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caesariawritesstuff · 6 days

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Hostage

(Arkham! Riddler x Fem!Reader)

● Ao3 ● X ● Retrospring ● Read on Ao3 ●

You were the perfect target: as the sister of Bruce Wayne, Edward had been watching you for some time. The stupid, billionaire playboy would do anything to get you back. Besides, Bruce could stand to lose a couple billion, couldn’t he? It surely wouldn’t put a dent in his massive fortune, but it’d be enough for Edward to fund his next scheme against the Batman. He sent his goons to watch you closely and study your schedule over the last few weeks, but Edward wasn’t surprised to have his suspicions confirmed: you were a spoiled brat.

His goons reported back all about your fancy lunches with stuffy-suited business men, your extravagant shopping sprees. This wouldn’t be hard. You’d be just like the rest: a screaming, crying mess, begging for your life. He wasn’t interested in killing you so much as getting his money and using you as bait for Batman, to pull the Dark Knight into his next series of conundrums. He spent several weeks planning his scheme, gathering his men, procuring weapons from Penguin. And when the time finally came, Edward’s stomach filled with excited knots. How wonderful it would look when he pulled this off and everyone looked at him like he was the most superior, greatest mind in Gotham. Which he was, of course.

Tonight, you were hosting a fundraiser at one of Gotham’s art galleries; something about the underprivileged children of Gotham, Edward didn’t care much, they weren’t his kids anyways (not like he had any, but still). The gallery was bustling with people dressed to the nines, looking every so high and mighty and pompous.

“They’re just getting settled, boss,” one of his goons said through the walkie.

“Good. Wait until I give the signal,” Edward replied. He turned his attention back to the security camera of the van they were in, which he’d hacked into the gallery’s security camera feed only minutes ago. He gripped his cane tightly, watching the guests take their seats.

Moments later, you walked up the stage and took your place at the podium. Edward couldn’t hear what you were saying, but he watched you with a close intensity, rolling his eyes. What an incredibly waste of time, these charity balls. How…pedestrian. But he waited, checking his watch, and when the hand struck eight, he grabbed his walkie.

“Now,” he said.

His goons immediately moved in. He followed them out of the van, cane in one hand, pistol in the other hand. His men stormed the gallery, guns blazing. They fired shots into the air as people screamed, ready to bolt from their seats. But his men were outnumbered and out armed. Edward strolled into the room, flashing his best, charming smile.

“Now, now,” he said. “No one has to get hurt. But if any of you cretins move a muscle, my men won’t hesitate to shoot. So please take this as you’re only warning.” He peered around the room at the frightened faces of the fundraiser patrons, before his gaze flickered back to you.

There you were, standing in the spotlight. A glimmering, navy dressed hugged your curves nicely, something he couldn’t help but take notice of. Your hands were glued into fists at your sides, face white, lips trembling.

“Ms. Wayne,” he said, pointing his gun at you. “Come with me and no one gets hurt.”

You hesitated and looked around the room. He could just see the wheels turning in your stupid head. But…he found himself a bit taken aback. He’d expected you to run screaming by now. Instead, here you were. Holding your own.

“Very well,” you said, a bravery to your voice. He nodded to his men, who approached and grabbed your arms, yanking you down the stage steps.

“No – you can’t, Ms. Wayne—” an older man said. He was cut off as one of the goons punched him in the stomach, and he keeled over.

“Hey!” you cried. “You said if I come with you, no one gets hurt. I’m coming, aren’t I?”

Edward paused as a sly grin passed his face. “So you were listening. At least you know how to do that.”

Your nostrils flared, looking less than impressed with him. But he didn’t particualry mind or care.

“Now, take her away,” he said. People gasped around him as you were hauled out of the art gallery.

Edward nodded to the two other goons, who walked up to the center of the room and put down one of his contraptions. A little puzzle boxed addressed to Bruce Wayne. If the billionaire was smart, he’d answer the riddle correctly.

Edward smiled, resting his weight on his cane. “Oh, and if Bruce Wayne doesn’t solve my conundrums in thirty minutes, well…” He raised his brows.

The Gothamites seemed to get the hint.

Satisfied, Edward left the art gallery. As he returned to the back of the van, he found you sitting in the corner, hands and feet bound. But to his surprise, you weren’t screaming or crying. You were still, quiet, eyes searching for an escape. As soon as you spotted him, you glared.

Edward grinned. “So, my dear, can you guess why I’ve taken you hostage?”

You sighed. “The same reasons all criminals do. For money.”

“Precisely! You see, my dear, you are—”

“Bait. I know,” you replied. “Bait for Batman, because you’re going to put me in one of your traps, aren’t you?”

Edward paused. “Don’t interrupt me! I’m not finished!” he cried, scowling.

You sighed, shaking your head, and rolling your eyes. Edward found himself surprised, something he did not easily find himself. But…why weren’t you confused? Scared? Right about now, his other hostages would’ve been screaming for help. So, why weren’t you?

“Edward Nigma, right?” you asked.

“Ah, so you do know my name,” he said, flattered. Of course everyone knew his name.

“I was right in the middle of hosting a fundraiser for Gotham’s under privileged youths, and you come ruin it? I’ve been planning this for months. Do you know how many children are counting on me?”

Edward blinked, feeling the vehicle begin to rumble as it pulled away from the curb. Here you were, in the back if his getaway van…and you were more worried about the children?

“You’re seriously more worried about the children than your life?” he asked, raising his brows.

“Yes,” you answered. “And if this is about money, I can get you what you want. Just let me go and we have a deal.”

“But I…but you…” he tripped over his words. He’d never had a hostage act so calm before.

“You like games, right? How about we play one? If I get it right, I’ll give you the money and you let me go. Deal?”

Edward laughed. “Very well. Three riddles. Answer them correctly, and I’ll let you go. Ready?”

You nodded. Your lips were pursed together, your brows furrowed. The look of someone Edward knew didn’t have much going on in that empty head of yours.

“Without fingers I point, without arms I strike, without feet I run. What am I?” he asked, smirking.

“A clock,” you answered.

He frowned. “Oh. So you knew that one. Very well. Second riddle: My greatest of my strengths is that I know my worth. I hug myself so tightly at every birth. What am I?”

“A knot.”

His frown deepened, anger churning in his stomach, cheeks burning. “What falls but does not break, and what breaks but does not fall?”

“Night falls and day breaks,” you answered.

He scowled, jumping to his feet. “You’re cheating, aren’t you? Who’s helping you? Who’s giving you hints? There’s no way a spoiled, empty-headed little rich girl like you could get those correctly!”

“What? Did you think that because I’m a Wayne, that makes me stupid? Well, sorry to break it you to, Mr. Nigma, but I’m not,” you said.

You stared at him with such a level of defiance that Edward wasn’t sure what to do. His first impressions had clearly be incorrect. A simple miscalculation, that was all. It seemed you did have some shred of intelligence after all.

“Well,” he laughed. “How about that? So you can think for yourself. I suppose we do have a deal, don’t we? I expect cash.”

“That’s what we agreed to,” you said.

“But my dear, you forget: you didn’t say when or where I had to let you go,” he said, grinning.

“That’s not fair!” you cried. “Now who’s the one cheating?”

“I don’t cheat!” he cried. “I artfully obfuscate.”

You laughed, a sound out of your mouth he found himself liking. But just before he could respond, the van lurched to the left, and he stumbled forward. The screeching of metal filled with his ears and just as he collected himself, the back door swung open, and Batman stepped into sight. Edward reached for his pistol, but before he could pull the trigger, a Batarang knocked the gun out of his hand. He gasped in pain, and looked up just in time to see Batman’s fist flying through the air – knocking him out cold.

Later, when Edward awoke, he found himself in Arkham. Once more beaten, but not broken. But as he sat in the rec room, he knew you couldn’t have gotten those riddles right…Batman had to have cheated and given you the answers. But his eyes flicked to the TV, noticing you were currently holding a press conference to announce a generous donation and funding to a children’s program all throughout Gotham. But as you spoke, he suddenly found himself completely enamored.

Perhaps you were smarter than Edward anticipated. He’d never expected you to get his riddles right, to be more concerned with the people of Gotham rather than your own predicament…but a small smile touched Edward’s lips. Oh, yes. He certainly wanted to discover more about you.

And he couldn’t wait to see you again.

#caesariawrites #arkham riddler #the riddler #arkhamverse riddler #edward nigma #theriddler #arkhamverse #the riddler x reader #riddler x reader #riddler x you #riddler x y/n #edward nigma x reader #edward nigma x you #edward nygma #edward nygma x reader

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channajen · 2 years

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Ready for Chapter 6?! It’s up!

Hey everyone! I can’t promise I’ll always update this quickly, but I felt like posting today. Chapter 6 of “Batman, Meet Team Phantom” is now posted!

Read it from the beginning HERE. Read the series starting HERE. Series link is HERE.

Summary of Chapter Six: Batman and Jazz have several talks, and Bruce volunteers his office for Jazz and Jason to have a little alone time. Afterwards, Jazz shares a bit of her past with Batman and Red Hood.

Teaser: Jazz checked back in on Danny, who looked noticeably better every hour, and studied his vital signs. He was healing even faster than she expected. Good. She remembered that the pain medication they had from Frostbite caused Danny to go into deep sleep for healing, and she realized that she probably had time to meet with Jason before he woke up. She left the Medbay and met Batman in the hallway. “Danny is doing much better. He’s sleeping soundly now, which means he’s healing. He’ll probably wake up tomorrow—by the look of his vitals, it won’t be tonight.” She paused and a blush dusted her cheeks. “When is Red Hood coming?”

Batman silently applauded her at remembering to use codenames. “I’ve contacted him, and he is on his way here. I’ll bring you to my office to wait for him. The security for that sector is on a one-hour loop, so you two don’t have a lot of time.” He neglected to tell her that his secondary Bat-security was still in place. He would have access to their “private visit”, but no one else would. His com would alert him if there was any trouble. “Let’s go to my office...

....Both Batman and Jason looked at her intently, so she continued. “I helped Danny with the ghostly attacks as soon as I discovered his secret. As for the training, my…Jack and Maddie made weapons. Lots and lots of ecto-weaponry, and a lot of it was some form of gun or another. They made sure that Danny and I knew our way around firearms of all types so that we could be prepared to use whatever they made. Maddie is a very highly ranked black belt, amongst other things, and she wanted to be sure that I could protect myself. She used a lot of the free time she had to make sure I could defend myself well.”

That explained a lot of questions to the Bats in the room, who had suspected something along those lines. Bruce noticed a glaring omission, and it bothered him. “What about Danny? Didn’t they make sure he could take care of himself?”

Jazz’s look turned ugly. “After his accident with the Portal, it took him quite a while to adjust to his new biology. My parents put it down to him being uninterested and clumsy—or possibly even into something horrible like being in a gang or on drugs. They felt that training him would enable what they saw as his ‘rebellious phase’, so they stopped teaching him anything but what he learned from them in the lab.”

Bruce frowned. “So they taught him advanced engineering, but not self-defense?”

“Yep.” Jazz popped the “p”. She was clearly annoyed at the actions of her biological progenitors.

“I promise you that they will see justice. We’ve come up with a plan. Tell us more about these ‘Spector Deflectors’…”

***Read the entire chapter HERE***

#danny phantom #jason todd #batman #dp x dc #ghost king danny #justice league #anger management - relationship

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neutron-stars-collision · 2 years

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Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 2 - In the Shadows

Masterlist; Chapter 1

Summary: The tentative cooperation with Bruce begins, much to his chagrin. With ambition and curiosity in the way, you try to make the best out of the circumstances. Only... it's not that easy when Mr Wayne is concerned.

Warnings: slight mention of non-con (as in the character is in danger, nothing happens, yet the implications are there and some nasty words too); swearing.

Author's Notes: Here it is, finally. 7.9k words of... something. As I plan to follow the film's plot later on, these two needed some bonding. So this is it. This dynamic is fun even though the Reader's actions are sometimes beyond me. She's a feisty one, I'll tell you that. Anyways...

I hope you'll enjoy this update and all feedback is very much appreciated!

Some things were difficult to forget and nearly impossible to ignore. Like that traumatic event from your childhood that no one ever mentioned again. Like that day you first realised you are entirely on your own. Like those damned blue eyes and matching cold reception, you could not shake off even after a few days.

So, you did what had to be done, slipping out of the office early or staying after hours to ask whoever could know anything interesting about the docks’ case. Because you knew that next time you set foot in the Wayne Tower, you must come bearing gifts. Or, perhaps, bearing knowledge. You wrote down every bit of information he could need. The type of weapon used by the murderer, where it could have been acquired. The various theories as towards the motifs, the strands of police’s inquiry and which belongs to which detective. Back in your apartment, you spent the evenings compiling the intel into a comprehensive file so Mr Wayne could use it however he needed. It was either that or scouting the internet for information on the man himself. An obsession? Nope, a case to crack, thank you very much.

Deciding when to come back to the Tower was a throw of a dice, more or less. One morning you woke up to find the window covered in raindrops, and it was done. And no, a dream featuring someone’s blue eyes did not influence it whatsoever. The adrenaline, which had kept you going for days, only did run out before you could press the doorbell, haunted by the golden plaque again. Because it made no fucking sense, burning through the walls of logic you tried to apply to stay sane. Still, it was happening. Ignoring the multiplying doubts, you forced your hand to press the button, again frowning at the piercing sound.

“Hello, my dear” Dory’s smile felt like a balm for the sore heart and ragged nerves.

And so did the recognition in her eyes, making you blurt out without a filter:

“I’d love to lie and say he’s expecting me-” the but got stuck on your tongue as she placed her hand on your shoulder, motioning for you to cross the threshold.

“Mr Wayne told me you’d be back. Come on. It’s dreadful outside” she threw a look full of despise towards the weather on the streets of Gotham and slammed the door shut behind her.

Now that was unexpected.

“Did he now?” you glanced at the maid with unhidden curiosity before muttering under your breath, “Interesting,”

While helpful, it was not what you had expected to happen nor prepared for. The knot in your stomach tightened during the journey up in the elevator, making you grateful to be left to your own devices this time. For a moment, you did wonder whether there would ever come a time when visiting Bruce Wayne would not feel like the worst mistake. There was no answer and lots of doubts, but there was no time to ponder them, for as soon as the cabin came to a standstill with a jerk, you stepped into the study. The confident smile already present on your face, acting as a mask.

The gothic interior once more made you gape as you scanned the horizon for the owner, spotting him hunched over a massive desk in the corner. With his back turned, you could stare a little longer then, taking note of the change in apparel. This time, he was wearing a hoodie, hiding the details of his posture in oversized clothing. The act of looking alone began to feel like a crime, so you took another step into the room and spoke up:

“Did you miss me?” the sweet tint to the vowels was not difficult to find when called for.

Bruce turned in the seat in a flash, eyeing you sharply:

“Of course, it’s you” the annoyance in his voice was already familiar, “What do you want?” so much that you did not blink twice when Bruce looked at you with disdain and stood up from the chair.

Despite yourself, you noticed a tiny change to the usual harsh treatment. This time, he immediately breached the space to address you without too many obstacles. As though he was a little curious about what you could offer. The spark warming up your chest was difficult to stifle. Using the bout of encouragement, you offered another smile and took the folder out of your bag to use it as bait:

“I’ve got some info you could use” as an unintended yawn interrupted your thought, you added, “And coffee, ideally,”

Bruce frowned as though you were a nuisance he did not want to deal with. But before either of you could make the next move, the door opened and closed, followed by a question:

“Bruce, who’s-” you turned towards the voice just as an older man entered the room, looking at you questioningly.

“This is the journalist I mentioned” you never had the chance to introduce yourself, for Bruce had cut right in, an unidentifiable emotion underneath the simple answer.

It was that mysterious feeling that made you show the stranger a bright grin and raise your hand in a half-wave:

“Hi, I’m the annoyance he has to deal with” why did it feel so exhilarating to say?; you crossed the space and offered the man a handshake, observing him closely, “Nice to meet you, sir,”

The crisp white shirt and a vest made him look more like an heir to the fortune than Bruce did. And yet the sharp gaze and scars on the side of his face told you his story was more complex than that.

“What do you have for me?” your thoughts were interrupted with a direct question as Bruce brushed past you, ripping the folder out of your hands.

There was no time to ponder on that action as your mouth fell open, eyes blindly following Bruce as he placed the file on the table and took the seat without a word. Interesting.

“I’ll bring coffee, Miss” the stranger glanced between you and the housemaster, an uncertain smile hidden in the corner of his mouth.

Undoubtedly that was not anything new to him.

“Thank you, Mr…?” shaking yourself awake, you made sure to show the gratefulness in the weary expression on your face.

The quickest assumption was he was the man in charge here, Mr Wayne’s faithful butler and the adoptive father you have heard of.

“Just Alfred will do,” Pennyworth offered with a dismissive motion, heading towards the kitchen without another word.

The juxtaposition between the two men was the very reason you could not hold back the remark:

“Is he that nice to compensate for you being… you?” Bruce looked up at you with nothing but plain confusion as you chuckled and took the seat opposite him “Ignorance is bliss, or whatever they say. That’s a folder I’ve managed to put together for you,” indicating towards the file he was flipping through; you gave him another smile.

Bruce did not acknowledge your proximity, nor did he comment on the information, silently peering over the pages as though ignoring your presence. It was not particularly unwelcome, allowing you to observe him again. The strands of the dark hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over the table, fingers tracing the letters stained with ink and something darker. The aura of mystery and inherent magnetism still made it difficult for you to stop staring.

“Any theories?” Bruce asked the question, breaking the silence and making you look up with a start.

Caught. It did not seem like he noticed your moment of weakness; blue eyes focused on your face with strange tenacity visible underneath the mask of neutrality. As though he was making assumptions of his own.

“From me?” forcing the brain to work, you awaited one impatient nod before letting the professionalism take over as you crossed your arms on the table “Well, I think it’s some big fish trying to clean up his mess,” nonchalant shrug, complimenting the opinion.

Too occupied with voicing the thoughts, you never noticed that Bruce still had his gaze fixed on you until you looked up, surprised by his question:

“His mess?” the placed emphasis being the key and eliciting a chuckle from your lips.

Bruce’s clueless stare only added to the hilarity of the moment as you responded:

“Only men have an ego that big, darling” the man rolled his eyes at the comment, and you hid the smile by looking down at the table, picking up the strand of conversation, “One of my colleagues at work, who’s reporting on this case told me it might be Kane” dropping the name, you looked up again, checking his reaction.

A double blink and a frown were just about it. An instant thought? Bruce Wayne could be strangely adorable. That alone felt like a misstep.

“The chief assistant? That doesn’t make sense. How could he be doing this just under the radar?” Bruce’s grimace twisted the corners of his mouth down as he eyed the folder with contempt.

All you had for him was another shrug, deepening the frown and extending the aversion the man was showing to your person.

“No clue. He has motives, though, with the promotion up for grabs and some dirt to his name” with the background knowledge springing up to mind, it was not difficult to defend the case.

Because while on the outside, the assistant chief Kane seemed like your normal GCPD, boring as hell cop, a little research into his past told you the man had skeletons in his closet he would like to bury before becoming the deputy. Naturally, all that was in the folder you combined for Bruce.

“He doesn’t look like a serial killer type” he was still flipping through the pages, gaze focused on the photos you had found of the suspect in question.

There was no way in hell you were going to let that slip.

“What does a serial killer type look like?” eyeing him up with a cheeky glimmer in your eyes, you countered, “Handsome, brooding, occupying a thousand feet high tower all on his own?” the weight of your gaze must have done it.

Bruce looked up at you from the papers, once more utterly lost.

“What?” the single word was full of indignation and cluelessness.

There was no way of stopping the laughter as you registered the fine china placed on the table.

“Nothing. Thanks for the coffee” throwing a grateful look towards the back of the butler, who was already exiting the room, you took an experimental sip “So, my guess is that after getting told of the deputy’s resignation, he panicked and tried to clean the mess in the records, making it seem like some crazy drug-related murders” as the first dose of caffeine travelled up your veins, you started gesticulating vaguely, mindless of Bruce’s watchful stare “But now he’s gone too far and doesn’t know what to do, he’s losing his cool. Apparently, the guy hasn’t even left his house for the past two weeks, calling in sick” gesturing towards the file again, you finally got back the courage to meet Bruce’s eye over the table.

The story made sense as you came up with it, running over the various pieces of the puzzle in the quiet of your apartment. But now, faced with his judging stare and face of stone, always looking like a mask of displeasure and distance, you were not so sure anymore. Hiding the creeping blush in the cup of coffee, you could only await the comment.

“The police don’t suspect him?” the edge of apprehension in his voice increased your doubts, as did the unyielding stare Bruce kept fixed on you.

Deep down you knew that it meant nothing but that he wanted to have you figured out. That it was his way of getting under your skin and checking whether you were worth keeping around. And yet, the shiver running down your spine signified something else. A layer to the game that you did not want to admit existed. Before your thoughts could venture onto the treacherous territory, you chose to find strength in bitterness brewing in your heart:

“Some might, but I think GCPD are as blind as they want to be when it comes to their own sins” another shrug, faux nonchalance on hand to push the argument onwards.

The conflict you found in the blue eyes took you aback.

“Not all of them” Bruce’s voice lowered a notch, a husky whisper making it harder to dismiss the inexplicable feelings.

In need of a distraction, you picked up the mug again, taking a long sip.

“If you say so…” there was no more coffee in the cup, forcing you to clear your mind by remembering the point of the visit, “In two days, there’s going to be a press conference lead by chief Bock and his assistants. Kane should be there, as will I. I’ll drop by after with whatever new I’ll manage to find” concluding the sentence, you drew back the chair and stood up, mind eager to flee.

Because what was supposed to be a fun, little errand suddenly became too much. Because you still didn’t understand a thing, and you should. Because he made no fucking sense.

Before you could dream of leaving the tense scene, Bruce spoke up again:

“It doesn’t make much sense” he was still frowning into the pages spread out in front, “It’s too extreme for a cop to do something like that. Have you seen the photos from the first crime scene?” it was that piercing gaze again, the blue full of mistrust and challenge.

As though he was sure you would say no. Not this time, darling.

“Of course, I did,” the curt answer had to do as the bloody pictures of the body flashed before your eyes once more, “Have you got any better ideas?” taking a step closer, you offered him your version of a sceptical glare.

After all, the game was made for two, and he better understand it. Unaware of your proximity, Bruce was still busy peering at the folder, the uncertain grimace ever-present on his face. Finally, after a long stretch of silence, he replied:

“Not sure” he gave out a long sigh, leaning back in the chair as a sign of defeat.

That was the perfect cue. You took another step forward, a deep inhale giving a needed shot of boldness.

“In which case… I’ll be back” before Bruce could think of looking up, you placed your hand on his shoulder, giving him a light squeeze, “You can keep the file, sweetheart,” your lips curled up as he jumped up, startled.

There was no time to waste. Without waiting for him to react, you swiftly made your way to the elevator, sighing with happiness upon finding it unoccupied, ready for swift escape. This time the creaking metal cage felt like a refuge.

***

It was not that it was hard to be around him, with the constant thrill of intrigue and curiosity burning in your heart upon every meeting. Or that you did not enjoy the possibility to share your findings and work together on the case. It took a long evening of loneliness to understand what it could be that made it so hard to stay cool in presence of Bruce’s cold stare. But then it began to make sense.

He was the first person that did seem like he could be a match for you. Someone equally driven by what’s unknown and unphased by the darkness of the city you live in. It was the unyielding gaze, eager to find what’s beneath your carefully crafted persona. The cool calculation, impossible to be charmed and fooled into whatever you wanted him to do. A challenge. An enigma you could not have enough of. No matter the price or the turmoil in your mind.

And so, as soon as you left the Wayne Tower that afternoon, you went back to the usual. Gathering evidence to back your theory, checking whether the killer had not attacked again, wandering the streets of Gotham to put the restless soul to use. That had always been the best coping method for when everything else had run out.

The GCPD conference day found you ready, anxiety pumping through your veins and sharpening your thoughts. The show they had put on seemed apt for the occasion, with dramatic speeches trying to woo the sceptical citizenship and fake promises for a change in the city. You rolled your eyes perhaps twenty times throughout; attention focused only on the chief assistant John Kane. He made no announcements and sat motionless and silent among his colleagues, who seemed to have forgotten he was even there. As though he should not be acknowledged. As though he was someone they were ashamed of. When, at the very end of the conference, everyone gave a standing ovation to the retiring deputy, Kane left the stage. He did not reappear when most police officials gave their parting statements to the press and tv outside of the City Hall. Suspicious seemed like an understatement.

The feeling of having struck the hypothetical goldmine only got stronger that evening when you received a text confirming the next kill. Same area, same weapon. The similar fit of rage. The victim? A fellow cop from Kane’s department, who did take part in the conference earlier. Coincidence? Think not.

Unable to visit the crime scene (no press, sorry) and not yet desperate enough to set upon the Wayne Tower in the dead of night, you had been forced to wait till the morning. The weight of information made it impossible to sleep, so you wrote, covering this month’s notebook with whatever thoughts came to mind. It was another coping method, one that did not involve parading out in the rain and the dark. You never read what you wrote, burning each notebook once it had been filled up till the very last page. After all, the paper was the only possibility of confiding. There was no one else.

The next morning, you wasted no time getting ready as you threw on a change of clothes and a raincoat and hopped on the train. Right until you were facing Bruce, the previous anxiety was missing as though it was all a figment of your imagination. However, that ridiculous thought vanished the moment you crossed the threshold of the residence and realised what was the very next step. Seeing Bruce Wayne. Or, worse, being seen by Bruce Wayne. Unaccompanied, you were left to your own devices on the way up, freely panicking and adjusting every single layer of clothing as though donning an armour. So much could go wrong. And yet you were unable to let go, still desperate to make the arrangement work. And you did not even know why. Or you did not want to admit why.

The moment you pushed open the elevator doors, you knew today’s struggle was not going to be any easier.

“You,” Bruce’s frown met you halfway out of the cabin, his tone nothing but displeasure.

For some unknown reason, it felt almost homely. Or maybe you were just that fucked.

“Yes, me; your favourite annoyance” you met his scowl with a bright smile before adding, “There’s been another murder last night-” the note of excitement could not be left undetected from your voice.

You knew Bruce heard it once you noticed a glimmer in his eyes that no grimace could hide.

“I know. I’ve been there” cutting through your intended sentence with finality in his tone, Bruce shot you another irritated glance and moved towards the table.

You were on his heels in a heartbeat, curiosity burning in your heart once again:

“What at the scene?” catching a court nod, you let out a resigned sigh as you fell onto the chair, “Lucky you, they stopped me before I got close enough,”

Only once you had both been sat down at the table, you noticed the lack of distance. A mistake? Perhaps. With Bruce merely a metre away, you could not deny yourself the usual staring. A quick scan of his dark shirt and navy joggers. The hair fell into his eyes, strands damp from the shower, begging to be brushed away. Just in case, you tightened your hand into a fist in your lap. There could be no fuck ups.

“You’ve not missed much” feeling his gaze fixed on your face, you looked up in time to meet his dejected expression.

No matter, FOMO doesn’t care. But you did doubt he would want to hear such honesty. So, instead, you managed to bring back the innocent smile and looked up at him from underneath your eyelashes:

“Anything you want to share?” the hopefulness in your gaze was beyond control.

Yet Bruce did not seem to care. He still had his eyes on you, silently watching without a single emotion. Unless indifference was considered, of course. You could almost hear the tension buzzing in the background with every passing second. Until he looked down, impatience betrayed in his voice:

“In return for…?” he did not have to finish the question.

You were ready. Another flash of adrenaline, making up for the unrecognizable feelings aroused by his staring. There was no time for that. There never was.

“Ah, of course” compensating the nervous thoughts with a grin, you took out the new folder and passed it to Bruce, “This. Another portion of intel from fellow hyenas and a transcript from the conference yesterday morning” upon his questioning look, you added “If anything, the carnage at the scene last night and how weird Kane was acting seem to suggest I’m right,”

Only, you weren’t so sure anymore. The judging gaze did it again, stripped you from the remains of confidence in your abilities and instincts. And so, you closed your mouth, grinding your teeth to stop the irrational spike of unease.

“I’m not convinced” Bruce’s whisper drew you out of the meandering thoughts, yet there was no way of stopping the bitter commentary.

“Naturally,” muttering under your breath, at the periphery of your attention, you noticed a porcelain cup placed in front of you, “Oh, thank you, Alfred” one look at the butler’s welcoming face was enough to give you back some courage.

Even if it collapsed like domino pieces the next second.

“Is this really necessary? I mean-” Bruce sighed heavily, the exasperation present in every syllable and the anger on his face.

For some reason, it felt like a mild punch to the stomach. The sort that makes one gasp and stop for a second but does not change anything. And it didn’t.

“Bruce, don’t” the warning in Alfred’s tone took you by surprise, stunned into silence as you watched the confrontation unfold without much being said.

The two men stared at each other for a beat. The blue of Bruce’s eyes ablaze with passion, lips pursed in ire. The butler seemed composed on the outside, yet you could feel the steely fortitude resonate from his cold gaze and rigid posture. It looked like it was nothing new for them. With anxiety on the rise, you took a deep breath and braced yourself to break the stalemate:

“Well… at least Mr Pennyworth seems happy I’m here” cracking the joke without confidence, you glanced at the older man in time to see him smile.

It was done. A grateful sigh escaped your lips as Alfred gave Bruce a final glare and left the room without another word. Tension was still very much there, but it seemed like the crisis had been averted. Casting an uncertain look towards Bruce, you could see him relax by a fraction, gaze softening once directed at the file. As though work was the only escape from the demons and reality. Sounds familiar?

“Anyway…” he cleared his throat meaningfully and tapped the page with Kane’s private details, “The only way we could check if this makes any sense would be to follow him at night, see what he does, how he behaves” perhaps it was the use of a plural pronoun that got you.

Or the fact that it did not sound like a rejection of your idea. Your grin widened, that spark of excitement impossible to be extinguished this time.

“I agree. Let’s do that” you waited until Bruce met your sparkling gaze and sent him a wink.

Just because.

It had the effect you expected. He gaped, mouth wide open until he must have found needed words:

“What? You can’t- It could be dangerous, and I don’t want to worry about-” huh?

The sentiment felt like a pinprick of needle straight into the tissue of your heart, flavoured with indignation.

“Worry about me? Didn’t think you’d be such a softie” a carefree chuckle was easy to emit, using the momentum to keep going “I’ll be fine. Remember our meeting? That’s the usual for me too” shrugging, you returned Bruce’s intense gaze, determined to win this stand-off “I often go out at night because that’s when you can see Gotham’s true face. The darkness and the filth” with your eyes locked it was suddenly difficult to breathe or think as you let the words pour out “What people are really like when you push them to the limit” bravado flowed in your veins as you got up from the chair and leant over Bruce’s shoulder, lips brushing the shell of his ear, long enough to whisper “Tonight sounds good for you?” feeling him shiver sent another punch into your guts.

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you backed off, not willing to test the chances too closely. It was enough, the shock had been delivered, and it was a question of how he would handle it. You watched as Bruce seemed to struggle for a deeper breath, the knuckles of his fingers white, palms grasping onto the table edge. And then he relaxed, blue eyes staying fixed on the folder.

“Yes,” a simple, flat answer, nothing left to interpret.

But you did not want to drop the act just yet, the smell of his cologne still fresh on your mind.

“Great, I’ll be obedient, don’t worry,” or you’d try to be “Darling” at the nickname, Bruce gave out another long sigh and raised his head to send the glare.

“Do you have to do… this?” the martyrial inflexion made you grin, increasing the joy flowing through your heart.

“Yep,” it was more fun than you could ever imagine, yet the reasons were unclear.

And they better stay this way…

“Why?” the honesty in the question was the main reason why you stopped in your tracks and met his searching gaze.

You could have lied. You could have brushed it off.

“Because one day I want to see you smile,”

But you didn’t.

***

Having left the message with Alfred that you would be waiting for Bruce opposite Kane’s apartment complex, you spent the rest of the day trying to understand your feelings. The worst part of the attempt was the discovery that these, too, did not make any sense. It did seem like nothing ever did anymore.

Luckily, the meteorological odds were on your side, offering a rare cloudy night without a drop of rain. Sighing with gratitude, you zipped up the jacket tightly and waited for your companion underneath the roof of an old, abandoned building. He was on time, emerging out of the shadows on foot, dressed just like the night you had met. Even well-aware of his identity, you did doubt it for a split of a second right then. Because maybe you had hallucinated the last week. Maybe it was all madness.

Only it wasn’t. Shutting the ridiculous thoughts, you gave the man a nod once he was close enough. In response, Bruce pulled down the hood of his jacket and eyed you quickly. The deal was familiar by now, judgement too. Never breaking the eye contact, you waited for his telling frown to ask:

“Did you park the motorcycle nearby?” half small talk, half interested.

Because you had never done this with a company, and you had a hunch he did not either. One look at Bruce’s sceptical glance around the street confirmed the suspicions.

“Yes,” a curt nod and another look directed towards the building you met by, “Can we use this place as stakeout?”

It felt unreasonably good to be the one he considered the expert on a topic. The research did pay off.

“Yep,” returning the searching gaze, you followed him inside.

It was as you expected, empty rooms filled with derelict furniture and trash. Likely a former drophead squat, the building had been abandoned, becoming a perfect spot to wait out the night. At least until there could be a development in Kane’s whereabouts.

Without a question Bruce entered the room, which faced the cop’s apartment windows, and set his backpack on the sill. Apart from the glass shards on the floor and a damaged sofa with half of the springs poking through the torn upholstering, the space was ideal for the long watch ahead. You observed as he took a few devices out of the backpack and observed the building opposite through the binoculars. Amidst the rubble and dust, Bruce fitted more than he did in the grand interiors of the Tower. Here, armoured by the black clothes and the darkness of the night, he seemed more confident, more complete. As though Bruce Wayne, the heir, did not exist at all, only the Drifter did. The mysterious alias, nothing else but a role he had chosen for himself to hide from the reality he did not want. Did it sound familiar? Perhaps.

Ignoring the problematic ache in the centre of your chest, you carefully perched on the edge of the broken-down sofa with a quiet sigh. It was cold without a heater in trace nor fireplace to light up, so you intertwined your fingers together, hiding them in between your thighs to warm up. In the complete silence, disturbed only by the distant sounds of the city coming in through the broken windows, the awkwardness was felt again. The slight tension underlying the passing minutes with Bruce still occupied with the binoculars, and were you unable to do much else but watch him, hoping not to be caught.

“So… we sit and wait” unexpectedly, Bruce was the first to break the stalemate, turning around to locate you.

The soft tone in his voice was the real surprise, throwing you off guard for a beat. Until you found your footing again, a cheeky grin on hand:

“Why you’re bored?” when the only reaction you got was an eye-roll, you chuckled and chose to change the topic, “What should we do if he leaves the house?” throwing a careful glance towards the lit-up windows of the apartment, you felt the recognizable chill of adrenaline.

This time too, Bruce did not disappoint. He glared at you with palpable annoyance and perched on the wide windowsill, blue eyes now trained solely on you.

“Follow him, what else?” the rhetorical question left open for you to answer as though he wanted the conversation to keep going.

Or, at least, you did hope that was the intention despite the coolness of his gaze or the degree of irritation lining up the syllables. An unlikely plan you had concocted in the back of your mind, begging to be mentioned even though you could anticipate the reaction. Still, it was better than nothing. Straightening up and mindful of the springs poking through the material of the sofa, you offered:

“I’ll do it. If Kane gets suspicious, I can always play it off as though I want to hook up with him or something” the nonchalance was not easy to achieve.

And you did admit the idea was far from bulletproof. Or pleasant. But it did seem like something worth considering, knowing from the intel that Kane was not a faithful husband he wanted everyone to believe he was.

Even if Bruce’s look of utter disapproval was suggesting otherwise.

“What? No, I’m not letting you do that” the tone bore no right to contest the decision.

But you both knew you would do it anyway. You felt the familiar wave of inspiration wash through your veins as your eyes glimmered, unwilling to let go without a fight:

“Why?” when Bruce did not reply, you studied his enigmatic expression for a moment before asking, “You don’t think I can do it? Or do you doubt he’d want me?”

The entrapment was not fully intended, yet once the words had been spoken, you were glad for the chance to back him into a corner. On the one hand, it did not matter what Bruce Wayne thought about your skillset. On the other, it mattered a lot. Because, consciously or not, the attempts at a little more than vexing him had been there all along. Thrown onto the ground like breadcrumbs to help him follow the path. It was difficult to tell whether any of it was working, however. Not that you particularly wanted one result or another.

Contradicting that thought, there was another question on the tip of your tongue. One that you would never dare ask him. Would you want me? No, stop.

“I refuse to answer that” Bruce had perfect timing with the response, breaking through your spiralling thoughts and making you look up, startled.

The impatience was still there, in the crease between his furrowed eyebrows and the pursed lips. Yet, now, you could also see a hint of something else in his expression. Perhaps denial was better than offence. Perhaps he knew what you had been trying to do and wanted nothing to do with it. Perhaps.

Perhaps it was time to shut up.

“What a shame,” sighing with not so feigned disappointment, you stood up from the sofa and crossed the space to perch on the windowsill, “The night in this city always hits different, doesn’t it?” Bruce did not answer, yet you could feel his steady gaze as you continued, “It’s as though once the sun is gone from the sky, no one’s afraid to show their true nature anymore. But then I guess I get it. Only at night do I feel like I’m free from judgemental stares and the expectations” you did not know where it all came from, only that it was the truth and you felt like saying it, “The darkness makes us all anonymous” meeting his gaze across the room, you noticed a glimmer of understanding “You know the saying that nothing good happens after 2 am?” it was enough to give you more courage.

To open and reveal more than you usually gave everyone. Because suddenly, it felt like maybe Bruce could understand it.

“Mm,” the quiet hum of the agreement was the needed push.

Pulling up your knees to hug them to your chest, you allowed yourself to relax by another notch, picking up the strand of monologue:

“I think that’s when the real fun begins. You never really know a person until you sit with them until two, three in the morning,” a passing thought, noticing Bruce glance at his watch, helping to accentuate the question, “What time is it?”

The idea was there, incessantly hanging over every other notion. Because you meant what you said, and you had a feeling he understood it too. It was that long pause before he answered the question, eyes trained only on you.

“One” even though Bruce’s face was still an impenetrable mask, you could see a change in him.

He seemed calmer, as though your ramblings, though painfully unnecessary, were not all that unwelcomed. The gaze he had fixed on you revealed nothing, yet it was far from the usual contemptuous glare. Suddenly he did not seem that distant and aloof. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. It felt like being seen. A strange and dangerous feeling bloomed in your chest as you sent him a self-conscious smile and spoke again:

“Sorry for all the bullshit, by the way. I’ve rarely got people I can say things to,” feeling a wave of familiar melancholy rise up, you added, “Sometimes I think loneliness should be added onto the list of terminal illnesses. Surely, nothing beats the pain of that” now it was difficult to meet his watchful eyes.

You had said too much. One piece of honesty too far, and Bruce was about to scoff or roll his eyes again, indirectly confirming your assumptions. Pathetic and better off alone, right?

Only he did not.

Before you could jump to fill in the silence with yet another apology or disclaimer, Bruce took out the binoculars and stood up to get a better view of the street below.

“He’s leaving the house” the simple information was filled with urgency, a call to action.

And you were not ready.

“Oh, fucking hell,” unable to hold back the curse, you quickly got up from the sill and straightened the clothes.

One judgemental look at your outfit was enough to assure that it was from ideal for supposed seduction. But it had to do. Feeling Bruce’s eyes fixed on your face, you sent him a reassuring smile and nodded your head. It really was time to go.

You both packed up the belongings, making sure to leave no traces in the building and slipped out through the door. The agreement had been left unspoken, but it was simple. You would follow John Kane with Bruce acting as a backup, hiding in the shadows. It sounded simple, yet you knew it was everything but.

Without the rain, the streets of Gotham lost the remains of their charm, offering nothing but dirt and crumbling urbanism. Mindful of the gap to the target, you followed the cop through various lanes and alleyways, delving deeper into the suburbs. Now and then, you would sneak a glance towards the sides, trying to catch a glimpse of your companion. He was good at hiding; that much was true. Kane seemed oblivious, walking briskly along the route familiar only to him. Soon, it was just the two of you, making it harder to disappear should he turn around. With prayers on the tip of your tongue and a phone in your palm, you continued along the path.

Until everything went to shit, to put it simply. It was not your mistake, nor something that could have been foreseen, which made it all worse. One moment you were peacefully following him down a narrow street full of busy bars and dodgy clubs. The next, a sudden, loud noise from one of the establishments made you jump up, your heart racing in your chest. Before you could react, Kane turned around. His gaze fell on you, and you knew it was all finished. Game over.

Mouth agape, you could only stare as the cop’s eyes narrowed and he traced back his steps, his lips twisted into a paranoid frown:

“Are you following me?” with a pitched tone and a glimmer of fear in his eyes, you knew it would be difficult to charm the man, “Who are you?”

But you had to try. Forcing out a flirtatious smile and relaxing your posture to seem unbothered, you made sure to look up at the man from beneath your eyelashes:

“Does it matter?” your head was nothing but a mess, yet all the stops had to be pulled “I’ve noticed you walk by, and I just… God, you’re one hell of a specimen,” lowering down the voice to a seductive whisper, you eyed him closely.

He was far from that.

“What do you want?” the frown seemed impossible to be wiped off Kane’s face.

Ignoring the alarm sirens blaring in your mind, you took a step closer to him and placed your hand on his chest:

“You” another step towards him, the sweetest smirk placed upon your lips to deliver the temptation, “I live close by… I’m lonely, and I feel like you are too. You know the drill,” a wink, complementing the sentence.

And a prayer that he says no, and you can back off, pretending it never happened. You never got to hear an answer. Kane opened his mouth, visibly confused and uncertain:

“Umm-” the sound was stopped with a loud wolf whistle, coming from the alley to your right.

One look was enough to let you know it was bad.

A group of young men emerged from the shadows, accompanied by whistles and yelling. And there was no one to distract them but you and your failed target, frozen in paralysis. Kane was the quicker one, and before you could react, he shook off your palm and skidded down the street without a single word. You had been left alone. With the four gentlemen who had blocked the escape routes and stared you down with nothing but hunger in their empty eyes. Fuck. Tightening your hands into fists at your sides, you cracked an annoyed smile at the men, putting whole strength into playing the part:

“Great, you’ve interrupted me trying to score a catch. Thanks,” chuckling dryly, you took a step forward, noticing the gap between the two of them, “Now, if you’ll excuse-” me.

Your attempt was stopped with the assumed leader of the pack stepping onto your path with a disgusting grin on his face:

“Hold on, don’t run away. We’re not scary” the accompanying hoot of the rest contradicted the statement as he scanned you leisurely, making the point clearer “We just want to have some fun, and you seem eager” at the insinuation, the blood froze in your veins as the pulse picked up its rate.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Hearing your heart pound in your ears, you tried to swerve to the side, hoping for an escape.

“I-” with the situation escalating in the worst way, there were no words left, “Sorry, I better go,”

Despite common sense, your gaze wandered over to the darkness beyond the street, hoping he was there. Even though there was no certainty he would intervene. After all, technically, nothing was going on. Yet.

“C’mon, don’t be shy” as an arm blocked your path, you looked up straight into a new pair of eyes.

Those seemed more mischievous. Their owner was younger than the leader, yet not any less terrifying. The circle closed in around you, taking away the remains of oxygen with them. Fighting to stay vigilant, you tensed, awaiting the next move.

“Why did you change the tune so fast, sweetheart?” it was chief again, taking his place in front of you.

Before you could react, he tipped your chin forcefully, fingers digging into your skin and making you hiss with discomfort.

“How much do you charge?” it was that leering look again, devouring you without respect nor consent, “You don’t look cheap, but then…” the hesitancy in the sarcastic tone made you flinch.

It was nothing new, but it hurt. Adding ache in the chest onto the pile of problems. Because it felt like you had been there before. Maybe everyone had, but they all chose to wipe their memories clean from the moment.

Maybe that was the best you could do.

“I’m not interested” raising your gaze to lock eyes with the oppressor, you seethed out the words.

In addition: please, let me go.

But it did not seem like he wanted to. His colleagues burst into another boisterous laugh as the leader sneaked an arm around your waist and crept even closer:

“Feisty, are we? Good, I like it when they put up a fight” the predatory gleam in his eyes felt like a scene out of worst nightmares, “I’ll make you obedient,”

It was time to fight, yet you had no more strength left. Blindly, you tried to peel away from the attacker, aiming to kick him in the shin and let you go. You never had to go that far.

“Leave her alone,” the familiar voice rang out from the darkness of a rusty gateway.

All the heads whipped in its direction, the hold over your body loosened as the pack located the opposition. With the hood pulled over his head and the confidence visible in every step, Bruce looked intimidating. Despite your best efforts to remain unmoved, a grateful smile placed itself on your lips, heart already knowing that it was over.

“Or?” the final attempt at threats got cut short.

Before you could perceive his moves, Bruce pushed you away from the group, taking your place in the centre of the circle. The boys were ready, up for a fight and thirsty for a riot. But so was he, sizing them up like prey. His fists clenched as Bruce surged, catching the chief off guard and delivering a hard blow to his nose. A telling yell was the sign to perfect the hit with a knee jab into his stomach, making the man double down in pain within less than a minute. But it was not over. You watched, astonished, as the mercs followed their leader, jumping straight in with their guards up, fists carving arcs through the air, hitting Bruce in the arm and chest. He did not make a sound, blocking every move he could, spinning within the circle to keep up with the assaulters. There was something graceful and deadly in how he danced in the combat. Using their distraction to help him find their weaknesses and launch the attack. Soon enough, it was just him, and the youngest of the group left standing. The fear in the boy’s eyes told you enough to know that it was truly over.

As though a switch had been flipped, Bruce turned to you, mindless of the thugs. You stared as they scrambled up from the pavement and scuttled across the street, back into hiding. It was still difficult to breathe. With your heart racing in your chest and mind unable to process everything that happened, only a cautious, soft voice made you come back to the present moment:

“Are you alright?” the question seemed hesitant enough that you shook off the paralysis and glance up at him with wide eyes.

Are you? There was hardly time to ponder.

“I- Yeah, I think so” your voice was hoarse from the emotions keeping your throat dry.

But still, once your eyes were locked, it was impossible to look away from Bruce. The blue pulled you in and the genuine concern anchored in the depths. Because this was real. He was there, and he saved you from a situation you did not dare imagine escalating. And the way he fought- My god. It felt like too much to take in. Like there was not enough oxygen in the air. Like you could suffocate any minute.

Until you felt a tentative touch on your chin, careful fingers tipping your head and touching the cheek. A surprised gasp was all you could manage as Bruce spoke up:

“You’ve got a bruise” the husky edge to his voice was surprising.

His fingers ghosted over the edge of your jaw and the cheek, where the attacker touched you mere minutes prior. Everything about this contact felt different. Bruce was not harsh nor forceful though you once assumed he could be. The unexpected tenderness seeped into his eyes as you stared back, unable to make a move or break the silence.

Maybe you were alright.

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phantoms-lair · 3 years

Text

BatFam Snippets

"Mr. Wayne, are you alright?"

"Detective, I am on many levels not alright." Bruce said candidly. "A man I was working with broke into my house to abduct one of my children, a child he'd apparently been abusing before he came into my custody and probably planned to continue doing so. And he was stopped by my butler with a shotgun. I don't like guns. I don't like that one was in my house without my knowledge. And I certainly don't like the idea of people being killed with guns for reasons you and all of Gotham know."

The Detective flinched and the unusual level of seriousness in Gotham's most vapid playboy's voice. It was so easy to forget the cheerful, if sometimes vapid, man in front of him had watched his parents get shot to death as a child.

"But it he hadn't...Masters might have gotten Danny. Maybe even have taken Tim too. He and Danny look enough alike. And I can't...I couldn't deal with that." Bruce took a deep breath. "This is a nightmare and the only worse nightmare would have been if Alfred hadn't stopped him so no, I am not alright." Bruce ran a hand over his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce Wayne did not use foul language.

When he was a child it was because of the fear of getting his mouth washed out with soap. As an adult it was much the same as his vow against killing - the fear that once he'd start he'd never stop and he'd end up in Arkham himself, just shouting obscenities till the end of his days. That's not to say he wasn't tempted sorely at times. And now was one of those times.

During the investigation into the death of Vlad Master and why Vlad Masters was after the children it was almost impossible to keep who Danny truly was underwraps, He'd thought they'd managed, until he'd gotten a message from child services this morning.

They'd figured him out. Not from anything Danny or Bruce had said, but from Vlad posthumously flipping the table one last time, He wanted nothing more than to sit on it. To give Danny a chance to rest and heal. But that would be making Danny's decision for him and Bruce wouldn't take that away.

"Danny can we talk for a moment?"

Danny studied his face. "Alone?"

"That's up to you." Bruce said honestly. Any other child he would have said yes, but no other child he'd taken in was so frightened by the prospect of being alone with him.

"Can Tim stay?" Tim's smile brightened at the trust his foster brother was showing him and Danny rubbed the back if his neck nervously.

Bruce sighed. "They've started going through Vlad's will. You've been named as the main beneficiary."

"I don't want it." Danny said without hesitation.

"Understandable. But if you refuse, it will all go to the other beneficiary." Bruce explained.

"The other-?" Danny screwed up his face in thought. "Mom right? It had to be. He didn't care about anyone else."

Bruce nodded.

"Let her have it." Danny huffed, ready to go back to what he was doing.

Bruce wished so much they could leave it at that. But Danny's decision needed to be informed. "What would she do with it?"

Danny opened his mouth to answer, but the words caught in his throat. He'd known the answer without thinking, and as such hadn't thought about it. She'd make more weapons. Finance more experiments. Push more anti-ghost legislation. Ancients, with Vlads resources she could finance her own GIW. Not to mention all his notes on half ghosts...

"I'm going to guess retire to the Hamptons is out?" Tim asked dryly.

"I can't let that happen." Danny whispered.

"I say she and the Hapmtons deserve each other." Tim quipped.

"I've been trying to find a way out without revealing you. I haven't found one yet, but no matter what I promise you two things, Danny." Bruce said solemnly. "You won't have to go back with them and neither of them will ever lay a finger on you again."

#Danny Phantom #Batman #Batfam AU #Ghost Writing #Taking Flight

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

Seized

An addition to Approval. Do not read this until reading that first.

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader // Damian Wayne x Batmom

Summary: What happens when Talia Al Ghul learns that someone has stolen the affections of her past lover and her son?

Word Count: 3,000 [One Shot]

“Delinquents have been detained. I can hear the sirens,” Damian stated calmly in his comms.

“Good work, Robin. You know where to meet me. You have a minute,” Bruce responded as he whipped the bat mobile through Crime Alley to grab his son.

Just as Damian opened the door and hopped in, an alarm went off within the vehicle.

“The Manor,” Damian thought aloud as he read the screens with his father.

Bruce ignored his comment and was calling Alfred immediately.

“Master Wayne,” the butler instantly picked up. “I followed protocol, but they were already gone when I arrived.”

“Y/N…” Bruce immediately asked.

“They took her,” Alfred told him, distress clear in his tone.

Damian’s head whipped to his father to watch his reaction.

But Bruce’s jaw only tightened and he sped the batmobile even faster.

Returning faster to Wayne Manor than ever before, Bruce jumped out of the batmobile and up the secret entrance to get to the main house.

Damian was hot on his heels. He’d already sent an encrypted message to his brothers, informing them of the situation. It was only a matter of time before they were at the manor as well. Though Damian suspected Jason would not come, instead already starting to scour the streets of Gotham for Y/N and her captors.

Alfred was already waiting for them. “Master Wayne, I am so sorry.”

Bruce ignored him and walked to the master bedroom. Y/N would’ve been sleeping when the attack occurred. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had been awake, she had no training in self defense. She was merely an innocent civilian.

“Father,” Damian muttered quietly.

Bruce turned around to find his son ripping a shuriken out of the door frame.

They shared a look, both recognizing the particular shape and color.

“The League…” Damian muttered quietly, saying what they both were thinking.

——————

Y/N was barely awake.

They clearly had drugged her with something to make her more compliant. Everything was foggy and muffled.

Yet they still tied her hands and ankles together, as if her brain could even manage to get her body to move.

But Y/N could feel the effects of the drugs losing their strength, yet keeping their hold on her.

She squinted as she looked around. The air felt different. It was colder and dryer, making Y/N believe that she was no longer in Gotham. Little did she know, she wasn’t even in the country any longer.

“I do not know what he sees in you,” a woman hummed from somewhere in the room.

Y/N blinked as he listened, but her eyes could not adjust to the low lighting and she didn’t even have the strength to turn her head.

“You are weak. Ripped from your own bed without so much as a fight.”

Then she heard the grunts and clashing of metal.

The woman smiled. “Right as expected, my son.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed at ‘my son.’ Then she finally lifted her head and took in her surroundings. There were swords and other weapons stored everywhere, and there was armor hung from the walls.

“Talia?” She whispered.

The woman chuckled. “Weak, but not utterly foolish.”

Then the door of the room was thrown open.

Y/N looked to see Damian in his Robin uniform.

“My son, finally returned," Talia greeted with a smirk.

“Mother.” Then his gaze flickered to Y/N. Very subtly, he was scanning her body to access any possible injuries.

His gaze turned back to his mother. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You have forgotten where you come from, Damian. You are not just the heir to the Wayne family. Before anything else, you are my son and the heir to Ra's al Ghul’s throne.”

“She has nothing to do with this,” Damian said with a gesture to Y/N.

“She has everything to do with this,” Talia snapped. “She has made you weak.”

Damian said nothing.

“She has taken you both from me,” Talia growled.

“Father does not love you,” he growled.

“A small lapse in judgment on his part, but not something that cannot be remedied. Our love gave us you, and I fully believe he will return to me.”

“His heart belongs to someone else. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can give up your fantasy.” Then he hesitated to say the next part. “I never plan on returning to The League of Shadows. I wish to stay with father.”

Talia’s amusement vanished at her sons words.

The next second, she unsheathed her sword. “Perhaps I should just kill her and remind you of your place, my son.”

With that, Damian rushed forward and intercepted Talia’s attack with his own sword.

“Do not touch her,” Damian growled.

Their swords continued to clash as the mother and son fought each other. The fight raged on for what felt like forever. Too evenly matched, but also both too terrible at hiding that neither actually wanted to kill the other.

In the distance, Y/N could hear even more fighting. She could only assume it was Bruce fighting his way to her and his son.

Talia and Damian’s swords locked again, both of their stances shaking from the hold.

“Do you really think you and your father stand a chance against the entire League? Why do you think we lured you all the way here? You are outnumbered.” Talia hissed.

“You think us foolish enough to come alone?” Damian smirked right before there was a boom that shook the entire compound.

Talia’s focus slipped half a second, allowing Damian a window to go on the offense.

He flipped his mother’s sword out of her grip and held his own to her throat.

“Yield,” he growled down to her.

“You truly choose her over your own mother?” The hurt in her eyes was clear.

“You abandoned me, used me as a tool to disrupt father’s life. She taught me that there is more to life than killing and destroying. She loves me and care for me, even when I gave her no reason to do so.”

“And it will be the death of you,” Talia warned.

He glared at her. “Yield!”

But he knew she would never. So he whipped out a dart and blew it to her neck – a sedative. It knocked her out within seconds.

Waiting until he was sure it had worked, Damian sheathed his sword once again and ran to Y/N’s side.

With a knife, he cut the ropes around her wrists and ankles.

“D-Damian,” her voice was still slurred from the drugs and she was weak. How long had she been here without food or water? “I don’t think I can walk."

Damian helped her to her feet. “Y/N, please try,” he begged as he wrapped her around around his shoulders. He was still just a boy, one that was shorter than her. But he wouldn’t give up that easily.

There was another explosion.

“What’s-What’s happening?” Y/N asked as she dragged her feet and held on tightly.

“That would be Todd, most likely taking his job of distracting to an unnecessary level.”

“You all came?” She asked in shock.

“Of course,” Damian scoffed.

Suddenly an object came flying at them and Y/N cried out in pain.

“No!” Damian bellowed as he looked up to see that another League member was attempting to stop their escape. And with it, they had thrown a shuriken that had landed in Y/N’s side.

She dropped to the ground.

Damian screamed as he unsheathed his sword once again and charged the assassin. It wouldn’t take him long. He knew that every minute spent fighting was a minute Y/N was bleeding out and edging closer to death.

He didn’t hold back like he had with his mother and quickly disarmed the enemy. Then thrusting his sword into a nonfatal area of his body, enough to neutralize him.

Damian rushed back to Y/N’s side, where a pool of blood was forming from her wound.

He knew it was useless, but he still tried to lift Y/N into his arms to carry her. He cried out in both panic and frustration.

The building had now caught aflame due to Jason’s explosions. Damian would need to call for backup, hoping one of his older brothers could help.

Then a shadow was cast over him.

Damian tensed, believing it to be another attack.

But he looked up to find his father standing before them.

However, Bruce’s gaze was on his unconscious girlfriend.

With the arrival of his father, Damian’s cold and calculating disposition melted.

“She’s hurt,” his voice trembled and tears formed in his eyes. “Help her.”

Damian rarely cried. He cried less than grown men. He was raised that way. It didn’t help that his father was not a great example of healthy emotional expression.

But Bruce knew what his sons tears were for: Damian was frustrated, he felt weak, and he thought he had failed his mission. But most of all, Bruce knew his son was crying for fear of Y/N’s death. Because the boy had grown to love her.

As if there were a world when Bruce wouldn’t give his own life to save Y/N.

Bruce bent down and carefully brought Y/N into his arms.

Damian heard her mutter his father’s name, though still delirious from both the drugs he’s sure his mother pumped into her and the blood loss.

“Red Robin, get the jet to my coordinates immediately,” Bruce instructed through his comms.

Damian wondered how his father could be so calm when the woman he loved was bleeding out in his arms. This wasn’t bat business, this was personal. But Bruce spoke like it was just another night of patrol.

A few minuets later, Damian and Bruce had fought their way through the flames and burning compound.

Tim lowered the platform of the jet.

Damian made sure his father and Y/N got on before he followed. He turned and gave one last look at the burning compound that would no longer exist come morning. He did not fear for his mother’s life. He knew someone from the League would come for her – if she didn’t save herself first.

When he boarded the jet, his father already had Y/N on the surgical table that elevated from the jet floor.

Bruce had taken off his cowl, allowing Damian and his brothers to study his expressions.

Damian had been wrong about his father handling the situation like any other mission. For now he could see the terror and worry in his father’s eyes, despite him trying to control his emotions.

Damian looked to Jason, who still had his Red Hood helmet on.

“My grandfather?” He asked his brother.

“Escaped,” Jason muttered.

Damian stepped forward to help Bruce with Y/N’s injuries.

“She’ll be OK,” he muttered to his father.

All of them had high-level medical training to know.

Thankfully the assassin’s aim was not great and didn’t land in lethal place on Y/N’s body. But she still lost a lot of blood and would need many stitches.

All the brother’s shared a look when Bruce ignored the statement.

———

Y/N woke up to someone gripping her hand. She recognized from the smell and the feel of the bedding that she was in Bruce’s bed at the manor.

She winced as she opened her eyes to find Bruce was the one holding her hand as he sat in a chair only inches away from the side of the bed.

“Hi,” she whispered to him with a sad smile.

“Hi,” he said back with a smirk.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.”

Then Y/N looked past Bruce to realize there was someone else in the room.

Damian passed out on the velvet chaise that was pushed against the windows.

“He hasn’t left your side,” Bruce told her. “Dick had to convince him just to take a shower for 5 minutes when we first got back.”

Y/N’s heart melted at the revelation.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

The sound of Bruce’s voice as he said it made Y/N’s gaze snap back to him. Had it shook? Or was she imagining it?

Y/N squeezed his hand that was still wrapped around hers.

“I know,” she told him with a sympathetic look.

He hid it well, but Y/N knew Bruce. And she knew that her being kidnapped from his own home probably drove him mad with guilt. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already designed an entirely new security system to prevent something like that ever happening again.

Bruce took in a shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

He wanted to say that he always feared her being with him would put her in danger like this.

He wanted to say that maybe she should stay away from him.

He wanted to say that him and the kids didn’t deserve her.

He wanted to say that the only reason this happened is because Talia hated that she loved her son better than she ever did.

But Bruce had never been good at saying how he actually felt – or even acknowledging he had any feelings at all.

So Y/N brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “Bruce, I know,” she said once again.

“I won’t let it happen again. I promise you,” he told her evenly.

“Bruce, I knew what I signed up for when you told me you were Batman. If I wasn’t willing to face the reality of it, I wouldn’t have stayed.”

“No one would’ve blamed you if you hadn’t.”

There was a knock at the door and then it opened a second later.

Damian jumped awake at the sound. But then he quickly brought his attention to Y/N. “You’re awake.”

But everyone’s attention was on Dick, who was standing at the open doorway.

“Hey,” he greeted Y/N, surprised to see that she was awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Tired. But I’ll be alright.”

He seemed to relax from her answer.

Then he winced when he looked at Bruce. “They put the signal up.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

He was about to open his mouth to ask them to handle it, not wanting to leave Y/N alone now that she had woken up.

“Go, Bruce. I’ll be OK.” Y/N told him, reading his mind.

“I think it’s the Joker,” Dick added with a serious frown.

“Bruce, go.” Y/N repeated.

And he saw the sincerity in her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, deciding he didn’t care if his two sons were witnesses to the intimacy.

Then Bruce kissed her forward. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Alfred will be here if you need anything. Do not hesitate to call.”

Y/N nodded.

Bruce stood up and acknowledged Damian and Dick. “Let’s go.”

Once they were ways down the hall, Bruce heard Damian stop.

“Father?”

Bruce and Dick both turned to face Damian.

“I wish to stay with Y/N.”

Bruce and Dick shared a look, and then Dick decided to give the two a moment alone and muttered something about waiting in the cave.

Bruce walked back to his youngest son.

Damian’s gaze was glued on the floor. “Mother truly would’ve killed her?”

Bruce sighed. “Most likely, yes.” He saw no point in lying to his son.

“Because she knows that you and I love her?”

“Yes.”

Damian was quiet for a moment. But Bruce knew he had more to say.

“I used to think I had to earn it.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Mother’s love. I had to earn it. Win in combat. Successfully execute a target. Outsmart a puzzle or challenge.” Damian looked up at his father with a broken expression. “Her love always came with a price.”

Bruce kneeled down to his son.

The boy shook his head. “But Y/N made me realize that I don’t have to earn anyone’s love. I don’t have to prove that I’m worthy of it.” He bit his lip. “She’s not my father or my brother. She didn’t have to love me. But she does…even when I did nothing to earn it.”

“Everyone is deserving of love, Damian.” Bruce gripped his son’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for not teaching you that myself.”

Damian nodded. “So, may I please stay with her tonight? I don’t want her to be alone.” But then he quickly corrected himself. “Unless of course, you require my assistance, father.”

Bruce smirked at him. “I think we will manage, Damian.” Then he squeezed his shoulder. “Look after her for me, alright?”

Damian relaxed and quickly nodded his head. “Of course, father.”

When Bruce returned hours later, Damian was cuddled next to Y/N in the bed. But clearly laying in a position to be mindful of her injuries. Both were fast asleep. The bright television was the only thing lighting the room, as it played a Pixar movie.

Bruce couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“I got him,” Dick whispered to him before stepping into the room and carefully lifting the boy in his arms, clearing the space in the bed for Bruce to join Y/N.

Bruce moved about the room as he changed into cotton shorts and went without a shirt.

Y/N woke slightly as he joined her in bed.

“Everything OK?” She whispered sleepily.

“Everything’s fine. Did Damian keep you company?”

Y/N smiled and shifted her body so she was cuddle into him. “Yes…my little protector.”

Bruce smiled at that. “Don’t let him hear the ‘little’ part…”

She chuckled. “Good call.”

And then she was fast asleep once again.

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

Please, please, please let me know what you think!

#bruce wayne x reader #damian wayne x batmom #damian wayne x batmom!reader #batmom #bruce wayne reader insert #batfam #batboys #batman reader insert #batman x reader #damian wayne & batmom!reader #damian wayne & batmom #talia al ghul #damian al ghul #batman universe

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milliedazzledust · 3 years

Text

Even When It Hurts (Clark Kent imagine)

Request by @icyhollands : Clark comforting the reader after she got hurt by someone pretty badly, and him comforting her from a anxiety attack after she gets hurt

Words: 2009

A/N: I know a lot of you were waiting for this so I’m sorry it took so long to write - thank you for your patience and I hope you’ll like it :)

“Clark, you need to come down, now!”

Flying across his enemies on the battlefield, he faintly heard the sound of a voice, even with the distance. As soon as Bruce had found the aliens associated with Darkseid, they had been quick to act and the whole team had made the trip to fight.

While the others were keeping most of their opponents on the ground, he had taken upon himself to divert their attention from the precious object they were trying to steal by attacking from the sky. Too focused on the task, he had missed Arthur and Y/N going after a bunch of them. When she had seen her friend in bad posture, she hadn’t hesitated to put herself between him and the alien, taking the full blast of his hit. Her body had flown across the field before landing on a large tree trunk, breaking it in half. Her vision had been blurred for a moment, too disoriented as her breath was knocked out of her by the hard impact. She hadn’t been fast enough to notice the monster running toward her until she had felt the pain. Arthur had come to her rescue and killed him, but it was too late. The damage was already done.

When she looked down, all she saw was the tip of the weapon he had used, the other half was deep in her side, buried between what she guessed was her ribs.

“Y/N’s been hit!” Arthur yelled as he grabbed her when she fell on her knees.

High above their heads, Clark looked down and quickly spotted the wounded woman. He wasted no time in making his way to her, sending some of the aliens flying with a flicker of his hand. When one of them launched at him, and conjuring up all his frustration and his anger, he punched him with a force that knocked him out instantly.

His eyes remained on her, always. He felt his heart clenched when he saw pain twisting her features and instantly understood the gravity of her situation. She was holding onto Arthur, clutching her side, holding the weapon steady in her flesh. Fear is all he could feel when he landed on the ground, staring at the large gash of blood around her wound. He could even hear her heartbeat getting faster by the second.

Furrowing his brows in concern, he kneeled in front of her and grabbed her face. For a second he just studied her, softly brushing a tear with his thumb, until his eyes landed on hers.

“How bad is it ?” She asked him, her voice a weak whisper.

“You’re gonna be fine” He assured her.

“You’re a terrible liar, Clark” She tried to smile but even that simple movement seemed too much in her state.

She knew if she didn’t feel a thing yet it was purely because of the adrenaline. Tiny little molecules running through her veins, urging her body to fight back, to survive and fix what the foreign object had torn. She could sense fluid pouring out of her injury, the hand clutching her side was already covered in red. She was waiting for the moment the hormone would stop working and she would feel like a bomb had exploded inside of her.

She closed her eyes and a sob escaped her mouth. Her breathing was getting irregular and she was losing her grip. She was exhausted.

“Y/N, stay with me” The superhero tried to motivate her, slowly shaking her head. “Show me those pretty eyes”

She was starting to lose consciousness, and that observation alone terrified him. He kissed her forehead in a sign of encouragement and laid his hand over hers so she wouldn’t let go. She cried out in pain and glanced down. It only took a couple seconds before he was covered in blood as well. He pursed his lips, forcing himself to keep his eyes on hers and not look at the wound. His face was betraying him and he wasn’t even aware of it. She could so easily see the reflection of his own fear in his gaze, the depiction of worry over his features that she lazily traced with her fingers. The shadow of a smile appeared on her lips knowing only she could read him like an open book.

“It’s alright, baby” He comforted her.

“You should work on your poker face” She tried to joke. She was glad it made him smirk.

He turned his head toward Arthur, still holding the woman’s body.

“We’re gonna lay her down” He told him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” Y/N warned him, grabbing his biceps to stop him.

“Do you trust me ?” He muttered, stroking her cheek.

“You know I do”

“Then trust me”

She faintly nodded and let the men handle her wounded body. Arthur was behind her, holding on her shoulders, and Clark was in front of her, one hand on her wound, the other behind her neck. As gently as they could, they started to rotate her. Clark never moved his gaze away from hers, not even when her hand gripped his shoulder in pain or when her tears flowed freely as the pain started to become unbearable.

The moment her head touched the ground, she began to cough blood. Her eyes widened at the realization and her heartbeat hastily palpitated.

“We’re alright” He reassured her.

“We’re alright” She repeated in a whisper. She could no longer focus on anything around her. Anxiety was creeping up and threatening to take over. She knew it would do no good but she couldn’t stop it. Her hand tightly clutched the fabric of her man’s costume and her chest started to rise more rapidly as bile rose in her throat.

“Clark” She called for help in a single breath.

“I’m here, baby. I’m not leaving your side”

He wiped the blood on her mouth with his finger.

“You and I have a date tomorrow, remember ?” He spoke, smiling when she faintly nodded. “So you’re not allowed to fall asleep. I haven’t even introduce you to my terrible cooking yet”

Her laugh started a coughing fit, bringing more blood out of her mouth.

“I have to take it out, Y/N” He said more seriously, motioning to the weapon in her body.

Her eyes widened in panic and she shook her head, ignoring the pain.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, beautiful. I’ve got you”

“A .. plan ?” She asked.

“Yes, I do have a plan” He understood her question. “But you’re not going to like it”

“Tell me” She murmured.

“You’re hemorrhaging,” He explained. “If we let it in, you’re risking an infection”

“And if you take it out, I’ll bleed out” She weakly responded.

“Not if I cauterize the wound”

“How ?”

She understood the moment she saw his eyes flashing red. She gulped, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

“I trust you” She repeated the words she had said already.

He nodded and gave her one last encouraging smile before motioning for Arthur to come closer. He explained his plan in a hurry before standing up, letting the King of Atlantis take his place.

“Ready ?” He questioned the woman.

“Do it” She said, clenching her teeth.

She averted her gaze toward Clark, mouthing one last ‘I love you’ before Arthur pulled out the weapon in a very fast movement and held her down. Superman’s eyes immediately started glowing and he directed his heat vision to the open wound. The moment the high temperature laser touched her skin, she screamed in agony. A horrible, searing pain suddenly invaded her body and she was convinced she was going to die right there. She felt the urge to get away from the source but Arthur had a good grip on her. She kept shouting, as if it would ease the burning sensation. Clark’s jaw tightened and a tear rolled down his cheek, hating to be the one causing her pain.

After only a couple of seconds, she could no longer handle the torture and lost consciousness. The superhero stopped his ministration when he was sure the wound was closed properly and no blood was leaking anymore. Ignoring the smell of burned skin, he silently picked her up in his arms, listening closely to her heartbeats to make sure she was alright.

“I’ve got her” He told Arthur before bolting in the air.

She woke up hours later in a bed, completely disoriented. It took her a solid minute to recognize Clark’s bedroom inside the Kent farmhouse. She felt a throbbing ache on her side and muffled a scream when she touched it. When she looked down, she realized Clark had taken off her suit and had replaced it with one of his shirts. She lifted it to inspect the damage but all there was left of her wound was a small scar made by the man she loved. She shuddered at the memory and swung her legs off the bed. The moment her feet touched the ground, her body crumbled and she lost her balance. A pair of strong arms caught her before she could injure herself.

“You’ve not healed yet” A voice scolded her.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes closed, she let her head fall on his chest and circled his waist, squeezing him in a tight embrace that she so desperately needed. He was her safe line when she was spiraling down, which was happening now that she remembered she had almost lost him.

“How are you feeling ?” He inquired, kissing her head

“Alive” She replied. “I got … I really got scared for a minute”

She brushed a tear and tried to stop the hurricane of negative thoughts hitting her. He felt it too when her body started shaking and ran a hand on her back to calm her down.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you” He swore, holding back the anxiety creeping in. “And I hope you know I won’t let you out of my sight for at least a week”

She knew it was his way of lightening the mood when he could feel her darkness hovering above both of their heads. He had a way of guessing when it was coming and always reacted quickly, diverting her attention to anything else but her mind playing games.

“Do I, at least, get to spend that week in your arms ?” She smirked, raising her head so only her chin was resting on his chest.

“I have conditions” He replied with a smile.

She rolled her eyes.

“Name it”

She saw the change in his attitude and tilted her head in confusion when he took a step back. Cupping her face with both his hands, he stared deeply at her. She could see his quiet emotion through the way his eyes bore into hers, his fear and his devotion.

“Never say I love you like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to hear it” He told her, his lips quivering as a shaky breath escaped his mouth.

Instead of answering, she led him to the bed behind them and together they laid down. He pulled her close and she raised her head until her lips found his. She didn’t need words when she could condensed a million loving thoughts into this moment. The emotion of that kiss alone spoke volume. A simple gesture that meant ‘you’re my home and I won’t leave’

“I love you, Clark”

She repeated the words again and again, making him laugh with happiness. He tightened his hold around her waist until she was almost laying on his chest. Her ear against his heart, she listened with a smile and closed her eyes, soothed by the steady rhythm.

“Thank you” She whispered after a while.

“What for ?”

“Bringing my head and soul back home to you when they get lost”

“Always” He promised.

Her face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, she kissed his cheek and peacefully fell asleep in his protective embrace.

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent imagines #clark kent fanfiction #superman #superman x reader #superman x you #superman imagine #superman imagines #superman fanfiction

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marauderundercover · 3 years

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 13: To the Death (Death)

AO3

Their last few days in Gotham went by smoothly. No rogue attacks, no akuma tacks. The only negative was Mr. Wayne refusing to allow her on patrol again because she was “injured” and “could have died.” Gotham has been nice for the most part and was full of surprises, but Marinette was relieved when the plane landed in Paris. The entire trip moved to the back of her mind, almost like a dream. Like it hadn’t really happened. Until Hawkmoth sent out his next akuma.

---

Taking in a shaky breath, Marinette blinks back tears. Everything was suddenly real. Hawkmoth might win.

She despised akumas with weapons. Specifically, the lethal weapons. Creative weapons or blasters she could handle. No problem. Legitimate swords or guns? Not so much. Instead she was left with a feeling of dread and uncertainty.

Pushing forward, she’s just about to call her lucky charm when she feels it. Choking slightly on the blood- why is there blood- she looks down at the sword sticking out of her chest. Oh. That’s why there’s blood. Blood. She coughs, wincing as she watches the blood pour out of her mouth. Huh. That’s not right. She almost hears Chat screaming. But why? Why does he sound so upset? Why- Oh. OH. She’s dying. She realizes this with a start as the world around her darkens and she begins to sway. She’s dying, and Hawkmoth is going to get her Miraculous. Hawkmoth is going to win. Oh, no- please-

“Chat.” She manages to say, watching as he runs towards her and scoops her up, carrying her out of the way of cameras and prying eyes. A place she can stay. A place where Hawkmoth won’t take her Miraculous. He won’t. He can’t. She frowns, black spots covering her vision, but not enough to hide his tears.

“Take them. Save them.” She manages to say, shaky hands reaching for her earrings. His lips move, so she knows he’s saying something. She wishes she could hear it. Wishes she’d thought of this possibility. She thinks Chat will win. But it’ll be so hard. She should’ve wrote a will. Should’ve planned ahead. Should’ve been more like her father. She blinks at Chat- Adrien- and realizes he’s still talking. She hopes it’s not important, that maybe he could tell her later. Her thoughts continue to jumble, just like her vision. Shifting into one incoherent mess. Words become shapes, pain dulls until she’s numb. Until she can’t feel it. Until she closes her eyes and lets the darkness carry her away.

---

Immediately after finding out about his Parisian daughter, Bruce Wayne had installed the akuma alert system in the Batcave. And on his phone. He wanted to be absolutely certain that he would know what was happening when, and maybe even find some way to help. Do something. Stop the emotional terrorist that had taken over his daughter’s childhood.

Sitting in his study, he takes a swig of coffee, thankful for a relaxing Saturday. He wanted to avoid WE, stay as far away as possible. They’d been bombarding him with questions about Marinette and the (true) rumor that started when her class first arrived in Gotham. Wanted to know if it was true, what they could say, what the official statement was. He wasn’t sure. He wanted Marinette to be able to make that decision. But it wasn’t something you could just ask after only a week of knowing each other.

A shrill ring breaks him out of his thoughts and he glances at his phone. That’s odd, he thinks, looking at the screen. Until he reads closer and realizes why it looks different. The Parisian news stations, who had never seemed too distressed by attacks before, were urging people to hide. Not just shelter in place. But hide. Making up his mind quickly, Bruce makes his way to the Bat Cave. Sure he couldn’t jump over to Paris to assist his daughter in battle, but he had to know that she was safe. He had to know Marinette would be okay. Miraculous cure or not. Walking into the cave, he’s unsurprised to see Tim already there, the news feed pulled up on the largest screen.

“It’s not looking good B. Casualties have already passed fifteen hundred. LB and Chat both look exhausted and the fight just started.” Tim informs him, frowning into his unnecessarily large cup of coffee. Bruce simply nods, trying to ignore the sudden tension in his jaw.

“How’s she holding up?” Dick asks, arms crossed as he walks in, Damian trailing in behind him.

“She’s giving ‘em hell but she also took a coupla good hits.” Jason says, watching his phone as he walks in through another entrance. Bruce’ chest feels warm at the obvious concern and care his sons have for their sister. He had no doubt that Cass (who had returned to Hong Kong before Marinette returned to Paris) was also watching the stream. Although not necessary, it was still nice of them to check. To care. As the fight goes on though, Bruce becomes antsy. The cameras are too far away to pick up the conversation between the heroes and the akuma, but it doesn’t look good. Marinette looks anxious, nervous, almost frenzied. All emotions he’d never seen on her (as Ladybug).

“Call your lucky charm.” Damian hisses, glaring up at the screen. Bruce silently agrees. As odd as the power was, it hadn’t failed her yet. There’s no- his blood freezes. The world shuts down as he tries to remember how to breathe. To remember that it’s okay to breathe. Because standing in front of the akuma is his daughter. With a sword protruding from her chest. The entire cave is silent, everyone waiting. Trying to process. The sword is pulled back and Bruce watches, sick to his stomach as blood falls out her mouth. As she sputters, more blood falling out. The dazed look on her face as she sways on her feet, not quite seeing her surroundings breaks his heart. She stumbles, her legs giving out, and he stares, unable to look away as Chat Noir manages to grab her and swing away.

“Shit.”

“She did not even dodge! She could have-”

“She’s not- she’s okay, right?”

“Is she-?” Bruce is barely able to hear the chaos around him. Barely able to focus on the video in front of him. He lets out a shuddering breath, turning his complete focus to watch for her to come back. Surely someone would heal her. The Miraculous cure could heal her. It had to. He desperately watches the screen, waiting for her spotted costume to come back. She had to come back. He sees spots, but squints. Something’s wrong with the spotted costume swinging towards the fight. The colors are right, but the flash of blonde hair and distinct male figure- it’s not...it’s not her. Not Marinette.

“It appears Mr. Bug is on the scene. Ladybug is down. I repeat, Ladybug is down.” The news anchor reports, a distraught look on her face. But the look on her face is nothing in comparison to the agony that shoots through Bruce. How? Why isn’t she up? Why would Adrien use her Miraculous? Why not heal her now, let her finish her battle? Unless...could she not be healed? Was the Miraculous cure unable to bring the Ladybug holder back? No. No, he couldn’t think that. Couldn’t accept that. She had to be okay. He couldn’t lose a child. Not again. Never again.

“The Cure will save her.” Damian says stiffly, tugging Bruce from his thoughts. He looks over to his youngest, torn by how young Damian suddenly looks. How broken he looks, staring at the screen in front of them. Braving a glance at his other sons, Bruce suddenly feels sick. His phone rings suddenly, and Bruce jumps, hoping the name- but no. It’s Cass, requesting a facetime. He answers, giving his daughter (is Marinette okay? Will she be okay? What if he loses her right after finding her?) a quizzical look.

“Little sister is okay, right?” She signs furiously, a frown on her face. Bruce grits his teeth, trying hard to push down the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“I’m not sure.” He answers, leaving his tone flat and without emotion. He couldn’t break. Not right now, not when his children looked so scared. Not when they all looked horrified. He couldn’t afford to be scared or horrified too. He had to hold it together. Even if he was screaming on the inside. Screaming and begging and pleading with whatever powers there were. Pleading for his daughter’s life. For her to wake up. For the Cure to work on her. He watches and waits. Wincing as Adrien is thrown around even more than usual. His hands twitch, wanting to do something, anything to help. Bruce finally stands, ready to put on his suit and just take the damn Zeta tubes to Paris. Who gives a damn about Hawkmoth, his daughter needs him. He’s just about to walk away when he sees it. The pure white butterfly flying out of Mr. Bug’s yoyo. Bruce inhales sharply, watching the wave of light and tiny ladybugs sweep across the city. He watches as Adrien slides the victim a card before swinging away. Watches as he doesn’t reappear. The camera zooms in to the area he’d flown off to, but there was nothing. Zooming back out, the camera focuses back on the news anchor.

“And that’s another akuma, taken down by our brave heroes. Back to you, Jean Marc.” She says with a tense smile. And the footage cuts out. It’s no more. No one moves. No one speaks. Everyone just stares at the blank screen. The screen where they’d watched Marinette be stabbed. Where they’d seen a sword go through her chest. Bruce clenches his jaw, trying desperately to stop himself from crying.

“I’ll be back.” He says gruffly, leaving his seat to go and put on his suit. There was no way she was gone. He wouldn’t accept it. So, he was going to go to Paris. He’d find her and wrap her up in some goddamned bubble wrap and make sure that his daughter didn’t get stabbed again. God, she has to be okay. His thoughts are frantic as he moves swiftly towards his suit, his thoughts only of getting to Paris. Getting to Paris, and finding Marinette. A sudden flash of light brightens the cave and Bruce instantly gets into a fighting position, watching the light turn into a circle. A portal, right in the middle of the Bat Cave. His breath catches as he watches two figures fall through the portal. Adrien, obviously still in spots. And the girl next to him….he frowns, not quite recognizing her.

“Kaalki, dismount.” The girl says, a soft light flashing over her. Bruce freezes, eyes scanning his daughter as she smiles awkwardly. Glancing over her, reminding himself that she’s there. She’s alive. He crosses to her in three large steps and drops to his knees in front of her so that they’re on eye level.

“Never do that again.” He begs, voice breaking slightly as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. She’s alive. She’s okay. She’s alive.

---

Marinette buries her face in her father’s shoulder, tightening her hold on him. He was the only parent that knew she was Ladybug. The only one who would be affected by seeing her stabbed on live tv. Coming to see him directly after the battle was all she could think of when she woke up. She knew she had to see her dad and her brothers. Reassure them that she was still there.

“I’m so sorry Dad.” She chokes out, tears running down her face as she remembers the pain of being stabbed in the chest. The way her vision went dark. The way the blood felt as she choked on it. She squeezes her eyes shut, breathing shakily as she holds onto him for dear life, barely registering when more warmth surrounds her. She doesn’t have to open her eyes to know what it is. Her brothers, all hugging her. Surrounding her, making sure she’s there. She sighs in relief, glad that they’re all there. Glad that she’s able to hug them again.

Master list

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @imarisvers8 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks

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icerosecrystal · 3 years

Text

The Eldest Al-Ghul Wayne - Prologue

Marinette Al-Ghul Wayne was a mistake. Those were the words that her grandfather had ingrained in her head from a young age. At the age of 25, Bruce Wayne, her father, was seduced by Talia Al-Ghul. During the time she was pregnant, Talia and Ra’s made many plans about how her heir would take over the League of Assassins. When the time came for Talia to give birth, the baby arrived not a male, but rather a female. Ra’s was furious with the development, storming off after informing Talia to name the mistake whatever she saw fit.

After that, Ra’s found no use in Marinette. Deeming her unworthy of her blood, and so, she was tossed aside. Her mother took pity on her, teaching her in secret about how to wield many different weapons. The training was harsher than most would have endured, but her mother wished for her to survive as an assassin. Talia wished for her daughter to prove her worth, so she taught Marinette the secret of the Miraculous. These were ancient jewelry that belonged to the Order of Guardians, a group that was originally in relation with the League of Assassin, but later went their separate ways.

By the age of four, Marinette had exceeded the expectation of her mother and had managed to complete training generally used for assassins at the age of nine. But it was at that age that Ra’s took an interest in her once again, not as his heir, but rather to see what she was capable of. And so, she was sent on many missions. Most of them, she completed easily. But there were a few exceptions in which she got greatly injured or died on a mission. And each time, Ra’s would begrudgingly throw her in the Lazarus Pit after an endless amount of begging from Talia.

One day, when Marinette was five almost six years old, her mother came back from a mission. When Marinette went to greet her mother, she found something floating in a test tube full of green goop. Her being the curious five-year-old that she was asked, “Mother, what is that thing floating in the tube?”

Talia looked over to her before answering, “Why Marinette, that is your little brother.”

Marinette upon hearing this grew worried, would her mother leave her for dead once her supposed brother was born? Marinette silently left disregarding the slightly disappointed look Talia sent her way. If she was to be replaced, she might as well do all she can to make it count.

Marinette trained harder than she ever had before. She realized that becoming the only one in the league fluent in the guardian’s tongue would solidify her worth. If she was the only one capable of reading, writing, and speaking this language, Ra’s would have to think twice before getting rid of her. And so for months on end, she studied the books, the language, everything about the order. And by the time a month was left for her brother to be born, she knew every little detail about the order.

Marinette was now aware that the Lazarus Pits were created from Plagg letting out a huge amount of destructive energy from his being, creating the Lazarus Pits. It was meant to save one of Plagg’s chosen that he had grown attached to. Not willing to let the human, his chosen go, he purposely released the destructive energy. Plagg had tried to keep it a secret, but his chosen saw it as a miracle that needed to be shared.

Plagg’s chosen then informed Ra’s. That was how Ra’s became aware of the Pits and misused them. As Marinette continued reading more about the order, she continuously grew disgusted with both the order and the league. They had misused the god-like creatures known as kwamis and their gifts so much and so often. These Kwamis were unable to disobey their master's command, they were slaves in all but name. ‘What a sad fate for a god.’ Marinette wasn’t able to look at anything the same way anymore. Now each time she was thrown in the Lazarus pit she felt guilty to be using it for her gain. Each time she saw Ra’s misuse a gift of the kwamis, she felt an undeniably large amount of anger towards him.

It was a normal day like any other when her mother found her sulking about what the league did. When Marinette asked her mother why the league would do such a thing she replied in a very harsh tone, “You will not question the authority of me nor your grandfather. If we did not use the pits you would already be dead. Would you want to be dead, Marinette?”

Marinette angrily yelled, “I would rather be dead than misuse something so precious!” It was then that she felt a sharp sting in her cheek. Her hand flew up to cradle her cheek while looking at her mother in disbelief.

Talia didn’t acknowledge anything rather gritting out, “You will NEVER speak like that to me EVER again! Do you understand me, Marinette?!”

Marinette nodded numbly, before rushing off. The slap didn’t hurt at all, but Marinette felt betrayed. Throughout her life, her mother was always there for her. Even if she sometimes didn’t show it, Marinette knew that her mother cared about her. But now, she wasn’t so sure.

As she continued running she stumbled across the room in which her baby brother was in. She quietly crept inside the room making sure no one was inside. When she confirmed that there was no one there she walked towards the tube. Inside the tube, Marinette saw her baby brother, he seemed to have tan skin much like their mother, a stark contrast to Marinette’s paler skin that she inherited from their father. Her baby brother also had black hair like their father, similar to her own but lighter. Her own hair was such a dark black that it looked blue when any source of light was shining on it. She couldn’t see his eyes as they were closed but she wondered what color they would be.

As she gazed upon him, Marinette made a decision. No matter what would happen, she would always be there for her baby brother. She would give him the love and support she had always wished she received as a child. He deserved that much. As Marinette stepped closer to the tube, she put her hand against the cool glass leaning her forehead against it as well. She then closed her eyes and softly whispered both to herself and her baby brother the words that she had wanted to say for a long time. “You will never be alone, little one. I will be there for you, every step of the way to offer you all the support and love you will ever need. I will always protect you… akhi.”

Taglist: @jinx-jade, @legodetectivemalsblog, @moonlightstar64, @our-preciousss

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

#maribat #batman #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #assassin marinette #talia al ghul #ra's al ghul #damian wayne #batfam #marinette al-ghul wayne #marinette deserves better #platonic daminette #league of assassins #TEAGW #The Eldest Al-Ghul Wayne

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stressedoutcanary · 3 years

Text

Family Matters - Batfamily x Reader

Summary: A surprise birthday party and Batfamily being chaotic.

“That's it Dick just a little to the right...No the other right...No! Not there you goofus! Just...Just get down from the chandelier before it comes crashing down on the rest of us and For God's Sake let Duke handle the ribbons before you somehow strangle yourself with them”

Warnings ⚠️: Fluff, lots of it, angst because I can’t help myself, Reader has got some parental issues. Hurt/Comfort.

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: I wanted some good dad Bruce content so I did it myself. Also I might have been influenced by a post I made a while back about Bruce and his children. I haven't used reader's pronouns anywhere so it's kinda gender neutral.

I don’t know where I was going with this, my imagines are often like a train derailed from its track but I think it’s fine. So Enjoy ;)

•°•°•°•°

"Focus (Y/S/N), don't jump in in blind, assessing what action your opponent is about to undertake and countering it out before they can complete that action, this is the key lesson for you today", Batman's commanding voice echoed in the enclosed area of the batcave as he observed you attempting to roundhouse kick the boy in front of you. It was rather rashly executed with the hope of knocking him down which, for obvious reasons, only ended up with your leg connecting with nothing but thin air.

'Damn he is fast when he actually tries.'

"Easy for you to say Old Man! You aren't the one dancing with Mister Duckboy, the teen wonder over here!", you exclaimed, panting as your chest heaved from the exertion.

"Duckboy?!", Tim looked near scandalized as you grinned in return, stealing a glance towards the giggling crowd gathered near the stairs.

Everyone was already in the cave, it was a rare occurrence, it happened only when the issues of upmost importance were being discussed. Today was one of those days; The planning of Alfred Pennyworth's surprise birthday party.

However things usually went a lot less violent, this day every year. The sparring session this year was the result of you messing up, real bad while on patrol last night and since you were around the same age as Tim, he was found to be the most appropriate partner for it. The only drawback was that he had a staff in his hands while your weapons were confiscated, because in Bruce's words 'you rely on them too much'. You were already tired and Tim had a huge advantage over you, if you wanted to win this match you had to be quick and efficient at the same time.

Distracting Tim by your comment allowed you to have an opening, gathering all your strength you went in for a forward strike. Unfortunately he was more than ready to take you on, he crouched down, narrowly missing your punch then proceeded to swipe your legs off of the ground with his bo staff making you fall butt first on the floor.

"Congratulations you've managed to hurt both my ass and my ego, Timbers", You said laying back on the ground, hands and legs spread out and instead of helping you up, Tim joined you on the floor sitting next to you. You gave him a look that was equivalent to 'next time I get the chance, I am going to push you off a roof'.

"Your skills need improvement", Bruce said in his monotonous tone as you grunted knowing that a full ass lecture was gonna follow, but before he could get another word out, Jason chimed in with a statement no one ever expected to hear from him,"You know (Y/N), he's not wrong in fact I think the old man's actually got a point."

Jaws dropped to floor, Tim looked like he just saw a ghost, Dick who was standing near Barbara pinched himself to see whether he was dreaming or not, Damian snapped his neck up from where he was sharpening his katana, even Titus and Ace perked their heads up at the sudden silence that settled over the place. Barbara, Cass, Duke and Steph looked equally shocked.

"Before you all get any ideas, what I'm trying to say is you better pay attention because B over here won't be able to save your ass, 'cause if you slack off the next thing you know you would be in a warehouse with a maniac, getting blown to bits", Jason looked at Bruce with accusing eyes.

'And here I thought he was finally going to say something sensible', you thought to yourself as he continued,

"Take it from someone who has had that experience, you guys remember right? The fact that I--"

"Died, we know!!", everyone groaned at the same time and Bruce looked like he had to physically restrain himself from faceplaming.

"Okay! Guys how about we go ahead and do the thing we all actually came here to do instead of... whatever this conversation was", you suggested, getting up and patting the dust off your clothes.

"Well then someone has got to ask the important question here", Barbara looked around as she worded her sentence,"who is going to be the one to keep Alfred busy while we get everything ready?"

Once again the cave went silent. For a whole bunch of detectives, you all were very, very scared of Alfred, including Bruce even though he will never admit it, lying to The old-butler-cum-grandpa and making random excuses for the whole 3 hours was a thought dreadful enough to make all of you exchange petrified glances at each other hoping someone would step forward to do the job.

"I'll do it", dick raised his hand.

"NO!", everyone snapped and Dick's head tilted with a pout.

"You are good at doing a lot of stuff boy wonder, hiding things from Alfred isn't one of them", Barbara comforted Dick as Damian stepped up next.

"*tt* Since none of you imbeciles have the courage or the ability to do it. I shall be the one to handle Pennyworth. Gordon, Cain and Titus, I will require your assistance", Damian spoke or rather commanded as he went up the stairs, followed by the group he chose.

"Don't mess this up for us, you gremlin!"

"Tim!", you lightly jabbed him in the side with your elbow.

"Ow! What?"

"Be nice", you narrowed your eyes and he understood you were being serious.

"Fine I'll try, but don't blame me if he starts something", Tim shrugged carelessly. You shook your head and let out an audible sigh as you followed everyone else up towards the manor.

•°•°

"That's it Dick just a little to the right...No the other right...No! Not there you goofus! Just...Just get down from the chandelier before it comes crashing down on the rest of us and For God's Sake let Duke handle the ribbons before you somehow strangle yourself with them", you eyed him worriedly.

"Oh come (Y/N) it'll be fine!", the cheerfulness in his voice made you cock an eyebrow at him from below. Duke slid in beside you.

"10 bucks says he will somehow fall within the next hour"

"Oh Duke you should know better, 20 says he'll fall within 30 minutes", you turned towards him with an evil smile.

"What are you both talking about down there?"

"NOTHING!", you both said in unison on which Dick gave you a confused look.

"Oh Hey look Steph needs my help with the cake so, see ya!", you quickly moved to the other side of the room checking in with Stephanie and Tim. She gave you a thumbs up to signal that everything was going according to plan and the place was almost ready. Everyone was laughing, bickering, having fun, it was all very rare and seeing it, a warm feeling spread throughout you.

You smiled to yourself for a moment but it faltered and a frown pulled up at your lips, a sorrowful thought crossed your mind, something you always kept buried deep down. Looking around and seeing as nobody needed your help at the moment you decided to slip out of the chaos, taking slow steps towards the patio to clear your head.

•°•°

Leaning against the railing you thought back to how you left your house this morning telling your mother that you are going to stay at your friend's place for a while and how she just waved her hand at that, not even questioning you anymore. Your mind was completely elsewhere, despite the awe-inspiring dense forest right in front of you, your eyes were lost in space.

You registered, a bit too late, the presence of someone standing beside you.

"It is a nice view, but something tells me that's not what brought to out here, away from everyone else"

"Careful there Brucie or people might think that you are actually capable of some emotions which happen include caring for people", you retorted back at him. It was always a sort of defense mechanism for you, whenever you felt exposed you countered it with snarky remark.

You closed your eyes hoping that Bruce would just walk away. But he didn't. He stayed there.

Bruce leaned on the railing beside you and waited. You took a deep breath, contemplating you next move carefully.

"...Look It's really silly so can we drop it?", you whispered wondering why in the world would Bruce of all people, care about your feelings.

"Talk to me (Y/N). I can tell when something is bothering you, I may not be your father, but you are my family.", unlike usual, his voice was gentle and genuine when he spoke to you.

"I am really not a fan of surprise birthdays", you stated, starting off vaguely.

"And why is that?"

"Because I...It's silly but this one time I spent a whole week working on a birthday gift for my mom, it was like a craft pop up box which had multiple photos of us together, I made that from scratch! everything in it I made that, I worked hard for it, I did it out of love but when I gave her that surprise gift you know what she said Bruce! She said that I wasted my time that she would've been much happier if I had focused on my studies, she never even once said that she liked it and I--", you looked at him with tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill.

"I don't know Bruce, it-it just makes me feel sad you know? every little thing reminds me that my mother doesn’t seem to love me anymore. There is this constant thought in my mind that no one cares about me, about what I do for them and I don’t know what to do with a thought like that."

"That's not true, look around you kiddo, you are surrounded by people who would do anything for you, who love you from the bottom of their hearts", Bruce finally looked at you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"That's the thing! I am not an orphan!", you blurted out and Bruce looked more confused than ever.

"I'm aware"

"No! No you are not. I am not one of those kids you picked up from somewhere, I don't live here, Like I am sure you people aren't even sane, hell! you all make up the most dysfunctional family I have ever seen! I don’t belong here, you people have no reason to care about", Bruce gave you a sideways look, slightly chuckling at your sudden description of the people in the manor.

"But I still love everyone, my mom, you, every dumbass inside the manor right now, no matter much pain they cause me and I don't get why", this time when he looked at you, you didn't look like the vigilante who sucker punched The Riddler in the face last night, you looked like a scared little kid who is lost.

Bruce stood up straight and wrapped you in a hug. Something you never expected to happen in a million years. The shocked settled in after a bit and you wrapped your hands around him, burying your face in his chest.

"The people we love are still people at the end of the day. They act out, and sometimes they let us down, hurt us even, but that doesn't mean we stop loving them. For every bad memory, there will always be a good one that will get you through it. I promise you that (Y/N)", Bruce pulled away and gave you a warm smile. You couldn't help but smile back, your face matching his.

"Okay who are you and what have you done with Bruce Wayne? because I don't recognize this man who is full of emotions and on top of that, is giving free hugs right now", you broke into a grin, making Bruce's face go back to the stoic version.

"If you tell anyone, I will deny it"

"Sure you will"

Suddenly a clattering sound came from the hall, alerting you both. This, however, was followed by a 'I'm okay!' By the one Dick Grayson, which in turn was followed by Duke's 'Oh no!'

"Any idea what that was about?", Bruce inquired raising an eyebrow as you burst out laughing.

"That, you big softie, was the sound of me getting my 20 dollars, now let's get back before they destroy everything."

•°•°

You and Bruce entered back into the hall, everyone was gathered around waiting for Damian and his group to signal the beloved butler's arrival. You stood next to Tim as Jason moved towards the switches to turn off the lights.

"Okay I'll bite why are you covered in frosting before the party even started?"

"Steph", Tim replied, too tired to elaborate, leaving you giggling.

Barbara, Cass and Damian rushed through the door, looking close to terrified, with Titus tagging along.

"He is here, HIDE!", Damian said quickly closing the doors.

After a few moments, the door creaked open and Alfred's voice came through, "Master Damian, you and I will have words for what you did to-- Oh my", he was stuck to his position at the door, too shocked to say anything more after looking at the decorations and bunch gathered around an enormous cake.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALFRED!!", you all exclaimed with extreme excitement.

As the party went on you noticed that there was, in fact, a broken chandelier broomed to the side, later on there were a few not-at-all-safe stunts performed by the boys, some really bad puns made by Dick, all sorts of shenanigans by the others and cake, lots of cake. You looked around, everyone was busy doing something but now you knew Bruce was right:

You have one hell of a family, original, found or otherwise. And you love them all no matter what.

°•°•°•°•

Tags: @thesesickfics-justmakemesick

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writingblock101 · 3 years

Text

Still Insufferable (Damian Wayne x Reader)

This is a part two to Insufferable! I had an anon request this a while back and found some prompts that gave some great inspiration! Hope y’all like it! You don’t need to read part one, but it does make the transition smoother. For reference, you and Damian are 17.

Words: 2,800

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish @mayahoelland2013

Warnings: None

“Do you ever follow directions?” A familiar, condescending voice asks you from the ground.

You spot an annoyed Damian Wayne from your upside perch, staring up at you with crossed arms. You grin, a little too excited to see someone who looks so annoyed with you.

“I’m creating an extensive target practice!” You claim, gesturing with your bow to the targets down range

“By hanging upside from the rafters?” Damian raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You’re questioning my methods.”

“I’m not questioning it,” Damian corrects. “I’m saying it’s stupid.”

You gasp in mock offense then unhook your legs and flip to the floor.

“Your words wound me!”

“You’ll recover,” Damian says dryly.

“I thought you would approve of me making a more comprehensive training.”

“You were hanging upside down from the rafters. How is that more comprehensive?” Damian questions.

“Because I don’t always get the pretty shot with the perfect set up in the field!” You argue. “Sometimes, I’m making the shot while hanging upside down with a broken toe!”

Damian pauses, his eyes flickering to your feet.

“Is your toe broken?” He asks.

He almost sounds concerned. It’s kind of sweet.

“No,” You admit. “But what if it was?”

He blinks. The concern is gone.

“You spend too much time with Roy and Jason.”

“Well, Roy is basically raising me at this point, so yeah, kind of,” You point out.

Damian rolls his eyes.

“Mission briefing.”

“Aw, you came all the way here to tell me yourself,” You tease Damian, aware of the various intercoms around the Tower.

He scowls at you, but doesn’t dampen your good mood.

“I was the closest to the range. It made the most sense for me to come tell you.”

“No need to make excuses,” You shrug. “I get it, I’m amazing and you can’t resist being around me.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You know, that line didn’t fool me when we were 12 and it’s still not fooling me now.”

Damian’s scowl deepens.

“Mission briefing, now.” Then he walks off before you can make another smart ass comment.

Sometimes, Damian makes it too easy. You hit the switch to pull the targets back in, figuring you’ll get your arrows later.

You’ve been an official Teen Titan for a few months now. After Roy talked you into tagging along with the team for a mission, you were hooked. The rest of the team agreed to extend an invite to you, which you happily accepted. You love the team, including Damian. Despite your constant bickering, you and Damian work well together in the field, enhancing each other’s skills.

In all honesty, you really enjoy being around Damian. While he’s a bit uptight, when he relaxes, he’s fun to be around. You’ve enjoyed getting to see the more relaxed side of Damian. Besides, it's fun to have someone who keeps up with every sarcastic remark you make, even if it includes him calling you insufferable. It’s a bit of a long shot, but you know Damian likes you more than he makes it seem he does.

You head to the main conference room of the tower and settle in for a long presentation. While the briefings are long, and rather boring, they’re in depth. You have to give Damian credit, even when things go wrong on missions, his extensive briefings prepare your team for almost every possibility and help make adaptations to the plan on the fly.

You fiddle with a pen, unscrewing it, laying out the pieces then put it back together as Damian talks. As you get more fidgety the longer the meeting goes on, Damian wordlessly slides a new pen over to you with a slightly different composition. You smile at him and busy your hands with taking part the new pen. Damian’s cheeks darken slightly, but before anyone can notice, he’s back in leader mode.

Damian pulls up the blueprint, running through everyone’s role and position for the mission.

“And Black Falcon, you’re with me, handling guards on the roof and additional security measures.”

“The dream team,” You grin with a wink.

Damian rolls his eyes and ignores your remark. Instead, he fields any questions then dismisses the team. You glance down at the file briefing in front of you then remember one last question for Damian. As a few Titans clear out, you wander to the front of the room where Damian is studying the blueprint from the presentation.

“Hey, boss man,” You wave your file at him. “This building is using the Kingsley Security system. What are your thoughts about debuting the new hacking arrows?”

Damian frowns, flipping to the page with the schematics concerning the security system.

“How effective is the firewall on the arrows?”

“If you’re worried about them tracking back to us, the arrows’ firewall should be strong enough to erase our trail.”

“Should be?” Damian raised an eyebrow.

“They’ll be fine, but I don’t like to make guarantees.”

“And why is that?”

“Because sometimes, shit happens.”

“I don’t like variables.”

“Well, Dames, I’ve got bad news for you about how life works.”

You cross your arms, leaning your hip against the table.

“I don’t like variables on my missions when lives are on the line,” Damian says, scanning over the Kingsley credentials.

“We’re connected to a computer with the highest level of security to currently exist. Even if they manage to trace back the arrows, they won’t get far.”

Jon and Colin watch you two bicker about arrows and security.

“He likes having someone to argue with way too much,” Colin mutters to Jon.

Jon nods along.

“You’re telling me. He’s not going to do anything about it though.”

Colin cracks a grin.

“He’s just gonna roll his eyes and tell her she’s insufferable.”

Jon and Colin snicker, catching Damian’s attention. He narrows his eyes at the two who sit innocently.

“Listen,” You bring Damian’s attention back to you. “It’s your mission and I’ll respect whatever you want to do, but the only way for me to improve the arrows design is to test them.”

“I’ll consider it,” Damian says.

His phone lights up with notification on the table. Your eyes dart toward the light and your eyebrows go up. Damian catches your eye and snatches his phone off the table with red cheeks.

“Am I your lock screen?” You ask with a small grin.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Damian shoves his phone in his back pocket.

“Really?” Your grin grows as your eyebrows move higher.

Jon and Colin watch with shit eating grins.

“Grayson set it,” Damian growls. “I haven’t bothered to change it.”

“Sure, he did,” You nod. “It’s a cute picture.”

The picture is after Damian and Bruce got into a huge argument, bad enough that Damian called Dick to get him out of the Manor. Dick figured it would be a good day to give Damian a childhood experience he missed out on and decided to take Damian to a theme park. Knowing you were in town with Jason while Roy was handling some business in Gotham, he talked Jason into bringing you. While at the park, Dick insisted you and Damian needed to try a funnel cake since neither of you had ever had one.

You and Damian decided to split one since Dick warned you they were pretty sweet. When you and Damian tried your first bites, Damian’s face instantly scrunched up which made you laugh and Dick managed to catch the moment on camera.

Damian scowls at you while you just grin.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone and ruin your reputation,” You laugh, leaving the room.

Damian scowls at you as you leave and returns his attention to collecting his files.

“Ah Dames, get that look off your face, we all know how you feel,” Jon teases.

Damian turns, scowling at Jon.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Colin rolls his eyes. “We can all tell you like Y/N.”

“She’s--”

“Insufferable,” Jon finishes. “Yeah, we know. You know, just because you keep saying it, doesn’t mean it’s actually true.”

“And you know, we get it, you’re a condensing, uptight dick--” Colin starts to rattle off.

“Why does everyone assume the worst of me?” Damian scowls at Colin.

“It saves time,” He grins at his friend. “But, despite those things, you can be charming when you want to be. And if you actually acted on that charm, Y/N would agree to a date with you.”

Jon stares at Colin for a minute, looking unimpressed then turns to Damian.

“My advice is much more subtle. Stop being an ass.”

“I didn’t ask for advice,” Damian growls.

“We are aware and we also are aware that you never will,” Colin nods.

“Why not let yourself be happy, Dames?” Jon asks.

“I am happy,” Damian glares at the two of them then walks out of the room, tired of hearing their advice.

“Think he’ll listen?” Colin asks.

Jon shrugs.

“Who knows.”

. . .

Your back hits the ground but you roll to the balls of your feet, breathing hard. You tighten your grip on your bo staff, ready to lunge for another hit when you notice Damian walk into the training room. As he walks toward you, you straighten up and grab your water, figuring it’s time for a break. Damian raises his eyebrows at your bo staff.

“That’s not your normal choice in weapons,” He observes.

You shrug, taking a swing of water and ignoring your cheeks heating up. While you wanted to expand your training, you’ve seen Damian using a bo staff a lot. He seems to like them so you figured you’d give them a shot. Besides, Tim has given you a few pointers.

“Decided to try something new,” You say casually.

Damian quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing else.

“I’ve been thinking--” He starts.

“A dangerous pastime,” You nod solemnly.

Damian glares at you but continues, as if he didn’t hear your sarcastic comment.

“We have a strong enough firewall on the computer in the Tower that if your arrows malfunctioned, we could detect and fight a security breach.”

“So, I can bring them on the mission?” You finish.

“Yes.”

“Sweet!” You grin, pumping your fist.

Damian rolls his eyes again at your celebration, but you can see him trying not to smile. He turns to leave, but you look back at the bo staff you were training with.

“Wait! Damian!” You call.

He turns, looking at you with raised eyebrows.

“You’re better with a bo staff than I am,” You admit. “Wanna help me out?”

Damian’s eyes flicker between you and the bo staff. You see a small smile fighting its way onto his face.

“I’ll change into something more suiting for training.”

You grin, spinning the staff around you then go into a mock solute.

“Yes, commander.”

Damian rolls his eyes again, but leaves to change.

. . .

You swing your staff up hard, but Damian blocks it and swipes at your legs with a low kick. Grinning as he falls into the expected move, you flip your staff around and hit Damian’s side. He grunts and moves again, this time, landing a hard blow to your arm. You grimace at the force, but swing your staff around again and manage to knock Damian’s legs out from under him with a move he showed you.

Damian hits the ground hard with a grunt, but instead of rolling to his feet for another hit, he lays on the ground, looking a little dazed.

“I got it!” You cheered as Damian sits up, watching you with a small smile.

“Drive your hips more so the power doesn’t come from your arms as much,” He instructs.

“You know, with all the archery I do,” You flex a muscular arm. “I’m pretty sure my arms are stronger than my hips at this point.”

Damian rolls his eyes as he pushes himself to his feet. You swear you sees his eyes lingering on your flexed arm.

“Basic anatomy,” He claims.

“Right, your definition of “basic” and a normal person’s is pretty different.”

Damian raises an eyebrow at you.

“How do you mean?”

You narrow your eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” But the slow start of a shit eating grin on his face tells you Damian knows how you meant that statement.

You groan, throwing your hands up.

“Okay, fine, Wayne. I’ll give it to you, you’re pretty smart.”

“Am I now?” Damian full on grins, making your heart flutter.

You roll your eyes again, despite your raised heart rate.

“I’m not going to say it again.”

“I didn’t think you would. It doesn’t change the truth.”

You sigh, shaking your head.

“Why do I still like you, knowing you’re a total asshole?” You question as you walk toward your water.

Damian freezes for a moment, your words slowly mulling over in his head. Before he can say anything else, his watch beeps. Damian looks down at it with a scowl.

“Duty calls?” You ask, handing Damian his water.

He looks up from the notification and nods.

“Get dressed, we leave in ten minutes.”

. . .

Following your normal post mission tradition, you relax on the roof with a few boxes of take out. You dig into your box of fried rice, enjoying the view as your legs dangle over the edge of the huge tower. The roof access door opens and someone sits next to you but you don’t have to turn to see who. Wordlessly, you hold out Damian’s vegetarian Lo Mein which you took the courtesy to grab while he showered after the mission.

“Your arrows worked,” Damian comments, accepting the box from you and digging in with his own chopsticks.

“Mmhm,” You hum with a smirk. “Told you.”

Damian rolls his eyes.

“Of course you wouldn’t be able to resist making a childish remark.”

You grin, nudging Damian’s shoulder.

“You knew I already knew the arrows worked. You just wanted to hear me say it.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“Sure you didn’t. I’m irresistible.”

“You’re insufferable,” Damian corrects.

“I still don’t believe that line.”

“Your belief does not change the truth.”

You laugh, leaning against Damian as you both continue eating, enjoying the view and each other’s company. After the first time Damian joined you on the roof, it became both of your traditions to enjoy your post mission meals together. Later, you would rejoin the team for game night or movie night, but for now, you two enjoy your quiet meals and unwind peacefully.

Once your meals are finished and the boxes are discarded to the side, you scoot closer to Damian, resting your head on his shoulder. He slowly places a hand on your knee, seeming a bit uncertain. You smile to yourself and squeeze his arm, scooting a little closer to encourage him. He leans into you, seeming more relaxed by the affection.

“You know,” You finally say after a few minutes of silently watching the sun set. “I turned out liking you a lot more than I originally planned.”

“How much did you intend to like me?” Damian asks.

You feel him starting to go stiff.

“Well, given you insulted me when I first met you,” You point out with a shrug. “I didn’t expect to like you very much.”

“And now?” Damian asks hesitantly.

You lift your head from Damian’s shoulder to look at him, your noses inches away.

“Now, you’re pretty alright,” You tease, admiring his pretty green eyes.

Damian rolls his eyes with a small laugh.

“Just alright?” He asks, squeezing your knee lightly.

“Well,” You shrug again, feeling your heart pound. “Maybe a little more than alright.”

You stare at each other for a long moment until Damian’s eyes flicker to your lips. Here goes nothing. Before you can bring yourself to regret, you close the small distance between each other and press your lips to his. He’s hesitant for a moment, stiff against you. Before you can pull away, Damian’s fingers sink into your hair, pulling you closer as he kisses you back.

You melt into the kiss and grip his shirt tightly. As he shifts his head to deepen the kiss, a voice yells from behind you:

“It’s about time!”

You and Damian jump apart, still holding a hand on each other to see Jon standing by the roof access door. Damian scowls at him while Jon grins like he’s just won the lottery.

“You have no idea how annoying it was so watch you two pretend like you don’t like each other,” Jon rolls his eyes. “Come on, we’re starting game night.”

He disappears back through the door as you look back at Damian.

“Well, duty calls,” You joke, sliding off the ledge.

Damian turns, catches your wrist, and tugs you back to him.

“They can wait,” He mutters to you, kissing you again.

You happily melt into the kiss, your hands on Damian’s chest as his hands slide to your hips.

“Am I still insufferable?” You tease against Damian’s lips.

He smirks, standing to his feet and pulling you close by your waist.

“Yes,” He kisses you again.

I’ve been writing things as I get inspiration. I think I’ll be compiling a prompt lists soon because I have some request... They are really big ideas and I don’t think I can take on any projects that big right now. I hope you enjoyed!

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gotnofucks · 4 years

Text

Ball’s In Your Court

Paring: Steve Rogers x Reader, (platonic tony x reader)

Summary: Steve and Y/n have been playing games for years. But now that Rogers is acting like a little bitch, Y/n throws him a curve ball that will either make them or break them.

Words: 2.7k

Warning: None man. Its fluff and angst. Language (?)

A/N: I was experimenting with the third person P.O.V for reader. Hope it’s to your liking.

MASTERLIST

+++++

For as long as Steve could remember, their life together had been a game; bet after bet, challenge after challenge. He had met her when she was just entering her teens, a little girl with a lost wild look in her eyes. She was in all respects Tony’s daughter, rescued by him from the wreckage of his own weapons. He had almost done a double take when Tony had introduced her to the team.

“This is Y/n, she will stay with us from now”

The compound was not used to the pitter patter of little feet or their furniture appearing embellished overnight. She had lost everything, including it seemed herself. So, their first game ironically had been Hide and Seek. She was small and he lost count of how many times she had bested him by crawling under the cramped spaces of desks or vents (Thanks for teaching her that, Barton).

When Tony had complained about the hundredth time that she just wouldn’t eat, Steve would challenge her that whoever finished their breakfast first could choose the movie for tonight. When she refused to let them leave for missions, he would challenge her to a game of cards. She was too young to win against him but her stubborn streak never turned down a game.

Their every interaction had been a game. They could get each other to do anything by playing chess or softball or a game of Horse that drove everyone else up the wall. He got her to open up about school bullies by besting her at Pictionary and she had effectively gotten him to shut up about healthy food by kicking his ass at video games. They dealt with drama via games (Whoever tosses the least paper balls in the bin tells Bruce we fucked his experiment ), they dealt with humor via games (let’s see who can manage to steal Nat’s gun without getting caught), they dealt with grief via game (if you beat me at Heads Up I’ll let you choose the gravestone).

Growing up, she was Tony’s daughter and Steve’s best friend. While Tony raised her, Steve gossiped with her. They were pals and all was fun and games until she grew up from a little girl into a young woman. Steve didn’t know when things changed but the first he noticed it was when she had run into his arms bawling because some idiot boy broke her heart. It was when he found himself conflicted between anger at the boy and jealousy that this shit started.

He had tried, he had really tried to keep it in check. He had tried to keep up with their game’s night ritual, their silly bets and ridiculous challenges. He had tried his best to be a friend, but this was one challenge he lost. She was no more the 14-year-old girl asking him questions for her history project or the 16-year-old nightmare who would put cockroaches in his bed as revenge. This was a young woman in her 20s with curves for days and an attitude that raised hell. It was a classic falling for your best friend story (if only he weren’t old enough to be her dad or was her dad’s best friend).

He had of course been under the impression that he was being subtle about his change in feelings. He tried not to stare when they went out for a swim, he resisted the urge to lick her lips after a nacho eating contest. He was trying so fucking hard, but as anyone could have told him, “Steve, you don’t have a subtle bone in your body, you frisbee throwing maniac”. She was Tony Stark’s daughter; she was not raised to be stupid. She was smart and observant and almost as quick a study as her father. It was no surprise then that she figured out what had Steve so wound up around her.

Maybe it would have creeped her out had it been anyone else, but Steve was her person. He was her one constant, from kissing her boo-boos to getting her home after she drank herself silly, Steve was there. It shouldn’t have surprised Steve so much then when she cornered him one evening and planted a wet one smack on his mouth with a muttered, “This sexual tension it killing me, gotta do something about it because you won’t”.

He wished he could say he clutched her body to his and dragged her to his room for a wild night of passion. But in reality, he chickened out like a bitch and ran away. Not just from her, but he completely disappeared from the compound for two weeks. When he came back, it was with the intentions of telling her they couldn’t do it, it was wrong and a betrayal to Tony. But Steve needn’t have worried because he came back to the compound to find her introducing the team to her boyfriend.

As far as others know, Steve didn’t deliberately break those glasses that night or push the idiot boy in the pool. It was an accident, and if such accidents kept happening around men she dated then it was purely coincidental.

It was a new kind of game they played then, a more dangerous one and if one’s being honest, a very sensual game. She would date someone; he would scare them away. One of them will find the other, have a passionate make out session, probably end up straddling the other on a desk and then one of them will get up and leave with the same lie “This can’t happen again”. Repeat.

Gone were the days of challenges and competitions, in its place was a sexually charged game of Tag. A cat and mouse game where they always chased each other, touching fleetingly before retreating again. Neither would be the one to make a commitment, neither would concede to being the person who would put their hearts on the line. They were two bulls who were made to butt heads (who occasionally took time off to play a quick game of tonsil-hockey).

Steve had known there had to be an end to this. It had gone on for so long that he could bet other people suspected some shit. He had honestly expected for Tony to sucker punch him half a dozen times by now. Right now, he would have taken those punches to the news she had just given to the team.

“I am getting married!” She announced, offering her left hand so others can admire the gorgeous diamond ring that sat on her ring finger. She looked happy, absolutely radiant and it was all Steve could do to stop himself from dragging her out of here by her hair and throwing that offending ring into the garbage chute. What the fuck kind of game was she playing?

He waited until everyone was asleep before he broke into her room. Well, breaking into would suggest it was forced but truly only him and Tony had the authorization to enter. Their relationship may have changed from ‘you’re my best friend’ to ‘I want to be your best lay’, but they still knew each other the best and cared just as much as before, if not more.

She was under the covers in her bed, a small nightlamp on. It had been a while since Steve had been in her room and it was like taking a big gulp of nostalgia. Her room was her sanctuary, so it reflected her heart’s desires. Every surface of the room was littered with one of their memories together. Her pinboard was still holding the notes he would write to her in school, the birthday cards he made himself and the portraits he would sketch for her. On her desk stood the numerous gifts he had gotten her, each well taken care of despite the years between. Right beside her on the cabinet was a picture of them together, both of them holding hands and smiling at each other in what could only be called as “lovesick smitten idiots”.

He was cautious as he lowered himself next to her on the bed, her face so peaceful he felt like he would taint it by his touch and presence. He had looked at her for years, sketched her details hundreds of times and yet each time he beheld her, he felt his heart skip a beat. She was a memory that he tried to forget and yet it emerged every time he closed his eyes. She was in his skin, a part of him in a way that defied all laws of nature and social customs.

“Are you going to keep staring at me and be the creep from Twilight or do you plan on getting inside?”

Her voice made him jump because she hadn’t opened her eyes. She was smiling that lazy smile of hers when she would catch his bluff in poker. He chuckled and shifted the sheets, climbing under them and curling his body around her. It may as well have been cliché to say that they fit like a puzzle, but it was true. They were molded to fit against each other perfectly, like that lid you close over a box and the satisfying ‘tick’ sound it makes when it clicks into place. That’s what being with her felt like. Fitting in. Coming home.

“Why are you doing this Y/n?” Steve asked and she pushed her body into his so he could hug her tighter.

“Because you won’t do anything Steve. We’ve been running around in circles for so long now, and every time I think that finally we’ll be together, you abandon fort and run. I can’t do this anymore.”

Steve took her left hand and watched her ring twinkle in a taunt. It could have been him. It should be him.

“Don’t marry him. He will never give you what you want.”

“I know that Steve, no one can give me what they want because they aren’t you. But I can’t keep waiting for you in the sidelines hoping you’ll pull your head out of your ass. I want to be loved, preferably in this life.”

His arms were like tentacles around her, but she didn’t complain. Every embrace and moment between them was so fleeting, a stolen moment that she enjoyed what she could get. This was probably the longest in a few years that they had held each other without one running for the hills.

“I love you, you know that.” He whispered in her ear, longing evident in his voice.

“I know that, as much as I know that you won’t do shit about it. Loving someone is not always enough Steve. It’s just the beginning. I – I won’t keep my love a secret. I don’t want ten angry sensual minutes in the broom closet. I want walks in the park and two dogs and a cat. I want picnics with our family and pictures that are not restricted to my room. You can’t give me that. You won’t.”

She had run out of tears. Her fiancé may not be Steve Rogers but at least he was an honest man who tried his best to love her the way she deserved. She had met his family and they had met hers; they could post pictures on social media with cheesy captions and hold hands as they drank coffee from a cheap corner place.

“You can never love anyone like you love me” It was a sulky declaration by a hurt lover and she almost cooed to him like a mommy consoling her baby. Steve may have been older to her in years, but when it came to love he was an immature brat.

“That may be true, but I will try. I am not Penelope waiting in the balcony for Odysseus to return. I love you, and that love may never fade away. But my life will go on. It is your choice if you want to be a part of it.”

She faced him, her eyes open and clear. He didn’t know when the little girl who needed help to reach the jar on the shelf had grown up in this headstrong woman who could beat a sailor when it came to cursing. But he couldn’t bear the thought of her staying like this in someone else’s bed, looking at them the way she looked at him. Steve rarely coveted something in his life, but he didn’t realize until now how much he coveted her love. If he lost that, he feared he would lose himself.

“Your father is going to kill me” Steve groaned, and she laughed. Her head was on his chest and an arm around his torso.

“We can elope, you know. Run away and get married. It will be too late to do anything then. You’ll be stuck with me.”

“Did you just propose to me?” Steve questioned and she nodded, her eyes naughty.

“I’m always a step ahead of you Captain. I figured you would take another month at least to ask and I have wasted too much time already.” She whispered against his lips. He leaned up to kiss her deeply, unhurried for the first time. It was like their first kiss all over again, like two star-crossed lovers smashing through their final obstacle and uniting. Steve didn’t know how he had survived so long without having her like this, but as his hands found her soft curves, he swore he can’t go a day without it.

“Stop stop!” She said, pushing his chest and rolling away from him. “We’ve waited this long. You’re not getting your dick wet until you finally commit to me.”

Steve looked more dumbfounded than offended and responded by finally taking off the ring on her finger and throwing it away carelessly.

“I’ll steal the Quinjet, meet me in the hanger in half an hour. Don’t pack shit. We’ll make one stop for the rings and get the first officiant I can find to marry us. We’ll probably be back by breakfast. And then,” His arm wound around her waist “I will lay rest to the sexual tension of years by getting my dick wet. Repeatedly.”

+++++

It was to be expected that Tony’s daughter wouldn’t do anything halfway through. A flair for dramatics was her inheritance and she and Steve walked into the compound newly married in rumpled night clothes and shit eating grin. They found everyone eating in the kitchen, and greetings stopped halfway when the rest of the team noticed their clasped hands.

“What the fuck…” Bruce said, half eaten celery dangling from his open mouth.

Y/n flashed them her award-winning smile and showed the matching rings on her and Steve’s hand. It was a riot under a minute, chairs scraping as they crowded them, trying to see if it was a joke. Then just as suddenly everyone stopped and Tony stepped forward, a spatula in his hand that to Steve looked as threatening as a gun.

“You sick son of a bitch!” Tony shouted and Steve flinched. He looked at Y/n but all she did was wear a smug look on her face that should be illegal in about three continents. “You little bitch! You are supposed to be from the 90s! You were supposed to ask her hand from me like a gentleman you sick little fuck!”

Steve blinked in confusion while she laughed, hopping like a little girl to hug her father.

“Pay up, daddy! You owe me 500 bucks.” She said and Tony groaned, pulling out his wallet and handing her crisp five 100s.

“I – what? What happened?” Steve sputtered, still surprised he wasn’t being beaten by the Iron Legion.

“You weren’t supposed to elope you bastard. Always knew chivalry was dead!” Tony huffed then went back to cooking. “Congratulations by the way. Fucking finally. I’m not surprised my girl had to do everything anyway. She’s taken after me.”

This was a plot twist Steve never expected and he looked at his new wife with a look of horror on his face that could only be translated to as ‘what the fuck have I gotten myself into’.

“I told you baby, I’m always a step ahead of you.” She said, trying and failing to blush like a bride.

+++++

Taglist is open

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x you #steve x y/n #tony x reader #tony stark x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you

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