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hollandorks · 1 year

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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

interlude one

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: look I know I said I probably wasn't going to write Bruce's POV in this fic but I literally couldn't help it. But instead of splitting chapters with POV right now is to just throw in a few short interludes to give a peek inside Bruce's head!

Series Masterlist

word count: 1.4k

Bruce's POV

Bruce was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because, if there was one thing he’d learned in his life, it was that it was inevitable.

He’d been living in a constant state of fear ever since y/n had come home.

Serial killers, city floods, bombs, that kind of stuff was nowhere near as frightening as she was.

She’d always, always been able to see straight through him in a way no one else ever could. Even three years ago, when he had purposefully broken her heart, he thought she would see straight through to the truth of the matter–that he was lying for her own good.

And stupidly, there he’d been, interacting with her as the Batman, waiting for her to roll her eyes in that way of hers and say, “Take off the stupid fucking costume, Bruce.”

Every time he had opened his mouth, he thought he was done for. And okay, maybe he was deepening his voice to try to throw her off, but that was more out of habit than anything. Everything he said, everything he did, felt like the smoking gun that would make her go “Aha!” He’d even made a joke as if everything were normal, for god’s sake. And all it had done was make her scared of him.

That only made things worse.

Now, he stared at the security footage in front of him with an ache in his chest.

Y/n was asleep sitting up in his private elevator, the one that would lead her down to the abandoned subway station if she figured out how to put in the code.

He was freshly back from another patrol and had just changed when he caught sight of her on the screen. His heart ached for her, to hold her, to comfort her. He’d been a bastard the past few days even after she had lost her grandmother. He knew it was because he was grieving too, something she normally would have understood.

But not anymore. She had frozen him out as effectively as he had frozen her out. The chasm between them yawned wider and darker with every passing day, and he hated it. He hated every second of it, but he couldn’t stop, because it was better for her. When the other shoe inevitably dropped and the world found out who he really was, it was best if she was as distant from him as possible.

Even if he kept finding himself drawn inescapably back into her orbit.

“You’re walking a very precarious line,” Alfred murmured from where he poured over some sort of paperwork. The pair of them had started hiding in the Wayne Terminus station since y/n had gotten into town. It wasn’t on purpose, really. It was simply easier to discuss all things Batman related away from her.

“I know,” Bruce said. He leaned both palms against the table and stared at her. She looked so small on the screen, so…lonely and broken. His eyes stung just to look at her. And he knew it was his fault. The distance was killing him even though he was the one who had created it.

“I mean, really, Bruce–interacting with her as the Batman? What are you going to do when she inevitably figures it out?” Alfred set down his pen and took his glasses off. Bruce’s thoughts again turned to y/n. She would call Alfred’s tone his tired dad voice.

Bruce held in a sigh. They had gone over every iteration of this argument in the past three years, only now it was more relevant since y/n had actually met Batman. Before, it was simpler. She refused to come to Gotham, refused to see him, refused to even hear details about him according to Dory. Now she was entirely enmeshed in both of his lives and it was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

“Then she’ll know.” Bruce half-shrugged.

“But you won’t outright tell her.”

“I’m trying to–”

“Keep her safe, I know. But Bruce, surely you’ve noticed–”

That she was different now? That she was a shell of herself? That pushing her away had done irreparable damage that he couldn’t see the entire extent of? “Yes.”

You’ve done enough, she’d said that night. Because he had. He had hurt her, on purpose, over and over again. He was still hurting her. Though it was in her best interests–of that he was certain–it was hurting her.

“So you’ll just let her figure it out and let things fall as they may.” It wasn’t a question. “Even though it will come back to bite you. You know that, right?”

Bruce rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “I can’t just–”

“Tell the truth?” Alfred offered wryly. He twirled his pen then tapped it on a paper.

Bruce was tired of arguing with him. “No, Alfred, I can’t just tell the truth. Knowing puts her in danger. Knowing–knowing means things will never be the same.”

Alfred sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Things already aren’t the same and you know it.” He said it carefully, gently. But Bruce already knew.

“You know what I mean,” he mumbled, eyes straying back to the security feeds again.

“If she finds out, and you didn’t tell her…the longer this goes on, the worse it will be.” Again, Alfred’s voice was careful, almost gentle. It was born of his affection for y/n, Bruce knew. They both loved her in their own way. Alfred had helped raise her. Bruce’s decision had affected them all.

Seeing her sleeping there, so obviously weighed down by her grief, Bruce wanted her to know. Then maybe they could stop hurting and work towards making things…maybe not what they used to be, but close.

Fuck it, Bruce decided, and he heard the words in her voice.

No time like the present.

He strode over to the elevator and hit the button to call it down. Alfred stood and leaned on his cane. Bruce’s heart pounded loudly in the silence as the elevator slowly, slowly lowered. A million things went through his head at once. Would she be angry? Confused? Excited? She knew that he used the old station, but last time she had seen it it had been a slapped together garage.

He glanced around the space right before the elevator rattled to a stop.

No, it was obvious what it was used for now. The dummy that held his armor when it wasn’t in use or needed repairs was in full view of the doors opening.

Bruce glanced down, a surge of adrenaline almost making him black out.

But she was still asleep.

He frowned then looked over his shoulder at Alfred. Alfred shrugged.

She looked so peaceful, even in the cramped position she was in.

He said her name softly but she didn’t stir.

He guessed that was the universe’s way of telling him it was pointless.

Bruce stepped inside, careful to be quiet even though she’d slept through the rattling elevator descending several stories and its gates creaking open. He exchanged one last look with Alfred then hit the button to take them back upstairs.

Alfred’s expression mirrored the disappointment Bruce felt. Alfred was disappointed in Bruce though. He knew without the older man saying anything that Bruce should have woken her, should have finally had a conversation three years in the making.

Bruce was disappointed that she hadn’t woken and made the choice easier for him.

He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, his secret would finally be hers. That maybe he could explain.

But like most things in his life, it was too good to be true.

When the elevator stopped again, Bruce leaned down and carefully shifted her into his arms.

His eyes stung again at the familiar scent of her. It was a balm to his soul to be so close to her after so long, even though she was asleep. He inhaled shakily and held the scent in his lungs.

Her eyes fluttered open at the movement. He stared down at her, arms tightening instinctively, and waited for her to say something, anything. He expected her to shove away from him or maybe shout until he put her down.

But all she did was nuzzle into his neck and inhale deeply with a hum. He almost dropped her at the mixture of intense pain and relief that washed over him. His heart cracked again. God, he missed her.

“I miss you,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his neck.

When he looked down at her again, smiling faintly, she was already asleep again.

He very gently laid her in her bed. She immediately curled on her side with a little sigh. He tucked her in and hovered there, aching to hold her, aching to wake her up, just aching.

“I miss you too,” he whispered around the lump in his throat.

She didn’t wake.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #the batman x reader #batman x reader #the batman 2022 #the batman #battinson #bruce wayne #haven #haven fic

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shih-coulda-had-it · 4 months

Note

Since you drew En playing the electric guitar do you have any headcannons for an OFA band AU? Like what user plays/does what?

I love the OFA logo that's on electric guitarist En's shirt btw! 💓

Not only am I going to give you a list of who's doing what, I'm going to give you 1.4k of a ficlet from Bruce's POV because I've been doing everything but my final papers!

THE BAND

Yoichi: Lead vocalist, ex-bass guitar

Kudou: Drummer

Bruce: Band manager, does travel and concert arrangements; ex-electric guitar

Shinomori: Equipment manager, helps with logistics; ex-electric guitar

Banjo: Electric guitar 1, ex-keyboardist, percussionist when necessary

En: Electric guitar 2 + Smoke effects

Nana: Bass guitar, female vocalist when necessary

Toshinori: Nana’s ward, roadie, learning bass guitar

+ Sorahiko: Full-time roadie, electric guitar when necessary

Izuku: Not here yet, but he's probably part of a One for All revival era

OFA Band AU in my hands still has Quirks, and the majority of the group practices vigilantism when they're not playing music. AFO is less demon of the underworld evil, and more capitalist/the guy funding industry plants evil. He's a music executive. He and Yoichi used to play music together, but when AFO went to college to be a business major, Yoichi doubled down on music and was recruited by Kudou and Bruce. OFA developed from there.

Pairings are Trio Holders, FourthFifth, and who knows what's going with Sorahiko. (This is a no Husbando Shimura/no Kotarou AU.)

Read the ficlet below!

“Banjo,” Shinomori says with a tone more indulgent than scolding, “stop bullying En with Blackwhip. He’s going to trip and fall on his face mid-performance, and then where will you be?”

“Laughing, probably,” Bruce cuts in before Banjo can say something flirtatious. He needs their equipment manager present and sharp-eyed. Shimura’s friend does a passable job at rounding up stray amps and cords, but only when he’s not herding Toshinori away from chatting up the crowds who want to stalk One for All members backstage. “Pack the instruments in the bus, would you? We’re cutting it close.”

Banjo winks at Shinomori and strums a quick, humorous cue anyway. “Yeah, no problem, Sandaime. We going out after?”

“Depends on Kudou.”

“Ah, gotcha. See you in a bit.” Banjo tips his chin up and obligingly, Shinomori bends his neck and plants a chaste kiss to the carefully maintained stubble on the electric guitarist’s cheek. The roguish grin softens. Bruce manfully restrains himself from being a hypocrite about PDA, and goes to find Shimura.

She’s a little further backstage, and her bass guitar is already locked away. Set beside her bedazzled monstrosity of a case is En’s unassuming one. When Bruce chances upon them, Shimura is in the middle of fussing with her cousin’s jacket. She straightens the high collar, notices Bruce, and says a cheerful hello.

En echoes her, but he adds a respectful, “Sandaime.”

God. Bruce is going to strangle Banjo for starting that up, especially as it’s been picked up by not just the band but also the media. The more impressionable members of the band—En and Toshinori—treat the titles with more respect than a bad joke should get, and the journalists have started using them in place of their names.

“Everyone packed? Where’s Torino and Toshinori?”

“Sorahiko had a phone call,” En volunteers. “I think Toshinori headed back to the bus early because he had homework to finish.”

“What? Did he tell you that? It’s a week to the deadline!” Shimura scoops up her case and En’s, inclines her head at Bruce, and starts booking it. Her decision to apprentice Toshinori still strikes Bruce as a shortsighted one, but it remains one of the few times Bruce actually remembers her performing some kind of paperwork magic to ensure the application was filled to perfection. Usually, Shimura procrastinates to the point of Torino needing to swoop in and forge her signature.

En peers up at Bruce like he’s expecting something.

“What,” says Bruce. The junior electric guitar player shrugs in deliberate carelessness.

“Are we heading out after?”

“Have you been talking to Banjo?” Bruce asks, dry, and shakes his head. “It depends on Kudou. Where’s our illustrious leader?”

“Necking with Nidaime in the dressing room.”

Wordlessly, Bruce digs into his pocket and hands over the carton of candy cigarettes. En isn’t actually capable of eating tobacco, much less real cigarettes, but he has a sweet tooth and a sly sense of humor. Moreover, he is amenable to being bribed.

Clever fingers pop open the carton and slide one white chalky stick of sugar out. En sticks it into his mouth with a pleased hum and chirps a half-garbled, “I’ll get Banjo-senpai to the bus. Is Yondaime driving?”

“Torino knows the city streets better. He’ll get us to the inn, and after that, we’ll figure out carpools back.” Bruce rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “Hey. You did good with the bridge for ‘Residual Mayhem’ tonight. Make sure to do the hand exercises later.”

“Okay!” Thusly flattered, spoiled with sweets, and charged with malicious intent to put a (temporary) damper on Banjo’s evening, En darts off to pester his senior into hurrying the hell up. For his part, Bruce double-checks the area for stray litter, then ventures to the dressing rooms.

He finds a nondescript black sock slipped onto the doorknob. Bruce raps his knuckles against the wood, ignores the muffled “OCCUPIED!”, and uses the skeleton key to break in.

The door gets closed immediately behind him.

“We’re going to be late,” he manages to snap, before his brain fully processes the sight of Kudou’s legs hooked ‘round Yoichi’s skinny hips. The dressing room is equipped with a single chaise longue, and Yoichi has Kudou pressed down against the entire length of the single-armed sofa. Thank god, they’re both still in jeans.

“Mrrmph,” Kudou says, and Yoichi chimes in, “Hi, Bruce!”

“The set wasn’t that horny,” Bruce says, nonplussed.

Yoichi grins. “Well, I know tonight’s a fight night, so I thought I’d give Kudou incentive to not make you guys stay out so late.”

“Really effective,” Kudou reports, sounding dazed. He has clearly been kissed stupid. Is it irresponsible of Bruce to want to trade places with Kudou? For a brief moment, Bruce thinks about Kudou taking the role of band manager. In that projection of an alternate universe, One for All loses all access to professional recording studios, and not only are their songs recorded with a shitty boombox, but their concerts are held at last-minute reservations.

Also, in that universe, Kudou is cursed to never find a replacement drummer he approves of for more than three months. Yes. This is the right timeline.

Bruce approaches the sofa as Yoichi sits up and pulls Kudou upright with him. “You don’t think I need any?”

“You’re way more responsible,” Yoichi asserts, but makes a ‘come here’ gesture with his long slender fingers. Obligingly, Bruce bends at the waist. Yoichi cradles Bruce’s jaw with one hand and kisses him squarely on the mouth, nips his bottom lip, and breaks it off first. He smiles as he says, “Thanks for coming to get us.”

Kudou slips two fingers down the collar of Bruce’s shirt and tugs him in for his own kiss. That too is brief, and sharp, and it’s possible Bruce is going a little kiss-stupid as well, especially when he can hear the rumble of Kudou’s groan building at the base of his throat.

“Wait,” he gasps, “wait, time, time. Our inn’s not taking late check-ins, and Shimura’s going to murder one of us if her ward sleeps overnight in the bus again.”

“Toshinori-kun thinks it’s cool to sleep in the bus,” Yoichi protests. “Did Shimura-kun say that?”

“She implied it,” Bruce says.

“Up we go then,” Kudou says, and manhandles Yoichi off his lap. Bruce straightens up and does a cursory once-over at the dressing room. Any hairbrushes? Hair ties? Stray math homework sheets that Toshinori will swear he lost to Torino’s cutthroat corrections? Distracted, Bruce helps Yoichi to his feet, then Kudou.

“Shinomori got your drumset loaded,” he tells Kudou. “Yoichi, did you take your guitar out for an impromptu vibes session with Toshinori?”

“Still in the bus,” Yoichi answers, and before Bruce can fend him off, Yoichi is fussing with the folds of his headband. Kudou is too busy shrugging into his windbreaker and shaking out the wrinkles in Yoichi’s. “Ah, Bruce, you should really think about hemming this…”

“Ragged edges are punk,” Bruce says blankly.

There’s a knock at the door. It creaks open, because even though Bruce kicked it shut the instant he saw his boyfriends making out, he forgot to lock it. Torino pokes his head in warily. “Bus is loaded up,” he reports, eyes cast to the ceiling. “En said I’m driving?”

“Yup,” says Kudou. Finished with his doting, Yoichi gratefully accepts his windbreaker and zips it right up to the top. He combs his bangs back and ties his distinctive white hair into a low ponytail; Kudou fetches a cap and plops it on Yoichi’s head before tugging the hood over. “I’m your co-pilot. Bruce, where’s your jacket?”

“The bus. Torino, we’ll be right out.”

“Gotcha.” The door clicks shut.

“Hey, is the sock on the door yours or Yoichi’s?”

“One of mine,” Yoichi confirms. He hooks his hand at the crook of Bruce’s elbow, leans into him. “Bruce, stop worrying, we haven’t left anything. Kudou, you’d better run ahead before Toshinori-kun gets the idea that he can sit co-pilot again.”

“That kid,” Kudou curses, and bolts out. It’s a reasonable response.

The last time Toshinori had wheedled his way to the front, Shinomori had been at the wheel, and between the both of them—Shinomori, possessed of a sick sense of humor that included entertaining the whims of a preteen, and Toshinori, too proud to admit that he couldn’t understand the traffic navigation app—One for All had wandered off-route and wasted three-quarters of the gas tank just to arrive at a three-star aquarium. Not that Torino would get them lost.

No, it’s more likely that Torino would reach the limits of his Toshinori Tolerance and put pedal to the metal, and then get caught speeding (in a bus) by a cop.

Yoichi hums the opening lyrics to ‘Daisy Days’, and it sounds too sad on its own, so Bruce obligingly provides the guitar riff as they follow after Kudou.

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avengerscompound · 3 years

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Small Gods: Lazy Mornings - 6

Lazy Mornings: A Captain America Fanfic

Lazy Mornings Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1516

Warnings: mentions of drug use

Synopsis: Steve Rogers has trouble taking time for himself. When his friends set him up with a person with a very unusual skill, perhaps he can learn that the quiet moments are just as important as everything else.

Chapter 6

Steve sat in the Avengers common area going over some paperwork from the last mission. It wasn’t a mission he had been on, he just had to sign off on things and make sure all the forms had been signed off properly, and that no one had broken protocol without a valid reason. It was the kind of work he usually did in the office. He didn’t like blending Cap with Steve because usually Steve barely got to see the light of day.

Right now he felt okay with it. There were more and more moments where the idea of Captain America didn’t even pop into his head, and balancing his personal time with a little work felt normal. The kind of thing most average everyday people did.

Sam and Clint were playing pool together while Bucky watched on, heckling both of them. Natasha was sitting at the bar nursing a drink while Wanda braided her hair. Bruce was sitting opposite him reading something on his tablet and occasionally frowning and picking up a different tablet and typing something.

Steve normally missed these quiet domestic moments because he would always be in his office on the phone, or going through intel with Hill - or just going through paperwork like he was now. It felt good. Normal. It made him miss you a little, but not in that way that dominated his thoughts or filled him with grief. It was a hopeful longing. He looked forward to seeing you again rather than dwelling on the fact you weren't here now.

He flicked over a page and use the highlight function to mark a section of text adding a note requesting any body cam footage available of the scene being described in the report.

The elevator door hummed as they opened into the room and Pepper and Tony came striding into the room arguing in the affectionate way that they did about a self-charging electric car.

Steve watched them both for a moment as they went to the bar and Tony fixed them both a drink. Steve smiled and went back to work but was quickly interrupted by Tony flopping down on the couch beside him. “What are you doing in here, Cap? Aren’t you always too busy to have fun?” He teased, nudging Steve with his elbow. “Is that a beer I see? Who let you off the chain? And what’s with that dopey smile?”

“Haven’t you heard, Tones,” Clint called. “Cap’s in lurve.”

Steve felt heat rise up the back of his neck and through his cheeks. He hadn’t been keeping the fact he’d been dating you a secret. It had been a setup after all, and Tony had been there when the setup had happened. He just hadn’t been talking about it much. He wanted to be sure that what he had with you wasn’t just a fleeting thing that was more about how he felt around you rather than how he felt about you. He knew that he was the expert in waiting too long, but with you, it felt like there was no rush or urgency to put any labels on what the two of you were doing. It was okay to just see how things played out and no one would get hurt.

“Is that so?” Tony said, sitting up a little straighter. “Are you smitten, Cap? Do we know her? Oh … is it the one Thor set you up with?”

“Relax, Tony,” Pepper scolded. “You’re going to pop a vessel in your brain.”

“My brain is perfect,” Tony said. “It’s my heart that I have issues with. But that’s not going to get Cap out of spilling the beans. I want to know everything about the woman who made it okay for him to come down and finish his paperwork with the rest of us slackers.”

Steve chuckled and put his tablet down. “There’s not much to tell really.”

“Have you two…?” Tony made a circle with his thumb and index finger on one hand and poked the index finger from his other hand in and out of the hole he’d made.

“Tony!” Pepper yelped and smacked him on the arm. “Don’t be vulgar.”

“But being vulgar is my whole schtick,” Tony teased. “Come on, Cap. Have you been getting down and dirty? Making the beast with two backs?”

“I’m not one to kiss and tell, Tony,” Steve said, mustering his best patient-but-disapproving voice.

“That’s a no,” Tony snarked.

“I never said that,” Steve said.

“Definitely a no,” Tony added. “Come on old man, you’ve got to have needs that need meeting.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head. “You worry about your needs and I’ll worry about mine.”

“Don’t worry,” Tony said. “Mine are getting more than fulfilled. I have room to worry about yours.”

Bruce snorted but didn’t look up from his tablet. When Steve looked over at the scientist, he noticed the grin on his face and the fact that while he was staring at the tablet, his eyes were not moving.

“Come on, Cap,” Tony pushed. “We want to know the details.”

“Just tell him would you,” Bucky grumbled. “You know he won’t give it up.”

“Sure won’t,” Tony agreed.

Steve sighed and shook his head. “There’s not much to tell,” he said. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while. She’s really unlike anyone I know, and I don’t feel in any rush to call it something it isn’t yet, but I like her, and I like being around her. A lot.”

“And she makes you feel like you can do your work in the common room?” Tony asked, tilting his head to the side.

Steve shrugged. “I guess she does,” he said. “Though you’re making me regret it.”

Tony threw his head back laughing. “We should have her around,” Tony said, looking at Pepper. “We haven’t met her.”

“I haven’t either,” Bucky called from his spot by the pool table.

“Me either!” Sam shouted.

“That seals it,” Tony said. “You haven’t even introduced your new lady friend to your best friend in the whole world, by which I mean me, not those two jack-asses that follow you around.”

“Fine,” Steve said. “You set it up, and I’ll invite her.”

“You’re going to hate her, Tony,” Bruce said with a soft laugh.

Tony looked over at him. “Who me? Why? What is she? Some kind of anti-capitalist anarchist?”

“No, we all know you love those,” Bruce teased. “She’s just… calming.”

“Yeah, makes you feel like you’ve smoked a joint,” Clint agreed.

Tony made a tutting sound. “Naughty, naughty, Legolas,” he said. “How would a superhero know what smoking a joint was like?”

“Yeah, like you don’t know what snorting cocaine is like,” Clint snarked.

“Wow,” Tony deadpanned. “Rude.” Clint flipped him off and went back to shooting pool. “Set it up, FRIDAY. We’ll have it on the party deck. A formal dinner. Get caterers, a bartender, at least two waiters. What kind of food does she like? She allergic to anything?”

“That’s all way too much,” Steve sighed, resigned to the fact that the train had already left the station and he was on it whether he liked it or not.

“Let’s make it Italian,” Tony said, completely ignoring him. “Make sure there’s something vegetarian for Wanda.”

“And pizza!” Clint shouted.

“Fine, a few different types,” Tony said. “You’ll let us know if she can’t eat anything, right?”

“Yes, Tony,” Steve groaned. “I’ll ask her.”

“Friday sound good, FRIDAY?” Tony asked.

“You have the Clean Energy gala on Friday,” FRIDAY responded.

“Right, right,” Tony said. “Saturday then.”

“Saturday you’re free,” FRIDAY confirmed.

“Done,” Tony said. “You tell your lady friend; Saturday at seven.”

“As long as you never refer to her as my lady friend again,” Steve teased, making Pepper laugh.

“I’m so sorry you’ve been railroaded like this,” Pepper apologized. “But I am excited to meet her. You never bring anyone home.”

“Yeah, I want to meet her too,” Bucky called.

Steve smiled and shook his head. He did like the idea of introducing you to everyone. He would have perhaps liked a little more time to keep you to himself, and while it could get frustrating how much his friends like to meddle in his personal life, it was nice to know they cared about him that much. It would be like bringing you home to meet his parents - or his really meddlesome siblings. Maybe everyone needed to have that moment where you had to meet the family, even if the family was just a mottle crew of people who wanted to save the world.

Steve picked up his tablet and stood up. “I better go call her then,” he said.

“Tell her hi from me,” Clint called as Tony sat back smugly and took a sip of his Scotch.

“Will do,” Steve said and made his way back to his office feeling glad. If he was honest with himself, he was pretty happy he had a reason to call you. Maybe he’d go and visit you when he was done with his paperwork.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #small gods #lazy mornings

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anonymousqualities · 4 years

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De-age batfam trope (while on patrol one of them is hit with magic or something and who their toddler counterparts would cling to) HC

Damian: (Clings to Tim)

Everyone is suprised at this. Even though Dick is a close second, the minute Tim enters the room Damian drops whatever he’s doing to toddle happily towards ‘Akhi’ Standing in front of Tim with his arms raised demanding “up!”

It takes a while for Tim to get use to it because this must be a side effect of the magic that was used. Tim soon comes to his own conclusion that this is just smol Damian’s way of bosing him around.

Eventually,Tim gets use to Damian climbing into his lap and getting in between him and his work. Either to just sit and relax or shove a new drawing he did proudly into the third robin’s face.

Tim is secretly enjoying it though, especially because of the death glares he constantly gets from Dick out of jealously.

Bruce: (Clings to Jason)

Jason makes hunting down the Magi his number one priority because until then he’s manor bound, and just fuck that noise.

Of course even in his toddler form the Batman doesn’t want the Redhood out of his sight.

Anywhere Jason goes you can be sure to hear small steps padding quickly behind him. He only stops when the constant calls of “Jay! ..Jay?!” Turn into whines and he finally picks up the brat.

The whole ordeal even forces Jason into good habits because; baby duh? and Alfred would kill him if he smelt even a small whiff of cigarette smoke that could rub off on Bruce’s clothes.

Jason's forced to spend time with the family because apparantly Bruce throws a tantrum whenever Jason isn't present. Although, Alfred reassured him from the beginning that he was able to handle Tiny Bruce's shenanigans and that he didnt have to feel obligated to stay at the manor. Jason shrugs and claims he didn't want to leave Alfred to fend for himself. (Dick teases him and makes the dangerous claim that Jason was worried about Bruce & loves them. This almost earned him a rubber bullet to the butt-cheek)

Tim: (Clings to Bruce)

Alfred claims he’s never seen such an “precocious young thing” in all his life.

Tiny Tim was always found observing a room; looking up and down and taking in all its occupants. His need to always ask “why?” Is a stable for the age he turns into of course but

Whenever Bruce was doing paperwork, Tim; with a finger in his mouth would tip toe up in hopes of seeing what he was writing. It never took long for Bruce to scoop him up into his lap, watching in amusement as his son would look down at the documents in concentration as if he was trying to understand every word.

One day while in the batcave Tim cranes his head up and tells bruce that “I know Dami, ‘ick and Jay not his real bwothas” and that “bad guy make me smol”

Bruce could only sit in shock as Tim casually turns back around to continue messing with the small rubix cube Jason recently bought him.

His siblings shower him with alot of gifts but Tim's favorite present was the oversized t-shirt from Bruce that says “World’s Greatest Detective”

Jason: (Clings to Alfred)

Bruce still wishes he had his camera ready for the look on his father figure's face when a smol Jason ran up to him screaming “Gwan’pa!”

The second robin could always be found near the older man. Going on errand runs, and helping him clean & cook.

Jason also prefers to have only Alfred tuck him in and read him a story before bed.

Dick: (Clings to Damian)

The dynamic between them doesn't change to everyones amusement. Dick is still a mother-hen around Damian who always ends up taking a deep breath to explain that "I don't need your help, Richard!"

#batfam fanon #incorrect batfam #dc comics #jason todd #dick grayson #damian Wayne #tim drake #bruce wayne #batbros #batman #de aged Batfam #batfamily #nightwing #redhood #robin #red robin #alfred pennyworth

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piccolini-cuscino · 4 years

Text

Getting to the truth: part two

After confessing your feelings for each other at the Wayne Foundation gala, you and Bruce finally have your first date. But it’s doomed right from the start!

Notes: So I ran out of time writing this part, there will be a part three, finishing this up. Prepare yourself for some dorky, nervous rich guy Bruce Wayne.

Mornings were tiresome when you were Bruce Wayne’s assistant. Even more so now that you knew exactly why he came home at 7am with scarlet knuckles and black and blue galaxies underneath his eyes. He took some time to clean himself up, half an hour exactly, while you had your intern – Sarah – fetch him breakfast that he never ate and more coffee than any mere mortal could tolerate.

Sometimes, you’d steal a few moments alone with him in his office. He’d often just sit there with his fingers raking through his hair and his gaze fixed on the mahogany surface right underneath his nose. Hunched over in his own little world.

“Rough night?” you asked, moving behind him. You had grown so used to him flinching away that you barely noticed the jolt of pain that seared through his body when you rubbed his shoulders.

“It’s always a rough night.”

“Have you found him? That zodiac-looking guy?”

He shook his head. “No. No one can decode his ciphers. They’re calling him The Riddler.”

“And did you manage to get any sleep last night?”

“You know I can’t.”

“Maybe you should.” You continued kneading his shoulders, keeping one eye on the door. “A night off might help you think straight.”

“Not while he’s out there.”

“There’s another reason.”

Bruce spun around in his chair, pausing just long enough for you to crawl on to his lap. He grimaced, but, in that moment, mischief took over.

Curling those dirty dark strands of hair around your fingertips, you pouted. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, Mr Wayne.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed as much as the pain would allow. With his eyes batting back and forth, he sorted through every fleeting interaction with you, beyond work and beyond what he got up to in the night. And then, his features lightened. “Oh…”

At the exact second Bruce’s memory decided to cooperate, Sarah burst into the office – three coffees in hand – and you flung yourself from Bruce’s lap. He swiftly returned to brooding into the shiny surface of his desk, while you thanked Sarah for the coffees. With your boss sufficiently caffeinated for the morning, you turned to leave him alone before his meeting. But then, as the elevator doors began to close, a pristine black oxford wedged the gap.

“Can you get these invoices over to Payroll for me please?” Bruce smirked, dumping a mountain of paper in your arms.

“Sure,” you blustered. “I’ll get Sarah to–“

“I want you,” he paused, clearing his throat, “to take care of these.”

As the door closed again, you couldn’t be sure, but you swore you caught him winking. He must have done, judging by the Sarah’s wide eyes. You didn’t say a word, though; you just stared down at the paperwork in your grasp.

And then, peeking out from the pile was an uncharacteristically pink Post-it note – one of your own – bearing Bruce’s illegible scrawl. You slipped it out and squinted, trying to decipher what exactly he was trying to tell you. You knew one person who could, though.

“Hey, Alfred!” you called, strolling up to him in the lobby.

“How can I help you today, Miss?”

“Mr Wayne left me a note and I have no idea what it says,” you laughed. “I know it’s ridiculous, but he always just texts or emails. Can you help me, please?”

As he took the note, Alfred laughed. “I don’t suppose they teach cursive anymore, do they?”

You shrugged and shook your head. “Is it anything important?”

With his glasses perched on the end of his nose, he read the note aloud like the town crier. “Sorry, I forgot. Dinner. 8pm. I’ll be in the kitchen. Don’t tell Alfred.” And then he looked at you with his brows raised. “I think I’ll have the night off, then.”

You almost didn’t show. As silly as it sounded, agonising over every small detail of your appearance made you want to call him up and cancel. You didn’t want to mess it up. But then, cancelling would have done that for you. In the end, in a fit of rage at your wardrobe, you went for jeans and a nice shirt. You always saw Bruce puttering around wearing something similar if he wasn’t working or playing dress up on a school night. But even then, you wondered if it was too casual for what he had in mind.

The monologue in your brain just droned and droned all the way to the manor. You barely remembered the drive there, only that it was raining again. Like it always did. Parked out front, you stole a few final moments to yourself. A pep talk. A few deep breaths.

And a knock at the window that made you jump out of your skin.

Bruce never left the manor when he retired there for the night – not in plain clothes anyway. But there he was on the drive, in dark jeans and a white shirt, peering through the window with a grin. “You’re late,” he remarked.

You glanced his way with a coy look. “I’m nervous.”

“Come on,” he said, opening the car door, “what do you have to be nervous about? We’re friends. We know each other.”

You stepped out and looked up at him. Dark remnants of his warpaint had clumped underneath his eyelashes. Now you knew why he went AWOL on all his meetings that afternoon. “This is different, Bruce. I like you. Really like you.”

Bruce’s hands found their way to your waist as he loomed closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know.” You could have stayed in that moment forever, but a growl from your stomach perked up the corners of Bruce’s lips. He kissed the tip of your nose and moved away. “I think I said something about dinner. Let’s get inside before it burns.”

You followed Bruce through the unfamiliar labyrinth in the bowels of Wayne Manor towards the kitchen – never had you strayed beyond the study or the ballroom. Neither had Bruce, judging by the way he paused at every turn, reciting Alfred’s directions aloud. Never once did he let go of your hand. Finally, when that delicious smell wafted through the halls, Bruce gave up on memory and followed his nose.

“Come on in,” he said, pulling out a chair. “Here, let me get you some wine. Alfred brought some up from the cellar, I hope red’s all right?”

Bruce was nervous.

He moved around the kitchen, bumping into everything in his path, opening wine, pulling up his sleeves, matting his hair down. And he had barely said a word, except to himself.

“Are you ok, Bruce?”

Bruce turned to you with his mouth hanging open. “Yeah,” he said, gloving up his right hand with an oven mitt. “Do you like lasagne? I swore you said you liked lasagne once.”

You nodded and pointed towards the oven as smoke trickled out from the door. “I’m not a fan of burnt lasagne though.”

“Fuck!”

As soon as Bruce opened the oven door, the entire kitchen became engulfed in a plume of dense grey smoke. You grabbed a towel, joining him as he waved his oven mitt in the air to clear it.

When the crisis was over, Bruce slumped down at the table and reached for the bottle of wine in the centre. He poured himself a glass and it was gone in a flash, leaving him to stare at you with rosy cheeks and a lost expression.

“Have you ever used an oven before?” you giggled.

“That’s a good question,” he said, shooting you an embarrassed smile. His eyes flitted from left to right, trying to recount the times, if any, he had actually visited the kitchen in his family home. “You know, I don’t even think I’ve been down here before today. That’s what I get for giving the staff a night off, though, right?”

You shrugged. “So, what’s plan B? I mean, as much as this is beautiful wine, I’m gonna need something more substantial.”

Bruce puffed out his cheeks. “I can’t remember the last time I had time to sit down and have dinner.”

Rolling your eyes, you drained the rest of your glass. “We know!”

“I can make…” Bruce trailed off, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the fridge. “Sandwiches? If you want?”

“Let’s order pizza. I don’t trust your cooking.”

#battinson #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #the batman #robert pattinson

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children Ch. 3

In which: Danny getting yeeted into the Lazarus Pit yields anticlimactic consequences and Bruce Wayne converses with a fruit loop.

AO3 | Prologue | 2 | [ 3 ] | 4 |

DANIEL BARELY HAD TIME TO SCREAM before he’s plunged into the green depths of the Lazarus pit, primeval waves crashing against the walls of the pool. Talia flicked her wrist, signaling the ten League members hidden in the shadows to approach. Each one spaced equally apart around the pit with smoke pellets synthesized from blood blossoms held in their hands, ready to drop at a moment’s notice.

Pit madness rendered the majority of the living uncontrollable, with even the weakest of humans imbued with a strength that could only be induced by the purest of rage. The League was not taking chances as to how a being like her son would react to it.

The waters stilled.

Then—

A bright flash of light. Then, faster than the eyes could follow, a figure erupted from the waters. Bone white hair that twisted and curled as if it were still underwater. Skin lightly tinged frostbitten blue and clad in a suit of black and white and shrouded in an aura of blinding light. Phantom appeared from the depths, floating above the pit like a god reborn.

His eyes burned a toxic green.

“What the fuck was that?”

But not pit madness green.

Talia ordered her assassins to at ease with a raise of her hand. She slowly walked to her father’s side just as her son—Phantom—landed at the edge of the pool. Idly, Talia noticed how different Phantom seemed in comparison to her son. Physical attributes aside, Daniel tended to make himself smaller. What venom that may coat his words and the vitriol in his glares dampened by the way he held himself. Shoulders hunched and head tilted down. Non-threatening. Hands always needing to do something, whether it be holding his arms or shoved inside his pockets or constantly brushing it through his hair. No matter how she and his instructors taught him how to hold himself like a warrior, like a soldier, he still tended to present himself as a skittering little animal.

Phantom was different. He squared his soldiers and lifted his chin high, unafraid to stretch out to his fullest height and use his defiance of gravity to make himself look bigger. Stronger. His arms held steady at his sides, curled into tight fists. Green eyes—green as the Lazarus pit yet without that spark of madness that so consumed everyone else—burning with righteous fury.

“You fucking threw me into the weird green pool. What even—who does that?”

Ra’s tilted his head. “Fascinating. It seems you have a resistance to the pit madness.”

Phantom blinked, caught off guard. “Pit…madness,” he echoed. A statement, though from the wrinkle in his brows and the look he shoots Talia, it was more a question than anything else.

“It is one of the side effects of the Lazarus pits.” Talia approached her son with caution, holding his face with both hands and inspecting for any differences. “While the waters rejuvenate, restore, and even temporarily imbue one with supernatural strength, it also tends to inflict users with temporary insanity.”

“Insanity?” His eyes widened, trembling hands coming up to hold her wrists. Strangely, Daniel did not pull away from her touch. “I could have gone insane?”

Those bright eyes of his looked so frightened. Haunted. Pupils dilated to mere pinpricks of blackness, lost in a sea of Lazarus green. “Oh habeebi, only temporarily.”

“Like that’s better!” He yelled. “Even temporarily, I’m—” He staggered back, breaking out of her hold. Harmless Danny Fenton bleeding into proud Phantom as he ran his hands through his hair, unwilling to look at anyone.

Ra’s continued to watch, his arms crossed beneath his sternum, muttering to himself. Her father had prided himself on being one of the most knowledgeable about the Lazarus pits and its effects. Now, faced with a new mystery, the scholar within the Demon’s Head emerged as he observed his grandson.

“No,” Ra’s said, mostly to himself. “Perhaps less of a ‘resistance’ and more of an ‘immunity’ to it, given how both Daniel and the Lazarus pit have similar compositions. It would be a fascinating tangent to follow.” He chuckled to himself. “How droll. The life-restoring Lazarus pit holding a connection to the land of the dead.”

Talia turned to her father. “So, Daniel will not feel any of the pit’s side effects, then?”

Daniel perked up at the sound of his name, halting in his pacing. “I…might not go insane?”

“Perhaps, though it is too soon to tell. You have the waters of the Lazarus pit flowing through your veins, Daniel.” Ra’s smiled; eyes gleaming with the sparks of pride. “You and it are made of the same chemicals, the same reality-defying compounds that can bring the dead back to life.”

“Well, great. I have the same chemical makeup as a glowing hot tub, what else is new—” Her son staggered, and she caught him. Impossibly bright rings formed at his abdomen and then split, transforming Phantom back into a human. Mortal. His face haggard and sweating from the temples, eyes back to her beloved’s pale blues.

Her father did not bat an eye. “The pit’s healing effects are slowed down, then? Or perhaps it is because he has no wounds to heal?” Ra’s hummed; chin cradled in his hand. “Set him back into the pits, Talia. I believe young Daniel has yet to absorb all his needed energy.”

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine. Put me back in the crazy water, why not?” Daniel tugged at her shoulders. “Just…gently, please?”

Talia smoothed down his dark hair with a smile. “Of course, habeebi. I will even stay with you as well.”

When he looked at her, it was something almost akin to gratefulness.

------

In Gotham City, the upper echelons of society gather together at the Gotham Expo Center. The shining halls, which had been used as the site of a week-long exhibition of new scientific research, was reoutfitted to serve as the venue for the exhibition’s final event.

A gala. The hunting ground of the nouveau riche and old money families. Corporate moguls and debutants made their rounds across the floor, chatting with heirs and politicians and the who’s who of the upper class.

Scientists and researchers attempted to step out of their shells and dazzle the crowds. Wanting to fish a willing patron with deep pockets to fund their next project. Reporters huddled together like schools of fish, warily approaching the predators in their midst for a question or a photo. Both things many of the wealthy and affluent are easily ready to give, as long as it only showed off their best side in tomorrow’s society papers.

Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, and society’s darling observed everything as he always did, in that most people believed he barely noticed anything beyond what’s right in front of him. He raised the flute glass of champagne to his lips, pretending to take a sip as he listened to the chatter of sycophants around him. A few were even some promising researchers of which he made a mental note to pass along to Lucius.

Two nights ago, Bruce received a tip of unusual movements from the League of Assassins. The organization had been quiet as of late, and while Bruce had been very carefully monitoring their activities in the background, the sudden tightening of their security prompted him to take a closer look.

There had been sightings of the League of Assassins centered around a small town in Illinois—Amity Park. A rural tourist trap championing itself as the most haunted place in America. Something that Bruce would normally scoff at or zealously research about if not for John Constantine’s warning to “never go within a ten-mile radius of that hellhole.” With similar sentiments from others in the occult community, the Justice League decided to take that warning to heart. Bruce’s curiosity may have been piqued, but even he was tactful enough to avoid courting more trouble.

Suffice to say, Bruce—and especially Batman—could not afford to ignore Ra’s al Ghul’s movements. Whatever his plans were involved whatever anomalies were going on in Amity Park. And wasn’t it simply serendipitous that one of the guest lists for tonight’s gala was Vlad Masters, the mayor of Amity Park?

“Vlad Masters, is that you?” Bruce, slapping on his signature Brucie smile, masterfully detached himself from his previous group, quickly heading towards the nearby bar where he spotted Vlad getting another drink.

“Why, Bruce Wayne, it’s been so long!” The two shook hands, of which Bruce was slightly surprised at how cold to the touch Vlad was. A health condition, perhaps. Then again, there was something in Vlad’s appearance and stature that spoke of a deeper reason.

“It’s been, what, two years? What brings you to Gotham?”

“Business; the usual really.” Despite whatever friendly aura they’re projecting, Bruce Wayne and Vlad Masters weren’t friends. More acquaintances that have been forced to mingle a few times because of the nature of their business and the demands of high society. From what Bruce knows, Vlad is a business tycoon that’s as blindingly charismatic as he was infamous for his quick rise to wealth and a few rather shady dealings.

Bruce stuck his hand in his pocket. “Well Vlad, last we all heard was you dipping your toes into politics. You’re a, uh, what, a governor?”

Vlad let out an obviously fake chuckle. “Oh nothing as grand as that. I’m only a small-town mayor, really.”

“Right!” Bruce snapped his fingers. “So, what’s that like?”

“Oh dreadful work, really. So much paperwork, so many things to do or oversee, but rewarding in its own way.” He puffed out his chest. “Many of the people in Amity Park do rely on me, you know. Though I’m afraid my schedule’s busy enough that I barely have time to go home!”

“Well, we’re very happy that you made room enough to visit us here in Gotham.”

Bruce sensed Damian coming to stand beside him and instinctually placed a hand around his shoulder. Though his youngest had been steadily adjusting to his new life here in Gotham, he still preferred to stick to his father’s shadow than mingle with those of his own age groups at galas. (Then again, Bruce was very similar when he was younger so perhaps it was a genetic thing).

He smiled down at Damian—frowning as he’d rather be patrolling the streets in uniform as opposed to schmoozing with people he hardly cared about. “Have you met my son, Vlad? Damian, this is Vlad Masters, a business partner and a, uh—” He scrunched his face, pretending to remember what Vlad’s current occupation is. “Mayor of some small town out west.”

Bruce turned to look at Vlad, expecting to see some variation of ‘insulted but trying to keep up a polite façade’—only to freeze.

Vlad’s face paled considerably. His beady eyes comically wide as he looked at Damian, the fingers curled around the stem of his flute glass bone white. Damian, unnerved, steadied his stance but shifted minutely closer to Bruce.

Well, this was interesting. “You alright, Vlad? You looked like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Vlad jerked his head towards Bruce. Surprise—and fear? —contorted his features for a brief moment before smoothed back down into a proper mask. “Mayor of Amity Park, yes. My apologies,” he chuckled. “Young—Damian, was it? —only reminded me of someone I knew once.” He shifted his gaze back to Damian. “The resemblance is actually quite uncanny.”

Damian furrowed his brows. “Amity Park?”

“You’ve heard of it, Damian?”

“I would be surprised if you did.” Vlad masters took a small ship of his champagne. “Then again, it should be expected that you might have heard of it. The town does love it’s ghosts.”

Bruce laughed. “What, like Casper?”

“Something like that, yes.” There’s a tightness to Vlad’s voice. “Amity Park is its own breed of strange. We’ve handled things well enough on our own in the past, and quite honestly you get used to all of the spooks eventually. Though I must say the shadows are quite new—I’d often ask myself if I should petition your city’s vigilante and put him on the case.

“Shadows?”

Vlad easy smile shifted into a faint grimace. “They have a rather nasty habit of snooping.”

------

Despite Bruce and Damian’s attempt at plying Vlad for more answers, Vlad kept his mouth shut, evading questions and changing topics skillfully. Something that only raised Bruce’s alarm that something was going on.

“So,” Bruce unbuttoned his suit as he stepped into the car, “How did you hear of Amity, Damian? Ghosts and ghouls don’t exactly seem like something you’d be interested in.”

He waited for Damian to buckle his seatbelt before shifting the Bentley into drive and pulling out of the Expo. They had stayed at the gala long enough, making their rounds and giving the media enough for a headline in the society pages.

Damian rested his hand against the window. His face scrunched as he watched the looming facades of Gotham’s architecture pass by. “Mother mentioned the name once or twice,” he said. “I was not…privy to every operation that happened in the League, so I don’t know anything despite that my grandfather took an interest in Amity.”

“And I’m sure that from Masters’ odd phrasing, Ra’s didn’t just magically lose that interest either.” He narrowed his eyes. “Contact Oracle and have her dig up everything we need to know about the situation in Amity Park. I think it’s time Batman made his introductions to some out-of-town guests.”

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #phantom children.txt

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star-spangledstud · 4 years

Text

Diamonds

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!)reader

Summary: You knew exactly how to push Steve’s buttons.

Word Count: 4000-ish.

Warnings: +18 SMUT (don’t read if you’re a minor), dom!Steve, slight daddy!kink if you squint, rough intercourse, no protection (wrap it before you tap it), reckless driving (don’t do it, kids.), cursing

A/N: I’ve been posting a lot of content. We’ll see how long I’m able to keep the creative juices flowing. Quarantine’s got me all fucked up, but at least it’s given me time to waste on Tumblr. Enjoy :)

Steve was angry. He was fucking pissed off, to be exact and it was all because of you. You knew it, felt the way his eyes drilled holes in your back all night. You could practically sense him fuming from across the club, even though the darkness as a result of the smoke machine near the spinning table engulfed you and the 150 other people in the room.

Of course, it was Tony’s idea to rent one of the fanciest clubs in NYC for the night. You’d completed a very big mission just a few weeks ago, and after everyone had time to heal in the medical bay and file the appropriate paperwork, the case was closed at last, and he insisted on a celebration unlike any other.

Bottles of champagne flowed across the dancefloor. Sweaty bodies of special agents, paper pushers from the lowest possible level and Avengers alike, all pressed up against each other in the room hotter than what you imagined hell to be like. You didn’t even fucking feel like going when Tony first proposed the idea, but everybody knew you couldn’t say no to him. Nobody could say no to him and his lavish parties. Not to mention the fact that you never wanted to go and yet you always managed to be the last to leave. You blamed the alcohol.

He’d hired the best DJ in town. His tunes kept you on your feet despite the fact that they were starting to get sore, hips swaying sensually to the music in between Natasha and some random level 3 agent whose name you couldn’t remember for the life of you. He was just as tall as you in your patent leather Louboutins, his hair swept carelessly to one side. He clearly hadn’t changed after work, because he still had his SHIELD pin mended to his breast pocket. You’d just pulled his tie to drag him closer to you, which earned another hard glare from Steve. Everybody in the fucking room knew you were his, they didn’t even dare to come close to you, but this guy was clearly wasted and you’d initiated it.

You could feel level 3′s dick through his pants while he continued to grind against your ass, just as you did to Natasha. You smiled, bopping your head along to the song, your curly hair bouncing lusciously up and down. A quick glance towards the bar made you snicker soundlessly, afraid he’d be able to hear you despite the loud music and people singing along. The thought of him being able to smell the perfume on your skin, his favorite, from all the way over there made your heart flutter and your stomach tighten.

He looked fucking good. Hair slicked back, deep red button-down loosened at the top tucked tightly into dark denim. He hadn’t shaved, he knew damn well how much you liked that, and his eyes weren’t so blue anymore in the strobe lights that illuminated him every twenty seconds. They looked black as if his pupils had bled into his irises.

You’d put effort into your appearance too, he could tell in an instant. Your lipgloss sparkled the same as the diamond necklace he had given you that hung around your neck. He remembered buying it for you, eyes nearly rolling out of his fucking skull when the guy that helped him pick it out told him the price. Your dress, black and short, had a split so high he was certain he could see your pussy if you made a wrong move, meaning level 3 could see it too.

He downed another glass of scotch, slamming it down on the bar with a growl so low only Bucky could hear it. He shook his head at his friend, who also refused to get on the dancefloor. The way 21st-century people danced was unlike anything they were used to seeing back in their day. He couldn’t get drunk, but Steve could taste the alcohol on his tongue and the warmth of it in the back of his throat when he gulped another glass down. He hadn’t even noticed Bucky left him for Bruce, who also wasn’t dancing. Didn’t give a fuck, either way. All he had eyes for was you, showing off his money like it was yours, to begin with.

You didn’t do that often. You were humble, wore jeans and a t-shirt on most days, didn’t indulge much. You tried to live sustainably where possible through recycling and cruelty-free beauty products. Hell, Steve had only actually seen you wear the necklace a handful of times, including your aunt’s wedding just to piss her off and make her jealous. He knew you had money too, it was a perk of being an Avenger, but spending money on yourself wasn’t the same as lavish gifts from your handsome as fuck boyfriend. Besides, you donated a lot of it to animal shelters and safe houses for women.

“The party’s out there, you know?”

You gulped, skin-crawling in fear when Steve appeared out of the bathroom stall without warning. How long he’d been hiding the bathroom you didn’t know, but he knew it was you the second you pushed open the door and stepped inside.

He could smell that guy on you as you stood in front of him, cheeks red from dancing and stray hairs sticking out from the sea of curls. It made his fists curl, his brow crease. He was mad as hell.

“You scared me,” you said exasperatedly, blood rushing to your cheeks when he stepped out of the shadows and into view.

He didn’t smile back to you, which told you exactly how the night was going to go down.

“You havin’ fun?” He asked, walking around you in a circle after you stepped away from the dirty mirror.

He wanted to drink you in, take in your appearance while you still looked put together. Soon enough, the charade would be over and he’d have your make up smeared, clothes on the floor and your hair a mess.

“Yeah,” you smirked, “you?”

“Not yet,” he growled in your ear, “but I will.”

He’d disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving you leaning against the dusty sink, breathing deeply in and out through your nose. When you trusted in your ability to stand up without tripping over your own feet, you grabbed your lipgloss from your purse, along with your perfume, of which you added two more spritzes. You didn’t want him to know how easily he was able to get to you, how easily he was able to make you shake.

He had a plan, concocted it while drinking expensive scotch at the bar. Steve came up with it while he was watching you grind on another man. He knew why you did it, you wanted to get a rise out of him, and getting a rise out of him was exactly what you did. Of course, he could do the same to you, which is why he left you stumbling in the bathroom with nothing but a promise he intended to keep.

You returned to the floor after getting another vodka sprite from the other end of the bar. He noticed how empty your wrist was and told himself he’d buy you a diamond bracelet to match the necklace. You’d like that. He’d fuck you raw and stupid after giving it to you, just like he did when he gave you the necklace.

Even when you were starting to get a buzz, you could still feel his fucking eyes on you, never leaving your swaying hips, bouncing tits and shaking ass. For a moment, the two of you made eye contact. Instantly, you knew you were screwed. You could read him like a book.

“Steve,” you gasped when his hands tightly gripped your waist suddenly, “you’re dancing.”

He was on the dancefloor, yeah, but the man was hardly dancing. The only thing he was moving was his hips against your ass. He didn’t need to tell Level 3′s sorry ass to fuck off, the look on his face had the young man scrambling away in fear immediately. Natasha had left minutes before, busying herself with the hottest bartender in the club while he poured her a dirty martini with five olives.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He whispered in your ear, lips pushing against soft flesh. His beard scratched your throat, sending delicious tingles down your entire spine.

“What do you mean?” You asked, pretending to be oblivious, “I’m not doing anything.”

Steve’s hand caressed your hip, snaking around the front to touch your barely clothed pussy. Your cheeks reddened, eyes frantically searching for anyone who might be watching but finding none. Everyone around you was either drunk or making out.

“What are you doing Steve?!” You hissed, biting your tongue, “Someone might see us.”

“I don’t care. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked, kissing the side of your face and neck, “it is, I know it.”

He dragged you out of the club and into his BMW, harshly securing your seatbelt before getting behind the wheel. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel the entire drive, and you could see him straining against his pants. You didn’t say anything, the only sound audible being the angrily revving engine of his car. He was flooring it the whole way there, ignoring red lights and swerving around every car on the road that was in his way.

“See how it feels when you tease me,” he mumbled, “you’re gonna be fucking sorry real soon.”

“No,” you stammered, “please.”

He sat down on the bed, grabbing your wrists and yanking you down over his lap. You kicked your heels in the air in an attempt to get free from his iron grasp, but he only needed one hand to restrain you while the other traveled up the back of your legs so slowly it made you want to cry. His hand disappeared under your dress and found no panties, just as he expected. He knew you too well.

“You’re real bad, aren’t you?” He asked, retrieving his hand back so he could pull the dress up to expose your naked pussy, “did you think I was gonna let you get away with what you just did to me?”

“I didn’t do anything!” you mewled, “I swear.”

“Grinding up on that guy all night? Letting him touch you in front of me? How dare you?”

He caressed your ass, tracing his fingers over your lips before smacking both cheeks without warning. You squirmed, wiggling on top of him. You’d seen him angry before but only on rare occasions; either when he was chasing after bad guys, or when you’d pissed him off and this time, you’d pissed him off real good. Just like you wanted to do.

“Don’t you dare move against my dick,” he said with a tug on your hair, “or you don’t get to cum.”

He plunged three fingers into your mouth, silently ordering you to suck on them while he continued to keep your wrists bound. You already knew what was going to happen and it took every ounce of strength for you not to move. He chuckled when you nibbled on his fingers, coating each and every one of the three with your saliva.

He plunged them into you without warning. You cried out, unable to stop yourself from trying to break from his grip on you. You were already wet, probably didn’t even need the saliva, but it helped his fingers glide in so easily it made him want to laugh. You were putty in his hands and he knew it. How the hell had he gone from being little, insecure, baby Steve to this man, this unrelenting, unforgiving force of a man?

“Shut up,” he growled, picking up the pace, “did I tell you you could make noise?”

“N-no,” you stammered, “no Steve.”

His fingers left your cunt before you could properly enjoy it. You knew why he did it; he was getting you ready for his cock. You’d had it countless times in places you couldn’t even recall, had it gently and so hard you couldn’t talk after, but you always needed time to adjust.

He grabbed ahold of your legs with his slick-coated fingers and picked you up, effortlessly tossing you onto the bed like a ragdoll. You heaved, hair already beginning to stick to your forehead while you watched him slowly unbutton his shirt.

“What do I keep telling you about pissing me off, huh?” He taunted, slipping the shirt over his broad shoulders.

“I told you not to do that,” his pants were next, falling limply at his feet after he unzipped and unbuttoned them, “but you don’t listen. You don’t listen because you like what happens when I’m mad, don’t you?”

“No, I’m sorry,” you breathed, gazing up at him through fake eyelashes, “I didn’t mean to-”

You weren’t sorry. You enjoyed this, this side of Steve. Loved it even, how sometimes, he was able to let go of his own righteousness and give in to his darkness. It had taken almost a year of being in a vanilla relationship for him to show you this side of him, and you’d ached for it ever since. You did it on purpose, grinding with other people, dressing up in clothing inappropriate for the occasion. Short skirts, tight blouses, and fuck, those sheer black stockings with the black stripe running along the back of your heel to your panties. Short shorts and cropped tops in the summer, so short they nearly showed off your fucking tits. He hated it because men worldwide couldn’t help but look at you even though you were his and his alone. You were his prized possession.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“You know,” you answered smugly, “I could feel his erection on my ass the whole time.”

Steve growled, pushing your back into the mattress before starting towards you.

“I told you what happens when you make me angry,” he said, lowering himself onto the bed until he was straddling you, one leg on each side of your trembling hips, “you know what happens, don’t you?”

“Yes, Steve,” you moaned, rocking your hips up against him.

You gripped his bicep, but once again, he used his hand to bind your wrists, this time holding them above your head, “You gonna be good for me and apologize?”

“Yes,” you cried out, “I’m sorry!”

You still weren’t. In fact, you had to fight the urge to grin. You had him right where you wanted him, despite his hold on you. You wanted him to fuck you until you couldn’t see straight and he was going to give it to you either way.

He let go of you, hands traveling across the diamonds around your neck. He ripped the necklace from your throat in one single motion, earning a gasp and a loud ‘what the fuck?!’ from you when it snapped in half. He tossed it to the ground as if it was trash, discarding it like it hadn’t cost him the price of a house.

“Daddy’s gonna buy you a whole lot more diamonds if you’re good,” he whispered, “Is that what gets your little pussy dripping? Me spending my hard-earned money on you? Answer me!”

“Fuck yes,” you replied, “shoes, too. And a car.”

He laughed, taking your clothed tits and rubbing them before ripping the silk dress in half with his bare hands.

“What do you need a car for? You don’t even drive. I do. I’m like your fucking private chauffeur, always driving you around.” He was right about that.

You smirked, “want you to fuck me in it.”

Steve began to grow tired of your mind games. His dick was hard as granite, as were his bulging muscles, and he needed a release fast. He’d go back to being sweet old Steve after he got what he wanted, but for now, he was a man in heat, needing to take what was rightfully his. One of the busted diamonds pierced the skin on your ass when you found yourself laying on it, but you didn’t care. You welcomed the sting.

Steve rolled you over until you were on your stomach. With one arm around your throat in a chokehold, he lifted up your body, taking you in a position that could almost be classified as Doggystyle. He lined himself up with your entrance, enjoying the lovely sight and the sweet smell of your pussy dripping just for him. Your love for him was like a fucking disease and unfortunately, it turned out to be terminal. You ached with anticipation while he dragged the head of his cock along your entrance, back and forth between your pussy lips.

The air was taken from your lungs when he shoved himself inside you, not wasting any time with pleasantries and soft-spoken words. He bit down on your shoulder, earning a loud moan to escape your lips. He wasn’t gentle, this wasn’t making love, but it was what you both desired and he was more than happy to give it to you.

You whined breathlessly, pussy clenching around the length of his cock as he drove into you.

“Could’ve just told me you wanted me to fuck you,” he groaned, “’stead of makin’ me all mad at Tony’s party.”

You wanted to tell him off and if you would, he’d probably have to tell you you were right because he never did this unless he had a reason, but your mouth remained shut instead. Steve was a softy at all times, sweet and gentle and a true gentleman, except for when you brought out the beast in him.

He grabbed your hair, yanking it so your body stood flush against his. You could feel him, every inch of his marvelous abs expanding and contracting and his hips, slapping against your ass with each thrust. You arched your back into him, exposing your neck to his lips. He began to suck on your skin immediately, leaving marks that would last for days on your beautifully soft skin. This pulled another sinful moan from your glossy lips.

You turned your head, forcing his head towards your face with your free hand while the other grasped the one on your hip. You kissed him hard, lips and teeth and tongues crashing together. You could taste the scotch on his breath and he caught a whiff of your strawberry lip gloss. You smiled into his mouth, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting down on his skin. They’d see the bruise in the morning, although come afternoon, the serum would’ve taken care of it. You hoped somebody would see.

“Goddamnit,” he cursed after tasting blood, hand around your hair loosening before sliding down the length of your body in search of your clit, “gonna make you cum so hard you can only say my name.”

He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and slapped your ass with it before resting it on your hip so he could get a better grip.

You whimpered when his fingers made contact, another moan drawn from you when he began to rub the sensitive bud forcefully. You couldn’t hold on much longer.

“Want you to say it,” he ordered, “say my name. Say it right now.”

“Steve,” you cried out so loud you were sure whoever had the room next to his could hear, “oh, fuck Steve!”

“Don’t stop,” he rubbed faster, “keep saying it. Gonna fuck my name from your brain, fuck it right out.”

“Steve,” you squeaked, “Steve, Steve, Steve.”

You grabbed the wrist of the hand on your clit and dug your nails into his skin, whining his name over and over until you couldn’t stand the tightening of your stomach any longer.

“Don’t stop saying it,” he commanded, “I didn’t give you permission to stop.”

You did as told while he continued to ram his cock deep into you, grunts escaping from his lips while he pounded into you at an unforgiving pace. Your throat would be sore in the morning, but you didn’t stop, chanting his name over and over like a prayer.

“You gonna cum all over my dick, huh?” He throbbed inside of you, panting harshly against your lips.

“Want you to cum inside me, Steve,” you dug your nails into him, “give me your fucking cum right now.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I’m gonna give you my fucking cum.”

You loved drawing profanities from a man who didn’t curse. It was like a game to you, seeing how many curses you could squeeze out of America’s golden boy before he’d collapse on top of you. You loved how dirty he could be behind closed doors, loved the contrast between the sweet and gentle Steve that held your hand in public and this monster of a man who bought you expensive things and fucked you senseless with his thick cock afterward. He loved it too, didn’t even know it until you pissed him off for real one time and it just happened out of the blue, but after that, he hadn’t looked back. It came so naturally, he was afraid of himself sometimes, but then he’d see that blissful sheen, that fucked out look on your face and the smile you wore just for him and he was instantly reminded of why he did it.

Because it felt good.

You already knew you’d be bruised when you’d wake up next to him in the morning from the way his fingers grasped you tightly, but you loved it, knowing you carried his markings under your clothing and you were sure he loved it too.

He didn’t stop, not even when you’re moaning his name so loud it’s almost deafening. He didn’t stop when your pussy clenched painfully around his dick, didn’t stop when you began to tremble and shake so hard he thought you were having a fucking fit. You started moving away from him in an attempt to ease the overbearing sensation of his fingers still forcefully rubbing on your clit, but he simply yanked you back against him, sweat-covered biceps flexing while his thrusts became so sloppy he could hardly stay upright. You gripped the headboard so tight you thought it would splinter.

His cum shot up into you in hot spurts, coating your walls in it while he rode out his orgasm. His hand finally left your pussy, allowing you to breathe in what felt like ages.

“Jesus,” the drawl of his voice sounded like music to your ears, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

Smiling sweetly at the man beside you, you pressed your lips softly to his burning cheek. Then, you rested your head on his shoulder, allowing his arm to engulf you and pull you flush to his heaving body. You sure managed to cause Captain America to work up a sweat.

He inspected the purple spots on your neck and looked down, eyes scanning the dark red marks on your hips that were there to stay for at least a few days. He’d learned to accept them, to love them, but he hated the idea of hurting you at first. You had to remind him each time that you were completely okay with it, that it didn’t actually hurt in a bad way.

“I’m sorry about the diamonds,” he offered, looking at the discarded Cartier on the floor, “and the dress.”

“Should be,” you mumbled, eyes closing at the sound of his heartbeat in your ear, “those weren’t cheap.”

It wasn’t even your money that just went to waste. Hell, they could probably fix it up at the store, but that wasn’t a part of the game. It wasn’t good enough.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he kissed your forehead, “I told you I would.”

The next day, he did indeed buy you a new diamond necklace. And a diamond bracelet. And earrings.

Now, all you needed was a ring to match.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #captain america imagine #captain america #captain america smut #captain america fic #captain america x reader #marvel imagine #marvel smut #marvel x reader #marvel fic

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supermanshield · 4 years

Text

Naps are overrated, anyway

~~~

There is a picture in the watchtower cafeteria of Superman and Batman, asleep on the Javelin.

This is the story of how it came to be, and why Batman let it be.

~~~

Words: 4,092

Relationship: Clark/Bruce

A/N: I had the idea for this story a year ago. For the longest time, the summary you see right now was all I had typed out. Only now, after reading a bunch of JLA vol. 1 did I finally find the right characters, the right feeling and overall vibe, and wrote this in the past three days.

It doesn’t completely comply with continuity, because while I imagine this set somewhere in the 1997-2006 JLA run, Bruce mentions 6 kids (he would have only had 2 at the time + a dead Jason), although they don’t make an appearance. And I'm actually not sure if the Javelin is a thing in that run, maybe that's just a DCAU thing. Just go with it.

Also, Bruce is a bit of a boomer in this. idk, I had fun writing him.

Read on AO3

______________________________________________

Batman doesn’t nap.

However, that is not to say that Bruce doesn't. He's nearing 45 years of age, not a grey hair on his head, but if he were to grow a beard now, or a moustache like his father, it would show a mix of salt and pepper, so he shaves it off, vigorously and every day. Moustache and beard, those are the first things to turn grey. Then the eyebrows. When that happens, Bruce will lose. He will give in to his age and keep his beard. Not yet. If Clark ever walks in on him during his morning ritual (probably soon), he will look at him with that forgiving smile. He will say what he thinks of it, because that's what he does. (Keep it, I like it, Bruce hopes secretively, but there is a sadness present in Clark's eyes that he will never completely understand, and that's exactly why he shaves).

Clark has seen it already though, he's sure. His 5 o'clock shadow must look like a foggy forest to Clark’s microscopic vision, and even worse in the morning, right before his shave. Clark hasn't mentioned it. A conversation for another day.

If his children ever found out about this particular insecurity, all 6 of them would laugh.

Bruce never really napped, or took time out of the day to simply rest, but now, Clark is there. To pull him onto the couch in the study when he's on his way to his desk. To keep him in bed after sex and before patrol. To fly through his window at WE at 50 floors up and pat next to himself on the couch in Bruce's office, door locked, and red cape hung up in the corner.

"It's time," he says. Every time. "You need one."

Bruce will raise his eyebrows. "Already, hmm?" he asks, almost every time.

He's made the mistake of sending him away before. (He won't do that again). Clark is the most stubborn man Bruce knows. He will say the same thing about Bruce, but that's beside the point. And It's not as if Clark distracts him from a case or work; he knows exactly when he has some time and is unable to make excuses.

Bruce is used to taking 20-minute power naps in uncomfortable positions on his desk chair, at the kitchen table behind the newspaper, with his feet up in the batmobile.

Clark sets the alarm for one hour. He pulls Bruce into a horizontal position against that broad chest, either spooning him or facing him, encasing him in his large arms (there are still 76 ways out of his hold, but Bruce can't think of a single one worth a try). They sleep.

Apparently Clark needs naps too, even though he doesn’t need sleep. Bruce has been meaning to ask him about that, wonders if it's a mental thing, a kind of meditation. Therapy.

His naps are dreamless. Afterwards, his return to consciousness is quick, he reorients on the surroundings, on Clark. Kissing him is a good strategy for grounding, Bruce has found. And just like that, they get on with their day again, because there is no time for dwelling, for another moment together. Nevertheless, Bruce is happy with what he does get. It’s more of Clark - and more time with him - than he deserves already.

So, Bruce naps.

---

After a long mission off-world, the league is on their way home towards the watchtower in the javelin. Diana is flying, with J’onn at her side in the co-pilot chair. The rest of them are hauled up in the back of the vehicle, they’re tired, exhausted, just trying to get some rest. Even Wally sits still. Only Batman is pacing up and down, his mind already on Gotham, on home, the cases that were open, the ones that he was *this* close to cracking. Batman doesn’t nap.

His mind is wandering, going at a speed that would make even Clark dizzy, but the puzzle pieces don’t make sense. Yet. His heavy boots are silent on the metal floor of the javelin, his cape a mere whisper of wind behind him as he turns to pace the other way again.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Hawkgirl’s voice cuts through the relative silence of flying through space (beeping, machinery, turbines, the jet - there’s a lot). She holds up one of her large wings, cutting Batman off from his path. “Sit down.”

He does. Next to Superman. A big mistake, although he doesn’t realize it until much later. No need to upset his teammates. He can meditate instead, stay awake. The noise of the jet doesn’t make it easy, but it can be done. Clark smiles calmly at him.

He sits straight, eyes open, breathing focused, and the turmoil in his brains slows down. Soon, they’ll reach Earth’s solar system and he’ll have access to the batcomputer. Not soon enough. Next to him, Superman is a steady support of a brick wall, but his shoulder feels warm and soft against Bruce’s, even through the suit. Underneath the cape and hidden from view, Clark’s thumb rubs circles into his side, lower back. He knows exactly what he’s doing. A Pavlovian effect has Bruce relaxing his shoulders, if only slightly. None of his teachers ever taught him how to deal with a superman when trying to meditate. His superman. His annoyingly super man.

His last thought is of Clark, and that it must be irritating to have a bat ear poking into his cheek. But then again, rarely anything physical ever annoys the Man of Steel. Then, finally, he dozes off, the roar of the jet diminished to a distant snoring.

---

Bruce is proud of the watchtower. His watchtower. It stands erect on the bright side of the moon, pointing towards earth. Always looking out. Within such an enormous structure however, some simple rules are needed. There is a long list next to the fridge in the break room, and one in the meeting room. No running unless there is an emergency. Masks on outside of one’s own room. Food is to stay in the cafeteria (he’s found everyone and Clark with various wrappers and chips bags in the monitor room, so he gave up on that – it’s crossed out). Training gear stays in the gym. The coffee machine has to be cleaned once every 2 days - the stuff isn’t that good, not what Bruce is used to, but it has helped him through several meetings and dull monitor duties in the past.

A couple days after returning from their outer space mission on the javelin, Bruce returns to the watchtower. There are several new members to have a meeting about. He has made up his mind on all of them already, the meeting is merely a formality.

Connor Hawke runs past – one of the new proposed members, codename Green Arrow after his father – and Supergirl flies over his head. “No running.” He stops them both with one move of his arm and a line on a batarang.

Kara turns towards him and slips out of his trap easily. “I wasn’t even running, B,” she says while she floats down. Connor has crossed his arms and looks out the window, Batman’s line still taut around his upper arms.

“There are rules. If you want to be in the Justice League, behave like it.” He reminds her of the proper use of code names too, for good measure, and unties Connor.

With a sigh, both young heroes are off, making their way towards the break room. Bruce follows them and finds Wally and Kyle already inside, but as soon as they see Batman turn the corner they scurry out through the door on the other side.

It’s the first clue that something is amiss. The newer heroes standing around the fridge and chuckling, the second. Bruce lays eyes on the offending appliance and feels his body tense. If smoke could come out of his ears, it would.

“Flash!”

---

The standard size piece of paper lies on one of the metal surfaces in the computer area of the cave. Bruce tries to ignore it while he works, but the primary colours of Superman’s suit in the image are a thorn in his peripheral vision. With a swift move and a smack, he turns it around, and gets back to his files. He has sent his notes for the meeting to the watchtower, reported that he’s too busy to attend.

He works on some of his own active cases, gathering data and looking at evidence. Most of it is paperwork, boring but necessary. He slowly makes his way through every file, meticulously and efficiently. Everything gets reported and written down in case a pattern reveals itself later. The puzzling can be done when he’s more focused. Meanwhile, the cases that are solved and closed get a little custom-made bat-stamp on the front of their manila folder before they get filed away. Alfred brings down coffee, the good kind. Time passes quickly and he’s still busy when Clark flies in.

“Hey,” he walks up to Bruce and bends down for a quick kiss. “I thought you’d be at the meeting today. Diana said you were busy.”

Bruce points to the piece of paper in explanation, Clark turns to grab it. “Wally happened. And I’m always busy.”

“I see. He seemed almost unnaturally giddy today. Oh hey, look.” Clark holds up the picture of Batman and Superman, asleep on the javelin. In it, Clark’s face is peaceful, his mouth open, despite one of the ears on the cowl that is indeed poking his cheek. “We look cute.”

“Batman doesn’t do cute, Clark.”

Clark sighs. But you do, his eyes seem to say. No, I don’t, Bruce replies with his. “Where’d you get this, anyway?”

“Wally put it up on the fridge in the watchtower cafeteria. You didn’t notice him taking it last week?”

“Clearly,” Clark points to the Clark in the picture. “I fell asleep.”

“And here I thought you always listened to your surroundings.”

“We were in space. Not exactly much I can hear out there.”

Bruce gets up from his chair. Having a Superman has once again proven useless. Only Clark can do something so silly and time-wasting as sleeping, on purpose. Naps are overrated, anyway. They’ve had this discussion many times, Bruce knows the outcome. *Always* be on high alert, he will say. Clark will push back, it’s not that simple, he will say. Everyone needs sleep, his eyes pleading, apologetically somehow. They do. But it has taken Bruce obtaining Clark’s powers in a freak magic accident and chasing after the sun and every criminal on the planet for 72 hours straight to realise that. Now he knows the desperation, the feeling that it will never end, the knowledge that in the end, not everyone can be saved, even if you try.

Everyone needs sleep, even Superman.

Clark watches him milling through these thoughts, it must be written on his face, and holds out his hand when Bruce’s features finally relax. He’ll just have a stern talking-to with Wally and Kyle next time he’s on the watchtower.

If only it were so simple. The next time he’s on the watchtower, the picture is back on the fridge. And in the main hallway. And in the transporter room, the trophy room, and the ground level bathroom. Bruce groans, suppresses the urge to face-palm. He takes the things down one by one, systematically going through the entire watchtower. Then, he has that talk with Wally. And with Kyle. Best to keep them separated. They snicker that it wasn’t them *this* time, and don’t seem scared of him at all.

He’s either gone too soft in his old (not old, mature) age, or he should have designed the watchtower with a lot more corners for menacing shadows.

Wally and Kyle are both telling the truth, Bruce finds out in the next couple of days when more pictures return while Kyle is off in space and Wally is busy on earth. This time, it’s not just the one of them sleeping on the Javelin. A bunch of pictures have been put up in the break room. There’s one of Clark, asleep on monitor duty with his feet on the console (Bruce makes a mental note to talk to him about that). There, right there, that’s the reason why there always have to be two leaguers watching the screens. J’onn looking desperately at a small pile of Oreo crumbles on the floor of the meeting room. Diana vigorously devouring a tub of chocolate ice cream. And Batman, pointing at the camera, the other hand on his hip.

He has no idea who took it, but it has to be one of the speedsters. All he knows is that this has to stop. No matter if one finds this kind of thing funny, there are rules, privacy issues, secret identities and all that.

The security footage that Bruce watches back in the cave that night reveal some of the newer, younger members of the league sneaking around the watchtower with a roll of tape. They don’t know where all the cameras are, clearly. They don’t know the rules, clearly. Wally and Kyle have to have set them up to do this, clearly.

Clark watches with him over his shoulder. He chuckled when Bruce showed him the evidence earlier, but now his face is serious. He mouths an Oh. “This is getting out of hand. I’ll organize a meeting tomorrow.”

---

The next day, in the biggest meeting hall on the watchtower, over 30 faces stare at them from across the large round table. Diana and J’onn are seated on their side, for good measure. They’re victims in this too. It’s intimidating to be called to the watchtower by Superman and Batman for a meeting on professional conduct, and even more intimidating to sit across four of the original members, especially for the new ones in the crowd. Good, Bruce thinks. He stands up, and so does Clark.

“Welcome, everyone,” Clark starts, the warm and commanding baritone all Superman. “We’re glad you could all make it on such short notice…” While Clark talks, Bruce regards the crowd of heroes standing nervously, or sitting on the few available chairs. Firestorm’s flame burns smaller than normal, the new Green Arrow has his bow clamped between both hands, and even Plastic Man seems to genuinely pay attention to Superman. Wally has his chin in his hands on the table, pretending to be interested, and Kyle only seems to pay attention to a scratch on the table’s surface. “…today is not an emergency, but it is important nonetheless…” Get to the point, Clark. “It seems that whilst we acquire more and more members for the JL, some of you think this is some sort of club and not an international organization to protect the earth,” he drones on. Arthur sighs, and for once, Bruce agrees with him.

“I will not tolerate this any longer,” Bruce cuts Superman off brusquely, in his most serious bat-voice. “Take all pictures down. And if I see another one…”

Wally huffs, interrupting him. “No fun allowed on this godforsaken rock.”

Before Bruce can retort, Clark puts a hand on his tense shoulder. “What Batman is trying to say, is we can’t do this. Even if it seems harmless. Because if we get careless about the little things, we get sloppy, and if we get sloppy, the wrong information might fall into the wrong hands.”

“You’re just as paranoid as he is,” Plastic man points at Batman. “It’s a couple of harmless images.”

“And what did I just say?”

“You’re saying no fun allowed,” Kyle supplies this time. Once again, Bruce takes tremendous effort to suppress a face-palm, and crosses his arms instead. He grunts. Really, they have 37 children here. Not just the 6 back home – a rookie number. 37, except maybe not Diana. Maybe. “Man, we bust our butts for you guys. I’m behind at work, barely get any sleep or free time and you’re getting on our case for something as dumb as this!” Kyle throws his arms up in anger. Behind him, Connor tries to shush him.

“This is work just as much as your civilian job. And more important on top of that. If you want to slack off, you can do that back home. Not here.”

“Grumpy much, bats? Someone missed their morning coffee today…” Wally mumbles.

They continue staring at each other, but it’s Superman who breaks first, uncrosses his arms and sighs. “You can have a couch in the break room… and a tv.” he looks at Bruce. At his expense, of course. “That’s it. No more images of JL members. Leave your personal lives at home.”

“Fine,” Wally sits up. “We’ll take them down.”

---

A couple days later, Bruce is back on the watchtower. No weird pictures greet him this time. Much cleaner. He steadily makes his way to the break room to grab a coffee before the current meeting, but only because he didn’t have time to wait for Alfred’s Italian brew anymore. Clark is with him, already more cheerful because of Bruce’s relatively better mood.

The cafeteria is still empty, the little kitchen still clean. Save for the fridge. There, prominently in the middle of the door, the original picture of Batman and Superman on the Javelin stares him squarely in the face. It’s held up by a pair of small Wonder Woman magnets this time. Clark says something behind him, but Bruce isn’t paying attention. As he gets closer, he can tell it’s different. The paper is thicker, a nicer quality. The image is not a print, but hand-drawn in a mix of coloured chalk and high-quality pencil. The lighting, especially, is magnificent. Kyle Rayner. A new addition is the caption in curly handwriting underneath the image:

Even the world’s finest heroes need to sleep

Now, Bruce face-palms. Hard. Clark mutters a fuck, but regains control quickly. “I’ve got to hand it to them; they have nerve.” Bruce ignores him as he opens the fridge to grab the milk for Clark’s coffee. “It’s a good quality to have.”

“Or a bad one.”

Clark shrugs. His face breaks out into a grin. “And, I have them on my side now.”

Oh, no. Bruce whips his head up from the coffee machine to look at Clark. “Batman doesn’t nap.”

Clark inclines his head, raises an eyebrow. But *you* do. It’s so goddamn frustrating when he’s right.

“Hn. You already have Alfred on your side, that’s enough. And I’ve been good about it.”

“According to your standards, sure. Don’t you think it’s time for one later today? After the meeting?”

“Not here,” Bruce whispers.

“Back home.”

Home. It’s a good thing the security cameras don’t record sound. “Okay,” he mumbles. “I’ve got some time before patrol.”

Clark’s grin turns victorious, and Bruce burns his tongue on the coffee while he tries to hide a smile himself. He’ll decide what to do about Kyle’s art project later. Right now, they have a meeting to attend to.

---

The next morning, Bruce wakes up to Clark kissing his jaw, his mouth. He tastes like Alfred’s coffee. Too early, as always. Not early enough, as always, because Clark is already getting up for work. He considers pulling him back into bed and just straight up explaining to Perry that Clark is late again because he’s fucking the owner, but then he remembers yesterday’s incident. He’ll have to do something about it, obviously, but he’s not looking forward to acknowledging the whole thing yet again, maybe even admitting that the younger members are right, if only a little bit. Stupid watchtower clubhouse. His foul mood must be showing on his face, because all he gets is a “Let it go, Bruce” before Clark disappears into the bathroom. He comes back out in record time, fastening his tie. “Just, let it go. Let them have a little bit of fun. They’re young.”

But not doing anything about it is not an option. Not for Batman, and not for Bruce. “If I don’t retort, they’ll keep going. This won’t die out.” He sits up in bed. At the foot end, Clark is putting on his shoes.

“It will. You can’t fight fire with fire, sweetheart.” He walks over to Bruce and kisses his cheek. That’s it.

“That’s it. I’m going to fight fire with fire.” Get down to their level. He has kids, knows what teenagers and twenty-something year olds think like.

“No,” Clark groans. It turns into a sigh. “I’m going to be late.”

Bruce gets up. “Then go. Have a good day at work, honey.”

Clark clenches his jaw, and swings his messenger bag over his shoulder, giving up. “I’ll meet you for lunch,” he says, already halfway out the window.

Bruce closes it behind him, and then quickly makes his way down to the cave. He lets Alfred know he’ll have breakfast on the watchtower, dons the batsuit, makes a quick stop at his desk in the cave, and beams up to the watchtower. 9 am. He’s still on time.

---

At lunch time, the cafeteria is buzzing with excitement, more and more heroes gathering around the fridge as they point and whisper Really? And Do you even think it was him? And Wally, this must be another prank of yours. Bruce hears shushing and He’s right there while he drinks his coffee on the other side of the room. Finally, Clark walks in and takes a second to behold the spectacle, his brow furrowed, listening in. He clearly gives up on going to the fridge to get food, and instead makes a beeline to where Batman is sitting at one of the tables. “What’s going on? Did you remove it?” he asks as he sits down across from Bruce.

“I did not.”

Wally sticks his head out of the crowd and looks at the two of them. “Hey Bats! Does this mean we can keep it?”

Calmly, Bruce sips his coffee, pointedly ignoring the younglings and the little victory he supplied for them. But of course, and without skipping a beat, Clark notices his smug mood. He leans closer across the metal table. “What, did you put your bat-stamp of approval on it?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Clark looks back over at the fridge with his spectacular vision to see what Bruce has done earlier, before anyone else was in the vicinity; his bat-symbol stamped onto the lower right corner of the caption. Later, he’ll add a rule to his original list next to the fridge. Only approved art and trophies allowed on the watchtower.

“I also hacked their phones and made sure there are no digital copies anymore,” he explains. “That should teach them to think twice next time.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Bruce shrugs. After all, he’s heard it all before. Only this time, Clark is unable to suppress a smile, he puts a hand over his, and adds “I love you.” Even that is nothing new, he knows it already, but it hasn’t happened on the watchtower yet. He allows a smile to form on his face while Clark holds his gloved hand. The rest of the league is too busy with the commotion around the fridge, anyway.

A few days later, he finds a copy of the drawing in the cave, this one with a small Superman stamp in the lower-right corner. It may just be exactly what he needs to see after a long night of patrol. Alfred seems happy about it too, and not just about the two people in it. He now simply points to the text with a stern face instead of obnoxiously and repeatedly clearing his throat whenever Bruce comes back from patrol battered and bruised or refuses to go up to the house and his bed.

There is another one in the fortress, although Clark doesn’t spend much time there. Bruce figures he can use the reminder whenever he does go there, so far away from humanity, to work on a case. And in Blüdhaven, Dick has one on his bedside table. The last time he visited Titans tower he noticed one in the hallway. Both of those not Bruce’s doing. He lets it slide, right of his cape and cowl and cool exterior. He just hopes everyone can keep it within their inner circles and that Batman and Superman won’t get turned into one of those ‘memes’.

#superbat #write write #humor #jla

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hollandorks · 2 years

Text

shadows in the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

chapter fifteen

summary: more than a year after the events of middle of the night, y/n and Bruce are happily engaged and working to lower the amount of crime in Gotham. However, a new killer calling himself the Riddler has other plans for their happiness…set during the events of the movie, mostly canonical, some changes made to fit the story

a/n: so sorry this took extra long to get uploaded! I was really unhappy with my first draft of the chapter and took some extra time to work on it, then the day I planned to post I had to go to the dentist for a gum infection and ended up scheduling to have my wisdom teeth removed. Yikes. The good news is, I’ll be trying to write tons and finish this and at least have the rest of the story written before surgery in about a month!

word count: 3316

Y/n sank into a crouch, biting back a sob, as she watched the Gotham Project go up in flames.

Within a minute, Ollie was there, and then so was Bryn, and they held her and cried with her as all of their passion and hard work burned.

Y/n watched, numb, as months of hard work turned to ash.

She was certain the fire had been set on purpose. She’d checked and rechecked everything before they’d opened, had every certification on the planet that deemed the building safe, and even then Bruce had hired someone else for a second opinion.

There was no way it had burned down by accident, right? Maybe there had been lightning or something but–it was barely raining.

The numbness spread through the rest of her as she watched the last of the flames disappear into plumes of smoke.

“Shit,” Ollie said next to her, the first word any of them had spoken in a while. “This sucks.”

“Yeah,” y/n said, voice rough from the combination of exhaustion and smoke.

It had been so much work to get it started. Endless planning and paperwork and interviews. She had spent hours working every day as the space had been renovated. Hell, she’d even helped build things wherever the contractors would let her. She’d painted and sanded and hammered and hauled in furniture. She’d spent time doing interviews to get the word out, then interviewing potential staff. She’d spent hours figuring out how to order the things they needed and then ordering again when they inevitably ran out. She’d cooked and cleaned for weeks after they’d opened until she had enough employees.

It had been a passion project she hadn’t known she’d wanted. A project she hadn’t known she needed. Working on it had gotten her through a lot of the residual stress and trauma from almost dying the year before. How many nights had she woken from nightmares and gotten up to do paperwork so she wouldn’t wake Bruce? How many hours had she spent in the abandoned subway station working while he was out in the city? How many times did she go help people when she was feeling particularly small and insignificant?

The work creating and then running the Gotham Project had given her a purpose when she’d had none. It was even what had started her going out into the city like Bruce did–because she could always be doing more for the city.

And there it was, all of those hours, her literal blood, sweat, and tears–all just gone.

Y/n’s phone started ringing sometime around when they finally got the fire put out. She wasn’t sure the smell of smoke would ever come out of her skin. The air was thick with it.

“Shit,” she said when she saw the number. She wiped her eyes and glanced at Bryn and Ollie as they stared curiously at her. “It’s the hospital.”

She stood from the curb where the three of them had been seated, and answered the call.

“Hi, I’m so sorry for the late call. I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Pennyworth. He regained consciousness and was asking for Mr. Wayne, but we couldn’t get ahold of him. Your phone number was listed to call in case we couldn’t reach Mr. Wayne.” The woman’s voice was too perky for it being the middle of the night, y/n thought vaguely.

Then her words sunk in. Alfred was awake. “No, yeah, thank you for calling. Thanks for letting me know. Can we–can we visit?” She hastily wiped at her eyes again. Finally, some good news.

“Yes, of course. Visiting hours are technically over, but…since he’s only just now awake…” The woman’s voice softened. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

Y/n thanked her again and hung up.

Alfred was awake.

She cursed again. There was still so much to do with the Gotham Project–or what was left of it. She’d had to fill out an incident report and was informed that, as soon as it was safe, the investigators had to go inside and see if they could find a cause. Then and only then would she be able to go inside and see what was left.

“What is it?” Bryn asked softly. She pushed one hand on Ollie’s shoulder to help herself stand. Ollie grumbled and yanked on her arm in turn as he stood, too.

“Alfred’s awake. I–I have to–”

“Go,” Ollie said as he made a shooing motion with his hand. “We’ll take care of things here and call you if there’s anything else they need. And when they let us in I’ll document everything for you. Go be with your family.”

“Yeah, we’ve got this,” Bryn said. She squeezed y/n’s hand. “Go.”

Y/n went, calling Bruce as she did. She had no idea what he was doing, if he’d ever made it home from meeting Falcone.

He answered almost immediately. “I got the voicemail from the hospital,” he said instead of a hello. “And your voicemail about the Gotham Project. Is everything okay?”

“No,” she said truthfully. Her voice broke on the word. “It’s…gone. But–I’ll meet you at the hospital, okay?”

“See you there,” Bruce murmured. He hung up without another word.

At the hospital, she eagerly grabbed Bruce’s hand when she saw him at the reception desk. She had no idea how he’d beaten her there, but she didn’t care. Something within her settled slightly the moment she felt his fingers lace with hers. His hands were freezing. She wrapped both her hands around one of his for a moment to try and warm it.

“Mr. Pennyworth is resting again,” the doctor informed them when they made it to Alfred’s room. “Feel free to go in and wait, though. His condition looks much more stable and I think surgery might not be necessary either. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

Y/n let out a trembling breath, relieved. “That’s great news, thank you, doctor.”

She and Bruce went and sat beside Alfred’s bed.

“How’d the…visit with Falcone go?” she asked softly, afraid of waking Alfred up.

Bruce shrugged.

“That great, then?” she said, eyebrows raised. There was tension radiating off of him in waves. Her half-hearted joke didn’t seem to even register with him.

“I…have to talk to Alfred about it first,” Bruce murmured. “I don’t…know what to think.”

Y/n could see him pulling away from her as easily as if he were actually walking away. He was withdrawing into himself, shoulders curved, jaw tight. It was as if there was an ocean between them all of a sudden, the waters churning in a storm, uncrossable. She didn’t know how to reach him or how to make it better. She wasn’t sure she could make it better, not with the state of her own mind.

“What happened at the Gotham Project?” Bruce asked after a moment. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Alfred since the moment they’d stepped inside the room.

“I’m not sure yet,” she said. She rubbed at her face. Her clothes smelled like smoke. Her body knew it hadn’t slept in much too long. Her muscles ached from the explosion and then sitting for so long on the curb outside the restaurant. She wanted to sleep. She wanted all of this to be over. “They’d just finished putting it out when I left. Then the investigators were going to go in and see what caused it. Bryn and Ollie stayed there, they said they’d call.”

Finally, Bruce looked at her, but there was a flatness in his eyes that made her unbearably sad. “We’ll rebuild,” he swore softly. “As fast as the city lets us.”

She gave him a watery smile. “I know,” she said. “But I just–it took so much work to get it started before…”

She sighed and rubbed at her eyes again. She stood. “I’m going to go get some coffee. Want anything?”

Bruce shook his head and looked back to Alfred.

She gently squeezed his shoulder and set off in search of caffeine.

When she came back, coffee cup clutched in her hands like a lifeline, she heard Bruce say, “You lied to me.”

Something made her stop outside of the door and wait. This was a private moment between him and Alfred, and she didn’t need to be a part of it.

But she also didn’t want to walk away. Bruce was drawing away from her, and she might not otherwise be able to hear about what happened with Falcone. She knew he would do his best to keep it to himself, to keep his pain to himself. He always did. Whether it was to protect her or to protect himself, she didn’t know.

“My whole life,” Bruce continued, voice barely above a whisper. Y/n leaned against the doorframe just out of sight in order to hear better. “I spoke to Carmine Falcone. He told me what he did for my father. About Salvatore Maroni.”

Y/n closed her eyes. So the Riddler had been right.

“He told you Salvatore Maroni…” Alfred started, voice uncertain.

“Had my father killed,” Bruce said. Y/n had to bite her tongue to hold in the gasp. No wonder Bruce was so withdrawn. “Why didn’t you tell me all this? All these years I’ve spent fighting for him, believing that he was a good man.” Bruce’s voice shook with anger.

“He was a good man,” Alfred said in a growl. “You listen to me. Your father was a good man. He made a mistake.”

“A ‘mistake’?” Bruce scoffed. “He had a man killed. Why? To protect his family image? His political aspirations?”

Y/n didn’t want to hear anymore of the pain in Bruce’s voice, but she couldn’t move away.

“It wasn’t to protect the family image, and he didn’t have anyone killed. He was protecting your mother. He didn’t care about his image or the campaign, any of that. He cared about her, and you, and in a moment of weakness, he turned to Falcone. But he never thought Falcone would kill that man. Your father should have known that Falcone would do anything to finally have something on him that he could use. That’s who Falcone is. And that was your father’s mistake. But when Falcone told him what he’d done, your father was distraught. He told Falcone he was going to the police, that he would confess everything. And that night, your father and your mother were killed.”

She fumbled for the seat in the hallway at Alfred’s words. It made a terrible sort of sense, didn’t it? When confronted by Bruce, Falcone blamed Maroni–who was already out of the way–and took the suspicion off of himself.

“It was Falcone?” Bruce said softly after a beat. She ached to go in and comfort him, but this was between him and Alfred. She hadn’t known the Waynes, she hadn’t been around twenty years ago, so she shouldn’t insert herself into it. But she wished, more than anything, that she could take just a little bit of Bruce’s pain away.

“Oh, I wish I knew for sure,” Alfred said, voice just as soft. “Or maybe it was some random thug on the street who needed money, got scared, and pulled the trigger too fast. If you don’t think I’ve spent every day searching for that answer–” Alfred stopped, the pain in his voice all too apparent. “It was my job to protect them. Do you understand? I know you always blamed yourself. You were only a boy, Bruce. I could see the fear in your eyes, but I didn’t know how to help. I could teach you how to fight, but I wasn’t equipped to take care of you. You needed a father. And all you had was me. I’m sorry.” The last two words were barely a whisper, almost lost in the noise of the hospital.

Y/n wiped at the tears that were falling. Alfred and Bruce had both gone through so much. And they were still going through it. Was it better for them to have answers now, after all this time? Or was the Riddler simply stirring up shit that should have been left untouched? Because the pain she knew both of the men inside the room were feeling was too much, on top of everything else, for them to bear.

And the Riddler had caused it.

The Riddler, and probably Falcone.

Y/n wished they were both dead. Hell, maybe they’d kill each other for some reason, and she and Bruce could be left out of it. It was wishful thinking, but it helped her feel better.

“Don’t be sorry, Alfred,” Bruce was saying as y/n sipped on her coffee to ground herself from her anger and heartache. “God. I never thought I’d feel fear like that again. I thought I’d mastered all that. I mean, I’m not afraid to die.” Y/n couldn’t help the small gasp at the words, chest aching, even as Bruce continued, “I realize now there’s something I haven’t got past. This fear of ever going through any of that again. Of losing somebody I care about. Last year with the gala–” Bruce cleared his throat slightly. “And now, with all of this…”

There was a rustle, like Alfred shifting. “I–is y/n alright? I never asked.”

“She’s fine. She went to get a coffee. I…Alfred, I’m sorry.” Bruce’s voice broke, just slightly.

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just glad you weren’t home. And I’m glad y/n is okay.”

Bruce sighed, cleared his throat. “I know, but–I need to tell you something. I…when I saw it was you, my first thought was ‘thank God it wasn’t her.’ I–”

Y/n had to wipe more tears away.

“My dear boy,” Alfred said softly. “I’m glad it wasn’t her, too. Don’t feel guilty for having that thought. I’m getting to be an old man, and I would gladly die in her place. Or yours. You still have so much of your life ahead of you.”

“Don’t say that,” Bruce snapped, but there was no real fire in it. “I don’t want to lose either of you, ever.”

Y/n figured it was time to go inside. She stood, composing herself, and gently pushed open the door.

“Alfred! You’re awake!” She didn’t have to feign her enthusiasm, even though she knew for a fact he’d been awake for the past several minutes. She paused at the foot of the bed, noticing that he and Bruce were clasping each other’s hands. She almost cried again at the sight. She set her coffee down on the tray to lean over and gently kiss Alfred’s cheek. “I knew your head was hard enough to survive an explosion,” she joked as she straightened, earning her a raspy chuckle.

“Yes, well, it certainly feels like I’ve been blown up.”

Y/n stood beside Bruce and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing gently. Maybe now they could go home and sleep some. Alfred was okay. He was awake. And he’d had a heart-to-heart with Bruce that had sounded much needed.

“We should–” she said, but stopped when she saw Bruce and Alfred both looking towards the skylight in the room.

Batman’s signal shone through the dark.

Y/n’s phone started ringing.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered, glaring up at the signal, then down at Bruce. “I’m going with you, and you aren’t arguing,” she said as she answered her phone.

It was Bryn. “Y/n–”

“Is everything okay?” she asked, because at this point she was assuming it was bad news.

She wasn’t wrong.

“They said it was most likely arson. And…” Bryn hesitated. There was a fierce, whispered conversation she couldn’t make out. Ollie, most likely.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“They found something painted on the bricks on the back wall outside. The one thing that didn’t burn.”

“Just tell her!” Ollie said in the background.

Bryn sighed. “It said ‘rat’ in red paint.”

Y/n blew out a breath. “Yeah, well, it was only a matter of time,” she said a bit bitterly.

“Y/n…” Bryn said. “This is serious. Arson? Vandalism? You–”

“Did you see the news earlier tonight? What the Riddler told everyone I did? It was only a matter of time. Send me pictures of everything, I’ll have to take care of stuff later.”

“You can’t just–” Bryn started.

Y/n interrupted, “I have to go. Thank you. You guys get some sleep, okay?”

She hung up and found Bruce standing and watching her. Alfred’s eyebrows were raised underneath the bandages on his head.

“Um. The Gotham Project was burned down earlier,” she said for Alfred’s benefit. She winced.

“What?”

“Bryn just called. The investigators said it was arson, and someone painted the word ‘rat’ on the bricks, too.” She sighed and rubbed her tired eyes. “Bruce, we should–”

When she looked up again, his eyes were hard. He was angry. So was she. But there was nothing they could do about it at that moment.

“Arson?” Alfred repeated as she and Bruce stared at each other. “They’re sure?”

“I guess so. After the Riddler’s video…”

“What video?” Alfred asked.

“I forgot you’ve been unconscious for a while,” she said, but her joke fell on deaf ears. “The Riddler…outed me as the confidential informant in the case from last year. Within a few hours the Gotham Project burned down.” She shrugged even though there was a hard knot burning in the center of her chest. God, she just wanted to sleep.

Alfred cursed impressively for a man with a head wound. “We should call–”

“I have to go,” Bruce interrupted, voice almost a growl. “You two stay here.”

“Nope,” y/n said, “I’m coming with you. I’m in this shit as much as you are now, if not more.”

“Be careful,” Alfred said, interrupting whatever argument Bruce had been about to make. “I mean it.” It was his dad voice again. Y/n almost smiled. He really was feeling better if he was using it on them.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” y/n said as she took Bruce’s hand and led him out.

He waited until they were in the elevator to speak. “Arson?” He spat out the word.

“The Riddler has a lot to answer for,” she said. “That’s just one thing on the list.”

“I have to finish this,” Bruce said. He turned a tight circle in the small space, like he was full of too much pent up energy to stay still.

“We have to finish this,” y/n said. She put a steadying hand on his arm. “And we will.”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. When she went to step out, Bruce caught her wrist and tugged her close. Their chests brushed as they breathed in tandem. He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers.

“What?” she asked softly as the elevator doors slid shut again. Bruce simply stared at her for a long moment.

“I won’t let him take anything else from us,” Bruce said in a whisper.

“I won’t either,” she said.

He kissed her lightly, all of his pain and frustration and anger pouring into the kiss as surely as it was her own.

“We shouldn’t keep Gordon waiting,” she murmured as he pulled away. “It’s cold as shit outside, he’s probably impatient.”

Bruce took her hand.

“I heard, um, your conversation with Alfred,” she told him as he led her to his car. They’d speed home, change, and swap cars as quickly as they could. “I’m sorry about–about your parents. About all of that.”

She braced herself for Bruce to be angry at her eavesdropping, but he stayed silent as they pulled away from the hospital.

“The Riddler has a lot to answer for,” Bruce finally said, “But so does Carmine Falcone. And I intend to collect on both accounts.”

Y/n intended to collect from both of them, too. One way or another, they would pay for what they had done to Bruce, to Alfred, to her, and to the city. She was going to make sure of it.

Next Chapter

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#bruce wayne x reader #the batman 2022 #the batman x reader #battinson x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #battinson imagine #the batman imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne fic #battinson fic #the batman fic #batman fic #the batman #battinson #bruce wayne #robert pattinson #sitn #shadows in the night

194 notes · View notes

typinggently · 4 years

Note

I followed you for superbat/feral bruce but I love your writing so it's probably not a stretch to say you're one of the reasons I started watching Peaky Blinders (in order to better appreciate your writing). 0 regret T_T I've caught up and now consume your tofie posts with glee.

Honestly, sweetheart, that made me so happy 🥺♥️♥️♥️

Also I was literally JUST writing down Tofie fic ideas I’ve had over time to collect them all in one place for future reference etc. what a coincidence?!

So I’ll express my delight by sharing those notes, I hope that’s ok 🥺

(they’re not very coherent and even if my handwriting got a LITTLE more legible when I started thinking “in earnest”, I still had to transcribe them. I feel like this counts as the same as a rough sketch)

Tommy Alfie Fic Ideas

RENT BOYS (A. asking to do business in a brothel and T. playing along) - 1920s (I wrote a first draft for that ages ago and accidentally made it all sound victorian so this was a reminder), smoke & cigarettes, warm silk, the contrast of street-pretty young things and the Fae-beauty of Tommy -> voyeurism, the joy of Tommy not falling for Alfie’s tricks

BLACK MAMBO (a game of cards ok Tommy’s terms) - liquid darkness, velvet, fragrant smoke, “snake eyes and a sly smile”, heaps of plush pillows, gold, dream-haze, a humid, hazy sensuality, reality blurring at the edges

SWEET BABY (T accidentally spends his evening with a vampire) - cold sand, an old building, golden whiskey & a golden cross, fatigue, the sea-sharp cold, a foundation of whispered secrets and cool rationality

FAE EYES (A meets a Fae that won’t let him go) - fragrant green, mist-pale skin, cold eyes, skin burned by silver, hunger, spiderweb-clothes & the scent of blackberries and yew trees

BIN MEN (45 min 2, a gentle morning together) - the grey morning light, coffe & static, tired eyes, unspoken secrets, a hand on Tommy’s throat & a very soft sigh

ARABELLA (T is mad at A so he dresses up for him) - fur coats, the taste of cola, cigarette smoke, lace, paperwork, a game of seduction & anger & amusement -> punishment & reward at the same time

MIDAS TOUCH (Pandora’s Box 2, A gifts T lace gloves & T beats him at his own game (again)) - lace, the scent of warm wood, honey, cool yea, fog (?), the contrast of lace/grace & cigarettes -> also: lace = pretty but uncomfortable to touch

Again thank you so much for sharing that with me, it made my heart go ✨♥️💫♥️💫♥️✨

#tofie #ask #alfietommy #sholomons

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fleckcmscott · 5 years

Text

Watch What Happens - Chapter 15

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing, Angst

Words: 3,671

All he had wanted to do was meet his father.

Arthur had always wondered what he'd done to make him leave. Maybe it had been his condition. Or, somehow, his father had instinctively known he was mentally ill. Penny had been right when she’d said he was an unwanted bastard. But Arthur still longed to find out who his father was. After his mother's confession, he'd been determined to meet him as soon as possible. Nervous excitement had filled him as he searched all his pockets until he scrounged up enough money to take a train to Wayne Manor.

A copy of City Metro News had lain on a nearby empty seat, and he’d grabbed it to study during the ride. There'd been a photo of Wayne's other son. Arthur recognized him from the news. He didn't look happy, almost hiding behind his father's form. His dark hair and apparent shyness reminded Arthur of himself. There wasn't much he remembered from when he was that age. But the boy's posture had evoked a time when Arthur had hidden in a teacher's closet because his laughter wouldn't fucking stop, even after he'd gotten a ruler across the knuckles.

Walking from the train station to the mansion, he'd done his best to make sure he looked presentable. He'd fixed his hair and looked to see if he'd missed any buttons on his dress shirt and brown cardigan. If he was going to meet his father after thirty-five years, he was going to make him proud. He'd checked his pockets for the red clown nose and magic wand he'd brought to entertain his half-brother with.

Arthur's gait had turned into a stroll as he walked along the brick wall surrounding the perimeter of Wayne Manor. He'd peered over the barrier, astonished at the size of the place. If he had been allowed to grow up with his father, he was sure his life would have been different. It certainly would have be easier to care for his mother. And he'd have his own bed to sleep in.

Even as he’d thought about these possibilities, he’d realized he didn't want anything from Thomas Wayne. He hadn't gone there to ask for money the way his mother always did. Warmth and decency were what he’d sought. If he pressed his luck, maybe he could get a hug, too.

And answers. Penny's history had always been a mystery to him. It would be nice to learn more about her.

He'd felt some solace when he spotted the boy from the photo. Younger children were easy for him to interact with. Usually, they accepted him without question. When the child had spotted him, Arthur ducked behind the wall and put his red nose on, then peeked back up and smiled, continuing towards the entrance. The boy had followed, leaving his backyard jungle gym to take a closer look.

The boy and Arthur had stopped about ten feet from each other, on either side of a closed, wrought iron gate. After performing a magic trick, which the kid didn’t seem to understand, Arthur had knelt down on his side of the barrier. He hadn’t expected to be so moved at meeting his half-brother. Hands on the bars, Arthur had asked the boy's name. The boy hadn't hesitated to give it; Arthur gave his name, too. He thought he may hugged Bruce if he could have. But the gate prevented that. He'd had to settle for pushing Bruce's mouth into a smile with his thumbs. The boy had still been smiling when Arthur let go.

Then the butler had ruined it.

Thinking back on it, Arthur grew despondent. When the man said there was nothing to tell, Arthur had been confused. Why would Penny lie about who his father was? She didn't have anything to gain from that. But when the man had called his mother delusional and sick, he felt anger burn in him. It had grown while the butler continued denying everything.

Arthur's darker impulses had gotten the better of him when the man had told him not to make a fool of himself and laughed. It had happened too fast to stop it. Rage coursed through his entire frame as he'd reached through the bars and grabbed the man by the tie, then the neck, and squeezed. "He left me!" he'd yelled, feeling pathetic even as the words left his mouth. He'd been shaking, watching the man struggle to drag his hand away.

A movement over the man's shoulder had caught Arthur's attention. The boy, his brother, was standing there, staring at him with wide-eyed horror. His heart lurched. He'd made Bruce smile two minutes ago, and now he was afraid of him. Arthur had stopped suddenly, letting go of the butler. Then he'd run. As fast as he could, he'd run away from the gate, the manor, and the terrible idea to go there. Distressed, he'd hopped on the next train home, not even thinking to buy a ticket.

Now it was calm outside of Gotham General's emergency room. Arthur was glad for the silence. Sitting with his legs crossed on the metal bench, he brought his cigarette to his mouth and took a long breath. He adjusted his legs, as they'd started falling asleep. It was getting harder to stop his outbursts - today had been particularly tough. What would Y/N think if she knew what happened? Her eyes, which had seemed to reflect want and affection that morning, would instead be filled with fear. Like his brother’s. He couldn't stand the possibility. He screwed his eyelids shut.

Footsteps were approaching. Arthur felt his body relax a little, relieved Y/N was finally there. He straightened his legs and looked up, ready to spring to his feet and take her into his arms-

But two police officers were approaching him.

Fuck. The butler must have called Gotham PD after all.

"Mr. Fleck. Sorry to bother you,” one policeman started. “I'm Sargent Eckhard.” Eckhardt gestured towards the other officer as they stopped about a yard in front of Arthur. “This is my partner Officer Corrigan."

Arthur didn't move, looking up at them, trying to conceal his nerves.

Eckhardt continued. "We had a few questions for you, but you weren't home. So...we spoke to your mother."

It took a few moments before Arthur understood. "Oh..." His brows knit together. "What did you say to her? Did you do this?"

Corrigan spoke, waving his hand. "No, no, no. We just asked her some questions and she got hysterical - hyperventilating - then she collapsed. Hit her head pretty hard."

Arthur punctuated his words with a shake of his head, his voice strained with aggravation. "Yeah, the doctor said she had a stroke."

"Sorry to hear about that." Eckhardt said with some sympathy. "But like I said, we still have some questions for you." He looked down at his notes. "Were you at Wayne Manor earlier today?"

There was no point in denying it. He'd been stupid enough to give the butler his name. He focused on the ground as he answered. "Yeah."

Eckhardt continued. "They said you bothered their son."

"I didn't bother him." Arthur looked up at them. "I did a magic trick. Part of my act. I'm a party clown." Trying to keep his anger from growing, he puffed on his smoke.

"I see." Eckhardt paused. "They also said you assaulted the butler when he told you to leave."

Before Arthur could come up with an answer, a car pulled into the parking lot and stopped. After a few moments, Y/N exited it, waving goodbye to whomever the driver was. Anxiety made his shoulders ridged. It would only take a couple seconds for her to be next to him. The cops needed to leave before she saw them. She was too smart - she'd know something was up. "I wouldn't. That's horrible." He pushed himself to stand.

Y/N walked around the policemen and hugged him immediately. The relief he'd hoped to feel when he saw her was spoiled by his annoyance. She'd really shown up at the worst time. But her voice quieted him. "I'm sorry," she said. "How is she?"

He gave a quick nod. "She's sleeping."

She turned to the policemen, a confused look on her face. "Can I help you? Were you the ones who called the ambulance?"

Corrigan shook his head. "We just needed to speak with Mr. Fleck." He turned his attention to Arthur. "Don't go near the Waynes or Wayne Manor again. All right?"

"Yes. Okay." Arthur flicked his cigarette away, avoiding Y/N’s gaze as he grabbed her hand. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to go take care of my mother."

~~~~~

The hospital room was small and dimly lit, but he was glad his mother had gotten a room with a single bed and a window. Arthur sat on the twin padded chairs at Penny's bedside, staring at his clasped hands. It was all his fault. His mother being in the hospital, maybe dying. He'd selfishly neglected her. He hadn’t just left Penny alone all night so he could finally fuck a woman (something he'd been planning to do again), but he'd also left most of the day after they'd fought. What if she died before he could apologize? What if yelling at her was the last interaction they would have?

After he and Y/N had gone inside, they’d headed to the nurse's station to grab the paperwork he hadn't been able to complete on his own. Thankfully, they’d been able to find a quiet, private space to work on it. There had been so many questions about Penny's medical history. Y/N had been surprised at how little he knew. He tried to explain that Penny never liked going to doctors and didn't talk much. All he could say with any certainty was that she didn't take medication and needed help at home.

There were a lot of phrases he hadn't heard before. And it was hard for him to pay attention, his mind filled with guilt and questions of when he could bring Penny home. But Y/N had been patient as she clarified what a living will was, what advanced care directives were. Even after he'd understood, he didn't know the right answers. He'd felt like an idiot. But his mother had never discussed it. They never discussed anything.

Y/N was running her hand up and down his back soothingly. The beeping of the monitors and sound of the ventilator were deafening. Worry gnawed at him. And he felt awful. "I've been the man of the house for as long as I can remember," he said quietly. "I- I've never lived alone before."

Y/N scooted closer to him and put her other hand on his thigh. "You won't be alone, Arthur. She's going to be all right."

After a minute, he moved to slowly put his arm on the back of her chair, grazing her shoulders. With the wall heater right behind them, the position felt awkward, but good. She snuggled up to him and sighed. It didn't take long for her head to grow heavy on him, her body to slump against his side. He looked at her sullenly. How could she have fallen asleep when he needed her so badly?

He frowned at himself in disgust. She must have had a long day, he thought. And I didn't ask about it. Carefully, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear, then adjusted himself so he was in the corner of the chair. Looking back and forth between Y/N and Penny, the only two people who mattered to him, more than even himself, he sighed. Losing either of them would tear him to pieces. He hoped he had the strength to prevent it.

~~~~~

When she blinked awake, it took Y/N a few bleary seconds for her to realize she wasn't at home. No. Her back ached because she was laying on a set of chairs at the hospital. Arthur and Ms. Fleck were there. And policemen had talked about the Waynes. She swept her hair back from her face and pushed herself up, wincing, and looked at her watch. Damn. She'd been asleep for almost an hour. Looking around, she didn’t see Arthur. His jacket was draped over her, though. He couldn't have gone far. Stretching, she stood and looked around the room.

She'd spent a lot of time in hospitals in the year before she'd moved to Gotham. They were all quite similar: florescent lighting, tiled walls, that same anti-septic smell. There was a strange comfort in the familiarity. Ms. Fleck's form was small in the bed, her arms stuck with IVs, face almost entirely enveloped by the ventilator mask. The electrodes for the heart monitor were visible through her hospital gown. Y/N wondered if she was cold. She stepped to her and pulled the cover further over Ms. Fleck, bringing it to the top of her chest.

As Y/N continued to observe her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, she felt the urge to talk. It was silly. She barely knew this woman. And the one time she'd met her, Ms. Fleck had hurt her son. But maybe talking would help her recover. For Arthur's sake, at least. "I hope you don't mind me being here," she started. "Arthur's here, too. But you probably know that. He hopes to see you again soon." Her brows lifted as she continued. "I want you to know your son is a wonderful man. I'm fortunate to have met him. I-"

When she saw Arthur enter the room out of the corner of her eye, she stopped and turned to him. He approached the foot of the bed, two paper cups in his hands. "I got some coffee," he said, offering her one. "They didn't have any creamer. Sorry."

She took it gratefully and sipped at it. "Thank you. I'm sorry I fell asleep. You should have woken me up."

He dismissed her apology with a wave. "Has anything changed?"

"No. But she seems stable."

"That's good," he said, taking a drink.

After some silence, save for the sound of a monitor, Y/N decided to try to lighten the mood. "Well, tonight didn't turn out how we'd planned, huh?"

Arthur stared at her. First she thought she'd misjudged the timing of her remark, but then he chuckled, blushing, and brought his hand to his face. "No."

His laugh relieved her. It was good to hear before she had to start questioning him. Y/N put a hand on one of the bed's safety railings and closed her eyes. The policemen who'd been talking to Arthur when she arrived had been in the back of her mind since she'd gotten there, as well as their comment about the Waynes. "Arthur, I need to know. What were those officers talking about?"

His brow furrowed. After half a minute, he responded. "My mother wrote Thomas Wayne another letter. She keeps asking me why he isn't answering. I wanted to give it to him." His eyes darted to hers, then back down to Ms. Fleck.

"They called the police because you wanted to drop off a letter?" Y/N asked.

He went back to the chairs they had shared and sat stiffly. "I don't know why," he said softly, studying his coffee. "I didn't go inside. I waited at the gate." He pursed his lips, his face still pensive.

She suspected there was more to it - she'd have to find out the rest later. But his explanation was enough for the moment. Her thoughts went to the newly filed motion and a lump formed in her throat. Patricia was right: there was no way she could tell him about it now. Not with the stress he was experiencing. She would be needlessly piling on. Maybe Renew Corp. wouldn't send their letters his way, and she could continue to work in the background.

But she still felt the need to warn him. "Stay away from them, Arthur. They're powerful people. Gotham depends on them for too much." His only response was a nod and his eyes fluttering shut.

Music from the television appeared to suddenly draw his attention. Though she wasn't a regular viewer, Y/N recognized it as the opening theme to Live! With Murray Franklin. She watched his features soften, his eyes light up. The break from the tension he'd displayed most of the night would do him good, she thought. She settled next to him and finished her coffee as the monologue went on, more interested in Arthur's reactions than the show itself. When he scooted forward and reached out to hold his mother's hand, she gave him a smile, half-listening to the TV.

"...in a world where everyone thinks they could do my job, we got this videotape from Pogo's comedy club right here in Gotham. Here's a guy who thinks if you just keep laughing, it'll somehow make you funny. Check out this joker."

At the sound of Arthur's laugh, Y/N's eyes shot to the television, a hollow ache forming in her chest. There was Arthur, almost completely washed out by the spotlight on his pale skin, stumbling his way through his opening. Who had recorded this, she wondered, and which asshole had given it to NCB studios?

"Oh my god." Arthur said, then moved to stand in front of the TV. He was smiling. And when the clip was done, he let out a short, genuine laugh and clapped once. The joy on his face hurt her heart. He didn't seem to understand he was about to be mocked, that he was going to be laughed at, not with.

Murray spoke, then, mugging for the camera. “You should have listened to your mother.”

Y/N felt remorse for every time she had laughed at an oddball being made fun of on television.

"Let’s see one more," Franklin said. "I love this guy."

She closed her eyes, wishing she could shut her ears, too. If only the television had been broken or the antenna was out.

"It’s funny. When I was a little boy, and told people I was gonna be a comedian, everyone laughed at me," the recording of Arthur said. "Well, no one's laughing now."

Franklin didn't miss a beat. "You can say that again, pal." The audience roared.

Y/N got to her feet and went to Arthur. The corner of his mouth twitched; his whole frame was frozen, his jaw clenched. She reached out to take his closed fist in one hand, wrapping her other arm around his back. "You didn't deserve that."

He went to grab his jacket from the chair and hurriedly put it on. "We should go," he said. "It's late."

Y/N turned to him, squinting. "Are you sure? I don't mind staying long-"

"No, please. Let's just go," his said lowly. He left the room, not waiting for her, his coffee cup on the windowsill.

Buttoning her coat, she followed, catching up to him as he waited for the elevator. "Arthur-"

"You should go home," he said, leg bouncing.

She tried to take his hand, running her thumb over the back of it. "Come back with me. You shouldn’t be alone right now."

"I'll be fine."

"You don't have to push me away," she said, shaking her head. Though she spoke tenderly, it was impossible to keep her frustration out of her voice. "I wish you wouldn't."

His expression turned crestfallen. After they went into the elevator, he took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. "I'm sorry." he said, pressing his forehead to hers. "Please don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad." She held onto his wrists. When she looked up at him, his eyes were shining and wet. The usual puffiness under them had gotten worse. "You look exhausted. Have you slept?" she asked.

"No."

She traced one of the bags with her thumb. "Is there anything you can take that will help?"

A snort left him and he backed away from her. "You don't have to worry about that."

"What does that mean?"

He bit his lip, frowning. "I- I wanted to tell you this morning, but-"

She winced. That was deserved. "Tell me now."

After a little while, he closed his eyes. "I stopped taking my medication. The city cut the funding for it."

Y/N sighed, feeling as though she should have known, given her affected cases. Gotham Department of Health budget cuts had been all over the news, too. He had been moody, but she’d chalked it up to all that had happened with Pogo’s, his mother, and herself. Now she didn’t know where to attribute it. Her mind began working on how to help. She knew a few doctors through work. Maybe there were other programs. If she could-

"Please. Just go home. I'll be all right," he insisted. He was gazing into the distance, his hands in his pockets. Y/N cocked her head, torn between respecting the boundary he was drawing and letting out the pushy side she'd warned him of. But she didn't want to scare him off.

After they stepped out of the elevator, then exited the hospital, she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her. He nearly stumbled but caught himself on her shoulder. He looked at her in consternation. She ignored it. "Come by if you want to,” she said. “I'll be at work all day, but tonight and tomorrow after the benefit I'll be home. Hell, stop by my office for a break."

Arthur lowered his head and nodded. "Okay."

"I’m here if you need me." She pressed her lips to his cheek. "And if you don't call me when you get home, I swear-."

"I will." The answer was so quiet, she almost didn't hear it. His eyes flicked to hers long enough to know he would. Then he withdrew gently, the corner of his mouth lifting before he turned and walked away.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @clowndaddyfleck @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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brightening-glance · 4 years

Photo

So I was inspired by @kiragecko to create a floor plan of Wayne Manor. I started out trying to be accurate to the comics, but eventually gave up because it changed so many times that was impossible. This is more like the manor shown in recent comics, specifically from when Dick and Damian were Batman and Robin, but I also pulled references from a bunch of different comics and from different timelines and the Gotham tv show. At this point this is the floor plan for the mashed up canon that exists in my head. Aside from @kiragecko’s own floor plan, other references included Biltmore, Filoli, Casa Loma, The Breakers, Rosecliff, Marble House, and Darlington/Crocker Mansion. I tried to make it mostly to scale, although I hand drew this and then cleaned it up digitally, so it’s probably a little off in some places. Blue text is what the current Wayne/Batfamily use the rooms for, green is what the historical use was, and black is what they’d likely be listed as on a real estate listing. Green doors are hidden or jib doors, basically doors that aren’t obvious but don’t require a pass code to get through or lead to the Batcave. Purple “doors” are the secret passages like the one hidden behind the grandfather clock that even an observant bystander shouldn’t be able to find and involve much more security. More explanations under the cut.

So the comics are unclear on how the Waynes got Wayne Manor. They say that Nathan van Derm designed it for Darius Wayne, but then also that Darius’s grandsons, Solomon and Joshua, purchased it after Jerome van Derm died. At some point after Joshua died (in 1860), the manor was abandoned and Solomon’s son Alan (Bruce’s great-great-grandfather) rebuilt it.

In my head, the east and west wings of the W would have been later editions. The first version of the manor, up to at least when Alan Wayne rebuilt it, would have probably just been the central portion, out to the 2 towers. Original kitchen would have been in the basement, as well as additional servants quarters. It’s not shown on the plans, but in this version the basement has been renovated to include a gym, movie room, and game area (leaving aside the much cooler basement underneath.) Also not pictured is the third floor/attic, which includes servants quarters and a third floor sitting room above Thomas Wayne’s den that looks out over the front lawn.

With the east and west wings, you can see the very clear divisions in purpose. The west wing was a guest wing, probably added when serious entertaining became a thing, with a dedicated ballroom and guest bedrooms. The east wing downstairs was the servants’ wing - kitchen, staff dining room, butler’s pantry, bedrooms for upper household staff. East wing upstairs was the children’s/nursery wing.

In the center of the house you can see a male/female divide that went with the historical idea of some rooms (billiard room/smoking room/study/library) being “men’s spaces” and some (drawing room/morning room) being “women’s spaces. The bedrooms for the permanent residents of the manor in the 1860s (Solomon and his wife, Joshua, Celestine) follow this divide as well, though unlike other “great houses” Wayne manor didn’t go so far as to have a separate bachelor’s wing.

Regarding the jib doors vs secret passageways - secret passageways are basically entrances to the batcave, although they would’ve also been used by Solomon and Joshua as part of the underground railroad. Off the servery you can see the entrance to the wine cellar where Joshua’s body was eventually found. The jib doors (in green) would have been used by servants or family members to pass between rooms without going into the main hallways. Great for sneaking up on people!

Ok, going into some more specifics - headcanon time! Basically everything beyond this is just in my head, and the Batfam stuff is set at some point in the future. (It’s a really shame they stopped writing Batman Comics right after Bruce came back from they dead. Ric? Ric who? don’t know what you’re talking about).

First, Celestine Wayne. Celestine Wayne is not a comic character. She was loosely inspired by the history of the Waynes from Gotham the tv show, and by loosely I mean her name and the fact that she lived during the Civil War era. There is a C.L. Wayne from that time period who founded the Gotham Botanical Garden in the comics, and in my head they are definitely the same person. In the Wayne family tree in my head her father was Caleb Wayne, and she was Solomon and Joshua’s cousin who became their ward for.......reasons undecided yet. Her father was leading wagon trains and so never home. Something else happened. You pick! She never married (imagine whatever reason you want here, I tend to stay away from the tv show explanation and go with she just wasn’t interested, but any reason works) and so when she became an adult and was still living at the manor but not the “lady of the house” the floor plan was slightly modified to give her her own suite of rooms. Joshua Wayne has something similar in the sense of having his own private study next to his room, although his were only connected by secret passage. Sometime between Dick moving out and Tim moving in permanently, Dick moved from his childhood room into these rooms (leaving Tim free to move into his old bedroom, a thing that actually happened in the comics). Maybe this happened when he was adopted? Maybe when he and Bruce kinda reconciled after Bruce got his back broken? Who knows! There was definitely a period where to Dick the Manor was Not His Home Anymore, and so in his mind he probably didn’t have a permanent room there (and tried to avoid staying there). Think of the moving to the “grown up full suite” as a really old fashioned way of Bruce or Alfred or both saying “I recognize you’re an adult with your own life and autonomy and I cannot treat you like a child, but also this is your home and you will always have a permanent place here.”

Other rooms of note - most mansions I referenced did not have a dedicated armoury, but it’s Batman! Of course there’s an armoury. For historical artifacts, a lot of these weapons sure seem functional......

The tea room was not originally a tea room but somewhere along the way at least one of the Wayne matriarchs was very fond of afternoon tea. With Alfred in the manor it is definitely a Space for Afternoon Tea, although it also gets used for other meals occasionally and Alfred will do a lot of his meal planning/any other paperwork there, even though he technically has an office.

When Thomas and Martha were alive, there were actually full time staff living at the manor beyond Alfred and the staff quarters got used, and the “servant’s hall” actually got used as a staff dining room, but now this is where the family members tend to gather if there’s too many of them to just eat in the kitchen. (In my head, Wayne Manor during Thomas and Martha’s life is basically the Wayne Manor described by @unpretty who has written some of my favorite Batman fics ever.)

When Bruce was growing up, Thomas Wayne’s den was the “casual family living room” that every other sitting room in the manor was not, and after he died Bruce couldn’t bear to touch anything in it and avoided it unless he was doing some hardcore brooding. When he moved back/took in Dick, he converted one of the bedrooms to a tv room because he wanted a space that was casual and none of the other spaces felt like a tv belonged in them, but he still couldn’t go in his father’s den. As things have gotten better, and also as Tim and Damian’s relationship improved and Tim started coming around more, Bruce was finally ready to let this go and this became basically Tim’s workspace for whenever he’s at the manor. Bruce will work on stuff in there if Tim is in there, but he still doesn’t spend a lot of time in there on his own. (Ok, this was a little bit inspired by a Rebirth comic, don’t know which one, not gonna find it, I’m sure the rest of it was silly). Bruce tends to use the study downstairs if he’s working on W.E. work or other stuff like that. Jason and Dick’s go to places for any type of homework (when they were living at the manor) or any other work they might have to sit down and do are one of the libraries or wherever Bruce or Alfred are, depending on their mood and what they’re working on, and how long they’ve been living at the manor.

I’m pretty sure Martha Wayne painting/drawing is canon, but I don’t remember the comic it was referenced in. Anyway, she turned what was being used as a sunroom into her art studio because it had the best light. With Damian in the manor it’s slowly being reclaimed by art supplies.

There are definitely rolling mirrors and freestanding barres in the ballroom that Cass uses for dance practice.

Not pictured: the massive garage, stables, tennis courts, basketball courts, gardens, pond, and basically everything on the grounds.

If anyone is curious about what comic panels I referenced (or ignored), or what real world rooms/houses inspired specific parts, shoot me a message! Also, feel free to use this in art/fics/whatever if you want a reference!

#wayne manor #floor plan #dc #batfam #mine #long post #wayne family #i did not intend for this to be this long but then i started writing and this happened #this might change in the future but this is how i picture it in my head now

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avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

The Tower: Family - 6

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 4012

Warnings: Pregnancy, smut (bisexual orgy, baby making, edging, over-stimulation, oral sex, anal sex, rough sex, throat fucking, face sitting, vibrators, cock-rings, electrostimulation, multiple orgasms).

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family. When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 6: Making a Baby

Immediately after the ceremony, we had to sign all the legal paperwork and we had some photos taken. The bots Tony had made when we were in Asgard had taken some photos at the bonding but as that had been interrupted by a large battle, there were none posed of us together as a family. It was definitely nice we got to have this moment recorded when the bigger one hadn’t been.

The sun was setting by the time we walked over to the area on the beach set up with tables and hanging lanterns that would host our reception. There were two large round tables, one for us and one for the guests, and next to the long tables where the buffet would be set up, there was a small round table with a large cake shaped like the Avengers Tower.

Waiters had been walking around handing out tropical-themed canapés that included coconut shrimp, chicken skewers with pineapple and mango, and mini black bean and corn empanadas, while the band played soft rock songs by Tony’s favorite bands.

When we arrived, the band stopped playing and Rhodey went up to the podium.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “Looks like our little group of deviates has finally arrived, all official and everything. Can we all stand and welcome them, complete and whole, and two of them legally married.”

Everyone stood and clapped as we moved up to the dance floor. Tony and I moved to the center while the other’s circled the edge. The band began to play ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica. Tony spun me into his arms and we began to slow dance to it, turning slowly around the dance floor. Steve and Bruce stepped out onto the dance floor and Tony spun me into Steve’s arms before turning and pulling Bruce against him. We danced in pairs for a few bars and Natasha, Wanda, Bucky, and Thor moved in. Wanda began to dance with me and I kept my cheek pressed against hers as we moved around the floor. Finally, Sam and Clint moved in and we all switched again. We spent the rest of the song slow dancing around each other and switching from partner to partner until we had each danced with everyone.

The song ended and we took our seats and Rhodey got back up to the podium.

“Now, we all came here from pretty far away… not like when they dragged our asses to Asgard, but still, it was a trip. But we all know why we’re here,” Rhodey said as the staff began to set up the buffet with the starters. “These guys are our family. So thank you all for coming to celebrate with them. It looks like they’re bringing out the food. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”

Our table went first. The buffet was set up in sections. One had a selection of cold seafood, like shrimp, oysters, and smoked salmon, one had things like crab cakes, different kinds of skewers with things from fish to tofu, stuffed mushrooms, tacos, and warm tartlets with tomato and bocconcini. There was a salad station, and one with soups, as well as a table full of tropical fruit. There was also a bar that was specializing in brightly colored tropical cocktails.

“Thank god,” Tony said as he began loading up his plate with crab legs. “I’m starving. I’ve been fasting so I’d look good in a suit.”

“Are you kidding?” Natasha asked. “You’re basically a coat hanger. Everything looks good on you.”

Tony chuckled. “Thanks, Red,” he said. “But I didn’t want to be all bloated.”

“Well, eat up, you dope,” I teased. “Gonna need your energy.”

“Already calling me a dope?” Tony asked.

“You are a dope,” I teased. “And don’t drink too much either.”

“Wow, Elise,” Tony deadpanned. “We’re married two minutes and you’re already trying to change me.”

“I need you at your peak performance tonight,” I whispered and headed back to the table with my plate piled high with different things.

“Pfft,” Tony scoffed as he followed along after me. “That’s what Thor is for.”

“I can only ensure that you are fertile. I can’t ensure you’ll be able to perform,” Thor said playfully.

“But if you’d like one of us to get Elise pregnant,” Steve added.

“Woah now,” Tony said, putting his hands up. “Let’s not be hasty here.”

We ate our starters and drank and talked and as the plates were cleared away Rhodey got up to the podium again with a glass of champagne. Waiters started filling everyone’s glasses. There was a hibiscus flower in syrup sitting in the bottom of each glass and when the champagne was added to it, the flower appeared to bloom in the glass.

“Now, platypus,” Tony said. “No bad mouthing me. You promised.”

“I feel like this speech should have been done in Asgard. But then there was some battle with angels and it became a little like work. So we’ll do it here,” Rhodey said. “I met Tony way back at MIT. He was just an annoying kid who liked to show up all the students who were at least three years his senior. But he has a way of growing on you. I don’t know what I expected him to do with his life. He was smart and funny and partying hard and that never ended for a long, long time. For a while, I was worried he was going to burn out hot and leave a pretty corpse. But it turns out, he’ll most likely outlive us all. Back then I didn’t really see him as the marrying type. Yet here we are. At his wedding. The official Earth one after he just committed himself for 5000 years to 9 other people. If you’d asked me back then if I thought he’d do that I’d have thought you were as drunk as Tony probably was.”

Rhodey looked over at Tony affectionately and Tony winked at him. “I’m so happy for him. He deserves a happy ending and he’s found it. I know he loves them all. And he loves being a dad. He’s finally seemed to find that exact thing he needed. A loving family. I know it’s unconventional. It took me a long time to understand it. But Tony isn’t conventional. Conventional was never going to work. And while he went in reluctantly at first because a woman he got a crush on was gently leading him in, it’s been exactly what he needed,” Rhodey said and raised his glass. “So I’d like you all to raise your glasses to finding your people and unconventional love.”

Everyone toasted to unconventional love and clinked their glasses together before taking a drink. Rhodey returned to his chair, ruffling Tony’s hair as he passed him.

Steve stood and approached the podium. “That’s quite the speech to be following,” Steve said. “But I’d like to follow with the same theme about not believing what the future would bring. I was born in 1918. Over one hundred years ago. I had a list of ailments that was taller than I was. I was told I wouldn’t make it to adulthood. Despite being told all the things I couldn’t do, I was determined to do them. I made it to adulthood. I started dating the boy I had a crush on for so long. I even managed to ride the Cyclone at Coney Island. But if you had told me back then, I would not only be marrying that boy but also eight other people, one of them an actual god, on a completely different planet, well, I probably would have had an asthma attack.”

There was laughter from everyone and Steve looked over at us all. “Here we are though. I didn’t expect it, let me tell you. Someone once told me that if it wasn’t for war I was nothing. It took nine people to make me realize otherwise. And I love them all. They each touch a part in me that’s unique and I’m so happy that… well, we all fell into this little arrangement.” He took a breath and looked over at us. “It hasn’t been without its obstacles. But you can’t say you have a strong bond until you’ve overcome some obstacles together. And we made it. We’re getting our happily ever after. So let’s toast to that. Happily ever after.”

He raised his glass and everyone repeated ‘happily ever after’ while raising theirs. Steve came back and took his seat and I went up next.

“We like to joke about being in the bad dad’s club,” I said as I stood in front of everyone. “Most of us have our own stories of parental neglect. I was raised being told I needed to marry rich, lock him in with some kids, and not care who he was sleeping with. It made me reject all of that I barely dated. I expected to just die alone. And then one day I knocked a certain red-head over when I was running late for work and it changed my life forever.

“I have had my two kids. And I did marry rich. I also don’t care who my husband sleeps with. But I don’t think my parents had this in mind. They’d hate this. I don’t care. I am happy. I love these people. I love the thing we’ve built together. I’m excited about our future and what that means. I’m excited to see how our family grows and what that means for us. I love them all so much. I never thought I’d ever want anything like this, but love is like a drug and I’m addicted. Now I have it, I can’t imagine it being any other way.” I lifted my glass. “So I ask you to raise your glass to finding your family.”

I took a drink while everyone repeated me and then returned to my seat. Natasha grabbed my hand as I passed and pulled me down into a kiss. Tony got up and spanked my ass as he passed me and I made a choked giggle into Natasha’s lips.

“So,” Tony said as he waggled his glass and a waiter came back over to refill it. “We've all heard I was a bit of a mess. All I ever knew was abuse, manipulation, and neglect. So it took me a while to even think about trying to attempt monogamy. And well, we're here today, so obviously, that didn't work out for me either.” There was laughter from everyone and Tony paused until it died down. “These guys started up their little den of iniquity under my nose. Oh, they invited me to join. In fact, they told everyone else I was part of it, completely ignoring how closed off and angry I was. They really didn’t want to take no for an answer, but I guess, I am me, so who can blame them?” There was more laughter and he looked over at me. “Then one day, I found this stray roaming around my tower. I tried to resist her. I even tried to get FRIDAY to kick her out of the building. But she managed to crawl right in under my skin and take up residence there. It hasn’t been smooth sailing. Like Spangles said, there have been some rough and downright scary times. I kept locking them out, scared I was going to get hurt or end up hurting them. It took a long, long time for them to teach me they were here for me and I was worth it. Slowly, I realized I was healing. That I was in love with all these people. So I guess that is proof we all have hearts. So I ask you to raise your glasses to love. Whatever form it finds you in.”

I got up and kissed him deeply as everyone toasted and he pulled me close. “I love you so much,” I whispered.

“Alright,” Sam said standing. “Enough talking. Looks like the second course is here, let’s eat.”

The reception turned a little more party after that. We ate, danced. Cut the cake. Bucky shoved his slice right into Steve’s face much to Tony’s amusement. The cake was 10 different flavors and I was pretty determined to try them all. The kids were taken to bed by their aunt and uncle just after the cake and by the time we left I was a tipsy, exhausted, and yet completely hyped up.

“Alright,” Tony said, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind and kissing my neck. “Let’s make a baby.”

“Not so fast, Tony,” Steve scolded. “We all want to be part of this. We are a family after all.”

“Besides,” Thor said. “I thought you wanted my assistance.”

“Oh, yes,” I said as Sam approached me. He ran his hands up under my skirt, pushing it up at the sides as he moved his hands to my ass.

“I don’t like the tone,” Tony said, suspiciously. “What exactly are you people planning?”

“You people?” Steve teased, pulling Tony back against him and palming his cock through Tony’s pants. Sam brought his lips to mine and began to kiss me deeply and lovingly. “Come on now, Tony. We’re family.”

Tony made a choked groan and leaned his head back on Steve’s shoulder as Thor approached Tony. He leaned in and kissed Tony hungrily and slipped one large hand into Tony’s pants and began to massage Tony’s balls. There was a spark and a ripple through the air and Tony groaned loudly into Thor’s lips.

“All the other babies were conceived in an orgy by accident. The only reason we know paternity is because Thor just knows that kind of thing,” Natasha said running her fingers down my neck. “This is the first time we’re planning to get pregnant and we all want to be part of that even if we are planning paternity too. So, little Elise here is going to be overstimulated. We’re each going to make her come over and over and over until she can’t take it anymore.”

Thor released Tony and moved over to me, pressing himself behind me and kissing my neck. Sam pulled back and Thor tilted my head back and kissed me deeply. He pressed his palm low on my stomach, just above my pubic mound. There was that same spark and ripple as with Tony, and a dull ache ran through my core.

“You on the other hand,” Natasha said, grabbing Tony by the lapels and pulling him toward the bed. “Will be edged until you're begging us to let you come.”

Thor pulled my dress off over my head and everyone else began to undress, either themselves or each other. Clint picked me up and carried me to the bed tossing me on it. Tony was on the far side of the bed. He was naked and Natasha was sitting on his thighs and putting a cock ring on him.

Clint crawled between my legs and pushed them apart kneeling down and nosing at my cunt. He pulled off my panties and licked a stripe up my folds, making my skin buzz. Wanda climbed up on the bed beside me and straddled my face. I hummed and lapped over her cunt, swirling it over her folds and dipping it inside her. Clint began to flick his tongue over my clit and sucking on my pussy.

My hips jerked under him as Wanda’s rolled on my face and her fluids dripped down into my mouth. I was vaguely aware that the others were kissing and grinding on each other near me and right on the other side of the bed Thor was sucking Tony’s cock while Natasha rode his face.

Clint thrust a finger inside me and began to suck on my clit. He hit my g-spot immediately like his fingers had a magnetic attraction to that sweet spot inside me. He sucked on my clit, flicking his tongue back and forth over it. I moaned loudly into Wanda’s cunt, trying to focus my tongue on her clit, moaning louder each time she shuddered over me. Clint’s fingers pushed harder and harder on my g-spot sending a jolt up my spine each time he did it. My legs began to shake as my orgasm approached being fed by the feelings the others had and intensified. I focussed on Wanda, sucking hard on her clit and pushing my tongue inside her. I knew she was close too, I could feel it through her thread. She always sat close to the edge once the rest of us began to enjoy ourselves. I nipped at her clit and she moaned, coming on my face. I let myself relax and as soon as I did, Clint pushed hard on my g-spot with two fingers and twisted his wrist. I screamed out and came hard, bucking my hips against his face.

Clint got up and crawled over to where Tony was and Wanda climbed off me. Natasha, Steve, and Bucky approached me. Natasha guided me so I was straddling her face and Bucky pushed me forward so my face was at Natasha’s cunt. Sam had pulled Wanda into his lap and they were kissing hungrily, while Thor was fucking Tony, and Tony sucked Bruce’s cock.

Bucky poured lube onto my ass and pushed a finger inside, fucking it slowly. I moaned loudly and nuzzled at Natasha’s cunt as Natasha lapped over mine. Steve slapped the head of his cock on Natasha's clit and teased it over my lips. I sucked on the head and he thrust shallowly in and out of my mouth.

More lube was added to my ass along with a second finger. I mewled and tried my best to relax as Bucky worked to loosen me up. Steve pulled his cock from my mouth and sunk into Natasha. I licked over his base and flicked my tongue over Natasha’s clit as Steve began to fuck her. Bucky pulled his fingers out and added more lube. I felt the head of his cock press against my ass and he began to ease into my ass.

“Fuck!” I gasped. The sound muffled by Natasha’s cunt.

Natasha gave my ass a spank and I clenched hard around Bucky’s cock, making him groan loudly.

Steve was fucking Natasha at a steady pace and I lapped over her cunt and the base of his cock, drinking up her arousal as it ran down his shaft. Bucky fucked me slowly as Natasha sucked on my clit. My muscles spasmed and clenched and I struggled to keep myself up. The way I clenched and moaned seemed to spur Bucky on. He picked up his pace, adding to the burn through me. I started panting against Natasha’s cunt and she moaned and bucked under me. I sucked her clit into my mouth and pressed my lips against it and flicked my tongue back and forth quickly. Natasha mirrored my action and we both came moaning into each other. Bucky and Steve fucked us through it before slipping out. I rolled off the top of Natasha and lay panting as people moved around me. Thor, Sam, and Bruce approached and I looked up at them and swallowed hard. “How many times have you climaxed, my queen?” Thor asked as he lifted me and moved me so my head was hanging over the end of the bed.

“Two,” I answered as I let my head drop over the edge of the bed. I could see what the others were doing to Tony now, but I knew he was struggling to hold it together.

Sam tutted. “That doesn’t sound like nearly enough. I think we might need the vibrator boys.”

He went to the drawers and pulled out a small bullet vibrator. Bruce and Thor both lubed up their cocks and Bruce put pillows under my hips and eased his cock into my ass. Thor straddled my chest, pinning me to the mattress and pushed my tits around his thick shaft and slowly began to roll his hips. Sam gave Bruce the vibrator and he turned it on and pressed it onto my clit. The setting was low but it still made me buck up and moan loudly.

“Open up, princess,” Sam said.

I opened my mouth and he pushed his cock into my mouth.

Thus began one of the most intense sexual experiences I’ve ever had.

It started slow, Thor massaging my tits as he fucked them slowly, Bruce matched his pace as he fucked my ass and held the vibrator against my clit, and I sucked Sam’s cock. It very quickly escalated. Each man seemed to be spurred on by the others. Bruce started fingering me as he fucked me and Sam started fucking my throat.

The first orgasm hit quickly and Bruce upped the setting of the vibrator. I cried out and bucked under them and Thor sent a jolt through me making me come again. Each time I came they went harder and upped the buzz on the vibe. By the third my vision was going fuzzy thanks to the brutal pace they were setting. Bruce groaned and jerked hard into my ass coming inside me. He slipped out and Thor moved down and took his place. He was large and his cock stretched me painfully, but I was light-headed and fuzzy and I welcomed the pain. He upped the buzz on the vibrator and I came immediately.

Thor made an almost graphic squelching sound each time he thrust into me as Bruce’s come acted as a lubricant for his cock. Sam groaned and pulled back slightly as he came into my mouth, coating my tongue with thick, salty ropes of semen.

I moaned and swallowed it but Thor didn’t even seem close. Bruce and Sam stayed close to me as Thor kept fucking my ass. Sam massaged my breasts and pinched my nipples and Bruce took over with the vibrator leaving Thor free to just hold my hips and fuck my ass hard. One orgasm just blended into the next and I couldn’t focus on anything else. I screamed out and everything went black. When I came to Thor had moved me a little and was no longer inside me. “Oh good,” he said smiling. “Did we push you too far?”

I shook my head slowly.

“Good, because Tony is ready for you,” Thor said, gently and kissed me softly.

He moved away and I opened my arms. Tony crawled up between my legs. “I’m not gonna last long,” he said, apologetically as he eased inside of me.

I moaned. “Good.”

He chuckled and slowly rolled his hips as his body stayed pressed close to me. Everything ached but my cunt welcomed him. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight and we began to kiss. Everyone else was just sitting around us watching. Tony was right though, he was sitting right on the edge and it was only a minute before he groaned and was releasing inside me. I didn’t care that I didn’t come again. I had done more than enough of that. I hummed happily as he filled me and collapsed down on top of him.

“Was that it? Is she pregnant now?” Clint asked.

There was laughter in the group. “Takes a week or so, Clint,” Bruce said, with no patronization in the tone, just kindly educating his husband.

“It will, though, right?” Clint asked.

“They are both at peak fertility,” Thor said. “It still may not happen and I would recommend that Elise and Tony try again tomorrow. But it should work.”

I hummed and kissed Tony’s neck. “You hear that?”

He hummed in return. “Yeah. More sex or us.”

I giggled and nudged his cheek with my nose. “Not that part.”

He laughed and kissed me just under my ear. “Yeah. We’re gonna have another baby on the way.”

// NEXT

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harcourtholmesii · 4 years

Text

Traitorous Thoughts

Notes: My favourite character from Marvel, I wanted to peer into his mind a bit as Avengers: Age of Ultron played out. Let me know what you think!

Words: 1804

Warnings:

- Violence

- Blood

- Trauma

- Betrayal

- Anxiety and Depression

- Reference to Death and Injury

Enjoy!

He came to in the freezing cold, snow burning against his naked skin. A soft fabric was hastily draped across his shoulders by timid hands, and through the white light, he could see the world coming into focus around him. Trees stood tall on all sides, their canopies disappearing into the white sky above his head. He could smell smoke and the bitter scent of gasoline somewhere nearby; through his bare legs and hands, he could feel quakes of electricity still coursing through the dirt.

Bruce stood on shaking legs, hand reaching to a branch for support. He peered around him, taking in the sight of the carnage he had left behind. An upturned vehicle, bodies sprawled about, some curling in on themselves in pain whilst others remained still in the snow. A cement pillbox was torn to pieces, machinery and artillery shredded apart in shrapnel across the forest floor. Against the white of the snow, the red stood out in a stark contrast that made him feel a pit deep within his stomach begin to form.

He could see that head of red hair as Natasha disappeared over the ridge line, calling out for Clint. He couldn’t see Rogers anywhere, and since his earpiece had been abandoned he had no idea as to the whereabouts of Tony or Thor. Left alone in the snow, he began the slow and embarrassing trudge back to the quinjet. He could see how his toes were already turning blue in the crunching snow. Every step burned.

The trek back was almost shameful. Entering into the metal confines of the ship, the feeling of being vulnerable and exposed was lessened ever so slightly. He never was particularly fond of large, metal contraptions that could act like a box, trapping him inside. Every trip on the quinjet caused him distress. He never let it show, but he could feel the other guy shifting beneath his skin and deep within the recesses of his mind.

He hurried himself into a sweater and some loose sweatpants, and could almost immediately feel the change of temperature. He sighed softly, allowing himself just a moment to relax and sit down. Now all he had to do was wait.

It felt like it had been too long; surely the others would be back by now. Without communications, he was blind to any and all things occurring outside the quinjet. He hated it. Waiting to see who would return and who wouldn’t. Bruce didn’t question anyone’s abilities; he knew their skills and their strengths, but it wasn’t the gunmen or the military personnel he was worried about. No. He was waiting to receive those words that something happened and it was his fault.

When Natasha and Steve had returned to the quinjet carrying Clint, he felt sick to his stomach. There was a large gash against his side, just above his hip, that was leaking blood all over the floor. Steve moved to the cockpit and Bruce could only just barely make out the words that Steve was saying. ‘Enhanced’… ‘Badly wounded’… ‘Medical attention required’… ‘Can’t wait’… Bruce had stopped listening.

Hesitantly, he approached his teammate, crouching before him and how he was laid across several seats. Clint was nursing the wound at his side. Natasha, at Bruce’s approach, skirted back a bit, granting him space. His deft but freezing digits began to test the surrounding area. He wasn’t that kind of doctor, but he was the best they had for the time being. He tore the already ripped material further so he could see the wound better. Natasha passed him a flashlight, and Bruce clenched it between his teeth.

It was gruesome; a gunshot, imbedded deep into muscle and flesh. He was lucky. It seemed to have not hit a vital organ, but the blood loss was a problem. Natasha offered him the medical kit. Her hands were shaking. Bruce hadn’t seen that before.

He took some gauze and pressed against the entry point. Clint hissed aloud, and Natasha’s grip on the medical kit tightened. He could hear the material of her gloves straining beneath their grip. Steve, who had returned to the rest of them by this point, gave his order for Natasha to fly them out of there.

‘Stark and Thor will catch up. They’ve got the sceptre.’ Well, that was great news. At least something good came from their attack on the HYDRA base.

‘Banner.’ He turned his eyes up to Steve, removing the flashlight from his lips.

‘What is it, Cap?’

‘Take a break.’ Bruce didn’t understand.

‘I… I need to tend to Clint-’ He started, but Steve cut him off, stooping down beside him until they were almost level. He rested a firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, maybe trying to comfort him, but all he felt was frustration.

‘He’ll be fine. You’re just stressing, Banner. We don’t need that.’

Oh.

That’s why.

~X~

The look of betrayal in their eyes. He couldn’t stand it. Every time he turned his head up from the paperwork, articles and files, there were glances and stares from everyone present. Thor’s eyes held the most emotion certainly; those stormy blue irises filled with a turbulent gale glared down at Bruce from across the room. Clint’s eyes were colder, more distracted by the work ahead of them, and both he and Natasha shared a disappointed look between them. Steve’s eyes glared between him and Tony, and he refused to hold Bruce’s gaze when their eyes met.

It was Tony’s eyes however, the warm, chocolate brown gaze, that made Bruce feel worse than ever. Those eyes were sad, grieving for the loss of JARVIS from a mere two hours ago, and pained from the bruising around his throat. Bruce shuddered, wondering the strength behind Thor’s grip on Tony’s neck and how his breath rattled out of his throat in those moments. Then, there was the almost apologetic look that Bruce hated the most.

Tony took all the blame in that moment, and they both knew why everyone turned on Stark then. He was vulnerable, merely human who asked they study the sceptre in the first place. He was the easy target. Bruce, whilst he helped and was just as involved and to blame for Ultron’s appearance, no one wanted to test his, and therefore the Hulk’s, resolve. Well, Thor might have, but he knew the dangers of letting loose the beast in Stark Tower.

Tony nursed his throat in one hand, rifling through the folder with his other. His gaze remained apologetic, and Bruce just didn’t know why the man would feel the need to apologise. It was Bruce that should have said something. It was he that should have stepped in front of them all and prevented the damage. If anything, he could have suggested they not leave the sceptre alone. He could have told Thor to let Tony go. But he didn’t.

The words in the dossier blurred into a grey mess; he couldn’t see through the haze of tears. He blinked them back. Like Hell he was going to cry. He had no right to. He didn’t deserve to. He had made so many mistakes already. The other guy’s voice rumbled through his head.

‘Coward.’

~X~

He came to on the quinjet this time. He could hardly recall what had happened, but he knew a blackout meant he had transformed. Had it been a code green?

Looking around at his fellow Avengers, Bruce was astounded to find them in such a disarray. All of them were a mess, out of focus and distracted. A news report played in the background. He didn’t take much notice of it at first, until a flash of hulking green appeared in the handheld camera view.

He sat up, and watched as the screen played out for him all he had missed in gruesome detail. Natasha’s hand was on his arm, as if trying to coax him away from the screen, but he was far too overcome with what he was seeing. He had been doing so well. He hadn’t had a rampage for the past year, since working with the Avengers. Now though, he had done something horrible. Unforgivable. And he knew that at the end of the day, he would be protected for his actions by the team.

‘… reports of a monstrous, green figure tearing apart Johannesburg have come flooding in. The creature, in question, is responsible for millions in damages, at least eleven people dead and nineteen others are missing from the wreckage. Iron Man, a mister Tony Stark from New York, gave a brief statement, taking responsibility for the damages…’

Protected, again.

He doubled over, falling to his knees and wrapping the blanket tighter around his form. Natasha’s hand on his arm had fallen away and he preferred it. Why would someone ever dare to, let alone want to, touch him after what he had done?!

He knew his importance to the team as their attack dog was why he didn’t face the consequences for his mistakes. The doctor part was just an added bonus for them; Tony was intelligent enough to read the necessary papers or perform the experiments required to give them their advanced tech and look out for the team’s wellbeing. Natasha could speak all the languages Bruce knew plus ten and Clint could pilot the quinjet. Bruce could do these things, but it was unnecessary.

The other guy? Now, he was necessary. And dangerous. They were willing to take the risks and allow him out on the field, and perhaps they were right to do so. But Bruce should not ever have been excused from his actions, whether he was aware of them or not.

He curled up on the floor, the blanket the only comfort he was allowing himself. He couldn’t allow this to happen again. He dare not let him out again. If he did, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

~X~

‘...But I need the other guy.’

He was falling, through air and between steel engines. The machinery clanked and shrieked all about him, but it was near muted to Bruce’s ears.

He felt sick.

Why?

Even now, as Bruce felt the clothing begin to tear, he could feel the tears pour and his mind at war with the other guy. He was holding him back, pressing him down; pleading with him not to come out.

Too late.

As he felt his vision fade and the rage in his heart burn, he knew he couldn’t come back from this. The coward he was, he retreated deep into the back of his own mind.

There, in the dark, he could see the thick, steel chains that rain out of sight and into the shadows surrounding him. He cuffed himself in links too large for his wrists, and he curled up there, alone.

As he should have always been.

#fanfiction #fanfic #Marvel #MCU #Marvel Cinematic Universe #Bruce Banner #Hulk #Age of Ultron #Avengers #Tony Stark #Iron Man #Steve Rogers #Captain America #Black Widow #Natasha Romanoff #Hawkeye #Clint Barton #Thor #HarcourtHolmesII

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