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mlmxreader · 7 months

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Public Toilets | Bane x gn!reader (🍋)

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ anonymous asked: May I please give you a request to use the following prompts for big tiddy Bane X non-binary, male, or gn!Reader:

“You need to let go, and to have some fun” ❞

: ̗̀➛ Bane isn't keen on things like clubbing and being in public, he gets tense and worked up... but luckily, you know just to calm him down

: ̗̀➛ spit as lube, anal sex, swearing, Masturbation, anal fingering, public sex, Daddy kink, praise kink

: ̗̀➛ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The underground club scene was alive and well within Gotham; villains mingled with heroes and both danced and drank with the everyday Joe who needed to let loose after work. It didn't matter who they were. The club scene had something for everyone; harsh and loud dance music, even harsher and louder metal.

Everything in between. You weren't really sure how you managed to drag Bane along with you, given his distaste for public appearances when he was a more than wanted man, and you couldn't really blame him.

But he was there with you, keeping his heavy hand on your shoulder to make sure you didn't get separated from each other; heavily breathing through his mask as the heat started to get to him a little more than he first expected.

But you were so keen, he couldn't deny you. Bane could never tell you no when you wanted something, always bowing to a flash of the puppy dog eyes, or the slight whimper in your voice. Bane could never say no to you, even if he tried.

But he was tense, and you couldn't help but to notice as you dragged him into one of the toilet cubicles, your hands on his chest as he stood against the door.

"Bane?"

"Mm."

You tilted your head to the side slightly, raising your brows. "You alright?"

He shrugged, he didn't want to ruin your night and he wanted to at least try and have fun. "I'm fine, little one."

"You're tense," you pointed out, hands on his arms as you gently squeezed the thick muscles. "You need to let go, and to have some fun - trust me, yeah?"

He nodded slowly. "Always, little one."

Slowly, you guided him around until he sat on the toilet with his legs spread; you eyed his lap hungrily, licking your lips before you swallowed thickly and dropped to your knees between his legs.

His breath hitched, and he growled out a soft huff of your name under his breath; he resisted the urge to cup your jaw in his hand and force his thumb between your lips.

"What are you thinking?"

You grinned, looking at his crotch for a moment. "I was thinking I might know a way to help you relax."

"And what do you suggest?"

"Well, there's two options," you told him. "Either, you could fuck me, or you could fuck my mouth."

Bane grumbled under his breath. "I want you on my lap, little one."

You nodded, getting up off of your knees and dropping your trousers; Bane followed suit, sitting back down and giving his cock a good hard few strokes as he took in the sight of your body.

Watching as you copied him and started touching yourself. He got you to spit on his hand so he could make his cock a little more slick; you did it again as you started to finger your ass.

Bane was entranced, and when you told him that you were ready, he almost sprang to his feet.

"Are you still up for it?" He asked with a soft growl.

You nodded eagerly, bracing yourself against the door. "More than."

Slowly, Bane thrust into you, making you moan loudly; his hand went to your mouth, covering it so nobody could hear as he started to rock his hips against you, losing himself a little in how you pushed back against him.

Fuck. You felt so good.

He was so big, and so thick, you thought he was going to tear you open but you didn't want him to stop; he was still gentle, though, grunting softly in your ear as he pressed his cold mask to your skin.

Shivering, you moaned loudly against his hand, closing your eyes tightly. Fuck. With the added risk of getting caught so easily, you couldn't deny that you knew you wouldn't last long; frantically and desperately trying to fuck yourself against his cock.

Far from the usual talkative sex that you usually had. No, this was just pure lust.

"You're being so good," Bane grunted out quietly. "So, so good for me, little one."

"Daddy…" you murmured, rolling your hips. Your ass clenching around him and only spurring him on even more. "Please… fuck."

Bane's eyes rolled into the back of his head for a second, nearly letting go of your mouth in the process; but he was quick to come back to his senses, steadying himself with a hand on your hip as he rammed into you and started to thrust harder and faster.

Your muffled moans and begs for him to keep going only made him try and go as hard and fast as he possibly could. Wanting nothing more than to make you cum and to fill your ass with his own.

Fuck. The thought of stuffing you with his cum made him growl as he let go of your hip, focusing his attention on touching you instead.

"I wanna cum," you whimpered against his hand.

"When you're ready, little one," he told you firmly. "When you want to."

You nodded, losing yourself in the thrusting and the soft praises for a moment before you finally felt it happen; freezing up for a second as you gasped his name. Pleasure washing over you as your toes curled and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Oh, fuck.

It only made Bane's resolve crumble as he finally came in you; he kept fucking you, not caring as he stuffed as much of it into you as he could. Claiming you completely. Fuck. Oh, fuck.

Bane kept going until he could feel himself soften, clearing his throat as he sat down for a moment and used the toilet paper to clean his cock; he stole a look at you, admiring his masterpiece.

"You know," he mused. "I really do feel a lot less tense."

You were still bracing yourself against the door, grinning as you panted heavily, trying to catch your breath; your legs were shaking, but you could nod as you laughed softly. "That's alright, then."

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dauntless-gothamite · 1 year

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Master of Shadows [2/?]

Fandom: DC (Nolanverse; Batman Comics) Pairing: Bane x Fem! Reader Summary: You are a tailor that works for Oswald Cobblepot, also known as the Penguin, who tasks you with making clothes for the abnormally large man who has recently arrived in Gotham, Bane. While working with Bane, you see an opportunity to escape the Penguin, something you have wanted for years, and if you play your cards right, you may just gain your freedom and bond with the handsome man in the mask along the way. A/N: this is aggressively unedited and kind of short but I am eager to keep the story moving :) please let me know what you think!!

Warnings: intentional violence towards reader (not from Bane)

You step out of the changing room, satisfied with your appearance. You’ve changed into a bra that works with the plunging neckline of the dress to reveal a bit of cleavage, and the cinched waist of the dress hugs your body tightly. The pearls sewn into the dress aren’t too heavy; they actually give the dress a satisfying weight to it and they give you the perfect opportunity to wear drop-down pearl earrings that have two white pearls and one black pearl in the middle. While getting changed, you had applied some dark grey eyeshadow to your eyelids, which looks good with the dress. Lastly, you have some black heeled ankle boots that just peek out from the bottom of the dress. “Well?” you ask, twirling.

“Excellent, now let’s go,” Bane says, hardly sparing you a glance. Barsad offers you a smile and offers his arm to you, which you take as you make your way down the stairs once more. You spare a glance at the Penguin’s office door as you walk past it and down another flight of stairs but keep moving without saying anything. Hopefully he is too distracted by either work or Eddie to notice the already faint sounds of you moving about the attic have faded completely.

–

A short while later, you’re standing in Wayne Manor with Barsad, champagne flute in hand and a smile plastered on your face. Before coming here, Bane had said he had other things to deal with, and while you had figured he wouldn’t be at the party, it was another thing entirely to be there alone with Barsad, who you felt you knew even less about than Bane. Barsad proves to be nice enough, if a bit awkward at times, and you often lead him through the crowd so as to avoid the wrong people–being the talented tailor that you are, you had made clothing for some of the richest people in Gotham and have a good understanding of the social dynamics in the room. Just as Bruce Wayne himself makes an entrance, Barsad leans in and whispers in your ear, “Time to go.” You frown but don’t protest and follow him out of the manor and down the long driveway, where a car waits for the both of you. Barsad opens the door for you, and you’re a little disappointed to see Bane isn’t there. As he gets in after you Barsad smirks and says, “Don’t worry, you’ll see the boss in a couple days when he drops by to check on your progress. He always follows up on his projects.” You scowl at that and Barsad laughs, and you think maybe, for the first time in years, you’ve made a friend.

The car stops outside the Iceberg Lounge, and you know this is where you part ways with Barsad and face the consequences of leaving without permission. “I had fun tonight,” you admit as you get out of the car. “See you around,” you add, closing the door as Barsad waves and the car takes off.

–

You walk the short distance from the Iceberg Lounge to Oswald Cobblepot’s more private residence, where he greets you at the door rather than having an assistant do it, and you know things are likely worse than you’d thought.

“Sir,” you greet, looking at the floor.

Cobblepot says nothing at first, only slaps you hard right across the face. You hold in the yelp that almost escapes your mouth and look the man in the eyes. “Foolish, ungrateful girl,” he scolds. “Have you any idea what you being seen with Bane and his men could mean for me?” You shake your head as he shoves you against the wall. “It could mean my already fragile alliance with Maroni could shatter! But you don’t care about that, do you, you selfish bitch!” You so badly want to talk back and say you didn’t know, but you know that would only lead to more pain, so you keep quiet. “Back up to the attic, now,” Cobblepot orders. With a nod, you turn to go, but he grabs your arm tightly, and then slides his hand down to yours. Taking your hand, he looks you dead in the eye and snaps your pinky finger in half, causing you to scream. “You don’t really need that one to sew…and if anyone comes looking for you because they saw you tonight, it’s the whole hand, you hear me?” he threatens. Unshed tears line your eyes; you don’t let them fall until he has released your arm and you’re up the stairs in the attic alone.

–

The next morning, your broken finger wrapped tightly against the one next to it in some extra tulle from your supply, you look through the fabric samples you have stored in the attic, pulling a few options for Bane’s coat and setting them on the table nearby. Lying before you are squares of leather, shear-lined denim and suede, twill, and more. Wincing, you try to ignore the pain in your hand as you open up your notebook to look at the notes you had written down the day before when there is a knock at your door. “Come in,” you call, expecting one of Oswald’s assistants to have a delivery for you; they always come by in the morning. Much to your surprise, Bane walks through the door instead.

“Oh! Hi Bane,” you greet, feeling even smaller next to him than you did yesterday. “I haven’t started on your coat yet, but I was just looking though some fabric samples-” you start, unsure what else to say. He stops you though, reaching for your bandaged hand.

“What happened here?” he asks, turning your smaller hand over to examine it.

“Oh, you know, I just…” you trail off.

“You just what?” Bane pushes, and you look up at him nervously.

“Well, I’m just not supposed to go out.”

“For your safety?” he asks, his body already more tense than it was a moment ago.

“In part,” you mutter. “Can we not talk about it?” you ask, shifting his attention to the fabrics laid out before you.

“For now,” the large man concedes, and you exhale in relief.

“So for the coat, I have a few fabrics here, thicker ones to account for the weather, but I wasn’t sure about your color preference, but if you want it lined with something for warmth that limits the options-” you start, unstacking the fabric squares.

“I like this one,” he says, leaning over your shoulder and pointing to a dark brown suede shearling square of fabric.

“You can touch it,” you say, and as he leans forward to pick it up, his chest presses against your back lightly, comfortably. In an instant, the touch is gone.

“This one will be very good,” Bane says, handing the square back to you. “I will see you later,” he says before leaving you alone in the attic, uncertain of what exactly had just happened.

#bane x reader #bane imagine #tdkr #tdkr fanfiction #the dark knight rises #batman #nolanverse #gotham #bane fanfiction #bane fanfic #bane tdkr #tom hardy #dauntless-gothamite #dauntless gothamite

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leagueofbane · 2 months

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Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Batman (Movies - Nolan) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Ra's al Ghul, Original Characters Summary:

The origin story of the relationship between Ra's al Ghul and his wife, Melisande.

In this installment, Melisande struggles with indecisiveness over the situation with Diya and Henri, and news arrives of unexpected visitors.

(This story is also available at FanFiction.net.)

#ra's al ghul #melisande #The Warlord's Daughter #fanfic #Baniac #TDKR

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hecatemoon87 · 1 year

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Love Letters 💌 Master List

James Delaney

Alfie Solomons

Bane

More to come. Adding as I go.

#tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fan fic #alfie solomons #james delaney #tdkr bane #bane

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hyenabrainedpup · 10 months

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My other two horny fics <3 might as well share em all here

They're all Bane/oc because I'm a gay little looser

#bane #tdkr #nsft #fanfic

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fyeahbatcat · 2 years

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Signing Off

Hi everyone,

I’m just writing to say that this blog is officially going on indefinite hiatus. You may (or maybe not) have noticed that I have been posting and creating less content with increasingly less frequency over the years. It has long been my intention to fade away from the Tumblr scene and time has only given me more reasons to do so.

I’m grateful for the Batman community here on Tumblr and this has been the place of my best and most positive fandom experiences. If you’ve enjoyed anything that I contributed to the fandom for the last nearly 8 years then it was worth it. A combination of deep and increasing dissatisfaction with the creative direction and decisions at DC Comics and the drastic drop in traffic to the site which has profoundly impacted the presence of the batcat fandom here on Tumblr have led me to believe that the time has come to make it official. The writing’s been on the wall for a long time now but @staff 's latest changes (along with many, MANY others over the years) have made staying on this site untenable and I don’t see it as worth it to jump through the hoops required of maintaining a blog of this kind here.

I may pop back in from time to time if anything major in the fandom happens, but I truly believe that my best work is behind me. Here are some of my favorite original posts from over the years (assuming links still work on this site). Enjoy!

So would you say Selina considers herself "in love" with Bruce (and vice versa)?

80 Years of Bat and Cat

Batman and Catwoman: List of Recs Masterpost

BatCat Fanfic List of Recs

Batman, Catwoman, and Mind Wiping Revelations

Batman Displays His Knowledge

Bruce Wayne + black turtleneck sweaters

DC Couples Dancing

Telltale Games: Disney vs P*rn Hub

Selina Kyle profile

Telltale Games stunt performers

Bruce and Selina + affection

TDKR true or false

First Encounters

I’d Choose You in a Hundred Lifetimes

DC Power Couples

Some of the best discussions have also come through my inbox. I’d recommend going through the ask tag to see some of the great discussions that have come up over the years. I’ve learned so much from all of you and I thank every single person that has reached out with questions, topics, or just a kind message over the years.

Bye for now.

-FYBC (Britt)

#admin #q

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godstaff · 10 months

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Instead of Injustice (or as I call it the Superman hate fanfic) they could’ve done Kingdom Come. It has the similar story elements. Lois is killed by the Joker. Shazam dies. Superman/Wonder Woman and Batman are at odds. It would’ve made a way better fighting game. Imagine Magog as a playable character! Or Nightstar (NW and Starfire daughter)! Not to mention all the other characters.

I loved calling 'Injustice' the "Superman Hate FanFic'.

Excellent!

One of the reasons 'Kingdom Come' didn't have much approval amongst DC staff and fans is because Batso doesn't have much to do, being Supes and Diana front and center of the story and Batso just part of the background (outrage!!!). And the point is to demonstrate Superman is so stupid he isn't even good as a despot. Ever since TDKR, by Frank Miller, Superman became the hero everyone loves to hate. His marrying with Lois Lane, only cemented the motives fans had to dislike him.

What 'Injustice', 'Red Son', 'The Dark Knight Returns' and similar tales come to show clearly is what a shitty friend Bruce is, immediately turning his back on Superman when he does something the Bat doesn't approve. Instead of talking things out like a real friend and reaching a mutually beneficial accord, he immediately goes underground, all righteous, plotting ways to take down the fucking alien.

If Supes becomes a profitable character, significant part of that profit would go to the Siegel-Shuster estate, their descendants. Having Batso as flagboy, means all the benefits go to DC Comics.

You are right pointing out KC could've been a far better fightinrsg game, adding, as you said, new characters to play with and the so called heroes would have a legitimate reason to take positions against each other, for one, without tarnishing Superman's image. But it would force writers and game developers to think, and that's a big no-no in the industry. Worst even: it would've required fans to think. A thinkig fan starts making demands and questioning the owners of the character they love. Who do these peasants think they are? Fans like Batsofans buy any shit DC wants to sell them without hesitation or complain, because he is sooo cool.

There is no clear intention in making anything dignifying with Superman. Where's the business in that?

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sourstiless · 2 years

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i love reading post tdkr batcat fanfics

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monoistrash · 3 years

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How I think John Blake and Arthur would be as twins.

John, at the slightest inconvenience: Don't worry, bro. I got you.

Arthur: No, I'll protect you. I'm the smartest one.

John: Okay, maybe, but-

How I think Barsad and Arkin would be as twins.

Barsad, tending to Arkin's wounds: Stop complaining, you're so annoying.

Arkin, being literally stitched up without anesthesia: fUCK YOU.

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dorminchu · 2 years

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The Gentle Hum of Anxiety [Part 1]

03/03/22: Revised for pacing/exposition's sake.

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Lyutsifer Safin, Madeleine Swann Relationships: Lyutsifer Safin & Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin/Madeleine Swann Warnings: None, for now. Rating: T Genre: Angst/Romance Summary: In his hands, the mask can only ever be a tool to inspire fear; she hangs it on her office wall as a declaration of war. [AU]

[Ao3 Link]

A mashup of No Time to Die and my own continuity in Insult to Injury that doesn't quite reveal the plot of the latter; however, the names Phidian and Barlett both come from the film On Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Shout-out to the IRL buddy who reads these Bond fics over, who also recommended the Bruce Timm comic that inspired this alternate take on Safin and Madeleine's reunion. You're the real MVP.

I swiped a good chunk of the dialogue from NTTD's script, but I promise it will diverge pretty hard by the next chapter. Fic title comes from the aptly-named track to The Social Network.

After so many years spent looking over her shoulder, between Oxford and the Sorbonne, she is out of her father's shadow with a doctorate, and her pride. Ironic, that she should retreat into perhaps the last place anyone would think to search—a five-hour drive from the old cabin in Altaussee. Hiding in plain sight, away from SPECTRE and men in suits that follow her down the street on foot, in unmarked cars. There are no strange calls to her burner phone, nor the tidy one-room apartment out in Sölden.

Contrasting her previous job at a smaller, friendlier clinic in Belgium, the Hoffler Klinik is stark and modern, carved into the summit of the Gaislachkogel as like an effigy.

Madeleine reinvents herself. Always amiciable with her clients and the staff. Only her secretary Sophia insists upon inviting her out to dinner every other week on the pretense of rote, easy socialization. Madeleine is leery but not prone to improprieties. Sophia is old enough to be her mother and all of her friends are around the same age. She, like Madeleine, keeps no pictures on her desk. Madeleine will be twenty-six in ten months. She has colleagues, not friends. Affairs, once in a blue moon, when she cannot stand the immaculate quiet of her livingspace. A false name and appropriate lodgings at a hotel, and come next morning no one is the wiser.

"I always see you upstairs," says the man working behind the juice bar. He's wearing a tag that says Phidian. "What brings you down here, Dr Swann?"

It's another sunny afternoon. Diamonds by Rihanna is playing on the speakers. The sound reverberates off the wall-length windows, adjacent to the bar. If she turns her head just so the snowcaps turn blinding.

"I thought that I would try something a little different today."

Ordinarily, she is content to confine herself within the office during lunch-hours; through glass, the rotation of coworkers and patients becomes a private exhibition. But even that gets rote after a while.

Phidian nods. "Oh, uh. Now that you're here, there's something you might want to know." Madeleine glances up. "I know we, uh, don't talk much."

"There is no need."

"Well, just between you and me I think you should know. There was this woman came by the other day. Older, dyed orange hair. You know her?"

Madeleine pauses. “Ms. Bartlett? Her husband is one of my clients.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Your name came up.”

“Something terrible?”

“Well, uh, she said your office is like a funeral home.”

Madeleine blinks. “Sorry?”

“Hey, I’m just paraphrasing. She didn’t have a problem with you.”

Madeleine permits a dry smile. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

And Madeleine takes some time out of her day, over the following week, to rearrange her furnishings to appear more lively. She gets a vase and flowers. Opens the blinds to let some sun in; the entire wall is a window. Her efforts go unnoticed by clientele who want to talk about their poor life choices instead of her tasteful choice in decor, and definitely don’t want to squint against the sun in their eyes.

Cut to a week later, and Madeleine is left sulking at her desk. No one can have it all, but it doesn’t sting any less.

Her latest client, Safin, is more of a mystery. She asks Sophia what he does for a living and the phrase independent contractor rings a bell; possbly ex-military? According to Sophia he requested her specifically, which is a little flattering. Her primary clientele these days are businessmen looking for easy outs or settlements. Substance abuse is common. There is the occasional issue with a spouse. Sometimes all-of-the-above.

The last military figure she was in contact with was her father; though they haven’t spoken since she graduated Oxford.

The pager on her desk beeps. Sophia. The patient has arrived. Madeleine catches sight of the man through the windows. All in black, contrasting the muted greys and blues of the Klinik’s walls. He’s talking to Sophia, but looks over in the direction of her office and his eyes rest on her. Even at a distance, there is something about his expression that gives her pause.

“Send him in.”

Stepping into her office, this man is in every sense an antithesis. Black coat buttoned up to his throat, gloves, boots—her attention holds briefly upon the grisly scarring across his face.

“Safin, is it?” He nods politely. Her attention falls next to the dark wooden box under his arm. “And this?”

“A memory box.” His voice comes as if from a dead throat. Madeleine falters. His black eyes flicker to the naked surface of the desk, then her face. “If I may?”

“Of course.” He sets it down gently. “Have a seat and we’ll begin.”

He crosses the space in a few strides, though his gait drags slightly against the polished floor on every other step. Could be a simple physical deformity, as with the scarring. The result of injuries sustained in combat. But there is a litheness to his movements. As he takes a seat, his eyes shift around the room. There is a mod table in the center of the floor; on its face, a white ceramic bowl of nondescript pink candies that hasn't been touched in a week. A vase of Digitalis purpurea rests on a tasteful end-table to the right of her desk. Hanging on the wall behind her head, the analog clock, ticking down. He reinitiates eye-contact.

“You’re very attractive for a psychotherapist. Must be dangerous for your clients.”

It is stated plainly, without any sentiment. His eyes are fixed on her face. Madeleine pauses. “They are usually more of a danger to themselves.”

He holds her gaze for a few seconds more. Then looks past her, unaffected by shame.

“Foxgloves. Beautiful.” His tone brightens. “Did you choose them?”

Madeleine, despite herself, smiles. “Yes, I find them friendly.”

“You know,“ he leans forward slightly, as if disclosing something pertinent, “if you eat them, they can cause your heart to just…” he wavers in place but it is not unmindful or unmediated “…stop.

His sense of amusement is like a small boy’s. Madeleine, half-amused herself, concedes, “Then, I’ll make sure not to.” His eyes keep their shine but he resumes his initial, reserved posture. The silence holds. He isn't looking away. She says, “Do you know a lot about flowers?”

“My father had a garden. He taught me.” A crease forms in his brow. “He died when I was young, but my interest… remained.”

Madeleine nods, empathetic. “It’s difficult to lose a parent, especially at a young age.”

“Yes. Death has a particular effect on children.” He inclines his head slightly. “Doesn’t it?”

Something tugs at the back of her mind. She relaxes her shoulders voluntarily. “What effect did it have on you?”

“Profound.” His attention on her now is direct. There is no impatience in his tone, only quiet deliberation. “But, I saved a life once. I think that had more of an effect.”

“Why is that?”

“Saving someone’s life connects you to them forever. The same as taking it. They belong to you.”

The silence is suffocating. It swallows her whole.

Safin averts his eyes first. “I’m… not very good at talking about myself. So, I brought…” he motions to the desk with a gloved hand, “I thought it might interest you.”

Madeleine shrugs. “Sometimes objects can me more evocative than memories.”

There is a light in his eyes like a wolverine’s.

She looks down at the box. Polished wood. She opens the lid, and—

Her breath catches.

The lid falls with a dull clatter.

Her vision blurs. Blinking back tears. Her throat tightens.

When she looks up he is there, still. A dark smear against the sunshine resolves into the familiar, human shape.

“I never forgot your eyes under the ice. They needed me.” The tone is without any trace of joy, or humor. It could, in less stringent care, be mistaken for sympathy. “It is a shock to see them so many years later. They still need me. I am rather… taken by them.”

She cannot simply scramble for her father’s Beretta 92 under the cabinet. She clutches the box in white-knuckled hands. Residual shock gives way to the sound of blood in her ears. The little girl in front of her father, flushed hands clenched around the metal gun, whispering, l'homme masqué, il m'a sauvé la vie.

The sight of her own teardrop upon the porcelain causes her to look up. Faced again with the sum of countless nightmares—to a child, he has always been intangible, a timeless boogeyman. His name is Lyutsifer Safin. He is thirty-four. His hands rest idle on his knees while he takes in the breadth of her reaction, but the eyes look past her into a place she cannot yet reach.

“You murdered my mother.”

Safin’s expression darkens. “And your father killed my entire family.” His shoulders lift and fall. “Parents.”

It is his impudence that breaks the spell. Her lip curls, baring teeth. “A box and a theater mask. After all these years, that is your idea of intimidation?”

He frowns. “You never saw my face. I feared you would not recognise me.”

“I am not a little girl anymore,” she says coldly. As if the words alone are acerbic, enough to scar him twice over. “Or did you think I could be cowed by the mere sight of you?”

Safin looks at her for all the world like she is being pedantic. She scoffs and shoves the lid closed. Her hands are trembling. She cannot call security. If he has found her here, he will find her again. She cannot fold. She swallows past the bile rising in her throat.

I never forgot you, either.

“I did not think we would ever meet again.” Safin holds her gaze without blinking. “After all this time, you come into my life, to invade the only place I may have any peace. Why?”

“My own curiosity. Nothing more.”

“You would make a mockery of me for curiosity’s sake?”

He frowns. “We understand each other well enough. There is no need for mockery.”

She should have emptied the clip into his head, seventeen years ago. But she was not her father then, or now. Her weapon of choice is poise. “If you are here as an outpatient, then you understand that, no matter your background, cooperation is necessary if I am to determine the root of your… condition.”

On the last word, something surfaces in his eyes. Like the disturbance of silt under a riverbed, churning up the decay beneath. His hand draws a fist against the opposite palm, but his voice is unmoved. “If that is your wish.”

The silence holds. His eyes are easier to read. Venomous. Madeleine swallows dryly. “There is nothing else you would like to discuss?”

“I think not.”

“Then you will return promptly next week. We will discuss this further.”

“Of course, Dr Swann.”

He stands, poised to leave. No fleeting words to further tear into her psyche. He simply turns and walks out of her office. Through the window she watches him exchange a few words with the secretary while her heart hammers against her ribs. He glances back; her heart is in her throat. His figure retreats, vanishing from sight. No longer just a half-remembered dream.

Madeleine draws the blinds. Her hands shake. Sitting at her desk in a sunless room, head between her knees. She could call in sick and it wouldn’t be a lie. There is no small chance that he will be waiting for her to balk, flee and do—God knows what. The fact that he agreed to a second meeting is a sign, but of what, it is too early to say. If she plays her cards right, he will have no choice but to trust her word.

Much like the residue of human entrails and blood against wood, or your grandmother’s suede armchair, there are some stains you cannot scrub out.

She stows the memory box in her drawer after some consideration.

#madeleine swann #ruby bartlett #phidian #lyutsifer safin #mr. white gets namechecked #pre-spectre #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #no time to die spoilers #honestly this is STILL about as romantic as manhunter (1986)... we've come full circle #sorry for the repost I was miffed with the adhd like flow of scene transitions and exposition #pretend phidian is played by... idk mid 2000s paul dano #I am running on four hours of sleep as I post this but I will get more #might rewatch tdk & tdkr... for the mood yknow?

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mlmxreader · 9 months

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Loyal To a Fault | Bane x gn!reader

anonymous asked: Hiya! Hope alls well 🖤. May I please give you a request to use the following prompts for big tiddy Bane X non-binary, male, or gn!Reader: "I'm not leaving!"+ "I thought we were... forget it"+"Get down!" Reader protects the big man and refuses to leave his side, even when all seems hopeless. (As always, this is just spit balling, all creative liberties to you of course!!) Thank you 🖤! 🐍anon

summary: Bane appreciates loyalty, but to be loyal to a fault is one of the worst things that a person can be for him.

tws: swearing, injury, gun violence

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"Get down!"

Bane's back hit the floor, a grunt escaping his throat as he closed his eyes, screwing them shut as he swallowed thickly; he felt like he could've move, hearing the crashes and the loud thuds. He couldn't move.

He heard your voice shouting orders at his men, but he was powerless to do anything; he pieced together what had happened. Gunshots. Something in his stomach. He swallowed thickly again, wondering if he had really badly fucked up this time; if the shadows had ceased being owned by him.

Bane knew you were loyal to him, and only him, but he wished you weren't loyal to a fault; he had been brought down, there was no use in continuing the fight. There was no use in trying to keep it up; he couldn't keep fighting. You should have left him there, left him to deal with it.

He opened his eyes, and groaned at the sight. You were fighting hard, but you never went more than a few steps away from him, and constantly looked back at him to ensure that he was still alive; you were loyal to a fault. Bane closed his eyes again, sighing heavily.

He wanted you to leave, to run away. To get yourself to safety, not protect him. Bane could only assume that someone had tried to grab you when you yowled out.

"Fuck off! I'm not leaving! Leave me the fuck alone! I can't abandon him, you cunt!"

Loyal to a fault.

Bane grumbled, struggling to drag himself to sit up; it felt like his stomach was being torn open when he did, propping himself up on a wall as he sighed heavily and did his best to muster the strength to speak; but you knew.

You collapsed to your knees between his legs, hands on his chest as you stared at him; he could easily see the worry swirling in your irises, mixing with caution and desperation. He swallowed thickly, his bloodied hand heavily resting on your wrist as he shook his head slowly.

"Go," he wheezed. "Leave me."

"No," you growled, shaking your head. "Bane, no… I… I can't. Not you. I'd be lost without you… I've never not been at your side, I… no."

Bane's eyes saddened as he huffed out a quick and curt sigh. "Please."

"No," you repeated. "It's always been me and you, I don't know how to be me without you. I don't know what life is like without you and I… I wouldn't be able to go on if you weren't there."

He looked desperate. "Listen…"

"No!" You snapped. "Not happening! I'm not leaving! I thought we were… nevermind… it's not important. Just… don't make me leave?"

He didn't want to argue, you were upset enough as it was and he knew he wouldn't get through to you. Loyal to a fault, and stubborn to a fucking thorn in his side. Stubborn and loyal, far too much of both. He let out a soft sigh as he rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Destroy the life you could have had by staying."

You leaned forward, planting a kiss to his mask right where his mouth was, before you dared to smile and nod curtly at him. "As long as it means I get to stay where I belong."

He wanted to protest. To tell you that even though you did belong at his side, he didn't want you to be there if it meant getting you killed; he had promised a long, long time ago, that he would always be there at your side.

He promised. He said he would never leave, that he would never give up on you no matter how much shit got between you; Bane had kept that promise for years, but it weighed heavily on his chest that maybe he would have to. He dreaded it.

A numbness began to sink over him, making him sink against the wall as his brows furrowed. His chest felt tight, like something was blocking it.

"The injury isn't fatal, it's almost superficial, just knocked the wind out of him badly," he heard someone say to you. "He'll live, but…"

"I swear down if you fucking say that we need to get a fucking hospital right now-"

"No," they replied, "but you will need to clean the wound, eventually. Prevent infection."

"Then fucking fix him!" You were terrifying when you raised your voice. Bane rarely raised his own, but you… you almost never raised yours. "Fucking fix him! Now, you fucking cretin! Or I'll fucking hang you from your fucking ribs on the flagpole outside! Do I make myself fucking clear?!"

Bane felt his shirt tear open, hands on his chest. Pressure and something cool on his wound. A sharp sting. He heard the ripping of fabric, the pressure of something soft. Padded. He sighed.

"Easy, big guy."

He felt something, someone, grab his hand tenderly.

"You better not get an infection," you mumbled in his ear. Bane hummed like he was going to laugh. "You're my fucking partner, Bane, you're not allowed to fucking leave."

He felt a little better. He knew he didn't have to break his promise. You were safe, and he would be back on his feet in no time; Bane could rest easily knowing that he could step in as your protector again.

Of course, everybody knew that you didn't actually need protecting, you were just fine on your own, but Bane… he wouldn't allow himself to live if he couldn't be there when you needed him most. You were special to him.

You meant everything to him, and he couldn't bear to think of what his life would be like without you in it; he had been at your side for so long, he dreaded the mere thought of it.

But then he looked at you, and how your nerves were so clearly shot to shit, how panic and worry was still within your eyes as you swallowed thickly; Bane knew that there was only one thing that he could say to help you calm down, even just a little bit. He knew.

"My love," he growled. "I'm keeping my promise."

#mlem writes #bane fanfic #bane imagine #bane x reader #bane x you #bane fanfiction #Bane #the dark knight rises #the dark knight trilogy #the dark knight #tdkr #tdkr bane #tdkr fanfic #tom hardy x you #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy

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dauntless-gothamite · 1 year

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Master of Shadows Masterlist

chapter 1

chapter 2

#bane #bane tdkr #bane x reader #bane imagine #dc #nolanverse #tom hardy #bane fanfic #bane fanfiction #dauntless-gothamite #dauntless gothamite

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leagueofbane · 1 year

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Teaser pics for new fic I'm working on.

#The Warlord's Daughter #TDKR #ra's al ghul #Melisande #fanfic

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hecatemoon87 · 1 year

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Bane and the Child of the Bat

Summary: This is a mix between TDKR Bane and Comic Book Bane. I'm fascinated with the idea of Bane 'baby sitting' Talia al Ghul's and Batman's son, Damian. This isn't a fluff piece, FYI. It's about a mentorship between Bane and Damian. Bane is passing on his wisdom and skill to The Son of Batman. And Damian is about to be baptized in the fires of Santa Prisca.

Chapter 1: An Icy Farewell

Damian al Ghul had just turned eleven years old. As a birthday gift, his mother, Talia al Ghul, told him he’d be going to stay with a new mentor for a few months. Damian was excited. He had never left the confines of the compound before. Here he had been born and here he had been raised by Talia and his grandfather, Ra’s al Ghul.

The boy was trained in various fighting styles, taught several languages and studied mathematics, sciences and technology.

Most children wouldn’t have been able to endure the rigorous trials of the League of Shadows, but Damian was no ordinary child. He was the son of Batman. He was born to become a weapon, an unstoppable force that would bring change to the world. Whether that be for good or for evil. Only time would tell.

Talia had drugged Batman eleven years ago and seduced him into her bed. She had wanted a child, but only if it came from the most fearsome of fighters. Damian had never met his father, though he had heard stories of the Dark Knight. He secretly hoped that one day he would finally be reunited with his father, but Talia said he was not ready.

“Mother, but when will I be ready?” Damian whined as she packed his bag.

“I will tell you when you are, but now, you will go to Santa Prisca and study with Bane,” Talia said, zipping up the boy’s suitcase.

“You said the same thing last year. Tell me mother, does father even know I exist?” Damian sneered.

Talia glanced up at her son and glared at him. “Enough of this. It’s time to go,” she snapped, pushing the suitcase into the arms of a nearby guard.

Mother and son walked solemnly to the helicopter pad atop a tower in the compound. Damian started to feel a little nervous, but he used his mindfulness technique to steady his nerves.

He had a very complicated relationship with his mother. It was certainly a love/hate dynamic. Talia was not motherly, and she had high expectations for her son. In truth, Damian was eager to distance himself from his mother’s ever constant presence and unreasonable demands.

As they reached the landing of the helicopter pad, Damian saw his grandfather, Ra’s al Ghul, waiting for them.

“Ah, my grandson. You’ll enjoy it at Santa Prisca, I assure you,” Ra’s said, patting Damian on the shoulder.

“Thank you, grandfather, I’m sure I will like it there,” Damian said formally.

The al Ghul’s did not hug. Talia simply turned away and walked back down the stairs, leaving her son in her icy wake. His grandfather, however, gave him a reassuring nod then departed.

Damian forced away the well of sadness threating to spill out over his cheeks and turned to board the helicopter.

#bane #bane dc #tdkr bane #dc universe #talia al ghul #damian al ghul #damian wayne #the son of batman #comics #tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fan fic

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