#that he bought a sky-high Bruce

[that1emowitch]

Bruce, high on painkillers, is being babysat by Jason. Jason has to do an emergency Red Hood thing, and lacking an alternative, slaps a stock domino on Bruce and drags him along.

Bruce proceeds to say/do the most unhinged shit. The goons are suddenly viscerally aware of where Hood got it from.

WOW okay you guys are unhinged, you know that?

(And I love it <3)

A/N: I fully intended to write a crack fic, but the feels crawled in through the plot holes I missed and made their homes in the heart of the story. Also I don't know what you mean by 'stock domino' so I'm assuming it's one of those dollar store ripoffs.

(TW: Accidental overdosing on painkillers, mentions of blood, Jason's usual level of swearing, some goons almost dying but like in a funny way.)

Word Count: 2328

Jason wants to scream.

Like, let it rip out on an abandoned cliff in the howling rain kinda scream.

But no, he's stuck babysitting Brucie Wayne who accidentally OD'd on fucking painkillers after trying to treat himself in Alfred's unfortunate absence (how does that even happen?!).

Dick and Damian are out doing some brotherly-bonding thing, Tim's with the Titans, Duke and Cass are at the movies, and Steph has declared herself "not one of Bruce's kids." Leaving Jason as the only one free to look after their "Dad".

Jason pushes Bruce down on the Batcave's gurney for the billionth time after he attempts (keyword: attempts) to walk again, scowling. None of them are getting any waffles from me again. Or pancakes. Or scones. Or anything I make for them out of my sweet, kind heart. Those little shits.

Jason puts two fingers on Bruce’s wrist, checking his pulse. His skin is cold and clammy, breathing slow, but at least he’s not vomiting anymore. He sighs, collapsing on a chair beside Bruce. He's tired. So fucking tired.

Just as Jason's eyes flutter shut for a moment, the Batcomputer's alarm suddenly blares.

Bruce shoots up, shouting, "ALARM!"

Grumbling, Jason drags himself to the computer, pushing Bruce down along the way. He opens the glaring red notification, brows creased.

Black Mask's goons have intercepted some military shipment...

"Ugh..." Jason groans, and moves to put on his helmet (he never changed out of his costume), checking his guns, when a sudden crash from behind him snaps his attention to the man-child he's supposed to be babysitting.

Bruce has stepped off the gurney and collapsed face-down on the med bay's floor.

He can't just leave him there, can he?

Jason considers his options: He could either strap Bruce to the gurney and leave (in which case Dick will have his head), or he could take Bruce out on the streets with him (in which case Dick will absolutely want to murder him.)

Jason smirks. It’s obvious which one’s the right choice.

Ten minutes later, Jason’s riding through the city at over a hundred miles per hour, with Bruce strapped to the backseat of his motorcycle. Bruce is wearing a dollar store ripoff of the Robin domino and a Robin-themed cape made of Tim’s bedsheets, looking absolutely ecstatic at the high speed.

They arrive at the warehouse where Black Mask’s goons have transported their stolen goods, parking in a shadowed spot a building away. Jason gets off, helping Bruce onto his feet, and says, “Now, I’m going to go shoot some people, you stay hidden and quiet, got that?”

“Guns are bad,” Bruce replies, holding a finger to Jason’s helmet. “Just like clowns. And ducks.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jason shakes his head. He doesn’t have time for this right now.

Jason quickly scales the nearest building, grappling to the roof of the warehouse. He peeks in through a hatch in the roof to survey the area. There are about a dozen armed goons, none of them looking very bright. There are 4 crates they’re guarding, likely filled with ammo.

Cocking his guns, Jason jumps down through the hatch, landing right in the middle of the warehouse with a ‘thud’ sound. “Surprise,” He grins, raising his guns.

“Aye, that’s Red Hood, ain’t it?” Comes a goon’s terrified voice. The others around him immediately aim their guns at Jason— they’re clearly untrained.

Suddenly there’s another thud behind him. “That’s a bucket, you morons!” Comes a too-familiar, slurred voice. Jason turns around to come face-to-face with Bruce, eyes wide. 

In a fight with any real criminals, this distraction would have cost Jason his life. But luckily these adorably clueless goons are just as shocked as him.

Unfortunately the distraction only lasts for a few seconds. Jason immediately jumps into the fight, shooting three goons in the kneecaps and dodging a few bullets. From the corner of his eye, he sees two more goons running out the door, crying. He punches another guy in the face, instantly knocking him out, and is about to turn back to check on Bruce when suddenly something hard collides with his skull.

Jason staggers slightly, trying to regain his balance, when he sees a goon holding a giant stone, wearing a proud grin.

Fuck, his helmet’s probably busted…

Then suddenly Bruce is running towards the goon, hands fisted and veins popping, screaming, “NO ONE HURTS MY SON!”

Then Bruce’s fist collides with the goon’s with a sickening crunch, splattering blood across the floor as the man crumples to the ground. Bruce doesn’t stop there, and continues to beat him up, yelling profanities.

It warms Jason’s cold, (un)dead heart to watch that— to see his Dad fighting for him. It’s like they say, you’re most truthful when you’re drunk— or high. This is how much Bruce loves him.

Then another thought strikes him— Bruce is going to regret being this violent when he sobers up. It’s going to claw at him, tear him up, and he’s going to compartmentalize and end up punishing himself by overworking.

Jason rushes forward, pulling Bruce off of the man. “B— Robin, stop!” He shouted, looking into the man’s domino-covered eyes.

Bruce’s brows furrow. “Robin?”

Jason points to Bruce’s Robin-themed cape and stock domino.

“Ah.” Bruce nods, pulling away. “You okay? Did you see any duck?”

“Duck?” Jason pauses in confusion. But before he can question it farther, he spies the three remaining goons using a ladder to climb up through the roof of the warehouse, trying to escape.

“Stay here. And do not move.” Jason orders Bruce, and runs after them.

He makes his way up the ladder as fast as he can , exiting under the polluted night sky. The goons, the ridiculously stupid goons, are standing around the edge of the roof, trying to figure out how they’re going to get down.

He doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this ridiculous shit.

Actually, scratch that, he doesn’t get paid at all.

“Wow, you guys are pathetic,” Comes Red Hood’s robotic voice, startling the goons, and one of them accidentally topples over the edge, screaming. Jason ensures that the guy’s hanging on tight— he can wait.

He cocks his guns, aiming both at the two standing goons. Both men are trembling with fear, hands up in surrender. “Hood— Mr. Hood, please—” One of them squeaks, but one look from Jason shuts him up.

“Please. Mr. Hood was my father,” Jason quips, his robotic chuckle sounding sinister. 

That’s when he hears another voice behind him (again)— “But I’m your father.”

Jason jumps, whipping around. “How did you— I didn’t even hear you come!”

Bruce just shrugs innocently, waving his bloodstained hands at the terrified goons.

Then Jason hears the distinct sound of a gun being cocked. From the corner of his eye he sees the bolder of the goons, the one that had spoken before, taking aim.

“DUCK!” He yells, falling out of the way.

Instead of dodging, Bruce falls into a defensive stance, looking around frantically. “Where?!”

The bullet barely misses Bruce’s ear as he turns his head.

Jason has had it with sky-high Bruce now. Annoyance rising, he quickly shoots the two goons in the kneecaps, forgetting about the one hanging off the edge, and stalks up to Bruce, glaring.

“What is up with you and ducks?!” He demands, his voice raised.

“Ducks are evil,” Bruce spits, nose wrinkled. “Just like clowns. And bats.”

Jason’s brows raise. “Bats are evil?”

“Yeah, duh, that’s why everyone’s scared of Batman.” Bruce rolls his eyes, his drawl sounding too much like Steph. “Bats are scary.”

“You really took ‘become what you fear’ too literally, huh?” Jason snorts, putting his guns back in their holsters. Then he takes off his helmet, checking the damage— just a slight crack at the back. Not too bad.

“You know, I fell into a hole and into a cave when I was a boy and a dozen bats attacked me. I nearly died.” Bruce continues, gesturing towards the air with his hands. 

“Yeah, right.” Jason shakes his head, chuckling. “Now come on, we gotta get you back.”

That’s when another voice rings out, high-pitched and scared. “Um, Mr. Hood? Please HELP! Please, please, please—”

Jason’s attention snaps to the corner of the roof— ah, right, the goon’s still hanging off the edge, isn’t he?

He grumbles, making his way over, and squats above the man, shaking his head. The man below him looks like he’s pissed himself, face ashen, tears running down his cheeks, muttering, “I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die…” On repeat.

“I’ll pull you up on one condition,” Jason looks down at him, voice low. “Never become a gun for hire again. If I see you fighting on the streets…” He pulls out his gun.

“No, no, I won’t, I swear…” The man whimpers, eyes squeezed shut. Jason sighs, and grabs the man by the collar and hauls him up. He crumples onto the roof, curling into a ball.

“Take out your phone and dial 911, tell them you’ve been naughty,” Jason orders, his gun pointed at the man’s head. (What? A guy needs to have some fun.)

The man whines, and immediately obliges.

“Pathetic,” Jason ties the man up quickly, and makes his way over to Bruce, who was sitting on the floor of the roof, taking apart some random crushed handphone he’s found.

“Get up, old man. GCPD will be here soon. We’re going home.” He pulls Bruce up, ignoring how he longingly stares at the dismantled phone.

The two of them grapple down from the roof, landing safely on the pavement. As they walk towards his bike, Bruce says, “Did you know I ate a phone once?”

Jason stumbles slightly. “What?”

“Tasted nice. Like electricity. Crackle-y.” Bruce hummed, his face straight (as straight as someone dating Superman could be). He isn't kidding.

That, or he's delusional.

“Don't try it. You might turn into a computer or something.” Bruce nodded very seriously.

“Oh god,” Jason snorts. “I'm so glad my helmet’s recording all this. Perfect blackmail material.”

“Black's a very, very pretty color.”

Jason rolls his eyes, revving the motor, making sure Bruce is safely strapped onto the backseat behind him. “You're just emo.”

“What's emo?” Bruce raises an eyebrow, words slightly slurred.

“Y'know, when people wear all that black makeup, skinny jeans, with hair covering their eyes.” Jason explains, putting a spare helmet on Bruce's head. “And listen to, like, My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy and Panic! At The Disco. The Emo Trinity.”

“Oh, oh!” Bruce's eyes sparkle. “Dickie used to do that! He went to a My Chemmy concert once, but he didn't want me coming along.” He pouts.

Jason thinks of all the times Gerard Way has shoved a mic down his throat and grabbed his junk. “Yeah, I wonder why.”

Then he turns around to look Bruce in the eye. “But, Golden Boy was emo? Seriously?”

Bruce just smiles and nods, saying, “Now go.”

“Going,” Jason smirks and speeds down the streets of Gotham city, not slowing down until their surroundings change from shitty apartment buildings and broken street lights to the eerie quiet of Bristol. He can see the Manor in the distance when he takes a hidden turn, straight down the road that leads to the Batcave. 

He pulls into the underground ‘garage’ section of the Cave, parking his bike before helping Bruce off. As he removes Bruce’s ripoff domino and “cape”, he says sternly, “Now, you tell no one of what we did today, got that? Not a soul.”

Bruce just flashes a thumbs-up and smiles in the most un-Bruce-like way possible. It’s a little creepy, honestly.

“And even if you remember this once you sober up you won’t talk, because you swore on your soul not to tell.”

“Mhm. Kay.”

“Good.” Jason smiles slightly, helping Bruce back to the gurney, making him lie down. He checks him over for any symptoms that the painkiller overdose is making his health worse. His skin’s still cold and clammy, but his breathing’s more steady. His pupils aren’t as small anymore, and he’s way more responsive than he was an hour ago.

Huh. Maybe all he really needed was some exercise.

Jason sits down beside his father, taking a deep breath. “Hey, uh… Did you really mean that, back there? That… That I’m your son?”

Bruce’s brows furrow. “Yes, who else’s son would you be? Superman’s?”

A short laugh escapes Jason. He moves closer to Bruce, lying down so his head is resting beside the older man’s. “I just…” He sighs, unable to form the right words. “I know it doesn’t always seem like it, but… I love you, Dad.”

“Aww, Jaybird…” Bruce’s hand moves sluggishly to cradle Jason. “I love you so much more than you could ever imagine.”

A small smile plays on Jason’s lips as he closes his eyes, leaning into his Dad’s touch. Maybe… maybe babysitting a high Bruce isn’t so bad.

[BONUS!!!]

Dick walks into the infirmary nearly an hour later with Damian trailing behind him, intending to check up on Bruce. He’s been ringing Jason’s phone for a while now, but he hasn’t been picking up. And… Honestly, Dick’s getting worried.

“Tt. I knew we shouldn’t have left Father’s safety in the hands of an incompetent fool such as Todd,” Damian frowns, scowling.

“No, no, it’s probably just a misunderstanding,” Dick tries to reassure his baby brother, but he picks up his pace. “I mean, we both know what Jason’s like. One moment he’s nice, one moment he’s—”

His voice trails off as he sees Jason sitting on a chair beside Bruce, who’s on the gurney— both asleep, with Jason’s head resting on Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce cradling him.

“Aww, Little Wing…” Dick smiles, pausing. Even Damian freezes behind him. Dick steers him away, back into the main house, so as to not disturb the sleeping pair. “Yeah, they’re okay. Nothing bad happened.”

[siremasterlawrence]

The Hero’s Erosion Of Free Will Part 2

Bruce Wayne is not expecting to see a short well built muscle super being flying through Gotham chasing after a alien space ship as he speeds up.

He is donned in a black tight shirt with gold and red symbol of Superman’s Kryptonian heritage Super blow up and imposed on the front.

He effortlessly speeding in to the air picking up speed he thrust forward into the sky with impact he approaches on the ship finally encroaching on the pilots.

Landing on the nose of the piloted ships his feet grasp sticking into the airplanes nose the impact of his weight shifts the airplane on a downward trajectory.

He smiles wide eyes, purse lips and he at fist punching into the tinted black glass of the airplane and flew in one hand punching the pilot.

The right flips into the air knocking him out in a quick succession before his attention is returning to the fact the airplane is about to crash into the water.

The sheer power of the crash sinking to the floor as it splashes shooting up into the air overflowing and everything comes in utter display.

The shadow of the aircraft travels on top of the filthy Black Sea of Gotham City landing as it hovers high overcasting on Super boy it was him.

Connor El hears his name in a quiet lower register tone emit from the jet he knows he can’t deny it was The Bat…Batman…Bruce Wayne.

The bottom private door to the bat jet slid to the side exposing to the world as Connor El is feeling a shame overtake his mind he is hit with those thoughts.

Constantly ramming in him for some reason when he settles in taking a seat a radiant wave of life flows through the sky from the heavens.

The wave tracks on to the ship distracting Bruce from the scolding session he was about to give to Connor El but they are soon transported.

The ship journeys through a portal in one huff smashing into the dark oasis of this new existence Bruce ponders for a bit he stops.

Is this the phantom zone? He questions his own sense of time and space he commands Connor to say put walking till he hits a both literal and physical wall.

A invisible wall to be precise blocking him

in this shifting dimension with the astral projections of Gotham and Krypton over and over again each imploding.

The floor of the room is super spinning out them of control leaving them in a blinding phase of dizziness backing them in to strange position.

They lost of track of each other finding each other after getting stuck in a maze of horror Connor came to the rescue seeing Bruce is mindlessly staring into one particular mirror

Bruce is relieving his parents deaths that in the alley images flooding his mind of the expensive pearl set his father bought for his mother shatter on the ground as the gun goes off.

Connor knelt next to Bruce wiping his tears, rubbing his shoulder and hugging his back leaving Bruce shaking as they kiss a little unsuspectedly.

“Where did these curtains come from?”

“Oh My God!”

“He got you too?”

“Clark what are you doing to my ward?”

“It’s just me Dick and my boyfriend Clark?”

“What about you too?”

“My boyfriend Bruce and I?”

“Nnnnnn”

The end

[mylittlediarys-stuff]

Bite Back Part 3

Part 4- https://www.tumblr.com/mylittlediarys-stuff/738641453738246144/bite-back-part-4?source=share

After Amaka spent about 10 minutes throwing up in the bathroom, she spent 2 minutes realizing that a teacher saw her throw up and decided to call her Bruce and all her brothers.

“Mrs. Rosemary, I don’t think any of them are going to pick up,” She said, wanting to roll up in a little ball and hide in the corner.

“You're right,” Mrs. Rosemary replied. The teacher tried calling everyone at least ten times, but it all went to voicemail. “Honey, do you know anyone else I can call to pick you up?”

“May I ask why I can’t stay here? I mean, the tour is over, right?”

“Yes, but we are staying another hour for the kids to go to the gift shop.”

Oh, I’m jealous.

“Okay, you can call Mr. Alfred then; his number is-”

-

“Thank you for picking her up,” Amaka heard Mrs. Rosemary tell Alfred before the girl ran to the car.

She was so happy that he got here so fast. But she didn’t want to hear the teacher tell him the whole story about how she threw up.

She looked out the window, and Mrs. Rosemary and Alfred seemed to have quite a good and a really long conversation. Knowing her teacher she was probably trying to find out why no one picked up the phone and she would probably send an email to Bruce later telling him that he needed to pick up her calls. Then he may get one of his assistants to reply to. About 5 minutes later Mrs. Rosemary and Mr. Alfred shook hands and walked in a separate direction. Soon her favorite butler in the world made it to the car.

“Miss. Wayne, how are you feeling?” he asked.

Like shit.

“I’m feeling better, thank you for asking.” She said, “But I might throw up again.”

But I'm guessing that bucket in front of me is just for that purpose.

“Just in case, I bought a bucket for you.”

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“Miss Wayne, may I ask, how did you think you got sick?” the butler asked.

I can name many reasons why I'm sick mentally at least.

 “Well… I had a sandwich. A chicken sandwich and I’m pretty sure that the chicken was a bit raw. This could be food poisoning. But I don’t think food poisoning works that fast. Maybe I got sick from a classmate… It was this one girl who threw up on my desk a couple of days ago.” Amaka just spilled out her thoughts.

Or it could be that spider bite? If that was a spider bite, it could just be a really weird feeling I got. I don't even know if it was a spider bite. I’m just guessing it’s a spider bite. 

“I can assure you that you will feel good as new in a couple of days; just take your time and rest when we get home.”

“Roger,” she said, “Mr. Alfred may I ask, is Bruce okay? My teacher called him multiple times but he never picked up.”

“Master Bruce is having a meeting with the Justice League for the whole day, he won’t be back until dinner,” he said.

“She also called everyone else, though, and no one picked up, are they also at the meeting?”

“No, they're not, I believe Masters Jason and Dick pulled Masters Damian and Tim out of school and went to have a brother bonding day,” he replied.

“Brother bonding day?” She muttered. 

They are all too busy to pick up a phone call. I wouldn't be surprised if they ignored it. They're only busy when I need help. 

Amaka started to look out the window for the rest of the ride, and she noticed just how ugly Gotham looked. The highways are crowded, and each street looks like a homeless shelter or is littered with trash. You could barely even see the sky.

“Why do you live here?” She asked. “You made more than enough money to retire and live somewhere nice, but you stay here.”

“Miss, I stay here because of the Wayne family. It makes me happy seeing how much Master Bruce changed this city.”

Change the city? The crime rate in this city never falls. One can argue that it has just gotten worse since Batman was here. But I can't lie that Bruce does have ambition though. Even with the high crime rate, Gotham has gotten safer, I guess.

Amaka was broken from her thoughts by a sudden feeling. She stopped slouching and sat up straight. Her head started to tingle. She started to look around. She knew that something bad was going to happen but why? Before she could even tell Mr. Alfred anything, she passed out.

Note: I just realized that I never really told you guys what Amaka looks like so in chapter 4 I’m going to try to explain her looks. To be honest, every time I think about her I kinda change into her looks. I can't decide if I want her to have glasses or not. Also, the reason why Amaka uses mister when addressing Alfred is due to the respect she holds for him.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Baby, You're A Firework - Steve Rogers X Loki Odinson

Title: Baby, You're A Firework

Steve Rogers X Loki Odinson

Additional Characters: Tony (Mentioned), Natasha (Mentioned), Bruce (Mentioned), Vision (Mentioned), Wanda (Mentioned), Pietro (Mentioned), Peter (Mentioned), Thor (Mentioned), Clint (Mentioned), Carol (Mentioned), Bucky (Mentioned), and Sam (Mentioned)

Requested

WC: 1,222

Warnings: Fireworks, and pranks

It was July 4th, The Fourth of July, the birthday of America, and on top of that, it was Steve Roger's birthday. He was turning one-hundred and two. It was a bright morning, the sun was high in the sky and there were hardly any clouds. It was a perfect day for fireworks later in the day.

Steve had been sitting on the couch in the main room in the Avenger Tower, eating a bagel for breakfast. Steve had gotten a good amount of 'happy birthdays' from his fellow avenger friends, which made him happy, but he didn't think his birthday was all that special.

"I mean I'm grateful to be alive, and not dead," said Steve muttered to himself, "But other than that, it doesn't really matter a whole lot." He took another bite out of his bagel, chewing slowly as he thought about what he wanted to do today.

He got up off the couch and walked into the kitchen where he saw Loki standing by the counter, drinking green tea.

"Hey, Loki," Said Steve.

"Hey, yourself," Replied Loki.

"How are you doing?" Asked Steve.

"Well enough," Said Loki, "I just finished making some more of my tea." He spoke, taking a sip of his second cup of tea, in a cup which said 'slay queen.'

"Are you going to join us for the fireworks tonight?" Asked Steve.

"Maybe," Loki smirked, "If I feel like it."

Steve nodded his head, "Alright then, I'll catch you later. Going to go for a run."

"Steve." Loki called, causing Steve to pause and turn back around.

"Yes?" Steve asked, looking at Loki, tilting his head to the side.

Loki teleported a small present into his hands, before handing it to the Captain, with a smirk. Steve smiled warmly as he took the present in his hands, it was wrapped in green wrapping paper and a red bow.

"Thank you, Loki. You didn't have to." Steve spoke, surprised that the god would get him anything.

Loki shrugged and crossed his arms, leaning against the counter as he gestured to the present, waiting for Steve to open it. Steve unwrapped the present, stopping at the cardboard lid, slowly he pulled the lid off and jumped back in surprise when a small firework shot out and up into the air, exploding in red, white, and blue.

Loki laughed at Steve's expression, "Very patriotic, no?" He spoke, doubling over in laughter.

Steve nonetheless, smiled at the god. "That was some present. Thank you, Loki."

"You're welcome," Said Loki, "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," Steve thanked, smiling at the god.

Steve put the box down on the table and turned to leave, before stopping and turning around again. "That was a prank, wasn't it?" He asked and Loki nodded.

"Really surprised you there." Loki spoke and Steve chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, well, thank you, Loki. I'll see you later." Steve spoke before he went on with his day.

Steve went to his workout room, changed into his workout clothes, and began his daily routine. After his workout, he headed out for his daily morning run.

↜↝

Throughout the rest of the day, Steve had received many other gifts from the others. Tony got Steve a new bike, which really surprised him. It was the nicest thing Tony has ever got him. Natasha bought him a very soft, light blue, plush robe. Bruce got him a brown leather journal, and some pens. Wanda and Vision got Steve a modern-day hand telescope for his bird-watching. Pietro got him a Dick's Sporting Goods gift card. Peter bought Steve a keychain with the map of Brooklyn. Thor brought Steve some Asgardian Mead, even though he couldn't get drunk, it was a great drink. Clint bought him a blue monogrammed throw blanket. Carol even stopped by and gave him a pair of cufflinks made of a special rock from another planet. Bucky, his best friend, got him a new leather jacket. And, Sam, got Steve an MP3 Player, already with all his favorite songs from his decade.

Soon enough, it was time for the fireworks. Everyone headed up to the roof of the Tower, ready to see the firework show that Bruce and Tony had set up. They all sat on the floor, under picnic blankets, and waited for the show to start.

Steve was surprised and glad to see Loki was there, chatting with Thor before going over to sit next to Steve on his blanket. Leaning back on his hands, Loki copied Steve's position, looking up into the night sky.

"Are you excited?" Steve asked, and Loki shrugged.

"I suppose. What about you, Captain?" Loki Asked him back, to which Steve shrugged.

"I guess I am. I love celebrating our wonderful nation." Steve spoke and Loki smirked, eyes rolling.

"Your wonderful nation, Steeb. What about your birthday? I thought mortals loved celebrating that." Loki spoke, and Steve laughed.

"Well, I guess I like celebrating my birthday too." Steve spoke, but Loki rolled his eyes again.

"Come on, Steve, you talk as if it's not that big of a deal." Loki spoke and Steve shrugged.

"I've technically had a lot of birthdays, Loki. I do love celebrating, but after a while... I don't know... It just doesn't feel the same after a while."

Loki nodded, understanding. "I understand. That's how I felt about mine. Thor doesn't have that problem though, you must have seen how insane he can get." Loki spoke and Steve nodded with a sigh.

After a short moment of silence, Loki nudged Steve's shoulder with his, gaining his attention. "Well, I do have another surprise for you?"

Steve turned to look up at him and tilted his head to the side. "Really?" He asked and Loki nodded, looking up into the sky.

Just then, the first firework exploded into the air, shooting up into the night sky and creating a burst of red, white, and blue sparks. Everyone 'oohed' and 'awed' as the fireworks lit up the sky.

"I knew you'd enjoy it," said Loki, smirking.

"You're right, it is pretty amazing," Steve spoke and Loki nodded.

"Alright, well, let's watch the rest of the show."

The sky burst into bright sparks of colors as more fireworks flew into the sky. One firework flying up and exploding in a bright blue before forming into the silhouette of the Captain himself. Steve and the others watched in awe as the fireworks moved as if possessed by magic. The firework Captain America moved in the dark sky, tossing his shield up and into the air, the firework shield exploding with a burst of red.

Steve watched in awe as more fireworks flew up and seemingly came to life, moving in the air before exploding into another burst of colors. This had to be the best firework show he's ever seen. Probably the best Fourth of July he's ever celebrated.

Soon, the firework show ended, leaving everyone speechless.

"Wow," Steve said, "That was amazing."

"I told you so," Loki said, grinning widely.

Steve turned to the god, his smile never leaving his face. "Did you do this?"

Loki smirked and nodded. "Yep. But, I didn't want to spoil the surprise."

"Well, thanks for the surprise," Steve said, still smiling.

"No problem," Loki replied, giving Steve a wink. "Happy birthday."

[nanabrainrot]

2. The Bitch to Scratch

Summary: You hate Bruce when he’s mean.

Part 2 Dark!Bruce Wayne x Housewife!Reader

Warnings: rough sex, facefucking, cis afab reader and she/her pronouns, established marriage, misogyny, codependence, ambiguous consenting

The truth was you had let it be known that you weren’t having kids with him. Bruce was a traditional man, that was what the term could be. He wanted you home, where he knew where you’d be, you weren’t permitted to work, shit, you didn’t even need to lift a finger. But you wonder what he loved you for if not your spirit, the zest you had almost 10 years ago. You were kids and you’re not going to be a kid forever; you were bound to change as often as the weather as you grew. But in Gotham the weather was rarely other than gloomy. You didn’t think you’d be living in a sky high penthouse like you had always dreamed of and seen in the movies would leave you feeling nothing but solitude as you did in studio apartment those years before him. “Fine, don’t have babies,” he said carelessly as he nurses a glass of rum, “you don’t need to be a mom to be the perfect wife.”

You should’ve known then.

“Gghgg -“

“Quiet.”

Bruce’s hands are big, big like a bear’s paws compared to yours and you swear you could feel his calloused padded hands move against like he wanted to claw you, to mark you. His body wasn’t so broad, yet it was abrasive and you knew you could bicker with him but he could hold you down like a house cat pressing on a field mouse, right before he ate you up. You wish it was fucking eating instead.

But this is less indulgent for you and more for him. In other words: your husband is fucking your mouth like a fleshlight. Your head hanging off the bed, upside down, as you laid across the King four poster bed, back taut against these unnecessarily expensive linens. Bruce respected you as his wife, but not as his equal. It was how the cookie crumbled. You knew this ages ago and surmised you had no room to talk a decade later. It’s like you could if you tried to in this position.

It’s nice to be close, to hold his undivided attention when he isn’t beating the shit out of some weirdo at night, but you often found yourself not having the joy to feel more than used by this act of “affection.” Bruce loves you. You’re his wife. But he loves you like a pet. He loves you as a cat but treats you like a dog; you often wonder when he would rip off the bandaid and get you a kennel and muzzle. You wondered, even now, if he wished you were a dog: compliant and loyal. You were loyal, faithful to him as your husband, but the day you’d play compliant would be a cold day in Hell.

“Hghugh-“ your chest heaves as you gurgle lewdly, his cock drawing in and out of your jaw with brutality. You don’t think, don’t talk when you’re like this. You’re perfect. Your body jolts when he pinches hard on your nipples like it’s been jostled with electricity, your shaky hands frantically pushing him away for a breath, but a truly determined dog will push its limits for its own.

He should design your a dog collar one of these days. A leash maybe.

“I’m gonna cum on your face,” he says matter-of-factly, earning a whine from you. He never learned to ask things, probably from the fact everything he wanted could be bought. He was so boyish for a grown man.

His calloused pads twiddle roughly on your nipples still, his favorite fixation, as he always took a deep pleasure in yours. Perhaps you’d even call him a gentleman if he wasn’t a dick to you. Your legs cross and uncross, kicking and jolting them pathetically and uncomfortably from your head hanging off the bed, your leaky hole abandoned and probably going to remain abandoned until he comes back to bother you a-fucking-gain. Despite the soreness of your throat as his slams into it, you still wonder what page you were on. He had come to you and discarded your romance novel, some charmer on a ranch and his farm girl, maybe page 94? 98?

Thinking does you no justice, Bruce surmised. Your eyes all ready and coated in that watery mascara he keeps buying you just to see it leak. When he pulls out, you’re coughing, trying to catch your breath. You’re still breathing though, he thinks internally at your dramatic display from his commonplace manhandling. As you catch your breath, he chokes a bit, breathing a bit of his cum as he greedily looms over your shaky figure, pumps carelessly at his cock’s upper half over your face, his lip twitching as always when he came. Your face is an amazing canvas for his painting. Everyday he feels like Van Gogh. No one but him has ever gotten to use this body, this personal whore, and if he died he’d rather you dead than live without him.

The air is still as you cough pathetically, curled all cold on your black comforter, your hair and makeup soiled by his display of affection. He grins at the sight, your life led by his hand on a leash like a pet. You and him had no one but each other, like both of you were parasites and hosts at once. You sniffle meekly, glassy eyes looking up at him from laying on your belly, your elbows holding you up and your shoulders slumped in that show of defeat. You are pathetic and broken by now, but it’s okay. At least you have a husband. At least you weren’t an unmarried, soiled whore like every other Gotham bitch.

“Can I shower and wipe off your -“

“No,” he replies shortly. You don’t even wince. It was like walking out the ocean surprised you were wet by asking that. “Okay,” you replied in a shallow, hoarse voice. You’re not even arguing today. Bruce worries he’ll break his face with the grin he sports, your face all cold and hollow. “Lay on your back and we’ll go to sleep like this,” he cooes at your cum-covered form, from two previous rounds of just fucking your face. You grunt in recognition, going to slink to lay on your back and nurse your achey neck from letting it dangle off the bed. “Where are you going?” He questions at you moving to lay down. Oh. He’s playing that game.

“Lick it clean, Mrs. Wayne.” The air isn’t still because your sniffling, looking all tired and worn and sexy, sexy just like this. You move to lay in front of him across the bed on your belly again, looking at his soft dribbling cock. He had already had his fill. Despite earning no pleasure from you sucking lazily on his flaccid dick, the real pleasure Bruce had was breaking you into a correct woman. Your tongue swirled lazily around it. Suckling, sucking, lapping tearfully at him, until he hands yanks your hair so hard you yelp like a hit dog. “Thank you, princess. You can lay on your back under the covers.” You’re looking up at him and wonder if he was always this kind of man.

“Okay.”

You see, Bruce lays side to side with you, nude, with an arm around you without fail when he’s home. Both of your shoulders propped up on s nest of pillows he so graciously allowed you to choose. Your head is on his shoulder, like always. Your face still sticky with drying cum, with smeared sad black eyeliner and mascara, your hair in a sad, sloppy bun and you are so beautiful tonight anyway.

“Are you gonna kiss your husband goodnight?” He asks low, like he knows the answer. “Of course.” You sound so hoarse.

Your lips meet. Then they part. The room is black like your linens, freshly washed and smelling of cotton (and your shame). He goes to bed so quickly, his body twitching as he rests. You stay up a little later, looking out the window, searching for a bat signal. It never comes. You wake with him in the morning and only eat scrambled eggs at breakfast. When a delivery man comes up with boxes a few days later, you don’t even ask why.

You look forward to the break of day, for no reason other than you hoping to see the sun’s smile for a split second. At least one of you could smile.

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

15. Candle

A/N: This is part 15. I really wanted to try my luck and write for Jason Todd. I started to read DC comics and I really like Jason. Hope I did him justice. Enjoy!

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader Warning: swearing, fluff, making fun of Jason

31 Masterlist

You came home with groceries in both your arms. Work wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t bad either. “Babe, I need help. Really bad. Jay? Help! Jason!” You heard movement from the bedroom and saw your boyfriend emerging with a hoodie on. The hoodie wasn’t anything fancy but the hood was a little bigger, hiding Jason’s face a bit. “Hey, you. Take this please, it’s the heaviest.” Jason nodded and took it.

He turned around and walked into your kitchen. The movement made the hood slip from the vigilante’s head.

After you kicked off your boots and hung up your coat you made your way to Jason to help him put away all the groceries you bought. You looked over at your right were your intimidating teddy bear stood. You had to double check but you were fairly certain that there was something missing. “Babe, your eyebrow. Where is your left eyebrow?”

Jason looked everywhere but you. He grabbed the flour and put it into a cabinet. While the door was open he mumbled something you didn’t quite catch. But it sounded like he burned it off. You turned to him and narrowed your eyes, “Did I hear you right, You burned them?” He closed his eyes and the cabinet door at the same time. He nodded and murmured a quiet, “Yes.”

You began to laugh softly. Jason’s face hardened. You picked up the strawberry yogurt you bought and opened it, “How?” Jason sighted and brought over two small spoons. He gave you one and you both started to dig in. You raised your eyebrow to signal him he wasn’t out of the loop. Your boyfriend took a deep breath, his chest raising high, “I may have been a little too close to the flame.”

You felt sorry for your boyfriend. You really did but the whole situation was so hilarious at the same time. Jason burned his eyebrow at a candle. Your boyfriend burned himself on a small flame while he literally walked through flames and not even his jacked caught fire.

Jason scowled and pouted around a spoonful of strawberry yogurt. “Jay, How you gonna hide this from Harper?” The man before you closed his eyes, “Fuck!”

While on patrol with Red Arrow

Jason decided to wear his helmet once again to hide his accident. But he really needed fresh air and not the filtered, warm one through his mask. In the moment he took off his helmet Roy had to look at him. “Looking good, Todd.”

Jason closed his eyes and took a calming breath. Roy liked to tease him every chance he got. And this was the perfect opportunity. “Shut up, Harper!” The other man snickered next to him.

After a while Red Arrow turned to his friend and colleague with a shit eating grin on his face, “What happened?” Jason only crossed his muscular arms over his tactical vest clad chest and looked into the night sky.

You used his silence to make yourself known. Roy heard the familiar clicking of his earpiece, “He got too close to the flame of a candle in our apartment and burned himself.” Roy couldn’t hold back his barking laugh. He leaned back and fell from the edge of the building the sat on. With a fud he landed on the ground. He laughed so hard he began to roll on the ground.

Jason rolled his eyes at the other vigilante. He tapped his comm, “Thanks babe. Way to throw your man under the bus.” Red Hood heard you snicker on the other end.

Next day

Bruce invited you to a family gathering. You finished your make up while Jason leaned at the bathroom door and watched you. You touched up your eyebrows when you caught your boyfriend’ gaze in the mirror, “Want me to draw on fake eyebrows?” He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. When you were finished you turned to him and crossed your arms to mirror his stance, “So, what do you want me to tell them? A villain fought with a knife and removed your eyebrow mid fight?” Jason huffed and nodded, “Yes! And nothing else.”

After an hour drive with Jason’s motorcycle you reached Wayne Manor. Alfred stood outside to great you. He raised an eyebrow at Jason’s missing one. The man growled a “Please don’t ask, Alfred!” and walked on into the house and straight to the living room.

Tim was the first to look up and notice the missing brow, ”How did you remove your eyebrow, Jay?” At this everyone looked up from their activities and looked closely at Jason’s face. While your boyfriend had all eyes on him you made your way to Steph. She turned to you and raised her brow questioningly. You smiled evilly and began to whisper the truth.

Jason took a deep breath and began his ruse, “A thug from yesterday’s patrol. He nearly cut off my skin if I wasn’t faster.” Damian raised a black brow at his older brother, “Liar! Tell us the truth, Todd.” Jason raised his hands defensively, “That’s the truth!” Damian shook his head disappointingly. He pointed at you and Stephanie on the couch, “No it’s not. Or else (Y/n) and Stephanie wouldn’t cackle over there.” Both of you were cackling away at the expanse of Jason. The betrayed man looked at you disappointed in your betrayal, “Thanks, babe!” You send him a kiss.

While Jason was sulking away on one of the couches Dick entered the living room. Immediately he chooses to sit next to his little, sulking brother. E looked confused into the round, trying to detect what happened mere minutes ago. “What happened? Why is (Y/n) nearly lying on the floor and Jay’s left eyebrow is missing? What am I missing”?

Stephanie was the first to answer with a straight face, ”He burned it off. He got too close to a candle flame in their apartment. He wanted to know what the candle scent was.” Dick tried to school his face and stay a little serious, “Oh, little bird.” Jason’s frown deepened, “Shut up, Dickhead!”

What no one expected was for Bruce to make a comment on his second eldest son misery, “I told you, Jason. Don’t go near open fire. Now you have the aftermath of your recklessness.” At this everyone lost it. Bruce smirked while Jason shook his head. The young man tried not to grin but he failed. After all it was a little hilarious.

Wanna join my taglist?

@jolovesfandoms

[alecmagnuslwb]

Giving Home a Heartbeat - @doubleredweek Day 7

Read on AO3

Jason’s pretty sure that somewhere underneath all these boxes is the house they bought, he’s just not quite sure where.

“Jay Jay, Daddy stopped picking up boxes and sat down, so I’m picking up the slack!” Lian shouts over the distinct scraping sound of cardboard. Jason turns and there she is walking backwards her tiny hands pulling a box along that’s practically the same size as her not even breaking a sweat. Sometimes Jason thinks they really need to ask Jade about any superhuman abilities she might be hiding that could have been passed down.

Jason shakes his head and walks over to her lifting the box and sitting it over with the rest of the living room Jenga stack of cardboard boxes that is their life.

“Good work princess,” Jason says ruffling her hair as she sidles up next to him looking at all the boxes with a much more gleeful look on her face than the one he’s sporting.

“I am not slacking,” Roy shouts with a struggling groan. Jason turns back to the door watching as Roy takes a step through with three heavy boxes precariously stacked on top of one another in his arms blockading Roy’s body almost entirely from view. Jason rushes over to his side taking the highest one revealing Roy’s head his messy hair dripping with sweat and poking out wildly from underneath his backwards cap.

“These are the last ones and I just didn’t want to make numerous trips,” he grunts shifting the boxes in his arms. “Dick and Babs are taking the truck back and sweetly said they will not be coming back to help us unpack.” Jason rolls his eyes eight siblings, one younger than them aunt, two pseudo sisters-in-laws, a literal space traveling brother-in-law, three parental figures and one grandfatherly figure between the two of them and not one of them stuck around long enough to put all these boxes through the front door.

“We don’t know exactly how you want everything set up,” Connor had justified as he and Kyle started floating up into the sky and away as soon as the truck was full as if Jason, Roy and especially Lian wouldn’t happily boss them around with instructions of where to place things.

Stephanie, Tim and Damian even had the audacity to eat half the moving day pizza on their own, pick up one box together and then disappear. Teamwork Steph had called it before high fiving Roy and running after her boyfriend. Chaotic bisexuals Roy had sighed as they sped away on her motorcycle Damian already long gone slipping off like a silent shadow in the mid-day.

At least Roy and Jason hadn’t had to pay for the pizza they got one shared slice of, after twenty minutes of arguing about who should pay Oliver and Bruce had settled on splitting. Though knowing Bruce Jason would bet he added on a bigger tip when Ollie’s back was turned just to spite him.

“Do you think the Aqua Family treat each other this way?” Jason says watching as Lian tosses a small box up on the still covered in plastic couch and starts tearing at the tape.

“I bet they swim across the seven seas and happily move their family’s underwater décor without complaint,” Roy says as he slips behind Jason resting his chin on Jason’s shoulder. Together they survey the room with the knowledge that every other room in the house looks much the same, a labyrinth of boxes. It’s gonna take them weeks to unpack all the stuff from the workshop alone.

“I know we don’t know her as well as my dad and Bruce, but do you think if we put in a call to Zatanna she’d just,” Roy says flicking his hands around Jason’s waist in a pale comparison to the intricate patterns Jason’s seen her do in battle. “Ya know, poof and we’re unpacked.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Jason sighs. Lian has fully opened the box now pulling out item after item that definitely all belong in the kitchen not on their living room couch.

Roy faux cries burying his face in Jason’s neck sadly. Jason reaches up a hand only slightly condescendingly patting at Roy’s head.

“Alright, we gotta start somewhere. Lian’s room is the priority, you and I have slept on far more uncomfortable things than a plastic wrapped couch,” he says, they’ve already got a start in there anyways thanks to Alfred the only member of their families who’s not an ingrate setting up her pink and green matching bed, bookshelf, desk and wall shelves without even being asked. Jason survey’s the room eyes falling over to the kitchen. “I’d say we shoot for finishing the kitchen tonight too, but we can always just order takeout again.”

“More pizza!” Lian squeals in delight twirling a bundle of measuring cups around and around in one hand.

“No, we’ll get something else,” Roy says and Lian’s face drops just a little. “Something with lots of vegetables, like Thai maybe.” She perks back up at that.

“As long as I don’t have to eat peas,” she grumbles trading the measuring cups out for a ladle she taps delightedly on the boxes flap.

“Fine, no peas,” Jason says slipping away from Roy and grabbing the box Lian has been playing around with as she shouts triumphantly about the lack of peas in her future. He tosses the things she’s taken out of the box back in and slides it onto the kitchen counter to deal with later.

“Go to your room and start unpacking the boxes labeled books first okay,” Roy says lifting her up from the couch her legs sticking to the plastic as he does and settling her feet on the ground. “Put some on the lower shelves, but don’t try to reach the high shelves without Jay or I’s help okay?”

Lian nods furiously skittering off clapping her hands in joy, her light up Scooby Doo shoes going wild with every step.

“Promise, Daddy!” she shouts as she hightails it up the stairs and turns the corner sharply. A light thud earns their attention as soon as she disappears from sight followed by silence.

“Lian?” Jason shouts after her already braced to rush the stairs if she doesn’t respond instantly. Roy does the same.

“I’m okay, I just kicked a box over!” she shouts back and they both breathe a sigh of relief. “And it knocked over two more!” she says with utter delight causing them both to chuckle.

“If we want to get this house done before she’s out of high school, we’re gonna need to send her for an archery range day with grandpa tomorrow,” Roy says walking over to Jason. He hops up onto the kitchen island kicking his feet out back and forth.

“And maybe an ice cream day with aunt Emiko the day after that, just in case,” Jason adds on as he settles himself between Roy’s dangling legs his back to Roy’s front. Roy wraps his arms back around him, placing his chin back where it had been in the living room.

They both gaze out across the rooms, across their home, across what it will be in a few days’ time. Jason never thought he’d call Star City home, hell he never thought he’d get out of the Narrows, but here he is a homeowner with a man he fully intends to keep for the rest of his life and a little girl he considers his daughter.

“It’s gonna look great when it’s all set up,” Roy says nuzzling his face softly to Jason’s temple. “The perfect mix of superhero chic and parents of a five-year-old who only occasionally cleans up after herself.”

“An interior designers dream,” Jason chuckles leaning back further into Roy’s arms.

“Jade’s gonna hate it,” Roy laughs.

“Oh god, I’ll fly Alfred out to help me clean just to be sure it’s spotless when the time comes. When does she get back from South America?”

“The fourteenth, she’s taking Lian for the week, remember?” Roy says pressing a quick kiss to Jason’s jaw. The fourteenth, that’s plenty of time to make it look it’s best to at least cut her sly judgements in half.

They’re quiet for a while comfortably listening to the rustling sound of Lian tearing tape off of boxes above them. She’s probably gonna be wrapped in it by the time they get up here.

“We own a house,” Jason says breaking the comfortable quiet still stunned by the fact they’ve made it here. Six years ago he walked away from Roy, the worst mistake he’s ever made, and somehow impossibly when he came crawling back Roy welcomed him with open arms and now they’re here. It feels almost too good to be true.

Roy nods and Jason can feel his smile against his neck.

“Your stuck with me now Jaybird,” he chuckles and Jason pulls Roy’s arms around him tighter, happily stuck. They bask in each other’s arms a little longer when the sound of tape gets louder and more prominent followed by a giggle and comical ‘oops’ from Lian.

“We better go help her before she mummifies herself in packing tape,” Roy chuckles slipping out from behind Jason and making his way to the stairs taking them two at a time. Jason hangs back for a moment just looking one last time at the space in front of him, looking at their home before following the sounds of tape being unwrapped from clothes and the laughter of the two most important people in his world.

[batarella]

3 birds 1 stone - chapter 2

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: You guys. I can’t thank you enough for the response. It only pushes me harder to create something with the best of my abilities. Each and every one of you who took the time deserve the whole world.

WORDS: 6529 WARNINGS: NONE

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

Again.

Hands to the sides, swinging, letting them be with the natural air’s flow, to the wind that was subtle, yet could break even the tiniest bit of focus. Hair up so tightly, your scalp started to hurt, but that could be ignored. You stretched your neck to the right just to ease that slight discomfort that probably wasn’t there at all, but one you’d put the blame on if the next one goes wrong.

One deep breath in. This shouldn’t be so hard the fifth time.

“Go.”

Sprinting down the dark blue mat, you let the non-existent wind take you. You let your feet fly you high up into the sky. You let your limbs take control over your mind. Closer. Closer. The vault was right in front of you.

Hands up to the ceiling, you pushed your feet hard against the ground, bent over so you could place your weight down onto your arms just as your powdered palms hit the floor, then you were in circles, letting your body flip to its own will, letting it take its place suspended from the surface, then your hands felt the rough exterior of the vault, you pushed yourself further up. One, two flips. Then it was all a blur until your feet landed on the mat.

Just slightly, you almost fell off balance. Just a bit.

But if this were the Olympics it would have costed quite the number of points.

When you opened your eyes, Dick was there coming to you, clapping his hands. You smiled at him and he handed you your water bottle.

“How was it?”

“Really good. You’re getting better.”

You scoffed. “I almost fell at the end.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself.”

You drank the whole bottle and wiped your lips with your sleeve, which you probably shouldn’t have done considering it was covered in both your sweat and powder.

“How old were you when you could do that?” you asked the other gymnast. “Eight? Nine?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t exactly the best at it.”

Your head shaking, you sat yourself on the ground and Dick joined you.

“Last night was too close a call,” you said. “I could have died. Someone else could have died.”

“Trust me. It happens so much more often than you think. To everyone.”

You scratched the back of your neck. “This happens way too fucking much with me.”

“I know it feels that way, but even Bruce makes a wrong move every once in a while.”

That was different. He gets shot almost once a month. Man’s lucky to be alive at all without a sped-up healing factor or Jason’s Lazarus enhanced body system.

Then Dick reached over to grab your hand. “We have each other’s backs. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

He squeezed your hand, and something in you wasn’t exactly sure if you should believe in yourself to protect him, no matter how much you wanted to. But his hand was warm, reassuring. Only that could make you believe in him just a bit more than you believed in yourself.

The only other acrobat in the family. He knew your struggles. You knew his. Dick certainly was going to be there for you just as he always had been with your training. If not for him, you’d still be struggling to swing around poles.

So you just took in his little words that always kept pushing you forward. You held his hand back.

“You really don’t think I’m the worst fighter in the family?”

He snorted. “Is that what you really think of yourself?”

“Yeah…”

“You’re not. Come on, don’t say that. And don’t blame yourself. I saw you drawing on your sketchbook this mornin-“

“Dick, you did not-“ you growled.

“You have talent. You were raised as a gymnast but you have the heart of an artist. I can tell. You should practice more often. Don’t punish yourself for not being the best at the same things as everyone else.”

Then Dick started pulling you up. “Come on. Let’s watch Anchorman to cheer you up.”

Chuckling as you swept your hair back, you both left the gym and went straight for the theater room.

You weren’t exactly sure if you could point out when you fell in love with him. With what words he’d said that pushed you to do better, with what training session that placed you one step closer to being as good as he was, with what look in his eye that tickled your soul. You just knew it was with all of them, gradually adding up. At the end, it was far too late to turn back.

-----

Bruce Wayne looked exceptionally handsome to say the least.

And it wasn’t exactly to your cause or fault. You based the painting off of a photograph he’d given you from a few years ago, a portrait taken from his office to place in the Wayne Enterprises website Tim had built. Save for the fact that you took too long with his fairly recognizable angular jaw, everything went smoothly. His hair was swept back, quite longer than the length it was of today. A few grey strands near his ears, ones that couldn’t be seen if you didn’t look too long. His eyes, a bright, beautiful shining blue had two little dots of white near the iris where the light had reflected.

You managed to hide his jaw with a few stubbles of hair near his chin, which didn’t exactly do as much cover as you’d hoped, since Bruce didn’t want a full beard. But with the angles and the shadows, the tanned beige that was his skin looking perfect against your imaginary brightness. He looked towards the left, eyebrows up as if watching something that delighted him. A black suit and a red tie over what could be seen on his chest, he looked like the other old Waynes in the hallways of the manor, stuck to the walls for the past decades without motion, though his had the perfectly placed taste of modernity and charm.

That was the biggest one you had to lug into the manor. Bright and early that morning, you got all of Bruce’s commissioned works and brought them to the foyer. Two portraits, one of him and the other of Thomas and Martha. And the last one being a painting of Wayne Manor. You had them standing by the staircase, where Bruce should come down to by now before he heads for work.

You sat on the bottom step on the stairs and waited, arms on your knees. No one was up yet, or had come down for breakfast.

And you were still so tired. Not until four am that morning, you finally had your minute shed of sleep, until you had to wake up less than two hours after that, then you rushed here. Resting your chin on your hand, you closed your eyes, let the buzz on your head lull you to sleep.

“Mornin’ pretty bird.”

Not exactly with a grunt, but with the slightest hit of annoyance, you opened your eyes. Jason wasn’t shirtless, at least. So you thankfully you didn’t have to suffocate at the sight of chest. Still, he was sweaty and fresh from the gym. His hair was a bit damp, shirt stuck to his skin like perfectly molded clay. And of course, his cheeky little grin whenever he teased you.

“Hi,” you said, then you yawned.

“You here to hand these paintings to Bruce?”

“Yeah.” You chose to stand up, brush off the tiredness and force yourself to talk. “What do you think?”

He stepped back, eyed all three of them with his lips flattened into a light pout. You stood beside him and watched how his expression didn’t change, not even when he leaned in to look at the details on Bruce’s face.

“Bruce has an age spot near his mouth.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. And his nose is a little crooked from a recent injury.”

You just scoffed. “Well, sorry I haven’t been around lately to notice.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” He placed his hands into his pockets. “They’re good.”

“Thanks.”

“Thomas’s eyes look uneven-“

“Come on, man, give me a break,” you snorted.

Jason laughed. “I’m serious.”

Eyes rolling over and your arms hugging your chest, you cocked your hip to the side.

Jason’s eyebrow raised when he laid eyes on the manor painting, and it was amusing to watch him, someone who actually had a handful of criticisms and wasn’t afraid to lay it on you.

The only one who has never bought a painting from you, showered you in compliments almost everyday, or spoiled you with unnecessary babying. Jason didn’t exactly look unimpressed. In fact, you knew he had an interest in the classics, especially books and art. So he knew what he was talking about. And really, the spoils were to cushion your trauma, which you didn’t exactly ask for, so it was refreshing.

In fact…

If there was anyone who didn’t treat you any differently before and after the incident, someone who still looked at you the same and didn’t make you feel like a burden to make feel better, it was Jason.

And you appreciated that.

So all he gave you was a pat on your shoulder, then he tightened his duffel bag on his arm.

“Well, I’m off. Good luck, pretty bird.”

You just nodded at him as he headed out the manor’s foyer. His arm was up, waving at you, then you looked away before you caught yourself and your lingering eyes on his stomach, where his long coat had parted open, where his shirt so slightly raised up.

You agreed to coming to the manor solely for the fact that it was the only available time for both parties.

You agreed to that, totally without a fresh-from-the-gym Jason Todd in mind.

Yes.

Totally.

Keeping your wandering head in check, you heard loudening footsteps coming from above. A large man in a suit fixing his blue tie swiftly made his way down the steps.

“Great. You’re here.”

“Mornin’ Bruce.”

He gave you a peck on the cheek when he reached the bottom step. “Take your look.”

Eyes wide and grin inescapable, Bruce went over to the three paintings you had laid out. A satisfied hum, (or was it a grunt?) when he leaned over to look at his own portrait, at all the little details Jason had mentioned. Then a smirk crept up at the painting of his parents, his mother especially. The beautiful brunette, probably more beautiful than anyone else who’s ever lived in this manor, had on a flowy white dress, hair up in curls much like a 1920s flapper girl. Then his father, Thomas, an eerie mirror image to his son’s face and gloomy expression. He was on a lounge chair with his fingers over one another. Martha had on a smile, Thomas did not. Bruce looked satisfied.

Then he was full on amused when he laid eyes on all the little details you managed to capture with your painting of Wayne Manor. It’s castle-like structure. Incredible gothic architecture with little gargoyles and angels on the ledges. Then there were the uprooting vines on its groundwork’s sides. The green moss forming over its walls. Windows tinted black. Towers on each corner rising almost four stories high. You might as well have accepted a commission from the Queen to paint fucking Windsor Castle. It far more difficult than Wayne Tower or Times Square or any skyscraper there was.

That’s why you were particularly proud of that one.

“Outstanding as usual, Y/N. You’ve gotten even better over the past few months.”

You just shrugged. “Thank you.”

“Have you decided to go on with the auction?”

Ah. The auction. No, you haven’t pondered long on it. No, you still weren’t so sure if you should. Yes, you’d like that money.

“I don’t know Bruce…”

He fixed his suit. “These can go for a few thousands. Easy. And a portion goes to that charity you wanted-“

“The Children’s Burn Unit.”

“Yeah. That one. It’s amazing as it is.”

“I’ll think more about it. Thank you, Bruce.”

“The money will be sent over to your account. I have to head to the office now. Thank you.”

A hug and a kiss, then Bruce put on his winter coat left the building out into the snow. You went over to the first portrait to take it off from the easel.

You could take a cab back, or ask Alfred to send a driver for you, which you weren’t sure if you should. Though you were dead tired and wanted every bit of sleep you could get, that limo just seemed a lot more comfortable than a smelly taxi. Maybe if you asked now you could-

“Hey, Y/N.”

You froze.

“Let me help.”

Hair dancing on his head as he floated down the stairs, Dick rushed over to your side and started helping you with loosening the easel’s grip on the canvas. Everything happened so quickly you swore you heard something short circuit in your cerebellum and you couldn’t lift a finger when he set you aside.

Then you cartoonishly shook your head, then coughed a bit of a laugh. “Dick, it’s okay-“

Dick smiled, then handed the canvas over to you while he folded up the easel. He looked fresh out of the shower. Hair swept back now that he was still, skin looking radiant and tan, mouth up in his award-winning smile. He brushed his hair back as he went on to the second easel. You took care of the third one.

“Where you headed to this morning?” you asked.

“Nowhere. I knew you were coming over today. You didn’t forget our movie date, did you?”

Coughing out the speck of lint that you breathed in when you inhaled too quickly, you fumbled with the easel, hoping they wouldn’t fall off from your arms, then you just settled them against the wall along with the other stuff you had laid out. Breathe in. Then out. Arms on your side, you (far too casually) sighed. “Of course not!”

When he’d finished with the cleaning, Dick went over to you, smiling, staring straight into your eyes. And you were undeniably unmoving. You just hoped your eyes, cheeks, and most probably your trembling mouth wouldn’t be speaking to him in your place.

“I..” you swallowed. “What are we watching?”

“There’s Something About Mary.”

“Oh,” you sounded intrigued. “I love that movie.”

“You okay watching it again?”

Of course. Of course. Of course. Of course. I’d watch fucking Shrek ten times over if it was with you.

“Sure.”

You went with him up the stairs, laughing, chatting. You couldn’t stop watching Dick’s bright little simper and the way he’d look at you with his head down. It was one of these moments, definitely. You didn’t know when, what day or hour. But you knew it was because of the way he’d look at you, the way that had helped get you to reach this point of no return.

When he helped you train, flip vaults, leap in the air, hold your hand as you swung around poles and did cartwheels, when he trained you the same way he was trained, an acrobat’s way of fighting. All those hours in the grounds, rewarded with a night of movies and popcorn.

When you lost your leg, you lost all that. You lost a part of you had treasured so much overtime. He tried making it up by being there when you painted, told you how great your paintings were, buying them when he didn’t need to.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing was ever the same. But you’d take any time with him over anything.

Never mind how you didn’t stick around in his head when you weren’t in the room anymore the same way he was practically glued to yours.

A rush of cold air unexpectedly gusted against you when you stepped into the theater room. The aircon had been turned on, for quite a while it seems. Two seats propped down on the center of the second row, where you both usually sit on. Two bags of popcorn on them, with your favorite drink sitting on the arm rest. The movie was on pause on the title screen.

Dick had prepared everything for you before you even got to the manor.

“Are we celebrating or something?”

You tried to ignore the fluttering that was happening, at the sweetness, kindness of his looks. Though saying it was kindness would be more fitting than sweet. You plopped down onto your seat and settled yourself in. Dick took the one next to you, with a wide-open grin you wanted to watch even more than the movie.

“Play.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

.

His friends say stop whining,

They've had enough of that.

His friends would say stop pining,

There's others girls to look at.

They've tried to set him up with Tiffany and Indigo,

But there's something about Mary that they don't know.

.

Your lips up your cheeks looked quite pleased, though you hadn’t an idea if your eyes were doing the same. They were glued to the screen, but your hands wouldn’t stop twiddling with the same piece of popcorn on your fingers. You weren’t nervous, as was the same with any other time you hung out with Dick, but again, you wanted to be cautious.

And it was going to be even more difficult to be just that when nothing has ever felt softer, more serene, more exciting than any other time with him. Dick was here, just mere inches away from you. The time you had, how much you used to enjoy just talking to him over anything. His lame jokes that make you laugh to this day, his compassion.

You just wanted to lean into his shoulder and stay there for the rest of the movie. For the rest of the day. For the rest of the week. Dick made you feel like you could spend every day with him and never get tired of anything he does or says. Like you were in an amusement park. A day of excitement. You could scream your heart out and let every voice inside you be heard. The days seemed brighter, the nights seemed prettier. Everything. The whole world just lit up when Dick was there.

And most of all, you could be yourself and he’ll make you feel like there’s nothing about you you’ll ever have to change.

Like you can be the worst at something and he would be there, helping you up, training you to do better, telling you how much of your effort won't go unnoticed and how you let your mind wander with his words and…

People look at you, at him, and think you fell for him for his looks.

It wasn’t that at all.

Dick laughed when Ben Stiller had his penis caught in his zipper, and you laughed along, pretending to know what was going on, but with the side of your eye, you were staring at him, at his eyes, at how the blue popped out when it was lit up by the bright white light of the screen.

It wasn’t just his looks.

It was all of him.

But you let things be. You never made a move. Neither did he.  

You already lost time with him after the incident, and more so were you going to lose him when he was about to get married. Even just as friends, as nothing more than that, you wouldn’t trade what you had, those training sessions and movie marathons, over anything. When he had Kory, everything about him was going to be wiped out of your life forever.

But he was here now, as much as you hated how things came to be, how much he had to get hurt in the process just so you could get back what you had with him. You hated it. But there was no changing it now. He was here. For as long as you hoped.

So you finally ate that first piece of popcorn. You set your own mind’s countless thoughts to that one corner they’ve grown accustomed to hiding in. You watched the movie. You laughed when you had to. Everything was as it was all those years ago. There was no pretending that maybe he was going to see you the same way you saw him, because however he saw you now, whatever was going on no matter how platonic, you were content. It made you happy enough.

Hair on your skin standing up in the air, Dick leaned in to whisper something in your ear.

“This dog fight’s the most 2000’s thing I’ve seen.”

You laughed, “You sure it isn’t the outfits?”

You turned your head over, which proved to be a big mistake because his face was so dangerously close to yours. Your smile faltered. You were staring at him so stupidly still, you swore you just wanted to bury your head into the pile of popcorn and die.

But again with your muscles and nerves defying your head, because you didn’t even back away.

Dick smiled at you.

Then he looked down, and you realized he was looking at your hand. Suddenly every bit of flesh in your body warmed to the touch, your skin burned but in the most delicate, elusive scorch you could still pick out, yet it wouldn’t hurt your senses. Dick took your hand and held it so tightly, his thumb resting between your fingers, then he swayed it around to bring you comfort.

You wished it wasn’t as casual as it actually was, yet it brought that wonderful little rush up the veins on your neck, your nerves calmed. Everything was okay. Nothing felt better.

“I’m glad we get to spend time again.”

You couldn’t bear to look at his face anymore. Your hand was loose, it refused to return his tight hold in fear of him letting go or of anything being too much. You turned to your lap, watched your feet sway about. Eventually, Dick let go, but you were going to remember that feeling on your skin, how his palms rubbed against you and how nicely he seemed to fit within the spaces of your fingers.

An hour or so passed, you were quiet. You didn’t say anything and neither did he outside the little remarks and the laughs, or even his feet brushing against your shoe. Everything felt like the eminence and the little snaps and sparks that were so nice to hear when you sat a few feet away from a fireplace.

His shoulder was so close to your head. You swore you could count the inches with your own fingers. Just a little. Just a bit. The slightest push and you’d be against him. He’d be holding you. Dick suddenly shifted in his seat and he was even closer to your cheek. Fingers on the arm rests, you were already so close to touching. Half your attention was to the screen and the other was that pull that made you want to just fall into him, never to go away.

But of course, you didn’t.

When the movie ended, Dick stood up and patted your shoulder. Your bowls of popcorn were long finished, so were your drinks. You watched him get up, stretch his arms.

“Thank you,” you said to him. An eyebrow of his rose to his forehead. “Why thank me?”

You shrugged. “You prepared all this.”

“Don’t sweat it. We should do this again. Tell me when you're coming over next.”

And at that, you wanted to tell yourself you should come over more often, do what you can to be at his side, actually work to pursue him, to spend as much time with him as humanely possible. Doesn’t matter if he actually does fall in love with you or not. For your own sake.

But to say you even had hope left was a lie. You don’t. Never had since years ago. It wouldn’t matter if you came by every week or none at all. Nothing was going to change. Just that little moment of happiness that won't ever last. Moments like these.

You’ve spent too much time pretending, hoping, wishing things would go your way, until eventually you reached that point where you weren’t sure what was your way was anymore.

So you weren’t exactly thrilled at the thought of getting to be with him more often, just like you weren’t so ecstatic when Dick told you he was permanently moving back in. Because if anything, if you were being completely honest with yourself, you were too burnt out and have gone through the worst, most agonizingly frustrating mountains of yearning and pining that no matter what he did that could hurt or reject you, without his intentions, you wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised. If you were to do anything beyond that, it would only worsen the pain.

All those years, and you never told Dick how you felt. You never wanted to tell him. You never felt the need to.

And as if the world did it on purpose, in came the whole reason why that thought continues to be even with Kory out of the picture.

A beautiful head of red hair peaked in from the theater’s entry way. “Hey, you two.”

Dick waved at her. “Hey Babs.”

Yeah. Holding on was your own little way of self-torture. Babs came in. “Am I late for the party?”

“Yeah. Movie just finished.”

You stood up from your seat, finally, then dusted off your pants. “Hi, Babs.”

“You staying over for the day, Y/N?”

“Not really.”

The three of you stepped out of the little theater, walking behind Dick and Babs like a friend who couldn’t walk beside her other two friends because the sidewalk was too narrow.

“Dick, I need your help over at the cave.”

“Sure. Right now?”

“Yes. That okay?”

Dick looked over to you. “Y/N-“

“I should head home,” you said. “Or go up to Tim.”

“Tim?”

“Yeah. He told me to stop by his room when I deliver Bruce’s paintings.”

“Oh.”

Smiling at him even with what little time you had eventually came to an end, you walked up to the stairs and waved. “I’ll see you.”

“See you.” You lingered your gaze, and Dick returned that gaze at you up the steps as he made his own way down to the library with Babs. One last smile, then he was out of sight.

Nothing new. Nothing you weren’t already used to.

Things are less painful when you weren’t pining after him anymore.

It was sad how easily you shrugged that off. As you went down the bedroom halls, feet lightly pattering onto the red carpet, you knocked three times on Tim’s door. A grunt. Then you peaked inside.

Tim must have been working all night, because he definitely looked like he just got into bed a few hours ago, and it was still well in the morning. Hair was a complete mess. Body slumped onto the mattress like a carcass. His mouth was wide open and leaking with drool. Nose all scrunched up from being smushed into the pillow. He was half-awake, because one eye was slightly open and staring right at you. When you closed the door, you heard him grunt again.

“You alright there, Tim?”

He closed his eyes and ignored you, and you just laughed at how dark his under eyes were and how completely exhausted he looked.

But he was undeniably adorable. You went over and got a pillow, playfully hitting his head.

“Stooooop,” he groaned.

“It’s almost nine in the morning. Aren’t you heading to the office?”

“I just got home from the office.”

“Shit.” You sat on the bed beside him, then you reached over to fix his hair. He started to tense, but he didn’t brush you off.

“Stay at home for once. Just a day. Give yourself a break,” you said. Tim opened one eye again, then he groaned.

You started taking your shoes off. This asswipe was going to need you here to make sure he doesn’t drown himself in a tub off coffee again just to pull himself off the bed, so you were going to make sure he doesn’t leave.

“I thought you wouldn’t be here until afternoon,” he yawned.

For some ungodly reason, an image of Jason’s abs flashed into the back most corner of your head like a fucking projector. Only for the shortest spilt second, and still it was long enough that you’d notice it. You immediately brushed it off.

“I just thought we’d get it over with for the day.”

He turned his head over to bury it against the pillow to drown out the light coming in from the window. You walked over and pulled the curtains to a close, as with the other ones, until his room was dim enough for him to actually get some sleep.

Tim’s desk was an absolute mess, and he probably didn’t notice how his laptop was so close to falling over the edge, with half of it sticking out of the table. You closed and placed it all the way back against the wall, then the mounds of paperwork he’d piled over the surface that was blowing up all over the place. You didn’t care if he was going to rant on about touching his stuff. You placed everything into a neat pile, set them at the side where it was all easily seen, then you went over the drawers to start fixing them one by one, because even with them closed, there were still pieces of paper sticking out of them like a bomb had gone off inside the wood.

He was snoring now. Audibly snoring. You looked back at him and tried not to laugh.

Then you went back to the drawers.

You hadn’t an idea what to expect, or that you should be expecting anything at all.

But whatever those expectations were, none of them were could come in the slightest bit as close to what you found on the bottom most drawer, where more pieces of paper were inside, though these definitely had been ripped out of a sketchpad. Your sketchpad.

Even when you hadn’t expected it, it didn’t exactly surprise you.

You opened the drawer and found dozens, if not hundreds of drawings and sketches, all made by your hand. The one on top, of course, was the most recent one you’d given him, from the night at the office with them sitting on the railings together. It was slightly crumpled, which meant Tim had brought it with him around before placing it in the pile.

Then you went over the next ones, ones you don’t even remember sketching until then. There was one from that trip to the country, when you and Tim went out for a drive and you drew the skyline and the mountains, which he asked for when you got home. Then there was one when he asked you to draw a bird that had flown into his room. It took you minutes, probably the worst, most rushed out sketch you’ve done. But it was a bird. You could tell it was a bird.

You were smiling through it all, going over the sketches that meant so little to you back then, something you would have otherwise thrown in the trash when you were done. Everything was still neatly folded and piled, unlike everything else in his desk.

Another of the Watchtower that one time with an emergency and you all had to rush up there to help, then there was one of him being a goof, sleeping on the lounge chair that you’d done over a few quick minutes before he eventually wakes up and catches you. One of Ace. One of Bruce.

Drawings you don’t even remember doing.

But what really caught your breath was at the bottommost pile of sketches, ones you were sure you didn’t draw yourself.

Because no matter how long you’ve been drawing faces, or how many people you’ve sketched even when they just pass by you in the street or in the subway. No matter how good you’ve gotten over time or how people tell you to keep going, you’ve never in your life drawn a portrait of yourself.

And there, hidden amongst the other pieces of paper, though distinct from the kind of paper you had from your sketchpad, were several sketches of you.

And it undeniably wasn’t from your hand. These were sloppier. The hand didn’t seem so steady. Haven’t been drawing for long. At least as long as you did.

But they were all of you.

You sitting on the chair by the fireplace. You in your old suit. You painting in front of an easel. You with the family. You sitting on the stairs.

And there were quite a few with just your face. Looking at the side, looking straight at him. Smiling from ear to ear like you were listening and seeing something that amused you so much. These were more recent, as the details got better. They weren’t as good as yours, but they were good enough that anyone would be able to recognize the way your eyes smiled just as brightly as your lips.

It was embarrassing, because you never liked the idea of yourself as a subject for your own work.

But you knew. You just knew.

Tim drew these himself.

And it might be because he wanted to learn how to draw as good as you can to have more in common, because he wanted to draw you the way you drew him and return the favor. It might be because he wanted to be closer to you and your passion, have a taste of that world with you in it just to feel like you were in the same dimension as him, close that gap where he couldn’t touch.

It might be because he wanted to keep you in his memories and make those memories into something he could hold and look at, just as you would with him and everyone else you loved.

Or it might be to show you how much he’d paid so much attention to the littlest details on your face, memorized them, kept them at the back of his mind he’d so easily recall, show you how much those details meant to him and how he wouldn’t let even one slip away from his gaze.

Something in you was pulling, tugging, and it didn’t exactly hurt as much as it was wonderfully buzzing. You placed everything back into the drawer and breathed in.

One deep breath.

Then you stood up, pulled on the little sofa chair he had on the side of his bed, then sat on it to face him. The lights were dim, and everything was quiet around you.

Smiling as you stared at him with his pillow all drenched with his drool, his snores getting louder each minute, you pulled out a little sketchpad from your pocket and a pencil.

Then you started with the outline of his face, half of it stuck into the pillow, then his hair that was all spread out and sticking to the air.

He was beautiful. So cute. Handsome far beyond average. No different from his brothers, from Bruce.

If there was one thing you realized when painting Bruce’s face, his eyes particularly,

It was that Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian were all an eerie splitting image of him, never mind how not all of them were even blood-related.

Brothers.

It was sweet to think about, with them, Steph, Cass, Duke, all having each other’s backs with them being just that. You and Babs just kind of sat in with the Waynes, as some kind of extension to their bond, but not exactly to their kind of level to be considered brothers.

You weren’t pursuing Dick. You haven’t for years. And if he was asking you to come over, spend time with him alone, give you that little bit of hope you’ve long said goodbye to, you weren’t exactly sure what to think.

Because you were afraid that if anything was ever going to move forward, you wouldn’t be able to control how it ends. The fall would be greater than anything you’ve ever had to go through in your life. Because if in any way, Dick would be yours, the pain you’ve had for so many years will turn out for the worst. You’ll lose him and actually lose him. And Dick was so easy to lose, so easy to be stolen away from you, like he could just slip and move on, and you’d be stuck there, in the same place as you were today.

Dick scared you, and it wasn’t in any other way than for that reason.

Tim was security, comfort, relief, and home. The kind you could come home to after a long day and fall into a little bubble of just you. Nothing could ever possibly happen to you, or put you in danger when you were in his arms.

His arms. One of the best things to draw, in fact. They were lean and strong, and they were reaching up the headboard, one over his head and one under the pillow. You kept sketching out his body formed under the thin sheet of the blanket over him, then you skipped out on the bed and everything else.

You ripped out the drawing and placed it on the desk for him to find in the morning.

This might be the start of that little push you needed to move forward.

That push you needed to start choosing him.

Again.

You were still unsure, with all that history you thought you’d left behind, but you were, in fact, sure that Tim loved you more than anything you’ll ever come to understand.

You sat on the edge of the bed. He stopped snoring. His mouth was closed now and he was sleeping peacefully, though not as deeply.

You reached over and unlatched your prosthetic leg, slipped it off from your knee and set it aside against the bed.

Then you lied down on the mattress, shifting and inching closer to face him directly. You could feel his breath, hot but light. You were smiling with your faces so close together, at the sight of his eyelashes so peacefully resting on his cheek and his lips stagnant and unmoving, though his nose would occasionally twitch like a bunny’s and his chest was lightly rising.

You moved even closer to him until he was barely three inches away from your face.

When you delicately brushed your finger down his cheek, Tim’s one eye fluttered open. You smiled. He smirked back.

Your hand stayed on his face, then just as you drifted off to sleep, you felt his arm reach over your waist, staying there until you awoke in each other’s arms.

 -----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

A/N: WADDUP HOES. HOPE U LIKED THIS CHAPTER CUZ IT’S ABOUT TO GET EVEN MORE CHAOTIC

MAIN TAGLIST:

@everyartistwas-firstanamateur, @sarcasmismyfirstlove, @damned-queen-of-gotham, @idkmanicantenglish, @wunderstell, @birdy-bat-writes, @get-loki, @everyday-imfangirling, @comic-nerd-dc, @multifandomgirl-us, @multifandoms916, @icequeen208, @offendedfishnoises, @egdolan, @xemiefx, @arkhamtoddler, @elsenthal, @mythicbitchx, @lucy-roo, @roseangel013bf, @loxbbg​, @reclusive-chicken-nugget​, @l-inkage​, @http-cherries​, @shadowsndaisies​, @river9noble​, @zphilophobiaz​, @annoylinglyaries​, @knightfall05x​, @hyp-oh-critical​, @satan-s-ass​, @1-800-starmora​, @flowersgirl02, @nahcho​, @thatonecroc​, @trixie-bb​, @daddyissuesmademe​

SERIES TAGLIST:

@spaceservicestation​

[rachelsteapot]

Rescued: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader Part 3

This is it! This is the last part of Rescued! I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Diclaimer, I had a moment while writing this and managed to switch tense without noticing so if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I’ll change them as soon as I can. 

Part 1 / Part 2 

Warnings: None 

Tags: @bat-luna-cat , @nothingleftthaticando​

That night, Tommy reluctantly dropped Y/N back at her Battersea apartment, having practically begged her to return to his city centre townhouse. The more time Tommy spent with this woman, the more and more he wanted her in his every day. This attraction wasn’t sexual like his previous women. It was more akin to what he had felt for Grace... 

No. 

Tommy was not going to let her face back into his mind. Grace was gone, a ghost that tormented him in his darkest moments. Y/N was alive, living, breathing. She had hopes and dreams that could still be fulfilled. Hopes and dreams that Tommy wanted a part in. And Tommy always got what he wanted. 

Y/N’s mind was also churning. In less than twenty four hours, she had become a person of interest to one of the largest criminal gangs in the midlands, if not the whole country, simply because she had caught the leader’s eye. And what striking eyes they were too. Slipping into her nightclothes, Y/N placed her kettle onto the fire that she had started moments earlier, before settling into her armchair. Slowly, Y/N drifted in and out of thought, her pensive eyes glazed over as she stared into the flames. She was faced with one of the biggest decisions of her life: Tommy Shelby or Battersea cats and dogs home. 

The next day, Y/N arrived at the shelter, and was met by an odd sight. A large poster was placed on the door and read, from what Y/N could decipher, ‘Under New Management’. So, doing what every good employee would, she opened the door and stepped into the foyer. It was quiet. Too quiet for an animal shelter. Quietly, Y/N approached the door of Mr. Smith’s office, and knocked. 

“Come,” came a reply. 

Y/N opened the door, once again releasing a haze of smoke, and stepped inside. 

“Mr. Smith,” she began, but stopped. Sat in Mr. Smith’s chair, behind Mr. Smith’s desk, was Tommy Shelby. Y/N’s words caught in her throat, and she stood, stunned, until Bruce pressed his head into her knees. 

“Mr. Shelby, what are you doing here?” she queried, bending down to stroke the dog. 

“Y/N, I own it.” Swinging his legs off of the desk, Tommy stood and took the gently smoking cigarette from his lips. “I thought it would make your decision easier if I bought the place.” 

A look of sheer confusion engulfed Y/N’s face. She knew Tommy was rich from his nice suit and ability to pay for almost everything, but she didn’t think he was ‘buy-a-dog-shelter-because-you-want-one-of-the-workers-to-go-home-with-you’ rich. 

“I’ll stay for a few days.” In that moment, Y/N saw a flicker of a smile cross Tommy’s face, and she knew he had won. 

The drive back to Small Heath was dull. But, at least, Y/N had Bruce for company. Tommy had been silent since they had left London, and Y/N assumed it was because he was concentrating on the road. In reality, however, it was something entirely different that was consuming Tommy’s attention. 

Tommy’s mild swirled with thoughts: some about business, some not. Every now and then, the car rocked, causing the crime boss to catch scent of his passenger’s perfume, making his head spin even more. Out of the corner of his eye he could just see her stroking Bruce and god did she look cute. 

Slowly, Tommy’s hand moved from the gear stick onto Y/N’s thigh. He heard her breath hitch slightly, and waited. 

Y/n turned to face him, meeting his steely blue gaze, and nodded slightly. She was okay with this. Part of her brain had been begging for Tommy to make a move, and finally, he was. She felt her stomach twist slightly as his fingers pressed into her thigh slightly, having received permission mere seconds earlier. 

Tommy was one of a kind, Y/N had decided, and if his family were half as intriguing as he was, she would be in for one hell of a trip. 

After what felt like forever, Y/N and her guide pulled up in Small heath. Tommy marched from the car, pushing the front door open, and striding inside, followed dutifully by Y/N and Bruce. 

“Tom. You’re back early.” A thick liverpool accent wafted through the smoke, and Y/N froze. 

“Yes Pol, I made the deal so there was no reason to hang around.” A chair scraped against the floor and a figure stepped towards them. Sharp, hawk like eyes glared at the two as the woman pulled a cigarette from her lips. 

“And who may this be?” Tommy’s hand found the small of Y/N’s back, willing her to answer for herself. 

“My name is Y/N L/N, I worked- I work at a dog shelter in London,” she squirmed slightly under Pol’s gaze, waiting for a response. 

“I was talking about the dog, but nice to meet you dear.” she muttered with an exasperated sigh. “Polly Grey. I call the shots around here, despite what Tommy may have told you.” 

The woman released a long stream of smoke and reached down to stroke Bruce. Y/N’s face flushed with embarrassment. 

“This is Bruce.” Tommy grunted, striding between the part-demolished walls, causing his companion to look to Polly for directions. 

“Well go on then!” she cried, watching the new girl scuttle after her nephew. 

The betting shop, as Y/N discovered, was noisy, smokey and down right boisterous. Finally, she spied Tommy leaning over a desk, and upon noticing her discomfort, Tommy beckoned her over, sliding his hand around her waist as she arrived. 

“Y/N I want you to meet my little brother, John,” the young woman nodded shyly in the direction of a man holding a thick leather bound accounting book as he winked. “Be careful of him, he's a womaniser.” 

“Ah! Says you Tom!” John interjected, holding a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “Don’t listen to him, love, he's boring and old. Come for a drink down The Garrison tonight, yeah? You can meet the rest of us.”

Seeing Y/N’s confused face, Tommy sighed in frustration and shot John a glare. 

“I have three brothers and a sister, You’ve met John and, if you want, you can meet Arthur, Ada and Finn tonight.” taking a last drag of his cigarette, Tommy stubbed it out and stalked away, leaving Y/N in silence with John, who was watching the happenings intently.

“He bought the dog shelter that I work at so I would come to Birmingham with him,” Y/N explained, hoping that he wouldn’t ask questions that she didn’t know the answer to. 

“Ah,” John nodded, as if this was a common occurrence. “You look tired, there’s a sitting room just through there. If Tom asks, I’ll tell him where you are.”

Y/N thanked the Shelby brother and wandered in the direction that John had indicated, the sounds and smells of the betting shop making her head spin. Finally, having located the sitting room and, finding nobody else inside, she settled onto the soft armchair and closed her eyes, drifting into a dreamless sleep. 

When Y/N awoke, the sky had turned the telltale inky blue of night. Stretching gently, she sat up to find that she was not alone. Someone was sitting on the sofa adjacent to the armchair that she occupied, smoking a cigarette with Bruce at their feet. Upon noticing that she had awoken, Bruce stood and waddled over, plonking his head into her lap. 

“Heya Brucie,” Y/N croaked, scratching his ears before stretching out her stiff limbs more thoroughly. She squinted into the gloom and slowly was able to distinguish the identity of your companion. In the half light, his features seemed elegant, his high cheekbones turning into mountains and his cheeks became the deep valleys below. If he wasn’t so attractive, he would have looked gaunt, almost skeletal, like the death he caused every day. But to Y/N, the features of his face were angelic. 

Tommy Shelby sat on the sofa, gently smoking his cigarette while the young woman awoke. He noticed her studying his features and turned his head, locking his eyes onto hers. 

“You’re staring,” he croaked, standing abruptly and rousing Y/N from her thoughts. She tilted her head to watch as he shifted his weight, as if testing the floor. “They’re all at The Garrison waiting for us.”

It was not a long walk from Tommy’s house to the pub, but in a dark unfamiliar place, it felt like miles. Hooked onto Tommy’s arm, Y/N shivered slightly as the evening breeze cut through her clothes making her wish that she had a thicker coat. As she approached The Garrison, however, her muscles relaxed, sensing the warmth and welcoming environment radiating from the glowing windows. 

Tommy pushed the doors open, striding into the pub dramatically. 

“At ease,” he sighed, nodding to the barman as you stepped into the pub behind him. Without so much as checking on his companion, he turned sharply to the right and stepped into a private booth, the noise inside the pub rising like a tsunami.

Y/N slid inside the booth after Tommy like an obedient puppy as a hush fell over the occupants.Looking around hopefully, Y/N searched for a familiar face and found Polly, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. 

“Y/N!” her head snapped around to find the source of the voice, finding John picking his way to wrap his arm around her shoulders. 

“Everyone, this is Y/N, she’s Tommy’s new flame, so keep your hands off!” His jest caused Y/Ns  cheeks to flame up and she looked at the ground, attempting to avoid the eyes of the booth’s inhabitants. One by one, she was introduced to the Shelby clan by Tommy and John, and eventually found herself gravitating towards Polly and Ada, who, between them, also happened to possess most of the Shelby brain cells. 

“So how did you and Tommy meet?” the younger Shelby woman sighed, sipping at her Gin. 

Y/N looked up, meeting her gaze and chuckled gently, “He wanted to adopt a dog from the shelter that I worked- that I work at, so I showed him Bruce, and he decided then and there that he wanted him.” Ada nodded as she paused, and Polly let out what seemed to be a chuckle masked as a cough. Y/N furrowed her brow, clearly confused, until Ada interjected. 

“Let me guess, he then bought the shelter so you’d come back here? It's very predictable Tommy behaviour is all.” her clarification caused Y/n’s heart to sink. If this was so predictable, then there was no reason to feel as special as she did. 

Sensing her dejection, Ada sighed. “Don’t worry sweet, If he did it, it means he’s serious about you. Tommy likes to seem all big and hard, but really, he’s just as much of a softie as Bruce is.” As if to prove her point, Ada reached down and scratched the top of Bruce’s head. Y/N smiled softly, nodding to show her understanding. 

“Men, am I right?” she giggled, causing the two other shelby women to smile. 

“I’ll drink to that, my dear,” Polly smiled, raising her glass. 

The next few days in Small heath were relatively uneventful. Despite having been invited to Birmingham by Tommy, Y/N had barely seen the man, except for ten minutes here and five minutes there. Largely, she had spent her time with Polly and Ada, becoming acquainted with the bustling city. The more time Y/N spent in town, or helping Lizzie with some accounting, the more at home she felt. 

Birmingham, Y/N had decided, was largely like London. 

Yet something was bugging her. She wanted to know exactly what was going on with Tommy. His hot and cold nature was intriguing to begin with, but now the novelty had worn off and she was stuck in an unfamiliar world without the one who had invited her there. 

After a morning of shopping with Ada and mathematics with Lizzie, Y/N found herself draped across one of the armchairs in Tommy’s office while he worked on some contracts at his desk. 

“Tommmmm,” she whined, causing the man to raise his eyebrows and hum in response. “Why am I here if all you’re going to do is ignore me?” 

Tommy’s head snapped up, Y/N’s question had caught him like a wild right hook. 

Finally, she had Tommy cornered. 

Tommy gulped, fighting the urge to blurt out the whole reason, that he, Tommy Shelby, was infatuated with this girl from London who worked with dogs and rendered him speechless. 

“I- I um thought you would like to see Birmingham,” Y/N raised an eyebrow as the crime boss stumbled over his words. 

“We both know that’s not it, Tom. Be honest.”

Tommy glared at the woman in his armchair. She knew why, she was just taunting him. Tommy didn’t like to be taunted. Slowly, he stood from his chair and made his way towards his guest, who looked up at him from under her eyelashes. Then, coming to a stop directly in front of Y/N, he took her chin in his hand and pressed his lips to hers. 

“Is that enough of an answer for you?” he muttered against her lips. As they broke away, Tommy thought he heard Y/N mutter something under her breath. 

“What was that?” he asked, raising one eyebrow as his icy blue eyes bore into hers. 

“I love you, Mr. Shelby.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” 

[dork-empress]

Singing in the Dead of Night

Damian Wayne meets a new masked persona in Gotham, and everyone has to adjust to her.

AKA I have a lot of headcanons about Lucy Quinzel and I'm making it other people's problem.

I want it up front that I haven't read these comics, just a lot of wiki pages and tiktoks. If there's a fun thing in the comics you can tell me, but this is my own version of this universe and these characters.

This is going to be the main story, but I may do some offshoots. If you want to subscribe, chapters are also posted on my Ao3 (link in my description).

“You need to take things less seriously.”

Damian looked up, looked down, and then looked back just to be sure it was really his father who asked. It was hard to tell sometimes if your superhero father had been replaced or possessed or something. “Are you serious? YOU’RE telling me that?”

“That should enforce to you how dire the situation is.” Bruce said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re still a kid,”

“I’m 15,” Damian said, then thought about his varied adventures, “Technically…”

“My point exactly,” Bruce said, turning a page on his crime reports, “You should enjoy being a kid, for a while.”

“Oh, did you enjoy being 15?” Damian said, and maybe that was a low blow, but if Bruce wasn’t ready for him to call him out he...shouldn’t have made him upset. Hmm.

Bruce looked up and stared into his soul, and Damian worried he might have stepped in it a bit. He backed up a step in case. Bruce took a deep breath, looking at him. “My childhood was stolen from me, but I at least had one. As did all the other Robins. You’re not responsible for what happened to you,but I think you could use some time. I couldn’t offer you a childhood then, and I can hardly do that now, I know, but I can do what I can.”

“And what are you doing?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re suspended from Robin duties.”

“WHAT?!” Damian exploded, getting in his face. “What are you talking about?!”

Bruce didn’t flinch, “Until the Wayne Manor Christmas Party,” Bruce said, “I’ve called Tim and he’s willing to cover for you until then.”

“He doesn’t NEED to cover me,” Damian snarled, “I’m right here! I’m not injured, or dead, or ANYTHING I just--WHY?”

“I told you,” Bruce said, “You need to find other...hobbies, or form connections or SOMEthing. Anything other than the lifestyle. You have two months, you’ll live.”

Damian curled his fists, shaking, but had no more arguments. “You’re the WORST!” He said, and went off to his rooms.

The room was left in stony silence for a moment. Alfred came in, changing out Bruce’s cup of tea. “You don’t actually expect that to work, do you?”

“Not really, no,” Bruce said, “But he’ll be out of my hair for a little bit.”

Alfred was very dignified and so did not snort. But it was close.

Damian went out at night, saying he was off with a friend. Best to keep things vague, but if Bruce pressed, he’d say he was with Jon, and could probably bully Jon into vouching for him.

He dressed all in black, jumping from the rooftops, looking for trouble. There was usually plenty of it in Gotham. He just had to avoid the Bat Signal hanging in the sky and he’d be fine.

He heard a crash and looked down. Jewelry store robbery. Perfect.

He jumped down to ground level and approached the broken in window, taking out his sword. “Anyone in here, it’s better to surrender now,”

Of course, because it was Gotham, he wasn’t met by a normal jewel thief. No, instead, what approached him was a small walking orange balloon animal dog.

Because of course it was.

With an act first, think later attitude, he stabbed at it. He regretted it instantly as it let out some sort of opaque gas, the effects of which he didn’t want to find out. He pulled his shirt up over his mouth in hopes of preventing himself breathing too much in.

“Oh wow,” a voice said behind him, “Are you Robin?”

Damian whipped around and scowled. The gas was obscuring whoever was there, but the silhouette seemed like something of a ballerina. Why couldn’t one criminal just be normal?

He jumped back, ready to attack, but she didn’t fight him. “I’m not Robin,” he said, “I’m…” he didn’t think of another name. Ugh, this was more complicated than it needed to be.

“Huh,” she said, heading over to the display case, “This city sure has a lot of teenage ninja fighters, doesn’t it? Is ninja appropriative? Hmm, will have to think on that.”

She picked up a diamond ring from the display case and headed for the door. “Put that down!” Damian yelled at her, lifting his sword up.

“What, are you going to kill me for one ring?” She said, holding it, “Kinda overkill, don’t you think, Blackbird?”

Damian put his sword up to her, blocking the exit. “I’m not going to kill you, I’m just going to stop you,” he said, determined, but then her words sank in. “Blackbird?”

“Well, I’ve got to call you something, isn’t that how these superhero fights all go?” She stepped forward out of the fog, a girl about his age with a white painted face, lips painted into a heart, and bright orange and pink eyeshadow. “I’m Commedia, the hero of funny, the dancing clown, the laughing knight, etc etc.” she said, “im still working on my name too.”

She did a fancy twirl, getting out of range of Damian’s sword, which he countered to block her from the entrance again. “Oh, you like to dance?” she said.

“Clown, huh?” he said, staring her down, “You work for the joker?”

She laughed, high pitched and sweet, “Very much no,” she said, twirling again through the store, “Though I understand the confusion. No, Joker is...well, a joke. He’s not even registered in the clown registry.”

“There’s a clown registry?” He swung his sword.

This time, it came to a stop, with a matching jingle. He frowned, and saw it was a tambourine that the woman had lifted and stopped the sword like a shield.

He stared at the girl, Commedia, in stunned silence. She smiled brightly at him. “Well, this has been fun. But I really ought to head out. Raincheck on that dance, Blackbird.”

With a spin and a jump, she made it past him and rushed out the door, throwing a pink flower behind. A gas filled up the room in her wake, obscuring the view. Damian unfortunately got a whiff before he could block his nose, but he knew a simple fog cloud scent when he smelled it.

Damian went back into the shadows before the police inevitably arrived. It did seem below his paygrade, fighting someone who only stole a single diamond ring. But it was even stranger for that fact. A strangely dressed clown woman engaging in very strange and specific crimes in Gotham screamed “beginning of a dangerous plot.”

He wanted to go in swinging as usual, then remembered that if his father heard anything about a young person with a sword threatening police, he might catch onto the fact Damian went out that night. So, he went with the subtle approach. Breaking into the jewelry store’s records.

He was glad he did. It turned out that ring in particular had a history. It had been bought, returned, bought again, and returned once more, all by the same man, a Matthew Crenshaw. A quick records search brought up that he was a simple caller at a center. Nothing special about him. But, he was tied to the ring, and that tied him to the girl, so that was his first stop.

He tracked down the apartment to find Matthew Crenshaw in the middle of a very strange day. Damien watched through the window as Matthew lay on the floor of his meager living room, looking up at Commedia herself. She held the ring out to him, offering. “Well come on, man! Take it!”

“I don’t…” he mumbled, “Who...who are you?!”

“Just call me your fairy godmother,” she said. “Come on, you said you wanted it! So take it!”

“That’s…” Matthew said, “That’s the ring that Jenny liked...that she…”

“That you said would make the perfect proposal!” She said, dancing around, “So? Here it is! Now you can propose for real!” she said, giving it to him.

He juggled it, nearly falling over. Commedia came rushing over, jumping through the window and onto the fire escape. “Alright, hands up,” Damian urged her.

She turned, smiling. “Why, Blackbird? We going on roller coaster?” She put her hands high in the air and swung around the fire escape ladder, “Weeeeee!”

Damian followed her, pointing his sword tip at her chest. “Stop,” he said, “What are you planning?”

“Well, I’m planning to go sneak up to that window up there so I can look in and see what Matty and Jenny have going on,” She said, “Wanna join--OH!”

Damian pressed his sword up to her neck. “Cut the games,” He said, “You’re up to something, I know it. So tell me.”

Commedia sighed, giving in. “Matthew doesn’t want to get married.”

“I...what?” Damian said, confused.

“Matthew Crenshaw, the guy up there,” Commedia said, “He’s a nice guy, and he cares for his girlfriend Jenny, sure. But she’s been pressuring him about getting married, even though he doesn’t really like the idea of getting married. He’s talked himself into saying that he needs the perfect ring, but when he bought it, he decided he couldn’t afford it, and gave it back. So, I got it for him.”

Damian’s scowl only deepened as she kept talking. “Who’s he to you?”

She tilted her head, confused. “He cold called me to try and offer me a deal on car insurance.”

Damian put down the sword. He just. She said it so sincerely. “Who ARE you?” He demanded, now out of confusion more than anger.

She smiled brightly once more. “Why, I’m Commedia! The hero clown, the dancing--”

“Yeah, you said all that before, but like,” He sighed, “Why?”

Commedia’s smile fell down to something simple and kind. She offered a hand to him.

Hesitant, curious, and just...confused, he took it.

She led him to the other window, where they saw Jenny walking through the door. She gasped and ran to Matthew. “Oh, Matt! Matt, yes! Yes, I do, I do, I never thought this day would come! Oh gosh, I gotta call my mom, I’ve got a few dresses all picked out. You’ll see, it’ll be a huge party with everyone we know and-”

“Jenny,” he said, “Jenny wait, I...you know I don’t...I’m not comfortable with crowds and...and I don’t--

“But it’s MY DAY!” Jenny wailed, “You wouldn’t take MY day from me, would you?”

“C’mon,” Commedia muttered.

“Please, Jen,” Matt continued, “Look it’s just...if, if we did get married, shouldn’t--wouldn’t it be my day too?”

“Oh come ON, Matt,” Jenny said, walking to the counter, “We both know I’m the one who knows what’s best for you. It’ll be good! You’ll finally get to shine, and if you don’t like it, you’ll have ME there to take the rest of the spotlight!”

Matt’s hands balled into fists, and his face set, “No.”

“What?” Jenny said, incredulous.

“I’ve had it! I’m tired of-of you telling me what I like and what I don’t!” his lip trembled as he stood up. “I knew I was hesitant, but I didn’t know why! Now I see it’s becasue I didn’t want you in the rest of my life!”

“Hey now,” Jenny said, “Matt, calm down--”

“Get out of my house!” Matt went to the open window Commedia left behind and tossed out the ring.

“Whoopsies,” Commedia said and dropped away. Damian, confused, dropped down after her.

She picked the ring up from the ground and held it out to Damian. “I trust you can get this back to the jewelry store.”

“So, all of that…” he said, “was to help a guy get out of a bad relationship? That you barely knew?”

“He sounded sad on the phone,” Commedia said, “Made me curious.”

Damian scoffed, staring at her. “Who ARE you?”

She chuckled. “My guess is you’ll find out sooner or later,” she said, “So I’ll pick later, for now. But I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Blackbird.”

She took out another flower. This one shot off into the distance like a grappling hook, and pulled her twirling into the night.

Damian could have followed her, maybe. But, holding the ring in his hands, he didn’t see much need to.

Across town, Batman was called to a bank robbery in the middle of the night. Inside, however, he didn’t find the vault broken in, and nothing stolen, other than a number of complimentary lollipops. “You know there are easier ways to get my attention.”

“Aw, Come on Bats!” Harley said, swinging from the ceiling with one of the lollipops in her mouth, “Ain’t this a classic? Brings me back to the old days.”

“Oh, you’ve stopped doing crime then?” He said, leaning back and looking up at her, “News to me.”

Harley flipped down in front of him. “Batsy, you know I’m tryin’! I do good, is it a crime to have a little fun while I do it?”

“If you hurt people, yes.” Batman said.

Harley deflated. “I haven’t done that in a while now. I’m goin through some life changes.”

Batman hummed, staring down at her. “I’m guessing this is about the small clown that has been reported around town recently doing strange acts of minor crimes to help people?”

Harley brightened again, balancing on the teller counter. “She’s my new apprentice! A bit of a goody-two-shoes, but I’m doing my best to train her.” She did a handstand, “I came to ask for some advice at raising child soldiers, considering you have so much experience.”

Batman always scowled, but it seemed his scowl deepened on that. “I help some people come to terms with terrible things that have happened to them, and teach them to be a force of good in the world instead of falling to the world’s darkness.” He thought back on his children, “It doesn’t always work.”

Harley laughed, “No kidding,” she said. She sighed, thinking. “To be honest, Commedia is already pretty good. I can’t claim credit for that.” She rocked back and forth, feeling uneasy.

Batman approached, slow so as not to scare her. “Well, we both know she didn’t get it from her father.”

Her face was already white, but she blanched further. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, “She’s my niece, she ran from home so I’m taking care of her and-”

“Harley,” Batman stopped her rambling, “I’m a detective, remember?”

She frowned, shaking at him. “He doesn’t know,” she said, “No one knows, she...she’s never met him and I don’t want her to I--”

Batman held up his hands, stopping her again. “I know,” he said, “I understand, really. And I’ll help.”

She blinked up at him, smiling. “Really?”

Batman nodded. “I’ll help you protect her. As for advice....if you ever figure out a perfect way to raise masked vigilantes, let me know. I mostly just do the best I can, and make sure they can do a proper spin-kick if they need to.”

Harley snorted. “I’ll make a note of that.” She grabbed the box of free lollies on the counter, “I am going to be robbing these though, and you can’t stop me.”

She headed for the back entrance and away. “Harley,” Batman called her again, and she froze, “The year you were gone, when you disappeared and suddenly your sister had a child she wasn’t pregnant with. I want you to know, I noticed.”

Harley smiled, turning, “Thanks Bats-” When she turned, he was gone. “And people call me a drama queen.”

[yetanotherhiddlestoner]

                            The Asgardian and his Atlantean.

  (First time writing a marvel related story and and LokiXreader one at that. So forgive the way it is. I got bored one night watching Atlantis on Disney that I came up with this mixture of a story. Hope you enjoy I own nothing of marvels or disney’s. This story is also on my Wattpad -https://www.wattpad.com/user/HatterMoon )

Life at Stark Tower was good for you. All the Avengers loved you and they treated you like family. You loved helping out Tony the most with his suits and helping him advance the technology. This morning started like any other day, you woke before the sun had started to shine in the sky, you check your pendent. A couple more days before you need to be returning home.

You prepared breakfast for everyone, despite being told numerous times that you didn't need to do it.

You made sure to brew enough coffee for everyone as they all seem to need it first thing in the morning. You preferred tea to start your day, and so they have gifted you your own tea pot and tea set at Christmas.

The first to wander in was Nat, still in his PJ's with messy hair and rubbing her eyes, you chuckle silently. "Morning Nat. Sleep well?" She mumbled a reply, followed by the words "Need Coffee" One by one all the Avengers entered the common room, some more awake then others. "Tony where is Steve and Bucky?" Wanda asks as you take in notice that you are two short. "They left on a mission last night so for the time being it will just be us." Tony answers "Good Morning Y/N." Bruce said as he come to stand beside you. "Morning Bruce. I might need the lab later today to test out some test for healing drinks is that fine with you? "Hey I only borrow the Lab myself you best ask Tony since you know, he owns it" "I know but you are the one in there most of the time. It feels like I am invading  your space" "You can use the Lab Y/N. Do I need to remind you that you live here, you do not have to ask to use something." Tony said as he had overheard the conversation. You smile at him. Tony had become like a father figure to you over the years. "Thanks Tony."

It's not long before they all go off and do their own things, Clint goes to the shooting range, Natasha and Wanda go to the training, Bruce to the lab and Tony goes to the armory, leaving you to do your own thing. It unusually quiet this day. You so used to Bucky keeping you company while you wander through various jobs that need doing.

As the day went on you made your way down to the lab for a few hours, The Avengers went on a small mission, leaving you alone. As much as you hated them going on missions you enjoyed the quiet. You took note of the potions and ingredients and the ones that needed restocking.

"Miss Y/N. They will be returning shortly. I was informed by Mr Stark" "Thank you Jarvis, will they be requiring my assistance?"

"I am unsure Miss Y/N best to be prepared in case" You nod and gather a couple of jars in your hand and take them to the Med-bay.

"Hey kid we're home" Tony called out through the building. You make your way to them to see Nat and Clint heading to the med-bay, limping.

"There is a new stock of healing potions in there for you guys to try if you want." You smile and they nod at you as you continue your way to Tony. "How did it go Tony?" "Wasn't our best, wasn't as small as we had predicted." "That bad?" "You could say ,might be a problem in the future but not right now, also kid we have a new person for you to meet. They will be staying here for a while." He said as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. "Oh?" Now you were curious. "Yeah its Thor's brother, Loki. He will be arriving later today. If you want to join us in collecting him you are more than welcomed." "I might just do that. It has been awhile since I left the tower and I will be returning home in a couple days to grab supplies, So you will have to survive without me for about a week" Tony chuckles "You mean we have to cook our own breakfast? Oh no how will we survive." You roll your eyes at the sarcasm but smile. He pats your back as he walks out of the common room.

You head to your room and rest for a while, you slowly starting to feel the drain on your body. Closing your eyes you dream of your home, your friends and family.

A knock on your door alerts you to wake up. "Hey Lady Y/N, Stark told me to come and grab you." Only one person calls you by that nickname and its Thor so its no surprise when you open the door and see him there. "Please Thor call me Y/N. No need for formalities." "No. Lady Y/N we will be leaving soon, walk with me to the landing dock?" You nod and allow Thor to lead you to the Quin-jet. "So your brother is joining the Avengers?"

"Sadly no, he will be helping out on missions but will not be a Avenger. He is barely happy about helping us. He might even be able to help you in the Lab and with the suits." "I doubt Tony will allow anyone to touch his suits, do you remember the trouble I had when I fixed his suit the first time, I was all but grounded" "I am sure you could convince Tony to allow Loki to help?" "Ah the God of Mischief and Tony Stark agreeing on something. Is this not the same Loki that attacked New York?" You joke to the god of thunder. "The same one, I would like to think that Tony will one day sort of agree with him, he has done his time on Asgard and Father thinks this will help him amend the past." You stay quiet, you had not been here when the New York attack happened, that was the week Tony had sent you home to grab supplies, but he had filled you in on some of the details.

"Lady Y/N if you may" Thor says gesturing to the seat "We will betaking off soon." You smile and get strapped in to your seat. You stay quiet for the flight, everyone around is chatting between themselves, and joking. You pick up on bits and pieces here and thereof what they discussing.

"We might as well have a party for Reindeer games arrival." Tony says loud enough for everyone to hear. "Another party Tony? Must we, you know Loki won't like it" Nat says glaring at the male beside her. "Another reason to have it. He needs to get over it and show us that he is changing. So a party is the perfect way to do it." You sometimes wondered what went though Tony's head some days. He had to host a party for everything. He even held one for you when you finally agreed to help them. FLASHBACK It took a lot of convincing and asking for you to accept Mr. Starks offer to work for him. Some how your little secret was out in the open and now you had the richest man in the area, all but begging you to join his crew. "We could use a smart woman like you on the team. You would have your own room, hell I will even give you your own floor for your technology and gear." "Mr. Stark as much as I would love to join, I am afraid I will never fit in." "Why because your Atlantean? You do know Thor is a god, Bruce is the Hulk. You would fit in fine. I do not care what you are or where you come from."

You look at him and then look away to your garage filled with old Atlantean war machines. You could use a bigger place for them to be stored while you fix them up and get them back in the air. "Could I bring all this? I have worked to hard to give up" You wave your hands round the room. "Not to the tower, but I have a compound that we can store them at and you can go there and work on them whenever you need." "Alright Mr. Stark. I will accept." "Great and call me Tony. I will start arranging the transportation of your vehicles and your personal belongings. Please excuse me" You watch him walk out, a bit stunned at how quickly he got to setting everything up.

ENDOF FLASHBACK.

You feel Thor tapping your shoulder, you glance at him "Yes?" "We will be landing soon. Are you ok? You seem to be a bit distracted?" "Oh its all good Thor, I was just thinking." "As long as you are well Lady Y/N" A few moments alter you have landed and everyone has started leaving the Quin-jet. You look around you, nothing but grasslands for miles. Next thing you see a giant beam of light land on the ground ahead of you and in a flash it is gone, leaving nothing but a raven hair man in green armor.

Loki.

"Brother it is nice to see you again." Thor approaches the man alone. "Thor. I see you bought the whole team for this arrival. Couldn't trust me enough to come alone?" "It is not like that Loki. Do not start this" You watch the interaction between the brothers as does everyone else. No-one moves to greet him. "Come now Brother, there is someone I wish for you to meet." Thor looks in your direction. They make their way over to you. "Brother is is Lady Y/N." You bow a bit to Loki, knowing of his royal title, you have no choice but to. "Your Highness, nice to meet you" "Lady Y/N you do not need to bow to him." "Best you listen to my brother Mortal" Loki said with a smugness. You raise your head and you feel his eyes trail to your neck. You see the realization kick in once he sees your pendent. "You're Atlantean?"

[justlookfrightened]

How about number 11 from the fluff prompts?

From this prompt list:  “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

I did have to modify slightly to “Were you flirting with me ...”

Background: Bitty went to Samwell and stayed in New England. Jack didn’t go to Samwell but still plays for the Falconers.

Bitty had just set out the pie samples when the man in the yellow shoes ran by.

Every week, just at this time, the man ran through the just-opened market, keeping to the center of the aisle and never stopping to look at anything. Not the sweet, crisp lettuces or heirloom tomatoes from Bruce’s stand across the way, not the strawberries and blueberries that Harry had displayed, not the lavender and honey soaps from the booth next to Bitty’s.

It wasn’t really a bother. The man came early enough that there weren’t many customers to disturb, and the market was in a public park. Anyone could jog through it if they wanted to. It was just annoying that the man never even looked around or acknowledged anyone. And that he looked so good doing it, hideous yellow shoes notwithstanding.

Today he was wearing the shoes and navy blue running shorts -- the kind that barely reached the top of his thighs -- and a dark ball cap with sunglasses. What looked like a blue T-shirt was tucked into the back of his waistband, the better to sweat freely and give anyone who was out and about an eyeful of his shoulders, pecs and abs. Not to mention the massive rear end. All of which was damn near poster-perfect.

Bitty sighed and looked over at Margie, who had paused from setting up her stand to stare as well.

She caught Bitty’s glance and pantomimed fanning herself.

“You should try to sell him some soap,” Bitty said . “He’s gonna need a shower after that run.”

“Forget him,” Margie said. “I’m going to need a shower after watching him.”

The sun rose higher in the sky as Bitty’s stock of pies, cookies, muffins and turnovers got lower. The sample slices disappeared first, of course, but nearly everyone who took one bought something, so they were definitely a success. Maybe next week he should do more samples? Maybe apple and cherry? Or peach?

He was mulling fruit choices over when he noticed a customer -- well, a potential customer at least -- standing off to the side looking at his table. The guy was tall and broad across the shoulders, clean shaven, with the lightest blue eyes Bitty had ever seen on someone with hair so dark. His baggy shorts and ratty T-shirt, combined with socks and athletic slides, reminded Bitty of his old hockey teammates.

Bitty stood up.

“Can I get you something, sir?”

“Euh,” the man stalled, then looked at the table again. “Do you have a sample I could try?”

The man’s accent wasn’t as harsh as the New England voices that Bitty had finally gotten used to after six years in Boston and Providence. It wasn’t a southern drawl, that was for sure, but Bitty couldn’t place it.

“Not anymore,” Bitty said. “You have to wake up earlier to get those. I’ve got a couple of apple pies and peach pies left, and some cherry turnovers. Chocolate-cherry cookies, too, but I’m afraid everything else is sold out.”

“Um, how much for a cookie?”

“$6.50 for a dozen,” Bitty said. “I know it sounds like a lot, but …”

“A lot of cookies?” the man said. “I’m not sure I can have that many.”

“You can’t find anyone to give some to? Everyone likes a little sugar.”

“Haha,” the man said. “I guess.”

He handed over a $10 bill, took the cookies and left before Bitty could make change.

*

The following week, Bitty and Margie again paused in their set-up when the man in the yellow shoes ran by.

“Of all the markets I go to, this one definitely has the best view,” Margie said, turning back to her soaps. 

“You know it,” Bitty said, arranging morsels cut from apple, cherry and peach mini-pies on a tiered stand to offer as samples.

Once again, Bitty had sold most of his stock by time he was considering getting a start on packing up. Once again, the man with ice-blue eyes appeared, hanging back until Bitty noticed him.

“Did you like the cookies last week?” he asked.

“Um, yeah,” the man said. “And I shared them with my … friend. He liked them, too.”

Bitty looked up, wondering what the awkward hesitation before the word “friend” meant. Did he not really share them? Why lie about that? A dozen cookies wasn’t too many for one person to eat in a week, and Bitty hadn’t even asked who ate them. Was his “friend” not really a friend? Maybe more of an acquaintance, like a neighbor or coworker? Or maybe more than a friend? A wife? But he said “he.” A boyfriend? A husband?

Bitty tried to get a read on the man, but when he looked up, the man was looking down at the table, at the card reader with the pride flag sticker and the  now-empty sample stand.

“Looks like I missed the samples again,” the man said. 

“Looks like you did,” Bitty agreed. “You’ve got to get up pretty early to get those.”

“Do you have more of those cookies?”

“Sorry, not this week. Maybe try something different? Peaches are in season and I make a mean peach pie.”

“Why would I want a mean pie?” the man asked.

Now the cute accent came with dad jokes.

“Haha,” Bitty said. “I’ll have you know I won the blue ribbon at the tri-county fair with my pie when I was still in high school.”

“I think a pie is too much for me,” the man said. “It’s not as easy to share as cookies.”

“I’ve got just the thing,” Bitty said. “You can take my last half-dozen mini-pies, and since I’m packing up, I’ll only charge you for three. There’s four peach and two cherry. That’ll be $13.50.”

The man handed over a $20, and this time Bitty didn’t pass him his food until he accepted the change. The man just dropped it in the tip cup.

“Thank you, sir,” Bitty saud. “Y’all have a good week now.”

“Good-looking and generous,” Margie said from the next booth over.  “Why do I only get little old ladies or girls who want their bathrooms to smell nice?”

“Because you sell soap?”

“Don’t men want their bathrooms to smell nice?”

“Well, I do,” Bitty said. 

*

The following week’s market started much the same way, with the runner in the yellow sneakers kicking off the day, this time carrying a balled up red T-shirt in one large hand.

Bitty arranged sliced of apple and cherry turnovers as samples and displayed his pies and cookies, then passed the time between customers chatting with Margie and Bruce across the way.

“You think your boyfriend’s coming back?”

“What boyfriend would that be?” Bitty asked, as though he hadn’t spent a good part of the week daydreaming about blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders.

Once again, just when he was getting ready to close up, Blue Eyes showed up, this time with an even larger man. His friend? Or “friend”? 

The bigger man walked right up to the table, not hanging back like Blue Eyes usually did.

“Hello,” he said, smiling widely, the word flavored with an accent Bitty couldn’t quite place. “Jack says you make the best pies. You have blueberry?”

“Uh, not this week?” Bitty said. “Maybe next week, if I can get enough blueberries. I can make sure to save one for you, Mr. --”

“Alexei,” the man said. “You can call me Alexei.”

“Okay,” Bitty said, writing the name on a sticky note. “I’ll save a blueberry pie for Alexei, Jack’s friend. Can I get you anything today?”

“I see you have lemon bars,” Alexei said. “Six of those?”

“And what about you, Jack? It’s on the house. I noticed the extra $20 in my tip jar last week.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack said. “I like what you make, and it’s your business, so you should be paid. Um, you have a cherry pie left?”

“Just one,” Bitty said.

“It’s amazing,” Alexei said, “that you get this guy to eat dessert. Usually he only eats protein. All the time.”

“Protein is good for you,” Jack defended himself.

“Well, sure it is, hon,” Bitty said. “But you have to have a balanced diet.”

Both men paid, and Alexei said, “Maybe Jack will come get my pie next week from you -- wait, I don’t know your name.”

“Eric,” Bitty said. “But most everyone calls me Bitty.”

“Bitty baker,” Alexei crowed. “Excellent.”

“Bye, Bitty,” Jack said quietly.

After they left, Bitty collapsed dramatically on the table.

“Why are all the good ones taken?” he said.

“Who said he was taken?” Margie said. “Maybe they’re just friends.”

“Friends who pick up pie for each other?”

*

Bitty was well stocked with blueberry pies the next week, and he dutifully put one aside for Alexei. The berries had been so plentiful at the market that he’d made a couple of dozen blueberry bite-sized blueberry tartlets to set on his sample stand.

Bitty was just placing it on the table when the man with the yellow shoes loped past. 

“Put your tongue back in your mouth.” Margie was laughing at him. “You have your guy who comes every week. This one is mine.”

“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “I have a regular customer. That doesn’t mean I can’t feast my eyes on what’s on display.”

Then he stopped talking and busied himself with his display, because the man had broken his pattern and turned around when he reached the end of the market. He was headed back down the aisle.

Bitty was preparing himself to nod at the man, who for once seemed to be looking his way instead of straight ahead, but it was hard to see from behind the man’s sunglasses.

Wait, the man was heading right toward him, slowing to a trot as he passed the table.

“I see you got the blueberries,” he said. “Save one of those for me?”  

Bitty was glad the man -- Jack -- kept moving, because he knew his jaw nearly hit the table.

Once he managed to close his mouth, he turned back to Margie. “Still not my boyfriend,” he said. “But jiminy crickets. How did I not know it was the same guy?”

“You were blinded by the shoes?” Margie suggested. “Or, you know, the totally ripped half-naked body.”

“At least he’ll be dressed when he comes back,” Bitty said, placing three of the tartlets into a container that he put with Alexei’s pie. 

“The better not to drool over him?” Margie asked.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Pretty sure that’s considered bad customer service.”

Bitty spent the rest of the morning on pins and needles. It was fine, he told himself. His (very handsome) customer was the same as the (very hot) guy who ran through the market early every morning. The guy who never showed any sign that he even realized there were other people there, let alone that those people might be looking at him.

To him, Bitty was just the guy who sold cookies and pies. But his friend said Jack didn’t usually eat sweets, Bitty remembered.

Maybe Jack was buying them for Alexei. Maybe they were … it wasn’t right to say “more than friends,” Shitty would have his head for that. 

But they hadn’t seemed, well, couple-y, last week. And Bitty was pretty sure Jack lived alone. And Bitty couldn’t believe he had gotten himself wrapped up in whether there was an ethical difference in spinning daydreams about a customer based on whether the customer had a significant other. They were daydreams, for pity’s sake, and nothing would come of them.

Good thing the tartlets were doing their job and Bitty’s baked goods were more or less selling themselves today.

The stand was so successful that Bitty sold out of everything except the tartlets and pie he was saving for Jack and Alexei a half-hour before he usually packed up. 

He took his time stacking his trays, folding his tablecloths, stowing equipment in now-empty coolers for the trip home.

“Leaving already?” Margie asked. “Want me to hang on to the pie for when he gets here?”

“Nah,” Bitty said. “I’ll wait.”

Once he had everything stacked and ready to go to the truck, he sat in his folding chair and pulled out his phone to answer comments on his latest video.

He had just explained -- for the six-hundredth time -- how shortening and butter behave differently in pie crust when he heard a throat clear a few feet above him.

The Jack he saw when he looked up was different from the ones he had seen so far. No tiny running shorts or baggy basketball shorts, no horrid yellow shows or shower sandals. This Jack had on dark wash jeans that had to be tailored to fit like that, a snug T-shirt and a flannel button-down left open and with the sleeves rolled above the elbow. The moccasin-style shoes were a nice bonus. He looked a little familiar, but Bitty supposed that went with the fantasizing.

“Bitty?” Jack said. “Are you done for the day?”

“I am,” Bitty said, getting up and then immediately bending over to pick up the boxes for Jack. “But I saved you some tartlets and Alexei’s pie is here.”

“How much do I owe you?” Jack said.

“The pie is $20 even,” Bitty said. “But you can catch up to me next week if you don’t have cash.”

“I’m good for it,” Jack said, reaching for his wallet. “More to the point, so is Tater. What about the little blueberry things?”

“No charge,” Bitty said. “Samples, remember?”

“Samples are for people who get here early,” Jack said.

“You were here early,” Bitty said. “You just couldn’t take them with you. No, uh, pockets.”

“You think I’d put them in my pockets?”

Jack handed over two crisp twenties.

“It’s just $20,” Bitty said.

“For your trouble,” Jack said. “I’ll get Tater to pay me back.”

“Why do you call him Tater?”

“Hockey nickname,” Jack said. “He’s my teammate.”

“You play hockey?” Bitty said. “Where?”

“With the Falconers?” Jack said. 

Suddenly it clicked.

“Alexei … Mashkov? And you’re Jack Zimmermann!”

“Uh, yeah,” Jack said, ducking his head to look around to see if anyone heard. He raised his hand to his head like he wanted to pull the brim of his cap down, but with no cap, he ended up brushing away the hair that had curled onto his forehead. “Sorry you had to wait for me. Do you need a hand moving your things?”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that, hon,” Bitty said. “It’s a kind offer, though.”

“I don’t mind,” Jack said. “I was hoping maybe after you were done clearing up, you’d want to get coffee with me? Or a late lunch? Or something?”

Bitty managed to keep his mouth closed, but only just. A quick glance to the side told him Margie hadn’t been so successful.

“You don’t have to,” Jack said. “It’s fine. I mean, I know you shouldn’t ask people out when they’re working, so that’s why I wanted to wait until you were done --”

“No, sugar,” Bitty said. “I’d love to get lunch with you. Just so I know, though, you mean like a date?”

“Yes?” Jack said. “Wasn’t that clear? After all these weeks? Tater said he thought you liked me.”

“Wait,” Bitty said. “Were you flirting with me?”

“You finally noticed?”

“Never mind,” Bitty said. “Got there in the end, didn’t I?”

Jack started pushing the dolly with the folded table and stacked coolers towards the parking lot. As soon as he passed, Bitty flashed Margie a thumbs-up, picked up his chair and trays, and followed.

[prettybuckybaby]

we lay here for years or for hours, so long we become the flowers; chapter six

The avengers babysit, part two

part seven of single parent peter parker

masterlist

read on ao3 here

“So. Tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I know I said we should tell them, but you know we don’t have to if you don’t want to? We can keep it to ourselves. We’ve been good at keeping it a secret, we can carry on doing that.”

“I know. I want to tell them. I do. Let’s just…not make a big deal out of it?”

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

It was Peter’s idea to do it like this, he’ll admit that. But, he’ll also admit this; telling his family is scary. He knows he doesn’t have anything to be scared of, nothing at all, but it doesn’t really get easier, if he’s being honest.

They’ve timed it well though. It’s the first movie night they’re having where everyone is there for a few weeks. Pepper hasn’t got any late-night meetings, Sam’s back from visiting his sister and nephews, Clint’s back from visiting his family, and Natasha is back from whatever mission Fury sent her on. Even Bruce and Tony have come down from the lab after not leaving for the best part of three days.

Because it’s the first time they’ve all been available at the same time in weeks, movie night has turned more into movie afternoon, which works even better for Peter’s plan.

It’s one of May’s Saturdays, technically, but she got called in last minute for an afternoon shift, and it’s movie night so she knew she wasn’t likely to see Peter until the morning anyway. He leaves for the tower at the same time that May leaves for the hospital, meaning he’s making it to the common room after everyone else. Which is perfect.

Leia’s running out the lift as soon as the doors are open.

“Uncle Tony!” She shouts as she sees him, laughing as she climbs onto the couch.

“Hello, sweetheart,” He chuckles as she climbs over his lap and settles in between him and Pepper. “What time are you going to be back, underoos?”

“I don’t know. Not too late. Should be back before Leia’s asleep.”

“You’re not joining us tonight, Pete?” Bruce asks, frowning slightly. Peter blushes, his cheeks dusted pink.

“No,”

“What is it that you’re doing, by the way?” Tony asks, settling a blanket over himself, Leia, and Pepper. “You call asking me to babysit and then refuse to give any details,”

“Oh,” Peter’s cheeks flush darker. “I, uh, I have a date,”

“A date?” Peter laughs as Tony splutters. “With who?” Peter looks down as he grins, cheeks still pink.

“With my boyfriend,” This time it’s Clint who splutters, eyes going wide.

“Boyfriend?” He asks, voice high. “Since when-” The archer is cut off by the lift door opening.

“Hey,” Harley grins as he walks into the room, straight up to Peter, seemingly oblivious to the confusion filling the room. “You ready to bounce?”

“Yeah,” Peter smiles up at him, pointedly ignoring the gasping behind him.

“Harley, honey, I thought you were seeing Brad?” Pepper asks, frowning lightly. Peter waves sheepishly.

“Hi. Brad.”

“But…you…what?” Clint stutters, eyes flicking between the two teens. “What?”

“So.” Tony coughs, looking awkward. “You two are…huh. Okay. How, uh, long?” The man frowns when Peter starts looking slightly guilty. Harley squeezes his hand gently.

“A little over two years,” The older teen replies, and then notices how uncomfortable his boyfriend is getting. “Well, this has been a blast, but we’ve got reservations to make, so we better be going,” He tugs gently on Peter’s hand as he moves them into the open lift.

“Be good, Leia,” Peter calls out, not looking at any of the others. “I love you.”

“Love you, Daddy!” She calls back, waving until the lift doors close. She turns to Tony when the doors close completely, and the mechanics start whirring. She pokes Tony’s cheek. “Juice?”

“You.” Tony narrows his eyes. “You knew about this.” His eyes narrow further when Leia’s widen, and she pouts her lips. “Stop with the puppy eyes. I’m trying to be upset with you. I thought we didn’t have secrets,”

“Juice? Please?” She pouts her lips further.

“You’re fricking adorable,” Tony sighs as he stands up. He ignores Pepper and Steve berating him for his language as he picks Leia up. “So bloody cute. I don’t understand. Where’d you get it from?” He walks them into the kitchen area, bringing a box of her drinks out and letting her pick one. “I mean, Parker isn’t cute. Parker keeps secrets,”

“Thank you, Uncle Tony,” Leia grins up at him when she picks one of the bottles out. Tony fights a smile as he puts the box back and moves back to the couch.

“Yeah,” He mumbles as he sits down, taking care to cover her with the blanket again. “Whatever, traitor,” He kisses the top of her head.

“You’re not actually mad at them, are you?” Pepper asks once they’re settled. Tony sighs when he feels everybody watching him carefully.

“Of course I am,” He scoffs. “They’re horrible. Parker and Keener. Together. They’re going to be disgusting. Harley is going to corrupt my baby,”

“Tony,” Steve sighs, sounding exasperated. “Harley’s a good kid, he’s not going to corrupt-”

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupts Steve. “Mr Keener and Mr Parker have just taken number eleven from the garage.”

“See!” The engineer groans, throwing his head backwards. “It’s already happening.” Everyone laughs as Tony moans mournfully.

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

Harley is watching Peter carefully. They’re in the lift, the doors having shut, and Peter’s eyes are closed as he leans against the back wall. He’d collapsed backwards as soon as the doors had shut.

“Hey.” Harley kicks his ankle delicately. Peter hums, but his eyes stay closed. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Peter clears his throat a few times. “Yeah. I mean…I don’t know. I know they’re not going to think differently of me, but you know. It’s…”

“Yeah,” Harley agrees softly. “I know. I’m proud of you, though, bubs,” Peter laughs gently. Harley grins when his eyes blink open.

“’Bubs’? Also, do not. I’m emotional, I will cry,” Harley laughs as the doors open, pulling gently on his boyfriend’s hand, leading him into the garage.

“Come on,” He walks them over towards the collection of cars Tony has at the back of the room. Peter narrows his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Harley grins, spinning around so he’s facing Peter and walking backwards. Peter rolls his eyes.

“These are Mr Stark’s cars,”

“Aw. I’ve heard people calling you a genius, baby, but now I’ve seen it for myself. Truly, you are unprecedented,”

“You’re so mean to me,” Peter whines, dragging his feet slightly, making Harley laugh. The older teen brings them to a stop in front of a car. “He’ll get mad,”

“If he was gonna get mad at me drivin’ his car, would he have handed me the keys?” He pulls the keys out his pocket, holding them up with a grin. Peter narrows his eyes as Harley jingles them happily. “Okay, so, technically he gave me the keys to fix her up, but I finished fixin’ her up hours ago and he hasn’t asked for the keys back yet, so. She’s all ours, baby,”

“Are you…you know what. Sure. Let’s go,” Peter laughs.

“Your carriage awaits, Spider,”

“Okay,” Peter sighs, turning to face Harley again. “I know you’re making some sort of joke, but I don’t know enough about cars to understand it.

“Uncultured,” Harley shakes his head mockingly, opening the door for Peter to get in. “This is an R8 Spyder, Spider-man,”

“Oh,” Peter nods slowly. “Clever.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” Harley grins as he gets into the car, starting her up and steering out of the garage.

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

They decide to walk back to the tower, taking their time and meandering through the park. Their hands are connected, swinging them gently. Peter takes a sip of the sugary iced coffee Harley bought him and sighs quietly.

“Thank you,” He mumbles, glancing up at his boyfriend. Harley hums.

“For what?”

“You know.” Peter shrugs one of his shoulders, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Agreeing to tell them. I know you weren’t sure about it but…it means a lot.”

“You were right.” Harley sighs. “We couldn’t hide forever. And honestly? I didn’t want to,” He stops walking, pulling Peter lightly to a stop beside him. He lifts Peter chin with his fingers tenderly, makes him meet his eyes. “I want to be able to cuddle with you on movie nights and kiss you whenever I want to and I don’t want to have to sneak into your bedroom every night so nobody catches us. I want to be able to love you out loud, Peter. I don’t want to have to hide it anymore because-” He takes a breath, averting his eyes for a moment. He swallows before bringing his eyes back up to meet Peter’s. “I am totally, completely, unequivocally in love with you, Peter Parker. And you mean the world to me. More than the world. The world and the sky and all of the stars in the sky and in our universe and in every other universe in every other reality. I love you beyond the limits of our knowledge.” It’s quiet for a few moments.

“Wow.”

“’Wow’?” Harley laughs, poking the dimple on Peter’s chin where he’s grinning. “Just poured my heart out to you, Parker, and all you can say is ‘wow’?”

“I love you.” Peter tells him, voice quiet but face painfully open. Sincere. “You are…you are the sky. Everything else is just the weather.” He pulls Harley in by his jacket. Their lips meet delicately.

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

It’s still early when the lift doors open again. Leia is still awake, singing along softly to the words to Dumbo, making Bearbear dance on Tony’s thigh. She perks up when she notices the teens coming into the room, laughing.

“Daddy! Missed you!”

“Aw,” Peter coos, bending over the back of the couch to plant a kiss on her head. “Missed you, too, bambina,”

“Missed you, Harls,”

“Yeah?” The other teen asks, where his head is sticking out of the fridge to look at her. “I missed you, too, stink,” Harley comes out of the fridge with one of Peter’s sugary drinks in his hands. He takes a swig of it before grimacing, handing it off to Peter and moving to sit down on the empty chair. “God, that is awful,”

“Why do you keep drinking it then?” Peter takes the bottle with a scowl. He’s just sat down next to Harley when Tony clears his throat.

“Pete? Why don’t you go and get Leia into her pyjamas?” He asks. Peter frowns at the tone of his voice. He glances up, frowning more when he notices Tony watching Harley. He meets Pepper’s eye, sighing when she just rolls her eyes.

“Come on then, trouble,” He sighs as he stands up, holding his hand out as Leia untangles herself from the blankets. “Let’s leave Uncle Tony to do his best impression of a protective father threatening my boyfriend,” Bucky barks out a laugh as Peter and Leia leave the room, but his expression sobers when Tony glares at him. Harley shifts when all the attention turns to him.

“Is this the part where you ask me about my intentions with your son, Mr Stark?” He asks with a smirk. The smirk widens when he sees Tony’s lips quirk.

“Never call me that again.” He says, rolling his eyes. “I get enough of it from Peter.”

“Seriously, though. You’re giving me the shovel talk?” Harley asks with a raised eyebrow. Tony opens his mouth again, before he closes it and shakes his head.

“No.” He sighs. “I trust you,”

“Aw,” Harley coos, holding a hand to his chest. “This is the greatest day of my life. Hey, guys! Guys! I’ve got Tony Stark’s approval. Wow. What a feelin’,”

“Alright, kid, don’t push it,”

“For what it’s worth, I really like him.” Harley says, serious. “And you can’t be mad about him keeping it from you, either, because that was all me,”

“He’s not mad, honey,” Pepper reassures him, sending a soft smile. Harley matches the expression. “He just doesn’t want to see either of you hurt. He cares a lot about both of you. You’re his kids,”

“Have you told May?” Natasha asks him. Harley laughs.

“You know Peter. He told her the second I asked him on a date,” Sam laughs across the room. “Then he passed out. It was a pretty eventful day,”

“He passed out?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrow. “Why?”

“He got stabbed. Didn’t tell us,”

“How did May take it?”

“Peter passing out? Surprisingly well,” Harley smirks. “She took me out for coffee,” He tells them with a sigh. Pepper nods her head. “She said that she hadn’t seen Peter as happy since before…you know,”

“Yeah,” Tony smiles softly. “So, Pete’s happy. What about you?”

Harley looks up when he hears Leia giggling, running away from a laughing Peter.

“No! Come back here, you menace!”

“Yeah,” He smiles, looking down. “Yeah. I’m happy.”

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Dangerous Love (Pt. 01 of 13)

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

Word count: 3K

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

Next part (02) ->

{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

×

Opportunity:

Your mind can't help but wonder what will happen next. Where they're taking you. In your state, half-dead, you feel they pushing you on a hospital stretcher. It's a sick pleasure of theirs, to numb you, yet allow you to understand what's going on around you. It's supposed to be part of their torture, as if they could scare you. They can't. The pain they inflict don't reach you anymore, you're beyond that. It's hard to breathe like there's a pressure on your chest, and you feel the fog that threatens to overcome your mind.

“I can't believe we're doing this.” A distracted, dull voice says. They're hovering over you, you're sure, a smile on their faces. These people aren't better than you, you concluded. They're all villains too, only backed up by their position and by the civilians who would never condemn them for hurting people like you.

“I don't like it either, but the orders came from above.”

It must be nasty if they don't like it. You wish you could move, you wish you could blow the fog away and get up. Then you'd crush their skulls on this stretcher and run. But you're motionless, completely vulnerable to your personal monsters. They enjoy seeing you like this, all of you actually, often saying they're job is to make you pay for everything you did. And many of the villains locked up in here paid for it a hundred times over.

“Don't worry, Mark. She will be back with us in no time. A slut like this wouldn't recognize a good opportunity like this even if fell from the sky.”

Opportunity. What kind of opportunity? You've been waiting a year for an opportunity to flee this place. Belle Reve is hell on Earth, the only prison you can't seem to overcome.

“Put the whore in the ship and fly this damn girl away.”

A fist connects to your stomach, and you feel your body moving, jerking up and falling back to the bed. The pain, hot and rough, spreads through your ribs. It happens three times over, and the blows come from different directions. You know why they like to do this when you're in this state. Because they know that, if you were awake, they'd regret it. They know you'd beat them so bad they'd swallow their pride and apologize. You're burning up, trying to make your body respond to the commands, but it's useless.

“Put her to sleep now. Higher her dose.”

You feel a needle in your neck, and slowly, you sink, to the back of your mind. Bracing yourself for whatever comes next, you decided to enjoy as the world ceases to exist, at least for a while.

•

The journey back to consciousness is like climbing an invisible ladder. The first thing you realize is that you can breathe without any restraint, which is always a good sign. Before opening your eyes, you make sure you can move your body. You start with your feet, then the legs, torso... Then your hands... Your hands are tied together, lied on your stomach. But you seem to be functional. Big mistake. Finally, you open your eyes, finding a white ceiling above. No place in Belle Reve has a white ceiling like this. Checking the surroundings, you find yourself completely alone in a bedroom. A normal bedroom, you suppose. The bed you're in is a king-sized bed. Two nightstands, a wardrobe, a dresser, two armchairs. Two windows on the left side, a door on the wall before you and another on the right. One of them must a bathroom. Bathrooms have mirrors and boxes, made of glass, which you can break and use as a weapon.

You wonder what kind of game is this. What new kind of torture they came up with. Make you believe you're somewhere better, safe, and then attack you all over again? They can't believe you'd fall for that. Not you. Sitting up, your eyes are focused on the windows. That man said that is was an opportunity. And you can use any kind of opportunity. Ignoring the handcuffs around your wrists, you get up in a single motion, using the nightstand to support your weight when the whole world spins around. Regaining your balance, you go to the windows, pushing the curtains away. And you find bars. Just a minor inconvenience.

Outside, what you see isn't the familiar desolation of Belle Rave surroundings. Despite the darkness, you can see a garden, grass, and high walls. On the corner, almost out of sight, you see tables and a pool. What kind of place is this?

A noise on the door makes you turn on your heels, full alert. There's nothing you can use to defend yourself, so you'll have to count on your bare hands. Your eyes fall on the handcuffs and a desperate feeling builds up. You start pulling, violently, trying to set free. You feel as the metal starts ripping the skin, reopening old wounds. Twisting your wrists, you try to at least separate your hands, but the metal doesn't surrender.

The door is open and you're forced to look up, hands ready to put up a fight. Your whole body is burning as if anticipating the war you're about to start.

“Miss (Y/N) Quinzel.” The man starts, not seeming to be surprised at all. He's tall, muscular, wearing a suit and tie. “Please, sit.”

“You bought me, didn't you?” It hits you all of a sudden, and a smile comes to your lips. They sold you away like an animal, how original. A good way to get rid of you, you must admit, but unlike they think, you can recognize an opportunity. Allowing you out of Belle Reve was a huge mistake.

“No, I didn't buy you.” The man casually walks over one of the armchairs, gesturing at the other one after taking a seat.

“It doesn't matter.” You stand there, eyes alert, watching his every move. You're also aware of the door, left unlocked.

“I'm here to explain what you're doing here. Where you are and why.” You're not listening, you're thinking. If you move through the bed, you can get to the door before he even knows what's happening. You're small, which makes you fast. If you jump from the bed to the ground in your run, you'll land right by the door. Once you're out, all you gotta do is keep running. He won't be able to reach you. Muscles are heavy, and this man has many. He's slow.

“Do you think I care?” You ask, waiting for his eyes to leave you, just for a second. You just need a second.

“No, you don't.” Lowering your hands a little bit, you notice how his eyes fall on it. On the blood flowing out.

That's when you move. You step on the bed, following your plan strictly. You jump to the floor, opening the door and fleeing. It doesn't matter where you're going, you just need to keep moving. You hear his footsteps behind you, and it brings a smile to your lips. It's been a while since you had a chance to do something like this. The adrenaline, the rush is as good as you remember. Stumbling downstairs, your eyes find a hall, and that's where you go. The wind messes with your hair, fresh as freedom. You find a door, which is locked, but it doesn't slow you down, you soon start moving again. You reach a kitchen, huge, and your sharp eyes find a knife and you move to grab it. The next thing you notice is a window, with no bars. The man's footsteps fill your ears as you climb up the sink, opening the window and sliding through it, hitting the ground hard on the other side.

Being outside is unbelievable. The fresh wind, the dark sky above. When we the last time you've been outside? You can't remember. Move, you tell yourself. Holding the knife tight with both your hands, you start running again, your barefoot feet hurting on the rocks. You soon see the gates. If you cross it, you're free. You'll be back in the streets, home. Just one last set of bars to overcome. Once you reach it, you drop the knife, holding onto the cold, black metal bars. Your head hurts, and you're a little dizzy, but that's nothing you can't deal with.

Taking a deep breath and biting back a smile, you look forward, to the other side, and start climbing. You don't even process what you're doing. It doesn't matter how tall, how hard will be the fall, you'll do this.

Pulling yourself up, a laugh escapes your lips. They thought they could keep you imprisoned forever. They don't know you, they don't know what you're capable of.

A strong arm encircles your waist and you're pulled back. All air leaves your lungs, but you immediately recognize the enemy. You shouldn't have dropped the knife. The man throws you over his shoulder, and you're quick to attack his back. Using hands and elbows, you punch him, again and again, but he doesn't seem to care. His grip on your thighs grows stronger as your assault on his back gets worse. He's carrying you back to the house, and when he crosses the front door, you kick him hard on the stomach. He flinches a little, which makes you smile and kick him once again, harder this time. The man loses his balance, and you take the chance to push him aside and fall to the floor.

There's no time to take in the pain, you have to move. You're pulled back into his grip, his hand grabbing your ankle. You kick him, not sure where, but a groan leaves his mouth. You must admit you admire his strength. Your guards use to be knocked out very easily.

“Stop it.” He commands, and you smile through the fight. He pulls you up again, over the shoulder. As he tries to climb up the stairs, you push, kick and punch, and he falls a few times, but manages to get you back into the room.

“Put me the hell down!” You yell, sliding down and punching his face.

“Damn it.” He angrily mutters, holding both your wrists. The man uses his weight to push you to the armchair, using his body to keep you there. You fight and scream, hurting him any way you can.

You then feel ropes around you, tight against your chest and stomach. When he stands up again, a bleeding lip, you can't move, it doesn't matter how hard you try. The man touches his lip before going away, closing the door violently.

“I'm sending her back to Belle Reve.” He tells someone, saying something else you can't hear.

‘A slut like this wouldn't recognize a good opportunity like this even if fell from the sky.’ That man's voice comes back to your mind, filled with disgust. You can't let him be right. You can't let this opportunity pass. If you're sent back, you'll prove to him right. No. You have to think before acting, you need to stay here. You almost succeed today. In one year at Belle Reve, you never got anywhere close. Here, you have a chance.

Two hours later, the man is back. He doesn't seem to be angry, just a little mad. Annoyed. You keep your mouth shut, watching as he takes a deep breath and sits on the armchair set in front of you.

“Are you done fighting? And yelling?” He asks, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“Are you sending me back to Belle Reve?” It's the only thing you care about.

“No. Not yet.”

“Who are you?” You're struggling with the want to try to set free, to break the handcuffs, to rip the ropes, but you have to control yourself.

“I'm Bruce Wayne. The Batman.”

“You're going to kill me.” You burst out, a particularly loud laugh escaping your lips and bouncing through the walls. The only reason why Batman would tell you his secret identity is because he plans to kill you. “How much did they pay you? Or how much did you pay them?” You manage to say when you finally stop laughing.

“I'm not planning to kill you. I want to rehabilitate you.”

This makes you laugh even more, ignoring how serious he is. He gotta be kidding. “That's a good joke, I must say.”

“Are you done?”

“Are you done, Bruce Wayne?” You stop laughing, looking at him, dead serious. “Because as much as I enjoy a good joke, I need to know why the hell am I here.”

“It's not a joke. I want to prove a point. I want to show people that villains, as they call those like you, can still be brought back to society. Fully recovered. Not everyone, but some might still have a chance.” Bruce's eyes fall on your wrists. The blood is dry, staining the skin.

“You picked the wrong villain, Bruce Wayne. I assure you I don't belong to the group that can be... Rehabilitated.”

“I'm the one who decides that, not you.” Bruce get up to his feet, coming to stand before you, then kneeling. He takes your hands, moving the handcuffs a little to reveal the wounded skin underneath. “I can remove these and clean the injury if you promise not to try anything.”

“I could kick you right in the head,” you tell him, a smirk on your face. “So damn hard you'd pass out and I'd be free to go.”

“If you could do that, you wouldn't announce it.” He stands up again. “I'll be right back.”

You watch as Bruce leaves the room, locking the door. Is it true? Does Batman really want to rehabilitate a villain? You already bumped into the Dark Knight a few times, but managed to run. Now, you're his prisoner. This can't be worse than Belle Reve though, you hope. He comes back minutes later, with a box. Laying it on the bed, you watch his every move. It's something like a first aid kit. He really meant that when he said he would clean the lesion.

“You don't have to attend to my wounds. This is how it works: the blood is washed away in the bath, and the wound is left to heal by itself.” Speaking slow, you explain him how they do things in Belle Reve. A doctor is only called when someone tries to commit suicide. Other than that, your bodies are left to deal alone with any injury.

Bruce doesn't answer. He searches for something in the nightstand behind you, and when he comes back into your sight, he ties up your legs, ankles and knees. “Seriously? Don't you think I've-” You bite your tongue when he pulls your wrists through the handcuffs, causing a sharp pain to spread through the lacerated skin. “That was unnecessary.”

Silently, he opens the handcuffs and you suddenly feel relieved. You feel freer now, even though you're all tied up. You watch as Bruce carefully cleans the wound, wrapping a bandage around your wrists. It's curious to see someone doing such a thing. Before Belle Reve, you had to tell those who worked for you to patch you up. It was always fast, and painful because you just wanted it to be over so you could get along with your things. Then, in that hell... Not even that.

“I will leave you to rest,” Bruce says when he's done, closing the box. “There is soap on the bathroom for you, shampoo, and hair conditioner, as well as all the personal things you'll need. If you believe you need anything else, let me know.”

“Is that your plan? To just leave me here? You really think this will change who I am?”

“You don't know what my plan is.” He makes a pause, looking down at you. “I will untie you now. If you try to run, I will knock you down, and I don't care if you're a girl.”

“Woman.” You correct him, smiling. “And I'm not scared of you, I don't care if you're huge.”

Bruce stands there, thinking. Wondering if you'll run again. But you won't. If you do, he will definitely throw you back in that hole. Taking a deep breath, Bruce kneels down again, untying your legs. He then moves to stand behind you. and the ropes fall loose. You feel his eyes on you, paying attention, but you don't move.

“I'll come back to see you tomorrow.” That said, he leaves.

It takes a while until you finally move, getting up from the chair. Everything you need is Bruce to put down his guard, to trust you just a little bit. An opening, it's everything you need.

Ignoring the ropes laying around your feet, you move to the bathroom. As soon as you open the door, you remember the showers in Belle Reve. How you hugged your knees on the cold concrete floor, under the assault of the high-pressure water as someone held the hose. This is different. Walking around, you notice the small pile of clothes on the sink. A white shirt, light gray sweatpants, and underwear. You notice the white towels, the hairdryer... Taking your clothes off, you step into the box, opening the warm water and letting it soak your body.

You let it all go for a moment, enjoying what a normal shower feels like. You don't need to hide your naked body, the water isn't too cold or too hot, it's perfect, gentle on your skin. You take your time, washing Belle Reve off. You wash your hair too, smiling to smell the strawberry scent from the hair conditioner. Your lilac hair has brown roots for the entire year you spent in prison.

The bathroom is filled with smoke when you step out of the box, drying yourself and putting the clothes on. Staring at the mirror, you wonder when was the last time you saw your face. You look the same, and your not sure if that's good or bad. After drying your hair, you find a brush and starts detangling it.

Going back to bed, you imagine how good it might be to have a life like this every day. Clean clothes, soap, warm water. But that's not your life. Your life is on the streets, underground, beneath an old mall long destroyed. There lies your riches, your money, your things. That's where you belong, where you need to go back to. And you will. Batman won't stop you.

×

@redwolf-7 @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony

[astraeagreengrass]

Blue

The Blue Henley™ and that’s it.

Word Count: 1.567

Warnings: Short and sweet. Mentions of sexy times (no actual sexy times though). English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

A/N: Did I just write something inspired by The Blue Henley™? You bet I did! This is my submission to @jalapenobarnes writing challenge. My prompt was “Basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss”. Thank you Saran for hosting this challenge and allowing me to participate!

Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes. Unfortunately he is a fictional character and therefore is property of Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. Sebastian Stan’s face belongs to himself. The plot is my own creation.

My masterlist

He is greeted at the threshold by the voices of John, Paul, George and Ringo. 

The Beatles were new to him - like online shopping and Nespresso machines. Maybe, if he’d gone home after ‘45, he’d have dragged Steve to one of their concerts or seen them at Ed Sullivan’s show. And his grandchildren would gawk at him and tell him how lucky he was to have seen the Beatles together.

Maybe.

He couldn’t help it sometimes - how his mind involuntarily drew intricate scenarios of “what ifs” and possibilities. Bucky supposed it was his curse for having lived so long and so hard. His atonement was the constant back and forth of then and now, dealing with the aftermath of everything he missed.

But at least he didn’t kill John Lennon.

The record player was a gift for his 102nd birthday. It resembled very little the one he had back home - his 1940s home. It was sleek, light and state-of-the-art, with that classic vintage look that people liked their electronics to have even if they were far from vintage. 

You’d been so nervous when you gave it to him you couldn’t even wait for the sun to be high in the sky and your lover to be out of the bed. Nervous hands twisted the duvet as Bucky opened the package, careful not to ruin the glitter wrapping paper. He loved it, even if it took him a while to learn how to use the record player. But, once he did, it made way for your favorite tradition: spring saturdays at the flea market, the one in DUMBO or maybe in Williamsburg, looking for old records.

The Beatles, the Stones, Led Zeppelin, Elvis Presley, The Doors, Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, Marvin Gaye and Queen to more recent acts: Nirvana, Guns and Roses, Pearl Jam, the pop groups from the early 2000’s and performers like Bruno Mars and Beyoncé.

Any decade, any rhythm - Bucky Barnes liked music. And you indulged him in his new-found passion, adding soundtrack to the most unexpected moments of his day and being his partner whenever he fancied a dance.

Like now. He found you in the kitchen counter, hips moving slowly as you chopped carrots for dinner.

“Hold me tight / And tell me I’m the only one / And then I might / Never be theAAAAAH” you yelled, half a scream, half a laugh when Bucky surprised you by tickling your sides.

“Holy shit, Barnes! I have a knife on my hands. I could’ve cut myself!” you exclaimed while Bucky doubled over with laughter. 

You threw the knife on the sink, fake pouting, as Bucky came over to you, laugh forgotten. He was all saunter and swagger now, hands reaching out to hold you hips.

“That would teach you not to make dinner while shaking this ass” as to qualify his point, he landed a sharp smack on your left butt cheek, causing you to jump. 

You narrowed your eyes, snark remark at the tip of your tongue when you noticed it.

Blue.

Light blue. Almost teal, but not quite, evenly spread across the expanse of his chest and arms. Blue like his eyes, like the sky on a summer day, like a perfect Caribbean sea.

Beautiful blue.

“Is that… new?” was all you could muster while your gaze roamed the cotton. Your hands left their resting place on the nape of his neck and slid down, as if they could grasp the magnificent color and cradle it.

“Yeah” Bucky said, confused by your reaction. “I bought it last week.”

Such a simple explanation for such a magnificent happenstance. You could picture him: self-conscious and a little overwhelmed as he browsed some fast-fashion looking for simple pieces that didn’t stand out much. Bucky stuck to the classic blacks, whites and grays. Their simplicity made him feel safe and your boyfriend’s comfort would always come before any fashion trend.

Oftentimes a navy color would make an appearance and the way it complimented his eyes made your heart speed up. But this blue... This blue was different. You couldn’t place what was so special about it – was it the shade? An almost exact match to his irises? Was it the contrast of índigo fabric and golden-black forearms?

Bucky watched with raised eyebrows and a confused frown as the tips of your fingers carefully roamed the expanse of his torso, as if you were touching a valuable art piece instead of a US$ 9.99 henley from H&M.

“You okay, doll?” he asked. 

“Yeah” you gawked. “I’m perfect, actually.”

Bucky liked to think he knew you better than he knew himself – your spontaneity, creativity and enthusiasm over the smallest things. Life with you was never dull: it was a collection of happy moments that pieced his broken soul back together. Bucky believed he was used to the spur-of-the-moment midnight walks or the impromptu dance offs in the kitchen, but apparently he wasn’t.

Not when you grabbed him by the collar of the blue henley and kissed him.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss, like the sweet pecks you usually showered him with when he arrived home.  And it wasn’t a violent kiss, like the ones he usually took from you, breath out of breath, in the sacred intimacy of your bedroom.

This kiss was urgent and needy, yet full of the same love he felt every time your mouth reached for his. It tasted like honey on his tongue and sounded like a symphony made of the tiny moans that escaped you when he pulled on your bottom lip with his teeth.

The hand on Bucky's collar moved to his hair. The silky soft brown strands were much shorter, but still long enough to grab them, making him to groan. You felt light-headed, your lungs burning for air and your calves worn out from the effort of standing on your tiptoes, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The only thing that mattered was him and that blue shirt.

“What was that for?” Bucky whispered when you manage to disentangle yourself from him. Your breath was coming in short, uneven gasps that teased him to no end. His gaze involuntarily lowered from your flushed cheeks to your chest, and the rapid way it rose and fell made him uncomfortable in his pants.

“Nothing" you replied. “You just look really good.”

Bucky laughed - a deep, delicious sound deep from his stomach, echoing at the walls of your heart. You swore you could live in the crinkles of his eyes because Heaven couldn’t compare to this world whenever Bucky Barnes laughed.

Especially if he was wearing that blue henley.

Bucky’s laugh turned into a smirk when he tightened his hold on your hips - one hand was warm and the other a little colder, just the way you liked it and how you wanted it to be forever. Swiftly, he rose you on the counter and moved to stand between your legs. The familiarity and domesticity of it didn’t make it any less thrilling. On the contrary, knowing this love was a constant rather than a possibility caused the butterflies to flutter harder in the pit of your belly. 

His vibranium hand squeezed you thigh before hooking your leg around his waist. The friction of your sweatpants with his jeans was the torturous prelude before the chorus. Bucky grunted in your ear, low and deep and warm as his breath hit the shell of your ear, right before he sucked it.

Oh.

Your hand was twisted in the blue fabric, unsure if you wanted to rip if off him or be it - to hug him and envelop him so perfectly and never let him go. Your embrace was suffocating. A tangle of arms, legs and lips dancing to their own song, writing notes on your skin. It was so easy to get lost in him. To drown in the blissful feel of Bucky’s touch and ignore the revolving world around you

A loud noise startled you, pulling you both apart. Bucky quickly turned to the crash, shielding your body with his. There, in the corner of the living room, the record player - now silent - was on the floor. Standing above the wreckage, nonchalantly licking a white paw, was Alpine.

You sighed.

“Did you say hello to her when you arrived?"

“Nope” Bucky said, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He chuckled.

You absentmindedly dragged your nails across the nape of his neck and he purred, much like his feline counterpart when he greeted her favorite human.

“That record player was so expensive” you grumbled, face tucked in the blissful blue henley. Damn Alpine for ruining the plans you had for that shirt.

“I know. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“It’s yours, actually.”

“You know what else is mine?”

“Huh?”

“You are.”

You looked up to find him grinning, mischief on the corner of his lips and a twinkle in his gaze. You barely had time to squeal when Bucky lifted you from the counter and over his shoulder and moved to the bedroom, making sure to shut the door. 

“What about Alpine? She’ll destroy the apartment” you asked, body bouncing on the mattress. 

Bucky shrugged then tugged on his henley, tossing the blue to the floor.

Yeah. He looked much better without it.

“It’ll be worth it.”

General taglist: @ivoryhazlewood​ @youclickedthislink​ 

[ppaperheartss]

Godzilla

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: a lil angst, some swearing

A/N: Hey! I really hope you enjoy this, I’ve worked really hard on it. Inspired by Godzilla by Kesha. Any comments or feedback are appreciated!

-

Bucky Barnes wanted to find peace. His whole life had revolved around fighting and angst and fear, and now he decided it was time for that part of his life to be over. It took him a long time to readjust to a life without meaning, without something to fight for. He spent his days wandering around the compound looking for someone he could spend time with, but most of the time the compound was a ghost town. So he kept himself occupied with therapist appointments, catching up on pop culture and exploring different music genres.

(Rumour has it that Bucky was seen working out to Taylor Swift’s new album, but he always denies it regardless.)

He was proud of everyone else on the team. Sam took on the role of Captain America with both hands and was eager to help the country with the pressing issues which the Avengers never got the chance to handle. Captain America is now the frontface for Black Lives Matter and is tackling gun violence one day at a time. He is making America great again. 

Wanda has taken on the role of training new agents and works very close with orphanages in New York to rehabilitate young people who have led traumatic lives. She even introduced the Pietro Maximoff Foundation which aims to find people that had been injured in all Avenger fights as collateral damage and get them the help they so rightly deserve.

Scott spends a lot of time with Cassie to make up for all of the years that they missed together, and he even has another little one on the way with Hope. Though Bucky isn’t very fond of children yet he’s open to the idea of a miniature sized version of Scott running around the compound and causing havoc. Even the thought of it brings a smile to his face. 

Parker recently graduated high school and now works with Bruce a lot of the time in their own lab in the centre of the city to continue on with the work that Tony had started. After the whole fiasco with his identity being outed he tends to keep a low profile, taking his time to get used to the spotlight that is everyday life as an Avenger.

Bucky is still coping with that too, honestly. It’s strange walking down a street knowing that everyone probably knows his name and his history, and has an opinion of him, when he has never seen them before in his life. Maybe he has. He struggles with his memory too.

When he was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety, it was a strange experience. He had a little knowledge on it from his uncle who had fought in war before him and suffered from the illnesses, but it was different knowing about it and being diagnosed with it he realised quickly. He’s cautious around strangers and struggles to speak to someone who he doesn’t know if he can trust yet, but his therapist Dr. Walker says he’ll develop with time. He just needs to focus on his breathing and find something to distract hunsekd. 

And he did. He went from not being able to open up the door for his takeout - which the app to order said takeout took him just a bit too long to understand - to being able to speak at veterans meetings with Sam in front of a couple dozen people. He connected well with the other veterans, especially those who had lost a limb in war, and found himself looking forward to the meetings for the chance to speak to people who shared similar life experiences and didn’t give him a sad look whenever he opened up about his nightmares. Knowing he wasn’t alone gave him a sense of belonging, something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He retired from the Avengers and moved to a small apartment in Brooklyn that Sam helped him look for. He even went couch shopping with him, making sure that he bought the deepest and comfiest one there. He didn’t mind, he loved how comfortable modern things are compared to the 30s, but he wondered why he insisted on getting that particular one. That was, until one night Sam came to his apartment blackout drunk and slept there for 15 hours straight. He only woke once to complain drunkenly about how small the blankets were, to which received a pillow to the head.

Bucky enjoys having his own place to live. He wakes up early in the morning to go on a leisurely run through his neighbourhood and watch the sky turn from red to pink to blue. He stops at the cafe at the bottom of his street for whatever pastry is fresh and a sweet coffee.

He then comes home to his cat and plants, and spends his days loving and caring for them. He found Alpine on what could have been one of the worst nights he’s experienced in his normal life. It had been raining heavily for hours and Bucky was walking home from therapy when he was jumped by a group of men. In the panic of it all he lashed out, and having not been in the field for so long he underestimated his strength.

A civilian got hurt in the scrapple, but she was so scared of who he was that she refused to take help from him. The police then arrived and Bucky had to fight his case for an hour in the pouring rain with only a running tee on. It was a witness from an apartment block on the other side of the street who came to Bucky’s aid and explained how he hadn’t started the fight and didn’t hurt the woman on purpose. He walked home in a storm of a mood, his whole body shaking with anxiety and the cold seeping into his bones, when he heard a faint meow come from a dark alley. 

He quickly swooped into action without hesitation, fishing the small creature out of the soggy box it was in and shielding it under his arm as he started to jog home.

That’s how he found himself an hour later sitting face to face with a small white cat with eyes he thought resembled his own in a strange way. He knew he was going to keep the cat without hesitation, he just wondered how something so pure could have made its way into his fuck-up of a day.

He even got a job in a coffee shop for a short while when Dr. Walker felt he was ready for it, so he could work on his social skills and how to control situations positively. He lasted a whole month in the shop and he made fairly good relationships with his colleagues and frequent customers, but he was asked to leave one afternoon as they had had a complaint from a daily customer about him. Apparently Bucky has a resting face that looks intimidating, and made the customer feel anxious. He had a tough time in his head that night. It took him a few days of wallowing in self pity and several conversations with Sam and Dr. Walker to realise he didn’t do anything wrong. He had to accept the fact he couldn’t convince everyone he was a good guy, and this is something he is still learning to accept.

He had felt so much misery over his lifetime that he thought he would never get the chance to be happy again, perhaps this new life would be enough for him. Though, he had to admit, that the fact that the only constant human interaction he had on a daily basis would be with store workers when he went grocery shopping, it was starting to make him feel lonely. It was like he lived on the moon, only watching others live their lives from a distance as he lived his own mundane life. That, of course, was before he met you.

You came shining into his life like a beam of sunlight that made him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. There wasn’t a moment where your beautiful smile didn’t grace your face, and the joy on you radiated instantly made his day a whole lot better. You had been neighbours for quite a while before your first interaction, though you would always give him a chipper smile when he passed you in the hallways to which he responded to with a bashful grin.

Bucky woke up with a feeling something was wrong one day, and his suspicions were confirmed when he got a call from the nursing home informing him that Steve was sick. He knew he had to visit right away, just in case, but he didn’t know how long he would be gone and refused to leave Alpine alone. He couldn��t ask Sam, he was too busy being Captain America and a dumbass to properly care for a cat, so he moved onto what seemed to be his only other option.

The super soldier stood in your door frame (which was just too small for him to stand at his full height comfortably in) with a cat carrier in hand, blue bag slung over his shoulder and a desperate smile on his face. “Hi, I’m Bucky. Barnes. Bucky Barnes. Your neighbour. Room 6? Anyway, I need to ask a huge favour of you. I have to visit a friend out of town but I can’t leave Alpine alone - she doesn’t like it at night, and I was really, really, hoping you could watch her for a few days. I understand if you’re busy or have plans, though!”

You listened to his ramblings with an amused smile on your face, hand on the doorframe and leaning forward slightly. “Alpine?” you mused, eyebrow raised slightly.

His cheeks tinted instantly as he nodded down to the now meowing carrier. “Yeah, my cat. She’s two. She’s lovely, I promise. Doesn’t scratch or anything, she’s a real doll. You won’t even notice she’s there.”

You had bent down to look inside the carrier as he continued to ramble, only to be met with remarkable blue eyes which matched its owner’s perfectly. Cooing softly at her, you look up to meet the other pair of striking blue eyes. “Of course I’ll watch her for you. What else are neighbours for?”

He smiles instantly, shoulders relaxing as he lets out a breath. Holding out the carrier to you with his metal arm which you took instantly, he starts, “Thank you so much…”

“Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

“Y/N.” he repeats, setting the bag at your feet. “My number’s in there if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. I’m better at calling than texting. Thank you, again, I owe you.” He smiles before waving quickly as you exchange goodbyes, turning on his heel and walking quickly to his car with keys in hand. 

After closing your door you set the carrier down and open it up, lifting out the small white cat into your arms. Smiling fondly, you press a kiss between her ears. You wandered over to your window to see Bucky climbing into his car as he held a phone between his ear and shoulder, and something deep inside of you knew this was the start of something special.

After that first encounter, you and Bucky seemed to be glued to the hip. It started off as a coffee date as a thank you after he got home from the weekend in which you watched Alpine, and you were glad to hear that Steve was well. It then evolved into a home cooked dinner from you the next day because Bucky refused to let you pay for your coffee even though you insisted and you wanted to pay him back somehow. He was always a gentleman with you. 

It then turned into weekly Friday night movie nights to catch him up on what he had missed movie-wise and supermarket shopping together the next morning because Bucky loved shopping in near-empty supermarkets just as much as you. Somewhere along the line you both got keys cut for the other’s apartment and you more often than not spent everyday together, even if it was just spending your hour lunch break from work sitting on a park bench chatting. You both had formed the best friendship possible, so it was no surprise to anyone that you wound up dating. It was meant to be, really. Soulmates. 

But not when Bucky went to the gym, because there was no way you would be caught dead doing physical activities.

You loved being around Bucky; he was sweet and caring and loved to try whatever new hobby you were experimenting with. He would always taste-test your cooking and baking and never say anything mean about it - even that time you made cupcakes and used salt instead of sugar he was quick to force it down and sing its praises. He cries at dog movies and volunteered at the local animal shelter weekly after you informed him one night that he could because he was just desperate for some interaction with the dogs. You were surprised he hadn’t come home with every single dog his first day there because he just wanted them to be loved so much. 

Bucky Barnes was a Saint sculpted by gods who had a heart of gold, and you could never see him any other way. Sure, you knew his history. Hell, you had even written a paper all about him and the Howling Commandos in your college History class, but none of that mattered to you. The Winter Soldier had been gone for over a decade, the trigger words meaningless and the mystery over, and you just wanted to know Bucky. Not his past - not that he could remember much of it anyway - but his and your relationship’s future together and what possibilities come along with that.

-

Bucky loved going shopping with you. He would give you an armful of clothes and make you give him a fashion show, where he would cheer for you and clap obnoxiously and shower you with the sweetest compliments, and you both savoured every second of it. You also had a fairly decent understanding of fashion, so you would help him keep up with all of the trends and keep him looking as gorgeous as he always is. So a Saturday spent together roaming the mall should be the perfect outing for the both of you. If only you could do it alone.

You held his hand tightly in yours, fingers intertwined and palms sweating slightly, but you were sure it was only his that was. You kept him near to know he was safe and coping, because crowds were one hundred percent not his thing. Maybe that’s why recently he had taken a liking to online shopping, because you could still have your famous fashion show in the comfort of his safe, judgemental free apartment. You could feel every set of eyes follow you and the six foot ex-assassin beside you for longer than necessary as they walked past you both, but you kept your head held high. No one was ever going to make you feel bad for loving Bucky. Not now, not ever.

“Oh my God.”

“That poor girl.”

“Stay back, he’s dangerous.”

“Do we just let murderers walk free now?”

You don’t know if the people walking by tried to be discreet with their whispering or wanted you both to hear, but you could hear them so Bucky definitely heard them. Looking up at him as you feel his breathing hitch, you follow his eye line and find a small girl being whisked away by her mother with fear evident on her face. The air around you grew thick, like you could feel his suffocating anxiety grow. He didn’t want to scare anyone, and this sight seemingly pushed him over the edge into a downward spiral.

Tugging on his arm you grab his attention, flashing him a reassuring smile.

“Why don’t we get food? I’m starving.” He simply nods in response, not trusting his voice.

You sit across from him in the booth in the corner of the food court, eating happily as you watch him visibly relax into his surroundings. He has a mountain of food in front of him but you know it’s never enough, and you just grin as he reaches over to swipe some of your fries.

You both talk mindlessly about insignificant things; a jacket that caught his eye, where you’d like to go next, how you both are craving ice cream, oblivious to the numerous pairs of eyes staring at you two. The flash of a camera and a series of giggles catches your attention. You quickly look to Bucky to see his reaction, but just smile at him distracted by his milkshake which has now covered his face. You lean over the table to wipe it away with a napkin before kissing his nose gently, and he smiles happily at you as his cheeks tint red.

“Why don’t we just leave after this?” He looks up at you, and it pains you to see the hope in his eyes at the thought of leaving. “We can go to that ice cream parlour at the bottom of the avenue and have a walk in the park instead.”

You smile at him. “That sounds so much better than shopping, baby. Let me go throw all of this in the trash then we can go.”

“No, I’ve got it. I’ll be two ticks.” He slides out of the booth, pecking your lips quickly as he picks up the trays and walks over to the trash. You still have a smile on your lips as you pull on your jacket and pick up your purse, but it fades quickly when you hear a crash and yells from behind you.

Jumping out of the booth quickly you turn, finding Bucky standing with a now empty tray between a bunch of chairs and a woman draped across the floor covered in the remains of your lunch. Bucky’s shaking as he tries to stammer out an apology. You assume that they’ve bumped into each other, and with Bucky’s strength she fell back hard. 

People had started to crowd around as the woman went into painfully fake hysterics about how he had attacked her, and Bucky just stood there like a deer in headlights. Pushing through the crowd you run to him, grabbing the tray from his hands and setting it on a table. You take his hand in his, holding onto it tightly, and he leans into your touch to try to make his body as small as possible.

A hush settled over the crowd as the woman’s cries turned into whimpers when she realised she had an audience. “That thing just assaulted me! Did you see it? Doing this to a vulnerable woman!”

A few people murmured agreements to her accusations, and it only made your blood boil more. 

“Bucky is a person, not a thing,” All eyes turned on you, and you only stood taller to secure your confidence. “and he wouldn’t harm a fly. I’m sure this was all just some sort of accident.”

She scoffed as she was helped up to stand from a few bystanders. “He’s a criminal. He knows nothing but hurting people. Just look at that,” she gestured to Bucky’s metal arm that he was now trying to hide away behind his body. 

Just as you tried to defend Bucky, the crowd started getting rowdy again and you felt a tug on your hand. Looking back you see a mortified looking Bucky with glistening eyes. His voice is so weak you almost don’t catch what he says.

“Just leave it, Y/N. Please. I want to go home.” You nod quickly, fixing your bag over your shoulder and delivering the woman a scowl as you turn and practically run out of the mall together. You didn’t want to make a scene, because it always affects Bucky worse. 

The car ride is silent, you in the drivers’ seat and Bucky bouncing his knee beside you, eyes shifting around frantically. You sit in the parking lot of your apartment block for a while, Bucky’s head on your shoulder and your hand running through his hair softly as he finally lets himself go. You stay there until his shoulders ache and he can’t find anymore tears to cry. You hold him close as you walk to your apartment, and he sits on the bathroom counter as you run a warm bath. You drop in his favourite bath bomb, and that at least brings a smile to his face.

He finally begins to relax as he sinks into the warm water and you sit on the edge of the tub, treading your fingers through his hair gently. It’s quiet for a while, but both of your minds are loud. 

“I wish they would see you like I do.” Your voice cuts through the air like a knife. He sighs, shaking his head. 

“They never will. Why should they? I’m a monster.” Bucky sounds weak. He’s tired of living like this, scared that he’ll make one wrong move and his face will be plastered all over the news. 

“You’re not a monster, Buck.” You keep your voice steady. “You're the kindest, sweetest person I know. I don’t care about your past at all, and I… I love you.”

You weren’t planning to tell him you loved him for the first time, but it just seemed right in the moment.  He’s quiet for a while, and you begin to wonder if he actually heard you or has fallen asleep from the warm water and lavender. 

Bucky takes a deep breath before he speaks again. 

“I love you, too.”

You can’t control the smile that takes over your face and you lean forward, planting a kiss on his head. You hear him smile and he moves to see you. The water swishes as he moves. A wet hand cups your cheek and you lean into the touch, watching his eyes stare at your feet as he struggles to get his words out. 

“I love you so much it hurts. I wake up in the morning and see you laying beside me, and I know that I’m where I’m supposed to be. I just don’t want to screw it all up.” He finally meets your eyes. They’ve turned a stormy blue, and you can see all of his emotions swirling around them. 

You turn your head to the side and kiss the palm of his hand, your fingers still running through his hair gently. He leans in, the tension escaping his muscles. He sighs as he pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. You smile at him, pecking his nose quickly. 

“You could never mess this up. You’re my soulmate. Now, how about we have that ice cream now?” the two of you share a knowing smile. 

You squeal as Bucky pulls you in for a hug, both of you laughing as he soaks your clothes and peppers your face in kisses. 

-

“This is wrong, this is all wrong. I told you I should’ve worn a tie! Even Steve agreed with me on that one! I look so stupid wearing, why the hell am I wearing a leather jacket to meet your parents? Can we turn back? I’ll change quickly. Let me cut my hair. Is it too long?” Bucky pulls down the passenger mirror to inspect himself, his forehead creasing as he tries to perfect his already styled hair. 

You sigh as you reach over from the steering wheel and take his hand, bringing it over to kiss his knuckles gently. “You look great. It doesn’t matter what you wear. They’ll love you no matter what.”

He grumbles a disagreement as he sinks back in his seat, changing the song playing through the car radio until he finds a depressing song to play to match his mood. You had noticed he did that a lot after only a week of dating. Whenever he’s happy you will almost always hear Michael Jackson or Queen playing from wherever he is in the apartment, and he had downloaded Spotify’s Sad Songs for whenever he felt down. 

You reach over and change the song quickly, which earns a sharp look from him. You scoff, but you both know that it’s not malicious. “Calm down, Buck. You’re just nervous. We’re having a barbecue, not a fancy meal in a fancy restaurant.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t want them to hate me. Would you leave me if they hate me?” He sounds like what a sad puppy would if it were able to speak. Stopping at a red light, you turn your body to face him. 

“I love you, okay? Nobody will ever come between us, not even my parents. Just flash them that charming smile of yours and they’ll have you hooked.” He smiles bashfully at you, and you grin as you kiss him quickly. 

After that the ride is short and sweet to your parents’ home. Honestly, you didn’t know how they were going to react to Bucky. You hadn’t told them who he was specifically, just that he was your handsome boyfriend who you loved very much. They had always been accepting of whatever life choices you made, even when you decided to drop out of college. They just wanted you to be happy. And Bucky made you happy, so that means they should accept him. 

You held onto his hand tightly as you walked up the driveway, and before flashing him one last reassuring smile you knocked the door. The air was tense and time seemed to stretch as you waited for one of your parents to open up the door. Even you were becoming slightly nervous. 

The door handle jiggles before the door flies open, and you smile fondly at your mother standing in the doorway. Bucky smiles too, though it’s a nervous one. 

It had been so long since he had felt any parental love - he thinks about his family everyday - and as selfish as it sounds he was hoping he could use this as an opportunity to finally have a stable father figure in his life. From the stories he had heard from you, he decided you had lived the life he had always dreamed of. Family trips, game nights, going out for special meals together. Even just the little things, like how you called them every night to say goodnight. He craved stability in his life, and this may be one way he can achieve it. 

She looks between you both, the smile on her face fading the longer she looks at Bucky. Just as you open your mouth you see her eyes flit downwards - straight age Bucky’s metallic hand. He adjusts his hand to loosen his grip on yours and swallows dryly. A strangled gasp escaped her lips before she grabbed your empty hand roughly, tugging you inside and scrambling to lock the door behind you. 

“Y/N! What were you thinking, bringing that monster here!” She searched your face as if she was hoping to find bruises under your makeup, and your blood boiled. 

“What the hell?” You shouted at her. Reaching back you feel for the door handle, but she takes your hand in hers before you can. 

“Do you not watch the news? He’s dangerous.” She pulls away, staring at you like you were crazy. “Has he been lying to you?”

“I know exactly who he is mom-”

“Then it’s… it’s Stockholm Syndrome. I’ve read about that! I think I’m using that right.” she says. You scoff at how ridiculous she’s being, fully conscious of Bucky standing behind the door. She only frowns. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this. That’s my boyfriend that you just locked outside.”

“Whatever’s you’re feeling isn’t love, honey. I’ve heard everything about him. Did you know he attacked some poor woman in a food court a few days ago?” There's a tinge of pity in her voice, and it only makes you more angry. 

“Oh my god,” you moan. “He is my boyfriend! That’s the James that I told you about! And you just slammed the door on his face and called him a monster.”

Her movements falter as realisation dawns on her face. She actually loves the monster, is what you assume she’s thinking. You turn and swing open the door, only to see Bucky seemingly frozen in place in shock and mortification. He just blinks and stares at you, and you just want to swaddle him up into a blanket and hold him close right on the spot. 

You reach your hand out for him, but he flinches back and stumbles down the steps. 

“Th-This is all wrong. I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have come.” He sounds weak, like a child after being scolded.

He stands there looking lost, like he wants to run away and never come back but is also too scared to turn his back on you. He isn’t leaving you, just the situation. He doesn’t know what to do. Will you hate him for this? Are you angry that he isn’t standing up for himself? But he doesn’t want to shout what he wants to say. He wants to be calm. He’s learned how to be calm. How can he learn to be calm after everything he’s gone through, but no one else can?

Your dad comes to the door and you know things will only get worse. You step down to stand beside Bucky, holding his hand tightly. 

“Y/N, what’s going on here? Who is that man?” Your dad seems just as confused about the situation as you are. 

“Mom just- ugh. I can’t believe this is actually happening.” You didn’t want to cause a scene, just because of the sheer fact that your mom knows about what happened the other day so if one person sees this who knows what it will be escalated to in the media. 

“She ruined today. Today was supposed to be amazing and she messed it all up because she didn’t want to give Bucky a chance.” 

“Sweetie, look at him,” your mom began to defend herself. “Can you blame me? All I know is that he is a killer with an arm made of metal. He could hurt you!” 

“Like you are?” She stared back at you in shock. “You took one look at him and decided he was a monster. He’s a person just like us, and he deserves to be treated like one. I’m sorry, but I can’t stand here and allow you to treat him like that. I love him and he loves me, and that’s all that matters.”

Your dad calls on you as you storm to the car, but you don’t listen. Slamming the door behind you, you push your foot in the ignition and drive away as soon as Bucky gets in the car. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to do. Normally he knows how to help you, but he’s never seen you like this before. You’re shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s from anger or fear. Fear that you’ve lost your parents? He’s so lost and feels terrible that he can’t help you. 

It takes about fifteen minutes for you to stop seeing red and finally slow down to the speed limit. It was like something else took over your body and you were watching from five feet away. Everything happened so quickly. What actually just happened. Are you in the wrong? Maybe you should’ve told them about him before. You don’t want to have to but you know you should have. Explain it. Him. Bucky. 

Looking over you see him half smiling patiently at you. He’s the one hurting right now, but he’s hiding it so he can be there for you. You don’t mean it, but the look he gives you when your lip trembles causes the floodgates to open. 

He manages to reach over to the wheel and guide the car off the side of the road when the road begins to get blurry from tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t know she was going to do that. Never in a million years did I think she’d do that! She-she’s horrible and nasty and-”

“Y/N, please.” Bucky reaches out and holds your hand, his other reaching up to wipe the tears off of your face. “You don’t mean that.”

“But it’s still not okay.”

“I know it’s not,” he sighs. “I just thought they would be more like you.” He smiles weakly at you. 

“So did I.” You sniff as you lean over, resting your head against his shoulder. His lips instantly reach down to kiss your head gently. 

“Let’s leave it for now, and you can call in a few days. Maybe we can convince them to come around to me. I know you want them to like me.” Bucky’s voice doesn’t sound as hopeful as his words, but he wants this for you. You’ve always had a good relationship with your parents and he doesn’t want to be the reason it’s all messed up. He knows he’s not worth it. Well… yes, I am worth it, he forces himself to think. 

He knows his worth in this relationship. He knows he means so much to you. You mean the world to him. He hopes you know that. But he knows how much your parents mean to you, and he would never want to make you choose. That’s selfish of him. 

You look up at him and smile. “You know I love you, right?” 

He smiles back. “You tell me everyday.” He bends down, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

Bucky still had a long way to go with his recovery, but you made everyday easier. He couldn’t imagine his life without you anymore. You were the reason he got out of bed everyday, the reason he cared for himself, the reason he smiled. 

Who knew Godzilla could fall in love?