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dammitolly · 3 years

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Loki Imagine: "Starting Now"

tw: rather large age gap, swearing, major angst

fluff, angst

Loki x Stark!Reader

You were seventeen when you met Loki Laufeyson. And you must admit... you had a bit of a crush on him. He was being kept prisoner by S.H.E.I.L.D, his power too great and his blood lust overpowering. You found him... interesting.

It only took a couple of tries before Nick Fury found out you were spying on Loki. You would study his mannerisms. For a god, he was quite... human. But, that was before there was a code put on the door, one that was made to keep you away from him.

It had never been explained to you in detail exactly what Loki had done, and you were too busy doing other 17-year-old things to turn on the news. So, Banner kept you as distracted from the trickster god as possible, showing you anything and everything he could in the lab. But, you would occasionally see Loki being escorted to and from his cell, peering into the lab... grinning at you. You couldn't help it, you wondered what he was like... you'd also wondered what those beautiful black locks felt like through your fingers. But those thoughts were just fantasies... ones that would never come true.

You had never been close to anyone capable of that before, capable of killing. Let alone someone who had wanted to do it. But you were a fool... a child. You didn't understand Loki, you didn't understand what he'd done. Not that anyone had bothered to clue you in.

After things got out of control, Tony, your father sent you back to New York where you would stay with Pepper and train for the next three years. Where you would learn how to help your father. Learn how to be an Avenger.

You were nineteen when you saw him again. His hair had gotten longer and his face had aged, but the biggest change was that he was no longer considered an enemy of the Avengers. Now, he was simply accompanying his brother to the compound.

It was almost noon when you first woke up and began making breakfast. It was your day off and you were going to do your favorite activity: sleep.

"My, my" a velvet voice said from behind you, "look who grew up."

You didn't need to turn around to know who was speaking. You grinned and continued to smear butter on your toast. "For the God of Mischief, you really aren't very good at sneaking up on people."

You turned and threw the butter knife, it pierced the wall right above his head. He stood with his eyes wide, his shock was unjustified. For one, if you had wanted to hit him you would; two, he had to have known what you had been doing all these years, what your father required of you.

You took him in as he sauntered through the kitchen, leaning against the bar. He was in desperate need of a haircut, the black locks fell to his shoulders. He wore his traditional solid black suit, not a hint of color. Not even his signature forest green.

He looked tired... as if it had been not two years but twenty. Age had gone well with him though. He looked mature, as though the youthful pranks had stopped a long time ago, like the power-hunger had disappeared.

You smirked, "You've gotten old."

"Two years isn't that long, Y/n." He reached over his head and yanked the knife out of the wall, leaving a small hole. Pepper would kill you for that later. Worth it.

You took the knife from his hand. "It is when you're getting old and fat," you retorted.

Loki chuckled, "You are your father's daughter."

You rolled your eyes, "Did you need something? Or do you enjoy seeing the mental agony you inflict upon me?"

"Actually, I was looking for your father."

You pointed your knife towards the elevator at the other end of the room, "Lab. Lower level. You should be familiar with that wing." The wing he had been kept prisoner in. The wing you had strolled down almost every day when you were seventeen just to catch a glimpse of the handsome prisoner.

"Thank you, darling," he replied as he strolled over to the elevator. He smiled and gave you a wink before the doors slid shut. You rolled your eyes.

Darling? Absolutely not.

Dinner was the most awkward thing that you've ever been forced to sit through. The fear of Loki and his manipulation loomed over the table like fog. Steve was watching him like a feral animal that would attack at any second. As if he were a venomous snake ready to strike at any given moment.

"So," Thor cleared his throat awkwardly, "Y/n, your father tells me you've been training in New York. How's that going?"

"It's a lot of work but it's a nice way to spend time," you said through a bite of mashed potatoes. "Right now I'm focusing more on science so I can help Bruce and dad. But Natasha is really wanting to do more combat training with me."

"Y/n fights now?" Loki asked, grinning at you.

You shrugged, "Not much, but I could definitely kick your ass."

"Could you now? I suppose we'll have to put that to the test, won't we Miss Stark?" Loki said with a wink.

Natasha laughed, "Y/n is a bit too soft right now. Once she gets over her fear of actually hurting someone I think she'll be an excellent fighter."

"The knife she threw at me this morning must have been an expression of that fear."

"Y/n Stark!" Pepper said from the other end of the table, "You did not put that hole in my wall."

"He was annoying me!" You said defensively.

"He annoys everyone, you don't see Tony throwing silverware at his head."

"No he just blasts him to hell with his suits," you deadpanned.

Pepper looked at Tony. "You see where she gets it? I told you seventeen was too young for training. I told you that the violence would rub off on-"

"Can we not argue at the table, please?" You said, looking back and forth between your father and Pepper.

She rolled her eyes, "Fine. But you're going to fix that wall young lady."

"Fine," you sighed with a roll of your eyes. You caught Loki grinning at you from across the table and went back to picking at your food.

"Here I was thinking we were going to have a civilized dinner," Loki chuckled.

Cap scoffed, "Civilized?"

"Cap," your father said with a warning tone.

"What?" Steve said defensively, "I'm just wondering where a murderer gets off saying anything about being civilized."

"That's rich coming from you," Loki retorted. "Do I need to remind you of all the innocents you killed in Sokovia? So many lives sacrificed in the name of doing the right thing."

"Brother!" Thor snapped.

"I'm just trying to level the playing field," Loki grinned. "If I'm going to be put on trial, perhaps everyone else should get off their high horse as well?"

"We have never been on the same level, Loki." Steve snapped, "You tried to conquer this planet. You lied, manipulated, stole, killed innocent humans. All because you wanted a power trip. That wasn't Sokovia, we thought we were doing the right thing, all you wanted to do was the wrong thing. All you wanted to do was kill."

"You speak as though I don't have the ability to change," Loki leaned his elbows on the table. "Isn't that what being on this planet is all about? Second chances?"

"Not for murderers," Steve spat.

You didn't know Loki well... but to the extent that you did know him, you knew that when he was embarrassed he also got angry and violent. But not this time. Loki was the picture of serenity and calm as he stood from his spot at the table. "I see how it is," he muttered, "I suppose I should have just stayed... gone."

With that... he left.

It was 3 AM by the time you left your room again. For no other reason than to break into Thor's cookie stash. He was convinced it was your father that had been stealing from him... wrong Stark.

You prayed that nobody would find you digging in the pantry for two reasons. One: Thor would kill you for stealing his snacks; two, you were in your underwear and a tank top. Anyone other than Pepper seeing you in this state would be humiliating.

But, of course, you can never get what you want. Behind you, you heard soft footsteps padding their way into the kitchen.

"I didn't realize you'd be awake," the masculine voice said from behind you. You turned and saw Loki, shirtless in low-hanging black sweatpants. You did your best to force your eyes away from the dark trail of hair below his belly button and into his pants.

As your eyes met his, you could see the light blush on his cheeks. Fuck, he'd caught you staring. He cleared his throat, "I just thought I'd make some tea. For some reason, I don't sleep well in Midgard."

"Perhaps it's all the memories," You muttered as he stood next to you at the counter.

"For christ's sake, Y/n," he slammed his mug down onto the counter, "I am not that person anymore, you know that."

"Do I?" You turned to face him, "You killed innocent people, Loki. You killed children-"

"I know what I did," he sighed, putting his head in his hands, "I'm trying to fix it. I want to be better than I was."

"Loki we can't just trust you," the tea was long forgotten at this point, the water had probably gone cold, "not after what you did."

Loki huffed and yanked the butcher knife out of the block, placing it in your hand. He wrapped his hand around yours and put the knife to his chest, only a little pressure would need to be applied in order for it to tear his skin.

"Loki, what are you-"

He shushed you, "I am literally putting my life in your hands. I want you to see that I am done hurting people, and if you killing me is how to prove it, then so be it."

You tried to pull away but he pulled you back in with enough force to make your knees buckle. You weren't looking at the knife against his pale, muscular chest. But his blue eyes that were begging you to acknowledge his sincerity.

Your grip on the kitchen knife loosened. It clattered to the floor as you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face into his warm chest. "I don't want to hurt you," you whispered.

You felt him sigh in relief, "I don't want to hurt anyone either. If anyone here is willing to trust me, I want it to be you."

"Why me?"

He pulled away and cupped your face in his hands, "Because you are the first truly good person I've met on this planet. You give me hope, Y/n." He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"You don't have to be that person ever again, Loki," you kissed his Adam's apple gently, "I promise I will help you through this."

You felt him lean down slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you up to meet him. You immediately felt your breath hasten. You had been fantasizing about this moment since you were in high school... and now it was about to happen. Loki, God of Mischief, was about to kiss you at 3 AM in the kitchen of the Avengers compound.

Before you could take another breath, his lips were against yours. His lips were soft like you'd always imagined they'd be, and his mouth was hot like the rest of him. He groaned into the kiss when your tongue brushed against his. You raked your fingers through his hair.

He parted his lips from yours in order to lift you onto the counter, standing in between your legs, his hands trailing up your sides.

"Wait, wait," you gasped as you pulled your lips from his, "How do I know you're not about to use me?"

Loki smiled and tucked some stray hair behind your ear, "I'll never lie to you, my darling. I'll be good for you... starting now."

You pressed your forehead against his and kissed the tip of his nose, "Starting now."

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x you #loki imagine #stark!reader #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagine #marvel #avengers fanfiction #loki fanfiction

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stripesthesupervillain · 3 years

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A Review of “The Batman” by an Amateur Fanfiction Author No One Knows About

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Aight boys. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. And I’ve had time to digest it. Let’s talk about my opinion of The Batman.

Don’t worry about spoilers. Spoiler free, everybody.

Aight so what did I think of it?

Fucking. Amazing.

Now, I was originally going to compare this to the most well-received Batman thus far, The Dark Knight Rises, but I realized that these are two different movies entirely and that comparing them would not be fair game. For one, this movie returns Batman’s title of “World’s Greatest Detective”, as a majority of the movie focuses on Batman solving a mystery that revolves around a killer going after the corrupt, and having the Riddler as the main bad guy in this was a brilliant choice. Each riddle keeps the story going in a natural yet interesting and engaging fashion, given each one is a lead to another riddle.

The writing is fairly good, though, as always, I’m iffy on the dialogue. It’s just a me thing, but I see it in movies a lot, and I always have to point it out: characters don’t speak like this. In a crowded room, you don’t hear two detectives speaking to one another in dead silence while each phrase is said in low, raspy voices and interrupted by long pauses for dramatic effect. I get it, it’s Batman, so I’m not too hard on it for this, but it’s a nitpick on my part.

The writing is very well done, giving a good story, likable characters, and a very satisfying ending of a Batman that still has much to learn. And while it mostly focuses on the mystery, it also leaves lots of room for very well choreographed fight scenes, and many of them I was surprised by because there are many times were you actually see Batman get hurt. Like he gets punched and dragged by unnamed thugs and at one point he absolutely eats shit on the concrete, but never did I once think that it made Bruce look lame or pathetic. In fact, I thought it was a pretty nice touch, as it definitely supports the idea of him having much to learn and being imperfect (I believe he’s been doing to Batman thing for two years in the story). But he has some peak moments.

One of my favorites is near the beginning, where you see this guy about to be attacked by some thugs, and then you just hear a thump thump thump coming from a dark hall. Everyone goes silent and watch as the thumps get louder until the Batman emerges from the shadows, silent and intimidating. Those moments are fantastically shot and so simple, yet highly effective.

The camera work does have its weak points, however, one of the main ones being a car chase scene with the Penguin. So many changing angles and blurry shots and changes in colors and movements actually made it hard for me to really follow everything, but that’s probably the biggest one I can think of, and it’s not that bad. Other than that, there are some truly beautiful shots in the movie, many of them with Catwoman, and that leads me to my next point.

Batman’s thing with Catwoman is pretty heavily pushed, especially in the trailers, and while I do think their dynamic worked out well in the end, I did find the emerging romance aspect to be a bit too much, especially since they haven’t known each other long. But I do like Catwoman. Zoë Kravitz plays her wonderfully and she has some great moment for herself and she is fairly likable.

Along the vein of actors and characters, Robert Pattinson was fantastic as Bruce Wayne. I always thought it would be a bit weird to see him out of costume and pretending to be normal billionaire Bruce Wayne, but I found it to be a very convincing choice. Bruce is very much made out to be a recluse who hates to go into public and isn’t interested in public outings and the like, and Pattinson fills it great. He looks tired, lost even, and always in his own thoughts or reflecting. Bruce goes through a vast variety of emotions throughout the movie, and each transition is smooth and realistic and you can really understand how he feels, but also understand when he’s in the wrong.

The Riddler. Paul Dano is excellent as Edward Nashton, and when the face reveal came, I was quite stunned by how much they made him look like a normal, average guy. A bit awkward and extremely sympathetic. It’s hard to really see him as the villain by the time his true reasoning comes out, and while most versions of Riddler are assholish and narcissistic, Dano definitely keeps the spirit while being very likable, though ultimately he is in the wrong and you see that by the time his plan comes to fruition.

Penguin and Gordon were also good side characters, appearing often and it feels like every minute they appear, they’re essential to the story. Gordon especially feels important, given he and Batman work together and a good chunk of the movie wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for James. The Penguin also has a very nice charm to him. If you’re looking for posh, sophisticated Penguin, this is not him. Like Riddler, he goes down a different path, but is still very much a charming and likable character, and funny as well. If you want an indicator as to how this character acts, when he first meets Batman, he introduces himself as “Ozzy”. Definitely more Italian, big city vibes.

Also, I have to touch up on this. There is a certain character that you see at the end. You may have had it spoiled for you, and if you read my works, you know I’m not a fan, but I think his brief introduction was handled fantastically. You only see a brief sliver of his face and hear his voice, but it was a fantastic tease, and the movie ends on a great note that leaves more to be desired and yet would transition fantastically into the upcoming show. One that I, after seeing the movie, am psyched for. I’m legit gonna buy HBOMax just to watch it. Not joking.

All in all, a great movie! And while it does have it’s flaws, I do love it entirely, especially after the recent DC movies I’ve been subjected to. This was the first time I’ve been to a theater in years, and it was so so worth it. Matt Reeves did a fantastic job, and I can’t wait to see what he does for the show.

100% recommend a watch, especially on the silver screen.

If you read this entire thing, congrats, count me officially surprised.

#the batman #review #stripes’ rants #long post

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catxsnow · 4 years

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BRUISES D.W.

Request: Hey honeypot! how are you darling? are you comfortable with writing older damian kinda smut? because i just had this idea where he has this super sweet girlfriend and one day batfam sees her with bruises on her neck and they think mayb damian hits her or something? and Tim mentions that he has seen bruises on her hips as well and they confront him and her and they tell the fam that's from sexy times and they are like "two days ago you were a baby. how are you an adult now?"

Warning: mentions of sex, bruising from s e x, Older!Damian

A/N: since someone wanted a requested post, here ya go :)

Word Count: 2.1k

Damian's brothers always saw him as the child of the family, even when he had grown up to be a fully functioning twenty-two year old. He was still treated like a kid when he saw his family and it drove him crazy. His whole life he had been just as old as them mentally and now that he was, they still treated him like a twelve year old.

When you came into his life, it was refreshing to have someone treat him as the adult he was. You respected him and he always showed the same to you. Your friendship was grand and always full of surprises. The biggest was the night that you no longer realized you wanted to be just friends, you wanted to be lovers.

Damian met you at the library on a cold night in Gotham. You were studying for an exam and he was looking for literature that his father didn't already own. He bumped into your table by pure accident and was thankful for his single moment of being a klutz.

You were a kind, quiet girl. Most people over looked you while those who got to know you knew that you were nothing like your facade. Damian of all people learned that the most. The more he got to know you, the more he saw that you were hiding a whole other side of you. You could be wild but only around those you trusted.

When you began dating, he saw yet another side of you. Damian thought you were wild when he got a few drinks in you - but in bed? He was amazed.

When you learned about Damian's secret life as a vigilante, he made sure to start training you. There was no way that he was going to leave you defenseless in case he wasn't there to protect you. So, at least once a week he would bringing you back to his father's home and teach you everything that he knew.

Most times the two of you worked in the background while Bruce did his own thing on the computers. Sometimes his brothers and sisters would show up and tease him. You never understood the nick names - demon spawn, baby bird, even little D. They must have been from when he was younger.

His family liked you. Dick was always excited to see you and had some sort of conversation to spark. He came to visit you and Damian quite often. Jason found you to be kind, reserved - not the kind of person he expected Damian to be with. Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph thought you to be the sweetest person they had known.

You held a shy smile around them, hesitance in yours eyes. They were all so tough, it was hard not to be intimidated by them. Even Damian at first was difficult to look past his height and muscles. They never saw the other side of you that Damian got to see all the time. He always teased you for it.

For the first time in a long time, both Dick and Tim were at the Manor. They were supposed to be helping Damian and Bruce with a case but kept reaching dead ends. To pass the time, Damian got you back on the sparring mat to continue your skills. You came a long way since you first started, but no where near ready to take any of them down.

This was the third day in a row that you were down there, sweating your ass off and learning what it meant to truly have sore muscles. Damian had been staying at the manor all week and by the second night there he asked you to join him. He missed you in his bed. Of course, you couldn't deny his request.

You had already shed your shirt, the material was drowned with sweat. Damian was much the same with only his shorts and his ankle being tightly wrapped in a tension bandage. He always feared bruising you when you dueled like this, but with the litter of blue and purple already on your skin he couldn't do much about it.

Damian had suddenly kicked your ankle out from under you and you landed against the mat with a thud. He stuck his hand out to help you up, but you only tugged him down. Damian acted fast and instead of letting you get the upper hand, trapped you below him. A smirk was on your face.

Damian gazed down from your sweat beaded face, to the small bruises he had given you the night before. Five faint little circles were on your neck, all lining up perfectly with the pads of his fingers. He matched your smirk, thinking about your incredibly hot sex from last night. He was sure that there were still residual scratch marks down his back.

"Another round?" You toyed, knowing exactly what was running through his mind. He knew that you meant another spar, but his mind was stuck on the idea of dragging you up to his room and giving you more marks for him to admire. "Or did I tire you out this time?"

"Try to keep up, beloved," Damian narrowed his eyes. Teasing him like that wasn't fair - especially when his brothers were right across the room. He peeled himself off of you and bounced back up for another fight. You followed his lead, arms up and light on your feet.

Dick and Tim were watching from afar. The computer was running in the background and there wasn't anything that they could do until them. Bruce was at work and Alfred was somewhere in the Manor doing things. Titus napped by the mat where you and Damian were, his snores could be heard from where the two men stood.

Tim narrowed his eyes at the couple. You had been around for years, keeping to yourself and never really speaking up until necessary. It made him wonder about you; not in the fact of your loyalty, but if you were maybe too loyal. Every time you were over, some sort of bruise was visible on your skin.

At first, he chalked it up to you bruising easily - or that you were just a klutz. Then, they got more common. They were darker, bigger, often times in the same places that should have been hidden by your clothes. You never talked about them, and if someone brought it up, you changed the subject.

Tim was worried about you. Damian had always been a violent person, he was raised that way since birth. Sure, Bruce had changed him, Dick too, but old habits ran strong. It made Tim wonder if it was Damian purposefully leaving the bruises on you. Was he taking all of his hate and anger out on you?

"If you squint any harder you might get stuck like that," Dick joked. Tim turned away from you and Damian and up towards his older brother. "Damian's a good teacher, maybe she'll be as good as us one day."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Tim confessed. Dick raised his eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. "You ever notice how (Y/N) is always covered in bruises? Her legs, her wrists - she has bruises nearly every time we see her. I just... I wonder what Damian does behind closed doors. I'm not saying Damian would do anything terrible, but he was raised by Talia. Restraint hasn't been his strong suit."

"You think he hits her?" Dick suddenly became worried. Tim hesitatingly nodded. It wasn't something that he ever wanted to accuse Damian of, but the thought had crossed his mind more than once. "Damian would never do that... would he?"

"I would rather be safe than sorry," Tim decided. Their attention went back to the two of you. You had Damian's wrists pinned and the both of you were laughing so hard about something that tears streamed down your face. Looking at them, it never seemed like Damian would do such a thing. Tim also knew that you were too quiet to ever speak out about it if he did.

Damian pecked your lips and the two of you called it enough for the time being. You wiped a towel down your face before slinging it over your shoulders. Hand in hand, you walked over to Dick and Tim who were looking nervously between each other. There was no good time to ask such an intrusive question.

You wished to jump straight into the shower, but Damian insisted to check in to see if there was any process. "Is the computer done downloading th-"

"Are you hitting (Y/N)?" Tim blurted out. Your eyes widened at his sudden question and you felt Damian tense beside you. How dare he accuse him of ever laying a hand on you? Even when sparring he made sure never to hurt you. There were accidents, sure, but never intentional. To have Tim assume something like that? It was unfathomable.

To try and explain himself, Tim pointed towards the bruises on your neck that he had just noticed upon your approach, as well as the ones visible right above your shorts. Damian grunted beside you, understanding why Tim thought the way he did. You on the other hand, felt your face flare up with embarrassment.

Dick and Tim looked between themselves at your unexpected reaction. Damian gave them a look, hoping that they would understand without having to say it out loud. Unfortunately, they didn't pick up on it. Damian wiped a hand down his face, not believing that he actually had to explain this to his older brothers.

"I got them during sex," you muttered out. Their eyes widened at your answer and a flush filled their cheeks. However, Tim still wasn't satisfied with the answer of the bruises on your neck. There was no way that they were hickies - they weren't the right color or shape. Damian sighed, cringing as he perfectly placed his fingers were the bruises were.

"Oh I think I'm gonna throw up," Tim made a disgusted face. Damian had a smug look on his own. Not only did he prove him wrong, but he also made him extremely uncomfortable. Two birds, one stone.

"You're like twelve," Dick exasperated. Damian was still the same little boy in his mind. In no way should he be old enough to be having sex, especially by the looks of it, frequent sex. Seeing the two of you dating, it always seemed like a cute middle school couple - in no way did he think about you as adults.

"I'm twenty-two, Richard. You're a decade off."

"Decade or not, I still know too much now," Tim shuddered. You were thankful that Damian tugged you away from his brothers. You were still flaming with embarrassment from the encounter. Now, every time you would see them that would be all they could see: the bruises that Damian left around your neck.

Even if you were adults, like Damian said, you still didn't like the idea of his brother's knowing what happened between the two of you behind locked doors. Damian didn't seem to mind. Maybe because it showed how old he really was or that he got to prove that he was getting laid consistently.

All you knew, was that you were grateful that they didn't bring Bruce into this little theory and him finding out what you did to his son - or what his son did to you. Though, as the world's greatest detective, you feared he already knew the truth.

"Join me in the shower?"

"You're seriously thinking about sex right now? After that?" You raised your eyebrows. Damian's sex drive was impeccable - sometimes a little too impeccable. Dragging you from Gala's, pit stop on patrol, he even caught you between classes one time. Now, after his brother's teased him, he was still ready to go.

Damian shrugged. "You're saying you aren't? After all that teasing while we trained? I felt your heart rate when I showed them what the bruises were for, beloved. You got excited." You glared at him, knowing damn well that it was true. He squeezed just enough to get you thinking about your previous night.

"You're game better be good if you want to distract me from that shit show that just happened."

"When is my game ever not?"

#damian wayne #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne oneshot #older!damian #damian wayne x fem!reader #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batfam #dick grayson #tim drake #dc imagine #dc one shot #dc #fluff #robin #robin imagine

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goldkirk · 3 years

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Hymn, ch 19 - Steph time, pt 1!

[ Read on ao3 ]

CONTENT WARNING: this chapter contains non-detailed description of self-harming behavior and drug abuse; please be careful if these are triggers for you and feel free to stop reading if necessary. I can give you an abridged version if you need it, just message me and I’m happy to help.

The thing is—Steph is fine.

She’s great, actually, she’s doing great and her schedule is nice and she has fun at school and her mom is teaching her to bake and she’s a full volunteer at Leslie’s clinic now and she hasn’t been caught with the Waynes by any paparazzi in two whole months.

Steph is good. And so is life!

It’s all good, even with the ripples still rocking everyone from Tim’s overseas fiasco and the sudden appearance of Damian. It’s hard, but no one is making it harder than it has to be. They’re all making it work. And Steph and Bruce even managed to compromise on a schedule that lets Steph patrol with them two nights out of the week so long as she doesn’t have exams the next day and she isn't injured. Which is, you know, pretty much just common sense. So she’ll let Bruce have this one.

The point is that things are fine. Steph is good, and everything is okay, and life is way better than she imagined it was going to be a year ago. She’s happy. Everyone she cares about is even still alive. That’s the biggest win of all.

Steph sleeps and she eats and she trains and she laughs and she does a hundred and one things every week that all add up to a whirlwind of just the right amount of adrenaline, and she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

It’s just that—

It’s just that on Friday, Steph comes back from school to dump her backpack off before Alfred and Dick pick her up for the weekend, and her mom is in the apartment, and—her mom is taking a nap.

Steph stands there, for a moment. Stock-still in the entryway, with one shoe toed off on the mat by the door, her backpack hanging by one strap from her hand. Frozen in a moment that contains a hundred others, wondering for a split second and then remembering after that. She’s stiller than marble while her heart feels seventy times too large for her rib cage suddenly, she’s got a catch in her lungs where she’s forgotten the need to breathe, just a bit, and then she thinks, it’s just a nap, Steph, get it together. Mom’s taking a nap, and she’s been working nights lately, and you can see her from here, that her chest is moving and she’s even got the quilt curled over her.

Steph’s fingers remember to release the strap, one by one at a time, and her backpack thuds gently on the floor. She turns, shoves her other shoe off, yanks her school hoodie over the top of her head, and then calmly checks that her mom truly is still breathing before walking the seven steps to her own room, where she shuts the door behind her, pulls out her duffle bag, and starts packing to leave.

------

It’s just a nap.

Her mom makes funfetti pancakes when Steph comes home on Sunday afternoon, so many they fill an entire cookie sheet in a warm, colorful, sweet heap of deliciousness, and they eat enough they hit food coma stage while watching the Harry Potter marathon on SYFY till Steph falls asleep with her head on her mom’s lap just like things used to be. Sweet food and good movies and Mom-and-Steph and the old quilt handed down from Grandma’s cousin’s mother.

It’s just a nap, and life is still good. And Steph is still so happy.

------

So things go. And go, and go and go, and she’s taking the PSAT and putting up fall decorations in the clinic with Leslie. She’s making canned dinners for herself during her mom’s night shifts, she’s forging through homework, she’s babying bruises from patrols, she’s keeping all the spinning plates in the air, and after a while, she’s feeling like everything is actually good again.

Then the first day that the night shifts are finally over, she finds her mom’s bag isn’t where it’s supposed to be. It’s missing for the first time ina long, long time. And when she hunts it down in the always-neat master bathroom, she already knows that she isn’t going to look inside. She won’t like what she thinks she’d see.

If she doesn’t look, it’s there or it isn’t. Schroedinger’s bag, maybe a bottle inside, maybe not a single one to be seen. There and not there. One reality or another.

If Steph doesn’t give it the chance to be observed—because Tim taught her about that, last year, while she was humoring during one of his PT workouts with Alfred and her—if she doesn’t observe it, it can be both and neither and she can go away with her headphones and forget until it’s time for bed.

She knows from Tim and Bruce that Schroedinger’s Cat is fake, a cautionary lesson about how it’s absurd to interpret scientific statements or facts wrongly.

She knows that her Schroedinger’s bag is a fucked-up fake, too, but right now, she can’t be the one to open it. Even though she knows finding the dead cat doesn’t actually mean she killed it, that never helps. She’s done this enough times to know It’ll always still feel like she did.

Steph keeps her hands off the bag, makes sure nothing obvious is out, and then leaves the bathroom and kisses her sleeping mom on the cheek before walking out down the hall.

------

Steph has school and homework and quits her one extracurricular in case she’s right about what’s coming. Steph has part-time lifeguarding and part-time volunteer work and she apologizes to Leslie about needing time off for approaching project deadlines. Steph has patrol three nights a week that she cuts down to one and gets a hair ruffle from Bruce and Zucchini loaf from Alfred for putting her health and sleep first.

Steph has a mom and a life and basic needs and a lot of memories, and by week two she’s got a new routine and life figured out. She’s done this before and she can do it again. Her mom’s been doing so well, Steph knows there’s no way Crystal wants to be doing this and she’s definitely going to snap out of it soon. Steph just has to hold down the fort for them both till she does.

Steph can do it, and she does. The fort is held. Steph is tired.

But the fort is held.

------

And held. And held. And held.

Steph is cranking out homework between extra shifts and getting groceries and meal prepping for the two of them every few days, because she can only carry a few backs all the blocks from the store to the train to their station to the apartment at a time. Her mom works and sleeps and eats and sleeps and lies on the couch and lets the world move until it’s time for her to work again and Steph is waiting for her with three glasses of water, Tylenol, and the latest canned fruit she could find on sale.

Steph only finds her mom asleep in the bathtub once. That’s a brief heart attack, but it all ends up okay. Steph keeps a closer eye on her, shuts the bathroom door every time her mom’s home, and makes sure her mom’s bed is always a comfy space the whole time so it’s the best option. There’s not a single repeat. Crystal is safe, and Steph doesn’t have to worry, and a lesson was learned, and it’s okay. It will stop soon and all the little hiccups like the bath incident will just be in the past again.

Then on night seventeen, Steph fills up to bursting with something so big inside her chest that it’s like a black hole and a blocked-top exploding volcano all at once. If she doesn’t let it out she thinks she might actually die, but also, she just put a pizza in the oven. And her mom is alone on the couch in the other room, completely helpless, tipped slightly to the side while staring at something Steph can’t see on the wall under the clock. And Steph is maybe dying, she guesses, but there’s a pizza in the oven. The pizza is in the oven, there’s a timer set, and she doesn’t want to walk back in that room even though she knows she’s supposed to be watching Mom like a hawk, and her chest is just a black hole gnawing harder than she’s ever known was possible and maybe it’s the coward’s way but for right now Steph is just going to lie on the kitchen laminate and shudder without any desire to cry. The numbness was better than whatever this is. With this, it feels like there’s no plug to a vacuum drain. At least when she’s numb, even her upset at being numb is blunted.

This is just a drag down into the bottom of an ocean without even water in it. She hates it and for one, brief, thinking moment, she considers maybe this is a time you could call one of the adults. And for one breath, and then a few, she’s imagining it, someone sweeping in and taking care of it and sweeping her out of the way where she never has to do any of this ever again and can run so far away she’s half a country and several experimental personalities away from all of this and can dump it all behind in the past.

There’s a pizza in the oven, though, and a person twelve feet away who can’t be left alone. And she’s the only one left at home.

Steph gets up from the floor after the timer’s fourth ring. She gets the pizza. She gets her brave. She drops it in the trash because it’s absolutely drained empty and cut up with scissors, and pulls out her fake instead. And then she pulls out her customer voice and goes in to watch her mom through pizza and give her water instead of the syringe for the rest of the evening.

------

Steph is in the hallway of the hospital, smiling and charming her mom’s coworkers while she goes to find Crystal in the locker room where Steph guesses she’s probably already too out of it and tired to get home without prompting and encouragement.

Steph is at work, screaming back at a man for the first time when he won’t remove his drunk husk from the pool area until security comes and forcibly leads him away. Steph is in her boss’ office being given a sympathetic but firm leave from work for conduct review.

Steph is heating up tomato soup for the third time that week and giving up on studying more for her chemistry exam tomorrow. She talks her mom into sips and talks herself into sips and when neither of them can pretend any longer, Steph settles them both onto the couch with the old quilt and wishes, for the brief second she has enough energy to wish again, that it was her back in her mom’s lap getting gentle fingers through her hair all around, instead of her mom’s quiet breathing on Steph’s ankle and Steph’s palm cupping Crystal’s neck so she can rest her fingers on a pulse point without telling herself that’s what she’s doing.

She’s at school in the bathroom pulling out a case of blades instead of lunch, and she’s pulling up underwear and jeans over skin without caring anymore to cover with anything more than a strip of toilet paper to minimize stains. Bandages are expensive and she doesn’t care about them anyway right now. She doesn’t want to take care of herself extra. She wants the feeling and the punishment and the reality check and the control. She puts her jeans over her blood and puts her case under her lunch and sits silent on the toilet lid until the warning bell finally rings for her next class.

Steph is a ghost at school where it doesn’t matter anyway, because she never fits here and no one wants to be around the kid who doesn’t have the same clothes and interests, and no one wants to talk to the kid with a daddy in Blackgate and a mommy who doesn’t come to volleyball games. Or didn’t, when Steph still played. No one wants the tainted kid tainting them too, and Steph doesn’t have the energy anymore to hold the lunch crowd misfits at the table they were tentatively getting to know each other at.

Steph has the bathroom and secrets and silence and peace.

Steph has patrol and a full face mask and a voice she’s very good at using. She has fake reality for a few hours once a week and it is so, so good, and she is very good at living somewhere else in her head. Steph patrols and laughs and hugs and cracks jokes and kicks the occasional rapist or mugger and when Bruce asks her to help with a soup kitchen supply unloading, she’s happy to talk with people and do something totally only good for the first time in a while.

Steph has ragged skin and clean hair and a laundry routine and prepped meals in the freezer and Mom under control and school still scraping along with C’s. She’s got exercise every day even when it pulls painfully along her hips, she’s got Alfred’s cookies one night a week, she’s got texts with Cass and texts with Tim, she’s got little kids at the clinic and she’s got nights of half-sleep and evenings of her mom’s head on her lap, both of them safe where Steph can keep an eye on their little family at all times.

And it goes like that for a while. Okay. Working out. Handled, but hard, but handled, because there’s nothing else to do, until the day—until the day she loses the job, she forgets an assignment, she didn’t have her blades at school for once, her mom wasn’t home when she got there, didn’t answer Steph’s frantic calls, didn’t come in the front door till Steph was actually dialing the line for the hospital desk, and didn’t understand why Steph was upset. Didn’t understand the half-shouting, the distress, the questions, and brushed her off to go take a nap.

Steph hears the sigh of relief through her thin bedroom wall and screams into the towel in her closet with the door closed. She throws away the evidence from the floor by Crystal’s bed once her mom is asleep, and after she’s watched her mom’s breathing long enough to feel sure she’s not going to stop, Steph goes to the box and rips out her blades and holds one barely-acohol-swabbed just poking un-sanitized skin and breathes hard as an ox before each swell of her feelings throw themselves into her arm and swing it through straight lines matching the depth of each wave.

She gasps, and then breathes, and then the settled calm with a small side of horror and a large side of shame replaces all the bad, and Steph gives herself five minutes to sit and reorient before getting up and cleaning up and heading out the door in scrubs to go to the clinic and help with whatever Leslie needs that day. And maybe, if she’s lucky, get a little more slow-periods training in how to care for IVs when patients get them tugged around or have standard complaints.

It’s that late afternoon at the clinic when everything breaks.

It’s a normal shift until a few minutes of calm when for no reason at all Steph gets a wave of such foul feeling and absolute hatred towards everything outside of her that it shows on her face enough to make Leslie ask.

Leslie. fucking. asks. She just had to ask. Not about anything particular, not anything actually wrong, not anything specific Steph can even justify getting defensive about, but just if anything had happened, since Steph looks suddenly like someone stuck Limburger cheese in her shoes. And steph makes the stupid, amateur mistake of snapping at her. Leslie.

Leslie is not a person missing a bullshit detector, like Tim. She also isn’t a person whose bullshit detector can be redirected easily, unlike Mr. Batman-Terror-of-the-Night-and-misplaced-fire-escape-planters-at-two-o’clock-in-the-not-morning.

Leslie calls bullshit and asks what’s wrong, because it’s clear something is now, and Steph is so afraid the jig is up that for the first time in her life that she turns her back on Leslie and actually runs straight out of the room.

Unfortunately for Steph, Leslie has spent the past seventeen years sprinting after a lot of grown men to keep them from either committing a felony against a patient or killing their own fool selves by bleeding out before she can actually close their wounds. She takes down a lot of adults while they’re absolutely out of their minds on adrenaline and whatever the vice of the week was that their buddies thought would help with pain.

Steph is down before she’s hit stride number fourteen, still several feet away from the back door. Leslie twists to be under her before Steph slams into the tile, and Steph hates her even more for it, for not letting her at least take the hit and make the failure and defeat real, and she tells Leslie as much. Leslie tells her that she’s “not even using her brain right now” and “can kindly shut up” until she’s ready to say something honest and not rude.

Steph’s response to this, of course, is a long chain of every curse word she can remember, and a creative attempt to throw Leslie’s arms off, but. Well. You don’t spend this many years as Batman’s honorary aunt-teacher-mom without being able to wrangle him down when circumstances are really dire. A fifteen year old girl who’s uncoordinated from a recent growth spurt doesn’t have a chance.

Leslie calmly nudges the collar-hooked voice call button with her chin while holding one hand so firmly over Steph’s mouth that Steph can’t even get out throat-screams louder than low volume, and asks her PA to take the last case or two scheduled on his own unless something really requires Leslie’s attention, because a Family Emergency has come up. He agrees cheerfully without question, then jokingly chides her to not break too many laws on her way to Wayne and the kids. She tells him to, respectfully, shut up, thanks him, and closes the line.

Then she pulls her hand off of Steph’s mouth and squeezes her extra-tight for a second to get her attention a bit more focused.

“You have two options,” Leslie says, with steel. “No, I am not negotiating. You don’t react like this. You never react like this. I was wondering a little, when you asked to cut back on hours, but you did a magnificent job of putting on the convincing show. Alfred’s thespian heart will be very proud, I’m sure. You’re not okay, Stephanie. Not okay people do not get to make decisions while they’re unsafe. So for the next half hour, I am making decisions, and you are going to pick between things.”

“No, I’m going home,” Steph snarls. She’d kick Leslie’s shin if the woman didn’t have them wrapped around Steph’s legs already, holding them in from around the sides. Screw her. “You don’t have any legal right to keep me here. I’ll complain to somebody.”

“I have perfect legal right,” Leslie replies. “I have reasonable suspicion of active danger to a minor. So, I have a legal responsibility to keep you safe until that can be verified or disproven. You’re not going home right now.”

Steph is flooded with sweat and red-hot heat and zero thoughts before he words have died in the air yet.

“You can’t,” Steph screams without even a single second to think what volume she wants to use here. “You can’t do that. I have to go home. You can’t make me—I have to go home, I can’t leave Mom longer than the shift, you can’t make me stay here you can’t make me LET ME GO—”

“Stephanie, can you breathe right now?”

“Let fucking GO OF ME!”

“Okay, I do hear you. I understand that you don’t want me to be keeping you here right now. I’m sorry that this is hard. I need to keep you safe right now, and until I know where you are safe, or if you aren’t, this is the only place I can do that.”

“I hate you,” Steph snaps out. “I hate you, you’re a lying traitor, you can’t just do this suddenly when we had a deal, I’ve done EVERYTHING RIGHT LESLIE, you’re just a LIAR like all the rest of them and I HATE YOU you WERE LYING TO ME THE WHOLE TIME!”

“I have not been lying to you,” Leslie interjects in her still-even voice, and Steph shrieks as she slams her head backwards to hit whatever is behind it, which happens to be Leslie’s surprisingly hard sternum.

The pain is a shock but good but hurts and Steph latches onto it because it’s real and it’s something she can do, and she throws her head back twice more while Leslie’s voice grunts out requests for her to stop.

When Steph is lifting her head for a third toss, not even hearing Leslie anymore, she finds herself suddenly blocked by a too-strong-to-break-through grip from laced fingers under her skull, and makes a wordless noise of anger.

“Stephanie Amelia Brown,” comes a completely unexpected voice, “stop.”

Stunned enough to still, Steph rolls her eyes backwards and tips her chin up just a hair until the newcomer is visible, and there behind her and Leslie, kneeling on the floor in sweaty hair and a tank top that says Gym Bat that Stephanie herself had bought him as a joke for his last birthday, is Dick Grayson, in civvies, in Leslie’s clinic, holding Steph’s head with firm hands and frowning at her.

Steph goes rigid, then, and freezes instead of making any response.

It’s only a few seconds before his face changes to something too complicated for Stephanie to recognize at the moment, and he lets out a kind of upset sigh.

“Shit,” Dick groans.

“What?” Leslie asks, from underneath Steph.

“Let her go,” says Dick. “She needs space. I scared her.”

It’s a testament to the number of years and hard-built trust between the two of them that Leslie doesn’t question him once, just slowly releases Steph from her grip while Dick also removes his hands from behind her head and lets her head settle back down slowly onto Leslie’s chest.

Steph doesn’t move. She also hardly breathes.

“Stephie,” Dick says quietly. “It’s okay to move. You can go over to the other side of the room if you’d like to. We’re not going to touch you right now unless you’re about to get hurt and we need to stop you. I promise.”

“Me too,” Leslie agrees. She puts her hands in the surrender position by her head while flat on her back still. “No more grabbing, honey. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Fuck you,” Steph spits automatically, for some reason, and her voice is embarrassingly tight.

“Do you want help at all?” Dick offers.

Steph roll sideways off Leslie and won’t look at him. She pushes her way up onto her feet and speed walks to the other side of the backroom, right in front of the exit door to the loading area, and doesn’t move again.

Leslie sits up into criss cross applesauce on the floor and scoots her butt till she’s next to Dick instead of in front of him, and then stops moving.

“How does your body feel right now, Steph?” She asks, gently, and Steph is so mad.

“I’m not talking to you anymore,” she snaps out. “You’re a liar. Don’t pretend like you care. You’re just like the rest of them. I’m not talking to you.”

Leslie wisely doesn’t make it worse by trying to reply. She just stays silent and doesn’t move towards Steph.

“What about me?” Dick is asking, now. “Could you tell me what happened today?”

“Nothing happened,” Steph shouts, and her arms fly up in the air as punctuation. “Nothing fucking happened today, I didn’t do anything, and you can’t stop me from going HOME!”

“Steph,” Dick tries, hands lifting up a bit in a placating move, “we just want to make sure—”

“I hate ALL of you,” Steph snarls. “You’re fake traitors and I was clearly stupid to think you weren’t just waiting to find a time that poor stupid Stephanie would give you some excuse to jump in and run everything just because it’ll get what you want, you’re all fake, you—you fucking assholes. I hate you.”

And Steph hates herself, too, for how out of control the words flying out of her are, and how much she feels like she’s dying and melting with heat, and how there are tears rolling down her scrunched-up burning-hot cheeks now without any kind of permission. Before either of them can say anything, before Steph can say something more that doesn’t ask her before coming out, before her body can do anything else stupid, Steph whips around, shoves open the door, and runs.

#stephanie brown #steph #shutterbug series #batfam #dc

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flaminpumpkin · 4 years

Text

Small treasures

“Five more minutes,” Bruce grumbled as he distantly heard the door open through his sleepy haze.

There was some shuffling sound around the room and then it was flooded with bright morning light as Alfred mercilessly opened the heavy curtains, the rays of sunshine hitting the Bat right in the face, making him scramble for the covers to hide his sensitive eyes.

“Very well, Master Bruce. Breakfast will be ready for you in the kitchen.”

He was so used to Alfred’s barely hidden exasperation after all these years that his words took longer than usual to register with Bruce. A frown appeared on his face as he finally realized what was wrong with the butler’s statement.

Alfred never served breakfast – or any meal for that matter – in the kitchen.

He would rather shoo everyone out with a spatula full off batter than let anyone eat where he cooked. Bruce couldn’t even count the number of times he had seen Dick or Tim appear in the dining room with a sheepish look, a thoroughly exasperated Alfred hot on their heels.

Pushing the sheets away just enough to uncover his head, Bruce peeked over his shoulder at the still open door, eyebrows knitting further in confusion.

“What?”

Something caught his eyes.

There was a piece of yellow paper on the nightstand. An origami bat, he realized after finally deciding to emerge from the sea of sheets and pillows he had buried himself in during his sleep. He reached for it and took the little paper animal gingerly between his fingers, eyes focusing enough to read “unfold me” written in elegant cursive right at its center.

Bruce did as he was told.

Dear Master Bruce,

My words most probably confused you as the kitchen is a place I do not tolerate for anyone to eat in. But, need I remind you, there always has been one peculiar occasion where I allowed you to do so.

Bruce stared at the note, confusion growing.

Oh.

His eyebrows raised a bit, pleasantly amused. There was indeed one occasion Alfred would let him eat in the kitchen while he worked. What did the kids put Alfred to this time?

Led by his curiosity, Bruce climbed off the bed, fully awake now as he put on a shirt, and padded out of the bedroom, towards the kitchen.

No one was there when he arrived, which wasn’t odd per say but he had learned to be cautious over years of attempted surprise parties. There was a plate though, on the little table, with French toasts that smelled like butter and cinnamon and a cup of coffee with probably enough sugar and cream that it didn’t even taste like coffee anymore.

It was a breakfast Alfred had always prepared for him on the morning of his birthday after his parents’ death. He would put the plate on this same table and work silently as Bruce happily ate, the two of them sharing the same space in the simplest way. It wasn’t a grand gesture but it had meant the world to him nonetheless.

Another little origami bat was waiting for him, propped against the cup. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Bruce put it aside before starting to eat, careful not to stain the paper with coffee or grease, only taking it again once he had cleared the table and washed his hands. He unfolded it with the same care as the first.

My happy place.

(Took a piece of bread. Alfred said yes. Thank you.)

Cass

The dance studio on the third floor.

A while back, Bruce had decided to redesign one of the biggest rooms on that floor in a place where Cass could dance that wasn’t the ball room. He had wanted for it to be a place only for her, where she could express herself and spend time however she pleased, without anyone bothering her. His greatest recompense had been the radiant smile on her face before she had locked himself in there and played music until late that night.

The next course of action wasn’t too hard to guess so Bruce quickly folded the paper back into its bat form, slid it in the pocket of his pajama pants, along the first one, and headed for the next place.

As expected, he found another bat in Cass’s dance studio, tucked into the folds of a bright orange knitted scarf. There was a running joke between his kids saying that it was because Bruce always forgot to take a scarf with him during winter that his Batman voice sounded so bad.

One thing was for sure, he would not forget this one.

Hey B, remember that time you told me you were proud of me and then proceeded to suffocate me with your muscles? Just kidding, you give great hugs. Like, super comfy, 10/10. But yeah, go there next.

Steph :p

He huffed at Stephanie’s words, eyes rolling with fondness. He remembered perfectly what she was referring to.

The young woman had been staying in the manor for a few days that time, Alfred being keen on keeping her under careful observation after she had been hit with a new type of fear gas while on patrol with Dick. She had continuously apologized to Bruce, blaming herself for Dick’s injuries.

Until the third day, where he had found her reading in the library, curled up in one of the love seats. Before she could utter a word, he had crouched down and grabbed her hands firmly.

“You do not need to apologize or blame yourself for anything, do you hear me? You managed to drag Dick and yourself out of this building while under the influence of fear gas when most would have stayed frozen in place. I’m sure he will agree that a few scratches and broken bones are far better than what would have awaited him if you hadn’t been there. I’m proud of you, Stephanie Brown. More than you’ll ever know.”

After that, she had thrown herself at him and Bruce had hugged her for the better part of an hour until Alfred had come to fetch her for some blood analysis.

This time, when he walked into the next place of this little treasure hunt, he found a laptop, sitting open on the table next to one of the windows. The windows of the library were wide and high and the spot where the next gift awaited was one of his favorites.

So he let himself sink in the armchairs cushions and started to play the video.

“You better not ruin this, Todd,” Damian was saying, standing next to the piano in the lounge of the west wing, violin already positioned on his shoulder.

Jason was scowling at the piano in front of him, focused.

“Just take the lead, brat. I’ll follow.”

“Could you two focus, please?” Tim said off camera.

The other two huffed with the same affronted look towards the camera.

Then the melody started and both of their faces softened. It was gentle, melancholic. Almost sad if you asked Bruce. But he listened with a smile on his face, bemused at the sight of his two quick tempered sons playing with a soft kind of intensity together, Jason following Damian’s lead flawlessly – probably the result of hours of practice. It was truly beautiful and he knew that the melody was one of Damian’s compositions.

But it was over too soon for Bruce’s taste so he played it a second time, closing his eyes. And then a third as he read the next message, only heading for the next place once it was over.

Blah blah blah, some cute shit about us bonding, blah blah blah. Just get your ass to the garage old man.

Ps: Remember your Aston Martin? I think I scratched it a bit but I’ll blame it on Timmy anyway.

Jay.

Bruce knew exactly which car Jason was talking about (and knew perfectly that he didn't scratch it). An Aston Martin DB5 he had inherited from his father. Nobody had driven it in ages when Jason had brought it up during dinner one evening, not long after he had taken him in.

“Isn’t that James Bond's car?”

“It is. But it’s been so long since the last time I used it, I’ll probably need to pop open the hood before anything else if I want to drive it again.”

“Can I help you fix it?”

Jason’s eyes had been so full of hope and excitement when he had asked Bruce. He had laughed before agreeing. The next day, Alfred had had to come and pry them away from the car for lunch because both of them had forgotten about eating in their eagerness.

He noticed a tape case on the board as he approached, in front of the wheel. Bruce opened the door and climbed in so he could reach for it easily. On the piece of paper tucked between the clear case and the tape, Bruce could see every song scribbled, one in each of his children’s handwriting. He recognized a song by The Clash in Tim’s handwriting – of course – and Midnight Sonata in Damian’s. The other titles and artists were mostly lost on him, except maybe for that Belgian one Cass listened to a lot.

I can’t count the number of times I fell asleep there while you worked and you had to carry me back to my room.

Dick

Bruce couldn’t recount either.

Although he remembered fondly the first time Dick had fallen asleep in his study, curled up in one of the seats across his desk while he worked on some urgent papers for WE. They both had been so young. Bruce being completely new to parenthood, he had seeked out Alfred who had only fixed him with a blank stare before sending him back.

“Don’t you dare wake up this child, Master Bruce.”

He had actually managed to pick up the gangly child without waking him up, even if rather awkwardly, and had carried him all the way to his bedroom uneventfully. Only to trip on one of Dick’s schoolbooks once there, nearly dropping him.

They had both elected not to mention it to Alfred and, to this day, it was still something only the two of them knew about.

When he arrived at his study, another message was waiting for him in the seat Dick used to sleep in, along with a gift card for that 24 hours coffee shop that had opened recently in downtown Gotham. Bruce let out a breathy laugh at that.

I know you always listen when I play, Father. Why do you think I leave my door open when I do?

D. Wayne

And here he thought he had been smooth. However, he should have expected that his son would pick up on his habit of passing by his room while he rehearsed with his violin.

But Bruce couldn’t resist the pull in his chest. Damian was a gifted player, just like Jason, able to translate raw emotions in barely a few notes. It always put his mind at ease, smoothed out his most troubled thoughts even for only a few moments. He had caught everyone at least once, standing outside of his youngest’s door, listening to soft melodies in a rare moment of peace.

It was silent moments shared with everyone, brought together by Damian's deft fingers. Something he had been doing knowingly and willingly apparently. It made it all the more special for Bruce.

There was no gift when he went searching for the next clue in Damian’s room. Or so he thought.

Sitting on his son’s music-stand along with yet another yellow origami bat, was an open partition. It was still in work, Bruce could tell. Notes were hastily written with a pencil, a few stains where some had been erased. Nothing out of the ordinary for Damian and his creative mind. Except for the title.

Ode to Family.

Thankfully, no one was around to witness the shuddering breath that escaped him as he read. He exited the room still unable to breathe normally, heart so full he almost felt like suffocating, and walked towards his next – and probably last – location.

You spent hours trying to teach me how to dance the waltz there after I told you I wanted to take Steph dancing for her birthday. I still don’t know how to dance but we had fun.

Tim

Indeed, Bruce still regularly caught Tim stepping on his partner’s toes during charity galas and other events. But he suspected the young man of going to great lengths to not learn how to dance correctly because it usually dissuaded most people from asking him to dance with them. And god knew how much his son disliked dancing.

That was why it had greatly surprised him when Tim had asked him for help.

“I wasn’t really the best boyfriend to her so I just… I thought I could at least be a good friend and take her dancing? She loves it when Cass takes her in the studio and they dance so I just thought… Yeah…”

Five hours later, Tim had made absolutely no progress. He had known the steps by heart at this point, had it memorized and yet, he couldn’t seem to stop stomping on Bruce’s toes. To both Dick’s and Alfred’s delight.

His eldest son probably still had videos of it, he thought as he entered the vast and empty ballroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary or out of place and Bruce almost expected for his family to sneak up on him and surprise him when he noticed one last, black origami bat on the wooden floor, right in the center of the room.

He crouched down and unfolded it slowly, warily even, some would say.

Terrace on the second floor. You know, the one where I inelegantly asked you to marry me and you just stared for a good five minutes before laughing. (And saying yes, of course.)

It wasn’t signed and even if the message wasn’t telling enough, he would recognize that hasty scribble everywhere.

Bruce took off, climbing stairs two by two and running down hallways. His heart was pounding in his chest.

He had been gone for six months. Six excruciatingly long months of absolutely no contact, of not having any means to make sure his husband-to-be – yes, that idiot had asked him to marry him just before leaving – was still alive and well. Six months of worrying, of his children asking nervously if he had any news of his whereabouts.

Bruce barged through the French doors leading to the wide terrace on the second floor of the manor and, surely enough, everyone was there. Absolutely everyone.

“Happy birthday, Spooky. Half a century, we gotta celebrate,” Hal drawled with an easy grin.

“Someone take the cake away from Hal. Right now, before they ruin it!” Bruce heard someone say distantly and, next thing he knew, he had taken the few steps still separating them and was kissing Hal, holding him close by the lapels on his jacket.

There were groans, cheers and something that sounded a lot like someone telling them to get a room. Hal laughed against his lips, pecked him one last time before pulling away, opening his arms widely with a grin. A clear invitation for everyone to pile up on them which everyone took with great enthusiasm, barreling into them and crushing Bruce and Hal under their combined weight.

#batfam #bruce and his kids #that's it #batlantern #at the end #as a treat #cuz I love these old men #bruce wayne #batman #happy birthday batsy #this was supposed to be a short drabble i don't know what happened #clemwrites

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anxiousstark · 3 years

Text

All that’s left

KO-FI | BIG MASTERLIST |

I normally only read related to Chris Evans and his characters, but here we are.

Word count: 1909

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, blood, swearing (always), death, etc.

↪ PLEASE RESPECT MY WORK. DON’T COPY, TRANSLATE OR CLAIM THEM AS YOURS. NOT ON THIS WEBSITE OR ANOTHER. ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.

All the things you went through could not be compared to the last battle of your life, the one where to save an entire world, numerous people you deeply loved had gradually lost theirs.

It was a terrifying feeling, observing the bright light in their eyes fade away while their eyelids drooped until there was no more energy to keep them open. The guttural voices were stuck in your head as their mouths opened and closed several times. The way they attempted to swallow, believing that the action would let them say their last words. Some got to announce their latest wishes or goodbyes, others weren't so fortunate, gagging on their blood.

Everyone knew that this last war would bring grief, guilt and trauma. And even though everyone knew that some people would inevitably be left behind, they also deeply hoped for them to survive. But perhaps, it was too much to ask for the universe or whoever was up there.

Natasha Romanoff, also known as Black Widow. She was probably one of those people you couldn't help but end up loving like an older sister. She tried to maintain that witty, cold facade to avoid people from deceiving her. Nevertheless, you always thought that she didn't need to maintain an image. Everyone knew how great Natasha Romanoff was.

Deep inside, every one of the Avengers knew that they would lose her. Nat had been a woman with a tough childhood and life. She was someone who believed and claimed not to have a family. Of course, all of this, before she became part of the Avengers. A group of people who would have given their lives for her. However, she was the one who gave up her life.

You sometimes glimpsed at Clint when he was in the compound, staring at the space Nathasa always preferred. It was her seat, her place. An empty one.

You had cried. You had mourned when Clint had come back, swearing he had tried to save her. You knew he had. Everyone knew. But they also knew how Natasha's mind worked. They knew she would sacrifice herself for Clint, one of the closest Avengers to her, and the one who had a wife and children waiting at home.

Notwithstanding, there was a big pain in your heart. You hoped that she felt loved, that she knew that every one of the Avengers had lost a piece of soul and brightness as soon as they understood she was never coming back.

That night, it was Steve Rogers who held you tightly even if his heart was as broken as yours, or even more. His fingers had intertwined with the locks of your hair as he shushed you while his body rocked your own one. If only that was the only sadness you would have to go through.

Not long after Natasha passed away, Tony Stark had sacrificed his life for those he loved. At that time, everything was over. The war with Thanos was over. But, another war invaded everyone. The internal war of dealing with the death of Tony Stark.

How unfair, right? The joker, the one who always tried his best to cheer others up even if it was with sarcastic comments. The one who seemed the brightest was leaving certain darkness in everyone's hearts.

You never expected to see Tony sitting down against ruins as he tried to say his last words to the woman of his life. God, Morgan was just a child and she was back home, of course. Pepper would have to tell the little girl that her dad wouldn't be coming back. Ever.

Tony fought, he fought to stay in this world for a couple of minutes more. He had expressed his everlasting love to Pepper, telling her to remind Morgan of how much he loved her and how she was his salvation. Tony had hugged Peter, repeating over and over again that he believed in him. He was proud of the teenager. Parker would just cry while nodding his head. And then, Tony peeped at you. He wanted to offer you a smile, but the pain was too much for that. The Tony Stark legacy was yours too, and he had pleaded for you to teach Morgan everything you knew. Everything he had taught you.

And as soon as the last flick of life left his eyes, everyone was kneeling on the ground. Steve was beside you, clutching your hand tightly as you sobbed.

Tony Stark was the one who rescued you a couple of years ago. You were someone lost in life. Too young to have all of those horrible thoughts invading your mind. He had just decided to take you in and show you all the potential you had. That's when you started working alongside Tony and Bruce, after learning everything from them.

Before his funeral, you sat next to Pepper and Morgan as Tony had prepared a hologram. You had chuckled because Tony had to leave in a big way.

He looked so real. He looked as if he was sitting down on that chair. And sometimes, it seemed like he could actually look at all of you. Of course, all of this was just what it looked like.

"Then again, that's the hero gig, right?" His eyes seemed to shift from Pepper to you. "Part of the journey is the end." You felt Morgan getting closer to your body. "What am I even tripping for?" Your hand softly rested on her back as Tony got up from his seat. "Everything is gonna work out," He was standing in front of the three of you. "Exactly like it's supposed to." His eyes seemed to find the ones of the little girl. "I love you 3,000." Then, he just vanished, once again.

The day of the funeral was horrible, everyone cried because Tony Stark was deeply loved. Because everything that happened was proof that Tony Stark had a heart.

However, if we talked about the present, your heart ached as much as your legs. Your heart throbbed because Steve had left a letter on your door, letting you know that he was going to return the stones to the same moment where he got them. Steve was leaving. Perhaps not to come back.

And your legs ached because you were running to the only place where you knew he could be right now. In the distance, you could recognise Bruce, Sam and Bucky. The Captain was getting on the platform, his suit changing from the usual one to red and white. "Steve!" You continued running, not thinking you will arrive on time. Steve made a gesture, begging Bruce to continue with the process. "Steve! Please!" Tears started running down your cheeks.

"Going Quantum," Bruce informed. "Three,"

"Steve, I swear to god I will kill you!" You tried to run faster, but your legs gave up as you fell to the ground. "Steve Rogers, I swear to god!" You screamed once again, getting up and ignoring the mud stuck to your cheeks due to your tears.

"Two..." Sam and Bucky looked between the both of you. The Falcon was pained to see you in that situation as much as Bucky. Both of them were your friends. And both of them had noticed the longing gazes you directed towards their other friend.

"STEVE!" You were now closer to Bruce, quickly stopping the machine. "Don't you dare to turn it on." Your finger accusingly pointed at Banner, who nodded, a little frightened of how angry you were.

"Y/N," A firm voice sounded. "I need to get back and put these stones where they bel-."

"Who are you trying to lie to?" Your voice cracked. "You are going back to the past and you will not return." You shook your head. "And that's not fair on Sam because he had started to like you and he considers you his friend now, right?" I glanced at Sam, who bit his lower lip and nodded. "That's not fair on Bucky! He has always been there for you and you are just going to leave him? You can't just leave him, Steve!" Bucky sighed, glancing at the floor. "We just lost a lot of people we profoundly loved. It is unfair that you make us go through that once again because-."

"Breathe." He interrupted me. "This isn't my place anymore."

You yelled, trying to get rid of some of the anger invading your body. "You, Steve Rogers, are the biggest liar ever!" He furrowed his eyebrows, sighing and letting you go on. "You gotta move on," You repeated those words. The words he had told a group of people who were trying to get through the losses of the blip. "You gotta move on. The world is in our hands. It's left to us, guys. And we gotta do something with it." You were now sobbing harder. "O-otherwise..."

"I'm sorry," He whispered. "But, this life is no longer for me, Y/N." He glanced at Bruce, then back at you. "I wish I didn't have to do this."

"Nothing is making you go back!" You cried. "You can return the stones then come back to us and-." You gasped. "Steve, I know I'm selfish for saying this but please, don't go back to her-."

"Y/N," His voice was firmer this time. "I have nothing to do here, okay? Believe me. Yes, I will have to leave you all, but that's a price I must pay. You knew I always felt like this was not my world. Everything was always too strange for me." He sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I love you all. Especially, you. I love you. But I'm not the one you deserve." Tears fell down his cheeks. "Take care."

Before you could say anything more, he disappeared. You glanced at Bruce, glaring at him for listening to Steve and then, you got on the platform, screaming with all your strength. "That's for me to decide, Steve Rogers! That's for me to decide!" You recovered as soon as possible, running towards Bruce after noticing that Steve wasn't back yet. "Bring him! Bring him back!" Bucky walked closer to you, resting a hand on your shoulder as you continued crying. "How long until he comes back?"

Sam glanced at the other two men, sighing. "He isn't coming back." He coughed. His voice cracking. "Steve isn't coming back."

"He believes he isn't apt for this world." Before you could answer, Bucky interrupted you. "I know, it sounds stupid. But he truly felt like that." He shuffled closer to you. "He didn't go back to Peggy. Believe me."

"Then why?"

"Because he believed he wasn't enough for you." Sam stepped forward. "We tried to let him know that he was. But he said that he was never able to be there for you as much as he wanted to." He was always there. "He went back to safety. To the world, he knew. A world without," He glanced around. "All of this."

"A world without me." There was no reason to justify his actions, even if you wanted to. "So... this is all that's left."

"Not all." Bucky placed a tiny box on your hand. "He would probably kill me if he knew I gave you this. But I think you deserve to know. You deserve to...just...open it."

A ring. There was a ring with both of your names. A wedding ring.

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avengers-age-of-fanfics · 3 years

Text

just for you, honeybee (6/?)

pairing: steve rogers x reader (platonic), natasha romanoff x reader (platonic), bruce banner x reader (y/n is a big fan of his), tony stark x reader, bucky barnes x reader

warnings: mention of bucky, fighting, training, mention of guns, takes place during The Avengers

words: 3,359

a/n: part 6! i honestly don't know how long this series will be, but i think i may end it at either endgame or TFATWS. so basically going through all the movies lmao, but skipping over a few. i just want honeybee and bucky to be happy but gotta add some angst.

Transitioning into a new world, the year of 2011, was no easy feat, and you appreciated Director Fury being somewhat patient and honest about how much has changed. Him, and apparently one of your biggest ‘fans,’ Phil Coulson, have been the most helpful with your adjustment, teaching you all about the new technology and supplying you with a new phone, courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D.

However, along the way, were a few speedbumps. You and Steve trained consistently in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s gym, almost leaving no room for sleep or taking proper care of yourselves. You both knew it was terrible, you should be looking out for one another, but the loss and confusion overran your needs to live a normal life. However, over time, he seemed to adjust better than you, as expected. Even though Steve had only been awake a few months before you, he jumped right back into the new world.

For you and Steve, the both of you had seen Bucky a few weeks ago; you had seen Steve a few minutes ago, from the time you had woken up. To everyone else in the world, including Steve, however, that was history, a moment written in textbooks ages ago; and for Captain Rogers, that moment was months ago.

In your mind, you deserved to release your anger out on some punching bags.

It had taken Director Fury and Agent Coulson a while until they shared the news to you and Steve, that Peggy was alive. They had claimed that since they found Steve, high hopes were in store for finding you, hence saving off on telling him beforehand. Steve had immediately wanted to see her but you hesitated; what would Peggy say to the both of you? How would she react to you both being alive? No matter, Steve had begged you to come along to visit Peg and you caved, giving him some time with her before he called you in.

Peggy’s eyes lit up, “y/n, you’re alive! Sweetheart…”

You smiled, pulling up a chair next to her, “hey, Peggy. How’s the strongest woman alive doin’?”

She sighed, grasping your hand, “better…much better. Howard never stopped looking for you, the both of you. He’d be so happy to see you.”

You sucked in a breath as her eyes turned glossy, “we know, Pegs. We know.”

She held back her tears as she continued, “he had a son, Anthony; just as stubborn but smart as Howard. You’d love him.”

Steve chuckled, “sounds like a handful.”

Peggy laughed before falling into a coughing fit, turning away for a few seconds. After regaining her breath, she turned towards you and Steve, “Steve! Y/N! You – you’re both alive; you came back!”

Steve gave a sad smile as your face fell, “yeah, Peggy, we did…”

Steve’s eyes teared up, “I couldn’t leave my best girl; not when she owes me a dance.”

Over time, the visits to Peggy became too much and you needed to rest. So, with little convincing to Director Fury, you found yourself in a small cabin in Bozeman, Montana, with frequent visits by both Coulson and your new female friend, Natasha Romanoff. At first, you hated the idea of someone visiting you during your time to reflect, but once you realized that she wanted to help you train and become used to your super serum abilities, you appreciated the company.

You barely had any time to adjust to your newfound strength, among other things, and you slowly became grateful that Natasha had joined you over the course of a few months. Sure, sometimes she was so nosy and bossy, waking you up in the ungodly hours of the morning to train, but she had slowly become one of your closest friends.

Honestly, some days it felt as if you just met Natasha the day before:

You stood in Fury’s office, arms crossed, as he stood adjacent to you, Coulson awkwardly standing beside him. “Why are you sending a babysitter to a place where I am supposed to be, oh, I don’t know, relaxing? Reflecting?”

Director Fury grumbled for the umpteenth time, “because, Agent L/N, you never know when the day will come where we will need you and Rogers, along with your special abilities. You are unskilled in hand-in-hand combat, among other areas in defense, and it’d be nice to enhance our agents.”

You uncrossed your arms, still very pissed off, “I don’t want them to visit me every day. That’s my one condition. I need time, Nick; I feel like I haven’t properly…taken everything in. I just want time to myself.”

Phil spoke up beside Fury, “and we respect that, Y/N, we truly do. But we hope you also see where we are coming from. Natasha Romanoff is very skilled in her profession and understands your situation – you’re in good hands.”

“Phil, you’re making me blush,” a female monotonous voice spoke.

Whipping your head around, you were met with a beautiful redhead who definitely seemed like an Agent, someone who meant all business. You’d learn later on that was just a façade.

“I- Y/N L/N, you must be Agent Romanoff,” you said, holding out your hand.

Natasha grinned, shaking your hand in hers, “just call me Nat, Agent sounds too formal. I look forward to seeing what that super soldier serum truly did to you.”

Apparently, not too much as she continuously kicked your ass in combat.

Training with Natasha was, well, with your lack of combat, embarrassing. You had your ass handed to you so many times, it was a bit pathetic – but she always told you that you were improving. You used your heightened senses to your advantage, listening to her footsteps and figuring out what move she intended to use next. You hesitated to use your strength at first, but with continued training, you knew Nat could handle it.

With Nat, you also became very skilled in shooting handguns, rifles, the whole nine. Your aim was impeccable and target training was becoming a breeze. The thought of shooting someone terrified you at first, but when Nat reminded you that hesitation could get you killed, you understood – there was no room for mistakes.

During your stay in Montana, you kept in touch with Steve, but only through short texts. He was not thrilled with you leaving him, but he understood where you were coming from; you needed to mourn but also keep busy, careful to not fall into a dark abyss. Fury kept you updated, telling you that he had pushed himself into training continuously and visiting Peggy all he could. You knew seeing Peg was doing Steve no good whatsoever, and your heart ached...but at least he got to see his long love.

Nat had been there when Bucky’s birthday passed, holding you as you cried, unable to leave your bed the day of and a few after. She held you as you yelled at the sky for taking away the most important person in your life, leaving you so alone. She knew you had Steve, but it wasn’t the same – you needed Bucky. But she also knew by letting you cry, your emotions out of your body, you’d feel so much more at peace.

And she was right.

Natasha also told you about Howard's son, Anthony, and from what you saw on the news, that was definitely Howard's kid. Tony was arrogant, self-absorbed, but did what he thought was right. After his declaration of being Iron Man, you followed Tony all over the internet, but hearing first hand from Natasha of the man that Tony was...Howard would be proud. You wished to meet him, you did, but something pulled at your heart, telling you that Tony probably hated you for taking his dad from him, forcing Howard to become obsessed with finding you and Steve and thus, costing him his life.

Natasha told you he might see you in that light, yes, but if you ever got to know Tony, he'd warm up.

You weren’t healed and you still weren’t okay, but you were…better. You hated whatever being there was in the sky for taking your James, but you came to terms with it. But the one thing you were so resentful about was the fact that there was no body, no funeral for him.

Becca hated that, too.

You had visited her in her old age, just like Peggy, and the two of you held hands as you talked about James and Steve – your boys. She had missed you so much, just like she missed Jamie, and she understood your pain the best. She had tried to encourage a search party for him, to have some closure, but the government refused. He was gone, and they couldn’t send more men to find a disfigured body.

You hated thinking about that, what James would look like. It haunted you in your nightmares, waking you up in the wee hours of the morning, his frostbitten body staring right back at you. Phil had found you a morning after such nightmare, sitting on your porch in nothing but an oversized shirt and a blanket around your shoulders, cheeks wet with fresh tears.

You sniffled once more, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, watching as a black car parked into your dirt driveway. The car opened and Phil Coulson emerged, as expected - on time for your monthly visits. Hugging onto the blanket tighter, you shivered against the cold air, hoping Phil would just leave upon noticing your state.

He did the exact opposite.

Phil took off his jacket, resting it upon your shoulders even though you had the blanket. You sniffled, inhaling his scent, and hugged the jacket closer, feeling Phil take a seat next to you on your wooden bench.

"I always found snow to be soft, almost like a cloud, falling down upon it when James and I would make snow angels," you began. A shiver ran down your spine as you continued, "but now, I can't help but think of his body just...plopping onto the ground so roughly that he was hurting, still alive, yelling out for anyone and..."

Phil ran his hand over your head, brushing your hair back, "freezing."

You glanced to Phil, "freezing to...to death. He must've been so scared, I-"

Phil shushed you as the tears formed, "no what if's, y/n. He's safe now - that's what matters most. You're okay, and so is he."

Your bottom lip trembled as you held onto the dog tags, nodding to Phil's words, "you're right, as always."

Phil gave a tight smile, "let's go inside and heat up some milk, 'm getting tired myself." Coulson held your hand for the rest of the night.

Trying to convince yourself to get some closure, you told yourself that the next time you were in Washington D.C., you’d visit the museum and read all about Bucky, all that he had done, and see the amazed looks of citizens who saw him as a hero. Your James Barnes was a hero to so many people, including yourself, and you should be able to celebrate his goodness from when he was alive.

You were going to go the next day until Director Fury knocked on your door at 2:30 in the morning, holding a file labeled “CLASSIFIED.”

You raised an eyebrow, “couldn’t have given me this at a decent time?”

He narrowed his good eye, “it’s urgent, didn’t have time for formalities, your highness.”

With a snort, you grabbed the folder from his hands, “glad you know how to properly address me. What time do we leave?”

Fury tilted his head toward the quinjet, directing your eyes toward Steve who stood alongside Natasha, “once you get dressed, Agent. You’ll have time to look over the file in the jet.”

You weren’t sure why you got dressed so fast; seeing Steve for the first time in about 6 months, finally going on a mission, or just getting some new sense of scenery. Either way, you engulfed Steve in a hug and he laid a hand on the back of your head, “hey, honeybee.”

Your heart ached whenever he called you that, but you figured it was one of the last things he could hold onto Bucky as his dog tags laid against your chest, “hey, Stevie. So, what’s the deal?”

Reading over the file while Nat gave more information about Clint – someone else who you had grown quite close to – you grew confused. You looked to Steve, “the Tesseract. That’s the blue cube that…disintegrated Schmidt, right?”

Steve nodded, “looks like Howard recovered it and it’s been in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands since, but this guy, Loki, wants something to do with it – Hydra’s secret weapon.”

Fury spoke up from the front of the jet, “that scepter he has, it controls the minds of anyone it touches, including one of my sharpest agents. The Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy – that’s something the world sorely needs. Falls into the wrong hands, well…”

You shook your head, “you shoulda left it in the ocean.”

Silence overtook the quinjet until Phil came over to your seat, sitting beside you, “I’d like you to come along to recruit another member, if you don’t mind.”

You gave a small smile to Phil, “um, yeah, that’s fine. Where we goin’ and who are we recruiting, Coulson?”

Phil seemed a bit nervous as he spared a glance to Nat, who nodded her head, “Tony Stark, Iron Man.”

You sucked in a breath, “Howard’s son? You want me to come along?”

Phil laid his own hand upon yours that rested in your lap, file forgotten about, “I do, and I hope you wouldn’t mind tagging along.”

Holding back your tears, you nodded, “yeah, yeah, I’ll come. When do we leave?”

“Once we land in D.C., we’ll take a quick trip to New York. Easy car ride.”

You squinted your eyes, “isn’t that like, a 6-hour drive?”

Phil gave an uneasy smile, “not with me driving, we’ll be there in 2.”

You chuckled, “as long as I get there alive, I don’t really care how we get there.”

In all honesty, the drive to Stark Tower was relatively calm, save for swerving through traffic and going way too fast for your liking. Once you arrived, you and Phil talked to the impressive AI named JARVIS who told you both that he was informing Mr. Stark of your arrival.

“Impressive Artificial Intelligence,” you whispered to Phil, “definitely Howard's kid.”

Phil was about to respond until JARVIS spoke up, “Mr. Stark is not in, Agent Coulson.”

Your friend pursed his lips together, “please tell Tony that this is urgent and we need to speak. Now.”

Very quickly, Tony ignored your calls until Phil hacked into the system, overriding JARVIS and his protocols. Phil spoke into the phone, pulling you inside the elevator, “Mr. Stark, we need to talk.”

Tony sighed on the other line, “you have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark. Please leave a message.”

Phil rolled his eyes, causing you to let out a snort, along with Pepper Potts on the other line, “this is urgent, Tony.”

You and Phil stood in the elevator, about to reach his floor as Tony responded, “then leave it urgently.” Right on cue, the elevator doors opened and Tony held up his glass of champagne, “security breach, it’s on you.”

Tony’s eyes glanced over your figure as you stood beside Phil, Pepper getting up from the floor to greet him, “Phil! Come in. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met yet, Miss?”

You smiled at Pepper, meeting her halfway and shaking her hand, “Agent Y/N L/N, Miss Potts.”

Tony stood beside Pepper, “the infamous Miss America, Cap’s sidekick. How’s S.H.I.E.L.D. treating you? Always annoying you with something, barging in without your knowledge, telling you that you've been asleep for 70 years?”

Phil spoke for you, “I’m afraid we can’t stay. We need you to look this over as soon as possible.”

Tony shook his head, “I don’t like being handed things.”

You let out a chuckle as Pepper took the folder, “that’s fine, because I love to be handed things. So, let’s trade.” With a quick switch of hands, Pepper gave Tony the folder as she handed Phil the glass of champagne, “thank you. Anything for you, Y/N?”

You shook your head, “no thank you, Miss Potts.”

You took a moment to look Tony over. Peggy was not kidding – he looked exactly like Howard, and certainly acted like him, too. They had the same eyes, the same face, and the same attitude; it was almost like looking at a clone of Howard. Your eyes filled with unshed tears but you pushed them back, taking a small breath as Phil continued, “this is not a consultation.”

Pepper’s eyes grew wide, “is this about the Avengers? Which I know nothing about.” She looked guilty once the words slipped.

Tony sighed as he walked away, opening up the folder and looking through it quickly, “the Avengers initiative was scrapped, I thought – and I didn’t even qualify.”

Pepper shrugged, “I didn’t know that, either.”

Tony continued, “apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others.”

You mumbled, “kind of like Howard.” Tony pointed his finger towards you as he nodded, “and she speaks of him!”

Pepper nodded her head, “that I did know,” ignoring his comment towards you.

Phil shifted his weight, “this isn’t about personality profiles anymore.”

Tony grunted, “whatever. Ms. Potts, got a second?”

As the two were talking, screens were lit up of you, Steve, and others fighting, and you stumbled back with a slight gasp, still new to the whole holographic stuff of technology. Phil turned towards you, asking you if you were okay with a look, and you nodded. Pepper looked towards you both and back to Tony, whispering, “maybe while working on this, you can get to know her. Get to know your dad. I’ll take the jet to D.C. tonight. You have homework – a lot of homework.”

The two kissed before Pepper headed your way, “so, any chance you two are driving by LaGuardia?”

Phil nodded, “I can drop you.” Pepper smiled, “fantastic!”

The two began to walk towards the elevator as you looked on at Tony who held a holographic Tesseract in his hand. In that moment, your brain convinced yourself that was Howard, your Howie.

Tony turned towards you, “you joining them or you just gonna stare?”

You took a step back, a frown on your face as you mumbled an apology, meeting Pepper and Phil in the elevator. Pepper turned your way as the doors closed, “I’m sorry about him. When it comes to his dad and you, he gets a bit…”

You finished her sentence, “jealous. He missed out on a lot and I can imagine Howard spent too much time talking about me or Steve instead of him. I understand.”

Pepper gave a tight smile.

In a few short hours, you, Phil, Steve, and a few other S.H.I.E.L.D agents were on your way to the helicarrier, something that only a few of you knew about. You sat next to Steve, looking over Dr. Bruce Banner’s files, examining videos of him as Hulk, and how he was trying to recreate the super soldier serum. You had known about Dr. Banner and honestly, had become one of his fans – when he was in his human form, of course. His works on nuclear physics and gamma radiation greatly interested you and upon reading many of his published articles, you had completely forgotten about his condition. Having the opportunity to meet him in person was certainly one of your dreams and you just knew Bucky was making fun of you for being such a dork.

Phil stood up from his seat, walking towards you and Steve, leaning above you both. Steve looked to Phil, “this Dr. Banner was trying to replicate the serum they used on me?”

Phil nodded, “after Howard Stark’s death in 1991, Dr. Banner made it his mission to replicate it. A lot of people were. You – you both – were the world’s first superheroes. Banner thought gamma radiation might hold the key to unlocking Erskine’s original formula.”

Steve looked uneasy, “didn’t really go his way, did it?”

Phil shifted his weight as he looked towards you, then to Steve, “not so much. When he’s not that thing, though,” you interrupted him with a glare, “sorry, the Hulk, the guy’s like a Stephen Hawking.”

Steve looked to you, confusion written on his face. You shrugged, “a really smart person.”

Silence enveloped the three of you until you nodded to Phil, urging him to continue. Phil seemed all giddy, “I gotta say, it’s an honor to meet you officially. I’ve sort of met you, I mean, I watched you while you were sleeping.”

You snorted as Steve nervously smiled at Phil, covering your face as he continued, “I mean, I was present while you were unconscious from the ice.” Steve stood up as you continued laughing, making his way to the front of the jet, “you know, it’s just a huge honor to have you on board this.”

You followed Phil, clapping him on the back as Steve overlooked the ocean, “thank you for that, Phil, truly.”

Steve elbowed you as he mumbled, “I hope we’re the people for the job.”

Phil’s eyes lit up, “oh, you are – you both are, absolutely! We, uh, made some modifications to your suits, by the way.”

You glanced towards Phil – now this was what you missed.

honeybee taglist:

@clownerlyluv

@ginger-swag-rapunzel

@starkleila

@intothesoul

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mandoalorian · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 8

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - reader confronts her abusive ex boyfriend.

Author’s note: ANGST! Mention of an abusive relationship although I've tried to gloss over it as much as I can. Sorry this chapter was a long time coming. I'm so happy that people are enjoying Sugar and Spice.

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER EIGHT - NEXT

"I think," Maxwell swallowed. "No. I know. I know that I've fallen deeply in love with you."

You swore your heart stopped at his revelation. Hand still cupping his cheek, you looked deep into his glazed, honey brown eyes and saw nothing but the truth. The man who had rounded his career on lies and greed loved you. You felt your throat dry up, searching for words but not knowing what to say. Maxwell looked at you too, his soft eyes beginning to cross in bewilderment when you didn't say a word. He wished so desperately that you'd say something, anything. The last person Maxwell Lord said 'I love you' to, was his father. You couldn't leave him hanging.

You wanted to say it back, you wanted to so desperately tell him the truth— that you loved him too, because, you did. You hadn't confronted your feelings, you hadn't realized it fully until faced with your current situation. But now everything made sense. The jealousy, the lust, the need for affection and the want to be cared for.

Fate brought you both together. Running from an abusive relationship, getting almost kicked out of your apartment, and finding yourself in the expansive office of Maxwell Lord the IV. You thought you were going for an assistant position but instead you found yourself as his sugar baby and now… now this only complicated everything.

"Max," you whispered and he closed his eyes slowly, one final year falling down his cheek. Your gaze flicked between him and the almost finished bottle of whiskey on his desk. He'd been drinking at the gala and he'd been drinking when he got home therefore it was for certain that Maxwell was not in the right state of mind at all. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"You don't love me," Maxwell tried to ask but it came out as an embarrassing croak. "Of course you don't." He regretted the words immediately after they fell from his lips. He was so sure that he had ruined everything and things would never be the same again.

What was wrong with you? No matter how much you wanted to tell him you just couldn't. "Max," he admired the way his name fell from your soft lips. You continued to smooth his hair out of his face and he hummed in contentment, his eyes still closed. "You're so sleepy. Please, let me take you to bed." you whispered and Max barely moved. You called his name one more time and he opened his eyes the slightest. You pulled him up and wrapped an arm around his body. Despite him being much bigger than you, you somehow managed to navigate the drunk and hurting man the corridor and into his master bedroom. He slumped onto his king sized bed and you gently tucked him under the blankets. He mumbled something incoherent, reaching out and making grabby fists. He wanted you.

"Lay with me," he mumbled, trying to pull you down on top of him. You wanted to but you weren't even sure if you could stay at the penthouse after his revelation. You hadn't even shared a bed with Maxwell, and now suddenly he was requesting that you lay with him?

"I have to go." you whispered, running your fingers through his hair and pushing his bangs out of his face.

"No." he mumbled, but he was already half sleep. You planted a gentle kiss on his forehead before stepping back.

You had genuine trouble trying to process what just happened and why it happened. Maxwell trusted you. He shared with you a family secret that nobody else knew, and all because he was in love with you. You were perplexed.

Before you could leave his bedroom, you were greeted with your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess, your ballgown was ruined and your makeup was tear stained. You padded into Maxwell's closet and took out one of his shirts and tailored suit pants. That man desperately needed to get a pair of normal casual clothes and fast. You tried them on, not minding the way they fit your body. You could've gone all out, finding a belt or a pair of suspenders to clip onto the light grey pants, but you decided against it. You pushed your hair out of your face and padded into the en-suite to wash your face. You didn't look much better, and you figured you probably just need a good night sleep. At least this way, no one would recognise you. You were almost certain the press would still be walking the streets looking for you and Maxwell. You actually kinda liked wearing Max's clothes, although there was no doubt in your mind that they looked better on him than you.

The streets were freezing and filled with thick snow. You regretted not taking one of Maxwell's suit jackets or warm winter coats but nevertheless you shivered all the way home. Your feet were like bricks of ice by the time you got back to your apartment. As you walked up the flights of stairs, digging into your purse for your keys, you were greeted with an unwelcome visitor. Tristan.

"Maxwell Lord," he deadpanned, standing in front of your door. You paused, looking at him hesitantly. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" Tristan snarled.

"What do you mean?" you asked innocently.

"You were on national television!" Tristan accused. "You and him, and a bunch of other snobby business pricks. Bruce fucking Wayne too… and the president!"

You rolled your eyes. "Tristan, it's late. Please move so I can enter my apartment and go to bed." You reached out to press your key into the lock when Tristan's large hand grabbed your wrist, his fingernails digging into your skin. You winced, trying to flinch back but he wouldn't let go, and suddenly the memories came flooding back. "Tristan," you gritted out. "Fucking let me go."

"I sold your apartment." Tristan spat.

"What?" you gasped, tears filling your eyes. "But I paid rent!"

"You're fucking around with Maxwell Lord, aren't you?" He growled.

"Who I fuck around with is none of your business! Now. Let. Me. Go." you tried pulling yourself away from Tristan but his grip around you only tightened. You squealed when he slammed you into the door. "You're going to wake the neighbours." You hissed trying desperately to keep your cool. You didn't want to seem weak. You weren't weak. You had this under control.

"Let's go somewhere more private then." Tristan smirked, dragging you unwillingly to his own apartment and locking the door behind him. "Now you tell me right now what the fuck is going on between you two."

"Or what?" You snapped back. "What the hell are you gonna do?"

"Is he your boyfriend?" Tristan quizzed.

"He's a friend." you glared at him, backing away everytime he took a step bearing you.

"A friend," Tristan repeated with a scoff of disbelief. "Just like you said on television."

You wondered how much of the gala and the interview outside had been televised but now wasn't the time to ask questions. You knew Maxwell had the power to rid you of Tristan. If he knew about the awful things Tristan had done to you and the way he had hurt you… well, Tristan may as well have had a death wish.

"Jesus Christ Tristan can you just let me go home?" you sighed, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

"I knew you were struggling with rent. I knew you had been laid off from work and it's Christmas coming up… if you had just told me you were struggling I would've made a negotiation." Tristan shook his head shamefully. "But no."

"Negotiate?" you questioned in disbelief. "You're a fucking manipulator!"

"And you're a fucking whore!" Tristan screamed, towering over you, his cheeks turning bright red with rage. "You know, I really didn't think you had it in you. Fucking around with some big CEO who thinks he's a hotshot."

"And what are you supposed to be?" you exhaled shakily, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. His words stung. "Maxwell… he cares about me. You never gave a shit about me."

"You think he cares about you? You seriously think Maxwell Lord cares about anyone other than himself?" Tristan barked. "He has you wrapped around your finger. I thought you were smarter than this."

"You don't know him the way I do." you smiled bravely. Fuck, you really did love him. And you needed him now more than ever. You knew that he was just a phone call away and if you told him you were in danger he would come running to rescue you with his whole team of security. If only you had just stayed with him. If only you had just decided to lay next to him, curled up in his arms in his warm bed.

"So you are fucking him?" Tristan scrunched his nose up and looked at you with disgust. He double checked the door was locked and put his key in his pocket before walking over to his bedroom. "You can sleep on the floor like the whore you are." Tristan laughed before going into his bedroom and shutting the door.

Once he was gone, you were left standing in the middle of your ex boyfriend's apartment feeling small and helpless. You didn't know what to do or where to go. You didn't even have Maxwell's number memorised so you couldn't call him. You let the tears free fall as you glanced between the locked door and the windows that you knew you couldn't squeeze out of even if you tried. You were trapped in a place that has brought back so much fear, and you didn't know what to do. You didn't know what tomorrow would hold.

You could barely sleep, the December cold hanging over your body like an icicle. You would give anything to be in the warmth of Maxwell's penthouse. God, you'd give anything just to be with Maxwell. You needed him.

The next morning, Maxwell woke up groggy, and his butler, Kenneth, was already waiting by his bed holding a platter of French toast, cup of black coffee and a glass of water. "Good morning sir," he greeted. "Your hangover breakfast, as requested."

Maxwell rubbed his eyes and shuffled upwards in bed as Kenneth placed the silver tray on his lap. It smelled delicious but he couldn't help but wish you were there to share it with him. He imagined you laying next to him in bed, giving him sleepy kisses while Kenneth presented you with your favourite breakfast meal; waffles and berries. The perfect life.

That's when Maxwell remembered. He practically three the breakfast on the floor and dived out of bed, still in his clothes from the night before. He caught a glimpse of your gala gown in the entryway of his closet and his heart sank in his chest. The memories came flooding back. He told you he loved you, but he didn't remember you saying it back.

"Have you seen Y/N?" Maxwell asked hurriedly, trying to weigh up what time you must have left. He quickly tore open his shirt and grabbed a clean one out of the closet.

Kenneth stood there awkwardly watching his boss work up a frenzy. "Uh no sir," he replied. "So I gather you won't be eating breakfast?" Kenneth's gaze flicked from Maxwell to the mess of French toast and spilled coffee that was sure to stain the cream coloured carpet.

"Shit no, sorry Kenneth. Could you call Jeeves and have him drive me to her apartment? I have to see her." Maxwell asked as he buttoned up the top of his dress shirt.

"Right away sir, but there's something I think you must see first." Kenneth swapped out the usual business newspaper that Maxwell would read for a glossy red-top tabloid magazine.

"You know I don't read that bullshit." Maxwell sighed, quickly combing his hair and trying his best to style it into place given the stressful circumstances. He wasn't going to forget to spritz his cologne either.

"Sir…." Kenneth drew out again, flashing the cover in Maxwell's direction. Maxwell caught a glimpse of it and his heart stopped. Front page was an image of you trending through the thick snow in the dead of night wearing Maxwell's clothes. The headline was explicitly disgusting, shaming you in every way possible. Maxwell's lips parted as he drunk in your appearance and he was horrified as he read the mean words the journalists had wrote about you.

"She cannot see this. I want you to buy every copy of this god forsaken tabloid and have them all destroyed. You understand?" Maxwell ordered, slamming his black business credit card into the chest of Kenneth. "Get the rest of the house staff to help you and do it fast."

"No worries sir," Kenneth smiled. "Jeeves is waiting for you outside."

Maxwell nodded appreciatevely as he tied his shoelaces. "Thanks."

"Sir?" Kenneth asked timidly.

"Yeah?" Maxwell asked, semi breathless.

"When you're with her, I see your face light up. I see the same happiness in you that I once saw in your father." Kenneth admitted and Maxwell's heart blossomed at the comparison. "When you get her, please don't ever let her go."

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added)!

December Magic: @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell @maiyaaaa0130 @autumnleaves1991-blog @justanotherblonde23

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #pedro Pascal smut

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS | EPILOGUE

💖 story masterlist 💖

This is it. This is the happy ending they deserve. Fluff. Fem!Loki, because we don't get enough of Loki's female form. Some musings about relationships in general, I think. Guys, I'm crying as I'm posting this.

note: I've got two posts of outtakes coming out sometime this week. Snippets that didn't fit in the story but that have the needed vibe, y kno? As well as a new story is coming out soon... Be sure to check out my main masterlist and taglist if you like my writing <3

I want to thank all my readers for this amazing journey. I love all of you, really, like- I haven't figured out how to produce serotonin on my own ever since I hit puberty, and you guys, you are an amazing source for it. I appreciate the time and the patience that it took to read this 120k word thing and I hope you found a little something for yourself in my writing. A comfort, maybe, because everyone deserves to be happy. I love you all 3000.

"You suck," I grumbled in Peter's direction. Luckily, the little shit was out of my immediate eyesight and I couldn't just pelt him with the assorted items that were scattered around me; luckily for him - after enduring hours of non-stop rambling from the spider boy, I was ready to bargain with Stephen for the sorcerer to put a temporary mute ban on Pete. His nervousness was becoming contagious.

"And you swallow," Pietro replied with a snicker as I heard him wrestle with Peter's tie over the pathetic noises of whining and grumbling coming from the younger man.

"I'm lady, ladies don't spit," I rolled my eyes into the skies, catching Loki's appreciative snicker. She - and yes, Loki was in her female form for this event - carefully combed and did my hair, something completely out of this world, all puns intended. I supposed she was feeling generous, because her female form generally made Loki even more moody and unapproachable. But in a hot way. I hope she didn't notice me ogling her like some kind of gallery painting. "You're a goddess, I can't believe you're friends with me," I addressed Loki, watching the careful movements of her slender hands in the mirror.

A small smirk and a dusting of pink over her pale cheeks was what I got, but the silence was so, so loud.

"Stop flirting," Wanda remarked from her spot by the window where she was doing Natasha's make-up with surgical precision. "You already have three boyfriends, leave some for us, Jesus," Her tone was playful.

"Oh my God, like you didn't brainfreeze and run into the fucking wall, forehead-first, when you saw Loki walk in," I scoffed as Loki's blush deepened.

My witchy friend grumbled something rude in Sokovian under her breath but refrained from any more comments, choosing to simp in defiant silence. Well, good for her, because I was about a hundred and five percent sure that Loki was as equally as smitten with her. It's just that neither of them knew how to approach the other. What can I say, idiots in love...

And yes, yes, I can say that because it takes one to know one. My own idiots were somewhere on the upper floors - getting ready in their own rooms, pulling out their brand new suits and ties for the annual Stark gala. It was supposed to be a charity fundraiser but as all of us were quite disillusioned, we knew it was nothing but a pissing contest between people with small PP syndrome. Even Tony himself said so.

Which is why I had assembled all the girls and theys in my room for a mission debrief. My own personal pride wouldn't let me be anything but a star, and to be completely honest, I just wanted to show off my family to the world - even if the delicate parts of our relationship were hidden from the general public, it filled me with immense amount of joy to be surrounded by my very own at their absolute best.

As for Pietro and Peter, they arrived not too long after me, Wanda, Natasha and Loki made camp in the biggest room with the most amount of natural light, surrounded by make-up and other assorted tools. Both boys were bickering but it was obvious that some of the older men had gotten on their nerves, forcing the youngsters seek solace with their peers.

"You know, Vanity Fair better be talking about us for at least a week," I grouched as Wanda helped me into my dress before I returned the favour. "The amount of people I had to actually, physically talk to, to get us these fucking gowns, is frankly disgusting."

"Agreed," Loki admired herself in the mirror, smoothing out invisible creases in her gown. "Although I must say, the dressmakers on Midgard are far more patient and open-minded than on Asgard." Truly, Loki had nearly driven the poor lady crazy. But on the upside, Loki looked like a living doll. Pristine, perfect.

"Our whims are their wages," Natasha piped up with a chuckle.

We stepped out into the main room, taking note of the men scattered on the couches, all of them wearing an almost identical expression of being already done with the formal event - which, I didn't blame them. Having gotten used to the informal, communal-living atmosphere, I wasn't overly keen on being surrounded by random rich douchebags either; as it was unavoidable, I was going to be miserable - but at least I was going to be miserable in style.

Predictably, the menfolk froze and hurried to pelt us with compliments as they surveyed our ensemble - all of our dresses had a distinct vibe despite carrying a sense of individuality to each gown. That was my idea, actually, to present the team as a family - both to satisfy my own need for one and to present a good public image for the press. Call it getting good cookie from the public - in advance.

"Stunning, absolutely beautiful," Tony chastely kissed my cheek, leading my by the arm towards the limo, Stephen and Bruce a pace behind us. "I'm the luckiest man in the world."

"We are," Bruce corrected him mutely. Stephen's smirk was a mile wide. "It'll be hard to keep my hands to myself for four hours but I'll manage," The scientist added, eyes briefly flashing a fluorescent green.

"There are children here," Peter interjected, nervously waving a hand. I gently elbowed Tony, speaking with my eyes rather than words, that Pete was in dire need of emotional support for his first big public event. With a sigh, the engineer relocated to sit next to the spider boy, both of them talking in hushed tones.

"Now, Bruce," I smiled innocently. "Why would I refuse a dance or five to my favourite lab partner in crime?" I winked at him as giggles erupted all around us. "And I'm sure there's a point somewhere about wizards sweeping princesses off their feet," I kept up the banter in hopes that any remaining tension would evaporate before we arrive to the venue.

I, however, couldn't lose all of it for we were absolutely assaulted by the photographers and press as we arrived to the red carpet; it was only sheer luck that me and Wanda didn't stumble ass over heels out of the limo. That luck's name was Loki: her magic delicately helped us to exit the car with grace despite our large gowns. Mental note to buy Loki all the chocolate: add to priority list.

It went about as good as it could. Peter was introduced as a trainee - and nearly had an aneurysm when Tony none-too-kindly corrected the host, calling Peter his protégée and successor. As for little old me? Rising star of biochemical engineering. No titles, no direct titles, but it was heavily implied we were involved.

I could fell the old, white rich men leering at me despite the layers of silk and tulle. Nobody was commenting on my champagne intake so I downed one after the other until I had a comfortable buzz going on. I could absolutely see why female scientists became either reclusive or brash.

Bruce's eyes followed me wherever I went. I had encountered some people I vaguely knew from all the socialite events I had to attend with my mother, so it wasn't as if I was a fish out of the water; it's just that every time I strayed further than ten feet from out group, I instantly grew a tail in the form of one of the Avengers.

"Sam, quit being creepy," I exited the ladies room, immediately spying the handsome man just 'casually' hanging out by a potted plant, glued to his smartphone and pretending to be very busy.

He looked up guiltily, shutting down Minesweeper and pocketing the phone. "Not taking any risks this time 'round, Princess," He offered me his arm, leading us back to our table. "Tony would have my head."

I rolled my eyes, falling into the chair next to Stephen. "My tracker implant is still in and the bracelets Natasha loaned me are actually tasers. Bird, chill," My hand snuck under the tablecloth, blindly groping for Stephen's hand. It didn't take much time for him to respond, cradling my smaller palm in his larger one, offering the small comfort with a tiny tilt to his lips. Both my large skirt and the fabric covering the table aided the secrecy; I felt like a middle schooler sneaking a kiss from my first crush behind the bleachers.

Coupled with the bubbles in my champagne, it made me giddy.

"Sam is just being careful, Princess," Stephen rumbled patiently. "This ball will be over soon."

I snorted, "But Stephen, I love balls," Causing the whole table erupt in bashful snickers.

"Yeah, think to me about it," Wanda downed the remnants of her wine glass, eyes wide, looking to the side. The giggling became a full belly-laugh as I didn't have the decency to play coy. I just smirked because, yeah, I did love me some...

The final hour dragged on forever. My feet hurt from the dancing. I had my suspicions that time would pass faster if I actually move around so I didn't waste the chance and cajoled Bruce into several slow dances with me. The energy between us was electric; I hoped my wife eyes and the red crawling up his neck would be attributed to alcohol. We spoke in hushed tones, about nothing in particular, the words being like sticks we threw into our fire.

Tony wasn't around much, way too busy to do much more than stop by our table every now and then. I both envied and admired him; he handled everything with grace and serendipity. Tony was right there next to Thor and Loki - literal royalty - and I had to pinch myself to prevent myself from ogling him, sighing in lovesickness every goddamn minute.

"If you ever stop looking at him like that, I don't think he'll survive," Stephen's tone was cheeky; his eyes were intense as he looked down at me as we danced. My sorcerer was rarely sappy, but when he found the words to describe his feelings... It was serious.

I met his eyes slowly, letting him soak in the very same admiration and awe I felt when I was with him. I felt his shudder, I heard the hitch in his breath. He wasn't jealous, no, he simply observed. I wanted him to see what I saw. "The day that I stop looking at you all like that is the day that I need to get my head screwed on straight." I wasn't a poet but neither was this a romance novel. "As far as I'm concerned, I won the lottery, the grand prize and the fucking life."

He chuckled. "You have way too much faith in us, Princess," Twirling me as to avoid the out of habit embrace.

Did I, though? I was inclined to disagree. Sure, we had our spits and arguments and sometimes Stephen would stick his cold ass feet under my blankets, Bruce's love for curry was a crime against anyone who slept in the same room as he and Tony routinely flirted with everyone and everything that had a pulse. I had days where my mother's temper surfaced.

Sometimes, one of us would inadvertently hog the other person and the remaining two would pout, roll their eyes or pitch a fit.

I just didn't see it as a big deal. All of those parts were normal - what couldn't be said about the rest of our situation. Compared to couples I've seen around, I thought we're happy. My boyfriends seemed to be happy, too, and if they weren't, it usually was pretty obvious.

So - okay, perhaps we definitely should be working on verbalizing our feelings. That would definitely solve if not world hunger, then at least the world war three that occasionally erupted in Tony's penthouse. And the ups and downs - not the steep kind, but ones not too different from waves rolling ashore - was what held us together. Because, well, our world was hectic and fast-paced and sometimes we needed that gentle rocking motion to sway us back to peace.

Tony's arm on my waist pulled me back to reality, steering me towards the balcony. Bruce and Stephen followed, all four of us power-walking through the inebriated crowd.

"Just so you know, I'm on board with whatever crazy shit you're planning," Stephen raised a palm towards a smirking Tony.

His mouth immediately dropped into a pout I could barely resist kissing. "But... I had a whole speech prepared," The engineer retorted indignantly, discreetly attempting to swat the sorcerer on the ass.

"And I'm sure it was amazing, honey," Bruce placated the upset Tony with a laugh, causing the latter to intensify his pout, eyeing us with mirth over the rim of his glasses, his stupid, lovely face more kissable than ever.

@another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @warrior1-19 @toomanyrobins

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #Bruce Banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #Tony Stark x Bruce Banner x Stephen Strange x reader #I'm sobbing 😭#the end #estoy finito #конец блин

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karimac · 3 years

Text

...in the details, Part 2

A/N: Warning for this series: 18+ audience (minors DNI), some cinematic level violence, some fluff and angst. Doubt that smut will be involved, but it may be implied. I’ll make sure that is noted clearly if it pops up.

All relationships, at this point anyway, are platonic.

Please do not repost or translate my work. Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

A bit about the OC Kari

Part 1

All mistakes are my own.

Word count: 2,249

Before you ventured into Westview, a flight of birds overhead reminded you of Redwing and Sam. Poor Sam. That sixth sense you had told you that fight at the compound was going to lead you all into very weird places. And the first one left you very squarely not in the room once again.

This time it was Steve and Bucky being thick as thieves, and you and Sam were…making a sandwich run? Couldn’t exactly get GrubHub to make a delivery to an attack site, could you? Bruce did not want some driver with a cellphone putting video up on Snapchat. “How would that look?” he bemoaned as he worked on the time travel platform. “We’d be getting tourists left and right. I don’t need that.” So off you and Sam went.

“You know, you could just, you know,” Sam started to say as he waved his hands like he thought a wizard would do, “and just poof up a plate of stuff. Right? With extra food for Banner, of course. He inhales tacos like nobody’s business. Just ask Tic Tac.”

“Sam, what have I told all of you before? Magic is the transfer of energy and matter. No suitable food stuff means no sandwiches. I can’t just think about the deli counter at Wegman’s and make a sandwich and a side of coleslaw appear in my hand. So, we’ll order on the app and pick it up. Just like everyone else. Before I hit the button, any changes to your order?”

“No, it’s fine. But don’t tell me you’ve never done shit like that when you’ve had your back against it,” Falcon huffed as you went to the rental car you’d gotten earlier in the day. That, thank Heaven, was easy to get at the local but extremely small airport.

“I’ve killed small rodents and eaten them, and I don’t mean just rabbits. Snakes, too. And, well, birds of prey, like falcons,” you groaned as you started to get into the car, but you stopped and headed back to the passenger side. “And I know you hate my driving, so here you go,” you said as you handed Sam the keys. “Sorry it isn’t a Ferrari. I was lucky to get this Kia. They didn’t exactly have anything race course worthy.”

As Sam climbed in, he saw bags of gear in the back seat. “You pulling a Wanda? Need some me time away from all us testosterone jockeys? Cyborg is going to be pissed.”

“Bucky has other stuff to deal with, trust me,” you said as you rolled your eyes. “He does not need to add Crazy Old Broad to his growing list of things to do and people to take care of this week. I heard him talking to Steve…”

“You? Eavesdropping? You are human!” Sam smirked, but then he saw the comment had hit a nerve. “You know I was kidding, right?”

“I know you are,” you said as you swallowed hard. In reality, you were not exactly buying that last comment. Sam was a sweetheart, but his comment sounded like things Tony and Steve had said about you in the weeks before the Time Heist. It depended on the situation, but one or the other of them seemed to question you, your motives, your powers and what they could do, and, at times, your grasp on reality. You did have a connection to a goddess they couldn’t see. Blaming them for having those questions just was not in your wheelhouse. “And yeah, maybe I just need to go figure a few things out. You guys know how to get me back here if you need me.”

“Somehow I don’t think Steve, Bucky and I would look so great standing and screaming your name in the middle of a fight,” Sam noted as he finally turned the key in the ignition.

“Now who is having issues with gender roles?” you said with a very pronounced side glance. “Sam, we are all human. We all need a save now and then. Maybe you’ll never have to utter my name again after today, unless you guys can’t find something you think I hid? Thor will be back once he’s done exploring the universe, and you can always get him here fast if you have Strange find him. And Wong is just dying for his shot as a full time Avenger. We all know that! And I can go back and do, well, goddess stuff, I guess. And raise horses. Just, please, make sure no one drops the ball on Parker. He lost his parents and his uncle. Losing Tony will hit him harder than anyone likely expects. He’s a good kid. He just needs support and guidance. Now, want to get this thing moving, or do you want me to drive?”

“And have you antagonize the local cops by going Mach 1? No thank you!”

You had to laugh at that one. You did tend to floor it. A lot.

++++++++++

A short time later, you and Sam rolled back to the site Bruce had chosen to set up the time travel platform. After you two handed out all the food, you realized it was really time for you to get going. No, you didn’t have a train, plane or bus to catch or someone to meet. You just knew it was going to get harder to make the break the longer you stayed there.

“She’s pulling a Wanda on us,” Sam said as he finished off the last of the sweet tea he had grabbed at the deli where you’d gotten food. “I think it’s too much he-man macho stuff, but she won’t fess up to that.”

“Wilson, how many brothers did I have?” you asked as you cleaned up the trash from the table Bruce had borrowed from a local park that had been wrecked during the battle. It had a huge hole in the end, but hey, it was good enough for the moment.

“Eight,” Bucky replied before Sam got the chance. “Just don’t quiz me on all their names. I remember your twin, Branan, and the one who was the vampire. Ewan? Right?”

“Yup, that’s right,” you grinned at Buck. “And no quiz. Promise,” you said as you raised your left hand and crossed your heart with your right.

“Why are you leaving?” Bruce asked as he adjusted the sling on his still injured arm, putting extra emphasis on the word “are” as he uttered it. “We need all the help we can get.”

Bruce, heaven help him, was suddenly one of the last active OG Avengers standing on Earth. Thor was off finding himself with the Guardians, and no one could really begrudge him that. He needed time to heal, and you knew all too well that was not easy nor time limited. Clint had more or less retired again after Natasha’s sacrifice on Vormir. Steve was getting ready to take the stones back, but upon his return, he’d likely join up with Sam and Bucky again to root out any remaining Hydra cells. That left Bruce in a very different place this time around.

“Bruce, you don’t really need me being a head case. Trust me. You do not need me giving any news outlets ammunition to blast headlines that make the team look less than spotless. I need to go home, at least for a little while,” you replied, knowing full well you were not telling him or the others everything. “And as I reminded Sam, you guys can just call me, and I’ll be here. Just whisper my name. Or yell it. Whatever works. Text me! If it’s an emergency, and if I’m not in the middle of some new damned war on my end, I’ll come running. But I have a feeling you guys are going to be just fine. Hell, I’ll give you a blessing before I head out.”

Yeah. A blessing. More like the final nail in the coffin. The words to start the spell to make them forget you.

“Big guy, you first,” you said as you put your hands on Bruce’s injured right arm. “And no, I am doing this, Bruce. It won’t be a full healing, but it should speed things up. You got this, big guy. Biggest brain. Biggest heart. May you realize just how much this team was built with your sweat and tears as it was anyone else’s.”

“I can’t change your mind?” Bruce asked as he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye and pout a bit. “And I am not asking because you are likely the only one of us who can cook…”

“I’m pretty sure all of you guys can cook something. Maybe not a good Colcannon or a fine Dublin coddle, but you’ll survive. As for the cupcakes, you guys may need to get a bakery on speed dial,” you added with a laugh because you knew they’d make that bakery rich. The Avengers loved their sugary snacks.

“Just don’t bug my sister, Bruce,” Sam noted as he waited for you to come over to him. “I still remember asking why the Cupcake Lady had a sword that night when those demon things attacked near the tower. I never asked. Why the cupcakes?”

“And not why the demons or the sword?” you said as you nearly choked on your words. “You realize that was before Steve saw me at Peggy’s funeral. That night was truly a fluke, Sam. No one was supposed to see that side of me then. As for the cupcakes, they were my entry to your world. Gifts from a fan girl. They’re easy to carry, a synch to personalize when needed, and everyone can have their own without fighting,” you said with a grin as Sam shook his head. “What?”

“You sound like Sarah.”

“Then I am in good company. Tell her the good stuff you’ve told me all these years. The words of wisdom. The little jokes. The pep talks. Tell her often. A single mom with two boys needs that. Be there for her, and drag these guys to see her, too. It would do the boys a world of good to have all their uncles stop by. Now, Samuel,” you said as you gave him a hug, “remember to keep these guys flying right. And if the world drops opportunity in your lap, whatever it might be, do not look at it and push it away without a lot of thought. The world needs Sam Wilson, the hero with a heart.”

And now the hardest part of this good bye had you wiping tears from your eyes. “I know. I’m a big mush. Girls from Brooklyn would laugh at me for this, right? Sorry, but girls from Naas and Athy do cry sometimes. I’m going to miss you two lugs. A lot.”

“Lugs. Last time you called us that was in ’43,” Bucky said as he looked down at his feet for a minute. “Somehow Hydra missed that memory.”

“You’ll see us again,” Steve said as he turned briefly to see where the case with the stones was on the platform. “But this time, it better not take 70 years.”

As you looked at the best friends, something about their auras seemed off. They had been planning something when you almost walked in on their chat a few days ago. You had no idea what it was, and you suddenly didn’t want to hang around to find out what the next act was going to bring.

“Just…watch your back, Steve. From what Clint said about Vormir, that one is going to be tough. And Buck, whatever comes next, I’m rooting for you. Even if you can’t see me doing it.”

“You really don’t have to leave,” Bruce kept insisting as you hefted your backpack on your shoulder.

“Dr. Banner, do you really want to fight my demons after all this? I have enemies. You just haven’t seen them yet. Frankly, the only reason that Hydra didn’t grab me before I hooked up with the Howling Commandos was because I was pulled into another dimension by one of those enemies. It was only by some weird twist of fate that Peggy found me when she did. If the veil between worlds had not been so thin near that camp, I might never have made it back, or Hydra might have found me first. It was pure dumb luck.”

{{And, Heaven help me, part of it was these two lugs over here}} you thought as you turned to head to your car. Then you stopped. This was a lot harder than it had been any time before, but it was the curse of an immortal to have to keep moving on. “I wish you luck, joy and happiness. I wish you peace. And, if you are truly lucky, memories long enough to have little space to spare for the likes of me because they are filled with so much more! See you in my dreams, for now anyway, fellas.”

++++++++++

You rolled out of there before Steve started his mission to return the stones, and you got a text from Bruce hours later telling you everything that had happened. Steve not coming back as planned. Then an older version of Steve shows up, sitting on a bench near the platform, and he gives Sam the shield. Right in front of Bucky.

It was now weeks later. No. It was months later, and here you were staring up at the sign for Westview. You’d gotten out of your rental car so you could get a feeling for the area around this little town.

“You made it back,” a voice said behind you. “How are you, after all that mess with Wanda and that Agatha woman? She was a real piece of work.”

The person speaking to you was Dr. Darcy Lewis. Friend of Thor and Dr. Jane Foster. Why was she even here?

You couldn’t fully figure out what the hell she was talking about. You didn’t remember being here before. Yet, you knew who she was, and you had never met her before. Or at least you couldn’t remember meeting her, here or anywhere else.

“Apparently not as great as I thought I was,” you muttered as you winced again. “Dr. Lewis, how long ago was the blip?”

“Give or take a week, about six months ago,” she replied as you started to pace. “Why?”

“Shit. Not this again,” you hissed as you looked up at the sign once more. “I think I’m going to need your help. How much do you know about Celtic myths and Irish history, Dr. Lewis?”

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rhub4rb · 4 years

Text

Warmth

Y’all remember this au? Well, guess what, now I’m using it for bio!dad Bruce month and no one can stop me--

Also warning I did not edit this so oop

@biodad-bruce-month

AO3

Day 1: Meeting for the first time

-_-_-_-

The last fight against Hawkmoth had been a blur. A success, sure, but a success that cost her everything. With the reveal of Hawkmoth being Gabriel Agreste, came the loss of Chat Noir, as he left Plagg and the ring behind, never telling Marinette his identity. She could only guess, though she doubted she was wrong.

At first, Marinette thought that was it, that it was the only loss that she would have to lose that day.

But then she got home.

There was an eery quiet to the bakery as she stepped inside. It wasn't unusual for Marinette's parents to vacate to their apartment during an attack, to get away from glass and whatnot, but they would usually be back in the bakery by now to help stragglers from the attack to a cup of hot cocoa and a croissant.

Worry filled in her gut, a sinking feeling inside of her, like an anchor dragging her down to the bottom of the ocean.

Slowly, she walked up the stairs, dread filling her up every step of the way until she was in front of the door. She stopped, holding her breath as she listened for any sound, any sound at all, coming from the apartment.

Silence.

She opened the door, slowly, the creaking sound squeezing her heart like a hand in her chest, and as she looked inside, finally opened her eyes and looked, she could do nothing but let out a heart-wrenching scream.

And the ending, the true ending, was just as much of a blur as what was the beginning. What she thought would have been the end.

There had been burglars that had used the chaos of the final battle against Hawkmoth, to break into the apartment to try and rob them. Her parents had just been unlucky to be home when it happened.

It became a mess of lawyers and child services after that, trying to figure out where Marinette should go, as she tried to hold herself together with the help of Gods and friends. Still, if there was one thing Marinette remembered clearly, it was the day she was told the truth about her father.

"I'm sure your mother was going to tell you at some point," the family lawyer said, in that voice that sounded like it was meant for a 7-year-old or a scared animal, rather than a teenage girl who risked her life to save the very city they were in, even if he didn't know it. "but... your father is not who you think he is. She wrote down, that if anything were to ever happen to her and Tom, that you were to live with your biological father. I'm sure this comes as a shock to you, so I understand if you need some time to think. We've already contacted him, and he has accepted the responsibility of taking care of you."

It was so much change in so little time, but Marinette supposed that was nothing new.

Bruce was at a loss. The last few days had been calm, as calm as they could be in Gotham. He knew something was wrong.

When he got the phone call, his heart had stopped. Sabine, a woman he actually truly cared about, even after their relationship ended abruptly, was gone.

She left him a daughter he didn't even know he had. And he accepted the responsibility of taking care of her, without a trace of doubt or hesitancy in sight.

Marinette, however, was arriving, and he had yet to actually break the news to his family. Heck, he had yet to actually meet the girl himself. Bruce ended up deciding against meeting her at the airport, though. He felt that it was for the best, if not to just keep his family occupied while Alfred got her.

Bruce could tell Tim was suspicious, had been, for the last couple of days, ever since the call. It made sense that Tim would be the first to notice, he had always been the most perceptive. He had yet to actually confront Bruce on the matter though, and that was perhaps for the best because despite having known for a couple of days now that Marinette would be arriving, he still had no idea how to tell his family.

His biggest concern was Damian. He had almost killed Tim over the position of Robin, Bruce didn't know how he would react to his position potentially being contested, though Bruce had no plans of turning Marinette into the next Robin.

Marinette was his blood, his family, and yes, Damian was too, but he was raised by assassins since he was born. Marinette was innocent, and Bruce wanted to protect that. He owed at least that much to Sabine, even if she never told Bruce about Marinette.

In a way, he could understand why Sabine never told him. Even though she never knew he was Batman, she did know he was Bruce Wayne, how he always had a target on his back. Marinette, if she had been with the Wayne name, would have a target just as big, just by association.

Now, Marinette would be leaving her little bubble of safety, of Paris, and come to a town, grittier than she would ever be prepared for.

Bruce supposed he could only do his best to make her feel welcome.

Gathering the boys into the dining room before Alfred arrived with Marinette, Bruce allowed himself to take a deep breath.

"I have something important to tell you, and I need you all to listen to me carefully," Bruce started, leveling a hard gaze at his sons. "A couple of days ago, I got a call, informing how someone very important to me passed away and that... she- left someone very dear to her for me to look after."

Bruce winced at his own wording and wondered for a moment how he had become so bad at telling his family things. Truthfully, he was never really good at it, to begin with.

"Wait, are you telling us you adopted another kid?" Jason asked incredulously, clearly not happy with the news, and by the look on his face, it seemed Damian agreed with the sentiment.

"I didn't adopt Marinette," Bruce said. "I am her father, biologically."

It was ghost-quiet now, as no one dared to utter a word, shock radiating off of them.

And then, there was a knock at the door to the dining room.

It was a lonely feeling, arriving into a new city, and be greeted by a butler rather than someone who was supposed to be her dad. Still, Marinette thought, at least Alfred seemed nice.

She stayed silent in the car ride to the manor, letting the sound of rain hitting the window lull her into a fake sense of calm and serenity, as she ignored the incoming storm and thunder. Perhaps she was overreacting, nerves and all, but she wondered what a man like Bruce Wayne expected his child to be like.

Would she be disappointing to him? Would she even matter? He already had a family, wasn't she disrupting his peaceful life? Should she even care?

Dejectedly, she let out a sigh. There was so much she didn't know, and this new city filled her with dread, just as suffocating as Paris. She could feel it, seeping from the ground, and infecting the people. Marinette wondered if this was what Paris would become now.

She was pulled out of her thoughts, however, as the sleek black car pulled to a stop, in front of what she could only describe as a victorian dream house, complete with gargoyles and all. She hardly even noticed Alfred opening the car door, umbrella in hand.

As Marinette walked up the steps, she could only truly wish that this would be a place that she could heal. To take a break from all of the responsibility and let herself mourn and grieve, and as Alfred opened the doors of the manor, she allowed herself to take a deep breath in, straighten her back, and lift her head.

She could hear a voice now, muffled behind doors and walls, and all at once fear gripped Marinette's heart like vines with thorns, cutting and never letting go. She tightened her hands into fists and forced herself to calm down, grabbing her emotions and curling them into a ball, throwing them deep into a far off corner in her mind.

The voice stopped talking, total silence filling the room for a moment, only to be interrupted as Alfred knocks on the door, just as calm and collected as he had been from the moment he picked her up from the airport.

He opened the door, and slowly Marinette walked, seeing four different guys, all of whom she supposed were now her brothers, until her eyes landed on Bruce, her dad. Her actual, biological dad.

Marinette's breath was shaky, but she hid her nerves well, something she was very proud of, as she felt the eyes of them all on her.

"Master Bruce," Alfred started, "may I have the honor to present to you your daughter, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Marinette's eyes scanned them, reading them in a way they would probably never get, before something finally clicked in her mind, allowing her to breathe, if only slightly. Marinette bowed respectfully to them, rising with a newfound calm centering her.

"It's nice to meet you all," she said, bluebell eyes just shy of calculating.

-_-_-_-

#bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #b!dbwm2020 #bio!dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #maribat #warmth au

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artxyra · 4 years

Text

The Secret Life of MDC | Part 3

Part 3 - Welcome to Gotham, now get out!

Part 1 | Part 2 |

Arriving in Gotham was just an absolutely massive mess, that quickly turned into a several page report for Marinette to send to the school board the moment she arrived in her temporary dorm at Gotham Academy.

Let recap back to the airport. When everyone got off the plane, Lila was quick to make up an excuse about Bruce Wayne sending her a private limo that she’ll be happy to bring the class along. Of course, Caline Bustier, absently believed the long-time liar telling her students to gather their belongings and for Lila to call the Waynes. It was as if she had completely forgotten the arrival procedures. Arriving in Gotham, proceed to find the bus driver, and meet up with the Gotham Academy Headmistress to retrieve the rest of the plans for the month. Marinette tried to tell Caline that what they were doing was against the procedure, something that she had to memorize for moments like this, only to be lectured about behavior the second she finished talking off to the side.

Then when they finally arrived at the school, Caline had the nerve to lecture her again about not informing her about the bus before being dragged off by the Gotham Academy headmistress, who clearly was not happy with the decisions made before they could even step foot onto the school grounds. Gotham is not a place to dilly dally unless you know the area or a native.

“Do you think, she’ll be fired after this?” Chloe asks while setting her things into the wardrobe as Marinette clicks the save button on her laptop.

“Maybe, no matter what happens, we’re here for a month regardless of the decisions the GA headmistress and Principal De La Fontaine decides in the coming days. All I know as the class president and temp. TA; my job is to help her overlook you guys.” Marinette sighs and closes the laptop's top before giving Chloe her full attention.

“I still can’t believe you graduated early. Though Adrien and I are grateful you managed to stay despite everything.” It was rare moments like these that made Marinette glad that she gave Chloe a second chance. Chloe had apologized one winter when she was freezing to death outside because her parent went on a tropical vacation on her request and decided to allow the staff to take a few days off. It was Sabine and Tom that took the former bully into their arms and made her feel loved, a love that she rarely receives from her parents. Since that day, Chloe takes pride in the honor of being Marinette’s sister just as Adrien did when they took him in also.

“I couldn’t leave you guys to perish in that class. Also, I just didn’t want to give Lie-la the satisfaction of winning.” Marinette says as her phones with the familiar sounds of “The Other Side” by Ruelle. Instantly, Marinette picks up the phone and smiles. “It’s Damian, he wants to go out tonight. Think I have time before—”

“Go, I’ll keep you from trouble, maybe even invite Adrien over if he isn’t doing the same with Jon.” Chloe pushes the noirette out of their room before closing the door behind the designer with a smirk on her lips.

As Marinette makes her way out of the dormitory, little did she know that Lila was just doing the same but for a different reason.

~*~

Damian Wayne @therealbloodheir I had a wonderful night with my beloved. I can’t wait for more nights like these. [Attached is an image of two hands intertwine with each other with the moon shining between them.]

Nette @GothamsFashionSense Replying to @therealbloodheir That sounds like a marriage proposal. Missing you too.

~*~

In the halls of Gotham Academy, conversations buzz around the single fact that Nette was back in Gotham for the first time in weeks. Groups of students gather around a single person, whose phone is out in the open, all gushing about theories on how the date went.

The same can be said for GA’s exchange students who crowd around Lila Rossi like she was the air.

“Gurl, spill, how was the date? You’re tending on twitter, again!” Alya squeals, gripping Lila’s arm.

“Oh you, it was truly romantic. Damiboo took me on this romantic dinner, but the first place we went to didn’t serve any vegetarian meals, and as you know I’m one but he’s not. We left and found another place that was just right.” Her high pitch voices drive a shiver down people spines, well anyone that is in clear hearing distance to the Italian teen's voice range.

“Do they truly believe that she’s Nette. Bitch please, we all know that Nette has dark hair from the back of the head photos on twitter.” A random student scoffs behind the trio.

The trio turns around looking at the person in a new light. The student had long braided blonde hair and wearing the GA uniform. “You’re not fooled? I was pretty sure that she would try and convert you the moment you step foot into the building.” It was Adrien that spoke first.

“I'm Allegra, besides me is Claude and Allen.” The student says shaking hands with Adrien before continuing with, “Anyone with brain cells can tell you that she is not Nette from @GothamsFashionSense.”

Allegra then takes the empty seat beside Marinette.

“Name’s Marinette, these dorks are Adrien and Chloe.” Marinette says, “About the brain cell thing, we’ve been saying that since she joined our class a few years back.”

“It ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, as to how they manage to hang on her every word. And one of them is a self-proclaim reporter. The bitch hasn’t reported anything remotely true since the liar had joined us and don't get me started on her early years.” Chloe places her two cents into the conversation.

This was the start of a blooming relationship.

Claude, Allegra, and Allen were quick to understand the environment that the Paris Trio was living in. An irresponsible, enabling teacher and a class full of idiots. With the Gotham Trio, the Paris Trio was able to understand how Gotham Academy works and learn the ins and outs of specific places. Despite the fact that Marinette vaguely knows just about much.

~*~

“So, how were your first three days at GA?” Dick Grayson asks as the Paris trio who are sitting on the couch inside the living room of Wayne Manor. "Is it about the same as it was when I went?"

“Dicky, I am this close to making heads roll.” Chloe’s fingers are teaching as a look of crazy twitches in her eyes.

“It wasn’t all that bad the first couple of days and then Lila tried to convince GA students that she was me by photoshopping our twitter photos. Other than that, I’m more worried about when Bustier announces that our class has been invited to the upcoming Wayne Gala. I’m already booked with mine and Chloe’s dresses along with Selina’s and Cass’s.” Marinette says, resting her head on Damian’s shoulder as their hands' interlock. Damian places a quick peck on her forehead.

The room was once again oddly silent before Adrien let out a loud giggle.

The family turns to the model who was staring at his phone with the biggest smile on his face. Adrien was no doubt in a group chat with Luka and Jon about upcoming meetings and plans.

“What?” Adrien asks, looking up to the group of extended family members staring at him. They all quickly look away, some whistling while others mess with the person they are next to. “Seriously guys, what?” The whining in Adrien’s voice just made it harder for them to pretend to do something as they hold in a laugh.

“Nothing,” Marinette snickers as Damian brings to play with her hair by braiding strands of it. She always liked it when Damian messed with her hair, he sometimes does something nice, surprising everyone with his styling skills.

“Hey, Pixie-Pop and Pixie-Pop’s friends. When did you guys get in?” It’s Jason, to which majority had forgotten about even though Tim was a close second as he is hovering over a half-full cup of coffee trying to stay awake but isn’t with them in reality. Maybe Marinette should make her special concoction that would knock anyone out for quite some time.

“Hey Mari, can you make the switch?” Dick whispers in the designer’s ear. Marinette huffs agreeing to the older sibling’s request. Damian nearly groans as his girlfriend gets off his lap and walks into the kitchen.

Marinette comes out nearly ten minutes later with a steaming coffee mug in hand. She walks over to Tim and pushes his cup out of his hand and replaces it with hers. Tim, absently, takes a sip. Within seconds he is knocked out, cold.

“I’ll never not be amazed at how fast your drink can knock Tim out,” Dick says as he picks up Tim and exits the room. Marinette shrugs and takes her seat next to Damian.

“When does Cass get back from her trip?” It was Chloe who decided to break the silence between them.

“Before the gala, that’s for sure,” Jason answers as he pulls out the controllers for the game console. He gives Marinette a knowing look, who smirks with mischief in her eyes. He should know better than to play against Marinette.

~*~

It was times like this that made Marinette wish that the school board had investigated Mlle. Bustier years ago, like for example when the liar first tried to get her expelled in college. Yeah, that was such a long time ago.

Today was supposed to be an easy-going day, but for some reason, Lila managed to convince the teachers, Mlle. Bustier specifically, to allow the class to visit a nearby street mall. Mlle. Bustier, of course, agrees despite the GA teachers telling her that it was a bad idea to let the student go out unsupervised in a place they still don’t know much about. Caline laughs it off stating that they’ll be fine, and it’ll be just like walking down the streets in Paris. That added another dash to her inability to be a proper teacher.

Which brings us to the street mall. Lila was going into stores left and right proclaiming to be Damian Wayne’s girlfriend or stating that she is the niece of some high profile celebrity in hopes of getting free or discounted items. That doesn’t dwell well seeing as Gothamites are not as gullible as Parisians.

The Paris Trio along with the GA Trio watch the mess that she was drumming up from afar. Chloe had invited Allegra to join them which then extended to Claude and Allan who wanted to go for the arcade.

Lila even had the nerve to ask Adrien to join her and Alya shopping trips with the underlying message of making him pay. Once being denied on numerous occasions, Alya managed to steal Nino’s wallet in hopes of paying for all their stuff. Yeah, that didn't help their relationship status.

“Alya I told you that money wasn’t for you,” Nino screams into his girlfriend’s face as she tries to come up with an excuse. He was infuriated.

“Nino, baby, if you love me you would have just given me the money. Lila really needed those items for her date with Damian.”

“I don’t care about Lila’s need; she is not my responsibility. In fact, neither are you, Alya. You just spent the money I had saved up for this trip.” Nino had wanted to go into a DJ shop that sold the equipment he wanted and started saving the moment the trip was announced the year before.

“Stop bitching, it was only a couple hundred dollars.”

Oohs and side-eyes make up the crowd they were drawing. It was a free drama tv for them.

“Ooh what do we have here, a lovers quarrel? Now would be the perfect time to spring my new trap.” Suddenly, it was like time freezes.

~*~

Chloe B. @QueenBeeOfParis The best thing about my idiotic classmates is television drama. #savemefromthem

Tina @thepinkmistress I was finding my own business when this shit happens. [Attach is a video clip of a couple arguing and goons dress in green takes over the streets]

Tim Drake’s Bish @rachelcovefe The nerve of this group. Just finished my shift only to be told by some foreigner that she was @GothamsFashionSense like bish please I know you ain't her. #anotherdayingotham

Kimmy @kimmyontheblock Replying to@rachelcovefe OMG same but she then added in that she was Jagged Stone's niece. Um excuse you but we all know that it's @MDCfashion

Mari Needs Coffee @MarinetteMemes So the first relaxing day in Gotham ruined by the Riddler and Lie-la’s fanatics. Yup, so good to be back. #memescomingsoon #goodgrief #imabouttoheadout

Part 4 >>

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#daminette #maribat #teacher assistant au #teacher assistant Marinette AU #ta marinette #fic:The Secret Life of MDC #ml x dc #mlb x dc #dc crossover #ml crossover #damimari

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itsmeevie01 · 4 years

Text

Bio!Dad Bruce Month Day 8- Driving!

Marinette smiled at her brother as he helped her unload her bags from the car. When he had called and asked if she wanted to come visit for a month, the fifteen-year-old had jumped at the chance to get out of Paris. When she had landed, the first thing she had done was take a deep breath and started to process everything that had happened over the school year. At the sound of Tim scrambling down to give her a hug, Marinette brought herself back to the present. The taller teen caught her up in a hug and she clung to him and giggled. When he put her down, Marinette turned at towards the sound of measured steps nearing the group. The boy approaching her scowled and crossed his arms. Marinette shook her head fondly at him and waved.

She knew that Damien wasn’t her biggest fan, but she still tried her hardest to get along with the youngest in the family. While she had been greeting Damien, Cass had made her way over, and moved Tim out of the way. Once the girls had reunited, Marinette made to pick up her bags, only to have three sets of hands reach to stop her. With a huff, the noirette set her gaze on her younger brother. “Well, Damian, shall we?” the boy looked her over with sharp green eyes and nodded.

” Yes, sister, we shall.” The duo made their way up the drive to the manor, where Alfred was standing and watching them with a fond smile.

As they made their way closer, Marinette studied the butler. When she had, once, asked how long her had been taking care of the family, the man had smiled at her and simply said “A very long time now, Miss Marinette.” No matter who she asked, that was the clearest answer she could get.

Dick, Cass, and Tim soon followed, each carrying a bag. While Marinette had insisted that she didn’t need the extra bags, Dick had insisted that she pack an absurd amount of clothing. He had promised the extra bags would be paid for, and that was that. Marinette was not pleased, to say the least, but had reluctantly agree to her brother’s wishes.

At dinner that evening, Marinette was surprised to be greeted by Jason plopping down across form her. When she cast an uncertain glance at the chair that belonged to Bruce, Jason smirked. “B had to leave the country for something and took Duke with him. Suddenly, I had an open invitation to the manor again.” At her unimpressed response the young adult grinned. “I can’t wait to raise hell while mi here.” At Jason’s proclamation, Dick cleared his throat.

“actually, you won’t be raising hell, because none of us are going to be here.” At the looks of shock that were flooding the table, Dick smirked. “The reason we are all here is…DRUM ROLL PLEASE” Tim rolled his eyes but obliged the oldest, “we are going on a family vacation!” Damien groaned and Cass smiled.

“Dam it Dick, really?” came from Tim, while Jason shook his head in disbelief. Marinette, on the other hand blinked in confusion.

“what…what do you mean, a vacation? Is that why you had me pack an absurd amount of stuff?”

“Correct! And we are going to have so! Much! Fun!” At Dick’s excitement, Tim rolled his eyes and leaned over to whisper to Marinette

“how likely is it that someone is in the emergency room by the end of the first week?” She shook her head in response,

“that’s not even worth betting over.” Tim huffed at the ease she had used to cut off his train of thought.

“50 bucks say we are taking a plane.”

“I say were carpooling. Dick would see it as family bonding.”

“done. When your handing over the money, just remember to be thankful that we aren’t cooped up in tin cans with the rest of the hoard for weeks on end.”

“and when you hand over your money, make sure we are in the same car. I want a little bit of sanity on this trip.” The teens shook on their bet and turned to see the rest of the family looking at them, obviously wondering what exactly had taken place. Marinette flashed a smile at them, “sorry, did you need something?”

The next morning when Dick went around knocking on doors and waking up the family, only two went left unopened. When he bounded into the kitchen however, he found two pairs of blue eyes watching him from the table, coffee mugs in hand. He shook his head and moved to pour a bowl of cereal. When he turned back towards the table, he found them still looking at him. “yes?” it seemed that his question was all that was needed to prompt them.

“where are we going?” Tim started them off.

“it’s a surprise”

“when do we leave?” Marinette cut in before he had time to finish talking.

“two hours. Alfred packed everyone’s bags on the sly.”

“how long is the trip?” Marinette again.

“a few weeks. Why? Afraid you’ll miss Gotham?”

“when is our flight?” Tim, who was asking with quite a lot of hope

“who said anything about a flight?”

“shit.” At Tim’s face, Dick looked surprised. Marinette however, looked practically gleeful.

“looks like I won that bet! Hand it over, brother.” The pain on the seventeen-year-olds face was laughable.

“but- “

“Tim! 50. Dollars.”

“he hasn’t said we are taking the cars yet!”

“its implied, you genius. Honestly, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one!” Tim halfheartedly glared at her as he handed over a crisp $50 and returned to his coffee. Before Dick could ask any more questions, Jason and Cass mad their presence know, while Damian followed a few minutes later.

When Alfred had helped Dick usher the rest of the family over to two cars, he turned to face them with a big smile. While they jostled each other, Steph climbed out of her car and hurried over, looking very pleased with herself. She paused by one of the cars and deposited her bag before joining them.

“alright, now that everyone is here, lets get started. We have two cars and will be rotating through drivers. Sorry, Damian and Net, you two are forbidden form touching the wheel. Now, I have decided on our seating arrangements already. Jason, Tim, and Ste- “

“and Little Bit. Marinette rides with us.” Dick blinked at the interruption and tried to protest only to see the other three nodding at Tim’s proclamation. He sighed.

“fine. Damian, Cass. You two will ride with me. If something comes up, we’ll rearrange. Now, today we are going to make it our goal to get closer to the middle of the country. After that, we will re-evaluate and pick a destination. Load up!”

The first four hours were fine. No, they were more than fine. Then, Jason got bored and started to play music to get on the other’s nerves. When he got banished to the back, Stephanie pounced at the chance to move up front and keep Tim company. In theory, it was a good idea. That is, until the blonde demanded that they stop every half hour for food. After the third pitstop, Tim moved her stuff in the back and kidnapped Marinette’s phone. When the others reconvened, there was a slight scuffle before they realized that Tim had made the call. Since neither of the others wanted to drive, Marinette happily settled into the passenger seat. The next three hours when by quickly. By the time Tim pulled over for gas, Jason and Steph had fallen asleep. While he took care of the car, Marinette slipped into the convince store and restocked on snacks and drinks. Tim grinned at her collection that she hauled out. “magnum bars? Really?”

“yup. Best ice cream you can find.” He snorted at her,

“maybe out here in the middle of nowhere. When we get home, remind me to take you for the good stuff.” The girl rolled her eyes and plopped back into her seat.

“let’s go, before Dick thinks we died.”

The next morning, when they all piled back into the cars, the other car called. After a loud…conversation, they settled on working towards St. Louis, and going from there. Once the groups were well and truly on the road again, Jason started them on games. First was truth or dare. After that was never have I ever, food edition. (A/N-when my friends car trip, we play this. Instead of a shot, you eat. That’s all.) after the four had exhausted all of their tame, non-hero topics, the Gotamites started to slip some of their exploits that Marinette Was Not Supposed to Know About into the game. Once they had gotten as far as they could without revealing their secret identities as the Vigilante Bats of Gotham, they moved on to telling embarrassing stories. After lunch, where they stopped and switched drivers, Tim and Marinette got into a debate over a shared book series, while Jason and Steph played loud music and sang off key up front. After dinner, when they switched back, Jason and Steph once again fell asleep.

Two hours out from St. Louis, Tim turned to his little sister. “Hey Little Bit, how would you like to drive for a bit? I know you have your permit.” Marinette threw a glance over her shoulder and grinned at him.

“are you sure? Dad won’t ride with me when I drive. He says I’m worse than Jason.” Tim sniggered at the face she made while imitating their father.

“as long as we don’t die permanently, we should be fine. Its late enough that you should be ok to drive.” The smile she shot his way made Tim decide immediately that whatever happened during the next two hours, he would do the best he could to let her drive again.

An hour and a half, Tim wasn’t sure if he was right to give the keys to his sister. Somehow, they had beat Dick to the hotel. As Jason and Steph yawned and stretched, the other two made their way towards their hotel for the night. When Dick pulled up 45 minutes later, they had made their way inside, and Jason and Steph had already crashed in their respective rooms. Marinette was sitting in the room she was sharing with Cass while chatting with Tim, who looked a little pale. When Dick stopped by to gather the keys for the room he was sharing with Damian, he shot his brother a worried look.

The next morning, when Dick admitted that it would probably be good to switch up the cars, Jason and Steph jumped at the chance to switch cars. In return, Cass joined the other teens. Without the presence of anyone top pretend at being an adult, the three were able to mess around. When they checked their GPS, the group realized they not only had they been speeding, but they were quite far further than they had planned for lunch. After looking up the nearest food, Tim turned to Marinette and held out the keys. When Cass realized what was going on, she sniggered. That evening, the trio beat the others by over an hour. When asked, they all shrugged and said that they were just having fun.

Two weeks later, after the siblings had returned to the manor, Tim offered to bring Marinette with him while he ran into WE to pick up some paperwork. When the girl had nodded, her brother had grinned and tossed her the keys. At Dick’s shocked splutter, Tim turned and raised an eyebrow at his brother.

“what? Little Bit knows how to drive.” Dick shook his head fervently.

“Tim no! B said that Net was Not to Touch the Keys Unless It Was an Emergency!” Tim sniggered, and Cass who had been listening to their interaction, rolled her eyes. At Dick’s offended look, she looked to Tim. He sighed.

“Dick, she drove for as much of our trip as I did. Plus, I promised her ice cream.”

Dick Grayson’s shouting that followed the duo as they sped out of the drive could be heard echoing for miles, but neither sibling cared.

#b!dbwm #b!dbwm2020 #maribat #My writing #miraculous ladybug #this just apeared #oops #Mari is 15 here #yes i skipped over Damian joining the fam #we will get there #ml x dc

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years

Text

I Swear that I’ll Be Around for You

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

“Alfred said you’re sick.”

Dick chuckles, then coughs. “World’s greatest detective.”

Bruce doesn’t exactly know what to say now. His hands hover, unsure. God, this was so much easier when Dick was younger. Every time he had so much as a case of the sniffles he would snuggle into Bruce’s side, let himself be cared for as if he were on his deathbed. Things are so different now.

It’s a late night. Then again, when isn’t it a late night? Bruce will forever hold on to his steadfast belief that anyone who maintains a normal sleeping schedule is weak and should be fed to wolves for their audacity. Bruce pokes his head into the kitchen where Alfred is wiping down the already spotless counters. “I’m heading up to bed now, Alfred, so feel free to do the same. Maybe try to be rebellious and sleep in for once.” Not that the old man will heed his advice. “Goodnight, Master Bruce. Oh, and do be quiet as you go upstairs? Master Dick has the flu and needs as much rest as he can get.” Bruce blinks. If he didn’t know any better, he’d be sure that his brain just got smooshed in a toddler’s fist with how long he stands there, vacantly staring at Alfred as his words sink in. “Dick is here? Since when?” Dick and Bruce haven’t said a word to each other for weeks now, possibly the longest they’ve ever gone without at least some sort of contact with each other. Their last argument was a bad one. Things were said, things they both regret. Bruce doesn’t blame his ward for spending all of his time with the Titans, moving on to forge his own path in a new life. “Since you left for patrol this evening,” Alfred says casually. “I’m certain I told you about it.” “I’m certain you didn’t.” Alfred shrugs. “Well, he’s here. Poor lad is sick as a dog, another tragic casualty of flu season.” “Hm. I’ll...be sure to check on him.” Alfred doesn’t turn around, but Bruce can feel his judgement with every pass of the sponge across gleaming marble. “What a marvelous idea, Master Bruce.” Translation? I hope the fuck you do, foolish bastard. Alfred truly has a way with words.

Bruce goes upstairs, invisible anchors tied to his ankles and dragging him down the whole way. He and Dick have been on rocky terrain for so long that he finds himself unsure of what to say to the boy. Man, now. Dick has grown so much over the years, become a person all his own, and Bruce finds himself at a loss when it comes to finding common ground with him. Maybe that’s how it always goes with fathers and sons; with time comes distance, and with distance comes respect. In all honesty, Bruce would gladly lose the distance and the time. He’d keep Dick as the smiling eight-year-old he grew to love all those years ago. Bruce stops in front of Dick’s old bedroom and finds the door already cracked halfway open. He peers in and finds a lump under the covers on the bed, shivering even as his chest rises and falls in steady rhythm. Bruce creeps in soundlessly. Dick’s face peeks out from the mound of blankets, his complexion pallid and covered in a sheen of perspiration. His cheeks are flushed with fever even as he shivers in his sleep. Bruce can’t help himself from pulling the blankets up higher, tucking them around Dick’s shoulders. Bruce’s breath catches as blue eyes crack open, blinking a few times before blearily settling on Bruce. “Hey,” Dick croaks, not two decibels above a whisper. “Alfred said you’re sick.” Dick chuckles, then coughs. “World’s greatest detective.” Bruce doesn’t exactly know what to say now. His hands hover, unsure. God, this was so much easier when Dick was younger. Every time he had so much as a case of the sniffles he would snuggle into Bruce’s side, let himself be cared for as if he were on his deathbed. Things are so different now. Luckily, the exertion of talking alone seems to have been the limit for Dick, because his eyes close once again as he drifts back to sleep. Definitely sick, then. If he were any healthier, this would have ended in an argument or one of them storming from the room. Maybe Bruce should carry on with the latter, leave this one up to Alfred. After all, Dick is an adult now. He doesn’t need Bruce caring for him anymore. He doesn’t need Bruce, period. But Bruce watches Dick turn fitfully under the covers, his mouth twisted in a grimace as the illness ravages his body, and he knows he can’t stay away.

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

Dick wakes up smothered by warmth, and he can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. It seeps into him from all angles, a cocoon of heat that’s as comforting as it is sweltering. He’s a marshmallow browning over a candle, soft and squishy and warm. Dick has no clue where he is or what woke him up, and right now he doesn’t care. Maybe he’s in a fireplace. Is that possible? Can someone live in a fireplace without dying? Kori probably could. He should ask her if she’s ever visited a fireplace planet. Dick considers just going back to sleep to think on it more some other time, when something cool touches his forehead and his eyes open in shock. It’s dark, wherever he is. Dark and warm and comfortable, but that thing touching him? That just won’t do. Dick bats it away and makes contact with a wrist. Someone chuckles. “Just checking your temperature.” Dick knows that voice, he’s sure he does, but his mind is a swirling vortex of semi-coherent thoughts that are too jumbled to sort through right now. He’ll do it later. “How are you feeling, chum?” that same voice rumbles gently. How something can rumble gently, Dick isn’t sure, nor does he have the mental capacity to sort through it at the moment. The voice’s words are warped, too warbly to understand. Dick grumbles something nonsensical and pulls the thick blanket tighter around himself. Wherever he is, it’s too warm to leave. The surface beneath him is cushy but solid in the best way. Maybe he really has been turned into a marshmallow. Or maybe his bed is a marshmallow. Maybe the world is made of marshmallows and every minute of his life was just a dream before he wakes up back in Marshmallow Land. Would he mind that? Something pokes between his lips and slips under his tongue. Dick is too tired to fight it. After an amount of time he doesn’t think he’s all there for, there’s a beep and someone pulls the thing away. That same someone hums. “You still have a fever.” Then why does it feel like he’s freezing to death under all the warmth he’s swaddled in? “Are you thirsty?” Excellent question. What does being thirsty mean again? Dick manages an affirming grumble. Then something new prods at his mouth. Dick drinks the water, the liquid heavenly on his sore throat. His mouth is dry, almost sticky with the sensation, and the water is a relief he didn’t know he needed. Slowly, painstakingly, Dick opens his eyes and strains to take in the darkness around him. Black blankets. White pillows. Something soft and blue—a sweater? Dick’s eyes climb higher and find a face, and that’s when it clicks. He’s been sleeping with his head on Bruce’s chest, in Bruce’s bed. Huh. Dick is pretty sure he should be mortified right now, but all he has room for in his fever-compromised brain is how incredibly comfortable he is. Bruce says something. “Hm?” “I asked if you were cold.” Dick shakes his head, gripping Bruce’s sweater tighter in his fingers. “‘m fine.” Bruce makes another humming noise and picks up a novel from the nightstand, flipping to the page he left off at. His fingers card through Dick’s hair, soothing enough that it nearly puts him back to sleep. How long has he been here, sitting up with Dick while he battles the flu? Did Dick come to Bruce’s room on instinct, or did Bruce carry him here? If the former, why hasn’t Bruce kicked him out yet? The old days were a simpler time, back when Dick’s instinct every time he got sick or had a nightmare was to take up residence in Bruce’s bed, seeing as it was the biggest and the cushiest one in the house. Dick would climb in and snuggle against Bruce, hogging the covers all night, but Bruce never once complained. And now, fifteen years later, it looks like nothing has changed. “You’re good at this,” Dick says. “At what?” “Takin’ care of me. Being a dad. You’re good at it.” The hand in his hair stills. “I try to be.” Dick closes his eyes, soaking in the warmth, the steady tempo of Bruce’s breaths. “‘s why I came. I knew you’d be here, no matter what.”

#whumptober 2020 #no.25 #disorientation #batfamily #batfam #dick grayson #robin #nightwing #batman #bruce wayne #batdad #dc comics #fanfiction #fanfic

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