soriseerakyra

[soriseerakyra]

Dune is great…writing coming (not just for dune)…but wow that was great.

#dune part 2 #feyd rautha #bruce wayne imagine #kylo imagine #i have so many thoughts #so many thing I want to write my brain can’t handle it

[soriseerakyra]

Harmony

TW: Sick child, and bodily fluids

He is so small and so pale. You don’t remember the last time you’ve seen anyone that gray, let alone a child. A gray cast to his skin makes the rosiness of his cheeks stand out, even in the warm orange light of the room.

You feel childish, stupid even. Not only because you are peeking into a clearly private moment. But also, because five minutes ago you sat in the foyer of your date’s home, heel tapping in annoyance.

You were so sure of yourself too. It had been just another time that he was going to cancel you. Even worse, you were waiting in his home, and he hadn’t even bothered to come down and greet you when you arrived. Alfred did, with worried eyes and a solemn frown. Irritation had flashed down your spine so quickly that you didn’t even bother to question the look on the man's face, sure that he would simply give you another excuse on behalf of his employer.  The first few times you’d communicated with the man he had seemed just as annoyed as you were with Bruce.  But he didn’t commiserate with you tonight, and now you can see why there was a touch of worry on his brow.

Your date was on his knees, large shoulders hunched in exhaustion next to the small pale boy. His large hands gripped the boys’ smaller ones. Kneeling next to the bed it is a bit absurd how much larger he is than the boy. And yet he feels small. Almost broken.

His normally teasing blue eyes are sunken, with dark circles and harsh lines marring his face like paint. You know that look, the look of a parent in distress. Your mother often had the same one when you would get sick.

You knew about the boy, though he was mentioned more by rumor than his actual father. You understood that though, the need for someone in his position to protect his son. The gossip rags had cruelly stated that he had only taken the boy in out of pity and you had imagined that put a bitter taste in Bruce’s mouth. You weren’t surprised how hesitant he felt about introducing to the boy to you.

A strained huff turns your attention back to the small frame quivering in the bed. His breath seems stilted for a moment, a pause that goes on too long for his father.

“Dick?” The man questions as he shakes the boy’s hands slightly.

Then the boy, Dick, begins to cough. The harshness of it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It’s a deep, raspy sound, one that shouldn’t be able to come out of a body that small. You can hear the spasms of his lungs as air tries to force its way out of his mouth.

Bruce moves to soothe the boy, a hand laying on his chest for comfort, an attempt to make the delirious child aware of his presence. But that’s all he can seem to do. His mouth turned down in a frown and his eyes were wide with a panic. It dawns on you that he has no idea how to help a sick child.

The coughs show no signs of slowing down, if anything, the hacking seems to get worse. And the feeling broiling in your stomach coaxes you into motion.

You can’t just watch.

You palm the door, slamming it open much harder than you mean to. The noise causes both bodies to startle, but only one pair of eyes rises to meet yours. The large man is on his feet quicker than you can blink.

He looks at you with wide eyes and clenched fists. He looks like a predator, caught off guard in his own home. His blue eyes are black as he looks you up and down. It takes little more than a second for him to recognize you and for his hackles to recede.

“Excuse me,” you say pushing your way between him and the boy.

Bruce is surprisingly easy to move as if he is easily surrendering to your authority on the matter.

You take your place next to the boy quickly.

“Hi Dick,” you start with a friendly tone, you don’t want to scare the boy. Although you doubt it, he cares at the moment.

He can only pause from his coughs for a second. Long enough for him to squint one baby blue eye open at you in greeting. It’s closed almost immediately after, as strained coughs once again wrack his tiny frame.

“Can you put your hands above your head for me,” your voice is firm and gentle. In the back of your mind, you briefly realize how much you are mimicking your mother’s dulcet tones; you aren’t even sure how you’re doing it.

The boy responds. Small arms rise above his head, bent at the elbows, one pinker than the other from having been under the warmth of his comforter.

Your hand finds his back and you rub a soothing circle before beginning to pat rhythmically.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asks from the corner of the room.

You acknowledge him with a small sharp glance, but your face relaxes when you take in the worried furrow of his brow.

“Got to loosen the mucus, otherwise he won’t be able to breathe.”

You are careful not to hit the boy too hard, the idea of even the hint of a red mark on his skin makes you shudder, but better than him not being able to breathe.

“Does he have asthma?” You probe.

“I don’t think so.”

“Has he been sick like this before?”

“I don’t know.”

Your eye twitches with annoyance and you bite the tip of your tongue to keep from making your feelings known. You can feel the worry dripping off Bruce in waves, that usually composed steady tone of his not wavering, but he has an unmistakably worried look in his eye. Even if he did know that boy’s medical history, he probably wasn’t in the right state of mind to recall it.

“Can you get him some tea, with honey and lemon, please? You try to be polite about it, but your tone conveys an order rather than a request.

He hesitates, again. Eyes flickering from between you and the boy once again. And then something changes. As if he’s resigned himself to the fact that, at the moment he can’t help. He gives you a nod, his eyes no longer clouded with fear but with a newfound trust. Trust in you.

“And some mentholatum or Vicks if you have it.”

If he has questions, he doesn’t ask them.

In the next seconds, you are left alone in a room with a boy you barely know, and one you aren’t even sure knows who you are.

Time passes slowly, every second feeling longer than it should as the boy shakes in your arms, and you continue to hit his back.

Finally, the cough changes. It becomes less dry, and more heaving. Your eyes find a box of tissues on the nightstand. The moment you press the cloth to his mouth he begins to heave into your palm. You suppress your slightly disgusted shudder as warm sticky liquid is coughed into your hand.

“It’s okay,” you soothe both you and the boy. Dick’s arms come down as he hacks more into each successive tissue offered up to him.

It’s not long until both the cough and the boy are exhausted.

It’s at this moment that Alfred comes in. He pushes a small rolling tray that has a small kettle, spoon, and cup. Honey and lemon are placed in small dishes on the side.

He looks at the pair of you. The boy collapsed on your chest and you with a small awkward but proud smile on your face. You can see a small outline of a wistful smile on his face.

“Anything else, ma’am?” The butler asks as he pushes the cart next to you.

“No, thank you.  I think we are alright for right now, Alfred.”

Something twinkles in his eye, and leaves you with the child, like it was only natural for you to be there.

He feels odd, childish even. He was snooping in his own house. But he needs a moment to collect himself. On the way home from the nearest drug store he had been dreading coming back to the manor and hearing the echoes of a miserable sick child tumble through the house. Instead, he returned to a home at peace. And as he picked through the bedroom door, he could only hear the soft sounds of breathing.

Dick, his son he must remind himself, is pressed to her side, head resting on her chest. Like some kind of painting. His mouth is open making soft noises, nose is too stuffy to breathe properly. She too is resting eyes closed as she rests her back against the headboard, her nails raking through the boy’s dark hair soothingly.

It’s absurd, how fitting she looks there, how fittingly they look together. She’d removed her strappy heels, stretched the form-fitting skirt of her gold dress to its limit to make Dick more comfortable, and her perfectly coifed hair had fallen slightly flat; small streaks of sweat dried at her hairline.

Something alerts her to his presence, and her eyes open sharp, the sternness only seems to accentuate their beauty. Her lips are pulled down in a slightly disappointed pouting frown, as if she knows that he’s been standing there.

A heat runs through him.

She looks at him expectantly.

“You, have it?” She asked arm outstretched, presupposing his answer.

He rustles in the small bag that he got from the store. Nearly fumbling for the right box. He’s slightly embarrassed that he can’t immediately produce what she’s asked for. He’d gone overboard in the store, buying all the cold medicines that he could get his hand on. So much so that he almost forgot the cream she asked for.

“Open it for me?”

He does as she asks and is ready to plop the jar in her hand, but he stops. He can see the cogs in her head turning as she looks at him with examining eyes.

“Sit on the other side,” she commands.

And almost reflexively he does as she asks. His weight causes the mattress to dip slightly, and the boy shifts slightly in her arms, straining to keep himself in nestled into her. She takes it in stride, pulling Dick closer to her so he can be comfortable.

“You’re going to rub it on his back, we lay him down, then rub it on his chest.”

“It’ll help?” He questions. He hates how unsure he sounds. Earlier he tried his best to hide it, but the long hours of worry have made his resolve shake. This worry is a type of ache he’s never experienced before and he’s still in the midst of training himself to beat down the feeling and get himself to think rationally.

“It’ll help.” She assures with a chuckle. The looking in her eyes is gentle, and her soft hand guides him to administer the slightly tingling balm to the boy's back.

Bruce’s heart flutters.

The deed is done. The tiny boy in your arms is medicated, rubbed down, and fast asleep.

The only problem now is that you are trapped.

The tight embrace of a sleeping sick nine-year-old has you chained to the bed and this strange situation.

And you weren’t the only one leashed to this child’s bed. Every so often Bruce’s hand would come up and rub the child’s back, as if he was checking that he was still stable. While he wasn’t locked in the vice-like grip of his son he was just as attached to the mattress as you were.

“He’ll want to thank you,” he murmurs, breaking the warm silence that had settled over the room. “He’ll be a little embarrassed, but he won’t let you go without saying thank you.”

“It doesn’t look like he’s planning on letting me go anyway,” You quip.

You both share a chuckle.

“I should find a way to get going, though.” You didn’t wear a watch, but your internal clock was telling you that it was very late into the night, bordering on morning. You weren’t sure just how long the pair of you had been watching the boy.

“You could stay,”

“I don’t know-.”

“Here with us.”

The statements are smushed together between you, each cutting the other off before you can form a complete thought. Nervous energies smashing against each other. Both knew, that if you stayed that night, something would fundamentally change.  Not that it already hadn’t, his son was clinging to you like you were his lifeline.

Your mouth turns dry, underneath Bruce’s stormy gaze. There is a certainty there you had never seen before, at least not when it came to you. When he could make your dates, he was always attentive, but never present and committed. A distance in his eyes that you didn’t know how to close. It’s gone now.

“If you want to,” he adds.

Only for your benefit, you are sure. And for a moment you’re stuck. Wondering to yourself if this is something that you want. The commitment and consideration of feelings of not just the pair of you but the small child whose soft snores are ringing in your ears. And as sudden as it seems, you can’t deny the warmth that’s resonating through your form at the thought of the three of you eating breakfast together.

“I’d like that.”

#batman imagine #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman x reader #bruce imagine #batmom #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson

[soriseerakyra]

Nice To Meet You -20-

TW: Mentions of death due to illness, implication of torture and kidnapping, murder. Slight gore.

Kristen believed that most American platitudes were made to keep the people docile. There was no other explanation that she could reasonably understand. People didn't like to be told that the world was against them. That the hand that was dealt to them when they were born would be the plight they kept when they died. That's why she couldn't help but roll her eyes whenever someone told her that hard work would pay off. For whom? And when?

The only thing that she truly believed in was the fact that time was money. And she had had little of either. Her earliest memories were of the rush that her mother was always in. A rush to wake her and her brothers up and get them off to school. A rush to get to work. A rush to prepare her father's dinner. And a rush for Kristen to go up sooner rather than later. The summer Kristen turned ten, she understood why her mother had always been in a rush, all the way up until she died—breast cancer.

It hadn't slowed her mother down—not that she was allowed to. Her father either hadn't known his wife was sick or hadn't cared. Kristen had a month to grieve before he gave her the look. A raised eyebrow and frown on his hard face. She hadn't realized it, but her brothers had been giving it to her too. And in the pit of her stomach, she realized she had rather quickly become a mother of three two weeks before her tenth birthday.

There was always so much to do, never enough time, and never enough help. Not that she could ask for it anyway. She did "woman's work now." Even though she didn't feel like a woman and that her work didn't feel any less important than what her father did.

When she did find herself at school, she could barely keep herself awake enough to pay attention. To do the bare minimum felt like pushing a boulder uphill. But her teachers passed her anyway, and after her third year of barely making it, she realized that it wasn't their sympathy for her situation that was keeping them from failing. They saw themselves in her. A person being ground to the bone burnt out before she would even graduate high school. She hadn't even been tossed into the meat grinder that was adult life yet. They couldn't bring themselves to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

It wasn't until she finished squeaking by in high school that she realized that she didn't have to be like her mother, her teachers, or, God forbid, her sorry excuse for a father. There was more out there. She could have more and be more.

Out of all the phrases, the one that she found the dumbest was the adage that money couldn't buy happiness. Every time she thought about it, she wanted to laugh. Since pulling herself from under her father's thumb and scrounging a living out in Gotham, she had seen more than enough to know that money was happiness. And she would do anything that it would take to get hers.

In Gotham, she had seen every end of the spectrum. Poor, wealthy, insane and poor, megalomaniacal and wealthy. And while being poor in Gotham wasn't something that she'd wish on her worst enemy, being wealthy in Gotham could get you anything.

Her time catering to her father and brothers had given her one skill she'd be ever grateful for, and that was to anticipate others' needs. To know what they wanted before they knew they wanted it. And in Gotham, she found that she had a ready-made clientele that had just been waiting for someone like her.

For those few in society who had always known wealth, always known luxury, and had never had so much as a brush with want, money made the world mundane.

And for the obscenely wealthy, combating the mundane is something they would throw an endless amount of money at.

And Kristen could do that. Find things, people, places, and activities that were out of the ordinary.

The problem with most procurers of the extraordinary was that they had morals. Some lines that they weren't willing to cross. Kristen was not bound by such things. She had experienced enough in her life to know that the true wants of human nature tended toward the dark side, and she knew exactly how to appease them.

She was lucky to find such a treasure in Gotham, and it was part of the reason that no matter how successful she got, she would never leave.

Still, she wasn't successful just because she had a niche product. She was a salesman at heart and a damn good one too. Better than her so-called bosses anyway. All of the clients that the firm had come on her ability to sell herself to the customer. Carlisle would have floundered without her—a pride that she tried hard to hide. Sure, she played at being a secretary, but this was her true passion. Where she truly shined.

Before the body hits the floor, it wavers for a second. Head slumping forward and dragging the body down to the ground with its momentum. A pool of dark liquid forms where the body lies. The pool of liquid lies stagnant for a moment before it seemingly starts to hiss. Then it begins to writhe as it changes color and bubbles up.

The crowd of onlookers looks back in fascination as the body begins its strange rotting process in front of them.

She can see them now. Their mouths pulled tight in anticipation, pupils blown with hunger, fists clenching as the implications of what was just shown to them. They are all ready to devour what she has to offer; she just has to name her price. But Kristen isn't a fool. She can bait a one-time customer easily, but she needs repeat clientele.

The screen behind her unfolds as the hum of a projector cuts through the air. Her captive audience looks up at the screen in front of them, and gasps ring out through the room.

"That's me!" someone screams out. She can't tell who; the lights of her little stage play aren't conducive to recognizing faces. But she'll have their identity soon enough.

"Oh, my God!" Another person screams out. "Clara's not even in the country!"

More and more murmurs of recognition ring through the crowd, a frenzy of chatter and excitement running through the attendees as their minds run rampant with possibilities.

The image flickers to an image of a man with fashionably cut brown hair. He's chatting happily with a woman at the bar with a cocktail in his hand. It's Geoffrey, a low-level account manager who was eager for promotion. And as such, he was willing to consent to anything that was asked of him, even if he was asked to sign a suspiciously long and overly complicated contract.

"As you can see, Geoffrey is alive and well." She starts smoothly. "Luckily for him, he'll never know the fate of his well."

Kristen looks down at the slowly dissolving body and steaming puddle. She kicks it lightly with her heel and gives a sly look to the audience.

"Other self."

As she finishes, she gets a bit of a chuckle from the audience, all of them primed and ready to hang on to whatever it is that has to sell them.

"Unless, of course," she walks to one of the captives on stage and removes a good. "I'm lying."

The same young man on the screen, laughing, is currently bent on stage with his hands tied behind his back. Wrists chafing against his rope tidings as he strains out a scream into the cloth gag of his mouth. He shakes as he tries to understand where he is, but some lights are blinding him. He can barely see the woman next to him, let alone the crowd that is in front of him.

"Who knows?" she croons as she watches the boy shake in front of her.

For a moment, the room is silent again as she presses the barrel of the gun to the back of the young man's head.

She can hear them all breathing. The young man next to her was whimpering with fear. Her captive audience huffed in anticipation like the animals they were, eager to see what color liquid came out of the poor boy's head. She quickly pulls the weapon away from the boy and holsters it on her ankle.

Both the boy and the crowd slump when she puts it away.

"But tonight, for the right price, someone in this room gets to find out who is the real one and who is fake."

Kristen can't wait for the clamoring.

She casts a sly gaze on the other four captives, who are all in various states of distress. "And of course, Geoffrey is only the opening act for tonight. We have a whole show planned."

She walks to the front of the stage, arms outstretched in invitation.

' This must be what it feels like to be a star'

It's all she can think of as her audience begins to yell their price. A shiver runs down her spine in ecstasy. The pleasure of knowing what she's accomplished tonight is almost enough to outweigh the yanking in her heart. She doesn't falter for a moment, though, not even when the yanking feels unbearable. If anything, she can only smile wider. If tonight is successful, even her boss will be pleased.

***

If you chewed on your lip anymore, you were sure that it would start bleeding. To say you were worried was too loose of a term.

What had you gotten them into?

At least out here, you could think. It was too much to be inside the manor. Everything felt oppressive -- heavy. Not that it wasn't beautiful; there was just a weight haunting the place. A grief that seemed to scream through the walls. And with your anxiety, you weren't really in a place to mentally deal with it.

Out here, though, in the garden, you've found a little bit of peace. Save for a few flowering patches of white blossoms, there was not nearly the same amount of weight out here as there was on the inside. The implication was there, of course. The hedges were cut to impersonal, perfect rectangles and ovals, and with the occasional tree offering shade, the garden itself was more like an oversized lawn than anything. And that was perfect for you right now. Later, maybe you would interrogate the owner over the lack of foliage or any kind of scheme for this patch of nature. But right now, as you find yourself perched on a stone bench, you are grateful for the lack of anything obtrusive. Because from Wayne Manor's gardens, you could see clearly across the city. And while you didn't have supervision, you could swear you could almost see your apartment building from here. Camille's brownstone too.

The thought causes you to bite the inside of your cheek in distress. So much has happened, almost too much.

When this was all over, how were you ever supposed to go back to normal? How was she? While you somehow find yourself at the center of whatever whacked scheme is occurring, you will never understand what Camille has gone through since being abducted. How was she? How was her baby? What were they doing to her? You hadn't had the heart to call her fiancé, Brian, back after the abduction. What could you say to someone who was likely grieving the loss of both his wife and child? The possible loss of them both was not something that you were ready to process, and you probably would never be.

You let your eyes run over the skyscrapers, taking in all that you could of the Gotham skyline. You never let your eyes wander too far, not toward the harbor, or at least in the direction of it. Even with this view of the city, you couldn't see that far out, but your heart knew what was in that direction, and it beat erratically with worry every time your gaze so much as drifted toward that direction.

It seemed like hours since they had left. And while you know that you shouldn't worry, especially since this is their job,

"Bruce and Jason are fine, you know."

"Ah!"

You jump.

A steadying hand grabs your arm and pulls you back toward the stone of the bench you were sitting on.

Kind blue eyes look at you with a slight apology as twitching lips try to quiet a laugh.

Bruce had left Dick Grayson in charge of both you and Damian before he left. A part of you felt slightly irritated at the notion of needing a babysitter, but you quickly realized that his presence was more for your comfort than your protection. The likelihood that someone would abduct you from Wayne Manor was slim. But you alone, with your thoughts, wouldn't have gone well, and you both knew. It's not like you would rely on Damian to reassure your rampaging mind. He's a child, and you wouldn't alleviate your trauma by forcing him to be around you. Besides, he was still very skittish around you, preferring to only make an appearance when you could bait him with sweet treats. Like baiting a stray kitten. And Alfred was kind, but every time you spoke to him, you realized there was a strange look in his eye. You weren't sure if calculating was the right word for it. Questioning perhaps? As if he was wondering just how long you would be around for. You imagined you wouldn't feel the breadth of his warmth until he determined whether you would be a permanent fixture of his employer's life or not. So yes, perhaps leaving Dick Grayson to accompany was the right move.

"Don't laugh," you say, hearing the slight whine in your voice as a frown pulls at your lips. This was at least the third time he's snuck up on you.

"Sorry," he says with a chuckle. "You were off in La-La land, I called your name like three times first."

You let out a sigh.

"I know it's nerve-wracking," he says quickly. "But they'll be back, at least by the time you wake up."

It's not the first time that he's said something like this tonight, and you get the feeling that he's trying to get you to go to sleep. So that when you wake up in the morning, everything will be alright. He's good. The most emotionally mature of the four you've met, although you aren't sure how much of a compliment that is. Neither Bruce nor Jason would know the meaning of "opening up" if it punched them in the face. And while you wouldn't judge Damien too harshly considering he was a child, you weren't too careful to admit that you would find him insufferable if you didn't want to pinch his cheeks so much. You were sure there was some sort of ache within Dick, too. No matter how much he smiled, there was always a little bit of hollowness in his eyes. An ache that you weren't sure stemmed from his nights of crime fighting, but you know wasn't exactly helped by it either.

"It's not like I'm worried about their capabilities, you know," you start after you begin to mull over the words you wanted to say. "It's the guilt that's getting me."

"Abooouut?" he questions playfully, his legs stretching out as he folds his arms behind his head and looks up at the stars.

For the first time throughout the night, you look at something other than the Gotham skyline.

"Oh wow," you say with a tinge of awe in your voice. You'd been so busy, wrapped in your head, that you hadn't considered your position. You are outside of the city for the first time since you moved cross-country. The lights of the city usually dull the night sky; all but the brightest of stars are lost to pollution. Here you can see the twinkling of the stars and the faint outlines of constellations. It brings a smile to your face. You used to love looking up at the sky with your family.

You cast a glance at the boy next to you; he doesn't press, but he still has a questioning look in his eye, waiting for you to answer the question.

"I voted yes to move here, you know?" You start with a huff. You can feel your toes curl anxiously in your shoes. "I voted that I should move here from San Francisco, and now all this has happened."

"That's not-,"

"Camille voted no. She didn't want to leave. She loved the city, the bay, and the people."

One of her favorite things had been to wake up early on a Saturday morning and drive. Whether it was going down to LA for a concert or finding a trail to go hiking in the redwoods, you had taken that away from her.

"And now, we moved here, and people from my company are terrorizing this place!"

Weight, it felt like so much of it was on your shoulders. And the thing that made you feel even worse was the fact that you couldn't even solve the problem if you tried. They say there's no use crying over spilled milk, but what else are you supposed to do when you can't even clean it up?

He doesn't say anything, and for a moment, your anxiety begins to gnaw at the back of your mind. 'Is he thinking I'm at fault too?'

The sting is unexpected, and it stuns you for a moment before heat begins to radiate from the center of your back. Then comes the pain.

Your shoulders snap back unexpectedly fast, almost as fast as the slap on the back you received from the young man sitting across from you.

Dick looks at you with comically large, sheepish eyes as he hides the offending hand behind his back.

"Y-you," you start with a gasping realization.

"I-it was supposed to be like a cheer-up thing," he squeaks out quickly. "I wasn't trying to hit you. I mean, I was, but not that hard."

Still, even with his panicked tone, he can't hide the slight playfulness of his tone or the twitching of the corner of his mouth that lets you know that he'd rather be laughing than apologizing.

It strikes something in you—something familiar. And your body reacts before you can understand what's happening.

The thumb and forefinger are primed in a well-practiced position. And perhaps because he didn't expect any real form of realization, he is left to the mercy of your type of grip on his cheek.

"I can't believe you just hit me," you say, pulling his cheek in irritation.

"Ow!"

"You can't just go around hitting people!"

"What do you mean? I do that all the time!"

The two of you share a look.

"Pbst-"

You laugh, both of you. And for a moment, it feels like you can forget your troubles. A moment of happiness in your grief.

"I was going to go for your ear," you admit.

"Like a grandma?" He questions with disbelief.

It gives way to another round of snickers.

As the bubbles of amusement die down in your chest, you feel your shoulders slack. A wave of tension that'd been keeping you awake, snapping.

Your companion shoots you a knowing look accompanied by a triumphant smirk. You'd only seen the like on your younger brother's faces whenever they thought they'd gotten the better of you. Whenever they'd thought they'd be able to get away with saying, "I told you so."

You slap his arm.

"Didn't we agree that hitting people is wrong?" he says with mock offense.

"Only when you do it," you correct. You roll your shoulder to prove a point, your flesh is still slightly sensitive.

"Ah."

The lull gives him enough time to recollect his thoughts. To return to the real reason why the two of you were out here.

"It sucks," he starts honestly. "To know that there is somebody you care about being hurt and you can't do anything about it."

You listen quietly, seeing the subtle ticks of his features as he tries to reconcile the emotions behind the advice he's giving you.

"But the only thing you should probably feel bad about is being a poor judge of character."

He can barely keep serious for more than a moment.

"What?"

"I mean, seriously, your boss didn't give you icky 'I-kidnap-people-for-fun' vibes?"

You force your lips into a pressed line to keep the small smile from pulling at your lips.

He throws up his hands in mock surrender.

"Bad guys are gonna do what they do. Something tells me that this would have happened whether you guys stayed or not. At least now you hear from us. And we might not be the sanest people either, but I still think we're pretty cool."

"Hey," you scold, an unserious frown coming to your lips. "I'm older than you, you know. I should be the one giving you rational adult advice. I used to be good at it too."

"I bet you were great at it," he says with an easy smile and a crinkle of his eyes. "And I'll ask you for some when I need to make a pound cake or something. But on this stuff, I've got you beat."

His words make sense—more than you would allow. And you want to let them into your mind and absolve yourself of the guilt. But there is always that little voice in the back of your head telling you the opposite.

You barely have time to process your feelings before you hear a rustle in the bushes.

"Oh shit," the exasperated tone of the young man next to you gives you a clue about what's going on.

And the dull colors of red and yellow running from one bush to another confirms it.

"Damian does this all the time, doesn't he?" you say with slight disbelief. He was like a cat, coming and going as he pleased.

"Yeah, I suggested putting a leash on him, but what do I know?"

He stands quickly, and you realize he intends to go and retrieve his brother. He gives you a look, one that urges you back inside, as he had asked many times earlier that night.

You smile at him, and he lets out a slightly exasperated sigh. It seems that in a short time, he's gotten good at reading you. He knows that you have no intention of going inside. But you decide to give him a little bit of peace, something that alludes to the fact that you'll get at least a little rest tonight.

"Make sure you bring him back before it's too late in the morning; I'm making biscuits."

He gives you a mock salute: "Yes, ma'am."

He's gone quickly after that, and you're alone in the garden again. Alone with your thoughts.

'Now I just have to wait for everyone to come home.'

Home...?

Oh, that's new.

#####

#bruce wayne x reader #batman imagine #bruce wayne imagine #batman x reader #bruce imagine #batman #dc universe #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #batfam

[soriseerakyra]

Red String

A/N: I love him. Spoilers....Takes place right after Janet betrays Kang. Readers powers operate on a unconscious wish based system. If reader is hungry and wishes for an apple on will materialize in their hand. How effective the wish is determine by readers health and mental fortitude. Kind of a soulmate AU. Enjoy~

You knew from the moment you saw him. That this what you had been searching for. That he was the one you have been searching for. Yearning for.

You could barely remember how you got here. All you knew was that you made a wish. Hands to your head and rocking back and forth. It was a dangerous thing touching yourself with a wish in mind. You knew your magic was dangerous, but it was all you could do.

There had always been a dull ache in your heart in your mind. A pulling towards something that you couldn’t name. You’d dealt with it for most of your adult life. And while it was never anything pleasant and often distracting, you had found ways to deal with it. To ignore it.

But something had changed recently. The pulling turned into pain. A mournful longing turned to utter desperation. While you had never thought you would meet the thing at the other side of the pull, there in the back of your mind an instinct knew that there was always a possibility. But now something had changed. The opportunity had been taken from you. Suddenly they were…

Out of time. Out of Space. Gone.

A devastating thought. An unreal realization. But how can you fix it? How could you return to things to normal?

And you looked at your hands. Shaking in weak anxiety but still wreathed in energy. A swirling vortex of golden power, your connection to otherworldly powers that only you could see. And you broke the rules. You wished for the unthinkable. A wish you made out of the most forthright feeling of desperation. But you couldn’t stop yourself.

Anywhere but here. Anywhere I won’t hurt anymore.

Your power came upon you with a gale force of wind. A constant ringing in your ears. A constant cycle of compression and expansion of your existence. A kaleidoscope if colors and suddenly the absence of light.

And then suddenly you fall. And you keep falling for an eternity. The fall is light at first. A weightlessness and emptiness that you had never experienced before.

Then the feeling comes back, a pull from the center of you belly that’s pulling you fast towards the surface of an unknown world.

You land with a thud and in the swirl of the golden remnants of your magic. It’s quickly receding. Falling around you like stardust, puttering out with lifeless dimming sparks. The vibrant gold hue that once surrounded your entire hands is now restrained in dim golden bangles. You’ve imprisoned yourself; abused your magic to the point that it has locked itself inside of you. Who knows if or when you’ll be able to use it again.

A devastating thing.

And yet…

He sits the cross legged, head leaning on his hand. Dark eyes watch you intently. But the rest of him has reaction to you. No surprise, no hostility. All cool and calculating. Until.

It’s overwhelming, that pull. The longing replaced with want. It almost takes your breath away, as you push yourself to your knees. An oppressive need to reach him making it hard to do anything else but focus on the being in front of him.

He feels it too. A straightening in his back, a cocking of his head, and a widening of his eyes. You are hear it faintly. A faint huff, a chuckle maybe. Where you are overcome with the weight with the realization, he seems simply content a little amused perhaps.

Still, you allow yourself to nearly sob out the words,

“It’s you.”

He responds in kind.

“And here you are.”

What would you call it? A drawl perhaps. The way that he caressed each letter, and every word was calculating. Slow and drawn out. Like thousands of thoughts and possibilities were happening all at one, and they all hinge on the words that he would say next.

You watch him rise to his feet as elegant and deliberate in his movement as he is in his speech.

He steps toward, moving with purpose toward you.

His hands are tucked spartanly behind his back, and you faintly register the sight and sound of a small, crushed piece of metal in his hand dropping to the ground.

A slight distraction that causes you to be momentarily aware of your surroundings. A destroyed workshop you surmised. The hint of tinkering and invention in this metal room. But you have no way to invest more energy into understanding your surroundings.

Quickly, he’s in front of you in all of his weight and glory. His colors purple and green painted on a strange weighty metallic suit.

He looks down at you with curious eyes. He’s thinking again. Unlike you he’s not caught all off guard by all of this. Seemingly you were expected. This was expected.

His gloved hand reaches out and for a moment you think he’s reaching down to help you up.

Instead, he my moves his hand to the top of your head and strokes from the top of it down to the bottom of your chin. You lean into to the soothing cool metal of his hand. He cups your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forces you to make eye contact with him.

He pulls you up, or rather you are willed upwards through means you are unaware of.

“How did you get here?” He asks. And while it is soothed over with his docile tone there is a directness in his eyes that lets you know that this is not a friendly question.

“A wish,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. There is a scratching in the back of your mind. An agony that has been put on hold by your newfound fixation. You’ve cut yourself off from your very essence. A stupid choice.

His eyes look past you for a moment, and for a second, you’re sure that he’s frustrated with your vagueness. But he’s not. He’s wistful in the face as if he’s recalling a memory.

“Magic again, then.”

Again?

He reads the surprise on your face instantly. He releases your chin and grabs your wrists. The way he appraises your wrists it’s almost like he-

“Locked, then?”

He questioning face is more impassive than his eyes, which are barely controlled pools of irritation.

You nod mutely.

He let out an irritated click of his teeth as he turns away from you for a moment. His shoulders stoop. And you can hear the rumblings of growl in is throat.

His fists flex in anger.

For a moment your hearts twists with anxiety. An itch that lets you know that this man’s anger is devastating. World ending.

He turns around. A wry smile in place of an expected frown. He’s close to you again overwhelming you with his presence. His two hands dwarf you as he moves cup your face an in an affectionate hold.

His forehead presses to yours, eyes narrowing for a moment in observation.

You’re pulled taught at the action. The pulling that you always felt heaving you inches closer to the man.

“It’s no matter,” he says as his eyes flicker down obviously to your lips.

When had you cocked your head up to him? Or begun standing on the tips of your toes? How long had your sweaty plans been pressed against his chest?

The answers don’t come. Instead, they are pushed away as he kisses you deeply. A hand cups the back your head, as a sigh of relief races out from your lips.

Shoulders slack and eyes closed. Your unspeakable longing it seems is finally satiated. The pull between you still there feels more like a rope gone slack. Unnatural urging to unite the pair of you satisfied.

What a strange feeling.

He ends it by pulling away, head still pressed against yours. You are pleased when you open eyes to find that his are still closed. Lips parted slightly as he basks in your shared relief. A dark cloud banished by your union.

But the questions come to fill the void just as quickly as it appears.

Who was he? Where is this place? And how did he know about your magic?

Your delirious satisfaction keeps you from asking the questions but does not keep the confusion off your face. He looks at your warm flushed face with amused eyes and a chuckle,

“We have time.”

#kang x reader #kang the conqueror x reader #antman #marvel x reader #kang #kang the conqueror #mcu x reader #marvel mcu

[soriseerakyra]

Tyrant

With a sigh you push the heavy key into the golden lock of your apartment. Leaning forward to add some pressure, you force the door open. To your surprise the door opens with little resistance. It happens so fast you have to catch yourself to keep from falling on your groceries. Successful, you do a little fist pump. You weren’t in the mood to head back out into a crowded city to get replacements. You had almost performed magic getting those eggs home on a crowded subway.

Carefully, you use your foot to scoot the bags that are on the ground into the apartment. The bags in your hand swing gently, and you manage to place them right in front of the others. One the heavy door is closed behind you, and the locks are turned into the correct position, you turn on your light and begin shrugging your shoulders free of them and the the jacket you were wearing. Carelessly, you throw the jacket across your coat rack.

You begin to move the heavy grocery bags into the kitchen, setting each on the counter as delicately as you can. A deep groan rolls past your ears and your lips purse as you choose to actively ignore the noise, and the body that it came from.

The vegetables get put away first. Then the  dairy, followed by the meats, and lastly your drinks. Realizing that you are actively ignoring them, the body on the couch groans again, louder, and a snorting chuckle comes out of your nose.

“Cupcake!” You call, realizing that your happy pooch hadn’t come to greet you yet. Not long after you send out the call do you hear the peppy tip tapping of nails against the hardwood of your apartment floor. The large head of your chocolate lab peeks around the corner of your kitchen cabinet and her body begins to shake happily as she spots you.

“Hi Bella,” you coo as she blinks sleepily at you. Clearly, she’d tucked into your bed to catch up on whatever sleep she missed. No doubt believing the apartment was in safe hands due to the presence of your visitor.

As you begin to smoother the spoiled pooch with affection, you miss the fact that your visitor had begun to move from their spot on the couch. It isn’t until you place a sweet kiss on her chocolate nose that you hear the agitated clicking of teeth.

“So, the mutt that spent the day with her head between her legs gets a kiss before I do, some girlfriend.”

You look up into the narrowed blue eyes of your typically angry boyfriend and stick you tongue out teasingly at him.

“My Bella knows how to greet me properly. Unlike some people, who wait for me so I can serve them hand and foot.”

“Still could have gotten a ‘Hey I’m home, Jason, hope you aren’t bleeding to death on the couch babe,” he says with pursed lips.

“Jason,” you start solemnly, “Were you just sitting there bleeding on my newly reupholstered couch?”

“I put a towel down,” he says with a raised dark eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about the fact that I’m bleeding, by the way?”

“Jason!” You screech, “My mother and I, the woman you were supposed to meet last week, spent the weekend doing that. Mother daughter bonding, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Not when I’m dying,”  He says motioning to a bloody patch on his shoulder that is slowly getting bigger.

“Go sit on the stool, I’ll be there,” you say with a sigh.

“Will do,” he says heading down the hall.

“You’re cleaning the couch when we’re done,” you call after him.

You don’t get a response, but you know he heard you. A wet snout presses against your and you meet the wide innocent eyes of your sweetest girl as she dopily wags her tail. “Let’s feed you first sweetheart, I got your favorite.” As if she understands, pink tongue eagerly rolls out of her mouth as she cocks her head. You swoon slightly. ~~~ Perhaps you favorite part of your boyfriend was the expanse of his well-muscled back. The slightest roll of his shoulders made you clench with excitement, most of the time anyway. Times like this, when he was hurt, when he had an open wound running from the top of his shoulder down to the bottom of the blade, only made you worry.

“How did this happen?” You questions, keeping your voice light as you wipe at the wound with a rag damp with a bit of alcohol.

His stormy blue eyes meet yours in the bathroom mirror and as he reads the expression on your face , a frown pulls at his lips.

“Just a knife,” he soothes in his own way. “Nothing to worry about.”

He was right. The cut looks worse than what it is. It’s long, but shallow, hitting lots of unimportant veins. At most all it would need is a large bandage and to make sure that he kept it clean. But his whole body is covered in scars. Some were faded, others fresh. The newer ones more likely than not to have been sewn shut by you.

“I know,” you say with a heavy sigh. There is a sharp stinging at your eyes. “But…”

“Hey,” he says turning to face you properly on the stool. “What’s going on?”

“‘What’s going on?’” You repeat incredulously. “Jason, you’ve been gone for almost three weeks, No phone call, no letter, no pigeon with a note. I thought you died. Especially when you promised to meet my mom and you didn’t show up. You always keep your promises, so I thought something horrible happened.”

He doesn’t respond, but his jaw clenches slightly as he try to think of the right thing to say to you. The base urges in him tell him to simply brush you off, after all you weren’t the one bleeding on a stool. However, he had been trying to avoid acting on those urges. Urges that had made you cry a lot in the beginning of your relationship. Had he purposely avoided contacting you? No, but he also didn’t make it a priority. What comfort would it have brought you to know that he was being hunted and shot at every night? That he was out hunting every night? Don’t parents tell their children, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, not to say anything?” He tried to be strict about following that rule when it came to you.

“Sorry,” he apologizes an d the both of you know that he doesn’t really mean it.

You however, accept it. The way you always do. And probably always would.

“It’s alright,” you say quietly, even as your mind screams the opposite.

You had cried and lost sleep. Your worry caused your meals to be limited to applesauce and crackers. And now, just as you’d been able to convince your body that you needed more to live on, hence the trip to the store, he shows up. Like magic. Or a curse, You can never tell which it is.

But you don’t bother to tell Jason what you’ve gone through. It would just make him mad. Not at you, but at himself. There was nothing worse than seeing mad at himself. He already treated himself horribly. Letting him become angry with himself could only lead to  something disastrous. The last time he was you had to drag his unconscious body to the ER. He always found the worst ways to punish himself. Neither of which made the two of you feel better in anyway,

You fall silent as you stretch a large bandage over the cut. Thankful that you wouldn’t have to pull out your sewing kit out and fish for fresh needles. You’d complained to Jason before that he needed to find a nurse to do this. All of his injuries costing you a fortune in sewing supplies every time you needed to re-purpose them to fit his needs, He simply kissed you and ignored you complaints.

You know hes watching you. You can’t bring your self to meet his gaze in the mirror. He’d read you like an open book.

This was hard. Harder than anything you had ever had to deal with in the past. It gave you nightmares when he wasn’t there to spend the night with you. Your anxieties about his safety coming to nip at you in the place you usually felt safest.

Just as you press the last piece of medical tape of the bandage he stands. He makes you stumble back for a second, stool rocking with the movement. His large body taking up most of the room in your too-small bath room.

You look up at him with furrowed eyebrows as he stares back at you with another deep frown. Your cheeks flush when his eyes flicker down to your lips for a second. Despite the deep frown on his face his eyes light up with an amused glint. He can always read you so well. Besides, you’re already tipping your head back to give him access.

But the kiss doesn’t come.

Instead he chooses to engulf you. Large arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you fully against him. His nose buries itself in your neck as you are lovingly squeezed within an inch of your life. You let out a stuttered shaky breath, wanting to return the embrace, but he just holds you tighter.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent just as much as the air around him. You are enveloped by him, and quickly understand that this was him trying to make a sincere apology, You lean into him, pressing yourself against him to be as close as possible. Though you understand what it means you still wish that he would actually say it, actually mean it. You feel his muscles relax, the tenseness of his constantly defensive nature slipping for a moment. But he doesn’t pull away, keeping his face buried in your neck. You are, however, finally allowed to embrace him. Wide shoulders almost too much for you to completely hug.

“I’m sorry.”

Gosh, even like this he smelt amazin…wait.

“I should have called.”

That was quieter than the first words, but they squeezed your hear even more so. You pull him tighter, mindful of his wound. Though you doubt he would have complained if you pressed too hard. This was something to savor after all. Something new for the both of you.

“I forgive you.”

It’s such a relief to be able to say it and mean it, you are sure that you’ll be back in this situation again.  Most likely sooner rather than later. There was always something that would make him run head first into danger. Something that would make him forget to take care of himself. It’s why he never promised you that he would stay safe, or that he would always come back.

Still as long as he did, you would be there for him. To sew him up. Even if the stitches were a little janky. Its not like you were a professional.

As he pulls a way he presses a small chaste kiss to your neck. And when you see him, he is a bit more relaxed. Brows a little less furrowed. Mouth pulled into a straight line rather than a frown. You reckon its almost a ghost of a smile. And its one that you almost allow to grace your face.

Until you remember your soiled furniture in the living room.

“You still have to clean my couch.”

#Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason #batman #batman imagine #batfamily

[soriseerakyra]

Anything You -4/Final-

Did not realize that I never posted this here. Sorry! More writing soon.

The white rose on the front of jewelry box spins slightly every time you open and shut the lid, and every time it does you can’t help the smile that runs across your face. It’s a bit childish, you realize, to be infatuated with such a thing, but every time your eyes run over the frame of the small box you can’t help but feel a warmth spread over you when you see it. Your first gift in who knows how long, how were you not going to enjoy it A large warm hand comes to rest between your shoulder blades, you don’t tense at the touch but the hairs on your skin stand on in end in excitement at it. His thumb rubs gently, coaxing you to look at him.

His slightly sleepy hooded blue eyes, look at you with an adoration that makes you blush. He smiles when he sees your shy gaze and pulls you to him. You allow yourself to be pulled to him, clutching the box safely into your chest. Your head lands softly on the center of his on chest and he tenderly buries his hand into your hair, his fingers twirl at the at the locs and you can’t help but enjoy the feeling of his fingers running through your hair.

You let out a mewl of enjoyment when he begins to rub your scalp, causing another chuckle to spill from his lips.

‘This is nice,’ You think to yourself. Your eyes close slightly enjoying the rhythm of his heart beat.

“I have somewhere to go tonight,” he says quietly.

“Do I have to dress up again?” you question with a yawn.

“No,” he says with a smile. “It’s just me tonight. You can stay here or have Alfred take you somewhere to eat.”

A frown pulls at your lips, “Okay, but won’t that be a little weird, I don’t want to force him to take care of some girl that he doesn’t know.”

“He won’t mind, in fact he’s rather happy that you’re here.”

“Oh?”

“Believe it or not he thinks the bachelor life isn’t a happy one, so he takes joy in the fact that you’re here.”

Your lips pull into a thin line as your body stills at the implication and your mind wonders to the hesitations you had the night before. Were you ready to be someone’s somebody? Perhaps if it were someone else, your mind would scream no, but as his fingers continue to run through your hair and a rather soothing feeling runs over you, you begin to relax. You don’t feel nearly as panicked as you had been. Your press yourself against him and smile at the warmth.

“Maybe I can relieve him of his fears, at least temporarily.”

You don’t see it but a relieve smile spreads across his face. “Only temporarily?” He asks in a teasing tones.

“Yeah,” you say turning to look at him with a mischievous glint in our eye. “I haven’t decided if I like you yet.”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow and a faux offended frown on his lips, “What more should I do to win your affection?”

“Let me go back to sleep and I’ll tell you how I feel about you when I wake up.”

“I can do that,” he said moving to wiggle the jewelry box free of your hands. He puts it on the night stand next to the bed and the moves to pull you up and close to his chest.

Your tucked into him in a rather protected position, curled into his chest. You let your hand rest on his chest, over where his heart is. You smile when you feel the thumping there. He pulls you close and you can’t help but smile as you begin to fall asleep when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

*** You decide not to take up Bruce’s offer to have Alfred take you to a fancy restaurant or to have him cook your dinner. In fact, you were a little worried when you had asked the butler if you could order a pizza that he would be offended. To your surprise he wasn’t and instead gave you rather kind smile and ordered it for you.

After eating to many slices of your favorite you found yourself exploring the large mansion that you’d been whisked away to. You quickly discovered that you wouldn’t be able to do it all in one night, but you did find one room that you enjoyed. You’d always wondered what it would be like to have enough money to have a library in your own home, but this one was larger than what you expected. There was even a fire place inside of it.

You sit in front of the fire, watching the flames dance in front of your eyes. You imagined that after sometime you would have been bored, but you weren’t. There was something comforting about watching the way the flames twirled back and forth, the way that the oranges, reds, and yellows of the flames tied together to make such beautiful colors. There was something nostalgic about the sight, even though there had never been a time where you’d been able to enjoy such a comforting experience.

“It’s very late, miss.” A voice calls from the entrance of the library. You turn with a slight jump but relax when your eyes catch the familiar grey mane of the butler.

He walks into the room pushing a small two tiered cart, a blanket tucked and folded neatly on the bottom and a large mug and a plate with something on it that you can’t see.

“Is it?” You question. It hadn’t felt like you’d been here for a particularly long time.

He pulls a pocket watch from the slit in his jacket, “Almost one in the morning in fact.”

“Oh!” You say with wide eyes, “Shouldn’t you get some rest then? You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Master Wayne left you in my care,” he says in a matter of fact tone as he bends to pull the blanket from the cart. He walks over to you and reaches down to place the blanket over your shoulders. You reach out to take it from him but he shakes his head and you allow him to drape the fabric around your shoulders.

“Thank you, Alfred,” You say with a smile.

“That’s not all, miss,” he says returning to the cart. He returns with mug and hands it to you.

“Hot chocolate?” You question with the smell wafts into your nose.

“It seemed appropriate,” He said moving to you with a small plate with small white shapes.

“Marshmallows?” You ask him with a questioning glaze.

“Not to your liking?” He asks standing back up.

“I wouldn’t know,” you say with a slightly strained smile. “I’ve never had them.”

“Oh,” he says in a slightly higher tone, denoting his surprise, without which would have never been able to see such an emotion. “Well then, two to start with, to see if you like them.”

He uses a small pair of tongs to grab the small sugary treats from the tray and drops two of them in your mug without so much as a splash.

You bring the mug up to your lips, and you can feel your mouth curl almost involuntarily at the corners. The soft dough slips past you lips and you begin to smile when the sweetness rolls over your tongue.

“This is delicious, Alfred, thank you.”

You give him a grateful smile and he gives you a warm one back as he precedes to place a few more of the soft sweets in your drink.

When he is finished, he begins to exit the room your gaze returns to the fire.

“Alfred?” You ask before he leaves.

You can hear the squeak of the wheels come to stop.

“Yes, miss.”

“He won’t be home for a while will he.”

“No, Miss. Do you need me to escort you to your room?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll wait here.”

*** He’s sore when he comes home. He doesn’t want to admit it but his nightly escapades are taking a toll on his body. Coming up from the back cave he slowly navigates his way back to the room that he shared with her last night.

He is slightly surprised when he finds that she isn’t there. It’s late, so late that it is almost morning, so he doesn’t want to wake Alfred, but where is she?

He walks the halls for a moment, all of the lights are out so it takes a moment to find her. When he finds her in his library curled under a small blanket in front of the fire place, an empty mug sitting at her side. Soft sighs escape her slightly parted lips and he lets a smile cross his face.

Carefully he bends down hooking his arms under her neck and the dip behind her legs. His back aches as he lifts her up and curls her to his chest, however her quiet sighs make the slight stinging pain worth it.

Carefully, he carries her back to her room laying her gently on the bed, however the moment that her head rests on the pillow her eyes open slightly. She watches him as he quietly slips under the covers with her.

“Did you have fun at your party?” She asks groggily.

He freezes, slightly taken off guard by her voice. “Not really,” he said the practiced lie coming smoothly coming to his lips. “Nothing that I haven’t been to before.”

“Hmm,” she hums in seeming understanding even though she had barley comprehended what he was saying. “That’s nice.”

She presses a hand this chest and begins to move closer to him, but the place where she puts her hand is sore and it causes him to flinch involuntarily. This causes her eyes to flash open with an alertness that hadn’t been there before.

“Are you alright, Bruce?”

“Yes, I just pulled a muscle.”

“At a party?” She asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I think from last night.” He again lies.

“Oh,” she says a slight flush coming to her cheeks, slight embarrassment running down her spine. Had she been too heavy for him when he carried her to the bed? or when he brought her here? “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says letting a large hand come and pat down her hair affectionately. “I’m as you said, ‘old.’”

She gives him a shy smile and shakes her head at his self-deprecating jibe, “Not that old.”

“A little old.”

“Only a little,” She teases back. She lays her head gingerly back down closing her eyes. She rubs tenderly at the spot on his chest.

She falls asleep quickly after that.

He feels strange he realizes, watching her sleeping face, lying to her, especially since she had agreed to trust him more than perhaps she had trusted anyone besides her friend. His years of experience however, quickly allow him to rationalize this worry away. His goal in removing her from that life was to protect her, and his lies would be that also.

*** ‘When are you coming home? I need you. Did you leave me for him? You did, didn’t you? You barely know him. He’s going to get tired of you eventually. You’re going to be thro- message deleted.’

It was the third message that Kayla had left you in the past two weeks since you had come to stay at Wayne Manor. The first was a fifteen-minute rant about how you ruined her life that left you a crying heap on the floor of you room. The second was about how she was waiting for you to comeback home so the two of you could be the sisters you were again. After listening to this third one, you had a feeling that the remainder of the fifteen messages in your voicemail were somewhat similar.

Your gaze slides over to the blinds, yellow light from the setting sun shines outside, a break in the heavy winter that you had been experiencing. You feel guilty. You had abandoned her, you both knew that. You had done it on purpose, you’d given up on her, to better yourself. Did that make you a bad person? When you first arrived in Gotham, she’d been there for you. She got you the apartment where you both moved into, taught you how to survive on the street, and while some may contend that teaching someone how to be a better hooker was not the best course of action, she still helped you.

If the tables were turned, and you were the one strung out on coke, would she have left you the way that you left her?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Somewhere deep inside of you however, you knew the reason that you were actually feeling bad was because you weren’t feeling bad. Listening to the cries that she screamed over the phone left you feeling rather hollow, they didn’t move you in the way that you would have hoped they would. Were you a bad person for feeling nothing at all?

“Are you okay?” A smooth voice rings in your ear as the warm hand grasp your shoulder.

You turn and meet the blue eyes of your date and you give him a sad smile, “I’m all right. I’m just a little confused.”

“Anything that I can do to help?” He asks genuinely.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “I think this is something that I will have to fix this myself, eventually.”

“Okay.”

He takes the opportunity to sit on the bed with you, taking your hand and rubbing small circles on the back of it.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“Do you feel like coming down?” He asks with furrowed brow,

“Of course,” you say with a smile. “I’m not going to start slacking on the job now.”

“You still think it’s a job?”

You roll your eyes, “Only the talking to rich people I don’t know part. The ‘dancing with you in a pretty dress’ part I like well enough.”

“I see,” he says with a chuckle. He holds his wrist up and examines the time. “You’ll need to put on that pretty dress soon, Alfred can only stall them for so long.”

You stuck your tongue out at the older man but nod anyway.

*** This party was different from the rest. For one, the party was at Wayne manor hosted by Bruce. While you had agreed, in some fashion, to be with Bruce, you supposed a part of you still thought you would kept as a dirty little secret. Being some’s date at someone else’s party was different than being their date at their party, especially when it was at their house.

You examine the party attendees from behind the glass patio doors. A few had cut your eyes, and you had been slightly surprised when they cast you a wave of recognition. How did they know who you were? Why did they look at you like you were supposed to be here?

You smooth the heavy skirt of your cream-colored gown. Was it appropriate? When was it appropriate to start wearing white again? You’d seen some of the other ladies in the property wearing something close to white, but you were the only one wearing a full on white dress.

You catch your reflection in the mirror and let out a small shaky sigh. The glint of the silver jewelry hanging from your ears and your neck was a strange sight. You didn’t look like you, you didn’t feel like you. What would happen if you went out there and started talking to someone of those people and they realized that despite our look, you weren’t the sophisticated lady that your appearance gave off. Charlotte, the little angel that she was, had figured you out quickly enough, you had just been lucky that she had been sweet.

Your hand comes up to your chest in an attempt to calm your beating heart. You don’t know why you feel this way, this happened almost every time you got ready to go to a party. After almost a month you felt like that you should have been over this feeling by now, but you aren’t. A part of you still felt like an imposter. It was in moments like these where you wanted to run back in your small crappy apartment, sitting by your radiator, nursing Kayla down from her hangover. At least then you would know who you were.

“You look beautiful,” Bruce calls as he approaches and you cut your eyes to look at him. He wore a navy-colored tux and patent leather shoes.

“Oh God, you really are one of them,” you mutter with a shake of your head.

“One of who?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“One of those stuffy rich guys that you see in the movies.”

“What?”

“Look at what you’re wearing, you look you’re going to ask me how my stocks and bonds are and what’s my favorite brand of caviar.”

“I’m not going to do that, I already know you don’t like it.”

You cut your eyes away from him in irritation causing a chuckle to fall from his lips. He presses a kiss to your forehead, causing you to close your eyes and let a sigh feeling some of the tension roll off of your shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” He asks being able to feel your slight tightness.

You want to lie, to tell him nothing is wrong. You don’t want to place any stress on him, to ruin his party, but the truth spills from your lips before you can stop it. “I’m afraid everyone here is going to know I’m a fraud and I’ll embarrass not just you but myself too.”

He pauses for a moment examining your slightly panicking form. “To tell you the truth the only person in Wayne Manor, besides, Alfred, that’s not a fraud is you.”

“Me?”

“Most of us are trust fund babies,” he says with a shrug. “We only have our status because someone gave it to us, and those that worked to be here usually have screwed someone else over to get here. In actuality, you are probably the only who as any actual experience in the outside world. We don’t leave it because we don’t have to.”

“So, you’re almost like fake people?”

“Something like that,” he says with a shrug. “So be confident, you have something over all of us.”

“Okay,” You say with a nod. You let out slight stuttering sigh and grab his free hand. “I can do this.”

“All right, let’s start the party then.”

***

Sebastian looks at the image on his phone and his eyes slide over the woman in white hanging on Bruce Wayne’s arm.

It was her all right. He’d knew he seen her before but this was delicious. He lets a smirk curl over his face. He wouldn’t publicly embarrass Bruce Wayne. That wouldn’t be good for business. But just to be a screw in his shoe, to be a thorn in his side, to be able to bask in the fact that Bruce would know that someone would know the secret of his little pet.

“Wayne there you are!”

His shout gets the pairs attention first, the girls wide doe like eyes meet his first. He wants to laugh when he sees the visible frown pull down on her full lips. Wayne has a much more contained reaction, something he expected of someone who is actually trained.

“Oh, you made it Sebastian.” Bruce starts politely, “I hadn’t expected you to come, especially after what happened.”

Sebastian let’s his own frown paint his features as the woman looks between the two of them curiously. “Yes, well, we were lucky that Batman decided to see fit to expose the money laundering scheme that was taking place, it was only fair that I release Charlotte from the agreement that her parents and I made.”

“Money laundering?” She says in surprise she says placing a surprised hand over her mouth.

“Yes, one of the executives at my company seemed to be using his position to fund the mob,” Sebastian said with a shrug.

“And Batman figured it out?”

“Yes,” He says again with gritting teeth.

“Wow,” she says with wide eyes looking at Bruce expecting him to mirror her slight surprise and excitement, he merely gives her smile. “Is Charlotte here?”

“I didn’t see her,” Bruce says. “But she was invited, why don’t you go and look for her.”

She gives him a smile and nod; her eyes darken when she looks Sebastian but she gives him a polite nod nonetheless before she leaves.

“She is a beauty, Wayne,” Sebastian.

“She is, I’m lucky to have found her,” he responds conversationally. He raises his finger up and summons a waiter to give him a flute of champagne.

Sebastian takes one as well, “How much did she cost?”

He expects Bruce’s eyes to widen in shock, to look scared at the thought that someone found out secret. But he doesn’t he just drains his flute.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he says with a shrug. “Alfred took her shopping for that outfit I just gave her the card.”

“You know what I meant Wayne,” Sebastian hisses angrily. “You’re trying to take a whore you found in the middle of downtown Gotham and turn her into a housewife. I can’t wait to see what the press says when they find out where your new pet came from.”

There something dark in Bruce Wayne’s, Sebastian realizes. He’d never seen someone’s eyes actually physically darken before. His eyes seem to scan him up down, as if he was testing to see his resolve. Sebastian can hear his heart pounding in his ears. He realizes that he feels small and that perhaps this had not been the best course of action.

Then suddenly the feeling is gone. Whatever monster that resides in Bruce Wayne is force back in his cage disappears as a polite smile crosses his lips.

“Mr. Wayne over here!”

Sebastian realizes that he had been saved from whatever hell he was about to experience by another unassuming party goer.

“You have a good night, Sebastian.”

He purposefully bumps his shoulder into Sebastian, causing pain to bloom throughout his body.

When he’s gone Sebastian finally lets out a breath, one that he hadn’t known he was holding. He looks around and realizes that none had seen his quiet embarrassment, however he still felt mortified.

He slips away from the party and into the house and quiet place to relieve his nerves.

*** “Alfred, have you seen Charlotte out there?”

The man turned his back on the Chefs who were preparing to serve deserts to the guests. “I don’t seem to remember Miss Charlotte arriving this evening.”

“Oh,” you say with a slight pout. You wanted to celebrate with her, getting away from that slime ball was something that deserved a party unto itself.

“Feeling a little lonely, miss.” He questions coming to stand by your side.

“Of course, you aren’t out there out keep me company,” you say giving him a toothy smile that he happily returns. “But really, I think sometimes I need a break from all of the attention, you know? I don’t know how he does it.”

“Years of practice, miss. You’ll get used to it.”

Cheeks flush at the implication and your shake your head at the thought, “Whatever you say Alfred.”

The sound of glass shattering rings through your ears causing both you and the butler to jump in alarm. A deep frown set in on the older man’s face.

“It seems I have to go and teach the staff how to do their jobs,” he gives you a slight nod and turns away from you.

With a chuckle, you exit the kitchen and begin to make your journey back to the patio. When you reach the foyer however, footsteps catch your attention. Your eyes are quickly drawn to the main staircase. And you seem a body disappear to the west wing of the house.

“Hey!” You shout eyebrows furrowing in confusion when the person didn’t come back down stairs. There were plenty of bathrooms on the first floor why would they go upstairs. You toss a glance to the patio but shake your head, resolving yourself to after the person.

A few seconds later you’re up the stairs with slightly sore high-heeled feet. Whoever was up here was going to get an earful for making you walk up these stairs in these shoes.

You walk down the hall and realize that whoever it is in the house is much farther in than you would have thought. If they were looking for a bathroom it would have been the first door to the left, but the shuffling that could be heard from a familiar room let you know that they weren’t looking for it.

You cast a rueful gaze back down the stairs, maybe you should tell Alfred that there is stranger snooping around the house.

‘He’s busy already,’ you rationalize remembering the staff mess ups.

You make your way down the hall turn and find the door to the library open. You open the slightly cracked door, slightly glad that the hinges don’t creak thanks to Alfred’s expert care for them.

“Sebastian?” You question slightly surprised to see the man in the room. He’s standing next to the mini bar, and has one of Bruce’s glasses pressed to his lips. “You know this is off limits to guests, that’s why everyone is downs stairs.”

“Then why are you here?” He questions looking at you seriously. He doesn’t have slur to his voice, you note as he refiles the glass with Bourbon, but you imagine he does feel slightly freer to say whatever is on his mine.

“I live here,” you assert.

“Oh, so he really does keep you as a pet.”

“W-what?”

He merely looks at you with a slightly raised eyebrow as if to question your sincerity. He pulls his phone out of his pocket clicks it a few times and holds it out toward you. You approach somewhat cautiously. What you see is a photo that makes your heart stop.

It’s picture of a slightly younger you with an older man. You are straddling him, arms wrapped around the man’s neck. Lips pressed rather harshly against him. His nails are digging into the bare skin of your back. The purple lighting and the slight smoke in the air, you remember them all. You remember the beat of the music thumping the back ground. The audible sniffs coming from a table in the corner where Kayla and her clients where sitting. You know that night.

“W-where did you get this?” You ask with nervous stutter.

“Funny thing,” He said slipping the phone into his pocket. “When I saw you at the party, I swore I must’ve known you somewhere. But I couldn’t name it, which is a shame because you really are beautiful, and I tend not forget a pretty face. It was bothering me so one night I was scrolling through my phone and I found this. Its old, three or four years ago, so it took a while, but here it is.”

“What do you want?”

“Does he know how many of us you went down on that night?”

“He knows already, what I did,” you say feeling your throat tighten with anxiety.

“Did?” He questions with a cock of his head? “Or do, because I have a feeling that he paid you to where that dress.”

He didn’t,” you say shaking your head.

“You don’t have to lie,” he says holding his arms out in a faux welcoming tone. He walks toward you and you take steps back. “He pays you well, doesn’t he?”

“He doesn’t pay me anymore.”

“Anymore?” He questions pressing you into a wall. His leg presses between your thighs. “It looks like he’s still paying you. Are those diamonds in your ears? That looks like payment to me. Do I have to buy you a diamond too?”

“Please,” you say bring your hands to his chest and pressing him away. “Just stop, leave.”

“I’m offering payment, what’s the issue?”

“I don’t do that anymore.”

“I think you do,” he says curling a finger around a strand of your hair. “You just won’t do them for me. At least not without the proper incentive.”

Your arms fall slack for a moment and you look at him warily.

“There wasn’t just photo I found,” he says with a shrug. “There is a video I think Mr. Wayne might be interested in seeing. Might give him some ideas for the positions to put you in.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Quite simply because I can,” he says with a nod of his head, “And frankly, Wayne annoys me. Seeing him humiliated would give me the upmost pleasure.”

“Even if you tell me you’re going to show him I won’t do it,” you say with tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I told you, he already knows what I used to do. He’s not dumb, I imagine that he knows that something like this happened. The only people you’ve managed to embarrass is me, a girl you don’t care about, and yourself for thinking you’d be able to hold something over him.”

His cheeks flush bright red with anger and before you know what’s happened a stinging impact explodes over your cheek. The familiar the metallic taste of blood runs over your tongue, and you’re left frozen. It’s been sometime since you’ve been hit. A part of you is overjoyed at the feeling of disgust and anger that rushes through your system, there was a point in your career when you were accustomed to being hit.

Your lip is busted, that much you can tell. The blood rushes from your mouth and dribbles down to the bodice of your cream dress staining it. ‘I’ve ruined it.’

“Are you going to give me what I want or not?”

Your eyes meet the strained ones that are barreling into you, stuck between the fear of realizing what he had just done and the humiliation of your words.

With as much force as you can muster you slam your body against his pushing him away from you. You are quick to sprint out the door and up the hallway, back to the foyer.

Relief floods your body when you hear Bruce’s familiar smooth tone, “Have you seen her, Alfred? She was looking for Charlotte.”

Alfred’s response is cut off by the click of your heels entering the room. The rapid pace of them causes both men to snap their attention to your form.

Alfred must see the blood on your dress first because he lets out an audible gasp.

You hurriedly make your way down the stairs, almost falling as you fling yourself in to Bruce’s chest. When his scent floods your nose, your tears fall and you begin to sob. His arms pull you close.

“What happened?” He asks into the crown of your head.

“You won’t hate me when you find out what I used to do, will you?” You cry through your pain.

“I already, know what you used to do,” he whispers in your ear with a comforting tone. His eyes flash over to Alfred who goes to retrieve something to stop the bleeding.

“Not all of it,” you say with a shake of your head. “You’ll think I’m disgusting when you find out.”

Alfred returns with a cold compress, and gives it to Bruce, he then returns to distract the staff and the guests from the situation occurring in the foyer.

“Never,” he said pulling you away from him and looking at you with stern eyes. Despite his tone though, he gently presses the towel against your lip, wiping away the blood and pressing down to stop the flow. “I already told you to let me take care of you, whatever or whoever you were before we met doesn’t matter to me, unless it’s important to you. If you never want to talk to me about your past I don’t mind.”

You nod, tears welling up again, happy that what you had told Sebastian in bluff, was actually the truth.

“It’s Sebastian,” you relent. “He says he has a photo and video of me from three years ago. He saved them on his phone. He wanted to use them as blackmail to make me have sex with him, when I said no, he did this.”

Despite your explanation, you aren’t really sure if Bruce heard you. His eyes, which usually focus in on your when you speak are averted as if he’s looking behind you. You don’t think that you have ever seen fury on his face and a part of you doubts that you ever actually will. His eyes however tell a different story. They are hard and piercing, and if he ever was actually looking at you with that sort of stare, you’d probably find yourself wanting to curl over and die.

A hard kiss is pressed to your forehead and you are pushed to the side, like you are being passed off to someone. The hands that are placed on your shoulders are warm and you look up into Alfred’s graying face.

“This way, miss. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You don’t fight him as he pulls you away, but you do glance back to see Bruce stalking up the stairs toward a panicked looking Sebastian. *** You’d never gotten to use the down stairs bathroom before, never had the need to, you supposed. But as you soak in the warm water of the rather large claw footed tub, you determine that despite the fact that this is the guest bathroom, it was no less luxurious than any other in the rest of the house. White tile, walls, tub, marble, with gold accents and a dim light that gave everything a warm glow, made the room beautiful.

A knock on the door causes you to jump a little and you sink down covering yourself with the bubbles. You relax slightly realizing that it’s only Bruce, as he walks through door. He gives you a smile when he sees you and you give him a small one back.

He comes to you and kneels at the edge of the tub watching you with slightly concerned eyes.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine, I’m sorry about the dress though.”

“That’s not your fault, you can get ten more to replace it.”

You look down, “You know you don’t have to buy me things, right? I don’t want you have to feel like you have to keep giving me things now that you aren’t paying me.”

A large hand comes up rest on your cheek. His thumb rubs at the skin softly, you lean your face into his hand smiling softly. Your eyes drip down to his other hand and see the other hand. You can see slight bruising and swelling around the knuckles. You reach for his hand and dip it in the warm water

“I always miss the fight,” you say running your finger affectionately over his injured knuckles.

“Always?”

“My father and my brothers used to fight all the time. Mailmen, other boys at the school, the clerk at the liquor store that wouldn’t sell them cigarettes.”

“Sounds like an exciting time.”

“Hectic is more like it,” You say with a chuckle.

It’s silent for a moment and you feel embarrassment rise up inside of you.

“Did you see the picture?” You ask him in a small voice.

“No,” he says quickly, “And you don’t have to worry about it, I made sure that it won’t be a problem in the future.”

“And if another comes up? Or if there is something on the internet of me that pops up?”

“It doesn’t matter, and I don’t want you to dwell on it anymore. Going forward, don’t think about your past if you don’t want to. I know it can be hard, technically I may come off as a hypocrite telling to let the past go, but if that helps you we’ll never bring it up.”

“How are you a hypocrite?” You ask looking up at him with wide eyes.

His eyes seem to flicker between emotions for a moment, as if he is quickly debating telling you something but he doesn’t, “I’ll tell you later I promise.”

“Okay,” you say with a nod of your head. “I promise that I’ll try not to be ashamed of my past.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and stands to leave the room. He pauses at the door.

“This is your home now, and you can do anything you want. Don’t think that I’m the type of person who would just get rid of you on a whim. Even if you hated me for some reason, I wouldn’t make you leave unless you wanted to.”

“Why?” You ask. “Why do you care so much.”

“I don’t know.” He says truthfully. “I don’t know why the thought of you leaving or letting you go hurts. From the moment, you came back to my hotel, I knew I couldn’t leave you alone.”

“Oh,” you say letting the words sink into you. “I think I feel the same. If it wasn’t you I don’t think I would care so much what someone thought of me. I’ve never been ashamed before, but when I think about you finding out if I’m good enough. But it seems like I need to get out of my own head.”

“Maybe just a little,” he says with a smile.

You give him a smile back as he closes the door behind him. A fluttery feeling rushes over you. He had alleviated your unspoken worries. Perhaps now you could finally get comfortable living in your new life.

*** Yellow looks good on her, Kayla decides, as she watches the woman hurry into the small ditty dinner. Her clothing is immaculate and compared to what she looked like months ago, it just doesn’t seem like she belongs in the room.

Her worried doe like eyes scan the room and Kayla raises her hand. The girl-no woman looked over at her with wide eyes and hurried over to her booth.

“Kayla,” she breathes in a huff. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Kayla says having to avert her eyes from her bright white teeth. “How have you been.”

She looks angry at Kayla’s words and her cute, light-make-up covered face scrunches up to reflect the irritation. “Kayla, you called me like you were in danger. ‘Can you come get me? I need you.Someone’s following me.’ Do you remember that? I thought you were in danger!”

“I know, but I thought that you wouldn’t come otherwise. You haven’t been answering my calls.”

She rolls her eyes but her shoulders visibly relax. Her own manicured hand shoots up getting the attention of a waitress.

“Can you bring me of coffee please,” she says flashing her a bright smile. The waitress nods.

They wait in silence.

The waitress comes and sits a small mug in front of her, and pours the dark liquid.

“Thank you,” she says shaking a packet of sugar. She flicks her eyes over at Kayla, “I’m assuming you ate already.”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

They sit in silence and Kayla runs her eyes over her form for a moment. Her eyes happen to fall on to her left hand and her breath catches in her throat.

“He’s marrying you?” Kayla questions incredulously.

She stops stirring her coffee and her eyes cuts from the large diamond sitting on her finger and back over to her friend, “He asked me, I said yes.”

“Congratulations I guess,” Kayla says with a shrug. “Thanks for telling me.”

“I haven’t told anyone, Kayla.”

“I guess you’re right, it would have been front page news if you had.”

“What do you want, Kayla.”

“You look so good,” Kayla. “Makes you wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t given him to you, if I got in his car that night.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but we aren’t talking about that right now Kayla, what do you want.”

“I’m homeless now, you know, since you left.”

“Is that what you want? You want me to pay for your rent?”

“No, I want you to come home, and fix things like you used to.”

“I have a new home now Kayla,” She says with steely eyes. “Even if I hadn’t met Bruce there is no guarantee that I would still be with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our job, the way we were living, you have to know that I never planned to stay there. That wasn’t the life that I wanted.”

“So, you always planned on leaving me, he just sped up the process.”

“I wanted to take you with me, you have to know that. But every time we got a little bit of money you shoved it up your nose.”

“We could have made more.”

“I did Kayla! I did. I tried to make sure that we had everything that we needed to survive but every time I moved us forward you moved us back. Listen to me, can you think of a month where we weren’t struggling not to get evicted?”

Kayla flashes her eyes down. She doesn’t want to give her an answer that she knows will only hurt her argument. She knows that the reason her only friend left her was her own fault. She recalled the conversations they had about moving to different neighbor hoods and trying to make a better life for themselves. If she was honest, the thought of leaving everything that she had known was scary. Perhaps that was why she was almost inadvertently sabotaging the plans for more.

“I shouldn’t have cut you off, that was wrong of me. I’m sorry for that, but I’m not going to enable you anymore. If you want me to help you, I will, but I’m not going to feed your drug habit.”

“What you going to lock me up?”

“If that’s what you want, maybe therapy? I don’t know what causes you to harm yourself so much, but you have to fix that.”

“You’ll pay for it?”

“I’ll pay for it,” she says with a smile. “I don’t want you to think that I hate you, I think we both need to be on the same page, and to do that we both need to be sober.”

“All right.”

“All right.”

The woman no- her best friend pulls out her wallet and places a few bills on the table, before she stands.

“You’re leaving?”

“No, we’re leaving.” She reaches out and grabs her arm and pulls her out of her seat.

“Where are we going.” Kayla eyes blink away at tears as they try to adjust the midday sun.

“Getting you home,” she says as if it’s obvious.

“Home?”

“You think I’m just going to let one of the people I care most about in this world suffer? I just wanted, needed you to come to the decision that you would change for yourself. Like I said, it was never my intention to leave you behind, I’m not the only one that deserves happiness.”

Kayla smiles and tucks herself into her arm, “Thanks.”

She doesn’t get a response as she’s pulled to a town car. The door is opened by and older gentlemen who Kayla expects to receive a judgmental gaze from but she doesn’t. She feels a small hand on her back pushing her to slide into the vehicle.

Inside, there is a familiar face waiting. He gives her a smile and blush runs over her cheeks and her eyes flash over to her friend.

“Why are you surprised?” She questions with a chuckle. “You told me you were in trouble so I came.”

“I didn’t think I’d derail your whole day.”

She raises an eyebrow in suspicions, and Kayla has to relent, that was what she wanted, for her to drop everything to come save her. The fact that she actually did made her feel warm inside, but a little embarrassed now that she had to deal with the reality of the panic that she caused.

“Sorry for being a drama queen. And sorry to you too, Mr. Wayne.”

He flashes her another good-natured smile, “It doesn’t bother me, it was her call and good excuse for me to get out of my meeting.”

“You haven’t gotten out of anything,” his fiancée snips quickly. “If you don’t go, I’ll get an earful from Charlotte’s mother about how your never there. It’s bad enough you fall asleep.”

His lips press into a flat line, “But that's why you’re there.”

“And I’m busy today.”

Kayla can tell that he wants to bicker but she raises an eyebrow at him and it seems to quiet him down.

Kayla wants to pretend that there has been a change in her friend but there hasn’t. She’s always been like this, assertive and confident. Then she thinks about the cruel things that she’s said to her. How she tried to tear her down. She fills a pit of guilt form in her stomach.

She stews on her thoughts for so long she misses when they arrive at Wayne Enterprises and drop the man off.

“Whats bugging you?”

Kayla looks up at her friend before pressing her forehead into her arm.

“When I get better and I get a job you have to let me get you something so I can make up for all of the stupid shit I’ve done and put you through.”

“The only thing that I want is for you to be better, so we can be like sisters again.”

“I can do that.”

“Good.”

“Also, I lied earlier, I didn’t eat. Can we stop and get something?”

“Sure, anything you want.”

#batman x reader #batman #batman imagine #bruce wayne #bruce x reader #bruce imagine #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x f!reader

[soriseerakyra]

Wait so in 4am was he actually cheating? I loved it and I think it broke my heart at the same time <3

Hmmm, I think that maybe he cheated once or twice and so just the sight of the two of them together sets reader on edge.

[soriseerakyra]

4 A.M.

A/N: Two things. First, Thinkin About You by Katie is great. Secondly, sorry I keep re-posting this but it's not showing in the tags for some reason.

Staring up at the ceiling, she pursed her lips as she felt herself become more and more irritated. She’d done everything that she’d been taught to do. She hadn’t eaten too late, the phone and laptop went at 8, hell she’d even used a guided meditation to fall asleep. All that had seemed to work, for about two hours. But now, she found herself in the same place that she had every night for the past week. Wide awake and staring up at her ceiling at four in the morning. 

The more forgiving part of her wanted to call it insomnia. But, after spending many of her nights crying, she wouldn’t let the thought crossed her mind. No, she knew exactly what was wrong. And no matter how good it felt, laying in bed waiting for the problem to fix itself wasn’t going to help.

“This is such bullshit,” she hisses into the dark of her room as her nose scrunches in anger.

With a huff she sits up in the bed sheets in blankets pooling around her waist. Her first thought is to reach over to her nightstand and grab her remote, but she hesitates. Aside from the burning light that made her tear up, the early morning gossip programs were already on. To make matters worse, last night had been the Gotham charity fashion ball. There was no doubt that the city’s most famous socialite was in attendance. 

She was afraid of what she knew she would see and wouldn’t be about to turn away from if she turned on the television. The thought of seeing whomever he had chosen to attend with, made her gag.   When it came to a function like this, Bruce Wayne would never show up alone. So, despite the fact that they had broken up only a month ago, she was sure he was more than over his public mourning phase.

Still, is it wrong to want to see him? Even though she had been the one to initiate the separation, she couldn’t deny that she missed him terribly.

‘An understatement,’ she thought to herself with a roll of her eyes.

The television wasn’t an option she decided after a while of mulling over the thought. She didn’t want to hear the talking heads gush about how good he looked now that he was freely dating again. Some of them had taken bets about how long their relationship would last, she didn’t want to subject herself to the smugness of their tone. 

In her defense she felt like she had given it a good go. Not many could say they had been in a committed relationship with Bruce Wayne for more than six months, let alone the three years that she had put in. Well committed on her end anyway. 

‘All that effort and nothing to show for it,’ she thought to herself bitterly. 

Her heart pounds in her chest guilty as soon as the thought runs across her mind. She knew it wasn’t true. They had worked like a well oiled machine, moved as if they had been meant together.  Like missing puzzle pieces, it seemed like they belonged together.

‘And that’s why it hurts so damn much.’

She hadn’t found them sleeping together or even kissing. She imagined that they hadn’t planned to meet that night, at one of the city’s ever occurring galas. She’d only stepped away for a second, to say hello to a friend. They had been so enraptured with each other they hadn’t heard the click of her heels as she approached. They only snapped their attention to her when she had poured her glass of red wine on his head. He seemed surprised when he met her gaze, but that look had quickly shifted on to one of regret and apology, although she wasn’t sure how regretful he actually was.

She was sure that if she had had enough courage to look at the other woman she would have felt even more humiliated then she already was. If she had met those green eyes she was sure she would have seen laughter rather than pity. And it was hard to tell which one was worse. All the woman had done was caressed her elegant fingers across his cheek. If she could make it seem like she was the moon and the stars with a simple flick of her wrist,what meaning did the three years they had invested into each other really have?

To be honest if he had been physically cheating with anyone else, perhaps they would still be together. Maybe they could have worked out their issues if they talked about it. However, there was nothing worse than an emotional bond. A connection that she couldn’t rightly understand the ins and outs of, for various reasons. And what was worse, somewhere wrapped in her anger at him for his unresolved sentimental attachment to the thief, she felt pity for him. The burglar would never love him completely, whatever life that he could envision with her would only end in heartbreak. The worst part about being a good person is the empathetic heartache you feel when a loved one cannot get what it is they truly desire. Even if that desire was a lowly night prowler.

God, she hated cats.

Since she wouldn’t be able to entertain herself with the television and her laptop was across the room  she turned to her phone. 

Resting on her nightstand was the bane of her existence. Sure she loved her phone the way that everyone else did, but she hated looking at her lock screen. She hadn’t had the fortitude to change her screen saver, and she wasn’t sure that she ever would.

The screen in question held one of the pictures she probably loved the most. There weren’t many times where Bruce was willing to stop and take pictures and so she was lucky that she had been quick enough to capture the moment.

It was one of the few nights that had gone perfectly and he hadn’t had to leave suddenly. A night at the fair, like they were kids. They played games, road rides, and had eaten funnel cake until they were sick.  They had ended the night as romantic as possible, at top the Ferris Wheel with the lights of Gotham behind them; at that height, the city almost seemed normal. She’d taken the opportunity to quickly sneak a kiss on the man’s cheek while quickly snapping a picture. If he was surprised he didn’t show it; his eyes had quickly found the lens of the camera like the professional he was. She had been pleasantly surprised when she looked at the screen and saw that he had given her a smile and not the smirk he had the tendency to pull when he spotted a camera.

“You look surprised,” He had said, looking at her curiously. 

“You have a nice smile,” she replied somewhat dreamily. “I’ve never seen it, a real one at least.”

He doesn’t say anything, and she wondered if he was surprised. The thought, however, is quickly wiped from her mind when she hears a humm and warm lips are pressed to the side of her head. Her heart flutters as she leans into him.

The woman smiled bitterly as she picked up the phone and saw the photo that triggered her memory. While the memory would be something that she always held onto dearly, the feelings were tainted.

Had he been thinking of the other woman while he kissed her? She doubted it. But there was no doubt in her mind that there was a part of him that was wondering what it would have been like to bring the thief there. That hurt. Knowing that any thing that she had found special, he had most likely thought about what it could have been like with someone else.

She forces air through her nostrils in an attempt not only to not only to calm herself but to blow away the troubling thoughts for her mind. If she had to be awake right now that didn’t mean  she had to be suffering. 

She scrolls through her phone, eye flickering through the various apps, looking for something that seemed in some way appealing. Usually she found herself relying on the old classics like Tetris and Bejeweled; something mindless that allowed her to escape for a short while. 

Just as she was about to hit the icon for 2048 a noiseless message appeared on her phone and she felt her throat tighten in shock. Had she been able to sleep, she would have ignored it; just another heartache she missed while she slept. But she was awake, and her ‘do not disturb’ function on her phone couldn’t save her.

‘If I came over would you let me up?’ - Bruce

What was she supposed to say to that?

Her heartbeat ‘yes’ as soon as her eyes scanned the message. She wanted to see him, to smell him and to quench the ache that had been keeping her up for the past week. 

Her mind on the other hand…also offered a small plea of yes. While not for the exact carnal reasons of her heart, but more for her piece of mind. Perhaps what she really needed was to talk. To get answers and more importantly to get closure on one of the most important chapters in her life. Was inviting someone over at 4 in the morning, the best way to do it? Probably not, but if she didn’t engage now, she might make excuses about why she can’t do it later.  

‘I don’t know, depends on why you are coming over’, she wrote in response. She hoped it sounded as cool and collected as it did in her mind.

‘I want to see you’ -Bruce

There it was, the thing that made her fall for the man in the first place. While he may have been a flirt, he never minced his words about what he wanted; and she found that overwhelmingly attractive.  Even now such a simple sentence filled her stomach with butterflies, the way it had been not but a few weeks ago. As if she hadn’t caught him mooning over another woman.

‘Isn’t there someone else you want to see more?’

She had intended her message to come off more biting, maybe more accusatory and she was sadly disappointed by what she wrote. So what if she sounded just a tinge needy and melodramatic? That was how she felt after all.

The reply took longer to come than the last one. She could see him start to type some long passage and then stop multiple times. What was he thinking when he was writing? What did he think would be enough to woo her?

‘I want you’ - Bruce

She wanted to throw her phone across the room.

‘Lol I’m sure, did you get stood up? How does it fee-

She erased that and waited. What did she want to say to him?

‘I can’t sleep’ - Bruce

‘You don’t sleep anyway,’  she replies easily. 

‘You know what I mean, the bed doesn’t feel the same. You took the blanket’ - Bruce.

Her eyes flash quickly to the closet where her weighted blanket is stored carefully. She had bought it in an attempt to help Bruce sleep. And while she certainly could have used it or gotten rid of it when she moved back into her condo, she had decided it was too expensive to throw away and smelled too much like him to use.

‘You’re rich buy another one’

‘I want ours’

`Is that why you want to come over?’

‘Among other things’

‘Other things?’

She wasn’t dumb she new what those other things were and if she were honest with herself she wouldn’t mind engaging in those other things, especially if they involved his hands. No matter how mad she was at him she could never be mad at his fingers and the miracles that they could work on her. Still she was skeptical, what was he doing texting her so early in the morning. She had left him to give him the opportunity to be with the person he really wanted.

‘I’m sure someone else wouldn’t mind giving you what you want’,  she responded with the intention of ending the conversation. She was sure that if she kept bringing up the subject he’d stop.

‘I want you and you want me.’

Although she should have known better, once he set his mind on something he tended to be adamant.

‘How do you know I want you? I broke up with you, remember?’

‘You answered’

Fuck.

‘Maybe I was just bored’

‘Maybe, but maybe you’re up because you want it as bad as I do’

Part of her wished he was just a childish man who used emojis and excessively lewd words. She could have just written him off then. But the way he wrote was much the same as the way he spoke and she could practically feel the rumble of his voice on her back.

‘I’m outside, will you let me up?’

***

She stood in front of the door to her apartment, fingers and toes clenching, heartbeat racing, and throat tightening in anticipation as she waited for him to come up.  Perhaps she was just desperate, but she was sure that she could already smell his cologne through the door. 

‘Oh, wait,’ she thought to herself looking down at her body. ‘I’m wearing his fucking shirt of course I’m desperate.’

With a sigh she pads quickly back to her bedroom to find a shirt that offends her pride less. She barely has her head through the opening of a large black t-shirt when three knocks ring through her apartment. She feels a lump in her throat, and she does her best to swallow it. He was the only person that preferred to knock on her door rather than use her doorbell. It was like it was just a secret sign, just for her, that he had arrived. 

She hurried back to her place in front of her door. However, as soon as she stood in front of her door time seemed to slow down. How does she answer? How could she have even invited him over? She was still mad at him. A couple of thirsty texts doesn’t fix the problem she had with him.

Her logic, however, is quickly pushed to the back of her head by the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach and the growing ache of need between her legs. Hopefully, by the time the sun came up at least one part of her would be satisfied.

Trembling slightly she reaches for the door, she’s unsure if she should open the door or not. On one hand if she does open it, she has a pretty good idea about how the rest of the early morning would play out. But she also knew where she would end up the next morning, curled in her bed crying, having let herself be used as a pacifier once again.

The idea makes her pause as her fingers delicately touch the cool silver knob. And while she knew that would most likely be the outcome of her entire night, the thought of ignoring his call made her ache. She wanted to see him in person and have his cool blue eyes see her in return. Seeing him on her phone wasn’t enough and neither were her fingers; they could only reach so far after all.  

The door opened before she knew what was happening and she stood face to face with the man that had been the bane of her existence for the past month. 

She was surprised how he looked. Dark circles under his eyes and a mop of disheveled black hair. His shirt looked like he had rushed to put it on, like he had had a rough night out and he had just barely managed to make it home. She could see the slight twitch in his striking blue eyes that let her know that he was in pain. But most of all, the look in his eyes let her know that he was as desperate for her as she was for him. If there had been even a little bit of taunt in his eyes she would have closed the door in his face. She wouldn’t have been able to take if he was just playing with her. However, the longer that he stared and raked his eyes over her barely clothed form the dark his eyes became; his pupil dilating with lust and anticipation. 

“Hi,” she squeaked out, her throat tightening in expectation. Her chest was fluttered and suddenly a part of her felt stupid for trying to cut him out of her life with no plan on how she was going to get over it. Seeing him like this, no matter how rugged he looked, made her realize how much she had come to rely on him.

“Hi,” he responded and she could feel her legs subconsciously squeeze together. Has his voice always been that deep?

They stood there for a moment, not sure what the best course of action was. They knew what they wanted and where the night would end up, but they didn’t want to start this off wrong.

“I’ve got some wine if you want,” She started coyly baking away as she let his large frame enter her apartment. She nearly let out a moan when he had to turn to come inside. God, she had forgotten how big he was. 

“Day drinking?” He questions with a smirk.

“It’s not daytime until the sun comes up,” she says, trying to sound as confident as he does. However, when she feels her palms press against one of her walls, she feels like a trapped animal. A shiver ran down her spine at the prospect, if he was her hunter she was happy to be prey.

“I see,” he hummed an and coming up to caress her cheek and a knee wedging itself between her waiting thighs. As irritated as she would be in the morning about them being torn up in the morning she was glad that she chose to wear panties underneath his large shirt; the feeling of  her wetness against her thighs would have embarrassed her.

His fingers begin to pull on the hem of the shirt that she’s wearing and he looks at her questioningly. With a small gulp she nods and her shirt disappears over her head. 

His mouth descends over hers as his hands grip her thighs, bringing them up to rest on his hips. Her arms wrap around the expanse of his back and she digs her nails into his skin, hoping that it will be enough to keep her attached to him for the ride.

***

“This doesn’t change anything,” she remarks drowsily. 

She only receives a hum in reply and his large fingers run through her hair. Feeling his fingers stroke through her scalp causing her eyes to roll close. A wave of happiness rolled over her as her body finally started to feel the familiar heaviness of sleep begin to run over her. 

“Where do you want to go to brunch?” He asks. 

Had it not been for the fact that her head had been resting on his chest and his deep voice rumbled through the cavity as he spoke, she probably wouldn’t have heard him.

“I’m not going on a date with you,” she mumbled with a pout on her face. “We’re broken up, you don’t love me.”

“I don’t love you?” He repeats as if she had just told the funniest joke.

“It’s not funny,” she says slowly, coming out of her tired state. She sits up slightly and slaps him on his chest, irritated at the look of amusement on his face.  “You don-”

She stops mid sentence when she feels something cool roll against her neck. She looks down and her heart stops.

In the early morning light they seemed to shine like little white stars.

“These- I can’t take these,” she says, feeling tears beginning to prick at the corner of her eyes. Her hands come up to her neck to cup the pearls like the precious stones they were. “They’re your mother’s.”

“I know,” he said, looking at her solemnly. “I think when I asked you to marry me the first time I should have given these.”

“I don’t want them if you don’t mean it,” she says with tears streaming down her face.  

“I do,” he says, using his large hands to bring her back down on his chest. “There are also some things I need to tell you about what I do.”

“About the company?” She questions slightly confused.

“No, but you’ll understand later.”

“Okay.”

A comfortable silence fell over the pair.

“You won’t see her again will you?”

She doesn’t sit her head up to look at the man, as the lie of his answer comes tumbling out his lips. She’s pulled tighter to his chest, as if he is trying to comfort her, shielding her from his own lie. 

“Does it matter?” He asks. 

He spared her the fib at least.

She thinks for a moment as she fingers the jewels around her neck once again before a lie of her own springs forth from her lips.

“No.”

#bruce x reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman x reader #batman imagine

[soriseerakyra]

DUDE I THINK ABOUT MAKIN AN EMPRESS LIKE EVERY OTHER DAY I MISSED U

Aww thank you! I missed you guys too! Just so everyone knows I'll probably work on series like that in December when break starts. But for right now I'm just posting whatever comes to mind. Gotta get back in the habit, you know?

[soriseerakyra]

😯😯😯

[soriseerakyra]

Yearning

There was something cold in his eyes. Not harsh, just firm. But maybe you were biased, you weren’t on the receiving end of his glare and had no way of really assessing how truly cold the look was. The mean on the ground writhed in pain. Groaning and spewing spittle out of broken noses and cracked jaws. One unfortunately soul was whimpering, cradling an arm that he would likely never be able to use again. You could hear your companion’s breath slowing and his heartbeat coming under control as he observed his work.  Fist quivering not in weakness, but in anger. Not that he had hurt the people around them, you summarized. But because he had lost control. There is a pit in your gut that tells you that you were not meant to see the ferocity that he had shown today.

But you couldn’t be sure why he would be ashamed of such a thing. Perhaps it was the fighter in you, but you could not help but admire the efficiency he used in dispatching his opponents. Although the brutality was wholly unneeded, you were nonetheless impressed.

There was a feeling of excitement coursing through your veins as well, your own fingers twitching. Your grip longing to be reunited with your broadsword. It was rare occasion in which you found yourself being the spectator. In the battles against Morgoth you were in the thick of the fight side by side with your fellow soldiers. And in the search for Sauron, you stood back-to-back with your commander. The opportunity to simply watch was a strange one indeed.

It was all quite, “Thrilling.”

The word passes through your lips breathily and your hand shoot up to cover your parted lips in slight embarrassment.  Your heart skips a beat when the brunette-haired man turns to look at you. He had nearly forgotten you were there. Quietly watching him in fascination as he had dealt with the men who were now limply laying on the ground.

His eyes soften slightly, a bit of surprise flickering in their depths and a twitch of amusement at the corners of his mouth.

His brows furrow momentarily, and he takes a step towards you. Your heart flutters for a second when you fill his eyes rake over your form. You take a deep breath, and he falters.

“Are you-”

Before he can finish the sentence, your ears twinge. The clipping of metal on brick ringing in your ears. You should have been paying attention, you could have warned him. But you were too caught up in your fascination to have listened. Still, it’s the thought that counts.

“The guards,” you warn lowly.

And no sooner than the words fall from your lips do the well armored Númenórean guards have you and your companion surrounded; spears point at both of your forms. Behind them, a young common man looking over into the mess of his brethren heaving on the floor. He shudders slightly, before he points at the pair of you.

“There, he’s the one that stole it, him and the elf.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something insulting. Ever since you arrived on the island you and your commander had been referred to by your race instead of your name. You conceded the point that Galadriel may have been a bit abrasive. However, if this was the way they treated guests maybe respect wasn’t due. But the young are often lacking in manners, and you have chosen to be as cordial as your temper would allow.

A charming smile makes its way easily to your companion’s face. The crinkle of his eyes and the easiness of his surrender putting his character at odds with his very circumstance.

“I tried to give it back to them,” he says with a chuckle, arms going up over his head.

The guards hesitate, scanning you and your companion warily, the men on the ground with sympathy, and the other man with a questioning gaze.

“You shouldn’t have taken it in the first place,” the man says through gritted teeth, squeezing through the crowd of guards to try and tend to his disfigured friend. He squats over his compatriot and gingerly touches his arm. “You maimed him!”

“He attacked me,” your…friend? replies with a shrug.

If nonchalant was a person, you imagined that it would be Halbrand.

You’d never imagine yourself in a jail cell, much less a human one. And even less, if that were possible, you had never imagined yourself in a human prison.

The sigh that leaves you is forlorn. No contact with Galadriel and there was no one that would advocate on your behalf, that much of which, you were sure. This was not how you wished to spend your remaining days on the island.

“Sorry princess.”

The snide comment comes from Halbrand, who had busied himself on the small cot with a rock that he tossed in the air like a ball.

“Didn’t mean to ruin your adventure through the city today.”

You can practically feel his eyes on you, boring into the back of your head. He wanted you to at least look at him. You hadn’t spoken to him the last few hours. You imagined that he believed that you were angry at him. And you were, even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it to yourself. But even you couldn’t deny the fact that your lips had been pursed so long that your jaw was starting to hurt.

“I am not a princess.”

He scoffs.

“That’s what your worried about.”

You turn your head slightly so you can look at the man from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting up now looking at you with a smile so wide you almost want to call him a fool. But, the relaxed nature of his shoulders, the jostled nature of his filthy hair, and even the scars on his cheeks that have yet to heal send a shock up your spine. You couldn’t even say that he was handsome for human. In fact, everything about his appearance should have been off putting to you. Since you had met him that frozen ocean, he had been somehow perpetually wet and filthy at the same time. And yet…

“It improper, titles, ranks they exist to provide order.” The sentence tumbles out of your limps unprovoked, like they had been memorized off some ancient scroll. “Flouting such things, can have unintended consequences.”

“Milady, then?” He questions teasingly. And though you know that he does not really expect a serious answer you cannot help but respond.

“Adequate, or Lieutenant Commander if you prefer.”

His tongue clicks against his teeth, and he shakes his head. He rests his elbow on his knee and chin on his open palm.

“You’re hopeless.”

He says it as a dig, but the tone doesn’t match the words, nor the smile.

“And you?” You question as you turn to face him fully, spinning on your heel and raising an eyebrow at him. “Would you prefer it if I called you something other than your name?”

He stands up and idles slightly before he begins to slowly approach you. With a shrug, a twist of his lips downward, and a cock of his head he says, “When it comes to people like me, we don’t care much what people call us.”

“People like you,” you reply slowly, watching him intently as he approaches.

“Mostly me,” he corrects standing in front of you.

He is tall you realize. You had spent so much time with the man, how had you noticed that you had to tilt your head slightly to speak to him. It was strange for a human to be so tall. The Númenóreans you understood. But this, “Low man,” as you had heard others whisper while you were at the pub before his fight, was taller still. The night when he had saved your commander, you had noted how long he seemed diving in after her, but that was different.

He's waiting, you realize.

“You would not mind being called dirty raft man, then?” You question, fighting the smirk that wants to inch its way across you face.

“Hardly the same thing,” he says with a snort. Somewhat surprised by your snark he leans in closer.

You rock back subconsciously, back pressed against the bars of your cell.

“Isn’t it?” You find your self humming.

“Mine,” He starts with a heavy pause, “was a compliment.”

His had moved from his side, and you pretend not to notice as a finger curl around a piece of your hair. He rolls it between his fingers, smearing it against the pads, trying to memorize its texture.

There is a feeling in your throat, an apprehension that courses through you. You felt small. As his gaze raced over you, from head to toe. A surprising feeling. The only similarity that you could muster through your lengthy memory was being assessed by an instructor or when the High-King had berated you with a mere glance. But this was different

This assessment was not about your knowledge or your worth as soldier. How many times had he looked up and down your form? Gaze settling on your face every so often, as if he was memorizing it. He’d meet your eyes occasionally and your cheeks would warm. What is this?

Your eyes catch his and he finally holds your gaze. They are a swirl of color you realize, but none stand out as much as the vivid green.

You don’t know how long you are lost, but you only come too when the finger that was wrapped around your hair grazes your arm. Finally, your gaze breaks to look down at the offender as shivers roll down your spine.

By the time you return your gaze to his he is already stepping away. You ache slightly at the thought of him moving away from you. Your brows furrow and your mouth pull down into a frown.

He cocks his head slightly, eyes squinting just barley, as if he was focusing on you.

“Don’t tell me you think dirty raft man is a compliment. Who taught you elves your manners?”

The quip serves to snap you out of your reverie. Your back straightens, face relaxes, and the burn of want wanes slightly. Although it never extinguishes, something you hope you can explore while he sleeps.

***

A/N: If evil why pretty?

#halbrand #halbrand x reader #sauron #sauron x reader #rings of power #halbrand x f!reader #sauron x f!reader

[soriseerakyra]

YOU'RE BACKKK

Indeed!

[soriseerakyra]

A Diplomatic Exchange

“This is the last of it.”

He looks over the crate of supplies. Dark eyes deceptively looking over the box with a discerning eye.

One of the Dora accompanying you hands the box over to the soldier that was standing behind him.

An amicable exchange of resources. This had been going on for the past few months, almost a year now.. Your two nations exchanging little things. Technology that the other didn’t actually need but the symbolism of the exchange held having held more than anything you could have given each other.

 Namor,  had shown up the first time to facilitate the exchange, keeping an eye on things. You didn’t need a translator, the beads on your wrist took care of that. But things had been tense when the exchange first started. And without the two of you being here, you aren’t sure the exchanges would have gone well. But that was at the beginning. This was almost the tenth exchange that you had done. And he showed up every time.

“The last?” He questions with a slightly quirked eyebrow.

“F-for this time,” you respond quickly.

A smile crosses his face.

You aren’t sure why you were so nervous. Maybe because he always seems like he was teasing you. The lilt of his voice, and the little cocks of his head. And the eyes. There were so many eyes on you right now.

“We should talk,” he hums. Rocking forward slightly on the balls of his feet. He turns a glance to the soldiers behind him. And with a nod he orders them away. They hesitate. This meeting had become routine for them but his people had always been nervous. You didn’t blame them. As part of these diplomatic talks they were sending a King, a god. Your nation sent you. A diplomat and a friend of the black panther. Important to Shuri as a friend and citizen of Wakanda, but  it was hardly an equal playing field.

But, his word is absolute. They listen, and sink back into the indigo depths of the water.

You turn to do the same. But are surprised to see your guards already heading back to the ship that’s parked not too far away from the beach.

“Ayo?” You question watching the retreating back of the taller of the women. She turns, head over shoulder and you feel your stomach fall in slight embarrassment. There is a smirk pulling over her lips as she elbows the Dora next to her.

They already know. Of course they know. And if they know, that means Okoye knows. And if she knows that means Shuri knows…

You’re in for an earful when you get back. But you can’t think of that now.

Not when a warm hand is gripping on your wrist, begging for you to turn your attention back to the man behind you.  But you didn’t, you waited.

The fingers wrapped around your wrist released, when he felt your attention on him. He steps closer, the water around the pair of your feet sloshing slightly as he moves.  Your nose prickles slightly as you are enveloped by the scent of him and the sea. The salt of it pricking at your eyes and the slight musk of him weakening whatever resolve there was left in you.

His fingers lace with yours, and his chest is pressed against your back. He feels the shiver that runs down your spine as his nose is pressed to the base of your neck.

“It looks like you’ll have time today,” he hums.

You have to stop yourself from sighing. Your head arches to lean back on his shoulder and your eyes meet his. Molten and dark. You almost shake at the intensity.

 Your lips part to give him an answer, but he already knows before you say it. He leans forward slightly and your eyes daze. Gaze drawn to his lips. You’re so distracted that you almost jump when a mask is pressed against your face.

You take a deep breath, filtered air filling your lungs. And he watches intently, making sure that mask is secured.  When he’s certain you’re ready, a finger runs across the line of your jaw. He gives a nod and your eyes close as you are enveloped by the ocean.

*****

“How much longer until you finish that section?”

He doesn’t jump when he hears your voice in his head anymore. The first time was surprising, but not unwelcome. And he had laughed when you explained to him it was an accident.

“The work is never truly done,” he hums slightly. He rolls his shoulders as he straightens his posture to look at the mural. He is proud of it. Even in the dim blue lighting of the room, the colors are vibrant. “Something always needs to be tended to.”

He sets his palette and brushes down and stands and faces you. His robes billow slightly as he walks back over to the small nest that the two of you share.

You’re sitting up straight, leaning against the headboard, head poking out of covers that just barely cover your shoulders.  A sleepy smile on your swollen lips.

“Why are you hiding?” He teases sitting on the edge of the bed.

You feel the burn of his gaze, as if he could see through the thin blanket covering you. And that might have been the case. He knew your body well enough by now, that hiding it from him did nothing.

With a sigh your shoulders fall, and the blanket slips slightly. If it fell or stayed would no longer be under your control.

 He grabs your hand, rubbing a large thumb over the back of it. You feel warm as a sense of contentment runs through your body.

“You’re happy.”

The tilt of his head lets you know that he means it as a question. But the crinkle and confidence of his dark eyes lets you know that he’s certain of it.

“I’m always happy when I get to see you,” You speak this time. His eyes follow  every moment of your lips.

“You could be happy all of the time,” he responds quickly.

You look at him with wide eyes, whatever drowsiness from your previous entanglement leaving. He had broached the subject before, about staying with him forever. Your blood had run cold the first time he suggested it.  And you emphatically said no. There was so much you had to do. You had life in Wakanda after all. Family and friends who loved you would miss you dearly.

But things had slowly begun to change. When Shuri had suggested you for this mission you had expected it to be something passive. An exchange of goods or services while you made nice with people who killed your queen and flooded your city.

It was different now. Understanding him and his people has become an integral part of your life.  And when you were alone your thoughts were flooded with him.

“I could,” you muse, averting your eyes from his. You found purchase on a little stool with fresh clothes flooded neatly onto them sat your Kimoyo Beads. One of them was pulsing, red. It’s been hours, time for your “talk” to end.

Your eyes cut to meet his again, and he’s so much closer. Pressing himself on top of you and his lips against yours. Your body slides down the headboard as your hands rush up to tangle in his inky black hair.

This is your fault. You realize, you’d given him an opening and he’d taken in it.

“Stay.”

He thinks.

And you have never heard anything so emphatic in all of your life.

His arm reaches between the two of you and wrenches the thin blanket away from your body. He presses himself over your exposed skin draping the both of you in his robe.

His kisses stray from your mouth down your jaw stopping at the expanse that is your neck. Kissing and biting. You’re enraptured again, they way you always are when he’s like this.

“Stay,” He presses again.

You want to say yes. So desperately you do, but…

“I can’t.”

You push back. And he pulls away from you.

Hovering over your body he looks at you quizzically. And you’re happy that there is no anger there. There never was.

He pauses for a moment, and his gaze is far away. He’s looking past you as he’s collecting his thoughts. You do him the courtesy of staying out of his head as he brings his thoughts into focus.

“Why?” He asks when he returns to you. There is something sinister in his eyes when asks the questions. Like he knows what your answer will be.

“My life is in Wakanda,” you answer simply.

He chuckles, and kisses your forehead.

“Liar. Why?”

“I’m not lying,” you say with a furrowed brow.

“Aren’t you?” He questions as he presses another kiss to you face, your cheek this time. “What is it you do when you go home?”

“I-,” the answer falls on your lips. Your throat dries up and you realize that you’ve walked yourself into a trap. “Research.”

“What do you research, hm?” He asks, pressing another kiss on your cheek and then the tip of your nose.

“Ways to ease the tensions between…us,” you say quietly.

“If you’re here, what better way to bring cultural understanding.”

He smiles like the devil. He’s already plotted this out, you realize. Today you won’t be able to maneuver out of this.

“My family,” you say. “And my friends.”

“See them when you want,” he answers with ease. “You know that I would not take that from you.”

“My duty…”

That was a weak one, and the words nearly die on your lips before you can get them out.

“Your duty,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Is to appease me.”

You want to snort at the pompousness of his answer but before you can, he rolls his hips into yours. You arch slightly at the sudden movement and he bites down on your neck. It’s harsher than a love bite. A warning. Stop lying.

“The truth.” He requests, his eyebrows are furrowed slightly. It’s not real anger. He wants to understand what it is he’s doing that’s not enough to make you stay with him.

 He had piles of clothes made for you. Jewelry woven from precious stones and rooms that increasingly started to mimic ones that looked like your own back in Wakanda.

“The truth,” you relent.

Your hands come up to cup his face. Almost instantly he softens, leaning his face into the warmth of your hands.

“I’m afraid,” you say simply. A small smile pulls at the corners of your lips as you whisper the truth of it. “I’m afraid this won’t be the same. That you won’t want me the way that you do now.”

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you can tell from the slight  frown pulling down  on his face that he is not happy at the revelation.

“What if I age? You are a God to your people. And I know that I’m,” you pause, you try to find the right word for it. “Different, but that doesn’t mean I’m like you. I might get old. I might die.”

There it was, the truth of it. How much would you expect from him really? Your differences made you interesting, sure. But how long would that last when he found out that you were probably like every other human?

But he doesn’t hesitate. As the last words fall words fall from your lips. He’s back on you. Smashing your lips together. His hands move down to your hips. From there his fingers spread, slowly moving down and gripping the flesh of your thighs. Every squeeze rings a moan from your lips, and in this opening he slips his tongue. You feel like you're melting. His hands hook underneath your knees and bring them around his  waist. 

Your hands move down to drape over his broad  shoulders, wanting to pull more of him as close to you as possible. But he stops you. He pulls away and looks at you with hooded eyes.

“I will spend every day showing you how much I want you,” he whispers. “I don’t love you because you are different, because you are like me.”

He takes one of your hands and presses a kiss to your palm before he presses it to his heart. 

“I love you because of you. With all that means.”

He means it. His words are resolute. His nostrils flaring around the jade that’s so delicately placed in his nose. His eyes are intense, and despite the hushed tones on his voice is firm. It’s always so simple with him. He’s quick to cut to the core of an issue, and solve it. What else could you say but,

“I love you too.”

Maybe you needed to hear him say it. To hear yourself say it. Because once it leaves your lips. Whatever nervousness that was knotting together in your stomach disappears.  The only thing you feel after is the flush on your cheeks, the excitement in your chest, and the ache where your hips meet his. 

He sees this change in you. The bite of your lip, the excitement twinkling in your eyes. And he could feel it too. The hand that’s on his shoulder digging in his back slightly, your legs subtly pulling him closer. He just needed you to say it with your words.

“Say it,” he orders, voice thick with lust. 

“I’ll stay.”

You’re engulfed by him, the way that the sea swallows its prey. And it's hours before you’re able to think of anything else but him and the two of you together.

When you come too, flushed and thoroughly pleasured,  you realize the only thing you have to worry about now is how you’ll explain what happened to the Dora whom you’d left on the beach.

#namor x reader #namor x y/n #namor x you #black panther x reader #Marvel

[soriseerakyra]

#hello there

[soriseerakyra]

Flight of Fancy -6- (Black! Reader)

“I thought you said that you were going on a date,” Ari says with a slightly scrunched up nose.

“I’m his date,” You correct the smoothing the bodice of your cream-colored dress. You had to admit, you looked better than you thought you would when you saw the thing on the rack. The garment seemed to fit you like a glove, its mermaid shape accentuating your curves. “But you're invited because it's a party.”

“Seems like a cop-out to me,” Ari says with a teasing tone. You can see the younger girls rusting through her closet, looking for a dress that wouldn’t scare Bruce’s guests too much. “But a party is a party.”

“I don’t think it’s the type of party that you’re thinking it is,” you slightly sheepishly watch Ari's reaction through the mirror. “There will be lots of his friends there, sure, but I think there… I don’t know like this…”

Ari cranes her head over her shoulder just in time to find you crooking your pinky in the air, making a mock fancy motion.

“Aw shit, Pea, what the hell did you invite me to? Bridge with the oatmeal gang?”

“It’s not like I could go by myself,” You defend hands on your hips and slight pout coming across your lips. “I stick out like a sore thumb.”

A part of you didn’t want to say it out loud and you hadn’t wanted to make Bruce feel bad, but when he had first broached the idea about having a party, you had initially wanted to turn him down. You had been to those kinds of things as Kenya’s guest plenty of times, and most of those spaces had been overwhelmingly white. If Kenya wasn’t running everything and hadn't had the confidence of a queen you probably have felt extremely uncomfortable. But you had left that confident woman behind, and you would’ve been alone if you hadn’t invited your closest friends. At least now if someone gives you a dirty look or if it's boring, or worse, Bruce is feeding you to the wolves, you would have your back up there. Still, you kind of wished you could have invited Kenya to this thing, another pair of eyes watching your back wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all.

“I’m sure he gets down in some way,” Jo-Jo comments while popping a cookie in her mouth and scrolling on her phone. You were glad that she had chosen an edible instead of her usual pre-game blunt. You were sure this was the type of party that you didn’t want to smell like smoke at. “You don’t get to be called a playboy because you throw boring parties.”

“I’m just wondering if there is going to be dancing and if so, is anyone besides us going to be on beat,” Ari comments with a sly smirk as she slips a form-fitting shimmery silver gown over her head.

“Ari!” You scold but have to fight to keep the small smile from curling over your lips

They always had a way of making you feel a little better when you were overly nervous.

You cast a stray glance at yourself in the mirror, as you fix your earring in place. If you tried your best, maybe tonight wouldn’t be as horrible as the knot in your stomach told you it was going to be. And even if it was at least you looked good, right?

“Anyway, how does one even get to a manor? Do we need a password?” Ari said smacking as she rolled a tube of ruby red lipstick over her lips.

“He said he would send a-,” A shrill chime from your phone interrupts you as the device begins to ring. “A car.”

“Hello?” You question when you answer the phone. You’re so preoccupied with the call you don’t notice your friends mocking you and your date over your shoulder.

“OooH you hear that Jo he sent a car,” Ari says in a sing-song tone.

“Rolling in the lap of luxury,” The loc bearing girl says dryly with a wry smile on her lips.

“Hey 3B there is some old guy down here saying he’s here to get you,” you hear the gruff voice of the security guard/front desk person. “I can send him away if you want, looks sketchy to me.”

“Oh no that is for me, I’ll be right down,” You say fighting back a chuckle.

You get skeptical but resigned ‘Okay’ before the phone clicks.

“It’s time,” you say, turning to look at the girls behind you, and you feel a slightly annoyed frown come over your lips. Thier mocking had turned into them simply making faces in the mirror. 

“Are we twelve?”

“Nah,” Ari says grabbing her clutch and making her way to your apartment door. “But we're about to turn this shit up to thirteen!”

You feel your eye twitch slightly in annoyance. A slap on your back causes you to jump slightly and you find yourself staring into Jo-Jo’s dark eyes.

“It’s too late to uninvite us now,” She says with a bit of devious smile. She rolls her shoulders, her suit jacket pulling tight before relaxing when her shoulders fall. “At least it won’t be boring.”

With a groan you follow the two girls downstairs, locking the door behind you.

You reach the lobby just in time to see Ari throwing a playful wave at the white-bearded security guard and Jo-Jo throws up a peace sign right behind her.

“Pea,” He calls stopping you before you could follow your friends outside.

You toss a glance at the man on your shoulder, “What’s wrong, Cal?”

His bushy eyebrows knit close together and his warm dark brown eyes look at you with worry.

“I-I just don’t get into trouble, okay? There are people out there that will take advantage of you girls cause you look young and they think you’re stupid cause you are out having fun.”

You feel a little warmth and a tinge of sadness creep up on you. What had he seen to make him feel like he needed to warn you like this?

“I promise you that where I’m going I’ll be safe,” You say. You hesitate to say the next part of your sentence. “The guy I-The guy I’m dating wouldn't hurt me.”

He gives you a skeptical gaze that a father might give a daughter, “At least tell me his name.”

You hesitate again but think better of it, there is no way that he would tell anyone right? “Bruce Wayne.”

He’d taken out a pen and pad to write down the name of the offender and stopped as soon as the name raced past your lips. He looks up to you with a slightly wide skeptical eye.

“As in-,”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence passes before you begin shimmy your way out of the door without seeming too rude.

“I’m going to go now, Cal.”

“Uh-huh.”

You find yourself quickly missing the warmth of the lobby as the evening air nips at your cheeks. However, you have little time to process the weather as you’re slightly awed by the sight in front of you. A shiny black limo sat waiting, for you, still glistening in the nearly completely set sun. Either the thing was brand new or it was meticulously cared for.

You are so zoned in on the sheer extravagance of your ride you nearly miss the man, who would be your driver, calling your name.

“Miss,” He calls, opening the door and beckoning to slip into the warmth of your vehicle.

“Sorry,” you say with a bit of an embarrassed smile, “I’m not usually an airhead I promise.”

He gives you a polite quirk of his lips, “I promise, ma’am, I hadn’t noticed such a thing at all.”

You would have been grateful for the overlooking of your moment of ditziness if you hadn’t looked into the man’s eyes. While he was seemingly being polite, there was a bit of judgment in his eyes. Not in a harsh way, more like he was pursuing you. You felt a little sting in your chest as nervousness prickled down your spine. A part of you felt like you had met someone much more important than just a limo driver.

A “thank you,” slides past your lips as you slip into the vehicle. It comes out much quieter than you hoped it would and you are wondering if the man even heard it over Ari’s excited squealing. You find yourself gulping in relief when he closes the door behind you and makes his way to the driver's seat.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Jo-Jo is quick to notice your change in mood and the slightly pale look on your face the moment that you slip into the vehicle. “Your energy is all off.”

“Yeah, just Calvin warning me about some creeps that have been around the neighborhood,” You lie smoothly. You knew that if you had voiced your concerns that you had just fucked up some sort of first impressions, they would have tried to talk you out of it, and then told your not to give a fuck about what some old man thunk; and you in no way wanted the man to hear that you’d never live it down.

She gives you a look, clearly based on whatever your aura is giving her, that bullshit excuse is not enough. For your sake, though, she brushes it off and casts her gaze out of the window.

It’s not long before the car is moving and the city lights pass you. Aside from the drivers that could be crazy at night, there was something always calming to you about driving at night. Your mother and father used to take you out on late night drives when you couldn’t sleep like as baby and the effect seemed to stick even as an adult.

“This sure is Fancy, chickie,” Ari says pointing her camera at you snapping a quick picture before you could protest. “Like a chocolate goddess.”

The compliment stifles the complaint in your mouth and you feel your cheeks heat up. The only form of protest you manage to squeak out, “Don’t post it yet. You might have to get permission, I don’t know if this is supposed to be private or not.”

“I won’t say where we’re going,” She says almost completely ignoring you as she tags the picture and posts it. The phone is up again as she poses to make sure she gets the perfect selfie. “I gotta do something since there is no music in this bitch.”

Another embarrassed groan passes through your lips.

“This seems like something Kenya should have come to,” Jo-Jo comments mindlessly.

“Why? Because she’s just as uptight as the rest of these one-percenters?” Ari asks with a chuckle.

“Maybe,” Jo-Jo says with a chortle and a shrug of her shoulders.

“Just seemed like it would be her thing.”

You tune the rest of the conversation out. You don’t want to hear any more about what Kenya would have liked, or what she would have done. You had felt guilty enough for taking the job, now you have to feel guilty for not inviting her? Shouldn’t she feel guilty too? She practically sold you to the man after all. This is the way it's going to be, and you weren’t going to apologize first, because you weren’t the one that was wrong first.

There is no telling how long the more than slightly bitter thoughts bounce around in your head. You try to keep them away, feeling yourself frown in irritation the more and more you think about them. But they plague you the whole ride over to Bruce’s party. They absorb so much of your time you almost miss Ari’s declaration of your arrival.

“Holy Shit, Pea,” Ari says with her hand and the glass, face pressed against the window. “You bagged a big one didn’t you?”

You don’t see what she’s talking about until the limo makes its final turn into the driveway.

To say that the manor was impressive would be an understatement. You imagined that the manor must’ve been a grand sight no matter the occasion, but something about seeing it all lit up and people crowded outside as they tried to squeeze their way into the exclusive residence gave it a different feeling. Like it was something out of a fairytale. The nervous energy you had been feeling about attending the party came back at you in full force, and a wave of nausea churns in your stomach.

You close your eyes and try to calm yourself, there is no reason to be nervous. Technically this party is for you after all, and as the guest of honor, you should be able to do anything that you want right? At least that’s how your friends tended to act when it came to parties where they were the center of attention. But you had never been that outgoing or eager enough to command that much attention.

A warm hannd clasps around your shoulder and you turn to see Jo-Jo’s warm eyes looking at you with concern.

“We can go home if you want,” She says smoothly.

Ari, not having noticed your worried disposition jumps in with a scoff, “And waste this outfit? I think not.”

“Shut it,” Jo-Jo says curtly, only momentarily cutting her dark eyes at the young girl before giving you her full attention. “It’s up to you.”

You pull your lip into your mouth biting at the full flesh. Reluctantly, you cast a shy gaze at your excited friend. A thump of guilt runs through you when you see Ari’s arms crossed and full pout on her ruby red lips.

“It’s all right,” you say with a sigh and small. “If it gets too bad I’ll let you guys know and maybe then we can go somewhere else?”

You don’t miss the small pump of excitement that Ari does. Jo-Jo gives a skeptical look but relents with a shrug.

“It’s up to you.”

In no time at all the three of you are escorted to the front door and into the foyer. The place is crawling with socialites and you’re whisked into the Manor so fast you don’t have much time to appreciate the decadence of the building.

You hear the man that drove you here ask you not to move, that Bruce would be down to escort you through the party and you find yourself planted in front of the door, moving side to side whenever people would leave or enter.

“This is bullshit,” Ari says after the fifth couple squeezes by you. “Look at them schmoozing. I want to schmooze. Find a rich guy to take care of me.”

“We’re here to support our pea,” Jo-Jo chides the younger girl.

But you can see the bored look come across her face as she surveys the party. A guilty feeling wells up in your chest.

“You know now that we are here I feel much better, you don’t have to stay here with me, I’m sure Bruce will be down in just a minute. I’ll be fine.”

Ari looks at you skeptically her red lips pulling down into a frown.

“Really, I’m fine, go and have fun.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” the girl says with a devious grin on her face.

She moves so fast that she’s almost a blur as she disappears into the surprised crowd. It isn’t long until you hear her chatting and she has a little circle around her, the people enraptured by her gift to seemingly make anything interesting.

When you look back at your other friend you see her eyes locked onto a painting across the room.

“You can go check it out,” you say with a nudge and smile.

She casts a pensive glance at you, rocking back and forth on the heels of her boots as she tries to decide if she is going to leave to fend for yourself.

“This might be your only chance to see it,” you comment nonchalantly. “Who knows I may get fired next week and we’ll never be invited to one of these things again.”

Jo-Jo lets out an unconvinced snort, “Not likely.”

And though your friend is standing her ground you can see her eyes fluttering around the room, different paintings now becoming apparent to her. You knew it was taking everything in her not to run over and examine each one.

“Go,” you nudge her, “I’ll be fine.”

She hesitates for a moment before giving you a nod. Her long-form elegantly and nonchalantly striding to the first painting that caught her eye.

You give her a wave as she goes over. A sigh forces itself out past your lips. You were always happy to see your friends having fun, but still, you wished you could be a little more clear about what you wanted. You did want them to stay and wait with you, hell you would have stuck by them the whole night if you could. But what kind of friend would you be if you held them, hostage, the whole night?

Still, it had been about ten minutes since you were asked to wait here and you were starting to get weird looks from other partygoers. The smile you had plastered on your face to make it seem like you were supposed to be there, was starting to make your cheeks ache.

Aimlessly you begin to wander around the party, never straying too far from the front door, you could at least look like you were trying to blend into the party. You peek into one of the rooms and you’re a little stunned by what you see. Standing in what looks like a well-furnished kitchen stood a man surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. They seemed entranced by the man, judging by the goofy smile on their faces and the way they leaned in to listen to what he said. When he laughed they laughed, almost like he was a puppet master controlling the room.

Almost as if he could feel you staring at him he turns his head slightly giving you a view of his profile. You’re stunned and a little confused by his appearance. Thick dark hair and expressive blue eyes, if you didn’t know any better you’d your experiment had done too good of a job; reducing Bruce to someone only a year or younger than you were.

His eyes, or at least the one you can see from where you are, widens in recognition and you could swear you could see a smirk cross his face before he turned his attention back to the crowd in front of him.

Why did he look at you like that, like he knew exactly who you were? Did you know any Bruce Wayne mini me’s?

A warm hand wraps itself around your waist, and you can swear you can feel every finger searing into your skin. You would have jumped if a familiar scent hadn't washed over you calming you instantly. You look up wide-eyed into the smirking face of your date and have to fight to keep a relieved smile from washing over your face.

“Bruce,” You say with a breathy sigh. The relief in your tone made the smirk on his face deepened, something you weren’t sure was even possible.

“You look surprised,” He said, a smug tone permeating his voice. “It is my house, I’m pretty sure that I’m allowed to be here.”

You smack his arm slightly, pushing the fact that his arm is still wrapped around you and that it feels good to the back of your mind.

“It’s not that,” you say with a bit of a pout. “I’ve been running around here looking confused and then…”

You let the sentence hang in the air for a moment, casting a glance over your shoulder at the gentlemen who still had that entire room wrapped around his finger.

“I thought...”

“You thought that I suddenly de-aged twenty years?” He questioned with a slight chuckle as his gaze only briefly flickered over to the man.

“More like thirty,” You say your tone beginning to match his smugness.

“Harsh,” He says with a faux pout. “That’s my son, well one of them."

“Son?” You question with furrowed eyebrows. The fact that he has multiple of them doesn’t even register in your ears.

“Adopted,” he says with a nod of his head, “All except one.”

The way he says it, it’s almost like he expected you to know about the existence of his children. And perhaps you should have, it was more than likely that there was some kind of profile or at least picture out in the world somewhere. He was exorbitantly famous after all, and in Gotham, you imagined that there was no detail about his life you could avoid unless you were trying to do so. Well, unless it was someone like you who lived under a rock, almost completely cut off from the social world. Unless you counted the few fake accounts that you had to keep tabs on your favorite groups and the proper way to wash your face and arch an eyebrow.

“Sons,” If you were capable of being upfront about the complexities of your mind, you would have told the man in front of you that you were about to zone out for the next sixty-seconds so you could properly determine your feelings on the subject. But you weren’t and so you stared at the man with a slightly narrowed gaze and parted lips.

Didn’t bachelor usually mean, like no attachments? Or maybe it usually didn’t matter whether or not men had children when they were rich and handsome because they were rich and handsome men. 

And how would you feel about dating a man with children? Granted, from looking at the...man? Boy? Maybe boy was more appropriate. There were times where you still felt more like a girl than a woman. He was old enough to not give a shit about what his father did. But what about the rest? What if they were significantly younger? And what if they didn’t like the fact that their father was flitting around town with someone who still felt like a girl? What if they thought you were some kind of leech?

There is a warm hand on your face and a large thumb runs over your cheekbone comfortingly. If there was a word to describe the feeling of suddenly refocusing you would have used it. You blink and suddenly you find yourself looking into concerned blue irises. Had they always been as nice as they were tonight? Maybe it was just the fancy lighting of the chandeliers he had in his house.

“Are you all right?” He says with furrowed brows and a slight frown quirking on the edge of his lips.

You find yourself a little taken aback. Perhaps it was the first time you found him to be genuinely concerned. Like he was afraid of rejection. Any other time there would have been at least a spark of playfulness in his eyes. A hint that he wasn’t taking everything seriously. But this was different. He was wondering if this was a deal-breaker for you, and what that would mean for your “relationship.”

Suddenly, a feeling runs over you. Perhaps it was the pitiful look in his eyes or the frown on his lips. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the thumb that was still running over your cheekbone so delicately, as if you were made of glass. But you decided that you didn’t care about his sons. Not that you didn’t care if they existed or not or about their being. But they weren’t something that seemed like baggage, it was just a part of him. And you would love that part of him just as much as you loved everything else.

Love?

“No,” you say, voice slightly trembling but your hand coming up to cover his. “I’m not alright.”

He takes a deep breath, a sigh almost, and you aren’t sure what it means. He doesn’t pull away from you and he doesn’t look like he’s taken your words as rejection. Could it be that he felt the same way you did? Or at least he had been reading you just as much as you had been reading him.

“Pea! Where are you?!”

The high pitched squeal snaps you out of the moment that you had been having with your date. A slightly embarrassed chill runs its way down your back as you see a slightly twirling figure begin to spin it's way toward you.

The younger girl comes to a perfectly placed pose in front of you, a hand on her hip and flute of champagne poised in her hand.

“This place isn’t that bad, no Megan The Stallion or City Girls or anything to shake my ass to or even do a little two-step or a jig, but this shit right here,” she stops to shake the flute and downing it. “And those little cheese things they have going around on those fancy plates are totally worth it.”

If you weren’t in public perhaps you would have slapped a hand to your face. Or maybe if you had been anywhere else or at anyone else’s party you wouldn’t have cared. It was just Ari being Ari after all. But here you felt not embarrassed, but worried? What if he didn’t accept your friends and the way they were? You’d have to cut him off then and you really didn’t want to.

As if sensing your worry, Bruce makes the first move.

“Well, I’m sure that I can find someone around here to liven up the music here,” He says with a charming smile affixing to his face.

Ari considers him for a minute, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of you for little more than a hot second.

“No need to worry about it on my account,” she says an easy smile crossing her face. “Between you and me if you played anything with any kind of beat to someone might have a heart attack.”

She ends it with a friendly nudge to the ribs and tossing a swift look over her shoulder at a few couples who were looking at the three of you with more than a little bit of interest. With the frowns on their faces, you couldn’t rightly tell if they were upset that they hadn’t gotten the chance to enrapture the billionaire the way the two of you had or if there was something a little more sinister flowing through their thoughts.

“Between you and me, that might be the most exciting thing that's ever happened at one of these things,” He quips back.

The two share a laugh and your tense shoulders finally come down from your ears, relaxing as you realized that this whole thing was going much better than you had envisioned it going.

"Arianna Van Buren,” she says, giving him an elegant hand for him to shake.

You’re a little surprised that she’s given him her full name. She’s always hated people knowing she came from a wealthy family, especially one with a recognizable name.

“Bruce Wayne,” he says cordially, but without the pomp, he usually gives when he’s throwing his weight around. “Van Buren, Real Estate right?”

“This one is a dancer,” she says, a little haughty. “But I’m not in the Russian Ballet so I wouldn’t expect you to know that.”

“Ouch,” he says laughing good-naturedly.

And while you’re sure that the jibe didn’t bother him, you are a little surprised when the arm around your waist pulls tighter to him. Ari notices too, and a small smirk crosses her lips.

Feeling a little bashful you turn your gaze away from the pair. It just so happens that you find yourself, looking back at his son. Only there is another one there with him, this one slightly taller than the first but younger. He flashes his gaze at you when the older one tells him you're looking and winds up turning around, a little abashed. The older one, seemingly more than comfortable mortifying strangers, waves at you with a smile.

'Oh God' you think with a shudder of anxeity rolling through your shoulders. 'This is really happening isn't it?'

As if destined by the gods of making you crazy, Ari notices that you have checked out of their little sparring match. And while she normally was a little gregarious and never rude, she seemed to lose her train of thought when she glanced over at the boys who were talking about the three of you.

Bruce is also quick to notice that her attention has turned elsewhere.

“My sons,” He starts with a hint of pride in his voice. Even though he wasn’t their biological father he was still proud of the men that they had become. “Dick Grayson and Tim Drake.”

“Uh-huh,” the enraptured girl replied.

A sinking feeling explodes in your belly as a grin spreads over her face. She’s quick to cover it up though, turning to face the two of you with a doe-eyed look on her face. You shuddered at its appearance, it was something that she always did when she found a new person that she’s set her eyes on.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to go mingle with the rest of the guests,” She says with a light tone, betraying the sinister intention she had for one or both of the brothers.

“Ari I don’t thin-,” You begin to warn as she flutters her way across the room. The hand on your waist squeezes slightly and you cast a questioning gaze to the man beside you.

“They’ll be all right,” He says with a bit of a smirk. “They’ve been in hairier situations.”

“But,” you begin in protest, turning to look at the group, or pair now. Dick, the older of the two had snuck off somewhere. But Ari didn’t seem to mind too much, she seemed to settle her mind on Tim, the much more reserved of the two. As she flirted, you could see the blush beginning to spread across his cheeks from across the room. “She might eat him.”

The older man nearly lets out a snort, the notion seems absurd. “Trust me, he’ll be fine.”

You relax slightly, who were you to get in the way. They were adults after all, and if he was so sure that they’d be fine maybe they would be.

“If you say so,” you relent.

“Good,” he says, flashing you a winning smile. He begins to lead you away from the room. “Let me give you the tour of the place.”

As if he knows the hesitation in your mind he sweeps you away from the congested foyer and the rest of the downstairs rooms, choosing to take you upstairs and show you the art decorating his walls. Normally, you would have been a little wary of him leading you away from the party, he would use whatever chance he got to tease you, but this time you were grateful. You could deal with the prying eyes at work; for some reason working at Wayne Enterprises meant that someone was always watching you, even if they didn’t have anything to do with your job. But you supposed it made some sort of sense. After all, the company was practically the lifeblood of the city. It made sense that not only would people be curious but that they would be critical of any mistake or flaw. The difference from work and this place was the simple fact you couldn’t just leave a conversation whenever you felt like it with some sort of fleeting excuse. That would be seen as rude, and lord knows you didn’t want to be known as the rude black girl at Bruce Wayne’s party. That would follow you anywhere you went.

The upstairs part of Wayne manor is as quiet as it is beautiful. There were a few guests who had also escaped the heard downstairs to admire some of the truly beautiful pieces in Wayne’s collection. Luckily, those people weren’t inclined to stop what they were doing to kiss the ass of their host. Judging by some of the fleeting glances that they paid the billionaire, you doubted that they cared much about him in the first place.

He seemed particularly inclined to steer you toward one room in the house specifically. And when he opened the door of said room, you almost let out a snort of excitement.

“Look at all the books!” You swoon walking into the private library and letting your fingers run over the spines of the books on the first shelf that was accessible to you.

“It’s beautiful,” you say with a bit of a dreamy smile.

"It is, isn't it?" He says with a small admiring smile on his face. There was a bit of wonder in his eyes. You imagined that he adored the place. "I don't think that I appreciated it as much as I do now that I'm older."

"I don't expect children to be too excited about a library or invested in the intricacies of fine architecture," You joke.

"True, but I'm a little embarrassed to admit that it took me a lot longer to appreciate it then it should have."

After your chuckles fall quiet you find yourself examining not just the books but the room in general. Being in the manor was like being in a movie. His library not only boasted a pair of the most comfortable chairs that you had probably ever seen but they were also placed in front of the fireplace. Real or fake you couldn’t tell, but the crackling sound that came from the area gave the room a homey feeling, despite it being anything other than homely.

“Is this your family?” you ask, eyes coming to rest on the large portrait of a family. The room was dark and so the faces of the adults were obscured but the stoic face of the young boy in the middle gave you no doubts about what this was a painting of.

He doesn’t answer immediately and you turn to look over your shoulder at the man.

His face was passive, but the intensity of his eyes told you that he was thinking hard about what to say to you next.

While you had not understood who the man was when you had first moved to the city, it wasn’t long into your tenure at Wayne enterprises that you had heard nearly his entire life story. Not only at the office by gossiping employees but also on the news. It seemed that any chance they got to do some sort of expose on the man’s life they did it fully. And because of that, you feel a little bit of guilt begin to swell up in your belly. Perhaps it would have been better to say nothing. Judging by the pensive expression on his face, you were almost certain that the wound from that tragic day had never truly healed.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine,” he said after another moment of silence. “If I had a problem with you seeing it I wouldn’t have brought you here. It’s just-”

“It still hurts,” you finish when he trails off. And while you cannot say that you could necessarily understand the pain that he was going through, there were hurts in your past that you still hadn’t completely gotten over so you could understand how something so dramatic could still affect him now.

“Can I ask why you brought me here?”

He looks at you slightly surprised, “Sorry did I get it wrong? I assumed you would like to see something like this.”

“You’re not wrong,” you say slightly put off that your tastes were simple enough to be sussed out so easily. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” He questions as he takes a few steps toward you closing the distance between you.

Your breathing hitches slightly when he’s directly in front of you and you can feel a rush of heat flood it’s way up to your cheeks. It gets worse when you try to meet his gaze as you begin to realize that it’s just a man you may or may not have feelings for locked in a semi-lit room, away from the prying eyes of the party guests. As the thoughts run through your head you realize you can’t exactly hold his gaze for more than a few seconds without feeling small.

“I’m just not a party person,” you admit somewhat bashfully. “At least not this kind of party.”

“Oh, and what kind of parties do you actually like?” His tone is slightly teasing, and from the slight way that he’s leaning back, you realize that he’s trying to make you more comfortable.

“The kind where I get dressed up and sit in my living room and watch movies all night.”

You cringe slightly as the words come out of your mouth. Ari had scolded you on that very behavior when you were in school. You had told her that you fully booked Friday night. Being suspicious, she came to your room only to find you swinging around a lightsaber while Return of the Jedi was playing in the background. From then on she’d never believed you when you said you were busy.

“Kind of weird, huh?” You say a hand coming up to rub at the back of your neck as nervousness had begun to overtake your body.

“Not at all,” he replies simply.

While you’re feeling nervous you can’t help but flick up a skeptical glance at the man who simply gives you a reassuring smile.

“If you think that I couldn’t tell this wouldn’t have been something that you would be super excited about you’d be mistaken,” he says looking at you seriously.

“Then why the party then if you knew I wouldn’t like it?” You question eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“To be honest, I like to think of myself as more or less traditional when it comes to things like this. And if you had been anyone else maybe I would have simply asked you to dinner first or maybe the movies since you seem fond of those.”

The little jab causes a small smile to rise on your lips.

“But being that you are a person who would rather stay in than go out on the town, I figured this was the best way to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Have our first date,” he says with a smirk on his face.

“This isn’t exactly what I would call a ‘date’ even if I am your date,” you say pursing your lips slightly. Though you should have expected the flirtation, you after all invited it. “And why wouldn’t you think that I would like to go out to dinner? Don’t tell me you’d be embarrassed by me.”

If he had been someone with bad intentions, you are sure that the last line would have gotten some sort of reaction out of him. But he didn’t even flinch. A part of you wonders if it’s because he’s so good at maintaining his cool or if he really wouldn’t have cared what people would have had to say about him being out with you. You weren’t blind to the fact that you and your friends stuck out as soon as you walked into his manor. But you also weren’t inclined to be hidden like someone’s dirty little secret.

“Embarrassed?” He questions with a click of his tongue, a chiding edge to his tone.

It happens before you can blink. Your body pulled toward him in an instant. To stop yourself from crashing into the man your hands come up to meet the man's chest.

His arm is wrapped around your waist like it was earlier, but it feels different now. You aren’t being shielded away from the prying eyes of the other guests. It’s just you and him and it feels different.

There is an urge to look away to save yourself from the indignity of the doe-eyed stare you would surely give him. But he seems to be able to read your body language and acts before you can.

The warmth of his free hand runs over your chin and down your neck as he tilts your chin up to look at him.

“I don’t think you understand what I mean,” he says with his tone low as if he was afraid that someone else would hear you. His voice rumbles in his chest and it sends butterflies twirling from your throat down to the very bottom of your tummy. “If I had taken you to dinner, or a movie, and someone saw us what do you suppose would happen?”

“I-I don’t know,” you say thickly trying to keep unnecessary words from spilling out of your mouth. “I suppose we’d have to tell H.R.”

You can see him having to stifle his laughter, in the end, a few chuckles escape in its place.

“That too,” he said when he had collected himself. “But as someone who values their privacy, I thought it’d be obvious why I didn’t want to force you out into the public.”

‘Into the public?’ You question yourself. Due to the haze of attraction and the heat of embarrassment clouding your mind, it takes you a minute to catch on to what he means.

“Oh,” you say blinking in realization. In truth, it was something that you could have easily figured out yourself if your mind wasn’t already addled. Since becoming aware of the man you couldn’t count how many expose’s and covers of local newspapers and magazines had his face on them. It was like every move he made, no matter how trivial it was, made headlines.

“I didn’t think you wanted paparazzi following your every move or digging up your personal life, just because you went on one date with me.”

He was right that perhaps that wouldn’t be what you would want normally. But things weren’t normal right now were they? And when it came to him nothing would ever be normal. If you had agreed to a proper date with him would you be able to stand it? And what if I didn’t work out? Would they scorn you and call you names? Or worse. What would happen if it did work out? Would you want to deal with the scrutiny that would come with? The questioning about your intentions, especially when it came to his money. And an even scarier thought would be having to deal with all, the insidiousness of innuendos. About your color, your shape, even your femininity.

“I want to go to dinner.”

It tumbles out before you can stop yourself but you know you mean it, even if you normally wouldn’t be brave enough to say it.

“Are you sure?” He asks his voice no more than a whisper. His arm pulls you against him even tighter leaving almost no space in between the two of you. The fabric of your dress you can feel him pressed against you. He is solid and warm and your hand can’t help but trail down his form before grabbing onto and scrunching the lapel of his suit. Later some would notice the slight wrinkling of his suit. Perhaps they would fix their mouth to make a snide comment, but think better of it.

“Mm-hmm,” you say with a nod.

Words were beginning to fail you now as your eyes had begun to leave his eyes and instead focus on his lips that were dangerously close to touching yours.

“Positive?” He teases his head dipping over yours.

Perhaps showing your age you pout slightly and decide to be brave. The balls of your feet have to bear your weight as you push yourself up slightly.

And with barley sigh your lips catch his.

#bruce wayne #bruce x reader #bruce imagine #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batfamily #batmom #batman imagine #batman x reader #black!reader #black!batmom #black!batmom x batman

[soriseerakyra]

Flight of Fancy -5- (Black!Batmom)

“You know we haven’t gone on that date yet.”

Perhaps if this had been the first time that he had said something like that to you would have been surprised. However, it had already been three months since you had come to work for him. More than enough time to get used to his advances. Not that they were unwelcome in the first place.

“We did go on a date,” you comment feeling a smile across your face, gaze trained on the screen in front of you. You were waiting for his X-rays come in.

“That’s how I started working here, remember?”

“Mr. Wayne,” you say in mock irritation, hands on your hips. “No one is demanding you to be the first human test subject.”

“The only test subject, unless you’ve found some mice running around here that I don’t know about.”

“Just the ones native to the Gotham underground,” you quip back. “And besides, if you’re so worried about not being able to feel your arms in the morning, find me someone that has much less to lose than the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company.”

“And have someone try and plant a spy and figure out what we’re doing, not a chance.”

“You brought me here to make experimental tech, and it sounds like you’re saying that anything I make you want me to try it out on you first.”

“I don’t sell anything that I wouldn’t use on myself first,” he says with a shrug.

“A wholesome business practice,” you say looking at him skeptically.

“What can I say, I’m a decent guy.”

“If that’s what you call it,” you say with a smirk as you focus on the screen in front of you. A download prompt had just appeared on the screen, his scans had just arrived.

“You know you don’t have to be here today; the test is tomorrow. I’m just going to be calibrating the machine to focus on any areas that look weaker than the rest on your X-Rays.”

He had been planted in one of the chairs in your workshop since you had arrived this morning, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he was anxious about you seeing his X-Rays. That or he just wanted the chance to the pester you.

“And miss the chance to ask you to dinner, no way.”

Seemed like it was that latter.

“Maybe when this is done,” you say non-committally.

In truth, when you had agreed to date and work for him, you had meant it. And while you had been glad about the job, the space, the access, and the ability to limit that amount of people you encountered everyday had been wonderful; you had been hesitant to date him.

Not that you hadn’t wanted to, you looked forward to him coming down to visit you and the smiles he sent you were enough to send you to cloud nine. Still, you worried about what it would look like if you had agreed to go out with him. There was the age difference was bound to be an issue, but not the only one. Sure, the fact that you weren’t like the tall model thin girls that he usually dated, but there was alse the unfortunate reality of the scrutiny and vitriol that you would have to deal with because of your skin color. And to make matters worse, those worries came second to your other feeling, guilt.

You felt horribly guilty about what happened between you and Kenya. One of your oldest friends simply cut out of your life, like the two of you meant nothing to each other. While you would never feel bad about taking a job that would be, in the long run, better for you than any of the others had been, the way you left things off had been bad.

If you gave into Bruce, and dated him like he wanted, wouldn’t you just be proving Kenya’s point? She knew that he would be attracted to you, and she used that to her benefit and you were angry at her for it. And yet here you are, almost in the exact same postion that she had predicted that you be in, and yet you were fine with it. Perhaps agency was the issue, in this case you determined your fate while in the other, she held all the cards.

‘And I want to be in control for once,’ you think to yourself slightly bitter.

“That bad, huh?”

The questions startle you out of your thoughts and your left blinking, looking at your employer stupidly.

“Sorry?” You ask somewhat sheepishly.

“The scans,” he clarifies. “Sorry, just judging by the frown on your face I thought that the results came in.”

“Oh, right,” you say flashing him an apologetic smile. “I was lost in thought, sorry.”

Oh, and look, the X-Rays just downloaded from your computer, but that can’t be right.

“I think that they sent the wrong ones,” You mutter.

“Why do you say that?” He questions.

Your eyes flick over the screen of your computer, barely registering the fact that he had stood and was making his way over to your desk.

“Well, firstly, the folder says these are from six years ago,” you say looking at the date on the folder before opening one of the scans. “I really should be working with something more recent.”

“Hmm,” He’s standing behind you now looking at everything on your screen. “I have a feeling everything would be pretty much the same, just slightly worse.

“And second, holy shit,” you say, with wide eyes, gasping at the sight. “How are you standing right now?”

While you weren’t an expert at reading X-rays you knew enough to see the severe trauma that had been done to his body. And if you were right, judging by the callousing around his joints, this wasn’t the result of a horrible accident, but this was repeated trauma of years. And if these dates were right, there was not telling how bad a shape he was in currently.

“Is this a joke?” You ask spinning around in your chair to face him. “You’re about to keel over any second. Are these really yours? You don’t have to trick me if you want me to use the machine, I’ll do it if you want it that badly.”

He gives you a smile, “It’s not a trick, I’m pretty messed up.”

“What are you doing to yourself?” You question worriedly, your thoughts immediately going down a dark route.

“I like to mountain climb,” he says with a shrug, hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks, “I’m just not particularly good at it.”

“But this doesn-”

“Why are you so worried?” He questions with a smile. “This just means if you can fix this, you’re guaranteed to be a wealthy woman and a certified genius.”

“But-” you start anxiously.

“If it bothers you so much you should come with me to dinner tonight, you know just so you can be sure that I don’t pass out in the middle of the street.”

"Mr-"

“Bruce.”

“Bruce, sir, this is serious,” you say with slightly narrowed eyes. “You need to go to the doctor like now or something, I don’t know.”

“Let’s say it is serious,” he says the joking tone leaving his voice as he addresses your concern. “If I am about to ‘keel’ over like you say what could a doctor do for me at this point?”

“I- nothing,” you answer sadly.

“So what would be the point?” He asks.

“There wouldn’t be, I suppose,” you relent. “But you have to be and pain.”

“Luckily for me, I happen to know a genius that just so happens to have a device that could possibly make at least some of my problems go away.”

“Manageable,” you correct.

“Manageable,” he agrees.

Your eyes find themselves looking at the pale polished linoleum on the floor and your lip drawn in between your lips in uncertainty. On one hand, he was right, if everything went well tomorrow, you could really help him. On the other you were really thinking about calling Mr. Fox and having him help you drag the man to the hospital. Although would he really help you? If anyone knew Bruce it had to be him, right? So, there was a high probability that he already knew what kind of condition the man was in and thought the same way he did about it.

“Alright,” you say with a sigh. “But if this doesn’t work you have to find something that does.”

“I’m touched really-”

“Also, if you die, how will I get paid?”

He looks at you blankly for a moment as if trying to assess the seriousness of your comment, “You’re lucky I like you enough not to fire you.”

“You wouldn’t fire me until after we on a date.”

“What happened to the timid girl that I hired, I remember her being much more agreeable.”

“Well, when you have to beat an old man off with a stick every day, you tend not to feel as shy.”

“You’re killing me,” he says fight the smile from coming to his lips.

“Not as much as you’re killing yourself with your _‘mountain climbing’, _” you counter back arms crossing.

“I could take you, I think you might enjoy.”

“No thanks, I more of a dinner and a movie type of girl.”

“Good then I’ll pick you up tonight for dinner.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” you say with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t think we’ll have time for a movie though, since you know, tomorrow is a big day,” he says backing away from you and phonily checking his watch. "Hmm, maybe a party instead."

“Did you hear me? I didn’t say yes.”

“Though if we have a party I'll need a little more time to plan everything,” he says weighing the options with a furrowed brow.

“I can’t believe you,” you say feeling a relenting smile coming over your face. “Does the word 'no' even register in those ears of yours?”

He eyes you curiously for a moment, "I'm sorry I missed part of what you said. It must be my aging ears."

You can't stop the snort the nearly erupts out of you.

You meet his eyes once again, the casual intensity of his gaze made you flick your eyes away from his, but you manage a relenting nod at his suggestion. He made you nervous, the same way he did when the two of you first met. The thought of subjecting yourself to that torment, seemed like madness. You had been denying yourself something that you had wanted from the first time you met and now you were giving in. Was that really the smartest thing to do?

“Next Friday it is, then, ” he says with a smile.

“If it works,” you stipulate feeling a need to give yourself an out just in case you changed your mine.

“It will,” he promises, clearly having more confidence in your abilities than you did.

He tosses you a wave goodbye as he exits your isolated workshop.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself.

What had you gotten yourself into?

"What if I kill him, Mr. Fox?" You ask the older man who is standing next to your console, hands positioned authoritatively behind his back. The both of you were watching your subject from the observation room.

Bruce lay on a medical table in what was sure to be a freezing room, only in his boxers.

This was it, the moment that all three f you had been waiting for, although Bruce probably more so out of the lot of you.

You were worried, for many more reasons than just your experiment. It seems Mr. Wayne was more than a little secretive. And while you were aware of that when you took the job, some of his precautions were starting to seem more than a little bit ridiculous. Trying to make sure that you could mitigate whatever horrible side effects that could happen, you had suggested the hiring of a few nurses and maybe an actual doctor, to watch over him and his vitals while the experiment.

He had refused. Reiterating that he had complete faith in your expertise.

'Doesn't meant that I won't accidentally kill you,' you had thought to yourself when he had flashed that winning smile of his that made you agree to all of his requests.

"It would be a problem if he doesn't survive," the older man eventually responds to your question with a chuckle. "Try not to kill him."

You knew he was joking and that he was jut trying to keep you loose, but it only made your shoulders tighten with more anxiety. Why did neither of them seem to see this as the big deal that this actually was? Why didn't they take the possibility of the horrible pain he was about to endure seriously? Sure, he probably wouldn't die, but he could be seriously hurt, you could render him immobile or worse. Seeing the brusies and scars on his body when he began undressing made you think that he was in worse condition then you could actually fathom.

Whit a shuddering breath you try to calm yourself down. If they weren't going to worry then there was no reason that you should.

"This is going to hurt, okay?" You call to your patient lying on the table in the other room. You wondered how your voice sounded coming through that speaker. You imagine it was robotic and cold, making the message you delivered even harder to digest than it already was.

Despite that, however, he leans up and flashes you a smile through the observation window.

"I've been through worse," he says with a mischievous glint in his eye. He must have been horrible to look after when he was a child.

"So you people keep telling me," you mutter to yourself turning your attention back to the knobs and switches in front of you.

You take a moment to center yourself and confront the reality of what is happening. Hovering a few feet of the man who was helping to finance your dream, is your prototype. Well, it's more than that now isn't it? It means much more.

Eight stainless steel mechanical appendages hang limply over the table, suspended by a long arm that goes from the table to your console that holds the medication that you would be pumping into the billionaire in front of you.

The medication: A concotion of manufactured stem cells, cortisone, and other regenerative properties. You were sure that it would help some, you just weren't sure how much. Not only did the damage that he suffers seem to be exceedingly extensive, but there was always the chance that he would react negatively to the new chemicals and fluid running through his system. You weren't sure how well he would be able to function if something like that should happen. There was also the possibility of rapid degeneration of the new cells in his body, meaning that he would have to constantly have to experience the trauma of the procedure if he wanted to retain the same level of functionality after an extended period of time.

In the bright room of your lab is perhaps what scared you most about the upcoming procedure. Attached to the spider like legs of your machine were eight large sterile needles that would be digging themselves into the space between his joints, injecting him with the concoction. He kept saying that he would able to handle whatever pain that you subjected him to, but you weren't completely sure that he understood exactly what all that entailed.

There is a clock in front of you and you watch it carefully. As soon as it reached 11, you would start the experiment and you would know if the life you had so carefully built up for yourself would come crashing down or not.

The ticking of the clock hits your ears like a hammer, and you feel your throat tighten with anxiety.

“We are beginning,” you say announcing he start of the experiment.

Your mind is whirring at with all the possible outcomes, and you barley register Mr. Fox’s “good luck” and the fatherly squeeze that warms your shoulder.

With a heavy sigh you type in a few commands to the monitor in front of your and execute the experiment. As the machine begins to whir to life in front of you, you find yourself grateful that you had the wherewithal to automate the program, you have now idea if you would be able to even man the controls if it was something that you had to do manually.

It doesn’t time take long from the arms to take their positions and begin the procedure that you had only seen in your mind’s eye up until that point. They move to align at his ankles, his knees, hips, and shoulders. You see the fluid flow from the console, feeling the syringes that each was holding. The covers that were keeping the needles clean are shed and they glint in the harsh white light with their sterile glory.

‘This is it,�� you think to yourself, biting your lip in anticipation. It occurs to you that perhaps you should offer some words of encouragement to your patient. Your eyes flash to his face and his eyes are closed and his body is completely relaxed, almost like he is in some sort of meditative state, clearly, he is more ready for this than you gave him credit for.

There is a ten second countdown that flashes in the corner of your screen. The needles are all hovering above their chosen targets. The AI would handle everything else, all you had to do now is watch.

As the number’s count down the needles a lowered down until they press against his skin, forming an area of depression. There is a slight hesitation in the machine as it waits for the clock to reach zero. When it does reach that fateful number, you find yourself having to swallow a gag as the flesh across his body is pierced. To your surprise the man doesn’t let out a grunt or even flinch when the needles enter his flesh. Clearly, whatever ever he had been doing to get his body in such a disastrous shape prepared him from the pain of the procedure.

Still, though, this is only the beginning.

You see, the moment that needles hit the target not only on the screen though, but also through the slightly convulsive flinch that runs through his body. They had hit the joints that they were supposed to be targeting.

There is a feral groan that rips itself from his throat next, and you only have to through a passing glance at the screen in front of you to know that the they are now digging through the damaged areas of his joints to find the optimal place to start injecting the fluid.

You can see the pain that is beginning to etch itself on his face. You feel slightly guilty because a part of you wants to mute the sounds coming from the room as the groans begin flowing from his mouth. While you knew the had pain had to get worse in order for him to get better, knowing that you were the one that was causing him that level of discomfort hurt your heart. You wanted to make him, and others, feel better not cause them pain.

You stop yourself, however, when you see the flexing of his hands and his toes. His body clearly, trying to adjust and fight through the pain.

“I know this is hard Mr. Way-, Bruce,” you say, speaking to him through the intercom, “But you are going to have to do your best not to move so they can have the best chance at to inject the medicine where it needs to go.”

At your voice he freezes, almost like he has been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Like he just remembered that he wasn’t completely alone. His eyes, still closed, seem to tighten. His hands ball into fists and then they fall limp, the same with the rest of his body. He relaxes and all traces of pain seem to fade as if he was never troubled to begin with.

_‘His force of will is amazing,’ _you think to yourself, more than impressed watching his heart rate calm down from its stress speed.

There is a clicking sound as the machine arms have locked into place, they have found their targets and are ready to begin. There is another countdown as the medication is primed and warmed in the machine, the fluid spinning rapidly in the syringes.

“So Bruce,” you start, pausing to make sure that the man is cognizant enough to hear you. He may be so focused on blocking out the pain that he might not register what you are saying to him. Luckily, you see him move his head in your direction, giving you the cue that he as listening to what you are saying to them. “We are about to inject you with the medication, it shouldn’t hurt any more than anything you have experienced already, but it’s going to feel… weird.”

“_‘Weird’ _she says,” he says scoffing slightly.

You can’t help the small smile that comes over your face, relieved that he is aware enough to respond, no matter how sarcastic it was.

“We are beginning,” you say once more as the countdown reached zero once more.

It starts. The fluid begins to be pumped into the man’s system.

He’s quiet at first, the only sign that he is feeling what’s happening a slight groan leaving his lips. His feet start to flex again before him regain control of them and forces them relax. And though you can plainly see that he is trying to control his body as best as he can, there are some things that lie beyond his control.

You see it first in the hands, the fists that are so badly trying not to rip out the needles that are inside of him, are turning red. In fact, all of his skin is turning a deep shade of crimson. There is a sweaty sheen that begins to encase his body and his mouth opens as he begins to pant, the heat rolling over him becoming more than uncomfortable.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Mr. Fox asks you curiously, but there no traces of panic in his voice. You doubt that you would know if he felt uncomfortable until it's too late though.

“The medication needed to be primed and activated for it to work,” you explain. “In order it for it it to activate it needed to be heated up. He feels hot, because the liquid is hot, as it begins to settle he should begin to cool back down.”

You manage to stop yourself from adding an “I hope” to the end of your sentence. There was no reason to doubt yourself now, it’s too far in for you to do anything but to ride the up and downs of the procedure.

Despite the boost of self-confidence that you just tried to inject yourself with in order to come yourself down, it is quickly outweighed by the dread that rolls over as the instruments of your console begin to blink red in warning.

Everything happens so quickly, you're surprised that you were able to keep your head from popping off.

As the alerts flash on the screen, mostly stating that his temperature was reaching critical levels, the man undergoing the procedure begins to thrash and groan uncomfortably, his body rising and arching of the bed.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself as you are forced to activate emergency restraints. Two halves of a large silver ring announce themselves with an aggressive whirring and a clanking sound as the connect over top of Bruce’s body. Once they connect, they slowly begin to press down to lock him in place, he begins to shake.

Panic consumes you as your eyes flash between to the screen and back to the man. There isn’t much left that needs to pump in and yet he is in so much pain. Should you stop? Would he want you to stop? Is it right for you to stop? Your finger hovers over a button to terminate the procedure and you feel yourself gulp as the idea of pressing it bounces back and forth between your mind. It’s then that you feel the familiar hand on your shoulder, another fatherly grip there to reassure you.

“Almost done, now,” Lucius says with a hum. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn you saw a hint of worry flash in his eyes, but there is a confidence there that reassures you and you find yourself relaxing. You warned the man about what would happen, and he told you to continue. If he has that much faith in you, you should have faith in that he would be fine and pull through.

It’s an agonizing ten minutes, that feels like ten hours. The medicine emptied into him, the needles pause their movement, a pause given in an effort for the body to cool down and the patient to relax. He groans and twists as best he can for another five minutes, but soon, he falls quiet. His body falls still. The needles, pull back and the machine lifts back up moving back into a corner. The procedure had officially finished, and you’re pretty sure that you didn’t kill the billionaire that paid you to do it. You look at the monitor, his heartbeat is steady, and his temperature is slowly returning to normal.

“Bruce?” Your question was spoken through the intercom, he doesn’t respond and all you can see is the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

“I imagine he’s passed out,” Lucius says with a bit of a chuckle with his hand sliding into his pockets. His calm attitude makes you feel like that this is something that he’s dealt with before. What kind of people had you agreed to work for?

“I’ll come back in a few hours, I’m sure he’ll be awake then.”

“Wait your leaving?!” You balk at the older man looking at him with wide worried eyes. “What am I supposed to do about him? What if he’s got brain damage or he doesn’t wake up?”

The old man gives you a small knowing smile and it frankly pisses you off a little bit, why is it they have a habit of making your concerns seem trivial. “Trust me, he’ll be fine, he’s been through worse.”

“Been through worse than mountain climbing?” You question incredulously, arms crossing in irritation. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Mountain climbing, skydiving, base jumping,he’s adventurous”, he says making his way to elevate and summoning it. “Don’t worry, he’ll pull through. And I’m sure you’ll get a bonus for all your hard work.”

You're left alone both agitated and concerned, “Can’t get a bonus if he doesn’t wake up.”

You look back at the procedure room and feel guilt racking up in your chest. The medical instruments and restraints removed from the table, he looks like a cadaver. It didn’t help that the red flush is now gone from his body and he looks disturbingly pale under the harsh lights.

With careful steps, you rise from your desk and tiptoe over to the door separating you from him. With a sigh you resign yourself to the fact it’s your duty to care for him now. It really would have been so helpful if he had allowed you to hire a nurse or two.

You enter the room and immediately make your way to one of the cabinets to fetch a blanket to cover him. There would be no telling how long he'd sleep, but he didn’t have to be cold while he did it, conscious or not.

Draping his body in the blanket, you find yourself tucking him in like a mummy, the way that your mother used to when you complained about being cold. It always kept you warm, so it would do the same for him… right?

You feel a bit of relief wash over you when you look at his face. His pale visage was slowly starting to regain some color, the blue tips of his ears flushing pink as the body begins to acclimate his temperature once again.

For now, your experiment, it seems, is a success. You hadn’t killed your boss, hurray!

Looking at him he seems very much alive, although in a state that you had never seen him before. Unguarded. It’s a strange thing to see his face at rest. A part of you didn’t know it was possible. He usually kept a flirty smirk on his face, but the few times you had seen with anything but that look he had been sporting a heavy frown and furrowed brow. There was always something that seemed to nag you about him. While you enjoyed your time with him and loved your job, you were almost certain that the flirty banter and attitude he'd greet you with wasn't the real him. Perhaps that is why you denied his request for so long. If you had agreed to go out with him who would show up to that date? Bruce the flirt, or the man who let that angry frown form on his face when he thought no one was looking. You weren’t sure that you wanted much to do with either of those people.

Looking at him now though, he looked more real. You imagine it’s because when he’s like this he’s not in control and doesn’t have the ability to act in a way that he thinks he should.

Still, if he was awake, you would have liked that a whole lot more.

When he’s was as bundled up as you can possibly make him, you leave. Back to your observation room and sit and monitor his vitals and wait.

And Wait.

And Wait.

And…

Your neck hurts, it’s aching. Your thighs feel a little numb too, and your shoulders aren’t doing any better than the rest of you. Maybe if you roll around a bit you can get comfortable and go back to sleep.

Shifting your hip to the far side of your chair, you take some unwanted pressure off of your body and soon find yourself relaxing once again into a much needed slumber.

Well, you would have, but there is a deep chuckle bouncing around in your ears and you aren’t sure where it’s coming from.

Your eyes blink open slowly, they feel heavy and you knew you had been asleep for more than a few hours. Your vision is blurry at first, the shock of the white lights confusing their focus for a second and making you unsure of your surroundings. You were sure of one thing though, there was a tall figuring standing in front of you.

“Hello?” You question, voice heavy with sleep.

“Hello,” the deep voice almost coos at you amusedly.

You know that voice and that condensation.

“Bruce?!” You question sitting up straight in your chair, eyes suddenly as awake as the rest of you are.

There he is, standing tall and strong as if he hadn’t just gone through hell. There is a little bit of weary look about him, but he looks more than healthy. And judging by the smirk on the face, more than ready to get on your nerves.

“You’re okay,” you sigh out appraising him. Nothing looked broken or contorted, and he hadn’t grown and extra arm out his back.

“I think so,” he says, flexing his hands and rolling his wrists around. “A little sore, though.”

“You should feel like shit,” you say bluntly. “But in a few days, maybe a few hours even, you should start to notice a difference. And we should schedule a time for you to do follow up X-rays.”

He nods as if he’s listening to your advice, but you can tell he’s already fascinated with how his body feels. He rolls his shoulders back and you must stop yourself from staring at the tightening fabric of his back. He brings his hand up to his face and looks at the backs and the palms multiple times. You find yourself jumping slight surprise when quickly jab one of his arms out aggressively in what would have been a knockout punch if someone was on the other side. His mouth curls up as a satisfied smirk crosses his face.

“I think you just saved my life,” he says somewhat boyishly, a giddiness in his tone that you had never heard before. It leaves you slightly stunned.

“Were you trying to punch the mountains?” You ask slightly confused by the punch.

He gives you a deep, genuine belly laugh, and you feel a warmth spill over you when it happens. You’d like to hear him laugh like so much more.

He gathers himself with a calming sigh and gives you a rather affectionate look, “With this you’re going to change the world you know that?”

“Well, there are still a few kinks to work out,” you say, averting your eyes feeling heat scorch your cheeks.

“Don’t do that, you’re brilliant,” he reemphasizes earnestly. And you wish you could stop your heart from beating so fast, like a schoolgirl with her first crush. This time, though, you decide to take the compliment in full.

“Thanks.”

“I’m still throwing that party by the way.”

’Shit’

#bruce wayne #bruce x reader #bruce imagine #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman imagine #batman x reader #batmom #black!batmom #black!reader #black!batmom x batman

[soriseerakyra]

Flight of Fancy -4- (Black!Batmom)

‘Where are you?’  

It’s a calm question that flashes over the screen of your phone. The lack of rhetorical flourishes lets you know who was asking before you even looked at the name of the messenger. Jojo. 

“Do you need to answer that?”  

Your eyes flicker up to meet the curious blue ones sitting across the table from you.  

“It’s just my friend checking on me,” you explain typing in a quick ‘I’m fine’ in reply to Jojo. She wouldn’t ask too many questions when she saw how short you were being. “I didn’t tell them I was going out.” 

A pleasant smile quirks at his lips and you’re forced to avert your gaze from his eyes. A part of your wishes he was being as unpleasant as he had been the last time you met. It was easier not to think he was attractive when he was being mean, even though that was still monumentally hard. 

You clear your throat as you look down at the plate in front of you. There were a few fries left and only a few pieces of wilted lettuce hinted at the burger that had previously occupied your plate.  It surprised you when you had sat down at a restaurant that could only be described as a five-star greasy spoon.  While this isn’t exactly what you would have described as a complete relaxed atmosphere, it surprised you that Bruce would know anything about a place like this. There was the very possibility that he didn’t and had just googled “non-shitty burger joint” and this was the first one that popped up. You chose to think he did come here when he wasn’t eating Foie gras.  

“Sorry if I ate too fast,” You say when you looked back up at him, a slight grimace on your face. Thinking about it now, you’d been rude since he picked you up. You had cried all the way over to the restaurant, while he had tried to console you. When you sat down and ate your food, you’d angrily shoved fries and your burger in your mouth, while you told him about all the wrongs that Kenya had done to you. And now you couldn’t even take the time not to answer your phone during dinner. Your mother would give you the eyebrow of doom if she could see you know. 

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, understanding. “It seems like you had a hard day.” 

“It just sucks to be blindsided like that you know,” You sigh as your lips naturally pull down into a pout. This time, before you go on another rant, you catch yourself and are able to change topics. “Why did you want to bring me here?” 

A slight look of surprise comes across Bruce’s face at your rapid change in topic, but it’s quickly followed by an amused smile, “I wanted to apologize for the way I behaved when we met.” 

“Really?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

“Really,” he says looking down remorsefully and stirring the bowl of chili that is placed in front of him. “When dealing with people in the corporate world, you think of things as all or nothing. Sometimes you forget that there are actual people’s livelihoods at stake.” 

It wasn’t what you were expecting, and you didn’t know how to respond. You supposed you could understand his somewhat heartless manner when he was dealing with you. Now that you had been working with Kenya, you’d seen her almost take the souls out of people’s bodies, and everyone just treated it like it was normal. Perhaps you should have been prepared for how he had treated you, you had gone there intending to negotiate with him. It just so happened what was being negotiated about had changed. 

“And threatening you, that was horrible of me,” he continues as he meets your gaze seriously. “It shouldn’t have happened.” 

 “It’s all right,” you sigh quietly, “To be honest you’ve kind of done more than my friend has to make me feel better about the situation.” 

 “The woman I met at our first meeting, right? Kenya?” 

 “Oh, you remembered.” 

 “It’d be hard not too, she was quite adamant about me getting to that meeting.” 

 “Yeah, me too,” You say with a slightly irritated sigh. While you had told him how negative she had been regarding your feelings and experiences. Telling him she wanted you to shake your titties at him to get him to buy your work seemed like an insult that he was better off not knowing about.

 ‘Oh, God! am I friends with a bad person?’

 “If there’s anything that I can do to make it up to you, please let me know.” 

 From how she sounded at the bowling alley, it didn’t sound like she was above trying to put you in that position again.  

 “Anything?” You question 

 “Anything,” He says with a warm smile and a nod of his head  

 ‘Maybe I should take him up on his job offer’ 

 It’s a thought that runs through your mind quickly and makes you feel guilty almost immediately as it comes. Partly because you know that, you’d never would have thought about it if Kenya hadn’t been a complete and utter dick to you today. Another part was because if you had asked about it, wouldn’t he just think you were giving him the runaround? 

 You were sure that he already thought of you as some little girl that could barely keep her life together, judging by the number of amused smiles he’d flash you and the way he’d just let you ramble on about nothing.  

 Still though, as it was when he first offered it, even with all the threats, it was a good offer. Having unlimited resources backed by a billionaire who thinks you’re a genius, what could be better?  

 God, you wished Kenya hadn’t been such an asshole today. The need for revenge is rising in your throat. 

 “I,” you have to bite at your tongue to keep from asking if the offer was on the table. “I’ll have to think about it, no one’s really offered me anything before.” 

 “Don’t worry, I’m patient.” 

 “At least someone is.” 

 That wasn’t supposed to slip out. He lets out a polite laugh, and you wonder if he knows that you’re making a dig at one of your oldest friends. If he does, he doesn’t comment on it. For that, you're grateful.  

 “If I asked you for a ride home would that count as my anything?” You question. And although you were genuinely curious, it came across as much more flirtatious than intended. In fact, when the question had left your lips, you felt your cheeks warm in embarrassment. If you looked away, would he know that there was something wrong? 

 It is so subtle you almost miss it, the slight turn up at one corner of his mouth. A smirk that is quickly hidden by a laugh, “Of course not, I’m not a jerk.” 

 Shit, was Kenya, right? Did he really think you were attractive? Or was it that maybe he was used to girls getting flirty with him? Did that smirk mean he knew you were like all the others; you couldn’t help but think he was amazing? How embarrassing. 

 “Shall we?” He asks moving to stand up. 

 “Oh,” you respond somewhat startled out of your thoughts. “Don’t we have to pay?” 

 “Don’t worry,” He says casually slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I’ll make sure they get their money.” 

 “Really?” 

 “Of course” He says, placing a hand on the small of your back, “I own the place, so it shouldn’t be too hard.” 

 “Oh, so you didn’t have to google this place,” you say slightly amazed. You bite your tongue in irritation; another thing that wasn’t supposed to slip out. 

 “What was that?” He asks with a chuckle. 

 “Nothing, never mind.” 

 The ride to your apartment was quiet, and you were grateful for it. If he had tried too hard to make a polite conversation, you probably would have asked him about the job. A part of you was still feeling more than a bit spiteful and you didn’t trust yourself not to act on those impulses. Not only that, you had embarrassingly touched his hand when he rested his arm on the rest between the seats. What if he got the idea that you were trying to flirt with him?  You’d never live it down. 

 Because you totally didn’t want to flirt with him, right? No matter how nice he looked in the moonlight. 

 It’s not long until you're in front of your building.  As you pull down the block, you see the form of the building security guard take shape, and even from a good distance away you can see that he’s already eyeing Bruce’s car skeptically. In Gotham, just because someone had a nice car didn’t mean that they wouldn’t bring trouble. 

 He parks and immediately gets out of the car to open your door for you. 

 “You don’t have to do all this,” you say as you step out, lifting up to the curb with the help of his hand.  “I already said that I forgave you.” 

 “You think I’m opening the door for you because I want you to accept my apology?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. 

 It seemed kind of silly, when it was probably just a habit he learned from whoever raised him. 

 You don’t respond immediately and instead turn to throw a familiar wave at the security guard who is still watching the pair of you intently. At your gesture, he aims a flashlight at you and quickly relaxes and turns it off when he recognizes your form. 

 “Actually,” you start when you turn to give Bruce your attention again, “there is something that I wanted to ask you.” 

 “Really? What a coincidence, there is something that I wanted to ask you.” 

 “You go first,” You interject quickly. 

 “I know that when we talked at my company, that I didn’t seem like the nicest person in the world, but I was wondering if-,” 

 “Yes!” You interject excitedly. “I was hoping you'd ask, so I wouldn’t feel like a total ass.” 

 “An ass for going on a date with me?” 

 “A date? What?” You question confusedly. “I thought you were asking if I had changed my mind and wanted to come work with you.” 

 “Well, that too, I suppose.” 

 “Wait, you want to date me?” You ask incredulously. 

 “Is that bad?” 

 “No, I mean. I guess I just didn’t expect it,” you mumble.  

 “Why not?” He questions with a smooth smile on his face. “You're beautiful and talented, what’s not to like.” 

 ‘The fact that Kenya set this up from the beginning,’ you groan mentally. The idea of falling directly in her trap did not make you feel great. And a part of you wondered if he was only asking because of superficial reasons, like Kenya had suggested he would. Then again, it wouldn’t matter what Kenya had set up if you didn’t work for her, would it? 

 “So is the job offer on the table?” You ask skeptically. 

 “If you want it.” 

 “And if I took it, would I have to work for you directly or am I independent?” 

 “Just for the prototype you already have in development. After that you’re free to develop whatever you want. Occasionally, Lucius may pass you some assignments, but you’d be pretty much free.” 

 You’d liked Mr. Fox, until he led you into the room where you got the shit scared out of you. Maybe working for him wouldn’t be too bad. 

 “All right,” You say with a nod of your head. 

 “All right?” He questions silently asking you what you were agreeing too. 

 “To both,” you say somewhat confidently. “All right to both.” 

 “Good.” 

 *** 

“What the hell is this?” 

 The brown-haired beauty stared at you in slight disbelief, when she finished reading the letter you had placed on her desk. 

 “I’m resigning,” you say wringing your hands around the looped handle of your purse.  

 It’s a tense moment of silence that passes between the two of you and you find yourself constantly shifting your gaze between her angry brown eyes and the statue sitting on a shelf just right over her head.  

 “No, you’re not,” she says with a chuckle, her brow relaxing. “What are you going to do, wait tables? You need this job.” 

 “I already have one lined up,” you interject quickly. “And it just so happens that that it involves me making more than minimum wage.” 

 She looks at you skeptically for a moment, most likely surprised by the snark of your comment. In truth, you were as well. As confident as you felt when strutted into her office, the ever-critical look that she gave you had you feeling more like that freshman she picked up on the first day of college.  

 You didn’t think everything would end up this way. You had relied on her for so many things, the fact that you were here just throwing it in her face, felt strange. However, as strange as it felt, you didn’t want to be used anymore. And as silly as it sounded, the thought had crept into your mind that it may be possible that she would have been playing how to use you since the first day she met you? Why else would she have picked you of all people to be friends with?

 “He got to you, didn’t he,” She blurts, an ominous look, clouding her eyes. 

 “Who?” You question dumbly. 

 “What’d he offer you? A corner office? A company car? A huge bonus?” 

 “Mr. Wayne?” You question realizing who the implication had been. “I am taking the job he offered, but it was my decision. He didn’t trick me into doing anything.” 

 “Oh, right because you’re too pure for that,” She says with a roll of her eyes. “I seem to remember you doing some questionable work to pay that college tuition.” 

 “I’m not ashamed of what I had to do to get by,” You state tersely feeling your nostrils flaring anger. “And that is the reason I’m taking the job. I will not let you control my life, Kenya.”

“Control your life?” She questions with a chuckle. “Without me think about where you would be.” 

Sensing that she was about to dive into a rant, you stop her, “Actual friends don’t hold the supposed help that they offer over someone's head.”

“Actual friends,” Kenya asks, arms crossing over her chest. “So I’m not your friend now?”

“Not when you try to sell me to get ahead,” You spit feeling your anger swell in your chest. “I went along with it, Kenya, but you had to know that was the last thing that I wanted to do.”

“You didn’t complain then,” she points out. “And now you claim you’re leaving me to go fuck the man I chose for you. So it doesn’t seem like it bothered you that much.”

“You know what,” you say, pushing yourself up from your chair. “I’m done. I’ve just decided that I don’t want to have this conversation with you anymore. In fact, I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. We’re done Kenya. Don’t call me, don’t ask about me, don’t text me.”

You turn to storm out of her office and only stop when she roars back at you.

“Glad to see that not much has changed, you’re running from your problems just like you’ve always done. So I know I won’t have much to worry about you working for Wayne. Because just as soon as something gets hard for you, you’ll just run to whatever other handout you can find.”

“At least it will be my choice whom I get to run too.”

And with that, you walk out of her door. Fully intent not to see her again.

#batman #batfamily #batmom #batman imagine #batman x reader #bruce wayne #bruce x reader #bruce imagine #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader