#Someone signed a restraining order for Bruce
nelkcats · 24 days
Restraining order
Due to a problem in Amity Park with their parents, Jazz decided that it was in Danny's best interest to move in with her until she could have full custody of him, the legal process was really long when you had no connections, her brother was happy with that arrangement.
However when he decided to move to Gotham with Jazz, Danny heard rumors about Bruce Wayne and his entourage of black-haired, blue-eyed children, similarly there were other rumors about the "Gotham Knight" who kept adopting children and transforming them into "Robin", or at least, that's what the kids on the Alley told him.
So, he made the most logical decision possible: he applied for a restraining order, for both: Batman and Bruce Wayne, he justified in court that it was for his own safety and he had nothing against them but he preferred if they stayed far from him, considering his trauma it was for the better. Jazz supported him and gave her professional opinion which sped up the process; Harvey Dent found the case hilarious so he supported the siblings and they got the court order.
For his part, Bruce was extremely confused when he found Jason laughing at a document that had arrived in the mail at the mansion, his confusion only increased when his League communicator beeped, alerting him to an urgent call from Flash.
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gacuseni · 2 years
The last three hours had been not interesting. Batman and Robin were during their daily, or nightly patrol. There was nothing special about it, it had been pretty old fashioned. There had been two attempts of robbery, a minor gangster fight, and one attempt of kidnapping. It wasn't exactly too calm to put Batman or Robin nervous, but it was calm enough for a normal patrol in Gotham.
Batman had never liked the quiet though. And Robin had learnt from his father, he had a bad feeling about it, a feeling he couldn't quite name, but he had a feeling as if someone had could happen at any moment if they lowered their guard.
And they were right. As Robin was talking to the owner of the store they had just saved from a couple of armed guys, Batman heard a noice coming from the back alley, something had fell, at first he thought it could be a stray cat messing around, but he still got closer just to check.
"You better hurry! We don't have all day!"
Batman opened his eyes, he knew that voice, Harley had escaped a couple of months ago from Arkham, but she had gone quiet ever since. What was she doing there?
Robin looked at his father, he said something else to the owner of the shop and quietly followed him to the alley, he was about to ask, but his father make him a sign to keep quiet.
Aside from Harley, there were also some men on the alley. Each one of them was carrying a box and placing them inside a truck, Harley was looking at them impatiently. When the last one man arrived, he almost dropped the box as he placed it.
"Careful!!! We don't want to break it, don't we?" Harley said. And then she kicked the man in the chest making him fall.
The man tried to protect himself as he fell to the ground and covered himself with his arms.
For some reason Harley was apparently not in the mood to punch people, or she was really on a rush to arrive to wherever she was taking the boxes on the truck.
She looked around to check if someone else was following, she didn't notice the couple of bats that were looking at her from the other side of the alley.
Harley looked at the man on the floor. "That's what I thought, now get on the truck!!" The man, who was apparently also the driver followed her orders quickly and got to the driver's seat before the rest got inside and they departed to some place in Gotham.
Batman and Robin hid themselves as the truck exited the alley.
They looked at each other, as is for a fraction of second they had a mental conversation, they already knew what the other was going to do, both nodded before they started following the truck through Gotham's rooftops.
Batman informed to Oracle over the comms that they were following Harley, who was more likely working with the Joker, and that the rest of the bats on patrol should be alert in case they needed backup.
After following the truck through half of Gotham they arrived to the decks, more specifically to an abandoned warehouse. Damian was not surprised, the Joker and the rest of criminals should really get another creepy location to do their evil plans. But again, this was Gotham, there were more warehouses than McDonald's in the city.
There was a small window on the ceiling that Batman and Robin used to see what was going on. Joker was already in the warehouse, waiting for the truck.
He smiled with that creepy smile he always had on his face as Harley got out of the truck.
There was too much noice inside and outside to hear clearly what was going on, but Robin knew the couple was talking about the boxes, while they were watching from the hidden window in the corner of the roof.
Robin was ready to jump in the moment it was needed, his father on the other side was observing, analyzing the boxes that the men were opening.
"Hm" he made that noice he used so much as both Batman and Bruce. "They look like materials for his gas. There is also some new stuff, he might be changing the formula." He said through the comms. He then looked at his son, who was not really paying attention to him, but instead was about to jump through the window. "Robin, no. It can be dangerous, you will have to wait here until I say so."
Robin looked at his father, who was back at looking at the boxes, he crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, just waiting for some orders. The night had been boring for him, and now that it started to get interesting, he was ordered to wait in there.
Batman was about to go inside when Joker and Harley stopped talking after one of the men had approached the Joker and said something to his ear. Joker nodded and then looked at Harley.
"Bring her here." The Joker ordered to Harley.
Harley nodded with a smile, she left and returned a couple of minutes later with a woman around her mid or late thirties, who was cried on the floor after Harley pushed her.
"No! Please! No! Let me go home!! Please! I have a family!" She was shaking her head as she trembled, tears falling down her face. Robin felt anger through his body as the woman continued pleading for her life and safety. Talking about her family and her home. She was just an innocent woman.
Batman noticed how tense his partner was, he was also not happy about this, but he covered it better than his son.
The Joker's smile was getting bigger and bigger as the woman cried and pleaded. At some point Robin was sure it couldn't get any bigger.
As Harley approached the woman ready to beat her with her bat, Robin decided it was finally time to do something. Orders be damned, so he started moving toward the window.
Batman glared at him, but Robin ignored his father, while he kept approaching to the window. Hiding in the shadows without anyone noticing him.
And finally, he jumped to fight the men.
"Robin, no!" He could hear his father yelling at him, but he ignored him, again. He could hear the exasperated sigh his father gave, he didn't looked back, but he could perfectly visualize his father's frown under the cowl, pinching his nose.
He landed along the shattered glass, making a noisy entrance that directed the attention to him and not the woman. Good, he thought.
"Oh look the little bird is here." Harley spoke, she glared at the men behind her. "What are you waiting for? Go get him!"
Robin took the first two men down, leaving them unconscious in the floor. They were sloppy and useless, he wasn't surprised.
Robin smirked at Harley as another couple of men attacked him and he took them down easily.
"Ugh!! Why can't nobody do something right?!" She screamed, then she looked at other four men "What are you people looking at?! Do something! Or are you waiting for a lollipop?! You are absolutely useless!"
The four men quickly ran towards Robin.
He dodged the first two men easily, but as he was about to punish one of the men, he looked at his left where he saw the Joker about to hit the woman with a crowbar, and Robin got distracted.
He had let his guard down, and never noticed that one of the men had a knife. A knife he used to stab him on his right leg, as the other man hit him on the face.
He was about to get another hit when a dark shadow landed in front of him, taking down the man who had stabbed him.
"Robin!" Batman yelled to his son, as he continued to take down the men. Robin had to admit they were at least brave, or very stupid, as they continued to get up and keep fighting them. "What the hell we're you thinking?! I told you to wait!"
Robin punched one of the men on his stomach as he looked at the woman being hit by the Joker, who had started laughing. Ugh, he really hated that laugh, it always got on his nerves.
"Less talking more acting, you can scold me later father."
Robin quickly ran towards the Joker, who was about to hit the woman once again, she was half reacting by now, Robin wasn't sure if it was because of her injuries or some sort of shock.
He took some speed before he make a flip and he kicked the creepy clown on the face, as he yelled to the woman to move, giving her time to react and get away from the clown. Batman helped her get out of the warehouse quickly.
Robin was supposed to follow Batman and the woman to the outside, but when he was halfway there, Harley grabbed his cape and tossed him to the men who restrained his arms.
He looked at the door, Batman was probably outside by now and would soon realize Robin hadn't got out yet.
Robin tried to kick one of the men grabbing him, but he kicked him first on his stab wound, making him hiss in pain.
Joker looked at him, and finally proved Robin wrong.
His smile could get bigger. And let me tell you, it was not a pleasant image. Damian wished he could forget it.
"Oh look, the little birdie wants to take someone's place."
"Shut the fuck up" Robin was able to kick the Joker on the stomach, but when he was about to punish him again, was hit on his use and fell to the ground.
He turned around to look what was going on, Harley had a grin on her face as she got in position to hit him again. With the crowbar Joker had been using.
"I think the little kid wants more! So fun he could join us in our play date! Don't you think pudding?" She exclaimed as she hit Robin repeatedly, her voice getting angrier as her hits were getting harder.
Robin grunted in pain as he tried to stand up, just as the Joker kicked him to the floor. He used the moment Joker started laughing to kick him on his legs, taking his to the ground and standing up.
He didn't noticed when Harley had got behind his back and was about to hit him with the crowbar until he heard a noise similar to a punch. When he turned back he saw his father was back, and was fighting with Harley, taking her away from him and starting their own fight.
And here is the thing. Robin might be a trained soldier. Damian may have trained his entire life ever since he was born and was able walk and grab a sword.
But the Joker was a hard opponent in a one vs one fight, even to Batman. So it was even harder for Robin, specially with him being injured.
That didn't stopped him, Robin continued to fight the Joker, but he was getting tired, his leg was hurting a lot, the stab wound felt like fire on his leg, he was sure a part of the knife was still in there, and he also probably had a broken nose because it wouldn't stop bleeding, and a small concussion aside with some broken ribs.
The point is, odds weren't good for him, is his father didn't take Harley down soon and helped him, he wasn't sure how long he could keep going.
And the Joker didn't looked like he was getting tired, or as if he was going to get tired at some point soon, or at least soon enough for Robin to get away from him.
Robin tried to jump to avoid a low hit, but when he did his leg starting hurting a lot, causing him to loose balance.
The Joker used this to grab his arm and twisted it in an unnatural way, making Robin to hear the crack of his bone, breaking in two or maybe more parts.
Robin cried in pain. This made the Joker laugh, he was finally getting what he wanted.
The joker grabbed the crowbar that had fell a few inches away from them, and hit Robin on his head. Hard.
He may had hit him more than once, that was very possible. But after that first hit everything had become blurry for Robin, he couldn't focus well and he couldn't keep his balance. He shook his head as he tried to focus and keep fighting. Every time it was getting harder, but he needed to, he needed to-
Robin looked around, someone had called him right? But they had said Robin...Damian knew that a Robin was a bird, his name was Damian wasn't it? Why would someone call him as a bird?
He lost his train of thought, tried to focus on what he was doing, he was on the floor? He didn't really knew, but everything was too dizzy, and he was getting too tired to think, his head hurt, his leg hurt, his arm hurt, everything pretty much hurt and he couldn't remember why.
There was this laughing he could hear distantly, Damian didn't liked it, he wanted it to stop, but he could also hear another voice, and he knew that voice, that voice knew him too right?
While Robin had been fighting against the Joker, Batman had tried his best to get rid of Harley, and get as fast as possible to his son, he knew he was tough, but Jason had also been though and wasn't able to get away from the Joker.
He had already called Oracle and contacted the rest, he just hoped they could arrive soon.
Batman looked at his left, Robin was struggling, he knew it. Joker was hitting him and laughing, and Batman just saw red.
He was finally able to finish the fight, punching Harley so hard she fell unconscious to the floor.
As he turned again to his left, Robin was barely conscious, laying on the ground. Joker had seen how he knocked out Harley, and probably left him there.
"Robin!" He called his son, trying to make him stay awake. "Hang on, hang on." He said as he grabbed his son.
He looked to the place where he had left Harley, she was not there anymore. Batman didn't cared about her, Robin was hurt, and badly.
"Ba bye Batsy! See ya!!" The Joker said through a speaker that had been left in the warehouse. But Bruce was too busy and too worried to get away with Damian, and then get him help as fast as possible.
"Batman to Agent A, I need the batmobile ASAP, Robin injured, what's the ETA?"
Alfred had said something about less than ten minutes and asked Robin's state. Batman was about to answer when Damian talked.
"Yes Damian?"
"I-I'm tired..."
"I know you are, but can you please, just stay awake? Can you do that? Just until we get to the med bay and Agent A checks on you, you will rest then." Bruce told his son.
Damian lightly nodded his head, but still his eyes were closing and were not focusing anymore, that was not a good sign, and Damian shouldn't sleep with a concussion before he gets checked.
Bruce had to take him out of there now. Damian was loosing blood, and he was loosing him.
He looked around for the exit, Joker had blocked the main entrance and Bruce wasn't sure he couldn't get them both out through the window with his hook.
Then he heard it.
A bomb.
There was a fucking bomb in the warehouse.
Bruce quickly searched for it with the look.
'Oh shit...please no' He thought.
There were just a few seconds left.
He knew he couldn't get Damian away that fast in his condition. But he needed to try, he took out his grappling hook and started taking them both out, they could make it out, they still had time to at least get to the roof.
Bruce then made the mistake to look back at the bomb.
Three seconds left.
There was no way they could make it out.
Two seconds left.
Bruce hugged Damian in a way to protect his son from the explosion and the impact. Damian curled himself and grabbed his cowl.
One second left.
He was just hopping that he could take most of the impact, as he wasn't sure if Damian would survive it. He closed his eyes and grabbed his son as hard as he could.
They both were sent away flying, Bruce couldn't protect Damian from more than some rocks and things that were sent flying away.
At some point he momentarily lost consciousness on the air, everything was going in slow motion, and when he gained again he realized his grip on Damian wasn't as hard as he thought, and his son's body slipped away through his fingers.
Bruce remembers how they were both smashed into a wall. Damian hit the wall with his head, loosing completely conscience.
And then Bruce got lost in the darkness as well.
Continue reading in Ao3
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daringyounggrayson · 2 years
Could you do 25 or 30 for Bruce and Dick? I’d really like for you to make Bruce say those words to his son!
I think we would all like to see that! oh, and for this one, I’m mixing things up: Bruce took Dick in as his ward but never went on to adopt him. 
25: “You know I love you, right?”
30: “I love you, okay? I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”
"Mr. Wayne!” a photographer calls, waving his arm toward their small group as they try to make their way inside. “A picture of you and your sons, if you wouldn’t mind?” 
On cue, the four of them turn toward the camera with easy smiles. 
“Oh, sorry sir.” The photographer directs this at Dick. “Could I just get his sons for this shot?”
Dick doesn’t blame the reporter, honestly. He was probably assigned to get pictures of the Waynes, and when you google the Waynes, Dick’s name doesn’t pop-up—at least, not under family. And it makes sense; he was never adopted, so he’s legally not part of the Wayne family. Dick’s relation is just a small, unimportant detail. And to outsiders, especially people outside of Gotham or people who simply don’t keep up with Wayne Family News, Dick looks like more of a family friend, if anything. 
It’s an honest mistake, and Dick doesn’t take it personally. Unfortunately, that doesn't make it any less awkward. 
Dick glances at Bruce, trying to decide what to do. This evening will be long enough as it is, and if Bruce would rather let it go and get through the photos as quickly as possible, Dick wouldn't blame him. And it’s not like Dick needs his face on another magazine. 
Bruce tightens his hold on Dick’s shoulder, decision made.
“If you don’t mind,” Bruce pipes up with a charming voice, “I would like Richard to be in the photo. I did raise him for a decade, after all.” Bruce laughs to ease the tension, and Dick joins him to tell the photographer it’s okay.
The photographer’s eyes go wide, face going slightly pink. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. I, er, here—” he holds the camera up “—smile!” The camera flashes twice. “Perfect. Have a nice evening!” And then the photographer is gone.
“I think I’m going to run ahead,” Dick says. “Find me when you can.”
“Dick, you don't—”
“It’s fine, B. Seriously.” Dick grins.
Bruce frowns. 
Dick shrugs and ducks away from his group, heading toward the building. He ignores the flashing of cameras and calls from the various photographers, and he ignores the three pairs of eyes that dig into his back as he goes.
All in all, the party was uneventful and the four of them excused themselves early after receiving an alert that Scarecrow had been spotted on the other side of town. If Scarecrow hadn’t been spotted terrorizing civilians with fear gas, Dick might’ve been able to enjoy the free ticket out of the gala.
“Shit,” Tim mutters.
“What?” Dick asks, not taking his eyes off of Scarecrow.
“Forgot to grab a new rebreather. I still have the busted one from the other night.”
Dick pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath before grabbing his own rebreather. “Here.”
Tim pushes it back toward him, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I messed up; I can deal with the consequences.”
“I’m offering you the solution,” Dick insists, pushing back. “We don’t have time to argue. Take the rebreather so we can move in.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, I don’t need you to protect me like I’m,” Tim looks away, down, “like I’m Robin. Besides, I think we both know that I’ll be able to handle fear gas better than you.”
Dick clenches his jaw, then relaxes it. Not the time. “Maybe, but I’m in charge right now. So: take the rebreather or you’re playing look-out for the rest of the night.”
Tim’s head shoots up, eyes scanning Dick to see how serious he is. Tim takes the rebreather, shoving it into his belt. “Happy?”
“Thrilled. Let’s go.”
If anyone had to get gassed, Dick’s glad it was him. Even though he has an objectively bad reaction and treatment isn’t always effective, he has more experience and can deal with it better than his siblings. During and after. On top of that, Tim was and continues to be his responsibility; his top priority was getting Tim home safe. From those perspectives, it was logical for Dick to take the lungful of fear toxin.
Then there’s the selfish, probably more powerful perspective: Dick can’t stand seeing Tim on fear gas. The screaming, the tears, the things he says, the inability to comfort him and take the pain away. It’s awful to see once, and Dick’s seen it countless times, in real life and in nightmares. He’d do anything to avoid it—for Tim’s sake and, when Dick’s being honest, his own. He knows his family probably feels the same way about him, but that just means they’d act out of selfishness too. 
Tonight, Dick had more say, so Tim got the rebreather and Dick got more than a lungful of gas.
“Sorry again,” Tim mumbles, passing Dick a fresh ice pack. “About the rebreather.”
Dick takes the ice pack and presses it against his right shoulder, which he agitated at some point during their fight with Scarecrow. “’S fine. Knowing you, you’ll triple check next time to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“No kidding,” Tim mumbles, running a hand through his hair. He stifles a yawn. “Need anything else?”
“Nah.” Dick starts reciting pi in his head, trying to drown out the voices he knows aren’t real. “Get some sleep. And good work tonight.”
Even with the gassing, he and Tim were able to take down Scarecrow fairly easily. It’s nice to know that the two of them can still work well together, even when the circumstances aren’t entirely ideal.
“Thanks, you too.” Tim bounces on the balls of his feet and fails to stifle another yawn. This time, Dick yawns too. “You don’t want company or anything?”
“I’m good. Besides, I’ll probably just try to sleep until Alfred is happy with the blood work.”
Tim shrugs and takes a few steps backward. “If you change your mind.”
“Night, Timmers.”
“Night.” Tim turns around and makes his exit.
Dick throws his good arm over his eyes and tries to sleep.
Unconsciousness comes in waves, broken by adrenaline spikes and Alfred or Bruce checking on him. But no matter his consciousness status, Dick’s reality is shadowed and manipulated by voices and figures, hallucinations and lies that feel like absolute truths. It’s hard to tell the difference between sleep and wakefulness, but the shaking is a good tell. He doesn’t usually shake in his nightmares.
He's in his room, lying in his bed and shaking. He doesn’t remember coming here, but that doesn’t say much. He’d been having a dream, something that felt real, but wrong. Something adjacent to reality.
A camera kept flashing in his face, the photographer morphing into something less and less human. And Bruce, Bruce had been there. Yelling at him, telling him to—
No. That hadn’t happened, and now that he’s awake, Dick can barely remember the lies.
Dick kicks at his sheets, trying to reach the cool air above them. At first it’s a relief, but soon it’s not enough because he’s hot and sweaty and something keeps telling him to run. He glances out the window, trying to figure out if he could survive the fall—
No. He’s fine. He’s fine.
Dick pushes himself upright, takes some deep breaths, tries to recite pi. 
He jumps at the knock on his door.
“Dick?” the door creaks open to reveal Bruce, who enters the room before Dick can answer. “What are you still doing here?”
“I—” Dick feels hot, his palms are sweating again and he can feel his heart pounding against his chest, trying to escape. He blinks, twists the skin on his forearm until it hurts.
Bruce is in front of him, sitting down on the bed. “I trained you to be a detective. Can’t you piece together the clues? You’re not wanted. Get out of my house and stay away from my family.”
Dick shakes his head, fists his hair. The room feels like it’s getting smaller, twisted and darker. Louder. Wrong. This is a sign, but Dick can’t remember for what. “But you—no. You trusted me with Damian, you said—” 
What had Bruce said? He’s a master manipulator when he wants to be, needs to be. He might’ve trusted him with Damian, or maybe, just maybe, he was only trying to protect Alfred in case Damian had been given orders to assassinate them. He’d already attacked Tim, after all, and keeping that fact in mind, Bruce would have needed to consider safety and who he’d be willing to lose in order to protect someone else. Dick’s death and its repercussions would have felt minuscule if it meant Alfred would be saved.
Hands tug at his wrists. It’s three fourteen. The voice is lying.
“Shh. Take a breath.” Dick tries, but it’s like his chest has stalled. “Tell me how many posters are in your room.”
“Take them and go. I don’t want any trace of you left in this house.”
“Dick, you’re alright. Take a breath.” Hands are on Dick’s shoulders, trying to restrain him. He brushes them off, tries to get to the window. “I’m out of patience. I won’t be subtle any longer—I’ve regretted taking you in from the moment you moved in. Go!”  
His fingers barely brush against the window’s lock before he’s slammed into the ground. His shoulder pops, making him grunt.
“You’re not thinking clearly. Focus. Wait it out.”
Dick struggles against the weight on top of him, but it doesn’t give, not even when he resorts to biting. The hands simply shift from his chest to his stomach, and his attacker doesn’t even make a sound.
The voices in his head build up. There are millions, all shouting conspiracies at him, all of them sounding too true. His heart pounds so hard that it must be bruising his chest, and he’s so hot that his brain must be about to melt. And, and—he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He’s going to die. This is it—he’s going to die.
A hand forces his head down, and it’s not until then that he realizes he’s been slamming it against the ground in an attempt to silence the voices.
“Shh, shh. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”
“Leave! Jump out the window, you’d be doing everyone a favor!”
Dick tries to lift his head again, but the hold is firm. There’s not enough room to hit it against the ground, there’s not enough room to shut the voices out.
“No one will miss you!”
The familiar feeling of a needle slides into his arm.
Something happens. The room shifts, he shifts, and he realizes that he’s no longer shaking. It’s a sign.
The hallucinations shift into a nightmare that feels too real.
Dick wakes up to nausea and a headache. He tries to move his hand to rub at his head only to find that he’s been restrained. Bad night then.
He opens his eyes and turns his head. There’s an empty chair by his bed and the bedroom door is cracked open. 
“Bruce,” he calls. 
Damian steps into view, pushing the door open a little wider. The quick response tells Dick that Damian has been listening from the hallway. “Father is answering a call from Kent. Would you like me to collect him?”
"It can wait.” 
Damian still hasn’t entered the room, and it makes Dick wonder how much he’d heard last night, how much last night has to do with the distance, the hesitance. He doesn’t remember seeing Damian at all, but he probably came back when Dick was still in the Cave. And even if they hadn’t seen each other, it’s not like Dick’s bedroom is soundproof.
“Everything okay, kiddo?” He can remember Bruce having a handful of especially bad reactions to fear gas from when Dick was a kid—they’d been terrifying, seeing Bruce like that had made them terrifying.
“Of course. You are the one who was incapacitated.” Damian tugs on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, pulling it halfway down his hand. “But you are alright now?”
Dick quirks his lips into a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Good. I imagine last night was quite difficult,” Damian begins. “Titus woke up several times.” Damian tugs on his sleeve again, he looks like he wants to ask something.
Damian’s head turns abruptly, and whatever he sees causes him to take a step back. Into the hallway, he says, “Richard is awake.”
Now that he’s paying attention, Dick can hear Bruce’s footsteps. Bruce pauses outside of Dick’s bedroom, and he and Damian exchange words in quiet voices that Dick can’t understand. Then Bruce steps inside and closes the door behind him. 
“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks.
“Lucid,” Dick starts. Bruce tilts his head, expectant. “Not great overall, and I still feel a little on edge, but I think the worst of it is over.”
“Hnn.” Bruce looks him over for a moment, trying to confirm Dick’s self-evaluation. He must pass because soon Bruce is taking off the restraints. 
“Did I . . .” Dick tries to think back to last night and work out what was nightmare and what was hallucination and what was reality. “Did I try to jump out a window last night?”
“Yes. I had to hold you down until a sedative was administered. After that, we decided it would be safer to use restraints until the toxin wore off.”
Dick sits up as the last of the restraints are removed. He stretches his ankles and wrists. “Did the antidote not work or something?”
“It either wore off early or the toxin was stronger than usual. Possibly both, considering how you reacted to additional doses,” Bruce explains. 
Dick frowns. “How many doses did you give me?”  
“Three. You probably won’t need a fourth, but we’ll check your blood in a few hours to make sure that the traces still in your system are gone, or at least decreasing.”
Dick groans and slides back down against his pillow, draping his arms over his face. The fear toxin antidote, while helpful, isn’t without side-effects. With three doses, those effects will stick around for days.
Bruce, the bastard, has the audacity to chuckle at him. Dick blindly throws a pillow at him, smiling when he hears it meet its target.
Then, “Are you hungry?”
“Not even a little.”
Bruce runs a hand through Dick’s hair. “Sleep.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice. 
Dick wakes up alone again, but this time the chair is gone and the door is completely shut. It’s a good sign, and since Dick isn’t currently disoriented, very much preferred. 
It’s much later in the day now, a little past noon, but he knows he could very easily close his eyes and sleep for another few hours. Possibly until the next morning. But to his misfortune, his stomach growls in protest.
With a dramatic sigh that no one can hear, he gets out of bed, quickly showers and dresses, and goes downstairs to find something to eat.
"I was just about to check on you," Alfred says when he spots him entering the kitchen. "How are you feeling?"
Dick shrugs. “Tired.” It’s a side-effect of the antidote, but the nightmares probably hadn’t helped. “Did you guys have lunch already?”
“It would seem that everyone has gotten a rather late start to the day. We were just about to settle in for a brunch of sorts.”
“Do you need help?” Dick asks.
Alfred points toward a tray of what looks like buckwheat pancakes. “If you could bring that tray into the dining room, please.”
Dick hums and grabs the tray, carrying it into the dining room with Alfred behind him. He’s just setting the tray down when Titus storms in, running into his legs with a force that threatens to knock him over.
He takes a step back with a small laugh, reaching down to pet Titus. His tail thumps against the ground as he takes a seat on top of Dick’s feet.
“Master Damian!” Alfred shouts, setting a bowl of fruit down on the table.
“What’s up with you, buddy?” Dick asks the dog as he bends down to pet him better. Titus doesn’t usually tackle him, especially not when they just saw each other the day before. “What’s goin’ on?”
Alfred tsks to the room at large.
“Yes, Pennyworth?” Damian asks when he eventually reaches the room.
“What have I told you about animals in the dining room, especially during meal times?”
Damian rolls his eyes, prompting another “Master Damian!” from Alfred. Dick almost laughs, but the adult in him tells him to stand up and keep his mouth shut.
“Titus, come,” Damian says.
Titus whines.
“Titus, come,” Damian repeats.
Titus obeys, tail low as Damian leads him out of the room.
“And please gather the others before returning.”
Damian mumbles something under his breath that Alfred claims to have heard. Despite the resistance, Tim comes into the room a minute later, so Damian must’ve done as Alfred asked.
“Morning,” Tim says. He juts his thumb toward the hall. “What’s Damian mad about?”
“Oh.” Dick huffs a small laugh. “Titus ran in here and Alfred kind of went off on him.”
“Ugh, and I missed it? Bummer.” Tim takes a seat next to him and steals a piece of fruit from the bowl. “Feeling any better? Bruce said you had a rough night.”
Sometimes a little fear toxin exposure can be so mundane and minuscule that it isn’t mentioned the following morning. Dick wishes this was one of those times.
“Yup.” Dick taps his fingers on the table. “What happened to your ankle? You didn’t report it last night.”
Tim looks down at the ACE bandage wrapped around his left foot. “Oh. Just an old injury that started acting up this morning. I can still kick your ass at sparring later, though.”
Dick snorts and grabs one of the buckwheat pancakes, deciding he can’t wait any longer. “You wish.”
Breakfast is uneventful, aside from Dick literally falling asleep on the table. Bruce shakes him awake after everyone’s finished eating and then drags Dick down to the Cave to check his blood levels. Titus joins them, pressing himself against Dick’s legs and nearly tripping him as they make their way down the Cave’s stairs.
One blood test later and they learn that the toxin levels haven’t budged. Bruce decides to give him another dose of the antidote.
“Fourth time’s the charm, right?” Dick says.
Bruce sets a timer on his phone, just like he used to do in the early days. Draw blood, antidote, set a timer, draw more blood. That had been the routine for so much of his life.
Although, Dick supposes, they hadn’t really had antidotes back then; they’d had attempts at treatments. Desperate attempts to manage symptoms. There was no testing to guarantee their effectiveness or safety, and their chemical makeup had been based purely on theory and desperation. It was better than nothing, but it was risky, so they took precautions: monitoring each other not only for effectiveness but also for the inevitable side effects.
Dick will never forget the time an “antidote” caused his throat to swell up and chest to stall. The timer had only had a minute left, too—they’d increased the time after that, and Dick hadn’t complained about having to wait the whole time for almost a year.
These days, monitoring isn’t always part of the routine, and when it is, it’s mostly to check for effectiveness. But since this is Dick’s fourth dose in a relatively short timeframe, his risk for adverse effects is higher and he needs to be monitored to make sure he doesn’t keel over. Bruce will probably force him to stay at the manor until all side effects of the treatment subside, longer if new side effects arise.
“Have you been able to get any restful sleep?”
Dick jerks as he’s pulled from his thoughts. “Uh,” he starts, needing a second to process what Bruce just said. “No. Not really, no.”
“Someone can patrol in Bludhaven while you recover.”
It’s an offer, Bruce trying to be helpful. Dick knows that, but something makes it feel like an order, proof that Bruce thinks he’s incompetent.
“I’m fine on my own.”
Funny how Dick’s still trying to prove that, after all these years. He remembers when he was eight and first moved in with Bruce, how he’d been adamant about not needing a parent, not needing Bruce, but he became attached anyway. He’d told himself Bruce was a want, not a need, but that hadn’t been true, not in the early days.
Then things shifted. He grew up and no longer needed Bruce, but he’d wanted him. Dick had lied to himself again, telling himself that Bruce was the last person he wanted. The lie was easier to believe on some days than on others, but it had been even harder to convince himself that Bruce felt the same way. That even if Bruce didn’t need Dick, he wanted him.
That feeling of uncertainty, insecurity, had been with Dick since he was a kid, and it had persisted and worsened as he’d gotten older. It had been exacerbated after Two-Face nearly killed him and Bruce promptly fired him from being Robin. He was twelve and lost back then, and in what he now knows was just his twisted, hurt kid-brain, he’d convinced himself that Bruce didn’t need nor want him, as Robin or anything else.
Back then, he’d been certain that pity and guilt were the only things stopping Bruce from tossing Dick out onto the streets. He’d felt like a burden, and he’d hated everything about his life in those moments. So, he’d done the only thing he could think of—he ran.
And Bruce—Bruce didn’t chase him.
That was—maybe is—the important bit, the part that Dick still thinks about. Not the initial rejection, not being fired—that Bruce didn’t come after him.
After all, that’s what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? For Bruce to prove him wrong, for Bruce to chase after him, fight for him. To want him.
Bruce fought for Jason, then for Tim and, eventually, Damian. It’s clear that they are and always will be wanted, and Dick knows it’s stupid, but he doesn’t always know if that’s true for himself. At the end of the day, his brothers all have Bruce’s name, and all Dick has is a man who stopped being his legal guardian when he turned eighteen.
Dick is useful, even needed on the rare occasion, but he’s not always sure that he’s wanted. And he desperately needs to be wanted.
“Something’s . . . bothering you.” Bruce’s brows are furrowed, searching Dick’s face and trying to find the clues that will tell him what went wrong and where.
Dick scratches behind Titus’s ears, looking at him instead of Bruce. “Just the toxin.”
“Hnn.” Bruce sits down next to Dick, grunting slightly as he settles. “I imagine that the photographer’s comments last night didn’t help.”
Sometimes Dick hates how well Bruce knows him.
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Maybe. But fear toxin twists things, and it’s been known to draw on recent events, especially the latest versions.”
Dick says nothing, just nods in acknowledgment as he attends to Titus.
“Dick, you are my family, in every sense of the word. And I . . . I was bothered by the comment last night that implied otherwise.”
Bruce reaches over and squeezes Dick’s knee, and Dick wonders how much he’d said last night when the fear toxin was in control.
“You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just—” Dick sighs, leans his head against Bruce’s shoulder, squeezes his eyes shut. “Sometimes I don’t.”
Bruce shifts. He cups the back of Dick’s head and pulls him toward his chest, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I love you, okay? And you are wanted here. So, so wanted.” Bruce holds him in a tight hug and traces circles into his hair. “I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”
Dick hugs him back and nods into his chest. It doesn’t fix everything, but it makes it better. And sometimes that’s all anyone needs.
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crystalangelluna · 2 years
Wish It Didn’t End This Way Part 2/2
Daminette angst story:
The last part to WIDETW this is my first angst fanfic. I hope you like it.
Comments and feedback are highly appreciated. 
Part 1/2  Part 2/2(here) Ao3
(Mari's POV)
I had just arrived at the league base when Talia and her assassins greeted me.
"Greetings Great Guardian, I'm honored that you would consider my proposal. You must be exhausted from making that journey. Would you like to join us for dinner, the food is already served."
"Thank you for your hospitality, I would be honored to join you, Talia." I bowed, it was a sign of respect in the temple.
I followed her to a dining area, the food looked delicious!! 
I was enjoying the food when she asked an uncomfortable question.
"So tell me, Guardian, what made you finally accept my agreement?"
I stared at, my face held no emotion. Even if it didn't represent what I truly felt, no matter my duties come first. No one cared for me anymore, I lost everybody I loved in different ways. This most painful was when Damian thought I lied to him. That I had used him, that I betrayed him.
"I realized that my people come first.  My duties come first, nothing else. There isn't another reason why my life is useful instead of my duties. I drank my wine, and I suddenly began to feel dizzy.
I began to lose consciousness, that thing I saw was Talia smiling creepily before saying,
"It looks like you do have one more purpose, Guardian." 
Then I saw black.
I regained consciousness, I looked around at my surroundings and saw that I was in a type of dungeon. My hands and feet were tied by chains. Then it hit me like a truck, Talia did this she frickin locked me up in a dungeon.
That backstabbing traitor, out of instinct I touched my ears, there were no earrings attached to the ears.
Oh sh**
She has Tikki and the…
“Look who finally woke up, did you sleep well Guardian?” That bi**h asked me.
“What the heck do you want from me, I thought we were going to do a peace offering between the Order of The Miraculous and the League of the Assassins?” I glared at her.
“ This is the offering, we leave your people in peace, for only 2 conditions.”
“What would they be?” I growled at her, she began laughing.
“Getting Damian to try to rescue you and taking back what belongs to us, the miracle box!!”
“Damian won’t even come so that is pointless, and I will never surrender the miracle box,” I exclaimed, trying to sound brave, but in reality, I was drowning in fear.
“It’s too late, Damian is already on his way to, and if you haven’t noticed we possess the miracle box now.”
“Why do you even want to wait for Damian to try to save me?!?!”
“I want to see him suffer and realize why he never should become soft.” She grinned
She signaled to the guards to come over.
“Take her to the torture chamber!!!”
Before I could do anything, they gagged me, and once again I was knocked out.
(3rd POV Earlier)
Damian was a mess, he “found out” earlier that his best friend was working with his mother. And not only that but that everything they had and he hoped would become was all fake. He didn’t leave his room for the majority of the day.
Everyone was worried about him but no one had confronted it. He was painting, trying to get his mind away from the current situation when suddenly a letter next to him. 
He opened it curiously and was wary of why it had appeared. He was mortified by what he saw. 
It was a picture of Marinette knocked out, chains around her hands and feet restraining her from leaving, in a dungeon.
He read the letter:
If you're reading this that means you know who she is, am I right.
If you want to save her, you should hurry. Time is ticking, you know where to find us, come along. Before it’s too late.
He dropped what he was holding and ran frantically to the bat cave. He changed into his vigilante uniform and headed to the bat-jet. 
“DAMIAN WAYNE WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING in the ?!?!” Asked an angry Bruce
Damian didn't want to deal with his crap so he quickly answered with,
“ I don’t have time for this father, I have to save someone before i-it’s too late!!”
 He then left, trying desperately to reach Mari before it was too late.
(Time skip)
As Damian landed at the base he quickly ran inside the temple. Fighting the assassins while trying to find Marinette.
He reached the room where the rest of the league was, then he saw her. He froze
She was restrained against chains around her hands, legs, and neck. She was kneeling in front of everyone while looking down. She had bruises all over her body, broken bones, and large cuts. Talia was standing next to her with a jewelry box. 
“Glad you could make it Damian, now let the ceremony begin!!!” He was frozen for a long time because the assassins had him captured and tied. 
Marinette upon hearing Damian's name looked up. With her swollen eyes, she saw him tied up and captured yet he was still looking at her. 
“Damian, Marinette has been keeping some secrets hidden from you. For example, she knew your identity all along. And it gets better, not only is she Marinette but she is also Ladybug AND the Guardian of the Miraculous.  You thought she was working for me didn’t you, what you didn’t know was that those files you saw were about the peace offering between the Order of the Miraculous and the League of Assassins.” She stated, grinning.
Damian stood there frozen, he had jumped to conclusions before listening to Marinette. And she was also the hero that he got along with the most during his missions meaning Marinette never betrayed him. Meanwhile, Marinette was crying silent tears, she never thought that the secrets were going to be exposed like this.  Especially when she wanted to tell Damian someday.
“Thank you, Damian, the League can now rule the world because of YOUR mistake! You can watch as everything falls apart!!” She then took out a hidden dagger that was in her pocket. 
“Any last words Guardian?!?!” She smiled wickedly. 
“ Da- Damian I-I forgive yo-you, I-I’m sorry. I lo-love y-you.” 
She quickly whispered under her breath “ I, Marinette Dupain Cheng  hereby relinquish the Miracle Box, and name Damian Wayne the new Guardian!” 
A second later, Talia had used the dagger and stabbed Marinette in the heart.
(I’m sorry mon amour) were Marinette's last thoughts before darkness filled her vision.
Damian enraged got up and broke free. Before anyone could react a bright light filled the room. The miracle box in Talia’s hands floated and cast a bright white light. The miracle box changed different forms, instead of a type of ladybug featured egg box it became a rectangle box with robin’s colors. The box landed in Damian’s hands.
Driven by anger he used the black cat miraculous and transformed. He knew about the miraculous and its power by ladybug or should he say Marinette.
He called out ”cataclysm” and touched the floor. The sadness and anger only fueled his powers and it caused him to cataclysm the whole league along with everyone and everything but Marinette, himself, and the miracle box. 
Everything turned to dust but he didn’t pay attention because he ran to the body of his now-dead best friend and crush. He screamed and cried, releasing everything he felt while holding her close to him. He sobbed uncontrollably because he had lost the only person in his life he had ever loved more than anything.
He had transformed, and Plagg was looking at the scenery with tears in his eye. Not wanting to see it anymore he went inside the miracle box and told his fellow kwamis the news.
Marinette had left the world too soon, she had left the only person who she loved deeply. Broken, alone, and with a handful of little creatures who he needed to protect with his life.
Without guidance, knowledge, and the love of his life.
The End
(Did I make anyone cry?)
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readysetstarker · 3 years
will you write peter and wanda seducing a very guilty tony together? everyone seems to forget that wanda is also a super young hero with daddy issues
i know i said i was going to post this last night but my family and i ended up watching that tiger king documentary on nextflix when i got home from work and i needed a good break. also, i got distracted. please do not trust me ever. but it’s finally here! if you still follow me then honestly, i don’t know what to say, you’re the most patient and gracious soul there is.
also, no sex scene for this one. i made several attempts at writing a threesome scene and it just did not pan out. i hated every single one. so y’all just get the buildup on this one. sorry to disappoint.
warnings: peter and wanda are 20+, established starker. pining, lingerie, potential threesome. shy!wanda and enabling!peter.
After Peter noticed the first sign, things became more obvious. He could no longer ignore them when they popped up; small as they were, he was finding it easier and easier to catch them. Sometimes they were little glances towards Tony’s lips, a look that lasted just a second too long, or a helping hand in the field that was a touch faster than Peter’s own. Tony had been surprised the first time, still taking it, but the novelty had eventually worn off.
Peter saw the intent behind it, even if Tony didn’t.
He didn’t mind; Peter was aware of the effect Tony had on people, whether they wanted him to or not. It had only been a matter of time before it finally happened:
Wanda Maximoff was falling, and crashing, for Tony Stark.
Peter took to watching her for some time, eyes focused on her face during each interaction. She would spontaneously show up in the lab with food for both of them, but she would hover around Tony and ask him what he thought of the flavor. During nights where the team drank and mingled and ribbed each other after PR events in the tower, her eyes almost never left Tony. 
(Once, she noticed Peter watching her, and only then did she restrain herself and duck her gaze. Had she looked for a second longer, she would have seen an amused smile grace his lips rather than the mirthful or jealous scowl she might have expected.)
He supposed it needed addressing, and what better time to do so than to ambush her in the kitchen while she was making a bowl of popcorn for a movie night. Clint had insisted on Pulp Fiction, despite multiple protests, and Peter wasn’t exactly enraptured by the movie choice. He pretended to be inspired by Wanda’s snack choice to get away from Tony, stealing a quick kiss and promising to coat it in a little extra butter just for him.
Wanda was standing by the microwave, dark blue plastic bowl in hand, focused on the bag spinning and popping in front of her.
Peter had barely taken two steps before she said, without turning to him, “I’m not planning on stepping between you two.”
Her voice was quiet enough that the others wouldn’t pick it up over their bickering of movie choices, but Peter had no problem hearing her. Whatever insult Sam threw at Bucky went completely ignored as he moved to the counter near her and picked out an un-popped popcorn bag of his own. He flipped it around in his hands while waiting on hers to finish.
“I wasn’t going to say anything about that,” Peter lied. He watched her from the corners of his eyes. She purposely looked down at the bowl in her hands, fingering tracing the edge and curled as though she was going to perform magic on it.
“I can read minds, Peter. I know what you’re thinking.” She picked at a loose sliver of plastic hanging off the rim. It bent and twisted under a red furl of her magic until it snapped off. “It is nothing but a fascination. I’ll get over it.”
Nothing but a fascination. It sounded awfully close to the rejection Peter’s first confession got him. 
“You really won’t. I know Tony, and if he’s got to you, you’ve got it bad.” Peter chuckled, hoping she would catch the joke. A friendly jab with his elbow wasn’t well-received. She cowered away, and Peter decided to change his approach. 
He cleared his throat and tore at the plastic covering over his unpopped bag.
“I’m not upset, or mad,” he said. “I don’t even blame you, I mean, you have seen him, right?” That earned him a small smile, even as she folded her lips in and tried to hide it. Peter grinned and continued. “I think we can arrange something, if you want.”
The microwave signaled that Wanda’s popcorn was ready, and she missed her cue to retrieve it in favor of gawping at Peter’s words, mouth hung open, brows disappearing beneath the veil of her brown hair. She blinked, closed her mouth, opened it again. For someone with few words during missions, seeing her speechless now was oddly satisfying.
“What does that— I mean, Peter, you can’t be-be serious,” she stammered. When the microwave beeped at her, a reminder that her food was ready, she hastily retrieved it and began to pour it into her bowl. “I’m not coming between you and Stark. I know you’re committed to each other.”
“‘Commitment’ doesn’t mean exclusivity all the time,” Peter amended. He stuck his bag into the microwave and set it spinning before he turned towards her. She was clutching her bowl now, painted fingers digging into the curve of it. 
“I couldn’t. Stark, despite everything we’ve been through, has been good to me. I don’t want to risk angering him or ruining what you two have, or making him feel uncomfortable.” Wanda pulled her bowl to her chest. “I’m sorry if I’ve done any of those things.”
Peter reached out, taking her arm, startling her but stopping her from retreating. She nearly let go of her bowl.
“Wait, Wanda. No one’s upset with you.” Peter shot a quick look into the lounge area. The argument has dissipated for now, replaced instead with laughter and a smart comment from Bruce. (Peter missed the context.) He lowered his voice and gently stepped into her space. Warily, she allowed him to.
“Just, hear me out, okay?” Peter said. He squeezed her arm. “I just want to propose something to you. There’s no pressure to say yes, no consequences to saying no. Just an idea I’ve had. And if you say no, you’re still free to stare at my boyfriend. He has a nice face and a nice ass, and I stare at them pretty often, too.”
Wanda’s laugh was nothing but a huff of breath through her nose, but it was accompanied by a small, awkward smile. Progress. He was getting somewhere.
“So,” he started, ignoring both the beep of the microwave and the summoning yell from Tony that their new movie choice was starting up, “Tony’s birthday is in twelve days…”
Hiding the lingerie purchase from Tony had been leagues easier than either of them was expecting. Tony would get notifications if any of his cards were used, and Peter had seen him brush the emails aside to allow Peter his privacy. He didn’t mind Peter spending his money every now and then, and he didn’t make a habit of hovering over every purchase or demanding receipts.
But Peter couldn’t blame Tony when he had seen the shop’s name and given him a very intense stare. Peter did his best to deflect and act nonchalant, as if buying women's lingerie was a normal purchase amongst limited-edition LEGO kits and nights out with Ned, MJ, Betty, and Liz. 
The silent and amused smirk on Tony’s face had him caving; he could give his boyfriend something, he supposed, just enough to get Tony off his back without ruining the surprise.
“It’s for your birthday,” he explained. Tony’s brows rose while Peter pushed away the notification himself. He didn’t want Tony opening the email and reading the receipt. The size would require more explanation.
“For my birthday?” Tony repeated, pulling Peter into his lap and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Peter allowed himself to be pulled down. He slipped his arms around Tony’s shoulders. “Will it even fit? I mean, you didn’t ask me for my cup size.”
“Oh, my god, I hate you so much.”
Tony chuckled as Peter pushed against him and made as thought he was going to leave. He let Tony to pull him back down and kiss him. “Well, whatever it is you have planned, I’m very excited to see it.”
“Good.” Peter pried Tony’s hands off of his hips. “But you get no other hints until your birthday. I’m not spoiling anything else for you.”
Tony pretended to pout, but Peter just smiled at him and kissed him again before escaping Tony’s lap and moving to work on replenishing his stock of web fluid. 
When Wanda came down to deliver them boxes of hot, freshly-ordered Chinese, he could feel her magic creep into his mind, let her pull the information about his talk with Tony, and smiled when he felt her surprise at Tony’s response. He shot a wink over his shoulder and watched her cheeks burn the same color as her shirt. And she had been so worried about his reaction. If anything, this should have helped her feel more confident about it.
The package was set to be delivered two days before Tony’s birthday, and two days before they would execute their plan. So long as Wanda didn’t suddenly get cold feet.
At Peter’s request, the rest of the team made themselves scarce on the evening of Tony’s birthday. To avoid suspicion, Wanda hid away in her room with the package Peter and her had ordered and waited for the others to disappear before daring to come out. Any questions about her whereabouts, Peter had deflected by coming up with some story about a weekend of seclusion to work on strengthening her powers. No more questions came from it.
Also part of Peter’s request was for the others to leave Tony be in his workshop; the man wasn’t  exactly his own biggest fan, and thus, wasn’t too keen on celebrating his own birthday. Only in recent years had he allowed it to become something of a holiday, and only at Peter’s own insistence.
Tony spent his entire day working on his suits while Peter and Wanda did their best to prepare for their gift. Candles were set in Tony’s bedroom, lit precariously with little crimson flames, and Peter helped her pull the lingerie on when it was finally time.
Wanda had tried it on the same day it came in, refusing to allow Peter to see in case he said or did something that wore down her nerves and made her change her mind.
Now, she was wishing he had made the suggestion sooner, or asked for his assistance when she first donned it. For one, he had helped her pull it down and straighten everything out when she hadn’t been able to do it herself, and the dark red, leopard-print babydoll dress looked far better than her rushed attempt at fitting into it. It hugged her just right, the print helping to exaggerate the curves of her hip.The two black bows that connected the straps to the dress looked a little silly, now that she really looked at it. 
But the look in Peter’s eyes when she caught them in the mirror helped assuage some of her own doubts.
“Holy shit,” he said, voice breathless when she turned. 
Though her breasts were smaller than the model’s, it still seemed to be cut to fit her chest size; her nipples stood out amongst the spots of the sheer fabric. Even though he had brushed away her shyness when he originally suggested helping her into the dress, his eyes still drifted down to them. 
She wore a black thong beneath the dress, since both of them forgot about buying something underneath to match. The black garter belts and stockings made up for the mismatching lingerie. Wanda had almost thought about asking Natasha to borrow a pair of her heels. Almost. But the thought of anyone else knowing what was about to go down between the three of them was too much for her to stand.
Peter blinked, bringing his eyes back up to her face. “Wanda, you look amazing.”
“You think so?” Wanda turned back to the mirror in her bathroom. She pinpointed each and every imperfection in her reflection, stopped immediately by Peter’s arms snaking around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder.
“I know so. And Spider-Man never lies. It’s illegal for him, in fact. Instant jail time.”
Wanda snorted, and her arms, wrapped protectively around her chest, dropped to her sides. Peter pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled.
“See? You look great. Gorgeous.” 
Wanda nodded, releasing a heavy breath. Peter kissed her cheek before pulling away. 
“I’m going to go get Tony, okay? Wait here.”
Wanda’s fingers drummed nervously against the countertop while she waited for Peter to return, trying and failing not to find every little possible flaw in her hair or makeup (or body, in general) in the mirror. She brushed a stray eyelash from her cheek and paced, messed her hair up only to brush it out again. A quiet assurance from Friday that she looked lovely followed with no prompting, but it did help her fight the way her heart was racing in her chest.
Her escape plan was already in the planning stages by the time she heard voices in the adjoining bedroom, laughter and stumbling feet. She twisted her hair in her fingers. 
Approaching footsteps kickstarted her heartbeat, and she must have looked ghostly when Peter opened the bathroom door because he approached and gave her cheeks a pinch.
“If you still want to bail out, you can at any point,” Peter whispered. He took her hands in his. “Even if Tony says yes, you can leave. At any point.”
“I want this,” Wanda said, her own voice just a breath. “I’m just… nervous.”
Peter smiled and gave both her hands a squeeze before carefully leading her out into the bedroom where Tony waited, perched on the side of the bed, leaned back and cradling a glass of amber liquor in his right hand. Wanda wanted to reach out and read his mind, but Tony knew what her magic felt like. She didn’t want to give herself away, not as Peter was ordering Tony to keep his eyes shut and not to peek.
Tony’s response went unheard over Wanda’s own heartbeat in her ears.
Peter had Tony close his legs, thighs spread far apart in anticipation for his young lover’s return, and helped Wanda settle herself onto Tony’s lap with her thighs on each side. Tony’s hand was warm on her thigh, and the pad of his thumb instantly found the thin garter belt running the top curve of her thigh.
Peter’s hand on his wrist stopped him from venturing further, but Tony’s lips quirked up. He remembered the lingerie.
“Got something special planned for you, babe,” Peter said, and he used his other hand to guide Wanda’s to rest against Tony’s chest. That seemed to throw him off, brow pinching together. Wanda was almost worried  he would open his eyes, but Tony held out. 
“Peter,” Tony said, and it sounded like a question beginning to form.
“I told you I was putting something special together for you.” Wanda felt Peter’s hand at her back, gentle circles rubbed into her shoulder. “What do you say, Wanda? Should we let Tony open his present?”
Tony’s eyes snapped open that moment, and to her own credit, she didn’t sound so scared when she nodded and answered, “Can’t keep him waiting all night, can we?”
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Fights & Hot Chocolate | Dick Grayson
Pairing: Dick Grayson x Plus Size Reader
Word Count: 1.5k
Request: can I please request a Dick Grayson x ps! Reader where they fight because she’s part of the teen titans and he doesn’t like the fact that she’s always the first one to fight, and steps in when someone else is in danger so she ends up really injured and he tells her that she can’t go on missions ? Can it be so angsty but then super cutesy and happy at the end?? Pls and ty!!
Warnings: mentions of injuries, light angst, mentions of fights, overprotective!Dick, language maybe? That’s always a given with me, light fluff, mentions of hot chocolate.
A/N: for the love of me I can’t write action so I shifted a few things in the request for this to come out as decent.
You walked out on him that morning, tired of the same excuse he gave you before every mission. When teenagers fantasize with a protective boyfriend they never think about said boyfriend not letting them do their job, no one fantasizes with their partner making them feel so small actually.
It was hypocritical, yelling at you for putting yourself in danger when he did that every night. Dick was great in every other regard, but when it came to vigilantism he was biased and it was time for him to see it. You feared that fighting so often would damage the relationship, but giving in wasn’t an option because it simply wasn’t fair for you to quit being a Titan— not after how hard it had been for you to believe in yourself, to believe that you were as capable an athletic as the others no matter your weight and complexion.
His orders were harsher when directed at you that day, drier in contrast to the way the spoke to the others. You had already expected it, Dick wasn’t always good at keeping his anger at bay and although he was getting better the pressure of being the leader of a team took a toll on him.
Everything was going smoothly until it didn’t. Gar was too slow and your instincts kicked in. Pushing your friend aside, you yelped as soon as the blade pierced your skin.
Dick’s worry increased as the minutes passed. He was told he had to be patient, not one of his qualities if anyone asked him— or you, or Alfred, or Bruce— and one that even if he had would fail him in such a situation. He should’ve known you would be your stubborn self and put yourself in danger, and he shouldn’t have yelled at you.
White light blinded you, a pang on your right side making you wince as you tried to adjust to the uncomfortable surface you were laying on and the harsh lighting.
Alfred was by your side in an instant, making sure your vital signs were okay. You weakly smiled at him as a thank you which relieved him. He helped you get comfortable on the bed, careful to not hurt you.
“How’s everyone else?” you struggled to ask.
“They’re more than fine, Ms. (Y/N). You’re the only injured one.” Great, just another reason for Dick to yell at you as soon as he saw you.
You didn’t expect your boyfriend to enter the room the moment Alfred left. The silence between you was as uncomfortable as awkward— he clearly wanted to say something, so you waited for a comment that never came.
Dick couldn’t stop staring or find the appropriate thing to say for that matter. He had known you would be okay, but what if you wouldn’t? What if he hadn’t taken you to Alfred on time? What if the injury had been more critical?
He skipped patrol that night to stay with you in case you needed anything. Your silence hurt him, he wanted to hear your voice, to know you were okay by your own words. Fighting with you always bummed him, and the reason behind said fights always being the same wasn’t comforting at all. He didn’t think it was fair for you to worry him as much as you did because you couldn’t help but putting other people before you— he loved that about you because of how kind and caring you were but he hated it because he didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.
Dick understood, however, that either of you saying something would end in another fight. Not wanting to upset you, he just made you company until you fell asleep.
Dark strands of hair were such a familiar sight to you. Through your fingers, on your chest or stomach, between your legs, from behind the mirror when Dick fixed his hair as you did your makeup... your favorite one was when you’d get home and he’d be on the couch, laying on his side with a hand under his cheek and his untamed hair let you know he had been tossing on the couch like he often did when he was watching tv or playing video games before falling asleep.
The one you were seeing was close to that, but his neck was stiff and his body curled up in what seemed an attempt to fit perfectly in the armchair. He stirred awake no long after, you hoped it wasn’t because of the intensity of your gaze.
Groggily, he asked, “how are you feeling?”
“Sore,” you answered truthfully.
He bolted up the chair the moment you made a motion to change your position.
You lifted a hand, “I can do it on my own.”
Dick ignored your stubbornness and held you carefully with his palm flat on your back. You groaned as you tried to get comfortable, annoyed by his gesture to no end. His exasperated sigh made you roll your eyes, maddening you even more.
“Can you stop acting like a brat for a moment?”
“I wouldn’t act like a brat if you didn’t make me feel so guilty, Richard!” You snapped.
He huffed, crossing his arms. Opening his mouth only to clamp it shut, Dick turned around and sat back down, seemingly deciding to keep quiet. Probably for the best.
The recovering days were nightmarish. Your boyfriend didn’t really speak to you but would be overprotective at every moment. Dick had gone to the extent of leaving you under his family’s care, his siblings would take turns with Alfred to come and visit you, they’d bring food and movies to watch so they could distract you.
Tired of it all, you waited up for him one night. You felt fine, you weren’t in pain anymore, and you had started to do lightweight chores.
Dick threw his duffle-bag carelessly to the floor upon hearing noises in the kitchen. To his horror, you were making what looked like hot chocolate.
“Lemme do it,” he said from behind you, his warm palm resting lightly on your lower back as if to steady you.
You merely shook your head, your attention never moving away from the saucepan. “Do you want a cup?” you asked softly, hoping you could avoid another fight.
He didn’t answer you. Dick continued to steady you until the beverage was ready. Surprised, you poured the hot mixture into the two mugs you had ready. He removed his hand from your backside to pick both mugs, carrying them to the table.
Smirking to yourself, you turned the hob off. His eyes didn’t leave your form, watching every move you made toward the table. Dick had already pulled a chair out for you which you took, nodding as a thank you.
“You feeling better?” You nodded to answer his question. “Alfred said you’ll be good as new in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s a stretch,” you blurted. Your expectations were to be ready by next week.
He took a gulp of hot chocolate to restrain himself. He had promised he’d try, although it hadn’t gone well the first time he could try some more. “It’s a safety precaution,” he opted for explaining, softly putting the mug on the table.
Wrapping your fingers around your mug, you unconsciously sighed as the heat from the ceramic warmed your palms. “Are you still mad at me?”
“I don’t know,” he answered bluntly. “I don’t want to,” his clarification came quickly, “you scared the shit out of me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
Dick didn’t doubt it. In fact, one of the few things he was sure in life was that you would never intentionally hurt him. He worried his fear of losing you would make you think he didn’t view you as capable— words weren’t enough to tell you how proud he was of you. And he was sure it was mutual.
“You need to be more careful,” he repeated what he said every time you got injured.
Placing the mug down, you wiped the chocolate mustache off with a napkin as you nodded. “You need to not get mad at me for doing my job, though.”
Dick nodded back, extending his hand across the table to place on top of yours. You marveled at how warm his palms were all the time, how their weight was always so comforting. Like him.
“Am I forgiven?” he inquired, standing up to take the seat next to yours instead of the one in front of you.
Chuckling, you feigned pondering. “I suppose you are,” you teased. The relief of the tension between you finally coming to an end increasing as he turned his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours.
“Thank God,” he exclaimed, leaning to kiss the side of your head. “I hate sleeping without you.”
“That makes two of us.” You leaned closer to him too, placing your head on his shoulder. You knew better than trying to get too touchy at that moment, he’d scold you and get protective, after all.
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qeterqujll · 4 years
Red (part 1)
summary: you were a part of the red room project alongside natasha romanoff; however, you were later chosen for something much darker by hydra to continue their super soldier experiments. now you have to learn to reacquaint yourself with the rest of the world when you’ve lived most of your life in a lab without any memory of your past.
characters: eventual loki laufeyson x reader, bucky barnes, steve rogers, wanda maximoff, bruce banner, thor odinson
warnings: angst, mentions of torture, violence
a/n: please let me know what you guys think of this series so far! also, the russian is from google translate so if you speak russian i’m sorry but everything is probably wrong. next part will primarily be about loki!
(masterlist) (previous part ~ next part)
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Bucky Barnes has known for most of his life the difference between right and wrong. When he was a kid he stood up for people who couldn’t stand up for themselves. He knew that was right. It was how he met Steve. He enlisted in the army to fight for his country in the middle of a major world war; he knew that was right because he knew who he was fighting.
He fought in World War II in 1943 and reportedly died that same year. A fall from a freight train earned him a confirmed death in the eyes of the US military, reported by Captain America himself.
That was the day HYDRA found him. He was half buried in the snow with a missing arm and they decided to take what little life he had left and make it their own. After that day, the line between right and wrong began to blur until it disappeared completely. There was no longer right or wrong. There was only the mission that was given to him. There were only orders that he was meant to follow no matter the cost. Right and wrong never crossed his mind when he was the soldier. He was more machine than he was man, and he had been programmed to be the perfect soldier. He had been programmed to kill, and that was exactly what he did. Mercilessly and remorselessly.
But there were flaws in the system that HYDRA tried so hard to perfect. Bucky had connections to the world outside of his life as the Winter Soldier. Things that he could hold onto. He had Steve. It was a flaw that could never be fixed; no amount of brainwashing could ever fully erase the memories he had from before 1943.
Even after HYDRA perfected him, he still held onto those connections with every ounce of humanity he had left. It was what saved him.
When Bucky first heard that HYDRA had begun turning to targets with fewer and fewer attachments for their experiments, he was hardly surprised. It was complicated when Bucky was chosen as the first subject for the super soldier program. He had too many connections, a whole life that they wasted years forcing him to forget. The simpler thing to have done would have been to take someone with nothing to hold on to. That way they’d have nothing for HYDRA to force them to let go of.
Steve told him early one morning that they were going on a rescue mission, something connected to HYDRA and their experiments. He was always hesitant to join these missions after he healed his mind and his body in Wakanda, doing everything he could to leave the part of his life that HYDRA controlled behind. 
But he knew he could control himself, and he wanted to do everything in his power to keep them from destroying more innocent lives.
Bucky ended up joining them on their mission. He was the one who found you when they got to the HYDRA base camp. Or rather, you were the one who found him.
You were ruthless and bloodthirsty, just like he was when he was under HYDRA’s control. He fought back with everything in him and apprehended you in a slight moment of weakness, but he was confident that you would have taken him out had you seen that his left arm was metal and taken a shot at his right instead.
“Прекрати бороться (stop struggling),” he spit, to which you practically growled, fighting mercilessly in his hold. He lifted you to your feet just as Steve came through the door, looking between you and Bucky carefully. Bucky glanced at his friend, but didn't let his mind wander too far as you kicked backward at him, your foot coming dangerously close to his knee, “Мы здесь чтобы помочь вам (we’re here to help you).”
“What happened?” Steve asked carefully, studying your struggling form as he addressed Bucky. The soldier grunted when one of your hands slipped from his grasp. He barely dodged your elbow as you swung it back and attempted to knock it into his eye. He grabbed you once again, shoving you against the nearest wall and holding you there, glancing at Steve.
“She’s the one we’re looking for. We need to take her with us.”
“Я никуда не пойду (I’m not going anywhere),” you snarled, throwing your head back and hitting it against Bucky’s nose. The soldier stumbled back a step, but kept his firm grip on you as Steve rushed to his side and held your other arm.
“Yes, you are,” Bucky grunted, slipping between languages as he tried to keep you completely immobile. You were putting up quite the fight, he’d give you that. But everything you were doing, everything that HYDRA taught you to do to defend yourself were things that they had already taught him.
“I remember you,” you snapped at the soldier through your teeth, letting up in your struggle just enough to gain his focus. “солдат (soldier).”
“Wanda, get to the west side of the building now,” Bucky heard Steve mutter into his comm, although most of his attention was focused on you. You smirked at the soldier, taking advantage of his distracted state to jab your elbow into his ribs. He faltered just long enough for you to slip from his grasp and make a run for the door, but you didn’t get very far.
Wanda caught you, colliding with you and quickly recognizing that you were the one they were looking for. She raised her hands to your head just before you could raise your own to her throat. Your mind went blank and your body went limp as she entered your mind and searched for something to use to her advantage, something that would keep you in a sedated state while they brought you back to the compound.
She found a memory from when you were a child and latched onto it, forcing it to the forefront of your mind where it would play out moment by moment, forcing you to relive it exactly as it happened.
You fell to your knees at her feet and slumped against her legs, eyes wide in a state of shock as you relived the past that you had been forced to forget when you were taken by HYDRA. A past that you more than willingly let go of.
You woke up in front of a woman. She was towering over you with a knife held between folded hands. She offered you the weapon, holding the blade between her fingers and extending the handle towards you. You were sitting in a line of chairs with at least fifteen other girls on either side of you. All of them were looking straight ahead and as you stood, you couldn’t help but feel that this was familiar. As if you had been here before.
You took the knife and cautiously stepped onto the platform you were being guided towards, looking around to study your new surroundings. Your head was pounding and you knew that this wasn’t a new experience. This was a memory. But you felt as though you were walking blindly through your own mind, waving your arms around until you were able to feel something that would guide you. But there was nothing, just empty space  You studied the faces that surrounded you, memorizing the feeling of the knife in your hand. It felt familiar, but it looked completely foreign. Your head pounded harder.
“Begin,” the woman commanded, and her voice felt like a punch in the gut. You knew her voice. You knew this place and these people.
You blacked out just as the girl waiting in front of you charged towards you with her knife raised. Your mind went blank before you could even think to react and the girl ran right through you, then disappeared in a cloud of dust as the room melted away. You were left feeling trapped between reality and a memory that didn’t feel like your own
Wanda stood next to Steve with her hands raised over your head, concentrated on your memories and keeping you trapped inside them for as long as possible. Just until they could get you back to the compound. Bucky and Bruce stood on your other side, Bucky watching you carefully for any signs of movement as Bruce studied your vitals.
“Wanda,” Steve rounded on her when she winced and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, fighting to regain control over your mind, “talk to me.”
“She’s strong,” Wanda muttered, “she knows how to fight against my powers and she’s fighting very hard.”
“Then how did you put her under in the first place?” Bucky asked, but he didn’t lift his eyes to see if he’d get an answer. His gaze stayed trained on your hands, which were clenched into fists at your sides as you fought against her control. He knew how you must have felt; trapped in your past without any memory of it. He could see the discomfort that you were feeling and it physically hurt him, because he’d been through this before. He’d been through the hell that you were experiencing and he couldn’t help but want to tell Wanda to give it a rest and let you wake up.
She’s restrained, he let himself think, it’ll be okay. But he knew that letting you wake up would be their worst option at the moment, coming very close to just taking the restraints off altogether. If you were anything like he was, then you’d be able to get out of the restraints without much effort. 
“I caught her off guard before. She’s been trained for this, but she’s never had to experience it,” Wanda’s voice was close to a whisper, all of her concentration on you and your mind, “but she’s been trained well.”
“Her heart rate it spiking. In a way that should be impossible,” Bruce spoke,  turning to Bucky, “exactly like yours did when we found you.”
“Do we know who she is? Where she came from?” 
“No,” Bruce moved towards another screen where facial recognition was searching for you, “no name, no family, no background. There’s nothing. We might be able to find something when we get back to the compound but from what I’m seeing here, I doubt it. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”
“That makes sense,” Bucky said as he turned to Steve, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the former soldier, studying his friend’s reactions. He knew that Bucky was sensitive to these cases. It was close to exactly what he went through for decades and Steve didn’t want to have to watch Bucky crumble back into the Winter Soldier once again, “HYDRA is fixing the mistakes they made with me. If she has a history, they’re wiping it away. Making sure she’s a clean slate. They never would have been able to do that with a vet who served beside Captain America. They’re taking away her identity, making her faceless.”
“She looks young,” Bruce turned towards the soldiers and looked between them, “if they really wanted to improve their program, they would have taken her as a child. Raised her and made the transformation into a soldier gradual. No memories, no connections...it would’ve made things a lot simpler and it would explain why she’s not in any of our systems.”
“No,” Wanda interrupted through her teeth, the struggle to keep you at bay obvious in her voice and written clearly on her face. Her expression almost made it look like she was in pain, “no, she has a history before HYDRA. But it’s...messy. I can only see moments, not enough to know where she came from.”
When they arrived at the compound, Wanda was barely holding on. She groaned as they landed and jolted. Her concentration was pulled from your mind just momentarily, but it was enough for a tremor to run through your body and a quiet mumble to leave your lips before she regained control.
“Steve,” she looked up at him with bleary eyes and shaking hands, “I can’t...she’s fighting me too hard...I can’t hold on for much longer.”
Steve put a hand on Wanda’s back, but the sensation only seemed to make her state worse. She cried out and arched away from his touch, the energy flowing from her hands disappearing.
“Bruce,” Bucky snapped as you began to stir, “go get Thor.” 
Bucky took hold of your arms and pinned them against the table before you could begin to wake. The restraints wouldn’t be enough to hold you once you regained your strength and the last thing they needed right now was a brainwashed super soldier loose in the compound. Bucky watched you carefully as you stirred. When you recognized that hands were pinning you down, one warm and one cold, you froze. Bucky looked between your eyes, waiting for your reaction. You lay completely still beneath him, but he didn’t miss the tension in your arms or the twitch of your lips when he leaned towards you to check for a pulse. 
“She’s awake,” Bucky rasped, “she’s waiting.”
If you wanted Bucky to wait you out, he would. He tightened his grip on your forearms, squeezing until he saw a subtle wince cross your features. 
“Я не твой враг, солдат (I am not your enemy, soldier),” Bucky muttered, grip loosening on your arms as he scanned your face for something. But you were completely blank, still waiting for him to let his guard down, “я тебя знаю (I know you).”
He loosened his grip on your right arm until there was barely any pressure, but you still remained motionless. 
“Я был тобой (I was you).”
Your eyes snapped open.
He knew this would be one of your possible responses to his momentary trust in your broken mind. In fact, it was your most likely response, but he had to give you one chance to listen to what he had to say. One chance to choose the same path that he did when he saved Steve and pulled himself from HYDRA’s grasp. 
You made a different call.
You were able to snap the restraint on your right arm with minimal effort along with the two over your ankles. All that was left was your left arm, still trapped in Bucky’s iron tight grip. He glared at you, momentarily considering snapping your wrist to disorient you and allow them to get you into the compound.
Steve quickly grabbed your free arm as you lifted it to give Bucky what probably would have been a broken nose. Bucky twisted your left arm in a way that shouldn’t have been possible and held it behind your back, kicking your knee in and forcing you to kneel at their feet. The two soldiers held you there, waiting for you to make another move.
“Что она со мной сделала?” you spit at Steve through clenched teeth. He shot you a quick glance, then looked at Bucky for a translation, “I said what did she do to me?”
“Stand down, солдат,” Bucky twisted your arm back until your other knee gave out and you began exhaling in short rasps, focusing on anything other than the pain in your shoulders.
They barely acknowledged Bruce and Thor entering the jet behind them as they fought to keep you restrained. And in their struggle, they didn’t notice Loki stepping inside behind them and taking your head between his hands.
He closed his eyes and let his magic sort through your memories as Wanda’s had, although this time he made sure the effect stuck. You fell back against his legs, but he barely flinched as he searched your mind for a memory that would be traumatic enough to keep you under for as long as they needed to get you back to the compound and restrained.
Steve glanced at the God, at Bucky, then he loosened his grip on your now limp arm until it fell to your side.
“You can release her now,” Loki muttered to Bucky, who still hadn’t let go of your left arm, “although you’ve done wonderfully.” 
Bucky glared at Loki for a few moments before he let your other arm fall to your side and twist back to its normal position. He and Steve both took a step back from you and watched as Loki easily regained the control that Wanda lost. 
Another minute passed and Loki’s eyes opened suddenly. He took his hands back and stepped away from you, letting you slump to the floor.
“You have ten minutes before she wakes up again. Use them wisely.”
His eyes fell to where he’d discarded you on the ground and after one final glance at his brother, he left the others to deal with whatever mess they’d involved themselves in. 
tag list: @tarynkauai @missmollya​ @taedrgn​ @sonseungpan
send a message or an ask if you want to be added to the tag list for the next part!
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terry-perry · 4 years
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinsdottir!Reader
Warning: Endgame spoilers
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Steve Rogers, no matter what, was a bit old-fashioned when it came to love. He had believed there was one special someone for everyone. And back then, he was sure Peggy Carter was his special someone. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to confirm it. Then upon meeting Y/N, he knew he had to rethink some things.
He was first acquainted with her when she came down to Earth with her brother Thor to help bring her other brother Loki back home. Steve was instantly drawn to her, though he wasn’t all too sure why at first. Yes, she was beautiful, but he believed it was her loyalty to her family along with her attempt at diplomacy among the group that first got him hooked. She was also full of spirit, was so compassionate, understanding, and surprisingly down to earth.
He loved spending his free time with her whenever she came to Earth. It was fun learning about the things on his list with her since she too felt like there was plenty she still didn’t know about his world. But he also liked the interest she would show when wanting to know more about the era he grew up in, and he always was happy to tell her stories about his best friend Bucky saving him from fights he got himself into, showing her one of his favorite movies from the 30’s, have her listen to a song he would love to get himself lost in back then, or talk about the baseball games he loved going to (even taking her to one to experience it for herself). Her curiosity about it all made her all the more endearing.
And as fascinated as she was to learn about Earth, he was just as intrigued to know more about Asgard. He may not have understood a lot of the science/magic that she explained, but the rest of it all sounded like a wonderful fairytale. Which, to be honest, made sense when it came to her. Being with her always felt like he was part of some fantasy.
He didn’t fully comprehend the extent of his attraction until the night of Tony’s party after they retrieved Loki’s scepter. He had watched her enter the party with Thor, and it was as if he had suddenly gained some sort of tunnel vision. All he could see was this person who appeared to be glowing. He assumed it was because he wasn’t used to seeing her so dolled up (more used to the sight of her in battle armor or casual clothes), so seeing her in a tight, purple, Above Knee dress that showed off her curves definitely caught him by surprise. But when he noticed how she gathered more attention from other guests as she glided around the room - and having to suppress the growl that wanted to be released from his throat after seeing that - he realized this was something more.
Nothing was done between them, however, until the Accords came along to drive a wedge between the members of the team that were for signing them, and those against it. Their feelings for one another came out to the surface upon realizing that they can easily be pried apart over the disagreement even though they were on the same side. And they almost were when she was taken to the Raft, along with everyone else on Team Cap (sans Bucky and Steve himself). It’s when he broke them all out when their relationship had officially started.
He had taken her face and planted a firm kiss on her lips when they were safely back on the Quinjet. He had felt her tense up, and was about to pull away until her hands went to his hips for a moment before sliding up to have her arms wrap around his back.
Afterwards, all hesitation was lost as the kiss grew more desperate and needy as though the two of them were spilling out every emotion they had felt for so long. Both let out a small gasp once they released themselves from the kiss, but their hold on one another didn’t ease up. Her eyes were the first to flutter open.
“Wow,” she whispered, still short of breath while also sounding as if she was in a trance.
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” he responded with an almost shy smile gracing his face.
She panted out a laugh; her hands coming to rest on his chest.
“Sorry if that was a bit sudden,”
Nuzzling her face in his palm, she looked up at him and bit her lip in order to restrain the elated grin wanting to come out.
“It was a pleasant surprise,”
“Well, with your permission this time, can I kiss you again?”
He had brought his lips inward to conceal his own joy.
She nodded right away, no longer able to hide how excited she was. They shared a brief second kiss until they were interrupted by an amused Sam who was ready to tease the new couple.
They stayed together for a good couple years, and even managed to make a long-distance relationship work when she left for Wakanda to help with Bucky’s recovery. Unfortunately, they had broken up shortly after their second encounter with Thanos. They mutually thought it was for the best as she noticed how deep into a depression Thor was falling into while they themselves were doing their best to stay together and desperately attempt to have some form of normalcy like they dreamt of having. But sadly she had to leave to help out with all of who was left of her people, and try to maintain her brother’s mental health.
Then Fate decided to give them a second chance in the form of Scott Lang and the concept of time travel.
Even though he was expecting all of the old team to get back together, it still caught him off guard to see her enter the compound with Thor. Needless to say, the last five years hadn’t been good to her brother. And while she may have looked more hardened and tired with a sliver of fat forming under her chin, her hips having some soft padding, and her eyes having developed some dark circles underneath them, Steve couldn’t help but think she was still beautiful as ever. Especially when she pierced him with an all-too familiar soft gaze and sweet smile.
“Hey,” she said in an almost-whisper.
“Hey,” he greeted back, giving her a smile of his own. “Glad you guys could come.”
“We figured you could use all the help you can get,” she explained. “Besides, this isn’t just your fight.”
“Well, regardless, I’m grateful to have you both here,”
Their small moment was broken by Thor coughing in an awkwardly loud manner.
“You couldn’t have waited to do this when I was gone?” He uttered, a small smirk hidden beneath his beard.
Y/N shot him with a glare as he began to walk away. He gave Steve a good-hearted pat on the shoulder on his way, receiving an uncomfortable smile in return.
The two stood in silence, both appearing to find the ground more fascinating. She decided to be the brave one and spoke.
“So what’s this I hear about time travel?”
“It’s kind of a long and complicated story,” he replied feebly. “You’re better off asking someone like Tony or Bruce.”
“I know. Just wanted to beat around the bush a little before I said what I actually wanted to say.”
He decided to be the brave one this time and took a step closer to her.
“And what is it that you wanted to say?” He asked hopeful.
“That I’ve missed you,” she confessed. She took the next step. “And that I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”
“True,” he agreed, moving nearer. “We should’ve figured things out sooner. Instead of waiting this long to fix everything.”
They stared at each other for a long moment; some form of tingling sensation spread through both of them while looking like they were thinking similar thoughts.
“Just so we’re clear,” she started warily. “We’re not just discussing bringing everyone back, are we?”
He took the final step so that their chests were almost touching. A slight grin formed on his face then.
“What do you think?” He mumbled.
With a newfound sense of hope and relief from thinking they were on the same page, she gave a smirk reminiscent of the one Thor left them with.
“Well then, I must get myself better informed about this plan of ours,”
With that, she walked off to find everyone else. He walked up beside her and grabbed her hand. They didn’t say anything else as they walked hand-in-hand, only sharing a giggle when he snuck a quick kiss to her cheek.
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thatfanficstuff · 4 years
Battle Scars - 16
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Pairing: Tony Stark x Soulmate!Reader
Warnings: not really. Language and dick jokes I guess
A/N: Two more chapters after this one my lovelies. The end is nigh. sigh.
“Has anyone seen, Y/N?” Tony asked as he walked into the common sitting area. Most of the team was there. He’d tried to call you twice only for there to be no answer. There was a general rumbling of ‘no’ from around the room and he sighed. “She isn’t answering my calls.”
“I’m not surprised,” Bruce said. “She wasn’t exactly pleased with you earlier.”
Tony frowned at his friend knowing he was right but he was unable to shake the uneasy feeling that had taken up residence in his gut. He shifted his gaze to Steve. “You try calling her, would you?”
The blond super soldier shrugged and pulled out his phone to call you. A short time later he slid it back into his pocket. “No answer.”
“I don’t like this,” Tony voiced his thoughts.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Stark. She probably just doesn’t want to be bothered. Are you picking up anything over that link the two of you have?” Natasha asked.
He shook his head and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “No, but this isn’t like her.”
Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes. “I got this.” He put his phone to his ear. After a moment, his smile fell and his gaze narrowed. “She’s not answering.”
The team exchanged a look. You always took Bucky’s calls. Always.
“Right. That’s enough of that.” Tony clapped his hands together. “Jarvis, trace Y/N’s cellphone. Get me a location.”
“At once, sir.” There was a pause. “Miss Y/L/N’s phone is in her office.”
Tony’s head jerked up. “I thought you said she wasn’t in the tower.” It had been the first thing he’d tried when she wouldn’t answer his calls.
“That is correct. She is not, but her phone is,” came the crisp, accented response.
“Shit,” Nat said after a moment’s pause, echoing Tony’s thoughts exactly.
You woke suddenly, with a gasp. After a moment’s confusion, it all swarmed back to you. You lifted your head to find you were in a chair in the middle of an otherwise empty room. One bare bulb hung above you to illuminate the room. It was almost as if someone had watched a lot of bad action movies and took notes on the stereotypical room to hold a kidnapping victim.
Your hands were tied behind the chair which made your shoulders ache. Once you realized you weren’t restrained in any other way, you frowned. Something seemed off about this whole thing. It screamed amateur, unprofessional, and given the plethora of enemies the Avengers had that was bizarre to say the least.
Of course, being kidnapped was odd in and of itself. At the thought you wondered how long you’d been out and if anyone was missing you yet. It shouldn’t take long for Tony to track you once he realized what had happened. After all, he could just have Jarvis trace your phone…which you left on your desk in the tower before you stormed out with nothing like a complete and utter dumbass. Son of a bitch.
Would it kill the universe to make things simple for once? You huffed out a sigh. Tony would still find you. It would just take longer, that’s all. Voices drifted to you from the hall, interrupting your internal pep talk. Your gaze darted to the door and your heart pounded as you waited to see who came through it.
Tony stood in front of the large screen in the living room. He chewed on the end of his thumb while he waited for Jarvis to finish his search. The AI was scanning through surveillance footage from a radius around the tower looking for any sign of what had happened to you.
“Anything?” Steve asked as he walked back into the room. He’d put on his suit, just in case they needed to go after you.
Tony glanced at him before shaking his head. “Not yet. You do realize she could just be sitting in a diner somewhere having coffee and pie, right?” He knew that scenario was unlikely, but he wasn’t going to panic until he had to. That wouldn’t do him, or you, any good.
“I believe I have ascertained what happened to Miss Y/L/N,” Jarvis’s voice suddenly interrupted.
“Show me,” Tony ordered at once, his attention now fully riveted to the screen in front of him. He was only vaguely aware of the rest of the team crowding around him. Jarvis had pieced together a video of you leaving the café and heading back to the tower.
Tony’s eyes stayed on your form as a man passed too close heading in the opposite direction and you frowned down at your arm. They followed you as another man stepped up beside you and draped an arm over your shoulders to steer you to gray sedan parked on the side of the road. His stomach flipped as he watched them put you in the back seat and drive off with you.
“See if you can get a locate on that car, Jarvis,” Steve barked.
“At once, Captain.”
Tony just kept staring at the screen, his mind playing over what happened as he formulated and discarded plans. He kept shifting his weight as he thought. Annoyance crawled under his skin and it took him longer than it should have to realize he was picking that up from you. The corner of his mouth kicked up in a small grin. Leave it to you to be frustrated instead of terrified when you get kidnapped. That’s his girl.
The person revealed when the door open was honestly one of the last people you had expected to see. He smiled at you, flashing too perfect white teeth as he pushed his glasses up with one finger. “Hello, Y/N.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
None other than Justin Hammer stood before you, hands shoved into the pockets of his poorly fitted suit. He had spent his professional life trying to be Tony Stark and always fell short in every aspect. He was an asshole, but you hadn’t thought him a complete idiot until today.
He frowned at you. “That language isn’t necessary, I assure you. I merely have a few questions. Answer them and you can get back to Tony.”
“Has it occurred to you that my soulmate is going to go full Iron Man on your ass once he finds out what happened?” Perhaps it was stupid to bring it up, but you were beyond annoyed to full on pissed by now. And the longer he stood there with that smug look on his face, the angrier you got. “Or that the rest of the Avengers will help him?”
He chuckled. “I assure you that I am not a complete idiot, Y/N. All probabilities have been considered and accounted for. I have another little drug that will ensure you remember none of this.”
You sighed. “What do you want, Hammer?”
“Stark is working on new tech. I want to know everything about it and you’re going to tell me.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
You blinked at him. He was quite possibly the least threatening looking interrogator ever. “No.”
His lips pulled down as his frown deepened. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“What has you confused—the lines or the circles?” You worked your hands behind your back as you talked to him, hoping he’d be too inept to notice you trying to loosen the ropes. So far, so good.
He started to pace the small room. “What is your problem? Why won’t you just cooperate? The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can go home. You might even make Tony’s little party.”
You snorted. “Little, my ass. There is nothing little about Tony Stark.”
He paused his pacing and scowled at you. “Did you just imply…” he trailed off.
Your brows shot up. “I didn’t imply anything, Hammer. Though I hear your name doesn’t really suit.”
His face reddened as his brow furrowed. “Where…where did you hear that?”
One side of your mouth kicked up in a smirk that rivaled Tony’s best any day. “That wasn’t a denial.”
He closed the distance between you and braced his hands on the arms of the chair to lean into you. “Damn it, Y/N. Do you think this is some sort of joke? Tell me what I want to know.”
You licked your lips to keep from telling him that he was a joke. “What makes you think I know anything about Tony’s work? I may know his schedule backward and forward, but as for what he’s actually working on in the lab, I have no idea.”
He smacked his palms against the arms. “That’s a lie. He tells you everything.”
“Says who?” Your gaze narrowed in suspicion. He didn’t just suddenly decide to kidnap you. Someone was behind this and you had a feeling that you knew precisely who.
He cleared his throat as he straightened and stepped away from you. “No one had to tell me anything. You’re his soulmate. It only makes sense that you would know what he was up to.”
“Hmmm.” You didn’t buy it, but what difference did it make really?
“Now, are you going to tell me what I want to know or not?”
“Let’s go with not.”
He sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.” Hammer opened the door and gestured to someone in the hallway. A man you had never seen before stepped into the room. His broad shoulders were enough to have you gulping nervously. One of Hammer’s hired thugs, no doubt. He gestured in your direction. “She won’t talk.”
The man nodded and stepped forward. He looked you over briefly before backhanding you across the cheek. Pain flared through you, vibrant and sharp, a wave of fury traveling in its wake.
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daringyounggrayson · 2 years
hostage with dick for batman bingo?
I hope you like it!
the trolley problem (AO3)
“Here’s how this is going to work.” Dick winces as the gun is shoved harder against his temple. “Step away from the merchandise and let my buddy drive off, and I’ll let the kid go bullet-free.”
Or, phrased another way, Bruce has two choices: (1) save Dick and let five innocent kids go through absolute hell, or (2) save five innocent kids and let Dick go through absolute hell.
“Put down the gun,” Bruce growls, not daring to turn around to face the human trafficker holding Dick in a chokehold.  
“I’m not fucking kidding.” The safety clicks off. “If your next move isn’t backing away from the van, I’ll kill him. Be doing all of Gotham a favor.”
Dick has never liked the trolley problem; there are no good choices, just a less bad choice that will haunt the chooser for the rest of their life. And Dick understands that sending a bullet through his skull is the less bad choice, he does. But it’s still—
He just didn't think he’d die so soon, that’s all. He thought he’d at least get his driver’s license first.
“No one dies tonight.”  
Bruce still hasn’t moved, and the barrel of the gun is cold against Dick’s skull.
“I’ll give you ten seconds before I kill all of them. Ten.”
Here’s how the trolley problem is supposed to work: (1) don’t pull the lever, and five people die, or (2) pull the lever, change the trolley’s direction, and kill one person in the process. Do nothing and allow five people to die in order to avoid killing one, or do something, save five people, and be responsible for the death of one. The deontologist would argue that killing is wrong, period, so option two is immoral. The utilitarian would argue that option two is the best choice because the end result is more important than the action itself. 
Dick considers himself more of a utilitarian, but even if he knows what choice he would make, it’s still a nauseating problem. Especially with real-world context and real-world people. Especially when he’s tied to the tracks.
Dick hears the sound of Bruce’s lock picks getting back to work. Bruce is going to do something; he’s going to get the kids out of the van and away from the danger. Bruce realizes that there’s no beating the trolley problem this time, that saving five people is better than saving one—especially when the one in question literally signed up for this.
Dick closes his eyes, tries to think of something good.
“Wrong choice.”
The van’s metal door swings open, and then there are five pairs of feet running out.
A batarang clinks as it’s thrown into the air. Someone screams. A gun goes off, and then everyone is screaming.
Dick’s body hits the ground, but he doesn’t feel the ground’s impact like he should. 
Time jumps. Another body hits the ground. A car door slams and someone yells. Then another body hits the ground.
Dick breathes, opens his eyes to find that he’s still in the land of the living. He takes another breath, still in disbelief that that’s something he can do, still unsure how it’s possible.
Dick blinks—time jumps—and Batman is in front of him, pressing gauze against the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. It’s then that Dick realizes what happened: Bruce was fast enough to pull the lever and untie the last would-be victim; he beat the trolley problem.
“I’m here. You’re going to be alright, Robin.”
Somewhere between delirious and ecstatic, Dick says, “You won.”
Batman’s frowning face swims above him.
Dick blinks for a second too long. “I smell blood. An’ quarters.”
Dick blinks, doesn’t open his eyes. Sound hums in and out, and he can pick out his name, maybe a “please,” before it’s gone completely.
The first thing Dick notices is that his right arm is restrained against his chest—a sling, his brain tells him. The next is that his left hand is being restrained by a large, warm hand.
“Bruce,” Dick says, voice cracking from how dry his throat is. He tries to roll his head to get a better look at the man, but his neck protests the movement so he stops.
Bruce squeezes Dick’s hand and pulls his chair closer to the bed. “I’m here.” He runs his fingers through Dick’s hair. “How are you feeling?”
“Nn,” Dick mumbles, and it’s enough for Bruce to understand that Dick means absolutely terrible, thanks.
Bruce says, “You lost a lot of blood.” and it’s enough for Dick to understand that Bruce means I thought I was going to lose you.
Dick squeezes Bruce’s hand, trying to reassure him that Dick is still here. “The kids get out okay?”
“They’re safe.” Bruce shifts in his chair, leans closer to Dick’s ear. “I’m sorry—I should’ve been faster.”
Despite the pain, Dick turns his head to look at Bruce, tries to smile. “’s okay. Not like you had any good choices.” And Dick is kind of the reason Bruce had two bad options, isn’t he? At least partially. “Sorry I got caught.”
Bruce grunts, shakes his head. He says, “We’ll discuss this later—when you’re feeling up to it.”
Dick’s stomach twists. “Sure.” He rolls his head back to look at the ceiling. 
Sometimes it feels like their lives are one giant trolley problem: no good choices, and more than enough guilt to go around. And if Dick’s learned anything from philosophy and his years in the hero community, the only way out of it is through premature death. Sooner rather than later, too.
Bruce pets his hair, and Dick is half-asleep when he asks, “Can you take me driving later? When I’m not on, like, a thousand drugs?”
Bruce makes a noise that’s almost a laugh, but it’s strained. “Alright. When you’re feeling up to it.”
Dick hums. The trolley is coming for them, but they still have time, and Dick is going to make the most of it.
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abduloki · 4 years
The Boys
So I’m halfway through watching The Boys. It’s about super-heroes, BUT with a twist and a touch of realism and darkness. Kind of like Watchmen, Kick Ass and Umbrella Academy.
Now we’ve all been accustomed to Marvel/DC super-heroes about the good guys using their powers to save the world, because they wanted to as they believe it is the right thing to do.
But what about those that lacks the moral compass but possess the same powers? Someone who abuses their powers to do whatever they want or even do it just for the money and fame?
They’re not exactly villains as even villains have motives and do what they do for a purpose, out of grief and hatred, trying to send a message or to challenge the super-heroes but not these guys. They will put the Suicide Squad to shame.
They are known as the Seven (like Justice League or Avengers) with the exception that they report to a corporate firm called Vought which pays these “heroes” to do their jobs.
A bunch of amateurs who are not even properly trained in handling their powers or to restrain themselves from abusing them. They complain about having to do their jobs and being told how to do their jobs every single day.
They behave like disgruntled employees working for an ungrateful and greedy management who takes every opportunity to publicize and commercialize the acts of heroism for consumerism and money.
Justice League and Avengers are run by the heroes themselves, they do not report to anyone, much less a corporate firm. A reason Steve Rogers refused to sign the Sokovian Accords as he believe any organizations is run by people with agendas and he doesn’t want the management to dictate their every move.
Seven act based on orders and intelligence given by the management instead of conducting their own investigation and using their own judgments to discuss among team members on their course of action.
They needed to keep their publicity image as the company depends on the investors and lobbyists for funding. If they lost confidence in these celebrity heroes due to negative image, they will bail out and the company will lose.
This is what differentiates Seven from Justice League and Avengers, which are funded by Bruce Wayne/Oliver Queen and Nick Fury/Tony Stark and later T’Challa respectively.  
So this financial freedom without having to rely on any governmental organization or corporate allows them to operate on their own terms. Plus, they’re never short of super-villains, so they’re pretty much tied up with saving people unlike the Seven whose enemies are just thugs and criminals?
As for the individuals, although some say Superman will probably be like Homelander if he were to exist in our world, I agree to disagree.
Superman is an alien, the last of his kind living on a foreign planet called Earth. Even in his adulthood, he still has no idea how humans truly think and behaves. Things like betrayal and treachery is something very foreign to him. He only sees the good in everyone, even the villains such as Lex Luthor himself, which is why he’s too trusting. He has good parenting and upbringing from his adopted parents and receives guidance from his real father via hologram programming, which is why he turned out to be a good man. He even has a day job like everyone else, working as a journalist with decent pay. Even Batman acknowledges that deep down, Superman is a good person. He will never kill anyone, unless he have to as a last resort. 
Now you look at Homelander. Apart from his similar powers and abilities, his character and personality is nothing like Superman. Superman puts himself before anyone else, sacrificing himself to fight Doomsday. Homelander just wants the glory and he’s not willing to die to save others. He even enjoys killing people and threatening his own team member. Homelander is the typical selfish and self-centered human who thinks he can get away with anything because of his powers and the ability to sweet talk in fooling the public. In case you haven’t noticed, Superman is a straight shooter boy scout who calls a spade a spade. He doesn’t hide behind fake smiles and masks. If he smiles, he really mean it. If he don’t, then you must have done something really wrong to piss him off.
I guess that’s the point of the show, to tell us what happens if average everyday people like us wield such power in the real world. Will we be as good as the Justice League or the Avengers, doing what is right? Or will be selfish and abuse our powers and do whatever we want with them? It ain’t easy having to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. As the saying goes, with greater power comes greater responsibility. Well, I guess that depends on the people in your life. If you have good upbringing and parenting, you’ll be just fine but if not, well, I guess you’ll just be psychopaths like the Seven (except for Starlight and Queen Maeve). 
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memescomicswriting · 4 years
Brooklyn Baby
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Clint x Reader
Warnings: Age gap, lots of potty language, and implied sexy times
Summary: Your boyfriend is in a classic band. You work at a hot club in The City. Is your love enough to overcome his securities?
A/N: Clint’s in his early forties here. I don’t pay attention to cannon age Based off “Brooklyn Baby” by Lana Del Rey
The night was old but the bar ragged on. You didn't mind working as a bartender. The place was named SHEILD, after some old inside joke, and it was a nice club. You made good money from your boss, Tony. He was a generous man and insisted on paying the girls more for all the shit you had to put up with from drunk men. With tips from the high traffic flow of rich idiots and eager tourists, you lived comfortably. Some regulars were being taken care of by Wanda down at the other end of the bar. Regulars were people Tony deemed 'not the biggest asshole' that frequented enough to hold a VIP card. That left you with the drifters on the opposite side. This wasn't the only bar in the place and it wasn't the most central bar either. Your bar was on the open, inward-facing loft that looked over the stage and dance floor. Due to the acoustics, the music was awesome up there but not too loud because the speakers sat below you.
At first, your customers were genuine fans of music, but soon they shuffled out and the 'biggest asshole' type sauntered in. They didn't bother you much. They were too busy trying to impress their dates or the people they picked up bellow. When their guests became less enthusiastic they began to grumble about how they should've gone to club Hydra. You almost told them to go there, but you didn't think it was worth the confrontation.
Tony originally bought the club to relive the glory days of his band, the Avengers. It was comprised of his friends: Steve, the Captain; Natasha, Black Widow; Thor, Point Break; Bruce, Hulk; and Clint, Hawkeye. Tony, or Iron Man as he liked to be called, took it upon himself to give some of the staff and club friends nicknames too. Wanda was the Scarlett Witch for her red lipstick and wit. Her brother Pietro was named QuickSilver for his silver hair and his ability to move around the club quickly. You were girlfriend, but the name had no inappropriate connotation. It had everything to do with who you started dating after you began to work there. The Avengers played earlier in the night. Now the DJ controlled the stage and created mixes of their top hits. The place was decorated commemorating the band. The music was a little before your time, but your older siblings often blared the radios in their rooms with Avenger music. You knew most of the songs by heart at this point. Like your siblings' rooms, commemorative posters were all over. Each bar was themed with a band member. Tony's was the largest, central bar- go figure. Yours, in the loft above, was for Hawkeye. You didn't mind that at all. Your boyfriend was the lead guitarist in his band. You often found yourself singing along while he played at home. Usually, it was whoever inspired him. You liked it when he played Lou Reed. He liked to play things from the seventies because he was a seventies baby even if it were '79. A lot of his friends, outside his band, didn't understand what he got from being with you. Someone your age couldn't understand the time he came from or his taste in music. He was a free spirit and you tied him down by simply existing. You'd zoned out in thought of your boyfriend. God, was he so cool and attractive, and oh how you loved him. The growing calls brought you back to the present. "Yo, bar babe!" A thick and sweaty hand waved in front of you. You quickly repressed the disgust on your face. "Yes?" You asked in the nicest tone you could muster, which was decent. "Thanks for sparring some attention to your customers." The guy snickered. He was tall enough, built enough. His face a bit intimidating; enough to the point you decided lunging across the bar at him wasn't the best idea. "Another round of Bud Light pitchers." They already reeked of alcohol but they weren't exhibiting signs of needing to be cut off. "Sure." You quickly went on to get their order just to be away from them. When you came back with the fresh pitchers the guests with them turned up their noses at the drink. You couldn't blame them. Light beer was gross, to begin with, and mass quantities of Bud Light were the cheapest way to get drunk at a bar like yours. As the group of men called it, 'the pieces of ass' walked off, no longer wanting anything to do with them. It was a mix of pretty young girls and guys. They could do better anyway. Soon, they all began arguing about who was to blame for their guests leaving. The one who asked for the pitchers quickly became the center of the argument. Another member of the group, younger and somehow more greasy looking, sauntered up to you. "Yo Rumlow, get back here!" He was called back to the table but refused to return. "Hell nah, not with you hens clucking. I'm not wasting my time on your squawking, I'm going home with someone tonight." With that, he turned to you with the slimiest smile. 'Oh fuck no!.' Was all you thought while your eyes rolled. "Awe, now don't be like that baby." He crooned. "No." You replied shortly. He leaned over the bar. "Come on, I could treat you real good baby." You snorted at how dumb he sounded. "No." He didn't like that. His tone began to slip from icky charm to agitation. "What, you got a boyfriend? You're not a baby, you're a taken bi-" The call of your name interrupted your fist from flying into the guy's face. "Y/N!" It was the cheerful voice you never tired of hearing. Clint briskly walked up to the counter and leaned over for a quick peck. "Tony said he'd have Happy rope off the bar for the night so you could head home early." The Rumlow guy erupted in a vicious chuckle. "You gotta be kidding me baby. You're too young and cool for this washed-up loser. Do yourself a favor and leave with me." You saw Clint's jaw grind while the rest of his body stiffened. The nearly twenty-year age gap was a sore spot for him. No matter how many times you reassured him, told him you loved him age gap and all, he still felt insecure about it. Something in the back of his mind crept upon him from time to time, telling him he was too old to keep you happy. He feared you'd leave him one day. The New Yorker in you, specifically the Brooklyn in you, began rising from the depths of your personality. "Oh fuck off you mother fucking loser, My boyfriend is cooler than you'll ever fucking be. Get out of my bar you piece of shit." The man slammed his hands down on the bar but you didn't flinch a muscle. You were wound that tight. "The fuck did you just say to me you bitch." You slowed your words and annunciated for the dumbass. "Get out of my bar, you mother fucking asshole before I knock your ass on the ground." "Oh, your gonna pay for that you little slu-" Before he could finish his insult his ass was knocked on the ground, but not by you. Clint was hovering over him delivering punch after punch. Soon, the guy's goons were rushing over to get their boy. Clint was immersed in a mosh pit of jerkoffs, but it didn't phase him a bit. Despite their efforts to restrain him long enough to get a punch in, Clint was shrugging them off and delivering more grounding blows. When the original douche was up again and itching for a hit, Clint used the guy's own momentum to throw him behind and straight to securities feet. Coulson, and the rest of the bouncers he brought made quick work of collecting the rest of the goon squad. Soon they disappeared down the steps towards the entrance. They'd probably pass hands from club security to the usual cops stationed outside. Clint was a heaving, disheveled, and sweat smeared mess. And god was it hot! When he finally dragged his stare off the vanishing morons and onto you, his body started to relax. He looked down at himself and huffed out a sigh. "I'm sorry babe, but when I heard that name slip from his mouth with him leering at you like that, I saw red." You let out a good giggle. He was confused at first but accepted it when you hopped on the bar counter with a clean cloth to wipe down his body. "Don't apologize. That was fucking hot!" You poked his chest with seriousness. "Only thing that bothers me is that I didn't get to hit 'em." Clint's head tipped back as he roared with laughter. "You would be upset about that." He allowed you to continue cleaning him up until you were nearly done. He grabbed your wrists and held them to his chest. "But in all seriousness, you don't mind your senior boyfriend punching a jerk's lights out for yah?" His head cocked to the side as he studied your face for any hint of disgust. "Mind?" You scoffed. With his hands still on yours, you directed him to grasp your hips. "I'm turned on!" Before you could say more, Clint was between your legs and you were firmly ground into the counter. Your lips were locked in a searing kiss. Clint put a lot of pressure into this one. Teeth clashed and your lips swelled. His tongue slipped through your gasps to dominate every inch of your mouth. You had no air so when he pulled away you were gasping. You hiccuped as you tried to speak. From the grin plastered ear to ear, he enjoyed that. "And you're not a senior. You're barely forty and for barely forty I want to jump your bones every second of the day. So invest in some arthritis medicine for when you are old." Clint lifted you off the bar and plopped you on the ground, still pressed against him. "So I'm cool, huh?" You swatted his arm playfully. "Really?! That's what you took away from this?" "That, and you're horny." He nodded, being a little shit with his fake, nonchalant attitude. "Mhm..." You rolled your eyes with no subtlety. Then you pushed him off so you could get your purse from behind the bar. As you leaned over the wooden counter, you made sure your ass was in full show for your boyfriend. If Tony was letting you leave early then Wanda would be left to do your side of the bar; which was a mess thanks to those assholes. You left most of your tips for her as a thank you. "You're not as cool as me." You shouted to Clint, who was following behind you, still fixated on your rear. A satisfied smirk formed on your lips. "Damn straight!" He cheered. "Now let's go home so you can show me how cool you think I am. My Brooklyn Baby." Clint squeezed your sides which caused you to squeak. Again, you playfully hit him like you were annoyed. It was damn well clear that you were anything but annoyed with him. You were frustrated but in the best way. He was gonna get it when you got home or any place private enough.
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Wayne's Boys
Co-author: @ride-the-bifrost, my muse who encourage my darker side with their crazy imagination!
Relations: a bit of everyone in the back ground, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne/the boys
TW: Swearing, rape/non-con, chastity device/piercing, non con drug use, underage (Tim and Damian are under 18yo), maybe non-con body modifications, bad touch
It's in Jason's pov, so there's a sarcastic sense of humor and swearing 'sometimes', but that shit is dark. Please read the warnings.
Might continue it but don't hold your breath.
Enjoy ;)
Jason is a young man and he has needs. Ones that Bruce, the overcontrolling ass that he is, make frustratingly hard to satisfy. 
Wearing a chastity cage that attaches to his Prince Albert piercing just after months of waiting on it to heal up, is overdoing it in Jason's opinion. Not being able to satisfy himself for so long is pure torture. 
Especially when Jason is living with the pretty ass aerialist and exhibitionist Dick Grayson, who has a lot of hot friends coming over when Bruce is too busy. Probably watching with his surveillance cameras planted in every rooms of the manor from the cave, his personal sex dungeon and monitoring center.
Then there's the massages. Another way of Bruce to control his boys bodies, checking for bad marks and god knows what else.
And when he complained about needing to come, the bastard handed him a wand vibrator, a bottle of lube and tips on how to use them. Jay marched right out of that conversation. When he went back to his bedroom later that day, the offending objects were there, placed in evidence in an open drawer of one his nightstand.
Just for the sake of being stubborn, Jason doesn't use them for months. He resist,  meanwhile, the others keep teasing him about it. 
Dick with his wandering hands, his 'advices' and horrible puns, and his ass and luscious lips.
Damian and his comments and criticisms about Jason's attitude and the benefits of sex, at least to stop from being so aggravating at galas, Todd. 
And then, there's Tim, being the newest arrival at the Manor, he is still a little shy face to face, but Jason has to sweep for hidden cameras more often and he had catched the twerp in a closet-turned-dark room, developing some not so innocent pictures from impossible angles. The kid's a freaking shadow when he wants to. And talented to boot, enough that Bruce made him a proper dark room for his hobby. 
Yes sure, Bruce made each a special place for their passions. 
Dick has a high ceiling ballroom converted for his gymnastic needs, high ropes and all.
Tim and his photography. 
Even the Demon Brat and his drawing room with equipments to care for his pets. 
Jason has a library that would make many a book worm's wet dream. 
However, the benefits of being a Wayne Boy can become a tad irritating when you are used to bringing the others to completion while being denied it yourself. Even Alfred's cuisine is just- no. Alfred's food is worth the sexual hell Jason is enduring and more. But it's still. So. Exasperating! 
Particarticulary with Bruce and Dick doing their best to make him cave and use the damn thing, maybe with one of them present? Fucking no shame pricks. 
As the weeks pass, the building frustration makes Jason quicker to snap at anyone (except Alfy) and is more often found in his library, where no one is allowed without permission, exception of the butler who has a manor to tend to.
So, it is understandable that after a good meal and a few hours in his safe space, that Jason's guard wasn't really up, just looking forward to his bed. Big mistake, fully taken advantage of. As Jason made his way towards his bedroom, he bumped into the demon brat, who sneered at him for being in the way or some shit and disappeared in his own bedroom, loudly slamming the door for good measure. Resuming his walk, Jay noticed Tim's door was ajar, lights on. It's late, the kid should already be counting zees. Grumbling about what the hell Damian's done to Timmy this time, he peeked inside the room and seemingly coming out of nowhere, an arm and its twin wounded themselves around his neck, cutting off the blood flow to his brains. The arms were swiftly followed by a large body colliding with Jason's back and legs winding around him for a more secure grip as they tumbled in the room, octopus mode activated.
They landed at Tim's feets, startling the kid , who squeaked, a precious little sound that distracted Jason just long enough that he missed his window of opportunity to respond from the attack and passed out, Dick's chuckling in his ear.
 "You're gonna enjoy this, Little Wing"
Before passing out.
Jason slowly wakes up to movements and a mass over him. His first reaction to throw whoever it is off of him is halted by the fact that his arms and legs are tied to the bed. His bed. in his room. In Wayne Manor. The mass is his blankets. Fucktastic.
Wait. His ass is sore. Fuck. No. Fuck. Yes. Fuck. He remembers. Dick using him like a fuck doll with his own vibrator. But Gods that mouth wasn't just good at kissing- doesn't excuse drugging him, tying him down in one of the studies and going all midnight special on him in front of- oh God Timmy! The little stalker was there and… Vagues memories of shy caresses… little fingers on his ass. In his ass. Clumsy and unsure prodding… Larger fingers. So full. Guiding the little ones. Massaging. Finding the spot that made Jay see stars. Voices. Dick encouraging and soothing. What kind of drugs did the big jerk got his hands on this time? Wasn't the regular shit folks found on the streets, no that had been quality stuff. He had felt paralysed and numb yet acutely aware of the sensations his body was subjected to. Damn rich people. 
Alfred's food alone is worth the troubles of staying in this creepy joint. That and his library. But still-
His nose itching and of course he can't get up. Arms and legs tied with smooth cords, starfish style, with a gag in his mouth to boot. Fucking great.
The light creak of the door closing is Jason's only warning of somebody is in his room. Abandoning his efforts to get out of the restraints, he glares towards the source of the noise. 
Bruce Wayne. Creeper extraordinaire! Of fucking course.
"Good morning Jaylad" Oh the rumble in that honey voice. No, bad Jay. Focus. Offended.
"Mmmfgrr!" That'll show him. If only he wasn't gagged… That's probably why he is then. 
Bruce glides across the room to the end of the bed, idly takes a corner of the blankets covering the young man's form and pulls, making the more than soft fabric slide over his body and caged cock, and pools on the floor.
"Dick couldn't restrained himself any longer, then?"
Jason rolls his eyes. Like the big boob hadn't spied on them. That room has the most cameras and bugs to catch every angles and sounds in it. Assuredly encouraged the horny idiots too.
Bruce's mouth twitch at the corner, he's amused. And what is that look? …
Bruce is looking at him like he's a fine dish. He won't be a big help then. Not in the getting out of bed way.
Bruce's gaze roams the fine lines of his body, stopping at his crotch. 
The chastity cage shines in the early sun from the open blinded windows. Sign that Alfred had passed. And left him there. By Bruce's order, no doubts. 
A dip in the mattress has Jason glaring at the bastard who started massaging and kissing first the feet, and making his way upward, slowly.
Even if he wasn't tied up, Jay knows he barely stand a chance against that shapely mountain of a man. If Bruce wants something or someone, it happens. 
That's why Jason's here in the first place. He tried escaping, but you can't run away for long when dealing with a multimillionaire, he has everyone in his pockets. 
After some negotiations and mediating from Alfred, the two of them had reached a compromise. Mainly that the library is out of bounds of Bruce's games, also good food (not drugged) and he can go back to school and finish his education. At the end of the day, Jason had a sugar daddy and Bruce had a playmate.
But he wasn't the only one.
When Dick Grayson came back from a business trip, not aware of the new addition to the household, to find an unknown crying boy strapped to Bruce's desk in the study and Bruce himself with a belt in hand.... Awkward didn't cover it.
All hell broke loose and Grayson has been trying to change the first impression he left on Jason ever since...
With those hands kneading his thighs like that, it's distracting him a little from his anger and humiliation at being used without his say on the matter.
Not that good with words and emotion in his private life, Bruce preferes actions, demonstrated by silence barely broken by Jay's muffled protests, as the man's leaves a trail of hickeys leading to his crotch.
Fingers lightly tracing the design on the metal, entwine tiny metal bats with hollow ones, showing the skin underneath. Beautiful, functional and the bane of Jason's existence.
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hysterialevi · 6 years
In the Smoke pt. 10 (Cobblebats)
From Thomas’ POV
Sneaking through the auditorium, my drones quietly followed alongside me, hovering in the shadows as the debate carried on. So far, there had been no sign of Penguin or his men, and things were relatively peaceful, but I knew that wouldn’t last long. This debate was just a time bomb waiting to go off, and if I didn’t find Penguin before then, both Hill and Dent were dead.
Hopping from one beam to another, I suddenly caught the thick stench of blood and gunpowder, a sense of caution starting to grow in me. Looking down to find the source of the morbid odor, I spotted a grotesque pile of corpses lying in a room, and it was surrounded by a group of unfamiliar men. It didn’t take too much effort to recognize the GCPD uniform adorning the bodies, but I had no idea who the others were. Most-likely, they belonged to Penguin. Shit.
Activating my earpiece, I switched the line over to Gordon.
“Gordon,” I whispered, “I found one of your patrols. They’re dead. They’ve been killed by who I assume to be Penguin’s men.”
The lieutenant cursed. “Christ. That explains why they haven’t been responding. What about Penguin? Have you seen him anywhere?”
“Not yet. Though, I bet if I could get a hold on one of his men, I might be able to pull some info out of them.”
Gordon sighed. “I guess we’ve got no other choice at this point, do we? It’s clear that neither Hill nor Dent are leaving the debate anytime soon, and we don’t have long until Penguin decides to blow this place off the map. All right. Do what you gotta do. I’ll continue to keep watch on the perimeter--make sure no one tries to sneak in. Keep me updated, would you?”
“You’ll be the first to know if anything--”
“So sorry, ladies and gents,” out of nowhere, a boisterous voice on the TV interrupted me, causing me to snap my head towards the screen. I could see Penguin waltzing onto the stage, strutting like he didn’t have a care in the world as he approached the center. “As you might’ve guessed, there’s been a change to tonight’s program.”
Penguin stopped in his tracks, aiming a gun at the moderator. “First order of business--” a violent splash of blood sprayed from the back of the man’s head with a loud bang as he collapsed to the floor, and a choir of screams emitted from the crowd, “--firing the moderator!”
“Batman?” Gordon checked, “you still there? What’s going on?”
“It’s Penguin--” I hastily replied, “he’s just killed the moderator.”
“What!? Goddammit. We gotta get in there. Now. Do whatever you can to keep the people safe. My men and I will be there as soon as possible.”
“Understood.” I switched over to Alfred.
“Alfred, Penguin’s just begun his attack on the debate. I need you to pilot the drones while I deal with his men.”
“Of course, sir. Whenever you’re ready.”
Taking out a smoke grenade, I tossed the weapon into the room below and clouded up the air while Penguin’s men darted around in confusion, giving me the chance to leap down and deal with them up-close. I hurled a number of Batarangs in every direction, and used the grapple-gun to slingshot furniture directly into them, slamming them against the walls as they fired random bullets out of panic.
Dodging their reckless attacks, I bulldozed towards them and threw a flurry of punches, knocking them out one by one as quickly as I could while Penguin continued to terrorize the debate, parading around the stage like it was a damn play.
Once the smoke finally cleared up, I saw one of Penguin’s men weakly dragging himself across the floor in an attempt to reach his walkie-talkie, extending a wobbly arm out. Before he could get any closer though, I simply stomped my foot on his neck and applied just enough pressure to send him into unconsciousness, leaving me alone in the room.
“We need a new moderator,” Penguin announced, stepping off to the side to find a ‘volunteer.’ “You there! You’ll do!”
At first, I wasn’t incredibly concerned about what Penguin was doing at the moment, and focused all my attention on my current task, but when I saw who he had brought with him on stage, my heart nearly leapt out of my chest.
Being manhandled around and held at gunpoint by Penguin, was none other than my son, Bruce. He looked like hell, and judging by the multiple bruises on his skin, it was obvious that he had been beaten to some extent before the debate. 
Clenching my fists, I felt a surge of anger flash through me and I almost tried to jump through the TV screen just so that I could strangle Penguin for what he did. He was going to regret targeting my son, and if I had any say in it, he was never going to do it again. 
On the bright side though, at least I knew that Bruce was still alive. That meant tonight was my only chance to save him, and I’d be damned if I didn’t take it.
From Bruce’s POV
Oz shoved me towards the front of the stage with an iron grip, making sure that everyone could see me--especially Harvey--and at some points, it almost felt like he forgot we were just acting. I didn’t know what Oz’s plans with Harvey were, but just by glancing over at the man, I could tell that he was about to start flipping tables while Hill was just frozen in place, unsure of what to do.
“Go on, then--” Oz gave me a little nudge, “--introduce the candidates!”
I said nothing in return, just like he told me to do earlier, and kept my mouth shut as everyone nailed their gazes onto me, waiting to see what he had planned next.
Oz leaned in so close that he was right next to my ear, his breath tickling my neck. 
“Stage fright, huh? All right, I’ll get you started...but this is your show.”
He flamboyantly gestured over to Hill with insincere excitement, dragging me along with him. “On the left--hard of heart, soft in the gut--our down and dirty incumbent, Mayor Hill! And on the right--always smiling to your face--our despicable DA, Harvey Dent!”
To my surprise, before Oz could continue, Harvey spoke up.
“...bird...mask...guy,” he blurted out awkwardly, “...whatever your name is--”
This man is the District Attorney, I told myself. This is the man running for mayor.
Oz almost lost it right there, but regained his composure. “Call me Penguin.”
“Yes, of course,” Harvey complied. “Penguin then. We will play your game--just, please,” he looked over at me with an amount of care I’d never seen in anyone else other than my own parents, “let these people go.”
I could practically feel Oz smiling under his mask,. “Oh, I wish it were that easy, Dent. But, you see, this city’s got a real problem when it comes to tellin’ the truth. Lie after lie, those at the top of Gotham only get worse with each passing year, and its citizens are still blind to the hypocrisy, but not anymore.”
Oz took out a syringe of the same blue chemical we saw in the footage with his mother and pointed it directly at my neck, the needle just kissing my skin.
“I’m giving you one chance, Wayne. Tell everyone the truth about what your family’s done--what you father’s done--and why you’re really so bloody powerful. Do this, and I might just let you go.”
I did my best to look frightened, and the audience actually seemed to buy it. Our plan was working. 
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stuttered. “My father’s done nothing.”
He threw a light punch to my stomach, but it was enough to make me cough. Oz was definitely stronger than he looked.
“This,” he exclaimed, “is why Gotham’s so full of corruption! Because no one’s brave enough to spill the truth. Too damn worried about protecting their own reputation.” He flicked the side of the syringe. “Sorry, mate, but it looks like I’m gonna have to force it outta you.”
Oz pushed my head slightly so that he could access my neck easier, and prepared to stick me with the insane drug, until Harvey nearly threw himself over the podium, interrupting the procedure.
“Wait!” He reached an arm out.
Judging by Oz’s reaction, this was exactly what he had in mind. “Ah, got somethin’ to say, Dent?”
Harvey cautiously inched his way to us, careful not to make any sudden movements.
“Please,” he begged, “don’t...don’t hurt him. If you must take someone, then take me.”
Wait. I paused. This was not a part of the plan. No one ever said anything about drugging Harvey--or at least, they didn’t to me. I glanced back at Oz in bewilderment, silently asking for an explanation from my “captor,” only to be ignored as he pushed me off to the side.
“Your compassion will be the end of you, Dent.” Oz said.
Harvey lowered his head in shame. “...I know.” But he wasn’t done yet. 
Striding across the stage and over to me, all of us observed his next movements in heightened curiosity as he warmly approached me, leaving only mere centimeters between us. Harvey gently grabbed my hand and began stroking my cheek with the other, rendering me all but immobile. What the hell was he doing?
“...I can’t believe it’s taken this for me to say it,” Harvey whispered in a mixture of sorrow and regret, “but...I love you, Bruce.”
It didn’t look like anyone else was able to hear what he just said, but the news hit me like a truck of guilt. Here I was, taking advantage of one of my closest friends, and luring him into a trap that was most-likely going to kill him, and he just admitted to loving me. What kind of monster was I?
Even after Harvey let go of my hand, I remained motionless and wide-eyed, blinking in shock as the other man allowed Oz to dose him with the drug.
“...no,” I shook my head at Oz, no longer okay with where this was going, “wait--”
Before I could object any further, Roland wasted no time in pulling me off the stage and restraining me with nothing but his own, raw strength. For a moment, I tried to struggle out of his insane grasp, only to have my arms bent in painful directions as a warning.
Having no intentions to get injured, I stayed confined in Roland’s hold, helplessly watching as Oz jabbed the needle into Harvey’s flesh, causing his veins to transform into an aggressive blue and his body to start twitching. What had I done to him?
Just then, the doors to the auditorium blasted open, revealing a line of police officers in the entryway with Gordon in the middle. The other Children of Arkham immediately went to work and started attacking them, a storm of bullets bolting through the air as civilians scurried around in panic, all hell breaking loose within the span of a few seconds. And as if things weren’t chaotic enough already, Batman himself suddenly jumped into the scene as well, swatting our men away like they were flies.
Overwhelmed by the hectic turn of events, I sat off to the side of stage, paralyzed in place even though Roland had released me long ago, watching the hurricane unfold, until a familiar scream reached my ears.
Whipping around, I saw Harvey lying defenselessly on the wooden floor with Oz towering above him, about to smash a detached, searing-hot spotlight directly onto his face. Breaking out of my stupor-like state, I hopped up from my position and began sprinting towards the two of them in hopes of preventing what was about to be a horrible accident--that was--until I was yanked downwards by an unknown assailant, and practically engraved into the floor beneath me.
Straddling me in order to keep me from escaping, Hill locked me in place with his own weight, and snatched the syringe Oz had used earlier, staring at the small amount of liquid that still remained in the tube.
“He’ll kill both of us if one of us doesn’t tell the truth!” Hill babbled in a frantic tone. “I’m sorry, Bruce. This has to be done.”
Not even having the time to resist, a prick of pain abruptly stung my arm, and my vision started to blur with a blue tint as the world around me spun in a slow, disorienting manner, Hill’s figure duplicating in front of me. 
I had no idea what was happening or where Oz had gone, but all the noise in the auditorium had blended into a frenzied, echoing mess, and an uncontrollable spark of rage began to ignite inside me.
“...Bruce...?” Hill’s voice bounced off the walls of my skull like a bell. 
Without even meaning to, I grabbed at the man’s neck with a level of strength I didn’t know I contained and hurled him under me, switching our positions.
“You,” I growled in almost an inhuman tone as I gripped his collar, “you killed my mother...!” I slammed the back of his head into the floor. I could hardly recognize myself. “You took her away from me!” Another slam. “You’re a murderer...and you’re going to pay...!”
As if my body had a mind of its own, I found myself throwing punch after punch at Hill, unable to stop as my knuckles only got more bruised and bloody, the mayor gaping at me with terror in his eyes, his life draining from them. 
No, I mentally shouted at myself, what are you doing!? Stop! 
Despite all my attempts to resist it, I kept on beating the fallen politician and only continued to ravage the swollen pulp that was once his face, hammering his head into nothing but a red mush.
Stop, I yelled once again.
I couldn’t.
I could hear the voices of other people trying to pull me off, including Gordon and my own father, screaming at me in desperation, but to no avail.
Suddenly, my vision started to darken, and I felt myself weakening with every passing moment, my body finally giving in to the drug as I collapsed into unconsciousness, and the world turned black.
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The End of the Star: Chapter One
Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3061 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Summary: Bruce Wayne, is attacked and kidnapped on his way home from a charity event. Mysterious men whisk the billionaire away to a remote planet, light years away from Earth. A star system in peril needs his help. He must act to save the people of this strange new world. Things are not always as they seem, and what awaits on this alien odyssey will challenge even the Batman's resolve. Warnings: 
Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent
Alien Abduction
Non-consensual drug use
Lex trolling
World Destruction
General Death
Minor Character Death
It’s Brainiac’s fault
Boys in dresses
Cross Dressing
Porn with plot
Porn with feelings
Resolved sexual tension
Author's Note: So, since the SB BB is now over, I figured I should finally start posting the chapters to this here. Some announcements first: See the wonderful art to this fic by VaticanSaint here! I would like to thank my beta bscao3 for beta reading this story. I wouldn't have been able to do this without her help and her encouragement. She worked so hard and I appreciate it so much! I would also like to thank VaticanSaint for making the wonderful art. His pieces are absolutely beautiful and I love them so much! Please enjoy!!
Chapter One:
“I would like to thank all of you for coming today and for your generous donations to the Worldwide Orphans Foundation. Your money will be used to give these children better lives and to help them have a brighter future. Thank you.” Bruce continues to stand up on the stage for a few seconds longer as applause erupts throughout the room, before he makes his way back to his seat. He is throwing a party in order to raise not only awareness for children that have been orphaned, but to also raise money for the Worldwide Orphans Foundation. The turnout has been immense, to Bruce’s pleasure, and he wouldn’t be all that surprised if it was because he was throwing it in Metropolis. Metropolis is a bit safer than Gotham after all.
He walks back to his table where Dick and Jason are currently sitting. Bruce had goaded Dick into coming. He might not be Robin anymore but he is still part of this family, and it is important that he show up to these things every once in awhile. Plus, he’s there when Jason gets bored and starts to act up. Dick can entertain him a lot better than Bruce can.
As he sits back down in his seat, Dick holds up his champagne glass. Bruce picks up his own, and Jason picks up the flute that currently has sparkling water in it. He had put up a fight about not having alcohol, claiming that he has had it before, but Bruce refused to allow a minor any sort of alcohol. “Congrats on being successful in this endeavor. A lot of people showed up,” Dick says, clinking their glasses together.
“Thank you Dick.” Bruce brings his glass to his mouth and takes a small sip. Dick does the same while Jason chugs his water.
“So does this mean we can go home now?” Jason asks, leaning back in his chair. His tux is all rumpled from when he carelessly slouched in his seat earlier. Alfred will be displeased.
Before Bruce can answer, a hand is placed on Jason’s shoulder. “I do hope you won’t be leaving us so soon Brucie.”
Bruce stands and offers his hand. “Lexie.”
He relishes the small grimace that Lex Luthor gives him. “Please, just Lex.”
“Whatever you say, Lexie.” Lex’s eyebrow twitches. “Have you donated yet?”
“Of course I have. I’ve donated half a million dollars.” Lex wipes the hand that he had shaken Bruce’s hand with on a napkin.
“Wow, Lexie! That almost rivals my million-dollar donation.” This time Lex’s whole face seems to twitch uncontrollably. He can see Jason laughing from the corner of his eyes and Dick isn’t doing much better.
Lex frowns. “Yes, well, we all can’t just throw our money at things Brucie.” He clears his throat, looking from Dick to Jason and then back to Bruce. He looks displeased. “Have a good evening.” He walks away and the three of them watch him leave in amusement.
“You know,” Dick starts. “You getting under Lex Luthor’s skin will never get old. It’s just so priceless.”
“Did you see his face?” Jason all but chokes out, he’s laughing so hard. “I thought he was having an aneurism or something.”
“Now, now boys, settle down. We really shouldn’t tease the competition.” Bruce smirks and the two boys erupt in more laughter. When they finally calm down, Bruce answers Jason’s initial question. “We’ll leave in another hour. It’s important to show our faces at these things, and it would be rude of me to leave so soon after the speech.” Jason groans. “Don’t worry Jason, the hour will go by before you know it. Then we’ll go back to Gotham and do our regular patrol.”
“Yeah. I’ll head back to Bludhaven. It was nice seeing you and the squirt, but my city needs me” Dick shrugs. Bruce nods in understanding. It had hurt when Dick decided to leave, but they didn’t part on bad terms. Dick just grew up, something Bruce had a hard time accepting at first. Then he met Jason, and it made it a little bit easier to accept that Dick was no longer the little boy from the circus.
The hour passed quickly. Bruce mingled with other socialites and Dick kept Jason out of trouble. He’s thankful for that. Soon he’s ushering his boys away from a throng of young women, who were flirting with Dick and gushing over Jason. He leads them to the exit, and to the limousine.
Barely ten minutes down the road, Alfred stops the car unexpectedly. Bruce knows there isn’t a streetlight or stop sign here. There’s no reason for Alfred to stop the vehicle. Bruce leans forward and presses the button for the speaker. “Alfred, what’s going on?”
“There is someone standing in the middle of the road Sir, blocking our way,” Alfred answers. “He won’t move no matter how much I honk.”
Bruce looks towards the boys, exchanging confused glances. “Don’t worry about it Alfred. I’ll take care of it.” He then says to Dick and Jason, “Stay here. Dick, make sure Jason stays here.”
Jason crosses his arms. “Hey, I don’t need a babysitter!”
Bruce just gives him a stern look, and exits the limo. The first thing he sees when he looks over at the person who is blocking their way, is how the person is dressed. They’re male, and wearing a black, one piece bodysuit. Frilly sequins adorn the seams, with a long black cape, and some kind of symbol on his chest.
Bruce approaches cautiously, glancing back at the limousine. This person looks like they belong in Arkham. “Can I help you?”
“Bruce Wayne?”
The man holds up a gun and Bruce stops walking immediately, holding up his hands with his palms facing out. The man says something in a language Bruce has never heard, and two more similarly clad men walk out of the shadows. One wears a green version of the black ensemble, the other man is in all red. The stranger in black barks orders at the two colorfully dressed men
Bruce can only watch in worry as the one in red approaches the driver’s side of the limousine and smashes the window. A small sphere is shoved in past the broken glass of the window, and the man presses a button. Smoke comes out of the device, and Bruce can see through the windshield that Alfred falls unconscious. “What did you do?” he demands of the guy in black but there is no response. The man in green walks to the back of the limo, and opens the door with strength Bruce has only seen from Bane. He repeats the action of the man in red, and smoke fills the back, knocking Dick and Jason unconscious as they fight to get out. Bruce turns back to the one in black. “If you hurt them-”
“We did not Bruce Wayne” Before Bruce can comprehend what’s going on, the man in green approaches him from behind and shoots some of the smoke onto his face. Bruce flinches backwards and tries to hold his breath, too late. He was caught off guard and Bruce can feel his eyelids getting heavy. “Don’t fight it Bruce Wayne. It’ll be easier if you just go along with it.”
“F-fuck you.” He doesn’t even remember hitting the ground.
Bruce opens his eyes groggily and blinks his heavy eyelids. He’s restrained to the wall by his wrists and ankles. He also has some kind of breathing mask on his face, it appears to be pumping, what he can only guess, is oxygen, into him. Bruce doesn’t know where he is or what is happening. A low humming sound, accompanied by a jostling that seems to indicate movement, can be heard. He can’t quite imagine what he’s in because nothing looks familiar.
Bruce looks around the room, trying to blink the fogginess from his vision. Beside him, another person is restrained, and it takes a few seconds for his mind to catch up. His fellow prisoner is none other than a knocked out Lex Luthor himself. This only makes Bruce more confused. Maybe they are being held for ransom. This conclusion didn’t fit with the indicators from the man who had stopped the limousine. No, there was something more going on here.
He pulls on the restraints. There is not even a rattle due to the lack of give. Under normal circumstances, he has the skills to escape, but he has no tools. The belt he wears with his BatSuit is not with him. He can’t just sit there and do nothing, so Bruce uses his clever brain and begins to think. How is he going to get out of this?
Bruce deliberates for a good minute until the door opens with a swish. Bruce looks in the direction of the sound and watches as two people enter the room. It’s two of the three people who had stopped the limousine earlier; the one in black and the one in red.
“Who are you?” He asks, his voice thick and muffled from the mask. They ignore him, and begin to speak in that strange language Bruce heard earlier. They are gesturing to him and Lex along with the restraints. One of them appears angry.
They turn to him and the one in black starts to talk in English. “Hello, we mean you no harm.”
“Who are you?” Bruce tries again.
“That is of no concern of yours. What matters is, we need your help.”
“I’m not helping you until you tell me if my family is okay, and what the hell is going on,” Bruce grits out.
The one who was talking to Bruce turns to his partner, says something in that strange language, and turns back to Bruce. “You will know everything once we return.”
“Return?” Bruce says in alarm. “Return where?” But neither answer, they simply ignore him and leave the room. Bruce sags in his restraints, not knowing what to really do. He can’t get out of his restraints, or the situation as a whole, he doesn’t know what’s happening. He hates it.
Alarm shoots through Bruce when he hears a hissing sound. His mask begins to fill with a green gas. He holds his breath, being able to hold it for up to four minutes, but the gas keeps coming and he can’t help but breathe it in. His vision starts to go blurry once more and the room starts spinning. Bruce tries to fight it, but the drug that they are giving him is too strong, and he ends up passing out.
When Bruce wakes again, he’s in a room that looks a lot like a bedroom. Bruce is lying on a bed, dressed in some kind of white gown and with purple frill. Bruce runs a hand down the gown, feeling the texture. He’s not sure what material it’s made from, it’s silky, soft and very comfortable.
Bruce sits up and looks around the room carefully. It’s spacious, with white walls and dark grey carpet. The walls are bare, with the exception of a window that seems to be letting in an unusual red glow. It gives everything in the room a crimson hue. The only other furnishing appears to be a wooden desk. At least Bruce is no longer restrained.
He gets up off the bed and walks cautiously towards the window. It’s open and letting in a cool breeze. The air smells different. As if it is somehow cleaner, but without the sense of home. Bruce doesn’t appear to be on Earth anymore. There are tall buildings looking nothing like the cities he’s seen before. Bruce knows he is at the top of one of those buildings because his view drops down steeply. He can see patches of purple on the ground, and grey rocky paths. The most striking thing is the sky. Instead of blue refracting from a yellow sun, there is a red horizon accompanied by a glowing, fiery, crimson star.
Bruce backs away from the window and takes a deep calming breath. Admittedly, he’s starting to get extremely worried. All he knows for sure is that he’s not on Earth anymore, which means whoever his kidnappers are, they are extraterrestrial. Human looking aliens, but aliens nonetheless. Bruce didn’t know such things existed, let alone ones that looked just like him. He’s also concerned to know if Alfred, Dick and Jason are all right.
When he hears a click from behind him, he twists around, getting into a defensive stance. Bruce calms, however, when instead of seeing an aggressor, he sees a wide-eyed man poking his head into the room. The man looks curious but wary, looking Bruce up and down.
Bruce takes a hesitant step towards him and the man flinches back. Bruce holds up his hands, palms out. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” The man looks Bruce up and down again and then hesitantly moves a little further past the door, until his shoulders can be seen. “Do you know English?” The man looks at Bruce in confusion. “Okay, do you know any language that is on Earth? French? Spanish maybe? Hell, even Russian or Japanese? Mandarin?”
Half a minute passes without a response and Bruce sighs in defeat. Then the man asks, “Earth?”
Bruce perks up. “Yes, Earth. Any language from there?”
The man warily enters the room completely. He’s tall, about an inch or two taller than Bruce, black hair and bright blue eyes. He, too, is wearing a black one piece with white frills. He also has a red cape that drapes in the back and the front of the outfit. Bruce becomes hyper aware of the gown he wears. Why is he the only one clothed in such an outfit? “Know little English.”
“Good!” Bruce takes another step and the man backs up again. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Bruce. What’s yours?”
“Kal-El, it’s nice to meet you. Can I call you Kal?”
“That not right, name sounds different from you, ok?”
Bruce raises an eyebrow at the broken English. He did say he only knew a little. Bruce clears his throat and gets to the point. “Do you know what I’m doing here?”
Kal shakes his head. “No, father not tell me.”
Bruce is starting to feel frustrated. He can’t seem to get answers from anyone and his worry is eating away at him. In frustration, Bruce glances to the window. Maybe he can get a few other answers to some different questions then. “Okay, how about this? Where am I?”
Kal’s head tilts. “Do not know?”
“No one has told me anything.”
“Father not tell you?” He looks confused now, as if he doesn’t believe Bruce. “Not father.”
“Well he didn’t,” Bruce says, hoping that one of those men that he interacted with on what he assumes was a spaceship really was Kal’s father. “Can you tell me?”
Kal moves around the door to close it quietly behind him. Bruce starts getting more apprehensive now. He doesn’t like that Kal just shut the door and not knowing what he is going to do to him. Except Kal just stands there, still looking a bit scared of Bruce but curious at the same time. Bruce stays where he is standing, not wanting to scare him. “You on planet called Krypton.”
“Krypton?” Bruce has never heard of it. “And how far away from Earth is it?”
“Your measures?” Bruce nods and Kal looks up in thought, calculating in his head. “Twenty-seven point one light years.”
Bruce balks. “What?”
“Twenty-seven point-”
Bruce waves his hand to stop Kal from talking. “No no, I didn’t actually want you to repeat what you said I’m just… surprised, that’s all.”
“As in, not expecting that answer. That’s… that’s a long way away from Earth, Kal.”
“Is it?”
Bruce nods. “Yes, it is.” He then pinches the bridge of his nose. He and Lex are in deep trouble. “And you are?”
Kal looks confused again. “I tell you. I Kal-El.”
Bruce, with his teeth clenched and eyes shut in frustration, says as calmly as possible. “I meant species. What species are you?” He looks up at Kal. “For example, I’m a human.”
Kal perks. “You human? Me wanting to meet human.” He then smiles warily, looking down as if he’s shy. “Me, no not right, I Kryptahnium or as English, Kryptonian”
“From Krypton… right. And the language?”
“Kryptahniuo or Kryptonian,” Kal says with another shy smile.
The way Kal says the words catches Bruce’s attention and he comments on it. “Why is it two different ways of saying it in Kryptonian but not English?” Kal just shrugs, still smiling. “Okay, and the red sun?”
“What about?”
“I come from a planet that has a yellow sun. Why isn’t your red sun affecting me?”
Kal shrugs again. “Put you process, aba… arda.. adapt to sun, and.. atmosphere?”
Bruce nods, realizing that must have happened when he was still knocked out. He doesn’t exactly like that fact, but at least he doesn’t have to wear some type of protected suit. He then notices Kal is still smiling. “Why are you smiling?”
“Question you arks, mm ask, amusing.” Kal chuckles. “me is, I is, I find amusing”
Bruce nods again, not really finding any of this amusing whatsoever. Annoyance quickly rises in him. “I’m glad you find this so funny and entertaining. Me, on the other hand, doesn’t find it particularly amusing considering I was the one kidnapped and brought twenty-seven point one light years away from my home planet.”
By now Kal’s smile has disappeared. “Kidnapped?”
“Taken against my will.”
Kal straightens, shaking his head. “No, father would take with, with permission. Never against will.”
“Well he did, Kal.”
“No,” Kal says sharply, looking hurt. “You lie.”
Before Bruce can tell him otherwise, Kal is through the door and gone. Bruce, taking the opportunity, walks up to the door and tries to open it. It’s not locked but as he steps out, a big man steps in front of him. Speaking in that alien language, Bruce is shoved back into the room. The door shuts with a slam and he can hear the click of a lock.
Bruce sighs.
A/N: Thanks for reading!
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