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ryuzakemo128 · 2 years

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Immortal

A/N: Thana is a new oc idea that I had rolling around in my head for a short while. To get a better grasp on what I'm going for when it comes describing her in greater detail.

These are the headcanons I'm talking about for Thana: Part One/ Part Two / Part Three

Trigger Warning(s): Cursing, violence, Major Angst, small amount of intense gore, unwanted sexual advances and mention of suicide

Chapter Two

Chapter One: Thana's Early Life (Part One)

1919

It's a year after world war one, where the weather is foggy, drenched in rain, thunder and absolutely freezing cold. Despite it being in the middle of summer. A young woman had tried to have children with her husband for past seven, almost eight years.

"Marge, I know the exact thing that can fix your problem, I've been in contact with her about you for the past few months. It'll fix your baby problem" Donna told her, "I know it'll work. Just trust me ok?"

"Fine, if this witch can fix this problem. I'll go with you and talk to her. This better not be a waste of my time again Donna" Margret scowled crossing her arms.

"You won't regret it I promise" Donna yelled out to her with a smug grin spreading across her face.

"I certainly hope he can forgive me for this" Margret thought to herself, "I can't keep going on like this anymore"

"Marge, you back already?" George yelled out to her.

"Donna just had something to talk about, girl talk that's all it is" Margret replied putting her coat up.

"Donna make the same excuse as last time?" George said to her sighing as he walked back to his study.

"She made me promise to go with her next time George," Margret stood near the doorway of his study, "If it doesn't work I don't know what I'm going to do George"

Margret walked off wanting to cry into her pillow and die right where she laid. It's been a struggle to have a child, a singular child for the two of them.

George walked in after her pulling her into an embrace, "I know it's been hard for us. I know it feels like I haven't paid attention to how you feel."

"I'm still going tomorrow, I don't want to speak about this anymore Georgie" Margret whined.

"I know, I know. I'm just skeptical that's all I'm being, skeptical about any of it working." George hushed her and stayed with her until she calmed down.

1921

"Thana! Thana come here" George went looking for his little girl. "There you are, what are you doing down there little angel?"

"Hiding daddy" Thana exclaimed giggling from under her bed.

"Hiding from who?"

"Hiding from the monsters"

"What monsters?"

"The scary monsters daddy!" Thana exclaimed crawling out from out from under her bed.

"Where mommy coming home?" Thana asked, as her father brushed her hair.

"Mommy isn't coming home, she went on holidays" Her father explained, trying to be subtle as possible about her mother no longer being alive anymore.

Donna came over with Thana as a baby and in order to have this child. Margret had made a deal with both the devil and a witch. But the cost of the combined deal was her life. So from that day forward it had been just her and her father.

George and Donna decided to tell Thana the truth of her birth when she was older. As it would have only done more harm than anything else, besides George always wanted to have children with his wife and if this was the only way he could have one. Then he wouldn't want it any other way.

1924

It's been three years since Margret had passed away, Thana is now six years old and George had a hard time keeping up with Thana aging as fast as she is.

"George she's a demon, she's going to age faster than we are at that stage of her life." Donna explained, as George cried into his hands. After explaining about how stressed he is looking after his little girl.

"Daddy! Daddy look!" Thana grinned showing her father a drawing of her and her father.

"It's perfect I love it so much" George placed it on the table and replied "I think Aunt Donna is jealous that she didn't get a picture too."

"She is?" Thana looked at Donna suspiciously.

"Indeed I am. I would love it if you could draw me one too"

"I'll draw you the bestest one yet!" Thana exclaimed running back into her bedroom.

"The devil will speak to her on her sixteenth birthday at least I hope he will" Donna says to him.

"I just wish Marge was here to see her"

"I'm sure she'd love Thana"

1926

Thana is ten years old now, her father isn't always there for her as much as Donna. As Donna came around more and more to take care of her while her father continued to mourn the loss of his wife. As this continued, Thana continued to be more and more confused by her father's reactions to her, as she looked so much like her mother that he couldn't even look at her sometimes.

1930

Thana is now eighteen years old, seeking to work as a nurse for a few years to start making money for herself and to work out whether or not pursue higher education. Although the 1930s weren't kind to her, due to her coming into adulthood and never being properly educated in the starting years of her life.

Nurses she worked with taught her how to read and write. Her boss yelled at her for slacking off a few times while she was trying to read. Only for her co-workers to explain how she couldn't read or write and how they felt the need to teach her.

1935

"I'm not asking you to pay rent, for the same reason I never asked it from your mother" Donna said to her making Thana just more confused.

"I've worked as nurse for five years and I saved up enough to buy a car something right?"

"Keep saving and maybe you might be able to. Just leave the money side of things to me alright?" Donna replied pulling her into a hug. Thana didn't understand humans anymore than she did now than she did while she was six years old.

"You're a bright young thing aren't you?" A man said to her one night, his breath smelt like whiskey and ale.

"Sir, can you stop that please?" Thana asked him moving away from him.

"Stop doing what?" He said to her moving closer to her.

"Stop doing that, I don't feel comfortable with it." Thana explained moving further away from him.

Donna walked in, Thana practically ran over to her and hid behind her. "Aunt Donna I want to talk to you in private." Thana said to her.

"What happened?" Donna asked her as Thana pulled her into the bathroom.

"He tried touching me again, I told him over and over again that I didn't like it. But it's like there's a rock between his ears or something because he didn't listen to me."

Donna didn't feel the need to stay in there, she knew what would have happened had she not walked in and started shouting at her husband, "Get the fuck out. Just get the fuck out you sick bastard. Get the fuck out of my house!"

"Thana, you can come out now. It's safe, I promised your parents I would protect you. This is me keeping that promise to them."

1940

After working as a nurse for ten years, learning how to both read and write. She wanted to learn more about the humans she lived with. So she started reading books on the human anatomy, human biology and this continued to be interest while she was working as a nurse in the hospital she lived close to.

Although her interest to remain a nurse had dwindled down, as her interests lied in dressmaking later that year.

"It's great that she has so much interest in so many things. I just can't keep up with it. It's like she's entranced with it, she even made me a few months ago. I couldn't believe it, she told me about how she wanted to try it out and all I could muster was a few noises in response." Donna told her friends, while sipping a mug of tea.

"She's growing faster than I thought" the witch said gazing at Thana, "I can't believe it myself, already thirty eight years and she hasn't changed since she was twenty one."

"I don't know where this energy comes from most of the time." Donna explained, "I haven't told her what her father did, she kept asking when she was going back home."

"Her father committing suicide isn't something easy to bring up. Even if she was human like the rest of us." The witch told her as she walked towards Thana.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Florence, I'm a witch. What's your name love?"

"My name is Thana. Nice to meet you."

"Thana, I heard about your dressmaking skills from your Aunt."

"I wanted to give it a try and see if I liked it." Thana explained, "I also noticed that she didn't have any pretty dresses"

"I think it's a very pretty dress." Florence said with a smirk, "I think Aunt Donna will love it."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely"

1950

It's been five years since Donna passed away, she had a good life and when she didn't return home one day. It emotionally destroyed Thana, the witch stayed with her as Thana mourned her death. Florence moved into her place and the house Donna had bought, it was given to Thana. Even when Donna's ex-husband protested against it saying that she wasn't supposed to be considered to be put in the will while Donna was alive.

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amourlyns · 2 months

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❛ HEY VENGEANCE. ❜ ➜ ⁽ masterlist ⁾

𐙚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕: in which batman visits crime alley, and the reader indulges the bat with sweet notes and baked goods.

✧ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: none

𐙚 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: inspired by this post. thought it was the cutest thing ever and i wanted to write it out, something short n sweet !! dedicated to @armin-ocean-eyes

⟡ ⠀ | 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲. Of course, The Bat doesn’t want to jinx his nightly patrol but (…) it’s been nice.

In all honestly, it finally felt like a break. A time to hunker down and take time to focus on his parents. A stroll through Crime Alley would do. Bruce never forgets about his parents, nor does he forget that night. He comes back to remind himself of what happened. How he couldn’t stop it. How he failed to protect them. It’s a constant reminder, a punishment.

Tension never leaves Bruce’s body. He’s always so high strung, constantly prepared for fight or flight. Shoulders are tense, brows are furries and teeth are gritted. This was his very being now.

Late nights, cold and oh, so lonely. The heavy bass of boots sloshing through rain water across the concrete street. Vengeance has filled the role of Gotham’s protector for long enough to know everything about the city he tirelessly protects. He knows this city better than anyone else.

But he still can’t stomach the alleyway.

Today, Bruce doesn’t bring flowers, but he brings himself. And hopefully, that’s enough for them.

From above the street, unbeknownst to the Bat. He has an angel, a watcher if you will. The city has swallowed him whole and spat him right back at out tonight. Senses are diminished, hazy from the beatings of tonight. Usually, he’s more attentive than this.

Funnily enough, you just moved into the city of Gotham three weeks ago. It’s a dreary, dull city. But at least it’s away from home. Right? Sure, the apartment you were currently living in definitely seemed haunted and it literally oversaw the alleyway the Waynes died in. Why did no one tell you they got mugged? (…) But what could you do? It’s shitty but the only thing you could afford in this damned economy.

And dude, it was definitely haunted.

You actually thought you were hallucinating the first time you laid your eyes on it. The fucking Bat, Vengeance. Gotham Cities actuals protector? It was odd and horrifying. You expected to see him raging through the alley in his moody glory. Big, defiant, and spooky!

But he actually seemed defeated? In a way? His strides were slow. Then, he knelt down onto the pavement and stayed there. It’s weird, this habitual routine of the Bat coming by and kneeling happened constantly. Well, to be fair he did patrol your building after that. Scouring the rooftops for any signs of peril within the area.

When he was done, he would come back to your building and linger on the fire escape. Sometimes you could hear his heavy footsteps on the rooftops or the iron steps.

Now, no one ever said you were the brightest in the bunch. You moved to Gotham for goodness sake. Anyways, you decided to actually make contact with the Bat. Which in theory, sounds like a good idea because who wouldn’t want a hero in their pocket? Well, a vigilante. But you digress (…) If coming near the alley brings him down, maybe he needs a lift?

The general idea was, leave a note or a gift for Vengeance and leave him be. So, that’s how it begun.

It was the third time Bruce visited the crime alley. This time, he had the intention to make his trip revolve only around his parents.

But then he saw you.

Granted, you were definitely not expecting to see anyone or someone like the Batman at this time of night. So you scrambled off of your balcony and dropped some sort of post-it note on the way out. There were three things on Bruce’s mind. How many times have you seen him and did you know his habits or who he was? Paranoia gnaws away at his guts and creates a nasty hole in his stomach.

He was a master of overthinking.

The Bat was quick to snatch up the post-it note you dropped, taking the time to read and analyze your penmanship. Was it lined with some sort of poison? Was it a tracking device? He waits for a moment. Grunting at the words etched into the paper.

〞I don't know what you're going through but I know you'll get through it. Xoxo. 〞

Huh.

Alfred would tease him for this.

An admirer? He was stumped.

It’s been about a week since you’ve seen Vengeance, your gifts of food and ever abundant notes never stopped though. You were starting to think he changed his route ever since that night he caught you on the railing.

First off, he was terrifying up close (the man was ten feet away) and second off, how was he able to catch you. Some part of you expected the man to interrogate you or something.

He didn’t, thank goodness. But you kind of missed seeing the cryptic Bat.

On the other hand, Bruce decided to do some research on you. A through background check would never hurt and who knows if you wanted to kill him? It could all be a facade. Each baked good and beverage you left out for the Bat was analyzed and tested. It could’ve been poisoned, laced, or worst, set to detonate. He was taking precautions. But Alfred insisted it was a good gesture.

Whatever it was, you never stopped. Bruce changed his route of course, there was no reason to let his guard down. But, he did appreciate the notes. To an extent. He just couldn’t help but think of the uncertainty.

The latest one he was holding onto was nothing short of thoughtful.

〞I hope you're having a good day :) (Btw, I haven’t seen you around!〞

So for the most part you were attentive. So he could commend you for that.

Despite all of the alarms in his brain telling him to stick to the new route, he returns to the old route for your sake. The very least he could do was thank you for the messages and treats. At least, that’s what Alfred said. For once, he didn’t feel like being stubborn and listened. The first thing he saw was your silhouette against the glass of your sliding door. Then, your emergence.

Bruce is frozen in place. But you’re waving frantically and running down the steps to greet him. Should he turn away? Just leave and never show up again? What if ⸻

❛ OHMYGOSH, OH MY GOSH. YOU’RE REAL! YOU’RE HERE! I WAS STARTING TO THINK I WAS BEING DELUSIONAL AND SEEING THINGS. WHOA, YOU’RE TALLER IN PERSON. AND LIKE SCARY. SORRY, SORRY I DIDN’T MEAN THAT. WOW. ❜

You’re realizing how that sounded; Bruce notices how you cower in fear. Despite his own anxiety driving him up a wall. The least he could do was say thank you, or show his appreciation. It takes him a few moments to say anything. He can hardly hold eye contact, but it eventually comes out.

❛ I (…) I APPRECIATE IT. ❜

Well. You definitely didn’t expect him to sound like that. His response was so soft you couldn’t even tell if he was directing that towards you. It was so quiet he might as well been talking to himself⸻ and before you could even ask him another question, he’s gone by the time you look up.

Introvert much?

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lily-drake · 1 year

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It’s a Learned Trait

This is my Secret Santa gift to Night_ngale on Ao3! This story is inspired by this photo by @mumblesplash on Tumblr (yes I got permission, and thank you for it!):

For Night_ngale on Ao3:

Marinette had been having a wonderful day with her parents in Gotham, New Jersey. Her parents had just finished a catering job there and today they had decided to go sightseeing to all of the tourist attractions. They had taken her to the zoo, to the aquarium, to the museum, and now they were heading to a bo-ton-tanicel-al…. botanical garden! Both of her parents were holding her hands and smiling brightly at her as they walked the busy streets. It was such a nice day, absolutely nothing could ruin it for her!

Then an explosion happened, and there was running, and a ringing noise in her ears that just wouldn’t stop, and everything was moving too fast.

Screams filled the air along with scary high pitched giggling that sent shivers running through her spine. She clutched tightly to the pair of hands that held onto both of her’s just as tightly, if not tighter, as they fled the crowded streets. Then they could feel the cool shadow of something big that was coming from up high. She looked up and felt herself freeze up as a massive piece of concrete broke off of the building they were under and fell faster and faster and faster exactly where she and her parents stood. She tried to move, she tried to get herself to run away from the danger that she knew even at her age meant that she would no longer be able to wander the Earth; but she couldn’t. The people kept shoving past her and her parents, keeping them in place as everyone pushed and shoved to get far, far away from the ensuing chaos. The crowd was too thick, the screams were too loud, the rubble was too fast. The next thing she knew was two pairs of different sized hands shoved her forward away from the massive pieces of falling debris that was right above them. She turned to look behind her to see her parents' horrified expressions as they too stared up at the ginormous piece of concrete that was hurtling towards them and so many more people. People kept almost stepping on her and crowding her vision of her parents and they moved before she could blink.

Before she could even process what happened next, someone had picked her up and moved her away before quickly covering her eyes. A few seconds later a loud crash was heard and the ground shook so hard she would have fallen over if the person hadn’t been keeping her upright. Once the shaking was over the person that had rescued her picked her up, holding tightly onto her as they moved their hand up and the sound of something being shot through the air sounded just above her.

“It’s ok, I’ve gotcha.”

Said a deep gruff voice, though she could barely hear it as the cold wind whipped past her ears biting at her skin. Her knee length pink dress hugged her legs as her brain refused to function and process the events that had just occurred. She felt her feet touch solid ground, but her legs didn’t seem to want to hold her as her brain continued to stay offline. She couldn’t think, couldn’t comprehend, and would the ringing in her ears just stop! Where were her mama and papa?! What happened to them?!

It sounded like someone was trying to talk to her, but she was underwater and she couldn’t hear a thing, she couldn’t even see what was in front of her clearly. Her entire body felt like it was weighted down, the pressure slowly crushing her. She couldn’t even think, her brain was just too quiet and the ringing was too loud! There was too much, too much noise, too much quiet, too much information yet not enough at all! She kept going down deeper with nothing to ground her fleeting thoughts until she felt something heavy being placed around her shoulders. Her eyes slowly began to register her surroundings and, after who knew how long, she was met with deep light teal eyes that were filled with worry. Their face was obscured by a red mask, but she could still make out most of his features. He had dark black hair with a white streak in it. She didn’t know why this was important, all she knew was that she had to keep looking at him. It was like if she looked away from him then everything would get all fuzzy again and she wouldn’t be able to think, and the ringing would take over her again even though it was still there! Why can’t it stop, just make it stop, she wanted her mama and papa! Where were they?!

“Hey, things will be ok.”

The masked man gently stated. He kept eye contact with her, watching her to make sure she didn’t start to hyperventilate and that she wouldn’t go into shock. He carefully pulled the jacket around her full body, carefully pulling her limp and dysfunctional arms into the jacket’s large sleeves. He gave her a small reassuring smile while smoothing out the sleeves on the jacket, pressing the warmth of it onto her. “Can you hold onto this for me? I’ll be right back, ok?”

She simply nodded her head and held onto the jacket tightly like it was a lifeline. He slowly grabbed a helmet that was on the ground near his legs and put it on. “Don’t move ok, you’re safe now.”

He looked back at her then ran and jumped off…., oh, she was on a roof. When did she get on a roof? She hadn’t noticed. She stood completely still, her mind causing the cacophony of noises to fade in and out. She could hear screams and bangs, then nothing. She could hear fighting and laughter, then the ringing came back. The sounds often came close to the roof she was on; the fear of it made her legs so weak she eventually collapsed onto her knees as she clutched the jacket tighter than before. Eventually her brain finally seemed to grasp the reality around her causing tears to start falling down her cheeks and sobs escaped her lips. Her parents were dead, she was rescued, but th-they’re d-de-dead!

Sobs wracked her small frame as the noises continued on for she doesn’t even know how long. Every time there was a noise louder than the rest she pulled the jacket even tighter around her small body expecting the worst. She wanted to escape, she wanted to hug her parents, she just wanted to go back home to Paris. She wanted to go back to the bakery and eat the desserts her parents made, see Nino and Kim and play games with them, she wanted to go to the pretty gardens at the park and lay with the flowers.

They were supposed to be happy, they were happy when they saw the pretty fishies, they were happy when they saw the amazing artifacts in the museum, papa had held her on his shoulders so she could see the giraffes better when they had taken her to the zoo. Everything had been so perfect, why did everything change so fast? Why did her mama and papa have to leave her like this? Why was there no rain when such a terrible tragedy had just occurred like in the movies?

There was a soft thump that made her wrap the jacket even tighter, if that was even possible. She didn’t want to get hurt, she just wanted her parents back. “Hey, thanks for holding onto that for me.”

The man from before said. She looked up, her eyes watery, making his figure blurry. She saw him take off the helmet and set it down. He looked sad and remorseful as he slowly sat next to her, but never reached out to touch her, instead remaining a comfortable presence. “You from here?”

She slowly shook her head no. “P-Paris.”

Her voice was cracked and broken. Her parents had her study English with her French studies because of all of the tourists that came by. Not to mention Mama said that if she wanted to be famous then she had to know English. How would she get back to Paris? Who would take her? How was she supposed to survive without her mama and papa?! She couldn’t, she needed them, now they’re gone and she’ll die here because she has nothing without them.

“Paris is a nice place. Have any friends there?”

She nodded again, the movement causing the drops on her cheek to drip onto the ground. He stayed silent, waiting to see if she would do or say anything further. She was glad he let her take her time, she was tired and her brain was still too loud and fuzzy to really understand his questions immediately. Dejectedly she replied, “N-Nino and K-Kim are my friends. Th-they stand up t-to Chloe f-for me. Everyo-one else is too scared of her an-and her daddy.”

He reached out to touch her, but quickly pulled back. He wanted to comfort the small child, but he wasn’t sure how she would respond if he touched her. She looked so small curled up in his jacket, it would have been cute if it weren’t for the circumstances that led to the scene in front of him. “Sounds like you’ve got some good people lookin’ out for ya.”

He said, trying to sound reassuring. She gave a small smile and nodded, “Y-yea.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere safe. I know someone who will take care of ya for a bit, okay?” Red Hood asked carefully. She nodded again and was about to take her arms out of the sleeves of the warm jacket, but before she could fully take it off the man stopped her. “Keep it, I’ve got a lot of others back home, and this is gonna keep you safe, ok?”

She nodded slowly, letting him adjust and zip it up so the warmth that still lingered in it was all around her. He slowly stood up, projecting his movements so as to not scare her before he extended his hand for her to take. She looked at it hesitantly, slowly reaching out and taking hold of his hand as she wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her free arm. Her hand was so small that when he closed his her entire hand was encompassed by his own. He gently pulled her back onto her feet making sure she was stable before letting go. “Hop on my back and hold on tight, ‘kay?”

He said softly–just like her mom used to when she was hurt–crouching down with his back facing her so she could climb on. With a brief moment of hesitation, because what if this was a trap like Mama and Papa had warned her about, she carefully climbed onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck and gripped onto his shirt. It was a bit hard as there seemed to be something hard sewn into parts of it, but it was okay. He slowly got up and made sure her legs were wrapped tightly around his torso so she wouldn't slip or fall off. When he was sure she was secure, he grabbed something from one of his pockets, angled it. There was a loud bang, like the one she had heard when he had first grabbed her, though that memory felt like it was from so many years ago, that startled her accompanied by a whiz as it shot into the air. He pulled on the device he was using to make sure it was taught and secure, then he ran and jumped off the building.

Marinette screamed in fear and buried her face into his shoulder, holding him even tighter than before. She kept her eyes shut, feeling out the rhythm of run, jump, fall, swing. Eventually she started to feel a little more comfortable swinging through the air, that was until they started to fall again. She screamed again louder than the time before and heard the noise of the man’s device again before she felt the taut jolt that signified they were soaring through the air once more. Slowly, she tilted her head up and saw how amazing the city looked with all of its shining lights so high up in the sky with the setting sun sinking behind the tall buildings. Wasn’t it just past 13:00 though? She had just eaten lunch with her mama and papa; hadn’t she…?

Suddenly the lights weren’t as amazing as they were before, they were dull and full of sorrow and loss. She didn’t want to look down just in case she saw them, they wouldn’t look the same. She didn’t want to look down because then she might fall, and she didn’t want to fall. Heights have always been scary. She held onto the man tighter, scared that if she loosened her grip even the smallest amount, she’d fall.

They continued on in that fashion for a few minutes when the man with the red helmet set her down on a balcony. It was plain with a swirled black metal guard. The roof was bland and lifeless with nothing decorating it other than the fence, she didn’t like it. “I’ve got a friend here. He’ll watch over you for a while, okay?” She nodded slowly, unsure of whether she should be relieved someone would take her in or scared that this was all some sort of trap. She watched and listened as the man climbed down a fire escape and began to tap on a window.

Tap

…

Tap tap

…..

Tap tap tap

Then he stepped back and waited. Another man with red hair opened the window with a small smile, “What’s up Hood?” He asked in a casual voice.

“I need you to watch someone for me.”

The red-haired man raised a brow.

“Her parents didn’t make it in the last battle with Joker. Lots of debris, and I don’t feel like having serial-adopter-bats see her.”

“Makes sense. Where are they?” The other man asked with a small nod, looking around the escape. The man in the helmet held up one finger and climbed back up to her.

“Can you come with me please?”

Marinette gulped, unsure of what she should do. But the man has been really nice to her so far, and he’s even letting her keep his jacket. Slowly she reached out and took his offered hand, letting him help her down the fire escape to the window.

“Hey,”

The other man said in a soft tone,

“What's your name?”

She looked down, anxiously twirling her foot from side to side. “M-Marinette.” She replied quietly, voice strained.

“That’s a nice name, how old are you?” His voice was soft and gentle and it made her feel a little more at ease.

“Nine.”

“Wow, you’re pretty old, huh? I’m Roy, do you want to come in and eat something? I just finished making some sandwiches.” She looked back at the man that had brought her here and saw him give her a small nod. She nodded back and shyly followed the red haired man into the apartment building. “Do you want some water?”

She nodded again, standing near the island counter. She looked back at the window where the man in the helmet had been only seconds before, only to see that he was no longer there. The man nodded and quickly got a cup from a cupboard and filled it with some tap water before placing it on the counter near her with a small plate that held what looked like BLT. “I have a roommate, he should come by soon. Just as a heads up, ok?”

She nodded, carefully climbing up to the barstool and sat down. Marinette looked at the sandwich and started picking at it. She really wasn’t that hungry, but it would be rude to not accept her host's hospitality. Her mama had taught her the importance of respecting people that were trying to help her, especially when she was at her friend’s home. Tears she thought she had run out of started to resurface as she thought of her mama. She sniffled and wiped her eyes before more could escape.

Roy looked at her worriedly. From what he had read from the text Jason had sent him, her parents were caught by falling debris from one of Joker’s bombs that the bats hadn’t been able to dismantle in time. He had been able to pull her away, but her parents along with a bunch of other civilians weren’t able to make it out of the way in time. Jason said that he had managed to cover her eyes and take her away before she could see anything, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough to stop any type of trauma from forming.

The girl was so small, he could only imagine what must be going through her mind. Not to mention she was only visiting from Paris, she wasn’t even from Gotham. Apparently her parents were catering for one of Bruce’s events, and that was the only reason they had even traveled here in the first place.

“Hey, do you want to watch a movie? I’m sure we could find something you’d like.” She didn’t respond right away as she processed what he had asked. It didn’t matter though, he’d give her all the time she needed.

“R-Ratatouille?” Was her small reply. A smile graced his lips, as he asked,

“Is that your favorite Disney movie?” She shrunk in on herself and nodded with a small,

“Mhm.”

“That’s a great movie, let me ask Jason to pick it up when he comes back. He should be here soon anyways.”

“Okay.”

Her voice was so quiet, but he could hear the joy in her voice. He quickly texted Jason to pick up the movie when he was done debriefing with The Bats and started to make another sandwich since she was eating his, not that he minded of course.

• • •

Jason walks in with a bag full of gummy candy, popcorn, a box of different flavored macaroons, and one Disney movie in its unopened case and plastic wrapping. He was thankful to see that the small girl was sitting at the counter drawing. He wouldn’t know what to do if she were still crying. “Hey, heard we’re takin’ care of another kid? I bet Lian will be happy to have a new friend when she comes back from her sleepover.”

He called out into the apartment as if he had no idea what had happened only a few hours before. The little girl startled from her seat, quickly turning to look at him with her large bluebell eyes. He really needed to keep her away from Bruce, she was perfect Wayne material and he refused for her to be tainted by him and the rest of his adopted child army.

“Yea, Red Hood dropped her off due to….” He glanced at the girl sympathetically, “The incident that happened earlier.”

Marinette shifted uncomfortably and went back to drawing with a furrowed brow. There was a heavy silence that filled the room until Jason said, “Well, I bought a bunch of snacks and was told to buy a movie, so….”

Marinette looked up again and hopped off the chair nearly tripping. She quickly stood up embarrassed as both boys stared at her in worry.

“You okay Marinette?” Roy asked carefully, walking towards her. Her cheeks turned a slight red as she nodded.

“Y-yes, sorry. I’m really clumsy.” Her voice held a French accent that only made the little girl even more adorable. Jason gave her a wide smile and gently handed her the plastic grocery bag.

“Here you go.”

She carefully took the bag with a small, “Thank you”, and started to look through it. Her eyes shined with childlike glee at the macaroons and they shined even brighter when she pulled out the blue-ray disk. She quickly ran over to Roy and showed him the movie asking if he could put it into whatever he uses.

It was interesting to see Roy smile and ruffle her hair. He looked calm and happy, used to the role of caretaker. Gently he took the disk, removed the plastic before opening it up, and walked over to the TV in the main room next to the kitchen and popped the disk in.

“Hey, I’ll go grab some blankets. Do you want to take your shoes off Marinette?” He asked gently as he moved toward the linen closet. She nodded and slipped them off with a slightly flushed face. She watched as Roy sunk down on the couch where he patted at one of the seats. Cautiously she walked toward the coach sitting in a rocking chair a few feet away from Roy. You could never be too cautious, at least that’s what her mama used to say. “Used to”, that felt wrong.

When Jason walked back into the room he watched as the small girl hugged her legs close to her chest, face hidden behind her arms. It was a heartbreaking sight, a sight that felt familiar as it pulled against his heartstrings as he remembered doing the same thing around the same age.

“Thanks Jaybird.” Roy whispered as he took the blankets from his hands. He hadn’t even noticed that he was approaching. He was out of it today, and not in a good way. The opening narration of Remmy the Rat began to play through the speakers as Roy slowly and carefully wrapped a weighted blanket around the young girl's shoulders.�� He watched as Roy talked to her quietly for a few moments, never initiating touch, waiting to see what she would say or do. It was always interesting to watch Roy act like a father as he treated his kid far differently than either of his dads had treated him. After a few minutes Roy stepped away, back to his spot on the couch not saying another word as the young girl collected herself before looking up to watch the movie with tear soaked cheeks that stabbed at Jason’s heart.

• • •

It was around the middle of the movie that little Mari fell asleep. She had slowly begun to relax as the movie progressed until she had blinked a few times very slowly, then her eyes fell and stayed shut. She was emotionally exhausted from the day and had simply passed out, poor kid.

Jason watched the kid, but not in a weird way. He was worried, and he didn’t know what to do. The kid was stuck here, despite the fact that she’s not a citizen, and from what little information he could find with little time at his disposal, he couldn’t find any family that could take her now that she was an orphan. Jason wondered if this was how Bruce felt when he had met all of them before he decided to make them his little band of misfit toys. He often felt this way when he saw Lian, but it was never as strong of an emotion as he felt now for this child he had only met a few hours ago.

“You look constipated; which means you’re trying a failing to show some form of deep emotion. So spit it out, what’s going on in that thick skull of yours?”

Roy asked quietly, turning his head slightly to give him a side eye before turning back to the movie. Jason rolled his eyes and let out a long frustrated sigh. “I don’t know Roy. There’s just a lot going on, especially after the last attack.”

Roy quickly paused the movie and turned to look Jason in his eyes. There wasn’t any pity in his gaze, but there was empathy and an openness that showed he wouldn’t judge.

“It was Joker’s fault. So many people died because of the Joker, her parents,” he firmly gestured to the sleeping girl with tear stained cheeks sleeping on the small chair, whisper yelling so as to not wake her; “are no longer alive because of his actions today and Bruce still won’t get rid of him.” Jason took in a deep shuddering breath, he needed to control himself, he couldn’t let the green creep in. That wouldn’t do anything, it wouldn’t do any good for anyone, especially right now.

“I’ve tried to kill him,” Jason admitted shakily, “I’ve tried, but he always finds a way to stop me. I don’t understand how he cares for that-that creature more than his own- than me.” A heavy silence fell between them only broken up by the gentle snores to their right.

“I don’t want her to feel this way, I don’t want her to go through the same pain I went through at her age.” Jason continued. When I was trying to find out any information on her, a potential family member that could take her home I found that her grandmother on her dad’s side died in a motorcycle accident, her grandfather died of a heart attack, on her mom’s side it looks like her mother was disowned for unknown reasons, which means that they probably would not take in her daughter. That leaves her with Social Services, and despite Bruce’s efforts I still don’t trust it; or as a street kid.”

Roy contemplated everything that Jason had just told him. They had been through a lot together, in fact Jason and Star were the reasons that he was still alive, the reason he believed that he was doing a good job at being a father, they helped him keep going when everyone else had given up on him. Roy glanced at the sleeping girl, then back to Jason. Jason looked at the girl the same way Roy looked at his own daughter, with a sort of protective love. Roy could tell that Jason cared about the kid; he probably saw himself Marinette. It only made sense that he would feel extra protective around the girl as no one would want the same trauma that you’ve faced placed onto another.

“Well, what do you think is the best thing to do Jason? I know for a fact that you’re not going to be letting Bruce or any of the other bats, besides maybe Oracle, anywhere near her. If what you say is true, and she really has no family that will willingly take her in, then what’s your plan?”

Another sigh escaped Jason as he leaned his head back so that it was hanging off the couch. “I don’t know Roy, maybe we can drop her off in Metropolis and let her be taken care of there. They have a better system and I’m sure she would be adopted by someone that would love her.”

Roy nodded, he could see the good in the plan, but there was something else. Jason was still frustrated and didn’t like the idea. “But?” He prodded.

“‘But’,” Jason said emphasizing the ‘t’, “the thought of doing that makes my skin crawl in all of the wrong ways.”

Roy hummed. This isn't some easy or light hearted task. The kid had just lost both of her parents in the most sudden way possible, then she was taken away from the area and to the house of complete strangers, and to top it off she may never be able to return to her home country; but if she does she would be put into the foster system with no stability ot time to heal. Of course she also had the possibility of being taken in by her grandparents in China, but there was a chance that they would treat her poorly since they had disowned her mother, and they may only take her in because of obligation. Nothing about this was easy, none of it was simple. If Jason wanted to somehow become her legal guardian then he would need to earn her trust, he would have to either legally become alive again or find a believable identity that would allow for him to adopt her.

There were just so many variables, and it was too late for this conversation, yet not late enough.

“Lian’s coming home tomorrow, we can figure this out while they play.”

Jason nodded, mostly to himself. “You’re right. We need to give her more time to process everything, I still need to process today.”

“Did you have a panic attack?” Roy asked worriedly. Now that he was thinking about it there must have been lots of explosions, even if most of them were disabled. Then there was the clown and how he just paraded around on the rooftops. Jason had had a few before when he returned back to the apartment after a Joker breakout, it was horrifying. Jason just gave him a sad, strained smile.

“No, thankfully.”

“Right,” Roy said as he slowly stood up, stretching his arms up dramatically. “Well let's move her to Kori’s room tonight. She’s still visiting Tamaran.”

Jason nodded, following suit. Slowly he approached the sleeping girl, televising his movements despite the fact that she was still asleep before gently picking the girl up. Roy watched with a gentle smile as he slowly walked to Kori’s room, trying not to wake her as he brought her to bed. He had watched Jason do the same thing with Lian, playing the role of older brother perfectly. Now, it looked like he might be stepping into a new role. The same role that Roy carried right now. But who knew what would happen. As Roy settled in for the night in his own room a sudden thought came to his mind. Jason was always complaining how Bruce had a “type” or MO for the people he really cared about; and that was that they needed to have black hair and/or blue eyes. The girl that Jason saved and now is attached to has black hair and…blue eyes. He quickly turned into his pillow and started laughing his butt of, hoping that no one would be able to hear him. A couple tears slipped down his cheeks as he thought to himself, ‘so it’s a learned trait after all.’

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lovelettersforthedamned · 4 months

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+ Bruce Wayne with “🤒🫂👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨”

-❄️❄️

--word count: 0.5k

--warnings: SICK FIC!!! not much, but bruce is very stubborn. fluff, fluff, fluff!

--gif credit: @gotham

You knew being out in the cold and the rain would eventually catch up to him. And, of course, he always ignored you. Bruce tended to brush off anything concerning his health, and it stressed you out. Whether you asked him about a jacket, or even to sleep in a little longer, he always denied it. So when you heard sniffling coming from his side of the bed, you knew he was in for a few days of rest, even if he didn’t want it.

You glance toward Bruce next to you, reading the morning paper and barely touching his food, his shoulders slumped more than usual. His constant sniffling makes you worry. Reaching over to rest your hand on top of his, you pull his attention away from the newspaper and onto you, “Are you feeling alright?” His palm turns over and interlaces your fingers, giving them a soft squeeze.

“Yeah,” his voice revealed the stuffiness of his nose, “I’m fine.” He checks the time before quickly changing the subject, “Don’t you have to be at work? It’s getting late.”

You’re studying his features as he speaks before you let go of his hold to bring the backside of your hand to feel his forehead, the skin hot to the touch. “Bruce, you’re burning up. I’ll take the day off, so that means you have to, too,” you walk over to Alfred to inform him of Bruce’s current state.

“(Y/N), I told you that I’m fine,” a tone of annoyance hidden in his voice, followed by a nasty cough. You know that he doesn’t want to abandon his work for a single day. His work trumps his health, according to his logic.

This pulls both your and Alfred’s attention. “Well,” you sigh playfully, “I guess Alfred can cuddle you back to health if you don’t need any of my help today!” You return to the dining table where Bruce still sits and pick up your purse. Leaning down to press a quick peck to the top of Bruce’s head, you add, “I’ll be off then…”

As you make your way to the front doors, a voice shouts your way, “Wait!” You peer over your shoulder to see Bruce standing, his eyes pleading for you to stay. “ I don’t feel…the best,” he mutters.

You fully face him, waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t, so you give him a push of encouragement. “You don’t feel the best, and you what,” you ask him in a sing-song voice. You know you’re pushing it a bit, but you still stand there waiting for his response.

“...And I would like for you to stay here. With me,” he adds.

This makes you grin as you walk over to Bruce, enveloping him in a hug. Bringing up your hand to brush his hair out of his face, you peck his forehead, “You’re stubborn, you know that right?”

You only receive a huff in response, but you’re satisfied. As the two of you walk up the stairs and back to bed, Alfred can’t help but chuckle at the two of you. You have Bruce wrapped around your finger, and he loves it.

--author's note: dear universe, just because i wrote a sickfic does NOT mean i should get sick...thank you!!! I LOVED THIS ASK!!! THANK YOU ❄️ ANON! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog to support me and my work! my 300 follower celebration is happening NOW, so send in something if you want to bae:) ok, ily bye<3333.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #fluff #sickfic #battinson #battinson fic #battinson x reader #bruce wayne blurb #the batman 2022 #dc #llftd 300 follower celebration

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imagine--if · 1 year

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Can I ask for a Dano Riddler imagine? where him and Yn grew up together (she was in the girls wing of the orphanage and they talked through the walls, like him and the joker on the film) and she goes to see him in Arkham, and she's really sad that he's there, because they promissed each other that they'd never leave one another, and it's tearful and all, but he promisses her that he'll leave soon and never be apart ever again😭❤

A/N: I've just gotten round to reading the fourth issue of Riddler Year One so yessss I've totally got plenty of inspo for this imagine 😁 enjoy!!

Wordcount: 2.2K

"She doesn't say much. And when she does, it's hard to make it out. Shy little thing. Still, she'll get used to it. She'll have to."

You were only four or five when you were dumped in Gotham's orphanage, clutching onto your soft toy as an only source of comfort and some kind of stability in a terrifying world, and an even worse city. You were quiet, barely spoke, and when you did, it was in whispers, all wide, innocent eyes and secretive, the hood up on your little hoodie as you tried your best to hide yourself from everything and everyone. Just a toddler, with a sweet life twisted by death and misfortune that you barely understood as a toddler. You had shuffled meekly behind a carer who led you into the orphanage, a cold and cruel building that they expected you to call home.

The other kids there seemed so much bigger, loud and dominating and aggressive, half of them on drops, only around twelve years old. Others were plain bullies with filthy mouths and hateful glares, children's eyes glancing at you, assessing your small, shy form, before they carried on with what they were doing in disinterest.

You had buried your face in your toy and pulled the fabric of your hood up past your hair and head, over your forehead, shadowing your face, trying to disappear in it. You pulled your legs up to your chest and watched everything happen behind your toy, its fur pressed up against your face. A group of kids watched TV and fought over the remote, others played nearby outside, but from your spot hunched in a corner, opposite you, sat a boy almost as quiet as you. You gazed at him in silence for a few long minutes, absorbed in his puzzle book, and only when he looked up to get a fresh pencil did he notice your young, curious eyes fixed on him.

He was a few years older than you, with glasses pushed up his nose, making his murky green eyes twinkle as they looked back at you nervously. He gave you a small smile, the first genuine smile you'd received in maybe your whole life, awkward and hesitant. You blinked back at him timidly, hugging your toy closer with little hands, returning his smile bashfully. The boy seemed taken aback by the action, and beamed at you, a beat of hesitance passing before he offered you a pen. You stared at it, then at him, and wandered over, sitting beside him and accepting his offer. You barely knew how to read or write, and so you watched him instead, the quiet boy with a nice smile and lots of books, day after day.

And as the days went by, both of you becoming closer and more comfortable together, Edward would start talking to you in his small, sweet voice, writing answers to riddles with a hand over yours, pulling your littler form into his lap after a couple of weeks and reading to you, then helping you read, helping you speak up a little. He'd even speak for you with others, managing to push past his own shyness every so often to help you, to repeat your whispered, lispy voice to those who couldn't catch it. You'd trail after him throughout the day when you could, before you were taken back to the girls' dorm, and you'd linger in the separating corridor, afraid of the idea of you two parting and him never coming back out of his long, shared boys' room.

"I'll see you in the morning," He'd always say soothingly, giving you a warm hug, bending down slightly so you could return it properly. "I'll never leave you. You know that."

And you'd nod, because you knew Edward was telling the truth by the way he said it and looked at you with earnest, young eyes, letting you borrow a book to amuse yourself with if the nights got too long,

But then foster families and adoptees started popping up. And you, being a young, sweet-looking child, albeit a little shy, are swept up into the grips of a random 'family,' and the quickness of how your name's signed away to people you don't even know and have no say over makes your head spin. The orphanage was overcrowded anyway, and one less mouth to feed in exchange for money made all the difference.

Edward, on the other hand, was beside himself.

Newspapers and library books on adoption and rules and any ways to prevent what was happening piled up beside his bed, to the dorm he'd been disciplined to stay in for his shocking outbursts of frustration and hatred and upset. Thomas Wayne's renewal plan could help him, he thought. He'd already assured him that he could get to a special school to study and learn and have a brighter future.

So on the last night you could spend together, sneaking out of the corridor of a room you slept in with the other girls, Edward filled out the form in his shaky, uneven writing, stating on one line that he wanted to go to the school he'd talked about, and on the other, 'I want to stay with my best friend and stop them from being taken away by bad people.'

REJECTED.

The word stamped in bold, horrid red print was the response he got, the word that bled into his mind as you were made to pack a bag and wave goodbye and go, handing your young life over to strangers, and Edward couldn't do a thing about it. You were carted off out of Gotham to go to school and expected to become a whole new person.

But you couldn't.

The years went by agonisingly slowly, and with every one that passed, you thought about him, your friend, Edward. Did he get adopted too? Did he manage to find some source of happiness and hope afterwards? Would he even remember you if you went back?

Eventually, you save up enough money and have enough time to go back to where it all started, in the unfeeling streets of Gotham City. You had no idea where to look, and after hearing from someone that the orphanage had been burned down ages ago, your last resort was to ask at the GCPD.

"Sorry to bother you," you say with an awkward smile, as a detective greets you and asks if he can be any help; 'Lieutenant James Gordon,' his name tag reads, "I'm looking for someone who I think still lives here? We were friends a while ago, and... I'm sorry, you look busy."

"We are quite busy, Miss," Gordon tells you, looking a little overwhelmed. "We've just managed to catch some crazy psycho who's been letting hell loose recently."

Your eyes widen in confusion and interest. "Wow... that's... yeah, I'm sorry, it's okay."

"No, go on," Gordon nods, letting you into his office, "have you got a name, address or anything?"

"I don't know his address," you say in uncertainty. "We were friends as kids. His name's Edward. Edward Nashton?"

Jams Gordon stops abruptly, whirling around to face you with demanding, bewildered eyes.

"Excuse me?"

You frown. "What?"

"Are you trying to be funny?" Gordon says in shock. "Edward Nashton? That's who you're looking for?"

You nod slowly, and Gordon sighs, taking off his glasses and hiding his face in a hand.

"Look, Miss, I don't know how new you are to Gotham, but Edward Nashton has just been arrested and sent to Arkham Asylum for the crimes committed under the name of The Riddler. He was only just apprehended a few hours ago."

Your breath catches in your throat in disbelief, as Gordon's eyes narrow suspiciously, looking you up and down.

"And you really knew nothing about this? You aren't an accessory?"

"I- no," you shake your head, "I only just made it to Gotham this evening."

Gordon nods slowly, though he still doesn't seem convinced. He suddenly grabs his jacket and opens the office door, glancing back at you.

"Come with me."

You follow him meekly, as he leads you out of the building and into a police car. Are you going to be arrested? Could your Eddie really have done this? Why?

Gordon stops outside Arkham, opening the car door for you to step out, and leads you inside, showing his badge to the guards, who let you proceed. The walls are strong and metallic and thick, and the cells are sealed with heavy iron doors with a small, barred rectangular window at their tops. You try not to let your attention wander, sticking close to Gordon, until he reaches an interrogation room. A mad dressed in a jet-black bat suit already stands there with a frustrated look in his dark eyes, and Gordon signals for you to wait as he goes over to the Batman and whispers something you can't quite make out in his ear. The Batman looks over at you quickly, his expression unreadable, and then he approaches you.

"You know Nashton?" his deep, whispery voice states more than asks, and you nod.

Batman stares at you for another moment before marching back into the interrogation room, nodding at you impatiently to come in. You do, blinking at the hard lights and the security cameras glaring at you from the corners of the room. And, behind the strong, glass partition and metal desk, a young man sits staring at you in disbelief.

Clear, dorky glasses. Murky green eyes. Soft, sandy brown hair. It's definitely him.

"Edward?" you say breathlessly, going to step closer, but the Batman gives you a wary look. "Ed, is that really you?"

He nods wordlessly, his eyes wide and stunned. But beneath that familiar, comforting look he's always had, there's a layer you can only just make out, like a hidden spark of insanity, one that's made the whole city go into a frenzy and even The Batman apprehensive. Edward whispers your name like a prayer, his hands pressed up against the protective glass.

"You came back," he says in wonder, as Gordon and Batman glance between the two of you in uncertainty, but you're not focused on them at all, like the whole world is disappearing around you. "I- I knew you would..."

"What happened?" you say, overwhelmed by the whole scenario, staring in wonder at the now grown-up orphan labelled a criminal in front of you. "What did you do?"

"What I had to do," he smiles brightly, adoringly at you, that glimmer of insanity coming to the surface. "What they made me do. And I did it for you, too."

"Me?"

"Who else?" Edward giggles, standing up and moving closer to the glass, his hands cuffed and chained. "They tried to break us apart. But you came back. I've been waiting for so long..."

"What does she know about this?" The Batman slices through the moment, and Edward glances at him distractedly. "Have you been doing this together?"

"Of course not," Edward breathes, turning his attention back to you with a sweet smile. "She's too pure for that. Too shy, and lovely... it was me. But you inspired me," he insists, looking straight at you, "to make a clean slate, and clean it all up, so that it'd be perfect for us. And it will be, angel. You coming back was the last piece of the puzzle." Edward suddenly gives you that all-too familiar soft, loving look you'd seen back in the orphanage, and you have to fight to compose yourself, wanting so badly to run to him like you did so many times before. "You look so beautiful. You haven't changed a bit..."

You feel like crying, stunned by the casualness of what he's saying and admitting to. "I... oh Edward..." you shake your head, giving him a desperate look. "You're in Arkham."

"That's right," Batman interjects again, "you can't be together. You're a psychopath, Nashton. You're not getting out. I'm sending her back home."

"No, wait," you cut in desperately, still feeling just as drawn to the genius madman even after the dark truths, "please, I don't want to leave him, I can help..."

A guard interrupts, bursting into the interrogation room, and you all turn to him.

"There's been explosions," the guard announces, "the city walls have collapsed and the main road's flooded."

As he speaks, Edward giggles to himself, giving the masked vigilante a dark, unhinged look that makes your heart jump in your chest.

"She's not going anywhere," he says excitedly, grinning at you. "You're right where you need to be. We can watch the whole thing together."

The Batman dithers between leaving and staying, eventually rushing out of the room, along with Gordon, to deal with the flooding crisis, and a guard hustles you out of the room as Edward's voice calls out your name from behind you.

"You'll never leave me again! We were meant to be! You know it's true, darling! You know!"

You manage to glance back at him as you leave, studying his crazed, ecstatic look, that same softness in his eyes as the day you had to leave, but tainted with madness. But as you look, you can't help but smile back at him slightly, because you know it's true.

As the waters invade the city and the building erupts into panic along with the rest of Gotham, you know it's true. And maybe that'll make this all worth it.

⭒❃.✮:▹ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ◃:✮.❃⭒ (message me know if you want to be removed. ghost blogs/dead accs have been removed.)

@misadventures0fdes @junebugp @simestandswithtaylorswift-blog @carley-carley-carley @lostbunn @dragovegogrimborn @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @edwardspumpkinpie @murderbimbo00 @sweetums0kitty @beel-mcburger @cml-san @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @bimboanime @phoenixgurl030 @dangerouslittlefairy @yoyoanaria @yaeyuuki @vinxlsketches @beenz-beenz @ghoulsgraveyard @birds-have-teeth @repostingmyfavs @r3ptiliaaa @for3v3rda1sy @glitterycheesecakegladiator @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowersleep @hxney-lemcn @callsigncrash @bokksieu @skateb0red @philiasoul@felicityofbakerstreet @deadlights-darling @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

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darlingdekarios · 5 months

Text

serenity.

rating: mature for mentions of adult themes. length: 1,810 content: Bruce Wayne x f!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, this was written in 2022 and has been rotting in my drafts (enjoy it if you dare)

Bruce concedes to a morning well spent with you at his side.

Normally when the bed sank under his weight as whatever amount of sunlight the clouds would allow was notating the beginning of a new day, the gentle hues blocked from sight by thick, dark curtains that you weren’t entirely sure he ever opened, you took it as your cue to leave.

It hadn’t always been this way with him. What had started as scarce meetings had become routine, waking in the comfort of his own bed now rather than the guest room down the hall. It was simple, at first, and now had grown to be something so complex in the year since it’d started – it had been this way for only a few weeks, and already the two of you clung to the fleeting moments of domestic bliss on these mornings.

After a shower to wash away the evidence of his night, he would quietly crawl beneath the blanket that awaited him, brushing his lips across your jaw delicately as he wished you a good day. It was simple, quick – you never overstayed.

It would be foolish to hope for anything different from him, and yet the familiar weight built in your chest today as you heard him quietly make his way to the bed, a deep breath releasing as he surrounded himself in the warmth you’d provided in the bed. You silently waited, wishing despite all logic that today would be different, that he’d allow you even a moment longer to soak in the bliss of his presence.

But recently, your hopes had been echoed in the heart of the man who had stolen your heart. While Bruce could seldom keep himself awake past five minutes with you beside him in his bed, the moment you were gone he grew restless again – no matter how exhausted his body was.

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, angling his head to bury his face in your neck, breathing in the familiar scent that never lingered in the sheets long enough. You waited for his next words, for the truthfully unwanted instruction to leave to slip past his lips, finding your chest heavier than ever with hope that today would be different.

You were caught off-guard by his steady hand sliding to your hip, applying an encouraging amount of pressure to hold you against him. With little hesitation you melded to him like wax, your eyes closing tight as you wondered whether or not you’d truly woken for the day yet.

“Stay with me today.”

Sometimes the least words said the most, and in this very instance all Bruce Wayne needed were four little words to say everything your heart was wishing for, to put your mind to a quiet ease as a knowing relief filled you. You were certain those fifteen letters would repeat in your mind like a poet’s finest sonnet.

To anyone else it would sound as an instruction instruction, but you knew he intended it as a request. If you wanted to stand and walk through the door after being passed a quick breakfast by Alfred he would let you, just as he did every other morning he returned to you.

He wasn’t the kind of man who was used to his questions going unanswered, his impatience showing itself with a gentle squeeze to your hip. His lips found purchase on the soft skin beneath your ear again, ever-so-lightly brushing the sensitive area. The longer you allowed his words to linger between you the more his regret for speaking them began to sink in, his breath beginning to catch as the assumption a ‘no’ would follow began to run rampant in his mind.

He needed you, though it pained him to admit it, even to himself.

Serenity returned when you turned to face him, his eyes accustomed to the dark enough to see the light smile on your lips and the colors that painted your eyes his favorite shades. You reached upward to rest your hand against his cheek, brushing it briefly before moving to smooth a piece of his wet hair back.

“Good morning, Bruce,” you finally whispered, the words carrying enough of an answer to flood his chest with relief. He leaned forward to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes as this continuously coveted feeling of peace overtook him.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” he breathed out the words before he could stop them, though the back of his mind cursed him immediately for the subtle confession that he thought of you while he was gone, the nagging persistence to be okay alone ever-present in his mind.

It was almost easy to ignore the gnaw when that beautiful, short laugh fell from your lips.

“Well, sorry to disappoint, Mister Wayne,” you offered, leaning forward only slightly more to rub the tip of your nose against his briefly. It always felt doltish to him when you stirred up this feeling in his stomach and made his heart skip, but served as a humbling reminder that no matter how many fears he overcame, it would never stop him from getting nervous around you.

He was enamored with you. It grew harder by the day not to tell you so loud enough that every wall in the manor could hear it.

“Anyone who considers your presence a disappointment doesn’t deserve to be in it.”

You were certain he could feel your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest and wondered if he felt how much you warmed up under his simplest flirtations. Almost as if he could feel your every cell screaming to be closer to him – perhaps it meant his were doing the same – he grasped your hips tightly as he rolled to his back, pulling you atop him in the smoothest, most practiced movement. He was rewarded with your radiant smile again, and it was quickly worth the over-exertion of energy he no longer sparred.

“Is this sweet talk supposed to distract me from that bruise on your jaw?”

Bruce loved how gentle you were – you were probably the only one who ever truly was anymore, and he could lose himself in your tender touch, even as your fingertips brushed over the gothic array of blues, purples and blacks. Though he winced, he quickly recovered to lean his head closer to your hand, turning to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles. You always forgot how easy it was to lose yourself in his eyes.

“I really did think you’d be gone by now,” he muttered, his lips barely parting as he whispered against the inner part of your wrist. “I’m later than usual.”

That was obvious, even with the curtains drawn. The bruise was hardly the only eyebrow raising decoration on his skin, nor was it even the most severe. His nose had been bleeding recently, his bottom lip split open and swollen…but arguably most of all, the dark smear of makeup around his eyes that had run in the Gotham rains.

“I worry too much you won’t come back to leave before you do.”

Though he corrected himself quickly by tearing his gaze away from yours, busying his movements with gentle kisses up your arm until his lips brushed against your neck, you could feel the subtle curve to his lips as he pressed them below your ear.

“Guess I should try harder to be on time.”

He silenced any further conversation with his lips claiming yours, your heart immediately bursting in your chest like it was the first time all over again. Bruce always kissed you like a man on borrowed time, and now was no different as he pulled you closer to him, desperate to feel the familiarity of your body against his. With a smile you pulled away slowly to end the kiss, though he was always ready to chase after you. His lips were so close your own brushed against them as you spoke.

“What am I going to do with you, Bruce?” you questioned through quickened breaths, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. He knew what was to follow by the expression that crossed your features as your eyes clenched shut. “I can’t bring myself to ask where you go, because I already know the answer…and I just don’t want to hear that you’re stupid enough to put your life in danger every night for this horrible, dreadful city.”

He was too distracted by the only thing purely good in his life. If he was listening, he might agree: there was a lot of bad in Gotham – more than any one city could bear, really. But Gotham was where you called home, his personal shining beacon of the proof that humanity could be good. Ever since he’d met you he’d thought of you at night, saw you in the face of every person who needed help.

One thing Bruce still feared was what could happen to you. Was it better to let you live your life as you wanted, walking the streets of Gotham with your friends to do the things that normal people did while there were so many criminals all around? Or was it better to monopolize your time so he could keep you safe? His punishing voice in the back of his mind was always ready to remind Bruce that the closer you got to him, the more danger you were in because of the secrets he hid from you. And yet, more and more often, he was crafting reasons to see you.

Calloused hands lifted to caress your cheek with such careful delicacy it was as if he thought you were made of glass, the lightness only increasing as his thumb carefully brushed across your bottom lip. “You deserve to live somewhere better than this.”

“You can’t fix it all, Bruce,” the seriousness behind your words weighed in the air heavily, but his feather-light affections never faltered as you spoke. “You can’t fix Gotham. It’s too broken…too many terrible people taking their turn with it and breaking it worse than before.”

His hand now slipped to the back of your head, pulling you closer until your forehead rested against his, the rain still dampening his hair. You reached upward to push his hair back gently, eyes not abandoning his gaze for a single moment. He’d stay exactly like this all day, if you’d let him - basking in your warm embrace and cherishing the rare moments he knew you were safe.

“But people can be better. You remind me of that.”

Did he deserve it - the serenity and peace you brought him, the security you offered his heart? Perhaps not with his blood stained knuckles and cynical mind. Regardless, he’d spoil himself with you anyway for as long as you were willing to be his golden horizon.

masterlist.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne fanfiction #the batman 2022

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astrok1dz · 9 months

Note

❤️ Glad you’re back! ❤️

I can’t remember your request guidelines rn so I’m gonna play it safe. Coddling and complimenting Eddie? 👀

RRRAHHHH THAT WAS QUICK!!!!!!! ALR, YES. Eddie needs to be spoiled and just. so much attention. I am very much willing to give that to him. that being said

cw: Eddie being traumatized (duh), a bit of angst, a dash of relationship issues, dw they fix it, happy ending, fluff

Never Too Much

-----

okay so bc of Eddie's past, we know he most probably has a lot of trouble getting into relationships, let alone romantic ones.

so when he met you, and obsessed over you, of course, he felt so lucky he could even breathe the same air as you

but nothing good ever lasts for him, everything is ripped away from him by this god forsaken city. he tries not to get too attached (and fails miserably) so he's shy for longer than he should be.

he's just trying to be prepared for when you'll leave him.

he's absolutely surprised when you don't

he doesn't say anything, of course, but he's just utterly confused

how? how didn't you leave him? all this city had taught him was how he wasn't good enough, how he was different, and how different people, people like him, don't get anything nice. don't deserve anything nice.

you notice this. you always do. it's not hard to tell when he's overthinking. he'll stop and take deep breaths or immerse himself in puzzles, but you're working on communication

you decide to start coddling Edward. to spoil him a little bit.

it doesn't even have to be something big, he'll be grateful for whatever you give him, although he doesn't quite know how to tell you or thank you properly

Eddie hadn't been your Eddie for the last two weeks or so, consumed with work and his plans to cleanse the city. He hadn't had the energy to be quite romantic or intimate lately, so things had been a little colder than usual. It hurt. Did he not love you?

One day you realized your mistake. Eddie? Your Eddie worshipped you. Sure, he could have his bad moments and want some time to himself, but after all the neglect and abuse he'd lived, he probably wanted to be coddled. He just was too embarrassed to ask you to do it. No wonder things had been like this. It was your turn to take the lead.

Now you knew, and you decided to take matters into your own hands. For the last couple of weeks you had been thinking of little ways to make him feel better, and today would finally be the day when you unleashed them all onto little unsuspecting Edward.

You hear the creak and slam of the door to your apartment. In comes Edward's tumbling silhouette, shuffling around to plop down on the couch next to you. Your sweet boy, all tired from work, all tired from this city. He always was.

"Eddie! Oh honey I missed you so much...", you coo, and his heart melts, because although he knows you adore him, he's used to having his absence not quite matter.

He's silent as he shuffles a little closer to you, and you immediately receive him with open arms and an inviting hug.

"Tough day?", you ask, and he nods. You do as well, and hold his shoulders.

"I got a little surprise for you, c'mon, follow me", you tell him. He looks at you, eyebrows knitted in confusion. You help him get up and slowly peel off his jacket, take his hand, and lead him to your bathroom.

He doesn't even get to see what it is before a sweet aroma invades his nostrils. Your tiny bathroom, adorned with scented candles, bubbles and rose petals floating on your tiny tub (if you could call it that).

What?

He looks at you, confused. Why would you do this? Why you, such an angelic being, the antithesis of this dirty city, do this for him, a broken man?

"I- you didn't-", he starts.

"I didn't have to, I know. But you've been so stressed lately and I wanted to help you relax...", you explain kindly. You start shredding your clothes, ready to enter the tub with him. You extend your hand to him, and he feels as if he's being dragged to the pearly gates of heaven.

"Besides, I've been missing you so much... I wanted you all to myself a lil' bit...", you say, and ignore the sting in your eyes. You really did miss him so so much...

"You can have me all to yourself whenever you want (Y/n)...", he stutters out, feeling guilty.

"Oh...", you let out. There he was, so kind, so sweet to you, so unapologetically yours.

"Well, in that case...", you say, almost seductively, but cover up a little once again when you remember your appearance. You were so busy planning this whole thing for today, you hadn't even shaved, you hadn't taken care of yourself. It felt overwhelming. What if your appearance ruined this whole things for him?

"Shit- I didn't- I forgot to- Sorry-"

He stares at you, but his eyes sparkle and his round face is flushed as if this was the first time he's ever seen you (which you both know is not the case).

"You know I don't care about those things. I want to see you...", he says, taking your hand. He looks at you, eyes full of adoration. His hands make their way to your waist and caress it gently, bringing you closer. He leaves a chaste kiss on your lips.

A few happy tears escape your eyes. There he was, the Eddie you've been missing. You help him undress, hands sliding lovingly over every inch of skin you know he's not fond of. Eddie. Your Eddie, so soft and round and most of all, so gentle.

You both get in the tub, cuddled up together. You don't even need to say a word. You both occasionally ask each other questions regarding doubts or insecurities, and reassure each other. When you're both satisfied with each other's answers you share the silence, snuggled up.

"You're so pretty, Eddie... my baby..."

He shivers, and you keep going.

"I love you, Eddie. You're kind and so so sweet. You deserve this, Eddie"

You notice by the way he shakes that now it's his turn to cry, happy cry, of course.

"My baby, you're so strong... You're safe here, you're okay. I love you Eddie, I'll never leave you". You coo.

He sobs, feeling free to break down in your presence. You kiss his tears away.

"Th-Thank you... you're too good to me... you do too much...", he hiccups.

"Oh, but don't you get it, Eddie? It's never too much", you reply, and for the first time, he begins to believe it.

#oneshot #dano riddler #dano!riddler #danonation #edward nashton #paul dano #paul dano riddler #the batman riddler #the riddler fanfiction #riddler x reader fluff #riddler x reader #riddler 2022 #the riddler x reader #the riddler 2022 #edward nashton x you #edward nashton x reader

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a-fandom-reimagined · 11 months

Text

ALL OF YOU | BRUCE WAYNE X PLUS SIZE GN! READER (FT. ALFRED)

୨୧ type: fluff & angst | word count: 887 | tw: sfw, mentions of bullying but no actual descriptions of what was said or done. please enjoy

→ please note that I don't think I've ever written anything for a gn reader before so if I messed anything up (like how i couldn't figure out what the gn alternative for master/miss is) I apologize

requested: omg okay, idk if you would want to write this but; since i can't find ANY battinson x plus size reader stuff, could i request a battinson x gn plus size reader where bruce discovers his partner being insecure about themselves and tries to cheer them up? this would be angst mixed with fluff if that's okay with you :>

Everything is fine, you told yourself.

The limo pulled away from the curb merging into early morning rush hour. The annual Wayne Foundation Ball had ran hours longer than you'd intended. And as host, you couldn’t leave early. No matter how much you'd wanted to. You relaxed into your lover's embrace, drinking in his cologne. Basking in his warmth. It was the most relaxed you'd felt all evening.

You were almost asleep when Bruce's voice dragged you back to reality. "What's wrong?"

You opened your eyes. "Nothing." You couldn't even manage a smile to better sell the lie.

Tonight was supposed to be your night. And they took it from you…

Bruce frowned. "Don't lie to me. We're better than that."

You were better than that. And now you had shame to add to the long list of emotions weighing you down.

They were just words. Everything is fine.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck. You didn't want to talk about it. Not with him. But you couldn't lie to him either.

Your fiancé kissed the top of your head, hugging you tighter. "Talk to me. Did someone hurt you? Did something happen?"

"It doesn't matter. It's not important."

"It's bothering you so it does matter and it is important. You've been talking non-stop about this Gala. You've been planning it for months. What happened?"

You pulled back to wet eyes and a broken smile. Bruce's jaw ticked, his expression chillingly blank. Bruce usually kept this side of himself hidden away from you. Was this the version of him that went out to hunt bad guys every night? Or was this just a small sliver of him?

"Sir, not to interrupt but would you like me to turn the car around?"

You'd forgotten the partition was down. Alfred's voice was low and clipped. Almost unrecognizable from the sassy, well-mannered man who'd been like a father to you over the past four years.

"I'll let you know." answered Bruce before returning his attention to you. "Please." he said softly.

You shook your head. "It's so silly. They were just words."

"What did they say? Who said it?"

You sighed heavily. He wasn't going to let this go. And it was stupid of you to try to hide it from him. The World's Greatest Detective… The World's Most Attentive Fiancé was more like it. "The…people at the gala were mean to me," you admitted in a small broken voice. You hated the way you sounded. You hated even more that you'd let it get to you. "There. I told you. They were mean to me tonight and they said awful things about my weight, how much I ate at dinner. One woman gave some diet pills she swears by in the bathroom. It shouldn't bother me. It's not like I haven't experienced this before. I am a plus-sized person, I know that but…I don't know. These people gather every year to give away exorbitant amounts of money to make Gotham a better, safer place to live. I don't know, I guess I just expected better. Dumb, I know."

"It's not dumb."

"But it is! Bruce, you put on a mask every night and go face down real villains. Real villains that cause real pain with real weapons."

Bruce's jaw dropped. It took a lot to shock him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with everything because they're just words, Bruce, not bullets! And I let them get to me. I've been miserable all night. That's why you caught me in the hallway tonight. I didn't get lost, I just got down crying in a broom closet and I was walking around and waiting for my eyedrops to kick in and hide the redness! Now, can we please just drop it and forget that this ever happened?"

"No we can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you feel like you can't confide in me just because of who I am and what I do at night. They're not just words, Y/N these people bullied you. You worked your ass off to make this Gala the success it was. We've never raised this much money in a single night before and it was because of you. Y/N I don't care how minor or unimportant you think it is. You don't have to get roundhouse kicked into a dumpster for your feelings to be valid."

You swallowed a laugh. "When in the world did you get roundhouse kicked into a dumpster?"

Bruce smiles. "That's the point. The point is your feelings are valid. And you can come to me with any of them."

"And I as well, *[Master/Miss] Y/N."

You breathed easy for the first time that night, And smiled for the first time that night. "Thank you. Both of you."

Bruce smiled back, pressing his forehead to yours. "Feel better?"

You nodded.

"Good. Because you're going to tell me the name of everyone who bothered you tonight. And then Batman is going to toilet paper their house and slash their fucking tires."

You barked out a laugh.

Bruce pulled you even closer leaving a trail of kisses from your temple to your collarbone. "You're perfect just the way you are, my heart. All of you."

REQUESTED! | REQUESTS: ALWAYS OPEN | REBLOG DON’T REPOST | MASTERLIST

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ichorai · 1 year

Text

talk ; bruce wayne.

track nine of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; rpatz!bruce wayne x fiance!gn!reader

synopsis ; it’d been years since you died. bruce stood silent in front of your grave, hair damp from the cold rain. you approached him from behind, tipping your umbrella forward just enough so the tears of the sky would stop mingling with his own.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; angst, action, fluff, engaged au, ex-thief au

warnings / includes ; faked death, injuries/blood/violence/death, depictions of human trafficking, a lot of Emotions, reader used to be a thief, mentions of the joker and harley quinn, alfred cameo !! and one smutty-ish sentence?

main masterlist.

The ground was sodden with rainwater, mud clinging onto his black boots. Its long laces were loosely dragging through the dirt, wet and filthy, but he couldn’t be bothered to retie them. Rain dripped from the hair that hung limply from his head, frigid drops pricking his skin and meandering down his cheeks. The cold air from the sky was a pleasant but striking juxtaposition to the hot tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, conveniently camouflaged by the rain. It wasn’t often that Bruce Wayne cried, but for you, he allowed himself to shed a few tears.

After all, it was the third anniversary of your death.

He hadn’t shown up to your funeral—well, from what Alfred told him, he wouldn’t have made much of a difference. There were hundreds of people there. He was just glad he wasn’t there so the vultures of public press didn’t have the chance to shove flashing cameras into his face.

He could just imagine the headlines: Bruce Wayne At Gotham’s Most Notorious Thief’s Funeral, Y/N L/N And Bruce Wayne: A Tragic Romance, Bruce Wayne’s Ex-Criminal Fiance Killed By The Joker.

Bruce coughed into his fist, masking a strained, broken sob as his eyes trailed down your headstone, where your name was carved in stone. His shoulders trembled. The sky thundered. He bit down on his tongue. His lungs felt thick and heavy, as if slickened with tar.

There were nearly a dozen bouquets of flowers crowded around the stone. Bruce noticed that there were several wilting roses amongst the heap of petals and thorns.

You hated roses.

“Hope you didn’t leave me any of those,” said an eerily familiar voice from behind him. All of a sudden, the rain stopped pelting his head, shadowed by a dark umbrella, just enough to stop the tears of the sky from mingling with his own. “You know I hate roses.”

His shoulders tensed.

Chest constricting, your name slipped from his lips, nearly lost to the pelting rain.

“The one and only,” you said. “It’s been a long time, Bru.”

He turned around, stiff. His eyes twitched in disbelief. There was a bitter taste in the back of his throat. A part of Bruce, the grief-stricken part, wondered if he was hallucinating you.

But you were here, in the flesh. And there was a small grin coyly toying at the corner of your lips. You had a hat pulled low over your head, nearly shielding your bright eyes as well, and you were dressed in loose, dark clothing.

The ring he gave you dangled on a thin silver chain around your neck, gleaming as if regularly polished. You silently noted that he still wore his own engagement ring.

Bruce’s supposedly dead fiance tilted their head, regarding him with veiled fondness.

“Come on,” you said, pointedly turning away so that the umbrella was no longer hovering over him. He flinched when the cold rain touched his skin. He stood there for a second longer, still in shock, before numbly following behind you.

Rust.

Bruce could smell it everywhere.

“I know it isn’t much,” you said, shouldering the creaky door to the abandoned warehouse open, “but it’s home. For now, at least.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching Bruce’s hardened eyes. With pursed lips, you shook the water out of your umbrella before shucking it closed, tossing it somewhere in the corner. Bruce watched as you busied yourself with lighting small gas lamps on rickety metal chairs, before allowing his gaze to briefly dart around the room. It was spacious in a way that was unsettling—dark and dreary, cold and lifeless. There were a couple dozen boxes stacked along the opposite wall, lining the large, moldy windows. A beaten down sofa was placed off to the side, with a thin blanket messily thrown over the back.

You’d been living here this entire time?

When he spoke—his first words to you in three entire years—it was shaky and saturated with raw hurt. He was… he was so inexplicably angry with you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, so quietly you nearly wished he was yelling instead. “How could you… how could you do this to me? To Alfred?”

The splinter within the fractures of your heart was all of a sudden a large stake, and Bruce held the hammer.

A small sigh fell from your lips and you turned to face him fully. “It’s a long story.”

Bruce’s frustrated countenance remained unchanged. “You better get going, then.”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, before dropping down onto your patchy sofa. “You don’t wanna sit down?” you asked. He gave you no response. “Alright, then.”

There was so much to tell him. You didn’t know where to start.

After clearing your throat, you finally croaked out, “That night three years ago—I contacted the Joker through Harley Quinn. She was an old pal of mine from my crime days. Through her, I asked him to meet me under Gotham’s largest bridge because I had a deal to make with him. A part of me wasn’t sure he was going to show but—my reputation as the city’s most famous ex-thief was more than enough to convince him. He was curious, you see. He thought I was coming back into the business of stealing. It didn’t take him long to realize that I wasn’t planning on working with him, and he was about to call his cronies for back up, but I knocked him out before he could reach for anything. I planted evidence of my death on him—a knife with my blood on it, his fingerprints over my equipment, his hair on my clothes, my skin under his nails. The next couple of hours, I was across the city, ingesting a fake-death pill—potassium cyanide. The next day, the entire world thought I was dead, killed by the Joker—though if you dug up that grave you were standing over earlier today, you’d find it to be empty. I framed him so he’d land in jail, Bruce. Like he deserves to be.”

Bruce’s pallid complexion made it look like he was going to keel over and hurl. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“There were people trying to kill you because of me, Bru,” you whispered. “They wanted me dead, and they wanted you dead, too. I was protecting you. If I’m gone, then they’d no longer have a reason to kill you.”

“YOU COULD’VE TOLD ME!” he roared, his pain ricocheting throughout the warehouse. All of a sudden, he was no farther than an arm’s length away from you. The blue of his eyes gleamed with a mirage of resurfaced bitterness and anger. His voice quietened, “I could’ve done something. I could’ve helped you. We could’ve worked through it together.”

You shook your head. “You knowing I was alive would’ve put us both at more risk. I had to do it, Bruce. I… I had to do it so I wasn’t under the eye of scrutiny anymore. Being the most famous ex-thief and Bruce Wayne’s fiance meant more eyes on me than practically anyone else in the country. One tiny slip up, and I’d be in jail right next to the Joker!”

Bruce reared back upon realizing what you were saying. “You faked your death to steal again?”

“No!” you bit back, voice cracking. “Not to steal. To help—just without the cops on my back. Without the Penguin breathing down my neck. Without Deathstroke hunting me down. I did it to protect you and help the city in my own way.”

Silence stretched thin between the two of you. Bruce was tense, frozen in front of you, repeating your words over and over in his head.

“I still love you, Bru,” you said, reaching out for his arm. “That’s never changed.”

He moved out of your way, flinching at the mere prospect of touching you.

“Then what do you want from me?” he snarled, gruffer than he had intended. “I grieved you. I couldn’t—I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I’d failed you. I couldn’t save you. It tore me apart, Y/N. I just… I loved you so much. You meant so much to me. And to just… leave without so much as a goodbye! Not even a note!”

Your hand fell back to your side, a sharp ache clawing within your ribcage.

“I’m sorry,” you said, gritting your jaw and willing the surfacing tears away. “I’d love to hash this out with you, B, but there’s more pressing matters at hand. I would’ve never told you that I’m still alive if I really didn’t need your help.”

There was a beat of silence. Bruce shifted, shoulders hunched over as if he wanted to cave in on himself. The thought of being around you right now was simultaneously the worst thing he could do to himself, and what he desired most.

He missed you—painfully so. He missed the hard, determined edge to your expression whenever you concentrated on something. He missed the way you used to cradle him close to you when he had terrible nightmares, kissing around his bruises. He missed the way you’d playfully bump your hip against his while the two of you worked on the same table. He missed the way you'd lewdly moan your special nickname for him—Bru—into the mattress when he rolled his hips into yours from behind, pressing hot kisses down your arched spine. He missed your infamous grin, and how it never failed to replicate itself onto his own lips. He missed your scent—a homely mix of cinnamon and lavender, a smell he wanted to drown himself with. After you’d died, he’d sleep with your hoodie pressed against his nose—and he did so until the perfume wore away, and the last trace of you was gone. He missed your laughter, your lighthearted banter with Alfred, your help on missions when he found himself at a dead end.

This time, you were asking for his help.

And how could he say no to that?

Bruce’s sore eyes darted from the rusty ceiling to you, watching him intently. “What is it?”

Hope sparked within you, like a candle lit in the middle of a hurricane. “Human trafficking, Bru. That’s what I’ve spent the past three years trying to take down. Gotham is rampant with it. If I told the police… they would’ve been five steps ahead and relocated across the country and we’d be right back to square one. I finally got my hands on some intel—they’re moving a bunch of kidnapped children through the abandoned railways under the city tomorrow night. I don’t know where they’re going, but I can’t let them leave, or things would get infinitely more complicated. I don’t know how many exactly. Could be a couple dozen. A hundred. Maybe even just one. But I know I have to stop them—and I can’t do it alone.”

There was something akin to awe behind Bruce’s blue irises. “The five missing kids randomly appearing in a homeless shelter last year—that was you?”

A weak grin nudged at the corner off your lips. “Yeah. The poor things were being forced to manufacture illegal firearms with scrap metal parts.”

Another beat of silence. The hesitance in Bruce seemed to wane away with each passing second.

“How do you know it’s not a trap?” Bruce stepped closer to you, eyebrows furrowing. The fact that all of this was happening right under his nose made a sick feeling twist his stomach.

Your lips trembled. Slowly, you pulled out your phone, pressing on a video file and held it out to him. He took it from you, watching with horror as the grainy footage played. Half of the screen was black, as if filming from behind a wall. The kids were chained, manhandled and shoved into a truck by several armed people, screams and cries echoing along the metal walls. There was a louder shout, closer to the person recording, and the camera began to wobble and shake, pulling away from the crime scene as they began running. The video was cut off there.

He felt sick. His eyes flickered back up to you, anxiously worrying on your bottom lip.

“I filmed that around a day ago,” you whispered, throat thick with emotion. You began to physically shake. “I saw it. I tried to stop them—but I messed up. One of the guards turned around the corner and saw me. I killed him, Bruce, or the entire operation would’ve been blown. I… I—”

There was a cold hand on your shoulder. His thumb brushed against the bare skin of your collarbone. Your fiance kneeled in front of you, nodding his head to silently tell you to go on. You swallowed nervously.

“Thankfully, the rest of them didn’t know I was there. I don’t know where the kids are now, and it kills me to wait. All I know is that they’re planning on taking them through the railways tomorrow. It’s the best shot I have.”

Bruce’s stare burned into you. “You’ve been managing on your own for the past three years. Why are you only asking for my help now?”

You winced, pursing your lips. “The man I killed—he didn’t go down without a fight.”

Gingerly, you shifted your hands down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal tightly wound bandages over your stomach. Much to your dismay, they were soaked through with copper-hued blood, a dark shade that sent a queasy tremor up your spine.

Almost immediately, a shadowed, closed-off expression melded over his features. You couldn’t exactly tell whether or not he was angry at you, or just angry in general.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, rather bluntly. You bit back the urge to berate him for spelling out the obvious, and remained quiet as he told you to lean back. “Do you have extra bandages?”

“Yeah—in that box in the corner there. Nicked ‘em from the pharmacy down the block.”

Bruce frowned at that, but didn’t vocalize his disapproval.

In the box, he’d noticed a bottle of alcohol beside the bandages, grabbing that as well.

He strode back to you, softly asking you to peel back your bandages. You complied, but not without a grumpy divot appearing between your brows. If you weren’t practically bleeding out in front of him, Bruce would’ve found it to be rather endearing.

There were several lacerations across your abdomen, some shallow, and others deep. There were stitches across the more serious wounds, but they were done shoddily. Bruce sent you a look, swallowing hard.

“These look awful.”

“Why don’t you try stitching yourself up, then?” you hissed, biting down on your palm as he started cleaning up your wounds with an alcohol-doused bandage.

Bruce couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was cleaning up his fiance’s stab wounds after three years of their supposed death. A part of him wondered if he’d wake up from this nightmare, sprawled across his bed with his nose tucked into your hoodie.

But this was real.

Your muffled groans of pain brought him back down to earth.

You were real.

As swiftly as he could, he neatly wrapped fresh bandages over your waist, murmuring a shaky apology when you cried out from the stinging agony of the combined pressure and the cleansing alcohol.

“What else have you been doing?” Bruce asked, much to your surprise. Your eyes darted to his, and his skin flushed with heat, shifting his gaze to the ground.

It took you a moment to formulate a response. You were walking on eggshells around him, afraid that a slip of your tongue would make him get up and leave. “I’ve been in international waters for the majority of the time—staking out meetings, organizing heists, stealing from the rich—all that lovely jazz. I went to France, Mexico, India, New Zealand—trying to find something to do. My purpose. I guess I was traveling all over the place to run away from Gotham for a while. But I came back—because Gotham will always be my home. Because Gotham is where you are.” You fixed him with a pointed gaze, and Bruce swallowed uneasily. The hazy blue of his irises darkened a shade. You spoke again, voice lowered, “I gave all the money to charities, by the way. A couple of orphanages, too. Balancing out the scales, Bruce. For all the shitty things I’ve done.” You gritted your teeth when he wound another set of bandages over you for good measure.

Your words made an overwhelming sense of nostalgia wash over him, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. There was good in you, no matter what the press had to say about that. Bruce knew that you were doing your best to help Gotham, just like he was. In your own way, of course, but it was what made Bruce fall in love with you in the first place.

You cared so much for Gotham. For its people. Even when they probably didn’t deserve it.

“Ironic that I fell in love with one of the richest men in the world, isn’t it?” you chuckled, lolling your head back onto the sofa’s armrest, staring up at the rusty warehouse’s ceiling. Bruce could feel his chest constricting. “What about you, Bru? What’ve you been up to since I’ve been dead?”

The man gave you no response, merely lifting one of his shoulders in a tense shrug. He wasn’t sure he was ready to divulge the past few years to you just yet. As much as he missed you, dreamed of you coming back to him—he couldn’t find it within himself to tear down all the barriers he built around himself since your death.

It was all too sudden. Bruce needed time.

You understood him all too well, much to his mild relief, and hummed noncommittally, as if to say ‘take your time’.

“You can’t tell anybody that I’m alive,” you said breathlessly, after a moment of terse silence. “Not even Alfred.”

Bruce’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like keeping secrets from the closest thing he had to a father, but he knew that it was necessary. “What’s the plan?”

“They’ll be moving tomorrow. Are you in, Bruce?”

Only now did he realize that his hands were still splayed out over your bandaged abdomen, and he jerked back, as if he’d burned himself. You propped yourself up on an elbow, a hint of an amused grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

God, you were so beautiful.

It took a great amount of effort for him to look away from your lips, and he focused on leveling his gaze with those bright eyes of yours.

“I’m in,” he said.

You smiled, all warm and utterly heart-breakingly wide, and Bruce could swear the air stilled around the two of you.

“Alright.” Your hand reached out to clasp his pale, cold one. He couldn’t pull away. He should’ve. He didn’t want to. “We strike at midnight.”

There was something about Bruce’s Batman suit that made you stop and stare at him with awe. Quite a few adjustments had been made to the outfit the past three years—the bulletproof platelets over his chest and abdomen were much more form-fitting than before, and a lightweight cape draped down to his ankles, dark as the night. His mask was different as well—it was tighter and covered more of his face. Seeing him like this made you remember that Batman didn’t hide in the shadows—he was the shadow.

He caught you watching him, the blue of his eyes flashing almost dangerously beneath the moonlight. You noticed the way his gaze trailed up and down your form, soaking in your own suit.

It was a simple outfit, made up of a long, cowled coat, the hood draping over your forehead and stopping just above your eyebrows. It was a mottled hue of grey, perfect camouflage for the dull concrete jungle of Gotham city. A mask of the same color covered your nose and mouth, leaving just your eyes for Bruce to see. The rest of your outfit beneath the coat was dark and well-fitted, with several compartments to store your gizmos and gadgets.

There were two daggers slid into your utility belt and a third emergency one strapped to your left shin. Further hidden within your pockets were a multitude of smoke grenades, ropes, and throwing stars.

You had a small pistol wedged into your belt, but that was only for worst-case scenarios. You knew Bruce didn’t like guns.

The two of you stood before the entrance of the abandoned railways, the gaping tunnel overgrown with moss and greenery. He gave you a weary glance, non-verbally asking if you were ready. You gave him a soft nod in response. Graffiti lined the walls near the front, but as the two of you walked in, there were fewer and farther in between.

The plan was clean-cut. Locate the children, take out the guards, and high-tail out of there. Your fiance (or was it ex-fiance? You weren’t quite sure) had made you promise not to kill anybody but—given the circumstances, you weren’t entirely sure if you could hold up to that promise.

Bruce had this innate ability to move in a way that if you hadn’t known he was already there, you wouldn’t have seen him at all. His hands loosely wrapped around your wrist to guide you to the right, and you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the minimal contact.

In the distance, the two of you heard echoing murmurs, gruff voices of what sounded to be a pair of boisterous men. They were getting closer, and getting close fast. In a whirl of dark fabric, you found yourself pressed up against the wall, Bruce’s face mere inches from yours. His long cape draped over the both of you, blending seamlessly into the shadows.

It took you another second to realize that his entire body was slotted against yours. His scent warped around you and consumed you whole, an overwhelmingly nostalgic aroma of fresh mint and blueberries and something purely, entirely just Bruce. You inhaled sharply.

This close, you could see the thin flecks of pale green amongst his blue irises, the smudged mascara around his eyes, the small, faded scar on his jaw. You could—

Oh.

A lump formed in your throat. You could hear his heart beating—feel it—thundering against his ribcage, just above where yours was.

Heat spidered beneath your skin, crawling up your neck and flushing your cheeks. Bruce watched you with an indiscernible gaze, jaw set. Perhaps it was a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate, dipping towards your lips for a millisecond before flicking right back up to meet your heady stare.

Desperate for a distraction, you craned your neck, and caught sight of the two men passing by. You bit onto the inside of your cheek, swallowing down a tirade of curses when you saw that they both held guns. Of fucking course they did.

Another couple of minutes, and they turned the corner, speaking to each other loudly. Bruce stepped away from you then, still keeping his eyes trained on you.

They both have guns, you signed with your hands. Sign language was something the two of you learned together during your first year of dating—it was always handy in case of emergencies such as this.

Bruce cocked his head in understanding. Stay in the shadows, he signed back.

You nodded, and the two of you took off once more, skimming across the gravel so quickly that you were practically floating.

The two of you slowed to a halt in front of several wrecked train cars, rusted and filthy with neglect. You peered through the glass, noting a few guards milling in front of trucks on the opposite side. That must’ve been where the children were. Tilting your head to look further to the left, you caught sight of a row of children lined up against the wall to the side of the tunnel. Chains shackled their wrists and ankles together. They were entirely silent, which unnerved you more than anything.

You’ve done this a million times before. Why were you so nervous?

Ah, right. Maybe, just maybe, because last time, you got stabbed. Or maybe it was because the love of your life was right by your side—the man who was supposed to think that you were dead.

You bit down on your tongue in a fruitless effort to quell the nausea roiling about in the pits of your stomach.

With a gentle hand to Bruce’s shoulder, you signed, Six kids. Get them to safety. I’ll take the guards.

Not allowing him the chance to protest, you reached into your coat’s pocket and brandished two smoke grenades, your other hand sliding out a dagger. You leapt through the totaled train’s doors, before pulling the pins out with your teeth, chucking them amongst the lounging guards.

Shouts erupted as two large plumes of ashy white smoke encompassed the entirety of the tunnel. Silent as the night, you snuck up behind two guards, bashing their heads together hard enough to render them unconscious. Your dagger flipped in your hand as you knelt, sweeping around and stabbed another right in the leg, dragging the blade down the entire length of their shin. An ear-splitting scream ricocheted across the stone walls of the tunnel.

That was when the gunshots started ringing out. You were able to dodge them lithely, watching the trajectory of the amber sparks made by the ricocheting bullets and ducking away from its sweeping arc. You drove your dagger straight into the jugular of the guard with a gun, kicking him back until he fell into the gravel, gurgling incoherently through the blood flooding his mouth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bruce ushering the children through the wrecked train cars, towards the exit. Panic seized its dark hands around your heart as you spotted another guard—the last one in sight—pointing their gun towards Bruce.

You ripped your dagger out of the guard’s throat in no less than half a second, pulling your arm back to hurl it through the air. The blade embedded itself cleanly through the side of his head, the impact sending him crashing into the wall.

A breath of relief slipped your lungs, and you ran over to scoop the fallen gun up, shoving it into your belt.

Bruce had all the kids—it was time to go.

You dashed through the first set of doors into the train.

A deafening gunshot rang out to your right, and you dove down out of pure reflex.

But you were too late.

Searing pain blossomed over your chest, your stomach, your head—everywhere.

Children screaming.

Footsteps thundering.

The gravel beneath you—cold and sticky with your blood.

Bruce yelling your name, panic saturating every syllable.

The edges of your vision flickered with darkness.

Chest heaving—heaving—heaving—your breath leaving you—

Bruce… the children…

Oh, fuck. Everything hurt.

Your head throbbed angrily.

“Wake up, Y/N. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

Bruce’s voice was tightly interwoven with dread—bordering on hysteria as he knelt down over you, palm applying direct pressure to the bullet hole in your abdomen. A low moan fell from your lips at the searing agony that shot up your body.

As soon as your eyes dazedly cracked open, Bruce swore under his breath, mild relief seeping into his blown eyes. You’d only been down for no less than two seconds before he ripped his batarang from his armored chest, sending it arcing through the air to the last gunman, striking him down.

Not a single thing registered in your mind as Bruce swept you into his arms, carrying you down the tunnel and ushering the children along with gritted teeth and panic-laced words.

An overwhelming sense of terror still coursed through the very fibers of his being. He couldn’t lose you—not again.

“Bats, put me down,” you said, hoarsely. “Put me down.”

A protest was on the tip of his tongue, but the warning glare you sent him made him reluctantly comply, gently lowering you down to your feet. Your hand clutched his bicep for stability while the other still held pressure against your bullet wound. There were so many emotions coursing through him that he nearly felt dizzy with the overwhelming barrage of turmoil.

The two of you soon reached the end of the tunnel with half a dozen kids in front of you. Bruce herded them into the back seats of the Batmobile—it was a tight fit, but they were small and eager to leave. One of the little girls started crying as soon as she sat down on the leather seat of his car, and Bruce could feel his heart lurch with an ugly amalgamation of anger and concern.

He slid into the driver’s seat just as you slumped into the one next to him. A groan of pain left you as you began rifling through the car dash’s compartment, whipping out a roll of bandages and began winding it around your abdomen.

The car purred to life and in no less than half a minute, you were jetting off, leaving the dirty crime scene far behind.

Bruce’s eyes darted from the dark road to you, nearly bleeding out in the passenger’s seat. You were panting shallowly, head tilted back as you swallowed uneasily. Sweat beaded your forehead.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he whispered.

“No,” you replied, a biting edge to your tone.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together. “You have a fucking bullet in you.” His voice lowered, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I can’t lose you again.” The last bit was said softly, his voice cracking with raw hurt.

You shook your head, stubborn. Your voice was quiet enough so the trembling kids in the back wouldn’t be able to hear you. “Don’t take me to the hospital, Bru. It’ll ruin everything I’ve built the past few years. Nobody can know I’m still alive.”

There was a beat of hesitation. Bruce clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack under the pressure. “At least let me take you back home. Alfred can help you.”

You frowned but kept silent. Going back to the Wayne Mansion was less than desirable, but it was the best choice you had—the other being bleeding out to death in your rusty abandoned warehouse. Your nose twitched as you slowly shifted to look out the window.

The drive went by much quicker than expected, mostly because you were fading in and out of a pain-induced unconsciousness. When you cracked your eyes open again, your head was pounding angrily and your bullet wound pulsated hotly in tandem with the thick, languid beating of your heart. You could faintly make out Bruce in his Batsuit just outside of the car, leading the kids into a building.

Your gaze shifted upwards, a sigh of relief falling from your lips upon seeing the gotham orphanage sign. Bruce helped the woman at the door usher the children in, before handing her about a dozen fat wads of cash. The look on the woman’s face was priceless—mouth gaping and eyes misting over with unshed tears. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him from inside the car.

Once Bruce made sure the kids were safe inside, he nodded once to the woman, before turning back to the Batmobile.

He slid in smoothly, checking all the mirrors to make sure that nobody had followed you.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, quiet and uncertain.

“I’m alive,” you replied. “Could really use an Advil right now, though.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Think you need a bit more than an Advil.”

You couldn’t find it in you to reply, the edges of your vision darkening at a concerningly rapid pace.

“Hang on for me, baby,” Bruce whispered brokenly, his hand darting out to grasp your limp one as he drove to the Wayne Mansion, slamming down on the gas. “Hang on.”

The street lights began to expand into a million shards of light as your eyelids drooped.

Blinding, blinding, blinding.

And yet you could see everything. The blue of Bruce’s eyes that constantly glanced over at you. The trembling of his pale hand on the steering wheel. The tacky blood that meandered down your sides and pooled into the crevices of the leather seat.

All of a sudden—

It all went dark.

It’d been three years since you stepped foot in the Batcave.

Really, it was just a private underground railway beneath the Wayne Mansion, but it definitely wasn’t fit for its original use and you were sure at least a couple dozen bats made the dark tunnel their permanent home, thus its name.

Bruce carried you out the car and into his work station, worry woven between every muscle. He deposited you gently onto the table, just as the elevator door rattled open.

Alfred stepped out, and he immediately blanched upon seeing you, bleeding and teetering on the edge of death itself.

They exchanged a couple hurried words, but you couldn’t hear much. Everything was blurry.

A tear slipped down your cheek when Alfred made his way to you, his hand cupping your cheek. He had a medkit clutched in his hands, and he popped it open right beside your head.

“Hi, Al,” you murmured hoarsely. “Long time no see.”

“Hello, my dear,” he replied fondly, deathly calm. It might’ve been a trick of the dim lights, but you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes misting over with unshed tears. “Last I checked, you were dead.”

If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve laughed, and given him an easy shrug. “Plans changed, I guess.”

Mustering what little energy you had left in you, you turned to look at Bruce as Alfred began peeling your clothing back to start working on your wounds.

“Hey, Bru,” you whispered. Bruce’s lips twitched at the nickname. “If I don’t make it—”

“Don’t say that,” he gruffed.

His warning fell upon deaf ears and you spoke again, determined. “If I don’t make it, for real this time, just remember that I love you. And I’ve never stopped.”

Something in his chest broke, and a suffocating sob thundered within him. He clutched at your limp hands, whispering out your name just in time for you to hear before you let the darkness take you one last time.

The first thing you noticed when you came to was Bruce’s hand still holding tightly onto yours. The second thing was the fact that the pain in your abdomen was no longer unbearable, but instead subdued to a sharp ache.

Your gaze roamed around the room, and you dimly realized that you were in Bruce’s bed—the bed that the two of you had slept in together when you were together. He was asleep by the edge of the mattress, hunched over in a position that wasn’t at all good for his spine.

He still had the black eye makeup on, smudged and flaking off, dried bits of mascara on his cheeks. His hair was mussed, as if he had raked his fingers through several times.

When you shifted a bit on his expansive mattress, Bruce stirred awake, the blue of his eyes shifting from confusion to panic to relief in a matter of seconds.

“Hey,” you croaked. “Thanks for getting me here. And tell Alfred thanks for patching me up.”

“We nearly lost you,” Bruce replied hoarsely. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Alfred wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. There was so much blood.”

A pained smile stretched your lips thin. “Well, I’m alive. Sort of. How long was I out?”

“A couple hours,” he replied. He exhaled quietly, lowering his head. “I never stopped loving you, too. After all these years… I should be mad at you. I was, at first… but I’m not anymore. I’m just—glad. I’m glad you’re here.”

You blinked, tilting your head. Slow, you wrapped your wrist around his hand, gingerly moving it up to your lips. You kissed the back of his palm, and he cupped your face tenderly just as the familiar sensation of tears began stinging the corner of your eyes.

“Oh, Bru. I’m so sorry for causing you all this pain. I’m sorry.” You hiccupped, not wanting to dissolve into a mess of tears right in front of him. “I love you so much. I wanted to come back every day, I swear. I had to do it. I did it for you.”

A glimmer of pain warbled in the blue of his irises. “After you died… I was in a bad place. I nearly killed the Joker when I visited him in prison—I was this close. Gordon took me away before I could. From then I just… I lost myself without you. I spiraled. I was vengeance. Then the anger just sort of left and all I had left was just this… this ache. This hurt that never went away.”

A part of you was surprised he was opening up. It was as if the dam had cracked, and the water was spewing out and Bruce just couldn’t stop. He began to cry softly, the dark mascara meandering down his face once more and his hand shaking against your cheek. You could feel your heart crumbling through the bones of your ribcage, and you wanted nothing more than to hold him close to you.

“Please stay,” Bruce croaked. “I can’t lose you—not again. I can’t go through that again. Please don’t let me go through it again.” His forehead fell to the mattress right beside your hip as his hand fell away from your face and his body shook.

This was him begging, you realized in shock. He was begging you.

Helplessness placed its dark hands on your shoulders, and you were frozen for a second.

“Bru, baby, I—”

“Please don’t leave. You can fight crime undercover with me. Here. By my side. Please—I love you.”

Tentative, you reached over and gently ran your fingers through his overgrown hair. This seemed to quell his shaking just a bit. He stayed in that position for another minute before peering up at you.

“I’ll stay,” you said. “But we’re going to have to be careful. I can’t risk more people finding out I’m alive—and I can’t risk dragging you down with me. I need you to understand that if things go south, I’m leaving immediately—to protect you, Bru. And as long as you won’t hold me back from my own missions. We might’ve stopped one trafficking transfer tonight, but I have no doubt that there’ll be plenty more to come.”

For the first time in a very long time, Bruce smiled. It was a small one, the kind that twitched at the corner of his lips and wrinkled the corner of his mirthful, tear-glossed eyes.

He shifted upwards so he sat beside you on the bed, pressing a chaste, affectionate kiss to your forehead. His palm found its way back to your jaw, and he rested his temple against yours.

It’d been three long years since you kissed him.

You arched your neck just enough so his lips would meld over yours. A pained, broken noise fell from Bruce’s throat, and he surged forward, kissing you back with just as much vigor. He missed this. He missed you.

He avoided touching your stomach, afraid that he’d hurt you or rip the stitches of your wound. The last thing he wanted was to explain to Alfred how you’d managed to hurt yourself even more.

As he kissed you, your hands moved to grip his biceps, nails digging into his shirt. His nose bumped softly into yours and he could feel your radiant smile growing against his lips, utterly contagious. Your homely smell, the mesh of cinnamon and gentle lavender invaded his senses, and he nearly started sobbing again at the pure nostalgia from it all.

You were back. You came back to him.

“As lovely as this is,” you husked, voice lowered an octave, “I still need you to promise me you won’t hold me back. You’d be Batman and I’d be… a ghost.” It pleased Bruce immensely to see your chest heaving, and your pupils dilated as they shamelessly darted from his eyes to his lips.

“I promise,” he whispered against your lips in reply. Despite everything that had happened the past few days, he still trusted you to take care of yourself. A thrill shot through him when the cold engagement ring around your neck pressed flush against his chest. “How’d I be able to hold back a ghost, anyway?”

You smiled into him, before tugging him down for another kiss.

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stargirlfics · 2 years

Text

The Gentleman Fic Series Masterlist

an Alfred Pennyworth x Black Dancer!Reader story

Series Summary: Two chance encounters turn into something quite unexpected the longer you spend around a certain Englishman

Series Warnings: 18+ ONLY, set after the events of The Batman film, age gap - reader is mid/late 20’s or 30’s (up to your preference), mentions of stalking/being followed, canon typical violence, death, protective!Alfred, fluff + angst, smut: PiV, oral (both receiving), light bondage later in series, Alfred is a soft dom in this! Light impact play, light choking kink and daddy kink later in series

*reader is written as and described as black in this but anyone is welcome and encouraged to read!

[Series Playlist]

Chapter One - The Gentleman

Chapter Two - Sugar Plum

Chapter Three - After Hours

Chapter Four - Do I Wanna Know?

Chapter Five - Éclosion

Chapter Six - Tremble

Chapter Seven - This Heart of Mine — coming 5/27!

#amalia writes #the batman!alfred pennyworth #the batman 2022 #alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x black reader #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth x woc #alfred pennyworth smut #alfred pennyworth fluff #tb!alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth imagine #alfred pennyworth fanfiction #alfred pennyworth x fem!reader #alfred pennyworth angst #alfred pennyworth fanfic #alfred pennyworth

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starstruckunknown-princess · 17 days

Text

Snowdrop - Bruce Wayne x Reader (Aka Snapdragon Pt 2)

Snowdrop (Galanthus) - Meaning: Consolation, Hope

Summary: Following your accusation of cheating, Bruce shares his biggest secret with you. Read Part 1 Here (but can be read on its own)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: Angsty, mix of Nolan/2022 The Batman universes, kisses, lots of lingering touches but Bruce is nervous as hell, Alfred being a bit of a mother hen, mentions of Bruce's parents' death, mentions of danger

So this is my apology for cutting my 30 days down to 25 and leaving y'all hanging. I got sick and started a new job at the end of April so I've been busy! I'm thinking this might turn into a mini series or a bunch of headcanons because I just watched The Batman again and I want to love all over this sad, wet cat.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are SUPER appreciated! <3

The private car pulled up outside Wayne Manor, Bruce having sent it to your office. You thanked the driver — noticeably not Alfred, much to your dismay — when he opened your door and helped you out.

You looked up at the Gothic mansion. The weather perfectly complimented the sharp finials and fanciful turrets, dark clouds threatening rain looming behind it.

You couldn’t help but feel it was an omen of some kind.

‘We need to talk.’

Bruce’s text from that morning (five thirty to be precise, who even gets up that early?) had your stomach in knots all day while you obsessed over the meaning behind his vagueness. Would it be a Good Talk? The kind that meant he was surprising you with a two-week-no-phones trip to a private tropical island so you could reconnect with each other? Part apology trip, part reassurance.

Or was this a Bad Talk? He was stunned last night when you’d asked if he was cheating but he never actually answered the question. Maybe tonight he would explain that yes, he was cheating but not because he didn’t love you — he was just not cut out for monogamy. In which case you would be okay, but you’d definitely need to talk about boundaries and expectations. Or maybe he was so rankled by your accusation he would sulk all through dinner, then hand you a bag of all the things you’d left at his place and send you on your way.

Due to the earliness of the text, you’d had all day to prepare for the worst case scenario. Squaring your shoulders, you walked up the stone steps to the front door. Before you could knock, Alfred had whipped the tall wooden doors open and ushered you inside.

“Come in, come in, Miss! Don’t want to get caught in the rain, do we?” He took your coat and work bag, tucking them over his arm. “Master Wayne is waiting for you in the study while I finish up dinner. You can go on up, third door on the left, remember?”

“Thanks, Alfred,” you replied, the butler disappearing as you mounted the massive main staircase. In no particular rush, you sauntered down the long spacious corridor, lined on both sides by paintings that cost more than you made in five years. The value of this hallway alone was more money than you’d probably ever see in your lifetime. Just outside the study, you paused in front of one of your favorites.

A 19th-century piece by Turner, it depicted a ship lost in a storm. Thick swaths of violent black and blue, a shocking splash of amber in the center around the only recognizable part of the ship — the mast — which dipped at a dangerous angle. You felt like that boat right now. Tossed and turned about, a helpless casualty to an apathetic universe.

But calm seas never did make skilled sailors, and a skilled sailor knew that the only way out was through. With a steadying breath, you continued your way toward the study and entered.

An Ella Fitzgerald song played lowly on the speakers, the fire was lit and cast a warm, comforting glow on the dark furniture. Across from you, silhouetted in the giant picture window, Bruce stood with his back to you. The urge to go over and wrap your arms around his waist, hug him from behind and bury your face between his shoulders was almost overwhelming until you remembered why you were there.

“Bruce,” you said by way of announcing yourself. He turned then, blue eyes finding you instantaneously and he set down the whiskey glass he’d been holding. He looked tense, broad shoulders rigid atop a ramrod-straight spine, his gaze unwavering and unreadable.

“I haven’t been cheating on you,” he said, glancing away before continuing, “but I haven’t been honest with you either.

“Oh,” you breathed, unsure of what to do. This was strange — he was acting strange. He hadn’t offered you a drink, hadn’t greeted you, hadn’t even said your name. Your hands fidgeted restlessly — should you demand an explanation or keep your cool, wait for him to tell you?

Bruce answered your unasked question for you.

“Before I tell you I need you to know some things. First and foremost, I love you. I know my reputation as a playboy, but that’s…never really been me. And I know the press thinks we’re mismatched but they couldn’t be more wrong, okay? You are incredible and I wake up more and more in love with you. Even if —” he paused, gathered himself, “even if after I tell you, you never want to see me again. I will always love you.”

Your knees shook — your entire body felt like jello. What he was going to tell you must be really, really bad. “I-I love you too, Bruce.”

He approached you then, apparently noticing the tremor in your voice. You let him take your trembling hand and lead you to the long leather couch by the fireplace. He looked so unlike himself — humbled and insecure where he was always calm and confident. Whatever he had to tell you, it was life-changing big.

The silver lining was that he wasn’t cheating on you.

“Secondly,” he said, his tone quieter now that you sat side-by-side, him angling to face you, “is that this secret is…it’s dangerous. It could potentially put a target on your back if it ever came to light, so I’m giving you a choice. I will tell you if you want to know, or we can forget about it and move on. Pretend this never happened.”

What could be so dangerous? You wracked your brain for an answer. Was he a drug kingpin? A mob boss? Mercenary? You doubted all those options given how much money he donated to GCPD and legal advocacy groups — but what if that was just a smoke screen to cover his heinous crimes?

On the other hand, this was Bruce. Thoughtful, kind, generous Bruce who held you so gently when you lay in bed at night, who pulled out chairs and opened doors and walked on the street side of you wherever you went. The man who loved you so fiercely he’d made you believe in the concept again.

You couldn’t languish in the storm any longer. You had to know.

“Tell me, Bruce,” you said, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “I want to know.”

He nodded solemnly, some of his hair falling into his face. He led you off the couch and toward a corner of the library where he gently tilted a nondescript leatherbound book off the shelf, which opened a hidden door. “It’s easier if I show you first.”

When he’d first brought you to the Manor, you’d asked if he had any secret doors or hidden passages, to which he said no. You’d then teased him about it, expressing your disappointment. “How do you not? Isn’t that the point of a house like this? Damn, rich people are so bad at being rich!”

If you weren’t currently trying to keep your insides from completely liquefying, you would’ve rubbed his face in the fact that you’d been right after all.

An old-fashioned cage elevator opened, and Bruce gestured you inside. He followed and pushed a lever down. The door creaked shut and you began your descent. Into what or where, you had no idea.

Sensing your trepidation, Bruce rested a hand on your lower back.

You relaxed a little at his touch, leaning back into it but still needing to break the taut line of tension between you. “Oh god, this isn’t the secret entrance to your illegal blood diamond mine, is it?”

Bruce chuckled mirthlessly, “No, it’s not an illegal blood diamond mine.”

“Hm,” you replied, “Would’ve explained the boatloads of cash.”

By the time you finished your comment, you’d arrived at the bottom of the elevator shaft. The door opened with a whine, and you stepped into a place you never thought you’d see. A place you hadn’t really thought about existing but made sense.

The space around you was cavernous — literally. Craggy walls with stalactites hanging down forty feet above your heads. The fluttering of some sort of winged creature echoed off of every surface. The setting was completely incongruous to all the high tech monitors, gadgets, and surveillance gear strewn about the numerous surfaces.

Directly in front of you, a mannequin wearing a black suit of armor that any Gothamite would recognize stared at you.

Batman.

You wandered closer to the suit, seeing it up close for the first time, utterly gobsmacked. You couldn’t ignore the numerous scars that littered Bruce’s torso, a few of the larger ones lined up with areas in the suit that had been repaired. Moving further into the room, you let your eyes travel over the various in-progress projects, folders with papers and news articles spilling out of them, a stack of journals. The top of which was labeled with the current month and year on the front. Organized chaos — you were surprised Alfred let this mess stand.

You looked back over your shoulder, searching for confirmation from Bruce who hadn’t moved out of the elevator. Giving you time to roam, explore, take it all in.

“You’re Batman,” you said. The look on Bruce’s face said it all and slowly, certain things began to make sense. Late night texts, oddly placed scars and bruises with vague or strange explanations, how good he was at not waking you when he left your apartment. How Batman had all the cool criminal-catching tech and gadgets that the Gotham police couldn’t afford. The nigh-on-impossible-to-scale walls Bruce had built around himself, his playboy persona, all of it.

He wasn’t kidding when he’d told you this secret was dangerous. How easily all of this could unravel.

You didn’t know what to say. So many questions buzzed through your mind it made you dizzy.

“Are you…okay? What do you think?” he asked, taking a few cautious steps out of the elevator toward you.

“I’m okay,” you said, fixing your eyes on a batarang on the table beside you, absentmindedly tracing the sharp edge with one finger. “It’s a lot to take in. I mean, I almost wish you had been cheating. At least that way I could be mad, but this?” You gestured around the cave. “I don’t know how to react. I’m…shocked, obviously, but it makes so much sense and explains so much more that I’m overwhelmed by it.”

You didn’t know when the tears started, but Bruce was in front of you, wiping them away with his thumbs before gently tilting your face up to his.

“Do you want to go back upstairs? Alfred’s probably got dinner all set, you can have some time to process, ask questions…” he trailed off.

You nodded, “Yeah, upstairs sounds good.”

The ride back up to the manor was silent except for the creaking and groaning of the elevator. Bruce’s arm was around your shoulder, providing warmth and comfort to your increasingly numb body and mind.

You had no idea what to feel. What to think. What to say. Maybe Bruce was right and you needed to process — yeah, that felt right, process.

Process the fact that the man you love went around Gotham at night beating the snot out of evildoers. Spent the nights he wasn’t with you hunting down corrupt cops and serial killers and masked madmen who only wanted to watch the city — your city — burn itself to ashes.

The lengths men will go to to avoid therapy.

Bruce led you through the study and down the hall to the dining room, where Alfred had set up a romantic candlelight dinner for two at the far end of the extravagantly long table.

Like the gentleman he was raised to be, Bruce pulled out your chair and pushed it in as you sat, leaning forward to place a tender kiss at the crown of your head before taking his seat.

Hope flickered in his eyes as he looked at you, and you looked away.

Alfred entered the room pushing a cart of silver-domed trays. One by one he pulled the domes off to reveal all of your favorite comfort foods. No doubt this was Bruce’s idea. He was thoughtful like that; figuring that you would want comfort food after learning his secret.

That hopeful flicker lingered over every bite you took as you dug in. You hadn’t realized how famished you were, having skipped lunch due to the unease caused by his cryptic text.

While you ate, your mind kept mulling over the information you’d learned. With how intelligent and thoughtful he was, you knew Bruce had gone over every possible outcome of tonight, which is why you suspected he left the choice up to you on whether you wanted to know or not. He had laid his cards on the table, trusted you with his most life-shattering secret, and the next move was up to you. He wouldn’t force a reaction or response and would respect and accept whatever you decided to do.

But really, what was there to do? You loved him, possibly more so after this incredible display of trust. Vulnerability like this wasn’t easy for either of you, so really your reaction was already determined.

When you finished eating, you put your napkin on your plate and stood up. You crossed to Bruce’s seat and curled yourself on his lap. Automatically, his arms encircled you and you rested your head on his chest, noting how quickly his heart beat.

“Thank you for telling me,” you said, burrowing a little further into his well-worn t-shirt. “I’m not going anywhere, though. I love you too much to let you keep doing this alone.”

You could feel the tension you’d noticed earlier leave his body even as his arms tightened around you, pulling you somehow closer.

“You realize the risk you’re putting yourself in, right? I…if anything happened to you because of—”

You pulled your head up and looked him square in the eye. “I know the risk. You’re worth the risk. And if anything happens to me, I’ll just haunt the batcave and the manor so it’ll be like I never left.” You were half-joking, smiling at him as you ran a hand through his long raven locks. He leaned into your touch, eyes closed.

“I just can’t lose you like I lost…” My parents.

It was unsaid, but the meaning was there. In that moment it was impossible not to see him as a young boy, newly orphaned, wandering this enormous house alone, looking for his mother and father.

You pulled his head toward yours and rested your forehead on his temple while you continued to stroke his hair.

“You’ll never lose me, Bruce,” you vowed.

#fanfiction #angst #fluff #batman fic #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne fic #in bloom #writing challenge #bruce wayne #the batman 2022 #nolanverse #alfred pennyworth

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lazycats-stuff · 2 years

Text

Mafia!Bruce Wayne x male!reader

Summary: Bruce Wayne, the main mafia boss in the Gotham city, is happy with his husband (Y/N). That is, until his husband is taken and Bruce nearly loses it.

Warnings: Violence, guns, descriptions of torture, Bruce being a good husband, kidnapping,

" Bruce! Five more minutes, please... " (Y/N) pleaded with his husband. It was early in the morning, a Friday none the less.

" I can't hun, I am already late. You are going to be late too. " Bruce said tying his tie.

" I won't, please Bruce. " (Y/N) said in a singsong tone and with a sweetest smile he could muster up.

Bruce chuckled at the attempts of his husband to keep him in bed longer. He sat on the edge of the bed and brought (Y/N) closer. He leaned down and gave (Y/N) a soft kiss on the lips.

" I have nothing in the evening, so we can spend evening doing what you want. How does that sound? " Bruce said, nuzzling his cheek against (Y/N)'s.

" You know me too well B. " (Y/N) said nuzzling his face into Bruce's neck and taking a sniff of his cologne.

" This cologne? "

" What? "

" It stinks. "

Bruce gently laid (Y/N) down and tucked him again.

" I will call you later so you can get ready for work hun. "

" Thanks Bruce. "

Bruce gave his husband on last kiss on the lips and left their bedroom with a smile on his face. His husband really has him wrapped around his finger and he wasn't even aware of it. Bruce chuckled to himself and shook his head.

His husband has the biggest mafia boss in Gotham city wrapped around his little finger and he is not even aware of that power. Unfortunately, some people also realized that power, the people who shouldn't be aware of it. Bruce is proud husband and he is not afraid to show it or to say it, but there were some concerns Bruce had.

There is apparently a new mafia boss on the horizon. Bruce wasn't worried that much because he made it clear that his husband is off limits and not to mention that his husband has a 2 bodyguards that watch from afar. (Y/N) had said he didn't want bodyguards, but Bruce had to put his foot down when it came to his protection.

(Y/N) had agreed to have bodyguards, but from afar. He didn't really like the fact that people were so close to him. So him and Bruce reached a compromise. Two bodyguards would be watching from a distance.

Now, Bruce was being driven to the meeting by his head bodyguard. He really didn't want to meet with him, he was supposed to have a day off and take his husband out for dinner after work, but this new mafia boss wanted to meet with Bruce Wayne, because Bruce controls this city and if anybody new wanted to come here and do business, they would have to come to Bruce Wayne first.

" Mister Wayne, if you could only hear me out- "

" I have heard you, mister King, I have, but I won't change the prices. All the prices are the same for everyone who wish to do business here. I can't give you a discount and besides, the product is not that good. "

Mister King sighed and took a sip of his drinks. He has heard about the brutality of Bruce Wayne, he wasn't dumb and he wasn't going to piss the Prince of Gotham off. Or so he thought until he remembered that Bruce Wayne has a husband, (Y/N) if he recalls the name correctly.

Bruce looked at his watch and noticed that it was (Y/N)'s break.

" If you are going to excuse me, I need to make a phone call. "

King wasn't dumb enough to protest and let Bruce leave the room to make a call. Bruce was waiting for his husband to pick and smiled once he heard (Y/N)'s voice.

" Hey B. "

" Hey hun, I just wanted to hear your voice. Did you make it on time? "

" I did, I was actually 15 minutes early. "

" Really? " Bruce asked, a bit suspiciously.

" Yes Bruce, I came 15 minutes earlier. "

" Did you eat anything? "

" I did. Alfred made me some Cesar salad and it was great. You need to give Alfred a raise. "

" I will, don't worry. "

Bruce could sense (Y/N)'s smile from a mile away.

" And you B? How is work? "

" Not bad, we just took a break from a meeting and I wanted to see how you are doing. "

" Boring office work, nothing interesting. Oh, I also know what are we going to do when you get home! "

" What is that hun? " Bruce asked, turning to look at the other mafia boss who was texting on his phone.

" We can make a pillow fort and cuddle or we can take a walk around the park. I wasn't there for so long, I heard that there were ducklings Bruce. Ducklings. "

Bruce smiled and simply replied with sure.

" Okay, I have to go, love you B. "

Bruce melted and replied with a love you and hanged up.

" Sorry about that, mister King, lets continue. "

(Y/N) was happy beyond belief. He was finally done with his work and he was going to spend evening with Bruce for the first time in weeks. Bruce's work schedule wasn't a 9 to 5 like (Y/N)'s is and that meant long hours and his husband coming in late during the night, while (Y/N) is sleeping.

He said goodbye to his coworkers and left the office. It got a bit colder and (Y/N) put his coat up higher. He noticed that the bodyguards weren't there. He remembered Bruce's words. If there are no bodyguards, go to a crowded place and try to blend and call him.

Just as he turned around he noticed somebody behind him. He tried to turn around, but a swift punch with the back of the gun to his nape rendered him unconscious. He fell down hard with a thud. He was out like a light.

The man took his phone and sent a text to his boss, writing it's done. Then another man came and they tied (Y/N)'s hands behind his back, gagging him and putting a bag over his head, but not before throwing the phone out, but making sure to leave it functional, as per boss's instructions.

They were all hesitant to do so, knowing that (Y/N) Wayne is Bruce Wayne's husband and that if he was harmed in any way, shape or form there will be hell to pay, but their boss wanted to send a message. He wanted to say that he was superior to the Prince of Gotham. They put (Y/N) at the back of a van and drove off to the chosen location.

Now Bruce was losing his mind. (Y/N) was supposed to be back home, but he wasn't picking up his phone. He called Alfred and the man said that (Y/N) didn't call him either. Then he called the bodyguards who were knocked out.

After that, Bruce wanted to have his phone tracked to see where his husband is. If the bodyguards were knocked out, then he was kidnapped, Bruce had no doubt about it. Now he needs to figure out, where he was taken and who took him. Once he answers the who, he will answer the why. And not to mention the hell will put the kidnapper through.

Bruce took a deep breath. He can't do things with out a plan. With his husband in question, Bruce can't make any mistakes or it will backfire. Now, he needs to send his people to his work and he needs to see what happened. Who would be dumb enough to kidnap Bruce Wayne's husband? Who?

Bruce's mind thought of the mafia boss he had a business meeting with, the angry look on his face when Bruce denied him what he wanted... Was that man really dumb to kidnap his husband in broad daylight?

Bruce clicked his tongue as he was driving to (Y/N)'s workplace. He was anxious now. He called (Y/N)'s phone once more. He froze oce he heard the familiar ringtone. He walked to the phone and kneeled down. He hanged up and rubbed his face. Nope.

" There are cameras around here, I want video footage. And have a team on standby. When I find the the guy who did this... "

" Sir? "

" Do what I just said and make sure that medical wing is ready for (Y/N). "

" Yes sir. "

(Y/N) blinked, opening his eyes. He tried to move his arms, but they were bound behind the chair. He frowned, but then realized that he was kidnapped. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

What did Bruce tell him? Don't show them that you are afraid and try to get along with them.

(Y/N) will do that until he is saved. He knows that Bruce will search the entire city from top to bottom to find him. He looked around to see where he is. It looked like an abandoned warehouse. He could hear the sea outside. Okay, he was on the docks then. All right, it's not so bad, but the docks were used for executions, so it was not so good after all.

He took another deep breath. Bruce was going to find before something were to happen to him. He was going to remain positive and not pessimistic.

(Y/N) looked up when he heard footsteps coming towards him. (Y/N) didn't recognize the man at all. He told himself to remain calm. He was not going to show fear.

" So this is the famous (Y/N) Wayne. I have to say, you truly are beautiful as they say. "

(Y/N) tried to remain as still as possible as the man caressed his face the way only Bruce can. He wasn't going to do anything stupid enough to get him killed. Bruce was going to find him. He would hold onto that thought for as long as he could.

" Your husband wouldn't budge with a deal, so I need to use you as a leverage. "

(Y/N) didn't say anything in response, afraid that if he were to say something, it would be something snarky and sassy. And that wouldn't be so good in this situation.

A slap to his face brought him back to reality. He licked his lips, feeling the blood on his lip. Asshole.

" When I am talking to you, you are to respond. Clear? "

" Yup. "

" Good. "

" Sir we have a location! "

Bruce jumped up to see the location pop up on a computer. It was the docks.

" Take the team and lets go! If the team gets there first, tell them to wait for me! "

The bodyguards nodded and left to gear up and to leave. It was the middle of the night and (Y/N) should have been in bed with him, not on the docks. Bruce entered his car and sped all the way to the docks, his men in the cars behind him. The team that Bruce ordered to be on a standby, was already on the location. Bruce felt his fingers twitching and his body being on edge. He was ready for a fight. He parked quietly next to the team and waited until everyone came.

" I would like to make this very clear. Now that we know who the perp is, I want him alive and (Y/N) is not to be harmed in any way. Am I clear? " The men nodded quickly and Bruce nodded. He took out his gun and looked at the big warehouse.

" I am coming hun, I am coming. " Bruce told himself before he led the team.

(Y/N) was in pain. A lot of pain. He was hit all over his body and face. He was sure that something was broken. It was hard to breath, so he concluded that it must have been the ribs. His nose was in no better shape and his lips were bloody. He was also hit in the head, making the side of it bleed.

He was close to breaking. He couldn't take this anymore. He leaned back and looked at the ceiling. Come on Bruce. (Y/N) needed him to save him now, he was in too much pain and wasn't as strong as Bruce. He is strong mentally and physically and could withstand any type of torture. But (Y/N)? Nope.

" Did we break your spirit so quickly? "

(Y/N) didn't have time to respond before he was kicked and thrown back, falling down onto his hands. He grunted from the impact, heaving slightly from the lack of air.

He closed his eyes, trying not to cry. The amount of pain he felt in that moment was indescribable. The pain shot to every single part of his body and he groaned.

" (Y/N)! "

(Y/N) opened his eyes when he heard Bruce's voice. Gunshots rang out and (Y/N) flinched. Bruce ran to him and quickly put the chair back up and cut the ropes on his legs and arms. Bruce quickly hugged him and kissed the top of his head, putting (Y/N)'s in his chest, making sure he didn't saw the carnage.

" Bruce... " (Y/N) sobbed, clutching tightly to Bruce.

" It's okay, we are going to home now, okay hun? "

(Y/N) nodded and Bruce picked him up. Bodyguards moved out of the way to let their boss through. Their boss was a good boss even before (Y/N) came into the picture, but once (Y/N) came into the picture, Bruce became even more human. And even the bodyguards were protective of (Y/N). That may sound weird, because they are supposed to, but there was something about (Y/N) that made him so loveable and easy to hangout with. He was nice to the bodyguards that were assigned to him, despite not wanting anyone to follow him.

" He is going to fully recover. He has bruises all over his body, his ribs were slightly cracked, but just make sure to have something cold as ice on them for the first few days and don't let him take any painkillers for the first 48 hours. And make sure he is laying down it's better for the ribs. " The doctor said.

" And what about his head? There was bleeding. "

" No concussion thankfully. Now, make sure he rests because of the ribs. "

" I will, thank you doctor. "

Doctor nodded and Bruce went inside where (Y/N) was laying in the bed. He was in their bedroom and Bruce felt relaxed. (Y/N) was back where he is supposed to be, in their home, in their bedroom. Bruce sat down on the edge, smiling at his husband who gripped Bruce's hand tightly.

" What did the doctor say? "

" You are going to be fine and make full recovery. We just have to ice your ribs and for the next 48 hours not take any painkillers. "

(Y/N) nodded and looked down on his lap.

" And that so called mafia boss? "

" Don't worry about him, he can't hurt you anymore. "

(Y/N) nodded once more and moved over for Bruce.

" Come on, I need some affection Bruce. "

Bruce smiled even more and laid down next to him, ever so gently embracing him. Bruce gently kissed (Y/N)'s cheek and wished him good night. Together they fell asleep, breathing as one and Gotham could breath easier tonight, knowing that Bruce Wayne's sunshine was safe and sound.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #bruce wayne x male reader #robert pattinson x male reader #x male reader #fluff #some angst #but not much #batman 2022

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struckd0wn · 8 months

Note

Hi I just wanted to say I love your writing! Your Hanzo piece is so good.

I normally don't send requests but I figured I'd do it for once :)

Could you write something with either Ghost or Bruce Wayne with a transmasc reader that just wants to be held and taken care of? Fluff or smut is good <3

AHH THANKS, I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT <3 !!! I would love to write for you, I hope it lives up to your expectations :3

P.S sorry this took me a bit to respond to :P I had a bit of writers block -_-

In My Arms ── Bruce Wayne

Bruce Wayne x transmasc reader

CW: slur used and some transphobia, Bruce Wayne has 0 relationship ship skills lol, he trying his hardest, body dysphoria and dysmorphia, self worth issues, little mental break down, overall just a shitty day for reader :(, fluff and smut, clit used to describe anatomy, riding ;), lots of kissing too

Your day has been, entirely, incredibly, shitty. You woke up for work late, your lateness extended by the period of time in which you stared at yourself in the mirror. You had to ignore it, dressing in your work shirt that felt too tight around your hips and waste, your thighs feeling suffocated from your pants. Maybe you'd ask your boss for a bigger size, maybe it would hide your figure. Somedays you felt extremely happy with your progress thus far into your transition, but others felt like you hadn't even started. Although flat chested now, you couldn't ignore the feminine curve you swore you saw in the mirror that night.

You worked the night shift at a corner store not far from the Wayne Manor. This schedule is what you preferred for you and Bruce, that way you would both work at night and come home early morning to sleep with one another. He hated it, he insisted you just stay home 24/7, you didn't need a job, he was rich and could take care of you. Bruce didn't want you adapting his horid sleep schedule just for him, let alone working when you really didn't need too.

Things like this reminded you that you and Wayne were entirely different. He was a billionaire, you were just some dude who worked at a corner store for minimum wage. Bruce was Gotham City's vigilante, you were his boyfriend that lived in his extravagant house... for free. To say you were jealous of your boyfriend was an understatement, but he didn't understand that. He is completely clueless. Bruce doesn't understand why you would need to work, but everytime he spend his money on you, you can't help but feel helpless, like he's giving you handouts. You don't want him to feel obligated to spend money on you or to have him feel taken advantage of.

But to be fair, you didn't understand fighting or saving lives like he did. You wish you could, you want to understand, but Bruce has no need to understand working to live. Then you resented yourself for being jealous of him, of your own boyfriend. He was rich with money to spend, with a side gig as savior of the city. You could never amount to that.

The bell to store entrance rings, pulling you from your thoughts. The clock reads 2:30am, this would probably be your last customer before you'd walk home to the manor. Your eyes follow the man that had entered the shop, clearly drunk. He uses the shelves to hold himself up, stumbling all over the place while gigging like an idiot. The man approaches the back where the walls are lined with refrigerators, grabbing an alcoholic beverage you can't name.

You watch as he waddles his way up to your register, looking you up in down with his canned alcohol. "Hey sweetheart," he starts, setting the can down in front of you. You can feel his eyes tracing down your figure. Ignoring him you take the beverage to scan it. "What, trannys can't say hello?" He asks you, leaning over the counter. A lump forms in your throat as you quietly read him his total. He clicks his tongue at you, pulling out a couple of bills to hand over. "You know what, I'll forgive you. What do you say you come to my place after work. I ain't never slept with one of you before, but hey, a pussys a pussy." You tell yourself to just get it over with, you have to deal with drunkies all the time, it's not any different.

"No thank you, have a good night." You tell him, handing him his change before promptly preparing for closing to distract yourself. The man grumbles, taking his drink and change out the door. In the last thirty minutes of your shift you clean up around the store, stock some shelves, and count the cash in the register. As you're collecting your belongs to leave you notice that the drunk man from before is posted up across the street, drinking from his can. You roll your eyes, making a plan to just go for it when he's distracted.

There's a bus just down the road and you wait for it to cross the store front, hoping maybe he wouldn't notice you leave. You turn the lights off and as soon as the bus passes you, you swiftly exist and lock the store up for the night. Speed walking doesn't help you though, hearing the footsteps of the man running to catch up to you. "Hey, wait up!" He calls out, but you just keep walking.

Eventually he reaches you, stepping in front of you to block your path. "Cmon now, my offer still stands," The man holds his arms out, moving with you so you don't get past him. You tell him no again, trying to push past his left arm. This time he grabs you by your waist, smirking down at you with his drunken expression. You push him off of you and before he can grab you again he hits the concrete with a loud thud. You blink down at him before a figure envelops him, throwing punch after punch at the man. It doesn't take you long to realize who it is.

"Hey, knock it off." You tell Bruce but he doesn't hear you, or maybe he does and just doesn't care. "Stop, Bru-... He's drunk, stop it." You grab your boyfriends arms, and with enough strength you pry him of the pervert. You watch his chest heave under his metal chest plate, staring down at the drunk angrily. Bruce holds you by your wrist, dragging you twords his bike, footsteps heavy in his boots.

The ride back home is silent but you can tell he's still upset by the way he speeds twords the manor. Once you make it back home, down in his lab of his tower, he helps you off his bike. Bruce removes his mask, seemingly his anger is replaced with worry as he near smothers you. "Are you ok? Did he hurt you?" He exclaims, holding your face in his gloved hands, but you just push past him.

"Yes Bruce, I'm fine. He was just drunk." You tell him as you make your way to the elevator, ready to just go to bed at this point. He follow you like a little dog, into the elevator, still examining you for injury.

"Him being drunk is not an excuse." He tells you a matter of factly.

"I'm not saying it's an excuse. I'm saying I could have handled it." And he doesn't say anything about that. You walk up the stairs and he's still following you, all his gear rattling and echoing throughout the manor. You make it up to the bedroom, attempting to close the door behind you but he pushes in with ease, not even acknowledging that you were trying to keep him out.

You sigh heavily, setting down your keys and jacket onto the dresser. "I told you you didn't have to work." Bruce starts up again, and by now you want to bang you head against the wall.

"I don't wanna talk about it." You say.

But he persists, pacing around the room in his armor. "I told you, you didn't have to change your schedule to match mine."

"Bruce." You plead, but he again ignores you.

"You shouldn't be up all night, let alone walking home at three in the morning." He continues.

You stand there in awe as he rambles on, alls while taking off his gear. He makes it sound like you can't take care of yourself, like you're his damsel in distress. "Bruce I said-"

"Do you know the things I see at night? What did he say to you, what did he say before I got there?" Bruce exclaims twords you.

By now you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you snap. "Bruce, I said I don't wanna talk about it!" You yell over his rambling, this time he turns to look at you. You're too far gone now, tears roll down your cheek as you sob, desperately trying to wipe them away with the back of your hand. He stops what he's doing, during all of that he has managed to get everything off but the pants he wears under his suit. "I don't need your rescuing or money, I just need you to listen!" You tell him through broken sobs. "I know I'm not rich like you, I know I'm not as strong as you but that doesn't mean I'm completely helpless." You feel like you could just crumble, Bruce is almost speechless.

He's on you within a second, large hand hold your face but he can't wipe away the avalanche of tears that stream down your puffy cheeks. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean it to sound like that..." He whispers over your sobs. The build up from everything today has finally set in, and now that it has started it wasn't gonna stop. You allow Bruce to undress you from your work clothes, replacing them with one of his baggy shirts and a pair or your boxers. He sits you down on the edge of your shared bed as he dresses himself in a pair of his sweatpants, quickly returning to your side.

Your boyfriend tucks the two of you into the bed. Your crying has reduced to small sniffles, Bruce continues to wipe your face dry, but it can't get rid of the redness in your eyes. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I was just worried, I should have listened to you the first time." His apology mixes with explanation, and although you understand where's he's coming from you'd wish he'd just do this first before scolding you. You'd wish he'd understand he didn't need to take care of you physically, you could've handled some drunk, you just needed his help emotionally. To tell you it was gonna be ok, it's all over now. Without the "I told you so" in between.

"I know you could've handled it, I just...couldn't stop myself." He admits to you. You stare at him and he stares back as he holds you. You almost laugh at his admission, he wasn't just looking out for you, the guy had seriously just ticked him off. He didn't do it cause he thought you couldn't handle it, he did it because some rando was trying to touch up on his boyfriend. Maybe he was scared to admit that word for word, but you could read him like a book.

Bruce leans into you, pressing a kiss to your lips and you egg him own, pressing further into him. His hands find their way under you shirt as he continues kissing you, gripping at your flesh like he might loose you if he let's go. "I'll ask Alfred to order us some things to eat. We can eat while me watch a movie, hm?" He tells you between kisses, you nod quickly at his suggestion. You move you hands up to to hold his face, kissing him again. His stuble feels nice under you finger as you deepen the kiss. Wayne does not object, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

You part your lips slightly, allowing him access into your mouth. Bruce is still a bit awkward and clumsy when is comes to these things, mostly because this is the first relationship he's ever gotten this far with someone. He's hesitant but eventually his tongue meets yours as they messily collide with each other. His hand are rough compared to the smooth skin of your torso, they almost feel like sand paper as they roam over your sides.

You push in further, until you are fully saddled on top of him, never breaking the kiss. "Help me Bruce." You plead with him, his face is bright red and he just nods at the suggestion. You sit upwards onto you knees, pulling your boxer shorts down in front of him. Bruce is silent but his hand slowly inch down to your fully exposed thighs, his thumb reaches out the brush against you clit. The feeling makes you flinch as your boyfriend works on removing his own pants.

He doesn't even bother removing them all they way before he's pulling you down by your hips. The stretch around his cock is almost painful, but you immediately forgot about everything bad that has happened today, even the part where you snapped at him. Bruce peppers your face with kisses, waiting for you to adjust before moving. You start moving on your own, slowly pulling off of his length. Wayne throws his head back, hitting the headboard with a thud, his hands squeezing at your hips.

When you slam back down your moan is loud and Bruce moves to covers your mouth. He is clearly embarrassed but his smile is wide as you sit there watching each other. "I'd love to hear you but... I don't want to disturb Alfred." You almost slap yourself for it. That would surly be an awkward conversation, although you think Alfred would be entirely understanding. You nod and the two of you continue. Bruce guides you up and down his cock, his groans muffled as he too struggles to keep himself quiet. You face is buried into his shoulder, letting out a small squeek each time he's pushed back deep inside you. You feel like a teenager who's at your boyfriends house, trying to keep quiet because the partners are in the next room over.

Your can feel the build up in your stomach, it's getting more and more difficult to not scream out loud in pleasure. Bruce is starting to fail at it, his breathing rushed and his moans escape his parted lips. He thrusts up into you, desperate for release which comes mere seconds later. You watch his eyebrows furrow as he cums inside of you, his twitching causes you to orgasm soon after, biting down on his shoulder to be as silent as possible. You whimper weekly, pulling yourself off of him slowly. The two of you lay side by side, ignoring the mess that clings to the both of you and the sheets.

You watch his heaving chest settle, noticing the bite marks you left. Your finger reaches out to brush over it with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry..." You whisper, but Bruce doesn't mind, shrugging his shoulder as he pulls you in to cuddle.

──

By now it is early morning, Bruce is awake, finishing the movie the two of you had put on while you ate. The cheap take out containers of the restaurant you had gotten him hooked on littered the coffee table, and the bruise you left on his shoulder aches. It's a lovely reminder. Bruce sat this his back leaned against the arm of the couch, and you had fallen asleep in between is legs with you face resting on his lower abdomen. He watches you sleep, playing with your hair as he did. He would ask you about the his lack of understand once you had woken up, but for now he will hold you here, in his arms.

#ftm reader #smut #trans reader #transmasc reader #fluff #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #the batman #the batman 2022

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lovelettersforthedamned · 27 days

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hi!! congratulations on 500 :)

could i ask you to write some dating headcanons for battinson? (i hope it’s not to vague)

either way ty and have a good day <3

✮ word count: 0.3k I ✮ no warnings, just soft soft fluff! I ✮ five-hundred follower bash

gif by: @robpattinsongifs

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

✮ bruce is a soft lover, despite his cold demeanor. you hold a special place in his heart, and god forbid you’re exposed to the dangers of his nightlife. he swears to keep you safe.

✮ on the rare occasion he goes to an event, you’re always by his side. he’s quite quiet the entire night, which leaves you to handle most of the conversations and quick greetings. little do you know, he’s admiring your ability to work your way through a crowd.

✮ just because bruce is a homebody doesn’t mean he won’t take you out for dinner. he knows a few spots around the city that you love. sometimes he even surprises you with a short, but sweet, note on the counter, ‘dinner at 8. i’ll see you then, love you.’.

✮ he is such a gentleman. he always opens a door for you, hands you his suit jacket when it’s chilly, and makes sure to replace your weekly flowers every friday.

✮ you know about where he goes every night. it came out when you felt the bed dip for the fifth time that week at exactly six in the morning. bruce, of course, thought you were asleep. but when he was met with your wide worried eyes, he couldn’t keep it in anymore. you knew you couldn’t make him stop, so you were with him every step of the way. even with his adamant protests, you still took care of him every morning, and gave him a kiss every time he left at night.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

✮ the first head cannon of my bash, and i am so excited to celebrate with you all this month!! don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed. and come celebrate with me!! the link for my five hundred follower bash is at the top of this post!! ok, ily bye!!!!

#battinson x reader #battinson #batman x reader #batman headcanon #fluff #the batman #the batman x reader #the batman 2022 #llftd 500 follower bash

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imagine--if · 9 months

Text

(A/N: The results for my Riddler fanfic poll was basically 50/50 😂 so this is based off of the last issue of Riddler Year One, #6, as I copied the intro to the comic, but I'll work up to the movie too 😊 enjoy!!)

Wordcount: 1.7K

A knock at the door. Silence.

You frown slightly, glancing at the clock. It's late, really late, for anyone to be calling for you. You're not expecting anyone, and you're used to the trouble that comes with living in the middle of Gotham City, giving you every reason not to answer the door and stay quiet until whoever it is gets bored and goes away.

Another knock, sounding a little desperate, five soft bangs on the door's study steel, echoing through your small stretch of hallway and to the main room, where you sit on the sofa, laptop on your lap, scrolling boredly. You stare at the door warily, as if you could somehow see through to whatever drophead was trying to get your attention, before hesitantly raising your voice in answer.

"Who is it?"

Silence again.

You roll your eyes and sigh after a beat of nothing, pushing your laptop off you and onto the sofa, quietly approaching the door and taking a sceptical look through the peephole. Nothing. No one. Just the hard bright light of the dirty stairway and landing of the floor in the apartment block you live in, which snaps off after no motion to keep it alive, and the door opposite you, shut and locked, no sound coming from anywhere except muffled music and arguing from somewhere downstairs, as per normal here.

You go to open the door, but then pause, cautious enough to wait it out for a while, five minutes, ten minutes, before letting yourself open it and look outside. You don't want to be the next poor person who gets robbed or jumped or whatever rank thing you could expect from living down in Gotham, but there's still no one to greet you when your door squeaks faintly as you pull it open, black bristles dragging across the floor from beneath it. You wince slightly as the harsh light blinks back on, revealing an empty landing, empty staircase, nothing but your breaths echoing in the space...

And an envelope at your feet.

Your frown deepens when you go to close the door again and notice it, lying there outside the door, a medium white envelope inked with a messy green symbol of some kind. A question mark, with dashes at its sides, top and bottom, scratching into the paper boldly, no name or address or postmark anywhere, nothing to indicate where it came from or who it's for. But it's at your door, and after a few seconds' inspection and another look down the landing and the stairs, you sigh and pick it up, your thumb sliding under the triangular fold as you close the door with your body whilst opening it.

There are two things sealed in this envelope.

A Polaroid picture... and a card.

You sit down with your eyes fixed on the envelope's contents, laptop ignored at your side, as you take out the card first. It's like some kind of vintage cartoon, a little beaming squirrel holding one nut in its paws, a few others at its feet, a heart around its body. Above it, bold calligraphic text says:

I'm NUTS about you!

Your face screws up in bewilderment and amusement, your eyes flitting over the cheesy sentiment and picture, before you open it up to see contrasting, messy handwriting, gone over a few times to make it readable enough. It almost looks childish.

The rich people want it, wise people know it, the poor people need it, and kind people show it. What am I?

You blink, confused at the sudden question. A riddle? You glance at the question symbol on the opened envelope, before returning your attention to the card.

"Rich people want it..." you mutter under your breath in thought, "kind people- what, love?"

You read the last bit of writing under the riddle, then read it again. And again.

I see you work with the rats, but you don't become one. I see you give the homeless something warm when the city is cold, cold, COLD. I see you trying to tell the police the bad things you know, but no one can hear us. You are an angel in a cesspool of a city... And I will make a heaven for you.

You let out a long, shaky breath, finally looking up from the card in a whirl of confusion, fear and curiosity. Your eyes instinctively glance to the windows, the curtains open a little to show the dreary, dark nightlife of Gotham below, dully glowing streetlamps, some lightbulbs dead or smashed, interrupting the neat lines guiding drivers. You almost expect to see a pair of eyes staring at you, watching you from somewhere.

Who the hell is this person? This was the way they showed their 'love'? A sixties-styled valentines card, with a riddle and a baffling message?

"Working with rats?" You question aloud.

If by rats, they meant the jerks and businessmen who came to the Iceberg Lounge to find clients and friends every other evening, then... well, they weren't wrong. You have to work there to earn enough to pay rent and everything else to make some kind of a life for yourself in Gotham. Not that you wanted to, but it was a last resort, and you steered clear of the infamous Penguin, and that horrible Falcone character, whenever you were there. But you can't help overhearing things to the grabby, drunken, smug people you waitress to there, but at this point, you'd learnt that half the GCPD weren't nearly as credible as they acted, a handful of them involved in the scandals they were brewing at the nightclub, and who else was there to tell without them telling the wrong guy and ending with you being silenced at gunpoint?

As for the homeless, believe it or not, they weren't all off their heads with drops. Some of them were just people trying to survive out on the streets of a broken-down town, young and older people cowering on street corners, some beaten by gangs, others jumpy and aware, ready to run at the smallest hint of danger. It was the ones who were simply too tired to do anything that made you stop in your tracks every now and then, as you walked home from work, before you gave in to your impulses, told them to give you a minute, and dashed into the nearest diner, grabbing something small to eat, or a hot drink to-go, the waiter bored and friendly enough to give you a smile and a nod as you went, the young man who often stayed there scribbling in a little book or typing up work-related things too shy to meet your eye, which was kind of cute, sandy-brown hair barely hiding the flush of his round cheeks, murky green eyes forced to focus on his book instead of looking up.

Was that enough to make you an angel? Really?

A few acts of kindness usually earned you a judgemental scoff, or suspicions of intentions, as no one's were really ever pure. But apparently, it's earned you an admirer, and from the looks of things, one who's more than a little unhinged.

You pick up the Polaroid last of all, and then your breath catches in shock as you stare at it, barely blinking.

It's a guy who's been making moves on you for a good few weeks now, more than double your age, packets of drops making his pockets rustle with thin plastic and his eyes unfocused. A frequent visitor to the Iceberg Lounge, who wouldn't leave you alone after you gave him his first drink of the first night, running drunkenly outside to offer you a lift when you put your arm out for a cab, trying to hold onto some part of the uncomfortably tight clothing you were expected to wear working in a place like the Iceberg Lounge.

He's slumped against a wall covered with some kind of fabric spray painted with the same question mark symbol on the envelope, though the green is blemished with crimson spatter, a rat running across his leg, blurred slightly in the shot. A laptop is in the background, where the ordeal is actually being filmed or streamed somewhere, names and comments too small in the picture to make out, though several unfocused red shapes that are most likely hearts streak up the laptop screen from its viewers. Your stomach twists and untwists into a knot, repulsed and shocked.

They killed some stupid guy... for you?

They killed a person, on a livestream... for you.

The Polaroid slips from your loosened grip, fluttering in the air for a split second before it lands beside your laptop. It makes you blink back into awareness, and you eye the card and Polaroid as if they might jump up at you.

Do you call the police? The GCPD won't ignore you, surely, if it's this level of harassment? If a person has died?

The thought of someone watching you, trying to understand you, almost worshipping you in some twisted way, brings so many thoughts and feelings up that it makes you dizzy, not knowing what to pin down as your reaction to it. Scared? Disgusted? Flattered? Curious?

What if they've been in your apartment? If they know where you live... and with Gotham's measly security, someone like this person could have found a way to break in, pick the lock or something. Is anything out of place? Hidden cameras anywhere?

Paranoia makes a shiver snake down your spine, and you sigh heavily, fingers threading through and out of your hair as you run your hands up your face and past your head.

First, check for cameras. Then, call the police. Right?

Right...

You pick up the Polaroid from beside your laptop, and your eyes flick up to the darkened screen, the small black circle of a camera at its top. Should you put some tape over it or something? Do a deep scan to check for viruses or any weird apps?

Suddenly, the screen flashes brighter, back to life, though you never touched the mousepad, and you flinch. Your eyes widen as the screen glitches and goes black, and you press down on several keys, trying to escape from whatever page it's gone on, power it off, restart.

The screen glitches for a few more moments, and then a green, pixelated question mark between some pointers slides across the screen.

Figured it out yet?

⭒❃.✮:▹ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ◃:✮.❃⭒ (message me know if you want to be removed. ghost blogs/dead accs have been removed.)

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