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celestialnxva · 2 years

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Lighthouses.

༄ A chapter of the 'Hiraya' Series.

Bruce Wayne x Reader (18+)

Summary: 'This type of love was a love in its truest form, one that simply cannot be tainted by jealousy or ravenous desire. No, this love transcended that.'

Warnings: it's more interpretive than explicit, but it is still smut. lots of fluff, but mdni.

wc: 2k words

a/n: telltale bruce bcs he’s a tired man who never gets any love :/

batman/hiraya series masterlist. | main masterlist.

It was obvious to point out that Bruce Wayne was not a blushing virgin. He’s been with many women before. If you were to ask him what kind of man he was in bed, they would usually give an answer along the lines of ‘he’s like an animal’ or ‘he’s intense and it was hot.’ It was normal for Bruce to be associated with being a sex icon.

But it was different with you. With you, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt you in any way. You made him feel so vulnerable, so warm and protected. How could he ever treat you any less than with proper attentiveness? Even though he was the big, strong Batman that was meant to protect everyone, he had always craved for someone to make him feel safe too. He deserved to be loved and cared for as much as anyone else, and in his eyes, you stepped up to the plate. It’s why he loved you so much.

And there are many ways that he can show you how much he loves you.

Each gift he gave you was intentional and meaningful. From little sticky notes on your bedside table telling you to have a good day to him kissing all over your face and telling you how much he loved you, they were only some of the many ways he has shown his love. Everyone who had known him previously had seen a drastic shift in his attitude. He was smiling more, daydreaming more, more hesitant to go on late night patrols. For the first time in his life, he wanted to finally leave vigilantism behind. He was that much in love with you and he never wanted it to end. What made it worse for him was that you loved him just as much as he did. The two of you cannot leave a conversation without mentioning each other at least once. He was proud of your accomplishments and you were proud of his bravery and selflessness to the people of Gotham and to you.

Less and less were your days worrying if he would come home late. He was home so often that it felt like you didn’t have to truly share him with Gotham anymore.

He was yours and you were his. Nothing will ever get in the way of that.

So when someone asks you about whether or not Bruce is an ‘animal in bed,’ there is never a response. Your love ran so deep in your veins that you didn’t feel the need to answer. Your love was for him and for him only. No one else would ever know about how much you two loved each other. All they would know is that they will never hear about the intimacies of your relationship, for you two kept the one good thing in your lives all to yourself to cherish. This is what you both have been waiting for and finally, the stars aligned at the right moment for both of you to meet. This type of love was a love in its truest form, one that simply cannot be tainted by jealousy or ravenous desire. No, this love transcended that.

He shared his desire for you through worship. Like a deity, he would pray devotedly with meaningful kisses and lingering touches. He held you in his arms, basking in his adoration for you and your wonderful body. He fully believed that you were made for him in every single way. He made sure he reminded you of these feelings when he whispered into your skin praises that can make anyone flustered beyond comparison. A litany of kisses on your stomach and thighs delicately placed to show his gratitude; his gratitude to be able to touch you and be so close to you like this. He could never admit this to you, but your body and your aura only confirmed how much he didn’t deserve your love and devotion.

As husband and spouse, you two stuck together through thick and thin. Making love to each other was no exception. As he pleasured you in more ways than one, he moved back up to you to be praised for his work; to lay your blessings upon him and wash away all the pain and suffering he had been through. Each kiss you gave him melted his heart while your wandering hands on his chest filled him with more desire than he could comprehend. He wanted you so badly; he always did.

After your kisses to his nose and cheeks, his smile stayed put on his face while his fingers danced around your entrance. He caressed the top of your head as he pushed one finger inside you. Your beautiful moan so close to his ear was as beautiful as a hummingbird’s song. However, he frowned slightly when he heard your whimpers from his fingers carefully stretching you out. Your hands reached up to cup his cheeks, causing him to lean back to look at you properly. Your angelic face was tainted with your brows furrowed in slight pain. That won’t do. He had to get rid of it immediately.

“My love,” you exhaled heavily against his lips. Warm and inviting, your lips beckoned him closer, begging for more of him. He did not hesitate to bring a smile on your face by leaning in to kiss your lips tenderly. He swallowed every moan, every whimper that you could muster while you were being prepped by his fingers. He successfully distracted you with tiny kisses on your cheek.

When he felt that you were ready for him, he regretfully leaned back to position himself properly. Your legs slowly spread for him, waiting for him to finally give you the euphoria you’ve been waiting for. His eyes met with yours as he pushed himself into you. When he finally felt you around him, he felt like he was in heaven. Making love to you lovingly gave him more pleasure than he had ever had with other people. It was ethereal, an opportunity that he never took for granted. Without fail, he made your body heave and sigh with every thrust and every touch.

His eyes shifted from your eyes to where you two connected. He couldn’t help but place his hand there, and when he looked up at you, you were shy from his actions. He tilted his head and kept himself inside you while he spoke.

“You are beautiful. Doing this with you is so beautiful,” he confessed. He felt so happy when his words moved you to tears. Though, he couldn’t have you cry without him wrapping you in his arms. So, he did so, collecting you into his toned arms so he could press kisses on your wet eyelids. Though your bodies were slick with sweat, he didn’t care. The feeling of moving in and out of you was like an elegant dance. There was nothing that could replace the euphoric feeling of the way your body moved in time with his. You are beautiful. Doing this with you is so beautiful.

Your soft whimpers and moans brought him back to reality and he quickly hushed you while he moved. His pace was steady, grounded so he can assure you that this was all real and that he wouldn’t do anything to harm you. His eyes softened with each praise you gave him in return. Words of gratitude and pleas tumbled off your lips while he caressed your cheek. His eyes, usually calculating and alert, looked glassy from being drunk off of your love.

“God, (y/n), you feel so good. You take me so well. You always do,” he said breathlessly while his pace began to pick up. He cherished your whines and your desperation, all because of how good he made you feel. He reached down to stroke your sensitive spot, wanting to hear more of your noises. “I love you, (y/n). I love you so much,” he murmured hotly against your ear. Your eyes fluttered shut as you wrapped your legs around him and pulled him deeper inside of you. You cried out his name as he increased his passionate thrusts. You loved how vocal he was as well. You loved that you were the only one who could make him feel this good. That thought alone almost made you lose control.

When your body started to jolt from his slightly rougher thrusts, he gasped and groaned against your parted lips. It was his form of begging you to take him in, begging you to love him with as much passion as he had for you. He was burning up in flames from the intensity of your love making and your desperate cries only propelled him to thrust harder. He wanted you to feel him close when you lost all control of your senses.

“I-I love you too, dear. I love you,” you confessed over and over again. Each one drove him to chase his high with you. You understood how much he loved you and he would always be grateful for that. You understood that the way he makes love is more passionate than any rough sex any of you could give to each other. This was arousing because you know that you two would never do this to anyone else; just the two of you against the world, as it always has been.

A few more thrusts and he lost himself, giving his heart and soul for you so you could feel him deep inside you and fill your body with a type of love no one can comprehend. He watched as you let go too, succumbing to euphoria. He held you in his arms while you were recovering from your overwhelming high. He was exhausted from the intensity, but it didn’t stop him from staying with you like this for just a few more moments. He was grateful that he did because when he saw you shake, he watched as you went from your high to your low, letting out quiet sobs into you hands. His heart broke at the sight of your overwhelmed senses, so he quickly kissed all over your face.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked worriedly. Had he been too rough? Has he neglected you in some way? When he was surely going to explode from overthinking, you shook your head and looked up at him with teary eyes. Even when you were crying, you were beautiful. “I love you so much. You always take care of me and I don’t ever want you to be away from me,” you said before you let more tears slip down your cheek. His own eyes watered from your sincere confession. He took the time to wipe each tear away with his thumbs while he kissed your forehead.

“You know I will never leave you, right?” he reassured softly. Your eyes fluttered open when he responded to you. Your brows furrowed in confusion. “I cannot be with anyone else. I would rather die than be without you, (y/n). I cannot make love to anyone else but you. I cannot feel as much as I do with you,” he said before he caressed both of your cheeks. His eyes looked determined to comfort your tearful ones. “I am yours, (y/n). I always have been,” he whispered, letting his confession fill your heart with love.

The confession made you cry more, much to Bruce’s dismay, but at least he knew now that those tears didn’t come from a place of sorrow. Rather, you cried tears of joy, a joy that you always felt when you were with Bruce like this. You were forever grateful that this man had come into your life when you needed him the most. He would forever be grateful that you had come into his life and gave him the hope he had been waiting for. You loved each other wholeheartedly because you were each other’s lighthouses; lighthouses that made even the darkest Gotham City corner shine bright with hope.

You were his and he was yours. Nothing will ever get in the way of your love ever again.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #the batman #batman animated series #batman x reader #batman #dc comics #dc movies #dc animated films #dceu #bruce wayne smut #batman smut #dc x reader #fanfic #writing #telltale batman

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the-hopeless-haze · 2 years

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He’ll reject my actions, but He will know my heart (Justified Sin Chapter 11)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Warnings: talks of domestic violence, talks of the lost baby, talks of Dave's murder... suicidal ideation, slut-shaming, and derogatory names (not from Bruce obviously; he's my sweet babygirl and would never speak like that... but from a special surprise guest). also idk I love this chapter so much. love to go off about Catholicism like a nerd okay

Taglist: @pop-rocks-and-skittles @yesshewrites1 @deadflowerd @burninggracesandbridges @reggxe-a @ventila98 @grayce427 @leastlikelytoachieve @that-girl-named-alex @yuki235171 @cluelessnitwhit @thebruemanbatwayne @y-napotat @acatwriteshere

Do not be like Cain, who belonged to the evil one and murdered his brother. And why did he murder him? Because his own actions were evil and his brother’s were righteous.

Sure. But what if it was the opposite? Would Abel have been justified in killing Cain? Cain was evil and needed to be cast out by a righteous man to do God’s work for him. God left the building. It’s just a free-for-all, free will, free lives, no consequences. A cesspool. Gotham. Hit your wife. Kill the mayor. Nothing happens unless a vigilante takes you out.

Who’d be coming for Bruce’s neck in retaliation?

Corrupt. Opaque. Concealed. Never thought he was like one of those men, skeletons in his closet and his real face hidden behind a mask. Becoming what he hates in the name of being what the city “needs”.

He used to fool himself, that he was truly Vengeance and Bruce didn’t exist. But he does. Vengeance killed Dave but Bruce had the personal motivations to drive him to do so. He is both people and they are the same and he only wears the mask to rid himself of his wealth and his identity for the night. To be hidden. To be reckless, ruthless, and restless in his pursuits without people knowing who to tie them to.

It’s not about being a good person. Maybe it never was. It’s about being something bigger than himself, making Gotham habitable. Reducing fear in children’s eyes, children like him. Reducing harm. Not obliterating it. But a reduction.

If he had to harm others to do so… what was he really doing?

It’s not often Bruce seeks solace in the walls and painted glass windows of a church. It’s not ever, actually; the only times he can remember coming here is when his father was alive. Growing up briefly in a dual-religion household led to confusion only exacerbated by their premature deaths. Would a gracious, benevolent God let them be ripped from him, with no consequences for the murderers?

Alfred never saw it his place to educate Bruce on religious matters, so he grew up for better or for worse without much of an influence, though he did spend quite a bit of time in his father’s old study. Bibles were highlighted and annotated, and different theories that were postulated by Thomas. Bruce read through them in an attempt to understand the man he barely knew, but none of it made sense in the end, given what happened to him. What did he do that he deserved to meet that end? He married a Jewish woman. Perhaps he hoarded wealth to a selfish extent. But to die like that?

God had left Gotham. And Bruce feels like a shitty replacement. Just a man. Not a hero. Just a boy who had to sing this song of death and misery and revenge.

Bruce knew even less about his mother’s religion; she adapted more to Catholicism than Thomas was willing to concede to Judaism, although he vaguely remembers a menorah lit their last holiday season all alive. Her, though, she’d done even less to deserve it. Always giving, always kind, always in pain. Life was agony and never healing from trauma and mental illness and then it was over. Her identity was erased in death and one with the man she was married to.

Did it have to be that way? Why reduce a life to its negatives? Every news anchor seems to lament the deaths of the innocent and never focuses on the lives they had before it was taken.

They would do the same to Dave, not knowing that maybe, just maybe, he deserved the end he got. A sadistic motherfucker killed instead of enacting the killing. Turn it all on its head. Make a righteous man evil to make sure this evil man ceased breathing.

The church is quiet and reeks of incense, the woody smell piercing his nostrils as he walks in.

He half-expects the cross to fall off the wall at his presence.

Hail Mary. Full of Grace. Ave Maria. Everyone’s a sinner. Begging for forgiveness at the altar. Symbols for symbols for symbols to the point it doesn’t seem to stand for anything anymore.

Pray for us now. Pray for us at the hour of our death.

A-fucking-men.

He blesses himself with the holy water. The liquid doesn’t burn his flesh, it runneth over, off his skin. He still remembers how to do this, how he did it at his parents’ funeral. Right hand to god to the forehead. Bless the mind. In Nomine Patris. To the chest. Cleanse the heart. Et Filii. Left shoulder, the devil’s shoulder, brush him off but his influence still lingers. Et Spiritus. Right shoulder. One with God and Jesus now, but it doesn’t feel like it. Sancti. Nothing felt sanctified or holy when he did this decades ago. There’s no sanctity here now, either.

Nothing changes. Everything stays the same.

Hands come together now in prayer. A-fucking-men.

Pray for what? No one was listening.

But he came here to be heard.

He walks through the church, velvet carpeting beneath his feet, so much splendor and wealth here, but God said “make no idols of me” and yet statues and figurines of Jesus in his most vulnerable moments, nailed to the cross, are fixed to the walls.

He would be Risen again soon, in a month or so. Or at least symbolically. They’d have the kids making First Communion enact the Stations of the Cross, they’d sugarcoat it all and make it less violent than the story actually was.

Bruce would feel nothing like he always did and struggle to understand why.

Jesus wasn’t solving any problems. The weight of this city is on Bruce’s shoulders instead. Died for your sins and left the earth for good, checked out.

If Bruce was Jesus, he wouldn’t let himself die. He would stay.

You accused him of having a complex multiple times, especially in the suit, before you knew his identity. You always knew his delusions, though, regardless. Perhaps Jesus wouldn’t debase himself like Bruce did, give into the sins of the flesh, kill for love. But at least Bruce was staying and pushing himself and fighting the battles with the people he pledged to save.

Sacrilegious. Better than Jesus. Certainly not. That narcissism alone would earn him a spot right at Satan’s feet.

But maybe it wasn’t narcissism. It was a duty. A calling. To be better than Jesus? To do good even at the expense of doing evil to get there. Damning his own soul to save the pure.

The incense alone was going to give him a headache, never mind the thoughts racing through his mind.

Taking a deep breath, he walks behind the curtain.

“Vengeance. What do you have to say about it?” Bruce asks, sitting down in the confessional booth.

“‘Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,' says the Lord,” the priest quotes.

“Sure,” Bruce responds. “Sure. But he’s not avenging Gotham. Where’s his wrath when he we need it?”

Unless he is an agent for God and free will is an illusion and to rid the earth of Dave’s influence, to make a good man kill in his will, he had to learn to love first. Bruce. Batman. Vengeance. Acting out His wrath, doling it out so He doesn’t have to.

“Mm. Maybe it doesn’t appear to be as if he’s doing anything to you. But God works in mysterious ways. What have you done, child, that you believe requires forgiveness?”

“I hurt somebody because they hurt somebody I love,” he says simply, his sweaty hand burning a hole on his knee. He talks like he was explaining his actions to a child, mind-numbingly plain and vague.

“So you enacted revenge.”

“Yes.”

“What did you do, exactly?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “I hurt them.”

“Hm. I can’t quite absolve of your sins if I don’t know what they are.”

“That’s what you do? Absolve me?”

“Are you sorry for the sins you’ve committed against another?”

Bruce hesitates for a moment, then says, “I wish it hadn’t come to that. But no. It was premeditated. It had to happen.”

"Sorrow is half the battle, my child."

"So I'm damned," Bruce says, letting out a mirthless chuckle.

"Why don't you tell me what you've done? It weighs on you heavily. I can sense it," the priest says.

"It was a crime."

"The state is not higher than God. Whatever you tell me... I cannot repeat to the authorities. It stays between you, myself, and God."

"Oh, well, that's bullshit," he mutters, leaning back against the wall. "Someone comes in here and tells you they hit their wife. What are you going to do? Send them on their way? Not tell the police? Anybody?"

"I pray."

"Lot of good that does."

"You have a lot of anger in your heart-"

"What you're telling me is bullshit."

"Did you hit your wife?"

"No," Bruce growls, ice running through his veins. "No. I would never fucking do that. I killed a man who did."

Again. No crosses fall from the walls. God was inactive and so were his perpetrators.

"Mm... my child. Vengeance has no place in our hearts," the priest says. "And you're not sorry for this?"

"No. But you can't fucking tell anybody, right?"

"No. I can't. I am bound by my sacraments. God already knows and he is the highest authority."

"God watched that man hit his wife day in and day out. Watched him push her, break her wrists, and give her black eyes. Watched him yell at her, scream at her. Watched him hold money over her head so she couldn't leave. Watched him take the baby out of her womb with a fucking coat hanger," he seethes, heart pounding. "He did nothing. No divine intervention."

"God granted us free will. He will atone for his sins in his death, as will you, unless you atone for them now."

"I'll never be sorry," Bruce snarls. "It wasn't something I wanted to do. It was something I needed to do. I took no joy in it. But it was necessary to buy her freedom."

"Do you think you can find it in yourself to want to do better?"

"Of course. I want to do better. I never... I never want that feeling again. That's why I'm here."

"Maybe in time, you will come to see the errors of your ways."

"I killed a bad man."

"You killed a man," the priest corrects.

"I think I'm... I think I'm done here," Bruce says, shaking his head. "I... I don't think I'm going to get anything out of this."

"Go to the altar. Pray the rosary at least one time. And please return when you are ready to feel sorrow."

Wordlessly, Bruce exits the booth, taking a rosary at the exit. Unsure why he does it, he steps up to the altar, the garish lights shining down nearly blinding him. He takes the rosary, blesses himself again. The sign of the cross. He needs the prayer book to remember them, I believe in God, the Father almighty ... lies. Bruce doesn't believe in anything but himself. And you.

Our Father. forgive the one who trespasses against you, for he is the one who’d risk eternal damnation for you, with you, even without you. Bruce's own words, twisting the sanctity of the prayer, making it fit his own crimes. Hail Mary, full of grace. Ave Maria. He feels nothing. Ave Maria. He feels nothing. Ave Maria.

A-fucking-men.

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“My husband, Dave Matteson, has been missing for over a month.”

Now, Bruce is sitting at the press conference, as far in the back as he could get. Stark contrast to the church he was in days earlier. It’s a sign of solidarity to you, and maybe he’s paying his respects to the dead here, too. It’s only fair, since he’s the reason you’re here at all, giving a eulogy to a man who beat the shit out of you for years. Being exorbitantly wealthy and well-known got him access to everything without any real questions, and sitting in this seat amongst journalists and politicians alike makes him feel beyond cheap.

You’re solemn and respectful, playing this role well like you played all of your roles for this man prior. Black knee-length dress, minimal makeup, gloved hands, you seem to be going for a Jackie O vibe. Fitting you should channel her now.

“I was in the hospital when I received the news he was missing after a brief illness. I wish I knew what had happened to him within those hours, but I was very ill. I just wish… I wish he reached out to me. It’s been weeks and I haven’t heard a word. I… I… this isn’t like him. I feel as though we should fear the worst. If he was out there, breathing, I feel as though I would feel him… and I… I don’t feel anything, anymore,” you say, wiping tears with your tissue. Your father is behind you, and he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly. It’s the first time Bruce has seen him, and he looks as harrowed and shaken as you do, if not more so. The familial resemblance is clear, here, not just in looks but somewhat in the way you hold yourself as well. He wonders vaguely how much he inherited from Alfred himself, how much isn’t inherited but learned.

“While I still have hope he might return and the case is far from closed,” you continue, swallowing thickly, “I do support the change in the office of mayorship to Don Mitchell Jr. While my husband’s shoes are not easy to fill, I feel as though Mr. Mitchell will do his utmost in the interim. Gotham is in good hands. Thank you.”

You step away from the podium and hug your father, tears streaming down your face as the cameras flash away. The paparazzi were definitely getting their money’s worth for the show you were putting on today.

Not that it was a show, entirely. You are grieving. Just not for the reasons they thought.

The “interim” mayor you introduced gets up to the podium next and speaks, but Bruce tunes him out. Just another run-of-the-mill, corrupt candidate. One out of a million.

Instead, he watches you.

You still didn’t look quite like yourself, but then again, maybe he never knew you, never knew who you were when you weren’t in constant fight or flight mode. He wonders if you told your father everything, or what you decided to tell him instead of the truth. He wonders if your father knows about your entanglement with himself.

The conference ends, and Bruce knows he shouldn’t linger and that you don’t want him here, but he can’t help but stay. For the refreshments, he rationalizes to himself, but there wasn’t alcohol here in the middle of the day and he knows he’s only staying to watch. Steady on the outskirts of your life.

So, he gets a cup of water and stands next to the wall, becoming one with it, ignoring questions and comments and keeping a stoic expression whenever the cameras flashed in his face. The paparazzi gave him a hard time getting in here. Maybe it’d be best to leave last.

You’re a couple feet away, now, separated from your father, receiving condolences from others with teary eyes. But then… Carmine Falcone comes up next to you and Bruce is on high alert. Ever since this man showed up bloody on his father’s doorstep, he didn’t like him. From what little he knew, he had ties to your husband as well. Whatever he had to say couldn’t be pleasant.

Crossing the room in a few strides, he steps closer to the two of you, hoping not to be seen by either of you. You notice him immediately, eyes widening at first and then setting into a glare. Falcone has his back turned to him, and you don’t say anything to alert him of his presence, so he stays close.

“Nice show you’re putting on, girl,” Falcone says. “Hm? Who taught you how to act so well?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, setting your shoulders back.

“Oh, but I think you do. No point acting with me, sweetheart. Where is he, really? In the floorboards?”

“I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Falcone,” you respond, trying to keep your voice level. “Please allow me to grieve in peace.”

“Grieve? I don’t believe he’s been pronounced dead. You seem to have given up all hope he’ll return though, eh? What did you do to him?”

“I was in the hospital when he went missing,” you mutter, looking down at your heels.

“You know how easy it is to get medical records forged, sweetheart? I could get them like that,” he says, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes, causing you to flinch. Bruce lunges forward but you recover quickly and set your eyes on him again, a piercing gaze that says “let me handle this” without the words. Fair enough. Although he fights against every cell on his body to do so, he grants you this. For now.

“Please. Let me be,” you say, meeting Falcone’s eyes again. “This is hard enough on me as it is.”

“Yeah. The guilt must eat at you, sweetheart. Since you don’t have access to his money yet, I might have a job for you. Pimps are hiring big for pretty whores like you—“

That’s enough. That's e-fucking-nough, Bruce decides. He knows you’ll hate him for it, hate him for causing a scene but he can’t in good faith listen to this man berate you for things he didn’t know fuck all about.

“Is there a problem here?” Bruce interjects, placing a not-so-friendly hand on Falcone’s shoulder.

“Well, look who’s coming to your defense, the prince of Gotham himself, eh?“

“I don’t need the help,” you say, pridefully.

“I don’t know. Big city for a little girl like you. Might need another rich man to pay your way for you or you really will end up a street girl,” Falcone snickers. “We know your father can’t afford your lifestyle, and that little diner won’t cut it.”

“I suggest you go somewhere else,” Bruce says through gritted teeth.

“Really, Bruce, I can handle myself,” you hiss.

“Oh, you two are on first name basis? Maybe Dave was right to be suspicious of you two. I always said, you know, no way poor little recluse Bruce could score you, but maybe you are just a slut for the money, hm?” Falcone sneers.

What Bruce does next he isn’t entirely sure if he’s proud of, but his fingers are tightening around the older man’s shoulder before he can stop himself, and he’s forcing him to walk backwards until his back is against the wall. The crowd dispersed to let them through, but they were quick to follow and hear what was said, tittering and gossiping - “I wonder if he’ll hit him” and “oh, am I glad I showed up today”.

“Hey, hey, easy, boy,” Falcone chuckles. “Remember. Your father wanted me to live.”

“Leave her alone,” he says softly but sternly, staring him down.

Falcone leans against him, his breath reeking of smoke and burnt coffee, and he whispers in his ear, “Yeah? Was her pussy worth it?”

Bruce can’t feel his fingers anymore with the strength at which he’s digging them into Falcone’s suit-clad shoulder. It’s worth it, though, worth putting the fear of god into these assholes. “I’m going to say it one more time. Leave. Her. Alone.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I hear you. I’ll make sure you’re not around the next time,” he laughs.

Letting go, he makes sure to shove him back against the wall a little more forcefully than necessary, and then he pushes past the reporters, the cameras, looking for you, but you were gone, you were nowhere within his line of vision.

Your father comes over to him, putting an arm around his shoulder and walking him over to a corner. “Some scene you caused,” he says after shoving a paparazzi away that followed the two of them.

“Yeah,” Bruce mutters. “I couldn’t listen to the vile shit coming out of his mouth. Just… just tell her I’m sorry. Okay? Can you do that? I’ll see myself out now. Don’t worry.”

“She went out around the back if you want to catch her.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “She wants to talk to me?”

“Well, no,” he answers, smiling wryly. “But I think you should try. I… I want to say. Thank you. Thank you for loving my daughter through… all of that. I had no idea things were that bad. I… I loved Dave and it breaks my heart to think my daughter thought I loved him more than her. To think… to think she wouldn’t come to me? All this time… I…”

“She told you?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?” Bruce asks, anxiety running through his veins.

“She didn’t tell me what happened to him, but from the scene you just pulled, I think I can put it together,” he whispers. “Good for you. I would’ve done the same thing if I’d known.”

“I’m going… I’m going to go talk to her now,” Bruce says awkwardly, feeling sick and needing the fresh air regardless. He didn’t know what felt worse, the people justifying it to him or the fact that you still didn’t forgive him for it. So many people complicit in this crime, or in favor of it and yet the person he did it for… left him. And he knows why. He knows. You need the time alone and he should grant it to you and going to talk to you right now is on the list of stupid shit he’s done, for sure, but he does need to apologize at the very least.

Once he’s sure he’s slithered along the wall enough that he’s lost the cameras, he heads out of the building, the frigid February air cooling his skin down some. Walking along the perimeter of the building, he sees you, pacing in your heels, headphones blasting music so loud he could hear it when he got close enough to you.

“Hey,” he says gently, reaching out for your shoulder, a soft, feather light touch. Proof that he is, in fact, capable of restraint.

You startle, and turn to face him, shutting your music off and furrowing your brow at him. “I cannot fucking believe you. You just had to make a scene, didn’t you? Jesus Christ,” you snap. “We aren’t together, Bruce. We aren’t fucking together. And even if we were you can’t… you can’t fucking do that. You can’t. You can’t kill every single person who wrongs me, Bruce. I can’t fucking live like that.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t going to kill him, Christ. He shouldn’t be talking to you like that. He wasn’t going to leave you alone—“

“I know him, Bruce, fuck off. I’ve dealt with him the entire fucking time I was married to Dave and let me tell you, he’s the least of everyone’s problems. He’s just a fucking asshole. That’s it. He’s all talk but he’s harmless.”

“I don’t know if I can agree with that.”

“No, right, because every man who talks to me now, this is the shit you’re going to pull? I can’t… how fucking dumb are you? You killed him. You. And you’re making a scene at this fucking thing?”

“Shh.”

“What? You worried fucking Falcone will hear you through the walls? Jesus Christ, Bruce. Fuck off. Seriously. I cannot believe you made a fucking scene like that. Now Falcone’s going to go and tell fucking everybody who will listen that I’m fucking Bruce Wayne and—“

“You were. It’s not like he’s fucking lying.”

“Right. Well, maybe I didn’t want everybody to know. Jesus.”

“Why? Are you embarrassed of me? Huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, Bruce, and stop thinking with your dick for two seconds,” you growl, walking closer to him. “Seriously. Fuck you. I was fucking married to the most conservative man in this fucking city and you think it’s a fucking good look for me if the whole fucking city thinks I fucked you while I was married to him, and then he fucking died on top of it? Jesus fucking Christ. Why don’t I just suck you off in public? Right? Give them another show. Yeah?”

“Listen. Your feelings are justified—“

“That’s the other fucking thing, too, I keep going over in my head, right? Are you going to kill every fucking man who beats their wife? Are you? I fucking don’t think so and I… I can’t handle that. I can’t handle being… I can’t handle being loved that much. Fuck. I can’t. It’s… it’s too much,” you say, backing away from him.

“But I do. I do love you that much,” he says quietly, reaching out for your hand. “I’d do it again. I’d die for you—“

“Bruce. Love me less, then. Love me less,” you say, looking up at him pleadingly.

“I can’t,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb over your hand, aching for more contact, aching to reach out and hug you and press you to his chest and breathe in your perfume and kiss you and make you feel good again, press his body into yours, make you remember how you loved him, too.

“I… I can’t. I can’t do this. Fuck. I can’t. I need to… I need to leave Gotham. I thought I could do this, I thought… but I… I… fuck. I can’t do this.”

“You can. And you will. This is your city. His memory shouldn’t drive you out of your home.”

“It’s not him, Bruce, it’s you,” you say, blinking tears out of your eyes. “I told you I needed space and you pull this shit?”

“It’s almost been a month. You haven’t even called me. It’s like you cut me off, like you don’t want anything to do with me,” he says, his voice cracking, breaking like glass shattering on the pavement.

“I told you I needed space, Bruce.”

“Okay,” he says, letting go of your hand, keeping his hand out by his waist. “Okay. I’ll leave.”

Leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. He’s never known what it was like to miss people who are still alive; grieving for the living. It’s a different kind of ache, a gnawing pain every time he reaches for the phone and doesn’t call you, every time he sees articles about you in the newspaper, every time he reminisces about the good times the two of you have had, every time he drives by the diner. Still out there but so unattainable.

“You’re not leaving,” you say, drawing him out of his reverie, and he had stayed, staring at you, at your face in the sun, at the way you changed, at the way you held yourself now, shoulders straight back instead of cowered down.

You aren’t terrified of being alive anymore.

He did the right thing.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I just… I don’t know when I’ll see you again. I’m trying to make this last.”

“Bruce….”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too,” you say, looking up at him, your eyes squinting a little in the sunlight. “I don’t expect you to wait for me to be ready. I don’t.”

“What are you… what are you talking about?”

“I still need more time.”

“Okay. And I said I would be here.”

“I don’t expect you to wait, Bruce.”

“Why? Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because. I’m a mess, Bruce. I… I was inpatient," you say, frazzled. "My therapist committed me. I was… I had a plan. I was going to… never mind. It doesn’t matter what I was going to do. That’s why I didn’t call you. I… I didn’t want you to worry or try to visit me or… whatever. I just got out. Two days ago. And then they dragged me to this shit.”

“I’m glad you got help. But you can always talk to me.”

“But I can’t… I’m still not stable, Bruce.”

“Then… okay. I can wait.”

“But you want a family. You want a wife and kids and I can’t do that. Not now, maybe not ever.”

“I only wanted that with you,” he says gently. “I only wanted that because it was you. I never thought I would get any of these things before I met you.”

“I took them away.”

“You didn’t get rid of the baby. He did.”

“I should have told you. I should have been more careful,” you say, looking down.

Testing out boundaries, he brings his hand to your cheek, brushing hair behind your ear. You raise your head and you don’t push him away, in fact, you lean into his hand. The two of you stay like that for a few moments until Bruce whispers, “You can’t blame yourself for this. Okay? You can’t keep carrying around this guilt. I’m upset just like you are that we didn’t get to know this baby and raise them and love them. But it wasn’t your fault.”

“I knew it wasn’t wasn’t safe. I knew that,” you say, lip trembling. “I knew trying to get out would be hard enough without being pregnant, too.”

“Okay. But you did what you did. It’s over. I forgive you. I was never going to hold it against you,” Bruce tells you.

“Every time I look at you I just… I feel like I killed part of you. What if they looked like you and—“

“Shh. Shh,” he says, cutting you off. Taking his hand from your cheek, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s over. He’s gone.”

“Yeah. But you… to do that, to kill him, to end his life? What goes through your head, Bruce? I just don’t get it.”

“To protect the woman I love and my future family. Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s antithetical to whatever I’m trying to do as Batman. It was because I love you.”

“Right,” you say, pulling away from his embrace. You cross your arms over your chest. “Murder out of love, justified, because you love me more than you hate him? I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you happy he’s gone? Aren’t you happy you don’t have to go home and be afraid of what mood he’ll be in? Aren’t you better off?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. But not at this price.”

“You’re not paying anything.”

“I… I corrupted you. I made you like this, like me. You were so… innocent, before. Pure. And I… I fucked you and made a child with you that I got killed and you killed somebody for me. I damned you to hell with me.”

“Well, we better make the most of this, then,” he says, shrugging. “We’ve got a long eternity of hellfire ahead of us.”

You laugh in spite of yourself, always in favor of dark humor. “Right. Live it up before the eons-long barbecue.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Do you believe in any of that anyway?” you ask.

“I don’t know. But I’m not basing my decisions on the place I might go after I die. I’m basing my decisions based on the consequences they’ll have on the people and the city I care about. What I know exists.”

“How logical."

"I went to confessional," he admits. "I felt nothing."

You roll your eyes. "Maybe actual therapy?"

"A therapist could report me to the authorities, though," he points out. "But I see your point."

"You don't have to tell them everything, obviously. But I think you should go."

"Okay. Whatever you want. I just... I just want you back. I'm trying so hard not to be pushy about this because I know what you asked for but I miss you and-"

Your lips are on his and your hand is in his hair and you are so close to him and he forgets everything - the words that were going to come out of his mouth, what he was doing here at this building - all mush. He kisses you back, pulling your body closer to his than you already were, relishing in the feel of your mouth on his again, remembering the first time you kissed when you took him by surprise and how you were doing it again and you'd do it again and again.

God be damned.

"You still love me?" he asks quietly, holding on to your healed wrist after you pull away from his mouth.

"Who said I stopped?" you respond. "But fuck. That's why I said I needed space. I can't be around you."

"We can... we can heal from this together. We don't need to be separated."

"I need to live alone, Bruce. I do. We're not starting this cohabited. My dad is taking me to look at apartments tomorrow."

"Can we still... can we still talk, then? Can I call you?" he asks.

"I'll call you. Okay? Just... I still need time."

"Okay."

"I love you, Bruce," you say, and it's the first time he's heard those words in over a month, enough to bring the prickles of tears to his eyes. "You just have to let me do this."

"I killed to let you do this. I'm okay," he says. "I love you, too."

Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law.

#the batman 2022 #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #the batman #batman x you #bruce wayne x you #batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne/reader #batman/reader #battinson x you #battinson x reader #Battinson

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denimbex1986 · 10 months

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'Welcome to being a movie fan in the 21st Century, folks. It's not a new phenomenon for the weeks and months leading up to a major blockbuster to be filled with all sorts of hot takes and rampant speculation, but never have we been subjected to that through constant, unfiltered social media reactions. Sometimes, it takes the form of really fun and organic viral sensations (happy #Barbenheimer, one and all!) but, other times, you find yourself staring at a series of ill-informed and wildly off-base tweets making up the wildest claims about a movie — a movie which many of those opinionated individuals haven't even seen yet. "Oppenheimer," for better and worse, has been subject to both extreme ends of the spectrum.

That's not exactly a new development for Christopher Nolan, a director who has inadvertently attracted the most vocal movie fans out there. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone without strong opinions on his "The Dark Knight" trilogy, but even his various original and non-IP films have given audiences a roadmap to tap into his biggest interests, fears, and fixations. That means the inevitable passage of time, recurring portrayals of dead wives/girlfriends, and the fact that the vast majority of his movies embody a very white perspective and worldview.

This is all present and accounted for in "Oppenheimer," admittedly, but a new wrinkle has been added to the mix. Ahead of Nolan's most overtly political film yet, certain segments of moviegoers have sounded the alarm bells and embraced a narrative that his interpretation of the life of J. Robert Oppenheimer, "Father of the Atomic Bomb," might somehow justify the horrific killings of hundreds of thousands of innocents. Thankfully, those unfounded fears were never even a remote possibility in the first place.

'The power to destroy ourselves'

Somebody once wrote a line of dialogue about how "You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain," put it in their breakout superhero movie, and all but predicted how bad-faith detractors would attempt to take him down a peg for years to come. Was Chris Nolan a self-fulfilling prophet? A student of history? Or was he just someone with the common sense to look around him and recognize what was what?

If the past really is our best signifier of the future, then it feels truly misguided to look at the filmmaker's past body of work and jump to conclusions that "Oppenheimer" would take the most didactic approach of them all. Not that anyone as privileged as Nolan needs us to circle the wagons on his behalf, but he's clearly made a career out of taking the moral quandaries inherent within complex, oftentimes contradictory characters and testing these to their breaking point in the most extreme of circumstances. After all, that's how we end up with movies about Bruce Wayne becoming an outlaw to save Gotham City, a pair of dueling magicians losing themselves in their obsessions, and a profoundly broken, guilt-ridden man committing an illegal mind heist to be reunited with his kids. Even "Dunkirk," arguably the most straightforward tale of heroism in Nolan's filmography, ends not on the stirring image of a captured British warplane essentially burning in effigy, but a disconcerting close-up on the soldier who only just barely survived this ordeal realizing he'll soon be shipped out to face even greater dangers to come.

Does any of this suggest a storyteller who'd strip the horror out of the most horrific act in human warfare ... or, instead, interpret it as yet another cautionary tale?

'American Prometheus'

For the moment, forget the fact that "American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer," the imposing biography written by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin that "Oppenheimer" is based on, refuses to pull any punches about the complicated legacy of its subject matter. Set aside the reams of documented, historical evidence that the United States' pretext for dropping the bombs on Japan was considered flimsy, even at the time. No, there's an even simpler explanation as to why "Oppenheimer" never even entertained the notion of being a "pro-nuclear bomb" movie: Where would any of the conflict or drama be in that?

There's a reason why the film begins with the haunting quote about the Greek god Prometheus stealing the fire of the gods and gifting it to us mere mortals ... only to be subsequently punished for eternity. Naturally, we then open on a young Oppenheimer already feeling tortured by visions of the quantum universe that only he can see — visions that, disturbingly, resemble violent nuclear explosions. Human nature, the film is practically screaming at its audience right from its earliest moments, will always trend towards self-destruction. Not only is this the quintessential archetype of a Nolan protagonist, but it's also the only dramatic interpretation of Oppenheimer's life that would merit devoting three whole hours to diving into his psychology.

There's a hypothetical, made-up version of "Oppenheimer" that would've actually lined up with the one concocted in the minds of the skeptics — one that's nothing but flag-waving jingoism (probably made by the same folks behind "Sound of Freedom") about how great America is at winning wars and proving doubters wrong. But the much richer text we received instead dares to confront horrible truths about our worst instincts. Because why else make this movie?

'Theory will take you only so far'

A little more than halfway through "Oppenheimer," after reports of Hitler's self-inflicted death and the fall of Nazi Germany come trickling in, the script goes out of its way to literalize the main conceit of the film. After Oppenheimer crashes a meeting of colleagues to discuss the effects of their "gadget" on the wider world, Nolan stages an actual debate about the ethics of dropping the atomic bombs on Japan. Informed that Japan's defeat seems "imminent" and that using their invention would inflict untold harm upon the world, Oppenheimer counters that world leaders can only "fear" and "understand" the weapon if they use it. When he offers up his pie-in-the-sky belief that all war will be unthinkable in a post-nuclear bomb world, the tepid applause his speech inspires only underlines his naïveté and denial.

Ever wonder how "Oppy" could convince himself to continue his work while compartmentalizing the devastating effects it would inevitably have on innocents caught in the blast? So does physicist Niels Bohr (Kenneth Branagh), who bestows the "American Prometheus" title on Oppenheimer and calls for international nuclear disarmament. So does the security council, when Roger Robb (Jason Clarke) calls out Oppenheimer's hypocrisy over when exactly he first began to develop "moral qualms" about his work.

There are approximately dozens of examples like this throughout the mammoth runtime, where "Oppenheimer" doesn't really tip its hand so much as it slaps us in the face with the cold reality of the entire Manhattan Project. Theory will only take you so far, Oppenheimer's friend Ernest Lawrence (Josh Hartnett) puts it early on. If only those who assumed this adaptation would be "pro-nuke" followed that advice, set their prejudgment aside, and just ... watched the movie.'

#Oppenheimer #Christopher Nolan #The Dark Knight Trilogy #American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer #Kai Bird #Martin J. Sherwin #Ernest Lawrence #Josh Hartnett #Roger Robb #Jason Clarke #Niels Bohr #Kenneth Branagh

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meritatem · 10 months

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The thing about the kind of life that Bruce roped his family into is that there was no time to just stop and grieve.

His father never stopped not because he didn't grieve, but because grieving is all he did and from there he took the motivation to be able keep going forward. Damian understood that aspect of him better now, it was what keep him alive the years it took him to figure out a way to come back.

But even with all of that, he wasn't like his father, not truly.

The day after Damian had to let go the only real opportunity he had to connect him with Dick, Alfred informed him in the middle of breakfast that they would be relocating to the penthouse. Damian talked about the practicality of it all with disinterest, acting like this was just another normal day for him but when he was done eating, instead of following his usual routine, he decided to go to a place in the Wayne Estate where he hadn't been in a long time.

That's how he found himself in front of Thomas and Martha's tombstones.

“Grandfather, grandmother, I'm sorry for not visiting sooner. As you can assume, things are a bit hectic at the moment.”

He always liked the family cemetery, it was peaceful and the trees surrounding it were the perfect home for a small variety of birds; Damian usually went there to see his grandparents' gravestones and share his many complaints about his father, because if someone needed to hear Bruce's less than stellar traits, surely would be his own parents. He also liked to go there to just relax under the shadow of a tree, drawing in his sketchbook or reading a book.

And even if later the cemetery became a place he usually saw a lot in his nightmares, Damian still held appreciation for it.

“I thought it was right to inform you that we are moving to the penthouse in the Wayne Foundation Building, but I'll make time to visit so you won't be lonely.”

He didn't mean for his own words to evoke past memories, so short-lived in the mess that was his mind but he could still remember Thomas' firm hand on his shoulder and the proud look in his eyes; Martha's sweet voice and her warm arms around him.

Damian wasn't sure what possessed him to do what he did next, but he took a couple of steps back and turned around, putting his hands over where his diaphragm was and just let himself fall, right between his grandparents graves. He didn't even wince when he hit the ground, not only because he knew how to fall but because there were worse surfaces to hit than grass.

The weather was pleasantly mild and the sky was bright without a single cloud in sight. It was such a nice day to laid with the dead.

Damian closed his eyes and thought about coffins and burials, about his former grave in this same cemetery: a destroyed headstone, an empty hole in the ground and no memories of being in his own casket. Contrarily to that, he remember what it was like to be buried alive and forced to escape under one of the many trails of the League; remembered the stone sarcophagus where Deathwing trapped him into and the pain of breaking the lid with his own forehead to escape; he remembered battling reanimated corpses in some of Gotham's catacombs during his nightmarish time as Batman, only to escape as he blew everything to make his own exit.

He remembered being ten and waking up in Hell after his fight against The Heretic. He remembered being dead and escaping it.

Damian spent years thinking about who he really was, if he was just condemned to be forever in-between whatever his parents wanted him to be and somehow always failing them both. But right now, at that instant, surrounded by dead relatives he never met and with his grandparents tombstones looming over him, it was never been clearer who he was.

Damian was a survivor.

He was still here.

Even when he knew Damian was waiting for him - after all it was Alfred the one that informed him that the kid was “requesting” his presence -, Dick still froze a little when he saw the Batcomputer's chair rotate with Damian in it, looking like a little villain in a spy's movie: elbows over the chair's arms, hands almost up to his face with just the tip of each finger making contact with its opposite.

“Grayson,” he said, while inclining his head in greeting. “I've been waiting for you.”

Of course Damian knew what kind of impression he was giving and he would've considered, in any other occasion, to keep with the act just to see Grayson's reaction for his own amusement but he had to be quick in case Drake chose to come down earlier than usual, because he wasn't in the mood to deal with him today.

“Sit down,” he ordered before vacating the seat with a jump. “I need to show you something before I go.”

Grayson raised his eyebrows with a somewhat doubtful look. “Hello to you too, Damian,” to his credit, he did sat in the chair without resistance. “What's this about?”

Damian didn't respond immediately, choosing to move in front to the computer's panel. “Pennyworth told me we're changing headquarters, is a smart move, being in the city will be beneficial for our response time.”

Dick resisted to urge to disagree because that wasn't the reason, but he didn't think it was a good idea if he started to talk about his insecurities about the cowl.

“Let me finish explain first and then you can ask questions.” A schematic showing the design of a Batman suit appeared on the center screen. “I'm sure you have something in mind for your suit but I want to submit this for your consideration, I designed it to appeal to your strengths so is built around mobility, although I have to admit is not as good as the Nightwing suit in that aspect.” He typed a couple of times and various parts of the suit with their corresponding annotations were highlighted on the screen. “As you can see here, I considered additional protection for your weaker spots.” The next thing he showed on the screen was something Dick hadn't expected to see in relation to Batman: his escrima sticks and two different ways to be incorporated in the suit. “You're very proficient with these. I know you can't add them to Batman's fighting style so soon after being absent but maybe in the future you'll want to use them again after you're settled. I'll leave the complete blueprints at your disposition, maybe you'll find use for something in there.”

Damian would like to say that this simplified description of his work was for Grayson's benefit, who once told him sometimes simpler explanations were best, but truthfully it was for his own, because he wanted to get over with this as soon as possible as to no dwell too much in what all of this really meant for him, especially when the next schematic he showed in the monitor was of his Batmobile, because even if the design was his father's, Damian had been the one who adapted it and made it work.

“Father was working on a flying Batmobile, I know you'll have doubts but I assure you, I'm capable of making this a reality. Or in terms you'll understand,” and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “This is the equivalent of a Lego set for me. I'll start working on this tomorrow, if I can't finish before we move I'll do it once we're in the bunker.” Damian turned, taking a couple of steps away to give Dick room to rotate the chair and put his hands behind his back with certain solemnity. “Well then, that's all. Do you have any questions?”

Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn't for Dick to look at him with bewilderment, like Damian was speaking this entire time in a language he didn't understand. “I, ah, how,” seeing Grayson's flounder for words was less funny when the only thing Damian wanted at the moment was to go away. “Alfred just told you today.” He finally managed to say. “I know Bruce is your dad but this is ridiculous.”

In the past any comparison with his father would make Damian proud, even when it was in a negative context, but now... now it just felt meaningless. “Don't be dense, Grayson, I started working on this a couple of days after I got here.”

Dick ran one hand through his hair, still looking at Damian like he was being odd. “Why?”

Considering that Damian was giving up something he deeply cherished - his place as Grayson's Robin -, he allowed himself a moment of weakness, so he slowly extended his right arm and brought his hand closer to Dick's face. It was a bittersweet feeling when Grayson didn't flinch, so unlike the first few days when his guard was always up in Damian's proximity.

“I always knew you would be Batman.” He gave him enough time to react, but when Dick didn't move, Damian very gently flicked his forehead. “That's the kind of fool you are.”

His Richard would've been static at such display of childish antics, but this Grayson kept unmoving, still looking at him mystified but at least that made it easier for Damian to just back away, ready to finally go away and pretend he could leave all of this behind but he barely took a few steps when Dick sprung on his feet, reaching with this hand in Damian's direction, like he was trying to get a hold of him.

“No, Damian, wait, wait.” The urgency in Dick's voice made Damian frown in confusion so he turned in time to see Dick embarrassedly withdraw his hand. “Just give me a second.”

Damian knew well enough what a troubled Grayson looked like, so he waited for him to collect his thoughts. For some reason Dick decided that his next point would be best given if he walked the steps separating him from Damian to then kneel in front of him to put himself to his level. Damian had never been a fan of this particular practice because as a child it didn't make him feel in equal standing but patronized instead, sadly Dick didn't have a way to know that, so he would excuse him this time.

“I don't want you to think I'm not grateful, I am. But I want you to understand that you don't have to do this, I know Alfred said that thing about earning your keep but we're not going to withhold necessities or give you punishments if you don't want to do any of this vigilante stuff.” And he shook his head a little with frustration. “Hell, you're ten, you definitely shouldn't be doing any of this,” and at Damian's deep scowl, he raised both of his hands in a peace gesture. “I know you are capable but what I'm trying to say is that you can stop, you're not in the League, you don't have to earn the right to stay here or prove anything to us.”

Instead of a sigh, Damian pinched the bridge of his nose.

Seriously, these damn people. Why everybody in this cursed mansion was so bent on in making Damian's life more difficult? Why every time he tried to do something, no one could just go along with it? Was a "you made a reasonable point Damian, you can go now" really that hard to say? No, they had to ask questions or throw accusations or make assumptions. Damian was so tired of dealing with feelings - his and everyone else's -, even when they were positive, because he had to admit it was agreeable seeing Dick worrying about him, even if it was the result of a moral obligation and nothing else.

“Grayson,” he said with the same intone of a tired parent. “Your concern is noted but unnecessary, now that my life is free of my mother's control I want for my decisions to be respected and my judgement to be trusted.”

Standing there in his league uniform, hood pulled over his head and domino mask on, Damian looked like the epitome of composure and how tragic that was? With everything that was happening, the ten-year-old was the only one in the house to have it all together and that was the crux of the matter, because it was easy to forget that Damian was a child even with his small size, his squeaky voice and his round cheeks.

What the League did to him was something Dick would never be able to erase and the most humane thing he could do for Damian was to keep him away from this lifestyle. It would be simple to argue he was just a child, abused and brainwashed and thus unable to know what was the best for him, but to do so would not only be a complete disregard of Damian's intellect, the pain he went through at the League's hands and negate his newfound autonomy too.

Dick wished things were as simple as to being white and black but there wasn't a right answer for this situation, only something akin to choosing the lesser evil and whatever that ends looking up like, he could only hope that at the end of everything, it was the best choice for Damian.

Dick decided to stand up, having the unexpected urge to hug him but knowing it was something Damian wouldn't appreciate. “I meant it, Damian, you can stop any time you want.” He insisted more softly. “As long as you want it you'll always have a place here, it doesn't depend in your willingness to help us fight crime.”

“I understood the first time, the repetition is redundant not reassuring.”

Dick chuckled and resisted the urge to ruffle Damian's hair because he knew that would be unwelcomed too. “Sometimes redundancy is good.”

“If you have poor attention span.”

“Maybe you should tell me things twice just to be safe.” All he got from his attempt at humor was an unimpressed look but even that was good enough answer. “I'm going to be honest, I'm not really sure where we stand with each other but I want to make clear that Alfred is not the only one you can talk to, whatever this is we're doing, we're in it together and I'm here if you need me, even if I haven't done a great job at showing it these past weeks.”

Damian allowed himself to clench his jaw and grind his teeth slightly before forcing himself to relax, hoping the sudden tension in his body hadn't been too obvious. “Is too early to be this sentimental, you don't even know me.”

“I know but I want to, if that's alright with you, I mean, even if we're not Batman and Robin, we're still a team.”

At this point Damian will have to force his departure, because he didn't want to end up with Grayson proposing arbitrary things like playdates in the name of getting to know him better, so he just threw a dismissing gesture with his hand. “If by that you mean I'm going to closely supervise your performance as Batman, sure. Now, if you excuse me, I've got places to be.”

And without a second glance he finally turned around and literally ran off, completely ignoring Dick's new pleas to wait. Such behavior mas so uncharacteristic of him but it didn't matter because no one had memories of the person he used to be, and Damian had enough of this heart-to-heart nonsense for the night... no, not just for the night, the week, the month, the rest of the year, even!

The next day he intentionally oversleep. He woke up on his own roughly at the time he had to and decided it wasn't worth it, so he fought with himself to get back to sleep. He deserved a break before moving forward with the next step of his plan; that was another conversation he needed to have, but one that was so complex it would make his most recent encounter with Drake pale, but unlike him or Grayson, the person he needed to talk to had proven to be the most reasonable man Damian had the honor of conversing with. So, hours later when Alfred - naturally worried by his absence - came to his room, he found him still in bed, even though he had woken up as soon as he heard him in the hallway, no matter how quiet the butler had tried to be.

“Good afternoon, Master Damian,” Alfred said even when it was barely past nine. “Are you feeling unwell?” He added at Damian's lack of response.

Damian would've love to say that in fact, yes, he had been feeling unwell for the past few years, thank you for asking, but instead he pushed the covers aside and sat on the bed looking at the floor for a few seconds like he could find answers in it.

Time and time again, people, circumstances and the world he was born into disappointed him in ways he could never voice and even when things became sour between them at Damian's own actions, Alfred never became one of those disappointments.

“Pennyworth,” he finally said and waited a moment before turning his gaze to look at him with absolute resolution. “I need your discretion and your help.” He got up, back firmly straightened and closed fists at his sides. “There's something you should know.”

⪻Chapter 5

Chapter 7⪼

#f.r.w.#chap6

3 notes · View notes

honeycombstrawberry · 2 years

Text

make a good man turn bad

pairing: bruce wayne x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: m (vague references to torture, possessive behavior)

word count: 5,337

one-sentence synopsis: you didn't think bruce was coming, but he wasn't going to stop until he found you again.

author's note: ohhhhh man. oh shit i love the requests you guys sent me i combined a BUNCH for this one i hope you love this!!!!!

>>> read on ao3! <<<

Bruce isn’t coming.

You really— You really thought he was going to come.

At first, you fully believed he was coming. You knew it, you knew, he just— He had to be coming. There was no other option. For somebody like Bruce, you really thought you were sure that he wouldn’t stop until he found you again. You thought you meant something to him. You thought that, even if he was only recovering your body, he would have found you.

You thought he might have loved you the way you loved him.

You’re realizing now that you thought wrong.

As each day passes— Or, as what you believe is each day passes, since you don’t have any windows to see the sunlight through— and Bruce doesn’t come, you start to get— worried. You don’t doubt Bruce, but you can’t help but doubt yourself.

What if he can’t find me? you think. What if he doesn’t want to? What if he hasn’t even realized I’m gone? What if he doesn’t care?

You know he cares about people. You know you do. It’s just that you aren’t always sure that you’re worth caring about in the first place. You put so, so much work in with Bruce to help him learn to love again, to open himself up to a friend, to make himself vulnerable to being hurt by being willing to have a connection with another person. He is loved— even if Bruce doesn’t necessarily know you’re in love with him— and you truly believed he loved you in return.

Maybe he does love you, a tiny part of your brain considers. Maybe he just can’t find you. Maybe he won’t find you in time and that won’t even matter. Maybe you should have said something and now you’ll never get the chance.

You’re not sure which option is worse.

With each maybe-day you spend confined in your cell, you grow more certain that Bruce isn’t going to come. You don’t know why, and you try to let go of reasons. It’s more important that you embrace the inevitable, find peace within yourself.

You only wish you’d confessed to Bruce.

Or— maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe confessing your feelings to him, and having him reciprocate them, would only be hurting him now. You think you could have really had something, though. You think Bruce might have embraced you, and enjoyed his time with you, and seen you as a boon to him rather than a horror waiting to happen. It’s one of the only thoughts that gives you pleasure, and it’s double-edged with pain, laced through with poison. It hurts to think about what could have been when you’re growing increasingly certain you’ll never get it.

At least he’ll have Selina. It must be her that he keeps going to see, she must be the reason he’s not spending as much time with you, and he knows, he must know, but— You never had a chance to just— be honest. You could have ended it, or figured it out. You could have asked where he went all those nights he wasn’t with you in Gotham. You could have told Bruce you wanted him, that you were right there, that he didn’t have to be with someone else, that he could have you.

You want to live. You want to live. If for no other reason than— than positive reinforcement, you have to stay alive. You need to show Bruce that reaching out to others, that making a connection, that feeling love for another person, will not always be met with hurt. You need to show him your love for him is more than he ever knew about. You have to be honest, because you didn’t realize how strongly you’d regret not having been, in your last moments.

You have to live. For yourself, for him, for— for— anything that matters, you don’t care, you just have to live. With each day that you become more certain that Bruce isn’t coming, you become similarly determined to get out of this alive. It’s a sick back-and-forth, when you know you really can’t have one without the other. All the same, you’re dead set on getting out of here alive.

It really can’t be that long since you were initially captured. Not too much time could have passed between then and now, you’re sure of it. Maybe— a little over a week, or close to two? Not more than that.

That doesn’t mean, however, that nothing has happened to you. There has been plenty of time since the moment you were captured after leaving work in downtown Gotham to hurt you in a creative variety of ways. Because you’d been knocked unconscious to transport you, you don’t know where you are, or even how long you traveled for.

All you know is you felt a searing pain while you were walking down the sidewalk, and then you woke up in a dark cell, on a tile floor, against rough, scraping stone walls. A few times a day, someone comes in and—

—does—

—anything they can to try and get you to give up information about Batman, but—

—you won’t—

—They know, though.

They know you know him. They know you’re close to him, that’s why they targeted you in the first place. You’re not even entirely certain who they are, exactly— not positive which of the several Gotham gangs or maniacs that you and Bruce have managed to piss off has you captive now— but it ultimately doesn’t matter. You won’t tell them anything. You work with Batman; you’re in love with Bruce. You’re not sacrificing either of them.

The amount of time between each visit from your torturers is uneven, always changing. They don’t give you much to go by, but— you’re thinking, even now, that it’s been a while since the last time they came to check on you.

When the thought occurs to you, you lift your head. It’s the first spark of feeling you’ve felt in a little while, though you’d hesitate before calling it hope. All this is is a sign of something different happening, but that is, at least, an opportunity; maybe you can use this time wisely, to search for some weakness in your cell, some flaw in the room you can exploit. They haven’t given you any furniture except your bed and toilet, but— maybe you can yank the toilet out, find a pipe—

There’s a shattering bang in the distance, the sound of— maybe glass falling apart. It sounds like it’s blowing apart, maybe, an explosive sort of noise. You back yourself against the wall beside your bed automatically, shoulders hunching. The idea of them using glass on you again is overwhelming, in the moment. You’re never given enough time to heal from your last session before they hurt you again; you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

For a while, you think it’s silent. Listening harder, though, you slowly realize there are sounds, they’re just far away. Though your heart is pounding, you force yourself to uncurl, pushing to your feet, climbing out of your stiff bed.

Your knees buckle, for a moment, but you get your legs under you so you can venture closer to the heavy door of your cell. There’s only a small slit you can see through. You’ve been punished for trying to look through it before, but— really, what’s the worse they can do, at this point? You’ll either die here or you won’t.

You push up onto the balls of your feet so you can peer through that tiny slit. You adjust to the light in the hallway, squinting until you can see properly, looking for something, but— You don’t see anything.

After a beat, you realize that’s strange. There should be guards here. Even if they moved away for a moment, it should only be seconds before one of them comes back and notices you here and comes to punish you for this, but nobody ever comes. You wait, listening to the faraway sounds of what might be— fighting? maybe? you can’t quite tell— and still, you never see anybody.

That dawning hope starts to return again, though you’re still afraid to feel it. You don’t want to start preparing to leave just to be hurt worse than before, but then you realize— maybe, either way, this way, you’ll be done here. You’ll get out one way or another. You can do this.

You can hear the sounds of the fight growing closer. Maybe somebody’s stormed this place, you think, or they’re looking for a prisoner of their own. The cries you’re hearing sound agonized, but none of them are familiar.

Desperate, you start preparing yourself for a fight. You’re not sure how long you’ll last, but you’re willing to try and fight, anyway. It’s better than staying here and being tortured for information you’re never going to give up for another day. There’s no point to this, and you won’t waste what’s left of your short life here.

You reach behind the toilet tank, grabbing the small knife— if you can even call it that— that you’ve cared yourself out of a rock you wiggled loose from the wall. Brandishing that, you wait by the door for movement, sound, anything at all.

You can hear the fighting drawing closer, and closer, and you grip your makeshift stone knife in your hand, waiting. Your heart is racing; you feel almost dizzy, your head rushing, but you keep yourself upright.

When you hear pounding boots in the corridor outside, you whisper hastily through the door, “Please, if you— If you’re not one of them, please, help me, I don’t—”

The person says your name. You’re bewildered, and even more confused by the agony in their tone, the pain laced through your name as it leaves their mouth. It takes a beat for you to recognize that familiar voice as Bruce’s, but then you’re relaxing, so suddenly and so viciously that you actually laugh out loud, a breathless huff.

“Oh, my God,” you breathe. You can feel yourself getting dizzier as the adrenaline starts to leave you, your body and mind instinctively realizing you’re safe as soon as you heard Bruce speak. “You came. You found me.”

There’s a beat before Bruce says, “Of course I did,” barely loud enough for you to hear. You sob, tearlessly dehydrated, clutching your knife to your chest. “Stand back.”

You hastily do as he says, forcing your numb legs to move until you’re on the bed again. There’s a small, rapid series of ticktickticktickticks, and then the door’s exploding inward. You shout wordlessly, covering your face with your arms against the heat and the shards.

In less than a heartbeat, Bruce is in the room, rushing to you. You see him in a sweep of shadows in the darkness, a blur as he comes to your side, finding your face with his gloved hands.

“You’re alive,” he says. Though he’s got the cowl on and everything, he doesn’t sound like Batman. He barely even sounds like Bruce; he sounds broken, shattered. There’s blood coming from his nose, splattered down across the bat on his chest; his eyes are red-rimmed and wet, the black smudged around them smeared with tears and sweat and blood.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” you rush to assure him. You need him to know that, at least; you never gave him up, never told them anything. “I swear, B— I swear, I didn’t—”

“I know,” Bruce says, and reaches up, cradling your face between his hands, grip tight. “Hey. I know.”

He stares down at you for a moment, the hardest he’s ever looked at you. It’s as though he’s trying to consume you with his eyes, like he doesn’t truly believe you’re here, like he can’t actually look away from you. You wonder if maybe you’re asleep, or maybe if you already did die, but— you’re in too much pain for this to not be real.

You remember how strong your regret had been. It’s maybe the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you think, if you don’t do this now, you never will.

“I love you,” you tell Bruce.

His lips part, just slightly. His eyes meet yours, perfectly focused for a moment before they drop to your mouth, and then lift again. He starts to respond, but you cut him off.

“I’m in love with you,” you tell him, just to be sure, absolutely certain, that he understands what you mean. “And it’s okay if you don’t want me. I just had to tell you. It made me…” Your vision’s starting to get fuzzy again, your mind spacing out a bit. It takes concentration to remember what you were saying, your brow furrowing as you stare up at Bruce’s face behind his cowl, at the bright, confused, agonized look in his eyes. “I felt so sad thinking you wouldn’t know that if I died. So. Now you know. Even if you don’t love me, too.”

“(Y/N),” Bruce says, choked. He reaches for you, and you think you reach back, but your limbs feel sluggish. The rush of your body struggling to keep itself conscious when you’re still in so much pain, and still untreated, is becoming overwhelming after the terrified burst of adrenaline you just experienced.

You try to grab onto him, but you can’t get your fingers to work. You can’t even get yourself to speak. You would be more afraid, if you could get yourself to feel anything, but you’re slowly fading, growing exhausted.

Bruce reaches down and sweeps you up into his arms. Your face presses into the hard planes of his chest plate; you can feel the edge of the bat near the corner of your mouth. Your eyes drift shut as he carries you.

Above you, Bruce says, “Wake up,” and your eyes slide open again. It’s nearly impossible, but you make yourself do it, fighting through the overwhelming exhaustion, the haze in your brain, the tingling in your limbs. “Stay awake. Look at me.”

You do as he says, dragging your eyes up to look at his face. From your angle, you see the underside of his chin in the cowl, the curve of his mouth, the ears above the darkness, the glide of his cape behind him as he runs. You’re not sure he’s ever run so fast. If you’d been out on a normal night together and he ran like this, you probably would’ve complimented him on it.

Now, you only feel distantly grateful that Bruce is trying to save you when you’re incapable of saving yourself.

It occurs to you belatedly that Bruce never responding, really, to your confession. With a frown, you tell him, feeling distantly upset, “I… B… ‘M’sorry.”

“No, don’t,” Bruce replies. He shakes his head, glances down at you briefly before he looks back up, focused on running. You can’t even tell where you are, everything a smear in your vision except for him. “Don’t be sorry. You’ll be alright.”

You try to tell him you’re sorry for what you said, but you used up the last of your vocal energy, it seems. You can’t get the words to come, try as you might.

You’re also falling back towards sleep. Above you, Bruce is speaking again, but your hearing is getting worse. You try to listen, but you can barely hear him.

You reach up for his face. You’re not even entirely sure if your arms are moving, but you do try. You tell him, “I really did love you,” or you hope you do, anyway, and you let yourself fall asleep.

It’s a heavy sleep. It’s an absolute sleep. When you start to come out of it, you don’t know if you dreamt, but you know you weren’t aware. You don’t know how long you’ve slept, but you know you’ve slept, and for a moment you don’t remember leaving that place, and you’re sure you’ve woken up there—

There’s a rapid beeping near you, and your eyes fly open. A hand touches your cheek, and you jerk back away from it, terrified.

“Oh, no, darling,” a voice says. You frown, twisting to look back and up, and you find Alfred at your bedside. His hand is halfway between you both, fingers just barely outstretched, no longer touching you. He looks horribly apologetic when he tells you, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you alright?”

You nod automatically. “Sorry,” you tell him, voice rasping.

“No, no,” Alfred says. He moves to your bedside, retrieving a small white teacup he has there. He brings it to your lips, tells you, “Drink. It’s only warm water.”

You part your lips, letting him give you the water. He told the truth, it is warm, and it feels like it thaws you a little from the inside out. You hadn’t even realized you were cold.

You want to drink more, but Alfred takes the cup from you, doesn’t let you chug it like you want to. “You’ll make yourself sick,” he tells you, but you don’t really care. It’s a good thing I have Alfred here, then.

That makes you realize, though, that you’re not entirely certain where here is.

“Where am I?” you ask. Your voice is a little more solid, now, more steady. “What happened?”

Alfred sighs. It’s a soft noise, pained. You regret asking, even though you need to know.

He takes a seat at the edge of your bed. You realize, then, you’re in a dimly-lit room, the lights low likely out of deference to you as you slept, and it’s with a rush you realize you’re in one of the several medical rooms Bruce keeps outfitted in Wayne Manor. After Alfred had gotten hurt, he had made certain there were proper facilities at home if any of you were ever hurt again.

Bruce hated having his loved ones far away, and even moreso when they were hurt. It drove him absolutely insane when Alfred was taken to a hospital and nobody would let him bring him home, at first.

You don’t know why Bruce would want you here, though.

“Bruce will have to do some explaining of his own,” Alfred warns you. “But I can tell you what I know.”

You nod, shifting to get comfortable again in bed. After the time you spent on that horrible bed in the cell you’d been kept in, this feels like the most comfortable place in the world, the pillow under your head the softest thing you’ve ever touched. They must have given you painkillers, because you don’t feel even a little bit of pain, right now, just hazy and present and alive.

Alfred takes your hand in his and tells you, “You’ve been gone for sixteen days. We were lucky Bruce saw you get captured. If he didn’t know who took you, we may never have found you—”

“He saw me?” you accidentally cut him off to ask, incredulous. “H— What? How? Why?”

Alfred hesitates, for a beat. Then, he says, “You will have to ask him. He was watching you when you left work, and saw you get captured. He also fought to retrieve you, and was— rendered— He was knocked out,” Alfred tells you. “In the fight. He activated his distress signal and I found him, half-dead, in an alley.”

Your heart is racing, and Alfred must see it in your face, because he squeezes your hand before kissing the back of it.

“He’s alright,” Alfred assures you. You’re grateful, now, that you and Alfred have always gotten along so well, always had such a pleasant relationship with each other. “But he gave them a hell of a fight trying to get you back. And he’s spent every second since then trying to find you.” He leans in a bit and tells you, “I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve grown worried for—”

“(Y/N),” Bruce says from the doorway, and your head snaps up.

Sure enough, Bruce is in the doorway, his eyes fixed on you. He looks exhausted himself, his hair lank, his face pale, dark smudges still around his eyes— you don’t know if it’s faded paint, tired bruises, or both.

Just seeing him— seeing him here, the evidence that he’s alive, that you’re alive, that you’re both going to be okay— has your delicate grasp on your emotions faltering. You let out a shaky half-sound, a gasp, halfway to Bruce’s name.

Bruce comes right to you. Even if you weren’t completely coherent, he still seems to understand.

“You’re alright,” Bruce promises you. He takes you into his chest, lets you rest your head over his heart. He’s only in soft clothes, sweats you bought for him when you realized most of his clothes were impossibly uncomfortable. “You’re okay. You’re alive.”

You nod weakly into him, just trying to catch your breath. You’re embarrassed, and tired, and confused, and then—

And then you remember what you said to him, and you pull away quickly, afraid.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asks. You can hear the obvious concern heavy in his voice.

You aren’t sure. You don’t know what the answer to his question is.

Instead, you ask a question of your own. You can’t meet Bruce’s eyes; you look down at his hands as you ask him, “Why were you watching me when I got out of work?” because it’s the only other question you have to ask.

“I’ll just give you the room, then,” Alfred says, and stands. He kisses you on the forehead, says, “I’ll be right outside if you need anything. I have a few ideas when your appetite is up. You just ask.”

“Okay,” you agree. You squeeze his hand, accept the hug he gives you. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“Of course,” he says. “You did the same for me.”

You did. Of course, you did. You helped take care of Alfred just as often as Bruce did. You’re almost always here. Sometimes, you almost feel like a member of the family, but—

But.

You aren’t.

And you know you need to remember that.

When Alfred closes the door behind himself, Bruce looks to you again, and he looks almost— ashamed, for a moment, before the mask is on again. You hate when Bruce hides his emotions from you, even though you understand he does this to everyone, his automatic response when he’s afraid of being vulnerable, of getting hurt.

“Promise you won’t get mad,” Bruce says. It’s almost light-hearted, if it weren’t for the serious edge underneath. Bruce can be a fun guy, but, right now, he just seems off-balance.

“I promise,” you tell him, because you need to know. There has to be a reason, and it has to be— something, for him to ask you to make a promise like that.

Bruce hesitates for another beat. He looks away, then down before he confesses in a garbled rush, “I follow you sometimes. I want to make sure you’re safe. I just— have to keep tabs on you.” He pauses, then adds, like there’s blood in his mouth he’s trying not to spill, “You’re important. You’re m— You’re—” He looks frustrated.

“I’m what?” you ask him. He shakes his head. “No, Bruce, you can tell me. What am—”

“You’re not,” he bites out. There’s agitation in every line of his face before he says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“What am I not,” you ask, “then?”

He stares downward. You stare at him.

“Mine,” Bruce finally answers, spitting it into the silence like it hurt him, barbed on its way up and out of his throat. “You’re mine. But you’re not, so. I have no right to say that.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest. The monitor attached to the device on your other hand responds accordingly, corresponding rapid beeps starting to speed up. It gives Bruce a look into your pulse, lets him know how you’re feeling, the rush of emotion currently coursing through you.

His eyes flicker to the screen, then to you, reading the source of the heartbeat. His brow furrows, and he asks, “What—”

“I’m really sorry,” you tell him. Your voice breaks, because you’re scared, and you’re taking a leap of faith here, but you have to. “I’m— Bruce, I’m so sorry, but I think— If I’m wrong, you’re allowed to hate me, but I want— I think we want—” You take a shuddering, steadying breath, and tell him, desperate to have him understand, “I’m in love with you, Bruce. I meant that, I mean it now. And if you want me to be yours, you just— You just have to ask me, I’m right— I’m right here, I’m right here, I thought you knew that, I thought you didn’t want me—”

The words just keep spilling out of you, becoming faster and more honest and more desperate as you go. You’ve kept them in for so long that, now that they’re coming out, you can’t stop them.

It’s Bruce who stops you, leaning in to quickly press his lips to yours. It’s only a fleeting push, his lips there then gone, but it silences you effectively.

For a second, you stare at each other.

Then, Bruce tells you, eyes bloodshot, “I want you,” like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, and still like he’s never had to do anything easier. It’s so difficult for Bruce to express himself, but here he is, putting himself into plain words in front of you, just so you’ll understand him without doubt.

Your heart is exploding. You can barely process this; the monitor reflects it accordingly, beeping so rapidly Bruce even glances up at it.

“Are you alright?” He asks. There’s mild concern in his tone as well as amusement.

You reach for him, tugging for the back of his neck. You draw him into another kiss. This one lasts longer, though you’re uncoordinated and sluggish from the drugs.

Your lips part, briefly, and Bruce responds in kind. You can feel the briefest drag of his tongue against your lower lip before he draws back. When he looks down at you this time, he’s almost smiling, though he seems— distant, a bit, somehow.

“Bruce,” you tell him, trying to reach across that distance. “I’m yours. If you want to follow me, follow me. But,” you tell him, “you don’t have to stay behind me. You can always come and be with me.”

Bruce’s eyes flicker up to meet yours. It looks like he’s putting the pieces together, understanding that he can trust you, that you’re telling the truth, that this is real. You understand; you’re going through the exact same thing yourself. It’s not easy, but it’s important, and you hang onto him, unwilling to let go.

“I do want you,” Bruce tells you. He’s testing the waters. “You— are mine. I want you so much, sometimes, I just—” He breaks off. He makes a motion near his throat with his free hand, then a frustrated noise. “Fuck.”

Words aren’t always Bruce’s strong suit. That’s okay, though. You know that about him, and you’ve never needed words from him. You’ve only ever needed him.

“Hey,” you tell him. “We’ll figure it out.”

You reach for him, pulling at him with weak fingers. Bruce looks down at you, catches your hands in his. He draws them up to his mouth, letting his lips press into the backs of them before he speaks, brushing your skin as he says, “I felt— like I was going insane when you were gone. I didn’t know what I’d do if—” He stops, then says, “When I found you—” and stops again.

You kiss him, softly, and he makes a broken sort of noise into your mouth.

“I can’t lose you,” he tells you, and you can hear everything he can’t say, feel every emotion he’s struggling to express. You can feel his fear, his complete devastation, his terror over losing you, his agony, everything he endured without even knowing if you were alive.

You can feel his desperation. You can feel it because you felt it; you thought you’d never see him again, either.

“I wanted to kill them,” Bruce admits to you. His eyes are red again, and he lets tears spill. A confession like this from him, that— that is enormous, enormous, this is him admitting he almost broke everything Batman is, and over you, and for what—

Bruce surges into you again, but it’s not for a kiss, this time. Instead, he just— holds you. He wraps his arms around you, and he buries his face in your throat, and he hugs you as tightly as he can. After a beat, you bring your arms up, winding as close to him as you can. He brings his legs up, tucks into your bed with you, and burrows into you, as if he’s trying to climb into your skin. He surrounds you, he’s everywhere, and his mouth finds your hairline. His teeth press into the bone of your skull when he speaks.

“I can’t lose you,” he repeats, and then, softer, voice cracking, “I love you, too,” before he’s hugging you again. It’s like he can’t let you go, clinging to you so tightly you’re remembering where your wounds are, but you don’t give a shit. You hang on just as tightly, tears burning your own eyes.

There will be time to talk about everything when you’re recovered, and the both of you have slept, and you can have a good, complete discussion about everything. That time isn’t now, though; it can’t come yet.

For now, all you can do is cling to him, and let him cling to you. All you can do is feel that raging terror, and the pulsing love, and the undying need to be with him, and know that he’s feeling the same way for you. He’s holding you the same way, hanging onto you with all that impossible strength. Maybe the voice in your head whispers that he wouldn’t want you, but Bruce’s actions speak louder than your mind’s foolish words.

Bruce isn’t a man who does things he doesn’t want to do. He uses his family’s fortune to repair Gotham, and he spends his nights as Batman, and he’s in love with you. No matter what other people want from him, Bruce always does what he wants.

He follows you around. He didn’t stop until he got you back. He nearly broke his code and risked everything so he could kill the people who hurt you.

You understand, then. Even when you discuss this later, there are still emotions and moments and understandings that can never be truly verbalized, and you’re having one of those now, about him, about you, about you together, in this moment.

“I love you,” you tell him again, hoping it conveys the enormity of what you mean. I’m yours to have, yours to do what you want with, yours to possess, yours to protect, yours to love, yours, yours, yours, if you’ll have me—

“I love you, too,” Bruce replies. He drags you up into a biting kiss before burrowing into your throat again. You can feel his response in every shift and press, the corresponding, You’re mine and I’m yours, you’re mine to have and I’m yours to do what you want with, you’re mine to protect and possess and love and I am yours and you are mine, mine, mine, mine, if you’ll have me—

And you will, so you bury yourself in him and don’t let go. Bruce pulls your hand up, kisses a small bandage over your wrist, buries his face in your palm. Your fingertips brush along his brow, feeling the warmth of his skin. You don’t think you’ll ever, ever be able to bring yourself to let him go, not for anything.

requests used:

"Hey! Can I request a story where the reader is insecure and thinks Pattinson!Bruce Wayne is acting strange because he is seeing someone else and also because of all the nights away, but he shows the reader he loves her with all his heart." (anonymous)

"to have loved was soooooo precious and good on my soul. beautiful work, you have such a good grasp on bruce’s character! i especiallyyyy liked the possessiveness peaking through, wanting the reader fully to himself. i find it difficult to write him as so desperate and open with what he feels, but you’ve executed that perfectly! i wanted to request anything with bruce and the need to possess— something dark, a small fixation on the reader that deteriorates to an unhealthy obsession. (seeing him stalk selina did something to me. yandere type beat, if you are comfortable with that kind of thing!) thanks so much, and again, wonderful work!" (anonymous)

"this is a very vague request, so I'm sorry, but any sort of hurt/comfort with Bruce would be super lovely 💗 something like .. perceived unrequited love due to the readers low self esteem ? it's just on my mind lol. idk I just love angst 💗💗💗 Tysm I love everything you do fr" (anonymous)

"Hey! Can I request a Bruce/Batman x reader? If so, I can give you some kind of plot if that's okay for you." (anonymous)

"OPEN REQUESTS! OK YAY! maybe could i please have whump with a happy ending where bruce goes totally out of control berserk when the reader is threatened/hurt and he wants to protect them?" (anonymous)

bruce wayne taglist:

@jelliebeanss @zofps @trans-librarian @Probablyasatanworshipper @phoenixhalliwell @bb-skyrunner @myguiltypleasures21 @eeveeangelcakes @freyafriggafrey @neptuneswritingwork @middimidoris @herbsschmerbs @satansrighthandmanchild @iwillstaywiththemforever

dc universe taglist:

@jelliebeanss @trans-librarian @probablyasatanworshipper @phoenixhalliwell @bb-skyrunner @neptuneswritingwork @middimidoris @satansrighthandmanchild @acupnoodle @iwillstaywiththemforever

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yandere--stuck · 3 years

Text

Bad Blood - Yandere!Batman x Reader x Yandere!Joker

It wasn't just The Joker who had been watching you. And to a point, you were aware of that.

After all, that just came with the territory of being a minor celebrity within Gotham city. It wasn't often that those considered "famous" in Gotham didn't either have connections to the mafia or were locked up within Arkham or Blackgate.

As a reporter, you were watched on the news, on the streets - occasionally approached by fans, at parties where you mingled with your peers or made connections. All rather normal, really.

But, there were times when you could just feel it in your bones. You were being watched.

Like in the dark of night, the moon following you on your walk home. Alone. When the light from street lamps bathed everything in orange. The streets empty, the occasional car zooming by. It was then that you had felt watched.

It was understandable, something innate in humans, to feel frightened of the dark and the paranoia of being alone. Our imaginations run wild, and we trick ourselves into thinking that there's something out there with us. Someone following our every move, hiding just out of sight. But, no matter how many times you swore you were being watched, nothing ever happened. No muggings, no stalkers, no threats. When you got back to your apartment, unlocking and then re-locking all six of the locks on your door, you were able to let out a sigh of relief - it was just your own paranoia getting the best of you. You weren't being followed. You could relax, knowing that it was all in your head.

But, it wasn't.

Your paranoia wasn't unfounded. The shiver of your spine at the feeling of being watched wasn't your mind tricking itself. But, of course, even when you'd turn around to try and spot someone, something, you hadn't been able to see him. He had hid in the shadows and crouched atop rooftops, keeping watch over you.

He had done so every night. The moment you left the studio, to when you started your walk, and then headed home. He even stuck around to peer through your window, making sure you were truly safe. It wasn't something any of the Robins or Oracle knew about - it wasn't something they had to know. Well… It's not like he exactly lied about what he was doing during the alotted time of your walk home. But, he also didnt want to admit it, either - not that he thought what he was doing was wrong, but… He just didn't want anyone to be worried. To get the wrong idea. And it rarely took time out of his nightly patrol, just fifteen minutes. It wasn't a big deal.

He was just protecting you. That was just his job. He was supposed to protect the people of Gotham. To protect you. He just had a… Fixation, that's all. And when Bruce gets fixated on something, it's like pulling teeth for him to keep away.

Bruce met you like he does with most reporters - at a charity event. He had seen your stories on the news a few times beforehand, and braced himself for the usual song and dance - Vicki Vale trying to score something on the record for something much juicier and personal than the cause he was donating to, or perhaps Jack Ryder trying to rile him up to get him to throw a fit for a story. He was pleasantly surprised, however, when you treated him like an actual person. Sure, it could be that you were off the clock - but really, when were reporters ever really off the clock?

Most people would bend over backwards to get themselves into Brice Wayne's good graces. But, you… You talked to him like he was no different than anyone else. Maybe a bit reserved, but you had only just met, after all. In spite of this, Bruce found himself able to relax, chatting with you about the party, about your days up to then, your different careers. Bruce felt like he could actually be himself. With you, he wasn't Batman, nor was he billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. He was just… Himself.

Him and you.

He decides to stick by your side most of the evening, you and him talking long into the night. About your lives, your worries, your hobbies, your interests. It had been so long since he talked about such personal things with someone, even Alfred. And you understand. You understand his worries of responsibility, the weight of the world among his shoulders, you understand the suffocation of isolation, you under his inability to move on from the trauma of his past, try as he might. You understand. Of course you do…

You acted as someone to vent to. A listening ear. You offered up advice, even if you might not have the right answers to his problem. Sure, you might not know the full extent of his stress, but it's the thought that counts. It's almost like this night was made for you and him.

Something like, fate - that is, if Bruce had actually believed in something like that.

After that night, he found himself making a point to watch you on the news. The way you talked on the television is how you talked with him that night. Personable, comfortable, familiar. You might not be talking to him directly, but it warms his heart and staves off the icy chill of loneliness.

He went out of his way to find you during other important, publicized events. Most likely, you probably thought it was a coincidence that you kept finding yourself in his company. You most likely thought him as just an acquaintance, nothing more… But, oh, you meant so much to him.

And, oh, when you talked about Batman? Knowing that it was him you were talking about (even if you had no idea)... He'd be lying if it didn't make him a bit flustered. Your praises, the way you saw him as an inspiration, hoping after every mission that he was alright… And when you look into the camera and say to him, to Batman, through the screen, that you wish him a nice night and to be safe…?

God. He was smitten. And, really, that was his biggest mistake.

Feelings just made things complicated. He had learned that a long time ago. That everything he touched and loved was inevitably destroyed. It's why he works alone more often than not. He doesn't want someone getting hurt because of him ever again. Bruce has enemies, and Batman has even more.

Even if he had tried to reach out to you as Bruce, as himself, who's to say you would have wanted to be with him? Why would someone like you want Bruce Wayne - someone who most of Gotham portrayed as an immature playboy who never got over the death of his parents. While the second part wasn't exactly wrong, the whole playboy thing was just a diversion. But, how in the hell was he supposed to explain that?

It was easier to just let you go. You'd be happier, and more importantly, safer without his presence in your life.

So, he satiated himself on watching you, protecting you from the shadows, and kept himself sane by rewatching footage of you he's stashed within your home and around your apartment building. If he adored you from afar, that wouldn't hurt anything, right?

… But now, he's wishing he had just taken the chance. He had been good, had left you alone.

And he watched as the helicopter you were in was shot down. Watched as the recording cut off. Heard as you screamed at the top of your lungs. He replayed what he had seen over and over in his mind, losing himself. Bruce had gone so tense in disbelief and grief and rage that by the time Alfred had brought him back to reality, his nails had dug into the armrest of his loveseat.

He had insisted to himself later that night that investigating the scene of the crime wasn't fueled by personal connection or any feelings he may have. It was Batman's job. And if he ignores all the other bodies in favor of one that is presumed to be yours, it's just because he notices something different about it from the other's, that's all.

The body was decomposed far beyond that of the others, and had been exposed to the elements longer than the others. And to add onto that, the DNA sample Bruce had collected was matched with a body that had been gone missing from Gotham General.

Bruce's heart fluttered with hope and relief. You were alive, you had to be. But, just as quickly, realization crashed into him. If you were alive, it's only because Joker wanted you to be.

... What was he doing to you?

---

You stared down at the meal the Clown Prince of Crime had prepared for you - well, if you could call heating up a frozen dinner "preparing". It's not like you were exactly in a place to complain, though, considering the predicament you were stuck in.

Counting the time you had spent unconscious and Joker getting you situated and up to speed, it was most likely a few hours since the incident. You were feeling rather hungry… But, in spite of all of The Joker's lovey-dovey talk, you weren't quite sure if you could trust him to not serve you poisoned food. Even worse, however, was that you were still tied up - meaning the clown had to feed you, and you were even more unsure that he wouldn't kill you if you refused to eat.

In spite of the circumstances, and the dingy place you were trapped in, it wasn't exactly the worst. Hell, Joker had even lit up some candles for some mood lighting. Not exactly the worst "date", you had been on, sadly enough.

"Ready for some grub?" The Joker lurched into view, straightening his tie as he shot you a grin. "You must have worked up quite an appetite by now, considering all the excitement!"

You smiled in return, hoping it didn't look too strained as you nodded. You watched as he got his utensils ready, cutting up some of the food into smaller bites. You kept especially close attention on the hand holding a knife - though, it wasn't like you had any way to flee if he had decided to turn it on you.

The Joker stabbed at the food with a fork, setting down the knife, as he moved to raise your meal to your lips, while you attempted not to turn your head away. The fork approached closer and closer, and you tried to rid your mind of awful thoughts, like an eye being ripped out of its socket, implanted on the fork's tongues. But, then, The Joker suddenly stopped.

"Oh, silly me! I almost forgot," The Clown Prince set down the utensils, digging into the inside of his suit. With a flourish, he unveiled a bright, colorful, and clearly plastic flower, holding it out to you. "A present for you, m'dear! Go on, take a whiff."

You shook in your seat. Oh, God. You knew exactly where this was going. He had played you this whole time, like predators played with their food. He had made you think he had developed this obsession with you and managed to lull you into a false sense of security. And just when you were sure you were going to make it out of this situation alive, he planned to hit you with his trademark laughing gas and watch as you died.

You held back tears, shivering with fear and despair. And The Joker looked so happy, so encouraging. You were going to die. You had hit the end of the road.

You leaned forward, taking a breath through your nose-

And jumped, letting out a scream as the ceiling caved in, a dark figure crashing through. You whipped your head to face it- and winced as a small stream of water hit your cheek. Blinking once, twice, three times, you slowly turned to the clown and the trick flower in his hand.

Oh. So, it was just a regular trick flower. Not a deadly one. Okay. Okay, yeah. Sure. Great.

Groaning softly, your whole body went limp. You hung your head, shaking it slowly. Whatever. Whatever happened next, you didn't care. You were too exhausted.

"Aw, c'mon, Bats! Don'tcha know it's rude to upstage someone's act?" Joker asked. "Besides, you weren't invited to our little date night..."

...Batman?

From your periphery, you could see it. See him.

Oh, thank God. Thank fucking God. You were saved! Batman was going to save you!

All the tiredness seemed to instantly fade as you were overwhelmed with adrenaline and relief. You were saved. You were saved. Batman was going to save you. Batman was going to protect you and make sure you were all right. You didn't have to worry or be scared anymore. Batman would do all of the worrying for you.

"You broke out of Arkham, killed innocent people, and kidnapped the sole survivor after almost killing them, as well," Batman seethed, his voice a growl. "You're going back to Arkham, and I'll be taking them with me, where they'll be safe."

"Hey! First off, the whole helicopter thing wasn't me, it was one of my boys. Well… To be fair, I had intended on killing them when we downed the thing, but eh, two birds with one stone, I suppose. I wouldn't even have been mad about it, if my darling reporter here hadn't almost been hurt in the crash," The Joker moved behind you, making you seize up as he grasped your shoulders, massaging them slightly. "And really, Bats, if this is some kind of jealousy thing, you could always just ask to share."

"You're insane." Batman spat.

"Babes, you really need to get some better material," The Clown tutted. "And I was being honest! I'm actually trying to communicate here," You were suddenly spun around, locking eyes with your hero. You shuddered as the Joker nuzzled you from behind, unable to stop your face from heating up. "What do you think, darling? How's about a three-way date with me and the big bad Bat?"

"I… I-I-" You stuttered, unable to get a coherent thought put as you burned with embarrassment.

Could anyone blame you for having a little crush on Batman? You'd bet a good majority of Gothamites felt the same toward their dear Dark Knight. Hell, you'd even bet that some of the Rogues that the Caped Crusader went up against had feelings for him. It was pretty obvious the Joker did, at least.

And the Joker… He was a monster. A criminal. But, the time you've spent with him… Well, you could better understand how Dr. Quinnzel fell for the man. Despite your knowledge of the horrible crimes he committed, the way he treated you so kindly, it was hard to not get flustered, to not feel special. It was hard to ignore his humor, his affection for you, his pet names, his sweet gestures- no, no. This- this was ridiculous. You had to stop. You weren't thinking straight.

"Get your hands off of them!" The Bat spat.

"But I don't wanna!" Joker let out an exaggerated whine, before descending into giggles. Painted lips brushed against your neck. "Besides, I don't think they want me to…"

You felt hypersensitive, the brush of the Clown's lips drawing a whine from your throat.

Your eyes shot open wide as a pained scream ripped from Joker. You turned as best you could, watching the man stumble back, clutching his hand - a batarang sticking piercing through it, blood bubbling up from the wound and dripping to the floor.

The Joker hissed, bristling with rage. "Bats, why you-!"

In an instant, Batman shot put his batclaw, the claw digging into The Joker's suit, before retracting. The Joker stumbled as he rocketed forward, his face immediately colliding with Batman's fist. Before he could fall back, the Dark Knight caught him by the throat and squeezed. The Clown wheeled and coughed in shock at the closing of his windpipe and his desperation to breathe. The Bat slowly lifted another fist - and hit the other man so hard that even you winced. You watched as Joker fell onto his back with a low groan. The Batman stood above him, glowering and breathing heavily as he looked down on his nemesis.

"Batsy, babe… Ya know I love it when you play rough, but Jesus, warn a guy first, will ya?" The Joker laughed wearily, seemingly in a daze.

Sneering, Batman grabbed his nemesis by his coat, tossing him aside onto his stomach. His foot came down to stomp onto his arm, making the other man whimper, and the Bat reached down to rip the batarang free from his hand, and in turn, ripping a scream from Joker's throat. Pulling out a pair of batcuffs, the Caped Crusader roughly restrained the man's arms, before lifting him to his feet.

"Careful with the merchandise…" The Joker grumbled.

With a second pair of cuffs, the Bat attached one of the cuffs to the Joker's ankle, the Clown laughing as he attempted to kick at the Bat to heed his progress, and then the other to a metal support pillar protruding from the floor.

And then, in the next instant, Batman was at your side, diligently working to free you from the shackles that bound you. As the restraints loosened, you took in a deep breath before letting out a shuddering sigh. You tried to stand, only for your legs to give out from under you - you had spent so long in that position that your legs had fallen asleep - but it was okay. Batman caught you. He caught you and he held you and pulled you into a hug. A gloved hand petted your hair soothingly.

"It's okay. You're safe, you're okay," The Bat rumbled. "I've got you."

This. This was what you loved most about The Batman. As much as he was revered for the fear he struck into the heart of evil, how he acted as a phantom in the night, fighting back against the criminals that roamed Gotham in the night… What you loved most was what came after. Your interviews with survivors of criminal attacks are what made you grow a fondness for the Dark Knight. How comforting they said he was. How he reassured them, made them feel safe. When he was there, they knew everything was okay. They knew they were safe. That everything was going to be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

And you melted into his hold.

He continued to murmur reassurances as he began to massage your legs until the static feeling went away and you found the strength to stand - and even then, he let you lean against him as you walked out into the night together.

"You'll pay for this, Bats," The Joker spat, expression dark… Until he locked eyes with you, and his visage softened. "How about same time next week, love?"

Before you could think of responding, Batman pulled out of the building and far, far away from the madman within.

---

Bruce had to fight to keep his driving steady. His body was flooded with adrenaline and his heart rabitted a mile a minute. His entire being felt electric.

He had touched you, held you. And you held him back, reassured and calmed by him. It was everything he had dreamed of. You had leaned against for support and let him help you climb into the batmobile.

He had managed to track The Joker down to one of his usual hideouts that he and Harley stayed at - an old, abandoned amusement park that had been sold to him. Well, would have been sold to him, if he hadn't killed the owner of the property before they could seal the deal.

He kept sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye. You, resting your head against the window, eyes shut as you tried to get some rest after everything you had been through. You could rest for as long as you liked. He was here now. Bruce would keep you safe.

Bruce took his usual shortcut into the batcave, driving into a cave opening just outside the manor, and you lifted your head, startled by the sudden turn and shift in light behind your eyes.

"Batman, where are we?"

Home.

You gasped as restraints wrapped over your ligaments, tying you down to the seat.

Bruce knew this was wrong. But, after such a long career as the Batman, he had learned that he often had to do the wrong thing in order to get the right outcome. He really wished there was any other way… But, you had a target on your head now. You'd be safe with him. He'd keep you deep within the batcave and visit you often.

You sputtered, eyes wide with shock and disbelief and… Betrayal. Bruce hated the thought of you looking at him like that. He leaned over, softly pressing a kiss to your forehead. He felt you shiver under his touch.

He'd get you settled and comfortable. He'd reveal his true self to you at some point, but that was for later. You had been through enough for one night.

"You're safe now." Bruce lied promised. "I've got you."

1K notes · View notes

catxsnow · 3 years

Text

HAPPINESS B.W.

Request: Will you do a Bruce Wayne x reader where the reader gets hurt because of his life and he just like super sorry and regretful? If you wanna change the bat boy that'll be okay.

Warning: mentions of blood and injury, fluff, angst

A/N: hello good day one and all, my writing inspiration has plummeted even more but I hope everyone enjoys this.

Word count: 1.9k

Bruce never wanted you to be part of his life for this reason. He didn't want an innocent civilian to get caught up in his life as Batman. Someone who couldn't take care of themselves like he or his kids could. He didn't want you to be trapped in the crossfire of his battles and be the one to suffer the consequences.

You knew the risks of being with him. One night he may never make it home because of his fights. Or maybe that one of his sons or daughter would fall again, and this time never return. You knew that maybe, you would somehow be the one to get the bullet instead of someone that would have known how to dodge it.

Maybe if Bruce would have been faster, or if he ignored his pride and asked for help everything would have turned out fine. Maybe if he sacrificed himself, you would have ended up safe. Instead, you laid in a hospital bed. Cast around your arm, brace on your neck. Cuts and bruises laced your skin from the accident.

Except it wasn't an accident. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time and there was nothing that Bruce could have done to help, no matter how much he beat himself up over it. He was saving the lives of others - you would never shame him for that.

Being Batman was something you had to learn to deal with, but his need to save lives was something you could never chastise. You had your fights over it, the crying and screaming matches that seemed to go on for hours. Your pleads to get him to stop when things were going too far.

The times a young Jason Todd would come into your room with red eyes because he heard you and Bruce fights. An older Jason coming to you for comfort after hearing yet another argument with your husband. Tim crawling into your bed with you as Bruce headed out for a night on his own after yelling at you.

Dick, the child you never got a hand in raising, but being there for you because he knew Bruce's antics more than anyone. All his kids adored you, and they all knew what it was like to be on the other end of Bruce's stubborn Wrath.

Bruce was worth it. He was worth every tear, every kiss, every second. Every moment you spent with him, whether it be love or hate, you wouldn't change it for anything. Even if his love was the reason that you were in that bed.

"It's not your fault, Bruce," Dick stood behind the chair in which his adopted father sat. He came back to Gotham the moment that he heard about what happened. Damian had told him scene by scene what occurred - nothing of which Bruce could have stopped. Maybe not even if he was Superman.

Unfortunately, Dick knew all too well that Bruce would feel guilty for this. He was more protective of you than anyone else in this entire world. He would go to any length to keep you safe.

Bruce held your hand in his. The faint pulse was the only thing keeping him sane in that moment. His hair was tousled, likely from the stress he had been under these past few hours. It wasn't often Dick saw him like this. Then again, it wasn't often Bruce ever let anything happen to you.

"I knew a day like this would come and yet I still agreed to let them into my life," Bruce's voice was hoarse - nearly as much as it was when he was under the cowl. The only difference, was now he wasn't hiding behind a mask, he was forced to face the reality of what could happen to those he loved because of his life.

"Growing up, I never thought I'd see the day that you'd fall in love," Dick sat down in the chair across from Bruce. He refused to take his eyes off you, even with his son showing himself. "And then you met (Y/N). I remember them coming over to the mansion for the first time. I wasn't living there anymore but you wanted me to come to meet them.

"I've never seen you laugh, genuinely laugh, so much in one night. I could tell, from that night that they were different than the other woman you brought home. You cared about them from the start, Bruce. (Y/N) wasn't just some other person that you seduced to uphold your playboy act. They knew what they were getting into with you. You can't just force everyone away because you're scared of potential outcomes - that's part of life. Even for Batman."

"They wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me," Bruce tried to argue. Always the glutton for punishment, even when the hand didn't need to be delivered to him.

"And they might have ended up far worse if it hadn't been for you," Dick spoke, his voice steady. He too hated seeing you like this - but if Bruce wasn't going to be the stable one then he had to take that burden. "If there's one thing in this world that people like us struggle to get... it's happiness. You found yours in (Y/N). Don't lose that because of one accident."

"Father."

It had been days since you had been admitted into the hospital. Yesterday morning you woke up sore, but alive. Bruce was yet to leave your side. Stubble littered his face from going days without shaving. A look that you weren't able to truly appreciate from being asleep half the time.

By this time the next day, you would be allowed to leave, but that didn't make your husband any less worried about your well being. Bruce still blamed himself for what happened, even after you had told him it wasn't his fault in the slightest. You could see the guilt on his face, just as he wore every time something went wrong with you involved.

"I brought you food," Damian held a bag of take-out in his hand. If he knew his father well enough, he'd know that he hadn't eaten anything all day. It was confirmed when he heard the loud growl of Bruce's stomach the moment that he got a whiff of the food in the room. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry," Bruce waved off his son. It was clear he was in need of something to eat, though he was too stubborn to take care of himself while you were in need. Even if it was just watching over you while you slept. Damian shoved the bag directly in front of his face until he reluctantly accepted.

"You need a shower," Damian's nose curled up. He stood looking down at his father. As worried as he had been, he also was acting immaturely. Refusing to take care of himself, constantly under surveillance while you were in good hands as it was. "(Y/N) will be perfectly safe with me. Go home. Get some sleep. We'll be here in the morning and ready to go home."

"I'm fine."

"You're not." Damian eyes the food until Bruce took a bite. It wasn't often that he was worried about his father, but it had been days since he had properly looked out for himself. It was clear how far his love for you went after seeing him like this. Or more so, his guilt for letting this happen. "Do you not trust me to take care of them?"

Bruce's jaw tightened. Truth was, he didn't trust anyone with you. Not even himself. Not even Clark. Damian took his silence as an answer. Of course not. Bruce couldn't trust him for a night out alone on patrol, how was he supposed to trust him with his partner?

"It's my fault they're here, Damian," Bruce sighed. "I've never been so scared before."

This was the first time that Damian had ever seen his father so truly vulnerable. Never in his life did Bruce admit that he was scared, yet here he was completely unscathed and terrified. Dick was right, he found complete and utter happiness in you, and the thought of losing you hurt more than anything else.

He wasn't just scared. He was horrified. Nothing in this world put more fear into him than seeing you suffer, or worse.

"It's not your fault, Father," Damian assured, just as his older brother had. "You always taught me to be brave, to face what scared me most. There's nothing wrong with feeling scared sometimes. It reminds us that we're human, that we're allowed to feel things. (Y/N) loves you, this won't change anything."

"Bruce would you stop hovering over me, I'm fine!"

You thought getting back to the manor would mean Bruce would finally be off your back about your injuries. It couldn't be more of the opposite. He was constantly trailing behind you, ready to give you aid whenever you needed it. Honestly, you weren't even that sore.

The brace on your neck was gone before you even left the hospital. Your dark bruises were lighter in color and the cuts that required stitches were healing just fine. The only noticeable injury was the cast on your arm, and you could still function just fine without it. Bruce was just being his overly-protective self.

"If I would have known that all I needed to do to get this much attention from you was to get myself hurt, I would have done it a long time ago," You tried to joke. He remained stoic about your comment, your health was no joking matter. You placed your palm on his cheek, the warmth of his skin being soaked up by your own.

"Seriously, hun, I feel perfectly fine. I'm just thankful for you being there." He didn't look convinced. There was nothing worse than failing you, and he had done exactly that.

"Except I wasn't there," he muttered. Bruce tilted his head in shame. He wasn't there to save you fast enough, he should have been. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I'm so sorry that my life put yours at risk."

"Bruce, my love," your fingers caught under his chin. He reluctantly met your eyes. Shame filled his entire body, he was supposed to be able to save the world, and yet he couldn't save the one closest to him. "I will never blame you for anything like this. I need you to know that. No matter what happens to me, It will never be your fault."

"I love you," Bruce's lip trembled. You were quick to bring him into a kiss. After everything that he's done, the last thing that he deserved was guilt. "I can't live without you. You're my happiness, my everything. I was, I was so scared. I can't live without you, (Y/N)."

"And you'll never have to."

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sturchling · 3 years

Note

Hey can you do a daminette fanfic where marinette transfers to gotham because of lila's lies and becomes the class favourite, then lila's class goes to gotham for a trip and, unlike the french class, this one can see through her lies and work together with damien to protect marinette and expose lila. Adrijon pairing and lila salt and alya salt please

Marinette felt nervous as she approached the gates of Gotham Academy. She had never thought she would leave Dupont, let alone Paris. Now, here she stands in a new country, at a new school, on the other side of the world from her home. She had never wanted to leave Paris, she truly did love the city. But Lila hadn’t left her a lot of options.

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

Lila had stayed true to her word for once. She had systematically removed Marinette from her friends. Marinette had been so sure that her friends would see through any lies Lila told about her. But it didn’t take much from Lila to convince the class that Marinette was nothing more than a bully. It had been heartbreaking. Marinette had tried everything she could to convince the class that Lila was a liar and tried to prove her innocence but nothing worked. The only people that believed her were Adrien and Chloe.

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

Adrien obviously knew that Lila was lying and stayed by Marinette’s side, despite the class’ pressure to leave the bluenette. Chloe believing her had surprised Marinette. But Chloe had known Lila was a liar since that incident with the Ladybug summoning dance. Of course, even without that, Chloe would have known. She may not like Marinette, but even she knew that it was utterly ridiculous to think of the girl as a bully. Marinette was the furthest thing from a bully.

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

But as time went by, even their support wasn’t enough. The class got worse. They were harassing Marinette any chance that they had, and Adrien and Chloe couldn’t be with Marinette constantly, though they tried. It was eventually decided by Marinette’s family that a change of scenery would be good. They looked at several study abroad programs, eventually deciding on Gotham Academy. The school was excellent and even had a very well reputed arts program. It was perfect for Marinette. Luckily, Gina had a friend in Gotham named Alfred that she had met on her travels who, after speaking with his employer, agreed to host Marinette during her time in Gotham. Soon, Marinette was packed and on her way to Gotham.

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

That is how Marinette found herself living at Wayne Manor, in Gotham, about to start a new life at a new school. To say she was nervous would be an understatement. She would have been even more nervous, if not for Damian standing at her side. When she moved into the manor with Alfred, she was introduced to his employer, Bruce Wayne and his sons, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. They all immediately like Marinette, as a lot of people had a tendency to do. They quickly started acting like her older brothers, and made Marinette feel at home in Gotham.

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

So, on her first day at Gotham Academy, she was being escorted in by all of the Wayne boys. She was in the same class as Damian, which made her feel slightly calmer. Damian had agreed to stay by her side, knowing how nervous she was to meet her new class. After everything that happened in Mrs. Bustier’s class, Marinette was worried that the same thing might happen here. That she might become the class outcast and be alone again.

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

Needless to say, that obviously didn’t happen. When Marinette was escorted into the classroom by Damian Wayne, it definitely got the attention of her new class. Damian wouldn’t hang out with just anyone. They became curious about this new girl, and were instantly charmed by Marinette. The whole class became very fond of the designer and they were all fast friends. And they acted like friends. They didn’t always ask Marinette for impossible favors, and they helped Marinette as much as she helped them. Adrien and Chloe would often visit her as well, and when they couldn’t visit they made sure to video call with her everyday. Marinette was the happiest she had been in a long while, starting to forget the problems she had in Paris.

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

But trouble had a way of finding Marinette. It was during one of their video calls, that Marinette found out that Mrs. Bustier’s class was participating in a program that had them visit classrooms around the world and learn how schools taught in different countries. And of course, the American school they would be visiting is Gotham Academy. And of course, it was Marinette’s class that they would be joining for the week. Just like that, all of Marinette’s worries came crashing back. What if Lila targeted her again? What if Bustier’s class started harassing her again? Or worse. What if Lila turned her new class against her?

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

Damian had grown quite close with Marinette over the last several months. They had even begun dating, much to Gotham’s collective surprise. He had learned almost everything there was to know about Marinette and loved her quirky personality. So, when Marinette grew quiet and nervous like she had been when she first arrived in Gotham, Damian quickly noticed the change in her behavior. Marinette changed almost immediately after her latest video call with her friends. He tried talking to her, to try and fix whatever was wrong. But she would just say “I’m fine.” and walk away, trying to handle everything herself. She didn’t want to bother Damian with her drama. But Damian wasn’t going to give up, he was going to help his angel with whatever was bothering her.

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

He also had contact information for Adrien and Chloe so he reached out to the two, trying to figure out what had changed during that video call. That is when he found out about the visiting Parisian class. He instantly knew what Marinette was worried about. She must be worried about the liar making people hate her again. As much as he wished that she wouldn’t worry about it and trust that her friends here would have her back, he couldn’t expect that after what happened in Paris. Of course she would still be worried about it. But Damian was going to make sure that not only did the liar not mess anything up here, he was also going to keep that horrible class as far from his angel as he could.

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

He only had about a week to get things in place, but that was enough for Damian. He gathered the class together one morning, when Marinette was out of the classroom. He told them everything he knew about the Parisian class and what they had done to Marinette. Needless to say, Marinette’s new class despised the Parisians before they even arrived. They couldn’t believe everything they had done to Marinette, but they were determined to protect their friend for the whole week. And to try and destroy the liar that had hurt her. They had no idea what kind of lies to expect from this Lila girl, but they knew she must be a gifted liar to make anyone think that Marinette is a bully.

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

Bustier’s class had arrived and Lila wasted no time trying to impress the Gotham class. She went on and on about her usual stories, while also adding in some new Gotham centric ones. Like how she had helped Batman several times, and how she is very close with the Waynes, practically dating Damian. But then immediately contradicted that by claiming that she was dating Adrien Agreste, completely ignoring when Adrien denied it in front of everyone. Mrs. Bustier’s class ate it all up, as usual. But the Gotham class just stood in shock. This girl was a terrible liar. How did this other class believe a word she said?

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

But Marinette’s worries were partially realized fairly quickly. Once Mrs. Bustier’s class saw her sitting in the classroom, they started in on her. Lila tried to cry about how Marinette had bullied her and the rest of Mrs. Bustier’s class started yelling at Marinette. The young designer started to shrink into herself, until she noticed that none of her new classmates seemed to buy it. They were all glaring at Mrs. Bustier’s class and circling around Marinette to shield her from her old class.

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Mrs. Bustier’s class finally noticed that the Gotham class was shielding Marinette and glaring at them. Alya became infuriated that they were standing in the way of them defending Lila. “Why are you protecting her?! She is nothing more than a bully! She bullied Lila horribly when she was in Paris, you have no idea what she did!” Lila pulled out the fake tears and cried some sob story about all the horrible things Marinette had done to her, expecting that when she peaked out from her hands after, this new class would now turn against Marinette and be glaring at her. But when she did look, this class didn’t look impressed. They were still glaring at her, some even rolling their eyes.

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Lila, after seeing this, quickly turned back to her class, realizing that this Gotham class wouldn’t be easily swayed. “They don’t believe me! I’m just trying to warn them!” The Parisian class consoled their crying friend, while Alya stepped forward to defend her friend. “How could you keep protecting that monster?! She bullied my best friend and is a horrible person!” The Gotham class collectively rolled their eyes, before Damian stepped forward, having heard enough. “We are still protecting her because unlike you, we don’t turn on our friends on the word of a liar.” Lila wailed louder, trying to earn some sympathy, which just enraged Alya more. “How dare you! Lila isn’t a liar! Where is your proof that she is?!” Damian pulled out his iciest glare, making most of Mrs. Bustier’s class back away. “Where is your proof that she is telling the truth? Regardless, I know she is a liar. Marinette is the sweetest girl I have ever met, a literal angel. There is no way she would bully anyone. Besides that, I know that the liar’s stories about the Wayne family are completely made up.” Lila whips around, forgetting that she is supposed to be upset, angered that this boy had called out her best lies in front of this new class. “And how do you know that huh?! Not like you would know the Waynes. I will get my Damian down here and he will make you regret calling me a liar.”

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The Gotham class couldn’t hold it in anymore. They all started howling with laughter at the liar who didn’t realize what she just did. Even Marinette had started to smile. Lila shrieked, “What’s so funny?! Why are you all laughing?!” Damian stared coldly at Lila. “They are laughing cause you just said you are dating Damian Wayne and didn’t even recognize him standing in front of you. I am Damian Wayne, and I have never met you before.” Lila stood shocked, trying to think of anyway out of this. “W-well, I said we were practically dating. Besides, I am dating Adrien.” Adrien had had enough and pushed to the front to stand in front of Lila. “No you are not! I don’t like you. I have never liked you. Besides, I am dating someone else.” As if on que, which if you ask him he will deny that this was planned, Jon Kent burst through the door making a beeline for Adrien. “Sunshine! Finally came to see me again! Jon hugged Adrien tightly, while Mrs. Bustier’s class just stared in shock. They had really thought that Adrien and Lila were dating, but keeping it quiet so his dad didn’t find out. Or at least, that is what Lila had said. Slowly they began to realize that maybe just because Lila said so, doesn’t mean that it is true.

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

The rest of the week was spent quietly. Lila kept trying to win over this new class, while also trying to win back favor with Mrs. Bustier’s class but that was a lost cause. Alya kept trying to defend her friend, refusing to acknowledge that she was a liar. The rest of Mrs. Bustier’s class did finally see the light though and apologized to Marinette. Marinette did forgive them, but they still weren’t going to be friends again. The damage to the relationships was too much. The week at Gotham had ended for Mrs. Bustier’s class and they left. Things returned to normal for Marinette. She was surrounded by Damian and her new friends, who truly cared for her. She was the happiest she had been in ages, and was finally able to rid herself of the fear that Lila would ruin everything again. She felt safe and happy, and nothing was going to change that.

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sky-berrie · 3 years

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How do you think the batboys (+ possibly Bruce) would react to a male SO having an inappropriate emotional response. Specifically laughing as a reaction to pain/extreme emotions. Not being able to control it and seeming hysterical. - ⛓

Hi there!

Thanks so much for the ask! I hope you enjoy this 😊

-Sky

Bruce

When you and Bruce first start appearing in public as an official couple, Bruce’s public relations (PR) manager will probably voice their concerns about your relationship. His PR manager might feel that you are not good for his public image. “If Y/N has a fit of laughter at the gala, you’ll be the laughingstock,” argues the PR manager. Bruce will fire them on the spot. It’ll probably blow up into a big scandal in the tabloids.

If you happen to read the stories, it probably plants a seed of doubt in your mind. You might start to feel like you don’t deserve to be with Bruce. However, don’t bother trying to be noble and break up with him to preserve his public image. He won’t let you go unless you truly don’t want to be with him.

Bruce doesn’t like it when you use self-deprecating humor. If you say something like, “Your PR manager isn’t going to be happy with me. You’ll probably have to give them a raise for all the damage control they’re going to have to do,” Bruce will immediately shut that down. He refuses to let you talk about yourself as if you’re a burden, even if you are half-joking. He reminds you that, “laughing isn’t something you can control and that’s okay.”

If you’re nervous about attending an event, Bruce helps you prepare by scoping out the building and figuring out where to stand and mingle so that you always have a quick escape if you start to feel overwhelmed or need to take a break.

If people are gossiping about you, Bruce will confront them. He doesn’t use threats. He’s composed and professional when he insinuates that they’re insolent ignoramuses for being judgmental. That usually leaves them feeling embarrassed and Bruce is satisfied with that.

Dick

Dick is a former entertainer so he enjoys making people smile and laugh. He doesn’t see your uncontrollable laughter as a negative trait. If you need some cheering up, Dick will tell you how much he adores your laugh and how lucky he is to hear it. Of course, he understands how uncontrollable laughter might cause you distress, so during those times, he will likely hold you and tell you that everything is going to be okay.

Dick won’t force you to go out in public if you’re anxious about having an uncontrollable reaction in a social setting, but he will strongly encourage you to try. He doesn’t want you to miss out on life and he also just really loves your company. Some days are good and you challenge yourself to get out in public while other days are harder and you don’t feel up to doing anything outside. Dick will let you know that it’s okay to take the day off. If you’re skipping an event (e.g., graduation, a concert, a party), Dick will do his best to bring the event to you. He’ll decorate your home appropriately for the festivity and make sure you have a great time.

If an episode of laughter occurs in public, Dick will find you a safe and comfortable place to calm down. If people are sincerely concerned for you, Dick will politely explain if you are comfortable with him telling people. If people are being obnoxious to you, Dick will tell them to mind their own business. If you are getting harassed, Dick will pull out his badge and become Officer Grayson. He’ll give the douchebags a warning and will make arrests if necessary.

Jason

When Jason witnesses your laughing fit for the first time, he’s genuinely worried about you. He doesn’t know what to do and feels useless. He’s not sure if you want physical contact or space so he just hovers around, waiting for a hint. If you want comfort, he will hold you in his arms and rub soothing circles on your back. If you want alone time, Jason will busy himself by making you your favorite snack so you have something to eat when you’re feeling better.

Jason absolutely hates when you feel ashamed of your emotional reactions. If you put yourself down and say, “I laugh like the f*cking Joker! I’m as screwed up and damaged as him!” he will immediately tell you otherwise. “You are nothing like the Joker. You’re kind and compassionate and selfless. Living with inappropriate affect doesn’t change any of that. And I don’t want to hear you say you’re damaged ever again. There’s nothing wrong with you. Got it?” he says sternly.

If someone else dares to compare you to the Joker, Jason will go berserk. Even if he doesn’t intend to seriously hurt the person, he will by accident because his strength multiplies by tenfold when he’s beyond furious. Sometimes Red Hood’s foes will mock you because it never fails to get a rise out of Jason. Anyone who knows Jason’s story knows that the depraved clown is still a major sore spot for him. Having been mercilessly beaten and murdered by the supervillain and being forever haunted by his maniacal laughter, Jason’s hatred for the Joker is probably justified. Jason refuses to let others disrespect you like that.

Tim

If you are distressed by your inappropriate emotional reactions, Tim will do everything he can to help you manage them. He will suggest therapy and doctor’s appointments and will offer to take you there. He will even ask to attend a meeting with you so he can learn how to best support you. If your therapist recommends using an emotion chart to practice labelling your emotions, Tim will constantly remind to use it throughout the day. He’ll even print out the chart and hang it on the fridge so you have the option to share your feelings with him if you are comfortable. If your doctor prescribes medication, Tim will make sure you take it properly (e.g., at the right time, with/without food).

If you are feeling down about yourself, Tim will use logic to try to convince you that you shouldn’t be ashamed because it’s not something you can control. “Would you tell a person with allergies to be ashamed of themselves? No, that would be ridiculous because they have no control over it.”

Tim, like the rest of his family, is treated like a celebrity in Gotham. Naturally, the public is interested in his dating life which means you are also a target of the paparazzi. If you are worried about experiencing a laughing attack in public and having it captured on camera, Tim will get you “anti-paparazzi” clothing. It’s made out of a reflective material which causes the flash from the camera to reflect back and completely ruin the photo. It’s common for celebrities to wear an anti-paparazzi jacket, but Tim will get you all sorts of custom-made clothing pieces so that you can still be stylish. For example, if you are attending a gala, he will have some fancy clothes designed for you.

Damian

If kids at school are cruel to you, Damian will stick by your side and act like a personal bodyguard. He’s witty and often has a snappy comeback for the taunts and teases that you endure. You might be hysterically laughing and a passerby shouts at you, “You sound like a donkey!” and Damian will retort, “Your native language, I presume?” He won’t engage in physical fights unless it’s necessary for your safety. For example, he will intervene if someone is shoving you around or stuffing you in a locker, but only using enough force to stop their harassment.

Damian is overprotective which can make things worse for you. He’s always fighting your battles and that’s just one more reason for bullies to pick on you. They prey on you when you’re alone, “Hey chuckles, you going to man/woman up and fight me like a big boy/girl today? Or should I wait for your nanny to show up?” If you mention this to Damian, his first impulse is to confront the bully about their behavior. You have to remind him that would only prove the bully right. Damian will grumble something about injustice but will leave the situation be as per your request. He makes an effort to respect your independence and let you stick up for yourself, but he often slips up because it’s his instinct to protect you.

If you must leave class because of an episode of uncontrollable laughter, Damian will accompany you. The teacher might tell him to sit back down because he doesn’t have a hall pass, but he doesn’t care. He will walk out of the room without a second thought. He’ll stay with you and help you calm down in any way that he can. He’ll also offer to work on the homework with you so that you don’t fall behind.

#batfam headcanons #batfam x y/n #batfam x reader #batboys headcanons #batboys x reader #batboys x y/n #bruce wayne headcanon #dick grayson headcanon #jason todd headcanon #tim drake headcanon #batfamily headcanons #batfamily x y/n #batfamily x reader #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #time drake #Damian Wayne #robinchicklets

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thebigbadbatswife · 3 years

Text

I Don’t Wanna Live Forever

Summary - Y/N starts wondering if she dodged a bullet or just lost the love of her life.

Warnings - Please only read if you’re 18+, angst, smut, make up sex.

[A/N] - Inspired by the song ‘I Don’t Wanna Live Forever’ by Taylor Swift

Word Count - 2.9k

The sky was covered in pitch black clouds, completely blocking out the stars. Lightning danced through the clouds and thunder shook the heavens, as rain poured onto the world below. A bright white flash briefly illuminated the old gothic manor that had weathered storms far worse than this one. Inside, the manor’s owner sat alone in front of a fireplace, a glass of bourbon in one hand, his phone in the other. He was so lost in his own thoughts, he barely heard the storm raging outside.

Bruce scrolled through his contacts and only stopped once he had reached her name. He clicked on her contact and his thumb hovered over the call button. After about a minute, he switched the phone off, set it on the nearby table and downed his drink in one. For the past six months, either when he wasn’t going out on patrol (which was rarely), or he had just gotten back from one, this was his ritual. Ever since she walked out of that door, cursing his name and the day they’d met, he found himself back here.

He wanted to call her. God above did he want to call her and make everything alright again, but she had made it extremely clear she never wanted to hear from him ever again. So Bruce didn’t call. He respected that she didn’t want to talk to him.

He set the empty glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes closed and he imagined that, by some miracle, she walked back in through that front door. That she’d see him standing there and would run into his arms. Bruce would wrap his arms around her, bringing her close to his body. His lips would gently brush against hers before he kissed her passionately. He’d lift her up and carry her to his bedroom. Then he’d lay her on his bed before quickly removing both of their clothes and they would stay there for hours on end.

An involuntary sigh left him as he imagined her skin against his and his eyes snapped open because, no, that wasn’t going to happen. The logical part of his brain knew that. It reminded him constantly, but the part of his brain that dared to dream the impossible? The part of his brain that only existed because of her? That part was still convinced that somehow, someway, that would happen. Because it had to. It just had to… right?

He leaned back in the armchair he was sitting in and a heavy sigh left him. Bruce felt like he was going crazy. Every other relationship he’d had, he had never gone through this before. Even when he wasn’t the one to end it. What was it about her that made her so different?

A voice in the back of his head, and in his chest, told him exactly what made her so different, but he was quick to silence it. He didn’t want to think about that. Especially when she was no longer his. Bruce was brought out of his thoughts from a knock at the doorway. He looked over to his shoulder to see Alfred standing there.

“Master Bruce, may I suggest you get some rest so that you’re ready for that meeting tomorrow morning?” Alfred asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

Bruce chuckled and shook his head and turned his attention away from the older man. “Sleep? That’s the last thing I need, or want, right now, Alfred.”

His dreams had been all the same since she left. They were always about her. Good or bad, it didn’t matter. She was the main feature in all of them and he always woke up calling her name. It wasn’t bad enough she infected his thoughts during the day, non, she had to infect his subconscious as well. There was a small part of Bruce that wondered if perhaps she had similar dreams, but since she was the one that had left, she couldn’t be. Could she?

You were sitting up late on your windowsill seat, looking out over the city. For reasons you couldn’t fathom, Bruce was on your mind tonight and he refused to leave. You were slowly running through everything that had happened between the two of you and there was a part of you that was wondering if leaving had been the right decision.

When the two of you had finally gone public with your relationship, the paparazzi had constantly invaded your privacy. It had gotten on your nerves, as well as made you a little scared. Not to mention that your life had been threatened by Bruce’s enemies and those threats had increased after you had learnt his secret. It certainly hadn’t helped that every now and then a particularly crazy ex of his would show up out of the blue, nor the fact that you knew that one of them was literally an assassin.

However, even with all of that, yours and Bruce’s relationship had been one of the best things to have ever happened to you. All of your past exes, at some point, had ended up either getting aggressive with you or lost interest and left. Never Bruce though.

When you’d been together he had always made it a point to ask you about your day or how you had slept. If you’d had a bad day or dream or whatever, really, then he would do what he could to try and cheer you up. When he was away on business trips and couldn’t take you along with him, he always made sure to either text or facetime you before you went to bed, no matter what the time it was for him. And if he was ever forced to cancel a date or accidentally missed an anniversary he would always make it up to you in the best possible way.

It was memories like these that had you wondering if you truly had dodged a bullet by leaving Bruce or if you had just caused yourself to lose the love of your life.

You wanted to scream! Why were you thinking about all of this now?! You could understand thinking all this before you had made the decision, but afterwards? After it had all been said and done? It made no sense!

You ran your hands through your hair and let out a frustrated sigh. You eyed your phone sitting on the other side of your windowsill seat. Should you call him? Let him know you had made a mistake? You knew he would probably still be awake at this hour… That’s when you remembered the article you’d seen a couple of days ago where Bruce had been pictured at a gala with a rather beautiful woman on his arm. It could just be for show…

‘Or he’s already moved on,’ you thought sadly. It didn’t matter if you had made a mistake or not, it was far too late to correct it now. With that thought, you got up from where you were sitting and made your way to bed.

A couple of nights later you found yourself in the exclusive nightclub, The Sirens. Your best friend, Tracey, had dragged you here saying it was about time you found someone else. And this club was the perfect place to do exactly that!

You really hadn’t wanted to go, but since she was your best friend, and you didn’t want to disappoint her, you agreed to go.

You were wearing a short low cut black dress, that perfectly highlighted your assets, with matching black heels. As for your makeup, you had gone for a dark smokey eye and a red lipstick. The lipstick had, of course, been Tracey’s idea. As she had applied it, she had enthusiastically claimed that men would not be able to keep their eyes off of you. And she had been right.

All night men had been coming up to you, trying to flirt, bought you a couple of drinks and you had turned them all down. There was only one man that you wanted to be paying attention to you and you were now the last thing on his mind. You inwardly laughed at yourself. Here you were in one of the nicest places in Gotham City (and that was saying something since this was Gotham after all), and you were standing around, turning down perfectly good hotties and looking sad because you couldn’t stop thinking about Bruce fucking Wayne! It was pathetic.

As you turned down yet another perfectly suitable one night stand candidate, Tracey came over to you, annoyance sparkling in her emerald eyes.

“Seriously? What was wrong with that one!” she exclaimed as she gestured in the direction the man had gone. You leant an elbow on the bar's surface and ran your hand through your hair.

“Nothing,” you replied quietly. Nothing had been wrong with the five before him. Well, nothing except for the fact that none of them were him.

“Fuck, you’re really not over him,” Tracey stated when she saw your expression.

“No, Tracey, I’m not. I thought I was, but...” you trailed off as you turned your head to meet her gaze. She shook her head which caused her blonde ringlet curls to bouncy slightly. Tracey then grabbed your hand.

“Come on,” she said as she started to pull you away from the bar and outside the club.

As soon as you were outside, she let go and quickly hailed down a cab. As one pulled up, she tugged you over to it.

“What are you doing?” you asked as she did so. She stopped and turned around and faced you, placing her hands on both of your shoulders.

“You are getting into that cab, you are going to Wayne Manor and you are going to tell that billionaire playboy you ain’t over him. Then you’re going to have a fan-fucking-tastic night, which you’re going to tell every single detail of to me, tomorrow. Understood?”

“But Tracey, what about that picture?” You didn’t need to elaborate as Tracey had been there when you’d come across the article.

“Right, I can’t tell you how I know this, but from what I heard, Brucie boy didn’t say a word to her after that picture was taken. Hell, apparently he just left her there at the end of the night! Which means, he’s probably moping over you like you’re moping over him,” she replied as she continued to drag you over to the cab and basically pushed you inside. “Now go and make sure you have fun!”

Before you were able to protest further, Tracey was already walking away.

“Where to, miss?” the cab driver asked. You couldn’t believe you were doing this.

“Wayne Manor, please.”

The drive to Wayne Manor was far longer than you remembered it being, which meant that you had far too much time to think about what you were doing. Was this really such a good idea?

As the cab started up the driveway and eventually came to a stop right outside the Manor, you knew there was absolutely no turning back. There hadn’t been the second you had told the driver to bring you here. So you paid the cab driver his fair and got out.

As the car drove away you looked up at the Manor before beginning to slowly make your way up the front steps. Nervously, you rung the doorbell. A few minutes past and the door opened, revealing a very confused Alfred.

“Miss Y/N? What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I came to talk to Bruce. Is he home?”

“Of course,” Alfred stood to the side to allow you into the Manor. Once you’d entered and he had shut the door, he began to lead you through the halls to the room Bruce was currently in. “Right this way.”

When you got there, Alfred bid you good luck and then left off to get back to whatever it was he had been doing before your arrival. Taking a deep breath, you entered the room.

Bruce was pouring himself a drink when you walked in. The sound of your heels on the polished wood floor made him stop and he looked over his shoulder at you. His eyes were wide like he had just seen a ghost.

“Y/N…” your name was barely a whisper as it left him.

“Hi,” you replied timidly. You realised that you had no idea what you wanted to say to him.

He abandoned his drink and approached you slowly, like if he moved too quickly you would sudden evaporate before his eyes. He came to a stop before you and his hands came up and cupped your face. One of your own hands came up and rested over the top of his. His blue eyes swirled with too many emotions for you to make out clearly what they were. One of them, however, you saw just long enough for a warm feeling to start flooding through your chest.

“You came back.” The disbelief was more than evident in his voice as he spoke.

“I did. Bruce I’m so sorry, I…”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” he replied, cutting off your apology. “Just kiss me.”

You leaned up and kissed him, putting all of the passion you could behind it. It wasn’t long before the kiss turned heated, your tongues quickly slipping into each other's mouths and you found yourself pushed up against the wall. To make it easier on the both of you, Bruce hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips and your arms around his neck.

Bruce was soon kissing and biting at your neck as one of his large hands slipped into your dress and began to fondle one of your breasts. A moan left you as he gently tweaked your nipple. He trailed kisses up your neck, along your jawline and back to your lips. As you kissed and he continued to fondle your chest, you decided you’d had enough of the foreplay and that you wanted, no you needed, him inside you.

You pulled away, breathing hard and trying to return some oxygen to your brain. “Bruce, I need you. Now,” you said in between pants. He answered by pulling you away from the wall and carrying you through the Manor, toward his bedroom. As he climbed the stairs and walked through the hallways you resumed kissing and began to unbutton his shirt.

Once you reached his bedroom, you were both quick to remove your clothes and settle on the bed. Bruce hovered over you as he aligned himself with your entrance. Then his blue eyes were meeting yours and he silently asked for your permission. You answered with a small nod and then he was slowly pushing his cock into you.

You let out a pleasure filled cry as your walls stretched around his cock. A low guttural groan left him as well. Fuck, you had forgotten how good he felt. When he was fully in, he stilled and ducked down and captured your lips with his. Once you had adjusted to him, you let him know with a small roll of your hips and he began to move. He started off slow, drawing out each of his movements, before picking up speed.

“Fuck… Bruce!” were the only words you could coherent form as he slammed into you and stole the breath from your lungs. The grip he had on your hips was sure to leave bruises there, not that you cared. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud and obscene in the room and nearly drowned out the moaning mess Bruce had turned you into. As always, other than the occasional grunt or groan, Bruce was mostly silent.

“Y/N, I’m close,” he managed to say as his thrusts were starting to become more erratic.

“Me too…” you managed to reply in between your moans. No sooner had the words left your mouth you suddenly felt his thumb against your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. Suddenly the pleasure was all too much and you came crying his name. Then Bruce was pulling out of you and spilled his seed across your stomach.

After you two had cleaned up, Bruce gathered you up in his arms and maneuvered you under the covers with him, before pulling you in close. You were both silent as you laid there, you both felt as if you had gotten out everything you needed to say through your lovemaking. Well, almost everything. There was the big question of whenever or not this meant you were back together.

“Bruce?” you called out softly as you pulled away just far enough so you could see his face. He brushed an errant strand of hair away from your face.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Does this mean… I mean, are we…?”

“Back together?” Bruce asked as he finished your sentence. You nodded and he smiled. “I fucking hope so.” You chuckled a little at that.

“So, this means you still want me?”

“Darling, of course I still want you. I will always want you,�� he replied before kissing you gently. When the kiss ended, you snuggled in close to him. “And I’m sorry about what happened. I’ll never be that reckless again. I promise.”

“I should hope not and, for the record, I’m always going to want you as well.”

#batman smut #bruce wayne smut #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne imagines #batman imagines #reader insert #dc imagines #dc smut #bruce wayne #batman #my writing

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stxleslyds · 3 years

Text

MY TOUGHTS ON THE END OF RED HOOD BY CHIP ZDARSKY.

Dishonour! Dishonour on you, dishonour on your cow!

Well Jason Nation, it happened again, fanon wins over canon. The amount of bullshit that DC made Zdarsky write in this issue is insane, I have never seen this many fanfiction tropes shoved in a single issue in my life.

This book has been a constant insult to Jason’s character and his Red Hood “persona” since the very first issue but I never thought it would end this badly. It’s incredibly sad.

I will go ahead and say it, this tumblr and this post is not “Batfamily” friendly and it definitely isn’t fanon friendly when it comes to Jason Todd.

Fanon is destroying canon for Jason Todd. I am sorry but that’s how I see it, fanon doesn’t belong in canon, I would never get tired of saying that. But here is the thing, DC latches on to Jason’s fanon version because it fits their narrative of “the Batman is all that is right and all must follow his rules or they shall disappear”.

DC has been dying to make Jason bland and flavourless just like Batman. And now here it finally is.

Let’s be honest the story in this book, the new drug, Cheer, Tyler and his mom, none of that shaped this story, none of those things were the support beams for it. It was all about this never ending “daddy issues” thing that DC pretends is going on between Jason and Bruce.

It was all about those two fighting because they “think differently” so in the end they can push Jason towards the “no killing rule” being also the Red Hood’s modus operandi.

Its utter bullshit.

From the moment that Jason had to put a bat suit on I knew that this was going to be a mess. Luckily like I predicted they didn’t make a big deal out of him wearing it but the “Jason admires Batman” feeling was very present in the issue.

I will not talk about how easy it was for that one thug to land a punch on Jason while he was distracted and I will also not talk about Jason being a dumbass for not securing his dumb mask better when he knew the fight will involve gases. I will not talk about it.

Anyway, let’s talk about the Cheer Gas induced illusion, shall we?

In Jason’s illusion he finds Bruce at the manor looking at the picture of Joker’s death (?) and even though that is strange what Bruce says next is even weirder, he says this: “I did it. He was the last one, but I did it…Joker is dead. I am done.”

Now what the hell was that? This is Jason’s illusion, and by the looks of it in his illusion Bruce has killed every baddie in Gotham and left the Joker for last? Am I reading that right? Is this this a joke?

I understand that this is an illusion so the gas is making “real” things that Jason probably doesn’t know he wants, like wanting Bruce to go on a killing spree, which Jason never wanted because he said it himself, do you guys remember the iconic “I’m not talking about killing Cobblepot and Scarecrow or Clayface. Not Riddler or Dent…I’m talking about HIM. Just him.” Because I remember and it’s so important to Jason’s character, Jason never wanted Bruce to go on a killing spree, he wanted Bruce to kill the clown who had killed him when he was only fifteen. Is that so hard to remember DC?

And then it gets worse! Since WHEN has Jason wanted a perfect family life with the people that he has tried to kill, harm or looked down to? Why is “being with a bunch of people who NEVER get together for anything other than “help” the Bat in a fight against a fucking clown” the idea of happiness to Jason? Has this man ever interacted with any of these people in a positive way without the intrusion of a Batman/Robin event in the way? I will give you the answer, it’s no, the answer is no.

Jason Todd doesn’t care for your “Batfamily” bullshit DC, why would it matter to him? Because he was Robin? He was killed by the Joker when he was Robin, and he was killed because the man in charge of him didn’t pay enough attention! Jason Todd who was written as Dick Grayson’s number one hater for so long (and fandom loves that) is now having an illusion where he enjoys happy times with him along the others? Cass and Stephanie? What? Am I missing something, is this actually AO3, is this fanfiction?

I think Zdarsky got confused, this illusion is what would happen if Jason were dosed with fear gas. That must be it, I solved it everyone! Zdarsky just got confused by his own writing!

I wish.

Let’s go back to the sad reality, Jason has a moment in which he actually puts all his training in motion and shakes of the gas’s grasp on him. He does that but he is grabbed by so many people (who are this people?) and he is unarmed and I believe that’s the only reason why Cheer is still alive after saying that he has someone in Tyler’s mom’s hospital room ready to kill her if he doesn’t join him.

(If this were the real Jason, Cheer would have dropped dead instantly.)

But this is not the real Jason and this is not a *real* comic, it’s fanfiction! So just like that time in Batman #100 when Dick was fighting alone as Nightwing (for the first time since his “family” left him alone after losing his memories) the rest of the “family” shows up to fight Cheer and four random thugs.

Yep, its like the MCU had considered having Cap say “Avengers Assemble” when they were fighting a couple of robots instead of Thanos.

What a mess.

Also having Jason say, in real life (not illusion world), “You know what happiness is? It’s knowing that others have your back.” about this group of people is the perfect recipe for a big OOC moment for absolutely everyone. I cannot believe they have dragged Jason back to this awful concept and that they have sank him so low. It’s quite honestly, disgusting.

But the horrors don’t end there, we have a wonderful moment after Jason gives Batman the antidote, Jason stops Batman from punching the living shit out of Cheer. Because I am not stupid. There is no way in the world that you can convince me that Jason just stopped Batman from killing Cheer.

How incredibly delusional do you have to be to write Batman finally killing someone and that someone being Cheer, a guy that was introduced to comics two months ago?

Yes, later its said that between the gas and the antidote Bruce was a little too crazy and couldn’t help himself BUT I call bullshit once more, because Bruce has gone completely bat-shit-crazy on people before! I remember two recent instances in which that happened. Batman #57 in which Bruce beats the living shit out of KGBeast after he shot Dick. And the other one is Batman beating up Jason more brutally than he ever beat up Joker in RHatO #25.

DC cannot fuck with me. I might has bought this digital comic for 8 dollars but I am not buying that bullshit.

ALSO, there was no need for Zdarsky to do Jason as dirty as he did him when he made him say: “If you are going to come down from mount judgement to MY level for once… he’s not the guy to do it for.”

Zdarsky, why did you write a Red Hood story when you hate Red Hood? Couldn’t you have just told DC that you wanted to write a love letter to Batman? Once again, I am reading a Red Hood story for RED HOOD content not Batman content. Is it really that hard? I bet that if Zdarsky had asked DC to let him write a Batman story they would have said yes, there are like 20 Batman stories, they wouldn’t say no to one more!

Can you tell I am mad? And salty?

This post is so long and so full of anger, I am truly sorry for that but I have to write these feelings down or I would explode. And I am not even done, our suffering, Jason Nation, continues.

But first a little break from the pain, Tyler. Thank you after all the pain this book has given me Tyler is back and just like I predicted his mom is fine and he will stay with her, they both have been given a place and money to rebuild their life (not given by Jason nor Dick but I was close enough). The only happy ending that Tyler could have, he had and I am thankful for that, we even got a little adorable moment between the Red Hood and the Blue Hood.

I am weak for these little glimpses of a good Jason take in the middle of an incredibly awful/OOC story. And just to live in my own fantasy world I will headcanon that Jason promised himself to keep an eye out for Tyler and his mom. He would have wanted to know about their life and that they are still out of trouble.

Jason is a good man, don’t you forget that DC, I don’t care how much you twist it. Jason killing Tyler’s dad wasn’t a horrible act, it was fair game. That man was a horrible person, he drugged his child and made his wife (?) almost overdose. You never gave context as to why that man was working as a drug dealer but you told us those things so Jason should never feel like he did something wrong. As far as we know, Tyler and his mom are better off without him.

Having said that, lets go back to the pain of what is reading a Red Hood story.

“I’m giving up the guns.”

You know what, fine, as long as DC doesn’t pull another “I will stop being Red Hood for you Barbara” I will be fine. He can kill people with other things, he used to have the all-blades, he had normal swords and he had crowbars.

I will sacrifice Jason looking hot as hell when he pulls out his guns just to keep him as the Red Hood, all DC has to do is not give him that stupid… bat… symbol… oh no…. oh my god I can feel it… that thing, that horrible thing is making a comeback! NO!

Jason and Bruce’s talk is basic and it doesn’t do anything for anyone, in the end saying that Jason isn’t changing his ways for Bruce but that he is doing it for himself is more of the same. We know he is doing it for Bruce and we know DC is doing it because they cannot handle good, complex and interesting characters. We know that and sadly we have to live with it.

About Bruce’s illusion, well, Bruce has said that he wanted to kill the clown for a very long time and in the King run it was basically said that if Bruce were to be happy then the idea of Batman would die.

Listen, between me and you, sometimes I think that the Joker isn’t that big of a problem for Gotham as a whole, that clown has beef with the Bat and no one else. If Bruce has killed the Joker Jason would have been happy with Bruce all those years ago but killing the Joker wouldn’t make Gotham a safe place and any of his kids happier.

Bruce needs to care for his children, but he won’t do that, he has Dick for that. Taking care and raising Damian? No, thank you, I will not do that. Giving a shit about my son who lost all his memories and is alone? No thank you, I won’t do that and then I will lie about having watched him over. Tim? Oh, never heard of him, sorry.

The last page of this story is the one of Jason arriving home and finding a new suit that Bruce gave him with the bat symbol on it. That symbol that he had ripped off of Jason’s beat up body back in RHatO #25 (nope, I am not letting that one go).

Oh, and Bruce leaving that suit in Jason’s home gives me the same exact vibes as the time that Bruce was like “Long overdue. This is where you belong. As one of us. One of the family” in Nightwing #74 a second after Dick had regained his memories.

I don’t know why but they make him sound incredibly cold and like these people are just his pawns that he needs to rope back in every time they get away from him. It’s very disturbing.

Anyway, that’s all from me, I obviously LOVED this book, best Jason Todd/Red Hood characterisation ever! 11/10 would recommend to everyone including my enemies!

🙃

#jason todd #Jason Todd #red hood #Red Hood #batman urban legends #urban legends #urban legends red hood #red hood and the outlaws #red hood outlaw #dc comics

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justcourttee · 3 years

Note

Hi I love your fics and maribat. Tall Girl (Netflix) reminds me a lot about Timari. So maybe to something with that. (With Mari thinking that Tim's confessions were all jokes and wanting Ardien who was roped into dating lila and it's the class making fun of mari.)

Oh goodness, this took ages and I both apologize and hope it's what you were looking for! 24 pages and over ten thousand words! For reference, that's 20% of my first multi-part Maribat piece!

Average

In a world where everyone is looking for extraordinary, how do you survive when you’re just average?

I’ve spent my whole life mulling over the thought, trying to find a way to be extraordinary, trying to find a way to be noticed, and constantly failing.

It wasn’t like it was from a lack of effort, I really did give my all to everything I tried, it was just, there was always someone better.

Specifically, one insufferable bitch named Lila Rossi.

Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘Marinette, it’s not fair to call Lila a bitch just because she was better than you,’ and if it were a normal rivalry, I could agree with you. But you simply don’t know Lila Rossi.

Lila has been a thorn in my side since we met on the soccer field at just ten years old. I accidentally bumped into her sending us both tumbling to the ground and she took that personally. Slapping my hand away, she bawled the worst fake tears I had seen in my ten short years until the coach benched me. Can you imagine the embarrassment of being benched in elementary school soccer?

Ever since that day, anytime we were placed together it always ended in disaster, especially for me.

Now, as much as I would love to on about how awful the sausage-haired brat is, I’m sure that’s not what you came here for. So let me break it down for you. If you are looking for your typical girl meets boy, they fall in love and live happily after, you should scroll now. It’s only fair to warn you. After all, I don’t want you to be disappointed when we reach the ending. I’ll give you a second.

Still here?

Well, hold on tight. Because the story I am about to tell you isn’t much to just anyone, but it’s everything to me and my average life.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It all started on a Tuesday in August when he arrived.

Adrien Agreste.

“Class, I want you to welcome our exchange student, Adrien Agreste! He’s here all the way from Paris, France, and will be finishing the year with us. Adrien, why don’t you tell the class something about yourself?”

I couldn’t even focus on the words that escaped from his precious lips. His voice was so silky, like softened butter on one of Papa’s fresh muffins. Everything about him screamed perfect from his thoughtfully placed hair to his shining green eyes. He was simply-

“-Earth to Mari! You could at least try to hide your drool.”

My eyes snapped shut as I took a deep breath.

“Tim, I am not drooling. And you know I hate it when you whisper in my ear! It tickles!”

Tim rolled his eyes as he sat backward, his eyes narrowing to where Adrien stood in the front of the room, a pristine white smile earning giggles from every female in the class.

“I don’t like him. Something seems off about him. He’s too-too-”

“Perfect?” I chuckled to myself as the heat rose to Tim’s cheeks, his eyebrows settling into their usual aggravated pose. “I don’t know what has your panties in such a twist Wayne, but shouldn’t we try to get to know him first? I think he seems nice.”

Tim huffed under his breath, his cheeks filling with air. It was hard for me to contain my giggles as he mumbled to himself, his pout deepening.

Tim Drake-Wayne. He is my absolute, undeniable, unshakeable best friend. We met back when my parents decided to drag me halfway across the world for a change of pace. I was in the fifth grade when a young irritable boy with a coffee addiction wandered into the bakery alone, demanding a double shot of espresso to deal with the day.

After several visits, we became closer and closer until we were inseparable. Tim’s been through a lot. He was emotionally abused by his parents, forced to mature too quickly. We had just entered the eighth grade when those same parents died and he was adopted by the town’s billionaire, Bruce Wayne. I was sure I would never see him again, but after much convincing (bugging), Bruce decided public school was best for Tim so that he wouldn’t be isolated again.

I adore Tim with my whole heart, really, but there is one thing he does that I absolutely despise.

“After school today, let me take you to the new coffee shop that just opened! It’ll be just like a date.” His wink only strengthened my urge to knock him flat.

“First of all, quit joking about my lack of a love life. I don’t need a pity date from you. Second, how do you switch so easily from grueling to jokes? Don’t you get whiplash or something?”

It’s a daily occurrence. I mention someone I like or that someone is cute and immediately Tim jokes about how it would just be easier if I dated him instead. It’s the only thing he does that has ever truly gotten on my nerves.

My gaze returned to the front of the classroom where Adrien had settled into his new seat. Even the back of his head had every hair perfectly placed. How did he even begin to manage that? I wasn’t sure how long I had stared, but before I knew it the bell had sounded and I was whisked away by Tim before I could even say hi.

The same pattern repeated itself every day for weeks.

Every time I would work up the courage to say something to him, Tim drug me away as fast as he could manage. Although, I can’t place the entire blame on Tim. There was one other factor, one factor worse than Tim.

Lila Rossi.

As student body president, she vowed that it was her duty to show Adrien around the school and around town. I spent every night scrolling through dozens of snapchats and instagram stories filled with her hanging off of his arm.

Even if I could escape Tim’s grasps, there was no way she would let me get in a ten-foot radius of him.

At least, that was what I thought. There was one time during the day that Adrien had a moment to himself. Fifth period when the music room was abandoned and most took off for their internships or club activities.

I discovered him by accident, truly. My club had let out early for the day and while most people would take off to head home or to one of Gotham’s more popular afternoon hangouts, I wanted to wait for Tim.

It was never my plan to corner him, but as I flung open the music room’s door without a second thought, my eyes met startled green and my heart dropped to my stomach.

“I’m so sorry! Usually, the music room is empty right now and I thought I could find some peace, and I didn’t know you were in here and oh my god I’m such a dork.”

I slapped my hand over my mouth before I could spiral any further, his widening eyes sending my heart deeper. This was it. I finally had a chance to introduce myself and I wasted it. If there was any way I could just slink away, crawl into a six-foot hole, and simply wither away in misery, I would take it without hesitation.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll just head out no-” I could feel the heat rising to my face as the most precious sound I ever had the pleasure of experiencing erupted from him. His laugh could literally cure cancer, I was sure of it.

“No, no, you’re fine! Marinette, right?” He knew my name? Adrien Agreste, the most perfect man in the world, no, in the universe, knew who I was?

I could barely find the strength to nod, the heat in my cheeks becoming unbearable. He offered a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck in such a gentle and shy manner. It was too effective. There was no way I wasn’t going to pass out before Tim got out of his AV club.

“I’m sorry, I also didn’t realize that anyone used this room besides me. I’ve spent the past few weeks in here while everyone was in their clubs.”

“You didn’t want to join anything?” Was my voice always this high? I couldn’t remember. To be honest, I was still in a daze from his precious laugh.

“It wasn’t that! It’s just, there’s nothing here that really interests me. I prefer classical things, like the piano and musicals and French theater. Nothing that interests normal kids our age.”

French theater? I knew some from the days I spent with my Grandfather in Paris. He was a sucker for classical things as well.

“I don’t think that those are weird interests. I mean, I prefer to design as my hobby, but I’ve spent quite a few hours watching French musicals with my papy. I am very knowledgable if I do say so myself.”

Adrien’s smile was blinding as he slid over on the piano bench, offering the spot beside him. My heart had finally returned to normal, but just one small motion had sent it into a flurry as it desperately tried to escape my chest.

“Let’s make a bet Marinette.” I found myself nodding before he even finished his sentence, his infectious smile starting to pull a smile of my own. “If you can guess the song and musical, you can ask for anything you want from me.”

“And if I get it wrong?” I was so sure the air was thinner beside him, the glint in his eyes drawing my breath away.

“Then I can ask you for anything I want, deal?” I hesitated for a moment, unable to comprehend that he would even want anything from me to begin with, but seconds later my head began to move, my breathing scarce.

I closed my eyes as his fingers hit the first notes, a beautiful melody following. The song was so familiar, so simple, but it was so hard to focus with him so close by. All too soon, the echoes of the final note rang through the room until a deafening silence settled atop of it.

“So, any guesses?”

I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth, a name settling in the forefront of my mind.

“It’s definitely Sur Deux Notes, but for some reason, I can’t remember the musical”

My eyes flickered open as I resisted the urge to jolt backward. His face was mere centimeters away, everything about him urging me to lean forward, to give in.

“A true tragedy Miss Marinette,” a finger popped up to bop my nose before he slid off the bench, offering his hand to help me stand. “You got it half right! It’s from the musical Les Chansons d'Amour. Which means-”

His pauce was dramatic as I stood, his grip on my hand loose.

“I win! Therefore, I get to ask you for anything correct? That was the deal?” His smirk was so playful, it almost felt dangerous. “So, Ma Dame, what are your plans this weekend?”

“Nothing!” That was definitely too quick, do I look desperate? Honestly, if it meant staring at that smile for a second more, I found myself caring less and less.

“Then, how about I help you refresh your musical knowledge? I believe I can get ahold of a copy of the original Les Chansons d’Amour by Saturday.”

This was a date, right? I wasn’t dreaming, the red throbbing spot on my arm pretty much guaranteed it. Somewhere along the line, I must have nodded, and as he gently released my hand turning to grab his bag, all the warmth left with him. Already, I found myself longing for his touch again.

“I hate to ask, but can you meet me at Wayne Manor? I’m sure Mounseir Bruce would allow me to borrow a car, but I am not quite comfortable asking him for something like that.”

“Sure-” I felt the gears turning in my head until the final one clicked into place. “I’m sorry, did you say Wayne Manor? As in Bruce Thomas Wayne? Gotham’s Favorite Billionaire?”

“Ah yes,” his hand moved to the back of his neck, a sheepish smile replacing his confident one from moments before. “It’s a bit embarrassing, but he was the only one my father would let me stay with. I couldn’t even apply for housing because he already had it set up. Does that make you feel awkward?”

“Oh no, of course not! I’m well acquainted with the Waynes! In fact, there is one that I forgot I was supposed to meet today. Can I give you my number really quick?”

As I handed him his phone and we bid goodbye, I couldn’t even begin to relish in the high I was feeling. No. The only thing I could focus on was how to murder one little Wayne boy.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Marinette, c’mon! It’s not that serious. So what if I didn’t tell you that Adrien was staying here?”

I tapped my pencil against my forehead, trying to ignore the pestering fly beside me.

The minute I had stepped out of the music room a couple of days before, I encountered two of the biggest thorns in my life. Tim paling at the sight of my rage and one insufferable bitch wearing the ugliest scowl. He ran from me then, he ignored my texts and calls, and I’m assuming once Adrien mentioned our date to Bruce, he decided there was no more avoiding it.

“Besides, he sounds pretty cheap if he’s making you meet him at Bruce’s house. Watching musicals? Like with your grandfather? Is he ancient or something?”

I gritted my teeth, trying to maintain the silence. There were so many things I wanted to say to him at the moment, but seeing him squirm was the best revenge. Tim loved silence unless it was purposely directed at him. His brothers taught me that years ago.

The bell sounded through the room and I quickly darted out before he could attempt another backhanded apology.

These were the days that I missed my Paris friends. Besides Tim, I was utterly alone. I mean, I technically could hang out with Tim’s siblings, but then I’d still have to see him. There was one person that lived outside the Wayne household, yet I wasn’t sure if I was ready to cross that line yet.

I walked home alone again.

Realistically speaking, I needed to at least work up the patience to face him before Saturday. It was almost a guarantee that he would be there. It wasn’t like he would go out on the weekends. But with only two days just seemed too soon.

I had barely walked into the bakery when my mother excitedly waved me down the landline in hand.

“Marinette! A boy from your school is on the line!”

I raised an eyebrow as I accepted the phone, waving her off. There was only one boy that knew the landline number and that was Tim, but if he were on the phone, she would’ve said so.

“Hello?”

The silence was deafening. For a moment, I was sure they had hung up and was about to follow suit when a soft voice sent chills down my spine.

“Marinette? It’s Adrien. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

My breath caught in my throat. Did he ask Tim for my number? But he has my cell? It didn’t matter how he got it or why he was using it, I just needed to respond.

“No-” I cleared my throat trying to find my real voice because it certainly wasn’t how I just spoke. “No, it’s not a bother at all.”

“Great, so, I heard from Lila that there was a homecoming dance coming up. I haven’t been to one before, but I was wondering if I could go with you?”

“Of course I would love-” My heart sank before I could finish my sentence. Laughter cut me off, two distinct laughs that I could pick out from anywhere. “Don’t you ever get tired Lila!”

“Oh my god, you were so excited huh? Pretty pathetic that you think he would fall for you after one conversation Mari dear.”

I didn’t even know how to respond. She wasn’t wrong. We shared one song and haven’t even gone on one date yet, why would I even believe this for one moment?

“Yo Mari, what’s good xinh đẹp?” I felt my hand rising to massage my temples before I could even find the strength to respond.

“Kim, were you trying to call her beautiful, or do you just suck that much at your grandmother’s native language?”

Muffled arguing continued for a few minutes, a few too many for me to question why I still hadn’t hung up. There was a concerning shriek before silence followed.

“I’m surprised you’re still here dumbinette, do you like being degraded by me?” Her laughter sounded like nails on a chalkboard and I could feel the tightness in my chest rising to my throat. “I just wanted to call to make one thing clear. Stay away from Adrien Agreste. I set my sights on him the minute he walked through those doors back in August and I don’t want you to think for even a second in that pitiful brain of yours that you even have a chance, okay?”

I wanted to argue, I wanted to rub it in her face that I had a date this Saturday, one I didn’t have to force upon him like she had the past few weeks. But the tightness had settled, crushing my windpipes. My hand inched down from my temple to my eyes where they were met with a warm wet tear.

“Mmkay, that was all babe! See you at school, hugs and kisses! Mwah!”

The phone stayed pressed to my ear for too long, the dial tone mocking my existence.

It was just two more days till my date, but I felt less confident as the days passed. A single thought passed through my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. No matter how I felt, I couldn’t cave in and call Tim. Yeah, that’s right, I was still mad at him. But was I really?

I was so sure that I was pissed beyond belief when I had to hear from Adrien that he was staying with him, but that wasn’t something that was completely out of my mind. Tim had done worse things than withhold information about someone I thought was cute.

Slowly, I lowered the phone, my fingers absentmindedly dialing his number, pausing as my finger lingered over call.

No, not tonight. I cleared out the screen before dropping it on the bakery counter, waving off my mother’s concerned look. Nobody could ruin the fact that I had a date on Saturday. Not even my own self-destructive tendencies. Adrien asked me out. He asked me out. That was a fact and no matter what Lila or Tim thought or did, it couldn’t shake that undeniable fact.

There were two days. Plenty of enough time to finish the dress I had been fiddling with the past two weeks. I will show up to this date with my head held high and my hopes higher

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Oh! Marinette what a fun surprise! You look beautiful!”

I inhaled sharply, ignoring the urge to smack the grin right off of Tim’s face.

“Timothy. Is Adrien home?” His smile faltered for a moment as he stepped out of the way, inviting me inside.

“Is this your new project? You were working on it for so long. It looks stunning!” He stumbled over his meaningless compliments as he led me to the entertainment room, my silence too much for him to bear.

“You don’t have to escort me, Timothy. I have been here a million and one times.”

I reached past Tim to open the doors, ignoring the fact that he refused to move. There was a strong temptation to just slam the door a little harder so that it would reach his nose, but a set of startling green eyes eased the feeling.

“Marinette! Oh mon Dieu, Tim was supposed to let me know when the doorbell rang so that I could greet you. I’m so sorry, I swear I really am a proper gentleman.”

“It’s okay Adrien! Really! I should’ve texted you that I arrived. I’m just so used to letting myself in.”

His smile was full of relief as it sent my heart into a flurry. Was it really possible to sit close to this man without combusting?

“Please, join me! I just figured out how to set everything up.”

Adrien motioned to the seat beside him and as I slid into the couch, I was fully aware of his arm resting behind my head. It felt nearly impossible to focus on the movie in this position. As he pressed play, my eyes glanced between him and the screen, unsure which was more deserving of my attention.

“So my friends, what are we watching?” Adrien’s arm flinched, his elbow knocking the back of my head as we both jumped from the couch.

“Tim, what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t a fan of French musicals?”

Adrien was putting it nicely, something I could admire him for since my thoughts were definitely straying to a much more violent response. Tim took a handful of popcorn, shoving it into his mouth as he slipped into the spot I had been sitting moments before.

“I usually don’t, but I figured I should get to know you both a little better and your culture of course. Don’t mind me, you won’t hear another peep.” He mockingly zipped his lips closed, his sickeningly sweet smile not quite reaching his devilish eyes.

Adrien glanced at me as if he were unsure to argue or not. I suppose he decided it wasn’t quite was worth it as he moved to sit back down, his smile shaky.

With as much might as I could muster, I shimmied in between the two guys, putting as much distance between Tim and me as I could. I felt his glare burning holes into the side of my head, but there was no way I was going to let him ruin my perfect first date with the perfect guy.

Adrien restarted the movie and for exactly five minutes, Tim kept his promise.

“Can we at least turn on the subtitles? My french is a little rusty.”

I gritted my teeth as Adrien nodded, the screen changing to fit in the white words.

“God that’s tiny, is there any way to make them larger?”

“Uhm, I’m not very sure? It took a while to figure out the controls.” A fist shot past my face, spreading in wait. Adrien looked wary as he placed the remote into Tim’s outstretched hand.

“This should do.” What was once manageable small words were now purple and taking up a third of the screen. I could feel Adrien tense up beside me, but he refused to argue.

We continued on like this for the duration of the movie. Tim would find something new to complain about making our date feel less and less romantic and more like amicable divorcees taking their child out.

“Wow, what a beautiful movie!” Tim dabbed at nonexistent tears, his smile irritating me half to death. “What’s next guys?”

“I, uhm, actually have to head back. After all, I told Maman I wouldn’t be out late.”

“Let me walk you home!” The silence was deafening as both boys traded glances with one another, daring the other to speak again.

“Enough Tim! This was my date tonight with Adrien, not you! Quit acting like some jealous boyfriend!” Both sets of eyes turned toward me, one set glowing, the other dull.

Tim closed his slack jaw before he gathered his trash, mumbling under his breath as he left.

I took a minute, watching the door to ensure he wouldn’t turn back with some dumb retort like he always did, but instead, it remained shut. I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder, urging me forward.

“I’ll walk you home Marinette.” I managed a nod as I let Adrien lead me out of the room and out of the manor.

We walked in silence for a while, his gentle touch both calming and warm in the cool October air.

“Marinette, I’m sorry. That wasn’t exactly how I planned for our first date to go. I’m not sure what was up with Tim.”

My laugh was curt as I slowed my pace, the bakery coming into view far too quickly.

“Tim is just lonely. I know that, yet I’ve been ignoring him some time for petty reasons. He just,” I paused, steps away from the windows to avoid any unwanted audiences, “he just can take the jokes too far sometimes and I can’t handle that.”

Adrien nodded as if he sort of understood what I meant, his eyes glancing to the building beside us.

“Is this your house? Do you live above the bakery?”

“Uh, yeah. There’s an apartment above with a side entrance. So I suppose, this would be my stop.” His chuckle echoed as he moved his hand from my back to brushing against my own hanging hand.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t how I imagined it would go, but can I at least end it how I planned?”

My heart was certainly ready to burst as he gently turned me until our noses were mere centimeters apart. He seemed to be waiting, his lips parted ever so slightly. This was my chance, and yet I was too mesmerized by how close he was. Could I at least nod?

Perhaps I did. The confirmation he waited for set him in motion as he closed to the slight distance between us. His lips were warm and soft and I felt as if I could melt into the sidewalk, as happy as could be.

It almost felt life ending when he finally pulled back, his smile sending my head spinning.

“I’ll see you Monday, Marinette. Goodnight.” He lifted my hand, placing a small peck against my knuckles before releasing it, turning to leave me dumbfounded in front of my own house. My eyes trailed after him, only allowing me to step toward my own home once he was just out of sight.

There was literally nothing that could ruin the high that I was on during that very moment. If only I had known what was waiting for me as I turned the knob.

“Welcome home hunny! Look who decided to stop by to see you!”

The color drained from my face as the snarky smile set off every alarm in my mind.

“Long time, no see Dupain-Cheng. I thought the first thing you would do when I got here was come and see me, but I guess that was too much to hope for now wasn’t it.”

“Chloe, you know you’ve been busy, so why are you acting like it’s all my fault?”

Her heavy, dramatic sigh reminded me exactly why I hadn’t reached out. Chloe is one my best friends besides Tim, but she can be a bit much sometimes. Imagine being so average that even when you stand next to a pillar, you make the pillar look more outstanding. Got that picture? Now imagine little old average me standing next to a three times Miss Junior World Wide pageant winner.

See? A bit much for my mental health to hang out in public with her.

“C’mon now, you know that’s not the only thing stopping you from calling. Your mother told me you had a date tonight. You finally give that Wayne boy a chance?”

I rolled my eyes as I slid into the chair across from her, the weight of the night finally hitting.

“You and I both know he’s just messing with me, mocking me if you will.” Chloe shared a look with my mother, both sighing. I knew what they were thinking, but they didn’t know Tim. He was always like that, always will be. “Besides, there was a transfer student. From Paris to be exact.”

I knew I had captured her attention as she leaned forward, her fingers intertwining before resting on the table.

“Maybe you know him. From what I gathered, he and his family are Paris elites. Adrien Agreste-”

“Mhmm, girl, drop him now.”

I paused as I waited to see if she would elaborate, but instead, she just sat back in her chair as if already bored with the conversation.

“Why should I? He’s so handsome and so sweet and we both share similarities. He’s so perfect Chloe.”

“Yeah, no.” She glanced over her pristine nails as if looking for a crack in the polish to punish. “He is a daddy’s boy and you are not his father’s type. His father will insist he marry someone that would be good for business and I’m sorry but you’re not that Marinette.”

“Marriage?” I could feel myself burning red at the implication. “We only went on one date, Chloe!”

“And it should stay that way. Trust me, he and his family are nothing but trouble for you. You should ask out Tim instead.”

“Are you done?” Chloe sighed before nodding, letting her hand fall to hit the table with an exaggerated smack. “I know that he is out of my league. Trust me, for someone so perfect like him, he needs perfect to match. In fact, I was planning on calling you soon anyway, but since you’re here..”

I trailed off, waiting for her to draw her own conclusion.

“Marinette, nobody is perfect. Stop putting him on a pedestal before you hurt yourself.”

If I weren’t mistaken, I would almost think she was concerned for me, but that just wasn’t Chloe’s style.

“So can you do it or not?”

Her sigh was long and drawn out, ending in a slight nod.

“Let’s get to it. We have a lot of work to do before Monday rolls around.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You know, I had always wondered how Lila felt walking into school every day knowing that every set of eyes was pinned to her.

Now I knew.

It was revolting. How could she walk so confidently knowing that everyone was gaping at her, certainly waiting for her to mess up? At least, that’s how it felt as people didn’t even bother to hide their broken necks as I whisked past them.

It would be a lie if I didn’t disclose that I practically dove into the safety of my homeroom before I fell into a full-blown panic attack.

“Marinette?” I stiffened as I peaked up at the boy standing in front of my desk. It had been two whole days and Tim hadn’t even messaged me, yet here he was, his mouth hanging as low as everyone else’s. “Are you wearing make-up?”

I nodded as he slipped into his usual seat, his expression shifting from surprise to one of suspicion.

“This has Chloe’s handiwork all over it. Did she stop your house or something this morning?”

“She’s staying for the next couple of weeks to avoid that shady hotel on fifth that her mom booked for her.”

Tim nodded with understanding, but not another word was spoken. It almost felt like a dagger to my heart. Where was the Tim I knew with the backhanded compliments and joke dates? Surely if a makeover couldn’t get a reaction from him, what was I expecting from Adrien?

I let out a sigh as I fell forward, my forehead resting on the cool desk. Where was Adrien anyways? He was always ten minutes early for every class. This was so unlike him.

“Oh my god! There you are Mariboo!” A shiver traveled down my spine jolting me up in my seat. There was only one person with an annoying shrill in their voice that could outmatch Chloe’s.

“Lila? You’re not even in this class. What do you want?”

Her laugh felt like listening to a cat using the blackboard as its new scratching post. I couldn’t help but flinch as she placed a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder.

“You’re so mean Mariboo! I was coming to make sure that we were still on for lunch today! Adrikins had a photoshoot this morning but he wanted to invite all of us to eat with him on his break!”

Her enthusiasm was sickening.

“But Lila, you don’t like me-”

“Don’t like you? Babe! What is with you today? If my boyfriend asks me to bring you to lunch then that’s all I need to confirm our sisterhood.” Boyfriend. Boyfriend. I couldn’t be bothered to hide my shock as Lila’s fake smile shifted to show her more sinister and true smirk. “Yeah, Boyfriend. We went to dinner last night and he asked me there! So romantic huh? Anyways, I trust I’ll see you later then huh? Okay then! Hugs and Kisses, byee!!”

My eyes narrowed as they shifted to where Tim sat beside me, feigning ignorant to the interaction. Was this his retaliation for what I had blurted out on Saturday? I only called it how I saw it and it was Tim’s fault for pushing me that far! He was being childish at this point.

“Do you think she’s lying about Adrien asking her out?” The silence was deafening as Tim slowly lowered his forehead to the desk, his eyes shut tightly as if trying to imagine he was anywhere else than right beside me. Regardless, I tried to continue. “It has to be a lie, right? I mean Adrien said he liked me, not her! We even kissed.”

Tim’s body stiffened beside me. Of course, that would get a rise out of him, he was always overprotective about those kinds of things. Alas, my excitement was dulled as he returned to his relaxed state once more, his silence continued.

Whatever. I don’t need Tim. I can figure this out for myself. All I had to do was wait till lunch.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Oh my! You actually came! How exciting.” Lila’s smile was dripping with false elation, a hint of thrill dancing in her eyes as if she couldn’t wait for the drama to unfold in front of her. “Aidrikins, look who it is!”

Adrien wouldn’t even meet my eyes, his arm dangling lifelessly from Lila’s shoulders. If I had to guess, he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment. The thought leaked its way into a small smile.

“Why don’t you take a seat Mariboo? I have someone who wanted to talk to you. Someone who loved your little-” she paused, her nose scrunching up as she searched for the right word,”-transformation?”

I didn’t even have time to question her before I was thrown off balance, an arm forcing me into the chair at the table.

“‘Sup girl? You’re looking fine today.” Instant dread flooded my soul as I was squeezed into a damp t-shirt that I could only assume was sweat-drenched. “You don’t mind if I slide in beside you eh?”

“Kim-Get. Your. Arm. Off. Me. Now.”

“Woah, woah, c’mon little lady. Don’t be like that! You know I’ve always had a soft spot for you Marinette.”

Lila’s smile was infuriating as she watched as Kim pushed me into the open seat, his arm heavy on my shoulders.

“What is the meaning of this Lila?” Her eyes feigned innocence as she cocked her head to the side, her fingers tapping the table.

“Whatever do you mean Marinette? I’m just trying to help you get over your heart break now that Adrikins has chosen me to be his girlfriend. You know the old saying; ‘the best way to get over one is to get under another’.”

I could barely stand to let her finish before I pushed Kim away, taking off ducking so that he couldn’t reach out again. Why did I think for even a second that this would turn out okay? Did I expect Adrien to wrap me up in his warm arms and tell me she was just a joke? How stupid of me.

“Marinette?” I slowed down long enough to catch Tim’s worried gaze, the strength in my legs finally giving out as I slumped to the ground. “Marinette! What happened?”

I tried to speak, but I couldn’t seem to find my voice. I reached up absentmindely to where the warmth in my cheeks sat, recoiling at the dampness I found. Had I started crying? When did that happen?

“Here, take this.” I didn’t even bother to look up as the weight of Tim’s jacket slipped over my shoulders. He gently helped me to my feet, pulling me toward the door that led to the courtyard, a bench in view. “Can you make it to our spot?”

My voice still seemed to fail me, a nod was all I could manage. It was enough for Tim who seemed to understand. The moment the back of my knees hit the cool wood, I buckled. Tim crouched in front of me, reaching out hesitantly to brush some of the leftover tears lingering on my cheek.

“Is this because of Adrien?” The air left my lungs, my body going rigid. “This is what I was worried about Mari. He seems perfect, but the jerk was torn between you or popularity. Anyone who can’t see the right choice there isn’t deserving of you.”

“Torn between me and popularity?” My voice was hoarse, it sounded unfamiliar.

“Yeah. He had the audacity to ask for my advice as to whether or not it was worth it to date you or have friends. Can you believe that? As if Lila’s little group will still want him after his newness has worn off.”

“And what did you tell him?” Tim stiffened as he shifted his eyes away from mine. “Tim, what was your advice to him?”

“He told me to drop you because you only saw your old life in me and that you weren’t as invested in this as I was.” My body felt as stiff as Tim’s looked as we both glanced to where he stood, breathless and red, his own eyes tinging pink as if he were holding back tears himself.

“Stop.” Tim’s voice was a whisper, his hand retracting from where it had been resting on my cheek. Adrien took a step forward, holding his head higher as he looked down on the two of us.

“He told me that you always had short-lived crushes and that you longed for your old life often. So much so that when I showed up, you were more fascinated by what I could offer over who I was.”

“That’s not what I said-”

“It’s exactly what you told me! So imagine my surprise when she showed up at lunch today looking like I had pulled the rug out from under her feet. Marinette, this isn’t what I meant to happen. I like you, alot. And if you like me too, I’d want to give this a shot, truly.”

My brain felt as if it were short-circuiting. Tim had done many things in the past to thwart my crushes but he’d never put me in a situation that would hurt me. Never. Yet, when my eyes met Adrien’s, something sincere stirred, pulling at my heart.

“Tim?” His eyes shifted to mine, tears brimming at the edge threatening to spill at any moment. Was this really the face of a selfish man sabotaging me? “I want to hear it from you, Tim. What was your advice to Adrien?”

“Marinette, I already told you-” Adrien fell silent at the sight of my palm, urging him to stop. It wasn’t a lack of trust in him, it was the fact that I felt too much trust for Tim. I just knew he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, he-

“That’s more or less what I told him,” he was barely audible but I heard every word clearly as they pierced my chest. “But Marinette, I couldn’t watch him string you along anymore. You don’t know the conversations he has at night with Lila, you don’t know-”

I couldn’t imagine the face I was making right now. I couldn’t even begin to fathom a face to make in the first place. Nothing out of Tim’s mouth was making sense. Adrien was telling the truth? Tim really said that about me?

“Marinette, please listen-” my hand moved before I could think, smacking Tim’s as it attempted to rest itself back on my cheek.

“Tim.” He seemed to understand as he stood, taking a step back from where I sat. “Tim, just,-I-”

I didn’t even know what to say. Why did it hurt so bad? What was this gut-wrenching feeling? It wasn’t like this was the first time Tim had sabotaged a crush. But wasn’t it the first that he had gone this far? The first he had said such awful things to me? Right?

“I think you should leave Wayne.” There was a tense moment where the air stood still and the two boys in front of me stared each other down, daring the other to speak again. It was Tim who would inevitably give in, stepping back toward the school building without a glance back. And for some reason, that hurt most of all.

His face, what face was he making right now as he walked away? It’s the only thing I can think about, it’s monopolizing my thoughts. Tim, Tim, Tim-

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. It’s okay.” Adrien pulled me forward until I was pressed into his chest, the dampness of my cheeks finally hitting. When did the tears start? Why did they start? “Marinette, I don’t know what Tim has said about me, but I really do have feelings for you. I never once faltered when it came to that. Is there any way you could give me a second chance?”

His heart was pounding. Was he nervous? I could hear the words coming out of his mouth, but I couldn’t process the meaning behind them. Was he asking me out?

“A second chance? Aren’t you dating Lila?”

“I am, but I’m not. I-I don’t care for her as I do you. It was just that Tim told me you weren’t interested and she has been asking me for weeks now. I’m sorry. I know this doesn’t look good on my part, but I swear Marinette. If you tell me right now that you will accept my request, then I’ll leave her. It’s you that I want Marinette. So what do you say?”

“I-I don’t know what to say. I mean, Adrien it was one date. Are you sure you want to throw away your relationship on one date?”

Adrien pulled back, his eyes shining as elegantly as the first time I saw them.

“I’m sure Marinette. I would be willing to bet anything on you.” Hesitantly, he reached forward, wiping the tear stains from my face, his hand remaining on my cheek. “May I?”

I couldn’t process just what he was asking, my mind still boggled with thoughts of Tim retreating. I could feel my face being pulled forward ever so slowly, his nose nearly tickling my own. Was this okay? Was it okay to allow him to steal yet another kiss? Was Tim right? Did I truly care about Adrien or was he just another crush? He paused, his lips mere centimeters from mine.

“Is this okay Marinette?”

No, Tim was wrong. Adrien was wonderful and caring and I actually liked him. This was something I decided for myself regardless of Tim’s opinions. It was my turn to close the distance between us. His lips were soft and delicate, almost hesitant as he returned the kiss. As he pulled away, my head felt dazed. It was different from the melting sensation I had felt before. This one was gentle, like a promise sealed between the two of us. It was comforting.

"Come with me Saturday,” my voice felt foreign as it slipped out of my mouth, unsure of where this surge of courage came from. “My friend has a fashion show and while it’s not the most exciting thing in the world, I’m sure it would be much better with you there.”

“If it’s with you, I’m sure it will be a blast. I’d love to come, Marinette.”

There was a pause as I registered his words in my head.

“So, like a date..right?”

Adrien’s laugh bellowed through the courtyard as he stood, offering his hand to help me stand as well.

“Exactly like a date.” He pulled my hand forward until his lips brushed over my knuckles, his warmth lingering even after he released his grip. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to take care of a certain someone before I can officially call you mine.”

Adrien offered a small wave before turning to jog back inside.

I remained standing, my eyes following his retreating figure. He left through the same door that Tim had, reminding me once again, that I also had someone I should take care of. But was that the case? Tim never explained himself, just upped and left after Adrien suggested he should.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t trust Adrien and what he said, it just felt wrong to watch Tim leave me, to leave my side without a word.

Maybe we both just needed some space. After all, I had no idea what I would do, what I would say if I saw him right now. I would just wait until after Saturday, after my date, after a perfect night out.

Yeah, that would be the best time.

I reached into my pocket, my fingers already dialing before my phone was even in view.

“What do you want Dupain-Cheng? Aren’t you still in class?”

“Well, hello to you too Chloe. I’m doing fine thanks for asking.” There was a deep sigh that resonated through my phone as if she was deciding if I were worth her time. Supposing I was, she clicked her tongue waiting for me to continue. “Adrien agreed to come with me to that show you’re walking in on Saturday.”

“And why would he do that?”

“I would like to assume it’s because he likes me and wants to spend time with me, but that’s just a guess. Who knows for sure?”

Chloe tsked and the line went dead before I could even say another word. I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. At least the one thing I could count on was for Chloe to remain constant.

Never mind anything else that occurred, the only thing I had to concentrate on was my date. Forget Tim, forget Lila. I had a perfect date on Saturday and that was the only thing that mattered.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“So, enjoying your backstage luxury? Honestly, you’re drooling as if you haven’t eaten in days looking at all these up-and-coming designers.”

I unconsciously wiped the drool that had seeped at the corner of my mouth as I turned in circles taking in the landscape. It wasn’t much. A bunch of thrown-together counter space and curtain dividers, but the hope and exhaustion on everyone’s face as their hard work finally came to light was what made it so fascinating for me..

“I can’t help it, Chloe. I know I told Adrien that it wouldn’t be that exciting, but to be honest, it’s so gratifying watching them. Maybe I’ll take my hobby seriously and find myself here one day. You’ll wear my designs, right Chloe?”

“Mm, you’ll have to prove to me that your designs are worth my time.” She stuck out her tongue, her eyes taunting me to retaliate. “Besides, I know this is all just a deflection Dupain-Cheng. You’re avoiding the original question I asked when you first got here.”

My body stiffened slightly as I shifted my gaze to a nearby model having their make-up fixed. Anywhere but Chloe was a good place to look seeing as the burning sensation in my skull indicated that she was most likely throwing her killer glare in my direction.

“I told you, Chloe, he said he would meet me here and he just hasn’t texted me yet.”

“That sounds like a load of bullshit to me, but whateves.” It was odd that he hadn’t called me or even shot a single text. We were supposed to meet up an hour ago but after thirty minutes of waiting and three missed calls from Chloe, I decided I would wait inside for him to contact me. “The show will be starting soon so you should try and find a decent seat. Maybe lover boy can find the guts to show up before I walk.”

I nodded before edging my way to the curtain separating the audience from the models. Peeking through, my eyes scanned for a certain blonde but alas, he still wasn’t here. I excused myself to the nearest row with two seats left, placing my purse and jacket into the empty one in hopes Adrien would fill it soon.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as the announcer jumped on stage, his enthusiastic voice failing to capture my full attention. When Chloe would ask me later if I liked the show, I couldn’t even begin to tell her what she modeled. My thoughts were elsewhere, wondering just why he never even read a single text.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I got my answer just hours after returning from Chloe’s show. In reality, I hadn’t moved from my bed, not particularly sad, just mentally exhausted. It was only after I had finally decided to brush it off as a dead battery or some freak accident, I received a text from someone I never imagined.

“Hey xinh đẹp, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but I just couldn’t let this slide.”

Kim had attached a video, nearly a minute long. My heart jumped as I saw the screen frozen on Adrien’s face surrounded by dozens of people, Lila hanging right off of his arm. Was this why he was late? Did he go to break up with Lila? It would explain why he couldn’t answer me.

With a shaky breath, I pressed play, my heart threatening to drop at any moment.

“The fuck is this?”

“Tim?” His name almost sounded foreign in my mouth. What was Tim doing at Lila’s party?

“Leave it be Wayne.”

“Yeah Timmyboo, just leave it be.” Lila giggled as she brought Adrien’s face to hers, leaving small sloppy kisses all over his face. It almost made me sick to my stomach. That looked nothing close to breaking up.

“You told her that you were leaving this bitch! You lied to Marinette.”

“Oh c’mon Tim. Marinette’s nice and all, but her crush on me was overbearing and what was it going to give me in return? Huh?”

“She would’ve given you the world if you asked! How can you not realize that? When Marinette loves someone, she does it with her whole heart. If I had your chance, you bet your life I would never waste it like this!”

Tim… was serious. All those times, he was serious. I can’t believe I thought it was a joke when Tim was constantly pouring his heart out to me.

“Like she would ever give you a chance Wayne. Not after you made it so easy for me to get her to hate you. I’ll let her know eventually, but in reality, she has nothing. Especially compared to Lila. It’s like father always said, relationships are only good for what they can offer yo-”

Adrien never got to finish his sentence as Tim’s fist connected with his face. I could hear Kim let out a string of cusses as the video cut out. There was nothing I could do as I stared at my phone, still processing what I had seen, what I had heard. I stared until the screen blackened and all that was left was my own shocked expression.

For some reason, it didn’t hurt that bad hearing Adrien’s words. Somewhere deep inside of me must have realized that fascination with someone from where I grew up way outshined the actual connection I had made up.

“Tim,” He tried to protect me. It wasn’t just some jealous ulterior motive; Tim just didn’t want to see me hurt. And speaking of Tim, “my God, I have to find Tim!”

I pushed off my bed, racing down the stairs and out the front of the bakery. Maman glanced sideways at me as I zipped past, but she did nothing to stop me, a seemingly knowing smile plastered on her face. I’m sure I’ll deal with her teasing later, but that wasn’t the important thing at the moment.

No, the only thing that mattered was finding-

“Marinette?” My feet planted themselves, my arms involuntarily shooting out to balance myself. Before I had even turned, my heart was already jumping in my throat. “Marinette, where are you going?”

I couldn’t stop myself as I stumbled forward, my steps clumsy as I made my way to where he stood.

“Marinette? I-oof” I threw myself into Tim, my arms tightening around him in fear that if I let go, he would somehow slip away from me. He hesitated for a moment before I felt his own arms wrap themselves around me.

We stood there as seconds passed, neither speaking, just simply holding on for dear life.

“I love you.” His heart raced, reacting to my words much the same as my own. “I’m sorry for everything Tim. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize you never once were joking about your feelings for me. I’m sorry that I let a stupid boy come between me and my best friend. But most of all, I’m sorry that I never had the courage to say it sooner. I love you, Tim.”

All too quickly he pulled back, his hand rushing to his face in an attempt to cover the spreading red.

“You-ou-you-you can’t just spring that on me! I didn’t have any time to prepare. And you took away my big moment! You have no idea the demons that I literally fought to finally work up the courage to come confess! Marinette!”

I felt the giggle bubbling up as Tim attempted to compose himself, the blush ever-burning as it moved to brush against his neck.

“I guess I should add that to my apology speech too huh?”

“Yes! You should! I want a formal apology later for ruining something that I have been planning for since we were kids.”

“And what about now?” Tim cocked his head as I took a small step forward in an attempt to close the space between us. “If that’s what you want for later, what do you want for now?”

I could practically see the wheels turning in Tim’s head as he tentatively reached out, grasping my face as lightly as he could with both hands. Time seemed to stop as he pulled me forward, his breath quick and uneven, much like my racing heart.

“I want to kiss the woman I love, but only if she wants me to.”

“What a coincidence, I also was thinking that I would love to kiss the man in front of me.”

We both moved forward, our lips and teeth colliding at the same time.

“Ow!” Tim released one hand as he covered his mouth. There was a moment of silence before we both erupted, our laughter mingling as it filled the night air. “Somehow, that felt exactly like us.”

I could only nod as my laughter faded out, an ear-splitting smile taking its place.

“It’s okay though because now we can try again any time.”

Tim smiled as he leaned forward once more. “Good, because I would love to try again right now.”

His lips were soft and his kiss was gentle and described in a single word; perfect. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against my own, his heart practically jumping through his shirt.

“Is this real?”

“It is.”

I shared his sentiment. It didn’t feel real that after all this time, after everything that had happened, we had finally found our way back to each other.

I’m sorry if this wasn’t the happy ending you were waiting for. After all, I did warn you that it wasn’t your typical girl meets boy.

In the end, I never quite figured out my question; how do you survive in an extraordinary world when you’re only average? After everything, I still don’t have anything definite, but I suspect that it becomes infinitely easier when you fall in love with your best friend.

As I met Tim’s eyes in our last moments alone that night, the only thought occupying my mind was that never again would I ever let him go.

I found the person that makes my average life extraordinary and he’s always been right by my side.

“Never leave Tim, okay?” I could feel the warmth from his smile before it even appeared.

“You’re only stuck with me for the rest of your life and any time after that.”

I reached forward, intertwining our fingers, relishing in the perfect fit. This was everything I had been searching for and now it was quite literally in my grasps.

This, well this was only the beginning of our story, but that’s a tale for another time, right?

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#timinette #tall girl au #maribat

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

For The Love of a Father (Idea)

AYO it me! this was inspired by an idea by @1rosebyanyothername in the MGI server. (i copied this directly from the server so rip my punctuation)

“What if somehow Thomas Wayne managed to live but lost his memory, so he moved to Paris, taking on the name Thomas Dupain?

What if he then married Sabine Cheng, and then eventually had Marinette?

So Bruce would be Marinette’s half brother, around 8 years older than her.”

So this is what I came up with as a part of brainstorming for it. (again not a fic but an idea that i should not be allowed to have)

without further ado:

Okay so imagine they, Thomas and Martha, were pronounced dead on scene but when they get to the coroner's office Thomas wakes up but since this has already made big public scandal the coroner tries to be discrete and ships his unconscious body off to like Strange or someone who then confirms the memory loss or gasp does it himself and ships him off to who knows where cuz the underbelly of Gotham has plans and a living Wayne ruins that but he didnt kill him cuz the Wayne foundation funded Blackgate and Arkham so out of mercy he doesnt kill him but ships him off to Italy in the care of one (1) ☝ Gina Dupain who was all new son and rolled tf with it

now he is being careened off to Paris cuz his 'father' Roland lives there but since Thomas was already a grown man at this point he just tries to live on his own and this is where he meets Sabine and they have a lovely daughter named Marinette Martha Dupain-Cheng

he doesnt know why he chose Martha but the name comes with an intense feeling of love so of course he would name his first daughter after that name

now either this is set in like fox series Gotham where we have young pre!batman Bruce or whenever but if you choose that route then maybe immediately after the series during his sabbatical he finds himself in Paris and would you look at that his dad his sweeping floors while a girl no older than 6 is calling him papa and Bruce just fucking breaks and he doesnt know what to do cuz he thought this man was dead but no he has a new family a new wife a new kid and Bruce has spent all this time grieving this man so he walks in trying to figure out wtf is going on but then Thomas looks up at this now 18??? yr old Bruce and there's a pleasant smile and 'welcome to Tom and Sabines how can i help you' and no recognition and Bruce then realises he has truly lost his father and now when he becomes batman its not with the grief of losing his parents but with the pain of losing his father twice

so then fast forward and cue to 13 yr old Marinette and being ladybug and wonder woman tells the league of a problem in Paris and Bruce just like freezes cuz wtf and internally he's spiralling cuz he never recovered from his discovery of his father's new simple life but the mission comes first and the grieving 12 yr old inside has to take a backseat for now so he sends someone (maybe midnighter but idk much bout him so someone else like wonder woman) to find out more and get in contact with those dealing with the situation so they schedule a meeting with ladybug and chat noir and Bruce nearly swallows his tongue cuz he doesnt give a f bout magic and magic cant hide those eyes cuz he sees them every morning in the mirror the same shade of blue (idk if it was Thomas or Martha that had blue eyes and i dont think canon knows either) and Bruce just knows this is his father's daughter his sister and she's caught in the same life as he but not because she condemned herself to this life but cuz some ras al ghul wannabe forced her and now he's seeing red but he cant lose his cool cuz batman doesnt lose his cool

so they work together but this little girl no taller than his ribs is hesitant and cautious and she's cracking under the pressure cuz her partner has other responsibilities and she has to pick up the slack and she doesnt know what to do and now Bruce is this close to revealing himself to her and explaining everything so that she has a bigger shoulder to lean on but he cant cuz hawkmoth and magic and secret identities and its a whole mess

(he is absolutely ready to go apeshit during weredad but he doesnt but its a damn near thing)

NOW we cut to when Mari is like 16 and theyre closing in on hawkmoth but he cant focus too much on that cuz 38 yr old Bruce just picked up a child and holy shit how does one parent and his sister?? can he even call her that?? is handling the situation so he takes a bigger backseat on Paris and focuses more on cleaning up Gotham and training/raising robin

and now things are kinda mellowing out and everyone falls into their new routines and roles in life Bruce almost forgets that his dad is not dead and during an investigation he finds out that Hugo Strange was responsible for shipping his father off like cheap export and now he's torn because he knows Strange can undo it,,, the bastards done worse and more complicated shit over the years undoing memory loss that he caused should be piece of cake but he doesnt want to take away a father from his child cuz Bruce knows how that can absolutely ruin someone and he's grown fond of his sister even if the relationship is severely one-sided she's family and Bruce couldnt do that to family but ,,,, but he misses his father he loves Alfred truly but nothing replace the Thomas and Martha shape gape in his heart so he does nothing

NOW he does however want to bridge the gap between himself and Marinette cuz he wants to know his father's new family even if the thought of his father loving someone other than his mother and calling someone else his child makes him viscerally ill he is nothing if not addicted to self-inflicted punishment after all

so he invites her whole class over to metropolis as some scholarship trip (he'll be damned if he brings his tiny sister to gotham of all places) and tries to get to know her there but he cant do so under much professional settings so he lets it slip casually in a presentation about his parents and includes a picture of his parents and he sees the looks the girl’s classmates throw around cuz they know that man as her father not his but no one can deny the resemblance so after the presentation she discretely goes off to talk with him in private but everyone sees them and knows whats happening so there is no time for pretense but they go into a back room and they talk and talk and talk and cry a little bit maybe a lot and they make promises to get to know each other

#maribat #so yeah #sibling!brucinette #but with a twist #this was an idea that i built upon when i was supposed to be working #bless rosie for letting me post it #but i should not be allowed to have ideas #should i post my ideas more often??

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years

Text

In Line at the Prize Counter

So this fic was originally intended to be part of Dick and Damian week, but life intervened and I didn’t end up finishing it anywhere near on time. That said, I found it too much fun to write and didn’t want it to live forever in WIP form. So, I hope you all enjoy this adventure featuring one Very Done Damian as he’s forced to rescue Dick from a Bomp n’ Stomp.

Characters: Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne

Words: 4,965

Summary: When Dick Grayson is kidnapped, Robin is the only one who really believes he's being held at the Bomp n' Stomp entertainment center. So he rolls up his sleeves, and heads into the dreaded building to rescue his brother from the likes of ball pits, twisted slides, and yes even go karts.

AO3 Link

Of all the places in the world Damian Wayne expected to walk into, a Bomp n’ Stomp was not one of them. In fact, he had argued viciously against ever entering the indoor playscape when his brother had suggested they spend a Saturday there.

To make matters worse, in an attempt to convince Damian of it’s legitimacy, Richard had called it an arcade.

An arcade .

The nerve of the man to sully that term by applying it to this ball pit filled, gum ridden, dirty carpeted, sticky establishment. A true arcade, like Shelly’s JoyCon, home of Cheese Viking, would never allow it’s door handles to leave a strangely greasy film on Damian’s gloves as he moved his search from a back room back out into the main area.

The inside smelled of old pizza, spilled soda, and that strange almost chalky scent of fog machines. It was, in a word, disgusting. Damian felt a pull at the bottom of his boot every few steps, like the carpet was coated in something sticky. He wrinkled his nose.

No, this was nothing like his favorite arcade.

Granted. It was also closed for renovations, with the promise of things like all new games, flooring, and yes even door handles. Still, Damian thought nothing could quite erase the smell of greasy pizza. That was a scent that stuck.

He shook his head. He needed to stop thinking about greasy pizza and continue working on why he was truly here. Some odious criminal had thought it a good idea to kidnap Richard on his way into Gotham.

It would not be stood for. Not someone snatching his brother. Nor holding him up in a place as terrible as this. To top things off, whoever had taken Richard had deprived both he and Damian of a perfectly excellent evening that should have been spent at the Observatory.

Damian sniffed and picked his way past skee ball games, an overly large wheel with inane words like “Double Prize Winner!!” in bold peeling letters on it, and the playscapes namesake, a Bomp n’ Stomp game.

At the Bomp n’ Stomp, he stopped to peer down at the curious game. It was obviously broken. The machine was little more than a garishly painted box with various holes covering the top. Out of one peeked a chipped plastic facsimile of a mole. Hanging off the machine were two objects strung on cords that looked ready to snap at any moment. The first was a toy hammer, it’s fabric ripped and leaking stuffing, the other a boot attached to a stick.

“Tt.” Damian discounted it and looked back up.

Whoever thought a game designed around attacking moles was a good idea surly must be a criminal.

He’d neared the end of the ‘arcade’ portion of the building and was entering a larger more open space. The carpet changed from soiled red to blue spotted tile. At the change, the ceiling rose at least a second story above him, towering high enough to fit a series of large structures.

To one side of this new area rested a climbing wall. It, out of everything Damian had seen so far, actually looked interesting. Even from here he could see portions that might make for a mild challenge in climbing.

Next there was a multistory play set filled with slides, jungle gyms, large netted areas he supposed children were expected to crawl through, and so many tunnels it would put most professional guinea pig enclosures to shame. A sign outside the entrance indicated that somewhere towards the center of the structure rested a huge ball pit.

Damian really, truly, hoped Richard had not been placed within that. If the rest of the Bomp n’ Stomp was sticky and dirty, the ball pit must be truly foul. He could not even imagine what had happened within it or what--he grimaced-- fluids could have coated the orbs.

He turned to the last attraction, a small go kart area. Perhaps the climbing wall was not the only redeeming quality to the establishment. Provided of course that the carts actually moved quickly.

So far, he had seen no hint of Richard. His brother had not been hidden behind a garishly colored game, and he did not seem to be dangling from the climbing wall. After a brief examination (and admiration of the engines on the small cars) Damian determined that his brother was either being held in one of the staff areas indicated by the back wall or-- He glanced at the huge play place.

After a moment’s hesitation, Damian squared his shoulders. As detestable as it would be to crawl around in there, he would do it if it meant rescuing Richard from being trapped inside. He could not imagine being held within the structure longer than a few minutes. It would be torture indeed.

The truly strange thing about his investigation so far had been that no one had attempted to stop him. There were no guards at the front, nor the back, and the building was empty of signs of life. The power was on, with some games sluggishly lit or playing bites of music, but Damian had not seen anyone besides himself.

He considered this as he made his way to the entrance to the play structure. He knew for a fact that Richard was here, even if Father did not.

Damian pushed the plastic draping away from the domed entrance and stepped inside the structure. He was surrounded by net, his feet no longer on solid ground, but pressed into some kind of foam. Ahead of him was a rope ladder that looked designed to be as unstable as possible. He sighed and began to climb.

Of the three possible locations Richard could have been taken to the Bomp n’ Stomp had been deemed least likely by his Father due to the fact that it was not altogether abandoned. While, over the weekend no one would be inside, the possibility of a worker coming in was high enough Father had assumed any capable kidnapper would discount it.

The other two locations, an empty ice cream parlor, and an abandoned junk yard, had been deemed higher priorities and dangers. But something had told Damian that the Bomp n’ Stomp was the right location, and he had argued that it should be checked out.

So while his family was split between the other two locations, Father had reluctantly allowed Damian to check out his hunch, promising to meet up with him after they'd cleared their own locations.

The ladder exited onto a platform made entirely of the netting Damian had seen from outside the playhouse structure. Tentative, he pressed a hand into the thick black cording, and when it gave less than he’d assumed it would, he climbed atop it.

Balance was a tricky thing on the strange floor, and Damian could not help but think the League would benefit from installing something of the kind in one of their training rooms. It turned a normal floor into something to be treaded on with care or risk getting a toe caught between the net. If he was unlucky he might end up tumbling to the ground or twisting his ankle. Damian couldn’t imagine it filled with children.

He was keeping his ears open for any sounds of either Richard or the kidnappers. From the letter and accompanying picture Father had received there were at least three men holding Richard, but there were sure to be more.

Father had immediately identified the men as being part of a relatively new gang in Gotham. Their motive was both money and an attempt at scaring Bruce Wayne into cooperating with them in the future.

Damian scoffed at their foolishness as he hopped off one platform and onto another. His eyes went wide as, instead of the net he’d grown used to, the floor rolled under his feet.

He bit back a yelp as his feet slipped forward, and he went tumbling, hands pinwheeling out beside him in an attempt to catch his balance. He stumbled back, then forward, then one leg was in the air, followed by the other and Damian was staring up at the faded yellow ceiling of the play place.

For a moment, he lay there blinking up at it. Wondering about the strange flatness, and remembering this thing had another level above him. If someone was above him, would he see imprints of feet? Sections weighed down by a kid stepping over it?

It did not matter. What did, was finding Richard and escaping this cursed place.

Damian felt the floor under him, and realized it was not a single solid piece, but four cylinders that each rolled on their own. Whoever had designed this place was a madman. Putting a trap like this in a place where anyone could fall could only spell injury on a normal day.

He grunted, and carefully pushed himself up, moving off the shifting section and onto firm foam again. Well, not quite firm. It sagged with every step Damian took, but it was far better than the rolling part or the net.

The next hurdle came when Damian reached the tunnels. He had seen them of course, out looking up at all this. Plastic, colored brightly, sometimes one segment a different color altogether than the last, little windows dotting the sides. But he had hoped he’d find Richard before having to crawl through one.

He crouched and stepped inside. After a few moments he realized he was going to have to actually crawl. He wrinkled his nose as he pressed palm to plastic and began moving. At one point his palm stuck and after a moment, he pulled it up to reveal gum pressed into the green of his glove. Richard had better be thankful for what Damian was putting himself through to rescue him.

The space was tight, and as a defensible position it was terrible. If a fight took place within the tubes it would not be good. Even Damian, as small as he was, would have a hard time maneuvering within them. He’d have a better chance of winning a fight in some of the Batcave’s tighter spaces.

They were also impossible to be silent in. Every inch forward created squeaking or creaking or the echoing sound of a knee hitting against plastic with a series of thumps that were anything but rhythmic. Any chance of silently finding his brother was dashed a minute after he entered them.

Once Damian realized that, he no longer bothered trying to move slowly through. Instead he hurried, around turns, down dips, and up tiny plastic hills. He was thankful for the extra padding over his knees and the leather of his gloves. If not for them he was certain his palms would be red and irritated and his knees bruised.

Damian was in such a hurry to get through the tunnels that he missed the slide. One moment his hand was pressed into plastic, the next it fell into nothing. His momentum was such that he’d assumed it was another dip, a temporary fall.

But no.

His next hand hit nothing, with the other was still in air, and then Damian found himself staring down the tube of a slide, and hurtling down it face first. It twisted, and turned, and at one point his chin caught on a portion of the plastic that was raised. Damian winced, feeling the plastic scratch his skin, sure he’d be wiping blood away if he ever exited this terrible contraption.

At last, he burst out. He got one good look at a space enclosed by netting and more slide exits before he saw what was below him. To his growing horror, the ball pit waited. Staring at the pit in bullet time Damian decided this whole place was ridiculous. A death trap made for children . Even Nygma could not come up with something so fiendish.

Nothing Damian could do would stop his crash. Balls of yellow, red, blue, and green exploded around him, bursting up and into the air even as his trajectory took him down, deep into the pit. He was drowning, and yet not.

After a moment he realized he’d stopped moving. The balls around him had coalesced into a kind of solid form that still allowed him to move. It took some work, but eventually Damian righted himself and managed to semi-swim upward, kicking off against the ground before shooting back up. And at last, his head popped out into clear air.

“Robin!?” The surprised voice came from his left.

Damian shifted, careful not to sink again, “Richard!” he cried, then corrected himself, he was in uniform and Richard was a civilian. Even here, the kidnappers might be watching.

“Mr. Grayson, I am here to rescue you.”

Richard actually snorted, an aborted version of what would have been a startled laugh. He was half buried in the ball pit himself. His torso and head above the sea of color. Rope was tied around what Damian could see of his chest, presumably holding his arms back, but otherwise he looked fine.

It was a miracle Damian hadn’t plowed right into his brother during his wild exit from the slide. He’d landed a foot or so away from him, close to the middle of the pit. The problem was, figuring out how to get both himself and Richard out.

Damian glanced around the enclosed space holding the pit. He counted four slides at various sides of the netting, and two rope ladders leading up. One to another tunnel, and the other to what looked like a real ledge.

“So, Mr. Robin , what’s the plan?” Richard asked, his tone far too delighted with their situation.

A scowl crossed Damian’s face, “Do not patronize me. It is your fault we are in this mess at all. Do you know how unsanitary this all is? From the pit to those cursed tunnels. Even the door was sticky.”

Richard gave him a patient smile, “But it’s not all bad right?”

“Tt. It has been horrendous. I do not know how you have survived.” Damian said, and began wading over to his brother’s side.

It was difficult to push through the pit, but he found that thankfully, the closer he got to an edge, the higher the ground under him was. It went from almost nonexistent, to high enough he could stand on his toes beside Richard. It was not ideal, but at least he was no longer at risk of being swallowed whole.

“There has to be at least one redeeming quality about this place.” Richard continued, “Even Robin must have liked something the old Bomp n’ Stomp has to offer. Maybe one of the games?”

“Nothing.” Damian answered, defiant even as he thought of the go karts and climbing wall, “Especially not the games. This place is childish, Richard. Childish and demeaning, and even you would not stoop so low as to drag me here.” he ranted, forgetting that he was Robin with a civilian and not Damian and his brother.

His brother’s smile was full of delight now, “You protest too much. I bet at least one thing caught your eye.”

“I said nothing.” Damian declared again, and sending balls flying, “Now come on, we do not have time to waste speaking of such moronic things.”

Richard cleared his throat, “Uh, Robin, aren’t you forgetting about something?”

Damian turned to see his brother shrug, plastic balls rolling away from him, and Damian caught sight of the ropes still binding his brother.

Fire lit hit his cheeks. He swallowed down the embarrassment and moved again to hastily slice at the ropes holding Richard’s arms to his sides. Even in his rush, he slowed as the blade neared his brother, the night would only be worse if he accidentally hurt him.

The ropes fell away easily, and soon Richard was massaging his wrists and stretching his arms up into the sky, “That feels great, thanks, Baby Bat.”

Damian ignored the nickname, and Richard’s attempt to reach out and ruffle his hair. He ducked and turned towards the ladder by the platform, “Come along, I would like to get you out of here as soon as possible.”

Richard hummed, “Yeah, I have no idea when those guys will be back, so haste is probably a good thing. Unless you already took them out?”

“The building was empty when I entered.”

Damian scrambled out of the pit and up onto the ladder. He climbed up, only to realize Richard had not followed him. When he turned to frown at his brother, he could see the man had stopped at the ladder, his eyes focused on the rungs.

“Richard?” he asked, voice quiet.

“I’m fine, just a bit dizzy. I’ve been sitting there a while, my arms and legs are tingly and just waking up.”

“What else is wrong.” Damian did not ask, but demanded the answer.

His brother shrugged, “I might have sprained my ankle when they tossed me in?”

Damian nodded, assessing the situation.

“Can you climb?”

If it were Damian in Richard’s shoes, he’d power through the ache, but he did not wish to press his brother into doing something he couldn’t. He could support Richard as they moved, and they could utilize a slide to exit this structure, but if he could not climb, getting him out of the pit might prove challenging.

Richard nodded, “I think so.”

He placed his hands on the rungs and started up. It was not an overly high ladder, but even so, Richard made it a few rungs before he paused wincing.

“Here.” Damian said.

He knelt down and reached out for his brother, “I will pull you up.”

Richard gave him a look that could only be described as incredulous. Damian glared at him in return.

“I can handle lifting you a short distance. Push off with your good foot and let us get this over with.”

After another moment of hesitation, Richard reached up and took one of Damian’s hands. His other, he kept pressed to the bars for leverage. Damian pulled as Richard pushed himself up. Below him the ladder wiggled a threat. However, he managed to grab hold of Damian’s other hand with a tight squeeze.

Richard was heavy, but together and with another awkward step onto the ladder, Damian managed to help drag him up. For a moment, they sat together looking at each other.

“Well.” Richard said, “I guess we should keep going?”

Damian nodded, “Indeed. I believe there is a slide exit in that direction.” he waved in the general area he remembered seeing one. At least he hoped it was there. His internal map of the structure felt a little turned around after his dive into the ball pit.

He helped his brother up, and they began moving through the rest of the structure. Damian stuck close to Richard, who insisted he didn’t need to lean on him yet. Still, he kept one eye on his brother, ready to assist if he showed the slightest sign of wavering.

They reached another area where solid panels switched to a rolled floor and Damian threw an arm out to stop their progress.

“Careful, that part can be deceptive.” he said, pointing down at them, “Allow me to walk you over them, so you do not injure your ankle further.”

Richard had an odd look on his face, a smile that seemed as if it hid another emotion, but Damian wasn’t going to worry about his brother’s reaction to his protectiveness. He always seemed to blow things like that out of proportion anyway.

They traversed the trap easily, and had just about reached the slide when a question that had been bugging Damian burst to the surface.

“Why were you in that ball pit? Surely there was an easier place to hold you.”

“Apparently, I talk too much.” Richard chuckled, “In truth, I was seeing if I could irritate them into letting me go.”

Damian couldn’t stop a surprised laugh at that, “It does not seem to have worked.”

Richard shrugged, “It was worth a try, it’s worked in the past.”

At last they reached the slide.

“I will go down first, so I can look for trouble and assist you if you have any problems.”

This time, Damian’s trip down a slide was a controlled one. It was a not altogether unpleasant experience sliding at a quick speed, and turning round and round in a spiral.

He couldn’t help but think back to watching Father, back when the man had lost his memory, playing with children on a large playground. A pang of want, not as strong as then, lodged in his chest. He tried to swallow it back as he popped out. Landing on his feet before he hurried forward to get out of the way.

Damian turned his attention away from lost memories and onto the rest of the Bomp n’ Stomp’s interior. His eyes ran from the go karts, paused at the entrance to the arcade portion, and moved over to the climbing wall on the far side of the room. Still empty.

“You may come down, it is clear.” he called up the slide. His voice echoed slightly up the plastic tube, sounding a little hollow and odd.

“Yeah!” Richard cried, his voice bouncing loudly down to Damian.

He could hear his brother swish and bump down the slide as he traversed it, the plastic rumbling as he reached the end. When he came out, he stopped himself with his hands at the exit, and carefully pushed himself to his feet, grinning.

“I don’t care how much you hate these places, we’re coming back.” he declared.

Damian rolled his eyes.

Before he could respond, there was the sound of metal on concrete. He spun on his heel and turned as a large metal door labeled Staff Only rolled up to reveal four very angry looking men carrying guns. By some stroke of luck, they hadn’t noticed Dick or Robin yet.

“We’re leaving now.” Damian said, grabbing Richard’s hand.

He made to run back towards the exit, but Richard yelped, his hand staying behind Damian. He froze, and turned on his brother, eyes looking over him. Richard was wincing and Damian remembered the man’s ankle. It must be worse than he’d let on.

Damian cast his eyes around him for something to get them out of there safely. He stopped when he saw the go karts.

“Can you make it there?” He pointed at them.

Richard’s eyes lit up, “Yes. That’s a big yes.”

Just in case, Damian hooked an arm around Richard’s waist to help support him, and together they hurried at a not quite run for the go karts. Just as Damian was helping Richard over the barrier separating them from the karts he heard an angry yell.

He glanced up to see the men running towards them, a cacophony of voices yelling at them to stop. Damian knew they had moments before the shooting started. He shoved Richard into the nearest kart that had two seats, and ran around to fiddle with the exposed engine. His earlier examination had been brief, but enough to tell him that the karts had safety measures equipped to limit their speed. That would not do.

His fingers were fast and clever, even working on an engine he’d never worked with before. It was moments and he was throwing himself into the open chair. Thankfully, a key was in the ignition and Damian had the kart roaring to life after a moment.

Just as he revved the engine, the gunfire started.

Damian threw the kart to the side, thankful the area the karts were in was somewhat open, and made a large loop, letting the cart pick up speed as he moved.

“Robin--” Richard’s voice was a question, “Just what’s the plan here?”

They were roaring towards the plastic partitions they’d only just hopped over. Damian was confident they were flimsy enough to ram, especially at the speed they were going.

He grinned, “We are going through them. I would suggest ducking. I do not wish for you to get shot while we escape.”

“Damian,” his brother hissed, “There’s an opening to the outside behind us.”

“To an enclosed area. The walls are high there, we would be trapped. This is our best option.” He'd seen the area when entering the Bomp n' Stomp earlier.

Even as he spoke they were nearing the path of no return. The kart raced towards the partition, the men racing towards them. Damian pressed his foot harder against the pedal and then the pointed front of the go kart was slamming through the short plastic partition, breaking apart the multiple pieces that kept it together and sending them flying.

Damian could not help but grin as one piece caught a kidnapper in the side, sending him tumbling to the ground.

He wove the kart through the remaining three as they yelled and one of them got off a shot. The bullet pinged off the side of the kart.

“Whohoo!” Richard cheered as they blew past the last man and sped through the building.

Damian pulled them back into the part of the building filled with various small games. The kart shook as it shifted from tile to carpet. The sound it made changing from a flat rumble to something more muffled. At the bump, Richard winced again. Damian frowned.

“We will be exiting soon.” Damian said by way of comfort.

He could hear the rumble of feet behind him, and even the sound of another go kart having been started. Damian snorted, unless they’d modified it, he and Richard still had the advantage. To make sure, he glanced behind him.

There was only one kart chasing them down, another two seater, with both seats filled. Unfortunately for them, it did seem to be running quickly. Damian swore as it began closing the distance between them. He threw himself back against the seat as the man who wasn’t driving leveled a gun at them and fired.

The bullet sped past them by a wide margin, but the danger was still there.

“Hold on.” he told his brother and pulled the cart around one of the games, twisting through the maze of Jurassic Park simulators and skee ball machines hoping they’d shake their pursuers.

“He’s still there.” Richard said, now taking Damian’s place in watching their backs.

“Lean back, you’ll get shot.” Damian hissed, “We need only make it out the front doors.”

Richard followed his lead, just in time as more shots rang out around them. Damian caught sight of Richard's worried expression out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t have time to turn to him. He kept the cart moving forward, dodging games left and right.

At last, the doors were in front of them. Damian prayed the cart would trigger the door’s automatic response. As they sped closer and closer he started to wonder what it would be like to just plow through those too.

Then they swung open and Damian and Dick burst through.

Behind them, Damian could still hear the squeal of the pursuing kart. That didn’t matter however, as Damian’s eyes lit on the Batmobile. Father was already out, Red Robin beside him. It took them a moment to understand the extent of the chaos Damian had dragged outside, but soon they were moving too.

Damian pulled the kart around them, and heard the distinctive pop pop of something exploding. The men in the kart behind them yelled with surprise, and the sound of the kart cut off with a sudden deafness.

Feeling safe, Damian pulled his foot off the gas, slowing his own kart and turning it to drive closer to Father’s car so Richard would not have to limp far.

Turned now, they could see the other kart coated in foam. One of Drake’s newest experiments, and a successful one at that.

As they stopped, Damian grinned over at Richard, “See. As I said, we only needed to make it outside.”

Richard was grinning, and Damian found himself relieved to realize his brother was fine. Their mad dash did not seem to have resulted in his injury.

They sat in the kart as Batman and Red Robin took care of the two men in the other kart, and then moved inside to deal with the other two goons.

Damian leaned his arms on the steering wheel and gave Richard a small smile.

Richard, leaned forward to mirror him, elbow bumping against Damian’s, “Admit it, you had fun coming through there to rescue me.”

Damian considered the thought for a moment, “Never.”

“Ha! I knew you did.” Richard sat up, delighted.

“I said nothing of the like.”

“But your face did.”

“The go karts were acceptable.” Damian admitted.

Richard reached out and tugged Damian into a half hug, “Good, we’ll do go karts when we come back, and try the rock climbing wall. And I’ll win you enough tickets to get one of those giant stuffed bears.”

“Father could buy me one for less than it would take you to get those tickets.” Damian pointed out.

“That,” Richard said sternly, “is not the point. It will be a thank you, for the rescue and one of the most exciting nights I’ve had in a long time.”

Damian snorted, but leaned a little closer into his brother’s side. Watching as Batman and Red Robin led the remaining two men out of the building.

“I can accept that. I will allow you to bring me back to the Bomp ‘n Stomp when they reopen. Even if the doors are still sticky.”

#Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #Batfamily #fanfiction #humor #fluff #this one's just fluffy you guys #kidnapping #rescue #Damian is out of his depth but that's not stopping him #Dick is having a Great Time #Precious Posts

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