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littlelovelyspiderling · 3 years

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Unmasked

Spider-Man is forced to fight the Sinister Six while he’s sick, which leads to his enemies making unexpected discoveries about their arch nemesis.

Chapter 3

Ow.

That was the first coherent thought that registered in Peter’s brain.

Pain. He was in pain. A lot of it.

It started with the sunlight shining directly in his eyes through the ceiling-high windows. Then there was the sharp ache in his left leg. Then a sting in his shoulder. A cramp in his stomach. A throb in his skull.

And then, everywhere.

Peter was hurting all over. And yet, it was dull, distant, hazy hurt, like he was a ghost floating above his body after it had been run over by a dump truck.

Ugh…

His eyes scrunched into angry lines before fluttering open. His vision was fuzzy, unfocused, and no amount of blinking seemed to fix it. His brain felt like it had been replaced by three tons of bricks.

What…where…

He was…inside someplace. It was bright—way too bright. The ceiling overhead was tall and white. He was lying on a couch that felt like it had never been sat on before.

Am I…dead…?

His muscles were stiff as stone. He feared for a moment he was paralyzed, until he felt his fingers twitch, followed by his toes. It hurt—a lot—but hurt was better than numbness.

Okay. Not paralyzed. Hopefully not dead.

“Mmmgh,” he moaned. Slowly, he slid his hands back and pushed off the couch, lifting himself into a sitting position. “Oh, god…”

His skin was hot and sticky. Every bone, organ, and cell ached. He still felt sick, but now with about seventy extra ailments piled on top of that, which meant he was probably still alive.

Probably.

But how?

The last he remembered, he was getting his ass handed to him by the Sinister Six. For as long as he’d operated as the masked vigilante Spider-Man, he’d never gotten thrashed that badly. How did he get away? Did someone rescue him? Had the Avengers swooped in and saved his dumb, in-over-his-head ass right after he’d blacked out? But how could they have gotten there in time?

And where the hell was he?

Now that he was no longer lying down, the room had started listing a little. Peter reached up to rub his temple and felt something crinkly stuck to his head. He grabbed hold of it and started peeling it off his skin, wincing from the pain. Once he’d torn it free, Peter held the unknown object in front of his eyes. It was a large, bloody bandage.

Huh.

Peter’s eyes dropped to his lap. A thin blanket was draped over his body. When he lifted it away, he cringed.

His torso was a gruesome patchwork of Frankenstein-style stitches and bandages. He counted three sets of sutures on his upper body alone, plus four other cuts and scrapes held together with butterfly tape. His entire chest looked like one gigantic bruise. Plus, the burns—some from scraping across coarse concrete, others from actual fire. Every small movement sent waves of pain rippling across his body.

Yeesh, he thought, poking gingerly at the bandages on his shoulder. Well, someone friendly had to patch me up. But who?

Peter let the blanket slip from his fingers. Grimacing, he swung his legs off the couch and carefully placed his feet on the floor. Sweat slipped off his brow and dripped onto his knee.

“Okay,” he breathed. Peter inhaled sharply, then threw his weight forward, standing upright for an instant. Then he collapsed, gasping. Dizzying agony blossomed in his left leg and thumped like a second heartbeat.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth. He glanced back and saw his shin had been fashioned with a makeshift splint: two metal rods and ass-load of packing tape.

Right. Broken leg. The sound of the bone cracking in half reignited in his memories, sending a shudder down his spine.

Peter used the sofa to pull himself off the ground. This time, he placed all his weight on his right foot, using his left only for balance. His body ached and trembled with the effort it took to stand, but he managed to stay on his feet.

Ouch. Ugh. Okay. Yeah. That’s a start. The fuzz in his vision was starting to dissipate, but the fog in his brain clung like fungus. It felt like he’d been inhaling a bunch of that laughing gas stuff his dentist had given him back in the 6th grade when he had to get a tooth pulled. His head was heavy and light at the same time.

The room was a lounge area with stiff furniture and minimal decor. A wilted fern sat in the corner alongside a weird, tall block with a piece of metal sticking out of the top that Peter assumed was some form of modern art. The walls were entirely bare except for a small landscape painting that looked like it belonged in a motel bathroom. There were two other chairs across from the couch, a coffee table, a gray rug, and that was basically it.

Beside the fern, a pair of double doors stood wide and closed. When Peter strained his sensitive ears, muffled voices could be heard conversing in the other room. Curiosity plucked at his chest.

“Um…hello?” he called, voice raspy. He approached the doors, hopping more than walking, gritting his teeth as his injuries burned and throbbed, heat radiating feverishly off his skin. By the time he transversed the room, he was out of breath, lightheaded. He leaned against the wall for a minute and cycled slow gulps of oxygen through his lungs.

Once he’d somewhat recovered, Peter limped in front of the large doors. The voices were louder now, but not loud enough to be recognizable. They sounded mostly male. Peter took a deep breath, reached out his arm, and cracked the door open just a hair to peek inside.

It was a kitchen—that was the first thing he saw. A man stood at the island with his back to the doors. Across from him was a round dining table with a bowl of fruit in the middle.

“How is he?” the man asked, biting into an apple. His voice was definitely familiar.

“Still hasn’t woken up, right?” another responded.

Maybe this is another one of Clint’s safe houses, Peter thought. Or an Avengers’ base I’ve never been to before. Or a secret sitting room in some tragically decorated S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Or—

Seconds before Peter opened his mouth to say hello again, the man eating the apple turned around. When Peter saw his face, his heart jumped out of his chest and splattered at his feet.

“I don’t know,” Herman Shultz said over a mouthful of fruit. “Has he?”

The oxygen around Peter vanished in an instant. It’s Shocker! The guy who broke my leg! W-what the hell? What is he doing here?

“Not from what I’ve heard,” the second voice continued. Another man entered his narrow line of vision, this one lit up like a neon sign, and Peter’s throat seized.

“You’re not being very helpful, Maxwell.”

“I told you not to call me that! I’m Electro!”

Shocker held up his hands. “Right, right, sorry. Electro, then. You’re not being helpful.”

What the shit, what the shit, what the actual, living shi—

“Don’t ask me about these things. Ask the doc.” He lifted his head and grinned. “Look—here he comes now.”

Clank, clank, clank. Heavy, metallic footsteps rang in Peter’s ears and shook the floor beneath him. Horror and disbelief flooded his veins as the eight-limbed scientist stepped in front of him, hardly three feet away, pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Ask me about what?” Doctor Octopus said.

Peter leapt back from the door, clamping both hands over his mouth.

Oh…my god. It’s them.

“I just wanted to know how he was doing.”

They’re here. They found me. They came to finish the job.

Half of the super villains that had just wrecked his shit were standing in the neighboring room. Hell, maybe all of them were. They’d probably taken whoever had helped him hostage, or perhaps the poor soul was already dead. He wouldn’t stand a chance like this. He didn’t have his suit, his webs, nothing. He’d tried his best to fight them when he was just sick with the stomach bug, and look how well that had turned out for him. If they attacked him now, one solid hit was all it would take to knock him out. Or, if he was being fully honest, kill him.

Peter’s eyes darted frantically around the room. I have to get out of here! He hobbled toward the wall of windows and placed his hands against the glass. It was at least four inches thick; probably bulletproof. But it was his only option. With a shivery grunt, Peter hoisted himself off the floor and crawled toward the ceiling, every step piercing him with flashes of pain.

Okay. Launch off the ceiling, kick through the glass, make a run for it. In his loopy, concussed mind, the plan sounded foolproof. The voices of his enemies were growing louder; Doc Oc’s footsteps were approaching rapidly. It was now or never.

Hanging off the upside-down surface, balancing on his good foot, heart racing, head dizzy and faint, Peter threw himself at the window. He hit the glass with a loud thunk, bouncing off like a bug on a windshield, then crashed on top of the weird modern art piece, shattering the mahogany box into wood chips.

Peter lay sprawled in a heap in the wake of his failure, groaning and dazed. As he forced himself upright, gripping his head in his hand, the doors behind him burst open.

“What the hell?” Doc Oc exclaimed, alarm caked across his expression. When his gaze landed on the young superhero floundering in the splintered remains of his college art project, stunned and disheveled but now awake and wide-eyed, his muscles relaxed slightly. “Spider-Man?”

“Holy shit, he’s awake,” Electro said.

“And he destroyed your favorite sculpture,” Shocker added.

Peter’s eyes dashed between the three men, wild and afraid. He’d been unmasked by his absolute worst enemies—but that seemed the least of his troubles. I’m toast, he thought. Tiny pieces of wood clung to his hair, face, and back. Seeing him conscious for the first time sent a spark of relief through Doc Oc, though he hadn’t expected him to wake up for at least another day; the combination of pain meds he’d given him was pretty strong. When Octavius moved an inch closer to him, Peter scrambled to his feet and backed away, tripping over himself in the process and heavily favoring his right leg.

“Spider-Man—” he began, trying to keep his voice level. Spider-Man picked up a chunk of the destroyed box and chucked it at him.

“S-stay back!” he shouted. His voice was shrill and cracked at the end of the demand. Damn, Otto thought. The evidence of Spider-Man’s youthfulness was clear as day to him now—how had none of them noticed it before? Perhaps they had simply chosen not to notice.

Doc Oc dodged the projectile with ease. “Spider-Man, listen to me—”

Peter made a break for it, gunning for the opposite side of the room. He’d hardly made it two uncoordinated strides before three more figures emerged from a door behind the couch, blocking his escape path: Scorpion, Sandman, and Rhino. He skidded to a stop with a gasp.

“Whoa,” Rhino exclaimed, towering over the half-naked hero. “Would you look at that. Tiny spider is alive.”

Shit! Peter screamed internally. He whipped his gaze in every direction and realized he was surrounded.

“He needs to stop moving,” Otto said, knowing there was no way to accomplish that with words. He raised his tentacles above his head, the pincers snapping hungrily. “Grab him.”

Rhino made the first move, reaching out with his meaty hands to snag the kid by the arm. But Spider-Man ducked and rolled out of the way, moving surprisingly fast despite all of his injuries, though it was obvious the exertion was hurting him. Scorpion and Sandman tried next, lunging for his legs, but Peter hopped right over them and flipped backwards, wincing and staggering once his feet hit the floor and banging into the window.

“You’re going to reopen your wounds,” Octavius warned him. He thrust two tentacles at his torso, but Spider-Man flinched out of their grasp. Otto launched the other two arms at him, and Peter skirted between them, springing on to the wall. The exhaustion and terror in his face were evident. Otto felt bad for scaring him so much, but this was for his own good.

“Spider-Man—please,” he groused. His mechanical arms grabbed and snapped at the air, barely missing the slippery little hero every time. “Just—stay—still!”

Peter wasn’t listening to a word he said. All he knew was that he couldn’t let himself be caught. Every inch of him was screaming in agony. When the tentacles pounced on him all at once, Spider-Man shrunk small and dove underneath them, somersaulting past Doc Oc’s legs and popping up behind him. Peter bolted blindly for the double doors, only to ram straight into Rhino’s giant leg and fall flat on his ass. Three metal prongs clamped around his midsection before he could regather himself, pinning him to the floor.

“Agh!” Peter yelped, tugging uselessly at the claw’s strong teeth. “Let me go!”

Otto lifted Spider-Man off the ground. He continued to strain and squirm, kicking his legs and grappling with the mechanical pincers gripping his waist. The rest of the Sinister Six gathered around the frightened hero, forming a circle with him in the middle. He looked so small against the looming backdrop of super villains. His young face beamed with all the emotions his mask typically concealed—most prominently, fear.

“Spider-Man,” Octavius repeated, holding his hands out tentatively. “Calm down.”

“I’ll pass, thanks!” Peter quipped, betrayed by the tremble in his voice.

“Okay, it’s definitely him,” Electro groaned amusedly.

“I know you’re scared,” Doc Oc continued. “And you have every right to be. But if you don’t stop moving, you’re going to injure yourself further.”

“And if I don’t keep moving, you’re going to injure me further!” He thrashed and twisted valiantly, but it was evident he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. His movements were slowing down, his attempts to escape growing more and more pathetic. Otto waited for him to burn himself out, crossing his arms against his chest. It didn’t take long.

“Are you quite done now?”

Peter hung his head, breathless and shivery, gripping the prongs around his torso less to try to escape and more to hold himself upright. Perhaps his impromptu acrobatics display hadn’t been his smartest idea. All that leaping and flipping and bouncing around had sapped the last whispers of energy from his bones.

“Ugh…room’s…s-spinning,” he murmured. Otto took that as a “yes.” He held Spider-Man closer and frowned at a red spot on his ribs.

“And now look what you’ve done, you idiot. You’ve torn your stitches. I tried to warn you. Half an hour’s worth of sewing, down the drain because of your recklessness.”

“What are you…what…what’s…?” Spider-Man slurred. He was suddenly seeing double of everything. He dropped his gaze to his midriff and watched two blurry lines of blood slip down his side.

“I sutured you up, and you ruined it,” Octavius explained. Peter slowly lifted his head and wrinkled his brow.

“You…” he said, blinking repeatedly. “What?”

“Told you we gave him brain damage,” Rhino whispered. Peter looked at him over his shoulder, then swept his gaze around the circle, making eye contact with every member of the Sinister Six. They saw him. After all this time, his face was finally exposed to his enemies. No disguise, no secret identity, no mask. He felt so naked without it. Not having a shirt or pants on didn’t help either. Strangely, their expressions lacked their typical thirst for spider blood. It dawned on him that over a minute had passed, and none of them had tried to kill him. And so far, they still weren’t trying.

“I’m…confusion,” he stammered. “What—what’s happening right now?”

It was somewhat amusing to see Spider-Man so delirious and out of his element. Doctor Octopus lowered him to the ground but didn’t let go of his torso. Peter was almost glad he didn’t; he doubted he could stand on his own right now.

“I tended to your wounds while you were unconscious,” Octavius said. “It’s not a perfect patch job, but I did the best I could.”

Peter shook his head slowly, his big, brown Bambi eyes wide and puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“I also gave you some pain killers, which might be making your head a bit fuzzy.”

“But…why?” he scoffed. “You did this to me. You’re the ones who…beat me up. You love beating me up. You—you hate me. You want me dead. You’ve tried to make me dead a million times.” Peter jolted suddenly, a cramp shooting through his broken leg. If he was on painkillers, they were doing a pretty piss-poor job. Everything hurt and was too confusing to comprehend. He closed his eyes and dropped his face into his hands, moaning. “Oh god…I’ve gotta be trapped in some crazy fever dream right now. Or maybe…I’m dead. Am I dead? None of this makes any sense…”

“You’re not dead, Peter,” Otto said, stifling a chuckle.

A shudder rippled through the teenager. He lowered his hands, revealing the colorless face behind them.

“How…how do you know my…?”

Shit, Doc Oc thought. It was a careless slip of the tongue. He had meant to keep his knowledge of Spider-Man’s alter ego a secret so as to not frighten him further, but it looked like the cat was out of the bag.

Peter’s gaze shifted anxiously between the six super villains again. Fresh fear clouded over his glassy eyes, and he went back to squirming against Octavius’ hold.

“Now what are you trying to do?” Otto asked, exasperated.

“G-get the hell out of here,” Peter answered. He yanked at the claw around his torso, grunting with effort. “I know what this is. This is—one of those—hrgg—P-Princess Bride situations, isn’t it?”

The team of villains exchanged bemused glances with each other. “What are you talking about?”

“You know—mmneh—when the bad guys—c-catch Wesley, then heal him—just so the life-sucky torture machine thing is—m-more torturous? That’s what this is, right?” His face was flushing red, and more of his sutures were starting to leach blood.

Scorpion threw up his hands. “What’s the brat trying to say?”

“I think he’s saying we only doctored his wounds so that when we kill him, it’ll be all the more slow and painful,” Electro clarified with a shrug. “Which honestly sounds pretty in character for most of us.”

“See? This guy gets it.” Peter pushed at the prongs with all his might. Even as a half-dead, half-conscious mess, the kid couldn’t stop himself from being a smartass.

“I’m just impressed he made a reference to a movie that came out before he was a concept,” Rhino said. “You know, instead of, like, Finding Nemo?”

Otto could see the strain Spider-Man was putting himself through in his pitiful attempts to escape, so he decided to see what would happen if he succeeded. When Spider-Man shoved at his metal pincers again, he let them snap open. Surprise flashed across Peter’s face as he dropped to the ground and wobbled on his feet, followed by weary triumph.

“Ha! See? T-told you I would…I could…”

He faltered and swayed, staggering backwards. Sandman enlarged his hand and caught him before he could hit the floor. Peter sat limply in his palm, breathing heavy, frail and febrile and injured and exhausted. He looked down at the sand-hand that had stopped him from falling, then back up at the surrounding circle of villains, fear and confusion stinging in the corners of his eyes.

“W-why aren’t you...trying to kill me?”

The room dipped into nervous silence. Spider-Man’s gaze continued to jump between them, searching for answers.

“Why did you treat the wounds you gave me?” he continued weakly. With every word that passed his lips, the shake in his voice increased. “W-what do you want from me? Are you trying to…turn me to the dark side or something?”

Shocker stroked his chin. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea…”

“No,” Sandman answered pointedly, shooting Shocker a sideways glare.

“Then what?” Peter snapped. “What’s going on? Why am I here? Why aren’t I dead yet?” Spider-Man dragged himself back to his feet, grimacing harshly. “T-tell me what you’re planning to do with me, or I’ll—I’ll…”

His scowl dropped suddenly, replaced by a look of panic. His eyes went wide and his jaw clenched.

“Or you’ll what?” Scorpion asked in a mocking tone.

When Peter didn’t answer him, Octavius took a step closer. “Spider-Man? What’s wrong?”

Gradually, the terror in his face gave way to dread. Peter sucked in a gasp and cupped his hand over his mouth.

“I think…I’m gonna puke.”

Otto blinked. “Oh,” he said. That was not the response he was expecting, but it didn’t look like the kid was joking. He lurched forward, stifling a gag, making everyone exclaim and leap back. His pale face hinted a sickly shade of green.

“Oh,” Octavius repeated, animated by a new sense of urgency. He glanced around frantically until he spotted the fern in the corner of the room. He seized it with one of his tentacles, dumped the plant and the soil onto the floor, then slid the empty pot in front of Spider-Man. “Uh, here.”

Peter moaned in defeat before doubling over the pot and retching violently. The Sinister Six turned away in disgust, fighting to keep their own lunches down. There was hardly anything inside him to upchuck in the first place, but his body continued to dry heave for another half-minute. Once the bout passed, Peter was left wheezing and trembling with his head held low. His throat burned and tears were slipping from his eyes faster than he could wipe them away.

“Forgot about the stomach flu,” Electro said, sticking out his tongue. “Blech.”

Peter wanted to ask how the hell they knew he had a stomach bug, among many other things, but he was too fatigued to form words.

Octavius turned back to him squeamishly. The poor kid looked so small, hurt, and sick. It amazed him how quickly his hate for Spider-Man had transformed into a tentative fondness. He felt the need to comfort him somehow, the way adults were supposed to comfort young ones when they weren’t feeling well. But he had no idea how.

Instead, he grabbed a roll of paper towels and a cup of water from the kitchen and placed them both by his side. “Here,” he said awkwardly.

Peter eyed the items and whimpered softly. With miserable, lethargic movements, Peter washed out his mouth and wiped his face, every breath aching in his chest. Shame and fever radiated off him in waves. When he was finished, he just sat there, panting and shivery. Too weak to move.

“I think you ought to lay back down, Spidey,” Sandman said, plucking the hero off the floor between two massive fingers. He returned him to the couch with delicate care, guiding his head to the pillow and draping the blanket over his body.

“No…” Peter mumbled languidly, trying to sit up. When he closed his eyes, he couldn’t get them to open again. “Just…tell me…why…”

Something cold and wet pressed against his forehead, gently pushing him back down. Octavius had grabbed a hand towel from the kitchen and soaked it in ice water. The cool touch against his skin was soothing and unexpectedly soporific. Slowly, his muscles went lax. His tumultuous thoughts faded into sleepy nothingness.

“We will,” Otto lied. “But for now, rest.”

It was almost endearing how quickly Spider-Man drifted back to sleep. Octavius left the towel on his forehead and watched as his breathing eased to a steady rhythm.

“Damn,” Shocker sighed. “Poor kid.”

“We really beat him senseless,” Rhino said.

Electro stood over the slumbering hero with his hands on his hips, tilting his head to the side. “Is it just me, or is Spider-Man, like…kind of adorable?”

Scorpion snorted. “Adorable?”

“You know! In that, like, puppy-dog, dumb little kid kind of way. I mean, look at him! Does no one else think so?”

Sandman shrugged, fighting back a smile. “I mean, maybe. Sorta.” His expression gradually hardened, and he looked at Doc Oc. “So…is what you said before true? Is he really, like, an orphan?”

Otto lowered his gaze. “Not exactly. His parents died when he was a toddler, and he was adopted by his aunt and uncle, who became like parents to him. But then his uncle was killed last year, so now it’s just him and his aunt. He hasn’t had a particularly easy life.”

“And we certainly haven’t helped on that front,” Rhino added.

“It’s insane to me that at his age, this is what he chose to do with his powers. If I’d gotten his abilities when I was fifteen and gone through all that loss, I’d have been robbing every store on 5th Avenue.”

Shocker smirked. “I hate to say it, but...he’s kind of a good kid. Even if he is an obnoxious little dumbass.”

Amidst the conversation, Octavius’ face remained stoic, unreadable. He waited a while before clearing his throat. “I…wanted to let you all know. I, um, spoke to Tombstone this morning.”

All eyes turned to him, alarmed.

“He saw footage of us capturing Spider-Man on the news,” he explained. “He’s offering us two million each in exchange for the kid.”

Rhino’s jaw dropped. “Two million dollars? For each of us?”

“Holy shit,” Sandman breathed.

“What the hell?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“And he just wants the kid?” Shocker exclaimed. "That’s it?”

Otto nodded slowly. “Alive, but yes. That’s all he wants.” He swallowed and looked at the floor. “He’s given us until the end of the week to accept his offer.”

Excitement and dismay swept across everyone’s expressions. Each person waited for someone to speak up, for someone else to say no, we can’t. But it was just too tempting a proposition to dismiss out of hand. They could finally be free to do what they wanted. Free to live as they pleased, villainous or otherwise. Free to punish this city the way it had punished them, if they so choose. Turning over the kid was all it would take. One quick transaction. Hand over their nemesis, their sworn enemy, and it was done. They’d be rich.

“What the hell does he plan to do with him?” Sandman whispered uneasily.

“We don’t have to decide right now,” Doc Oc clarified. “I just wanted to make you aware of the opportunity. We can discuss it more later.”

An air of tentative relief settled over the room. Electro puffed out his cheeks and crossed his arms against his chest.

“In that case, what are we going to tell him when he wakes up again? That we want to sell him to some psychopath so we can all be millionaires? That we think he’s cute and want to keep him as a pet?”

Doctor Octopus shook his head. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. He turned back to his team. “I’ll keep monitoring him and re-treat the wounds he opened. I think it’s best we always have a pair of eyes on him to prevent another incident involving the destruction of my art pieces.”

The rest of the Sinister Six agreed, scattering throughout the complex, the proposition weighing heavily on all of their minds. Otto put on some classical music and began mopping the fresh blood off Peter’s torso.

#spiderman #spider-man #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman homecoming #Spider-Man: Homecoming #spider-man: far from home #sick fic #marvel #mcu #peter parker #spiderman ffh

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elialys · 5 years

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Tentoo x Rose - Falling Leaves of Red and Gold

This is my contribution to the Tentoo Party of Love and Acceptance and Deep Denial of That One Short Story I Shall Not Mention. I’m also tagging @doctorroseprompts, as this definitely fulfils the fall/autumn prompt.

Featuring the Doctor and Rose babysitting Tony for the weekend, and being disgustingly cute and soft as they do so because this is Tentoo and Rose we’re talking about.

[Read it on AO3]

Falling Leaves of Red and Gold

They are barely through the front door that Tony is jumping onto the Doctor, clinging to one of his legs with his head thrown all the way back, looking up at him through many centimetres of height difference.

“Pleaaaase can we do climb up?”

The Doctor doesn’t even hesitate, already halfway done with taking off his peacoat when he says: “Up you go, then!”

He throws his coat on the ground, before taking position, which involves spreading his legs, lowering himself in a half-crouch, his arms bent and extended outward, his every muscles locked to make his body as stiff and sturdy as possible.

Overall, a rather awkward position.

‘Climb Up’ is not a favourite game amongst grownups. It involves a small child challenging himself or herself to ‘climb’ over the adult’s body as if it were a tree. Understandably enough, most people tend to be rather reluctant to engage in it, as it is all kind of uncomfortable and painful, the over-enthusiastic toddler’s elbows, knees and feet regularly poking into sensitive areas and leaving bruises in their wake.

The Doctor loves it – and Tony adores him for it.

“Who knew I would make such a good tree?” he’d once asked Rose, beaming at her, absolutely delighted with having a three-and-a-half-year old hanging upside down from one of his outstretched arms, an angry red mark already flaring on his cheekbone where Tony’s foot had made contact not-so-gently a couple minutes ago.

Tony doesn’t make it as far today, still trying to ascend the Doctor’s leg when a shrill gasp of disapproval rings through the air.

“Where the hell d’you think you are?!”

The Doctor’s smile immediately freezes at the sound of Jackie’s shout, while Tony slowly slides back down, having caught Rose’s eyes and seen the small shake of her head, wordlessly advising him to stop what he was doing to avoid getting caught up in their mother’s wrath.

“Uhm,” the Doctor says, carefully straightening himself up, glancing at his mother-in-law with obvious caution. “The Tylers’ mansion? Planet Earth? The Solar system?”

Rose cannot help but cringe at this poor, poor choice of reply. All these months spent around Jackie Tyler on a fairly regular basis, not to mention their many encounters back in the other universe, and the Doctor has yet to learn to keep his mouth shut around her.

Jackie’s scowl turns into a sweet smile – not a good sign, and he knows it, too, judging by the way he swallows hard – before she looks down at her son. “Why don’t you go find Daddy, sweetheart. Go tell him if he’s not off the phone and ready in the next ten minutes, Mummy’s leaving without him and probably not coming back.”

“Ok!” Tony exclaims, already dashing out of the entrance hall towards Pete’s office.

Jackie slowly extends a hand, then, pointing at the crumpled coat on the floor, her stony stare on the Doctor. “Pick it up.”

The Doctor opens his mouth, until Jackie narrows her eyes, at which point he wisely decides to close it again, bending down to pick up his coat.

Jackie is walking to him, now, head tilted back to look up at him just as her son did earlier, and yet, the Doctor is the one shrinking into himself.

“Now I’ve only agreed to this because Rose’s here, too,” Jackie tells him with an unmistakable warning note in her voice, even though she’s yet to look at her daughter. “But I want you to listen. Are you listening?”

“I am listening.”

“No. Dodgy. Experiment. You’ve got that?”

Sharp nod.

“Then say it.”

“I – ”

“Nope, not asking for your input, here, just simple parroting. Repeat after me: no dodgy experiment.”

“No dodgy experiment.”

Jackie’s finger actually pokes him sharply in the chest. “No fire either, Doctor, I mean it.”

“Now that was a genuine acci – ”

“Still not asking for your opinion, Lanky Boy,” Jackie efficiently shuts him up. “A day and a half, that’s all. He’s my only son, and I love him quite a lot. Anything suspicious, and I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to give me grandchildren, are we clear?”

“Crystal,” the Doctor chirps. “Lucent. Pellucid. Limpid. Diaphan – ”

“Oh shut it,” Jackie says with a dismissive wave of her hand, finally turning to Rose. “Now come, I’ve got everything ready for your meals.”

“We could’ve cooked,” Rose says, a bit offended.

Jackie snorts in answer, already walking towards the kitchen, clearly expecting them to follow. They do, the Doctor giving Rose a pointed look that clearly means ‘She’s your mother.’

The ordeal doesn’t last for much longer. Jackie does show them everything she prepared for them for this short weekend, going over Tony’s daily routine as well, Rose choosing to remain quiet instead of reminding her mother she’s done this before, even if it’d been pre-Doctor.

After the unavoidable chaos that comes with parents leaving their toddler behind, Jackie and Pete are off for their anniversary trip to Italy, while Rose and the Doctor remain with Tony – who is sniffling a little as he clings to Rose’s neck.

“Hey, you know what Dad told me?” she asks him, going for Distraction #1 – she has four more up her sleeve if this one fails. When she has her brother’s attention, she wiggles her eyebrows (a move she’s definitely picked up from someone). “He told me the gardeners came this morning, and they made a pile.”

Tony gasps in wonder. “A pile?” he repeats in the same conspiratorial tone.

Rose nods with a broadening grin, while behind them, the Doctor repeats it, too, a lot more confused: “A pile?”

She glances back at him with a cryptic smile. “Put that coat back on. You’re gonna love this.”

A few minutes later, all bundled up to face the late October chilly air, they exit the house, entering the back garden – which, realistically, is bigger than most inner city parks Rose has ever been in.

The Pile, although quite a distance away, is impossible to miss.

“That is humongous,” the Doctor states as he takes it in, finally understanding what they’d been talking about.

The three of them begin walking toward the impressive pile of dead leaves, Tony in the middle, holding one of their hands each.

“What’s a human Gus?” Tony asks candidly, which causes Rose to laugh wholeheartedly.

“Humongous, sweetie,” she corrects him. “It means really big.”

“It’s sounds weird,” he notes with a giggle, although he seems delighted to have acquired this new knowledge, already tugging at both their hands, silently requesting to be swung. “Tell me another?”

“Uhm, let’s see,” Rose ponders. “Gigantic.”

“Colossal,” the Doctor offers, while between them, Tony is happily being swayed off the ground.

“Enormous.”

“Gargantuan.”

They’re running out of synonyms for big when they find themselves standing in front of The Pile – which really isn’t a pile at all.

It’s a tower.

“Throw me!” Tony shouts, so excited he’s almost vibrating.

The two adults look at each other.

“It’s a really big pile,” the Doctor notes. “Properly massive.” He observes the tower of crunchy leaves, his nose scrunched up. “What if he disappears, in there? How would we explain that to your mother?”

Rose gives a shrug of her shoulder. “Worst case scenario, we’ve got thirty six hours to dig him out.”

“Throw meeeeeeeeee,” Tony begs, pulling hard on their hands.

The Doctor is still scowling at the imposing pile. “I can’t say I see the appeal of being thrown into a pile of decaying organic matter. Are you sure you don’t want us to go to the swing set instead?”

Tony is now letting out a long, high pitched whine Rose is fairly certain has been invented by toddlers just to drive adults crazy.

“All right, then, allons-y!” the Doctor exclaims, bending down to pick Tony up.

He doesn’t make to throw him at all, though, securely holding the child in his arms instead, turning towards Rose, who frowns at him.

“Your mother scares me too much, I’ll have to go into the unknown with him,” he announces, dramatically. “If I don’t make it back, remember that I love you, always. I won’t tell you not to come after us, either, Rose Tyler. I know better.”

After a wink and a tilt of his head, followed by his trademark grin, he pounces off the ground and nothing short of crashes into the giant pile of leaves, he and her brother disappearing completely for a few seconds.

The pile is so imposing that it doesn’t completely collapse from the sudden disturbance…until the Doctor stands back up, buried all the way up to his shoulders in leaves, holding out a toddler currently shrieking with delighted laughter. “Found this squirmy creature at the bottom of the pile, wouldn’t happen to be yours, by any chance?”

“I’ve been told we share some genes,” Rose admits.

“Again! Do it again!” Tony is requesting, now in his sister’s arms, who doesn’t hesitate much before diving into the pile, too.

They spend a slightly ridiculous amount of time playing in that pile of leaves, long after it’s stopped being big enough for the adults present to dive into it. The Doctor is as efficient as ever when it comes to gathering it all back together for Tony, though, admitting that he’d underestimated the ‘entertainment value’ of this activity.

(Especially after Tony ordered them both to stay there on the ground while he bravely threw tiny handfuls of leaves all over them as he tried covering them up – which obviously led to quite a bit of snogging as decaying organic matter rained over them)

When Tony’s teeth begin to chatter from cold while his lips turn blue, Rose declares their outing over, in spite of the two children’s loud protests.

She makes them hot cocoa, which instantly puts her back in their good grace, especially when she adds tiny marshmallows to it.

Tony makes the mistake of asking what marshmallows are made of, which causes the Doctor to delve into a rapid lecture about the molecular makeup of this particular food – which really cannot be called food, he stresses that repeatedly, given the minimal nutritional value it provides.

He does stop his gabbling, eventually, once he realises Rose has stopped her washing up to stare at him instead, Tony’s eyes properly glazed over as well.

“Can we make some?” Tony asks, then, unfazed.

“Absolutely,” the Doctor answers just as Rose says: “Absolutely not.”

She shuts off the tap, turning fully to lean against the sink. “Which part of ‘no dodgy experiment’ did you not understand?”

He scowls at her. “All we need is water, gelatin and sugar, I wouldn’t call it a dodgy experiment. A wild foray into the oddity that is human nutrition, maybe. ”

“Might be so, but you forget the bit where everything becomes dodgy when you’re in charge of it.”

“I feel slightly insulted.” He sounds and looks it, too.

(She doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s got more chocolate around his mouth than Tony does)

“Alright, I’ll make it up to you,” she says with a sly smile. “Wanna hear why we’re like hot chocolate and marshmallows?”

He squints at her. “Is this a trick question?”

She shakes her head, before answering all-too-casually: “’cause you’re hot and I’m on top.”

The Doctor actually manages to choke on his own saliva.

“I don’t get it,” Tony announces.

“t’s just a silly grownup joke,” Rose tells him, pushing herself off the sink to go ruffle his hair, before going around the table to do the same to her husband, whose face has become rather red.

She presses a kiss to his temple for good measures, letting her breath wander over the back of his neck before straightening up and going back to her dishes, acutely aware of his gaze on her.

They do not make marshmallows, in the end, nor do they get into anything dodgy. Tony spends a nice amount of time quietly drawing some pictures while Rose and the Doctor argue over how to get the fireplace going – once Rose convinces him that her mother’s warnings about him and fire did not include the making of an actual fire in a real fireplace.

He does manage to get it going eventually, although by then, they’ve already had dinner and Rose had time to give Tony his bath. The siblings come back down to find a lovely, roaring fire burning in the hearth, the Doctor looking simultaneously proud and a tad sheepish.

She chooses not to ask.

While the two boys snuggle up on the couch, the Doctor having just agreed to read Tony his bedtime story in front of the fire, Rose tidies up the table where Tony had been drawing earlier today. Now like any other three-and-a-half-year old, her brother’s drawing skills are not what you would call exceptional, but she’s always managed to decipher them fairly well.

She finds herself frowning at a drawing of six stick figures, all standing near what she assumes is this house. Two pairs of tall stick figures, a much smaller stick figure added between each pair.

“Who’s this a picture of, sweetie?” she asks her brother, interrupting the Doctor’s reading. They both look up from the book to look at the paper Rose is holding up.

“’t’s me and Ma and Daddy and you and the Doctor and the baby.”

There is a significant pause.

“The…baby?” the Doctor asks with a frown, giving Rose a look, obviously wondering if she knows something he doesn’t, to which she answers with a definite, categorical shake of her head.

“Your baby,” Tony does confirm a moment later, blissfully ignorant of the sudden shift in the room.

“We don’t have a baby,” Rose reminds him.

“I know that,” Tony says, rolling his eyes exactly the way Jackie would, his tone quite reminiscent of her as well. “But Ma’s always saying you and the Doctor are gonna be having babies ‘before we know it’.”

“Oh, is she now,” the Doctor says, a smile in his voice, as well as in his eyes. “What else does she say about us?”

But Tony is shrugging, already disinterested in the topic, clearly a bit drowsy, too. “Keep reading please?” he asks the Doctor in a small voice, looking up at him from where he’s snuggled up against his side.

After another pause, the Doctor nods, clearing his throat a little before resuming his reading. Rose joins them, half-sitting, half-lying on the other side of the couch. Tony is asleep before the Doctor finishes the book; he caries on reading anyway, and his low voice feels as warm to her as the thermal waves coming from the fireplace.

When he’s done, none of them speaks for a while, Rose watching the Doctor, while the Doctor watches the small human asleep against his side.

“Maybe we should make one of those,” he says at last, his voice still low and quiet.

Rose startles a little out of her reverie, not sure she’s heard him right.

“What?”

“Babies,” he says. “Mini version of people. More specifically, mini version of people I hope would inherit most of your genes, although again, I have had worse ears.”

He’s quoted something he once said to her, word for word.

She’s just as dumbfounded as she was on that night, all those months ago.

Rose stares at him, and he stares back. “Is this…us, having The Talk, then?”

He shrugs faintly, mindful of the sleeping child against him. “Even your three-year-old brother is thinking about it. If he’s thinking about it when he’s not even fully cognitive, yet, I think it means we should, too.”

Despite herself, her heart is speeding up in her chest. “Alright,” she says quietly. “Let’s do The Talk.”

Of course, no one actually talks for at least a minute after that.

“I’ll start,” the Doctor offers. “I think…” he begins, before stopping himself. “No. I know I’d like to have children with you, if I can, and…if you want. Obviously.”

Rose finds herself nibbling on the nail of her thumb, feeling her eyes prickling.

“I didn’t think you would,” she admits, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

He frowns. “Why?”

She shrugs, looking away, staring into the fire. “Dunno. Too…domestic. Too complicated. Too…human, maybe.”

Another pause.

“I’ve been a father before.”

She looks back at him, but he’s the one not meeting her eyes, now. “When?”

He breathes in slowly, his next exhale a bit wobbly. “A long time ago. A long, long time ago. It wasn’t…” He clears his throat. “Time Lords didn’t do parenthood the way humans do, from procreation to gestation to, you know, the actual raising of your offspring. Like most of everything in our species, the overall process was quite…impersonal.”

He shakes his head a little, and the distant look in his eyes disappear as he looks back at her. “It’s nothing like how it would be, to do it all with you. Watching you grow a new human. Welcoming him or her into our world. Getting to teach them. Showing them how beautiful this universe can be. Loving them, day after day. Fifty percent Rose Tyler, fifty percent me…” He shakes his head a little. “The thought of it is…overwhelming, to tell you the truth.”

Having him so far from her is suddenly unbearable.

“Come here,” she tells him quietly, having straightened up to sit up better, patting the empty space between them.

“I’m a bit trapped,” he says, indicating Tony with a tilt of his head. “I believe we have a child between us, which is rather ironic, come to think of it, considering the fact that – ”

“Let’s just move then, so I can snuggle up, too” she interrupts him softly, the way she often does, already standing up. “He won’t wake up, trust me. He can sleep through anything.”

When the Doctor looks at her dubiously, she claps her hands a couple times, quite loudly, too. Tony doesn’t even flinch.

Successfully convinced, the Doctor gathers up Tony against him more securely, before moving sideways, just enough to make room on his other side, so that Rose can fill up that void.

She does, quite happily, too, almost sighing at the smell and feel of him, his arm tight around her, their faces only inches apart. She rests her fingertips lightly upon his chin, her nails barely scratching his stubble.

“’m sorry,” she whispers. When he frowns, she adds: “I know you said it was all different and everything, but…they were still your children.”

He doesn’t say anything for another long moment, his lips grazing her forehead.

“It was a long time ago,” he eventually repeats. “This is more…in the now.”

She appreciates that he’s not pushing her, despite the fact that she’s yet to make her opinion clear.

“I didn’t think I’d ever want children,” she tells him quietly, and he moves slightly to look at her. “I grew up with a single mother,” she adds with a sad smile and a shrug. “Mum tried her best not to make me feel like I was a burden, but I could tell it was hard just…having me, you know? Even my friends who had both their parents, most of them ended up getting divorced before we were teenagers anyway. It just felt all so…complicated and…restricting.”

He doesn’t say anything, but she sees that light already dimming in his eyes. Before it completely disappears, she properly cups his face in her palm, looking at him straight on when she says: “Having children with you, though? That wouldn’t be so bad.”

He swallows hard again. “Yeah?”

She nods a little. “Yes.”

And then, aware that he deserves honesty from her, the way he always tries being honest with her, even when it hurts, she decides to fully open up to him.

“You make me feel like I can have it all,” she admits softly. “The adventuring and the full human experience. It’s a bit terrifying, actually, how safe you make me feel, which makes no sense, I know but…t’s the truth. I’m not delusional either. I know once we do have that baby, it’ll change everything, and we’ll be a mess, and we won’t get to do all the things we get to do now. But…we’ll still be together. Together with a small human that’ll be fifty percent you, and fifty percent me.”

‘Overwhelming’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

When the Doctor kisses her, he does it slowly, almost reverently, as if they were sealing another kind of vow.

Until he pulls away, looking at her with definite alarm. “Not now, though, right?”

“Oh god, no,” she reassures him, and they both sigh in relief. “Let’s just worry about keeping Tony alive this weekend, yeah?”

“Good plan,” he nods emphatically, the two of them shifting to look at the toddler, still sound asleep on the other side of the Doctor.

“Let’s put him to bed,” she whispers in his ear, before lightly nibbling at it. “I’d very much like to try playing Climb Up with my husband.”

The Doctor lets out a sound that is between a laughter and a groan. “Rose Tyler, that is filthy,” he protests in a loud whisper, still managing to sound high pitched. “I’ll never be able to play that game with him again, now.”

Oh, she knows.

~ FIN ~

[Consider sending me a message?] [Or leaving a kudos/comment on AO3?]

[i’m not picky just desperate for love, a like/reblog would make me quite happy too]

#doctor who #tentoo x rose #tentoo #rose tyler #Tentoo Party #in which i wrote over 3k words of fluff and i regret nothing #fic of mine #Trickling Down the Hourglass #Falling Leaves of Red and Gold #writing

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ellana-ravenwood · 7 years

Text

Fun fair with the Family - Batmom x Batfam (REPOST please READ the explanation right under the summary :-( )

Summary : Batmom decides to take her family to the fun fair…She quickly realizes it might not be her best idea ever.

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

Repost because, and this time I really don’t know how, the original post got erased...BUT I had it backed up for once. So here. FUCK. Hum. Sorry. But it had almost 100 notes, and comment people left I didn’t even had time to read because the story simply disappeared...I’m a bit bummed out right now...Is it too much to ask if you could like, reblog and comment again ? I kinda feel bad, it’s not my style to ask those things...I’m so sorry for that, but it’s a bit discouraging, to write something, and to see that apparently it was liked, but to not know who liked it, what were the comments etc etc, especially since this time, I didn’t do anything, the story simply disappeared...Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy, and re-enjoy if you already read it :’-( :

__________________________________________________

Not even an hour in, and you know you made a huge mistake bringing them here. All at the same time. They were going to be the death of you, so much energy…But it was just so rare that you all had some free times at once…You just wanted to spend some time with them.

It all started so well though.

*******************

You woke up in the best way possible : with your Bruce’s lips trailing kisses on your neck, shoulders and back, his arms wrapped around you. You shifted around, and before you could say anything, he kissed your temple, the corner of your mouth, slowly putting butterfly kisses on your face, to finally kiss you on the lips.

You melted in the kiss, and squeezed his large frame against you, your arms struggling to wrap around him. Damn that man was big. When he pulls away, you can’t help but grin at him, and he gives you the smile he only reserved to you. A real, pure smile. You nuzzle his neck, and he let out a contended sigh.

-You’re alright ?

-More than alright my love, as always when you’re here.

-My sweet Broosh. You know what I mean.

-I am alright. Not even a single bruise or scratch. The boys are too. Calm night.

-I like those.

-I like you.

-I love you.

-Oh yeah, that too. I love you (Y/N).

-Well, here’s for our morning’s cheesy ritual…We probably should get up.

-I have the entire day off.

-Oh ? Well then, what’s the hurry right ?

He smiles once more at you, and you crash your lips on his, climbing on him to straddle him. One of his hand tangles itself in your (H/L) (H/C) hair, the other goes to your waist and his grip is almost bruising. He cannot stop himself, you always had a strong and immediate effect on him…He rolls on top of you, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist.

-What’s the hurry indeed.

********************

-Can I change bedroom ? Because I need sleep, and I realized that choosing the bedroom just down the hall from yours was a mistake. I think I understand now why the others have their bedroom at the other side of the Manor. You guys are so loud.

Bruce chokes on his coffee, and you turn all kind of shades of red. Give it to Damian to be brutally honest like that…His brothers hesitate between being disgusted (reminding themselves why they also switched bedrooms from the master bedroom’s floor to the opposite aisle of the house), and bursting out laughing, Alfred and his childish giggle convince them to howl in laughter.

You look at your husband, quite horrified, and he shifts awkwardly on his seat, the fork full of eggs he was going to eat still half way through between his plate and his mouth…He says :

-Yes, of course you can change room.

-Great, because really, my dear parents, you’re mak…

-OOOoooook, subject close.

-Yes Dams, subject close. You’re going to make it weird again.

-I never make it weird Grayson ! I think it’s gross too, they just have to know that they’re a nuisance when together, that we can hear them from the gard…

Bruce cuts his son off, putting his large hand on his mouth, and says :

-Let’s not talk about this anymore, instead, let’s talk about the fact that today, we’re all completely free and we should do something together !

You freeze at Bruce’s words. “All completely free” ? Could it be ? This hasn’t happened for almost seven months ! You definitely had to do something as a family ! Before one of your sons could say he had plan, you throw in the idea of going to Gotham’s fun fair, without really thinking about it (maybe if you had, things would have gone differently). You even convince Alfred to come with you, because come on, he’s definitely part of the family. When you say he’s “like the dad you never had”, you swore you saw tears welling up in his eyes, as he rushed to put the dirty breakfast dishes in the dishwasher…

Your sons are excited, Bruce seems ok with the plan (as long as he’s with you, his sons, or Alfred, he’s always OK), and you’re just too happy at the prospect of spending a day with your family !

*********************

As you all were wearing casual clothes, almost unfashionable for some of you (Bruce and his black sweatpants, baseball cap and oversized hoodie…oh, what were you saying, that man always looked good), no paparazzis bothered you. They just couldn’t even fathom the fact that the great Wayne family would go out in ripped jeans, flannels, sweat pants, and old shirt that seemed to be a thousand years old ! You guys were always classy !

It was so good, to not be recognize. You could all be yourselves without fearing a silly picture to be posted in every papers the next day !

Like right now, in the fun house, making faces at each others, laughing your asses off when one would fall on a “trap”, dancing as if no one was watching to the stupid circus song that kept playing over and over again. You all had some great move. You completely lost it when Alfred, finally loosing his English phlegm, did the “arms wave dance” with your boys.

You could hug and kiss your Bruce without fearing articles being written the next day, with the pictures, judging you guys’ relationship…Everything was just great ! Your sons though, kept rolling your eyes at you two, whispering, or plainly saying out loud : “Get a room”, “PDA !!!” and other “Ew, gross”.

Damian won a gigantic teddy Bear for you at some darts game, that was bigger than him, and you thought it was the most hilarious thing ever to see him carry it all around the fun fair. The boy refused the help of his brothers and father, so he deserved his struggle, and damn, it was just too cute. He had to twist his neck on the side to be able to see where he was going, because that damn bear was so large ! When you thanked him with a kiss on the forehead, he looked just so proud of himself that it melted your heart a little bit. That boy.

Jason, making all of you laugh, won some water guns at the “hook-a-duck” game, that was suppose to be for little kids. Of course, the rest of the warm summer day was spent spraying each other.

Tim got thrown out of the “magic house” as he made it a mission to debunk absolutely every single “creatures” in it, and explained every single trick, in details, the magicians were performing. The owner, a very fat, dirty and bald character, grabbed him by the collar, and Bruce almost knocked the man out, no one was touching his babies ! …Fortunately, you got a hold of him before he could do anything, and Tim handled himself. You could understand the owner though, because your son was being a total buzzkill, and every visitors were leaving his attraction…

Dick decided to “test his strength” by using one of those machines where you put a couple of quarters in, and a ball would come down for you to punch, and then a number would tell you how “strong” you were. All the boys did it, even Alfred…Dick punched the hardest, breaking the score that was the highest before he tried…Until Bruce tried too, and broke the machine because he punched too hard. He apologized to the owner of the machine, and gave him check for him to buy another one.

Everything was just great.

Until your sons’ energy was a bit too much. They wanted to do EVERYTHING. As soon as they finished an attraction, they were running to the next one, and you realized that you were not fit to follow them…But then a day that was starting to be too exhausting for you to really appreciate your family’s presence, too much at the same time, while it started so great..turned perfect.

Bruce gave you a piggy back ride through the fun fair, and things were good again. You could follow your children with ease, comfortably snuggled against his back, and you had easy access to his neck, jaw, temple and hair…All the places he liked to be kissed and caressed. Bonus point because your actions grossed out your sons a lot.

You were so glad you decided to go to the fun fair everything was so perfect…a few other accidents happened besides Bruce broking the punching machine, and Tim being thrown out of the magic house.

Damian punched a man disguised as a werewolf in the haunted house, because he jump scared him, and you guys all ran out of the place…until he realized he forgot his giant teddy bear inside, and went back in, just to punch the werewolf man once again because the fool was trying to grab him, while yelling “SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE PLEASE”…You avoided the Haunted House area until the end of the day.

Jason ate too many candies, and threw up everything after he went on the tea cups attraction…You couldn’t help but telling him : “I told you son”, as, indeed, you warned him all day that he was going to get sick with all this sugar combined with fun fair stuffs. Even the carousel made him gag…

Dick almost got punched in the face for flirting with the girlfriend of some very jealous guy. Of course, he didn’t realized the girl had a boyfriend. He escaped with a laugh that infuriated the dude, and a few backflips that impressed the girl…and was able to slip his number in her pocket. Of course he would.

Tim got stuck in the “hamster wheel” of one of the fun house because Damian kept throwing his giant teddy bear at him…and both you and Bruce had to separate them before they would get in a violent fist fight. You made them hold hands the rest of the day as a punishment. Yours and your husband constant snickering towards them got the lesson through their head. Alright, no more fighting…in front of the parents.

And finally, the boys convinced Alfred to go with them in the biggest roller coaster on the fair, even though their favorite butler kept refusing their proposal as he said “rollercoasters made him sick”…He just couldn’t resist them. He considered them his grandchildren, he felt obligated to please them. And so here you all were, on a gigantic rollercoaster and…Damian, who was sitting next to Alfred, turned, and the panic on his face scared you.

-MOM, DAD, PENNYWORTH JUST FAINTED !!!! AL’ !! HE’S NOT OK !!

You all rushed around your loved butler to see if he was alright at the end of the ride, and with a weak voice, as he was waking up, he just said :

-I told you those made me sick…I don’t like heights too much…

And that marked the end of your day. It was getting quite late anyway, almost time for patrol. Dick and Jason supported Alfred back to the car, and Bruce went behind the wheel, forbidding his dear butler to drive, and once you all got home, he forced him to go take some rest.

Your boys felt extremely guilty that they almost broke their Al’…

********************

Before going to sleep, you checked on Alfred, bringing him some hot tea…that he never drunk as he was already in a deep slumber when you came in his room. You put the blanket back up to his neck, and with a kiss on your adoptive father’s forehead, you felt him, leaving a note telling him that if he needed anything he should just ring you, even though you knew he probably would never do it…

You went to bed late, but not late enough for your children and husband to be home, and you slipped into your king sized bed alone.

It was alright though, you knew your Bruce was going to warm the place next to you soon enough (you hoped it would be another “calm night”)…And the day you spent with him and all yours boys charged you up so much on family time that it was fine.

You made a mental note to take them to the fair again some day, but after a very exhausting night, so that their energy would be a bit lower.

********************

The sun was already rising in the sky when you felt Bruce’s side of the bed shifting, and his arms wrapping around you, squeezing you on his naked chest.

-Calm night ?

You asked hesitantly.

-Very calm. Bruise and scratch less.

You smiled, and turned around into his embrace so that you’d face him.

-Good. I like those.

-I like you.

-I love you.

-Yeah, that too. I love you (Y/N).

You stare at each other for a bit, each enjoying the presence of the love of your life, until a mischievous smile appears on your face :

-The night was calm enough to leave you with some energy ?

-You betcha sweetheart.

And on that note, he is on you, his lips crashed on yours, and his hand roaming your body. Damn you loved that man. And if you could hear his thoughts, what his heart said, you’d realize he loves you even more.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman x reader #batfam #batfam x reader #Batmom #Batmom x batkids #Batmom x Bruce Wayne #Batman imagine #Batfamily #batfam imagine #Batfam oneshot #Batfamily x reader #Batmom x Batfamily

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