#half are worried about breaking the news to Bruce | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sanguineterrain · 7 months

Note

Hi again 😊 You suggested i could send another prompt, sooo… maybe you & Jason have been together awhile, and you’re kidnapped by (choose your villain) and Jason is worried and frantic but trying to not show it of course, and negotiating for your safety? Ends up rescuing you of course, in whichever way you prefer, and then they find comfort in each-other 💗

I haven’t had time or energy to work on my WIP lately so this is very lovely and gratifying 😂👌🏻💗

aghh that's the worst! wishing you luck on your wip!! i'm glad you like these <3 requests are open for jason, dick, and MAWS!clark kent btw!

this one is very batfam focused hehehe. ft dramatic ass jason and his surprise kidnapped fiancé lol.

jason todd x gn!reader. tw: violence, kidnapped reader, reader is pushed off a building for a moment but they're okay dw <3, batfam feels, jason being a protective bf, bruce being a GOOD DAD! c:

****

"Actually, if we're being honest, if anyone has the most trauma in this family, it's—"

Batman grunts. "Really, Spoiler, not now."

The comm line crackles as Stephanie sniffs. "Fine. Stay in denial."

"Bats."

Every bat and bird in Gotham goes still.

"Hood?" Barbara asks carefully, already tracking his comm link.

"Oracle," he says, clipped. "I'm gonna get right to it: I need a favor. Can you help? Yes or no."

"Little Wing, where have you been?" Dick asks. "We've all—"

"Shut up, Nightwing," Jason growls. "Either you help me or not. Which is it?"

"We'll help you, Hood," Bruce says, voice washing over Jason like a balm.

Jason takes a deep breath. It's okay. He'll find you. Batman always beats the bad guys.

He fiddles with his jacket zipper. Moments tick by. Dick remains crouched on a rooftop. Damian is similarly poised.

"My..." Jason swallows. "My... fiancé's been taken."

The comm explodes with noise. Jason winces and digs the bud out of his ear for several seconds.

"Fiancé?!"

"You're getting married—"

"When was this—"

"Who are—"

"Enough," Jason growls, finally shoving the bud back into his ear. "I don't have fucking time for this. Yes, I am engaged, and they've been taken. No more questions."

"Tt. You are engaged? Impossible. Batman, clearly someone has hacked the line pretending to be Hood," Damian says, folding his arms.

Jason rolls his eyes. "Believe it or not, demon bird, I found someone crazy enough to marry me."

"Little Wing, I—I'm really proud of—"

"Shut up!" Jason pinches the bridge of his nose. This was a bad idea. You're in trouble, and Jason intends to tear Gotham apart to find you, but involving his family? Has he really stooped so low...

Deep breath. His focus is you. You're the only person that matters.

"Look, I'm telling you because Oracle's tracking me anyway, and B would snoop until he figured out who I'm really looking for, so it's easier to just tell you. But make no mistake: you aren't my family, and you won't see us again after tonight."

Bruce's throat tightens. His cape flutters in the wind.

"Very well," he says after a couple beats. "Last known location?"

"I'm sending you the address now. I've retraced my steps a hundred times though, and I can't—" Jason grits his teeth. He can't tear up or break things, not again. "Fuck. I can't fucking find them, B. I... I don't know if-if maybe I'm too late—"

"You're not," Dick says automatically. "We'll find them, Little Wing. We'll bring them home."

****

Your head is on fire.

It feels like there's a thousand needles pelting your skull. Whatever you were drugged with, it's hard stuff, and it hasn't worn away yet.

You look up; you're gagged and tied to some kind of support beam. As your vision clears, you see that you're in one of the new high rise-in-progress. Only the skeleton of the building has been completed because if Bruce Wayne isn't involved, construction takes forever to complete.

Faintly, you recall Jason mentioning something about a construction company leaving half finished projects across the country and using them as havens for criminal activities.

Yeah. This is not good.

"Where the fuck is he?" The voice echoes across the concrete floor foundation.

"Mike, we sent—"

"I don't give a fuck what you did; obviously, you screwed up! He's not coming!"

You close your eyes, trying not to throw up on your gag. Your head spins when you open your eyes again.

Who's not coming? Your rescuer? Or somebody worse than your kidnappers?

You try to take a deep breath, but your chest tightens instead.

"Fine," Mike barks in the adjacent room. "If that hooded psychopath doesn't show up, we'll just dump this one. That'll send a message. Prepare the explosives."

A door swings open, and you flinch. You cower, shrinking from the figure.

"You better hope he shows," the guy growls, and cocks his gun. "Your boyfriend is the only reason you're still alive. It'll be such fun to watch him fall to his death, don't you think?"

You try not to show your swelling panic. How does he know about you and Jason? And you have to warn him. Explosives. Jason's walking straight into a trap, without backup, because you know he'll be alone. He always works alone.

Mike sneers and waves the gun around.

"Oh, yeah. I know your secrets. In bed with Gotham's biggest crime lord. You must be his favorite. I can see why."

"Mike!" someone shouts. "We got company!"

Mike's eyes blaze cruelly. "Showtime. You're coming with me."

You thrash as hard as you can because if there's one thing Jason taught you, it's to always fight back.

Mike backhands you hard enough to send you sprawling. Your hands are bound, so you can't catch yourself, and you hit your head on the concrete. Blood pools in your gums.

"Try that shit again, bitch," he snarls, and hefts you up.

He drags you up a flight of stairs. Your head throbs, and now your jaw aches. You're too dizzy to try to fight back again.

You end up on the roof, which is a miasma of beams and wooden lattices. Wind cuts through your face, and you close your eyes so they don't water.

"Hood!" Mike crows. "Wonderful of you to join us!"

"Wish I could say the same," Jason says, and your heart leaps at the sound of his voice.

You start to shout through your gag because you have to warn him. It's a trap, he'll kill you both—

Mike wraps his arm around your throat and squeezes. Air stops, and you choke on your cries.

"I'll kill you," Jason snarls, and you know he wants to say more, but he's trying to protect you. "Let them go and maybe I won't break every bone in your body."

"Oh, don't worry. You two will be reunited soon. What is it they say? Love blinds you?"

"Michael Cassidy," a new voice says, deep and deadly. "Let go of the hostage. We can talk this out."

You crack open your eyes. Is that... Batman? And Robin? And... Nightwing? What—

The arm around your throat tightens and you gasp for air as you start to choke for real. Oh God. Batman's going to die because of you.

"You involved Batman?" Mike snarls, now truly irate. You feel yourself being dragged backward, toward the edge. Your stomach rolls in warning.

"Take it easy," Batman says, palms up. "We can work this out."

"You can't play fair?" Mike shouts. "Then neither will I!"

The wood beneath your feet is gone. You're falling.

"No!"

But no sooner than you fall are you caught. Warm arms encircle your waist, and you're jerked to a stop before you can fall more than a few feet.

"I got you, baby, I got you."

Jason is connected to a grapple. At the roof edge is Batman, Nightwing, and Spoiler, all holding the grapple.

You shake your head, screaming against your gag. Bomb. Bomb!

"'S alright, 's alright, sweetheart, I won't drop you."

You scream urgently through your gag, butting your head against his helmet. Jason pulls your gag half free and you choke out the warning.

"B-bomb!"

His grip tightens. "Shit. B, get out of here! Place is rigged to blow!"

The first explosion goes off. Jason meets your gaze. He's terrified, you can tell, but he tries to mask it.

"Let go," he says.

"Wh—"

"He'll catch you," Jason promises. "I trust him."

And then he lets go.

Several more explosions go off. The building begins to crumble. Dust and heat sweep across your face and lodge in your already sore throat. You scream, in the air for a few more seconds.

Then you crash into gray body armor. A cowl, a cape.

"It's alright," Batman gruffly says. "Hold on tight."

Batman swings you both to safety on an adjacent rooftop. You watch him dive back into the flames. It isn't long before Jason swings out of the smoke, then the others. He pulls off his helmet and tosses it to the side, arms open.

You run and bury your face in Jason's neck, clinging to him. He hugs your tightly and rubs your back, saying over and over, I got you.

You sigh and slacken out of exhaustion.

"I've got you, baby," he says, though his voice is wet this time. "You're safe."

Jason checks over your wounds. You see the rage cross his face several times at every bruise and cut on you. He doesn't let go of you even after he's done. He's shaking too, perhaps more than you, as he cuts your binds and completely removes your gag.

The Bats land gracefully behind you. Jason stiffens as they do.

You kiss his jaw. His gaze returns to you.

"You saved me," you say.

"I always will," he says. "Always."

"Are either of you injured?"

Batman suddenly swishes to your side. You blink, startled.

"Nothing serious," you say. Jason grunts unhappily at that. You manage a smile. "Thank you. All of you. Thank you so much."

Jason nods stiffly. "Thanks, Bats."

Nightwing smiles, face soft with affection. "'Course, Hood. And, uh, Hood's fiancé. We're there any time you need us."

"That's right, chum," Batman says. The obvious care in his voice makes you ache.

Jason had called his family. His family with whom he has a plethora of problems. He'd called them for you.

"Jay," you say, voice thick with emotion. He seems to understand instantly.

"I'll always bring you home," he vows, cupping your face. "Whatever it takes."

He pulls you to him like he can't bear to be away from you any longer.

You squeeze his wrists. "I know. It's okay, Jay. I'm okay."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see that the Bats still have not dispersed. Spoiler looks like she's about to melt into a puddle. Nightwing is the same. Even Batman looks a little sentimental.

Robin is the only one scowling, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Hood, are you not going to introduce your fiance-we-just-learned-existed-tonight?" Robin asks, arms folded.

Jason huffs. "Not with those manners, demon brat."

You roll your eyes and extend your hand to Batman. You say your name, smiling.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," you say.

Batman laughs, and it sounds a little fond. It's also kind of weird to hear Batman laugh. "No sir necessary. It's equally an honor to meet the person my son is marrying."

Jason makes a choked little noise. You beam.

"Well," Batman murmurs. "We'll let you two get home. We'll track down the rest of Michael's thugs—"

"Come to the wedding," Jason blurts.

Batman stills. "Me?" he asks carefully.

"Everybody," Jason says, tugging you into his side. "Uncle Clark, Aunt Diana, Selina, your ten thousand kids, everyone."

He turns to you. "I-I mean, as long as that's okay with you, baby."

"Oh, Jay. It's your family. Of course I want them to come." You lean in to whisper in his ear. "I'm proud of you."

"Little Wing, c'mere!"

Nightwing tackles Jason in a hug, then drags Robin, who protests loudly, in by his cape. Spoiler snaps a picture from the sideline.

"Now that's adorable," she says.

Batman looks at you. He removes his cowl, and you gasp quietly. He smiles, and it makes him look decades younger. You guess he hasn't smiled much since he lost Jason.

"Thank you," he says.

You tilt your head. "For what?"

"For bringing him back to us."

You duck your head. "Oh, Mr. Wayne, that wasn't me—"

"Bruce," he corrects gently. "And it was. You played a bigger part than you know. You saved him. Thank you."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x yn #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batfam fanfiction #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

925 notes · View notes

youvebeenlivingfictional · 10 months

Note

Love your Bale Batman shop girl series! Was wondering how shop girl would feel if Catwoman or some other kick-ass woman came on the scene?

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Sure thing! I did go with a different kickass woman, since Catwoman does show up in the Nolan trilogy

Warnings: Light angst; fluff added for tasty goodness

You don’t really worry about the tabloids anymore. At least, not in the way that you used to. Michelle still sends you the odd article, but it’s usually accompanied by several 😂 emojis (the most notable is the one that suggested that you, Bruce, and Liz are in a throuple, and Grant is your collective beard). Whatever the press says about Bruce becomes white noise.

But…What the press says about Batman still tends to seep through.

You can’t help but notice the Gotham Gazette where it’s spread open on Rose’s desk. She’s turned away from it, reading through the approval form that you’ve brought over to her. You can’t help but reach out, turning the newspaper toward yourself and eyeing the grainy image of Batman. Your brow furrows as you draw the newspaper up to get a better look, scanning it more closely. He’s tied up in what look like vines, and nose-to-nose with a stunning, smiling, partially-masked woman.

“You haven’t seen that yet?” Rose asks, glancing up from the document. “It’s been all over the papers for weeks.”

“Has it?” You ask dazedly. You’ve managed to miss it. You haven’t been following mentions Batman as closely on social media since you started your new job—you just haven’t had time.

“Mhm.” Rose folds her arm on her desk and leans in, peering at the picture. “Apparently it’s a real love-hate-cat-and-mouse kinda thing. Hot, right?” She waggles her brows. “I’d love to see what’s under that suit.”

“Which?”

“Either.”

You force a smile at the sight of Rose’s salacious grin, but you can’t help glancing back down at the article and skimming it. You commit the name to memory and make a mental note to look her up on your phone when you get back to your desk—

Poison Ivy.

It’s probably not much of a surprise that Bruce hasn’t mentioned her to you. For the most part—apart from the odd knowing glance, the bruises on his body, and the night he spilled into the penthouse half-dead—he keeps that side of himself to himself. Alfred doesn’t discuss it with you, either, and perhaps that’s why he seems so surprised when you slam your laptop shut as he comes into the kitchen that Saturday morning, hiding your googled articles of Poison Ivy and Batman.

Alfred’s brows raise, and you offer him a nervous, guilty smile as your face goes hot. You know that you weren’t fast enough—you’d been so honed in on reading that you hadn’t heard him until he was passing right behind you.

“...Is he awake yet?” You ask lightly, desperate to break the awkward silence.

“Only just.”

“‘Kay.”

“It seems you and Master Wayne are researching similar topics these days,” He comments, swanning around the kitchen counter and setting down the empty breakfast tray.

“Oh?”

“Mm. She's proving to be a tougher nut to crack than he thought.”

You consider for a moment. You could let the conversation go, of course. You’re certain Alfred wouldn’t press it. But:

“Has he got any leads?”

“A few,” Alfred nods, bracing his hands on the counter, “Though I would recommend asking him about his ideas and methodology.”

You bristle before you sigh and slouch dejectedly, resting your chin on your hand.

“He doesn’t talk about that stuff with me, Alfred.”

“He doesn’t like for you to worry.”

“I worry whether he tells me or not. Not knowing just makes me worry more.”

“Then perhaps that’s something you ought to tell him.”

You glance up at him warily, and some of your nerves ease as he gives you a warm smile.

“Now,” He straightens, clapping his hands together and looking around the kitchen. “Despite the hour, Master Wayne is tucking into his breakfast. Shall I get something together for your lunch?”

You consider for a moment, eyes darting down the hall before you stand, shaking your head.

“Let’s put a pin in that. I think I’m just gonna…Go steal some of Bruce’s toast.”

Alfred smiles knowingly, giving you a wink before you turn fully from him and head down the hall.

The blackout curtains have been raised just enough to let a little bit of light into the room, but it’s still quite dim. You can see the empty smoothie glass on the bedside table, and the plate of toast that Bruce has put on the wide headboard behind him. Bruce looks preciously rumpled, scrubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. You can see a few light bruises on his bare chest and arms, but nothing too egregious. His eyes are still narrowed with sleep as he lowers his hands, and his hair looks as ruffled as a baby bird’s. He perks up as you come in, a sleepy smile pulling at his lips as you come closer.

“Hey, baby,” He murmurs, opening his arms as you climb into bed beside him.

“Sleep okay?” You ask, cuddling into his side.

“Fine. I thought you were seeing Michelle for brunch.”

“Got moved to drinks this evening. She had a work thing come up.”

Bruce hums in understanding, tucking you close and pressing a kiss to your head. You bite your lip, grappling with how to bring up the conversation.

“Late night?” You finally ask lightly. You're relieved when you don’t feel Bruce tense, or reel away. He just rubs his hand gently over your arm.

“Mhm.”

“Later than usual?”

“...About on par.”

“Mm.” You eye the steady rise and fall of his chest for a few moments before you hedge: “Hope you don't mind my asking–”

“It’s fine—”

“—You’ve just seemed a little tied up lately.” You give Bruce a sly, teasing smile, and it widens to a grin when you see him fighting back his own smile.

“Is that why you came in here?” He asks dryly.

“Of course not. I saw Alfred bringing you toast.” You straighten up, reaching over his shoulder, taking up a piece, and biting into it. Bruce chuckles, and you grin as he leans into you, nuzzling against your neck. You hum as you chew, your skin prickling at the feeling of his thickening stubble.

“How’s it going, anyway?” You ask.

“What do you mean?”

“You have any leads?”

Your stomach drops when you feel him go tense. He sighs softly, leaning away to get a better look at you. You reach back, setting the toast down and dusting crumbs from your fingers before you fold your hands in your lap, waiting patiently. After a few moments, you can’t help but wring your hands subtly as Bruce observes you, and then lowers his gaze to the sheets.

“I’m not sure I want to discuss that with you,” He finally admits. You swallow thickly, fighting to keep from shifting and fidgeting with nerves.

“Can I ask why not?”

Bruce pushes a sigh out through his nose, giving a small shake of his head.

“I can’t keep it out, huh,” He mutters.

“Well…You did for a while. Didn’t go so well,” You remind him lightly. Bruce nods, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he mutters, “I know.”

You tentatively reach out, resting your hand atop his. He turns his hand over, taking a gentle hold of yours.

“I’m not asking you to make me a suit and teach me to fight, Bruce. I just want you to let me in.”

His lips twitch with a smile as he reaches up, cupping your cheek and sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone.

“I think…That her name is Pamela Isley. She’s a botanist.”

“Why is she doing…what she’s doing?”

“That’s what I still need to find out.”

You nod, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you.”

He hums, grasping your jaw and drawing you in for another long, warm kiss.

“That’s never happening,” He adds as the kiss breaks. You frown, brow furrowing.

“What do you mean?”

“Making you a suit, teaching you to fight.”

You pout, cocking your head to the side.

“I ought to know how to at least throw a punch, right?”

“We’ll see about that. It’s a slippery slope,” Bruce chuckles, patting your cheek before nodding over his shoulder. “Eat your toast.”

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Half #asks #replies #anon

354 notes · View notes

quotidian-oblivion · 8 months

Text

Dick Grayson & Tadashi Hamada

Dick watches Big Hero 6 when he's a kid and sighs because he loves the two brothers. Tadashi is automatically his favorite character.

Dick watches Jason for the first time out in the field, and Jason has a gun to his head. He leaps in to help, doesn't mean he has totally eased up with Jason being Robin though.

Dick watches Big Hero 6 with the Titans when he learns that none of them had watched it. He grins as Tadashi comes in view, to save Hiro, but the grin freezes as he flashes back to Jason and how he had saved him... just like Tadashi.

Dick watches Jason as the kid's waiting in the parking lot to be picked up from school. He's still a little awkward and bitter around him, but he's willing to put it away. For Tadashi's sake. They get talking as Dick drives Jason on his bike, and he smiles as he remembers the first scene with Hiro and Tadashi and asks Jason if he likes bike stunts.

It's been months, and Dick has been spending time with Jason a lot, watching keenly as the kid grows attached to him and they start acting more like Hiro and Tadashi... like brothers. He comes to a decision.

Dick watches Jason's reactions all throughout their movie night, watching The Big Hero 6. Jason loves it. He asks Dick if they could get a giant marshmallow man with Bruce's money. Dick considers it seriously, but Bruce catches them before they could do anything.

Dick's eyes widen as Jason asks him to watch Big Hero 6 with him again one day, he watches the movie with Jason's head on his lap as he strokes his hair.

Dick watches as Jason breaks into his apartment weekly. He pretends he's sleeping, but not really. Jason always arrives at the exact same time every Wednesday. They're really close now.

Dick watches The Big Hero 6 and his face is full of tears. He pauses at the moment when the building explodes and Hiro is thrown back with the force of the explosion. He can't take it. Jason died in an explosion, beaten, tortured, then burnt. He curls up and sobs his heart out.

Dick watches tensely as Tim quips and flips and punches the crooks raging on the street. He tries not to interfere too much, he needs to give Tim space, but he can't help it - he's worried.

Dick's eyes widen as Tim hesitantly approaches him and asks about the Big Hero 6 DVD in his apartment as they were clearing it out. Tim says that he watched half of it when he was a kid, he didn't get to finish the movie and he was wondering if Dick would like to...? Dick wants to say no. He wants to grab the DVD and throw it out the window. He doesn't. He says maybe another time instead.

Dick watches the door of Tim's new bedroom that used to be the guest room. Tim hasn't been eating or sleeping much since... since Jack and Captain Boomerang. He raises his hand, and ripping of the bandaid, he knocks. Tim says he isn't in the mood to watch anything, sorry. Dick opens up his laptop to the movie anyway and sits beside Tim on the bed, keeping a little distance, as the movie plays. Tim rests his head on Dick's shoulder during Hiro's mourning scene, tired. Dick rubs his head affectionately.

Dick watches as Red Hood snarks in front of him, boasting about how he beat the newest Robin, trying to rile Dick up. But all Dick can see is the kid who poked him and called him Tadashi teasingly and referred to himself as Hiro. He walks forward, ignores the fearful step back Red Hood takes, and hugs his brother.

Dick watches in amusement as the 10-year-old baby assassin tries to explain an ambush plan to use to capture Penguin. He was Batman and the kid was Robin. It was a perfect team. Dick felt more like Tadashi than ever. Sure, squirt, Dick ruffles his hair, a grin delighting his features as the kid scowls adorably and fixes his hair back.

Dick is captured. He is tied up. He can't move. He hears ticking. He knows it will be over soon. He really is Tadashi, sticking to it till the end. He closes his eyes and stops watching the seconds ticking by on the bomb. No sense in counting his own doom.

The last tick goes by. A great booming fills the air. Everything goes black.

"No, no no no no no. Don't do this to me, Dick."

"Richard, get up. Grayson, come on. I know you're fooling around. Get up."

"Dickhead, I swear to God, if you don't get up right this moment, I will skewer you."

"Dick-"

"Richard-

"Please-"

"You're not Tadashi, you asshole, get the fuck up!"

They watch as the explosion rings out, fire consumes the air, and their big brother is lost.

126 notes · View notes

iamnotthere-idonotdie · 2 months

Text

dream of me

part four

…………………………………………………………………………………….

synopsis: reader and bruce have moved in together and their relationship is going well. but a new gotham criminal kidnaps reader and they face sudden death, as well as a secret bruce has been keeping.

content: batman/bruce wayne x reader, cursing, no smut, violence, torture, death, blood, breaking/broken bones, kidnapping, brutality, guns, knives, vomit, graphic descriptions of violence and injuries

a/n: okay so this one took a dark turn, and i’m very surprised i was able to finish it so fast. i knew how i wanted this to play out but i wasn’t expecting it to get as graphic as it did so i do apologize for that honestly. i think what im learning is that as i write, i sort of envision it as a movie playing out in my head so sometimes it can feel more like a script than a story. also sorry if there are some wrong medical terminology and stuff in here, and sorry for any typos as well!

edit: also— i think i was kind of envisioning the joker here as seen in something like the killing joke (movie). honestly i just kind of read this joker with mark hamill’s voice altogether.

……………………………………………………………………………………

“good morning, sleep well, i hope?”

“good morning, alfred. yes i did, thank you.”

you pour yourself a cup of coffee in the kitchen as alfred makes breakfast. you grab a mug for bruce and pour his as well.

“bruce still out?”

“yes, he called and informed me that he’ll be back soon from his workout.” alfred says as he flips the omelette in the pan.

“these workouts have been getting longer and longer.”

“he does like to keep active.”

“right, he just seems to get up so early for them. the other day i woke up in the middle of the night and he was gone, it wasn’t even 4am yet.”

“he finds the 24-hour gym is less crowded in the early hours.”

alfred slides the omelette onto a plate and sets it on the small table for you.

“thank you alfred. i just worry he’s not getting enough sleep.”

“oh, i’ve been worrying about his sleep for years.”

“i sleep plenty.” bruce enters the kitchen. “morning alfred.”

“good morning, sir.”

bruce walks over to the table and kisses you.

“good morning.” you say as you hand him his coffee.

bruce sits and alfred sets a plate of breakfast in front of him too.

“thanks alfred.”

“i just hope you’re sleeping enough is all. it seems like lately it’s been less and less.” you take a sip of your coffee and look at bruce. you don’t want to be a nag, but you do worry.

he takes a sip too and looks back at you.

“i’m fine, really.”

you smile unconvincingly at him and continue eating.

the rest of breakfast is quiet, but you don’t mind the still silence. this morning routine has brought you comfort over the last few months since you moved in. alfred set up your own room when you first came, but you and bruce quickly realized you both prefer sleeping in the same bed. that is, when he’s actually sleeping in it.

you finish breakfast and bruce takes your plates and puts them in the sink, alfred already turning on the tap.

you and bruce go back upstairs and you start getting dressed for work. he doesn’t always go in, but even on days like today when his work is to be completed at home, he still drives you. he told you early on that you could work hybrid as well, that you two could work together at home on his off days. but you enjoy working at the desk. and with this new outreach project you’ve been working on, you prefer having the team in person to collaborate.

as you button your top, bruce comes up behind and wraps his arms around you, stopping you from finishing.

“bruce…” he cuts you off by kissing your neck. you leave your shirt half open as you turn around and put your arms around his neck. you kiss, letting yourself forget about work. he slides his hands down your back and pulls you in tighter. you won’t ever get enough of this.

your phone’s alarm sings to tell you it’s time to leave. bruce pulls it out of your pocket and silences it, tossing it on the bed with a smile.

“i really should go today.”

“i think you should stay.”

“i don’t know…”

“it’s not like you’ll get fired, i’m your boss.”

you laugh lightly.

“maybe i should fire you, would mean you’d get to stay home all the time.”

you laugh again and kiss him.

“well maybe i could take a sick day today.”

“don’t worry, i wont tell anyone.”

he smiles and kisses you again. all that time getting dressed was for nothing as bruce unbuttons the rest of your shirt and you slide your pants off. while this isn’t a usual part of the morning routine you’ve established, you welcome the variation.

you run your hands through bruce’s hair and watch his chest rhythmically rise and fall as he sleeps. you let him sleep as long as he seems to need to, which is much longer than you thought it’d be. you eventually drift off too, the sound of his quiet snoring lulling your eyes closed.

it’s not until late afternoon when you both wake up again, the thick curtains unable to hide the sliver of sunlight peering in.

“you let me sleep so late.” bruce sits up in bed.

“you seemed like you needed it.”

he leans down and kisses you then gets up and starts getting dressed.

“the weather is supposed to be nice today.” you sit up. “maybe we could go to the park.”

he looks at you and smiles.

“that would be nice.”

you get up and get dressed too.

“i’ll go ask alfred to pack us some lunch.”

“okay, sounds great.”

he gives you one more kiss before heading downstairs. you finish getting ready and grab your phone off the floor. a text from tim, your former coworker in california, sits in your notifications. he and his husband have adopted a young girl. you smile at the family photo he sent and reply with your congratulations. as you look at the message, you let your mind wander and start to think about the prospect. of course you know bruce would be an amazing parent. but you’re not sure if you’d be. or if that’s even what you want. your life is so perfect now and you don’t think you want any of it to change. at least not for a while.

you go downstairs and find bruce packing some sandwiches into a bag. he zips it up and looks at you.

“ready?” he asks.

“ready.”

you decide to walk to the park since it’s only a few blocks away. the sun sits on your skin like a warm blanket as you and bruce walk. the two of you sit by the pond under an oak and eat your late lunch. the sound of birds and ducks paired with the cool breeze rushing through the tree leaves make for a perfect spot. you and bruce lay down in the grass and kiss, your picnic site offering enough privacy that you don’t have to worry about people seeing you. it’s not as if either of you care anyway, really. you’re not trying to hide your relationship, and with bruce’s status it’d be nearly impossible to try. but you still try to avoid paparazzi when you can. you and bruce lie there in the park together until the sun sets slowly behind the hill.

“we should get going before it gets too dark.” bruce sits up.

“i suppose we should.”

bruce grabs the bag and holds your hand as you make your way back home. night falls quickly as you walk. with only a couple blocks to go, you hear a commotion up ahead in an alleyway. sounds of a fight echo down the street. bruce stops walking and lets go of your hand.

“stay here a second.” he hands the bag to you and starts walking toward the source of the sounds.

“wait, shouldn’t we call the police or something first? or maybe we just wait for the batman to come and take care of it. you shouldn’t go down there by yourself.”

“you can call the police.” he continues.

you let out an exasperated sigh and watch bruce turn the corner. you press the numbers 911 into your phone. you finger is just about to click the green button when a strong hand covers your mouth and drags you backwards. you scream into the glove as loud as you can but the fight drowns out your attempts at getting bruce’s attention. all you can do is move around as much as possible to try and shake this person off you but they tighten their grip and then you’re being pushed into the back of a van.

three other people are inside and they grab you. you feel the rope burn your wrists as they tie your hands together behind your back. your throat already feels like it’s being torn apart from screaming. one person spreads a strip of duct tape over your open mouth but you still try to scream for bruce. suddenly a sharp pain strikes the back of your head. the tears have been blurring your vision but now everything is even fuzzier. you let out one more sob before the pipe hits you again and everything goes black.

pain.

that’s the first thing you feel when you finally come to. that’s the only thing you feel. a throbbing, deep pain throughout your entire body like you were just spit out of a cement mixer. you’re hands are still tied behind you and your ankles are stuck to the legs of a metal chair.

you force your eyes open, but everything is still dark. have you gone blind? is your sight gone? where are you? who took you? why can’t you move? you cant see you can’t move you can’t breathe you can’t hear you’re hurting you’re crying you’re screaming you’re shaking you—

the sound of a heavy door swinging open makes you freeze. strong footsteps slowly get louder and louder, closer and closer. the footsteps stop behind you and then you’re assaulted by a harsh bright light. it was a hood over your head, and the figure has now taken it off. the footsteps make their way around you and he stops in front of the chair you’re tied to, his back toward you. your breath shakes as he just stands there, staring straight ahead.

then he starts… crying? his shoulders shake and he gets louder. no… he’s laughing. he slowly turns around to face you, his red painted on smile sending a chill down your spine.

he bends down so his face is level with yours, your noses so close they nearly touch.

“good morning sweetheart.”

the tears continue streaming down your face as he straitens back up and turns, walking toward a table against the wall in front of you. he stops at it and slowly picks up an almost comically large knife.

you sob at the sight of the weapon, knowing it’s intended for you.

“i have a problem.”

he sets the knife back on the table and turns, walking towards you. the door opens again and you see a man in a clown mask rush by and place a camera on a tripod in front of you. he presses a button and a red light comes on and flashes at you.

“a problem that can only be solved by you.”

you somehow find the strength to open your mouth and speak, the words coming out hoarse and quiet.

“…m—me?”

“yes. i am in need of some… capital. some dineros, some cold. hard. cash. now i know you’re dating ol’ brucie and i know he has some access to just a bit of money.” he walks around you and stands behind the chair. “so, brucie boy, from your friendly neighborhood joker, deposit some dolores for me in a safe and lock it up real tight. bring it to the chaplain bridge, in person, at midnight tonight along with the key and you’ll get to see your precious little babe once again.” he grabs your face and squishes your cheeks together.

“oh, silly me, i forgot to tell you how much! let’s see, oh, how about, $50 million. that seems fair enough, don’t ya think?!”

he bends down so his face is next to yours.

“isn’t 50 million enough to save the life of your dearly beloved?”

he pulls something out of his pocket. you feel the cold barrel of a gun press against your temple and let out a sob.

he pulls the gun off your head, still pointing it at you.

*click*

you scream and jolt away. terror runs through your body like electricity.

you look over and he’s still staring at you with the gun pointed in your direction. out of the barrel popped out a banner, with the word BANG! on it. he turns back to the camera and waves.

“see ya tonight.” his tone is sinister and he laughs again.

the man in the mask flips the camera off. he tosses the gun behind his back and it clacks as it hits the concrete. he claps his hands together.

“so! now’s all that’s left to do is sit by, hang tight, let loose, and wait for midnight!” he laughs again and he and the other man leave the room with the camera. the clang of the door closing echoes throughout the room as you sit there alone.

you let out an ear-piercing, guttural scream and continue sobbing. all you want is bruce. you call for him, over and over, hoping by some miracle he’ll hear you through the thick concrete walls. you keep screaming, so hard and so loud that you vomit. now bile covers the front of your shirt and tears cover your face.

the echo of the door rings through the room again and fast footsteps approach. another man in a clown mask with a syringe in his hand unties your arms. before you let him stab the needle in, you punch him in the throat as hard as you can muster. he gags at the blow at stumbles backwards, dropping the syringe. you lean to try and grab it and the chair you’re tied to tips over onto the floor. your face slams into the concrete and you hear a crunch in your nose. you cry out and now all you see is red. you fight through the pain and reach for the syringe. it’s right there, just centimeters away, when a large boot stomps on your hand, surely breaking multiple bones. you scream in pain as the chair is reset upright. you scream and sob as the men grab your arm and stab the now-dirty needle in your vein. you keep crying, but as the seconds go by, you hear yourself getting quieter. the room around you spins in slow motion as your eyelids get heavy. the last thing you see is the joker’s white face and red smile.

your eyes slowly flutter open again. you didn’t know this was even possible, but somehow you wake up in even more pain than before. the joker is still standing there in front of you. smiling. laughing.

“you’re spunky. i like you.”

you all but growl at him as he walks toward that table in the corner, picking the knife up again.

“i thought you’d be asleep until our appointment with good ol’ bruce but the tranq must have been watered down!” he turns to you and laughs.

he carries the knife as he walks toward you.

“at least now we can have a little fun!” he takes the knife and you close your eyes, preparing yourself for the pain. but instead you feel the rope around your wrists and ankles fall.

“what’s say we play a game, hmm? i’m gonna bring in three of my best boys. and the longer you can stay upright and fighting, the more likely i’ll be to not kill you and your dear dear bruce tonight.”

the door opens again and three sets of footsteps walk in behind you.

you just stay sitting in the chair. how are you supposed to fight these huge men?

the joker sighs.

“if you’re gonna be a party pooper, then i guess we’ll have to find another game to play. maybe… target practice?” he throws the knife above your head and it hits one of the three men square in the chest. he falls backwards. dead.

you gasp and try to hold back tears as the joker just laughs.

“guess i do need some practice… i was aiming for his head! haha!” he buckles over in laughter again as you try to catch your breath.

“well good news now is you only have to outlast two goons!”

you slowly stand up, not wanting the next knife to land in your sternum. one of the men walk over to you. the joker takes the gun from before out of his pocket and holds it up above his head.

“ready? fight!” he pulls the trigger with a click.

a huge fist comes flying at your face and makes contact with your cheek. you fall to the ground in pain. he kicks you in the stomach and you just stay there, laying on the ground. he stomps on your chest, your stomach, your head. all you feel is blow after blow. the joker is just laughing at your misery.

you feel a rush of adrenaline run through you and you growl in anger. when the next stomp comes toward you, you grab the booted foot and yank as hard as you can, bringing the man to the ground. you’re surprised you had the strength to do that. you quickly stand back up and kick him in the face, breaking his nose too. you kick him in the crotch and he screams. you sit on top of his chest and punch him with your unbroken hand. over and over and over. all you hear is the sound of the joker’s maniacal laugh and your own grunts as you beat the guy’s face in until he no longer resembles even a man. finally you stop, feeling proud of your strength but guilty for your brutality.

before you can get up from sitting on him, the other man is picking you up and slamming you into the concrete. your shoulder hits the ground hard and you scream. he picks you up again and throws you back first, your head colliding with the concrete so hard you’re sure they’ve both cracked. he grabs the front of your shirt and lifts you up. your body goes limp from exhaustion and he forcefully sits you back on the chair. he punches your face. one. two. three. four. five. six. times then he finally walks away. your vision is blurred and you’re seeing colorful stars flash all around you. you look down and see blood dripping down from your face and onto your lap. the joker just laughs again.

“well, you fought off one! bravo! of course that means only one of you will die tonight. shame. lovers dying together is the sweetest ending of all. romeo and juliet… swan lake… the notebook...” he pretends to wipe a tear. “but oh well. at least now you get to pick who dies! haha!”

“me.” you immediately answer. “kill me. not him.”

“awww how noble! sacrificing yourself for the love of your life, it’s a beautiful thing! very well. you’ll be the one to die.” he takes out a pocket watch. “my oh my look at that! it’s showtime, baby!”

you get tied up again and dragged out of the room. the hood is placed back on your head before exiting, and you’re thrown back into a van. the drive is longer than you expected. how far out of town were you?

the van stops after what you guess was about a half hour long drive.

you’re dragged back out of the van and onto the street. the hood is removed and the joker is gripping your neck and leading you onto the bridge.

you make it to the middle and he shoves you to the ground. you only now notice the gun in his hand.

“oh bru-uce! show me the money, baby!”

his voice echos across the water under the bridge and you wait. you hope he doesn’t come. you hope he’s decided to let the police handle it. you hope he didn’t choose to risk his life for you. because although the joker assured you that you’d be the one to die, you obviously can’t trust that he won’t pull the trigger on bruce too.

“come out come out, wherever you are!” the joker yells in a singsongy voice. “well isn’t this a disappointment! at least it was gonna be fun to kill you. now i almost can’t even enjoy it.” he points the gun in the center of your forehead. you close your eyes and let yourself cry.

you picture bruce’s face. flashbacks of when you first met him come to mind and you go through it all. you think of his smile, how it was crooked and always made you smile back. you think of his hair, how it was always just a little tussled and never quite laid flat. you think of his skin, how it was warm and how it felt against yours. you think of his laugh, how it can at times feel rare but when you hear it, it’s like the world stops. you think of his eyes, how they’d glow like warm honey when the sunlight hit them just right. tears stream as you think of every part of him. how you wish you’d spent more time memorizing him.

you hear the cocking of the gun and you gasp. you only now realize how afraid you are to die.

suddenly a loud clang behind you startles your eyes open and the joker stumbles backward. a large, dark figure comes swooping in and tackles the joker to the ground. the gun is kicked away and you watch as the batman punches the joker in the face, repeatedly. the men from the van come rushing in and the batman takes each one down with little effort.

soon, he’s standing in the lowlight of the bridge, looming over the bodies of his victims of vengeance. he walks back over to the joker and picks him up by his collar and holds him over the bridge above the water. the joker laughs.

“well then what’s it gonna be batty-boy?! you gonna kill me?! do it!”

the batman hesitates to drop him into the rough rushing river water below.

“do it!” the joker laughs in his face again.

you see the shine of red and blue lights flashing behind you and hear sirens. the sound of many footsteps come rushing onto the bridge as officers take the bodies off the ground and into custody. a few more train their guns at the batman and instruct him to let the joker go. after some time, he flings the joker back over the railing and slams him onto the ground. the officers rush to handcuff the joker and the batman walks away, back toward you.

“this isn’t over, batman! it’ll never be over!” the joker laughs again as he’s dragged away by the officers.

the batman bends down behind you and unties the ropes around your wrists.

“are you okay?” he asks, quietly. his low, gravely voice tinges with familiarity.

you just nod and he scoops you up and carries you to the ambulance. he gently sits you on the gurney and the paramedics begin treating your wounds and setting up an iv. the batman just stands there and watches, as if to make sure you’ll really be okay. you stare back at him, trying to place this strange gut feeling. the medics walk away for a moment to grab something else, leaving you and the batman there, just looking at each other.

the medics come back and start to bring you into the ambulance. up until the moment the doors close, you and the batman just continue staring. the medicine you’ve been given starts to work as you feel your eyelids get heavy. your last thought before passing out is of bruce.

the tubes in your nose and the cast on your arm are the first things you notice when you awake. your eyes adjust to the light of the hospital room and you look around, your eyes landing on an unexpected face.

tim is there, sitting by the window sleeping. alfred is in a chair next to him. he notices you’re awake and presses the alert for the nurse.

“hello, dear.”

“alfred…”

“i’ve called for the nurse. just relax.”

“…where’s bruce.”

“he… had to go to the police station. to finish up the case.”

“but he’s okay?”

“physically, yes. but i don’t think i’ve ever seen him so distraught. i’ll call him now and tell him you’re awake. he’ll want to see you.” alfred leaves the room and you see him dial his phone.

the nurse comes in and checks your vitals, making sure you’re getting enough medicine. you have a concussion, a broken hand, your shoulder was out of socket, and your nose had to be realigned. apparently it’s been days since the incident.

the joker is in custody at arkham, but that’s doesn’t give you much reassurance since he apparently has broken out of there before.

tim wakes up and walks over to you with tears streaming down his face.

“are you okay?” he asks.

“just peachy.”

he laughs lightly and wipes a tear away.

“i was so scared.”

“me too.”

“but you’re gonna be okay now. you’re okay now.” he reassures himself. you didn’t know you meant so much to him.

“thank you tim.”

he smiles softly.

“i should go call chris and let him know you’re okay.“

“okay.”

tim walks out of the room as alfred comes back in.

“bruce will be here soon.”

“thank you. i’m glad you’re here alfred.”

“of course, love.”

tim comes back in and says that chris sends his regards.

“he’s been worried sick, watching the news while also taking care of the baby.”

“if you need to go tim, go. i understand.”

“im sorry i can’t stay.”

“really tim, it’s okay. thank you for being here.”

tim smiles and holds your good hand.

“i’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“thank you.” you smile back at him and he leaves.

alfred moves the chair to be closer to your bed and he holds your hand as you wait in silence for bruce.

bruce comes rushing in wet from the rain with tears in his eyes. alfred gets up from the chair and gives it to bruce. bruce sits in the chair, holding your hand, and the two of you just sit there together.

you’ve never felt fear like that before. of course you were afraid when your mother died, but you were so young. and your father was sick for a long time before he passed, so this crippling feeling of terror was something you’ve never had to experience before and something you hope you’ll never experience again.

“i’m so sorry.” bruce fights back tears. “i should’ve never left you alone. i should’ve known better. i thought i was protecting you but really i just put you in danger. this is all my fault.”

“no it’s not.”

“it is.”

“no, bruce. it’s not.”

“i was just so… angry. at him. i still am. i really thought i was going to kill him.”

you furrow your brows in confusion.

“you mean… like… if you’d have been there? at the bridge?”

you notice alfred looks up at bruce with a curious look on his face. bruce turns his head to look back at him. alfred just nods.

you look at both of them, perplexed by this silent agreement between them.

“what’s going on?”

“there’s something you need to know… about me.”

“okay…?”

“i… i’ll show you when we get back home.”

“alright.”

bruce and alfred clear you with the doctor and confirm that you’re ready to leave so you get in the car to go home. you just lay in the backseat with your head on bruce’s lap. he runs his hand through your hair as alfred drives you all home.

the press is already there, ready to get a statement from you and bruce about the whole ordeal. of course you and bruce don’t say a word as he carries you inside.

he sets you down on the couch and lights a fire. alfred goes to the kitchen to make you something to eat. you lay on bruce’s chest on the sofa, watching the flames rise and fall. the heat of the fire brings you comfort, but bruce’s warm touch makes you feel at peace for the first time since that day at the park.

hours go by, the fire has become just a few orange embers, and you and bruce have eaten dinner. you suddenly remember what bruce said back at the hospital.

“what is it you wanted to tell me?”

bruce sighs and helps you up off the couch.

“i need to show you something.”

you slowly walk hand in hand to the library down the hall. you don’t come in here much but you know bruce and alfred do.

bruce goes to a wall in the back and pulls a book off the shelf. you hear a click and he pulls the wall out, revealing it’s a door to an elevator.

“what the fuck…”

bruce opens the elevator door and leads you inside.

“what is this?”

“something you need to see.”

the elevator slowly brings you down to a lower level you didn’t even know existed. bruce opens the door and leads you out of the elevator and into a basement. or at least what you think is a basement. inside, you see computers, televisions, and other tech items around. a motorcycle sits there too… along with a familiar-looking car. bruce lets you wander through the area. you try to absorb what this all is.

“what exactly am i looking at here, bruce?”

he walks over to a door and opens it to a closet. what’s inside, sitting on the shelf, makes you gasp. you slowly pick up the mask.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you.”

“why… how…”

“i’ve been doing this for years now. i just… this is how im able to try and help. only alfred knows.”

“and you couldn’t tell me? why?”

“everyone who knows about this is in danger. i couldn’t knowingly do that to you. but you deserve to know.”

“i… don’t even know what to say.”

bruce closes the closet door.

“i come down here every night. that’s why i’ve been gone so early in the morning. i’ve known about joker for a while and have been trying to track his whereabouts.”

“but now, he’s locked up. he’s gone.”

“as long as he’s alive, he’s a danger. and it’s not just him. you’ve lived here your whole life. you know what these streets are like.”

you just nod.

“so… this is what you do every night. you go out, after i fall asleep then return before i wake up.”

“i try. but some nights are longer than others.” bruce walks up to you and holds your hand. “but now you know.”

you just nod again, not quite knowing what to say.

“i will never forgive myself for leaving you alone that night, and i will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it.”

you look up at him. a tear rolls down his cheek and you wipe it away, leaving your hand on his face.

“i was so afraid of losing you.” he speaks barely above a whisper.

“you’re not gonna lose me. i’m here. i’ll always be here.”

he kisses you. in this room, this room that’s been kept a secret from you. this other side of bruce that’s been kept a secret from you. you want to be angry, but all you feel now is peace as he holds you in his arms.

whatever future may come, whatever troubles you will inevitably be forced to face, you know that you’ll now be able to do it together.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

26 notes · View notes

imkillerbae · 11 months

Text

Dancing in the Dark (Part 2) (Valorant Yoru x Fem!Reader x Valorant Sova)

Part 1 Here.

Summary: You're confronted by Yoru about your lies and decides to have his way with you in a broom closet.

Words: 2k

CW: Crying, regret, FLUFF. Happy ending

(A/N: I was supposed to add a smut after this but got lazy so I didnt hence the broom closet AHAHA anyway here's the ending! REQUESTS ARE OPEN. Please send me ideas i am running out of ideas i beg) Listen to 'Dancing in the Dark' originally by Bruce Springsteen covered by LOLO for better experience.

The bottle of whiskey was barely drunk from, and you held the neck of it with a tight grip. You were glaring at the man in front of you, and he returned the look, although less hostile. Yoru tried to tug the bottom of the bottle from your grasp but you did not relent, pulling it towards yourself even more.

“You’re not planning to drink all of this yourself, are you?” You ask in annoyance.

“And what’s that to you?” He muses, raising his brows to taunt your question.

Sova’s birthday party was getting more and more unbearable for him, especially with the mind blowing news he received just moments ago. He needed to go numb, to just let his brain go blank even just for a moment. You weren’t helping the situation, because it was taking all his self-control not to drag you to the nearest broom closet and—

“I know how you get when you’re drunk.” You reply, looking at his shoulders rather than his eyes. He was much taller than you, something he liked to relish in.

You couldn’t help but intrude when you saw him heading for the bar, Sova walking the opposite direction of him. You didn’t see them talk but you could tell he didn’t like being around Sova anyways. And when he’s drunk, he gets a bit violent and destructive. Not the bad kind. He just becomes painfully unaware of how strong he is and just breaks things. During Phoenix’s birthday, they dared him to dance on top of the tables, and he broke them in half.

The tables were made from metal.

“I don’t think that’ll be any of your business.” He reaches for the bottle again, and you switch it between your hands, holding it out of his reach. “It is my business. Sage took extra effort to get this whole party perfect and I’m not gonna let you ruin it with your drunken antics,” you lied, trying to seem uncaring. He furrows his brows at you, his blood simmering under his skin. Ruin it? He would never. He didn’t even think of doing that at all. Not even slightly.

“Oh, sorry if my presence disturbs the party. Wouldn’t want your archer boyfriend to get upset right?” He taunts, trying to confirm what Sova told him before. Her heart is set on no one else but you.

You sigh and shake your head. “He’s not my boyfriend.” You say in defeat. He’s still hung up about it. Rephrase: he’s still hung up about nothing. Sova wasn’t anything to you other than a friend and a teammate. Why couldn’t he see that?

Yoru tries another time to grab the bottle from you and succeeds, your low mood affecting your reflexes. He pops the bottle open and drinks from the spout, not bothering to put it on the glass anymore. “Oh yeah, he’s a brother to you. Although brothers don’t usually confess their love to their sisters, but whatever floats your boat Y/N,” he glares after drinking, his voice full of spite that you almost shudder.

You stood in place, shocked. He knows? How? Did Sova tell him? But you agreed to keep it a secret. Your blood runs cold even with the alcohol in your veins. Yoru knows that he was right to be suspicious. And now he thinks you’ve cheated on him. “I-I…” You start, but he intrudes.

“Strange family dynamic but I’m not judging,” he laughs at his own joke, pushing your arm gently to get you out of your trance. “You lied to me Y/N. You lied to me about him, got me worried sick about you, and you tried to gaslight me into thinking I was wrong,” he smiles an empty smile at you, tossing the whiskey glass over the bar. You don’t hear it shatter, getting caught by the fine sand.

“Why did you have to lie to me?” He asks, shaking his head in disbelief. You clench your fists, looking down guiltily. You thought you could have gotten away with it. But in reality you knew he was bound to find out eventually. You just didn’t think it would be so soon.

“I-I’m so sorry Ryo… I-I thought it would be best you didn’t know! I know you would be mad at me for not seeing it, and angry at Sasha a-and confront him about it,” you start, tears forming and flowing down your cheeks and nose. He tilts his head to the side, listening intently. “I was told that if a fight broke out, one of you w-would be fired from the protocol, a-and I didn’t want to lose you…” You grab your own arm and squeeze, trying to get yourself together.

“Y-you were right, a-and I was wrong and naïve and stupid a-and I broke your trust… I shouldn’t have lied but I was scared what you’d do if you knew you were right about him… I was scared that you’d hate me for being so naïve and not listening to you…” I hate myself for not listening to you, you thought but didn’t say anything of the sort. You didn’t want to turn this into something about you. You hurt Yoru and tried to make it seem like he was the bad guy in all of this, just so you could play peacekeeper.

With that, you were already crying as you stood, and you muffled yourself with your hands. He stood there watching you, wanting to hug you, hold you in his arms, but he couldn’t just do that. You needed to learn your lesson. Seeing you crying was the last thing he wanted tonight.

“Puta no!” You both hear Neon yelp, but it was too late. You didn’t see what happened but somehow Neon short circuited the lights, causing all the lightbulbs to pop above you, surrounding you all in total darkness.

“Merde, has anyone seen my glasses?”

“Everyone, stay calm, the generators will open in any moment.”

“Ow! That was my foot Gekko!”

“I—I’m all the way here! That wasn’t me!”

“Can’t you go up in flames or something Phoenix? We need light!”

“With all the flammables lying around? Do you want to get toast?”

You uncover your face and you couldn’t see anything. You could only hear the sounds of the ocean waves and the ruckus going on in the crowd. You then hear a sigh before you’re dragged by the wrist by someone, Yoru you’re guessing. You stumble after him as he walked quickly, opening a door and ushering you inside. He closes it and you hear a clicking sound.

“They won’t hear us talk here.” He says. You reach out your arms and hit his chest mistakenly. You step back and step on a few things, making sounds. “Will you stop that? They’re going to think there’s someone out there that isn’t us,” he scolds, and you make an angry face at him, or wherever your face was directed to. “I can’t see you!” You complain, reaching for him again until he reaches for your hand and puts it on his cheek. Your heart skips a beat, and you blush. He couldn’t see that though.

“There. Is that better?” He asks, his voice more quiet than usual. You nod, but then remember he can’t see you too. “Y-yeah. Sorry if my hands a-are wet.” You wipe your other hand on your sundress frantically, and he grabs hold of that too and places it on his shoulder. He then grabs your waist, pulling you closer. You start to feel him move side to side, and a picture formed in your head.

You were dancing in the dark.

“I get up in the evening, and I ain’t got nothing to say~” You sang quietly, and he laughs a bit. “I go home in the morning, I go to bed feeling the same way~” You continue, humming.

“I ain’t nothing but tired. Man I’m just tired and bored with myself,” he sings along after a while, and you pull him closer. “Hey there baby, I could use just a little help.”

Can’t start a fire, can’t start a fire without a spark.

This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark.

“I was dying to dance with you all night,” you admit, whispering it in his ear. He nods, breathing against your neck. “Me too.” He replies quietly. “I missed you so much. So much. I’m so sorry for lying, I’m so sorry for being so naïve and not listening to you. I’m so sorry,” you cry, and he holds you closer, letting you sob on his shoulder.

He was still mad, but hearing how sad and lonely you sound, he knew this was hard on you as it was for him. Miscommunication was a bitch, and you both became a victim to it. Ironic since you had excellent communication systems.

“I understand why you lied to some degree. And you were right, I would’ve murdered him in his sleep. But you know I could’ve gotten away with it,” he chides, and you step on his foot. He feigns hurt but keeps dancing. “You tried to protect me and had the protocol’s best interest in mind. Can’t fault you on that too much. But it still pisses me off that lied. You shouldn’t feel the need to lie to me.

“But that was my fault. You were scared of how I’d act. And yeah, I know I can get carried away most of the time. Just a few minutes ago, I almost broke Sova’s nose,” he chuckles at the thought but continues. “Point is, we both made mistakes.” He finishes with a sigh.

“Please take me back,” you ask, and as soon as you did, the power went on. You adjusted your view, and saw that Yoru was also a bit teary eyed. You smile tenderly and hold his face with your palm, caressing it. “Please take me back. I love you and only you,” you begged. He stops moving both of you and leans into your touch, thinking. He hasn’t seen you this close in a while, and from the bags under your eyes, he could tell how unwell you’ve been without him.

“Promise me you won’t lie to me anymore. Promise me you’ll tell me anything that bothers you, even if you won’t like my initial reaction. And I promise to listen to you more, and to never doubt you again,” he asks, leaning his head on to your hands, melting him like putty. You nod, your smile quivering as you cry. “I promise. I promise,” you were able to blurt out, pouncing on him and hugging him tightly. You both dance again as you hum the lyrics to your favorite song.

They say you gotta stay hungry, hey baby, I’m just about starving tonight

I’m dying for some action, I’m sick of sitting round here tryna write this book

I need a love reaction~

“C’mon now, baby give me just one look,” he pulls away, giving you a smile before he kisses you longingly as you dance the night away. He missed you more than you know. And he was glad that he was your last dance tonight. He wanted to dance with you so bad.

You can't start a fire, sitting 'round crying over a broken heart

This gun's for hire, even if we're just dancing in the dark

You can't start a fire, worrying about your little world falling apart

This gun's for hire

Even if we're just dancing in the dark.

(Tagging: @sv03, thanks for waiting!)

#valorant sova #sova x reader #valorant sova x reader #valorant imagines #valorant #valorant headcanons #valorant sova imagines #valorant sova oneshot #valorant oneshots #valorant oneshot #sova #fanfiction #valorant fanfiction #valorant yoru #yoru x reader #valorant yoru x reader #valorant yoru oneshot #yoru

50 notes · View notes

lingerasthesmokeoncedid · 4 months

Text

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.

#bruce wayne x oc #battinson imagine #battinson x oc #battinson/reader #bruce wayne/reader

18 notes · View notes

griffin-girl-r · 7 months

Text

Fight for their lives (Part 2) (Alternative ending 1)

Created: 06.06.2023

Finished: 14.06.2023

Edited: 25.09.2023

Age: 18

Word count: 6,011

Warnings: Child loss

Request: Yes (Tumblr user)

Pairing: BlackHill

Part 1 , Part 2 (AE 2)

—

The first to open her eyes was Maria, who, blinded by the bright light of the afternoon sun, tightly shut them closed once again as she took a moment to adjust her sight.

Turning her head to her right, the first thing she noticed was the fierce long red hair of her wife, who was still unconscious, spread on the white pillow, making her smile at Natasha's stunning beauty.

But the smile quickly turned into a frown when she noticed how her wife's entire body was covered in wounds and how the cast on her leg slightly poked out from under the white blanket Natasha was covered with.

Looking down, Maria also noticed the cast on her hand and she could only imagine that she looked fairly similar to Natasha.

Natasha.

Her sweet wife that almost died because the people they called their friends were willing to let her die inside rather than going in to save her.

"Natasha..." Maria chocked out, her voice only above a whisper

"Hey... You're okay." A deep voice reassured Maria "She's okay."

Maria looked in the direction from where the voice came and found Bruce there with a smile on his face.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted Bruce that Maria started to show signs of waking up and he rushed towards their room as fast as he could.

"Tasha..." Maria lightly coughed

"She's going to be fine. Don't worry." Bruce started doing a quick check-up on the brunette "She's about to wake up any moment just as you did."

"What happened?" Maria asked in her groggy state

"You got into an explosion on your way out." Bruce explained "Lucky, you both just got away with a few broken bones, nothing major."

"For how long was I out?" Maria looked around the room trying to find anything that could indicate to her what hour it is

"For about 3 days and a half." The doctor said

"Oh my God..." Maria gasped quietly "Y/N! Where is she, Bruce? Where is my daughter?"

"She... Umm..." Bruce had no idea how he was supposed to break this news to Maria "She's..."

"Maria..." Natasha groaned, scrunching her face in pain

"Tasha!" Maria quietly shouted panicked "Tasha, baby, are you okay?"

"Mia?" Natasha questioned confused with her eyes still closed

"I'm here, babe!" Maria reassured "I'm right here! Can you open your eyes for me, beautiful? Please..."

As told, Natasha slowly opened her eyes, taking in the brightness of the daylight, and turned her head to her left where she found Maria's worried gaze fixed on her.

"My leg..." Natasha cried in pain

"Can you give her something for the pain?" Maria pleaded, looking at Bruce "Please."

"But of course." Bruce nodded, walking over to Natasha's bed "I'm going to give you something for your arm as well."

"Arm?" Natasha mumbled confused, her eyes going wide when she noticed the cast Maria had on her arm "Mia! Sweetheart, are you okay?"

"I'm okay, baby. Don't worry." Maria smiled reassuringly "I'm okay, you're okay, we're both okay. Just calm down."

"Why are we here?" Natasha looked in between Maria and Bruce

"There has been a little incident that happened during the mission." Bruce spoke "Remember? The poisonous gas and then, after Maria pulled you out of there, you both have been caught up in an explosion. The team dug you out. You had your leg out of place. I fixed it, don't worry. Maria has her arm broken and both have a few broken ribs but, again, it's nothing major that can't be healed. You just need time to recover."

Natasha nodded "Where's Y/N? I want to see her."

Natasha asked the question that Bruce dreaded to answer because he didn't know how to answer it.

He can't keep avoiding telling your mothers the truth about you.

"She's just sleeping." Bruce lied to the worried mothers "You have scared the poor kid so much."

"We're sorry." Natasha sighed looking at Maria with tearful eyes

"Don't worry, you two." Bruce smiled sadly "I know for a fact that she isn't mad at you."

"I can't wait to see her." Maria smiled "I miss her."

"We both miss her." Natasha added

"Well, how about you both take a nap, recover your strengths a little, and after you wake up again you can see her? How does that sound?" Bruce proposed

"We can do that." Maria agreed

"But, Mia..." Natasha wanted to protest but was quickly stopped by Maria

"We need to let her rest, Nat." Maria tried to reason "She must be so tired after everything we made her go through in the past few days."

"Yeah..." Natasha sighed sadly "You're right."

"Great." Bruce clapped his hands "It's settled then, ladies. You both take a nap and while you sleep I'll take care of everything else."

Maria extended her hand and waited for Natasha to do the same.

The redheaded spy wasted no second in grabbing her wife's hand and giving it a light squeeze.

"Sweet dreams, beautiful." Maria quietly said, giving her a soft smile

"Sweet dreams, gorgeous." Natasha reciprocated the smile

Maria waited for Natasha to close her eyes before following her wife's cue and fell asleep in a few seconds.

—

"How are they feeling?" Clint eagerly asked Bruce once he walked into the living room where the entire team was gathered

"They are okay. I'm confident that in a few days, I'll be able to allow them to go back to their room." Bruce sighed deeply "But they asked about Y/N."

"And?" Steve raised his eyebrow "What have you told them?"

"That she's sleeping in her room." Bruce looked at the floor "I couldn't bring myself to tell them the truth just yet."

"I think that's better." Steve nodded "We should all be there when we tell them what is actually going on."

"We should be there for them." Wanda sniffed before bursting into tears again "Oh, Y/N..." She cried

Steve rubbed Wanda's back gently, quietly trying to comfort his teammate.

"I told them to take a nap and they agreed." Bruce said "We will talk with them after they wake up."

"The question is, how will we break the news on them?" Clint asked tearfully

"We'll think about a way to tell them, without giving them an instant shock." Steve sighed sadly "Although there's no easy way of telling them."

"We just hope they won't react too badly." Bruce nodded, quietly agreeing with Steve

—

A few hours later, the couple was wide awake and lovingly staring into each other's eyes.

"I love you so much." Maria whispered to Natasha, bringing the redheaded woman's hand up to her lips and gently kissing it, because yes, Natasha's bed was that close to Maria's

"Thank you so much for saving my life." Natasha smiled, squeezing Maria's hand "Mia, it was so crazy of you to run inside the building for me without thinking twice."

Maria shook her head "I'll do it all again without hesitation. Don't ever dare to say something like this again. My life without you means nothing."

"But you would still have Y/N." Natasha pointed out "Even if I wouldn't be here anymore, I would keep living through her."

"But still..." Maria sighed, looking into Natasha's green eyes "You're my wife, my soulmate. We're bonded forever. In life and death. That's what we swore when we united our destinies forever. To stand by each other's side through everything. Good or bad."

"I love you, Maria Hill." Natasha smiled

"I love you too, Natasha Romanoff-Hill." Maria smiled back

Just then, the sweet moment between the couple was interrupted by the sound created by the door of the room that swung open, revealing Bruce followed by the rest of the team.

"Hey, guys." Maria smiled excited "It's so good to see you."

"We were wondering what took you guys so long to come and check on us." Natasha added

"Yep. We were." Maria nodded but then her smile slightly turned into a serious frown "Except you, Rogers, because you were trying to keep me away from my wife."

"But I did move out of your way." Steve pointed out "I was just trying to save everyone's lives."

"I guess that's fair." Maria shrugged "We're good."

"Thank you." Steve slightly smiled

"Where's Y/N?" Natasha asked concerned as she scanned the crowd with her eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of her little girl

"Right..." Maria dragged out, looking at Bruce "You promised us she'll come to see us when we wake up."

"Tasha... Maria..." Clint stepped forward but it was clear he tried his best to avoid the mothers' gaze "There's something we need to tell you. There is something you have to know."

Natasha turned her head toward Maria and worriedly looked at her wife.

Natasha gave Maria that look that screamed 'What is going on?'.

Maria just shook her head to show Natasha that she was equally just as confused as her wife was.

"Clint, be a man." Maria quickly turned her head around toward their friend "Just tell us what is wrong with our daughter. Where is she?"

"Y/N..." Clint took a deep breath but couldn't bring himself to continue the sentence

"I'll take it from here, Clint." Steve patted Clint's shoulder as he stepped forward

"Steve? What is going on?" Natasha's voice was filled with a mix of utter confusion and motherly concern "What are you hiding from us?"

"There aren't many ways to explain this so I'll just go straight to the point." Steve rubbed his forehead, trying to put this into words as best as he could "So you both have inhaled the gas that was released into the air inside that room, and maybe Bruce has already told you, and you know, that the gas was highly poisonous. The injuries caused by the explosion were nothing compared to the internal damage created by that poison."

"So you want to say that..." Maria started

"Yes." Steve interrupted the commander "The poison had managed to quickly spread throughout your entire bodies and you both started showing signs that your body was starting to fail down. Bruce didn't have the antidote for whatever that gas was. The only thing he did was to slow down the process but it was only a matter of time till the inevitable happened. You were both almost dead."

"And how did you manage to save us then?" Maria asked again, as Natasha was too shocked to speak

"We didn't." Steve admitted "Y/N did."

"Y/N did what?" Natasha finally spoke at the mention of her daughter "She's only a kid. How could she save us when you all couldn't?"

"We aren't sure what she did exactly." Steve explained calmly "We just know that after she spent a few minutes alone here with you guys, she ran out, her mind made up on the fact that she would save her mothers. Not one word was said about her plan. She returned a day later with the antidote in her hand being seriously injured and refused to accept any help before you both received the cure that saved your lives."

"How bad is it?" Maria tensed her shoulders and her jaw became even sharper than it already was, if that was possible "What are her injuries?"

In Natasha's eyes, on the other hand, tears welled up and she suddenly forgot how to talk.

"Just calm down a little." Steve signaled with his hands for them to breathe "Y/N..."

The expectation was heavily hanging in the air and the parents felt like going crazy from worry.

Their baby girl has been hurt just because she put her life in danger to save theirs.

"God damn it, Steven!" Natasha suddenly shouted, taking everyone by surprise "Just tell us what is the state of our daughter! You're killing us with this waiting! We're about to go crazy from worry!"

"Y/N..." Steve took a deep breath in, attempting to gather enough courage to continue "She is... Dead. I'm so sorry..."

Time froze still in those moments as Natasha's and Maria's worlds came crashing down on them.

Steve must be lying because such an unfathomable scenario could never happen.

And yet, Steve never lied.

They knew.

But still...

"I want to see her." Maria coldly demanded, throwing her blanket off of her, as she sat up

"Maria, no." Steve rushed forward to push Maria back down on the bed

"Hell yes." Shouted Maria who was trying to fight Steve to let her go

"I'll go to her." Natasha also threw her blanket off of her but, unlike Maria, her leg wasn't making it too easy for her to move around

"Nat, no." Clint was quick in making his way over to his best friend's bed and keeping her in place "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Get off of me, Clint!" Natasha shouted "I need to see my baby. Steve is lying. She's actually in her room. Bruce told us. She's sleeping."

"Natasha, just calm down, please." Clint begged "Listen to us."

"No!" Natasha screamed "I want to see Y/N."

"Rogers, I swear to God." Maria threatened while Natasha kept screaming "I'm going to kill you."

"Hill we aren't playing around here." Steve tried to dodge the slaps from Maria "Stand down."

"Take me to my daughter." Maria shouted "That's a direct order. I want to see her with my own eyes."

Both Steve and Clint tried to hold the mothers back without much success.

Those two women were putting up a hell of a fight.

"Let them go." Bruce shouted at Clint and Steve "I'm tired of this. Let them see her."

"But, Bruce..." Wanda sniffed

"Doctor Banner, that's a really bad idea." Steve interrupted Wanda

"We must let them have some kind of closure with their daughter." Bruce explained, his voice firm, but his eyes full of unshed tears "Wanda?" He looked toward the girl "Can you use your powers to stop them from feeling the physical pain from their injuries?"

Wanda nodded and with a move of her hand, a red smoke started glowing from her fingers, quickly engulfing Maria and Natasha.

"Steve, pick Natasha up." Bruce instructed "Clint, help Maria sit up and walk."

The men rushed to do as they'd been told and took the women to the room where they would be facing their worst nightmare.

—

The door swung open and some light entered the dark room through the crack of it.

A shiver ran down everyone's spines as the, not only dark atmosphere, but also the cold temperature of the room greeted them alongside silence.

Maria's and Natasha's eyes were scanning the dark room around, waiting for you to pop out from the shadows and scare them, since they knew how much you loved to prank them.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, they slightly jumped scared when someone flicked the lights on and artificial light filled the room.

The air around was hanging heavy with sorrow, almost becoming unbreathable.

When they spotted it the mothers had two, very different, reactions.

Natasha, who was still carried by Steve, froze.

She was unable to move one muscle of her body, not one finger at least.

She was staring wide-eyed at the blanket that was clearly covering someone's body on the lone table placed in the middle of the room.

It's not every day that the table is put to use.

And in these circumstances, the Avengers wished they never had to use it.

Not for this.

Maria, on the other hand, took off sprinting in the table's direction, and without the slightest moment of hesitation, she pulled the blanket down.

The commander couldn't contain her gasp when, right there on that damned table, she saw her precious daughter, laying motionless, her beautiful pale skin paler than ever.

No trace of blood on you since Bruce made sure that Wanda changed your clothes into a pair of grey joggers and an immaculate white t-shirt, both picked from your wardrobe, after he stitched the wounds up and cleaned you.

If they didn't know better, the team, which over time has turned into a big family, could swear that you were just sleeping.

Laying like that, in those clothes, with your wavy hair untied and sprawled out on the unforgivingly cold table.

"Y/N." Maria shook you after her momentarily shock passed "Y/N!"

Natasha was still as zoned out, her eyes glued on your peaceful face, as the first time she entered the door.

The redhead wasn't even noticing Maria struggling to shake your body with the hand that wasn't in a cast.

But the shaking wasn't giving any results.

Maria had to act fast and she knew what she had to do in situations like these.

She vividly remembers this being one of her first military classes while being a new recruit.

So she started doing CPR, pushing air out of her lungs into yours once in a while, hoping that the mouth-to-mouth would make her attempt even more successful.

She wasn't caring about her broken arm.

She could only concentrate on the fact that she needed to revive you, although she could feel on your skin how ice-cold your body was.

“Breathe, Y/N!" Maria commanded you in the harsh tone that she only had reserved for her agents "Come on! Wake up!" She kept shouting "Come on! That’s an order, agent!”

"Maria..." Someone softly called her but she ignored the voice

"Wake up, kid!" She shouted once again as she continued performing CPR "You know I don't like people disobeying my orders! Wake up! I gave you an order!"

Maria kept shouting commands at your lifeless body for a few more minutes.

She wasn't going to give up on you.

Not yet.

But she slowly started to realize on her own that it was useless. All her attempts were in vain.

She wasn't going to receive an answer from you, no matter how hard she tried.

“Please, baby...” Maria's voice cracked at the end as her hands stopped moving and she slammed her head on your chest "Please..."

Loud sobs started coming out of Maria's mouth as she felt like the most useless and worst mother in this, or any, world for not being able to protect you enough.

You were dead because of her.

Because she wasn't strong enough.

"I'm so sorry, honey." Maria sobbed on your chest "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I'm sorry."

Everyone gathered around the room wanted to step in and try to comfort Maria but they knew that she needed to let it all out first, they couldn't dare interrupt the moment of two mothers grieving for their daughter. It would be a sin to do so.

No words in the world could ease the pain inside their hearts.

The only thing that could, isn't alive anymore.

The sun wasn't going to rise and shine in the morning for the Romanoff-Hill family again.

They were cursed to live in the dark for the rest of their lives.

"My kid!" Maria shouted painfully, punching your chest with her fist "My child!"

Maria's acceptance of the situation seemed to finally snap something inside Natasha as she silently shuffled down from Steve's arms and sat down on the edge of the table where her only baby was lying dead.

Although her entire life, her heart, her soul, her joy, was lifelessly lying there, Natasha's face was devoid of all emotions.

Not one tear was present in her eyes.

She couldn't feel anything on the inside anymore.

Damned be the moment her daughter's life was taken.

That is her only baby girl, the one she has wanted her entire life, the only one she ever had, the only one she'll ever be able to have.

Why would anyone dare to hurt her beloved little baby in such a way?

"Maria?" Natasha asked confused, her voice worryingly too calm, as she pushed her wife's head away from your chest "Why did you stop? Keep going!" She screamed "Damn it! Don't stop!"

"Tasha..." Maria sniffed, looking up at her wife with eyes filled with pain "Babe..."

"Don't 'babe' me!" Natasha kept screaming "I told you to keep going! You can't stop! You're not allowed to stop until my baby wakes up!"

Maria shook her head at Natasha before looking down and quietly starting to cry again.

"No..." Your Mama mumbled as she took you into her arms and cradled your head close to her chest "No, baby, no..."

That was the moment the scary Russian assassin really realized that no one, not even her wife, could bring her daughter back and she allowed herself to break down.

Loud wails escaped her mouth as tears ran down her cheeks, falling into your hairline, socking it wet.

"My baby!" Natasha screamed, starting to rock your body and herself back and forth "My baby! Y/N! Why? Why, baby, why? Just why? Haven't I lost enough already?! Haven't I suffered for my sins enough?! I never wanted this life! I was forced into it just to have the things I love most taken away from me!"

Maria fell to her knees beside the table as she rested her forehead on it, not being able to bring herself to look at her wife anymore.

Various people turned their heads away from the heart-wrenching sight and Wanda even covered her ears while tightly shutting her eyes closed.

"First my biological mother, then Yelena, my childhood, my choices, my adoptive family, my freedom!" Natasha screamed at no one in particular "And now my daughter! Why her? She's innocent! She didn't have to pay for my mistakes! If you really want a life, take mine! Just make my baby wake up!" Her sobs slowly started to subside "Just take mine. Please..."

Natasha numbly looked down at her daughter's head that the mother had safely tucked in her chest, trying to find comfort in that feeling as she kept rocking her child.

Humming filled the room all of a sudden as Natasha started humming the very same song that used to calm her daughter when she was a baby, silent tears still rolling down her cheeks.

She clung to your body as if her life depended on it, and refused to let go.

"Nat, I think it's time to go." Steve whispered after a few minutes, holding Natasha back by her shoulders gently "We need to get her ready for the funeral."

“No..." Natasha's voice broke "You can’t take her! Please don’t take her." She sniffed "Please, not yet. It's not her time. She's still just a baby. She needs her mama with her.”

"But we have to let her sleep, Nat." Clint started playing Natasha's game "We don't want to wake her up. You know how grumpy she is when she's woken up from her nap."

"Yeah..." Natasha nodded, lured by Clint's words "Yeah, you're right. My Y/N doesn't like to be woken up too harshly."

"See?" Clint managed to pull Natasha away from your body slightly, but his best friend still refused to fully let go of her dead child "You know I'm right. Let's go outside while she naps."

"Do you have a pillow?" Natasha stroked the back of your head "Whoever put her down for her nap didn't put a pillow under her head. I think it was Maria." She added "She usually does that because she thinks that putting her head on a pillow will hurt her neck."

"But of course that I do." Clint tried to seem enthusiastic "Just let me bring it to you."

Clint desperately looked up toward Bruce and the doctor pointed with his head towards a cabinet on the other side of the room.

Clint ran over and quickly pulled out a pillow from inside the cabinet, running just as fast with it back to Natasha.

"Thank you." Natasha took the pillow from her friend's hand and placed it down on the table "There you go, baby." She smiled, carefully lowering your head down on the pillow and moving your hair away from your eyes "That's better."

The spy pulled the blanket that was still covering your legs halfway up, tucking you in just like she used to do when you were a child.

"Sweet dreams, kitten." Natasha whispered after she kissed your forehead

"Let's go, Tasha." Clint urged when he saw that Natasha was lost in lovingly looking at your sleeping face "Let's go have a cup of coffee while she sleeps."

Natasha hesitantly nodded and Clint quickly, but carefully, scooped her up and carried her out of the room.

"What happened to her?" Maria's voice was heard again

"Eight bullet wounds all over her body." Bruce told her "One of them was fired so close to her heart that it actually managed to scrap it. Adrenaline kept her going until she arrived back here. She died of a heart arrest and excessive bleeding alongside internal bleeding that was the one to cause the heart arrest in the first place."

"Who did this to her?" Maria's heart was filled with a sudden urge for revenge

"We don't know yet." Steve answered "But we will find out. I promise."

Maria nodded before looking back at your face and tearing up.

"I hope that one day you can forgive me." Maria whispered, kissing your hand

Your Mom stood up and, with one last kiss to your forehead, she pulled the blanket all the way over your head, closing her eyes after she did to recollect herself for a second.

"I love you so much, kid." Maria said

And with that, she stormed out of the room without another word.

—

The true challenge came the next day because it was the day, two mothers were supposed to be burying their beloved baby six feet under in the cold and dirty ground.

Throughout the entire ceremony, Natasha was surprisingly calm and collected while Maria was putting her usual strong facade on even though everyone who looked at her could see the pain and fight in Maria's eyes.

Natasha was surprisingly calm and collected until the moment to lower the casket, with her baby inside of it, into the ground, came.

To each corner of the casket, a man was standing there.

The four men who were chosen to be the ones to lower the coffin were the very same men you used to call your favorite uncles.

At the front left of it was standing Tony.

You loved Tony because he always, without fail, gave you money and allowed you to assist him in the lab. You loved his sarcastic side and humor. And he always made sure to remind you how sorry he was for that incident when you were 6, although you told him he didn't have to worry about it anymore.

At the front right of it was standing Steve.

You loved Steve so much because he used to bake cookies for you, read you your favorite books, or teach you old songs from the time when he used to be your age and before the war started.

At the back left of it was standing Clint.

You loved Clint because he was unable to say 'no' to you. He was your mama's best friend and has been a father figure for you from the moment you were born. You loved his family. His kids were your cousins that now won't have you around them anymore to play with you and his wife, Auntie Laura as you called her, always saw you as her own child. Your sudden death left them completely devastated.

At the back right of it was standing Bucky.

You loved Bucky because you were the only person he gave his permission to stick fridge magnets on his arm. Many people requested that but only you were allowed. He always allowed you to play with Alpine, his cat, and he helped you, alongside your mothers, learn how to ride a motorcycle while also telling you stories about your Mama when she was nothing more than a teenager that he took under his wing while training her.

When the men bent down to pick the casket up, they were unexpectedly stopped by Maria.

"Wait!" She shouted, walking over "Just wait."

They thought that she wasn't ready to let go of you but instead, she silently pushed Clint aside with one pleading look and took his place.

Maria has left everyone speechless with her gesture that indicated acceptance of the fact that you were actually gone and never coming back again.

She was ready to let go of your body.

To allow you to finally rest.

"Don't you dare!" Natasha shouted at her wife when she saw Maria bending down

"I have to." Maria whispered and Natasha lost it

"I said don't!" Natasha screamed "Listen here, Hill. If you dare be the one to lower our baby into that grave I'm going to kill you. She isn't going anywhere! You're her Mom. How can you do something like this to her?"

"I'm so sorry, Tasha." Maria sniffed, guilt written on her face

"It's only your fault!" Natasha cried "Yours! I am never going to forgive you, Maria Hill! I hope you rot in hell for what you did to my baby! I hate you!"

"I just wanted to save you!" Maria tearfully shouted back "You! My wife! How was I supposed to know this was going to happen?"

"I told you!" Natasha screamed "I told you to protect her! I used my last strengths to tell you to take care of her! To go home back to her! If you had listened to me she would be alive right now! She would be safe. You would have been there for her, to help her grieve my death. She would still be alive and I would've been the one lowered in that grave today instead of my child!"

Natasha wanted to throw herself at Maria and push her away from that casket but she was held back by an invisible force who was restricting her moves.

"Wanda! Let go of me!" The spy shouted, recognizing whose magic was holding her back

"I'm sorry, Nat." Wanda tried her hardest not to burst into tears "It's for your own good."

"No!" Natasha screamed, trying to fight her unseen restraints

"Now!" Wanda shouted at the men and Maria

The next few seconds were a blur for Natasha just as they were for Maria.

One mother had to watch her baby being lowered into the grave.

The other mother had to lower her baby into the grave.

Nothing was more painful in this world than the pain caused by the loss of your child.

They know now.

Natasha and Maria know.

"Don't!" Natasha screamed as tears cascaded down her cheeks "Not her! Not my baby, my girl, my little kitten, my sweet angel! Anyone, but not her!"

And that's how a beautifully written story had a tragic ending.

—

For the next few days, Natasha and Maria avoided each other as much as they avoided passing by your room's door and knowing that you were not inside.

They were aware of the fact that this was a moment when they needed each other's comfort but both women were too stubborn to admit it.

Maria drowned herself in work, trying to distract herself from her feelings.

Natasha was just lying around in her bed, hugging a picture of her sweet baby girl tightly to her chest. She tried to find comfort in hugging the comforter and pretending that she was actually hugging you but her heart was telling her the painful truth that the comforter wasn't her child.

It wasn't until one week later that Natasha decided to open the door of your room and have a look inside.

It was as if her heart started bleeding.

Everything inside that room was a painful reminder of the fact that you are gone from this world.

Your Mama stepped inside shily and couldn't contain her tears as her eyes scanned every part of that room.

The room was untouched. Exactly how you left it almost two weeks ago and never returned to it.

It was as if the room was waiting for your return, frozen in time.

Your headphones and your phone were thrown on the bed, as the sheets were pulled back and the pillows messed around with.

One door of your closet was slightly open and your favorite childhood teddy bear was lonely lying in the middle of the bed.

On your desk was a project that Natasha knew you had started working on the night before they had to leave for that cursed mission that broke your family apart.

A project that will never be finished.

She carefully sat down on the edge of your bed and dared to pick up your phone.

Much to her surprise, the phone still had some battery left after so many days and Natasha rushed to get the charger and fully charge it.

She opened it and looked through all the silly pictures, funny videos, and songs you had on your phone.

"Oh, baby..." Natasha sighed deeply "I miss you so much! I miss you more than anything. I want to be with you wherever you are."

"If you go to her then her sacrifice was in vain." Maria leaned in the door frame and looked at her wife "She died to save us. She gave her life for ours. If we take our lives then her death was for nothing. Believe me. I thought about this option. We must keep living for her."

"It hurts so bad." Natasha quietly cried, forgetting about any resentment she had for Maria at that moment "Every part of my body hurts me. Everything remainds me about her absence. I don't know if I can keep living like this, Maria."

"We have to." Maria walked over to Natasha and kneeled in front of her "This isn't any easier for me as well. I was her mom too. She was my baby just as much as she was yours. She was ours."

"She's our perfect baby girl." Natasha sniffed, unable to talk about you in the past "We weren't good people but she somehow managed to take that small part of goodness we had in us and turn herself into the sweetest girl this world has ever known."

"You're right." Maria smiled sadly "That's why we need to live. To remember her and to take her legacy forward."

"She didn't even get to know that mission was supposed to be our last." Natasha whimpered "We were going to retire for her. Just like she asked us so many times."

"I know..." Maria whispered

The couple looked into each other's eyes and only saw pain inside there.

Maria pulled Natasha into a hug and they both melted into that embrace.

That's what they have left.

Their love and support.

"I love her so much!" Natasha cried on Maria's shoulder

"I love her too." Maria cried as well "She's going to be with us forever in our hearts. I know she will be."

"We'll see you again, baby." Natasha whispered, secretly hoping that her daughter, from wherever she was right now, could hear her "If not in this life then in the afterlife or another lifetime. But we will meet again. I promise, sweetheart."

One thing is for sure.

You saved your mothers.

They’re alive.

But they wish they were dead.

They are alive only on the outside without you, but dead on the inside as a part of them died with you.

Life is unfair.

It gives you one thing only to brutally rip another one away from you.

And yet the question remains.

You call a child without parents an orphan, but what do you call a parent without their child?

Nothing.

Because there's no existing word in any language to be able to describe such pain.

#mama nat #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #natasha x daughter!reader #natasha's child #natasha's kid #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #natasha x teen reader #natasha x baby!reader

22 notes · View notes

scorchedhearth · 2 years

Note

If you could fukky control and write about Jason as character what would you do?

oh thank you for indulging me :] i suffer from cant shut up disease so i had to put a cut there

ok so, first of all, i don't really follow what he's up to nowadays, i've read a couple of issues here and there but mostly it bores me so i dont have the fine details of continuity, no idea how to tie my hypothetical changes with what's currently going on

what i'd want to do is give him back the crime boss persona. not like he was in utrh, not entirely, but give him an attitude, set of values and principles that isn't the regular approach vigilantes have of investigating crimes and acting as aftermath. that's what's most interesting to me about red hood, that he takes proactive actions and has this 'control to prevent' attitude, there's a lot to be done with a 'good' guy doing something pretty much all of the heroes look down upon, things to explore and question and measure, and im not just talking about the 'to kill or not to kill' problem, but also 'is it ok to break in and beat people as a vigilante? where do you draw the line of what's admitted or not for a vigilante to do just because they've got good intentions even if legally it is a crime? you can leak drug deals information to the police but cannot do them yourself to manipulate the results as you want? what's moral, what's accepted as good and bad actions?' and all that jazz

first and foremost in the plot of this hypothetical run i'd be given, i'd have him give up the crowbars (fucking stupid choice imo), pick up guns again and stop running around doing patrol like every single other gotham vigilante do, there's spoiler to keep an eye on the narrow if he's worried about his home neighborhood. what i want for him is to do a lot of investigation and research and planning like he does pre-utrh, spending time making up complicated plans and then striking and unfolding it piece by piece with extreme meticulousness, showcasing his many skills (yes, fighting skills but also people skills like manipulation or reading people, making bombs, traps, poisons, using politics and all those things he learned)

i'd have him turn away from the batfam, at this point they've reached a status quo of as good relations as they'll get, by now jason has run dry his fantasy of good family attitudes and settled for what he'll get, stop trying to reach for their attention (admitting he's no longer 19 but in his 20s now). but, and that could be the new conflict, this new indifference could be a point of contention for bruce, who cannot use his desire for recognition as a way to weigh in jason's decisions. basically, emancipation from the daddy issues for my boy <3

for the story itself, im half temped to put black mask against, first because their interactions were amazing in utrh, and second because i think black mask having red hood sicced on himself twice is hilarious, man getting his office blown up by the same rogue vigilante twice, more news at 8. i would want something a lot more grounded, not magic or science fiction, just jason going up against gotham's mafia and slowly mowing them all down, getting his fingers into all the corrupted pies of gotham officials and pulling strings to his satisfaction. there would be lots of political plot points i think, jason growing bored of them to rely on his own methods, the slow gears of how crime actually works in real life

and! on a personal life note, have him bond with other people, not in his personal life because i still want him messed up and refusing genuine human relationships, but on a general human level. actually show why he's doing this, show the drug users getting compassion from the operation he's setting up, show him watching over the kids needing help, dismantling cover-up for abusers, etc. show that despite what he lets on, jason actually cares about other people and that's why he's doing this, to make gotham safe and protect victims and innocent people

the book ends with jason as this new gotham kingpin that even batman can't take down (and batman genuinely tries to, he just can't because jason is competent, he was trained right), thus putting a new status quo for following writers to stick to in the coming years, and maybe then we'd get stories that are deeper than just 'oh is killing good or bad? what does my dad want me to do because i don't have a personal moral anymore'

#you guys know me too well you give me the best opening to rant #asks #anon #dc #jason todd

139 notes · View notes

summercourtship · 10 months

Text

stay to burn (only to drown instead): chapter three: all that for this? [part I]

masterpost | ao3 link

jonathan crane x reader; bruce wayne x reader; edward nashton x reader | warnings: canon typical violence, sexual content | word count: 8244 words

DISCLAIMER: these chapters are not meant to be read alone. not every chapter has content for one of the three pairings listed. this is an ongoing fanfiction that I am cross-posting here on tumblr, not a series of one-shots.

chapter one

A black dress with the tag still on was draped over the back of your couch, a pair of heels thrown haphazardly on one of the cushions. You were sitting at the tiny kitchen table squeezed into your space, a desk mirror in front of you propped up with a stack of books. Your hair was, for all intents and purposes, cooperating with you tonight as you pinned and placed it exactly as the smiling woman on your phone screen was showing you- the tutorial had been labeled as easy although you were finding it anything but. Turning your head to the side, you tried to view your profile but the mirror simply wasn’t big enough. Sighing, you swiped the video off, deciding to just wing the rest of your hairstyle.

But your attention was soon drawn away from your hair to the TV you had playing in the background even though you weren’t watching it. You turned to look back at it from your chair. You had put the news on even though you wanted to cultivate better vibes for the night than the depressing 24/7 news cycle of Gotham City. Putting it on must’ve been a force of habit, you supposed.

“...new reports of the criminal dubbed the Scarecrow by the Gotham Gazette have been coming in after an alleged robbery at a pharmaceutical warehouse last night where the criminal was spotted on CCTV. He was allegedly first spotted in November, although his actions have escalated from small break-ins to terrorizing city officials…”

As you watched the news broadcast, eyes roaming over the grainy figure of the Scarecrow, something lit up in a back corner of your brain, an itch that you couldn’t locate and couldn’t scratch. But maybe you were just uncomfortable with the idea of another masked criminal running around the city. Your experience with the last one was enough to put you off of them for the rest of your life.

Breaking yourself out of the trance-like state you’d been staring at the TV with, you got up and turned it off. You didn’t need any of that tonight. You could learn all about Gotham’s newest villain tomorrow. Tonight your only job was to enjoy yourself. Maybe even have fun.

Scoffing, you plopped back onto your seat, resisting the urge to run a hand through your half-done hair. You turned back to your mirror to continue working on your appearance, opting to listen to music instead of the news. Queueing up a playlist of party jams, you skipped every song until you found one you knew, immediately bouncing your head as you began to dance along in your seat.

You decided then to make a quick promise to yourself, a mantra to get you through the night without losing your mind: this is going to be a fun night out and I will not spend any time worrying about silly little things.

When your hair is complete, you moved to pick up the dress you’d bought two days ago. It had, admittedly, cost more than you had been expecting to spend for the night but it had looked good on you and when were you going to have the opportunity to attend a gala again? You might as well go all out.

Zipping the back of the dress up, you cringed when you realized that you couldn’t get the last stretch closed, even with the awkward angle you had your arms at.

Well. You could just ask Dr. Crane to finish zipping it up for you.

You imagined the way his hands would caress your back, holding you steady as he slowly closed the dress. And then you started to imagine his hands moving the other way, unzipping and pulling the dress off of your body-

Your face burned at the thought, the skin of your back tingling in anticipation for his imagined touch. You cursed yourself for thinking about this ten minutes before he was due to arrive because of course, he’s driving you to the event.

Contorting yourself, you managed to zip the dress up. See? You don’t need to embarrass yourself. You don’t need Dr. Crane.

You were stepping into the pair of heels (that were maybe a bit too tall for you to comfortably exist in but you’d apparently been feeling yourself on that shopping trip) when a text lit up your phone.

Here.

Stomach swooping, you stood up a bit too fast causing your legs to wobble slightly on your heels (which you were now certain were definitely too tall for you). You’d given Dr. Crane your phone number a week ago, in between classes where you’d done your best to minimize the amount of contact you’d had with him as you had still been reeling from your earlier conversation in his car. You’d had a lingering bout of anxiety that had lasted the entire weekend, simmering low in your stomach and you naturally connected it to the nerves from being in the car with him.

But this was the first time he had texted you since you’d given it to him and seeing his name show up on your phone was like a straight shot of caffeine into your heart, more effective at energizing you than any early 2010’s club hit. Even if the text itself was lacking in any personality (who uses periods in a text when they aren’t pissed off? Dr. Crane, apparently) it was still an overwhelming reminder that Dr. Crane had pulled his phone out, found your name, typed out a message, and sent it.

And also that he was currently outside your building, waiting.

Checking yourself one last time in the tiny mirror, squinting to make out your form in the small glass, you nodded in affirmation that yes, you looked as good as you were going to tonight. You grabbed the tiny purse you’d bought just for this event and after making sure your keys and pepper gel were in the bag you left your apartment.

The light flickered as you briskly walked down the hallway to the stairwell, building your confidence with each step. You passed the old elevator that no one used even though it was technically in working order. But anything that dusty wasn’t being used for a reason and at least the stairs won’t break down on you.

As you opened the door to the stairs, you caught a glimpse of yourself in a stained hallway mirror. Seeing yourself outside of the tiny mirror that seemed to hone in on your biggest insecurities squashed any lingering doubts you had about your dress or your hair or your body. You looked good.

And damn it, you were determined to have fun tonight.

With renewed vigor, you hurried down the steps, purse swinging behind you as you circled around the switchbacks. Your heels clicked satisfyingly against the tile flooring, loud enough that anyone else in the stairwell must have known you were rapidly approaching.

Taking a deep breath you pushed your building's door open, stepping into the cold February night. Luckily for you, the forecast said it would be a clear night, a decidedly rare occurrence in Gotham. And sure enough, the stars were out and the moon was bright and full in the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

And there he was, waiting outside his slick black car like he said he would be, leaning against the driver’s side door. His normal clothes had been replaced by a formal three-piece suit, tailored to accentuate his frame. He’d forgone the glasses for the night, leaving no barriers for you to see how his gaze swept over your body.

“You look lovely.” Dr. Crane pushed off the car, taking a step forward to meet you.

“Thank you.” You were aware that you had, perhaps, gone a bit overboard with your appearance and you were honestly afraid that you would arrive at the gala and see knee-length skirts and khakis. But with the way Dr. Crane was looking at you right now, you decided that you couldn’t care less if people thought you were overdressed for the event.

You moved to walk over to the passenger side, wanting to get all of the awkward pleasantries out of the way as soon as possible. Maybe it would make you seem more confident to not linger too long outside his car, to get straight to the punch and take control of the night.

“Wait-” He stopped you as you turned away from him, pulling something on the back of your dress. “The tag is still on.”

“What?!” You turned your head back to look at him and sure enough, he was holding the price tag between his thumb and index finger. There goes any chance of seeming cool and confident tonight. “Oh. That’s embarrassing.”

And it was even more embarrassing when you realized that meant he saw how much you’d spent on your dress- and it wasn’t cheap. After all, all you had thought about when purchasing it was the way it had hugged your curves and hid the parts of you that you were insecure about. The price, at that moment, hadn’t mattered. But it was still frivolous and you didn’t want him thinking that you normally spent your money so recklessly.

“Don’t worry.” He put a hand on your bare shoulder, steadying you before he cleanly ripped the tag off. “It’s taken care of.”

“Thanks.” God, you were trying your best to not cringe yourself into oblivion.

Wordlessly, he moved past you to get into the car and you took another moment to follow suit.

The same style of music was playing in his car, the warmth still as inviting as before. You sighed in relief, already starting to regret not bringing a jacket with you. It was a stupid decision but you’d thought your dress looked better without it and you’d wanted Dr. Crane to see you for the first time without any barriers to your complete outfit. Certainly not a worn out rain jacket.

But still.

You could have at least bought something that matched to go on your arms because they were bare and shivering, covered in goosebumps. Who would have thought that February would be cold? Now you were starting to think that maybe your desperation for Dr. Crane to notice you in a very specific way was going to get you killed.

“You look nice tonight, too.” Your voice was quiet, like you hadn’t been sure if you were allowed to speak to him yet. His face turned to you, quick, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. He blinked once at you before a soft smile graced his features. Though he didn’t say anything in response, you knew that your compliment had meant something to him.

“I appreciate you coming with me tonight.” He didn’t speak until he had started driving, merging into the traffic hell that was Gotham on a Saturday night. The gala was held at one of the university’s fanciest buildings, right next to the bay and across the city from the main campus. With this traffic, it could take thirty minutes to get there.

“I’ve always wanted to go to a gala.”

“They’re not very exciting.”

“For you, maybe.” You laughed, your carefree attitude toward the night apparently extending to your conversation with Dr. Crane. It was like you had decided to not be intimidated by him for one night and miraculously you were actually doing it. “I like an excuse to get dressed up.”

He hummed, switching lanes. It was like he was saying “Oh, I noticed.”

“Anyway, there’ll be free food and-” You gasped, remembering the best part. “Alcohol!”

“Right, the college student’s two motivations. Free food and alcohol.” You scoffed in response to his incredulous tone.

“What, you aren’t excited that it’s free? And readily available for you?”

“I am financially secure enough for free food to mean less.” He paused. “And I’m not much of a drinker. I prefer to be fully aware of what’s happening around me.”

“You’re no fun.” You laughed. “Don’t you like to just… let go?”

He gave you another look, equal parts surprised and amused. You were a bit surprised at yourself, too. It seemed that the confidence you felt tonight had indeed extended to your conversation. You weren’t normally this outgoing or talkative with him (sure, you talked but not in this… casual, bubbly way). It was like you were a completely different person, like you were one of the girls who had no fear about the city’s crime rate as she went to parties and clubs for a good time.

“I can be fun.” He said, his eyes focused back on the road.

“Oh yeah? How?” Your question was pointed, and you didn’t miss how he worked his jaw back and forth slightly. Thinking. Again, you got the feeling that he was debating whether or not to say something before he ultimately decided not to, keeping his mouth shut and his eyes away from yours.

You weren’t really one to talk about having fun. This was the first night in months- if not a year- where you were allowing yourself to go out for no reason but pleasure and it was all because he invited you. You opened your mouth to apologize for teasing him when he cut you off.

“I’m a busy man. Between the university, the asylum, attending court cases, I barely have time for my research. Let alone fun.” He sighed. “I’m lucky enough I’m able to come to this tonight.”

You looked down at your hands, now unsure of how to respond.

“I’ve really been looking forward to tonight, thank you for inviting me along.” You felt like you had been going through the same few comments about how excited you were for the night but it was all you could think of to talk about. Your attempt at asking him what he did for leisure backfired, so it seemed any small talk would need to be initiated by him.

Was it frustrating to be aware that he knew significantly more about you than you knew about him? Very. But when he shot down every attempt you made to change that, there was little else you could do but allow it to happen.

He didn’t respond, and the only thing you could think about now was that you had ruined the night with your unintentional prying.

You watched his hands as they moved on the steering wheel, guiding his car into the driveway for the venue. The street was lined with trees adorned with fairy lights, creating a magical glow over the damp road, their light dully reflected.

As soon as the building was in sight- the exterior lit up with spotlights, valets waiting outside, the whole nine yards- Dr. Crane turned to you.

“You won’t be expected to talk to anyone tonight. I, however, as someone whose research is partly funded by the school which is in turn funded by the donors, will be speaking to some of the wealthy sponsors there tonight.”

You nodded, even though he probably couldn’t tell. You could grin and bear it through some boring conversations as long as you were able to enjoy a few drinks and the aesthetics of it all. Though you were interested to know how Dr. Crane would describe his research because he’s never talked about it with you, or rarely mentioned it in his classes. You knew it had something to do with fear and the human psyche but that was it, really.

He pulled up to the valet, climbing out of the car. You were just opening the door when he appeared, offering his hand to help you out. You almost refused him on some sort of half-formed principle (something about being independent) but then you remembered your heels and decided that you could abandon your principles for one night. More so, you saw it as a reassurance that no, you hadn’t ruined the night by being awkward in the car. After all, he was notorious at the university as being hard to get along with and it was a miracle you managed for as long as you had.

Really, you should be giving yourself a pat on the back for even getting this far with him.

Gently resting your hand on his own, you placed one heel out onto the pavement which was still glistening from the rain earlier in the day. You looked up at the building, smiling at how picturesque everything was now that you were sure Dr. Crane wasn’t upset.

The Martha Wayne Memorial Hall was the most ornate building on campus and it was the one that was used the least by the school. Conferences, career conventions, and this, apparently, were the only things it was used for. You’d been inside once before during your college orientation’s tour of campus and it had been a very brief visit. Unlike a lot of formal event venues, it was styled like an old opera house, fitting the Gothic style favored by most of Gotham’s architects. There were even some gargoyles hanging out on the eaves.

As soon as you were steady on your feet, Dr. Crane let go of your hand, handing his keys to one of the valets who had come up to the pair of you.

Inside the building it was no less ornate, with marble floors and small chandeliers lining the ceiling. The atrium had three rooms off of it, a large ballroom, the banquet room, and the theatre. Occasionally, touring Broadway shows would come here for a few nights but you’d never been able to afford tickets, even with a student discount. In the center of the room was a grand glass staircase, leading to the upper levels of the building.

However, even more impressive than the interior was the people. Any fears you had about being overdressed were wiped away when you saw what the other guests were wearing. You were surrounded by Gotham’s elite, wearing their best jewlery and furs, things they would never dare wear out on the town. You could also tell who the people from the university were from the way their skin seemed more lived in, the way their hair wasn’t completely perfect. They had more important things to do than sit in front of their mirror making sure they were perfect before leaving the house.

“Somehow, I feel underdressed,” You were staring at a young woman in a sequin-covered floor length gown, tiny pearls woven into her complex hairstyle. You made brief eye contact with her before she looked away, her facial expression blank.

“Then don’t concern yourself with other people.” You looked over at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was right, though. What did it matter if people spent a thousand dollars on a dress for this event (which made the two hundred you spent on your own seem like nothing) if you were here to have a good time?

Before you could respond, a voice came over the loudspeaker, effectively drowning out the mindless chatter of the guests. The lights flashed once in the lobby, slow enough that you knew it was deliberate and not them simply flickering. The universal theatre signal for ”get in here, the show’s about to start.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please make your way into the auditorium for tonight’s presentation. Thank you.”

Like one being, the crowd began shuffling towards the theater.

“Looks like we arrived just in time.” Dr. Crane hadn’t started moving yet, watching the crowd amble away. You turned to him when you started walking, raising your eyebrows.

“Did you plan it so we’d be here right as the presentation began?”

He smiled, his eyes sliding to you. “Yes.” You caught me, his face seemed to say. But I wanted you to.

And you smiled back, more from relief at seeing him relaxed again than what he’d actually said. You knew you had a bad habit of overanalyzing every encounter you had with him, searching for clues of his true feelings in the minimal amount of words he used to communicate with you. But just because you knew you had a habit of doing it didn’t mean you were going to stop anytime soon.

Ushers- who were definitely students making a maximum of eight dollars an hour- stood by the double doors leading to the orchestra level seats, making sure everyone got one of the programs outlining the order of events for the presentation as well as informing them that there were no assigned seats (with a few exceptions for some of the extremely wealthy guests in the boxes. Of which you were not so it didn’t matter to you).

Dr. Crane walked close to your side, and as you passed through the double doors into the auditorium, the back of his hand brushed yours, just for a quick second. Though your heart skipped a beat at the sudden contact, you quickly told yourself it was an accident on his part, born from your close proximity as you moved into the theater.

Which was huge and you racked your brain trying to think of the last time you were there. Maybe freshman orientation? Either way it had been a long time since you stepped into the theater and it was even more ostentatious than you remembered it being.

Red carpet ran down the length of every aisle, the seats upholstered with a matching color of crushed velvet. The house went up three tiers, gold filigree covering the black walls, hiding the lighting fixtures in their details. And at the very top of the painted, domed ceiling was a large glittering chandelier.

“How much money do you think they spent on this?” You whispered to Dr. Crane as your gaze roamed around, who chuckled low in his chest.

“A couple million, at least.” He responded, his voice matching yours in its volume.

“I feel like I’m at an opera.” You were staring at the chandelier,

“The presentation-” his voice was dripping in sarcasm and you hid your smile by ducking your chin- “will kill that, don’t worry.”

You liked this side of him. Humorous, not worried about his classes or what was happening down at the asylum (you assumed that’s what he worried about, he didn’t disclose that sort of thing to you). He seemed so much more at ease here in his well-pressed suit than he ever was giving a lecture. You would almost think he was in his element, if you didn’t know him better.

He placed a hand on the small of your back as he pointed to a row of seats that had two empty and wasn’t too close to the stage (the fronts and center rows were reserved for potential donors) and gently guided you over to it. You could feel the texture of his hand through your dress, surprisingly rough fingers separated from your own skin by a single layer of thin fabric. It was an innocent gesture, you told yourself, just to make sure you knew where he was going.

Either way, you followed his guidance, shuffling into the row after him. You sat in the seat, the plush cushion as comfortable as it had looked from the aisle. You allowed yourself to sink into it, so much more comfortable than the wooden lecture hall seats you were used to. It wasn’t comparable, honestly.

“How long will this last, anyway?” You turned to Dr. Crane, the program unopened on your lap.

“It will feel like forever but-” He paused when you laughed, throwing another curious look your way. Maybe he hadn’t meant it as a joke, but you were amused by his blunt delivery. “It should only be thirty or forty minutes.”

Internally, you groaned. You never were good at sitting through boring programs.

Opening the program, you scanned past the thank yous and ads for shows that were coming to the theater and local businesses, looking for the order of events.

Yeah, it looked pretty boring.

The lights dimmed and the President of Gotham University stepped on stage, her hand raised in a still wave to the crowd, who was clapping politely at her entrance. There was no cheering, no whooping. This was a civilized event. She had one of those obnoxiously big TED-talk style microphones taped to her cheek and you knew you only had a few more seconds to steel yourself before the masturbatory worship of the university began.

You loved your school, of course. But you didn’t know how anyone bought into the blind loyalty that colleges demanded from their students, alumni, and donors. From the tone that Dr. Crane had used when he mentioned talking to potential sponsors or the presentation, you would hazard a guess that he at least somewhat agreed with you. Maybe you could make fun of this after, laugh about it during the ride home.

Once the applause (quickly) died down, the President began speaking, outlining why it was so important to support the school. She highlighted some of the professors’ specific research topics (Dr. Crane’s was not included and you wondered if he was upset about that but you couldn't bring yourself to peer over at him, not so soon at least), emphasizing all of the good the university was doing. You could barely keep yourself from rolling your eyes, knowing that most of the money given to the school tonight would probably end up in someone’s pocket and not anywhere near the students.

The bitter thought surprised you, but it was hard to believe that the millions of dollars people gave to the university were used for good when your own department was severely underfunded and wasn’t even unpopular.

You wondered how much Dr. Crane received for his research.

You were trying your best to focus on the presentation but he was so close to you, your thigh just barely touching his own. (Couldn’t they have made these seats a bit farther apart, with the millions of dollars they spent on furnishings?) You shuffled your feet, slowly starting to pull your leg away from his, shrinking in on yourself slightly to give him more space.

Only for his leg to just take up the space you had created, your bodies once again connected at a single point on your thighs.

You told yourself it was a subconscious action on his part. That he somehow didn’t realize he was chasing you.

You peered over at him from the corner of your eye, watching as he seemed to concentrate on the President’s speech. Then his eyes flicked over to you and back to the stage, a small smile ghosting across his mouth.

He knew what he was doing.

But what did he mean by it?

On your other side was an older man, engrossed in the presentation. You didn’t want to be close to him at all, didn’t want to give him any funny ideas about what you were doing. So there was only one option for your legs.

You squeezed your legs together, moving them once again next to Dr. Crane’s. At the same moment, he moved his hand from the armrest to his thigh. You stared for a moment at how close his hand was to your leg- on which the slit of your dress was laying in such a way that your bare skin was exposed.

Wrenching your gaze away from your legs, you forced yourself to watch the presentation again. Which, honestly, had to be at least halfway done by now. It wasn’t dragging on as much as you had feared, but it was still not how you wanted to be spending your time.

You wished you had at least gotten a drink before you’d been corralled into the auditorium.

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat for a moment. The presentation wasn’t even for you, who would care if you weren’t paying attention?

Then you felt it, and your head snapped back up.

A small brush against your exposed skin. And without even looking down, you know exactly what it was.

Dr. Crane’s fingers were warm on your thigh, not moving, just resting against you. When he doesn’t move his hand away, when he doesn’t do anything to suggest that this action of his was an accident, your heart rate goes into overdrive because you had fantasized about him touching you since your first class with him three semesters ago and now, in a darkened theater, he was. It didn’t feel real- it couldn’t be real.

But more importantly, what did this small action of his mean for your relationship? Because this had thrust it far beyond professional, or even the platonic relationship that you had resigned yourself to.

His hand remained there for the rest of the presentation, a grounding presence that did little to actually ground you to the present because you were occupied with worrying about how to go forward from this moment. (There you go again, overanalyzing and worrying about everything.)

And then the lights came back on.

He stood up and pretended like he hadn’t just kept his hand on your bare thigh for the last fifteen minutes. You remained in your seat, barely registering that the crowd was leaving or even that the presentation was over.

“You look hungry.” He stated, pulling you out of your mind. He looked down at you and you jumped up, smiling tersely at him.

“Sure, that’s fine.” Your response wasn’t quite aligned with his statement but you didn’t care as you led the way out of the auditorium and back into the atrium. If he wasn’t going to bring up what he did, neither were you.

Being back in the crowd woke you up, bringing you out of the stupor that his touch had induced.

The chatter was louder than it had been before the presentation, the guests clearly ready to finally enjoy the refreshments and music- you could faintly hear a string quartet from the ballroom and a piano from the banquet hall. Peering into the latter, you saw crowds of people around the buffet tables and decided that you would wait until it died down to try and get any real food.

Sighing, you turned back to Dr. Crane.

��Is there anyone specifically that you want to talk to tonight?”

Then you realized that Dr. Crane was looking past you and you followed his gaze behind you. A young man, only a few years older than you, was walking through the crowd. A bit awkward, smiling tersely at everyone trying to speak with him. And people were clambering to speak with him, smiling and laughing when they saw him. He looked over at you briefly, then seemed to do a double take as he looked back.

Leaving his current conversation, a bit unceremoniously if the looks his previous conversations partners gave each other was anything to go by, he came over to the pair of you.

“Mr. Wayne.”

Dr. Crane was the first to speak, reaching across you to shake Bruce Wayne’s hand. You watched as they exchanged greetings and introductions, content to stay silent while they talked. After all, Dr. Crane said you could and you’re not even sure what you would say to Bruce Wayne, of all people.

“Nice to see you out tonight.”

“I needed some fresh air.” You couldn’t help but notice how tense the younger man was holding his shoulders. Dr. Crane, in comparison, was relaxed, not even batting an eye at the sudden conversation with the Prince of Gotham.

“I’m sure.”

There was a brief, awkward moment of silence as you looked between the pair. Bruce Wayne, though he was certainly better looking in person than in his pictures, was clearly out of his comfort zone, and you couldn’t blame him. He’d been a reclusive figure for many years, really only becoming social (which, for him, meant leaving his house every few weeks to attend an event) in the past year. Without him saying it, everyone knew it was because of the Riddler’s attempt on his life.

It was almost funny how the Riddler made the once anti-social Bruce Wayne social and you, someone who used to enjoy going out at night, into a shut-in who only left the house for school and work.

“My teaching assistant.” Dr. Crane gestured to you, and you nodded. Until you remembered that you could actually speak. You held out your hand to Mr. Wayne, giving him your name, and he grasped your palm with a firm handshake that he must have learned before he could even attend events like these. But there’s something else that his touch reminds you of, the roughness of his palm inviting and grounding, but you can’t place what it is aside from a lingering sensation of safety.

“It’s very nice to meet you.” He smiled at you, his eyes crinkling. You didn’t know if you’d ever seen a picture of him smiling like that. Not a polite smile, reserved for business partners or cameras. But a genuine smile. You couldn’t help but return it, beaming at him as you continued holding his hand.

Dr. Crane cleared his throat and you dropped Mr. Wayne’s hand, smiling nervously over at the professor. He’s looking at you strangely, in a way you’ve never seen him look at you before (and there are many strange looks he has given you). It wasn’t angry, per se, but there was certainly some unpleasant emotion simmering in his chest.

“Have a nice evening, Mr. Wayne.” He said curtly before guiding you into the other room, his hand on your shoulder, his pace quick.

“It was nice meeting you!” You spoke over your shoulder to Bruce Wayne, still smiling despite Dr. Crane’s odd behaviour.

As you walked, you resisted the urge to ask him what the hell that was all about, reminding yourself about the promise you’d made. This is going to be a fun night out and I will not spend any time worrying about silly little things.

Starting a fight with Dr. Crane would certainly ruin the evening. And besides, his answer would most likely be mundane, right? He probably hadn’t even realized that he was coming across as possessive- or dare you say, jealous- with his sudden dismissal of the younger man. Even if you were in a weird gray area relationship wise now, he didn’t own you.

You could shake other men’s hands.

He led you into the ballroom, stopping once or twice on the way to talk with colleagues that he came across. Those conversations were always short and stilted, his desire to be anywhere else clear on his face and in his language. If the other professors acknowledged you, it was with a simple nod. But they never spoke to you which was fine. Considering how Dr. Crane had acted with Bruce Wayne, you didn’t exactly relish the thought of speaking with more men, especially ones he knew professionally.

They always asked the same questions- how his classes were doing, how his research was going, how his work at the asylum was coming along, if he met any new “crazies” that he could gossip about. His answers were always good, good, and good. He declined to answer any questions about patients at the asylum, and you bristled at the language the other men used to describe them.

They’re still people, you wanted to say. Even if they killed and maimed others. But you weren’t in the mood to be accused of defending them and their actions (which you weren’t), so you kept your mouth shut.

Finally, he had no one else to speak to and you reached the ballroom.

The large windows that had covered the walls in the atrium continued in here, the ballroom overlooking the garden. You could faintly make out some people walking down the well-lit walkways outside. The string quartet that you’d heard playing earlier was set up on a small platform in the corner and quite a few couples were swaying to the music in the center of the room.

On the other side of the room was a cluster of small tables, most of them occupied. A few caterers walked around with plates of fingerfoods and trays of drinks, and you were about to grab something when Dr. Crane spoke up from beside you.

“Dance with me.”

You whipped around, staring at Dr. Crane, afraid you hadn’t heard him correctly.

“What?”

“Dance with me.” He repeated, smiling at you. “I’m bored.”

You looked down at his offered hand.

“Okay.” You returned his smile, allowing yourself to be swept onto the dancefloor. It wasn’t ballroom dancing, certainly not something out of a period piece at all. Dancing with him was really just a glorified verison of swaying back and forth. But you didn’t care because all you could focus on was his hand on your hip, your hand on his shoulder- the points where your bodies were connected.

Even though there were layers of fabric between the two of you, you could swear you felt vibrant electricity from his touch, sparks coursing through your veins as you tried to focus on everything at once. You didn’t want to forget how it all looked and felt when the morning came. You wanted to keep it in its own little bubble in your memory, preserved for all time.

“I’ve never really slow danced before.” Sure, you’d gone to school dances growing up. But you never went with anyone and slow dances were the perfect time to escape to the bathroom.

“Neither have I.” He smiled and your heart fluttered.

Maybe this would be a good moment to ask him just what his intentions were for the night, to pinpoint exactly what he wanted from you. It was forward, yes, but you were slow dancing together. It warranted questioning, especially if any prying eyes from the university saw and recognized the two of you.

He was playing a very dangerous game and you had no choice but to play with him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you-”

“May I cut in?” A newly familiar voice broke the spell that had fallen between you and Dr. Crane, the isolated bubble you had been dancing in popping. You turned to look over your shoulder, smiling politely at Bruce Wayne.

“Of course.” You let go of Dr. Crane’s hands, speaking before he could. For a moment, the hand on your waist flexed and tightened against you like he wasn’t going to let you go but then he let go, releasing you to take Bruce Wayne’s outstretched hand. You spared one more glance at Dr. Crane, smiling as reassuringly as you could. “We can talk about it later.”

You placed your other hand on Bruce’s shoulder and he swayed you in a different direction, leading you away from Dr. Crane.

You were, admittedly, a bit starstruck. Sure, you had spoken to him earlier, but this was intimate, not something he had to do for pleasantries or to maintain face (not that he had to introduce himself to you for that. You weren’t important enough to need to meet the richest man in the city. Or for him to care how he came across to you).

The string quartet transitioned smoothly into their next song, the tempo the only thing changing. A few couples left with the change, and a few more walked onto the dancefloor. Once you were in rhythm with one another, you took the opportunity to speak with him.

“Well, Mr. Wayne, it’s nice seeing you again.”

“Please, call me Bruce.”

It had felt a bit odd to call a man who was only a handful of years older than you ‘Mr. Wayne.’ You smiled, nodding your ascent.

“Alright. Bruce. How are you enjoying your night so far?” In your ears, your voice didn’t sound like yours. It sounded too much like the other socialites there tonight and you cringed internally.

“Well, one of the last times I was at a public event like this a car almost hit me, so I think comparatively, it’s going good.”

Heart sinking, you realize he’s talking about the former Mayor’s funeral. So suddenly too and you’re not sure if he’s poking fun at it until he smiles softly. You smiled back but it faded quickly as you worried your lip between your teeth. You waited for another moment before bracing yourself to resond. “I was there, too. At the funeral.”

Well. At least the fake-socialite intonation was gone from your voice.

Genuine surprise flickers across his face before smoothing out into an empathetic but distanced frown. He doesn’t say anything, which you’re grateful for. You’re so tired of people apologizing as if they had anything to do with what happened. There was only one man who could do that and he was currently locked away in an asylum.

“Mhm, I was writing a stupid paper and when all that started happening it was… Well, it felt important to document it.” You chuckled. “As if a paper like that would be important to the historical record.”

“You never know.”

“Anyway, I had just managed to make it through the crowd of normal people-” You flashed a quick smile at Bruce, trying to show him that your comment was just a playful jab- “to the upper balcony above the main chapel when the car came crashing through, so…” You sucked your teeth, trailing off. What an absolute downer of a conversation. “Not as bad as you know… almost being hit.” Oh god, please stop talking.

His hand on your hip moves to your lower back, pressing you closer.

“So, why are you here tonight?”

“Enjoying the scenery.” You don’t miss how his eyes remained on you, and you certainly don’t miss how your cheeks heat up.

“And here I thought you were a shut-in with no social skills.” Like me.

“A lot has changed over the past year.”

The song you were swaying to ended, scattered applause moving throughout the room from those who were even aware that music was being played. The violinist of the quartet announced they were going on a break.

“What do you m-” You started to ask, but another well dressed man came up to Bruce, murmuring something to him. You overheard a snippet about donations and sighed. This event was not about you and certainly not being held so you could have a lengthy chat with the Prince of Gotham. When the man looks at you, raising an eyebrow like you were something he found on the bottom of your shoe, you sighed. “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Wayne. I’ll leave you to it.”

You turned and began walking from the dance floor, not looking back at Bruce as you began scanning the crowd for Dr. Crane. You weren’t really sure how long you and Bruce had been dancing but it couldn’t have been long enough for Dr. Crane to completely disappear, right?

You took a full wine glass off a tray from a passing waiter, taking a sip of the dark liquid as you continued walking through the crowd in search of Dr. Crane. The wine was just okay (you’re sure they could’ve afforded something better for this event, but you were also the farthest thing from a wine connossiuer) but drinking it gave you a purpose. Or at least, something to do with your hands as you weaved between well-dressed couple after well-dressed couple, searching for the man who was the reason you were here tonight. You had no one else to talk to, no goals to achieve for the night. You weren’t even sure you knew anyone else at the event.

Instead of letting your anxious thoughts take control, you took a deep gulp of the wine.

And another.

And when you realized the glass was empty, you just grabbed another one off of a different waiter, not even blinking when you took a sip and found that the drink was a different one from before. Maybe champagne.

You shrugged it off. You weren’t driving tonight, you could drink as much as you wanted.

Halfway through your current drink, you felt (or at least, acknowledged for the first time) the tell-tale twinge in your core that meant the alcohol had really started to seep into your bloodstream. And, combining your lowered inhibitions from the drinks and this sudden bout of horniness, you decided you really should look for Dr. Crane so you could do or say something you would definitely regret in the morning.

With renewed vigor in your search, you entered the large banquet hall off the side of the ballroom, tables lined with snacks that you knew wouldn’t crave your hunger. Still, you wandered closer to the food, remembering that free food was also good, if not better than free alcohol.

It was amazing, actually.

Because now you had a small plate with finger foods and desserts and a new drink and your search for Dr. Crane had morphed into a search for a place to sit. After wandering the room, you finally found a small empty table tucked away in the corner, perfectly secluded for you to enjoy your food.

And you did. But then you realized that you got too much food and you didn’t want to eat anymore, so you got up and searched for the trashcan and boy, were you wobbly on your feet now. Taking a gentle step forward like a newborn fawn, you made your way to the trash cans lined against the wall. Maybe you were more tipsy than you had realized before.

With a flourish, you dropped your half-eaten plate into the garbage. And grabbed another wine from a different waiter. (This will be my last of the night.)

A voice by your side said your name. You turned, unable to immediately place the voice to a name, finding an old professor and your previous advisor by your side. Her gray hair was pulled into a tight updo pinned to the crown of her head and her outfit was simply an upgraded version of the suit she normally wore to work. You smiled, a bit too wide. You’d always liked her- had even aced her class and had been sad when it was announced that she would no longer be the advisor for your major.

“Hi Dr. Hall!” At least you weren’t slurring.

“What in the world are you doing here, and looking so pretty?” She was smiling, her thin lips painted red and stretching over her teeth. You couldn’t help but think of a skeleton, and then immediately felt bad that you had made such an unflattering comparison in your mind.

“I’m here with Dr. Crane! I’m his assistant.” You took another sip of your wine. The more you drank, the better it tasted.

“You’re a TA? For Dr. Crane? The Dr. Crane from the Psychology department?” You were too tipsy to pick up on the disbelieving- almost incredulous- tone to her voice, the way her smile was slowly fading from her face.

“Yeah!” You winced when you heard how loud you were being, taking a moment to pull yourself back. At least you could try to seem sober around your professors. You cleared your throat before beginning to speak again, intentionally lowering your voice (probably too much). “Yes, I am. For his class on the psychology of fear.”

“I didn’t know you studied psychology.”

You nodded, a bit too enthusiastically, but you were already at your maximum focus in controlling your vocal level so you couldn’t be expected to also control your physical movements. Really, you should just be grateful that you didn’t also move your hands and spill your drink at the same time.

“Mhmm, I have a minor. Dr. Crane’s been very helpful.” Amongst other things, you barely stopped yourself from tacking on to the end of your statement. Or winking, which would have been worse. You didn’t need allegations leveled against you and Dr. Crane’s relationship, which was strictly professional.

Right?

You thought back to all of your encounters with Dr. Crane that had left your heart racing, the number of which was steadily increasing. You thought about his hand on your thigh. About the look in his eyes when you’d danced together, the possessiveness when you’d spoken to Bruce Wayne.

Your cheeks grew hot and it certainly wasn’t from the wine.

As you were pondering the true nature of your relationship, Dr. Hall gave you a concerned look and pat on the back, leaving you to your thoughts. It took you a few more moments to realize that she had left you in the first place, but then you shrugged and moved on.

You walked through the crowd, smiling at everyone you saw. It was so different from your normal behavior in Gotham’s crowds (which was to duck your head and ignore everyone) but it felt right. Like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and thrown into the sun, far away from you.

Looking down, you saw that your glass was empty, and instead of getting another you kept your promise to yourself and put the glass down on a nearby table. And you had the sudden undeniable urge to pee.

Next item on the to-do list: Go to bathroom.

part II

#stbotdi #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #batman x reader #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne x reader #my writing #my fic

44 notes · View notes