#battinson fic red
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Battinson! Bruce Wayne fic recs
Other Fic Recs 🌱
Masterlist 🧚🏻♀️
Works by @vigilvntes
A world alone
Warm
Works by @house-of-kolchek
The darkness hides the truth
Living a triple life
Works by other amazing writers
Delicate by @burnthoneymint
believe in something (series) @graysonshaven
#Battinson x reader#battinson x you#battinson fic red#battinson imagine#battinson x y/n#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne x you#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne x y/n#bruce wayne fan fiction#robert pattinson#robert pattinson imagine
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Fics with these types of Ghost!Jason and Tim interactions>>>
#basically#what you’re looking for (you claim to abhor) by Ghxst_Bird in Ao3#such a good fic#batman#bruce wayne#batfam#jason todd#batfamily#dc#dick grayson#tim drake#dc comics#batman and robin#red hood#jason peter todd#jason wayne#battinson#dc characters
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Batinson and Timmy (Robin)
from Earning a Second Chance by @huntressundone
"Arms wrapped around his middle like steel bands, pulling him away from the case. Tim struggled weakly against the hold, as Bruce took them to the center of the room— presumably away from any punchable objects. As soon as his arms loosened enough, he turned his fists on Bruce instead. Tim doubted that he was actually hurting the man— he had lost too much muscle mass for that. He expected the man to push him back, get space between himself and Tim’s fury, but instead he found himself crushed to Bruce’s chest, arms trapped between them."
I love her fics! I can only recommend to give them a try if you haven't already :)
#batfamily#robin#tim drake#fanart for fanfic#batman#fanart#art#fic rec#digital fanart#batinson#battinson#hug#hurt/comfort#tim drake needs a hug#red robin
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Conversation
Cass: We call that a traumatic event.
Cass, turning to Dick: Not a "bro moment."
Cass, turning to Jason: Not a "major L.”
Cass, turning to Tim: And not an "oof lmao.”
#batfamily#battinson#the batman fic#dc comcis#tim drake#jason todd#dick greyson#cassandra cain#incorrect quotes#incorrect quotes batfam#funny#red robin#red hood#nightwing
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Dr. Who/Batman crossover?
But where Batman/Bruce is the Doctor?
I mostly like this idea because of the regeneration possibilities; maybe Adam West Batman (Batwest???) regenerates into Michael Keaton Batman (Batton?????) regenerates into Batbale into Batfleck into Battinson.
But it doesn't have to be in order!
I was thinking that each regeneration would have its adventures and such with one Robin, as tends to be the case with the Doctor and his companions. Dick would start us off, and maybe his best fit would be with one of the slightly darker versions of the Bat, like Keaton or Bale. When Dick grows up and decides he needs his own path, maybe there's a delay after we meet Jason before Bruce regenerates into West or Affleck. Then afterwards, when Jason is gone and before we get Tim, we get Pattinson.
I just think there's a lot to do here with how each Robin influences each regeneration, as well as all of the cookey sci-fi, the death-defying adventures, the time travel, and the planet-of-hats enemies.
#Doctor Who#Batman#crossover#adopt this fic#Batman and Robin#Bruce Wayne#🦇#and of course you could do this same thing with different writer's/artist's versions of Batman in comics#but the movies are highly accessable#my favorite movie Bat and Robin combo to think of is Battinson and Jason#but I am so extremely biased#I think going from Keaton partway into Jason's tenure into West would be a fun way to show that Jay was a ray of sunshine to B#and with how violent and brooding and frankly wreckless Pattinson is it would be a fantastic follow-up and a great challenge for a 12yo Tim#to bring him back and show him again why he was Batman in the first place#anyway yeah whatever#I will never get to write this but I had a vision of Bruce in a peacoat and scarft stepping out of a red phone booth#with a little Robin (probably Dick) sticking his head out behind him#if there are fics out there like this already I'd love links#thank you for coming to my TED Talk
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Warnings: mentions of a dead body and blood, angst coming your way.
“The Secrets of Gotham-Unmasked”
Chp. 20
RedHood’s POV
Y/b/n wiped his gloved hands clean from the blood that seeped between his gloved fingers as he walked through the alleys of the city, he then took out his crowbar and wiped it with his jackets sleeve as he whistled letting the echo carrying his sound into the darkness of the alley.
‘Maybe... just maybe.. that’ll teach them.. to stop hurting people.. people that were good. Fucking bastards...’
Bruce’s POV
Bruce walked down to the cave and saw Alfred siting at his desk looking at the screen with a distant look in his eyes. Bruce approached him quietly and sat down next to him as he apologized for his actions earlier that day,
“I’m sorry for.. for the way I talked to you earlier... I really am.”
Alfred lifted his hand without taking his eyes off the screen and put it on Bruce’s shoulder calmly,
“I understand your anger Bruce.. and the reason behind what you did.. as far as stopping Y/n from become someone she isn’t.. and I wish you didn’t let Y/b/n go... did you forget that he’s just a boy? He’s going to be 16 on Christmas.”
“oh.. gosh he doesn’t look like it anymore... huhhh... I’m sorry Alfred, I just didn’t like what I saw in him, and you must remember that he isn’t the same person anymore.. I see that you’re tracking down his location and his vitals?”
Alfred nodded his head as he replied,
“Someone needs to keep an eye out for the boy Bruce.. plus.. he still doesn’t want to talk about Y/n.. he.. he still thinks she’s the villain in his story.”
Bruce comfortingly patted Alfred’s back before leaving his arm thrown across Alfreds shoulders. Alfred looked at Bruce to see if he was alright, for Bruce was never one to be comforting with physical actions. Until Alfred remembered, that Y/n had changed that, he let out a harmless scoff as he teased Bruce,
“I see Y/n’s made you soft.. more open, and calmer.. I’m glad she brought that out of you.”
Bruce smiled freely at the mention of Y/n’s name, he then remembered about her wanting to talk to him but never having a chance, sense she was called to work. He opened up to Alfred about it,
“Something is up with Y/n and I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about it.. but Gordon thinks it’s serious.”
Alfred turned his head away from the screen and looked at Bruce concerned,
“What do you mean?”
Sighing he went on to tell Alfred everything that Gordon had told him to the way Y/n had been behaving and saying that she didn’t want to pursue her fathers case.
“how absurd.. Y/n was the most passionate about this and now she doesn’t want it? That must mean she let Saunders go.”
“What? Why? H-how do you know?”
Alfred clicked on his computer and checked the safe house to see if it was empty, but when he looked at the screen, it showed that one person was in the house, leaving Alfred confused,
“She said she was going to let him go.. because she didn’t need him anymore.. but he’s still there.”
“What if he’s taking shelter there.. we did accidentally ruin what was left of his house.. it’d only make sense if Y/n decided to leave him there.”
“Then I shall go talk to him-“
“You don’t have to Alfred-“
“I want to, I want to know him well and see why he’s staying at the safe house.. now, while I’m gone make sure you have your things ready, I’ll be heading out Bruce.”
Bruce got up and helped Alfred into a warm long coat and handed him his gloves, then for safety measures he gave him an emergency button and a tracker. Bruce began to stutter as he wanted to press that Alfred wear the lens,
“This i-is of course.. um f-for emergencies-“
“Thank you Bruce.. thank you.. but you’ve done enough-“
Alfred then took out his pocket gun and stuffed it into his coat,
“-I’ll be fine.. more than fine.. now go take care of your duties.. I’ll be taking this to keep track of Y/b/n’s whereabouts if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.. and.. later I’ll see if I can bring him back.. I can’t leave him out on the streets.. it’d be bull shit if he said he had a place to stay.”
“He did say that Bruce, but I don’t believe him either, I don’t even know where he was at first before we met him again. Hmmm..., I guess I’ll see you later Bruce, take care, and keep an eye out for your dear.”
“I will.. she’s out at a crime scene at the moment.”
“I thought she was going to stay home?”
Bruce shrugged his shoulders,
“I thought so too, but If work calls it calls.”
“You’re right about that.”
Soon Bruce led Alfred outside and made sure he left safely, once he was out of sight Bruce went back inside and ran to the Batcave to get ready for tonight. He had uneasy feeling but didn’t know why, so many things were happening in his life right now he couldn’t pin what exactly was causing his anxiety. But soon.. something would confirm his uneasiness.
Y/n’s POV
Y/n arrived at the scene in about 20 minutes, it was behind a shopping center at OGC, she got off her bike that was now parked next to Gordon’s car. She walked towards the crowd of officers and CSI had just showed up. The weather wasn’t too bad, the skies were cloudy but no sign of wind, snow or rain for now, so she was grateful. Now coming closer to Gordon she called out to him addressing her presence, Gordon turned around to see her and sighed in relief,
“Hey kid.. thanks again for coming in at this ungodly hour.”
She sent him a comforting smile as she replied,
“You got it boss.. and I’m.. I’m sorry for how I treated you earlier-“
“There’s no need to be sorry, I can understand the pressure and reasons kiddo, but just know that I side you no matter what ok?”
“Ok..”
“Alright now lets get to work.”
He gave her a pat on the shoulder and proceeded to say,
“So an anonymous call came in leading us here.. we couldn’t read his face because it’s literally been torn apart, but there was a letter written stating the cause for this fellows death, but we confirmed it with his fingerprints that led us to his identity.. turns out he has been wanted by the FBI for a while, he helps run the sex trafficking system.. he was one of the main ones.”
Y/n walked up to the body that was now being examined by the medical examiner, which was an older man, she took a chance to ask him as she bent down next to him,
“Do you know what exactly killed him sir?”
He scooted closer to her to show her,
“Look here, we tested the blood on his face.. and there’s signs of rust in it.”
“Rust?”
‘RedHood killed him too.. with a rusting crowbar... but why... what connects him to this case? Is he a runaway victim? He has to be... because he’s targeting all of Stewart’s traffickers... this kid is digging himself a deeper whole.’
The mans face was beaten brutally and you couldn’t even make out what was what on his face, blood spilled from his skull and the rest of his body was covered in blood as well, he literally looked like if his skin had been ripped apart, the damaged caused to this man was pure madness and vengeance. It made Y/n wince to think at how bad this RedHood really was, or mainly how cold hearted and blood thirsty he was.
‘This is completely ridiculous... who the hell is RedHood... why is he who he is?’
She turned and looked at Gordon,
“This fella here worked for Stewart’s trafficking system-“
“Yeah and Stewart’s dead too Y/n.. do you think..”
“This killer is targeting all the traffickers.. the people that worked with Stewart... but he’s not leaving us anything to lead us to him..”
Gordon pinched his nose as he marveled,
“He’s kinda good at this.. he knows the punch line to the game.. and know who to target as well.. he’s vengeful. I see he started with the boss and is going down one by one.”
Y/n nodded her head as she replied under her breath,
“He is...”
Mackenzie’s POV
He arrived at the crime scene where he was able to track her down, he told his partner to get off and do what he needed as he wanted to distract and keep both Y/n and Gordon busy. Walker left the car quickly with a bag of mystery items, and Mackenzie exited his vehicle and began to walk towards them. Gordon turned around at the approaching footsteps and when he saw Mackenzie he just about exploded with fury, but kept himself in control for Y/n’s sake, he wanted to be in complete control of his emotions to be fully paying attention to Y/n and her safety. Gordon spoke in a deep demanding tone as he stood in front of Y/n that was still talking to the examiner,
“What brings you here Mackenzie? I didn’t call you in, and it’s just a crime scene-“
“Woah woah.. sense when do you write the rules Gordon? Remember your place Jim, I can show up whenever I like.”
Y/n’s POV
Hearing the voice that made her skin crawl she stayed on the ground pretending to be occupied with the examiner, she knew Gordon would keep Mackenzie away from her, or at least she’d hope he would. The examiner noticed her change in behavior and right away moved her more away. He had been in the system long enough to know that women were always bothered by Mackenzie, and he didn’t like it, so when he could he’d try his best to avoid drama.
He lowered his voice enough for only her to hear as he said,
“I don’t trust that man with women.. I have two daughters of my own.. and I have tried my best to keep them away from him.”
Y/n’s heart warmed at his words and actions as he moved her from that area, she could only thank him,
“Thank you.. “
“Hmm hmm.. here these gloves on and just hold something for me to look busy eh?”
“Oh yeah!”
She slipped on tight black gloves and grabbed a tweezer and a evidence bag in her hand standing where she was blocked from view. And they both began to work on the body together picking up scattered pieces.
Gordon’s POV
Mackenzie tried to walk past him when he realized that Y/n had disappeared, but Gordon stopped him immediately as he asked,
“What did you do?”
“What?”
“I said, what.did.you.do? The other night, at Arkham.. something happened and you were there.”
Mackenzie rolled his eyes like an arrogant twat and huffed,
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Jim, nothing happened-“
“Then why were you in the security room-“
“Why did you leave her alone then.. huh Jim? Why... you can’t accuse me of anything If there’s no proof that I did anything to Y/n and she hasn’t said anything-“
“What do you mean you didn’t do anything to Y/n? And that there’s no proof? So you did do something huh-“
“Bullshit Jim!-“
“Then why make this conversation about Y/n now? When I never mentioned her name? Or that this was about her Bock??”
Gordon checkmated Mackenzie into silence as he realized he slipped up on his own words, but that’s when Walker came around them to say,
“Ready boss?”
Mackenzie looked at Walker and nodded his head, then he sent Gordon a mischievous smirk and replied while staring into Gordon’s eyes,
“Yes... I’m ready.”
#bruce wayne x fem!reader#robert pattinson#batman#bruce wayne imagine#battinson#the batman#bruce wayne#the batman 2022#battinson x reader#bruce wayne x you#battinson x y/n#bruce wayne fic#bruce wayne x reader#battinson x you#battinson fanfiction#the batman x reader#the batman movie#jason todd x reader#jason tood#red hood#the red hood
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some recent fanfic recs☑️
for: moonknight, batman/battinson/ jason todd/ cod
some are 18+ (please just dont read if you are not):***
the link is my short amazing *sarcasm* review, jokes aside go read them and show them love. also most of these are longer fics! (i think all are x fem!reader if yall want a gn!reader let me know)
moonknight 🌙
this whole series is 10/10 by @januaryembrs
the way jake is portrayed *heart eyes* by @phantomspiderr
just dropped their whole mlist here so you can binge read by @st4rymoon ***
i am a sucker for hurt comfort by @vintagemulti
batman 🦇
most prob already read this series BUT ILL NEVER GET OVER IT by @jangofctts ***
i just love sad bruce by @the-wintershade
nightwing longtime friend reader x bruce on pollen need i say more by @imaginedisish ***
the way bruce is portrayed A M A Z I N G by @vigilvntes
normally im not really into pregnancy fics but this one ooooh the tension, the angst, the buildup… by @afro-hispwriter *** (just read everything she wrote while your at it)
jason todd ♦️
recently did not read that many red hood fics😞
i actually have not read this one yet bcs of school but it is long and it sounds good by @lightwing-s
cod 💀
this series has me in a chokehold zombie apocalypse universe reader x single dad ghost with a KID now that i think about it its so genius to put ghost who is always kinda cold with a kid in a situation like this and reader by @nsharks
now the legend cod writer made a merman price fic.. im sold ofc by @halcyone-of-the-sea
i hardly see colonel reader fics and i found out i like them (x ghost and angst) by @bits-and-babs ***
#fanfic rec#recommendations#call of duty#ghost x reader#ghost imagine#batman x reader#battinson imagine#battinson x reader#jason todd imagine#jason todd x reader#john price#price x reader#price imagine#john price x reader#john price imagine#steven grant x reader#steven grant imagine#moonknight x reader#moonknight imagine#jake x reader#marc spector x reader#marc spector imagine#battinson#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne x reader
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like dead-eyed sharks, Gotham watches (battinson x f!reader)
Note: This takes place pre-movie and you can find the rest of this series. (Part 1 here) (part 2 here)
Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt was "blood kink/i just wanna see a man all beaten up and bloody" I have never written for that before and honestly...i think this fic got like away from me tbh. so im sorry if this isn't want u wanted lmao
Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. confessions. secret identity revealed. canon-violence. cursing/explicit language. explicit consent during sexual content. smut. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)
prompt: blood kink
pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes.
bonus: on ao3, i split it into two chapters for ease of reading. the first half is plot, the second half is smut. ;) enjoy.
( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list
You lean on the railing of your small balcony and watch the streaks of red and white lights below. The cool night air kisses your skin and tousles your clothes. Gotham’s air has a burning singe to it too malicious to be reminiscent of a campfire. It’s more akin to a cigarette lit by the gas stove combined with cheap perfume. You toy with the invitation between your fingers. The swooping, gilded text is embossed across the creamy card stock and you rub your fingers over a specific sentence: This invitation a courtesy by Johnathan Crane, M.D.
Arkham hospital is having a charity auction.It’s an opportunity. One you maybe wouldn’t have gotten while working at the paper. But what’s the catch? What purpose would Crane have to invite you?You replay your short interview with the enigmatic, intelligent doctor. The man has secrets but who in Gotham doesn’t? This charity provides an opportunity to snoop around Arkham and talk to Dr. Mercer’s co-workers who refused to meet with you earlier. Below, several cars beep at the same time and it creates a strange, dissonant melody. Youcan’t pass this up.
You wonder if Bruce will front you some cash. It’ll be easier to blend in if you can pretend to try and buy a piece of artwork or maybe a little stone statue to use as a door stopper. You chuckle to yourself at the idea and brush the idea aside. You won’t use Bruce’s money to spend on frivolous artwork and sculptures that you cannot possibly fit inside your one bedroom apartment. That settles it. You have to attend. The soft pitter patter of fresh rainfall tings against the high rise windows, railings, and roofs. From high above, Gotham is shiny chrome and long dark shadows.
You wonder if Vengeance is in those shadows tonight.
You haven’t seen Batman since your failed chemistry experiment. Your lower stomach clenches at the memory and you willfully push the lustful thoughts aside. You and Vengeance have little reason to see each other right now. It’s been nothing but dead ends since Falcone avoided arrest. According to Gordon, the evidence locker was recently flooded due to a pipe burst and the analysis of your blood samples—containing whatever Falcone did to you—were destroyed.
So, you’ve been busy working on re-writing your Arkham article under Bruce’s employ. Your time as a vigilante journalist has dwindled. Yes, there are other stories in Gotham that need your attention, but none are as urgent as reviving the Arkham story. Plus your instincts keep telling you that it’s connected: Falcone. Dr. Mercer’s death. Arkham. The mysterious drugs.
There’s a thread here. You just have to find the right one to pull.
You flick your thumb against the card’s corner. You should tell him. Batman needs to know about this. If you want your plan to snoop around Arkham to succeed—you’re going to need Batman’s gadgets. You bend down, the wind and rainwater tickling the delicate skin at your temples, and click on the multi-colored lights that frame the balcony window. Your own secret call to the Bat.
You return inside, leave the sliding door unlocked and wait.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bruce gets a call from Alfred while driving down fourth street. His voice crackles warmly over the headphone inside Bruce’s ear, “she’s got her lights on.” Alfred knows to periodically check the security cameras they installed across the street of your apartment and Bruce is grateful for his vigilance.
He pivots his motorcycle and takes a sharp turn through an alleyway as a shortcut. Someone on the sidewalk shouts profanities at him.
The rainwater ricochets off his helmet and spins like a hyped-up Ferris wheel around the tires. He’s seen you a handful of times for coffee dates or short walks in the park. Never lingering. Never doing more than kissing you. No matter how badly he wants to. It’s stupid. He’s fucked you twice as Batman, felt your walls quiver around his fingers and cock, listened to your sweet cries and watched your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. And yet...
It’s Batman who you call for in the middle of the night. He suspects that Bruce—in your mind—is at home, maybe asleep, maybe pacing his study, maybe watching some black-and-white foreign film. He wishes he could invite you over, sleep next to you, show you how he feels about youwith slow kisses buried between your thighs, but he can’t. The night is for him. For Vengeance. Gotham never sleeps so why should he? He needs to be awake and on the prowl. He needs to be ready for anything and that includes answering your silent and iridescent call.
He stows his motorcycle in the usual safe spot within the alleyway and uses his grappling hook to ascend to your floor without entering the building. His heart pounds as it always does when you’re in close proximity. Like his heart is trying to escape his chest and offer itself to you.
He sucks in a breath before sliding open the door. One of your downstairs neighbors is boiling cabbage, there’s a pair of wet socks on your radiator, and a candle on your coffee table flickers with the influx of air from the balcony door. The sight and smells of your apartment are achingly familiar. He prefers it—this tiny, homey space—compared to his large and extravagant penthouse. But then again, he prefers anywhere where you are.
He wishes he could remove his cowl and lay his head in your lap, but he folds his arms across his chest and says, “what did you find?”
“Take a look.” You toss a card onto the coffee table and the laptop illuminates your face in a blue-white glow. “I’m rubbing elbows with the right people it seems.”
“Crane?” He mutters to himself while examining the fancy, expensive card stock. A charity at Arkham. It’s strange that they’re hosting at the hospital instead of a fancy hotel. He makes a mental note to check the guest list.
“Several of Dr. Mercer’s co-workers talked to me before Mercer died. And now they won’t talk to me. That means someone or all of them are dirty and in someone’s pocket.” You explain and your eyes are lit furiously from within, “I hoped I could use Dr. Crane to reach the other employees of Arkham and this is my chance.”
“Do you think Falcone is involved?”
You shrug, “if not him then it’s another one of Gotham’s criminals.”
Bruce considers this information. It’s a decent lead. You aren’t looking at him. Your eyes are glued to the computer screen as your fingers move across the keyboard in quick, precise strokes. He could watch you for hours but those are hours he doesn’t have. Gotham needs him. As much as he wants to linger in your presence and kiss you—those are luxuries he cannot afford despite his generational wealth. He sets the invitation back onto the table.
“What’s your plan?” He asks.
“It’s simple. I go to the charity, talk to anyone that I think is involved, then we meet up during the auction itself.” Your eyes flick up and down, but he gets the distinct sensation that you’re not sizing him up in a flirtatious manner. Your expression, your tone, and body language is cool and professional. It reminds him of the early days working together...before he kissed you and pressed you against the windows of the Wayne penthouse.
“I assume you’ve got a way to enter Arkham without being noticed.” You return your attention to the screen, “we can snoop through their offices.”
“They’re likely to increase security during the event.”
You wave a hand, “that’s why I’m telling you now. It gives us time to prepare.”
He clenches his jaw. You are an unstoppable force when a story is involved. Your safety might not matter to yourself, but it matters to him. He can do this alone. He can visit Arkham while the charity takes place and discover whatever Crane or Dr. Mercer’s associates are up to. You don’t need to put yourself at risk. Even the small risk of arrest makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. He can’t protect Gotham and you at the same time.
He says, “I’ll go alone.”
“And do what?” Your nostrils flare, “punch some confessions out of doctors? No way, Batboy. I’m not letting you try and take this one from me. This is my story.”
“All you need is evidence.” He counters, “I can get that for you.” You stand from the couch and place your hands on your hips. You’re shorter but you glare up at him with the heat and intensity of a car lit by a Molotov cocktail. He holds your gaze and cherishes the burn he feels prickle across his skin.
“I need firsthand accounts.” You say, your voice firm and unyielding, “you could rifle through their paperwork and take pictures of every record available and it would take us months to find what we’re looking for. And who knows! Maybe Arkham will smarten up and wipe everything clean before I have the chance to publish.”
“You think people will talk to you at the auction?”
He watches your chest rise a little with your inhale. The way your eyelashes flutter close. You always closed your eyes before saying ‘yes’ to him. He wonders if you ever notice this little tell of yours—if it ever registers that the boy you scraped knees with and the man standing before you in black armor are the same.
“Yes,” You reply while opening your eyes, “I do.”
“Fine.” He bites out. Arguing with you is akin to arguing with a brick wall. “But, I’m not sending you in there without protection.” He won’t let what happened with you and Falcone happen ever again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You toy with the little black bracelet on your wrist. A gift from Vengeance. It’s simple and straightforward. All it takes is one little press of a button near your wristbone and it releases an electric shock more painful and debilitating than your average taser. He explained that he wanted you to have something in case anyone got ‘too close’. Honestly, you hope you don’t have to use it.
Arkham’s charity event is being held in the new wing of the hospital. There are currently no patients, but it’s the perfect location for the chairmen and board members to show off the latest technology, the new rooms, and convince Gotham’s rich and powerful to make donations.
You let out a small breath of relief as you take in the freshly painted walls and large windows covered by thin, latticed metal. At least it’s spacious.Some of the other wings within Arkham State Hospital tended to trigger your claustrophobia. The murmurs of conversation float through the circular room above the music of stringed instruments by the door. The windows within the high ceilings look down at you like large black eyes as they reflect Gotham’s dark skies.You think, they should’ve made this a daytime event. It would’ve been more remarkable.
The pamphlet in your left hand boasts about the ‘benefits of natural light while providing safety, comfort and security for our patients’. In other words—Arkham has patients that can’t go outside due to the security risk and this newly built wing is their solution.
The two other exits lead into hallways but those doors are closed and guarded by security. A sign is posted nearby that reads: For Private Tours – Inquire with Director Susan S.
“I was wondering if you received my invite,” a smooth voice says from your right side. You turn to see Dr. Crane wearing a tuxedo, his brown hair slicked away from his angular face and shining beneath the warm florescent light bulbs.
“Did your secretary not pass along my RSVP?”
“She didn’t,” His sharp blue eyes drop to your shoes and then rise to your face, his look appraising and yet distant, “but she’s new and you look gorgeous so I’ll let it go.” Dr. Crane offers you his elbow and you politely take it, sliding your hand into the crook of his arm and allowing him to lead you through the swarm of well-dressed and perfumed bodies.
Youdon’t know how Bruce stomached these events. His parents were socialites and humanitarians who believed in a brighter future for Gotham.Youwonder what they’d say about Arkham's recent addition.
Crane passes you a flute of champagne and you use the opportunity to ask him how he’s settling into Arkham. His lips tug into a smile that feels secretive. He bows his head toward you and his breath ghosts along your cheek and neck.
“Some of my co-workers dislike me,” says Crane, “but I don’t take it personally. Every place has their hazing routines, their cliques, and established loyalties.”
You notice the discreet looks being tossed your way. Bored, inquisitive, jealous, and others are outright scandalized. You suspect that someone’s told Crane who you actually are by now which means he invited you for a reason. Time to find a thread to pull, you think.
You ask, “did you invite me as your plus one to disrupt those routines and loyalties?”
His eyes glimmer, “I did.”
“I’m honored.” You press the rim of your champagne glass to your lips, then lower it, watching Crane’s gaze as they follow your every movement. “Why me, though?”
“I see myself in you,” Crane guides you to the middle of the room where some of the guests are dancing in slow waltzes and whispering business deals to each other. The dark sky of Gotham—light pollution never allows for twinkling stars—peers down at you like the eyes of a shark. You can guess where this is going. The music and conversation provides enough white noise to muffle your conversation as long as you and Crane continue to whisper. You set your champagne glass on a nearby tray.
Crane gently takes your hand and your black bracelet slides on your wrist. “I’ve done my homework after our first meeting.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t do research prior to our first meeting.” You chastise as one of your hands settle on his slim shoulder, “I gave your secretary my real name.”
“A mistake I intend to never repeat.” He leads the dance. It’s a simple box step that doesn’t require much effort nor skill, “thank you for that lesson.”
You smile. “The first one is free.”
His hand slides to your lower back as he nudges you closer, “you really are determined to uncover Arkham’s secrets, aren’t you?” He whispers into the shell of your ear. You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching—and if they are—well, all they’ll see is Dr. Crane getting close to an attractive woman. He’s good at this. Something in your gut urges you to be careful and play it safe.
“I’m here for the auction, Crane.”
“You’re here for more than that.”
You avoid his keen perception and change tactics.
“You said I remind you of yourself. That’s a bold statement considering we’ve spoken once.” You narrow your eyes over his shoulder at a familiar face. A part-time nurse named Jessica who refused to speak to you after Dr. Mercer’s death. The color of her dress washes out her complexion and the necklace around her throat sparkles like freshly fallen snow. Crane pivots and you lose sight of her.
“I’m a good judge of character,” he replies without missing a step. “In fact, you and Dr. Jacobs...”
Dr. Jacobs. He was on your list as one of Dr. Mercer’s associates, but you never had the chance to interview him. In fact, you planned on following up with Dr. Jacobs after Mercer’s death, but the man wouldn’t return any of your calls. You chalked it up to grief. But now...
Crane continues, “you both have an inner fire that cannot be understated.” He slows his step and tilts his head back to meet your eyes—steady and true. Dr. Crane looks at you as if he’s gazing into a house fire. You swallow.
“They called you ‘quicksilver’ didn’t they? At the Gotham Gazette?” You sense his questions are rhetorical. “I found that fascinating. They named you after a chemical element, a Roman God, because you--” he says your name “—are a force to be reckoned with.”
He leans in, speaking low, “and I pity anyone who underestimates you.”
You comb through his compliments, his lingering looks, and piece together your response. His hand on your lower back threatens to burn through the fabric of your clothing. What will Crane gain by helping you? Does he know that Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer knew each other? And if he’s not helping then he’s...merely pointing out that he sees your ambitious nature...and signaling that he’s the same.
You reply, “maybe I’ll talk to Dr. Jacobs tonight and find out if we’re as similar as you say.”
“I’m afraid he’s not here.” Dr. Crane sighs, “I believe he mentioned a family obligation conflicted with this event.”
Good. His office will be clear to search.
“That’s too bad.”
Dr. Crane smirks lightly, “indeed.” He leads you to the edge of the circle, “I believe I’ve monopolized enough of your time tonight.” He took your co-joined hands and pressed a polite, chaste kiss against your knuckles. Your gaze darts away from him. “I need to speak with a few of my colleagues.”
Finally! The sooner you can snoop the sooner you can leave Arkham.
“Of course,” You step aside and try to not let your eagerness show on your face, “I should go to the ladies room before the bidding begins.”
“I’ll save you a seat.” Dr. Crane says.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arkham’s security is not without its flaws. He and Alfred decided it would be more useful and less disruptive to hack into the system and program the cameras to play a loop of footage rather than try and disable the system from the outside. Thankfully, you needed access to the doctor’s offices which were far less patrolled and monitored than the area where Arkham housed its full-time patients.
An alert pings on his device. That’s his cue. He cuts through the skylight with a thin, blue laser. Then, using a handle with a glass-safe suction cup, he pulls the glass free and carefully sets it aside. Ideally, he’ll return through this skylight once the job is done.
He stands from his crouched position by the window and tests the tension in his repel line.It feels good, secure. He drops into Arkham State Hospital with a faint ‘zzzziiippp’ sound and lands behind you.
“You made it.” You whisper, relieved.
“Worried I wouldn’t?”
“More worried someone would catch me wandering the halls.” You smile a little and his heart squeezes, “I can only use the ‘I’m drunk’ excuse so many times before it gets suspicious.”
“We’ll be quick.” He checks the time, “Alfred said the camera feed will give us an hour, but we should plan for less.”
You set off toward the offices while holding up the flashlight on your phone, “we need to check out Dr. Jacobs’ office.”
The wood-paneled hallways are dimly lit and the only light source is the exit signs glowing red above doorways. The thin dark green carpet helps to muffle your footsteps. He takes a moment to appreciate you walking in front of him. He loves how efficient you are, how fearless, even when it threatens to give him a heart attack. And your ass looks incredible.
You stop in front of the metal double doors. A key card reader glows a muted yellow on the wall.
“Okay, your turn.”
“Why Dr. Jacobs?” He asks while approaching the key reader. He inserts a featureless key card into the slot. It’s attached to a device in his hand by a wide and thin wire and several numbers rapidly scan across the screen and illuminate his jaw in a greenish glow.
“Crane mentioned him.” Your rub your hands over your upper arms, “he said that Dr. Jacobs and I are similar because we’re ambitious. I don’t know. Crane doesn’t strike me as the type of person to say something without it meaning anything. He’s too smart for that.”
Bruce ignores the twinge of jealousy in his stomach. You aren’t interested in Crane. He knows that. You’re using Crane. But it still feels strange to hear you mention another man with a hint of admiration in your tone. He clenches his jaw. Crane isn’t that smart.
Bruce doesn’t look up from the device. “And you think he’s involved in Mercer’s death?”
“Mercer and Jacobs worked together and I never had the chance to interview him before Mercer died.” You lean in to watch the gadget in his palms, “I figured we would search the most likely suspects instead of digging through everyone’s desk.”
You continue, “we start with Jacobs, then Crane, and lastly Haywood.”
He mentally reflects on your files and notes. He should have known that you wouldn’t remove Crane from your list of suspects. Just because Crane wasn’t at Arkham at the same time as Mercer didn’t mean he was off the hook. You regarded everyone at Arkham with a low-level of suspicion. It didn’t matter if they were a groundskeeper, security, or head of the boardroom. Falcone’s payroll is the greatest mystery and it served to err on the side of caution when dealing with a dangerous criminal.
“Jessica Haywood?”
“Mhm.” The device beeps, the light turns green, and the doors click unlocked. “The jewelry she’s wearing tonight is well above the pay grade of a Per Diem nurse.”
Bruce unhooks the device from the reader and opens the door for you. You slip past him and for a brief second—the air lingers with your scent. His eyelashes flutter. It’s getting harder and harder to be this close. He pushes the thoughts from his mind and follow you into the personal offices of the doctors.
He says, “if Haywood is a part-time nurse, then she won’t have an office.”
“We’ll check HR for pay stubs and the nurse’s station log to see which floors and patients she’s worked with.”
Bruce grunts.
“You’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”
Your smile threatens to topple the walls inside his heart and drag his loyalty Gotham into the ocean.
“Mostly.”
Dr. Jacob’s office smells like cigarettes. Together you meticulously comb through his files, check under seat cushions, and search for false walls. Bruce plugs a USB into the ancient computer desktop. In ten minutes, he’s obtained the contents of Dr. Jacobs hard-drive and sent it to Alfred for decryption.
On the way to Crane’s office, he asks, “are you still going to re-interview Mercer’s patients?”
“Assuming my relationship to Crane allows me access then yes.”
His heart ignites, burning hot inside his chest, and he exhales sharp through his nostrils.What happened tonight between you and him?He clears his throat and says, “relationship?”
You laugh quietly. “Professional relationship, Batman. Like us.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You realize how silly your words are the second they leave your mouth. Batman stops short and pins his steely blue gaze on you. You shouldn’t have compared you and Crane to you and Batman. They are completely different. Your relationship to Batman almost borders on friendship. Or maybe it’s more like...co-workers who never dated, but did hook up and now have underlying sexual tension.
“Okay, not like that.” You lift your hands, “I’m not out fighting crime with Dr. Crane.”
Some of the tension in Batman’s jaw lessens. “We don’t fight crime together.”
“Well, that’s because you haven’t taught me to fight.” You wiggle your bracelet wrist, “and honestly you’ve been overprotective lately.”
“You’re a civilian.” He counters gruffly.
“So are you.” You lean your shoulder against the wall as Batman crouches at Crane’s door to pick the lock. “Unless you’ve recently been hired by the PD?”
Batman looks up at you and all that dark makeup around his light blue eyes highlights their color and depth. Your skin prickles, hot and sharp and painfully—painfully aware of what those eyes look like during the throes of desperate and sweaty sex. You want to kick yourself. You’re loyal to Bruce, you want to be with Bruce, but that doesn’t erase the attraction you feel towards Vengeance. His eyes drop back to the doorknob and he leaves your question unanswered.
Dr. Crane’s office doesn’t smell like anything which is a relief to your nostrils after the toxic and cloying scent of stale cigarettes in Dr. Jacobs. There isn’t a desktop in Crane’s office which leads you to assume that he takes his laptop home with him. You start with the filing cabinet that Crane glanced at during your interview with him. Batman searches his desk. And you work in comfortable silence. The anticipation gnaws at your stomach.
Come on, Crane.You need something tangible so you can start putting pressure on the doctors and nurses who are involved. Yourfirst article proved that the corruption within Arkham travels all the way to the administration. Mercer said they were powerful which means other doctors are involved. They have to be. So what did Jacobs do? Why did Crane mention him?
You step from the filing cabinet and pace the small office with your arms crossed.
“Dr. Mercer was afraid. He didn’t want to keep giving the police drugs and administration told him to stay quiet. His patients spoke highly of him. His co-workers liked him. Mercer dislike how the administration ran things.” You repeat the story to yourself in the hopes that you’ll find the piece you missed.
“Then, he dies two weeks after I present my article and the Gazette fires me. That’s not a coincidence.”
Batman opens one of the filing cabinet drawers. You let him continue his work as you talk yourself through the file details. There were plenty of co-workers of Dr. Mercer that have issues with Arkham but they were typical standard labor complaints—not enough holiday time, staffing issues, or personality clashes with other doctors. Who else could you talk to?
“I can try Jessica. She stopped talking to me after his death, but I know she idolized Dr. Mercer. Maybe I can appeal to her. Find the humanity.” You pause and press your fist against your lips.
There’s no way she could afford that necklace. Either she has a very wealthy partner or she’s accepted a bribe to stay quiet. But why? What does she know? Or are they just afraid of anyone who MIGHT talk?
A low ‘thump’ noise comes from Batman’s corner of the room.
Batman asks, “what’s Dr. Jacobs title?”
“Chief Psychiatrist.”
You hear him move closer and you turn to meet his stormy eyes. “Quicksilver, you need to see this.” The filing cabinet drawer is open, but a hidden inner compartment is unhinged and Batman grips a thick manila folder.
He opens the folder on Crane’s empty desk. Your heart bottoms out into your shoes and you clamp your fingers over your mouth to muffle your gasp.
“Holy shit!” you breathe.
The file spills out with evidence of experimental trials on patients. Experiments aren’t uncommon at Arkham. Sometimes drug companies and Arkham will partner up to test treatments, but it goes through a whole process of licensing and legal clearance. But this--? You steady one palm against the desk and your knees threaten to collapse from under you. The experiments involved sedating the patients with experimental manufactured opioids and then exposing them to high-stress situations—like torture—to see if their bodies and minds could withstand the pressure while on the experimental pain medication.
“Dr. Mercer…” His name glares in black ink like a gallows noose tightening around your neck. He was involved in this?!
You recall his final words to you before his death, “The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”
Your fingers tremble as you lift your phone to take photos of the files. The tests, the results, the sign offs of two prominent doctors: Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer. Your eyes scan through the dates. Eventually, Dr. Mercer’s name stopped appearing. The files shift into another direction. The pain medication is no longer the focal point. Instead, the abstract of the experiment is: ‘To discover the effects of hallucinogens on recovery and behavioral control.’
“Wait,” you flip the pages and count the dates, “what happened to the pain medication trials?”
“It looks like they started a new project.” Batman’s hard and armored shoulder brushes against your body and you tremble for an entirely different reason. You bite your lip and refocus your attention.
“Why didn’t Dr. Mercer tell me? He said he was giving drugs to cops not--” You let out a frustrated sigh, “subjecting mentally ill patients to torture and experimental off-market drugs.”
Gotham, even on her worst days, manages to surprise you. Youbelieved Mercer was one of the good ones. He wanted people to get better. He wanted to help. How could this get so twisted?
“Why does Crane have all this?” he grumbles.
“What do you mean? It’s obvious.”
Batman turns his head toward you, his eyes questioning, and you close your eyes.
“Dr. Jacobs has some big skeletons in his closet. There’s no saving his reputation from this. Arkham will have no choice but to fire him to save face and claim they knew nothing about this. And an internal investigation will likely take place after Jacobs is fired.” You gesture to the files on the desk. “That means Crane, the new blood of Arkham, has the perfect opportunity to apply for his position.”
You recall Crane’s secretive smile, his perceptive gaze, and deliberate and careful words. His glances at this cabinet during your first meeting were planned. He curated this moment from the start.
“He doesn’t want to be the one to blow the whistle on Arkham.”
“Because it would impact his chance at the job,” Batman guesses. It’s a fair enough assumption. You’d bet money on it if you were a betting woman.
You reply earnestly, “no one likes the person who reveals the truth.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Batman places his gloved hand over yours and gently squeezes your fingers, “Gotham needs people like you, Silver.”
Your lips shift into a grateful yet embarrassed smile.
“I know.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ARKHAM’S CORRUPTION BROUGHT TO LIGHT. The bold text slams across the headline with a grainy, colored photo Dr. Jacobs being arrested outside the hospital.
Every news outlet whether newspaper or television is reporting the story you wrote. The story secretly bankrolled by Bruce Wayne. Your childhood friend and sort-of boyfriend (you haven’t discussed labels yet). The article was published with an independent paper outside of Gotham. It spread like wildfire online and took Gotham by storm. The rest of the media vultures were forced to scramble to keep up.
And—it wouldn’t have been possible without Gotham’s caped crusader. Vengeance. The Bat. He cross-engineered the pain medication and it matched the drugs on the streets. Then, in a surprise twist, he revealed to Gordon that the ongoing hallucinogenic trial had components that matched your blood sample from your time with Falcone. Was it a little weird knowing Batman had your blood samples somewhere? Yes. But it led to the greater good so you chose to accept the weirdness.
The complied evidence encouraged Gordon to look into it. He obtained a warrant to search Dr. Jacobs home and office. His hard-drive contained copies of patient medical history and backups of all of his unethical experiments. ‘Sadly, the documents we found at his office were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Jacobs little pet projects’, you think.
However, the search for his co-conspirators is in process. It’s likely that Dr. Jacobs provided Falcone with the drugs he used on you and the other girls, but you’re doubtful Falcone will face any justice for it. Falcone is too slippery and influential. It’ll take something big to take him down.
Everything was connected just not in the way you imagined.
You click away from the news article.
Arkham’s official statement is “we are saddened to hear that our chief psychiatrist took advantage of our patients and staff. His actions were never sanctioned by our hospital and our thoughts are with the families of the patients at this time.” A rather magnanimous statement considering they’re scrambling for any good PR coverage lately.
You grab your coat from the edge of the couch and check your phone.
The text from Bruce reads: I’m outside.
You haven’t processed everything that’s happened in the span of a week. Gotham Gazette offered you a job with a pay raise and corner office. Dr. Crane mailed you a thank you note for attending the charity auction. The words were typed, concise, and polite. But you see it for what it truly is—Thank you for taking out the competition. Dr. Mercer’s involvement in the experiments is a tender sore on your heart. You never uncovered if Falcone or someone else killed him and now it’s over. You wish you could have put Falcone and his associates behind bars. But you’re forced to settle for shutting down Falcone’s drug connection.
It’s a victory. Victories are rare in Gotham especially for those on the side of justice. You try to remember that.
Arkham will move on. Gotham will move on.
And you have to move on too. There are other stories to be written, truths to bring into the light. You have a date tonight with Bruce and you’re determined to enjoy it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You loop your arm around Bruce’s elbow as you walk down the sidewalk toward his car.
“I appreciate that you came out, you know.” You say with fondness laced through your tone. “I know you prefer staying in.”
He’s a recluse, but he comes out to meet you every time you ask. You’re grateful the paparazzi are too swept up in the Dr. Jacobs story to care about the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. You know how he feels about being in the public eye and you don’t want any unnecessary strain added to this new, budding relationship. Life feels almost normal when you’re like this…There’s no lead to chase, no witnesses to interview, no late night sleuthing through the library archives.
His lips twitch upward. “I don’t mind it.” His clear blue eyes glance sidelong toward you, his sooty eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks, “as long as it’s with you.”
“Hmm?” You lean closer into his side and let the expensive woolly warmth of his jacket seep into your elbow and arm. “Sounds like you’ve got a soft spot for me, Brucie.” You use the nickname from your youth and Bruce reflexively cringes.
“Maybe,” he teases, “but can you blame me?” He suddenly draws to a stop and cradles your cheek with one hand. You lean into the familiar mounds of his palm, the curve of his fingers. The chilly air of Gotham drifts through your legs and curls around your ankles. Every nerve in your body sings with joy at his closeness. Who knew you’d go from childhood friends, to strangers, to this? The tender display of public affection is enough to send your heart into overdrive and your pulse throbs inside your ears.
He gazes at you, pupils dilated, lips softly parted. You think he might kiss you at any moment. Bruce tends to get this look before kissing you—like he can’t believe it, like he thinks he’s dreaming. Your faces draw imperceptibly closer as if pulled by an invisible string. His breath is warm on your lips. It’s a delightful contrast to the chilled wind that tugs at your coat and sneaks cold kisses behind your ears. Your eyes slip shut.
“Oof!” Bruce exclaims. A blunt pain ricochets into your side. Your eyes spring open. You have barely enough time to throw your hands out and catch yourself as you’re knocked sideways and onto the hard and uneven asphalt. You wince as your skin scrapes against the ground. Bruce is on his hands and knees, his eyes wide, hair falling in dark strands in front of his face. A masked assailant towers above him with a wooden baseball bat. Oh God. Oh God.
“Story should’ve stayed dead, bitch!” Someone shouts before their boot stomps into your lower spine and pins you to the asphalt. Instinct takes over. Fear overrides logic. Your breath comes out in haggard puffs. The dark bracelet from Batman glimmers in your peripheral vision. You just need to get close enough. The boot lifts from your back. Someone grunts. The sound of shoes scuffling on the pavement reverberates in your head. Now is your chance! The boot returns with a swift, hard kick into your rib cage.
The air is forced from your lungs in a pained exhale. Everything feels raw. Your throat constricts. Another kick. The world blurs with tears. Your body instinctively curls like a wounded creature. One arm wraps around your stomach and the other to your head. The bracelet dangles like a cherished heirloom in front of your eyes. Batman showed you how to use it, but you can’t activate it from this position, can you? You need your hands free. The next kick hits your shinbone. The pain is acute and travels up your knee. You squeeze your eyes shut. What about Bruce?! You hate this stupid parking lot. You hate that no one is stopping to help or intervene. You hate that you can’t think and that your body is tense and trembling in preparation of the next blow. You hate the helpless feeling that’s building inside your chest and shaking salty tears from your lashes.
Someone is laughing. A slurred, drunk sound. “This one’s got some fight in him!”
“Whadda you think we should we do with him?”
“Just knock him out!” The one above you yells, “we’re here for her. Not him.”
Three. Three voices. There’s three of them. The next kick hits your shoulder and your forced onto your back. There’s no time to prepare, no time to cry out, as the boot presses into your throat. Fuck! You glance quickly to where Bruce was and see that he’s fighting—you gurgle as your assailant applies pressure to your neck and glares down at you through the holes in his ski-mask. A ski mask? What a cliché. An unexpected, hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. You flail and scratch your nails against his denim covered leg.
“This is what happens to nosy journalists in Gotham,” he sneers from above, “you should have just kept your pretty mouth shut and wrote stories about missing puppies and shit.” Several white dots dance around your vision.
Bruce grunts in pain. Your worry for his safety abruptly overrides your fear and hysteria. You don’t care if these guys are here to kill you or scare you, but you aren’t going to let them keep hurting Bruce. His only crime was being close to you. If he wasn’t here with you...then this never would’ve happened. You aren’t powerless. You aren’t helpless.
You release your hands from the thug’s leg and grab your bracelet. Muscle memory takes over. You presses into the spot near your wristbone and the bracelet hums to life. Two prongs like a spider’s fangs eject from the edge of the bracelet near the back of your hand. You slam the fangs into your assailant’s leg. They easily bite through the fabric of his jeans. The electric shock throws him off-balance and he convulses with a screech of pain. Your lungs rapidly expand as if to greedily swallow the air you were denied. You roll onto your stomach, onto your hands and knees, before pulling yourself upright. The scene comes to you in broken, jagged pieces.
The leader in the ski mask is on the ground sprawled out and twitching. If he’s dead then good riddance even though you’d like to know who sent him. The other two thugs are on the ground and Bruce is standing over them—chest heaving, his dark hair in disarray, his bloodied fists clenched at his sides, his chin smeared with blood from a split lip.
You exhale, “Bruce.” It’s unclear who moves first: you or him. Your arms encircle his middle and he clutches you to his chest like you’re going to fade into smoke.
“You’re okay?” His voice is raw and trembling, he strokes the sides of your face, your arms, your shoulders with desperate and careful motions, his eyes roam every inch of you, “you’re okay?”
You manage to nod. It’s surreal. You’re no stranger to violence in Gotham. You’ve run from drug dealers, used pepper spray on someone trying to steal your car, veered off the road due to a high speed chance, and not to mention your time with Falcone—your investigative journalism is a high risk occupation. But you’ve never been scared like this before. You can’t help but wonder if it’s because Bruce was involved. You feared for his safety. You refused to entertain the thought of losing him.
“Let’s go—let’s go.” He urges, pulling you by the elbow to his car, “c’mon, Silver.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so sorry.” It’s your fault. Bruce paid for the story, but you’ll pay the price of exposing Arkham for the rest of your life. “I’m sorry...”
Bruce shakes his head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You don’t recall the drive to Wayne Penthouse. You sat in the passenger seat with your eyes closed, your hands cupped around your head between your knees, forcing air into your lungs and exhaling slowly until your heart regulated. Bruce is painfully quiet. You don’t register anything until the purring car engine shuts off.
“Bruce,” you begin, lifting your head, “I’m so sorry.” Bruce is staring straight ahead at the concrete wall of his garage, raw knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, his eyes closed. His expression pained and closed-off. Your feel your heart drag across razor blades. He fought for you, bled for you. You’re relieved he could hold his own and grateful that the thugs didn’t bring any weapons besides wooden baseball bats and bare fists. You don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if any of them had a gun.
He rasps, “Don’t.”
You unbuckle and angle yourself toward him. Your bruised skin bristles with pain at the twist of your spine and shift of your hips. You need to explain. You need to help him see. This is an unfortunate part of the life you lead. He once joked that you were a ‘journalist with a death wish’. It’s not true, of course. You have no desire to die. But you have and will continue to suffer for the sake of Gotham’s truth. When you pursue influential people and start airing their dirty laundry, they will use their power, wealth, and any illegal or legal resources to try and scare you away.
Unfortunately for them, you aren’t easily cowed. What was it Falcone said? You’ve got Gotham in your blood. Gotham raised you. She taught you how to read people, and be resourceful, and hungry for truth.
“Bruce—they wanted me. They wanted to punish me for the Arkham article.”
“I know.”
“If you weren’t with me…” You trail off and look at the center dashboard of his expensive designer car. The guilt gnaws at your bones, threatening to break them. Bruce grabs your chin. His grip isn’t painful—it never is—but it is pointed, urgent, and he yanks your face toward his.
His lips press into yours without warning. Your mouth opens for him and a faint taste of copper bites your tongue. You’ve kissed Bruce more than a dozen times. But never like this.
His tongue moves in desperate, messy strokes and each movement sends a hot and powerful spark to your core. He groans loudly into your mouth, cupping the back of your skull, keeping you close, not even allowing you to break away to breath. You inhale raggedly through your nostrils and push your fingers up along his chest. Something fragile and tenuous shatters between you. He’s alive. You’re alive. It was a harrowing experience—but you are here. Together.
“I need you,” He gasps, “please.” He presses his forehead against yours and his sweet blue eyes bleed into yours. Up close, you can see the reddish-purple swell of a bruise forming on his cheekbone. His lips are raw, bloody, the split lip likely re-opened and aggravated from kissing. You close your eyes to collect your thoughts. You know Bruce. You know him like the lines on the sidewalk outside your childhood home. You know him like the curved handle of your favorite coffee mug. You know Bruce isn’t lying when he tells you he needs you and you know he’s not exaggerating either. You’ve wanted him for years. Ached for him. And this moment might not be perfect, it might not be what you imagined, but God—you’re not going to turn him away. Not when you need him just as desperately as he needs you.
“Okay,” You swipe your thumb across his bloodied lip, “yes, Bruce. Yes.”
Bruce’s expression crumples with relief and he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is slower this time. You take a moment to savor it. Your fingers card through his silky, dark hair and he sucks your lower lip into his mouth with an appreciative hum.
His cool and calloused hand pushes along your upper thigh.
“Right here?” You guess.
“Right here.” He adjusts and grabs your hips to pull you over the center console and into his lap. Your ass bumps against the steering wheel. At least it’s private, you smile at the thought. No one is going to come wandering into Wayne’s personal garage. Except for maybe Alfred? But you assume the old man has enough sense to give you and Bruce plenty of space. Bruce’s lips travel down your jaw to your throat and you angle your neck back to allow him more space to explore. His kisses are light and exploratory, slightly roughed by the dryness of his mouth and gentle scrape of his stubble. It feels better than you could’ve imagined.
Bruce exhales, his voice pitched low and gravely, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” his mouth closes over your collarbone. Your heart leaps at his words, at the implication, at the idea that maybe...just maybe...you weren’t the only one yearning and hoping for years on end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His body is sore. He forgot how much things can hurt when he’s not in the suit. But nothing is going to tear him away from this moment with you. He’s careful where he touches. He knows that low-life got more than a few kicks onto your perfect body and if he had been alone then he would’ve broken every bone in that man’s body as recompense. His anger threatens to boil to the forefront of his mind, but Bruce wrestles it back. Now isn’t the time.
He tugs your dress off your shoulders and his cock twitches at the sound of your pleased sigh. Your breasts are perfect. Perfect shape. And at this angle? The perfect height for him to bury his face between them and trail kisses across your skin. He’s never had the opportunity to worship you like this. To press his lips and tongue against your skin, taste your sweat, feel your heartbeat against his nose. His lips enclose around one of your nipples and you cry out, your fingers entangling in his hair to pull him closer, and he flicks his tongue against the hardened nub.
“Fuck,” he moans, his hot breath pants against your skin, before he cups the breast in his hand and holds it while his tongue and mouth lavishes across your nipple over and over again. Your hips cant into his, seeking friction and release, and he trembles as your clothed cunt grinds into his hard cock.
“I’ll give you what you want, Quicksilver.” He promises and you whimper in reply to his words, “Shh.” His bloodied knuckles shine in the light as he kneads your other breast beneath his palm. “I’ll take care of you.”
He wants to make this memorable. He wants it to mean something. He’s outside the shadows with you for the first time. He isn’t hiding behind the cowl, behind his loyalty to Gotham. He is raw, and bloodied, and trembling with anticipation. Your fingers fumble with the hem of his long-sleeved dark shirt and yank it upwards in a graceless motion. He winces as he leans back, his arms overhead, and the shirt is tossed to the passenger side.
“Oh, fuck, Bruce!” You blurt and place your hand above his right pectoral. He winces again at the pressure, but gently places his hand on your wrist. His heart swells with pride and appreciation at his bracelet dangling from your wrist. It saved you when he couldn’t.
“It’s okay,” He looks toward the cut. It’s shallow. Superficial. It likely won’t scar. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He guides your chin, meeting your eyes, and his heart capsizes at the concern pouring from your gaze. “I’m okay, Silver. I promise.”
He holds your chin and kisses you before you have the chance to apologize again. It’s not your fault. It’s his. He got complacent after the article was released. He made a grievous error through his lack of vigilance. He should’ve been more careful, should’ve had Alfred checking the footage to see if you were being tailed, should’ve suggested you stay at the penthouse for a few days until the dust settled. People at Arkham and people connected to Jacobs and Falcone are going to try and settle the score.
He won’t let that happen, though. He feels you relax beneath his touch, feels your lips move urgently against his, how your body arches into him and your hardened nipples press into his bare chest. Bruce shivers. God, it feels so good to be skin to skin with you. He is wholly without armor in both the physical and metaphorical sense and it’s terrifying and electrifying.
He wonders if you know how you affect him. His hands cup your backside, squeezing, pressing you closer into him and pressing his agonizingly hard length between your legs. You make a sweet, soft sound and Bruce swallows back his groan. Everything you do is intoxicating to him.
“I’d like to do this again after we’re inside,” he says to the hollow of your throat, “properly.”
“Properly?” your laughter runs like a vein through your voice, “like with candles and roses?”
“Something like that,” he bunches the bottom of your dress until its hiked up in a ruffled heap around your hips and his gaze snags on the bruises on your ribs. “I’ll leave it to your imagination.” He says with a small grin.
“Ohh, a surprise.”
“Mm.”
He pushes his hand between your legs and discovers the dampened fabric of your underwear. Fuck. You’re always so wet for him. Bruce’s eyes roll back into his skull and he hisses through his teeth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were worried the sight of Bruce’s injuries would be a deterrent, but it isn’t. His bloodied lip, swollen cheekbone, and the bleeding cut on his chest are proof that he lived. A little scuffed up, but whole and alive and touching you with comfortable ease. You whimper at the first touch of his thumb across your swollen clit. Your body thrums with frustrated desire. He’s already made the tempting promise to continue once you’re inside the penthouse and quite frankly—you want to two things: for Bruce to be inside of you and then to see what he has planned in the comfort and luxury of his home.
“Bruce, please,” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, “don’t make me wait.”
He buries his face between your breasts, his kisses sloppy, and mumbles, “I want you to come first.”
Always a goddamn gentleman!
He arches his neck, leaning his head back against the headrest of his seat, and gazes up at you with fervent adoration. You open your mouth to quip at him, to tell him the car is cramped and you’re feeling impatient, but then the concentric motion of his fingers tightens, adding pressure, and the effect is dizzying. Your mouth lets out a garbled “please” instead of articulating any of the other thoughts inside of your head. You lean forward to kiss him, feeling his nose press into yours and the coppery taste of his kiss blossoms on your tongue. Your hips thrust and chase the movements of his hand.
Your hands glide across his chest, his arms—which are surprisingly sinewy—and your fingertips catch along ridges and bumps that can only be attributed to scars. But scars from what? Before the thought can form, Bruce’s index and middle fingers plunge into your wet cunt and your spine convulses and your walls clench around his digits. The world goes muted and soft. Gotham narrows into two souls in an expensive, black car within a private garage beneath a penthouse.
You pant into Bruce’s mouth, sweat collecting on your temples, as he strokes and coaxes the fire burning low and hot in your lower belly.
Bruce says, “you’re so beautiful.” His words are quiet, bashful. And your neck prickles at the compliment. It means more coming from him than anyone else in the world. You hide your face in the crook of Bruce’s warm neck and pepper kisses along his jaw and the side of his face. The windows fog. The sound of his fingers moving slick and fast between your legs fills your eardrums. Your thighs shake.
“F-fuck.” You choke out, “close.”
“That’s it,” he whispers, “that’s my perfect girl. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
The orgasm hits you slow and serene and drawn-out. Your neck arches and your chin rests on Bruce’s forehead as the quakes tremble through your body in throbs of heat and euphoria. Bruce keeps his hand there, poised within as your walls rhythmically squeeze around his fingers, and he doesn’t pull away until your head drops against his shoulder and pant onto his damp, bruised skin.
He kisses your temple. “Are you ready for me?”
“Yes.”
It’s awkward. You lift your hips and your arms tremble as you hold yourself steady. He struggles to unzip his pants. You only get a brief glance of his cock before he positions himself between your legs and motions with his other hand for you to lower yourself. You brace yourself on his shoulders and Bruce looks up, holding your eye-contact, and is unwavering as the tip of his cock slips between your folds.
His teeth bare into a snarl, “Oh, fuck.”
The blue of his eyes are nearly swallowed whole by his pupils. He moans your name like it’s being ripped from his soul. You let out a breathy chuckle, allowing yourself to close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you as Bruce sinks into you inch by inch. It feels so good you don’t want to move. You rock your hips back and forth instead of thrusting and it creates a deep and wonderful sensation that travels from your head to your toes. He fits perfect. His mouth travels hungrily across your chest and neck and jaw. His tongue licks glistening stripes of sweat from your skin. His hands knead and squeeze your ass. You feel as if Bruce is trying to melt your bodies together, consume you, and you find yourself copying his motions. You kiss him, bloodied lips and all, and drink in his low and deep groans. Your hands, even as they smear with the blood from his cut, travel across the muscled expanse of his pale chest and your fingertips occasionally dig in when he thrusts up into you. You’ve passed the threshold of your earlier desperate frenzy to touch and be touched, to feel alive and safe together.
These movements, these gestures, speak to the deep cavern of tenderness that is shared between you. Your throat tightens. Bruce’s fingertips trail along your spine and he turns his head to whisper your name into your ear.
Time doesn’t move. It melts. It shapes condensation on the windows. It pools at the dip between Bruce’s collarbones. It glistens where your bodies are joined.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Afterwards, you cradle his face between your hands and touch sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead. Your heart is pounding. Your dress is crumpled around your hips and stuck to your skin. Your bruises pulsate with muted pain. Bruce’s dried blood peeks between your fingers. And yet you’ve never felt more at peace.
He says, “stay with me.”
“W-what?”
“Stay with me,” he repeats, unfazed by your confusion, “for a few days. Maybe a week.”
You swallow. Okay, stay calm. He’s not asking you to move in. Your smile breaks across your face and Bruce’s eyes widen at the sight of it. As if bearing witness to your joy is a privilege and not something he’s earned.
“We’re having this conversation now?”
“Silver,” he chuckles dryly and your smile widens. It’s so wonderful to hear Bruce laugh. “Someday, I’d like to ask you a question and get a straight answer.”
“I’m a journalist.” You roll your eyes, “asking follow-up questions is my forte.”
Bruce takes your hand between his and intertwines your fingers, “and you’re the best journalist Gotham has.” He meets your eyes, “so, will you stay?”
You should tell Bruce ‘no’ from time to time. It’ll be good for his pride. Today, however, is not the day.
“Yes, Bruce. I’ll stay.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You wake during the night. Bruce’s bedroom is cozily lit from the bedside table lamp and you reach across his back to shut it off. Your hand freezes in mid-air. They are scars. After you and Bruce left the garage, you meant to ask him about it, but his hands and mouth were...too distracting...and you lost all train of thought. You sit up and analyze the serpentine shape of his spine, the moles totting his skin, the curve of his shoulder blades, the cream colored sheets wrapped around his slim waist.
You resist the temptation to trail your fingers across the scars. You don’t want to wake him.
You hope that those thugs didn’t leave him with any scars. He claimed the one on his chest would heal fine. But, how does he know? He isn’t a doctor. You shift and sit upright. Your instincts flare. A gut reaction hits you like a punch to the throat. There’s blood in the water. There’s bones under the soil. A story. Another thread to pull. You carefully climb out of bed and grab a few pieces of blank paper from Bruce’s desk.
You start with today—it’s fresh in your mind.
The bracelet. Bruce didn’t notice or make comments when you first began wearing it. He didn’t ask any questions after seeing the bracelet electrocute someone into unconsciousness. Okay. A little odd, right? But there’s a few possible answers. Maybe he didn’t see it happen. Maybe he assumed you used a standard taser.
You write ‘why didn’t Batman come for me?’ on the page and stare at the letters. Batboy always has a knack for knowing when you’re in trouble. He didn’t show today. You know you aren’t his first priority. You know he’s got an entire city to look out for. But…
You write ‘Security’ on the page. Alfred told you that the Wayne home has ‘top of the line’ security. How the hell did Batman break-in without tripping any of the alarms? You’re certain that Bruce or Alfred would’ve mentioned something if they were worried about the security of the home.
You write ‘Falcone’. You sketch out the timeline out of instinct. Falcone is well-known around Gotham, but when you and Bruce reconnected, you never explicitly told him you were investigating Falcone. It was better to keep that sort of thing under wraps. It’s safer that way.
After you were released from the hospital, Bruce said something like ‘Falcone can’t hurt you’ right? You rub your hand over your jaw and frown. This is a long shot. You grab your phone and text Gordon the following message: ‘Hey, did you tell Bruce that I was drugged by Falcone?’
You scribble onto the page and let your mind wander. You doodle a little flower. And the memory hits like a freight train. Bruce’s flowers. They said ‘to my perfect girl’. Never in your time together had Bruce used that nickname. Batman, however, did. Your heart leaps inside your throat and your phone buzzes in your hand.
Gordon replies: God, kid. What are you doing awake at this hour? To answer your question, no. When I called Mr. Wayne, I informed him that you were caught in the middle of an active investigation and dosed with an unknown drug. I might have mentioned Falcone while ya’ll were together in the room, but I never directly stated that Falcone harmed or drugged you. Now get some sleep!
You reply a quick thanks and set your phone down. This is crazy. Bruce is Batman? He’s Vengeance? You press your fingertips into your tired eyes and your thoughts circle like sharks. And if he is then why didn’t he tell you? You huff and stare at your quick notes scribbled on various pieces of paper scattered on the carpet.
It isn’t so unusual, is it? He’s grossly wealthy, intelligent, and without a social life which gives him lots of free time. And you recently learned that Bruce can fight! Those scars of his aren’t from kitchen mishaps or car accidents.
“What’re you doing?” Bruce’s groggy voice lifts from the frumpy bed sheets.
Well, it’s now or never. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep with this question hanging like an anvil over your head.
“Are you Batman?”
Bruce sits up.
“Or Vengeance? Whatever you like to go by, I suppose.”
He rubs his hand down the length of his face. His shoulders are stiff. You watch as he swings his legs and clambers off the bed with clumsy grace. His boxer briefs hang low on his hips and as he stands before you in the light of his bedroom you can’t help but notice the scars on his chest.
His eyes scan the disorganized and chaotic papers on the floor. His expression is unreadable. You lay your palms on your knees and wait for his reply. Although you think his silence is answer enough.
“Silver…” He says with a minute shake of his head, “can this wait until morning?”
“No.” You deadpan, “I won’t be able to sleep without knowing.”
Bruce slowly lowers himself to sit across from you on the floor. Suddenly, you are eight years old again and having a sleep-over party at the Wayne’s. His mother is downstairs making popcorn. You both won’t stop arguing over which movie to watch. Your heart clenches. You blink away the memory. Once upon a time, you called Bruce Wayne your best friend.
He sighs.
“Bruce,” you wait until he meets your gaze and you hold it, “I want the truth.”
“I know.” He drags his fingers through his messy dark hair.
“Is that something you can give me?” You swallow the lump in your throat. If he can’t be honest, if he brushes it off or refuses to reply, then you know this relationship—hell, your rekindled friendship—is dead in the water. Even your partnership to Batman will be forced to end. He peers at you through the strands of his hair falling in front of his forehead. You wait. He can agonize over his response all he wants. The truth, as always, is the only thing that matters.
He finally says, “yes.”
“Yes as in you’re Batman? Or yes as in you can tell me the truth?”
“Both.”
You tap two fingers against your papers on the floor, “ha! Knew it.” You scoot closer to Bruce and his eyes widen.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” You gaze up at the high ceiling, your brow furrowed in thought. You slept with Batman—Bruce – twice and he never thought about revealing his secret? Would he have just continued to live a secret double life while dating? Did he seriously expect that you wouldn’t figure it out someday?
“I wanted to keep you safe.”
“After today,” you chuckle, “I think I have more enemies than Batman does.”
Bruce says your name softly, “This is only the beginning for me, Silver.” His hands curl into a fist, “Gotham needs me.”
“Gotham needs me too, you dork. You said so yourself!” You smile. “None of these other freelance journalists have the courage to take down the big fish. We both are driven by our love for this city. We both take risks. If you can continue to do your job and I can continue to do mine then I don’t see any issue.”
He stares at you and his lips part in awe.
“I thought if you knew...” says Bruce quietly, “you’d leave.”
You reach out and wrap your fingers around his curled fist. “Bruce, I – well—I endured several years without you and you know what? Those years sucked.” You smile, a timid and gentle smile, and more vulnerable than you’ve ever given him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
Bruce leans in and rests his forehead on your bare shoulder.
He murmurs, “I don’t want to be anywhere else either.”
“Then it’s settled. We stay together and fight crime and change Gotham for the better.”
Bruce lifts his head and levels you with a serious look, “you are not fighting.”
You tease, “okay, you say that now, but I’m already work-shopping costume ideas and team names.” You cup the side of his face, “The Silver Bat? Mercury and Vengeance? Batboy and Journalist Gal?” You ramble off your ideas until Bruce’s serious expression melts away and his lips twitch in a begrudging smirk.
#bruce wayne x reader#battinson x reader#happy halloween#battinson imagine#batman x reader#batman x you#dc fic#the batman fic#bruce wayne x you#battinson x you#fic: from above gotham glows#kinktober 2022
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Weekly Fic Rec 38
I had a nice stretch of PTO this week, so I got some good fic reading in (along with a lot of birding and an 8 mile hike, LOL). I also hope all of you have been enjoying some of the lovely Superbat art coming out of NYCC BECAUSE I HAVE.
Anyway, on to the fics!
Losing You by starshotplagues - Superbat, complete. I remember reading this fic when I first started reading Superbat fics. I've wanted to reread it for a while now, but I couldn't find it UNTIL NOW. I was so pleased :) A get together fic featuring these two learning how to communicate.
the privilege is mine by starshotplagues - Superbat, complete. A short sequel to the previous fic. Bruce says "I love you" first and has a lot of Feelings about it.
A kindred bond by Nyszu - Superbat, wip. An update to the Bruce gets kidnapped by Evil Superman fic. (Good) Clark is experiencing some guilt, and Bruce is Really Going Through It.
If You're Offering by Noknownname - Superbat/Wonderbat/Superwonderbat, wip. A lovely smutty fic where Bruce and Clark help Diana out with a magic user. Also, alien biology, my beloved.
The Seats of Stars by JUBE514, SalParadiseLost - Batfam/Superfam/Superbat (eventually), wip. A really, really cool fantasy/royalty/medieval au where the Superfam is royalty, the Batfam are centars, and both work together.
a world in repair by Batbirdies - Batfam, complete. Jason and Damian try to go on a vacation/road trip together, but hidden injuries and feelings cause a few road bumps. They work on it though, Bruce helps too :) Part of the Emotional Motion Sickness series.
a song came after by susiecarter - Superbat, complete. Bruce was trapped in a simulation where he was married to Clark, and deals with not being in the simulation anymore. Much feelings are had afterwards.
Padam Padam by frozenpotions - Superbat, complete. A fic based off this Tumblr post. A delight to read from beginning to end.
Red Hood's Barbie Dream House by Sparkypants - Batfam, complete. Jason gets shrunk to the size of a barbie. Shenanigans ensue.
Welcome to Batburger, home of the Batburger, can I take your order please? by Sparkypants - Batfam, complete. Bruce doesn't like Batburger, but his kids love it. Bruce loves his kids, so he goes to Batburger.
The Return by lurkinglurkerwholurks - Batfam, complete. What happens after Bruce comes back from being lost in time.
a sky of honey by TheResurrectionist - Superbat, wip. More of the omegaverse Superbat fic. OH MY GOD I LOVE UNCLE LEX. That is all :) :) :) :)
Two Birds, One Stone(d) by MichaBerry - Batfam, complete. Tim gets accidently high on a drug bust that goes a bit off course. Shenanigans (and Feelings) ensue.
A Meditation on Railroading by eggmacguffin - Batfam, complete. Tim has A Bad Time with Jack in Atlanta and travels back to Gotham by himself. Much shenanigans and many family feels ensue.
borderline by TheResurrectionist - Batfam, wip. The most recent update to this fic had me by the THROAT. And there's one more chapter left!!!! And it looks like there is going to be a series too!!!
I'm a Good Pretender series by shipNslash - Batfam, complete. A FANTASTIC series about Battinson taking in Dick as a ward. Bruce is his socially awkward self, and Dick is delightfully (and manipulatively) charming. They learn how to trust each other and become a family. The next fic in the series is from Jim Gordan's POV, and the third has Jason! I devoured this series in an afternoon, it was so good!
Happy reading!!
#weekly fic rec#fic recs#fic rec#fic rec list#fanfic recs#fanfiction reccomendations#superbat#batman#bruce wayne#superman#clark kent#batfam
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What Do the Lonely Do At Christmas?
A Battinson Holiday Fic
After years of not celebrating holidays, Bruce Wayne is trying to do something different. But when he hires a professional decorator to deck the halls of Wayne Manor, Bruce finds that it's not just his home and holiday that will be different - his heart just might change, too.
I. They’re Singing “Deck the Halls,” but it’s not like Christmas at All
On days when he went into the downtown highrise office that bore his name, Bruce Wayne didn’t take the executive elevator. Ever since the beginning of his New Gotham project, he tried to connect with the people on a human level. To not be their boss, but someone they could talk to, who could hear their grievances and worries, who could do something in his considerable power to help them, even without his mask.
Funny thing about that, though. As it turned out, no one wanted to ride the elevator with The Boss.
He would approach the elevator bank and people would scatter. A few would smile and wave uncomfortably when their eyes met, but none of them would brave even a few minutes with Bruce Wayne, the scion of the richest family in the city.
So, he rode the elevator alone. Always.
At least…until one day in December, when the wind was biting and the snow tasted like change.
“Hold the door, please!”
For a half-second, Bruce didn’t even realize the disembodied voice was addressing him. No one ever rode with him; now someone was calling after him, begging not to be left behind?
“Hold the door – thanks!”
But then she appeared. An unremarkable stranger, running for the doorway like her life depended on it, shuffling past her frozen colleagues as she jugged several ill-stacked boxes. Bruce didn’t recognize her, but all the same, he couldn’t help but stare.
Framed by the brass elevator frame and backlit by the strings of gold and silver lights on the lobby wall behind her, she beamed at him, beatific as an angel atop a tree.
Bruce awkwardly shuffled to the side as he held the doors open to allow her inside. Not enough, apparently, because as she jostled to manage her tower of packages, she pressed her back against his until she was safely inside and could maneuver better.
It was an accident, he told himself. And it only lasted a moment. Less than a moment. But he’d caught a breath of her scent, felt the shift of her body against his…and it now felt burned into his skin.
“Thanks again for that. Sorry I kept you waiting.”
He pressed the button for the top floor, his stop, and was surprised when she informed him she was going to the same place.
They rode in silence for awhile, Bruce in the corner of the elevator, shifting his weight across the balls of his feet, trying not to look at her slightly fuzzy reflection in the elevator mirror. She hummed along easily to the holiday elevator music playing above them, still carefully balancing her boxes.
It was like riding with someone who didn’t know he was Bruce Wayne - or someone who didn’t care. Either way, he decided to break their silence.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” He asked, in that slightly stilted way of his. After so long in the shadows, it took time to adjust to normal human interaction.
“Just a temp,” she chirped. Then, she gestured to the boxes, which, upon further inspection, contained red ribbons and garland. “I’m a professional decorator. I’ve been doing the building here.”
“Oh, so you’re responsible for all of this?” Bruce asked. This time, it was his turn to gesture - to the tinsel hanging from the ceiling above them.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she replied.
“No, no,” he said. Shit. He really was out of practice. He’d barely said a few sentences to this woman, and already he’d accidentally insulted her. “Your work is great. It’s just that all of this holiday cheer, it’s just not me.”
He expected the conversation to end there. He’d embarrassed himself, he’d screwed up already - no wonder no one wanted to ride the elevator with him, and her floor was fast approaching. But she surprised him.
“Really?” She asked.
It was obvious, wasn’t it? Bruce Wayne, tabloid badboy recluse with greasy hair and too-big clothes and too much money? Of course he didn’t immediately strike anyone as a Buddy the Elf type. But she seemed genuinely surprised, as if she saw something besides darkness when she looked at him.
Strange. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had seen the good in Bruce Wayne. Batman, yes. Bruce Wayne? No. It had been a long, long road since then.
“Now you say it like it’s a bad thing,” he lobbed back.
“It’s just…you just don’t really seem like a Grinch. Not even an Ebenezer Scrooge.”
Last year, he’d spent Christmas covered in someone else’s blood, standing over some nameless, faceless criminal who’d had the misfortune to try to rob someone at gunpoint near Batman. This year…he liked the idea of spending it at home. Giving out presents to kids in The Narrows. Doling out Christmas bonuses. Stuff like that.
Sure, he’d probably Batman on Christmas Eve. And probably Boxing Day, too. But for one night, maybe he could help people as a man instead.
“Call me a recovering Grinch. I just haven’t celebrated any holiday in a long time.”
She looked like she wanted to ask him why. He appreciated it more than he could say that she didn’t.
The doors opened on her floor then, and she smiled at Bruce before she left him.
“Well. Maybe you should try something different this year.”
II. It’s Beginning to Look a lot LIke Christmas
A few days later, Bruce Wayne was in the attic of the Manor, hauling things around like a man possessed, searching for something he hadn’t seen in many, many years.
But then, a crackle on his watch, and suddenly, Alfred’s voice filled the musty attic room.
“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’ve just been buzzed on the gate intercom. I have eyes on a woman, and she claims to have been invited by you–”
Bruce could picture it. The butler at the bank of security cameras monitoring Wayne Manor at all times, suspiciously eyeing some strange car approaching.
His chest tightened. She was here. She was going to be here, in his house. A woman in Wayne Manor. Since his parents’ death, that was even less common than holiday celebrations.
Bruce checked the time. Damn. He hadn’t meant to be up here when she arrived. But finding the boxes took more time than expected, and –
There. There was the box he was looking for. Caked under a thick layer of dust, a box marked “CHRISTMAS/HANUKKAH” sat in the corner of the room.
He spoke into his watch, then reached for it. “I’ll take care of it, Alfred.”
A skeptical pause from the other end of the line.
“...Very good sir.”
But Bruce’s understanding of very good, sir in that context must have been quite different from Alfred’s, because when he found his way to the atrium some ten minutes later, his attention was drawn away from the front door, where he expected her to be waiting, to the nearby sitting room.
Despite the grand doors being shut, Bruce could still hear Alfred’s cool, modulated tones and a soft, female laugh. The clinking of fine porcelain. Soft Christmas music from a record player.
Bruce’s shoes squeaked on the marble by accident. In the sitting room, Alfred excused himself and materialized in the hallway with Bruce a moment later.
“You let her in?” Bruce asked, hating how he sounded like a petulant child, but not enough to let go of his frustration. He hadn’t wanted to explain all of this to Alfred. He’d hoped she would be able to decorate today, then leave before Alfred was any the wiser. He should have known the old man would find his way to interfere.
“I couldn’t very well leave her out in the cold, could I?” Alfred said, his smug tone telling Bruce everything he needed to know. I wanted to snoop and I wasn’t going to let this girl go without getting to know her. “She’d have frozen if I hadn’t gotten her a cup of tea and brought her in, that’s how long it took you.”
Bruce grit his teeth. Yeah, this was mostly his fault. Not that he was going to admit that. “I was busy.”
“Busy with what? And what’s that?” he asked, gesturing to the box Bruce carried. “Old junk for the cave? Sir, when you have a date come over –”
“We’re not dating,” Bruce said, quickly.
“Apologies, I’m sure you’re keeping it casual, right?”
Dammit. He was going to have to explain now. Couldn’t have Alfred hearing wedding bells – the old man was convinced that was the only way Bruce would ever fully give up being Batman. If some woman came into his life and he hung up his mantle for her. “She’s here to decorate the manor. The boxes are our old Christmas and Hanukkah stuff.”
Alfred blinked. Finally on the back foot. Finally surprised by something.
“She…what?”
“It’s the holidays, Alfred,” Bruce said, as if he hadn’t been avoiding them most of his life.
A scoff from the butler. “First time you’ve noticed in ten years.”
“I’m trying something different.”
Not good enough for Alfred. Bruce took a different tack, his lips quirking up in a slight smirk.
“Come on. You should be proud. I’m finally starting to act human again.”
III. Your Eyes are Like Starlight Now
A few days later (Christmas decorating a manor of this size couldn’t be done in an afternoon, apparently), Bruce was set up in his office, trying not to think about the strange woman currently in his house. He didn’t let people into the Manor very often. It was private, a sanctuary - no, more like a creaking, heaving monument to the past. To let people in this house was to let them into a life he’d left behind. To poke around at the ghosts and peer around corners for his secrets.
So, as she worked, he was very aware of every creak and groan of the house. And he was also very aware of her humming those festive songs - the tunes echoed through the halls and to his desk as though they were meant for his ears only.
The idea of someone else in his space, someone besides Alfred, unsettled him. But, as the days went on, he realized it was the disquiet of a man learning to dance for the first time. Awkward, then oddly comforting.
Their shared conversations in the hallway as they happened to pass each other, their laughter in the kitchen as she took her lunch break while he just so happened to be there making a cup of coffee, the wave they always shared – him looking down from the window, her looking back at the mansion as she went to her car – at the end of each day….they all added up to something, something Bruce couldn’t ever quite name for himself.
Even if he knew the word for this feeling – and he suspected that he did – he didn’t want to examine it too closely. Too complicated. Too confusing. Too risky.
That afternoon, her voice carried across the house. This time, it really was meant for him.
“Mr. Wayne? Mr. Wayne?”
Bruce left his desk and followed the sound, until they met together on the sweeping second-floor landing. He blinked as he approached. In the hours since they’d parted, she’d gotten busy. Christmas lights and dangling ornaments were everywhere. Had the house ever been this bright, this cheerful, before?
“There you are, Mr. Wayne,” she said. “I was just–”
“You can call me Bruce, you know.”
He hated being called Mr. Wayne. It felt like carrying his father’s tombstone around his neck.
“That’s allowed?” She asked.
An understandable question. This house didn’t radiate casual, cool, boss energy. But he also thought, when he impulsively hired her that day after their first meeting, that she hadn’t seen him as only a boss. But as a person.
A boss, you call Mr. Wayne. A person, you call Bruce. He wanted to be Bruce. God, how badly he wanted to be Bruce for her. What a peculiar feeling. “I’d like it if you did.”
Their eyes met. When he finally pulled away, he was convinced he’d looked at her for too long, but he wouldn’t have traded a moment of it. The Christmas lights twinkling in her eyes were hypnotic.
He cleared his throat. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I’m decorating the tree,” she said, waving down towards the first floor. She’d had a tall fir delivered bright and early in a snowdrift that morning as Bruce watched her from the second story window. “I thought maybe you’d like to put up some of the more sentimental ornaments?”
Bruce remembered decorating the tree with his own parents, but that had been so long ago. He assumed professionals like herself would do everything; that’s part of the reason he hired her. So he wouldn’t have to live out those painful, happy memories of his parents again. But, still. He didn’t want to be labeled as weird. If this was the done thing, he would do it. “Is that something your clients like to do?”
“Not usually. But I always like to offer. It’s how my family and I used to get ready for Christmas.”
He wanted to ask her why she said that in the present tense; he then remembered the restraint she’d shown in the elevator.
He’d been avoiding the holidays for years because they reminded him of his parents; it seemed, at least to him, that she was holding onto them because she didn’t want to forget hers.
He’d been suffering for years. She seemed pretty happy. Maybe he could try her way. Just this once. See if it made him feel better.
“Well. I don’t usually do that,” he said. Her face fell for only a second before he picked it up just as quickly. “But I remember someone suggesting that I try things differently this year.”
Moments later, they were down in the grand atrium, where she and her team of delivery men had erected the fourteen-inch tree she’d spent the entire day decorating. The scent of fir and snow filled the air, immediately making him think of her. She’d smelled the same when they’d first met in the elevator that day, when she’d first shown him the kindness of treating him like a person instead of a name.
As he stepped deeper into the room, towards the box he’d brought down a few days ago, he examined the splendor she’d brought to this usually drab, forgotten place. Of course, the Christmas tree stood like an elaborate mountain in the corner near a big, snow-dappled window. Holly and garland had been strung, the photographs in this room had been dusted and lined amongst hand-me-down nutcrackers and tchotchkes. His mother’s Hanukkah decor and family relics had been arranged, too, given a place of prominence on a long side table running the length of the room.
It was…perfect. Like she’d borrowed a memory or a dream from the warmest, most sincere, deepest buried parts of him and brought it to staggering life.
She looked like she was made to stand near his fireplace. Like she belonged there, in his room, in the warmth of this holiday scene she’d created. He tried not to think about that when he began picking through the sentimental ornaments she’d left for him to hang.
“I haven’t looked at these in a long time,” Bruce muttered. He ran his chafed, scarred hands over some of the artifacts of Christmases past.
The woman beside him, so close they brushed when she breathed too deeply, brightened. “You’re in for such a treat. There are some great ones here. Like….” She dug around in the box and produced a scuffed, chipped ornament from almost thirty years ago. “Bryce’s first Christmas.”
Bruce chuckled. “My father gave that one to me. He’d been somewhere in Europe just before Christmas and apparently that country didn’t have have too many Bruces. This was the closest he could find. My mother said they probably had Bruce ornaments, but he brought this one home anyway. Always loved a joke, my dad.”
The words fell out before he could catch them. He stiffened when they stopped, then fully aware that he’d been soft, vulnerable, to this woman. Sensing the shift in mood, she offered:
“I’m sorry - would you want to do this alone? I don’t want to intrude - ”
Yes, please go, every fiber of his being wanted to say. But he overruled the feeling. He’d been masking himself in shadows and isolation for years; maybe if he wanted to be a different man, a different Batman, he had to once again return to the land of the living.
“You’ve still got some decorating to do, right?” He said. A small smile escaped him. Teasing people wasn’t really in his repertoire, but he gave it a try: “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”
She rewarded him with a smile of her own. “Thanks.”
For awhile, they worked in silence. One by one, Bruce would take out the ornaments – paper stars he’d decorated in kindergarten, a wedding bell given to his parents on their fifth wedding anniversary, a Dick Tracy ornament given to him by Lucious Fox after watching the movie in the guy’s office every time Bruce would go to Wayne Tower after school…
Each one was a fresh papercut. A memory of someone or something he’d lost or forgotten. But at least he was feeling something besides rage. Something besides vengeance.
At least he remembered how deeply he’d loved people before. Even if he’d lost them.
Every few minutes, his focus shifted to the woman who’d accidentally brought a blizzard of change to his life. She hadn’t precipitated the change. He’d been looking for ways to make himself a better man outside of his suit ever since The Flood, and she’d just been there at the right time.
Exactly the right time. Looking exactly right. Talking to him exactly right. Making him feel exactly right, even in her small, subtle ways.
At that moment, she struggled on tiptoe to fill an ornament gap about halfway up the tree.
“Is everything okay over there?” Bruce asked.
She cursed softly under her breath, half-laughing to herself as she did. “It’s my own stupid fault. I wasn’t thinking and already brought my ladder back to the car. I’ll just have to run out and get it again.”
An instant war sparked inside Bruce. His natural instinct to help kicked in, but the darker parts of him, the ones that wanted to remain stoic and remote, kicked into defensive action. Don’t offer to help, Bruce. She has the ladder. You can carry that for her if you want to –
Bruce paid that voice inside him no heed. He’d decided that he was going to try acting like a normal person, rather than a bat vigilante who only occasionally donned a human suit and pretended to be one. This was another step in that process.
“Would you like - ” He cleared his throat and lightly flexed his hands in an awkward suggestion of lifting her up. “Could I help you with that?”
Her eyes sparked, then shrugged. “Sure. If you think you can handle it.”
Smothering a smile – if only she knew how strong he was, what damage his hands currently cupping her waist could do, how easily he threw over fully grown men three times her size, she wouldn’t have said anything – he lifted her up.
In his life of extrajudicial crime fighting, Bruce had endured many painful moments that stopped time. But he couldn’t remember any pleasant memory that managed to manipulate time for him. In his experience, torment lasted interminably; happiness was fleeting.
All that to say – holding her in his arms might only have taken a moment in reality. To him, though, the world tilted into slow motion, and it occurred to him how little kind touch he’d had. How nice it felt to touch someone else without wanting to hurt them. How perfect she felt in his arms.
When he finally returned her to the solid stability of the hardwood floor, the world snapped back into proper rhythm, but still, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She’d brought light and warmth to the manor again. She was mesmerizing.
So mesmerizing, in fact, that he hadn’t thought to release her.
A flush traveled across her collarbone, but there was a teasing note to her voice when she said, “You can let me go now.”
Bruce stepped away like she’d electrocuted him. “Oh. Right.” Then, he added, mumbling: “God, I’m a cliché.”
“You’re not. What’s a cliché at Christmas, anyway? We call that tradition.”
This time, he braved a joke. “So…it’s your tradition to spend Christmas in some guy’s arms?”
She smirked. “Only if he’s lucky.”
IV. Warm in December
On a bitterly cold December night, the Batman apprehended a series of criminals robbing an apartment building of its presents. At the scene, he lingered as the detectives and police officers investigated the aftermath.
One man, Romero, was bent over a series of spent bullet shells (the robbers had been well armed), when he looked over at the hulking figure looming nearby.
“Bats, what do you do this time of year? Hibernate?”
“Clearly not,” he said, gesturing to the fact that he was very obviously not sleeping off the winter somewhere.
Romero’s cocky bravado dripped from every word, taunting and pointed. “I mean, really. I’ve been thinking about it, and I just can’t picture you by the fire, wearing mittens and Santa hats on those ears of yours, Mrs. Batman waiting for you under the mistletoe…”
Something must have shifted in his expression - or maybe his fists had clenched - because in an instant, Gordon was in between the man and the bat.
“Cut it out, Romero.”
Romero protested, but Gordon snapped again. “Go back to GPDHQ. You’ve got paperwork.”
With one long, sharp look at Batman, Romero complied with the order, grumbling something like can’t believe I’m working Christmas Eve, should have worked Thanksgiving under his breath.
When he was gone, Gordon took over his cataloging duty. Batman again hovered.
“That wasn’t necessary.”
“No, it wasn’t. But consider that your Christmas gift. Romero’s got a smart mouth; it was time someone put him in his place.”
Batman silently nodded his thanks.
“He’s right, though,” the detective said. “Not natural for a man to be this way.”
Gordon didn’t have to explain what he meant by that. The Batman knew. It wasn’t natural for a man to be so alone.
But maybe he wouldn’t be alone this year. Maybe he would try something different.
V. Underneath the Mistletoe
Bruce didn’t sleep much that night. After stitching himself up, he usually passed out for at least an hour or two of rest before starting a new day. Instead, he found himself pacing the holly-lined hallways, taking in all the work she’d done to the manor, thinking about her and what he would do the next day when he saw her.
It was a big risk, this plan. He’d ever done anything like it before. He probably shouldn’t. What a terrible idea. But what if it wasn’t? What if it turned out alright? What if letting someone else into his life wasn’t the end of the world, but the start of a new one?
He wanted to inspire hope in Gotham now, not just fear. What if that started at home? What if he stopped being so afraid all of the time – of everything, of every one, of every feeling – and actually let hope grow where rot once had?
He didn’t know the answer to those questions. He only knew that when he finally found her the next morning, putting the finishing touches on a gingerbread display in the front hall, he spluttered:
“Do you have any plans for the holidays?”
If his sudden appearance and even more sudden question surprised her, she didn’t let it show. She was probably used to it by now, he figured. His strange behaviors, his unsocialized difficulty connecting. Where other people might have recoiled or flinched, she merely smiled as she dusted powdered sugar snow over a perfect 1/35 replica of Wayne Manor. “Black and white movies. A big glass of wine. A defrosted pumpkin pie and probably some Thai food.”
Bruce shuffled. The next question was the part he’d been dreading. He didn’t want to seem like some creepy guy fishing, but he needed to know before he asked…“Alone?”
“Yeah. Alone.” A flicker of pain crossed her face. Again, she didn’t offer, and he didn’t ask why. Her voice quiver gave her away, though. She may try to seem brave, but there was pain under the surface and excuses. “But it’s better, really. I mean, that way, I get to, you know, do what I want on Christmas. No one to tell me what to do or anything. I pick the menu, I pick the movies...My Christmas, My way.”
A twinge of melancholy echoed in those last words. Bruce might have shivered; he’d never seen her anything less than the chipper holiday angel before. But, he had a plan.
“Well. If you change your mind…” he said, as casually as he could manage. “It’s just going to be me and Alfred here this Christmas. It might be nice to have company.”
Their eyes met. She froze.
“We could have Thai food,” he offered, suddenly unsure. Shit. Had he misread this situation? Was he imagining feelings there that didn’t exist? Had he fucked up his first attempt at trying to open up to someone else?
She took a step forward. His heart jumped into his throat.
“Not exactly traditional Christmas fare, though, is it?” She asked.
Translation: You don’t have to do that for me.
He took another step forward too, braver than he felt. “We could try something different this year.”
Translation: There’s nothing I’d rather do.
They were impossibly close now, lingering beneath one of the countless arched doorways that made up this creaky old manor. For a moment, he thought she might reach up and kiss him.
Then, her eyes flickered upward. “You’d better watch out, Mr. Wayne.”
He followed her gaze. Ah. “Mistletoe.”
“I didn’t put it there,” she said, taking a step back, clearly afraid to give him the wrong impression.
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I know you didn’t.”
Because he had. He’d hung up the mistletoe last night.
All the same, he took a polite step back. He might have hung the mistletoe as an excuse to kiss her – knowing his courage would probably fail him without it – but now, he knew better. She would kiss him. And when she did, he would be ready.
VI. Although it’s been said many times, many ways…
Being at Bruce Wayne’s house, as Bruce Wayne’s guest, was a very weird experience. He was the most famous man in all of Gotham city. She was a professional decorator, barely making ends meet. Totally anonymous and random. If not for a chance elevator meeting a few weeks ago, their paths would never have crossed.
But the circumstances around her invitation weren’t the only weird thing. Bruce himself was weird, too.
A nice kind of weird. An unsocialized kind of weird. She’d noticed it that first day in the elevator and chalked it up to him being an awkward first impression. Not great with people he didn’t know. But the more time she’d spent with him, the more she realized he just didn’t know how to be around other people.
Must be isolating, she thought. To be so alone. No parents. No friends. No girlfriends either, if the papers were to be believed. Just his money and his house and, (she imagined as he was the head of a major corporation and a huge power player in politics) many, many enemies.
It broke her heart. Because it seemed to her, through their days spent in this house together, that Bruce Wayne had a lot to offer people. He just didn’t know how. So, she gently peeled back his layers, finding more and more depths and complexities to him than she ever could have imagined.
This was a crush. She knew that. But the guy had invited her over for Christmas dinner. Just the two of them and Alfred. That had to mean this wasn’t one-sided…
Right?
Or that’s what she thought, anyway, until she was ushered into the formal dining room and placed at one long end of the table while Bruce sat at the other end.
Formal, indeed.
During the soup course, she cleared her throat and raised her voice. “I can’t thank you enough for having me.”
Bruce glanced up from over his bowl. “What?”
“I said I can’t thank you enough for having me,” she repeated.
He answered her, but it was completely unintelligible.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” She asked.
“I said –”
Oh, screw it. Picking up her napkin and her wine glass, she waltzed down to his end of the table and planted herself in the seat next to him.
“This doesn’t seem like you, Bruce.”
“This is what people do, right? Besides, you decorated it so well in here. It would be a shame to waste the atmosphere.”
Pushing away from the table, she headed straight for the swinging kitchen door.
“Where are you going?” Bruce called.
“Just give me ten minutes.”
And then, she was gone. After so many days here, she knew the manor like the back of her hand. She navigated the stairways with ease, and set about improving this celebration. What was Christmas? Closeness? Coziness? Whimsy? Wonder?
She thought it was probably a combination of those things. But really, it was just one day where everyone could feel like they belonged. And she hadn’t belonged in that stuffy dining room.
Neither, she suspected, did Bruce Wayne.
And so it was that, less than half an hour later, she was leading Bruce and Alfred into the house’s cozy basement breakfast nook, which she’d taken the liberty of redecorating with repurposed holiday decor from the rest of the house. This was better. A simple four-top table, cheesy plates retired from an old Christmas party, a mismatch of wine glasses and coffee mugs because she didn’t know her way around Bruce’s kitchen in the slightest.
It wasn’t like any other Christmas she’d ever had before. But for the first time in a long time, crowded around that tiny table with a billionaire and his butler, she felt very much at home.
When the night came to an end, Bruce walked her to out. So close his warmth radiated through his jacket. Far enough away that the slight air between them crackled with possibility.
“Thank you for inviting me,” she said when they reached the grand entryway. It was a stupid farewell, but the first thing that came to her mind. Her body was too focused on the we’re going to say goodbye in a few minutes and he still hasn’t kissed me, is he going to kiss me, oh god do I still have garlic breath from that last course questions to think of anything cleverer.
“I’m glad you came,” Bruce replied, opening the door and unleashing a blister of cold air into the manor. They lingered in the doorway together. “I know it’s not easy giving up your traditions.”
“Even if your traditions include brooding alone and not celebrating the holidays?”
He bent his head and ducked behind that shaggy curtain of hair he never seemed capable of managing. An admission of guilt.
She shrugged. “I’ve been alone for a long time. I thought I’d try something different this year.”
“Glad you did?” Bruce asked.
She was breathless. Anticipating. This was her moment. Her last chance. “Take a step closer and I’ll tell you.”
Bruce glanced upward at the doorway. A slight furrow developed between his thick eyebrows as he saw what hung between him and his guest.
“I didn’t put any mistletoe there,” he muttered.
“I know. I did.”
And with that, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him in for a kiss, oblivious to the snow falling all around them, or the hammering of Bruce’s heart as she unknowingly picked up the broken pieces and put them back together again.
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Friday Fic Recs
Some ongoing/incomplete fics I've been reading this time around, exclusively batfamily and dp x dc in no particular order. Quick note: this was written and queued in mid-August but I don't think any of them will be finished by the time it goes out.
take these broken wings and learn to fly by fishingclocks - Dick & Bruce & Alfred
Battinson gets a Robin, as he should. Full disclosure, I have not seen the movie yet, it is on my list. That said this is such a wonderful look at all of these characters. Dick is delightfully insightful and emotional and smart. Writing children is hard and this fic definitely hits what I consider fundamental and essential: treating them as humans with thoughts and feelings above anything else. Bruce is competent and struggling and I love how he tries. The relationships are wonderfully thought out and I've loved watching them develop over the fic so far.
Some Who Wander by LeafyNib - Tim & Jason, Tim & Damian, Tim & Bruce, Bruce & Damian
Reverse Robins! I'm not a Reverse Robins person normally so let me tell you this is a good reverse robins fic. It follows a resurrected angsty Tim, sad about Tim's death Bruce and Damian, and of course, very excited and tiny Jason who's got himself a brand new brother! I love the thought put into it all. Tim isn't just a colder version of Red Hood, he has his own hangups and flaws that make sense for his character. Damian is going through it the poor lad and honestly so is Bruce. Jason is adorable and trouble and smart which I always love. Tim and Jason are a really fun duo! It's a great time so far!
The Business of Family by Spaced_Ace - Oswald Cobblepot & Jazz Fenton & Danny Fenton
There are some fascinating AUs happening in the DP x DC fandom. This one has Oswald Cobblepot as a distant relative of the Fenton kids and maybe their last shot out of Amity before it's too late. There's a lot of scheming happening on all sides, especially the kids, Oswald is mostly just horrified and hoping this helps his PR issues. The way Danny and Jazz's abuse shapes each of their actions is interesting. The worldbuilding is really intriguing and the POV switches are fun as we get to see different perspectives.
#friday fic recs#fic recs#batfamily#dc x dp#dp x dc#dp x dc fanfic#batfam fanfic#batfam fic recs#dp x dc fic recs
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Tagged by @hauntingyourself
Rules: list 9 of your favourite characters and let people guess your type (in my case I mean qualifications for being my favorite, I don’t have crushes on them)
I have such a type it's not even funny. Can spot 'em a mile off.
In no particular order except Five is Character Of All Time so he gets to be exactly center.
Hal Yorke (Being Human UK), Matt Murdock (Netflix Marvel), Bruce Wayne (not particularly Battinson but he does have one of the best batsuits, the actual Bruce Wayne that's my favorite is Unpretty's version in her fics), Kaz Brekker (Six of Crows), Five Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy), Locke Lamora (Gentleman Bastards), Eddie Brock/Venom (Marvel, they count as one), Arthur Lester/John Doe (Malevolent, they do too), Arthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption 2)
All of these guys selected by virtue of The Amount Of Time I Have Spent Thinking About Them. The exception is Locke Lamora, who I only met last week but he vaulted into the group by virtue of being My Exact Type Of Character.
Tagging @assaily, @non-plutonian-druid, @neosatsuma, @candiliam328 and anyone else who may want to play consider yourself tagged
#by the criteria mentioned above honorable mentions to crowley from good omens and lucifer from... lucifer#extended honorable mentions are nightcrawler (x-men) and chekov (star trek. anton yelchin's)#don't mind the no pictures for malevolent duo and locke#i did not want to deal with crediting artists for a throwaway post like this and didn't want to steal anyone's art for same reason#some of these guys have been here for a long time#hal is an old favorite#i feel bad having matt up there without frank but it feels weirder putting frank up there instead of matt and having both is too many#i need to get more women in here this is a bad look on that front#a single woman would be a good place to start#did i spend too much time finding pictures and getting them into a nice little grid? yes. yes i did#thanks for the tag haunting!#ask game#thanks for the tag haunting! was fun to think about and read myself to shit for how transparent i am :)
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“Ok, that's a good reason to run away. Why didn't you go to Bruce? "
"Why should I have done that?"
"You're Robin," Jason reminded him, even though it hurt, even though he was angry, even though he still wanted to punch him.
He had to control himself and think about who really deserved a beating. Like, the father of Replacement.
"Yup? So"
"You're Robin," he repeated because it had to mean something, Batman had to protect his robins.
#au#the batman fanfic#the batman 2022#the batman#battinson fic#tim drake#jason todd#dc robin#dc red hood#fanfiction dc#apha/beta/omega#omega tim drake#no ship#batfamily#batbrothers
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alley cats
by okeatingmycaptain
There's a new crime syndicate in Gotham - one that's using kids to sell drops across the city. Velma is one of those kids. She's been working with the family for three years, finding out their inner workings and making her way up through the ranks.
Teo is the syndicate's next target. They want him to do their dirty work - but what they don't know is that Teo has a couple of not-quite heroes on his side that are willing to do anything to keep him out of the family.
Selina Kyle has returned to Gotham, and taken on a new name. Catwoman is Batman's on-again-off-again partner, both as vigilantes and as people. She's taken over Gotham's East Side, running her operation and getting kids off the streets.
Jason Todd never became the Red Hood. At least, not in the way everyone thinks. Since returning from the dead, he's worked with Catwoman as the vigilante duo tries to keep Crime Alley kids out of trouble and protected. He's also managed to keep himself a secret from everyone who knew him before his death, but when one of Batman's child soldiers gets kidnapped by the syndicate, he finds himself closer to his almost-father than he's comfortable with.
Words: 1072, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: The Batman (Movie 2022), Batman - All Media Types, Catwoman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Categories: Gen
Characters: Jason Todd, Selina Kyle, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s)
Relationships: Selina Kyle & Jason Todd, Selina Kyle & Bruce Wayne, Crime Alley | Park Row Residents & Jason Todd, Gotham City Residents & Jason Todd, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Selina Kyle, Batfamily Members & Tim Drake, Selina Kyle & Original Character(s), Selina Kyle & Original Male Character(s), Selina Kyle & Original Female Character(s), Jason Todd & Original Male Character(s), Jason Todd & Original Female Character(s), Bruce Wayne & Original Character(s)
Additional Tags: Original Character(s), Alternate Universe, Post-Canon Fix-It, There's a lot of backstory to this one, I', Don't worry I'll explain it all, Batman Played by Robert Pattinson, Battinson, Minor BatCat, Jason Todd is Red Hood, but with a twist this time, Tim Drake is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Selina Kyle is Catwoman, NOT a Catwoman/Red Hood slash fic, like literally not at all, Post-The Batman (Movie 2022), trigger warnings for:, Drug Use, Drug Addiction, drops, Canon-Typical Violence, Possible Character Death, Major Character Injury, Past Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Gotham's Red Light District, and all that implies, Alleytown (DC), Crime Alley (DCU), Jason Todd Takes Care of Crime Alley | Park Row, Selina Kyle takes care of alleytown, alleytown kids, alleytown strays, Implied/Referenced Underage, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, there will be comfort i promise, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Batfamily (DCU), Protective Jason Todd, Protective Selina Kyle, Bruce Wayne is Batman
via https://ift.tt/Mn3mW0I
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Ladies and Gents!! Chapter 12 of “The Secrets of Gotham-Unmasked” can be found here!! If you would like to be added/removed from tag list, please let me know!! Asks are open if your have requests for any separate headcannons or maybe mini povs that connect to my on-going sequel!! Sending you all lots of love and hugs!!♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️
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#bruce wayne fanfiction#the batman 2022#battinson#bruce wayne#bruce wayne imagine#robert pattinson#battinson x oc#bruce wayne x reader#battinson x y/n#batman#the batman#bruce wayne fic#battinson fic#battinson x reader#battinson fanfiction#battinson x you#bruce wayne x you#red hood#jason todd#batman x reader#robert battinson
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Main Masterlist (as of 07/20/2022)
Per an anon ask, I have best compiled all of the inbox request and or prompts I have received from over a while. Hence all the updated hyper links and lists of fandoms down below. I will also post this on my main pinned post as well.
Edit (7/20/2022): so apparently there’s a link limit, so I’ll make a second composite masterlist to add on some remaining ones from my blog. As of now, here’s what is compiled so far. 💕
Ao3
Ao3 link above👆is a Hodgepodge of other fics, drabbles, fan weeks, fandoms and series/WIP’s
Kinktober 2022
LINK TBA
Final Fantasy - Sephiroth
Critical Role
Vox Machina - don’t you break my heart // the princess // dating hc’s // swan princess // baby VM // baby VM2 // falling // soft Percy // baby VM girl // first steps // guardian Vax // gods and glory // baby VM angst // poly vaxleth // angry hc’s // mirajane reader // love potion // shy with kisses // cool but fierce // bonded for life // holding hands // Snow White sleep // Percy romance // sweet scanlan // “arranged marriage”angst // under pressure // magic tattoos // Mother’s Day // powerful witch // Percy soulmate // tragic past //
The Mighty Nein - crush hugs with VM // angst // Caleb writing prompt //
Bell’s Hells and Crown Keepers - nicknames with VM // kissing prompts with Percy //
EXU: Calamity - loquacious HC’s // leaving Avalir angst //
Genshin Impact - red panda // love goddess
Arcane and League of Legends - I wrote and write for Viego // Viktor, Jayce, and Silco
Love Languages
Assassin’s Creed - Arno // Ezio // feat multifandom // multifan tea hc’s //
Pirates of the Caribbean - James Norrington
Marvel/DC - I have drabbles and stories for Loki, Jotun Loki, Thor: Love and Thunder (WIP), Aquaman, Superman, and The Batman (Battinson) and many more on my Ao3
nightcrawler
Monster Fics - These are either centric to my OC (Hazel) or are Reader-centric
Curtain call
Star Wars - There’s also some Darth Maul, Boba Fett, and Mandolorian stuff on my ao3 well
Castlevania - artsy love // beach day with CR // multi boys love hc’s // shy kiss // music hc’s // holding hands // I forgot a kiss with CR // wolfwalker HC’s // parent headcanons // linking pinkies // painful past //
Alucard - hit for Alucard // bath hc’s // dragon love // dragon love 2 // lounging love // hesitant, shy reader // cowboy alucard // sequel spin-off // prompt 50 kiss // prompt 8 kiss // hollow knight // prompt 38 i love you // prompt 39, 17 kiss // caring for sick // magician love // expressive love // wearing his coat // affectionate one //
Isaac, Hector - family HC’s (with trev and Al) // Disney princess w/ Trio and VM // hector 16 prompt kiss //
Trevor, Sypha - artsy love
Greta - artsy love // poly with OT3 // poly with Alucard
Dracula - taking a hit w+ Trevor, Hector and Isaac // multi boys love hc’s // shy kiss // Lisa apprentice //
Dragon Age - Wolfwalkers
Hellboy/Hellboy II
Baldur’s Gate - Astarion
The Witcher - Geralt
Blood of Zeus
bikini beach // drunk with CV // seraphim smut and angst
Stranger Things
Eddie Munson - blackbird /// i need a hero
Steve and Eddie poly smut
#critical role#dragon age#pirates of the caribbean#stranger things#writing masterlist#writing masterpost#tlovm#vox machina#boz#blood of zeus#castlevania#baldur's gate 3#the witcher#fanfic#writeblr#hellboy#hellboy ii: the golden army#exophilia#long post#the arcana#marvel#Star Wars#dc#multi fandom#assassin’s creed#genshin impact#arcane league of legends#final fantasy#smut
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