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visionsofmagic · 7 months

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day 10: bruce wayne [car sex]

࿓ synopsis • bats fucks you in his batmobile to teach you a lesson after you disobey his order.

―❦ nsfw, autonomous driving, one has clothes on one hasn’t, suited!bats, batmobile, markings, car riding, possessiveness, jeaolusy, pet names, swearing, master kink, rude!bats, identity dilemma, inner toughts, spanking, begging, brat taming, clothes full on/off, kissing, ‘is all I guess. • 1.9k • thought comic bats while writing but you can imagine this with any version of batman as you like of course. enjoy the beginning of the second week of kinktober event, hope you will like this week too! [kinktober m.]

“bats – please –“ as the gotham’s city’s night lights pass behind the black windows of the batmobile you’re in, your own voice gets silent by the loud sound of the road, yet, they reach to his ears that are covered with his black batman mask. “it’s too much –“

the man under you stays still even when his actions don’t stop – fingering your clit, he seems like he doesn’t care about how you’re sitting on his lap, soaking onto his black bat suit, getting wetter each passing time – having no dress on you makes the situation more sinful, especially when he has his own armored suit on, even the mask is still covering his face and ears – his bat ears is a source of balance for you to hold onto while taking his fingers as if it’s the first time he does this.

you have no idea how this man makes you feel stranger to being fucked by him whenever he has you like this – weak yet so powerful because of the whole situation.

it should’ve been a peaceful night, a simple mission – yet, it turned into something more, and you were the one to blame the moment you began to flirt with one of the guests to distract him. you were doing what he told you to from the other line of the call, giving instructions one by one with the help of the device on your ear. it was going all right until the man got interested in you, buying you drinks, joking around, and asking if you would like to follow him to do upstairs.

you didn’t yet you had to act close to the man to get rid of him because bats told you to leave his side immediately. your mistake was taking that decision; putting one of your hands on the man’s shoulder, raising on your feet, and whispering something into his ear before leaving. apparently, this made bruce go mad – causing him to give you a lesson that you had to learn right away.

the moment you entered the batmobile, he took you onto his lap, taking all your clothes from one to another, looking darker than ever – hands fast, lips kissing yours so passionately that you believe your lips begin to bleed, the suit remains on as he begins to finger you – he just opens the zipper of his armored pants, leaving his hardened cock visible to your eyes.

wanting to touch him, your hand goes to his cock, yet, it is stopped in mid-air. he doesn’t waste any more seconds, slapping your clit, he adds, “you had to earn it. you will not get it until you beg for it.”

now here you are; already cum for one time, its hints still on your thighs and his pants, however, he doesn’t stop – you know he waits for you to beg – you try not to beg, stubborn, believing you did nothing wrong, but, it’s too much – he knows every point to make you beg – the vigilante know your own body more than you do.

when he hits your g-spot with only his gloved fingers, again and again, you cry out loud, “bruuuce – aggh – please -!” the words go out of your parted lips on their own as your hands grip his bat ears strongly, bouncing on his fingers when he doesn’t move them. the knowledge of making a mess out of you doesn’t reach into your brain, so, you continue fucking his fingers – his dark-colored eyes look up, a smirk position on his attractive masked face, mocking you. “please! I need youu – aggh!”

“pathetic,” he remarks, “bouncing on my fingers as if they’re my dick,” a chuckle breaks the lewd sounds – the outworld out of the batmobile is long forgotten. “want it so much? want me to bend you over, fuck you in this car?”

without thinking, you nod rapidly, eyes half-closed, your second cum drips onto his fingers, high hits the body, feeling a bit exhausted yet ready to take his thick cock now.

your mind can’t comprehend what he’s doing but in a moment you find him lowering his seat, opening enough gap between your bodies and the batmobile’s front.

afraid of falling into the surface, you try to hold his shoulders – still can’t believe you fucked yourself on his fingers and cum onto them when he talked dirty. the power – the effect he has on you is incredible! the mind is so dizzy because of him that you realize what he has done after a moment, your widening eyes look at the front mirrors of the car, seeing the road in front of you – the scene changes faster than you think – you swear the car moves like a lightning.

the reality hits your face similar to the feeling of cold water washing your body over on a hot day. however, you can’t focus on it when bruce’s gloved and wet hands position on your waist, highering your ass up, pulling your body closer to his face.

when you hold onto the wheel to stay still, excitement and shock blurring the last cramps of your mind, fear of going in an extremely fast batmobile makes your blood boil – yet the trust you have for bruce is there, strongly holding you. his low voice reaches your ears after a while, and his hot breaths wash your pussy and ass holes that clench around nothing, making you jump in pure pleasure. “you disappointed me,” he says, “you disobeyed a direct order from me. that man meant nothin’ to me but disobeying – oh – what a bad choice y/n.”

you couldn’t wait any longer, knowing his one step away from licking you, lust takes control of you, and you begin to say how sorry you’re – how you didn’t mean to – both you and bruce know you did mean to, to get his attention, to get this side of him, because you’re a brat of him who he will tame.

“keep your begs for forgiveness for later. you have to prove to me that you’re capable of obeying me, you pretty brat.”

“anything, I will do anything for you bru -!” a slap to the ass, a slap to the pussy – scream escapes from your lips. “bats! just give me an order, will do it – just please – please fuck me already!”

“in that case,” he says, not licking you, making you pout in disappointment but when he lowers down your body, his cock’s tip meets with your aching pussy’s folds, he clicks a button, the engine slows down a little bit, the wheel of the car gets closer to you. “hold the wheel.”

you try to understand what’s going on, “what are you doin – aggh!”

his left-hand grips your neck, holding it tightly, closing the gap between your face and his, he points to the wheel that stands right in front of you. “hold the fucking wheel if you want to be fucked, y/n.”

swearing lowly, your shaking hand finds the wheel, holding it strongly, waiting for bruce to push a button – when he does, the engine starts moving faster than before. unlike the previous situation, this time, it’s you who drives the batmobile.

“bruce – how – “ your words are cut off by his deep voice.

“don’t take your eyes off the road. you will take us to the home without an accident. if you turn even a little bit, I will stop fucking you my love.” the difference in his words and voice make you go crazy, and that craziness doubles up when he lowers your body down enough to make him thrust his thick cock into your pussy, filling you up.

screaming with sudden pain and pleasure, your eyes roll over for a second before looking right at the road in front of you – gotham city still stays under the darkness of the night, the only voice that world excepts is the powerful sound of the batmobile riding on the endless looking road, the moans coming from you and swears from bats mixing with the flesh hitting the flesh can be heard by only you and bruce – the sin you commit cannot be known by another.

the focus you put on the road gets distracted whenever bruce shoves his dick into your wet clit. back of your thighs hitting his clothed thighs sends pain through your body, leaving red marks on your flesh – the balls that meet with your ass cheeks increase the sensitivity you have, making you cry as you clean them rapidly to see the road.

his name comes out of you over and over again, the brain is too occupied to drive, the mind is too crazy to function, and the body is too full of him, the man who wants to devour you, and doing it right now – using your body as he pleases, not moving his hips greatly, instead, he makes use of your body by lifting it up, then, pulling it down until his dick fills your walls deeper, harder and rougher.

“fucking brat,” he says, a poison that his voice holds captures you – you feel so pathetic as if you’re his fucktoy now. then why do you feel so high like the most powerful drug in the whole world gets into your veins with the maximum level, you ask yourself, then the answer travels to your mind after he adds, “can’t obey her master? what a pretty yet mindless girl you are, don’t you think?” oh, right, he’s the most powerful drug on the whole world, and now, you’re at his mercy.

“u-huh – agghh – oh myy – bats! please, please, please –“ you have no idea what you’re pleasing for, but he knows – he chuckles lowly, having fuck great entertainment thanks to you that you feel a kind of pride in an instant.

“u-huh?” he mocks, fucks you still, close to the edge, just waiting for the right moment. “too cockdumbed to even understand what I’m saying. but you do good my good girl, keep going, we’re close to the cave.”

the new information makes you happy, smiling widely, and looking outside clearly, seeing the cave’s entering. with the relief, you begin to drive the car more carefully than before, hands getting stronger, losing yourself in the pleasure of being fucked by bruce in his damn batmobile.

finally reaching your destination, you slow down the engine, the cave’s front door opens, and pushing a button, bruce hugs you from behind, making you sit down on his cock with an instantaneous speed, earning the loudest moan out of you.

the mouth standing beside your ear says, “cum. cum on my cock.” and you who doesn’t know she’s waiting for him to allow her – to order, do what he tells, cum on his cock as his hot semen hit the deep inside of you in sync.

kissing your shoulder, he holds your shaking body because of both the coldness of the cave you have entered and the opposite sense of warmness that bruce gives – the smell of highness on the air, chests getting up and down, breaths rapid and low, lust ends – its place gets completed with the affection of love.

“did so good,” the car’s door opens, bruce takes your body in bridal style after wrapping it with his cape. his gentle lips put kisses on your face as he walks into the bathroom of his room, watching your soft features, eyes closed to sleep. he smiles fondly, proud of you. “let me take care of my pretty girl now.”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina & @snowprincesa1 & @dookiemeshibear *lots of kisses!*

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hanasnx · 4 months

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BRUCE WAYNE was in the hot seat. Well, more appropriately, Batman was in the hot seat. Which meant it was time for the billionaire playboy to make a public appearance so controversial, any press worth their tacks would cover his televised blunder rather than some depressing masked vigilante’s dealings. People prefer gossip over politics, and Bruce knows how to work an angle.

You’re a fresh adult, but the people already know you. A perfect Gotham sweetheart: a little darling on the front cover of lingerie magazines, starring as a bombshell in motion pictures, named the honor of the Ice Princess last month. You wore your little feathery outfit, next to nothing in the freezing cold, and turned on the city's giant Christmas tree lights just as the Ice Princess does every year. Known for your youth and beauty, Bruce knew you were the perfect candidate to take all the attention away from where it shouldn't be. Tabloids couldn't decide whether to praise the seasoned billionaire for landing a nineteen-year-old catch, or condemn him for having a mid-life crisis.

"Bruce Wayne seen with Gotham's Ice Princess." was everywhere anyone looked. It seemed the city had taken quite a protective role over you, which is exactly what Bruce needed.

Now that he's got you, he flaunts you. He lets you lug him around town, any local events that could be televised are his priorities. There, he makes a big show of touching you in ways only a lover is allowed to. Things that make you pat his huge bicep scoldingly. "Brucie!" you chide with a gasp, "You're so shameless." you say, but you fucking love it. How he openly mouths at your neck, lapping and sucking on your pulse point enough for lewd pretty sounds to slew from your parted lips. Little whimpers that any onlookers eat up.

He'll grope you unabashedly, big hand grabbing at your ass or giving it a swat. He needs those cameras to see how gross he is, how crazy he is about his nineteen-year-old situationship. If you get kissed, it's fucking sloppy. Mostly tongue, tongue outside the mouth as much as he can appropriately get away with. His "dirty sense of humor" will bleed into the public scene as well, hugging you from behind only to jokingly engulf your neck with his hand to fake a choke.

Every single one of these things he does for attention, leaves you hot and bothered. Frustrated from his treatment of you that's so warm when there are prying eyes, but so cold when you're finally alone together. You want Bruce Wayne to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, but when doors are closed suddenly it's: "Something's come up." or "The sushi hit me wrong." Or the worst one of all: the polite, civilized, but uninterested act. You're all over him, begging for him to finally fuck you after stringing you along and teasing you so ardently all day, and he treats you as if you are an acquainted business associate who has overstayed her welcome. You don't get it. An hour ago he was pulling your neckline towards him for a peek down your dress, and now he's showing you the door with a smile on his face.

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reveluving · 5 months

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see you soon ; jason todd x batmom reader (ft bruce wayne)

includes: jason's beloved dubbed 'princesa' (can read it as her and/or jason being latina/latino or spanish being jason's 1st/2nd language!) & tooth-rotting fluff!

a/n: combining @xoxokirby's jason todd x princesa with my batmom AU in this quick, cute thought because I just love talking about them together 💗

check out my batmom m.list <3

"Alright, so here's the hot chocolate," You carefully passed Jason the heavy double-cup holder, "And in here is your Philly cheesesteak, some soups and your girl's panini sandwich. And I threw in some brownie pudding in there since we had extra. Make sure you don't heat it up beyond forty-five seconds. You're lucky you texted me just as dinner rush started."

While waiting for Jason to come and pick up the orders he had requested you just hours ago, you closed down the necessary so you could head home with Bruce straight away once he finishes his work in the office. Not once had Jason stopped offering on taking you back to the manor first before heading back to his girlfriend at his apartment, but you insisted otherwise.

And how could he say no to his mother?

"Yeah, that's on me," Your son smiled sheepishly, holding the bags of food and drinks with ease, "Y'sure we don't gotta pay up?"

"What makes you think I'm making my own kids pay for food at my café all of a sudden?" You rested your hands on your hips, brows raised as if he had asked the dumbest question ever.

"'m just askin', y'don't have to be so mad. Sheesh," He shrugged, only to dodge your playful smack with a laugh, "Kiddin', kiddin'."

But the big smile on his face remained.

A lot of things make him smile, be it from you, his siblings, Bruce at times or his beloved, but he just couldn't help replaying how you considered his girl one of 'your kids', as if, like him, you just knew she was the one.

"Be sure to tell her about the family dinner that we're having in two weeks." You reminded him, slipping on your gloves before turning off most of the lights. It would be her first dinner with the Waynes, and you wanted nothing more than to have her as a part of your family’s cheesy traditions.

"I will," He nodded, and just as you wondered about the extra joy he was radiating, he hugged you with one arm—the one that was holding the bag of food, "Thanks, ma."

"Oh, Jay," You chuckled, returning the hug with a few pats in his back, "I'm just looking out for my kids."

Just then, you and Jason heard the sound of engine approaching, and lo and behold, the familiar black Aston Martin came into view.

"That's our cue. C'mon," You playfully pushed him from the back, drawing a worried 'ma!', afraid he might drop the food. You just responded to his pout with a cheeky smile before exiting the café, with him waiting for you to lock the door. Winter came in early in Gotham, and the citizens took the opportunity to decorate the city in ways that seemed so... familial.

You opened the passenger door, "Hey." You lit up as Bruce leaned in, his warm lips tickled your cold cheek.

"Sorry I'm late. Tried to finish up some of the last reports before the holidays."

You reassured him, shaking your head as you did, "You're not, I promise. Plus, Jay waited with me."

Bruce looked over at your door, where Jason stood, "Thanks, Jason. Head home safely and don't forget about the dinner, alright?"

"I won't," He nodded curtly as he walked backwards, heading to the alley where he parked his bike, "I'll text y'when I reach home."

"Say hi to princesa for us!" You grinned, waving as you watched your son disappear into the back of the store. You closed the door, turning to Bruce and officially greeting him with a quick but nonetheless sweet kiss, "Hi, you."

"Hi yourself," He sighed in content, leaning in for another kiss as he held the steering wheel, "Shall we?"

"Of course." You replied, and just as your seatbelt clicked into place, Jason drove past you, but not before waving at you and Bruce as he did.

With the end of the year around the corner, you were tired, and so was Bruce. Jason was no different and he didn't doubt that his girl was beat, too.

But it was impossible to suppress the smiles on your faces, knowing that none of you will end the day by your lonesome.

Just a hot drink in hand, a comfy bed to cuddle up in, and your other half to hold onto.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

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writing-blog-iguess · 6 months

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Long Lost Friend

Summery: He was suppose to be dead. You watched as the building was burning, you watched as they lowered his coffin in the ground. He's dead, has been for years. So then why is he standing in your living room in a Red Hood cosplay, smiling at you like you saw each other the other day?

Warning: death, hurt/comfort

A/N: Mm, it's not exactly how I wanted this to go, but I like it. Enjoy! Feedback is always welcome.

Words: 2.3k

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You were tired.

After a full day of classes plus working at a coffee shop, you were done for the day. And on your way back from home all you can think about was a nice warm bath and sleep.

What you hadn’t anticipated when you opened your apartment door, was your dead best friend standing in your living room. Dressed as Red Hood, holding his signature red helmet in his hands.

“Hiya sweetheart,” he greeted with a small smile. Your arms dropped to your side, making everything fall to the ground.

“Jason?” you whispered and locked memories came rushing to the forefront of your mind without your permission.

You're eight again, racing through the streets of Gotham just trying to survive.

“Come on Y/N! If you want to stick with me, you have to keep up!”

“But I’m tired Jason!” you shouted back, almost tripping on your own feet. “And hungry! Mom said she’s making dinner for us soon.”

“We’ll go in a minute,” he called back, skidding to a halt when he finally reached his destination. You didn’t stop in time, and ran into his back almost making the two of you fall forward.

“Sorry,” you mumbled as you stepped back and stood beside him. “What are we doing here?”

“I heard Batman was fighting the Riddler here, I wanted to see them fight.”

You made a noise, turning to glare at him. And before you could say anything, the doors to the bank busted open, and you watched Batman and Riddler fight their way outside.

“One day that’s going to be me.”

“What? Be someone fighting Batman?”

“What? No, I’m going to fight beside Batman.”

You were eleven, trying to get Jason to stop, but he won’t listen.

“Jason! What are you doing?” you hissed, looking around to make sure no one saw you.

“Because everyone thinks I’m a delinquent, might as well show them they’re right,” he grunted out as he pulled down the ratchet.

“Okay, but why care about what people think?” you questioned, “why give them proof that they were right?”

“Because they are,” Jason said with a shrug.

“Okay but why feel the need to prove them?”

“Because it’s fun,” Jason said and laughed when he succeeded in taking one tire off.

Y/N made a noise of frustration and threw her arms in the air. “But, out of everything you could have done, why Batman’s car?”

“Go big or go home, right?”

“You're impossible.”

“No one said you needed to be here,” Jason pointed out, setting the tire down with a grunt.

“Someone needs to make sure you don’t get into too much trouble,” you retorted.

“I won’t, just go home Y/N. I know you have that test tomorrow you’ve been studying for.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

You didn’t hear from Jason the next day, or the next. You started to get worried and began searching for him after school and well into the night. But you weren’t having any luck.

It wasn’t until six months later when the new Robin appeared, did you finally get to talk to Jason.

You stared at the newest Robin blankly before promptly turning and heading towards the rooftop door. “Go away.”

“Awe come on!” Jason called, running to catch up to you. “Talk to me.”

“No, I have nothing to say.”

“Don’t you miss me?”

“No,” you said bluntly, and reached for the door handle when you stopped in front of the door. But before you could turn it and open it, Jason slid between you and the door, stopping you from leaving the roof. “Move.”

“I bet you did,” he said, ignoring the glare you sent him. “I missed you.”

“Good for you.”

“You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“Great detective skills you got there. Learn them from Batman?” you asked flatly, shooing him away from the door. He didn’t budge.

“Is that what you're mad about? That Batman was training me?”

“I’m mad because you left. I’m mad because I thought you were dead. And you didn’t say anything, or called to say you were okay. I’m mad because you're here thinking everything’s going back to normal. But you're wrong.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

You’re fifteen, watching as the Joker is on TV laughing with a bruised-up Jason in the background.

“What do you think, Gotham? Should Robin live to see another day?” Joker asked, and laughed. “What am I saying? Of course not!”

You didn’t stay to finish the broadcast. You ran out of your house, ignoring your mom’s worried call, and ran through Gotham. You didn’t stop running until you reached the abandoned warehouse district.

Stopping in front of the fence, you huffed trying to catch your breath as you tried to figure out which one Joker was in with Jason.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, but enough time passed that before you could move, one of the buildings blew up.

“No!” you could hear yourself scream. And that’s all it took for you to rush towards the building. But it was too late, the building was engulfed in flames and Batman stopped you from going into the building.

“Why didn’t you stop him? Where were you?!”

After that night, you don’t remember much of what happened. You faintly remember Bruce Wayne coming to your house and explaining to your parents about Jason’s death. You knew it was a lie, and you spent the entire time glaring at Bruce, hatred burning in your eyes.

You remember going after Bruce when he left your apartment. Remember seeing him tense up when you had said that Jason had looked up to him, had loved him with everything he had.

“He loved you Mr. Wayne, and you let him down,” you remember saying through the tears that streamed down your cheeks. “It’s all your fault.”

“I know,” he had whispered before climbing into his car.

You barely remembered the funeral service for Jason, but you remember the rain pouring down as you stood in front of the tombstone. Anger had swirled within you, who you were mad at you weren’t entirely sure.

“Why’d you have to do it?” you whispered, “why’d you have to leave? Fuck, Jason. I want to hate you, but I can’t. I can never stay mad at you for long. You’re not even here, yet I can still see your stupid smile when I’m trying to be mad.

“Come back? Please? I need you back.”

But there was no Jason popping out from behind the tombstone, laughing. There was no answer, only the rain that softly hit your umbrella.

“Sweetheart?” a voice called out to you, slowly bringing you out of your thoughts. You blinked a couple of times and focused your eyes on Jason. “Where’d you go?”

“Jason?” you choked out again, pinching yourself to see if you were dreaming or not. “You’re here?”

“I’m here,” he confirmed, taking a step forward. You took a step back without thought, and felt guilty when you saw hurt flash in his eyes. “It’s me, Y/N. I’m really here,” he said as he opened his arms out.

Instead of going for a hug, your eyes roamed around him. When you narrowed in on the blood that was on his jacket, you went into action. “You’re hurt,” you noted, moving around him towards the bathroom.

“Not my blood,” he said, but he followed you all the same. You shook your head, and bent down to retrieve the first aid kit you keep fully stocked.

“Don’t care,” you said, putting the kit on the counter and opening it. “Take off your jacket and sit on the toilet.”

“At least take me to dinner first before you take off my clothes,” he joked. You sent him a pointed look and gestured to the toilet before going back to the kit. “Okay, tough crowd,” he muttered before doing as he was told.

He set his jacket down on the edge of the tub before sitting down on the closed toilet seat. “So, how have you been?”

You didn’t answer, instead you turned to him with cleaning supplies. “You cut your arm,” you said bluntly and watched as he looked down.

“Well, would you look at that.”

“It might need stitches,” you noted, “may I?”

“You know how?” Jason asked, surprised at the question.

“I’m in med school, I would think I know how to stitch up a cut,” you said and waited for an answer. Stunned to silence, Jason could only nod and you set to work.

You set forward, turning him around slightly so you could get to his arm better. Satisfied that you could reach, you set to work. As you cleaned the cut, Jason turned his head slightly and watched as you worked. “It’s deeper than I thought. It’s gonna need stitches.”

After cleaning it, you set everything aside and turned to grab the needle and thread. “It’s fine if it scars,” Jason said, watching as you threaded the needle. “What’s one more scar?”

“Maybe you don’t care, but I,” you said and set to work closing the cut. “Its my work after all.”

“I suppose.”

Silence settled between the two of you, and you tried your best to ignore Jason’s stare. You could feel his eyes on your face, and you kept the questions at bay. At least until you were done.

Once you finished, you stepped back and started cleaning everything up before leaving the bathroom. “Hey!” Jason called. You rolled your eyes as you heard him scattering to leave the bathroom.

You were in the kitchen when he finally joined, and he stood in the doorway as you heated up leftovers.

“You died,” you stated, sitting by the table with a plate in front of you.

“I did,” he agreed, joining you. You watched as he ate and wondered if he had anything to eat lately. “And now I’m not.”

“How?” Jason remained quiet, making you raise an eyebrow. “Don't be shy on me now Jason. Were you really in that building? Or did you escape without me noticing?”

That got his attention. He shot his head up to look at you in thought. “You were there?”

“I wasn’t close enough for the blast to hit me, but I watched it burn,” you said looking down at your plate. “Batman had to stop me from going in to try to get to you.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” you said with a shrug. Yet a spike of anger coursed through you as you thought about that night. You were angry, at Batman, at Joker, and maybe a little at yourself. But you stamped down the feeling, you were tired of being angry. “So, what happened?”

Jason was silent for a moment before he launched into what had happened to him. He explained that Ra al Ghul, the leader of a league of assassins, had brought him back to life with something called a Lazarus pit. And that was a whole bunch of questions you had.

He explained that it had made him into a different person, so he stayed with them and trained for the last five years. He only came back to confront Bruce about it. That made him decide to do something about it, and he became Red Hood. Which would explain a lot about how low the criminal rate has gone down.

Silence settled again as you digested everything.

“I tried, you know,” you whispered. Jason looked up at you but you kept your attention on your uneaten plate.

“Tried what?”

“To kill the Joker,” you clarified. You didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see the shock nor the disappointment in Jason’s eyes. “I have notebooks of plans I came up with over the years. They’re very detailed but I could never figure out where to get the things I need.

“And when it came down to it, I just couldn’t. Not because Batman stopped me, because I thought of you and I knew you wouldn’t want me to become that person.”

You hear a scrape of a chair before Jason was in your field of vision. He crouched down beside you, and gently grasped your chin with his forefinger and thumb. You looked down at him when he moved your head towards him.

“You’re right,” he said, wiping a few tears that escaped your notice. “I don’t want you to become that person. I still don’t. I liked who you were as kids.”

“I don’t, she was a coward,” you said, causing him to laugh.

“Yeah, but she always had my back,” he pointed out.

“She died that night you did,” you sniffled trying to stop from crying.

“But I’m here now, maybe she’s something in there too,” Jason said softly. You nodded though you didn’t have much hope that that part of you was still there. Moving his hands so he held yours, he stood up pulling you with him.

He wrapped his arms around you and you snaked your arms around his waist, burying your face in his shirt. And that’s all it took for you to break down and cry.

Jason rocked you from side to side gently as he murmured comforting words as you cried. Going as far as to say that he’s staying, that he’s not going anywhere.

After a moment, your tears turned into sniffles but the two of you didn’t move from your hug.

“Why’d you come here, Jason?” you mumbled into his shirt.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” he answered and that broke your heart a little.

“Well, my door’s always open for you.”

You felt his smile through your hair, and you turned slightly so you could look at him. “What?”

“There’s my girl.” Your face turned red, and you turned away as he laughed. “She’s in there somewhere.”

“Yeah, maybe. Just don’t die again.”

“I can try not to.”

And maybe you could hope that nothing that bad could happen again. You dared to hope anyway.

#jason todd x reader #batman imagine #my writing #jason todd imagine #Jason Todd x f!reader

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redhoodedangel · 7 months

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Okay, so angsty AK! Jason X reader idea…

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Jason is waiting in his cell, all beaten up, bloody and in agony…

Suddenly, Joker bursts in and tosses a girl to the ground near his feet…

Not just any girl… but Jason’s crush from school… Y/N L/N…

Joker then goes into detail, saying after he disappeared from classes, she organized a search party for him with many fellow students. But she got too close to the truth…

Thus, Joker brought her there…

Cue Jason becoming protective of her and Joker figuring how to take advantage of this new ‘soft spot’…

Cut to moments later, when Joker finishes his daily session, Jason and Y/N are just talking… wondering in fear, what is gonna happen to them next…

(Maybe, a little ending with Arkham Knight! Jason and Y/N being married and have a kid on the way, just to add a crumb of fluff to the angst)

~~~~~~~~

Edit:

Here are some tags: @fcthots @igotanidea @thesandsofelsweyr @littlebatsimagines @slut4thebroken @jsontoddluvr

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 7 months

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That's What Family is For (Part 2)

Fandom: DC, Batman, Batfam, Damian Wayne, Batsis!reader, f!reader Summary: After being kidnapped and offering to take Damian's place to be tortured, you miraculously find yourself waking up back home. Damian has a new outlook on your relationship, but will a secret from your past ruin everything? Word Count: 5231 TW: Hospital, Aftermath of Torture, Mentions of Past Torture, Mentions of Death, Forced to Watch, Crying, Coma, Past Trauma Note: Today is the 2 year anniversary of posting Part 1 of this fic. Thank you so incredibly much for your patience and support as I worked on this and I hope it lives up to Part 1 💖 Part of @ailesswhumptober

Part 1

You have no idea how long you were asleep for, but when you finally managed to drag yourself into consciousness, you couldn’t remember why every inch of your body was in a strange state of concurrent numbness and agony, or why you couldn’t seem to see out of your left eye. It was only when you caught sight of the two casts stretching from the soles of your feet up to the top of your thighs that it all came flooding back to you.

You and Damian had been kidnapped in an attempt to get a ransom from Bruce. To prove they meant business, the kidnappers were going to torture Damian but you had offered to take his place. What happened next was just a blur of blood and pain: The glint of a large knife. The blunt impact of a bat. But mercifully, you couldn’t remember much else. Just that it had been bad. Really bad.

You tried to take a mental inventory of what hurt and what sort of injuries you had sustained, but there was too much damage. All the individual pain bled into each other until it just felt like one massive wound. Every breath you took made your chest, ribs, and throat ache, your head was pounding, and you couldn’t move either leg or your left arm. All you could manage was a slight turn of your head as you looked towards the door but even that small motion sent new waves of pain through you, causing a low moan to slip from your lips.

Almost instantly, Jason came rushing into the room, panic etched onto his face. Yet the second he saw you looking at him, his face split into a massive grin. The kind you couldn’t remember seeing on him since he returned from the dead. And despite everything, that sight warmed your heart.

Licking your cracked lips, you tried to speak but nothing happened. Swallowing a few times, you finally managed a barely audible, “Hey, Jaybird.”

The words sounded funny, thick and slightly lispy but Jay’s smile only widened. He hurried to your bedside and dropped into the chair that had been left there. “Damn, sis. You look terrible.”

You knew he was trying to keep the mood light, but you could hear the tears hiding just behind his words. Giving your best attempt at a smile, you croaked, “Even like this, I bet I still look better than you.”

“Yeah, probably,” he chuckled. “That voice though…. They said it would probably be hard to speak for a few days because of the tube and–” He cut himself off, but you knew what he was going to say. Because all your screams of pain had damaged it.

Swallowing again, you tried to make your voice sound as normal as possible. “Yeah, well, you better be careful. You keep smoking all those cigarettes, this is what you’ll sound like in a few years.”

“Even now you gotta hassle me about those?”

“If you would just quit, I wouldn’t have to get on you about the–”

Your words were cut off as your body fell prey to a fit of coughing. It tore at your throat like daggers and your chest felt like it was shattering into pieces. It only lasted for a few seconds but when it passed, you were left panting and moaning in pain.

When you finally managed to pull yourself together once more and looked back at Jason, his smile had completely vanished, replaced with a thin-lipped grimace. His eyes drifted over your broken body before returning to your face. “So… Honestly. How do you feel?”

“How do you think?” you wheezed. “Like someone ran over me with.. with a… wit– oh forget it. I’m in too much pain to think of something clever. I feel shitty.”

“What hurts?”

“The easier question is ‘what doesn’t hurt?’. And why can’t I open my left eye?”

“Alfred taped it closed for now. It looked pretty messed up.”

You nod slightly. “Permanent?”

“Not sure,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “They had to wait until you woke up to fully assess the damage.”

You nodded again, the dread growing in the pit of your stomach. But you have to know the answer to your next question, no matter how terrifying the answer might be. In a small voice, you ask, “How bad overall?”

Jason hesitated. “Maybe you should wait for Bruce or Alfred to–”

“How bad, Jay?”

Still avoiding your eye, he shifted in his chair before answering. “Bad. The worst of the damage is on your left side. Your arm was dislocated, your cheekbone was destroyed, you’re missing several teeth, and your eye is… well, I already mentioned that. Also, most of your ribs were pretty much shattered and the ones that weren’t are cracked. The pieces punctured your lungs in multiple places. Your legs…The knives thankfully missed all the major arteries, but Alfred said there still might be some nerve damage.”

“Is that all?” You had meant for the question to be sarcastic, but the quiver in your voice made it sound more like a desperate plea.

Jason took a long, deep breath. “It also took eight surgeries, four blood transfusions, and three resuscitations to get you stable.”

“Yeah, that feels about right.” You clenched your jaw tightly as you struggled to hold back your tears, but that just sent a fresh jolt of pain through your mouth. Using your tongue, you gently prod the three new gaps where teeth used to be. No wonder your words sounded funny.

In a soft whisper, you asked, “I’m done, aren’t I? There’s no coming back from this, not really. Even if I can get back to a halfway normal state, I’m never going to be able to put the costume back on. No going on patrol, no more protecting the city, no more being a hero.”

A small sob bubbled in your throat. When Bruce had taken you in all those years ago, you were a mess. Every night, you woke up screaming from nightmares—memories—of watching your parents tortured to death in front of you while you were helpless to do anything. You had felt so powerless. But then Bruce told you about his secret life. That he was the man in the mask who had rescued you from that horrible place. And he taught you how to be strong, how to be for others what he had been for you. He had given your life a purpose but now….it had been taken from you just like your parents had been.

As the tears began to slip down your face, Jason carefully took your hand, rubbing the back with his thumb as he leaned in to stare you directly in your good eye. “Hey, don’t think that way. Bruce was able to come back from a broken back, I came back from the dead, and you… you can come back from this. It’s not gonna be easy and it’ll take a lot of hard work, but if anyone can do it, you can.”

The tears began to flow faster as you finally let the sob you had been holding back free. Squeezing Jason’s hand as tightly as you were able, you cried, “Thank you, Jay. Thank you for everything. I can’t even imagine making it through what comes next without my brothers by my side.”

Jason snatched his hand back from your grasp and pushed back in his chair, his expression growing dark as he spat, “Don’t. Don’t thank me. While you were sacrificing everything for Damian, while you were lying there dying, I was here. Too weak to help you when you needed me most.”

“Jay–”

“I wanted to be there, I did, I just…” His sharp tone crumbled into a near sob as he buried his face in his hands. “I was fine until he picked up the bat. Then it all came rushing back. All I could see was the Joker standing over me with that crowbar and…and I….” His hands muffled his cries, but you could still see the way his shoulders shook as he sobbed.

You had forgotten that they had sent a live feed of your torture to all of Wayne Industries which was probably how Bruce had located you and Damian. Jason never talked about what had happened to him all those years ago in that warehouse, but you had been waiting in the Batcave when Bruce had brought Jason’s body home. You still remembered the bruises and blunt force trauma that couldn’t have been made from the explosion. And you also recalled how the sight of your brother’s broken form sent you into a hysterical fit, not only over the loss of the boy you loved like family but also because it brought back all of the scars from your parents’ deaths. You had felt incredibly guilty later once Bruce and Alfred calmed you down that you had made Jason’s death all about you and your past traumas. But Bruce reminded you that your pain and grief was valid, whenever it hit you, and despite the circumstances, you needed to take care of yourself first or you weren’t going to be able to help anyone else.

Just like Jason needed to take care of whatever horrors he had relived before coming to help you.

It took a lot of determination and concentration, but you slowly moved your hand towards Jason. Luckily, he was sitting on your right side since that was the only arm you could move at the moment, but it still took an achingly long time to close the short distance between you.

As you lay your hand on his shoulder, his head jerked up. When he saw what you had done, his eyes—the blue magnified by the tears about to fall—grew wide. Smiling, you brushed your fingertips lightly across his cheek and said, “Jay, I understand why you didn’t come. There was nothing you could have done and you needed a chance to deal with your own pain. And I’m sorry that I was the reason you had to relive that experience.”

Jason shook his head furiously and clutched at your hand. “No! This was not your fault! All you did was protect Damian. The only person to blame is that psychopath Moore.” His face darkened. “Bruce better be glad they threw that son of a bitch in Blackgate because if he had gotten away, nothing and no one would have stopped me from hunting him down and putting a bullet between his eyes.”

“See? You are such a loving, protective brother who would do anything for me.” His expression softened slightly. “Besides, you even just admitted. Moore is the only one to blame here. Not me, and not you. So, please, don’t beat yourself up over this. I’m still here and I need you now more than ever.” You squeezed his hand as tightly as you were able and after a moment, he returned both the squeeze and the smile. You nodded softly then changed the subject. “How is Damian handling all of this?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Jason nodded towards the other side of the room.

It took you a moment and quite a bit of pain to turn your head enough so your right eye could see where he was gesturing, but when you managed it, your smile grew wider.

Curled into a tight ball, Damian was fast asleep on the couch on the far side of the room. He looked so small and it reminded you that despite his upbringing, he was still just a kid, which made you feel better about your condition. If one of you had to be lying in this bed, you would have offered yourself up every time.

Jason chuckled softly to himself as he saw your face. “He’s barely left the room since they brought the two of you home. Bruce tried getting him to go back to school the last two days, but he flat-out refused. Said he wasn’t going anywhere until you woke up.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like Damian.”

“Well, I think his actual words were ‘Tt. Father, I cannot be bothered with those trivial lessons while my sister’s fate is still uncertain. I am needed here. Yes, I have a geography test next week, but I have traveled to more countries than my so-called teacher could even possibly name. This is more important.’”

Despite the mocking—though fairly accurate—impression Jason had made, your eyes welled up with tears once more. Damian had called you ‘sister’. It was the first time you could ever remember him doing so. No. That wasn’t true. He had said it when Bruce and Dick had shown up to save them. In fact, the echoing word was the last thing you remembered before the world had gone dark.

Swallowing hard to clear your throat, you asked, “Um, do you think…Would he be upset if I asked you to wake him up?”

“Yo! Demon Spawn! Wake up!” Before you could stop him, Jason hurled a pillow across the room so it slammed into Damian’s sleeping form.

The kid instantly leaped to his feet in a crouched position, ready to take on any and all attackers. But he straightened up when he saw Jason’s smug grin and your weak smile staring back at him instead. Rushing to your side, he said, “Sister! You are awake!”

You tilted your head slightly to look at him better. “So are you. Sorry for the rude wake-up. That was all Jay.”

“Hey!” Jason huffed indignantly. “You asked me to wake him up and I did! You just never said how.”

Damian glared at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Yes, Todd has been exceedingly insufferable this last week while you have been injured—”

“W-week? I’ve been out of it for a week?” You felt your blood run cold. You knew things were bad, but for some reason the thought of you laying in this bed unconscious for the past 7 days made your condition seem so much worse.

Jason and Damian exchanged a worried look. Then Jason cleared his throat and said, “Yeah…. It's been eight days since you and Damian were kidnapped. They had to keep you in a medically induced coma for the first five days while they operated. Then when they brought you out, they had to dope you up with so many pain meds that you were out of it even when you were awake. They tried to lower your dose but they had to up them again when they removed the breathing tube and you wouldn’t stop moaning…So, yeah. It’s been a week.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow as tears began to sting your eyes. Obviously, it would have taken you time to recover from that level of injury, but a week? No, actually, eight days. And that was just the start of your recovery. The amount of time, therapy, and hard work it would take you just to be able to stand again, let alone walk or fight, was dizzying to think about. Despite the fact Jason had reassured you differently, you didn’t see how you weren’t done after this. How were you supposed to bounce back?

As the tears finally became too much and began slipping down your face, you whispered, “You all should have just let me go.”

“No!” The ferocity in Damian’s voice startled you and you looked over to see his small hands curled into tight fists as his face bore a determined scowl that could rival Bruce’s. “No. You do not get to give up. Not now. Not now that the worst of it is behind you. You never once gave up while we were captured. Despite everything that sadistic fiend did to you, you fought to protect me. We would not have been in that situation if it was not for me and I will repay my debt to you by remaining by your side to ensure you get through this.”

You stared at Damian for a long time, a mix of pride, adoration, and guilt stirring in your chest. Seeing how he wanted to stand by you and help you through what came next meant the world to you. The Damian who climbed into your car eight days ago wouldn’t have done so. However, you couldn’t let him make such a vow without knowing all the facts.

Shifting your eye to look at Jason, you muttered, “Can you give us a minute alone?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and his younger brother, but finally, he nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go let everyone else know you’re not only awake but coherent this time. They’ll want to see you.”

“Thanks, Jay. I’ll have Damian let you know when we’re done.”

He nodded, shot Damian one last look, and left the room.

Now that you were alone, you carefully motioned for Damian to take the chair Jason had been sitting in earlier and he silently did as you wished…for once. He looked so small compared to the memory of Jason’s hulking form sitting there just moments before and tears once more stung your eyes as it hit you all over again how young he was to have experienced what the two of you just went through. You hadn’t planned on having this conversation until you were a little better, but he deserved to know the truth and not continue blaming himself for what happened.

Taking a deep breath, you said, “It’s not your fault, Dami. He was never after you. You were only there because of me.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “You have no proof of that. As you said in that warehouse, I am Father’s blood heir. If anyone was the target, it would have been me.”

You shook your head. “It was my car, Damian. The car I insisted you get in even though you didn’t want to. If I would’ve just let you walk home like you wanted–”

“They could have been monitoring me and adjusted their plans when I joined you in your vehicle. You still cannot be confident–”

“I know Moore.”

Damian blinked in surprise. “Yo–you what?”

You nodded sadly. “I know him. I didn’t realize it at first because it was so long ago and I’ve tried so hard to forget that day, but it was him. After I had passed out from Moore’s torture, they unhooked me from the chains and just let me drop to the floor. The pain of the landing woke me up for just a minute and I tried to beg them to put me back up because I knew otherwise they’d be coming for you, but I was in so much pain I could barely form a sentence. Moore saw I was awake and came to stand over me with that nauseatingly cocky look on his face.”

You shuttered at the memory of it and knew it was an image that would haunt your nightmares for years to come. But you pressed on. “Then he said, ‘For what it’s worth, you should be proud. You died a lot more honorably than your parents did.’ And that’s when I remembered.”

Tears slipped from your eyes as you allowed all the walls and safeguards you had built up over the years to finally come down and you recalled the night your life changed forever. “It’s been so long and he was just a kid, no older than Tim. But then again, I was even younger.” Taking a deep breath, you looked up at Damian. “How much do you know about my life before Bruce took me in?”

Damian shrugged one shoulder. “Just what I said in the car. Your parents were tortured to death by a gang who left you tied up with their bodies until the police found you. Then when he heard what happened and that you had no one left, Father took you in.”

You nodded and wiped a tear from your eye. “My parents owned a little shop near Crime Alley at the time. It was a hole-in-the-wall thrift store that barely made enough to put food on the table but my parents loved that place. It was their pride and joy so when the local gang came by to demand protection money, they refused. They didn’t want their place associated with gangsters. Which of course the gang didn’t like. We lived in a small apartment above it and one night, the gang broke in while we were sleeping. I was only six at the time and I didn’t understand what was happening. I just knew some bad people dragged us out of bed and into the basement where they tied us all up to chairs. I was sitting between my parents as they begged and pleaded for our lives, but even then I still didn’t understand. Not until one of the men pulled out a knife.”

A humorless chuckle fell softly from your lips. “I guess in hindsight, I should have remembered Moore sooner. The way he tortured and hurt me was very similar to what the gang did to my parents. Just small cuts that got deeper and deeper. Small weapons that got more and more damaging until….”

A small hiccupy sob slipped from your lips as everything came flooding back to you. Your father screaming in pain as the gang broke bone after bone and cut off his fingers one by one. Your mother hysterically sobbing as she begged them to let you all go. The way those pleas eventually shifted to just begging them to let you go. And then the eerie silence that fell across the room after your mother had taken her last breath.

Damian took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It is alright, sister. You do not have to continue.”

You shot him an appreciative smile but shook your head. “No. It’s okay.” Taking several deep breaths to compose yourself, you continued. “There was one gang member who stayed huddled in the corner, refusing to watch as the rest of the gang had their fun.”

“Moore.”

You nodded. “I didn’t know it at the time, but yeah. He had started by anxiously pacing around at the back of the room but once things turned really violent….he couldn’t take it. He tried to run back upstairs but the gang forced him to stay and watch. Said he needed to learn how things were done. And after the other day, I’d say he learned his lesson pretty well.”

“And you are certain it was him?”

“Absolutely. I stared at him through most of it, partly because I couldn’t stand to watch what they were doing to my parents, but also partly because I could tell he was just as horrified as I was and yet he did nothing to stop it. I wanted to scream at him to help us, to do something, but I also was too afraid to speak up. And when they were done and the gang members left, he was the last one out of the room. He looked at me as if he wanted to apologize or set me free or…I don’t know. But instead, he just turned and ran up the stairs. The next time I saw him was when he walked into that room we were both chained up in.” You scoffed as you felt a lump growing in your throat. “I guess we picked up right where we left off, huh?”

The physical damage that had been done to you was hard enough to bear, but now realizing the connection your tormentor had to your past made you want to vomit. Moore may not have laid a finger on you back then, but he had been there to witness the worst day of your life. His friends had been the ones who did the same thing to your parents—only your parents hadn’t been lucky enough to survive. You wondered how long Moore had been planning this, how long he had wanted to finish the job that had been started all those years ago. Perhaps it was some sort of decades-long revenge plot since your parents’ deaths had eventually led to the arrest of most of the other gang members and the collapse of his gang. Or it was possible he just wanted to blackmail Bruce as he said and he thought using you to do it was just a bonus. Jason said Moore had been taken to Blackgate so once you were better, you could go try to get some answers. But at the moment, you weren’t sure if you even wanted them.

You had been so deep in thought that you only just realized that Damian had been silently staring down at your interlocked hands for the past few minutes. His expression was nigh-on unreadable and you were once again reminded of Bruce. Given enough time, support, and guidance, you could see him growing into a man worthy to carry on his father’s legacy. You just hoped he would want you to be around to see it.

You wouldn’t blame Damian if his attitude towards you reverted back to how it was before all of this happened. After all, he was put through hell because of you. He had warmed up to you solely because you had offered yourself up to be tortured instead of him—yet he never should have been there in the first place. Maybe this would actually make your relationship worse. Maybe Damian would cut you off completely. Maybe—

“Sister, I cannot imagine how hard this realization must have been for you and I…I am sorry.”

His voice cut through your internal spiraling and you blinked in surprise. “Wh-what?” With all the scenarios you had swirling around in your head, hearing Damian apologize had never even crossed your mind. “But Dami you’re not…mad?”

Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Why would I be mad?”

“I’m the reason you were there. I thought once you knew the whole story and realized that, you would hate me for getting you dragged into everything. Or at least–” you dropped your gaze down to the bed “–at least I thought you’d go back to not really liking me.”

“Oh…” The small boy shifted in his chair. “I can understand why you may have come to that conclusion but knowing your history with Moore does not change how I feel about what you did for me. You saved me long before you remembered who he was or your connection to him. And even that still does not prove you were the one he was after, not me. I am the youngest and, as such, am perceived to be the most vulnerable and incapable of protecting myself—Tt, though in reality, it is Drake who fits that description.”

You smiled as you shook your head. Tim would disagree with that statement, but Damian’s point was still valid. To those who did not know of his past upbringing or training, it would be easy to dismiss him as a young, spoiled, entitled brat who never had to lift a finger his entire life. But they couldn’t be farther from the truth. Despite being a kid, Damian had already experienced more than 90% of people would in their lifetime. Hell, when he was the same age you were when you watched your parents die, he had already been training for years with the League of Assassins. Moore had just gotten lucky when he grabbed the two of you: if Damian hadn’t woken up hurt and already chained up, he probably could have incapacitated every one of your kidnappers.

Damian continued. “Regardless of who the target was, it does not change the fact you volunteered yourself in my place when they wanted to take me. And despite the pain you were in, you tried to hold on as long as possible so I would not be forced to take your place. How could any other detail matter except my sister loves me enough to die for me?”

The lump in your throat got bigger until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You managed to nod your head quickly and repeatedly as you choked out, “I would. Because I do. I do love you, Damian.” He stared down at the floor, shifting once more in his chair as his fist tightened around yours. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. You knew how hard it was for him but you could see he wanted to say it and that was enough. So, squeezing his hand back, you whispered, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it back.”

His shoulders dropped with visible relief and he gave you a small, grateful smile. Then, in a tiny voice, he muttered, “But I do though.”

It was the final straw. Tears began flowing down your cheeks as a small cry burst from behind your lips. There was a sharp pain in your chest as you disturbed your injuries, but it seemed unimportant at the moment. You tried to control yourself as much as possible, knowing emotions and displays of affection bothered Damian, but it was all too overwhelming. For so long you had tried to get him to at least tolerate you, but this? This was more than you ever dared to hope for.

Damian sat quietly as you took a moment to compose yourself. Despite the added pain you incurred from your crying, you couldn’t remember feeling this happy in a while…..or this worn out. Now that you had cleared the air with Damian and everything was better than expected, you realized how much you had been struggling to stay awake.

Another wave of exhaustion hit you and it took almost everything you had to murmur, “I know Jay said everyone was waiting to see me but I think….I think I need to rest for a bit. Could you ask them to wait until I take a small nap?”

He nodded. “Of course, sister. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Dami.”

You expected him to leave but instead, he squeezed your hand hard and looked you dead in the eye. “I mean it. Whatever you need. You will heal and things will return to normal. And I will be by your side for all of it.”

You smiled up at him, fighting to keep your eyes open. “Thank you, Dami.”

He laid your hand gently back on the bed before standing from his chair and walking to the door. He glanced over his shoulder at you one last time, nodded, and then disappeared.

With no reason left to hold on, you let yourself collapse back into the bed as you gave into the darkness that was dancing on the edge of your vision.

And as you felt yourself being pulled under to unconsciousness once more, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything that had happened and the long road to recovery that lay before you, you had a father and four brothers who loved you and would be by your side through all of it. Because at the end of the day, that’s what family is for. And you were so thankful to have found this family.

Taglist: @zebralover, @itzagothamcitysiren, @roses-and-ricex, @blackpearl2324, @po55um, @missborntodiex, @hypnobanditprofessorhorse-blog, @an-ever-angry-bi, @rukia-uchiha-98, @shipsforlif3, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @hyding-out-here, @555hikaii, @nik2blog, @thefictionalcharacterssimp, @venomsvl, @sugarysweetsandpainfulteeth, @your-friendly-neighborhood-al, @hellfire-fan-club

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eupheme · 11 months

Text

— In Bloom

Alfred Pennyworth x F!Reader

Rated E - 7.3k

Tags: sex pollen, dub-con because of sex pollen, pure pwp, mutual longing/pining/crushes, manipulation, touching, aphrodisiacs, spitting, mild oral fixation, fingering, oral sex, multiple orgasms, begging, PiV, cum eating, cum play

A/N: had a thought about polite and proper Alfred losing his filter, and wanted to see where it could go

When Alfred finds himself under the effect of a strange pollen at the hands of Poison Ivy, Bruce realizes your thinly-veiled crush might just be the balm that is needed.

A knock on your door in the middle of the night is never a good thing.

Especially when the one who is doing the knocking is none other than your employer - Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne, who likes to sneak down to Applied Sciences steal your prototypes.

Bruce Wayne, who you’ve found like to dress up like a vigilante - using said prototypes.

Bruce Wayne, who has a butler that you have a massive, massive crush on.

You’re scrubbing a palm across your eyes as you stumble towards the door, where he’s still knocking. It has to be him - no one else would stop by unannounced so late like this.

“I’m coming,” You call through the door, as you work open the deadbolt - cracking the door open. “What are you doing here?”

“Speeding up a timeline.” Bruce says cryptically - pushing his way inside as soon as it’s wide enough.

A mark carved between his eyebrows, as he paces. Shadows under his eyes, the remnants of grease enhancing them.

“What do you mean?” Your back presses against the door, worry starting to flood through you.

A sigh, then. A hand, raking through his hair - pushing the dark strands back from his forehead.

“It’s… Alfred.”

You’re wide awake now, on high alert.

“What wrong with him?”

“There’s…” There’s the huff of a strained laugh, disbelieving, “Been a situation. I think you’re the only one that can help him.”

Your stomach feels like it’s dropped down your ankles. Confused by his appearance, his words, his laugh.

Feeling so out of place in your own home, struggling to understand in a way that feels so different than when he’s three steps ahead on a project.

“He needs someone to take care of him.” He says it delicately, with a matching grimace, “We don’t have much time.”

You’d do anything to help. But still unsure of what he means, exactly.

“Why me?”

Bruce sighs - frustrated, that you haven’t caught up. The brief eye contact breaking as his hands shove into his heavy, black jacket.

“I know he’s been seeing you.” He states, “Will you come, or not?”

It had your heart freezing in its place. A soft ringing in your ears as you stare at him.

Because he’s not exactly wrong.

You been spending time together. Tinkering on fixes for Bruce - his extra set of hands and extensive knowledge more than useful.

And you think… that there is something.

Something there in the quiet way that time passes during the night. Brushing fingers and shared music and quiet murmuring.

The low timber of Alfred’s voice - murmuring praise when you work through an issue together.

That’s good. Smart girl.

A look that passes between you, when you see him off from the lab. The way he lingers, the way you can’t help but lean in.

The way you’re almost certain he’d been thinking about kissing you, just the day before.

But you never dreamed that anyone else would know.

Your words sound muted, as you ignore his question to ask your own, “How do you know that?”

“When I send him out to see you, he comes home whistling.”

Your cheeks feel like they’re burning, “So?”

“It means he’s happy. He hasn’t been in a long time.” Bruce sighs, his foot tapping, “And I’d like to keep him that way and not dead, or worse. So I’ll ask you again - will you come?”

“Wait.” You squeak, “Dead?”

A shoulder lifts, and then drops.

He tells you what happened.

The signal in the sky, his rush to the lab downtown only to find Poison Ivy already clearing it out. Dealing with her - only for Alfred to find a single, ruby-red petal in the car, when he had arrived back at the Tower. Unsticking from a cape where it had been carefully placed, a trap meant for Bruce.

One that had dissolved into a fine powder the second he picked it up. Coating his fingers and inhaled as he had coughed.

Flooding through his system, as he has swayed - Bruce guiding him up to his room to rest. To plan.

“I’m still figuring it out. I was able to save some of the powder to process.” He tells you, “So far, it’s been identified as an aphrodisiac.“

An aphrodisiac. The word rattles around in your brain, nudging at memories of a biology class - a heat rising to your cheeks.

“When I left, his heart rate was high. A rising fever, and he mentioned pain.” He rattles them off, pulling up an app on his phone, showing the readouts, “I don’t want to sedate him unless I have to.”

You can see it on the screen - the too-high heartbeat. The body temperature that ticks up a fraction of a degree, right in front of you.

There’s an uncomfortable pause, before he adds, “If it’s a biological effect, then I thought it could be eased. Naturally.”

So that is what he had meant, when he said taking care of. How it has to be you.

Bruce’s grimace tells you that you’re in the right track, as he watches you process.

“Okay.” Worry and something else - something warm and syrupy - swirl together in your chest.

“I’ll… I’ll help him.”

Your knuckles rap against the tall, heavy door. A thin silver disk shoved into the pocket of your sleep shorts - as you try not to think about it.

A fail safe, just in case. Press it if something goes wrong, and Bruce will come.

No answer comes, and your fingers curl around the handle. Unlocked, as they slowly twist, as you nudge open the door.

You’re not expecting Alfred to look furious, when you slip through the doorway. Shutting the door behind you firmly, resisting the urge to lock it.

There’s a strained look about him, clenched teeth and a pinched brow. Still a picture of elegance, even now. His hair still damp from a cleansing shower, neatly combed back.

Still slipping into dark trousers and a crisp white shirt afterwards - the buttons loosened at his throat, exposing skin.

A low curse hissed though his teeth - one that you’ve only hear him use the time you’d sliced your finger open while working together.

“It’s okay,” You’re telling him, placatingly. Moving towards him, where he’s sprung up from the bed.

A better idea of what you might need to do - the thought like a flame in your chest, creeping up to your ears. Too late to turn back, now that you know how dire the situation was.

Not that you wanted to.

Not that you would.

“I want you to turn around, and go back through that door.” Alfred all but growls - stepping further away from you.

Back against the side table, then over to the desk, tucked against the wall. A rattle of metal and wood, as he grasps at the edge.

“I’m here to help you.” You frown, still moving closer.

He’s started to eye the open doorway to the left - leading to the en-suite. Wordlessly you shift in front of it to block him, as something flickers across his flushed face.

Before his eyes close - his jaw ticks.

“You’re here because Bruce asked you to be.” He manages, “I’m not going to let you make a mistake.”

That has you halting, your hands moving to brace against your hips.

“He wants to help you.”

Alfred’s head shakes minutely.

“He’s trying to solve a problem. He’s pragmatic, and he’s compromised by emotion,” The words are labored, and from the closer distance you can see the shine of those bright, blue eyes. Can smell him, even - clean linen and cologne barely masking the scent of him.

“He doesn’t care about using you.” He insists, “But I won’t let that happen. Not even if…”

Alfred trembles, his hand tightening against the chair that he’s backed himself against, “Even if I wish for it. Desperately.”

The words linger like his scent, wrapping around you. Bruce’s comment making more sense, as something seems to bloom in your own chest at his admission.

Speeding up a timeline.

That maybe, you were right. About that something that sparks between the two of you.

The way he leaned last time - how your face had tipped up. Wishing and hoping, before the shrill rhythm of the ringtone had him stepping back.

Retreating.

“Is it the pollen, that has you saying that?”

You need to know.

The frown softens, as he sighs.

“It weaponizes desire. It pushes those feelings up to the surface, and renders you incapable of any other thought.” He tells you.

“But, they are mine.”

The tension in the room is palpable. The heave of his chest as he find himself unable to push himself further away.

As you step closer, and then closer. Your own heart in your throat and desire sparking to life and curling in your belly.

Trying desperately not to look down, to there the fabric pulls tight on his trousers. The hand that unconsciously cups himself, to ease some of that ache.

“Let me help you.” You beg.

He makes a low sound in his throat. The smallest shake of his head.

Still resisting, still so put-together. Utterly convinced that he’s cornered you into something you will regret.

Your tongue wets your lips and his eyes drop greedily. Longingly.

“Bruce said…” You begin, trying to explain, “He said it would hurt, if you couldn’t. That you might…”

You skip the words. Swallowing them down with a shake of your head, “I won’t let that happen.”

His chin juts forward, “If that’s what I must do to protect you-”

That has your teeth clenching as you move closer. Stopping just in front of him, as his fingers grasp at the chair, knuckles going white. All those years of self-control still clinging to him, even as his eyes widen.

“I thought I was your smart girl?” You ask him, watching how he shudders at that. Panic starting to flutter at his words, what he seems to be willing to do.

How his eyes seem to darken then, lips parting as he inhales.

“You are.” He rasps.

Slowly, you reach out towards him. How he stiffens, as your hands hover - just for a second, before cupping his jaw. The bristles of his beard tickling against your palm as he leans into your touch, his eyes closing.

“Then trust me.” You coax. His look is sharp when they open, “I wanted you to kiss me. I want you. I always have. I know this isn’t what I imagined, but you can’t leave me-”

He can’t. Not Alfred.

Alfred, who comes by just to check on you. Who makes sure you remember to eat. Who smiles, when he sees you. That soft voice humming along to the music you pick, as those hours pass. Exchanging quiet confessions at night, that no one else knows.

Who you look forward to seeing, more than anyone else.

Who you are so certain you were in love with, if the prospect wasn’t so goddamn terrifying.

You’re still pleading, as he lets go.

Leaning into the desire like he leant into your touch. Halting your words as his head tilts, his nose skimming against your cheek before his mouth is pressing hungrily against yours.

Your hand drops from his jaw to press against his neck. His heart thudding against your palm as it wraps around, fingers brushing the shorn-short hair.

The kiss soft for only a second, before it turns searing. An arm curling around your side, the hand pressed between your shoulder blades. He groans into your mouth before he’s tracing the seam of your lips, as his other hand grasps at your hip.

Drawing you in, as your own moan buzzes in your throat. Parting eagerly for him, as his tongue strokes yours, then licks into your mouth. It’s easy then, to spin you around.

Your shoulders knocking against that high-backed chair, as he steps into you. His body melding to yours, as he helplessly grinds himself against you. Rocking the hard curve where he strains - rutting himself against your hip, the kiss breaking so he can inhale a sharp breath.

“My smart girl.” He groans, his voice like gravel. Fingers pinching, as his cheek presses against yours, “Figuring out how to fix me.”

“I will,” You promise. Breathless, as your heart hammers in your chest, thudding between your thighs, “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

His grip tightens, hips jerking forward and grinding into the curve where your hip meets thigh, “I know, darling. Know you will-”

“Let me take you to bed,” You coax, shoved between him and the back of the chair. “Come on, baby.”

You don’t know where that soft name comes from. Pushed out from your heart, affection melding with worry and desire. But he shivers when you say it - needing the tenderness, the gentle direction.

Not used to either. Helpless, against it.

Reluctantly stepping back as your reach for his hand. Large and warm in yours as you cross that short distance. A nudge to his shoulders has his back pressing against the mattress - scooting up to headboard as you follow.

Stern eyes softened and fixed on yours, pupils blown wide with the pollen. Half-pushed up on elbows, the unbuttoned shirt pulling open at his chest, watching as you kneel next to him. Shrugging off your jacket - draping it over the divan at the foot of the bed.

As his hands find you, like before. Catching you before you’re settled - gasping with surprise as they slide under a knee and around your waist and hoisting you onto his lap.

The part of your thighs framing where he’s aching, a rumbling groan as your weight settles on him. As your hands splay across his chest, knees pressing into the mattress.

His eyes dragging over you then, as if you were something precious. A priceless piece of art.

As if you were dressed in something other than your pajamas- an oversized Wayne Enterprises t-shirt, patterned sleep shorts.

Not wasting time to change, as you followed Bruce down to his car. Grabbing your jacket, and not much else.

His fingers reach out, skimming from knee to thigh. A finger toying with the hem of your shorts, tracing against your skin.

“You look beautiful,” He tells you, voice strained as his other palm presses flat against his abdomen. Teeth gritting as he suppressed a groan - a red-hot cramp in his guts.

He’d endure it, if he had to. It would be nothing, compared to what he’s had to before.

But that was before you had arrived, before things had turned so complicated and so crystal clear, all at once.

Your face twists with worry, a hand covering his and squeezing. The other hovering where his splay wide to press against his shirt.

“H-Have you tried?” You venture, feeling embarrassed at having to voice your question. Shy, in spite of everything.

His hand is hot in yours. A sign of his body working overtime to fight off the effects. Something that Bruce said will lead to his ruin.

“In the shower.” Alfred managed, an intake of air hissed through his teeth. An upward flex of his hips, into the air as he remembers.

Working his fist over, again and again. Thinking about you even then, shame burning as bright as the fever.

“It didn’t work. I couldn’t-”

The words die off. Teeth grit as his muscles string tight, sweat dotting across his brow.

You swallow, trying not to picture it. Trying to resist the urge to shift forward - trying to stay focused on him, to fix this like you said you would.

“Do you want to try again?” It comes out as a waver, and you have to clear your throat, “I could kiss you. Or…”

The burn in your cheeks rival his - your eyes dropping to the neat line of buttons.

He huffs a laugh, despite it all. Humor twisting into the pain, “Or you’ll give me a hand, darling?”

You want to tell him you would. That you’d do anything, for him. Bruce could have called you for any reason - you would have come.

Instead, you lean down to kiss him. How he relaxes when there’s something to take the edge off the pain. Catching the hands that roam across your hips, dragging one down to where he strains.

You’ll keep you eyes shut. You’ll be good.

His gasp is swallowed by the press of your mouth. Shifting in his lap as he works the button open on his trousers. Shoving down the elastic waistband to free himself.

Your tongue traces his lower lip. His free hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, to hold you there - hovering over him. Feeling the jerk of a fist between your thighs, how his body moves as he flexes into the touch.

Trying to quell the fire that burns in his veins. That’s only seemed to become hotter since you’ve arrived. Desire twisting into his guts like a knife, making his own touch feel slow and muted.

Not nearly enough.

Frustration tinges his low groan, as his hips jerk angrily into his fist.

“I can’t. I need you, please-” He pants in your mouth, and in desperation - your hand covers his.

The kiss breaking as his moan turns sharp, as you glance down between you. To where he curves, thick and leaking above coarse, grey-flecked curls. The tip flushed red and glossy.

His hand loosens to make room for yours. Achingly hard and hot in your grip, as you mimic his strokes.

Letting go for just a second as he whines, saliva swirling on your tongue before you’re lifting off him. Settling next to him on the bed as your head dips, catching the spit on your palm before you’re slicking up further. Each jerk of your fist loud and filthy in the quiet room.

Concentrating on the pressure and your rhythm as you stroke him, risking a sideways glance up to see him watching - a flex of his hips into your fist when your eyes meet.

You’re sure yours look worried, “Does this feel good?”

The hand on his stomach drops to the bed, twisting in the sheet.

“Darling.” He rasps - his eyes drifting shut then, as your other hand comes to cup him. “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve wished it was your hand instead of my own.”

His words make you throb, his cock jerking with this admission. Unsure if you can keep up the pace he needs, as your head dips again to give him more.

The pink point of your tongue tracing the seam of his sack. Swollen and heavy as he snarls, his hand coming to cup the back of your head.

“Oh god, please-”

Guiding you to his cock, as he begs for you to take him into your mouth. Tasting like salt and skin as he inches inside, thigh muscles jerking under your hands as he resists the urge to bury himself in your throat.

Sucking on the tip before you take him further. Rising up on yours knees for better leverage, leaning over him with a hand braced against a thick thigh.

Bobbing your head as your take him deep, and then deeper. Swallowing him down until your eyes are pricking with tears from the effort. Leaving his cock slick and messy with spit, as the muscles in his abdomen flex.

“You feel so goddamn good, sweetheart.” He moans, unable to help his words or the shallow thrusts now. Pumping himself into your mouth as your hand slips across what won’t fit. “B-Better than I ever imagined.”

His breathing now short, labored. Fixed on watching your lips stretch around - struggling to take him. Catching the press of your thighs as you squeeze them together, your panties close to soaked through already.

His fingers drift. Up your knee again, the soft skin of your inner thigh.

Your hand pumps and pumps as your eyes flutter shut. Buzzing groans that travel down the flushed shaft to where his sack pulls tight - so close to the release he’s been aching for.

The groan pitching low and long when his fingers pet against the seam of your sleep shorts. A little buck of your hips into his hand as his fingers press the fabric against your clit.

Pulling back to slip beneath - meeting soaked, hot flesh.

You pull off him long enough to croak his name, as his fingers circle the tight bud. The jerk of your fist tight as his ministrations start to waver, his attention splintering.

“Darling, fuck-” He grits out, with the rise and fall of his chest. “Keep going, just like that. You have me so close-”

Unable to help watching his face as you stroke him. Slick pumps as his hand clutches at the sheets, the soft “oh-” of his breath coming shorter and louder.

Your head ducks, then. Taking him into your mouth as he shatters. Growling out your name as he floods your tongue with each heady pulse of his cock, almost choking as you swallow him down.

Coming hard, with his fingers still pressed against your pussy. With only thoughts of you in his mind, some of that haziness worked out of his system.

Alfred doesn’t pull away, as that tightness loosens - as he relaxes back onto the mattress. Instead, his fingers trace down.

One teasing as your opening. Waiting until your soft “yes, please” before it’s sinking inside. Fucking you with it, never leaving you wanting for anything.

A steady pump of his finger - before a second dips along your entrance, fitting in with the first. A messy swipe of his thumb against the bead of your clit, as both press deep into you.

Groaning, as you find yourself relaxing against him. A hand still wrapped around his half-swollen cock. The pollen still flooding his system, the sharp edge just barely tempered.

“I-I’m supposed to be making you feel good.”

The protest is weak. Your words not nearly as effective when you’re rocking back to meet the wet press of his fingers as you moan - cheek pressed into the whorls of salt-and-pepper hair blanketing his chest.

He hums, low and rumbling. The hand not buried in you slipping against your cheek, tilting your face up to his.

“You are, darling. God, you are.” He encourages - rough and low and earnest, “The only thing better would be if you were sitting on my face.”

A second, as he amends it, “Or, my cock.”

His fingers press deep, and you keen. Mimicking how he’d do it, curling the tips until he’s stroking a spot that as you seeing stars.

You’ve thought about his hands before.

Ever-steady and strong - scars littering his knuckles that made you wish you knew the stories behind. Tapping fingers against the table as he thinks.

Knocking against yours when you both rushed to grab a component, during the triumph of a breakthrough.

Skillful, in the way that has you jealous. Manipulating parts with dexterous fingers. Never thinking about how they could ruin you but now - you don’t know how you could have missed it.

How you’ll never be able to think of anything else, now.

The hand at your cheek twists until his thumb can press against your lower lip. You part them for him, letting it press against teeth and tongue. Lips closing around him - sucking, as your eyes roll shut, as that sweet pressure begins to bloom and swell.

“Christ I want to fuck you.”

The messy pump of his hand grows louder, slapping now against your skin. The thrust of his fingers turning fast and unrelenting, pounding and pounding against that spot.

The knot in your stomach winding tighter, tighter, tighter. Teeth grazing and pinching his thumb as you groan, but his fingers just curl around your chin to keep your head steady.

“I could make you feel so good, love.”

You’re nodding - too far gone to protest. Rocking back to meet him, your lips releasing him so you can beg.

“Please,” You whine, “Want you to.”

His fingers stroke your cheek, then - hearing the rumble of his words under your ear as it presses to his chest, washing over you.

Fully hard in your hand now. Slick and flushed like before, as your fingers stretch to encircle him. A shallow buck of his hips to ease the friction, as he warns you.

“If I fuck you, I won’t want to stop. I’ll want you like this, every day. Do you understand?”

Your answer is no more than a ragged groan. Panting and open-mouthed, as he drags you closer and closer to a blinding release.

There’s pressure on your jaw, as he tilts your face up to his. His expression wanting and lips-parted as he waits desperately for your answer.

“Tell me you that you want this.” His voice goes low - each word pointed, “That you need it.”

A little bit of clarity, coming back with the release you swallowed down so willingly. Feeling more himself in his own head, even as that pressure begins to swell in his belly. As that sharp wave of desire crashes against him, again.

Needing to hear it. Almost as much as the need to follow through with his words - burying himself deep in you.

Your voice trembles on your answer, “Yes. Please-”

He groans through gritted teeth, his words labored. Thick in your hand, a small thrust as he holds himself back.

“And what do you need, darling?”

It’s so close you can taste it. The tightness building in your guts, turning your brain to a buzzing haze. Each slick pump of his fingers sending a skittering jolt down your spine.

“I need your cock.” You whine, “I need to come, Alfred. I need you-”

His hum is pleased, each thrust of his fingers sends his thumb across your clit. The rhythm steady and almost overwhelming as he pounds against the spongey spot within your tight, clenching walls.

“And I need you to come so I can fuck you properly.” He husks, as the swipe of his thumb sends you toppling over the edge, “Come for me, sweetheart.”

It feels like your heart stops, for a second. A shaky gasp of breath, before the pleasure floods through you in bright, pulsing beats.

Moaning something that feels like words - “oh god, oh my god-” into the crook of his neck as his arm wraps around you, pulling you close. But it could just be warbled sounds, to your muted ears.

His fingers slow, but they’re still pressing in you. Drawing it out, as they become wetter with your release - louder.

“Look at you, soaking my fingers.” He murmured with approval, feeling how you drip down them, damping his palm, “Christ, I wish you making a mess on my cock instead.”

A chaste kiss pressed to the side of your head, as you come back to yourself. Feeling flushed and dizzy with pleasure as your lips brush his.

His hand eases from you, to wrap around his length. Smearing yourself on him, making him throb - that ache fully back.

“Turn around for me, darling.” He demands, his eyes heavy-lidded and wanting, “Hands and knees, now.

You peek up at him as you nod. Pulling back, tugging the layers of your top off. Leaving you bare, his eyes dragging over the soft weight of your breasts, the tight peaks that he fully intends to touch later, to taste.

“Leave those on.” He growls - as your fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts. As his own work at his shirt and trousers, “I want to take them off you myself.”

His words make you shiver, a slow dance as the mattress dips. As you shift around each other - you stretching out like a cat in front of him, a sway of your ass in the air as you push up onto your knees.

The way his spread, strong and sturdy as his hips fit against your soft curves. The brush of his length against your thigh, hanging heavy.

Fingers that move faster, rougher, than he wants to. A sharp tug as they curl around the waistband and pull - pushing them down your thighs, leaving the layers to pool around your knees.

Pressing into soft flesh, then. Cupping the curves of your ass as his fingers sink in, as he tugs you open for him to see.

“Mm. Look at how wet you are.” He groans, the touch of a his thumb against your slit. Pressing against your entrance, seeing how you swallow the tip - clenching around it, “Such a pretty little pussy.”

That path between his mind and his mouth - his filter, that enduring and ever-lasting politeness - was severed, some time ago.

Replacing propriety and inhibition with baser needs. Urges that he would deny he had, on another night. Swallowing down those words that slide from a silver tongue that doesn’t quite feel like his.

Even if the thoughts are, deep down.

You’re pushing back into him, breaking this brief moment of reverie. Desperate and needy in a way that has you half-wondering if you’ve been affected yourself, in some way.

Absorbing some of the pollen, with your joining.

Or is it just the weeks of desire - crashing over you like a wave against the shore? Utterly pulling you under and surrounding your every thought, until you’re drowning in them?

He angles himself against you. Sliding against your core, then up, with the curve of his cock. Against tight and sensitive skin that has you peeking over your shoulder, still trusting.

Taking him in, then. Strong shoulders, a smattering of hair you had pressed your face against. Marks against his skin of scars long healed - across his ribs, curling around a shoulder.

A tapered waist. Flicking back up to those blue eyes. A furrowed brow as he concentrates, a face you know well. One that sends your heart tripping over itself as it threatens to beat out of your chest.

“Are you-?” He asks, unsure of how to word it. Lips parted in a pant, that pressure against his chest coming back.

“Yes,” You arch against him - knowing what he’s asking, the way he’s holding himself back, “I’m protected. Baby, please-”

“Fuck.” Alfred grits through clenched teeth.

He’s imagined you begging before. Late at night, when he’s alone - with desperate jerks his fist. Never imagining he’d hear it, sighed so prettily through your lips.

Angling himself down, as your eyes close. A sharp intake of breath as the fat head of his cock sinks into you. Stretching you out even with your orgasm - your breath caught in your throat as his hands grasp at your waist, tugging you back.

Seating him fully into you, with a low groan. Already inching back so he can rock into you, starting shallow - each one pulling back a little more, pressing deeper.

“So tight,” He moans - a hand sliding down your back, “So perfect, oh-”

Losing himself in the relief. In the heat of your pussy, unable to help grinding himself as a hand curls against the juncture of your thigh. Gripping on as he starts to fuck himself harder into you - your fingers twisting into the sheets, gasping at how much he fills you.

The hand against your back presses down. You arch more, as your cheek rests against the mattress. The discarded shirt nudging against the stiff peaks of your nipples with each of his rough thrusts, sparking pleasure down your spine.

“Feel so good,” You manage, all but drooling. Groaning into the sheets as you rock back to meet him, the best you can.

The slap of skin is louder, wetter than his fingers. Your breath growing short as his cock ghosts against the spot his fingers pounded against. Twin groans as your arm twists around, so your fingers can slip between your thighs.

“I want to fuck you all day. Four, five times.” He breathes. Eyes dropping to watch the way he disappears into you, how you take him so perfectly, “Keep you right here beneath me. Leave you covered in me each night.”

Unrealistic as it is, the rasp of his voice - his words - do something to you. Your fingers pressing intently against your clit. A soft, groaning gasp with each sharp punch, breaking your pleasure out of the plateau, sending it higher.

Clenching down around him, fueled by the groans and sweet praise that he gives so freely. It has you wondering if he’s always this generous. A twisted hope that just maybe, on another night, you might get the chance to find out.

Wishing that the root of his desire won’t slip away at the end, with the rest. That he’ll still want you.

It’s almost pathetic how close you are already easy, your fingers circling just a little harder, a little faster.

“Christ, I can feel you,” He sighs, each word drawn out, released with the stroke of his cock, “I’m not going to last, love.”

You almost miss it, with the way your heart thuds in your ears. But the little word is the beginning of your undoing - your own tiny warble as your muscles string tight.

“Don’t stop,” You whine, as he shifts - pressing more of his weight against your back as he archs over you.

The angle changing just a bit, until he’s nudging that spongy spot that has tears springing to your eyes with how good it feels.

“Fuck, baby. Please don’t stop, please-”

His lips press against your shoulder, your neck - the hand at your hip planting near your shoulder for leverage. Teeth grazing skin as he keeps going, just like you begged.

Giving it to you, until you’re reaching for him. Your fingers wrapping around his as you come, the rock of his hips slowing so he can feel how you pulse around him. How you sob his name into the sheets with little bucks of your hips, riding it out until you’re loose-limbed and content - hazy, in your afterglow.

Never fully stopping the way he presses into you. Rolling and rutting as your tight grip loosens, though your hand stays trapped in his. His mouth pressing against your neck, then higher.

“Please tell me I can come in you,” His groan is filthy in your ear, “Tell me you’ll take it.”

The rough timber of his voice, the thought, as your own thoughts flowing freely.

“Please. I’ll take it,” You beg, “I need you to come in me.”

The hand on your back shifts, sliding beneath and flattening against your belly. Keeping you pressed flush against him as your begging tips him over.

You hadn’t watched, earlier. Eyes fluttering closed, concentrating on swallowing him down. Your head tilts to look, now.

Catching a clenched jaw, the scrape of his beard against your cheek. A breath pulled through those teeth before he groans your name, sounding so pretty to your ears.

Feeling the throb of his cock as he comes - the rock of his hips with each pulse. Warmth flooding inside you as he nudges it deeper.

Notching himself deep, as he relaxes. A soft sigh as his nose ghost the curve of your neck, his weight pressing you prone. Welcome, as you stretch out beneath him.

Your head tilts, smiling. His own matching, as lips start to brush. Starting soft and slowly growing needier as the minutes pass by, his cock still hard where it sits in you.

Gently easing himself out, hands coming to your waist, flipping you over. Peeling the shorts and panties from your ankles, dropping them off the edge of the bed.

Kneeling between spread thighs as his eyes drag down. Fingers tracing after - against your collarbones, your tits. Cupping and pinching as his tongue follows.

A little shift of your hips. More than satisfied, but unable to help the little flame that sparkle to life as he kisses the curves of your breasts. Then, going lower.

Shifting back on the bed, a thumb slipping over your folds. Smearing his cum against your skin, where it’s dripped down the curve of your thigh.

“May I taste you?” He’s asking, as you push yourself up on your elbows.

Wide-eyed with want, as you go to move - to clean up. His hands pressing into your hips, holding you there.

“L-like this?” You squeak, and his nod is slow, severe.

“Like this.” He tells you, simply.

You nod, leaning back against the pillows. A gasp when his tongue swirls against your skin, as he groans. Tasting his spend mixing with the salty tang of your cunt, the tip tracing from your entrance to the tight bud of your clit.

Alfred wishes that his veins weren’t still so pumped full of pollen. That his mind wasn’t fractured between want and need.

On another night, he’d take his time. Enjoy the way his fingers sunk into you - seeing how many you could take. Slowly drawing it out as his tongue teases, until your thighs are closing around him.

Until you’re begging.

Tonight, he can barely concentrate. Eyes closed as he tries to focus on your taste and not the unrelenting fire that scorches his insides. More than aware of the heat that beads at his forehead. The rapid thudding of his heart.

It’s eased, some. But it’s not enough.

You buck against his mouth. The soft, wet brush of his tongue, the way he looks - arms hooked around your thighs, strands of slicked-back hair breaking free and curling - has you insatiable.

The soft “please” is all it takes to sever his attention, blown-wide eyes lifting - finding yours. A hand passing over his jaw, smearing your slick across his beard, as he rises again.

Pulling your thighs up over his. Spreading them with strong hands, as he works himself inside you again.

Your back arching as he does, lifting off the mattress.

It’s an easier fit, this time. Still slick, as he pushes himself deep. Legs twitching in his grasp, trying to latch around his waist.

A gentle nudge, a stern look.

“Keep your legs open for me, darling.”

They fall open, for him.

You’ve never had it like this. So full as he starts fucking you again, pushing his cum out with each thrust. Coating his cock and starting to drip down your thighs.

He groans at the sight - the way he looks as you take him, again and again. The sentiments softer this time, as your soft moans fill the air.

“I want to take you out.” He rasps, eyes still locked on the way he shines with you, with his own spend, “Make you breakfast, after I’ve fucked you in my bed.”

Eyes finally meeting yours, his fingers tracing where you’re stretched wide around him. His voice dropping low, “After I’ve made all your pretty little holes mine.”

You whimper at the thought. How easily you agree, with a little nod of you head, “Yours.”

Eyes trapped in a loop from the pretty twist of his snarl - all furrowed eyebrows and concentration- down to his chest, trailing further.

Hips tilted just enough so you can see. The peek of his cock before the impact of his thrust, how it bounces you against the mattress. Making that need return, the build of something hot and twisting, low in your belly.

This time, he does it himself.

Gently batting your fingers away when they drift down. Sliding his own across your thighs, sticky and slick when they com back to press against your clit.

Building you up, and up, and up.

That ache quelled, like this. Enough where he can slow down, when he’s buried it you.

Your breathy gasps making his other hand clench against the fat of your hip, trying to keep his movements steady.

Cooing soft encouragement, as he feels the way you clench around him again.

“Make a mess for me, darling. It’s okay.”

That edge, creeping back as you moan his name, “Fuck, I want you to. Come on-”

You shatter. Stomach clenching at that pleasure ripples through you. Softer this time, coaxed from you instead of wrenched. The relief washing over sweat-dewed skin and wrapping around you.

He follows, soon after. With hands that tug you against him, meeting the lazy rock of your hips. Finding his own pleasure in yours - head tilted back as he stifles a sharp groan, pressing himself deep as he comes.

A silence settling, then.

Your arms rests over your face - teeth pressing into your lip as you grin. Chest heaving with your breath, his hands planted on either side of your hips.

That heavy fog of want almost gone now, the pollen leeched from his system. Still lingering on the edges of his mind - as his hand comes to cup himself.

Wanting it over with. Wanting to end this night with you with just himself in his head.

A twinge of overstimulation, fighting through it as his fingers wrap around his shaft. Slick and streaked with cum as he finishes himself, one more time.

His thumb smoothing across your thigh, as your arm drops. Feeling vouyeristic as you peek at him, now - the flex of his arm, of his chest.

“I know you’re tired darling.” He soothes, when his eyes pull from the place where he’s fucked you open and dripping, “Stay like that, just once more.”

Sleepy and slated, you nod - his fingers dipping down to collect more of the mess, before spreading it on his cock.

Your hand finds his and drags it up to your chest, letting him cup your skin. Ghosting over your hips and curves, his touch reverent.

Watching greedily this time, as his brows pull together. More in his head than ever, the night replaying in his mind. Your soft words and touch and how you came here, just for him.

How he hopes he can make it to you. That you’ll won’t run as soon as the night is over.

Affection swells, and then bursts. A throaty groan as he spills across his knuckles, dripping down to where he holds himself against your pussy.

Covering puffy folds with white streaks of his release, marking you in a way that burns into his chest, sears into his memory.

Coming back to himself, fully - then.

Relief brimming as he watches how you smile. Looking at home in his bed, your arms opening for him as he slowly bends, relaxes.

Needing you, thought not like before.

Needing your touch, as your arms curl around him. A tenderness, breathed out against your neck. One he doesn’t have to give, though he feels like he must.

“Thank you, darling.”

The heat of the water eases the pleasurable ache in your thighs, the space between them. A gentle swipe of a cloth as he wipes you clean, as your back presses into his chest.

Content to let your head lull against his shoulder, your hands wandering to massage his thighs, where the muscles pull tight from overuse.

Taking just another moment alone, before you fetch that little silver button in your shorts. Knowing that Bruce is waiting - worried - despite what Alfred said.

“So,” You’re the first to break the silence, “Were you serious about breakfast?”

Thinking back to what he said, in the heat of the moment. The late night hours spilling into a soft grey sky that promises a clear, beautiful morning.

A second of silence, before the words rumble in his chest, “If you’ll have me.”

His hand curling around you, possessive and comforting.

“Maybe Bruce was right. That this just sped things up.” Your fingers leave his thigh to float on the water, sending ripples across the surface.

Your confession quiet in the large room, “I meant it, when I said I wanted you.”

The grip on you tightens, his filter fully back in place. Stealing his words and his tongue, after all that has happened.

“Alright, breakfast.” He manages, “I’m yours.”

A small grin, as you tilt your head to peek at him. Seeing only affection in his eyes, and you think you understand.

Your voice pitches low, “And, what about the rest?”

The rest of what he had said. He groans at the reminder, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“That too.” A huff of a laugh, his thumb brushing against skin, “Though we might need to wait, at least a little bit.”

Then, growing serious, “I know we skipped some steps darling. But I meant it, as well.”

His hand find yours - fingers entwining. Squeezing.

“I want you. I want to do this properly. Dates, flowers, everything.” A moment, as he considers, amends, “Though perhaps… no roses. At least, not for a little while.”

“Alright,” You smile, settling back down against him. The water sloshing over the edge, but at the moment - you’re both too tired to care.

“No roses.”

(0 pressure tagging some friends that commented on the sneak peek! 💕 @the-dazzling-urbanite, @the-eyes-of-andyserkis, @celestianstars, @vellichormybeloved, @ohheyitsokay, @princessxkenobi, @avarkriss, @arthurmorganstinkydick, @proud-to-know-you, @weirdsociology, @cat-shapedgoo, @themilesgmorales, @ghotifishreads, @communism-bitches )

#please mind the tags!#alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth smut #the batman 2022

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ktficworld · 11 months

Text

The Cinderella Moment

Pairing: reader x (you choose)

Summary: You are a broke college student who works for a very stuck up, arrogant and rude rich family. They give you food and shelter and so you always accept their impossible orders with a nod. But their order to go to a ball, disguised as their daughter might just flip your world upside down.

Warnings: Riches being shitty, reader's broke, verbal abuse.

A/n: This is an experiment and I dunno how it's gonna turn out, but if you like it then please do reblog.

"8 weeks? Can't it heal faster? The ball is just around the corner." The shrill voice of madam Abigail pierced your ears as you discreetly rubbed them.

The doctor who was sitting at the injured Rose's side shook his head and said. "No, Mrs. Thompson. It takes 6 to 8 weeks for a broken arm to fully heal."

Madam Abigail fall down on one of the chairs dramatically and you rolled your eyes as you took in the scene from a secluded corner of the room.

You were a college student. Well, a broke college student to be exact. You did get into a prestigious college on scholarship but the other bills were crippling down on you. You didn't want to burden your parents as your financial background was not favorable. After working in cafes and fast food chains, living in crappy apartments and skipping breakfast everyday. When you saw the job posting for a house keeper with housing and food, you jumped on it like a cat jumping on a ball.

You were finally able to move out of your shitty apartment with not so nice company into a decent maid's room and the food was also better than the leftovers at your previous jobs.

However, not everything was rainbows and sunshines. Your employer was horrible, condescending, rude and overall the epitome of rich, stuck-up assholes. You now worked almost 24/7, having to be present on a whim and maintaining everything into perfection.

It was like retail job, just no off time with Karens screaming at you all the time. But you didn't give a fuck. Every insult hurled at you would fall on deaf ears because you learnt long time ago that detachment really annoyed people with superiority complex.

Mr. Thompson was rarely home so it was only Abigail and her ducklings following her around. The only person who was nice to you was laying on the bed with a broken arm. The only one eligible for the grand ball.

Oh, the grand ball? It was a masquerade party, the most hyped upcoming event, organized by one of the richest man in the country, so he could find someone to settle down with. People called him prince because he was the youngest in the bunch of old billionaires.

Of course it was nothing but arranged marriage and someone actually meeting the prince and catching his eyes would be like finding a needle in a haystack. But there would be many other wealthy suitors than just him. So, needless to say, the ball was a gold mine for potential catches.

Abigail and many of her tea time friends were so furious that only girls above 18 were allowed. They would send their nine year old if it meant snatching a good deal.

And so seeing the only candidate from their family injured and unattractive. Abigail was devasted to say the least.

"Is there really no way for a speedy recovery? Can she not wear her cast on the night of the ball? It's really important." She Shrieked.

The doctor was agitated but contained it well and answered in a balanced voice. "Unfortunately, no. We cannot dictate when the recovery would happen and she needs to wear the cast all the time for the arm to heal properly and effectively. You should take care of your daughter."

Abigail scoffed at that and sobbed into her handkerchief, not even sparing Rose a glance. She was visibly upset by it but probably did not want any drama as she whispered out. "Mom, it's going to be alright. It okay."

Abigail's head snapped towards Rose as she scowled at her daughter. "How is it going to be alright? You're going to miss such a great opportunity. And you're so stupid. How did you fall from the stairs? Do you not have eyes? I'm so unfortunate to have an useless child like you..." Abigail continued to berate her daughter and you sneakily went to the doctor to escort him out as the scene was about to turn ugly and he didn't sign up for a reality TV show.

The doctor thanked you and handed you a prescription. You nodded and went back. Sure enough, they were both shouting at each other now. Rose tried to shot back but since she was injured, she lacked her usual ferocity as Abigail managed to dominated her.

You shook your head in exasperation and opened your mouth to interrupt. You might get into trouble for this but you couldn't watch Abigail scold a sick and fragile Rose, when she did nothing to deserve it.

"Madam, I think you should let miss Rose rest and it might help with a quicker recovery." You said and braced yourself to get chewed out.

Abigail spun on her heels, her whale-like face flushed with rage as she pointed a harsh finger at you and started. "You don't need to meddle-" She cut herself off as a look of awe dawned on her face, like she had an epiphany.

She rushed towards you. Grabbing you by the arm and dragged you beside Rose. What is this woman doing? You didn't want to get yelled at so you remained there with a bewildered frown as Abigail's assessing gaze flicked between you and Rose, her smile widening with each gaze.

After the tenth gaze, Abigail clapped her hands in glee and exclaimed. "Perfect. You are perfect." And stared at you.

"I'm perfect for what?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You are perfect to go to the ball as Rose. Just look at you two both, look like pretty twins." Abigail gushed, her eyes twinkling with hope.

You gawked at her, applaud. "Are you shitting me?"

Abigail snapped her eyes at you and barked. "Mind your language, servant."

You put up your hand. "Ma'am, I won't. I have done everything you asked me to do. From cleaning the deepest corner of the mansion by myself to entertaining pervy men. I have done everything, but I won't do this. I won't go in place of Rose. I don't want to deceit anyone." You ranted.

This woman had asked you to do so many egregious things and you did them without any complaint. However, this is where you draw the line. It was alright when you were the only one taking the brunt of her deviousness but if she wants you to deceive other people, you wouldn't do it.

Considering you had just been lied to yourself. The man who claimed to love you, got engaged with someone else without a peep of protest. You were just his play thing.

Abigail looked like she wanted to slap you as her face flushed red and her eyes twitched. "You ungrateful, brat. I gave you a roof, food, safety and that's how you repay me? By counting all the bare minimum you have done? I thought that maybe you had some sense of integrity but I should have known better," She scoffed wryly and looked you dead in the eye. "Tell me, how much you want me to pay you to go to this ball?"

To all the insults you have been subjected to, this genuinely offended you. "Ma'am, you could sell your morals for money but I can't. Even if you give me a billion dollar I won't go. I don't want to trick someone into believing I'm somebody else. This is my boundary I won't cross."

Abigail sneered. "Just drop your act already-"

"Mom, let me talk to her." Rose interjected and you flashed her a determined look. You weren't going to budge on this one.

"What would you talk to her? You are just as dumb as her." Abigail yelled.

"If I didn't convince her then you can call me as many insults as you'd like. Now please, get out." She responded, softy but firmly.

Abigail huffed and whined but left the room nonetheless, the door clicking shut but you knew she was right outside the door, listening to everything and so did Rose as she beckoned you to the bed. You sighed and sat down beside her.

"Listen, you should go. Have fun, eat expensive food and rob my mother of as much money as you need to get out of here. And before you start about deceit and all that. You don't need to meet anyone, just imagine what are your chances of meeting the prince and catching his eye? Maybe one percent. Every women would be busy fawning over him, you won't even get an opportunity." Rose explained in a hushed voice.

When she put it like that it didn't sound bad but you were still apprehensive. "But I have already said no to the money, if I demand it now then she would be proven correct and what about the other suitors?" You countered.

"Who cares what my mother thinks of you? She already thinks you are inferior and nothing would change that, then why not use the opportunity and get out of her claws? And as for the other suitors, as I said you don't need to meet anyone there. My mother won't be there to make sure you are putting in the efforts or not." She argued.

"You sure you are Abigail's bio daughter? You doesn't seem to like her much." You half joked, half lamented. Now the idea of going to the ball wasn't looking bad or deceitful. Just a solace night in a pretty dress.

Rose let out a bitter laugh. "Unfortunately, I'm. And I don't like the way you are treated but that's the only thing I can do. Plus, the event may cheer you up, since you're going through a lot right now..." She trailed off, probably not wanting to open your fresh wound.

You hummed quietly and let the room get silent. After some hesitation, you whispered. "You did it intentionally." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Rose was far from being clumsy or reckless so for her to fall from the stairs she could navigate blindly. It was rather suspicious.

"I let my love go once y/n. I can't let it go again." She whispered back.

You gulped due to the tension. "So, shall I call your mother?" You asked to lighten the mood and it worked as Rose beamed at you and nodded her head.

"So, you'd go?" She asked hopefully.

"Yes, I'd go." You said with a grin, image be damned Rose was right. Scam Abigail and get the fuck out of there.

You opened the door and a very annoyed and impatient Abigail stomped inside. She glowered at you expectantly and you cleared your throat.

"After Rose's arguments, I have decided to go to the ball. If you give me my desired price." You said monotonously.

A look of smugness crossed her face as she scoffed and said. "I knew it. So much for morals. Now spit your price."

And so you did.

You asked for an amount that would keep you afloat for a year. You had initially asked for 4 years worth of money, yes greedy. But you knew it would not make a dent in their bank balance and you really wanted to get back for all the obnoxious and unreasonable things she had made you do it.

However, Abigail wasn't pleased with this offer as she shouted that she would only give you that amount if you managed to woo the prince. You had no plans for doing that so you let go of that notion.

It gave you the much needed vacation from your work but the practice that came afterwards almost made you take back your offer and go back to scrubbing the floors.

The process to become Rose was strenuous. From how you walked to how you talked, everything needed to be exactly like Rose. Cursing was thrown out the window. You had to walk slowly with small steps with a sway of your hips, no long strides were allowed. Heck, you couldn't even slouch. Although you didn't receive a scathing hit by wooden stick, Abigail's earbiting voice and insults were not any pleasant either.

You had to speak like you were talking to crickets, poised and low. Cracking Rose's accent and voice was the toughest task but you pulled it off. Everything was so meticulous, from clothing to manners to behavior. These effluent women had to be perfect, not human. But it was all useless as you wouldn't be behaving like the perfect little doll at the ball. Maybe it would help you further down the line to snatch a rich man if you turned out to be a failure.

Rose also got some relief from her banshee of a mother as she mostly helped you and took care of herself, her mother didn't give two fucks about her daughter's health.

That was how the days passed and here you were now, sitting ahead of Rose's vanity as Abigail dolled you up for the ball. She didn't hire any stylist or artist as it could risk her scheme getting out, no matter how much she paid them.

"You must secure a man for my daughter or you will not be getting any money." Abigail hissed as she zipped up your dress.

"That is not the terms we agreed on. You are paying me to go to the ball as Rose, not to woo a man. I'll try to do my best but you can't hold back my payment." You bit back. You weren't an idiot, you had made her sign a contract and this bit wasn't in it.

Abigail scowled at you and muttered under her breath. "Little wicked tramp." And stepped back as you were ready.

You rolled your eyes, the comment sliding off of your consciousness like butter as you glanced up to assess your reflection.

And you were awestruck to say the least.

Your makeup was minimal as it would get overshadowed by the dim lights and mask anyways. However, it brought out your features to the fullest, making you look like a princess.

The dress was even more mesmerizing. It was a dusty blue fluffy gown with a heart neckline and white embroidery shattered throughout. It flowed like ichor on your body, making you look ethereal.

You hummed in admiration and grabbed the same coloured mask from the vanity, you tied it behind your head as Rose came near you.

"You look so beautiful, even with the mask. I think you would have a hard time dodging men." She teased.

You swatted her forearm and whirled around to glare at her. "Don't say stuff like that, Rose. I'm already a nervous wreck inside." You whined. It was true, going or doing something for the first time always felt daunting but this time you felt like an intruder as you didn't belong in that party at all. Thankfully, the anonymity of the mask was a sigh of relief to you.

Rose chuckled and bobbed your nose. "No, I'm serious. You look really pretty-"

She was cut off by a yell from Abigail. "Come on, you'll be late. Do you want people to think that we are late arrivers?"

You sighed deeply as Rose shook her head. "Okay, have fun and stay away from boys. Bye." She said and hugged you.

You hugged her back and said hastily. "Okay, bye." And jogged out of the room and into the car as Abigail's insults played in the background.

👑👠💃

"Miss, we have arrived." The unassuming driver said and pulled open the car door.

The respect was peculiar as you gingerly stepped outside. Your dusty blue pumps stark against the grey pavement. Abigail wanted you to wear heels but you'd be damned if you risked blisters or a twisted ankle on your precious feet.

You smoothed down your dress and started walking forward, your breath catching in your throat upon gazing at the banquet. The venue appeared heavenly, with white gates and staircase like golden glass, leading to the paradise of the elite. It was bustling with people who had enough money to buy your soul. All hidden behind their customized mask and clothes, some were extravagant, some were elegant.

Their expensive scent mingled in the air, creating a tantalizing and mystical aura. It was amplified by the dim lights of the hall, leaving the mind tranquil and intrigued for the suitors behind the veils.

Although the low light made it hard to decipher the interior of the hall. It definitely was of Victorian style as it was opulent and eloquent at the same time.

You looked around like a curious child as you observed and admired the beauty, upper class deemed normal.

You rushed to the food first, eating every of those stupidly expensive yet tasty dishes from all around the world. They were a lot so you ate small portions but your favorite had to be the chocolate fountain where you may or may not have coated your fingers with chocolate and licked them clean. No, classy ladies like you didn't do such things.

You tried to talk to some other girls as well but they were more interested in finding their future husbands. Hence, all your conversations died shortly after some begrudging small talk.

Those also attracted unwanted male attention so you quickly noped out of there and began exploring the venue however it was way bigger than you expected. Though mostly consisting of bedrooms and suites, you had squealed in surprise when you had found a small library tucked away in the lounge. You wanted to read there so badly, but you had come here to mess around not hide in a corner and read Jane Austen like your usual self.

However your enthusiasm had mellowed down as you now stared out the large bay window, in a secluded corner, chewing on fruits and silently observing the party.

"How come there's no fountain in the garden?" You mused to yourself. You had even gone to the garden and found no fountain and now gazing at it again reminded you of that smidge of flaw again.

"Because it's in the balcony." A deep voice said from behind.

You gasped, one hand flying to your racing heart as the other clutched onto the fruit plate for dear life, your body slightly trembling from the unexpected adrenaline surging to your veins.

You whipped your head to look at the perpetrator as he gave you a sheepish and apologetic look. You couldn't clearly make out his face but the golden light coming from the oil lamp above you and the white moonlight casted an unique glow on his porcelain face, his stark blue eyes twinkling in the lights.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. You looked lonely so I thought to give you some company." He said, his black suit and mask made him blend into the surroundings like the devil lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for an opportunity.

"So, you were stalking me?" You said sharply before you could even comprehend your words. You instantly regretted it as dread filled your stomach. Fuck, he wasn't some random man you could sass around. He was definitely a very powerful man, he dripped from it.

He chuckled, the sound soothing to your ears. "I was not stalking. I was... Observing." He said playfully.

You relaxed at his nonchalance and smirked at him. "So, you were definitely stalking." You teased back.

"Oh, come on. I'm trying to be romantic here. Plus, a little birdie like you, standing alone in a corner while everybody danced? You'd definitely stick out like a sore thumb." He said.

You snapped your gaze back to the main area and sure enough, everyone was twirling on the melody flowing in the air, while you stares out a window like a werido.

"I didn't know people were dancing." You whispered, more to yourself but he heard it.

"Since we are the only loners left, might you enjoy some company?" He suggested with a charming smirk and extended his hand for you, his sapphire blue eyes flickering towards the dance floor.

Rejection must be as clear as day on your face as he retrieved his hand with a pout and walked closer to you. You stepped backwards, your back hitting the window.

"Just one dance with you, pretty please?" He pleaded and gently brought his hand over his heart like it would get wounded by your denial.

It was so coy that it made you chuckle. "Hmmm, I'll dance with you but only on one condition. You'll have to show me the balcony." You offered and he nodded ecstatically.

He stretched out his hand once again and this time you took it. Your skirt twirled as he held your waist and whisked you to the dance floor. No one noticed your presence, too engrossed in their own world. However, you did.

You took notice how in the light of the chandelier, his face was more visible, how sharp his jaw was. You noticed how his muscular arms felt beneath your hands as you clutched onto them. How his body enveloped yours, a cocoon you never wanted to leave.

"You are so beautiful. " He murmured, close to your face. His gaze piercing as his voice sent shivers down your spine.

"But not as Beautiful as you. " You whispered and huffed out a breathy chuckle. You wanted to see him without his mask.

He beamed at you but swiftly grabbed your hand that was gliding behind his head, near his mask string. "Don't do that, darling." He husked out, bringing your hand to his lips, he kissed your palm. Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked away, making him chuckle. He was devilishly charming.

"Your palms are not, soft. Why?" He asked inquisitively. He was observant for sure or had kissed many women's palms.

"I-uh, like to do some manual labour. Some for fun, some for skills." You stuttered out, hoping it wouldn't blow your cover.

"That's nice. But I totally forgot to ask, what's your name?" He asked softly.

"What's your name?" You countered, anxiety brewing inside you.

He shook his head with a chuckle. "What's in the name?" And winked at you.

"Exactly." You gasped when he spun you around, your back hitting his muscular chest.

"So, what are you looking for?" He asked in your ear.

It took you a moment to process his question. "Fun." You replied.

"No, in terms of love. Don't you wanna love someone?"

You didn't like where this conversation was heading as you turned in his arms and wrapped your hands around his neck. 'Don't you?"

"I don't have time for love?" He said honestly.

"It's overrated anyways."

He let out a throaty laugh. "No, it's not overrated," He said and pulled you closer, his earthy scent hypnotizing you. "It's painfully sweet."

"Mhm, you're really poetic." You teased.

"So, you want to see the fountain?" He asked with a smirk.

"Yes, why not?" You instantly replied.

He chuckled and twirled you around, leading to the staircase parallel to the entrance. He led you up and gradually the lighting intensified as as you both left the main floor and entered into a stairway. It was illuminated by enormous chandeliers with wide bronze steps and Victorian style walls. You both stopped ahead of a golden door and he pushed it open.

Suddenly, the glow surrounding you changed as the ceiling was now replaced by the starry sky. You glanced at him as he smiled at you sweetly.

"You wanted to see the fountain and I'm a man of my word, darling." He said, intertwining your hand with his he guided you through the hallway, the balcony coming into your sight as you came to a halt.

You were stunned as you walked deeper into the balcony. The fountain was set in the middle of it, made with white marbles and on top was a skillfully crafted statue of cupid as water sprinkle down from his arrow. The water glinted in the moonlight as you rushed towards it and sat on the edge of the fountain. Looking to your side, the entire garden was in front of your eyes. The balcony was large, but deserted, no one was there beside you and him. You also weren't able to find it when you traversed the venue. It felt like a secret.

You glanced at him as he gazed at you with affection. "How do you know about this? It feels like something only the prince would know." Since it was one of many hotels the prince's family owned for generations.

"Because I'm the prince." He said and your heart stopped. No, that can't be. But to your absolute horror, he removed his mask and yes, it was him as he walked towards you. He sat beside you and covered your hands with his but you were frozen in place. The shock had paralyzed your body, mind and soul.

"I like you, I hosted a masquerade party to let people be themselves behind their mask. And you're the most authentic girl I've met this night. Your shyness didn't feel forced and your boldness wasn't fake. It's like you had no qualms for impressing anyone and that's what I wanted. You're witty, you seem hard working, you're beautiful. I know it's just one interaction but you are everything I was looking for and I promise to put effort into our relationship. So, will you marry me?"

His last words pounded in your ears. No, you couldn't do this. You couldn't trick someone but you couldn't refuse him either. What if he became angry and came after you? What if he came after Rose? You should have never danced with him.

"I-I need to go." You stumbled away from him, your hands trembling over the railing. You needed to get out of there, fast.

"But why?" He asked, bewildered and stood up.

The balcony was big enough that you could rush past him and he wouldn't be able to catch you. Hopefully, his size wouldn't ruin your escape plan. You took a deep breath and braced yourself for a run. "Because my mother told me to come before midnight and I think I'm already late. I should be get going. Thank you for the good time." You blabbered and marched past him and into the hallway.

"No, wait." He shouted and the thumping of his shoes reverberated in the hallway.

You gulped as you ran along the hallway. You breathed a sigh of relief when the golden door emerged ahead of you. You shoved it open and sprinted down the wide and umber colored stairs. The unusually well-lit staircase helped you skid down faster as your dress bellowed behind you.

However, he wasn't far away as his yells for you to stop made you heave in panic and he felt much closer than he actually was.

Thankfully, the lights reduced as you entered the main hall. You quickly darted into the crowd, making him loose you.

"Excuse me."

"please, let me go."

"I'm sorry, can you step aside?"

You said hundreds of times as you weaved through the crowd, checking your surroundings for him once in a while.

Soon, the crowd cleared out as the entrance door appeared in front of you. You dashed out the door and climbed down the golden steps. Your pace had slowed down, assuming you were out of danger when:

"Close the gates." His thunderous command boomed in your ears, making your blood ran cold.

Your eyes widened in fear as the guards began shutting the gates. You regained your ferocity and even pushed your body's limits as you scurried towards the exit, heart in your throat as the gates came inward by each passing second.

You yelped as you slide outside from a small spacing left before the gates fully closed. You stumbled forward as the gates thudded shut behind you just after a moment you got out.

You pulled open the car door and fall inside it. Your body shaking due to adrenaline as the driver wordlessly started the car and you sighed in relief.

However, just before the car sped off, you caught a glimpse of him staring at the recouping car.

He saw the car. He knows the name. He would come for Rose, thinking it was you. The exact thing you didn't want to happen. SHIT.

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lovelettersforthedamned · 6 months

Text

I Lived That Night Too

--genre + trope: angst, hurt/little comfort, nsfw.

--pairing: pattinson!bruce wayne x gf!vigilante!reader

--word count: 1.7k

--summary: after a run in with the joker a few months ago, bruce has been extra protective over you, and you've had enough.

--warnings: graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood, mention of a potential SA, angst, mentions of food, bruce and reader are mean to each other, some kisses, very very light fluff.

--gif credits: @bittwitchy

The sun set a few minutes ago, leaving the warm lighting of the overhead lights flooding throughout the corridor. Dinner was almost ready, yet Bruce was still in bed, recovering from his previous night out. Halloween was always tough for Gotham’s masked vigilante, the holiday becoming the motivation for those who dwell in mischief.

The past year has haunted Bruce, even in his unconscious mind. Visions of that night dance across his eyelids.

The night air was humid, the first warm night kicked off the start of the Summer weather. Even though warmer nights were upon those living in Gotham, rain poured heavily. You prepared to go out for the night, making your rounds around the city, making sure the peace was kept. There was no warning, no sign of disturbance in front of you as the front tire of your motorcycle caught on something, flinging you through the air.

It’s not the initial impact of the fall that hurts, it's the pavement under you scraping your skin as you’re dragged by a man, the only feature you can pick up on is his recognizable laugh. He stops under a streetlight, the sudden brightness making your eyes squint, unable to process the figure’s next moves. His silhouette, raising a bat, is the last thing you’re able to see before a flaring pain in your stomach erupts. The pain moves to your side, then to your head, and finally to your hands.

The warm air seemed to heighten the stench of your blood, the metallic smell making you nauseous. The man above you inspects your body, making sure his work is done. A small nod follows his lingering eyes before leaning down to uncurl your, now broken, hand, “Hold this for me, would you?” As he peels back each broken finger, with the last remaining energy you had left, a scream leaves your lips. In your now open hand, he places the same bat he used to harm you carefully in your grasp, positioning it perfectly before walking away.

The gravel beneath his feet crunches as he’s relieving this moment once again. His eyes squint to focus on the sight in front of him, a body lying in the gleam of a streetlight, twitching. As he walks closer, there's a pit in his stomach, he knows that it’s you. There’s not an inch of your body that isn’t covered in a cut drowned in blood. His gaze ran up and down your shriveled figure, finally looking at the bat you’re holding, pieces of wood splintering at the barrel. His eyes lock onto the words that are jaggedly carved into the body of the bat.

BATTER UP.

He freezes at the sight of the engraving, the only movement coming from his eyes, darting back to your beaten face. He feels an unexplainable force weighing him down, he can’t move, and he can hardly breathe. The first person he contacts is Alfred. Back home, Alfred can see everything, due to Bruce’s advanced contact lenses. The older man is also in a state of shock, you were hardly recognizable.

It takes Alfred’s pleas to shake Bruce out of his dissociative state. All Bruce could think of was what his life would look like without you, and how much he feared for your life.

Waking himself up from the same nightmare he’s had for months, he looks around, confirming his surroundings. The light patter of rain hit his window, the sound alone trying to pull him back to sleep. Checking the time on the clock behind him, 7:48 PM, he pulls back the covers and starts to make his way downstairs, quickly pulling a shirt on and grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the dresser.

Descending the stairs, he looks down at the scene in front of him. You’re sitting at the dining table with Alfred, participating in small talk as you eat dinner. A plate is set beside you, waiting for Bruce. His presence isn’t known until Alfred’s voice greets him, and a small peck is placed onto the crown of your head. Looking up at Bruce, you can tell he just woke up, his hair is messy and his eyes are still plagued with drowsiness. Grabbing his hand, you remind him of the plate made for him, a teasing tone poking through your voice, “Are you going to sit down? Or are you just going to keep standing there, my love?”

“I have to go back to work,” he takes a breath, “there’s too much to do, I’m sorry.”

You take this as your queue to follow him, grabbing his plate of food as you rise from your chair. Before you leave Alfred at the table, you exchange a knowing look, you both know that he won’t stop helping those who live in this city, you just wish he would take a break sometimes. His workload has doubled since you’ve been ‘out of commission’. It’s frustrating watching him stay out another hour or two to make up for the time he lost without you there, but Bruce would rather stay out all night than let you join him again.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you make your way down to Bruce’s area beneath the building. As you enter, Bruce makes a beeline toward his monitors and paperwork sprawled out along the desk. Following behind him, you place the plate down and start to work alongside him. Since Bruce hasn’t let you join him out at night, you’ve convinced him to let you at least do investigative work at home. Before he agreed, you swore you were going crazy. Of course, you went out often, but the thrill of working on something became your drug, and without it, you were having withdrawals. And as much as Bruce didn’t want to admit it, you were good at this, and he needed another set of hands to go over the things he’s collected.

After an hour of rummaging through some evidence Bruce has collected in a missing persons case, you can see that his body tenses, coming to a realization. Since you worked together, you caught it just a moment after he did. Something isn’t adding up. There’s an entire chunk of information missing, and coincidently, it’s the last piece you need before coming to a definitive answer on this case. “I have to go back,” his eyes are still glued to the screen in front of him.

You’re quick to interject, “But you just got back, you haven’t even eaten anything for Christ's sake. You can go out later.”

“No, I can’t,” he rises from his chair, “I’ll figure it out.”

“Well, you would’ve figured out what we were missing if you just let me go out there with you,” you’re frustrations rising enough to confront him about what had been on your mind all evening.

He raises his hand to rub his eyes in frustration, “Fuck (Y/N), you know why I can’t let that happen.”

“It happened so long ago, it doesn’t matter.”

“But it does,” his voice raises an octave, the sudden volume change echoing throughout the room, “it haunts me.”

Anger flows throughout your body, the sound of your voice surpassing his, “It was my fault, Bruce! I let my guard down, I wasn’t careful.”

“Do you know how scared I was,” he turns to you, “ I saw you laying in a pool of your blood and I thought you were dead.”

You stand up, now closer to eye level as you look up at him, “I’m sorry, but you don’t think I’ve learned from this too? I’m the one who went through all of this. I’ve laid in a bed for six fucking months, thinking about what I could’ve changed and what I could’ve done differently. When I was lying on that street, I thought Joker would take advantage of me, and somehow that scared me more than the thought of what bones he broke. You can’t save everyone, Batman.”

Your words end the conversation, and seeing Bruce stand there speechless was your signal to leave. You don’t care if he was going to respond, you just needed to get out. It wasn’t long before you put on your gear and warmed up your motorcycle, the familiar sound of the engine roaring to life brings a smile to your face. You waste no time in heading out into the biting air of Gotham in November, anxious to do what you’ve been waiting and craving to do for the past six months.

As soon as Bruce hears your motorcycle rev to life, he immediately rushes over to put on the gear he took off not even twenty-four hours prior. Climbing onto his own motorcycle, he follows loosely behind you.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach the location of where the evidence was collected. Entering through a side window, you can feel eyes bore into your back, no doubt your boyfriend peering from a spot above you. Bruce is not only looking into the window you climbed in but also the surroundings around you, making sure it’s clear.

It doesn’t take long for you to find the golden ticket of this entire investigation, a SIM card, smaller than a penny. Standing in the alley you call out, “You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, babe.” Jumping down from his hiding spot in a nearby fire escape, he makes his way towards you and grabs the SIM card from your fingers. “You’re welcome,” you spit out.

Inspecting it, he asks, “Where was it?”

“Under the filing cabinet, someone slid it in between the cracks of the metal,” you mutter, sneaking behind him and snatching back the device before walking away.

Bruce grabs your wrist softly, stopping you in your tracks, “I’m sorry…for holding you back. You don’t need to be sheltered and you proved that.”

Looking over your shoulder at him, you speak, “I never did, Bruce.” A beat goes by before you turn and kiss his cheek, “I’ll see you back at home.”

--author's note: HEY GUYS!! i was 100% supposed to post this on halloween or the day after, but work kept me away from finishing this:( writing for pattinson!bruce specifically is so hard, because wdym he's an introvert and is awkward and probably very awkward and a loser??? im so used to writing babes like peter, so this was fun to try! don't forget to support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging!!! my asks/inbox is OPENNN, so send me anything you would like to see on this blog and i will get back asap...ok bye ily<3333

#battinson #pattinson!bruce wayne x reader #dc #batman x reader #batman oneshot #batman angst #pattinson!batman x reader #pattinson!batman x f!reader #oneshot #fluff #angst #hurt/little comfort

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moonlight-prose · 5 months

Text

BLOOD ALONG THE MOON

➛ 03. WICKED NIGHTS

a/n: honestly i didn't expect to take a year to ever post about this fic again. if i'm being honest i figured this would become an abandoned series. solely cause the inspo for this character completely left my head. but i couldn't let go of our reporter and their love story with this bat. so while the updates may take time, i'm ready to keep going with this. enjoy.

summary: halloween was always been your least favorite night of the year, but circumstances make it so much worse.

word count: 8.2k+

pairing: bruce wayne x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, angst, fluff, awkward beginnings, a small bit of romance, murder, death, crime scenes, grief, gratuitous prose about the darkness of gotham.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Halloween. Your least favorite night of the year.

The city streets were crowded with people; a sight not unusual to the dark pit that Gotham transformed into. But that didn’t mean you had to like it. Even getting to work was a struggle due to the overcrowded platform of the subway and the scarcity of cabs. If you had your way you’d wish everyone would suddenly vanish—giving you a chance to find some reprieve before the onslaught of darkness that plagued this night every year. Although you were foolish enough to hold out hope. Foolish enough to believe that things would be different; that nothing wicked would befall this night.

If only you’d known.

Work was filled with people milling about, some in costumes, some not. You wore your usual black coat—a pair of boots accompanying your look. If someone were to ask you’d claim you were dressed as you were every other day of the year—as a reporter working yourself to the bone. It would be sure to get a laugh from a person or two in this office.

It always did in the end.

Only this time…you weren’t laughing.

The interview you had with Bruce Wayne yesterday continued to bounce around in your mind; the thought of how to write it, still missing. You didn’t want to sound like every other magazine that sprouted nothing but gossip. There’s a reason why you chose to work at the Gotham Gazette. So you could get into the nitty and gritty of the story—no matter how dark it got in the end. To you this was either a story people would talk about forever, or it would remain a forgotten piece that would later wind up in people’s trash cans come morning the next day.

“Day.” Henry leaned against the doorway of his office. A pencil behind his ear, his glasses propped on the end of his nose, and a cup of crappy coffee in his hand. “I need to talk to you.”

You hoped you would have at least five minutes of time to breathe before you were called into what you liked to claim was the equivalent of the principal’s office. But it seemed that Henry Goldfinch decided to pick on you this week more than anyone else.

The interview notes you’d jotted down during the night were crammed into your small black notebook—nearly burning a hole in your pocket. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d ask you about them; intent on seeing a full story by tomorrow night.

“Look Henry I did the best I could with the guy, but he barely even spoke—” You were cut off at the look on his face. “Am I in trouble?”

“I just got a call from Mr. Pennyworth.”

Shit, you were so fired.

“If he wants to retract any statements then I’ll work with what I've got, but you were the one who gave me this story and I think I can do a damn good job on it.”

“Would you let me talk?” Your jaw snapped shut, cutting off the remainder of your ramble; or what you’d like to call reasons why he shouldn’t fire you. “Don’t unpack your things.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently you caught Mr. Wayne’s eye,” he said, settling down in his seat. “That call was Mr. Pennyworth giving me notice that Bruce Wayne is heading down to The Gotham Gazette today.”

“What?” you exclaimed, nearly falling into the chair behind you. “What the fuck for?”

“He wants to take you to lunch, kid.”

You fell into the chair, staring wide eyed at Henry who regarded you with a smirk.

Bruce Wayne wanted to take you to lunch. He was coming to your work in order to…pick you up.

Any way you tried to string it together, the news still remained hard to comprehend. Still you caught on to Henry’s words from before. You’d caught Bruce Wayne’s eye and now you were going to have to deal with the consequences of that. This would be the first time in years since he’d left Wayne Tower to do something as mundane as go to lunch. Let alone with someone like you.

“What do I do?” you croaked, trying not to panic as the reporter in you attempted to take over. Was this only a social call? Or did he want to do a follow up interview?

Henry leaned forward, the damned smirk still on his face. “You go to lunch with him. Maybe he likes you.”

“Likes me,” you scoffed. “I’d no sooner learn the identity of The Batman before Bruce Wayne admitted to liking me.”

You wanted answers like any sane person would, but the idea that Bruce Wayne possibly liked you left words unavailable to you. That was the farthest thing from the truth, except coming up with some other alternative left you with nothing yet again. What the fuck were you being called to lunch for? You hoped it was just him personally asking you to rip up the notes you took from yesterday while he watched.

“They’ll be here soon. I’d get your ass moving.”

“Right.” You stood slowly, a feeling of unease spreading through you with every step towards the door. “Did—um—Mr. Pennyworth…did he sound upset?”

Henry scoffed, taking a sip from his coffee. “And here I thought you didn’t give a shit if you pissed people off Day.”

You felt the switch flip in your mind. A reminder of who you truly were on the inside coming back like lightning cracking across your body, and you stood taller in your place. You didn’t care. You never had.

“I don’t.”

“Atta girl.” He tipped his cup slightly your way, watching as you walked back out into the office—the straight set of your spine once again returning.

You didn’t come to Gotham to make friends. You came here to work, to build a career that would outlast you if you were determined enough. Pissing off Bruce Wayne had never been on your list, but you figured it was bound to happen eventually. It was either now or later in life. Thankfully everyone had their hands full worrying about The Batman and the election—so you pissing off the Prince of Gotham would go unnoticed.

Grabbing your bag, you did a quick sweep of your desk to make sure that everything was accounted for before you left. You weren’t sure how long this lunch would take, but you didn’t intend to come back later.

The elevator doors opened once again with a loud creak, thankfully revealing it to be empty. Your heart thrummed in your chest a mile a minute, the tension still in your shoulders as you walked towards what might be the end of your career. While you knew the possibility of this simply being a social call was high, you couldn’t ignore what might very well happen. The ding of your stop brought you out of your daze enough to get out and head towards the front doors.

Glancing up towards the sky you saw the gloominess still remained—a reminder of where you were, what this city was reduced to. While you may have called it pollution of the environment, others would call it weather. After all there was always a difference in opinion when the opinion came a bit too close to the actual truth.

A sleek black car sat directly outside of the doors, a man in a black coat was hunched beneath an umbrella leaning against its side. You recognized him the second he raised his head, his blue eyes practically singeing your skin. Henry really wasn’t kidding when he said Bruce Wayne himself was coming to pick you up from the Gazette. People stopped and stared at the spectacle that was this man. By all means he was considered a hermit from the rumors that spread through Gotham like poison, and yet there he was, meeting with an unknown woman—a reporter nonetheless.

“You don’t seem like the lunch date type of man,” you said, standing far enough under the awning of the building where you didn’t get wet from the rain, but still felt it splatter against your coat.

His lips twitched, eyes skimming your figure before flicking up back to your face. You wanted to ignore the flutter in your chest from that simple gesture, but your body wouldn’t let you. It seemed that whoever Bruce Wayne was…he had an affect on you—a hold that refused to be severed.

“It wasn’t my idea.”

Scoffing, you turned to glare at a man who stood only a few feet away, clearly eavesdropping in on the conversation.

“So you aren’t here to have lunch with me. You’re simply here by the orders of Mr. Pennyworth,” you retorted.

“Alfred,” he said, finally standing to his full height for the first time since you met him. He was taller than you actually anticipated. “He thought it would be a good idea.”

“He thought going on a date with a reporter was a good idea?”

He shrugged slightly, the tension in his shoulders made the movement awkward. “Would you call this a date Miss…”

“Day.”

“Day,” he repeated quietly, his lips forming around the word as if it was already familiar to him. “Interesting name.”

“Nick-name,” you replied.

He nodded slowly, his gaze so intense you found you had to keep looking away. “Your real name isn’t printed on any of your bylines.”

You smiled albeit rather ruefully as you stepped close enough to be underneath his umbrella with him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to earn my real name Mr. Wayne.”

Again you watched—entranced—as his lips twitched slightly. Almost like he wanted to smile, but forgot how exactly to do it. He’d been in pain so long, suffering the grief of losing those he loved most for nearly his entire life, and not once had he learned what the true meaning of happiness was. For some unknown reason, you wanted to be the first one to show him.

“Okay,” he murmured, turning towards the passenger seat door and opening it for you. “And it’s Bruce.”

The words were accompanied with an outstretched hand to help you into the car, his hold simultaneously gentle yet firm as you sat. Your eyes met his briefly, something flickering to life between your gaze, before the door shut entirely and you were left in silence for a few brief seconds. It gave you enough time to catch what little breath you had in your chest—the interaction far too electric for someone like you.

Get some fucking sense.

You weren’t the type of person Bruce Wayne would fall for. One day he would find someone as wealthy as him, someone who knew his life due to shared experience. You hated those fucking words with a burning passion. Shared experience with people never went over well in your line of work. For a reporter, shared experience meant you had nothing original to say. It meant that you were the same as everyone else around you and to you that was damnation itself.

“Where would you like to eat?”

The question was barely loud enough for you to hear over the traffic and rain, but his soft tone caught you in its hold until you were solely focused on him. Once again that unfamiliar spark of energy crackled in the air. You were afraid that if this continued, you’d walk out of this lunch date with a newfound crush on Gotham’s Prince. That thought alone was enough for you to tear your gaze away—settling in the seat and staring through the front window.

“You invited me, Mr. Wayne. Why don’t you pick?”

He fell silent, hands shifting from his lap to the steering wheel and back again. “I don’t know many places to eat around Gotham anymore.”

Of course Bruce Wayne of all people would eat at home day in and day out. Thus was the luxury of having a personal chef in the Wayne Tower. Although you couldn’t stop the small grin from forming at how funny you found all of this.

Going to lunch with this man. It should have been absurd—almost laughable—but there you were. About to tell him to drive into the heart of the city just to take you to your favorite diner. Reporters would murder you just to stand in your spot. To spend mere moments with him. Yet it seemed that all you had to do was exist.

Rather than dwell on the moment any longer, you told him where to take you and it seemed that he knew the city a lot better than you expected. Pulling out of the spot with ease, he swiftly swung the car around in a rather illegal u-turn before making a quick right turn. You had to hand it to him…he knew how to handle a car. Part of you wanted to call it sexy, but you killed that echo in your head before it could manifest into something else.

Feelings were dangerous in your line of work—having seen the pain several reporters went through when they fell into bed with lethal people. You wouldn’t wind up like them. All you could allow in your life was friendship, nothing more. A friendship with Bruce Wayne wouldn’t hurt you. Not when he refrained from speaking to anyone, let alone the worst of the worst that roamed Gotham.

He turned another corner, the rain getting worse the further you traveled into the city. Driving in this weather would have stopped you from going, but it didn’t seem to phase him. He took it in stride, focusing intently on the road with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting between you. It would be so easy to pick it up, to run your fingers over the lines in his palm. And for a moment you indulged. You imagined what being with him would actually feel like.

Would he treat you the same way? Or would you suddenly become special. You couldn’t picture him treating anyone in a loving manner, let alone you and that’s where the fantasy died.

“That’s it,” you said, pointing to the flickering sign out front that only read DEM as opposed to its usual bright DEMETER’S TABLE name.

“Is it closed?”

You laughed, barely a puff of air, but you knew he heard it. Opening the door you ignored the downpour that threatened to soak you down to your very soul, and patiently waited until he got out himself. The expression on his face caught you slightly off guard as you watched him get out. You would have figured it was nothing—having seen him wear a grim expression all throughout your interview with him—but this looked different.

“I know it’s not the best place, but the food is—”

“I could have opened the door for you.”

That killed the worry filling your chest in an instant. He wasn’t upset that you brought him to what looked like the shittiest diner in all of Gotham. In fact, he could care less about that. He wanted to open the door for you…like a gentleman.

You nearly laughed in his face, but the rain was starting to seep into your shoes, causing your whole body to shiver and he fared no better. It caused his hair to stick to his face, the coat doing absolutely nothing to keep him dry.

The sign from the diner cast a luminescent glow across his face, highlighting his high cheekbones. You found yourself wanting to brush your lips across them. Though it was daytime and the sun remained stuck behind the clouds somewhere, you still felt as if night encased you in its cold embrace. Yet standing there with him in the rain, keeping his stare, you felt warmth flicker in your chest. As if he had placed a piece of the sun in your heart.

“You don’t have to do that with me,” you said softly, turning away before you grew too attached to this odd man.

The bell above the door rang throughout the building, alerting her of your presence. Your friend Dem stood behind the counter, her graying black hair wrapped up in a loose bun—a pen going directly through it to hold it in place. She looked up at the sound, a broad smile pulling at her wrinkled cheeks and bringing to light the soft lines around her eyes. When you first moved to Gotham she was the person who practically took you under her wing.

“Day! You are soaked hun. You shouldn’t be out in this weather.” She walked around the counter, immediately handing you a hot steaming cup of coffee. “Especially not since you just got over pneumonia. What are you trying to do, kill your…”

She trailed off, her eyes growing wide as the bell rang again and Bruce entered behind you, looking worse than you did. You knew the shock she was feeling, having gone through it about thirty minutes ago yourself, and did your best to drag her back to the present.

“Got a free table?” you joked, knowing the diner was practically empty.

That seemed to do it. The smile—though hesitant this time around—was back as she gestured to the second booth by the door. “I’ll be right with you sweetie.”

“Thanks Dem.”

You slid into the old brown booth, feeling your clothes stick to the fake leather. “Here.” You pushed the mug of coffee his way. “It’ll help with the cold.”

“I’m okay.” He reached up to push it back, but you held it in its place.

“I’m not asking Wayne.” Smiling, you leaned back. “Besides…can’t have one of the most important people in Gotham getting sick on my watch. I’d definitely be fired for that.”

Without another word, he lifted the mug to his lips, placing them directly where yours were mere moments ago. The spark flared to life again, cracking like a familiar bolt of lightning through your body and burning you to the core. Looking away, you clasped your hands together in an effort to seal in any heat that might try to escape your body. You weren’t sure if you liked the feelings that were causing your body to go haywire. For all you knew, you could have been imagining this entire thing.

You wouldn’t put it past your mind to play tricks on you as you sat across from him.

“Why this place?” Once again, his question caught you off guard.

“What?”

He set the mug down, pushing it your way. “Why this diner?”

His blue eyes were fixed on your face, as if attempting to see past the shield you wore day in and day out. When a person suffered enough pain to last an entire lifetime, they tended to become closed off. You were that person and from what you could see…so was he. The temptation to ask him how he survived through the pain, how he managed to come out of it at the end somewhat of a person, was on the tip of your tongue.

But you figured it was better to stay silent—keep it to yourself until the right moment came up.

“It was the first place I came to when I first moved to Gotham. I used to live a block away from here.” Sipping on the coffee, you tried to busy yourself to avoid his piercing gaze. “Though, I had to move because my apartment got broken into while I was sleeping.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Anger? No…something else.

Clearing your throat, you continued in the hopes of appeasing your now racing heart. “Anyways. Dem took me in, she took care of me and it felt nice. So I stayed.”

Before he could reply, Dem arrived with two plates in her hands. You smelled the burger before she even placed it on the table—your stomach clenching with hunger. Her specialty that you first ordered when you came here. It made your heart warm seeing her place it in front of Bruce, her smile kind and welcoming. No matter who he was, Dem always saw the good in people. Saw what they needed and willingly gave it to them without question.

She was a mother to the strangers that wandered into her diner.

“More coffee?” she asked, staring at the single mug that sat empty in the center of the table.

You noticed she didn’t ask if you’d like a second cup, her body language telling you enough. She thought this was a date. You weren’t sure if you should correct her or not.

“Please,” Bruce said, interrupting your thoughts. He handed her the mug, never asking for an extra one, but seemingly happy to share with you.

Once again your heart fluttered and this time…you let it.

“Dem’s burgers are possibly the best thing to be created.”

His lips pulled up in a small barely there grin. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You should,” you replied, smiling around a bite of your fry. “As a reporter all I have is my word.”

You didn’t catch the way he looked at you, his eyes shining with something that hadn’t been there in a very long time. Instead you focused on gazing out the window at the rain. The way it transformed the city into something dangerous. Yet even through the darkness you could see it. The small hints of the light seeping through the clouds and shining down on an otherwise grim place.

Carole King played on the old speakers—a favorite of Dem’s you learned early on—and it created a soft symphony of warmth as it mixed with the rain. You wanted to stay there forever. In a place of comfort and love.

You’d even include Bruce in it too.

He bit into the burger, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the taste burst across his tongue. The sight caused your heart to lurch in your chest, warmth spreading up your neck and into your face. And you tried your best to shove it down. How ridiculous of you to find the sight hot, but there you were. Speechless, watching as he enjoyed one of your favorite meals.

Dem’s voice humming to the song snapped you out of your ogling; you looked to her to find something else to focus on. Except the small knowing smile she wore on her face and the wink she threw your way did nothing to help your situation. Rather than dwell on it, you began to eat. Content to remain silent until the both of you finished.

The singular cup of coffee was set down in between you two, dragging your gazes back to one another. You glanced at the mug, then back at him. As if that was the defining factor of whether or not this was a date. He chewed thoughtfully on a fry, his eyes still on you, while you mulled over whether or not you could magically turn the one mug into two.

It turned out to be an impossible feat, but one you found you didn’t mind.

“So tell me—” You pried your trench coat off, draping it over the back of the booth. He’d discarded his thirty minutes ago, his black button down now rolled to his elbows. “What’s Bruce Wayne been up to?”

His eyebrow quirked, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “This isn’t a second interview is it?”

You shrugged. “I’ve gotten enough for my article already. This is me asking.”

“Hm.” He leaned forward, hands clasped together and hair falling back into his eyes. “And who are you exactly?”

The smile you’d been fighting for an hour came through. “I don’t think you’ve earned that yet.”

The coffee mug had been refilled three times now, your energy coupled with the spark of attraction (you were still denying) between you brought life back into your body. While he didn’t disclose much about himself—saying bits and pieces here and there—you still found yourself engrossed in his words. You wanted to know more, to see the man behind the mask that was Bruce Wayne.

Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d show you his true self one day. For right now you were content to remain just as you were.

A reporter who shied away from any aspects of love, sitting with a man who was discovering what the meaning of joy was all over again.

“I can wait,” he murmured, his eyes no longer resembling the cloudy skies outside. You could see the lightness in them—the shining blue unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You glanced down at the mug, seeing something in it you hadn’t before. For whatever unknown reason Bruce Wayne—the man who had been reclusive his entire life—trusted you. Even though he didn’t say it outright he didn’t have to. You saw it well enough and something told you…he knew you could see it. He wanted you to see it.

Time was slowly ticking away, reminding you that you had a job to get back to, but you still remained. Sitting with your elbows pressed to the table—unconsciously trying to get as close to him as possible. Maybe if you never left the world would melt away. If you became a permanent part of this diner, the city that happily ate away at every resident would leave you be. You’d be forgotten in a place that thrived on the lost and forlorn.

“Why me?” you inquired after the beat of silence threatened to swallow you whole.

The soft lilting notes of Billie Holiday echoed in the empty diner. Dem was nowhere to be found and the only two remaining customers were you and Bruce. Still sharing that singular cup of cold coffee. It had created a ring on the table, your lipstick a slight stain on the white mug. The color smudged off from where Bruce had placed his lips. Sharing a hint of a kiss that would never be.

He leaned back in the booth, no longer stiff—the nature of a man who had hid from society for years now traded in for someone different. His body language was enough to make you stare. Transfixed on the way his shirt continued to hug his figure even though it had dried an hour ago.

“Why not you?”

You huffed. “Answering my question with another question. And here I thought I was the only reporter in the room.”

“I’ve had my fair share of interviews.”

“None that I’ve read.” You slid your plate to the side and clasped your hands together in the hopes of looking as intrigued as you felt. “Do tell Mr. Wayne.”

The tension was beginning to set in his shoulders again. A small overlay to the man that lingered beneath. As if he was bringing up a mask he constantly carried with him. He hid constantly day in and day out, but right now he didn’t sit before you the Prince of Gotham, but instead a man who was trying to relearn how to live. Whether you wanted to admit it to yourself or not…Bruce Wayne was like you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

“Alfred keeps them from printing.” The admission alone was enough for you to change the subject, but he continued to talk—cracking open yet another small sliver to the impenetrable armor he wore. “People they don’t…they always look for something wrong.”

You nodded, digging your nail into your palm. “Flaws are sometimes easier to sell.”

The sad truth of being a journalist is more often than not people weren’t looking for the truth. At least not in Gotham. They wanted something to sell. A piece of the person that one would deem too vulnerable to be shown to the rest of the world. They wanted to satiate the greed that clawed its way to the front. Rarely was the truth their only reason for writing a story.

“You’re not interested in flaws.” His eyes grew softer, hand splaying on the table to trace a random shape as he watched you. Saw through the facade you wore. He dug right down to the depths of your persona and dragged it to the surface—a relenting and brutal act.

Yet you wanted it to happen all the same.

“I like the truth.” You distracted yourself with the shape of his finger, the length of it as it shifted. “It sounds better.”

For a split second you allowed your eyes to flicker up, to meet his in the dim lights of the diner, and you finally caught hold of that niggling emotion. The one that held you captive in your own right. You liked him. Despite only meeting him yesterday, you found yourself drawn in by his haunted eyes. The same ones that practically burned a hole in your skin, until he was forever a part of your form.

Bruce Wayne felt familiar to you.

Not in the way that a stranger finds a face in the crowd familiar. Not even in the way an old friend would feel seeing someone from their past once more.

He was familiar in the way two souls separated beyond time and space were familiar. You couldn’t quite explain it, but somehow you knew these eyes that traced the lines and curves of your face. Committing you to memory. You were two distant beings made up of different particles of the universe. Yet there in that diner you found one another—as if gravity had dragged your cells together all along.

Two halves of a celestial being finally forming to be one.

You almost wanted to laugh at the notion that Bruce Wayne and you had anything in common. Let alone that there was any physical attraction between you.

But there it was. The truth you’d been searching for all along.

You could almost laugh at how fucked it all was.

How horrifically beautiful.

Night was beginning to settle over the city, calling to the horrors that lingered in the shadows. Prompting them to finally emerge for the one night where fear ran rampant in the streets of Gotham. Being scared on Halloween wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but this year things felt different. You could practically taste the blood that would run through the grime filled streets come morning. The same one that you would later have to report on.

Bruce stood beside his car next to your apartment building. You had directed him here after another hour spent in Dem’s diner barely speaking yet saying more than you would have liked. For some reason he was able to unearth more about you than you had found out in the entirety of yesterday’s interview with him. If being a Wayne didn’t wind up working out for him, he’d make a killing out of being an investigative journalist.

You told him as much before you left.

“Got any plans for tonight?” you asked, already knowing the answer you’d receive.

He looked up to the slightly darkened sky, at the way that the clouds did nothing to allow even slivers of the sunset to break through. You had to hand it to the city. There was some irony in the way even nature plagued the city in darkness. As if its legacy was always meant to be this. An abyss that drowned everyone within.

A barely there quirk appeared on his lips. “I’ll be out of the city tonight.”

Convenient.

The thought crossed your mind of asking him to join you for a lonesome dinner and half a bottle of wine. But the line had been drawn in the sand long before you agreed to accompany him for lunch. An invisible border you couldn’t cross. He was a Wayne. A part of a world you could only reach through second hand stories and gruesome aftermaths.

If the lunch had been more than strangers sitting across from one another, you would have joked about your house being Capulet and his Montague. But something told you irony wasn’t his strong suit. Nor would it favor you being able to see him another time. That is…if he even wanted to see you. For all you could tell this was merely a social call placed on his shoulders by Alfred—the man you came to see as Bruce’s father figure.

“Well…”

“Would you—”

You smiled, feigning being professional for the sake of your giddiness. “You go first.”

He cleared his throat. “Would you be available in a few days?”

“Oh…” Rather than take it easy on him, you decided that the best course of action was to jab at his wall just a bit. Just to see if something would crumble even further. So with a smile you stepped closer, watching the rise and fall of his chest quicken just a bit more. “That doesn’t sound like Alfred speaking.”

A heavy breath left his lungs—washing warm across your skin. “It’s not.”

“So this is you asking?”

He nodded, probably irritated with the way you were clearly teasing him. But that’s the thing. He let you tease him. He gave in to your small ruse and let it play out until you felt like you were finished.

If you could get away with this, who knows what else you’d be able to get away with. Perhaps calling him a stupid nickname. Or even getting to know his favorite color.

Something told you it was brown.

“What’s your favorite color?”

His eyebrows rose, mouth parted slightly as if you’d thrown him for a bigger loop than anyone had before. And much to your own surprise…he answered. Honestly.

“Black.”

Ah…you were close.

“Tuesday. The rush of Halloween will be over and my paper should give me some free reign. I’ll be available then.”

Another solemn nod as if you just informed him that you were attending a funeral for a recently departed loved one. You learned to realize that his nods were simply a part of his personality. Eventually you would be able to decipher what each one meant, what they were attempting to say without using words. His voice seemed to be an afterthought—actions speaking louder than words could say.

“Tuesday it is,” he replied with a soft hesitant smile. You wanted to see it again, ask him to never frown again, but this was merely a fleeting moment in the grand expanse of things.

He stood there for a minute more as if leaving was the last thing he wanted. Then got into his car, turned the engine once, and drove down the street. And you watched him disappear into the already dark horizon. The day never existed to begin with, but the storm wouldn’t stop the chaos of the night. So you gave one last glance to the street before heading inside, ready to hole yourself in your locked apartment til sunrise the next day.

The shrill ringing of your cell phone startled you from your small nap on the couch. A throw blanket that was a mishmash of colors was thrown over your body, a half empty wine bottle on the coffee table and the book Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde face down beside it. Ever since finding it in the Wayne tower, you began to look through the old text. With the silly hope that you would find pieces of Bruce Wayne in the words.

“What?” you grumbled, rubbing a hand over your face to rouse yourself from the groggy state of sleep. Your brain was sluggish, body content to remain on the couch for many more hours, but Henry’s grim voice startled you awake.

“The Mayor’s dead.”

You sat up. “What the fuck do you mean the Mayor’s dead Henry?”

A quick glance at the clock told you it was nearing the middle of the night. The noise outside still persisted though. People always partied the worst on this night. Especially in this city.

“If this is a joke—”

“Shut up and listen will you.” Your mouth clamped shut, eyes falling to the book. “They found him in his home. And it’s gruesome. Whoever did it was a right fucked up person, but I can’t get there at this time. The streets are too packed.”

The breath caught in your throat, even as your eyes stung with exhaustion. “And I’m closer to the scene.”

“It’s a favor and it’s a big one Day.”

You sighed. “I’ll leave in ten. Who’s on the scene?”

“Gordon.”

Good. Gordon never gave you shit for being a reporter like the other detectives did. Many wanted your kind out of Gotham all together simply because of how good you were at getting your nose into places it shouldn’t be. With Gordon there at least you would have a chance to do some meaningful reporting—or at least help where you could in figuring this out.

Henry listed out a few details they told him, what was going to occur within the next few days. But all you could think about was Bruce. You’d miss your chance to see him Tuesday after all. Too stuck in the midst of a city wide crime scene that would take up more or less all of your time. Which left him on the outs. You scribbled down in your black notebook a note to call him and ask for a rain check.

At least then one good thing in your life wouldn’t disappear without a trace.

You grabbed your coat, shoved your arms in the sleeves, and locked up your apartment as the weight of the news rested heavy on your shoulders.

With the death of the Mayor came an investigation. One that would no doubt lead to more bloodshed in the streets and leave a city divided amongst itself. You had heard about shit like this happening in Gotham, but you were never around to see it yourself. Yet there you were. Right in the thick of it with no other option but to see the chaos through.

People filled the streets. Some drunk, some not. Which didn’t make getting to the scene easier. You fought through the crowds, managed to catch a train down there, and somehow came out unscathed. And above in the night sky…his sign hung like a full moon. It called out to the chaos of the night, and made a promise to those who liked the cover of darkness that they would only be safe for so long.

“Shit,” you muttered, feeling the rain strike against your cheek. It stung as you crossed the street.

Police cars lined the sidewalk, sirens blaring and bright, and for a moment…there was light in Gotham. You could barely see in front of you, but at least they illuminated the pathway to the front entrance. Many of them were taping off the building, others standing around and gazing at the sky—probably asking themselves if he would show up.

“If it ain’t Miss Day!”

You felt the weight lighten as you reached the top of the building steps. “Officer Martinez. Funny seeing you here.”

“You come to talk to me tonight?”

The smile was involuntary on your lips as he let you head in with him, holding the door open for you. Martinez always had a soft spot for you when things like this befell the city. After all he was usually around when it came to Gordon and with a job like yours, you ran into cops a bit too often for your liking. But Martinez was the exception. He brought you coffee on long nights at crime scenes, cracked jokes at the worst times, and even drove you home if he was around.

“Of course,” you said with a grin, bumping his shoulder. “I’m here to write a piece about the greatest cop in the city.”

He scoffed. “Flattery will get you everywhere chica.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Another flight of steps revealed even more cops scattered around the place. You could see the flash of a camera in the distance, whispered voices filling the air as you entered. Several cops gave you nasty glances, scoffing to themselves at the fact that you were allowed to enter. A reporter. Someone beneath them. To them you were the vulture that came to pick apart the mess they were left to clean.

“All I know is what Gordon told me. And even that’s not much.”

“Where is Gordon?”

Martinez shrugged. “Went out to fetch someone. Figure another detective.”

One more step into the room and you felt it. The pressure in your chest, the pinch of pain in your side where you were still healing. As if crime in Gotham called to crime. A horrid likeness that permeated the air. When Henry said the scene was gruesome he wasn’t kidding. You were ready to bolt the second you could smell the blood—the sight nearly too much for your stomach to take.

“Fuck,” you murmured, eyes wide and body wracked with fear.

“It’s not easy to see.”

“He’s…oh fuck.”

You didn’t need words to know Martinez was concerned about you. His eyes told you enough. They lingered a bit too long, tried to see past your mask you quickly pulled up when it came to scenes such as this. If you were lucky you would make it out tonight without any nightmares.

You were rarely lucky.

Someone called his name, causing him to leave you alone in the room with a few other people. Yet all you could focus on was the Mayor. The message scrawled across his head screamed so loud you could practically hear the voice of the killer. It punched right through your chest, made you pay attention without any barriers. Without mercy.

“What the fuck?”

You turned when someone’s voice filtered through the air, disbelief clear in their tone. Perhaps they found something worse. Something that would make you want to unsee everything that happened tonight. But what came to your attention was not what you expected. Your heart dropped to your stomach, a flutter going through your body, as the sight of him filled your view once more.

For some reason he seemed bigger in the room. He towered over everyone here, eyes still striking against the dark color of his suit. For a moment you couldn’t breathe, nerves filling your body with each heavy thump of his boot against the hardwood floor. How he would react to seeing you again took over your mind. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe…he forgot about you.

Maybe to him you were just another lost soul in a sea of tragedy.

Someone he saved once and didn’t think twice about second.

He stopped midstep, gaze falling to your form, and for a split second…he stiffened entirely. Recognition flashed in his eyes before something darker took its place. You were reminded of the night he dragged you home, the night he held you as you cried about death. As you begged him to keep you alive.

You wondered if he was thinking about that too. If you stepped close enough maybe you could see it in his eyes. Fragments of a memory that still burned bright and alive in your mind—a bad movie you could never turn off. So there you sat in the theater. Forced to watch it replay.

Maybe if you asked he’d sit with you. Keep you company in the darkness.

“Daywalker.”

Gordon had a habit of using the formal version of your nickname. A call sign that seemed to jolt you from your own mind—eyes snapping from The Batman to the man standing beside him. He regarded you with a confused look. A question lingering on his tongue.

One you quickly overlapped with one of your own.

“What the hell happened Gordon?”

His eyes went soft. “Chaos.”

The pain in your side flared to life again. “And what’s he doing here?”

The thump of his boots echoed behind you as he circled the scene. No doubt taking notes about what happened, what was left behind for them to find. Gordon held up a green envelope, writing scratched into the paper as if it was left there in anger—the pen nearly breaking through. A formal address to the man who still remained behind you. A call out to The Batman himself.

Either this guy was insane…or he understood what The Bat would react to.

“So all this…was for him?”

Eyes burned into your skin when you said the words, another thump letting you know he still remained, still listening in the shadows of the room.

Gordon shrugged. “That’s what he’s here to find out.”

You nodded, stepping back to let Gordon do his job with the others as you surveyed the room yourself. Every once in a while your gaze fell back to him. How he stalked about with purpose, each step measured and calculated. He understood the tension in the room, how cops hated that he stood amongst them.

After all, he fell lower into their likeability category than you. To them you were the vulture, but he was the thief. He took their image—their reputations—and made it worse. He took their jobs right under their noses. Not because they couldn’t do it, but because with him it would come to a final end.

You caught bits and pieces of the conversations at hand, heard how the Mayor must have died, but your attention still remained with The Bat. How he stood wary with his back to the window. Every now and then you swore his gaze fell to you, but that might have been your imagination. Your mind hadn’t stopped racing since you stepped past the threshold; the crime scene doing nothing but wracking your body with fear and anxiety. Two things that were an enemy to a good reporter.

“Killer may have come through the skylight.”

You glanced up, eyes tracing the metal lines of the glass above and tried to imagine the scene playing out before you. How they’d get in, how they’d hide. In your head it matched up, but something felt off—as if the scene itself was too perfect. Too pristine for you to gather anything notable.

Gordon’s voice peaked your interest, drawing you closer. “What does a liar do when he’s dead?”

“There’s a cipher too.”

Something flickered in the back of your mind. You remembered Henry having a book of riddles on his desk. Some cheap Christmas gift someone in the office got him in the hopes of giving their boss a sense of humor. You had flipped through it once or twice while waiting for him to show up for a meeting. But you could recall the same riddle being printed with all the others—in a list of nearly three hundred, you remembered that one for its dark flair.

“Lies,” you murmured to yourself, attention forced to the outburst towards Gordon.

But it was the darker and much deeper voice behind you that sent a cold shiver down your spine. “He lies still.”

The answer to the riddle.

Yet even that didn’t tell you much. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t going to give Gotham the easy way out. No, you could see the darkness lingering in the distance. The threat of something more on the way. And there wouldn’t a fucking thing anyone in this room could do about it. Except for him. His name was on the envelope, his sign in the sky and soon…Gotham would be turning to him for more than just an answer to a riddle.

“Happy fuckin’ Halloween,” the commissioner spat, turning away from the scene with enough anger to rival the killer. Grief plagued the air and while you should have stayed, asked for statements, all you wanted to do was go home.

So you bid Gordon goodnight with the promise to call him tomorrow for more than just this. Your stomach was in knots, bile filling the back of your throat, but you could barely move. His gaze still burned a hole in your back, watching as you left on semi-steady feet—the wound that lingered now a reminder that you were nearly this person. You were nearly another story in a newspaper.

Martinez came up beside you as you stepped out into the hall, a cup of hot coffee in his hands. He must have grabbed it from down the street, because he held his own. The rain still pounded outside striking loudly against the window but it had become a drowned out echo. Simply background noise to a tragedy that kept you locked tight in its grasp. You could see the headline of tomorrow’s paper. The words bold and loud amidst the gray color—a color that matched the sky.

GOTHAM MOURNS.

“Want me to give you a ride home?” Martinez asked, eyes still plagued with concern. You wanted to wipe it from his face, place his carefree smile back where it belonged. Except no one would be smiling tonight.

You sucked in a cold breath, sensing the presence of The Bat as he followed Gordon out to the hallway.

“Yeah. A ride would be nice.”

Tomorrow was a new day, but the truth still remained, waiting to break free. Darkness ran through Gotham so deep it would take prying the streets up to see it, but something told you exactly that would happen. This was not the end of the blood that would turn this city red.

It was only the beginning.

#bruce wayne x f!reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #the batman x f!reader #the batman x reader #the batman x you #battinson x reader #battinson x you #the batman #my writing

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moonlitdesertdreams · 2 years

Text

Slumber Party?

A/N: This has no point. None at all besides cuddles and fluff :) Featuring a teensy bit of Bruce POV at the end.

Tags: Jason Todd x f!reader, Jason Todd x you, Jason Todd x Reader, Jason Todd, Red Hood, Bruce Wayne, Batman, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Batfam, Batfamily, DC Imagines, Red Hood x f!reader, Red Hood x you, Red Hood x Reader, The Joker, Death in the Family, Lazarus Pits, Nightwing, Robin, Damian Wayne, Richard Grayson, Dick Grayson, Batfamily fluff

WARNINGS: mentions of grief/loss/depression

Summary: There's no better cure to a hard day than cuddles and ramen noodles.

Word count: 2.6k+

Grief is a funny thing.

Sometimes you feel it acutely, perhaps from the initial loss of someone close to you or ending a relationship. Other times it’s a chronic ache, visiting now and then to remind you of someone or something and drag your day to a halt.

Today, you were feeling the latter.

It’s been over four years since your brother died, and the pain is manageable now. In the beginning it was like losing a piece of yourself- it was losing a piece of yourself. Now, you think about him every day and even laugh at something which reminds you of him when your family gets together. It isn’t painful anymore, and you’ve accepted what’s happened and the fact that no one can change it. Overall, your heart did what hearts do. They heal around the hole left in them, and you push on to the next day.

You hadn’t had a bad day in a long while, and suppose you were due for one. The young brother and sister playing tag down the street were overflowing with youthful innocence, their excited shouts bouncing off concrete sidewalks and ancient brick buildings. When you realized the boy shared a name with your brother though, the pain crept back into the corners of your psyche. It wallowed there before swelling and penetrating the fenced-in part of your heart, tugging at the exposed heartstrings.

Hence, your current position. You shuffle down the grocery store aisle, one Airpod shoved into your ears and hood up while some celebrity podcast rambles to fill the void. A sniffle escapes without proper permission, and you hastily wipe your face with your sleeve. Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink rapidly while tossing a whole case of instant ramen into the cart. If there was anything you wanted to do, it was to sit on the couch with your electric blanket and eat shitty ramen while crying your eyes out.

Of course, nothing could be that easy.

Footsteps approach from behind, and you tense automatically. They’re short strides, and you discern it’s a young person fairly easily. Slowly, you lift the hood from your head and turn, furrowing your brow at the pint-sized person.

“Damian? What are you doing here?”

The youngest Wayne raises one aristocratic brow, wrinkling the smooth olive skin on his forehead. “Shopping, obviously.”

He launches himself up effortlessly, landing inside of your shopping cart. Of fucking course he does, because the big carts you hate pushing were the only ones left, and -oh yeah- he was Batman’s offspring.

“Seriously?” You groan and drop your head to the handle. “Dami, I’m really-”

“Sad? Upset? In need of comfort?”

This time you turn the whole cart around- Damian included- to face the second member of your pity party. Dick Grayson leans casually against the shelves, dressed in dark jeans and a blue sweatshirt, black hair tousled perfectly as per usual.

“God, you too? Can’t even shop without being bothered by your cult.” You bite out, snatching a package of tortillas from the shelf near Dick’s arm.

It was a bit more hostile than you intend, but you’re not in the mood for a Wayne Family intervention at the moment. You’ve had enough since Jason had come back from the dead.

“Hey, we really were just shopping and saw a familiar face. You looked sad, so Damian wanted to check on you.” Dick pushes away from the shelf.

And if that wasn’t the biggest load of shit you’d ever heard.

“Really? You two? Shopping?”

“Alfred is visiting family out of the country.”

You narrow your eyes. “And they entrusted shopping to the two members of the family least likely to step foot in the kitchen?”

“Tt. Nonsense. They entrusted shopping to me, since I am the only one capable of making and fulfilling a list.” Damian glances at his adopted brother. “Grayson is only here because I required a driver.”

“Uh-huh… Well, it’s always nice to see you guys, but I gotta go.” You haul Damian out of the cart by his armpits, eliciting a squawk of protest that almost breaks your eardrum. “Things to do.”

“Like crying by yourself at the store?” Dick presses.

You begin to push the cart away. “Goodbye Dick. Goodbye, Damian.”

----

Back at your apartment, the TV blares a depressing Netflix documentary while you put your ramen in a bowl. While the depression you’d felt at first had ebbed away, being alone was not exactly helping the issue. Now it seems that each TV show or movie you attempt has something to remind you of the pain.

Ramen was the only comforting thing you sought.

While you were praying that Jason would be over soon, you refuse to admit it. Any text to him would cause worry, and the last thing you want is Jason to be in a hurry while doing his nightly business. With your luck, he would channel it into an explosive to take down a city block full of mob members and cause an all-out war. Maybe behead some druglords. Or torture a up-and coming criminal mastermind.

Or something else extreme. You’re not 100% accurate when it comes to predicting Jason’s pit-influenced creative thinking.

You continue on your journey back to the couch, and stoop to plug in your electric blanket. Tinny television speakers ramble on about the mistreatment of killer whales in captivity while you tuck yourself into the couch.

“Seclusion isn’t the ideal treatment for grief, you know.”

You leap up from the couch to face the fire escape window. Darkness is settling over Gotham, but you can see the faint glow of two lenses outside the open window. Damian nudges it open enough to crawl in, changing from a clumsy tumble into a graceful flip faster than you can blink.

“You’re breaking into my apartment now?” You don’t deign to give him a reaction, simply plopping down on the couch. As much as you hate to admit it, the adopted Wayne boys were something of brothers to you. Pushing them away at the store was nothing more than to protect yourself from embarrassment, but you can’t run away now.

“It wasn’t breaking in.” Damian said as he moves to sit beside you on the couch. “Your fire escape is always open.”

You grunt in answer and decide to slurp on ramen instead. Damian flicks his cape boredly and focuses on the TV.

“Are you watching a film about orcas?”

It’s kind of sweet, Damian sitting with you in an attempt to soothe the pain you were feeling. He might be Bruce Wayne’s son, but there’s a flicker of something more in the young man.

“Documentary.” You mumble around a mouthful of noodles. “Think ‘s called Blackfish.”

“Perfect.” Damian declares. “I enjoy educational programs. I will watch it with you.”

Your heart flickers at the statement. So young, yet striving to be the most intelligent creature he can. But if there was one thing you know, it’s that where there’s a Robin, there’s a Batman not far behind.

“Where’s your father?”

Damian huffs and falls back into the couch cushions. “Meeting with Gordon.”

You nod. “I’m sure he’s not thrilled about where you’re at.”

It wasn’t that you and Bruce didn’t like each other. Moreso the fact that he disapproved of Jason’s actions, and you were aligned with Jason. Therefore, you got the same end of the stick as the Red Hood: the shitty side.

“Tt. His petty disagreements with Todd are none of my concern.” He answers haughtily, “Besides, he has no direct quarrel with you. Nor would he, since I am helping you.”

You look away from the whales. “Are you?”

As usual, the sarcasm soars over Damian’s head. “Of course. You’re having a day of mourning, and as I said: it’s unhealthy to be alone.”

You ignore the pang of sadness and smile at him. “You know, Damian, you’re my favorite of the Wayne wards.”

He scoffs in the most menacing way an eleven-year old can. “We both know that’s a lie.”

After a good ruffling of his ornery black locks, you lean back into your side of the couch and collect your rapidly cooling bowl to finish it.

The documentary continues on, and you zone out. Tapping away at Twitter and Instagram draws your attention, and by the time the apartment door opens, you’re dozing off. Your phone has slipped from your grip and the afghan blanket has been tugged across the couch. A warm weight leans into your side, and you decide moving isn’t an option for the foreseeable future.

Somewhere in your subconscious, you recognize the sound of the shower turning on and off. A faint haze of humidity wafts across the apartment, followed by a gentle brush of fingers over your hair.

Eyelashes flutter against your cheeks at the touch, and you observe Jason hovering above you. His hair is shiny and dripping, black tangles with white as it hangs over his eyes. A black t-shirt clings to his damp chest, and sweatpants adorn his lower half.

“Hey, you.” You yawn, leaning your cheek into the kiss Jason lays there.

Awareness bleeds into you, bringing the sensation of another smaller body near you to the forefront of your mind. Much to your surprise Damian is asleep, body slumped against your shoulder and domino mask discarded on the coffee table. You recall his dedication to keep you company earlier in the night, and smile softly.

“Big Bird is on his way to pick up Demon.” Jason opens his mouth to continue, but stops to stare at the window. “Fuckin’ birds. He’s here already.”

Sure enough, the same window Damian crawled through is now occluded by the lithe shape of Nightwing. One dramatic somersault later, he manages to land himself on the couch between you and Damian. The youngest Wayne opens his eyes with a scowl but lets Nightwing toss an arm around his shoulders.

“Hello again.” He chirps, then looks to Jason. “Jaybird.”

“Dickwing. You’re on my couch.” He grits in response.

Dick smiles innocently at his foster brother, leaning a head of wild black locks onto your shoulder. His arms wrap around you in a loose hug. “Not your couch. I am cuddling your girl though.”

The sheer stupidity of their rivalry draws a giggle from your throat. You reach a hand up to Jason’s waist, tugging at his belt loops.

“It’s alright, babe. I love you more than him.” You reassure, “Especially since you don’t stalk me at the grocery store.”

Jason stiffens, even with your playful tone. “You keeping tabs on us now, Wing?”

Dick pulls off his domino to roll his eyes at Jason. “Couldn’t be bothered. Dami and I had to do the shopping ‘cause Alfred’s on vacation. She was the one across town and crying in the cereal aisle.”

You drop your head against the top of Dick’s with a heavy sigh.

Teal eyes bore into you, suddenly filled with concern. “What happened, Bug?”

Swallowing the trepidation the claws into your throat, you look up at Jason.

“I was just having a bad morning. Saw some kids that reminded me of my brother.” You grasp Jason’s hand, rubbing gentle circles onto it. “Damian stopped by tonight so I had company.”

“And now, I’m here! It’s like a family get-together.” Dick hums with excessive enthusiasm. “You should join the party, Jay.”

While Dick Grayson was annoying at his worst, he was a sweetheart at his best. All of the Wayne wards were, in their own way. Him being an advocate for Jason through the toughest times had brought the three of you close- no matter how much Jason would deny it.

“For once, I agree with Dick. You really should join.” You wiggle free from Dick’s hold, reaching your arms up to tug at Jason’s. “If you dont, I’ll be forced to cuddle Damian instead. Or Dick, if I’m desperate.”

Sleepily, Damian pipes up. “I shall not be used as someone’s teddy bear.”

This prompts Dick to let you go and instead rotate to gather Damian in his arms. “Too late baby bird. You’re the best teddy bear.”

“Unhand me at once, Grayson!”

Much to your delight, while the other two argue, Jason relents. And that is how the four of you end up nestled into your old couch, Jason against the armrest pouting. You’re cuddled into his right side with an arm tossed around your shoulders, while Dick sits with his back on the opposite armrest and feet tossed across your lap. You choose a random documentary and press play, letting it drone on over the relentless bickering.

“Touch me with your feet, Dickwing and I’ll break ‘em.”

“Relax, Jaybird. I washed them last week.”

“Yeah? Well I washed my machete when I got home tonight.”

“I oiled my sword the night before last.”

“Remind me why the fuck Bruce has a stick in his ass about a gun but he lets you carry that?”

It’s soothing, you realize, tucked in between three of Gotham’s heroes- or two vigilantes and a crime lord, as it were. Their bickering chases away the bits of grief that still litter your mind, and you relax a little more into Jason’s warm body as the minutes tick by.

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

Bruce Wayne hasn’t spoken to Bug in over a year.

Not since the day after Jason tried to force him into killing the Joker. Since Bruce threw a batarang at his second son’s throat and the building exploded.

And, in that case, he might have deserved the tongue-lashing. He’d pledged to let Jason and her be- to let them live and enjoy each other as long as the Red Hood stayed in his territory. Bruce had followed that pledge to a tee too, until this morning.

Damian and Dick were nowhere to be found after patrols, and though it wasn’t unusual for them to do their own thing- brotherly bonding, Dick had called it- but it was unusual for them not to check in. Tim was sick tonight, leaving Bruce with an odd sense of melancholy as he traversed the streets. Thus, when four-thirty rolled around, Bruce found himself hopping rooftops to Bug’s apartment.

The fire escape is rickety, stained with red splotches that Bruce doesn’t want to believe are dried blood. It rattles against the building as he turns to the window and kneels to peer through the glass.

Oh.

His heart does a strange sort of leap as he sees two- three- of his boys curled up on the couch. Both outer seats have the footrests extended, and pillows littered the floor. Jason is stretched out on the far side, closest to the door. One hand is tucked behind his head, and the other is wrapped around Bug’s waist where she’s tucked into his side, legs twined with his on the recliner. Dick, unsurprisingly, takes up the most space, head pillowed far opposite from Jason and legs tossed over Bug’s lap. To top it off, Damian has managed to pile himself in the middle, arms wrapped around one of Bug’s and body pressed between Dick’s legs and the back of the couch.

There are three domino masks and a broken red hood mask on the coffee table, though any identifiable costumes are covered by the blankets. Bruce winces at the amount of guns he sees discarded on the kitchen island and the crowbar propped near Jason’s end of the couch.

He gnaws on the idea of sliding the window open, drumming his gloves gently on the glass. Eventually Bruce straightens, taking a deep breath and turning towards the east where dawn is just beginning to break over the ocean. His kids are safe, Gotham is quiet.

And Bruce can deal with that. So he lets his kids sleep a little longer.

As always, if you enjoy please like/reblog and check out my links for more :)

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visionsofmagic · 6 months

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day 16: bruce wayne [power play]

࿓ synopsis • the game you play takes a different route in which you try to dominate him, but, he doesn’t allow you.

―❦ nsfw, dominance/submission, roughness, licking, marking, wrist holding, short, f!reader, brat!reader, riding, begging, pet names, ‘is all I guess? • 0.7k • he's my favorite dc character and the idea popped into my mind because he's looking so dom! enjoy! [kinktober m.]

“who’s in control now, love?” he asks as he pounds into you, hands holding yours above your head as your back arches onto his bare chest, filthy voices leaving you one by one since it’s too much to keep silent – he’s trying to gain it from you after all, wanting to make you scream his name louder with each of his deep, hungry thrusts that hit the exact spot that drives you crazy in every time.

the question is a reference to what you said before being in this situation; leaning down on the mattress, wrists inside his palms, breasts bouncing shamelessly and even hitting his chest from time to time, legs wide open, pussy soaking wet enough to make the white color of the sheets goes grey because of how much it is, legs shaking yet still having the strength to stay on his back, hugging him from there only to bring his body closer to yours as if it’s possible – as if he’s not already deep buried inside you, fucking you roughly because he has something to prove to you – to dig it into your pathetic mind as he said before.

he’s angry – a little bit, with the lust that flows inside his veins until it reaches the tip of his thick cock – using it to shove it into you mercilessly.

the feelings are there due to you – being a little brat and trying to take control while riding him a while ago, teasing about how his dick dripping, pale face is full of redness, breathtaking with a rapid way, and even sweating – only you can make the vigilante sweat like this – the reasons why he is rough now.

with the power you had at that moment, your body moved without your mind acknowledging it, making you look down at him, taking control, riding him so slowly to make him beg for you to move, to fuck him, yet, bruce who knows you better than anyone else, including you, understood what you were trying to do, especially when your hand tried to hold his neck – with sudden movement, he gripped your wrists, turning your body over, hovering above you as he mocked you – showing the dominance he has on you – not yours – his.

power play ended when he began to fuck you ruthlessly.

his question remains unanswered – he doesn’t seek one either, he just enjoys watching how messy you’re getting under him, ready to beg more when his hips slow down – and nearly stops as he fucks you leisurely, taking his time, and even having a ghost smirk on his face.

and when you look at him, your vision is blurry yet witnessing his lustful expression, representing of the dominant side he has on you, you know he waits for you to beg – to cry. weren’t it for your aching pussy that is in need to be fucked by bruce, you would stay still, yet, you have no brain at all – only a greedy wet pussy and passion mixed with love.

“bruce –“ his name comes out of your parted lips on its own – pure instinct. “ohh – bruce!”

“yes, my pretty slut, what’s wrong?”

“move – aghh – please, move already! nee – ohh – need you to move!”

leaving your wrists free, his hands positioned on your hips, holding it strongly, ready to bounce into you with all his strength, his weight can be felt on you, sending a different sense of both pain and pleasure at the same time.

“look who’s begging now –“ he teases, kneeling down until his lips touch your neck, biting it – licking it so that he can leave marks on you- bigger and more efficient ones than yours that you left on his entire body before he took control. he enjoyed being under you, yet, the delight of having you under him is far greater than it. “tell me – that I am the one who is in control over you, not you over me,” he lowers down, licking and kissing your exposed body gladly, reaching until its tongue travels on your hardened breasts.

pushing you against his hot tongue, you answer, feeling his cock leaving your pussy slowly, “you! bruce – ohh – you!” “good girl.” he says lastly, then, pushing his hip further, the cock fills your warm walls entirely with a powerful thrust and he doesn’t stop – he thrusts into you with a great pace and power that you no longer remember the power play – letting him do whatever he wants to do with you until he’s satisfied.

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina & @snowprincesa1 & @dookiemeshibear & @chloee0x0 *lots of kisses!*

#🔥 kinktober 2023 second week #kinktober 2023 #dc #dc comics #dc x reader #dc smut #batman #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x f!reader #batman x y/n #batman smut #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x f!reader #bruce wayne smut #THANKS FOR READING!!#power play with him hits different ^^

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hanasnx · 4 months

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sugar daddy

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: posted this on my dc blog before i deleted the entire blog so i’m reposting it here WARNINGS: established relationship | daddy kink | size difference | impact play: ass smack.

Unsure of how you’d earned it, BRUCE WAYNE took you on a shopping trip. All day you’d been dragging him around, letting him pay for your bags upon bags of items with his shiny black card. You can’t help it, staring up at him with those doe eyes he knows so well, it brings a proud curl to his lips. He knows what’s earned, he can read it on your flirtatious body language. How you sway your hips in front of him, eyeing him over your shoulder with the tip of your fingernail wedged between your teeth. Nails he paid for.

“Happy?” he remarks, and you nod with a coy grin.

“Mhm.” you hum in affirmation. “Thanks, Daddy.” you emphasize the nickname, proving to him you’re doing this to mess with him. The thought process appears in his eyes, and a competitive allure blooms within them. To reward you for your behavior, his massive hand swings out to swat your little ass. You squeak, and scold him with a look of disbelief in his direction. He pays it no mind, paying for all of the product you picked out.

On the way out, he clasps your hand in his, nearly enveloping it. A breeze from the open door slips through your legs, and you realize how people must be able to see the red flash of your panties right now. You wiggle your hips as you tug the hemline of your little dress back down.

You feel a chastising squeeze to your hand. “Don’t fidget.”

“Can’t help it, Daddy, you rode my dress up.”

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 7 months

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That's What Family is For (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 16. Hospital, 21. Shock Fandom: DC, Batman, Batfam, Damian Wayne, Batsis!reader, f!reader Summary: After being kidnapped and offering to take Damian's place to be tortured, you miraculously find yourself waking up back home. Damian has a new outlook on your relationship, but will a secret from your past ruin everything? Word Count: 5231 TW: Hospital, Aftermath of Torture, Mentions of Past Torture, Mentions of Death, Forced to Watch, Crying, Coma, Past Trauma Note: Today is the 2 year anniversary of posting Part 1 of this fic. Thank you so incredibly much for your patience and support as I worked on this and I hope it lives up to Part 1 💖 Part of @ailesswhumptober

Part 1