#I’m whatever Gotham needs me to be || ic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sitepathos · 3 months ago

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so I just finished the post about ic reader was in a coma(?) kind of thing, and it got me wondering what or how he would react when he wakes up and suddenly everyone is all affectionate with him and he trys to decline the actions but he can't do much cause it's been awhile since he'd last physically moved, or something like that.

Thoughs?

Oh and I love this series, please never die, live a long healthy life😄

Had another question just like this, so hopefully this satisfies both. Note: this will allude to character feelings in future chapters. Read at your own peril.

Alfred enters your new room just like any other morning, blended breakfast in hand, when he sees you moving.

“Alfred,” you say when you notice him.

That’s enough for him to drop the trey and rush towards you, bringing you into a tight hug, afraid you’ll go back into that state if he lets go.

You’re stunned as the normally composed butler lets out soft weeping and begs for forgiveness.

He fills in the gaps in your knowledge, that the family had found you just after being shot and had you brought to the manor to receive treatment and that you’ve been in a vegetative state for over a month now, all of them taking care of you.

You’re shocked, of course. Both at surviving a gunshot to the head and the Waynes actually gave a damn about you.

When he says they felt so guilty at how they’d treated you, it made sense. They weren’t doing this out of the goodness of their hearts, but because they’d feel guilty if they didn’t.

You go to say as much when the door opens and Bruce walks in, who stops mid step upon seeing you now awake.

“Y/N,” he says in disbelief. “My baby boy.”

The sight of him pisses you off. You’ve lived in this place for years and it takes you almost dying for him to give you a second glance.

You go to stand up, eager to go back to your room and finally leave Gotham, not caring that you’d have to find a way to graduate, when Bruce and Alfred stop you.

“Where’re you going, baby? You need your rest!”

“My room,” you spit at him. “I’m getting my stuff and finally going home.”

“But this is your room,” he responds, making you now realize that all your belongings have been moved into this extra large bedroom. “And you are home.”

“No, this place isn’t home. It’s never been home and it will never be home. Goodsprings is my home and now that eighteen, I can go back to my house.”

First, Bruce is shocked to hear that you’re eighteen. For god’s sake, you’re so small! You’re even smaller than Tim!

Second, you plan to move out of the manor? He knows that they haven’t been the best family, but to move on the other side of the country?

He tries to convince you to stay, to recover from this awful ordeal, to let them make up for the years of mistreatment…

But you made it clear that you want nothing to do with them and that you believe they only did this because they feel guilty and they’ll go back to ignoring you.

It’s only then that he realizes the depths for his mistake. That you hate them so much that you’ve planned to get away from them for years.

He didn’t think he could feel lower than he has been ever since the accident, but you proved him wrong. He actually wants to curl up and die.

You make it clear that you’re leaving right now and there’s nothing they can do to stop you. You’re eighteen, after all.

That’s when something in him snaps. He wants you to stay here and he’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

He pulls Alfred out of the door and locks it, making you yell from the other side, saying that he can’t keep you in here.

He knows what he’s doing is wrong and that he has no right to make you stay, but he doesn’t care. You’re his firstborn and he’ll keep his family together, no matter what it takes.

He and Alfred call a family meeting in the room and fill them in on recent events.

At first, they were elated to hear that you’d finally awakened and they could talk to you. That quickly faded when they said you hated them and that you’d planned to leave them.

They agree that you can’t leave and they’ll all work together to get you to change your mind about them and want to be a part for the family.

Bruce went back up, thinking that the could appeal to you using whatever father-son relations that may be left.

That plan quickly died when you said he wasn’t your father, but a sperm donor and how your Momma made a huge mistake allowing him to sleep with her.

He stands there, taking insult after insult, watching as your face turns blood red from anger and eyes start treating tears of rage.

He wants to make it up to you, but knows that right now, he’s only going to make things worse, so he sends Dick up.

“Hey, baby bir—“ you cut off his greeting by throwing a heavy book at him that misses his head by half an inch.

“Fuck off, asshole,” you growl, practically foaming at the mouth.

He tries to calm you down, saying that he knows that he hasn’t been the best big brother, but—

Again, you cut him off, saying that he was a big brother to everyone else because he cared about them and that he made it clear you weren’t a little brother to him and that he’s not your brother. He’s nothing to you.

Ok, that stung a bit, but he’s determined to make amends!

“Everyone makes mistakes, little bird, and we’re ready to fix ours.”

You reward him with a backhand to the face and he takes that as his sign to leave.

Jason comes in, trying to think of something to say that won’t earn him a pimp slap like Dickhead.

“Look, kid, I get that you hate us. Really, I do.”

“Unless the next words out of your mouth are you saying I can go, get the fuck out.”

He knows where you’re coming from; for years, he despised Bruce and the others, but he learned to let go of his anger towards them and be a part of the family. And he wants that for you. It’s not safe out there and you could get hurt again.

But, when you say for him to go to hell, memories of the night Joker killed him resurface and his eyes flash that damn Lazarus green.

This causes you to tackle him, sending you both to the floor, and you wrap your hands around his neck in an attempt to strangle him.

He could get out this easily. The hold isn’t strong and you’re still weak from not moving for a month and even if you had recovered, you’re not trained in combat like them.

But he lies there, because he can see the rage in your eyes and as he listens to the hate in your voice as you hurl insults and threats at him, does he finally understand just how much he failed you.

He’s accused Bruce of replacing him with Tim and everyone of forgetting about him because he was too angry, too careless, and too brutal for Batman’s methods.

But because he was so pissed at them, he did the same thing to you. If he had just pulled his head out of his ass, he would’ve seen how they were treating you and taken you with him.

But he didn’t. And when you two met for the first time, he gave you a black eye because he thought you were just some brat Bruce was trying to replace him with, instead of a victim.

He’s only freed from your “hold” when Steph and Cass rush in, the two girls separating you two and pulling him out of there, closing the door when you start throwing anything you can get your hands on.

Tim’s been watching everything unfold since Bruce went up there using a camera he place in there when you were first moved in there. It was him that told the girls to go in there and rescue Jason when it looked like he had accepted to meeting his end by your hand.

He knows he has nothing say will get a better response from you and he’s never been good at emotions. That’s Dick’s specialty.

But he knows how to observe, to find ways to improve hopeless situations into his favor.

And that’s what he’ll do. You’ll eventually say something he can use to make you calm down and try to get you to give them a chance to prove themselves to you.

And if that fails? Stockholm Syndrome will eventually kick in and that’ll be the perfect chance to strike.

Finally, Damian comes in after an hour after Jason’s rescue.

“Oh what fresh hell is this,” you wonder as he closes the door behind him.

“Hello, brother. How are you today”

As he expected, you go into a rage, spitting insults and swears at him.

Only when he pulls out you Mother’s pen do you stop, completely shocked at seeing him in possession of it.

He understands why you’re acting like there’s an active bomb in the room instead of him. The last time he held this pen…

He brushes the memory of the even aside. That won’t do him any good here.

“I’ve been holding onto it for you since the accident. The others wanted it placed in the vault, but I insisted I could protect it.”

You swipe it from him and he allows you, knowing that pen means more to you than anything. After all, he remembers how you responded when he took it.

Looking back on it, he should’ve respected you for standing up to him like that, not knowing what would happen to you.

“I know my past actions are reprehensible at best, but i hope you will allow me the opportunity to make amends with you, brother.”

When you two first met, he hated you because you were a threat to what he believed to be his birthright. And when he realized you were untrained in any form of combat or self defense, he deemed you an embarrassment to the Wayne lineage.

But after living with Father and his siblings, learning what it means to be a real family, he knows he has something the others never will: a brother bound to him by blood. Someone he’s connected to at the genetic level.

“We’re not brothers,” you say. “We may share DNA, but we’re not brothers. You made that clear when you gave me this scar.”

That scar will serve as a permanent reminder of his mistake. How he hurt someone he should’ve cherished. And he’ll spend the rest of his days trying to fix that mistake and make you see him as a brother, as someone you can trust, as someone you can love and be loved by.

You may have broken free of being held captive in your mind, but now you’re in another prison and your “loving family” are the wardens. And they have no intention of letting you go. One way or another, you’ll take you rightful place in the Wayne Family.

#asks #yandere batfamily #from gold to mold

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pinguwrites · 1 year ago

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You Set My Soul Alight | Jonathan Crane

Pairing -> sub!jonathan crane x villain!reader

Summary -> You and Jonathan Crane have always been at odds. He's an arrogant asshole and you're a sarcastic shit, and no matter what you always find a way to bump heads. The worst part about it is that deep down you find him brilliant and attractive and utterly intoxicating. One day, Crane comes to you with a plea to enticing to resist, and you find this the perfect opportunity to put him in his place.

Warnings -> smut (minors dni), enemies with feelings, sub!Jon acting like a brat, swearing, dom!reader, degradation kink, ma'am kink, unprotected sex, edging, hair pulling, ball slapping, slapping in general, if you squint real hard Jonathan's lowkey a little sexist, bruce wayne is a playboy, reader's kinda a simp

Word count: 5k

Disclaimer: The Dark Knight trilogy/DC characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

Jonathan Crane glared at you, his piercing blue eyes filled with a layer of contempt and almost embarrassment like he was regretting this entire endeavor. It was delightful, seeing him in this state, and you made sure to enjoy every second of it — the way his cheeks were tinting a light pink, his muscles tensed up and his tone coming out a desperate yet still arrogant plea. Moments like these were rare, and you were ready to savor and drag them out every chance you got.

“I need your help,” he repeated, his tone distasteful like he was swallowing a bitter pill. “I told you, I need more money for my experiments, but I can’t do it without any funding. Wayne Enterprises is hosting a gala next week. All the richest of the city will be there and all of them are looking to donate. Charity, science, whatever will make them look good. I know you’re going, so I’m asking — as polite as I can be — please, get me an invite.”

You tilted your head to the side, eyes trailing off to look at some random painting on the wall. You briefly wondered how he got past your home security, but after a few seconds, you focused your attention back on him. “Sorry, what did you say? Can you repeat that?” you said with a slight grin.

Jonathan pursed his lips. “Don’t be clever with me.” But then he shakes his head and lets his serious facade go. “We both know you have the connections to score another invite . . . Please, my darling.”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, the way it always did when he called you that. You wondered if he knew just how much you enjoyed it.

“I like it when you beg, it’s always been a good look on you.”

Jonathan smiles. A mock smile.

“Well, it’s true. No point in getting all upset.” You shrug, heading over to your kitchen to get some iced coffee for the both of you. “Tell me, why should I help you? Why should I help the man who has made it his mission to offend me every time we speak?”

You may have been a little unfair in saying that. Sure, he was a brat, but so were you. In fact, ever since you two met you had always been at each other’s throats, demeaning one another, insulting everything from intellect to personality to looks. You doubt your paths would have ever crossed had it not been for your good friend Harley, who introduced you both one fateful summer evening.

You don’t know what went wrong that day. Maybe it was the weather, the exceptionally hot wind that only frequented Gotham once every couple of years, the ones that made the city cranky and sweaty, or perhaps it was simply a bad first impression, the ones that just happened every once in a while. It had happened far too long ago to remember what it was that made you dislike Jonathan so much in the first place, and you were sure it didn’t matter. According to everyone who knew him, he had always been an ass, but he was good company once you got to know him.

Maybe he was. You wanted to figure that out, to peel away the layers of armor. You could be friends, lovers even. He could be yours. Yours to do whatever you wanted with. Yours to put in place, because god knows he needed it.

You weren’t sure when you started to think like this. To grow an obsession, but you did, and you couldn’t stop your feelings now. You didn’t want to stop. Loving Jonathan was too addictive, no matter how much he pretended to hate you — because you knew he didn’t actually hate you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t stop in once every while, under the pretense of snarky put-downs or brags. He wouldn’t graze his fingers with yours when walking by, and he wouldn’t ask your friends (namely Harley) what you did, what you liked, and what you talked about.

“Because deep down,” Jonathan answered, following you into the kitchen, “you know I’m brilliant, and you know I deserve your help.” He accepted the coffee, taking a small sip before continuing, “But you’re too prideful to admit it.”

“Maybe I am, but that’s not a good reason. Deserve isn’t enough, Crane. At least not for me. I know you can do better than this, convince me. That mouth must be good for something.”

Jonathan paused, his tongue briefly sweeping over his lower lip, making it glisten in the light of the lamp. You weren’t sure if the brief silence was because he got flustered, or he was just thinking. “Then do it because you want to,” he finally said. “Because you know my research is important and you care for it, enough to do me this one simple favor.”

“I don’t know . . .” you trailed off in a teasing tone.

It seemed like Jonathan was getting annoyed again. “My dear, won’t you help me?”

“I’m still thinking.”

He groaned. “Pretty please?”

You let out a little sigh, barely audible. “I will. For you.”

That last part had intended to come off as flirtatious and pretentious, but instead, it was soft and delicate, so vulnerable it took you off guard.

“Thank you,” he said, setting his glass down. He had finished all of the coffee, quickly enough so that there were still ice cubes lying on the bottom of the glass. “I’ll pick you up, around four. Who knows, maybe we’ll even have some fun.”

And that was it. He left through your front door without saying anything else, leaving you with thoughts of the gala and what dress you were going to wear.

That next week you had settled on one and bought yourself a burgundy dress, a beautiful shade of red, one like expensive wine or fresh blood, a color that you knew looked good on you. It was a deep cut that went through the valley of your breasts, but if you pressed your arms inwards just slightly, which you fully intended to do, they would push up. It was a look classy enough for a gala, but still seductive enough to garner attention.

Originally, you weren’t going to attend the function at all. This kind of stuff had always been boring for you, even as a child who was forced to go, but if Jonathan was going on your behalf then you sorta had to and definitely wanted to.

A ring sounded through your house. He was here.

You opened the door and took a deep breath once you saw Jonathan. He was dressed in a neat suit, but not like the suit he was wearing when you last saw him. This one was charcoal black, silky, and smooth, with a white handkerchief in his outer breast pocket. His shoes were the same color and looked like they had just been shined, and in his hand was a bouquet of red roses.

“For you,” he said, placing them in your hands. His eyes swept over your figure, and his mouth parted for a moment. “It matches.” You huffed, secretly flattered. “But it’s such a shame.” You furrowed your eyebrows, confused. “Such a pretty little dress wasted on such an ugly little thing.”

You blinked, and then tossed the flowers to the side, letting them fall into a patch of dirt (you were definitely going to pick them up later). “Like you’re such a piece of work.”

“I am,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Men and women love me.”

Despite how attractive you found him, you really didn’t believe that. You were sure his attitude warded most people off, and besides, he was an introvert and a criminal. Dating wasn’t just something people like him did often.

“We’ll see. This gala will be filled with attractive young bachelors. Get one interested in you and I’ll admit you're handsome,” you challenged.

“Admit?” He laughed, a beautiful laugh. “Admit implies that you already find me handsome, you just don’t want to confess so.”

This man needed to be slapped. He needed to be given a good, hard hit across the face.

“You know what? I feel like being alone tonight. I think I’ll just go to the gala without you.”

You were about to close the door, intending to head to your garage, but Jonathan grabbed your wrist and pulled you outside, shutting the door behind you.

“No takebacks. You promised. Where’s your honor?”

“Honor?” You scoffed. “I’m a killer, what did you expect?”

Jonathan must have really thought that you were going to leave because he gripped your wrist tighter. “I’m sorry,” he quickly said. “I’ll be good tonight.” He placed his index finger to his thumb with his free hand and made a zipping motion across his lips. “See?”

“You better be. I’m doing you a favor here. Now, come inside, we’ll take my car—”

“I have a car,” Jonathan said. “I even got us a driver.”

You took a peek over his shoulders. Sure enough, there was a fancy car waiting in the driveway, engine still on. It was difficult to see through the windows but you could make out the faint outline of a man in the driver’s seat.

“If you insist.”

He held out his arm for you to take, and while you did want to, you instead shoved it away. For a moment, you swore a flicker of hurt crossed his face, but it was gone too fast for you to be sure it was even there at all.

“Where’s my invite?” he asked.

“You don’t have one. You’re going as my plus one.”

“As your date?”

“It’s not a date. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy. What’s with all this complaining?”

“I’m not complaining, I was expressing my feelings. You should work on that. As a psychiatrist, I recommend—”

“—I recommend you shut the fuck up.”

Jonathan put his hands up, surrendering, but he did so beaming.

It hadn’t taken too long to get to the party. Traffic was high as always, but time seemed to be flowing faster than ever, despite you and Jonathan staying silent.

When you arrived there was a line of cars. Wayne Manor, a building you had only been to twice before, was still as impressive as you remember. It was a collection of elegant architecture and stonework, with a large wooden entrance that opened up to a main hall. The size of the driveway and front lawn was a bit unnecessary, at least to you, but what else could you expect from old money?

After getting out of the car you were greeted by cameras and reporters, lights flashing in your eyes, but you didn’t bother with them.

Jonathan reached out his hand, and this time you did take it — but only because everyone was watching, and if you pushed him away it would have caused an unnecessary scene. Jonathan’s driver drove the car away for parking and you both walked inside.

The inside was spacious, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and people dressed classy, with gloves and diamond earrings, all mingling and chatting with each other about the stock market or their annoying ex-spouse or how it was such a bother when their vacation to Switzerland had to be canceled because of work. There was a tray of snacks and waiters walking around with luxurious drinks, something you immediately took advantage of.

“Thank you, sir,” you said politely, taking a glass of champagne, but before you could take a sip someone called out your name.

You turned around to see Bruce Wayne himself waving over to you, a boyish charm about him. He had two women on his arms, models or prostitutes, or both, you couldn’t tell, but they were drop-dead gorgeous.

Your parents did business with him, and as a result, you met him at a young age. You were never really buddy best friends, but you went to the same school and that was enough for him to invite you to all his parties and greet you as though you were a family friend.

“You know Bruce Wayne?” Jonathan whispered, but before you could answer Bruce approached you both.

“I haven’t seen you around in a while,” he said. “This is Mila and Stephanie. Say hi ladies.” They giggled and waved as he gave the back of your hand a little kiss. “Gorgeous girl. You should wear these outfits more often, you truly look stunning.”

You let him put his arm around your waist, enjoying the compliment.

“Oh, no,” you said modestly. “It’s just a dress.”

Jonathan chuckles. “Ah, don’t be like that, my darling. You look exquisite.”

You all but glared at him. Now he said you looked nice.

“What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” Bruce removed his arm from around your waist and held it out to shake Jonathan’s hand.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane,” he responded, a little tense. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Jonathan’s actually doing some research into brain chemistry,” you said.

“Really? Tell me about it, Dr. Crane,” Bruce said, flashing a charming smile.

“I would,” Jonathan responded, turning to you, “but I don’t wanna bore my girl.”

“Your girl?” Bruce repeated, eyes glancing at you. “ You’re a lucky guy. Tell me how scored such a beauty like her?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that hard.” Jonathan reached around and put his hand on your shoulder. “She was practically falling all over me.”

That was true, but your jaw still clenched. “He likes to exaggerate,” you told Bruce with a little laugh.

“Well, if you ever want to change things up a little, I’m right here.” Bruce winked comically, leaving with his girls.

You could tell Bruce wasn’t joking. It sounded like a serious offer, only told in a joking format so as to not rile Jonathan up, as he was under the impression Jonathan was your actual boyfriend.

“You’re a jealous mongrel,” you told Jonathan once Bruce was out of sight. You both walked over to a more secluded corner. “Can’t imagine the idea of having to share, huh? Had to go and make up stories?”

Jonathan scowled. “He was shameless around you. Be grateful I warded him off,” he said arrogantly. “And it’s not like you guys would have worked out. With what your hobby and all.”

You didn’t say anything. Jonathan was jealous, huh? You know felt a sudden urge to go after Bruce, get a little drunk, and follow him back to his room. It’s not like he wasn’t handsome, he was the most eligible bachelor in the city. And you did like him. He was funny and nice. Plus, you two had known each other for a long while. What a fun trope, especially if it was making Jonathan mad.

“A good fuck needs to work out only for the night.” You shrugged.

“You—you can’t,” Jonathan sputtered out. “You’re here with me, not him.”

“I don’t see the problem. I got you in the door and now you don’t need me anymore. What’s wrong if I have some fun?”

“You can’t.”

You waved him off, though you were enjoying the way he was pouting.

“Brat,” you muttered under your breath.

“I’m not a brat.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Excuse me for wanting to spend the night with you.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?” You grinned devilishly. “Act like you want nothing more than to be here.”

Jonathan’s breathing hitched. Yours did too.

“You want it?”

“Don’t be scared.”

After you said that he didn’t hesitate to lean forward to give you a hard kiss, bringing his hand around the back of your head to push you both even closer together. He pulled away, his face still close to yours.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, like that,” you breathed out.

“I can give you more,” he whispered in your ear, his breath almost ticklish. “I know you want it. Been fantasizing about me all this time, hmm?”

You smiled coyly.

“For me to bend you over like the whore you are—”

“—Careful, Crane. I might just have to slap you.”

“Say it. Say you want me to fuck you. Fucking say it—”

You took a quick glance around the room to see if anyone was looking, which they thankfully weren’t, and then gave Jonathan a quick, harsh slap to the face.

The force of it made his neck turn, and his cheeks immediately turned red. He stayed silent for a moment, looking up at you through thick eyelashes, eyes narrowed in lust. It was all the conformation you needed to grab his chin, lift his face up, and give him another slap.

Before you could say anything else he pressed his lips up against you again, pressing you up against the wall passionately.

You backed away, and he furrowed his eyebrows, but all you did was grab his hand, feeling a frenzy of desire take over you. “Let’s go.”

You dragged him through the sea of people and out a backdoor. There were a couple of people walking around in the garden, but you managed to find a place secluded enough for you and Jonathan. The ground was grassy and soft, and no one was walking by. Even if they did, they’d have to be purposefully looking for you two to see you both behind the trees and flowers.

“Lay down,” you ordered.

He grinned but did as you asked. “Here? Outside? You’re such a naughty girl.”

“Do you wanna wait until we get home?”

“No,” he said, a little too eagerly. “I want it now.” He sat up and tugged on your dress, running his hand up your leg. “You’re so soft,” he murmured, planting a few wet kisses on your thigh.

You sighed contently, enjoying the affection he was giving you. This moment felt like a haze, like the world was just slipping by and you were stuck in time, a feeling that made you wonder if this was a dream or not. The evening sunset and dark sky weren’t helping either. It all felt perfect, too perfect.

“Mmm.” Jonathan reached up and hooked his fingers into your underwear. You snapped out of your trance and swatted his hand away.

“Getting a little touchy there, aren’t you?”

He smirked, looking up at you through thick eyelashes. “Just tryna please you, darling.”

You thought for a moment, then decided that you would let him eat you out.

“Alright then. Please me, Dr. Crane.”

Jonathan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment at the name, savoring the way it rolled so delicately off your tongue. He lifted up your dress and pulled down your panties. You kicked them off to the side and rested your dominant leg on his shoulder.

He pushed his finger against your folds, making a humming sound. “You’re so wet, darling.”

He leaned forward to suck on your clit roughly.

You lightly gasped at the pleasant sensation, bucking your hips into his face accidentally. You had meant to show more control, but how could you when Jonathan was so hungrily lapping? burying his face into your pussy like he was starved, passionately alternating between licking and sucking.

“Oh, Jonathan.”

His fingers, which had been gripping your hips, moved upward. As he continued to press his tongue against your clit his finger gently prodded your entrance, making sure that you were ready. He pushed his finger, curling it slightly.

You stifled your moans, not wanting a passerby to catch you two in the act, but you were finding it difficult. He kept thrusting his finger in and out of you, adding another one just a minute later.

You threw your head back, eyes shut. You held his head for balance and relaxed, letting yourself go into a peaceful bliss. But then you felt Jonathan’s teeth nip your bud, biting into it deliberately, and you yelped.

Gripping his hair, you forced him to look at you. His mouth and nose were covered in your wetness, and his lips were curving up into a delightful smile.

“What was that for?”

He shrugged. “Mmm, I couldn’t help it, Ma’am.”

Instead of reprimanding him, you took the selfish route and pushed his face in between your legs, grinding onto his lips until you felt that familiar sense of elated happiness. You came all over him, your brain shutting off, or rather, getting overloaded at that euphoric, all-consuming release.

You let go of Jonathan’s hair, but he didn’t pull away. He licked up your cum, making your nerves feel overstimulated, but after he was satisfied, he stopped.

“You like that?” he asked.

“F-fuck, yeah.”

You grabbed your panties and put them back on, much to Jonathan’s dismay.

“Where are you going?” He got up, using his sleeve to wipe off the remaining juices on his face. You could see a tent, his cock poking out from under his pants.

“Home, of course. And you’re coming with me.”

He shook his head vehemently, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his hard cock against your body. “Let’s finish this here. I can’t wait any longer. Don’t make me wait.”

“If you’re a good boy, you’ll wait.”

“I can’t,” he bitched desperately, hurriedly pulling down his pants. “I won’t. I’ve waited too fucking long.”

You grabbed his cock through the fabric, squeezing it tight in his hands.

His face contorted to one of pleasure and pain. “Huh!”

“You think you can just get what you want? After you’ve such a dick? Oh, ‘she was practically falling all over me’. ‘Such a pretty little dress wasted on such an ugly little thing.’”

“C’mon, I didn’t mean it! You looked so beautiful, I was just trying to make you mad. Be nice . . . Pleaseee?”

You gripped it tighter and he whimpered. “See how pathetic you get the moment I show an ounce of authority? How you start to beg? If I say something you do it. Do you understand?” He didn’t say anything, his lips still parted in pain. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes!” he choked out.

You let go. “Good boy. Now go call your driver and ask him to pick us up ‘round back. Unless you want everyone to see your erection?”

You gestured to the front of the manor, where through the bushes you could still see people enjoying the party.

“No, no.” He called his driver, trying his best to cover his erection by interlocking his hands in front of his waist. “You’re a cruel goddess.”

While you two waited for the driver, you peppered sweet kisses along Jonathan’s neck, but when he arrived, you stopped, making him groan at the loss.

Throughout the drive back to your place, you ghosted your fingers over Jonathan’s lap, occasionally resting your hand on his length. Once the driver dropped you both off, you wasted no time in pushing him to your room.

He took off his clothes as did you, his white cock springing up furiously. It was just the right size, bigger and longer than average, almost so that you worried about having to fit it inside you.

His figure was lanky, but still muscled, just the way you thought it would be. You placed your fingers on his chest, twisting his nipples. He shuddered and took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand. You shoved him down on your bed and he immediately spread his legs, giving you perfect access.

“Want me to suck you off, Jon?”

“Yes!” he said impatiently. “Just do it.”

You spanked his balls with your hand, carefully watching the way they bounced ever so slightly.

“Nghh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Do it whenever you feel like.”

Despite his words, you could see him waiting anxiously for you to touch him.

You did so, kissing the tip of his head and running your tongue through the slit, tasting the salty precum he was leaking. He hissed when you took his entire length. “Ah.”

You gripped your thumb so you wouldn’t gag and took him in all the way, hollowing out your cheeks. He thrusted up, deepthroating you for a hot second before he placed his hips firmly against the bed, not wanting to do anything that would upset you.

“So—so warm,” he stuttered out. “Can’t wait to feel your cunt, if your mouth is this fucking good.”

You would have said something, but your mouth was filled, busy bobbing up and down. He squirmed and moaned, shamelessly being as loud as he could. You could feel yourself getting wet again, but you controlled your urges for the sake of Jonathan.

He brushed your hair out of the way, scrunching up his face. “M’gonna — hnghhh — m’gonna come!”

That was when you pulled off of him.

It took a moment for him to realize what you were doing, but when he did, he wasted no time in complaining.

“No,” he mewled, tearing up. “I’ve been such a good boy. Such a good boy.”

“Have you?” You giggled.

“I need you, I need this,” he moaned. “I’ve wanted you so bad — that’s why I came to you, that’s why I came to you and no one else. I didn’t even need the sponsors that bad, I just wanted to see you. I . . . I’m in agony,” he continued dramatically.

“That’s sad.”

More tears ran down his cheek at your nonchalant words. He sniffled. “Please, stop that and just make me come!”

“Okay. I think you deserve it.”

But instead of putting your mouth back on him, you sunk onto his cock, slowly at first, so your pussy could get used to the size.

“Oh, fuck,” Jonathan cursed, placing one of his hands on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin. His other hand went up to play with your breasts, cupping and kneading them like they were pieces of dough.

You started bouncing, a string of incoherent words and moans leaving your mouth. Jonathan sat up and wrapped you in his arms, kissing down your neck as you moved.

“You feel so good,” you murmured, clenching around his cock. “I s-should have done this sooner.”

“Should’ve,” Jonathan agreed. “But — ah — we can always do this more often, yeah?”

Too blissed out to respond with words, you just nodded your head, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

It didn’t take long for both of you to come after that. His hot load spurted inside of you and you came again, but this time on his cock.

He collapsed, exhausted from the sensations.

You slowly got up, letting out a little wince as you felt his length leave you. You cuddled up beside him, caressing his cheek, wrapping you both in the blanket. He looked a little tired, and you didn’t blame him. So were you.

“You set my soul alight,” he said softly. “You always have.”

You wanted to ask him how deep his feelings ran, if this was just sex, or if it was something more, but when he fell asleep on your breast, you dropped the idea. He trusted you enough to let his guard down around you, and for now, that was more than enough.

The rest of the night was spent holding each other in your arms as you slept. When you woke up in the morning, he was still there, snoring softly like he was a peaceful angel.

You pulled him closer to you. “I’m never letting you go,” you murmured darkly. “Never.”

#Jonathan Crane #Jonathan Crane x reader #Jonathan Crane x y/n #Jonathan Crane x you #the dark knight trilogy #fanfiction #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x y/n #scarecrow x you #cillian murphy #pinguwrites

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aprocessionofthoughts · 1 year ago

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He's a Phantom

whumptober23 day 27- let me see fandom- dp x dc TW- brief injury summary- Jason encounters the GIW

ao3 whumptober23 masterlist part 6 of DLM

They had been searching for an hour when Jason heard a commotion. He approached the noise and saw three men in white suits on the neighboring rooftop.

His first thought was that they must be out of towners and that they were stupid to be wearing all white. His second thought was, oh shoot, they’re carrying weapons. Specifically they had weird, glowing green weapons.

He was about to call it in when all three men turned to him, raised their weapons and fired.

Jason rolled out of the way and took out his own guns as he continued to dodge their shots.

He fires off a few shots of his own and manages to hit one of the agent’s legs. But he doesn’t have time to celebrate this victory since immediately after one of the glowing green beams hits him in the shoulder.

It burns. Jason stumbles back trying to avoid the rest of the shots, but another clips his side and another his leg. He crumples to the ground. It feels like acid eating away at him. His mind is going fuzzy with pain.

He needs to call for help.

He can faintly hear them discussing how best to get to where he is. He can’t let them do that.

Shakily, he activates his comm. “O.”

“What is it, Hood?”

“I think— I think I found our bad guys…” he slurs.

“Hood, what do you mean?”

Jason can’t bring himself to answer. HIs whole body feels like it’s burning.

“Hood! I’m sending Nightwing to your location.”

Jason can’t acknowledge her. He hopes his brother gets here soon. He can hear the agents walking up the fire escape.

He tries to get up again, but he can barely move his arms.

Then he hears a shout and the sound of the weapons being fired again. There’s a buzzing in the air, the faint hum of electricity, and the cold bite of winter wind.

There’s the sound of more fighting, and he can hear the agents cursing. There’s what sounds like crackling ice followed by silence. Jason tries to move his head to see what’s happening, but all he sees is smoggy Gotham sky.

Then there's a face above him, ethereal in quality with glowing white hair and eyes that remind Jason of the Lazarus pit but brighter.

“What are you doing here?” The voice sounds familiar, but Jason can’t quite place why. He should know this person, but he knows he’s never seen anyone quite like this.

The kid, because now that Jason looks at him a little closer this person clearly looks young, sighs, and goes to place his hands on Jason.

Jason makes a noise of protest and tries to shift away.

“Calm down, let me see.” his hands settle on Jason’s torso.

Immediately, a cool feeling begins to spread, easing the worst of the pain.

“Who…” he manages before.

The kid gives him a strange look then focuses back on whatever he’s doing to Jason. “It’s me. Danny.”

Jason’s mind blue screens for a moment. This looks nothing like Danny. But then, Jason looks a little closer, looks past the glow and white hair and green eyes, and he sees that the face is the same. Huh.

“I’m going to take you back to your apartment. There’s not much I can do for your injuries in the middle of a rooftop.”

Jason can’t do anything to resist as the kid scoops him up as if Jason weighed almost nothing. Then a tingling sensation passed over him, and then they were flying.

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

A few minutes later, Nightwing arrives on an empty roof. “O, I don’t see him.”

There’s silence for a moment before she speaks. “His tracker is on the move, but it’s moving strangely. Almost as if… It’s almost as if he’s flying.”

“What?” Dick asks and then he hears a grunt from beside the building. He walks over to the edge and stares.

There on the fire escape are three men dressed in white suits carrying strange weapons. But even stranger is that they’re all frozen in a thick layer of ice to the escape stairs, with the ice encasing them to their elbow and a thin layer over their mouths.

“I think we’ve got a bigger situation. I just found some men dressed in white suits frozen to the fire escape. And they've got some strange weapons.”

“Do you think they’re the agents after Hood’s kid?” Tim asks.

“Might be.” Dick answers.

“This might be good news.” Oracle says. “Nightwing, Hood’s tracker stopped at his apartment. I want you to head over there. Red Robin, head to the possible agent’s location. Try to figure out what you can and see if we need to call the police. I’ll send a message to B. His meeting at the watchtower should be almost over by now anyway.”

“Will do,” Dick and Tim answer.

Hopefully, they can find Jason and the kid, and this situation won’t escalate any further. But Dick has a bad feeling that things will only get more complicated.

#whumptober #whumptober 2023 #no.27 #Danny fenton #Jason todd #Tim drake #dick gayson #barbara gordon #jason is liminal #giw #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #fanfic #let me see

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 1 year ago

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Lollipops

Timari January Day 1: Lollipop

By @maribat-calendar-events

Listen, when Marinette Dupain-Cheng opened up a clinic, she had been expecting a lot of things.

Children, since she was officially in pediatric care. You know, the branch devoted to treating children.

Eventually, she expanded to consider her patients might include henchmen, as well. And she had been mentally prepared, perhaps, to possibly meet their bosses, if they wanted to thank her for their services in person, though she had doubted this.

She had not, however, been expecting to look a vigilante dead in the eyes (domino mask, it didn’t matter)... or, at least, not like this. She had been expecting to get approximately one glimpse of their usual suits and then have a fist obscure most of her vision. Not to see him hunched over in one of her chairs, hugging the knife buried in his side.

“... hi,” she said, glancing behind herself at the Scarecrow goon she had been about to lead out the door. “I can get to you in a minute.”

The vigilante didn’t say ‘okay’, but he didn’t say ‘no’, either. From what she had been told, this wasn’t uncommon. Introverts, the lot of them.

She quietly closed the door and pointed the goon towards the exit, and waited a few minutes with her ear against the door to make sure he hadn’t gotten immediately jumped by a second, secret vigilante. Once she was reasonably sure that the henchman had gotten away to safety, she went back to the vigilante who was, apparently, in her care.

He was… still in that chair. Stab wounds will do that to you, she supposed.

She hesitated as she eyed him up and down.

This was Red Robin, she was pretty sure, though he could have been Robin or Red Hood or really just any other male vigilante in Gotham… they all looked the same. She wasn’t going to say it aloud, though, she didn’t want to risk being wrong. Embarrassing.

Also, she was pretty sure she was on thin ice right now. Getting his name wrong might just screw her over.

Thankfully, he was aware of her presence immediately, and she didn’t have to call his name to get his attention.

She sent him a slightly nervous smile. “You do know this is pediatric care, don’t you? I was trained to treat children.”

“The guy before me wasn’t a child.”

“He has a kid,” she said. Technically, this was true.

“Was the kid here?”

“I plead the fifth. And the fourth. And any other applicable laws that might help me right now.”

He snorted. “I’m not a cop.”

“You still get people arrested, I’m not going to risk it.”

He lifted his hands in a kind of ‘I surrender’ gesture, only to wince. He quickly went back to applying pressure to his wound, which was probably for the best.

Marinette shook her head to herself, sighing. “I’ll bring my equipment over here. I’d rather not have to carry you.”

“I can still walk,” he said.

He moved as if to stand. She grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back down, giving him a cold look.

“Don’t do that. Christ.”

He groaned and slumped back in his chair, pouting like the child that she was supposed to actually be getting. How had her life come to this?

You say ‘ohmygod why are you bleeding on my doorstep oh my FUCKING GET INSIDE’ to a henchman one time and suddenly it just becomes your thing.

She sighed internally as she went about collecting her things and then sighed externally when her eyes flicked to the security footage. She had put a camera next to the door a while back, when she had first started taking henchmen. She didn’t use it often, she really just had it to make people at least hesitate before trying to steal things.

Anyways, the point is, Red Robin was not in the chair she had left him in.

She made sure her next footstep was audible, before feigning a pause to make sure she had everything she needed.

By the time she stepped out, he was back in his chair, looking for all the world as if he had never left.

Marinette hated life.

She was quick in stitching him up. Perhaps quicker than was strictly medically advisable, but whatever. This wasn’t meant to be permanent or anything, this was just to last him until Batman could, like, magically fix it. Or whatever that cryptid of a man did. Marinette, frankly, preferred not knowing.

She pulled back, wiping bloody hands on the towel around her neck.

“Normally, I’d say to take things easy for the next few weeks, minimum, but considering…” she shrugged. “I dunno. Just try not to pop those.”

He tilted his head to the side consideringly for just a moment.

And then he laughed. “No promises.”

“It was worth a shot.”

He jumped to his feet, and she cringed just slightly. But it wasn’t like she could stop him if that was what he wanted to do. She could only mumble a few curses under her breath and move to leave so she could close up shop.

Red Robin lingered for just a few seconds longer than she expected him to.

Marinette narrowed her eyes at him briefly. She figured it was probably best to just ask him outright whether or not he needed to go through some files. He was going to do it regardless of her wishes, and she liked pretending to have free will.

“So, is my clinic up to par with your standards?”

Red Robin didn’t bother denying that he had had ulterior motives for visiting.

Instead, he held up a candy he had grabbed from the jar on her desk.

“For sure. You guys have lollipops.”

#maribat #timari #timinette #timmari #shutterbug #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #new year new me :)

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ladyantiheroine · 2 months ago

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Daughters of Falcone

a revenge fantasy

Summary: After Sofia Gigante catches Selina Kyle trying to steal her box of diamonds, the two daughters of Carmine Falcone finally cross paths. Despite having lived two very different lives, the two unexpected sisters share one thing in common: A deep desire for vengeance. Together, they plot to bring the king of Gotham's underworld down to his knees.

Content Warnings: Violence, torture, electrocution, choking/suffocation, blood, bodily harm, murder, guns, toxic family relationships, death of loved ones.

Word Count: 7.3k

Author's Note: Set after The Batman and before The Penguin. Falcone is still alive after surviving the Riddler's gunshot wound. You can also read this on my AO3.

Chapter 1: You Shouldn’t Be Here

If Selina had known Carmine’s vault was this easy to crack, she would have tried stealing from him a long time ago. But for the longest time, all she cared about was putting a bullet in the man’s head, and whatever shiny things he kept at home were far from her mind. But Selina was back in Gotham now, the streets were still flooded, and she needed cash.

And if there was anyone in the world who owed her, it was that fucker Falcone.

The Falcone home was dark and cavernous as night, and just as cold. The only light Selina had to see the safe was the amber streetlight that beamed from the window. She turned the knob slowly, wincing at every mechanical click that broke the gnawing silence of the house.

Finally, one click and the safe door creaked open. It had been a while since Selina broke a proper lock, and the last time she did, she ended up in a scuffle with a certain man in a mask.

Don’t think about him, her mind whispered.

In the dim light, Selina caught a black leather case of small pockets, and each one was a tiny, white glimmer. Diamonds. A whole bunch of them. Small, like the ones that may line a necklace or a golden ring. It was hard to say what the diamonds meant to Carmine Falcone. A gift for his late wife? An heirloom from his (and to an extent, her) predecessors?

None of these questions mattered to a thief. To a thief’s eyes, diamonds were just money that hadn’t been transferred to paper yet. And these were enough to float Selina to her next step, wherever that was.

Selina reached her leather-glove hands inside, when a cold voice crawled up behind her.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

It was like ice water poured down Selina’s back. For a brief moment, her heart ricocheted in her chest, until she realized the voice was too feminine to be his. The thief lifted both her hands and turned to face the voice.

In the pale light, she looked like a ghost, but it didn’t take too long for Selina to recognize her face. The face that had been plastered on newspapers, on televisions screens, under the ominous name “HANGMAN.” Sofia Falcone stepped up to her in the dark, draped in a long white sleeping gown, a small pistol in her hand.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware who’s house you’re stealing from,” Sofia said. She walked closer, her silk slippers peeking from under her skirt. “But I think you’ve picked the wrong place.”

Selina stood still and straight. It wasn’t the first time she found herself on the other side of a gun. But she also knew Sofia was a former Arkham inmate, and if she wasn’t unstable going in, there was a good chance was unstable once she got out.

“I know exactly who’s place this is,” Selina said. “This is Carmine Falcone’s house. Was Carmine Falcone’s house.” She said her neck words gently. “And you’re his daughter.”

Sofia gave her a tight lip smile.

“So you’ve read the papers,” she said. “So you should be informed enough to know what happens when you try to steal from me.”

Selina heard a clicking sound in the dark. Even as she was frozen, her mind scrambling for a way out, she kept eyeing Sofia. It stunned her a little to see her in person. They were both daughters of Falcone, and only one of them knew it.

Selina came here for diamonds to pawn. She didn’t return to Gotham expecting a family reunion.

“If it’s any consolation,” Selina said. “I wasn’t trying to steal from you specifically, Miss Falcone—”

“Gigante,” Sofia snapped. Her tone split the air and made Selina flinch. “My name is Sofia Gigante. Don’t call me Falcone.”

The pistol was shaking just a little in her hand. Careful, Selina told herself. This is the Hangman you’re dealing with. You never know what might set her off.

But then again, Selina knew who Carmine Falcone was. If she had to grow up in a house with that man, she just might change her name too. Selina moved her gaze from the pistol to Sofia’s eyes.

“Miss Gigante,” she said. “I was trying to steal from Carmine, not you.”

“Well, this is my place, not his,” Sofia said. “He’s got a different house closer to the city.”

“I see,” Selina said. She curled her words around before she spoke. “Last time I checked, he said he had a place at this address. If I had known he moved, I wouldn’t have come and bothered you.”

Sofia narrowed her eyes at Selina. She took a few steps closer, the pistol never wavering from her aim.

“How does someone like you know where my father—Carmine could live? Do you work for him?”

Selina ran her tongue along her bottom lip.

“I used to,” she said.

“If you worked for him, I would’ve known you,” Sofia said. She aimed the pistol at Selina’s head, and for a moment Selina’s heart lurched as she imagined her brain popping all over the wall behind her. “Take off the mask.”

Selina was stiff for a moment. If Sofia saw her face, she was done for. But it’s not like she had much defense against a bullet. So she lifted a hand to the top of her head, and pulled the black mask off.

Sofia looked at her for a long moment. Her eyes examined Selina’s face, her eyes, her short hair.

“I’ve never seen you before,” she said. “I know everyone who works for Carmine, I’ve never seen your face in my entire life.”

“I wasn’t anyone important to him,” Selina said. “I didn’t work on the business side. I was…an underling of an underling.”

Sofia was still giving her a look like she was considering popping her head off and heading back to bed. So, Selina kept talking.

“I overheard him mention it to a bunch of his associates over drinks,” she said. “Two guys named Johnny and…Milos, I think? Carmine was drinking whiskey with Johnny, but Milos insisted on having a Sex on the Beach, and the other two were making fun of him for having a ‘girly’ drink.”

Sofia’s teeth clenched, and her armed hand started shaking a little again.

“Were you eavesdropping on them?” she asked. “Are you a spy? Do you work for the Maronis or something?”

“No, I was the one serving the drinks,” Selina said. “For guys who have to stay discreet, they talk awfully loud once they’ve had a few." She leaned forward a little. “Don’t tell them, but I spat in all their glasses before I handed them over.”

Sofia didn’t say anything. She kept looking at Selina, eyeing her up and down, like she was a puzzle she couldn’t crack. For the first time, the impenetrable Sofia Gigante seemed to falter in her steely resolve. Selina stepped closer, dropping her hands to her side.

“My name is Selina Kyle,” she said. “I knew your dad pretty well.

Sofia’s jaw tightened. So did her knuckles on the pistol.

“You’re full of shit.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not, and you better fuck off before I do something you’ll regret.

The woman, Selina, looked at her for a long moment. Sofia’s body was tense, ready for a struggle, like the kind she got into with the ladies back at Arkham. But then, Selina took a step back, then reached for the neckline of her shirt. With both hands, she pulled the fabric down to reveal her neck. Immediately, Sofia’s breath fled her lungs.

It was subtle, but even in the buzzy light of the diner one could make it out. A ring of old bruises and scars from fingernails around Selina’s neck. It wasn’t the burn of a rope, nor were the nails scratched sharp enough to match Selina’s claw-like talons. These were from much larger, much stronger hands, with the intent to squeeze out life. And Sofia knew exactly whose hands those were.

She felt light-headed all of sudden, like all the weight had fled her body. She pressed a hand to a table counter to steady herself.

“I gotta be dreaming,” she said. “This can’t be real.”

Selina took the opportunity to step over and take the gun from Sofia. She resisted, but she let Selina set it aside on the other end of the table.

“I can explain everything to you, if you want,” Selina said. Her eyes darted around the darkened walls of the house. “Maybe somewhere other than here?”

She glanced back over at the safe hanging open, the tin diamond glimmering inside. This was her chance to bolt for it. Grab the gun, grab the diamonds, take off before the Hangman could hang her. But something about this was just…too damn enticing. And if there was one thing about Selina Kyle, she wasn’t good at resisting what enticed her.

Sofia seemed to pick up a similar thought.

“How do I know you’re not just gonna take off the second we’re out the door?”

Good question. Selina wasn’t the best at trust either. She turned and walked slowly back to the safe. The metal door creaked as she shut it, leaving the diamonds inside while she clicked the lock back into place. Then, she walked back to the table, picked up the pistol, then placed it in Sofia’s hand.

“Can you trust me until we find somewhere with coffee?” Selina asked.

Chapter 2: Coffee and Cigarettes

Mooney’s was the only cafe in Gotham that was open after midnight. Around one in the morning, the only people there were the waitress wiping the counter and a couple nibbling at croissants in the corner. The cafe’s customer attendance had been especially sparse after the police found the Riddler sipping a latte in one of its red-cushioned seats. For most people, it gave the place an uneasy atmosphere, like a haunted house or a former crime scene. Except for dedicated regulars and the occasional Riddler superfan who wanted to ask which pumpkin pie he ordered before the police slammed his head against the counter. The knowledge that one of your patrons flooded the city wasn’t exactly good for business.

Selina and Sofia found a small, sequestered booth. Sofia ordered a full plate of eggs and bacon. Selina stuck with one mug of black coffee. For the first few minutes, the two of them sat in silence while they ate and drank.

Of all the things Selina could have expected from Sofia, her eating habits was not something she considered. Sofia Falcone ate like a woman who had just returned from nearly starving on some deserted island. She pinched her food between her fingers before plopping it in her mouth. Her fork scooped up scrambled eggs quickly and she gulped down coffee between each bite. Like she was in a hurry. Like she might die before she can finish.

Selina, on the other hand, chewed her eggs and bacon slowly. She sipped her coffee, and over the white ceramic rim, she examined Sofia Falcone. She tried to find traces of her father—their father—that they both shared. Maybe it was the shape of their faces, the shape of their figures, maybe just the shade of dark that made up their eyes. Selina looked for the similarities and differences, parsing away the pieces of Isabella Falcone and Maria Kyle, until only one terrible, cruel man stood between the two daughters.

Sofia finished her food quickly, licking each of her fingertips and wiping them clean with her napkin.

“I can cover this,” she said. “I’m not making you pay for my breakfast.”

Yeah, it would be rude for the woman with the diamond earrings and Chanel-scented cashmere to make the woman in the thrifted jacket and boots pay. While it took time for Selina to find traces of Carmine that she and Sofia shared, their differences couldn’t be more obvious. The woman across from her dripping in the kind of fabric, jewels and pampered body that only Falcone money could buy. Meanwhile, Selina sat in her leather suit and boots, dripping with rainwater on the outside and sweat on the inside, her body ragged from years of dirty apartments and dirty hands of dirty men.

A small part of her was angry. One man produces two girls, one raised in a house of diamonds and the other on the streets of a corrupt city. It’s like there had been some cosmic coin flip between two baby girls, and one of them got the wrong side.

But then Selina recalled the story of Sofia’s sentence to Arkham. It was all over the newspapers and televisions when it happened. The beautiful but mad daughter of Carmine Falcone, sentenced away. Selina had heard all kinds of stories about Arkham Asylum. She once heard an ex-inmate say that he had a choice between an eternity in Hell or another year in Arkham, he would’ve shot himself just to get to Hell faster.

Maybe life in the castle could be hellish too.

“So,” Sofia said, snapping Selina from her thoughts. “Your mother knew my father. How so?”

Selina pursed her lips. She’d spent a while trying to think of ways to approach this, and even to the moment she struggled to find the words. So, she decided to start as far back in the beginning as she could.

“My mother was Maria Kyle,” she said. “She worked at the 44 Below.”

Immediately, a light crossed Sofia’s eyes.

“Really?” she said. “At the Iceberg Lounge? Oz Cobb’s old place”

Selina pursed her lips and nodded. Sofia leaned slowly back into her chair, her eyes forward but refusing to meet Selina’s.

“Fuck…” Sofia said. “One of the girls of the club…I mean…Men of the family are known to sleep with sister-in-laws, housekeepers, not…”

She seemed surprised. Selina crossed her arms and leaned forward on the table.

“You never thought your dad might have been getting with any of the 44 Below girls?” she asked. “Especially after your mom died? You never thought he had a few extra secrets that he never told you?”

Sofia’s eyes were in her coffee mug. Some dark, sorrowful look fell across her face. Selina felt compelled to comfort her, somehow. Reach across the table and clasp her hand. But Sofia looked like she had turned to glass, that any touch could crack her.

After a minute, Sofia’s eyes flicked back up to Selina.

“You know,” she said. “When I was a little kid, especially after Ma died…I kept pestering my dad, telling him I wanted a sister. He told me that my brother and I were trouble enough.” She grinned and sniffled a little. “I guess he changed his mind on that.”

Selina offered a small smile in turn. Sofia sniffled again and rubbed the corner of her eyes.

“I have a sister,” she said. “God help me, I have a sister.”

The two sat quietly for several minutes. Sofia reached into the pocket of her white fur coat and pulled out a boz of Marlboros and a lighter.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

Selina nodded.

“You want one?”

Selina shook her head. She watched Sofia take a cigarette between her teeth and bring the little flame to her mouth. The waitress didn’t seem to mind. It seemed like if you came to Mooney’s at this hour, you were someone in need of a smoke. Sofia took a long, long drag and let the ghostly wisps leave her lips.

“And your mother,” she said softly. “Where is she now?” Selina knew she was going to answer that question, but that didn’t stop the cold spill in her stomach. She clenched her jaw and blinked so her eyes wouldn’t start watering. “She died,” she said. She said it fast, like she was spitting out a tooth. “Carmine killed her.”

Sofia paused, and slowly removed the cigarette from her lips.

“When?” she asked.

“When I was a kid.” Selina spoke slowly and carefully, trying to resist the ache in her throat that wanted her to start crying. “He strangled her to death.”

Something crossed Sofia’s eyes, something slow and dark and hard for Selina’s decipher. Selina sucked in a deep breath through her nose, trying to unclench her whole body. The waitress brought her a refilled mug of coffee. But right now, she wished she had a cold, bitter bottle of whiskey. She took a sip then set it down.

“And your mother,” she said.

Sofia pursed her lips together and dropped her eyes to the table. Selina didn’t make her explain. Everyone knew what happened to Isabella Falcone. The beautiful, troubled wife of the king of Gotham’s underworld. Found in her bedroom with a noose around her lovely neck.

“I can’t believe it,” Sofia said. Her voice was shaking. Her hand gripped her mug with white knuckles. “With his own hands…both times with his own hands…”

Selina narrowed her eyes.

“Both times?” she said. “What are you talking about?” Sofia lifted her gaze to Selina, so dark and cold it made Selina shiver all over.

“My mother did not hang herself,” she said. “My father strangled her.”

Immediately, a cold, hard stone of dread dropped into Selina’s stomach. The back of her neck flared hot and she began to visibly tremble.

“He what?” she said.

The room around both women suddenly felt fuzzy, like they were sitting in a static television. All other sights and sounds became unintelligible except for their table.

“My mother tried to leave him when my brother and I were kids,” Sofia said. She explained it slowly, carefully, like her words were glass that could shatter. “She had a car waiting for her and everything. But before she could leave with us, my father strangled her to death in their bedroom.”

Selina's breath was frozen in her lungs. Her heartbeat was loud in her ear. And from the looks of it, Sofia was just the same.

“He made it look like she’d hung herself,” Sofia said. Then, her voice started to shiver and her eyes started to drip. “I was the one that found her.”

At this point, the waitress and the elderly couple were starting to look their way. No, they couldn’t draw attention, not even here. Selina sucked in a slow, deep breath and Sofia wiped her eyes with a napkin. But under the table, both their hands were shaking. “He killed them both,” Selina said. “In the exact same way…” “Why do you think he does it?” Sofia said. Her voice was soft and her eyes were to the wall. “So he can look into their eyes while they die? Feel their heartbeat disappear?”

“Maybe it’s so he can feel strong. To know he doesn’t need guns or blades to annihilate someone.”

At that moment, the dread and panic in both women alighted into something else. Something scalding, ravenous and explosive. Pure, blinding rage. “That bastard…” Sofia whispered.

“That son of a bitch,” Selina said. “That worthless, spineless piece of—”

CRACK.

All eyes in the diner turned to their table. Sofia and Selina glanced down to see a mess of shattered white ceramic over a puddle of coffee. The black liquid ran to both ends of the table to drip onto the floor. The waitress hurried over.

“What happened here?” she asked.

Sofia and Selina looked at each other, then looked down at their hands. Tiny flecks of white ceramic clung to each of their hands, between flecks of blood where they were cut. Two mugs of coffee, shattered in the grip of two hands.

“I’m sorry,” Sofia said. She didn’t look at the waitress. “We’ll pay for it.”

~ Sofia gave the waitress a wad of cash, enough to cover the two mugs and the meal, and even gave her her pearl earrings as a tip for her troubles. Then, she and Selina stepped outside, where the sky was still dark but the rain had ceased. Sofia lit another cigarette and stared off down the street.

“We have to do something,” she said.

“We should,” Selina said.

“And I don’t just mean stealing his diamonds. You and I both need more than that.”

An icy wind moaned down the street. Despite how big and anarchic Gotham was, it was surprisingly quiet on this street. Like even the rats of the city didn’t dare to disturb the two women.

“I have some ideas,” Selina said. “And I think we should do it tonight.” Her fingers curved into a fist, tight enough for her nail to pierce her palm. “I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

A long curl of smoke escaped Sofia’s lips. She dropped her cigarette on the ground and pressed it under her boot. Then, she turned to Selina, looked her right in the eye. Dark, pitch- black eyes. Just like Selina’s. Just like Maria’s. Just like Isabella’s.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” she said. “I’m ready.”

Chapter 3: Last Breath

Carmine Falcone was not unused to waking in the middle of the night. A lifetime in the underworld made you a light sleeper. One developed a kind of sense that was awake even when you were not, ready to pounce on a hand around your throat or a pillow over your face. So at first, it wasn’t strange that he opened his eyes to the full moon seeping through his window and a feeling that something was off.

He groaned as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His aging body creaked and groaned like the rest of the house. He slipped his feet into his slippers and tightened the knot of his black robe.

“Mickey?” Carmine called.

His nighttime bodyguard didn’t respond. He was supposed to remain outside of Carmine’s door the entire night. Carmine wondered if the bastard had fallen asleep. He lifted himself from the bed and headed to the door.

“You better not be dozing off,” he said. “I hate to do something bad at this ungodly hour.”

He opened the door and peaked out into the hallway. Mickey wasn’t at his post right outside the door. Carmine stepped out of the bedroom and looked down the hallway. The moonlight spilled from the arching windows, and between the wisping white curtain, he could a glimpse of a familiar figure, and the familiar glint of silver handcuffs.

“Mickey!” Carmine snapped. He stomped down the hallway towards where his bodyguard was standing against the wall. “What the hell are ya doing? This ain’t your post.”

He hobbled closer, and as he did Carmine realized something was off about his personal guard. Mickey wasn’t just leaning against the wall. His arms were at his side, limp, and he wasn’t moving or saying a word.

“You asleep?” Carmine said. “The hell’s wrong with you? I outta get my pistol and put one in you right—”

He grabbed Mickey by the shoulder, and immediately the whole weight of his body fell forward. Carmine scrambled out of the way as the guard fell face-first to the floor with a loud thump that shook the floorboards.

“The fuck?!” Carmine said.

He looked down at Mickey’s body. In the dim moonlight, he saw a red spot on the back of the guard’s neck. Like he’d been injected from behind.

“Shit,” Carmine said.

A stone of dread dropped in his stomach. He turned to scurry back to his room and call for Milos. But before he could even start moving, he heard his bedroom door slam shut. He glanced up and saw a shadowy silhouette standing by the door.

“Evening, Carmine,” a feminine voice said. “Can’t sleep?” Carmine’s teeth clenched. Everyone called him Mr. Falcone, never Carmine. Everyone in Gotham knew to respect that. He moved closer to the door, trying to identify the face of the broad who broke into his house.

“Whoever the fuck you are,” he growled “You better—”

All of a sudden, someone grabbed him from behind and pressed a handkerchief over his mouth. Carmine bucked and fought against the hands behind him, but without his gun and his body still half-asleep, he couldn’t release himself in time. The handkerchief was cold and wet with something chemical, and in seconds his body drained and stumbled to the floor.

“He’s waking up,” Selina said.

Carmine’s eyes struggled open and he let out an aching moan. Selina and Sofia stood before the chair where they placed him, hands cuffed behind his back and his ankles tied to the wooden legs. The fireplace crackled and turned the two women to silhouettes, but the light was just enough for Carmine to make out their faces. His eyes flicked between them.

“Sofia,” he said. “And you…”

“Can’t even remember my name?” Selina said. She clicked her teeth. “You’re off to a bad start, Carmine.”

“What the hell is this?” he asked. “Where’s Mickey?”

“It’s nearly four in the morning,” Sofia said. “He’s asleep. Where else would he be?”

“No, they aren’t,” Carmine growled. “You two did something to Mickey.”

Selina shrugged. “He was passed out on the floor last time we saw him.”

“Maybe too much to drink,” Sofia said.

She plucked an iron poker from its stand and turned some of the logs in the fire. The flames sputtered and spat out a flurry of embers, one landing on the carpet just an inch from Carmine’s foot.

“Sofia, darling,” Carmine said. “What’s all this about?” Sofia stepped away from the fireplace but kept the hot poker in her hand. She glanced over at Selina.

“I think my sister can explain it,” she said. Carmine’s eyes widened and his lips parted. He looked frantically between the two women.

“How did you…” he said. He looked at Selina. “Did you…?” “Shush,” Sofia said.

She pressed the tip of poker on his big toe, and Carmine released a croak of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to move his foot, but the rope kept it in place.

“Let her speak,” Sofia said.

She pulled back the poker, and a red, bleeding wound was left on Carmine’s wrinkled, hairy toe. Selina crossed her arms. “We’re here on behalf of our mothers,” Selina said. “Do you remember their names?”

“My…my wife was Isabella Falcone,” Carmine said.

“Wrong,” Sofia said.

She pressed the poker to Falcone’s other toe, harder this time, and Falcone released an even louder cry of agony. When Sofia pulled it out, the tip was shiny red.

“My mom was Isabella Gigante,” Sofia said. She gestured to Selina. “And her mom?”

Carmine, tears in his eyes, looked at Selina. He recognized her, she could tell. The pretty waitress in the tall leather boots who delivered drops and martinis to Oswald. The girl who had the hots for that Russian chick, enough to hold a gun to Carmine’s head. The girl who would’ve killed him if the Batman hadn’t stepped in first.

“Selina,” he said. “You’re Selina.”

“I am,” Selina said. “But who’s my mother?”

She stepped closer to his chair, towering over him, the flames crackling behind her like hellish brimstone.

“She…” Carmine said.

“She worked at the 44 Below. You two were close for a while. She brought me to the club all the time. I used to watch you. You probably saw me plenty of times.”

“Your mother…” Carmine’s brain scrambled. He knew Selina’s mother, but the panic in his body and the searing pain from the poker were muddling his thoughts.

“Maybe this will remind you,” Selina said.

She brought her hand to his face. Selina’s nails were long and claw-like. She pressed the pointed tips to the meat of his cheek, then pulled down. Carmine released a cackling yell of pain as Selina tore the skin down the side of his face. She left four, bleeding red lines, alone with flaps of peeled skin hanging from his flesh.

“Maria!” Carmine cried. “Her name…was Maria Kyle!”

“That’s it,” Selina said.

She stood up straight and backed up to stand beside Sofia.

“We’re not just here for them,” she said. “We’re also here for Annika, and those seven other girls you killed.”

“I didn’t kill those girls,” Carmine said.

“Oh, really? Because you seem convinced that I did.” Sofia’s eyes darkened. “You were so sure of yourself that you sent me to Arkham.”

“Tell us, Carmine,” Selina said. Her hand was in her back pocket, but Carmine couldn’t see what she was holding. “Can you tell us the names of the girls who died?”

Carmine scoffed.

“How am I supposed to remember the names of seven whores I had nothing to do with?” he spat.

“Wrong answer,” Selina said. “Maybe I can help you again.”

Carmine’s face scrunched up, like he was expecting Selina to slash up the other side of his face too. But what he saw Selina pull out of her back pocket was much, much worse. In her cat-like hand, she held a taser.

“Do you know what they do to patients in Arkham?” Sofia said. “Do you or any of the big men in this city actually know?”

Selina clicked a button and the taser buzzed to light with a spark of electricity. Carmine’s heart lurched in his chest and he started struggling viciously against his restraints.

“The other inmates try to kick the snot out of you almost everyday,” Sofia said. “And the orderlies don’t do nothing about it. Sometimes, they even pin us against each other on purpose.”

Selina stepped back up to Carmine, taser bright and buzzing in her hands. Carmine was crying at this point, tears streaming down his face, muttering prayers in Italian under his breath.

“But the inmates and guards weren’t the worst,” Sofia said. “The worst were the doctors. The ones who said in the softest voices that they just wanted to help you.”

Selina grabbed Carmine by the tufts of his gray hair and forced his head back.

“Please…please…” he begged.

“My doctor’s name was Ventris. Ever heard of him? He’s the one who conducted most of my treatments.” Sofia’s eyes darkened. “The worst of them…was the electroshock therapy.”

“No!” Carmine wailed.

“I didn’t even think they still did that stuff. Seems a little outdated, no? You’d think hospitals stopped using that years ago. Like they did with leeches.”

“Please, you can’t!”

“But maybe healing wasn’t really the point.” Sofia stepped up next to Selina, looking down at her father. A man who ruled over Gotham's underbelly, so feared by so many, quivering and shaking like a baby that pissed itself. “Arkham is a place of punishment.” She leaned down to her father’s face. “Can you imagine being in a house of horrors for ten years?”

Carmine’s face was shiny with tears and snot. He swallowed thickly before he spoke.

“Okay, I understand,” he said. “I hurt you both. And your mothers. And Annika.” He swallowed again. “Whatever I can do to repent for this, I’ll do it. Just name your price.”

“Price?” Selina snorted. “Guys like you think of everything in terms of money, do you?”

“And it’s not just us.” Sofia said. “Or our mothers. Or Annika. It’s those seven girls that you took out.”

Selina hissed right in Carmine’s ears.

“Those girls were not just whores,” she said. “They were people, with lives before you, and should have had lives after you.”

“Do you remember their names?” Sofia asked. “Can you name even one of them?”

“I…I…”

Carmine had no answer. Of course he didn’t. Sofia sighed and stood up straight, backing up by the fireplace to give Selina some room

“Let’s help jog your memory,” she said. “Maybe some electroshock could help.”

Sofia looked at Selina and cocked her head to Carmine’s foot. Selina nodded, then drove the taser into Carmine’s ankle. The man released a howl that echoed through the entire house. It clawed up his throat and rang across the walls.

“Summer Gleeson,” Selina said. “Remember her?”

Carmine heaved his breath in and out. He was too weak and in pain to even think. Before he could gather his senses again, Selina pressed the taser to his chin. Another long, agonizing scream.

“Taylor Montgomery,” Sofia said.

The two sisters took turns going down the list. Each time, Selina sent a sharp, electric pain through Carmine’s body.

"Nancy Hoffman."

Scream.

"Yolanda Jones."

Scream.

"Susannah Weakly."

Scream.

"Devri Blake."

Scream.

"Tricia Becker."

Scream.

His shin, his thigh, his stomach, his chest, his shoulder. After the final name, Selina took the taser and pressed it to Carmine’s neck. At that point, his throat was so torn from screaming that he could get out little more than a high-pitched rasp. He was weak and burning with so much pain that he wished they would just kill him already.

“If…I’m a monster,” Carmine managed to whisper. He looked at both of them. “Then you, my daughters, have become monsters like me.

Sofia pursed her lips. “You might be right, Falcone.”

“But we were our mothers’ girls first,” Selina said. She narrowed her eyes at Carmine, as sharp as a blade. “And no one hurts girls in my city.”

“Not anymore,” Sofia said.

Carmine looked at them both for a long moment, then finally, dropped his head to the Persian rug beneath their feet.

“Are you going to kill me?” he said. “Or keep me in this room like some toy?”

The sister looked at each other, then Carmine.

“We thought about keeping you here,” Sofia said. “See how much you can take until you’re just skin and bones.”

“But we are your daughters, Carmine,” Selina said. “And just like you, there’s really only one way we know how to finish the job.”

The two women approached his chair, Selina at the front while Sofia stood behind him.

“What’re you doing?” Carmine said.

Selina wrapped her hands around Carmine’ throat, her claws digging into his tender flesh. Sofia did the same from behind. Then, both of them started squeezing.

With whatever strength he could still muster, Carmine tried to fight back. He grunted as they closed around his windpipe, he bucked against the chair and the ropes, but they had worn him down.With one hand, Sofia grabbed his head and pulled his face back, and forced him to look in both their eyes as the breath left his lungs.

Maybe it was the loss of blood, the fleeting oxygen, or the sheer lack of sleep, but Carmine thought he saw more than just his daughter. Around them he saw more faces. Maria, Isabella, Annika, the seven girls, they hovered from the ceiling, bruises ringed around their throat, his hand prints on their bodies, watching down on him with pale, pupiless eyes, all of them screaming at him, their hands reaching to grab him and pull him away.

Soon, his daughters were gone. All that was left was the cold darkness around him, and nine screaming hands pulling him down, down down…

Chapter 4: Roses and Sunflowers

For a brief moment at dawn, Gotham was almost a city of gold. It was dark enough that the amber streetlights still flickered, but the sunrise left a shine over the glassy skyscrapers. To anyone awake this early, for a brief moment Gotham had more light than darkness. The only exception was the cemetery, which was cast in shade from the trees.

It was at this hour that Sofia and Selina arrived at their second grave of the morning. Both sisters were blurry-eyed from lack of sleep, from a night of too many revelations and too much ruminating on death, combined with the knowledge of the dominos that would fall in the coming day. Carmine Falcone was dead, hanging in his bedroom, waiting to be discovered by whichever family member was unfortunate enough to find him first.

But Falcone didn’t matter right now. Right now, the two sisters had flowers to deliver, to two women who mattered much more.

“My mother said she preferred roses because they had more variety,” Sofia said as she walked beside Selina. “Red for romance, yellow for friendship, pink for desire…she said there was a rose for every occasion.”

She glanced down at her white glove. There were a few small specks of dirt from when she clutched the bouquet in her hand. She’d left it when she and Selina visited Isabella’s tomb, though not before taking one petal and placing it in her pocket.

Selina grinned.

“My mom liked sunflowers because she thought we could both use them,” she said. “Gotham is so dark all the time. The days are short and rainy, the nights are long and cold.” She gestured to the bouquet of bright yellow blossoms rustling in her arms. “She told me that if you want a sun in Gotham, you have to grow it yourself.”

Sofia chuckled and nodded. She followed Selina to the morgue where she stopped in front of one engraving on the wall. Sofia stood beside her and read over the word, faded etching carefully: IN THE MEMORY OF MARIA KYLE. 1976—2004.

Sofia looked at Selina in the corner of her eye. Her sister was quiet, meditative, in the way that graves always made you. Sofia tried to imagine in her head what Maria Kyle may have looked like. She looked at Selina, tried to strip away Carmine’s features and see what was left, to find a portrait of women with the same dark skin and darker eyes, the same elegant figure and smokey voice.

“I haven’t visited her since I was last in the city,” Selina said.

Sofia pursed her lips and nodded. She visited her mother’s grave all the time, a privilege she didn’t realize she had until now.

“It must be nice to be back,” she said. “I’m sure she’s watching from above, happy to see you again.

“Yeah.” Then, Selina smirked. “She’d probably ask me why I keep bringing strangers with me when I visit.”

“You bring strangers here often?”

“Just you. And…one other person.”

Sofia raised an eyebrow.

“What other person?”

All of sudden, Selina went uncharacteristically shy. She bit down on her lower lip and tossed her gaze to the ground,

“I visited here right before I left for Gotham after the Riddler’s flood,” she said. “And…someone came and found me here. He…was the one who helped me find out that Falcone killed Annika.”

“Was he a cop?”

Selina shook her head.

“Not exactly. He was…a friend. Kind of. A friend, or something else too…

Sofia looked at Selina, who was twisting her leather glove in her hand like she was embarrassed. Sofia took a step closer.

“Well, who was he?” she asked.

“I…don’t really know his name.” “Well, how much of a friend is he if you don’t know his name?”

Selina chuckled and shook her head, then looked at Sofia.

“He calls him ‘The Batman,’” she said.

Sofia paused as her eyes widened and her lips parted.

“That masked freak with the cape who’s been beating up street urchins for the past two years?” she said. “You were getting close to that maniac?”

Selina wrapped her arms around herself and shrugged. There was a smile threatening to break onto her face and a heat crawling up her cheeks.

“He worked on the Riddler case,” she said. “Came by the Iceberg Lounge looking for Annika and we both got caught up in the whole thing.”

“I see.” Sofia stepped closer to her sister. “And based on your schoolgirl blush, I’m sensing you two got close.”

Selina grinned and turned to hide her face.

“Sort of,” she said.

“Did you get his name? See his face under the mask?” Sofia grinned and leaned closer to Selina. “Did you get him out of that suit?”

Selina flushed hot and pushed Sofia away.

“No,” she said. She paused and pursed her lips. “I kissed him once. That’s all he would allow for me.”

“A crime-fighter and a cat burglar,” Sofia said. “The kind of match only Gotham could make.”

Selina grinned. “You could say that.”

Sofia nodded then clucked her tongue.

“So, you lost Annika, and then you started making moves on the freak in the cape?”

Selina bit her lip.

“I mean…when you say it like that…”

Sofia laughed and nudged her sister in the side with her hip.

“I had no idea my own sister was such a player.”

Both of the women giggled. Sofia pressed her hands into her coat pockets.

“I haven’t heard as much from him recently. Mostly on the news, helping out with flood relief.”

A soft smile on Selina’s face.

“That sounds like him,” she said.

Her face was dreamy, and she kept pursing her lips as if remembering a taste.

“He’s been doing a lot less urchin-punching, lately,” Sofia said. “It’s nice to see someone doing it. Rich bastards like, I don’t know, Bruce Wayne or something, they give thousands of dollars to relief efforts while their mansions are untouched.” Then, Sofia paused. “Kind of like what my family does.”

Selina reached over and squeezed her sister’s arm.

“Hey,” she said. “Now that Carmine’s out, maybe you and your brother could do some good.”

Sofia snorted.

“You suggesting Alberto and I dress in leather and go out punching robbers?”

“I mean…your idea, not mine.”

The two women started laughing again, and suddenly the chilled late autumn air felt a bit warmer. For a moment, the two women felt like girls again. Doing what sisters do, exchanging secrets and jokes and a familiar pulse. The two of them stood together in silence for a long while, as the sun crept over the edge of the trees, turning the branches to silhouettes. The golden lift crept up to shine around Maria Kyle’s name.

Then, the silence was interrupted by a loud ring. Sofia reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Selina didn’t recognize the name on the screen, but she saw the dark look in Sofia’s eyes.

“It’s my cousin,” she said. “They must have found Carmine.”

She stared at the phone until it stopped ringing. Then, she pocketed it and turned to Selina.

“I need to go deal with them,” she said. “Make sure our story is straight.” “Let me go with you,” Selina said.

Sofia shook her head.

“They don’t know who you are. Don’t know you’re involved in any way. It’s best we keep it that way.” She took Selina’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s my family. I know how to deal with them. In the meantime, stay low for a while. Leave the city if you have to. You have my number, you can tell me if you’re not okay.”

Selina felt something tight in her chest. Neither of them had any idea what this fallout would look like. If they would buy the fake suicide, if they would figure out it was Sofia. The thought that Sofia would fall while she ran away made Selina feel sick. She just met her sister, why did they have to separate so soon?

Sofia must have sensed her thoughts. Because she took both of Selina’s hands and squeezed them in hers.

“I want to see you again,” she said. “You’re my sister. I have so much more to learn about you.” She cupped a hand on the back of Selina’s head and pressed their foreheads together. “You and I are going to meet in that shitty diner again, and we’re going to talk, and once Carmine is buried, we’re going to dance on his grave together.”

A small, soft smile curled on Selina’s face.

“Call me when I need to come back.” she said. “Whether you’re in trouble or not.”

“I promise.”

The sun peaked from over the trees, and the city of Gotham began to rumble to life. Cars and taxis wheeled into the streets, the trains rumbled underground, millions of footsteps emerged onto the streets. And at the gates of the cemetery, two sisters parted in separate directions, smelling of flowers and blood. THE END

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samgirl98 · 1 year ago

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Mending a Family 12/?

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Shit like this wasn’t supposed to happen in small towns. Yet here he was, in the middle of an armed robbery. The two men had a handgun each and were waving them around. Jason thought Canada had stricter gun laws, for God’s sake. Jason hid Danny behind his body and thanked whatever little luck he had that Jazz, and Ellie had stayed home.

And all because Jason had wanted some ice cream.

“Nobody be a hero. Give me the money, bitch!”

One man pointed the gun at the poor cashier, who looked close to tears, and the other pointed it at the three customers in the little convenience store.

Usually, Jason would be the first to jump into action, but he had Danny to think about now. Said kid pulled on Jason’s shirt and asked in a low voice, “Daddy, aren’t we gonna do something?”

“No, we’re gonna stay behind these shelves and let the proper authorities deal with it,” Jason whispered.

Danny actually pouted, pouted!

“But daddy, we have to help!”

Jason got Danny and held him close to his chest. Jason got on the floor and made himself small. He didn’t want attention on them and wanted to stop Danny from playing hero.

He should’ve remembered Danny had been one before, and he had powers. His son, his precious baby boy, turned invisible and intangible. Jason just about had a heart attack. Jason couldn’t risk calling out for Danny because that would draw attention to him.

The men were about to leave when they crashed into something invisible.

(If Jason squinted, he could just make out a green force field.)

Suddenly, both men’s pants fell to the floor, and when they looked down, distracted, both guns were knocked out of their hands and landed in front of Jason. Jason got one gun and pointed the other one at the men.

“Don’t move,” he ordered. Both men held up their hands and dropped the money. Jason watched as shoelaces were untied and then tied together to one another. The men got scared and tried to run when they heard police sirens, but they fell.

Jason heard a giggle at his side and watched his son return to the visible spectrum.

He sighed; it seemed he had to have a long talk with Danny.

____

Danny pouted in the back seat as Jason lectured him.

They ended up held up for only under an hour after the armed robbery attempt. It was a small town, and everyone knew everyone. The cashier and the other three customers in the store knew that the two robbers were Donnie and Tanner Evans, two brothers who were always getting into trouble.

How those two idiots thought they would be able to get away with it, Jason didn’t know. At least in Gotham, the city was big enough for idiots to get away with robbing small convenience stores.

Jason sighed; how did this even happen to him?

It’s because he had shit luck, that’s why. And now his son was mad at him for not playing vigilante and lecturing him for playing hero.

“I’m serious, Danny. You could’ve gotten hurt!”

“But I didn’t! What do you want, dad, for me to let others get hurt?”

“Yes, I mean, no, I mean—look, Danny, you’re too young to make these decisions.”

Danny glared, his eyes turning Lazarus Pit green. (Jason ignored his eyes glowing in response to Danny’s anger.)

“Look, Danny, I’m not mad. I was worried. I’m disappointed you didn’t listen to me,” Danny interrupted.

“Everyone knows that’s worse than anger!”

“You need to listen to what I say. You can’t put yourself in danger that way.”

“Like you’ve never put yourself in danger,” his precious, precious son mumbled, “you used to be a vigilante.”

Jason wished he had Alfie. How did he put up with their danger-seeking habits? It was a miracle the butler was still alive because Jason felt like his heart was trying to leave his body through his chest.

“Wait till I tell your sister about this.”

“Ha! Jazz encourages my heroism! You lose.”

“We’ll see.”

____

“What were you thinking, Daniel James Fenton?”

Danny watched as his daddy smirked at him, pleased. Jazz, the traitor, continued to scream at him.

“But Jazzie,” he whined, “I couldn’t just do nothing.”

Jazz pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Danny, we aren’t in Amity Park anymore. We’re trying to keep a low profile, and, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re like three years old!”

“I’m sixteen in the body of a five-year-old! And you can’t tell me what to do; you’re not mom!”

Danny regretted saying that as soon as Jazz’s face fell.

“Danny, apologize to your sister,” his dad barked out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “it just came out.”

Jazz took a deep breath and continued, “I accept your apology, but Danny, you must be more careful. What if the cameras caught you?”

His dad had automatically hacked the convenience store’s cameras and found out that only one worked, and it was pointed at the entrance. Thankfully, it hadn’t captured Danny using his powers.

“Look, lad, like I said, I’m not mad, but you have to be careful when and where to use your powers. If I tell you not to, you don’t. Understand?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good, now, you’re grounded. No going outside for two days and no ice cream, either.”

“Aw, man, why daddy?”

“You disobeyed a direct order, that’s why.”

Danny pouted, and Jason had to harden his heart. Danny got off the chair and started going to his room.

“Danny lad, wait.”

Danny turned.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yes, I can feel it.”

“Good,” Jason kissed Danny’s forehead. “You scared me today.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I can’t lose you, lad.”

Danny hugged his dad and let waves of love and reassurance hit the man. He might be disappointed that he was grounded, but Danny knew how much he had scared his dad. So, he would, mostly, take the punishment gracefully.

Jason watched Danny go to his room and plop hard on the chair.

“You okay, Jay?”

“Yeah, just, I got scared I would lose him, y’know?”

Jazz put her hand on his shoulder, “You’re a good dad.”

“I was so afraid to lose him today. What if I had,” Jason asked hysterically, “I’m a horrible father. I should’ve kept a better eye on him!”

“Jason, you’re spiraling. Danny is fine.”

Jason wondered if Bruce ever felt the way Jason was feeling now. How had Bruce raised a feral Dick Grayson and a rule-breaking Jason Todd? He kind of wished he had his dad near him to ask.

(He would take Danny away; Jason could never talk to Bruce again.)

“Do you think I handled it right?”

Jason wanted some reassurance.

“You did better than you think. Trust me.”

Jason smiled sadly. He hoped he wouldn’t screw things up with Danny.

@idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon

#mending a family #dc x dp

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msfcatlover · 2 years ago

Text

Yet more Reverse!Robins

EDIT: Now on AO3.

(Calling back to my tags on this post, and one of the images from this one that live rent free in my brain.)

Joker gets bored torturing Jason on his own after a couple days, and sends out invites to all the other rogues (or at least, the ones he’s pretty sure won’t rat him out and end the fun) about a “surprise present” he’s working on for Batman. Steph has absolutely no interest involving herself in Joker’s nonsense, so she immediately throws it out and focuses on securing her area of the city to keep her people safe. She doesn’t think much more of it.

Six days later, Tim shows up at the door of one of her clubs. Not in costume, barely hiding his identity, hardly even armed (like, the bare minimum for walking around this part of town this late at night, and most of that is artfully hidden in his crutches & leg braces.) Aside from Damian or Bruce crashing the party to accuse Steph of stuff (that like 60% of the time she didn’t even do,) none of the Bats have ever approached Steph in an actual place of business before. She’s curious. She tells security to let him in, and show him to her table.

“Mr. Wayne,” Steph says, because fuck it, if Tim’s only going to mess up his hair and barely slap some concealer over the dark circles under his eyes, she isn’t gonna maintain his identity for him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Tim shakes her hand, looks her dead in the eye, never glancing at her guards or flinching at his name. A proper little businessman, in a ratty band t-shirt and a pair of old jeans. “I need a favor.”

“You? Need a favor from me?”

“Yes.”

“The great Timothy Wayne?”

“I didn’t come here to play games.” Tim glares. “Yes, I need your help. Yes, it has to be you. Yes, I am out of other options. No, I am not above groveling—”

“Really?”

“Steph.”

“Don’t,” she growls back, “try to play this like we’re friends, Tim.”

Tim crosses his arms and scowls off to the side. “…Fine. We’ll keep it professional.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you on your knees.” Tim’s eye twitches as Steph takes a sip of her drink. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

“I told you, need a favor,” Tim repeats.

“Well, that could be anything,” Steph says, rolling her eyes behind her mask.

“My little brother’s missing.”

Steph’s drink goes down the wrong way. She forces herself to swallow her cough. Steph clears her throat to mask it, and sets her drink back on the table.

Tim continues like he didn’t notice. “The police can’t find him. The Bats can’t find him. I have been leveraging every advantage I’ve got, but nobody has seen him in over a week—”

Ice slips down Steph’s spine as she remembers the invitation she’d thrown out right around a week ago.

“—but you have contacts they don’t.” Tim takes a deep breath. “I know you hate us, I know you…” His eyes flicker towards her guards. “…You’ve made your opinions very clear—”

“I should certainly hope so,” Steph mutters.

“—but whatever you think of me, or Bruce, or Cass, Duke, Damian, anybody, Jason’s innocent. He’s suffered enough.” Tim has a warning in his eyes: You’ve hurt him enough. Like she’d actually tried to kill the kid or something (if Steph wanted Jason dead, he’d be dead; honestly, she didn’t even leave any permanent damage. Her lesson was no harsher than anything any of them got on a bad patrol, she was just more open about the point she was making.) “He’s just a kid.”

“And yet, you keep letting him out into this city.”

Anger flashes across Tim’s face, but he visibly chokes it down. “I’m not having this conversation with you. This has nothing to do with Jason’s hobbies or field trips, or whether or not you approve of them. This is about a 15yr old kid, missing in Gotham City, following the biggest Arkham breakout in the last 10yrs. Are you going to help or not?”

Steph sighs, propping one elbow on the table and leaning on her fist. “What have you got for me?”

“Jason snuck out for a party nine days ago—the night of the breakout.” (Translation: Jason was in uniform, probably on patrol.) “We have a system where even if he doesn’t want Bruce to know what he’s doing, Jason still calls me to check in every 2hrs. He checked in a little before 2, because he said he was about to be ‘really busy’ and didn’t want me to worry. I told him to go home. He told me he’d be fine, that he wasn’t anywhere near the mayhem.” Tim’s expression is flat, dead. “He didn’t check in again. Nobody’s seen or heard from him since. There have been no ransom demands. Last sighting was outside of Genevieve’s in Burnley.”

The invitation arrived six days ago exactly.

Steph needs to go. Steph needs—Steph needs to find that letter, she can’t remember if it had an address or a time, she can’t—

“I’ll pay whatever you want,” Tim tells her, seemingly unaware of how Steph’s breath is caught in her lungs (remembering what it was like to be 16, tiny, and at the whims of a madman. Eight full days. Did Steph suffer that long? She doesn’t think so, but the time all blurs together under the pain…) “Money is obviously no object. Weapons? Name them. Tech? I’ll build it for you myself. I can wipe your record clean. I can keep the Bats off your back. I can—” Tim swallows. “My balance isn’t the best anymore, but if you want me on my knees, I can beg. If you need me to demonstrate my gratefulness or if you need someone to hurt, I—”

“Oh my god, STOP!” The table wobbles as Steph jumps to her feet, nearly spilling her ginger ale—but then, she doesn’t really want it anymore. Her stomach is one giant knot, and she’s really regretting those onion rings she had earlier.

“Please,” Tim says, soft and far more earnest than Steph can deal with right now. “He’s my little brother. I… it’s my fault he thought he could go out like this. If there’s anything you can do…”

Steph needs to get to her office. She needs to find that note, and if she can’t find it, she needs to find Joker’s delivery boy so she can beat the answer out of him. She steps away from the table. “I’ll get back to you.”

Tim grabs Steph’s wrist as she passes by. “Please—”

“I said, I’ll get back to you,” Steph snaps, yanking her arm out of his grip. She looks away from Tim’s wounded expression. “I can’t do anything if you’re dragging me down.”

Tim’s shoulders sag with relief. “Thank you.”

“…You owe me. Whether I find him or not.”

“Thank you.”

Steph walks away. She doesn’t look back.

(She shoots Joker in the throat, grabs the nearest heavy object—curved & metal, but much else doesn’t register—and beats the clown’s head in while screaming insults in League dialect. She strips down to her suit’s under layer to keep Joker’s blood away from Jason, tossing her gloves away without caring about fingerprints, and kneels down in front of Jason, making herself as small as possible. She undoes the bonds, checking his injuries, and when Jason collapses into Steph’s arms, she holds on. Steph cradles Jason in her arms, helps him rehydrate from her water bottle, and apologizes in every language she knows for not being there for him sooner.)

(Without the mask or the armor, with Steph’s hair pulling wild & sweaty out of its braid, she doesn’t look nearly so much like the villain who hurt him before. Jason wonders if he’s dead or dreaming, to finally have the hero he looked up to for so much of his childhood decide he’s worth saving after all.)

(Steph would go to the ends of the earth to protect him from that point forward. When questioned, she just mutters something about not “letting all that work go to waste.”)

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makethatelevenrings · 2 years ago

Note

HAPPY 3K FOLLOWERS!!!! (Also congrats on making it to the halfway point of your thesis!)

For the bingo, could we pretty please get "Wanna bet?" with Dick Grayson?

thank you!!!! hope you like :)

want to join in the celebration? see the bingo sheet here

“I don’t know if you could tell but I just rolled my eyes,” you commented. A low chuckle sounded over the comms and then that warm, honey sweet voice followed.

“I felt a disturbance in the force,” Dick Grayson teased. “I take it you didn’t like that last joke?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, that was supposed to be a joke?” He snorted at your tone and you continued on, “I figured you plucked that straight from the shitty pun section of the Reader’s Digest.”

“I hate that you guessed that right.” A gleeful chuckle escaped you. Ever since Barbara told you that she needed to expand her operations and enlisted you to help, you never figured you would become Nightwing’s “person in the chair” but here you were, set up in your small Bludhaven apartment with various pieces of technology strewn around you and three monitors tracking crime reports in the city.

“Nightwing, we have an attempted robbery currently three blocks to your right on Roosevelt Avenue.”

“On it, Pythia.” The name came from being an oracle of Apollo at Delphi, something Barbara was very proud to come up with once you agreed to take over Nightwing’s operations so she could focus on Gotham.

Since starting this working relationship with Nightwing, you had become fast friends with the snarky vigilante and you appreciated his love and devotion to this city. You saw the risks he took and the people he fought. You saw it all from behind the screen of your computer and it broke your heart. You wished you could do more than give him information in an attempt to give him a leg up, but sometimes he came limping back to you with a black eye and that shit-eating grin and you were helpless but to apply an ice pack to his eye and bandage his cuts.

“Done and dusted,” he crowed. You sighed in relief and then let your lips curl up in amusement as you watched his fight from a security camera you hacked into.

“That was some fancy footwork there, ‘Wing. You trying to impress someone?”

“Nah,” he hummed over the line. “I’ve got my hands full already.”

You clasped your hands together and rested your chin on your knuckles, eyes peering at the map as you waited for a new dot to appear to dispatch him. “Hmm? I thought a charming man like you would never let himself be tied down.”

“I’m not usually the one being tied down,” he retorted. You stifled your laugh and played with the small silver band that rested on your ring finger.

“Oh, really? That’s salacious. I should tell the tabloids. Local vigilante spends his free time tying helpless folks up. Whatever shall we do?”

“Well, see, now I’m going to have to make sure you don’t spill my secrets.”

“You’ll never be able to silence me.”

“Wanna bet?” The rough, throaty tone that he spoke in made your body tingle and warmth flushed through your veins. You cleared your throat and studied the map once more. It was a slow, quiet night for once. Even though it was only two in the morning, he could afford to take off early.

“Come home and show me,” you murmured.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Tag List:

@someoneimsure @perpetual-fangirl900 @visagebrise @cursedandromedablack @alexxavicry @the-wayward-daughter @raging-trash-of-mind @bunny-kawa @khaylin27

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #dick grayson #honey's 3k celebration

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myinternettrash · 2 months ago

Text

Cáncun [Chapter 2, Year 4, Part 1]

summary: Bruce stared blankly into the crowded cafeteria. His skin was itching. His muscles crawling. Everything was empty. A hollow shell.

The news was playing on an old TV that hung in the left corner of the cafeteria, his oatmeal was left uneaten.

Bruce's rage flared more often than not now.

an: OMG YALL IM SO SORRY!!! this chapter was delayed six months and i am soso sorry! i had a lot of things going on with my family and just general life issues, anyway i hope this chapter makes up for it!

quick reminder that this fic is split in years so this is the 4th year part 1 as well as SCAREBAT IS A PLOT DEVICE OMG PLEASE GIVE MY FIC A CHANCE 😭😭

as always concrit is welcome and needed !!!

YEAR FOUR —

Gotham was always clouded in an everlasting cold during the winter months. Her freezing heart would beat slower, a deep resonance of sadness and death flooding through the city. The feeling only made it colder.

It didn't help that Arkham’s AC was always blasting. Heat was only used in areas the staff would have to work in, cells and ‘patient’ areas would be left to the AC and Gotham frost.

So, Jonathan and Bruce were huddled together in a corner of the library. Jon’s smaller frame was pressed into his front, wavy, black hair fell across his broad shoulder as Jon shivered. The Arkham jumpsuits were not warm by any means, the material was thin and cheap, not anything like Jon’s too-long business attire or Bruce’s designer suits.

Bruce was used to the cold though, the ice lived inside of him ever since his parent's murder. The prisons only made him grow closer accustomed to it.

Jon hadn't experienced a cold like this.

Bruce wrapped his arms around his friend, squeezing tightly for a few seconds before letting go.

“What book are you thinking of picking out?” Bruce whispered lowly, his voice reverberating in his chest, Jon could feel the rumble through both of their jumpsuits and their skin.

The other man lifted his head from Bruce’s shoulder slowly, “I was thinking of reading Pale Fire, but that might be too dark, don't you think?”

“Jon, I’ll read whatever you want to read, this book is for you,” Bruce smiled at his friend, his hand cupping the other man’s jaw, “but I don't want that book to push you farther into depression.”

“I-i-i’m not depressed!” Jonathan retorted quickly, mouth agape as he stared into Bruce’s ice-blue eyes. “Jon, darling,” the doctor’s eyes flitted to Bruce’s lips as they started moving, “yes, you are.”

Bruce smiled solemnly, he could hardly feel bad for Jonathan. The man knew what he was getting into when he got himself caught. He worked at the goddamn place, he knew exactly how the prisoners were treated.

“Jon, tell me something,” Bruce paused briefly, “what are you scared of?”

The shorter man suddenly became serious, his mouth pressed into a tight line, he huffed shortly, his breath coming out hot onto Bruce’s jaw.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, dear. I am not scared of anything, I’m the Scarecrow, remember that?”

Jonathan smiled, before patting the taller man on the shoulder lightly, “Now! Let’s check this book out shall we?”

Bruce stared vacantly into his friend’s eyes, the Scarecrow was a crock of shit. He cared for Jonathan deeply but, god could that man be fucking egotistical.

Gotham hadn't seen a real villain. Not yet.

Scarecrow was close, but Bruce could feel that a force more powerful was lurking in Gotham’s dark alleyways.

Jonathan panted.

Hot, heavy breaths reverberated around the room. The cell was dark and stuffy, the smell almost overbearing.

His fingers were wrapped tightly around his cock, precum beading into perfect little pearls on his flushed tip.

Bruce had brushed him earlier that day. His palm just bearly grazing his dick above the layers of his stiff, orange Arkham regalia. His other hand rested delicately on Jonathan’s hip as he explained some unimportant topic about bats and a villain bound to appear in Gotham. It wasn't as interesting as the way his lips moved or the way his tongue would brush over his bottom lip every few seconds. Not nearly as important as the feeling of that broad palm, his skin left scalding hot in its wake.

He had been hard and leaking ever since.

His slender fingers moved faster over his shaft, meek little moans escaping from his plush lips.

“Ffffuckkk, Bruce…” his hips stuttered.

A finger slipped into his mouth, coating the skin with hot spit. His hand moved languidly behind himself, swirling around his rim before pushing in.

Another moan, higher pitched.

Absolutely pathetic.

His finger curled, searching desperately for that spot. His other hand moved faster over his cock. His finger finally found it.

Two moans and a gasp. Disgusting.

“...B-bruce,” his fingers wiped over his tip, spreading his precum over and down his shaft.

His walls squeezed tight and hot around his finger as it pushed in and out haphazardly. His hips stuttered again, pushing his dick through the cup of his hand.

“Oh, god,” his balls tightened. What a fucking weak bitch.

A mantra of Bruce filled his mind, everything about him was enrapturing. His chocolate brown hair, those ever-changing, murky blue eyes, his skin, smooth and flawless, his form— god, Jonathan didn't know how he kept up a physique like that in a fucking asylum— his mind, that beautiful, beautiful brain. Sometimes just looking at Bruce scared him to his core. There was a monstrous bat that lived beneath Bruce’s skin and it was evil. He could see it behind the muddy blues, see it clawing beneath his skin, he could feel it when they touched. Jonathan was terrified of Bruce, and the fear turned him on as much as everything about Bruce did.

He was hopelessly, pathetically, in love.

God, Jonathan craved him.

Everything was Bruce as he came, ropes of hot, white cum spraying onto his palm, coating his slender fingers and the starched orange jumpsuit.

What a pussy. Weak. A bitch for Bruce to use.

That was exactly what he was, Bruce’s bitch.

He just came harder.

Broken moans and gasps filled his cell, the smell of sex and cum taking over all of Jonathan's senses.

Goddamn.

Once his brain was no longer a puddle inside his skull, Jon noticed the cum that had sprayed across the bleak and depressing pages of Pale Fire.

How would he explain the stains?

Bruce panted.

His body quaked, breaths coming out ragged and short. Why wouldn't it leave him alone? Constant screeching, deafening and full of rage, sharp talons clawing at his guts, his bat, as Jonathan calls it, brewed and bubbled in his stomach acid.

Bruce was shaking, quivering underneath his jumpsuit. The thin material was coated with sweat and stuck to his back. His fingers twitched as they raked through his hair nervously, dirty fingernails mucking up his dark brown hair.

He muttered feverishly, “Bat… bat… bat… Mother… Father…”

The loud clang of his cell door pulled him from panic, a guard—not Mick, not one of the nicer guards in Arkham, not even Cash, he didn't know this guard— looked at Bruce through the visor on his helmet, ruddy brown eyes flicked to Bruce’s hands and wrists, scanning them for injuries.

“Get up,” the guard’s voice was deep and steady with a hint of a Cuban accent, calming Bruce’s nerves, if only momentarily. The presence of another person forcing his mind to switch into his playboy facade. Slowly, Bruce pushed up from the ground, the cold concrete grazing his flesh.

The guard was tall—even taller than Bruce, who was six foot— and built, intricate tattoos curling around his biceps in a bright green, vein-like. The green was a stark contrast to his tan skin, and as far as Bruce could tell, the tattoos covered the guard’s body, stretching over the expanse of his neck and stopping at his face.

The guard spoke again, “I’m Nathan Dorrance by the way, m’ friends call me Nate.” Black gloves wrapped loosely around Bruce’s left arm, steadying him so he could walk. “My name means ‘a gift from God’ but my father always said I was the bane of his existence”, the guard let go once Bruce was no longer shaking. “Will I be a gift or the bane of your existence?”

Bruce shifted his eyes—more gray than blue in the dim lighting— to the rust colored eyes of Nathan. “I doubt I’ll be that much trouble,” his lips curled into a tight smile, showing off stark white canines.

“Besides,” he laughed sarcastically, “I’m on new meds!”

The tattoos on the man’s neck seemed to pump with some fluid as his head tilted to the side.

“Then I’ll be a gift.”

“Is there something you needed me for?” He gritted out the sentence from between his teeth. The sweat that once covered him was now drying in the ever cold Arkham AC, it was uncomfortable and made his teeth clack together, he didn't know if he was shaking from the cold or from the meds.

Nathan spoke again, “Leland needs to see you.”

The led lights flickered outside of Leland’s office, the varnish on her mahogany door shined in the light, glaring into Bruce’s eyes if stared too hard for too long. Apparently Leland, though having called for Bruce, was busy with someone.

Officer Dorrance—Nathan, Bruce corrected himself— stood by him, arms crossed over his chest but he was calm and relaxed. His tattoos appeared to twitch every few minutes, it was probably just a side effect of the medication, Bruce thought.

A laugh rang out, cold and insincere, it was followed by a polite but equally biting chuckle. And then the shining mahogany door opened abruptly, the hinge creaking as it swung, and out walked Quincy Sharp. The old fuck was the warden of Arkham, but Bruce thought he should have been in a padded cell. He was just as crazy as the rest of them.

Leland’s hand was grasping the door tightly, her bright red nails contrasting against the dark wood, “Well, thank you for the visit Mr. Sharp! Pleasant as always.” She smiled, her teeth grinding slightly. Sharp waved, the heels of his dress shoes clacking against the floor as he waddled—really, he waddled, it reminded him of someone he always saw at his parent's parties— to the Arkham Mansion.

“Well, hi, Bruce, come on in,” Nathan tapped his shoulder lightly, signaling for Bruce to go inside.

Leland’s hand gestures for him to sit down on one of the chair’s that surrounded her desk—Bruce was considered low risk at the moment so he got the privilege of being able to sit and talk to the doctor’s inside their office instead of an interrogation style room. The chairs were plush, deep red velvet, they reminded Bruce a lot of the furniture in the library at the Manor.

The doctor swiftly made way to her desk, gracefully lowering herself into her chair, “So, I have a few questions for you,” she rustled around and grabbed a notepad and pen.

Bruce stared for a moment, blinking slowly, “Of course, what could I help you with Mrs. Leland?”

“I have a few questions for you about Jonathan Crane, the police want to see if any inmates knew of his villain persona the Scarecrow,” she looked at him momentarily, her deep brown eyes meeting his murky blues.

“I know you two are close,” Bruce nodded hesitantly, breathing out of his nose.

“I did not know of his activities if that is what you are asking, he never-” The doctor jotted down his statement quickly, her head raising to look at him again, “he didn't devolve into his life outside of work.”

He continued, “We bonded over literature,” his eyes followed her hand as it wrote, “that's why we were close.”

She nodded, her short, dark brown bob bouncing along with it. “Yes, thank you Mr. Wayne,”

She shifted her arms into a more comfortable position, leaning on the table slightly, “I am… aware you are both still very close, outside of a doctor-patient relationship, has he told you anything since then?”

Bruce shook his head, “We are friends, yes, but he has not told me anything about Scarecrow, I believe he is deeply ashamed if anything.”

Bruce could smell the doubt.

“Alright then, thank you Bruce,” she smiled, fakely Bruce noted. He twitched out a smile, wide and toothless. Nate came in and waited as he got out of the chair.

Bruce left, Nathan following shortly after, his tattoos shifting as he moved.

“Bruce?”

His eyes snapped open.

Jonathan’s wavy, dark hair hung over into his face cornflower eyes staring into his, wide and concerned.

“What?” Bruce rasped out, putting his broad hand on Jon’s skinny shoulder.

“You were zoning out,” his eyes were darting over Bruce’s face, searching for something. Ever the physiatrist, Jon was, he always needed an explanation.

“Darling, I’m fine, I’m just tired,” he moved his hands to cup Jon’s jaw, “I’m ok, I promise.”

Jon gasped lightly, not loud enough for Bruce to fully hear. But he could tell, Jon’s flushed cheeks, his pupils dilating, his quickened heart rate.

He knew.

“B-bruce…” Jonathan sighed out, slumping closer into Bruce's body

“Yes darling?” Bruce smiled warmly after he spoke, all sparkly canines.

“I- I think… are you sure you're ok?” Jon bit his bottom lip, eyes twinkling as they looked up at Bruce.

Bruce gnawed on the inside of his cheek before answering, “Yes, of course I’m okay, I always am when you're with me Jon… Was there anything you wanted to tell? I sensed hesitation.” He was polite of course, you had to be to get the reaction you wanted.

Jon whined, his fingers twiddling together. His slender hand went to move the book they were reading before Bruce zoned out to a more convenient location on the floor.

“I,” he looked down towards his lap and then back into Bruce's eyes, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“I know Jon,” Bruce leaned towards the smaller man’s face, teasing him. And then he kissed him.

Jon gasped, louder this time and into Bruce’s mouth, before going back in to kiss him again.

Pale Fire was forgotten on the floor.

It was unlike anything Jonathan could have ever imagined.

Bruce had kissed him so warmly, like a cup of perfect coffee in the cold bite of the Gotham winter.

It was unlike anything Jonathan could have ever wanted.

Beautiful, crazy, amazing, Bruce was his now, all his.

His cell felt warmer now, his mattress a little softer, the air a little clearer.

It was like his whole worldview was shifted.

Bruce was an enigma when Jonathan first met him. Ever polite and collected, despite just murdering a man in a courthouse. He had two years to think about his actions, but most people would still have some sort of emotion, unless they were sociopathic—which Bruce after much deliberation—was determinedly not.

He had to study him, it wasn't everyday that a “Prince of Gotham”—a notable title, no matter how odd it was to Jonathan—snapped, not like this anyway. Billionaires don't normally turn to murder to cope with trauma, cocaine and other illicit drugs is more likely, which is what fueled Jon’s interest.

There was something hiding behind those pale blue eyes.

Jonathan, ever the physiatrist at heart, needed to know what was plaguing Bruce’s mind, handsome faces like that needn't be so worried.

He was scared of something, something strange and monstrous. It wasn't tangible.

So, Jonathan dug his talons in and started digging.

After countless sessions and cups of coffee, he finally uncovered The Bat, a creature that Jon has yet to fully understand.

All he knew was that it was in Bruce, screeching at him, clawing its way through Bruce’s stomach lining trying to escape.

He was the most interesting person Jonathan had ever met.

As they got closer, bonding over similar childhood experiences (even if their childhoods were vastly different), Jon confided in him.

About Scarecrow. About the fear toxin. About the goal.

And Bruce understood. He got what Jonathan had been studying—independently, however—for years.

He knew the fear, he was interested in Scarecrow, interested in him.

So he fell in love, and Bruce loved him too.

Bruce stared blankly into the crowded cafeteria. His skin was itching. His muscles crawling.

Everything was empty. A hollow shell.

The news was playing on an old TV that hung in the left corner of the cafeteria, his oatmeal was left uneaten.

Bruce’s rage flared more often than not now.

His bat, his monster, was screaming inside him. He could feel the pulsating veins of Gotham, the scum that was emerging made her veins pump harder, faster. Bruce was invigorated. Gotham had been far too quiet since he had killed Joe Chill.

Even Scarecrow didn't take over Gotham in a cloud like Bruce did. Bruce was too perfect to be a villain, it caught everyone by surprise.

That was Jonathan's flaw, he was brilliant, but he was too predictable.

The news reporter’s tone suddenly changed, the monotone voice gone and now filled with shock.

“This just in! The Gotham National Bank has been robbed. There are a presumed five dead.”

Bruce looked over at the screen, as did the rest of the prisoners in the cafeteria. Most were shocked, some were unmoved.

Bruce was everything all at once.

The news station rolled footage found from the security cameras around the bank, most were deactivated, but cameras left in areas that would normally be turned were left on. Like the robber wanted the process to be seen.

Men in clown masks infiltrated the bank with extreme precision. Cut the alarms, one clown dead, control the crowd, people scream, mob ties, two clowns dead. A mistake, a clown and a mobster injured, break into the vault, three clowns dead.

A bus slams through the building, four clowns dead, the clown from the bus helps the remaining one load up and then he’s dead too.

And then the clown mask comes off, all toxic sludge green hair and grease paint.

Bruce’s heart twinged, his interest piqued. The man had grotesque scars that cut a mile wide smile from the corners of his lips far into his cheeks. Red lipstick was smeared across them and highlighted the scars for anyone that looked.

A gloved hand pulled out a grenade from his suit jacket and stuck it in the mob member’s mouth, a purple string pulled the pin of the grenade as the man climbed into the bus, the mobster’s muffled yelling and the rumble of the school bus were the only things heard as the gas released from the grenade.

Bruce was captivated.

As the footage cut out and the news reporter returned to the screen to ramble on a long dialogue discussing the plan of action against this new villain, the noise in the cafeteria buzzed loudly.

Some were impressed, others were jealous, and even more were terrified.

The TV had to be switched off after the reporter said an estimated 68 million was stolen from the bank, yells and hollers filled the cafeteria as Bruce went to leave.

He had to call Alfred.

The dialing tone was the only thing that filled Bruce’s ears as he waited.

Today, Gotham was changed.

The line clicked over.

“Master Bruce?”

Bruce shifted to lean against the metal divider between the phones and moved the phone closer to his mouth.

“Did you see the news today Alfred?”

After a few seconds the older man's British accent cut through the white noise of the phone, “Yes, I did Master Bruce, it was certainly… masterfully done, no matter the execution.”

Bruce smiled, genuinely, “He’s a genius.”

“How have you been, sir? I heard from Mrs. Leland a few weeks ago and she had an odd report.”

His smile dropped, “Did she ask you about Dr. Crane?” He laughed spitefully, “Yeah, we had that same discussion, I told her what I knew,” he moved himself off the divider, now serious, “she’s trying to look for something that isn't there.”

“Ok sir, I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” the butler sighed.

“Yeah, I’m alright, Alfred, things are looking up.”

“Soon enough I’ll have a smile on my face,” the brunette chucked, “I’ll call you again soon, Alfred, thank you for talking to me,”

“Goodbye, Master Bruce.”

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bandicoot88 · 2 years ago

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Got Nygmobblepot on the brain again. Boy, I need to return to my fics, but mentally, I haven’t been in a great place. But I haven’t forgotten, just... been hard. I’d love to talk about ‘em tho, either here, on Twitter, or in our Nygmobblepot Discord. A big part of my motivation to write is the fandom, from just talking, bouncing ideas off of each other, and reading fics. Feedback on my fics is also a huge contributor. When you're as hard on yourself as me on my own fics, it really, really does help, more than you probably know. I don’t know what else to really say, other than I just love these dudes to pieces. They are a constant in my life, even if I’m somewhat taking a break from them a little bit and doing other stuff. I love Gotham, and a good amount of its characters, but Oswald and Ed held that show up to an unbelievable level. They could have their own series if they damn well wanted. *sigh* Why were we denied more seasons?

Anyway, uhhh... my inbox is open, or whatever. I like headcanons and ideas. Get my ass back into gear so I can finally finish Blood and Ice (NSFW fic).

#Batman #Gotham #Nygmobblepot #Oswald Cobblepot #Edward Nygma #Penguin #Riddler #My Stuff #My Batman Stuff #Delete Later #(probably... when ready)

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ichigopuddingmuslima · 2 months ago

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Caught in the Middle- Chapter 1

Feel free to give me feedback on this fic! I plan to post a new chapter once a week.

If you're curious to what Nyane is wearing- I've included links at the end.

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 2.4k

Chapter 1

It was an unusually sunny morning in Gotham. Instead of the typical, dull, gray sky, there were no clouds and a brightly shining sun. It was roughly eighty degrees with a light breeze. A perfect day in May. The usual hustle and bustle of the morning commute of downtown Gotham was winding down as it was approaching the tail end of rush hour at around 8:45am. Walking down a busy street, Nyane (Knee - Uh- Neigh) Ramirez was a woman on a mission. Her objective was simple: obtain a cup of coffee and then slay a very important interview. Adorning a pair of plain, black Steve Madden flats, black slacks, and a fuschia pink button up blouse, Nyane felt confident. Her elbow length hair was pulled back into a respectable bun and her makeup was a natural “no-makeup” look. Her appearance was tame by her standards but appropriate for an interview. She was leaving nothing to chance. After three vigorous and intense rounds of interviews, she had made it to the final round. This last round would be between her prospective boss, the CEO of the company and her. Her future boss made it very clear that she was the top contender for the position and pending approval from the CEO, the job was hers. So Nyane had one last thing to do, get herself a cup of coffee. Finding a coffee shop about five minutes away from her interview site, Nyane opened the door with a smile. Waiting in line, she went over her talking points in her head.

This job has overtime but I need to negotiate flex time. I also want to have work from home be an option too. Whatever salary they offer, I should ask for an extra five thousand on top of it.

“Next!” the barista said and Nyane stepped forward. Quickly glancing at the menu, she scolded herself for not looking at it before she got to the counter. A line was forming behind her and she could practically feel the wave of impatience directed towards her.

“Um… What would you recommend?” Nyane asked.

Latte? Or espresso? No, definitely not an espresso. I don’t like cold brews. Perhaps I can get a chai latte? But what if I hate their chai? Matcha. A matcha latte is safe.

“The dark roast is popular,” the barista said with a smile as she drummed her fingers on the counter.

“Actually I’ll have an iced matcha latte with almond milk please.” Nyane said as she reached into her purse for her wallet.

“What size?”

“Medium please.”

“$8.95”

Nyane’s eyes widened at the price before she regained her composure and pulled out her credit card and inserted the chip.

Indicating to the left, the barista said, “Your drink will be ready over there.” Flashing a quick smile, Nyane made her way to stand by the counter with a few other people waiting for their caffeine. She quickly glanced at her watch and had over thirty minutes before her interview. Plenty of time to enjoy her latte, go over her talking points, and relax.

I need to emphasize my language skills and that I’m a people person. Show that I’m really fucking determined and can get shit done. I need to get this job. I’m not leaving this interview without a job offer. I will get this job. As long as I impress B-

“Iced medium matcha latte with almond milk!” the barista announced as she made eye contact with Nyane and put the drink down on the counter. Nyane quickly approached the counter and picked up her drink. Turning on her heels, she bumped right into a man and spilled her drink all over the both of them.

“I’m so sorr-,” Nyane stammered.

“Watch where you’re fucking going.” the man spat as he darted to the bathroom. Feeling tears form, Nyane looked down at herself and observed the large, green wet stain forming on her shirt. Her blouse was completely ruined. Her body tensed and a scream was rising in her. Just as she was about to yell in frustration, a hand reached out and offered her napkins.

“You okay?” a deep voice asked. A sigh escaped her lips as Nyane took the napkins and began to blot at her shirt. She looked up and saw a tall, handsome man. He looked vaguely familiar. He had dark hair, blue eyes, and a concerned look on his face.

“No, I’ve spilled my drink, my shirt is ruined, and I’ve got an interview in less than thirty minutes. I can’t go in like this! I don’t even have a jacket to cover this up with!” Nyane cleaned herself up as best as she could.

“There’s a few clothing shops around here. If you’re fast enough I’m sure you could find a new shirt.”

“I can’t afford anything around here. This latte was almost $9!” Nyane threw the soiled napkins in the trash and turned towards the exit. “Thanks anyway.”

“I’ll buy you a new shirt.”

Nyane stopped in her tracks and spun around to face him. The man pulled out his wallet and took out three one hundred dollar bills. Nyane stared at the money, her mouth dropped open.

“There’s no need. It was my fault and my problem.”

Reaching for her hand, the stranger placed the money in her palm and guided her hand to form a fist.

He smiled. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

Nyane blinked and the stranger was walking out of the coffee shop. She stood there a minute as her brain caught up with what just happened in the past three minutes before she glanced at her watch. 9:04am.

Oh my God! I gotta go- Now! I can’t be late to this interview. I need this job.

Nyane ran out the door as she looked around wildly. Spotting a boutique just across the street, Nyane dashed to make the crosswalk. Avoiding eye contact with passersby, she set her sights for the store. Taking a moment, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and opened the door. There were two saleswomen behind the counter chatting idly amongst each other. Hearing the bell of the door, they both turned towards her. Exchanging a look with each other, the blonde saleswoman plastered on a wide smile and greeted in a clipped tone,

“How can we help you?”

The second woman, a tall redhead, looked Nyane up and down and rolled her eyes. Under normal circumstances, Nyane would have left upon such a greeting but these were not normal circumstances.

“I just need a new shirt. Something nice to wear to an interview.”

“I doubt we have anything in your budget.”

“Don’t worry about my budget.”

“What’s your size?”

“Small but occasionally I’m a medium depending on the brand.”

“We have a few shirts over here.” The blond walked from behind the counter further into the store. The redhead observed Nyane as she followed behind the blonde woman. Once Nyane was next to her, she quickly walked back behind the register and began whispering with the redhead. Nyane turned her attention towards the shirts and found a few that were nice but nothing that caught her eye. The pink blouses were cute but entirely different shades from the one she was wearing. Nyane frowned. She had picked her now stained blouse because it complimented her brown skin. It made her feel confident about her appearance. Currently she was decidedly feeling insecure. Her stained shirt and judgment from the saleswomen had her doubting herself. Glancing around the boutique she looked for something that would give her that spark of confidence again. A moment later she spotted it. A brown and black, tiger printed, long sleeve blouse. She grabbed the shirt and checked the price. It was $210. She debated on putting it back and searching for a cheaper option but a quick glance at her watch informed her that would be a mistake. Checking the size and discovering it was a medium, she sighed in relief.

Max Mara? Never heard of them. With the price of this shirt, I better get this damn job.

She walked to the register and placed the shirt on the counter. She held out the hundred dollar bills, “Just this shirt please.”

The redhead and the blonde looked at each other and with a deep sigh the redhead stepped forward and scanned the blouse.

“It’s $224 with tax. No returns. All sales are final. Are you sure you have enough?” the redhead responded as she rolled her eyes.

“Here’s $300. Just ring up the damn shirt!”

With a scoff the woman took the money and gave Nyane her change. Without any hesitation, Nyane quickly removed her soiled shirt and placed it on the counter. The saleswomen gasped and the blonde exclaimed,

“OMG! You can’t just take off your clothes!”

Nyane ignored them and tore off the tag of her new shirt and put it on. She didn’t have time to find a dressing room or bathroom to change in. Taking a deep breath, she exited the boutique.

“Miss! Miss! Spare change please.” a disheveled man called to Nyane as he sat on the ground a few feet away from her with a McDonald’s cup in front of him. She looked at the money in her hand and hesitated for a moment. She handed the money to the man. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Nyane didn’t bother responding as the light had changed and she darted across the street. She ran to the building her interview was at. Stopping just outside to catch her breath, she looked up at Wayne Enterprises and stepped inside. Her watch said 9:28am. She walked up to the receptionist,

“Hello, my name is Nyane Ramirez and I have an interview at 9:30.”

The receptionist glanced at her as she typed on her computer, “They’re expecting you. Executive floor.” She handed Nyane a visitor’s pass. Thanking the receptionist, Nyane put the lanyard around her neck and made her way to the elevator. The path was familiar from her previous interviews and she anxiously called the elevator. A moment later it arrived and several people got off. She entered the elevator with a few other people.

“Executive floor please” Nyane instructed the woman closest to the button panel. A few curious glances were thrown her way. The higher the elevator went, the emptier it became until Nyane was the only one left.

You are confident. You will get the job. Just breathe and the job is yours. All you have to do is take it! Nyane gave herself a pep talk as she approached the executive floor. The elevator doors opened and she stepped out. She straightened her posture and confidently strided up to Amber’s desk. Amber sat at her desk typing away but looked up upon hearing Nyane’s footsteps. She stood up and greeted Nyane with a clap,

“You look amazing! I’ll go let them know you’re here. You can head to the conference room. Good luck!” and then she darted off before Nyane could respond. Amber was wearing a black pencil skirt, black blouse, and Louboutin red bottom pumps. Her blonde curls were pulled back into a simple low ponytail. She was the CEO’s personal assistant and soon to be Nyane’s coworker. Nyane made her way to the conference room and stood facing the window. She admired the view. The Gotham skyline looked especially beautiful today with the sun shining so brightly. A few moments later, the door opened behind her and a handsome man a few years older than her walked in. He had short black hair, dark blue eyes and a muscular build. Nyane turned to greet him and exchanged a handshake with him.

“Mr. Grayson, it’s so good to see you again!”

“Likewise, Nyane, and please, call me Dick. Have a seat”. They sat across from each other with Nyane having her back to the door. As he turned to sit down across from her, she admired his toned behind in the dark gray slacks. She quickly looked up at him and smiled as she didn’t want to be caught staring.

“I told you that you’re Mr. Grayson while we are in this building. Where’s your father? Or did he change his mind and you can hire me without his approval?”

Dick let out a chuckle, “He’s wrapping up a call. He’ll be in shortly.”

“Is he leaning towards hiring me? I hope you told him all good things.”

“He trusts my judgment and he’s interested in you. Believe it or not, but you’ve gone through the hard part. My standards for an assistant are quite high. All you have to do is leave a good impression and the job is yours.” Dick reassured Nyane. The door opened behind her. She quickly stood up with her hand extended in preparation for a handshake.

“Hello, my name is Nyane Ramirez. It’s nice to-” Nyane began but she stopped short when the person she came face to face with was the man from the coffee shop who gave her three hundred dollars. In shock, Nyane said the only thing that came to mind which was,

“Thanks for the shirt.”

A chuckle left his mouth as he shook her hand, “You’re welcome.” glancing at her up and down, he continued, “I think this one suits you better.”

Nyane blushed.

“I’m sure it’s obvious, but I’m Bruce Wayne.” He sat down next to Dick.

Dick looked at both Nyane and Bruce curiously. “You’ve met?” Dick asked.

“Briefly.”

“Mr. Wayne, I hope your morning is going better than mine.” Nyane said, directing attention back to her. “Now that you’ve seen me at my worst, I’m eager for you to see me at my best.”

“I’m interested in learning more about you. Your resume is quite impressive and I’m surprised your last job was over a year ago. Why is that?”

“For the longest time, I also had that same question. Turns out I’m “overqualified for the position” and they’re worried “I’ll get bored”. Which is silly because I’ll never get bored of a paycheck.” Nyane rolled her eyes playfully as she responded. The interview proceeded from there with Bruce asking Nyane questions, her answering them, and Dick chiming in on occasion. By the end of the interview she walked away with a verbal job offer and a salary of $87,000 with a potential of two bonuses a year up to $10,000 each pending six month reviews, and a generous benefit package. Her start day was tomorrow and she couldn’t be any happier.

Original Shirt Pants Shoes New Shirt

#batman #dc #dc comics #fanfic #fanfiction #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #office romance #nightwing #arkham knight #red hood #batfamily #batfam #latina oc

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devespertilio · 5 years ago

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-- @smallblueboyscout

If Clark had been here Bruce was certain that he would have been the first to welcome him. Not that this place lacked it’s own welcome wagon, it had been there literally. He was also certain that Clark kept an eye on Batman just as much as Bruce kept an eye on Superman.

Superboy was an unexpected find among the citizens. He was going to have to rethink his hypothesis.

“Superboy.” He calls to him before emerging from the shadows, not wanting to startle the child. “Is your father here?”

#smallblueboyscout #smallblueboyscout || Jonathan Kent 001 #I’m whatever Gotham needs me to be || ic

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imaginingmarvelandeverything · 2 years ago

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Guilt

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Word count: 611

A/N: Here is the convenience blurb I promised!! This wasn’t requested, it’s just something I had bouncing around my mind for a while. I’m going away for ten days on Monday and can’t take my laptop this time. So I have one more chapter of my Jason Todd series to post tomorrow and then that will be it until I get back. Anyway, I hope you like it!!

Ko-Fi

Series masterlist

Masterlist

Dick looked up from the stack of files on his desk as his doorbell rang. He pinched his eyebrows together; he was not expecting anyone this afternoon. It rang again and he sighed before pushing back from the desk and standing up. His eyes drifted to his gun, but he shook his head and walked to the door. He pulled the door open after a quick glance through the peephole, surprised as to who was there.

“Hey, kiddo.” Y/N tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

“Hey.” He stepped to the side to let her in, watching the way she was cradling her arm, clearly in pain. “This isn’t a social call, is it?”

“No. You saw the news the other night, about the Joker?” She glanced around his living room, taking in what had changed since the last time she visited him in Bludhaven, before turning back to face him.

He nodded, his stomach starting to feel uneasy. “Yeah. Bruce got any idea who the guy in the red mask was?” He knew he had hit the mark when her eyes got glassy and she had to sit down on his sofa. “Y/N?”

“It’s Jason.”

Dick’s heart stopped and he felt like someone was pumping ice water through his veins. “That’s not possible.” He watched as she pulled something up on her phone before holding it out to him. He looked at her uneasily before taking the phone from her and pressing play on the video. It was security footage from the station and he watched as hooded figure walked in, setting off none of the alarms, and started checking each of Y/N’s workbenches for something. His heart was in his throat as the figure pulled the dust sheet of Jason’s Robin suit and stuffed it in a bag before looking around for something else. When they could not find whatever they were looking for, they started to walk out, but not before pulling down their hood and smiling up at the camera.

He paused the video with shaking fingers, because while he looked older, a streak of his hair was white, and there was a scar across his cheek, it was definitely Jason.

“I went to the cemetery, to visit his grave, and he approached me there. He’s mad at Bruce for not killing the Joker. He forgot to disable the backup tracker in his suit after he took it, so I tracked him.” Y/N said, watching him closely. “I talked him down, but not before I got in between him and the Joker and he accidentally hit me with the crowbar. He didn’t want me to tell you, but he’s different.”

“Different how?” Dick said, barely above a whisper.

“He’s angry. He- he reminds me of Bruce before Gotham Square Garden, before he realised he wasn’t helping anyone as Vengeance.” She closed her eyes, several tears escaping from them. “He said he was going to finish it. We might need you help in the future, and you deserve to know.”

He sat down next to her on the sofa, still trying to wrap his head around everything. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.” She admitted.

“I’ll order some food and we can try and figure out what he might do next. If he’s angry at Bruce, it might be an idea to leave him out of it.” He stood up as she nodded and walked into the kitchen to grab his take-out menus. He took a moment to try and compose himself in the kitchen because, not for the first time, the guilt of not being there for Jason that night was threatening to eat him alive.

Taglist: In the reblogs

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x fem!reader #the batman #batman x reader #batman imagine #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #convenience

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writingsofmax · 3 years ago

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Disarm pt. 7

Words: 3, 205

Story Summary: Edward takes Y/N to her favorite place and she opens up to him. From there things...unfold

Tags: slowburn, chronically ill reader, anti-social Edward, emotional distress, heart to heart, angst, hurt/comfort, FIRST KISS, Edward streams, the riddler comes out

warnings: emotional distress, canon-typical description of the riddler streaming, kissing, making out??

Part one (has list of all chapters)

Chapter 7- Tell Me I'm The Only One

About an hour or so before he went to pick up Y/N, Edward decided to start getting ready for the drive. He knew that planning and getting everything in order would help calm his buzzing nerves. He dug around in his closet for a bit and pulled out an old duffel bag. Inside he meticulously placed some snacks, water bottles, pain medication, asthma medication, electrolyte drinks, salty snacks, sweet snacks, a blanket, an ice pack, and a heat pack. He racked his brain. Am I missing anything? And then, What does a sick lemon need? Lemon aid. He giggled to himself. He had carefully researched Y/N's conditions, and had recorded everything and anything she had told him about them, and looked up anything that could possibly help her. He wouldn’t tell her about this pack of course, only bring things out if she needed it. Since they were going about an hour away from Gotham, he didn’t want her to start feeling bad and not have anything she needed.

He knew that Y/N was usually pretty well prepared. But what if she accidentally leaves something at home? What if there was an unexpected circumstance? Edward could be prepared for her. The Riddler was going to take care of Gotham’s corruption for her, Edward was going to take care of her.

He checked the clock and it was almost time to leave. Edward stepped in front of his mirror and did a quick check of his appearance, reaching up and running his fingers through his hair a bit. Satisfactory.

He grabbed the duffel bag after giving it one last check, and headed out to the car.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

They had been driving together for a little while, Y/N reading off directions from her phone as Edward navigated them out of the city. Before long, the skyline of Gotham was disappearing behind them, as they crossed one of the bridges leading out of it. Ahead, there was nothing but trees on either side of the highway. A vast expanse of wilderness that felt like taking a breath of fresh air after the crowded, grimy city streets they were both used to. They were fine to sit in comfortable silence together, just listening to whatever songs played on the radio. However, after passing a sign for an exit, Edward had an idea. “Hey Y/N, wanna play a game with me?” he asked hopefully. Y/N smiled. “Of course. What shall we play?” Edward grinned with enthusiasm. “The game is thinking of dual meanings of words, starting with the word ‘sign’. When we run out of dual meanings we switch to rhyming,” he explained happily. Y/N looked a little confused. “That’s a game?” “Yeah, I do it all the time! I did it back when I was a delivery boy to pass the time in between stops,” he explained. “Here, I’ll start: Sign, as in road sign.” Y/N took a little bit to think, biting her lower lip before responding, “Sign as in signing a paper.” “Sign as in sign language,” Edward responded immediately. Y/N furrowed her brow in concentration. “Sign as in a sign or an omen” “Sign as in sine and cosine,” Edward replied, once again, immediately. Y/N looked over at Edward quizzically, and he just responded, “Like in math equations.”

Y/N smiled, looking down and shaking her head. She thought for a bit before answering. “I’m trying, but I can’t think of anything else. Should I start rhyming now?” she questioned. “Sign as in zodiac sign, sign as in signal,” he listed off, rapid fire. “Okay, now you can start rhyming.” He grinned. “Wine.”

“Fine.”

“Dine.”

“Line." “Mine.”

They continued on like that for a while, the rest of the drive passing by quickly. It was easy to have fun together, just the two of them.

“Here, take this turn here,” Y/N pointed to a dirt road off the side of the highway they were on. Edward gave her an unsure look but turned onto the road anyway. They traveled down the dirt road, trees close on either side, yellowing leaves falling down onto the car as they drove underneath.

“Where does this go?” Edward wondered aloud, looking around in awe. It was very beautiful, much better than the litter covered streets of Gotham. Just then the trees opened up to a large expanse of water, a huge lake.

“You can pull up over here on the side,” Y/N said, gesturing to a little dirt patch by the edge of the water. “This used to be an old camping ground, I don’t think it is anymore but I used to come here when I was younger,” she explained, her eyes looking over the landscape, taking it in as Edward carefully backed up the car to the edge of the water. “I haven’t been back in years.”

Edward went to the back of his vehicle and pried open the hatchback, its hinges making an awful groaning noise. Stupid piece of shit, Edward thought. He frowned as he saw how dingy and dirty the back of his car was, it was just an old beat up junker after all. His skin crawled at the idea of sitting on it. Spotting the duffel bag, he pulled the blanket out of it and laid it in the back seat. There. That's nicer. “We can sit back here now, Y/N,” he called to her as he climbed into the back. It was a slightly awkward fit with his tall frame but he could manage. He gazed over the water as Y/N climbed into the back with him. “This place is really pretty. I never got outdoors much since I grew up in the Orphanage. All of the field trips,” If you could even call them that, Edward thought, “were to places within the city.” “That’s sad,” Y/N frowned. “I guess I couldn’t really see them having the funds to go that far out of the city, but still. You deserved better,” she mused, looking out over the water. Edward felt his stomach jump at her last comment, he glanced over at her and felt painfully aware of how close they were sitting. “So, um,” he stammered a bit, “How often did you come here?” He directed his attention back at the water which was now reflecting the vibrant pinks and oranges of the setting sun.

“Mmm,” Y/N seemed a bit lost in her thoughts for a moment before continuing. “My grandparents would take me here every summer when I was growing up, and then as a teen I would drive out here by myself after they passed.” Y/N shivered. “It’s like my special place I guess. I can always come here to clear my mind or–” she stopped suddenly, rubbing her arms, “I guess I could always come here to clear my mind.” She looked so sad… Edward hated it. “What do you mean?” He asked, looking at her curiously. They both sat in silence for a beat as the sun dipped below the horizon line. “Well,” Y/N sighed, gathering her thoughts. “It’s just that I haven’t been able to come out here since I got sick,” she looked down. “It’s this thing where I’m afraid to drive all the way out here by myself anymore because what if I get hit with symptoms and am unable to drive back?” Edward noticed Y/N shivering again. “And usually I don’t have the energy for an hour-long drive both ways here and back anyway.” She brushed her hair from her eyes, looking back out over the water. “Hold on a second,” Edward said, leaning back and reaching over his seats. He sat back up with his discarded green jacket. “Here, you look cold.” He might not be able to remedy her illness, he thought, but he could help her be more comfortable in this moment at least. Y/N took the jacket and pulled it on over herself. Watching her do this, Edward suddenly felt flustered, something about Y/N wearing his clothes made him feel anxious somehow, like he was stressed out for some reason. “Is that glow over the tree line Gotham?” he asked, ripping his eyes away from her and recomposing himself.

“Yeah. When it gets a bit darker, you can see the actual city lights more clearly,” she replied. Edward wished that they weren’t able to see Gotham from here––he didn’t want that city’s filth anywhere near Y/N’s favorite place. “I’ve really, really, really missed this place,” Y/N said softly, pulling Edward from his thoughts, “Thank you for taking me here.”

“I wish I could just protect you from everything,” Edward replied without thinking. Shit. Shouldn’t have said that out loud. Y/N was looking at him, her eyes wide.

“Oh, here. I stole this for you,” Edward said suddenly, internally cursing himself and his stupid mouth. “Um, p-pardon my reach,” he stammered, leaning over to Y/N and pulling out the card from his jacket pocket that she was wearing. “I’m Dog Gone Crazy Over You My Valentine,” Y/N read aloud, looking over the card, which was a vintage valentine with a picture of a beagle on it. “I, um, I thought you would like it because you used to work at an animal shelter,” Edward explained, nervous that he couldn’t quite discern her reaction. Y/N was silent as she looked down at the card, and then back up at Edward again. Y/N looked into Edward’s eyes, her face filled with emotion before reaching up and gently placing her hand against Edward’s cheek.

Edward didn’t know what to do. He froze, unsure if he could even form words, and then suddenly, as if it was a reflex, he closed his eyes and relaxed into her hand, feeling its warmth against his skin. For Edward’s entire life he had gone without love, without a single caring touch and he was tired of being starved of it. He was tired of being alone, and he was tired of trying to pretend like he wasn’t. He let out a long shaky breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“Y/N?” Edward asked without opening his eyes.

“Yes?” she responded breathlessly. “I want to kiss you… May I kiss you?” he asked quietly but urgently, trying to ignore the growing anxiety that he may be ruining everything by even asking. “Yes… Please,” Y/N whispered back eagerly, unable to hide the strong desire in her voice. Edward leaned in close, bringing his hands up to either side of her face, gently thumbing back her hair, before hesitating, “I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, he felt uncertain, his mind unable to focus on anything other than longing and doubt. “It’s okay,” Y/N reassured him, placing her hand on top of his before running it down along his arm. “Like this.” And then she was kissing him, her lips pressed to his, surprisingly warm and soft. Edward felt electric, like every cell within him was full to bursting. He reveled in the closeness, the feeling of Y/N under his hands. For once in his mind there was no lingering anger, no sorrow, just her and only her.

He pulled away from the kiss, dazed, leaning his forehead against hers. “Oh.” Edward exhaled more to himself than to Y/N. “That was nice,” he murmured, his face flushed. Y/N giggled. “It really was.” She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair and then kissed him again. Edward was surprised, and faltered a bit before pulling her closer. The fact that she was kissing him, that she wanted to continue kissing him, Edward was coming undone. He had been invisible his whole life, no one had ever given him a chance. But now… In the heat of the moment with surprising strength, he pulled Y/N up and into his lap and she gasped a bit at the sudden intensity, moaning softly. The sound she made set his mind on fire, and he kissed her like he had nothing to lose. He wasn’t alone anymore, he wasn’t alone and Y/N was here, with him, in his grasp. He leaned back, resting his weight against the car seat, and Y/N straddled him, deepening the kiss. She bit down gently on his lower lip and he felt like his mind was blue-screening, heat rushing through him. He gripped her hips and pulled her against him roughly, idly wondering how any of this was real. Y/N shuddered under his hands, kissing him deeply, her tongue brushing against his, as Edward was overwhelmed with the feeling of need. She pulled back to press more kisses to his lips before kissing him all over his face. She stopped for a moment, trying to catch her breath, her face red.

Edward panted heavily, looking up at her, “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice coming out low and gravelly. Y/N let out a long frustrated exhale, before slumping her head down on his shoulder. “Okay, so this is embarrassing but,” she groaned, hiding her face in his neck, “my heart rate is getting a little too high.” ‘Oh!” Edward filled with pride, “That’s alright Y/N.” He grinned practically from ear to ear and rubbed her back reassuringly. “Um.. if it makes you feel any better, that was really really nice.” He tilted his head back against the seat, his mind swimming. He couldn’t really string coherent thoughts together at the moment. Heart rate too high… heart rate.. Oh!

“Hold on a second, I have something that might help.” As much as he didn’t want to, he helped move Y/N off his lap so he could move. He bent over the car seat and searched the duffel bag he had brought for a moment before readjusting and offering Y/N a bottle. “Gatorade. I heard electrolyte drinks help with heart rate,” he explained as Y/N took a drink. She laughed, and Edward smiled, still in a complete daze.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” Y/N confessed. “W-with me?” Edward asked incredulously. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. For so long? How long? What? Y/N gave him an amused look, “Who else would I be talking about Eddie?” she reached over and intertwined her fingers with his. Edward had always wondered about holding hands. It had seemed inconvenient to him, but now he understood it. He would have never been able to guess how nice something like this could feel.

“Can I touch your hair again?” Y/N asked him, blushing, “I just… I just think your hair is so cute.”

Edward was truly at a loss for words at that, he had never been complimented before let alone have someone think that he was cute. “I um.. Yeah sure?”

Y/N reached over and tousled his hair, “It’s just so pretty.” she giggled. Edward felt very self conscious and resisted the urge to move away, instead focusing on how her hand felt in his hair. It did feel nice. “Um.. Thank you,” he said quietly, “I wash it.” He felt quite embarrassed for some reason. It felt odd to him that he had no problem kissing her, but taking a compliment was so difficult.

“I… I think that you’re very pretty too, Y/N.” Edward managed to stutter out.

Y/N smiled at him and he smiled back, happy to be there with her.

Y/N looked around and only then did Edward note how dark it had gotten outside, the only light being the few stars you could see through the light pollution from Gotham City in the distance. “We should probably head back now,” Y/N smiled apologetically. “I’m so sorry to make you drive in the dark.” Edward waved her off, “When I was a delivery boy I used to ride around in the dark constantly, but” he continued, meeting her gaze, “we should get you home so you can get some dinner and some rest.” Y/N pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, “Alright, Eddie.” Edward felt himself flush all over again. The drive home was peaceful and Y/N ended up falling asleep just 20 minutes into the drive. Edward glanced over at her sleeping figure fondly and thought to himself, I WILL protect her from everything.

—-----------------------------------

After dropping off Y/N and then coming home that night, Edward was on fire.

Standing in front of the mirror in his full Riddler ensemble he grabbed his army surplus mask and pulled it on over his face. He felt invigorated after his outing with Y/N, and when he put on the outfit he felt so powerful. He really was going to change this city. Expose their lies. He grinned widely as he imagined the mansion that he and Y/N had visited yesterday, washed away by the flood. The world born anew.

It was 10 PM and he whipped open his laptop and began his regularly scheduled stream to his now devoted band of followers. “Hey guys, thanks for coming.” He watched as the comments rolled in. “As you all know, this city is in need of a change… a real change.”

He felt his energy rising. “We all know the truth now, don’t we?” He asked slyly, “WE know about the link between Mayor Mitchell and Carmine Falcone, we’ve exposed it. Together.” He paused for a moment, letting the feeling of the Riddler run through him in waves.

“And recently I’ve found that even the Police Commissioner Pete Savage, is under the gang’s payroll.” He paused, letting the stream react to the news. “Oh but don’t worry, they are going to get what is coming to them. They are going to SUFFER as we have SUFFERED!” Edward proclaimed reverently, as if this was his sermon. His hands shaking, sweat gathering on his brow under the mask.

“So soon now, my plan is going to be put into action!” he giggled. “Judgement is going to be upon them, all of them!” He yelled, his giggles devolving into laughter, “These PARASITES that take from what is OWED TO US.”

He watched as full agreement came in from everyone in the chat. They stole and continue to steal the money that could have gone to me and the other orphans, that could have gone to Y/N. “Alas, that is all I have for you today but!” he paused before continuing, “Come to my stream next week for my plans concerning these sinners, and…” Edward giggled, “The city’s retaining wall!” With that, he closed out of the stream and fell back into his chair, panting heavily. Ripping his mask off, he took a deep breath of fresh air, unbuttoning his jacket. He pulled his hoodie up underneath to wipe the sweat from his brow. He could still feel the rage and energy pulsing through him. He was going to go through with his plans, all of them.

He would make Gotham a better place for Y/N no matter what the cost.

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