYING with the laggy piece of shit that is the mobile website. I crave death. Let me join the boys.

First Chapter and AO3:

Previous Chapter:

——————

A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence

Jason wasn’t exactly expecting to roll up to Danny’s dorm to thumping stripper music, and yet as he turned off the bike… that was definitely what was happening.

Flicking the visor up, he soon caught sight of the cause, a visibly frazzled Danny hurrying over. His pocket seemed to be having an independent party that Danny himself was not invited to.

“I have sinned against the almighty Tucker and am being punished for my crimes with an endless loop,” he explained flatly without being asked.

Jason snorted, reaching back to unhook the new helmet from the back of the bike and hand it out.

“Oh? And what did you do to upset his highness?” He teased, a smile tugging across his lips in spite of himself.

In spite of the certain knowledge that Tim would absolutely be latching onto this form of punishment the second he found out.

He’d not really felt like smiling since he got in last night, yet the second he saw Danny his anger eased.

Didn’t hurt that the pit was practically vibrating in smug satisfaction, clearly appeased that he also wouldn’t let them be kept apart. But there was still an open happiness all Jason’s own in watching his new friend suffer.

Danny sighed, pulling out a heavily wrapped sock-sausage that eventually contained his phone, and scrolled to show Jason some messages.

Jason scanned through them quickly, because the music was fucking loud entirely unmuffled, then passed the phone back to be reburied.

“You knew what you were doing,” he told Danny entirely unsympathetically, and Danny snickered.

“Sometimes he needs to be told when he’s being a dramatic bitch. So were you there for the whole,” he waved a hand vaguely, the other stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

Which meant Jason had to think about the cave again. And the phone call he’d gotten an hour after ignoring Bruce’s summons.

:::

Jason was actually on his way to bed on time for once in his life, the early end to patrol and lack of crime lord duties giving him a chance to get a full five hours sleep.

He should have known he wouldn’t get lucky two nights in a row; Constantine wasn’t around to distract Bruce anymore.

He’d contemplated not answering. Contemplated trying not to shoot Bruce in half an hour if the fucker showed up at his window.

The pit growled.

It was the worst thing he’d ever heard. The worst thing he’d ever felt. And he did feel it, vibrating in his very bones.

It sent shivers creeping up and down his spine, muscles tensing as if to run away from something inside him.

He answered the call, hoping it wouldn’t show in his voice.

“What.” Flat, unfriendly. Not encouraging conversation.

“You didn’t come to the cave.” B’s voice was equally flat, but in his case it sounded like a condemnation. An accusation.

Jason gritted his teeth.

“I have shit to do in the morning. Make it quick,” he snapped, giving his bed a glare it definitely didn’t deserve.

His pillows had never done anything to hurt him.

There was a momentary pause before B audibly decided not to push it.

Good.

Jason was in a mood to bite.

“We have intel on the Infinite Realms. I’ve sent the report. You need to stay away from Danny Fenton, for your health,” B said, still cold, still clinical.

Like he didn’t care. Like what Jason wanted didn’t matter.

Jason’s grip tightened and the phone case cracked.

“Yeah, no. Fuck off.” He spat the words, adding “get new phone” to his list of chores for the morning.

He’d been doing so well with this one. Of course B had to ruin it.

At least the old man didn’t seem surprised by his reaction.

“Jason. It… he. His abilities may affect your condition,” he said slowly, sounding tired. Old.

The pit snarled, sensing weakness, and Jason kinda wished he was still lost in its rage. Back when he was, it was easy just to hate those moments.

B showing signs of humanity fucking hurt.

“He is. He’s making it better,” he shot back, brooking no argument.

“We don’t know that, Jason. Please, just… just for a few days. Until we can talk to the League, understand what he’s doing to you.”

Was.

Was that Bruce begging?

It froze something small and soft in Jason’s chest, stuck him in place. And did nothing to stop the flood of icy rage from filling him up.

Filling his chest, crushing his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Because of course, anyone and everyone else’s judgement was worth more to the man than Jason’s.

Begging Jason to listen to him, when he would never, ever, fucking ever listen to Jason. When it didn’t fucking matter if Jason begged.

“And why the fuck would the League know better than a doctor from the Realms?” He finally snapped, ignoring the way his throat tightened.

There was a long silence.

“A doctor?” Bruce asked softly, his voice still so flat and emotionless that only his kids could have read the confusion. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Danny brought me to a doctor. I’m gonna be fine,” he ground out reluctantly, part of him resenting Bruce’s constant insistence on knowing everything.

But… well. If it got the guy off his fucking back.

There was a long silence, one that Jason was fully aware B was likely spending working this new information into his latest paranoid fantasy.

Jason seriously considered just hanging up and going to bed. He was about to do it when Bruce spoke again.

“Would this doctor be willing to speak to the League?” And there it was again, Batman voice, clinical and distant and always, always fucking suspicious.

Jason rolled his eyes harder. With emphasis. Willing to be interrogated by first the Justice League and then separately also goddamn Batman.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure B wouldn’t get anywhere with Frostbite. Frostbite took his work seriously and was, yeah, king of a full realm of yetis.

None of Bruce’s pointed silences, menacing looming, or vague growls would bug the guy who got Danny through Fucked Up Ghost Puberty.

(And would probably be helping Jason through his own Fucked Up Ghost Puberty… joy of joys.)

It might actually be fun to see him try. If just being here wouldn’t put Frostbite in danger, because hell fucking no that wasn’t happening. The guy may not be his king but Jason would still die first.

But of course, in all his paranoid bullshit about the Realms influencing Gotham, B had somehow conveniently missed what America was doing to the Realms.

Like Jason hadn’t even done the full write up.

“Not while the fucking League are required to hand him right to the US government for torture and experimentation. Which, by the way, did you read my report on the Anti Ecto Acts?” Jason asked sarcastically, doing his very worst fake concern.

And again he was met with silence. Fuck, maybe Bruce hadn’t read it. Jason had dropped it in the day before all this gala bullshit had started, and it had been a busy two days since.

Maybe B deadass hadn’t put the pieces together. Might as well hammer it home for him.

“You know, the one that says you, me, Cass, and Damian are all non-sentient because we’ve been exposed to the pits?” Jason added, eyes narrowing.

Which wasn’t technically true, since it was the resulting liminality and ability to process ectoplasm that made them count, but Bruce didn’t need to know that yet.

Finally he spoke again, voice gruff and clipped.

“I’m looking into it. But for now, Jason, please-” he said again, the cover of Batman beginning to slip.

But Jason was done. No fucking chance Bruce was giving him orders when he hadn’t even bothered asking for Jason’s opinion.

He wanted to spout off about dangers of the Infinite Realms after talking to some wet paper bag of a man who hawked his soul like it was a pokemon card. Hard pass.

And even after hearing that Jason knew what was going on a damn sight better than Bruce did, he still wanted to push him around?

Fuck that.

“Sorry B, legally non-sentient, guess I can’t be blamed for my actions,” he drawled, then turned his phone off and dropped into bed.

He had a lot of shit to do before picking Danny up in the morning.

:::

Jason shook his head, partially to clear it but also in answer to Danny’s question.

“Hell no. Tim told me he was being a paranoid old fuck again so I went to bed,” he growled, a little surprised by the sudden rush of anger the memory brought.

It must have been strong enough that Danny noticed it, because he could feel Danny’s worry too.

He sucked in a sharp breath, pushing the anger back down. He still hadn’t turned his phone back on.

Actually it might still be beside the bed in his apartment. It didn’t really matter.

Danny took the new helmet from him, leaning up against Jason’s side in a soft wave of comfort-sorry-amused.

Amused?

Before he could ask, Danny had turned the helmet over to look at the visor.

“So I’m guessing, from what we talked about in the car, what Tucker told me, and what you’re not telling me, that Bruce thinks you should be far, far away from me?” He asked innocently.

The pit fucking growled again, raising the hair all along Jason’s neck, and Danny trilled soothingly to it.

Even knowing what to expect, the sudden and complete lack of rage still made Jason shiver.

“Thanks,” he said before Danny could apologise.

For managing Jason’s unstable emotions for him when Jason couldn’t. Although…

If they actually were the pit’s all along, that’d explain why it had been so hard to push through. It was weird that the idea was actually starting to feel comforting.

Danny gave him a slightly relieved grin, nudging back.

“Yeah, well, not like you recently bound your entire soul and afterlife into keeping me safe. Not like either of us know what the fuck that’s gonna mean,” he said, all flippant and glib, and…

Yeah, he’d almost have a point, except Jason had put himself on the chopping block to keep others safe since he was thirteen years old.

He shook his head, chuckling softly.

“Oh, I didn’t get on with the old man long, long before you came into the picture,” he assured Danny with a dry smile, rolling his eyes.

Danny snickered, spinning the helmet and looking “innocently” up to the sky. Whatever the fuck came out of his mouth next, Jason was ready for it to be a doozy.

“Yeah, well… if I’m the bad influence boyfriend your dad wants you to stay away from…” and that sentence alone almost made Jason choke, without even the kicker, “can I drive your motorcycle?”

At least it stopped Jason from coughing. He shot Danny a sudden suspicious glare.

“Do you even know how to drive a motorcycle?” He asked with a full awareness of what the answer would be.

Danny shrugged, giving Jason his best “innocent” smile.

“Definitely motorcycle adjacent?” He offered sweetly. Jason shook his head firmly.

“Nope.”

“Oh come on!” Danny pouted, tossing both hands into the air, his new helmet held tight despite the dramatic gesture.

Jason shook his head again, in case Danny had missed the point.

“Nnnnnnnope,” he drew the word out, popping the p, and Danny rolled his eyes at him.

“It’s not like a crash would kill either of us anyway,” he huffed, and while he may have that kind of confidence in his ghost powers, Jason’s core hadn’t formed yet.

He wasn’t about to fucking risk it.

“That doesn’t mean it’ll be a fun experience. They’re called “donor-cycles” for a reason,” he told Danny archly, definitely not moving from astride his girl while this was “up for debate”.

Glanced back to find Danny staring at him, clearly holding back a snicker.

“That sounds waaay more like something the Disapproving Dad Who Doesn’t Like His Son’s Hot New Motorcycle Boyfriend would say,” he pointed out, rising on tiptoe to rest his chin on Jason’s shoulder.

Jason licked him. Mostly on the cheek.

It was a stupid impulse, the kind he usually didn’t even get with anyone but Dick, and he might have regretted it immediately if it hadn’t fucking worked.

Danny jumped back, cheeks flushing, and while Jason was pretty sure his own had pinked up, well, behind him Danny couldn’t see that.

But he pulled on his helmet just to be doubly sure.

“Yeah, well, protecting your ass includes not letting you kill us both in a fiery wreck. Or maim us,” he added before Danny could voice the protest Jason could clearly taste.

Silence from behind him, and then Danny sighed and pulled his helmet on, climbing aboard behind Jason again. Who decided to throw him a bone.

“I’ll teach you how to drive it first,” he promised, and Danny cheered loudly, thrusting both fists into the air as they pulled out.

Neither really noticed that Danny’s background music had changed to Radar Love.

When they’d finally dragged themselves to bed, Tim had offered to let Tucker use one of the manor’s nearly infinite guest rooms.

They’d picked one out and everything, changed into pyjamas (Tucker borrowed an old pair of Dick’s), and sat on the bed in Tim’s old room talking about technology until they both fell asleep.

Probably around 8am.

Tucker hadn’t had a proper slumber party since leaving Amity Park, but he was kinda getting used to waking up tucked next to a still-sleeping Wayne adoptee when his phone buzzed around 10am.

Foul treachery from Danny. As usual.

Tucker barely woke up, hand crawling from the pile to rest against the PDA, and that was all he needed. His awareness slipped from the device to his phone, always linked.

From his phone to Danny’s. Into Danny’s music app, where he picked a suitable vengeance even as he slipped back into sleep.

Watched Danny through the phone as if it were a dream, easily filtering out the sounds of his own music as Danny flailed around, trying to turn the music off, trying to turn the music down, failing on all counts, and flailing his way out of the dorm.

Down to meet Jason, his phone now buried in six layers of socks that did nothing to stop the music from being heard, or Tucker from watching.

Tucker cranked the volume a little more anyway. The thought had to count for something.

If Danny wanted to call him petty, well, Tucker Foley could redefine “petty” all on his own.

Providing his friends with a semi-mocking soundtrack really was the least of his abilities; he was literally doing it in his sleep.

Honestly, driving in Gotham wasn’t even all that exciting from Danny’s perspective. After being tossed around the GAV despite the seatbelts, a couple of cranky fellow drivers just didn’t register.

If they hadn’t been going through the city, maybe going highway speeds it might have been different, but he’d kind of worked out how loud he had to be to be heard.

By Jason snickering when he screamed at pedestrians.

If they didn’t want to be screamed at they shouldn’t be trying to loom menacingly.

Of course, that just meant now was the perfect time for him to use his new power for evil. Danny flipped his visor up, straining as high as he could to yell to Jason.

“SO, THAT CONSTANTINE GUY?”

There was a sudden click in his ear and he jumped as Jason’s voice came through, quiet and definitely amused.

“There’s a radio in your helmet, Danny.”

Oh.

News to fucking him, he was pretty sure that wasn’t standard in motorcycle helmets, but not from any lived experience. Johnny 13’s dead experiences were a little out of date.

Poking around the sides of his helmet, Danny soon found a button.

“Sweet. Looks like you finally forgot to mention something,” he teased, and heard Jason snort loud and clear.

Didn’t have to hold the button to talk then. Good times. He’d get Tucker to take a look on the way home after he ecto infused it. For now he flipped the visor back down.

“Looks like,” Jason agreed dryly, swerving them around a cluster of traffic.

He wasn’t exactly sticking to the letter of the law, they were definitely half again over the speed limit, but they hadn’t gone on a sidewalk so it was nothing to a Fenton. There was even an empty slot in the lane he merged into.

“So what about Constantine,” he prompted, and while it broke Danny out of his musings, it also reminded him of the exact thing he’d planned to do to make the trip more interesting.

“Oh, I own his soul. Like, a dozen times over,” Danny chirped perkily, grip tightening just before Jason had to slam on the breaks to keep from hitting the car beside them.

They sped off again before the sudden swerve caused comment, and passed a block or two in silence. Then Jason sighed.

“Of fucking course you do that for everything and not just Mariokart.” He mostly sounded resigned, so Danny allowed himself a snicker.

“What, it’s not like we’re gonna die. You’re even still on the road,” he dismissed easily, waving a hand to show just how unconcerned he was.

Did not expect Jason to huff, reach back and grab his hand, and pull it back around himself.

“I’m reconsidering teaching you to drive,” he told Danny flatly, and Danny pouted but took the hint and held on.

“Oh come on, you can’t say that, you haven’t even seen me try!” Danny protested.

Jason made an unimpressed noise.

“Your town’s weather includes reports of if your parents will be on the road.”

Which, by the way, was totally unfair of him, since he’d never have known that if Danny hadn’t told him. Or Tucker hadn’t told Tim.

Same difference.

“My parents, not me,” Danny argued anyway, shrugging, “and it wasn’t their driving that killed me.”

This time he was close enough, snugged tight to Jason’s back, that he felt the guy’s whole body shiver with a loud and rumbling growl. The same growl he’d heard and soothed earlier.

Something had really riled up Jason’s pit ghost.

Danny hummed another quick soothing trill, stroking his aura gently across Jason and his extra passenger.

Sort of trying to do it unobtrusively; he would actually really prefer that they didn’t fully crash. It kinda worked, in that Jason managed to unlock suddenly solid muscles enough for them to make the next turn.

“Sorry,” Danny said quickly, kind of to both of them, “guess Pitty doesn’t like the death jokes today.”

They passed another few buildings in silence, and Danny had definitely noticed by now that they weren’t heading for the manor. Didn’t matter so long as Jason knew where they were going.

Danny waited him out, long enough that he almost wanted to make another joke and lighten the mood. Again though, Jason broke it first.

“Pitty.” He did not sound impressed. But he didn’t feel mad. More what the fuck just came outta your mouth.

Danny gave him a quick squeeze, and almost felt the pit purr.

It was kinda getting stronger the longer they hung out. Technically that probably meant that both cores were making progress.

“Well, technically you probably get to name it, but until you come up with something I’m calling it Pitty,” Danny explained, and rather felt that Jason should be grateful.

Unlike the rest of his family, Jason had seen the full list of how Jack Fenton named things. Danny preferred to think he took after his aunt.

He coulda called it the Fenton Pit Friend or something. Really, it wasn’t hard to think of anything worse.

From his aura, Jason now seemed to be intentionally ignoring him.

Stewing in indignation-disbelief-confused-confused-confused. Well, that was his call.

Anyway.

“Back to Constantine though, I wasn’t kidding. I do actually own his soul,” Danny said casually, since they’d gotten distracted from his previous attempt to make the drive more interesting.

For a moment he wasn’t sure if Jason would rise to the bait this time either, and then another sigh came over the radio.

“Y’know, somehow, that’s the least surprising thing you’ve said. Man sells his soul so much everyone seems to have a chunk,” Jason grumbled, and Danny snickered.

“Oh, pretty much. He’s the Caterpie of human souls. He never made a deal with me directly though,” he added quickly, without being fully sure why.

He was pretty sure Jason wouldn’t jump straight to “Danny is a soul trader”, but honestly he’d gotten used to getting ahead of wilder trains of thought.

“Oh? How’d you get twelve then?” Jason shot back, clearly warming back up to things.

Mission accomplished. Danny grinned.

“Well, previous Ghost King was in nappy time for a couple thousand years, but he had this whole thing about collecting souls to add to his army of thralls, so basically anyone could sign their soul over for a chunk of power. Real charmer,” Danny snorted, rolling his eyes.

It was so far from the worst thing Pariah Dark had ever done, but so far it was definitely the longest lingering annoyance.

“I got the impression,” Jason agreed in pretty much the same tone, prompting Danny to continue.

Which. Yeah. Was more fun than thinking about the mountain of thrall contracts still awaiting their owner’s deaths, which the Observants were still fussing over.

Nobody wanted more thralls, souls wiped clean of everything that made them, well, souls. Just unliving batteries. Even ghosts found them creepy.

On the other hand, there was nothing the Observants loved more than rules. And the rules said a signed contract had to be honoured.

Really they shoulda expected Danny to ask who the fuck signed for Pariah, since he was (again) in nappy time prison. He hoped nobody else died while they sorted that out.

“Danny?”

Ah. Yup, he did it again. Danny shook his head and sighed, kinda missing the wind in his hair. It kept him more present than the enclosed space of the helmet.

“Sorry. So, John Constantine, clever bitch, wrote himself a contract that signed his soul over to the Ghost King, not Pariah Dark. Got through whatever screening was in place no problem, and now he’s my problem.”

A problem that Clockwork had presented Danny with on his fucking birthday no less.

That had been part one of the soul screening process; who was stuck with Pariah by name, and ho boy that was a depressingly long list… and still growing, though it had slowed recently.

News of Pariah losing his crown was slow to spread, and frankly Danny himself could be doing more to help that, except. Well.

Not taking the damn crown himself until he had to. Not wanting to give the creeps of the world anything to call him.

There were a lot of good reasons, okay? And Clockwork had specially singled out Constantine’s contract and delivered it to Danny himself as a birthday present.

“Well, that explains one,” Jason agreed with a snicker, pulling to a stop in front of the police station, “but what about the other eleven times?”

Danny snorted a laugh, sliding off the bike and stretching. As much fun as hugging Jason at high speeds was, he didn’t like being still for too long.

“Tax season,” he explained cheerfully, pulling off the helmet and looking around, “I guess we’re meeting Harley here?”

Snickering to himself, Jason pulled off his own helmet and tucked it into the storage on the back of his bike. Danny passed it over, noting that Jason had also had to get a second little pod for the other helmet.

He wasn’t gonna ask. Maybe they were in storage?

“Yeah, we’re meeting Harley here. Better not to swing by the manor for a while,” Jason added, his expression souring.

Which did make Danny feel a little bad actually. He didn’t want to cause trouble for Jason with his family…

But before he could say anything Jason ruffled his hair roughly, shaking his head.

“It’s not your fault, Danny. This kinda shit happens every other week, Bruce gets on his bullshit and I steer clear. He’ll calm the fuck down eventually and remember to mind his own business,” he explained dryly, nodding towards the doors.

Danny hesitated before moving to follow. It felt true, he could feel Jason’s sincere-exhausted-familiar-still over it clear as day, it just.

“I’m still sorry I wound him up though,” Danny finally decided, heading after Jason up and in. Jason who rolled his eyes and held the door open.

“Danny. He winds himself up. You could be a literal angel and he would not fucking care. You couldn’t unwind him even if you miraculously found the key. We’ve all tried,” Jason said with a sigh, though at least the anger seemed to have burned off into just…

Tired.

Jason just felt tired.

Probably cuz he was off fucking around with Cass last night, but Danny wasn’t about to call him out on it.

Not when they’d just walked into the police station (ew) and the wild sight of Harley Quinn, hair in pigtails and dressed in her signature red and black, sat on the duty officer’s desk with a bat. Filing her nails.

Total silence filled the room, broken only by the swing of the doors opening as Danny and Jason stepped through.

The whole room was watching her in a kind of terrified awe, like she was a particularly dangerous bomb waiting to go off. Danny’d swear they weren’t even breathing.

She looked up as the door opened, grinning broadly at the sight of them and waving in a large, exuberant gesture.

“Oh, there’s my boys! Hey boys!” She called in obvious delight, and half the room flinched.

Didn’t seem to matter that she hadn’t even been in Gotham for ages, let alone being her former roguish self. She had the kind of presence that left a lasting impression.

No wonder Danny liked her. She coulda fit right in with his ghost friends.

Maybe she’d come join them for fight club.

Pulling himself slowly from sleep just a little past noon, Bruce had to admit he was feeling better. The headache had dulled to a low throb but he felt clearer.

More aware of himself, and after a glass of water, more like he could take on the day.

It was far from his first concussion and he was well used to navigating the symptoms over the next few days. So long as he didn’t get any serious memory loss he wasn’t going to worry about it.

He had far more serious things to worry about, but even they seemed more manageable after almost nine hours of sleep.

Honestly… he wasn’t surprised that Jason hadn’t come to the cave. Hadn’t agreed to stay away from Danny when asked.

It had felt like a reasonable request at the time, like the bare minimum of common sense. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore.

Jason didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust Bruce’s judgement, in how to deal with criminals or anything else.

Jason hadn’t been the boy who’d looked to Bruce with such trust, such wonder and awe, even before he’d died.

Sometimes Bruce wondered where he’d gone wrong.

But there was no use dwelling on the past. Bruce would like to re earn Jason’s trust some day, but he wouldn’t ignore their present relationship.

Jason wouldn’t trust that Danny was a danger to him without proof, so Bruce would find that proof, if it existed. Hopefully before Jason’s condition became proof itself.

The first and most obvious step would be to consult the Justice League Dark at today’s meeting, and then make arrangements for this doctor from the Infinite Realms.

He’d have to look into those laws Jason mentioned ahead of the meeting. Perhaps bring them up to Constantine, see how it might affect matters with the Infinite Realms.

A bitter part of him mused that he wouldn’t be surprised if the magician was completely unaware of most international laws, let alone the ones of the various lands he travelled, but still.

The man had been so adamant that the Infinite Realms were completely beyond their ability to handle. That they should cut and run at any cost.

Bruce could hardly imagine he’d be pleased that the US had apparently declared its inhabitants the targets of its newest genocide.

Of course, changing the laws and having them struck down would take time, but Bruce still hoped that the act of beginning might be enough.

Enough for him to visit Jason’s doctor in the Realms or some other neutral ground, since the doctor couldn’t come here.

Jason had said that he would be fine, not that he was already fine. Bruce wouldn’t have believed him if he had, not really; Jason hadn’t been fine since he’d been dunked in those damn pits.

Their poison had stuck with him far longer than anyone Bruce had ever heard of.

Hells, Bruce had had his own dunking. He could just barely remember the rage that had forced itself down his throat, into his lungs as he was brutally thrust back into the land of the living.

He had controlled it, had mastered it quickly, and now it was nothing more than a faint scrap of memory. Even that was still enough to grant his deepest sympathy to Jason’s struggles.

If the rage had never left him…

But no, he decided, going through his morning routine like he was still the young playboy Brucie who never showed his face before 3pm.

There was no point in indulging those thoughts either. He had mastered the pit’s fury, and it released him. For whatever reason, Jason hadn’t.

And now they all had to deal with the consequences.

Still, Bruce let himself hope for the future instead.

If his children were right, if Jason was right… if Danny or this mysterious doctor from the Infinite Realms could help him with the pit rage…

He might one day see that little boy again. The boy who looked at Bruce like he’d hung the stars, who could fly because Robin made him magic.

There was nothing in this world or any other that Bruce wouldn’t give to see Jason whole again. To see him happy.

The United States government were going to learn (again) what it meant to come between the Batman and the safety of his sons.

The Justice League’s meeting would be in another four hours. He had plenty of time to do some research and amend their presentation.

So long as Jason was right.

And speaking of Jason… there was just one other thing he’d like to do this morning. Heaving a sigh while he had the privacy of his room, Bruce pulled up his phone again.

He didn’t quite indulge himself as far as making a face as he punched in Constantine’s number, because concussed or not he was an adult. And he was going to need the man’s help.

Surely Jason wouldn’t object to a single check in with a trusted practitioner?

As the phone rang, Bruce once again cursed the circumstances that kept Zatanna off world. He was about 75% sure that Jason actually liked her.

But maybe the extent to which Constantine annoyed Bruce would also cheer him up.

The call went through, and Bruce snapped his wandering attention back. Maybe he’d take the rest of the day off after the meeting. Heal up a little more.

Alfred would be proud.

“Constantine. A moment of your time before the meeting?” It even sounded like a question, not a command. Sleep really had done him a world of good.

Part of Jason wished he could say he was surprised that Harley had taken GCPD HQ hostage just by showing up, but he honestly wasn’t.

Part of him wished he didn’t think that was exactly her intention, but… he didn’t particularly like lying to himself. Harley was fun.

And got results, even if she also tended not to end lives. He could respect that.

And promised not to rat him out to Danny, even if she made no promises about Waylon, who definitely also knew both his identities.

That… Jason wasn’t really surprised by that either. They’d never talked about it, but Waylon had definitely known he was the second Robin for some time.

A few of the rogues did, or at least assumed as much from the way the Batman would either obsessively chase or obsessively avoid him in mask.

Jason personally preferred and egged on the side that thought Red Hood was Batman’s evil twin brother. Or clone. Mostly because Bruce hated them.

Knowing civilian identities was a step beyond that Bruce would certainly never admit that more than one or two knew, but Jason had (slightly) less issues.

It was kinda an open secret among the rogues who’d been around since the glory days; Bruce Wayne is Batman. As Danny so rightly said of Dick, the butts matched.

(Jason was considering adding more padding to the body armour in his pants, if only to change the silhouette, because that was a fucked yet accurate identifier apparently.)

Most of the rogues didn’t fucking care, Joker and Two Face especially, but it was something that no one talked about.

And that they all specifically agreed to keep from Riddler for as long as possible.

(It was his punishment for being obnoxious at trivia nights in Arkham; no one bothered to suggest banning him or asking him to behave.)

For rogues like the Gotham City Sirens? Hadn’t been a secret since Bruce took off the mask for Selina.

Killer Croc probably wasn’t technically one of the sirens yet (and wouldn’t that be fun?) but he hung out with Harley, and despite his size he wasn’t stupid.

The only thing Jason was a little worried about was Waylon mentioning his current alter ego in front of Danny, but honestly the fact that they were at a police station would probably keep his lips closed.

All vigilantes were illegal.

Red Hood was illegal and a serial killer.

And probably couldn’t get the silent and terrified reverence Harley currently held over the station even if he walked in with a rocket launcher.

She beamed at them, hopping down off the desk with her bat over her shoulder. A little closer, Jason noted that this bat was also bedazzled, but in a different pattern from the one she’d had last night.

Or the same bat, redone, but he wasn’t putting money on it.

She hopped down off her desk and skipped across the room towards them, and Jason wished for half a second that he could command half as much menace doing something so… well, innocent.

But no, he just put heads in a bag, that wasn’t scary apparently. Fucking Gotham.

He obediently bent down for Harley to kiss his cheek, not wanting to be yanked around in the cop shop (even as a civilian), and still managed to be surprised when Danny also accepted a cheek kiss and then returned it.

Harley squealed in delight and ruffled his hair, then pinched both Danny’s cheeks.

“Awww, ain’t you all cute and cosmopolitan! So, shall we go see my big green bestie!” She declared happily, releasing Danny and turning back to lead the way out of the room.

Didn’t go for the keys. Didn’t address the question to anyone who should have been leading them down. Just got going, the way Harley always did.

No one moved to stop them.

Surprising precisely no one, Harley absolutely knew the way down to the cells at the GCPD. Not from a lotta personal experience, o’ course.

Nah, Harley usually went from crime scene to Arkham back in the day, but she’d known people and busted people out of holding before.

It had taken a couple real big favours to get Waylon kept here instead of shipped back to Arkham, but that was what favours were for. No one liked having a Harley-debt over their heads.

And Brucie’s word was gonna get Waylon released on her recognizance, once she scooped some shivering copper out from under their desk.

He’d have to actually behave this time though. No big bat-centric events, nothin’ above ground.

Honestly… she might ask him ta head home. Being in Gotham wasn’t good for either of them. Too many old patterns and bad habits, and Waylon had been doin’ a real good job keeping his nose clean.

If he wanted ta head back to Coney, they could get ‘im a ride. And if he didn’t, well, she’d have someone to watch the new show with.

Her two baby birds were following her like good little ducklings too, absolutely adorable. Although… she paused for a second, cocking her head.

“Is there a reason we’ve got theme music?” She asked with a delighted giggle as the song clicked.

It was a little muffled, but Styx’s Renegade? Ballsy choice for a trip to the cop shop.

The question seemed to surprise both boys though, and then Danny sighed, reaching back to pat a weirdly bulging pocket.

“Yeah, I upset my techno-god bestie this morning. Apparently my punishment is a soundtrack of my life,” he said dryly.

Jason paused, a slight frown on his face as he listened too.

“Wait, it changed? I thought you were on a loop?” He asked, and that was an interesting development.

Danny just shrugged.

“Yeah, he’s probably keeping an eye on us and changing it up when he thinks it’s funny. I think I know this song,” he added with a slight frown, brows furrowing as he listened.

Jason listened a moment longer, then snickered and shook his head.

“Tuck’s got good taste in music,” he said simply, and yeah, Harley remembered Tucker from dinner. Another lil cutie, all tucked up with Timmy in their own little world half the time.

Damn good at Mariokart and Spiderheck too.

Danny snorted and flipped Jason off.

“Suck up.”

And immediately the music changed, flipping straight to Pink’s Slut Like You, suddenly louder… although that mighta also been the song.

Danny groaned as his pocket loudly declared that he was not a slut, and Jason laughed at him entirely unapologetically.

“And that’s why I’m not the one with the soundtrack,” he declared smugly and Danny sighed, raising both hands in unequivocal surrender.

“Yes, yes, I’m a bad and naughty boy and I’m getting my just punishment. Can we just get going?” He asked almost rhetorically.

The music changed again, sultry twanging of a guitar before Lil Nas X began to sing Montero. It took Harley a moment longer to place it than the boys, both of whom now looked confused.

“I can’t tell if he’s encouraging you or not,” Jason said finally, and Danny sighed.

“Well I’ve pole danced into Hell before, so I’m taking it as a compliment either way,” he decided with a shrug, trying to shove what looked like an overstuffed sock deeper into his pocket. “I swear the volume shouldn’t get this loud.”

“Joys of a touchy tech friend,” Harley opined with a snicker, glancing around to see if there were cameras Tucker could be watching from. She blew both she found a kiss, then spun to continue their quest.

And realized that neither of the boys had followed her, both now watching her warily.

“What?” She asked, frowning and turning to see if she’d stepped in something. Nope, just clean floors.

“Danny’s sin was calling Tucker overdramatic,” Jason explained, and oh. Yeah, that explained the looks.

Harley waved a hand cheerfully, deliberately brushing it off.

“An’ now he’s givin’ ya life a soundtrack, so I dunno that he disagrees,” she said lightly, skipping back towards the stairs, “c’mon!”

And when no new burst of music began to switch out Lil Nas, the boys got to following again, Danny grumbling about unfairness.

Harley liked Danny. He had a refreshing lack of fucks to give, a good sense of humour, and he doted on Jason, who fucking deserved it.

They’d be so good together, and Harley was gonna have the time of her life watchin’ them work that out.

Which, now that she thought of it…

“Hey, by th’ way, ya said ya didn’t wanna meet at the manor?” She prodded, turning to walk backwards down the steps to the cells, frowning at Jason, “what’d Brucie do now?”

And watched the ease in Jason’s face freeze, muscles tightening, and Harley sighed. Yeah, a trip back to the manor was definitely in order.

“Just his usual bullshit,” Jason grumbled, running a hand through his already wild helmet hair. Danny snickered beside him and gave her a broad grin.

“Jason’s officially banned from hanging out with me,” he explained far too smugly, since there wasn’t a chance Jason would have listened to any Bruce-ban.

But, he was beside the tall and handsome stud he had a crush on, so Harley wasn’t gonna argue. She grinned back at him, just as her foot nearly slipped on a step.

Before the fall could fully start, she pushed off harder with the other foot, dodging both startled hands grabbing for her, and turned the fall into a backflip down the rest of the stairs.

Taking gymnastics as a kid really should be a prerequisite for villainy. Especially with the Robins flipping around all over the place.

She landed almost perfectly, stepping onto her back foot and then raising both arms and giving the boys a little bow. Then she sighed, resting her bat over her shoulder and mock pouting, tapping the side of her jaw.

“I guess I’m just gonna have ta go back and give ‘im a lil percussive maintenance… bet he hasn’t been restin’ right since he got that concussion either. Maybe I’ll call Selina ta keep ‘im in bed for a week,” she mused. Jason mock puked.

“I thought you wanted him to rest,” Danny snickered, earning himself a glare from his one true love. A consequence that did not phase him in the least.

Harley laughed and waved a hand lightly, skipping ahead to get the door into the hall that held the actual cells while they descended the rest of the stairs.

“Oh, she’s a big girl, Selina can do the work,” she teased, laughing louder when Jason groaned like his soul was being sucked out.

There was a cop still sat behind the desk just inside the door, an older man whose stocky frame had started softening with age.

He didn’t quite jump out of his seat as she entered, but dark eyes widened and ruddy skin paled when he saw her. Which, yeah, she had that effect on people.

“Why are you here?” He demanded, voice only shaking a little.

Harley gave him a sceptical once over.

Not someone she’d run into personally, though probably on the force when she’d been active. Off the streets now, probably not far from retirement and trying to make it all the way there.

Not a lotta Gotham cops did these days, in spite of the rampant corruption. Being in the Penguin’s pocket did sweet fuck all to protect ya when Scarecrow was having a hissy fit.

This old bugger had probably joined back in the bad ol’ days when they could just ignore mob crimes, hassle the homeless, and look the other way if a situation got violent.

These days between Gordon, the bats, and the increasingly dramatic rogues (among which she still counted herself even if Batsy didn’t, she had a reputation to uphold)?

Lookin’ the other way wasn’t the protection it used ta be, and bein’ conveniently “late” to a crime scene didn’t help much either.

This guy? Probably folded like cheap laundry at the first sign of trouble, but he’d stayed in place. That’d make her job easier anyway.

Smiling sweetly at him, Harley strolled forwards and propped her bat on the floor, both hands on the handle as she leaned forward over it.

“Pickin’ up a friend,” she told him sweetly, nodding to the line of cells down the hall, “Uber for Mr Waylon Jones?”

The guy (Officer Perkins, said the name tag, but he’d not really proved himself memorable yet) swallowed visibly, hands shaking but still visible above the desk.

Not going for a weapon. Not surprising.

No one who’d seen a gun pulled on Harley before tended to try it themselves. Just like the Robins, she was a tough target. You had to be real sure.

“Do you have the appropriate paperwork?” He rasped, a Gothamite accent still prominent despite the quiver.

Harley raised an eyebrow, letting her smile go deadly sweet.

“Would ya stop me if I didn’t?” She cooed, rocking forwards on her toes and grinning when his chair slammed back almost two feet.

The shaking had progressed to a full body shiver, sweat dripping down a blotchy brow as he slammed a ring of keys on the edge of the desk, as close as he was willing to get.

Harley scooped them up and straightened, tipping him a wink as she sauntered past.

“Thanks bud! But yeah, I do actually have the paperwork, Judge Thompson’s gonna fax it all along this afternoon,” she told him brightly, twirling the ring of keys around one finger as she skipped back towards the cells.

The judge’d fax it after she had another lil chat with Brucie. They’d cut things short last night, apparently too short for even their actual chat to finish sinking in.

Gotta fix that.

And remember to mention Waylon.

And maybe see if he had any info on her own little issue. Though she might hit Barbara up for that first, bring some treats down library way.

It was gonna be a busy day for ol’ Harley, but at least she got to spend time with the kids first.

“Was that really necessary?” Jason asked with a raised eyebrow, following her down the hall with barely a glance at their shaking audience.

“Necessary?” Harley asked sweetly, glancing into the first couple cells and skipping on. “No. Fun, yes!”

“See this is why I like her,” Danny decided with a sage nod, and Harley shot him a wink, “she knows how to have a good time.”

“I know how to have a good time,” Jason said immediately, and holy shit that was just sooooooo cute she nearly dropped the keys to go pinch his little cheeks again.

Just all pouty and defensive and they weren’t even talkin’ about him! It was too much, Harley couldn’t stand it!

“Yeah, and I like you too,” Danny replied in what he probably thought was a cool way, but no, that was just fucking adorable too.

Too.

Cute.

Harley was gonna die.

And maybe get herself a cool glowy transformation sequence apparently, which would be kinda cool. She’d always kinda wanted a magical girl moment.

She could be their fairy-ghost-mother!

And, to be fair ta Waylon, she had definitely gotten side tracked again. Almost forgot who she was here for.

But really, it did not mean he had to make a grab for her when she almost walked right past his cell! She coulda done him an injury!

He released her arm before the bat came down though, chuckling in that growly way of his and raising both hands.

“Hey. Didn’t want you goin’ right past,” he said innocently, and Harley sighed fondly and reached her bat through the bars to bonk him gently on the head.

“Hush you, I’m not that distractible,” she scolded him, completely ignoring any disbelieving noises from her two little love birds, “an’ anyway, you gotta be nice to me. I’m bustin’ yer ass out.”

She jangled the keys at Waylon instead, then began swiping through them for the right one.

The big guy obediently stepped back to let her look, his attention shifting past her to Danny and Jason.

“An’ you brought company,” he growled, a wry grin on his face. She had to wonder if he’d noticed how dang adorable they were already at the gala.

She’d missed soooo much! But he’d catch her up, because that’s what besties did. And cuz she’d kick all the kittens out of his room if he didn’t.

Jason shrugged, coming up behind her to lean on the bars.

“I had a passing interest in why you wanted to use me as bait for Two Face. We’re not exactly close,” he explained, the edited down version for their legal listeners in.

“Ya got balls for a rich kid,” Waylon chuckled just as Harley found the key. One quick victory fist pump and she got to work on the lock.

Really, there was a reason modern stations had one key ta open all the cells. Or electric locks. What if there was a fire?

But then, it was Gotham. They’d happily let all their perps burn. An’ probably keep usin’ it as an excuse why they all needed a fat budget increase.

“Victory! An’ he’s my adorable lil nephew, Croccy, so you’re gonna play nice,” she warned Waylon sternly, swinging the door open and wagging a finger at him sternly.

Again, for the benefit of their audience, but also because she enjoyed putting on a little panto. A bit o’ show.

(She’d have to remember to tell him Danny wasn’t in on the whole Hood secret though. She’d slip it in somewhere.)

Waylon grunted in amusement and stepped through the door, stretching to his full height and breadth in the hallway. And stopping.

“Who’s playin’ music?” He asked, head cocked as he tried to trace the muffled sound.

Honestly, Harley’d kinda forgot it was playing until he said it.

Danny sighed again, at his most put upon, and raised a hand.

“I have offended the technogod and am being punished by soundtrack,” he explained in a tone so dry it desiccated. And didn’t exactly help.

Harley patted the now-more-confused Croc on the elbow.

“He’s upset one of his lil nerd friends by callin’ him dramatic, so his friend hacked ‘is phone to make it play music,” she explained much more helpfully for sure.

Again, Jason and Danny took slight steps away from her.

Again, nothing continued to happen.

Harley’s smile grew more smug.

“An’ apparently said friend still can’t get inta mine,” she declared brightly, shooting another glance up at the security camera and tapping her pocket.

Waylon grunted again, clearly not needing to ask further because her explanation was perfect, and gave Danny a nod of recognition.

“An’ is that why you’re here? Mood music?” He asked, heading off down the hall back towards the doors. Which, yeah, they had places to be.

Danny brightened right away, grinning up at Waylon and moving to let the big guy pass.

“Unless you want a rematch? I haven’t been tossed around like that in a while and I could use the exercise,” he snarked, and yeah, this was why Harley liked him.

Waylon clearly did too, snickering and clapping a massive hand on Danny’s head on his way by.

“Mouth like that’s gonna get yer killed one day, kid,” he grumbled, ignoring the still cowering cop as they made for the stairs.

And Danny, bless him, angel of timing, just laughed and followed along, shooting Jason a wicked grin.

“Oh, it’s way too late for that,” he said light as air, making Jason let out a snort of laughter.

Waylon glanced down to Harley again, fully aware he’d missed something. She gave him another pat on the elbow.

“Jason an’ Danny met at Dead Kids Anonymous. Kid’s got himself a ghost transformation an’ everything,” she explained simply, which didn’t have to be completely true to get the point across.

It made Waylon snicker again, even as Danny cackled along behind them.

“Now THAT is what we’re telling everyone else. We might as well have,” he rasped between laughter.

His pocket music seemed to have changed to Thriller. Appropriate.

Jason rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning.

Harley didn’t think she’d seen him smile this much the entire time he was alive again. It was nice; most of the times she’d seen him as Robin they’d been fightin’, but he’d always been havin’ so much fun.

At least he looked like he had. Poor kid deserved to smile a whole lot more too.

Waylon was taking the news of Danny’s lack of mortality pretty well, giving the kid a thoughtful look. They’d made their way mostly out of the station now, their little bubble of terrified silence moving with them.

That’d get old one day, but until then Harley was gonna take advantage.

“Maybe we’ll have another tussle then,” he agreed with a low chuckle, holding the door for the others to leave through. Real southern gent. “Good t’know I won’t break ya.”

Danny bounced through the door as chipper as Harley herself, giving him a beaming smile.

“Hell yeah, we’ll find somewhere nice and out of the way. Oh, we had some questions too though,” he added almost as an afterthought, giving Jason a sheepish look that again: too cute.

Maybe that was how he’d really died. Too cute to live. Though she’d let him make that joke himself.

Jason didn’t seem bothered, though he did look a little more tense. Not sure where they’d be taking this, more’n likely.

“Once we get somewhere private,” Waylon agreed, glancing between Jason and Harley himself.

That probably meant it was on her to pick a destination then. Well, Harley had a place in mind that (while not technically private) wouldn’t involve onlookers.

“Yeah, I know a spot! I’ll send ya the address, Jayjay, an’ we’ll meet ya there. Don’t think we’ll get four on that bike,” she teased, pulling out her phone.

She knew the perfect spot, and it’d give her a chance to loop Waylon in. All good news.

Jason held up a hand quickly.

“Not got mine on me. Text Danny,” he called, and Harley waved her phone over her head in acknowledgement. It might give Tucker a way to jump into her phone, she wouldn’t know.

Tech wasn’t her shtick. Just a good thing they’d all exchanged numbers the night before.

It was a weird feeling to have his body shaken while his consciousness was so far from it.

Feeling his face pull into a frown not quite mirroring what he felt it should be. Tucker could never have explained precisely what part of him entered his devices; just that it was him.

Quintessential, pure essence of Too Fine. Everything he was without the meat he was born in.

But then he did have to slot back into that meat, and trying to do that without matching positions always left him feeling weirdly off kilter the next day. Like he’d put on a shirt but the shoulders were skewed too short.

So despite not being conscious of a face on his extended form, Tucker tried to form it into a frown anyway, sliding back under his own skin like a teen sneaking back through a window after curfew.

Hadn’t those been heady days?

Eyes slowly opening, it took Tucker a moment to remember how to focus them. That they weren’t cameras. But then Tim Drake-Wayne came into focus, and the frown changed to a grin even before he fully “woke up”.

“Morning,” he mumbled, rolling and stretching, getting used to the feeling of a body again. It was a little weirder each time, which he might have worried about if he didn’t see himself as an extension of his PDA anyway.

“You were singing in your sleep,” Tim told him without preamble, returning the smile.

Tucker hesitated for a moment, suddenly embarrassed. If… well. If he’d been singing along, that…

Look he’d picked songs that’d embarrass Danny, he wasn’t gonna give a fuck about it. The only actual question was, did he tell Tim?

Who else would ever understand better just what it meant to interact with tech the way he could? Could get excited with him about how cool it was?

He wasn’t fucking gushing to Technus. No way. Tuck was easily the one winning that ongoing hackathon, but it was the principle of the thing.

To the zone with it. Tim knew about Amity Park, he knew about the ghosts and the liminal tech. And while they hadn’t exactly discussed liminal people, it’d come up.

Tim could have a sneak preview. As a treat.

Decision made, Tucker gave the younger man another broad smile because yeah, bragging about your super powers to a very cool and impressive person? That felt good.

Tim might be a vigilante too, but Tucker was pretty sure Jason was the only souped up Robin. Most of the bats were famously power free.

“Oh, yeah. I was bullying Danny,” he explained with a light chuckle, glancing up to find his beloved PDA, Ida. She was half under a blanket now, so he tugged her back out.

Tim chuckled softly, leaning back and stretching himself.

“Good dream?” He asked and Tucker snickered, stroking gently across the screen.

“Danny wishes it was a dream.” Tucker paused, frowning a little at the confusion on Tim’s face. “So you remember we kinda talked about the whole liminal thing?”

That seemed to jog Tim’s memory, confusion fading into an analytical frown that Tucker was already becoming familiar with. That good ol’ geek face.

“The humans with budding ghost powers,” he agreed, and Tucker had to wonder if maybe he just hadn’t put the right pieces together yet.

He hadn’t exactly said that most of Amity Park were liminal, but it was a little hard to remember he had to. Like, they lived on a portal to Hell.

Maybe he shoulda.

Well, at least it was a cool way to introduce it to him.

Tucker pulled Ida into his lap, flipped her over, and tapped the plain plastic backing to demonstrate.

“Mine’s a low level technopathy at the moment,” he explained as the PDA hummed and then began playing… well, still Montero, so he flicked it again and changed it immediately to Country Roads.

Tim was watching him with a kind of hungry fascination, and Tucker turned the music off with a thought, then passed her to Tim so he could check for secret touchpads.

“It’s not something I can do with anything,” he explained with a modest shrug, grinning with pride as Tim immediately got to scanning the casing.

All simple plastic, not even biometrics; what would be the point? Even touching the PDA was pretty much a formality at this point. She was a part of him.

“Technopathy? So you can control it with your mind? Why not with anything?” Tim asked eagerly, hands stroking over the plastic, eyes darting between it and Tucker.

Like he wasn’t sure which was more interesting, Tuck or tech, and Tucker absolutely took that as a compliment.

“It has to be a device I’ve really gotten into. Like, down to the source code, or something I’ve cracked before a couple times, and then I can just feel how all of it works.”

Tucker wiggled his fingers demonstratively and the PDA beeped to life under Tim’s hands, making the other man gasp. And yeah, totally envy in those cute blue eyes he turned all balefully on Tucker.

“How many of the functions can you use? Anything the PDA can do, or…” Tim trailed off, clearly thinking of everything he’d already seen the PDA do.

The real question would have been what couldn’t Ida do. And honestly? Yeah, Tucker remembered the trial phase.

He gave another shrug.

“Technically? Yeah, anything she can do, but I still prefer hacking the old fashioned way. Most of the network stuff too, cuz I’m only really “in” the PDA. Or Danny or Sam’s phones.”

Tucker hesitated, wondering how best to really explain the difference. Danny had never been any good at it, Tucker’d had no idea what he was talking about from the video game thing right up until he’d been sucked in himself.

Which… was probably gonna be a next-hangout adventure for Tim and the bats. And Oracle, if he could swing it.

For now he gave up, giving Tim a hopeless grin.

“Honestly it’s something you’ve really gotta feel for yourself. Danny’s great at the transition from real world to code, but he always just punches things, y’know? Turns out knowing how code is actually supposed to work doesn’t translate well to being part of it,” he added with a sigh.

Because frankly? It was bullshit unfair. Tucker could code an entire other galaxy around Danny with his eyes closed, but put them in the same metaphysical layer as a firewall and Danny could just.

Punch it.

Which, theme for the week, was also not how firewalls fucking worked. At some point Tuck figured he’d either gain a new level of understanding through liminality, or give up and ask Technus a couple questions.

Technus was currently Tucker’s subject instead of Danny’s anyway. They’d made a bet.

Which meant Technus shoulda told him about their shenanigans in time, which was probably what Tucker would hold over his head for the whole firewall thing.

It was so nice when things just worked themselves out.

Tim looked a little disappointed, but mostly still intrigued. Tucker could see his fingers just itching for his own tablet to take notes.

“Do you think that’ll change?” He asked, blurting it out like he couldn’t hold back now that Tucker stopped talking, “I mean, if you become more liminal? Or just practice your abilities more?”

And see, this was what Tucker loved about Tim Drake-Wayne. They were on the same wavelength. He grinned back.

“Probably. But I mean, it’s kinda cheating too. For now I kinda like that I have to do things the way I always used to first, before any ghostly powers kick in. It’s more me, y’know?” And like hell he’d let anyone think his code skills were just some meta ability.

He’d worked damn hard for those skills, and he was damn good. One of the best, and he was also good enough to know he still wasn’t actually top of the charts.

That was the Oracle, although knowing they still hadn’t cracked his servers felt really good.

Tim was all but vibrating, clearly full of questions, but they were both interrupted by a loud growl from Tucker’s stomach. Immediately echoed by Tim’s, so at least he wasn’t alone.

The two shared sheepish grins, and then Tucker stretched.

“So, breakfast and then Twenty Questions?” He offered cheerfully, and Tim nodded at once, thrusting the PDA back and rolling off the frankly massive bed.

“We can start while we eat, everyone else has probably gone out by now,” he said over one shoulder, stripping out of his clothes from the previous night and hurrying for his closet.

Ah hell, Tucker had only brought the one change of clothes… which Alfred had laundered yesterday after the snowball fight. Which would mean they were.

In a place.

Probably in the manor.

Maybe in the room they’d talked about setting up?

He looked to Tim, and only then noticed that his tech idol was shucking off his boxers in exchange for new ones, entirely unselfconscious.

Tucker frowned back down at his current borrowed shirt instead, waiting til he at least heard both feet on the floor before looking over again. Tim might not care, but in case he did, Tucker could be a gentleman.

And then he could ask the important question.

“Speaking of Alfred… my clothes?” He asked hopefully, and yeah, the way Tim’s mouth dropped open and his brain visibly blue screened?

Just like Danny. They were gonna get along great.

Of all the top secret, private places in Gotham to go and have a villainous chat… Danny never would have expected a milkshake bar. But like he’d said last night, that was kinda what made it perfect.

Who’d expect to find Harley Quinn and Killer Croc, properly Waylon, sat in a pastel pink corner booth in the back of the bar?

Honestly, none of the staff seemed surprised. But they might not have been to see all the bats walk in; it was Gotham. Rogues happened. If no one pulled a weapon, don’t be the reason that changes.

It made him feel right at home, really. Just like Amity Park.

And they made a damn good milkshake. Danny took another deep slurp of his, cookie butter and cheesecake was definitely a combo he’d been sleeping on.

If pressed, he couldn’t really explain what he’d wanted out of this meeting.

Something in what Harley had said last night had struck home in a way he hadn’t expected, but with Waylon in front of him now… well, for one thing he seemed a lot more like just some guy who happened to be green.

And who was just adorably happy with his cotton candy milkshake, complete with little umbrella.

At the gala, he’d been big and menacing and monstrous, all things Danny was very used to and meant “friend” more often than they meant anything else. He’d still take a rematch, but he just…

Well, that was just it, wasn’t it?

Waylon really wasn’t all that monstrous, if you looked the faintest scratch past sharpened teeth and scales. He was polite to the servers, a happy straight-man to Harley’s jokes, and he could have teased Jason more for Danny’s tastes but it was definitely effective.

Jason was much more at ease here with two rogues than he’d been any time his adoptive dad was around. That… well, Danny knew full well he didn’t know much about Jason’s life.

It felt like he’d learned a whole lot more just today already, though again, it’d be hard to explain exactly what.

The conversation had been light, easy, and full of banter so far, and Danny really wasn’t sure how to segue from that to “so you were called a monster all your life”.

Because while for the most part Danny now only had to deal with the GIW calling him a monster (and they’d been quiet for years now, still rebuilding after the whole “bomb the ghost zone” bs)… the things his parents had called him still hurt.

The things people thought he was, ghosts and living alike, he just… he didn’t know what to do with it. These days he could mostly ignore it, and unlike Waylon he could even pass for living.

(Never for a ghost though. He’d never be able to stop any ghost from seeing him and knowing immediately, instinctively, that he was other.)

In some ways it felt like meeting Vlad all over again, but without the crushing disappointment. Well, what it might have been to learn there was another halfa if he hadn’t preceded it by being a massive creep.

It was… complicated. And all tangled up in his feelings around Jason, because Jason actually was like him and really did get it, or would soon.

And Jason clearly liked Waylon, for all he grimaced and bitched about the deadpan teasing. Waylon had a lot of interesting stories about Jason’s cape days, most of which Jason hurried to try to interrupt.

Harley had more, and they’d sat at opposite ends of the table before the boys had arrived, almost certainly so Jason couldn’t shush them both at once.

If he clapped a hand over Harley’s mouth, Waylon would either take up the tale or start one of his own, and vice versa. There was just no way Jason could win.

It reminded Danny of his own rogues, though maybe more Fright Knight than Ember or Johnny. The ones he got along with, but more respectfully than just his friends.

Kinda like watching Harley with the rest of the bat-brood.

Danny was very nobly doing his best not to enjoy it too much; within a week or two it’d be his turn roughhousing with his rogues, and he was hoping Jason would return the favour.

There was no way he could get any kind of ghost fight club going without his usual players, and those were the ones with all the most embarrassing stories of his early days.

Johnny and Kitty especially had blackmail material for days, so as much as Danny was loving the lil baby Robin stories (carefully never actually mentioning the name, since no one was masked)… no, his feeling was kinda more impending doom. It’d be his turn soon.

And Ancients help them if Harley and Waylon met Johnny and Kitty… nope, not thinking about that. Suppressing a shudder, Danny deliberately tuned back in to Waylon’s story about the time he’d kidnapped Bruce Wayne.

At least Jason was having fun with this one.

Of course, it couldn’t have the obvious ending; whether or not Waylon had known at the time that he had Batman, you couldn’t mention the punch line out in public. It’d be rude.

He left the story at the Robin beat down instead, declaring that the big Bat himself hadn’t even bothered to show up. Didn’t quite go full stage wink, but it was pretty much the next best thing.

Danny laughed along with the table and Jason shook his head, settling back into his seat with a low huff.

“Fun as this is, we did have some questions,” he said, voice just a little lower than before.

Danny was a little surprised he’d bring it up in such a public space. Right up until Harley glanced around, nodded, and settled back into her seat.

“Clear too. Any o’ the gawkers ‘ve been seen out,” she agreed with a slight nod.

Danny startled, looking around himself. The milkshake bar was… about half as full as it had been when they arrived. His confusion must have been obvious, because Waylon snickered.

“It ain’t the Iceberg Lounge, kid, but this is one of Dr Freeze’s more self sustaining operations. Can’t all be heisting diamonds,” he added with a slight shrug.

Not noticeably less confused, Danny turned to Jason instead. Jason chuckled softly, shaking his head and giving Danny a grin that was almost proud.

“Shit, you’ve lived in Gotham a year and it’s a fucking miracle how little you know. Iceberg Lounge is the Penguin’s upscale club. This place is run by the guy we talked about last night, freeze rays and diamond heists,” he explained quickly.

Harley snickered, draping her arms over the back of their booth.

“An’ if some o’ his ol’ Arkham buddies come in ta chat, his people know ta clear out anyone tryin’ to listen in too hard,” she added, nodding to one of the servers.

Well.

That tracked.

Danny had also definitely thoroughly demolished his “keeping away from rogues” spree, which kinda sucked. But then, since he’d basically gone from one extreme to the other?

Maybe that’d be fun to tell his classmates about too. It definitely tracked more with Danny’s understanding of his own luck. A whole year, no trouble? More like no chance.

Also meant this had to be a safe place to talk, apparently. What was it about rogues that made them so eager to get on with each other but nobody else?

Well, Danny got on with most of his now. But still.

Jason leaned forward, arms folded on the table.

“So what’s going on with Two Face, Waylon?” He asked quietly, still apparently aware of eavesdroppers.

Waylon glanced around the bar, then shrugged, settling back against the booth.

“Hard to say, with ‘im. Coulda been a coin flip, coulda been somethin’ else, but he wasn’t just gunnin’ for the gala. Somethin’ about you specifically put a bug in his ass, kid,” he added with a frown, nodding towards Jason.

Something in Danny tensed, not liking the idea of anyone targeting Jason. Of course, it must have happened before… when he was Robin.

And he’d died.

Danny hadn’t even noticed he was clenching his fists until Jason nudged his foot under the table.

Safe-worry-you okay? Jason’s aura was getting clearer, and Danny did his best to smile back. Sometimes his Obsession still snuck up on him.

Forcing himself to relax, he grabbed his milkshake instead. It felt warm, which was odd until he realised his hands were icy cold.

Not quite literally, but closer than he’d come in a while.

Neither of the rogues seemed to have notice, Harley playing with her milkshake while she frowned at Waylon.

“An’ you decided the best thing ta do was hit the gala first?” She asked dryly, her tone neatly conveying just what she thought of that idea.

Waylon shrugged.

“Not like I coulda swung an invite to get in nicely. Sounded like he had somethin’ real nasty planned, kid,” he added, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat.

Jason frowned, giving Danny another soft kick on the ankle as he leaned forward. Unnecessarily, for sure, Danny totally had his shit under control now.

“But no one said anything about why? I don’t think I’ve even met him,” Jason asked and yeah, that probably meant as Jason. Maybe even post Robin.

Waylon shrugged again.

“It’s fuckin’ Two Face. Maybe he ran outta matching targets and figured two lives had ta count?” He offered, though it looked like it was still bugging him too.

Harley huffed and shook her head, blonde ponytails bouncing.

“I’ll keep an ear out too. There’s a couple people who’ll prefer talkin’ ta me over you, sugar,” she teased Waylon as he grunted, a tinkling laugh falling from her lips.

Waylon snorted, but a reluctant smile curled his lips.

“More likely to spill to ya,” he agreed in a low grumble, poking his straw around a mostly empty milkshake.

Harley nodded brightly, clapping her hands.

“Exactly! ‘Specially if they don’t want any of their own special lil secrets told,” she agreed with a truly wicked smile. Then she paused, a slight frown curling her brow.

It was still a little weird to be able to see the moments where her brain revved up. Danny had to assume it was having been raised by Jazz; it was clearly easy for people to get lost in the bubbly exterior.

Fingers drumming on the table now, something had clearly jogged her memory.

“Might be somethin’ ta do with Black Mask too,” she said more quietly, gaze unusually serious as she caught Jason’s eyes, “he’s been quieter ‘n I like lately. Keepin’ ‘imself out of trouble.”

Danny might just ask if Jason could get him a rolodex of the Gotham villains to match the server Danny had provided for the Zone.

It did not help that they all had their own wild code names. He was used to dealing with people who had a lot of personality, sure, and theatrics. But ghosts usually just had the one name.

Except apparently for Frighty, or Halloween as Danny would have to start calling him now. It’d take some getting used to.

Jason noticed his desperately pleading puppy eyes and sighed.

“Look, I’ll give you the rundown on everyone tonight. Black Mask is a whole ass problem. Crime boss for the False Face Society, really likes skinning peoples’ faces. Red Hood kicked him out of Crime Alley a couple years ago, he firmed his grip on the rest of Gotham, and him being quiet is never fucking good.”

And as if that didn’t sound bad enough…

“An’ he really doesn’t like Jason,” Waylon growled, shoulders tightening and straining his shirt.

Something in Danny tensed again, and he forced himself to take a long, deep breath. Closed his eyes and took another.

This was why he’d avoided the whole subject. Until now.

He could taste Jason’s concern like a tang in the air as he spoke up.

“There’s fuck all he can do while I’m in the Alley though. Unless something’s really changed he can’t challenge Red Hood,” he explained quietly, leaning in until their shoulders brushed.

Harley heaved a dramatic sigh, raising a hand and waving to one of the servers.

“Yeah, yeah, you jus’ take care of yaself, kid. Roman’s a pain in the ass an’ if ya let him kill ya again he’ll be intolerable,” she grumbled, the tone at odds with the cheery smile she gave the first server to glance over. “Another round!”

“Anything different?” The server, a young man with shaggy blond hair asked.

Danny considered it, since the menu was both extensive and interesting, but really? It’d complicate things, and he didn’t want to think about something else.

Just the idea of some asshole gangster trying to kill Jason was bad enough. But he sucked in another deep breath and reminded himself that this was pretty much all speculative.

Black Mask was quiet, not actively threatening, and Gotham had an army of vigilantes to keep an eye on him even before Harley and Waylon got involved. An army of vigilantes who all seemed to like Jason.

Jason wasn’t worried. Danny wasn’t gonna go all protective mama bear on the guy just because rogues existed.

The one thing he’d always promised himself was that even with a Protection Obsession, he was never gonna be as bad as Jazz at her clingiest.

He loved his sister, she meant well, but he’d hated her constant fussing. Danny had actually died sure, but he’d come right back and she hadn’t noticed for months.

Jason didn’t have a scratch on him. Or any reason to put up with a clingy almost-stranger, Danny reminded himself as he accepted his new milkshake, hiding a smile behind the glass.

Hell, if Jason being Fright Knight meant he’d sense if Danny was in danger, maybe that could work both ways. That’d be worth asking Frostbite about, and they had to see him for Jason’s core checkup soon.

Having survived one Clockwork encounter without a lecture, Danny wasn’t pushing his luck.

And if it turned out that it wouldn’t be that easy… well, there were other ways Danny could know if Jason was hurt, and unless they had a way to change dimensions? No Gotham rogue could take Jason anywhere that Danny couldn’t find him.

The feel of another halfa was still faint for now, barely noticeable unless Jason was in the same room, but it was already stronger.

Or Danny was more used to looking for him. More used to the feel of his energy, the boiling rage of the pit tangled up in everything else that was Jason.

Kinda a lot still angry, but tempered. Mixed in with that wonderful sense of humour, dry sarcasm and death jokes, and determination.

Danny was pretty sure he could find Jason pretty much anywhere on Earth right now if he had to. And it would only get easier.

With the question of Harvey Dent settled as much as it would be (and if a flip of a coin was all he needed, maybe as much as it could be), the conversation turned lighter.

Harley and Waylon stayed off the topic of rogues, probably to minimise the need to keep filling Danny in. They also mostly avoided embarrassing baby Jason stories though.

No, instead they filled Danny and Jason in on what they’d been up to down on Coney Island.

Danny had never expected to enjoy another circus story again, let alone an actual freakshow, but somehow? Hearing Harley tell it, he almost wanted to drop by.

Not see the damn show. Nope. Hard pass.

But hanging out with the performers, Harley’s tenants? That sounded like fun. They were just ordinary people, if a bit to the left.

Roller derby sounded great, even if Danny wouldn’t play it with humans. In the Ghost Zone though? They could probably make a rink. And baseball bats.

Waylon’s stories were way more domestic too; there was just something about a 7’ crocodile man telling you about his efforts to finally hold the skittish little grey kitten upstairs.

It was just… well. Like hanging out with Kitty and Johnny, or Wulf. Maybe the only people who could understand what it was like to be a vigilante were the rogues who fit the other half of the mold.

They all lived lives skewed away from the normal, didn’t fit in. The more they talked and shared stories, the more Danny settled. Relaxed.

Which was when the last piece finally fell into place. He knew what he wanted to ask Waylon now.

Still on edge from the night before, Constantine wasn’t exactly thrilled to bits to be hearing from the Big Bat again so soon.

Honestly, why couldn’t he have a nice, normal emergency? Just the world ending, some arch demon jumping for the throne of Hell, a wayward amateur magician or cursed artefact?

Why did it always have to be Amity fuckin’ Park?

Still, after they’d given the whole League the rundown, John was planning on washing his hands of the whole affair. They’d be up to date, they’d have his recommendation (leave well enough alone), and whatever they did after that?

That could be Zatanna’s problem. Or Shazam’s. Which didn’t really matter.

So of course there was just one more thing that Batman wanted from him first.

“A health check on yer revenant?” He asked skeptically, arms folded as he scowled at an annoyingly refreshed and rejuvenated looking Batman.

Who just nodded patiently like he hadn’t said anything crazy.

“Nothing strenuous. Just a check in, and then we move on to the meeting,” he agreed blandly, watching John from behind the cut outs.

Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a heavy breath. Let it out. Decided not to think about all of the things that could go wrong tangling with a fuckin’ revenant.

Bats was still here, hale and healthy, so the kid was clearly used to extreme provocation. How bad could John’s company be?

Way, way worse the little honest part of him supplied, but…

Well. The worst of it all was, no matter how damn annoying the man was, how fucking insistent on poking into shit that’d get ‘em all killed?

Constantine liked him.

Just a bit. The tiniest, littlest bit, that he firmly ground under his heel at every opportunity, and especially when that poking was getting close to end-of-the-world levels.

It was the only reason the League had his number at all, because John Constantine sure as shit was not a hero. He liked the world not ending, yeah, but he coulda had Zatanna call him for those.

He just. Had maybe the very smallest soft spot for how earnest the Big Three all were, deep down. Wonder Woman especially, there was a lady who’d been in the game longer than John himself, and yet it never fuckin’ touched her.

They still looked at the world, at an old shit like John Constantine, and saw something worth saving.

So even when he was tired, stressed, and wondering just how deep he should dare to probe to check the Bat’s explorations in Amity Park hadn’t garnered the wrong kind of attentions…

He huffed another reluctant sigh. It did not help knowing that even if he refused, the Bat would just argue him down until John gave in, or the meeting started.

It was three hours before the meeting was due to start.

Constantine would rather jump straight through the damn Fenton portal.

“Fine,” he growled, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his trench coat. If the revenant got cranky, he could always hide behind the big Bat.

The bastard didn’t even bother thanking him, just nodded like he’d expected John to agree all along, and made for the exit.

Were they fuckin’ going out in full costume? In the middle of the day?

Well heavens forbid Bruce Goddamn Wayne do anything subtly.

Tim’s afternoon was going great. Thanks to Tucker, he’d had a full and hearty brunch, which made Alfred happy.

Tim wasn’t much of a gourmet himself, probably as a result of having to survive on what he could find in the house between his parents’ visits. So long as it went down his throat and kept him alive, he was happy.

He knew Alfred’s cooking was great, it always tasted fantastic, he just… didn’t get excited about food.

Tucker though? Tucker gushed enthusiastically over every bite, moaning loudly as he dug into pancakes, sausages, bacon, and even black pudding.

He enjoyed his food almost as much as Wally, and Tim found himself savouring his own a little more as he watched. Usually he’d swallow half of it whole, just to get back to work.

But he didn’t have a new case today. Sure, there was still work to do on Amity Park (and rewriting all of the Justice League reporting protocols, ugh).

But he had Tucker here to help, and really, today could be about getting to know the guy. He’d more than learned his lesson from the last few days.

It turned out that food tasted a whole lot better if he actually stopped to chew it.

They’d talked while they ate too, Tucker often with his mouth full like he just couldn’t stop and wait to swallow.

It was kinda adorable.

Tim had shared some stories about the missions he’d been on with Young Justice, Tucker had told him more about Technus. There may have been a secret side trip to Amity Park in the works so Tim could meet him.

And introduce Cassie to Pandora.

There may also have been a secret side trip to the Ghost Zone being planned too. That one was gonna have to be extra-double-top-secret though, since Constantine put a bug in B’s ass about the Infinite Realms.

But honestly, how bad could it be if three completely untrained teenagers could just hop in and out on a whim?

Sure, there were risks. Some of the bigger, scarier ghosts that Tucker told him about. And just the air of the realms itself, which wasn’t great for humans in the long term.

That, Tim was a little less sure about. Tucker could say it’d never done him any harm all he liked, but he was kinda half dead now. Dead enough for super powers.

Not that Tim wanted super powers. It’s not like he’d ever needed them to keep up with his super friends. He didn’t need them, not even to interface his brain with his computer…

Nope.

But that was also how they got around to how Tucker would be getting home, because Tim finally twigged.

“Wait… when you say Danny flew you here, you didn’t actually mean what you said about the plane, did you?” He asked cautiously when they’d migrated back to the bat cave (with a plate of cookies and juice. Alfred was totally taking advantage of a chance to feed Tim).

Tucker grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

“Well, I didn’t know Danny was gonna just go off like that right away. But yeah, he just came and grabbed me and we flew through the Ghost Zone.”

He seemed to think Tim might be upset with him, but honestly? This was great news. They might be able to wrangle a little extra time.

“So… needing to go home today was because of Danny?” He asked hopefully.

Tucker caught on at once, like the genius he was, tracking Tim’s grin and beginning to smile in return.

“Well, technically I do also have classes on Monday, but so long as I’m back tonight I can fake it if you have another way to get me home, like… say, a bat plane?” He asked innocently, head cocked to one side.

Tim snatched up his phone, sending a quick text. Of course, there was always the chance Connor wouldn’t answer. Or that he’d be busy. Or that he’d have school.

As if he wouldn’t have dropped pretty much anything when Tim called him. God Tim loved his boyfriend.

“I was actually thinking of something a little more discrete than the bat plane… especially since you have some experience being carried.”

————————

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai

Next chapter:

#dp x dc #danny fenton dead and loving it #dc x dp #dead on main ship #danny x jason #chapter 14 #a good excuse to be a bad influence #it’s finally heeeeere #despite the world’s best efforts #the musical interlude

295 notes · View notes