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caslightgatekeepgirlboss · 3 years

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The Soul of a Woman- chapter 2

i'm so glad i finally got this finished in time for @sapphicnaturalrights week!!! posting in 2 parts because of tumblr's stupid post length rules. part 2 in the reblogs.

read chapter 1 here.

prompt: day 7- free space

pairing: jo harvelle x bela talbot

word count: 5.8k

The blade of the clippers caught the harsh fluorescent light shining above the bathroom mirror. If she moved her head this way and that, it twinkled like a far away taillight, or like a star when the sky was real clear. Like that time she went camping with her mom and dad. The sky'd been so clear that night you could see the Milky Way.

Jo caught her own eye in the mirror. She had deep blue bags under her eyes, an ugly purple bruise starting to form on her jaw. She'd missed a spot of blood on her brow bone. Absently, she scratched at it, wondering if it was hers, the shifter's, or the old man's.

Anyway.

She picked up the scissors- the cheap, sturdy ones from the kitchen- and got to work on her hair, watching lock after gooey, knotty blonde lock fall into the sink. If anyone asked, she'd tell them she'd got too much shifter gunk in her hair (which, to be fair, was disgusting) for it to be salvageable; but, if she was honest, she'd been waiting for an excuse to do this for a long time. She was sick of old guys touching it, commenting on it, she was sick of being treated like a silly little girl with her long blonde hair, she was especially sick of how many ghosts and monsters seemed to have a thing for pretty petite blondes. So that was it: fire sale, everything must go. Looking in the mirror, hair shorn choppy and short, she thought, hey, maybe this is my Britney moment.

Next: clippers. If she was gonna do this, she was gonna do it properly. She turned them on and off a few times, testing them, listening to the comforting buzz of the tiny motor, before setting the guard in place and carefully skimming the blade up along one side of her head.

Somewhere outside, the sun would just be rising. The police would be busting into a house and finding a man with a snapped neck in one room and an unexplainable pile of gunky flesh in the next. They'd probably already be chalking it up to a bad day, leaving it to the lab, and wondering what to have for lunch. Meanwhile, a little girl would be learning that she doesn't have a grandaddy anymore.

Took her a while to get her hair looking more-or-less presentable, but she got there in the end. Short on the sides, a little longer on top, long enough for a few locks to sweep part way down over her forehead. Now, staring back at herself in the mirror, she looked- older, maybe. Less girlish. A little dykier. Definitely cleaner, free of all the grime of the hunt. She'd feel better after a shower. Some breakfast, too, if she could keep it down. She even thought about taking a nap, but the thought of seeing that old man's neck bent to a right angle every time she closed her eyes turned her stomach. No breakfast either, then.

A knock at the door. "Sweetheart? You still in there?"

Jo rubbed her eyes, turned the doorknob. Her mom blinked in surprise.

"I'm, uh, making some coffee. You want a cup?"

"Sure. Thanks. I'll be down in a sec." She turned back to the sink. Her mom's reflection cracked a small smile in the corner of the mirror.

"You missed a spot at the back, just here." She flicked a little lock at the top of Jo's neck, right at the back, and reached round for the clippers. "Got a little rat-tail goin' on. Let me get that for you."

It felt like being a little kid again, her mom doing her hair like this. It was nice, though. Familiar. Her mom must've been thinking the same thing. "Y'know, when you were little I used to put your hair up in pigtails, with those- remember those little butterfly clips you used to like, with the sparkles?"

Despite herself, Jo started to smile. "I'd always yell at you for pulling my hair too tight when you were tying it up."

Her mom laughed. "Yeah, you've always been a pain in my ass. Kickin' and screamin' at the world since the second you came into it."

They were quiet for a moment. Her mom set down the clippers and wrapped her arms around Jo's waist, resting her head on her shoulder. In the mirror, their faces side by side like this, twin bruises on their jaws, they could almost be a before-and-after of the same woman. One hardened, professional, efficient hunter; one useless, doe-eyed idealist.

"We did good tonight, baby." Her chin dug into Jo's shoulder when she talked. Jo laughed bitterly. "I mean it."

"A man died on our watch."

She sighed. "It happens. Fuckin' awful when it does, but it happens. Main thing is, we took out the shifter. He won't be hurting nobody else."

"Really? That's the main thing?" She shrugged her off, not knowing why she suddenly felt so angry. "A man died tonight- a man who trusted us to help him, to save him- but hey, at least we got to shoot something."

"Don't get all high and mighty with me, Joanna. You know what this job is, you knew what you were getting into."

Jo whipped around to face her. "What's the point of this fucking job if we don't save people? Ain't that what we're fucking here for?"

"We are! You think hunters do what we do for kicks? Hell no. We do it so everyone else can sleep at night. And yeah, sometimes we get there too late, we screw up, we lose a fight. Sometimes people get hurt. But we get out there every day and we do our damned best. Because nobody else will."

Jo stopped, breathed. Broke a little. "What if it's not enough?"

Her mom's expression softened. She pulled her in and held her tight. She ran a hand through her newly-short hair. "Sometimes it's not. We all gotta make our peace with that."

Her face buried in her mom's hair, muscles sore from the hunt, breath catching on tears, Jo Harvelle made a promise to herself: Next time, I'll be enough. Next time, nobody dies.

There was a woman- an old friend of the Harvelles, who came by the bar sometimes- named Judy Orson. Judy was built like a damned grizzly bear. She was a big woman in every sense of the word: big biceps, big belly, big voice, big hands, big personality. She kept her hair cropped short, almost always under an old trucker cap, she wore big boots and sturdy jeans and well-worn flannels, and she had more tattoos than Jo could ever count (her favourite were her knuckle tats- "B-U-T-CH D-Y-K-E"). She had lines in her forehead that grew deeper when she scowled, and crow's feet that crinkled when she smiled. She could be fucking scary when she wanted to be, drawn up to her full height, voice lowered to a growl, fixing you with that hard glare- but to Jo, she was her loveable Aunt Judy, all hugs and smacks on the back and roaring laughter. She was soft as a teddy bear, really. Other than her mom, Judy Orson was probably Jo's favourite person in the whole world.

If anyone could cheer Jo up right now, it was her. Good timing, then, when she walked into the Roadhouse that afternoon.

Judy was halfway to the bar before she noticed her- the tell-tale jangle of the keys on her belt pulling her head down from the clouds. She realised she'd been cleaning the same glass for the past ten minutes. Jo's head snapped up at the sound, and she felt the warmth of familiarity wash over her. "Judy! Long time no see."

Judy's face cracked into a smile. "Hey, kiddo! Nice haircut! You take after your aunt." She rubbed the back of her own hair to demonstrate.

Nothing like shooting the shit with Judy for a while to take her mind off things. She'd just finished a hunt of her own- helping a couple of restless spirits cross over to the other side, and giving a living family some peace and quiet in their own home at the same time. Jo thought that was a nice way to look at hunting. She asked after Dolly, Judy's femme- her wife (in every way that mattered) of nearly twenty years- and learnt that she'd recently gotten into fostering kittens and had nearly burnt the house down baking last week. She'd also saved a small town from a couple of hungry werewolves.

"How 'bout you?" Judy finished, taking a swig of her beer, "You got a girl on your mind at the minute?"

Jo could've laughed. Oh, she had a girl on her mind, sure- but for entirely different reasons. "Please, the scene round here's pretty much non-existent. I'm tired of dating my exes' exes, y'know?"

Judy tutted. "You're tellin' me."

A dull crash from the back room told her that Ash was on his way over. Jo tensed. Ash hadn't left his room all day: either he was after another beer, or he'd finally found something.

"Listen, kid," Judy continued, as Ash emerged from behind the rickety wooden door, "If you're ever passin' by, you should stop by mine and Dolly's. There's this nice girl works at the market down the road, you should-"

But Jo had stopped listening as soon as she saw the laptop in Ash's hands. "- Thanks, Judy, but, uh- would you excuse me one sec?"

Judy waved her away, and Jo stormed over to the table Ash had slumped down at.

"You got a hit?"

"G'morning to you too, bro," Ash retorted. He patted the seat next to him anyway and tilted the laptop round to face Jo as soon as she sat down. There were about a million tabs open- some news articles, some crowded databases, some unreadable chunks of code. Jo looked at him blankly. He passed her a pair of headphones, moved a few tabs around till he found the audio file he was looking for, and pressed play.

The little sound wave depicted on the screen jumped up and down as a man's tinny, crackly voice played through the headphones. "Alpha to Charlie, do you copy? ... That British lady was back on fifth floor... Yeah, she knows it's restricted access. Doesn't seem to bother her... She said she's a buyer at the auction. Could you check the guest list for a Bela Lugosi?"

Ash hit pause and looked at Jo triumphantly. "Am I the best, or am I the best?"

She rested the headphones on her neck and exhaled. "You're the fuckin' best, man. Where'd you find this?"

"Don't you worry about that, just get yourself down to Lincoln City Museum tonight." He pulled up the events page on the museum's website. The first listing was for an antiques auction, starting 7pm that night: A fine collection of Colonial and Native American artefacts dating back to the mid-15th century, from the estate of the late Charles Buckingham-Duponte.

Her battered old pick-up truck wasn't exactly standard issue for the FBI, so she parked about a block away from the museum. She checked herself out in the rear view mirror, straightened her blouse and jacket; not too masculine, to avoid suspicion, but not so feminine that it made her skin crawl. Satisfied that she'd fussed with her hair enough to look presentable, she flipped open the glove compartment, rifled through a bunch of fake ID's, and grabbed the one she needed.

It's almost ritualistic, getting ready for a hunt. There's a certain routine to it, sort of like a dance. You put on your costume. Assume a certain air. Hold yourself differently. You take one last look through your folders, finalising the details of the plan in your head (and the back-up plan, in case the first plan goes to shit). You swing out of your car, slam the door, open the trunk. You pick out your weapons. You pick them carefully- feeling the weight of each one, assessing their usefulness, their range, how easy they are to conceal. Once you're satisfied, you pack 'em up: pistol in your shoulder holster, switchblade in your back pocket, Dad's knife in the inner chest pocket of your jacket. For luck.

She hoped she wouldn't need all that- the luck or the weapons- but it never hurt to be cautious. Bela had played her once, she wasn't gonna let her play her again.

Lincoln City Museum tried its best to look grandiose in juxtaposition to the grey-and-brown-and-grey old buildings that surrounded it, like a plastic rose among the thorns. Posters either side of the main entrance announced tonight's auction, showcasing a few of the fancier items on sale; on the left, a silver necklace dotted with emeralds, on the right, an age-worn totem pole. It felt a little disrespectful. It was still a little early, but already a steady stream of people in suits and evening dresses were making their way inside. Jo stood taller, put on her fed-walk, and followed them in.

A skinny young man in a blazer that was a couple sizes too big stood in the atrium with a clipboard, crossing names off a list and directing auctioneers through another set of double doors. He looked expectantly at Jo as she walked in. "Good evening, ma'am, welcome to LCM. Can I take your-?"

Jo cut him off with a flash of her badge. "FBI. Here to speak to the head of security, mind showing me the way?"

Her tone brokered no argument. The clerk didn't look like the kind of guy who dealt with the feds on a regular basis; the fear on his face said as much. Jo could almost hear him ask himself if she could smell last night's weed on him. He stammered a quick "Wait here one sec, miss- ma'am- officer- uh, agent, ma'am-" and turned to hiss a message into his walkie-talkie. She nodded her thanks and took a seat across the atrium. While she waited, she kept an eye out for any tall classy brunettes with a British accent. Well- for all of thirty seconds, anyway, before a beautiful older woman walked past with a great pair of-

"Agent Lang, I take it?" A well-built middle-aged man strode across the room and held out a hand. Jo pulled her thoughts back to the task and stood to take his hand with a nod. "Bill Coleson, head of security. We've been expecting you."

It was only when a tall figure stepped out from behind him that Jo realised she hadn't actually told the receptionist her alias. Her stomach flipped.

Bill gestured to the woman beside him. "I believe you know Ms. Lugosi, from the, ah..."

"Archaeological Conservation Society of North America," Bela finished, offering Jo her hand and her stupid, snarky, shark-tooth grin.

Jo swallowed bile and shook her hand briefly. "We've met."

Bill didn't seem to notice any animosity between the two women. He gestured towards a corridor to the left of the atrium. "Let's take this to my office."

Jo should've known from the moment she heard that recording. Bela was too smart to use fucking Bela Lugosi as an alias, too smart to hit a town so close to a recent mark, unless she wanted to get caught. This was a trap. This was a fucking obvious trap and Jo had walked right into it.

Whatever, she was in it now. Which meant Bela, for whatever reason, wanted her here. But why? And why was the museum expecting a visit from the feds?

And how the fuck did Bela know her alias?

'Office' turned out to be a generous word for Bill's broom closet. Monitors lined one wall, showing every angle of the museum exhibits in all their grainy, grayscale glory, leaving just enough room in front of them for a small coffee-stained desk and three office chairs. Jo took the one closest to the door. Bela squeezed in beside her. Jo tried not to throw up.

"I don't know what I can tell you that I haven't already told the police," Bill began, settling down into his seat with a creak that could've come from the chair or his back. "As far as I can tell, there's nothing unusual about any of the items in Mr Buckingham-Duponte's collection. Nothing missing, nothing flagged as stolen goods, nothing that could have anything to do with the old man's death. You're caught up on the, ah, particulars of that case, I assume?"

Jo plastered on a smile. "Humour me. Always good to hear it from a fresh perspective."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bela smirk.

Bill cleared his throat. "Well, let's see. Charles Buckingham-Duponte died about a month ago in his home just outside the city- more of a mansion, really- one of those real old-money types. Well- I say 'died', it was more 'mauled to death'. His, ah-" he looked a little squeamish- "His chest was ripped open. Blood everywhere. Looked like some kinda wild animal attack, though we don't get much in Lincoln bigger than a raccoon, so unless a wolf got real lost..."

"They never found what killed him?" In her head, Jo was already narrowing down the list of suspects: werewolf, ghoul, vengeful spirit, really clever pissed-off bear. Bela or no Bela, if there was a case here, she was gonna solve it. Bill shrugged and shook his head. "You don't happen to know if his heart was missing, do you?"

The security guard looked at her with the same look everyone gives when the conversation becomes a little less FBI and a little more X-Files. "How would I know that?"

Fair enough. "And how did the museum become involved in this case?"

"We're auctioning off most of Mr Buckingham-Duponte's private collection at his family's request. The guy was a real archeology nut; must've spent most of his fortune on this stuff. But the cops have already checked everything out and decided they don't need it as evidence. I'm guessing, if you guys are here, they've changed their minds?"

Jo thought quickly. "Some new information has come to light. We just need to go over the collection again, dot the I's, cross the T's, you know how it is. My-" she glanced at Bela, "- associate here is on hand to verify the authenticity of the artifacts. It's standard procedure in cases like this."

Thankfully, Bill seemed to buy it, and Bela didn't question it. "Well, the entire collection's on display on the fifth floor. The auctioneers will be let in in half an hour, so you're free to have a look around 'til then. I'll ask the curator to meet you there, in case you need anything. I can show you the way, if you-?"

"I'm sure we'll manage. Thank you for your help, Mr Coleson." Jo rose and held out her hand.

"Any time, agent." Bill shook her hand and led them out the door. Just in time, too; if Jo had to spend another second sat next to Bela without wringing her neck, she worried she'd break out in hives.

Out in the corridor, steadfastly ignoring the woman beside her, she waited til Bill had turned the corner. Then she slammed Bela against the wall.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she hissed, and flicked her switchblade open a hair's breadth away from Bela's throat.

Bela blew a piece of hair out of her face. "Always a pleasure to see you too, Jo."

She was so fucking arrogant. Jo tightened her grip and leaned closer. "Your name is Bela Talbot. You're 24 years old. You were raised in Surrey til your parents died in a car crash. You're a thief, a scammer, a liar, and an awful human being. You got no friends, no family, no connections, nobody who'll miss you if you don't give me back the fucking necklace."

Bela looked almost impressed. She glanced down at Jo's chest, where the necklace would hang if she hadn't fucking stolen it. The corner of her lip quirked upwards. She looked Jo in the eye. "Joanna Beth Harvelle. Born April 7th 1985, to Ellen and William Harvelle. You dropped out of community college after one year and started working in your mother's bar. Your favourite band is the Runaways, and you have a very endearing freckle under your navel. You're not the only one who can do your research, darling."

Jo felt her face grow hot. "Fuck you. You don't know the first thing about me."

"I knew how to get you to this museum."

"I tracked you here to get my necklace and some fucking answers."

Bela, infuriatingly, looked like she was enjoying this. That only pissed Jo off even more. "Ask away."

"You fucking humiliated me, Bela! Was that your plan all along, to rob me? Why'd you let me fuck you first? Did- did you even want me to fuck you? Are you even gay?"

A stupid, smarmy, shit-eating grin spread across Bela's face. She looked like a fucking viper. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, did I bruise your ego?"

"My ego?" Jo tasted bile. Her head swam. "You think this is about my fucking ego? For weeks all I've been able to think about is that I fucked you and you didn't want it. You realise how disgusting that feels? I feel like a fucking predator!"

Bela blinked. The wind seemed to leave her sails. She said nothing. Jo let her go, took a step back, felt herself deflate. She rubbed at her brow absently.

"Fuck it. Whatever. What the hell am I doing here? Keep the necklace, I don't care."

Her head pounding, she turned and walked away. Fucking waste of a journey. She'd thought confronting Bela would make her feel some semblance of peace for once. If anything, she felt worse.

She was halfway down the corridor when she heard Bela call her name. Stupidly, against all good sense, she stopped and looked back.

Bela looked deeply uncomfortable. She barely met Jo's eye. "There's still a case here. That's why I led you here. I... Need your help."

"Why the hell would I help you?"

"Hate me all you want, there's still an angry spirit in Buckingham-Duponte's collection that needs taking care of. That is your job, isn't it?"

Jo closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Imagined herself breaking Bela's nose. And once she'd calmed down enough, she walked back. "Fine. Just- one last question."

"Hm?"

"How did you know my alias?"

Bela shrugged. A small smile broke out on her face again. "Lucky guess?" At the look on Jo's face, she added, "The poster on your wall. I figured you were more of a Lang than a Crawford."

Jo paused. Frowned. "Did you just call me a dyke?"

#sapphicnaturalrights #jo harvelle #bela talbot #jo x bela #belajo #femslash #butchfemme #butch #lesbian

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downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 4 years

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We Met Within This Screen [chapt. 7]

[Donnie x reader]

chapter 6 here

"Nothing gets past me, especially not you and your nervous habits, Donatello," Splinter's voice bounced around Donnie's head.

The brothers all looked at each other incredulously, Donnie's anxiousness replaced by complete bafflement. Everyone was wondering the same thing: How did he know?

"You wonder how I knew," Splinter said pointedly, "as if you four are any good at keeping a secret."

They waited for him to go on, but instead there was another uncomfortable pause, Splinter assumedly expecting them to say something. It was Mikey who finally broke the silence. "Are you gonna, like...tell us what we did wrong? How you knew? So next you can't—"

Splinter scoffed and brought his staff down on the youngest's foot. Mikey yelped, bouncing away on one leg. "Teach you how to lie? I have taught you many skills, but one that will always elude you is how to keep something from me. Parents have a sixth sense, you know." He turned to Donnie, regarding the rest of them with a dismissive wave of his hand, "You three, to your rooms. Come to the dojo with me, Donatello."

The three were quick to scatter, Mikey whining into Raph's ear about being sent to their rooms so early, and Raph huffing that he'd been dragged in too.

Swallowing, Donnie followed behind him a few paces, not sure what to expect but nervous all the same. He was lead in and instructed to sit down on the floor, Splinter settling down in front of him. Donnie's fingers brushed along the ridges of the knuckles of his other hand again and again as he tried to find something to occupy them with.

Resting his palms in his hands, Splinter began to talk, voice less harsh than Donnie had anticipated. "I know that we lead a very isolated life, my son. But you must keep your priorities in perspective. You four need each other, and betraying one another's trust does not help that case."

"I'm sorry, Master Splinter," Donnie apologized and hung his head.

"Perhaps you should apologize to your brothers, just as they should to you."

I did put them on the spot, especially Leo, thought Donnie, considering now that he had put him and Raph in a weird position. They had to choose between ratting on him to Splinter and keeping it under wraps for the sake of not stirring up the pot needlessly. As much as Leo was a stickler for the rules, he didn't want to create dissension between him and Donnie. So, they chose the latter option, and now all four were in trouble with their father.

"Okay. I guess...but, Master Splinter, how did you know?"

"About your secret antics?"

Donnie let out a humorless chortle, feeling a twinge of embarrassment that he had actually thought at some point, he was getting away with anything. "Yeah, it...it wasn't very much of a secret."

Stroking his chin, Splinter plainly said, "It was only a suspicion, until you confirmed it."

That night a few weeks ago when Splinter came to him in his lab. The way he squeaked when he was confronted just prior to them going to talk alone. Why didn't I think of that? It was a classic trick, one their father had deployed quite a few times on them. He'd been baited into giving himself away. None of them could tell when he was bluffing or if he actually knew. Save for Leo, who managed only twice in their time to make heads or tails of it.

"I really walked right into that one," Donnie whimpered under his breath, palms pressing down on his knees.

"You did. But," his tone turned more serious, looking him dead in the eye, "you must fix your mistakes, son."

"How?" asked Donnie softly, searching for his father's guidance, but it would find no purchase. He was hard pressed to find a solution immediately.

Splinter shut his eyes and thought. It was a tricky situation, indeed. He gathered that if anything, this was an excellent lesson for Donnie, as well as the others. Under his own supervision, of course; there wasn't room for any more blundering.

Standing up, he placed his staff under his hand. "I trust that you will find a way. You have a brilliant mind, Donatello. Use it well," he told him, and went to leave the training room.

Donnie was still sat on the floor contemplating Splinter's words, honored yet uneasy at the same time that he was being entrusted to fix things. How, he didn't know. Truly. He was at war with himself trying to balance his logic with his emotions, trying to make the two meet gracefully, but it felt impossible. Whichever road he chose, it was a betrayal to the other. One left behind while the other took the wheel. And thoughtlessly, he blurted out, "What if your heart is telling you something completely different, Sensei? What if everything feels contradictory, and—and like there's no right answer, even though you do have this mind, you just can't seem to…"

Donnie's voice tapered. Slightly surprised, Splinter stopped in his tracks, brows high as he looked back at him, who was so clearly riddled with a deeper kind of conflict. Critically discouraged, but still the sliver of will in those eyes of his. His heart went out to him.

Splinter had known that Donnie was interacting with a human. What he hadn't known was that he was in love with the human.

There was a moment of understanding, and Splinter realized that Donnie could not do this on his own. It reminded him of the times the turtles had all been children, the way Donnie looked to him for wisdom as he grappled with himself. Sighing, Splinter sat back down, this time close to him. Donnie was despondent, reverting to staring at the edge of the mat he sat on. "I know your struggles, my son. It seems like there's a sacrifice no matter what you choose, does it not?"

"I don't want to let you guys down. But, I...you know, I'm sorry, Master Splinter, but you don't understand."

He didn't want to say bluntly that he wanted to think of himself and his needs, unlike usual. He knew Splinter would probably not approve of that. None of them had much of a chance to make a selfish decision, aside from everyday things such tucking into the pizza before it even made it back to the Lair. So far, the number of times he could recall making a consequential choice for the sole purpose of indulging himself, was an astounding zero.

"What makes you think I would not understand?" questioned Splinter, and Donnie regretted that he'd said it. He didn't miss how Donnie looked to be becoming mildly sour (among other things), though not at him specifically.

It was then Donnie clammed up, shut down the conversation, he was not going to say it. "It" being what he assumed Splinter wasn't privy to, that he had undoubtedly fallen hard for his friend. But knowing his father, he could totally have had a clue. Splinter didn't always need the details to make an assessment when it came to his sons, whom he knew all too well.

Letting out a crestfallen huff, Donnie rested his chin on his knee, arm obstructing the better half of his face. "It doesn't matter," he mumbled.

Splinter stayed quiet. He didn't want to drive Donnie off—not when he was in such a turmoil. The atmosphere changed to a cold one. Donnie didn't acknowledge him until he put his hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze and saying, "I will tell you again: I trust that you will figure it out."

What if I make the wrong decision?

"For all of our sakes, I hope you're right, Sensei," Donnie responded. Splinter smiled and got up, prepared to leave the matter at that until any further updates. Until the phone in Donnie's back pocket began to vibrate out of the blue. He wanted to answer, but what, at that point? What should he say?

A minute went by of more persistent vibrating, and Splinter's ear twitched, certain he knew who it was. He was disappointed with the carelessness that had brought them to that moment, but what was done was done. None knew if the girl had any suspicions. "Are you going to answer it?" he asked, sort of prompting him to pick the phone up.

"May I?" Donnie thought he might have sounded a little eager.

Splinter let out a calm hum and motioned for him to do it. Donnie lifted his finger to press accept, but Splinter interrupted firmly, "Speaker, Donatello."

Eyes flitting to Splinter, he accepted the call and reluctantly turned on the speaker.

"Bo, what was all of that earlier, dude? You had me worried sick!" spoke [y/n], more concerned than angry (which Donnie was somewhat relieved about), but he sunk down sheepishly upon seeing the look on his father's face. He gave Donnie a questionable glance at the word "Bo", as he wasn't aware of the details. Donnie wasn't about to correct her right now.

"I–...hey, [y/n]," he said, forcing himself to turn to the side so he wouldn't have to look at Splinter. The eyes on him made him feel put off to the point he couldn't focus on her voice, but the fact that Splinter was right there, listening in, and both were fixing to find out just what kind of mess they had on their hands. "Believe me when I tell you, you don't want to get caught up in this," he told her, "I can't—"

"Listen," she started, exasperated, "I've heard it before. 'I can't tell you this', and 'I can't tell you that'," she went on, "Be honest with me, Bo; is it that you can't or you just won't?"

Splinter's thoughts were undetermined. Donnie couldn't read anything from his stoic expression.

"It's not that I won't," he rebutted, pitch going up involuntarily, "Why won't you listen to me when I say I can't?"

"Because there's something going on, with you, and I know my eyes weren't just playing tricks on me. I saw something crazy—I heard it, too, when I called you the other day!"

I am so dead. Donnie's stomach did a flip. He couldn't face his father, but behind him, Splinter placed his hand on his face, covering his eyes. He shot Donnie an intimidating glance, and Donnie waved his hands nervously, listening to her go on as he backed up. Pivoting around from the jabs sent to his side by Splinter's staff, he jumped away with his comically long stride, trying to avoid the onslaught while juggling the phone. He muffled a grunf of pain when the cane managed to whack his head.

"Hold on!" he said, and Splinter stopped and narrowed his eyes, the voice on the other end of the phone also going silent. Donnie couldn't regain his composure while being chased around the dojo, so he finally was able to sputter out, "W-what did you see?"

"I was on the balcony, 'Don'. I heard your voice on the phone and saying the same thing from the roof, and saw two giant...turtles! With weapons, fighting what looked like ninjas?! What even is this?" she yelled.

She'd put two and two together. There was no fixing.

Only acceptance.

Blinking, Donnie nearly dropped the phone. Splinter shut his eyes, slowly shook his head, and turned around. The sound of his cane tapping the floor as he walked was the only thing he could hear after he tuned out the speaker.

He was now alone in the dojo, under the light that streamed through the grate above him, standing in the hush.

He turned the speaker off. She, on the other end, was quiet, too, in disbelief. And probably rightfully feeling betrayed, in a way, Donnie thought. The friend she'd come to care for so much turned out to be someone she couldn't have even imagined.

Licking his lips, he put on the most level tone he could and said in a struggle, "You can't tell anyone. I-if you say something, I'll... we'll…"

I could never threaten you, [y/n].

"You'll what?" she asked, voice low.

Then, all the could hear was her breathing. The dojo was completely quiet, the room was large, and there he was, in the middle. Donnie liked smaller spaces. Darker spaces, like his lab. He felt exposed in that moment, even when no one could see him.

"Be in danger," he said in earnest.

There was some rustling, then the sound of wind on her end. He barely heard a sliding door shut.

"Come here," she told him firmly.

His eyes went wide. "What?" he questioned, stupefied.

She sighed, "No more lying, Bo—Don—I don't know. If what we have really matters to you…"

A mix of emotions swirled in him as he waited for her words. She hesitated.

"I'll come," he whispered, finishing her sentence.

"You'll come."

Blowing a breath out from between his lips, and nodded. Sorry, Master Splinter.

He snuck through the Lair to the exit of the sewers.

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years

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Dangerous Love (Pt. 11 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Word count: 3K

Summary: You're Harley Quinn's sister, Havoc, one of the many villain's of Gotham. But you've been caught, and has been tortured constantly for an year in Belle Reve. But when your think your life can't be anything else than the nightmare you find yourself into, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, takes you in for a project. He has a program to rehabilitate villains, and you're his lab rat. But soon enough confusing feelings start getting in the way. You know falling for Bruce is stupid. But can you keep your heart under control?

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{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

Plans For The Future

You're seated on your knees, on the floor, before the coffee table where several sheets of paper are scattered around. The possibilities for your future. You left the League in the cave to discuss their business and came up here to do this. But it's been twenty minutes since you wrote down the last option, and you're still clueless.

“Any luck?” Barry is suddenly seated across from you, the wind he makes with he's speed messing with the papers. But he quickly gathers them again.

“No,” you mutter, feeling a little defeated. Seconds later the others are here too, and as if they were told to, they sit all around the coffee table, on the floor. Expect for Bruce, who sits on the couch, his legs near you.

“Isn't there anything you would like to do?”

“I can't really picture myself doing anything.” Running a hand through your hair, you sigh.

“You were so excited about it in the cave. What changed?" Diana asks, and you notice how everyone seems focused on you. In the last week, since they got back from Washington, the League seems very interested in you. There's a lot of effort to make you feel comfortable, and engage you in their conversations.

“Am I going crazy or are you guys like... Trying to make me get used to normal human interaction again?” Crossing your arms, you have your answer by the way they all exchange a glance and then stare at Bruce. “I knew it.”

“How did you find out?”

“Well, right now everyone is literally seated around the coffee table with me. Except for this weirdo here.” You elbow Bruce's leg, making Barry and Arthur giggle. “You're planning to take me out, aren't you?”

“You're very perceptive.” He says as he moves to seat on the floor with you, an arm around your shoulders. “I've been thinking about it for a while.”

“Do you think I can deal with the real world?” You ask him in a lower voice. You haven't been on the streets yet, and you're not sure how you'll feel among the people.

“Yes, I do.”

“You know people will think Bruce Wayne has a girlfriend, right? If we go out and you do things like hold my hand...” You bet it won't take half an hour for his name to be on the headlines again, and the news channels will talk about it. The world will know about your existence, and every girl who has her eyes on Bruce will know they lost their chance. “You'll have to keep a distance.”

“(Y/N), we're dating. I won't keep that a secret so yes, people will have to find out eventually.” He places a soft kiss on your nose before his lips connect to yours.

“Uhm... We're still here...” Barry mutters, reminding you of the public.

Weird how it only took half a second for you to forget you have company. “So... Now that I know why you guys are still around, help me find something to major in.”

“Let's see what you have here.” Diana starts, and everyone takes a piece of paper or two. “Doctor?”

“Nope. That was just a joke.” Bending over the table a little, you take the paper from her hand. “Moving on.”

“Nurse," Arthur says.

“Vet.” Clark reads.

“All jokes.” Wanting something isn't enough, you have to feel like you can do it. And you don't think you can.

“If you become a nurse you could patch him up.” Arthur gestures at Bruce who nods.

“Sweetheart if this is what you want you just need to say and I'll help you.”

“Me? A nurse? No way, it's too much for me. I need something easier.” You're not saying you're stupid, but why put effort into something on which you'll probably fail? No need to hurt your feelings.

“So you don't think you're smart enough?” Clark asks and you nod.

“If you weren't smart you wouldn't have survived this long as a criminal. And wouldn't have escaped the prison twice. Or fooled the Joker so many times.” Bruce says, and you tilt your head to the side a little, thinking. It did take some brain to do this stuff, calculations, memorization, and some random knowledge.

“It looks like this is what you want,” Arthur mumbles, elbows on the coffee table.

Nurses help people, and that's the exact opposite of what you did. You never really enjoyed hurting people though, at least not normal civilians.

“Yeah... I've been thinking about being a practitioner nurse.”

“You've been doing some research on the subject then.” Wonder Woman raises an eyebrow.

“Yes. They can diagnose diseases, initiate treatments, and prescribe medications. They're more independent.” Shrugging your shoulders, you lean closer to Bruce. “But I don't know. Maybe we should keep looking into the other options.” Pretending you're not insecure is useless. Building a life is both exciting and terrifying.

“No. I guess we found what you want to do.” Bruce says and kisses your cheek. You bite back a smile, but it escapes anyway. “Anything as long as you're happy.”

“I can die in peace now,” Arthur says, and everyone turns their heads to look at him. He simply gestures at you and Bruce as if it would explain everything. “I lived enough to see Batman being soft with someone. The rest of my life will be dull.”

It took long enough for the funny comments to start. “Let the man be, Arthur. Everyone softens when they find love.” Diana adds.

“Aren't you a little too young to be dating Bruce actually?” Barry asks, shrugging his shoulders. “Just-just saying.”

“I haven't really thought about that,” you say.

“I have,” Bruce admits.

“Obviously. In this relationship you're the morals part.” You start gathering the sheets of paper, making a small pile. “I'm the impulse part.”

“Impulse part?”

“I did kiss you out of impulse. I was trying to control myself for quite a while but the thought of another suicide mission finally made me give in.” Looking at him, you smirk. “What would you do if I didn't kiss you before the mission? Were you planning to tell me about your feelings?”

“Shouldn't we discuss that in private?” He raises an eyebrow, and you give the guys a glance before looking back at Bruce.

“We don't mind. Go on.” Barry mutters, getting an annoyed stare from Diana.

“Let's give them some time." She says before getting up. The others soon follow, but Barry is the last.

“The fast one seems very curious about Batman's love life,” you say in a sassy tone when you're left alone.

“He turned the mission in Washington a nightmare the moment I mentioned you.” Bruce moves closer, caressing your cheek.

“And how was that?”

“I told them we had to make it as quick as possible because I had someone to go back to.” He places a soft kiss on your lips and you can't help but smile. You can't believe that someone was you. “Then he just wouldn't let it go. And yes, I was planning on telling you how I felt.”

“What would you do if the feeling wasn't mutual?” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you move to sit on his lap.

“I was pretty sure you felt something for me.”

“Really? I was trying so hard to hide it.”

“Miss Quinzel. Master Bruce. Dinner is served.” Alfred announces and you're just about to stand up when Bruce lifts you up with him.

“Because that will make Barry stop sassing at you,” you tell him, not even bothering to ask him to put you down. He can carry you all the way he wants. It feels funny though, and good to float like this. But the best part is how close your faces are, so you take the chance to kiss him as he takes you to the dining room.

Dinner goes on very well. The chattering is constant, and you manage to get into the conversations. You do feel like you're getting along with the League. Maybe you'll do well with other people too. If you can deal with the supers, you can deal with regular humans. It gives you hope, makes you a little more excited to go out. For dessert, you have brownies, one of your favorites, with vanilla ice cream.

“(Y/N), you said something about a suicide mission?” Barry asks after Diana gives you more details about the Washington mission. “What was that about?”

“Yeah... It was a terrorist attack in New Mexico. They mounted a base there but we never knew their plans.”

“They send you in a mission completely in the dark?” Diana furrows her eyebrows.

“We're the Suicide Squad. Well, that's what we call ourselves. The official name is Task Force X.” You move in the chair a little, but you notice you're not as uncomfortable as you were before talking about it. Bruce says you have to accept who you were in order to be free to restart. Trying to ignore it will only allow the past to haunt you. “When the soldiers can't deal with it but it's still not bad enough to call the heroes, they send us. The whole point is that it doesn't matter if we die in the process. The order is to finish the mission. We're... Spendable.”

“I never heard of anything like that,” Clark says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Nobody is supposed to know. But it doesn't matter anymore. The mission was a success and I'd be fine with it if the guards didn't beat me up on my way back here.” You say it without really noticing what it means, but by the way they exchange glances with each other, there are questions in their heads. “Some of them knew me from Belle Reve. So they knew I was going back somewhere they wouldn't be able to punish me for my crimes. They said it was a taste from home.”

“Everyone who was in that van was fired.” Bruce's voice is heavy with anger. “And I doubt they'll get any other job in Gotham.”

“If you're in prison to pay for your crimes, why did they beat you? Isn't the confinement the punishment?” Barry raises his eyebrows, and Arthur nods.

“Uhm... Yes. In any other prison, yes. But Belle Reve is different. It's like we're not on Earth anymore they... They can do pretty much anything they want. Every man and woman who acts as our guards are military or ex-military. Soldiers... And they have so much hate for us.” The memories come back in flashes of lightning, flooding your mind. The pain is still a vivid dream, the darkness is still terrorizing. “I can only speak for myself but I'm sure almost everyone who gets there tries to fight, to run away. I did. And maybe... Maybe I deserved it, maybe what they did was right.”

“(Y/N), don't you think for a second that you deserved what they did to you. Just because someone is a criminal doesn't give them the reason to treat you like an animal.” Bruce takes your hand over the table, and you smile to feel his fingers brushing against the soft skin of the back on your hand.

“They don't treat animals like they treat us.” The acknowledgment is dark and heavy, and you feel as the atmosphere gets tense. The League seems uncomfortable, perplexed.

“What the hell happens in that place?” Diana is the first to speak up after several seconds of deep silence.

“I can only tell what happened to me. By the rumors, it depends on who we are. Killercroc, for example, is left alone in a hole on the ground. Me... I always fought back.” Taking a deep breath, you revisit the endless days you spent in hell. The longest year of your life. The terror was usually suffocated by anger, burning rage, but it was always there, creeping through the walls. “I was kept in the dark. The only light source came from the small gap under the door. It had a blueish glow. My cell was open three times a day, at 10 a.m., 04 p.m., and 08 p.m. The two first were to feed me. They put a straw through my nose all the way down to my throat and fed me with some kind yogurt.” You cringe at the memory, a shiver rolling down your spine. “The last one was the shower. If you can call that a shower... They made me take my clothes off and back up into a concrete wall and blast me with water from a hose. If the weather was hot, the water was ice cold... If it was cold, the water was so hot that it burned my skin.” As you speak, Bruce moves his chair closer to you, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“You don't have to tell us anything if it makes you feel uncomfortable,” Clark says in a low voice.

“No, it's ok... It's good to say it. To... Let it out.” Holding it inside has only screwed you up over and over again. Dealing with it alone has isolated you. And you don't want to be alone anymore. “Before or after the shower was usually when the beat me. Men, women... They didn't really mind if they were a 6ft tall man kicking me. The drugs, the... Several different kids of drugs they gave me numbed the pain, but it was worse, at least to me.” The tears are rolling down now, as you're looking at the table, holding Bruce's hand as if he's your anchor. “I knew my body was being broken, sliced, bones being fractured but I only felt the impact. It's a psychological torture they play alongside the physical one. They liked to know that I was feeling my body being hurt, but I could never feel it... The drugs never wore off, so they never treated to my wounds. I was always left there, in my cell, as the blood dried, as the darkness threatened to suffocate me but I always told myself I was Havoc. I was freaking Havoc and I did not only deserve that, but I also could deal with it. That I was used to the pain...”

“Alright, that's enough.” Bruce raises his voice, and you notice you were yelling. He pulls you close and you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“I speak for everyone here when I say we're very sorry for everything you've been through,” Diana says, and you feel a hand on your shoulder. When you look up, you see that not only her but all the others are standing around you and Bruce. “And I'm sorry I brought up such terrible memories.”

“Thank you.” Your voice sounds terribly weak, and Bruce dries off some of the tears with his thumb. When you get up, Diana holds both your hands on hers.

“I want you to know that you have me now. To talk, to ask for help, anything.” Your eyes quickly fly through the others when they nod.

“More than Bruce's friend, you're our friend now,” Arthur says.

“So now you not only have friends but superfriends.” Barry steps ahead and pulls you into a hug. You're surprised at the sudden affection, but it feels nice. The others join you soon, and you're in the middle of a group hug.

Not for a single moment in your life you thought you'd ever had anything like this. “Guys, you know you don't have to do this,” you mutter because you can't help but think you don't deserve it, that you're not the victim. Guess you still have a lot to work on, and Bruce is right to still give you some therapy sessions.

“Of course we do. You're an incredible woman who overcame so much. And you truly seem to want to leave the past behind.”

“Clark's right. You're the proof that villains aren't too far beyond repair.” Arthur says with a smile.

“Thanks again.” You're blushing a little because you think they see you as more than what you are now. But it's good to know they believe you.

An hour later, you're on Bruce's bedroom, getting ready to sleep. You're reading about Gotham's University as Bruce brushes his teeth, getting a little confused by how complicated it seems to be accepted there.

“Bruce, all these papers... I don't know if I have them.” You complain, suddenly losing hope.

“I'll deal with them, don't worry.” He comes to the bed, sitting beside you and resting his back against the pillowy headrest. “Worry about studying.”

“And about the fact I'll be surrounded by people all the time.” You sigh, putting the tablet on the nightstand. “It's still confusing, you know. Terrifying sometimes.” You're used to making people fear you, and when that's not possible, they just hate you. Hurt you. You're not sure how you'd manage to stay in between. To be normal.

“The classes only start next semester, so you'll have some months to get used to people.” Bruce pulls you to lie down, and you lay your head on his chest. “Tomorrow we're going out.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. We'll walk around, buy you some new clothes, eat at a nice restaurant...” He caresses your hair, making it hard to keep your eyes open. “I'll be right there with you, so no need to get anxious.”

“Okay...” Noticing you're a little thirsty, you roll your eyes as you get up. “I need water. Do you want some?”

“No, thanks.”

“I'll be right back.” Crawling out of the bed, you make your way downstairs, straight to the kitchen. You hear low voices, so you walk slower, making sure you won't interrupt anything. When you get there, you see it's Diana and Barry, who's eating your ice cream. “Hey, guys,” you announce yourself.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Diana says as Barry waves with the spoon.

“You know this ice cream is mine, right?” Raising an eyebrow, you try to look mad. It apparently works because he gives an apologetic look and lowers the spoon.

“Sorry.” He mutters as you walk around the island, getting a spoon for yourself, sitting beside him and starting to eat too.

“Relax. It seems that I have to share now.” You keep the sarcastic tone, but Barry still doesn't seem to understand. “I'm joking. You can eat it, it's just ice cream.” You smile when he starts eating again. “Don't you want some, Diana?”

“No, thank you.” She raises the mug she's holding. “I usually just drink some tea before going to sleep.”

“Yeah. I just eat. I need a lot of calories.” Barry says with his mouth full of ice cream. “What about you?”

“Actually I just came to get some water. Bruce is waiting for me upstairs.” You forgot about the water, but now you feel thirsty again, so you get a glass and head to the fridge.

“You guys sleep together?” He asks.

“Barry.” Diana reprimands him, and that makes you giggle a little.

“We share the bed.” Shrugging your shoulders, you speak as you pour some cold water on the glass, closing the fridge and making your way back to where you were seated. “I have... Nightmares. They were more often before, but they still come. But when I'm with Bruce it's just... It's better.” You feel safe, secure, but you're too shy to tell them that. It's too much that you're telling about the nightmares, but it's a good sign that you're able to open up, even if it's just a little bit.

“You love Bruce, don't you?” Diana asks in a low voice.

Looking down at your half-full glass of water, you nod. Love isn't the word you use to express your feelings for Bruce, but that's just because you're way too scared to let those three words flow out. ‘I love you.’ You've been biting your tongue for quite a while now. Those words hold power, you know it, and you're scared that he doesn't feel the same way. “Don't tell him,” you beg, looking up at Diana.

“Why?” As she asks, Barry takes the ice cream and gets up, leaving the kitchen.

“Girl talk.” He mumbles on his way out. And yes, you feel a little more comfortable knowing it's just Diana.

“Because maybe it's too soon and... If he doesn't feel the same I'm afraid it'll push him away.” Your feelings for Bruce only grow, and even though being in love with someone is something new, you know how things should play out. Or you think you do. The fact that he's Batman and you're Havoc, a villain he tried to catch before, only makes everything worse.

“I know Bruce. He would never officialize a relationship if he wasn't one hundred and ten percent sure of his feelings.” She moves from her place at the table to seat across from you on the island. “And I understand that what you did before may get in the way but it only makes me even more sure about his feelings towards you. So yes, I think he loves you and there's no reason for you to be so scared.”

Taking a deep breath, you try to accept that. “How could he love me?” You inquire in a low voice because you can't help but go back, to remember who you were and what you did. You do regret it, and you do want different things now, to have a whole new life. But... Sometimes the fear of losing Bruce hits hard, and you start going back to your shell.

“Why don't you let me answer that?” His voice makes you jump, and you stand up abruptly. Your heart beats so fast that you can hear it on your ears, like drums.

“I'll get some sleep. Good night, (Y/N). Bruce.” Diana stands up and leaves the kitchen, as you stand there, looking at Bruce.

“You weren't supposed to hear any of that,” you mumble.

“But I'm glad I did. Let's head upstairs. We need to talk.” Nodding, you start following Bruce. “I need to make things clear with you, sweetheart.”

@fionanovasleftnut @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony @chipster-21 @agustdpeach @yaakimoon2 @chloe-skywalker

#bruce wayne #imagine bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #ben affleck batman #batman x reader #batman imagine #imagine batman #justice league imagine

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years

Text

Dangerous Love (Pt. 07 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Word count: 2.9K

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{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

The Calm Before The Storm

• Bruce's POV •

I'm suddenly awake by a scream. Sitting up abruptly, I take in the silence. A bad dream probably. Running a hand through my hair, I lie back down, staring at the ceiling. Then I hear it again, a call for help and another yell.

(Y/N).

As soon as I recognize her voice, I'm already up, taking the key to her room and running there. Is she hurt? There's nothing in there that would cause an accident. When I'm close, I hear groans, like a cry.

But when I open the door, I find her on the bed, hugging her pillow tight. The soft light coming from the window reflects on the many tears on her face. What is it that scares her so much? She's breathing fast, hands clenched into fists.

Without thinking, I lie beside her, delicately touching her shoulder, trying to wake her up as softly as I can.

“Wake up.”

• (Y/N's) POV •

A voice calls you, and you're pulled away from your terror. You know who's calling, and you immediately feel safe. Bruce is saving you from the nightmares, and it seems like whenever he's in the dream, the bad ones don't come again.

“Bruce.” He's lying behind you, so you take his arm, pulling it over your waist. “If you hold me I won't be scared,” you mumble, moving closer to him. “Don't leave me.”

“I won't.” His illusion answers, and it feels so real. Why can't this be real? Because you're a villain, and he's the hero... Because you would never be brave enough to do this in real life. And Bruce would never want to hold you like this.

“Bruce?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

His voice is low on your ear, and you can't help but smile at the name he calls you. You feel his chest moving as he breaths. “This isn't real.”

“Why can't this be real?”

“Because nobody would love me.”

“You're wrong.” His thumb caresses your chin, and you smile again.

“I think I could fall in love with you,” you mutter.

“Me too.” His answer seems familiar as if you've already had this conversation before. Maybe in another dream. “Now get some sleep.”

“Ok.”

You're not scared anymore. With him, you know you'll be safe.

•••

You're happy today. You had a good night sleep, and you're one year older, which means you managed to stay alive for another entire year. And you're celebrating it out of that hell hole Belle Reve. You're brushing your hair, smiling to yourself when you hear the door opening.

“(Y/N)?”

“Hey, Bruce!” You exclaim, leaving the bathroom.

“I brought you this. But it's not your gift yet.” He shows you the plastic bag he's carrying.

“What is it?”

He searches for something in it, showing you a box die. “I had these for a while. It's the closest color to your natural hair.”

Hesitantly, you take the small box from his hand. It seems to have two more in the bag, and some other things. You knew he didn't like your hair. “Thanks...” You mumble, wondering if dyeing your hair would make him like you. Looking away, you make your way to the bed.

“You don't have to do it you don't want to.”

“I get it, Bruce. You want me to look normal.” And as quick as that, the day is ruined. Bruce doesn't like you, obviously, look at you. You're Havoc, a criminal. You can't look at him right now, so you put the box on the nightstand and lie down, pulling the blankets to cover your head. “Can you just bring me breakfast and leave me alone, please?” You can't deal with it right now. The best you can do is dream... In your dreams, Bruce hugs you, so tight... In your dreams, he's yours.

“(Y/N).” He calls, softly.

“Get out, Bruce,” you beg.

“I don't care about your hair color. I bought you this in case you wanted the natural color back. It's not about me, it's about you.”

“Then...” You sit up, watching as he sits on the edge of the bed. “...What if I wanted to dye the roots lilac?”

“Tell me what you'll need and I'll get it for you.” His stare is intense, yet gentle. Slowly, he puts his hand above yours in the mattress. “You're beautiful. Lilac hair or not. Now, come. I want to take you somewhere.”

“Where?” A smile comes to your lips as you get up to follow Bruce. He opens the door, and you give a little jump. “Are you taking me to see the gardens?”

“Yes. But you'll have to keep your eyes closed until we get there.”

Nodding, you close your eyes. Bruce takes your hand, and you cling on his arm. You walk slowly, mostly downstairs. You suddenly feel fresh wind on your hair and the lighting changes. You're outside. “Just a while longer now.”

“Alright.” You have to control yourself not to peak. Being here is already amazing. Bruce trusts you, right? He wouldn't do that if he didn't.

Stopping suddenly, you bite your lip. “Open.” When you do, you swear to God your heart stops.

There's a wooden table, and pink, purple and white balloons. A beautiful cake in the middle, cupcakes, colorful macarons... Confetti all over the place. You can't help but cry, but you don't try to hide it. You're still holding Bruce's arm, unable to move. Is it really for you? You don't deserve it.

“Bruce, I...”

“Happy Birthday, (Y/N).” He says, pulling you with him until you're at the table. “I hope you like it.”

“I... I don't even know what to say. My birthdays were like... Just robbery and then... This is...” You take a macaron, a blue one, and take a bite. “This is incredible.”

“That's not all.” Bruce walks around the table, taking two boxes he left of the bench, piled one above the other. “Your gifts.”

“Two?”

“Two. One for each month you've been here.” He puts them on the table, gesturing for you to approach. You're blushing hard now. “Open.”

“Alright.” Unable to hide the smile, you shily start open the biggest box. Inside, you find a beautiful, sparkly silver dress. As you pull it up to take a better look, the fabric is soft on your skin. It has a sweetheart neckline and spaghetti straps, bareback. “Do you think I'll look good in it?”

“We'll find out tonight at dinner,” Bruce answers with a smile.

“Dinner?”

He simply nods. “Open the next one.”

Taking a deep breath, you lie the dress down, focusing on the other box. Black high heels, Mary Jane flatforms if you're not wrong, with red bottom. It goes with the dress, apparently. “They look badass,” you say, holding one in your hands. “Are those for tonight too?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you... Nobody cared enough to give me something for my birthday. Not without me asking... Or demanding.” Shaking your head to push away the thought, you focus on what's happening now. “So... Thanks again.”

“Hey, no bad thoughts ok? No bad memories.” Bruce takes your hand over the table and you smile. “Now eat your cake.”

That's the sweetest morning you ever had. Bruce doesn't seem in a hurry to leave or to do anything else. You just sit there eating a little of everything. You take in the whole scenario, but Bruce is better than all this. Having him here with you... It's amazing. You never spent a birthday with someone you loved...

With someone you care about, you mean.

When it's time for lunch, you just start eating again.

“So... Were you here last night? Or did Batman went to patrol the streets?” You ask him, a hand caressing the fabric of your dress.

“I slept in yesterday night.” There's something weird in his voice, but you have no idea what it is. “What about you? Did you sleep well?”

Your mind floats back to the dream. It never felt so real, it's like your brain is pulling a joke on you. Maybe it's just your confused feelings playing tricks. You remember his arm around you, his chest pressed against your back, the warmth coming from his body... You'd give everything you have to make it real. Or everything you had, because now it's kinda obvious you can't claim those things. And you don't think you want to.

“Yes, I... I had the best dream and it... It made me feel safe.”

“Would you tell me?”

“I can't...” Whispering, you avoid his gaze. Does he dream about you too? Of course, he doesn't. “Good dreams mean something is working, right?”

“Yes, but that's not me. It's you... I just gave you a little push in the right direction.”

“Yeah... Uhm, it's getting late. I'll take a shower and read a little.” You need to go back to your room to think. The sun will start setting soon anyways.

“Do that. I'll call you when dinner is ready.” Nodding, you stand up and take your gifts, making your way back, but you stop when you notice he's not following you.

“Hey?” You call. “Let's go. Game Of Thrones book two is waiting for me.”

“You can go.”

Tilting your head to the side, you turn on your heels to look at him. “What do you mean?” You know the key is in his pocket.

“(Y/N), just go.” Even though the distance, you see a smile on his lips. “I won't lock your door.”

“Don't trust me too much, Bruce.”

“It's a little too late for that.” That said, he gets up, walking inside, and leaving you alone.

Taking a deep breath, you decide you can't deal with this before a long damn shower and some pages of the book. So you make your way upstairs, and you spend two hours in the bathroom, thinking. There's a lot going on in your head.

There's a part of you, a small part you figured out, that still wants to be Havoc. That part was what made you run and break the kitchen window. But there's something else entirely, another part, that wants the past to be in the past. The life you had out there was good. You had mountains of money, fast cars, expensive jewels...

Things.

You had plenty of things.

What Bruce gave you here, is beyond all that. He cared about you. Not because he has to, for being some of your employees. But because he saw something inside you that you couldn't. He looks at you with such kindness, he touched you so softly... You think you found yourself, the real you, behind all the walls you built. You had a hell lot of fun out there, in Gotham's streets... But at the end of the day, there was always the possibility of being caught. And for people like you, being caught means getting hurt... Badly. And there was emptiness too. Loneliness. It's not a good feeling to know people only care because they fear you. You know that now.

You know what you want. You want a better life. You have no idea how to get it, but you'll ask Bruce for help.

After the night falls, you put on the dress. It's beautiful, breathtaking. You look like someone else. The shoes make you a lot taller, but not as tall as Bruce. But you'll be closer to his lips, you're sure. When you turn around to see the back, you sigh to notice the bruises will be showing. Such a nice dress wasn't made for you... You have no idea what to do with your hair, so you have no option but to let it down. It doesn't look good...

There won't be anyone here, but you'll still feel misplaced...

A knock on the door makes you jump. “Miss (Y/N). Master Bruce is waiting for you downstairs.” Alfred announces.

You wish you had some make-up. You should've asked Bruce to buy you some. But now it's too late for that. Your hair isn't styled, your face is blank and the dress, which is supposed to beautifully leave your back exposed, shows off awful, disgusting bruises... But you have to go down there. So you breathe in deeply and walk out.

• Bruce's POV •

I hear the soft click of the high heels on the floor, and seconds later she appears, at the top of the stairs. It's impossible to hold back the smile that fights its way to my lips. I can't take my eyes off her as she carefully comes downstairs, a hand on the handrail. The dress fits her perfectly. My guess is that (Y/N) looks beautiful no matter what she wears, or what color she puts on her hair.

Her eyes wander around, to the lights, the chandelier, the table I set for us in the middle of the hall. And a smile, hesitant at first, takes over her features. From her lips up to her eyes, lighting her up.

“It's wonderful.” She says, stopping before me, yet avoiding my eyes. “I didn't notice how huge this place is. I would easily get lost.”

I'm looking down at her, taking her in. Her scent, delicate and unmistakable, draws me closer. She doesn't seem to notice though. “You'll learn,” I assure her, and she finally looks at me with funny eyes. She doesn't believe me.

“So you'll let me walk around the house now?”

“One more birthday gift.” I trust her. I saw as she broke the window glass, and punched through it, with my heart burning.

The thought of losing her that night suffocated me. Nothing scared me so much. But she suddenly stopped, and so did my world. Slowly, I watch as she stepped down the sink and silently walked away. That made me realize it's useless to pretend (Y/N) doesn't own my heart. It's in her possession, and she doesn't even know.

I walk beside her as she paces around, curious eyes observing every detail. As she comments on everything, I wonder where to go from now. From the acknowledgment of love. I've never been there. I never thought I'd be able to hold such a feeling, but (Y/N) has proven me wrong, as she's doing to everyone who thought she was a waste of time.

It's a lot easier to be Batman than to figure out these things. These feelings. I can't help but wonder if she feels the same.

She held me so close, on those nights she thinks I was a dream. She said it herself, that she could fall in love with me. Was it true? Is it happening? Should I ask? I'd know what to do if she was like the women who have tried to approach me. But it's (Y/N)... And I don't know what to do. My guard is down, and these feelings keep flooding my heart.

There's only one thing I know for sure. That my heart isn't my own again.

• (Y/N's) POV •

“That's the nicest thing someone did for me,” you admit, turning to face him. You have to focus on not letting him see your back. “It looks like a fairy tale.”

“I'm happy you like it.”

“I–” A soft song starts playing, coming from everywhere. A hell of a sound system he has. “There aren't many ladies to dance with this time, Bruce Wayne,” you tell him as he takes your hand, pulling you close.

“Good. That means I can dance with you all night.”

“You- you shouldn't say things like this,” you mutter, feeling his arms around your waist. Your hands lay on his biceps as he starts to swing from side to side, slowly. And yes, you are closer to his lips now. But he'd still have to bend down a little... You mean, if he ever considered kissing you. Which he probably never did.

“Why not?”

“Nevermind... Just...” You wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies standing close. You smile to feel his thumb caressing the bare skin on your back. “Bruce, I could never pay you back. Not only for this but... For everything you have done for me.”

“I'm not asking for anything in return.” He takes one of your hands, but when he moves you to spin around, you stop suddenly.

“No,” you mutter, going back into his arms. It was supposed to go completely unnoticed, but you feel his eyes burning on you.

“Something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” you mumble, eyes on his chest.

“(Y/N)? Didn't you promised to be honest?” You stop dancing, and he steps back a little, an index finger on your chin, pulling your head up until you're looking into his eyes. “What's wrong?”

“I... The dress is absolutely beautiful but... My back is all wreck and it looks so awful that... This dress wasn't made me someone like me... It just... My skin is still all bruised and...”

“I don't care. You're beautiful.”

Biting your lip, you have to control yourself. You want so badly to kiss him... And when he says things like this it only gets worse. “If you keep saying things like that I might end up thinking you like me so... Don't.”

“Maybe I want you to think that.”

“What?” As you speak, some sort of alarm goes off. Two loud beeps. A pause. Them two more beeps. “What's that?”

“Something happened. Something bad.” Bruce pulls you close suddenly, placing a kiss on your forehead. Your whole body burns, and you gasp for air. “I'm sorry, I'll have to go.”

“It's ok. Go get them, Batman.” You say with a smile, watching as he steps away, slowly at first, before turning around and leaving.

Alfred serves you dinner, and he also acts more kindly. Then you go to bed, the feeling of Bruce's lips on your forehead still burning. You're almost falling asleep when the door is opened, and a very worried Bruce makes you sit up abruptly.

“Hi.”

“(Y/N), I need you to listen to me.” He comes to sit beside you, and you hear a noise, like an airplane coming closer. “There's another Task Force X mission. And they demand you to go.”

“What?” It's hard to process what he's saying. “No.” You push yourself backwards until your back hits the headboard. “What- what do you mean?”

“There was nothing I could do.”

“No,” you repeat, hands covering your face. “Tell them I won't go.” You made a decision today, that you want a different life. Now, this... This can't be happening. Not now. Not when you're finally putting yourself back together. “Bruce, please.” You're crying, suddenly moving into his arms, tugging on his shirt. “I don't want to go.”

“Listen.” Bruce holds both your shoulders, his intense eyes on yours. “You're a strong woman. I'm sorry you have to do this and I promise... I promise you I'll never let them make demands of you again. You won't be their prisoner anymore.”

“Bruce...” You beg, eyes closing as you realize this noise is from their ship. They're already coming to take you.

“Listen.” He cups your face. “You'll track down some terrorists. They attacked a small town in New Mexico. You'll be doing something good, helping people.”

“Like you?” You whisper, your foreheads touching.

“Like me, yes.” A quick smile crosses his lips. “I will free you from them. I promise.”

“But I'll come back here, right?”

“Yes. They'll bring you here when the mission is over.”

The noise gets louder and louder until it stops. They're here.

Bruce walks beside you, silently. You're shaking like a leaf. When you reach the front door, you hear people talking. Taking a deep breath, you tell yourself that you can do this. You have to. Because you have to come back.

“Are you–”

You let the impulse fulfill its purpose this time. Pulling Bruce by the collar of his shirt, you tiptoe, crushing your lips on his. You swear you feel a little dizzy, but you don't give him time to react. Stepping back, your strength suddenly renewed, you open the front door and face the guards that came here to take you away.

@redwolf-7 @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony @chipster-21 @agustdpeach @yaakimoon2 @chloe-skywalker

#imagine bruce #bruce imagine #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne imagine #imagine bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #ben affleck batman #imagine batman #batman imagine #batman x reader #Justice League imagine #justice league imagine

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years

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Dangerous Love (Pt. 06 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Word count: 2.5K

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{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

Dance With Me

Bruce kept his promise and brought you a TV. He also streamed the first season of Game Of Thrones before giving you the second book, and the old deal remains. You'll watch the second season when you're done with the book. But you don't mind. They did leave a lot out of the TV show, and you want to know everything that happens. He even stayed to watch some of the episodes with you. You cried when one of the characters died. You and Bruce have the same favorite characters. Daenerys, Jon, Arya, and Tyrion. And you love to talk about it with Bruce.

The week goes by quickly, and now you have a digital clock too, so you'll know which time and day it is. And that's how you know your birthday is coming.

Today is Saturday, and Bruce is hosting a party. You can see many people down in the garden already, making things ready.

“Alfred will bring you dinner tonight.” Bruce reminds you, as you eat lunch. “But I'll come tomorrow.”

“I'll forgive you if you promise to have fun today. For both of us.” It's so damn hard not to think about that blonde woman. “Try to dance a little.”

“I will.”

He stays for a little longer until he has to go.

In the next following hours, you focus on the book. The noise gets louder, and the music starts playing as soon as the night falls. You also take a shower, long and warm, washing your hair. Patiently, you dry and brush it, struggling with your thoughts. Then you try reading again, but you can't seem to focus.

That woman is down there, and the image of her and Bruce dancing fills your head, like torture. Her beautiful blonde hair, kind eyes... She will pull him close, and he won't resist her touch. Why would he?

He will pull her against his chest, and what you can only dream about, she will feel it. How lucky she is.

You go to the window, a knot on my throat. Why do you want to cry? Why do you feel so terribly sad over a freaking scenario you just imagined?

“Because it'll probably happen...” You tell yourself.

And if not her, with some other girl. Looking through the window, you see the pretty lights on the garden, and some people, smiling, talking... A soft music start playing, and you see as some couples get together, slow dancing.

Smiling, you close your eyes as you step away from the window, resting your back against the wall.

You imagine yourself down there, among the people, and they don't bother you. You're comfortable, wearing one of those pretty dresses. You're not a villain, you're a normal woman, someone people won't be afraid of... Someone Bruce could love. You would walk around the house, the gardens, and you finally get to see all of it. And then, you'd find Bruce...

Opening your eyes again, you walk to the bathroom to wash your face. Wash away the tears. What is going on with you? You can't let this happen. Not with Bruce. You've never been through this, you never needed or wanted someone so bad. It's weird. You don't want this to be love, you can't let this be love. Punching the sink, you ignore the pain that spreads through your fist.

“Remember who you are,” you tell the girl in the mirror. “Remember who you are.”

But it doesn't work. Who you are, or who you were, is a distant memory. He's succeeding, Bruce is changing you, he's making you see who you are behind the villain mask you had on. And you don't think you can go back there. You don't want to... You want him...

You're crazy. Now you're finally going crazy. Bruce won't like you. And you can't expect him to. You can't want him to. A loud laugh coming from the garden gets your attention, and you run back to the window. You can see a couple, happy, in each other's arms. You envy them... You won't ever have anything like that.

When the door clicks, you dry off the stubborn tears that came rolling down again. “Alfred, tell Bruce everything is beautiful.” You say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“It's me.”

Your heart skips a beat as you turn around, seeing Bruce by the door. He looks amazing in his tuxedo, so handsome. You step forward abruptly, an impulse, ready to run into his arms, but you manage to control yourself, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

“Hi.” It's all you manage to say.

“Why do you always keep the lights off?” He inquires.

“I'm just used to it, I guess... I... I tried to read, then I tried to sleep, so...” Walking away from the window, you move closer to where he's standing.

“I'm sorry if the noise is disturbing you.”

It's not the noise that's keeping you awake, it's him, and all the things you shouldn't be feeling. “That's not it. I don't sleep too much, remember?” Taking a deep breath, you avoid his gaze. You must look so bad, in your black tank top and sweatpants... The girls down there look so beautiful... “What-what are you doing here? The party seems to be going very well.” You gesture at the window, the only sight you have of outside.

“It's considered polite for the host to dance with the single ladies.” He reaches out his hand, and you wonder what it means.

“I... I'm not at the party...” His hand doesn't move, so slowly, very slowly, you take it.

“You're here. That's what matters.”

“I don't know how to, remember? I don't–”

“Relax, (Y/N).” Bruce pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist. It feels like a drug, inebriating. “Just follow my pace.”

Why is he doing this? Why does he care enough to come here instead of focusing on the party he's hosting? Bruce will be the one to drive you crazy.

You start moving, from side to side, following the rhythm of the soft song playing down there. The distance he first put in between your bodies disappears as you move until you're very, very close.

“You... Why did you come here? I-I mean... Don't you have enough girls down there? To dance with? You shouldn't lose your time with me.” You whisper, stuttering. Hesitantly, you look up, meeting his eyes. It's breathtaking.

“Thought you would like a dance.” He keeps his voice low as if the didn't want to disturb the darkness. “Was I wrong?”

“No.” You burst out, too fast. Suddenly, you decide to tiptoe. “This is how I'd be like if I were wearing high heels. And you can pretend I'm wearing a pretty, long dress.” Smiling, you notice your face is closer to his now. His lips get your attention, so you close your eyes.

“You're beautiful, just like this.” His voice is so low that it's hard to hear it. But does he really mean it? Can he find you pretty in such simple clothes? “Sorry I can't take you to the actual party.”

“It's alright. I... I wouldn't feel comfortable, I think... Among the people.” Bruce moves your arms, from where they were laying, on his biceps, to be around his neck.

It's hard not to look at him, but you feel that if you do, you won't be able to control yourself. “I would be by your side the whole time.”

“But what about that... That woman I saw...”

You're begging yourself not to do this. Not to ask something that will make you feel bad to know the answer. But you need to. “Wouldn't she... Wouldn't she want to have you too? I know you're just saying that to make me feel better, I... I shouldn't even be saying that. Just ignore it.” That's embarrassing. Good thing he won't see you blush in the dark.

“Angela is an old friend,” Bruce says, taking your hand and pushing you away in a smooth motion. You've seen this move in some movie, and you're happy to know what to do. You step away for a moment, and then, you spin around, back to his arms. But you miscalculated the movement, so you end up with your back against his chest.

“Sorry.” You quickly say, but before you can turn around, Bruce softly holds you there, swinging to the song. His arms are like a cage, but a good kind of cage... One that makes you feel safe. You feel his breath on your hair, and how his chest moves as he breaths.

“Relax, it's alright.” You close your eyes to hear his voice. “And don't worry about Angela. She's married.”

“Oh... That's good. For her. That's good for her.” You hate how you're always so damn nervous around Bruce. He probably thinks you're stupid.

“I guess it is.” He spins you around again, as the song ends, and pulls you close, strong arms encircling your waist.

Taking a deep breath, you gather all the courage you have to tiptoe again. Your faces are only a few inches away, despite the height difference. He'd have to bend down a little to kiss you. Would he want to kiss you? Would he even consider it? Your stomach feels funny, like butterflies. A hand comes to touch his face, your fingers caressing his skin. You're about to pull him, to end the last inch separating you when you hear someone saying his name out there.

Freezing, you step down, catching your breath. Bruce is breathing fast too, but you're not sure why. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” Smiling, you nod. “Go get them, Batman.”

“Thank you for the dance.” Bruce doesn't let go of your hand, but eventually, he moves away. You can only watch as his fingers let go of yours.

Then, you're all alone again. You're waiting for the familiar click that separates you from Bruce, but it doesn't come. Letting yourself fall on the bed, you cover your face with both hands. You're going mad. Would you really kiss him? What would you do when he pushed you away? You need to take these thoughts out of your head. So you hide under the blankets, eyes closed, trying to sleep. Sleeping is the only way to stop thinking, and right now, the nightmares are the least of your worries.

•••

You're staring at the digital clock. 4 a.m. The party ended two hours ago, and the house is silent. Your head keeps going back to what happened earlier. The dance, and the kiss that almost happened... You're tired of thinking about it, you need to stop. You're caught between trying to understand what's going on and trying to ignore it. To forget it.

But there you go again, replaying everything... Even in the very end, how it seemed like he didn't want to let go of your hand... And then... The click of the lock...

The click that didn't happen.

The door is open.

You jump up, running to the door. Hesitantly, slowly, you turn the handle. And you were right. It's open. A rush of adrenaline sets you in motion, and you swing the door open, running through the hall, to the stairs, and to the first floor. You don't know where you're going, you don't even remember where you went when you first tried to run. You know the front door will be locked, so you run straight past it. You end up in the kitchen, just as you did on your first day here. Your attention is caught by the window above the sink, and in your rush, you try to push it open, but it doesn't move.

You can actually go now. Nobody knows you're here. Taking the blender that's on the kitchen counter, you throw it against the glass until it breaks. You need to move fast now because the noise might wake up Bruce. Climbing on the sink, you use your hand to remove the last bits of glass of the way out...

Bruce...

You made a promise to him. And you know that, if you go on with this, there are chances that you'll end up back in Belle Reve. And Bruce would be sad... Right? You remember how it felt to be so close to him earlier today. His arms holding you... He touches you like no one else did. He's not disgusted... That's probably just Bruce being kind... But even so, you can't do it.

You're looking outside, to the rock path you'd have to take to get to the gates. Slowly, you step down the sink, a sharp pain on your left hand. Looking down, you see a cut in the palm. Taking a deep breath, you start making your way back to your room. On your way out of the kitchen, you see Alfred coming from the hall. He stares at you, wide eyes.

“Sorry for the glass,” you mutter before running upstairs again.

You close the door behind your back, crawling to the bed. You leave the bleeding hand hanging off so the blood won't stain the sheets. You shouldn't have done that. It happened so fast, your body just moved. You just had to get out of the room, and running felt so good. It doesn't take much time for the door to open, and you know it's Bruce. He turns the lights on, and soon you feel the mattress moving when he sits on the bed, but you can't even look at him, so you keep your eyes on the wall.

“I saw you in the kitchen.” He says, his voice soft. Why isn't he mad?

“Hiding in the shadows?” You can feel his eyes on you.

“Something like it.” Bruce takes your hand, and you hear him opening something. The first aid kit, probably. You feel as he starts cleaning the cut.

“Aren't you mad? Or disappointed?”

“Why should I be? You didn't run.” He goes silent, and slowly, you look at him. He's focused on the wound, but it doesn't seem to be too serious. He wraps a bandage around it before laying it on the mattress.

“Was it a test? You left the door unlocked.”

“I forgot. I have a lot going on in my head.”

You want to know what is it he thinks so much about. “I'm sorry about the glass.”

“Why did you change your mind?”

“I can't tell you.” You sit up, and when you do, you're suddenly very close to him. You know you should move away, rest your back on the headboard, but you're frozen, looking into his eyes. Bruce doesn't move either.

“Alright. I'm glad you decided to stay.”

You don't think you wanted to run. You just needed to get out of the room. “Bruce, my... My birthday is coming.”

“I know.” He says with a smile.

“Can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“Can I... Can I see the gardens?” The moment you say it, you regret. He won't let you out just like this. “You know what, nevermind. A cake would be just fine.”

His face softens, and his hand comes to your face, fingers softly caressing your skin.

Bruce needs to stop doing that because it's sending you the wrong signs, and you should probably tell him to. His touch is so different from anything else, is addicting.

You're falling for him. You're just about to fall in love with Bruce Wayne. And that will probably the your biggest mistake.

@redwolf-7 @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony @chipster-21 @agustdpeach @yaakimoon2 @chloe-skywalker

#bruce Wayne #imagine bruce wayne #Bruce wayne imagine #ben affleck batman #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #batman imagine #imagine batman #batman x reader

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years

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Dangerous Love (Pt. 04 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Word count: 2.3K

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{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

Nightmares

You're looking at the garden, admiring the little white flowers that only blossom at night. You're tired, eyes heavy, but you can't sleep. Some bats are flying down there, and you wonder if they live nearby. A much larger figure passes by, in a blur. Suddenly, the lights go off. Opening the window, you bend over, holding on the bars, to try and see more. Then, you hear a click.

Your head turns at the door. Did it just unlock? Is the system electrical? Then why does Bruce always uses a key? Moving to the door, you slowly turn the handle and... Another click. It's open. Pulling it, you step forward. The silence makes you anxious, and so does the darkness. Looking at the sides, you start walking down the hall.

“Bruce?” You call out, and your voice echoes through the place. You get no response.

Your legs keep moving, taking you downstairs and to the door, which is wide open. Why is Bruce doing this? Is it a test? Or did something happened to him? You shouldn't go. You should–

You're moving, against your will. Why are you moving against your will? Wasn't that the plan? To wait for an opportunity and run away?

The gates are open too, and they're the only thing you can see in the darkness. The next thing you know is that you're on the streets. Empty streets, no lights on. You're taking the way to the abandoned mall you claimed, taking all the right entrances and the elevator that leads to the underground. Your old house.

You walk through the garage, among the many cars you own. Reaching your private headquarters, you see piles of money. The jewels too, more shiny than usual.

“Is anyone here?” The place doesn't seem abandoned. You know they're still working for you, even after all that time in prison. They wouldn't dare to abandon you.

“Look who's back.” Your sister comes out of nowhere, followed by her boyfriend, the Joker. “Where were you, little sis?”

“I got out.” You could tell them the truth, that Batman held you hostage. But you don't want them to retaliate. “What are you doing here? You're not supposed to come uninvited.”

There's something in the air, in the atmosphere. It's so cold and and dark, like you're drowning in it. A weird feeling builds up as if you need to go home. But this is home, the only home you ever had.

What are you doing here? You made a promise not to run away. Bruce told you he'd help, so why did he let you get out? Why did he let the doors open?

“We know everything, dear." Joker sing songs, pacing around you. “The Batsy broke you down... Or should I say, Bruce Wayne?”

“What?” How does he know that? “I was in prison. Belle Reve. I got out.” You repeat, turning on your heels to look Joker in the eye.

“And now you're back home,” Harley exclaims, hugging you. “Enjoy yourself, sis. This is who you are. Have fun, steal what you crave for, and then, one day, they will just get you again.”

“Thanks to you, I know who Batsy is.” Joke speaks again, getting your attention. “I can attack him in bright daylight. When he's vulnerable, away from his toys.”

“You know you'll go back there right? The paradise on Earth.” Harley starts again. “They always manage to find us. And once they do, the torture is tuned all the way up.”

“Shut up, Harley.” You burst out.

“I will make sure to tell Batman you helped me. I may even bring his head here so you can use it as a decoration.”

“Shut up!” You're covering your ears, trying to understand what happened. What you did. You didn't tell anyone about Bruce. You know you didn't. “Shut up!”

“You're going back to Belle Reve, sis. We always do. We'll die there.”

“Batman's blood is in your hands, Havoc. Upon his death, we will rule Gotham.”

“Shut up!”

You sit up abruptly, just as the door is being open. Breathing fast, you run to the bathroom before Alfred comes in. Closing the door behind your back, you slide to the floor, hands on your head. “It was just a dream. Just a dream.” You mumble to yourself. Why did it scare you so much? You shouldn't be sleeping. “I won't go back. It was just a dream. Just a dream...”

A knock on the door startles you. “(Y/N)?”

It isn't Alfred, it's Bruce. With your heart pounding against your chest, you stumble up, opening the door and almost collapsing against his chest when you step out. He looks down at you, worried.

“Hi,” you whisper, stepping back.

“You look terrified. What happened?” He touches your arm, guiding you to sit on the bed. Behind him, you see a cart with lunch.

“I fell asleep. I shouldn't, I... I had a nightmare. No big deal.” As you move closer to the headboard, you see a book on the nightstand. “What's that?” Taking it, you read the cover. Game Of Thrones.

“I decided to bring you that. So you'll have something to do.” Bruce sits on the bed, hesitantly. “It has some violence, but I think you can deal with that.”

“Isn't there a TV show about it?”

“I'll stream if for you once you finish the book.”

“Ok.” It's good to finally have something to do. Opening the book, you look through the first pages.

“Why did you say you shouldn't sleep?” He inquires. Shaking your head slightly, you don't answer. “(Y/N).”

“Hm?” Looking up from the book, you meet his eyes. Why is he so worried?

“Won't you answer me?”

“I don't like sleeping.” Shrugging your shoulders, you sustain his stare. Bruce has nice eyes, and they're kind. You can't remember the last time someone looked at you like this. “The nightmares are constant so... I take naps. Whenever I feel like I'm falling asleep I get up. I don't sleep for more than three hours every night.”

“And what do you do up all night?”

“Nothing. I stare at the ceiling. The garden... Did you know that the little white flowers only blossom at night?” Smiling, you put the book down and move to the window. The garden is beautiful. You grow mesmerized by it every day. The flowers and threes are amazing.

“(Y/N), you need to sleep. To rest.” Bruce walks over you, touching your arm to get your attention. “Do you want something to help?”

“I'm used to my sleep schedule, don't worry.” You meet his eyes for a few seconds before looking through the window again. “I saw some people there a few days ago.”

“An interview. Now go eat.” Bruce brings the cart as you sit in the armchair. Sweet potato soup, your favorite.

He shouldn't be here for lunch, though. “Shouldn't you be at work?”

His expression changes, and he looks sad. “It's Saturday.”

“Oh... And don't you have a girlfriend or something?” The question comes out suddenly, before you even notice what you said. That's the bad part of being honest all the time, you lost the ability to control your thoughts.

“No, I don't have anyone at the moment. Why?”

“Because it's Saturday. You should be with her.” In the back of your mind, the figure of Bruce with a woman in his arm, going to dinners, smiling and chatting, bothers you. You don't understand why. It's only natural. A handsome man like Bruce probably has a lot of women chasing him. Being rich only makes it worse.

“Don't worry. I'm all yours today.”

That makes you giggle, looking down at the soup. “The therapy session will be long then.”

As usual, Bruce waits until you're done eating. You're growing used to his presence, and sometimes you think you're even a little excited to see him. It's unbelievable how gentle he is. Nobody was ever gentle to you. It's weird how you're failing to look for an opportunity to run away. You're just not thinking about this anymore.

When you're done, you push the cart away, holding your glass of soda. “So... What are we talking about today?”

“I have news. And I need you to tell me how you feel about them.” Bruce is serious now, all professional. Did you do something? Why does he seem so distant?

“Alright.”

“Yesterday night I found the Joker.” He begins, eyes focused on you, reading your face. “He almost managed to run away, but one of his bombs went off before the time, while he was close. He blew up, thrown into the air, and when he fell, he broke his spine. There's a chance Joker won't ever walk again.”

You don't know what he wants you to say. People tend to connect you to the Joker, even though you haven't worked with him in years. You're more like enemies now. “Well, that's too bad for him. And for Harley. She'll be heartbroken.”

“What about you?”

“I won't say I'm happy about it, I'm just... I don't feel anything.”

“Have you and the Joker ever been in any kind of... Relationship?”

That's new. “No. He kissed me once, to make Harley jealous, but I kicked him in the balls for it.” The memory makes you smile. His face was priceless. “He did make some... propositions, but I never accepted.”

“Why?” Bruce seems very interested in this. What are you thinking? He's just trying to understand and help you. Nothing more.

“Because he wasn't my type,” you say with a smirk.

“Does that mean other men made the same kind of propositions and you accepted?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, putting the empty glass on the cart. “I... I'm not...”

“See? When you don't say the truth, I can make any assumptions.” He leans forward, as he usually does. You're not sure why, but you mirror his position, looking into his eyes. “The truth, please.”

“Well, it's true that he's not my type, but... In my world, love is dangerous. You have lots of enemies and having someone you care about gives them a weak spot. So I never really gave me or... Love... A chance.” It's funny how easy it feels to open up to Bruce now. It doesn't mean you enjoy saying these things, they're supposed to be a secret, but with time, you're getting used to it. He has an effect on you, this man.

“For some people, there's no need for love in some... Situations.”

“For some people, yes. For me... It would never feel right.” You move back again, looking down at the sunlight coming through the window, on the floor between you and Bruce.

“(Y/N), I know the guards used to beat you. But did they ever... Assaulted you any other way?” The heaviness in his voice is tangible. Bruce is angry, worried.

“No. Never.” You're quick to answer, and he soon seems to relax. “Everything they feel for me is disgust, thank God. That... Never happened. They only touch me to beat me up.”

“I'm... Happy to know that. A pretty girl like you... I couldn't help but wonder if they ever tried something so filthy.”

“Woman.” You correct him as usual, the word pretty burning through your mind. Does he really think you're pretty?

“Woman. Forgive me.” A smile. A smile comes to his lips and you're mesmerized. He's so handsome, and now even more.

“I like your smile,” you tell him, biting back a smile yourself. “Didn't know Batman had this ability.”

“You're improving.”

“Am I?” It comes to your mind suddenly, that he brought you here to prove a point. “I'm happy your project is going well.” Running a hand through your hair, you get up, moving to the bed.

“I don't think of you as a project.”

“Really?” You don't believe him. “Sometimes I wonder what will be my fate after this. You say you can put me back into the normal world, but I'm not sure I believe it... I think that I'll end up in Belle Reve. And it'll be even worse because now I'm used to all this.” Gesturing at the room in general, you look at him. “Comfortable bed, nice showers, beauty products... Not being hurt every single day.”

Going back to Belle Reve would break you down, you think. The villain in you says that you can take it, all over again if needed, but the other part... Tells you otherwise. The very thought of your old cell is enough to make you shake like a leaf.

“I will never let you go back there,” Bruce speaks up, intense eyes on you, burning. “Never.”

“Keep me here then... If that's what it takes. I don't mind.” You can barely hear your own voice. You can't believe you just said that, that you would be ok being here for the rest of your life. But if your options are this room or cell 304B, you'd pick this room.

“Let's see how things go. There's no need to rush.”

Nodding, you continue telling him about your connections with the Joker, and about the many times you were at war against each other. After dinner, you ask for a pencil or pen, so you can underline the parts you like in the book. Bruce brings you a blue pen before wishing goodnight and telling you to try and sleep well.

But you can't. It's 2 a.m. and you're reading. You find a blank page in the book, so you rip it off and decide to draw. It's been years since you've drawn, and you're not really sure what you're doing. A few hours go by until you're finished with it. Bruce. You just drew Bruce Wayne. You stare at his features. His eyes, nose, jaw... Lips. Folding the paper, you decide to use it as a bookmark. He won't find out if you keep it inside the book.

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