#Bruce ‘everything is my fault’ Wayne

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

[littlefankingdom]

Leslie, I will not forget your crimes. I'm sure it didn't fucked up Bruce when his foster mom did not live with him and only came when the school called her or Bruce got too sick or hurt for Alfred to take care of him alone. Bruce would be difficult with his meds when he was sick just so she would have to come take care of him, and she would say in front of him that Alfred did not need her for that. As a grown man, he still admits he views her as his mother figure, that's how much he loves her. And she has the audacity to say he was difficult to raise, like ma'am, you did not raise him.

[haveihitanerve]

The argument I will never understand Jason Todd fans, or bad writers writing Jason Todd, make is the whole “bruce should have never taken a child out with him to fight crime in the first place, he could've stopped him if he wanted to. Robin is his sidekick its his responsibility to watch out for him.” ….

NO. 

I mean, yes. But no. The entire point of Batman and Robin is that they are partners. 

Yes, Bruce is Dick’s dad, he’s Jason’s, he becomes Tim’s and Damian’s and etc etc. 

But Batman and Robin are partners. Equals. And they, jason especially, cannot demand to be treated as equals and adults, and then immediately backpedal when shit gets hard. 

It is literally so important to Dick’s character, to Bruce’s/Batman’s, that Robin is his equal, his partner, treated as on par with the rest of the adults. 

“We’re either partners in this war, or we’re not.” Dick’s literal quote about being left being by Bruce during a rough Batman/Robin fight. Batman was going to leave him behind because it was too dangerous. Dick said fuck that, it’s always dangerous. Take me along. We’re equals when shit gets hard or we’re never equals. 

Its the same with Jason, and Tim, and Damian and Steph and Duke and everyone. 

Yes Bruce/Batman watches Robin’s back and when he gets hurt comforts him and etc etc. But Robin is just as responsible for watching Batman’s back. 

They demand trust from him, reliability, demand that he trust them enough and trust what training he gave them, that they can handle themselves in battle, handle things without him having to constantly focus on them and can focus on his own fight. 

They cannot demand that from him and then turn around and argue that he should’ve been better prepared, been watching them better. 

They asked for him to trust them, and he did.

It sucks that that trust got Jason killed, but it is not Bruce’s fault. 

Anyway thats all. Just a rant :p

[fabcreature]

when i see people blaming bruce for jason's death

[daydreamerdrew]

All-Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder (2005) #3-4

[hedgehogcryptid]

i don’t like the words Bruce chooses. Investment as if his son was a project or a charity case. My home and my world as if he was an outsider still.

Is it really such a surprise that he later doubts his place when making one (very understandable, predictable) mistake gets him othered?

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS TOXIC TRAITS / RED FLAGS + GREEN FLAGS ── .✦

a/n: the thing is, they all aren’t like problematic when it comes to relationships but they do have some things and flaws which when heard sound “oh okay that’s fine” but may be like super annoying in a irl relationship also this was a request by anon (here)! (Tags: batboys x reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Chronic People-Pleaser: Will prioritize everyone’s needs over his own (or yours), leading to burnout… and you having to remind him you exist.

Flirty by Nature: He’s not trying to flirt… it just happens. That waitress? Nope, not on purpose, but yeah, you’ll roll your eyes a lot.

Hero Complex: He always has to “save” people, including you, even when you’re perfectly fine handling it yourself. “I got it, babe.” No, you don’t, Dick.

GREEN FLAGS:

Emotionally Intelligent: He can read your mood like a book and knows exactly how to make you smile (with pancakes shaped like hearts).

Physical Affection Expert: Hugs, cuddles, forehead kisses—you’re basically his personal teddy bear.

Supportive King: He’s your biggest cheerleader, hyping you up in the most genuine, heartfelt ways. “That’s my girl.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Anger Issues: He’ll throw hands for you at the slightest provocation. Guy looks at you wrong? Jason’s already removing his jacket.

Emotionally Guarded: Good luck getting him to open up. He’s more likely to tell you his deepest fears after you’ve fallen asleep.

Reckless Behavior: He’ll drag you into the most insane situations and act like it’s no big deal. “What do you mean this is dangerous? It’s fine.”

GREEN FLAGS:

Loyal to a Fault: He’ll defend you with his life, no questions asked. “You mess with her, you mess with me.”

Soft Romantic: Beneath the tough exterior, he’s writing you sweet notes and remembering the little things, like how you take your coffee.

Protective (in a good way): He won’t smother you, but he’ll make sure you always feel safe, even if it’s just crossing the street.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Workaholic: He’ll forget to eat, sleep, and sometimes text you back because “the case was just getting good!”

Overthinks Everything: Spends hours analyzing your last text to figure out if you were mad or just tired. “Was that period passive-aggressive?”

Terrible Self-Care: You’ll have to force him to drink water and go to bed like a mom with a rebellious child.

GREEN FLAGS:

Incredibly Thoughtful: He remembers every detail about you, from your favorite flower to that obscure hobby you mentioned once.

Adorably Awkward: His shy smiles and fumbling over words when you flirt back are endlessly endearing.

Problem Solver: He’ll find solutions to all your problems, from fixing your computer to making your bad day better with tea and soft music.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Insanely Jealous: He glares daggers at anyone who looks at you too long. “Why is he breathing near you?”

Judgmental: He might critique your taste in music, books, or anything else with his usual bluntness. “This… is what you listen to?”

Control Freak: He likes things done a certain way and will try to “help” you by micromanaging your life.

GREEN FLAGS:

Devoted Partner: Once he’s in, he’s all in. You’ll never doubt his commitment because he’s always showing up for you.

Loyal Beyond Measure: He’ll defend your honor to anyone, even Bruce. “She’s perfect, Father. You simply lack taste.”

Surprisingly Gentle: Despite his tough exterior, he has a soft side that only you get to see, like the way he pets animals—or you—so tenderly.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Emotionally Repressed: He’s basically a human brick wall when it comes to expressing his feelings. “I’m… fine.” No, Bruce, you’re not.

Work Comes First: He’ll disappear into the Batcave for days unless you drag him out by the cape which becomes quickly annoying.

Overprotective: He’ll want to track your every move, not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he worries too much. “It’s for your safety.”

GREEN FLAGS:

Quietly Romantic: He may not be overly expressive, but he’ll show love through subtle gestures—like a bouquet of your favorite flowers left on the table.

Ultimate Provider: He makes sure you never want for anything, whether it’s emotional support or physical comfort.

Unshakable Devotion: Once you’ve captured his heart, he’s yours forever. There’s no halfway with Bruce—he’s in it for the long haul.

[pomegranatelifethis]

Broken heart

The rain tapped quietly against the tall windows of Wayne Manor.

But inside, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Not peaceful. Not warm.

Just… hollow.

You’d been brought here when you were thirteen.

After your mother died, Bruce took you in.

His real daughter.

Blood.

No one could say you didn’t belong here.

And yet, every single day since you walked through the doors of this grand mansion…

You felt like a stranger in your own story.

There was no welcome.

No warmth.

Only rooms that were too big, silences that were too loud, and people who were too busy to look.

Bruce gave you a bedroom, not a family.

A last name, not a father.

He told you he was "doing his best."

But he never looked you in the eye.

He never asked what your favorite food was.

Or if you had trouble sleeping.

Or if your chest hurt again.

Because it did.

It always did.

Your heart condition had followed you your whole life.

Weak rhythms, shortness of breath, chest pain.

Stress made it worse.

Loneliness made it unbearable.

But no one noticed.

Or maybe they just didn’t care enough to ask.

Dick smiled at you.

He was always smiling.

But it never reached his eyes.

You sat next to him one afternoon, hoping for connection.

He barely looked up from his phone.

“Bored?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

And he didn’t wait.

He left.

Jason ignored you.

He didn’t mean to be cruel—he just didn’t see you.

One night you collapsed near the stairs.

He found you.

But instead of asking if you were okay, he muttered,

“What are you doing on the floor?”

Like it was your fault.

Like your body betraying you was inconvenient.

He helped you up.

But he never looked at you.

And still... you said “thank you.”

Because at least someone touched you.

Tim barely knew when you entered a room.

You could be sitting across from him, and he’d still be more focused on his laptop than your pale face, your shaking hands.

One night, your breathing grew shallow—fast, unsteady.

You curled up in the corner, struggling.

He was there.

Headphones on. Typing.

You nearly passed out at his feet.

And he never noticed.

Damian hated you.

At least he was honest about it.

To him, you were weak.

Pathetic.

A waste of space.

“You can’t even hold your own weight,” he said one afternoon when you dropped a glass.

The truth was, your hands were trembling.

But he didn’t care.

He walked away while your heart pounded like a ticking time bomb inside your chest.

No one followed.

No one stayed.

You started keeping painkillers hidden in your drawer.

Not because they helped—

but because pretending to take them felt like pretending someone gave a damn.

You started writing letters you never sent.

Journals filled with

“Would they notice if I died?”

“Does it matter?”

Then came the night it finally broke you.

Your vision blurred.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t scream.

You reached for your phone—

but the battery was dead.

Your fingers fumbled.

No one heard.

No one came.

You passed out.

---+--+---------------+-------+-------_---------------

When you woke up, everything was white.

The hospital smelled like bleach and cold air.

Alfred was there.

He looked shaken.

Bruce came later.

He stood by your bed.

Silent.

Eyes unreadable.

And then he said,

“When did it get this bad?”

You almost laughed.

Because it had always been this bad.

But you had never been worth his full attention.

--------------------------------------------------------

Now, lying in a hospital bed, you stared at the ceiling and whispered,

“I didn’t want help. I just wanted to be seen.”

But the damage was done.

---+-------------------------------------------------

Maybe now they’d care.

Maybe now they’d feel guilty.

Maybe now someone would look at you and really see you.

But maybe it was too late.

Your heart was fragile—

and not just because of your condition.

-----------------------------------------------------------

End.

(Or maybe… just the beginning.)

English is not my native language

[rikas-musings]

PROJECT SHATTERCORE ☣︎

DIRECTORY

bruce wayne x reader, jason todd x reader, dick grayson x reader, damian wayne x reader, tim drake x reader

SYNOPSIS: you were taken young, too young to ever have known anything other than needles and pain. stuck inside a lab that was bright and loud, they enhanced every neural frequency within you, transforming you into more than you could have ever been. after years of experiments, someone finally comes to save you. he’s tall, dark, and terrifying. but he offers you safety in a new home. you feel like an outsider in the gloomy mansion, but you understand why they behave as though you’re not there. it’s probably your fault, but over time, things begin to change, and the people in your home are starting to act as if they want you here. is this desire something normal?

WARNINGS: 18+ only, DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT, mild violence and blood, angst, child endangerment, alcoholism, cops being horrible

PLAYLIST FOR THE CHAPTER: ♫ slipping through my fingers - abba listen to this for ultimate immersion

A/N : welcome to my first batfamily x reader series!! please read ALL warnings because there are a lot in the series directory. here comes the prologue!! let me know if you enjoy :3

PROLOGUE

You lived on the streets from the little life you can remember, barely conscious at the ripe age of six years old. Your mother was always in a drunkard state, but you clung onto her for dear life. You depended on it, you did. Tiny grimey hands clutching onto her dress, eyes bearing into her face, wishing for any sort of love to emit from her. 

You always watched. You were quiet, but occasionally, you tried to garner attention from her. When things were right—if they ever were right—you’d vaguely remember her humming a lullaby that never quite left your memory. Her smooth hands caressing your velveteen hair, back when it wasn’t grimey and unkept. Back when you weren’t on the streets. 

This was your life, this was all Mama and you had known. Days spent searching for scraps in garbage bins, watching your mama disappear for nights at a time. She’d come back with scraps of food and more bottles.

The lights flickered whenever she came back, as if an angel had come down to bless the two of you, but changed its mind halfway. In the abandoned warehouse you and your Mama stayed in for the past while, you were tired. Your small body was littered with bruises and cuts from staying in the grimiest parts of Gotham City. But you persevered. Mama always tried her best for the two of you.

It happened on a Saturday night, the night’s mama always tried to get you special treats from the bakery that had leftovers in the trash. 

There were loud crashes, and the police were everywhere; you felt terrified. Unbeknownst to you, a robbery was happening at the bank beside the bakery. You shook like a leaf, scared for your life as you huddled in the alleyway between the bakery and the bank. A man as large as what you imagined a giant might look like, with blood splattered on his face, entered the alleyway. But that’s not what frightened you. He stood to the side, observing everything. Your mama was still far back, rummaging through the trash, most likely very drunk and oblivious to the situation unfolding before you. 

The police had entered the alleyway, and you were terrified. 

You felt the buzz of the radio before you heard it ‘The bats have the villain under control, but we got a call about a potential robber at this bakery.’ The man in uniform sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand before replying.

“Tell me why I got stuck dealing with the fucking homeless scum in the area.” He groaned, and your body stiffened. He made eye contact with you before you could attempt to run, even if you could, you could never leave Mama behind. 

Not long after, he caught sight of your mom and the other shadow lurking in the dark. His eyes widened, and he sneered before trying to call for backup.

The lights flickered violently as you desperately put your hands up in defence, staring at the police officer, he was gonna arrest Mama. Hurt Mama.

I don't want him to hurt Mama. 

You screamed and wailed, rendering your voice raw. When suddenly the radio crackled and sparked, the line cut and the police officer fell back off balance. You sighed in relief at the faulty hardware and his loss of balance.

Daniel was a weapon, made to be at least. Today’s mission was to stage a bank robbery. The place wasn’t big in itself, but the doctor had been hired to create new weapons and test them out by the harbour; therefore, he needed a distraction in the city to throw off the scent of any unwanted heroes. 

When he’d arrived, he’d blown up quite a few people before listening to the police’s radios on his comms. They were coming, and so were the bats. He gruffed, and his partner decided to be the bait.

“I’m gonna hide out until things calm down, don’t let them find out what the doctor is doing.” He grunts to his weasly looking partner beside him and hands him a bag stuffed with cash. His partner grins and nods their head before scurrying off to deal with the situation. Daniel sneaks out of the back entrance of the bank before entering an alleyway beside it. He let a smug grin fall onto his face. The plan was going spectacularly. 

In the alleyway was a woman rifling through a huge trash bin, and a little kid quivering as they clung to the brick wall. He hid among the shadows of the alleyway when a police officer showed up. He watched as the kid began to cry, but he froze when he noticed something.

The kid's eyes began to vibrate as the light flickered. While you screamed and wailed at the officer to stop, he watched as faint electricity crackled through your vibrating eyes, seemingly sending the officer stumbling back. His radio crackled with that same electricity. It was almost unnoticeable, especially to the untrained eye; it resembled any malfunction of faulty technology.

But not to Daniel. He noticed. 

He watched as the officer pulled out a gun, and before he could get his finger on the trigger, he smashed him into the wall with a loud-

CRACK.

Blood dripped down the wall of the alleyway as the officer's limp body crumpled to the pavement. Your breath quickened as you covered your ears at the sudden loud noise. You felt dizzy and tired—running away with Mama was the only thing replaying in your head.

She’d finally stumbled out of the bin when you made eye contact with her, her eyes sparkled with a sense of familiarity, as she clung onto a brown paper bag with oil spots. 

“Mama!” you wailed and went to dash into her arms, snot running down your face as you mustered all the strength in your body to reach her. 

But you didn’t reach her, not before the man did. 

He grabbed her neck, the skin taught against his grip, then looked down at you. 

“Hello, little one.” You looked up at him as your mama dropped the bag of baked goods, her hands going limp. You hesitantly reach out a hand.

“W-what’re you doing with Mama?” you spoke with furrowed brows, you were too dizzy and too tired as you watched the giant man, his orange eyes looked down at you with curiosity. 

“I’m thinking you two can come home with us tonight. The doctor would love to meet you.” He offers a faux grin. You feel sick to your stomach, but all you could do was hesitantly nod at him. 

He threw your now passed out Mama on his shoulder before picking you up and holding you with one arm. He smelled like smoke and gunpowder. You inhaled the weird smell before relaxing in his arms.

Maybe he wanted to help you and Mama.

TAGLIST: @alishii @lalana1703 @purple-obsidian @ghosty-the-grim-fairy @shadowsingers-redhood @staarflowerr @nininehaaa @hai-there-how-are-you @cynniee @lovebug-apple @nervousalpacalady @nisarelle @lilyalone @cxcilla @cupid73 @swag13r @ninabinna @welpthisisboring @hana-no-seiiki @iminlovewithjasontodd @alisteraille @crackpeole @ujjjjkjkkkkkooo

[witherby]

Wait I kinda wanna see mousy’s blow up 🤭

You can absolutely see the blow up 😏

The Littlest Wayne: Boiling Point

The post that inspired this response is Here!

Masterlist is Here!

You can't remember what started the argument. An errant comment, some joke in poor taste, an accusatory question — it could have been anything. All you know is that you said something you felt was important, Damian ignored it, Tim dismissed it, and Dick acted like you hadn't said it to begin with, and now you're livid and don't want to finish your dinner.

"May I be excused," you say to Alfred, already pushing your chair back from the table before he can respond. Your grandfather gives you a concerned look, but nods.

"Shall I bring something up to you later, young master?" He asks. You don't know if you'll have any appetite by then, but you agree anyway to spare his feelings.

"Where are you going?" Bruce asks, frowning as you stand to leave. "I haven't seen you in a week, honey. Even if you're not hungry, can you sit a while?"

"Whose fault is that," you snap. The room gets real quiet after that, a mixture of surprise and incredulity painting your father's face.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not making you go anywhere, dad," you scowl, "if you missed me then you'd find the time to see me."

"Hold on. I don't think that's very fair," Hal speaks up, reaching for your hand. You pull it away from him. "Mouse —"

"It's fine," you say, "the needs of the many outweigh the needs of one. I'm well aware. It's fine. We'll spend time together some other day. Go stop a robbery or rescue some damsels or something."

"What's with the 'tude, Flitty?" Dick pipes up, standing to block the door. "Pump the brakes for a sec. Talk to us."

"Talk to you? What, so when you inevitably forget this conversation happened you can pretend we never had it to begin with?" You sneer at your brother, looking him up and down. "No thanks. I'm not interested in being gaslit today."

"Gaslit?" Dick balks, looking like you struck him. "I've never —"

"Let them go, Dick," Tim says, twirling a bite of pasta around his fork. "It's just hormones. They'll go back to normal by tomorrow."

"Oh, of course it's just hormones," you scoff, whirling around to point a finger at Tim. "If it's got a logical explanation it's not worth dwelling on. Isn't that right? I can't be upset because I'm just going through puberty! There's no way it's acceptable for me to be upset over anything! My feelings don't matter, so they should be swept under the rug, just like your parents did to you!"

Tim drops his fork in surprise. A bit of pasta sauce hits Damian's check, and he grabs his napkin with an irritated grumble.

"This is such nonsense," the boy mutters.

"Everything that doesn't interest you personally is nonsense," you hiss at your youngest brother. "God forbid someone try to share their love for a hobby that's outside of what you find enjoyable. If the Blood Son doesn't give it his seal of approval, it's not worth the effort! Honestly, I should feel grateful you've blessed us with your presence at all! Surely your inferior siblings are barely worth your invaluable time!"

Your heart's racing. All the little, irritating things about your family that's been piling up inside you are spilling out. Your anger turns the internal hurt into external jabs and low blows, the darkest part of you wanting them to feel just a fraction of your pain at how flippantly they treat you sometimes.

"Sorry, did that upset you, Dami? Aww, it's okay! Like Tim says, it's just an emotional response brought on by some underlying factor! It won't last so it's not worth devoting your time to! And if you're like Dicky, you can just wave it away and say it never happened, no matter what you show him to prove it did! Maybe if you hadn't had the time to make it to dinner and spent weeks or months rushing off to do something more important at the start, you wouldn't have to sit through this conversation at all! Hope that helps!"

A hand comes down on your shoulder, silencing your rant. You whip around to find Jason staring down at you with a heartbroken frown. He looks so genuinely upset that any remaining anger dissipates immediately.

"Mousey," he whispers, "stop. Take a breath."

He looks so blurry. You blink a couple times and realize your panting and crying. No one will look you directly in the eyes except for Alfred, who's visibly tired. There's pity in his eyes.

It stings. God. Everything stings. Your face flushes with color as you realize what you've said and done. You want the earth to open up and swallow you.

It doesn't have to be the earth.

Before anyone can protest, your shadow wraps around your ankles and drags you down, then dissipates.

"Mouse, don't —" Jason kneels on the floor, just a hair too slow. "Fuck."

[wonderjanga]

Amnesia-Ray 2000

Sivana was getting really crafty nowadays. Too crafty in Billy’s opinion. He’s been coming up with weirder and weirder gadgets. This newest gadget was so weird that he didn’t expect it.

Sivana: “Cheese! I will now hit you with my Amnesia-Ray 2000!” *shoots him with it*

That, as a result, gave Billy dementia. So, when some of the JL came to see what was wrong with him, Billy obviously acted a little funny.

Marvel: “Oh Jor-El! … what are you wearing?”

Supes: *confused* “Excuse me?”

Marvel: “I know that there’s such thing as family pride, but…” *rubs the back of his neck* “…come on.”

Supes: “What? Are you saying my costume is bad?”

Marvel: “Uh… Well, it certainly isn’t good.”

Supes: *looks upset*

Marvel: “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Why don’t we get you back into your normal clothes? Come on.” *starts trying to lead him away*

Supes: “Oka—” *is about to go with him before remembering he isn’t his own dad* “Wait, no!”

or

Marvel: “Patrick! It’s good to see you buddy.” *pats his back*

Supes: “What did you just call him?”

Marvel: “Patrick? Jor, isn’t he Patrick Wayne in a… What is he supposed to be?”

Batman: “…I’m a bat.”

Marvel: “Oh. I would’ve guessed a cat.”

Batman: “Yes… anyways, like to circle back to you thinking I’m Patrick Wayne. What makes you think that?”

Marvel: “Your everything? Why are you acting like you aren’t yourself, Pat?”

Batman: *deciding to go along with it* “…That’s my fault. It was wrong of me to think you wouldn’t recognize me.”

Supes: “Bruce??”

Marvel: “Why wouldn’t I? By the way, how’s Tommy doing?”

Batman: “He’s doing great, he’s with his mom right now.”

Supes: “Bruce???”

or

Marvel: “Hippolyta?! Geez it has been a long time since I’ve seen you in that costume.”

Wondy: “Pardon?”

Marvel: “How’re you here by the way? I realize I should’ve asked that earlier.”

Wondy: “I’ve always been here, Captain?”

Marvel: “No… No you haven’t. Don’t make me sound crazy.”

Wondy, Supes, Batman: *share looks* “Marvel, are you okay?”

[dollfacefantasy]

hmmm! thoughts on bruce wayne with a horny wife? 🙈 everything he does is so attractive she just can’t help herself

bruce wayne x fem!reader | mdni a/n: this ask is so real i had to write something out for it. also idk if you had a specific version of bruce in mind, but i kind of imagined christian bale in my head while writing. i think it works for most though just maybe not battinson (so if that's who you meant i'm sorry lol)

"again?" bruce chuckled as your arms snuck around his waist.

you nuzzled against his muscular shoulder blades. down below your fingers fumbled with the belt he'd just fastened into place.

"what?" you asked, feigning innocence. "it's not my fault..."

"it's not? then whose fault is it, sweetheart? is it mine?" he teased right back.

"mhm," you hummed. he could feel the shift of your cheek as you nodded. "you're the one who looks so good all the time while doing literally anything."

he looked in the mirror, a small smirk across his lips while buttoning up his dress shirt. it was only around thirty minutes ago that he managed to finally untangle himself from your loving arms after a couple early morning rounds. he should've known it wouldn't have been enough to satisfy you though.

this wasn't exactly shocking behavior on your part. you could never get enough of bruce. no matter how much time he spent with you, how much attention he paid you, how much affection he gave you, you always wanted more. at galas, you'd stay tucked to his side like there was some invisible binding keeping you there. down in the cave, it didn't matter what he was busy with, you'd worm your way into his lap. in either case, your presence always came with wandering hands and pleading eyes, all in service of trying to get some time where he would focus completely on you.

he wrapped his tie underneath the crisp collar of his shirt and twisted it in to place before turning around to face you. his fingers tapped below your chin, guiding you to look up at him.

"so you're blaming me for your inability to keep your hands to yourself? i don't think that's very fair," he said, his voice low. he leaned in and pecked the corner of your mouth.

"but it's the truth," you defended, your arms squeezing him like a pair of hungry vipers. "i try to be good... but then i see you and i can't help it."

he hummed, pretending to sympathize with your plight. "my poor little wife," he murmured while cupping your cheek. "i'll have to try harder to be more unappealing to you."

"or you could just lemme have what i want," you said.

you ran your hands up and down his chest for a moment before slowly starting to drop to your knees. he tried grabbing your arms to keep you upright, but if he was honest with himself, it wasn't even half of his best effort.

your knees hit the soft carpet covering the closet floor. you gave the belt loops on his slacks a slight tug while gazing up at him with those pretty doe eyes of yours. he already felt a throb down south from the sight of that alone, but then you started to drag your soft cheek across the front of his pants. you nosed at the space where his bulge would be, pressed your lips right to the seam in the fabric.

"i don't need to remind you that i have a meeting this morning, do i? one that i'll probably already be late to because of how long you kept me in bed," he sighed. despite the reluctance in his voice, his hand came down to pet your head.

you batted your eyes up at him. "so what? you're the boss. it'll start whenever you want."

"it's rude to keep people waiting..." he said as you rubbed your palm across his forming erection. you'd done this so many times, you didn't need the outline to know exactly where it would be.

"it's rude to keep your wife unsatisfied. to make her wait hours and hours before you eventually come home," you retorted, flicking open the silver button and tugging down the zipper that kept him concealed.

the beginnings of a groan seeped from his lips. you were already pulling him out of his boxers, stroking his length right beside your sweet face. by this point, he had given up on resisting, but you gave him your best puppy dog look anyways.

"please, brucie. just need a little more before you go," you begged, all teasing stripped away from your tone.

he pet your head once more. sticky drops of precum beaded at his tip as you continued twisting your hand over his shaft.

"well like you said, it would be rude to keep my wife wanting..."

and with that, your lips parted into a perfect little o. instead of responding with words, you slid his cock into your mouth. your eyes fluttered shut as you began to bob your head back and forth.

"you're getting so spoiled," he mumbled before letting himself just enjoy the pleasure you provided.

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

heyyy…how y’all doin…

back after an unexpected (long) hiatus lol hope y’all missed me…anywayz we hit 3k while I was gone so! celebratory brucie post bcus I love u all and it’s my thank u for sticking around 💞

warnings: nsfw alphabet for bruce wayne, so there’s a variety of things under the cut. please proceed with caution 🩷

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

A | Aftercare (what he’s like after sex)

I’ll die on the hill that bruce wayne is a gentleman first and foremost. he’s offering you a hot shower, a cold drink, and one of his fresh-pressed shirts to protect your modesty. and don’t worry—he’s gone in the morning (billionaire business calls), but he’s leaving you a full breakfast spread to wake up to (thanks, alfred).

B | Body part (his favorite body part of his and also his partner’s)

let’s be honest here. bruce knows he looks good. clear blue eyes, jet black hair, chiseled jaw, and a sculpted body…there’s not much about him physically that he can fault, even though he would never say that out loud. and of course, he loves everything about you; that being said, there’s something about a rounded, feminine figure that drives bruce wayne wild. hips, thighs, an ample bust—he loves himself a whole lot of woman.

C | Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I’ll just say it: mr. wayne is giving you thick, heavy loads every time. he’s saving them for you (see J), and he’s not interested in finishing anywhere except inside you (mouth included here). maybe it’s an intimacy thing, maybe it’s a hint of a breeding kink, or maybe it’s just possessiveness; either way, it’s all for you.

D | Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of his)

billionaire vigilante bruce wayne, who could snap a grown man in half and towers over you even when you’re in six-inch heels, would secretly love to be made to pleasure you for nothing in return. having you sit on his face, using him to get off over and over again, but never once offering him release as his cock twitches against his abdomen; the thought has gotten him through many a tedious charity gala.

E | Experience (how experienced is he? does he know what he’s doing?)

how do I put this delicately? bruce is…well, kind of a whore. after all, you don’t earn billionaire playboy status for no reason. his sexual body count more than makes up for the bodies he hasn’t accumulated thanks to his no-kill rule, so he’s working with a wealth of experience here—and, yes, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

F | Favorite position (this goes without saying)

bruce loves to see you on top, where he can take in the view of your body, your face, and your cunt in one fell swoop; plus, when you start to falter as you orgasm creeps up on you, he can pull you into a bear hug against his chest and pick up the pace as you whine into his neck.

G | Goofy (is he more serious in the moment? is he humorous? etc.)

it should come as no surprise that bruce isn’t the king of levity in bed. sex for a man like him represents one of two things: purely stress relief, or deep and intimate emotional connection. either way, it’s not a laughing matter; he’s taking it—and your pleasure—seriously. and if you know about the batman mantle? you’re in soul-bonding territory with him.

H | Hair (how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

bruce keeps himself very well-manicured, but you’ll find that manscaping isn’t his main priority between his philanthropy and vigilantism. still, he’s keeping things neat and practical, with a healthy sprinkling of happy trail—a balance between bruce’s polished good looks and the bat’s ruggedness.

I | Intimacy (how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect)

there are two schools of thought here: hookup bruce and relationship bruce. the former is…rather impersonal. now, the latter—the intensity with that bruce wayne is off the charts. he’s romantic in the vampiric soul-bonding sense only found in gothic literature. penetrating gaze, minimal conversation, and unwavering skin-to-skin contact the whole time, like you’ll vanish into thin air if he lets go of you for even a second.

J | Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

perhaps controversial but I don’t think bruce wastes his time with masturbation. all his discipline, training, and mental fortitude puts him above something as instinctive and banal as instant sexual gratification. he’d much rather save his energy for a fulfilling, drawn-out sexual release—and part of that is doing it with you.

K | Kink (one or more of their kinks)

this one is simple. bruce has a size kink. yes, he’s huge, he’s strong, he’s rich—but seeing how he eclipses you when he stands behind you sparks a fire in his lower abdomen unlike much else. the way his massive hands dwarf yours, or how your delicate fingers clutch at his muscular thighs as you take his length in your mouth…it strokes his ego, what can he say?

L | Location (favorite places to do the do)

though his custom-made king sized bed is more than appropriate real estate, bruce can’t get enough of fucking you in the shower. it’s sensual, erotic, and deeply intimate. plus, it gives him an easy excuse to manhandle you however he pleases—“you’re gonna slip, darling. put your legs around me.”

M | Motivation (what turns him on, gets him going)

everything about you can get bruce hard with little to no effort, but he really enjoys seeing you in your form-fitting pencil skirts and high heels for work. maybe it’s how serious and commanding they make you look, or maybe it’s that he knows he gets to peel that little outfit off your body in his office when you visit him on his late nights. whatever the case, he loves catching you on your way to work.

N | No (something he wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’ll always aim to please, but bruce would be reluctant to inflict pain on you beyond a few pointed spanks. like, he genuinely could not bring himself to harm you in any material way. with his size, skill set, values, and experiences, he would never risk doing anything that might actually hurt or otherwise scare you. now, if you want to rough him up a little…that’s another story.

O | Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

bruce loves to pleasure you and he does it well; he’d never forgo the opportunity to have you gasping and begging for release while his face is buried between your legs. that said, there are few things in the world he thinks about more than your pretty eyes looking up at him as you slide his cock between your lips. between the pleasure and the view, receiving head is the closest someone like him is getting to heaven.

P | Pace (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

bruce wants you to feel every inch of him, so he’s starting off slow—agonisingly so—and building his pace gradually. he’s also not one to rush, meaning he’ll rarely get rough and sloppy. despite appearances, he can be incredibly tender, and he wants to take his time. when he’s about to cum, though, you’ll notice his thrusts getting a little ragged, and his grip a little harsher.

Q | Quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

this may be an unpopular opinion, but bruce is seldom going to prefer a quickie over drawn-out, sensual sex. and it’s not because he doesn’t enjoy them; frankly, they just don’t give him the opportunity to appreciate your body the way he’d prefer to. now, if you insisted, he’d be happy to oblige, but you’d almost certainly have to pick things up again later with more time for him to truly feel satisfied.

R | Risk (is he game to experiment? does he take risks? etc.)

I think it’s not far-fetched to assume bruce’s appetite for risk is healthy. you know, on account of the vigilante thing. and the billionaire thing. he’ll try almost anything you ask him to, and I can see a young bruce being very much the experimentalist, though age teaches him restraint. still, fucking you in his office is one of his biggest fantasies, despite how, well, risky it is.

S | Stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

the limit does not exist. and I really mean that. bruce wayne can last for a long time, and he can go multiple rounds—it’s that goddamn training of the mind and body. the two of you can easily go into the early hours of the morning, even with generous breaks in between; he’s got a lot of pent up desire to be released.

T | Toys (does he own toys? does he use them? on a partner or himself?)

I don’t see him owning toys for himself, but bruce is more than open to buying and using them on you. you’ll never forget your first orgasm from a hitachi wand while he was buried balls-deep in you—all because you mentioned you’d never used one before and were curious to try it. he won’t forget it either; watching you get yourself off like that is an image that stirred…something in him (see D).

U | Unfair (how much he likes to tease)

he’s not going out of his way to drive you crazy—not that it would be hard—because bruce is basically incapable of denying you anything. whatever you want is yours: a handbag, a new dress, a car, an orgasm, literally anything he can give you. now, he does enjoy it when you tease him. a man like him is used to getting whatever he wants, so having a beautiful woman cause him strife…well, it turns him on.

V | Volume (how loud he is, what sounds he makes, etc.)

unsurprisingly, bruce isn’t all that vocal; it’s all gritted teeth and laboured breaths as he tries to maintain composure—after all, he’s supposedly mastered discipline—but despite his best efforts, the feeling of your soft body on his is enough to draw out the odd low, rumbling moan, especially when he’s close to climax.

W | Wild card (a random headcanon)

he couldn’t degrade you even if he tried. bruce wayne only knows how to praise you; “darling”, “princess”, “sweetheart”. when he can tear himself away from the sight of you squirming at his touch, he tells you how beautiful you are, and how incredible you feel. he’s a #tenderlover and I stand by that.

X | X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

bruce is slightly over the 6 inch mark, but girth is where he really shines. every thrust fills you just enough to make your toes curl, and the gentle upward curve of his cock grazes your g-spot each time you rock your hips forward. the tip—a pale pink that matches his lips—is particularly sensitive to your touch.

Y | Yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

incredibly high. bruce wayne could fuck you at any given moment if you only asked. but, he won’t act on his desire arbitrarily. he’s all about self-control and mind over matter; part of his training inherently taught him to contain his base instincts, which includes his sex drive. but let the record show—he will acquiesce if you even slightly suggest you’d like your insides rearranged.

Z | Zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterwards)

he barely sleeps on a normal day, so bruce is certainly not rolling over and going to bed after ravaging your body. he’ll have a shower—ideally with you—and wait for you to fall asleep by his side before he even considers getting some rest himself. he does sleep eventually, though, and he finds his most restful nights are spent with you draped over his body, breathing softly against his chest.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hello! I was wondering if you had any more of the ghost King summon challenge au!

"Damian Wayne! You better be dressed and done here in five minutes or else!" Bruce shouted up the stairway. He was a mess of nerves, waiting for everything to go perfectly today, and his youngest was making it really hard.

Around the hire extra, staff raced about in a rushed panic, attempting to get everything in order before guests arrived. Bruce had been up for over ten hours getting everything ready, yet it still felt like time wasn't enough.

For goodness sake, he hadn't even had time to steam-press his suit!

"Where are the bloody flowers!?" He screams down the hallway. Usually, he would have been a bit embarrassed to catch himself using some of Alfred's British swearing (The man did raise him. It's why, for a few years, Bruce had a slight British accent as a child), but he can't find it in himself to care today. A poor worker organizing clothes on the pillar jumps a foot out of her skin.

"They're setting up now, Mr. Wayne," she assured me after realizing she was the only one in the hallway. "They just needed to figure out where to put the larger pieces in such a close space."

Bruce grits his teeth, biting back another less appropriate swear from his leaving his mouth. It's not the florist's fault, and certainly not this young lady's fault that they had to move the entire venue from Wayne's grounds to inside the manor, derailing all the prep work that went months into this, so he doesn't have a reason to take it out on her.

If only Gotham's weather hadn't done a complete one-eighty, everything would have been ready yesterday. Bruce hates that he has an entire satellite meant to track changes in the Speed Force that could affect the timeline as he knows it, but on Cass' special day, he couldn't realize it would rain.

Not just a drizzle. No. The stupid Gotham Skies decided today, of all days, would be perfect to crack open and release the bloody heavens.

"Good. Thank you." He says in a short clip sentence. Her smile wobbles only slightly before she makes an excuse and scurries away.

Bruce checks his watch, only to feel his eyes budge out at the new position of the hour hand. He twists around to scream up the stairs again. "DAMIAN!"

"I won't go!" His son's voice drifts down. "It's a trap!"

"For the last time, Danny forgives your family's debt now that they are marrying Cass. They are not waiting for you to lower your guard!" Bruce snaps, adjusting his suit. He has half a mind to go up there and drag his son out himself, but he just spotted the ice sculptures that were supposed to be at the end of each row where the guests were sitting at.

It would have looked lovely with Gotham's open sky and the following green of his yard, but if those fools placed them inside the grand hall, it would only look tacky.

His daughter's wedding will not look tacky!

"They want my soul!" Damian cries from above, and Bruce runs a hand through his hair. He glances around, desperate to find someone to help him, when he spots Tim chatting up one of the chefs he hired for the reception.

The blond was blushing, but there was a smile on his face as Tim leaned in close, speaking under his breath and sending the boy flirty, loaded looks. He seemed oddly familiar.

Didn't that blond go to school with Tim?

Whatever. Bruce didn't have time for that.

"Timothy Jackson Drake!" He snaps, causing his son to leap about from the chef, who looks like he got caught sneaking into the cookie jar. "Come collect your brother. Damian better be in the front row in thirty minutes or else!"

"Yes, Bruce! Right awa,y Bruce!" Tim yelps, scrambling up the stairway. There is a distant sound of screaming, then a few crashes the second he reaches the top, but Bruce knows he will not fail him.

He rushes to the grand ballroom hall, relieved to find the decorators hadn't put the statues on the end of the seating rows like he feared. Inside, they created a path leading into the doors, using the statues like pillars and leaving tastefully white clothes dropped from one to the other.

Inside, the grand ballroom hall looks like a winter wonderland, with soft white and ice blue decorating every inch of the room. Cass and Danny decided to make their wedding winter theme due to Danny's ice core and the fact that they met in winter.

Staff crowded every inch of the room, adding things, moving things, taking things, and speaking quickly and hurriedly. He knows he's a little stressed, but he will more than make it up to all of them for this quick and excellent service.

As a bonus, he'll rent an amusement park for them and their families for a full day. He'll have to make sure to include free meals and some tickets for the rides.

In the center of the room stood Jason, equipped with a clipboard and a headset, barking orders at the multiple staff members running about.

"Pam, I love those ice crystals," He says to a woman who was busy dangling them from the top of the highest pillars. She beams down from her perch at the top of the latter, which is at least fifteen feet long. Jason taps his headset. "How are we doing on the light and music synchronization, Timmy? Great! Remember, I want the lights to go up with every step she takes down the aisle."

Jason flips through some paper on his clipboard, adjusts his headset, and says, "Have we set up the smoke machines yet!? Cass is walking down that aisle in twenty minutes! Alight, thank you, I appreciate you."

Jason pauses, listening to whatever the other people in his headset are saying before he throws his hands up. "I don't care if the guests are getting impatient. They don't come in here until we finish. Don't worry. I'll gladly go out there myself to yell at them. "

He seems like he has a handle on things. Bruce is rather grateful that his second eldest manages to snag Duke and Cullen on his way to scream at Gotham elites. He knows they are the only ones throwing a fit about the delay due to the weather change.

None of Cass and Danny's actually beloved gusts would mind.

"B!" Dick calls, already dressed in his light blue suit. It looks lovely with the white tie and vest that can be seen underneath his suit jacket. "Danny is ready to go, and Cass is just getting her hair and make-up touched up again."

Bruce's heart launches. "My baby is getting married in twenty minutes."

Dick's smile is bright. "She is!"

Bruce's face crumbles as his eyes water. "My baby is getting married in twenty minutes."

His son's eyes widened, and he looked horror-struck. He presses a hand against his chest as though clutching nonexistent pearls. "She is."

"To think this all came to be because Kon sent that trend to try." Bart laughs, stepping beside them openly to gawk at the sight of the two heroes. "Are you two crying?"

"The mighty Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson crying," Kon perks up from where he was lodging at a nearby table. He had come in earlier to move the heavier pieces before any civilian could see him and was taking a break. "I never thought I see the day-"

"You did this!" Bruce snapped at the young man. Kon held up his hands, offering a nervous smile as the man rounded on him. "My baby is getting married because you sent Tim that video!"

"um.....Before I respond to this accusation, how many green stones do you have on you?"

A loud crash distracted Bruce from responding, seeing as it was followed by Damian's loud wailing. "No! No! I want to live!"

"Danny is not going to kill you!" Tim's frustrated voice screams back, "They never did!"

"I'll handle that." Dick sighs, rubbing his eyes clean. He pats Bruce's shoulder, taking him out of Kon's face- and earning a grateful nod from the clone. "You need to go meet up with Cass. You're walking her down the aisle in ten minutes."

Bruce runs towards his daughter's room, barely missing, running into Jazz, who flies by with a Ghost King Royal Cape. Today is going to be a fantastic day despite the stress.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"TOP OF MY SCHOOL"

SYNOPSIS: How an archer!reader first met Green Arrow and became White Arrow.

You've always been an overachiever, but that's not your fault; most people are underachievers. If your mom ever taught you anything, it was to reach for the stars and aim for the biggest and brightest one there is, and watch it explode into tiny little stars that can inspire the next dreamer and believer. So here you are at this archery tournament; you worked so hard to reach the finals. Your fingers might hate you, but that trophy will be in the manor, shining brighter than all the trophies and medals collected by the rest of the family. It's big, golden, and stunning. You don't care about the prize money—pfft, you're rich. You care about outshining all the Waynes, especially your father. Bruce's awards would look like baby medals compared to yours, and he'll notice you; he'll notice his baby and all the hard work they've done. The damage to your fingers is temporary, but the win is forever; the win is for life.

So there you are, hitting bullseye after bullseye, smirking like never before, perfect position, back straight, eyes forward. Who would you be if you didn't win? You wouldn't deserve the name Wayne if you didn't win; you wouldn't deserve to show your face outside of the manor gates. Ha, you would even say your name. Final game, and you're up next. Oh, you were gonna knock the judges off their feet, and you're gonna play them for fools when this is all said and done. So remember your stance: feet apart, back straight, head forward, elbows straight, bowstring near eye level. You could feel the tip of your fingers slipping with the toughness of the string for the bow, but you won't let it bother you; smile through the pain.

You look up at the stands; you see your judges and the people in the stands. You see Alfred and your school friends, but the seat you left for him is empty. You've been telling him about that tournament for days on end; you didn't shut up about this. You made him write it on his schedule board and his computer, yet he still isn't here. Rage is seeping through you. Bruce, you promised! He went to Damian's soccer game—the one he LOST—went to Jason's spelling bee, and Steph's track meets, but this is the most important moment of your life, and he isn't here. You wouldn't stop talking about it at the table, even when you knew no one was listening. This was your dream; this was your life goal, and he dropped it for what—a stupid ballet recital from Cass?

You're staring up at the stands, that empty chair you left for him. You felt the arrow slip through your fingers, and a loud "WISSH" went past you. Turning back fast, you saw that you hit orange, throwing you off your win streak of only hitting bullseyes. But it's okay, as long as the other kids don't outdo you when it's their turn. But they did; that slip-up was their chance. Every single time the arrow points red, you feel like they are aiming at you, shooting down your pride, your ambition, your hard work—everything you did to get here. You felt each arrow piercing through your very being, leaving you bloody. Your fingers clenched; you could feel the trickle of blood coming from your bandages. You knew you were going to lose when the game was set and match, and you were on the podium.

The judges were handing out the awards, and you closed your eyes, hoping that someway, somehow, you won. You had your hand open for something, but then felt another thing wrapped around your neck. It was a medal—a medal. Maybe it was gold, and the real trophy was coming out. But when you opened your eyes, you saw a silver medal wrapped around your neck. Silver, not gold. Silver. You felt red-hot tears prickle down your face. You wanted gold. You had the best shots each round; you missed just one—just one. You didn't deserve this; you didn't. But if you looked over your shoulder, you could see the kid who won—the tears of happiness that flowed down their face, holding the trophy way up high. That was supposed to be you. You were supposed to be the one highest on the podium. You meant to take this trophy to Bruce, show him what you could do, show that you were worth the time and trouble, and for one moment, he could see you as one of his own. He could see you as his. But no, you let your emotions get the better of you, and you lost.

You saw Alfred and your buddies running over to you, and you wanted to cry even more. You didn't deserve the hugs or their love because you didn't win. You didn't win. Running off the podium, grabbing your bag, you heard them calling you, but you don't stop. Your feet are moving on their own, gasping for air, and you finally stopped running. You're in the middle of Gotham City's streets, and you finally break down crying. How will you win his love? How will you win his affection if you can't win a stupid archery match? Then hell, the Justice League—and you saw him right there, the great archer himself, down on his luck. He was beaten down and bruised just like you; his bow was nowhere to be seen, and you heard so many swooshing sounds that your ears could bleed. Half the Justice League is in Gotham, including Batman. You ran over to him, not running over to Batman—he can handle himself.

"Mr. Arrow, are you okay?" You heard a groan through the sound of buildings crashing down and people screaming and running away. You shouldn't be here on the ground; he shouldn't be here on ground level. But you couldn’t leave him. What kind of fan would you be if your favorite superhero died right in front of you? You have to find his bow. Shit, where is his bow? You're running around like crazy. Still, you saw the green bow. The earth shakes, making you look up; it was some kind of brick monster and he was gonna crush you. You rolled over, grabbing the bow and finding an arrow. You tried to run over to Green Arrow, but the floor was breaking underneath you, and you couldn't reach him. Falling on your back, you had to stop it somehow. If you didn't, Green Arrow is dead and gone.

You have to win. You have to save him. Putting the bow up to your face, back straight, eyes forward, elbow straight, bow near eye level—through a small hole in the beast's chest. If you could hit it, the fool is done for. But what if you lose? What if you don't win? What if this silver medal around your neck proves that you're a loser? You put your arm down just for a moment, but you heard the groan of Green Arrow. If he can lose, so can you. But if he can win every other day, you felt the toughness of his bowstring; it cut your fingertips, making you bleed. The pain makes you want to cry. You stained the bow with blood—your blood. It's gonna be his life on your hand if you don't shoot. Aim, shoot, aim, win, win, win, your brain screamed at you.

Letting the arrow fly, it hit the core, making the monster crumble. You finally won; thank God! You fell to your knees, looking down—blood coating the green bow red. You felt a hand on your shoulder; it was his. "Nice shot, kid!" That gruff voice—his voice. You're a winner, not a loser like the first time and the time before.

[raineydays411]

My Fathers daughter pt 14

Summary: A bit of Tonys POV

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony Stark loved his daughter.

There was no doubt about it. He would do anything to make sure she was okay. Which included sending her away.

That was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. To see the look on her face when he agreed with Christine that it was safer in Gotham (an oxymoron if he ever heard one). Then the feeling of dread the days leading up to her departure, not even being able to drop her off.

Immediately he felt the emptiness without her there. He secluded himself in his workshop for days, just wasting away searching for the people who intended to harm his little girl. That's all he did, day in and out.It had gotten so bad, that Pepper had to physically force him to eat and shower, and most of all sleep. But when he slept, he had nightmares.

Dreams where you were taken the night those men broke in, he saw the fear in your eyes as he and Pepper helplessly watch these faceless men take their baby from them. He also has dreams where you come to resent him. You hate him for sending you to Wayne manor, and he has to watch you choose to live with Bruce Wayne the same way your mother did.

That one was more of his insecurity when it comes to Bruce Wayne but can you blame him? He already lost one woman he loved to him, and now he felt like he was losing his child to him as well. And deep down he knew it truly wasn't Bruce's fault, but none of this would have happened if he and Christine just stayed out of your and his lives. But again, that was just his insecurity talking.

It hurt Tony that he couldn't reach out to you more frequently. He was in the lab while Bruce Banner spoke to you over FaceTime. His heart hurt at the emotional torment you were facing in that house. He would have given anything to assure to you that you are wanted and loved. That he and your true mother were anxiously awaiting your return. That he was doing whatever he could to make sure you were as safe as you could be.

It bothered him and Pepper so badly that they could not see you. One day it became too much that he reached out to Christine and bruce. They had come to an agreement. Bruce would allow you to use the computer in the batcave to send emails between you and Tony. As the Batcomputer was basically unhackable (besides you), and it would allow you to have contacts with your parents. Well, imagine the disappointment they felt when multiple emails sent to you were left unopened (to their knowledge) and no response.

But that didn't stop them from sending you everything you were missing and updates about your situation. Pepper figured that you would reach out when you were ready to talk. She insisted that you were fine and there was no need to go down to Gotham and retrieve you.

And there wasn't.

Until Peter called.

"Mr. Stark they got her"

That one sentence made Tony want to throw up. His worst fear, his nightmare.

Before Peter even had the chance to give details Tony had already hung up and started gathering everything he needed. He was out of his mind, rushing in and out of rooms yelling at FRIDAY different incomprehensible commands.

He rushed into his bedroom, ruffling through drawers and closets. Pulling out every single weapon he had stashed away, he was frantic. There was a buzzing his his ears, a static that was so terrifyingly familiar. The same static he felt when he went into that worm hole with the nuke. The same static when he was in that cave. Tony felt himself hyperventilating, his throat dry. He stopped packing suddenly and went towards his bar, searching for the few remaining bottles of liquor that you hadn’t thrown out. He searches frantically until a gentle hand stops him.

It was Pepper. A look of concern on her face but a look of knowing in her eyes. “Drinking isn’t going to bring her back.”

Tony takes a deep breath. The static is gone but his eyes burn. He looks at his wife. “I can’t lose my baby”

That’s when Peppers face hardens, “Our baby, and we’re not. Get up.”

And with that she rises, Tony didn’t even realize he had slide down to the floor, and she strides to their shared room.

“I’ve already sent the message out to the rest of the team. Peter called me after you hung up. The jet is waiting.”

Tony stands, his heart beat steadying and smoothes out his clothes. He takes a deep breath regaining his sanity. “Well, there’s no time for drama. Come on Pep, let’s go to Gotham.”

He puts on his nano watch, and follows his wife.

No more time to waste.