#✦ verse: princess carry down a fire escape (max parker)

[normaltothemax]

“No, I think it was mostly just the ‘getting to hit stuff and not get suspended for it’ part, for me,” she says lightly. High school was…really not a good time, for Max. Especially the first couple of years. She’d been hurting deeply and lashed out at everything and everyone around her—kickboxing had given her a place where she could get all that anger and upset out in a productive manner.

But sure, the discipline was good too, she supposes.

Cold dread comes rushing in when he brings literature tropes back up, her stomach dropping. Oh. Oh no. Quickly going back over what she’d just been ranting about, she realises that she’s absolutely just opened herself up for more teasing.

Something Nightwing seems to derive a great amount of pleasure from.

Fuck.

“Oh my god.” Just like that, her face turns back into a tomato. Please, if there is any sense of justice in the world, if there’s anyone looking down on her, please don’t make her suffer through an attractive, masked man—one that just saved her and is still carrying her—waxing poetic about her being a goddess. Max might actually implode if that happens.

“Do not. I will…find all the pictures I took where you look stupid and only sell those ones. Don’t think I won’t.” It’s not that great of a threat, she’s well aware of that, but she doesn’t have much else to work with, here.

Oho, so Max is a reader, is she? And of fanfiction, if Dick's any judge. Or just cheap romance novels, but there again: a lot of overlap in that Venn diagram, no matter what anyone says.

He just listens, his amusement growing as she starts a miniature rant that really shouldn't make him want to point out that it's easy for an outside perspective - like the reader - to see how simple the solution is when it's seldom that easy when you're the one in the situation. Jason would probably be at least passingly pleased with his restraint in not pointing that out to her…or be passingly irritated that he didn't, either one.

"I was a pretty angry kid, too," he says instead, thinking back to his early days in a mask under Bruce's care. "Martial arts can be a really good outlet because of the discipline involved. Not just because you get to hit stuff." he grins. "Though that's a pretty big part of it too, I won't lie. But as to tropes in literature…"

Oh, she hadn't thought he was going to let her off that hook, had she? Silly girl. "The whole Maiden In The Tower trope is believed by some to have originated with common myths of sun goddesses getting trapped somehow and rescued, so…" he grins. "I could have proclaimed you a goddess of the dawn and waxed poetic about that."

[normaltothemax]

Some More Smutty Memes [ SENSUAL ]  for sender to slowly undress receiver,  caressing and kissing every part of them they expose. [dick and max >w>]

Max is at a bit of a loss, here.

Things usually don’t move this slowly, for her. Not that sex has always been quick and dirty, in her experience, but this is something different. Something new.

Dick is taking his sweet fucking time with her. Has had her pressed up against a wall in the penthouse for god only knows how long. Kisses her until her head is spinning and she can’t breathe. Makes his way slowly down her throat while she tries to catch her breath, kissing and biting and sucking. Tugs the collar of her shirt out of the way to suck a mark onto her collarbone. Then, by the time she manages to get her wits about her, he starts the whole process over again.

It feels like it takes hours before even her shirt is off. Her skin is flushed and heated, and she shivers slightly as the cooler air hits it, before Dick is back with his mouth, his hands. Kissing and touching every bit of skin he can find. Like he’s reveling in every inch of her, drinking her in like the finest of wines.

She wonders if this is what people mean when they use the word worshiping.

He’s still fully dressed, which is a complete travesty, honestly. She’d like them both to be naked yesterday, please and thank you. But with his thigh pressed between both of hers, with warm hands seemingly everywhere, with him gently tugging her bra strap over her shoulder, pulling her breast free, and closing his lips around her nipple, she’s having a bit of difficulty finding the words to actually ask.

@dramatisperscnae (x)

[normaltothemax]

“Boo.” She makes a face. “That’s lame. You totally got shafted, man. Want me to go down there? Give ‘em a piece of my mind?” No way will she actually follow through with that, but she’ll offer anyways, and look as genuine as possible while doing so. “I’ll write a very strongly-worded letter on your behalf. Just say the word.”

She offers him a small smile when he answers. While she might not be caught up on all the celebrity gossip, she does know about Dick’s parents, the story of how he got adopted by Bruce Wayne—had heard all about it when her boss found out she’d been making friends with him. “That sounds like it would’ve been really cool. I bet you would’ve been really good at it.”

She doesn’t say she’s ‘sorry for his loss’, sure he’s heard it about a million times too many, even if the words would be sincere. Doesn’t get the chance to, anyways, as he’s quick to ask his next question. “Carnivals and fairs, but never an actual, legit circus, I don’t think.” Max isn’t going to force him to linger on something he clearly doesn’t want to get into. “What’s your go-to ‘girl dinner’?”

Who's Gotham's number one most eligible bachelor? Dick snorts. "Bruce Wayne, who else?" It would seem like a ridiculous question had it come from anyone other than Max. Her lack of knowledge when it comes to celebrity gossip is honestly as refreshing as it is adorable; it's one of the reasons Dick enjoys her company so much.

He grins up at her as the game begins, quietly noting her answer and filing it away for later. Purple, huh…? Oh, he'll remember that. Maybe surprise her with a purple camera strap or bag; nothing too major, just something she'll hopefully like and find useful.

Shifting over a little to make room he glances over, his eyes going soft with nostalgia at her question. "…An aerialist, like my parents. Trapeze artist, really, but…" he shrugs. "It's all I ever wanted to be, was part of the family show." But life clearly hadn't quite worked out that way. He doesn't regret the path he ended up on at all, not really, but looking back over the years…

Well. It had been a simpler time.

Moving the game along and, hopefully, distracting from his moment of mild melancholy, Dick fires off the first question that comes to mind. "You ever been to a circus?"

[normaltothemax]

“Uh huh.” Her skepticism is obvious. He can hide all he likes—she sees him. At least, she would, if she was actually able to bring herself to look him in the eye again. “The classic ‘prince rescuing a princess’ trope is lame and overdone, anyways. Enemies to lovers makes a way better storyline.” She might be revealing a bit too much about her reading preferences, if she’s trying not to give him more teasing ammunition, but it’s true.

And, actually, while she’s on the subject, “Best friends to lovers is great too, but it’s like, ugh, just talk to each other, you know? Mutually pining for months on end, both people thinking it’s unrequited, when they could’ve just said something and been together the entire time? Oh my god, don’t even get me started.”

…What were they talking about?

“I do. Kickboxing,” she confirms, a little proudly. He can tell? That’s…well, it’s a compliment, isn’t it? She’ll take it. “I was, uh…really angry, when I was a kid. Mostly in high school.” Not that she didn’t have a good reason to be. “It was a good outlet.” She shrugs. “I ended up liking it. Obviously.”

"I never called you a damsel," Dick points out, amused, "or said you were in distress. I called you a princess." Of course, the insinuation had still been there - rescuing a princess, aiding a damsel in distress, there's a lot of overlap in that particular Venn diagram - but he's going to hide behind semantics for as long as possible.

"And I'm sure you can," he continues, trying not to laugh. Dick's seen Max trip over her own feet at a gala, twist her ankle because her heels slipped…while he certainly believes she's not some fair helpless maiden, he doubts she could actually do much harm to him even if she tried. Not while unarmed, at any rate. "I can tell you work out." That statement, at least, is genuine; with her build she's got a shade too much solid weight to not have some muscle tone.

[normaltothemax]

The words death would be preferrable are bitten back. She’s not sure how seriously he’ll take a statement like that, even though it’d be entirely overdramatic. The last thing she needs is a superhero thinking she actually wants to off herself.

Max would prefer to not be on some 24-hour watch.

“I’m not some damsel in distress,” she complains. She’s not. Apart from him having to help her off of the roof—which, she maintains she would’ve managed to get down on her own eventually—and the fact that he’s currently carrying her, Max is so very far from some princess in need of saving.

“I can actually handle myself.” Her voice drops into a grumble. “Bet I could take you.”

Whoops. Okay, that was taking things a little too far. Teasing is one thing - and okay, maybe there's been a little flirting in there too, just a bit - but he doesn't want to actually upset her.

"If I let you walk into traffic," he points out, "I'd have to swing in to pull you out of the way of a bus or something, and then we'd be right back here anyway." Besides, she's not letting go of him, so she can't be that angry with him.

Hopefully, anyway.

"But seriously," he continues, still teasing but far more gently, "what's wrong with Rapunzel? The Disney movie's kind of sweet, even if the original fairy tale gets kinda dark." The handsome prince getting blinded by thorns isn't exactly light-hearted, after all.

[normaltothemax]

“You—” Again, words fail her as she stares at him—she wonders if her face can possibly get any redder than it already is. He’s horrible. Absolutely horrible. Max’s least favorite superhero, by far. “Shut up.” Not a very clever comeback, certainly not even close to her best. Just another thing to be embarrassed about.

Her scowl has shifted into a glare, but she’s back to not meeting his gaze, and the expression more sullen than anything else, so it’s probably not as effective as she’d like it to be. “I changed my mind. Put me down so I can go walk into traffic.” Tellingly, she still doesn’t let go.

He chuckles softly as she huffs, carrying her easily along darkened streets and through shadowed alleys. Does he need to carry her? Absolutely not. But she's clearly not complaining about it and he really does kind of like doing it, so why the hell not?

Besides, when is he likely to get another chance?

The sudden squeak as she registers the nickname, though, has him laughing again, grinning down at her. "What? I couldn't think of any other princess who got rescued from a tower. I mean, I guess technically there was Sleeping Beauty, but you were already awake and I'm not usually the type to kiss on a first date anyway."

[normaltothemax]

God, he is getting way too much enjoyment out of this, the asshole. It’s rude, is what it is. Max should absolutely just tell him to put her down and walk back on her own two feet. That’s what her pride is telling her to do. She really does kind of like where she is now, though, even if she doesn’t want to admit it (refuses to). She finally looks away with a huff, scowling at her own knees. Damn him.

If anyone asks, she’s saying she twisted her ankle, and he’d better go along with it.

With an indignant squawk, her gaze snaps back up to him, the mortification of being carried momentarily forgotten. Now she’s got a whole new thing to be embarrassed about—the damn nickname. “Absolutely not. No. That is not going to be a thing. Don’t you dare.”

Honestly it's a little bit of both, but Dick's not going to tell her that. Babs monitors a lot of communication frequencies, after all, so she's always listening but it's polite to say her name to get her attention first. As for the button, well. "If I told you it wouldn't be a secret button, would it?" He grins at her.

Honestly Max is just too fun not to tease. The way she blushes is just too damned cute, especially when Dick's cornered her and already has a good idea of the answer she's refusing to give. He wasn't really expecting her to ask to be put down, but that blush and the dodge of his question seem pretty good indicators of her liking her current position as far as he's concerned.

"Not really." They will eventually; Max might be on the small side, but that doesn't mean she's as light as a kitten. For now, though, he's just fine like this. "Besides," he adds, unable to resist, "shouldn't the princess get carried back home? I know it ought to be on the back of a white stallion, but those are kinda in short supply around here, so this time Rapunzel will have to make do with the pedestrian option."

[normaltothemax]

“And she can just hear you whenever you say her name? Or is this an ‘always listening’ sort of situation?” Or, wait. He moved his hand a couple times, didn’t he? Not in a creepy way, but he did. “Do you have a secret button you pressed? There’s totally a secret button, isn’t there?”

Max really needs to start learning from her mistakes, because again, she looks up at him. Sees that damn smirk and her face flames. Her mouth works for a few moments, but no sound comes out, because…well, frankly, she’s really not.

“Aren’t your arms getting tired?” she asks instead of answering, valiantly continuing to maintain eye contact. At least, what would be considered eye contact if she could actually see his eyes.

Right on cue, there's the blush. She did forget her room key, then. How the hell is she expecting to get back inside, then? Go up to the front desk and plead?

Probably, actually. Or she hasn't quite thought that far. Dick just shakes his head in amusement. "Oracle's a friend of mine," he tells her. "She'll make sure those guys back there get the best treatment Gotham's Finest can give. As for you…"

He can't resist a smirk, can't resist seeing if he can make her blush deeper. "Are you complaining?" He's certainly not; he's actually finding out he likes carrying her. Okay, so maybe he's more than passingly fond of Max Parker…whoops. "I mean, if you'd rather walk I can put you down, but…"

[normaltothemax]

Her hand goes back to join the other, Max squinting slightly as she thinks about it. “Might’ve been Sunrise. That…sounds about right, I think.” She pauses, shutting up momentarily as he talks to nothing. Looks up at him in confusion. “Who’s Oracle?” Because it sure as hell isn’t Max.

Flushing again, she looks away with a scowl. “I didn’t forget it on top of the TV.” She didn’t. It’s on the nightstand. She definitely doesn’t sound sullen, either.

Finally, it seems to register that they’re moving, that they’ve been moving, and her feet certainly aren’t on the ground. She blinks, frowns at the pavement. “You, uh…you planning on putting me down any time soon?” Is she dreaming? Seriously, what’s happening, right now? “You know I can walk, right?”

Sunset? Dick runs through the various hotels - and motels, given how he knows Max's employer tends to treat her - he can remember in Gotham City. Sunset Inn doesn't ring any bells, but-…

"Sunset or Sunrise?" he asks, setting off down the alley towards the street. One hand shifts, and he speaks apparently to empty air, "Oracle, alert GCPD that the arms dealers they've been looking for are in the alleyway just south of Aparo and Twenty-fifth."

Another shift of his hand and he looks back down at Max with an amused smile. "You could check your room key to make sure," he points out. "Unless you forgot it on top of the TV or something."

[normaltothemax]

She huffs, grumbles a little under her breath, but decides not to argue. Yes, everyone gets scared, but not everyone is stupid enough to willingly put themselves into a situation where the fear will paralyze them. She’d rather not continue to point out her lack of braincells to the very attractive superhero—that’s still holding her like she weighs nothing, holy shit—tonight, thank you very much.

“You really don’t have to.” Her protests are halfhearted at best—Max would really rather not walk back to her motel, alone, in the dark. Especially when she’s already turned around as it is, calming down from her near panic attack, and has already seen quite a bit of violence tonight.

It’s only a moment or two before she caves with a sigh. “It’s, uh…” Oh god, oh no, please don’t do this to her, brain. With a groan, she covers her face with one hand, the other still holding onto her camera, arm looped around his neck. “Fuck, I swear I’m not actually a total idiot. I keep forgetting the damn name, it’s so stupid and generic. Something with ‘sun’, uhh…” Shit, what is it? “Sunset Inn, I think?”

"I won't tell if you won't," Dick teases her, already wondering just how long it'll be before Max tells someone about her meeting with Nightwing. "Besides, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone gets scared." And not everyone has the mental fortitude to fight past it; not if it's a full-blown phobia. Dick's seen the results of Scarecrow's fear toxin far too often to just wave off someone being scared.

Her answer to his question, though, has him raising an eyebrow again. Oh, that's not a good sign. First she managed to trap herself on the roof, and now she's lost. He knows she's lost, because Max can't tell a lie to save her life and also right now she's not even trying.

"Gotham's not exactly the kind of city to wander around in after dark," he says, still not letting go. "Especially not in this neighborhood. Which motel? I can at least get you closer than this." After all, he's only up here to take down this arms ring, and he's done that; his time is now his own as far as he's concerned, and he'll rest easier knowing Max isn't somehow getting herself into more trouble here.

[normaltothemax]

Though there are only two or three, every creak from what she assumes is the fire escape has her tightening her hold slightly, images of the entire thing coming crashing down playing through her mind. Thankfully, it’s not too long before he stops moving. She risks cracking a single eye open, before opening them fully upon seeing they’re back on street level, visibly relaxing.

He hasn’t set her down yet, so she just…stays where she is. Isn’t really sure what else to do—it’s not like she wants to flail out of his grip and land on her face.

Head falling back, she heaves out a breath as she stares up at the sky. “Fuck me, dude,” she complains, “bested by a goddamn fire escape. I’m literally never going to live that down.” Because, as much as she’d like to never speak of it, she’s probably going to tell at least a couple people about the whole superhero interaction. Maybe she can spin it. Just say there was a weapons deal and he saved her. It’s still sort of the truth, right?

“There’s a, uh, motel…” She lifts her head again, looks around to try and reorient herself. Yeah, no, she’s totally lost. Has absolutely no clue where she is. “Um. Somewhere. I can probably find it. I’m sure you’ve got better shit to do.”

LARPing. Of all the things she could have said, she's gone with LARPing. Dick doesn't even try to hide his snicker as he carries her down the fire escape. "Sure, I guess it's similar," he teases her, "though I think there are better ways to LARP than getting shot at with real bullets." Plus there's also the constant debate over which is the actual role being played, the masked persona or the one with the Social Security number, but best not to mention that.

He gives her a reassuring squeeze as they descend, mindful of his steps and trying to keep the journey as smooth as possible for her. The fire escape isn't too old, considering the quake caused quite a lot of rebuilding and refurbishing, so there's at least a lack of ominous metallic creaking as they head down to the ground.

Once they're back on terra firma Dick gives Max another little squeeze. "You can open your eyes now," he tells her gently. "It's all over. You park nearby or take the bus? Or do you live around here…?"

[normaltothemax]

Jesus Christ. It’s like being in one of her beloved but trashy romance novels—the masked hero carrying the damsel in distress (though she abhors thinking of herself in such a way) to safety with a roguish grin and a cheesy one-liner. If she weren’t so utterly terrified of falling off the damn roof, she might actually laugh.

“Oh god, you’re a total dork, aren’t you?” And yet, there’s the smallest hint of a smile on her face. And yet, she can feel her blush deepening. Goddammit. Time to distract and deflect in the hopes that he doesn’t pay attention to it. “Does this count as LARPing?” What the fuck was that? Shut up, Max! “I feel like there’s an argument to be made about superheroing being similar to LARPing.” Well, that comment was stupid as hell. She might actually just die of embarrassment tonight.

His promise not to let go does make her feel a bit better, at least. He sounds sincere enough, and she’s pretty sure that, if she could bring herself to open her eyes, his expression would match. As it stands, there’s no way she’s opening her eyes until they’re safely on the ground again. And like hell is she letting go. She nods and tries to focus on calming the fuck down. “Okay.”

God but she's adorable. Dick's noticed for a while just how easy it is to make Max blush, and so far he's managed to resist the impulse to push his luck and see just how red she'll go; he doesn't generally like being That Guy, and besides that it's the kind of behavior that tends to send mixed signals unless both parties fully understand the game being played.

But he's come to know Max a little better, and even to be more than passingly fond of her, and with her now there in his arms, red as a ripe apple and all but clinging to his neck…well, Dick Grayson only has so much willpower available.

"Never fear, Your Highness," he proclaims, his grin not fading in the slightest. "I'd never dream of taking such a risk with such precious cargo in my arms. We'll take the long way down." Walking down a fire escape with Max in his arms won't be any kind of trouble at all. "Just close your eyes and hold on," he adds, his voice now softer and reassuring. "I won't let you go. I promise."

[normaltothemax]

“Yeah,” she mutters, “but I didn’t have to fucking come up here.” As stupid as the decision had been, Max herself is not. She knows she did this to herself, that she only has herself to blame, and she is kicking herself for it.

So much so that she’s caught completely off guard when she suddenly finds herself lifted, squawking and flailing the slightest bit in her surprise. She just about loses her camera, but manages to tighten her grip on it at the last second. And then she’s grabbing at him, too, because holy fuck she does not want to get dropped because of her own shitty reflexes.

“Oh my god.” Max makes the mistake of looking at him. His words, combined with that grin, make her blush furiously, and she’s quick to look away again. But that leaves her looking at where they’re going. Watching them get closer to the edge of the roof.

She squeezes her eyes shut with a whimper. “Oh my god, seriously, you can just leave me up here.” Despite her words, her grip on him tightens. “Please don’t jump. Holy shit, I will legitimately kill you if you jump off this roof, right now.”

The concept of something being too high is an absolutely foreign one for Dick Grayson, who once broke the record for highest jump made by a human being just to see if he could. Fear of heights, though, is something he's come across more than once in other people, and it's honestly unfortunate that Max is afflicted with it.

"Fear isn't stupid," he tells her, trying to be reassuring. "It's not exactly something you can help." Though putting herself in this predicament? That was pretty stupid, even if he's not going to say that out loud.

For a moment Dick just watches her, weighing over options in his mind, balancing pros and cons. Max can get a little skittish under certain circumstances, even when she's not already scared, and Dick doesn't want to make things worse, but he really can't just walk away from her. Not and leave her like this.

That's why he just reaches out and scoops her up into his arms; pretty convenient, the way she'd curled up like that. "Good thing I came along then, isn't it? Every princess needs a knight to save her, isn't that what all the fairy tales say?" he grins down at her, heading for the fire escape.

[normaltothemax]

That startles a laugh out of her. It’s stupid, sure, but still funny, and unexpected enough that it catches her off guard. “Can’t afford much better on my salary,” she jokingly gripes back, but it’s a weak attempt at banter, and she knows it.

With a groan, she pulls up her knees to hide her face in them, arms wrapping around her legs, camera held tight in one hand. Maybe, if she can’t see him, she can pretend he’s not there. She can pretend this isn’t completely mortifying.

“I can’t.” She eventually manages. “It’s…fuck, it’s too high. I don’t like heights, alright?” That’s putting it mildly, and it’s probably—definitely—obvious, but she still can’t bring herself to say she’s scared of them. “God, it’s so stupid, but I thought I’d be able to get some good shots, and I did. I just didn’t think about how I was gonna get down after.”

God, the poor girl's almost in a panic. The last time Dick saw her anywhere near this worked up was at the last gala they attended, when her boss had left her high and dry talking to some of Gotham's worst snobs. Dick had, naturally stepped in to give her an escape route; how can he do otherwise here?

Besides. It's fucking adorable the way she's clinging to what little bravado she has left.

His face softens into a fondly amused smile, one hand reaching out to squeeze her shoulder gently. "Kind of a shitty place to live. The roof leaks like hell, and the thermostat's busted. You sure I can't help you down from your tower, Rapunzel?"