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soulmate-game · 3 years

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Harley’s Plea for Help: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before she decides to sneak out?” Nightwing asked over his comms, lazily leaning against the balcony railing in front of him with his head resting on one hand.

“Dude, I started sneaking out almost twenty minutes ago,” a girl’s voice made Nightwing squeak and turn around, to reveal a teenage girl leaning against the door that led to the balcony he was on. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by doing unnecessarily showy gymnastics down from my hotel room’s balcony, no matter how much fun that would be, so I just snuck out one of the hotel’s back exits. Then I looked up to admire the moon and saw you here, staking out what is clearly my suite, and decided to come pay you a visit.”

“How long have you been there? And how did you even get behind me? I hope you didn’t break and enter, that’s an actual lived-in apartment behind us right now,” Nightwing asked, turning around to analyze the daughter of Harley Quinn for the first time in person.

She looked just like in her pictures, of course. Jet black hair like her father’s, except it seemed to have a bluish shine in the light. And her eyes were definitely Harley’s— thank goodness for that —vibrant blue and clearly analyzing him with the same amount of intensity as his did her. He had to bite back a chuckle. In a turn of complete irony, she really did look like a Wayne kid. Fit all of Bruce’s usual criteria to be adopted. But she was tiny, even smaller than Harley’s lithe form. He, Bruce, and Tim were of the hypothesis that the exposure both her parents had to Ace Chemical’s vats of acid likely had an effect on her DNA that stunted her growth. Perhaps there were other effects that they wouldn’t be able to figure out until they got to know her better, too, though it was clear that her skin was a likely one. It wasn’t unnaturally pale like her parent’s after their acid dips but it was paler than normal for sure, just a shade or two shy of being paper white.

And he could see, now, what Harley meant when she referred to Marinette as a powerhouse. It wasn’t very noticeable in pictures, but up close Dick could see the carefully honed muscle of an acrobat curling over her otherwise slim build. Combined with the knowledge that Marinette had been taught at least some serious self defense from a young age, he could see how such a tiny package could be a remarkable threat when necessary.

Marinette grimaced as the other Batfam, who were all nearby staking out her room from different angles, dropped onto the large balcony with them.

“Uh, well. I didn’t break and enter, I rather not get off to a criminal-ly start on my first night in Gotham, you know? But I realized that even though I was able to figure out the exact room you were staking me out from, I realized as soon as I got into the first floor of the building that I had no idea how to actually get to you. So I just climbed the stairs all the way to the roof and scaled my way down to this balcony, and pretended I’ve been here for a while when really I was barely able to hear you ask when I was gonna sneak out. I’m still out of breath, actually,” she put a hand on her chest and sure enough her breathing was still slightly fast. But not enough to be worrying or even all that noticeable. Yet another piece of evidence to show that she was a very active individual and had resistance built up to physical activity.

“Yup,” Robin groused grumpily, crossing his arms. “With all that rambling, you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but Quinzel’s.”

Marinette’s face immediately flushed pink all the way to her ears. “I’m sorry! I’ve been trying so hard to quit that habit, too!” She grumbled a bit to herself, putting her face in her hands. They all chuckled at the display. Red Hood ambled over, draping his arm over her shoulders (he nearly had to bend in half to do it, the height difference was that bad).

“As adorable as your freak out is, why’d you even come up here anyway? There’s no way you’d scale down a ten-story building just to say hello.”

She let out a heavy sigh at that, slowly peeling her face out of her hands. “Yeah, I recognized you guys right away. And honestly, as much as Momma Harley would be super proud of me for managing to give an entire group of vigilantes the slip, she’d also ground me for life if she found out that I saw you guys and still snuck away even though she probably swallowed her pride and asked you guys to babysit me, right? Self preservation. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have some.”

“Wait,” Red Robin held up a hand, brows clearly furrowed under his cowl. “You expected her to ask for our help?”

“Well,” she made a so-so motion with her hand. “I didn’t think of it beforehand, but it all clicked once I saw Nightwing. I know how much my mom is worried about me, especially since you-know-who broke out a few days ago. She is more than worried enough to ask you guys for help. Even if she does complain about you guys, a lot actually, she also has made it clear that she trusts you guys with the stuff that actually matters.

“‘You know who’?” Batman repeated, arms crossed. If Marinette squinted, she thought there might have been a grin on his lips. “Is that how you always refer to him?”

“What else am I gonna call him?” she asked, face going deadpan. “Sperm donor? Source of a large amount of my self doubt and depreciation? The prime reason I haven’t been able to see my mom in person more often over the years? Oh, I know! How about I just always refer to him as ‘that bastard I wanna punch,’? That sounds good!” she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Only one person in this world has the right to be considered my father in any capacity, and it sure as hell isn’t him. Genetics notwithstanding.”

Red Hood straight up guffawed at that, landing several rough pats on her back that made the girl stumble a bit. “Yep, I like this one! But as fun as it would be to see you give that jackass a mean left hook, it’s better if he never finds out who you are or knows that you’re here,” the vigilante’s voice got dark and serious very quickly. “He doesn’t forget people he finds interesting easily, and if he ever finds out about the connection you have to him, he’ll be a constant threat in your life.”

“I know,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “And if this conversation was happening two years ago, I’d say that my mom’s concerns aren’t unfounded. That I am too easily emotionally compromised and despite my deep seated issues and hatred for that man, I couldn’t guarantee he would be unable to get to me.”

Batman straightened up, as did all of his sons around him. None of them had missed the ‘if’ there. Batman’s voice went from charmingly deep to it’s usual gruff grumble. “What changed in two years?”

They all watched as Marinette gulped, taking a deep breath as she stalled for time, looking out at the view on the balcony before seeming to steel herself and return her gaze to Batman’s. When she did, it was suddenly full of iron will.

“I didn’t lie when I told Mom that I came to visit her— but that isn’t the whole truth, either. If I just wanted to visit her in Gotham, I would have waited until I was eighteen like we agreed. But I can’t wait, Paris can’t keep going on like this. I entered that contest because it was the fastest way to see you. I didn’t know if I would win, but… I had to take the chance. There was no way I’d be able to get to Gotham behind my mom’s back otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Robin hissed, stepping up to his father’s side. “Paris has been silent. If anything were happening, we would have heard about it by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Marinette corrected, never losing that ironclad look in her eyes. “Because a combination of magic and politics is keeping it quiet. No news about Paris’ situation is able to leave the city limits. Magic makes any non-native who leaves Paris think that everything they experienced was just a crazy dream. Natives won’t forget, but politics has all of us under very strict NDAs if we leave city boundaries, and all of our local news and social media is blocked from being accessed by anyone outside the city. But, I figured a little breaking of the rules wouldn’t exactly put a stain on my family’s reputation or anything, so,” she dug in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, holding it up for all of them to see. She swallowed again, but never stopped her eye contact with Batman. She held out the thumb drive.

“I came to Gotham to ask for your help. This sped things up, I didn’t expect to see you on my first night here, but two years in Hawkmoth’s Paris has really taught me how to roll with the punches. This,” she shook the thumb drive. “Holds videos of every fight since HawkMoth first showed up. It has all the information I’ve gathered over two years, tracks his movements and lists all his targets and— everything. But I’m not a detective, I’m a designer. I make clothes, I spar on the weekends, I am not good at getting evidence to prove that someone is a magic-abusing villain holding an entire city hostage.”

“We’re gonna need some details, Little Q,” Red Hood finally removes his arm from around her shoulders, instead crossing his arms and looking down at her sternly. “If your city has a villain holding it hostage, is anyone fighting him? And if you do have someone fighting him, why don’t you need our help, or why didn’t they call the Justice League? The JLE should be in Paris, right?”

Marinette snorted, face scrunching up in obvious distaste. “I’ll have to answer those a little out of order. First; the JLE was kicked out of Paris. They moved their headquarters to Italy about five years ago, I’m just surprised they apparently kept that secret from you,” she gestured to all of them, who indeed seemed very caught off guard by that tidbit. But Marinette just sighed and continued. “Though that’s a good thing, actually. We do have heroes, it started out as just a pair but it’s grown into a small team out of necessity. They didn’t call the Justice League because the last thing we need is any powered heroes coming in and making it worse— your league doesn’t have the best reputation for letting newer heroes take the lead even on their home turf, you know,” she pointed out, which made Batman shift a bit guiltily. He knew the JL was often a bit… heavy handed in their methods.

“What makes the situation so bad that you don’t want to bring experienced heroes into it?” Red Robin cut in, sounding as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was determined to sort out. Which, really, was exactly what Marinette had been counting on. She shot him a finger gun, grinning.

“That’s exactly the point! Hawkmoth uses a magical artifact, like I said— but this artifact can brainwash anybody who experiences even the slightest negative emotion. Sadness, anger, fear— anything negative. And it gives them powers, but puts them largely under his influence,” her expression twisted again, this time into a wry little grimace. “I guess you can say that my momma’s psychiatry background has secretly come in handy a lot over these past two years. And Hawkmoth is exactly why I try to tell Momma Harley to stop visiting me— I have worked my butt off to keep her from finding out about his attacks or getting Akumatized. Every time she shows up it gives me a heart attack!”

“Akumatized?”

Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the term used for when someone is turned into a super powered villain because of HawkMoth. The brainwashing— really it’s more similar to a straight up corruption. The person usually lacks their usual moral compass, and just seeks to soothe whatever set off their negative emotion in the first place. Usually, that means they seek a bloody revenge. And if someone who already has extensive training or extremely strong powers gets Akumatized, guess what?” She made jazz hands even though her face was deadpan. “Extra powers, or amplified ones, for the metas or superheroes who are Akumatized. And imagine what someone with, say, Batman’s level of experience could do if he had powers and no moral compass,” the silence that followed her words was deafening. She just nodded, knowing she had gotten her point across. “I’ve been working my butt off to stay positive, because if I’m Akumatized…” her shoulders fell, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “... I have no idea what I’d turn into, but if you take into consideration both my training and my family history… it’s really best if we never find out what kind of magic-powered supervillain I’d make.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Nightwing said after another long moment of silence for that to all sink in. He gestured at her with an open palm. “You’ve been dealing with a terrorist for two years who targets emotional vulnerability, you apparently have never been corrupted by this magic at least to present day, but your mother still worries about you being very emotionally fragile. And your heroes are not detectives, which is clearly what you need or you wouldn’t have asked us for our help.”

Marinette nodded. “I used to be very impressionable. At the start of all this, I was a huge people-pleaser. I got attached to new people in a matter of minutes. My mom always said I reminded her too much of herself— but two years of fighting off a guy trying to get into my head—“

“Wait,” Batman nearly barked, taking a step forward. “He’s been targeting you? You specifically?”

Marinette nodded grimly, mouth a straight line. “Not from the beginning, but this past year it’s been painfully obvious. He might be able to sense the strength of people’s emotions, and unfortunately I don’t exactly experience my emotions very… gently. All of my emotions tend to the much more intense side of the spectrum. If that’s true, then he might know that any negative emotion I feel will make an extremely strong Akuma. Either that, or he’s going by process of elimination. All of my friends, except for one, have been Akumatized already. So has my Papan and my grandmother. But it’s obvious when he’s targeting someone, I’ve felt him try to override my will on several occasions. But I can’t just repress all of my negative emotions forever, so consider us working against the clock right now. That thumb drive has all the details you need about our heroes, how exactly Hawkmoth’s powers work, and so on.”

“Do your heroes know you’re asking for our help?” Red Robin asked, gaze burning a figurative hole through Marinette’s face. “Better yet, if this drive has as much information as you say it does, how did you get it?”

Marinette handed the drive over to Batman, who finally took it and tucked it in his belt as she answered.

“Momma Harley might have a lot to say about your detective skills, but you are all still strangers to me. So consider this a test of your abilities— I expect that you will all go to extreme lengths to verify all of the information I gave you anyway. After all, I’m still the daughter of your most hated enemy. Right?” She met each of their gazes, one by one, with a challenging one of her own. “You’ll just have to figure out my connection to the heroes on your own. And how I got the information, too. It shouldn’t be too hard for the so-called world’s greatest detectives. And maybe this can double as a trust exercise. I fully expect you guys to scour through every inch of my past, and dig up everything you can on me. I encourage you to try to find everything you can, so that hopefully you can decide to trust me on your own once you have all the details laid out in front of you. By the way, for your own sanity? I’d start with reading about all of our heroes’ powers and abilities before you watch any footage of past attacks.”

Red hood rocked back on his heels, trading glances with the other vigilantes before they all shared a nod. Apparently having decided their course of action, Red Hood leaned down and hoisted Marinette up into a princess carry. All traces of her previous iron will melted away in favor of the high pitched squeal of surprise she gave, and once more she became an overly flustered teenager.

“Alright, little cutie. Let’s get you to your mom’s place before she and her crazy plant lady fiancé come hunting us down.”

“I can walk! I can freerun on my own! Mon dieu please let me down! Eeeeek!” She squealed again as Robin slapped a domino mask over her eyes and Red Hood wasted no time jumping over the balcony railing with her still in his arms. The fact that they were lowered down by a wire wrapped around Hood’s waist didn’t seem to take away any of the fright that came with a sudden drop over an eighth-story balcony.

Part 1

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman (didn’t work sorry)

#dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #maribat #bio!dad au #Bio!mom Harley Quinn #Bio!Dad joker #mlb x dc #ml x dc #Harley’s Plea for Help #platonic brucinette #platonic jasonette #platonic Harley Quinn x Marinette

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

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A Little Outside the Doorway of Your Home (Various Creepypasta X F!Reader)

[Various X F!Reader]

[Warnings: none? Like, children I guess and slight angst.]

[AN: it's like a half fic half scenario thing that I originally intended to be shorter, but here we are.]

You wake in your house to the sound of your little girl running through the hall of your house. As you open your eyes to the ceiling where rays of lights dance through the open air. You can tell she’s padding towards your room - it’s become a daily event.

“Mommy!” She cries out as she bursts your door open, jumping onto the bed with all her might.

“There’s my little princess,” you hum with a small smile, giggling as you scoop her into your arms.

She laughs - it sounds so much like her father - before she situates herself on your sheets. She sits up. “Do you know what today is?” She asks, happiness in her eyes.

You pretend to feign ignorance, “no, I don’t. What’s today?” You question as your face pulls an expression that tells you’re obviously playing.

She rolls her eyes playfully and pushes at you with all her tiny might, “really?” She says in an exaggerated tone.

You break your feigned ignorance and pull your daughter in before peppering her face with kisses. “How could I forget? You’re six years old today!”

That statement isn’t false, you wouldn’t forget her birthday for anything. Her birthday is a place of happiness and sorrow. Happiness, because she’s growing older and experiencing the world and living a life you always wanted her to have, and sorrow, because it was the day you said goodbye to someone you loved.

Every time you looked into her darling eyes, you saw her father’s looking back at you. Every day she grew to be more and more like him; it was undeniable that she was his just as much as she is yours.

“What do you say we make a special birthday breakfast?” You say as you slip out of the sheets before turning back to your bouncing little girl who climbs onto your hip.

“It sounds so good,” she says, nodding faster and wildly than she can even get the words out. “Can I help you make it?”

“Of course,” you reply. “I can’t make a special birthday breakfast without the birthday girl’s assistance,” you giggle, tapping her nose gently as the two of you head down the hallway to the kitchen.

Once there, you set her down and get the things she can do out on the counter top. She’s so tiny that she needs a chair to stand up on just to reach them all. You watch from the corner of your eye as you handle the things you’re not comfortable with her doing just yet. She’s surprisingly efficient, your little one. She has the curiosity and skill that outruns her peers by miles. A part of you says it’s because of her father, but you know it’s because you’ve been raising her. Nurture is greater than nature, after all.

Your little birthday girl gets to stirring the pancake batter after she measures it and you’re cutting up fresh vegetables for an omelets alongside some other things. The kitchen already smells heavenly. When she’s done mixing the batter, you pour it into a heated pan and make them just the way she wants them - with butterscotch chips and chocolate chips. You let her put it on a plate and watch as she carefully cuts some strawberries. Once she’s successfully transferred the delicious pancakes onto her plate (and adorably one for you as well), she goes to the table.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Can I have some tea with honey?”

You smile and wordlessly get to brewing some tea. You decide you’ll have some too, so you decide to use the kettle over the Keurig. As you wait for it to whistle, you get the rest of the breakfast together and place it all at the table for just the two of you.

“It looks good,” you note as your child waits patiently for you.

“It smells good,” she agrees.

The kettle whistles and you find yourself flitting over to its side before procuring two cups. You make her cup of tea just the way she likes it, and finally, you’re able to settle at the table with her.

“Go ahead,” you say as you sit down.

She beams and digs into her food. “Thank you,” she says in a momentary lapse between eating and stuffing her face.

You laugh slightly, “slow down,” you remind her.

She pauses slightly before going back to her fast eating.

You also begin to cut your pancakes and omelets. Once to your satisfaction, you pour some honey into your tea, stir it and bring it to your lips. You’re barely able to get in a few sips before you hear a knock at your door. Your eyebrows raise as you see your little girl setting down her silverware. “No, let me get it. Stay here and finish your food,” you say as you begin to slide out of your seat. “I won’t be too long. You can get your tablet until I’m back. Sound good?”

A large smile curls from her lips as she rushes out of her seat back to her bedroom. You hear her rummaging around her room, and with that, you get up and head to the door to see who it is. As you near your front door, you can’t help but get that sinking feeling in your stomach. You don’t even need to open the door to know who it is. You can feel it in your bones.

Still, as you twist open the doorknob, you feel your heart flutter. You were expecting him, but seeing him in the flesh for the first time in a year has you feeling like you’re meeting him for the first time all over again. He still sets your heart on fire.

Masky - Timothy Wright:

“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” A low male voice asks, a small smile tugging at his lips. There’s bags under his eyes that tell you he hasn’t slept in days but seeing you has his eyes shining with a light that not even the sun can compete with.

“Tim,” you breathe as you catch his eyes. “I’m - I’m well, and you?” You sputter out, stepping out of your house slightly to close your front door behind you. You look over him to see he’s got a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a wrapped present tucked under his other arm. He lets them go gently before taking you into his arms. You wrap around him like a snake, allowing yourself to be swayed by him for a few moments before he lets you go.

“You know how it goes,” he hums in response, moving slightly on your front porch to let you stand beside him. He never says too much of what he does, and to be completely fair, you’re not sure you want to know. All you know is that it’s dangerous, and it’s because of that danger he can’t be close to you or your child.

“You wanna talk?” You ask. It’s more a formality, really. Every time he visits he stays to talk for a few minutes or so. You never see him outside of your baby’s birthday.

“Don’t need to ask me twice,” Tim replies with a breathy chuckle as he takes his seat on the stairs alongside you. “Got these for you.” The brown haired man holds out the pink flowers for you after he’s reached back on the porch to get them. Roses and carnations. They’re beautiful.

“Thank you,” you say as you take the flowers into your arms. “I hope they didn’t cost you too much-”

“It’s nothing,” he waves off. “Would you mind if I uh,” he gestures down to his breast pocket where you’re greeted to the outline of cigarettes.

Normally you’d tell him no, but this time, you let it slide. “Go for it.”

Tim raises his eyebrows but uses his free hand to fish out his pack of cigarettes anyways. He places one in between his lips. “That’s weird,” he says as you on instinct reach into his coat pocket and grab his lighter. “Something wrong?”

You flick it on and light his cigarette for him, watching as he inhales with appreciation. “It’s nothing,” you attempt to wave off.

“I know you better than that,” he says as you drop his lighter back into his tan coat pocket. “Sounds cliche as hell, but you know I’m right.”

You sigh and decide to bite the bullet. “I just, we-” you finger the petals gently and feel their velvety surface. “We could use you around, you know that, right?”

Masky hums as he takes another drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in rings that dissipate the further away from him they go. This isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him, and unfortunately, you know it won’t be the last. “I know.”

“That’s never good enough-”

“I’m sorry,” he cuts you off. “In this situation,” he continues. “My hands are bound.”

“Is your boss really that bad?”

Tim’s face pales slightly as you mention his ‘employer.’ That’s not someone you mention lightly. “If it was that simple I’d be with the two of you now.”

You know he’s not lying. Tim has never been one to like like that. “Is that for her?” You ask suddenly, wanting to change the subject.

He nods and places the package on his lap. “It’s nothing special. Just did what I could,” he mumbles.

You place the bouquet on the patio and take the package off his lap and onto yours. “You sure you’re not spoiling her?” You say with a small smile upon feeling its weight. “She’ll be really happy.”

“Good,” he hums back.

A silence falls over the two of you. It feels like there’s so much to say with so little time. You wish he were around more just to speak with him.

“Are you staying in this area long?”

“No,” Tim says with a frown. “Pulled out some stops just to be here today. My partners and I are really off schedule just being here.”

You can’t help but feel a little bad. “It… It means the world to me,” you say quietly, looking at the wrapping paper that surrounds the package.

Tim’s hand moves to your thigh before he squeezes gently. It’s a nonverbal way for him to say how much he cares for you and your little one, regardless of how far the distance is between you two.

He wants to tell you he loves you before a voice comes calling from inside. It’s muffled, but you can hear your little girl calling out for you.

“I should go,” you say sheepishly.

“Sure, sure,” Tim brushes off as he helps you up, picking up the bouquet so you can focus on holding the present. “Give her all my love, yeah?” He always ends the conversation like this.

“Of course,” you reply, hand on the doorknob. “I’ll see you soon?” You ask, knowing it won’t be until next year.

Tim nods, a sad smile on his face as he leans down slightly to kiss your forehead before he nods for you to go inside, carefully resting the bouquet of flowers on top of the present.

You do so, making it fully past the doorway before looking over your shoulder for a man you love who cannot stay, only to see he’s gone.

Hoodie - Brian Thomas:

“It’s been a while, darling,” a voice with a slight southern accent greets, hazel eyes looking at you with such warmth that it rivals the Sahara in summer. “Give me a hug,” he chuckles before being momentarily caught off guard by how hard you slam into his chest.

You giggle quietly into the fabric of his yellow hoodie, not even noticing how his other hand softly closes your front door behind you to ensure the agreement the two of you have. He’s not to see your little girl because she’ll be heartbroken he can’t stay.

Once you finally stop clinging to him, you and Brian take a seat on the front steps, watching the morning sun as it rises over the trees.

“What have you been up to?” You ask.

Brian leans back on the porch slightly to get both a package and a small thing of flowers. “Work. Same as usual, really,” he says as he places both of the things on his lap. “Nothing too exciting. What about you and-”

“We’re good,” you say as he holds out a small bouquet of fresh flowers to you. “Thank you,” you smile, taking them into your hands before smelling them. They’re so sweet.

“How is she doing in school?”

“Top of her class,” you say, beaming with pride. “I know she’s only six, but goodness, she’s so bright.”

“She gets it from you,” Brian compliments. “Six already? They grow so fast,” he says softly in a tone you can only understand as regret.

You frown as you look over the soft petals that dance between your fingertips. “I wish you were around more often to see her.”

Brian pulls a slight face, one that tells you he wants nothing more, but the conversation will be the same as all those before. His work is too dangerous, and while you don’t know anything about it, you know he fears for your safety whenever you mention it. “I want nothing more, and you know that more than anyone,” he begins as his posture visibly changes to something that conveys discomfort. “But I can’t and won’t risk her.”

“What kind of work are you even in?” You attempt to ask. You know he’ll never say.

“It’s a nice try,” Brian chuckles as he ruffles your hair. “Y’know, I’m not supposed to be here today.”

“You’re never supposed to be here,” you reply, only the slightest bite coming into your tone.

“Sure, but,” he glances down to the package that sits on his lap. “We’re way off course just being in this area.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah,” Brian sighs. “I had to pull a lot of favors with my associates to get out here,” he says as he lightly taps the package. “But it’s worth it to be near the two of you.” He wishes he could see her.

“It’s never enough,” you reply, a passing ‘this is where we’re at’ coming into your tone.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

A slight silence falls over the two of you as you feel the breeze pick up. You can’t stay out here for too much longer.

“This is for her,” Brian suddenly says, gesturing to the beautifully wrapped package on his lap. “I think she’ll like it.”

“She likes everything you get for her,” you smile as you take the package gingerly into your hands. “You spoil her.”

“I don’t spoil her enough,” Brian playfully retorts. “One of these days I’m going to get a U-Haul truck of stuff for her.” He’s only half joking and the both of you know that.

You giggle slightly, wanting to continue speaking with him before you hear a muffled voice calling out for you.

“Dang, gotta call this one short,” you say as you begin to stand up.

Brian follows your actions, his brows furrowing slightly as he helps you up. “What a shame,” he agrees half heartedly, his voice turning into something more somber.

You flash him a reassuring smile, but can’t help but feel overwhelmed by how gently he helps you up. “I’ll uh, see you soon, right?” You ask, eyes glimmering with the possibility he’ll be back faster than just next year.

“Sure thing,” he says. It’s a promise you both know he can’t keep. “Give her all my love, please,” he finishes gently as he pushes open the front door for you.

“Of course,” you reply, looking up and into his hazel eyes that show nothing but sorrow.

Brian smiles at you before leaning down to kiss your forehead, and just like that, he’s heading down your stairs and back out of your life until next year.

Eyeless Jack:

“What a sight for sore eye sockets,” the grey skinned man greets with a small smirk pulling onto his lips. He dips down for a moment to deposit both a bouquet of freshly picked sunflowers and a nicely wrapped present on the porch before he leaves his arms open for you.

You smile widely in response, softly close your front door before getting a good look at the man who stole your heart all those years ago. “I’ve missed you so much,” you say as you wrap your arms around his midsection. You take in his scent and revel in it.

“I missed you too,” he says softly, swaying the two of you on the porch. “C’mon, sit with me and talk for a moment.”

You don’t hesitate and take a seat next to him on the steps. “What have you been up to?” You ask, looking longingly at the man you only see once every year.

It’s strange, the way you met Eyeless Jack, and it was mostly an accident. He’d broken into your dorm room and intended to get your roommate but woke you instead. You fought him, he liked that, and the two of you had formed some weird friendship romance. Eventually, that oddity that called itself a relationship blossomed into a child. That’s when things got strange, and odd, and in order to protect her, decided that the best course of action would be him not being around her. It hurt to admit that it was for the best. The both of you wanted normalcy for her.

“Same as I’ve always been,” Eyeless Jack replies as he listens to the sounds of the house. When he’s this close, he can hear his little girl. It’s almost as if he was there by her side. “Travelled around some, but my boss has some tasks for me to do on the opposite end of the country than here.”

You hum slightly in response. “We’re a major detour, aren’t we?”

Eyeless Jack cracks a smile and shakes his head slightly. “I would never consider the two of you detours. You’re the only good things in these parts,” he finishes. “Oh, I also picked these from some farmer’s fields on the way here. Thought it might liven up your house a bit.” He hands you the hand plucked sunflowers.

You chuckle and lightly slap at his shoulder before taking the golden flowers into your hands. “You’re so kind.”

“Right?” He teases slightly in agreement. “How is she?”

“She’s doing great,” you say. “She’s so smart and sociable. We get requests for playdates all the time.” You’re not lying, your little girl really is a social butterfly and she’s so intelligent and inquisitive for her age.

“Is she? She definitely gets it from you,” Eyeless Jack says as he thinks back to his own days as a student. Granted, he can’t remember as far back as childhood, but he can remember what it was like being in love with the world and all she had to offer.

“Y’know the funniest thing?” You begin. “She wants to be a doctor when she grows up.”

If Eyeless Jack had eyes, you knew they’d be lighting up. It’s what he wanted to be before he became whatever he is now.

As he smiles, you suppress the idea of telling him that the eyes your little girl has now are the ones that were stolen from him all those years ago. She’s the spitting image of a human him, and you know his inky black heart would break if he knew. Instead, you let a comfortable silence fall over the two of you before one of you inevitably breaks it.

“Will you be staying around this place for much longer?”

He shakes his head slightly, a small sag coming to his shoulders as he does so. “I’d love to stay longer just to catch up with you, but there’s some things I really, really need to do. Looks like it’s gonna be a while until I pull out all the stops again.”

You frown and rest your head on his shoulder, wanting to say so much to him before you hear a muffled voice calling out for you. You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you stand up, holding the flowers tightly in your hands.

Eyeless Jack mirrors you, holding the present. “Here, before we forget,” he lightly reminds as you fumble with it for a moment. “I gotta spoil her every chance I get,” he lightly jokes.

You giggle and test the present’s weight. “I wish that were more than once a year.”

“I wish to too,” Eyeless Jack says, a slightly forlorn look shading over his face. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”

You throw him a look, momentarily hurt at the implication it’ll be another year before you see the man who still awakens butterflies in your stomach. You still want to say so much more to him.

“Give her all of my love,” he says softly before he dips down slightly to press his lips to your forehead.

You close your eyes in content, allowing the feeling to wash over you before it’s gone in a flash. When you open your eyes, he’s gone, and you head back into your house to attend to your daughter.

Jeff the Killer:

“It’s so good to see you again, princess,” a man with an eternal smile carved onto his face beams.

“Jeff,” you breathe out as you look into darling blue eyes. “It’s been forever,” you say as he drops the items in his arms, thankful they’re not fragile before you launch into his grasp.

He closes the door softly behind you before he wraps his arms around you, spinning you there on the porch, a gentle laugh bubbling from his chest as he holds someone who’s given him the world and more. “It’s so nice to hold you again,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You smile and squeeze him tighter, wondering why you can only hold him like this once a year.

Reluctantly, Jeff lets you go and brings you to the stairsteps where the two of you will spend a few moments talking about things that should be held over a conversation that’s more than a few mere minutes.

It really never is enough sometimes.

“What have you been up to?” You ask, barely noticing how he reaches back on the porch to get you some fresh wildflowers he plucked on the way here. You instinctively smell them once they’re in your grasp. They’re beautiful, really.

“What haven’t I been up to?” Jeff lightly jokes as he relaxes on the porch. “I’m sure you’ve seen some of the news articles.”

You pull a slight face, roll your eyes but nod regardless. It reminds you of when you first met him - which was frankly, a mistake on both of your parts. He’d gotten hurt, you were not thinking clearly and took him in, patched him up and he refused to leave. Now, he’s the father of your child. It was decided before you had your sunshine that he wouldn’t be directly a part of her life to ensure no harm would befall her. As Jeff has said he is no stranger to enemies.

He’s worried something bad will befall the two of you everytime he leaves, knowing that his presence is the most dangerous force and the biggest threat to your safety. He stays away as far as he can, and with him now working more closer than ever to the tall man in the woods? He’ll be farther away than ever before.

“You’re so bold, how could I avoid you?” You hum in passing, gently brushing the petals of the wildflowers with your fingertips.

Jeff chuckles slightly. “How’s our little sunshine? She doing well in school?”

“Of course,” you grin. “She’s so smart and soaks up information like a sponge. She’s also kinda athletic, but y’know, she’s only six so there’s so many directions she could go,” you inform. In a way, she reminds you of what you think Jeff would be like as a child. She’s certainly outspoken, but never in a disrespectful way. You know she’s going to grow up to be someone good.

Jeff whistles low before he cracks a grin. “Six already? Sunshine’s gonna be seven before we know it. And then she’s gonna be a teen-”

“Slow down!” You giggle, lightly punching Jeff’s shoulder. “I wanna cherish these moments while I still can.”

“If I wasn’t doing what I do,” Jeff begins as he watches the trees sway with the passing breeze. “I’d be where I belong. With the two of you.”

You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder, feeling your lover’s warmth. “We could make it work now, couldn’t we?”

Jeff shoots you a slight glance to tell you that he knows you know how it’s all going to play out. He doesn’t even need to say it. If he had any faith that the two of you would be safer with him around, he’d be at your side and never leave. But with Jane and his brother in his trail and the Slender Man never letting him breathe plus the cops that get too trigger happy? He refuses to take that risk with his two most important girls in the world. “Princess,” he says softly as he slings his arm over you. “You know the rules to this game.”

You furrow your brows and nod hesitantly, “I do.”

His hand grips your bicep slightly as the two of you spend some time in silence together. There’s so much you both want to say, but neither can bring themself to say it. So for now, silence with someone you love.

“Oh,” Jeff suddenly says. “I brought these things for her,” he says as he gestures to the presents he’s pulling on his lap.

“You’re spoiling her again this year?” You say in a teasing tone as he gestures to the giant basket filled to the brim with stuffed animals. “Of course,” Jeff beams. “I had to. Besides, I heard she’s taken a shine to giraffes.”

“She has,” you say as you look over all the toys and other fun things. “She’ll love it.”

Jeff chuckles. “Good.”

Before you can say anything else, a muffled voice calls for you inside the house. You immediately get up, ready to attend to your daughter and Jeff follows in suit.

Internally, he’s just a bit sad that his moment with you is up, but hearing his daughter’s voice makes his heart sing. He helps you up, ensures you’re able to hold everything he brought and helps you open the door just a crack before the two of you pause.

You look into those blue eyes that set your heart on fire and butterflies in your stomach in motion and smile sadly, trying to reassure him you’ll be okay with him leaving. “Will I see you soon?”

“You know it,” Jeff replies, a promise on his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows he won’t be back until next year or unless there’s an emergency. He hopes it’s just next year and that no one dear and near to his heart’s life is on the line. “Take care, princess, and give all my love to her,” he says softly as he tilts your head upwards.

“Anything for you,” you whisper as you feel his lips on your forehead, planting a love that only comes once a year.

Jeff chuckles softly before gesturing for you to head inside.

When you turn your back on him to be with your little girl, you feel his presence linger, and then it’s gone.

Slender Man:

Wait, no you didn’t. No the hell you didn’t lol. Mans looks like a Ken Doll below the belt y’aint doing me like this. You go back inside, wondering why you answered a call in which no one made.

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta scenarios #x reader #reader insert #masky #hoodie #jeff the killer #eyeless jack #masky x reader #hoodie x reader #jeff the killer x reader #eyeless jack x reader #marble hornets #tim wright #brian thomas

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yannowhatigiveup · 3 years

Text

A Blinded Kiss

I haven’t posted anything recently so I dug around in my WIPs to see if anything was even worth posting and I found this that I made a while ago. It certainly isn’t the best but it isn’t the worst out of all my other WIPs.

"Is this really necessary?" The bluenette asked, eyeing a blindfold given by her brotherly figure.

"Of course it is Pixie!" An older man with two-toned hair replied, way too over enthusiastic about the whole situation. "It's a great way to find your way around the manor”

"And it's a great family bonding experience too!" Another man in the room replied, even more enthusiastic than the first.

"Fine, I'll do it Jay" the blue-eyed girl huffed, twirling the blindfold between her fingers. "What are the rules again, Dick?"

Dick beamed at the girl before answering. "Well Mari, it's simple. Put the blindfold on, count to fifty, spin around and try to steal a hug from anyone in the manor"

"So I have to walk around the manor blindfolded and try to sneak up on you? You know that's impossible!" Marinette exclaimed, she would not go around the house looking like a touch-starved fool.

"That's exactly why we're doing it" Jason replied, shrugging his shoulders. "It'll last a long time."

After a few seconds, the blue-eyed girl sighed, giving in to both Jason and Dick. "Fine, if that's what makes you happy" Marinette wrapped the matte-black fabric tightly around her eyes, already struggling within the first few seconds. She began counting and she heard the two scuffling away, smiling while being able to tell which direction they went in. In the mean time, Marinette debated her options.

'Both Jason and Dick would be the ideal choices but they'll be able to hear me from a mile away. Tim would be the most logical one since he's half asleep, but where does he even go in this maze? God knows where Alfred is, Mr Wayne is scary. Damian-' She paused her train of thoughts, granted Marinette had only met him a few days ago but that didn't stop the crush she had heavily try to cease. 'He'd probably hear me from a mile away as well. This game is so unfair'

Soon enough, Marinette reached fifty and spun herself around, she used a bit too much force than needed so now not only was she blinded but she lost her sense of direction. Giving herself a minute to recover, the bluenette began to walk. Using her improved senses, thanks to the miraculous, Mari was slowly able to create a theoretical map in her mind, though it did take much more energy than she desired.

"Fighting an akuma is easier than this" The bluenette muttered as she hit her thigh along the corner of a wall.

Even though she was using her enhanced abilities, she'd pump into a corner or a wall every now and again, the amount of times increased when her energy was being used. After wondering a hall for what seemed like hours, the bluenette came to a staircase, one that she ever so carefully used to get to a higher floor. Once she did, she kept a hand on one of the walls, using it as a guide. Soon enough, her hand came to what felt like a doorframe. The door was closed she could tell but it was recent used due to the fact that the doorknob was warm. Making sure not to intrude, she knocked on said door, she almost missed the muffled 'come in' had she not been paying attention. Marinette opened the door, went in and quickly shut it behind her, taking a deep breath.

"Okay I hope you don't mind but which room is this and whose in the room? Dick and Jason thought it would be a good idea to walk around the manor blindfolded while trying to sneak up on them" The bluenette huffed, only to freeze when she heard a familiar chuckle.

"I've heard, you're in my room, It's Damian just to clarify" 'Sh-' "So, what task must be fulfilled to give you permission to take the blindfold off? I doubt you want to keep it on any longer" Marinette giggled.

"You're right, I would probably get lost of I continue. Um, I have to 'steal a hug' apparently"

"So you have to hug someone without them inspecting it" Damian came to that conclusion to which the bluenette nodded her head.

"Yeah that's basically it, hey do you have anywhere I could sit down? I'm getting tired..."

"Of course, my bed is five steps to your front and two steps to your right, make yourself comfortable" She wasn't sure how red she had gotten but she obliged anyway. Had she not been wearing the blindfold, she would've seen Damian smiling at her flustered state. Giving herself a moment to regain her energy, Marinette turned to where she presumed Damian was working at his desk. "Can I hug you? Jay never said I couldn't ask the person first. I-I won't if you don't want me to! I just wanted to ask so..."

She heard the boy thoughtfully hum before he made his way over to her. From what she could tell, Damian was now in front of Marinette, looming over her.

"Did Todd or Grayson say it had to be a hug?" Marinette tilted her head in confusion and thoughtfulness, that had never crossed her mind before.

"W-"

"What happens if I kiss you instead?"

The bluenette didn’t reply with words as she knew how terrible her words would be in her flustered state. But she wanted this, her heart longed for it in a way it never did for anyone else. Instead, she nodded, giving the green-eyed boy permission to do as he wished.

She felt his hand lightly tilt her chin up towards, where she presumed, his face was. Then he pressed his lips onto hers, his other had behind her head, tugging at the fabric around her eyes. Marinette felt bliss, she was glad that no one else would interrupt this moment. Shivers went down her spine as she felt Damian’s hands travel up from behind her neck and to wear the blindfold was knotted, gently tugging at the binding. She was glad that when her face was free from the fabric that comprised her vision, the first thing in her line of eyesight were Damian's deep emerald eyes, the shimmered the same way they had when she first laid eyes on him, she'd been enraptured ever since. The boy, however, was smirking as he noticed the pink that dusted her face. Without a moment passing, she threw herself the green-eyed boy, delivering a hug. As she pulled away, her hands cupped his face and she returned his embrace with one of her own. When she pulled away once more, she smiled in satisfaction at his flustered expression.

"When did you realise you had feelings for me?" Marinette asked softly, her forehead pressed against his trying to regain her breath.

"That's a very easy question" Damian stared lovingly into her eyes. "I fell the moment I saw you take down that Akuma three times your size" Her eyes widened.

"You know about me being Ladybug?"

"The same way you know I'm Robin"

They both smiled, creating a truce to not reveal anything.

"Well I better get going, see you later." She got up from the bed and opened the door, only to turn around and say "Je t'aime mon cœur" before exiting the room, leaving a blushing Damian.

Marinette walked back down the stairs, the piece of cloth in hand and small love-struck smile on her face. When she entered the main living room, she came face to face with the owner of the manor.

"Oh hello Mr Wayne"

"Hello Marinette, I see you managed to get the blindfold off" The older man gestured towards the piece of fabric in her hand. "And please, do call me Bruce. Who did you end up surprising with a hug then?"

She smiled brightly before replying. "Damian"

His usual formal demeanor broke for a moment but Bruce quickly picked the pieces back up. "He didn't attack you or injure you in any shape or form?"

Marinette decided to play the oblivious little girl. "No..? Why, does he do it often?" Her head titled in confusion.

"Nothing it doesn't matter" Bruce simply sighed and shook his head. "Also, there's something I'd like to discuss with you at dinner, if you don't mind"

"No not at all, I'll see you at dinner then?" Bruce nodded and left, leaving Marinette alone in the room, waiting for her honorary older brother and his brother to come in. Which they did but only after some time, it was hilarious to see them crouched down, talking to each other in hushed voices. They flinched as she cleared her throat, both slowly turning towards the sound to find a smug looking Marinette and a blindfold whipped around her finger.

"I win"

~~~

Most of the occupants at the table were either in an all out war or were about to be, except for Marinette and an exasperated Bruce Wayne.

"So Marinette" The eldest Wayne began, silencing the rest of the table. "I hope you don't mind me asking but when you were off searching for Jason, you mentioned attacks that have been occurring in Paris, is this true?"

No one failed to notice the girl flinch. "Yeah it's true"

"...how bad are the attacks? In your opinion"

"Well it depends on how strong the person's emotions are really. If their emotions are strong, then the Akuma is strong too"

"What's the strongest akuma that Paris has seen?" It was Tim who asked and memories of the event began swimming through her mind, she got rid of them with a shake of her head.

"The deadliest akuma Paris has experienced was an akuma called 'Syren'. She's a regular person but, as an akuma, she managed to kill around 2 million people. But don't worry! Ladybug's cure managed to bring them back to life"

"D-did... did you die, Pixie?" Jason asked, his anger mixed with worry was boiling over and luckily simmered after seeing her shake her head.

"Do you think the heroes of Paris would let heroes from the Justice League come over to help?"

Marinette contemplated for a moment, should she really risk the heroes getting akumatized? "I think they would but I wouldn't know"

Bruce nodded while Jason leaned over the table to talk closer to his honorary little-sister. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to bother you"

"You're not a bother, Pixie" Jason smiled at the bluenette on the other side of the table. "You never are and you never will be"

~~~

Marinette returned to Paris a few days later, in the mean time, Bruce and the rest of the batfam were planning their visit to the City of Love. Soon enough, the vigilantes were boarded on the plane. Their flight to Paris was relatively silent. After a few hours, they landed and the vigilantes waited on the Eiffel Tower, only to find out there was a battle going on. Before they could engage in the fight, they were engulfed with magical ladybugs that seemed to fix anything destroyed. As they were mesmerized by the cure, a certain spotted-heroine wobbly landed on the platform. Batman was first to notice.

"Ladybug" His voice caused the others to turn around. "Thank you for allowing us into your city"

Ladybug nodded, not uttering a single word.

"We were hoping, with your permission of course, that we could help you be rid of Hawkmoth once and for good" Again, Ladybug didn't reply. "Ladybug?"

When the heroine didn't respond, Batman glanced at Nightwing and the rest of his sons, clearly something was wrong. Unexpectedly, Robin took his glove off, approached the Ladybug-themed hero and placed his hand onto her forehead.

"You have a fever" he stated, his hand trailing down her face to cup her cheek. His family all shot him weird looks. She tiredly blinked at the vigilante, recognising him as Robin and allowed herself to fall into his arms, detransforming while doing so, leaving a burning hot Marinette.

"Dami?" He hummed. "Take me home, please..." She drifted off to sleep, comforted in her lover's arms. He glanced at his family, holding the bluenette close.

"Pixie...is Ladybug?" Red Hood's voice was first.

"You didn't know?" Robin's voice mocking confusion, enraging Red Hood that his youngest brother knew something about his sister that he didn't. Even more so that his demon brother was holding said sister,

"We should take her back home" Dick went over to feel the girl's forehead. "She's burning"

"Tikki?" Robin asked and a red creature flew out from one of Mari's pockets, startling most of the people there.

"I'll try to heal her on the way, follow me"

The floating red creature flew down from the Eiffel Tower, Robin and Marinette close behind. After some hesitation, the others followed, they ended up on top of a bakery. One by one, they entered through the trapdoor on the balcony, finding both Damian with his mask off and a weak looking Marinette. Despite her enfeebled state, the bluenette greeted each vigilante, her gaze landed on Jason.

"It's just a fever, I'll be fine"

Jason removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair before both settled on his hips. "You don't look fine"

"I promise I am" She wasn't convincing, not at all.

"Fine" Jason huffed, he could never truly say no to the girl he viewed as his little sister. "But since when were you two a thing" He pointed at the two, his gaze resting maliciously on Damian.

"It's all thanks to you, you know" Marinette smirked at Jason's confusion. Tim snickered as he seemed to catch on to what she was saying.

"Had you not organized that 'blindfolded game', I doubt we would be together at this moment" Damian supplied the information, clearly unfazed by the burning rage in the eyes of his older brother.

"Baby Bird's all grown up" The eldest Wayne son overdramatized wiping a fake tear, Batman sighed at his two eldest sons while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Get your fucking hands off her, Demon Brat!" Jason tried to lunge at Damian, only to be stopped by both Dick and Tim. Though his fury only grew when Marinette snuggled closer to the green-eyed boy, both smirked in victory over Jason's horrified appearance.

Marinette was now part of the family in more ways than one. Though they wish they had found out in better circumstances, they would be able to take down Hawkmoth once and for all, side by side, all together. And to think this all happened because of a silly blindfold game.

#daminette #damian x marinette #maribat #maridami #marinette x damian #mlb x dc #ml x dc #big brother jason #this is eh I guess

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ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole · 3 years

Text

Claiming Ones Own

Ok so, sorry for such a slow update on this. I had an attack of brain worm ideas which distracted/refused to let me focus on the chapter for a while. Have destroyed/dealt with most of the new ideas and have finally finished the chapter 🎉

Masterlist

[Chapter 1] [Previous]

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

Chapter 5 - Playtime Chaos

Cass was going to kill Jason. That is, if Marie didn’t do it first by accident. He needed to go back to Gotham ASAP and get out of her hair! He may have been helpful to begin with, but now he was a menace and needed to go!

Jason had created a ‘new game’, well he said it was one he and Alfred used to play when he first moved into the manor, but it was still new to Cass. Only Jason had not really thought through the consequences of said game. He hadn’t thought that this game was with Cass and him rather than with Alfred who had obviously thought the game through properly.

The game, of which Jason thought was an amazing idea, was to redirect Marie's pickpocketing habit. If she pickpocketed strangers chocolate rights were reduced. Marie figured this rule out quickly which resulted in one horrific drama due reduced chocolate for the day. It was painful with lots of tears for all involved. Then there was a chocolate reward/increase rule when she pickpocketed Cass or Jason.

Cass might have agreed with his logic. It was a good game to bond with her, ensure she felt her skills remained and reduce the thieving, but this… THIS… result should have been expected!

What they hadn't considered is that the pair often carried weapons on them ALL the time. In and out the house. The pair were paranoid. Marie had observed the pair and quickly worked out what and where they stored these weapons.

Marie was also good at being light fingered to begin with. They knew that. THEY HAD EXPERIENCED IT. This wasn't new territory for her.

Training Marie further was a bad idea.

Cass so wanted to kill Jason for this game.

Cass’s heart couldn’t cope with it anymore. When the knives were taken it was anxiety inducing. Watching her daughter dance around with a knife, playing with it and watching it slice through the air caused so much panic in Cass.

The positive of that event was that Cass had started to train her daughter in basic swordplay. She observed, much like Damian, that going through basic positions and movements grounded and calmed her daughters chaotic energy. Marie was picking the skill up quickly so official 'safe fencing lessons' will be added to the girls learning activities.

Jason though, Jason her ‘delightful brother’ (if he survived her wrath), carried guns. He had ‘hidden’ guns around her apartment. So coming home from shopping to find her precious, innocent, sticky fingered Marie, inspecting and playing a gun was petrifying.

And Jason who was meant to be watching her daughter was missing! It was the last straw for Cass.

…………………………………………..

Jason admits that this may have been a mistake. Thinking back with a more analytical perspective than fond memories. Alfred had set it up that Jason would nearly always win the game. Alfred knew where weapons were but didn’t carry them around on his person.

Marie was a natural. Jason was super proud of his niece, she was getting swifter and lighter at each attempt. Her playing with the finds aka knives was maybe a little oversight. Cass’s reaction to it all was even less fun. Her subtle disgruntledness was made known to him unpleasantly. Swapping the sugar for salt in his morning coffee was revolting! But it at least was just basic pranks Cass was retaliating with… not Wayne Manor declarations of war…. He hoped...

He had popped out the room briefly (ok maybe not briefly but not for a really long time) as Roy had rang and wanted his assistance for a mission. Coming back into the room he found Pixie with his latest new toy *cough* gun and an irrate Cass looking like she would murder with the batglare she throw at him.

"Hi Cass.... Pixie… Roy just called asking for my assistance. I'll," he gulped as his sister levelled him with a laser beam stare and his niece turned to him, pointing the gun in a way he was showing her earlier, with curiosity showing on her face. "I'll be leaving in a few days… umm Pixie could you be a sweetheart and aim the gun downwards please?"

His niece frowned at him looking at it and him "Chocolate?" Jason quickly glanced at Cass and could feel the icy waves wafting off her. "Errr... Yeah sure thing sweetie. But to get it you will need to put the gun down first please."

Marie broke into a grin and put the gun in the coffee table skipping over to Jason to grab his hand leading him to her treasure. "Your stance then was much better, Pixie, and I didn't even feel you take the gun this time. You've improved loads this week."

He felt Cass's anger pour off her. Maybe he should have asked if he could teach Pixie about guns....

When the pair returned to the living room, Cass handed Jason his suitcase. "Go! Be Roy's issue now"

…………………………………………..

With Jason gone Cass found that the apartment was much quieter with just the pair of them, especially as sign language seemed to be both of their preferred communication method. Cass turned to playing music in the background to remind her of her siblings back in Gotham (not Jason though), this caused her to dance absentmindedly. Marie was often caught trying to mimicking her dance moves with light footwork, her grace and form yet to be perfected.

Cass saw this as another class to sign her daughter up to along with fencing to burn the chaotic energy up. Especially now Jason wasn't around playing rough and tumble with her.

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

It was one afternoon about a month after Jason had left that Cass had a break through. While Marie was setting up a tea ceremony (a post swordplay practice ritual she'd got into), Cass had stumbled on her first actual clue in finding out about Marie's past. Her search had finally unearthed similar symbols, used centuries ago by some Tibetan monks, to the ones that were on her back. What this meant Cass was unsure. To progress further she probably needed to talk to Babs or Tim, but if she did that she'd have to tell them why. Which everyone finding about Marie and she wasn't ready for that.

She still fretted over what Marie must have gone though and to unleash the Wayne's on her seemed daunting.

Cass was about to look further into what she had gathered when her phone went off. It Alfred calling which was unusual.

"Alfred"

"Hello Miss Cassandra. I hope you are well and have settled into motherhood comfortably."

Cass paled. Alfred knew!! Damn it Jason!!! He was dead meat when she saw him next.

"Adapting. Marie, your great granddaughter, is sweet. Both learning about being together"

"I see. I am assuming that that is going well. Master Jason has mentioned that you found her on the streets in a similar manner to how he was found."

Jason guns were going to go missing and be replaced with water pistols.

"Yes. Much better now. Learning sign to talk to each other. Eating better too."

"That is good news to hear Miss Cassandra."

It was a set up. Jason had triggered in and Alfred was waiting to pounce. There was no way to escape but to make it easier for her self.

"We visit you soon. Wanted Marie settled first."

"I'll arrange a flight for you in a fortnight's time. Is there anything young Miss Marie will require."

Completely trapped now she'd taken the bait. Alfred knew it, she knew it. And everyone will know about Marie in no time. Maybe she would be able to get Babs and Tims help after all.

"Thank you Alfred. Bunk bed, milk chocolate and chocolate spread please." Cass paused for a second as Marie looked over to her signing 'tea time Mama'

"Loose green tea leaves too, for tea ceremony, please."

Cass finally could hear a smile in Alfred's voice and relaxed slightly. She may have escaped some of Alfred's disappointment.

"I will ensure I meet those requirements Miss Cassandra. I will send you your flight details when I have finished arranging them. I look forward to seeing you again Miss Cassandra, and to meeting Miss Marie. I will now take my leave for you to spend time with you daughter."

Looks like she will be needing to prepare Maire for a flight and meeting the family. She would have to up her parenting game to ensure she completely beat Bruce.

Moments after she had hung up Alfred had sent flight details across. Complete evidence that the whole call as a ruse and he got what he wanted. Well played Alfred well played. Cass responded to Alfred, thanking him for his efficiency and to arrange some face time calls to occur in the next fortnight. Alfred deserved to get to know her precious Marie first so at least she had an ally in the Manor when they visited. Someone other than Jason. That reminded Cass to shoot a text to Jason

*You.are.dead.betrayer.*

He replied quickly to her message

*Adventure with Roy went sideways. Alfred wasn't happy. I needed something to soften the blow!!! I'm sorry!!! Don't kill me!!*

Pah! He sold her out that's what. He was in Alfred's book of disappointment and didn't want to be there alone so dragged her to hell too. Jokes on him, she'll work her and Marie magic to make it work for them. Her phone buzzed again as Jason messaged her again. Ignoring it she went to join Marie for tea and tell her the 'fun news'.

In her head she had a fortnight to prepare her revenge.

Tag List:

@boldlyanxious @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo

@too0bsessedformyowngood @lady-bee-fechin @solangelo252 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @arty-shadow-morningstar @macncheesemonster @purplegeekypanda @corporeal-terrestrial @maribat-shenanigans

#maribat #maribat au #claiming ones own #marinette x cass #plantonic #found family #marinette x jason #ml x dc #dc x ml #mlb x dc #dc x mlb

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odos-bucket · 3 years

Text

In Which Each of Bruce’s Kids Come Out to Him

and then he comes out to them

Dick

They’re working on opposite sides of the coffee table in one of the manor’s more habitable sitting room’s. It’s become a regular part of their weekday routine: Bruce finishes up whatever office work he has to do, while Dick does his homework, and talks about his day. Usually there are snacks involved. A parenting book Bruce had read recommended trying to get their work done together. It’s a good way to keep connected with their increasingly busy schedules.

“So anyways…” Dick’s story is starting to slow down a little bit, and the shift in tone has Bruce glancing up from his paperwork. “I should probably tell you, since, well, everyone knows at school now.” His voice is still conversational, and relaxed, but a little distracted.

Bruce shifts him his full attention.

“See, what happened was Cameron Josephs in my third period biology class came to school with nail polish on today, which I noticed with my clever detective skills, and promptly dismissed as unimportant, and everyone else noticed with their nosy pre-teen skills, and promptly lost their shi- I mean, minds over. And that was Mrs. Horton’s class, and she has absolutely no control over her students, so it sort of became this whole big thing. Kids were making fun of him, and other kids were yelling at them to knock it off, and he was just trying to do his work, but the rest of the class got into a big fight. And then Brad Cormick- he’s on my basketball team- made a homophobic joke, and we were sitting at the same table, and I could tell that he wanted me to laugh at it. So I told him to shut up, and said that I was bisexual, not that any of it really had anything to do with anything else that was going on, but it did get him to shut up, which was good. Except that I think it may have been because I have more friends than Cameron does, which is totally unfair, and everyone should just be nice to everyone else no matter what, but also I guess not really the point… The point is, yeah, I’m bi. Oh, also frog dissection got moved to tomorrow because one kid threw up.”

Dick takes a deep breath (finally) and a long sip of his juice, before immediately returning to doodling athletic stick figures in the margins of his algebra homework.

Bruce studies him for a moment, trying to figure out what kind of response is expected of him, what would be helpful for Dick to hear. He’s really not very good at this kind of thing.

He’s saved from the risk of putting his foot in his mouth when the science class story continues.

“Are frogs really that gross? I don’t think they are. But I guess our basement is filled with guano, so maybe my tolerance is heightened by regular exposure to the substance most frequently equated with insanity.”

Dick hadn’t seemed nervous before coming out, or relieved after. And if he’s not going to make it into a big deal then neither is Bruce, even if a part of him feels pleasantly warmed by the casual show of trust.

Jason

Bruce loves picking up his kids from school. It’s not something that his schedule allows him to do very often, and Jason- as Dick had been before him- always seems pleasantly surprised to see him. It’s a little thing in the grand scheme, but it’s just nice, normal. And he would never say it out loud- he’s not sure why, he knows he should- but he cherishes the little bit of extra time spent with his boys.

But today Jason isn’t happy to see him.

Bruce pulls up to the curb, and only has to scan the crowd of teenagers for a few seconds before spotting him. He’s on a bench with another student, their shoulders pressed together despite wide swaths of free space available on either side of them. Jason’s pointing out something in a textbook, while the other boy plays with his free hand.

Bruce pulls slightly to the side to let another car drive around him, figuring he’ll give Jason a few minutes to finish up, and notice that Bruce is there, rather than call out and risk embarrassing him.

It’s not even a full minute before they make eye contact across the lot, and immediately something in Jason’s expression changes. His eyes go wide and startled, his posture suddenly tightened. In one fast motion he shuts his book with both hands, muttering something to his friend as he practically throws himself off the bench.

Now feeling on high alert, Bruce sweeps an intense gaze over the school yard for anything that could have upset his son. He doesn’t manage to spot anything before Jason arrives at the car and pulls himself into the backseat (where he never sits, unless the front is already occupied). He starts talking before Bruce can ask what’s wrong.

“That wasn’t what it looked like!”

Bruce frowns, and looks over both Jason and the area in front of the school in an attempt to identify something that isn’t like how it looks.

“He just-“ Jason flinches, seemingly realizing something wrong with whatever he’d been about to say, and cuts himself off with a sharp breath. “I mean-“

Feeling lost is by no means a new part of parenthood for Bruce, and he’s sure it’s something he’ll experience many more times going forward. But, god, he really hates not understanding what’s going on, not knowing what to do, and he doubts that he’ll ever get used to it.

“Jason,” he tries. “Slow down.”

“Yes, sir,” Jason answers automatically. “Sorry.”

It’s been over a year since Jason’s called him ‘sir’ and the sudden reintroduction of the honorific sends a cold chill down Bruce’s spine. For a second they just stare at each other, with what Bruce is pretty sure are matching expressions of partially concealed horror.

“Jason,” he says more quietly.

“I know,” Jason interrupts. “I’m sorry. Please-“ He stops himself, covering his mouth before he can finish the thought, and then just as quickly lowering the hand back to his lap.

Another silence follows, short but harrowing. Then finally Bruce makes a rare admission

“I have no idea what’s happening right now.”

Jason stares at him, and the wider his eyes get the younger he looks, and the more Bruce wants to scoop him up into his arms. But he just waits, and tries not to look too expectant.

“I-I was holding hands with Derek,” Jason breaths out.

“…Alright?” He’s heard that name before. Jason doesn’t have as many friends at school as Dick had, so they’re a little easier to keep track of, even if Bruce has only ever met any of them in passing. “Is this someone you’re worried I’ll embarrass you in front of?” He asks after a brief pause.

Jason keeps staring at him, expression crinkling as his breathing grows erratic.

Bruce finds himself automatically exaggerating his own inhales and exhales, resting the side of one hand against his sternum, to remind Jason of some of their breathing exercises.

“That’s it, chum,” he says as he sees it slowly begin to work. “Everything’s okay.” For all he knows- or doesn’t know- right now it might not even be true, but dammit for his kid he will make everything okay.

“Everything’s okay,” Jason obediently echoes.

Bruce takes his hand off his chest, and starts to reach towards him. But Jason flinches away from him, not as violently as he had back when they were still new to each others’ lives, but it’s enough to make Bruce feel sick. He can practically feel the wrongness of it squeezing his heart into shards as he slowly withdraws his arm back into the front seat. He had truly thought that they had gotten past this.

“I’m sorry, Jay,” he says softly, a small concession to the part of himself that wants to beg his son’s forgiveness for whatever he’s done to make him afraid. “I’m so sorry.”

Jason’s not looking at him anymore. His head is down, and his gaze is fixed on his knees.

Bruce hesitates.

“I’ll never hurt you.” It’s a reassurance he had thought they were past the point of needing, but if they aren’t he’ll say it as many times as he has to. “Never.”

“Are you mad?”

“Is there something particular that I’m supposed to be mad about?” Bruce asks carefully.

“... That I was holding hands with a guy,” Jason elaborates, after a steadying breath.

Oh, Bruce is an idiot. What kind of detective is he if he can’t even- He cuts himself off, realizing he can’t wait too long to respond to that.

“Of course not. That’s what this is about?”

“I never meant for you to find out,” is the response he gets. And doesn’t that just hurt like hell to hear?

“That you like boys?” Bruce confirms.

“And girls, both. But I didn’t know what you’d think, so I figured if I couldn’t be sure it was better to keep it to myself.”

Bruce closes his eyes, taking a second to calm his own breathing.

“I never want you to feel like that,” he says. “About anything. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear. I love you, Jaylad, that isn’t contingent on anything.”

I wish I could have protected you from whatever it was that made you feel like this was something you had to hide. He doesn’t say it.

Jason is finally looking at him again, gaze thoughtful and careful. A long moment passes, before he surprises- and momentarily terrifies- Bruce by getting out of the car. But before he can react to that, Jason’s climbing into the passenger seat, and after a second of hesitation, leaning into Bruce’s side.

“Okay,” he says quietly, sounding a little choked up.

Bruce puts an arm around his shoulders. The closeness is a balm after the pain of having his son flinch away from him.

Tim

Tim isn’t supposed to come over today. His parents are in town, and Bruce had made a point of hiding his reluctance when he’d given Robin the week off, chastising himself for the empty nest syndrome he has no right to be experiencing- at least in regards to this particular child.

So he’s surprised when he hears Alfred’s throat clear, and looks up to see both Alfred and Tim lingering in the doorway to his office. It would be odd to see him here at this time of day even if they had been planning to go on patrol; sunset is still a few hours off.

Bruce immediately has a bad feeling. He knows it’s commonplace for the Drakes to disappear unexpectedly partway through whatever length of time they were meant to be spending at home. As Batman it’s made his life easier numerous times. As a parent it’s beyond his comprehension. If he still had his boys at home- but he can’t think about that, not without breaking down, and if Tim’s just been abandoned that’s the last thing he needs.

As he approaches the door, Alfred’s pointed look, and Tim’s vacant expression confirm that he’s right to be concerned.

“Tim.” He keeps his voice neutral. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

He picks up on Alfred’s glare a fraction of a second too late to realize that he’s said the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry.” There’s something miserable in Tim’s voice, that makes Bruce want to bundle him up in a blanket. Before he can assure him that he has nothing to apologize for, Alfred cuts in.

“I told Master Tim that he’s welcome to stay with us for as long as he needs.”

Bruce nods automatically, looking down at Tim, who’s glassy expression looks a million miles away.

“Tim,” he says gently, eventually drawing the boy’s gaze, but feeling disconcerted by how delayed the response is.

Alfred leaves with a comment about putting a kettle on for tea, closing the door firmly but softly behind him. The sound it makes as it pulls all the way shut still makes Tim twitch.

“Do you want to sit down?” Bruce offers.

Tim stumbles a bit on his way to the couch. He’s so out of it; He won’t be patrolling tonight, even if his schedule’s suddenly open for it. Bruce sits down on the other side.

“Are they gone again?” He asks, trusting fully that the vaguely worded question will be completely understood.

There’s a worrying delay before Tim shakes his head, giving Bruce ample time to wish for Alfred back before he can register the response enough to be surprised by it.

“So...“ he begins uncertainly, before being cut off.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says again. “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“You aren’t a bother, Tim.”

The- admittedly somewhat monotone- assurance just gets him a shrug.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He tries.

“Do I have to?” Tim asks after a long silence. “Can’t I just stay here?”

Bruce frowns.

“Of course you can stay here. But I think I really need to know what’s going on.”

Tim stares at him, eyes shining, mouth opening and closing several times before he speaks.

“Can I- Alfred says I can tell you something, and you won’t get mad?”

“Well, that depends on what it is,” Bruce says, thinking back on every time a robin has had something to tell him, but first wanted confirmation that he wouldn’t be angry.

Tim seems to shrink at his words, his breath catching audibly as he curls in on himself. Fuck, Bruce is bad at this.

“What do you have to tell me?” He asks.

“Well now I don’t know if I want to!” It almost comes out as a yell, strained by the sound of held back tears, and Bruce is a little taken aback.

“I’ll probably find out at some point,” he reasons.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Tim chokes on something that sounds like a suppressed sob.

No, no, no no. This isn’t supposed to happen. Bruce reaches out for him in an awkward and hastily aborted movement.

“I can’t,” Tim says after a minutes, tears streaking over his pale cheeks. “If you don’t-“ His voice catches. “I need you to let me stay here.”

Bruce’s heart hurts as he scooches a little closer, reaching out to rest a hand- hopefully not too awkwardly- on Tim’s shoulder.

“Of course you can stay here,” he reiterates. “I told you you could stay here. Even if I’m mad at you you can stay here. If you-“ He searches for a moment. “-Took the batmobile out on a joyride, and drove it into the harbor, I’ll be mad at you, but you’ll still have a place here. One will never have anything to do with the other.”

Tim makes a noise that’s over too quickly for Bruce to be able to tell if it had been a laugh, or just more crying.

“Did Jason do that?” He asks in a hoarse voice.

“Dick,” Bruce corrects.

This time Tim definitely snorts, which has Bruce smiling in spite of himself.

“Did you do something worse than that?” He asks.

It’s meant to be a joke, but Tim makes an unhappy face at the question.

“I- no!” He says, defensive, but confident. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Bruce gives his shoulder a squeeze before releasing it.

“Then why would I be mad at you?”

The humor that had begun to make its way into Tim’s expression disappears again, and Bruce curses himself.

“Mom and Dad were mad,” he says quietly.

Bruce scowls. He tries pretty hard not to let his dislike of Jack and Janet show around Tim- though he’s long suspected the young detective can tell- but it’s harder to hide sometimes than others.

“You said they were still home,” he remembers. “Tim, did they kick you out?” He does his best to keep the anger out of his voice.

And then he finds himself doing his best to keep the anger off of his face when it takes Tim a moment to answer the question.

“I don’t think forever,” he says uncertainly. “Just- They said they needed time to think about it, to d-decide what to do.”

The slight stutter puts him over the age, and fury starts to trickle into Bruce’s voice.

“To think about what?” He demands. Hell, that place is more Tim’s home than it is theirs. They have absolutely no right to ask him to leave! And where the hell do they expect him to go? Bruce forces himself to clench his jaw, and take deep breaths.

“...I’m gay,” Tim finally says.

Bruce stares at him for the second that it takes for the words to register, and connect back to the rest of the conversation.

“That’s it?”

He’s wincing at himself before the question is all the way out of his mouth, immediately convinced that he’s said the wrong thing again. But then, to his immense relief, he realizes that Tim has started laughing. It isn’t deep, or sustained. His voice is still a little weak, and his eyes are still a little red. But he’s definitely laughing, and Bruce realizes vaguely that a robin laughing is still his favorite sound in the world.

“That’s it,” Tim confirms, on the tail end of his laugh.

“Oh, Tim.”

Bruce doesn’t give himself a chance to second guess the motion before he pulls the boy into a hug, satisfied that it was the right course of action when he feels Tim melt against him.

“Of course I’m not mad, of course I’m not mad,” he repeats like a mantra. “I’m sorry I let you think I would be. You’re right, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

A few seconds pass, and he realizes there’s a wet patch at his shoulder where Tim’s face is buried. Bruce freezes, totally unsure of what he’s done wrong this time.

“I’m sorry,” Tim breaths out. “I- thank you. Thank you! I don’t know what I would have done if- I- I don’t want to be alone!”

“Not alone,” Bruce promises. “You’re not alone. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Tim presses closer, and Bruce takes it as a cue to tighten his hold.

Alfred finds them like that a few minutes later, Tim curled up in his arms, while Bruce cycles through reassurances. The look they exchange is enough to confirm that they’re both thinking the same thing: this kid is ours.

Cass

One day Cass hangs a little pride flag up on her door. Later in the week when she catches Bruce glancing at it, she comes up to him, gives the flag a meaningful nod, before just saying, “Girls!” in a happy voice, giving him a hug, and disappearing down the hall.

Damian

Bruce can identify every member of his family by their knock, but Damian’s is particularly distinctive. Not just because it tends to come from a lower part of the door, but because Damian has cultivated a strong knock, the way businessmen cultivate a strong handshake. It’s a very confident and determined sound, that he often finds himself stifling a smile at, knowing that that isn’t at all the intended reaction.

“Come in,” he calls, and there’s no pause before Damian strides into his office, confident as ever. When he speaks however, the undercurrents of his voice tell a different story.

“Father, there is something I wish to discuss with you.” There are a few hesitations, that don’t quite manage to turn into stutters in his voice, ones it’s unlikely anyone outside of their family would notice.

Bruce doesn’t comment on them, just nods for Damian to sit down and continue.

His legs don’t fully reach the floor. Something else that Bruce has learned not to let himself smile at.

“Grayson says…” he begins confidently, before trailing off.

Bruce just raises an eyebrow for him to continue, not feeling like he has enough information to put anything together from at the moment.

“Richard says,” Damian continues more carefully. “He came out to you as bisexual when he was around my age?”

Bruce nods. He has a feeling that he knows where this is going this time.

“He did.”

“He said that you were okay with it?”

Bruce nods again.

“Dick is my son. My love for him isn’t conditional, certainly not on that. There’s nothing wrong with not being straight.”

Damian had broached the topic using Dick as a proxy, so Bruce had followed his lead and assumed that Damian would know to automatically apply the assurance to himself. But Damian’s face just falls into a puzzled frown.

“So why…” he begins, before changing track. “Richard isn’t your biological son.”

Bruce frowns back.

“Damian, you know that doesn’t make a difference to me. I don’t love your siblings any less because they’re not-”

“I know,” Damian cuts in. “It isn’t about loving us differently.” He says it very matter of factly. “I have the ability to carry on your bloodline, whereas they do not.”

“That ability isn’t an obligation,” Bruce says, wondering why his kids never seem to be able to just worry about normal things. “And it’s certainly not something that you need to be thinking about at thirteen years old.”

Damian nods slowly, staring down at the desk with a look of intense concentration, before slowly raising his gaze to Bruce.

“Mother and Grandfather said that you wouldn’t like it, if I wasn’t interested in girls,” he says quietly.

Bruce sighs. of-fucking-course they did. He gets up from his chair, and moves around the desk to kneel in front of Damian.

“Well they’re wrong,” he says simply. “And they had no right to lead you to believe that it would make any difference to me. Just like I don’t love your siblings any less, my love for you is no more conditional. Understand?”

It takes a moment, but Damian nods.

“All right. In which case, I suppose... I’m gay.”

“And I’m proud of you,” Bruce says, before pulling his son into a hug.

Bruce

Bruce looks at his assembled family, and begins to feel a strange sense of trepidation tickling at the edge of his consciousness.

They’re all here. Trying to get the whole family together all at once is like pulling teeth. But he told them it was important, and they all came. There have been plenty of points over the course of the years when that wouldn’t have happened. And even though they’ve all been pretty settled with each other for a while now, he never wants to take for granted having his whole family together- not that he thinks the part of him that only seems to settle when he has all of his children within arm’s reach would let him.

The comfort of having them all be together is overwhelming, but the trepidation is still there, just like it probably always will be any time he manages to round up the courage for anything resembling feelings talk.

They’re all in one of the living rooms, sprawled in a comfortable half circle across various couches and chairs.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you all,” Bruce starts to say.

“Are you dying?” Stephanie asks casually.

Beside her, Cass freezes, looking horrified.

“I’m not dying,” Bruce says quickly.

At the same time Steph rubs a hand up and down Cass’s arm and assures her she was kidding.

“Not like he’d tell us if he was,” Dick says.

He knows it’s meant to be a joke, just like Stephanie’s question had been, but it still sends a chill through him. Mostly because he can’t say for sure that Dick is totally wrong; it’s the kind of thing he easily could have kept to himself. But then he sees the uncertain frown that Damian is giving him, and Cass’s wide, anxious eyes, and decides that he has to be wrong.

“I’m not dying,” he repeats, reaching out for Tim who’s sitting closest to him, and who’s been staring very intently at the floor since the topic came up.

Tim leans into the touch without shifting his position.

“And I would tell you,” he adds seriously, feeling absolutely wracked with guilt over the fact that up until this moment he doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to claim that with any certainty.

“I swear, if there’s anything wrong with me, all of you will know as soon as possible.” By the time it comes out of his mouth, he knows he means it with total certainty.

“I think we’re all pretty tuned into the fact that there’s something wrong with you,” Jason offers, and the tension in the room breaks.

Bruce smiles despite himself. That was agonizing. Compared to that getting on with the conversation he’d previously been so apprehensive to have will be a relief.

“What did you want to tell us?” Duke asks.

“It can be… difficult for me to articulate what it means to me whenever one of you trusts me enough to share something about yourself. I thought that I owed it to all of you to return the favor, and share a… recent discovery of mine.” He stumbles through it as awkwardly as he’d expected to.

“This is weird,” Stephanie stage whispers.

“I’m bisexual,” Bruce admits.

“Bruce!” Dick says excitedly.

“Unacceptable,” Jason cuts in. “We already have enough of that nonsense in this house!”

Tim kicks him in the side.

“Well, seeing as it’s an option, I for one prefer the idea of you pursuing romantic entanglements that bear no risk of resulting in pregnancy.”

“Noted, Damian.”

“I’m happy for you, B,” Tim says. “It can be hard figuring yourself out.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

“Is that it?” Duke asks. “I mean, not that it’s not a big deal- and I’m happy for you too by the way- it’s just that most of our family meetings involve addressing some kind of crisis.”

“That’s it,” Bruce admits.

“Perhaps- seeing as we’re all here anyways- we could take this opportunity to have dinner together as a family for once,” Alfred offers.

#batfamily #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #cassandra cain #damian wayne #batman #batfam #dc #my writing #fluff and angst

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lifewithdavefarts · 3 years

Photo

DaveFarts - Episode 13 “When She Finally Leaves” [Episode List] Dana spends the whole day at Dave’s place. When the girl leaves, Tim, who’s now Dave’s roommate, finds out how much gas a man can hold in just to not look gross in front of a girl.

When She Finally Leaves

In the last few weeks I’ve been spending more and more nights at Dave’s place, whether because I needed a place to work, write my essays, or simply to spend some quality time watching bad films and drinking beer. It was Dave himself to ask me to “marry him” (as he jokingly put it), basically becoming official roommates, which also meant dividing our tasks and obviously splitting the rent.

And honestly we were having a great time. We both had jobs, fortunately, which were not much but they did pay taxes for now and it was overall a great experience. Friend or not, Dave is an excellent roommate, being pretty good at cooking and organising chores; the same could be said for me actually, though in some cases we have our own preferences; for example Dave prefers cooking (the fact that I’m bad at it it’s purely coincidental) so we agreed I’ll be the one doing the dishes.

We also had our buds crashing over what is now *our* place a couple of times, which resulted in more bad films and beer, or even nerd stuff such as gaming together. Of course however, the person who most often came over is obviously Dana, Dave’s girlfriend. She’s pretty cool though we don’t really hang out with her when Dave’s not around, though as I said she’s pretty easy-going.

Tonight we’ve been watching a trash movie. Yes, the three of us. Don’t worry, I was a welcome addition today. Dave would usually just tell me to leave for a few hours if sex was on the table (sometimes literally on the table, the one where we eat our food…) as we respect each others enough to just be straightforward whenever we needed some privacy. Tonight however it was just chilling like three friends hanging out together (knowing however that Dave would just give me a signal should things get more heated up you know).

We were in the living room. I was on an armchair, working on my laptop, despite the poor wi-fi. On the long wide couch beside me, Dave and Dana chilling and watching the movie with more attention than me, my bud’s left arm around his girlfriend, sometimes making remarks on how bad it was. We all had a can of beer, because of course we did.

The couple brought some takeouts for dinner, some fast-food a few blocks from here (Dana’s idea, actually, which we were both thankful for). Dave, chilling next to Dana, was wearing his signature casual outfit: a grey shirt and pair of dark blue loose jeans, details that my gay-ass eyes immediately noticed and more than once stared at.

“Oh wow the helicopter just blew up I’m speechless.” Dave said, sarcastically.

“A Subversive Masterpiece: that’s what they were going for when they wrote this.” Dana added, and they both chuckled.

I also did my fair share of sarcastic remarks though work got most of my attention, even though it was nothing urgent, just me trying to get some stuff done as fast as possible.

“Did the shark just wink at him?” my bro commented.

“They’re best friends now.” his girlfriend explained. What a great film.

After 15 more minutes the movie ended with the three of us clapping at a shot of a man and a shark exchanging a look of gratitude to each other, as the Sun set into the never-ending ocean. Drugs played a big role into the making of this move I’m 100% sure.

“Well, that was enlightening, but I gotta head back home. The Uber’s almost here.” Dana said, as she got up and reached for her purse and some other stuff.

“You’re really sure about that? Come on, stay here for the night.” Dave suggested. “I taught Tim to play dead. We can throw food at him.” he then joked.

“I can also bring you the newspaper upstairs, tomorrow morning.” I played along.

Dana chuckled in response. “I’m sure you’ll win the next contest you two, but I gotta wake up super early tomorrow.”

The couple walked towards the front door. The entrance was next to the living room, a few steps behind the couch. Dave and I sometimes darkly joked that any assassin could easily ambush us because whenever we’re on the couch anyone could sneak into the house behind us, with enough care (we then prefer to drink about it).

“Call me when you get home.” Dave said and the two shared a quick kiss.

In the meantime I moved on the bigger (and more comfortable) couch, more or less in Dana’s spot, as I also have better wi-fi reception there. I left my laptop on the small table in front of me because apparently all of my laptops have to be shitty and take some time to even the most basic stuff. As I inspected the wi-fi icon flashing on the screen, I heard Dave shutting the door and walking back to the couch. After a few steps his tall figure was already towering over me.

“Yeah the reception is pretty bad lately.” he commented, and then collapsed next to me.

Only a few seconds and he already had that well-known smirk drawn on his face; he then quickly adjusted his position. He completely laid down, extended his demin-clad legs, with his left one resting on the back of the couch, ending right behind my neck. In a moment, Dave ended up showing off his loose, almost-sagging jeans-clad ass directly next to me, as his legs trapped me into a gentle yet strong grip. Seeing both that “wall” made of jeans and my bro’s smirk at the same time was a sight I never truly got used to. He was just lying there, next to me, with his ass pointed at me, as if it was one big prank, even though he knew exactly how much I enjoyed that.

“Bro you’re ready?” he asked, still sporting that smirk.

When even Dave goes as far as asking me if I’m ready, then I knew that the fart was going to be gargantuan. And I realized why: Dana has been with us and my bro the entire day, so it’s possible that Dave just held all of his gas in for hours. We all experienced this, then when the girl leaves, men get to “relax”. Other than that, Dave had tons of beer and junk food. I stared at that denim butt, for the first time almost scared of what my bud was capable of; I knew a fart was coming, and I knew it was going to be big.

But what Dave said next really once again confirmed how chill he is around me.

“Believe me: you might want to get closer for this one.” he said, laughing a bit.

He sported weirdly reassuring smile, Dave’s millionth attempt at saying “It’s ok, Tim.” as he probably noticed now nervous I became when he assumed that pose.

The teasing bastard then went full bully on me and simply reached for my head with his long right arm and gently pulled me down, as if I was bowing to that still silent denim-clad ass. I just heard him laugh like an idiot, as it usually happens. Despite my head being down and in front of that ass, I could still see Dave’s face and that smirk. He raised his eyebrows and half-closed his eyes as he started pushing, but he didn’t need to put all that effort into ripping that blast.

It’s like the fart was barely contained in the first place: it immediately exploded with a loud sound right into my face. Dave closed his eyes and kept his smirk as the blast probably surprised him as well. It was low-pitched and dry, a completely natural gas-eruption that sounded like an engine. The stench was unbearable, a mixture of beer and junk food, surprise to no one.

While farting, Dave adjusted his position as bit, spreading his legs bit more, with my face getting almost planted into that denim-clad butt as he effortlessly kept ripping that immense flatulence. Hours and hours of gas being erupted as if I was in front of a dormant volcano that just woke up. And I feared that “hours” was what he was going for ‘cause after 20 seconds the fart didn’t even lose power.

Dave still had this smirk drawn on his face and occasionally stared down at me as he completely destroyed my face and nose with his incredible farting skills, skills that constantly let me speechless, fetish or not. He was the fart master, a showoff with a manly talent that I could only bow to and endure in the hop-

“Sorry, I forgot my house keys.”

The fart immediately stopped and it all went silent: It was Dana.

Dave turned his head to his girlfriend, greeting her with the stupidest smile you can think of.

“Oh stay there no worries, they’re right here.” I heard Dana say as she reached for keys, probably hanging right next to the door, my face still almost planted in my friend’s denim ass. That felt surreal.

I completely froze (not that I could move) but I knew that she couldn’t see me (just like I couldn’t see her) as I was lying down. All she could see from where she was standing was Dave’s head and his right leg resting on the back of the couch, since the entrance was behind our couch.

I was terrified, while Dave was doing his best not laugh like an idiot.

“What’s so funny?” Dana asked, laughing a bit herself, definitely noticing her boyfriend being weird.

My teasing bro quickly glanced down at me, almost losing it (and still holding holding the fart in, which didn’t stop the smell from burning my nostrils).

“N-nothing’” he stuttered. That’s it, he was gonna laugh like an idiot.

“Okay” I heard Dana, not really convinced of the boyfriend’s answer though.

There was a moment of awkward silence and then we heard a car honk, thank goodness.

“Oh… it’s my Uber. Bye!” the girl said, quickly leaving the house and shutting the door behind her.

Another moment of silence followed, Dave still staring at the entrance. I was shaking, I was legitimately scared that someone was gonna find out, which was weird given the hotness I was experiencing in that moment, even without the fart being ripped.

“Ok… where were we?” Dave asked, turning back to me, with a smirk. “Oh yeah!”

And he effortlessly resumed farting, just as loud, proud and powerful as it was before the interruption, directly into my face. The terror I experienced moments before was blown away by that incredibly blast and me being rock-hard, as it usually happens when Dave showoffs his gassy talent around me, or on me.

Dozens of seconds passed and at this point Dave just played along. He nodded at me, faking a serious expression, as if he was listening to something actually interesting instead of his own loud fart still going on strong; after about ten more seconds he checked the time on his wrist-watch and acted surprised, then stared down at me as if he wanted to say “damn that is long!”. We both however actually lost the track of time and he simply relaxed as if I wasn’t even in front of his ass, all while the fart was still being blasted in my face.

Dave then reached for my head again and gently pushed it inches closer to his roaring ass, and I felt the vibrations of his rip all over my face: it was literally an earthquake.

How long was it lasting? More than 1 minute perhaps? How much gas can a man hold in? Dave certainly was pushing for a record. All I knew is that I felt privileged witnessing that, even though I was beyond being a mere witness since no particle of gas missed my eyes and nostrils.

However (finally, actually), the fart seemingly started to lose power, the once-continuous sound starting to “stutter” and turning more into a fast series of loud farts, fired back-to-back. The show (because that’s what it was: a show) ended with a loud, 5 seconds blast, and Dave’s laughter.

I slowly got up, sweaty, my nose burning, with a startled look to which my bro reacted with another immature cackle. I was now sitting next to him as I was before, and looked back at my bud, who in the meantime re-adjusted his pose. He was still lying down, still kind of showing off his loose-sagging ass, but in a less “menacing” way: now he was just chilling.

“When’s Dana coming over again?” I joked. I mustered all the courage I had left to say that. I was impressed by the fact that I could still speak considering that all of my blood probably flooded my boner at that point.

Dave laughed at that lame joke, thank goodness. “As if I need Dana to blast you like this.”

He raised one leg, again showing off his sagging denim ass in my direction. He quickly sucked some air in and after a few moments and weird noises a loud 6 seconds fart erupted. For his standards, that’s basically a weak one.

My friend just casually joking and bragging about facefarting me and then farting on command to prove it made me lose it, as I felt my boner… dampening. He didn’t notice it but he knew that I had a hard-on, that’s for sure.

I didn’t want to just rush into the bathroom so I just stared at my laptop, still on the table, in front of me: the wi-fi signal was stronger than ever. I jokingly like to think that Dave’s blast was so powerful it actually influenced the signal somehow and improved it.

I turned to my bud, still lying on his side of the couch, just checking his phone and being… casually hot.

“Thanks man.” I said, not for the wi-fi though.

He lowered his phone, revealing a blank reaction “Really?” he said, rolling his eyes, with a bored expression. “Stop being cringe and do the dishes.”

Fuck, I totally forgot about those. We had takeout food but we still used some of our dishes. I immediately got up and rushed to the kitchen, hoping that Dave was distracted by his phone enough to not notice by boner through my sweatpants.

Once in the kitchen, a place that wasn’t tainted by Dave’s gas, my nostrils could still feel my bro’s fart-stench. That’s how soaked up in his gas I was. Even my ears needed some time to adjust to the silence, now that I didn’t have a deafening fart being ripped right into my skull.

And I just knew that this wasn’t the last time this was gonna happen. I’m Dave’s roommate, and being roomies means we have to divide our tasks: he’s the farter, I’m the sniffer.

End of Episode 13

#fart story #eproctophilia #fartkink #davefarts2 #gayfart #malefarts

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bluegarners · 3 years

Text

hiya @viceturtle! I finally got it done! Here is your Bad Things Happen Bingo request with Dick and Jason; you can also read it on ao3

What Have I Done?

It’s a lot. He’s not going to lie.

Dick was dead for eight months. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. It was a fact that they were all forced to deal with, all forced to live with. Dick was dead and there was nothing any of them could do about it. And for a time, Jason had held onto the small belief, he’s not going to call it hope, that Dick had somehow managed to pull through. That even despite the beatings, the torture, everything before and after it, Dick had managed to pull through and come out of it all alive.

But he hadn’t. That was the thing, at its core. Dick died.

Jason knows what it is to be dead. To be beaten and left to die. To struggle and still search for a way out of the shit hole you’re suddenly in and cling to that light, that stupid, stupid promise in the back of your head that screams, Help is coming, just hold on a little longer, that forces you to keep struggling, keep surviving, keep hoping for a way out despite the circumstances. Jason knows and it absolutely sucked.

He died and then clawed his way out of his own coffin. One of his fingers is permanently misshapen, wood chips and metal piercing through his stiff and cold skin. He’s got scars all over his body to prove that he died, to prove that he was beaten with a crowbar, messed around with like he was just some dummy, some thing that could take a beating and then some. Up and down and across and lined; the scars are all over him and he died.

And Dick died too.

In those eight months, Jason felt more connected to his deceased older brother than he ever had before. A deep and twisted connection over a shared death, a similar fate so convoluted it makes Jason sick to think about sometimes. His murderer is still out there. Jason has to live with that fact and even though it’s not fine and things would be so much easier without that psychopath, Jason gets it. Sometimes. Gets the moral code, the compass, that shrouds Batman and his little followers.

And he’s trying. He is. He made an effort to try and do the right thing when Dick died because suddenly, the role of older brother had fallen onto him and even though he doesn’t have a good relationship with Tim or the recently resurrected Damian, or anyone for that matter, there was still that recognition that it was all on him now. He was the eldest. He was the one to look towards. Not look up to, no, he will never claim the title of a role model, but now he’s the oldest, the most experienced, the next in line when one just can’t go to Bruce about shit going on.

The point being is that he did try, put in more effort than he probably should have, to stepping up to the plate and taking a swing at being better. At being the eldest of the entire brood and not fucking it up horribly. He switches to rubber bullets and smoke pellets. He keeps his excessive violence reserved for only the worst scum and even then still attempts to steer clear from Batman’s territories. He takes care of the Narrows, rekindles a sort of friendship with Tim, doesn’t fight the literal child that lurks in the Cave, and avoids confrontations with Bruce altogether.

It works and it’s good. He steps up, frankly owns being the eldest, and he’s fine. He’s fine with it. He’s still got his reputation intact, Red Robin isn’t terrified of his presence any longer, and Robin doesn’t pull a sword every time they spot one another. So what if he slips up occasionally and gets carried away? They’re just rubber bullets, weapons all the same, and they’re no different from getting hit with Batman’s fist (which Jason knows, from experience, hurts like hell) or getting swung at with a large knife.

He had a thing going on, is what Jason’s trying to get at, and then Dick showed up.

Dick. Richard Grayson. Who died eight months ago after he was tortured by the Syndicate and had his heart stopped by Lex Luthor. Who they had a funeral for. Who they mourned for. Who Jason had attempted to fill the gaping hole he had left behind.

Who Jason thought had died.

Betrayal is a word Jason feels like he could apply to a majority of his life. Betrayal from his parents, his poor, poor mother who just couldn’t muster up enough fucks. Bruce, Batman, for getting him into the vigilante life, for letting him wear that damn costume and get himself blown up for all his efforts. Talia, for restoring his mind after he was supposed to be dead. Bruce, Batman, again, for letting his murderer walk around like it was another Sunday, any other day, just a nice, normal day for a stroll like he didn’t just kill Bruce’s own son-

Yeah, Jason feels like he has liberal use of betrayal. It’s just an old song he hums sometimes and lets others join in occasionally.

But there was an unspoken code, a silent right-of-passage, when it came to being Robin. A mutual understanding of sorts. You don’t back-stab another Robin. Ever. You don’t lie, cheat out, betray a fellow Robin. There were too many shared experiences when it came to being Batman’s, Bruce’s, Robin and that ultimately revolved all back to trust and knowing that things were still the same despite all these years. Being Robin was both the best thing to ever happen to someone and also the ultimate death sentence. You don’t just get to be Robin either. You’ve got to earn it, to prove yourself, to show that you can take it all on, to keep up with Batman and the ever changing and violent Gotham.

So, when Dick shows up with an apology on his lips and the expectation of being welcomed home after all this time, Jason punches him square in the jaw. It’s surreal, a part of him thinking his fist will just phase right through the man’s face, but his knuckles connect and if the sound of his fist against Dick’s jaw isn’t the most satisfying and cruel thing he’s ever heard, Jason doesn’t know what is.

It’s agony, nearly, to see the red blossom on his older brother’s cheek because, holy hell, that means it’s all real. That Dick is really alive and not still buried in that weed covered yard with decaying roses scattered on top of it. Dick is alive and Jason is furious because he’s supposed to be dead and Jason already tried so hard to fill the other man’s impossibly huge shoes and he was doing a damn good job at it. He likes to think so, at least.

But who cares, right? Who gives a shit when Dick is back now and it was all for nothing? Everyone can just go back to their normal routines now that the star player is back and they don’t need a fill-in like Jason to stick around. All that effort, all that time, all that trying all summing up into one big, Surprise, I’m not dead, from the man of the hour himself.

Jason avoids Dick after that. The man said he wasn’t staying long, just “checking in” with everyone like he was just on some business call for a few months and not dead.

And that’s the root of it, Jason thinks. That’s what really gnaws at him because Dick is treating the whole situation exactly like he was on some extended vacation and just forgot to tell anyone where he was going. Not like his absence literally turned their entire world upside down. Not like the loss, the emptiness, that literally echoed everywhere Jason went was consuming and terrifying. In those eight months, Jason had to toe the line between being the eldest and maintaining his identity as Red Hood, and that’s where Jason truly felt close to Dick. Felt like he finally got what Dick and Bruce’s arguments were about so many years ago, this constant war of wanting to be better, wanting to have freedom, wanting to stay yourself when there was a constant war of others trying to get you to fill a role that you don’t want.

Finally, Jason felt like he had some other important connection to his elusive older brother that had nothing to do with the man that housed them, only for it all to be thrown across the room and into the trash.

To keep it simple, bare-bones, really dumbed down, Dick lied. About being dead, of all things. Jason can get behind needing to lay low after all that, being stripped of your identity on live television wasn’t exactly great for their kind of lifestyle, but to just leave? To go out on some mission and leave the rest of them out to dry like that? No warning, no hints, no notes, nothing? God, at least Jason made an appearance. Granted, not the best sort of re-introduction, but at least he wasn’t trying to hide.

To say the least, Jason is hurting. The anger faded along with any sort of need to prove to Dick that he had stepped up when he left. Now, he just feels… shitty. In a way, this is what he had been half-way expecting. No one stays dead in this business. There is always someone with a back-up or ex-machina to save the day and bring back a fallen hero, villain, whatever. But there had just been something so final, so human in Dick’s death. In that moment, seeing the mask ripped off, seeing his brother’s face on T.V out of context, away from the normal flashiness that was being related to a billionaire, it had scared Jason because that was his brother, Dick Grayson, world’s most annoying man in the universe, on T.V; beaten, bloodied, bruised, and humiliated for everyone to see.

He’s always been jealous of how clean and clear Dick’s eyes looked. Just a simple and rare shade of blue, obnoxiously bright and searching. Jason’s mother used to say he had his father’s eyes, a muddy mix of blue and green. He’s never liked his eyes, but there was always something so attention grabbing with Dick’s. Seeing them on T.V, wide and blood-shot and bruised to hell; the blue was out of place and humanizing in a way that Jason just couldn't describe because it was simply Dick Grayson there. Not Nightwing. Not a hero. It was just Dick Grayson, world’s worst older brother ever, looking lost, defiant, and defeated all at once.

And that hurt.

The man is like some nasty disease that won’t leave him alone though. Their first meeting was two days ago and Jason is trying his best to ignore the knife in his chest, not literally, when Dick shows up. Just outside the Narrows on the roof of a bodega, Dick appears from where ever the fuck he’s been and walks over to Jason. It’s a cue, Jason knows, when thunder rumbles in the distance and if he were a bit more into literature, feeling a bit more melancholy for his freshman year of high school, Jason would say that a storm is coming for the both of them, not just Gotham.

Dick walks with his hands in his pockets, stuffed inside an old brown jacket that looks well-used and well-loved. Jason’s never seen the jacket before. Must’ve gotten it on his extended vacation. A part of Jason knows that Bruce was in on it too, that Bruce probably deserves just as much anger he’s dishing out towards Dick, maybe even more, but Jason’s tired of trying to play nice and get along. Dick is the one in front of him now, right here on a Wednesday night with the glowing, neon advertisement for Coke singing behind their heads and a run down, twenty year old convenience shop beneath their feet.

Dick is here and now when he should be dead.

Just like Jason should be.

“What do you want?” he asks, the metallic tin of his voice modulator diminishing some of the threat. It’s a known fact that Red Hood guards his territory with a viciousness rivaling a rabid dog. Outsiders aren’t welcome. Never welcome.

In contrast, Dick is mask-less. Civilian. Same clear blue eyes from eight months ago that were sealed shut the last time Jason saw them. A dark bruise stains Dick’s right cheekbone, the shape of knuckles and betrayal. It’s a good contrast.

“I came to say goodbye,” the other man answers, stopping just short of six feet in front of Jason, “and that I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. I really am,” he insists when Jason remains silent. “Things just… happened too fast. It killed me to be away from you all for so long. I wanted to tell you, I did-”

“Really?” Jason interrupts lowly. “It killed you, huh?”

Dick sighs, a hand coming up to brush through his hair. “That’s not what I meant. You know it’s not.”

“I don’t know, Dicky. Times are changing, you know. One minute, you’re the star pupil, and the next I’m your backup. And now,” Jason shrugs, letting his hand come up to rest on the holster he keeps on his hip, “I’m not so sure about that.”

Dick is eyeing Jason like he’s looking at something he doesn’t like. Something that’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. But that’s just something he’s going to have to deal with, isn’t it? Suck it up buttercup, and all that.

A laugh erupts from Jason as he truly takes it all in. “You know,” he chuckles, nothing humorous causing his mirth, “you really had me there for awhile. I bought you flowers, went to your funeral, dealt with all that shit, and yet here you are. In the flesh.” He laughs again, fingers curving steadily around the grip of his gun. “I think I liked you better dead, Dick.”

The older man frowns, brow dipping into a neat crease. Not a single wrinkle on his perfect, tan, not dead face. “The situation was unavoidable,” he says, like he actually believes a word he utters. “Batman needed a guy on the inside. The, hm, circumstances leading up to that set it up so that I could be that guy. It wasn’t exactly my choice to stay dead, Jay.”

“Names,” Jason snarks, that same anger he felt two days ago rearing its ugly head again. “You know, you say you didn’t have a choice, but I think there’s a clear distinction between dead and alive, don’t you? It might just be me, who knows because fuck if I do, but I think a warning woud’ve sufficed. A fucking warning. ”

Something must click in Dick’s head as his frown deepens. His hands are out of his jacket pockets now. They’re both tense.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. “Maybe another month. Two at most. When I get back, I’ll try and…” Dick trails off there, as if searching for the right words, but Jason doesn’t have the patience for him to find the right way to say the same bullshit he’s already heard before.

He’s so tired. So, so tired.

“We were fine without you,” he snarls, relishing in the way Dick’s eyes widen at the claim. “The world doesn’t stop turning just because you decide to go off on a little adventure. Newsflash, asshole: None of us need you. You can’t come back here and expect everything to fall back to the way things were just because you decide it’s time to show your face again.”

“I was doing what I thought was right,” Dick snaps back. “Look, I’m sorry you had to step up and be a decent person for once-”

“And there it is,” Jason growls, unholstering his gun. “You think you’re so much better than me. You’re just so goddamn smug you can’t even see your own mistakes. What, is my being here just too inconvenient for you? Can’t make all the little hero-worshipers fall back into line like they used to?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I did what I thought was best for everyone and I paid the price for it.”

Jason lunges, cutting the feet between them into inches. “What was best?” he yells, swinging with one fist and aiming with the other. “Who the hell are you to decide that?”

Dick retaliates, pushing away Jason with a kick that connects to his armored chest. It’s barely a glancing blow though and he’s charging forwards again, squeezing the trigger as a shot rings off into the air, missing Dick’s foot by a few centimetres. Another crack of thunder resounds in the distance and a bolt of lightning cracks open the dark sky. Dick rolls away from Jason’s tackle, on the balls of his feet and ready to jump away again.

“I didn’t come here to fight you,” Dick tries, widening his stance. “I just came to, god, I don’t know, Jay. I didn’t ask for this!”

“Cut the bull,” Jason says, raising his gun again. He’s got it trained on Dick’s mid-section and even though a part of him knows he’s not going to take the shot, another part of him has his finger itching towards the trigger. “None of us asked for any of the fuckery that comes our way, but we deal with it, right? I’m dead, you’re dead, the brat’s dead, we’re all dead!”

There’s another crack of thunder, one that brings the rain with it. It pours, instantly drenching the pair, and a sheet of gray divides them. There’s surely something poetic about it, the divide that surrounds them both, but Jason’s not one to dwell long.

“Well, I’m not dead anymore!” Dick screams through the rain. “I am alive! I’ve been dead for eight months and I don’t want to fucking be anymore! I want to come home, Jay. I am alive. Goddamnit, I am alive!”

“So why didn’t you tell us that? Tell any of us that? All of this, that’s on you , Dick. You want to know why there wasn’t a big fucking parade for you? Why no one was fighting over the chance to be the first one to get to shake your hand? It’s because we don’t trust you anymore. No one fucking wants you near them because that’s how badly you fucked up.”

He must strike a nerve because Jason sees something crumple on Dick’s face.

“I didn’t- I didn’t want to leave you guys, Jay. God, you’ve got to believe me on that. I had no choice. It was either I leave and do this for Batman or-”

That same anger rises up again. Anger from different directions, different thoughts, but ultimately because it’s about Batman. Always, always about Batman. What he wants. What he needs you to do. Because if you don’t do it, and someone dies, it’s your fault. And Dick has always been the suck-up, the one to come when called, because even after all their spats and all these years of silence between them, Dick was still a Robin first and goddamnit if Jason doesn’t understand that. He hates that he understands that need to please Batman, to do what he asks in the hope of just some tiny ounce of praise or acknowledgment, but Dick is a grown adult. He’s not Robin anymore.

None of them are.

Dick takes a step forward and Jason squeezes the trigger, feeling the recoil in his wrist as Dick freezes, the bullet breezing right past his armpit. His eyes are wide, finally taking the weapon in as it is, and there must be some realization going off inside Dick’s head because now he’s the one charging in, stance low and shifty, and Jason’s on the defense now. His finger is still on the trigger, just barely, and he’s raising it to aim again when a flying round-house knocks the gun from his hand and fist drives under his chin. It disorients him a bit because, damn, he didn’t actually expect Dick to fight back, Jason was trying to get him to go away, but now they’re both serious. They’re both dangerous.

It’s a no-weapons brawl, just fists and dirty kicks and the rain is still pounding away against the bodega. The rain has plastered Dick’s hair to his skull and Jason is grateful for his helmet because it’s clear the water is making it difficult for the older man to see. He takes advantage of this, striking down with his elbow on Dick’s trapezius and quickly hooking his left foot around his ankle. It works for a split second, Dick thrown off and unbalanced, before Dick is tumbling down and using his own momentum to pull Jason down with him.

They’re on their backs now, rough and cold cement bleeding through their jackets, and the neon Coke sign flickers in and out as thunder continues to roll and shake the world.

“You should’ve stayed dead,” Jason snarls, taking a jab at his older brother’s face. “You should’ve never come back.”

Dick frees one of his hands from underneath the massive bulk of Jason’s suit, palm striking the sides of his helmet. “Take off the godamn hood and say that to my face,” Dick pants, shoving one of his knees into Jason’s side. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want me dead, Jay. Tell me you want me dead. ”

Another bolt of lightning splits the dark and its image refracts against the many puddles, and for a moment, the light sears into Jason’s eyes. He flinches against the burn and it’s enough hesitation for Dick to take the unguarded moment and flip Jason, crouching with one knee on his chest and the other digging into Jason’s forearm. They’re both breathing heavily, exhausted both physically and mentally, and he doesn’t bother to stop his brother as Dick reaches down and shoves the helmet off of his face.

Their eyes meet and Jason squints up at clear blue. Yeah, he hates that color. Hates it so much it feels like something ugly in his stomach, coiling and clenching. They’re both frowning but Dick just looks resigned. Jason hates that too. Now that he has the chance, he can see new scars on his brother’s face. New, finer lines and white and pink discoloration.

Funny how eight months can make someone look so much older.

“I wish you had stayed dead,” Jason finally says, hating himself all the more for it. “I wish you had never come back.”

Dick stumbles off of him and there’s a thin trail of red leaking from one of his eyebrows that keeps getting washed away. Jason doesn’t even remember hitting him there, but he must’ve been excessive. Must’ve over-done it. Just another thing he’s managed to fuck up. Check it off the list.

He sits up, feeling the ache of a sore back and numerous bruises, and watches as his brother leans heavily against the poles of the advertisement. The rain only seems to come down harder, bouncing off the yellow stained bodega roof. He gets to his feet slowly, careful to keep an eye on the slouching man, and treads over to pick up his helmet. His gun is closer to the bright neon sign and when he gets near enough, Dick looks up, something horribly heavy and sad, settling into his face.

“Okay,” is all he says, nodding once. “Okay, Jay.”

Dick reaches into his jacket pocket once more, fiddling with something, but Jason’s too preoccupied putting his helmet back on to really pay attention to it. They’re done fighting. Done with whatever all of that was. His hair is soaked, his jacket is going to have a layer of mildew on it in the morning, and Jason is tired. Beat. He can’t find the will-power to truly be bothered with anything else.

This is his territory so he’s not technically fleeing, but that’s what it looks like. Tail between his legs, off to lick his wounds, Jason’s sure that’s what Dick is thinking (he knows that’s not true, he knows this, and he’s got a little secret screaming, pounding away in the back of his skull, but Jason’s too burned out to deal with it, to address it). He walks to the edge of the roof with his back turned on his older brother, his alive and breathing, long lost brother, and jumps off, sliding down the fire escape and landing on the grimy streets below. His boots squelch in the rain, and there’s water logged into his socks, but Jason ignores it in favor of staring ahead. Refusing to look back.

Here’s the thing about being a Robin that everyone who’s been one before knows.

You rely on each other. There’s no codependency, not really, but there is a certain degree of reliance on past and current Robins. Robin is the inspiration. Not Batman. Batman doesn’t inspire little kids to go out in the night and get punched in the face and witness cruelty so awful you have nightmares for years after. Batman doesn’t inspire light and forgiveness and mercy; that’s all Robin’s doing. The bright colors, the chatter, the youth. That’s all on Robin, the little child weapons they are, and the shared experience of being that for Batman is a bond that runs so much deeper than blood. Thick and interwoven and relied upon so much more heavily than a simple crest or uniform.

And here’s that screaming secret that vibrates inside Jason’s skull: he’s happy Dick’s back. That Dick’s alive. At the end of the day, Dick was the first Robin, the first light, and having him snuffed out was a world that got three shades darker, bleaker. It was Dick’s Robin that truly gave it the twinge of hope all the Robins after carry with them; he was the model, the mold, they shaped themselves after. Him being dead changed that perspective for the worse because the first Robin made it. That’s what was so important, what tips the scales for the confidence of all Robins after. Dick made it. Survived being Robin, survived past Robin, and became his own hero.

Dick outlived being Robin and that was the ultimate goal. To survive.

So him dying was the last straw but now that he’s back, alive, everything was going to be okay again. Yeah, they’re all still messed up from it, there’s going to be a lot of trust built back up again, but they’re Robins for Christ's sake. Thicker than blood, stronger than a crest, relied on more than Batman. And maybe Jason’s being sentimental, still trying to be more eloquent than his sophomore English education allowed him to be, but God, he’s trying. He’s trying so hard despite the ache that wears down his bones and the fire that consumes his brain.

That’s why he gives in. Turns around. Looks back. Does what he thought he was too stubborn to do, but things change and-

The neon sign is brighter. No, that’s not right. There’s another source of that eerie, glowing light and Jason’s eyes widen as he sees a person step through it. Another figure, broad, muscular, unfamiliar, and they’re heading straight for Dick. His brother. Who is still leaning against the advertisement poles. Who’s not doing a damn thing to avoid the stranger that’s fast approaching.

Soreness and fatigue forgotten, Jason starts sprinting, boots pounding against the pavement as he cranes his neck upwards to watch the stranger continue to advance.

“Dick!” he yells in warning, drowned out with the rain. “Dick, move!”

He slams into the fire escape, hands scraping up the ladder as he hauls himself three steps at a time, chest heaving and heart beating wildly. He slips, losing his footing, and Jason grunts as he feels the pull on his shoulder and his knees bang into the sides of the bodega. He pushes on though, gripping the metal tightly and finally reaching the top.

He’s pulling himself over, gasping and searching, and he sees the man tugging Dick closer to the strange light, what Jason thinks must be some sort of portal, and before he’s even gotten a leg over the edge, his right hand is scrambling for purchase on his gun. He takes aim and fires without a second thought and curses aloud when it jams.

“Dick!” he yells again, throwing the useless weapon away and falling over onto the roof. “Stop! Stop! What’re you doing?”

His brother just trudges on though, bicep gripped by the stranger that continues to drag him closer and closer to the pulsating light, ghoulishly pink and saturating the air with an ominous buzz. Another flash of lightning illuminates the sky and Jason trips over himself in his haste, crashing into the slick cement. He whips his head up, too far away, too late, as the stranger disappears fully into the portal, Dick just a few inches away.

“Wait!” Jason cries, still attempting to rise off of his knees. Damn the rain. Damn the weight of his grief. Damn it all, get up. Get up. “Dick, stop! Stop!”

The rain is loud though and there’s a divide between the two of them, mixes of gray, pink, and red light. His brother half turns, watching as the younger stumbles towards him, and Jason can’t hear anything, can hardly process what’s even happening now, but Dick’s lips move in what Jason thinks is, Goodbye, and Jason screams, lunging as his brother fades into the light.

He falls, smashing into the cement once again as he fails to reach for his brother’s hand, and lands where the portal had just been. He lays there on his chest, heaving and attempting to breathe through his helmet, but it’s too hard, too suffocating, and Jason rips it off and flings it as far away from him as he can. His hands clench into fists and he fights back the urge to cry as he slams his fists into the roof. Bam-Bam-Bam.

Something cracks in his knuckles and Jason stops at the pain, shifting back and hanging his head between his knees. There’s a vicious burn in his eyes, his ugly, muddy green eyes, and Jason swipes at them furiously.

“We just got you back,” he whispers through gritted teeth. “We just got you back, Dick, and you, you just-”

A clap of thunder rattles the thin poles of the Coke advertisement as its lights finally flicker out. The night is dark without its glow and Jason is left in obscurity.

“What have I done?"

#bad things happen bingo #what have i done?#Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Spyral #Agent 37 #Red Hood #viceturtle #fanfic #my fic

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elareine · 3 years

Note

I had a thought for a prompt: What if Tim had a Costco membership, for getting groceries for Titans Tower right? But what if he got himself a Costco sized tin of those Danish Butter cookies (you know the ones that everyone’s grandma uses the tin for sewing supplies?) for his and Jay’s apartment. Que every single one of their siblings, friends, and Bruce sneaking into their apartment to steal some. Because Alfred DOES NOT let them into the manor for reasons.

That is a hilarious prompt, thank you, love!

(Also thanks to @atasteforsuicidal for explaining what exactly Costco does XD)

It started with Dick.

Which, okay, not too weird. Tim and Dick were close, and if you asked Jason under torture, he would admit that the two of them managed just fine these days, as well. So Dick was a regular visitor these days, and with his metabolism, him sneaking some cookies from the big tins wasn’t too surprising.

“Eat something real,” was Jason’s only reply, and then he made Dick some pasta because no one in this family could feed themselves.

Stephanie was a lot less subtle about it. She marched in with a fervent: “God bless your kitchen” and ate everything in sight. Nothing unusual about that.

Duke was next, though Jason only retroactively added him to the list. That kid was just charming as fuck, dropping by to ask for some opinions and making such a show of stealing Jason’s quesadillas that Jason never noticed him going for the cookies.

The problem really started when Damian broke into their kitchen.

Jason didn’t even figure it out until after it happened, which bugged the hell out of him. Apparently, the hellspawn was willing to do the song-and-dance of slipping through their alarm system but didn’t care about being recorded. Possibly because nothing Damian was all that bad, as far as Jason could see. He went through a few of their assorted tins and boxes, ate a few things, crammed some cookies into his bag, and… left. Maybe the kid had just been hungry on patrol?

(Jason still replaced all of Tim’s coffee, just in case.)

Only that wasn’t the last break-in. No, they had nightly visits by two speedsters. Two. Jason was amazed they had any food left at this rate. This was why Tim had become a Costco member; they would be broke otherwise, inheritance or not. Damian broke in again. The second time, he even brought Jon.

Jason just wished he knew why their kitchen had turned into midnight-snack central. When he complained, Tim just laughed at him.

It didn’t click until Roy fell upon the tin with a cry of delight. “Oh, Jaybird, you bought the good stuff!”

“They’re just cookies.”

“Yeah, but the good ones.” For some reason, Roy looked… disappointed with him? “You really don’t appreciate the finer things in life, do you?”

Normally, Jason would’ve taken that as the starting point for a rant about quality in food and art in these modern times. Right now, he was too busy experiencing an epiphany. “Is that why fucking everyone is trying to burgle our kitchen?”

Roy patted him on the shoulder sympathetically and inhaled another cookie.

Sadly, Jason didn’t feel any better about the madness just because he now had an explanation. They still had the nightly visitors, and more daytime ones than ever, too. Even Damian stopped pretending and just invited himself over for lunch.

One night, Jason switched on the kitchen light, saw Bruce standing there, and switched it right back off.

“Barbara is now my favorite sibling,” he declared upon returning to the bedroom.

Tim didn’t look up from whatever he was typing. “Does she really count as a sibling? She does have a dad.”

“Half sibling, half future sister-in-law, then.” Jason would feel more awkward about that sentence if he wasn’t literally sliding under a blanket with Tim. In their bed. In their apartment. Sooo. No stones to throw here. “Anyway. She’s my favorite.”

“Any specific reason?”

“She didn’t yet try to steal those fucking cookies.”

The typing stopped.

Jason groaned. “…seriously?”

He must’ve sounded truly pathetic because Tim actually put the laptop on the nightstand and scooted his way over into Jason’s arms. “She stopped by when you were out with the outlaws yesterday.”

“And there goes my last hope,” Jason sighed.

Tim showed his sympathy by cuddling in closer, which Jason appreciated, but he wasn’t done with this whole thing yet.

“It tells me I need to start baking again,” he grumbled into Tim’s hair. “If ya’ll are going that crazy for some fucking butter cookies, you should try my mom’s recipe.”

“Yeah, but if you make them, Alfred will love them.”

“What does Alfred have to do with this?”

“He forbade those cookie tins from the manor years ago. No one wants to cross him, but… the lure of the forbidden…”

“So we’re in some sort of reverse psychology experiment?” Jason chuckled. That. That actually explained a lot. Except—“Wait. If you knew—why did you buy it in the first place?”

Tim mumbled something unintelligible. When Jason poked him, he raised his voice, but not by much. “It’s kinda nice, isn’t it?”

“Oh.” Jason cupped Tim’s jaw, gently tipped his head so they were looking at each other. “Sweetheart, you know they would visit with or without the cookies, right?”

Tim just looked at him. “Kinda?”

They had done this for long enough that Jason just asked: “You want logical or emotional reassurance?”

And Tim knew he could reply: “…both.”

“Literally every single one of them has a trust fund. They can afford all the Danish butter cookies in the world. Dames could just break into Cosco—and you know he would, cause it’s a corporation, so ‘stealing is ethical.’” Jason allowed that to sink in. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Tim’s temple. “And they love you very much.” Just like I do.

When he thought that Tim got it, he nodded and let go, allowing his boyfriend to hide his face in Jason’s neck again. That turned out to be a mistake, for Tim chose that moment to strike: “You know the same goes for you, too?”

Jason took a moment to blink. “…Nah. It’s definitely the cookies.”

“Sure, Jay.” Tim pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Jason hummed. A peaceful quiet settled over their bedroom.

He waited until Tim was just settled in, his breathing starting to slow down, to say: “By the way, Bruce is in our kitchen.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

#elareine writes #batfamily #jaytim

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ellana-ravenwood · 4 years

Text

Sick Day - Batfam x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : It’s never fun to be sick. Duh. But when you have loving parents there to take care of you, maybe it isn’t so bad ? Just short little snippets of the first time each Batkids fell ill in Wayne Manor, and how Bruce and his wife (you :D) dealt with it.

Another “burst of the moment inspiration” story, just a little drabble. Promise I’ll post something more elaborate soon :), hope you’ll like it :

My master list blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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(Thanks to that anon who mentioned the kids getting shots, that gave me with this an idea on how to start this fic :D. The original beginning was different, I think I like that one better hehe.)

"Mister Wayne, if you keep doing this, I'm not going to be able to give your son-Bruce for god's sake !"

Leslie Thompkins, for the first time in her long career, was about to lose her patience and give up on...giving a simple shot to a baby.

She has seen worried parents before, of course. The one that clung to their child’s hand, or those who would cry because their little one was in pain…

Babies that young, who had to get vaccinated for the first time, never really experienced this sort of quick pain before.

A lot of them would cry more out of surprise than because it really hurt. Oh and when the parents were extra worried, you could be sure the baby was even more likely to burst into tears, sensing his parents' distress.

Yes. doctor Thompkins gave shots to a LOT of babies, and saw a LOT of worried parents before…But never had she met someone quite like Bruce Wayne.

He always came to her when his kids were sick. He could go to a fancier office, or to one of those pricy fancy private hospitals. But no.

No because, when it came to his kids’ health, there was no one he trusted more than Doctor Leslie Thompkins.

So it was no surprise when he brought his youngest son, Thomas, to get his first shot ever. What was a surprise though, was his reaction.

"And now you know why I'm always the only one in the room when this happens."

You say, smiling apologetically to the doctor. But ah, at least your husband's reaction eased a little the tension in your body brought by the mere idea of your baby being hurt.

Every single time Leslie got the syringe close to your little one, Bruce would reflexively grab her wrist and stop her from giving the shot to his son.

Ridiculous, really.

But it seemed it was something he couldn't fight.

He apologized the first time he did it, as Dr Thompskins smiled and said it was ok, rather amused. But then the second time, it was getting clear he didn't seem to quite control himself. At the third time Bruce was visibly sweating. Dr Thompkins finally snapped as she tried for a fourth and fifth time to give a shot to little Thomas (who, at barely 2 months old, was much too young to even understand what was happening, but by his little smiles it was clear he was happy every time his father would come into his vision).

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just…I thought I could do it, but I can't."

And oh. Oh it's adorable the way he turns to you, his eyes saying "I'm sorry" as he takes his son back in his arms and holds him against his chest. You weren’t sure if it was to comfort little Tommy, or if he was comforting himself.

"I think I should just let you two handle this ?" He asks, unsure. He doesn’t want you to be mad or to think he’s abandoning you.

"I think this is a good idea Bruce, yes."

You smile at him reassuringly. It’s fine. It was always fine.

"I'm sorry, sorry I'm letting you do this alone once again. I just can't…"

"Oh it's ok my Broosh, I know you hate shots. I can handle it, and little buddy here sure can too."

Thomas coos happily as you pick him up delicately from his father's arms. Bruce resists a bit, before finally giving in and letting you take hold of the little one.

He lays a hand on his son's head, looking fondly at him (of this look he only gives his children, of this pure look full of unconditional love, and a hint of “what did I do to deserve this sort of happiness ?”) and then sighs, press a soft kiss to your forehead, murmuring a last “I’m sorry, my love” and leaves the room.

He feels a little ashamed to let you do this once again, but you've always been the strongest one out of the two. After all, you willingly decided to marry a man like him…

"Alright Mrs Wayne, ready ? And here we-oh not you too (Y/N) !"

"I'm sorry I'm sorry, I don't know what took over me, it was just a reflex too !"

You apologize, as you let go of the doctor's wrist…

Yeah, it was just a gut reaction to seeing a scary needle approaching your baby's thigh. In your line of um, nightly work, you came to be very wary, of syringes. You still remember vividly that time Tim got hit with one of Scarecrows’ needle, and how terrible this night had been...

"Ok ok, now is fine. Go. I'm ready. Go fast though, now. Now I’m not looking. Go. Go. Go."

Tears welling up in your eyes at the mere thought of this happening, you look away as you hold your son still (something he doesn't like as clearly shown by his little sound of protest, and as he starts to fuss about), and in one, two seconds…it's done.

And not a peep from your son.

He just stopped making any sound (he've always been rather vocal), his eyes went wide, and he made a face that looked like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to cry or not. Then there’s one more second, and Leslie had a soothing bandaid on his little leg, and you were holding him against your heart, and the pain was so fleeting and already gone, that he just gets over it quickly, feeling your love.

Calming down instantly, not noticing the tears in your eyes (thank god, or it’d be a sure way to make him weep too).

And so he doesn't cry. And everything is ok again.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it ?”

“Actually, it was.”

You say, barely holding your tears in, your son cooing in your arms

“Um...I was talking to Thomas.”

Leslie answers, amused. And just like that, you both burst into laughter.

After a few minutes of this uncontrollable fit of giggles, you thank Leslie for her help, and leave the room, joining your husband who had been walking back and forth in the waiting room, nervous.

He comes immediately to you and Thomas, and as soon as the boy sees his dad he smiles widely and giggles. Bruce gives him a soft smile, before turning to you :

“How was it ?”

“For me ? Not great. For Tommy ? He didn’t even utter a sound. Our little guy is brave !”

You kiss your son on his forehead, and he giggles and coos even more. There’s a short silence, before Bruce says :

“I’m sorry...”

And then he takes you in his arms, sandwiching little Thomas who’s protesting a bit. Damn, his parents could be so clingy !

“It’s ok my Broosh, I already told you. It’s ok.”

You sort of knew since you stepped into the doctor’s room that you’d end up being the one having to hold your boy anyway.

You knew oh too well how squeamish he was whenever HE had to get a shot done (and oh who would’ve thought the big bad bat hated getting shots so much uh ? You were pretty sure he would rather getting actually shot than take a tiny needle in his arm any day of the week...Alfred always had to fight with him to inject anesthesia when treating him for wounds). It was actually sort of a requirement, that you’d be next to him to give him your hand when he absolutely had to get a shot.

So understandably so, he always skipped on his children’s vaccins. He just couldn’t bear to see anyone he cared for to get that very things he hated so much, it just made him feel ill.

And you’ve always been fine with this. Since that very first day when you took Dick there...But Bruce always felt bad.

Because whenever you’d get out of the doctor’s office, you’d have fresh tears in your eyes, because you were just too pure for this world (is what Damian would say).

Dick always took advantage of this. He was never really scared of shots, and thought they didn’t really hurt...But oh, oh he would always cry a river of crocodile tears just so he’d get extra cuddles and ice cream.

And then, that cheeky little bugger passed that knowledge of “when we get shots, or we get sick, the parents literally let us do WHATEVER we want !” to his little siblings (you were actually pretty sure your kids would pass secret ways to manipulate you and Bruce along to their younger siblings and..you were oddly fine with it. You loved those kids too much to care, really).

This thought reminded you of that very first time Dick fell sick, shortly after you and Bruce officially adopted him.

And how much you guys freaked out.

It was both a pleasant, and terrible memory.

And oh. Oh you already dreaded the day Thomas would have his first real fever...You still remembered how it happened, with all your other children.

“What is it ?” Bruce asks, always knowing when something was on your mind. And so you say : “Nothing bad, this just reminds me of when Dick got sick for the first time while with us...”

A light of recognition ignited in Bruce’s eyes, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

Bruce only had fond memories of when he was sick and his mom and dad would take care of him.

He thought they were the best, wether they’d hold a “barf-bucket” for him, or stay up all night because he was too feverish...

What he never realized though, is that having a sick child was actually absolutely terrifying ! Bruce often felt sick himself, when the kids were ill.....ah, but nothing ever beats those first time each of them got sick.

DICK

Dick wasn't as young as Thomas, when he first came into your life. None of them were. But he was still a cute little bean, your baby.

Eight years old, and oh so sweet and nice and cute and you could just squish his little cheeks all day (albeit from the few outburst of anger at times, but hey, he was but a child, every kid throw tantrum from times to times).

He had been living with you and Bruce in the Manor for the past six months, when you had your first fright, and realized that being a parent meant being worried about your kid's well being for the rest of your days

Dick was definitely a tiny kid when he came in your life. He was rather short, only having a growth spurt when he was around 14/15. Barbara Gordon used to tease him to no end about this, up until he finally caught up with her and ended up being taller.

But yes, his small stature for his age, maybe made you baby him even more than the others, sometimes.

Ah. That first time little Dick Grayson was sick at Wayne Manor.

You. Freaked. The. Fuck. OUT.

You and Bruce, both.

Coincidentally, Dick became ill ON THE ONLY FEW DAYS OFF ALFRED WOULD TAKE A YEAR !!

Every year, for a theater festival, Alfred would take off to his homeland, to England, in London to be exact, for but a few days.

The three of you were in the batcave. Bruce was getting ready to go out, while you were on the bat computer and Dick was training on the side, doing some acrobatics on the trampoline Bruce installed.

And then he came to you, pulling on your sleeve, and he was so pale...

“I don’t feel too well.”

He said, right before throwing up for a few way too long seconds, as tears welled up in his eyes...it was never nice to throw up, and once again, no matter how mature he acted, you were reminded that Dick was but an eight year old child.

But he wasn’t only crying because throwing up fucking sucked. He was also crying because he thought you were going to be mad at him.

You reassured him, as you cleaned his little face up, and Bruce (who looked quite green himself...later on, you’d discover than when his kids or you were sick, he felt sick too...quite a strong reaction, really) carried him upstairs.

You were frantically googling how to take care of a sick child, as Bruce stayed with Dick, holding a bark bucket to his face, and drawing soothing circles on his back with his hand.

The panic dumbed the both of you down. It seemed like you couldn’t think, as you tried to make Dick as comfortable as he could.

You could feel your anxiety blowing through the roof, and knew that Bruce was close to have a panic attack himself (he was prone to them, although you and Alfred were the only one who knew).

You didn’t know what was worst, the fact he was sick and had no idea what you were supposed to do, or how much Dick was sobbing and apologizing.

“Should we call Dr. Thompkins ?”

“I don’t know her number, Alfred is the one that calls usually...”

“Should we take him there then ?”

“I don’t know, Alfred is-”

This went on for a little bit, as Dick was throwing up and crying. Saying “sorry !” every two seconds. But...Instinctively, Bruce was trying to soothe him with those warm pats on his back. And you were caressing his hair, empathetic. And...

You decided to not go to the doctor today, Dick was sick, but not sick enough to take him to an emergency. And in Gotham ? Leslie was needed for a lot, especially in evenings like this.

“Alfred um, gives me flat soda when I have a stomach ache ?”

“On it !”

You say, bolting on your feet and running to the kitchen, taking a cola and opening it up. Meanwhile, Dick’s fit calmed down, and he seemed to instantly feel better as he probably threw everything he needed to up...

He seemed content, cuddling against Bruce as the man was softly patting his back in small circles, and using his other hand to hold his head delicately.

You and Bruce were definitely not experienced parents yet, and it showed.

It showed by those first few minutes of utter panic, as your child got suddenly sick. And it showed as how you instantly just thought of calling Alfred...

That day, you both realized though, that you couldn’t always rely on the butler when it came to raising your son. For situations exactly like that one.

Both you and Bruce were still young, and scared to make mistakes but..You had to try. And you had to keep a cool head. Your motherly instinct kicked in.

It was so odd, seeing the big bad bat, wearing his costume without the cowl on (he didn’t have time to take it off as he rushed upstairs with the boy in his arms), looking so worried...

Bruce was so pale, and you could see that in a way, he felt his son’s pain too...Which just made your head click, and take action.

“Ok, ok we can do this. Keep the barf bucket close, let’s wait for the soda to get flat, and um...let’s try to distract him. A movie, perhaps ?”

Dick nodded, and although he wasn’t throwing up anymore, he seemed too weak to stand up (or maybe he was faking, could be, honestly, with that one...doesn’t matter) so Bruce carried him again.

And it was a sight. Bruce was a tall man. And Dick was a very small kid.

It was cute. and in that moment...In that moment it felt like you both suddenly realized what it meant, to be a parent.

Bruce, holding his son in his arms, feeling the little one’s heartbeat and slowed breath as he was kinda nodding off...was this how his own father felt, when holding him ? It was nice. It was a surge of pure love, and knowing that he would die for that kid if he had to. Hell, he would burn the whole world, for that kid.

It was so odd. The situation wasn’t that crazy, Dick probably just ate something bad, and with the trampoline and all the jumping around...he got sick.

As a child, you had those rapid sick moments of having a bad stomach ache, which would turn into throwing up, to then feel better. Those sudden moments when your own parents would take care of you...

Ah. You hadn’t realized how much worry being a parent would bring. Bruce didn’t either. You guys adopting Dick felt like an obvious thing to do. Felt like it was meant to be...

But it wasn’t just yet, that you felt like a mom. Or a dad.

It took some time to build. Just like it took time for Dick to call you “mom” and “dad”. And in that moment, as your kid (yes, your kid) was sick, that was it...

Finally. Yes. That was it.

You were a mom.

Bruce was a dad.

Dick was your son.

Of course you panicked as he suddenly got sick. But now, it was in your hand to properly take care of him. And thus started the first ritual you’d ever make with one of your children.

Dick, when sick, liked chicken noodle soups. Made by you. He liked cuddles, up until he turned 12 or 13, then he acted as if he was too grown up for them. This eventually stopped when he turned 19, not long after Jason’s death...He regressed back to a little boy in some ways, and needed you. And Bruce.

You’d often drive to Bludhaven just to give him chicken noodle soup and sprite, when he got sick. Even as he grew older and older...He loved it. No one could ever beat his mom babying him, when he felt under the weather.

JASON

"Hey buddy, are you ok ?”

“Yes, yes I’m ok mom.”

He smiles at you sweetly, his eyes half-closed, and clearly still relishing in the fact that he can finally call someone “mom”. But this happiness he felt whenever he realized he was finally safe, and had a home, was oddly dimmed, this morning.

“Are you su-OH MY GOD !”

Your hand is burning, as you lay it on his forehead.

He’s burning up !

“Hey wow hey, kiddo, come here, you’re not feeling well are you ?”

But Jason shakes his head, and says :

“No I’m good. Just tired, but I’ll wake up soon.”

He smiled again, but it felt all wrong.

Of course, you didn’t take his words for it, even if you knew Jason wasn’t a liar. But the fact spoke for themselves, your kid was NOT alright. No matter what he was saying.

Turned out, you were definitely right. He really wasn’t alright.

In fact, Jason had...pneumonia. A bad case of it. That he probably caught when he was playing earlier that day, in the snow, with Bruce, staying out up until his lips were blue and he was soaking wet !! Bruce could just never resist him, and didn’t have the heart to say “no” when the kid kept asking on playing more...

He dearly regretted it. But you reassured him, this wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t.

You rushed to the hospital, Bruce holding a tiny little Jason wrapped tight in a few warm blankets. And the doctor confirmed you made the right call, taking him to the ER.

It wasn’t like with Dick, where it was obvious the boy had a mild sickness. No. Jason really looked bad, and ready to drop.

You and Bruce let once again your parental instincts kick in and...It was the right call.

When Jason woke up, he let out a string of apologies and you realized...You realized the kid was terrified you wouldn’t want him anymore if he bothered you too much. Was scared to death that you’d want to take him back where you found him, that you’d give up on him.

His real life father bolted at the first signs of troubles. His mother was a drug addict for whom he was never good enough to try and get cleaned up.

He was abandoned, over and over again along his short life and...he was absolutely terrified that if he was too much of a nuisance to you two, you and Bruce would leave him as well. That you wouldn’t bother.

And it broke your hearts.

Softly, when Jason finally got better, after a few days of utter nightmare for you and Bruce, you took him home. He still needed some rest, as he was a little sick, so you tucked him comfortably in his bed and finally, you told him :

“From now on, you promise me to tell us when you don’t feel ok ? Wether you think it’ll bother us or not. You will never bother us, little buddy, ok ?”

“Ok”, Jason said, unsure.

“What do I have to say or do, to convince you you’ll never be a nuisance to us ?”

The question took Jason by surprise, and he wasn’t quite sure of what to say. In his feverish state anyway, he had a hard time thinking. He heard himself say :

“Stay with me ?”

“Of course. Always little one, always.”

And as he softly drifted to sleep, feeling the cold and soothing towel you would wet over and over again to put on his forehead, he heard you hum a song from your childhood, that would become a song always sure to put him to sleep.

He was out, when Bruce said : “I’ll stay home tonight.” A shame, really. Because maybe, maybe if he heard that the Batman was going to skip patrol just to keep an eye on him...Then he’d know he would never bother him. Ever.

That he would forever hold a dear, prime place in his heart.

Jason woke up the next morning, and found you and Bruce asleep on the floor, right next to his bed. You were still holding a towel that had long since dried up, and one of Bruce’s hand was clutched tightly on your shirt.

The basin full of cold water laying on his bed side table was almost empty. Jason smiled.

He felt better after a few hours of good sleep, and slowly got out of the blankets, pulling them with him, to then lay down next to you two, throwing the thick quilt over all of you.

Later that day, Alfred found the three of you all cuddled up. He snatched a picture. Picture that was framed, amongst some of your favorite of your children, in your office. And in Bruce’s.

The way you sung him to sleep when he was sick...When he died, it was the last thing he thought about. When he saw the bomb would explose before Bruce could save him.

He thought of how soothing it was, to be taken care of by you. And your humming voice rung in his ears, as he realized he was going to die. Right there.

Oh. Oh he wished he could be a little sick eight years old again, forget all his worries, and just fall asleep with the sound of your voice in his ears, while his dad would hold the both of you in his arms...

TIM

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, go back to bed this instant !”

Tim was the most difficult one, when he had a fever. He was a bit of a workaholic (like father like son ?), and always wanted to help. He hated being too sick because then he felt useless.

Your boy just wanted so much to be there for everyone, that he often forgot himself in the process and...yes.

His first real fever/sickness was punctuated by you constantly trying to get him back into bed.

You almost never even knew Tim was sick !

The boy was so used to taking care of himself, that he tried to handle everything on his own. He even took an appointment to the doctor himself ! But then, before having the chance to go there, he passed out in school, which resulted in a call from his principal that ended in Bruce almost having a heart attack.

You understood him of course. It wasn’t really a nice feeling to be called out during a business meeting to have someone tell you your son passed out in school !

It was just a little flu, but the fever and lack of sleep got the best of him.

Bruce didn’t even tell anyone where he was going, as he rushed to the school. You met him there, as he was walking out of the building, with a little sleepy Tim in his arms.

“I can walk, I swear I can walk.”

The boy was saying, yet his head was on his dad’s shoulder, and the up and down bobble of Bruce’s walk was clearly putting him to sleep.

Your husband settled your son in the car, and drove home.

“He was trying to convince me he could finish his school day, and that he had a group work today and didn’t want to let his friends down...”

“Sounds like Tim alright...”

You said, looking back at his sleeping form in the back seat.

Bruce nods, but you could see something was on his mind. You always knew, when something was on his mind. Brushing a few fingers on his cheeks, you ask :

“What is it, my Bruce ?”

His eyes are on the road, of course. But he flicks them quickly to you, and he knows. He knows he can’t lie to you, or get away with telling you half-truth.

You’ll know, if he’s not really telling you what has been worrying him. He takes a deep breath and, with a small voice says :

“Is this...my fault ?”

At first, you don’t understand, and you say :

“I’m pretty sure it’s because that boy never wears a damn sweater, and we’re in Gotham in the middle of Winter haha.”

But then...Then you realize what he means.

He’s talking about the fact that Tim always seem to overcompensate for something. Always seem to want to be there for everyone, forgetting sometimes he’s just a ten years old boy.

Tim was the only one out of his siblings that became Robin for no personal reason, but just because he loved Batman and wanted to help him. Just because he wanted to help people.

He didn’t have a tragic backstory (although he unfortunately got one later on...), he didn’t have a reason to become Robin, other than his good nature and really wanting to help...

And Bruce let him. Allowed him to do this. Even after what happened to Jason, he let Tim sneak in your life and become Robin.

You’d argue that Tim didn’t leave you guys much of a choice, and sort of had a “well I’m gonna help you no matter what, deal with it” sort of attitude. But you understood your husband’s worries.

He was afraid that he was the one that made him that way. That it was because of him, that Tim worked his health off.

“Oh, Bruce, my Heart...No. No it’s not your fault. It’s just how this amazing little boy is wired. I actually think that thanks to you, he’s more focused and taken care of. The gods can only imagine what Tim Drake would’ve done if he hadn’t been trained by Batman himself...If you said “no” to him pestering you about becoming your Robin, he would’ve taken it upon himself to go out there anyway. And then...I can only imagine what would’ve happened. So no. No it’s not your fault. It’s just...how he is. He reminds me of you a lot, actually. And I’m so, so glad he managed to convince you...Couldn’t imagine my life without that little one in it. Even if he does give me grief often, overworking like that. But it’s not your fault. It’s not. On the contrary.”

It took you a while, to convince Bruce he didn’t create Tim the way he sort-of created Dick and Jason. But you managed to, as you always did. You could be very convincing. Plus, the boy helped. It was clear his dedication came from himself mainly, that he was just born this way.

Too clever and smart for his own good, destined to be a Robin...and maybe a Batman, one day ?

Yes. Tim was the only one that wasn’t in it for himself. For personal reasons. He just wanted to help...

But after that first time he got sick, he understood that sometimes, it was ok to rely on you or his die. That in fact, he would gladly do so !

That day, Bruce carried him to his bed, even as the boy protested he was alright. Finally, you’ve had enough and ended up sort of lecturing him...gently.

“You need to rest, sometimes, ok ? If it’s too much, if you’re too tired, physically AND mentally, you need to take a few steps back...and let others take care of things, and of you. Ok ?”

“But-”

“No buts Timmy. It’s important. If something bad happens to you because you’ve been ignoring your own body, your own self...What will happen to those you want to help ? In order to continue what you’re doing, you need to take some pauses. Like right now. You are sick. You passed out in school. So...It’s gatorade and crackers time.”

Gatorade and crackers.

Tim’s favorite drinks and food.

Gatorade and crackers.

Two things that were rarely found in Wayne Manor. You always tried to give healthy balanced meals to your kids. Especially to Tim, who had the opposite of a balanced diet when he came into your lives (the fact he often had to take care of himself as his parents were too busy meant he often chose his own food...and of course he’d rather have ice cream than broccolis).

But the fact that you were now giving him Gatorade and crackers meant...Meant that Dick was right. When they were sick, you would do anything to make them comfortable.

Coincidentally though, Gatorade and saltines helped out, when one was sick.

On that first time he became sick after starting to live with you, Tim found that it was ok, to relax sometimes. That he didn’t have to waste his life away 24/7 for others, and that he could enjoy some down time.

It only happened when he was sick, to your great dismal. You constantly tried to convince him to take a break (just like you did with Bruce...but although it worked with your husband, especially as he got older, Tim was just very stubborn, and wanted to help too damn much). You even had to trick him into it often.

So although you hated seeing your kids in any kind of pain, you were almost glad when Tim got sick. Because it meant he would really take care of himself. Or rather, letting you take care of him.

That first time he got sick, he ended up leaving his bed...only to go cuddle up in yours and Bruce’s, and enjoy some down time. And learn that, it was ok, to take care of himself.

Hell. You’d hammer this fact in his head if you had to.

Gatorade and crackers, while watching movies in yours and Bruce’s big bed, was why Tim thought that in the end, being sick wasn’t too bad.

Extra points if you two were in the bed with him, snuggled up all nice, safe and warm.

CASSANDRA

Cassandra didn’t like TV, when she was sick. Instead, she liked you reading her stories better. And you’d read to her all day, if need be. Switching from time to time with your husband.

She had trouble sleeping, even when sick and weak. Listening to your voices telling her all those wonderful stories was soothing beyond measure.

The first time she fell sick while at Wayne Manor though, her first reflex was to go hide. Because when she used to be sick with the man who called himself her “father”, with David Cain (that scum), he used to get so mad at her.

As if it was her fault, she became sick.

So she’d run away. Curl into a ball. Wait for it to pass. And then face him, healthy again. It was easier to confront him when she was ok...So she’d rather run away and face the consequences, rather than stay around him while sick.

And so, her first instinct was to go hide.

She went to the attic, and did what she used to do.

Curled up in a ball, in front of the round window. And wait. Alone.

It’s Bruce, who found her. He was casually checking the GPS he put on his children. They still thought they got rid of it, the sweet kids...but as if he’d only implant one. He knew it wasn’t really ethical, but after what happened to Jason, he wasn’t willing to take any chances.

During the day, he would check a few times, and usually during boring office meeting, to see where they were. That day, he saw Cass in the Manor’s attic, and didn’t think much of it. Cass was a curious one, who took it upon herself to explore everything in the house.

But when he came home, and she was still there, his guts told him something was wrong...He rushed to the attic, and found her.

And his heart stopped, when he saw her laid on the floor, curled up into a ball, and softly moaning because she had a bad fever.

She wasn’t asleep, even in this state she fought sleep, afraid to have nightmares (and while having a fever, she couldn’t just wake up to escape them...).

Bruce carried her out of the attic, holding her tight in his arms, his heart bleeding as he realized why she isolated herself while she needed help.

People often misjudged Bruce on that matter. Saw him as a cold harsh man. But oh; oh if it was touching his children or you...He would feel so much. Too much, even. He just loved you all to death.

When he brought her downstairs, and you saw her, you immediately entered “mom mode” and fussed over her, getting everything you needed to make her comfortable...but as it turned out, all she wanted was to feel yours and Bruce’s presence.

To hear your voice, and feel you were there.

And so without thinking, you picked up a book and started to read it to her. And you could feel her relax, let her guard down. A rare occasion she would truly let herself be chill.

The first time Cass got sick while living under your roof, her first instinct was to hide and lick her wounds all by herself. It was to lie on the floor and hope it would pass fast. It was-

The second time she felt under the weather, she immediately went to you. It was early in the morning. And it’s only thanks to Bruce’s amazing reflexes that Cass didn’t throw up all over you two, as he pulled you away from her just in time...To then take care of changing the sheets, while you held your daughter’s hair as she threw up in the master’s bathroom’s toilet.

And then Bruce went downstairs to take a “barf-bowl”, the one actually, that her mom used to take for him...ah. He always used that one for all the kids. Call it nostalgia.

The second time Cass got sick while under your care, she didn’t hide. She wasn’t dreading it, even as she got even sicker than the first time. No.

No because now, she knew she’d always find you so you could take care of her. Ah, and Dick, Jason and Tim gave her many tricks to fake being sick and have you all for herself...

DUKE

Duke was older than any of your kids were when he started to live at the Manor. He was already in his teens. He wasn't a tiny bean like the rest of them, when he came in your family...

And yet. Yet the first time he fell sick, you babied the hell out of him.

So what if he was sixteen ? Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have all the care a child should have when he wasn’t feeling well.

And so you were ready to take care of him, when Alfred came to you this morning to tell you “Master Duke” wasn’t feeling well.

However, when you got to his room and indeed saw he was feverish, he refused to talk to you and just wanted to be alone.

And then it hits you.

Duke was sixteen.

He wasn’t a lost little eight years old boy who had just lost his parents, or never even had parents. He wasn’t a child in dear need of love and cuddles.

He was sixteen.

And he wanted HIS mom.

What happened to his parents was too fresh.

And they weren’t dead...In a way, seeing them lose their mind with no chance of ever getting better was worst.

Duke was sixteen.

And there, sick, all he wanted was to have his mom’s care again.

Yes. Duke’s case was different than all your other children. Because his parents were still there. Because he was older. Because everything was so fresh, at the moment.

In time, in the coming years, he would come to feel just like his siblings did. But right there, just mere few weeks after he moved to the manor, and mere few days after Bruce helped him find his parents...

Duke was homesick.

He missed his dad. But he missed his mom even more. Probably for the same reason that your kids loved to have you around so much, when they were sick...

There was no doubt in your mind that Duke’s mom was amazing at taking care of him when he felt ill. She probably had her own tricks, to make him feel better. Tricks that you did not know...And so you asked.

You simply asked.

Because you wanted to make him feel better. You wanted to be there for him, even if right now, he didn’t want you around.

If he truly wanted to be left alone, you’d leave some medicine and leave him be. But your guts were telling you he was just sad, and the sad was translated into him pretending he wanted to be alone.

Your guts were right.

Duke wanted his mom. Yes. But he also didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, right now...He just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He knew how motherly you could be. He didn’t want to project his mother on you. He-

“What do you need ?”

You asked, and the answer came to his mind instantly. He spoke before even realizing he was doing it :

“My mom used to make a perfect drink of warm water, honey, ginger and lemon.”

And as you tried to recreate his mom’s drink, never quite getting the measurements right (you could see on his face it wasn’t like his mother’s), Duke slowly felt better.

Because...Because yes. He missed his mom. And the way she took care of him. Especially on sick days. But...It wasn't everywhere that one could find someone who cared so much, that they were willing to spend their entire day trying to get a drink right, right ?

And when Bruce came home, and asked him if he was “alright champ ?”, Duke realized one thing...

Yes. He wanted his parents. Yes, he missed them like hell. Yes, his sick days would never be the same...

But he wasn’t alone. As Bruce joined in trying to make the perfect drink of “warm water, honey, ginger and lemon”, Duke came to the realization that his situation wasn’t as desperate as he thought, this morning, when he woke up feeling under the weather, and without his mom to take care of him.

Because you were still there. And were planning on staying there for a very long time. Of course, you could never replace his mom. Just like you never replaced Dick’s, or Damian’s...You just, became another mom to them.

And Duke...That first day of being sick in Wayne Manor ? He felt like he was finally willing to let you become his second mom. To let Bruce become a father figure. To have this found family, in this tough times...

Sick days were never the same than when he was a little kid and still had his parents around.

Duke was sixteen. Growing up wasn’t easy, especially after what he went through. And sick days would never be the same...But it didn’t mean they wouldn’t be nice, as he slowly let you and Bruce, and his newfound siblings, take care of him.

Yes. To have this found family in this tough times was quite a joy.

DAMIAN

To the surprise of many, Damian actually didn’t resist too much being taken care of when he first got sick under your roof.

Damian actually loved being sick, because it meant snuggles time with you, safe and warm under a blanket on the couch, watching his favorite movies. It meant your soothing fingers running in his hair, making him feel peaceful and relaxed.

It also meant that he’d have you all for himself.

With five siblings (with a sixth one on the way), it wasn’t always the easiest thing ever, to get his mom only for himself. Yes. He loved to be sick, and babied by you.

The first time he got a bad fever, a few months after he arrived at the Manor, he dreaded falling ill because...

Well. Because he was raised in the League of Assassins. And being sick, no matter how much, was not considered reason enough to not train. To not do what his grandfather told him to do.

He used to work through the sickness. Even if he felt like passing out (and he did, a few times, which earned him hours from his sleeping time taken away...).

So Damian hated being sick.

Until. Until he became ill for the first time when living with you.

By that time, you and Bruce had learned how to manage a sick child. And although Bruce still felt physically ill too whenever his children were, he managed nowadays to be somewhat ok and take care of them without wincing.

It happened not long after Damian started to call you “mom”. He fell asleep while you guys were watching a movie and...it’s what instantly told you something was wrong.

No matter how bad a movie would be, Damian would NEVER fall asleep in the middle of it.

Ah, and sure enough, as you checked his temperature you realized he had a bad fever. And so you carried him to his room, tucking him into bed.

He woke up as you were doing that, and looked at you, utterly surprised. What was going on ?

“Get some rest buddy, you’ll feel better soon.”

You said, smiling. And at first, Damian didn’t understand. He had been so conditioned in ignoring his own well being, that he didn't realize something was wrong with him. But then, you laid a hand on his forehead, and said :

“Ah it doesn’t seem like it’s such a big sickness, I’ll go get you some medicinal tea and...What do you want to eat ? If you’re hungry ? Maybe you’re not, sometimes when I’m sick I just don’t wanna eat anything.”

Sick ? Was he...Sick ? Yes. He was. But it was so mild, that he didn’t even think he needed to rest. Or...Didn’t he ? He was just so used to still work even when sick.

“What-What about school ?”

He asked, and he was surprised his voice sounded so weak and tired. Was he always feeling like that when sick ? Yes. But...Something was different.

And then it hit him.

“I think it’s ok if you skip a few days’ buddy.”

The difference was that, when he was sick while amongst the League of Assassins, he was always terrified that his grandfather got tired of him and send him hitmen (it happened a lot before, while he was sleeping for example, and it always happened to test him, test if he was ready, and willing to kill and ask questions after). That he didn’t find him useful enough.

While here, with you, he felt safe. He felt loved. He felt warm.

And so his body wasn’t in a “fight or flight” state. He was just...sick. As any normal kid would be.

When with the Al’Ghul, he somehow managed to convince himself to keep going, to work through the pain. And oh, it’s wonders, what the brain can do when you really want to.

But here. Here he didn’t have to act tough. To keep walking or he’d end up dead. Here. Here he was safe. And loved.

So he felt the sickness, the fever. He felt it’s true effect.

“What do sick people eat ?”

He asked, and at first you didn’t think much of it. You started to tell him Dick loved chicken noodle soup while Tim preferred saltines. Cass would never eat much, neither would Jason, but they’d always say yes to some flat sodas.

He seemed unsure of what he wanted, so you asked him a simple question :

“What do you usually eat, when you’re sick ?”

It was such an innocent question. But it made him almost cry.

Usually ?

Usually...

“Well...”

He hesitates, and you sense there’s more to things than you originally thought. Finally, after looking at your encouraging smile, he says :

“When I was sick before, I still had to train. And then they’d tell me I’m weak.”

In one sentence, you understand everything. And you could punch yourself for ever thinking that he got taken care of when sick. And then the next second, you hold him tight in your arms, and once again, Damian is surprised.

But pleased. He had been touched starve most of his life, this was nice.

“My poor baby...”

He didn’t even complain you called him a baby, and let you hug him. And then...Then you spend time with him, trying to find the perfect ritual to make him feel better while he was sick.

You had such rituals with everyone. Formed on the day they first got sick. Damian needed his own thing too...

Thus was created the “couch nest”.

It involved covering the living room’s couch with at LEAST one quilt, then Damian would bring the pillows (and maybe some stuffs animals, or even real ones...Titus often sneaked in) from his bed, and you would tuck him in with one or two more quilts.

He would then spend the rest of the time watching TV and movies with you. Or with his siblings. Or his dad.

And it was so comforting, to be wrapped up like that. Almost like laying in a hug. It made him feel like he was perpetually held by you.

Damian used to hate being sick. Because he hated being weak.

But this changed. Just like he changed. Thanks to his family. Thanks to you.

Now, just like Tim, he almost loved, being sick...

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

“This sort of reminds me of that time Dick got his first fever...”

You were thinking about all those terrible, yet sweet days, of your children being sick, as you walked up the stairs to your house, a hand tightly weaved around your husband’s.

Bruce was holding a sleeping Thomas in one of his arm (the boy was so small he could even fit in one of his hand, really), and felt relaxed. Here. With his son, and his wife, the love of his life. And with the knowledge than when you’d push the door to your house open you’d-

“Father ! Mom ! How is he !?”

Both you and Bruce quickly put a finger on your lips, and Damian throws his hands on his mouth, regretting his scream. But he was just so worried.

He couldn’t come with you to the doctor’s office as he had school (plus you were pretty sure he would’ve been 100 times worst than Bruce, trying to stop Leslie by any means necessary), and had been thinking about his little brother’s first shot all day.

Damian, just like his dad, wasn’t very fond of shots. He hated that his brother (wether the youngest one, or one of the older one, really) had to go through this.

It was always silly to you, how both Bruce and Damian, who’ve been through much worst than small little shots, hated those so much...Silly, and very cute.

Damian was looking critically at his brother, checking him silently for any signs of distress, for any “mistakes” Doctor Thompkins would’ve done, and seemed satisfied that the boy was fast asleep in his dad’s arm.

And Bruce...Bruce was smiling.

He felt so relaxed. And happy.

When you pushed that door, it opened on Damian rushing to the two of you, worried about his little brother. But it also opened on Alfred, who baked some comforting food, and brewed some tea for you, knowing how hard on you this sort of things could be (and yet how you insisted to take your kids to the doctor yourself, and not let Alfred do it, because you wanted to be there for them).

It opened on Cass smiling, and ruffling Damian’s hair as to reassure him.

It opened on Tim, who took a small break from his college study to come down and spend some times with his siblings, ready to relax in front of a movie (it was family movie night !).

It opened on Duke, who’s hands were full of DVDs, and who was excited to try to convince y’all to watch “Ninja and Pirates 6″, or something of the like.

It opened on Jason, who was smiling in such a way that no one would ever know all the things he went through. And it made Bruce feel all nice and warm inside...even as the little shit mimicked him having to take a shot. Squirming and looking as if he was about to faint. And ah, he hated to admit it, but his boy was impersonating him really well.

And it opened on Dick. His first kid. The one that, one day when getting sick, was who made Bruce realize what it truly meant to be a dad. The one who knew the best how much he hated seeing any of his children sick, or getting shots.

On Dick, who was laughing really hard at Jason’s impersonation, and giving him feedbacks about what to improve to make it even better.

The door opened on his family.

And as the ruckus surrounding him woke Thomas, as Damian yelled at Jason and Dick for being so loud, and as Bruce’s eyes fell on you, while you looked at your little tribe with love in your eyes...

Bruce felt relaxed. And so, so, oh so happy.

________________________________________________

This is yet another one of those stories I’ve been posting a lot lately, that do not take me very long to write and in which I don’t put that much effort, but that I really enjoy writing nonetheless ^^. And I hope you enjoyed reading it :), I’m nervous actually this isn’t up to your standards hahaha...Yes, hope you still liked it. Don’t hesitate to leave a little feedback etc etc ^^. Thanks in advance !

See you soon with something much longer and on which I spend a lot of time working ;).

2K notes · View notes

rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Note

Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing.

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin. It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

“Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but… he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone—softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #georgie barker #rosie zampano #tma rosie #tim stoker #meet cute #blind date au #this is my love letter to TMA #prompt answer #fanfic prompt

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analviel · 3 years

Text

TIM DRAKE IS NOT ROBIN

It just so happens when Tim was planning to find Dick, his parents suddenly call him to tell him that there's a party or an event or just something on the other side of the world he can attend with them.

Sometimes they do this and Tim always says yes. It's as rare as leap years. Meaning it has happened only three times in his life before. He agonized over it. But you know, Tim's just a kid and there's no guarantee he can actually do something about Batman and Nightwing. Besides, Batman's been managing -if you can call it that- this long, with Alfred by his side, who's words certainly weights more heavily than the neighbours kid. He can afford a couple of weeks away from Gotham. By that time, Batman probably would've gotten his head straight. He's a hero, he's like, really strong, if anyone can get through this... besides, Tim figures Superman or Wonder Woman will do something before he truly crosses the line, right? Why would a kid know better than real superheroes, right? They must just be waiting until they're really needed. Right? Even though Tim personally thinks they should've at the very least locked Batman up somewhere he can't harm anyone or himself if they can't convince Dick to go back to being Robin. They're heroes.

Tim really wants to spend time with his parents. But before he leaves, he sends letters to every place he thinks Dick may be. The Titans Towers, his apartment in Bludhaven, where he lives with Starfire, Haly's circus, even to houses of his friends heroes. (Tim is twelve/thirteen alright. And one that has maybe below average self-awareness and his letters were very polite even if the act itself might've been vaguely sort of threatening).

So Tim leaves Gotham to spend time with his parents. It's busy, his parents keep him busy, and he doesn't have much time to dedicate to the news from Gotham. And really, if this is how it always is, no wonder his parents don't always have attention to spare on their kid in Gotham. So many things to do, so many things to attend, so many people to meet, and even more sites to visit. And the fighting. Tim hadn't realize it was this bad and suddenly thinks that, you know, it might've been better if he did stay back home. He realizes his parents actually brought him with them because they think a kid will somehow... magically fix them...??? Tim doesn't know, adults can be stupid.

Eventually, they realize the wrong in their ways and sends Tim back when his presence proves ineffective. Tim comes back to the city burning.

Well, not literally, but sort of.

Parts of it are burning. But not the whole thing. That's something.

Batman has been missing. And looking into it, at his last appearance, Tim surmise he retained a heavy wound.

(Or he's dead, not like they'll reveal it to the city just to cause more chaos and panic.) Batman seems to be out of the field and that was what Tim wanted, before he would've crossed the line.

Only, thing is, he'd already revealed too much weakness. The Batsignal had been taken down after one too many close calls on the perps they pick up. And the violence only raised from there.

(The first month when Batman and Robin and Batgirl's absence started to become suspicious. The second month Batman is deep in his spiral of violence. The third month Tim follows him around and then makes plants to pick up Dick that doesn't come to fruition and then sends his letters and then leaves. Six weeks with his parents, a few days from and to Gotham, two weeks to get caught up with what happened in Gotham. Batman is out, recovering, resting, dying, who knows.

Five months was all it took for Gotham to go to hell. And all it took was one dead son.)

Spoiler rises.

Gotham has a new champion.

Tim regrets that he hadn't been able to help. Tim will help.

Tim has a new champion.

Spoiler has a fixation on Cluemaster. It's not that difficult to go from there.

As long as, one, you know who was giving the police the answers to Cluemaster's gimmick. And two, that you know there even is a new vigilante because Spoiler is not like Batman who beats perps and leave them on the sidewalk for the police to pick up.

For wearing an almost eyesearing purple costume, Spoiler prefers to keep in the shadows and if not for the time Tim had trailed after Batman's madness, he wouldn't have learned the streets enough to notice the hints.

Tim purchase a laptop, watch tutorials day in and day out, buys pieces from junkyards to fiddle with wires and boards, and leaves Stephanie Brown a gift on her windowsill with a purple ribbon. Tim greets Spoiler over the comms. He calls himself Asset.

(It is not well-thought out because Stephanie takes to calling the mystery person who snuck into her room and refuses to give anything about themselves out 'Ass'. Tim did not actually sneak into her room but sent a drone to drop off his gift. Steph doesn't budge.)

Tim is not yet good enough to hack into cameras around Gotham. He finds he's good with a computer but not that good, his real talent lies not in the software but in the wires and soldering iron and the tiny bug camera/audio he has Spoiler plant around Gotham. If he can't take other cameras, he'll make them. (Also in case someone more experienced at hacking than he is manages to get in the system, Tim has a self-destruct button just for that. Yes, Dr. Doofenshmirtz is a good role models for mad scientist wannabes.)

A week is all it takes for Spoiler and Asset to get all the necessary evidence against Cluemaster. They celebrate. They are thirteen year olds and they just prevented a bomb from going off and put a bad man behind bars. They are high. They find more cases, for the most part C-rank villains and bellow but they also help with the big names by Spoiler planting more cameras and Tim sending the data and feeds for her to drop off to Jim Gordon. He is the only one who knows of the characters that have risen after Batman's sleep and can guess enough from Spoiler's stiff shoulders to keep that to himself.

Then...

Then it is six months and two weeks.

Tim watch from his now multiple screen behind his walk-in closet as a grave is dug out from the inside. Because S&A have put cameras everywhere just in case. After all, it's places you think are of no interest that criminals will sought to make deals in.

Tim does not send his partner to what may be a zombie but instead tells her to clear the direction Jason is stumbling towards. It takes him minutes to realize that Jason is patrolling his Robin patrol. Jason is sent to the hospital and Tim contacts them to list him under the Drakes, paying for his room and every other necessities. Has him transferred to the hospital that Drake medical industries is personally funding. When asked the name, Tim says Alvin Draper. He gets a cab to the hospital, finds Jason knocked out, peers at Robin's face. It's when they're alone, the previously dead boy's hands wrapped in bandages that Tim confirms in disbelief that as far as he knows, the boy matches Jason Todd. As if him digging his way out of Jason Todd's grave wasn't enough. Granted, Tim doesn't even know the shade of his eyes, so he's not the best judge.... Tim snaps a picture from different angles of the room and takes another cab back to Bristol while thinking up a story.

Tim knocks on the neighbour, tells them he's got something of Jason and if he can see Mr. Wayne. Tim is surprised himself by how relieved he is to see Bruce standing alive and well. Or not standing, leg and arm in a cast, an IV beside him on the couch in the drawing room. Tim weaves his story. Little Tim Drake wandering around Gotham, stumbles on a bunch of medic picking up a boy that Tim recognises as the neighbour's dead kid, pays for his hospital bills, takes a couple of pictures after the first aid or whatever and gives Bruce the pictures. Bruce makes his way to the hospital.....

I've lost steam at this point.

You decide if they arrive to see Jason and Bruce and Alfred is all tearful while Tim awkwardly leaves the room to resume his brainstorming on the S&A latest case, or they find an empty bed and Bruce goes on a frenzy tracking his undead lost son.

Additional idea: So Tim not being there didn't kill Bruce, but Bruce has been crippled and Batman is dead now. So without Robin, Batman did die.

Maybe Dick comes back to become Batman with Jason as his Robin, since that's not a combination often seen (Or the Batman Jason and Robin Tim, that's more common, though I'm loath to give up Spoiler and Asset). Around this time Babs comes back to the scene as Oracle with the birds of prey.

Additional additional idea to how they'll work with everyone back on the scene: since the Bats have the fighters and more equipped to report to time sensitive stuff, maybe S&A focus more on cold cases. Where Spoiler goes sneaking around, poking at old cases with Asset in her ears, figuring out puzzles and old clues, making breakthrough after breakthrough and bringing long overdue justice together.

Either the Drakes dies without Batman there to slap the poison out of Jack's hands because he's too busy searching for his son, or maybe they live with Tim able to direct Batman there immediately. Either way, Drake industry sponsors S&A, so now Spoiler also has toys like the Spoil... er plane??? Spoiler bike??? Eh, the name's work in progress.

#tim drake #dc #robin #batfam #dc comics #red robin #batman #Stephanie brown #spoiler #batgirl #and i write #jason todd #fic idea #red hood #bruce wayne #tim is not robin #asset tim drake

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movedto-erodasghosts · 3 years

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moved to @erodasghosts

a spinoff fic for perennial by @peeterparkr. i highly recommend reading it :)

pairing: tom holland x reader / timothée chalamet x reader

need to know: this could be read alone but i highly suggest reading perennial! for background... tom and y/n were childhood enemies that ended up falling for one another over time, but tom ended up breaking things off. y/n met and dated timmy at a vulnerable time, and he seemed to be the perfect answer to her problems. emma is timmy’s friend, y/n’s too. rome is where tom truly broke y/n’s heart for the first time, and that is what led to her ending up with timmy. timmy had proposed to y/n, but she wasn’t sure about where her feelings were. y/n wrote a script about it all, talking about the heartbreak she experienced through it, which led to the second huge downfall in their relationship and so she ran to LA to give tom space... i think that is all? and that’s what you missed on glee :)

description: tom broke y/n’s heart, again, and timothée wants to be there to help her

warning/s: none

word count: ~6.2k

a/n: a huge thanks to nancy for letting me write this and for helping me so much to write it! also i am bad at fic titles so :)

check out my other fic based off of perennial/perfidy

masterlist

not my gif

It was hard to tell what was worse, the pain of knowing she had broken his heart or the burning she still felt rising from beneath her scars that he had left on her after Rome. She wasn’t quite sure why she still felt this need to blame herself, as if there was only one person to blame, but it was easier to accept it was all her fault.

Y/n’s job at the flower shop was meant to help distract her, to give her something to focus on other than what had happened with Tom. In reality, she had just zoned out for the most part, absentmindedly piecing together bouquets together. In an attempt to actually distract herself she decided she would learn the meanings of the different flowers, though she wasn’t sure how well it was sticking.

She carefully rearranged the flowers in front of her, listening as Timothée spoke on. How long had she been working on that same bouquet? Seemed like seconds, but at the same time hours. Getting lost in her own thoughts and paying little to no attention to the things around her seemed to become easier and easier for her to do. She was still processing the things she had said to Tom, and the things that he said in return, so not much else appeared to matter.

Going to LA had been the perfect opportunity for her to get away, she needed to give him space. A part of her couldn’t help but wonder if it was the right choice. Emma would of course catch her in these moments, soon after taking her to try some new distraction. Undoubtedly, nothing was working as a real distraction, though. Actively avoiding thinking about the situation only made her think about it more. Facing it head on wasn’t really possible, as there was no way Tom would be reaching out to her, or that she would be reaching out for him again. She had no other choice, it seemed, than to sit in her pain and accept the truth of her actions.

“Y/n?” Tim tapped her shoulder, “Are you alright?”

Her eyes refocused as she finished the flower arrangement and pulled herself out of her thoughts, “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Tim smiled weakly, trying to offer even the smallest bits of sympathy. He glanced at her bouquet, “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to that old ice cream stand after your shift ends?”

“That’d be great!” Emma chimed in, “Y/n, you can leave early and I’ll take over.”

“Oh, I--

“You’re going,” Emma said sternly as she raised a brow. “It’s close by, and you’ve hardly been anywhere other than the apartment and shop for days.”

Maybe that was true, but y/n didn’t want to think about it, not really. Emma was doing what she could to give different forms of distraction, hoping something might stick. They were both healing from a pain, and Emma had decided to run from her own. She wouldn’t force y/n into some form of coping that she didn’t want to try, but she was doing what worked for her, even as she was becoming less and less sure of just how effective it was.

“Emma, come on.” Tim leaned against the counter, “She doesn’t have to go.”

“She needs to,” she took a hold of y/n’s shoulders, leading her to the other side of the counter and grabbing Tim along her way. “It’ll be quick, it’s blazing hot out today and I expect the two of you to bring me back pasta from that one dinner.”

“Anything else, your majesty?” Y/n joked, a playful smile growing on her lips. She figured it was hopeless to fight Emma on whether she should go or not.

“Yes, actually. If you’re going to end up going on one of your…” Emma wiggled her fingers at the pair, “Tim and y/n walks, don’t bother with the pasta. It’ll just be… gross.” Her nose scrunched at the thought.

Tim chuckled, “Tim and y/n walks?”

“You know, where you get side tracked by some perfectly placed distraction, end up taking a long walk and talking about life and all of it’s drama and woes. Suddenly, the rain begins to fall!” Emma dramatically trickled her fingers down like rain. “Oh, but there is something else distracting you, and it’s worth getting caught in the rain. All of this, and not to mention you haven’t even made it to your initial destination.”

“Okay, okay. I think we get the point.” Tim pushed Emma’s hands down, “No need for the theatrics.”

“Ironic coming from you, hmm?” Emma grinned.

“You’re right!” Y/n interrupted them, gaining both of their attention. “I could use a quick trip like that. Maybe it’ll pull me out of this...” she sighed, “maybe it’ll be the perfect distraction.

Neither Tim nor Emma really bought it, they both knew distractions didn’t work for y/n, no matter how much Emma wished they would. But they would take what they could at that point, unsure of what else they could really try.

“Thank you,” Emma took her place behind the counter. “I’ll see you two later, then.”

She had been right, y/n did need to get out and do something other than work, even if it was something so small as a walk for ice cream. She was doing herself no favors sitting around and thinking on and on about what could’ve been, or even what was. Her regrets would stick with her no matter what she did, though.

Emma’s distractions could only do so much, and their effects would only last for so long. Y/n wasn’t sure that she could just forget what had happened, and she was less sure that she had even wanted to forget. It was what Emma had claimed to be the best solution, to just let it go and move on like you weren’t coming out of a life changing relationship, if that’s what it could be called. But nothing about forgetting seemed easier than living with the pain. Where would one even start with forgetting, y/n had wondered.

She could start with forgetting his touch and how the butterflies in her stomach would flutter every time he reached out for her. Or, maybe it would be easier to forget the way she would catch him gazing over with a philomathic look in his eyes, as if he couldn’t take enough of her in. She could forget about the late nights, hidden away from everyone else, just the two of them as they fell further back into one another’s arms, getting much too comfortable it seemed. Maybe, though, it would be easiest to start with forgetting all the damage she had done to him.

To let go of her guilt she would have to let go of all the things that reminded her of the love in their relationships, and to let go of all of the gentle, loving memories she would have to let go of her guilt.

Holding onto the pieces that were good only caused her to feel a stronger guilt, as if she didn’t have the right to hold on anymore. She knew what it felt like to be broken by someone that you put so much of yourself into, she still remembered when Tom had actually been the one to break her heart. That’s what Emma couldn’t understand about the guilt she had been feeling. Why would she feel any guilt when Tom broke her first, and one would argue that he had with more intention.

Still, y/n felt this endless stinging pain telling her it was all her fault striking her every night since she left for LA. Had she not said the things she did about him this issue would be nonexistent. She felt what she said, though, every bit of it. Tom broke her. He had been the one to leave her feeling like a fool, as if he could ever love someone like her. Tom had given her false hope time and time again that he would give her the love she dreamed of with him. And, despite it all, she had still said that he was the one. The one that she would always end up falling back to. The one that she would always love, over herself it even seemed.

And he had given her the chance to live her dreams with him again. The chance to love him, the chance to let herself become comfortable around him, the chance to fall in love again. And they had fallen in love, Tom seemed to let it stick this time around too. Then she said what she felt about him before. She brought up her feelings of betrayal and distrust, and he took them out of context and ran with the idea that she still pictured him as this monster that simply shattered her heart. But she didn’t explain herself, and how could she? They were all things that she had thought of him before.

But he proved it all to be wrong, and she had said that too. She said that he showed her love in a light she never imagined she would experience first hand, and that he had made her find love in things that she always found easier to cover with shame. He made her a better person, above everything else. Above the pain he had inflicted, he had been much more loving in his ways now. And she took that from him. She reminded him of who he had been, and pointed out pain he never even knew he had caused. She made him second guess himself, just as he had done to her before.

She couldn’t let go of the memories of how he made her feel loved. She had to use them to remind herself that she took that love away from him, that she was finally in the place she always wished to be in with him and she took it away from herself. They were no longer memories of peace and security, they were memories used to inflict pain while reminding herself of what she had done.

It was more than she didn’t want to forget. It was that she couldn’t forget, she would never allow herself to.

So, Emma’s distractions weren’t of use to y/n, it wasn’t what she was looking for. She was looking for all the reasons she could find to aim the blame on herself. She would sit and think of all of their memories together, connecting them with some reason as to why that was just another piece of how she led to breaking his heart.

She wondered, too, if she possibly hurt him more by going to LA. She was curious if he missed her in the way she missed him when her heart was broken by him. Did he stay up late into the nights, wondering when she might call? Waiting for her to return and pick up his broken pieces?

No, probably not. He wasn’t such a fool as she was. She had shattered his heart, he probably was doing all he could to forget she even existed, something similar to the way that Emma coped. But if he loved her, how would he forget her? The only thing that made y/n come to terms, at the very least, with the pain he caused her was meeting Timothée.

Tim gave her all the tools she needed to mend her heart when Tom had done his damage. He walked into her life at the right time, and he swore to never walk out. He offered her security, comfort. He fixed her broken heart, showed her how to love herself and others again.

Y/n feared Tom might find someone like Tim, someone to fix his shattered heart. It wouldn’t be bad, not really. In a way, she wished he might find someone like Timothée that could help him after what she had done, but at the same time she wanted him to confide in her. She wanted to offer Tom a solution to fix himself, she now had all the knowledge on how to do it from personal experience, she could share the information with him.

Instead, she gave him space, plenty of it. She went to LA to leave him be, feeling she had caused more than enough problems. And she had to learn how to love herself again, how to allow herself to feel deserving of it after doing something so cruel. And there Timothée was, offering his advice and care once again.

“Really, if you don’t want to go we can just go to the apartment,” Tim offered, holding the shop door open for her as they exited.

She shook her head, “No, I could use this.”

“Alright,” he nodded, “then off we go.”

He awkwardly stuffed his hands into his pockets as they made their way to the ice cream stand. Emma had known that y/n didn’t heal in the same way, and that she would rather sit in her feelings for some time, allowing everything to soak in, but Emma saw the way that she had also gotten to a point where she was no longer doing in a way to heal, but she was coming from a place of guilt. Tim saw it too, and he had come to an agreement with Emma that they needed to step in and to do what they could to help her.

No, Emma didn’t heal in the way that y/n did, but Tim would know how to help her. Emma saw the risk in this too, though. She knew that if Tim wasn’t careful he could easily over step, and it was something she worried could happen. She had warned him not to expect anything from y/n, and to not just cause her more pain, but this was a risk she had to take because no one knew y/n in the way that Tim did, not to Emma’s knowledge.

“So, what was that bouquet you were putting together?” Tim spoke, raising a brow out of curiosity.

“Umm... “ she paused to think. “I’m not completely sure, I’m still learning. I guess I was just putting together what worked, you know?”

He figured there was more to it than that though, she had seemed to be doing a lot of her speaking through flowers for the past few days. “I think I recognized Queen Anne’s lace? Forget-me-nots were in there, they can be…” he paused to think, “remembrance, right?”

“They can, yeah.” Y/n’s lips pressed together as she mumbled, “I think I could use a break from flowers,” she rubbed her palms together, “How’ve you been? I mean, I know we… kind of are living together and all, but… how are you?”

She hadn’t seen much of Tim or Emma, not really. They shared an apartment and passed one another daily but y/n had been so shut off that she couldn’t recall the last conversation she had with either of them. Another thing she would have to scold herself for. Emma and Tim didn’t mind, they took no offense, they knew she needed time, but she couldn’t help but feel guilt for not keeping up with them.

“I, umm…” Tim cleared his throat, “I’m doing good. You know, I think we all really needed LA.” I mean, we haven’t been here long, but I think it’s been good. I’m glad to be spending time with you again.”

She hadn’t thought about it much before, too wrapped up in her worries about Tom, but it had been a long time since she had spent time around Tim. And she had missed it, though she didn’t realize just how much she had.

Things with Tim were always so simple. He always had the right answers and the perfect words to say. There was this resting guilt she felt with him too, because he was so perfectly kind to her. He offered her all that he could, even now. She couldn’t understand why he was still there, why he would miss spending time with her, she must’ve shattered his heart as well.

It was beyond that with Tim, really. He had fixed her. He had cared for her when Tom decided he wouldn’t anymore. Tim helped her to become herself again, he introduced her to what a loving relationship meant. He gave her an example of what a boyfriend that only wanted their partner to be happy and well was like when Tom had broken all the expectations she had. And he had loved her, deeply.

It wasn’t clear to her why she couldn’t love him in the way that he loved her, she wished she had the answer. He was everything she needed, everything that one could ask for, and he had come into her life at just the right time, every single time. So she wasn’t sure why she left him, or why she had declined his proposal, and that frustrated her more. Timothée was the perfect partner, the easy answer. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t be with him.

He deserved better too, at least that’s what y/n believed. He deserved someone that would love him the same way that he would love them. Someone that wasn’t broken, or that hadn’t broken others before. Someone that didn’t depend so heavily on him to fix them only to be given nothing in return.

Tim didn’t want anything in return from her though, he only ever asked to have her love. And he said that he would wait, that he would give her the time and space to think of what she needed and what she really wanted. That’s how she ended up with Tom again, only to break his heart. It felt so childish to her that she bounced back and forth between the two, and she felt that she was dreadful for dragging the both of them into a time where she felt so indecisive. They both deserved better, though Tim might say Tom deserved much less than she offered him and Tom would say the same about him.

“You know, I…” Tim began, “I know that you’re going through a lot right now.” Emma wouldn’t want him to bring it up, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I’m sorry about how things went with him, truly.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she raised a hand to stop him. “Really, it’s fine.”

“No, but, I know you,” he smiled weakly. “You’ve been so quiet lately, and you’ve kept yourself in your room. I just…” He stopped walking, resting his hand on her shoulder to stop her too. “It’s not your fault. You know that, right?”

She didn’t. It had all been her fault, he was only trying to make it easier for her but she had to acknowledge the truth. Or, her version of the truth.

“But it is, Tim.” She fiddled with one of her rings, doing what she could to avoid looking at him.

“No, y/n, it’s not. You didn’t want things to go that way, there was no way you could’ve known.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not my fault,” she muttered. “I mean, I finally was happy with him and then I had to—“

“Go and say how he made you feel?” He sighed, “Y/n, he… you said that he broke you, that…” he glanced, moving his hand back into his pocket. “You told me that he made you question if you were worth loving. He made you question the trust you put into other people, and he made you second guess yourself with everything. And I’m not… I’m not trying to attack him or to argue him versus me,” Emma would disagree. “But you said he broke you, and all you did was say how he made you feel. If he can’t handle that, maybe he never should’ve done it.”

Tim was frustrated too, and not just because she had, for whatever reason, fallen for Tom. It was more than that. He felt that it wasn’t fair that she would blame yourself for such a thing when Tom had truly broken her heart. Tom made her change who she was. She had to learn a new routine, to figure out how to love herself again, to allow herself to let others care for her. To Timothée, Tom was simply now paying the consequences of his actions. Why would anyone ever feel guilt over such a person?

“But I didn’t have to say those things…” her voice was weak, tired. “I didn’t have to say that he… that he ruined me. I mean, he showed me so much too, you know? He really… he made me feel loved too.”

“When? Before or after he broke your heart?” Tim questioned, “Oh, and was it before the first time he broke your heart, or the second time? I mean, he’s been horrible to you, y/n.” He rolled his eyes, irritated by the idea of forgiving Tom. “And, I mean… I thought you were like childhood enemies, right? He, c’mon, he always picked on you growing up, isn’t that what you said?”

He had. They had known each other all their lives, and for a majority of their time together they had only fought back and forth. And it was always about the smallest of things. He’d tell her the color of her dress looked horrible on her, or that her hair was a complete mess right before she was going for an interview. And she’d do just the same back to him, usually picking at him for his motormouth or inability to mind his business. But it was never ending, just the two eating away at each other nonstop.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I… it’s not my place to say anything about him really. I’m just trying to understand why you’re letting him take more of your time, especially when he couldn’t even be bothered to hear you out about your own feelings. He took what small information made him the victim and he ran with that.” He could feel the frustration rising again. “You wrote out how he made you feel, how he ruined you and turned your life upside down, and he has the nerve to act like he isn’t at fault here?”

Tom hadn’t finished reading everything she had written about him, only the most dreadful of words. Of course he was upset, having only read a portion of it. What Tim couldn’t understand is how Tom felt he had the right to be angry at y/n when he had read how Tom made her feel. Why did he think he could mad when seeing what damage he had caused her? How was that fair? And how was it fair that even after all of that damage, y/n still loved Tom, not that he would know because he had refused to read that far in.

“Why would he want to keep reading after what I said about him?” She pulled her arms closer against her chest. “If someone told you that you ruined them would you want to hear them out?”

He wasn’t sure how to respond. It was easy for him to say that he would hear her out, because that is what he truly felt he would do. But he wasn’t Tom, and Tim was more level headed than most people, always doing what he could to collect all the information possible.

Tim struggled with the entire situation because he couldn’t see what she saw, and he wanted to avoid the idea that Tom could be forgiven. Why forgive Tom at all when he wasn’t going to even try putting anything into the relationship? He so easily walked away, and once again there Timmy was to help her, not that she had even asked.

It wasn’t that Tim wanted to always have this fight of who was better, him or Tom, but he failed to see how overlooked his actions were. He offered her support, reassurance. He helped her pick herself up again, and he helped her remember that she was worth love. He only ever wanted her to be happy, and Tom seemed to always have a complete negative effect on her. She always walked away from Tom with tears in her eyes, searching for reasons as to why it was her fault when it wasn’t so simple. Had Tom been able to make her smile, and to make that smile last, Timmy wouldn’t mind so much, because at least then he would know she was happy.

“But why Tom? What has he done for you?” Tim turned his body to face her’s, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s proven that all he does is hurt you, time and time again, and yet you still feel this guilt? I just… why?”

“Because I… I can’t just forget about him. And maybe I should hate him, I know you think I should, but I can’t.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, moving to sit on a bench along the sidewalk. “I know he wasn’t always… kind to me, but I wasn’t to him either. And he did, he did show me this…” her breathing began to calm, “he showed me that I was worth something. He finally opened himself up to me, we finally could let our guards down. And it, for once, at least sometimes, it was like I didn’t have to fight for his attention, like it was just me and him.”

Timmy couldn’t picture Tom ever being capable of making her feel that way, he seemed too obsessed with himself and with this “competition” the pair had going on. He also couldn’t see why y/n would even want or care to have Tom’s attention in such a way, what did it matter when he was always so cruel? It wasn’t for him to understand, that’s what he had to say to himself. And one can’t exactly control their feelings and who they are directed towards, that was something Tim was getting to know too well.

“I know that Emma thinks I should just forget Tom, and that you wish I could just let him go, but what if it’s just not that easy?” She looked to him, searching for yet another answer she knew she wouldn’t find.

He stepped beside her, taking a seat too. “It’s not that easy, I know.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, hands folding together as he thought. “I know you don’t need me to point out all the things he did to you, but it…” he chuckled quietly… “it really sucks to watch you be in so much pain over a guy that-“ he stopped himself. “I hate to see you hurting.”

She knew Tim meant well, he only ever wanted what was best for her. She was well aware, too, that Tim didn’t have the full story of her relationship with Tom, it was something she wasn’t even sure she knew the whole story of.

Her mind had been malicious before, and a part of her knew that it was being overly judgmental in this case, but she refused to let the issue be chalked up to nothing more than cruel intentions from her childhood enemy. She felt at fault this time, as she couldn’t always simply blame Tom. To her, it was that she was now taking accountability for all of the damage she had caused him too. She had faced how he hurt her, and how it was something they both worked past, but now it was about what she had done to him. This was something, she figured, Tim could never understand.

“I appreciate that you want to be here for me, Emma too, but…” her hand rested on his arm, “I think this isn’t something you can help me come over. I need to work myself through it.”

She could always do with Tim’s advice, but she was getting tired of it when it came to Tom. It was the same thing over and over, about how none of it was her fault and about how Tom was disregarding her completely. Tim didn’t know everything, and he didn’t understand Tom in the way that y/n did. He didn’t have advice to offer that y/n needed, or wanted, to hear in the moment, and that was something he was becoming more and more aware of.

His gazed stayed forward, hand reaching back to rest on top of hers. “Okay, yeah. I get it, you need some more space?”

In a way she did need space, knowing no one really understood what she was going through. No one would see how the blame was on her, no one but Tom maybe. Everyone else wanted to paint Tom as the villain, and why wouldn’t they after everything she had said? No one knew about the butterflies, his philomathic gaze, or even the late nights spent in one another’s arms. No, people had only ever seen them at their worst.

Yes, she needed space, but she also needed a reminder that she was more than a screw up. More than the girl that walked in, destroyed a person’s life, and walked out. And she was more than that, much much more, but it was easier to convince herself that she was the problem.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

Tim wasn’t sure what other response he expected to hear, but it was so unsatisfactory to hear her confirm her own confliction. She didn’t want to be alone, but it’s what she felt she deserved.

“I…” she thought, “I want you to be here, but I need to… I need this to be only my problem.” She pulled her hand away, locking her fingers together. “I don’t want you or Emma to worry about how I’m handling it, I have it under control.”

He didn’t believe that it was true, if anything she seemed to have no control at the moment. He wasn’t going to say that to her, and he thought she really could have a better handle on it than what it seemed. But he was growing tired of fighting her about Tom, about whether he was or wasn’t worth it.

“Okay, I… if that’s what you need, I’ll do my best to do that for you.” He looked back at her, “I’m here for you, so whatever you need me to do… of course.”

Tim knew he shouldn’t have said anything from the start, Emma had warned him against it, but to hear y/n tell him that she simply wanted left in her thoughts was a shock for him. A part of him was expecting her to need him, or at least someone, to talk to about it all, but she was asking to be left alone.

Her thoughts had been too complicated for her to explain to others, she wasn’t sure where they had ended and began anymore. It was a constant loop of searching for answers to problems she knew likely only existed in her head.

Even after Rome, after Tom had taken her heart and torn it to shreds, she couldn’t completely blame him. There was always something, even if it was the most minor of details, that she would make connect back to her to explain why she led to the downfall of it all. She knew Tom played a role too, of course, but he wasn’t her number one enemy. He had called her names, mocked her as she did nothing more than exist, and he had allowed her to make herself vulnerable, but she had decided to open herself up to him.

Y/n wasn’t to completely the one to blame either, and no matter how many times everyone around her would repeat that to her, she couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “I do appreciate you trying to help.”

And she did appreciate it, it wasn’t a lie. It was nice to know that he still cared, and Emma too, especially when she had been feeling that everyone was currently against her. She didn’t understand why Tim still stayed, after everything she had put him through, but she was happy to always have him. She felt guilt, though, as if she was holding him back.

“Of course. I just want what’s best for you,” he spoke softly.

What was expected of Timothée in this time where he was forced to watch someone he loved continuously eat away at themselves? He watched as she blamed herself, thinking of every counter argument he could that would prove her innocence, though it wasn’t something that should’ve needed to be proven. He wanted to speak up, to assure her it wasn’t all on her. He wanted to be there for her, and to remind her that she wasn’t to blame. But that wasn’t what she wanted from him, all she wanted was space? She had expected Tim to let her continue blaming beating herself further down, something he did his best to help her work against.

This time around she wasn’t asking for Tim’s help, and had actually asked him to take a step back and give her space. And he would gladly do so, as he had told her, because he didn’t want to upset her or hurt her more than she already had been. He knew that she’d likely just let her feelings fester, she already had been for weeks, but she still had to cope with her feelings in her own way.

He knew she would rather sit in her room, hugging her stuffed frog and listening to music full blast as she cried through all of her pain, but she wasn’t even doing that at the time, she just sat in silence as she judged herself over and over. And he had been wondering what her could do for her, if not be her shoulder to cry on again. Neither Tim nor Emma had much to offer her at the time, and that was something that Emma could accept more easily. But Emma’s relationship with y/n hadn’t began with her helping y/n learn how to nurture herself again.

She said what she wanted now though, so he didn’t feel so lost. She wanted space, and as shocking as it was to him, he would give that to her. She needed to heal again, and maybe now she had all of the tools to do so, or maybe she just didn’t want assistance. Whatever the reason, Tim had decided to still do his best to show her he was still there, that he would always have a helping hand to offer her.

“So,” Tim stood again, doing what he could to just let it go, “let’s go get that ice cream?”

Tim could easily deliver on her request, all she needed was space. Y/n had liked how smoothly Tim was able to just move along. He didn’t hang on his emotions or drag things out to but much more dramatic and theatrical than necessary. He was straight to the point, and he had always been more direct when expressing himself. He had been so different than Tom in that way.

She always had to guess Tom’s mood, and she had always questioned what his feelings for her really were. He had talked to her about how he had liked her for years, which she found nearly impossible to believe because of how they had always treated one another. But was suddenly so sincere when telling her how he cared for her, and that was what made her soften herself around him more.

Y/n also had hidden her feelings for Tom for a long time, and she had began to wonder if they had both hidden for similar reasons. She was always afraid to be vulnerable around him because he would just respond to her with some snarky comment, but she had done just the same back. It was no surprise that they had feared letting the other know how they felt. Timothée could never understand how a relationship could be built on a foundation of fear.

Tom, somehow, was not a villain in this case, which Tim knew, as much as he hated it. Tom had been hurt, truly taken back by the way that y/n had described him in her script, and knowing that it was going to be so public. He deserved to be told how he hurt her, though. He needed to understand the trauma he had put her through, the trauma that Tim had to help her overcome. But Tom was no villain, that was too harsh a title to give to anyone Tim thought.

“Right, the ice cream.” She stood slowly, adding a small smile, “And we can’t forget Emma’s pasta.”

“No, of course we can’t,” he laughed.

Emma’s pasta hadn’t been ruined by a “Tim and y/n walk” that time, as it turned into something much less enjoyable. It was a needed conversation, but still one they both likely would’ve preferred to avoid.

#timothee chalamet x reader #tom holland x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothee chalamet x y/n #timothée chalamet x you #timothée chalamet x y/n #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet imagine #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #perennial #tom holland angst #tom holland x reader angst #timothée chalamet x reader angst #timothee chalamet x reader angst #timmy chalamet x reader #tim chalamet x reader

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writers-block246 · 4 years

Text

Sex with the Batboys Hc

Jason:

* One kinky mf

* I feel like he would be down to experiment with a lot of things (like choking, breath play, handcuffs, etc)

* Honestly, mans probs has a daddy kink

* Nothing that would hurt you tho

* He’s experienced enough pain in his life and doesn’t want to inflict that on you

* He doesn’t mind a little pain, tho (like scratches down his back)

* He can be rough, especially when he’s had a bad day or when the memories become too much for him

* On those days, he’ll pin you against the wall or the bed and fuck you senseless

* He loves to dirty talk, especially during times like these

* “You take my cock so well, Princess”

* “Look at you, being so good for daddy, babygirl”

* “You’re mine”

* He also enjoys eating you out. He likes to get you off at least twice

* He also doesn’t mind switching roles

* He’ll totally be a sub if you want him too (and he likes it)

* Riding him with a hand around his throat is always an experience

* He’s very vocal, too, and he’s not afraid to hide it

* But he is a romantic at heart

* Don’t tell his brothers tho

* So he enjoys soft, meaningful sex, too

* Sometimes he’ll quote Shakespeare in your ear

* Always tells you how beautiful you are

* Dude is huge (like 6’4”)

* Probs has a size kink

* Likes seeing how small you look beneath him

* Also, he’s covered in scars from his nightly activities, so he doesn’t shy away from yours

* Will press kisses against them

* He’s lowkey possessive because sm has been taken from him, so he enjoys leaving hickeys where others can see them

* If someone flirts with you, this possessiveness comes out and he’ll fuck you roughly later that night

* He might even finger you under the table so the person who was flirting with you knows who you belong to

* Jason loves when you beg

* Will go multiple rounds

* Btw bro is hung. Red Hood doesn’t have big dick energy for nothing

* Likes cuddling after sex

* Prefers when you are curled up on his chest with your face in his neck

Dick:

* Dick’s always touchy and flirty, and this transfers over to the bedroom

* He always has his hands on you, no matter what

* He just likes to reassure himself that you’re alive and with him

* Constant flirting, as mentioned above

* “Are you my math homework? Because I wanna slam you down and do you all night long”

* *insert wink*

* “Dick, we are literally having sex rn”

* His cheesy flirtations and jokes never fail to make you laugh

* Lots of fun, giggly sex

* Sex is so easy with him

* He makes you feel so comfortable

* And those pretty baby blue eyes make you want to risk it all

* Mf is also kinky af

* Will try anything once

* Loves handcuffs and blindfolds, and will use toys

* Definitely a bit of an exhibitionist, as he enjoys the spotlight and lives to perform

* Likes to be risky

* Public sex occurs often

* He’s a switch, so he’s down for anything, depending on your mood

* He used to be an acrobat, so his flexibility is amazing

* You have a lot of fun with this knowledge

* You watching how gracefully he can move

* He’s legit so beautiful it hurts

* Hella good stamina

* Dick’s a sweetheart, so he’ll whisper sweet nothings into your ear

* “You’re so beautiful”

* “I love you so much”

* While sex is usually lighthearted, he does like to have meaningful sex, too

* He likes to show you how much you mean to him

* He has a thing for fingering you

* Like Jason, he wants to get you off a few times

* Loves the facial expressions and noises you make

* Encourages you to moan for him

* “That’s it, baby”

* Will kiss you right before you cum

* He likes cumming together

* It makes the experience more special to him

* He’s not huge down there, he’s pretty average actually

* But he knows how to use it

* Love love loves to cuddle after sex

* Will be the big or little spoon he legit doesn’t care

* Likes to play with your hair until you fall asleep

Damian: (aged up obvs)

* Because of his background growing up, he’s very new to the whole dating and affection thing

* As a result, he will constantly ask if you are doing okay or if he needs to stop/change what he’s doing

* He is somewhat nervous at first, but he’s a quick learner so it isn’t long before he has your likes and dislikes memorized

* Once he becomes comfortable and more assured in what he’s doing, he becomes a lot more confident

* His newly found confidence and dark looks quickly get you hot and bothered

* Those beautiful eyes of his become dark and clouded with lust and it’s so sexy

* Will literally go down on you whenever you want

* He’s likes receiving, too, but he’s always gentle when guiding you

* Damian didn’t receive a lot of affection as a child, so he relishes in it during sex

* He loves soft and meaningful sex

* He just enjoys intimacy

* You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and sometimes he has a hard time showing it

* So, sex allows him to show you how much you mean to him

* “You are everything to me, Beloved”

* “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Habibi”

* He likes seeing your face as you two are making love

* He’s constantly watching your expressions to make sure you’re okay

* Will whisper in different languages to you

* He has a tendency to tell you how beautiful you are in Arabic

* Damian always keeps his eyes on yours as he’s thrusting into you

* He will tell you how much he loves you as he cums

* His breathless words always make butterflies erupt in your stomach

* Enjoys leaving lovebites on you (like Jason, he’s got a little bit of a possessive streak)

* He might keep them hidden tho

* He might let you dom him if he really trusts you

* He’s obvs hung, too. I mean he’s pretty much genetically perfect

* This comes with amazing stamina

* When he’s older, he’s hella tall

* Probs around 6’2”

* You like wrapping yourself around him

* He likes that you’re smaller than him so he can curl himself around you

* It makes him feel like he can better protect you this way

* Doesn’t mind cuddling because he likes feeling your skin against his, tho he’ll deny it in public

* He likes to sling an arm around your waist and keep you close

Tim:

* Such a smol bean

* He’s such a sweetheart

* The poor boy works himself to death tho

* So sex is usually a stress reliever for him

* You’ll comb your fingers through his hair to relax him

* He’s not really kinky, but he’ll try stuff if you ask him to

* Tho he does like being called a ‘good boy’ and receiving praise

* He doesn’t mind toys, he’ll just want to discuss them beforehand

* He just likes to please you

* He enjoys giving and receiving

* He’s pretty vocal, tho he gets really embarrassed by it and blushes so prettily

* You’ll purposefully do things to cause him to make noises just to see that beautiful rose color fill his cheeks

* When you praise him, he gets really vocal

* Like Damian, he’ll ask if you’re okay during sex

* He doesn’t want to pressure you into anything

* Sex with him is a mixture of lightheartedness and seriousness

* He’ll press tender kisses to your lips as you guys make love

* He’s hella gentle

* He has a tendency to whisper sweet nothings into your ear

* “I love you more than you’ll ever know”

* “I want you in my life forever”

* Sometimes a mishap occurs tho, and you’ll giggle into each other’s mouths

* Tim will definitely sub

* He actually really enjoys it

* Loves being able to look up at your face when you ride him

* Likes being choked

* He can’t handle when you tease him tho

* Will resort to begging

* He gets shy, but he can’t help himself as he’s so worked up

* It’s like those years of strict bat-training go down the drain when he’s with you

* He just trusts you completely

* The boy never sleeps either, as he’s always so busy with vigilantism and running Wayne Enterprises

* But sex always makes him pass tf out

* (Do you use it to make him sleep? Possibly)

* Like Dick, he’s average down there

* But he makes up for it in skill

* He’s smol so he can be either the big or little spoon

* Just likes to keep you close

* Will nuzzle his face into your neck and press light kisses there

* You’ll fall asleep tightly pressed against each other

-Admin Cheyenne :)

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

Bring Me To The Precipice of Victory

1| 2 | 3(you are here) | 4 | next

Summary: When Batman departs— just for a short time, just to patch things up in Gotham— things go horribly, horribly wrong in Paris.

He doesn’t know if he can come back from realizing that Marinette and Ladybug are one and the same (and that his daughter has died more times than he can count.) (all biodad bruce are posted in chronological order but can be read as stand alones)

______________________________________________

The moment of peace, of solidarity, that Batman shares with Ladybug up on that rooftop at night means the world.

After a minute or two, Ladybug pulls back, tear tracks down the sides of her face, eye and nose red. She takes another minute of silence,hugging herself in the muggy Parisian air. When she next opens her eyes, Batman can almost imagine that Ladybug never cried at all.

But he knows that's not true. Ladybug seemed so fragile in his arms. He can imagine— he can imagine Dick in her place, broken over Jason’s death. Tim losing his parents. All of his children facing insurmountable odds with no team by their side. Alone.

Ladybug is not alone, but functionally, she may as well be. He’s watched the fights. He’s analyzed them. Ladybug is always, always the leader. She strategizes with Ryuko and Viperion, but Ladybug is who everybody looks to for an answer when things don’t work out the way they want them to. She’s the one with the plan, the backup plan, the out. She’s the one who swoops in to save the day.

She’s also the one who has racked up the most hours on the battlefield. Even Chat Noir, her partner, only has three quarters of the hours that she’s put in. For most of the other members of her team, she puts in double, sometimes even triple of what they do. Over the course of six years, there have been a little under two thousand battles, lasting from under an hour to over five hours. Ladybug has shown up for every single one, without fail. That’s not even counting the patrols that they do; although Ladybug is given a lot of flack for not patrolling as often as Chat Noir, there’s a fundamental difference in how they patrol. Ladybug is methodical, Chat Noir is volatile.

He’s not a bad superhero when it comes down to battle, but the two of them are fundamentally different. Ladybug sees her time as a superhero as a duty. Chat Noir seems to view it as a time to unwind— and while that’s worrying, considering the information he’s gathered on the Miraculous Team so far points to the majority of them beings teens or young adults— it’s not what is needed to deal with the Paris situation.

Perhaps one of the easiest ways to see these differences is during patrol. Chat Noir uses patrol time almost seems to be an outlet for stress. He entices whoever he’s on patrol with to race to random places in Paris with no rhyme or reason. Whenever he comes across crime, he stops it, but Ladybug— Ladybug searches for crime.

Ladybug has a team and she trusts them with her life, but she cannot trust them to be responsible. That is perhaps the worst possible thing that can happen. And through the videos that he’s watched, it’s clear that the hours she puts in do affect her, and fairly heavily.

Whoever she is, she’s young. Too young to be in battle untrained, because they are untrained— despite being in the field for years, all of their basic form lacks and tells anybody with an experienced eye that they’ve never had formal training in martial arts.

When Batman and Ladybug leave the roof, they leave on a better note than where they started. Batman is still upset that Tom and Sabine are dead, but he cannot attribute it solely to Ladybug’s negligence. He admires the young heroine for rising to the occasion when there was nobody else to help. He has no doubt that with the resources and training that he can provide him and his operatives already on the case, Hawkmoth will be revealed in no time at all.

He’s right, but in the worst possible way.

It’s largely a mistake on hiss part-- he gets a notification that the Joker broke out of Arkham again, and Hawkmoth and Pavona are missing for the time being. Though Ladybug has made a mistake in not taking Pavona out immediately, she and her team have won every akuma and sentimonster battle. The logical course of action is to go where the most danger is.

Bruce does not have any predictive powers. There is no way for him to know what’s going to happen. But when he and his team finally catch the Joker and put him away again-- a feat that takes just a little under twenty four hours, extreme concentration, and a good number of injuries-- Batman finally gets a chance to breathe. The adrenaline from facing off against the Joker’s latest scheme fades. Batman reclines in a chair as Alfred binds his wounds and passes him pain relieving pills while he gets stitches in his abdomen.

He checks the news in Paris.

He almost drops the device that he’s using to view the news.

Marinette’s existence has been hidden from his family. With Dick, he was more concerned about his existence as Robin, rather than informing him that he had a sister. As soon as he started contemplating bringing up Marinette, Batman and Robin had a bad break. Then Jason came along, troubled and angry. Bruce didn’t want to introduce Marinette into the mix then because he was volatile.

Jason died due to Batman’s incompetence. Bruce grieved the loss of his ward; Batman was never allowed to mourn the loss of his second Robin.

Tim felt unworthy as the only child Bruce didn’t pick up off the streets, and Damian-- well, Damian was Damian. First he had a superiority complex the size of the Grand Canyon, and once he got accustomed to how they handled things in the Wayne Manor-- though Tim would argue that Damian is still not used to this kind of lifestyle-- he overcompensated every single mission and needed a remedial course on How to Interact With Other Humans 101. Add the overarching concern of Marinette being exposed to his vigilante life style and being unprepared for it, and he was never able to tell his children that he had another biological kid. A daughter.

When the news that Sabine and Tom died reached his ears, he told everybody he had business in Paris without elaborating what. With Wayne Enterprises opening a Paris branch of their R&D specialising in European artifacts, it was easy to draw connections that weren’t there.

“Bruce, you need to relax. Business in Paris can be dealt with later, you need to take the time to heal,” Tim says.

A clip in his shoulder from a bullet, knife wounds on his torso and legs, a sprained wrist. Whatever chemical experiment the Joker got his hands out still pumping through his veins. “I need to go-- it’s important--”

The pain relievers Alfred gave him earlier were also a sedative.

Tim catches him before he passes out.

He wakes up three hours late through sheer force of will.

“Paris!” Bruce jolts upright, still in costume, lying prone on a medical cot in the Batcave.

The first thing that catches his eyes is the red and black flying across the screens.

Ladybug.

His kids are all watching the screens with abject horror.

“Is this,” Tim wets his lips. “The business trip that you were on?”

Bruce drags himself out of bed, adrenaline washing out any residual pain. He doesn’t have the capacity to respond, he needs to get to the zeta tube, he needs to get to Paris, Ladybug is bleeding, the city is in shambles, and Marinette--

One of the news sites up on the screen declares the arrondissements that are obliterated. The one that houses Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie is amongst their number. An approximate death toll fills the static.

-- Marinette is likely among those lost. He has lost another child due to his inaction. Due to his inability to push through, to look forwards and predict the future and the consequences of his actions. Marinette is another Jason, but if Ladybug doesn’t get it together, she’ll be gone permanently. And Ladybug is little more than a child. She can’t handle it, not by herself, not with her team. She needs an experienced hero, and Batman will be there for her, be the one leading the charge against Hawkmoth as the civilians hide in their homes and pray for her Miracle Cure to reverse the damage.

Dick places a hand on his shoulder. Bruce tries to shrug it off, but his fingers dig into the place where the bullet clipped his flesh. The pain is just a reminder that if he does not get to Paris now, there will be thousands-- no, millions-- more who feel this pain. How did Marinette die? Was it an akuma? Did the rubble of one of the destroyed buildings fall on her? Did Ladybug even try to protect her?

“I need to go,” Bruce growls.

“You can’t. While you were out, the majority of the Justice League prohibited all travel via zeta tubes. Nobody can get into Paris right now.”

Bruce knocks Dick’s hand off his shoulder and turns to his eldest. At the very least, Dick and the rest of his children look solemn. Damian’s gaze is fixed to one of the screens that shows Ladybug. “A city is in danger, millions of lives are at risk, Marinette--”

His daughter is dead. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Standing by idly is the last thing he’ll let himself do.“Who put out the order? I’ll get them to reverse it.”

Dick moves so he’s between the zeta tube and Bruce. “B, you don’t understand. If you go to Paris right now, you’ll get akumatized.”

“I can handle my emotions.”

Jason points at the upper right section of screens that’s replaying past footage. “I wouldn’t bet Paris’ survival on it. Not when more level headed superheroes got on the scene first and failed. They really don’t need any heavy hitters getting akumatized. Not when Superman put three members of their team out of commission.”

Superman arrived on the scene first; it took a matter of seconds for him to get akumatized. He was responsible for razing down three arrondissements in no time flat. Ladybug had to call for a Lucky Charm in order to get her hands on some kryptonite, which forced her to recoup after her time ran out.

Black Canary arrived next. Then Red Tornado.

Both were akumatized in mere minutes.

“After Red Tornado got akumatized, Wonder Woman led the charge to put the rest of the zeta tubes on lockdown,” Duke says, grim. “All we can do now is hope that these Parisian superheroes can pull off a win.”

Bruce stumbles over to get a better view. He remembers Ladybug, small and slight in his arms. A child, crying over the loss of her pseudo parents.

A warrior, bloody and bruised and broken.

She is one of the last ones standing.

King Monkey and an ox themed hero both died at Superman’s hands. The former got in the way of his laser beams, the latter a victim of super strength and getting thrown through two buildings and having their necks snap at an unsightly angle. Chat Noir was also sent hurtling through the air, and the only reason he was still alive was because Ladybug alighted from the sky and grabbed him before he got sent through a building in his unconscious state. Black Canary came shortly after, apparently informed of the Superman situation and carrying kryptonite.

She didn’t last for long either. Almost immediately after helping Ladybug and Ryuko bind Superman in such a way that he couldn’t escape,

Pegasus got hit by Black Canary’s sound waves and Chat Noir’s residual injuries from his fight with Superman forced him into a state of unconsciousness. Queen Bee and Carapace were able to pull off a win against Black Canary, but not without serious injuries. Ryuko faced off against Red Tornado alone, which normally would have been a thing of awe, but in the grander scheme of things, was a huge issue, as without her, the Miraculous Team functionally lost all of their heavy hitters. Rena Rouge and several Miraculous users that clearly had never been in battle before were the ones left to hold their own against the scores of akumatized Parisians.

The only ones left to hunt down Hawkmoth and Pavona were Ladybug and Viperion, and the former was already on her third use of Lucky Charm.

Ladybug pulls out her communicator, dodging an attack.

“Can we get sound on this?” Jason grips the closest table.

Dick shakes his head. “Zatara says there’s already enough interference just trying to get these images. And for some reason, Dr. Fate refuses to get involved with any of this.”

Bruce’s phone rings. He doesn’t pick it up on the first ring, too focused on the ongoing battles. He does take his phone out of his pocket to silence it the next time, but when he presses the sound off, an image comes through.

“Bruce.” Ladybug’s image comes through crystal clear, and it doesn’t make him feel any better. Ladybug, blood dripping from her mouth, costume torn open, hair burnt, wild eyed.

He opens his mouth to speak, but the image goes blurry as she moves to avoid several attacks pointed towards her.

“Before I go, I--”

“Watch out, LB!” Bruce lifts his eyes to the screen that displays Ladybug and Viperion in battle. The spotted heroine gets pushed out of the way of a laser, but the snake themed hero takes the hit.

The ambient noise coming from his phone is strong; he can hear blades clashing in the background as Chat Noir, already on his last legs attempts to hold off Darkblade. Screaming from civilians, a strangled sob from Ladybug. “Viperion.”

Ladybug comes back into view. Blue eyes filled with rage.

“If this doesn’t end in our favor, you need to make sure that Hawkmoth and Pavona do not acquire both the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. Do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening.” She blinks, retreats into herself, and Bruce wonders if he’s seeing the girl behind the mask.

“And If I don’t get to see you again--” If I’m dead, the words go unspoken, “I really did want the chance -- I-- you’re a good man. A good father. Your daughter-- she loves you. She really, really does. Stay safe.”

The transmission cuts off. On the screen in front of him, Ladybug closes her communicator, closes Viperion’s open eyes, and strides to the epicenter of the akumas. Blue fire flashes in her irises, and for a moment, she’s staring directly at the screen. And Bruce knows those eyes. He knows them.

The next second, all of the computers simultaneously die.

Bruce is numb. No-- no.

He is nothing.

All his children-- no, not all his children, Marinette is missing, Marinette is Ladybug, and she’s out on a field that he can’t see grappling with magic forces strong enough to incapacitate Justice League members like their powers and abilities are inconsequential-- stare at him.

“That was… Ladybug?” Tim’s brow furrows. It’s clear that he’s thinking up a hundred different reasons why Ladybug and Batman are connected, why he’s the last person she calls before going into a battle that could very well cost her her life.

“My daughter.” The words are ash on his lips. An existence he’s never acknowledged. Not out loud. Saying it brings a sense of finality to the room. An impending death. “My daughter.”

Nobody asks how long he’s known or when he met her or why he’s never brought it up before. Everything is fuzzy. Floating.

For a while, there’s silence.

“Zatara says there’s too much interference to get the picture back up,” Dick opens his messages, frowning.

Damian still stares at the screen Ladybug looked at directly, frozen.

Bruce picks himself up and moves. He may not be able to use the zeta tubes, but he has a private jet and a license, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do something.

It takes two hours too long to get to Paris. He shaved five hours off the flight length due to superior technology, and another hour and a half off due to sheer force of will.

The landing is not a pretty thing, but Paris is already in shambles, and there’s no way that the ATC will approve his landing, so Bruce picks out the flattest looking spot of rubble before his jet meets the ground.

According to Tim and Duke, who stayed behind in case this turned out to be an attack spanning multiple cities, the battle ended mere minutes before they landed. Dick manages to get Zatara to broadcast the image in the cockpit of the jet, and on the screen lay three prone bodies. Gabriel Agreste, whose body type fits that of Hawkmoth, Lila, and a third that Bruce does not recognize.

A bone sticks out of Marinette’s arm, the connected hand crushed and hanging limp. The opposing ankle is twisted almost fully backwards. She is covered in blood and ash and filth. There is no victory in her eyes. Only weariness.

In her good hand, she holds her yoyo.

She raises her eyes skywards-- the roof of the Agreste mansion is blown clean off-- blinks slowly, and throws the yoyo into the air.

“Miraculous Cure,” her lips read.

The corpses in Paris rise from the dead. Rubble reforms into buildings. The ashy haze that covered the city disappears.

Ladybug looks like she wants to disappear, too.

She collapses, instead.

Nobody is there to catch her when she drops to the floor.

@biodad-bruce-month

Maribat tag list(to be added onto this pls send me an ask/dm): @our-precipreciousss @my-dear-friend-anxiety

Who Are You (and what will you become) tag list (to be added here just comment): @anjuschiffer @theunquiet-dead @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @cresentmo0n @allulily @myazael @zalladane @rebecarojas07 @keepingupwiththemalfoys @frieddonutsweets @all-mights-asscheeks @thornalchemist23 @trippingovermyfeet @jiso-lee @redscarlet95 @ira-sairain @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @ramos123 @cutechip @theunquiet-dead @sleep-deprived-aroace @enternalempires @lilkymilky @woe-is-me0 @officiallydarkgeek @miyla-lokidottir @queencommonsense @demonicbusiness

mb for not doing tag list right away i forgot i had these cued up already

#bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #maribat #what are dates #what's going in order #time? i don't know her #i'm always late #marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne #bio!dad bruce #angst

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