#Bruce used a numbering and tracker system to tell them apart

[secretidentie]

What do the bat's in the batcave do??

Like they never get startled or shit on anything important so they're probably trained. But does Bruce ever use them. Sort of like how the government used pigeons yk. Do they spy on bad guys? Has he ever called on them to finish a fight? Are there carrier bats that just send letters coz "batman's too mysterious to send emails Alfred!"?

There's no way Bruce "breathes in contingency plans" Wayne has a swarm of bat's at his disposal and doesn't use it ever. I'm sure there's a bunch of bat-centric contingency plans. Partly coz it's practical but mostly coz it's on brand.

[batarella]

The Commander - Part 5 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS ABOARD THE SMUT TRAIN. YA’LL NASTIES NEED A BREAK FROM ALL THE SMUT. TODAY I PRESENT SOME ACTION, ANGST, MORE BACKSTORY, AND FLUFFFFFFFFFF

WORDS: 3034 (yeah they’re getting longer) WARNINGS: A LIL BIT OF FLUFF AT THE END. MOSTLY ANGST.

MASTERLIST

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

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The Arkham Knight couldn’t be human. He only ever spoke in the fewest words. And when he did, it was either in the coldest indifference, annoyance, or anger. Mostly in anger. His identity, his past, what he liked and didn’t liked, no one knew about.

In fact, the Commander seen the most about him out of everyone the Knight meets in the Militia. And she doesn’t even know if he had a real name. He was only addressed to as the Knight, and his anger had been built up since he was very young, the Commander deduced. His remarks came out of him like it was in his nature to be an asshole at times. But she could tell it had evolved overtime. Like something brought out the worst of him and now he was this dark, cynical entity no one can touch.

Though she wasn’t any different, basically torn out of her mother’s womb and brought to a firing range.

Gotham City was never kind to her. And her to Gotham. They’d reached the top of a medium rise apartment building, one that stood directly across some kind of event that had people flocking to the edges of the street. The Arkham Knight hid his armor under a large red hoodie, making him look bigger than he already was. He had his hood on over a cap, so no one could see his face. Beside him was Militia Commander Y/N. She had on a bomber jacket and some loose cargo pants to hide her own suit.

They eyed the GCPD police car parked just outside the event grounds, and about three policemen scattered about to maintain its order. One of them was leaning against the hood of the car. The second one, a very heavy man, was standing right in front of the crowd at the stage. The third was at the farthest, making rounds around the perimeter.

The Knight watched the three move, blurring out the cheering crowd and the noises they made. The Commander waited, patiently.

The Arkham Knight’s voice was course. “Go.”

She moved fast, leaping from the top of the roof down its rusty fire escape. Her feet landed from ladder to ladder until it splashed onto a puddle left over from last night’s rain. Commander Y/N made her way down the crowd, keeping her head low as she practically disappeared.

She could only fire from this distance. The Commander had three shots, and a special gun that wrapped around her wrist. All she had to do was press the button on her thumb, and it would fire just as good as any pistol.

Except this one fired more than just bullets, and it was more silent than even a whisper.

One on the car to her right, one at the stage in front, and one at the far back.

At the corner of her eye, she saw the Knight behind the crowd, his hood covering more than half his face. His eyes were on her, waiting.

He nodded.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She raised her arm, staring to pull her hair to a tie. It pointed right at her right and she fired.

One.

She turned, so casually it was like the sun had just caught her eyes. Her arm facing behind her, she fired again.

Two.

Then her hair was in a ponytail, she smoothed it, then brought her arms to her front. Just narrowly missing a passerby, she fired.

Three.

Done. She caught the Knight’s eye. Three trackers landed right at the three policemen’s communication devices peeking just outside their pockets. It was too small to even make out, but the Knight’s hacking device lit up, and they were online.

He toyed with the device, small enough to fit his pocket. The Knight looked like he was just using his phone, even when it wasn’t a good idea to do so in such a crowd. Commander Y/N kept on the lookout, but none of the policemen seem to be bothered.

Hurry up. The Knight continued to fidget. Y/N squeezed on her wrist gun, ready to fire at any threat. A full minute had passed and the Knight threw his head back. He nodded at her. They’d done it.

They hacked GCPD.

Just those three trackers were enough to trace the full source of any communication network GCPD had used. When the night comes, they’ll be ahead of these men by a mile.

Though GCPD was never the real threat.

Commander Y/N nodded back and walked toward the Knight. He handed her the hacking device, which was lit in green.

“Send it to intelligence when we’re back.”

“Yes sir,” she said, stuffing it into her pocket.

Then the Knight looked behind her, at the crowd and the stage in front. The noise had grown louder and a man, the billionaire Bruce Wayne walked to the podium, a bright smile on his handsome face as he spoke.

“Come on,” she said to the Knight. “Slade’s sent the first of our Diamondbacks.”

It took a while for him to look away, though the Knight didn’t look like he wanted to stick around to any more of the festivities. She walked right beside him, her hands relaxed to her side while the Knight kept his deep in his pockets. The sky looked just about as gloomy as the Knight’s expression, and it was freezing. No one looked at them as they turned into an alleyway.

“Just this one?”

“If you’re satisfied with it, another batch arrives tomorrow.”

Then they turned for an abandoned entrance into Gotham’s subway system. It was covered in wooden planks. The Knight tore it off with his bare hands. They jumped in, trying to ignore the smell, as they walked deeper into the tunnels. They were met with a closed gate, and a large circular scanner right at the center. The Knight pressed his palm against it and the gate opened.

The walked father in, the Knight took off his hoodie, then his pants, then he brought out his visor and placed it over his head. “We’re calling Slade.”

The Commander unzipped her jacket, then her loose pants took off to reveal the tighter one in her suit. It was even colder under the tunnels, but she didn’t falter. She followed closely by the Knight’s side, jumping over the old subway station’s portals down to the railway.

Just as they were met with a large figure covered by a dirty white cloth, the Knight pulled out a device from his bag.

It didn’t take long for Slade to answer. He was a holograph, his clothed mask floating above the screen laid flat with the Knight’s hand.

“Where is it?”

“Right here,” The Knight pointed the device to the covered drone. “Commander.”

Commander Y/N jumped to the railway and pulled the cloth off, revealing the finally finished, ready to deploy Diamondback Drone.

“She’s a good lookin’ piece of boom, wouldn’t you say?” Slade’s voice echoed into the tunnels. “Commander Y/N, why don’t you go test it out?”

She climbed up its side. “Were the steering and thrust issues worked out?” said the Knight.

“Nope.”

“Slade, I told you maneuverability and speed are key if these are going to have a chance against his weaponry.”

“Commander, fire at the wall.”

The Commander grabbed hold of its missile launcher and fired.

And it was more like a bomb than a missile, and several shots of it. It tore off what was left of the abandoned cement, spreading its fire around the railway and leaving large holes big enough for a man to crawl in on its walls.

Commander Y/N didn’t look flustered. She wiped the flash of sweat off her forehead and turned to the Knight, who stared intently at the destroyed walls. “Say the word, and I’ll send out a hundred of these. More than enough to take the bastard down.

“More than enough to send your demons free,” Slade said. The Knight seemed preoccupied, and he didn’t flinch when the Commander jumped off the tank.

“Commander Y/N,” Slade said as she approached the Knight’s side. “I’m about to start the final phase of our men’s training.”

“Final phase?”

“I have my standards, you have yours. The way you train these men are different from mine. It shouldn’t take more than a week.”

Commander Y/N nodded, surprised Slade didn’t have to insult her when they’d constantly have to fight over the Knight’s graces when it comes to their preferences.

“Make sure they’re ready for anything he has to throw at us, Slade,” he said to the hologram. Then Slade was gone, and the tunnel seemed emptier with the fires burning out.

The Commander placed her hand on the drone’s side. “It fired three rounds at a time, and its fast. Exactly like the Rattler but it will be harder to deflect.”

“Will that be enough?”

She goes to the front, inspects the damage and looks into the holes. She reaches in, but the missiles have reached too far back. “It should be. This ones’ harder to destroy than all our Rattler drones. Three sensor arrays and a more durable shield over its optics.”

The Knight turned to her as she went on.

“But it doesn’t lock onto its target. The Cobra drones would be a better investment. Even if we had half the number of Rattlers, the Cobras won't have Batman driving around any of the streets without having to encounter one or two.”

“We have enough of those.”

“Never enough to cover even one of the islands by themselves, especially when no 60 mm canon can penetrate its shell. These ones have a larger target right at its sensors.”

The Knight stood directly in front of the drone’s sensor array, with the Commander, running her hands on the right side.

“How old are you?”

The Commander stopped, but didn’t allow herself to flinch. She looked at the Knight puzzlingly and narrowed her eyebrows.

“You know just as much as Slade does.”

“More,” she interrupted. “I know more.”

“Answer my question.”

“What difference does it make?” The Commander sighed, as she circled the tank, keeping her hand to its side. The Knight kept his distance, but followed her. His robotic voice made his questions seem more threatening than personal. She was at the other side, to the left of the drone, when she spoke.

“Twenty-one.”

The Knight came up to the corner, and the Commander reached the front. She turned again and avoided the look on his visor.

“How old were you when you knew how to fire a tank?”

She kept her voice low. This was worse than being screamed at. “Fifteen.”

The Knight didn’t show his surprise, but his silence spoke the volumes for him. “Who trained you?”

“My uncle.”

“When did he start training you?”

“When did this become an interrogation?”

The Knight stopped, and so did the Commander. The stood at either sides of the drone, right at its hood. She stared at him, and he stared back.

“I want to know how you were bred into… this.”

“I fired my first gun when I was five and hit my first target with a rifle when I was seven.” Her voice was expressionless, like he had told these to herself more than to anyone else.

“Your uncle was quite the mercenary.”

“Oh, he was the best,” she said. “But he killed his first target at twenty-two. I was sixteen.”

That… didn’t impress him as much as it saddened him.

“I didn’t have any business being a child. He turned me into this… machine,” she brought her hands to the hood of the tank. “One that just can't miss a single target even if I wanted to.”

“And you turned to sex to air it out.”

The Commander looked up, almost glaring at him. Why the fuck was he asking these questions.

“I’ve only had it a few times,” she said, walking to his side. Then she leaned in, even closer to the Knight. He had his head slightly turned to her when she spoke. “I’ve had it with you the most.”

The Knight didn’t say anything when she walked by him and headed for the exit, grabbing her own bag from the floor. The Knight quietly followed, getting his clothes back out and stuffing his visor inside before they stepped out the subway station.

“We have about three hours,” she told him as they walked down the sidewalk. The noises sank in and she spoke louder. “Then we head for the Batcave before he goes out for patrol, which should be around 10.”

The Knight placed his cap on his head, then pulled his hoodie up. They turned to a corner, back to where the rally had taken place, except the people had left and the sun had started to set. They walked to their motorcycles. “We can wait it out in the cave.”

The Knight approached his bike, but watched as Y/N grabbed her helmet and started the engine. “Wait.”

Commander Y/N stopped.

He took his out his comms, fidgeted with the device and held the earpiece to his ear. It took a while, then the person on the other line answered.

“Slade,” he said. “I’ll have to spend another night in Gotham.”

He turned around, walking farther away so she wouldn’t be staring at him while he talked.

“I’ll be back in less than 48 hours. And it’s a go on the Diamondback, but have more Cobra Drones as well.”

She heard Slade’s voice for a moment. “As much as you can,” the Knight finished. He turned off his comms, then went for his bike.

“Follow me,” he said, taking his hat off and putting on his helmet.

They drove off, and they were going further and further away from where their target supposedly is. The bikes buzzed through, her driving closely at his tail until they’d reached a street littered with no more than five people.

And the buildings were abandoned, boarded up the front entrance. The Commander saw a few homeless men by the alleys, but it didn’t even look like thugs frequented the area. She followed him as they parked their bikes near a dumpster at the back of the building.

“Where are we?”

“We need to go up the fire exit.” The Knight pulled down the ladder. “I used to live here.”

“Go up the third floor, then go in through the window. Stay there. I’ll come back.”

The Commander was still so confused, even as the Knight had started his bike again and drove off.

Xxxxxx

His place was… small.

It must have been years, because there was enough dust to on the surfaces to cause tears in her eyes. Timidly, she sat on the bed. There was only one. Twin size. Pushed up against the wall. He had a desk adjacent to it, and on the other side, the window she came in through. Other than the cramped up bathroom and a closet, that was practically it in his apartment.

But the Knight was still so young. She estimated this place to have been abandoned for five to seven years. If that was the case, he should have been in his early teens, living alone without a parent. Was she right?

She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Minutes later, she heard the ladders of the fire exit screech. The Knight walked in.

He was holding two pizza boxes.

“Dinner,” he said. “Bottoms up.”

The commander suddenly felt the surge in her stomach. She’d forgotten to eat. She stood, opened a box and helped herself with a slice.

“Why are we here?”

The Knight ignored her and went to the bathroom. It took a while, probably because he had to clean it before even using it. When he stepped out, he looked less bulky. His armor was placed inside his duffel bag which he placed on the floor, before grabbing a slice from the box and digging in.

It was… unusual. To say the least. Y/N’s almost never seen the Knight talk outside the subject of the militia, let alone eat. He leaned his back against the desk, looking at her as he took a big bite. They ate quietly, not even taking a seat when they finished through the two boxes before the sun had fully set.

She slumped back on the bed. “We should head out by now.”

The Knight closed the boxes and threw them in the trash. Then he leaned on the desk, arms over his chest. He didn’t look at her.

“We’re staying here for the night, then we head for the cave tomorrow at dusk.”

“What are we supposed to do by then?”

The Knight licked his lips.

“I know you don’t sleep,” he said. “Back in the barracks.”

“Yes I do.”

“You sleep almost an hour a day,” he cocked his jaw. “Every single day.”

The Commander couldn’t even fathom his concern. This was all too much. “I’m fine.”

“You have tonight, and the whole day tomorrow. I won't wake you up. You sleep as much as you can. When we go back to South America you’ll never catch a break.”

She grew silent and licked her teeth.

“Where will you sleep?”

The Knight stood from the desk, went to his closet and fished out a sheet and a pillow. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”

Fucking hell.

His concern just made her all the more uncomfortable. Just yesterday, you couldn’t tell the man apart from an AI robot.

And the night grew darker. She laid on her back, the sheet dusted off shielding her off from the cold. The Knight faced away from her and laid flat on the carpet. His chest rose a steady beat. But he was awake.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked. “And how old you are?”

He was startled, but he didn’t turn to look at her. An answer wasn’t the least bit expected. Never from him. But surprisingly, she heard his voice, low enough for it to be easily missed.

“Twenty-two.”

And that was all he said. She turned facing the wall and closed her eyes.

 I LOVE YOU ALL. LEAVE A COMMENT IF YOU CAN. I’D LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS

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THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

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  Taglist: @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki @everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208 @offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal @mythicbitchx @supremehaunter

[supersoldierfreak]

One Last Mission

Hi guys!!! I put up a post about this story asking if you wanted it and the general answer was a big yes. But for those who didn’t see the post here we go.

***Summary: You’re a ‘retired’ Level 12 SHIELD agent who has been laying low ever since the Project Insight disaster. Now, a couple years later Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton show up at your doorstep asking a favour; they need your help on one last mission. You agree to help them out on the condition that they left you alone afterwards. It was fine until it all fell apart…***

Woo! So that’s the summary and this is the first part!

It was a quiet Thursday night for you as you sipped on a glass of wine with a new book.  Of course, nothing could ever go as planned as a shrill ring filled the air as your personal phone rang on the table. Silently getting up, you took the knife strapped under the table and held it behind you before answering it. 

“It’s Black Widow speaking.”

“Bloody hell, what are you doing?!” Immediately your eyes searched your apartment as you hissed to the phone. 

“You gave me your number in case of emergencies.” Natasha Romanoff, also known as Black Widow, replied as her partner said something with didn’t quite come through clearly. 

“I swear to god if it isn’t an-”

“We need your help, L/N. And you know we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t an emergency.” Clint Barton, whose code name was Hawkeye, cut you off as he officially joined the conversation. 

“Don’t cut me off again, Barton.” Levelling the phone with a glare as if it was Clint, you walked back to your wine and downed it because you knew that if they really had come around to calling you, it was going to be a big deal. Subtly, you twirled the knife in your hand and slotted it into into one of the belt loops on your jeans. 

“I’m not doing anything for you. I’m laying low now because my enemies make the majority of yours look like kindergarten children.”

“It’s about Budapest.” Natasha’s words stopped you in your track of denial. 

“I’m sorry, what? I saved your asses there and now your telling me that you messed it up even further?” You could already feel the impending headache begin to ebb its way into your brain. 

“Something like that." 

You groaned and rolled your eyes. "You’re useless. Give me the eight. Now.” As they explained everything to you about the mission you simply sat back down and soaked it all in. 

“That’s nice but I’m still not sure why you need me. You’re taking your boyband there and I don’t see where I fit in.” You were leaning on the back on your sofa, watching your phone as the two ex-agents talked.

You could hear rustling from the other end of the line before Natasha spoke. “Y/N, look, aside from us nobody else knows what went down in Budapest.” That’s not true. “And you were a Level 12 SHIELD TASA certified agent who was and still is a myth to most people. We were Level 6 and look at what we do. I think that says it all, don’t you?”

You knew that she had a point; if they were coming to you it had to be big, and from their explanation you knew they were worried about what could pan out from this. 

“When do you need me?” You asked and ran a hand through your hair. 

“We need you yesterday; the team didn’t want to get anyone else involved but we insisted we knew someone trustworthy enough to bring on to the case. Didn’t specify any details so what you say is all they know about you.” Clint’s voice gave away a lopsided smirk and that brought a small smile to your face. 

“Give me twenty and I’ll be on my way.”

In those minutes, you had your bag packed; weapons packed in a separate bag; your old uniform on and all of your typical arsenal attached in various places; your neighbour to look after the place; any confidential paperwork hidden away in a safe; and finally your ‘missions phone’ reactivated. You walked down out of your apartment building into an inconspicuous car which you had purchased after fleeing DC after the ‘Potomac Disaster’, as the intelligence community had taken to calling it. 

It was an easy drive to the airport where all you had to do was flash your badge you were let through, no questions asked and both of your bags were allowed with you as carry on luggage. Four hours later, you were driving up to the Avengers Compound in Upstate New York in a rented car and parking in the underground car park at the back of the building. Getting to the Avengers was worryingly easy, granted that you avoided reception in the lobby.

You walked up the stairs, as the elevator was bound to have Stark’s AI system and cameras in which would alert him to your presence and therefore ruin your entrance. As you ascended, you recognised the two people’s voices who called you and stopped at that floor which was penultimate to the top. You slid through the door silently and no one noticed you, much to your pleasure and you moved into the shadows of the natural evening light that fells in beams into the room. Looking around the room, it had one glass wall overlooking the grounds and a open space plan, allowing easy access to every part of the floor and leaving it vulnerable to aerial attack despite the glass likely being tinted. 

You just quite happily stood in your corner watching the exchange until soon your moment came.

“If you trust this person I suppose they can’t be that bad.” Steve Rogers reckoned to Clint and Natasha as the sat in a vague gathering with the other members of the team.

“They’re better than ‘not bad’, Rogers.” Natasha was smooth in defending you.

“We know nothing about this person yet you expect us to trust them?” Wanda Maximoff’s European accent cut in.

“I have faith that whomever they bring in will not betray us as Miss Romanoff’s and Mr Barton’s trust is very hard earned.” Vision placated the people in the room considerably.

Scott Lang decided to add to the discussion. “Wanda had a point. We know nothing about this person.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed on the wall you were leaning on. “You know for a fact that I exist; that’s more than more people even dream.” 

The room turned silent as everybody stood up in some type of defensive pose apart from Clint and Natasha.

“FRIDAY why didn’t you inform me of a new visitor?”

The AI replied formally. “Forgive me sir, but I was unaware of the person’s presence. It seems my scans were unable to detect a new life form.” 

“Remind me to update you.” Tony said drily whilst tapping at a device in his hands. “How long have you been there?” 

“Fifteen minutes and counting.” 

You looked at every person individually only to notice that there was another in the shadows, yet they were on the other side of the room. Noticing that you had seen them, they took a step forward and you felt the wind get knocked out of your chest. It had been a while since you had seen the man in front of you and it had not been an easy meeting.

“Soldat.” It was one word and everybody looked ready to strike and both Natasha and Clint stood up, looking between you and the man.

“You haven’t changed at all.” His voice. Oh how you missed his voice.

“I could say the same about you. When was it last?”

“Beijing?”

“I suppose Tokyo doesn’t really count.”

“No. It doesn’t.” A small quirk of his lips appeared as he truly took in your appearance and the bags behind you.

“Buck? Who is this?” Steve looked between the two of you, lingering longer on you.

James saw you nod. “This is Shadow; she’s the best in the game alongside The Winter Soldier. We’ve met on numerous occasions, sometimes with conflicting interests, sometimes with common interests.” 

“Do you trust her?” 

James didn’t reply for a moment and you metaphorically held your breath. “I do as much as you can at our level.”

“I’m sorry but that is not much to go on.” Bruce Banner looked at everyone briefly as he looked out on the grounds.

“That may be so, Doctor, but I guarantee I am the best suited to help you out on this.” 

“And why is that?” Tony flopped back down on to the couch.

“The original Avengers such as yourself all had a ranking of Level Six, correct? Well, apart from Captain Rogers who was Level Seven.” You made eye contact with said people. “I was Level Twelve TASA certified. There are only three people who have made it that far. Two are in this room and the other is dead.” 

“What is ‘TASA certified’? I have not heard of it.” Peter Parker, the youngest by far in the room, asked you nervously.

“Are you even allowed to be in here? You look like you’re two.”

“No I’m not! I’m a teenager.”

You rolled your eyes and looked at James. “Whatever. Just nobody feed that fucking thing after midnight.” 

Peter looked like a deer caught in the headlights and tried to stutter a reply.

“Relax kid; I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that kind of thing?” You trailed off suggestively and smirked at the stuttering mess the teen was. “TASA is a badge that can only be earned at Level Ten intelligence or higher. It’s an acronym that stands for Tracker, Assassin, Spy, Agent.”

“So you’re a female version of Frosty?” Sam Wilson clarified, from where his arms were crossed over his chest.

“To a degree.” You acknowledged.

“Which means if you turn on us there’s no hope.” Scott looked torn between amusement and annoyance.

“I won’t turn on you. I’m here by choice, not obligation.”

“That’s reassuring.” Somebody muttered and you rolled your eyes.

“Fine. Maybe this will help reassure you.” You moved over to the breakfast bar of the kitchen and cleared the space so that they could see. “Look and pay attention.”- You pulled off the first item -“Twenty seven inch Katana. Two matching throwing knives. Twelve piece knife set. Glock 19. Two smoke bombs. Single grenade. Zip ties. Handcuffs. Grippy fingerless gloves. Milkor mgl rounds. Glock 17. Blade embedded shoes. Spare ammunition. Lock-picks. Electrocution rings. Tactical belt. Facial armour. Bullet proof bodice.” 

Having taken all of that off, you almost felt naked in an odd kind of way, all the people in the room staring at you.

“That’s a lot of kit.” Sam said from his position next to Steve.

This time Natasha answered for you. “The higher you get the more kit you might need.” 

“Anyways, Natasha. Clint.” You finally greeted the people who asked you to come.

“Nice to see you.” Clint replied and Natasha smiled in agreement.

You felt a probing in your head and made eye contact with the responsible party. “If you want to know something, Wanda, just ask instead of stealing the information.”

“We know nothing about you other than that your code name is Shadow and that you are skilled like Bucky. What’s your real name?”

“My real name?” You smirked lightly. “My real name is Y/N L/N, but please, call me Y/N.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

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[accioharry]

part 6 is LONG and i have never written anything this angsty but i saw spiderman again today and that scene™ made me so emotional that this was the result! i hope you enjoy xx

if you’ve never read this series, you can find part 1 here, and if you missed part 5, you can find it here!

now that peter and michelle are dating, ned isn’t the only chair guy around

michelle has taken to helping both ned and peter with spidey duties

she even convinced may to let them use the linen closet in the living room as a “headquarters” for them, as long as they close the door when guests are around and go along with the idea that “peter accidentally sealed it shut as a kid” 

peter doesn’t know how she did it, she and ned found old computer pieces lying around in dumpsters and somehow made in that linen closet, 3 computer monitors, 2 keyboards, 2 headsets, and more. 

it even impressed tony stark when he came to check in on peter and may

and oh boy did may yell at him

but then tony mentioned his connections with MIT and well, peter brings brownies to tony and pepper quite often now

one day while May is at work, Peter and MJ are watching a history documentary. 

MJ is lying across Peter’s lap and is so focused on the untold stories of ancient civilization when the linen closet beeps

and suddenly Peter’s burrito is flying and MJ jumps over the couch and opens the closet and starts typing away

“w-what? the burrito!” peter starts to protest but MJ waves him off. 

“we got a hostage situation near the high school,” she pulls a chair up. she managed to hack into police coms a few weeks ago, and even Ned was impressed on that one.

“how many?” peter now hops over the couch and leans over behind her, resting his chin on her head.

“not a lot...about eight according to the police coms. i can’t tell what building it is, the map isn’t clear-” she opens her palm and peter knows to drop his phone in her hand, and suddenly ned is on the line

“MJ...why don’t you just call me from your phone? you have my number?-”

“shut it loser. we got a hostage situation near school and i need my chair partner.” 

“be there in 10″ and ned hangs up and MJ tosses the phone up to Peter, who catches it no problem

“karen, run facial recognition,” peter says, and MJ looks confused. 

“who the hell is-” she starts but is cut off when the third screen lights up with a criminal database.

“i hacked karen into the system when you went to get the burritos,” he mumbles into her hair. “she’s an AI tony had made.” 

michelle nods and then peter is laughing into her hair. “what parker?” she goes to shrug him off, but peter spins her chair around to face him

“you were jealous,” he’s smug.

“was not-” she goes to turn around but peter raises his eyebrows. “i don’t get jealous.”

“mhmm,” peter says before kissing her quickly and MJ rolls her eyes. again, a term of endearment. 

“suit up spidey boy,” she turns back to the screens, and ignores peter’s, “but i’m spiderman!” in the background 

it takes ned less than 10 minutes to burst through the door with his backpack 

“a hostage situation! we haven’t had that in a while!” 

“wow ned, so respectful of the situation,” she says as ned pulls up a chair next to him. 

“peter already out?” he asks, and she nods. 

though she’ll never admit it to them, the real reason she forced ned and peter to let her help was because after the building incident, she couldn’t stand the thought of peter being out there alone. and even if he’d never let her out there with him physically, at least she was doing what she could

ned pulls up a map with peter’s suit tracker and puts on a headset. “obi to anakin, you copy?”

“why am i anakin? i’m not going down a dark path-” peter’s voice comes through the headset, and michelle breathes out a sigh of relief. 

ned ignores him. “you’re getting close. police have the area surrounded, but i can’t get access to a camera inside the building.” 

“it looks like a general retail store,” mj says from her headset. ned is giving more details to peter when mj yells, “i got a camera! sending it over now,” and just like that peter is able to see what ned and michelle are seeing

“oh shit,” ned mutters. 

there’s at least ten masked men and just as mj predicted, eight hostages. the men look heavily armed, and definitely are not amateurs. 

“don’t go in peter,” mj warns. “sit this one out.”

“are you kidding me? if i don’t do something, those guys will kill everyone!” peter yells back, and according to the tracker, he’s on the roof of the building now. 

“you can’t take on ten guys at once by yourself!” mj raises her voice too, and ned slowly backs his chair away. if peter and mj are gonna fight over this, he should probably stay out of it 

“whatever. ned, give me a way in.” peter snaps, but mj shoots her hand to ned’s chair before he can scoot back in.

“no way,” mj narrows her eyes at the screen. “ned, don’t,”

“i’m doing this with or without your help, MJ.” peter’s tracker moves down the side of one of the buildings. 

“it’s too dangerous!” 

“get me a way in, or the stay the hell out of it!” peter says, and mj yanks her headset off and walks into the bathroom.

it’s silent for a moment, before ned thinks it’s safe enough to speak. 

“you can get in through the side door,” he says, and peter does. 

the fight is going well so far. peter has 3 of the men webbed up and 2 of them ran away in fear. ned is keeping him updated on the other 5 as police rush out the hostages

“on your left!” ned shouts, and peter nearly gets shot as he shoots out a web grenade.

“taser web!” he yells at two guys coming from the back, and ned hollers. 

“in the corner!” and peter webs him up. 

suddenly one of the guys comes out from behind the aisle and ned yells to peter, but the guy is faster. 

and peter is shot in the chest

“pull up his vitals!” mj screams, suddenly back in the chair. her eyes are bloodshot and she’s obviously been crying, but ned doesn’t have time to ask. 

“peter?” he calls into the headset. no response. “peter!”

“ned, where are his vitals?” mj is scrambling to find the location of the nearest hospital. 

“they aren’t good,” ned mutters. 

“keep him talking,” mj starts typing in coordinates into the computer. there’s a protocol set up, the “lost baby” protocol (tony’s name, not theirs)

basically, if peter gets in a situation, mj can trigger an alert to the avengers facility upstate by typing in coordinates. 

“he’s not responding!” ned yells. 

“okay,” she takes a deep breath. “okay it’s going to be fine. tony is on his way, it’s fine-”

and then the alarm goes off, signaling peter’s heart has stopped. 

happy arrives at the apartment twenty minutes later to drive the two of them to the hospital, and they pick may up from work on the way

luckily, he was in the area at the time

ned has his laptop, replaying the footage of the fight over and over again, doing his best to use karen’s facial recognition to identify these guys

and may is on the phone with pepper in the passenger seat, crying because thank god he’s alive but also scared because the bullet made his suit malfunction, which is why the alarm said his heart stopped

luckily, it never did

mj is leaning her head on the window, her headphones in, and all she can think about was how none of this would’ve happened if two people were watching the camera

tony and sam got to peter in less than 2 minutes and flew peter to a quinjet a few miles from the city where bruce was waiting with a stretcher, an iv, and everything needed to keep peter stable

by the time may, mj, and ned had reached the avengers facility, peter was already in surgery

“holy...” ned mutters, taking in the surroundings of the facility but may is walking quickly to pepper and maria hill who take the 3 of them down a long hallway. 

the wait feels like months. may has disappeared to talk with tony and ned is off giving the footage of the fight to maria and natasha, and mj is by herself in the hallway

she texted her parents to say she was sleeping over at betty’s, but that’s it. 

“michelle?” she looks up to see steve rogers standing over her. 

“uh...yeah?” she scoots over on the bench, and steve sits. 

“i’m Steve, peter has told us a lot about you.”

“oh god,” she shakes her head, laughing slightly. Her face turns serious, “how is he?”

steve pauses, “from what Bruce said, he’s going to be fine. the bullet didn’t hit anything major, but it was tricky to get it out. he’s sleeping right now, may and ned were heading to sit with him.”

mj nods, fiddling with her sweater. she’s not one to cry in public, and she’s not one to express her emotions either. even with peter, she still teases him and calls him a loser and rolls her eyes at him, but he knows she means well. 

“he really cares about you,” steve says softly. 

“we...we got in a fight,” she lowers her head. right before he went in the store, and I left the computers because I couldn’t take it. he was on my last nerves and I left and then he got shot because I wasn’t watching the screens and-” 

“it’s not your fault,” steve says reassuringly. “tony showed us the footage, there was no way you or ned or peter could’ve seen that guy coming.” 

michelle just shrugs, and steve sits with her until may comes out. 

“he wants to see you,” she smiles, holding out her hand. 

she looks over at steve, who gestures as if to say ‘go on’, and she reaches up and takes may’s hand. 

peter’s room is small with bare white walls and a tv in the corner playing an episode of the clone wars. mj walks in and may tells ned to come with her to get food, and that’s when she finally lets herself look at peter.

the dork is smiling. actually smiling after all of this and mj wants to yell at him, but instead she settles for going on the side where peter isn’t hurt and sits on his bed and puts her head on his chest

“hey darling,” peter says and michelle looks up at him. “thought i’d try a nickname out, thoughts?” he smiles, and mj puts her head back on his chest

“i’ll take the lack of response as a yes.”

“this is my fault.” 

“what?” peter says and she stands up, wiping the tears from her eyes and she starts pacing frantically. “what are you talking about?”

“this,” she gestures to the heart monitor. “is because of me. because i bailed because i got mad at you and i wasn’t watching the screen-”

“babe,” peter cuts her off. “this is because i didn’t listen to you. tony told me how fast you got those coordinates out to him, you did it in under 10 seconds.” 

“i was stressed,” she narrows her eyes. 

“you saved me.”

“it said your heart stopped.”

“but it didn’t”

“but it said-”

“it didn’t.”

 “but-”

“please don’t blame yourself. i know you’re doing it because you’re scared, but i promise you i’m okay. i made you that promise didn’t i?”

“that stupid promise,” she mutters, taking peter’s hand and letting him pull her back to lay on his chest, away from the bullet of course

“i was so...scared,” she whispers. 

“me too,” he whispers back.

and that’s how ned and may find them, michelle asleep on his chest, and peter’s good arm wrapped around her, his face nuzzled in her hair. 

update: part 7 is here!

[regrettablewritings]

Being Bruce’s S/O and Getting Kidnapped HCs

Because we’re all disgusting sadists and I obviously have issues. Trigger warning for kidnapping, torture, and some cruel language from the kidnapper’s side … I have a lot of problems …

Bruce has a crapton of enemies, even without the members of his Rogues Gallery being taken into consideration

From the nameless thugs to the morally bankrupt dirty cops to the monstrous traffickers, everyone wants to take down the Bat of Gotham

But for Bruce, it’s a nearly entirely different crowd…

Overzealous competitors and enemies of Wayne Industries, people who just want to slander his name to detrimental effect, people who’ve never met even met Bruce yet have an intense obsession with his existence that could easily tread into murderous territories, even a few villains from his moonlighting job who simply want to take a crack at the Prince of Gotham

Of course, being that Bruce is a taller-than-average guy with pretty decent coverage, there aren’t many opportunities that can be taken to kidnap him

You, on the other hand…

You, the significant other of one of the richest men in not only Gotham, but the entire world, the one people liken to Cinderella, who still keeps an apartment in the city as well as the humble job they’d had even before dating the billionaire… You’re easy pickings

You’d kept your downtown apartment because you liked the environment it was in: surrounded by enough noise to never feel too alone, but peaceful enough for you to relax. It wasn’t in a bad part of Gotham, either, so you’d gotten used to the feeling of not worrying too much. Besides, it was closer to your job than Bruce’s home could ever hope to be.

But you’d been careless: Even if you were in one of the nicer areas, Gotham was still Gotham

You were supposed to be having a date night with Bruce: dinner at the Blue Heron, one of the finest establishments on either side of the Gotham-Metropolis Bay. And you were completely psyched, planning out exactly what foods you wanted to try while you were there

What you hadn’t planned, surprisingly enough, was what you would wear. You eventually pieced together a cute outfit at last minute but realized that the crowning piece wasn’t with you: a pair of Martha Wayne’s earrings.

Bruce had given them to you for your one-year anniversary. Considering how much Bruce loved his mother, you understood how big of a gesture this was, both in terms of how much he loved you and trusted you, and in terms of how much faith he had in this relationship altogether

After frantically searching your and Bruce’s room at the Glasshouse, you remembered that you’d left them at your apartment after you two spent the night there a week ago

It didn’t occur to you that someone might be hiding in there

It just seemed so quiet…

It wasn’t until you’d walked into your bedroom to look through your jewelry box that a hand slammed over your mouth, a damp cloth being pressed to your nose. You knew what it was, you were so angry with yourself for inhaling out of reflex

You weren’t sure what hit you first: The darkness or the fear

Bruce would be at the reserved table. He’s on time for once. How ironic it was, he noted, that you weren’t

The first couple of minutes, he was being patient. By the end of an hour, he was anxious.

He tries to appear calm and collected: He checks his phone, orders some drinks but rations his sips so no-one can suspect he’s a lush

He must’ve sent at least seventeen messages asking of your whereabouts, if you were okay, etc. Because of the Blue Heron’s environment and how calmly he’s trying to appear, he can only actually call your phone four times

By the end of the second and final hour, of waiting, he felt humiliated and, for lack of better word, pissed

For two hours, he endured the stares and whispers of people looking his way – everyone wanted to take a gander at Bruce Wayne getting stood up

And stood up by his significant other no less!

It’s only during the drive home that he recognizes that beneath the fury, he’s also extremely hurt by your apparent abandoning

Because of who he is, both day and night respectively, Bruce doesn’t get as many opportunities as he’d like to spend time with you. Therefore, every date and moment together needs to count. The fact that you missed this one after expressing so much excitement prior wounds not only his pride, but his heart as well

In hindsight, it is the fact that you had been looking forward to it that he should’ve known something was wrong

As intelligent as Bruce is, we all know how blinded by his emotions he can potentially be and how it clouds his judgment

It is only when he returns to his home that Alfred begins to demand where you are

Before Bruce can even explain himself, his phone goes off: Unknown number? He almost doesn’t answer. When he does, however, a chill caresses and then grips his spine with an icy fist:

“We get why an Average Joe might like her, but… You ain’t exactly average, Brucie. So here’s what’s gonna happen: we’re gonna give you a chance to prove how much this bitch means to you. 24 hours. That’s all we’re gonna give you. In those 24, you’re gonna give us $6 million. Gonna leave it at the address we give you. In fact, leave a little tip of $300K first so we’ll know you’re in for the long run. You’re gonna leave a bag at the corner of 1939 May Street and 27th. But I swear to God, if you stiff us or stick around to watch what goes down, we’ll fuck up her pretty face and make sure you’ll pay just to keep her away. Got it? You give us what we want, we’ll give you what you tell the press you like. Everybody wins. Oh, and, uh, don’t even think about getting the cops or the Batman involved. Wouldn’t wanna surprise us so hard that a bullet goes flying through your damsel, would we?”

The blaring sound that accompanies being hung up on worked in sync with the numbness beginning to overcome Bruce. He wasn’t sure what he said next to Alfred, only that the next thing he knew, he was settled in front of the multiple computer screens set up in the Batcave, fervently trying to find as much information as he could. The problem was, he wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to be looking for

The phone was a burner, so there was no luck in trying to track it. And while the speaker didn’t sound like any of the rogues he usually encountered, there was little luck in that either, considering that they were often accompanied by a whole host of toadies that he’d never even heard speak; one of them probably could’ve been set up to throw him off

He considers the possibility that they’re linked with Lex but ultimately tosses that idea to the side: Lex, in all his cunning, probably wouldn’t be able to communicate with anyone on the outside of penitentiary enough to plan out a ransom. And even if he had, somebody would’ve found out about it

It eventually is just accepted that your kidnappers are likely just regular people with multiple tricks up their sleeves and a bone to pick out of sheer greed

The fact that somebody so simple could hurt Bruce in such a way infuriates and humiliates him. He knew that something like this would probably happen at some point, but now that it has, he realizes he never would’ve been prepared for it. And he can’t express how angry at himself he is and that now you’re paying the price for it

Honestly? It’s a little too much like the night his parents died…

Meanwhile, you’ve spent your time in captivity in various states of consciousness, due to either stress-induced fainting, your captors slipping something questionable into your system whenever they felt you were getting too rowdy, or even getting clocked so hard that your body goes out cold

When you’re bleary-eyed, tied up in a chair, all you can do and slur some sass. Maybe spit at their feet

When you get more lively, your words become more biting and daring, trying to play off the facade that you’re not secretly terrified

Batman’s significant other or not, being held ransom is a terrifying situation. There’s no telling what your captors will do before the money gets there or if they’ll even give you up if Bruce gives them money

When they get too close, you bite, earning a backhand to the face. Really, if you say one word too many for their liking, you get struck. You’re not sure how long you’ve been in their captivity, but you’ve already received a painful amount of bruising, including a busted lip and a scar on your forehead

As much pain as you’re in, you quietly think to yourself about how at least they haven’t put their hands on you in other ways…

It therefore makes your heart freeze over with complete and utter fear when you hear one of the kidnappers call Bruce again about the ransom later on, mentioning something about “keeping you.”

You no longer offer any sass, instead training your eyes on the ground of this dimly-lit, old, abandoned warehouse they’ve held you up in, willing yourself desperately not to cry

Against his better judgement, Bruce does go to the assigned meeting place

He doesn’t however, let the GCPD know, deciding that too many people would reek havoc: Because once the police department knows that Bruce Wayne’s s/o has been kidnapped, then the media will find out and make things even more complicated than they already were

Money isn’t an object to the billionaire, so he has no trouble leaving the demanded $300K in a bag

He even lets the two mooks who came to retrieve the bag get a head start on leaving as he watches them from the shadows, content with the fact that he’d placed a tracking device in the bag

Bruce does, however, go as his alter ego, which scares the living shit out the man when he realizes who’s tailing him and his partner

He’s not excited about getting thrown off the trail, however, when one of the mooks attempts to take him on, letting the one with the bag and  tracker get out of the area.

After trading fists in a pretty one-sided fight, Bruce would start demanding answers in that voice he reserves for when he’s extremely pissed off, made more unearthly and dark by the voice altering gadget his cowl is equipped with

Time is of the essence, and Bruce has no desire to pussyfoot around for an answer – he’s getting what he can, when he can

When the poor sap can only offer small potatoes worth of details, probably not desiring the punishment handed to snitches it takes everything Bruce has not to destroy the sobbing mess of a man

He’s already become an excessively aggressive figure as of late – the fact that your life is in danger only makes him closer to unhinged in his actions. He is thankfully aware of this, however, and stops himself from going through with much else by dropping the toady off in police custody

To add insult to injury, when he does follow the tracking device, Bruce finds that the guy who got away must have realized it was there, because Bruce finds himself down a dead end alley

The device, barely functioning at this point and on its last leg, is found in a garbage can, symbolic of where Bruce’s hopes of finding you any time soon had landed

Returning back to the Batcave to reconvene, he receives a phone call: Unknown Number. Shit.

After making certain that the voice altering device would not work during the call, he answers and hears:

“Brucie, Brucie, Brucie,” the caller sighs mockingly. He makes a tsk-ing noise with his tongue. “What did we say about getting the Bat involved?”

“I swear, I didn’t tell anyone,” Bruce insists, technically not a lie. He tries to sound vulnerable, like a regular man would be, but realizes he may not actually be trying at all. He adds in, “I don’t know how he found out – maybe he has phones tapped.”

The caller, one of your captors, isn’t buying it. “Bullshit,” he says in a tone between bemusement and irritation. “We sent two of our own just in case one of ‘em gets too cocky and tries to run with it, or in case you blabbed and one needs to run ahead of the other with the money. And what do you know, one of ‘em comes back pissin’ his pants about how Batman took down the other guy. Seems you’re not as invested in this whole idea as we thought you’d be, huh, Brucie?”

“I swear, I am, just –”

“Yeah, well, we’re not ones for playing games. That’s how the rest of the world works, Bruce: We ain’t all rich enough to screw around. Though, speaking of screw and common people …”

Bruce could feel his gut tying into knots in and around his lungs and heart

“Feisty as she is, we’ve kinda grown fond of your lil broad. Dunno … Thinkin’ of maybe keeping her!”

(Bruce is seething at this point, struggling not to break his phone by his mere grip)

The captor, if he knows, doesn’t care and continues to egg on and on about how they might as well “keep” you because “apparently Bruce doesn’t care much about you”

“Hell, I’ve taught my dogs not to bite me; how is this any different from the others? Use the right tactics and you can break any bitch.”

Bruce has only seen pure red a couple of times in his life. This is quite possibly the reddest he’s ever seen, fury nearly blinding his vision as his body begins to tremor with nigh uncontrollable wrath

“Tell you what: She really means that much – so much to you – then you wouldn’t mind it if we speed up your time limit. Now you have one hour. Use all those rich boy gadgets or whatever to track her down; that’s what the luxury of being rich can do, right? You find her before then, she’s yours. If not …”

He never finishes the sentence, hanging up the phone and leaving Bruce hanging on the last word. What the hell intentions lay behind that implication?!

Ten seconds later, Bruce receives his answer. He’s not sure if it’s better to have received it or not

It’s a picture of you, bruised, tired, and obviously stressed, tied up in a rickety chair. Your eyes are red and puffy from crying, tear streaks staining your face

Upon further inspection, Bruce notices that there’s a collar around your neck. A shock collar. The fact that they had one on standby makes his gut churn, wondering if they intended something like this all along

The caption soon follows: “This spoiled rich bitch needs to relearn some things. Obedience training starts soon. The first lesson: Making sure your bitch stops yapping. Hint: You know what you do when your dog shits or pisses in the house, right?”

Bruce hasn’t worked so rapidly in ages, using whatever he can to pinpoint your location

The picture, disturbing as it is, was decidedly a blessing: he can tell from what little amount of the background shown that you must be in the warehouse district of town

He nearly smothers Alfred with kisses when the older man finds records of not only which warehouses had recently been recorded with break-ins, but also which ones are noted as vacant

Added with the x-ray abilities utilized by the technology at their hands, and Bruce is nearly joyful. But just nearly. For the most part, he’s beyond the realm of pissed …

You’ve barely made a sound beyond shuddered breathing. Ever since your captors placed the collar around your neck, you’ve felt too humiliated and scared to do much of anything. Well, on your own accord.

If they wanted to provoke a response, they would have one of their men step on your foot or yank your hair. If you yelped too loudly, the collar would shock you, sending a blasting pain up and down your body

You’re pretty positive they have it set on the second worst level and it frightens you

How many shocks could you take before you died? Could you die? You weren’t sure, your mind too blurred from stress, agony, and undernourishment

The small samples of water they allowed you could only do so much, especially when your throat was beginning to hurt from attempting to swallow your screams

You can see from the wrist watch of one of the captors that the hour is almost up and guiltily do something you never thought you would: You consider the possibility that Bruce won’t get to you in time

You’ve always had faith in Bruce, known his capabilities to be seemingly boundless when compared to the average person. He was an amazing man, to say the least

But that’s just what he is: a man. Men have limitations, no matter how big or small. You never thought that the limitation could appear in the form of a ransom kidnapping by a couple of supposed no-life low-lives, but then again, how fair of you was it to blindly assume that Bruce could do everything

As the minute hand hits the 56th mark, you slowly close your eyes, exhaustion overwhelming you as you decided you didn’t want to see it truly hit the 59th minute. Maybe if you kept your eyes closed, the hour wouldn’t pass and everything would stop

Just long enough for Bruce to find you …

The sound of glass breaking hurts your ears. Maybe it was because your head was already on the verge of throbbing, or maybe it was because the piercing sound was abrupt that your ears had no way of coping with the sudden noise. Either way, your eyes stay closed, albeit tighter, as a knee-jerk reaction

When you open them back up, it takes them a moment to regain focus, what with all the bleariness they had been caked with as a result of your ordeal. But the minute they maintain proper functioning, you feel your heart swell large enough to pop out of your body

You don’t care that the air is now filled with the meaty sound of fist meeting bodies, you barely pay any mind to the cringe-worthy crunch of bones breaking upon contact with a much harder force

It doesn’t matter – Bruce is here!

He makes sure to keep the fight away from you just enough so that you don’t get caught in any crossfires

He becomes even more desperate the moment a few of your captors whip out guns, trying to work the shadows of the dimly-lit warehouse to cause confusion. Just until –

Everyone goes silent, save for heavy breathing, once a couple of Batarangs shatter the remaining lights

Many of the men don’t stand a chance in the dark. Not when they’re up against a 6′3″ demonically-dressed man with night vision installed into his cowl.

Bruce makes sure to save the strongest punch for the man whose voice he recognizes as the ringleader’s

To his extreme disgust, he can hear him talking in the general direction you happen to be in. When he glances over, lo and behold: The ringleader is there, knife to your throat, threatening to cut you like a pig if Batman takes so much as one step closer

To which Bruce calmly tells you to close your eyes. If you weren’t already prepared to do so, the underlying animosity in your lover’s words would have convinced you enough

You therefore don’t get to bear witness to the blinding flashbomb that gets sent your way, nor to you see your captor fling himself back and paw at his eyes in an attempt to relieve them

You do, however, feel the knife leave your throat, though not without causing a slight cut due to the sudden movement. It’s not enough to cause death, necessarily, but you can feel a thin line of blood begin to drool out

You do, also, feel a gust of wind and the smallest brush of a cape on your cheek as Bruce sprints past you to pounce on the sorry bastard who dared lay a finger on you

As do you hear the rapid, loud sound of fist meeting face, a struggle to the ground where the fists, without relent, continue to fall upon their intended target

You even hear the nearly incoherent, almost beast-like growls and curses your boyfriend spews to emphasize every blow

Insults, threats, ridicules, just plain heavy breathing that couldn’t capture the amount of rage he held –

You never hear the end of it, however, as you finally succumb to the stresses of your ordeal and fade away into a state of unconsciousness   

When you wake up, Bruce is by your side, face in his hands, settled in a chair by your bed in a hospital room

He’s back in his civilian clothes, having dropped you off earlier then gone home to relieve himself of his Batman attire

The purple tinge of his knuckles confirms that he had done some serious bruising, causing you worry. Enough to attempt reaching out and taking his hand for consoling

Your intended touch, however, doesn’t make it, as the rustling of your sheets alerted Bruce to look up at you

You’d never seen Bruce look so tired, so silently happy

You’d also never seen him leap up from his seat, or practically suffocate you in as gentle yet passionate of a hug as he could possibly muster

The exchange is quiet, with neither side being certain of what to say. You consider breaking the silence with a thank you, but Bruce once again beats you to it:

“I’m so sorry,” he says, just barely above a whisper. It’s so fragile and light that it quivers and cracks ever so slightly. The amount of guilt dripping off of every syllable just about broke your heart

“It’s okay,” is all you can weakly offer. You know it isn’t, but you also know that what happened wasn’t Bruce’s fault. You pray he doesn’t want to break up with you

A quiet discussion is held between you two. You try to avoid creating an actual argument from it, with you trying to calm him down (being so unused to this side of him), and with Bruce afraid of agitating your wounds or stressing your poor body out even more. He’s already hurt you so much by just being the person he is.

A sense of calm is somehow achieved, though not entirely. It’s just enough for him to take your face into his big, calloused hands and press his forehead to yours

Just enough for him to whisper about how he never wants to let any harm happen to you ever again

And to tell you how important you are to him, how devastated he would be if those men had disappeared with you

You two stay like this for a while, with you staying quiet and taking in Bruce’s every word.

Bruce keeps his eyes closed throughout the entire moment, knowing that if he opens them, combined with the feeling of vulnerability, there’s a chance that he might allow a tear or two to slip through

Every once in a while, he removes himself from this position to place a kiss on your forehead or to the scars and bruises that freckle your face and neck. Every kiss, no matter how brief, has this underlying yet overwhelming feeling of relief. Relief that you’re here at all, in his arms, still able to be kissed and to love and to be loved

He spends every night that you’re in the hospital by your side, curled up around you as if someone else might take you

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he vows more diligently than before, that no-one will hurt you again and that he will protect you and always save you

Because despite being a billionaire with everything money can buy, Bruce’s most precious, most beloved thing is something that cannot and will not ever be replaced: You.