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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 2 years

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Another Life

Father of Mine – Masterlist

disclaimer: i haven't written in like...a year. and i barely proof read this. so apologies if it's absolute shit. warning: a lot of dark themes, death, familial drama, overall depressing stuff

“What the hell is going on?” Y/N asked Dick as Alfred helped her take off her coat.

Jason was close behind her.

When Dick called Y/N in the middle of the night, he knew something terrible had happened. And he wasn’t about to let her go to the manor by herself.

“I’m sorry,” Dick immediately blurted out. “I didn’t have time to explain over the phone.”

Y/N swallowed. “What happened to him?”

‘Him’ being Bruce.

“He was hallucinating or something,” Dick explained quickly. “And he won’t snap out of it. But he kept saying your name over and over again.”

“So what the fuck can she do about it?” Jason snapped at him.

But Y/N gripped his arm, silently telling her boyfriend to calm down.

Dick also glared at him. “He kept saying he was sorry. I thought maybe if he saw you – saw that you were OK – then maybe he’d calm down.”

“Take me to him?” Y/N asked Dick carefully.

He nodded. “Follow me.”

Together, the three of them swiftly walked to Bruce’s bedroom. And Y/N suddenly realized she’d never been in there before. It always felt off limits. Bruce was such a private person, she figured she shouldn’t invade such a personal and intimate space.

It was cozier than Y/N expected. But that was probably Alfred’s doing. The man stressed about his master getting enough sleep that he had no choice but to design a bedroom that constantly tempted Bruce with comfort and rest.

Now Y/N stared at the sickly man that laid in bed and it felt like different person than the Bruce Wayne she had become so close with.

His face was pale and sweaty. His eyes were bloodshot. His hair was matted down from perspiration that wouldn’t stop gathering on his face.

Y/N took a small step toward her father and whispered, “Bruce?”

The sound of her calling his name seemed to snap him out of whatever daze he had just been in.

Bruce slowly sat up and looked at Y/N as if he didn’t fully believe he was seeing clearly.

“Y/N?” His voice shook.

“You said he couldn’t snap out of it,” Jason muttered quietly to Dick.

“He-He wasn’t. This is the most lucid he’s been.”

Y/N slowly stepped closer to the bed. “Bruce, can you tell me what happened to you?”

Jason’s instincts were going haywire. He blinked himself awake and quickly walked forward, holding out his arm to stop Y/N from going any further.

When Y/N glared up at him, Jason just said, “I don’t trust him when he doesn’t seem like himself. Better safe than sorry. Don’t get any closer.”

She knew Jason had a point, but that didn’t mean she liked it.

So, she turned her attention back to her father. “Bruce,” she called to him softly. “What happened? What can we do to help?”

But Bruce zoned out, trying to dig into his mind to properly answer the question.

“Was it a curse?” Dick asked.

Bruce snapped out of it when he heard the word ‘curse,’ and locked eyes with Dick.

“It was a sorcerer. Not a curse. Something else.”

“It looks like you had some sort of fever dream – but dialed up to a thousand,” Jason observed aloud.

“Not a fever dream,” Bruce corrected. “A vision.”

“Vision?” Dick and Y/N said in unison.

Bruce nodded as he stared into Y/N’s gaze. “If you and I had met sooner.”

Y/N’s brow wrinkled. “How much sooner?”

“As a child,” Bruce confirmed.

———

Bruce was pacing around the foyer.

Alfred watched from the doorway with his hands folded properly in front of him. “This is not the first time you have taken in a child, Master Wayne.”

Bruce stopped long enough to say, “This is…different.”

“Because she is your child?” Alfred challenged.

“Because she is my daughter,” Bruce snapped back. “A daughter that was kept a secret from me for 10 years.”

“Yes,” Alfred hummed. “But I think we both understand that it was probably best.”

“Not anymore,” Bruce argued. “Not when she’s being sent to live with a father she’s never known. And after her mother and grandparents were killed in a car crash that she miraculously survived.”

Before Alfred could respond, Bruce saw the cop car pull up.

“They’re here,” he muttered and then going to the main entrance before they could ring the doorbell.

Bruce walked onto the gravel of the front drive as the car pulled to a stop.

Detective Gordon stepped out of driver’s seat. Such an errand was below his payroll, but it appeared the man was good with kids – especially ones who’d gone through trauma.

“Mr. Wayne,” he greeted.

“Gordon,” Bruce nodded back. He suspected the man knew who he was in his other life, but it seemed neither of them would ever acknowledge it.

“Where is she?” Bruce asked when he saw no one else in Gordon’s car.

“Right,” Gordon nodded as if he was expecting the question. “I wanted to speak with you about that. She…uhh…isn’t speaking with anyone.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She’s on her way with the social worker,” Gordon clarified. “But she hasn’t spoken a word to anyone – not doctors, paramedics, cops, nurses. No one.”

Bruce nodded, somehow understanding. “Right.”

“Docs say it’s selective mutism. Very common in children who have been through traumatic experiences.”

Bruce nodded again. But then his eyes narrowed. “Why are you here, Gordon?”

“Just making sure you’re up for this.”

“I’m her father.”

Gordon huffed. “That you are. But when a mother keeps her daughter a secret from her own father for 10 years, you can’t help but be concerned about why.”

Now Bruce was irritated. “And what about the two boys I’ve fostered and adopted? Does that count for nothing?”

“You and I both know this situation is different, Mr. Wayne.”

“Is it?” Bruce was so offended, that he saw himself contradicting the conversation he’d had with Alfred just moments ago. He was allowed to question himself as a father, but no one else was allowed to – apparently.

Suddenly another car pulled up.

“That’ll be Y/N with the social worker,” Gordon sighed.

He didn’t know what he expected to come from challenging Bruce Wayne. The man clearly had a soft spot for kids. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have taken in two boys. But much of Gotham found it a little strange for a billionaire playboy in his 20s to adopt not one, but two young boys.

Bruce’s heart raced when he saw Y/N step out of the car, gently guided by the social worker.

As soon as she saw Bruce, her entire body tensed. She stopped walking forward as soon as she reached Gordon and stepped into his side for protection.

Bruce slowly kneeled, hoping that getting on her level would make him less intimidating and more welcoming. “Hello, Y/N. I am so sorry for what happened to you. But we are happy and relieved to have you here.”

Y/N eyed him cautiously. She knew better than to trust a stranger.

But she then looked up at Gordon, waiting for his OK to do so.

Gordon kneeled too, and gently gripped her shoulders. “You are going to be OK here.” Then his hand went into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a card. “If anything happens or you just don’t feel safe here, you call me. OK, kiddo?”

Y/N nodded and hugged the card to her chest like a lifeline.

Then she continued forward, but walked right past Bruce without even so much as looking at him.

Bruce sighed.

And turned to find Alfred greeting her politely. “Hello, little miss. How about I show you to your room and you can get settled?”

Bruce should’ve expected this. After all, Dick wasn’t all that different when he first arrived to Wayne Manor. Not to mention Bruce could probably understand what Y/N was going through more than anyone else.

“All her things are in the trunk,” the social worker told Bruce.

“That’s it?” Bruce questioned when there were only a few boxes and two suitcases.

The social worker nodded and shrugged. “It was a small apartment.”

–––––––

“Is she here?! Is she here!?” Jason was jumping up and down when he burst into the manor after school.

Bruce sighed and shushed the boy with, “Calm down, Jaylad.”

Jason had been ecstatic at the prospect of another kid his age being at the manor – especially one that wasn’t raised rich like him.

“Where is she?” Jason asked as his eyes raced around the room, like he expected the girl to be glued to Bruce’s side.

Bruce kneeled down. “Jason, I think we’re going to have to give her some time. She’s not really…speaking with anyone.”

Jason frowned at the idea.

But then the boy’s eyes brightened at an idea. “Well…maybe she’s just scared! Maybe if I show her around and make sure she knows she’s safe here. Then-Then she’ll like it here.” He looked at Alfred for confirmation that it was a good idea, who gave him a patient but warm grin. “I was scared when I first got here, too. Remember?”

Bruce’s heart warmed and he nodded.

Jason was such a sweet boy.

Bruce took in a deep breath. “She went through something very traumatic, Jason. She wants her mom and she can’t have her. This is all very overwhelming for her, during a time that’s already scary. We just need to be patient and careful. OK?”

Jason seemed deflated, but nodded at Bruce before hanging his head a bit.

Alfred cleared his throat, “Master Jason, I could use some help with dinner. Do you think you have the time in your very busy schedule?”

That man knew exactly how to get the boy out of a funk.

–––––

Jason did as he was told and left Y/N alone. The manor was big enough that he hadn’t even seen her yet. But Bruce made him promise he wouldn’t go hunting for the girl, which Jason begrudgingly agreed to.

But a few days after Y/N’s arrival, Jason was sneaking around in the pantry, getting a snack. And as he tried to make his escape before being detected, he saw that the doors to one of the ballrooms was open.

‘Huh. That’s funny. Alfred usually doesn’t need to clean in there,’ he thought.

When he tiptoed to the opening, he was surprised by what he found.

Instead of seeing Alfred or a short-term maid cleaning out the ballroom for an upcoming event, Jason saw a girl.

She was laying in the dead center of the room, not her back. She was wearing a hoodie, which made her look even more out of place with the extravagant wood and ostentatious of the room. She had headphones in and a discern on the ground below her.

Clearly, she was listening to music as she stared up at the tall ceiling. It was hand-painted, like the ballroom was the Sistine Chapel.

Jason just watched her for a few minutes.

She didn’t move, didn’t bounce her knee or foot, or hum to the music. She just listened to the music and stared at the ceiling.

“H-Hi,” Jason finally found the courage to say.

It was quiet and he hadn’t even expected for her to hear him.

But as soon as he broke the silence, she shot up to her feet and turned to face him, looking like a terrified and cornered animal.

Jason held up his hands out of reflex alone. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s ok!” He blurted out.

But her eyes just widened even more as she ripped the headphones off her hears so they were sitting on her shoulders.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Jason continued. “I just…wanted to say…ummm…hi, I guess.”

Y/N just stared at him.

She looked less scared now, but clearly uninterested in speaking with him.

“Still not talking, huh?” Jason sighed.

“Master Jason,” Alfred appeared around the corner. But he stopped whatever he was about to say when he saw the two children facing each other. Though Y/N was standing 15 yards away from them, in the middle of the ballroom.

“Why hello, little miss. Are you getting hungry?”

Y/N quickly shook her head.

“Are you sure?” Alfred asked, clearly worried about the child’s lack of appetite. “I just pulled some chocolate croissants out of the oven.”

Jason’s eyes lit up and looked back at her. “Oh, you have to try some. They’re amazing!”

But Y/N just looked at Jason weirdly before shaking her head at Alfred again.

Alfred sighed in disappointment. “Very well. You let me know when you are hungry, Ms. Y/N.” Then he turned his attention to Jason. “Come, Master Jason. Let us leave her alone.”

Once the both of them were out of sight, Y/N went back to her original position: laying in the middle of the ballroom, headphones on, and staring up at the ceiling.

“Why won’t she eat?” Jason asked quietly.

When he was on the streets, he was always hungry. Most of his energy was put into figuring out how to get his next meal. It was strange to see a kid deny food.

“I believe the manor is very overwhelming for her, Master Jason. And we are but strangers to her.” He patted Jason on the back. “But do not fret, I have been bringing trays up to her bedroom – and she’s been eating them thankfully. I do not think she feels comfortable eating with us quite yet.”

They arrived to find Bruce in the kitchen.

“I saw her!” Jason excitedly told him.

Bruce gave Alfred a worried look.

“She is in the ballroom, laying on the floor,” Alfred confirmed.

“Listening to music,” Jason added.

Bruce just nodded and looked at Alfred again. “I’ve been talking to Dr. Thompkins about making an appointment for her…”

“No!” Jason blurted out without meaning to.

“No?” Bruce questioned with a frown.

“I mean,” Jason looked at the two grownups nervously. “If you take her to a therapist, she’ll think we think there’s something wrong with her.”

Bruce sighed. “Well, there is something wrong. She’s grieving and she refuses to speak, Jason. We’re out of our depth here.”

“Just…wait a little bit. Please?” Jason looked up at Bruce with his big, innocent, blue eyes.

Bruce shared another look with Alfred.

“Alright, Jaylad. We’ll wait a bit longer,” Bruce sighed as he ruffled Jason’s hair.

————

Jason’s senses were good even before he became Robin. Living on the streets meant that he always had to be on high alert.

So when he was reading in the library at the manor, he felt someone watching him.

“You can come out, you know You don’t have to hide,” Jason quietly called out without taking his eyes off of his book.

A few seconds later, his gaze raised to see Y/N sneaking out from behind a shelf, hugging a book as if it was a lifeline.

Jason squinted as he tried to read the title. It was one of the Harry Potter books.

“Wanna read with me?” He asked gently.

Then he quickly added, “We don’t have to talk or anything! Just sit together and read our own books.”

Y/N watched him for a few minutes.

Jason went back to his reading, but all his senses were on her. He didn’t want to feel like he was pressuring her. So he went back to what he was doing and hoped he made it clear that he wasn’t forcing her to do anything.

Eventually, he heard the shy steps against the carpet as Y/N walked over and then grabbed the love seat that was across from him.

Just as promised, they didn’t speak. The two of them just read their books.

After a couple hours, Jason thought it was safe to talk.

“Just so you know…Bruce is a good guy. I know he can be kinda scary. But he would never do anything bad to you.”

Y/N’s body tensed as soon as Jason broke the silence.

“He doesn’t hurt kids.”

Her eyes finally snapped to Jason’s.

She couldn’t help but notice his unintentional emphasis on the word ‘kids’.

Jason sighed. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But we can still play together, right?”

Y/N looked at him for a few seconds before she finally nodded.

Starting then, Bruce or Alfred would frequently find the two kids sitting in the library, silently reading their own books, but sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch. Then it moved onto playing hide and seek on the great lawn. Or the two of them racing bikes just outside the gates of the manor.

Bruce and Alfred were happy to see Y/N having fun and being more comfortable with them. But Y/N still didn’t talk.

And she didn’t seem to like being alone in a room with Bruce. She ignored him most of the time. But she would avoid a room if only he was in it.

Bruce’s guess was that she didn’t trust a man that her mother tried so hard to keep a secret. Surely there was a reason, and Bruce could only assume that Y/N believed it to be bad.

————

Y/N still stayed silent. But it seemed she formed an unspoken language with Jason.

And therefore Jason sometimes felt the need to act as her translator.

“Alfred, Y/N’s not feeling well today. I don’t think she should go to school.”

“Y/N doesn’t like peas, Bruce. Don’t give her so many.”

“Y/N isn’t a fan of scary movies. We shouldn’t watch them for family movie night.”

Bruce was glad Jason had formed a bond with his daughter. Most days, Bruce was convinced that he would never have any sort of breakthrough with Y/N.

However, things seemed to have changed on one fateful day.

Y/N and Jason were sword fighting with sticks in the forest on the manor grounds when Jason tripped backwards. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if that was it. But the boy just so happened to fall on top of something that broke with his weight.

Y/N rushed forward to see that Jason had fallen into some sort of sink hole. It couldn’t have been less than six feet deep – far too much height for Jason to get out of on his own.

Not that he could, though.

When Y/N looked down, Jason was either unconscious or dead.

“JASON!” Y/N shrieked, but the boy didn’t move.

Next thing Y/N knew, she was sprinting as fast as she could back to the manor.

“Bruce! Bruce! Alfred!” Her screaming echoed.

Bruce came running from his office. His eyes were wide with distress at both hearing his daughter’s voice for the first time, and hearing the obvious fear and panic in it.

He found Y/N sobbing in the entryway.

“Y/N? What is it? What’s going on?”

“J-Jason f-fell,” she struggled to say through her crying. “But-But he won’t wake up!”

Bruce kneeled and gently gripped Y/N’s shoulders. “Y/N, I need you to show me exactly where he is. Alright?”

Y/N nodded.

Alfred suddenly joined them.

Bruce turned to him. “Alfred, call an ambulance.”

Y/N grabbed Bruce’s hand and dragged him out the door. “Hurry. We can’t leave him!”

Bruce let his daughter drag him through the woods on the property.

She stopped and held up a shaky finger as she pointed down at the hole that Bruce couldn’t see into yet.

He carefully stepped forward to see Jason lay at the bottom with his eyes closed.

“Please help him, Bruce.”

He nodded and rolled up his sleeves before climbed down. “Y/N, please go stand by that tree. Wait there.”

Y/N rushed to do what he said, thinking that it would get Bruce to Jason faster.

The hole was wide and deep enough to make it impossible for Jason to get out on his own, but not for a grown man – and definitely not for Batman.

It only took a few minutes for Bruce to emerge from the hole with Jason in his arms.

Y/N took half a step towards them, but then stopped.

“Is he…Is he…?” Her voice was trembling as she failed to ask her question.

“He just unconscious,” Bruce assured her. “I think he may have broken his collarbone. But he’ll be alright, Y/N.”

Y/N looked at Bruce as if she didn’t believe him.

Bruce stepped closer to his daughter. “Y/N, I promise he’s OK.”

She finally nodded.

After Jason got back from the hospital in a cast, Bruce found that Y/N had snuck into Jason’s bed with him that night.

———

Bruce was hopeful that the incident would completely break Y/N of her mutism. But it seemed she still had no desire to speak to most people. She would sometimes say a couple of words to them at a time. But it was far from an actual conversation.

However, Bruce still saw that as somewhat of a success.

For the first time since Y/N had arrived, there finally seemed to be some sort of an improvement.

He saw Y/N smile and laugh.

Jason was clearly her favorite, but she didn’t seem to mind Dick when he graced them with his presence.

Y/N had been living with them for over two years when Alfred finally broached the subject that Bruce knew was inevitable.

Alfred was patching him up after a rough night. They were in the pain, surrounded by bloody gauze. Meanwhile, Y/N was peacefully asleep a few floors above them. And Jason was in the kitchen, getting a snack after joining Bruce on patrol.

“When do you plan on telling her, Master Wayne?”

Bruce played dumb. “Tell who what?”

Alfred tugged a stitch too roughly – clearly doing it on purpose. But he didn’t clarify, knowing Bruce was fully aware of what he was asking about.

“I can’t,” Bruce finally sighed.

“And why is that? Master Jason and Richard are well aware.”

“You know it’s different with her.”

“I’m not sure it is, Master Bruce.”

He frowned. “She’s already scared of me. And I hate it. How do you think she’ll see her father if she finds out he’s Batman?”

“She will just simply need more time to adjust,” Alfred suggested as he snipped the thread, finishing his final round of stitches. “And perhaps it’s the wall you’ve put between you two that makes her so weary.”

Bruce hadn’t thought of it that way.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally answered.

And Alfred knew that was as good as he was going to get for tonight.

———

But any plans of Bruce considering telling Y/N the family secret were lost.

Because they were too busy handling the death of Jason.

And Bruce had to lie to Y/N about how it all happened.

“Why couldn’t I go on the vacation with you two?” Y/N had nearly snarled.

Bruce figured she was convinced that if she had been there, she could’ve saved Jason.

When Jason had gone racing after his mother, Bruce had to race after him, too. He and Alfred thought it was best to come up with a lie. They’d never had to deal with Jason going rouge like that before.

“I promised him it would just be the two of us,” Bruce lied.

“I hate you,” Y/N finally hissed. “I’ve always hated you.”

Bruce leaned back, not expecting such an outburst.

This was the most Y/N had ever said to him since knowing each other.

“Y/N,” he sighed, not knowing what else to say to comfort her in this moment.

“I HATE YOU!” Y/N screamed it now.

And she had never raised her voice. It was all the opposite now.

Y/N looked at the fine china Alfred at placed near them before the conversation started. A tea pot, milk, sugar, and two tea cups. None of it had been touched by either of them.

“I hate this house!” She picked up one of the tea cups and chucked it at the wall behind Bruce, watching the china shatter.

Next she took the rest of the tray and tipped it so the rest of it shattered to the hardwood floor. The teapot shattered, washing dark tea cross the ground.

“Did you hear me!?” She yelled at him. “I. Hate. You.”

Bruce just stood and watched the tantrum. He refused to reprimand her. How could he?

“I hate you!” Y/N yelled again, clearly waiting for him to show some sort of response.

The she tried to shove him, but her tiny body was nothing against Bruce’s tall and muscular frame.

But she tried again.

When he still didn’t budge, she started pounding her fists against his torso. Tears started falling down her face in rivers.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

Bruce finally snapped out of it, suddenly scared she was going to hurt herself. So he held her wrists firmly, keeping them in place. Which just made Y/N start to struggle to get out of his grip.

“Don’t touch me!”

“I know,” Bruce finally whimpered. “I know you hate me. I know you’ve always hated me.”

Y/N finally stepped away and he let her go, seeing that she was done trying to beat him.

“I wish it was you,” she whispered. “I wish you had died in that car instead of mom. Then we never would’ve met. And I wish it was you that died. Not Jason.”

Bruce just blinked.

With that, Y/N turned and sprinted to her bedroom, slamming in the door loud enough that Bruce could hear it from the den.

————

After Jason’s tragic death, a part of Bruce’s heart died and he would never get it back. But with his shattered heart, grew a new panic that he couldn’t protect anyone.

And instead of telling Y/N the truth about his double life – the double life that got Jason killed – he promised himself that he would never let Y/N know.

But the only way to ensure that, was to send her far away.

“Boarding school?” Y/N growled. “In Switzerland?”

“It’s one of the top schools in the world.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Y/N said.

She was only 13, but it didn’t stop her from using profanities at Bruce any time she had the chance.

Her gaze snapped to Alfred for a millisecond, seeing if he’d be the one to scold her for using such foul language. But the butler simply looked at her, knowing she was looking for a fight with anyone and everyone these days.

“Guess it’s a good thing,” Y/N mumbled, shocking both the men. “You couldn’t keep Jason alive. Might as well send me away to make sure I’m not next.”

“Ms. Y/N, that is enough,” Alfred finally spoke.

He didn’t snap, but the finality of the discussion was still there.

“Should probably go pack anyway,” she hissed in response.

The next morning, Y/N didn’t even look at Bruce as she walked out the door carrying a couple bags. She refused to let anyone other than Alfred drive her to the airport.

Y/N offered Bruce no goodbye or even one last parting look.

He didn’t exist to her.

———

For the next years, Y/N never called. Bruce wouldn’t even know if she was alive if he didn’t call the school once a week to get a report.

Y/N didn’t even return to Gotham for holidays. Instead, she went home with any friend from school, preferring to hang out with someone else’s family than her own. Alfred had to basically beg Y/N to come back for the annual three-month summer break. And when she did, she was out god knows where all night and slept all day.

Bruce had followed her a few times. Well, Batman followed her. She was out with friends drinking or at a BatBurger or at a house party or sneaking into clubs that she was far too young to be at. But Y/N was Gotham’s princess, the long-lost daughter of Bruce Wayne. She just had to smile and show her ID and clubs would get her a table.

But then there was one night that Bruce hadn’t been following his daughter…and he saw something he wasn’t meant to.

Bruce had been patrolling, following a lead.

He didn’t expect to see Y/N getting handed a small backpack in exchange for a bag of what he could assume was money.

Bruce recognized the man immediately. He worked for the Penitente Cartel. One of the lower-level thugs who mostly managed the dealers on the street.

Y/N could hate him all she wanted. She could ice him out, ignore him, pretend she wasn’t a Wayne. But Bruce drew the line at her dealing and getting herself into the shit that he was trying to end in Gotham.

It was 9 in the morning when Bruce burst into Y/N’s bedroom.

She was passed out in an oversized t-shirt and grey sweatpants.

Y/N was 17 now and looked more like a young woman than a teenager or child. And that made Bruce even more nervous about her activities.

She jumped in fear at the disruption, sitting up straight in her giant bed.

Bruce had never invaded her space before and she was clearly shocked by it.

“Get out,” Y/N hissed.

But Bruce ignored her and started searching through her bedroom to find the bag he saw her get handed last night.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” Y/N snapped as she jumped out of bed.

But as soon as she was off the bed, Bruce lifted the mattress as if it weighed nothing and spotted the black backpack.

Bruce turned to her, shoving the backpack in her face. “What is this?”

Y/N tried to grab it from him, but Bruce wasn’t having it.

“Give it back,” Y/N growled.

“So you’re dealing drugs now?” Bruce asked. “That’s your new angle for trying to get back at me.”

“Oh, please.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “As if I give enough of a fuck about you to even put an effort into pissing you off. I’m not dealing.”

“So you just planned on using $100,000 worth of drugs?” Bruce challenged.

Y/N actually laughed in his face. “It’s discounted. Sometimes using your stupid family name gets me a favor. I pay half of what it’s worth and charge those stupid brats at school twice as much.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “As if you need the money.”

“It’s my money,” Y/N growled. “That I earn myself. And you can’t track it.”

“Planning on running away?”

“It’s not running away if I’m 18,” she told him, matter of factly.

“You want to move out of here and never speak to me again when you’re 18? Fine. It’s not as if I’ve ever threatened to cut you off. But I will draw the line at you getting involved with cartels.”

Bruce couldn’t tell what made Y/N angrier: the fact that he knew exactly where she got her drugs or the fact that he wasn’t pushing back like he clearly wanted.

Then he saw Y/N’s eyes suddenly darken, as if something snapped within her.

Y/N stepped closer to Bruce slowly. It made him tighten his grip on the backpack.

“Did you see me during your little patrols in your stupid costume?”

Bruce’s eyes widened, a rare slip of showing a reaction. But he couldn’t stop it.

And he could tell he’d given Y/N exactly the reaction she wanted – shock, panic, fear – because she gave laughed darkly in his face.

“I always knew you thought I was stupid,” she continued. “But did you honestly think I could live in the same house as Batman and not figure it out.”

Bruce’s heart was racing. “How…How long have you known?”

Y/N scoffed. Of course that’s what he would zero in on. “A year or so after I moved here.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She snapped back.

Bruce was silent, processing every interaction he’d ever had with his daughter and seeing in through the new lens. She knew. She knew almost all along.

But Y/N wasn’t done hurting Bruce yet. “Jason didn’t die that night. Robin did.”

Suddenly, she seemed done with the conversation and started moving around the room.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked.

“Leaving.”

“No, you are not. You are still a kid. My kid. And I–”

“Oh, yeah?” Y/N cut him off. “How am I your kid? Huh? Besides sharing you’re DNA, there is nothing between us. I hated you then and I hate you now even more.”

Bruce’s next words were even and slow, “You are not leaving this house, Y/N.”

Y/N stopped packing and walked to him again. “You are going to let me do whatever the fuck I want, whenever I want. And you know why? Because if you don’t, I’ll tell the world their beloved Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

Bruce just stared his daughter down.

And somehow he understood that it was not an empty threat. She would do it.

Y/N seemed pleased with silence and finished up her packing.

She approached Bruce one last time with a warning look before shifting her gaze to the bag of drugs he was holding. She snatched it from his hands, and he let her.

“Stop pretending like you’ll miss me,” she called over her shoulder. “You sent me away the first chance you got.”

“I sent you away because I was terrified that you would be next,” Bruce muttered just as she reached the door. “You already knew I was Batman. How long would it have taken for you to make your way down the same path?”

Y/N had frozen in place to listen, but refused to turn around.

After a few moments, she turned ever so slightly so he could hear her say, “The idea of me becoming one of you was so terrible, that you made me this way instead.”

With that, she left the manor.

———

Bruce didn’t see Y/N for months. He always knew where she was, tracking every relocation she did. But she never checked in again, never came back to the manor. Now, she wasn’t even answering Alfred’s calls. Dick tried to reason with her, but had only snarled at him to leave her alone.

It was another night in Gotham.

The signal had only been in the air for 5 minutes and Batman was on his way, screaming through the streets in his vehicle.

He found Gordon waiting outside a the Iceberg Lounge, surrounded by dozens of Gotham PD. It only took a few seconds for Bruce to see that the group was struggling to keep it together.

“What happened?” Bruce asked with his Batman voice.

Gordon seemed to be failing to find words. His head was bowed and he couldn’t find the courage to meet Batman’s waiting gaze.

Finally, he lifted his head and looked at his cops. “Tell everyone to clear the scene.”

A younger cop spoke up. “But we’re still–”

“That’s an order. Clear the area.”

Batman tensed. Out of all the years of working with Gordon, he’d never done something like this before. He had never feared the gaze of Batman, never shied away from explaining the disturbing crime scenes they were about to study together.

But when they walked into the lounge, Bruce understood.

The usual colorful strobe lights were off, replaced by the bright fluorescents that were only on after hours when the cleaning crew was working.

And they lit the bodies perfectly.

Dead bodies.

Everywhere.

Sprawled across each other. Blood from one person staining the clothes of another.

And then Bruce saw her.

And he finally understood Gordon’s strange behavior.

There Y/N laid, her lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling of the club. There were three bullet holes in her chest.

Bruce had always suspected that Gordon knew the truth, knew who he was behind the mask. And those suspicions were finally confirmed.

Gordon was bringing Batman in here alone because he knew that Y/N was his daughter.

But Bruce was silent.

There was a ringing in his ear, making it hard for him to process the crime scene like he usually did so naturally.

“It was a fight between gangs,” Gordon explained. “The crossfire…it…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. He couldn’t find it in him to politely explain that Y/N Wayne was just collateral damage in a petty turf war.

Batman said nothing.

His gaze hadn’t moved from Y/N.

“I’ll give you a moment alone.”

Bruce was trembling the moment he was alone.

He heard someone drop to the ground behind him. He turned to find Dick in his Nightwing uniform, eyes already wide with horror as they stared at Y/N’s dead body.

“No,” Dick gasped. “No, no, no.”

Then Dick was rushing forward, crying over Y/N.

After a minutes of silent tears, Dick looked up at Bruce. “We can’t leave her here.”

But Bruce was shaking his head already. “We have to.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Every police officer has already seen her. What will they think if they put together that Batman took Y/N Wayne’s body from a crime scene?”

Dick knew he was right. But he hated it. Absolutely hated it.

Before he let Bruce drag him out of the club, Dick silently cried over Y/N’s body, clutching her hand as if it could bring him any comfort.

———-

“How did it end?” Y/N asked in a whisper.

As Bruce told the story – their alternate timeline, their lives in a parallel universe – Jason had moved closer and closer to Y/N. Her body got stiff and her skin lost some of it’s color.

Bruce didn’t answer Y/N’s question.

“Bruce,” she pushed, a tiny bit louder.

“Jason,” he finally stated.

Y/N looked at her boyfriend, but he was glaring at Bruce.

“Jason killed me,” Bruce clarified.

“Because of the Joker?” Jason asked.

Bruce shook his head. “Because of what happened to Y/N.”

Jason tensed at the realization.

Bruce continued with, “Instead of hating me for not seeking revenge with the Joker, Jason hated me for not protecting Y/N.”

She looked to Jason again, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Because Jason could completely see himself – another self – doing such a thing. If it was Y/N, even if they weren’t involved like they were in this life, Jason would despise Bruce more from that than for never killing the Joker.

“What they showed you,” Y/N began, “Is there any sort of permanent damage? Will you be OK?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce answered roughly and far too quickly.

“I called in a favor with Constantine. He should be here tomorrow afternoon,” Dick chimed in. “Better safe than sorry.”

“What Master Wayne needs is some rest,” Alfred appeared behind them.

Jason, Dick, and Y/N whipped around to see the butler’s disapproving look. But they all nodded, understanding that Alfred always knew best.

“I’m gonna go for a drive,” Jason suddenly muttered. And he bolted out of the room. “I’m takin’ one of the bikes,” he called over his shoulder.

“As long as it’s not mine,” Dick called after him.

Y/N was taken aback by Jason’s abrupt departure. But clearly he needed to think.

After Bruce finished his story, Jason clearly couldn’t look at her.

Leave it to Jason to be guilty about not protecting her – even when it was an alternate universe that he wasn’t a part of.

“Hungry?” Dick asked Y/N with a heavy sigh.

She just nodded, knowing she wasn’t hungry, but agreeing to go with Dick to the kitchen anyway because she wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon.

Y/N picked at the leftovers Dick heated up for her. He knew better than to try and actually cook for her. And both of them didn’t want Alfred to stress himself with making them food with everything going on.

“You OK?” Dick asked after he could no longer handle watching her push her food around.

“I don’t know. How is one supposed to feel after finding out about an alternate timeline of their life?”

She wasn’t being sarcastic or snapping. Her confusion was genuine.

Dick smirked. “Believe it or not, getting involved with alternate dimensions isn’t all that rare in our line of work.”

“How do you keep it from driving you insane?”

Dick sighed. “No matter what happened to me in other worlds – or I should say is happening – I guess I always end up at the same place: There’s versions of me that have it better, but there’s also versions of me that have it way worse. I can’t fix them or copy them. All I can do is appreciate what I have here – right here. And be grateful I’m not living in one of those worst versions.”

Y/N gave Dick a shy and sad smile, knowing Dick had figured it all out.

“The thing is,” she began, “I can see myself hating him so easily. Had things gone that way, there’s not a doubt in my mind that the two of us would’ve never solved our issues.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t say this,” Dick winced, “But it’s good you found this family when you did.”

“I think you’re right,” Y/N admitted with a slow nod.

Suddenly Alfred came out from the kitchen with two large mugs in his hands, then softly placing one in front of each of them.

Dick whistled lowly. “Alfred’s famous hot chocolate. How lucky are we.”

“Alfred, you shouldn’t be worrying yourself about us. You should be getting rest, just like Bruce.”

“Y/N, you should know by now that rest is hardly found in this manor,” Alfred answered. “But I will be retiring to my room. Be sure to wake me if anything changes.”

“Night, Alfred.” The two of them said in unison.

“I swear, this hot chocolate has some sort of magic.”

Y/N eyed it, noting the ridiculous amount of marshmallows in it and how the smell alone had her salivating. She could tell immediately this was no standard, powdered crap.

“I’m worried about Jason,” she finally confessed.

Dick squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. “You know how he is…just gotta give him some time to sort out what he’s actually feeling.”

Y/N nodded, knowing he was right.

“Jason is fiercely protective. And knowing the people he loves were hurt in another dimension? He still takes it as personal failure.”

“I’m gonna wait up for him in the den,” Y/N sighed.

“Want company?” Dick asked.

But she was expecting the offer and shook her head before he even got the two-word question out. “No. Thank you, but go to sleep, Dick.”

He softly rubbed her back as he stood up.

Y/N went to the den with the rest of her hot chocolate and put on some random movie to zone out to while she waited for her boyfriend.

It wasn’t until an hour later that she heard the motorcycle return.

Jason was walking steadily until he passed the doorway of the den, clearly not expecting to find his girlfriend awake and waiting for him.

“Hey,” Y/N greeted ever so softly.

“Hey,” Jason mimicked back as he walked into the room.

“Wanna talk about it?” Y/N asked.

“I shouldn’t have left like that.” He was gearing up for an apology.

Y/N shrugged. “You needed some space to think. I get it.”

“No, it was selfish. I should’ve stayed with you.”

“But I’m fine,” she tried to tell him.

“Are you?” He challenged her.

“Am I supposed to crawl into a ball and cry my eyes out because there’s a universe out there where my life turned into a dumpster fire?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Y/N.” Then he was sitting next to her on the couch, pulling her onto his lap. “I’m just telling you that you’re allowed to be upset after hearing crazy shit like that…”

Y/N didn’t fight the movement, but tucked herself against his body, inhaling his scent and finding comfort in his abnormal body heat.

“Dick thinks you’re feeling guilty because you couldn’t stop it…”

She felt his body tense at the assumption.

“You know I’d rather die then admit that Dick was right about something…”

Y/N giggled at his response and lifted her head to look at him.

But then her face slowly dropped to serious. “You can’t save me in every universe, Jason.”

“I don’t need reminding,” Jason answered curtly before his teeth ground and his jaw clenched.

Y/N grabbed his face between her hands, tracing the bottom of his strong jawline. “Jason, saving me in one world is more than enough. Don’t torture yourself more than you already do.”

But she saw that he was still not convinced.

“You’re enough, Jason. And you don’t need to be my hero in every universe. This one’s just fine.”

His eyes glazed over with tears, but he forbid them to escape.

He slowly nods, finally.

“It hurts. Even with me holding you right now, it hurts to think that there’s a you somewhere that needed my help, but I wasn’t there.”

“I know,” Y/N coos.

“But Dick had a good point: we can’t go crazy thinking about the other versions of us doing better or worse.”

“When did he get so wise?” Jason mumbled, clearly annoyed that he couldn’t help but admit that Dick saw reason where he didn’t.

“I promise I won’t tell him you said that,” Y/N giggled lightly.

A silence settled between them as they continued to cuddle on the couch.

“You’re worried about Bruce, huh?” Jason finally asked after a few minutes.

He knew that’s why she wasn’t as freaked out about what she’d heard. If the people she loved were in danger or hurting, she pushed all her own needs and thoughts and feelings completely to the side.

“Yeah,” she admitted.

“He’ll be fine,” Jason assured her. “The bastards been through shit a hundred times worse than this. He was worried about you. But now that he saw you, he’ll pull himself together.”

“I know you’re right. But my worry is taking over my brain and it’s hard to be logical.”

Jason kissed the top of her head and managed to hold her even tighter.

Another few minutes passed.

“Hey, Jason?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad I get this version of you.”

“I’m the luckiest fuckin’ bastard to get any version of you.”

––––––––––––

Honestly, can't believe I just wrote something and published it. This has been saved on my computer, halfway done, for like months and months. I teased it a long time ago. So if anyone was ever actually waiting for it, hope it was worth the wait.

#father of mine #father of mine universe #jason todd x reader #dad!bruce wayne #batdad #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #batfam #batboys #father!bruce wayne #red hood x reader #dad!batman #batman #bruce wayne #batman reader insert #jason todd reader insert

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currymariana · 19 days

Text

GUYS, I' AM BACK!!!!

Actually, I never left; I just struggled to find the motivation to write again. I was feeling unhappy with my writing style and constantly comparing myself to others, thinking things like "they're so much better than me" or "that's how you should write" or "you suck," and those kinds of things. I wasn't frustrated with my story, but with how I wrote it.

But after a while, I realized a few things: English isn't my first language (heck, it's not even my third); I'm not a professional writer; this is just a hobby, and if there are people who enjoy it, it can't be all that bad. I was being too hard on myself for no good reason. 'The tear in my heart' is a story I've had in mind for a long time, and I wish to share it with anyone who's interested. I've every bullet point mapped out from the beginning to the end; now, I just need to shake off my laziness and self-criticism and actually write it. And I don't even know if people are still interested.

With that being said, I've decided to make some changes. From now on, I'll be rebranding the entire aesthetic of the story, possibly even reconsidering the title (it started to sound a bit tacky to me - but i would like to hear your opinions) and updating th cover too. I'll be changing some scenes just to ease my mind, but these won't alter the storyline at all.

I don't even know if anyone is even reading this; or if it matters to you. Yet I'm writing this for myself and perhaps help someone going through a similiar thing. Don't be too hash on yourself; this is meant to be enjoyable, so embrace the fun. If you want to write a cheesy story or a serious one, follow your heart. We're not earning from this; we are fans who write fiction (or make arts) for others fans. If it's not fun anymore, it's okay to let it go. We're not flawless, and neither are our content. But do what's best for yourself —I extend this advice to writers, artists, and all who engage with this form of expression.

I'm sorry for the lengthy text, but I felt it was necessary only to express myself but also to explain and express my gratitude to everyone who enjoys or has ever appreciated "The Tear in My Heart." You guys are absolutely the best; thank you for everything. And for those still here... I hope you'll enjoy this new phase.

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notwonderlandsworld · 2 years

Note

I absolutely love your writing! I wanted to know if you have any ideas on what to write? I am currently reading all the Batkid and thought "what If the dimensions crossover of another batkid who is oldest is taking over as batman then meets the younger batkid who just became their own vigilante?" Or smth along the lines of that concept. I honestly just want batkid baby and then batkid adult being a badass

I've left Batkid open for anyone who wants to request. The intention I had was setting the story up (the prolouge) to help set MY version of how I believe the batkid would turn up. It's really an open book other than that, so anyone can request for batkid, whether that be older or younger!

Made this a one-shot since u didn't really specificy if u wanted a headcanon or something hope u dont mind! I added my own sort of twist to this

SPECIAL NOTE: all of my child fics/daughter/son/sibling fics will be with an adopted reader and not a biological one. Biological would mean that half of these parents/couples would be mixed, so no I won’t be doing biological. Especially when it comes to predominantly white characters.

(Naomi is a made up character btw)

pairing(s): Batfam x Child!Reader

warning(s): way too much use of the word 'you', cursing (I think), little angst, kinda confusing i'm sorry, NOT PROOFREAD

word count: 4.4k

You don’t even know what actually happened, but you were certain it was all Klarion’s fault. How’d it come to this?

Your father never really let you go out on missions as much as the boys, since they apparently all agreed you were too young to join them. That got a rise out of you, which led to a huge argument with all of them.

You were ten, but that was considered too young for this kind of stuff?

Wasn’t Dick like eight when he first became Robin?

Needless to say, it ended with some yelling, crying, and a threat to even run away. After that, you were allowed to join patrol with them, with the exception that you’d return home early on school nights.

Currently, you were told to stay in the car while Batman and Zatanna went ahead to investigate the abandoned circus. Taking your cape off, you groaned at the horrible substitute over a real blanket.

“Ya alright, lad?” the man sitting in the back asked. Looking back at him, you shrugged, “This cape doesn’t necessarily make a good blanket.”

Constantine chuckled, “I would give ya this coat, “ he gestured to the one he was wearing, “But I’m kind of using it.” You groaned, “Why’d I even get left with you?”

“I’m not really chuffed about having to babysit either.”

Sending him a glare, you sighed while leaning back against the seat. Looking ahead, there were flashes followed by some colors being flickered out into the night sky. Zatanna probably found something, or someone.

You were about to close your eyes before a loud bang erupted from far away. Flinching, you gasped as an explosion appeared not too far away, black clouds of smoke contrasting with red and orange flames.

Constantine spoke up, “They seem to be handling it well. Lovely.” Looking over at him, you hopped into the driver’s seat and turned on the Batmobile.

Gesturing to the passengers side, you told the man to jump ahead. “Looks like they need help.” Before he could make a quick-witted comment, you stepped on the gas and drove to the scene.

Constantine gripped onto the backseat from the sudden speed, “Bloody hell! A warning would’ve been nice!”

“I told you to get in the passenger seat!” you yelled, not bothering to look over your shoulder.

Arriving at the scene, the Batmobile skidded to a halt as a giant piece of cement was thrown in front of you. Constantine was already in the passenger seat, opening the door as another boulder was flying towards the car again.

Yanking you out with him, he ran away from the destruction. You yelped when you felt him teleporting across the circus. Luckily, he stopped in front of your father and Zatanna.

“What happened?” Batman began. Constantine let you go, adjusting his coat. Before he could respond, you beat him to it, “We were almost crushed by some debris! Luckily, Constantine saved us.” A laugh was heard from away, making the four of you look back at the perpetrator.

Klarion emerged from the mess he created, even with Teekl on his shoulder he looked menacing. Looking at you, he let out a pathetic scoff, “Now who’s this?”

You glared at him, “Does it matter?” You were about to walk up to him until Batman pulled you back. Zatanna prepared herself for any possible oncoming attacks. Constantine watched on, secretly on the edge as well.

Klarion huffed, looking down on you, “I was simply trying to be polite. After all, it'd be rude to kill a stranger.”

“Then I'd like to remain a stranger.” you scoffed, reaching behind to activate your electric gauntlets without him noticing. Klarion smirked, at least you had some nerve to talk back.

Eyes turning red along with his hands, he began to glow and threw an arm in your direction. The rest of the group were thrown across the ground as a large construct wrapped around your body.

Zatanna tried to attack Klarion, but ultimately was pinned down by Teekl.

The cat’s teeth were drawn, bare, and sharp, as they slowly were leaning down towards the woman’s neck.

Attempting to use her magic, she winced when one of the claws sunk into her forearm. She screamed as they successfully punctured through.

Constantine was ready to attack with Batman until they were both pinned down as well. Your father struggled hard, yelling out your hero name.

The man cursed at himself internally. He couldn’t fail you like he did with his sons. He won’t. He refuses. Yet there he was, still being held down. Hopeless.

Struggling against the grips the witch boy had on you, there was only one option left. You just hoped it worked as the gauntlets charged up, ready to be used.

Klarion had yet to notice as he laughed, “How sad. You’ll have to remain a stranger when I kill you. And to think, it could’ve been nice to know who was under that cowl…”

The boy snapped his fingers as a book appeared out of thin air. Opening it up, he flipped through each page, tutting, “I wonder…what spell I should rid of you with.” Further inspecting more spells, he let his magic grip loosen a little.

You smirked, perfect timing.

Squeezing a fist, you super charged one of the arms. Just as the boy turned back to look at you with an ‘aha!’ he received the endside of your knuckles.

Gritting your teeth, you pushed harder, charging up the bolts more. The tingly feeling was beginning to reach up your forearm, but you didn’t care.

Big mistake.

While giving Klarion a piece of your mind, you failed to notice his arm reaching towards your neck. It was until you felt a prick that a big flash banged, knocking the both of you away from each other.

Opening your eyes, you screamed as you were thrown around these odd strings of waves across…well who knows where.

Before you could even regain yourself, you felt something crash into you followed by another scream. It sounded older, yet very similar. ‘Probably dad’ you thought.

Opening an eye, you saw the familiar Batman insignia and wrapped your arms around the figure. Falling into a random portal-door-thingy, you yelped as the figure took most of the fall.

Rolling off them, you remained on the ground. “Ugh…thanks for catching me dad—”

“(Y/H/N)!” a voice called out. Turning your head towards the voice, you recognized the voice as the figure of your father ran towards you. Wait but then who was…

The person who caught you groaned, turning onto their side. Cape torn and helmet thrown across the debris of the ground, they grounded to their knees.

Constantine helped Zatanna up after she healed her arm, trying to figure out what happened. Klarion was gone and nowhere to be found.

The older figure groaned, rubbing at their head. Fuck, that was gonna leave a mark, you’ll have to hear about it from Naomi later.

Flinching, the figure heard a familiar voice call out to them. Seeing the man run towards the small child they saved from…who knows what, the figure’s eyes widened. Both them and the small child called out, “Dad?”

Wait. Both child (Y/N) and adult (Y/N) looked at eachother. “Did you just call him ‘Dad’?” you both said simultaneously. Bruce soon realized the situation, as soon as his eyes landed on the older figure, his eyes widened.

Was…that…is it…

You (adult version) looked on, terribly confused yet worried when you realized you weren’t back home. This wasn’t the Gotham you knew.

You couldn’t hear your butler, Naomi, over your ear piece anymore. And now you were somehow here, looking at…a younger version of yourself?

“Y-You're…” you stuttered out, struggling to finish a sentence. The child version of yourself also was finding it difficult to form words. “Y-You’re…”

“...You’re me?!”

Constantine gave a low whistle, at which Zatanna glared at him, silently telling him to shut up. “I’m too knackered for this…”

(IT MIGHT GET CONFUSING HERE SO READ CAREFULLY)

Arriving at the mansion, everyone was left in shock. If Bruce didn’t know how to feel, you can only imagine the rest of the family. Duke was the first to notice as Constantine teleported to the cave with a group in tow.

He was about to ask how the mission was. Fortunately he was drinking his coffee when he asked who the older figure was.

“This is (Y/N).” Bruce introduced the adult version of you. You nodded, still dazed. You couldn’t even look back at yourself.

Cue Duke spitting out his coffee followed by shattering cups as Alfred arrived with a—now broken—teapot and several cups. Both men looked unapologetically at the figure in shock.

(Adult) you on the other hand, was worse then (child) you at the moment. Feeling the need to throw their ripped cape around themselves as more people stared in shock.

You could feel tears threatening to fall when you noticed Alfred. In your universe, he was dead. Naomi took over the legacy.

Bruce ignored the shock on his son’s face, heading over to the computer. “Duke, I need you to bring the rest down here. I’ll try to find any possible trace of Klarion.”

“R-Right…” the boy couldn’t have run faster as he fled up the stairs. Alfred meanwhile snapped out of it and attempted to clean the mess he made. Trying his best not to look at the currently shaking figure, he called out to you.

“(Y/N), b-be a dear and assist me in this mess.”

The awkward silence happened when both (child) you and (adult) you began walking towards the butler.

The older version stopped once they realized, giving a small apology before gesturing (child) you towards the old man. The child version looked back, a slight pang in their chest after realization of the small droplets around your eyes.

Alfred was not in your older version’s world.

A pang hit your chest as you continued towards the butler. The older version slumped before recollecting themselves, heading towards Constantine and Zatanna. “There’s got to be a way to fix this.”

The two of them looked taken aback at how serious (adult) you could become all of a sudden. Zatanna smiled, “You definitely take after Bruce…” she muttered, but (adult) you heard. Choosing to ignore the statement, you asked, “Any way I can head back home, y'know to my universe?”

The woman seemed deep in thought as she began pacing, “Hmmm…”

Constantine looked at her, “What are ya doing?” The woman stopped, “Thinking of a way obviously.”

The man scoffed as he crossed his arms, “Of course there’s a way.” The two blinked at the man expectantly. He looked back before shrugging, “What?”

Zatanna rolled her eyes, “Tell us the way to get…older (Y/N) back home!” (adult) you held back a laugh, swallowing it down when both mages stared back. Ignoring them, you shot a look over the shoulder.

Your father—the one from a different universe—was focused on the big screen. At the feeling of being stared at, he turned his eyes away to look at you. He wanted to look away, that wasn’t his child…

Except it was.

He had so many questions as he maintained eye contact. You were a full grown adult, looking almost his current age. Your eyes were glassy, like the spark he sees in (child) you now was gone.

Completely void of any sort of joy. He noticed the few streaks of gray in your hair. Skin dull and almost unhealthy looking to the point of worry. An appearance anyone could comprehend.

In that universe, you looked tired.

You were tired.

Which is why Bruce couldn’t look at you. He didn’t want to see how he failed another child.

Breaking eye contact, the man continued to look for ways to deal with the situation. Luckily, Constantine said there was a way to fix this.

In the corner of his eyes he saw (adult) you look away, a frown on your face followed with a cast down. Tucking into your cape in an attempt to seem smaller, it gave him all the answers Bruce needed to know.

He did in fact fail you. Didn’t matter what universe it was from.

Zatanna and Constantine were going to be at the manor for a week it seems.

Apparently the spell they had both studied was time-based. They would have to wait an exact week before moonlight to conduct the spell.

Constantine claimed it was an easy ritual, but did nothing to calm nerves as he scattered through his book, obvious confusion written over his face.

Zatanna seemed more confident than the man, but at least she knew how to hide her perplexity.

In the meantime, (adult) you was going to be staying with you for a week. It’d give (child) you a chance to properly talk to them. Ask about their dimension, or was it the future?

Oh who knows anymore.

Currently (child) you sat back, eating some mango slices Alfred had prepared in a bowl, as you observed the older version of yourself in the backyard garden. A peaceful look on your face…or their face…or…

Whatever.

(adult) you seemed to be basking in the flower blushes. A day had barely passed and anyone had yet to talk to the other version of you.

It appeared a naturalistic setting was the perfect stress reliever.

Swinging back and forth, (child) you hummed before stabbing another mango slice with a fork.

“Mx. (Y/N) please don’t rock the chair back and forth. I wish to only wash the bowl once you're finished, not blood as well.” Giggling along with a clink of dropping the fork down, you faced the butler. “Sorry Alfred.”

Turning back to the window, the butler spoke again. “Would be a better option to join (Y/N) 2 outside; I'm certain they wouldn’t mind some extra company.”

Biting your lip, you poked at the leftover chunks of fruit. Although it did seem like a good idea, there was some hesitancy on your end. What would even be a good way to approach?

Shrugging, you looked back at the butler. “I don’t know…They’ve been pretty adamant about not talking to me…maybe I’d be bringing back some bad memories, Alfred.” The older man hummed, grabbing the bowl and adding some extra mangos.

“Well,” he began, “I, for one, believe that some communication could very much help; they do have to stay for a week. If (Y/N) 2 felt lonely before, I’d bet on how desolate they must be feeling at the moment.”

You nodded, grabbing the bowl he handed you. It was now refilled with more fruit. Observing the older you from another dimension, they were gazing at a Calluna. A forlorn look across their face.

Taking a deep breath, (child) you nodded. “Alright.”

Bowl in hand, you headed out and began walking towards (adult) you. Their back being the first thing you see, you noticed how they seemed to be still.

Hesitating, you swallowed down the anxiety and reached over to touch their shoulder. They had caught it before you could even touch. It caused you to let out a small scream and drop the fruit.

(Adult) you heard someone approaching and got on the defensive. Before they could even lay a hand, they turned over quickly and gripped the wrist.

Eyes widening they noticed it was (child) you with a bowl that was now on the floor…were those mangos? Noticing the tight grip, (adult) you quickly let go.

“S-Sorry…”

"Um…it's okay." (child) you let out a breath of relief when your wrist was released. Taking a step back, it was clear just how easily the future had changed…well, you.

Technically. Feature wise, you looked relatively the same, except there was a jagged scar running across your eyebrow. Pointing towards the mark, (child) you asked, "What happened?"

(adult) you gasped, attempting to cover the long-lasting reminder. It didn't seem to impress your younger counterpart as they raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Well? I'd at least like to know how I get my wicked scar from the future."

Hesitantly, (adult) you answered, "...I got it from someone."

"So…" (child) you dragged out, balancing on the balls of your feet innocently before asking excitedly, "Who gave it to me?!"

(adult) you raised a brow, confused. "You're not…disgusted by it? Horrified?"

(child) you let out a 'pfft'. Gesturing to your older counterpart you explained, "Hell no! You look so cool! Besides, that scar just gotta make a cool story! By the way, who'd you say gave it to you?"

(adult) you looked away from (child) you. Luckily, the bowl of ruined fruit laid on the floor. Thinking quickly, you grabbed at the bowl, "Uh hey! I think um…your butler might want this mess cleaned up."

Luckily, (child) you fell for the bait and gasped. Kneeling down, you helped your older counterpart pick up the ruined mango slices. Sighing, you explained how fruit was supposed to be a peace offering. Pausing, (child) you asked, "I like mango in your dimension, right?"

(adult) you chuckled, before standing up. "Thanks…how about we just sit down and talk instead?"

"Ok." (child) you nodded, leading them to the small picnic table setup. Once the two of you sat down, (adult) you smiled at their younger counterpart. "So what do you wanna know?"

(child) you smiled back, eyes twinkling, "Everything! Oh I got loads of questions I—"

The older version of you held back a laugh, it was beautiful how bright and energetic their younger self was back then. They'd do their best to explain as much as possible.

As long as the scar wasn't mentioned.

The boys were in the batcave, practicing like usual. Nothing major. Right?

Instead they were spilling the current gossip happening in the manor.

"I mean, did you see how badass (Y/N) 2 looks? I don't think Bruce has ever looked that awesome in a suit before."

"(Y/N) 2?" Jason asked Dick. The oldest brother shrugged, "Alfred came up with the name. It kinda stuck."

"Although we're supposed to be training like Father told us," Damian spoke up while stretching himself, "Grayson is right. Do you remember when Duke called us down to the cave and we first saw them?"

Tim nodded, "Yeah. It was like I was looking at a whole new Batman. Possibly more intimidating than Bruce to be honest. Although…" the boy sighed, "...kinda sucks how it's (Y/N). I mean, I could almost see how broken they were."

Jason crossed his arms, "I'm just glad there's finally someone other than me with a scar in this family."

"Jason!"

"Ow!" The second oldest brother felt a punch on his arm. It soon led to another following back. Next thing you know a giant rumble happened with all of them.

Reaching downstairs with your older counterpart, (child) you felt their hand grabbing onto yours.

'Hmm, weird' you thought.

Meanwhile (adult) you felt almost frozen at the sight of seeing all your brothers together again. As if the first time seeing them wasn't bad enough.

Hearing them laugh (Jason had Damian in a chokehold, much to Tim's joy and Dick's dismay) felt foreign to older you.

Despair filled in your gut. Your universe doesn't have this, not anymore. The stupid decisions led to loosing this. And the regret solidified every single day.

Seeing just how different your world was from your younger self, it felt like a bittersweet dream. Something you could've had but lost.

It made (adult) you freeze in your spot. You didn't want to take a step further, it was almost too painful. Feeling a tiny hand squeezing your large one, older you looked down to see your child counterpart smiling up at you. A look of comfort. Relief.

A look that says 'its okay'. Almost as if (adult) you could catch a break. For once in so many years. "Come on." (child) you said as you gently tugged them towards the boys.

It didn't take rocket science to tell (adult) you was ready to run back to the solitude of the garden.

But you weren't gonna let that happen.

"Hey guys!" The brothers all stopped at the notice of their youngest sibling along with…their other younger sibling behind them.

Raising a brow at Damian still pulling Dick's hair, (child) you hesitated, "Uh…shouldn't you all be training?"

(adult) you held back a laugh when Tim began flicking at Jason's ears, causing the man to growl at his younger brother before twisting his arm. The boy shrieked and threw a kick. It hit Damian and soon the rumble was about to begin once again.

"Hey! Guys! Stop!" Younger you yelled, but the sound was lost as the fighting seemed to get closer in both you and older yourself direction.

"We should move..." (adult) you gently shoved (child) you behind them. Your older counterpart walked up to the boys, cracking their knuckles before diving in.

With rapid speed, (adult) you first grabbed Jason, grabbing the base of skull and using your elbow to clock his face.

He couldn't even react before the man was thrown to the floor. Next was Dick, who was yanked from Tim and arm got twisted behind him. "What the—"

(adult) you kicked the back of his legs, successfully dropping him. Tim didn't get the chance to run away before he was spin-kicked down, landing on his back with a thud.

Last standing was Damian, who stared at your older self before scoffing. "Fine. We'll stop."

(adult) you nodded while giving the boy a smirk. "Very well."

(child) you gaped at your brothers on the ground, groaning from all three of them. Looking up at your older counterpart, you took an exhale. "That…was…awesome!!"

(adult) you looked at their younger self, confused. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"Um, are you kidding me? That was fucking radical!! The way you dropped Jason down like—" (child) you attempted to imitate the previous moves, "And then you were like! And he was like—"

you continued with your actions, making your older self let out a chuckle, "—And then that move you used on Tim was epic!"

"It was nothing. Honest." (adult) you mumbled, hand scratching the back of their head.

"Don't you dare say it was nothing. I just saw some extreme badass-ery before my very eyes"

"Language, (Y/N)..." Dick winced out to your younger self while still on the ground. (adult) you looked down at the boys, a sheepish yet awkward smile, "Sorry about that I uh…it's just that (Y/N) was trying to get you guys to stop and…"

"No we get it," Tim said, picking himself off the ground, "We were supposed to be training anyway."

"Ugh. I think they broke my brain." Jason moaned, holding onto the side of his head.

"Can't break what's already broken, Todd." Damian ducked as Jason threw a punch at him.

(adult) you watched on as your younger counterpart rushed to stop the rumble about to happen again. It felt nice to be here right now.

It may not have been what your world was like at all, but it was nice to see what it could have been.

Maybe later on when you get back, it could be.

Mistakes were fixable.

Sighing, (adult) you shook your head at the thought.

But not all of them.

A week had gone by so fast now that your older self was easing more into the lifestyle (child) you had. It grew nice to see them smile and laugh along with (child) you.

After learning more about one another, the two of you grew closer. It oddly felt like you had gained another sibling.

You liked it.

Hence why it almost broke your younger self’s heart when Constantine and Zatanna showed up on Sunday later that night. Currently resting on one of the walls of the ratty tents of the abandoned circus. Where this whole mess began.

Both in your suits (all-be-it your older self in their tattered one again), all you were waiting on was for Bruce to call you over while Zatanna performed the spell.

“Why are we here again?” (adult) you asked your younger self. Looking up at them, (child) you explained, “Constatine said for the spell to work, he and Zatanna need to conduct it in the same place you were pulled from.”

“Ah…”

There was a pregnant silence where neither of you spoke. Looking up at the broken ferris wheel, your older self began. “Y’know…It felt pretty nice this week. Thanks.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” Eyes meeting with your younger counterpart, you gave them a smile, “My world is completely different from yours. I don’t have this family like you do. Or at least I had something like it, but I can never get it back.”

“Oh…” (child) you looked down at your shoes. You felt almost guilty at the idea that you have the privilege of experiencing what your older self could not. Seeing them kneel down, they put a hand on your shoulder.

“You were able to show me the ins and out of your life, with your family and the love you share. Although I don’t get to have this anymore. Just knowing that in another dimension such as someone like you has it…well it’s all that matters to me at this point. Knowing that I, that you, are given this world is all worthwhile in the end.”

(child) you stared at your older self, before going to hug them. They stiffened under you as your tiny arms wrapped around them. “Thank you…”

You felt your older self’s arm hug you closer, “For what?”

“...I don’t know, for everything.” (child) you mumbled. (adult) you swallowed the lump in your throat as you closed your eyes.

You’ll be damned if you let any tears fall.

Pulling away from each other, your younger self took this time for one more question. “Yeah?”

“Can you please tell me…who gave you that scar?” they pointed to the one that ran across your brow. Your older self sighed, responding with only a dull stare. “I wish I could tell you.”

“Why can’t you?”

Because I don’t want you to despise Bruce. You don't deserve it. That’s my world not yours.

“...(Y/N)?” (child) you asked when your older self didn't respond. They were about to say something when Bruce called over the communicator he gave his child.

Voice crackling through the machine, he ordered you both that the spell was ready. Your older self gave you a smile, reaching to ruffle your hair.

“Let’s go.”

Welp. I've been busy with work, so I won't apologize for taking so long. BUT I WILL APOLOGIZE for not notifying any of you yet on updates. I will say that if you have sent in a request you will get a response, I promise that much :)

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iridescentprose · 2 years

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Gotham Nights—Battinson x catwoman reader

summary; the aftermath of an interrogation gone a bit too far.

warnings; mentions of bloody knuckles, an unconscious body; a hint of floof

song; monsters (acoustic reverb version)—ruelle

author's note; happy fall.

The low, yet incessant humming of the generator in the background did little to ease the groans coming from the barely conscious body in the corner of the room. Stubbornly, you massaged the bloody nubs that coated your knuckles.

A pair of black boots approached you, offering a piece of torn, bloody fabric. Your eyes went to the body in the corner. The shoulder of his buttoned down shirt had been missing. You looked back at the cloth in your partner's hands.

It was better than nothing.

Reluctantly, you took it and applied pressure to the wounds on your hands before wrapping it intricately around your fingers. By no means you couldn't get it to stay wrapped around your fingers - the wounds too big to keep it secure.

A hand settled on top of yours just before you could give up. Your partner crouched before you, gently taking the torn fabric. Without any warning, he wordlessly took your injured hand and began to wrap it firmly. Weaving the fabric between and around your fingers, you winced in pain. Fresh wounds were always tender to the touch.

"So, what are you going to do with him?" You dared to ask as he worked on fastening the knot.

"I'm taking him to the police," he replied almost instantly, cinching the knot firmly. He did another knot for good measure. You gritted your teeth as pain prickled throughout your hand.

"The police?"

"I trust them. Some of them."

You begged to differ. The body in the corner was a petty thief layered in sheep's clothing - a closet drophead who had connections in the underground that stretched beneath the city like roots that infiltrated the government, the police department, and even the poor. Those same roots put a chokehold on those closest to you—pulling them down further and further to the ground until they were no longer there. Until their minds were far off - hung up on addiction, murder, and greed.

"I don't," You said, running your fingers over the makeshift bandage as he finished wrapping your hand. You balled it into a fist, making the tight cinch loose. "Everyone's corrupt—"

He grabbed your hand, not forcefully but enough to ease your anger.

"Not everyone," he said, fastening the "bandage" once more before looking at you.

You scoffed lightly and shook your head in amusement, a brief smile breaking through. "I know you're not corrupt."

"How do you know that?"

"Because actions speak louder than words." You looked down at your bandaged hand sitting in his gloved one. Despite the conversation being laced with frustration and debate, he had been nothing but gentle. His thumb lightly settled across your knuckles, his fingers curling around your palm gently. There was a mutual understanding between the two of you. Your curious suspicions about his trust in the some of the police department had already been answered.

Actions speak louder than words.

You both did little to break eye contact before a soft 'thud' in the corner brought you both back to reality. The body's boot kicked the generator one final time before it went still.

"He's dead," You said. A part of you hoped your observation was wrong as Vengeance stood to check his pulse. You knew very well you had caused too much damage before the real questions had yet to be asked.

"Unconscious," he reported a few moments after, causing you to sigh in relief. Vengeance removed his fingers from the Body's neck before he crouched down to sit him up.

You watched quietly as you nursed your hand, your fingers lightly massaging over the wounds. Your festering anger simmered down and was slowly being replaced with curiosity as Vengeance tied to the ropes around the Body's chest tighter so he couldn't escape when the police arrived.

You weren't sure if you had made the situation worse by knocking him unconscious, but the monstrous deed of revenge had been done...and for the sake of the person you trusted, you didn't feel guilty about it.

After all, you were just as much of a monster as he was in the eyes of Gotham.

#battinson x reader #the batman 2022 x reader #the batman 2022 #batman 2022 #batman reader insert #battinson x you #battison x y/n #the batman #battinson #the batman x you #batman #battinson x female reader #dceu dc fanfiction

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kimjun · 4 months

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Jason: how do I make a date really romantic?

Dick: be mysterious

Jason: got it!

*later, while on a date with Y/n*

Y/n: where are we going?

Jason: none of your fucking business

#reader insert #x reader #incorrect quotes #dc x y/n #jason todd x reader #dcu #dick grayson #dc batman #icons jason todd #jason x reader #jason todd is red hood #dick grayson x reader #batfamily #batfam x reader #batfan #red hood x reader #damian wayne #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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hanasnx · 4 months

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thinking about how big BRUCE WAYNE is compared to you. a tank of pure muscle and meat. brutish. imposing. fills a room. when his massive hands grab on your ass like a handle, bouncing you on his dick in reverse cowgirl. when he brings your back to his chest and pins your head with a palm over your mouth that spans the width of your face, fucking into you at a bruising pace while you sob into his hand. he makes you feel like nothing, using you like a little toy he picked out for himself. it’s like you’re part of his work-out routine, or his warm-up at least, being picked up by the waist while he fucks up into you.

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sanguineterrain · 5 months

Text

restroom attendant | jason todd

Summary: Tonight is the worst night ever--you just got dumped on your birthday, and all you want to do is cry in the restaurant bathroom in peace. That is, until, the Red Hood bursts in. This city just won't cut you a break.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: humor, mild angst, reader's ex-bf cheats and dumps her, jason is such a silly goose, flirting, meet ugly, canon-typical violence, awkward jason, comic relief dick grayson.

A/N: this is probably the silliest fic i've ever written LOL! i hope you guys enjoy it. please support your local jason todd enthusiast and reblog :)

the divider

Tonight sucks.

With a shaky hand, you attempt to soothe your swollen eyes. You’ve probably been in here for about twenty minutes. Your Uber has definitely left, as has your now ex-boyfriend of three years.

Yoga instructor. It’s always the yoga instructor. They’re always fucking the yoga instructor.

You swallow a mouthful of tears and phlegm and try not to let the wet sink touch your dress. All you’d wanted was a little class on your birthday, maybe have some wine and play footsie under the table with your boyfriend. But no. That would’ve been too easy for you.

You’re starting to think this city is cursed.

The door slams open. The force of it shakes the bathroom, rattles the mirrors. You spin around.

A man slides across the floor and smacks his head on the opposite wall. Red Hood appears in the doorway, the eyes of his helmet glowing eerily.

Yep. Definitely cursed.

"Let's try this again," Hood says pleasantly, reloading his gun with a fresh magazine. "And in the interest of making myself transparent: when I ask you a question, Jerry, I expect a truthful answer."

He stalks over to Jerry and heaves him up by the lapels of his suit jacket. Hood's biceps bulge as he holds Jerry against the wall. You squish yourself against the sink. Water soaks the back of your dress.

"You're crazy, I didn't do anything!" Jerry shouts, feet barely scraping the floor.

"Volume, Jerry. People are trying to enjoy their meals.”

“Let go of me, Hood! I wasn’t anywhere near the Iceberg Lounge!”

“Yeah, see, words are coming outta your mouth, but they don't match the fact that I have three people who put you at the scene. How can we remedy this inconsistency? Any ideas?"

Jerry squirms, but he's no match for Hood's strength. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Don't give me to the cops!" Jerry begs.

"Cops are the least of your worries right now," Hood snarls. "You're damn lucky Nightwing wants to talk to you, Jerry, or your head would hurt a lot more."

Slowly, you reach for your purse, trying to pull out your phone. Instead, you knock it to the floor. Tears gather in your eyes because this night just can’t cut you a break.

“Motherfucker,” you whisper.

Hood turns, those frightening white eyes now on you. Jerry also looks at you, legs still dangling.

“Hey,” Hood says without a sign of struggle. “Shit. Y'alright? Did I swipe ya?”

“No,” you say, voice shaky.

His posture softens. “Okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

“I believe you. But, um… you're in the women's bathroom.”

Red Hood gives the room a onceover.

“Huh. So we are. Dunno how that happened.” He shakes Jerry by the collar. “Why’d you run into the women’s bathroom, asshole?”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Don't kill me!” Jerry wails.

“Shut it, Jesus. I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet, anyway.”

“It's fine, I was just leaving,” you say, bending down to get your purse.

“Hey, no, don't let me push you out,” Hood says. “Sorry. I'll be gone in a couple minutes.”

Hood adjusts his grip so Jerry's face is against the wall, arms and legs restrained. Then he zipties Jerry and sits him down hard on the floor. Hood presses a button on his helmet.

“Yo, N, I'm at Prescott's. Yeah, with Jerry. No, I didn't tell him to run in here, he did that all on his own! Well, I chased him for ten blocks, so I’d prefer if you’d keep your bitching to yourself. Thank you… Okay, we're in the women's bathroom, so—well, I didn't do it on purpose! No, I’m—will you just come here? There’s a side window.” Hood presses the button again with a grunt. “Dickhead.”

“Are you gonna erase my memory?” you ask.

Hood jerks, turning back to you.

“What? Hell no, I'm not gonna erase your memory. I don't do that shit, I promise.”

You slump against the sink. “That's too bad. I would prefer it.”

He looks up from Jerry’s last ziptie and pulls it extra tight. Jerry whimpers.

“How come?” Hood asks.

You shake your head. “It's nothing.”

“Hm. Doesn't look like nothing. If you're in danger—”

“I'm not in danger. I…”

You glance at Hood. You can't see his face, but his body language seems genuine. From what you've heard, Hood isn't known for mincing words or doing things he doesn't want to. And he’s good to Gothamites. Well, the law-abiding ones, anyway. He’s even been endorsed by Batman.

What's the harm in telling him about your disastrous night? Not like you'll see him again. Or Jerry.

“I got dumped,” you say.

“Ah.” Hood nods. “Been there.”

Somehow, the idea of Red Hood getting dumped is weirder than him beating up a guy in the women’s bathroom of Prescott’s.

You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Yeah, um. It was our three year anniversary today. He took me here, told me he was in love with his yoga instructor, and then left.”

You tear up thinking about it. Hood makes a quiet noise.

“Shit. Well, I haven't been there,” he says. “But I know infidelity. I'm sorry. Dudes are trash.”

“And it's my birthday today,” you blurt, sniffling.

“Happy birthday,” Jerry says, clutching his stomach.

“What a fucking asshole!” Hood snarls, and lets go of Jerry, who crumples like a sack of potatoes. He’s out cold in a second, frozen on the floor.

Your brows rise. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s his first time in Gotham.” Hood shrugs. “Anyway, where was I? Right, your asshole ex. Like it's not enough to publicly dump you, and then he goes and does it on your birthday? Who is this guy? I'll go talk to him right now.”

You laugh a loud, snorting laugh. It bounces off the tiles.

Hood tilts his head. “What’d I say?”

You catch your breath and wave your hand.

“No, nothing, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a crappy night and that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered to me.”

“I mean it,” Hood says. “I’ll scare him if you want.”

“As tempting as that is, I don’t want to be an accessory to a crime.”

You also don’t want to put your ex in the ICU, no matter how much he might deserve it. Best to let the universe do its thing.

“You’d be acquitted, don’t worry.” Hood leans against the stall. “I’d never letcha go to jail.”

You smile, your ears growing warm. “You don’t even know me. What if I deserve it?”

“Nah. I got a good sense about people. I can tell you’re sweet. Probably don’t even run through red lights.”

“I try not to,” you say, heat spreading to your face.

“Yeah, a good girl. I figured as much.”

Your eyes widen. Hood coughs and rubs his neck. Even his coughs sound intimidating through the helmet, but that’s negated by his scrunched-up posture.

“Fuck. Sorry. That wasn’t a come-on,” he says. “I mean, it sounded like one, but I’m realizing what a creep I am, flirting with you in a bathroom with a zip-tied criminal. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I hate myself.”

You grin. “It’s okay. You made my night better, actually. Thanks.”

“That’s a testament to how terrible your night’s been if I made it better.”

You shrug. “Could always be worse. I bet Jerry had an even shittier night than me.”

“You’d win that bet. But I—”

The window swings open with a clunk. Nightwing pops his head in. He looks at Hood, then you.

“Uh,” he says. “Evening. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is it took you almost ten minutes to get here,” Hood says, back in Vigilante Mode. “Did you get lost?”

Nightwing smiles with all his teeth. “I was actually cleaning up your mess at the Bowery, Hood. You’re welcome.”

He looks at you. “Hi. Sorry about this. I hope we didn’t ruin your night. If there’s anything we can reimburse you for…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. My night was already sunk. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for keeping Gotham safe.”

Nightwing laughs. “The pleasure is ours.”

“Alright, enough chattering, Dickwing,” Hood says. “Take him.”

He lifts the unconscious Jerry, pushing him up to the window. He does so effortlessly, his jacket riding up to reveal his skin-tight jumpsuit.

You look away before he catches you staring. There’s definitely something wrong with you.

Nightwing takes Jerry and waves at you. Then he disappears.

“So, uh,” Hood says. “I gotta go.”

“Oh! Right, of course. Sorry to keep you.”

“Now what’re you apologizing for?” he asks, and it almost sounds like a tease. You wonder what his smile looks like. What color his eyes are.

“Well, I really didn’t mean to keep you…”

“You didn’t keep me,” Hood says, and you can hear the warmth even through his decoder. “This is probably the best arrest I’ve ever made.”

He starts to climb through the window, then stops. He digs into one of the pockets of his belt and pulls out a scrap of paper.

“This is my number,” he says. “Well, it’s kind of the vigilante hotline. But you can reach me here, in case you ever need help.”

Hood walks over to give it to you. He smells like gunpowder and oranges. He’s even larger this close, the width of his shoulders dwarfing you.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

He nods and backs up, clapping his hands.

“Right. So I’ll go… Bye.”

Hood looks at you for a moment more. Then he hops up onto the window sill and slides out, somehow graceful despite his bulk. The window closes.

Your dress has dried, which is nice. You walk out of the bathroom. It’s a miracle no one else has come in.

You get your coat and this time, when you see the empty seat across from yours, you don’t burst into tears, which is progress. You call another Uber and go to wait for it at the front. The hostess approaches you.

“Ma’am?” she says, and holds out a small, plastic container. In it is a slice of tiramisu.

“I didn’t order this,” you say.

“It was called in and paid for by a Mr. R.H. He wishes you a happy birthday.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

You’re definitely leaving a five-star review on Yelp.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #jason todd reader insert

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nouearth · 4 months

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sweet surrender.

bruce wayne x male reader headcanon.

summary: there's nothing better than taking your anger out on someone you hate (and fucked).

wc: 2.3k. genre: smut. warnings: bale!bruce, top!bruce, bottom!reader, bigdick!bruce, bratty!reader breeding, mouth-fucking, rough!sex, hate!sex, choking, drooling, spitting, mentions of pain slash pleasure, bruce has a dick that won't quit.

notes: lowkey on a roll with these bruce smuts!!! enjoy, m'loves!

hate sex with bruce included kissing you with a sense of urgency. he overwhelmed you with the intrusion of his tongue. you resisted, but the wet muscle parted your lips so easily despite your efforts, and all you could do was fight back with a stronger force.

he held you against the wall, pinned you, but you utilized a surprising strength to push against his hold and bit down on his tongue in midst. an accidental move on your part, but you hated him. it made your chest swell hearing him cuss you out, and so you did it again, across his bottom lip where he'd groan again, before licking the insides of his mouth as if you were the potion to soothe his wounds.

fuck you. he'd grumble, breathing hot into your mouth after he slammed back into the wall. he speared a glare at you, into the fervent display of your eyes, and forced his lips back onto you. he hated kissing you. he hated the way your lips perfectly fit into his. he hated how your breath mixed sweetly with the scent of roasted coffee beans of his. he hated the sound of your moans when he pressed his body into yours. he hated the fact that he was pressing so close to you, practically attached to your hip.

and he hated the fact that there was not a single moment where he wanted to pull away.

fuck you. you spat at him, leered at the way his hair sweatily yet perfectly hung over his eyes as if it was a protective barrier that prevented you from dissecting his current feelings and emotion.

bruce vied for control—a dominance—that was proclaimed triumphant when he put his hands on you.

one strong hand of his laced over your hair, thick bundles at his grip, and he pulled your head back in one swift yank. your eyes opened in shock followed by a rattled groan, and a somewhat unnerving fear that you didn't want to admit led you to avoid his eyes.

bruce took his time eyeing your throat, the slow bob of your adam's apple as you thickly swallowed the ghost of coffee beans down, awaiting his next move. was he going to kiss you again? mark hickies all over you? bite hickies into you until you bled? looking beneath your eyelashes, his eyes sharpened, and for some reason, you suddenly felt smaller.

the silence around you fell to a quiet, menacing drone when he raised his free hand and one-by-one, slowly wrapped his fingers around your throat. everything was precise with him. he made sure the protrusion in your throat was centered at the space between his thumb and index. he made sure to let go of your hair so he could press you flat against the wall again, restricting your movements. and he made sure to squeeze, triggering a defiance in you, beating and pushing at his chest that only made him squeeze harder, harder, and harder.

your breath was vaulted in the back of your throat with staggers of profanity managing to slip out. you pretended it didn't affect you. despite your losing grasp in reality as bruce gradually stripped you of air, you powered through and wore a glare that crowned you a champion. he groaned. a warrior. he clenched his jaw. a king. he squeezed. and your crown shattered in a million pieces when your vision blurs, when your eyes gloss like varnish on wood, and when you shut them and a tear rolled down the flush of your cheeks.

and bruce knew he'd won when he let go, and you were gasping desperately for air. heaving as you rubbed at your neck, wincing because the muscle fibers were signaling in thrums that you were going to be bruising the morning after. though, it wouldn't be long until you found your breath completely stripped away from you again.

hate sex with bruce included forcing you down on your knees before finding a perfect grasp on the back of your head and pushing your mouth down his cock. you hated how thick he was, making you look even more meek because it was a struggle to even take in the first few inches. you coughed when he pushed lower, then gagged when the girth of his cock weighed down on your tongue and pushed air back down your throat, blocking your air passage.

open your mouth. he wasn't satisfied, mocking in his tone as he yanked your head back, and you'd use the few seconds to catch your breath as you drew your tongue out, hanging your mouth open. it was intimidating to see him in this position, towering over you as if you were a peasant to his kingdom, or like an animal as your pants were akin to one, but you'd never admit that as you glared upwards. he extended your head further back, yanked again, before thickly spitting into your mouth. or in bruce's own words, lubing your mouth.

as much control he had over you, you weren't going to take it—not like this. you scrunched your face before spitting up back at him, a few speckles landing at his cheek. it was a daring move, one that silenced the room until you could hear your heartbeat resonating through the stereos in his house.

do that again, i dare you. bruce warned—demanded—as his grasp only tightened, his cock hardening before you as it pulsed with anger. and instead of spitting, you let your saliva completely spill out, pushing it out in bubbly sputters as your tongue hung out, a move to mock him and his demands.

or what? going to fuck my mouth or something? despite his grip on you, it was loose enough for you to allow you to extend your neck and lick a stride at the underside of his meaty cock. he watched you in silence, his bare chest gradually heaving more with irritation. he was breathing through his nose, an obvious attempt to control the flame you ignited him, while you continued lazily tonguing at his cock at the plump head. you added to the glorious sheen his pre-cum had bestowed upon the pink flesh over time, lapping the thick musk up in several licks.

you'd get your answer when bruce threw you over the bed and onto your stomach. your cock found pleasurable refuge in the tousled duvet beneath you and you rocked your hips into the pocket of fabric as you waited for him, hearing him uncapping a bottle of some sort and the sounds of sticky lathers after.

jesus, what's taking so— without warning, bruce intruded into your tight hole with a slow, yet unbearable push. you pushed away, or attempted to escape from the sheer amount of pain beneath you, but he reeled you back by taking your shoulders and pinning them down to the mattress. it knocked the breath out of you. his cock, spreading you open so vividly painful, you could feel every stretch of muscle being pried open despite your natural will to enclose around him.

you opened your mouth, thinking your whimpers would come out, but your throat constricted instead, locking them back in until bruce delivered one hard snap of his strong hips, dispelling the gate to which your groans poured out in staggered and bitter pants. your toes curled at the stinging sensation, and your hands fisted into whatever fabric was in your had, but why did you love it? why did you love feeling like a doll with absolute no use in the world... except for fucking? for bruce's fucking?

think you can still run your mouth? bruce asked with no expectations of a coherent answer from you. he squeezed hard at every flesh and bone he'd come across. the back of your neck, your shoulders, your arms, your waist, bruising while the driving of his hips seemed to have been at competition with his own physical touch to see which could make you break first.

his hand ran over your back muscles, the dip of your spine, before traveling back upwards to shove your face into the mattress, once again restricting your way to life, to living, to breathing. his thick cock fucked into you while a glorious amount of lube creamed out of your violated hole, squelching and squishing with every thrust bruce would deliver in strong and heavy rhythms. he hated you. his bruising touch was evidence of that, already blooming beautiful against your skin, and he hated that he made the mistake of marking you because now you're marked as his.

you'd whine for him to keep fucking you, only because his movements rocked you into the duvet, making you fuck into the pocket of fabric. soft yet fuzzy against your skin, it was uncomfortable but you knew bruce wouldn't make you cum through his own touch. it was up to you, and you were selfish, needed to be selfish to achieve your own desires and pleasures.

you'd gotten used to the pain, soon turning into bittersweet, eye-rolling pleasure, finding yourself fucking your ass back into his thrusts, back into his meaty and throbbing cock. your ass rippled every time your skin met his, slapped loudly in the lust-driven air, and the sweat on your kindled bodies only made it more inviting as it stuck and glued you two together in a sticky mess, intertwined and passionate.

bruce held you by the hips, his fingers digging to the bone, bringing your ass back into him while he thrusted forward, ramming into you as hard as he could muster the power to in quick bursts before pacing back down into long and steady thrusts. he loved doing that. he loved hearing your moans ratter with the quickness of his thrusts. your long and drawn out hiss when he pulled out almost completely. you'd desperately wish for him to put it back in, and bruce wouldn't absolutely comply until you began whining, begging for him like a whore in heat.

please, please, please. i need it. you desperately cried out, the rim of your hole clinging onto for sanity—the very tip of his cock that you could feel bruce teasingly swirl around your hole.

you need what? bruce asked for clarification, a strong emphasis on what, and he'd pull his cock out to sheathe it in between your ass cheeks. his palms spanked you once, then again when you wouldn't answer, before groping your two soft globes and firmly kneading them until he could visibly see his handprints imprinted on your flesh. he'd fuck himself in between your cheeks, groaning at the lack of tightness compared to your pretty asshole. he felt himself coming close, and if he wanted to, he could come just like this, selfishly watching himself pour his spunk all over your back.

your cock, please. i need your big cock in me, fuck. i need you to fuck me until i'm thinking about that cock for weeks, fuck me like you hate me— fuck! your words croaked into the bed sheets, and you were apprehensive if it was enough for bruce. it was embarrassing because of how quickly submissive you became all because of his cock. you hated bruce, but not his cock. you could never. you needed him more than ever because you were close and you needed to come so bad, so fucking bad. you humped into the blanket, your hole quivering at the loss of girth, desperately enticing back bruce with multiple puckers.

like i hate you..? i despise you. bruce breathed out his final words near the shell of your ear before sheathing himself completely inside of you with one push, then proceeded to fucking you without caring that his full weight was toppled on you. without caring that the neighbors could hear your grunts and his mixing like a choir. the sloppy sounds of skin-to-skin contact turning it into a symphony of delectable sounds that he could simply get off to if he wanted to.

you kicked your feet, the immense pleasure quickly building up as if bruce hadn't taken a pause with you prior, and you were back to fucking into the blanket again. over and over, your cock slid into the soft fabric deeper until you were practically fucking a pile of fabric rather than a pocket.

and you came. your cock released your desires in thick, full shots that would stain the material for a lifetime, and you'd cream into them because bruce continued fucking you. continued fucking your ass, churning his cock in and out of you wildly until he felt his own release coming in heavy marches, like soldiers preparing for battle.

you could hear him pant, breathe a little harder and quicker than before, and his grasp tightens around your hips when he pulled his weight off of you. he loved using like this. not fucking you, but using your body to fuck him. he used his remaining strength to maneuver your hips—your body—almost lifting you as he fucked his thick cock, utilizing your hole like a fleshlight until he felt his balls startle, then twitch, then pumped in several course as his cock swelled with a desire to fill.

with a guttural moan, he slammed you back into his cock once more before his balls dumped his cum into you. thick and heavy, you can feel it coating every inch of your walls, then creamy as bruce pursued an ambition to milk himself. his fucking sounded sloppier than before as he churned himself inside of you, over-filling you with passionate hate, and you could feel it dripping out of you, down your thighs and legs and an unfortunate waste as it most likely stained the bed, the longer he used you like an abused toy.

once his cock went limp, bruce pulled out and watched with undeniable admiration as your loose hole squeezed his cum out in thick dribbles, unable to hold his warm loads for any longer because you were deservingly well-fucked and bred.

god, i hate you.

hate you more.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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bia-wayne-west · 3 months

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Damian is going to have a little sister [Damian Wayne x Pregnant! Batmom]

Summary: You take a pregnancy test and find out you are pregnant. You will have a little girl. Bruce, Alfred and their other three children are happy, except Demian. Your fourth baby is jealous of the new member of the family.

Personagens: Bruce Wayne [Batman], Damian Wayne [Robin], Dick Grayson [Nightwing], Jason Todd [Red hood], Tim Drake [Red Robin] and Reader [You]

Word count: 1,366

Warnings: jealousy, fear of abandonment and pregnancy.

A / N: Hi. I planned this fanfiction months ago, but I only had time to write today. I always imagined what it would be like if Batmom got pregnant. Demian would probably be jealous and wouldn't admit it. So, I decided to write about it.

I hope you like the imagine

Remember that I am a Brazilian girl. I am not fluent in English and I am still learning. I apologize if I have any errors. Feel free to correct me.

Go and read my other stories on my MASTERLIST.

REQUEST ARE OPEN. Do not be shy. Ask as many imagines as you want.

The test in your hands had two blue lines and your face had a huge smile. You had some suspicions, but you never imagined that after eight years of marriage, you would have a baby in your womb.

You thought you must be sterile because you had never been pregnant before, and even though the doctors said you were healthy, you didn't believe them. The test in your hand was proof that you were going to have five babies now.

You left the bathroom, putting the test in your pants pocket. The first person you saw when you left the master suite was Alfred. He will just come out of one of the guest rooms.

You ran to the butler you considered your second father. Alfred looked at you, thinking you were going to ask for something.

“Alfred, I'm pregnant!” You said it quickly, not having the courage to repeat it. The old man in front of you looked at you with wide eyes. After five seconds, he smiled at you.

It was difficult to make Alfred smile. He always maintained his serious appearance.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne. It’s great news.” Alfred said.

You showed the butler the pregnancy test. He congratulated her again and left, with the excuse that he had to clean Timothy's room. You could see a big smile on Alfred's face as he walked down the stairs to the second floor.

You remembered that Bruce was on the Wayne Enterprise, running some errands and that he wouldn't be back until after 8pm. Dick and Jason went to Wally West's house to play basketball. Timothy was at school.

Demian was the only one at home. He was probably in his room or in the garden with Titus.

You walked to the room that had the 'Do Not Enter' sign. You knocked on the door a few times, hearing your son's voice telling you that you could come in.

“Hi, my love.” You said to Damian, who was playing videogame. He was sitting on the bed. The boy smiled at you.

"Hi mommy. Did something happen?" He questioned, his eyes anxious.

You sat on the bed too, watching your son continue to play his game, but he was paying attention to you. .

“I have something new to tell you. I found out today, so only you and Alfred know about it.” You said, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the pregnancy test to show Damian.

The boy looked at the object curiously, until he realized what it really was. He looked at you in amazement, as if he thought it was just a joke.

"You are pregnant?" He questioned.

"Yes." After you nodded, you saw him give you a sad smile.

“I think this is amazing news, Mom,” Damian said. He no longer looked you in the eye, focusing his attention on the television while he played.

"Are you okay, darling?" You questioned, moving closer to Damian.

The boy just nodded, and didn't look at you anymore. Then, you realized that he didn't like the news, and preferred to leave him alone. You knew Damian didn't like expressing his feelings.

"If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen" You said, leaving your son's room and walking down the hallway.

As soon as Bruce arrived and you told him you were pregnant, he had the best reaction possible. Your husband was extremely happy and excited. And Dick, Jason and Tim also loved having a new little brother.

The weeks passed very quickly, and soon became months, and suddenly, you were seven months pregnant. You had already done all the ultrasounds and discovered that you were having your first daughter. You were excited to have a little princess, and Jason and Dick started teasing Bruce about how he really was a girl's daddy.

Everyone in your family seemed to be happy, except Damian. He never said out loud that he hated the baby, but you could see that he stopped wanting to spend time with you. The boy spent more time in his room or in the Batcave, avoiding being close to you. Bruce said the boy would accept that he would have a sister after the baby was born, but you knew you had to have a talk with Damian.

You walked slowly down to the clock that hid the entrance to the Batcave. It was difficult to walk with swollen feet. You knew that Bruce was on patrol, but that he left Damian on the Batcomputer. As soon as you got out of the elevator, you saw your son look at you, but quickly turn away. You walked over to Damian, giving him a gentle smile. The boy didn't look at you again.

"Hello, my dear." You said.

He didn't answer you, and started pretending to type on the keyboard.

"I wanted to talk to you a little."

Damian just grumbled.

"I know you're sad about my pregnancy." You said. "But you know that in two months there will be a baby here."

He continued ignoring you.

"If it's because of your father, you know Bruce loves all his children equally." You commented. "And that no baby in this world will make your father love you less."

Damian finally turned around, looking at you. He had red eyes, looking like he was going to cry.

"It's not about my father." He said. "Is you!" He exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"You know!" He roared. "You were the first person who liked me, even though you knew I was Bruce's biological son and that I was conceived when he was drugged by Talia." Damian continued speaking. "And now, you will have your own daughter. Who has your blood and Bruce's"

You looked at him, surprised.

"Are you afraid I'm going to leave you aside?" You wanted to know.

"My brothers don't seem to see what's going to happen. That you and Bruce are going to love the baby more than we do." He started to cry. "I love you and my dad, and I know that now you will have your own family."

You said, walking over to your son. You held him by the shoulders, making him face you.

"Damian, that will never happen!" You exclaimed. "You, Dick, Jason and Tim never stopped being my kids, my little birds."

He looked away, looking embarrassed.

"I thought you wouldn't treat me like your son anymore" He said.

"It's normal for you to be jealous and afraid of losing all the attention you receive, but I want you to know that our relationship will never change." You commented. "Now that the problem has been resolved, do you want to go upstairs so we can make some cupcakes together?"

Damian quickly got up from the chair he was in, and threw himself into your arms, hugging you tightly. He placed his head on your chest, and surprisingly, you felt him caressing your belly for the first time. You lowered your head to look at your son, smiling at him.

"Yes, I want to go make cupcakes, Mommy." He said, using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe his tear-stained face.

You and Damian went up to the house, leaving the Batcave. He started talking to you again, saying that he had had a brief fight with Jon Kent, but that they had already made up. He also told you that he was doing a literature project for school in a group, and that it was very easy.

As soon as you arrived in the kitchen, you grabbed all the necessary ingredients from the fridge and started mixing the cupcake batter, while Damian mixed the frosting. He told you that he wanted to color the cupcakes green and red, so you grabbed the food coloring from the pantry, letting him make the frosting any color he wanted.

Once the more than twenty cupcakes were ready, you and Damian sat on the counter while eating, talking excitedly about how the last few months had been when Damian had avoided you.

"Mother?" He caught your attention. "It'll be good to be a big brother."

You gave him a huge smile, and then kissed your son's cheek.

#imagine #insert reader #fanfiction #fluffy #fic #cute #you #dc comics #dc #batman #batkids #damian wayne #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batkids x reader #batkids x batmom #you x batman

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uncpanda · 9 months

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Found Out

AN: The Law and Order SVU and Batman crossover no one, absolutely no one asked for, but I still wrote. Cause I can ;)

Warnings: Mentions of serial killers. Nothing graphic.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

For being some of the smartest, most intelligent, detectives in the world, the superheros in your life are fairly oblivious. And on some level you’re really thankful for that. It allows you the freedom to do your job without their henpecking.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, the people you work with, your second family, are some of the kindest, most intelligent, and hardworking detectives you’ve ever met, but they’re also oblivious to the fact that you’re married to a billionaire.

You had never really meant to keep the worlds separate. It had started off innocent enough, you’d joined NYPD as a beat cop while Bruce was out studying to become the Bat. And when he got home you’d spent every spare minute helping him. Between that and the company he’d been too exhausted to ask anything other than a few questions about your job. He knew you worked for a large organization in NYC and that was it. He trusted you. And the boys were just as oblivious as their father. The only person who knew was Alfred. He’d been the once to come to your graduation from the academy while Bruce was still away.

On the flip side, your SVU family knew very little about your home life. They knew you were married, they knew you had kids, but they didn’t know how many. After all, you’d only had the two pregnancies; Terry and Matt had both been big but welcome surprises. Then again ALL of your boys were surprises. And you had perfected your technique of avoiding the paparazzi for both SVU and Gotham High Society.

Honestly, in your mind, there was no reason at all for your two worlds to meld. When you were at home, you took care of your family; when you were at work you tried really hard not to think of them, because despite crime fighting, you didn’t want them anywhere near these types of crimes.

Of course, nothing lasts forever, but you figure twenty years is a good run, especially when Bruce is driving Dick away for his desire to be a cop. You watch them go back and forth for hours, before you finally step in. There are groans from the other boys about stopping the fight while Cass just grins, and you ignore all of them.

“You’re going to stop this right now Bruce Wayne.”

His eyes are hard, his jaw is set, “You don’t understand Y/N.”

Out of the corner of your eye you watch Alfred roll his eyes in exasperation, “I understand better than anyone here.”

His hands go to his hips, and you know he’s about to dig a very deep hole for himself, “Sweetheart, I love you, and I know you work the computers from time to time, but this is different. There are guns involved and he’d have to work inside the system.”

“So?”

“You can’t do both; there’s too much to hide.”

You smile sweetly at him, “I don’t know, I’ve been doing both for the past twenty years. Then again, I suppose it might be different for me since I just worked the computers for a while.”

He blinks at you, and you know he’s connecting the dots. You ignore him, and turn to your oldest, his eyes wide, “While I understand you wanting to do Bludhaven, if you want to do NYPD, we can drive into the city together. Let me know, I have more than a few favors I can call in.”

Tim is the first to voice the statement, “You’re a cop?”

You shrug, “First grade detective, but I’m taking the sergeants exam in a few weeks.”

Jason stares at you, “Seriously? Are you joking right now?”

“I joined when I was twenty. I’d finished college early thanks to AP classes, went in as a beat cop, and after five years I became a detective. I’ve been working at SVU for the past fifteen years. They’re like my family away from home.”

You can tell there are more questions, but no one seems brave enough to ask them. You start to head out of the room, when Bruce asks, “Why did you hide it?”

You pause and turn to him, “I didn’t. You just never asked.”

As you leave you hear Alfred ask, “Would you like a shovel for the hole you’re digging sir, or should I just make up the couch for you?”

You go wait in your room, and lie down on the bed. A few minutes later Bruce comes in, and you look at each other. His brow is furrowed, eventually he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me? How could I not have known?”

You smile at him, “I didn’t want you to know Bruce. I was on my own path, and I knew you would worry. At the start I told myself I would tell you eventually, but. . . you were so involved with Batman and you were doing so much good . . . I didn’t want to add to your stress. You were barely sleeping three hours a night at that point.

“Then we Dick, and I considered telling you but he needed us to focus on him, and after a while it became easier to excuse it. It became my secret identity. Are you mad?”

He lets out a laugh, “I dress up as a bat, and fight crime as a vigilante. I don’t think I can be mad. I think I’m worried.”

“About?”

“Us drifting apart, not knowing you?”

You shrug, “I’m me Bruce. I just also happen to be a cop. I see a lot of bad stuff, everyday. The last thing I want when I come home is to talk about it. Same as you guys. When I’m home I want to be happy, but if you want to know I’ll tell you on one condition.”

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, after a moment he asks, “What’s the condition?”

“You can’t involve Batman. NYPD is not Gotham PD.”

He nods after a minute. The two of you spend the night talking, you tell him about some close calls, you tell him about the one life you’d been forced to take, you tell him about your frustration. You tell him about Liv and Elliot, and how Elliot leaving crushed Liv, but she rose from the ashes to become a lieutenant. You tell him about Munch and Cragen, both of whom have retired. You tell him about Finn, Rollins, Amaro, Carisi, Dodds and Barba. It’s nearly six in the morning by the time you’re finished.

“And that’s the majority of it.”

You’re both lying on the bed staring at each other. Bruce has been largely silent, he’d skipped patrol, and only asked a few questions. A part of you wonders when his anger will hit; it doesn’t. Instead he says, “I am so freaking proud of you,” and then he kisses you. And you can’t help but think, that in a normal marriage, a normal family, this would have been a big deal, it would have broken them. In your family though? It’s another day.

You call out of work that day to catch up on sleep and spend the day with your family. The boys come up with a bunch of reasons as to why they should have realized you were a cop.

“You work really weird hours.”

“You never wore heels to work.”

“You never wore dresses either, come to think of it?”

“Is this why we own a penthouse in NYC?”

Jason is the one who asks, “Where do you keep your gun? I thought those weren’t allowed in the house?”

“You don’t need to worry about it. It’s locked up.” Logically, you know each of your boys knows how to use a gun, mainly for the purpose of knowing how to disarm someone holding a gun. You still don’t want them anywhere near it. For that reason, it’s kept in a DNA safe in Alfred’s room.

When you go back to work the next day, you have your gun and badge on your hip. All of the men in your life focus on it. Bruce corners you in the kitchen as you’re pouring coffee into a travel mug and whispers, “You look sexy as hell with the badge.”

You laugh, and then you kiss him. You’re the one who drops Cass, Tim, Damian, Terry, and Matt off at school. Jason is in college, and he drives himself. Dick is still contemplating his options.

The fact that your family knows makes things a lot easier a few weeks later when Carl Rudnick and Greggory Yates escape from prison. You can hear the worry in Bruce’s voice, when he begs you to be safe and not do anything risky. You snort at that and he chuckles, “I know, I’m a hypocrite, but I’m your hypocrite.” You roll your eyes, because the big doofus, is in fact, yours. You also know he’s keeping a close watch on the man hunt.

Three days later Rudnick is back in custody, but Yates is still on the run, back to Chicago you’re pretty sure. You’ve gotten maybe five hours of sleep total in those days? You’re exhausted, but you have reports to fill out, and Chief Dodds, the commissioner and a whole bunch of brass are hanging around.

You’re in hour three of doing paperwork, when you hear whispers. Your eyes flicker up to find your husband smiling at you from across the room. He’s holding a doggy bag full of food, he’s dressed in a suit that costs thousands of dollars, and you know that people recognize him.

Finn leans forward, “What the hell is Bruce Wayne doing here?”

You hear Carisi whisper, “Maybe he’s dating Leiu?”

You can’t help it, you burst out laughing, because you sometimes forget it’s not common knowledge that Bruce is married, despite the ring on his finger. You avoid galas with the best of them after all. You call it the Batman tax; Bruce can fight crime and you don’t have to show up to stuffy dinner parties.

Bruce smiles at the laughter, before approaching your desk, he settles into the chair next to your desk. “Really? No pictures of me or the kids?”

You scoff, “Work stays at work, home stays at home.”

He frowns, “I’m getting you pictures.”

You don’t argue with him, “What are you doing here?”

“I brought you food. Alfred and I figured you hadn’t eaten.”

“I haven’t had anything outside of vending machine junk in days.”

He scoffs, “What happened to taking care of ourselves?”

You shrug, “I’ve been hunting serial killers.”

His face goes serious, “But you’re okay?”

“As okay as I can be. They got a few more people, our sergeant took a bullet to the shoulder, Rudnick is back in prison, but Yates is headed only God knows where.”

His fingers twitch, and you know he’s itching to do something, but he can’t. He can’t get involved in this too. He has all of Gotham to worry about and thanks to the league, sometimes he has to worry about the world.

He lets out a breath, “Can I join you while you eat?”

“Yes. You can catch me up on the goings at home.” You lead him past your shocked colleagues, and a room full of shocked officials in Liv’s office and to the breakroom. While you eat, Bruce assures you that the boys are fine, but Damian apparently butchered the hedges again. Clark was apparently being a pain in his ass too. The man of steel wanted your family to come to Kansas for Thanksgiving.

“I’ll probably have to work, use that as an excuse.”

Bruce grins, “This job has perks.”

You lean forward and peck his lips, “Lots of them.”

When you’re finished you stand up to leave and there is a room watching the two of you. You sigh, and Bruce mutters, “It’s good to know the vultures remain consistent.”

Chief Dodds is about to step forward and ask a question when you step towards Olivia, “Bruce this Liv. She’s saved my ass more than once over the years. Liv, this is my husband Bruce, remember I talked about him?”

She grins, “Yes, but you failed to mention he was Bruce Wayne.”

You feign nonchalance, “Did I? Hmmm.”

Bruce smiles, it’s the one that has everyone jumping to meet his every need, the one that says he’s as innocent as a choir boy, and he would be your best friend if you let him. You smirk at him while he shakes Liv’s hand, “Thanks for watching her back. The boys and I appreciate it.”

That’s when Finn steps forward, “That right, you guys have a huge family, right?”

Bruce’s brow furrows in fake concentration, “We have Dick who is twenty, Jason is eighteen, Cass is Fifteen, Tim is fourteen, Damian is ten, Terry is six, and Matt is four.” He looks at you, “How’d I do?”

“Perfect score.”

“We have a full house, but it’s nice.”

You nod, “Let me walk you out.”

You make sure Bruce gets to his car, you kiss him, and promise you’ll be home by morning. Once he’s gone you head back up to find everyone waiting on you, it’s Finn who declares, “You have some explaining to do.”

You sigh, life was easier when no one knew anything.

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lycheeloving · 4 months

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yandere!Bruce tries to keep you away from his vigilante life "for your own good", but you disagree <3

#the fake text website fucked up my formatting ✌️😔 might try to fix that later #update: used a different website and fixed the formatting 👍#yandere batfamily #yandere dc #yandere batman #yandere!batfamily #batfam x reader #yandere batfam #reader insert #yandere #x reader #lycheewritings #platonic yandere #yandere bruce wayne #yandere texting

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justficsiguess · 5 months

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thinking about... yandere!batfam...

Imagine you're living your normal life and *boom*, one day suddenly a portal opens right in front of you, you fall through it, it closes right behind you. You can only make out a few vague shapes making their way towards you before you pass out.

When you wake up you're... in a bed. Surrounded by a bunch of people who introduce themselves as the Wayne family. You're in Gotham. There was some kind of portal accident with a villain and you fell here from a different dimension and you're stuck until they can figure out how to fix the portal machine, because it was broken during the fight.

Villain? Portals? Gotham? And what was this family doing there during a fight?? They explain that they're vigilantes, Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, etc etc. They decided to tell you this because you'll have to work with them to figure out your home dimension and they didn't trust anyone else to take you in, plus this is just more efficient [and more comfortable than living in the batcave]. I haven't decided yet if you're from a dimension where they exist in comics or don't exist at all, but either way, you're really confused bc this is just not something that happens in your universe.

Anyways. You live with them now, get closer to all of them, work with them sometimes (even though you can't do much, mostly you just watch them work but they insist it's important you're there), decorate your temporary room in the manor a bit, learn some stuff about this dimension (some people have superpowers?? cool!!). You can't go outside though, they say that would be dangerous, as you're not from this dimension and not supposed to be here at all. You want to go back home, but the repairing of the portal machine seems to be very complicated, everyone keeps telling you they just can't figure it out...

One day, during a rare (very rare) moment alone, you decide to look around the manor. You still haven't seen everything in here, it's so big! After some exploration, you stumble across an interesting room that's kind of hidden away. It looks almost exactly like your new room in the manor, but dusty, with some items you remember the Batfamily proudly showing you as you were decorating your room, and becoming unreasonably disappointed when you didn't like them. But the most concerning thing is that there are pictures of you. Not new ones they took since you've been here, but older ones, where you're younger. But, no, it doesn't seem like they're pictures of you exactly, there are photos of a pre-teen you on Bruce's shoulders, that can't be you, you just met them! There are also pictures of a vigilante you've never seen before, which you figure must be this other-you as well. What happened to them? And why would everyone hide this from you?

Turns out you didn't come here from an accident with a villain at all. The Batfamily lost the other version of you somehow and decided they wanted you back. But not a strong, smart vigilante like the version of you from this universe. No, they could get hurt again, or figure out what's going on sooner and escape. They chose you, hoping they could slowly get you accustomed to the idea of staying and then one day lie to you and say they can't fix the portal machine, they can't send you back. It still hurts them to know you're not exactly like the you they lost, you were raised in a completely different way, of course you're not the same, but they'd never let you go, either. They love you.

They were hoping you wouldn't find everything out so soon... but, well, they can fight over whose fault it is that you were able to find this room later, first they need to find a way to calm you down and stop you from leaving them.

If you find yourself drugged and/or tied to your bed, don't be mad at them! You gave them no time to explain before you started panicking and trying to get away, they couldn't just let that happen!

#if some of this doesn't make sense I'm sorry lol english isn't my first language and i have a fever #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere dc #yandere #x reader #reader insert

830 notes · View notes

ryuzakemo128 · 2 years

Text

Immortal

Chapter Two

Trigger Warning: Cursing

A/N: I have an update version of what Thana looks like. Created in Art Breeder. So here it is.

Chapter Three: Thana's Early Life (Part Three)

2000

"It's been like twenty years and he still hasn't decided to fuck off" Thana started ranting, beyond annoyed at this point. "I swear God or Satan had something to do with this shit. No one has this much bad, I swear, maybe orphans do, but that's not the point"

Thana was done, done being stalked by angels and done with almost everything. Betty sat there on her couch, listening to her rant while texting the other girls to come over and listen to her.

"Sandra and Cynthia will be on speaker phone, Tamara is coming over and bringing cheesecake," Betty said to her.

"Does she have the answer to my stalker problem any chance we'll get any answers for that. I suggested murder. But apparently that's not something I should be considering" Thana shouted from the kitchen.

"No, unfortunately we don't have the answer for that problem" Betty laughed, as she greeted Tamara inside the house.

"Well you got better at interior decoration at least." Tamara looked around the in progress renovated house, "Although the fact that you have decided to sleep on the couch isn't a surprise."

"Tamara, lovely, come look at the kitchen, you'll love it I swear."

"I certainly doubt that, but I have been surprised by your interior decoration choices in the past"

"It's a work in progress for sure. But it's better than what I decided last time."

"Michael is here." Betty yelled out to them. "He also wants to speak to you Thana"

Thana walked over and Betty walked into the kitchen a few steps away from her. She closed the front door behind her to block out any possible yelling and most of the argument.

"I don't want to talk to you, but due to you being whatever you are now. We need to." Thana explained crossing her arms.

"I finally found out what you are." Michael started, "The reason why you have been hiding the entire time."

"Wow you are incredibly dense." Thana commented as she watched him pace in circles.

"Just let me continue ok? ok." Michael growled taking a step towards her in an attempt to be somewhat threatening, "My father would kill me if he found out I slept with someone like you."

"I hope he does. Kill you that is." Thana responded, "I'm tempted to kill you right now. If you don't stop stalking me or whatever the fuck you think you're doing. I will send you back to your daddy in person."

"Deal." Michael replied, then Thana proceeded to break his arm before he could attempt anything else.

"Fuck off"

2010-2021

Ten years went past, Thana finally earned another bachelor's degree although this time in Electrical Engineering. Her friends are either extremely old in hospice or now deceased. She doesn't know what to think of humans, outside of her friends and she hasn't formed a complete opinion of them.

Thana didn't know what else to do with her life. She had no idea if there was anything else to look forward to. She even started volunteering at various orphanages just to pass the time during the past ten years.

As 2010 came around, Thana is still volunteering at Gotham's orphanage. She's still trying to find out how to get caught out as a demon. Unfortunately the building was later burned down.

"Things just get worse." Thana thought to herself, "Who burns down an orphanage? A church burning down make much more sense. Who? Who does this shit?"

"Why are humans so fucked up?" Thana pondered on her walk back home.

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lis-likes-fics · 5 months

Text

Lab Rats

Pairings: professor!Jonathan Crane x student!Reader Word Count: 8.2k words Prompt: Sex Pollen Warnings: NSFW, smut, dubcon, professor/student relationship, sex pollen, oral (m!receving), fingering, edging, multiple orgasms, dumbification, name calling, degradation, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie... A/N: This is a day late, but I got it done! I hope you enjoy this filthy piece. Dr. Crane is so much fun to write for!

The call of your name stalled you from packing the rest of your items, your fingers tingling and your ears burning at the sound of your name breaching his lips.

“Could you stay after class, please?” Professor Crane asked, looking upon you with a set smile.

You remained calm. He would read any unnecessary excitement in the way you breathed.

You nodded, trying to sink back into the rest of the class, packing their bags to leave. You pulled the zipper of your bag closed. When enough people left the room, you made your way to the front with your bag on your person.

You had taken a certain fascination with Dr. Jonathan Crane the first moment you stepped into his class. He was handsome and charming, he knew how to teach and he always managed to pull you in.

He wasn't soft on anyone, even his favorite student usually didn't receive much special treatment. On the first day of classes, he told everyone that 50% of the class would be walking out of the door by the end of the week, and he was right. Better for you, that just meant less people to steal his attention away, less competition when it came to acing his tests and projects.

You loved his class, not just for the topic—obviously. Over the past couple of weeks, you felt his shift. His usual objectivity had switched and he seemed to point you out a little more. He praised your work, he accepted all of your input in class, he would even email you personally (sometimes talk to you after class) on your work to tell you how well you were doing.

You knew your attraction toward him would never amount to anything, it would never work out. But your fantasy was enough to quench your hunger for his attention and affection.

“Yes, sir?” you asked as you walked up to him.

Crane smiled at you. “I have a few matters I would like to speak with you privately… Could you spare the time?”

The strength of your heartbeat was extra hard for a few moments as you took in his words. You nod, “Of course, professor.”

“Step into my office?” he asked, gesturing toward the door with his name on it.

You took the first step, walking toward the door as he followed behind. You were suddenly very self-conscious of the way that you walked as you opened the door.

He moved around you when you were both inside, allowing you to shut the door as he took his spot in front of his desk. He leaned back on it, crossing his legs at the ankles and putting his hands in his pockets.

You knew this one. He was presenting his body language to seem more relaxed in order to ease you from your guard so he could properly manipulate you into agreeing with whatever he said.

He sighed, taking a moment to look upon you. “I would like you to know that I admire you and your work greatly,” he began, “and this is what allows me to ask this of you so freely.”

You blinked, anticipating his offer. “Yes, professor?”

He smiled, almost slyly. “I am conducting an experiment of sorts, a scientific breakthrough that I would like you to be the face of.”

You stared at him, your eyes wider than you meant for them to be as you slowly recovered. “I… Me?”

He nodded. “As part of a selection of students.”

Your heart sunk slightly at that. One of a group, but his first choice, at least…

“Oh,” you nodded. “Alright, uhm… Why—What, uh…” You reprimanded yourself for your lack of eloquence. “What is the experiment? What kind is it?”

“Unfortunately,” he breathed in deep, letting out a long sigh, “that must be kept a secret until I come to a close. It's not quite done—a few last minute tweaks need to be made…” He looked off slightly, thinking to himself for a split second. His attention turned back to you, looking at you a little closer, bringing you in.

He spoke slowly, leaning off the desk to stand. He moved a little closer, and you felt his hand brush your elbow. “But I would like to know that you would be willing to drop everything at a moment’s notice when I do contact you for it.”

He took another step forward, closer now to you. You knew this one, too. He was making it personal, making you compliant. You knew this trick, it was Psychology 101.

But it worked anyway.

“Oh,” you licked your bottom lip: your own trick. “Okay.”

He smiled, raising his brows, “Yes?” he nodded.

You returned the nod. “Yes, sir,” you smiled. “I…would be honored to.”

He held your eye contact, not letting go as he nodded. “Excellent!” he exclaimed gently. He leaned in a little, close to your face, too close for a professor talking to his student. “You really are my greatest student.”

You smiled, perhaps too much. You feel too giggly. “I'm…so glad.”

He moved his hand from your elbow to raise a finger, shaking it gently at you. “Remember,” he teased, “at a moment’s notice.”

You nodded definitely. “Of course.”

He offered you a charming smile before stepping out of your space, breaking the spell. He tilted his head toward you. “You may go.” Just as you were lifting your foot, he held out a hand toward you. “And thank you very much.”

With one last nod, you stepped back. “Not a problem, sir.”

You stepped out of his office, closing the door gently behind you. Gently biting your lip, you unsilenced your phone as you left his classroom.

The shrill ring of your phone cut through the late night and woke you brutally from your slumber. You gasped as you reluctantly blinked through the dark to direct your eyes to the abusive light emanating from the phone. The clock next to it on the nightstand read far past midnight. You moaned deeply, speaking but only forming actual words toward the middle of your complaint.

“...’f i’s ‘nother sp’m…” You wiped your face and covered your eyes as you answered the phone, not quite awake but too tired to deal with waking up.

“Hullo?”

The voice on the other end woke you up just a little more, not quite clearing the fog in your brain but allowing you to put more effort into sounding a little more awake.

“It's time.”

Time for wh—Oh.

You suddenly remembered Dr. Crane's experiment, the one he wanted to test with you. Your gut clenched and your heart picked up and startled you awake. It was time.

“Oh.”

You pressed your finger into the doorbell, checking the address of Dr. Crane's house out of nerves a fifth time and the time for the twentieth. You wrapped your coat tighter around you, the chilly breeze persuaded by the winter air of Gotham so close to Christmas time. They would be letting you out for the break soon…

The door opened, a little crack and a creak to allow you entry.

“Just go along with whatever happens.”

You thought back to his instructions on the phone, vague instructions you briefly considered not trusting. But he was your professor. He had your best interests at heart, surely.

You reached your hand toward the knob, timidly reaching. He wasn't at the door. Should you actually go in?

“Don't waste time asking questions. Everything will be explained when you get there.”

You pushed the door open and walked inside, shucking your coat off as you nervously looked around the house. You shut the door behind you, hanging your coat on the rack by the entrance and leaving your shoes next to the ones by the door.

You swallowed thickly as you looked around, stepping further inside. “Uhm…” you cleared your throat. “Dr. Crane? Are you still home?”

You were met with silence as you continued to quietly step through the living room, the air so still that you could feel your heart beating heavily in your chest. You were so nervous, your blood was pumping and you were bordering on scared as you tried to keep your breath level. Your flesh raised with goosebumps. It was too quiet.

You almost didn't want to speak again, afraid to break the silence and disturb something unknown lurking around the corner.

“Dr. Crane?” you called again, suddenly feeling very warm and very frightened. Where was he? “Professor?”

“In here.”

The voice was distant when he spoke, giving you some reprieve from the silence but feeding your anxiety, fueling your fight-or-flight.

“Where?” you wondered aloud, stepping past the archway that led into the hall.

“Just a few steps more…”

Could he see you? Was he taunting you on purpose? Perhaps part of the experiment?

The anxiety curled in your stomach, kept your footsteps slow and your breath shallow and a scream ready in your throat in case you needed it.

You were reluctant to speak. “Sir?” You pressed your palm along the wall of the hall and began to peer around the corner, into a room on the left. Maybe Dr. Crane was waiting there…

A strange, strong mist invaded your senses as you turned the corner. Raring up the scream, you gasped and your eyes stung, resulting in a heavy cough that took a moment to die down. You braced yourself on the wall, holding yourself up as you tried to clear your eyes, clouded by tears from both the coughing and the mist burning your eyes. You watched the mist clear, breathing in desperately for air.

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” Dr. Crane's voice came, then his hands on your shoulders as he pulled you in and guided you into the room. “That's good,” he bid.

He held you steady as you blinked rapidly and steadied your breath. “I took the liberty of testing my hypothesis that it would work faster if the patient is already running on adrenaline.”

You wiped the tears roughly from your eyes. “Professor, what–?”

“Hush,” he cut you off, bringing you to the bed. “Sit here,” he said, lowering you down.

He pulled up a chair, sitting across from you before handing you a handkerchief. You took it greedily and began wiping your face. You sighed deeply into the fabric, holding your head in your hands as you adjusted.

“Okay,” he said, smiling. “Now that's done…the substance you've just inhaled is an aphrodisiac of my own design.”

You stilled entirely, looking up at him tentatively as your eyes widened. You blinked, shaking your head as you tried to organize your thoughts. It was an… an—“Aphrodisiac…” you muttered.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Aphrodisiac.”

You were suddenly dizzy, processing his words too slowly as you put together what this meant. An experiment with an aphrodisiac… and you were the “face” of it all?

“The word itself comes from the Greek name ‘Aphrodite’, which—I'm sure you know—is the Greek goddess of Sex.” You looked up at him as he began explaining, rolling up the sleeves of his white button down and dusting off his black slacks. Adjusting his glasses on his nose, he continued, “As far as the function of the substance is concerned, it affects hormone levels and accelerates blood flood, increasing chemicals in your brain like—dopamine, glutamic acid, nitric oxide, oxytocin to enhance sexual arousal.” He sounded like he was reading straight out of a book as he spoke with his hands, illustrating the drug to you to paint pretty pictures for you to apply to what was happening to you, in your own body.

It was getting warm, the physical exertion from the adrenaline, likely. The suspense and anxiety from before, along with the shock of Dr. Crane's mist had thrust you into an adrenaline rush. That was surely all it was.

“It relaxes smooth muscles,” he continued. “Stimulates erections, increases arousal.”

You fought the urge to clench your thighs at the idea of it. He was your psych professor and you were his student, and he was testing aphrodisiacs on you and telling you how it made boners and stiff nipples and fucking arousal.

“Professor,” you muttered.

He stopped you, raising a finger. “Please hold. I'm not finished.” He cleared his throat and thought for a moment. “Where was I? Aphrodisiacs are commonly found in natural foods or herbs, though the change in sexual desire is usually unnoticed when these substances—like chocolates, most commonly, or oysters and figs and strawberries—are consumed.”

You clenched the handkerchief in your hand, rubbing your palms against your thighs roughly. “Professor Crane.” You felt like your head was beginning to spin.

He sighed at you, seemingly disappointed. “I hope you're interrupting me for a good reason.”

You stared at him straight on, nearly glaring as a thin layer of sweat began to form over your skin. “It's hot,” you huffed.

“Well, that's to be expected,” he shrugged. He looked you up and down, smiling with a gentle chuckle. “How rude of me. How are you feeling?”

You brought the handkerchief to your forehead, breathing uneasily. “Hot.”

“As you've already stated.” He waved his hand dismissively. “What else?”

You didn't want to say: considering the heat was spreading through your body and scouring your nerves with a flush of lust. The last thing you wanted to do was explain that you were horny to your professor.

He tilted his head at your hesitation, noticing the way you turned away, closed yourself off. He raised a brow. “Come on,” he bid. He didn't sound like he was encouraging you, he sounded like he was taunting you. “Don't leave any details. This is an experiment, might I remind you. If you leave anything out, it could hinder the research.”

“Um,” you struggled, your voice trembling a little. You felt like your whole body would soon follow suit. You felt shaky, like you’d fall if you tried to stand. “Uh.” You couldn’t figure out what to say—it was humiliating to say the least, looking at your professor and forcing your eyes to stay on his face, because fuck…you wanted him so bad.

He raised a brow, waiting expectantly, “Well?”

You couldn’t. “I don’t know,” you muttered. “It’s just hot.”

He reached his hand out and pressed the back of his palm to your forehead. The coolness of his skin against the heat of your face was like a salve to a cruel burn. You leaned into him, stifling your moan as best you could as your eyes fluttered at the contact. It felt so good.

“Mm,” he hummed, pretending not to notice your weakness as he shifted his hand to your temple. “You’re burning up.” You knew he was taunting you when his hand slipped down to your neck, pressing against your scorching skin and sending goosebumps through your body. Your heart felt like it would leap out of your chest any time soon.

When he pulled his hand away, you felt like you could die on the spot as the fever-like heat came back immediately after. You tried to remain impartial, shaking your head to gather your thoughts enough to speak.

“Why couldn’t you have just performed the experiment on your own?” you questioned, wiping your forehead roughly to be rid of the light sheen of sweat coating your skin. “I don’t see how an external test subject was necessary.” Remaining as professional as possible seemed like your best course of action. Insanity or not, this was still a test—you were sure of it—and there was no way you would fail a personal test with Professor Crane and risk falling from such high esteem with him.

He reached behind him where his suit jacket lay neatly on the back of his seat. He removed a second handkerchief from an inside pocket with a dramatic whip, taking his glasses off to clean them as he shook his head. “No, no, no,” he said. “If my theory is correct, the test must be performed with another person present. The substance works by increasing adrenaline. It’s quite similar to my fear toxin.”

You shook your head, “Fear toxin–”

“The adrenaline builds and builds,” he continued, cutting you off with little regard for you, as he glanced through the lenses, “increases the heart rate so much that—if left unresolved—the subject would experience a heart rate so high…” He finished polishing them off before replacing his glasses on the bridge of his nose and directing his analytical gaze toward you once more. With a lurking smile full of sadistic amusement, he spoke in a low voice, “...your little heart would burst in your chest.”

The anxiety curled in your chest until it began its fast evolution to fear. All these emotions mixing within you wasn’t good for your health—and, apparently, neither was this toxin he had infected you with. “...What?” you said. It was the only thing you could manage to say.

He shrugged, tilting his head with a slight roll of his eyes. “Well,” he began to correct himself, “not literally, of course. It’s highly improbable. But your heart would just…stop.” His eyes seemed to darken as he explained it to you, staring too deeply into your own anxious gaze as he seemed to enjoy every minute of this. With a breath, he began again. “And while my toxin has an antidote, there is only one way to reverse the effects of this aphrodisiac.”

You swallowed thickly. “Which is?”

He smirked, though he tried to hide it. “Sexual gratification.”

If you weren’t burning up, your blood would run cold…and then you’d run just as hot as you were running now. Your head was definitely spinning now, images of forbidden desires—which you had pushed down, down to the depths of your mind—flooding to the surface. So many fantasies, so many urges, being unlocked once more as you thought about…reversing the effects.

But, for the millionth time, he was your professor. It didn’t matter how many times you’d fantasized about him having you on your knees, his hands in your hair, his lips all over your body…it couldn’t happen. It shouldn’t happen.

You tried not to clear your throat. It would make you more guilty than you already were. “W-well–” Damn it, you cringed. “–even if that’s true…gratification can be…achieved through…”

He raised a brow, happy to mock you. “Through?”

You took in a steadying breath, looking down at your legs to avoid looking up at him. Your skin was burning, your nerves were tingling with an increasing desire “Through self-pleasure. Masturbation. Couldn’t it?” You were already this far, there was no use in being shy.

But even then…

He tilted his head, sighing. “Unfortunately, no,” he said. “You see, once it has been ingested in any form, only another person's hormones can slow the process—which is why you’re still so in control right now–” you didn’t feel in control, “–but even that isn’t enough. In males, sexual gratification can only be achieved by the release of semen when mixed with a woman’s arousal. Likewise, for a female subject, gratification can only be met through insemination.”

He said it so quickly, so nonchalantly. You had no time to process as you blinked rapidly. “Insem–”

“Therefore, a partner is necessary for the experiment, and only a partner of the opposite sex is truly effective, so…I suppose that’s a loss for the homosexuals, hm?” He shrugged, amused by his own joke.

Pain spasmed in your stomach, a sharp stab in your gut and a stinging sensitivity to everything your skin came in contact with. “Fuck,” you sighed, folding over slightly just as a growing migraine became present enough to matter.

He sighed. “Language, please.”

You rubbed your palms harshly against your eyes, forcing your fingertips against your temple in a useless attempt to ease the pain roaring in your head, sacrificing the stabbing in your gut. “It hurts.” It took everything not to sob.

He turned his head. “What kind of pain?”

“All of the above,” you said impatiently, your voice breaking. “It hurts.”

He hummed and leaned forward. “And where does it hurt the most?” He gestured to your general body. “Or is it just about the same everywhere?”

“It's…” you hesitated, “everywhere.”

Crane tilted his head, looking at you with a glow of disappointment. He removed his glasses with a sigh, setting them to the side and directing his attention entirely on you.

“Now, my dear,” you shuddered at the name, “This doesn't work if you aren't being completely and entirely honest with me. I am quite content to sit here and watch you succumb to my little toxin.” A wash of shock overtook you, your palpitating conflicted between beating too fast and stopping all together.

He continued, a taunting grin curving his lips as he gave you his cold stare. “Without me to help you,” he shrugged, “you have no way of reversing the effects. I'll say you came down with a sudden fever, one you just couldn't fight.”

The hair along your arms stood tall. He couldn't be serious, it was a joke… But when have you known Jonathan Crane to joke?

“But…” you fumbled, trying to decide what to say, “But I've been perfectly healthy. Why would people believe you?”

He tilted his head, looking at you like you were just the cutest, dumbest little thing. “This is Gotham, sweetheart.” He shrugged dismissively. “People die every day, and no one fucking cares.”

Breathing heavily, you put a hand over your stomach and let out a pained moan. You thought to yourself, over his words. You shook your head, not meeting his eyes.

“Cramps.”

He raised a brow questioningly. “Hm?”

“The pain,” you stated. “Stomach cramps, tender nipples and…and clitoris. Even the fabric of my clothes is too much. It hurts.” You ignored the heat in your face. It didn't matter now—the insecurity, the awkwardness. It was strictly scientific. Of course, it was.

“Very good,” he grinned, leaning back and crossing his legs. “Tell me more.”

“Tunnel vision, dizziness, migraine, short breath. It's like… it's almost like a panic attack.”

“Is that all?”

“It's really hot,” you huffed, another pained moan escaping through your unsteady breaths. “I'm really hot.” It didn't matter. “Fuck, professor, I need you.”

“What's that?” The fucker was getting off on teasing you like this, mocking you like it was his only pleasure in life.

“I need you,” you urged, trying not to sound as whiny as you feel.

“Is that so?” he raised a brow, smirking. “Have you told me everything then?”

“Yes, everything. Please.”

“Are you certain?” he pushed.

You felt the wet on your cheek and realized your need and the pain had reached your eyes, the tears welling along your waterline and dropping down in one streak down your face. “Please, I'll do anything!”

He paused slightly. “What's that?”

You reached out and grabbed his hands, pulling them into your lap. There was only one way to ease the pain, the heat, the desire. And you were set on it.

“I'll do anything! Just please, fuck me. Please,” you gasped, pushing through the pounding in your head and the fire in your core.

“Well,” he sighed, pulling his hand from your grasp to check his watch. He tsked to himself, thinking before he hummed. “I suppose I can do that.”

You could have cried—you were crying. “Thank you,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

“But,” he pointed a finger at your face, as though you were a dog being disciplined, “you must do as I say.”

You nodded urgently. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” You shuddered at his words, the praise washing over you like a wave swallowing you whole as you lay on the sandy shore of a beach.

He snapped at you, indefinitely grabbing your attention as he pointed to the space in front of him. You stood from the bed in a moment, your weak legs barely holding you up.

His hands landed on your waist, and you nearly melted at the contact. He turned you around in his hands, looking you up and down with an appreciative moan. “Let's see what we're working with,” he said. “Strip.” The order was plain and simple.

You did as you were told, trying not to be shy about it. He didn't care about shyness, and it didn't matter anyway.

You began peeling your clothes off, moving faster with each inch of skin revealed. Once you were bare in front of him, you fought the overwhelming urge to cover yourself. He wanted to see you, to see what you had to offer.

He hummed to himself, snapping again. “On your knees.” Again, you did as you were told.

Moving to your knees, he took your face in his large hands. You melted against him, your eyes fluttering shut as a deep moan escaped you. His hands felt so cool in comparison to your burning skin. If you weren't so desperate for more of what he had to offer, you would be perfectly content with sitting here and having him hold you like this.

When his hands lightly smacked your cheeks, your eyes snapped open as you brought yourself out of the sticky feeling of the subtle pleasure. “Keep your eyes open. And open your mouth.”

You parted your lips, and he slipped his thumb between them and pried your mouth open wide. He set his thumb on your tongue, pulling it over your bottom set of teeth and pushing his thumb farther into your mouth. Your breaths blew over his skin as he felt the softness of your cheeks, your tongue.

He surprised you when his hand was suddenly between your thighs, his fingers stroking through your folds as you gasped. “Jesus, you're fucking dripping.” He ran his fingers along your lower lips and the insides of your thighs where the arousal was smothered halfway down your thighs.

You whimpered and whined when he shoved his middle and ring fingers inside of you without warning, delving them into your hot, dripping, tight pussy. You tried not to squirm at the way his fingers wiggled inside you.

“Yes,” he sighed. “This'll do nicely.”

He pulled them out of you, shoving those same fingers between your lips to make you taste your arousal. “Suck,” he commanded. You obeyed.

You suckled around his fingers and felt another rush of molten arousal wash through you at the way he stares at you, his eyes dark and primal. You needed him.

“Strip me,” he said, pulling his hand away. From your knees, you unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, letting your hands press against the expanse of his chest and soothe you the slightest bit. You unbuckled his best and shoved his pants down his legs, removed it from his body like undoing ropes tying him to a chair.

You stared at his briefs, his half-hard erection tenting them as he enjoyed the sight of your mindless struggling. He placed a hand in your hair, gripping a fistful and holding you securely. “Now be a good girl and suck my cock.”

You pulled his boxers down without hesitation and only faltered as you saw him for the first time. This was absurd. You never thought you'd find yourself in this situation—staring at your professor’s erection, long and hard and flushed with his own lust for your body, about to wrap your lips around it.

You gripped him in your hand and he stifled a grunt at the feeling of your insistence. You stroked him a few times before sticking your tongue out and licking a long strip up the underside of his cock, tasting his precum beading at the tip and immediately becoming addicted to the taste. Whether it was him or just his toxin, the taste of him was mesmerizing, and you would do anything for more.

You wrapped your lips around him, suckling around the tip and taking him deeper. He let his head fall back just a bit, still watching you as his thighs clenched and his hair gripped your hair tighter. He did not guide you or push you down, he didn't think he needed to. You surprised him as you bobbed your head up and down his cock, taking him farther and farther down with each trip back and forth until he was filling your throat with his length and making you gag.

He grunted as you suckled some more. Your cunt clenched around nothing, aching for any kind of pressure as your clit pulsed and your walls fluttered. You ran a hand down your body, dipping between your thighs to try and ease some of the tension. You pressed down hard on your clit one time, a moan coming from your throat and shivering through his spine.

He pulled you by your hair off of his cock. “Did I say you could touch yourself, sweetheart?” You shook your head pathetically. “Then why are you doing it?”

You couldn't win this, you knew that. Using your desperation as regret, you frowned and whispered, “Sorry, sir.”

He loosened his grip enough to let you get back to work, still holding onto you as he leaned back again. Your lips found his cock once more, addicted and able to ignore the burn for now, a short escape from the pain.

You swirled your tongue around him, suckling as you went along. Crane stared at you with a dark gaze as you sucked him off. You flattened your tongue against him, going farther down his length with each swallow around his tip. Sticky white precum continued to seep from his slit and onto your tongue. You were drunk on the taste of him, taking him as best you could.

Crane looked like a dream, his head tilted back and his lips parted as you brought him closer and closer to a great release. Both his hands were tangled in your hair by now, holding on to you and his remaining control.

He was right about the hormones. Being this close to him, inhaling the scent of his cologne, the scent of his skin swirling around your head, was easing the searing desperation.

You felt him twitching on your tongue and suckled around him a little more. He was close, you could feel it. You didn't know if it was his toxin or not, but the idea of him spilling all over your tongue drove you crazy with lust.

He began to tense and groaned. “And that's enough of that,” he huffed, pulling you off of him by your hair and keeping you back, even through your attempts at licking the precum spilling from his tip.

“My, my,” he breathed. “Such a desperate little thing.”

You caught your breath as you spoke, your lips swollen and your eyes hooded as you did. “I need you,” you begged, gripping his thighs tight.

“Well,” he stood, snapping and gesturing for you to stand as well—you obeyed. “You'll have to be patient, sweetheart. I'm not through with my tests yet.” You whined. “Lay down.”

You did as told once again. He looked over your body, running a finger down the center of you, from your collarbone to your pelvis. You shuddered and whimpered but said nothing.

“I don't have any cuffs in here, so a tie will have to work.” He found his jacket draped along the back of his chair and pulled the tie neatly tucked inside of it out.

You held your breath as he reached for your hands, grabbing your wrists and holding them above your head. He put them around the bars of the headboard and, with more skill than you expected, tied them together to keep you bound there.

He gave a content sigh at the sight of you, smiling to himself. His eyes found yours as his fingertips grazed your side “Now, you can be as loud as you want. No need to hold back. We're all alone in here.”

He stood over you as his palm smoothed along your skin, reaching further down until he found your mound, slick and hot and waiting for something to slip inside it.

Your breath quickened in anticipation, waiting for him to make his move as his fingers played with your skin. Holding eye contact, he slipped his finger inside of you, parting your folds and burying itself in deep.

Your head lolled back as you moaned, the sound sticky with lust. He sank in deep, inch by torturous inch. You held your breath in your, feeling each little bit disappear, knuckle by knuckle, inside.

A second finger joined the first, spreading you open for him. They thrust and curled inside you. You moaned and found yourself grinding your hips into his palm. You needed more, more of him, the bliss of his fingers spread through your body to ease the fire and feed it all at the same time.

“Professor,” you whimpered. “More, please.”

“Hm?” he taunted. “That's not enough for you? You need more?”

“Yes, please,” you gasped.

You clenched around his fingers, feeling him pumping his fingers in and out of you. He curled them against a sweet spot deep within your dripping cunt, exploring your body and becoming familiar with each little nook and cranny. Your back arched and your moans were loud in the space of the bedroom. You had never felt so good before, just by his hands alone.

When his speed increased, you thought you would cry. The dizziness was eased by his pleasure, the headache had waned enough for you to see, and the pain in your stomach had simmered to a dull ache. But his fingers stuffed inside only seemed to heighten the heavy pulse in her veins.

You pulled at the tie wrapped around your wrists as you whined. “Professor, please,” you huffed. “I can't take it. I—fuck—needa cum.”

Letting out what seemed to be a disinterested sigh, he shrugged. “Since you want it so bad…” His thumb pressed against your clit and your back arched slightly at the contact.

You cursed breathily, seeing stars as the pleasure grew and grew and grew at the expertise of his hand. You thought you were going to explode, reaching your peak far too quickly as a knot began to build in your stomach. You tensed, clenching around his fingers as he spread them and curled them and pumped them in and out of you.

“Fuck, can I cum?” you moaned. “Please, professor, I need it so bad.”

He didn’t answer you, rubbing your clit in tight, fast circles as he felt you flutter around his fingers, he listened to your unsteady breath and felt your trembling thighs. You could feel yourself reaching that point, on the verge of finding that bliss…

You whimpered meekly when he suddenly stopped. Watching you with a dark smile, he chuckled as you squirmed and tried to move your hips against his hand. A tear slipped down the side of your face as the pain returned, sharper this time and spreading through your body like you’d been shocked.

“Dr. Crane, please,” you cried, squirming like a worm on a hook.

He laughed at you, looking your body up and down as he disregarded your need and spoke. “How do you feel?” he asked.

Another tear joined the first. “Please, I can’t.”

He tutted, shaking his head. “Ah-ah. Answer my question or I’ll stop completely.”

“No!” you exclaimed. “Please, it hurts. So bad, everything hurts.”

He nodded, “Good girl.” He rewarded you with the movement of his hand once more, filling you back up with his fingers and thrusting them into you.

You were blinded by the pleasure and continued to ride it out, unknowingly that he was beginning a cycle. He would have you crying, breaking down in tears and so desperate to cum all over his hand, only to rob you of such pleasure every time you got close to tasting it. And it hurt. All of it hurt, like you were being burned alive. The imaginary flames licked at your flesh and threatened to sear it off your bones.

You didn’t know how many times he’d done this cruel act upon you, how long you’d been laying there with your legs spread open wide and his fingers shoved inside of you, too caught up in the pain and the ecstasy of it all. “C-Crane,” you muttered, your lips and your tongue lazy with dissatisfaction. “Please.”

You could tell how fun this experiment was for him, and not even in just the sadistic way. He watched you closely, his eyes hooded and dark and his cheeks pink. His cock was still hard, maybe harder still in a painful way that your useless sounds helped him to ignore.

He hummed deeply, considering another dance with desperation. But he let out a deep sigh and shrugged. “I suppose,” he said, his thumb, which had been lazily rubbing too-slow circles on your clit, picking up once again.

And you were so scared it was a trick, that he would pull away and leave you to sob again at the loss of stimulation. The knot built, the dam overflowed, and as you reached your breaking point, you gasped when it all came loose. Your back arched, and you went blind as the pleasure crashed down on you like nothing you’d ever felt.

You cried out his name—or some garbled version of his name that came with not being in touch with your own body. You moaned, breathing too fast and dizzying yourself with your harsh breaths as you did. Crane smiled as he watched you, coaxing you through it as he noted just how good this orgasm must have felt for you.

“Look at you go,” he smiled, still rubbing your clit as he watched the last spasms of pleasure shoot through you. You were so pretty like this, writhing in bed as you came on his hand for the first time, whimpering and whining like a dog.

He pulled his hand from you, darting his tongue to lick the bottom lip of his wolfish grin.

As you began to settle, you let in a deep breath to fill your lungs, laying back lazily as you were offered a moment of stillness. All the pain from before was gone, the thumping in your heart calmed to a slightly quickened ut otherwise rhythmic beat. You could breathe.

Crane was staring at his watch, looking between you and it as he seemed to time something. You paid him little mind, soaking up the calm for as long as you had it.

It was all too soon that the pain began to slip back in, first as a distant sting in your head, then as the dull ache in your stomach. As your breath sped again at the slowly increasing ache, so too did your heart once more. Then the sensitivity of your skin, the burn of your goosebumps rubbing against the sheets or clashing cruelty with the air.

Unable to take so much, you began to cry. “Professor,” you spoke shakily. “Fuck, it hurts. It fucking hurts so bad. I can't—I can't, I can't.”

“Two minutes and seventeen seconds,” he stamped. “It took two minutes for the aphrodisiac to kick in again after the first orgasm has been reached.”

He stared at you, rubbing his bottom lip and sighing with a distant smile. “Oh, the things I want to do to you,” he mumbled. “To make you cum over and over and over again until you're,” he sighed longingly, his eyes fluttering and his jaw clenching with an urge he tried to conceal, “sobbing, trembling in my hands, begging me to stop.”

You shuddered, wanting it so badly but also dreading the opposite of this torture, where you would never stop shaking, never be able to calm as he pulled an orgasm after you one right after the other.

He shook himself out of his daydream. “But, I'm not sure how long you've got. That's an experiment for another day.”

You wanted to say something, but you were at your point in desperation where words were harder and harder to form unless the adrenaline really kicked in.

He positioned himself on the bed, his hand smoothing over your sides. “I bet you need me now, don't you?” Whining pathetically and not caring anymore about sounding decent, you nodded. “Yes, you do. You need me to fuck you, hhh? Take you nice and rough from behind. You need me to fuck you nice and deep, little slut?”

You nodded again, crying, “Please.”

He stood on his knees in front of you, taking your body in his hands and flipping you around, not caring for a moment that you were still tied to the bed frame with your arms now crossed.

He pulled you up on your knees and put your ass on display for him. His hands slapped down on your ass, rubbing harshly on the skin as you whined.

“Be a good girl and beg me to fuck you, sweetheart,” he breathed.

Had you not begged enough? You couldn't count the amount of times you'd told him “Please, professor, please,” and been denied for the sake of his sadism?

Still, you were desperate and you could care less at the moment about his urge to humiliate you. So you did beg, your pounding heart squeezing tears out of your eyes.

“Please, Crane,” you sobbed. “Please, I need you so fucking bad. It hurts, please.”

You were about to continue pouring your heart out when he cut you off. “Okay, okay,” he chuckled. “Calm down. It's not that serious.”

He took his cock in his hand, stroking himself a couple times as he spread your folds for him. In one push, he buried himself to the hilt inside of your tight pussy. He groaned roughly as you clenched around his cock and moaned.

“So fucking tight,” he sighed. “You've been needing this, haven't you?”

You moaned deep in your throat, melting at the feeling of him buried so deep. He chuckled, high off the sight of you so weak. He pulled out of you, an agonizingly slow drag that burned at your nerves until he suddenly thrust back in with a harsh thrust. You lost your breath, your lungs squeezed tight at the pleasure.

He grunted, doing it again and again and again as he just kept holding you tighter, pulling you back to meet each thrust. The smack of his hips against your ass was loud and followed in quick succession as he gave you no time between each thrust to recover.

You felt like your brain had melted, reduced to. a pile of mush in your head as you let yourself be devoured by the pure ecstasy of each thrust staving off the pain of the toxin burning you out.

You gripped the sheets, clenching and unclenching and trying so hard to keep it together as he split you open on his cock.

Crane was hardly keeping it together himself, gripping your waist as he fucked into you from behind. His hair had fallen over his eyes, which were dark and crazed. He had you in his clutches—you, his prey and he, your predator, his teeth and claws in your flesh and bone.

“Is this everything you imagined?” he huffed, bringing a hand to wrap around your throat and pull you up.

You clenched tighter around him and felt your limbs going weak—if he hadn't been holding you up, you would have fallen against the bed again.

“W-What?” you gasped, small and pathetic.

He laughed darkly. “You think I didn't know? What, you thought I couldn't see the way you stared at me during my lectures? You thought I didn't see your glances at my crotch, wondering how big my cock was? Huh? How good it would feel if I fucked you?”

You just kept moaning, unable to hold in your pleasures sobs. He fucked you a little harder, pulling more and more out of you as he did. “Why do you think I chose you, huh?” he taunted, laughing again. “You were perfect for the role. My cock hungry student who would do anything to impress me. Fuck, you were practically begging to be the subject of this experiment.”

It was hard to listen to him when you could barely focus on your own pleasure. Your arousal was dripping down your thighs, coating you in slick. He just kept fucking you, drunk on the pleasure.

“N-Need,” you stuttered, trying to form the words as your tongue was not your own. “Mm-fuck, needa cum.”

He didn't say anything this time as he pressed his finger to your clit. You went limb, letting yourself fall onto the bed as you whined pathetically.

“Look at you,” he smiled, his head tilted back as he relished in the squeeze of your cunt. “My little fucking whore. Does it feel good?” He laughed again, rubbing your clit a little faster. “Are you gonna cum on my cock like a pathetic slut? Hm?”

To answer his question, you did. You let out a choked cry when you came, your eyes rolling back as you went blind with the pleasure that crashed down on you. Your whole body shattered, and your thighs shook at the pleasure.

“Oh, fuck,” he huffed as you began tighter, your pussy fluttering around him and only bringing him closer to his own longed-for release. “That's a good fucking girl.”

Your head was filled with white-noise as you floated in that space between orgasms, where your whole body was numb to everything else going on. As he kept fucking you, it didn't last long. You came to and found yourself thrown into another dance of lust.

You chased the pleasure, pleading for it to swallow you whole as you took all that he gave to you. “You like that? You like being ruined by me? Hm?” he breathed, still rubbing your clit, even as you squirm.

You didn't respond, overcome by whining moans. But that was more amusing. “I know you do,” he said. “You liked being fucked dumb, don't you?”

His hips continued to snap into yours, shoving deeper and rougher. His finger on your clit continued to build you up, higher and higher.

“Are you gonna cum again?” he asked, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he kept fucking into you. “Yeah? You're squeezing my cock like you are.”

You managed to nod your head and nothing more, the knot building again in your stomach getting so tight, so close to another blinding release. You braced for it as it grew closer.

“Fuck, I'm gonna cum, too,” he breathed. “Gonna cum—so deep inside you. You'll be dripping with me, sweetheart.”

You mewled, closer and closer to–

A loud cry tore from your throat as you came again, blinded and devoured and reduced to nothing but a sobbing mess as the pleasure shook through your body like a rattle.

Unable to hold himself in anymore, he moaned roughly as he spilled so deep inside of you. He gripped you roughly, pulling you back against his cock as he buried himself deep, grinding into you as he fucked his cum inside so you were stuffed with it.

“Fuck, I love this tight little cunt,” he huffed. “Perfect for me.” Your pussy fluttered around him, squeezing him tight as you squelched and gushed around him.

You lay limp against the sheets as the blood roared in your ears. After a moment, when he'd caught his breath and came down from his high, he pulled out of you and let you fall against the bed.

He breathed, letting out a deep sigh. He looked down at you, your spent body still shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure. He picked up your leg, pulling it apart to see your pussy, stuffed and leaking his cum.

He could have cum again at the mere sight of you, your messiness, your exhaustion. He dropped your leg and sat next to your limp body.

“Now,” he said, another breath leaving his lungs. “How do you feel?”

You just lay there, letting out a tiny moan after a while as your only response as you tried to recover. All the pain had disappeared, and all that was left was the heaviness in your limbs and the sore muscles to come.

He hummed a laugh. “I bet.” He reached for his glasses, putting them on the bridge of his nose once more and adjusting them.

He stood, walking somewhere in the room as your eyes followed him. When he picked up a camera hidden in the corner capturing everything that just happened, you couldn't do anything but think about how you wanted to watch it back and see just how much he'd wrecked your body.

He stopped the recording, setting the camera down with a smile. He looked at you again, kneeling in front of the bed as he rested his chin on his hands. “So many things for us to do, so many experiments to run. And now I've got you,” he chuckled, “my own personal lab rat.”

You watched him lazily, the exhaustion pulling at your system. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. You sighed into the kiss, moving as much as you could as your lips melded together. It breathed life into you, more life than it should have.

He pulled away all too soon, standing up and turning away from you as he left the room. You laid there a moment longer, thinking back over the events of the night. His own personal lab rat.

You smiled.

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